Chapter 1: Omen Birth

Lightning flashed across the sky, its silent flash momentarily lighting the darkened halls of the Crystal Citadel with a strange violet glow. Thunder followed, but it was muffled by the heavy snowfall and manifested only as a long, somber roar.

In this momentary blast of light and magic, three figures were illuminated. Three ponies who moved quickly through the corridors as the storm raged outside. Or, rather, two ponies, and a mare who was not.

“How?” demanded the one who led the other two. “I order it. Tell me now, how such a thing could even be possible.” He turned sharply to one of the others. “There were spells in place. Was it not YOU who designed them, and oversaw their administration, Luciferian?”

Beside his king stood an almost equally stately stallion, as white as his king was black: a unicorn whose genetic background exceeded that of purebloods, save only for the curse of his long violet mane, tied back into a tight braid. He wore a long leather coat over mage-armor of his own design, perfectly formed and symmetrical save for one tall armored boot over his front left foreleg. This pony, the last of his House, had the audacity to smile.

“My king. The spell is infallible. You oversaw the design as well.”

The king stopped and turned sharply, looming over the white stallion. “And yet it has occurred.”

“No. My design was perfect. Unless someone interfered with it. Even accidentally.” He glared across the hall to the other equine, a mare who had been repeatedly reminded that she would never, ever be called a pony. She, like her counterpart, wore heavy clothing to insulate against the cold, although it bore strange markings, impossible bones, rings of gold, and many knots. Her face was covered in a strange mask.

“Twilight, your behavior is puerile. I assure you, the king’s harem is quite sterile.”

“Unless your ridiculous herbs interfered with my spell!”

“Can you not except that some things cannot be explained? Or must your tiny worldview be constantly maintained?”

“And I have no time for your incessant arguing,” snapped the king, silencing both. “The evidence is empirical, and indeed has an explanation. We will deal with the situation first, and then that explanation will be found.” He turned and began walking- -an immortal king, one of the last black unicorns, clad in dark thrill and red velvet, a king who wore a crown of iron atop a bladed horn. “And when that explanation is found? I will paint these walls red...or silver.”

The pair of servants looked at each other- -the scion of House Twilight and an apostate zebra. Neither saw a break in the other’s composure or a weakness to exploit, and continued on in in the lightning-lit shadow of the Crystal King.

They arrived at the door to the main stable. Two thrall guards had already been posted; the luminescent green eyes of their masks lit the hallways and the crystal blades of their spears. Both bowed silently as the king approached, and stepped aside in turn.

Inside was a wide hall as lavishly appointed as it was cold. Soft furniture and tapestries lined the walls and crystal lamps provided warm, pleasant light. Yet all inside was eerily silent. A few of the girls were awake, and sat nervously on cushions and behind curtains in doorways and the farthest reaches of the room, still dressed in their sheer, jeweled nightgowns and staring with disturbingly harsh eyes. All were to afraid to approach, or to make a sound. They had lost the luxury of fear, but they knew that something was horribly wrong.

The king passed through the room without looking at any of them, taking a side-hall to a series of rooms. In one of the smaller alcove rooms, a pony was already waiting for him. Unlike the other girls in this place, she had been permitted to remain some shred of her dignity and stood tall and straight- -though her eyes were as cold and harsh as the mare’s of the king’s harem. Her clothes were perfectly pressed and her steel-blue mane combed perfectly. She did not even attempt to disguise the circular scar in the center of her forehead.

“My king,” she said, bowing deeply.

“Steward. Bring him. NOW.”

“Of course my liege.” The steward made a motion with one of her hooves, and a pair of crystal thralls bushed a badly beaten Pegasus gelding to the ground before his master’s feet.

The king stared at him with a look of withering reproach. The gelding did not even dare to look up. He only quivered, his forehead pressed against the luxurious silken carpets of the harem stable.

“Freeflight,” said the king at last. “You disappoint me.”

“My liege!” squeaked the Pegasus. “My liege, I beg you- -” His pleading was interrupted as he screamed in agony. Red magic had surrounded the bases of his wings, pulling them harshly together.

“SILENCE,” whispered the king. “Look at me, Freeflight. NOW.”

The gelding shook, and with the greatest of difficulty raised his tear-filled eyes to his king. Those terrified eyes met a pair of red eyes, their pupils narrowed to thin slits with anger. Yet, when the king spoke, he spoke with icy calm.

“I placed you in charge of my mares because I assumed you understood the responsibility required. You were to protect them, care for them, to prepare them when I required them. Caring for them was your duty.”

“Yes, my lord, please! I- -I know that, I apologize, I APOLOGIZE- -”

“And yet you failed to notice that one of them had fallen pregnant.”

“My lord!” the gelding was whimpering, but steeled himself. “Hope- -Hope was the smartest of them, the most clever. And the kindest. She hid it! Somehow she was able- -NO! PLEASE NO!”

The king lifted him by his wings, holding the gelding’s face near his own. “Freeflight. For this failure, I should tear your wings free of your body and send you to the crystal mines.”

“Not the mines! Please, anything but the mines!”

“Then I ought to end you here and now? Do you really think you deserve a quick end, after what you have done?”

Freeflight whimpered. “Please, please…”

The king nodded. “Alas, that is not the fate you will meet. Not today. Because you had the courage and loyalty to bring this news to my attention yourself, even if your actions came too late. I shall give you a second and final chance. You will live. You will even keep your position.”

Freeflight gasped, and a joyous smile crossed his face. Tears of joy welled in his eyes. He opened his mouth to thank his lord and master, only for the smile to turn into a look of pure horror as the quiet sound of two snaps echoed through the room.

The gelding was dropped to the ground, and he screamed. The sound was so horrible that the girls watching turned away. Even the steward averted her eyes. The king did not, and neither did the zebra. Twilight Luciferian was too busy struggling to contain his laughter.

“You will live,” said the king, “but I will take something from you. Crozea will heal you, in exactly forty eight hours.” He turned to the zebra. “Ensure that his bones knit so that he will never again know the joy of flight.”

“This I can do, in the alloyed time; a punishment worthy of this heinous crime.”

With tears still in his eyes, Freeflight grasped the foreleg of his king and looked up. “Th- -thank you my liege! Thank you! I won’t- -I won’t fail you again!”

“No. You will not.” The king punctuated his statement with a strong kick to the gelding’s forehead- -but of course not strong enough to render him unconscious.

“Steward,” said the king.

“Of course.” The steward directed the thralls toward Freeflight, and they dragged him out by his broken wings.

The king watched him go, and listened impassively to the screams. When the screams became distant, he turned back to his assistant. “The child.”

“She is born,” replied the Steward. “A healthy filly. The midwives are in the next room, waiting for your arrival.”

“I have no need to see her. See to this personally, steward. Take her to the edge of the kingdom, beyond the protection dome. And leave her there.”

The steward’s eyes flashed. “My lord- -”

She might have been about to protest, or to agree, but the zebra Crozea interposed herself between the servant and the king. “To kill her, this is your goal?! That filly is only a newborn foal!”

The king’s eyes narrowed, and though Crozea felt his rage directed toward her she did not dare retreat. Doing so would surely be her end.

“Do you doubt my decision, Crozea?”

“I cannot believe this!” spat Twilight Luciferian. “How dare you doubt his decision?! Those hideous stripes are the only thing that keep you from being out there with the rest of the stablemares, and you have the audacity- -”

“Twilight,” growled the king, immediately silencing every breath in the room. “Now is not the time to press me. I am not in the mood.”

Luciferian’s eyes widened, but he immediately saluted and bowed. “Of course, my king.”

The king directed his attention toward the zebra. “Nor do I wish you to try my patience, Crozea. I have never raised a hoof nor magic to you, nor would I for an infraction such as this, but you tempt me. But I value your opinions. Please, tell me why I should not expose the usurper?”

“This innocent is of a value you cannot bear to lose. Even if you do not see it now, this is not the path you should choose.”

“You should know better, Crozea. There is a reason why I have these spells cast on my mares, why I have your herbs. Why I even allowed Al’Hrabnaz to attempt his surgeries, although the results were…unpleasent. I am immortal. I have no neat for children. An heir only serves as a threat to my eternal rule. Any child of mine is a rival, and must be dealt with as such.”

Crozea frowned beneath her mask, and though she did not acquiesce, she did not speak either.

“I don’t understand why we need to bother with all this,” sighed Twilight. “It’s a child. I can do the job myself. I do not mind. It would be incredibly easy.”

“This child is still my daughter,” said the king. “And as such, she deserves an worthy of a princess.”

“Sire,” said the Steward. “Please.”

“Would you doubt me too, steward?”

“I never would, my lord,” she said, bowing her head. “I do not have the capacity. But in this case, it is my duty to risk my position to request that you at least see the child before you make this decision. I assure you, on my word, that you will not be disappointing.”

The king stared at his steward for a long moment. “Nothing you can show me will change my decision,” he said at last. “However, I am not so weak that viewing my daughter’s face would convince me to change her fate. So show me.”

The steward bowed, and she led the trio to a door. She opened it, and gestured for them to enter.

A strange smell hung in the air inside, and several crystal nurses were already at work cleaning and organizing the room. As the king stepped in, one of them was pulling a sheet over the face of a white unicorn mare.

“It seems that although the child is alive, the mother did not survive.”

“Pity,” shrugged Luciferian. “Hope was one of your favorites, wasn’t she?”

“I have more. Have the remains brought to Necrophilo, to see what went wrong with her.”

“My lord, I am also a competent necromancer- -”

“But you have a stake in this investigation, Twilight. Midwife?’

“My king.” The crystal mare bowed deeply. In one foreleg, she was holding a bundle of blankets. Without a word, she held them to Sombra.

He looked down, and saw that his steward had overestimated the child’s health. She was thin, pale, and sickly. Although her mane had three colors, her gray-pink skin was hairless. Worst of all, a small horn poked out from her forehead. That appendage sealed her fate. Perhaps a child of one of the lesser races might be forgiven, but a unicorn heir was a born usurper.

The child’s fate had been decided. That was, at least, until she yawned and opened her eyes- -and her wings.

The midwife smiled, impressed by the look of surprise that crossed the faces of two of the Thirteen as well as the Dark Lord himself.

“By the daughter of the Veil,” whispered Luciferian.

“This child born,” said Crozea, barely retaining her composure. “She is an alicorn!”

The child giggled and smiled at her father. He did not smile back.

Then a voice spoke. It made no sound, yet echoed through the heads of everyone present. The midwife winced, and several of the nurses cried out in pain as it tore through their minds.

“King Sombra?” said a high, young female voice.

“Eternity Gaze,” he said, barely noticing that she spoke in ideas rather than words. “What is it?”

“They are coming. The twins. I think they want to talk to you.”

Sombra’s gaze hardened. “So be it.”

Chapter 2: Twin Gods

Slowly, Sombra approached the edge of his icy kingdom, to the border where his dome of magic met the Hyperborean tundra beyond. Though it was frigid and icy within the Empire, beyond was nothing but uninhabitable and unending storm. No mortal pony could survive there unless the stories of the Ancients were to be believed.

When he reached the shield, he stopped. There had been a time in his life where he could have gone farther. That time had passed nearly two hundred years before.

He did not need to. From above, two ponies descended from the endless storm- -if they could even be called ponies. They were tall, thin creatures. One of them was even more white than the freshly-fallen snow, her pastel-rainbow mane drifting behind her in a cloud of her own warmth. She was clad in gold. Beside her was her twin, a pony of equal height whose skin was the color of the darkest night. Her cold eyes were blue and like Sombra’s own, and she was clad in silver.

“Celestia. Nightmare Moon.”

“Sombra,” said Celestia.

“Must you frown, goddess? It’s so very unbecoming of you.”

“We could hardly be expected to greet thou with a smile.”

“Indeed,” added the far more beautiful of the two immortals. “Sombra? Willst thou not step out farther, to greet us more closely? Or are art thou frightened of the cold?”

“You mean would I step farther so that you could cut me down with your magic. As you did with Discord, and Tirac.”

“Or is it perhaps because thou cannot any longer?”

Sombra frowned. “Is there something you desire, Nightmare Moon? My kingdom is sovereign. You have no right to approach me.”

“We have not entered your Empire,” snapped Celestia. “We have not violated the treaties.”

“Although perhaps you have,” added Nightmare moon. “Do not think that we do not bear witness to the accursed armies that grow within thine borders.”

“The Crystal Empire is neutral territory. Where scientists and sorcerers are free to pursue the topics of their interest without your incessant censorship.”

“Thou meanest pursue topics of thine own interest,” growled Celestia. “Indeed, topics accursed and terrible, abominations that no pony ought to ever consider.”

“If you do not like it, leave. Unless you wish to provoke a war.” Sombra glared at Nightmare Moon, refusing to address the lesser twin directly. “And I do not appreciate having spies placed within my kingdom.”

“We have no need for such trivial things. We oversee all dreams in Equestria. Even thine shield of fear cannot stop the glow of our moon, or our stars.”

“Or our sun,” added Celestia.

“A threat, then. Depart! I have no need of you two imperialists, there are matters I need to attend to within my borders.”

A thin smile crossed Celestia’s face. “Oh yes, Sombra. We are aware of thine ‘problems’. That is why we have come.”

Sombra’s eyes narrowed. “Tread softly, Celestia. Or do you truly believe two goddesses can challenge an immortal and his generals?”

“We do not seek to challenge thou,” said Nightmare Moon.

“However, we are aware of the child,” continued Celestia.

“And?”

“And our request is simple. Bring her to us. Thou hath no need for her.”

“In fact, you are in danger,” added Nightmare Moon. “We have no access to thine dreams, as thou doth not sleep, but we know thine fear regardless. And it is well-founded. A child will in time usurp thou, or be used to. Thou hath sired a god, Sombra. When the time comes for her to challenges thou, thou will fall.”

“She is one of our kind. Her very existence is a miracle. She belongs with US.”

Sombra stared across the shield dome, and then slowly smiled. He even laughed. Celestia began to look nervous, but Nightmare Moon’s expression grew cold.

“The child? I created her, did I not? Do I not own her?”

“You fiend- -”

“Sister,” said Nightmare Moon, shaking her head. “Sombra. Do not be a fool.”

“Fool? It would be foolish to give YOU another goddess, to turn against her own father and my kingdom of peace and freedom. To give my own daughter, to be raised by my immortal enemies?” He bared his pointed teeth. “Do not insult me.”

“This is absurd! We only seek to give her the life she deserves- -”

“By turning her against her homeland. No. I refuse.”

“Fine,” said Nightmare Moon. She stepped closer to the shield until she was nearly touching it. “But heed my words, Sombra. That child spells doom for you, and will bring about an end to the abomination you have worked so hard to construct.”

Sombra smiled. “She does indeed spell doom. But not for ME.”

Chapter 3: Crystalling

Sombra sat atop his dark throne, staring out over his Empire, slowly clicking his armored hoof against the armrest of his chair. Before him, the room was empty save for sterile crystal and his impeccable steward.

“...and the report indicates that the N-series heavy weaponized golems have completed production. I have scheduled an inspection tomorrow at three. If you deem them suitable, I will have them added to the roster for the upcoming military parade. Additionally, production of thrall masks is up thirty percent, although armor is lagging with the current steel embargo.”

“It is of little relevance. Soldiers are expendable. Redirect our steel supplies into the next series of golems.”

“Of course, my liege, it will be done.”

“And the crystal mines?”

“The addition of new encouragement spells has increased productivity four percent. However, tunnel expansion is hindered by the archaeological expedition- -”

“The archaeological expansion is non-negotiable. Let him dig. With any luck, he shall find his own crystal vein.”

“I will inform the engineers. Additionally, with the capture and imprisonment of Edwin the Goat, the Dark Thirteen are currently short a member.”

Sombra sighed. “Then we can begin the recruitment trials. As soon as possible.”

“I have already identified several candidates. Necrophilo of Canterlot has suggested one of his own students as well.”

“She will be tested with the others. I cannot give preference. If she survives, perhaps.” Sombra shifted position and stood. “I have research of my own to attend to. I will be in the library. Unless you have anything further?”

The steward paused, and braced herself. “There is one more thing I would like to speak with you about, sire.”

“And it is?”

“Word of the birth of your daughter has been spreading through the Empire. The peasantry are whispering about a crystalling.”

Sombra paused. “A what?”

“Crystalling is an ancient Crystal Empire ritual that was practiced until you restricted access to the Heart of Darkness. It is a birth-celebration.”

“I have no need for such a thing. Neither does the alicorn.” Sombra began walking, but his steward caught up to him.

“Sire. The cystalling is a critical cultural ritual, especially for the daughter of a king. There have been rumblings. You know this. Despite our best efforts, ponies continue to challenge your legitimacy to the throne. You are not yourself a crystal pony.”

“I am aware of this. Are you implying I should acquiesce to dissenters?”

“I am implying that morale is dropping. The loyalty of the thralls is absolute, but we cannot support an army if the peasantry is not productive.”

“I am not one of them, steward. I do not intend to act like I am. I am many things, but I am not dishonest. Fear is enough to motivate them.”

“There is an additional potential benefit. Supposedly, the crystalling ceremony increases the output of the Heart of Darkness.”

Sombra stopped walking. “And is this more than a simpleminded folk tradition?”

“I cannot ascertain that. I myself am not a crystal pony. However, despite our best efforts, the power output has been dropping for the last several decades.”

Sombra was silent for a time. “Prepare a detailed description of the ceremony, and cross-reference it with our library. Determine if Twilight Luciferian or Gxurab Al’Hrabnaz have any additional notes in their personal libraries. Have it delivered to my study by sunset.”

“It will be done, my king.” The steward bowed deeply. “Although if I may, the crystalling ceremony requires the participation of a crystaller. I would suppose you would want to give the honor to Twilight Luciferian. Should I also confer about his upcoming schedule?”

“No.” Sombra continued walking. “It was Crozea who dared to plead for the girl’s life. If I decide the pointless ritual is worthwhile, have her do it.”

The steward bowed again. “Yes, my liege.”

The notes were compiled, collated, and assembled with all the skill and organization that could be expected from a former master sorceress. Sombra took them into consideration and made his decision.

Preparations were made. The event was intended to be simple; far less effort was put into it than the far more important military parade or the next upcoming conscription event. Despite this, the crowds that gathered on that day were more immense than anypony had ever imagined. The crystal ponies present were dull and gray, barely able to stand, let alone cheer, but they still came for their allotted half-hour away from work to witness the event. For the first time in centuries, a spark of excitement ran through the crowd of slaves.

They were held back from the citadel by an army of thralls and F-type golems, on pain of a thorough poking with a crystal spear. Only a select few were allowed to assemble in the square beneath the Citadel. Not that normal ponies could have approached anyway. Few could withstand the waves of pure fear emanating from the Heart of Darkness.

A few of the Dark Thirteen had gathered. The group consisted of those who had been in the kingdom and had bothered to attend. Twilight Luciferian, ever curious, had come, as had Crozea, if only by order. Luciferian had dressed in his formal officer coat for the occasion, while Crozea had donned special robes and decorative golden armor for the event- -as well as a new kind of mask.

There were others. Standing disturbingly still and apart from the others was a unicorn mare clad in several layers of red, all held together with numerous clasps and buckles. Her face was covered by a disturbing mask not too unlike those that the thralls wore. Across the way stood Necrophilo of Canterlot, an immensely tall and withered unicorn with empty, yellowed eyes and a long beard. As always, his ridiculously long legs were obscured with robes. Near him, hiding in the darkest corner of one of the Citadel’s support struts, the air was filled with a clock-like ticking and the sound of raven’s wings fluttering.

Then Sombra approached. Beside him, a crystal mare pushed held the unnamed newborn; she had to grit her teeth against the waves of energy coming from the cursed Heart. Sombra did not notice; at no point did he ever escape the energy that gave him his immortality.

A gray earth-stallion approached him from his left. His clothes were shabby, save for a scabbard he wore on his back which was immaculately clean. “M- -Mr. king? I did what you said. I found the most pure crystal available. He’s very happy to be part of the crystalline, too.”

The stallion held up a pure white crystal. Sombra took one look at it before anyone could even move had struck the gray stallion so hard across the jaw that he went sprawling. The crystal fell, but was caught by a puff of red magic.

“Idiot,” snapped Sombra. “This crystal could power a collision cannon capable of obliterating an entire division of enemy soldiers. I will NOT waste it on something this pointless.”

Twilight Luciferian approached. “I thought something like this might happen,” he said. He produced a crystal from his uniform pocket. “So I produced this.” He held up his own crystal in his violet magic. It was pure black.

“It’s carbanado,” he said. “Black diamond. Pure carbon. You’ll never guess where I got that carbon form. Or how much screaming was involved.”

“It will be adequate.” Sombra took the crystal and gave the other to Luciferian. “Take this one. Do not let the earth-pony have it. No matter how much he begs.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Sombra nodded and continued to the center of the ceremony, the lower aspect of the Citadel where his Heart of Darkness was located. It was where the machines converged: the tubes, pipes and conduits of the Citadel, overgrown with red crystal, reaching down from every direction in a mass of dark metal and wire that formed the clasp in which the Heart was held stationary. The Heart itself was a sight to behold: a heart-shaped piece of black crystal, glowing deep within its facets with a sinister red glow as energy was pumped into it by the Citadel transceiver.

The child was directed toward Crozea, while Sombra stopped to admire the machine that ensured both his rule and his immortality. As he watched it, he heard a familiar infernal ticking. Something scuttled toward him in the shadows, although it would not leave them, afraid even of the dim Crystal Empire sunlight. Afraid to stand in Celestia’s sun.

“Al’Hrabnaz,” said Sombra, looking down at the thing that was almost a pony. Whatever it was, it disgusted even him, although he understood its immense value. While it had four legs, it was flattened, like an insect, and perpetually dressed in a combination of heavy pressurized armor and black robes trimmed with feathers. As almost always, several ravens perched on his shoulders. A strange circle of unidentifiable metal ticked away perpetually on the stallion’s chest. “Have the systems been prepared?”

The creature’s mask hissed, and his rasping, heavily-accented voice came through. “They have,” he wheezed. “All of the machinery is in order and set to accept divergent parameters from the Core. Buffers and bypass valves have also been prepared.”

“And how do you feel about this? You understand my machines perhaps even better than I do.”

“Your decision is law, my lord. I trust you absolutely.”

Sombra smiled. “If this goes well, I will double your monthly allotment of test subjects.”

“My lord. You are too generous, but I thank you.” The creature bowed, but still did not depart the shadows. His ravens stared dubiously at Sombra, watching.

Across the way, the child was brought to Crozea. Crozea, though she had defended the child, was still apprehensive about this process. Unlike the others, she understood the value of rituals like this, and knew that a ritual such as this was far from her specialty- -and as important as it was dangerous if it went awry.

Yet it had been her orders. She looked over her shoulder at Sombra, now a father, a perfect stallion with a thick raven-black mane clad in red and iron. Something felt warm within her, even against the alien cold of the North. Her resolved was strengthened.

The nurse gave her the child. She felt oddly light. Crozea held her, and was reminded of several horrible memories. Of zebra children who by her work had never had this chance. Whose sacrifice she told herself had been necessary.

She held the child above her head. The crowd cheered in joy- -until the blanket fell away and the girl’s wings spread. Then the crowd’s eyes widened, and they gasped, recoiling from the sight of an abomination. Behind her, Crozea could feel the Heart of Darkness beating faster, absorbing their fear and amplifying it a thousandfold. In that moment, she understood what Sombra had intended, and what this child meant to him.

“Citizens of the Empire, who have gathered below the Crystal Spire!” she shouted. “I bring you this child, born of horn and wing, sired by our eternal king! A child born for conquest and to destroy, and in both to bring our kingdom righteous joy! Remember her, beneath this tower, and beware to never forget the Witchking’s POWER!”

Sombra approached her from behind and levitated a black crystal. Crozea did not even need to look at it to sense its origin, and the price that Twilight Luciferian’s own daughter had paid.

The child smiled, and she felt warm in Crozea’s hooves. Energy began to emanate from her, moving into the black crystal. The ritual had commenced, and in that moment Corzea knew that something had already gone horribly wrong.

The crystal began to grow. Not red or black, but with blinding white energy. The darkness within it cleared and it changed form, assuming a perfect structure with absolute clarity. Sombra stepped back, his pupils narrowing with concern.

Then in an instant it shot backward toward the Heart, merging with it an in instant.

“Something’s wrong!” screamed a voice in all of their heads. “SOMETHING’S WRONG!”

The blackness of the Heart began to fade and wither. It started to move, attempting to tear itself free of its support clasp as white energy began to pour from it.

Sombra looked on in horror. “Al’Hrabnaz!”

The black pony began to wildly twist the gears of the device in his chest. “Power output is increasing by an order of magnitude- -three orders of magnitude- -ten!”

“COMPENSATE!”

“I can’t! The support infrastructure is overloading!”

The Heart of Darkness suddenly erupted in a plume of blinding white energy, vaporizing the machinery that was supposed to be required for it to operate. Al’Hrabnaz leapt form his shadow and onto Sombra, pressing the dial in his chest as he did. The gears within it engaged and a yellow shield bubble erupted around them both. Despite the protection, as soon as the white light passed them Sombra lapsed into unconsciousness.

The bubble expanded outward exponentially, forcing the members of the Dark Thirteen it touched back. When it reached the edge of the crowd, the ponies it touched change. The masks fell from the thralls, and the crystal ponies ignited with light, their bodies becoming translucent. For the first time in anypony’s memory, they smiled, their energy and happiness suddenly restored. They began to cheer.

Twilight Luciferian had been knocked back by the expanding sphere, but he had not been dazed enough to not see the catastrophe that was on the verge of occurring. He planted his hooves and summoned fifty four simultaneous interlocked spells, directing all of his energy into stopping the expansion of the light-bubble.

“NECROPHILO! SCARLET! We have to stop it!”

The other two mages nodded and planted their feet. Necrophilo’s horn glowed with a putrid green light and Scarlet Mist’s with crimson energy. The three of them braced themselves against the sphere, forcing their combined magical strength into it.

The expansion slowed, and finally stopped, although the force required to do so was immense. Necrophilo was straining and sweating, and Twilight Luciferian could not believe that he had encountered a magical force so overwhelmingly powerful. He suddenly understood Sombra significantly better, and a smile began to cross his face.

Scarlet Mist’s magic expanded, expanding into a great claw of red light. She took a step forward, and the bubble contracted.

“Scarlet! What are you doing?!”

“We cannot hold it forever. I’m using too much power. We have to hurry!”

She summoned even more energy and took another step forward. This one was stronger, and the bubble was pushed back even farther. Twilight Luciferian altered the parameters of his spell, assisting as best as he could. After several hundred calculations in a matter of seconds, he found a combination that seemed to be effective. As he did, he saw a gray earth-pony with a scabbard trying to sneak away.

“HOLDER!” he screamed. “DO SOMETHING!”

The earth-pony looked at him in shock. “This isn’t exactly...um...my area of expertise.”

“He doesn’t mean YOU, you idiot,” snapped Scarlet Mist. “He means the other one!”

Scarlet Mist suddenly took a step back. As she did, one of her rear legs turned to dust. She fell, still managing to hold the bubble, although it grew by several feet.

“Scarlet!”

“My body! I can’t hold it!”

Inside the bubble, Crozea looked out, still holding the alicorn child. The child looked out at the happy ponies around her, and smiled.

The bubble suddenly increased in power. Scarlet Mist roared, trying to keep it back, but her body was already starting to collapse. Her ribs were exposed, and the rest of her was quickly becoming dust. Then, in an instant, her body decayed into a pile of ash and bone. Her red mask fell to the ground.

The bubble expanded. Necrophilo and Twilight could not hold it and were overwhelmed.

For a moment, time seemed to slow. Twilight tried to adjust his spells, but nothing was proving effective. As he desperately tried to compensate, he felt a soft hoof on his shoulder. He involuntarily turned, and found himself staring into the pupilless red eyes of a yellow pony.

“Is it finally time?” she asked. She tapped the long boot he wore. “It wouldn’t even be hard. Come on. Don’t you want to be a hero?”

Twilight smiled. “No.”

He dropped his spells and was thrown back. Necrophilo was completely overwhelmed and his spells broken.

The bubble began to expand. As it did, matter condensed beside it. A body formed from the void, and a pony clad in white appeared. Without a word, he slammed himself against the bubble, and with his single blow it collapsed and vanished. The Heart of Darkness stopped revolving and fell to the floor. The pony in white saw this, and without a word faded back to where he had come from.

Chapter 4: The Weapon

It had been many centuries since Sombra had felt pain. It had become an abstraction, a distant thing of little relevance to his immortal self. Even merging his own magic to the power of the Heart of Darkness had felt more strange and disturbing than anything else.

Now, though, he remembered what it felt like. Every muscle in his body ached, and his head throbbed just beneath his horn. Though it was minor, it bothered him, and his mood reflected his annoyance.

As he sat atop his throne, the others stood in silence. All of them who had come back, anyway. To Sombra’s left sat a large silver dish. It contained a particular artifact called the Mask of Red Death, the one and only true possession of the mage known as Scarlet Mist. It now sat inert and unused, although Sombra was in no hurry to actually touch it. He understood the consequences all too well.

“Are none of you willing to speak?” he said, turning to the still-living members of his elite corps of generals. “Report!”

Of all of them, the steward was the first to step forward. “Cleanup has commenced ahead of schedule,” she declared. “All afflicted peasants have reverted to their normal states and resumed their occupations. Over the past several days we have commenced with a standard propaganda retcon, with moderate success.” She paused. “Though some still whisper. A dangerous sentiment moves through the city.”

“We will dispose of dissenters, as always. Let us hope that doing so is enough.” Sombra turned his gaze to the others. “Al’Hrabnaz?”

“Yes, master?” The stallion moved forward, careful to keep out of kicking range of the others. The shadows indoors were deeper, so his motions were more bold. Even then, this was the most that many save for Sombra had seen of him in some time.

“The repairs?”

“Are complete. All operations have resumed as normal. Shield integrity is within normal parameters, and both fear acquisition and transmission is continuing.” He paused. “But you already know this, my king, don’t you?”

“I do. But I would prefer for you to explain to me. For your own sake. What is the condition of the Heart?”

“The crystalline structure has been altered. The facets have changed, although I have recalculated the interface matrix and made the appropriate adjustments. Most interesting, though, is that the power output has changed.”

Sombra’s expression darkened. “Changed?”

“Transmission intensity has increased by nineteen percent, and inversion loss is down by four points.”

“Then the event can hardly be called a failure.” Necrophilo slid forward. He moved as though he were almost hovering.

“Our fourth member manifested,” snapped Twilight Luciferian. “Do NOT underestimate how serious this was, or how close we came to disaster.”

“We have gone many a rising of the sun without having witnessed the rise of the Nameless One.”

“And where were you when it happened?” asked Twilight, slowly circling Crozea. “If I recall, you were holding the source of our problem for the duration.”

“Before you try to tan my zebra hide, know, Twilight, that I was trapped on the incorrect side.”

“As was I,” said Sombra.

“With your help, we surely would have stopped it together.” Necrophilo’s empty eyes narrowed at Twilight Luciferian. “Your spell would not destabilized when we needed it most.”

Twilight Luciferian glared back at the taller unicorn. “Perhaps if that filthy rock-pony had drawn his blade.”

“...and plunged it square in your back while you were distracted, mayhaps?”

The entire room looked upward to Sombra’s side. A small red filly with ridiculously long and curly sky-blue hair appeared from the shadows. Sombra did not even look up.

“Infiltrator,” he said. “You have returned from your sojourn.”

“I have,” said the filly. “And just in time to a rather shameful sight.”

“If you were there, you ought to have helped!” cried Necrophilo.

“By doing what?” She gestured to her empty forehead. “Do I look like a master mage to you?”

“Perhaps you found something that will improve my mood.” Sombra’s red eyes turned slowly toward the red filly. “Because if you have not, your interruption is most unwelcome. And most unwise.”

“I would not have bothered to come if I had nothing useful.” She stepped forward, her immensely long mane and tail trailing on the stairs behind her. “My journey was not easy. The Solar-Lunar kingdom has grown increasingly more difficult to navigate. Nightmare Moon’s legions grow by the day.”

“Which is to be expected,” said Luciferian. “They have already conquered Canterlot, and they have their eyes on the Crystal Empire as well. The twin goddesses will not stop until they have dominated the world.” A smile crossed his face. “Of course, if that makes your job harder, perhaps you would be willing to retire?”

“Harder. Not impossible.” Infiltrator produced a crystal. It levitated before her, suspended in a field of green magic. It vibrated, and then projected several dark red lines that traced through the air, forming a text composition. “I was able to infiltrate the Royal Library. I am well-versed on the current affairs of the Empire. It appears that our king has succeeded where even Starswirl himself had failed.”

Twilight Luciferian approached the projection. As he did, he grimaced; he had walked through Infiltrator’s mane. “Could you do something about this?” he asked. “You’re being excessive.”

Infiltrator glared at him. In a flash of green, her mane shortened instantly to a blue pixie-cut. “How about now?”

“Better, but only marginally. You reek.”

“There’s nothing I can do about that. Learn to live with it, or leave.”

Luciferian ignored her. He instead directed his attention at the transcripts the girl had stolen.

“It is certainly the fool’s writing,” said Necrophilo. “Illegible as always.”

“The provenience hardly matters,” muttered Luciferian. “Only the theory.” He read through it in an instant, his mind immediately processing and compiling the spells. In an instant he understood, and his eyes widened.

“This is absurd,” he said. “My lord- -”

“I can read as well, Luciferian. Infiltrator, can you guarantee that this is indeed active research?”

“Not anymore. It was the last spell he created before his disappearance. That I assure you.”

“This is a spell to create an alicorn.” Luciferian looked up at in awe- -and in well-disguised excitement. “The fool...he was trying to become a god.”

“He clearly failed,” said Infiltrator. “The spell is incomplete.”

“Can it be applied?” asked Sombra.

Twilight Luciferian looked back through, quickly scanning the key parts. “No,” he said. “Look here. The spell is powered by the Elements of Harmony. Only the twin goddesses possess them.”

“We could steal them,” said Infiltrator. “It would not be hard. I once stole Celestia’s hairbrush.”

“Lies. She has plasmatic hair- -that’s not the point. I have studied what remains of Dee’s original work on the subject. They are too unstable. Even under my orchestration, this spell would not be practical. Even Starswirl failed.” Twilight sighed. “However...”

“However what?”

“Celestia was Starswirl’s greatest protege, and is a powerful sorceress. It is only a matter of time before she determines how to complete the spell.”

“She is already an alicorn,” protested Infiltrator.

“Then she will use a sacrifice. My point still stands.” Twilight addressed Sombra directly. “With this spell, Celestia will, in time, create an alicorn of her own. Perhaps many. Of this, I promise you.”

“This makes sense...yes...”

Several individuals jumped; they had not realized that Al’Hrabnaz had moved in front of the projection, or that he was reading it.

“What?” demanded Sombra.

The black-draped stallion turned to address his king. “This spell. It can be extrapolated. If the Heart of Darkness is substituted for the Elements of Harmony- -”

“Ridiculous,” spat Twilight. “That would be impossible.”

Al’Hrabnaz glared at the unicorn through his opaque mask. “No, no, it is reasonable!” He turned back to Sombra. “The Citadel itself is a transceiver designed to harness the power of the Heart. According to my archaeological research- -”

“Of course! The archaeology AGAIN!”

“Let him speak, Twilight. Right now, he is the only one offering me an explanation as to why my daughter was born a monstrosity.”

“The Citadel and the Heart receive and disperse power,” continued Al’Hrabnaz. “That power has a direct impact on living things. I have evidence that the crystal ponies are not the original inhabitants of the Empire; rather, the Ancients who built the Citadel and harnessed the Heart brought them here, as a kind of cattle or slave-race. Exposure to the radiation from the Citadel caused their current mutations, over time.”

“While greater knowledge is always a plus, what impact does this tripe have on US?”

“If this spell is to be believed, then the energy produced by the Heart could theoretically be harnessed to produce an alicorn. Sire, since you are directly linked to the Heart, it may have manifested through you. A second mutation event.”

“Which would explain her connection to the Heart...” Luciferian paused for a moment, considering. “If this is true, she is incredibly dangerous. Her presence could produce catastrophic interference with the Heart.” He looked up at his king. “Sire, she is a danger to us all.”

“But her link to the Heart has already been shown to increase its power!” Al’Hrabnaz stepped forward. “If we could harness it, in a controlled fashion- -”

Sombra raised a hoof. Al’Hrabnaz recoiled in fear.

“Sire?” asked the steward.

“I have come to a decision.” Sombra stood and slowly walked down the stairs to his throne. When he reached the floor, he addressed his disciples on equal ground. “Luciferian. Are you capable of performing an age spell?”

“Of course I am. It’s hardly even difficult.” Twilight’s frowned. “You mean on her, though. On your daughter.”

“As you said yourself. It is only a matter of time before Celestia creates an alicorn of her own. How long, do you think? A month? A year? Three? We no longer have time to wait on this project.”

“Sire.” Crozea stepped forward. “I do not mean to offend, but what is it that you intend?”

“To protect my kingdom. By creating a weapon that can engage our enemies on equal terms.”

Crozea stiffened, and was silent for a moment. Then she spoke. “Were it any pony but you, I would doubt that what you speak is even true.”

“I assure you, Crozea, this is what must occur. She is unstable, and a danger to my work so long as she remains untrained. The crystalling ceremony was evidence of that. But the project must be accelerated. I have no use for an infant. I need an adult to serve my purposes.”

Twilight continued to frown. “I understand. And yes. I could use an age spell to accelerate her growth. But even with what the Infiltrator has brought back on them, we know precious little about alicorn biology. Even if she were a unicorn, there would be severe physiological and psychological consequences.”

“I never took you for one with empathy, Luciferian.”

“I would never waste our time on it. I only want you to be sure in your decision. Doubtless she would survive, but what is left over may not be usable.”

“I am willing to take the risk.”

“Wait, I must object!” cried Crozea. “My king, forgive me if I interject.”

Sombra slowly turned to her. “I am listening, Crozea, if only for the risk you have taken by interrupting me.”

“By herbs and grass and the seeds I sow, I can brew a tonic that shall make her grow! The change will be slower, but still quite brisk; most importantly, there is far less risk. While in both cases she will surely survive, with my method she is likely to even thrive.”

“A potion. I am not familiar with it.”

“I need only grasses, and the bark of a tree, but of its success you have my guarantee.”

“I do not trust her method,” interjected Twilight Luciferian. “Zebra alchemy is imprecise and impossible to quantify. But if what she says is true, it may be the better option.”

“While I think the same, it sounds to me you wish to avoid the blame.”

“You wound me, filthy zebra.” Twilight smiled. “I simply have our dear princess’s best interest at heart.”

“I am sure you do,” said Sombra. “Crozea. Attempt your herbs and spells. I put my faith in you. But do not fail. If you do, we will use Twilight’s spell instead, and you force me to eliminate a valuable asset. Violently.”

“As the Sun and Moon are halves of one, what I have promised you shall be done.” Crozea bowed, and Sombra nodded. Yet, even though she knew she may have saved the girl’s life, Corzea felt dirty and foul inside. She had sealed her fate, and condemned the princess to a life of torment. Crozea only hoped that whatever spirits still watched her could forgive the choice she was forced to make.

Chapter 5: Unknown Rivals

Sombra stood at the edge of his great throne room, waiting and contemplating. As a pony who did not think, he had a great deal of time to do so- -even if time was a luxury he would never again know in his immortal existence.

The room around him was vast and dark. The only light came from crystals that generated a sickly, unnatural light. Dark tapestries of unspeakable events hung on the wall, their edges in tatters and their age unfathomable. They were the last remnants of the race from which Sombra was derived, apart from himself. While they decayed, the crystal below remained strong and unchanged.

He could sense them before they arrived. Their heartbeats, the warmth of their bodies- -but most importantly, their fear. Of all the creatures in the world that could be defined as living ponies, there was only one able to escape Sombra’s detection, and Twilight Luciferian had already departed back to whatever foul tower he chose to repose in.

They entered from the far side of the room. A pair were thralls, dressed in their characteristic masks and rusted armor. Between them stood two ponies: one, a Pegasus with limp, crippled wings; the other an astoundingly beautiful unicorn mare, nearly nude save for her extensive jewelry and a scarf of the finest silk.

Sombra moved silently through the shadows, appearing before them in an instant and without a sound greater than the gasps from each of them. Even in their surprise and fear, both bowed deeply.

“Freeflight,” said Sombra. “I see Crozea’s work is impeccable as always. The weather today is excellent, is it not?” He smiled. “A beautiful day indeed for flying.”

Freeflight forced a smile and held back the tears. “Yes, my lord, thanks entirely to your grace and expertise in the weather preparation.”

“The weather, like all things, is merely a manifestation of my will. Its creation is trivial and largely pointless.”

“Of course, sire.”

Sombra turned his attention toward the mare. She smiled, demonstrating a practiced ability to create a perfect and sincere smile on command. She bowed a second time. “My lord,” she said. “I am- -”

“Topaz Clarity.”

The mare blinked, and blushed beneath her makeup. “You remember me, sire! I am truly honored!”

“I remember the names of all my stablemares.”

“Well.” She curtsied. “I am also honored that you chose me for today. The other girls were very jealous. You come to visit us so seldom!”

“I do run this kingdom, Ms. Clarity. Or do you have a better recommendation as to how your king spends his time?”

Her eyes widened, her composure shattered- -but only for a moment. She bowed. “Forgive me, my lord. I spoke out of turn.”

“Such a thing is not of concern.” Sombra turned away and walked toward his throne.

“My lord?”

“Tell me, Clarity. You were Hope’s closest friend.”

Even without looking, he saw the girl’s expression fall, and the sadness in her eyes. “Yes, my lord. We were purchased at nearly the same time. The breaking process was...hard for me. And the others were cruel. Only Hope stood by me. Helped me. I would not be what I am today without her.” She lowered her gaze. “What happened to her is horrible. She was special. And...for what little I can do for her...it may be out of turn, my lord, but she loved you. She truly did.”

“Even after all I did to her?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Sombra smiled. He looked over his shoulder, and his red eyes met Topaz’s blue. “Love does not exist. You are aware of that. She hated me as much as the rest of you.”

“My lord, no! That isn’t true!”

“It is,” said Sombra, calmly circling the others. “But it is to be expected. It is the purpose you serve. I do not seek companionship. Not with your kind. I stocked my stables because I enjoy watching you and your sisters suffer. To see your pain, to watch you break. To insult what few fathers you have left, for they stood against me as dissidents.”

Topaz smiled. It was as sincere as the first one she had given Sombra. “As is your prerogative, my king.”

Sombra stopped. “But thank you for telling me. If she truly did love me, then she is better off in her current situation. YOUR situation, however? That is a bit more precarious.”

“My lord?”

“You knew that she was pregnant. And you conspired to hide it from me.”

Topaz’s eyes widened, and this time she did not gain composure. She turned sharply to the Pegasus beside her, who could neither meet her eyes nor hide his tears any longer. “Freeflight! I trusted you!”

“I’m sorry, Topaz,” he whimpered. “But my- -my loyalty to my king must come first!”

“The king who took your stallionhood, and your wings? Now you let him take your honor too?!”

“Please, Topaz. Please...I did what I had to.”

“His course of action is correct,” added Sombra. He turned sharply, facing Topaz from across the room, near his throne. “You knew she was pregnant. She confided in you. Yet you lacked loyalty. You betrayed your king.”

“My lord! I did no such thing! This child was meant to be a joy, to be Hope’s greatest gift to you! How many times she talked about raising it, to watch her grow into a mare as kind and beautiful as her, with you at her side!”

“So it was meant to be a surprise? Or did you fear that I would intervene?”

Topaz froze, and could not at first meet Sombra’s gaze. Then she looked up, and did. “I did what is right. Hope loved you. She didn’t understand. But I know what you are.”

“A monster? That’s common knowledge.”

Sombra’s horn flashed red. Topaz and Freeflight both recoiled, but no blow came. Instead, an object was lifted from a silver dish beside Sombra’s throne.

At first, the pair stood, confused, not knowing what the object was. As Sombra slowly walked closer, though, both of them understood. Freeflight’s knees buckled, and Topaz screamed.

“Hold her,” ordered Sombra.

The thralls grasped her in an instant, even as she cried out in terror and struggled at the approach of the Mask.

“No! NO! My lord, please, PLEASE! Let go! LET GO!”

“I will not tolerate betrayal, Ms. Clarity. So much pain could have been avoided if you had been honest and loyal. You disgust me. I cannot bear to look upon your face any longer.”

Topaz resumed her struggle, screaming and desperately trying to break free- -but the thralls were stronger. Behind their masks, they watched, fully aware of what they were doing but powerless to stop. They held her firm.

She turned her head. “Freeflight! Please! Help me!” Tears were running down her face, smudging her makeup. “I don’t- -not like this- -”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” wailed Freeflight, covering his ears and closing his eyes.

Sombra stopped walking. He lowered the Mask of Red Death, and one of the thralls held Topaz Clarity’s head. Her eyes were wide and terrified when the Mask was placed over her face. Sombra could not help but smile.

As soon as the mask touched her face, her screams of fear rose to an impossible pitch, forced from her by pure agony. Her body bucked, and one of the thralls was thrown free. Freeflight was weeping, and covered his head with his forelegs against the unnatural sound of a pony experiencing a pain that so many had known all-too-well.

Topaz Clarity stood, and in a flash of magic the other thrall was blasted across the room. It was green, her natural color, but already infected with scarlet.

She arched her back and raised her head. The screams of agony became more terrible, transforming into a bellow of rage. Magic cloaked her, changing and hardening, synthesizing a costume of many layers of red leather fastened by numerous straps. It draped over her, reconnecting and applying itself as the molten remnants of her jewelry dropped free. In a matter of seconds, Scarlet Mist stood before her king.

“Sombra. What happened? How long have I been without a host?”

“A matter of days. Long enough to clean up your mess.”

“My mess? How is this possibly my fault?! YOU were the one who insisted on a crystalling!”

“An admitted mistake. But your last body was a trained mage, a young mare with a natural aptitude for magic. She lasted three weeks. The bodies you use are expensive. Must you be so wasteful?”

“My body...” Scarlet Mist froze, and looked down. “What the...what did you put me in this time?” She looked up at him. “What is THIS?”

“She was one of my most beautiful consorts.”

“You put me in the body of a SLAVE?! A host this inferior- -how do you expect me to accomplish anything like this?!”

Sombra’s eyes narrowed. “Be glad, Scarlet Mist, that I did not affix you to an earth-mare. Or perhaps to Freeflight.”

Scarlet Mist grumbled to herself in her native language. “Yes,” she said at last. “I am grateful you bothered, to the extent I can be. But surely you were not hoping to get any more use out of this body.”

Sombra sighed. “I could not bear the embrace of a mare who has betrayed me so horribly. I have given you this body freely, and with no expectations of its use apart from that you do not waste it.”

“There is not much to waste. One strong spell- -”

“You will not be using such spells for a time. I have a task for you.”

“To increase production, no doubt.”

“Your mask production is already outpacing the rate at which we can breed conscripts. No. It extends beyond that.”

“Then what?”

Sombra did not hesitate to give his order. “You will train my daughter in the use of magic.”

“Me?!” Scarlet Mist leaned forward and gestured to herself. “Do I LOOK like a teacher to you?!”

“You are half of one of the most powerful purebloods ever to exist.”

“Which does not mean I have time to waste foalsitting an infant!”

“Crozea has been placed in charge of accelerating her development. I need her prepared for battle, post-haste.”

“Then have Necrophilo do it. He has plenty of students.”

“Students who hardly need to be taught the basics of magic. Besides, Necrophilo of Canterlot is strictly skilled in necromancy. While a valuable skill, it is largely impracticable on the battlefield.”

“Then Twilight Luciferian, your favorite. He spends most of his time in that infernal tower, let him do some real work.”

“Luciferian is required for other tasks.”

Scarlet Mist paused. “You don’t trust him.”

“I trust none of you. But not every heir is born. Some might also be made.”

“Fair enough. For what it's worth, I will aid you in his elimination, should you desire it.”

“Meaning you desire his body.”

“I would even take a male if I could have power like that.”

“Even me?”

Scarlet Mist laughed. It was a terrible and unnatural sound. “Yours is hardly worth my time. Being trapped in this city does not further my goals in the slightest.” She paused. “Why do you not teach the girl, then? Or are you too busy?”

“I am her father. It is not my duty to raise her.”

Scarlet Mist paused, and then laughed again, this time more softly. “Or you do not want her to know you. Speaking hypothetically, Sombra: you could easily rectify her role as a potential usurper if she happened to become a subservient, submissive queen.”

“I have considered it. But it will prove far more useful if she meets a glorious, heroic end in mortal battle against Celestia. I will even commission a tapestry to commemorate it.”

Scarlet Mist chuckled. “I do not regret taking this position. I do hope you one day rule this world. Perhaps once I have my body, you could even consider me for the position of queen.”

“Perhaps. Only if you prove yourself worthy.”

“I suppose I will do my best.” Scarlet Mist turned toward to where Freeflight was now cowering in a pool of fluid. “Now. Let me see just how well this body works...”

A red mist escaped her form, and drifted down. Freeflight gasped and tried to hold his breath, but it was too late. His eyes widened and he choked as the visions filled him, and Sombra’s throne room was once again filled with unearthly screams.

Far below, in a distant, isolated part of the Crystal Citadel, a white unicorn moved in silence. The spells that perpetually coated him muffled his sound and obscured his location and vitals, a process that would normally take several powerful mages in a state of absolute concentration. For him, though, it was a trivial expenditure of energy but a trick of significant value. It meant that Sombra could not trace him- -at least not directly.

Twilight Luciferian came to a long-forgotten door and moved it aside, disassembling the spells that kept it sealed and invisible. The room behind it was dark, save for a horrid sickly glow cast from its center. The air was filled with the dull and quiet noise of machines and fluid pumping through narrow tubes, and the smell was as strong as ever- -a scent of chemicals and metal.

Apart from the sound of machinery, the only sound audible was of distant humming.

“Eternity?” asked Twilight.

He heard a gasp cutting into his mind. If he had not been using shielding spells, his mind might very well have been sliced in half. “TWILIGHT! You came to visit! I NEVER get visitors!” This was followed by a girlish squeal, then silence. “I hate visitors. Go away. Do you know what I can see right now?”

“No, Eternity. I do not.”

“Two ponies, Golden Clasp, age twenty two, height eight hands, color off-teal, and Facet, age eighteen, seven point two hands tall, color sort of a pinkish red.”

“Do you occupy time staring at lovers?”

“Lovers? Didn’t you just hear? The king just said that love isn’t even real. Also, Scarlet Mist is back.”

“She never left.”

“And the two of them, they are plotting a beautiful meeting.”

Luciferian raised his eyebrows. “The king and the parasite?”

“No, you idiot. The crystal ponies. They have a plan to poison the king’s wine!”

“I already tried that. He is...durable.”

Eternity Gaze laughed, both in Twilight’s head and from her real mouth, the latter sound being nearly inaudible. “I’m going to direct some soldiers to them. Gxurab will be so happy! His new anatomy text is almost finished, have you seen the pictures? They’re so pretty!”

“He comes to visit you?”

“No. I don’t like him. I don’t like his books either. I don’t like you. But I can see him. For the sake of the Occulus, I CAN’T STOP SEEING.” She giggled. “Did you know that Celestia lost her hair brush? Not now, but a month ago. I’m just getting it now. Also other things I don’t understand. Today is a good day. Does the name Harvestor mean anything to you?”

“Eternity, calm down.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re yelling. And it might literally render me a vegetable.”

“Corn is a vegetable. I can count the exact number of kernels in the kingdom right now. Do you want me to?”

“No. That isn’t why I came.”

“No.” Eternity paused. “You came because you WANT something.”

“You perceived that with your powers?”

“No. I perceived it because I am not an idiot. No one comes to me if they do not want something. Specifically, something they will not get. Go away. Also, shake your tail on the way out. Your rump is so...rumpish.”

“How flattering,” muttered Luciferian. He took several steps forward, approaching the ghastly remnants of what had once been a pony. Perhaps even a beautiful one, although none alive could recollect what Eternity Gaze had once looked like. At this point, not even herself.

Luciferian smiled and began to circle her. “Eternity. Did you know that I am over two hundred and fifty years old?”

“Not unreasonable for a wizard. Which reminds me, you should wear a wizard hat.”

“It’s actually quite young, especially compared to Sombra. But in that time I have already mastered virtually every discipline of magic, even if only in theory. Telekinesis, dueling, pyrogenesis, biomancy, necromancy, cromniomancy- -I’ve even studied the fine details of chronoplexy, even if its horrible impracticability makes it impossible for even me to use.”

“Exactly. A wizard hat. To cover your big head. And that massive, long horn. Ooh! Look! She’s checking under the bed! You’re not going to find it there, Celestia!”

“But even in all my studies, I never managed to even comprehend your gift. The magic that you wield. Because no theory exists for it. None of you even exist any longer. You are the last seer.”

“And for good reason. If I knew then what I knew now. But to do that, I’d have to be a seer. Oh wait. I am. Or was. Or will be. But you wouldn't understand that.”

“That’s what I came here to talk to you about. I understand that you can see everything within the Empire, and hear the thoughts of ponies. But I have heard that you can do so, so much more.”

“Do not press further, Twilight. You are treading down a road that certainly does not lead to Celestia’s hairbrush.”

Twilight stopped walking. He stopped in front of her, to where she could see her with her own eyes- -if they could even still see. Twilight could not imagine the horror of being able to actually see or, worse, feel in her state. “I require a prophecy.”

“No. You do not. You don’t even comprehend what you are asking for.”

“You can do it, though.”

“Of course I can, but a simple mage has no concept of how much work is required even just to PHRASE a prophecy, let alone the unspeakable risk for...well...speaking it. One wrong word is all it takes. Just one wrong word...”

Luciferian frowned. His patience was running thin. “Necrophilo already has a prophecy. He generated it by speaking to those passed to the Other Side. He foresees an Empire of the Dead, a kingdom ruled by an eternal Litch King in the shadow of the One True Goddess.”

“And I will tell you what I told him! His prophecy is unstable! You don’t understand! You can’t! No stallion can...there are an infinite number of possible futures, and possible pasts! Sure, the necromancer sees one, perhaps, but not necessarily OUR one. Or the RIGHT one. Those threads don’t matter.”

“Then what does.”

“The CANON. The Canon is absolute and pure. There is only one, from which all pasts and futures derive from. It is unbreakable and perfect. A prophecy told from the Canon...it’s like trying to break a block of cheese. The kind that does not break. Do you know what I mean?”

“Cheese? What?”

“Of course not. I knew you wouldn’t.”

“I think you are insane.”

“You would be too, if you knew what I knew. I see our thread. I can tell you the exact hour, time, and method of my own demise. What would you do with that knowledge? Could you survive it?” She sighed. “Sombra keeps me, because he is wise. He remembers when my sisters still walked the earth, before the madness took them. He would never ask what you ask of me because he knows the consequence. He knows that the cheese must not be broken and the acorn never formed. You don’t.”

“Well. I could come over there and decant you, couldn’t I?”

“A threat?” Eternity Gaze burst out in laughter. Twilight was knocked back; his protection spells had not compensated. He was in too close of proximity to her center. “I already told you! I know the exact date I meet my...well...meat. You know. And it’s not today. It was not yesterday either. Or the day before that. There’s your prophecy. It is so much safer to know the past...why can’t you ask me for that?”

“Would you answer?”

“Of course not. I hate you. Your stupid rump. So round and firm...”

Luciferian shivered. “Please,” he said. “I rarely say that word, at least not sincerely. I must know.”

“It will destroy you. Do you not understand that? No, of course not. Fine. As long as you know that nothing good will come of it. Just to get you to turn around. Then, ideally, leave. I don’t like you looking at me. Not like this.”

“Then stand and deliver.”

Eternity scowled, and then sighed. “So be it. I will tell you the truth, and what you were never meant to know. The Princess will indeed sit upon the throne, and ruling the Crystal Empire by her side shall be her beloved, a white stallion of House Twilight.”

A hideous grin crossed Luciferian’s face. “I knew it.”

“If you knew, why did you ask? Now go away. Slowly. Then I want to watch the cute couple meet Gxurab. The look on their faces is always so funny.”

Twilight Luciferian, the scion of House Twilight and its last, final heir, bowed deeply. “I thank you, seer. I look forward to working with you in the future.”

And so he left, his plan resolved, needing only to be put into action.

Chapter 6: The Dark Princess

The result was always the same. It was to be expected, and Crozea found she could not begrudge them for their reaction. They were afraid of her. She was Seventh of Thirteen, the seventh member of a group of irredeemable souls chosen for both their skill and their cruelty. She wore a mask to invoke that reaction, because, in a way, she enjoyed their fear, as she was meant to- -although it was not the only reason. Yet, every time she saw weaker ponies stiffen and recoiled, she wondered if it was because of her role, or if it was because she was not like them. If they would fear her even without the robes, bones, chains of potions and strange herbs. If she appeared before them naked, she wondered if they would recoil in fright at the mere sight of her stripes.

The reaction of the servants was no different. The moment she entered the room, the leader of the group stiffened and shivered. She bowed, of course, as she had been trained to do. The behavior of these servants was impeccable. They were not like the crystal ponies who lived in the city; they were clean and neatly kept, not disheveled and downtrodden. Their eyes were alert and awake, and wracked with the guilt of their fortune while their friends and families starved in the streets and toiled in the mines.

“Lady Crozea. Welcome. Is there anything you require?”

“I bear no needs, you churl; I have only come to take the girl.”

The servant raised her head and smiled. It was a strange smile indeed. Part of it was happy, perhaps even proud, but the rest bore a distinct sadness. “Yes of course. We were nearly finished dressing her. Right this way, milady.”

Crozea followed the pony into one of the next rooms. The suite was large, but not well appointed. The walls were bare, and there was nearly no furniture. What purpose this room served originally had been lost to time, but it could have been a place of beauty. Instead, like all rooms of the Crystal Palace, it was sterile and empty. Crozea shivered. It reminded her of the laboratories allocated to many of her comrades.

In the next room, several crystal ponies surrounded a small stool, preparing the princess. When Crozea saw her, something twisted deep within her heart. The sight was something she had seen before, though rarely- -but she had never grown used to it.

The girl was three months old. She should have been a mere foal, clad in diapers and smiling and giggling at the new sights and sounds of the new world. A foal raised, perhaps, by parents who loved her. Instead, her body was thin and tall. Though she was small, she bore the characteristic indescribable age of one whose growth had been markedly accelerated. She could have been mistaken for being five, or eight, or ten. It was impossible to tell.

The worst, though, was her eyes. They stared forward blankly, seeing everything but correlating it to nothing. She was a creature without context or memory, and the potion had already taken more from her than she would ever know.

She sat perfectly still as her servants dressed her. They gave her boots of dark iron, like those of her father, and a matching collar that covered her long gray-pink neck. One affixed the skirt of a dress to the rear of her armor, while another combed back her hair and placed a ruby-studded tiara. While the girl had been born with multicolored hair, it had since been died black to at least give the semblance of normality.

“She is a beautiful girl,” said the head hoofmaiden. “So thin and soft, and with such large eyes. But...”

“But what?”

The hoofmaiden shook her head. “Never mind.” She stepped forward and bowed to the girl. “My princess. Lady Crozea has come to accompany you.”

The girl’s expression did not change, but she stood and faced Crozea.

“Lady Crozea,” she said, bowing. Disturbingly, her voice was not totally flat and neutral. It was perfectly cultured, the epitome of etiquette.

“You look well, I think.” Crozea reached into one of the bandoleers beneath her robes and produced a small vial. “So now it is time you had your drink.”

The girl took the small vial in one of her hooves and swallowed the contents in a single gulp. Crozea knew that the potion tasted disgusting; any normal pony should have been retching as their body attempted to reject it. This girl, though, did not react. She was not aware it tasted bad. As Crozea had learned recently, it was the only thing in her life that she had ever been permitted to taste.

“I have come today with a need to talk. If you would, princess, proceed to walk.”

The princess obeyed, falling in step with Crozea, although slightly behind. Her motion was measured and exact, and her metal-clad hooves clicked across the crystal floor. As they walked past the girl’s bed, Crozea noticed that it was perfectly made- -and laid out exactly as it had been since she had got it.

“You do not seem quite at your best. Tell me, child, how well did you rest?”

The girl stared straight ahead. “I was...cold.”

“I will not leave it unsaid, but we can always make changes to your bed.”

The girl blinked. “Bed?”

“You are just a filly. We can add more blankets if you grow chilly.”

“Blankets?”

Crozea stopped walking. She pointed at the perfectly made bed. “Child, you require a clear head! Tell me now if you require a better bed!”

The girl stared at the bed, somewhat astounded. “Is...is that what that is?”

“It sits empty during the day, but at night it is where you go to lay.”

“Oh. I did not know that. I have been sleeping on the floor.”

The pang in Crozea’s heart grew. The child could speak, indeed, but not of her own volition. Crozea herself had done her best to move along the girl’s growth, examining her closely for symmetrical bone formation and signs of potential toxicity. The process had been going flawlessly. Her mind, though, was still that of an infant. Things had been done to her, and processes applied; speech had been written into her mind. She could think and reason- -and yet she knew nothing.

“We can discuss your misbehavior in turn. We will have a long conversation once we return.”

“Yes, Lady Crozea.”

The princess assumed walking beside Crozea, as she often did. They had passed through the halls of the Citadel many times, with no eyes on them but the thralls and the servantry. The thralls did not react in any way, as usual, but the servants recoiled in horror. From both of them. The witchdoctor and the cursed child, the foal born in the form of the Great Enemies. It should have been hurtful to the girl, but she did not notice. Or she simply did not have the context to care.

Crozea once again found herself waiting, as she had been for months. For the girl to ask the question, the one that should have been obvious. Yet for three months, she had been quiet, only speaking when provoked. Otherwise, she did nothing but sit quietly and grow.

It did not come on this day either. The question that should have burned within her, that Crozea burned to hear. For on this day, she finally had an answer.

Yet the question never came. The girl did not speak. She did not ask why she had been given no name, or to ask what she was called. She simply stayed nameless, an anonymous princess devoid of identity.

Crozea could bear it no longer. “I tire of this game. Your father has finally given you a name.”

“A name?” the girl looked up. “That is good to know.”

She fell back into silence. Even given the chance, she did not ask. She did not even seem to realize that she ought to.

“Are you truly that broken?” snapped Crozea. “Do you not desire to know how it is spoken?”

“No. I desire nothing currently. Thank you for inquiring, Lady Crozea.”

Crozea sighed and stopped the girl, putting a hoof on the filly’s shoulder. “Remember this well, for this is the name you shall take. Your father has decided your moniker is now Penumbra Heartbreak.”

“Penumbra Heartbreak. This name has been committed to memory.”

Penumbra continued walking, nonplussed by the news. Crozea had expected at least a glimmer of happiness, but in truth the girl saw no reason to care. This was a potential side-effect of the process. Crozea only prayed that it was not permanent.

“Are we going to the westmost hallway today?” asked Penumbra. “I like that hallway. There is a window there. The outside world is so big.”

The window, of course, faced a wall. There was not even a view of the sky. Penumbra had not been permitted to leave the Citadel or even witness the outside world since her crystalling. Crozea had convinced herself that it was not unreasonable, and that all ponies were raised that way.

“No. Today I shall give you more. I will take you to a place you have never been before.”

The room was the largest that Penumbra had ever seen, as well as the darkest. It gave her pause, although she did not understand why. The black-dyed hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she stared into the expanse. All she could see was a strange red fog, drifting and swirling slowly across the floor. The only light of the room seemed to come from the singular gas.

Crozea entered the room as well, and from beneath her robes produced a small glass vial containing a single flash-bee. She uncorked the cap and took the been in her hooves, holding it close to her mouth and speaking in a strange melodious language. Thin yellow lines traced themselves down her hooves and into the bee, and as her magic touched it the bee sparked and ignited, its body shimmering and glowing. A circle of light surrounded the alicorn and the zebra, and the fog writhed and retreated at its touch.

“The fog is a byproduct of her cursed existence,” explained Crozea. “Even this dilute, breathing it can induce a deadly trance.”

“Who is cursed? I do not understand, Lady Crozea.”

“You will soon wish you did not know. But for now, to her we shall go. Leave not the glow of my enchanted wasp; wander into the mist, and you will be forever lost.”

“And that was barely even a rhyme.”

The crimson fog began to move, swirling and parting from Crozea and Penumbra. Penumbra had never seen anything like it before, and watched with detached amusement as it condensed and hardened, assuming the appearance walls and a floor, complete with ornate paneling and delicate, stone-like tiles. Within moments, she found herself standing in a hall that had previously not existed, surrounded entirely by shades of red and black.

In the center of this hall stood a pony. She was clad in red, though the parts of her skin that were still visible showed fur that might once have been blue. When Penumbra saw her face, though, she took a step back. Something was wrong, but she did not understand what. She wanted to turn away and go- -but there no longer was a door. Only a seemingly endless hallway.

The pony wore a mask. It was angular, harsh, and terrible. In a way, it was like the masks that Penumbra saw on the ponies that Crozea said worked for her father- -but different, both in construction and in color. The eyes were the same, though. Two empty, luminescent slits.

“Ugh. She even looks like him.” The masked pony moved forward. “Of all the indignities. Does it have a name?”

“I have been designated as Penumbra Heartbreak.”

“How prosaic.” Scarlet Mist looked up at Crozea. “You. Leave. You are disrupting my effluvium.”

“Does Lady Crozea truly need to go?” Penumbra leaned against Crozea’s leg. Crozea kicked her away.

“She disturbs me. That, and her incessant rhyming. Everything she says takes so very long.”

“Though my speech may be much more demanding, it derives from a cultural impetus beyond your understanding. Though I do not trust you, mask-wraith, in this instance to our king I owe my faith.” Crozea leaned down. She placed the enchanted flash-bee on Penumbra’s tiara. “Do not fear, as it will not attack, and know that at the end of the day, I will be back. There are things I must attend to, and I hope that the company of Scarlet Mist will do.”

Penumbra frowned, but only slightly. “Yes, Lady Crozea. I understand.” She turned toward Scarlet Mist and bowed. “Hello, Lady Mist. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“It talks. Why must everything in this kingdom be so unnatural?”

“Like a mask disguising a leech, striving for a union forever beyond her reach?”

“Which I suppose makes the two of us, then.”

Crozea frowned through her own mask. So Scarlet Mist knew.

Without another word, she turned and left, departing through a red door that opened to greet her. Penumbra watched her go, and felt strange as she did. As if she did not want to see her depart. Crozea was the one who came to her every day and brought her medicine, and the only one who was willing to talk to her. Seeing her go hurt.

Yet the door closed, and Penumbra was left alone and in silence, her only company a parasite attached to a rapidly depleting host.

“Know this,” said Scarlet Mist. “I do not begrudge her for being a zebra. I have even considered taking her body at one point, at least until I knew about her curse.”

“She is cursed?” Penumbra frowned. “What is a zebra?”

“A type of striped donkey. Never mind, it is irrelevant. But you must understand. Prejudice is a luxury. A zebra will betray you just as fast as a unicorn. They are all your enemies. They all want to hurt you.”

“Crozea...wants to hurt me?”

“She would not hesitate to do so. You would not be the first filly her magic has ruined.” Scarlet Mist turned sharply. “Follow.”

“Yes, Lady Mist.”

“Have you met your father, abomination?”

“No, Lady Mist. I have not. But Lady Crozea says that he is very handsome and powerful, and that he works very hard to make sure everyone in the whole kingdom is kept safe.” She paused. “Except she said it in rhyme.”

“Of course she did. Some of those things are correct.”

“Will I ever get to meet him?”

“If I can do an adequate job preparing you, maybe. Right now you would only be a disappointment.”

“Oh.” Penumbra looked at the floor. “I see.”

“Your father tasked me with teaching you how to use magic. Satin knows why.”

“Magic?”

“Yes. Or did you think the horn on your forehead is for decoration only?”

“It isn’t?”

“No.” Scarlet Mist pointed to her own horn- -or, rather, the horn of her host. “It is the organ which provides the only true separation of the races. Neither of us are unicorns, but we are both able to use magic.” Scarlet Mist’s horn glowed, and a plume of light formed around a nearby red flower. It levitated from the vase it sat in, and she held it out to Penumbra. Penumbra stared in awe, unable to understand how it was being held up.

“It was unicorns who built civilization.” The tone of the magic shifted, and the flower withered and died as the spell surrounding it consumed it. “And it is unicorns who will one day end it. Unless your kind beat them to it.”

“My kind?”

“The alicorns. Cursed beings of the highest order.”

“I’m...cursed?”

“Yes. Just like the rest of us.”

The room reconfigured itself. The hall vanished, and was replaced with a different assembly, one consisting of a single flat floor and a number of doors lining either side. Masks hung from the walls in various stages of assembly. Though the configuration was still changing, Scarlet Mist began to walk. Penumbra followed, desperate to not be left behind and trapped as the room shifted.

“Wait.” Penumbra ran to catch up. “You said I need to learn magic. How do I do that?”

“Most likely? You can’t. Most children demonstrate magical skill almost immediately after birth. You have never once shown any implication that you can. Crozea informed me in an especially long-winded rhyme that your horn does indeed contain marrow, but it is possible that you will never use magic.”

“Then I will never see my father.”

“That would be the least of your worries. I will not mince words, abomination. He does not love you. He intends you to be a weapon, to serve the kingdom of the field of battle. I was not assigned to train a student, or even a soldier. Like always, I was tasked with building a weapon.”

“Then I will be the best weapon he has ever seen. If that means he will be happy.”

“Happiness is a pointless illusion. It serves no purpose in the Crystal Empire.”

Penumbra paused. “You do not feel happy, Lady Mist?”

Scarlet Missed did not speak for a moment. “No. I do not feel happiness. It is something entirely different.” She turned to face Penumbra. “Happiness serves no purpose. What truly motivates ponies is FEAR.”

“Fear?”

One of the walls parted and opened, revealing a small room. Penumbra entered beside Scarlet Mist to find that the large room contained a circular pen. Inside, a crystal pony had been changed to the wall. Upon seeing Scarlet Mist- -and the hideous abomination beside her- -he screamed and tried to flee, only to choke himself as his chain ran out.

“He is afraid?”

“Of me, yes. Because he knows what his role in life is. But also you, because you are a monstrosity. Not that either matter. He will only serve as a demonstration today.”

Part of the wall shifted, and it formed a red box. Scarlet Mist took it in her magic and walked to the edge of the pen. She opened the box and produced a small, white rabbit.

Penumbra gasped, her eyes widening in amazement. Something inside her felt different than any emotion she had ever known. “It is so fuzzy!” she exclaimed. “And it looks so soft!”

“It is both. It is a rabbit. We normally raise them for food. Also fur. Here. Hold it.”

Scarlet Mist shoved the rabbit into Penumbra’s grasp. Penumbra nearly squealed when she found that not only was it both fuzzy AND soft, but it was also WARM. The creature nuzzled her face and licked her chin.

“I want a thousand of these,” she whispered. “And then I want to lay in them...”

“I find them abhorrent personally. But the point is, this creature is utterly harmless. Now watch.”

Scarlet Mist placed the rabbit in the pen with the chained pony. He blinked, surprised that he was not being administered the first of his daily beatings, and stared at the creature. “A...bunny?”

As the crystal pony stared at the rabbit, he did not initially see the red gas escaping from Scarlet Mist’s person. When he saw it, though, he cried out and tried to flee.

“No! Mistress, please! Not again! NOT AGAIN- -”

His cries were cut off as he choked and gasped. The gas entered him, and his demeanor immediately changed. The stallion stared at the rabbit, blinked, and then began screaming in abject terror.

“No! NO! Not the Caerbannog! ANYTHING BUT THAT!” He retreated to the far side of his pen where the chain was attached and curled into a shivering ball. “Please! PLEASE SAVE ME!”

“All things a pony see are magnified by fear. Reality itself has little meaning to them, not objectively. They only know the reality we give them.” She prodded the rabbit, goading it to hop forward.

The crystal pony shrieked in terror. “NO! Somepony HELP!”

“In this state, a pony will do anything to escape it. To make the fear stop. Freedom? Happiness? The lives of their friends and family? They will give these things up in an instant, all in the name of security. For freedom from fear.”

Scarlet Mist cast a spell, and a red cage appeared around the rabbit. The Crystal Pony burst out in tears of joy.

“Thank you mistress! Oh thank you!” He pulled his shaking body forward and groveled. “You are my savior, my god! Thank you! THANK YOU!”

“Do you have a wife, slave?”

A look of fear crossed the pony’s face, but only for a moment. “Y...yes.”

“Tell me where she is. I will make her a test subject. Like you. But not for me. For the dark one. Do it, or I will release the Caerbannog.”

“The east district, in the red house! On the third floor! There is a secret panel on the ceiling! She will be hiding there! My brother’s family is hiding them! Take them! Take them all, just please, PLEASE let me live!”

“Eternity?”

“He is correct,” said a high voice in Penumbra’s head. “There were spells in place to hide them. How interesting. Troops have been dispatched. Oop. Looks like one guy is resisting. This should be fun. I hope he likes mining.”

“See?” said Scarlet Mist, turning to Penumbra. “Fear is the main driver of ponies subservience and obedience. It is their single, sole motivation. You are lucky. As an alicorn, your race is synonymous with fear and destruction.”

“It seems...easy?”

“And in that regard, you are mistaken. Watch.”

Scarlet Mist released the rabbit, and then threw it at the Crystal Pony.

His eyes widened and the highest, most terrible shriek Penumbra had ever heard escaped his lips. He ran, fleeing the rabbit, all the way to the end of his chain. It yanked and joked him, but he kept pulling. In an instant, it snapped, and with its remains still dragging behind him he leapt over the edge of his pen and into a ventilation duct. His feet kicked for a moment, and then he was gone, save for the echoes of his terrified screams.

“Fear can motivate a pony to do great things. Impossible things. This can be a blessing, but it can also turn back on you. Press too hard, and you will crush them and yourself along with you. This is the nature of fear, and of magic in turn.”

“But it is only a bunny. You said it was not dangerous...so is fear not real at all?”

“Of course. But not when you feel it. Then it is more real than anything in the whole world.”

“I do not understand, Lady Mist. I am sorry.”

“You do not understand because you fear nothing. Not quite yet. If I used my power, what would I find? You are too young to have true fear, but Crozea’s work has stripped you of the fears of a child. Not that it matters. Your fear will be how I control you. But you will inspire fear in ponies, as your father does, and use that fear to rule them. When your magic is fully developed, you will be the Princess of Fear.”

