Sombra stood at the edge of the Celestial Levels, shielded from the elements by the enormous arch that rose before him; a portal from the shelter of the Levels out into the wild, and untameable fury of the world.

Before him, a long, thin bridge of Megastructure was all that separated the Temple of Faust from the main mass of the Celestial Levels; exposed to the elements, it was a arrow-straight walk of five hundred meters across a beam of dubious material, held suspended in an empty void of pure sky. The architecture of the temple, a lone spire of purest crystal, isolated from the Celestial Levels through the bridge, had always formed an allegory that, to the dark alicorn, reeked of both enlightenment and black humour; that one must suffer to reach true spiritual freedom.

Another lie of the false Goddess, the only reward of such a path was slavery under a different master.

At the alicorn's hooves a Temple Guardian lay choking in his own blood, his gurgling, dying pleas for salvation going unhindered by the malevolence that stood before him. The mewling of the animal beneath to him served as a satisfactory back drop for Sombra, who idly flicked away at the guardians hoof when, in his desperation, the stallion had decided to plea for mercy from his conqueror.

Such a foalish notion.

Without glancing away from the temple, Anathema sprang into life beside its master, floating motionlessly in the still air. With a flick of its masters ear, the blade swung down sharply, embedding itself deep within the throat of the Guardian; the blow not strong enough to decapitate the stallion entirely, but enough to fully severe his trachea and oesophagus. The Guardian twitched faintly as he died, blood pouring from the wound and down into his lungs; drowning him in his own vitae.

All about him, Sombra's elite forces culminated their assault upon the guardians, cutting down any who'd raised a weapon against the will of their lord. Though the air was no longer filled with the pitched screams of battle and death, the dark alicorn had long since learnt to savour the cadence of victory; the pleas of the defeated, the moans of the dying. They meant that he'd won, that once again he'd proven himself to superior to the foals around him, and for the dark alicorn, there was nothing in the world quite as satisfying as asserting his dominance over those weaker than him.

The guardians had been mediocre opponents at best, though Sombra knew it had been wrong of him to expect any real skill from such warriors. Far from the same league as the Celestial Guard, the Temple Guardians had only ever been a simple garrison force, and as such had never been truly trained in the finer arts of combat. True, dotted amongst them had been a few rare gems, those few token individuals who'd displayed even a modicum of prowess and grace; but for the most part, the Temple Guardians had simply been a band of colts who'd sworn themselves to the protection of a false deity, a formality on the temple's behalf and little more. Yet despite such weakness, the dark, soul-binding malice in Sombra's heart had still found it extremely gratifying to slay the servants of the false Goddess, even if such a task had required minimal effort on his part.

Already the battle-line was forming up behind him, each warrior falling into position without a moment's hesitation and in utter silence. Unlike before, during the battle of the throne room, there were none of the raucous screams and bloodthirsty howls that had filled the air; such behaviour was for the colts and juveniles and not befitting those who now accompanied their lord on this mission. These were Sombra's true warriors, the elite core of his army, and they wouldn't sully their martial pride with the foalish behaviour the striplings eagerly indulged in. Turning to look upon them, Sombra felt the stirrings of what could have perhaps been paternal pride for the warriors deep within the twisted wreck of his soul, a faint flicker of Equinity shining through the corruption that ravaged him, but crushed it flat before it ever had time to truly be expressed; the dark alicorn refused to acknowledge anything of his soldiers, they were tools for use and disposal, valuable for little else then their steel and willingness to die for him.

Singling out the few key individuals of his lieutenants from amongst the battle-line, Sombra's razor-keen mind took mere seconds to calculate losses and attrition ratios, and, finding the sustained casualties of his force to fall within an acceptable margin, he raised Anathema on high before bringing the Arcane Blade down in a glittering arc of scintillating energy. In complete silence the force began its march, the air only broken by the uniform stamp of armour hooves as the warriors pressed forward in perfect synchronous, their lord marching before them.

The wind clawed at them as the warriors emerged from the great chamber and out onto the bridge, whipping through feathered wings and snatching at Sombra's scarlet-furred cape. A product of either accident or design, the winds had always shrieked across the bridge, stirred up by the culmination of the great spiralling ledge that climbed the heights of Canterlot, which captured the thermals of the city below and funnelled them up into the high atmosphere, resulting in such great gales when the warm air of the near-surface collided with the chilled stratus of the Thermosphere. The faithful often proclaimed the gales were the result of the divine architecture of Canterlot, and that the winds were a representation of the hardships one must face on the road to enlightenment, but for Sombra they were nothing more than an annoyance.

There was no divinity in these winds, and there certainly wasn't any divinity in the architecture of the last equine city. Though many, and even history itself, had long since consigned the legendary golden era of Equestria as mere fable and myth, Sombra remembered where others forgot. He remembered a time before the Shattering, a time when Equestria had been warm and blue, and Canterlot had been more than a mere city.

But now was the time for vengeance, not reminiscence.

