Chapter Fifty Two

For the Greater Good

The first thing Ebony Blade woke to was a loud bang upstairs, like something heavy was dropped or smacked against the wall. Then he heard screaming; gut-wrenching, animalistic screams of fear and outrage, of anger… of loss.

By the time he made it to the top of the stairs, sword in hand, Bakhtak had already leaped from the first floor to the second floor in one great pounce, and made it to his guests’ room, arriving to find something he wasn’t expecting.

Maria and Asalah were trying to console a sobbing Trixie, though they themselves were crying. Eutropia was trying to hold back a profusely-swearing Chrysalis and prevent her from flying out the open window, with Bakhtak moving to assist. Spike... was nowhere to be seen.

“What happened?” The batpony shouted amidst the cries and curses.

“Spike, h-h-he was taken, by a m-m-monster!” Trixie said amidst her wails, choking on her sobs.

“Something just grabbed him right after he opened the window! It carried him off like he was nothing!” Asalah and Maria cried in unison.

“That motherfucker’s gonna fucking die when I get my hands on her!” Chrysalis screeched, the whole room cast in a light green glow as her jagged horn glowed menacingly. Her eyes were wide with fury and froth spilled from a corner of her mouth as she ranted and raved.

“Sit down!” Eutropia shouted as she tried to hold her back, only to be knocked away from the struggling changeling queen by a surprisingly powerful kick. “Ow! That hurt! Bakhtak, some help would be appreciated!”

Before Chrysalis could fly out the window, Bakhtak quickly stepped up behind her and wrapped her arms around her in a great big full-body hug. Well, more of a holding maneuver than a hug, since Chrysalis struggled profusely in her grasp, which didn’t free her from the impressive grip, and after another minute of cursing and struggling, she began to calm down. Soon enough, though she continued to mutter curses, she also started to cry, turning into Bakhtak’s immensely strong arms for a hug of her own.

“What do you mean he’s been taken? Who is she? What is going on?” Ebony shouted, wishing for nothing more than answers. How had this happened? Just what had happened?

In another flash of distant lightning, three figures appeared in front of the window, their furiously beating wings comparable to a small thunderstorm. Two held back, their armor glinting in the dim green light of the changeling queen’s horn as another flew forward slightly.

“Ebony Blade,” said one as it spotted him, stepping in through the window. “I—,”

“YOU!” Chrysalis shouted, her mane standing on end as she tried to fire off a spell. It missed only due to a last-second spin by Bakhtak, but the bed that Spike was sleeping in wasn’t so lucky, bursting into flames as a result.

“Fuck!” Ebony shouted, grabbing a spare blanket and beating the fire out. “What the FUCK is going on?”

“What did you do with him?! What did you do with my husband?!” Chrysalis shrieked, forgoing spells and now trying to claw the figure’s eyes out.

“Madam, I assure you, I have done nothing with your dragon,” Lady Fyrefly said as her two flanking guards entered through the window, their weapons cautiously pointed at the struggling queen. “That’s not to say that he is not in great danger.”

“Lady Fyrefly? Just what is going on?” Ebony Blade asked again, somewhat satisfied that the bed was no longer on fire. Smoldering, perhaps, but no longer ablaze.

“Your highness, do you know what is happening?” Bakhtak asked, sounding rather calm, considering the very stressful situation.

“Yes, Bakhtak. I know what has happened,” the duchess replied, eyeing the changeling queen before her with suspicion. “The dragon has been taken.”

“No shit,” Ebony muttered as he stripped the covers off the bed so that they didn’t smolder.

“By who?” Asalah asked through her tears.

“A vampire.”

Every head in the room turned to look at the batpony duchess, save for her two guards. The cries, the screaming, the cursing, the struggling; it all just stopped.

“A... a what?” Trixie asked, too stunned to cry anymore.

“A vampire.”

“But... but... I didn’t think those existed,” Maria said softly, her eyes wide with terror. “I thought they were a myth.”

“They are real, but very rare, and very elusive to find,” Fyrefly said. “That is why it took so long for my sister to find them, to become one of them.”

“That... that was your sister?” It was not Ebony who asked this, but Eutropia.

“Yes, the former Lady Bathory,” Fyrefly said with a grimace. “My twin sister.”