“The Princess of Fear...yes, Lady Mist. If you say that is what is required of me, then I am glad to help.”

“How charming. Then let us begin.”

Chapter 7: The Disappointment

The bricks flashed with blue light, levitated shakily, and then quickly charted their path through the air, moving from one pyramidal pile to another. Penumbra performed exactly as she had been trained, although it took all of her focus. Focus her mind on one brick, lift it, move it, turn to the next. It was a repetitive process, but she could feel herself sweating from the strain.

Crozea and Scarlet Mist were both beside her, standing one on each side, watching carefully. Penumbra doubted that she could have even begun to maintain this focus without them there, the one who cared for her and the one who taught her everything she knew. Especially not while HE was there.

It was just as Crozea had said- -but also not, in a way. The king was indeed handsome. Even though he was the only stallion Penumbra had ever been allowed to see, she understood that he was unique, from his black mane to his muscular body, to the way his horn was bladed and curved. His eyes were piercing and strange. They did not look like Penumbra’s, but they felt like Scarlet Mist’s.

He watched her carefully. It was the first time Penumbra had met her father, and she needed to succeed. She had to impress him, to show him that she was a good pony- -and that Scarlet Mist had done a good job.

“Stop,” he said at last. Penumbra stood at attention. The brick she had been holding dropped and shattered, although she did not especially care- -nor did she understand why he had stopped her in the middle of her task.

Sombra approached her. Penumbra felt her heart beating faster. She did not understand why.

The king stared at the creature before him, a gaunt, grayish alicorn with pale, blank eyes. Then his horn flashed. A narrow strip of light condensed into a whip, and Penumbra instinctively summoned a shield spell. She knew this drill well. The makeup Crozea had given her was still covering the marks that Scarlet Mist had left on her face practicing it.

The shield spell shattered the instant Sombra’s magic touched it. Penumbra cried out both in surprise and in pain; her spell was so pedestrian that she had constructed a feedback mediation system. Sombra’s magic slapped her in the face. It was roughly equivalent to being slapped with a heavy bootstring, but it still smarted- -and it smarted the same when he slapped her on the other side of her face, just for good measure.

Sombra’s eyes narrowed. “I am very disappointed,” he said. “Both with you...” He looked up at Crozea and Scarlet Mist. “And with your handlers.”

“Disappointed?” Penumbra’s heart sank. Something inside her hurt very badly, but she did not know what it was. She did not understand why her eyes were suddenly so wet.

“If you grow impatient with our plan, know that she is doing the very best she can.”

“Which is exactly the problem, Crozea.” Sombra kicked over one of the pyramids of bricks. They were made of a comparatively light material; several skittered across the crystal floor. “THIS is her best?”

“Unfortunately, it is,” said Scarlet Mist. “I’ve done what I can, but there is nothing to work with. She has the magical potential of an especially weak unicorn. Two months of training, and this was as far as we could get.”

“And you bothered to waste my time with it? A report to my steward would be adequate. This is simply insulting. And embarrassing.”

“My king, the girl had grown impatient; she wanted you to see her power, even if it is only nascent.”

“And you allowed this? Why? Do you take orders from a child now, Crozea?”

“Father,” said Penumbra. “It’s my fault. I am sorry, I had miscalculated- -”

“Do not call me that. You will refer to me as ‘my king’ or ‘sire’.”

“Yes, my king.” Penumbra was embarrassed, but secretly overjoyed that he had adressed her directly.

“Penumbra,” he said, easily levitating and stacking the bricks absently with his own red magic. “This is not good. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, my king.”

“I had intended for you to take the open slot in the Dark Thirteen, to accelerate your career. But After this demonstration, that is out of the question. Steward.”

“Yes, sire?”

“We will move forward with the selection process. There is no point in holding the space any longer.”

“I am sorry,” said Penumbra, lowering her head.

“I do not require apologies. They are meaningless. I require RESULTS.”

“Perhaps if you gave her a real teacher instead of me. I knew the idea was absurd from the start.”

“Do not dare show our king such disrespect! If you do, you surely know what you can expect.”

“What could he possibly do? I have no body. I feel no pain. I have nothing to lose.”

“You have your honor,” said Sombra, calmly. “Or reputation, I suppose. Am I to believe that the great Scarlet Mist cannot train an alicorn to do more than lift and stack some blocks? Or perhaps your competence lies with your other half?”

Scarlet Mist stiffened. “You bore.”

“Penumbra.”

“Yes, sire?”

Sombra pointed to the door. “Get out of my sight. I have much to discuss with Crozea and Scarlet Mist. Do not return until you can offer something worthwhile.”

The water in Penumbra’s eyes began to increase, and she wiped it away with her foreleg. The metal she wore felt cold on her face. “Yes, sire.”

“And the next time someone strikes you, if you cannot learn to block with your magic, at least learn to dodge.”

Penumbra sat outside the door, waiting. Her eyes felt hot and tingly, and some amount of water was dripping from them, causing her makeup to run. She did not know where else to go, or what to do, so she just waited. Crozea and Scarlet Mist would be out soon. Scarlet Mist might yell at her, but she could accept that. It was not nearly as bad as Sombra’s calm debridement of her skill. She had been trying her very hardest, and apparently she was still not good enough.

As she waited, several ponies passed down the hall. Most were masked thralls, in the process of patrolling or moving to new assigned areas. A few were slaves who looked at Penumbra in awe but quickly turned away in fear, hurrying their pace to go about their duties.

No one spoke to her. She supposed that was better. No doubt, they would only remind her that she was a failure.

That was until one pony stopped, standing over her and casting a long, dark shadow. Penumbra did not look up, but she noticed a distant smell of something strange. Like rotting flowers.

“Oh my. Are you crying?”

Penumbra looked up. The pony standing over her was a white unicorn. She nearly gasped, as she had never seen one before. He was clad in an officer’s long leather coat, and beneath it he wore armor carved with incredibly intricate lines of runes. His long violet main was tied back in a braid, and his eyes were deep violet. He was the second unicorn stallion Penumbra had ever seen, but he was somehow nearly the opposite of her father, and not just in color.

“Hello,” said Penumbra, wiping her face. She stood and bowed. “I am Penumbra Heartbreak. I am pleased to meet your acquaintance.”

“So that is the name they gave you. It is a very pretty name. Here. Let me help you.”

Penumbra felt magic cross her face, and braced for pain. There was none.

“Huh? What did you do?”

“I fixed your makeup. It would not do for the Crystal Princess to be seen crying like this. Please remember this. You are meant to be a symbol of strength.”

“Crying?” Penumbra did not know the word, but nodded. “I will commit your advice to memory. Thank you, sir.”

The unicorn smiled. “My name is Twilight Luciferian. I work with your father.”

Penumbra bowed again. “I am glad to have met you, Lord Luciferian.”

“It would actually be Lord Twilight. The house-name comes first for unicorns. But you may call me Luciferian, if you like.”

“I can?”

Luciferian chuckled. “Only if you would like to.” He looked up at the closed door. “I came here to discuss a matter with your father, but it appears he is indisposed. I suppose I have some time to waste. Tell me, princess, would you do me the honor of accompanying me on a walk?”

Penumbra blinked. “Am...am I allowed to?”

“Of course you are. I am your father’s most trusted adviser. Believe me when I say, I only have your best interest at heart.”

Penumbra was led through many places she had never been allowed to see. The unicorn who accompanied her was quiet, but he also seemed kind. Though, for some reason, Penumbra felt strange. It was the same feeling she got when she got too close to Scarlet Mist; a sharp tightness in her chest that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Something instinctive told her to be wary.

That instinctual voice was quieted, though, when Penumbra was led to the most amazing sight she had ever witnessed. She gasped when she saw the open room before her: a large, round room with a luminescent dome-shaped roof, the base of it filled with trees and plants of every sort.

“What is this?” she asked. “What are these things? Why are they so GREEN?”

Luciferian laughed. “These are plants, my dear. I forgot that you have never seen their like. This is our botanical garden. This is where rare herbs and reagents are produced for our research. Acquiring rare plants from distant places is very difficult, what with the embargo. So we grow them here. Your father and Crozea use it mostly, and Edwin the Goat required it almost constantly. I use some from time to time.”

“And this has been here? The whole time?”

“Indeed it has. Come.” He began on the path that led into the garden. “But be careful. Many of the plants here are...violent. Stay by my side, and no harm will befall you.”

Penumbra did as she was told, holding close to the white unicorn. Something felt good about it, knowing that she was safe there- -but the smell of him became even more disturbing, even through the aromatic scent of so many dark and evil herbs.

“I have been following your progress, Princess.”

“Oh.” Penumbra’s heart sank. “Then you are aware of my failures as well.”

“I am. Although I do not believe it is as bad as you think it is.”

“I was created to be powerful. Yet I am not. Does this mean my birth is a mistake?”

“No,” lied Luciferian. “It is simply fate. Perhaps if I explain by analogy?” He crossed to the edge of the path and pointed at several small, leafy plants. They twisted on his approach, as if preparing to uproot themselves and bolt.

“These plants are horseradish,” he said. “They are a very rare and very important ingredient for alchemical research. However, they will never grow any taller than they are now.”

Penumbra looked at the plants. The tops of their leaves barely reached the tip of her horn.

“The trees behind them are manchineel. A useful ingredient indeed, but common. Yet look how tall and stately they grow?”

“I do not understand, Lord- -I mean Luciferian.”

Luciferian smiled. “Do you think that the horseradish wishes it could be as tall as the manchineel? Even though in its small, diminutive state, it is far more important?”

“It is a plant. It does not ‘want’.”

“Then you misunderstand its role.” Luciferian stamped his front hoof- -the one that was not clad in a heavy armored boot- -and the horseradish immediately leapt from the ground, revealing roots that looked like warty brown ponies. They squealed and ran, bolting past the trees and into the forest. Penumbra squeaked in surprise, but then giggled.

“Excuse me,” she said, regaining her composure.

“There is no need to apologize, my dear.”

“I am not a deer.”

“Indeed. But you understand my point? Here.” He began walking, motioning for Penumbra to follow. “Perhaps a more direct approach. Penumbra, do you really need to be proficient at magic?”

“Yes. It is my purpose. It is the only way my father will be pleased with me.”

“So that is what Crozea told you then?”

“Well...no...maybe. It’s hard to tell, sometimes. She speaks in rhyme.”

“And I am glad to see that you do not. It is an unpleasant habit. The zebras are a primitive tribe with strange, pointless persuasions.”

“Scarlet Mist says that prejudice is a luxury.”

“For her, yes, because she no longer has a body of her own. Forgive me, I simply do not trust Crozea. If you knew her crimes, neither would you. But I have digressed.” He pulled Penumbra to the side suddenly. She gasped at his touch; he felt so warm and soft. Unlike her, his body was covered in a fine fuzz.

A dark vine swept by her, barely missing. A bolt of violet light from Luciferian’s horn struck the tendril, and it recoiled, swearing quietly in its own language as it retreated back into the grove of herbs.

“Forgive my impudence, my princess.” Luciferian set her back down. “That one is known to be especially aggressive. One of the last of its kind, I’m afraid; the modern breeds are far less tenacious.”

“Thank you for saving me.”

“It is not a problem. I could hardly let you come to harm after giving you my word that you would be safe. Further, you are quite valuable to this kingdom, even if you cannot use magic.”

“I...am?”

Luciferian nodded and smiled. “Of course. As I have said. You are a symbol of the Empire. Of its strength, and of its power. An alicorn born to our great king, a princess to be feared and obeyed. Even now, the crystal slaves speak your name in hushed tones.”

“They do? Why?”

“Because they fear you. And in time they might come to respect you, as they do your father.”

“Even if I cannot use magic?”

“In distant lands there are kings who are earth-ponies, or Pegasi, or even zebras, although I suppose those would just be chiefs. They rule without magic, do they not?”

“I don’t know. I have not seen this...I don’t even know what some of those things are.”

“My point is, you can still have a role in the kingdom. Simply by being born to a king, you are in a perfect position for politics. And politics is something that requires no magic.”

“Politics?”

“To assist your father in the governing of the kingdom. Its operations, and its rule. To support him in that way.”

“So I can still help him.”

“You can. This is the role of a princess. And, in time? You may even take the role of a uniter, something no one else can do.”

“I do not know what that is.”

Luciferian stopped. “It is a thing that only a princess can do. By marrying a prince or a noble, you can unite the Empire with another land- -and take control of both.”

“I can?” Penumbra shivered. Somehow the idea made her feel dirty.

“Of course. I am quite familiar with the subject, being nobility myself.”

“You are?”

“House Twilight is one of the most powerful of unicorn houses. I am the last of a long line of necromancers, dark wizards, warlords and cultists. Though, since the other Houses consider mine to be tainted with evil, we rarely have a chance to marry outside our own blood, let alone to a princess.”

“Wait. You mean YOU would want to marry me?”

Something flickered in Luciferian’s eyes. He took Penumbra’s hoof. “I am honored that you would even consider the idea, but alas, I am not worthy. Not for one so beautiful as yourself, my princess.”

“You think I’m beautiful?”

“I do not ‘think’ anything. I KNOW.”

Penumbra felt her face grow warm. No one had ever called her beautiful before.

“Now,” said Luciferian, putting her hoof back down. “We really must return to your father. He is probably finished berating your caretakers. I really must speak to him about preparing your public debut at his side.”

Penumbra gasped. “You can do that?”

A sly smile crossed Luciferian’s face. “For you? I will do my very best.”

Chapter 8: The Soul Fragment

A light flashed, and the crystal illumination system hummed as it warmed to produce a sharp, cold glow. The room reeked of formaldehyde and phenol, and the thing they were meant to mask. Only one pony stood in the room, roughly in the center.

Two unicorns entered the room, clad in robes of tan and green. One was a red mare, the other a taller tan stallion. With practiced precision, they immediately went to work checking the instruments as their master followed them through the door.

“All systems are functional,” said the red mare. “Functional markers are holding with less than two percent variation.”

“In which systems?” said the tan stallion. “If that deviation is in the recirculators, we risk severe necrosis. Be more specific!”

“That is correct, Student 497,” said Necrophilo of Canterlot. “Student 568, we cannot afford sloppiness in this endeavor.”

“Yes, professor,” she said, bowing. “Recirculate function is nominal, with less than point seven percent variance. The input pressurizers experienced a drop of one point seven percent. I do not foresee this as damaging our material.”

“No, no, of course not.” Necrophilo approached the white unicorn standing in the center of the floor, waiting. The unicorn’s eyes tracked to him. The whites had grown yellow. “In fact, it means that the accumulation process is complete. We are prepared to move onto the next stage.”

The students immediately went about their work, preparing the machinery and apparatuses. Necrophilo watched them, scrutinizing their work with some sense of pride. These two were, so far, his best- -or at least the best who had yet survived. It was why he had chosen them for this task.

Student 497 approached the pony in the center of the floor and began disconnecting the tubes linked to her. The white pony watched with disinterest.

“Be very careful,” warned the professor. “She is more fragile than most, especially right now. We cannot afford to damage her.”

“Yes, professor.”

Necrophilo approached the mare. “Sombra does indeed have good taste, doesn’t he?”

“She is quite beautiful, yes. But much improved by your work, master.”

Necrophilo smiled. It was indeed true. When she had come to him, she had been thin and depleted. Now she stood before them on her own four legs, her eyes constantly tracking movement as she watched the world. Her body was full and pure, save for the thick stitches down her chest. The delicate perfume of formalin arose from her cold flesh. She was a perfect beauty, a work that Necrophilo took the greatest pride in.

“Hope,” he said. The unicorn looked up. Her brain was still intact enough to recognize her own name. “Do you know where you are?”

She opened her mouth. “N...no...”

“By the gods,” whispered Student 568, whose real name was Riser. “I’ve never seen one that can speak.”

“And if you trusted those dusty works in Canterlot, you would be informed that this is impossible. But I assure you. It is quite doable for even a passable necromancer.”

Necrophilo turned to the red mare. “A review. In cases of death during childbirth, what is the most common cause?”

“Hemorrhage resulting from damage to the placenta, or failure of the Fallopian tube during an ectopic pregnancy.”

“And the necropsy results?”

“Indicated no sign of blood loss,” interjected Student 497. “Or an indication of a breech pregnancy. The birth was perfect.”

“So eager. Then what was the cause of death, if you know so much?”

“Indeterminate.”

Necrophilo smiled. “If you are a fool, yes.”

“Professor?”

Necrophilo drifted across the room and gestured to several intricately drawn images of microscope slides. “Examination of the fundamental cell structure of the bone and horn marrow samples suggest cellular decay and a depletion of dzeronium. Her entire body was in a state of cellular decay.”

“As if the magic itself were sucked out of her.” 586 shivered. “Her acquisition records indicate that she was reasonably powerful as well. What could possibly have done this?”

“Several artifacts are capable of this, namely the Black Rainbow, but in this case the cause is purely organic.” Necrophilo gazed into his creation’s eyes. “Proof of an important hypothesis.”

“Being?”

“Precious little is known about alicorn biology. Apart from the new princess, only two have been known to exist. Archaeological evidence suggests they are from an inorganic source. The demise of Hope suggests that a mortal being cannot give birth to an immortal one. Not unless they sacrifice their own life in its place.”

“How poetic.”

“A pointless sacrifice. And a troublesome one. Her body was completely drained of magic. Refilling it has not been easy, as both of you can attest.”

“It would have been longer without the tap to the Heart of Darkness.”

“Indeed. It is the reason why the greatest necromancers become liches. When they are free from their own demise, they have all the time they need for their own work.” Necrophilo turned to start the procedure. The students were good for maintenance, but had nowhere near enough skill to accomplish what truly needed to be done.

“Our progress has been slow. Unfortunately, I was required to construct an artificial soul to power the body.”

“Could we not just transplant one?” asked 586.

“No,” said 497. “There would be a risk of cross-contamination. Mergance of personalities.”

“No necromancer has yet solved that paradox, and while I in time will, I do not intend to attempt something of such risk here.” Necrophilo opened a large assembly and produced a crystal. It was one of the high-grade types derived from the Crystal Mines, the sort that would normally be used to power some sort of gauche war machine. He usually did not have access to these, but had been given carte-blanche by Sombra himself for this task alone. So he had decided to use the best of it- -by using it as the container for his construction.

“This should preserve her,” he said. “Student 497. Connect the system.”

“Yes, professor.”

The student did so, and Necrophilo began the transfer.

The integration went flawlessly. Hope jerked slightly, her revenant mind have trouble reintegrating to a motivator. When it was complete, though, she was still standing and had not, in fact, exploded.

“Excellent.” Necrophilo turned to her. “Do you remember your name?”

“I am...Hope,” she said. “Where...am I?”

“In my laboratory.” Necrophilo chuckled. “My dear, I am afraid you have died.”
“Oh.” Her expression fell. “I’m sorry.”

Necrophile frowned. That was not something they usually said. Of course at this point most revenants just screamed mindlessly. He had rarely produced one of this quality.

“Sorry for what?” He could not control his curiosity.

“That I won’t be there for him. I had hoped...I had hoped to see him one last time.” She looked up. Her eyes were yellow and empty. “Is the child...is she...”

“That is none of your concern.”

“Oh. Of course.” She lowered her head again. “I understand.”

“Excellent. Now we can begin a more detailed analysis. Students, prepare the tools.” Necrophilo turned away from Hope so as to view his students’ work. It had to be perfect. There was not much time.

“I don’t...I don’t like it.”

The revenant had kept talking. Necrophilo paused. The soul she had been given was artificial. She was only supposed to be able to answer simple questions. Any sense of identity was only a shadow.

“Please stay quiet. You do not want to strain your beautiful throat.”

“I don’t like her with him. The white pony. Twilight Luciferian.”

Necrophilo and both students froze. “What did you say? How do you know that?”

“Because I am there. Beside him. I never leave his side. Not until his work is complete.” The corpse began to laugh. It was a hideous sound. Necrophilo had no sense of smell, but both his students recoiled at the overpowering scent of rotting carnations.

Necrophile turned slowly. What was staring back at him was not Hope. He could tell from the blood-red eyes. They had no pupils, and no whites- -yet they saw everything.

“This is not possible,” he whispered. “The soul- -the soul was artificial!”

Hope’s face contorted into a horrible frown. “Do you really think you have even the slightest of capacity on how to create a soul? You could not possibly comprehend it. Necromancy is nothing more than a parlor trick. A joke, when you think about what happens to you after you die.”

“Bite your tongue!” cried 497. “You are conversing with the greatest necromancer ever to live!”

“If I bite it, it might just come off!” The soul within Hope cackled. “And he gave me that tongue for a reason, didn’t he? Oh, this body!” She minced forward. “So perfectly preserved. Sombra’s best is now YOUR best, I suppose.”

“RECEDE.” Necrophile cast a control spell, one meant to control the undead. “Recede and OBEY.”

The spell shattered on whatever soul was now infecting Hope. It was not the one that Necrophile had built; instead, it had been cross-contaminated. By what, he had no idea. Souls could not float free of their bodies for long, and nothing this powerful was present in the Crystal Empire. He would have sensed it.

“Only if I wanted you to,” she said. “But I don’t see a point, do I? You’re wasting my time. Just like Luciferian. The idiot has no idea that he is leading himself to his own doom following that ridiculous prophecy.”

“P- -prophecy? My prophecy?”

“His is different.” She smiled, showing Hope’s formaldehyde-bleached teeth- -as well as a set of bladed black ones growing in behind them. The body was undergoing mutations; to his horror, Necrophilo realized the inhabiting soul was not that of a pony. It had never been a pony. “Do you know what he intends? To marry the little princess and usurp her father. To rule the Empire.”

“He will never succeed! That is absurd! The Empire- -the Empire is MINE!”

“Not yet.” The demon laughed. “Or perhaps you would pursue the same route? Do you like little fillies, necromancer? Perhaps if you made a certain change to her first. I know you like them cold!”

She began laughing. The air became oppressively thick with the smell of flowers.

“586! Cut off her connection to the Heart!”

“She isn’t connected!” cried the mare. “I- -I can’t!”

“Saturation levels are rising!” exclaimed 497. “Her cells can’t hold, she’s undergoing mutations!”

“And what do you think I will become, necromancers? How beautiful will you make me? Do you think you can all take me, or should we put a harness on that adorable red filly?”

“What are the saturation levels?”

“Over six hundred percent!”

Necrophile gaped. “That is not possible, you idiot- -”

“How much over six hundred?” asked the red-eyed pony. Her white fur was already beginning to yellow, and her white main was becoming red. “Six hundred sixty, perhaps? Or a little bit closer to six-seventy?”

Necrophile was pressed back against a shelf of glassware. It spilled, shattering on the floor. Whatever it was he had summoned walked closer. It opened a mouth now filled with far too many black teeth, and a forked tongue lolled out.

“This is not possible. There is no way you could manifest- -not like this!”

“You actually think I’m here? You idiot.” She raised a red eyebrow. “Or...perhaps you don’t even know?”

“I know what I need to. Begone, demon!”

He fired a spell at her- -but it failed to even sputter from his horn.

“You don’t even know what you are! This is hilarious. You will realize it eventually, I suppose. And I will be there to see you fail. And so will Twilight Luciferian, to laugh in your face.”

“BEGONE!”

“Lord Necrophilo?”

Necrophile looked around suddenly, not understanding how he had moved. Hope was still standing in the center of the room, her yellowed eyes staring at him. Her coat was pure white once again.

“What- -what happened?”

“Professor. We are ready to begin the sequence,” said one of the students. “The tools are prepared.”

“I...” Necrophilo looked around. Behind him, the cabinet of glassware stood unupset and intact. Not a single piece had shattered.

“Is something the matter?” asked the revenant. “You look unwell.”

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong.” He checked the instruments. The artificial soul was holding. He wiped his brow. “Just...an anomaly. Meaningless. Let us begin.”

Chapter 9: Witchdoctor, Witchking

Crozea opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. It was, like everything, made of crystal, so cold and sterile. It made her long for the endless plains and deep forests of her homeland so far away. A homeland she had abandoned so long ago, and to which she could never return.

Sombra stirred. He lifted his head off her striped chest and looked up at her. In the dark, his red eyes were dilated to a size far larger than a normal pony’s pupils could achieve. It looked almost adorable.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

Crozea stroked his long, silky mane. “I did not mean for you to be disturbed. The spirits tonight, they have become perturbed.”

“I was not sleeping. I do not sleep.”

“Because Nightmare Moon will penetrate your mind, and use against you the horrors she might find.”

Sombra respositioned himself. He was larger than Crozea, but light, and the bed beneath her was soft. He felt warm, and inside him she could feel the beating of two hearts- -one growing increasingly weak, while the other could never grow quiet.

Crozea herself was naked. For a pony, that would not be unusual; as a zebra, however, she almost always kept herself covered in the false hope that maybe they would not notice that she was something ELSE. Sombra, who lay beside her, had never cared, though.

“Compared to most, your heart is stony. Does it bother you that I am not a pony?”

Sombra held her. “What meaning do such things have to me? Such denotations are meaningless. I respect you deeply, is that not enough?”

“From the eternal curse I bear, I cannot create you an heir.”

“This again,” he sighed. He turned over, so that he was also looking up at the ceiling, his now against the side of Crozea’s torso. “I will not treat you as a concubine, because you are not one. I bear you no ill will. This could already be considered an overreach.”

“The king’s perogative, or so is said. Though Luciferian would love to be here instead.”

Sombra chuckled softly. “Zecora...”

Crozea’s eyes narrowed. “You shall not ever again use that name, if you have any understanding of my deepest shame.”

“And you dare to give orders to your king? So be it. I grant this request.”

Crozea turned, putting her chin in Sombra’s long mane. “My honor is besmirched by an indelible stain, and I pray to the spirits you may never understand my pain.”

Sombra sighed. “Sometimes I think that you might be the only one of them that is not wholly evil. Yet you stay, and you serve me.”

“I have done things both cruel and dark; any good that lies within me is the merest spark.”

Sombra fell silent, as did Crozea. She slept little as well. Though the spells she used prevented the dark goddess from entering her mind wholly, she was plagued by unending nightmares. Part of it was a mental attack by her enemies, but part of it was something that no one could ever understand. Part of it was her.

“Twilight Luciferian came to me today,” said Sombra, knowing that neither of them would be getting any sleep this night. “He brought another one of his excessively tactful arguments. He recommended that I begin a plan of political integration for the girl.”

“While her magic is hardly strong, I think that a greater role cannot be wrong.”

Sombra looked up. “You and him rarely agree. I am surprised.”

“Beware that white unicorn. The least danger of him lies within his horn.”

“Regardless. He is right. I have to put her to some kind of use. And her powers may yet develop with greater training.”

“Her development has progressed at astounding speed. But it seems to me her magic lags while her body takes the lead.”

Sombra sighed. “It may be so. But I have little faith in her. Your work has been impeccable, though, and I thank you. Even if the girl will only serve as an insult to fly in the face of Celestia and Nightmare Moon.” He looked up at her. His eyes met her yellow. “And it is because you convinced me to spare her. But I give you this warning, Crozea the Witchdoctor: do not fail me. For your own sake. And for hers.”

Crozea held Sombra tight. She did not respond, because she did not need to. They lay together in silent, warm against the raging storms outside the Citadel. Though Sombra only thought what strange and unnatural things normally occupied his mind, Crozea eventually drifted off to sleep and was greeted by the sound of endless screaming.

Chapter 10: The Interview

Ponies began to gather. Slowly, at first, but then rising from one or two to a steady but barely imperceptible trickle. These were not the slaves, toiling in the mines or fields; those ponies knew to stay as far away from this event as possible, for only pain and darkness would arise from it. No crystal ponies dared near the arena, even during the day. Those that came were foreigners.

News had spread slowly through all of Equestria, transmitted through the circles of dark magi like a virus. Sombra the Witchking of the Crystal Empire had need of a wizard. All who heard and understood knew the implications of the request. A position in the Dark Thirteen was to be the elite among the elite, and it came with privileges. Almost all those who came sought one of two things. The more traditional among them sought freedom to perform their life’s work without restriction, and access to nearly limitless funding for their research. Others sought power, and power alone; to be a lord among lords in what was whispered to be the seed of the New World Order.

The process was not new. It was said among many that the only two who had known all of the Dark Thirteen every to exist were the Nameless One, and of course Sombra himself. Rarely, though, was an open audition called.

Yet few dared to come. Attending the audition was a test in itself: to enter, a pony would need to cross the vast Hyperborean tundra, traversing endless icy wastelands and eternal storms. Then they would need to enter the kingdom. Mechanisms had been specially installed in the shield-dome for their entry- -but using them was by no means easy.

So only a few managed to come. Only the strongest and most resourceful- -but also the most ruthless and depraved. Only those who would risk their lives to stand among twelve of the evilest sorcerers who had ever lived- -and at the side of the Witchking himself.

When the day of choosing finally came, those who had arrived gathered at the arena. Few, it seemed, had made it in the first batch.

Among them were the unicorns Student 568 and Student 497, who had the advantage of already being present in the Crystal Empire when the contest began- -but the disadvantage of cutthroat competition with the rest of Necrophilo’s other students. They were the best he had to offer, and he expected success of one of them. The other was by definition a worthless disgrace.

With them stood a Pegasus with a fiery red mane, a highly aromatic earth-pony in colorful robes, a bison clad in unfamiliar animal skins, a breezie, and an inexplicable yak. No others had dared to come- -or survived the journey.

Student 568- -Riser- -pulled up her ornate battle-robes so that the fur cuff was closer to her ears. “There aren’t many of us. Is this all there is?”

“Where you expecting more?” snorted 497. His name, technically, was LemonLeaf, although he preferred his number vastly. His parents, it seemed, had not had much foresight with his naming.

“Says the guy who was already here,” grunted the Pegsus, who was leaning against a wall. He was exceedingly physically fit, and had a scar across one eye. His very presence- -as well as the presence of his soft, fuzzy wings- -made Riser’s horn tingle.

497 squinted at the Pegasus. As a unicorn, he was taller, but as a necromancer, he was thin and flabby compared to the perfect specimen of physical fitness before him. “A Pegasus. There aren’t very many of your kind here. Not that still have their wings anyway.”

“Touch my wings, and I’ll touch YOU. In a bad way.”

“What do you even do? Surely you’re not a mage.”

The Pegasus smiled and flipped his hair. “Weather manufacturing. Specialty: natural disasters. They call me Skyflame. That hurricane last year that nearly wiped out Trottingham? That was me. I made that.”

“Was that the one that had FIRE?” gasped Riser.

“You bet your sweet necromancer flank.” He flipped his hair again. “Yeah, all that stuff you call ‘weather’ out here? That wasn’t even hard. Just flew right through it.”

“I would like to see your wing muscles,” whispered Riser. “If we both survive the testing, do you want to go for some crystal tea?”

“You want to go to tea with a member of the Dark Thirteen? Huh, I don’t know...”

“Idiot,” squeaked the breezie, landing on the earth-pony’s head. “She wants to disconnect them from your body.”

“And do electrokinetic analysis...” Riser shivered. “So much analysis...”

“And how did a little breezie get here?” asked the earth-pony.

“Did you know that we can survive inside a living host for almost a month?”

“Um...no?”

“Well, now you know.”

Riser gasped. “Is it in the liver? Tell me it’s the liver!”

“What is a breezie even doing here?” snapped 497. “You’re essentially a glorified butterfly. Or a MOTH. What magic do you do? Make dust that makes ponies fly?”

“I already fly,” added Skyflame.

“My dust will certainly make you FEEL like you are flying.” A thin smile crossed the breezie’s face. “At least until the hemorrhaging starts.”

The earth-pony whose nose he was sitting on blinked. “Huh? What?”

“This is so interesting,” said Riser. “Messy, but interesting. I’ve never actually met a breezie. What is your specialty?”

“Toxins. And what your primitive, absurd language calls ‘biomancy’.”

“Ooh! Ooh! Me too!” The earth-pony nearly knocked the breezie off her nose. “I do plants! Well, not in an inappropriate way, but- -oh! And also fungus! Look!” She reached under her robes and produced a small, leaking packet. “Check it out! Magic yeast!”

“For what?” asked Skyfire, leaning away from the aroma.

“For necromancy! Because, you know, it makes them RISE!”

Everypony present groaned.

“What? I also have magic beans!”

“There are no magic beans, idiot,” sighed 497.

“Yes there are! CASTOR beans!”

More groans.

“Great,” sighed Skyfire. “So one chick smells like formaldehyde, and the other makes puns. Ugh. I was told the mares here were actually, you know, appealing. Even the breezie is starting to look good.”

“How dare you! I am a MALE breezie!”

“And I am female,” said the otherwise stoic bison, leaning close to Skyflame.

“Wh- -what?”

“I have a feather, do I not?” she pointed. “I am female. Do I not appeal to you?”

“Um- -uh- -”

“And what do you do?” asked Riser.

“I am a skin-walker. If you must know. I turn into animals.”

“Oh wow! I’ve heard there is a species that can do that on their own accord- -”

“Idiot,” said 497, shoving his associate hard in the shoulder. “Changelings are a myth. It’s a scientific fact.”

“Oh.” Riser turned to the last member of the group, the yak, who was at this point eating a pile of snow. “And what about you? What are you?”

“Huh?” the yak looked up, although could apparently not see much through the hair that covered his eyes. “Who addresses yak? Tiny pony? What, is tiny pony blind? Yak is YAK!”

“No, I mean what kind of magic do you do?”

“Magic? Does yak look like tiny little weak pony? NO! Yak check before coming! Yak not need stupid magic! Yak is YAK!”

The earth-pony appeared horribly confused. “Um...you do realize this is an audition for a position as a court mage, right?”

“NO! Yak does not know such thing because yak not bother read!”

“More like CAN’T read,” chuckled 497.

“No! TINY PONY cannot read! Cannot read Yak! As yak have know written language. But not need read! And not need puny magics! Yak win contest! Does tiny pony know why?”

“Perseverance?” volunteered Riser.

“NO! Because yak is YAK!” He puffed into his hair, and it pushed back slightly from his eyes. “Is not being much completion anyway. Just tiny little ponies! Though pretty bison girl might give good competition, eh?”

The bison smiled very slightly.

A sound came from a walkway overhead. Each member of the group, being naturally suspicious, looked up to see who was there. Two figures were passing on the high wall of the gate, moving toward the arena. One was the height of a normal pony, but clad in strange foreign garb and wearing a substantial wooden mask. The other was shorter and clad in dark iron armor and a long red skirt. She wore a black hood over her face, obscuring it.

The earth-pony candidate gasped. “That- -that’s Seven of the Thirteen, Crozea the Witchdoctor!” She nearly squealed. “She’s my FAVORITE! I have five copies of her trading card!”

“Wait.” 497 turned. “There are trading cards?”

“Yes. I made them!”

“But who is that with her?” asked Riser. She turned to 497. “You don’t think she’s fielding her own student, is she?”

“The zebra doesn’t have students. I don’t know who would bother even applying.” 497 squinted, and for a moment he was sure the hooded figure stared back at him- -before they disappeared out of sight into the gallery of the arena. “But that said...I have no idea who that is.”

“Only Sombra wears red.”

“Then he’s shorter than I expected,” said Skyflame.

“Insolence! No. That’s not him.”

“I have a strange feeling,” said the bison. “I do not like that girl.”

“You don’t think it could be the princess?” asked Riser.

“Sombra’s daughter? The one from that mess of a crystalling?” 497 looked up. “No, that’s not possible. She’s barely be five months old. That girl was almost a teenager.” He turned to the others and smiled. “Not that it matters. Unless the Pegasus is now too distracted to compete.”

“Buck you,” growled Skyflame.

“Perhaps I can give you foreigners some advice. Crozea’s presence bodes well. Because it serves as a reminder. As renowned as they are, only a few are truly powerful. Crozea is only a zebra, and is far weaker and less skilled than even the breezie.” 497 laughed. “If the current Thirteen are any indication, this challenge should be simple. I mean, if they let Holder Heartfelt in, surely anyone can pass the test.”

The earth-pony grew pale. “He- -he’s REAL?!” She looked around in a panic. “Is he here? As in PHYSICALLY?”

“He is no doubt in some bar weeping into his salt. As is usually the case. Isn’t that so, 586?”

497 turned and found himself standing beside a unicorn he did not recognize.

“Huh?” More confused than surprised, he stepped back. The others did as well, confirming that she was indeed actually there.

She wore armor. So much so that not a single inch of her skin or mane was showing. It was not exactly made of metal, though. Even as a student of the arcane, 497 could not identify it, apart from the fact that it was a mottled blue and violet color- -and that it was still sparking as if charged from some unseen spell. It had no distinguishing marks or heraldry, like normal armor, save for a symbol emblazoned on the flank, where the cutie mark would be: a simple pair of horizontal, parallel lines.

“Who in Sombra’s name are YOU?”

The armored unicorn turned to face him. The neck of her suit had some kind of complex mechanism that rendered it remarkably flexible. Her face was fully covered with a nearly opaque black plate. It was flat and featureless, but two small red lights glowed deep from below it. Lights like tiny eyes.

The unicorn did not respond to the question. She stood in silence.

“Oh, what, not going to talk? Please. Agitating and unbalancing your opponent is the oldest trick in the book. It never works.”

The unicorn still did not speak. Nor did she move, even slightly.

497 sighed. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll defeat you too, like the rest of them.” He turned to the gate, away from the armored pony and the others. “I swear on my own horn, I will not lose.”

Blue magic ignited within the armored mare’s horn, instantly assembling itself into six blue spheres that floated around her head. Before any of the others could realize what she was doing, the spheres shot out in a flash to meet each of the other candidates. Each spell exploded in a plume of lightning, their targets screaming and convulsing as their nervous systems overloaded.

They all fell- -save for 497. At the last second, he had activated a latent shield spell. The magical attack was advanced- -incredibly so- -but so was his shield. Several aspects were broken and disabled, but several encrypted aspects survived just long enough for 497 to remain conscious- -and to produce a devastating feedback wave.

The armored unicorn was thrown back, although she did not scream. The blast would have put a normal pony in a coma; she was clearly advanced.

497 dropped to one knee, but even as he did, he smiled. “Big mistake.” By the time he had finished those two words, he had already prepared a devastating counterattack.

497 sighed. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll defeat you too, like the rest of them.” He turned to the gate, away from the armored pony and the others. “I swear on my own horn, I will not lose.”

Blue magic ignited within the armored mare’s horn, instantly assembling itself into six blue spheres that floated around her head. Before any of the others could realize what she was doing, the spheres shot out in a flash to meet each of the other candidates. Each spell exploded in a plume of lightning, their targets screaming and convulsing as their nervous systems overloaded.

They all fell- -save for 497. At the last second, he had activated a latent shield spell. The magical attack was advanced- -incredibly so- -and it tore through every aspect of his protection spell with devastating precision. Even the parts that were encrypted fell, not shattered but opened and deactivated with flawless precision and uncanny speed.

When his shield failed, 497 fell, unconscious. Only one candidate remained to apply, and she walked over the bodies of the others as she silently approached the arena gate.

The arena itself was a large, dome-shaped amphitheater, carved, of course, from crystal- -but also strange, dark stone, a relic of a time long-forgotten. When Penumbra and Crozea entered, the stands were almost entirely devoid of ponies and the stone-block floor had only one large, cubic container in it.

“Where should we sit, Lady Corzea?”

“Exactly where does not matter; but high enough to avoid the splatter.”

“Yes, Lady Crozea. I will select a seat.”

Penumbra did so, choosing a high seat in the upper level directly across from the only other two ponies present: a white unicorn in an officer’s coat and a black one in royal regalia. Though there was an area meant for royal habitation, Sombra had elected not to use it in favor of getting a closer view of the candidates.

“I am so very excited,” said Penumbra quietly, folding her skirt around herself as she sat down. “I am glad that father allowed me to participate.”

“For you this is not a matter of speculation; watching these mages will assist in your education.”

Penumbra smiled. That might have been true, and she was sure it would be valuable- -but this was the first time she had seen Sombra since her failure to impress him, and even at a distance, she was glad to be with him. She was also glad that Twilight Luciferian was at a different; being around him made her heart beat faster and her face feel hot.

“Oh, this is going to be so much fun!” squealed a voice that was neither Crozea’s nor Penumbra’s. Penumbra knew it well; it was the voice without a body that sometimes spoke in her head, as well in the heads of others. She had grown accustomed to its endless presence and occasional commentary on her actions. Supposedly, it was named Eternity. “I hope they have another kirin! They have those adorable little weird fluff-scarves that I ABSOLUTELY HATE.”

Penumbra almost laughed. She did not know what a kirin was, and the voice in her head sometimes made her ears bleed when it got agitated. Even that did not matter now, though; she was just too happy.

Twilight Luciferian looked up into the stands at his future bride, and the zebra nursemaid beside her. He waved, and even at a distance he thought he could see the girl blush. Then he returned to his work.

“I have prepared a list,” he said, passing an exorbitantly thick scroll to Sombra. “It identifies all possible candidates, their skills, histories, grades, races and relative magical potential.”

“A list.” Sombra sighed. “As always, I see you have prepared.”

“This is a very important decision, my king. Both because the one you select will stand beside you, and be one of the very few who can call me a peer. As your adviser, I am honored you would allow me to assist you.”

“Indeed, it is important.” Sombra turned his gaze to the upper stands. “And yet I had hoped that I would not have to hold this asinine contest. At least viewing it may give her some...inspiration.” His slit-pupiled eyes turned to Luciferian. “Actually, do you not have a daughter yourself? Will she be applying for this position?”

Luciferian’s expression hardened. “I would hardly call her a ‘daughter’. No. She will not be here. In that respect, you and I bear a similarity. My daughter is equally limited in her use of magecraft. However, at least you can hold out hope that yours might one day improve.”

“Indeed. Hope...”

Luciferian checked his list. “That said, I see that Necrophilo is fielding two of his best.”

“And this does not bother you?”

Luciferian looked up. “Why would it?”

“You and he always seem to be in a perpetual battle for my attention. Like a pair of unruly children.”

Luciferian smiled coldly. “That would be the nature of unicorns, I suppose. But I see no reason to worry. If Necrophilo trained them, they will surely fail here.”

“And that pleases you?”

“My king, how many necromancers do we require?”

“One would be plenty. Such a useless art.” Sombra looked out into the arena. It still smelled of pony sweat and metal from the last circus. “Shall we begin?”

Luciferian nodded, and his horn flashed. “I shall signal for the candidates to enter. If all goes well, his or her fate will be decided quickly.”

“Nothing about this decision must be made in haste.” Sombra nodded. “Send him in.”

The great gate ignited with violet light and was pulled open. Dull gray light shined through, and a few flakes of snow drifted in. With them came a pony dressed in violet and blue armor, her flanks each marked with a pair of lines.

Immediately, Luciferian’s eyes narrowed. He picked up the list and unfurled it. “What is this? This one isn’t on the list! And where are the others?!”

“Whether she is on the list or not, she is here. Sombra looked through the open gate. “And it appears she has taken the initiative to eliminate the competition early.”

Luciferian looked out the door and burst into laughter. “HA! How fascinating!” He stood and approached the edge of the arena grounds. The mare stood below him, watching up through her nearly opaque mask.

“What is your name, mage?”asked Sombra.

There was no response. The armored unicorn did not speak.

Luciferian frowned. “The king has asked you a question, mage. ANSWER. NOW.”

Still no response came.

Luciferian frowned even more deeply. “Then at least tell me where you are from. And your specialty.”

There was no response. Luciferian was increasingly becoming enraged; he could tolerate her refusing Sombra, but he himself being refused was out of the question.

“Fine,” he said, his frown becoming a dark smile. “You are stubborn. Hopefully your failure will teach you something valuable. And not be so messy this time.”

“Well that’s weird.”

“What?” said Penumbra, responding to the voice in her head. She leaned forward and gasped. “That pony. She was not in the group of candidates we saw when we entered.”

“I already know that. That’s not the weird part.”

“Oh?” Penumbra looked upward, as if that was where the voice was coming from. “Then what is?”

“I can see everything in the Crystal Empire. But that suit she’s wearing, I can’t see what’s on the other side.”

Twilight Luciferian stepped out into the Arena. Instead of falling into the pit, a translucent violet square appeared before him, supporting his weight. More appeared as he walked forward, circling the silent candidate on a path of his own magic.

“My name is Twilight Luciferian, Lord and Scion to House Twilight. You now stand before the great King Sombra, Eternal Ruler of the Crystal Empire. Etiquette would normally require you to bow, but you’ve already balked at protocol several times.”

“Twilight,” said Sombra. “I do have other things to do today.”

“Of course, my king.” Luciferian paused on one violet square and addressed the applicant. “You came in response to the request for a new member of the Dark Thirteen. Specifically, we seek a warrior. A battlemage. One who will be able to attack the Celestial-Lunal forces directly, and to aid us in the upcoming war for righteous dominance. We have enough researchers and academics. So I devised a special test.”

His square levitated upward, toward the black cube. His magic glowed and the smooth black surface separated into a number of independent squares that in turn separated into more squares. Within seconds, the walls of the cube were gone; even before they had fully dispersed, though, amorphous flesh had already seeped between the cracks.

When the creature was finally revealed, Penumbra felt her medicine and bile rise in the back of her throat. Never before had she seen something so disgusting.

“This creature is called a proteus,” explained Luciferian, gesturing toward the swirling, writhing mass of rapidly differentiating and dissolving flesh. “Natural-born proteii are the natural predators of changelings. This one was once a mage who had been experiment with dzeronium. Defeat the creature, and try to be showy. We will be grading you.”

Luciferian raised his head and fired a bolt of energy into the beast. It screamed in an inarticulate, piping gurgle as it suddenly became motivated. Parts of its liquid flesh shot forward, hardening into bone and deriving hideous, asymmetrical arms. Its front tore open into a vast mouth filled with numerous eyes, and it began pulling itself forward toward the armored unicorn.

The creature struck at her with a thorn-covered tentacle the width of a tree trunk. The appendage came toward her like a vast whip, whistling as it went. The mage responded by dodging, lifting herself easily, balancing on hoof and performing an acrobatic flip over the appendage. She had almost landed when the thorns exploded into liquid flesh, reforming into tiny hands that grabbed her and threw her to the ground. As they did, the flesh began to crawl over her suit, dragging her into it. Its digestive enzymes hissed as her armor began to dissolve, and her horn ignited.

The creature struck at her with a thorn-covered tentacle the width of a tree trunk. The appendage came toward her like a vast whip, whistling as it went. The mage responded by bracing herself and igniting herself with magic, charging her armor with intense light. When the tentacle struck her, the part that contacted her armor vaporized, severing the end of the tentacle. The proteus responded by speaking in the remnants of many languages as its wound healed.

The severed tentacle produced many insect-like legs and sprinted toward the armored mage, its mouth stretching out toward her, already filled with teeth tipped in clawed hands. The mage levitated and summoned a shield spell that took the form of an enormous multi-faceted jewel around herself. The tentacle struck and the shield was knocked back, dragging its tip across the ground.

The severed piece quickly lost interest and surged past her, rejoining the main mass. The mass itself stood, rising on five legs, and charged. The mage rolled out from under its hoof, slicing at the nearest of the legs with a blade of magic. Fluid burst from the wound, but as it did it hardened into long filaments. One stabbed into her leg, and the others grasped her, holding her so that she could not escape- -just as the top of the proteus fell, crushing her.

The severed piece quickly lost interest and surged past her, rejoining the main mass. The mass itself stood, rising on five legs, and charged. The mage rolled out from under its hoof and fired a spell. In an instant, her body was surrounded by blue light- -and vanished. She reappeared on top of the creature, near where its eyes were, and struck downward. As she did, a claw filled with venomous spines grabbed her, filling her with lethal poison.

She reappeared on top of the creature, distant from where its eyes were located, and summoned a shield spell in the direction of a long venomous arm was attached. The arm struck out and impacted the shield, vaporizing itself in the process. The creature laughed as the mage fired a plume of electricity downward, causing its legs to collapse as she teleported away.

Sombra leaned forward as the mage rolled and dodged, preparing an exceedingly complex attack alignment spell. “Two teleportation spells within less than a minute. Few sorcerers yet alive can perform teleportation at all; I had considered it lost knowledge. This is indeed an interesting candidate. Your thoughts Luciferian.”

“Yes,” said Luciferian, distantly. He was barely paying attention to Sombra, instead refusing to take his eyes off the mage even for a moment. Something was wrong; he could sense it, but he was not quite sure what it was yet. “Very interesting...”

The alignment spell fired, striking at the creature from eighteen desperate points, each using a different elemental matrix. The spell itself was diluted by the immense number, but the use of diverse elements gave the proteus no time to adapt to any specific one. It partially de-differentiated as it flowed backward.

The mage took this as an advantage. The proteus was still largely liquid, although it was rapidly forming new mouths and eyes in preparation for a new attack. It appeared confused, and was trying to build itself a larger brain- -if only it could remember how.

The armored mage charged. As she did, though, the proteus revealed that it was not natural-born; it had once been a pony, and it had known enough to feint. Walls of flesh closed in around her, forming a crescent of thick, cracked skin. The rest came forward like a wave, the cracks in its armored skin tearing open into gaping mouths.

In another flash of blue, the mage teleported out of the way. The proteus had learned already, though. Its body swelled and rippled as it filled with fluid. When the mage reappeared, it exploded outward from hundreds of holes, pouring caustic, reeking acid in every direction. Sombra blocked the splatter from himself and Luciferian, but the mage had just come out of her teleportation and had not yet had time to regain her footing. The acid hit her mask, coating it deeply. When she reached to clear it, a pair of massive pincers closed around her, ending the fight in an instant.

In another flash of blue, the mage teleported out of the way. The proteus had learned already, though. Its body swelled and rippled as it filled with fluid. When the mage reappeared, it exploded outward from hundreds of holes, pouring caustic, reeking acid in every direction. Sombra blocked the splatter from himself and Luciferian, but the mage had just come out of her teleportation and had not yet had time to regain her footing. Yet the acid never struck her. Instead, her body flashed out of the teleportation in a blur, turning at various right angles at a pace too fast to see to avoid every drop of liquid. Before she had even stopped, her blur split into four.

The blurs charged toward the proteus, each attacking from a different angle and stopping only long enough for Sombra to see yet another spell he had not witnessed for several centuries. The mage had replicated herself.

Working in unison, the duplicates formed a powerful spell- -the sort that required at least six mages, all performing a different and exceedingly complex set of highly dissimilar calculations- -and executed it flawlessly. Their spell struck the creature from every angle, and it let out a deafening list of fern species as it condensed into a sphere.

The proteus had been momentarily blinded. It could not see the exact location of its opponent, for risk of dropping its armor, but its internal sensors were still intact. So it identified and locked onto the most powerful magic signal in the area.

Half of the sphere opened as a vast, fleshy flower. A plume of venomous, serrated needles of bone shot outward- -toward princess Penumbra.

“NO!” boomed Sombra, standing violently as he cast a spell to protect her.

His speed was too slow, though. The proteus’s aim was true, and its mark was struck in the center of the chest, her armor cleaved in twain as the lethal spine entered her chest.

he proteus had been momentarily blinded. It could not see the exact location of its opponent, for risk of dropping its armor, but its internal sensors were still intact. So it identified and locked onto the most powerful magic signal in the area.

The armored mage’s horn glowed, and an impenetrable wall of magic formed in front of princess Penumbra and Crozea in the second tier of the arena.

Half of the sphere opened as a vast, fleshy flower. A plume of venomous, serrated needles of bone shot outward- -toward princess Penumbra.

“NO!” boomed Sombra, standing violently as he cast a spell to protect her.

His speed was too slow, though- -and it was fortunate that the armored mage’s shield held true. One of the spines failed to vaporize, its tip stopped mere inches from the jewel in Penumbra’s chestplate.

Luciferian suddenly stood. “That isn’t possible,” he said, largely to himself. “She’s reacting events before they happen! If only...yes...” His own horn began to glow, and he began to summon numerous geometric, gear-like figures before him. He was conducting a spell based on a forgotten school of magic, one that he had learned from texts but that could never be practiced beyond only the most banal rudiments of its elegant theory. Those rudiments, he reasoned, might just be enough.

The mage’s duplicates merged back into herself, and she slowly began to step back, giving herself proper spacing for a simple wide-range inferno spell. The proteus flower turned toward her, writhing as a large eye opened within it. The remainder burst outward into waves of slender arms that dragged the creature forward on their numerous hands.

The armored mage fired her spell- -but as she did, the proteus played its trump-card. Its entire body spit open, revealing a forest of flesh that hardened into conical horns. Each charged with a pale green light and fired simultaneously.

The impact was pure force, but was powerful enough to not only to turn the inferno spell, but cause an exponential backfire. The resulting blast was so powerful that it tore through half the arena, destroying a number of buildings on the outside and cutting a swath through the city.

The mage’s duplicates merged back into herself, and she slowly began to step back, giving herself proper spacing for a wide-angle shield dome. The proteus flower turned toward her, writhing as a large eye opened within it. The remainder burst outward into waves of slender arms that dragged the creature forward on their numerous hands. The mage was so preoccupied that she did not notice that this time, someone else had come back with her.

The armored mage fired her spell- -but as she did, the proteus played its trump card. Its entire body spit open, revealing a forest of flesh that hardened into conical horns. Each charged with a pale green light and fired simultaneously.

“STOP!” cried Twilight Luciferian, suddenly standing. His horn glowed, and a massive wall of violet light formed across the whole of the arena, instantly stopping the proteus’s spell. As he ran toward the edge of the arena pit, he absently forced the proteus backward, surrounding it with an additional five plates of magic to trap it in a glowing violet cube. Although it raged and twisted with all its might, it could not even cause the slightest motion in the spell that now entrapped it.

“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Sombra, standing as well.

Twilight Luciferian burst out in laughter, although he did not take his eyes off the mage. “Did you see it? You had to have seen it! She’s reacting to its attacks before they happen!” He exposed his own spell to both the mage and Sombra. His pupils had narrowed into tiny points. “I confirmed it! She’s not foreseeing it; every time she fails, she JUMPS BACK IN TIME!”

Sombra’s eyes narrowed. “Are you absolutely sure?”

Luciferian laughed again. “YES! I confirmed it- -she’s a chronoplexer! A time wizard!”

“That is impossible.” Sombra himself looked at the mage. “Even the Twin Goddesses cannot alter the flow of time. Only one chronoplexer has ever been born to Equestria, and this mare is certainly not Starswirl the Bearded.”

“Well, clearly there are two!” Luciferian turned sharply toward the armored mare. “It explains everything! That suit? It’s meant to prevent temporal shear when she jumps. And the reason she doesn’t talk? She can’t. She must have traveled to the future at some point. Without the gift of prophecy, a single misplaced word could produce a paradox that would tear time itself apart!”

“Is this true?” asked Sombra.

The mare did not nod or make any gesture. Luciferian grinned. “She can’t even nod. Even the slightest gesture of communication could produce foreknowledge.” He looked up at Sombra. “Sire. Please. This is not an opportunity we can let slip by! Of all the magical skills, chronoplexy is the rarest. The next mage able to alter time might not be born for another thousand years. Of all the possible candidates, this is the one I recommend the most.”

“A mute armored mare?” Sombra reached the edge of the arena and stared down. “A mare with the offensive and defensive capacity of a freshly minted but mediocre mage-graduate. She is hardly the soldier I requested. Are you sure you do not want to revise your choice?”

“No, my king. I stand firm.”

“And you, Eternity?”

“I never thought it would happen, but I agree,” replied the unseen voice. “She has spunk. But the fact that I can’t reach her mind concerns me. So do ants. I hate ants SO MUCH.”

“So both of you support this candidate.” Sombra eyed the armored mare. “I see. I have also seen. That despite her weak disposition, her skill was so prodigious that she was able to perform spells I thought lost to time. Even among the dark unicorns of old, those skills were rare.”

Sombra’s body flashed with a bubble of red, and a fiery equivalent sphere appeared before the chronoplexer. Sombra emerged, having teleported to her, and loomed over her, casting a deep shadow.

He smiled, and his horn glowed with red light. The entire arena exploded with blinding red light. Luciferian’s spells holding the proteus shattered, and the creature was vaporized. Sombra then lowered the sphere of dark fusion and leveled it directly into the armored mage’s face.

Sombra’s body flashed with a bubble of red, and a fiery equivalent sphere appeared before the chronoplexer. Sombra emerged, having teleported to her, and loomed over her, casting a deep shadow. Before he could fully regain his footing, though, the mage had already leapt up and struck Sombra in the horn, sending him reeling back.

“My lord!” cried Luciferian.

“Father!” cried Penumbra, barely audible- -just barely- -from the top level.

Sombra shook his head, regaining his balance, and laughed. The force had actually been great enough to fracture his horn, and he tore away the broken end. It collapsed into dust as a new horn quickly regrew.

“Excellent,” he said, laughing softly. “You truly can see the future, and react to compensate. No doubt you have also now seen the extent of my own power. So I offer you a single, final choice. You do not need to speak. If you wish to leave, you may turn and depart. None her will pursue you.”

“My lord, we can’t let her get away- -”

“NONE. You will be free to go. Perhaps you will go to aid the Twins. Perhaps you will use your power to serve yourself. But I shall give you advice, from my long experience. Leave now. Do not bother becoming a warrior, or a master wizard. Retire. Find a husband, or wife. Live free in a small farm, raise foals. Let your life be peaceful and pleasant until my armies plunge this planet into darkness. If you are lucky, that will not be in your lifetime.” He paused. “Or, if you choose, join me. Become Thirteen, and stand at my side with the other twelve. You will be asked to do terrible things. Things that would haunt all but the strongest-willed to the point of madness. Or beyond. Your power will be greater than that of any mortal pony, but your life likely short, and hard. If your soul is already in ruin beyond redemption, then elect to stay. But I do not recommend it, if you value anything at all save for magic and strength alone.”

The mage stared at Sombra for a long moment. She raised one hoof, as if to turn, but then lowered it. She remained planted where she stood.

A smile crossed Sombra’s face. “So be it. Your name shall from henceforth be Thirteen of Thirteen, for you are the only one who will ever know the name you once had. It is best you forget it. Welcome to the Crystal Empire, and to your new home.”

Chapter 11: The Scion of House Twilight

Twilight Luciferian leaned back in his seventh favorite chair and raised a delicate wine glass to his lips. It was not filled with pony-wine, though; instead, it was brimming with a silver, metallic substance similar in appearance to thin mercury. He took a sip. It was delicious.

Around him was his library, an assembly of seemingly endless shelves assembled in a nearly circular room carved from dark stone. Beyond it was his tower, the ancestral home of House Twilight for time immemorial. This place had been the home to countless dark wizards, and the walls still dripped with pain and depravity. They were perpetually damp.

This was Twilight Luciferian’s home, accessible only to him; beyond it lay endless impassable jungle, contaminated endlessly with millennia of noxious defense spells. More importantly, though, it was home to his books.

On this particular day, though, he had not yet decided what to read. Instead he lay back, sipping from the glass of silver fluid.

“I cannot believe my luck,” he said at last, nearly laughing. “I succeed on every front. Not only did Necrophile’s students fail utterly, but the candidate the idiot chose is exactly who I need. A mare. No competition for the princess’s affection, unless she’s some sort of absurd pervert. I mean, could you imagine? If it had been some young, handsome, impressive upstart stallion who had succeeded?”

Luciferian turned sharply to the mare standing beside him, levitating a silver tray in her violet magic. She recoiled from his gaze, but did her best to smile. She, like Luciferian, was a unicorn- -but not a white one. Her skin was mottled with both gray and pale violet, and her mane bore stripes of both. She was gaunt and pale, having never been exposed to sunlight, and one of her eyes was covered with a bandage.

“That isn’t a rhetorical question, Failure.”

“Y- -yes, daddy! It would have been terrible!”

Luciferian smiled, and took another sip of the fluid. He watched Failure trace the glass with her eye, watching every sip. Of course she did not have the mental capacity to know how to operate poison, nor would poisoning a master of alchemy be easy- -or even possible.

“Even better, she’s weak. A chronoplexer, yes, but that just means she knows the spells. It’s an innate trait of or species. A unicorn can learn any spells he desires if he applies himself thoroughly, but his actual raw power is limited purely by his genetics. Which is why the pureblood Houses will always rule.”

“So I might...I might have potential?”

Luciferian levitated the fluid out of his glass, and then proceeded to shatter the vessel on his daughter’s face. She squealed and stepped back, dropping her tray narrowly avoiding injury to her remaining eye.

“I was not talking to YOU, failure. Did I give you permission to speak? HMM?”

“N- -no, daddy, I’m sorry!”

“Then stay SILENT.” Luciferian glared at her, then engaged a repair spell to restore his glass. He set it down on the tray on the floor. “You’re lucky, Failure. I’m in a good mood today.” He leaned back and sighed. “But the chronoplexer… oh the things I could do. To travel through time alone would be impressive, but even Strswirld could not generate alternative realities. I would so love to study her, to understand what it is about HER that makes her able to do what I cannot. Perhaps I should begin building a relationship.” Luciferian smiled. “Is it not a king’s prerogative to have as many mares as he desires.” He shivered in anticipation. “I am going to cuddle so many mares...I would like to assemble the entire kingdom’s female population into a vast heap, and just sleep on top of it.” He paused, then pointed at Failure. “You are not allowed in my mare pile. You would have to sleep on the ground and be cold. Because I hate you.”

“I know, daddy.”

“Just so long as you know it, and remember it well. It is because you are a failure, in every sense of the word. Such a sorry disappointment.”

Failure looked down at the floor, but Luciferian relished the shine of fresh tears in her eye. She deserved everything that came to her.

“I think I will review the concept for my nightly meditations.”

“Of constructing a heap of cuddle-mares?”

“No, you idiot. I’ve memorized those tomes completely. “Find me the collected work of T. Loganberry. Chronoplexy is not an art an ordinary wizard can practice, so I have grown quite rusty. I wish to read theory today.”

“Yes, daddy. I’ll go get it.”

She turned and slowly limped off. Her speed was greatly reduced by lacking a left front leg from the knee down.

“You have no idea how hilarious this all is,” said the other mare in the room.

Any hint of cheer that Twilight Luciferian might have possessed instantly evaporated. He glared down at the mare sitting beside him on the floor, leaning against his chair and engaged in peeling an onion. She was in the process of peeling an onion. The mare was not a unicorn, and more closely resembled an unusually tall earth-pony. Her body was yellow, and her hair crimson. When she looked up at Luciferian, her eyes were pure red.

“Several reasons.” She stood up and leaned against Luciferian, putting her chin on top of his head while she hugged his neck. “Mainly, Twilight, why are you bothering? Political intrigue is pointless. And so boring. Not enough violence. And for what? Some tiny northern realm? What are you, a yak? With my power, I could give you all of Equestria...if you would just manifest me...”

“At what cost?

The mare stared at him with her featureless red eyes. Her mouth widened into a sickening smile. Her teeth were black and pointed. “Everything.”

Luciferian pushed her away, or tried to. She slithered out of his grasp before he could even make contact, and returned to her onion. It had begun to bleed, and its screams echoed deep within Luciferian’s mind.

“It’s not time. It’s not time...” He shook his head, and took a large swig of silver fluid, emptying the glass. He followed this with deep breath. “This way is better, for now. Until I really need to.”

“Then you’re delaying the inevitable. Why are you waiting? You want the princess, why not take her? Throw her down and snuggle her until she’s RAW. Or whatever you horse-things do.”

“That is not how this works.”

“Why? Too civilized? But you bothered to summon me, so...” The mare stood and smiled. “Although, if you want to get a head start, why not try HER?” she pointed to where Failure had gone. “You’ve seen her. Thin, bony, constantly clammy. Just the kind of girl someone like you would want. She would fight Celestia herself for a little touch from daddy. Don’t you even want to try?”

“Don’t be crude. She disgusts me.”

“Well, then, there’s always me.”

“No.”

The mare laughed and pretended to pout. “Why not? Aren’t I pretty?”

“Because sometimes I can see through that veil you wear. To the thing on the other side.” Luciferian looked at her. “You are not a pony. Do not think I do not realize the gravity of the fact that you even exist, let alone that I managed to summon you.”

“I don’t think. I KNOW.”

Failure returned, now carrying a single large book. Exactly the one Luciferian had asked for. He knew it well; he had read it several times. He knew the exact number of words, pages- -and the weight. He was also fully aware of the carrying capacity of his daughter’s magic.

The violet glow around the book began to flicker. The yellow mare began to laugh. “Oh, yes! Do it! You know you want to!”

“Daddy, I have your bo- -”

The exceedingly weak levitation spell suddenly failed. The book dropped to the floor with a thump, and the whole room fell silent. Failure stared at the fallen book, her eye wide as she stared at it. When she looked up at her father, he was already standing.

“Daddy, no! I didn’t mean- -”

A whip of electrified violet energy slashed across Failure’s body. The force was so great that she was knocked to her knees. She screamed, and instinctively tried to curl into a ball. Luciferian was too fast, though; the second blow went across her face.

“That. Is. Not. How. WE. TREAT. BOOKS!” With every pause, the whip fell again and again. With each blow the girl screamed, but the wails grew more and quieter as she began to reach the edge of unconsciousness. Luciferian was forced to cast a spell to keep her alert and sensitive.

“How can you be this much of a failure? HOW?” The whip came down. “How could a clone perform this poorly? Look at you! You’re not WHITE!” Another blow. “And it’s your fault. ALL YOUR FAULT!”

“Daddy!” sobbed Failure. “I’m sorry! I’M SORRY! The book was too heavy! EEP!”

She was hit another time. “That crystalling crystal was YOUR FAULT! I made it myself, from my own flesh and blood! Meaning YOU! And now I have to look at you, I have to SEE you, to remind myself of EVERYTHING!”

He lifted his heavy armored leg- -the only clothing he wore at the time- and punched his daughter in the nose. Her head was thrown back and she sprawled across the floor. Luciferian levitated her and brought her back, raising his left hoof again.

Except that when he did, the yellow mare raised her own hoof- -and Luciferna’s stopped.

“Excessive punishment to get your jollies? That’s fine. I find it super funny. Even funnier? She still loves you. She really thinks this is all her fault, and that she deserves this. But if you keep going? Well, you know. Once punishment gets that severe, you’re just beating a dead horse.”

Luciferian growled but was forced to acquiesce. He dropped Failure to the floor, where she collapsed into a blubbering heap. He walked past her and picked up the book he had dropped. Of course he could have levitated it from a distance; there was no reason to send failure to collect it at all. He knew right where it was. But, as always, she deserved this.

“Here.” Luciferian threw a butterfly needle and some tubing at Failure’s feet. Failure looked at it, and then up at him. A thin stream of silver was trickling from her nose.

“D...daddy?”

Luciferian held out the wine glass. “I need MORE.”

Chapter 12: Orientation

Light flashed in the dark hallway as lightning passed across the sky. As it did, a second flash followed and Thirteen materialized. She had completed an assessment of the overall geography of the kingdom and found that it was significantly larger than she had anticipated. The Crystal Heart was intact and functional. Most importantly, her chronal lock was stable in all locations. The temporal implantation was complete- -for the time being.

The crystal lamps in the corridor began to glow, flickering to life with a harsh and unnatural light. Something in the darkness skittered out of the path of illumination back to the deepest of shadows.

Two ponies approached. One was a unicorn- -or, more specifically, once had been- -who was dressed in a moderately ornate formal outfit. The other was somewhat smaller and significantly thinner, and this time she wore neither a hood nor a shawl to cover her wings. She was an alicorn.

What struck Thirteen the most was the difference between the two- -how cold and hard the eyes of the hornless unicorn had become, and how innocent and bright the eyes of the alicorn looked beneath her heavy makeup.

“Lady Thirteen.” The unicorn bowed slightly. “Greetings. I am Sombra’s steward. I do not have a name beyond that. I have been tasked with informing you of our procedures and initial duties.”

Thirteen slowly turned her head toward the alicorn. The alicorn looked up at her, almost amazed. Though her eyes were pure and innocent, there was something wrong with them. As if there was not quite a full pony behind them.

“This is princess Penumbra Heartbreak, firstborn daughter of the Eternal King Sombra. Her father thought it would be informative for her to receive the same orientation. An unorthodox choice, but a wise one, considering her future role in the kingdom.”

The steward looked to Penumbra, and Penumbra smiled and bowed deeply. “Greetings, Lady Thirteen. I am pleased to meet you.” She lifted her head, and her large eyes turned to the parallel lines on Thirteen’s flank. “I just have to ask...how do you fit your tail in the armor? Did you shave it down?” She leaned to one side and saw that Thirteen did, in fact, have a tail, but it was short and thin. “You must have shaved it down. I wanted to shave my tail, but Lady Crozea said that only dirty harlots- -”

“Princess Penumbra.”

Penumbra stood at attention. “Yes, steward?”

“Etiquette.”

“Yes. Of course, steward.” She faced Thirteen and bowed. “My deepest apologies, Lady Thirteen. That has been happening more often, and I do not understand why.”

Though she made no gesture to indicate it, Thirteen suddenly understood. This child was only a few months old; she had been subjected to a substantial alteration in her age.

“Her presence will also be useful,” continued the steward. “The king has informed me of your situation. You cannot speak, write, or gesture in agreement due to the nature of your magic. This will make some things challenging, although the best of the Thirteen in my humble opinion have been those that spoke with action, not words.” She turned to Penumbra. “Princess Heartbreak will serve to ask questions in your stead. As she seems to be good at it.” She began walking. “Please follow.”

The three of them began walking, with Penumbra and Thirteen following behind the steward, watching her white tail swish from side to side.

“The Crystal Empire has a fully self-sufficient economy, powered by peasant labor and imperial conquest of neighboring nations,” began the steward. “As a member of the Dark Thirteen, your research budged it virtually unlimited, so long as you produce.”

“Produce what?” asked Penumbra.

“Wealth, power, control- -but most importantly spells. Spells and technology to enrich the Eternal King. Since he himself is busy ruling, the Dark Thirteen are responsible for researching, developing, and finding spells that are useful to him. You will also be expected to help maintain the kingdom, and serve as a military commander if you show skill in that regard.”

The steward turned to face them. “There are currently twelve other members of the Thirteen, as the name implies. They are numbered but placed in no particular order. They are Twilight Luciferian, Scarlet Mist, Eternity Gaze, the Nameless One, Emeth, Necrophilo of Canterlot, Crozea the Witchdoctor, Gxurab Al’Hrabnaz, Holder Heartfelt, the Blue Knight, Butonhooks the Mad, and The Infiltrator. You are Thirteen of Thirteen, completing the list.”

Penumbra blinked. She had more or less known that there were thirteen members of the Dark Thirteen, but the implication that she had not met nearly them all had never occurred to her.

“There are so many!”

“There are exactly thirteen.”

“Yes, but- -well...um...”

“Do you have a question, princess?”

Penumbra looked at the floor, took a breath, and then looked up. “Yes, steward. Which of these are good ponies? Nice ones, like Lady Crozea or Lady Mist, or Lord Luciferian. What I mean is, which ones will make good friends- -for Thirteen, of course.”

“None of them are ‘good’. Each are quite evil. That is the point.” she looked to Thirteen. “The Dark Thirteen inspire fear in the population, to control the slaves and make them work. Nevertheless...” She turned back to Penumbra. “Some are more willing than others to collaborate. As a unicorn, you should avoid Scarlet Mist. Lord Al’Hrabnaz and the Infiltrator keep to themselves; it is unlikely you will ever see the former except at formal functions, and the latter at all. The Blue Knight is almost invariably questing in distant lands. The Nameless One is not a pony, so we think, and he or she only manifests in times of the direst need. Eternity Gaze supports you, but she cannot access your mind, making communication impossible.”

“It’s true,” sighed Eternity. “It’s like trying to read a walnut’s mind. Except harder, because walnuts DO think. And SCREAM.”

“Meaning for collaboration, your best option is with Twilight Luciferian or Necrophilo of Canterlot. The two are rivals, so I would suggest choosing one or the other. Buttonhooks the Mad is also quite civil; you can find him reposing in the bull-nettle pit of the botanical garden every afternoon. Crozea is not approachable, nor is Emeth.”

“What about the other one?”

“Holder Heartfelt is essentially useless, unless you have a question about rocks. He is also exceedingly dangerous. Under no circumstances should you approach him.”

“Why have I not met them all?” asked Penumbra.

“Because you have no reason to. Now please be mindful that you are meant to ask questions for Thirteen, NOT for yourself.”

“Of course, steward.” Penumbra bowed. “My apologies, steward.”

The steward nodded and began walking again. “As the king’s steward, reports are normally submitted to me except in matters of national security or in cases where you decide the news should be reported to the king directly. Be wise in your choice; triviality is punished harshly.”

“But she can’t talk.”

“Yes. Which makes reporting difficult. Still, it is critical to understand that I am an extension of the king, If you were to require anything, come to me. And if I bring you an order, know that it comes from our lord directly.”

“I had no idea how important you are!”

“I assist the king directly in the management of the kingdom. It is my greatest honor, and I take it very seriously.”

Penumbra paused. “Steward? Have you ever considered becoming one of the Dark Thirteen?”

The steward stopped and looked over her shoulder. She did not bother to hide the scar from where her horn had been torn from her head, but supposed that the princess was simply to naive to understand what that meant.

“Perhaps a story will prove illuminating of or king’s benevolence and his power,” she said, turning once again to face Thirteen and Penumbra. “I, like you, Penumbra, was born a princess.”

Penumbra gasped. “I have a SISTER?!”

“No. A princess of a different kingdom. The one that is currently our southernmost vassal state. It, like me, no longer has a name. I had dedicated my life to the study of magic, and to serving my father.”

“Like...like me...”

The steward nodded. “Our nation was independent, refusing to join the Crystal Empire or the empire of Celestia and Nightmare Moon. As such, the goddesses gave us no protection when Sombra came.

“He liberated us, and burned out nation to the ground. My father was deposed. I, in my hubris, challenged Sombra to a duel. By our code, this would have ended the war with no further violence. Had I won, we would have won the war, even with our army crushed and our nation in tatters. I was our only hope.”

“But you...you didn’t win, did you?”

The steward shook her head. No tears came to her eyes; instead, they remained hard and cold. “I was defeated in less than three seconds. And my horn was torn from my skull, so that I could never use my beloved magic again.”

“That’s...that’s...” Penumbra put her hoof to her chest. She did not understand the word for why she hurt so much inside.

“I was a fool to challenge a god. I deserved what came to me. But king Sombra...he could have crushed me then, or taken me to his stables of mares to be dressed in jewels and humiliated every day for the rest of my life. But he did not.” Her eyes began to soften slightly, and she wiped away the beginning of a tear. “He recognized the mage I had once been, and treated me with respect. Though I was defeated, he gave me this role, and in doing so let me assist in commanding not only my home kingdom but many others. For this, I am eternally grateful. And for this, my loyalty will never deviate.” Her eyes narrowed. “So yours ought never to either. Because if you seek to betray him, I will end you myself.”