The host was roughly a third of the way across the bridge before the few remaining Guardians within the temple itself began to fire upon them with gauss-lances, brilliant bolts of emerald energy lashing out from the lone spire. Sombra's forces broke formation with practised ease, warriors taking into the air splitting off into their individual units. In moments the host had devolved into twenty squads of five warriors, each moving away to carry out the next phase of the operation. But despite the quick reformation of the host there had still been those who'd been unable to dodge the initial gauss-lance volley, and even as Sombra's forces reorganised to tend to their set objectives a few limp, flailing bodies had already tumbled over the edge of the bridge and begun to long descent to the next ledge bellow.

Of course, Sombra had expected such a barrage to come. With the enemy out in the open as they had been on the bridge, any commander with a basic grasp on tactics would have understood how vulnerable such exposed troops would be. But with foresight came forewarning, and as such Sombra had devised a strategy that would divide the Guardians firepower and render it impotent in the face of the assault. Summoning Anathema with but a thought, Sombra swept the blade out to his right. Instantly eight of the squadrons broke away from the bridge, a full forty five warriors beginning their ascension up the height of the spire, from the top of which they would then move down floor by floor, eliminating all they found. Thrusting Anathema out to the left, another forty five warriors broke off from the host, this time diving to seize the lower areas of the temple. All that remained upon the bridge itself was Sombra and the ten alicorn's of his bodyguard, all of whom then began to charge and full gallop towards the great double doors of the temple.

Though the rate of fire from the assaulting gauss-lancers was deadly, it was nothing compared to the possible level of fire-power that could have been used had the majority of the garrison still been among the living. With the main bulk of the Temple Guardians now staining the floor of the main entrance chamber, Sombra calculated that only a mere thirty percent of the garrison was still alive within the walls of the temple, roughly ninety, maybe one hundred, individuals in total. Though of course, simply because numerically the two forces were in equilibrium, that didn't at all imply that the Temple Guardians actually stood any chance of mounting an adequate defence against the elites of Sombra's forces.

As they closed with the door, Sombra sent out a magical pulse, waiting a fraction of a second for the aethereal burst to return to him with status updates on the two squadrons. From above, the alicorn's of the first squadron had succeeded in taking control of the upper-most levels of the spire, with a kill-ratio of thirty eight to one, and were now beginning their capture of the three hundred or so descending levels before regrouping with their commander. Second squadron had met similar success, and had already moved a full ten levels up from the base of the spire, with a generous kill-ratio of fifty two to one. Allowing himself a feral grin of victory, Sombra felt a savage howl rip itself from his throat, his fanged muzzle opened wide and his formidable canines on display.

How long had it been?

As the dark alicorn barrelled towards the great doors of the temple, the single, fluttering thought briefly made its way through his mind; not a product of his current engagement but from somewhere deeper in himself, from whatever twisted and ravaged wreck that passed for his soul, buried so far from his mind. Isolating the thought, the philosopher in Sombra briefly pondered the question as he closed with the door, allowing his body to move on instinct as he retreated into himself to consider the inner mechanics of his own chronology.

Eight thousand years, that's how long it had been; eight thousand years since he'd awoken to the true horror and brutality of the universe.

Once, perhaps, he'd been something different. Once, he'd been a leader, a ruler. Once, he'd marched across frozen tundra's and dived through the darkest caves. Once, he had been a true warrior, a stallion of valour, courage, and honour. Once, he'd been a father.

Yet alas, nevermore.

Once he'd been all those things and so much, much more. But now, there was little about him that could ever be linked back to that stallion who came before, who'd known a life beyond the confines of the Celestial Levels and had ruled one of the great nations of the world. Now, he was something much darker, something much more terrible. For over eight thousand years he had been planning, for over eight thousand years he had awaited for his moment to come, for Fortune to turn her fickle gaze upon him and allow him his chance for vengeance.

Eight thousand years spent waiting for a single moment; the death of Shining Armour.

Sombra pulled himself from his thoughts as he came upon the entrance to the temple, placing his muse on hold as Anathema tore into existence and was thrust forward like a scarlet thunderbolt, racing ahead of its master and embedding itself hilt-deep in the thick marble doors. Instantly cracks began to radiate from the embedded blade, bloody scarlet light trickling out from the fissures as they began to propagate across the surface of the marble until the entire surface was covered in a infinitely fine mesh of cracks. Holding its position a moment longer, Anathema waited until the structural integrity of the duel marble slabs had been fully compromised before pulling out and returning to its master, the doors crumbling into dust as it returned to his grip.

With a baleful howl, Sombra unleashed the corruption within himself, snarling as sharp, agonising lances of chaotic energy began to infuse with his body, spreading from his core to every cell of his being. Violet fire burst from his eyes, the two pits glowing with infernal energies. Opening his maw, Sombra felt not just his canines, but every tooth in his muzzle begin to extend and sharpen, each and every one filing into deadly, piercing needles. With a feral shriek, Sombra threw back his head, scarlet fire pouring from his throat as the corruption drowned his soul in a tide of the blackest magic. Within himself, Sombra once more felt a minute sliver of his soul slip from his being, simply crumbling into nothingness as the corruption rotted it from within; as occurred whenever he embraced the true darkness of the aether.