“Your twin sister is a vampire?” Ebony Blade asked, feeling as though the world was falling out from under him. “How? Since when?”

“Many years ago,” she said. “Come now, we must go before it is too late.”

“Go where?” Bakhtak asked. “She could be miles away by now with him, hiding anywhere in the hills or the mountains.”

“My sister has remained hidden close by for many weeks, biding her time as she fed every night on the blood of others,” the duchess said, her hand going to sword. “She has brought what’s been known as the mysterious illness upon this land, the one leaving many ponies weak and unable to work. She is a veritable plague, and whilst I thought before I could stop her, I now know that will no longer be our main objective.”

“What do you mean?” Ebony asked.

“She intends to feed on the blood of the dragon,” Fyrefly said, watching as Bakhtak slowly set down Chrysalis, her hand still resting on her sword in case the mare decided to rush her.

“But why?” The queen asked, her voice so cold it might have frosted the windows behind the guards. She sounded positively murderous.

“To gain power beyond that of any normal vampire,” the duchess replied. “Vampires need to feed frequently in order to survive, more so when they are within the first twenty years of their undead life. Now, if she does feed on Spike, she will have no need to feed as much for many centuries, if not millennia.”

“Then isn’t that a good thing?” Ebony asked, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that the former Lady Bathory was a vampire and was causing this sickness. Wait a minute, sickness…

She didn’t have time for this bullshit. “No, it is not. She intends to drink him dry, killing him in the process,” the batpony noble replied, earning horrified gasps from the dragon’s wives. “With his blood fuelling her, she will remain young for thousands of years. However, in doing so, she will gain strength, speed, stamina, cunning, all beyond measure. Vampires are by definition already very formidable adversaries; if she drains the dragon dry, she will be unstoppable to us mere mortals, and maybe even to other vampires.”

“But won’t that turn Spike into a vampire too?” Maria asked, her eyes widening further in horror. Her husband, undead and enslaved by a vampiress… it was a terrifying thought.

“No, vampires are made through arcane blood rituals, not by simple biting, and you can only become a true vampire whilst still alive, as my sister was. Otherwise, how else would all these ponies who have become sick not been turned?”

“Do you know where she is?” Bakhtak asked.

“We believe so,” the duchess replied, her guards readying behind her. “There is an old windmill not far from here; old, dilapidated, but a perfect hiding spot for a creature such as herself. I was just heading there now to see if my guards have sprung the trap.”

“I’m coming with you,” Ebony Blade and Bakhtak said at the same time. The batpony turned to the Nightmare, a look of surprise covering his face.

“Bakhtak, I need you to stay here and protect Spike’s family,” he said, omitting the “until we get him back” that he wanted to say.

“But who’s going to watch your back?” She replied, crossing her arms.

“I’ll trust the duchess to do that just fine,” he said. “Just stay here, and make sure they stay safe... and out of trouble,” he added.

“That’s my husband out there!” Chrysalis said, her tone was level but clearly laced with the desire to shout it to the world. “I should be out there looking for him! That bitch who took him—,”

“—is none of your responsibility,” the duchess said with a glare. “Fine; Bakhtak, you stay here and guard everyone else. Ebony, you’re with me.” With a great flapping of her wings, she flew out into the night, her two guards close behind her.

“Ebony, you’ll need more help, I can fight,” the Nightmare said.

“I know that, but you’ll do more help here,” he said, sheathing his sword and spreading his wings.

“I’ll help Bakhtak keep them safe,” Eutropia said, stepping up besides the windows.
Ebony nodded, lifting off the ground as he began to beat his wings.

“Please,” Trixie said, folding her hands and pleadingly gazing into Ebony’s eyes. “Please bring him back to us.”

“I will,” he replied, and with a great gust of air, was out the window and into the night sky. In a hurried movement, Eutropia slammed the windows shut behind him, locking them in place as she did so, and in the silence, she rejoined the others, all of them staring at the blackened sky, hoping for any sign that everything’ll be alright.

Hoping.

Meanwhile…

Spike grumbled as he felt the wind rush past his face. Asalah was taking him somewhere, but how? She couldn’t fly…

“Asalah?” he asked, somehow finding his voice over the flapping of wings.

“Hush, dear, everything will be okay,” her visage softly replied, effortlessly flying the two of them through the forest.

“Oh, okay,” he said. “Where are we going?”