“I...I had no idea.”

“And know this, Penumbra.” The steward looked her in the eyes. “Know that if the goddesses come and you allow your father to be defeated, your fate will be the same as mine. Except that the goddesses will not be so kind. Not to you. Not to any of us.”

Penumbra gulped. “Y- -yes, steward. I will commit this information to memory.”

“Excellent.” She began walking again. “Continuing on. Thirteen, you will initially be asked to follow and assist in protecting the king and the princess in the coming months. Afterward, you will be tasked with largely external missions, along with the Blue Knight, Buttonhooks the Mad, and The Infiltrator. Due to the nature of your magic, research may not be your main concern. Nevertheless, let me give you a tour of the facilities, starting with the garden and crystal-enchantment workshop...”

They continued, and Penumbra fell silent. Thirteen looked at the alicorn through the digital HUD on the inside of her helmet. The readings were correct; she was the target- -but she was not how she had been described. Something may have already gone wrong.

Thirteen began to wonder if this was truly the right timeline after all.

Chapter 13: The Knight

It was an otherwise ordinary day in early spring when the shield defending the Crystal Empire trembled. All of the crystal ponies stopped their work to tremble in fear, knowing for sure that the twin goddesses had come to enslave them- -at least until their chains were tugged and various whips cracked to pull them back to the mines or farms.

When the shield did not collapse, though, the slaves of the Empire shuddered. Whoever had approached it had come with a spell to open it. So very few possessed codes like that- -and those ponies were infinity worse than the Sun and Moon.

On the far western side of the Empire, a procession began in silence. The ponies in those areas retreated to the sides of the roads, and those in buildings sealed the shutters- -but only enough to let them still see out in silence.

And so the somber and terrible parade passed through the broad crystal streets. At its center stood an enormous cart on which sat a tremendous, ghastly skull. Behind it came other carts filled with numerous immense bones: femurs, ribs, horns, vast claws; even inner-ear bones the size of a pony. Beyond that were cars loaded down with containers, many of which were overflowing with treasure and strange artifacts. Then, finally, came the teams of ponies tied to the rear, still shivering and blue from the immense cold beyond the shield. A few had stopped walking and were dragged unconscious along with the others.

None of them were crystal ponies. They had come from every race: earth ponies in heavy chains, unicorns with their horns shackled in dimeritium, Pegasi with their wings clipped and banded- -as well as a smattering of donkeys, cows, and other sorts of sentient creatures.

What drew the most attention, though, were those who walked in the front. The whole of the apparatus was hauled by a team of type-B golems, their armor battered and dented from constant battles. On the front edge of the cart lounged ponies-at-arms who were not even ponies at all. Rather, they were griffons. Those of the Crystal Empire rarely saw members of that race; none of them would have known that these griffons were substantially larger than they should have been, or that their owl-like eyes were a product of severe forced mutation. But the crystal ponies did take note of their strange armor, and the silver swords they wore on their backs.

At the very front of them was the most horrible of them all. Leading the procession was an immense unicorn clad in deep-blue armor. It was angular, harsh, and heavy, though from his motions it was impossible to tell that it burdened him in the slightest. None who witnessed him knew his name, but all knew him as Ten of Thirteen: the Blue Knight.

The procession continued through the vast city, rising high into the capital district to where the Citadel stood, and to where both the kingdom’s shield and its perpetual miasma of fear originated. Some of the griffons began to grow restless, as they had been trained by long hard lives to sense evil- -but they stayed, as their long and hard lives had also taught them the value of coin. The ponies in the rear began to protest and wail, pulling themselves backward and crying to the blank-eyed crystal ponies for help. They did not yet realize that it was already too late.

The golems only stopped at the main gate beyond which no commoners could pass. The griffons fluttered down and took up stations, with a few goading the new goods to be quieter. Only the Blue Knight passed forward, across the courtyard that surrounded the Heart of Darkness. He caught sight of it, and the vestiges of new machinery being installed around it. Though he noted it, his attention was almost entirely focused on those who had come to meet him.

The first among them was the king, while the remainder were parts of his entourage. The only one that the Blue Knight noted was a particular skinny white academic.

At ten paces, the Blue Knight suddenly stopped and drew his sword. It was enormous and made from a strange mottled metal, the likes of which were almost never seen in the latter days of Equestria. With a flick of his amber magic, he turned the sword to face downward and easily stabbed its tip deep into the corundum of the walkway. Then he knelt.

Actuators fired inside his armor, releasing the clamps that held his helmet. Several of the breathing hoses linking it to his recirculate released with a loud hiss; the gas steamed in the cold air. Then the Blue Knight removed his helmet and shook out his long mane, which was pale blue save for a single white stripe. It very nearly matched the teal of his body.

“My lord, King Sombra!”

“Zither Heartstrings,” replied the king, acknowledging his knight.

The Blue Knight raised his head and smiled. “My lord! In thine name, I have quested long and hard into deepest lands, to the realm where there be dragons!” He gestured to the enormous skeleton. “I have slain this foul beast in thine glorious name, and retrieved from it not only its horde, but numerous alchemical reagents for thine spells, and its bones and scales for the armor of thine forces!”

Sombra took account of the supplies and nodded. “This offering pleases me. You have done well, my knight. Though in the future, there is no need to bring something so horrid close to my castle. We have rendering knackery for that function.” His eyes turned to the new slaves, and they screamed and recoiled in horror. “As for those?”

“Ah, twas many a village we passed through on the way to fight the beast! I saw to it that each was liberated, and its citizens given the freedom of joining your great Empire! Much booty was claimed!”

Somepony in Sombra’s entourage snickered. The Blue Knight’s orange eyes immediately flitted to the source of the disrespect, and much to his surprise saw a young girl standing between Scarlet Mist and a pony in much thinner blue-violet armor.

The Blue Knight gasped. “My lord! Who be this fair maiden, whose form is like that of the most divine sculpture?”

Sombra turned slowly, looking from the girl back to the Blue Knight. “This is my daughter. Penumbra Heartbreak.”

Penumbra seemed tremendously surprised that she had been caught- -as well as addressed by name by her father- -and she shakily bowed.

“Pon’ my horn!” cried the Blue Knight. “Was I truly questing for so long? How the kingdom has changed in my absence! But indeed, for the better!”

In a remarkably swift motion, the Blue Knight approached Penumbra. She took a step back, not sure what to do, and the Knight took one of her front hooves in his. Despite his size and armor, he was incredibly gentle.

“Such be the paradox of life’s eternal mystery!” he proclaimed. “As our glorious king is the epitome of power, strength, and fortitude, his daughter is the archetype of beauty, grace, and daintiness! I have in battle faced Celestia and her evil horde, and having witnessed a goddess with mine own eyes, I can be assured that I have never before witnessed one so lovely as yourself, oh fair Crystal Princess!”

Penumbra tried to suppress a giggle, and was darkening several shades of red.

“Zither!” cried Luciferian, pushing forward. “Unhoof her! You forget yourself!”

“Neigh!” laughed the Knight. “Tis it not a knight’s ultimate honor to behold a damsel, to serve her in the name of courtly love? But an elderly wizard would not understand this, I suppose.”

“I am NOT OLD- -”

Zither dropped to his knees, still holding Penumbra’s hoof. He looked deep into her eyes. “My Lady,” he said, softly. “I have sworn an oath to forever serve your father, but I think it is well within reason to extend that oath to you. I hereby swear upon the Ancient Sign to protect and defend you, to ensure that you, our divine and glorious princess, never come to harm- -to lay down my very life for thine honor alone, should it be asked of me! That I shall scour this land, as I have for you father, and perform glorious deeds in thine name! I swear this on my very SOUL!”

He leaned forward, and tapped his horn against Penumbra’s.

POMF!

The entire crowd gasped. Penumbra’s wings had both suddenly and fully extended, and now stood completely erect for all the world to see.

“EEK!” She cried, releasing the Blue Knight and trying unsuccessfully to catch them and press them back down. “I don’t know what is happening to meeeeee!”

A red glow formed around Penumbra and rather uncomfortably clamped her wings back against her. Penumbra looked up at Scarlet Mist, but saw that her horn was not glowing. She gasped, realizing that the glow came instead from her father’s horn.

“Pon’ my horn!” gasped Zither, himself blushing. She unfastened his cape and draped it over Penumbra’s back. “Please, my princess, I beg your pardon! This was never my intention, I would never- -”

“Zither,” said Sombra, slowly.

Zither dropped into a bow. “My lord. My actions are unforgivable. I assure you my intentions were pure. But any punishment you may- -”

“I have no need to punish you. Swearing allegiance to my daughter in my vert presence was a bold decision. I am sure you realize just how much of a risk you have just taken.”

“Of course, my lord.” Both Scarlet Mist and Twilight Luciferian- -and even Thirteen, who was enjoying this display thoroughly- -knew that he was lying.

“However, I value you for your boldness. I approve of your decision. But know that I hold this oath to be binding. There will be consequences should you betray it.”

“My lord. There is not an action in the world you can take against me than would be more painful or humiliating than my loss of honor as a knight. An oath once taken can never be broken.”

“I assure you, I can. And I will. Should the need arise.” Sombra pointed at the dragon skeleton. “Complete your duty and see to it that the skeleton is taken care of. As a reward, take whatever you deem fit as a trophy. Additionally, remove the vedmaki from my sight. I find them abhorrent creatures.”

“Of course, my lord.” The Blue Knight stood and immediately obeyed his orders. As he departed and called to the griffons in their strange, chirping language, Penumbra could not keep her eyes off his gleaming armored flank.

“Scarlet, take the princess inside. She is perhaps not yet ready for public appearances.”

“Clearly.”

“My- -my apologies, my king.” Penumbra bowed to her father. “I will mediate on my failures and learn from them.”

“Then you have a great deal to mediate on. Go. NOW.”

Scarlet Mist picked up Penumbra and quickly carried her off. Thirteen looked to Sombra, nodded, and floated off, lifted by the glow of her own horn. That only left Sombra, his steward, and Twilight Luciferian, the latter of whom was quaking with rage.

“Twilight,” snapped Sombra. “Control yourself.”

“He cannot be allowed to speak to my- -to the princess like that! The disrespect, the flippance- -”

Sombra took a step forward and was suddenly looming over Luciferian. Luciferian, who had not been prepared, instinctively recoiled, only to cringe when he realized that he had shown weakness to the one pony who must never be allowed to witness it.

“I tolerate your rivalry with Necrophilo,” whispered the king, “but I will NOT have you measuring horns against all of my other unicorns. Do not think that you are dominant, mage. The whole of your magic is but a speck compared to mine, and if allowed to grow, your ego will be your undoing.”

Luciferian looked up and glared into the eyes of his king. He felt a cold, damp yellow hoof slide around his neck.

“Do it now,” whispered the voice of a thing that would never truly be a mare. “He doesn’t know. You are far more powerful than he ever will be. Just manifest me. Take my power, and my body. Become a GOD.”

Luciferian felt a substantial burning sensation in his front left hoof, and the surgical scar just above his boot began to itch. He swallowed his pride, though, and bowed.

“Of course, my king,” he said. “It seems I am the one who has forgotten myself. I simply had become incensed at a perception of an insult to your daughter.”

“Then you are a fool. You have come to see her as a pony. She is not, nor is she my daughter. Not in the truest sense of the word. She is merely a living weapon. As you said yourself, her only value now is to strike fear into the hearts of my crystal slaves. She is nothing else. Nothing beyond that.”

“Yes, my lord. Of course. She is nothing but a tool.”

That, at least, was something Luciferian knew to be true.

Chapter 14: Others

The spell came from the left: a long whip of red magic, twisting and distorting as it whistled through the air. Penumbra cast a shield spell, but did not have the time to adjust the angle properly. She took the blow head-on and her spell shattered. The magic struck her in the side of the face, sending her sprawling to her right. She twisted in the air and landed on her feet, sliding across the floor. She turned her head and spit several teeth onto the floor. It was not the first time. They always grew back.

“You’re getting distracted,” spat Scarlet Mist, raising another surge of magic, this one in the form of several simultaneous cutting beams.

“And you’re getting slow!”

The beams converged and Penumbra leapt, spreading her wings and twisting between the lines of magic. They twisted, coming toward her from their ends, but Penumbra had seen this before. She tilted over them, flipping, and fell against the floor in a split, flattening herself as the beams passed close enough to singe several hairs off the end of her mane.

“My body is depleting,” said Scarlet Mist, marching forward through the red fog that seemed to surround everything. It was true; her motions had grown slow and arthritic, and her normally crimson mane had developed graying streaks. “It is not compatible. I am rejecting it. They only ever last a few months. What is your excuse?”

Another bolt of magic, this time in the form of long, lethal needles. This time Penumbra succeeded; she formed an oblique shield, and while it shattered, it changed the course of the projectiles such that she was able to roll to one side and fire a counterattack that consisted of little more than a plume of sparkles.

“WEAK.” Scarlet Mist raised one of her hooves, and thralls burst from the fog. One charged Penumbra with a spear, and she immediately jumped into the air, landing gracefully on the edge of its blade. Her armored hooves clicked along the length of the spear before she wrapped her legs around the neck of the thrall and twisted him sideways, using his armored body to deflect an incoming magical barrage. She then stood, pirouetting on one of her front hooves, and flipped onto the head of another thrall. As she did, she grinned and kicked off the thrall’s mask.

The thrall immediately stopped and looked around, confused and terrified. “What who when how WHERE AM I?!”

“Sorry, miss.” Penumbra sprung off her back, causing them both to be shoved out of the way of an incoming plume of magic. As Penumbra landed she slid, dodging a blow from the third thrall’s sword before knocking him off balance and stealing his weapon. She promptly threw it toward Scarlet Mist’s heart.

The blade stopped instantly, surrounded by red magic mere inches from her chest.

“I almost had you!”

“Almost, yes. But note that this sword does not have a hoof-ring.”

Penumbra swore loudly as the unicorn thrall grabbed her tail with his magic and pulled hard. Penumbra cried out in pain as her rear was pulled to the side, but even as she fell she cast a full-body shield spell. Every time she had tried before, she had passed out- -but in this case, she knew it was her only option.

The surge of magic that struck her from the side was enormous, and it washed over her like a wave, not bothering to shatter her shield but simply penetrating its primitive assembly design. The spell blocked some of it, but Penumbra was still pulled to one side and slammed into the still-confused freed thrall. She flipped- -unintentionally this time- -and bounced several times before landing on the ground.

Scarlet Mist approached. “That blow would have put a normal pony in the hospital for two months at least. Despite the fact that your ridiculous princess body can’t seem to put on weight, you appear durable.”

Penumbra sat up and coughed.

“I wonder just how durable you are?”

Scarlet Mist formed a blade from her magic and raised it. Penumbra smiled.

“You lose,” she said, hooking her hoof into the fallen thrall-mask beside her. She kicked it hard, landing a direct hit against Scarlet Mist’s horn. Scarlet Mist cried out in rage and took a step back, her spell failing.

Penumbra stood, wobbling heavily. “I finally got you.”

“Did you?”

Scarlet Mist extended her hoof. In it was a sphere of red glass- -containing a single enchanted flash-bee.

Penumbra gasped, realizing too late that, like always, she had failed. She covered her mouth, but it was already too late. The mist was collapsing around her, drawing closer, rising into hideous columns and shapes that twisted and condensed into severe and terrible blades.

She tried to hold her breath, but could not. When she inhaled, the gas entered her nose. It smelled like iron and rot.

Then it was drawn out. The fog around her separated and cleared. Not completely, but so that it was reduced only down to her ankles.

“Sloppy. Incredibly sloppy. Not even worthy of my time. You failed to take environmental consideration into account. If I had my way, you would be screaming on the floor as I tear your mind apart right now.”

“Then why aren’t I?”

“Because I’m curious. This isn’t simply you being a failure, as per usual, because I’ve seen you succeed at this exercise many times.”

“I’ve never won.”

“Nor could you expect to. Your performance is never ‘good’, but it has been MARKEDLY better than...well, whatever half-baked aborted attempt you just gave me. You are not focused.”

“Am I not allowed to think about things?”

“No. You are quite literally only allowed to think what I tell you.”

“I took down the thralls, at least!”

“Yes. Three mindless, barely competent slaves.” Scarlet Mist levitated the removed thrall-mask and slammed it on its rightful owner as she tried to walk past. The pony twitched and then stood at attention. “We trade skill for obedience. Had these been Celestia’s soldiers, you would be in chains by now. Perhaps even strung up in the dungeon. And beaten like a pinata.”

“I am doing my best!”

“No. You are quite clearly not.” Scarlet Mist began to circle. “I wonder...I could enter your mind myself, but at this stage only one of us would make it back out in one piece. So, an alternative. Eternity? Are you watching?”

“I am always watching,” replied the disembodied voice. “Right now? There’s an ant in the eastern quadrant trying to carry away a piece of corn- -an ant committing HERESY! A crystal pony will be beaten twice for wasting precious food! Also, telling you what Penumbra is thinking would be a breach of privacy.”

“So?”

“It’s stallions. Obviously. It makes her wings flutter at night, when she’s asleep.”

Penumbra blushed severely. “You have no right- -”

“We have every right,” retorted Scarlet Mist. “You are interfering with my task.” She stopped walking. “And don’t think I am unaware of WHICH stallion you are thinking about. I saw your dirty little wings when the procession arrived.”

“And so what!” cried Penumbra, turning sharply. “Have you SEEN Lord Heartstrings? Or are you really that old that you don’t notice?”

“Notice what, pray tell?”

“The booty,” whispered Eternity.

Penumbra attempted to compose herself, but did not bother to adjust her expression. If she had power, she might have struck out at Scarlet Mist then and there. “He’s a handsome knight, and I’m an adorable filly. What else is there to know?”

“And what? What do you think he is? Some fairytale character, a knight in shining armor? It’s an act! His order collapsed a thousand years before he was born- -and he is no chivalrous hero. His soul is as black as mine.”

“You have no soul! Lord Twilight told me that nobles- -”

“Zither Heartstrings is NOT a noble. You have no concept of what that term even means, what it costs. And NEVER believe what Luciferian tells you. He lies. Constantly.” Scarlet Mist approached, and Penumbra puffed herself up to be almost as tall as her teacher. “Listen to me, and listen well. You are a princess, and he is a knight. The relationship is meant to be one-sided. Where you to actually reciprocate, you would put him in an unbelievably awkward position.”

“I’d like to put him in an awkward position,” added Eternity.

“Or are you both just jealous that I am so much cuter than you both?”

Scarlet Mist stared down at the defiant princess. “What is wrong with you? You have never been like this before?”

“Maybe I’ve grown a spine.”

Scarlet Mist stared for a moment longer. Then Penumbra felt her head thrown back as her horn was grabbed hard by crimson magic. Before she could cast a shield spell, she was punched in the side of the face so hard that she was sure her jaw had been broken. It clicked loudly, and she spit out several more teeth, as well as a thick black fluid- -and then turned back to Scarlet Mist. She glared directly into the eye-slits of her mask.

“Are you going to give me another, or are you going to get out of my way?”

Scarlet Mist held a moment longer, then threw Penumbra’s horn to the side. Penumbra slid past her toward where a door appeared, removing her extraneous armor and clipping her long skirt around the base of what was left. She paused at a mirror, adjusting her tiara, mane, and replying her makeup.

“Where are you going? We’re not finished.”

“I will be covering the theoretical portion of my training in the library today,” growled Penumbra. “Away from you!”

“And you stopped to fix your makeup?”

“A princess must look presentable at ALL TIMES!”

She left in a huff, attempting to slam the door behind her. Unfortunately, the door was only a metaphor, and therefore not truly capable of being slammed. Still, in a few moments she was gone.

“You didn’t have to hit her.”

“No. I did. If she had cowered in fear or run crying, then all hope would surely be lost and my project a failure. But she stood and faced me. So it is still her in there. Something is bothering her I suppose.” Scarlet Mist turned back to her red fog. “Likely a hormonal imbalance. Whatever it is, let Crozea deal with it. It’s not my problem.”

And with that, she disappeared into the fog.

Penumbra stamped down the hallway- -or, rather, attempted to. In actuality, every step she made was too perfectly graceful to make any more noise than a quiet click, despite her wearing heavy armored boots.

“Lady Eternity,” she called “Lady Eternity!”

“You don’t have to yell,” replied the voice in her head. “In fact, you don’t even need to speak. You are close enough that I can hear your thoughts.”

“I am presently VERY well aware of that. Lady Eternity, it is beyond me to doubt your decisions, but what you did- -it was- -it was UNCOUTH!” That was literally the strongest insult that Penumbra knew.

“I never claimed to be couth. Which is not a word. Or a pony. For all you know, I’m a yak. Or a head floating in a glass jar. Or a small pile of jelly. Not that it matters. I thought it was fun, so I did it.” Eternity paused. “And this is not the way to the library.”

“No. As I am not going to the library.”

“Because you can’t read?”

“I can read quite well!” lied Penumbra. “No, because I have become agitated. I need a walk.”

“Not a good idea. You’re not supposed to walk in the Citadel alone.”

“As you have so clearly informed me, Lady Eternity, I am apparently never alone.”

“I don’t count. Your safety does not take precedence over my entertainment.”

“Then you can at least help me.”

“I think the fact that I’m a disembodied mental voice makes it implicit that I can’t. Or explicit, if you’re into that. And I am...”

“Where is Lord Heartstrings staying?”

Eternity paused. The air actually felt icy for a moment. “That’s not a question I should answer.”

“You mean you do not know.”

“Now, now, don’t try to bait me. You can’t. I’m a master at it myself, so I know a thing or two.”

“You owe me.”

“I owe you? For what?”

“For making me yell at Lady Mist!” Penumbra paused and put her hoof to her head. “I can’t believe I did that! After everything she’s done to help me, even when noponoy else believed I could do anything at all...and I yelled at her! She must be so disappointed in me!” She took a breath, trying to calm down. It did not work. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I can’t...ohhh, it doesn’t feel good.” She took another breath and steeled herself.

“But you’re still going to act like a princess.”

“I need to regain composure so that I can apologize later. A walk. But I would very much like to see Lord Heartstrings. What he said to me, I can’t get it out of my head, and I think it’s connected to why I was so mean to Lady Mist.”

“That seems logical. Logic is stupid. So painful, so terrible. Regardless. I don’t think I should help you find him.”

“Why?”

“Because Misty was right. I heard what he said. I was there. Sort of. The thing with Zither is, he likes to pretend to be a knight.”

“He is not one already?”

“No...he is...but not that kind of knight. It’s complicated. But that’s not the point. Now, I have to admit, he is exceedingly attractive. Even with the...well...I guess you’ll find out eventually. But beggars can’t be choosers; my body is far worse than his at this point.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning don’t become a seer. It has costs. Never mind. The point is, he’s a KNIGHT. That whole promise? It was meant to be courtly love. As in, one-sided.”

“I don’t understand. What is love? And why is it courtly?”

“It’s a ceremonial thing. He performs deeds in your honor to glorify you, you wave to him when he goes off questing- -but you’re at different stations. You can never be together, and you both have to know it...annnnnd your heart is beating faster. Great. I’m turning you on.”

“Please stop.”

“Sorry.”

“Then I’ll go to him and- -and clarify it or something. This is all so confusing.”

“And if your soft, force-grown filly body ends up being snuggled in his strong, knightly arms…?”

Penumbra’s wings extended involuntarily. She squeaked and tried to push them back into place. “I said stop, please!”

“I can’t help myself. It’s just so adorable.”

“There will be no snuggling! I simply want to talk!”

“And how do you think Twilight would feel about this?”

Penumbra’s breath caught, and her wings immediately went limp. She had forgotten about him, and how she felt about him. The feeling was similar, but very different. It was not as strong and visceral, but still just as powerful. He had been so kind and helped her when she needed it, and while he was not nearly as physically impressive he had an air of charm and wisdom- -and an aura that reminded her of her father.

“Oh my,” she whispered. “I have stallions competing over me!”

Her wings immediately pompfed outward again.

Penumbra sighed. “Can you at least tell me, Lady Eternity?”

“Princess. Did you know that I cannot walk? I’d like to. But I can’t. Stuck in one spot. Forever. Consider yourself very lucky. Yes, I know where he is. He’s even conversing with one of those amazingly alluring griffon mutants right now. Ohhhh how I’d like to rub myself in catnip and...” She paused. “What I mean is, here’s a learning experience. Nobody’s going to be holding your hoof forever. I trust you to find your own way.”

Penubra sighed, and bowed. “I thank you greatly for your trust, Lady Eternity. I respect your decision, even if it is ridiculous and stupid.”

“Ha! I like hormonal Penumbra, she’s so much more fun!”

Penumbra looked down the long crystal hallways, and chose one. She had no idea where she was going, but was led on by a feeling she did not at all understand.

There were only a few hallways in the Citadel that Penumbra had ever been allowed to traverse, and she had always been attended by another- -whether it be Crozea, one of her nurses, or even Twilight Luciferian. On her own, though, she quickly realized that the crystal palace was immensely vast- -and she became lost within a matter of minutes.

She paused, staring down several seemingly infinite hallways. All was dark. There were few if any windows, and the few she found were high and small and showed nothing but dark gray sky and snow. The rest was left unlit and unused, save for pipes and conduits humming with strange energy from unseen and terrible machinery.

Scarlet Mist had not given Penumba back her flash-bee, so she was forced to use her horn to generate light. With her magic weak, the best she could accomplish was a dim, flickering blue light that only seemed to make the shadows deeper and more animated.

“I have no idea where I am,” she sighed.

No help came. Only a strange sound from the vents. In the distance, Penumbra watched as a small door was kicked open- -and a crystal pony dropped out.

“Wait,” said Penumbra, recognizing him. “Hey! Wait!”

“MONSTER!” he cried, terrified. “You’ll never take me back! I won’t go! NEVER!”

With that, he scampered into a low vent, momentarily getting his rump stuck- -but sliding in completely before Penumbra could catch him. All that could be heard of him was his mutterings and screams as he descended back into whatever dusty machinery he had come from.

“Well that was unhelpful,” sighed Penumbra. She lifted her head and looked around- -only to see what she thought was a distant light.

She moved toward it, following the glow, fully expecting to find a lamp of some sort- -or at the very least another crystal pony to ask directions from.

It was not a lamp, though. Penumbra was not sure what it was, only that it was a sickening violet color. As she turned a corner, though, she saw its source and understood what was producing it: it was magic.

In the distance, she could see Twilight Luciferian crossing through the moldering, dusty halls. The glow was not coming from his horn, but rather from a crystal levitating at his side.

Penumbra took a deep gasp to call for him, but stopped when a thought occurred to her. She could not help but wonder how he would feel if he knew what she had been feeling about the Blue Knight. He would feel betrayed- -and the idea made Penumbra feel incredibly dirty. For the first time in her life, she felt ashamed.

The distraction of the sudden emotion caused her light to snuff out. In the distance, Twilight Luciferian turned, having seen a dim flicker suddenly go out. Without her own light blinding her, Penumbra was able to see him clearly in his own blue light. She did not understand why his mouth was dripping with some unnamed silver fluid- -or why he was carrying a small circular case packed with high-grade crystal samples.

Something sparked within Penumbra. Something strange, a feeling she did not like- -yet one that encouraged her not to light her horn. Instead, she tucked herself against a wall, moving rapidly and silently in her metal boots.

“Lady Eternity,” she whispered. “Are you seeing this?”

There was no response. Only a sort of throbbing static that seemed to pulsate with Luciferian’s light. He stared into the darkness a moment longer, and then proceeded on his way.

Penumbra followed him. She did not know why. She should have greeted him and bowed, as was her programming, but something told her that it was dangerous right now. Something in his eyes was strange, and the silence with which he moved was somehow disturbing.

When she reached his path, Penumbra saw that the floor was covered in thick dust and a residue of snow from an arcade of arrow-slits. It was unused- -and he had left no hoofprints. She supposed that was not unreasonable; there were spells for it that he was no doubt able to perform. Penumbra did not know them, so was forced to leave her own small trail as she moved silently past the windows. Outside, she could see nothing but snow, and hear nothing but wind- -but at some points, in the distance, she could see lights from what she imagined was the Crystal Empire below, as well as a large, cold light beyond the clouds and in the sky. A light that seemed to stare deeply into her very soul.

In the distance, she saw the tail of Lord Twilight’s coat swish through a gap. Penumbra rushed toward the door. There were no alternative paths, and no secondary doors; whatever room was at the end was the one he was in.

When she reached it, Penumbra peeked around the door, not knowing exactly what she would see. What she saw, though, was an empty room.

“Huh?” She poked her head in and looked around. There were no other exits or doors, or even closets; only a few piles of long-abandoned crystal furniture and faded, decaying tapestries and rugs.

Penumbra entered the room. “Hello?” she asked. “Is anyone here? Lord Twilight?”

There was no response, although Penumbra felt very cold. There were not even windows, but she felt strange and sick. She smelled something like distant, rotting flowers.

The only other object she saw was a large mirror- -and as her gaze turned toward it, Penumbra noticed the drips of silver on the floor. They looked like the substance that had been on Lord Twilight’s face, and they led toward the mirror.

Penumbra reached down and dabbed her hoof in the substance. She smelled it carefully, and then tasted it. Crozea had taught her some of the most basic aspects of alchemy, including its reagents, and while this substance looked like mercury it was thinner and tasted and smelled far different. Penumbra had no idea what it was, but the dull glimmer it gave off made her shiver.

She slowly approached the mirror. The drops stopped there. They did not go around it or behind it- -they simply stopped. Which made no sense at all.

Penumbra stared into the glass. It was the first full-length mirror she had ever seen, and what she saw gave her pause. It was a pony that she did not recognize, whose appearance made her dizzy and confused. She was willowy and thin, far more so than any normal pony, with enormous, pointed eyes and long-black hair held back by an iron tiara. Her face was covered in makeup, but not in a pattern that made her alluring. It made her seem ghostly white, and the black and violet circles around her eyes made her seem almost demonic.

Yet, though it all, it was not a sickly, force-grown alicorn that she saw. She saw the iron crown, and the dark armor, and the red of her fur-hemmed skirt- -and she saw her father looking back at her.

“Hail the Witchking,” she said, slowly lifting up her own armored hoof and tapping on the glass. It was solid, but felt strangely warm. A slight flicker of magic sparked from it, but Penumbra was too focused on her reflection to notice.

A sudden sound above her made her jump suddenly. She instinctively pirouetted and assumed a battle stance, fully expecting a blow of magic to land on her head and for her to lose more teeth. Instead of a pony, though, she found herself staring into the eyes of a creature perched on a piece of ancient wood on the far side of the room, lit only by the dim moonlight coming through the open door.

Penumbra had never seen a bird of any sort before, although she had sometimes seen pictures in books. This bird had a name, but she did not know it; only that it was large and pure, beautiful black.

The bird released another sound. A loud, crackling caw.

“Hello Mr. Bird.” Penumbra bowed, not sure if this was the proper protocol for a bird but not wanting to take a chance of being rude. “I am Penumbra Heatrbreak. I am pleased to meet you.”

The bird cocked its head and let out a confused sound.

“If you are looking for Lord Luciferian, I do not know where he is ether. I should have spoken to him when I had the chance. He really is a nice pony.” Yet she knew that given the chance, she would not have changed her course of action. Something in the air still felt very wrong.

The bird rushed forward, spreading its large black wings and landing on the ground. Penumbra nearly gasped; she herself had wings, but they were pink with black-dyed tips, and they could not make her fly. At least that she knew of. The thought had never actually occurred to her.

The bird began to peck at the silver droplets on the floor. Something about that action disturbed Penumbra deeply.

“Mr. Bird?” she asked. “I do not mean to be rude, but I am afraid I have gotten lost. Do you know where I can find Lord Heartstrings? Or at least the Central Library?”

The bird looked up at her. Its eyes were pure black, but not empty.

“Yes,” it squeaked, taking flight and jumping to its perch again. It paused to look at Penumbra, and then flew again, inviting her to follow it. Penumbra did, not knowing that the bird was leading her to a place far worse than this empty room with its strange mirror.

The bird led her downward, through places she had never been and areas where few ponies if ever seemed to go. The conduits and pipes grew thicker and more numerous, to the point where there was barely space to walk between them. They were not exactly part of the Citadel; rather, they seemed to be built into it.

This, in time, branched off to a second room. Inside it was dark, and the bird flew high up toward the ceiling. Penumbra lit her horn, and high above, she could see a great many of the large black birds staring back at her- -both young and old, roosting high in a circular dome. When she stared at them, they stared back, and soon fell silent.

Penumbra did not know the room, but she knew that it did not belong to Zither Heartstrings. It was not the room of a knight; she did not know what it was meant for. The walls were covered in strange panels and diagrams, all of which were inscribed with strange, indecipherable diagrams and a type of geometric language that she had no hope of being able to read. Many desks held reams of velum, all filled with more notes both in crystallic and in whatever strange language was on the walls.

There were desks that held strange things. Penumbra recognized them as machines, but knew little beyond that. Many of them were linked into things and parts, and some of them had what appeared to be bones built into their components.

She approached one especially innocuous-looking machine on a desk and poked it. It immediately twitched and flickered, and a light appeared over it, a glow of text scrolling through the air in a vast projected diagram. Penumbra ran her hoof through it, finding that it was intangible magic of some sort. Like the rest, she was not able to read it; however, some of the symbols showed heavily stylized armored ponies, as well as a projection of a partial skeleton. Penumbra frowned, because the pony it belonged to must have been unusually short and squat.

As she stared at it, something generated a sound. It was not the voice of a bird but rather a horrid, clicking voice projected from with one of the machines. As it sounded, breakers fired and lights flashed on. The birds cried out in surprise and filled the air, casting deep shadows as they dashed before the bright white lights.

Penumbra blinked and looked around the room. It was enormous and round, and though partially lit, she was now able to see that it contained something enormous in its center.

She approached it, unsure what it was, or even what it was made of. It seemed to be a great disk, although it was incomplete; within it sat tens if not hundreds of thousands of amazingly intricate gears, all made from diverse metals but primarily of a particular unnamable silvery-white one. The machine was impossibly complex, and Penumbra could not guess its function in the slightest- -although as she grew near, she saw that at its very center there was a hole. A hole in the shape of a heart.

Confused, she reached up and touched a plate of the silvery metal. She cried out and pulled her hoof back, tearing off her boot as she did. Despite the iron armor, she had felt extreme heat in her hoof, and it seemed almost to have been burned.

Worse, though, the perfect silver of where she had touched began to darken- -and the darkness began to spread. Penumbra gasped, not knowing what to do- -and that was when she heard the ticking.

“NO!” screamed a voice. Penumbra turned sharply and beheld something truly horrible. It was flat and black, clad in feather-rimmed cloth and black armor. It was flattened and disproportionate, with no face apart from two tiny silver eyes on the edges of a flat, featurless helmet. In its chest sat a small, ticking thing made out of the same metal as the enormous machine; Penumbra supposed they were the same type of device.

The thing scuttled toward Penumbra. It had only four legs, but it seemed like it had more. Penumbra found it deeply repulsive.

“Get back!” she cried. “Stay AWAY!”

“The matrix! You’ve contaminated the matrix! The technetium- -do you have any idea what you have DONE?! You’ve set my work back months, YEARS!!”

“I- -I didn’t know- -”

“Get out get out get out! Filthy alicorn, GET OUT!!”

Penumbra backed away, not knowing what to do or what the sudden emotion running through her was. The thing approached her, and the disk in its chest began to shift and reconfigure. Strange yellow light began to come from it.

“Do not touch ANYTHING! If you will not leave, I WILL MAKE YOU!”

The creature leapt toward her and Penumbra screamed. She dodged and moved to block, but instead of jumping past her it had landed obliquely on the giant metal disk and stood there, horizontal against the vertical surface.

“I WILL EAT YOU!” it screamed, suddenly leaping down and chasing her.

Penumbra screamed and ran. The thing chased her. She could hear its legs drumming against the ground, and the ticking it made as it moved. At this point, her conscious mind had stopped, and for the first time, she was afraid.

Distantly, it occurred to her that Scarlet Mist had been right. Fear was everything: the greatest motivator, and a thing that she would do anything to escape from- -but Scarlet Mist had never told her how terrible it was, how horrible it felt, like a white-hot glow cutting deep inside her. It made her run, and she could not stop it even for a moment.

The birds swarmed down, cawing angrily at their master’s call. Penumbra escaped the room, but had to cover her head as the birds began to peck at her relentless. A few pulled her mane and tail.

“Stop, STOP! I didn’t mean to!”

She summoned a spell to push the birds away. It barely worked; she did not have the concentration necessary. She could not draw on her own fear, nor could she face it. The best she could do was manage to turn around and look.

Relief filled her when she saw that the horrid creature was gone- -but her fear returned with a vengeance when she looked up and saw that it was crawling fast across the ceiling above, keeping pace.

It screamed at her, but not in any pony language. Instead, it was a clicking screech, a horrible machine-like sound that made Penumbra’s spine tingle and her hair stand on end. She spread her wings and instinctively tried to fly, but no one had ever taught her how. All it did was give the birds feathers to pluck at.

“MY WINGS!”

“I will EAT YOUR WINGS! I will BASTE YOU IN YOUR OWN JUICES! How DARE YOU SABOTAGE ME?!”

Suddenly the lights flashed on. The creature dropped directly onto Penumbra; despite how scary it was, it was surprisingly light, and remarkably small compared to even her.

“My EYES! It BURNS!”

It flipped off her and skittered down the hall, bumping into conduits blindly along the way. Penumbra was relieved, and fell to the ground. Her legs felt like jelly. Once again, though, her relief was short, because a moment later the one who had turned on the light turned the nearest corner.

It was the most horrible thing Penumbra had ever seen, making the black insect-pony look sleek and kind in comparison. It was enormous, far bigger than a normal pony, but asymmetrical and strange. One limb was hypertrophy and distorted while the other was withered. There were no rear limbs; behind the thick bands of leather that dug deep into its pale, distorted flesh, it dragged its emaciated hips behind it.

The face, though, was unfathomably terrible. The skin was pulled back taught and held with metal clips. Hooks were placed around the eye and eyelids, forcing them open wider than they should have been able to stretch, even though the eyes were cloudy and blind. The mouth, likewise, was filled with sharp hooks that pulled back the lips into a hideous grin. Pieces of metal emerged from various places on its body, with deep scars forming up as the flesh began to overgrow them.

The insect-thing bumped into the larger creature, and it looked down, almost amused. The black one then slid up a wall and vanished behind the horror- -which only allowed it to turn its attention toward Penumbra.

It only stared at her, smiling its forced smile. It began to open its mouth to speak, but Penumbra did not give it a chance. She could not bear to hear the voice it might have, or to see it take another horrible step toward her on its asymmetrical limbs, to see its strange and unnatural muscles flex beneath leather and hooks. She ran, and ran as fast as she could.

There was no escape. The castle seemed to stretch forever, drawing her deeper and into darker, stranger places. Eternity Gaze had abandoned her. Penumbra knew that she was underground, and deep; parts of the hallways had begun to devolve into caves and abandoned mining tunnels. No one would ever find her, no one would ever come for her. She had to find her way out, but there was no way she could- -and she could not stop the fear.

All she could do was run. She did not cry, because she did not know how to, and she did not scream or lament, because she was not aware that those were options. She only panicked, riding it out until the panic began to fade.

When it did, she was on the verge of collapse. Neither of the horrors had followed her, but she was now impossibly lost. There were no thralls or crystal ponies this deep, and there was no clear way out, or even to get anywhere familiar.

Penumbra felt as though she should just lay down and give up. But, of course, she did not. She was the daughter of Sombra, the greatest unicorn who had ever lived. She knew that if she were to quit now, she would never be worthy to stand beside him. So she continued on, if only for a little longer.

And she came to a door. It was large, and made of metal. Penumbra stopped before it, not knowing what it was or where it went. She did not want to open it. The last time, there had been things on the other side she was not meant to see. There could be more behind this one- -but it was her only option, apart from continuing down and endless cavern to unknown and unseen places. At least a door meant that somepony was home. Hopefully.

She poked the door, but it did nothing.

“Um...open, please?”

The door still did nothing. Penumbra examined it closely, and saw that there was a pad next to it. She put her hoof on that, and although she felt nothing actuate, the door hissed and slid upward.

She stepped through it and shielded her eyes from the light. The room was brightly lit, though not to an extreme, and as Penumbra’s eyes adjusted she saw that it was the largest and tallest room she had ever seen in her entire life.

It seemed to extend onward forever, its ceiling supported by webwork columns and metal arches along the stone ceiling. The whole of it was bustling with hundreds upon hundreds of ponies, all of them moving amongst various machines or directing carts of supplies. All stood in the shadows of a line of vast metal things that looked like enormous, armored ponies.

Except that, as her eyes adjusted, Penumbra realized that the creatures bustling about and working were not ponies at all. They were not fearful creatures, though; they superficially resembled ponies of various sizes and shapes, but their bodies were made of metal instead of flesh. They were machines. They were golems.

Penumbra had not realized there were this many golems in the entire kingdom- -or that there were so many types. The enormous armored machines were, of course, a type of golem, but so were various smaller ones being assembled alongside them. Heavyset, squat golems pulled carts and trains full of resources while smaller, thinner ones were hard at work affixing plates and engines into their larger unborn brethren. Tiny, foal-like machines cavorted between the legs of the others, performing some unknown function with great energy.

A skeletal worker-golem nearly ran into Penumbra. It stopped in time, though, turning its head toward her. It had one large eye, and the pupil narrowed. It warbled at her, and then reversed direction.

Penumbra did not know what to do. These things were only mildly disturbing, and that was only because they moved exceedingly quickly and came in so many unfamiliar shapes. They did not seem outright threatening, though, and Penumbra at least had a basic understanding of what they were. So she did not immediately run- -but she did not feel safe, exactly, either.

A large, wide golem suddenly sprinted toward her, its tiny legs whirring at blinding speed. Although like most of them it seemed meant to resemble a pony, it really looked more like a disproportionate turtle. A turtle festooned with heavy weapons.

“Princess Penumba Heartbreak,” said a voice. Not an unpleasant voice, exactly, but one that seemed rather surprised. A small figure jumped from the top of the fast-moving golem as it was snatched up by a crane and brought off to somewhere else, its tiny legs still sprinting even as it was pulled away.

The figure quickly approached Penumbra, and she realized that it was, like the rest of them, a golem. Except, unlike the others, it was considerably more advanced, and so far as she could tell, it was the only one of its kind.

It almost looked like a pony. Its body had the same shape and proportions, and it had a surface that in places approximated skin. Parts of it were hard-shelled, though, and while it had two eyes, its face was quite obviously that of a machine. It was too stark and too angular to be anything else. At least it had two eyes, though, even if the pupils were clearly mechanical in nature. It was not assembled in the form of a unicorn, although some unreadable text had been carved into the plate that made up its forehead.

“I was not expecting you. Is this an inspection? I so rarely get guests. I have planned exactly nine thousand eight hundred and seventy-six possible tour routes, if you would like an annotated list- -”

Suddenly all the golems in proximity to Penumbra stopped moving. The main golem, their leader, focused on her, his mechanical pupils narrowing.

“Your pulse rate is fifty-two beats per minute, and your oxygen saturation is at eighty-five percent. You are respiring at two hundred twelve percent the predicted rate for your tiny size. Your mane is disheveled and you are missing your right front shoe. Also, you appear to have been pecked repeatedly by birds, possibly chickens. Or mauled by some manner of stoat. These parameters are associated with stress in ponies. Are you injured or in danger?”

“I am not injured.”

“I know. I scanned you while you were speaking. But you are currently stressed. The factory floor is not a conducive location for feeling secure for an organic.” The golem looked up. “In fact, considering it, I am not sure how you got in here. You appear to have entered through resource acquisition entry point seven eight four nine B. That route only leads to a depleted mining sector.”

“I came...I came from the castle, and I got lost.”

“Then it is actually connected? That is unexpected. I will dispatch several of myselves to find the hole and assess it for tactical and strategic weakness. Thank you for informing me of this potential breach of Citadel security. I would give you candy as a reward, but I have none. I am informed that organics are food-motivated.”

“What is...food?”

“That is a good question. I can answer it, but my main priority now is reducing your level of stress and restoring you to equilibrium. Also replacing your shoe. Your armor is tailored poorly. I will synthesize you a new set based on your current proportions.”

“You do not need to- -”

“With your permission, we will move to a quiet office space. Would that please you, princess?”

Penumbra had no idea what was going on. So she just nodded.

Chapter 15: The Golem

Penumbra was brought to something like an office. Really, it was a flat, railingless platform high above the factory floor below. The view was incredible, but, in a way, threatening: there were so many of them, all at work, both on more of the large golems as well as on machines that seemed to continuously assemble and birth more of their kind.

The platform was only connected to the wall on one side. That wall contained a number of cases, each containing various golems in various stages of disassembly- -or outright destruction.

“What are they?” she asked.

“Prototypes. Largely failures. A few are the work of others. I keep them here to draw inspiration for my own creations. Do you like them?”

“Is that...morbid?”

The golem paused. “Perhaps it is. That thought never occurred to me. How intriguing.” He gestured to the otherwise empty office. “Would you like to sit, princess?”

“On the floor?”

“No. Not unless you want to.”

Golems suddenly swarmed across the platform. Some brought chairs, and one of the larger golems sat Penumbra into the softer of the two. A table galloped into the space before her and stood still while several other golems placed doileys and cups.

“Do you like tea?”

“Tea? I do not know what that is...”

“Then you can try it. I like tea. It tastes like leaves. Which I also like.”

A golem extended a hoof, which unfolded into a thin effector. It produced a steaming tea-kettle and poured some water into both cups. As Penumbra watched, a tiny golem no larger than her hoof bounded across the table, a tea-bag held on its back. It raced to her teacup and plunged the bag into the tea, dunking it several times to dye the water brown. A second tiny golem appeared and held up a white cube between its tiny hooves.

“Sugar?”

“Is that what it is called?”

“No sugar, then.”

The tiny golem took the cube away, and with the other they ran to one end of the table and jumped off, rejoining a substantial horde of their kind and fleeing through a small hole in the wall.

The remainder of the golems retreated as well, fleeing save for a few larger ones that took up defensive stations on the four corners of the platform. The main golem, the advanced one, carefully lifted his teacup and took a sip.

“You drink...tea?”

His mechanical eyes flicked to Penumbra and narrowed, examining her closely. “Does that surprise you?”

“Do machines...normally do that?”

“No. But I do. Is that your impression of me? Am I a machine?”

“Are you not? I don’t understand.”

“I am. You are correct. But I do drink tea. I can also eat. Would it surprise you to learn that much of my tissue is very similar to living material? That I have blood, even if it is made of nanoscopic golems? That I regenerate when wounded?”

“I don’t know if that is ordinary or not.”

“Then you have no frame of reference. How uncommon.” He pointed at Penumbra’s cup. “If you do not drink it, it will grow cold.”

“Oh. My apologies?” Penumbra shakily levitated the cup and took a sip. She recoiled and winced. “Ow! So hot!”

“But what does it taste like? To you?”

“Like...pain?”

“How peculiar.”

“I am afraid I do not know much about taste. The only thing I eat is the potion that Crozea gives me.”

“To control your growth. I am aware of this.”

“How?”

“I read the steward’s weekly notes. I have been following your progress for some time.”

“And...who are you, exactly? Forgive me for asking, I just don’t know.”

“Because I did not introduce myself. It took you sixteen minutes and seventeen seconds to ask. The average is one minute seven seconds. I am Unit #8471. My name is Emeth.” He pointed to his head. “I am called this because it is written on my forehead.”

Penumbra squinted. “In what language?”

“I do not know. I can read it, though. I do not know why.”

Penumbra suddenly gasped. “I know your name! You are one of the Dark Thirteen!” She tried to bow, but instead struck her head on the table, nearly spilling her tea. “Ow- -I am Penumbra Heartbreak, and I am pleased to meet you Lord Emeth- -”

“Lord? Have I been promoted? I am a lord of nothing. Only a machine.”

Penumbra looked up, absolutely confused.

“Of course you have been programmed to address me as such. Never mind.” He sipped his tea again. “Yes. I am a member of the Dark Thirteen. Although I am also technically property of Sombra. I suppose that all of the Thirteen save for the Nameless One are. You are also his property.”

“Yes. I am aware of that.”

“And you do not reject that classification?”

“I have no reason to. He created me. I belong to him, to serve his will.”

Emeth stared at her for a long moment, and then smiled. It was a strange smile, made from a mouth not meant to do anything more than bite and speak, but it was a sincere one. “How peculiar.”

Penumbra took another sip of her tea. It still burned, but she had been trained to tolerate far worse pain. It did taste strange, though. She had no frame of reference to know if it was good or bad, but knew that drinking it was the polite thing to do.

“Now. I am somewhat curious, princess. I do not understand how you came to find me, or why you were so panicked when you came.”

Penumbra felt a jolt of fear through her chest, and though it was weakened, she still hated it.

“I had been looking for Lord Heartstrings.”

“The Blue Knight? Why?”

Penumbra blushed. “I- -I needed to speak with him.”

“He does not live in the Citadel. He is a land-holding knight, and has a manor in the northeastern octant.”

“What?! Eternity!”

“Oops,” said the voice in her head.

“I am surprised that Eternity did not tell you. Although not terribly much. I do not know her well. She cannot speak to me.”

“It’s true,” sighed Eternity. “Super annoy- -OH LOOK! One of the concubines has CAKE!!”

Penumbra winced at the sudden surge in volume.

“Ah. She got distracted.”

“Yes. She did.”

“I hear that is common. However, we have digressed. My facility is built in abandoned mines nearly a mile from the Citadel, so not to interfere with Gxurab Al’Hrabnaz’s archaeological expeditions. You have come a long way.”

“I got lost.” Penumbra held her front legs around her, hugging herself. “And I saw- -I saw bad things.”

“There are several species of monster that infest the dungeons, sewers, lower districts, caves, and mines. If you tell me what they were, I can send myselves to exterminate them.”

“I- -I don’t want to do that. I don’t want them to be hurt.”

“Even if they hurt you?”

“They did not. They just...” she shook her head. She was ashamed. “They scared me.”

“Clearly. What were they? Stoats? Snorks?”

“I don’t know. One of them was small, and flat. Like a pony...but not really. And dressed all in black.”

“With feathers, and surrounded by ravens?”

Penumbra looked up, confused.

“Large, black birds.”

Penumbra gasped. “YES! That was what I saw! Was that a stoat?”

“No. A stoat is a type of weasel. Nor was it a snork, or even a drowner. Or one of those large frogs with the two heads. Nor was it a ‘what’. That was Eight of Thirteen, Gxurab Al’Hrabnaz. Who I just mentioned.”

Penumbra nearly jumped out of her seat. “THAT thing was one of the Dark Thirteen?!”

“He is. A mathematician, engineer, metaphysicist, and archaeologist. He is not a ‘thing’ any more than you or I are. He is a pony.”

“A- -a pony?”

“Yes. Although before having met him, I thought is race was extinct. The last time I saw them was over two hundred thousand years ago. From conversations with him, I have gathered that some remnants of his civilization survived the Great Cataclysm, though I do not know where they are. Which is probably a good thing.”

“But he chased me! He was going to eat me!”

“He cannot eat you.”

“He threatened to baste me in my own juices!”

“Yes. Because that is the most delicious way that you could be prepared. Regardless, he cannot remove his containment suit. Not even to eat.”

“He can’t?”

“No. He cannot survive without it. He would freeze.” Emeth’s eyes narrowed. “However, it is very unlike him to chase a pony. He normally hides. You must have done something quite terrible to provoke him.”

“I...well...I went into a big room, and there was a giant...thing. And I touched it. She held up her hoof. “See? It burned me?”

Emeth focused on the injury, which was healing rapidly. “That is a radiation burn. The object you touched. Was it rather large, and circular? With a large number of gears?”

“Yes! That one!”

“Then you deserved what you got.”

“No I didn’t!”

“If you touched it at this stage, you contaminated it. Badly. He has worked for months without sleep on completing that project. His precision is exacting, for the sake of his respect and admiration of your father. And you entered his lab without permission and ruined it.” Emeth reached down and picked up one of the tiny pony-golems. “It would be as if you entered my facility and smashed this tiny golem.”

“But that golem is so cute! Who would do that?”

“You would. Al’Hrabnaz reacted out of anger and fear.”

“No! You don’t understand. I was the one who was afraid.”

“If he chased you, he was afraid. Driven by it to seek the illusion of power. It is something organics do, and often. He does not get along with ponies. The others consider him the second-lowest rank of us, and he panics when he has to meet other ponies.”

“But he speaks to you.”

“Because I am a machine, and he is comfortable around us. But not you. You entered his private room, ruined his work, and then turned around and terrified him. Then you came to me and told me he was a monster. How does this make you feel?”

Penumbra felt her heart fall. She opened her mouth, but for some reason she could not speak. Her eyes had begun to sting and water.

“I...I didn’t mean to,” she said at last. She stared down into her tea. “I judged a pony. Based on his appearance, when he was just afraid and mad at me when I was in the wrong. I feel so terrible. Why does it hurt?”

“And you said there was a second monster.”

Penumbra’s heart fell even further. “Yes.”

“Resembling?”

“Like a big earth-pony. But with hooks in his eyes and mouth, and no back legs. And metal everywhere...”

“Then you have made the same mistake twice. That was Buttonhooks the Mad, the most reasonable of us all. Ask Eternity Gaze why he was there.”

Penumbra did not need to. Eternity heard the question.

“Misty sent him to find you,” she said. “She is aging fast and too weak to fight the stoats. He is always happy to take a trip to the basement. But never to see me. Which is probably better. He is super ugly, although I’m sure he’d be one heck of a lover.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I enjoy watching you in fear and pain. I hate you, Penumbra. I hate you SO BUCKING MUCH. Because you are young and pretty, and you can WALK. I will never be either of those things. So you DESERVE PAIN.” This was followed by laughter, then a sudden sputter. “Potatoes...why does Sombra insist on growing them? The sound...by Epona, I cannot STAND THE SOUND THEY MAKE.”

Penumbra closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Why does he look like that?”

“Buttonhooks’s research focuses entirely on pain. It is a gruesome task. He himself is an explorer of it, finding new and better sources of pain. The very best he uses on himself.”

“Why?”

“I would not know. I am incapable of pain, or any feeling at all. I wonder it so very deeply, and wish I could know. But I cannot. Ask him yourself, if you see him. The pain has apparently put him in a state of perpetual peace. But do not approach smaller ponies that look like him. They have not yet learned whatever epiphany he has found.”

“I will commit it to memory.” Penumbra put her hoof around her tea. It was warm, but cooling fast.

“I am curious, though,” continued Emeth. “You judged those ponies to be frightening, and ran. Yet you did not run from me, although I look equally as strange. Why is that?”

Penumbra looked up at him. “I...I don’t know.”

“Would you care to venture a guess?”

Penumbra paused. “I can just...tell? Lord Emeth, I am afraid I do not have the vocabulary to explain it.”

“That is acceptable. But I am glad. I do not like to be feared.”

Penumbra blinked. “Why not? Fear is how you control ponies, and make them free.”

“According to Scarlet Mist, perhaps. I find fear to be a distraction. It is my primary disagreement with your father. No advancement can occur while ponies are preoccupied with fear. Their society will be trapped in stasis until it is superseded by another. The proposition is inherently unstable.” He swirled his tea. “But your father is young, barely a foal. He may understand as he grows older. Or not. It does not affect me either way, though I am interested in the conclusion. I wonder if that is wrong.”

“I don’t think it is,” said Penumbra. “Crozea says it’s important to be curious. But when she says it, it rhymes.”

“Without curiosity, one cannot know what she does not know, and trapped as such she shall never begin to grow.”

Penumbra gasped. “You can rhyme!”

“So can you, I am sure.” He looked up at Penumbra. “Yet curiosity is what will eventually be your father’s undoing. Not unless he can free himself of fear.”

“He is not afraid.” Penumbra shook her head. “He is king Sombra! He can’t be afraid.”

“That is not what I mean.”

“Then what DO you mean?”

“I have already told you. Fear is inherently unstable.”

“So you mean to tell me you never feel fear? You are a liar, then.”

Emeth stared at her. “No. I am a machine. I feel nothing.”

Penumbra winced. “I am sorry. I did not intend to be confrontational. I have been having...problems.”

“But you make a point. You, like myself, are a machine. One built of flesh and bone, but built and programmed like any golem. Before today, did you ever feel fear?”

Penumbra paused, thinking. “No,” she said, much to her surprise. “I never did.”

“Then you have in a matter of months done what I have not in thousands of millennia. Congratulations.”

“But I don’t want to feel it. I don’t want to feel anything. I want to go back to the way I was.”

“How ironic, then, that you can.” Emeth cocked his head. “That you would so easily discard something that to me seems so very priceless.”

“I have no need for emotion or thought. I am a living weapon. I exist to serve the king and to destroy his enemies.”

“I see. If we are both machines, that is where we differ. You have a purpose, while I do not.”

“I am sorry. That must be a terrible existence.”

“Is it? What would you do if you were free to choose your own fate?”

Penumbra lifted her skirt. Although it was a rude gesture, she supposed it was okay for a golem to see. She pointed to her flank. “I have had my cutie mark since before I could remember. Crozea says I got it at my crystalling, whatever that is. Again, in rhyme. My destiny was decided. I have no freedom, nor do I have a need for it.”

“The question is hypothetical. Or are you really less creative than a golem?”

Penumbra frowned. “If I had no assigned purpose, I would not need to be here. I would go to sleep and not wake up again.”

“There is nothing you want out of life?”

“No.” An image appeared to Penumbra, and she blushed. It involved a heap of stallions. “I desire only to do as I am ordered, and to serve Sombra.”

“Then you are the first pony I have met who understands. I am glad to have met you. I feel...less alone.”

Penumbra blinked. “But you said you didn’t need a purpose.”

“No. Yet I do not have on. I exist, but derive no desire from life. Like you. Yet I cannot cease to be. I persist, regardless of my surroundings.”

Penumbra frowned. That thought made her feel bad, and she was not sure why. “So you are like me.” It occurred to her that she had never met a pony that she could say that about. There was no one like her, not that she knew of. She looked up. “Do you have a creator, that you serve? Like I serve the Eternal King?”

“I must have had a creator, at one point. Alas, I do not remember who or even what he or she was. I predate ponies significantly, so it was likely not one of your races. The Nameless One might know, or had known, but she will not speak to me. She speaks to no one.”

“That is...sad.”

Emeth nodded. “It is. I would truly like to know if my existence has made my creator proud. What they would think of me and how I have evolved. To tell me that the path I chose was correct.”

Penumbra nodded, because she understood. She understood exactly.

“My conversation is depressing you. I apologize.” Emeth finished his tea. “I am intrigued endlessly by ponies. Now, by you especially.”

“Because I am one of them, but like you.”

“Because you look like one of them, but never will be.” He shrugged. “Perhaps. Or perhaps not.”

He stood up.

“Wait.” Penumbra looked up at him. “Do you have to go?”

“I learned when your species was still young that I do not have to do anything. So no. But why?”

“Because...well, I suppose I like talking to you. Is that strange?”

“I would not be the one to ask.”

“Just a little more time. Please?”

Emeth nodded. “As I have said. I am not going anywhere.”

Penumbra burst through the access hatch, nearly tripping and falling out of the descending platform as she jumped to the ground. Her wings fluttered, nearly unbalancing her; she still had no idea how to use them. Many golems were waiting in the loading area, and they were watching her even as several started to move onto the loading platforms to go back up and to do whatever it was that they did shortly after being born. Penumbra gave them just about as much notice as they gave her, as she was far more interested on one particular golem than the others.

“How are the performance characteristics of the new armor?”

Penumbra looked down at herself. She was out of breath from having run. The armor was not all that different in structure from her original metal suit- -which now sat hanging on a nearby rack- -but it was fully-covering and black instead of metallic. Whatever material it was made of was as hard as steel, but flexible and, most importantly, profoundly light.

“It works very well. Thank you, Lord Emeth.” Penumbra bowed, and the papers in the back across her back slid out onto the floor. “Oh no! I spilled!”

Several tiny golems immediately rushed forward to pick up the mess, as well as one slightly larger one who took Penumbra’s bag.

“This particular access hatch exits on the first floor of the castle, behind the secondary kitchens. The library is nearly eight hundred meters, considering how absurdly circuitous the Citadel’s design is. You made good time.”

“I would have gone faster if I had not been so silent.” Penumbra lifted the largest roll of paper in her magic. It was very heavy, but she was able to hold it with only minimal shaking. One of the tiny golems had not released it in time and hung from the paper’s edge by its front legs, kicking in the air.

“Was there a reason to be silent? Is secrecy truly required to visit the Citadel library?”

“Have you ever met Twilight Luciferian? He has a strange fascination with books.”

“I have met him. I would say it is more of an obsession.”

“Well, he chose the librarians. The beatings they give me could rival Scarlet Mist’s.” She giggled, but then stopped. “Please do not tell her that. It would make her sad.”

“I do not think I will. I rarely see the others personally.”

Penumbra held up the rolled paper. “You have no idea how hard this was to get! Plus, it’s very late. Far past my bedtime.”

“Then you really ought to sleep. You organics need to do that, I am told.”

“What is another hour? Besides, it is for my education.” Penumbra began to walk to a side-office, one where in the distant past guards might have stood. Now it was only filled with golems, who piled out as she entered.

Inside there was a table. Penumbra set the large sheet of paper on it and tried to unroll it. It then promptly re-rolled, slapping her in the nose. She tried again, and it flicked up on the edge and nearly bounced off the table.

Several of golems turned around and held the corners for her. The tiny ones then climbed onto the table and took up stations in the corners

“Oh my. They certainly are helpful, aren’t they?”

“If they were not, I would not build them,” said Emeth, entering the room. “It is within our nature to be helpful.” He looked down at the paper. On it was a detailed, ink-drawn map.

“Crozea showed me this once,” said Penumbra. “She said it was a map of all Equestria.” She fell into a hushed whisper. “It was in the reference section! Those aren’t supposed to leave the library! Can you think of what Lord Twilight would do to me?”

“Probably locate the nearest wooden spoon and beat your flank with it.”

Penumbra’s wings twitched hard.

“N- -never mind,” she said, shuffling herself slightly in her new armor. “You have been all over Equestria, right?”

“Yes. But not in a time period that would be considered reasonable to a pony.”

“I don’t care about that. I want to know about it. All of it.”

“Why?”

Penumbra looked up, confused. “I...I don’t know.”

“Try to answer. I am curious.”

Penumbra thought for a moment. “I have...I suppose I have the impression that the world is BIG. I didn’t always think this. It occurred to me only recently. I used to think that the castle was the whole world. It was to me. But then Lord Twilight talked to the king, and he let me go outside.”

“He showed you the kingdom?”

Penumbra shook her head. “I am not allowed out of the courtyard, and Crozea or Lady Mist have to be with me.” She paused. “But sometimes I can see the kingdom, if I can find a window. And sometimes I hear other talking, about other empires and distant lands. I want to know what those lands are.”

“Our of curiosity.”

“Is that wrong?”

“Why should a machine be curious?”

“I don’t know. But we both are, aren’t we?”

Emeth paused. “True.” He looked down at the map. “Yes. I have wandered all of Equestria in my lifetime. This map represents sixty percent of what I know, and what I know is not all of it. But it will be adequate.” He pointed at a tiny demarcation near the top of the map. “This is the Crystal Empire.”

“That half?”

“No. That point.”

Penumbra leaned over and stared at the area in disbelief. “But it’s so small!”

“Our Empire is not large.”

“But...” Penumbra winced. To her, the whole of the kingdom had been unfathomably large- -and now she came to know that the world beyond it was so much larger. She had never imagined there could be so much of it. She had begun to grow dizzy.

“Our nearest neighbor is here.” Emeth pointed. “The Yak’s Republic of YakYakistan.” One of his eyes suddenly shifted, turning independently of the other. The pupil narrowed and mechanisms behind it began to whir rapidly. A sickly light came from within the eye, and it narrowed and condensed into shapes. Penumbra was only surprised by this in that she had not been aware that Emeth could use magic; holograms were nothing new to her.

She put her front legs on the table and leaned close to the image. It was a perfect representation in miniature of a snowy landscape, in which a number of hairy, horned creatures were standing buried up to their necks amongst buildings made out of snow. They appeared to be shouting at one another.

“What are they doing?”

“It is the Yak’s Republic. They are arguing over which yak that is. This memory was recorded seventy-two years ago, when I first came to the Crystal Empire since your father had come to rule it.”

The image of yelling yaks faded, and Emeth pointed to the northern area. “Beyond us is nothing but Hyperborea. Nothing lives there. Not anymore.”

“Why not?”

“It is far colder there than it is here. Too cold for any modern sort of life to have any hope of survival.”

“But you have been there.”

“I am not alive. Cold has no effect on me.”

“But it’s so big.” Penumbra looked out at the blank area of the map, labeled only with the name of the land. It was empty and vast. “Why do I have an urge to conquer it?”

“Because you are your father’s daughter. Perhaps you will, one day. But there is nothing out there.” Emeth paused. “Although...”

Penumbra perked up. “Although what?”

“I once came across an inexplicable jungle, far in the regions beyond where any pony has gone before.”

Penumbra gasped. “What was in there?”

“I do not know. I did not enter. It was guarded by a powerful spell and strange monsters. And...” He paused, thinking. “There was something else. Something evil. Something I can almost remember.” He turned sharply to Penumbra. “If you do conquer the north, do not approach that place. It is not meant for the living, and it must never be disturbed. I cannot remember why.”

Penumbra gulped. “Y- -yes, Lord Emeth. I will commit it to memory.” She pointed to somewhere else on the map, hopefully one less threatening than the lethal north. “What about this one?”

“The continent of Zebafrica. Home of the zebras.”

“Zebras...” Penumbra frowned. “Like Crozea? You mean that is where she is from?” Penumbra looked at the map more closely. “But it’s so far.” The thought made her sad. Crozea was so very far from her home.

“Yes. Here.” Emeth focused a new hologram. This one resolved into a seemingly endless grassland dotted with strange trees. Standing amongst the grass were creatures that looked like ponies but were not. Their coats were striped with black and white, and they were adorned with both gold and scarves and cloaks of brightly colored cloth. They smiled and spoke to each other, and small children ran among their legs, occasionally vanishing into the tall grass.

Penumbra gasped. “Is that what she looks like?” She began to giggle, even though she knew it was rude. “Is she really so...stripey?”

“I would assume so, though only Sombra sees her with her clothes off.”

“Wait, what?”

“This memory was recorded two hundred and twelve years ago. I am told civilization has not much changed there. The zebras value their connection with nature, and their old traditions. They were wary of me, but they are usually quite kind to ponies.”

“Scarlet Mist told me that zebra’s are a kind of striped donkey.”

“They are different species, actually, as are lesser ponies and unicorns. Donkeys are from here.” He pointed to an area not too far from Zebrafica. “They hail from Assyria.”

The hologram changed. Now it showed a beautiful port city bathed in sunlight. Vendors walked through the sandy streets with fruit and vegetables from far-flung lands, and donkeys walked through the streets in strange and marvelous garb. They looked like ponies, save for their long ears. In a few places, though, ponies in very different clothing could be seen, including some who wore both their manes and beards long and braided.

“This was two thousand and six years ago. Their civilization has grown far more prosperous. I hear mules are now permitted to serve in parliament as well.”

“And what about those big ponies there!” Penumbra leaned over the map. “Why are they so big and why do I want to put them in a pile and lay on them?”

“Early explorers from the Mighty Helm. Their sea-trade made Assyria prosperous.” The hologram changed as Emeth pointed at a small, rocky island. It showed a civilization of enormous stallions and mares, all muscular and beautiful. It took everything Penumbra had to control her wings.

“I want to shave them all,” she whispered.

“A normal response.”

“Really?”

“No. Not at all.” Emeth moved his hoof in a triangle over the map. “The earth-ponies of the Mighty Helm, the Pegasi of Lyskymm, and the Classical unicorns of Canterlot were formerly at continuous war. They have recently unified into the kingdom of Equestria Proper.”

Two new holograms appeared. One in the high mountains showed sleek, armored ponies with wings. Ponies that walked on clouds and much unlike Penumbra were able to fly. One of them was orange with a blue mane. Penumbra did not like that one.

What drew her attention the most, though, was the image of Canterlot. She could read the topographical notation of the map, and it seemed that the city itself was somehow built on the side of a sheer cliff overlooking a vast and beautiful forest.

Everything in the image was glamorous and beautiful. The streets and buildings seemed to sparkle, and the unicorns that walked the streets were clad in jewels and clothing of every make and color. Their coats almost seemed to glow, and many of them spoke and gestured toward instruments and charts in frantic debate. Behind them loomed great airships and a horizon dotted with observatories and strange towers.

“Unicorns...” She leaned in close. “It looks amazing!”

“This image was from over one thousand years ago. Even then, their civilization was advanced. It remains the same, even though their princess has been deposed.”

Penumbra recalled the steward. “By my father?”

“No. By somepony else.”

Penumbra stared at the memory for a few more seconds, in awe. “They look like Lord Twilight.”

“Twilight Luciferian is a pureblood unicorn. His ancestors are from Canterlot. Necrophilo is not a pureblood, but was supposedly a powerful mage engaged in research before the Celestial reform.”

“I wish I could go there.”

“One day you might. As a conqueror. Or a liberator, depending on your perception of yourself.”

“Did my father come from there too?”

“No.” The hologram separated and spread. “There are three subspecies of unicorn. Classical, from Canterlot; Eastern, with curved horns, and the Dark Unicorns, which you are a direct descendant of.”

Emeth pointed at an area in the dark mountains far to the west of Canterlot. The image was dim, as if night had fallen, and Penumbra could see great fortresses built of strange black stone atop endless rocky crags. Beneath them and through the streets walked two sorts of pony. One was the most beautiful of ponies Penumbra had yet seen: unicorns with dark gray coats and long, flowing black manes. The mares and stallions were large and perfect, looking close enough to Sombra to be his siblings. Perhaps they were.

The other type was similar in color, but smaller. They had fangs and slitted eyes, and the wings on their backs were those of bats. They followed the unicorns, carrying loads and dressed in tack, often pulled by thin silver chains.

“I am one of them.” Penumbra tugged at her mane. She had recently become aware that it was only the correct color because the crystal nurses that maintained her dyed it that way. The actual color- -or colors- -was grotesque and unpleasant.

“You are born to the last of their kind. I was last in their kingdom one thousand years ago, and it was falling to ruin. The land had fallen into decline long before that.”

“Why?”

Emeth looked Penumbra in the eyes and let his holograms fade. “Because the world moves on.” He looked down at the map and, despite being a machine, suddenly seemed so very somber. “I have witnessed the rise and fall of countless races of ponies, and other creatures as well. Their inception, birth, genesis or creation. I existed before the Twin Goddesses carved their empire from the lands of the Three Races.” More holograms appeared over the map. Numerous memories of what had once been: of empires of Zebras long since crumbled, of the curved-horned Eastern unicorns doomed to a path of extinction, of bison, yaks, donkeys, griffons, kirians; even of dragons, where a thin fellow with tiny wings held aloft a scepter with an enormous red ruby embedded on its top. Delineations formed, chafing as they had long ago. Of a dark empire to the south, ruled by strange and hideous black insects, the lands of the Crystal Emprire, and of a new Empire spreading fast across the lands. An empire represented by an old, faded memory of two fillies with both horns and wings.

“How old are you?” said Penumbra, watching the map. “If it is not too impolite for me to ask.”

Emeth sighed. “I have wandered what you call Equestria for three million years. I have existed for longer, but my memory is finite. Every minute I live replaces one I had once lived. I have forgotten the face of my creators.”

“But you have all these memories.” Penumbra gestured to the holograms. “All these ponies. You saw so many amazing things, and met so many ponies. You must have had so many friends.”

“Friends I invariably outlive.” He looked up. “As will you, in time, immortal princess.”

Penumbra frowned. She was still to incomplete to realize the horrific curse of her birth.

“In all that time,” continued Emeth, “I searched. For three million years, I tried to find another of my kind. Another golem who could think, instead of simply following orders. I was unsuccessful. I have concluded that there are none. That I was the only one created, and am the only one who exists.”

“But what about the others?” Penumbra pointed to other golems who were now watching them.

“They are me. Drawn from me. But not complete, though we draw near to the final phase.”

“Final phase?” Penumbra shivered. Something about that suddenly made Emeth seem so much colder than he had before.

The holograms vanished, and a new one appeared. An image of endless cities of concrete and steel, the streets packed with golems that looked almost like ponies. “This is the final phase. What I envision it as, anyway. Your father and I have agreed upon it. Once the generation-seven thrall masks are complete, and the threats to our borders eliminated.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I will create a new civilization. One of the golems like me. Better than me. Able to think, to learn, to grow. We shall assume all production functions within the Crystal Empire. We shall be its citizens.”

“But the crystal ponies- -”

“Will no longer need to expend their limited lives farming or working endlessly in the mines. Golems can do those things faster and better. Rather, they will be interfaced permanently to the fear acquisition system. We will maintain their physical needs. And in return, their fear will feed Sombra for all eternity.”

Penumbra took a step back. “You can’t- -that isn’t- -”

“Do you dislike our plan?”

“I- -no- -I- -” Penumbra groaned. “My apologies, Lord Emeth,” she sighed. “I have been having some trouble recently. It was simply a shock. If it truly is Lord Sombra’s will, then it is just and correct, and I support it with every ounce of my heart.” She paused, then looked up. “But what will become of me?”

“Most likely, you will not survive the final confrontation with Celestia and Nightmare Moon. No place in this society exists for you because you will never live to see it.”

“Oh.” Penumbra forced a smile. “Of course. I understand.”

“My apologies. I have digressed from your original request. I am highly passionate about creating my own race. I think it will lead to a more peaceful, orderly world. But I can show you more of the map, and I have many stories. You seemed intrigued by Dragon Lord Scorch.”

“If I may have my say,” said a stern voice from the edge of the room, “that will have to wait for another day.”

“EEP!” Penumbra jumped and nearly fell off balance. She rotated swiftly to see Crozea standing in the doorway.

“Your reaction shows you know you’ve done wrong. Are you aware that the night is growing long?”

“Lady Crozea!” Penumbra stood and bowed. “My apologies! I did not intend- -”

“I have been searching for over an hour! Do you know how long this castle takes to scour?!”

“That’s about how long it took her to ask me,” whispered Eternity. “She had to do it in rhyme. It took forever!”

“You know I can still hear. Unlike you, I still have an ear.”