Screaming with the howl of a damned soul, Sombra led his bodyguard through the entrance and into the temple of Faust; wolves amongst the sheep.

The air was filled with the thick, cloying scent of incense, trendils of sweet smelling smoke twisting through the air with sinuous, almost sentient grace. Light was everywhere, pure, bright, and unadulterated, almost too intense for one to even open their eyes. The eleven alicorn's found themselves within a cavernous chamber at least two hundred meters in height, beams of intense light ricocheting off every faceted surface. Stood upon a raised dais at the far end of the hall rose a great statue of the holy Goddess herself, an incredible, fifty meter construction of gold, crystal, and precious gems, reared on its hind legs. Clustered at its base, their bodies knelt in supplication, were the priestesses of Faust, all swathed horn to hoof in snow-white robes of gossamer. In their hour of darkness they had raised their voices in song, the air alive with the high, delicate notes of their hymn as they offered their souls to the deity they served.

Stood before them were no more than twenty of the Temple Guardians, their gauss-halberds raised and ready to fire. But these were no elites, these were all that could be spared in the defence of the priestesses. Before Sombra's elite they were nothing, chaff before the scythe, and each knew it, but still they prepared to sell their lives dearly in defence of the sisterhood, and their beliefs.

Perhaps, that in itself made them greater than the strongest hero's.  

For the Daemon that wore Sombra's coat, the presence of such divine purity, of such weak, hollow lies, caused it to release an enraged shriek, the infernal beast rearing on its hind-legs in a mocking, daemonic mirror image of Faust's holy manifestation. Anger flowed through it, anger and hatred. Anger for the hypocrisy of the Goddess, and hatred for all that he had lost under her false guidance; words alone couldn't convey the sheer disgust he felt in his heart. Acting on instinct, the Daemon began to stalk forward, its smouldering eyes fixed upon the rearing statue of Faust, and its mind craving nothing more than to bring it crashing down, to topple such hypocrisy to the floor and stain its very crystal with the blood of its venerators.

Bring its hooves back to the ground with enough force to shatter the marble beneath them, the Daemon summoned Anathema, the blades scintillating edge glowing all the brighter as the chaotic energies of its wielder flowed into the blade. Thrusting the blade forward the Daemon screamed in a high, shrill voice, its cry momentarily drowning out the supplications of the priestesses. "Destroy it all, let no icon of the false Goddess stand!" Behind it, the ten alicorn's of Sombra's bodyguard nodded in ascent, each bring their blades up into an assault position and charging forwards. Beneath the inanimate hooves of the holy icon, the priestesses continued with their benedictions, unaware, or perhaps, uncaring, of the creature that had split the air with its venomous shrieks.

The Daemon tore across the chamber at full gallop, its hooves crushing the marble beneath it as it struck forwards, eyes alive with fire and hate. In mere moments it had already far outstripped the ten alicorn's of Sombra's bodyguard, leaving them lagging behind in its eagerness to fall upon the followers of the false Goddess and rend their flesh. The first of the few remaining Temple Guardians that it met in combat was nary more than a colt at the most, a stripling who couldn't have been more than half a millennia old; a colt who should have been living a true foalhood, instead of dying in fear for the sake of a false Goddess.

The mere sight of him stoked the rage in the Daemon's heart.

Falling upon the colt, the Daemon shrieked in pure hatred at it brought Anathema down up its target, the aethereal blade severing the colts left fore-leg from his body with deft ease. The limb went flying, the colt screaming for his mother as he tumbled to the ground, his gauss-halberd falling to the ground with a clattering as he curled up and began to weep.

Such weakness!

Disgusted by the foals lack of fighting spirit, the Daemon gave him the mercy of a quick death, Anathema piercing his skull with a single thrust to the temple. Already searching for a new target the Daemon looked about itself, and, finding that Sombra's bodyguard had already dispatched any remaining foes, released one final, soul-piercing shriek of fury before, with a final burst of scarlet fire, Sombra once more regained dominion over his own body, forcing the malevolence of the Daemon away into the depths of his soul. For a few moments longer Sombra found his vision slightly unfocussed, though the issue was resolved with a swift shake of his head.

The first time he'd allowed the corruption to embrace him in such a way it had been days before he was once more able to reassert dominance over his own body, whilst the Daemon had run amok through his personal quarters and butchered the few indentured servants that he kept at his residence. The second time, it took two days for his mind to retake command. Though time, mental discipline, and a strong will, had given him the ability to control the Daemon within himself, Sombra knew that he was still in no way immune to its infectious malevolence and hatred. After all, the creature wasn't one of this corporeal world but a denizen of the Realm of Magic, and a servant to Sombra's own deity, the true ruler of existence; it stood to reason that there was never any chance of him truly comprehending what motivated it.