“To a very special place,” she said, just as they entered a small clearing. Ahead of them, surrounded by sharp brambles and fallen, moss-covered bricks, stood an old windmill. The sheets that had originally hung across the blades were mostly gone, having rotted away long ago. Most of the windows were just frames in the stone sides, and along the southern side, part of the wall had collapsed outwards and onto the ground below. It was a very decrepit-looking place, almost like it was due for collapse at any moment.

It was through the gaping hole on the uppermost floor that they entered the windmill. Setting Spike down upon a makeshift bed comprised of tattered fragments of the old sails, Bathory glanced around. There was something off here, something not quite right…

She inhaled, letting the air fill her nostrils, and almost instantly she knew. “We are not alone,” she muttered, hissing slightly as her eyes seemed to glow extra-brightly in the darkness. “There are others here. Guards. They cannot interfere, not when I’m so close!”

“What?” The dragon asked softly, not rising from the makeshift bed.

He was falling further into her trance; most excellent, though this new wrinkle would hinder her considerably-prepared plans if she didn’t take care of it immediately. Leaving him now, without draining him, was risky, but he wasn’t going anywhere of his own free will any time soon. She could leave him here, but only if she quickly took care of whomever was outside, waiting for her.

“My sister sent them,” she hissed, her eyes sweeping the forest floor from her high vantage point. “They have undoubtedly laid traps, attempting to capture me and bring me in alive.” She smiled. “Let them try.”

Silently, she leaped from the opening and vanished into the darkness, her wings trailing behind her as she fell to the ground. Landing as softly as a fallen leaf in autumn, she smiled, her enhanced senses pinpointing each location of the hidden guards. She could see the electrical impulses of their muscles as they lay in wait, feel their steady heartbeats as they tried to hide from sight.

No sense in gorging herself on hors d'oeuvres before the main course, and of course, when she came back into the public light to reclaim the throne her sister had stolen from her, she would need good guards, strong and skilled to help her maintain her rule. These were the best of the best, but would be of no use to her dead, and tempting them to join her would doubly motivate them to bring her down. No, she’d need to be “merciful” if she wanted to use them later.

“Come on out, little soldiers,” she whispered as she silently moved through the brambles, seemingly without touching a single barb. “Come out and play….”

Meanwhile, off in the distance...

A flash of lightning in the sky above the mountains shone briefly over the four flying shapes, their wings beating furiously as they flew towards the distant forest. Weapons and armor glinting in the occasional light, Ebony flew astride of Lady Fyrefly, her guards flanking them.

“Why didn’t you tell me that your sister was a vampire?”

“It was none of your business to know.”

“I think it would, seeing as her reappearance has a great deal to do with one of my guests,” he retorted. “That, and the fact that her appearance might have something to do with this sickness that’s been going around.”

“Well, it does,” the duchess replied. “Those are all symptoms of a vampire’s feeding.”

“And of ten years ago? The disease that was going around then?”

“The very same.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was none of your concern then, either. Bathory’s attacks on ponies were more of a concern than letting anyone know the truth behind them. Can you imagine the panic had the populous known-,”

“It was my concern when she killed my daughter!”

“... I am sorry. My sister said she was the only victim that died...”

“Like Tartarus she was! My wife died because of our daughter’s passing. I have suffered for ten years, ten long years, not knowing until now that the very one responsible for my suffering and my loss was somepony I had already known!”

“Do you think you’re the only one that’s suffered?” the duchess replied, her tone becoming dangerous. “Do you think I have not lost that which I cared about so deeply? I’ve kept these lands safe for a decade at the expense of my soul! My husband died before we could have foals, because I was so worried with trying to save my sister, that I did not see the signs of his demise until it was too late! My sister was captured ten years ago, yes, mere days after she preyed upon your daughter. I’ve kept her locked away from the outside world for ten long years, trying to find a way to cure her of her affliction. Do you have any idea how many things I have tried? Do you have any idea how long I have suffered, seeing my sister slip further and further away from the pony I once knew?”

“Yet she still lives, while my family does not.” The venom in his words was heartfelt, and painfully so.

“I wish she were dead! Then she would be at peace, we all would, but no, she continues in this world, causing nothing but suffering and misery for any in her wake. She is beyond help, beyond redemption. I… I cannot allow her to continue on like this. I must destroy her; for the greater good of all, I must.”