“I WILL EAT YOUR BABIES! Also, your brew is almost done...brewing. Probably want to check it. Throw in a maiden or two, I don’t think it’s spicy enough yet!”

Crozea sighed. “Emeth, I know that your time is not cheap, but the young princess requires her nightly sleep.”

“Of course, Crozea. I suppose I got wrapped up in having a visitor to discuss various matters with.” He bowed to Penumbra. “Please go along. You can stop by at any time. Perhaps next time I can show you how I make the golems?”

Penumbra smiled, and then bowed. “Thank you, Lord Emeth. I certainly will, as you are my friend now. Next time I will send a messenger, though, as is protocol.”

She turned and went with Crozea. She looked up. “Is it true my father has seen you naked?”

Crozea recoiled. “Emeth, you churl! What have you told this girl?!”

“Only the truth. I am a golem. I do not have the capacity to make moral judgments.” He paused. “That, and to imply that you are the closest thing she has to a mother. Please be more careful with her.”

Crozea grumbled and pushed Penumbra through the door. The golems parted to allow her through, and the lights went out as they left. The only light that came was the sickly yellow glow of Emeth’s pupils

Penumbra walked in silence. She was confused. Something about Emeth’s plan made her feel bad. She did not understand why, since both he and herself were machines, and he seemed to be genuinely happy about it. Yet, as hard as she tried to understand, something still bothered her deeply.

“Crozea?” she asked.

“What you wish to say can wait until morn, after you have laid down your head and rested your horn.”

Penumbra nodded. “Yes, Lady Crozea. Of course.”

Chapter 16: The Nightmare

The crystal maids had- -with some difficulty- -removed Penumbra’s new armor, bathed her, dried her, and combed her. It had occurred to her during the process that she knew none of their names.

Now she sat on the edge of her bed, dressed in a frilly night-dress while Crozea stood before her.

“The symptoms you describe suggest several hormonal imbalances,” she explained. “I have adjusted my formula to make allowances.” She gave Penumber her daily medicine.

“Thank you, Lady Crozea.” Penumbra swallowed the medication. It tasted different from tea. They were the only two flavors she knew. Immediately, she felt her emotions beginning to stabilize and flatten.

Crozea sighed, and looked away. “Where you a normal child, you’d be but a babe with barrettes in your hair. But because of my work, you now stand at the cusp of being a mare.”

“My growth needs to be accelerated. A child cannot serve king Sombra. You are doing the correct thing.”

“And yet, what I have done to you...it filled my heart with deepest rue.”

“Lady Crozea?”

Crozea looked at Penumbra, and then gently lifted away the mask she wore. The face underneath was far smaller and far kinder than Penumbra had expected. She was stripey, like in the images Emeth had showed her, and she wore golden rings around her neck. Her eyes were so very blue.

“The golem sees us as little more than sheep, but like always his words cut deep. How long you have been here, it has not even been a single year...and the most cherished years of your life I have taken. I cannot but help but wonder if I was mistaken...”

Penumbra did not know what to do, but something sparked within her. She reached out and hugged Crozea’s neck. Crozea nearly recoiled, but after a moment softly hugged back. Penumbra could feel her tears against her chest.

“And though I have taken everything that makes you a pony, you still can find it in your heart to embrace me?”

“I would not be here without you. What you did is not wrong, and not a mistake.”

“Oh child of horn and wing,” whispered Crozea, “if only I could believe such a thing...”

Crozea released her, and stood. Though she was still crying, she was also smiling. She replaced her mask. “Now, princess, it is time for you to rest, so you may wake and do your very best.”

“Yes, Lady Crozea.” Penumbra bowed, and tucked herself under her silken blankets.

Crozea nodded and left. Penumbra waited for the door to close before she got out of bed and jumped to the crystal floor below. She pawed at it for a moment, and then lay down on it, letting the cold of the crystal soak into her. She smiled, and was almost immediately asleep.

Stretching out in every direction was a vast field of flowers that all smelled like tea. Penumbra leaned back, putting her head against the strong, warm chest of Zither Heartstrings. He held her close, his strong, warm arms keeping her close and safe.

“Oh Zither,” she said, snuggling her head up against his chin. “But we can’t! You’re my father’s knight, if he knew- -”

“Would he not be pleased? Would he not condone our love?”

“But your position- -”

“Let it be gone, then, if it would keep us apart!” Zither looked to the sky, his long mane trailing in an unseen breeze. “The only position I desire is at your side, my beloved! Now, I shall comb your long, luscious, grape-scented wings!”

“That is not fair!” cried Twilight Luciferian, sitting up from the flowers. He was dressed in an immaculate suit, his long main tied back in a ponytail instead of braided. “I wish to brush the princess wings, and then to snuggle her as well!” He approached and wrapped his front legs gently around Penubra’s neck. “For she is the softest of all princesses! And I desire her so very strongly...” He looked into Penumbra’s eyes. “And I always get what I desire.”

“Oh my.”

“Neigh! The princess is mine to love and snuggle! She wishes a strong, handsome knight in armor, not a lean, devilishly charming academic! I will brush her wings, and then we will rub our horns together!”

Penumbra twitched. “Wait, wait! Why don’t you BOTH play with my wings?”

Zither and Twilight both looked at each other, and then smiled.

“But of course!”

“The princess is truly brilliant, a tribute to her father!”

“I call the left wing!”

“No fair! I wanted the left!”

Penumbra giggled. They were not the only ones present in the dream. A few meters away sat a small and extremely fuzzy mare, picking at the grass and humming to herself. She appeared in all of Penumbra’s dreams, and Penumbra was distantly aware that she was Eternity Gaze- -although she was also aware that the form that sat on the edge of her perception was most certainly NOT what Eternity Gaze actually looked like.

“And when you are done preening me...and stroking my long, incredibly hard horn...fetch me more stallions! Form a pile! I will lay on you ALL!”

“Yes princes!”

“I can begin fetching them now,” said Emeth, approaching across the field.

Penumbra stood up. “Wait a moment! What are you doing here? I don’t feel comfortable with you being here!”

“It is your dream, princess.”

“But am I really attracted to you?”

“More to the point,” said Luciferian, pulling his mouth off of Penumbra’s wing, “are you really attracted to us, or are you secretly attracted to your own father?”

“And why is Scarlet Mist not here?” asked Zither, his mouth full of feathers. “Do you not wish to brush her beautiful red mane, and perhaps have her slap you a few times in the process?

“Gah!” Penumbra covered her ears. “When did my dreams get so psychological?” She turned sharply to the fuzzy filly at the edge of the field. “Eternity! Come on! I just want to have stallion-snuggles! Stop making it weird!”

Eternity’s fuzzy avatar looked up and shrugged.

Penumbra sighed, but began to become aware that the sun was setting. This confused her greatly. She had never known the sun to set before; in reality, she was only distantly aware that there was even a difference between the sun and the moon.

The sky began to become dark, and was painted with strange and inexplicable points of light. They were in a way beautiful, but the darkness made Penumbra feel strange. For a pony who had spent her life in dim, empty corridors, that vast and endless black sky made her uneasy.

Eternity looked up at the sky, and then at Penumbra. She smiled devilishly, and then flickered and dissapeared.

“Lady Eternity?”

Penumbra stood, and realized that she was alone. So were the flowers. Instead, her hooves were sinking in snow- -but snow unlike any she had ever felt. It was warm.

She picked some up and rubbed it between her hooves. It collapsed into dust.

“Ash?”

Somewhere, a scream cut the night air. Penumbra turned sharply and saw a Pegasus filly in torn, dirty clothes running toward her.

“Stop!” cried Penumbra. “I can help you!”

The filly saw her and stopped, falling back into the ash. “No! NO! Don’t hurt me! Please don’t- -EEP!”

She was immediately surrounded in a cage of yellow light. Penumbra looked up to see where it had come from, and in the distance she saw a strange red glow.

Then it was all around her. A burning village. The houses and possessions of ponies alight, the sums of their work and the material products of their lives and the lives of their families burning to ash and smoke. The heat was intense, and Penumbra covered her eyes.

That was when she heard the sound of metal scraping across stone. She looked up to see a terrible sight. Approaching her was a beastly apparition, a creature clad in a hideous carapace of glinting metal. A phantom dragging a strange blade of red-mottled steel across the ground.

The image grew clearer, and Penumbra understood. The horror before her was none other than the Blue Knight. Behind him came is cavalcade of mutant griffons, swooping down and grabbing screaming ponies, stealing them away into the night’s sky. Their amber eyes were so very cold, but their toothless grins so very sincere.

“L- -Lord Heartstrings!” Penumbra tried to stand, but felt weak. She was afraid, and deeply so, even though just moments before this pony had been stroking her gently in his arms. “What- -where am I?”

Hideous laughter seapt from beneath his helmet. His blade was lifted slowly in his amber magic. “Let burn the homes of filthy heretics! I bring LIBERATION! HAIL THE WITCHKING!”

Then, cackling madly, he charged Penumbra, raising his sword high above his head.

Penumbra did not have time to summon a shield spell. Instead, she simply raised her hooves in futile defense.

And she fell. Her wings flapped uselessly as she did, but from her training she righted herself as she struck the hard stone below.

“You IDIOT!”

The air was filled with the sickening sound of a hoof against flesh, followed by a quiet squeal- -and then the his of white-hot magic, followed by screaming.

“Daddy, no! PLEASE! I was only trying to HELP!”

“As little magic as you have, your presence will contaminate the crystals! The slightest contact, even the proximity of your reaking failure could decrease the efficiency of the ingrainment process by as much as THREE HUNDRETHS OF A PERCENT!”

Another snap of magic, and more screaming. Penumbra began to see, and he saw Twilight Luciferian, his face contorted with rage, as he repeatedly struck the cowering, wimpering body of a unicorn not much older than the age that Penumbra herself appeared- -a unicorn missing a leg, and with a patch over one eye. A unicorn who looked so very much like Luciferian himself, but whose coat was not perfect, pure white.

“Daddy,” she sobbed. “Please, I love you!”

“And I HATE you! Just looking at you makes me SICK! If only I could beat that out of you!” He began to cackle madly. “Oh, why not? I might as well TRY!”

Penumbra was forced to look away, but before she did, she became aware that the pair of them were not alone. There was another pony, a tall and thin earth-mare with flaming red hair. She watched, laughing- -but not at the girl being whipped. She was laughing in Luciferian’s face, and he did not even know it.

Then she stopped. Her smile grew wide, revealing black, pointed teeth- -and she turned to Penumbra.

“Don’t worry, little pure-one,” she said. “Nothing she can show you is more horrible than the reality you inhabit.”

The air suddenly became unbearably thick with the scent of carnations and of the most profound and putrid rot imaginable. For the briefest of moments, Penumbra thought she could almost see the yellow pony for what she was- -and fell to her knees and screamed in abject horror until the whole of the world went dark.

When she stopped, and could no longer remember why she was so afraid, she realized that she was outside.

As she stood, her eyes adjusted to the light of the moonless and sunless sky. The light was strange, though, because it did not come from above. Instead, it came from all around, but not from fires. Instead, it was the glow of engines: of blast-furnaces and fuel pits, of strange and ponderous engines. Beside it came the unnatural crisp illumination of spark-gas and crystals arranged into unspeakable devices that pushed the very limits of reality in their function.

Above the roar of endless machines was the sound of screams and weeping. All around, Penumbra saw ponies of every race chained in endless lines, whipped by overseers from every side. None were free, and none knew a life except for fear and sadness.

High above, highest among the endless towers, was a Black Citadel, at its top the most horrible of all engines, a circling gyroscope of white, burning metal surrounding a blood-red crystal heart.

Two fires ignited on the highest balcony, and a pony stepped out. A black stallion, so beautiful and terrible that the the ponies below screamed in fear at his mere presence. He laughed at them, and the whipping resumed.

Penumbra stared in horror at the sight of her own father, now a thing barely recognizable- -and as her eyes focused, she saw beside him a figure in a dark cloak with a long, black-red horn. And as she watched, she screamed, because she saw that figure spread her vast black-tipped wings.

Something white streaked through the night’s sky. For a moment, it seemed a shooting star, until all the world Penumbra saw was consumed in fire. She screamed and covered her face, blinded by the plume of dust and glass and the unfathomable light of ten thousand suns. As it cleared, she was able to look about, and saw endless columns of fire, spreading upward like great mushrooms, vast enough to incinterate entire kingdoms. Even in the distance, more things fell from the sky and more deadly mushrooms bloomed. It had already started to rain, and the rain was hot and black.

Behind her, she heard the sound of hooves. She did not want to look- -but felt compelled to.

Approaching through the fire and ash of the last civilization approached and endless horde, pouring across every hill and from every direction like endless ants. They seemed like ponies, but Penumbra knew in her heart that they were not. They never had been.

The golems approached her, and she saw their leader, the one standing in the front of their formation. He was recognizable only because of the plate on his forehead that bore his name, for his skin was no longer that of a machine. It was the skin of a pony.

Then the world fell silent- -save for a distant, quiet beating. Penumbra likened it to the sound of a heart, but a heart to a thing she could not recognize.

She stood in a circular room bathed in strange green light. This was different than before. It was calm, and still, and at the same time so very familiar. As if the shadows of that green light had crossed the recesses of Penumbra’s mind many times before.

She gazed at the center of the room, though her mind could scarcely comprehend what it was. There was a small, thin table. Atop it sat a jar, fed by hundreds of metallic tubes and wires descending from above. Fluid rushed through them, its sound not at all pulsating to the beat of the heart. Because there was no heartbeat. Not from the machines. It was Penumbra’s. And it was growing more rapid every second.

Sitting upon the table was a simple glass jar, filled with green fluid. Bubbles slowly rose through it, driven by some unseen machine. The jar’s inhabitant turned one immense, blind eye toward Penumbra. It was all she could move. The rest was held tight by the machines linked to her neck, suspending her inverted from above.

“E...Eternity?”

A response came, but not from the jar. What sat within it could never speak again. The voice instead came from a great distance.

“You need to wake up,” it whispered. “There isn’t much time- -WAKE UP.”

Then the voice was gone, and the room with it. Penumbra instead found herself standing knee-deep in dark water. It reflected the light of the stars above, and a moon that dominated most of the sky.

“Hello, Princess.”

Penumbra turned sharply, sloshing through the thick water. She found herself facing a pony she had never met: a tall, thin filly with a short-cut blue mane standing atop the water. Her body was the purest blue, and her cutie mark a simple white moon. Most terrifyingly, though, was that she, like Penumbra, was an alicorn.

“Who are you?” demanded Penumbra, taking a defensive stance and summoning a magic shield and blade. “In the name of the Witchking, identify yourself!”

“Our name is Luna. We have come such a long way to meet you.” She smiled, but Penumbra stepped back.

“No. No, that’s not your name! And that’s not what you look like!”

The alicorn’s eyes narrowed. “How perceptive for one so young. No. We chose this form because we felt you would better accept it.”

“Deceiver! Show your true form!”

“So be it.”

The filly’s eyes suddenly widened, and for a breif moment she looked so terribly forlorn- -and so very terrified.

“Please, no,” she whispered, reaching out for Penumbra- -as the shadows that linked to her hooves pulled her screaming backward into the darkened void behind her.

Then the void stepped forward. It took shape and form, and the water parted from its presence. A pony of pure shadow, a black mare with a swirling starry mane and luminescent turquoise eyes.

“I am what Luna became,” she said. “I am the eldest of the Sisters. I am Nightmare Moon, Goddess of Night.”

She gently waved her hoof, and Penumbra’s spells collapsed. Penumbra squeaked and tried to summon them again, but her magic had failed her.

“My magic!”

“Do not be alarmed. You are surely aware that you are sleeping, and dreaming. Your magic has no power here. Only mine holds sway.”

“I do not need magic to punch you in the SNOOT!”

Penumbra lunged forward and tried to grab for Nightmare Moon’s neck. She passed through as if the mare were made of nothing more than mist, and she landed hard against a thick, soft carpet.

“Likewise,” continued Nightmare Moon, “as a dream, no physical harm can befall you here.”

“But harm beyond the physical?”

“If you mean psychological trauma?” Nightmare Moon turned slowly, looking over her shoulder. “I wish desperately to avoid having to do that to you.”

Penumbra stood. She was in a building, although she did not recognize it. The halls were high and filled with stained-glass windows depicting things she did not understand.

Except she was not. She was on her floor, sleeping. She could still feel the cold of the crystal- -and something tightening hard around her neck.

“If you have come to challenge me, I shall defeat you in Sombra’s name.”

“You could not. And I have not.” Nightmare moon rotated fully. Her body was still naked, a form she would have shown precious few of her subjects, but she was terrifying and regal amongst the quiet backdrop of stained glass and torrents of lavender blossoms. “I have only come to speak with you.”

“We have nothing to say. Your existence is heretical. You are a mortal enemy of the king. All alicorns are.”

“Even yourself?”

Penumbra faltered, but only for a moment. “I am an instrument to serve the king’s will.”

“That is where you are incorrect.” Nightmare Moon walked forward, her hooves clicking against the cold stone. “You are like us. One of us.”

“I am nothing like you.”

“Yet the evidence is empirical. You have both wings and a horn. What else can you be but an alicorn?”

Penumbra suddenly understood. This was what her father had meant. This was her purpose. She was meant to oppose this mare, to equal her in the name of the kingdom. And yet she knew that she had no hope of doing so. She was far too weak.

“Indeed, you do not. But you are not as weak as you think.”

Penumbra stepped back. “Get out of my mind!”

“No. Not that there is much to fine.” Nightmare Moon’s expression grew serious. “Your situation is unfortunate. To the extent that I am able, I lament what has become of you. What we failed to stop.”

“There is nothing wrong with me!”

“Only that you have been robbed of the childhood that you were meant to have. As were Luna and my sister, though in a different sense. To this, I must give you my deepest apology.”

Nightmare Moon bowed. Penumbra shivered, and could not help herself. She bowed in return.

When she stood, she found herself standing in a garden. Moonflowers were blooming everywhere, while the morning-glories and daylilies had all closed and begun to wither.

“We had intended to take you away from the Crystal Empire,” explained Nightmare Moon, who was staring up at the night’s sky above. Not enjoying it, but inspecting it for flaws. “No doubt that sounds abhorrent to you at this point, but as a foal you would not have cared. Though had it not been for accursed magic, you would still be a foal.”

“I had to be improved. To fight YOU.”

Nightmare Moon turned her enormous eyes to Penumbra. “And if I had trained you to fight at my side, with my knights instead of your father’s Dark Thirteen? If my sister’s spells had aged you, and mine had given you a mind, would you face your own father at my orders?”

“No.”

“If you believe that, you are a fool.”

The scenery changed again. Now they were walking down a hall.

“One of the three Elements that I wield is that of Honesty,” said Nightmare Moon, leading Penumbra down the darkened hallway. “So know that I speak the truth when I say I was ambivalent to accepting you.”

“Because I am the daughter of your enemy.”

“No. Simply because I have other matters to attend to.” She paused, standing just fore an open door. Light was shining through it. “But my sister was overjoyed.” She gestured into the room. Penumbra peeked through the opening. Inside, she saw a vast library. Sitting at the table amongst a pile of books was a figure in white robes. She was as tall as Nightmare Moon, but pure white instead of black. Her hood was almost pulled up, but it did not obscure her flowing, pastel mane. It was tied back with golden thread as she poured through her books, jotting down notes. She looked so very sad.

“Our condition is unique,” said Nightmare Moon, staring at the image of her sister. “As a mortal cannot give birth to an immortal without paying a terrible price, we are unable to give birth at all. As alicorns, we are sterile.”

“Sterile?” Penumba did not know why that made her hurt inside, if only distantly. It was a feature of herself she would rather not have known.

“This affected my younger sister greatly.”

“And not you?”

Nightmare Moon turned away from her sister, and suddenly stood on a ledge. Out before her, endless legions of bat-winged ponies had assembled at the command of knights in brilliant white armor. They raised their heads to Nightmare Moon and saluted.

“HAIL!” they cried in unison. “Hail the One True Goddess!”

“I have dedicated my life to my children of the night,” said Nightmare Moon, smiling. “Those who witness my night, and behold its beauty. My goal is simply to create a world where they are free of persecution and can live as normal, happy ponies.”

“You only bring conquest and servitude. My father brings true liberation.”

“Freedom by slavery? Does your incomplete mind even comprehend the paradox?”

“There is no paradox,” liked Penumbra. Nightmare Moon only smiled, because she could see through the false bravado. Slowly, she turned back to the image of her sister.

“She is not like me,” she continued. “So different in so many ways. She had no intent on building an army, or a grand scheme for our society.” She looked down at Penumbra. “But she wanted you. You would have been the daughter she could never produce. She had decorated a nursery for you. She was going to raise you to be a kind, caring and gentle pony.”

“And what does a living weapon require those attributes for?”

“I ask myself the same questions. My sister, in her heart, knows the answer. But look now.” She pointed. “She has buried herself in the library, into her work. Learning new spells, or just reading over those left by our mentor. From better times.” She sighed. “Did you know that she had even chosen a name for you?”

“I am Penumbra Heartbreak. I need no other name.”

“You were to be called Princess Mi’Amore Cadenza.”

“That is a stupid name.”

“Says the filly entitled ‘Penumbra Heartbreak’. It sounds like the name of an edgy teenager.”

“Fine advice from ‘Nightmare Moon’.”

Nightmare Moon smiled at Penumbra. “Perhaps you would have made a good daughter. Although there is still a chance.”

“I am a good daughter,” liked Penumbra. “To Sombra, the Witchking.”

“You do not need to be. I have already shown you. Those you serve have evil motives. And you will be made evil as well, and consumed by it.”

“You have shown me illusions. Dreams.” Penumbra puffed herself up defiantly and met Nightmare Moon’s eyes. “YOU are the evil one, and your filthy sist- -”

The world erupted in screams and black fire, and Penumbra found herself thrown to a dank floor. A tall throne loomed over her, covered in sharp-fanged bat-ponies. At the top stood Nightmare Moon, now enormous and terrifying, clad in silver armor.

“You will NOT speak ill of my beloved sister! My sister who has devoted her love to a child she has never even met, and may never even SEE! How thoughts of you and the evils you have suffered torment her dreams, if you only KNEW!”

“I am GLAD!” screamed Penumbra. “Let her be tormented! She deserves it for defying the KING!”

Nightmare Moon was suddenly a hair’s width from Penumbra’s face. “I could rend your mind in an instant, child. Know this, and know it well.”

“You reek of moon-cheese and overcompensation for a short horn.”

Nightmare Moon glared at Penumbra further, and a wide smile crossed her face. Where there had once been pony-teeth, there were now only long, gleaming fangs.

“Such fire! You truly are his daughter! Oh, the riches and treasure I would give to have a mare like the one you shall yet be at my side. To balance the scales of power between Night and Day.” She stepped slowly away from Penumbra. “Alas, you do not understand the nature of good or evil. Your mind has been built to be incapable of knowing.” She looked over her shoulder. “But your heart is still that of a pony. I wonder...if I were to pour the nightmares of the entire Crystal Empire into your mind, would you believe me then? Or would you be driven insane?”

“I would withstand it. And my mind would not change! If you wish to challenge me, you moon-rumped harlot, then cease talking and DO SO!”

Nightmare Moon laughed, and her horn began to glow with silver light. A strand of light dripped from it- -and then another- -and ten more- -and then hundreds, or thousands.

“If you wish to know the pain I bear? So be it!”

The strings shot out toward Penumbra’s heart, and she held firm, sure she would win this battle and make her father proud.

Except she never had the chance. A shield formed around her, a bubble of pure hideous light.

Nightmare Moon screamed and was driven back as the light tore apart her illusion. It was not the glow of day, her supposed opposite, but of something far brighter and far more empty. While the sun brought warmth and life, this light would never warm.

Penumbra saw it, but was not blinded by the glow. She looked up beside her and saw a creature standing beside her, one she recognized but did not know from where. It was a thing that stood like a pony, clad in pure white.

“NO!” screamed Nightmare Moon, forcing herself against the oncoming surge of magic. “You will NOT defeat me! Not here! MY POWER IS ENDLESS!”

She pushed her own magic against the white shield, but the shield did not even flex. The Nameless One raised a cloth-draped hoof, and tens of thousands of doors appeared behind Nightmare Moon. With a flick, Nightmare Moon was cast through the nearest of them. Then it closed, and the doors were sealed and gone.

Nightmare Moon landed hard and bounced. The impact was painful, but not severely injurious. She was, after all, in a dream, even if it was not hers. Still, the light- -whatever it had been- -had taken a toll on her. Nothing she had felt before had been able to do that to her.

She stood, assembling her silver garb around her. Looking around, she found herself in a seemingly endless field of thin violet irises beneath a dimming twilight sky. One pony lay beside her, beneath a tree and reading a book. The pony looked up curiously at Nightmare Moon. She was a tall, thin, pure-white unicorn with a long, silken mane. One of her eyes was deepest violet, but the other was pale blue.

“Lady Moon,” she said, softly. “I was not expecting you for another hour at least.”

Nightmare Moon brushed herself off. “My eleven o’clock canceled early. Are you free to move up your schedule?”

The mare smiled and stood, doing so with extreme grace despite missing one of her front legs. “Of course, my Princess. I would be made glad by it.”

Chapter 17: Assassination

Penumbra looked up at the Nameless One. She could not tell if it was a he or a she, or even what it was. Though it stood like a pony, it was much larger than one. Just barely, she could see the very tip of its face. It was not quite a pony face, as Penumbra could have sworn she saw tiny white scales tipped with purest gold.

Then as soon as he or she had come, the Nameless one departed- -and Penumbra awoke.

The first thing she became aware of was pain. The second was not being able to breathe. Penumbra gasped and tried to cry out, but could not. She tried to flail, but found that her hooves were held tight by something thick and strong. It was not quite rope, she realized, but tendrils of something fleshy that reeked of chemicals.

She was still on the floor of her room, but the tendrils had still found her, wrapping themselves around her limbs- -and her neck. Their grip was strong, and they snaked over her body, their grasp growing tighter. The smell of chemicals grew even stronger, and Penumbra felt her vision going dark. She was going back to sleep, but was distantly aware that she had to try her hardest not to. If she went now, something bad would happen.

“Help...me...” she gasped.

Her room was suddenly flooded with blue light. Thirteen dropped in, not even registering the teleportation as her horn immediately shifted spells. Several bright blades of light shot from the tip of her appendage, severing the tendrils that had ensnared Penumbra. Penumbra shot up and tore the one around her neck free, gasping as she did.

It felt disgusting, and as she held it, it began to boil. The flesh of the tendril bubbled away as it rotted, revealing that inside it contained both flesh and bone, although those too were gone in a matter of seconds. The stumps wailed quietly and squirmed their way back through thin cracks in the crystal, vanishing to wherever they had come from.

Thirteen immediately raised a shield around herself and Penumbra, sealing the room in a glow of blue light. By this time, the crystal nurses had awakened and came racing toward the room.

“Princess? Princess!”

One of them stood on her hind legs and pounded on the shield spell. “Lady Thirteen! Please, open the shield!”

Penumbra looked up at the nurses, but she was still choking and coughing. She could not yet speak, and her head ached badly.

“Let us in- -she’s choking! We have to help her!”

Thirteen did not respond. She did not even look toward the nurses. Her eyes were focused only on Penumbra and the area around her- -or, more specifically, at the data-readouts from the inside of her helmet. Not once did she allow the shield spell to falter, not even slightly. There was far too much at stake to allow that to happen.

Chapter 18: The King

The Blue Knight burst into the main hall with such force that the rapidly opening doors flung the thrall guards most of the way across the room. He was clad in his full armor, with his sword drawn.

“I have heard that the princess is in danger! I came as quickly as I could!”

“Though the princess has been spared a dire fate, you, Blue Knight, have arrived far too late.”

Zither removed his helmet and glared at Crozea. She was one of several who had arrived to address Sombra on the situation. Beside her stood Buttonhooks the Mad, who had been the nearest unit otherwise unoccupied, as well as Thirteen, clad in her own armor. Unlike Zither, she never seemed to remove hers. Nor did she eat or sleep.

“My king.” The Blue Knight bowed. “It is of endless relief that the princess is unharmed.”

“Which is no thanks to you, my knight.”

“My king.” Zither bowed more deeply. “There is no way I can atone for this oversight.”

“My master, there was nothing he could have done,” said Buttonhooks, slowly. His voice was badly distorted from the metal screws embedded in his vocal cords, but it was clear and deep, maintaining his Old Trottingham accent perfectly. “This event is not of his failure.”

“I understand that. This was a failure on the part of many, myself included.”

“It was a concerted mental attack from Nightmare Moon,” explained Eternity. Her voice was soft; she knew that of those who had failed, she had failed the most severely.

“And is the alicorn injured?”

“Penumbra was badly shaken, but by the grace of the spirits her life not taken.”

“Is she secure?”

“To that task, we have entrusted her to the mask.”

“Nightmare Moon is a dangerous foe.” Sombra eyed his lieutenants closely, especially Thirteen. “There is no telling what horrors she might have shown my weapon. There is a risk of contamination, and that cannot be tolerated.”

“I have checked her primary programming,” said Eternity. “There isn’t really that much of it, and I made all of it.”

“And?”

“It is not how I left it. Not at all. But I don’t think it was Nightmare Moon. Nothing in the princess’s head reeks like moon-cheese.”

Sombra glared at Crozea. “Then these...aberrations. They are due to your mismanagement of your task. Perhaps I ought to have entrusted Luciferian with her growth instead.”

“The anomalies are a result of her pre-adult growth, and I shall correct them, you have my oath.”

“Nevertheless,” said Buttonhooks, slowly, turning his permanently wide eyes from Crozea to Sombra. “Crozea’s report, correlated poetically as always, noted deep ligature marks on the princess's neck and limbs. Scarlet Mist has confirmed this. Nightmare Moon does not have the magical potential to interact with the physical world in that way. Not normally, based on any known records.”

“Implying?”

“Implying nothing concrete, without further evidence, save for the fact that this was an assassination attempt.”

“And yet when I entered, my lord, I found this one standing over my ward.” Crozea pointed at Thirteen, who stared back blankly. “And at the nurse’s demand for her to yield, she did not even try to drop her shield.”

“YOU.” The Blue Knight drew his sword and in a swift motion was across the room, holding it at Thirteen’s throat. “So it was YOU! Do not protest! You were found at the scene of this heinous attempt, standing over the fair damsel! Explain yourself!”

Thirteen looked up at him. Her horn glowed, and a portal appeared, sliding over his sword to the hilt. The blade of the sword emerged from a portal across the room, poking a thrall smartly.

“Foul witch!” snapped the Blue Knight, trying unsuccessfully to free his sword from the portal. “Stop thinking with portals and allow me to threaten you PROPERLY!”

“Thirteen’s reaction was within protocol and, in my opinion, wise.” Buttonhooks addressed Sombra directly, stepping forward and dragging his withered pelvis behind him. “It is within protocol. She produced a shield to defend the princess from both Nightmare Moon and any potential conspirators among the help. She waited until zebra-Crozea arrived.” He turned his gaze to her. “And when you arrived, she allowed you in.”

“To protect the Penumbra, I do what I must, and this masked mage I no longer trust.”

“The princess’s own account suggests that Thirteen saved her.”

“Perhaps as false labor, meant to curry the king’s favor.”

“That is an off-rhyme indeed,” said Zither, finally managing to free his sword and sheathing it. “This has indeed affected you, lady zebra. Recall that the princess is well and safe. And that you are in the presence of our king.”

Sombra had been watching patiently. “Eternity. What did you see?”

“Nightmare Moon had forced me back by trying to dig into the part of my brain where I keep my prophecies.”

“Seeking something, perhaps?”

Eternity paused. “I don’t think so. It’s the most secure part of my brain. I think she knew that I would try my hardest to keep those secret. It’s the same reason equals-sign-butt can’t tell us what SHE saw. That part of us, it destroys things. Very hard.”

“The princess described the attack as a mass of organic tendrils, but could not describe it further from the darkness and from the strain of the events.”

“Autonomous tendrils suggest magic,” said Sombra. “Either pure biomancy or herbic manipulation.”

“The latter of which Crozea is an expert at,” noted Zither, turning his amber eyes toward the zebra.

Enraged, Crozea tore off her mask. “You pompous sack of rotting burl! You dare to accuse me of trying to harm the girl?!”

“You are the only one with access to her bedchamber.”

“Though I have not a hasty oath like thine, I have raised that girl as if she were mine! You have dealt me great insult, push further and you will receive a terrible result!”

“If that is how you would treat your own daughter? Then you would be a terrible mother. If that cursed body were not entirely barren, of course.”

“HOW DARE- -”

“This is not productive,” growled Buttonhooks, interposing himself between the two of them as Crozea reached for her chemicals and spell-scrolls while the Blue Knight drew his sword. “Fighting brings us no closer to uncovering true evidence and acting swiftly. My disciples already search the halls: if an intruder is found, there will be pain.” His lips twitched, trying to smile against the hooks that bound them. “He or she will speak...and then scream.”

“There is no one here,” said Eternity. “And any trace of whatever spell it was is gone now. Thirteen’s spell erased it.”

“A destruction of evidence, then.”

Buttonhooks sighed. “If you are going to make baseless accusations, half-unicorn-Zither, at least keep your accusations consistent.”

“Call me that again, and I shall give you the poke.”

“With your sword? Indeed. I would greatly enjoy it. If only I still had the backs of my knees. But I digress, and that will need to wait until later.”

“Yes,” said Sombra, his voice causing silence to fall over the others and throughout the room. “Search the area again. All of you. Find Al’Hrabnaz, and see what insight he can offer. But contact no others.”

“My lord,” said Zither, “as much as I hate to admit it, this may be a task to which Luciferian is best suited.”

Sombra turned sharply. “Did I not speak clearly, Knight?”

Zither bowed. “No, my lord.”

“You are a tracker. Apply your skills. And leave Twilight out of this. He will have other duties, I assure you.” He paused. “Meaning you are dismissed. Leave me. NOW.”

They all bowed to him and departed, save for Thirteen. She lingered for a moment, staring at Sombra, before vanishing in a flash of magic. For reasons he could not explain, Sombra found Thirteen increasingly disturbing.

He began to walk through his silent and empty complex, the areas where none were brave enough to enter alone in the night. He did not need to return to bed, as he had neither slept nor eaten in centuries.

“It was close,” said Eternity, who could never be dismissed. “The Nameless One. It intervened.”

“Oh?” Sombra did not break pace, nor did he speak. He replied in Eternity’s own language, using his mind alone. “You saw it?”

“No, but I felt it. It’s like...as if a great big shark poked the very tip of its fin through the surface of the water, then went back under without a ripple...but was big enough to overturn an entire armada. It hurt. It hurt so bad...”

“Are you any closer to understanding what, exactly, it is?”

“No. And I don’t want to know. I don’t think we’re meant to.” She paused. “It saved the princess.”

“Which is curious in itself. Nor can we count on it in the future. It appears loyal to me, but I suspect it is only on a whim.” Sombra looked up and ahead of him. He had entered an arcade of arrow-slits, and across from them flew the tattered remnants of ancient sable flags. They no longer had meaning, but glimmered strangely in the light of the full moon.

“We were lucky. And I detest trusting my fortune to luck. Attacks from the Dark Goddess are not uncommon, nor unexpected. She always finds a way in. It is why I never sleep. But you need to be more careful. If the alicorn had been ruined...”

“I understand my failure.”

“No. I do not think you do. Do you think there is nothing I can take from you, without a body? If I so chose, I could plate your chamber with dimeritium.”

“I am tactically critical! You if you did that- -”

“Isolated in your own mind, you would see across time, as you meant to when you gave everything you could control in exchange for everything you could not. A mere minute, and you would experience ETERNITY.”

“NO. No. No!” Eternity began cackling manically. “No. I can’t. Please. That isn’t good. Not a good idea. I hate me. I hate me SO MUCH. Can't be alone...can't..."

“Then perhaps if I dump ants onto your glass again.”

“If you must know! I was distracted. Very busy. With something I think you would like.”

“Apart from defending my weapon?”

“A weapon that doesn’t, you know, work. No. I have something better. But you’re not going to like it.”

“My day is already passing poorly. But such is the duty of a king.”

“The other day, while I was watching Penumbra- -closely, I might add- -I lost sight of her.”

Sombra stopped. “You what?” he said, now verbally.

Thin laughter came from deep within Eternity’s mind. “She was there one moment, and then gone.”

“That is impossible. You see everything.”

“I know. But it wasn’t just her. One Gxurab’s birds did the same thing. Dissipated, and came back. In the same place as the princess.”

“Where?”

“An abandoned storage room. Who knows what Gxurab’s ‘exmoori ancients’ used it for, but now it’s just full of old junk. There is nothing special about it. But I sent thralls to investigate.”

Sombra reverted to mental communication. He sensed that this was something not to be spoken of aloud. “What did they find?”

“A powerful spell. More advanced than anything I’ve ever seen. It must have taken years to install, piece by piece, brought in packed and unfolded. Really carefully.”

“Twilight.”

“Yes. He is the only one other than you who could have made such a spell. And from the look on your face, I don’t think it was you.”

“What was he hiding?”

“Like I said. Junk. Nobody’s been in that room for decades. It never changes. That’s what the spell does. It feeds me the image of the room.”

“Then what was in the room but not in the image?”

Eternity smiled, at least mentally. “A mirror. An enchanted one. And it smells like his magic.”

“A portal.” Sombra frowned. “Which is not inconceivable, nor is it unknown to us. He retreats to his ancestral home. We now simply know one of the mechanisms of such transport.” Sombra paused. “But why was the alicorn there?”

“That’s not even the best part. The thralls found traces of unicorn genetic material.”

Sombra’s eyes narrowed. “What sort of genetic material?”

“The silvery kind.”

“Luciferian’s?”

“No. I traced it back to one of the expert crystal processing technicians. I found him sealed in a wall. Badly anemic, but alive and uninjured. Turns out, he has no memory of what happened to him- -but can’t account for a case of five majestic-purity crystals from the refinery center.”

“And this mage. What color was he?”

Eternity paused. “The color? I don’t know what that has to do with anything.”

“What. COLOR.”

“White,” she said. “He is a white unicorn with a blue mane.”

Sombra’s brow furrowed at the realization. “The fool. So he’s finally succumbed to it.”

“King?”

“Purebloods of his race have a very distinct trait, one passed from their Queen. More of a habit, really. But it bodes very, very poorly.” He sighed. “As does the theft of those crystals. Just one could power ten artillery units, or a bomber zeppelin for over a century. In the possession of a mage of his caliber, their potential is...intriguing.”

“Should I find him? Maybe strip search him?”

“No. He is making his move against me, or will soon. This was not unanticipated. There is a reason why he is the one I keep closest. But the alicorn must be watched ceaselessly. Twilight is not sentimental, but may still try to use her against me.”

“That wouldn’t work.”

“I trust he will find a way.”

“King Sombra?”

Sombra turned, almost surprised by the sound of spoken words. Standing at the far end of the hallway was his daughter, clad completely in dark-iron armor and full makeup. She bowed deeply.

“I formally request an audience.”

Sombra stared at her for a moment. “Your request is granted.” He turned, his cape swishing as he faced away from her. He pointed to his side. “Walk with me.”

Penumbra bowed again, and bounded forward to her father’s side. She fell into step just behind him, her etiquette exacting and precise. When she walked, she made no sound.

She was a thin, even gaunt girl, pale and almost sickly in appearance. The extensive makeup she wore did not assist with that image. Sombra found himself reminded of his mortal enemies, of the giant and immortal Twins. Like Penumbra, they were unnaturally thin and terrifyingly hideous.

Yet she moved with exacting grace. Sombra tried his best to find even the slightest glint of her mother within her, but discovered none. This girl’s gaze was blank, but no longer empty, exactly, and the calculated expression she wore on her face was not one of true and open kindness but one of defiance. Not against her father, of course, but of the resistance of the world to her will.

Sombra sought Hope within his daughter, but found none of her. Instead, he found only himself.

“I suppose you are afraid to sleep.” It was a baited question. Had she felt even the slightest hint of fear, Sombra would have smelled it before she even entered his chamber.

“No. Now that I know her trickery, if she challenges me again I shall be prepared.”

“Then why are you here? And, more importantly, why are you not with Scarlet Mist as ordered?”

Penumbra averted her eyes. “Lady Mist’s body is aging rapidly. It fell asleep. So I left, to find you.” She looked up. “I wish to make my report personally, with your permission, detailing my failures?”

“Such a report would be unduly long. Permission is denied.”

Penumbra faulted, but only for a moment. “Of course, my king.”

“That said. To withstand an attack from the Dark Goddess is not unimpressive.”

Penumbra nearly gasped. “It is?”

“It confirms that she fears you, and the potential she believes you have.” Sombra looked down at the pony that was supposedly his daughter. “But with that said. I doubt you have come here to make a report alone.”

Penumbra stopped. Sombra took a few more steps before stopping as well. “She showed me...things. And now I have questions.”

Sombra turned his head slowly. “If your loyalty has faltered, child, then your service will end here and now. My judgment will be quick, but it will be final. So choose your words carefully.”

Penumbra stood defiantly and looked at her father in the eyes. She did not falter, and Sombra felt no fear from her. “I am Penumbra Heartbreak, daughter of the Eternal Witchking Sombra! If any but you yourself had suggested that I would betray my king, then I would break their face!”

Sombra stared at her for a moment, and nodded. “So be it.” He began walking again, and Penumbra fell into step. “The quest for knowledge is, ultimately, the purpose of my Empire. So I will indulge you. You may ask, and I may answer.”

“Thank you, my king.” Penumbra bowed, then looked up. For a moment she looked like a child, even though Sombra knew that she never would be. “The dark alicorn, she said something that bothers me deeply. That freedom and slavery make a paradox. And she showed me images...showed me that your kingdom hurts your subjects, and badly. I saw them and I...” She paused, as if not sure to continue. “I felt bad. As in, I was not in pain, but they were...and so was I.”

“What you speak of is called empathy.”

“Empathy?”

Sombra nodded. “It represents the ability for one to understand the emotions of another.”

“Is it a good thing?”

“It is something that I, as a king, and you, as a living weapon, must overcome. For it does not serve us except to bring pain.”

“I don’t understand.”

Sombra stopped, and put his hoof on Penumbra’s shoulder. Despite his apparent vitality, his skin was cold, and Penumbra shivered. Somehow, he felt so very frail.

He led her out onto a balcony. When Penumbra saw the view, she gasped. The kingdom lay before her. The night was clear, and she could see for crystal towers and houses for endless miles, built on the broad streets of the kingdoms. Night sentries cast tiny lights as they searched for dissent, and the next shift of ponies was being led to their workplaces in chains while the night crew was dragged back to their barracks. From high above, the whole of the world was silent save for the wind.

Deeper in her mind, Penumbra realized that a certain piece of the dream Nightmare Moon had given her had just come to fruition, and it terrified her.

Sombra sensed it, and found it disconcerting. Yet he continued. “I come here to think. And to see what I have accomplished. Look carefully, alicorn. When the day comes for you to fight, this is the kingdom you fight to preserve.”

“I fight to preserve you, my king.”

“But without this kingdom I am nothing. In more ways than one.” He took a deep breath of the frigid night air. “Nightmare Moon showed you a vision of my ponies in pain. And they are, I assure you. But what she did not show you is that this is necessary. That logic must overcome empathy.”

“But fear, and pain...” Penumbra felt the deep marks on her neck. “Those things hurt. How can it be good to make ponies feel like that?”

“Because slavery and freedom are not antithetical. They are one and the same.” Penumbra looked up at her father, confused. Sombra continued. “My crystal slaves. Are they not free from hunger? Does the medicine I provide not make them free from disease, or injury? Does my shield not free them from the threat of war, and violence?”

Penumbra looked up at the shield. To her dismay, she could see stars through it- -but they were hazy and distant, distorted by the perpetual dome of magic. “I...I guess that’s true.”

“I protect them. From famine, war, and plague. But I have also freed them from the shackles of decision.” He looked down at his daughter. “They, like you, understand their purpose. They do not agonize over seeking it, and they do not risk choosing the wrong path and failing. When it is present, uncertainty erodes the minds of lesser ponies, gnawing at them continuously. I have removed it from them, completely and utterly.”

“And that is freedom?”

“I suppose I could rule like Celestia does,” mused Sombra. “I could allow my ponies to be free to fail, to choose paths that lead only to pain. To experience wants of every kind, to live a short and pointless life that benefits no one at all. That is also freedom. The concept has duality.”

“But which one is better, then?”

“I believe you already know. Look out at the kingdom before you, and you will understand.”

Penumbra looked out, and she did understand. Or at least she did in her mind. In her heart, though, she felt only emptiness and sadness at what she saw before her.

“Emeth told me that you are going to give the city to him. To the golems. And that the ponies aren’t going to have to work anymore.”

“Emeth is proud of his vision. And I have acquiesced to parts of it, as I have understood that they are the best possible path I am able to take.” Sombra gestured outward. “You see these ponies, these slaves, working endlessly to power my Empire. But soon, it will not be necessary. Golems will see to that, in exchange for my protection.”

“And the ponies?”

“They will be wired permanently to Scarlet Mist’s most advanced thrall masks. Their bodies will be manipulated with a spell to put them in a state of constant, endless fear. And they will finally truly be free.”

“Free of what?”

“Of hunger. Of work. Of want, of any kind. Of dissent. They will no longer toil, but be provided with everything they could ever require, in exchange for feeding me what I require. Scarlet Mist’s preliminary reports from her prototypes suggest that the system will even extend their lifetimes. A crystal pony might live twenty centuries when before he had barely twenty decades.”

“But why? Why do all that?”

“Attempt to answer the question yourself.”

Penumbra’s brow furrowed. “For power?”

Sombra smiled, though only slightly. “No. I am not like the Goddesses. I do not seek power for its own sake, or to impose my vision upon the world. Power is only a means toward an end. If one cannot define that end, then power is a needless and fatal burden.”

“Then what is your end?”

“I have already told you. To create a civilization driven by the search for truth. To build a place where scientists, engineers, occultists, and wizards can come together and practice freely without the limitations of Celesta’s vision of propriety and forced-harmony.”

“But knowledge is just a form of power. It’s just a means too.”

Sombra paused. “Perhaps. So perhaps it is hypocritical of me to desire it. But that is why I came here in the first place. I was an old stallion, one of the last of my kind, an ancient sorcerer. My race was afflicted by a curse, you see. It rendered us unable to foal.”

Penumbra winced. “Like me.”

“Yes, I suppose. Though I am now sure that our curse was brought to us by at least one of the Goddesses. Regardless, I survived. I came here, to this Citadel, and began my research. And I realized its power.” He extended a strong, youthful hoof. “And I realized something incredible. That what even a unicorn can learn in one lifetime is so very short. That there are more worlds than this one. Worlds bound by doors that must be opened slowly, and with greatest care- -and of course some doors that must NEVER be opened.” He sighed. “Alas, with just one lifetime, the secrets of those worlds are forever out of reach. There is not enough time.”

“You seek immortality.”

Sombra smiled. “I seek to progress forward alongside science and magic, growing as they do until I can no longer differentiate myself from the knowledge I contain. This kingdom, this power? They are all means toward this end. As are you.”

Penumbra swelled with pride, her mind still reeling from the gravity of her father’s dream. “I will do my best so you can see that day. But...”

“Is there something else?”

Penumbra nodded. “Emeth said something else. That I will not survive to see that day.”

Sombra was silent for a long moment. “As things stand,” he said at last, “that will be the case.”

“But does it have to be? I do not want to go.”

“War is coming, Penumbra. Coming upon us quickly. I do not fear it, because I am incapable of fear, but I do foresee it. One does not need the gift of prophecy to see that I do not fit into Celestia’s vision for worldwide harmony. She will come, and as it stands, I am not strong enough to defeat her.”

“That isn’t true! You’re the strongest pony in the whole world!”

“Perhaps. But I am not a god, as you are.” His eyes turned downward, to Penumbra. In the moonlight, his pupils were wide and not nearly so harsh as the slits they formed during daylight. “Nightmare Moon came for you because they fear you. What you represent. A being like them, but opposed to their defiance of the freedom I bring.”

“I am not as strong as they are.”

“At least you are honest, if redundant. I am well aware that you are weak. Which is why you are in danger. As you are now, you stand no chance against them. And they will not allow you to continue to exist as you are now.”

“I refuse them. I will always refuse them!”

“It is easy to say now, alicorn.” Sombra stared out at his kingdom- -and beyond it. “I had considered Twilight Luciferian’s proposal. To treat you as a symbol, but as nothing more. As the princesses of the fool-kings I conquer are treated.”

“If it is the only good I can do for the kingdom- -for you- -I will do it without hesitation.”

“But is it? Is that really the extent of your potential? Is the most I can use you for to send you off to marry one of Celestia’s white purebloods, to galvanize a meaningless temporary alliance?” he looked down at his daughter, and put his hoof on her shoulder. Then, much to Penumbra’s surprise, he knelt beside her so that their faces were level with one another. “I refuse to believe that. But there may be another way.”

“My king? F...father?”

“When you were born, I nearly had you executed for fear of you rising as a usurper. It was only by Crozea’s wisdom that you were spared. But I am increasingly aware that I must not tie the fate of this Empire so closely to my own goal.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I have no use for a princess, and you are useless as a weapon. But you may yet find a role as a queen.”

Penumbra gasped, unable to control it. “You mean- -”

“To rule beside me, as my daughter and as one of royal blood. To rise from weakness not by birthright but by your own effort, as I did so long ago. To wield armies and slaves instead of magic and spells. And to take my place, should it come to that.”

“I could never live up to what you have become, my king.”

“Not at the moment, no. Not even in the next century. But unlike me, you are truly and wholly immortal. There will be time to learn, and time to understand. For now, you will continue to focus on your magic, as you will need a basic understanding of it at least a basic understanding of it.” He stood. “And I expect you to be at my side for the military parade. That will commence the start of your training as an administrative position.”

Penumbra looked up, her eye as big as saucers. “Thank you, my king.” She awkwardly reached forward and hugged her father’s legs. “I will not displease you!”

She stepped back and regained her composure. She bowed. “My king. You have answered my questions, and more. My mind has been set at ease. I now request to return to my teacher, so that I might rest before tomorrow’s training.”

“This permission is granted. You are excused.”

Penumbra straightened and smiled, and silently padded off down the long dark hall.

Sombra watched him go. Then he turned his attention to what seemed to be an enormous blue-winged dragonfly perched on the edge of the balcony.

“And?”

The dragonfly flashed green, and in its place stood a small violet pony with a half-shaved head. The Infiltrator did not bow, for her rank equaled that of her king “You are aa superb liar, my king. You rival even me. That was hilarious.”

“Not everything I do must be motivated by violence and fear. You of all beings should know, there are other ways to properly condition a pawn.”

Chapter 19: The Plan

“No. no NO!” Twilight Luciferian slammed his hoof against the inside of his mirror, causing the dimensional prism that formed its glass to ripple. One of the thralls crowding the other side turned slightly, but was too stupid to know what it was meant to see. “How? HOW?! I was so careful!”

He then released a withering tirade of profound swearing, many of the words precisely chosen from languages that had not existed for several millennia except in books- -and also in such a way as to not inadvertently generate a spell capable of annihilating both him and his wizard tower.

When he was done, he felt somewhat better. The mirror was the fastest way for him to travel, but no the only one. His efforts had been extensive, but his close study of the chronoplexer had provided him with the data he needed to complete the spells listed in the Fragments of Gnomenedrona. He could teleport, even if it was only a useless parlor trick. More importantly, the nature of teleportation could be used to generate portals without the need for a Xen rebound.

“So be it,” he sighed, drawing his hoof over the edge of the mirror and scratching several additional lines to the internal annotations. “I can only shut down one side. But I wonder where you’ll go if you jump into it without a receiving end?”

He chuckled to himself as his half of the mirror shattered, leaving the frame empty and the other end dangerously unstable. It would probably not explode, but someday it would certainly ruin somepony’s life.

He sighed as he heard soft hoofsteps behind him.

“D...daddy?”

“Do you know how long it took to make that mirror, Failure?”

Failure paused. “N...no.”

“Finally, a correct answer. No. You don’t. Because you don’t need to.” He turned, and the violet-white unicorn recoiled. “I am NOT in a good mood, Failure. I do not have the energy to do to you what you deserve. Why are you talking to me?”

“The crystals. They’re complete.”

Luciferian stared at her, then suddenly raised his hoof. Failure squeaked and fell to the floor, terrified. Luciferian laughed, although all he felt was disgust.

“No poise. Poor reflexes. And there you are, cowering on the floor in your own juices. Such a waste of my genetic material. Considering that you were, once, a skin cell. I could have shed you. Just a little fleck of dust...”

“I don’t understand.”

“Which is exactly the problem. The crystals. Did you learn your lesson, or did you get near them?

“No, daddy! I didn’t! Just like you said! I’m a good pony!”

“No. You are not. You are a failure in every possible sense. I would prove that to you physically, but at this point I’m beginning to wonder if you’re even worth my time.”

“No! No, daddy, please! Don’t leave me alone! I can’t be alone!”

“Get out of my way.” Luciferian kicked her hard to the ribs and stepped over her. “I have work to do. Go somewhere where I don’t have to look at you.”

Luciferian entered the crystal chamber. As anticipated, the crystals had moved on to the next stage of forging. He pulled back the ingrainment equipment and examined them closely with a jeweler's loupe, checking that the microscopic internal lines had formed precisely and evenly. Even the slightest inconsistency, the tiniest acoustic deficit- -it could spell certain disaster.

“I can’t fathom why you’re wasting your time with these dinguses,” sighed the yellow pony, who was lying on top of a piece of equipment, watching a passing crystal as it was carefully and automatically into a focused magic spectrometer. “I keep offering myself to you, and all I want is for to use me. What do you need crystals for?” She reached out and pretended to poke one.

“I cannot help but wonder, demon. What would happen if you touched a crystal of this purity? Would it burn you?”

“I burn for eternity. It turns me on. But, let’s see...seeing as I am the physical embodiment of all possible and comprehensible forms of impurity- -and a few that are neither possible or comprehensible, those I call the ‘fun ones’- -it would blacken instantly. It would also start to do fun things. The kind of fun that involves sharp things being shoved extra-hard into other things.”

“Nor.”

“Excuse me?”

“‘Neither possible nor comprehensible’. Also, you have no physical body.”

The demon groaned long and loud. In an instant, she was standing beside Luciferian. “I do have a physical body, and I assure you, it is soft, warm, and waiting for you. If you would just manifest me.”

Luciferian examined one of his crystals and placed it in a rack. Programming would commence next, after the formatting, and that would be difficult and time-consuming- -but worth it in the long run. “I have no need for you yet. But who knows. I’ve had to move my plan forward.”

“Really?” The yellow pony lay across Luciferian’s back. He shivered, nearly distorting his crystal. Although she was not strictly a physical being, he could still feel a disgusting slimy sensation, as if a slug full of shark’s teeth had just been draped over him. A clammy slug.

“I thought you were going to woo the little maiden and give her exactly what your daughter wants more than anything?”

“I still intend to.” Luciferian picked up the next crystal and began examining it as the other came out of the spectrometer. He paused to look at the readings. As he had expected, Failure’s presence had presented no difficulties for the inscription process. There was less than a four percent chance of that happening- -but still worth a beating, of course. “But there have been...difficulties.”

The yellow mare smiled. “Oh...somepony’s angry? Do you want to beat your clone? Or maybe me? I would enjoy it. Do you even own a riding crop?”

“Several. But that is beside the point.” Luciferian’s tone grew icy. “I had not counted on Heartstrings being so- -so uncouth! How dare he speak to her in that way?”

“The minty-scented hunk. Honestly? He’s way more her type than you.”

“Her ‘type’ does not matter! She belongs to ME!” He groaned and put down his crystal. He turned and addressed the demon directly. “If the princess becomes enamored with some breezietale impression of a knight, it makes my task that much harder. Worse, Sombra might very well be bold enough to allow them to court- -can you imagine?”

“I would court them both if you would give me a body.”

Luciferian turned away and began pacing, moving his crystals out of the spectrometer and checking the readings of the base processing machines. “And now they found my entrance. They know what I’ve been doing. My time is limited. If I do not make my move now, I will never have another chance.”

“So it’s come to playing with rocks. Like the earth-pony.” The demon frowned. “Why couldn’t he summon me? He would not be so...indecisive.”

“Because earth-ponies have the intelligence of especially malleable stones, and wills of the same consistency. Whereas I am a genius. And these stones will allow me to put an end to Sombra’s rule once and for all.”

“You idiot.”

“It was inevitable,” retorted Luciferian. “Wasn’t it? Sombra would never allow the necessary marriage. If my plan is to succeed, he must be removed from power.”

“And, what? The princess will just fall into your lap?”

“She is malleable. She can be convinced. Or forced, if it comes to it.” Luciferian smiled. “It all depends on context. Besides.” He shrugged. “I have a prophecy. The princess will love a white stallion of House Twilight. I am its last member, meaning my fate is inevitable.”

The yellow pony grinned. “Oh yes. It most certainly is.” She giggled softly. “So. Oust the king, steal is daughter, force her to marry you, take the kingdom, make all his slaves YOUR slaves, sleep in a pile of mares...sounds fun. Now give me a body.”

“No.”

“Such a square,” she sighed. “What’s the date you’re trying? I want to see. I have a busy schedule, I have to make time.”

“The military parade. That is when I will make my move. That is the first stage of the project. Move Sombra out of the way.”

“Then take the princess.”

“And become the new head of the dynasty.” Twilight Luciferian smiled. “Oh yes. This will indeed be fun!”

Chapter 20: The Parade

The maids and nurses had formed a veritable swarm. While Penumbra did her best to sit still, as she could not suppress a desire to squirm at least slightly.

“I can apply my own makeup, miss,” she said, trying to push the hoof of a crystal mare away from her.

“Forgive me, princess,” she said, dodging Penumbra’s block. “But you’re ordinary format is certainly not adequate for the occasion. Your father requested more complexity for your eyes. It will look better at a distance.”

“You will refer to him as ‘king’, ‘Witchking’, or ‘his majesty’. Referring to him as my father is uncouth!”

One of the several crystal ponies adjusting Penumbra’s mane sighed. “I remember that attitude,” she laughed. “My daughter went through the same phase.” Her expression darkened. “She’s in the mines now.”

“My mane is also adequate. You are pulling it!”

“There has not been a Crystal Princess in ten centuries, my princess. We have waited so very long for a chance and an occasion to use this hairstyle.”

“It is important for our traditions,” said another. “If you wish to curry favor with the crystal ponies, you would do well to style yourself as one of us.”

“I am not one of you, and I do not need respect!” squeaked Penumbra. “I need FEAR!”

The nurses laughed as they pulled Penumbra’s black-dyed mane back into a veritable pile of gemstones.

“And this armor,” groaned Penumbra, trying to shake her hoof free of the hideous travesty they were dressing her with. “It is neither practical nor defensive. I have two pairs. Cannot I not wear Lord Emeth’s version?”

“This armor is not meant to be ‘protective’,” chuckled one of the mares. “It is ceremonial.”

“Yes,” said the youngest of the maids. “Surely you do not intend to enter the arena fights!”

The entire group froze and fell silent. They glared at the maid who had spoken.

“Do not speak of that here,” hissed the lead nurse. “Now now. Not ever.”

“I- -I am sorry, ma’am.” She bowed to Penumbra. “Forgive me, princess. I spoke out of turn.”

“You all kind of are. But I guess it’s acceptable. You are all helping me so much, after all.” She paused. “I am not sure if you are aware, but this is my first parade.”

The ponies laughed, but awkwardly. “Of course, princess. You are only six months old. Of course this is your first.”

“Oh. I had forgotten that part.” She looked down at her partially-armored hooves, then up at the maids. “How old are all of you?”

“Seventeen.”

“Fourteen.”

“Fifteen.”

“Twenty four.”

“Twenty six.”

Penumbra blinked. “That’s a lot of months!”

The maids giggled. “No, princess, you have misunderstood! Those are years!”

This boggled Penumbra’s mind completely. She had no concept of that length of time.

“You are all ancient, then!” Something pulled at her wings. “Pain! Stop pulling!”

“My apologies, princess. You simply need to be preened.”

“And your wing-tips redyed.”

“Pluck them completely if you wish.” Penumbra spread her wings. “They are useless anyway.”

Something knocked on the chamber door. Penumbra looked up, expecting Crozea. Instead, a white stallion opened the door.

“Lord Twilight!” cried one of the maids, rushing to the door. “Forgive me, my lord, but the princess is dressing! To have a stallion here, why, it simply- -HMMFF!”

Luciferian had cast a spell. When the mare turned away from him, her eyes wide with panic, it became apparent that she no longer had a mouth.

“Considering that our species, as a whole, is nude most of the time, I think my presence here is hardly uncouth.” He entered the room. His normal officer’s coat had been replaced with a sort of armor. It was not quite the same kind that Zither wore, which was meant to cover him entirely, but rather a system of seemingly abstractly placed plates carved with impossibly fine runes. He also wore numerous bands of metal and jewels, all of which were dark and unappealing in color. The only part of his normal uniform that remained was the collar of his shirt, the edges of which were decorated with blood-red stars. That, and the armored boot he wore over one of his front legs.

Penumbra was glad that she had possessed the inadvertent foresight to raise her wings in advance. He was astoundingly handsome, and he had not only converted the ridiculous braid of his mane into a more modern, bound form, but he had applied eye makeup of his own. His eyes looked enormous.

He bowed. “Princess. Even with the work incomplete, your presentation is astounding. Terrifying indeed.”

“Thank you, Lord Twilight. Forgive me if I do not bow in return, but my maids are apparently attempting to armor my hair.”

Luciferian smiled as he straightened himself. “I see your mind can now handle synthesis. The progression is remarkable, even if there have been...difficulties.”

“My body was conflicting with my programming. Lady Crozea has compensated.”

“Well, as long as the mistake has been corrected. I had intended to check on you earlier. I heard of the attempt on your life. Simply terrible.” He shook his head. “I was engaged in distant research at the time. If I had only known...”

“The situation was handled. But I thank you for your concern.”

“I assure you, when the culprit is found, I will deal with him or her personally. Though you shall never know my anger, I am told it is quite devastating.”

“Lady Crozea says that anger is a distraction.”

Luciferian frowned, but only momentarily. “Of course she does. And Scarlet Mist, no doubt, claims the opposite.”

Penumbra looked up, surprised that he knew. “Yes. That is true.”

“I make it a point to understand my colleagues.”

“Really?” An idea occurred to Penumbra. Perhaps it was devious, but she had become somewhat annoyed at being dressed in a material that would surely fail to stop swords and maces. “May I ask you your opinions on one in particular?”

Luciferian smiled devilishly. He had not realized it would be this easy, and he had planned his response carefully for maximum impact. “Of course, my princess. It would be the very least I could do for furthering your education.”

“Tell me about Lord Al’Hrabnaz.”

Luciferian almost literally stumbled. That had not been the pony he had been expecting her to ask about at all, and his response was completely derailed.

“Al’Hrabnaz? Well, I suppose he is a competent archaeologist, though his ideas border on conspiracy theories. His mathematical skill is highly flawed, though he is effective at making toys, I suppose.”

“Toys?”

“Yes. His machines.” Luciferian chuckled. “Such obsolete dreck. The world has moved beyond machines and technology in their own right. They are tools for the weak.”

“Then what do the strong use?”

Luciferian leaned forward. “The future is magic, my dear. Magic users like you and I will rule the world.”

“You mean the Witchking. Lord Sombra will rule the world. Not you or I.”

“That is not what I have been told.” Luciferian masked his displeasure, just as Penumbra masked a sudden sour feeling she felt coming over her. She knew little of the resident mathematician, but at least felt pity for him. Luciferian clearly did not.

Luciferian smiled. The same smile he always smiled, as if he were trained in it. “That is why I came here, after all. To congratulate you.”

“On what?”

“I have been informed that Sombra wishes to have you at his side for the military parade, and to sit with him to oversee the Games. It seems he has taken my advice. You are moving up on his list of priorities.” Luciferian paused. “However, even if he had not wished to take you, I would have asked you myself. To be beside me instead.”

“I appreciate the gesture.” Penumbra paused as something deep within her mind stirred. “Perhaps you can walk with your own daughter instead?”

Luciferian’s gaze suddenly hardened to the point where several of the maids recoiled. Even Penumbra was surprised; she had never seen a pony make such a horrible expression before. He hardly even looked like a pony, and for just a moment, Penumbra could almost imagine the sight of liquid silver dripping from between his teeth.

“You must be mistaken.” He had partially regained his composure, but his voice was icy. “I have no daughter.”

“White and purple, with a striped mane. A unicorn. But with only three legs.”

Luciferian’s eyes widened, as if he was both terrified and enraged. “How- -how do you know that?” He coughed into his hoof and, though shaking, managed to produce the same smile he had before. “Oh. Well, you are indeed confused. I am the only member of House Twilight. I do have a ward, an assistant, you might say, but she is very sickly and not able to leave my home. Certainly too weak to walk in the parade, especially in this weather.”

“I see.” Penumbra made a slight bow. “Forgive me. Inquiring into your personal life was out of line. I apologize, Lord Twilight. I understand that our relationship is purely professional.”

Luciferian winced, but mostly managed to conceal it. “I would like to think that we could be friends. I would be happy to teach you as many spells as I can, if you are willing.”

“I am not programmed to make friends. I am programmed to purge the heresy that his Celestia and Nightmare Moon. Also apparently to be dressed in armor that is not armor and to have my main tugged until my multicolored-roots are showing.” She looked up. “Although I have the magic for only one of those things. I appreciate your offer, Lord Twilight, but there is nothing you can teach me. I am a failure in every respect, except in looking cute.”

This had not been in Luciferian’s plans. He had no idea where this was coming from, but he internally cursed himself for having waited too long. He had been attempting to woo a princess on a normal time-scale, a process that required years of careful planning and maneuvering. He had failed to account for the fact that this princess’s growth had been accelerated, in more ways than one. Only a few months before she had been a blank, empty shell. Now she had apparently grown an annoying level of wit.

It also occurred to him that she was probably old enough to begin producing heirs of her own.

“Quick!” whispered the yellow pony, who was drooling slightly. “Take her by force! DO IT NOW!”

Penumbra’s large eyes flitted to the side- -as if she were actually able to see the demon. Luciferian felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. If she could see it- -

“Well,” he said, smiling and bowing. “I am afraid I have several things to finish preparing for the parade. I am afraid I will have to leave you, for now. Although, as always, I will be sitting at Sombra’s right during the Games, and I do so look forward to seeing you there.”

“I look forward to seeing you too, Lord Twilight.”

Luciferian had no idea what to think, but he made his way to the door. Penumbra stopped him.

“Also,” she said, “please unstopper my maid. She, like the others, serves an important function. I do not take kindly to you damaging them.”

“It was only a joke.” Luciferian’s horn flashed, and the maid’s mouth reappeared. She immediately gasped.

“Taste! I can taste things! SO MANY THINGS!”

“Very well,” sighed Luciferian. “May your day go well, princess.”

“It shall be eventful,” said Penumbra, leaning back as the maids redoubled their efforts to dye both her wings and tail to the correct color. “It already has been, to an extent.”

The parade was more grand than anything Penumbra had ever seen. She understood that its primary purpose was to showcase the Empire’s military might, to reassure the crystal ponies that the freedom Sombra had brought them was, in fact, eternal, and that no external or internal force would ever dare to defy it.

It was also the first time Penumbra had ever been allowed outside the castle grounds. She had seen the kingdom from a distance, but it had looked small, like a model. She was surprised to learn that it hardly looked different from atop her perch beside her father.

In any normal, sane parade, the king and his daughter would ride on a float of some sort. Something decorative, perhaps even festive. In the Crystal Empire, though, festive meant only one thing: absolute military domination.

The vehicle they rode upon was a hulking mass of steel and crystal, its innards alternatively humming and screaming from a crystal-driven engine. The sides of it were painted black and adorned with the king’s heraldry: the mark of the Red Crystal.

To Penumbra, it looked like pictures she had seen in books of a ship, or boat. Except that no ships were made of steel, and so very few could fly. Her review and training of standard ordinance told her that it was a levitating artillery unit, a rather small frigate but one of the newest line. There were, of course, larger ships; the ones too wide to float above the road drifted high in the sky, vast dreadnoughts leaving shadows as dark as night as they followed their commander.

Behind walked the golems. The largest of them were type-O, armor-plated behemoths whose heads towered above the roofs of the highest buildings. They walked down the street slowly, like enormous, lazy ponies- -but their motion was precise, mechanical, and terrifying. Emeth had done good work.

Contingents of soldiers made a significant bulk of the parade. The majority of them were large units of thralls, all moving in perfect formation, not deviating even slightly. At the front of those units walked the precious few military units who did not need control masks: loyalists, specialists, and technicians. Those trusted to command, who were invariably gaunt, cold, and sneered at the crowd with the most frightening of greasy smiles. They were the middle class: those who could do something apart from the interchangeable tasks given to the pure slaves, and had been given the freedom to work in less strenuous tasks. Not one among them was a crystal pony; the majority were unicorn mages drawn from throughout Equestria.

Some of the technical units marched in their own formations, or, rather, in representations of them. It was of course forbidden for crystal-forgers or armorers to be outside like this, for fear of attack or outright theft. Only the prettiest and least useful specimens were allowed to be represented- -or those that belonged to one of the Dark Thirteen.

Necrophilo of Canterlot had sent his students, clad in green and gold, to march and to demonstrate his prolific generation of lesser necromancers for the Empire. Supposedly, Buttonhooks the Mad had brought his own disciples, although they were chained to him and muzzled to prevent damage to the spectators.

And there were indeed spectators. Penumbra had never seen so many ponies in one place. They lined both edges of the street, watching in somber silence. This was the one day that they were freed from their assigned tasks, and the thralls with spears that lined the streets ensured that they were able to maximize their freedom. Attendance to the military parade was of course obligatory.

Penumbra watched them from above, standing on the bow of the artillery frigate with her father. This was the thing she had wanted the most in the world since the day she had been constructed. And, for the most part, it was worth it. He had, like her, donned ceremonial armor, and his flowing mane had been adorned with ornaments of onyx and realgar. He was beautiful and regal, and watched the marching units before him with both pride and inexplicable disdain.

Yet something felt wrong. Penumbra could not place it. She supposed it was confusion at being in a place she had never been before, to be positioned beside the tilting, uneven crystal structures that made up her father’s kingdom. Something in the blank, sunken eyes of slaves, though, made her heart ache. She felt the weight of the iron colors on their necks as if they were instead on hers. And when they looked at her, the black-maned and black-winged alicorn princess of the Crystal Empire, they shuddered and recoiled in fear. Though Penumbra was the happiest she had ever been, she had begun to hate her own existence.

“My king,” she said. “They fear me.”

“Of course,” replied Sombra, smiling. “You resemble our most fatal enemies.”

“And do they fear me because they fear I will rob them of their freedom?”

Sombra looked out at the path before him. The Arena was drawing near. Had Penumbra looked back, she knew that she would only barely be able to see the Heart of Darkness, now fully entrapped in Al’Hrabnaz’s newest engine.

“No,” he said at last. “They fear you because you represent what they will never become. A superior being. Seeing you reminds them that they are lesser beings, that their lives have no worth beyond their capacity to serve us.”

“And do they not realize I am a machine? No more alive than this frigate?”

“They do not need to. Now go. Show them. Bright out their rightful fear.”

“Yes, Lord Sombra.”

Penumbra stood straight beside her father and spread her wings. When the crowd saw the abomination that she was, and understood that Sombra’s power had created such an atrocity from the child that had just half a year earlier brought them such hope, they shuddered in terror, and would have wept if they had yet any tears remaining.

The parade portion of the event terminated at the Imperial Arena, where the Games and various exhibitions were to be held. Penumbra knew the Arena well, as the only exception to her confinement had been her permission to watch the trial that had led to Thirteen of Thirteen being inducted into Sombra’s elite forces.

The process was managed with exacting precision, being run and operated by the steward and her underlings. Penumbra was aware of the schedule, and she wandered from her father’s side when she began to see familiar faces in the staging area. He hardly seemed to notice; logically, if any harm came to her, she deserved it and was not worthy of her role as a goddess-slaying weapon or as a royal. Even then, she did not stray too far.

While passing down a hall, Penumbra found Emeth staring out a window at the later remnants of the parade.

“Lord Emeth!” Penumbra bounded to his side, and then bowed. “I am glad you were able to participate.”

“Participation is obligatory,” replied Emeth. “More or less. But in my case, I greatly enjoy parades. They are so very festive.” He looked down at Penumbra. “Did you enjoy it, too?”

“Yes,” lied Penumbra. “Our Empire is so much more vast than I was aware.”

“And you have only seen the shortest road of it.”

“And it’s so small compared to all of Equestria...” Penumbra suddenly felt dizzy, and shook her head. She smiled and looked out the window. “What are you looking at?”

“I am assessing my performance.”

“You mean of the golems.”

Emeth nodded. “I am a golem, the golems are myself, and so on.”

“Have they performed well?”

“Adequately. They are really more intended for more useful things.” He paused, and his mechanical eyes narrowed slightly. “I always find it surprising. The ponies are always so much more impacted by the type-O or type-N golems.”

“Those are the largest,” noted Penumbra. “And the most powerful in war.”

“But also the simplest. The least impressive.”

“Then what is your favorite?”

Emeth looked confused. “Favorite?”

“Which one impresses you the most?”

“I understand what you meant. I simply never thought to phrase it that way. How amusing. The answer, though, is my phase-3 prototypes. The ones that can actually think.”

An image crossed the back of Penumbra’s mind, of a world of ash and lethal flaming mushrooms inhabited only by golems. “Were they here today?”

“There is no reason for them to be. Ponies find them the least impressive. I wonder why our opinions differ.”

Penumbra thought for a moment. “Because you made them.”

“I made all these golems. I am all these golems.”

“Except for the others. The new ones. You said they could think. You can’t be the same as them, then, like the others.” Penumbra paused again. “It’s like...it’s like they’re your children.”

Emeth paused, and his eyes grew distant. “I had not thought of phrasing it that way,” he said, at last. “How peculiar an idea, and how obvious. Yet I never saw it.” His tone cleared. “Nevertheless. If the analogy stands, then I will hardly consider them to have been born until they pass out of the prototype stage.”

A shadow was cast over the arena, and immediately the only light available came from the dim crystal lights in the hall and the fires placed outside. The sky was growing gray and preparing to snow, but this darkness was not a phenomenon of the weather. Rather, a dreadnought had just passed overhead.

“That would be the KSF Allegory,” said Penumbra, looking up at it excitedly. “It is getting in position for our king’s ceremonial entrance.”

“So you know the name of our flagship.”