"Halt and reform!" he called to his soldiers as he reasserted control, his tactical mind once more examining the situation and each variable present. Whilst he was himself, like this, he could devise, formulate, and execute any plan that helped further his own ultimate goal. But as the Daemon he was incapable of reason and understanding, instead, he was a creature who only understood killing, and the dark ecstasy it brought. Though Sombra had uses for such killing ability, he knew that to blindly give in to such vices would mean he would be led by them, unable to control his own impulses. It was the worst kind of weakness, not physical, but spiritual, a weakness that defined the soul.

And Sombra hated weakness.

His bodyguard forming around him, Sombra drew forth Anathema, using the tip of the blade to part the assembled priestesses as he and his bodyguard made their way to the dais before them. There was no singing now, the sisters had dropped their heavenly choir the instant the Daemon had slain the young colt. Now, they simply watched him pass, shapeless, inscrutable figures hidden from the world beneath their robes. Parting before them, the priestesses stepped back on either side, forming a clear path up to the dais. Stepping up onto the dais beneath the marble hooves of Faust's manifestation, his bodyguard forming a semi-circle beneath him, Sombra surveyed the fully gather convent, perhaps four hundred individuals in total. Not one face could be seen amongst the crowd, but Sombra knew that each mare present bore both a scowl of disgust and more than a hint of fear; he could hardly breath for the stink of it.

"Daughters of Faust, allow me to extend my deepest apologies for dropping by like this, I understand that those of your faith show, shall we say... an aversion to killing?" Flashing a quick, victorious grin, Sombra allowed himself a moment to savour their hatred before continuing on to more pressing matters. "The last princess of Canterlot, Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, has officially abdicated from the throne, and by right of conquest I am now the ruler of Canterlot."

"Murderer!" came a high-pitched voice from somewhere near the back of the crowd, followed by mutters of agreement. With a single nod, Sombra dispatched two of his bodyguard into the crowd to find the dissenter.

"As of high-sun yesterday, I have been declared king of Canterlot!" Sombra spoke in a loud, deep voice, accompanied by the echoing declaration of his bodyguard: "long live the king!". "For over twenty four hours this temple and its occupants have refused to present themselves to my being in the throne room in order to reaffirm their oaths of loyalty to the ruler of Canterlot; such an act is treason!" Spying his two bodyguards leading a struggling priestess towards the dais, Sombra allowed a wicked smile to slowly creep across his muzzle. "But I may yet prove merciful, should my demands be met."

"First!" Sombra declared as the priestess was pushed forwards by the two bodyguards to go sprawling at his hooves. "This temple and its occupants shall break their bonds of loyalty to the ancient lineage of Canterlot and swear new oaths to the House of Sombra! Second: you are to cease your prayers and abandon your faith. The temple shall be destroyed, its riches gifted to the crown, and the priestesses shall be divided as gifts amongst my lieutenants. Any caught mentioning of the false Goddess shall from this moment onwards shall bear the crime of treason! Third, and finally!" Sombra smashed a hoof down on the back of the priestess beneath him, the mare squealing in pain as cracking of bone emanated from beneath her robes. "You are to surrender the Harmony Core!"

Silence.

"And if we refuse?" came a single, quite voice in reply. Sombra grinned, flashing his razor-sharp canines.

"I'd thought you'd never ask."

Lifting his hoof from the mares back, Sombra knelt down beside the priestess on the floor and gripped her robes, taking a moment to savour the sheer blasphemy of his actions before tearing them free from her body to the combined shock of the assembled priestesses and the licentious grins of his bodyguards.

The legends did not lie, beneath her robes the priestess was truly a creature of divine beauty. Her figure was willowy, and elegant; long, beautiful legs rising from the ground on pristine hooves, her teal coat practically glowing with an immaculate sheen. Though her rump lacked the same curvaceous figure of Trixie, it was still well toned and defined, complimented by the white streak that ran through her blue-grey tail. On her flank was imprinted the image of a golden lyre. The mare recoiled from Sombra as he disrobed her, golden eyes cast-over with fear as she met the gaze of her conqueror. Briefly, Sombra wondered how many years it had been since the mare had last been exposed like this. Many, was the only answer, there was no other way to explain the rank stench of fear she gave off.

She reeked of it.

"Tell me, my dear," Sombra began, his voice calm and gentle, one could say even charming. "What's your name?" Reaching down with a hoof, Sombra gently cuped the mares cheek, tilting her head so that she fully gazing into his eyes, leaning forward until there was only a foot of distance between them.

"L-l-ly... Ly... Lyra..." the mare managed as her breath caught in her throat, paralysed with fear. She was frozen in place, unable to will herself free from the gaze of the tyrant above her; prey before the predator.

"Lyra... Lyra." Sombra repeated the name, letting it roll off his tongue, "Yes, Lyra, such a melodious name. And tell me, Lyra, do you know what the punishment of treason is?" Lyra nodded, her muzzle barely bobbing an inch as she found herself forced to maintain eye contact. There was something almost... bewitching about those blood red eyes, something that compelled her to hold his gaze. "Come now, there's no need to be shy. Just tell me, loud enough for everypony to hear."

"T-the... the punishment for treason is... is... the punishment for treason is..."