“Then why have you waited so long to do this?”

“She broke free from her holding cell a few weeks ago. Originally, when I captured her, she was a wreck, freshly turned and very confused. She came with me freely, hoping that I too could find a way to reverse her curse. Over the years, and through countless experiments, often of her own design, her heart grew cold and bitter, and before my very eyes she changed; she took back all of what she had said before, of forgiveness and regret. She no longer cared for others; she sought only to maintain her youth, her beauty, and live forever, the consequences of others be damned. When she broke free, free from the imprisonment she had as much of a say in as I, she swore that I would live just long enough to regret trying to save her.”

“Why didn’t she just kill you when she broke free?”

“Maybe she didn’t want to. Maybe she really did want me to suffer, to see these lands become filled with fear and superstition at the expense of prosperity. We are not rich lands, and any significant disaster could be potentially debilitating. You of all ponies should know this very well, Ebony Blade. Do you not remember the famine twenty years ago, and how many starved?”

“I know all too well,” he replied. The fact that he hadn’t lost any brothers or sisters had been a miracle in itself. He knew several of his cousins died in the famine, along with a few aunts and uncles.

“Now imagine a famine that was brought on because ponies were unable to work the fields, unable to harvest the crops, and milk the cows. Imagine there being nopony fit enough to gather firewood for the winter, nopony around to care for the sick, nopony to watch the horizons for dangers. In time, if left unchecked, Bathory would have done this. She would have done all of that, destroying these lands in the process, just to cause me grief.”

“And then?”

“Then she would take over, and expand her hunting grounds to every corner she could reach. Nopony would be safe from her fangs, from her hunger; not even other nobles of our kingdom.”

“Then she has to die.” Ebony was very accepting of this fact, for if what Fyrefly said was even half correct, her sister would be a threat to the stability and livelihood of this entire region of Europe.

“Yes, she does,” the duchess said, tears curling up in the corners of her eyes as she tried to hold a stern face, the group made their way over a small cluster of pines and slowed to a stop, her guards and Ebony Blade halting behind her.

“This is the place,” she said. Ahead of them, in a large clearing surrounded by brambles and old debris, stood the windmill.

“Once we locate your sister, I’ll try and find Spike,” Ebony said. “He’s my responsibility, and if she drinks him dry, she’ll be pretty much unstoppable. Keeping them apart will be our best chance.”

“I’ll check on my guards and see if they’ve captured her or even seen her yet,” Fyrefly replied. “Stay close, though; if we split up, it’ll be easy for her to pick us off one by one.”

With her two guards in tow, the pair set off on hoof, slowly working their way through the underbrush. Ebony Blade resisted the urge to question her more, as the vampiress could be listening in on them and would know exactly where they were.

The four of them came upon a small cluster of short trees and pushed their way through, right into the midst of…

Lady Fyrefly, in the lead of them, stopped in her tracks, not moving as she looked at the sight before her. Her guards, the ones she had sent ahead to lie in wait and set up traps… they were all here. All of them were laying on the ground, unmoving except for an occasional twitch here or there. Most were covered in welts and bruises, as much of their armor had been torn off their bodies like it was tissue paper. Several of them laid up against the trees or entangled in the bushes. Fyrefly did not know if it’s where they’ve been thrown, or if they’ve been lucky enough to be able to crawl there instead; for all her martial skill, for all her knowledge of warfare, seeing her best guards all laying around, savagely beaten like disobedient slaves of old, brought a chill to her heart.

Walking past her, Ebony found what had the duchess so stunned. “Are they alive?” She asked as the mercenary rushed to the several that were propped up against a nearby tree. The two guards following them did the same, checking their barely moving comrades for any signs of life.

“They’re all alive, but not in the best shape,” Ebony muttered, opening eyelids to watch the retinas react to his shape. “I’m betting they are somewhat concussed.”

“These are the same,” one of the other guards said, sitting one of his comrades up against a large boulder.

“No broken bones, from what I can tell,” the other said. “Plenty of sprains and possibly some cracked, but nothing broken.”

“What about internal bleeding?” The duchess asked as she crept to Ebony’s side.

“None that I can see,” he replied. “I don’t see any holes in them either, so I don’t think she drank their blood.”