“I know the names of all our king’s ships.” Penumbra watched as the vast, crystal-plated machine hovered overhead, its unholy engine humming in a way that made her mouth taste like metal. “Lord Emeth, do you know who built the ships?”

“I did.”

Penumbra stared at him, wide-eyed. “YOU?”

“And myselves. All except the drive systems.”

“You mean the engines.”

“They are far too sophisticated for that word, but yes. Those were designed and constructed by Gxurab Al’Hrabnaz. The mathematical idiosyncrasies of the design are far beyond me.”

“He’s smarter than YOU?”

“Does that surprise you? Why should machines like ourselves exceed the living in every aspect? The drive cores are truly a work of art, machines assembled in eight dimensions around the inconsistencies of perfect natural crystals. The slightest mistake, and, well...the effects are horrific. The made stallion actually believes those formats have applications.” Emeth stared up at the passing ship, and almost imperceptibly sighed. “I have distant memories. Ones that have grown hazy in my age. Of days when flying ships like these ruled the sky.” He paused, then smiled. “Perhaps I will see that day again.”

Penumbra felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to see one of the steward’s underlings, a crystal pony considered aesthetically pleasing enough to be allowed indoors. “Lady Princess,” he said, bowing deeply. “The ceremony begins in five minutes. Your entrance is in exactly six minutes and seventeen seconds. We graciously request that you prepare yourself.”

“Thank you, slave.” Penumbra bowed on instinct, forgetting that she was not supposed to for the servant. He seemed severely taken aback, and Penumbra realized that beneath his beaten-in air of professionalism, he was terrified of her.

“Y- -yes, Lady princess!”

He retreated at once. Penumbra sighed. As she did, she looked across the staging area and saw that it had mostly been emptied. Only Sombra remained- -and he was standing in a dark corner, speaking to Crozea. Even at a distance, Penumbra saw her father smile for the very first time. The emotion she felt was distinctly unusual, at once horribly unpleasant and exceedingly happy.

“Is it true?” asked Penumbra.

“Is what true?” asked Emeth. “That your entrance is scheduled in six minutes and two seconds? Yes. That is indeed true.”

“No. That the king and Lady Crozea...that they have...you know...”

“It is,” whispered Eternity who, as always, was watching and inside Penumbra’s head. “I get to watch!” He tone fell. “Or I have to watch...filthy zebra...I’m probably a zebra...I don’t remember anymore...”

“You would rhyme if you were,” said Penumbra. She saw that Emeth was confused. “My apologies. Lady Eternity was speaking.”

“I assumed so. But if you are referring to the king and the witchdoctor’s relationship, yes. There is one, to an extent.”

“I don’t understand.” Penumbra’s brow furrowed, because she knew she needed to. “The king has stables of mares, as is his prerogative. Why her, then?”

“The stables are stocked with beautiful slaves. But ponies have needs. I have learned this through thousands of their lifetimes.”

“What kind of needs?”

“Physical ones,” whispered Eternity. “THEY RUB HORNS!”

“I do not need to hear her to know that Eternity is surely telling an untruth. To a pony, beautiful slaves are pointless. They do not solve the need for companionship. The relationship that Sombra and Crozea seek is one requiring mutual respect. To comprehend each other’s power, and accept it as such, but to realize just how lonely it makes one.”

“Lonely...”

“Crozea is powerful, ancient, and skilled. As is Sombra. Those are qualities the pair of them have rarely if ever found in another. It is a matter of friendship, but something beyond even that.”

“Then why does it make me feel so strange seeing them together.” Penumbra the red gem over her heart. “I feel...like I want that, to be there instead of her...but I feel so happy that she is there too. Why do I feel like that? I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I. You have asked a question that is beyond me. I lack empathy of any sort, as I am a machine.” Emeth paused. “However: if my prototypes are like my children, then what is Crozea to you?”

Penumbra paused. There was a word, surely, but she did not know it. “I don’t know.”

Emeth began walking to where he was scheduled to be. “Answer that question, and perhaps you will know what I never can.”

Chapter 21: The Arena

Metal clashed against metal as a sword sliced through the tip of a spear and a thrall-mask was knocked to the dusty arena floor. The pony who had been wearing it, not deprived her freedom from pain, screamed and crawled away from the whirring melee before her.

Penumbra stared in rapt attention as the remainder of the thrall forces regrouped. There were at least thirty of them, armed with full armor and spears. They advanced without hesitation- -and so did the Blue Knight.

The Knight jumped into the battle, deflecting their spears and blows with a blast of amber magic as his sword cleaved downward, separating masks from ponies. Following closely behind him was one of his mutant warriors, and based on his scars the eldest of them.

Their styles differed like night and day: the Blue Knight moved in a manner representative of strength and power, every move formalized and exact, or at least appearing so. He used his magic as well and as often as he used his blade, often to spectacular effect. The griffon, meanwhile- -a thing called a vedmak, Penumbra understood- -was the opposite; his motion was fluid and organic, whirring in a storm of beautiful improvisation. He turned and tilted on his supple wings, and his blade flashed silver in the light of the overcast sky.

And yet, as different as they were, their motion merged perfectly into a single unit, a demonstration of the most beautiful art Penumbra had ever seen. It was a dance of violence, and it was clear that the Blue Knight was leading: his griffon-at-arms was only meant to serve as a theatrical foil.

Penumbra was not the only one watching. The entire arena had been filled, and the crystal ponies stared entranced by silent. Those of other races, though- -the middle class of technicians and officers- -cheered loudly, though, and it was apparent that many had made bets on the outcome.

And then, almost as soon as it had started it was all over. The griffon and the Blue Knight stood over a pile of weeping and bruised crystal ponies, their masks removed by violent force. The Blue Knight activated the release mechanisms within his helmet and removed it. As he did, he raised his sword high above his head. Part of the crowd cheered loudly, while the crystal ponies, still dazed from the display, clapped quietly. Not even the most well-salted of the more lively in the group dared to boo.

The Blue Knight turned to where Penumbra sat and raised his sword to her. “I dedicate this victory to you, fair damsel, pride of the Strongest King!”

Penumbra blushed and was glad that her ceremonial armor was heavy enough to hold her wings down. She bowed in return, as was protocol.

Zither then turned the tip of his sword to where Scarlet Mist, her mane now almost fully white, sat beside Crozea. “And you, fair parasite, have been vanquished by proxy! Indeed, these soldiers of your construction could use a great deal of improvement!”

“Really,” rasped Scarlet Mist. “And do you think you would have done so well if you weren’t using the mutant as a crutch?”

Zither laughed. “Even a knight capable of the greatest deeds is useless entirely if he stands alone. To bear and honor this role is to understand cooperation: as we thirteen are unified against the evil of the Sisters under our glorious king!”

Penumbra found she agreed. The Knight’s performance had included several displays of independent valor, but the climax of it had been when he was allowed to work with another. Penumbra also had a vague understanding that Zither was attempting to sell Sombra on the idea of his pet mercenaries; Sombra, however, had seemed lukewarm about the entirety of it all.

“Of course, I would be glad to face any competent swordspony in a duel!” laughed the Blue Knight. He pointed his sword into the stands. “HOLDER! How about you?”

Penumbra looked to her right. A special portion of the arena had been partitioned and stood separate from the others, and it was where Sombra, herself, and the Dark Thirteen sat. Apart from Penumbra’s presence, this resulted in a perfectly symmetrical formation with Sombra in the center and five of the Dark Thirteen on either side. This of course accounted for the three who could by their nature not attend: Eternity Gaze, who watched but whose true body was inherently stationary; the Nameless One, whose location and description were unknown to all; and the being called the Infiltrator, who, as a spy, never attended public events.

Sombra sat in the center on a throne of darkened stone, and Penumbra sat on what was roughly the equivalent of a mildly soft ottoman. Directly to Sombra’s left- -much to the apparent chagrin of the others- -a flattened, strange figure clad in thick black clothing, feathers, and several ravens that he stroked eagerly. Beside him in turn was Necrophilo of Canterlot, then Emeth, then Zither’s seat, and finally Thirteen. On Sombra’s right- -and, by extension, Penumbra’s right- -sat Twilight Luciferian. He was also interfering with the symmetry, because he had apparently been authorized to bring a mare who Penumbra- -much to her deepest disappointment- -assumed was his wife. She was yellow, thin, and beautiful, save for her eyes, which were empty crimson. She was nude and almost continually pressed against Luciferian, occasionally smiling at Penumbra.

Penumbra, of course, knew her position well enough not to question Lord Twilight’s choices- -but seeing him with a mare who was not her was deeply hurtful, and she began to wonder about his commitment to the words of kindness he had given her.

Much to Luciferian’s chagrin, he was seated next to Crozea, followed by Scarlet Mist and Buttonhooks the Mad. Beyond him was one final member.

Zither had addressed the last pony on the right side, who had been given little more than a rickety wooden stool. He was perched quite high on it, apparently terrified of a rather large set-beast curled around the bottom. Penumbra could not recall meeting him; he was a rather quiet looking gray earth-pony with a fluffy dark mane. Still, she was quite aware that he did indeed bear a sheathed sword on his back.

“M- -me?!” he squeaked, pulling his legs up as the set-beast lifted its head.

“Be you not a swordspony? Why not face me, for the honor of our king?”

“I- -I would much prefer a different kind of battle, if you would. Perhaps we might match our strengthen in, say, the spoken word, rather than something where somepony might get...cut?”

“Oh please, Holder. I do not wish to meet my end when I am still so young and beautiful.”

Holder smiled, momentarily forgetting the beast below him. “I- -I’m so glad you acknowledge my skill in the subject, I have been practicing!” He produced a scroll from a ragged pocket. “I actually have one here- -”

“Holder, you misunderstand! I fear not your poetry for its strength, but rather the fact that I fully expect to die of boredom should I hear but a single verse!”

He gestured to the crowd, and they laughed, if only slightly. This is the only day of the year where that was permitted.

Holder seemed deflated, and put away the scroll. “Oh. Okay. My apologies.”

The set-beast lifted one of its paws and pushed the stool. Holder squeaked as he wobbled, clinging to the surface in terror. The crowd laughed at him, because unlike even the crystal ponies, he had absolutely no worth.

The Blue Knight waved to his audience, and then returned to the stands as the steward emerged.

“A showing of combat prowess, presented by the Blue Knight and his assistant, the vedmak Gambert, their opponent members of the king’s own army, utilizing generation three containment masks.” She lifted one hoof, pointing to Sombra. “Hail the Witchking, for allowing his servants to gift us with this glorious display!”

“Hail the Witchking!” rose a unified call from the crowd- -though mostly from those who were not crystal ponies.

“Occurring next is a special event, for your viewing pleasure and as a remind of our king’s benevolence. To protect you from polarity and dissent, we bring you the liquidation of heretics.”

Several plates of greenish magic formed a set of stairs, cast by one of her underlings and allowing the steward to be lifted out of the center of the arena. As she departed to the highest of the plates, a set of thralls dragged in a set of emaciated and bruised crystal ponies. The members of the crowd who were crystal ponies turned away, unable to watch, but those who were not booed. They would have thrown food, were it not so exceedingly valuable. Instead they threw crystals.

“The one given this honor is, I am told, a popular favorite,” continued the steward, gesturing toward a large door with practiced precision, just as it began to open. Two enormous beastmaster earth-ponies stepped out, taking positions on either side of the gate. A certain part of the crowd cheered wildly.

“Presenting: Esther, Hester, and Janet!”

An enormous creature stepped through the gate, and the beastmasters bowed to her. Penumbra might have been afraid of the horror, had she not already witnessed the actions of a live proteus.

This creature bore three heads. One was that of a great cat, its jaw wide enough to fit an entire pony; the head beside it was that of a goat. Attached to its rear was a tail consisting of a venomous green snake.

Penumbra knew this creature from books, and understood that it was a chimera. She also knew that it was larger than normal- -and somewhat overweight.

The heretics cried out at the sight of their doom, and they huddled together. They had taken a place directly in front of their king, and consequently directly in front of Penumbra. She saw that they were shaking, and that some of them were children. They were afraid- -and although Penumbra did not know why, she was afraid too.

“What a wonderful day!” growled the chimera’s tiger head, staring greedily at the huddled crystal ponies. “And I see they’ve already been tenderized. Excellent!”

“Oh please,” muttered the goat head, rolling her eyes. “I’m tired of skinny heretic. Just bones and crystal. Why even bother?” She looked up at the stands and winked at Zither. “I would much rather have that knight! I want to suck the flesh of his bones...why not come down here to slay me, sir knight? Show me that massive sword!”

“Shut it, Hester!” grunted the tiger, slapping the goat’s head. “You don’t even eat meat! Your half of the digestive system is for grass and hay ONLY! Or do you want a repeat of last week?”

“Not to mention tin cans,” cackled the the snake head.

“SHUT IT, JANET!” growled both of the frontal heads.

“Besides,” said the tiger, apparently Esther. “Look a little closer. I think somebody already beat you to the sucking.”

Zither stood. “Are you done commenting on my physique, or are you going to continue delaying the festivities with your laughable insolence?”

“We are letting them marinade!” snapped Esther. She licked her lips. “They taste sooooo much better when they’re afraid...”

The heretics whimpered and huddled together as the chimera began to circle. Though already somewhat fat, it had begun to drool.

The eldest mare of the heretics produced a tattered pile of paper that could barely be called a book. It was ancient, warn, and apparently had been kept hidden from the thralls. Not that it was of any consequence now.

“My children,” she said, her voice only barely shaking. “Let us pray.”

Though terrified, the heretics knelt. Penumbra stared, almost as rapt as she had been for Zither’s performance.

The mare opened the book and began to read. “Oh great Celestia, she who raises her divine sun at the dawn of each day and sets it to commence the night! She who bathes us in her divine light, in her endless love, hear our words!”

“Prayer can’t help you,” whispered the snake head.

“Janet. Shut. UP.”

“What? Is it my fault I’m stuck back here, on the BUTT? I have a right to speak, too! That little filly! I want to bite her! BITE HER HARD!”

The filly whimpered, but was held close by one of the stallions of the group. They continued to hold their heads bowed, their backs facing outward, and their priestess continued to speak.

“Though we walk in a realm of darkness, we forget not your light, your glory, your gift. You who protect us from the darkness, and the horrors that dwell within it. We can know no fear beneath your sun, for though our bodies be not immortal our souls shall persist across eternity in your divine light.” She looked Sombra in the eye defiantly when she spoke. “We shall not forsake you, for we are your children, Wielder of Kindness, Generosity, and bearer of True Magic, we serve you, even here, and even now, in our darkest hour. Hail the One True Goddess, and praise the Sun.”

“Praise the sun,” wept the others.

One among them, though, was shaking, continually looking around and at the chimera.

“I want that mare,” said Esther. “The green one. She looks tasty.”

“Then stop talking and just do it already.”

“LET ME BITE THE FILLY!”

“SHUT UP JANET!”

Penumbra felt sick. She was shaking, but could not take her eyes away. Neither could many of the crystal ponies. Although they tried to hide it, many were weeping. Others held one another, while many covered their mouthed in horror. Worst of all, Penumbra UNDERSTOOD- -she knew their pain, as she felt it too. Except that there was one difference, something unique only to her.

The chimera lowered itself, preparing to pounce. One of the heretics gasped, and then suddenly stood, breaking their circle.

“We RECANT!” he screamed. “We reject Celestia! We RECANT! Hail Sombra!

“Hail the Witchking!” cried another, his daughter still held in his hooves and tears running down his face. “Hail Sombra, the One True God!”

“Mercy!” pleaded another. “MERCY!”

Penumbra stood suddenly, her wings flaring outward as she mimicked the exact pose she had seen Nightmare Moon take deep within her dreams. “IT IS GRANTED!”

The entire arena suddenly fell absolutely silent. Not a single sound was made as all eyes turned to Penumbra- -and then slowly to Sombra. Even the chimera looked to him, not out of confusion but out of fear. One of the heretics fainted.

Al’Hrabnaz stood quickly, sending his ravens scattering. “How dare you- -”

Sombra raised a hoof, silencing all other ponies. His red, slit-pupiled eyes turned to Penumbra. “That plea was not addressed to you, alicorn. But I am curious. Why do you seem so intent that I spare these heretics?”

Penumbra took a breath. She suddenly realized that in her haste, she had inadvertently entered into an exhibition of her own. There was no time to hesitate, and she refused to fail.

Taking a step back and raising her hoof to the crowd, Penumbra addressed both the audience and her father. “Have not these heretics recanted? Have they not rejected their false god?” Penumbra turned to Sombra, though she still spoke loud enough for all to hear. “And are you not a merciful king? What you request of your subjects is simple: their honesty, and their loyalty. In exchange you extend to them your limitless generosity and kindness.” She looked down at the heretics, who were looking up at her both terrified but also in awe of their potential savior. “You have brought these ponies freedom from their illusions and from the tyranny of the Sun-Tyrant. You have restored their loyalty, and their worthiness for your favor. Oh great king...” Penumbra decided to take a risk; though extreme, she thought it might make for a useful rhetorical point. “...father. I ask that you once again extend your benevolence, and free these ponies to once again serve you and our glorious kingdom.”

A murmur moved through the crowd. They were confused, but they did not seem so afraid. This was an unusual situation, one that had never happened before in the history of the Crystal Empire. Penumbra would have liked to see their faces, to know if they were still so deathly afraid of her- -but she kept her eyes focused on Sombra, not even looking up to Crozea or Emeth for aid.

Sombra stared back at her. For a long moment, they were both silent. Then Sombra finally spoke.

“Very well. But the act of Celestia-worship is a serious offense, and a deep wound to my trust. If these slaves are not to be liquidated here, what punishment do you recommend, princess?”

Penumbra could not immediately answer that question because she had not considered it. She was unfamiliar with the legal system of her nation beyond its basic structure; she did not know what punishments ponies would normally be given.

Twilight Luciferian stood, the yellow mare sliding off his side and taking his still-warm seat. “My king,” he said, bowing. “Might I offer my suggestion?”

“I had not asked you, Twilight, but I assume you are going to suggest regardless.”

Luciferian smiled at Penumbra. “Instead of public liquidation, we shall send their children to the mines. In the district most severely afflicted by the damp.” He turned to the heretics and smiled. “Then the adults will be sent to the glue factory.”

“Not the glue factory!” cried one of the heretics as another fainted.

“I’ll be sticky FOREVER!!”

“I’m not finished.” Luciferian’s smile grew. “Though the sheep have recanted, it appears that the shepherd has not. So the priestess will require special punishment. If I may be so bold, I recommend ad Modum Pinata. She will be hung in the town center at dawn. By her leg, or perhaps her tail. And she shall be beaten daily for thirty of her precious false-god’s passing.”

“Or until the candy comes out!” whispered Eternity.

“I- -I- -” Penumbra looked at the heretics, and their wide, pitiful eyes. The punishment was severe indeed, but it was better than increasing the local chimera’s obesity. “If there is no other option- -”

“Actually,” said Emeth, standing. “I may have an alternative, if you are interested.”

“Be quiet,” hissed Luciferian. “You have NOTHING to add!”

“But I do.” Emeth looked at the heretics, but contained speaking. “I am currently in need of live or partially alive ponies to participate as test subjects.”

“Test subjects?” Penumbra did not know if she should feel hopeful or not. It was bad enough to know that Twilight Luciferian was actually married or had a marefriend; she did not want to learn just how vicious Emeth truly was in the same day.

“Turing tests for my phase-three prototypes. The tests are intensive but critical.”

“I was not aware you had prototypes,” said Sombra.

“Because they have not yet passed the Turing test.”

“And the priestess?”

Emeth eyed her carefully. “Prototype Delilah has an interest in pony religion. Although my background in the subject is extensive, as a machine I am inherently incapable of conceiving of an immortal creator. A steadfast believer could prove a rare find.” His pupils narrowed. “Additionally, she will be housed for the remainder of her life in my facility. She will never see the sun again.”

“Do what you will!” shouted the priestess. “I will not break!”

Emeth stared at her, and slowly smiled, if his expression could even be called that. “All ponies break, in time. And when you do, you will find that, like myself, you have no soul that can be preserved. But I admire your defiance, even when the fate of your so-called siblings and children are on the line.” He looked up to Penumbra. “The decision, of course, is yours.”

Penumbra looked between the two, and then focused on Sombra once more. “I am of the opinion that these heretics can serve their kingdom most effectively with Lord Emeth’s plan.”

Sombra stared at her, then nodded incredibly slightly. “Very well. But the crimes of the priestess cannot be wiped away by interrogation by a golem.”

“My king?”

“She must be prepared first.” He looked to his right. “Scarlet Mist?”

Scarlet Mist chuckled slightly and stood. Mist descended from her, seeping down from the stands like fingers. The heretics cried out and flees, abandoning their priestess. She held her holy book to her chest as she was forced to inhale, and then her eyes went wide as the fear consumed her.

“No! NO!” She screamed and began to confuse. “Celestia NO! MAKE IT STOP!”

Her screams then devolved into wordlessness. Penumbra- -and the crystal ponies in the audience- -were forced to look away. Though the effect was supposedly temporary, the scars would be permanent.

“I still want to bite the filly,” whispered the chimera’s tail. As she said it, the whole of the chimera was grasped in red magic and forcefully pushed back to the gate it had come from.

“Great job, Janet!”

“Now we don’t get dinner!”

“Hey, HEY! It’s not MY fault! Besides, you two are FATTIES!”

“It’s true,” sighed Esther. “Heretics really are bad for our cholesterol...”

Sombra stood. “See to it that these ponies are delivered to their new home promptly.”

The steward bowed, and directed several thralls to take the slaves away.

The former heretics burst out weeping with relief. A few called their thanks to Penumbra, and the young filly waved. Penumbra waved back- -just as she felt her father’s head beside her own.

“How very bold,” he whispered. “And an important showing. But defy me like that again, and we shall see exactly how immortal your alicorn body truly is.”

“A small price to pay for the sanctity of the Empire,” whispered Penumbra in return.

When they returned to their seats and the last of the heretics had been dragged off the area, the steward stepped back into the center. Even she seemed surprised, as well as annoyed that her carefully crafted schedule had been disrupted.

“It would seem that we are now ahead of schedule,” she said, addressing the crowd. “Which gives us even greater time for our final and most important event.” She turned to the deck where Sombra, Penumbra and the Dark Thirteen sat. She raised a hoof and gestured toward them. “The time has come for the issuance of challenges, to be displayed here before our glorious Empire in combat. Let it be known that should you defeat a member of the Dark Thirteen, you shall rise and replace them at King Sombra’s side.” She looked out to the crowd. “Are there any takers?”

The crowd was absolutely silent. Among the slaves, there were many powerful warriors and skilled mages, but all remained silent, looking away to avoid meeting the steward’s eye. All but one.

A unicorn mage stood. He was shaking and dressed in rags, clearly terrified out of his mind. It was also clear he had not eaten in several weeks, perhaps longer.

“I, LemonLeaf, challenge Twilight Luciferian- -”

A sudden snap of violet light struck the young unicorn in the face so hard that he was hurled halfway up the arena steps with such force that the force sent crystal slaves flying. He hit hard, unconscious only because the cushioning impact with the crystal ponies had kept him from a far less amenable fate.

“Your students are slipping, Necrophilo,” said Luciferian, the glow of his horn slowly fading.

“That one was no student of mine,” retorted Necrophilo. “Not after what has done. Or, rather, failed to do.”

“That said.” Luciferian stood and stepped forward. “I myself would like to issue a challenge.”

Both the Blue Knight and Necrophilo of Canterlot sighed and began to stand up.

“By ancient and sacred unicorn law, I challenge King Sombra to a duel.”

The entire arena once again fell completely silent. Fainting ran rampant; this was far more stress than even the crystal slaves were normally put through.

None dared to speak as Sombra slowly turned his head. His eyes were at once cold and still, and filled with abject fury. Despite it, though, he remained as calm as ever.

“What you have invoked is not an ordinary challenge,” said Sombra, slowly. “n all honesty, I have expected this for some time, Twilight. But if I am to accept, I must offer you a chance. Surely you understand the consequences of what you have just done, and that you have thrown your life away either way. I shall give you only one opportunity to retreat, for once the challenge is accepted, it cannot be retracted.”

“You make it sound so serious,” laughed Luciferian, bowing. “My king, I merely wish to test my skills. As a demonstration to the kingdom, as none among us could withstand a battle with you for even minutes.” He grinned at the steward as he said it. “I would never dream of usurping you, my lord. Even if I am more than strong enough to.”

Sombra’s eyes narrowed, and he sighed. “So be it. Your challenge is accepted, Twilight Luciferian, last scion of House Twilight.”

Sombra stood, and his ceremonial armor ignited in red flame. The spell propagated across the surface, reforging the armor into something clearer and crisper than anything Penumbra had ever seen. In an instant, Sombra stood before her, his long mane tied back and his body clad in the most beautiful armor Penumbra had ever seen. In fact, she had never seen a stallion so handsome.

His body flashed red again, this time as he teleported. He appeared beside the steward in the center of the arena. Even the steward jumped, momentarily breaking her professionalism, because she recognized the look in Sombra’s eyes. It was exactly how he had looked when she, in desperation, had challenged him to a duel- -three minutes before her horn had been ripped from her skull and her kingdom forever enthralled to the Crystal Empire.

“Lord Twilight,” said Penumbra. “You can’t be serious! He’s our king- -”

“Is he.” He smiled at Penumbra and took her hoof. “Do not worry, my princess. I give you my word that I will be safe. And that I will return for you when the duel is complete.”

With that, he turned and jumped into the arena, walking carefully down a set of luminescent magic plates he had projected.

The steward looked at both of them, and stepped back. “The- -the challenge is accepted. Let it commence!” She drew back and was lifted from the arena, leaving only Sombra and Luciferian.

Penumbra shifted in her seat. Beside her, Gxurab Al’Hrabnaz stood. This time his birds did not leave. Penumbra realized that this was the closest she had been to him since he had tried to baste her in her own juices.

“This is absurd!” he said, not to anyone in particular. “This is absolutely absurd!”

“Though there are few I generally agree with less,” said Crozea, standing and walking to the edge of the platform. “What the morlock says is true, this fight is needless.”

“But well within his rights as a unicorn.” Necrophilo could not stop smiling. “The challenge has been issued, and accepted. We have no right to interfere.”

“To Twilight, you are no friend; I think you only wish to see your rival’s end.”

Necrophilo smirked. “Do you really doubt your king’s abilities that deeply? Watch out, or you’ll be the next one fed to the chimera.” He leaned forward, bending at an impossible angle for any creature with legs. “Besides. Luciferian has no idea what he has done. He is too young to remember their customs, and they were never written in books.”

“What customs?” asked Penumbra.

Necrophilo eyed her closely. “You shall see, little princess.”

The yellow mare in Twilight Luciferian’s chair lifted her head. Even at a distance, she reeked badly of rotting flowers. “Oh yes. She most certainly will. You ALL will.”

She giggled wildly, and Penumbra found that she had become deeply afraid.

Chapter 22: The Duel

Twilight Luciferian and King Sombra took their places in the center of the Crystal Arena, and the crowd fell silent. A mumur passed through them as the pair simultaneously bowed to one another. None among them had ever witnessed Sombra bow to any being, mortal or immortal- -but the custom was sacred, to unicorns as a whole but especially to sorcerers. From the most lowly novice to Celestia herself, all who considered themselves a true mage were bound by these customs. Twilight Luciferian and Sombra were no different.

When they raised their heads, Luciferian’s horn glowed. Sombra analyzed the pattern and determined that it was not, in fact, an attack; instead, he watched as five majestic-purity crystals rose from Luciferian’s cloak, each one carved with an incredibly intricate spell architecture.

“So this explains where my crystals have gone. Are you really so frightened that you would resort to cheating before you have even cast your first spell?”

Luciferian smiled. “You’re out of practice. It’s no surprise you don’t know the current standards.” Luciferian’s horn glowed, and an enormous book was summoned before him. “According to Volume ninety two, chapter six hundred forty, subsection twelve of the Classical-Subrace Unicorn’s Dueling Hoofbook, magic tools including but not limited to staffs, wands, broomsticks, abacuses, phylacteries and wizard hats are permitted in the duel so long as they are brought in on one’s person. The rule is actually a result of the duel between Moulden the Unwashed and Dia Meter the Thich-Horned, in which the ruling counsel decides- -”

The book suddenly disintegrated, dissolved in toxic red fire. Luciferian watched in horror as it turned to dust. He looked up at Sombra with an expression of absolute hatred. “You FIEND! That was an innocent BOOK!”

Sombra smirked. “Then perhaps you should waste less time telling me things that even the most simple child knows, and raise a defensive spell? Your precious book would be safe right now if you were even the least bit competent.”

Luciferian continued to glare, but then suddenly burst out in laughter. “Banter? From YOU? Sombra, are you really that much of a fool for tradition? You hardly have need for it.” The crystals spread out, each one igniting with violet light- -but only for a moment. After they were activated, they continued to move and glow on their own accord.

“You see,” said Luciferian as he and Sombra began to circle one another. “In terms of raw power, you have me beat by far. But you are old. My calculation speed is exponentially faster than yours, and with these crystals, I think I stand more than a chance.” His eyes narrowed. “You are simply not fast enough.”

One of the crystals shot forward, its form encased in a gyro of thousands of independent destruction spells. It moved so quickly that no pony could even see it move; from the stands, Penumbra stared dumbfounded. Her use of magic was childish and limited, and she had not even realized how complex even one spell could possibly be.”

Eternity chuckled inside Penumbra’s head. “Idiot.”

An iron-clad hoof struck Luciferian in the side of the head, sending him reeling. Sombra moved with unparalleled grace; his every motion an apparent paradox, that a pony as large as he was and clad in such heavy armor could move with such fluid ease. The next blow was a kick to Luciferian’s ribs, sending him sprawling in the dust and mud.

“You- -you HIT ME!” he cried, standing and shoving his jaw back into place. “How DARE YOU! How- -how- -how UNCOUTH!”

“In accordance with the ancient customs of my kind, physical combat is an accepted part of the duel.” A thin smile crossed Sombra’s face. “Or, you may note that your precious hoofbook does not strictly forbid it. How humiliating would it be if I crushed you without even raising a single spell?”

“Like a filthy earth-pony.” Luciferian laughed, and his horn ignited. “If you think I fear humiliation, you are sorely mistaken!”

He fired a spell directly at Sombra. Sombra dodged, but the spell split, arcing outward as it traced its path. Though it came as many forks, Sombra dodged each of them with ease.

“Also in accordance with our rules,” continued Sombra, “you must understand that no yield will be accepted, and no quarter given. Had you challenged me in private, I might have allowed you to persist as a hornless gelding. But your insolence seems to know no bounds.”

Sombra suddenly lurched forward, allowing several of Luciferian’s spells to simply penetrate him. He hardly seemed to notice, forcing through them as his horn ignited with fiery light. Luciferian raised a shield spell from one of his crystals, but had not counted on Sombra’s physical fitness and consequential speed. A second crystal ignited as Sombra cut Luciferian in two.

The two halves fell apart and rolled. The crowd gasped as they stood, now as two identical but half-sized Luciferian’s.

“You are a relic of a bygone age,” said one of the half-Luciferians.

“From a time when things were all straightforward and simple,” laughed the other.

The two halves then split in half, and then in half again. Each time, they created another round of fully-formed Twilight Luciferians, though in decreasing size with every division. It was a rare spell indeed, and one that was remarkably disturbing.

“Really?” sighed Sombra, looking down at the veritable pile of tiny unicorns. “You are going to make me use the cat-spell, aren’t you? I have not used the cat-spell in seven and a half centuries. Do you really despise your own dignity so completely?”

Sombra’s horn glowed, and a construct formed out of light. As the spell’s name implied, the construct was in the shape of a cat. The horde of tiny Luciferian’s screamed and fled as the cat bounded toward them, chasing them.

“This is a farce.”

Sombra suddenly roared in pain as a beam of violet light struck him in the side, burning a substantial gash in his armor. He was then knocked hard from a concussive blast from the other side, although his immense strength kept him from the indignity of falling. He looked up to see a pair of crystals circling him- -and Luciferian’s astral projection between them.

“I can’t believe it was that easy to get a hit,” he sighed. Across the way, his divisions began to pile onto one another, forming a massive stack that had begun to reform into his original body. “If it is going to be this easy, well, frankly, your steward is a weakling. Unless something is distracting you?

The projection vanished as Luciferian’s fully re-formed body opened its eyes and shattered the cat-spell construct. “Perhaps ruling has sapped your skills?” Luciferian’s grin grew. “No, wait. It couldn’t have. Simply because your rule has been so poor as of late.”

He looked upward at the audience that surrounded him- -at nearly the whole of the Crystal Empire. Then he looked back on Sombra with a grin on his face, and Sombra understood.

“Be GONE.”

An immense surge of red magic shot from Sombra’s horn, arcing toward Luciferian. Luciferian countered, producing a spell precision-tuned to shield himself. Sombra’s spell broke and washed over him, the runes of his armor protecting him from the remnant embers of its toxic flames.

“I had not been sure until the cry stalling event. That you cowed to your slaves and nearly devastated the kingdom on a whim. It was then that I knew your decisions were faltering.”

“My only poor decision was trusting YOU.”

Another beam of red energy slammed forward. This time, the corona was so great that many of the ponies in the arena screamed and covered their faces to prevent their eyebrows- -and faces- -from being singed off.

Luciferian raised another shield spell. This time, though, it was overwhelmed, and as it fell, Luciferian’s body flickered and vanished- -revealing a crystal.

Thunderous violet lighting struck Sombra from behind, and he once again cried out in pain. He turned to strike behind him, only for the earth of the arena to shoot outward, its stone tiles forming a pair of great hands that bound Sombra to the ground.

The air shifted as Luciferian’s invisibility spell dissipated and he re-emerged a considerable distance from Sombra. He had to yell to be heard- -both by Sombra and by the crowd.

“But I should have known earlier. I was blind because I trusted you, that you could still rule this kingdom in your doddering old age. But outside this failing shield, Celestia and Nightmare Moon have been amassing an army. And what have you done? Sat here in your Citadel, insisting that the Crystal Empire is neutral and allowing your enemies to plot our downfall. Investing our national economy into useless engines and your ridiculous quest for eternal life.” Luciferian addressed the crowd directly. “Our kingdom is Sombra, and Sombra our kingdom- -and has it not grown decrepit and ossified in their old age? We could be so much MORE, if only we had a leader willing to do what needed to be done! A mage truly WORTHY to wear that crown!”

Luciferian’s speech was suddenly interrupted as he, along with every boulder and fleck of sand in the arena was lifted by hideous red light.

“I am not worthy?” asked Sombra, his magic silently vaporizing the earthen hands that had held him down as he stood, ignoring their grasp entirely. “Really. What a droll opinion.”

A thin filament of Sombra’s magic extended as he slowly approached Luciferian. Without gravity, Luciferian could do little to move. The filament condensed and became solid, forming a sword.

Runes ignited on the blade of the sword, burning arcane symbols into the dark metal. “I have placed a special curse on this blade,” explained Sombra. “One touch to you or to your armor, even the slightest nick, that will be all it shall take.” He smiled. “And that makes you afraid. I can feel it. I can TASTE it.”

A crystal had positioned itself behind Sombra. It struck out with a bolt of pink energy, and Sombra cut it down with a curving arc of blazing red energy. The crystal fell to the ground, darkening and sparking with red light.

“Remote units are unimpressive, Twilight.”

Luciferian lit his horn. “Then how about a direct attack?”

Magic erupted from Luciferian’s horn, spreading and propagating into a dome of runes and symbols, assembling itself into a shield. For a moment, it was able to push Sombra’s crimson magic back- -but only for a moment.

Sombra sighed and lit only the slightest tip of his horn. His magic instantly retracted, flowing backward and shattering Luciferian’s spell. The field filling the arena was redirected so that it only surrounded Luciferian’s horn, which Sombra lifted him by. Luciferian cried out in pain.

“Out of respect for what you might once have been, I will let you meet your end with it intact. However...”

Sombra’s magic slammed downward, driving Luciferian into the ground. It lifted him again, and repeated the process several times before throwing him hard against a wall. Luciferian managed to stand after a moment, only to have another plume of red magic crush through his shield spells once more. The crystals fell to the floor, and Luciferian did not stand up.

In the stands, Penumbra stood. “This is too much,” she said, looking to the others. “We have to stop it, before- -”

“He was the one stupid enough to challenge the king,” sighed Scarlet Mist. “He chose this fate. Don’t interfere.”

Necrophilo laughed. “Shorter than I expected. I had never thought the king for such a showpony.”

“And yet you would think he would have seen this coming,” said Buttonhooks, amused but only invested in the battle in that he himself was not the one being beaten. “How peculiar.”

“No no no,” whispered Al’Hrabnaz. “Those crystals...those assemblies, I know them.” He suddenly leapt to his feet. “NO! My king, NO!”

Luciferian looked up and grinned, wondering how he had ever served such an aging fool. How easy it had been to convince Sombra that the crystals were anything as gauche and uncultured as simple toys. They could be used as remote spells, of course, but that was a simplistic approach drawn from the ancient world that Sombra himself was a relic of. His body was trapped in a state free of evolution; he did not understand the progress that had been made by the unicorn race.

The crystals suddenly littered and shot across the ground, drawn to Luciferian’s call. Among them was a blackened crystal growing with red light.

“Are you really this STUPID?!” laughed Luciferian, casting several restoration spells over his body. That kind of magic was dangerous to one of his predictions, and his body grew gaunt as his fangs extended and became visible. The effects were cosmetic, of course; he would reverse them later. He was sure that Sombra already knew.

“You know,” he said, nearly giggling. “The books say that your blood isn’t like ours. That you bleed BLACK instead of SILVER. I really would like to see!”

“You overestimate yourself,” sighed Sombra. In a flash, he had crossed the arena and raised his sword. Luciferian raised his sword and brought it down. Luciferian raised his armored leg to block it.

“It is over,” sighed Necrophilo. “Such a waste.”

The sword came down, striking through the armor- -but stopping at the flesh of the limb.

Sombra’s eyes widened, and he met Luciferian’s gaze. “What have you done?”

“You. Starswirl. My FATHER. I have done what you were all too afraid to do!”

The crystals suddenly lifted into the air, surrounding Luciferian with a plume of violet energy. The central one sparked red with a sample of Sombra’s own magic as the calculation system integrated into Luciferian’s mind.

Sombra was blown back from the force, and he recognized the spell, at least superficially. Whatever was wrong with Luciferian’s front leg went to the back of his mind as he summoned his own spell, assembling a powerful beam. It was not a simple surge of energy, but a complicated stream of independent spells. Although he did not know why, Sombra knew that he needed to end the fight quickly.

The beam arced out toward Luciferian. As it approached, Luciferian reached out and dissected its source code, comparing it to his standard and pulling it apart on a basal level. From there, he reassembled it, and the red of the magic became violet. He pulled it around his body and focused it back at Sombra. Sombra raised a shield, but only against his own spell. Hidden in its carrier wave, Luciferian had added his own- -and it struck Sombra, severing his horn.

Sombra’s sword fell as he was forced back. He growled not in pain but in hatred, and his horn immediately began to regenerate.

“How many times can you do that, I wonder?” said Luciferian, pacing forward as his crystals circled him.

Sombra roared as his newly-regenerated horn ignited. The entire arena cried out as they were nearly blinded by the torrent of red light. A spell of cataclysmic intensity formed into a vast sphere over Luciferian.

The steward shot up from her position and gestured to her underlings. “Reinforce the arena! QUICKLY!”

Sombra reared, and with a scream of fury sent the plume of magic directly toward Luciferian. Even Celestia herself would have been unable to block it in time, let alone a mere mortal.

Luciferian looked up at it and engaged a small spell he had been closely disguising. As soon as it engaged, the fireball stopped in midair.

It was not just Sombra’s spell, though. The entire world had slowed nearly to the point of stopping.

Luciferian laughed, and slowly turned his eyes. He had to take care; even the slightest of movements could be deadly when this particular spell was in use. Still, he was able to look to the stands. He saw his soon-to-be bride, staring wide-eyed at the duel, frozen in place amongst the other fools and filthy non-unicorns. They were all frozen in time- -save for one.

From her position at the end of the group, Thirteen of Thirteen turned her head to stare at Luciferian.

“I suppose I need to thank you, miss Thirteen,” laughed Luciferian. “It was observing you that allowed me to resolve several theories on the nature of chronoplexy. Granted, I cannot travel through time, nor can I create alternate timelines as you can- -but I can certainly slow it. I would bow to you, but unfortunately I do not have a suit to protect me from chronal sheer.” He turned his attention upward toward Sombra’s spell. “Hmm...how interesting. The phase variation is defined by an unstable function. That, and the main format is tempered with Chaos magic. A very challenging spell indeed. He is attempting to produce something I cannot calculate. Since only you can hear me, Thirteen, I will admit this: he is a genius. An ancient mage, a relic of an age of great purebloods. It is a shame he must be destroyed.” Luciferian sighed. “This spell would have worked, too. It will take me about six hours to redirect it. Of course, I have more than enough time...”

The spell struck its mark, but as it landed it ignited upward as a plume of pink-violet. Sombra braced himself, but there was no time to dodge. It came back at him as an inferno of fire, sweeping him off his hooves and forcing him back against the area. Slaves and servants alike ran screaming, some being afflicted by the curse in the process.

Luciferian stared at his work, wondering if he had a been successful. The cursed fire continued to burn, so there was a lingering effect he had not accounted for.

Then something stepped through the flames. It was grotesque, but rapidly regenerating. Luciferian cursed under his breath. The books had indicated that dark unicorns were notoriously good at regeneration; in Sombra’s case, the Heart of Darkness seemed to have accelerated the process exponentially.

“It seems I missed. If only slightly.”

Luciferian’s eyes widened as he looked behind him. Sombra’s sword was stuck to the hilt in the stone wall, having missed Luciferian’s ear by mere hair’s widths.

“Or you are too merciful, perhaps? You never were willing to do what it takes.” Luciferian smiled. “That said, I did not expect the sword. Just like you don’t seem to have expected this.”

A spell ignited beneath Sombra. Runes formed around him, and before he could unfasten them a bolt of magic took his horn again. Unable to resist the gravity surge, he was brought to his knees.

“There you go. That’s the way.” Luciferian pulled Sombra’s sword from the stone behind him, changing the runes in the process and adorning it with his own mark- -the image of a red pentagram. Simply for aesthetic effect. “Bow before your king, old stallion.”

Sombra did not respond. He simply glared and attempted to lunge. The attempt failed; the gravity spell simply flattened him against the floor. Sombra was attempting to formulate a counterspell, but Luciferian refused to allow it. Before Sombra’s horn had even fully regenerated, Luciferian blasted it off again.

Luciferian limped forward, dragging the tip of the sword across the ground. Silver had started to drip from his eyes and ears. The calculation spells were taking their toll. Unlike Sombra, he could not regenerate from the wounds forming inside him.

In the stands, Penumbra stood and addressed the others. “We have to stop this! He’s in danger!”

“I agree,” said Al’Hrabnaz, standing and reaching for the dial in his chest. “This has gone too far!”

“NO.” Zither, now standing nearly on top of them, drew his sword and blocked their path. “You shall NOT interfere.”

“Are you insane, primitive? GET OUT OF MY WAY!”

“The duel shall NOT be interfered with! I shall not allow you to besmirch the king’s honor!”

“Lord Hearstrings,” pleaded Penumbra. “He needs our help! If Lord Twilight keeps going- -”

“And I have no stake in the ridiculous customs of filthy uninvolved unicorn troglodytes! MOVE!”

“And how would you help him? Any of you?” Zither pointed at the battle with his sword. “To enter the fray, to save the king and prove that Twilight is RIGHT? That the king is too weak to defend himself, that he is so terribly WEAK? To do so would violate everything our king holds dear- -and to sacrifice our very kingdom in the process!”

“Honestly, I have to agree with the meat-head.”

Penumbra turned sharply, not recognizing the strange voice that had spoken. She realized that it had come from the set-beast, which now occupied Sombra’s seat. As the beast sat back, its body flashed with green light and it assumed the form of a pale filly. She put her head on her hoof on the armrest of the chair. “Luciferian knew that going in. Interfere, and he wins.” She shrugged. “Wish I had thought of it.”

“Fine!” rasped Al’Hrabnaz. “Traitors! I will deal with this myself!”

“Try to pass, and taste my blade.” Zither looked to the others. “That goes for all of you!”

“A primitive with a pointed stick. I am so very afraid. But if that is what the king wishes, then I will obey. However...” Al’Hrabnaz reached for the dial in his chest and turned it several times. When he next spoke, his voice was booming, amplified through the kingdom.

“Attention various meats,” he said. “This is Gxurab Al’Hrabnaz, Eight of Thirteen, the Ravenlord. I would hereby like to increase your entertainment by placing a bet. Should our glorious king lose this battle, then I shall take the first, second, and thirdborn of every pony in the kingdom and place them outside the kingdom’s atmospheric shield. To test the effect of extreme cold on survival time, you see, and to isolate genetic determinants. This is valid for all ponies of lesser, worthless races, including crystal, earth, Pegasus, and unicorns of every social class.”

“And if Luciferian wins?” asked Penumbra.

“Then I throw the thirdborns in one of my reactors. I very much like the sound they make.”

Al’Hrabnaz twisted his dial, and his voice cut out from the kingdom. Zither stared at him in horror.

“Have you no honor, insect?”

“I have no need for it. Nevertheless, I have not violated the precious sanctity of this horn-measuring contest.” He turned toward Scarlet Mist. “Although the spirit could be furthered if- -”

“Talk to me again and I tear that mask off your face here and now,” said Scarlet Mist. “No. I will not engage. Because the outcome doesn’t matter to me. Sombra, Luciferian? My goals are the same.”

“So then your service to the king is despicably illegitimate,” snapped Crozea. “Let us hope then that the mathematician's words are conspicuously adequate.”

Throughout the kingdom, the words of Gxurab Al’Hrabnaz had been heard- -and ponies knew that he was a creature of his word. For many of them, their children were the only thing of value they had, the only thing of any meaning in their otherwise bleak world of absolute freedom. The thought of losing them was too much to bear.

The air became heavy as incredible fear began to saturate the whole of the Crystal Empire.

Luciferian stumbled as a feedback shock suddenly struck him. It was weak, barely a tremor, but he had to be careful; in his current state, feedback could be devastating if not managed properly.

The spell holding Sombra was cracking. Despite the intense gravity, and despite the immense planning and work that had gone into designing it, Sombra was rising, his body alight with red energy and his eyes trailing violet light.

“Sit back DOWN!” screamed Luciferian, increasing the power of the spell- -but it was no use. Sombra stood and shattered it.

“FEAR!” he laughed, his voice echoing off the walls of the arena. “Ah yes, I feel it! So much POWER!”

He lowered his head and struck out with a powerful spell. Luciferian began the calculations to reverse it, and did so- -but as it left his command it arced back, becoming red once again and slamming into his shields. The defensive spells nearly buckled, despite the advanced mathematics reinforcing them. Luciferian was forced back, and he summoned a new spell, a direct attack bound from multiple crystals. He fired with enough force to destroy a small city- -but Sombra simply knocked the spell aside, producing a significant hole in the arena in the process.

“What’s the matter, Twilight?” chuckled Sombra. “Are you AFRAID?”

“You are cheating! This isn’t fair!”

“You said yourself. Tools brought into the duel are allowed. Is not the Citadel my tool? Is not the Heart of Darkness my own heart?” Sombra laughed. The sound was chilling. “Why are you so frightened, my little pony? I am about to make your wish come true. Did you not want to be the last of your House?”

Sombra brought down a torrent of magic with such force that it shattered Luciferian’s defensive spell completely. Two of the crystals burst in the process, and the sampling-crystal cracked. By the time Luciferian had compensated, Sombra was already nearly on top of him, this time with a spell that superficially looked so much smaller- -but burned with such rage and passion that Luciferian truly could feel the icy tickle of fear deep within his heart.

He engaged his time spell, freezing Sombra in place. The spell was still moving; he had not managed to stop time completely. Even with the crystals, he was running out of strength.

“I can do this,” he said, catching his breath. “I can do this...this spell...” He began to dissect it, examining the source code and attempting to decipher it. The more he delved, though, the more he understood that the effort was futile. The spell was beyond anything he could ever hope to create himself. Though he could calculate, this form was one of true training: a master-level spell wielded by a being on par with an immortal alicorn.

“No,” said Luciferian after several hours. “I can’t decipher this one.” He looked to his side. Thirteen, as if mocking him, was walking along the edge of the arena, attempting to find a better angle to watch the end of the duel. “I can’t deflect it, and I can’t block.” He looked at the ground. “I can’t even dodge.” He closed his eyes. “But I can’t stay here. I can go up to three days before the dehydration sets in, but even with my whole laboratory it would take decades to understand this spell. I’m royally bucked.”

“That’s not entirely true.”

Luciferian’s eyes widened and flicked to the side. For a moment, he saw something horrible beyond description- -but then it resolved into the form of a tall and immeasurably beautiful earth-mare.

The demon walked by him, rubbing her tail against his chin. The temporal sheer had no effect on her, because she was not real. Not yet.

“I have to wonder why you bothered,” she sighed. “Honestly, I had started thinking you were having second thoughts. If you had, well, your fate would be...messy. Because that’s something I can’t allow.” She smiled. Her smile looked so beautiful, but her eyes looked so hideous. “But now I suppose I get it. You were just waiting for the very moment when it was absolutely necessary.”

“You did this,” hissed Luciferian.

“I did nothing,” she snapped. “That’s the POINT. Your pride made you take this ridiculous circuitous route to power. But now you have a choice.” She tapped the leading edge of Sombra’s spell. It was beginning to resolve itself into the shape of his sword. “You can stay here and wait until Sombra makes sure you get his point, or you can do what you should have done from the start.” Her smile grew far too wide to be on the face of a pony. “It’s your destiny, after all. MANIFEST ME, MOTHERBUCKER.”

Sombra’s spell hit its target- -but as it did, it detonated, torn apart by an exponentially more powerful force.

The explosion tore away Sombra’s armor and threw him to the ground. Crystal ponies in the stands cried out as they were thrown through the air and out of the arena entirely. Those among the Dark Thirteen who could cast shields did so, if only to protect the princess. Holder Heartfelt was knocked off his stool and blown away entirely.

The vortex of red magic filling the arena was superseded by yellow. Luciferian, at its epicenter, raised his head and screamed. The armored boot that protected his left front leg was torn apart from within, revealing a white-and-violet mottled limb scarred and tattooed with unholy symbols and long-forgotten arcane from a realm that no sane pony was meant to comprehend.

The scar-runes glowed with internal fire, and the ground beneath Luciferian cracked, revealing strange and unnatural light from below. In an instant, yellow magic traced a complicated shape around Luciferian. He stood at its midpoint, at the very center of a hideous golden pentagram.

“What is this?!” cried Zither, his shield barely holding in defense of his princess. “ That’s not his magic, what has he done?!”

Crozea began to shake violently, her own shield spells faltering. “The coward was too afraid to fail. Now he has doomed us all, and summed the Veil!”

The pentagram beneath Luciferian changed, shifting and propagating as though it were alive. A second pentagram formed beside him. The ground cracked beneath it, and then tore open as something pushed its way through.

Penumbra had never seen anything so hideous in her life. It was a creature made of blackened bones and flesh forged from rot. It was not dead, because it could not die; but likewise, nor would it ever live, or know life except through its destruction.

The creature stood, drawing matter from the area around her, pulling it to her, slowly building herself a new body. “Oh YES!” cried the incomplete reverent. “Lungs, teeth, KIDNEYS! A word of such lovely things, a world in need of FLAME and DECAY!”

Sombra lifted himself, or tried to. He had sustained critical injuries in the blast, and his magic was barely working. Yet he knew the spell before him, and knew that the thing that now stared at him with empty eye-sockets in a skull that looked nothing like that of a pony must not be allowed to reach completion.

“You FOOL!” he screamed. “You have no idea what you have done! Stop this now, before it is too late! She must not be allowed to manifest!”

Luciferian laughed through his agony. “And all those times you told me stories about opening doors to new realms, of your grand dream to conquer the multiverse? Does it hurt to know I HAVE DONE WHAT YOU WERE TO AFRAID TO?” He raised his cursed hoof- -a front leg linked to his body through the remnants of a thick surgical scar. “I have completed my father’s work, what he was too afraid to! He was WEAK, like YOU!” Luciferian cackled. His eyes had grown red, and his pupils were beginning to vanish. “Don’t worry, Sombra. Your bloodline will live on! I will personally make sure that you have PLENTY of grandchildren!”

Luciferian roared, and a new spell cut itself onto the ground. This one was in his own magic, carved in pink-violet, tracing an incredibly complex pattern outside the yellow pentagram.

“Wait,” said the incomplete demon. “What are you doing? This wasn’t part of our deal!”

“The final blow will be MINE,” growled Luciferian, activating the spell. “It shall be MY power that takes the kingdom! MY CRYSTAL EMPIRE!”

Luciferian activated the spell, and as it engaged, Sombra smiled. Even as his body was vaporized, he realized that he felt no fear. That this was the way it would go, that this was the way his journey would end, it had never occurred to him- -and in his heart, he supposed he truly was too old to rule.

His last thought was simple amusement, and he left the world at peace.

Luciferian laughed through his agony. “And all those times you told me stories about opening doors to new realms, of your grand dream to conquer the multiverse? Does it hurt to know I HAVE DONE WHAT YOU WERE TO AFRAID TO?” He raised his cursed hoof- -a front leg linked to his body through the remnants of a thick surgical scar. “I have completed my father’s work, what he was too afraid to! He was WEAK, like YOU!” Luciferian cackled. His eyes had grown red, and his pupils were beginning to vanish. “Don’t worry, Sombra. Your bloodline will live on! I will personally make sure that you have PLENTY of grandchildren!”

Penumbra gasped, understanding what this spell meant, and that her father would not survive the blow. As she froze in fear, she felt a hoof on her shoulder, and looked up to see Thirteen’s masked face.

“Go to him,” she whispered. “Go to him, and save your father.”

Luciferian roared, and a new spell cut itself onto the ground. This one was in his own magic, carved in pink-violet, tracing an incredibly complex pattern outside the yellow pentagram.

The demon laughed quietly, because she saw the winged princess stumbling over herself in her ridiculous armor, dropping into the arena and racing to her father’s side. She reached him and grasped his neck, holding him tightly.

“Father! FATHER!”

“Get away from me!” he screamed, attempting to weekly shove her. “Don’t touch me!”

Luciferian’s eyes grew wide. “No- -NO! Princess, get out of the way!”

Penumbra hugged her father’s neck tightly and stared up at Luciferian defiantly. “I won’t let you hurt him!”

“I- -I can’t stop the spell once it’s started! You’ll be caught in the blast!”

“Penumbra,” whispered Sombra. “Get to safety. Please let me have this.”

“NO!” Penumbra held on tighter. “I refuse!”

In a panic, Luciferian turned to the demon. “I have to deactivate this- -”

“Oh, it’s too late for that,” she said. Black, squirming things poured from her mouth. Her body was now mostly complete, and yellow skin was beginning to grow across what she had made. “A pure alicorn maiden, a being with no soul for me to take! HER PURITY WILL BURN BY YOUR HORN!”

Luciferian screamed as the spell activated. Penumbra held her father tighter, even as the sky burned with pink magic entrapped within yellow.

“I won’t let you HURT HIM!”

Her horn ignited and magic poured from her body. The world around her erupted with blinding blue light as magic flowed from every fiber of her being. Luciferian’s spell struck hers, and there was no contest. It was instantly overwhelmed and driven back.

“Well shove a brick in my rear and call me Fluttershy,” sighed the demon as her body collapsed into ash and dryrot.

Luciferian stared in awe, unable to react in the slightest as the magic consumed him. His body was encased in shield spells and seals of every kind, but the crystalline blue magic cut through them effortlessly. It was not even any specific spell, with any direction or form. It was simply pure, raw power- -and yet it cut through his own spells as if they were nothing.

The force was to great, and the feedback too immense. All of Luciferian’s crystals shattered at once, and the overwhelming force of alicorn magic was directed into his skull. His horn cracked, and then splintered as it exploded from the force.

The dome of blue light expanded and grew until it lit the whole of the arena. The ponies watching stared into its brilliant light, nearly blinded but unable to look away. The princess, her horn and wings alight and flaming with energy, began to rise.

Far across the kingdom, the Heart of Darkness began to attempt to tear free of its mounting engine, drawing exponentially increasing levels of power. The technetium around it began to compensate, though; hundreds of gears began to whir loudly, selecting their positions and revolving the fundamental structure in eight dimensions.

The readings data was transmitted to Gxurab Al’Hrabnaz, and he reached for the corresponding dial in his chest. He burst out laughing. “A factor of over four million percent! EXCELLENT! Engaging siphon!”

He turned the dial in several complex ways, corresponding with thousands of devices within the Citadel’s fundamental structure. When he pressed it, the shunt from his engine engaged- -and the Heart of Darkness was drained of its surplus energy.

The sudden draw sapped Penumbra, and her magic suddenly faded. It had lifted her several meters into the air, and without it she suddenly swooned and fell, unconscious. Sombra, though still injured, reached out and caught her in his magic.

Across the arena, Luciferian staggered to his hooves, wincing when he put weight on the one marked with demonic symbols. While that hoof had formerly been mottled violet and white, it was becoming distinctly yellow.

He kicked a fragment of crystal, engaging its tiny last residual component of power. A portal ignited, and without a word he collapsed through it. In an instant, he was gone.

Medics raced onto the field, and Sombra carefully lay Penumbra down. Despite the pain, he stood, fully aware that his body was not regenerating.

“My king!”

“Steward. Attend to her first. Get her to a laboratory. ANY laboratory.” Sombra looked up. “I need to know what just happened, and I need to know NOW.”

Chapter 23: Sickness

While it could not quite be called pacing, Buttonhooks the mad was crossing the floor repeatedly, dragging his atrophied, legless hips with his powerful but asymmetrical forelegs. “As such,” he continued, “I have reviewed every volume of the unicorn dueling hoofbook in excruciating detail and come to a conclusion.”

Necrophile of Canterlot blinked. “You read them all? Every single one?”

“Yes. Being a masochist is a fundamental aspect of my being, and I must say, the agony of that particular adventure was...well, excruciating.”

“How disturbing.”

“Hardly. If you want to know where I stuck a piece of rusty rebar while I was reading, THAT would disturb you. It is not where you would expect.” Buttonhooks turned to Sombra, who was listing slightly on his throne. “Regardless, I have ascertained that the outcome of the duel was, in fact, legitimate. Members of the same bloodline may fight for the sake of a challenged duelist. Of course, this largely pertains to the choosing of champions, but the language is notably vague, as most unicorn things are.”

“Or it simply a matter that your earth-pony mind cannot comprehend it,” snapped Necrophile.

“I am, in fact, an Assyrian donkey. Can’t you tell?”

“The rules hardly matter,” growled Necrophilo. “What matters is how the king is perceived in the public eyes- -”

“I care about neither,” snapped Sombra. “If ponies think I am weak, then I shall simply crush them. Including either of you, if need be.”

“I would very much like that,” said Buttonhooks, trembling. “Please wear heels.”

Sombra, in his pain, ignored the impertinence. “There are concerned of much greater importance than the opinions of slaves.”

“Of course.” Necrphilo bowed to the king. “The princess is currently under examination by the parasite. Although my own laboratory would be far superior- -”

“You are a necromancer, Necrophilo. And last time I checked, the alicorn is distinctly ALIVE. You would be out of your depth. I am not in the mood for insolence. Question my decision again, and I shall allow your students to practice their craft on YOU.”

“The bird-pony offered to perform a vivisection,” noted Buttonhooks. “I know from personal experience that he does exquisite work.”

“And we cannot risk it.” Sombra stood, nearly stumbling as he did. Buttonhooks’s eyes narrowed, at least to the extent they could. As well as Sombra knew pain, Buttonhooks knew pain- -and he could see that the king was in a great deal of it.

“My king?” asked Necrophilo. “Are you unwell.”

Sombra righted himself and walked down from his throne. “Luciferian.”

“Has left the Crystal Empire,” said Eternity, speaking in their minds. “I can’t see him anywhere. He’s hiding from me somewhere far away. Like a fish.”

“He must be found. It is absolutely imperative.”

“My lord,” said Necrophilo, clearly confused. “His horn was shattered. We are not like you. Once our horns are destroyed, there is no way to restore them. He is hardly a threat.” A thin smile crossed his face. “Unless you seek vengeance. Then I fully understand.”

Sombra glared at his servant with such force that Necrophilo was forced to take several steps back.

“I care precious little about his horn,” hissed Sombra. “And vengeance is a pointless act. He is a greater danger than a mage with your preternaturally limited vision could comprehend!”

“The summoning,” said Buttonhooks. “Something nearly came through.”

“He was simply generating a construct,” dismissed Necrophilo. “A simple parlor trick- -”

He was knocked back by a sudden burst of magic, his default protection sealed shattering in the process.

“Are you BLIND?” snapped Sombra, his horn still glowing with red light. He grasped Necrophilo’s body and forced him downward so that their faces were level. “He was attempting to open a door that must NEVER be opened. Or have modern mages forgotten what my people’s occultists knew since they were children?”

“What was it?” asked Buttonhooks. “It seemed….appealing.”

“It goes by many names. Infinite names.” Sombra’s eyes narrowed. “You may know her as the Horse of Babylon.”

Necrophile, an already sallow individual, grew deathly pale. “My lord, that- -that is impossible- -”

“Luciferian has no idea the danger he is in- -or the danger he has placed us all in. For the sake of not just the Empire but all of Equestria, he must be apprehended.”

“We don’t have the forces,” said Buttonhooks. “Not that can move freely in Equestria.”

“He’s probably somplace damp,” muttered Eternity. “Nice and moist...”

Sombra looked upward, as if she really were above him. “Can you attempt to track him?”

“Reeks like flowers...maybe. But I can’t watch the kingdom at the same time. Don’t send the troops. We need them here if I can’t see. Hopefully there aren’t ants…stupid ants and their ridiculous language of squeaks and endless churning...”

“My lord,” continued Buttonhooks. “It is not unlikely that he will attempt to return at some point.”

“You did take his horn,” added Necrophilo. “And he clearly desires your throne. He may make a second attempt.”

“Let him come, then. It will make things easier.” Sombra sighed. “But that means all I can do is wait. My patients is substantial, but in this case it is wearing thin.” He turned and began to climb back toward his throne. “Keep examining the arena. And as soon as anything is known about the alicorn, bring that knowledge to me at once.”

“My lord,” said Buttonhooks. “There is still one more matter of importance.”

Sombra stopped climbing but did not turn around. “And what would that be?”

“The contest. The challenge. According to our own rules, those who defeat one of us must take our place.”

Necrophilo’s eyes widened. “You cannot be serious.”

“She shattered his horn, within the legitimate rules of the duel. Her victory is irrefutable. By your own law, my king, she is now One of Thirteen.”

This time, Sombra did turn- -and as he did, the whole world went black.

Sombra blinked, confused as to why he felt so very strange. His body was light and new, and though he recognized the sensation, the recollection rose from deep memories buried beneath countless decades of his seemingly unending life.

He sat up and found himself lying in a bed. Around him was a structure, and though he did not recognize it in the slightest, he also did. The dark oaken logs of the cabin, the simple but graceful arches of the sealing, the course abstract tapestries hung from the walls, and the windows with the barest tint of red- -he was in a small and unassuming chateau. One he had never seen, but that he knew so very well.

Standing, he left the room, passing the magic-driven stove on the far side and entering a narrow hall. He looked out and his breath nearly left him. Beyond the cabin was an endless field of flowers, rising from the black stone of the rocky soil in every shade of red and umber. Enormous oaks stood amongst them, their bark black and their deep red leaves lined with the barest silver.

Far in the distance, he saw the cliffs of enormous, seemingly endless black mountains. Their presence was stunning, and Sombra knew that he was home- -and that this was all impossible. Nothing green had survived in the Darklands since centuries before his birth; he only knew of what his homeland had once been from the remnants of tattered, decaying tapestries in the abandon halls and temples of the great mountain cities. This was a world he had spent centuries envisioning, but that he thought he would never see.

“My love, you are awake.”

Sombra turned, suddenly so very afraid. The first fear he had felt since the Heart of Darkness had replaced his own, for he knew what he would see.

She was standing beside him, draped in the sashes of umber and black of his people: a pure white unicorn with the clearest and kindest of blue eyes. She was a match to any of Celestia’s purebloods, but not one of them; she was free and pure, and more beautiful than anything Sombra had ever seen.

“Hope.”

She laughed softly. “You say it as though I am new to you.”

Sombra smiled. “Because every day is like the day we first met.”

Hope giggled and blushed slightly. Sombra could remember the day, high on the mountains, when they were still young, and how he had been so nervous he had slipped off a crag and fallen halfway down the mountain. She had found him in a panic and tried to nurse him back to health- -not knowing that, as a dark unicorn, his body would heal from far worth.

Except that was wrong, and Sombra knew it. Hope had been purchased from a vendor and systematically broken down physically and mentally, built back up from her shattered state to serve as one of many concubines, her only purpose to be humiliated to demonstrate Sombra’s dominance over the so-called sacred white Classicals.

Yet, he knew that the process had been imperfect. He had always known. Because her eyes had always looked upon him the way they did now.

“Daddy, daddy!”

Sombra looked down as the door to the cabin burst open. A filly ran in, nearly tripping over the rough-hewn table in the kitchen but fluttering her soft pink wings to stabilize herself. Like her mother, she was dressed in the garb of the dark unicorns, though it was clear that she was not one. She was not a unicorn at all. Rather, she was a tiny alicorn, her skin bright pink and her hair divided into brilliant shades of white, violet and pink.

“Cadenza, be careful!” admonished Hope, though she was still smiling. “You don’t want to get your horn stuck in the wall again, do you? Or should I get the pliers out in advance?”

“Sorry mommy,” Cadenza- -but her name was Penumbra, she was a weapon meant to meat her end neutralizing the divine enemy- -ran to her father. She was nearly jumping with excitement. “Daddy, look! I found one!” she reached into her mane and removed a rather disturbing insect; it was long and segmented, although covered in hair and numerous shining legs. Its enormous fangs were dripping with fluorescent venom. “I found a scentepede! And you were RIGHT! It really DOES smell like blueberries!”

Hope frowned. “Sombra, should she be playing with that? Is it not dangerous?”

“No, mommy! Daddy said that as long as you don’t touch the first segment where the eyes are, they’ll never bite you, no matter what!”

“No. I said never to touch the REAR segment, if you recall.”

“Oh.” Cadenza looked at the insect and reversed it. She smiled. “There!”

Sombra laughed. “It is fine, my love. When I was a colt I would bring them home from time to time, try to raise them. My mother nearly leapt from her horn when she first saw my collection.” Sombra frowned, because he knew that was wrong. He had never known his mother or father, only the ancient pair of monks who had raised him, the last vestiges of a vibrant religion depleted by centuries without a single new birth. “But...why...”

“Can we look at the guide book?” pleaded Cadenza. “I want to know if it’s the highland kind, or the lowland ones, like in the swamps!”

“Penumbra,” sighed Hope, exasperated. “Have you been playing in the swamps? You know you’ll get muddy!”

She had said it. The girl’s true name. Because she was not a girl. She had never been a child; Sombra had taken that from her. His mind was attempting to reassert itself, to know that this girl had never existed, and that she never would. There was only Penumbra Heartbreak, a living weapon, a machine born to a mother who had paid the ultimate prices to produce an immoral daughter.

“Daddy?” Cadenza looked up with true concern across her face. “Are you okay?”

Sombra’s heart had not beat in centuries- -yet he felt a distant twinge within it.

He looked out the window, and felt the warm summer’s breeze blowing through his mane. He even smelled the flowers, and the smell was beautiful, though the home he had once known had only carried the most distant wafts of it when he had dwelt there.

At the far edge of the field, he saw a pony standing at the cliff, looking out at the view. A black mare. And as she turned, he saw her blue eyes, and understood.

“And they say that I am the cruelest of the ponies,” he mused, softly. “They have no idea, do they?” He sighed. “Though I doubt even you know what you have become, Luna.”

Sombra turned to his family, and they looked up at him, smiling and perfect. He lit his horn, and watched as their smiles turned to looks of horror and betrayal. Cadenza, frightened, grasped onto her mother’s legs. The glow of the spell reflected in their eyes as Sombra directed his magic toward them and watched as the illusion was incinerated.

Sombra opened his eyes. He was lying prone and looking up into a corresponding set of crystalline blue eyes that were set deeply into a face striped with black and white. Eyes that would respect and value him, but that could never love him.

“Zecora.”

The zebra frowned. “I know I have spoken, but have you not heard? Even you are never permitted to utter that word.”

“My apologies, Crozea.” Sombra sat up, or tried to. There was pain, and it was quite new to him.

“My king, please, lie at ease. Despite your will, you are incredible ill.”

“I was unconscious.” Sombra blinked. “Nightmare Moon sent me a dream.”

“Her magic is never lacking precision,” said Crozea icily. “And I assume she sent you terrible visions.”

“Waking up into this pain is actually a relief.” Sombra grabbed at his chest. He still had no pulse, but there was pain inside him. Part of it was injuries from the fight with Luciferian, but there was something else. Something inside him was burning. “How long?” he demanded.

“Eight hours, maybe nine. And in all that time, not one vital sign.”

“The Heart of Darkness powers all my vital functions.”

“Forgive me for my hurry, but seeing you like that...how could I not worry?”

Sombra sat up, ignoring the pain, and put one shaking front leg around her neck. He hugged her closely, if only for a moment.

“I am more durable than that,” he said, softly. “I am not ready to go. Not yet. I’m not done.” He released her. “What has happened to me?”

“We have examined you as closely as we could. My king...Sombra...the situation is not good.”

“We?”

A clicking noise sounded from the deepest shadows. Then a tapping of strange hooves as Al’Hrabnaz descended from the ceiling.

Sombra knew the situation was dire from looking at the pair of them, and it displeased him greatly. Crozea had removed her outer robes, reveling only the hard uniform she wore beneath and her bandoleers of potions and tools. Al’Hrabnaz was accompanied by neither his birds nor his signature black feather-lined robes. Instead, he wore only his pressure suit, fully revealing his rather hideous form.

Yet, in a way, Sombra was relieved. Of those in his ranks, these were the two he believed he could trust the most- -one for her respect, the other for his near-fanatical loyalty. They were also the two most experienced in pony medicine, apart of Twilight Luciferian.

“What is wrong with me?”

“The question is more what’s NOT wrong, really.” Crozea frowned deeply, but still met Sombra’s eye, even without her mask. “You are infected with deadly magic, and it is propagating quite freely.”

“Luciferian. From the demon he summoned.”

“No demon was that horror,” growled Crozea. “That spirit was something far MORE...”

“Nor is it the source of the contagion,” said Al’Hrabnaz. His voice was rapid, even pained, in start contrast to Crozea’s measured tone. “I have isolated the signal and traced it. It does not match the object that the filthy primitive attempted to summon, or the rift he used to do it.”

“Mind your words considering a unicorn. Do not forget that our king also bears a horn.”

“Filthy sun-dweller! How dare you even consider our beloved king with such horrible creatures- -”

“Gxurab. My condition.” Sombra lifted one of his legs and flexed it. Crozea had removed his armor, and he felt naked. He supposed he was. “I require a description. NOW.”

“Of course.” The dial on Al’Hrabnaz’s chest turned, and several holograms appeared. “Essentially, your cell structure is collapsing. It is progressive and catalytic, and accelerating.” Al’Hrabnaz pointed at a hologram, not realizing that it was written in his own language. Sombra could read it, of course, and he knew that the situation was not good. “Essentially, the unique aspects of your body that allow for rapid regeneration are turning against you. Your cells are attempting to replicate, but they are tearing apart your genetic code in the process.”

“And the cause? If it not the demon, then what?”

Al’Hrabnaz looked up, and turned to Crozea.

Crozea sighed. “If we are to believe Gxurab’s analysis, then the culprit is your daughter, the princess.”

“What? That is impossible!”

“No, it’s not.” Al’Hrabnaz produced a new hologram. “She saved your life, but the magic she exposed you to is fundamentally incomparable with your biology. It is interfering with your connection to the Heart of Darkness. And without it...”

“I know.” Sombra took a breath. His lungs hurt. “Can we attempt to modulate the signal? Your control scheme, I invested eighty percent of our GDP into its production- -”

“It is not a matter of the signal. Your body is rejecting the magic. I am sorry, my king, but you...you...”

“I am dying.”

Both of them fell silent. After a moment, they looked away, and Sombra felt so very alone. Yet he had grown accustomed to it. As king, it was his duty to lead, even when times were dire.

“How long?”

Crozea looked up. “With my potions and the best treatments I can do? One year, or maybe two.”

“Is there a treatment?”

“To ease your pain. To slow the sickness’ gain. But of this we are sure: there is no cure.”

“Except...”

Sombra’s gaze snapped to Al’Hrabnaz, who recoiled from being looked directly upon. “Except what?”

“It is not within even your powers! Do not waste the kings’s precious hours!”

“But my theories are VALID!” cried Al’Hrabnaz. “I have checked and rechecked the math, and I am correct! I have no doubt!”

“Concerning what?” asked Sombra, though in a sense, he already knew. He was well aware of Al’Hrabnaz’s theories, and the terrifying things he was attempting to prove. This conversation did not bode well.

“That the soul of a pony can be quantified! Measured, delineated, isolated- -”

“It is not something you can draw into a pitcher! What you describe is a violation of the most sacred principles of nature- -”

“And nature is meaningless in the face of mathematics. My lord, the pony soul, it, well...” He projected holograms, attempting to explain visually something that could not be conveyed in the primitive vowel-bearing language of the surface-dwellers. He took a deep breath, and it rasped and echoed through his breathing heaters. “The soul is an object, in a sense, but also not. It is a property that exists in sixteen independent dimensions defined by an incredibly complex set of parameters. Our physical bodies use just one of these dimensions. Sometimes two, if magic is involved.”

“I have read the gist of your theories, Gxurab. Apart from the absurdity of your more extreme ideas, I fail to see what this means in a practical sense.”

“My theories are not absurd,” said Al’Hrabnaz, icily. “My lord, it is simply a matter of severing the extraneous dimensions. Reducing it, controlling it...and transferring it.”

Crozea literally put her hoof down. “That you would even dare speak this to our king, this terrible unholy thing- -”

“Let him speak, Crozea.”

“I can assemble a machine,” continued Al’Hrabnaz, “and I can transfer your soul. To a new body. You can leave your current decaying one behind. I can give you a new one. A truly immortal one.”

Sombra poked at the holograms, adjusting them. “According to these formulas, the task will take an absurd amount of power. More than any known magical source can generate.”