Sombra leaned closer, tilting his head so that his ear was just a few inches from her muzzle, close enough to hear the mares silent answer.

"Yes?"

"Death..." Lyra mutely whispered.

"Yes, my dear. You are right." Sombra agreed, turning his head and standing up to his full height, towering over the mare beneath him. "The punishment for treason is death!" Summoning Anathema, Sombra held it high for the assembled mares to see before plunging it through the bridge of Lyra's muzzle, the mares body falling limp. A ripple ran through the crowd, dozens of mares crying out and the same again sobbing beneath their veils. One priestess even had the audacity to attack one of his bodyguards, though she paid for it with her life. "And the new order... has no tolerance for treason." Sombra pulled Anathema from Lyra's body, ultramarine fluid soaking into the blades scarlet surface as it sated its bloodlust with the vitae of the innocent. Looking over the assembled convent, Sombra dared any more to question his authority.

No challenge came, in complete unison the mares bowed before their new king, the only sound present being their hushed whimpers.    

For a few moments, Sombra simply savoured the moment, capturing the memory of his triumph and crystallising it forever within his mind. Once more, he had gained victory, and once more he had take another step nearer to achieving his ultimate goal; Equestria had come that little bit closer to learning the truth of existence, and the ponies their place in the world. He gazed out over the mares, his mind already working. Perhaps another stallion would have been enamoured with the concept of having complete control over a four hundred strong herd of beautiful mares, but for Sombra the physical perfection of the females had little real value, save as rewards for his closest lieutenants. In his youth he may have thought differently, but that part of him had died millennia ago, along with his hope and faith.  

And his daughters.

As he gazed over the herd, a force of alicorn's suddenly emerged from two arches further down the length of the chamber towards the entrance, one group from the right arch and the other from the left; the two squadrons that Sombra had dispatched earlier. Nodding, Sombra gave both squadrons a look over, pleased to find that of the total of ninety alicorn's he had dispatched, only three had fallen during combat.

"Who is prioress of this temple?" Sombra boomed as the two forces moved towards him, encircling the captive priestesses in a living wall of flesh and ceramite. "Who here will step forward as leader of the faith?"

Another ripple ran through the crowd.

For the past five thousand years, the faithful of Canterlot had been led in their prayers by Emmanuelle, the high-priestess of Faust and one of the most elegant mares to ever greet the face of Equestria. A creature of grace, patience, and incredible intuition, she had led the cult of Faustianism for millennia, imparting to her follow believers generations of wisdom, theological belief, and religious teaching through the Testament, a text so ancient that its true author had been lost to the mysteries of time. Truly, Emmanuelle was a corner stone in the society of Canterlot, or anywhere else in the world where Faustianism found influence; the spiritual guide for millions of faithful from all walks of life.

And she had been butchered no more than a day ago.

Given how long it had been since the last high-priestess had been elected, there were very few out there who truly knew which path for the faith to follow now. In its past the daughters of Faust would have meditated on the issue, devoted years, maybe even decades, to selecting a worthy candidate to take the position as head of the faith. But for a Post-Equine, twenty four hours was nothing, even less than nothing; less than even the blink of an eye for creatures that would exist forever. In such a short period there was little chance that the daughters had even begun the proper rituals of mourning and burial, much less moved on to the selection of a successor, but Sombra was no fool, and knew that by now one of the priestesses would have already taken on a position of authority amongst them.

A lone mare stepped from the crowd.

"I speak for the daughters of Faust," she said in a calm, serene voice, the result of years of meditation and deep personal reflection. Sombra gave her a look up and down before nodding. Though he could make out nothing of her features, robed as she was, Sombra could easily tell from her physical stature that she was an exquisite creature. Only a few inches shorter than he was, the mare moved with natural grace, her movement like liquid. Suddenly tiring of the guessing game, Sombra looked back to the assembled convent, who watched both him and his soldiers warily, clustering together like sheep in the face of such a deadly threat.

He'd had enough of this.

"The laws of the crown are now in effect!" Sombra's voice boomed throughout the chamber, catching the attention of all present. "In accordance with the dissolution of the faith, all items and possessions relating to the worship of the false Goddess are to be removed and destroyed. Failure to do so is treason!" Anathema burst in existence above him, bathing the congregation in malevolent scarlet light. "And we all know the punishment of treason."

For a few moments there was silence, until, one by one, the priestesses began removing their robes; they were all so heartbreakingly beautiful.

"Captain," Sombra called out to his bodyguard below, one of the alicorn's, a thick-set, muscular stallion turning in acknowledgment. "Have these mares taken to the dungeons for storage before distribution. Take the soldiers with you, I have no further need for them."

"Are you certain, my lord?"

Sombra looked from his captain to the priestess stood before him, who had yet to remove her robe. "She is just a priestess, captain. Nothing that I shall not be able to handle." As his captain nodded and began to rally the soldiers for the next phase of the operation, Sombra fully turned his attention to the priestess, who stood calm and still despite all that had just occurred. "Remove your robes, priestess. Your king would look upon your true beauty and marvel at it."