“Of course not; that would dilute the meal of the dragon’s blood,” a voice said, and whirling around, swords suddenly drawn, all four figures found themselves face to face with the vampire, calmly resting up in the branches above them.

“Bathory,” the duchess hissed.

“Fyrefly,” was her reply.

“What did you do to my soldiers?”

“Oh, I merely showed them who was superior,” the vampire said, laughing slightly as she did so. Her fangs glistened in the dim light of a distant bolt of lightning, and her saliva dribbled slightly from the sharp points. “Don’t worry, none of them are fatally injured, they’re merely… incapacitated; I will have need of them in the future, after all.”

“Why?” Ebony asked, his grip tightening considerably on his blackened bastard sword’s handle.

“Why? For when I assume my rightful title, of course,” Bathory replied.

“As what? Bane of these lands and of all living creatures that dwell within them?” Fyrefly hissed.

“As rightful duchess of these lands! Lands that you, dear sister, stole from me!”

“I stole nothing!” The duchess took a step forward, her whole body bracing for battle. “You know that father granted me the title because I showed aptitude for rule, not you.”

“Lies! He chose you because you were the “prettier” one, the “smarter” one, when it should have been I, the eldest, who inherited the title of duchess!” Bathory roared, hissing with every other syllable like a poisonous snake about to strike. “The law of the land dictates the oldest inherits all titles; primogeniture! The breaking of tradition alone would be enough for a civil war in other nations.”

“Father chose me because I was more experienced, more fit to take his place! I sat at his knee, learning all about ruling, whilst you dabbled in courtly politics and the latest Ottomare fashions. He chose me because he knew that these lands needed a strong and competent ruler to preside over our people, and you were neither of those!” She turned to her three companions. “Ebony, find Spike, get him out of her; I will deal with my sister.”

Ebony took several steps backwards, his eyes trained on the vampire in the trees above them. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“It was your idea to look for him. So, yes; go!”

A quick turn and he was off, keeping his sword clenched tightly in his hands, glancing back every now and then as he disappeared through the underbrush.

“He won’t reach him in time,” the vampire said, softly descending from the tree like a discarded feather. “The dragon is mine!”

“If you want to get to them, you’ll have to get through us,” one of the two guards said, both stepping up next to their duchess and brandishing their swords.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Bathory said with a malicious smile. In but a flash of white pelt, she rushed them, her taloned fingers extended, just as the three figures charged as well.

Clambering over mossy stones as the sounds of battle erupted behind him, Ebony Blade struggled through the thick brambles that seemed to claw at him with every step he took. Normally he would have flown, but the thick and gnarled branches overhead made that all but impossible. That, and if he did try, there was no telling if Bathory would abandon her current battle and strike him down in moments.

“Dammit Spike, you just had to be the target of a vampire,” he muttered, using his sword to cut free of the brambles that frequently ensnared his cloak. “And of course it’d be the sister of the duchess, long thought deceased by the rest of us. That’s still technically true, but come on, undead and thirsting for blood? How could anyone have predicted that?”

Climbing over several more large stones, their moss still slick from the rain the day before, Ebony found himself at the foot of the great windmill. On instinct, he checked over his shoulder and saw nothing approaching him. This could be either very good or very bad, but he didn’t have time to ponder that now, he had to find the dragon and get him as far away from Bathory as he could.

Rushing up to the old, decaying door, he gave it one swift kick, and like a glass bowl dropped from a mountain, the door imploded under his hoof, shooting the rotting debris everywhere. Stepping inside, the mercenary brandished his sword defensively as he looked around, seeing nothing more than old floorboards and what was left of the internal structure. Along the wall he spotted a staircase that looked far sturdier than the ceiling above him; must have been better shielded from the elements.

Steeling himself, he began to climb the stairs. “Don’t worry, Spike. I’ll bring you back to your family,” he said. “I promise.”

Dodging the sword strikes between one of the guards and Lady Fyrefly, Bathory turned and swept the legs out from underneath the second guard mid-strike, raking her talons across his armored chest as she did so. Deep furrows burrowed through the steel-coated leather, just narrowly avoiding the skin as it did so. Dodging the fallen soldier’s feeble attempt at slicing her legs off, the vampire did a backflip over the other two, her hooves landing on the shoulders of the first guard. Collapsing underneath her, she gave him a kick to the side of the head, just enough to knock him senseless. Pirouetting to avoid being skewered by her sister’s sword, the vampire backhanded Fyrefly, sending her stumbling back.