“More than in the dark gray metal Emeth hordes, or in Holder Heartfelt’s sword...”

Al’Hrabnaz smiled beneath his mask. He felt his pointed teeth clicking against his breathing tubes. “We already have more than enough. I was able to siphon a significant amount of surplus power from the Heart of Darkness during your melee with the filthy primitive.”

“You what?”

“My new system. It is designed to prevent surges like the crystallizing event from occurring ever again.” He paused. “Though...the system substantially exceeded its tolerance. We came within a hair’s width of a critical rupture. The blast would have been...large.”

“And I was not told of this? Why?”

“I did not think it was relevant. The point is, the system actually works.”

“It had better,” muttered Sombra. “That device took eighty percent of my treasury to construct.”

“And it would have been impossible without the technetium ore of your crystals. But this is where it pays off! I have more than enough power to complete the procedure. To give you a new body.”

“How much more?”

Al’Hrabnaz faltered slightly, momentarily performing the math. “Sire. Why do you ask?”

“Is there enough energy to test it?”

“Sombra, this device, this process, it is unnatural vice! That you would even consider using it twice- -”

Sombra silenced Crozea with a glance. “My body is powered by a magical artifact linked through a citadel built by an ancient and heretofore unknown civilization. Nothing about my being is unnatural.” He paused. “More to the point, for the first time in my life, I am facing my own mortality. Do I not have a right to consider what is best for my kingdom?”

“But what about what is best for you? This is a thing that once done none can undo.”

Sombra stared at her, and did not break eye contact. “Is there enough energy for a test?”

“Yes,” replied Al’Hrabnaz, hesitantly. “In theory. There is enough energy to perform the process twice, but barely.”

“Then I authorize you to use whatever you require to conduct a single test. If you succeed, I will consider it among my other options.”

“My lord- -”

“But know that you only get one chance. ONE. Even if we could risk recharging your machine again, we have no way to know how to do it. Fail, and there is no energy left for a second test- -and my demise will rest on your shoulders and yours alone.”

“My lord, no! Please!” Al’Hrabnaz begged. “I could not bear that burden! There is no way!”

“Then succeed, Gxurab. For my sake and the sake of the Crystal Empire. Do whatever you deem necessary.”

“Yes, my lord,” whispered the morlock. “I will do it...”

Chapter 24: Red Death

Penumbra opened her eyes and stared up at the red ceiling. She blinked and frowned, confused. She had been unconscious, but she did not know why, and there had been strange dreams. She recalled a house made of wood, and a field of flowers, and holding a venomous insect that smelled like blueberries. Penumbra did not even know what blueberries- -or berries of any kind, really- -were, but she knew what they smelled like now.

She realized that a face was staring at her from above. A face was peering through a vent.

Penumbra gasped. “YOU! Get back here!”

Her head was suddenly slammed into the hard table she was lying on when her horn fired a bolt of blue magic into the vent, partially vaporizing it. The crystal pony within cried out and fled. “You’ll never take me back! Teehee, I’M NEVER GOING BACK!”

“Ow...” Penumbra rubbed the back of her head, sure it would bruise. Her horn was still smoking. “This is...new.”

She sat up, feeling her head swim as she did so. The table had restraints, but they were not in use. Penumbra immediately recognized that she was in Scarlet Mist’s part of the facility, but it seemed small and poorly decorated compared to the normal vast detail she gave it. Even the fog had grown thin; it was barely pink.

After a few moments of waiting for the world to stop tilting, she turned her head and noticed that Scarlet Mist was present- -and lying on the floor, unmoving.

Penumbra sighed. “Have you passed to the other side?”

“No,” grumbled Scarlet Mist in return, still not moving. “How long did I spend teaching you the difference? Of course I’m alive. Just resting.”

She sat up, but was shaking badly and barely able to stand. Her mane had progressed from silver to white to pale red-yellow, and most of it had fallen out. It was apparent that she was far thinner than any normal, healthy pony should be. Penumbra was amazed she could stand at all.

“You do not look well.”

“And you look like a winged idiot. We should have taken those off you, they look absurd.”

Penumbra jumped down from the table. She did not appear to be injured in any way, but she felt completely drained. Not nearly as drained as Scarlet Mist, but almost as much. “What is wrong with you? Can I help?”

“This body is used up. Depleted. Empty. Not enough life force. It was already weak, but they never last long anyway. I am not compatible with it. I’m not compatible with any of them, except for my real body.”

“You have a real body? Did you lose it?”

“Yes. Clearly I misplaced it somewhere, you fluffy moron. Of course I have a body. But that’s not the point.” She lurched forward, shaking badly but still managing to stand. “Do you remember?”

“Remember?” Penumbra paused, not understanding. “Remember what?”

Scarlet Mist lifted an atrophied, shaking hoof. Some of the fog wafted into Penumbra’s nose, and images came to her. Images of yellow flame and a horrible demon, and what she had done to poor Luciferian.

Penumbra gasped. “No! His horn! I- -I- -what have I done?!”

“You WON.”

“But he was my friend! I- -I was just trying to protect our king, I didn’t mean to injure him!” Penumbra put her head in her hooves. “What will he think of me now, knowing that I hurt him like that? He trusted me, and I...I...”

Scarlet Mist put a hoof on Penumbra’s shoulder. It was cold and remarkably light. “I do not have the physical strength right now to knock your teeth out for thinking like that. It was a fight, and you were stronger. That is all there is to it.”

Penumbra looked up and nodded. “I understand.”

“What matters is that the zebra was right. Actually right. You have power. Unimaginable power.”

“But why can’t I use it?”

Scarlet Mist paused, and removed her hoof from Penumbra's shoulder. “Because I don’t think alicorns are like unicorns. We...they...govern their magic with logic, training and intelligence. But for you, it is driven by emotion.”

“But I could never harness fear, like Sombra can.”

“There are other emotions. Sadness. Greed. Despair. And hate. Hate is the most important one, at least for you. That was the one you used to win.”

“I don’t understand.”

“When you looked at him, what did you feel? Hatred. You hated Twilight Luciferian. Wanted to see him burn. And that was what summoned your power. I am sure of it.”

Penumbra blinked. It had felt nothing like that. She had barely even noticed Luciferian; her only concern had been for her father- -but her memory was clouded. And Scarlet Mist knew far more than she did about such things.

“I...hate.” Penumbra frowned. Saying it tasted strange in her mouth.

“And that gives you power. More power than any pony ever imagined. Your magical potential is astounding...magical potential and an immortal body. Not like mine. Look. It has started.”

Penumbra looked down. One of Scarlet Mist’s rear limbs was turning to dust before her eyes.

“Lady Mist! Your leg!”

“It is not my leg. But it is still a problem. I NEED my body. My REAL body. I need to be whole. I never sleep, you know. The hunger never stops. The desire to return...”

More of her body collapsed, leaving her with little more than a torso and front legs. Penumbra grasped onto her, holding her mentor upright. “How can I help?”

“I need a body strong enough to get me to my real one. I need one that won’t burn up so fast...or one that can burn brighter than all the rest.”

“Lady Mist?”

Beneath her mask, Scarlet Mist smiled- -and her whole body collapsed to dust. As it did, though, her last act was to strip the Mask of Red Death off her face- -and to push it onto Penumbra’s.

The world was silent. It was empty and vast, yet Penumbra could feel the walls; though at an infinite distance, they pressed from every side.

There was a sound, but it was quiet. A low hum, a sound of something beating- -and something small and sickly beating alongside it, growing stronger every second.

Penumbra looked up. Above her was an endless spiral of slowly drifting crimson clouds, a funnel through which no sky could be perceived and through which no light descended. There was no clear source of illumination; Penumbra could simply see.

Below her, an endless smooth black floor seemed to stretch for eternity. This place- -if it was even a place at all- -looked strangely like Scarlet Mist’s mask-generating facility. Except that it was so much more empty.

“Hello?”

Penumbra’s voice came back as an echo, but the echo returned in voices that were not hers. They propagated upward through the endless column of mist, and through it Penumbra was momentarily sure that she could see the forms of ponies looking down at her, whispering questionably and silently.

The entirety of the world rippled, and suddenly Penumbra was not alone. She looked to the ground and lifted her hoof, not understanding why it was so wet. As she examined it closely, she saw that it was covered in a thick black fluid. It was like ink, but smelled like metal and ash.

Penumbra’s eyes widened, because this was a fluid she knew all too well.

Her eyes followed the trail, and she saw what her mind already knew would be there. To heaps lying on the floor. One clad in broken armor and tatters of a red cloak stained with black, the other holding him but likewise still, her mask splintered and thrown across the floor to reveal her striped face.

“My...my king? Lady Crozea?”

Penumbra heard the endless thrumming increase, and the silent voices of the endless vortex grew. She ignored them and ran to her father’s side. She picked him up and held him, finding that he was profoundly light. Though he appeared youthful, he had the body of a profoundly ancient stallion; it was like holding a bundle of sticks. She had not realized how truly frail he had been simply because of the power of his presence- -but that was now gone.

She did as she was trained and, with one shaking hoof, checked the pulse of both, even though she was not sure if her father actually had a working heart anymore. Regardless, she already knew the answer.

“You...you can’t be,” she said, shaking them. “Crozea! Sombra!” She shook harder, and realized that for the first time in her life she was crying. “Father! FATHER!”

They did not respond, for they had departed to the other side- -the side that Penumbra would never reach.

She bent over them and wept, because she did not know what else to do.

“No,” she moaned. “Sombra, I was supposed to stand at your side! I was supposed to be your weapon! You were supposed to open the doors- -to make a kingdom where ponies were FREE- -” She sniffled. “But now...now your dreams won’t come true.” She turned to Crozea. She was laying beside him, and in an instant she understood the relationship the two were meant to have- -and knew the answer to Emeth’s question.

“Not yet,” she said. “Please not yet...you cared for me. You were always there, but now you won’t get to see me and...” She paused. “And I won’t get to see what you could have been. You were almost...almost my mother...”

A voice echoed through the silence, one that Penumbra had never heard before but recognized instantly.

“It is all your fault,” it whispered. “You were not strong enough to protect them. Now you are ALL ALONE. There will be no one to protect you, no one to guide you. You no longer have a purpose. Your existence is redundant and unnecessary.”

“I know.” Penumbra closed her eyes. Then she wiped them and stood.

“There is nothing left for you in life. Alone, unprotected, unaided. You are nothing and no one without them. What is the point of a weapon with no one to wield it.”

“I know,” repeated Penumbra. She ignited her horn, and opened her eyes as the area before her was lit with blue fire.

“What are you doing?” demanded the voice, its tone rising in the slightest indication of panic. “You are AFRAID. Afraid that you will be ALONE. Afraid you were not GOOD ENOUGH.”

“I’m not afraid. I’m just sad. Sadder than I’ve ever been. But they would not want me to stand here and weep. That would be pointless. They created me for a reason. My duty to them is to continue on. Supersede them, if I can. They did not train me to wallow in my own pain when there is work to be done.” She turned her head to look behind her. “And neither did you.”

A pony was standing behind Penumbra, watching her. Like her voice, it was a pony that Penumbra had never seen- -but knew instantly.

She was a unicorn, but not a type that Penumbra had ever seen in person. Her body was willowy and strong, and her ears long and pointed. Her horn was enormous and curved, and the mane that surrounded it drifted behind her like a cloud, eventually dissipating to a fine mist. Her mane had once been blue or green, perhaps, just as her body had once been violet, though both were now fully consumed with an infection of deepest red. Pooling around her feet was a long scarlet kimono of the finest silk.

“I see,” said Scarlet Mist. “Your mind is too small and to empty to comprehend fear properly. You have no context to understand just how royally screwed you are. Barely any of you is YOU. Just Eternity’s programming.”

Penumbra looked up at the pony before her. “Is that what you really look like? Behind the mask?”

Scarlet Mist smiled. It was a hideous and pained smile, not one of humor but one of hate. Her teeth were pointed, and there were a considerable number of them. “This is similar to how I once appeared, yes. And how I will appear again, when I am made whole.”

“You were very pretty. May I ask what happened to you?”

The smile on Scarlet Mist’s face faded and became a glare of rage. “Do you not understand? Are you that simple that you don’t know what has happened to you?” She drifted forward, barely appearing to step so much as to float on her perpetual cloud of mist. “Once the Mask is placed on a pony, it can NEVER be removed. It is bonded permanently. Until your life-force is depleted, and you turn to dust. For an alicorn, that could be centuries. Centuries trapped in this place, exposed to nothing but pain, fear and hate.”

Penumbra laughed, and the whole of the illusion shook. Scarlet Mist lurched backward, unable to understand what had just happened.

“How DARE YOU- -”

“My apologies.” Penumbra cleared her throat and bowed. “Forgive me, Lady Mist. But this is a very good thing.”

“A good- -you are trapped! Do you not realize that? You will never be free, never allowed to live your own life, to see the world again, to stand beside your father- -”

“So?”

Scarlet Mist took another step back. She was beginning to feel something rippling within her, something she did not understand.

“Everything you ever wanted...”

“What I want doesn’t matter. The part of me that’s Penumbra, that part doesn’t matter. That isn’t what Sombra and Crozea care about. It’s not what YOU care about.” Penumbra sighed. “And I understand that. It’s just my body. My utilitarian use. It doesn’t matter if it’s my mind or yours controlling the body, so long as it serves its purpose.”

“You’re insane.”

“No. I’m thinking logically. My only goal in life is to defend the kingdom, and to serve my father. But I can barely control my magic. YOU can.” Penumbra smiled. “I’m surprised we didn’t try this earlier. With you at the controls, Celestia and Nightmare Moon don’t stand a chance.”

“YOU IDIOT!”

Scarlet Mist’s voice boomed through the endless silence, and this time Penumbra took a step back, not understanding what was happening.

Suddenly Scarlet Mist was looming over her. Penumbra felt magic slam into the side of her face, and several teeth were knocked free.

“What the he- -”

“It doesn’t matter? IT DOESN’T MATTER?! You ungrateful foal, I wasn’t building a WEAPON! I was training a PONY! You have the chance to be everything I never could, to be the thing that haunts my every waking moment- -and you would THROW IT AWAY, just like THAT?! Like it doesn’t even mean ANYTHING?!”

“Lady Mist- -”

“I just took everything from you! EVERYTHING! And I’m STILL not whole! Not even CLOSE! Where is your HATE? Like you felt for Luciferian- -HATE ME! I demand it, Penumbra, HATE ME!”

Penumbra looked up at her, spit several teeth out of the side of her mouth, and smiled. “Thank you for training me. The least I can do is help you get your body back. You’re my mentor. My friend. I want to help you.”

Scarlet Mist stumbled backward as if she had been struck. “I don’t- -I don’t understand- -”

Penumbra looked confused, and took a step forward. “Because...because it hurts.”

“Pain...”

“You’re so sad, and so angry, and hungry...and so very, very lonely.”

Scarlet Mist looked up, her red pupils narrowed in horror. “What- -what are you doing?”

“I can feel it.” Penumbra frowned. “So much pain...but so afraid. More than anything, you’re afraid. Afraid you won’t get back. Because she took your body, and she left you behind. That was selfish of her, and it was wrong.”

“Stay back! STAY BACK! I don’t- -why can’t I understand- -”

“Shh,” said Penumbra, finally reaching the larger pony- -or what remains of her, trapped eternally within a lifeless mask. Then, without warning, she hugged Scarlet Mist. “It’s going to be okay. I’m here.”

An endless, limitless scream pierced the whole of the world, tearing through the deadly fog as Scarlet Mist’s very being was torn apart by a force that she could not even begin to fathom.

The door to the procedure room was blown to cinders by a plume of amber magic. The Blue Knight Zither Heartstrings leapt through the gap, his sword drawn and held aloft in his magic. The chronoplexer Thirteen of Thirteen teleported beside him in a flash of blue light. The two armored ponies stood over Penumbra and beheld a terrible sight.

“By the Sign...” whispered Zither.

The sound was terrible. Penumbra was lying on the floor, writhing in agony, her body partially overgrown by the red leather that accompanied infection by the Mask of Red Death. Yet the screams were not hers, and did not emerge in her voice. They came from Scarlet Mist.

“NOOOOO!” screamed the voice, barely recognizable as that of a pony. “It burns! IT BURNS!”

“Thirteen!” cried Zither. “The mask once attached cannot be removed- -quickly! Reverse time!”

Thirteen did nothing. She only watched the events unfold in silence.

Another shrill scream came from Scarlet Mist as she clawed at the air, her wings stretching outward and flapping wildly as she rolled on the floor, her clothing only half-formed. “It don’t understand! I DON’T UNDERSTAND I DON’T UNDERSTAND! It burns! IT HURTS SO MUCH!”

“Thirteen!”

Zither growled and jumped forward, as if prepared to use hid sword to pry the Mask off by force- -but he was stopped with a wall of blue light.

“How dare you- -”

Thirteen pointed, and Zither looked- -and found himself staring, transfixed before the sight before him.

Scarlet Mist was weeping through her shrill cries of pain and roars of rage. “No! NO! I can’t- -I CAN’T UNDERSTAND! I have to- -HAVE TO ESCAPE!”

Her hooves suddenly shot up to the sides of the mask, and with a scream of rage and desperation she pulled. The mask began to separate, and Zither very nearly spilled his oats. Even as a battle-hardened knight from an endless line of warriors, he had never seen something so terrible.

The mask went far deeper than it appeared. The inside was covered with long projections, like tendrils, that dug into the host deeply. Something resembling a thick vertebral column protruded from the rear of the mask and had lodged itself down Penumbra’s throat. All of this was pulled out, and the Mask of Red Death broke its tendrils in a desperate bid to escape its agony.

Then, in an instant, it was pulled away. It clattered to the ground, and inert red mask, no different from any ordinary mask save for the thin plume of red smoke that was still drifting from the inside. Even that soon faded, and all was still.

Penumbra suddenly sat up and blinked. “Huh?” she looked around, and saw Zither standing over her. “Lord Heartstrings! Hold on, I need to bow- -”

“Now now,” Zither stabbed his sword into the ground and knelt by Penumbra’s side. His voice was shaking. “Move slowly, and carefully. Are you hurt, my princess? Injured, sick- -”

“I have a headache. Why?”

“Do you- -it is merciful you do not remember- -”

“Scarlet Mist putting her mask on me? No, I remember that. We had a conversation in there. It was...informative.” Penumbra frowned. “But I think I need to...well, think.”

“You must be jesting...” Zither retracted his face-plate. “Had I not seen it with my own eyes...”

Penumbra looked up and her wings twitched. She blushed and closed her legs. “Seen what, exactly?”

“None have ever escaped the grip of the Mask of Red Death. Wearing it- -wearing it is surely fatal. I thought...I thought I had lost you. How did you manage such a feat?”

“I don’t know.” Penumbra suddenly grew somber. “I...I tried to help her. But I don’t think she heard me.”

“There is nothing that can be helped,” said Zither, coldly. He stood. “This...this is unfathomable. And I am so deeply ashamed.”

Penumbra stood suddenly. “No! Lord Heartstrings, please don’t blame yourself, I should have been faster- -”

“That I could allow a treasonous betrayer into the midst of the maiden I had sworn to protect while I stood outside, my sword still in its scabbard? The insult is immeasurable, my shame incomprehensible.” He pulled his sword from the ground and glared at the Mask. “So at the very least, I will be able to avenge you.” He raised the sword and held it over the Mask. “This behavior cannot be allowed.”

“WAIT!”

Zither pushed the sword down- -but was stopped by a surge of blue magic around his blade.

He looked up sharply at Thirteen. “Release me, time-witch. Unless you want to meet the same fate as this filthy parasite!”

“No one will meet any fate!” cried Penumbra.

“Scarlet Mist is a traitor! She tried to steal your body, to betray you AND our beloved king! It is intolerable! SIMPLY INTOLERABLE!”

Penumbra puffed up and spread her wings in a display of royal authority. “Your princess orders you to CEASE THIS IMMEDIATELY! This is a direct order!”

“But my honor- -”

“Depends on serving ME. And my father, the king! If you would dare to execute one of my father’s generals without his express order- -without even SPEAKING to him- -then you are unworthy of serving the royal family! Thirteen and I will purge you IMMEDIATELY!”

Zither’s eyes widened, but he also smiled. He immediately sheathed his sword and dropped to his knee in a deep bow. “Yes, my princess. My apologies, Lady Penumbra. The threat to your life and the wound to my honor simply inflamed my passions beyond my control, and for this I offer my deepest and most sincere of apologies. You are correct. To behave this way would only besmirch my honor more deeply” He looked down at the mask and picked it up in his magic. He held it out to Penumbra, who took it in her own. “The criminal has been apprehended, and by your own strength. Forgive me for darkening this profound accomplishment.”

“Thank you. I understand. I didn’t mean to yell at you. And the king doesn’t need to know about your near indiscretion.”

“Thank you, milady.”

Penumbra looked down at the mask. It felt cold and inert. Even if she put it back on, she doubted Scarlet Mist would return. Not to her body. Not ever again. Yet the mask was still very much alive; she had seen that at least in the way that Zither had handled it so gingerly, but knew it in a deeper way, too. She could feel it. She could still feel the pain and the hatred...and the profound, endless loneliness.

“I will make the report to the king myself,” she sighed. “It is my duty. To them both.”

Chapter 25: A Door Once Opened

The thin mechanical arms retracted, their claws and blades glimmering in the harsh light of magic lamps. Twilight Luciferian sat up as the machines receded and stared into the face of a pale-tan unicorn, one dressed in a coarse brown robe whose face was lined with stress and horror.

“A mirror,” rasped Luciferian. “I need a mirror.”

“Sir, I- -”

“A MIRROR, Lemonleaf. NOW.”

The tan unicorn gulped and lifted a small mirror, as instructed. Luciferian immediately wrenched it away from him with his own magic.

He levitated it in front of his face and looked through. What he saw was dismaying, but expected. A mottled white and violet horn was attached to his forehead, glowing with violet light as he supported the mirror.

Luciferian smiled as he turned his head to see his new horn from multiple angles. “You have done excellent work, Lemonleaf. I suppose your skills apply adequately to the living as well as...well, the not.”

“I was able to connect eighty-seven percent of the nervous structure and confer circulation.” Lemonleaf spoke with confidence, but not arrogance; his time with Necrophilo had taught him well.

“Only eighty-seven?”

“The remainder had inoperable damage. I’m sorry, sir. I can’t work miracles. With the feedback you took- -you are lucky to have survived.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it.” Luciferian stood up, and Lemonleaf’s eyes widened.

“Sir, please! You just had brain surgery- -fully awake- -”

“And you’re wondering how I did it?” Luciferian grinned cruelly. “Is that empathy? Thinking to yourself how painful that surgery would be, how agonizing it must have been?” Luciferian chuckled. “Let me tell you a secret. This isn’t the first time. I’ve reconnected ALL of my nerves three times. Whenever I move to a new clone. The horn alone is trivial in comparison.”

Luciferian pushed past the younger unicorn and headed for the door. As he did, he stopped, looking at one corner of the room. Failure was lying in a pool of silver, slowly sobbing and clutching her forehead.

“Well, look at the newly-minted earth-pony! And here I thought you couldn’t get even MORE disgusting.”

“Daddy...” whimpered Failure. “My...my horn...”

“It is not YOUR horn!” snapped Luciferian. “No part of you is YOURS! I created you, you belong to ME!” He raised his hoof to stomp on her, but a better idea occurred to him.

Luciferian lowered his hoof and turned to Lemonleaf. “You see it too, don’t you?”

“Sir?”

“Look at her.” Luciferian grabbed Failure by the hair and lifted her, causing her to squeak. “LOOK AT HER. She was supposed to be perfect and pure, a new vessel to contain me.” He threw Failure back onto the floor and wiped his hoof on the wall. “But the spell to make them doesn’t work indefinitely. This one came out WRONG. Disgusting. NOT WHITE. Not white at all...and missing a chromosome.”

“I’m sorry, daddy,” whispered Failure. “I’m sorry I can’t be perfect.”

“Stop talking. I can’t bear the sound of your voice.” Luciferian slowly walked toward Lemonleaf, barely able to partially contain his laughter. “I let this one develop completely. Out of pure curiosity. Let it form a mind of its own. And just as I thought, it came out weak. Impure. Pointless. But...” He pointed to his horn with his violet-mottled left front leg, “...useful for certain things.”

“Yes sir,” said Lemonleaf. “The weak do not deserve a place among the great.”

“I am glad you understand, Lemon. Necrophilo never saw your potential. He threw you away when you failed to equal him. But I can see the value of inferiors. I knew you were special when you dared to challenge me- -and still held loyalty to the mentor who rejected you. I knew that you would make an adequate apprentice.”

“Yes, sir.” Lemonleaf bowed. “I am forever in your debt. And I will serve you until the end.” He looked up, and, taking a risk, added, “or until I surpass you.”

“The code of the purebloods. Even if your blood is tainted with colored genes, you have the right spirit.” Lucifarian’s horn glowed, and across the room a table collapsed as he ripped one of the thick oaken legs off of it. He held it out to Lemonleaf, and Lemonleaf took it, clearly confused.

“Sir, what is this for?”

Luciferian stepped to the side and pointed at Failure, who looked up, her eye wide, knowing what was coming. “She disgusts you too, doesn’t she? So go over there and give her what she deserves. For being WEAK. For being a FAILURE. For being COLORED. Prove to me that you and I understand one another.”

Lemonleaf’s eyes widened. “Sir, is that really- -”

The smile vanished from Luciferian’s face. “We have not even started lessons, and you’re already willing to quit? Are you going to be that much of a disappointment, Lemon?

“N- -no, sir. I will not.”

Lemonleaf took a deep breath and steeled himself. Then he slowly began to approach Failure.

She did not run, or retreat, or even recoil. She had lived within this tower for the entirety of her life, however many decades or centuries- -or months- -that had been. She knew that there was nowhere to escape, and that trying to run only made the beatings worse.

Yet she kept staring, her eye following Lemonleaf with every step, not even blinking. It was maddening staring into that almond-shaped, violet eye. It was Luciferian’s eye, and yet not; it was not tinged with madness or hatred. It was tinged with something else, and Lemonleaf felt himself overwhelmed with pity- -and inexplicable fear.

He finally stopped and stood over her. He raised the chair-leg over his head, his magic shaking. She looked up at him, and Lemonleaf suddenly understood. She KNEW. That it was not Luciferian who had taken her horn- -it had been HIM.

Lemonleaf lowered the club. “Sir...”

“Beat the pony, Lemon. Beat the pony NOW.”

Lemonleaf held the chair leg and took a breath. He knew it had to be done. If he stopped here, he would never advance. All he had worked for would end without a mentor. Necrophilo had rejected him- -he would not allow Luciferian to do the same. Not over a clone failure like this.

And yet tears were running down his face as he raised the chair leg once again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry!”

“I don’t blame you,” said Failure, softly. “Don’t worry about me. I’m used to it.”

Lemonleaf raised the club. Failure sighed and closed her eyes. Lemonleaf closed his as well. He could not bear to see what he was about to do.

And he dropped the chair leg. It clattered to the ground.

“Sir. I can’t. I just can’t do this.”

Failure gasped, both terrified- -and amazed at the first kindness she had ever been shown in her entire leaf. “Mr. Lemon, no! You can’t!”

“Sir,” said Lemon, turning slowly. “She’s your daughter- -”

“EX CRUCIO.”

Luciferian’s spell struck Lemonleaf’s chest, and he immediately screamed as he was engulfed in pink lightning. He fell to the ground, convulsing in agony as the lightning wormed its way into his skin and nerves and into his very being.

“I did NOT waste my time to create TWO failures,” said Luciferian, looming over the unicorn. “And I will NOT tolerate it. Think on this for an hour or so. If you aren’t insane when I come back, we can try again.”

Luciferian turned and left the room. Lemonleaf had ceased screaming, but was still wracked with pain on the floor, weeping through his groans as the pain spell engulfed him.

As soon has she saw her father had left, Failure stood and grabbed onto Lemonleaf. “Why?” she said, tears running down her own face for a reason she could not understand. “Why did you do that? You can’t disobey him, it only makes things worse!”

“It hurts!” gasped Lemonleaf, curling into the fetal position. “It hurts so much!”

Failure hugged him tightly, trying to slow the convulsions. “I know. I know, but listen to me. You have to listen! The pain will stop. It’s bad now, but it WILL stop.”

“But it hurts so much, I can’t take it- -”

“You have to!” Failure held him. “I know from experience. Don’t worry, I’m here. I won’t leave you until it’s over. And it will be over soon, I promise.” She looked up toward the door that Luciferian had exited through. “All our pain will be over soon.”

The efficiency of the link was poor. Luciferian had his magic back, but the link was tenuous. This was an area of inquiry that had rarely been studied in detail, mostly because the techniques involved had not existed until he had invented them. The only solution, therefore, was to attempt to find information on the subject- -by looking in a book.

Luciferian immediately went to his library and collected a stack of tomes. Before he could even read through the third, though, he sensed something disturbing.

“Ha,” said the demon, who was standing inverted on his ceiling. “You got beat by a widdwe pwincess. What a shmuck.”

“I am trying to READ,” he said through gritted teeth. “Do not distract me!”

“Giving orders now,” she said, appearing on top of his table and striking a pose that might have been cute had she not been an unholy abomination. “Hilarious.”

Luciferian closed his book. “I have encountered a setback.”

“I know. I was there for that part. Literally. And it’s a little more than a ‘setback’.”

“I never do anything without contingencies.”

“You know what they say about the plans of mice and mares. And you’re totally Sombra’s mare now. Or the princess’s...s.” She shrugged and rolled off the table, appearing at Luciferian’s side. “You can’t go back to the Crystal Empire.”

“Not immediately, no, but I have expected something like this to happen for some time. I have embedded contacts. You know that.”

“Contacts that you can’t keep control of.”

“I don’t need ‘control’, just a back door to return should I need it.”

“Going in the back door is always my favorite.”

Luciferian walked away from the desk and began to pace through the library. It was the place where he always did his best thinking.

“In some ways, this is actually an advantage,” he realized. “Working in the shadows is slow. It requires a delicate touch.”

“You can touch me delicately. Or hard. I kind of prefer the second one.”

Luciferian ignored her, as well as the ever-growing pain in his left front leg. “All that matters is that Sombra is overthrown. I can still do that as an open enemy. Except then it will be conquest.”

“And you don’t need the princess.”

Luciferian stopped. “No,” he said, slowly. “Not technically. But the prophecy is still valid.” A smile crossed his face. “Maybe I was thinking too small. Using her as a tool to gain the thrown...but I made an invalid assumption. That she has no power.” He pointed to his horn. “I am the greatest pureblood ever to live, and she did THIS to me. Imagine what I could do with a being like that, loyally chained to my side. Or...” His joy grew, “what I could LEARN. If I could understand how her power works, through careful study...”

“...of her supple princess body and long, hard horn...”

“I could apply it to MYSELF. If I had that power...” He laughed. “Why, even Celestia couldn’t stop me!”

The demon’s face darkened- -yet her smile persisted. “Even though you already have MY power?”

Luciferian’s left front leg suddenly burned intensely, and he cried out. He grasped it, only to realize to his horror that it was becoming increasingly yellow- -and that the growth of the foreign tissue had passed the surgical connection onto his own skin.

“But that...that’s not possible...”

“You thought you could trick me,” said the demon, smiling even more widely. “I almost manifested. But you stopped me.”

Luciferian glared at her, and then smiled. “Because I’m still in control. Pride is a sin, demon. Remember, I summoned you as a servant. You are nothing more than a power battery for my spells. I do not need to manifest you. Not completely.”

“Because you know the consequences? But do you really?”

The smile fell from Luciferian’s face as the demon walked to a table containing a vase filled with magical flowers.

The demon leaned against the table. “Whoops.” She slid her hoof across the surface, knocking the vase onto the floor. It shattered and the flowers dissipated.

Luciferian gasped in shock and took a step back. “You’re- -you’re solid! You’ve manifested!”

“You idiot.” She was not smiling. “But what do I expect from a mortal.” She started walking toward him. “Of course I’m solid. I’ve ALWAYS been solid. When I choose to be. I think the princess can even see me. It’s harder to hide from beings without souls, ironically.”

“But I stopped you from manifesting!”

“That isn’t what it means. Why don’t you understand? It’s not hard. I can manifest physically wherever I want. Whenever I want. In any form I choose. And I could do whatever I want. Stack your mares like cordwood? Make your planet’s surface uninhabitable? Sure. Why not. Except that those things are no fun. Except the mares. I would very much like to stack them. But that’s getting ahead of myself.”

“But the spell!” Luciferian looked down at his hoof, checking the markings and circles closely. They were all right, he was sure of it. “It summons a demon familiar- -”

“You believed that because you wanted to believe it. That your own magic, your skill, your stupid smelly BOOKS- -that those things could give you power and control. That knowledge- -that YOU- -actually even matter.” She laughed in his face. “News flash: I’m not actually a demon.”

“But then what are you?” Luciferian shuddered, immediately wishing that he had not asked that terrible question.

“I am the most beautiful pony. Did you not know that I AM GOD?”

Luciferian took a step back. “No- -”

“What you call ‘demons’ are my angels, born from my bottomless womb. To bring my divine light across your world, to show ponies the glorious truth- -of violence, debauchery, and the meaninglessness of their own mortal existences.”

“The Fallen One- -”

“NO.” Her voice boomed, and Luciferian covered his ears in pain, even though the sound was not heard- -nor felt. It was deep within his soul. “There is nothing to fall from. Are you that ignorant? Did you not realize that there is no Heaven? That all souls- -the kind, righteous, depraved, cruel, evil, pure- -that they ALL fall to me, to eternal torment?” She laughed softly, and for a moment Luciferian almost saw here- -not as a beautiful mare, but as a thing with a form too unspeakable to comprehend, marked only by a pair of flaming crimson spheres. He nearly choked as the air around him was replaced with the gasses of decay and the sickening perfume of ten million carnations.

“No- -NO!” he pushed forward toward the impossible mass. “I am a stallion of SCIENCE! There is no devil! You’re trying to TRICK ME!”

“Am I?” She was now leaning on his side, gently stroking his mostly-white mane. “That’s the only question you seem to be interested, isn’t it. Am I?”

Luciferian pushed her away. He almost passed out from touching her; her skin was cold and disgusting, despite looking so pure and beautiful.

“The spell is not yet complete. Whatever you are, I stopped you- -” He cried out as his leg burned from within. “I stopped you!”

“You THOUGHT you could. By using a surrogate limb. Sacrificing flesh that was not yours to sacrifice. But it doesn’t work that way. I can’t help it if you’re stupid. Or maybe you aren’t? Maybe you DO understand?” She took his tattooed and scarred hoof. The pain was searing.

“The spell...the spell...”

“Doesn’t manifest me in a physical sense. I can already do that. It manifests me within YOU.” She stroked the limb, and Luciferian nearly passed out as the runes glowed from within. “Sweet me, it’s tingling my...well...whatever I have,” she gurgled. “That’s more or less up to you. Again, any form you want. Horn, wings, horn...I can do either. Or all three.”

She laughed and released him.

“You see,” she continued. “There’s a reason your father never completed the spell. Because he wasn’t nearly as bold and handsome as you. Also, when it completes, I BECOME you. As in, you cease to exist in any real sense, and I gain absolute control of that adorable little pony body.”

“But why? If you can- -”

The demon jumped onto the table and lay down, crossing her front legs. “Because it’s boring being God. But mortals are so much fun. My favorite thing is to corrupt them. To watch pure, kind souls slowly decay into depravity, making excuses for why it’s justified- -only to see in the end that it never really mattered. To break their souls in the only time of light they have before endless, eternal darkness.”

“I’m not a theologian.”

“Unfortunately. I mean, have you ever corrupted a priest? It’s hilarious! But that’s not the point, stop distracting me. Here’s the honest truth, and I’m not honest very often. Queen of lies and all. It tingles in a bad way. Elements of Harmony and all.” She rolled over onto her back. “I came to you because you were different. A family of dark wizards, evil sorcerers...boring. But YOU were a good pony. A fundamentally pure one. A glorious White Unicorn.”

“I have never claimed to be good. Nor do I have a need to be.”

“But you were! And you are, even if you don’t realize it. You are a vampire, of sorts, and vital blood from a white unicorn would render you immortal.”

“And curse me.”

“Look at you’re leg. You’re cursed pretty bad. But no. You make them anemic but never...you know.”

“That has nothing to do with- -”

“And little Failure. You keep her around. And she isn’t chained in the basement. You let her walk free.” She turned over again. “But I’M the reason you beat her.”

“No, I do that because- -”

“Because you want to? Because of your anger, your hate? The purest virtues of a pony? Look back at your life. There was a time when you could have been good, when you could have pulled House Twilight out of the shadows and rejoined the ranks of the purebloods as its greatest member. But as soon as you took that spell and superseded your father...well….”

“No. No, this was me. ME. You had nothing to do with it, these were my choices- -”

“And when I take you completely, body and soul, you won’t exist anymore. Not as you do now. Your fall will be complete, and I will rule the Crystal Empire. Then together we will sire an endless bloodline of pure, sacred white unicorns- -and I will crush the souls and happiness of each and every one of them across all eternity, until one is born strong enough to finally lift your curse.” She sighed. “Then I’ll probably have lunch. Maybe some beans. Or a salad. Or a BANANA. It’s the evilest food, you know.”

Luciferian looked down at his hoof, at the spell and at the flesh that was not his slowly seeping up into his body. Worse, he could feel it within his mind as well. There were changes at the very edges of his consciousness. Slow changes, but ones that grew closer every second.

“And...and if I don’t manifest you?” he looked up and faced his master. “If I never complete the spell, you can’t manifest.”

“Hmm. True. But not really. You’ve already manifested me, just slowly. You will eventually turn. But I would bet- -and I often bet- -that you will use my power sooner rather than later. And next time you won’t be able to control it. I will devour you in the most pleasurable way possible, and you won’t need to worry about the Crystal Empire anymore…because it will be MINE.”

She jumped from the table and, before he could stop her, kissed Luciferian. Her tongues were long and forked, and amazingly talented- -and tasted like some unspeakable form of chemical decay.

Then she was gone. It had been Luciferian’s first kiss.

Chapter 26: Final Resurrection

There were no windows in the central lab, but Riser did not mind. She had always been happy with the light crystals produced. She thought it was pretty.

She hummed as she worked, carefully washing the last of the seemingly endless glassware required for Necrophilo’s veritable legion of student-scientists. It was a time-consuming process; they had to be absolutely pure. Necromancy was a fine art, and even the slightest deviation caused by even a speck of soap could be catastrophic.

When the last beaker was finished, Riser placed it on the rack with the others and inspected them. “Perfect!” She said at last, turning off the water and wiping up the spilled water from the edge. “All neat and clean!”

She then turned around and approached the center of the laboratory. The construct made from Hope was standing there, her eyes slowly tracing Riser as she moved. That was rare for constructs; most of them just stared blankly. Hope was one of Necrophilo’s best works yet.

“Alright, Hope. The glassware is done. That means it’s time for your daily brushing.”

“Brushing?” the construct looked confused. She blinked slowly. “Brushing...so I can look pretty. Pretty for Necrophilo.”

“That’s right.” Riser picked up the brush and began to stroke the construct’s long, yellowing mane. “Pretty for Necrophilo. Also to check for mold. You’re almost due for another skin treatment.”

“Mold would be bad.” Hope turned her head. “And can I...can I be pretty for Sombra too?”

That statement had surprised Riser almost to the point of panic the first time she had heard it. But now she knew that it was something that Hope said every day. It was either a form of stereotypy- -not uncommon in the undead- -or something more. A fragment of a memory of the pony she had once been. Her brain was so well preserved, that was a very real possibility.

“Can I see him?” she asked. Riser paused. That was new. “Can I see him soon?”

Riser smiled and continued brushing. “I think so. You’re a real masterwork. But it isn’t up to me. It’s up to Necrophilo.”

“Oh.” Hope turned away and looked into the distance. “Okay...”

Hope was still silent by the time Riser had moved onto her tail. There certainly was some mold, but it was minor. Hope would probably need to be soaked in fungicide and formaldehyde overnight again. Riser made a mental note; she would put it in her eighty-page daily report later.

She had almost finished the tail when Necrophilo drifted into the room.

“Lord Necrophilo,” said Riser, standing and bowing. “My apologies for the delay. I am almost complete with my duties. I will be on my way in just a moment, and you two can be alone.”

“Cleaning technician Riser,” said Necrophilo, his cloudy green eyes focusing on her. “I actually came here to speak with you.”

“Yes, sir. I am listening. May I continue brushing?”

“Of course. I expect her to be spotless. She is the only white unicorn I have ever had access to...at least until Eternity finds where Luciferian is hiding.”

“Then you will have a pair. Won’t that be nice, Hope?”

“I...get lonely,” sighed Hope.

Necrophilo sighed. She had named it. “You understand, Riser, that for all intents and purposes, you are a failure. That your magical career will never progress.”

“I know,” she said, continuing her brushing. “But that’s okay. I messed up. I should have seen her spell and countered it. I did fail, but maybe it’s better.” She stopped brushing for a moment. “After seeing what Twilight Luciferian did...how powerful he was...” She looked up. “And you’re just as powerful. All of you are. I don’t think I could measure up. I mean, I’ve done my best to study, but...”

“I understand. Not all of us are built to stand as rulers amongst lesser beings. Sometimes a pony has to be a lesser being. It is simply their destiny. Though you may get a chance to enter the Dark Thirteen again.”

“Sir?”

“Never mind. It is just...foreign to me. I rejected you, and yet you still come here every day. To wash the glassware, care for the constructs. My Hope especially. Even when you’re qualified enough to make ones of your own.”

“But this is my job. I just want to help.”

“And I need you to know that I hold nothing against you. I do not hate you. I have always valued you and your skill. It was an honor to have taught you.”

Riser smiled. She looked up to thank him for his kind words, and for accepting her after she had thought she had failed him entirely. As she did, the Mask of Red Death was slid over her face.

She jerked back, but did not scream. She gasped and squeaked, and fell to the ground in pain as the red leather of Scarlet Mist’s clothing began to form over her body. Necrophilo watched, smiling and intrigued. Hope watched, but being dead herself had no thoughts on the matter.

It was over in less than a minute. Still shaking and weak, Scarlet Mist stood,.

“Where am I? What is going on? The princess- -” Her eyes fell on Hope, and Hope smiled.

“Hello Scarlet Mist,” she said, recognizing her former friend. “It is good to see you.”

“Sweet Epona the Betrayer, this is what you’ve been wasting your resources on, Necrophilo? If Sombra knew- -”

“I did not give you a new body so you could criticize my work. The king wishes to see you. And he wishes to see you NOW.”

The wind was weak but cold. Penumbra supposed it was always cold. The sky above was endless but gray, and endless storms raged on the other side of the kingdom-wide shield dome. It was snowing, and a substantial amount fell through. Penumbra pulled the collar of her coat closer to her head. She did not need it; not only was she an immortal being, but Emeth’s armor was apparently heated by some unseen mechanism. Regardless, the etiquette was to wear a coat, so that was what Penumbra did.

She made her way upward through the outer halls of the Citadel. In the distance, she could see the Empire stretching outward, silent and shrouded by the slight snowfall. There were no railings this high, so Penumbra stayed far away from the edge. Although she possessed wings, she had never been taught to fly, and did not want to learn it suddenly from having slipped on a puddle of slush.

“Eternity?”

“I’m busy. So busy...why is one hornless unicorn so hard to find? If I have to start looking under rocks...”

“Just tell me.”

Eternity sighed. “Up ahead. Take two lefts and a right.”

Penumbra did as she was told and found herself on a balcony, a wide platform meant to support cannons or ice-archers. Snow was beginning to collect on it, but Penumbra knew that it was the right place. Sitting on the wall, her back against a support column, was a pony. A pony dressed in red.

Silently, Penumbra approached. Not because she wanted to be hidden, but out of respect for the one who had taught her to walk so quietly. She paused beside Scarlet Mist and looked out. The view was breathtaking, or would have been had it not been obscured. Far below, she could see the castle’s courtyard. Thirteen was down there, flying a kite. There was a certain quiet absurdity in that image that made Penumbra want to laugh and to cry at the same time.

“I could have pushed you off,” said Penumbra. “You never would have seen me coming.”

“I knew you were there,” said Scarlet Mist, quietly. “You reek of perfume. Agarwood.” She sighed, but spoke only halfheartedly. “I always told you. All the senses. And don’t let them spray it on you, it stinks.”

Penumbra leaned on the edge of the balcony wall and watched Thirteen and her kite. “I see they gave you a new body.”

“Her name was Riser. One of Necrophilo’s top students. A perfect body, really.”

“Then why don’t you sound happy?”

Scarlet Mist turned her masked face to Penumbra. “Why are you even here, princess? I tried to steal your body. You should hate me. Or at least be afraid.”

“I was the one who made the report to the king,” admitted Penumbra. “I had to. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize you idiot. I knew the consequences for my actions.”

“Did he hurt you?”

Scarlet Mist fell silent, and looked out at the city for a long time. “You saw what I am,” she said. “What it’s like in this mask. I don’t feel external pain, and what I have inside...well, it never stops. I thought there was nothing Sombra could do to me that would hurt me. I was a fool.”

Penumbra was forced to look away, because she knew that it was all her fault. What had been done to Scarlet Mist must have been something truly terrible, though, for a being like her to be so horribly injured. “Can I...can I ask what he did?”

“He told me something. A tiny piece of information. Barely a sentence. And that was all it took.”

“What did he say?”

Scarlet Mist looked down at Penumbra. Slowly, she pointed to her mask. “Do you know what this is? Where it came from, why I have it?”

“I saw some things...in your mind. Shadows. Memories, maybe? But not the whole thing.”

“Then let me tell you a story.” Scarlet Mist looked out at the Empire, a land forever foreign to her. “There was once a great sorceress. A pureblood, on par with Twilight Luciferian, or Sombra, when he was younger. A beautiful and immortal gray mage.”

“Gray mage?”

“Neither a dark wizard, nor a white one. Between the two. Able to act selflessly, or selfishly, should the situation call for it. A being who drew her true power from balance. Until she decided that she no longer wanted balance. She wanted to free herself of her darker emotions. Her hate, anger, fear, greed, sadness, envy, all of them. So she used a powerful spell to tear the evil part of her away, leaving only the good behind. A pony of perfect generosity, kindness, and purity.”

Scarlet Mist pointed to her face. “She sealed her evil half in a mask. And threw it away, as if half of herself was trash.”

“That was you. She threw you away.”

Scarlet Mist nodded solemnly. “I guess I can’t blame her. She took happiness, joy, love, hope, empathy, contentment, compassion. What use did she have for me?” She sighed. “In time, I became self-aware. A mind of my own, and half of a soul. I called out to ponies, and they found me, seeking power. I gave it to them. At the cost of their bodies.”

“Like mine.”

“Not like yours. Something was wrong with yours. I don’t understand what, exactly, because I CAN’T. It was something SHE took. One of the pieces I don’t have. If it were her, I could have understood, but you? Your body forced something into me that cannot exist there. And you rejected me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. It’s the first time that’s ever happened, and I suppose it’s going to be the last.”

“The last?” Penumbra looked up, concerned. “What do you mean?”

“Because of what Sombra told me,” said Scarlet Mist, icily. “The very reason for my existence was to find my body. To find her, and become whole. Complete. To stop the pain she left me with, because I can’t do it on my own. She treated our body poorly. Gave away its youth, its vigor, for some pointless thing. But I always knew it was there. Waiting for me. I just needed to find it.” She looked down at her hooves- -at Riser’s hooves, for she had none of her own.

“Lady Mist...Scarlet…”

“He knew. The whole time he knew. My body, Penumbra. It’s been destroyed.”

Penumbra gasped and covered her mouth. “No, it can’t- -”

“It WAS. I confirmed it. My other half was with Starswirl the Bearded when he self-annihilated and took six other ponies down with him. My body was one of those six. Penumbra, I have nothing to go back to. I will never be whole again. I...I...” She pulled her knees against her body.

“It’s going to be- -”

“Don’t say it! Don’t lie to my face. I only came here to find a way to reunite with her. To be one pony again. If I never will? Then there’s no point.”

“But that’s not true! You don’t even need her!”

Scarlet Mist looked up. “Why are you trying to help me?”

“Because you helped ME when I needed it!” Penumbra stepped back. “You said she took everything from you, right? Every good emotion?”

“I just said that. Were you seriously not listening?”

“You said she took hope- -but you still have that one! This whole time, that’s what’s been keeping you going! The hope that you’ll get back to her, that you two can be friends again! And that isn’t HER hope, that’s YOUR hope. YOU made it! And if you can do that, you can make the others too!”

Scarlet Mist was silent for a moment. “I had hope. Huh. I suppose I never thought of it like that.” She leaned forward. “But now that I know my body is gone, I no longer have it. Whatever I was, it is gone now. There is no part of me left except the bad ones.”

“I- -that isn’t true- -”

“Stop trying to help.” Scarlet Mist turned away. “I have already made up my mind. I know exactly what I’m going to do.”

“What?”

“I am going to stop taking new hosts. I don’t have to, you know. I can put a defensive curse on this mask. Reject anypony who dares to touch it. I don’t know if I can be destroyed...but I can sleep. For the rest of eternity, in a state of bodiless dormancy.” She paused. “I just pray I don’t dream.”

“You can’t! I- -I won’t allow it!”

“And you can’t stop me. No one can. And the decision is final.” Scarlet Stood. For a moment, Penumbra feared that she would leap over the edge and to the courtyard below- -except that Thirteen was there, now staring up at them both.

“However,” continued Scarlet Mist. “This body still has so much power left in it. It would be a shame to waste it. Three, four months maybe. I have to do some things before I go to sleep. The first is to apologize.”

“For what?”

“Don’t be thick. For trying to take your body.” Scarlet Mist pushed past Penumbra, bumping her out of the way. “And that is the full extent of any apology you will be getting.”

Penumbra watched her go, and then followed at a distance. She had bought some time- -three months, after all, was half the time she herself had been alive. So perhaps there was still time to save her friend.

As she passed through the door, she did not notice Thirteen standing on the balcony wall, her kite tucked beneath one of her hooves. Watching- -and waiting. Thirteen knew that time was endless, and that there was always more- -but she also knew that Scarlet Mist’s time was short. It was for all of them.

Chapter 27: The Golem and the Raven

From above, Penumbra watched the golems at work. They were quick and efficient, forming long lines as they trotted in unison across a smooth metal floor. From a distance, they really did look like ponies. Some of them even looked up at Penumbra, watching her without hesitating in their task.

Many were hard at work cleaning and flattening the floor. A group of others were busy building a bridge across a deep ravine, while others bounded across attempted to fill it. Others were already crossing additional bridges, their backs covered in fragments of material.

The material was, in turn, brought to a second set of golems that shaped and formed it into new parts. They then carried it to a construction sight, where they appeared to be assembling the head of a massive screw.

Penumbra lifted her head from the eyepiece of the microscope and blinked. “And these things are really part of you?”

Emeth removed his hoof from beneath the electron microscope. “Yes. Billions of them. Arguably, I am not one golem but a society of them, all in service to their queen.”

“They have a queen?” Penumbra looked through the microscope again. The golems had finished the bolt and repaired the ravine, which was really an imperceptible scratch in Emeth’s armor. The last of them were retreating through small hatches back into his body. “Where does she live?”

“I’m not actually sure. I think I might be the queen, but do not quote me on that. Several parts of their design are still obscure to me. Needless to say, that has made transferring them to the phase-three golems very challenging.”

“How interesting.”

Emeth paused. His eyes narrowed, more in concern than his normal amused interest. Though his face roughly resembled that of a skeletal pony, Penumbra had found that he was remarkably expressive.

“Your normal interest in tiny pony-shaped things seems lacking. I had expected that you would find this both educational and, well, fun. I did not miscalculate. Therefore, something must be wrong.”

Penumbra sighed. “I’m sorry. I am trying to be engaged, it’s just that there is an awful lot going on.”

“Would talking about it help?”

Penumbra looked up. “Do you have the time?”

“I am essentially immortal. So yes. I have time.” Emeth stepped away from the microscope and the attending golems packed it back into its normal storage space. “However, if there is talking, there will also be walking. Clearly you need to think, and your organic brain is made of a type of goo that requires oxygen to function. Walking aerates it.”

Penumbra stood from the golem she was sitting on and started walking beside Emeth. “What is your brain made of?”

“I do not have one. I have evolved beyond the need for it. But I do enjoy walking. To think one needs a brain to walk is a logical fallacy.”

“Are you...trying to joke?”

“Not really, no. However, I am trying to keep the mood light. I have calculated that this will enable you to be more open about your feelings and for me to better assist in resolving them.” He shrugged. “Additionally, as a being without the same sort of feelings I may be misreading the gravity of the situation. So please go on.”

Penumbra sighed. She was silent for a while as they walked onward, down one of the central streets of the busy underground golem city. Golems around them were all hard at work, but their busy motion was more calming than anything else. This district was mostly dedicated to checking the tolerance of sample parts, so it was quieter than others. At no point did Emeth attempt to force her to speak or hurry her; he simply waited patiently.

“Are you close to Scarlet Mist?” she asked at last.

“No. None of us are terribly close. We are rivals, after all.”

“I see...”

“But I am familiar with her situation. My golems serve in every aspect of society, and I hear what they see and see what they hear. That, and it was in the steward’s weekly update notes.”

“So you know what she is planning.”

“To deactivate herself. My apologies, that’s not the appropriate word for an organic. Rather, to sleep.”

“And it’s my fault. If I had been a little bit faster, if I had been a better host...”

“Those are pointless thoughts. Neither you nor I can change the past. Or, if you could, would you?”

“To save her? Of course.”

“By deceiving her?”

“What? No, by stopping her from offending the king- -”

“Your worldview lacks context, Penumbra. The king is not the end-all and be-all of our lives. Or yours. Say you went to Thirteen today, and convinced her to turn back time. To give you a second chance. Then what? Scarlet Mist would still serve, yes- -but you would not have saved her body. She would still have no home to go back to. She simply would not know. But you would.” Emeth looked down at her, now quite curious. “And would you be able to live with that knowledge?”

Penumbra lowered her head. She had not realized that aspect of her plan, or how little she truly played in it all. “But there has to be something we can do.”

“Perhaps this is better.”

Penumbra stopped. They were at the edge of a catwalk extending over a lower manufacturing floor. “How can you say that? She’s my teacher! She taught me how to serve the king, even when I had no magic and nopony else believed in me!”

“But her continued existence requires the expense of pony lives. The Mask of Red Death, once attached, cannot be removed. Except by you, apparently. The pony linked to it is drained until he or she collapses to dust. How many ponies would you be willing to sacrifice to preserve your friend, especially knowing that she will never again hold a permanent body?”

“If she had just taken me- -”

“But she CANNOT take you.” Emeth leaned down, turning his head to glare at Penumbra. Not out of anger; he was simply trying to make a point. “For one, you are too important to the kingdom to lose. Second, with your power it would be entirely possible that she would eventually become an enemy of Sombra. Third, you are biologically incomparable, so the point is moot.”

“That- -that’s true- -”

“More to the point, should we not respect her decision? You are no longer her student, not in a formal sense. You, her, and I, we are equals. Should we not treat her as such?”

Penumbra took a step back. “You would just let her- -let her die? Are you that cold-hearted?” Penumbra grimaced. “Of course you are,” she said. “You’re a golem. You don’t even have a heart. You don’t understand. I should have known better.”

“Really.” Emeth straightened himself. He turned and began walking. “For your information, I do have a heart. Though mine does not power emotions, just as yours does nothing but pump black fluid.”

“Is that an insult?”

“It was not intended as one. Take it as you well.” Emeth stopped partway out on the catwalk. “And, if you will, look here.”

Penumbra frowned, but did as she was told. She walked out over the manufacturing floor and looked where Emeth was pointing. Down below, she was able to see a section had been cordoned off. Several cubicles had been constructed, and to Penumbra’s surprise she saw several ponies she recognized.

“The heretics?”

“Yes. Hard at work benefiting the kingdom.”

Penumbra looked closer. The heretics were in small, lounge-like rooms having conversations with other ponies that Penumbra did not recognize. “And who are the other ones? Other prisoners?”

“Golems.”

Penumbra blinked and looked leaned against the railing. “You’re joking.”

“No. Not in the slightest. Those are type-I version seven bodies. My newest model. The former heretics are helping me test them.” Emeth paused. “Though, unfortunately, none of my golems have yet passed. Even the phase-threes are not quite right. So testing continues on. However, take note.” Emeth pointed. “I have provided them with food, water, oxygen, and a warm environment. Their job is simply to speak with my golems, to help them grow. That is all.”

Penumbra continued to watch. As she did, she saw the little girl of the group run by- -laughing alongside a filly-sized golem. When the girl saw Penumbra, she stopped and waved. The golem examined her closely, and repeated the action, waving to the princess.

“Only I have yet passed the Turing test,” sighed Emeth. “Such a very lonely thing. But I have a point. As a machine, I am not capable of malice, of anger, of hatred. Nor am I capable of compassion in the sense you understand it. But I do not like to see ponies hurt. You called my prototypes my children. I strive to make my children like them. To be equal to ponies. So know that I do care, and I respect their value.” He turned to Penumbra. “And I do not want to see them wasted.”

Penumbra stared at the heretics, watching, and trying to understand. “I know I’m not supposed to lament the past. I know it can’t be changed. But I’m angry, Emeth. Scarlet Mist’s other half- -how could she do this? How could she just leave part of her in so much pain? If it hadn’t been for her, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“And you would not be growing as a pony.”

“I am not a pony. Just a machine.”

“I do not know if that is true. Or completely true. Or true for much longer. As for the mage who created Scarlet Mist, anything we can say is only a matter of conjecture. Perhaps she simply strove for self-improvement, but was not true to who she truly was.”

“And how many ponies had to pay the price?”

“Many.” Emeth looked out at the factory floor. “I just dispatched a runner golem outside the shield this morning. Carrying diplomatic mail to Canterlot. A letter to the parents of a young mare named Riser. To inform them that she will never return home.”

Penumbra sniffed. She realized she was crying. “Why does this have to be so hard?”

“The fact that it is hard means you have already surpassed me. Congratulations. Be mindful that your new role never becomes easy, or you will be lost to it. Just as Twilight Luciferian was long ago.”

“My new role. That’s an interesting way to put it.”

“Have you been informed? Or am I the first?”

“The steward gave me a memo. And Crozea explained it, in rhyme. So yes. I know.”

“That you are one of us now.”

Penumbra nodded. “There is no oath for me to swear. My role has not really changed. I was created to serve the kingdom, and that is what I will continue to do.”

“It has. Even if you do not realize it yet. A weapon does not need to make decisions. It is pointed in the direction of its master’s enemies and does its work at his call. But now you will have to make decisions. Sometimes impossible ones.”

“Like Scarlet Mist did. Emeth, I don’t know if I can do that.”

“You already have. Look at them.” Emeth pointed at the heretics. “You saved their lives. Even when that put you against Sombra. There is still a long way to go. But that was as good start.”

“A long way to go...” Penumbra’s brow furrowed as she thought, and she looked up at Emeth. “Yes. I can do it. I am ready.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“But something Scarlet Mist said made me think. She said she wanted to finish her affairs. To tie up loose ends, I suppose.”

“In an idiom, yes. That would not be uncommon for one intent on departing.”

“I have loose ends of my own. And I don’t want to leave them open. Most likely, I am not going to have advanced warning when my time comes. I am supposed to be independent. I am One of Thirteen now. So there is something I need to do.”

“I doubt I can help.”

“You can.” Penumbra smiled, although she felt fear creeping through her heart. “You are friends with Gxurab Al’Hrabnaz, correct?”

“He has no friends. Not even me. But I know him, yes.”

“Then can you take me to him?”

Emeth paused. “Yes. Yes I can.”

Penumbra entered the laboratory alone, leaving Emeth standing behind, and marched into the darkness. She recalled how she had felt before, and how unsavory her fear had been- -but ignored it this time. This time she walked slowly, taking account of her surroundings and watching carefully.

The last time she had been there, it had been night. It was day this time, and she found that the room was not entirely dark. Dim gray light came from high above, channeled though long and thin channels. It cast thick beams of light through the dust below.

A sound came from above and shadows swam across the floor. Penumbra looked up and saw the eyes of Gxurab’s ravens staring at her, watching. They were wary, but neutral. Penumbra did not know what purpose they served, if they were familiar or simply pets- -or Gxurab’s only friends.

The contents of the room had changed. The last time Penumbra had come, the dial that now contained the Heart of Darkness was still being constructed. It had been completed and removed, and now something else was being built. New things had been moved in and were in various states of assembly or disassembly. Some of them Penumbra recognized as the machines from before, but others were different. Some were immensely old, things made of broken and half-crushed metal built in a style that she could not recognize and carved with strange ideograms. All of it was being assembled into some strange device in the center of the room.

Penumbra stopped and stared at the machines she could not possibly understand. Machines meant to harness the power of the Heart of Darkness, but for what end she did not know. Not that it was any of her concern.

“Gxurab Al’Hrabnaz,” she said, looking toward the darkest shadows in the room. There were many. “I am Penumbra Heartbreak, daughter of Sombra, One of Thirteen. I have come to speak with you.”

“I know who you are,” clicked a heavily-accented voice that echoed from every corner of the room. “And never, NEVER say my name again. Your hideous primitive mouth cannot pronounce the words. Why have you come here? To interrupt my work? To ruin more of my things? Getting ahead by sabotaging your rival?”

“There is no ‘ahead’. We are all pieces of the king’s great machine.”

Penumbra detected the sound of clicking. It was distant, but familiar. It was the sound that the device in Al’Hrabnaz’s chest-plate made. Penumbra was not sure of its purpose, but understood that it had something to do with his ability to use magic.

From the sound, she could tell that he was descending a nearby column. She did not turn, though.

“I came to apologize for having previously interfered with your work. It was wrong of me to enter your workshop unannounced and uninvited, even if I was lost. And even more wrong to touch fragile things that are not mine.”

“Fragile?! My dial is not fragile! The forging process renders it sensitive to dirty pony-oils for its first thirty-six hours! Nothing can break it once it has been cured!”

Strangely, his voice was not coming from where his body was. Somehow he was projecting it to an alternate side of the room. Penumbra focused there, even though she knew that he was behind her.

“I would also like to apologize for judging you for your appearance. I will also be apologizing to Buttonhooks the Mad later. I have invited him to tea at seven. Emeth will be in attendance, as I do not actually know what tea is made of or how to make it.”

“Stop this,” hissed Gxurab. “Stop wasting my time! Get out! GET OUT!”

He lunged at Penumbra from behind. With one swift motion she turned and summoned a shield spell, intending to simply block him. The spell she normally used as a shield, though, exploded outward in a wall of blue haze.

Gxurab was struck by the blast and knocked backward. He skittered across the floor, landing on his back.

Penumbra gasped. “I’m sorry! I didn’t realize- -”

“GAH!” cried Gxurab, now utterly panicked. HE had landed on his back, and his feet were flailing in the air. “I HAVE BEEN INVERTED!”

Penumbra stared, completely confused. “And you...you can’t get up?”

Several ravens fluttered down from above and surrounded their master. With some effort, they flipped him back onto his feet. He looked up at Penumbra, probably glaring, though it was hard to tell through his mask. He was not dressed in his usual cloak and feathers; rather, he was dressed only in the heavy pressurized suit he normally wore. Penumbra was immensely surprised to find that he had wings, though they did not have feathers. Rather, they were bony and hard, almost like the rear surface of a beetle.

“How dare you!” he rasped, turning away. “I have never been so humiliated in my life! Is that what you came for? To assert dominance? Well congratulations, you’ve succeeded. Just go. Leave me to my embarrassment.”

“I did not mean to do that- -”

“Yes you did! I know how it works for you filthy primitives. I cannot use magic, so I must have no value. A plaything to be tormented. No better than the Sword-Host.” He began to scuttle back into the shadows. His motion was quick, although as Penumbra looked closely she saw that he was actually very small. She had always thought of him as being large and terrifying, but he was barely the size of a young colt.

“How...how old are you?”

Gxurab stopped. He looked at Penumbra, or at least tried to. There were too shiny but very small circles on the edges of his mask; Penumbra assumed his eyes were behind them. “That is not any of your business! Or did you come down here to try to flirt with me? Do realize, to me you are little more than a disgusting pig.”

“I am an alicorn. We are generally understood to be monstrous.”

“You have no idea.” Gxurab quickly marched to a nearby piece of equipment. Instead of crawling back up into the shadows, he climbed the vertical surface of the piece’s sides and went to work connecting a mass of conduits and cables on the top. Several of his birds came down and landed on his wings. He stopped to stroke their heads before returning to work.

“Your birds. I like them.”

“And they seem to like you, for whatever reason. That is the only reason I have not basted and/or ingested you by now. And that is not an empty threat. My species is carnivorous, and yours is delicious.”

“So you do eat. Would you like to come to tea, then?”

Gxurab paused, and looked down from his dimly-lit perch. “Eating or drinking is almost impossible for me. Not without an involved process, if you must no. So no. No tea. It would probably poison me anyway. Now stop making my floor ugly and GO.”

One of the ravens came down from the ceiling and landed on Penumbra’s horn. It was remarkably heavy.

“The birds say otherwise.”

“Betrayer! Stop fraternizing with the cursed-one!” Gxurab threw a wrench at his crow, but several more swooped down and plucked it from the air. “Great. There goes my spanner. That was my only thirteen-fifteenths.”

“You can’t eat?” continued Penumbra.

“Not without removing this helmet, no.”

“And it...doesn’t come off?”

“It does. But your world is far too cold.”

“I can have the heat increased.”

“My body temperature is over four hundred degrees. Stop being stupid. I CHECKED. Only the nobility of my species can survive on the surface, breath your filthy frozen air.” He pointed to the dial on his chest. “And I need this to stay here. To survive in an endless world of ice and toxic light.”

“Then why are you here?”

Gxurab stared at Penumbra, and then slowly turned. “Why would you ask a question like that?”

“Because I’m curious.”

“No. No one is curious. No one bothers to speak to me, to ask me anything. Why you? What do you want?”

“Because I take my new responsibility very seriously. Because you are clearly my father’s favorite, after Luciferian who betrayed him.”

“And you are worried I will do the same.”

“No. Because I will be working with you, as well as the others to serve his divine will. You hide in the shadows to spread fear, to make yourself mysterious. So they don’t realize that you’re small, and that you get stuck if you’re turned on your back.”

“The other thirteen hate me.”

“But the population fears you, more than any of the others. But I do not have that luxury. There may come a time when I sit on the throne. And I need to know who will serve me.”

Gxurab jumped down. He was surprisingly quick. “Do you know what you have just said?” he rasped. “I should take your wings for even THINKING about usurping him- -”

“He almost died.” Gxurab fell silent. “I was there. We almost lost him. We were that close...to what? To a kingdom with no king? To let his dream fail just like that?”

Gxurab stared at her, then turned away. “I know,” he said. “I know. I wish I did not have to, but I know. Not until I’m done...not until this machine is complete. Then we won’t have to worry. But I am aware of the risk, if you must know.” He stopped, and lifted his head. He did not look at Penumbra, but at his birds. One flew down and landed on his outstretched hoof, and he stroked it carefully.

“My kind. We have only one city remaining, deep within this planet’s mantel. A world of warmth without light.”

“Your home.”

Gxurab released his bird. “It is no home of mine. This is my home. At his side.” He turned to partially face Penumbra. His internal breathing system gurgled. It was entirely possible that he was breathing something other than air, trapped in his suit like a pony deep in an unbreathable and frigid ocean. “I was born male. That means nothing to you, but to us, it is everything. I was taught mathematics, then relegated to designing drill heads. All this brilliance, all this capacity- -but not female. Not allowed to use it.”

“So you left.”

“I came to the surface, and I was hated. For what I look like. Because Pegasi are meant to fly in the sky on feathered wings, not burrow underground.”

Penumbra winced. “The mistake I made.”

“A mistake I understand. I know what I look like. Or used to. I have been in this suit so long...” He sighed, or rather gurgled. “The surface-ponies, they rejected me. But Sombra did not. He saw past my appearance, and saw what I was capable of. He let me work, listened to my theories- -and understood them. He was patient, and tolerant, and let my talent grow in a way that my kind would never allow. You would not understand.”

“No. But I appreciate you telling me.”

Gxurab began to walk slowly back to his machines. “I owe everything I am to him, to our Eternal King. Only by his grace have I come this far, become everything I wanted to be. My theories, my research, my power. All of it comes from him. And I would give it all for just one chance to repay him.”

“I had no idea.” Penumbra understood the sentiment well; though somewhat different, it was how she felt. There had to be a word for it. She simply did not know it.

“I have to protect him. I just have to. For everything he did. For everything he will become.” He reached up to his machine and gently touched it. “Which is why this has to work. It HAS TO. I only get one test, and I know what I have to do. Know that there can only be one test subject.”

“I don’t understand.”

Gxurab turned. “Your magic, when you exposed him to it- -” He stopped suddenly, as if reconsidering. “Never mind. I have no time to explain it. You have no need to know. It is far beyond you. You only need to know that this machine will give the king the life he truly deserves. Even if it costs mine.”

“It had better not. Our king needs servants as loyal as you. We are already losing Scarlet Mist. We can’t afford to lose another. Not now.” Penumbra smiled. “Also, please know that the invitation to tea is open, if you can find time in your busy schedule.” She bowed. “Thank you, Lord Al’Hrabnaz. I believe I have a better understanding of both of you and your work. I bid you good day.”

Gxurab lifted his hoof dismissively and watched her go. A raven landed beside him, and he picked it up.

“The girl who could remove the Mask of Red Death. She is different than I expected.”

“Tea?” said the crow.

Gxurab shook his head. “No. The king’s time grows short. She is far too kind to rule. Only Sombra can. Sombra must survive.” He looked up at his machine. “At any cost.”

Chapter 28: Politics

The sleep was dreamless, even though Penumbra could feel Eternity wandering on the periphery of her mind. That was not really a dream, though. Just part of her life; the force that kept her asleep.

Then, in an instant, she was no longer asleep. She was moving before she was even aware, and when the world cleared she found her hooves wrapped around a pony’s neck.

“Please don’t squeeze me!” squeaked the girl. “Princess, please, it’s just me?”

“Huh?” Penumbra blinked and realized that it was one of her crystal nurses. “Wait. Your name is Facet Flare, isn’t it?”

The young mare gasped, suddenly panicked. “You know my name?!”

“Sometimes I hear you and the others talk. I didn’t notice you had names at first. But I guess now I do.”

“Can you...can you let go? Can’t...BREATHE!”

“Oops. Sorry.” Penumbra released her.

The crystal mare gasped and rubbed her neck. She was not much older than Penumbra looked, so probably fifteen or so. She looked down, though, at the blanket where Penumbra had been sleeping. “You sleep on the floor?”

“And you snuck up on me while I was sleeping! Don’t do that! Unless you’re trying to assassinate me. Then I’ll get you first!”

Penumbra took a defensive stance. Facet squealed and cowered in a corner.

“Noooo! Please forgive me, princess! Don’t hurt me! I- -I only came with a message!”

“Message?” Penumbra’s wings tingled, imagining suddenly who it might be from. If it was from Zither, this was exactly like the plot of several books she was technically not allowed to read. Or even Luciferian. Even though he was a traitor, that only made the attraction more alluring. “From whom?”

“From the steward!”

“Oh.” Penumbra’s heart- -and wings- -fell. “She’s not that attractive.”

“Excuse me?”

Penumbra blushed deeply. “I said nothing!”

“Oh. Yes. The steward, she sent for you. She wants you dressed and prepped within the hour.”

“Why?”

“She has a meeting scheduled. I don’t know the details, I’m just a house-slave!”

“In the middle of the night?”

“The steward does not sleep much.”

“Because Nightmare Moon will try to assassinate her too?”

“What? No. It’s nightmares, but not from that. From...” She gestured toward her forehead. “You know...”

Penumbra frowned. She did understand, but did not like the implications. Only Nightmare Moon, the enemy, caused nightmares. That an action performed by Sombra in pursuit of wise and just rule could cause them disturbed her, and made her irrationally angry with the slave girl. Regardless, she understood her duty.

“Did she have a specific outfit in mind? I have three now. So many.”

“She brought over a special set. Please hurry. It does not do well to annoy the steward. I need this job. I can’t go back to the mines.”

“So be it. Dress me, slave.”

Facet bowed, and the process commenced.

Upon emerging, the steward was already waiting, her already sallow skin illuminated nearly silver by the harsh green glow of the Citadel’s night-hours crystal lanterns. She did not seem tired in the least, nor especially angry. At least not angrier than normal.

Penumbra bowed to her. She had been dressed in what was, essentially, yet another suit of armor. It was similar to her ceremonial consume in that it was somewhat ornate- -made of dark, gleaming metal and adorned with stones in black and red- -but it actually seemed to be built as a real suit of armor, as if it really would protect her in a fight. Some of the fit was actually superior to her other clothing; she made a note to remind Emeth of the alterations.

Most strangely, though, was that she had been given a cloak. It was far fancier than what she normally wore, but it covered her wings and most of her face, leaving only her mouth exposed. This excited Penumbra greatly, because the only time she wore cloaks was when she was going to be allowed to go outside.

“You look adequate,” said the steward. She began walking. She herself was also in formal clothing, a sort of set of robes. They were a strange shade of white, lined with silver and with linear patterns of red running through the upper part. Penumbra at least found her incredibly impressive, even regal- -though the deep scar on her forehead still filled her with a strange mixture of sadness and adoration.

“What are we going to do, if I may ask?”

“I require your assistance.”

“With what?”

The steward looked down at Penumbra, scrutinizing her. “I have a critical diplomatic meeting scheduled. And I believe you can be of assistance.”

“A meeting? In the middle of the night?”

“I should not need to explain time zones to you.”

“Equestrian Proper is only an hour different from the Empire.”

“Equestria Proper and the Crystal Empire are not the only nations on this planet, nor the ones I take issue with. Additionally, half of Equestria’s population is chiropteran, or bat-ponies. They are generally nocturnal.”

“I heard a rumor that you have nightmares.”

“Such rumors are a dangerous thing to the teller. They tend to result in one growing somewhat shorter by about a head’s height. No. It is not nightmares. It is brain damage. Our horns are deeper than they appear. They go to the center of our brains.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize- -”

“Of course you didn’t. No one does, until their horn is held in front of them. It truly is a...profound sight. Regardless, it benefits me. I am busy during the day.” Her eyes turn. “Or would you rather I had not awoken you?”

“I am ready for my new independence and responsibilities,” said Penumbra, almost comparatively. “If that happens at night, so be it.”