For a moment the mare regarded him passively, her features inscrutable behind her veil before, with a single, swift movement, she reached up with a hoof and slowly pulled it from her body, depositing it on the floor beside her..

Sombra felt something in his heart ache.

It was as if some divine artist had taken it upon themselves to see beauty and grace wrought in flesh and bone, a living creature of impeccable elegance. Her coat was a pure, unsullied snow-white, complemented by a mane and tail of incredibly pale magenta, all of which was further unified by her violet eyes, their colour so intense and rich that for a few brief moments Sombra found his control slipping, his most base instincts threatening his authority from the very edges of his mind. Her body was lithe and toned, her coat gleaming in the dazzling light of the chamber. Turning slightly, the mare presented her flank, displaying a fleur-de-lis cutie mark of gold, flanked on either side by ones of purple.

She was truly a stallions dream; Sombra knew that he would be claiming this mare for himself, whether he truly desired her or not.

"Your name?"

"Fleur De Lis, my lord," came the reply, her voice fine and melodic. Was there nothing about this mare that couldn't attract a stallions gaze? No wonder the priestesses wore such covering robes.

"Fleur De Lis, from this moment forth I claim you as my own, and in this capacity you shall serve as a concubine. You will submit to my commands, present yourself upon my orders, and at all times obey. Others may call me what they wish, but I am a fair stallion, and should you follow my orders I will provide you a life of luxury beyond anything you can imagine. But fail me, disobey me but once, and I shall not hesitate to end your life. The new order does not tolerate treason. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord." The response was unhurried, but emotionless and blank, spoken for no reason other than to provide a response. What thoughts revolved within the mind of such an Angel, Sombra wondered. Perhaps it would be best to keep this one monitored at all times.

"Very good. Now, lead me to the Harmony Core."

Nodding in understanding, Fleur De Lis began to circle the base of the enormous statue they were beneath, her pace slow and steady as Sombra followed behind her. The temple had emptied by now, his soldiers leading the former-priestesses back across the bridge and into the Celestial Levels proper, and in their absence the chamber was eerily silent, save for the light trotting of hooves on the cold marble floors, which echoed and abounded across the empty void of the inner space. Looking back towards the arch, Sombra felt something odd, a disquieting in his soul, almost as if he was being... rejected from this place. He turned his gaze to the great statue above him. Once, he had followed that Goddess. Once, he himself had believed so readily in the lies that the priestesses preached to the masses.

How times had changed.

A full fifty meters tall, the manifestation towered over the two alicorn's, a testament to the power and strength of the Goddess. The figure itself wasn't one of beauty, as was the bodies of the priestesses, but one of a warrior, a pony of strength. Fashioned in the likeness of a pony rearing, two powerful legs, carved from the purest crystal, rose up from hooves of gold, whilst the two fore-legs pawed at thin air. The Goddesses expression was one of serene tranquillity, but beneath it, Sombra could feel an undercurrent of raw power and unmatched divinity, as if he were standing before an inferno. Her mane and tail had been carved from white marble veined with streaks of bloody scarlet, but her eyes were closed, save for the right eye, which had been sculpted from a tick ruby; a representation of the Eye of Faust, buried at the heart of Canterlot. The whole construct was glad in golden armour, not all too dissimilar from that of the Celestial Guard, but tailored for the female form. Finally, a pair of gossamer wings at full spread rose from the statues mid-section, each faceted crystal feather gleaming a riot of refracted colour.

Looking upon it, Sombra couldn't help but feel incredibly minute compared to the full power of the deity depicted before him; a moat of dust before the infinite vastness of creation. But of course, that was the desired effect. For all that it taught, for every sermon on peace and harmony, and the value of co-existence and co-operation, Faustianism was a lie, a hypocrisy that he would not stand to see exist in the world a moment longer than could be helped. The faith wasn't a positive influence, not a pillar that upheld society, but its greatest weakness. It took in those who were too weak to make their own way in the world and fed them lies, filled them with the false belief that Equestria was a place of peace and harmony, where all stood equal before the judgement of the Goddess.

And that was the greatest lie of all.

The world was no place of equality, Sombra growled as he followed Fleur De Lis behind the statue before descending a wide flight of stairs that sank into the dais, the world was a place where only the strong survived and the weak perished. In this world, only those who had the will and drive to succeed truly deserved the bounties of life, not those who were cowards before the hardships of existence. Yet thanks to the faith, those cowards continued to press onwards, rather than following the true course of nature and dying off, leaving only the strong still standing. It was in this way that the faith weakened the Equine race, by sheltering those weaklings who had no right to exist, to breath the same air as the strong.

That was the universal mandate that drove the dark alicorn, the truth that burned within his heart day in and day out; that the strong were born to crush the weak. It had been for that reason he had embraced the corruption, and tainted his soul for the power to bring about a most fundamental change within this world. A change that he had waited over eight thousand years to bring about, and now that it had been set in motion, he had no intention of letting anyone prevent. Trixie understood the concept in her own form; that of domination and submission. But she would never truly be able to comprehend the exact nature of a such a philosophy. Not in her condition, not as a Pre-Equine. Perhaps when this business was done he would elevate her to the rank of Post-Equine, but for now he was content to let the mare play her games and torture the patriarch Tiberius as she wished.