“Did you really think you could beat me that easily?” Bathory asked as her sister tightened her grip on the bastard sword. Jumping up, she dodged a kick from the stunned soldier and landed behind the second one, who had just risen to his hooves and was trying to raise his sword. The vampire did several quick strikes, landing her palms and knuckles on the weak spots in his armor. Grunting in pain, the guard stumbled forward, one of his arms too numb to move.

“This is not about beating you, sister,” Fyrefly said as she rubbed her jaw. “This is about ridding the land of your foul stench!”

“Tough talk from a pony that can’t even train her guards to take on one measly little vampire,” Bathory replied, dodging another one of her sister’s strikes before punching her in the ribs. “Then again, how could you? None of you have ever faced something like me.”

Wheezing and winded, the duchess took several steps back, just in time for the second guard to rise and throw a gauntlet-encrusted punch at the taunting creature.

Swiftly moving her head to the side, the vampire dodged the blow and instead delivered two of her own in quick succession, tearing the armor off the stallion’s chest and delivering a solid open-palm strike to his stomach. The soldier let out a strangled scream as he felt his ribs crack under the strike, and with another blow to his solar plexus, he went down, hard.

The slightly concussed soldier raised his good arm and tried to cut down the two vampires his eyes told him were right in front of him. He missed both just in time to see an open palm smack upside his head, sending the helmet he wore spinning on the ground. Blinking heavily through his blurred vision, he was still conscious long enough to see the vampire smack him again while sweeping his legs out from under him.

Lady Fyrefly watched in horror as this transpired, unable to move and struggling to breathe. Her sister had done that, done all of this, in a matter of seconds. It was... unreal; terrifying.

“You know, this all could have all been avoided if you had just killed me all those years ago,” Bathory said, breathing as calmly as if she had just awoken from a light nap.

“I… I tried to help you; you asked me to.”

“I was weak then, unsure of what I was capable of,” the vampire said, turning to face her sister with a fang-laden smile. “Now... Now I know differently. The strong must take what they want, and before, I was weak. Now, now I am strong! Stronger than you, stronger than your guards, stronger than father could have ever dreamed!”

“He always knew you would turn your backs on us,” the duchess hissed, causing her sister’s eyes to narrow slightly. “He always knew you cared more of the titles than the responsibilities they carried.”

“What does it matter if he knew or not, whether he was right or wrong about me?” Bathory asked, stepping over the two guards as she slowly approached her sister. “All that matters now is that I will have what I seek, and nothing will stand in my way. Not for long, anyway,” she added with a soft, slithery laugh.

Her breath once more regular and consistent, Fyrefly struck at her sister once again, only to find her blade pierce nothing but air. In a flash, her sister was behind her, and with a strong kick to her back, sent her sprawling forward, her sword knocked from her hands. She had trained all her life to fighting in hand to hand combat, but her sister... she was toying with her. She wasn’t even trying to kill her.

“You’ve undoubtedly thought back to what I said a few minutes ago,” the vampire said as she grabbed her sister by the back of the neck and lifted her effortlessly in the air, her hooves dangling underneath her. “About me killing you only after I’ve made you suffer?”

“—yes,” the duchess said, the fingers around her neck ever-so-slightly clenching around her throat. It would be so simple... one little display of her sister’s unholy vampiric strength, and she would be dead, her neck broken like that of a bird that flew into a window.

“Well, I’ve decided to postpone that for a while, if only to enjoy your suffering a bit longer” Bathory said, forcing her sister to look her in the eyes, green to green, her smile positively malevolent. “Instead, I’m going to make you experience a worse kind of pain than I can inflict on your body. I am going to break your mind, make you suffer that which isn’t there, and then, and only then, after I have drained that dragon of his blood, I will kill you. Slowly, painfully, in ways that will leave you screaming for me to end it, and, in time, I shall.”

Lady Fyrefly wheezed as her sister’s eyes rolled into the back of her head and, with a shuttering cough, let loose a fine mist from her mouth. In spite of herself, the duchess inhaled it, and with a choking sound, felt her eyes start watering and her throat burning.