The steward led her deep into the Citadel, toward one of the many places that Penumbra had never been before. They did not move at a rushed pace, but instead at the normal brisk pace that the steward always used.

They eventually reached a room, its door not guarded by thralls but by type-H golems. Penumbra had largely learned to recognize the types from Emeth, and knew that these were one of the most severe. Yet, as the steward approached, they lowered their spears and allowed her to enter without a single word. Penumbra was allowed to follow.

The room behind the door was large and circular, somewhat like an amphitheater. It was initially dark, but several large clicks sounded as dim crystal lamps hummed to life. Penumbra found that the walls were decorated with tattered black banners, not unlike the ones Sombra kept in his throne room. There were also several ominous, brutalist columns supporting the room, somehow absurdly matching with its otherwise mysterious and strange crystal structure. Otherwise it was spartan and unpleasantly damp.

“May I ask a question?” asked Penumbra.

“At the moment, yes. Once the palantiri are activated, no.”

“Palantiri?”

The steward gestured to a half-ring of carved posts. On each one sat a sphere of carved crystal, its rear linked to a complex array of conduits and wires that fed downward and out of sight into the Citadel’s internal power architecture. One sat in the center, between all the others.

Penumbra pretended to understand. She continued with her thought. “If this meeting is so critical to our kingdom, why is the king not in attendant?”

“Because diplomacy is not the province of kings,” replied the steward, who was checking the connections to the crystal spheres. “Not except in the most dire or the most trivial of situations. Could you imagine if Celestia or Nightmare Moon themselves were to speak directly to him? Tensions would run high. Things would be said that could not be unsaid. Those conversations are not diplomacy. They are private discourse between beings beyond our realm of understanding.” She turned and faced Penumbra. “Mark this well, because my lifespan is finite and this job may fall to you, in time. A diplomat is a filter. To dispense the will of the king, and to bring only the most critical news to his attention, should it be good or ill.”

“And this task falls to you?”

“It is the king’s vision which creates our Empire, and his will that forges our destiny. His word is law, and his laws his truth. But he has no time for minutia like this. Those tasks fall to me, and this place in his organization is my greatest honor.”

“And what do you need me for?”

“Stand here.” Penumbra moved to the central area, which had been demarcated near the central sphere. “You will remain silent. Watch carefully, and learn. Should I require you, you will no.”

Penumbra frowned, not fully sure what this meant. Her whole life had been spent following orders, though, so she did so instinctively. “I can do that.”

“You had better.” The steward checked a silver pocket watch. “The time is upon us.” She stepped forward to the central sphere and placed a hoof on it. It began to hum and glow at her touch, as though the center were filled with a swirling but sickly form of milk.

“These are merely lesser palantiri,” she said, sounding somewhat somber as she admitted it. “The original was the treasure of my kingdom. Our Eternal King learned its deign. These were forged by his magic and skill.”

Penumbra gaped at the devices. She had not realized her father did anything except rule; the thought that he was a mage capable of creation had never occurred to her. She hardly had time to question it, though, because the system began to vibrate violently but briefly as the secondary spheres began to charge.

Then, in an instant, images formed, rendered from magic as partially colored holograms. The enlarged images of ponies appeared in the room, one by one- -although not all of them were ponies.

Penumbra recognized some of them. Namely the first to form, the one that had apparently been waiting the longest. Their clothing looked almost like it had in Emeth’s holograms, though it had grown shorter and more conservative from the robes of the past, and the number of jewels that these donkeys wore had increased substantially. There were two jacks, one young and comparatively dashing, and one jenny, apparently the leader. They were the diplomats of Assyria.

Beside them was a projection of a creature Penumbra could not identify; they were tall, feathered things resembling ponies crossed with birds of some sort.

Past the bird-things was the delegation from Equestria proper. They were, as expected, represented by the three primary races of ponies: a bulky female earth-pony, a male Pegasus in exotic robes, and an exceedingly effeminate looking white unicorn. With them, though, was a fourth, standing apart. He belonged to a race Penumbra had never seen before. He was like a Pegasus, although he had the wings of a bat; his eyes were like that of Sombra’s, except green instead of red.

On the opposite side, one sphere failed to light. Another projected an image of a hulking hairy beast adorned in a military uniform and plastered with medals. That, Penumbra supposed, was a yak.

The last image was just that of an enormous eye. At first Penumbra supposed that was some representation of an unseen and mysterious race, perhaps even a dark wizard. As the eye blinked and retracted, though, she realized that whoever owned it had simply been too close to the image.

“Is this thing on? How do I tell if it’s on? Stupid pony stupid...thing.” The image shook as the transmitter was kicked. The image resolved slightly more, and Penumbra recognized the last delegate. He was, apparently, breaking the rules- -and had also apparently grown substantially since Emeth had last seen him.

Dragonlord Scorch pulled back from the palantir, eyeing it suspiciously. Another dragon appeared close to it, and then the image of a tongue. This was promptly followed by a cry of pain.

“Do NOT eat that! It is not food!”

“But it looks so tasty!”

“And it’s MY treasure, not YOURS!” Scorch raised his crystal scepter. “As punishment for touching my stuff, I order you to pick up that rock- -” he pointed “- -and bash yourself over the head with it until I think it’s funny!”

“But Scorch- -OW!”

The other dragon had commenced with beating himself, and Scorch sat down in a stone throne. “Do it more quietly!” he snapped suddenly. “And if you cry, I’ll make the whole tribe laugh at you!”

“Huhu...yes, lord Scorch.”

“You invited the dragons,” sighed one of the bird things. “Of course you did.”

“We take all allies we can,” said the steward, looking up at the images. “Abyssinia has cut ties with all of us. And Griffonstone...” She turned to the unlit receiver. “Well, it seems they no longer have the diplomatic infrastructure.”

“Only because you incited a revolution in their nation,” snapped the Pegasus delegate. “Their country is in ruin because of YOU.”

“We merely provided economic support to a democratically elected, republican leader,” sighed the steward. “We have been over this, Delegate Windbag. Or does our threat to the idea of monocratic tyranny frighten you?”

“Do you not think that is hypocritical?” growled one of the bird-things. “Coming from YOUR kingdom?”

“I assure you, are kingdom is a fully-fledged republic. Sombra represents the will of the people, and each and every one of them has selected him as their chosen representative.”

“Under penalty of torture,” whispered the earth-pony delegate.

“Yak agree with not like monarchy,” added the yak, rather loudly. “Monarchy is tool of imperialism! Suppresses agency of glorious proletariat!”

“By my own rear fires!” cried Scorch. “Why is this so BORING? If this were a tribal meeting of dragons, it would have come to blows already!” He stood up and swiped at the palantir. “Can I even hit you through this? How am I supposed to do diplomacy without VIOLENCE?!”

“That is the point of diplomacy,” snapped one of the bird-things. “Violence is never the answer.”

“No! It is the QUESTION! The answer is YES! Hit yourself HARDER, idiot, it’s not funny yet!”

“Yak agree! Resistance is pony being tiny and weak! Donkey not so tiny and slightly less weak...but more bourgeois! Yak not trust!”

“Can we PLEASE move on with business?” bellowed the Assyrian jenny, silencing the others. Her voice was surprisingly strong, and she had her hooves pushed to her temples. “I am getting a migraine, and this device costs a considerable amount of funds to operate.”

“Then let us commence,” said the steward. “My main topic of interest is the unfair and illegal Equestrian embargo of the Crystal Empire. I seek to end it immediately, with international support.”

“Or you finally admit you can’t find a way around it,” chuckled the earth-pony.

“Might I remind you,” said the effeminate white unicorn, his voice still not helping Penumbra decide if he was actually a “he”, “that the embargo is in place for a reason. To prevent you from acquiring the resources necessary to construct weapons and war-machines.”

“Our population is static. Though our attempts to breed the crystal ponies are successful, they have a low natural reproduction rate. Your nation, meanwhile, has tripled its military size in the last two years alone under Nightmare Moon.”

“She is correct,” said the Assyrian jenny. “And to be frank? I support her suggestion.”

“You can’t be serious,” said the bird-thing.

“We have received substantial pressure from our guild-unions on the subject,” retorted the older jack. “Especially our shipping merchants. We have the infrastructure for controlled, regulated, and profitable trade.”

“You mean so that you can get fat off the profits from selling weapons to terrorists,” snapped Windbag, the Pegasus.

“To be plain, we need the funds,” continued the jenny. “The war against the Saddle-Arabian rebels is costly.” She turned to the Steward. “And technology from the Crystal Empire could put a swift end to it, before any more donkeys or ponies are hurt. To restore orderly, regulated, profitable rule.”

“Huh?” Scorch sat up suddenly, apparently having been asleep. “Did somebody say weapons?”

“Yak not think is such good idea. Crystal ponies TOO dangerous!”

“For once, we agree with the yaks,” sighed the effeminate unicorn. He locked eyes with the steward. “Princess, your nation is simply too belligerent. Your repeated strikes on neighboring settlements- -”

“In disputed territory that is rightfully OURS. While Equestria Proper, meanwhile, has conquered over half the continent in the past two centuries.”

“By forging deep friendships with associated nations that share a common belief in Harmony!”

“So you claim. But what I see is a conqueror attempting to weaken a smaller empire to attempt to consume it...and all of its resources.”

The donkeys and bird-creatures began to grow nervous. They did not seem to like the idea of Equestria having control of the Crystal Empire any more than they liked the idea of Sombra holding it.

“How DARE YOU- -”

“Windbag,” said the bat-pony. His voice was remarkably soft and deep, and Penumbra could not help but feel her wings twitch beneath her cloak. “She does have a point.”

“Dagger, you traitor- -”

Dagger silenced the Pegasus with a look. “The One True Goddess is bearer of the Element of Honesty, and I respect her endless virtue with absolute reverence. If Vizier Sarrah will speak plainly, so will I.” He turned to the steward. “Nameless steward of Sombra. Yes. We do seek dominion over your kingdom.”

“You idiot!” cried the earth-pony. “What in Celestia’s name are you DOING?!”

“I do nothing in the name of a false-goddess. Besides, my words do not substantively change our discourse. The motive for the embargo is meaningless. Only that it stays in place. Lacy Pants?”

“He is correct,” sighed the white unicorn. “Though forgive him for being blunt.”

“No, yak like! Like funny bat-pony! Bat-pony want have one of yak’s daughters? Can have second-strongest smelling!”

“I thank you, Premier Grunnichov, but alas, I am already married, with two beautiful daughters of my own. And the One True Goddess also wields the Element of Loyalty- -”

“I want one of your daughters,” said Scorch. “Send over a few! Whatever you are, you look tasty!”

“Yak taste BEST! But not mean you can eat! Except dissidents, who get sent to the goulash. Them you can have.”

“Additionally,” continued Lacy Pants, who might or might not have been male, now sounding somewhat annoyed, “we fear that your nation is becoming a nest of various foul agents. Necromancers, dark wizards, students of the black arts. Every kind of depraved soul you can imagine.”

“He is not wrong,” sighed Sarrah, the jenny. “You have already declared yourself an open enemy of the changeling hive by harboring a young usurper-queen.”

“And once she enacts her coup, we will be allies with one of the most powerful nations on our planet.”

“IF she can accomplish a coup before you find half your slaves are actually insects in disguise,” added one of the bird creatures. “But a secondary queen changeling is hardly the only abomination you are keeping.”

“Indeed,” agreed Lacy Pants. “You are harboring a renegade Questlord, as well as a member of the fallen House Twilight.”

“Twilight Luciferian has been purged from the kingdom for betraying the Eternal King. He is now our enemy as much as yours.”

“There is also the disturbing matter of a mage of unknown race that has been repeatedly antagonizing Clover the Clever, as well as an unregistered master golem engineer. Clearly both rejects of Canterlot, I am sure.”

“Clearly,” said the Steward with a smile. “We offer a home for mages and sorcerers that others consider too uncouth for standard society. For the peaceful development of their arts without tyrannical limitations of their freedom.”

“You mean witchcraft,” said one of the bird-things. “Foul blackness that we must not allow!”

“ Witchcraft’ is superstition. We are the wealthiest and most technologically advanced nation in Equestria. Why? Because we allow for the pursuit of science without petty false-morality. We offer limitless freedom, something your kingdoms cannot.”

“You speak of the freedom of slaves,” said Dagger. “How interesting, the paradox of it all. But again. Not our concern.”

“I disagree,” said the earth-pony. “The presence of a heretic Questlord is most DEFINITELY our concern. As is some extremely disturbing intelligence that suggests you have acquired a chronoplexer.”

The entire room filled with murders and confusion.

“What?” laughed the earth-pony. “Did you think you were the only ones with a changeling?”

“So we have a spy,” said the steward. “Excellent. We now have a proper excuse for another sweeping purge of foul dissidents. Thank you.”

“You are avoiding the accusation,” snapped Lacy Pants, himself smiling.

“Yes. Our newest addition is, indeed, a chronoplexer.”

“A form of magic that has been universally banned due to the danger to the timestream. You are aware of this, of course.”

“Yes. That it is completely and utterly illegal. Unless that chronoplexer is named Starswirl, and lives in Equestria.”

“She is not lying,” growled Sarrah. She turned to the Equestrian delegation. “Our ancestors presented you with mutual condemnation for allowing him to practice his craft.”

“We only acquiesced when your goddess threatened not to raise the sun,” added one of the bird-creatures.

“And is this relevant?” sighed Dagger. “Starswirl is gone.”

“But the double standard still remains,” said the younger Assyrian jack. “Mother, you were correct. These ponies are such arrogant things.”

“What did you say- -” Windbag became an especially bright shade of red.

“The rules never seem to apply to you,” retorted the jack, who was still smiling. “You, who possess all the magic. If something threatens donkey-kind? Or the hippogriffs? Or the yaks, your own enemy- -do you even care? You force us to follow laws that you yourselves are except from.”

“Jermane,” said Sarrah, softly, warning him.

“If we had expanded our military as much as yours, taken as much land? Sanctions. Endless sanctions. Embargoes, like theirs. All in the name of ‘Harmony’ that only includes THREE races.” He looked to Dagger, but said nothing directly to him.

“Because you are sovereign nations,” said Lacy Pants, “and because Starswirl lived nearly two centuries ago. Times have changed.”

“Indeed they have,” said the steward. “You are no longer the most powerful nation on the planet. You no longer have leverage.”

“Says the ponies hiding behind a shield-wall,” laughed Windbag.

The steward smiled, and Penumbra knew what was coming. “Your intelligence. I don’t think it’s a changeling. It’s far too incomplete.”

“Our spies are none of your business.”

“They are when they are in my nation. But this is simply out of pity. You knew that we had a chronoplexer, but were not aware of her?” She gestured toward Penumbra.

“Who she? Yak not see! Too still, can only see things moving, or gets very bored!”

“I saw her,” said Scorch, sleepily. “I was wondering about that.”

“As was I,” said Sarrah. “Your chronoplexer, I presume?”

“Not at all. This is One of Thirteen, Twilight Luciferian’s replacement, the one who defeated him in open combat.”

“Barbaric customs,” grunted the hippogriff delegate.

“More like FUN customs,” snapped Scorch.

“She is also Sombra’s firstborn.”

The entire room fell silent and the entire Equestria delegation gaped.

“Im- -impossible!” cried Windbag, now a shade of purple. “We- -we would have known!”

“We would have known indeed,” said Lacy, calmly. “An interesting ploy, princess, but a low one. Sombra has no children, and can bear none. Even if you dress a girl in fancy robes, she is not his. We all know that.”

The steward smiled. “How quaint.”

She warped her hoof around the edge of Penumbra’s cloak and tore it off. Penumbra attempted to strike as threatening of a pose as possible, showing her demonic makeup, gleaming armor- -and most importantly her horn and wings.

There was a scream. Chairs were pushed back as ponies jumped up in horror.

“That- -that’s impossible!” cried Lacy Pants.

“The palantiri cannot be deceived, pureblood. You know that.”

“She- -she’s an alicorn!” cried the earth-pony. “That’s not possible! It CAN’T BE!”

“And yet here she is. A match for Celestia or Nightmare Moon, daughter of our king and child of the Empire. A pure, born alicorn.”

“An alicorn well into her second decade,” growled Sarrah, whose eyes were wide with panic.

“You foul traitors!” cried the hippogriff delegate, now facing the Equestrians. “You KNEW! You had to know! For twenty years- -you kept this a secret!”

“Ponies betray yaks!” cried the Premier of YakYakistan. “Knows yaks on border, yaks CLOSEST! Let scary wing-horn pony fight yaks, get rid of yaks so you not have to fight! Tiny puny little COWARDS!” He stamped his hooves violently. “This mean WAR!”

“I assure you, we had no idea- -”

“Then you are incompetent,” said Sarrah, standing up. “You knew they had a chronoplexer, because that violates your precious hypocritical laws- -but how could you not have known they had an ALICORN?”

“They must have hid her- -”

“I have not been hiding,” said Penumbra. “I have been known to this nation since my birth.”

“Celestia and Luna knew,” said the steward. She turned to the Equestrian delegation. “I was there, on the first day. They came here to see her. To attempt to assassinate their rival. It seems your precious twin-queens are keeping secrets from you mere mortals.”

“So tiny ponies DID know! Ponies LIED!”

“Calm yourself, Grunnichov,” said one of the hippogriffs.

“Yak not calm yak self! Yak ANGRY! Yak SMASH puny capitalist pony kingdom! Day-night ponies, crystal ponies, ALL PONIES!Then smash creepy bird-people kingdom TOO!”

“What did we do?!”

“Yak not know! Find reason later!”

“Calm. DOWN.” Lacy stood up quickly, nearly knocking his chair over. “This is ludicrous.”

“Indeed it is,” said the steward, still smiling. Somewhere deep beneath her, Penumbra felt a strange and distant rumbling. Her mouth suddenly tasted like metal. “Considering that this problem will be resolved momentarily.”

A sudden ruckus came from somewhere off-camera on the yak’s transmission. The premier looked around in confusion, and Penumbra heard screams and the sounds of things breaking.

“What- -what happening? Why yelling- -NO, GET BACK!”

He was too slow. In an instant, the blade of a sword was pressed to his neck. Even through the distorted colors of the hologram, Penumbra could see its mottled red coloration. From that alone, she knew who it belonged to: above her, the armored face of the Blue Knight came into focus.

“What is the meaning of this?!” cried Lacy, losing his composure as the other delegates jumped to their feet as well- -all save for Dagger, who simply looked intrigued, and Scorch, who was watching with rapt attention and intense enjoyment.

“Within the context of this meeting, the premier of YakYakistan just declared official war,” said the Steward. “As such, we are justified in our swift retaliation.”

“You’ve gone too far! This will not stand- -”

“Is not YakYakistan your enemy as well? All your enemies? We are dissolving it as a gift to you. To show that we are committed to absolute peace, and the prevention of all war and violence.”

“Ponies betray yaks! Ponies pay! Yak swear on YAK, ponies PAY!”

“Now now,” said the Blue Knight, holding his blade slightly higher and causing the yak to instantly cease struggling. “I would avoid moving too much. Or you risk a rather severe haircut. That, and you should hardly waste your time on resisting me. At this very moment my griffons-in-arms are setting vedmak explosives all over your capital. In just a few minutes, all of this shall be dust in an icy wind”

Penumbra was glad her wings were already extended.

“We shall bring freedom and liberty to all of yak kind,” continued the Blue Knight. “Additionally, since you are no longer a nation per se, you have forfeited the right to communicate with our glorious king’s emissary. So you will no longer be needing this.”

In one swift motion, the Blue Knight brought his sword down on something Penumbra could not see. The image collapsed into colorless static; no doubt he had destroyed the palantir.

“This is madness!” cried one of the hippogriffs, stepping forward and looming high over the room. “It is as though you wish to invite a war!”

“Any chance you had of ending the embargo is gone now,” said Sarrah. “You realize that, don’t you?”

“The end of the embargo was meant as an offering to forge new political alliances. In truth, it hardly affects us. We have more than enough resources in our kingdom alone. Hence why Equestria is so intent on conquering us.”

“This will lead to far more than simple sanctions,” said Lacy. “You understand that, I’m sure.”

“It means war,” said the female earth-pony. “We cannot abide by this!”

“Agreed,” growled Windbag. “This aggression cannot be tolerated!”

“There will be no war,” asserted the steward. “It is in your best interest to avoid it at all costs.”

“Really,” laughed Windbag. “Because our army outnumbers yours ten to one, plus our airship navy and Pegasus airforce. You may have an alicorn, but it is just a child. We have two fully-fledged adults.”

The steward’s smile fell. “Lacy Pants,” she said, calmly, “are you aware of the theory Clover’s asymmetric material conversion spell?”

Lacy actually laughed, albeit softly. “Of course I am. That’s your plan? A ridiculous bluff?” He looked up to the Assyrians, who were clearly quite confused. “It is a theoretical spell that involves the direct and seamless inter-conversion of matter into energy. Nothing more than a mathematical thought-experiment. The spell is impossible to perform.”

“And it got boring again,” sighed Scorch, propping his head on one hand. “BOR-RING!”

Lacy Pants frowned. “Yes, perhaps, but also trite. No mage can use the spell. Even the smallest amount of matter would be impossible to control, taking the mage with their target.”

“Unless the spell were entrapped within an ultraregal-magesty crystal,” said the steward.

“Which is itself impossible for a number of theories too complex to go into here. The technology simply does not exist. And if it did, there is no way to provide the spell with enough power to activate.”

The smile returned to the steward’s face. “Correct. At your level of technology, certainly. But our mines have discovered substantial deposits of a very particular crystalline ore. One that, when purified, results in a particular metal. We call it plutonium.”

“There is no such metal,” said the earth-pony delegate. “I would know! There are only FOUR types of metal!”

“When this metal reaches a certain critical mass,” continued the steward, “it explodes with unimaginable force. More than enough to activate an annihilation crystal.”

“Impossible,” dismissed Lacy Pants. “You are obviously bluffing. I am even beginning to doubt that that girl is even a real alicorn.”

“I assure you, the weapon is real. The force it produced is majestic. The purest beauty in all existence. Ultimate power, drawn from the will of the Witchking himself. Enough power to vaporize, say...” She slowly turned to the hippogriffs. “...a mountain.”

Penumbra saw the panic in the hippogriff’s eyes, but also anger. “Even you would not dare to use such a terrible thing,” the elder of the two said, his voice firm and untrembling. “Even as evil and distorted as you and your kingdom have become, you still have reason. Empathy. You are not nearly as heartless as you seem.”

“That is where you are incorrect, Coralquill. We are not evil at all. In fact, the Crystal Empire is the last bastion of good and purity in existence. The last realm on this dying world where freedom reigns absolute.” She shrugged. “That, and we already fired the warhead. Several minutes ago.”

The hippogriff’s eyes went wide. “You’re lying.”

“Even if you are not.” Sarrah stood. “Our entire navy will deploy to stop the delivery ship. We must not allow a weapon like that to be used. Not now, and not ever.”

“She is bluffing, you fools,” growled Lacy Pants. For just a moment, Penumbra saw a glint of white as he grimaced, a flash from a set of long, gleaming fangs. “There is no weapon.”

“We have no need for a ‘ship’,” chuckled the steward. “That would be far to time-consuming to convey my point. Delivery is simply a matter of connecting a crystal-drive to the base of a rocket. With that, we can send our warheads to any nation on the planet in a matter of ten minutes or so. Which means it should be reaching you...right about now. I am told you hippogriffs have open-roofed halls. I recommend not looking up.”

One of the hippogriffs stepped back. “Evacuate the area,” he said. “Quickly! We have to get them to the sea, NOW!”

“Sir, that isn’t possible, nor is it strictly necess- -”

The image was suddenly consumed with a surge of immensely bright light, a glow so bright that the other delegates had to cover their eyes. Dagger even screamed, being blinded by the light. Penumbra covered her face with a hoof, but the steward just stared into its light, smiling.

The glow was followed by a thudding boom of immense volume. The sound was so great that it became distorted, and as the light began to fade Penumbra found that so was the image.

“Quickly!” cried the garbled voice of the older of the two hippogriffs. “His eyes, get him a doctor!”

“The sea! GET TO THE SEA!” cried another voice.

Through the remnants of the image, Penumbra could see hippogriffs scrambling, and their hall in disarray but not outright ruins. The younger of the two delegates was lying on the ground, holding his eyes and crying out in pain.

The elder looked to the palantir, his eyes filled with unspeakable terror. He looked at the steward, and then at the Equestrian delegates. “This is madness,” he said, softly. “This is not our war! This is a war of ponies, we want no part of it!”

“Coralquill, this is not a time to break our unity,” pleaded Lacy, his composure starting to crack and the fear beneath beginning to become visible.”

“No more. We will not put our nation in danger for the sake of some political squabble! Be GONE!”

The image then went black. The transmission had been cut.

Sarrah, shaking, sat down. She seemed to have nothing to say.

“It exists,” Lacy, sitting down as well. “You fools, you actually built it.”

“But we are not mad,” said the steward. “That was a demonstration. It was programmed to detonate one mile over Mt. Aris at a forty-degree angle. With the prevailing eastward wind, their exposure to fallout will be minimal.”

“It makes fallout?” gasped Scorch. “Why do I not have one of these?!”

“Because it could mean the end of all of us,” snapped the older Assyrian jack.

“My friends,” said the steward. “No. That is not what this means. The thermocrystalline warhead is a weapon of peace, not of violence. An outright war with Equestria would be devastating to both sides, as well as neutral nations eventually embroiled in the resulting world war. With this weapon, such a war becomes impossible. No reasonable being would challenge us when the cost to their own holdings would be so incredibly dear.”

“How persuasive,” said Dagger, still blinking. “And clear evidence that Celestia’s embargo is a complete failure.”

“After what we just saw?” The earth-pony delegate stood up, but then collapsed from her legs shaking too hard. “You can turn even THIS political?”

“My observation is empirical. We sought to limit their military capacity, yet now here they stand the dominant power of the world.”

“And it is all absurd,” said Sarrah, standing. She did not shake. “We condemn the use of this weapon. Categorically. But that said, Coralquill is right. This is a war for ponies.”

The younger jack turned toward the Equestrian delegation. “Ponies who spent all their efforts trying to preserve their egos by spying on a chronoplexer but failing to notice a profoundly beautiful adult alicorn princess, as well as the doomsday missiles.” Upon hearing that, Penumbra blushed slightly, and the jack smiled at her.

“Or purposefully kept that information a secret,” added the other jack.

“Regardless, we are neutral,” continued Sarrah. “We take NO side. Equestria can clearly no longer be relied upon. I will submit my views to the oligarchy immediately.” She looked to the Equestrian side. “If you wish to fight a losing war, or to maintain a useless and costly embargo, so be it. You will be on your own.”

Her image clicked off. As it did, the Equestrians stood.

“If all the delegates of importance are gone, we have nothing to speak about anymore,” growled Lacy. “So I bid you farewell, with a warning. From the path you have started down, there is no turning back. As a pureblood yourself, you should know. What seems like a victory now often becomes a grave failure in the long view.”

He turned, and the earth-pony and Pegasus left with him, vanishing from the image. Only Dagger remained, looking quite amused but still partially blinded.

The room was filled with laughter as Scorch stood, applauding. “Excellent! GREAT! HA, that was amazing!” He stepped closer to the palantir. “Who knew ponies had that much backbone?”

“I am glad it pleased you,” said the steward. “I had hoped that this exposition would amuse you.”

“Amuse me? It was downright FUN! I had been thinking about sending a force to take your kingdom, because, you know, the whole thing is literally made out of food...but I think I’ll wait.”

“Afraid of the weapon, Scorch?” asked Dagger.

“A weapon made of FIRE? HA! It would barely make a scratch on us. And destroy our what, rocks? They’re rocks, who cares. And us? I eat fire for breakfast and pass it out the back end before lunch. Which is also fire. Sometimes with opals, but sweet furry rugs, talk about fire on the back end from THOSE!” He laughed loudly. “My point? Time is all wrong. You ponies only live a few centuries at most. I’ll wait, because the look on that frilly guy’s face? You’re in for a big fight. That’s for sure. And whoever wins, the dragons fight that guy.” He grinned. “That way, we can have the MOST fun.” He suddenly frowned. “SLUDGE! Stop hitting yourself with that rock! It was funny about thirty minutes ago, now it’s just boring! And somebody figure out how to turn this magic dingus off, it’s almost lunchtime and you know what THAT means!”

Much to Penumbra’s relief- -but also slight disappointment, if only due to her inherent youthful curiosity- -the image from the Dragonlands vanished. That meant that only Dagger remained.

“And you?” asked the steward, turning to him. “Your thoughts?”

“Only that the dragon may be right. And that’s unfortunate.”

“How so?”

“Because a war would be such a waste. A mere grab for resources, another step toward an impossible vision. I think that peaceful unification may be possible, although you have certainly made it more difficult.”

“It was never possible.”

“There is the option of political marriage.”

“You would want us to give up our princess?”

“No. Because I am not an idiot, I can recognize herbal force-growing when I see it. But as Windbag said, we have two full alicorns. If Sombra is so great as you claim, he may prove slightly worthy to sit beside the One True Goddess. If not, he can always have the lesser sister. She serves little purpose anyway.”

“I will relay the message, though your chances are not good.”

Dagger smiled. “I know. But I will appeal to the Queen regardless. At the very least, I can convince her to slow this war. Perhaps indefinitely. The other races are quite eager for war, because they know that it is Nightmare Moon’s armies that will take the brunt of the suffering.”

“If you could lobby for a war with Celestia only...”

“Alas, the Goddess is far too loyal to do that to her beloved but inferior sister.” He sighed. “Perhaps I appear to you as a weak pacifist, but I would prefer that no pony suffers in such a needless war.”

“Then you are the only one who understands,” sighed the steward.

Dagger nodded, and with a smile his image dissipated. Penumbra and the steward were once again alone in the room.

The steward sighed, and suddenly seemed to deflate. Penumbra realized that she was shaking.

“Steward?”

“The meeting was a resounding success. The Yak’s Republic of YakYakistan was goaded and overthrown. Respect and neutrality of the Dragonlands was secured, and I believe we may have pushed the Assyrians and hippogriffs out of the conflict. We may even have ended the embargo in the process. And our weapon will put off war with Equestria, at least for a little longer.” She looked down at Penumbra. “We cannot afford a war. Not now. Not yet. Open warfare with Equestria would be disastrous.”

“But the way you did it...”

“Was effective. By sowing dissent and fear. As Scarlet Mist supposedly taught you.” She paused. “And I could not have done it without you.”

“I was a prop.”

“What role did you expect? You are a child with an impressive appearance. A weapon to show off, as our missile was.”

“I just thought...” Penumbra’s wings ruffled, and she stood taller. “I thought I would have more responsibility with handling our kingdom’s affairs. As a member of the Dark Thirteen, as a potential ruler- -”

The steward’s face was suddenly inches from Penumbra’s own, her steely eyes narrowed to small dots. “You will NEVER rule. I promise you that. The king is eternal, and his reign will never end. Attempt to usurp him and you will face me.”

“I would never- -I just want to help him!”

“You DID. As a symbol of his power. Is that not what you wanted?”

“Well...yes,” admitted Penumbra. That was, after all, exactly what Luciferian had promised her so long ago. “But...”

“But nothing. Your function is aesthetic only. Now please, come with me. I will accompany you back to your room. You need to return to bed and continue preparing for tomorrow.”

“But the next diplomatic meeting- -”

“If I require you, I will summon you. Otherwise you have no reason to be there.”

Penumbra bowed her head. “Yes, steward,” she said. “I understand.”

“Good. Make sure that you do not forget your place.”

Penumbra nodded, for she knew that she most certainly would not.

Chapter 29: The Prop

The next day was completely and utterly ordinary. It was nearly an exact copy of every other day Penumbra had ever known, with every element of her life specifically planned and determined to such a level of detail that even the substitutions felt mundane and seamless.

She woke up and was dressed by ponies whose names she barely knew, her long black hair tied back behind an iron tiara as she stared into an expensive mirror and watched a thing, violet-eyed thing stared back at her. Afterward, there was no breakfast, as Penumbra did not eat.

The first part of the day was spent in the library. It was empty and quiet. Even Eternity refused to talk, only occasionally muttering about whether or not spheres were truly as round as they pretended to be. No one else was there, save for Thirteen, who was rapidly reading through several of Gxurab’s works. Penumbra did not know what they said; his language was that of his native race, so she could not read it herself. The books had pictures, though. Ones she found exceedingly disturbing.

There was no chance for conversation. One, because it was a library, but also because Thirteen never talked. Nor did she have a room in the castle, and nor did she ever remove her armor. Penumbra found herself absently wondering if she was the female version of whatever Gxurab was.

Penumbra would have trained after the library, but Scarlet Mist was busy, hard at work completing the last of her tasks. Penumbra was not even permitted to go to her; she was simply told that there was a new version of the thrall mask that needed her fullest attention.

In the late afternoon, it was time for tea. Penumbra’s tea meeting went off without the slightest error. Emeth and Buttonhooks were both in attendance, the latter bringing a gift of small red peppers that he continually munched on but that the former categorically forbade Penumbra from even touching. Otherwise, Buttonhooks was a remarkably amenable fellow, though not nearly as engaging as Emeth, who himself was uncharacteristically quiet. Gxurab’s seat remained empty.

And soon, the day came to an end. The servants undressed Penumbra, and Crozea arrived to give her her medicine. It had previously always been the light of Penumbra’s day, to have Crozea visit her, no matter how busy she was. And she had grown very busy as of recent. Something was wrong, but Penumbra only distantly sensed it.

Penumbra sat on her bed and Crozea prepared the final mixture of the growth-accelerant potion that kept Penumbra alive. She had removed her mask, something that had become normal for her. Because when her face was visible, she seemed like a real person. A pony, or in her case a zebra; perhaps it was the only time she ever could, as she wore the mask constantly otherwise.

“Someday I like to think that you will no longer need this drink.” Crozea gave Penumbra her potion, and Penumbra drank it. As always, it did not taste like tea, which was the only other thing she had ever eaten. She felt the familiar burning throughout her body as the potion went to work. Though her growth rate had slowed, she was not quite an adult pony yet. That would take another three weeks at least.

“Crozea,” she said, putting down the vial. “Can I ask you something?”

Crozea paused, looking somewhat surprised. “I am not sure I have the advice you seek, but I am more than willing to hear you speak.”

“What am I?”

Crozea paused, and sat down on the floor across from Penumbra. “I know not why you ask something so existential, but to me, you are a pony with limitless potential.”

“I don’t mean it in an ‘existential’ sense, and I don’t care about potential. I mean now. Crozea...I don’t know what I am, here and now. To you. To the king. To the kingdom.”

Crozea grew serious. “This question is indeed strange. Why should there have been any change?

“I just...” Penumbra gathered her thoughts, trying to produce a statement of her emotions that made sense. It was incredibly difficult. “Am I a machine, a weapon like Emeth says? Or am I just a symbol? Am I supposed to rule, or command, or just follow orders? I don’t understand any of it!”

Crozea tapped her chin with her hoof. “Such explains why as of late you’ve been so glum. This question is indeed quite a conundrum. You are a princess, young and refined, but as of now your role remains undefined.”

“It’s just...everypony says I’m one of the Dark Thirteen now.”

“From the truth, they’re not far. For all intents and purposes, you are.”

“But nothing’s different!” Penumbra suddenly stood up, pacing the room. She had suddenly become highly energetic; she was not sure if it was her emotions, or simply the effect of the potion dose she had just taken. “I’m still doing the same thing I always have been! I have magic now- -”

“Magic alone does not define the role. Nor, my dear, is your magic something you yet can control.”

“But shouldn’t there be more too it? Than just sitting around here, having my hair brushed and getting put in the same suit of armor every day? I’m supposed to have duties, responsibilities, things only I can do. Things that serve the king, and the kingdom. To make it better, like you do.”

Crozea smiled. “Those are things you already do. Noting has changed, and nothing is new.”

“But those are just SYMBOLS! My image, the IDEA of Penumbra Heartbreak...but not ME. Not something I did. Just things ponies use me for...”

“If you desire to have a use, then what role, mishaps, would you choose?”

Penumbra had given that a great deal of thought. “I want to go on missions. Like Zither, or Thirteen, or the Infiltrator. To see the world like Emeth did, and to bring freedom to all the ponies in it! Zebras too!”

Crozea frowned deeply, but her voice remained measured. “Most of our role is strictly academic, remaining behind for mathematics, spell development, and studies alchemist. Though a few among us serve on the outside, the majority remain here, at the king’s side. A dangerous lifestyle is not something wise to flaunt; is such a life truly what you want?”

“Yes!” Penumbra sat back down on her bed. “I don’t have the kind of skills that you or Emeth or Gxurab do, I can’t help if I stay here.”

“Your role is one of progressions; you can help most by staying here and finishing your lessons.”

“And how long did it take you to become an alchemist, or learn to talk to spirits?”

Crozea became evasive. “It took many a moon, but you learn quickly, and will be powerful soon.”

“I’m powerful now! Or can be, if somepony will let me!” Penumbra sighed in frustration and flopped back on her bed. “You just don’t understand.”

“The world out there is a dangerous place,” sighed Crozea. “And there are many dangers I hope you never need to face. Why would you want to leave this, when you do not know how the world truly is?” She lowered her eyes. “I cannot protect you from your dire fate. But there is no need to swim in a world of poverty and hate. Your course is in no need of correction; you must stay here, in the castle, where you can remain under its protection.”

Penumbra lifted her head. “So all I can ever be is what I am now? Then I don’t have any potential at all, do I?”

Crozea stood up. “You may not understand me, but this is the way it ought to be.” She moved toward the door, but paused. “Oh,” she said. “The steward informed me of your role in the diplomatic meeting. I thought that this might mean you are deserving of some treating.” She reached into her supplies and removed a small vial of a bright pink fluid. “This is a juice of several rare fruit, made so as not to interfere with the growth potion.” She set it on a small and otherwise empty end-table. “As a reward for doing your duty and controlling excessive emotion. You can have a sip as you wish, or on the morning; I will be here to meet you then, assigned to supervise your learning. So you really ought to prepare your head; lay down in those sheets and get to bed.”

Penumbra rolled over on the bed, facing the wall. “Yes, Lady Crozea. I understand.”

Crozea smiled, and closed the door as she left. Penumbra lay in her bed in the dark and the silence- -waiting.

Time passed. About an hour or so. Penumbra knew the routine well: that was about the amount of time for the breathing of her nurses and maids to slow. They were kept nearby, held in small rooms to be ready to prepare her as soon as necessary. In this case, Penumbra preferred that they stay asleep. In fact, it was critical.

She then promptly rolled out of bed and considered to silently roll all the way through the door and into the main room outside. When she reached it, she stopped rolling in the middle.

“Okay,” she said, taking a breath. “I can do this.”

She stood. The effect was immediate but barely perceptible: a flash dim flash of light that traced through a complicated but invisible symbol on the floor, as well as a strange tingling in her horn. In an instant- -and with disturbing silence- -Thirteen flashed into the room.

Penumbra held her hoof to her mouth to signal Thirteen to be silent- -a gesture that she immediately realized was ridiculous. Thirteen was always silent anyway.

“I’m just getting up to go for a walk. If you could just look the other way...” She produced a book and held it out to Thirteen. The title read “An Illustrated Guide to Rare and Ancient Crystal Empire Box Kites”. Stolen from the library, of course.

Thirteen stared at the book, and then slowly took it in her magic. She stared at Penumbra for a moment more, then flashed out of the room and back to wherever she had come from.

Penumbra let out a long sigh, but immediately and painfully stifled it when she heard one of her nurses shift in her sleep. For a moment, Penumbra was sure she would be caught- -but then the weeping started, and relief washed over her. That particular nurse always wept in her sleep, because she was the only one of her siblings who had not been sent to Al’Hrabnaz when they were children.

With Thirteen out of the way, Penumbra quickly moved to her mirror. It was dark, but with some effort she was able to light the tip of her horn bright enough that she was able to see herself clearly.

She was wearing no makeup, and without it she looked small and sickly. Her eyes were no longer as empty as they once had been, though, and they seemed to stare back at her with an inner light almost as strong as that in her horn.

“I am not a prop,” she said to herself as she summoned a cutting spell.

For a spell she had never done before- -or even known had existed until earlier that day- -Penumbra proved proficient with its use. Her mane had formerly been so long as to nearly reach her waist; when she was done, it was only a few inches at its longest and spiked forward. She had shaved the sides of her head, although the effect was different from what she had expected. It had been so long that she had forgotten that her mane and tail were not actually black; it had been some time since she had last been dyed, and the roots were still violet, pink, and a sort of yellowish-white. The effect of having colored fuzz was striking, though, and Penumbra decided she liked it.

She was also sure to cut off her tail almost to the dock.

This resulted in a substantial pile of sweet-scented black hair. While Penumbra re-applied her dark eye-makeup, she hid the hair in a container that probably served some function or another. She would figure out what to do with it later.

When she was done, she quickly moved to her closet and grabbed the armor that Emeth had made for her as well as a cloak. She put both on with only slight difficulty; after all, she rarely dressed herself.

After dressing, Penumbra returned to her room. She paused only a moment next to Crozea’s vial of juice; she leaned over and sniffed it. The scent nearly caused her to gag.

“UGH!” she gasped. “That is NOT like tea at ALL!”

She passed it by and tried to clear her nose. It reeked badly; to her, it smelled like poison. She had no idea how ponies could drink things like that.

When she reached the center of the room, Penumbra produced a small strip of paper. It had been hidden in her mane, a small piece of notes jotted down while she was in the library.

“Right. Eastern corner.” She walked toward where she thought east was, and stopped, looking down. She lit her horn and held it close to the floor, moving slowly across the surface and looking carefully. That was when she saw it- -a seem.

Penumbra smiled and grasped the crystal tile with her magic. She pulled it out of the ground and set it aside with extreme care. The resulting hole showed a number of complex channels. According to what little was documented about it, this had once been part of the supply for a now disused baseboard heater beneath the crystal.

What purpose beyond making the floor warm it had served, Penumbra did not know; she saw, however, that it led to several vents directly beneath the floor. Vents that somepony had once used to try to assassinate her.

They were too small for a pony to fit through. At least a normal pony. Penumbra was substantially thinner and more flexible than most, as was the armor that Emeth had built her. Her force-grown skeleton was uniquely cartilaginous, and Scarlet Mist’s acrobatic combat training had improved her flexibility. After some stretching, she found that she could force her head into one of the vents. With somewhat more effort, she was able to pull the remainder of her body into the vent and force herself through. As she did, she closed off the tile behind her, leaving no evidence that she had left.

Sombra had not built the Citadel. He had simply found it, a beacon of strange energy and warmth in the otherwise uninhabitable southernmost reaches of Hyperborea. Nopony knew who had constructed it, or what its purpose had been- -and as such, few if any knew the complete internal schematic.

There was not much time. There was a period at night where Eternity’s attention waned; with less ponies awake, she was able to increase her focus on finding Twilight Luciferian- -or looking into the bedrooms and larders of various ponies throughout the land to find who was doing the most aggressive cuddling or eating.

At only seventeen places did Penumbra nearly get stuck and trapped. Then the vent widened out, and Penumbra turned a corner- -to find herself facing a crystal pony.

The crystal pony stared back at her, then cried out in horror. “NO! You won’t take me back! Not now, NOT EVER!”

He then proceeded to scramble with unnatural speed through the ventilation duct, making a tremendous amount of noise and screaming all the way through. This was normal in the castle, as Penumbra heard several ponies swearing loudly and throwing heavy things against what part of the vent they could reach. One even shoved a spear through, nearly hitting Penumbra but missing her by the width of her nearly nonexistant tail.

The noise was the cover she needed, and she crawled quickly in pursuit of the vent-pony, using his noise to cover her own. She checked her map as she went. It was as detailed as she could have made it, but it was sorely incomplete. A significant amount of time and energy had been devoted to understanding how the magical circuits of the Citadel directed power from the Heart of Darkness, but nopony had ever bothered to map the air-handling system.

She knew where she was going, at least in a rough sense. There were vents that led outside, but those were not where Penumbra was headed. That would only get her to the courtyard, which was continually patrolled by both thralls and golems to prevent infiltration from Celestia or Nightmare Moon’s armies of tyranny.

There was no way to get out that way. Instead, Penumbra had calculated that her best chance was through Emeth’s utility tunnels. They were extensive and vast, feeding golems throughout the city as they were needed. Penumbra also knew golems, and that save for Emeth- -and potentially his children- -they were single-minded. Golems tasked with auto-distribution would not interfere with her. Probably.

Eventually the vents suddenly became wide, replaced with water canals and areas for rusted, corroding conduits that were no longer in service. It was in this place that Penumbra heard something.

She immediately backed against one of the walls into a small alcove, deactivating her horn-light in the process. The area was still filled with light, though dim, from the thick molds that grew on the walls. Something was splashing through the water.

Penumbra watched from her crevice as a pony came into view. She almost leapt out and grabbed him, thinking that she could finally catch the annoyance that kept moving through the vents at night. She barely stopped in time, though, when she saw that it was not a crystal pony at all.

Or, at least, not anymore. Maybe it once had been, but now its body was gaunt and deformed. It wore the dirty remnants of clothing, and Penumbra saw that it wore a mask. The mask had eyes like those of the thralls, but was much simpler, a previous design perhaps. The front of it contains a long black hose that extended out like a nose.

It might have been comical, had Penumbra not observed that the pony had pushed up the mask, exposing her mouth. It was wide and filled with numerous long, visible teeth.

The creature stopped, sniffing the air. It turned its head toward her hiding place and she ducked into the shadows. It made a sound as it moved closer, like desperate weeping. As it drew near, Penumbra began to plan her attack, though she was afraid. She had been trained to deal with ponies, not whatever this was. If it truly was a thrall, it was simply a matter of removing the mask- -but she did not want to see what the face beneath looked like.

Then it stopped suddenly as something even larger sloshed through the water. Penumbra looked just in time to see a massive, leprous tentacle pulling the creature quietly beneath the surface.

Penumbra stared out as the water stabilized. This was more dangerous than she had expected- -and already more exciting than she had planned. The day was indeed improving.

Penumbra emerged onto the streets with a pack of golems, and immediately separated from them, moving quickly to the shadows. One of them waved as she went.

It was the first time she had ever been in the city itself, and it was dizzying. Penumbra had seen the buildings from the deck of an artillery frigate during the military parade, but had never once- -nor expected to ever- -walk among them. They seemed so much taller from below, their enormous reflective facets stretching upward from the icy ground toward an endless sky. It made Penumbra extremely dizzy.

She had not gone far. The night was relatively clear, and the Citadel was still visible in the distance. No doubt she was still in the capital district; it would have taken her days to reach the outer portions of the Empire by walking alone, if there were even tunnels that went that far.

This was excellent. She could easily return before sunrise, assuming that whatever was in the tunnels did succeed in eating her. Since it was still barely six- -and completely dark- -that meant she had plenty of time to explore.

The hard part was not getting caught, and that was the part Penumbra was still concerned with. Even with a cloak that could hide her wings and horn, but it was still extremely obvious that she was not a crystal pony. She supposed all she needed to do was look as nondescript and normal as possible- -but she had no idea what a normal, nondescript pony looked like. She had never seen one.

She supposed the closest she knew was the way the maids walked, which was with their heads down so they would not accidentally meet the eye of their betters. Penumbra tried that, although she quickly found it was difficult to focus on the ground when there was so much city around her.

It was all far more sterile than she had expected. Everything was even, orderly, clean, dimly lit and quiet. Penumbra had expected peasants to be wandering around doing peasant things, but there was hardly anypony present. Just buildings made of crystal lit by dim greenish lights. If anything, it felt like just another extension of the castle. Just another room, but with a much higher ceiling.

The ponies, it seemed, were asleep. The lights in their buildings were out, save for the occasional flickery glow of an inferior-quality illumination crystal. It was remarkably quiet, which allowed Penumbra to move unhindered through the emptiness.

When she finally came to a place where there were ponies, she paused, wondering why there were so many in one place. At the same time, she moved closer, careful not to be spotted but driven by curiosity.

One of the ponies in the group cried out.

“Please stop!” The voice was that of a young colt, followed by a sudden stifled cry as he was punched in the gut.

“Shut it! Isn’t there supposed to be a curfew? You better get back to the dirty shack you live in or you’ll be up there too!”

“Yeah! If she didn’t want to be up there, she shouldn’t have defied the king!”

“It’s our DUTY as CITIZENS to punish dissidents!”

Another stifled cry as the colt was struck again. Penumbra loomed closer.

She found herself standing at the base of a crystalline tree. Below it were three non-crystal youths, two of them unicorns and one an exceedingly bulky Pegasus. The colt was a much smaller crystal pony, and he was not the only one. Others had gathered, peeking from the doors and windows of their houses, but not daring to approach.

It was what was hanging from the tree that drew Penumbra’s attention the most. It was a pony, hung there by her foot. She was bruised and slowly swinging.

“Stop hitting him,” she said. “Please, I beg you- -”

“Quiet, dissident!” One of the unicorn children hit her squarely in the face with a heavy stick. The dangling crystal pony only whimpered in response, and began to rotate. “If he’s going to interfere, we might as well string him up ourselves!”

“YEAH!” said the other unicorn, hitting the hanging mare repeatedly as she tried to shield herself. “Not let out your candy or SHUT YOUR MOUTH!”

“She doesn’t have any candy!” cried the colt, who was now beginning to tear up. “Please, just leave her alone!”

“Why are you beating this pony?”

All eyes turned suddenly toward Penumbra, and the overdeveloped Pegasus actually jumped. She had, as always, approached in complete silence. This had apparently surprised them.

“Because she’s a dissident!” said one of the unicorns, eyeing Penumbra closely. His expression softened- -but only by the slightest degree- -when he saw that she had a horn. “She defied the king’s orders. So she gets the pinata treatment!”

“It’s called ‘modum pinata’,” corrected the other unicorn. “You idiot.” He looked to Penumbra and grinned. He was thin and greasy, and probably similar to Penumbra’s apparent age. He approached her, trying to stand as tall as possible. “This was her punishment, as defined by my father, the subdistrict command officer. He’s a very important pony, you see.” He tried to peek under Penumbra’s hood, but she turned her head. “I don’t remember seeing you around here. Are you new to the district?”

“Can’t keep his horn in his hat,” muttered the Pegasus. Penumbra realized that she was probably female.

“What was her crime?”

The unicorn frowned. “Awfully interested in it, aren’t you?”

“I have never seen it before. Was she conspiring with the enemy, or plotting to overthrow the kingdom? Perhaps she is a heretic?”

The smaller unicorn laughed. “You really ARE new to the district!”

“Nothing like that happens here,” said the larger of the two. “The fear is stronger here. Keeps the worthless slaves in line. No.” He smacked the hanging mare in the flank, hard, causing her to squeal. “This one is a THIEF.”

“It’s not true!” cried the colt, who was promptly thrown on the ground.

“Toad, get the rope,” said the larger unicorn. “He’s interrupting his betters now.”

“Is the accusation untrue?”

The colt looked up. “Well...yes. But she had to do it! We- -we only get one potato every two days, but my little sister is sick! She’s just four, she can’t work if she doesn’t get better soon! My mom had to steal the extra potato! She just HAD to!”

“I have no idea what a potato is,” said Penumbra. “I am assuming it is valuable.”

“Not really.” The larger unicorn shrugged. “I had six for dinner. Berta had over twenty.”

“I did NOT!” cried the large Pegasus.

“But the rations are set by the KING. Slaves get one potato every two days, per family. That’s the king’s rule! Defying Sombra is the same as trying to overthrow the government!”

“King Sombra to you,” snapped Penumbra, causing the unicorn to recoil slightly. She looked up at him from beneath her hood- -or rather down; she was unusually tall- -and he became even more nervous when he saw the large amount of dark eye-makeup she wore.

“Yes. Of course. Hail the Witchking.”

“Hail the Witchking,” said the other unicorn and the Pegaus.

“Hail the Witchking,” said the colt, and the phrase passed as a murmur through the watching crystal ponies, who now were apparently listening as well as observing.

The unicorn held out his stick to Penumbra. “Do you want to take a wack at her? Berta was trying to knock her unconscious before, but she couldn’t manage it. Maybe you can? I mean, she is a Pegasus. Lesser race and all.”

“I have ears,” muttered Berta.

“Please,” whimpered the colt, looking up at Penumbra with watering and enormous eyes. “Don’t beat my mother, Lady unicorn. Please just let her be!”

Penumbra looked at the colt, and then at the stick. She pushed it away. This seemed to anger the unicorn holding it.

“What? Are you SOFT? You’re just going to let one of THEM defy the king?”

“I am not very soft. The force-growing process makes me bony. That said, I don’t like this.”

The three non-crystal ponies began to crowd Penumbra. “So you’re sympathizing with the shinies? You’re in dangerous water, filly. I’m the subdistrict commander’s son. Anything I do to you, I can get away with.”

Penumbra did not know if that was a joke or not, but took it seriously. As a pony of importance, he had likely experienced similar training to what she had endured. Though looking at the width of his legs, she wondered if that really was the case.

“Are you an academic?”

“Wh- -what?”

“I should not need to define it. Either way, it’s simple logic.” Penumbra pointed at the crystal mare. “You have one of our slaves tied to a tree. She can’t work from there, unless she wants to pick fruit. And her daughter is also unable to work until she heals. You are impeding the flow of progress and creating a detriment to the kingdom.”

“You’re just justifying. You don’t have the stomach for this, do you?” The unicorn shoved Penumbra, but seemed surprised when she did not move. He was amazingly weak.

“And if I AM?” Penumbra stepped forward, her composure deteriorating rapidly. This was her first- -and possibly only- -knight in the city, and she was wasting. “Perhaps I don’t like to see ponies getting hurt, even if they are slaves? Or maybe I don’t like to see a pony getting punished for HELPING somepony else? Why am I even bothering- -her sentence is commuted!”

She summoned a cutting spell and sliced the mare down, taking part of her tail along with the cord. The mare cried out and fell to the ground with a thud. The crystal ponies around gasped in surprise and terror.

The larger unicorn stared wide-eyed and in shock. Then he turned to Penumbra grinning.

“Oh, you have no idea what you’ve just done.”

“My aim was a bit off, I suppose. Still learning. I’ve only been able to use magic for a few days.”

The unicorns and the Pegasus brandished their sticks. “We’re going to have to make a citizen’s arrest, now. And once my father gets done with you- -pardoning one of HIS prisoners? How dare you- -”

“It was within my authority.”

“What- -WHAT?” this seemed to enrage the unicorn. “You’re going to say that to MY face? To the subdistrict comander’s SON?!”

“This pony is pardoned. Get out of my way, mortal.”

“That’s it,” said Berta. “This is boring! Time for a WHACK!”

She moved more slowly than Penumbra had even thought possible. Before she could even raise her stick, Penumbra had already reacted on instinct alone, performing an elegant upward flip and ramming one of her armored rear hooves directly into the Pegasus’s chin. She was hit so hard that she was knocked several yards backward, landing on the young crystal-colt. The blow had rendered her completely unconscious.

The smaller of the unicorns took a step back. “What- -what did she just do?! Berta, NO!”

“Shut it! SHUT IT! She’s just some pony, I’m the subdistrict commander’s- -”

“This pony is PARDONED,” said Penumbra, slowly.

“But you can’t- -”

Penumbra had become completely fed up with this whole pointless ordeal. She tore her cloak off and struck an angry-alicorn pose.

“This pony is pardoned because your princess DEMANDS IT!”

The street was immediately filled with screams of abject terror.

“MONSTER!” cried one of the crystal ponies.

“Run! RUN!” screamed another, tripping over his own children as he tried to flee.

“Get away, beast! GET AWAY!”

They were running, terrified, and Penumbra turned to see them- -and as she did, she was hit in the side of the face with a brick.

The force was substantial, and she took a step to one side. Then she slowly turned back to see the unicorn youth staring at her, hid whole body shaking. The brick was still suspended in his magic.

Penumbra reached up and clicked her jaw back into place, then spit several teeth. “You just hit me.”

“Sweet Epona, Del, you just hit the PRINCESS! The king’s DAUGHTER!” The smaller unicorn grabbed his friend. “We’re gonna be turned into thralls! THRALLS!”

“But- -but I’m the subdistrict commander’s- -”

“You idiot, he’s going to disown you for sure, just like your brothers! Now RUN, before it EATS US!”

The smaller unicorn pulled the larger along, and in a moment they were running and screaming just like the crystal ponies. The only ones that remained were the unconscious Pegasus, the colt, and the formerly dangling mare.

The mare, though woozy and dehydrated, looked up at Penumbra. Her eyes widened.

“NO!” she screamed, retreating until she struck the trunk of her tree. “Get back! GET BACK! Don’t hurt me, DON’T! I’m just a slave! Please, I have a family, don’t eat me!”

The colt wiggled his way out from beneath Berta and grabbed his mother. She immediately shielded him from Penumbra.

“You won’t take him! YOU WON’T!”

Penumbra only frowned. In the distance, she heard the sound of a group of thralls moving through the street. There were several flashes, and several crystal ponies cried out. Those who had not fled directly into their homes had been caught past curfew, and had been on the receiving end of electric blunt-spears.

The colt helped his mother up, and they fled. Before they vanished into the darkness, though, the colt gave one last look back at Penumbra. He said nothing, but the look in his eyes was not fear.

Penumbra saw the thralls emerging from down one of the streets. She picked up the unconscious Pegasus in her magic and chucked her into the crystal tree where hopefully she would not be found. Then Penumbra herself leapt onto the outer windowsill of a nearby building, then jumped from wall to wall until she was high on the roofs just as the thralls were passing.

The thralls had not seen her, but she had already wasted so much of her time on a pointless pursuit.

Chapter 30: Poison

Crozea could not sleep. It was not an unusual state for her; there were some nights where the moon and stars were out of alignment, and entire seasons where the spirits were just too strong. They came in the night, and when they came, it was dangerous.

On these nights she would often find herself in the arms of one who likewise could never sleep, although the spirits who haunted him were of a different sort entirely. On this night, though, he was spending time visiting his personal stable, as was his prerogative. Crozea felt no jealousy. Those mares were younger and more beautiful than she would ever be, and most importantly, they were ponies- -something else she could never be.

That was not what disturbed her, though. As she walked through the empty halls, she thought of Penumbra. Though her herbs were effective, there were no records of it being used to drive a pony- -or any creature, for that matter- -from a newborn to an adult in less than a year. It had simply never been done because no one had ever been depraved enough to use it like that. She was the first.

Yet there were changes. Changes that Crozea knew well. Although Crozea could no longer bear foals of her own, she had seen many, even helped to raise many. Back when she had dwelt on endless fields of golden grass, in lands of beautiful sunsets and the scent of the planes. Not as she did now, in a cold and icy place of crystal and conquest. But that had been so long ago.

Penumbra was growing, and growing fast. Her youth had been stolen from her, but it was still passing. She was becoming something more than a doll built from Eternity’s programming and Sombra’s rejected daughter. She was becoming a pony.

Which was the irony of it all. She was doomed to a terrible fate. At some point, Crozea knew, she would become like her, or like the others. Even if she survived, what it could do to her soul would be unfathomable. There were those who could withstand it, like Emeth or Buttonhooks, but they were naturally dissociated, long-since separated from the pony condition. And there were those already fallen, like herself or Scarlet Mist. And there were those who had become corrupted by it. Luciferian, Al’Hrabnaz, even Zither in his broken illusions of an endless breezietale. Penumbra would be like the others. Her father’s evil would break her, and the thing to arise in her place would be both powerful and terrible.

There was nothing Crozea could do to stop it. That fate was bound to her since her birth. It was the same as it had been the first day: when all she could do was save the girl’s life while taking everything else from her. All she could do now was keep her safe, to make what was left of her life of potential as happy as possible. Before she had to leave. To change. Or, as Sombra believed, to sacrifice herself for the sake of the kingdom.

This thought made her so very sad. She had thought she had lost that, when the spirits took her own life from her and gave her a cursed one in its place. This sadness, this empathy. Or perhaps it was only dormant.

What she wanted was not to be alone. To be wandering these empty halls. So she found herself outside Penumbra’s door, wanting to see her. Not to wake her; her life was busy enough, and no doubt sleep was the only reprieve from an existence she did not even realize was taxing and unnatural. She would just look at her. Watch her as she slept, while she was still young and innocent. Before she became the new Luciferian- -or was buried as a national hero.

It was at the door that she suddenly heard a blood-curdling scream. Without even thinking, she pressed her hoof against the door and rapidly spoke a spell. Yellow light flashed from her hoof, and the door splintered.

Crozea rushed in. Nurses in their nightclothes, barely dressed and bleary-eyed, were running confused toward the sound of the scream. Toward Penumbra’s room. The door was open.

Seeing it, Crozea rushed forward, prepared for the worst. For a repeat of what had happened before, except then, she had not been forced to see it. Thirteen had, but nothing affected Thirteen. She was like the others. Her mind had long ago become darkened with evil. But Crozea’s had not. If she saw it- -she did not know what she would do.

She threw open the door, and saw exactly what she expected. A pony lying on the floor, convulsing and foaming at the mouth. Except, Crozea realized- -just before her zebra heart was crushed- -it was not Penumbra. Rather, it was a pink-colored crystal pony.

“Facet! FACET!” cried one of the maids, pushing past Crozea and rushing to the girl’s side. The girl’s eyes rolled back, and her convulsions began to grow stronger.

The mare tried to hold the girl’s head in place. “Poison!” she cried. “It’s a deadly poison!”

“Move your hoof,” demanded Crozea, throwing the maid back by her forehead. She leaned over the convulsing slave. Though the crystal girl was simply an object- -and a cheap one at that- -seeing her lying there had been a profound sight. For just that one moment, it had not been a slave-girl named Facet. It had been Penumbra. That thought alone had motivated Crozea to act.

She drew an object from a pouch on one of the many belts of supplies run over her body. She held out a single tiny stone in her hoof, and the stone looked back at her. It ribbited in confusion.

“Toadstone! This girl, like you, is about to croak! Protect her from this deadly poison! So I have spoke!”

The stone nodded and jumped onto the girl’s face, quickly crawling up her nose. The girl’s eyes went wide and she tried to sit up, but Crozea held her down.

“What have you done?!” wailed the maid at her side. The others were crowding to door. Some were crying. All looked as though they were about to panic.

“Hold her down, you fob, if the toadstone is to do its job!”

The maid nodded and steeled herself. She held the girl down with Crozea, resisting the spasms and convulsions with just as much difficulty.

Then, suddenly, the girl screamed and collapsed. There were no more convulsions, and her body was covered in sweat.

“Though it was not fun,” said Crozea, slowly releasing her, “the work has been done.”

Facet tried to sit up, but tilted and fell back on the floor.

“The world may start to reel. Tell me, girl, how do you feel?”

The girl looked up, and burst into tears.

“I’m sorry! I’m SORRY! I didn’t mean to! Please forgive me, Lady Crozea! Don’t send me back to the mines!”

“She’s delirious,” said the other maid. “She needs to rest- -”

“No. She needs to come clean. Crystal filly, what do you mean?”

Facet covered her eyes with her hooves. “I- -I know it was hers, but it smelled so good! I couldn’t help myself! She didn’t drink any, I- -I didn’t think just one sip would hurt!”

Crozea raised an eyebrow, and Facet pointed. Crozea’s eyes followed the line of her hoof, and her blood ran cold when she saw one of her own vials half-empty and tipped on its side. A vial of tasty fruit juice.

“This is- -this is divine punishment,” whispered Facet. “I should have met my end. For stealing from her- -but now it’s the mines. The mines for sure. Oh Lady Crozea, why have you saved me? How can you be this cruel?”

“Such an interesting way to thank.” Crozea turned to Facet. “Tell me, crystal-mare. Was this what you drank?” She picked up the vial.

“I- -I’m sorry. Please don’t hurt me.”

“That must be the source of poison!” gasped the older maid. “But how? Who would have given her that?”

Crozea looked at the vial, because she knew exactly where it had come from. She lifted it and drank the remainder of the contents.

“LADY CROZEA!”

“Azide, arsenic, cyanide; methyl mercury, venom, and formaldehyde. A horrible wide-ranging brew, but even a single drop would kill you.”

“But you...you drank it...”

Crozea ignored her. Poisson, of course, would not kill her. It was a trait unique to her amongst all beings, though perhaps shared with Emeth, if the stories of his age were taken as truth. She was immune to poison, though Penumbra was not. At least probably not. It was impossible to know what was toxic to an alicorn, as there were so few of them. But whoever had planted these poisons had covered a wide range of sources, hedging their bets across several groups of poison. Yet their choice was primitive, using simple chemicals instead of more complicated herbs and plant toxins. Whoever it was was knowledgeable, but not a poisoner by nature.

“But to think, that they could somehow poison my own drink...”

The maid’s eyes went wide. “YOU gave that to her, Lady Crozea?”

Crozea felt sick. She indeed had- -but she had not placed the poison there herself. Yet, had it succeeded, the princeliness's fate would have been by her own hoof. The thought was simply intolerable.

That was when she realized something that should have been exceedingly obvious. She looked around the room and realized that something is missing.

“For all the commotion, we are one less. Where has gone the princess?!”

Chapter 31: A Night Out

Of course they had been afraid. Alicorns were cursed abominations, hideous unnatural things. The very representation of tyranny and torment. Celestia and Nightmare Moon, the twin rulers of the dystopia called Equestria. And Penumbra looked like them. By some accident of birth, she had been born into the same accursed race.

She knew that. She knew that she was a creature meant to inspire fear, a thing to be hated, just as the false-goddesses were. She existed to be hated, and in that hatred and fear she would stand as a shining beacon, a representation of her father’s power. Even if that meant that they would flee her presence when they saw her. Because she truly was a monster.

She knew this. Yet, somehow, and against her will, it still hurt. To have them scream and run, not because of anything she had done, but rather because of what she represented. Fear from the idea of Penumbra Heartbreak, not fear that she had earned by her own actions- -or refused to earn. Once again, the pony she was meant to be had superseded the one that she was.

It was humiliating, but it went deeper than that. The looks of fear on their faces- -it made Penumbra hurt on the inside. She understood that she was meant to be feared, but could not understand why she was not enjoying it.

She could also not fathom why she had helped a worthless slave. A thief, no less. A pony that had defied her father’s will. She should have picked up the stick and beaten that pony until the candy came out of her, but even the thought of it made Penumbra sick. There had to be a reason for it, but Penumbra did her best to ignore it. She did not want to think about it, or attempt to know. Whatever it was was something she knew she was not meant to know.

Her night was turning out far poorer than she expected. Instead of adventure, she had found a dark and largely empty city as well as confusing, heavy thoughts. She considered going back to the castle. It was obvious that Crozea was right; there was nothing of value beyond the Citadel’s icy walls.

That was when she smelled something. Penumbra had never before smelled the scent of food; as far as she knew, the Citadel had no kitchens. Yet when the distant scent of it wafted to her nose, her mouth immediately started to water. She felt a strange sensation in her stomach, but did not recognize it; it felt nothing like getting punched.

She stopped staring wistfully at the dark sky from the roof of a crystal building and jumped to the ground, using her largely decorative wings to slow her descent as she went. A patrol of thralls had just passed, but they did not turn as Penumbra silently followed the strange odor.

What she came to was on the very edge of the district, beyond which there was nothing but the central field battery; it appeared as empty, flat darkness. Light was coming from one of the buildings, though, and so was the smell.

Penumbra looked up at the sign. It was written in both Equestrian, griffish, and of course Crystallic. It read “The Salt Crystal”. From the sounds of it, there were ponies inside.

Entering would be a mistake. If Penumbra did, she was sure to be caught. But it was the only thing she had found in the whole district that did not depress her- -and it smelled so nice.

Against her own better judgment, she walked to the door. As she entered, two ponies in officer’s uniforms nearly pushed her over as they passed.

“Watch it, kid!” growled one.

“Can you believe the filth they let in this place?” hissed another.

Penumbra was about to say something, but the two passed into the night and were gone. She also realized that they might not have been talking about her.

The building was large on the inside, consisting of one large room with multiple supports, at least on the first floor. Several bright crystal lanterns glowed with orange-yellow energy, but in one area a fireplace had been lit. It was the first time Penumbra had ever seen fire, even if she could instantly tell that this one was a magical projection. There was no wood in the Crystal Empire, except in the southern regions; all of it was considered to belong to the king.

The right side of the room consisted of a long bar with shelves of numerous bottles and jars behind it. The other side consisted of tables. Most of those, Penumbra found, were populated by griffons.

Many of them were obvious mercenaries, wearing the armor and bearing the weapons of many distant cultures and places. Amongst them, though, were several substantially larger griffons with gleaming, owl-like eyes. Penumbra recognized them; they were Zither’s griffons-at-arms, the vedmak soldiers. She had never before realized how much larger and stronger than normal griffons they were, or how terrifying they truly looked in comparison. Even the griffon mercenaries seemed to be afraid of them.

Penumbra quickly checked- -both apprehensively and with the slightest glimmer of hope- -to see if Zither himself were present. He had by now returned from YakYakistan, probably with a report to the king. Seeing that he was not present, Penumbra decided that his associates had simply stopped here to celebrate- -although they looked more like they were brooding.

Still, Penumbra decided that it was probably best to avoid them. She instead made her way to the bar, where several ponies were sitting. A crystal pony in diplomatic colors was moving behind the bar, rapidly providing both drinks and salt.

Penumbra sat down at one of the seats near a Pegasus who was nearly laying on the bar. As she climbed up, something squeaked near her hoof.

“HEY! Watch it, ugly horse!”

“What?” Penumbra looked down at the bar and saw what she at first took to be a large bug. ON closer inspection, though, she determined that it was a breezie. An extremely wobbly breezie.

“My apologies,” she said. “I almost made a mess out of you.”

“Who are you calling a MESS?! I’ll have you know I’m- -whoa...” He nearly tipped over. “I’ll have you know I’m...um...ugh...” He collapsed onto the crystal of the counter. “BARPONY!” he cried. “I need more!”

The bartender looked up. “Sir. Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

“NO! Pour me another! Before I crawl up your nose and squeeze your cerebellum so hard you dance the tarantella!”

“Just give him another,” groaned the flame-haired Pegasus who had previously seemed unconscious. “His voice...it’s so squeaky. And it’s not like we have jobs to go to.”

The bartender sighed and rolled his eyes. He produced a jar of cider- -another commodity Penumbra had never before witnessed- -and an eyedropper. He then proceeded to careful place three drops into a thimble that had been placed out for the breezie. The breezie took the thimble and quickly drained it. He then flopped on his side.

“Why don’t we have this stuff?” he slurred. “If we had this...we could...ugh...”

“Who would have thought it would come to this?” sighed the Pegsus. “I was once the greatest weather engineer ever...and now I’m in this filthy bar with a Celestia-darned BREEZIE. I’m too depressed to even flirt with that ugly unicorn.” He pointed to Penumbra.

“Aye!” said a voice on the other side of Penumbra. She heard something jump onto the bar. “Indeed, life can be a thing of great hard! Like a slab of granite, in a rock-like color, or maybe white! A rock indeed, not smooth and greasy like lard!”

The breezie cried out and wept, rolling on his back. “I can’t do this anymore! Skyflame, Skyflame, you have to do it! Squish me! It’s the only way!”

“No, Dracun! I can’t! I just can’t!” he began to weep too, holding the breezie at his side. “There has to be a better way! We just have to hold on a little longer, until we’re too salted to hear him!”

Penumbra turned and looked up. She realized that she recognized the pony standing on the bar, if only distantly. His over-worn but roguish clothing, his fluffy gray mane, the sword on his back- -he was Holder Heartfelt, Nine of Thirteen.

“For the last time, Holder, keep off the bar!”

“Oop. Sorry.” He climbed back down. It was apparent that he was both salted and cidered, and he smelled of both strongly. He could barely stay on his stool. “My excitement got the better of me, like a rock, the kind that grows in a tree! But when said tree is kicked, and the rock falls, one knows it must be licked!”

The breezie and Pegasus burst out in tears again. “Dracon! I was WRONG! I’ll squish you, if you squish me first! It’s just so BAAAAAAAD!”

Holder wobbled and looked down at Penumbra. Although his fluffy mane was dark gray and his coat not much different in shade, his eyes were incredibly blue. Penumbra instantly knew that coming here was a terrible mistake; she had been caught. It was all over.

“Such a fair maiden unicorn!” gasped Holder. “Like a chunk of basalt, except with a horn! Not that basalt cannot have a horn, because I’ve seen many a thing under a shed, and will see more, till the day I’m dead! But unlike you, basalt is not born!”

“It burns!” whimpered the Breezie.

“Holder!” snapped the bartender. “If you keep disturbing the paying customers, I’ll throw you out AGAIN. Don’t flirt with ponies. You’re an ugly earth-pony and no one likes you.”

Holder’s expression fell. Even his hair seemed to deflate. “Oh. Sorry.”

“You are Holder Heartfelt,” said Penumbra.

Holder seemed to reinflate instantly. “You’ve heard of me?!” His eyes became tremendously wide. “Perhaps you’ve acquired a copy of my latest book of poems?”- - He pronounced it like “poims”- - “Or maybe you were at my recital?” He leaned back in his stood, suddenly no longer wobbly. “A fan! A real FAN! Take that, Halite, I knew I had at least ONE!” He made a rude gesture at the bartender and swiveled to Penumbra. “And you came all this way to see me! Like how a beautiful smooth rock will always return to its master, no matter if it’s burrowed in loam, on a plate, or in plaster!”

“You are a member of the Dark Thirteen.”

Holder’s expression fell again. “Oh. You came for that...”

“You are, aren’t you?”

Holder sighed and lay his head on the bar. “Yes. No. Not really. Sort of. It’s a formal title. But I’m not the same as the others. I’m just an earth-pony, after all.”

“And nopony’s thrown you out yet?”

Holder winced. Then, far more loudly than he should have said it, he yelled out a rhyme: “Aye, and your words wound me like sand, shoved by more impressive ponies into my eyes or orifice; yes, indeed I have this office, and am but a clay-wad in a over-tilled land!”

“I think they’re afraid he’ll try to poetry at them,” groaned Skyflame, covering his ears. “Because he does that. CONSTANTLY. It’s about all he CAN do.”

“I am a poet! And a lover of mares! For a mare, she is like a rock! Slightly angular, and tasting of dirt! A hard fuzzy thing, shoved in a shirt! And able to knock one topside if put in a sock!”

“Yet you stay in a bar all day doing nothing productive for the kingdom.”

Holder seemed taken aback by Penumbra’s words and nearly fell off his stool. “You’re mean. You know that, right?”

“Each of the Dark Thirteen serves our divine king in a special way. We- -they, I mean- -each have a purpose. I just don’t understand what yours is.”