A worse fate he could scarcely imagine.

Shuddering, Sombra cast the imagery such a thought conjured from his mind, not wishing to dwell upon the madness that had enveloped the mind of his witch. Looking about himself, Sombra realised that Fleur De Lis had already led him deep within the catacombs beneath the temple, though he was hardly surprised. The item he sought, the Harmony Core, was more than merely an item of faith, it was one of the most potent weapons to have ever been forged. Some whispered that it had been the cause of the Shattering, others, that it was a minute fragment of Faust's divine wrath given physical form.

Foals, how little they truly knew.  

Eight thousand years ago, before the Shattering, he'd learnt this himself first-hoof, when the royal sisters of Canterlot, Luna and Celestia themselves had ransacked his empire and forced his nation into slavery under the tyrannical hoof of Equestrian imperialism. Sombra had fought for the freedom of the Crystal Empire, for its pride and heritage, but ultimately he had lacked the power to save his nation; he had been weak, and it was because of his weakness that he had been unable to save those he had been charged with protecting; the elderly, the mares and foals of his realm.

His own two daughters, executed before his very eyes.

It had been in the aftermath of the conquest, as he had languished within the confines of his cell awaiting trial, that he came to achieve enlightenment, when the curtain of falsehood had been lifted from his vision, and the stark reality of existence exposed for him to see and know. He still remembered it all; the dank stink of the cell, the stale taste in the air, the accusations of his comrades as they called him weak, worthless, a leader who had failed in his duties; but also the hatred. His hatred for Luna and Celestia, and all they had done. His hatred for Faust, and the lies that the faith had taught him about the truth of existence. But most deep was his hatred for himself, for his failure, as a sovereign and warrior, but also as a father. In the end, he had not even possessed the strength to defend his own flesh and blood, and despite all his failings, it was this that haunted him the most. Not a day went by when he failed to remember the tears that fell from his daughters eyes, nor their pleas for mercy, nor the dull 'thunk' of the executioners axe as it bit into the head-block.

He had failed that day, and waited eight thousand years as penance, but now was his time to rise, and there nothing that could be done to stop him. Celestia and Luna were both erased from existence; Luna having been killed during the Nightmare Heresy, when the moon had been split in twain, whilst Celestia had been confined to the Eternity Matrix, the former ruler of the globe reduced to little more than dying electrical flickers and decrepit circuitry. Truthfully, he had greatly deliberated how to remove Shining Armour from the picture, but Fortune had finally favoured him, and the patriarch had committed suicide in a vain effort to save the life of his sisters, leaving a mere stripling charged with the defence of Mi Amore Cadenza. It had been the easiest thing to grind Tiberius into the dust and take the throne for himself, and now that the foundations were all in place it was time to set in motion a chain of events that would change the face of the world forever, make him the rightful king of Canterlot, and grant him vengeance after eight thousand long and bitter years of waiting.

Before he was done, Sombra would see to it that Equestria would burn.

"We are here, my lord." Fleur De Lis voice pierced Sombra's brooding, returning the dark alicorn to the immediate reality surrounding him. The two alicorn's were stood before a simple circular door, now deep within the catacombs of the temple, the only lighting coming from the faint glowstones embedded in the ceiling. There were many things down here that Sombra could have used, dangerous and terrible weapons that would allow him to reap a bloody harvest of life in compensation for his sufferings. But for destruction on a truly epic scale, only the Harmony Core could possibly sate the dark alicorn's desire for vengeance and death. Though the item it protected was of incalculable value, the portal that guarded the Harmony Core was a plain, austere construct of metal, no more than four meters tall. Set in the centre was a small, hoof-shaped depression, a biometric scanner designed to only respond to the touch of high-priestess.

Though he could have easily penetrated locks that kept the Harmony Core secure, Sombra was no foal. A simple Aethereal scan revealed a spell of simple, but potentially destructive power lay over the chamber, one that was woven in such a way that should the vault be opened by any means other than a positive biometric match, the chamber would collapse in on itself at a quantum level, annihilating both everything inside as well as the entire temple complex. The daughters of Faust may not have truly understood what the weapon held in this vault was, but they were knowledgeable enough to know that, in the wrong hooves, it could spell death for the whole of Equestria.

Of course, the high-priestess had been slain during the battle for the throne room, and with the faith now dissolved the prospects of a new candidate being selected any time in both the near and far future were beyond slim. But no matter, he had prepared for the scenario, he was prepared for any scenario.

Running a hoof over the plating on his barrel, Sombra opened up a small compartment within his armours chest-plate, pulling from within a small package wrapped in blood-stained cloth. Unwrapping the item, Sombra held aloft the bloody severed hoof of the high-priestess Emmanuelle, the slab of flesh still dripping ultramarine fluids. In truth, there was little flesh actually present, he'd had little need for the mares whole limb, merely her hoof. Sombra gave Fleur De Lis a side-long glance to gauge her reaction, and found himself surprised that she'd managed to maintain her placid expression, though the horror in her eyes told him everything that he could have wanted to know.

Discarding the bloody cloth, Sombra raise the slice of flesh and pressed it into the depression of the biometric scanner. For a few moments there was silence, before, with a near imperceptible click, the scanner accepted the proffered genetic code and began to slowly roll from its position, moving aside to reveal the vault of the Harmony Core.

The vault was a cavernous place.

As with a null chamber, the outer extremities of the vault were hidden by shadows, even the light from the open portal doing little to dispel the darkness. From the entrance, a single gantry of Megastructure jutted out into the darkness, its length so great that it extended far beyond sight, disappearing into the blackness of the vault. The only illumination available emanating from two thin strips of glowstone embedded into the gantries surface.

"Wait here." Sombra ordered before stepping out onto the gantry, and then into the darkness.

The light of the doorway was swiftly consumed by the shadows, leaving Sombra isolated in a world of darkness. An oppressive silence filled the vault, as if the full weight of the Harmony Core's destructive potential caused even existence itself to be hushed in fear and awe. Regardless, Sombra pressed on. Though he moved in silence, with nary a sound nor a breath of wind, Sombra had the sensation that he was suddenly suspended over a great abyss, and that were he to fall in, there would be no return. In an attempt to illuminate his situation, and thus gauge how large the vault truly was, he fired his horn, bathing the area around him with violet light, yet no matter how brightly his magic flared he still could not see the extremities of the vault. Powerful magic was in effect here, Sombra suddenly realised; not a mundane spell of protection, but something that warped at the fabric of existence. That explained the similarities the vault shared with a null chamber; this was a place built not to prevent something from getting in, but something getting out.

Finally, he came upon the Harmony core.

The gantry terminated in a small disk of Megastructure no more than six meters in diameter, its perimeter lined with rings of heliotrope glowstones. At the direct centre of the disk was a small plinth, no higher than its barrel, and atop it, resting upon a plush pillow of royal purple silk, lay the Harmony Core.

It was... smaller, than he expected.

The Harmony Core was a multi-faceted gem of scarlet crystal, carved in the likeness of a heart. Though it look like little more than a jewellery trinket, as Sombra reached for the Core he suddenly felt something wash over him. At first Sombra believed he had only breached some sort of stasis field that encapsulated the plinth, but it was only when the presence began to run across his body, following the contours of his armour and sinking through the gaps to caress his coat, that it occurred to Sombra that  the energy wasn't being emitted by a stasis field; it was coming from the Harmony Core itself.

It was analysing him, Sombra realised, as he felt phantom trendils drift across his mind. It was scrutinising not just him, but his purpose, his reason for entering its vault. For a few seconds the touch was delicate and benign, but in a single horrible instant Sombra screamed as he felt the presence pierce deeper into his psyche, pushing deeper and deeper, searching for something. Visions flashed through his mind, memories that he'd never wished to see again suddenly being forced to the fore of his awareness; snap-shot images of his defeat.

He saw himself lying on the ground, bloody and broken, as the two royal sisters stood over him, at once radiant and terrible in their battle armour. He saw himself being dragged from the battlefield, a slick trail of blood marking his passage as he was taken into confinement. He saw himself huddled in his cell, the cries of his defeated warriors filling the air as they damned him for his failure, and cursed the day they'd sworn loyalty to such a mockery of a king. He saw himself upon the scaffold, chained to the floor as his daughters were brought forward and executed one by one, the royal sisters watching on with dispassionate smiles of victory. Hatred surged within him, hatred that gave him the strength to break spirit and crush bone.

What do you wish?

"I wish for vengeance!" Sombra cried, raising his head and baring his fangs. The question had emerged from nothingness, still no sound was made in the chamber save that of his own cry, and yet Sombra knew by some deep instinct that it was the Harmony Core that he spoke to. "I wish to see destruction brought upon those who shamed me! I wish to see the weaklings of this world perish!" Sombra threw his head back, his voice raised to a vicious roar of hatred. "I wish to see Equestria burn!"

His voice disappeared into the blackness, and at last Sombra lowered his head, panting for breath. It took him a few moments to suddenly realise that his hoof had been touching the Harmony Core the whole time, and it was not without some trepidation that the dark alicorn took the crystal within his grasp. Yet despite that he waited, no more question came, and it wasn't until a full five minutes had passed that he realised that no more questions were coming. His coat was drenched with sweat, and as he safely stowed the harmony core within his chest-plate Sombra came to realise just how cold he was; ice cold, as if his soul had decayed to nothing. Turning away from the plinth, Sombra couldn't help but shake the notion that something both terrible and irreversible had begun. But no matter, he had the Harmony Core now, and was only a single step away from bringing this world to its knees. As he stalked back along the gantry, the dark alicorn chuckled to himself.

The time had come; this very night Equestria would burn.

Next Chapter: XII: The Shattering comes once more. Estimated time remaining: 48 Minutes