Holder became evasive. “I write beautiful poems. Is that not enough?”

“How to poems conquer our enemies?”

“By LOVE!” Holder stood atop his stool, revolving slowly. Penumbra found it disturbing how agile he was when he wanted to be. “Because love is the driving force behind all things! Love and rocks! Boulder and I have traveled all over this fine land, writing epic poems, sad poems, and most importantly LOVE poems! And romancing quite a few mares along the way.”

“Boulder?” Penumbra looked around.

Holder dropped back into his stool. “Yes. Of course! Honestly, without him to bounce my ideas off of, my poems would be simply terrible!” He reached into his vest and produced a small dark-colored stone.

“A rock?”

“A boulder,” corrected Holder. “But just a little one.” He set the stone on the bar and looked at it expectantly. He then giggled slightly. “Oh, Boulder! You can’t say that in front of a lady! That limerick is just too severe!”

“I see,” said Penumbra, slowly. “So you’re insane.”

“He’s an earth-pony,” mumbled Skyflame. “They’re basically pony-shaped potatoes. They grow up from the ground. Does it surprise you that some of them learn to talk to rocks?”

“Skyflame,” moaned the breezie. “Can I have belly wubs?”

“For the last time NO! You’re effeminate, but not THAT effeminate!”

“Barpony! Give Skyflame drinks until he thinks I’m adorable! Actually, I have secretions that can make that go faster...”

Penumbra ignored the two. She was more curious about Holder. He, like her, seemed to be in a separate class from the other Dark Thirteen members. He was separate, different, and given not even the slightest hint of responsibility- -yet at the Arena, none had dared to challenge him, the weakest of them all. Penumbra wanted to know why.

“I don’t understand,” said Penumbra. “Love. What is it? Is that what you do?”

Holder gasped. “You don’t know what LOVE is? Well I can show you!”

“HOLDER!” cried the bartender. “NO. Touch her and I beat you. AGAIN.”

“Not by touching! In SONG!”

“Sweet Epona no...”

Holder leapt off his chair and landed on the floor. He immediately produced an instrument from his fluffy mane and strummed it. It was so out of tune that it made Penumbra’s teeth hurt.

“How about some luting?” he giggled. He strummed it again. The griffons near him seemed to be growing agitated. “Love is a rock! It is hard, roundish, and filled with grains of feldspar- -”

In an instant, one of the vedmaki was on top of him. The lute fell to the floor and was promptly stomped to death by several individuals.

“My lute! I got that as a gift from a mare who threw it at me- -”

“Listen to me, you infernal tail-licker,” snapped the vedmak, lifting Holder off the ground by his shirt collar. “Look at my head. Do I look like I have ears?”

“Um...”

“I don’t. None of us do! But they’re still bleeding from your TERRIBLE poetry.”

“We just ran an operation in YakYakistan,” growled another, standing from his table. “Had to deal with smelly, hairy communists all day. Yak’s aren’t monsters, they’re not in our job description!”

“We’re just here to unwind. And we can’t do that with you caterwauling!”

“So you cannot appreciate art. I would never call you an uncultured boor, who smells like a fart, or some sort of mildew spoor. Your brain is in itself a fine river stone: smooth, free of wrinkles, thick and hard as bone.”

The griffon’s eyes narrowed. “I think you’re making fun of me.”

“My best friend is a stone. And he figured that out before you did.”

The crack of a griffon fist against Holder’s face was so resounding that even Penumbra winced. Holder was sent sailing across the room, pushing through several tables as he went before he finally stopped at the far wall.

“Not indoors!” cried the barkeep, who was immediately silenced by the point of a silver sword held inches from his neck.

“If it’s a debate on art you want,” said the lead griffon, drawing his own sword, “then I will show you how I personally deal with critics. Draw your blade, earth-pony. Show that you at least have some dignity.”

Holder looked up, groggy from the blow. “It’s just for show,” he said. “I have no idea how to use it. It makes me look more manly.”

“Ugh. A poet who disgraces his sword. You sicken me.” The griffon stepped forward, elegantly swinging his sword. “But I intend to eat my weight in your inferior pony salt. I think it will improve everyone’s experience if I slice this particular potato.”

With a single swift motion, Penumbra jumped to the space between the two of them, interposing herself between the vedmak and Holder, taking a defensive stance as she did.

“I won’t let you hurt him,” she said, charging her horn.

“No,” moaned Holder. “Just let him do it. He’s right. We’d all be better off.”

“NO. I refuse to allow a comrade to be hurt like this, even if he is...well, you.”

“Out of my way, ugly pony girl. Our grimoires classify your kind as a type of monster; I can deal with you eight ways before you can even summon the simplest spell.” He turned the flat of his silver sword toward Penumbra, and she saw the strange runes glowing in its side.

“No. He is a critical resource to the kingdom. Probably.”

“I am not in the mood to be forgiving.”

“And I am never forgiving. Fight me, adorable kitten-sparrow.” She summoned a shield spell and a blade. It was vastly easier than it had been before, but that only meant she had no idea how to actually use them.

The vedmak shrugged, though he seemed confused by the impromptu insult. “Then I fight you I shall.”

“I would not, Gemen,” said a familiar voice. “Unless you like losing.”

Penumbra did not look away from her opponent. She had been hit in the face with various blunt and sharp objects far too many times by Scarlet Mist to consider it. Besides, she knew who had spoken.

Zither stepped into view. Penumbra realized, much to her wing’s tingliness, that he was not wearing his armor- -and that he was incredibly well-built. The only way he could have possibly improved it is if he had been naked. Instead, he was wearing a mildly frilly shirt, a cravat, and a kilt.

“This isn’t your business, Heartstrings,” growled the griffon. “Just slaying another monster. Then I’m going to poke that dirty earth-pony poet.”

“There shall be no poking.” Penumbra felt his magic suddenly grasp her cloak, and in an instant she was stripped of it. Being stripped partially naked by Zither caused her wings to completely lose control, and they shot upward, fully erect.

“NAKED!” she cried, her spells collapsing as she covered herself.

“This is princess Penumbra Heartbreak, who defeated the dark-mage Twilight Luciferian in open combat and who had the indomitable strength of will to remove the Mask of Red Death from her own face.”

“Yeah!” cried Holder, suddenly overly excited. “She’s the most powerful sorceress in ALL the kingdom!”

“No, you idiot! Don’t say the ‘S’-word- -!”

It was too late. Penumbra was instantly thrown to the ground covered in a pile of mutant griffons. Each and every one of them had begun to purr loudly.

“Sorceress?”

“Sorceress!”

“Who! WHO!”

One of the most owl-like of the group had begun to randomly hoot, turning his head at strange angles.

“Great,” sighed Zither. “You’ve gotten Gruber owling. Do you all realize how young she is?”

One of the griffons gasped. “We can raise her as our daughter!”

Zither produced a leather pouch in his magic. He shook it. “Do you know what this is?”

Every one of the griffon’s eyes turned to it, and grew incredibly wide.

“Coin?”

“Coin!”

“COIN!”

“Go get it!”

Zither threw the pouch, and instantly the furry and purring weight of the griffons was lifted from Penumbra’s tiny body. The griffons bounded across the floor at the sound of jingling golden coins.

Penumbra stood up quickly. “Lord Heartstrings,” she said, hurriedly bowing. “I see you are...um...here. Where I also am. But am not really. Because I’m not allowed to leave the Citadel and all.”

Zither sighed again. “Yes clearly. A stallion leaves to visit the bathhouse for half an hour, and returns to this? Of all things...of all the places for you to be!”

“I could have taken them.”

“I do not doubt it! But the question is not ‘could’, but ‘SHOULD’. And, for that matter- -” He glared at Holder. “Some ponies should fight their OWN battles instead of relying on little girls to do it for them.”

“One, she’s not little,” protested Holder, his face scrunching. “Two, I was doing fine! And of course third- -I had no IDEA she was the princess!”

“If you put one hoof on her supple hide- -”

“Oh, so you’re allowed to call the princess ‘supple’ and I’m not allowed to even touch her?!”

“So you WERE thinking about touching this innocent flower! You FIEND!” He turned back to Penumbra. “Not that I doubt your power as a sorc- -as a mage, but as a maiden you have a certain level of honor that my chivalry obligates me to defend.”

“It’s okay. Stallions fighting over me kind of makes me tingle.”

“A proper maiden does NOT ‘tingle’- -nay. Never mind! We shall not delve into that topic!” He sighed again, and looked exceedingly tired. By this time the griffons were squabbling in what Penumbra supposed was their native language, trying to negotiate who got what amounts of coin as they grew increasingly annoyed. “Regardless. While I am thinking about what recourse to take for this...situation...I require a stiff drink. And while you’re here, you might as well have one as well while you wait.”

Holder suddenly stood up. “Can I have one?”

“Buy your own, imbecile.”

“But I have no monnnnneyyy!”

“Then go liberate some border towns! Or better yet, go to the mines where a rock-horse like yourself belongs!”

“They kicked me out...they said a pony shouldn’t do that kind of things to a crystal. But they were so pretty!” Zither raised an eyebrow, and Holder wilted. “Also they may not have appreciated my poetry...”

Zither rolled his eyes and led Penumbra to the bar. Upon seeing him, the breezie and Pegasus pony immediately packed up and left. Zither sat to Penumbra’s right, and Holder took a seat to her left.

“Cider for myself and the girl,” he said, “and salt for myself.”

“Can I have salt?” asked Penumbra.

“NO,” snapped Zither. “Can you not see the depth of trouble I now find myself in? Giving a little girl salt would only worsen my predicament...”

“Cider for me too!” cried Holder. “For cider, tis like a spider, and also a clock, because tis hard as a rock!”

“Rhyme again, and I will break you,” snapped Zithter. “I have already had to handle a yak in the past twenty-four hours. The only reason I am tolerating your presence is because I am exceedingly tired from the numerous baths I have had to take.” He turned sharply to the barkeep. “WELL?”

The barkeep suddenly looked exceedingly nervous, a complete departure from how outright flippant he had been with Holder. “Yes sir!” he said, bowing to both Zither and the Princess. “It shall be our finest, free of charge, of course!”

“I never get free stuff,” muttered Holder.

Penumbra watched the barkeep go, and then turned to Zither. “Are you going to tell the king?”

Zither groaned. “See, princess, that is the awkward position you have placed me in. The king never explicitly forbade you from exiting the castle. The logic is that if you meet your demise out here, you were not worthy of being a princess anyway.”

“Wait...then why am I not allowed outside?”

“That is the decision of your caretakers.” Zither shrugged. “Crozea, I suppose.”

Penumbra frowned. “I had not realized that...”

“Additionally, by Imperial Law you are now my equal. You have taken that skinny white fool’s place.”

“But Holder is also your equal.”

Zither snorted. “Hardly. The pony who sits to your left is not worthy of your respect, or that of anypony.”

“I don’t understand.”

Zither’s eyes grew hard, as did Holder’s. “Pray you never do.”

The bartender quickly arrived with several drinks on his back. He placed a small and exceedingly fancy glass filled with some sort of unpleasant looking fluid in front of Penumbra, and a large mug and small plate of salt in front of Zither. To Holder, he gave a dish of a horrible reeking fluid with a rock in it.

“Hey! This isn’t cider!”

“No. It’s rock soup. Because it’s all you can afford.”

The bartender bowed to Penumbra and Zither, and then went about cleaning a few feet away.

“The jokes on him,” muttered Holder. “Rock soup is my FAVORITE soup.”

“Pity you cannot hold a spoon.”

Holder muttered under his breath and stared at his soup, quickly realizing that Zither was correct. As an earth-pony, the ingestion of soup with a utensil other than a straw was a nearly insurmountable problem. So he just started to lap it out of the dish.

Zither sighed and grasped his mug with one claw. He lifted the tankard and took a long swig.

Penumbra turned to her own glass and stared at it. It did not smell like tea, or like potion. It was something entirely new before.

Then, turning her head so fast that she nearly spilled her cider with her horn, she turned back to Zither.

“Wait, WHAT?!”

Zither, still drinking from his tankard, turned his golden eyes toward her...and then slowly back to his claw, that she was staring at. Penumbra had not noticed it before, simply because she had not been looking- -because she had no cause to look- -but both of Zither’s front limbs terminated in griffon-like claws instead of hooves. That, and they were both clearly made of mechanical parts partially covered with ceramic plates and metal armor.

She looked down and saw that his legs were the same: like that of a griffon’s rear paws, except made of metal. Even his tail was long with a tuft.

Zither lowered his tankard. “I’m sorry,” he said, softly. “Please forgive me. You have never before seen me devoid of my regular armor. I had forgotten that you did not know.”

“What- -what happened?!”

Zither’s expression became distant, and he looked down at one of his claws. He flexed the fingers slowly, and they clicked back and forth, their mechanical portions whirring and churning just beneath the armored surface. “That is a long story. A sad story.”

“Please,” said Penumbra, leaning forward, partially in awe- -and partially in fear. For some reason, she knew that the machines were more than just his legs and tail. That, hidden beneath his armor, there was far less of a pony than she had ever dreamed. At the thought of it, her heart swelled with pity- -and from that pity, intense attraction.

Zither sighed and turned away, gripping his drink with one claw as he looked forward at nothing in particular. “Did I not tell you, the first time we met, that I had once witnessed Celestia? That I had challenged her?”

“I assumed it was a figure of speech.”

“It is not. Nor was I lying when I said your beauty surpasses hers. But this...this accursed body. It is the result of that encounter.”

Penumbra inhaled sharply. The machines that made his lower half were not something he was born with, as Emeth was, or a part meant to correct a deficit acquired at birth. Nor were they something voluntary, in the way that Buttonhooks lacked rear legs and wore numerous pieces of rusting metal inserted into his body. These components were prosthetic. They were meant to replace something that was lost.

“She took everything from me,” growled Zither, his claw tightening around the mug. “My Order refused to stand against her, our ancient enemy. Only I had the courage to, to lead my band in an ambush. But we were betrayed. And everything I held dear was taken from me.”

“Your body.”

Zither nodded. “I was struck down by a single flash of her magic before I could strike a single blow. And I would only have needed but one. My band was lost, and I was expelled from my Order for standing up for honor and tradition, something they discarded long ago. But that is not even the worst of it. I could have withstood that. But that hideous horse took something that makes such things seem trivial.”

Penumbra’s eyes widened. “What was that?”

“My griffon,” he whispered. He continued to stare forward, and his grip on his tankard grew tighter. “A scribe, who insisted on following me everywhere, despite my endless protests. Recording my deeds. A true poet, a griffon of unimaginable beauty, with a kind and pure soul. A timid soul, but one capable of oh so much bravery. A griffon I loved more than any pony or creature I ever have, or that I will ever meet again.”

Penumbra felt a strange shock go through her. She saw the mistiness in his eyes, how he was nearly moved to tears- -yet she suddenly felt deeply jealous, and hated herself for it. “She must have been an amazing person.”

“He was.”

Penumbra immediately felt a completely different kind of shock, and felt her face redden. Instead of feeling jealous, she now felt incredibly awkward- -and rather crushed.

“I warned him,” said Zither, looking down at the crystal of the counter. “I warned him not to come. That it was too dangerous. But he refused, the idiot. Always stubborn. He refused to leave my side. And the blast...the blast that took my body, my life...it took...it took...”

His grip suddenly tightened so hard that the tankard he was holding exploded in his grasp. Penumbra ducked, barely avoiding the shrapnel, but Zither remained impassive. “Celestia stole from me my beloved. And for that, one day I shall slay her in the name of Sombra.” His expression grew incredibly dark, and Penumbra suddenly felt afraid, as if she was no longer looking at the face of a pony but staring into that of something far more terrible. “And she had the gall,” he whispered. “The GALL to stand over me, pretending to be concerned. Keeping me alive with her magic. Denying me an honorable end...the insult. You will never comprehend. I pray to every goddess save her that you never do.”

Holder looked up from his soup. “I think the little princess is just surprised to learn that you like cocks.”

Penumbra squeaked as her entire body turned a deep shade of red. Her wings involuntarily sprung outward so hard that it hurt. “I- -no- -I never- -it is only- -I am NOT SURPRISED!”

“Aye,” said Zither, nonchalantly dipping one of his claws into his salt and licking the white powder off. “Although the hens of course have many noble attributes, there is nothing in this world like a big, strong griffon cock.”

Holder shoved his face into his soup so that his laughter was reduced to little more than foul-scented bubbles.

“What?” Zither seemed somewhat offended. “Holder, you knew I like cocks, why is this...” His eyes suddenly narrowed. “You are making fun of me, aren’t you?”

Holder pulled his face out of his soup, still laughing. Penumbra barely managed to press herself against the counter in time to avoid an even more extreme haircut from Zither’s blade. Though fast, Holder dodged it with disturbing fluidity.

“COCKS!” he cried. “And you call that a ‘long story’? It was barely a paragraph! Why, the very least you could do is set it to rhyme- -EEP!”

Penumbra suddenly pushed him from his chair and onto the floor.

“How could you make fun of him like that?!” she demanded. “That was a serious, heartfelt story about losing somepony he cared about! And you made a joke out of it? What’s wrong with you?!”

Holder picked himself up and stared at Penumbra with a disturbingly hardened expression. As if the guise of levity had been stripped from him entirely.

“So you’re going to be mean to me to. Figures.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you. Actually I did. I apologize for lying. But you deserved it!” She swiveled to Zither, and actually found herself sniffling.

“Princess,” he said. “Are you crying?”

“No,” she lied. “It’s just that- -that your story makes me hurt. Inside. I don’t know why, but, I know if I lost somepony like that...” She sniffled again. “It’s just...just...”

“Sad,” said Zither, softly. “What you feel now is sadness. And I apologize for making you feel that way. But there is no reason for it. Gallen was lost because of my own failure. The fault lies on me, and I must bear it. There is no reason for you to cry.”

“I’m not crying. And...that doesn’t make it feel any better. You’re in so much pain...I just wish there was something I could do.” She lay her head on the table. “You, Scarlet Mist, Gxurab, you’re all in so much pain. And I don’t know how to help you.”

Holder picked himself up and set himself back on the stool. “Maybe you’re not supposed to,” he suggested. He sighed. “Zither, she’s right. I’m sorry. It’s just...your story made me sad too. And uncomfortable. I was trying to lighten the mood, but I guess my timing was bad.”

“Indeed. The joke was good, but the timing astoundingly poor. You are lucky to keep your head.” Zither’s eyes slowly turned. “But I do appreciate the gesture, I suppose. You simply do not understand. You have never had anyone to lose.”

“No,” said Holder, looking down at the table. “No one at all.”

“You have Boulder,” said Penumbra, looking up even though her chin was still on the bar. “I know it’s not the same, but imagine if somepony hurt him.”

Holder paused, clearly thinking. “You know...you’re pretty smart for a teenager.”

“I’m less than six months old.”

Holder paused, and then moved one barstool over. “Of course you are.”

“It’s my own fault,” said Zither, turning on his stool. The vedmaki griffons were now playing some sort of card game with the smaller mercenaries, and had in the process lost most of the bits they had haggled over before. “This is a time of celebration. We have liberated YakYakistan, and ended the threat of our nearest foul neighbor. This is meant to be a time of celebration.”

“But how can you celebrate when you’re so sad? I can hardly get up, and I only HEARD your story.”

Zither’s smile fell, but then was quickly back- -though weaker, and more distant. “You learn to live. If, someday, you learn to love? Then you might come to understand it too.” He turned and looked over his shoulder, barking at the bartender. “YOU! Bring me more cider!” He threw more pillaged bits on the table. “And spiced catnip tea for my griffons.”

“Tea?” Penumbra sat up. “Where?”

“It’s on its way,” said the bartender. “But first...” He placed a small, plain dish in front of Penumbra. At first she thought it was salt, but then saw that it was something else. A thing that was completely foreign to her.

“A cupcake for the princess,” he said. “A gift from our cook.”

“I know what a cup is. This is not a cup.”

“No,” laughed Holder. “It’s a cake. A little one.”

“What is this cake of which you speak?”

“It’s the reason why Celestia is so obese.”

“Aye,” said Zither, nodding solely. “She is indeed a hefty lass.”

“Are you making fun of ME now?” Penumbra looked up at Holder, and he recoiled.

“NO! It’s food! You know, like something you eat?”

“I don’t eat.”

“You don’t...how? Is that why you’re so thin?”

“I have only ever had growth potion and tea. Also whatever this is.” Penumbra took a sip of her cider and nearly retched. “Which is AMAZINGLY terrible!”

“You’ve never had solid food?”

“No.”

Holder deflated somewhat. “Well, now I’m sad.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Just try it.” Holder pushed the cupcake closer to Penumbra. “These things are INCREDIBLY valuable. This is probably the only cupcake in the whole kingdom right now. Zither has pillaged entire CITIES for even a few grams of sugar. So you might as well enjoy it.”

“How?”

“I’m not going to teach you how to eat.”

“Holder,” said Zither. “You ought not feed the princess. Her dietary restrictions are very specific- -”

Penumbra stretched out her long alicorn tongue and poked the frosting of the cupcake with it. It was as close to eating as she could come.

Then she tasted it. It did not taste like a potion, or like tea. Penumbra’s eyes widened, and her whole body seemed to cease. Her brain shut down piece by piece, simply to save itself from the sensory overload. It was the most amazing thing she had ever tasted; in fact, most likely the most amazing thing possible. It superseded all things in life, excelling past any happiness she had ever known. It was perfection, and Penumbra felt herself melting away into nothing in its very presence.

She opened her eyes, confused as to why she was naked, why her face hurt, and why she was lying outside under the bright moon- -and in a crystal thornbush.

“Princess!” called Holder, seeming exceedingly distant. “Princess, where are you?!”

“Ugh,” groaned Penumbra, trying to sit up and failing badly. “Where am I indeed...”

Holder rounded a corner and laughed upon seeing the princess in a shrub. “There you are! How did you get all the way over here?”

Zither appeared behind him, looking exceedingly pale.

“Thank the Hammer,” he sighed, “the king is going to have my head for allowing this, if we had lost you- -”

“We didn’t lose her, she’s right here.” Holder grabbed one of Penumbra’s hooves and began to pull. Being in a thorn bush, this did not amount to much apart from pain.

“Why am I outside?” asked Penumbra, her head aching badly. “Also naked. And in a thorn bush. Stop pulling, it’s clearly not working!”

Zither ran to her side and levitated her out of the bush with her magic. Several branches were clinging to various parts of her body, and the act of being turned over made the whole world swim. Unaccustomed nausea nearly overwhelmed Penumbra, and when she was set down she dropped to her knees.

“Princess!”

“I’m fine. Just...ugh. Why do I feel like I ate a stoat? And my head...”

“Well, you did get punched in the face. Repeatedly.”

Penumbra looked up in shock, nearly passing out in the process. “What? By whom?”

“Griffons, mostly. But oh mane, it was simply EPIC! I have never seen a pony party so hardy in all my LIFE!”

“But I didn’t party. I just licked a cupcake.”

“No. You ate half of it,” said Zither, frowning. “Which was perhaps the gravest mistake of my career, allowing you to have that much sugar.”

Penumbra was beginning to understand. “What did I do?”

Zither blushed. “Well, you see...”

“You stripped off all your clothes and started dancing on a table,” said Holder. “You called it your ‘princess dance’.”

“What?” Penumbra stood up suddenly, wobbling substantially. “I would never- -!”

“He is not incorrect,” sighed Zither. “You did. There was a substantial amount of...er…gyration.”

“He means you were shaking your rump. Hard.”

Penumbra felt herself darkening several shades of red. “I see. Was I any good?”

“Excellent, really,” said Holder. Zither glared at him, and he quickly changed his tone. “Then a griffon grabbed your rump.”

“Oh.” Penumbra actually found herself somewhat liking that thought. “Did I enjoy it?”

“Apparently not, because you punched him so hard his teeth came out.”

“Griffons do not have teeth,” said Zither.

“You would know. So you knocked teeth INTO him! Then his friends all started beating you, and you handed their rumps back to them. Then the vedmaki joined in, and everypony else- -it was the biggest brawl I’ve ever SEEN! From under a table, of course. After all, I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

Penumbra groaned and leaned backward, inadvertently falling into the thorn bush again.

“That’s the last time I EVER eat solid food,” she moaned. Zither picked her back up and put her on her legs. He was carrying her armor, or what he could find of it, and put her cloak around her.

“As impressive as your skills at punching griffons are,” he said, tying the cloak around her naked pony body tightly, “this behavior is not really appropriate for a dainty young maiden.”

“Assuming she IS a maiden.”

Zither glared at Holder, but Penumbra just wobbled.

“Ugh. My stomach. Is this what eating solid food is like? You do this EVERY day?”

“Just wait about three hours.”

Penumbra’s eyes widened. “What happens in three hours?”

“It gets worse. MUCH worse.”

“How can this possibly get any worse?!”

“We ought to take the princess back to the castle,” said Zither. “This has been a long night for her.”

“You do that. I’m going back to the bar. Spilled salt is bad luck, though. So I’m going to lick it off the floor. Don’t judge me, my life is terrible.”

He began walking, but Zither picked him up off the ground with his magic.

“EEK!” Holder began to run, though being suspended in the air he went nowhere. “No fair! Magic is cheating!”

“We will BOTH be returning the princess to the Citadel. As quietly as possible. To avoid any greater scandal.”

“You mean so the king doesn’t find out.”

“I mean so that the girl’s reputation can be protected!”

“Oh please,” grumbled Penumbra, beginning to wobble her way toward the Citadel- -or where she imagined it probably was. “Like I have any reputation of my own anyway. I’m just a monster to be feared. Who cares?”

Zither and Holder looked at each other, only one of them understanding what she meant. Zither set Holder on the ground, and they both followed the princess.

The city had somehow grown even darker, although the moon had risen high into the sky. It was crescent and strange, appearing to ripple through the energy dissipation of the kingdom-wide force shield, and Penumbra had the strangest feeling that it was watching her. In fact, she knew it was. Though she had managed to escape one prison, she was still within the Crystal Empire, beneath that shield. Nightmare Moon was just beyond, watching her. Waiting for her to leave to claim her as her own.

The pain in her stomach had grown more intense and moved lower, and the pain in her head had increased substantially. Overall, though, Penumbra had grown less wobbly and her mind had started to clear. She was not sure if that was normal, or a part of her dark unicorn heritage letting her regenerate rapidly. Either way, she had already made a fool of herself and felt a strong need to prove herself sturdy and durable in the eyes of her father’s associates.

“Your homelands,” she said. “Are they as beautiful as our Crystal Empire?”

Zither looked up at the gleaming, cold crystal towers and buildings. “The Order I was born into has no homeland,” he said, “through in my youth, I spent a great deal of time in Griffonstone, when it was still a neutral kingdom.”

“Emeth showed me a picture of it, but from over eight thousand years ago. What does it look like now?”

“A beautiful city, built in the branches of an enormous tree high in a mountain. A fabulous place of wealth, tradition, and nobility. There are few more beautiful sights, though the Empire may indeed surpass it.”

“And you?”

Holder looked up from staring at the crystal of the ground. “I’m from the Badlands. In a gulch. It doesn’t have a name.”

“Your kind live in a gulch?”

“How appropriate,” muttered Zither.

“I don’t think so. Nopony lives in the gulch. Nopony is out there four thousands of miles. I was raised by rocks.”

“By...rocks?”

“It suddenly makes so much more sense,” said Zither, rolling his eyes.

“Yes. By Boulder’s family. Boulder is sort of my brother, I guess.”

“But you eat rocks.”

Holder laughed. “You really ARE six months old, aren’t you? Come on, the difference is obvious! It’s like how we can eat fish, but not cows.”

“We can eat fish? What are fish?”

“Fish are...you know...like rocks, but in water.”

Penumbra’s headache was only increasing. “I don’t know why everypony hates you, but when you talk, it causes me physical pain. Please try to be quiet.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Holder fell several steps back.

“Princess, if you need to rest- -”

“I have spent my entire life resting, Lord Heartsrtings. And I have grown VERY tired of it.”

“Ah,” he said, smiling. “Things make slightly more sense now indeed. Perhaps it is adventure our little princess seeks?”

Penumbra stopped walking.

“I see,” said Zither. He stopped as well, stroking his chin. “Indeed, my kind have been bred for thousands of years to embark on epic quests of every kind. So I understand the yearning for it. Though you may yet be still too young...perhaps I could convince the vedmaki of Care Morgan- -”

“Something is wrong,” said Penumbra, looking up at the tops of the buildings. “Do you smell that?”

Zither and Holder both looked at each other, and sniffed the air.

“I smell over forty-seven species of crystal,” said Holder. “What are YOU smelling?”

“Mint.”

“Aye,” said Zither, slowly. “I create that smell naturally. All of my kind do.”

“Yes, I know, you smell super good and Holder smells like he crawled out from under a rock.”

“I did,” admitted Holder.

“But this isn’t YOUR smell. It’s a different minty smell.” Something suddenly caught her eye. Not motion, exactly, but the impression of it, high on top of a distant tower. “THERE!” she cried. “Did you see that?”

“You’re paranoid,” laughed Holder. “Sugar will do that, you know.”

“No,” said Zither, reaching for his sword. “Can’t you sense it? Something isn’t right. I didn’t notice it at first, but now...”

“Eternity,” said Penumbra. “Eternity!”

“Huh who what when Applejack how why?” said Eternity, speaking directly in Penumbra’s mind. “Why are you saying my name? Assuming it’s still my name. Lacy was just about to get out of the bathtub! Why did you bother me?!” She paused. “You’re not in the castle.”

“I know, Eternity, I need- -”

“To rub it in my face that YOU can walk around and pick up stallions while I CAN’T?! Why are you naked?! Is it because I don’t have a narrow filly rump?! I can’t help it, they took my body, I can’t move oh Epona I can’t MOVE- -”

“ETERNITY,” growled Penumbra. “Focus. Now. There’s a problem. Something is here.”

“An ugly little girl, a half-robot geld-knight, and- -wait, are you near HOLDER? Get away from him, you little idiot! There’s a reason we keep him out THERE, it isn’t safe- -”

Penumbra’s training suddenly activated. The relentless programming caused her to move, as if on instinct, her horn igniting with a spell that covered her body in a limited version of magical armor. With two steps- -agonizing steps, considering how full she was- -she threw herself against Zither, barely getting to him in time. Two knives stuck in her armor; they had been thrown at his neck.

“PRINCESS!”

“Twenty-seven degrees, eighty-four vertical!” she cried, pulling the knives out of her armor. A few weeks earlier, and the spell would have shattered on contact; even now, it had absorbed too much energy to be of much more use and only managed to stop the blades just as they began to poke her skin.

Again her training kicked in. Scarlet Mist had drilled it into her long enough to never expect an attack to be so straightforward. She remodulated her shield and felt it shatter as the spells carved into the knives activated and they detonated.

Penumbra was thrown backward, and Zither covered her, deflecting another knife with his sword. Holder, meanwhile, screamed and ran, hiding under a bush.

“Don’t hurt me!” he wailed, “I’m soft and adorable and TOO YOUNG TO DIE!”

Zither pointed his horn toward where he imagined the attacks were coming from and fired several devastating bolts of magic into one of the buildings, tearing through its top story. Penumbra, still reeling from the blast, distantly saw something gracefully bound out of the way- -and land on the ground below.

It was a pony, or at least Penumbra thought it was. His or her body was obscured by something, a sort of partial invisibility. Penumbra saw the distortion of a shape moving toward her, like a ghost tearing through the air.

“Assassin!” cried Zither. “How dare you attack our princess?!” He shifted positions, moving his sword into an offensive stance.

There was a flash of amber magic, and suddenly two swords appeared at the attacker’s sides. Two swords made of strange, mottled red steel.

Zither lunged forward, his sword held in his magic. The partially invisible pony did so as well, striking hard with both swords. Zither parried the first one and pivoted, narrowly avoiding the second one. He sent a blow toward the target’s chest, but it was deflected by a spell; he in turn fired a powerful spell directly into the target’s side. She in turn deflected it with one of her swords, absorbing the force and flipping several times.

Penumbra stood, suddenly once again wobbly. The explosion had left her intact, but hurt her insides. Without her armor, she was far more vulnerable- -but Scarlet Mist had trained her for that, too. The armor protected her, but it also made her slow.

Zither continued his attack, moving with precision and dealing heavy blow after heavy blow. Penumbra froze, in awe of the beauty of it. She knew she could never have Zither, but knowing that and seeing him fighting to protect her like this made her want him more than anything.

A blow crossed Zither’s shoulder, cracking through part of his shield. He growled and jumped back, surprised; his opponent did not give him a chance to regroup. She struck again and again, driving him back. She was smaller and faster than him, and with whatever spell she was using to stay partially invisible, Zither was not able to strike a critical blow.

“Lord Heartstrings!”

Zither laughed suddenly. “My apologies, my princess! I did not mean to allow this foul brute to frighten you!” he barely managed to parry a blow, and another one struck a glancing blow off one of his arms. “So allow me to finish this fight quickly, if you will!”

He released his sword from his magic, allowing it to fall into one of his claws. Then he reared on his hind legs and changed his stance- -before bringing down a whirling barrage of blows on his opponent.

Penumbra recognized his motion: the broad sweeping cuts, the almost dance-like whirl of his blade and impossible acrobatic motion- -it was the same style of fighting that the vedmak griffons used.

His opponent was overwhelmed. She could not adequately defend against the powerful blows, and with his magic freed from holding his sword Zither was free to attack parallel with a steady stream of powerful spells. The tide of the fight had turned, and the invisible mare was driven back. Then, with a powerful blow, her swords were knocked out of her magic- -and Zither’s blade slashed across her face.

The invisibility immediately failed, revealing the pony underneath- -and the black and silver power-armor she was wearing.

Zither’s blade had cut through most of her helmet, and she retracted it, allowing it to automatically unfold. To Penumbra’s amazement, she saw that the mare beneath the armor was almost perfectly identical to Zither, though female. Her eyes were the same shape and color, and her coat was the same light teal. Her mane, likewise, was pale-white green- -save for a streak of pink running through it.

“An unparalleled insult. That one of US would dare to hurt the girl I have sworn to protect!”

The teal mare charged forward, raising her sword. Zither parried it, striking it out of the way and preparing to fire a spell into the mare’s face to conclude the fight. While doing so, though, he left himself open; she brought her hoof to his chest.

Penumbra heard a mechanical click, and the sickening shriek of metal sliding against metal. Zither’s eyes went wide and he jumped back, his chest pouring fluorescent green fluid. A red-steel blade had emerged from the center of the armored mare’s hoof, and it was covered in the same liquid.

“Lord Heartstrings!” Penumbra raced to his side, catching him as he fell. He was holding one of his claws over the wound, but the substance was still pouring out of him.

“Primary coolant,” he gasped. “My reactor’s been damaged- -”

“Hold on! Just hold on! ETERNITY!”

“I can’t see it, I can’t see it!” cried Eternity. “Hold on, I’m sending a contingent of thralls! Golems! STOATS if I have to, just hold on!”

Zither tried to stand and grasp his sword. As he did, though, one of his limbs went limp and he toppled to the ground. He was not able to stand again; his mechanical portions were rapidly losing power as their machine-blood flowed out onto the ground. “I will not let you hurt her, you dirty horse,” he growled, picking up his sword with one shaking claw. “If it takes everything I have- -”

“I have no interest in the abomination, brother,” said the mare. Her accent matched Zither’s perfectly. “Though I cannot conceive why you would be so protective of a beast so foul. You, who insisted on betraying us in the name of obsolete tradition.” She picked up her second sword and pointed it at Zither. “I have come for YOU. The Grandmaster has ordered it, for the Order’s own sake. Please submit, brother. For once in your life, have some honor.”

“Buck you,” spat Zither. “And buck your filthy mother.”

“I have no mother, nor father. Only the Order.” She raised her sword.

Before she could bring it down on Zither’s neck, Penumbra leapt onto her, forcing her back.

“Princess, no!”

Penumbra did not listen. She was to busy completing the task she had been trained relentlessly to perform. The mare was larger and stockier than her, and the machines in her armor made her far stronger, but like with Penumbra’s own armor that just meant she was slow and lacked dexterity. Penumbra, fully nude, was able to quickly swing around the mare’s neck, grabbing her on one side and forcing her off balance. A kick to one of her rear knees did little damage through the armor, but still set her falling.

Yet a blade came whizzing past Penumbra’s head, taking off the tip of one of her ears and narrowly missing her horn. From the position of the mare, Penumbra guessed where the second blade probably was and ducked, bending herself over backward in a way that no normal pony would be flexible enough to accomplish. She proved correct, and she felt the hot steel pass harmlessly across the very tip of her nose. She was fully aware that her legs had been in that position moments before.

Penumbra summoned all of her mental strength and fired an energy spell straight into the mare’s chest. She was pushed back- -but only by a few inches. Penumbra had not expected this. She knew how to use her magic now- -and yet it had barely even scratched her armor.

The blade came down again, this time parting Penumbra’s already short tail. She flipped again, kicking the mare in the face and in the horn, preventing her from summoning a spell. This forced her to the side, but Penumbra was slow and full of cupcake. She was punched square in the ribs, and felt several things crackle within her on contact with the metal hoof.

“Filthy alicorn scum! I would have let you walk away, but not now!”

The mare charged her horn, and Penumbra charged hers. The spells met in midair, and Penumbra was sure that with her alicorn magic she would easily be able to win, just as she had with Luciferian- -yet her beam was quickly overwhelmed, and her blue magic consumed in orange.

She cried out as she was knocked back, and despite being blinded with pain in her horn she still managed to regain footing and attack again, this time aiming once again for the mare’s head- -only to receive a power-armored hoof to the face, and then to feel a sword glance along the surface of her horn. She barely managed to parry in time, lest the organ be lost entirely.

Zither stood up, or tried to. Holder, meanwhile, had left his shrub and was attempting to escape. With his last ounce of strength, Zither intercepted him, blocking his path.

“Zither! Please, I have to get out of here!”

“NO! Look there!” Zither pointed, and Holder looked; though bruised and injured, the princess was still fighting- -and losing badly. “She doesn’t stand a chance, not against a knight like that!”

“But I can’t fight, you know that!”

Zither grabbed Holder by his lapels; the expenditure of coolant caused his rear legs to fail, and he dropped to his knees. “I can’t stand! Without my armor- -I have less than a minute before my reactor goes into emergency power! You have to save her!”

Holder shook his head, already starting to cry. “No, no, please don’t make me do it. I can’t, Zither, I just can’t- -”

The princess cried out as she was struck hard in the side, causing her to slide across the street and hit the side of a building hard. She tried to stand, but was too badly hurt to get her full balance. The mare-knight quickly approached her, preparing to dispatch her secondary target quickly and with a single thrust. Holder saw this, and burst into tears- -yet his hoof moved to the ring of the sword he kept on his back at all times. A sword that had not left his side for over seven hundred years.

“I’m sorry,” he wept. “I’m so sorry.”

The mare-knight assessed the situation, with one of her artificial corneas scanning the situation. The heretic-knight was hemorrhaging coolant; the blow had not struck precisely enough to end him, but he would be incapacitated soon enough. First, though, she had to deal with the abomination.

She prepared her sword and approached the girl. “You have fought bravely, abomination. I believe that warrants a quick end.”

The abomination attempted to raise a shield. It was weak. Her body was mutated severely by force-growth; it was apparent that this was still an embryonic alicorn, one that had not yet developed the power of the Cursed Twins. It was better for the world if it was put down immediately before it could rain destruction across the planet, as the other two had for countless millennia.

“Buck your grandmaster,” growled the girl, spitting teeth and black fluid. “And hail the Witchking.”

The knight-mare sighed, and brought the point of the blade down toward the alicorn’s heart.

Yet, as she did, her blade was cleaved in twain, its sacred and unbreakable Questlord steel cut as though it were simple paper. Her second, likewise, fell to pieces.

She stood back, turning- -and found herself staring into a pair of hideous red eyes.

Fear overcame here. Not just fear, but instinct, drawn not just from her training but from the endless evolution of her species, and of all species. Within those blood-red eyes, she felt pure and unmitigated evil, something profound and unfathomable. An evil that was not a pony, and never had been.

On instinct alone, she leapt back, putting her armored forelegs in front of her and drawing the blades on both. She barely saw the earth pony move, and only the slightest glimmer of his black blade as it passed through her- -and her legs fell away, severed at the shoulder while she received a kick to the chest. The limbs fell to the ground bloodlessly, still writing as the machines within them reacted to no longer having a nervous signal. It was not the first time the mare had lost her legs, but the first time it had not been under anesthesia. She was surprised at how little pain there was., and how much worse it was to look down and see them missing.

She fell to the ground, hearing something else click to the ground to her side. She did not care; instead, she focused on dragging herself into a nearby alley. To retreat, to get away.

Yet with only her rear legs, there was not very far she could go. She collapsed into the cold of the snowy and dark alley and looked behind her. When she did, she beheld a terrible sight.

It was standing there. Watching, from its red eyes. A pony, or the shell of one: a body of the palest, finest gray with a long, perfectly straight mane the color of snow. In his teeth was a sword- -except that it was unlike any sword that the Questlord mare had ever seen, or ever would again.

The blade was not metal, but a single piece of obsidian set in an ornate silver handle- -and it was unimaginably horrible. Staring into the black of the obsidian blade, she felt it staring back at her, and felt her mind dissolving into panic.

The earth-pony giggled as he slowly dragged himself forward- -or was dragged forward, by some unseen force. “So pretty,” he said, softly, still giggling. “Such a pretty unicorn...she likes you. She likes you SO MUCH.”

The mare turned herself over, finding her back literally against a wall. There was nowhere to escape too; she was trapped. So she summoned a shield spell- -although all that came were a few sparkles of orange light.

She no longer had hooves to feel her head, but she instantly knew. That click she had heard before had been the sound of her horn landing on the sidewalk. It had been severed, and the use of magic was now forever beyond her reach.

“Silver, pretty silver,” giggled the stallion, his voice rising ridiculously high. “She’s just SOOOOO hungry!” He stopped moving and held perfectly still. Unnaturally still. Only the obsidian blade seemed to be moving, writing and laughing within itself. “Your name is now BRUNCH!”

He lunged forward, moving with unnatural grace and fluidity, The mare closed her eyes, hating herself for doing so. That she would not be able to face her own end, as she knew someday she must- -but the thought of seeing that black blade even one more time was simply too much for her.

Then, suddenly, she felt magic surrounding her. She looked up to see the hideous face of the earth-pony, his mouth open in a horrid scream and his red eyes glaring at her- -and the point of the ghastly sword only a foot from her throat.

“HOLDER!” cried the princess, appearing at the end of the alley, her horn lit with the magic that was now holding both of them in place. “She’s done! It’s over!”

Holder slowly turned his head to Penumbra, and she saw that what she had initially taken for a grimace of malice and hatred indeed was- -but not one directed at the helpless mare now before his blade.

“I- -I can’t stop her!” he wept, red tears falling from his eyes. “Please, princess, just let her feed! She doesn’t want your black blood, not yet, but I can’t control her! Get away from me! PLEASE!

“NO.’ Penumbra dug in her heels and pulled back, although she found she could not even move Holder in the slightest. “I refuse to allow this! STAND DOWN! That is a princess order! My word is LAW!”

Holder laughed in her face- -although it was not quite him laughing. It was his voice, and his mouth making the sound, but beneath the sickening joy he sounded as though he were about to scream.

“You can’t stop her,” he hissed, turning back to the knight. “The cute little mare belongs to HER!” He giggled wildly. “So much silver, pretty pretty SILVER! She has to feed, feed feed feed FEED FEED!”

He took a step forward. Penumbra cried out as she was dragged along behind him. “NO!” She looked over her shoulder. “Lord Heartstrings! I need help!”

He looked up. Though his mechanical portions were only barely functional, his organic ones were alert and quite well. Despite this, he just shook his head. “Once the Black Blade is drawn, no pony nor force of nature can stop him. Not until it devours their lifeblood, and their very soul. I am sorry, princess. There is nothing you can do. Just let it happen.”

“Can’t you see how much pain he’s in?! You call yourself a knight? You’re just giving up! Get over here and HELP! That’s a princess order!”

Zither frowned. Her words cut deeply, and he came to understand the situation- -and that the girl who had defeated the dark wizard Twilight Luciferian as well as removed the Mask of Red Death how now challenged Holder Hearfelt, the unstoppable destroyer, and the Black Blade. Though immensely proud, Zither ultimately found this astoundingly humiliating. That she had the courage to protect pony- -a knight of his own Order- -while he was content to lay back and allow evil to be committed.

“For your honor, my princess!” Zither dragged himself forward with his one barely functional arm and grasped onto the princess. Then, summoning all his might, reached out with his own magic and grasped several nearby buildings. By this time, the crystal ponies in these houses had started to awaken; they cried out in terror and retreated as Zitehr began pulling on their dwellings to brace the princess.

Holder took another step forward. One of the buildings Zither was holding onto began to list from the force.

“No you don’t!” Penumbra tried her best to pull him back, although Zither’s force was starting to crush her. She began to beat her wings wildly, attempting to draw him away. He moved back- -but only by a hair’s with. “By Sombra, how strong is he?!”

“He’s a rock-cultist earth-pony! Of course he’s strong!” Holder moved forward, and several of Zither’s connections snapped, tearing several crystal buildings were torn apart. “The fact that he’s holding an ancient Chaos Blade is not helping, though!”

“We just need to hold him until the thralls get here!”

“I don’t think we can!” Zither attempted to get his grip, but his arm was failing.

“She will feast on them as well,” muttered Holder. “But you first, pretty unicorn! She eats YOU first!”

“We can’t hold this!” cried Zither, his grip tightening. “Princess, you’ll tear yourself apart! At least release the mare!”

“I can’t! They’re both caught in the spell, if I let her go, I release him too! I don’t know how to do only one!” she felt herself being dragged. “HOLDER!” she cried. “You have to listen to me! Fight it! Know you don’t want to hurt her, you only did it to save ME! I’m sorry! But you have to stop! You’re not that kind of pony!”

Holder giggled madly, and only then did Penumbra realize that it had been weeping all along. He turned his head, and she saw that he was crying red tears. His eyes were hideous, but deep beneath all the red, they were his own. “I don’t want to! Please! PLEASE! Princess, Zither, Boulder, SOMEPONY stop me! I can’t- -I can’t control her, I can’t stop her- -there’s nothing I can do!” He had begun to weep horribly. It was a pitiful sight indeed. “Please stop me, PLEASE! I can’t take another, I can’t go through it again! But sweet Celestia, the VOICES- -I can’t stop the VOICES! She’s hungry, so very hungry!”

He took another step forward, as it pulled along by his sword’s bloodlust. It was now centimeters from the mare’s throat, and being trapped in the spell as well she was unable to do anything other than to stare at it in horror. Penumbra saw the fear in her eyes, and she hated it. She hated how afraid and helpless the mare was, and how frightened and desperate Holder had become. How terrified his eyes looked, as if they had seen this so many hundreds of times before but were unable to grow cold and distant.

Except that this emotion was not hatred. It had a name that Penumbra did not know, that perhaps even Sombra did not know either- -and from this emotion, her spell began to change. She could feel it reconfiguring, becoming more and more complex as it wound between the two ponies. Each of them, she realized, contained something within themselves, something that was remarkably similar between the two. The spell touched these pieces of them, and began to draw them outward and toward one another.

“Princess, I can’t hold on! I’m sorry!”

Zither collapsed, his magic failing, and Penumbra was left holding Holder all alone. He grinned- -or grimaced- -but Penumbra hardly noticed. The spell felt right and just, and more pure than any she had ever performed. As it changed, it began to complete itself, forming a thing beyond any of the spell formats she had ever seen in any book or been told that even exist.

And from this spell, she felt a change. The parts of the ponies that separated them combined, creating one thing out of what had once been two. Holder cried out in agony as if he had been struck, and something black sparked from his hoof as the Black Blade was torn from his grasp. Penumbra’s spell failed as the Blade clattered to the floor, and both she and Holder collapsed to the street.

It was only then that the thralls came around the corner, pouring into the alley. The teal knight had no chance to resist as she was struck in the neck by several electric stun rods, and as she screamed and fell the thralls began to administer a relentless beating. Others kicked Holder’s sword away and immediately wrapped him in chains and shackles, even though he was still unconscious.

“Stop that!” wheezed Penumbra. “Don’t hurt them! That’s- -that’s a princess order!”

That was the last thing she said before she collapsed and felt herself being dragged away.

Chapter 32: Usurper

Penumbra pushed through the halls, forcing her way past slaves that were moving far too slow for her taste. Scarlet Mist stood beside her; she had apparently been assigned to check on the princess’s health, but had as always shown little compassion or care. In fact, she had kept her distance, staying largely silent and watching things unfold.

As she moved, Sombra came into view, traveling down a barely lit hall that was populated by no other ponies save for the steward, who looked as cold and severe as ever.

“My king,” she said, hurriedly bowing. Sombra stopped and slowly turned to her.

“Alicorn,” he growled. “You indeed have courage to face me at a time like this.”

“I am obligated to make my report,” she said.

Sombra glared at her, and then at Scarlet Mist. “I did not expect her to be awake so soon.”

“There is no damage,” said Scarlet Mist. “Feedback tracks, but not deep ones. They’re healing.”

“And the spell she used?”

Scarlet Mist shook her head. “From the traces my thralls gathered, I have no idea. It’s unlike anything I have ever seen before. It may be specific to her and her alone.”

“You are lucky she is undamaged.” Sombra looked down at Penumbra, who looked right back up at him, not even averting her gaze in the slightest. “I have been informed that you left the castle without my permission.”

“Yes. I escaped through the ventilation system, followed by the sewers. I went to the city to see what was there, and eventually came to the inn where I met Holder Heartfelt and Lord Heartstrings.”

“So you were assisted,” said the steward. “This places the loyalty of those two in question.”

“Hardly,” snapped Penumbra. “I did not need their help. I did it on my own, of my own volition.”

“And what of the news I have heard of you stripping nude and dancing on tables?”

Penumbra blushed but did not look away. “Yes. That also happened.”

Sombra continued to glare and was silent for a moment. Then, finally, he spoke. “I appreciate your honesty, though you have disgraced yourself, and by extension me. This behavior cannot be tolerated, and there will be consequences. But for now I have more important things to do than tending to you.” Sombra began walking again, and the steward followed. So did Penumbra and Scarlet Mist.

“You mean the prisoner. The prisoner I helped to capture.”

“I wish to see it,” admitted Sombra. “The face of a pony who dared to infiltrate my kingdom and attack my knight, my sword-wielder and my weapon.”

“I wish to accompany you.”

Sombra paused. “Why?”

Penumbra paused. She was not actually sure why.

“This is the first enemy she has defeated who has not managed to escape like a coward,” said Scarlet Mist from behind. “At least allow her to see the pitiful look of defeat on its face. Perhaps it will serve to motivate her.”

Sombra seemed to consider for a moment. “Very well,” he said at last. “So be it. Let her know what is to take joy in the humiliation and despair of her foes. So long as she does not interfere.”

“I have no reason to, my king,” said Penumbra, bowing as she walked. “I only wish to observe, and to learn.”

Sombra nodded, although he was not foolish enough to think that she was telling the truth- -to him, or to herself.

The Citadel was not directly equipped to handle prisoners. It had a dungeon, but Buttonhooks the Mad had begun to inhabit it long ago, converting ponies to his disciples of pain as he saw fit. Otherwise, there really was no need for one. Criminals and dissenters with crimes severe enough to be sent to the Citadel usually did not last long enough to require cells.

The prison was a separate structure, a parallel complex to the Arena, though both often served the same function. That was where the prisoner was held.

By the time Sombra arrived, others had already gathered. The prisoner was held in one of the upper levels in a crystal cell with simple iron bars. Gathered outside were Necrophilo of Canterlot, looking strangely more pale than usual, as well as Holder and the Blue Knight, the latter sustained only by his armor and the former in a corner, shaking; as well as Thirteen, the chronoplexer.

“What is the meaning of this?” demanded the steward, stepping forward to deal with the situation. She was one of the few present who know that despite his show of strength, Sombra was fading- -and fading fast. “The princess’s report indicated that this pony is a master mage, why is she secured in a standard cell?”

Necrophilo and Zither looked up at her. Zither appeared to have been beaten badly, but had the same spooked expression on his face as Necrophilo.

Penumbra approached the cell. The pony inside still lacked her front legs, and she was sitting- -and staring. Penumbra nearly cried out in shock when she saw the horrible expression on her face. A wide, enormous forced grin covered the prisoner’s face, even as tears fell from her eyes.

“Th...Thirteen,” said Necrophilo, clearing his throat. “She has...she has handled it.”

Sombra turned to his chronoplexer, and his black blood ran cold when he saw what she was holding. He instantly understood the looks of horror on his generals’ faces. Suspended in Thirteen’s hoof, sparking with magical energy, was the prisoner’s severed cutie mark.

He quickly turned to the prisoner, and saw that it was indeed missing- -and in its place was a pair of horizontal, parallel lines. It was the symbol that Thirteen herself wore. Seeing that, he understood that accepting her to his Dark Thirteen had either been his greatest triumph- -or a fatal mistake.

“That spell should not be possible,” he said.

“And yet it is,” said Zither.

Sombra approached the cage. The pony inside looked up at him. Not only did she lack a cutie mark, but her horn had been removed. The mare, otherwise, was in a poor state. Her body showed significant evidence of reengineering, not through mutation but rather by mechanical enhancement. Most of it had been in her front legs, but one eye was also changed, if only partially. Parts of her body also showed evidence of frostbite. Though her armor had no doubt been advanced, it was not designed for hyperborean winters as Zither’s was. The journey had been hard, and yet she had made it.

“A Questlord,” he said. “How unusual. How unimportant.” He turned away from her, and to the steward. “She is nothing of consequence, and nothing I require. Liquidate her. Have her dzeronium salts extracted from the residue.”

The steward bowed. “Yes, my lord. I will see to it at once.” She raised her hoof, and several thralls started to move.

The mare scooted forward, driven by her rear legs. “Brother!” she cried, looking directly at Zither. “My attempt was a failure, but more will come! Of this, I swear!”

“And they will be reduced to salt as well,” said Zither, coldly. “I am no longer one of you. I no longer serve some nebulous false-goal. I serve the sovereign lord of this land, and you have broken his divine law.”

“Don’t be a fool! As long as you live, the Order is in danger!” The thralls were drawing closer, but the mare continued. “Patriarch Dulcimer intends to bring the Grandmaster your head, to leverage your capture to return to the Order! To regain the power he once had! Brother, as long as you live- -”

Zither’s magic flashed, and suddenly the mare was lifted by her neck. Zither struck the bars of her cage with his hoof, bending several of the bars in the process. “Do not mention that filthy necromancer’s name in my presence!” he shrieked. “Let him face me! Let him try! I will not be used as a tool in an ineffectual political GAME! And when I am done with him, there will be nothing LEFT to send back to that withered HUSK you call your master! And I am no longer your brother!” He dropped her, and she landed on the floor, gasping.

Sombra had quietly watched the whole exchange. “Is this something I should be concerned about, Zither?”

“No, my lord.” Zither bowed. “Merely the delusions of a dying order of ineffectual knights. They will be no threat to you, this I swear.”

The thralls opened the door and picked up the knight. She struggled, but was weak and pale without her cutie mark. They began to drag her out. Penumbra did not have the luxury of ignorance as to where they were taking her. Although she had until that day never had solid food and had never been permitted out of the Citadel, she had been educated thoroughly on exactly what “liquidation” meant. In this case, it meant exactly what it sounded like.

“My king,” she said, stepping forward. She could not believe what she was about to do, but did not hesitate- -because in her heart, she knew it was right. “I protest this course of action.”

The entire room grew quiet. Even the thralls stopped.

“Think very carefully on what you say next, princess,” warned Scarlet Mist.

Penumbra nodded, and took another step toward her father, who turned back toward her. His face had none of the mild amusement she had seen when she had spared the Celestia-worshipping heretics. There was only hate and anger.

“This mare has been defeated thoroughly,” continued Penumbra. “She is imprisoned, missing two legs, a cutie mark, and a horn. There is no longer any threat.” She turned to look at the mare. “In addition, this was a matter of external politics. While I cannot claim to understand it completely, it appears to be a dispute with Lord Heartstrings personally. No Imperial law was challenged or broken.”

Sombra’s pupils narrowed into tiny slits. “I do not appreciate ponies questioning my orders,” he growled. “Especially YOU, alicorn. This pony infiltrated my kingdom and attacked my knight.”

“And if she had slain him, she would take his place. As I took Twilight Luciferian’s.”

The room seemed to darken. The air smelled strangely of metal, and Penumbra felt fear creeping into her heart. It was not unlike the sensation that came from standing near Scarlet Mist, but much stronger. Yet she resisted it and stood firm.

“You are NOT one of THEM!” boomed Sombra. “You are just a weapon! A THING!”

“And this THING will not allow an innocent pony to come to harm!” Penumbra stamped her hoof. “NOT IN MY KINGDOM!”

“IT IS NOT YOUR KINGDOM!”

With a roar, Sombra brought down a plume of crimson magic. Penumbra reacted, dodging the blow and the second one that came behind it, hidden in the corona of the first spell. She flipped once, summoning a shield to parry the next blow and closing the gap to where Sombra could not defend. He stared at her, wide-eyed, and she saw her chance. She fired a beam from her horn directly into his chest.

The result was spectacular. Sombra was swallowed in a corona of blue magic and thrown backward. He clattered to the floor and skittered across it.

Sombra grabbed his chest, immediately understanding just how right Al’Hrabnaz had been. Deep within him, he had held out the slimmest of hopes that his condition had been the result of Luciferian’s demon. As the wound grew deeper, though, he understood what he should have long ago: that his daughter’s magic was inherently toxic to him. Contact with it disrupted the fear that held his cellular structure intact. Fate, it seemed, had created the only pony who could potentially defeat him. A perfect usurper.

“My king!” cried the steward, rushing to his side.

Sombra pushed her away and stood on his own. The pain was exquisite, but he was all-too-familiar with pain. He withstood it, knowing that to look weak was to meet his end then and there. He could not allow her to know her ability, or what her magic could do.

“So,” he said. “You would challenge me? Was replacing Luciferian not enough? You would replace me as well?” He charged his horn. “If you wish to challenge me, so be it.”

“It is a challenge I would lose,” said Penumbra, not breaking eye-contact. “How could I fight my own father? I love you. I think I know that now. But if you really are this weak?” Her eyes narrowed. “Maybe Luciferian was RIGHT.”

Sombra moved forward, his anger exceeding his judgment for the first time in countless centuries. As he approached, though, Holder slid between him and the princess.

“Get out of my way, earth-pony,” he growled. “Before I MAKE you.”

Holder grimaced, closing his eyes, and was about to cow- -but then opened his eyes and held firm. “No. No, I won’t run. Not this time. Because the princess is RIGHT! That mare didn’t do anything wrong!”

“She challenged Zither, and nearly ended the princess,” said Necrophilo. “She has done enough.”

“But the princess spared her! Then and there, she stopped me from- -from doing the thing.” He looked up, his blue eyes meeting Sombra’s red. “She saved me! But if you liquidate her- -then I still have that blood on my hooves!”

“As opposed to the ocean you already wade through, Holder. So you too would challenge my orders. Fine. I will liquidate the mare myself!”

His horn flashed red, but Holder’s hoof immediately moved to the ring of his sword. Every pony in the room immediately jumped back; those that could summon shield spells did so, and those that had weapons drew them. Penumbra stood in shock, because she felt that the atmosphere had completely inverted- -and she understood. Why they hated Holder. They feared him, and feared him terribly.

Sombra’s horn dimmed, and he glared at Holder. “You would dare to draw that sword against ME? The sword I forged for you?”

“You did not forge it. You just put the hilt on it, and even then, you couldn’t wield it, could you? It existed a billion trillion years before you, and it will exist just as long AFTER you. The visions...the constant screams of eternal conquest through the multliverse...we are all so very small...”

“There are four of the Dark Thirteen in this room, as well as myself and Penumbra,” said Sombra, suddenly deeply calm. “You could not possibly survive.”

Holder smiled. “And it’s better that way, believe me. I don’t have anything to lose. But you do. She’ll make me fast enough to get four, maybe five hits. And she’s wanted your soul for a long, looooong time. She’s just so hungry...so hungry...” He shook his head hard, trying to clear the visions. “And she tells me things. She never stops. She knows how to do it so you won’t regenerate.” Tightened his grip on the Blade. “You will not hurt her, Sombra. I will let you.”

“Would you, now?”

Holder pulled the sword, but only slightly. Penumbra saw the glint of obsidian from his scabbard, and somehow, she felt it. It was like how the yellow mare beside Luciferian had felt, but different. She had been rot and decay and laughter, but this was only a single living hard angle. An angle that needed to feed, and to feed endlessly.

The change started, but only slightly. Holder’s eyes began to darken, and his mane became straighter and lighter. “I won’t let you,” he growled, not quite in his own voice. “I can’t...”

Sombra stared at him, and then, slowly, a small smile crossed his face. “In the centuries I have known you, Holder, never once have you reached to draw the Black Blade on your own accord. Never once have you shown this level of initiative. So be it. If this mare is so important to you, then she has a value I had previously overlooked.” He signaled to the thralls, and they dropped the mare- -and kicked her several times in the ribs to make sure she would not bolt for the door. “I pass her into your care. Be sure to feed her. Use her as you will.”

Holder continued to stare at Sombra, but did not close the sword. His hoof began to shake; Penumbra saw that he was struggling.

“Holder,” she said, walking up to him.

“Stay back!” ordered Scarlet Mist. “It’s not safe!”

Penumbra put her hoof on Holder’s shoulder. “It’s okay. We won. She’s going to be okay. But not if you attack him now. Please. Put the sword back.”

“So...so hungry...so...” Holder grimaced and growled, and force the sword back into its scabbard. His mane immediately fluffed back up into its normal dark configuration, and he nearly collapsed. “I can’t believe I just did that,” he wheezed. “Oh mane...”

Penumbra felt a pair of eyes on her, and she looked up at her father.

“Nevertheless,” he said. “There will be consequences.”

“And I am prepared to accept them,” replied Penumbra. “As you would be, too, if our positions were reversed.”

Sombra stared at her, then silently turned and left, the steward at his side. The thralls locked the cage with the prisoner in it and returned to their duties. Penumbra suddenly felt exceedingly weak, and her knees wobbled slightly.

“You should have done it,” sighed Scarlet Mist. “Removed him. When you had the chance. You could have had the kingdom.”

“If that is the cost, I don’t want it. Saving one pony is enough.”

Scarlet Mist shrugged. “Then I suppose I trained an idiot.”

Chapter 33: A Brushing

The mirror reflected what it always did, but Penumbra was less sure of what she was staring at than she had been for her whole life. She saw her reflection, her narrow body, her large pointed eyes- -but wondered what that truly meant, in the scope of her life.

Facet had finished brushing Penumbra’s mane quickly, considering how little of it was left. She had since moved on to Penumbra’s wings, carefully removing dead feathers and straightening the rest while applying black dye to those that were reverting to their normal violet color. The wrong color, or so Penumbra was told.

“I can’t believe you actually hit the king,” whispered Facet, still in awe of the news. “King Sombra! You actually stood up to him! Nopony’s ever done that before!”

“I did what was appropriate for the context,” said Penumbra dismissively. “He attacked, and he expected an appropriate response. I only did what he wanted me to.”

“But I heard that you shot magic, right into his chest- -”

“Which was a lucky shot. He was distracted. I’m not sure by what. But in a real duel? The kind where we have to bow to each other? I wouldn’t have lasted ten seconds.”

“You’re selling yourself short.” Facet pulled several feathers and straightened those nearest to them. “I don’t know if I should tell you...”

Penumbra turned her eyes to look at Facet in the mirror. Unlike most crystal ponies, Facet did not recoil at her gaze. “What? Did I do something wrong?”

“No. It’s just that...” Facet sighed. “Sometimes ponies forget we’re here. The crystal ponies. That we listen to things, see things. There’ve been rumors. About you.”

Penumbra’s mood sank. “I see. No doubt unpleasant ones. Or ones concerning me dancing on a table in the nude.”

Facet dropped her brush in shock. “You- -you WHAT?!”

“I don’t think I’ll ever eat sugar again.” Penumbra levitated Facet’s brush. “I also apparently fought a griffon. Knocked his teeth out, supposedly.”

“I’ve never seen one up close, but...they don’t have teeth.”

“I know.”

“That’s not what I meant anyway.” Facet ran the brush through Penumbra’s wing. “Crystal ponies don’t like dancing anyway. Even seeing dancing is a criminal offense. A bad one. No. There were different rumors.”

“About the monster that wandered through the district,” sighed Penumbra. She was all-too-aware of the horn her reflection bore, and how it also showed her long, fluffy wings. The marks of a demon, and an enemy to the state.

“About a pony that stopped a group of upper-race ponies from beating a dangling prisoner, and a princess who released her.” She switched to the other wing. “Or about a young mare who fought off an enemy infiltrator all alone when the Blue Knight was injured, and then held back the Slaughterer with all her might in a show of mercy. Not to mention defeating the strongest wizard in the kingdom, and- -”

“Taking off the Mask of Red Death and dooming my teacher. I know.”

Facet recoiled. “I beg your pardon, my princess, I didn’t mean- -”

“I know, Facet Flare. But the rumors look pretty in hindsight, don’t they? Ponies talking about how heroic they think I am.” She turned and looked over her shoulder. With the size of her eyes, it was not difficult. “But when I was actually out there? They screamed. They called me a monster and ran. I got hit in the face with a brick.”

Facet gasped. “A brick? Like, as in- -”

“It may have been a paver.” Penumbra shrugged. “It’s not the point.” She pointed at the mirror. “They see that. A monster. Because I am. I know that, and I think I hate it. I’m supposed to be stronger than my father, because that’s what a weapon does. I exist to do what he can’t. But if they fear him already, what does that make me?”

Facet sighed and resumed brushing. “I am just a slave, princess. I do not know the answers to such things.”

“We are all slaves,” replied Penumbra. “Slaves with different titles. That is how the world is supposed to be run. But...” She paused. “...if you have any thoughts, you can say them. I don’t mind.”

Facet smiled, and continued brushing. “You know, princess, I remember when you were just a little foal. Just a baby.”

“Yes. That was six months ago. Most ponies remember that. Except me.”

“It only lasted for half a week, before you were talking. Not that you could say anything. I watched you grow up. I’m fifteen, and now you’re older than I am.”

“Only in appearance.”

“But I’ve known you your whole life. And, well...when ponies see you, I don’t think they see YOU.”

Penumbra frowned. She was not wearing makeup, so the expression seemed strange without white and black paint to dampen it. “What else would they see?”

“They see Celestia, or Nightmare Moon, because you’re an alicorn. One our enemies. Terrifying enemies that want to hurt us, to do worse things than Sombra ever could. Or, they look at you and they see Sombra. And of course we’re always afraid of him, or else we get dangled.”

Penumbra paused, thinking. “But they don’t see me?”

“No. But not because they can’t, just because they haven’t had time yet.”

Penumbra stared at her reflection, and then smiled. It was the first time she had ever seen her face like that. Facet Flare smiled as well, and completed brushing Penumbra’s wings.

Suddenly, Penumbra sniffed. “Do you smell that?”

“Likely the dye. We stopped using perfume, as you requested.”

“No. Herbs. Poisons. Honey.” Penumbra pointed. “Crozea is on the other side of that door.”

As she said it, the door opened and Crozea stepped in.

“Lady Crozea,” said Facet, bowing and immediately reversing to the nearest wall where she could attempt to vanish in the background. Penumbra rotated in her chair, being careful not to smudge the still-damp dye on her wings. “Lady Crozea,” she said, bowing slightly.

Crozea removed her mask. She did not appear happy beneath it. “My dear, I had a feeling you would be here.”

“Where else would I be?”

“What a question to ask! Perhaps on a table, shaking your- -”

“So you heard. I already made the report to the king. The matter is closed.”

“Closed? You suck out of the Citadel late at night! Did I not teach you wrong from right? And you took the TUNNELS, those rank holes! You could have been eaten by stoats, a zeugl, or pony-devouring VOLES!”

Penumbra was surprised at her reaction- -and more surprised by how it was agitating her. “There weren’t any voles. Just a few snorks.”

“Do not take the dangers of this Empire so lightly! Dangerous things live here, and they creep out nightly! And while you made it out of the tunnels, true, the city is full of things and ponies that could hurt you!”

Penumbra stood. “Why are you yelling at me?”

“Because did not that night I warn you of the dangers? Of the monsters and criminals and strangers! And I thought you understood, only for you to defy my warning every way you could! How could I expect that you would show me such disrespect?”

“Disrespect?” Penumbra took a step forward, but Crozea did not back down. “How about THIS for disrespect? I talked to Zither- -who was WITH ME most of the night!- -and he said I’m not actually forbidden from going out in the city! That’s not my father’s rule, it’s YOURS!”

Crozea’s eyes narrowed. “So the breezietale knight has sunk deep into his dereliction. I made that rule for your own protection.”

Penumbra’s jaw dropped, and she nearly stumbled. “W- -wait? That’s actually TRUE?”

Crozea’s eyes widened. She had been inadvertently tricked, and there was no way to take back what she had said- -especially in rhyme.

“But- -but it’s my kingdom. I’m supposed to help my father rule it- -and you won’t even let me see it?!” Penumbra was not sure why she had suddenly grown so angry, but it felt good. All the time she had been trapped in this place, not allowed to see the city or the Empire or all the things Emeth had showed her, it had been Crozea- -and ONLY Crozea- -who had kept those wonders from her. “WHY? Why would you do that, Crozea?”

Crozea’s expression grew sad. Not severe or angry, just sad, though Penumbra was too incensed to notice the pain in her gaze. “Because the world is a cruel place, drowned in sorrow and grief. I only wanted more than anything to keep you safe.”

“Is that what you call it? ‘Safe’?”

Penumbra and Crozea turned,with the latter being far more surprised that a slave had dared to speak than the former. From the shadowed corner of the room, Facet Flare was glaring hard at Crozea.

“You speak out of turn,” snapped Crozea. “For this crime, you could burn!”

“My loyalty to Lord Sombra is absolute.” Facet stepped forward, to Penumbra’s side. “And that loyalty extends equally to his daughter, the Divine Princess. It does NOT extend to you.”

“Close your speaking hole, before I use your bones to fill my divination bowl.”

“Let her speak,” protested Penumbra, more out of defiance than anything else. “At least SHE isn’t keeping me here like a prisoner.”

Facet bowed, and stood straight, as if trying to stare Crozea down. Crozea herself had never seen a crystal pony behave this way, and it stirred distant memories in her mind. This was not loyalty driven from fear, but something else entirely. Something she had not witnessed in many decades.

“Princess Penumbra, the night you departed, Lady Crozea left you a vial of delicate juice.”

Crozea gasped, seeing where this was going. “You filthy slave-mare, you wouldn’t dare- -!”

“I remember,” said Penumbra, ignoring and speaking over Crozea’s protest. “I didn’t drink it. If it tastes anything like cider, I would have hated it anyway.”

“You may not have. But I did. My apologies, my princess, but it was a fortunate thing I did- -for the drink was laced with deadly poison!”

Penumbra was not surprised, at least not initially, simply because she did not believe it- -until she saw the look on Crozea’s face. Then, in that moment, the anger inside her changed. It felt like something broke.

“It...it was?”

“I gave up a toadstone to save your life, and this is how your repay me, with discord and strife?!”

“CROZEA. Is it true? Was that juice...was that poison?”

Crozea’s eyes widened. “I did not place it there, there is no need to start a scare- -”

“Is it TRUE?” Penumbra’s voice rose high to a pitch that she had not known she could scream.

Crozea fell silent. Then, slowly, she nodded.

Penumbra took a step back. “And the other assassination attempt, when I was almost strangled- -you’re the only one who has access to my room, and the only biomancer- -”

“Penumbra, you’re getting ahead,” said Crozea, speaking calmly. “I have no reason to want you dead.”

“But you had the opportunity.” Penumbra took another step back. Her mind was reeling at the possibility alone, that the being she trusted most in the world might have tried to behavior. In this state, her mind began to make connections. To form terrible conclusions. “You- -you kept me from going outside. From being seen...” She looked up at Crozea, her eyes wide and trembling. “You’re ashamed of me.”

“Penumbra, no- -”

Penumbra did not give her a chance to rhyme. Her betrayal was slowly turning back to anger, and this time so much worse than before. “You made me like this. Force-grew me, since I was born- -but then you hid me away, because you were ASHAMED!” Penumbra took a step forward. “So you tried to get rid of me? Is that it? IS IT?!”

Crozea reached out to slap Penumbra. Penumbra dodged her hoof easily, but the very idea that Crozea would strike her was so much worse than any physical blow.

“Your best interest has always been my cause, and no other! I raised you as if I were your mother!”

“You’re NOT MY MOTHER!”

Crozea recoiled as if she had been struck- -but her mind had already formed a retort, summoned by instinct to strike back when struck. “And yours lies buried in the earth, because she died giving BIRTH!”

Facet Flare gasped, covering her mouth. Penumbra’s eyes widened, as did Crozea’s.

“I- -no- -Penumbra- -”

“I...I had a mother?” Penumbra’s face contorted as the implication dawned on her. “I...I never thought...never realized...but...” She froze. “Then it’s my fault.”

“My words have cut too deep; that was my secret meant to keep- -”

“Shut up.”

“My cruelty I deeply regret, please, if you could just forget- -”

“I said shut. UP.” Penumbra looked up, glaring through her tears. “Just get out.”

“Penumbra, please- -”

“Get OUT!” Penumbra charged her horn and fired a concussive blast at Crozea- -but the spell faltered and fizzled, producing barely a plume of sparks.

Penumbra collapsed on the ground in a sitting position. “Just go,” she said. “My magic...I don’t even care. I can’t stand the sound of your voice and your moronic rhyming. Never speak to me again. And if you come for my life again, I’ll consider it a crime against Sombra...and deal with you accordingly.”

Crozea stared for a moment longer, and Penumbra saw that she was crying as well.

“If that is how it must sit, so be it.” She put her mask back on and fastened it tightly. Then, without a sound, she departed.

The whole of the room was silent for several minutes, and neither Penumbra nor Facet spoke for what seemed like a long time.

“Princess?” Facet finally said.

“This will be the first night I go to bed without her saying goodnight,” said Penumbra, wiping her eyes on her foreleg. “But I’m tired. And I’m going to bed. And if you tell anypony you saw me crying...”

“I was in the other room the whole time,” said Facet. “Cleaning up the maid’s quarters. I never saw a thing.”

Penumbra smiled, but weakly. She had never felt so bad before. Sleep was all she knew to do.