“There we go,” the vampire replied as soon as her eyes returned to normal, effortlessly tossing her twin against a small tree. “Enjoy what time you have left to swim in your own nightmare.” With that, she turned and began to walk away, glancing over her shoulder as she did so. “Oh, and don’t worry about Ebony Blade. I will… take care of him.”

“Wait!” Fyrefly cried out, trying to rise to her feet but descending into a teary-eyed fit of coughing. All around her, the world seemed to shimmer slightly, the guards seeming to take on different shapes as they laid there, either unconscious or moaning in pain. Her sister’s figure disappeared into the thick underbrush, paying her call no heed. “D-Don’t you touch him! Don’t you touch—!”

The duchess fell onto her knees, her vision swimming and her head throbbing. She craned her head to one side, hoping to see a guard or two rising to try and help her, but she didn’t see that. No, instead, she saw…

“Ebony?” she weakly gasped. Lying by her side, where one of her guards had been before, was Ebony Blade, his eyes staring above them at nothing. He… he was barely breathing, and there was blood leaking from the corner of his mouth.

“Ebony, Ebony, no,” she croaked, trying to reach out to him. “Ebony, no, she couldn’t have gotten to you, not so fast…”

A moan on her other side made her look away, and there… lay Ebony. He was dressed in the armor of a guard, but his sword was missing, and his… his… his eyes, they just stared blankly into the sky as well. Next to him was… another Ebony. Beside him… another.

The duchess tried to throw herself upright, but in the process lost her footing, and found herself leaning against the same small tree she had been thrown against. All around the area, all she could see was Ebony Blade’s face, multiplied across many bodies. They were all just laying there, unconscious or wheezing, or… or worse…

“No, no, no,” the duchess whimpered as the still-open eyes all seemed to stare at her, blank, accusing, cold. How could Ebony be in so many places, and yet… and yet… yet he was there, beside her, across from her, tangled in branches and brambles and lying across stones. “No, Ebony, she, couldn’t… she hasn’t… no…”

Throwing her head back, she let out a choked scream, an echoing wail of agony, of loss, and of help. Her parents had long passed and her husband was gone; her sister had sworn to kill her, to destroy the only pony she still cared about. She was alone, alone with the accusatory glares of the one she had let go of years ago, but had not let go of in her heart. And now… now she couldn't… she just couldn’t…

She was so alone.

As Ebony opened the door to the top of the windmill, he could hear something off in the distance. A voice, crying, filled with despair and loss. It clenched at his heart when he realized who that voice belong to.

“Fyrefly,” he said, entering the room. If she was crying out, then she wasn’t dead, but that meant that either Bathory was dead, or the duchess was injured and her guards were as well. Which meant… the vampire was likely on her way. Glancing over in a corner, the batpony saw a figure laying on a large, makeshift bed.

The spines along its back was the most evident identifier. “Spike, come, we need to get out of here,” he said, crossing the room and setting his sword against the bed. With his free hands, he rolled the dragon over, but upon doing so, he discovered something odd.

Spike’s eyes were glazed over, like one might see in death, but the steady breathing and occasional blink meant he was still alive. Only… it must have been a trance of some kind. “Spike?”

His failure to reply confirmed the mercenary’s suspicion. He’d need to carry him out.

“Spike? Come on Spike, snap out of it, we need to get you home.”

“But he is home,” a voice said. Spinning around whilst grabbing his sword, Ebony found himself face to face with—

“—Bathory,” he hissed, noticing she looked none the worse for wear. “I assume Lady Fyrefly is still…”

“Alive? Yes, my sister lives… for now,” the vampire hissed, taking a small step towards him. His brandished sword seemed to have little effect on her, but then again, if she had defeated her sister without so much as taking a scratch, then he, being slightly less experienced, was in a lot of trouble. “Tell me, Ebony Blade, do you still care for her?”

“Define; still, creature,” he spat.

“Do you still wish that no harm come to her?”

“Always, though what does that have to do—,”

“Everything,” she said, taking another small step as they began to circle one another, like lions preparing for a fight. “My sister remains fond of you, something I would have thought she’d outgrow in her time as duchess. Tell me, why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know, my charming good looks and bachelor life?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Ebony Blade; you and I both know you were with my sister only to get to me.”

“Keep dreaming. How could I have ever loved a creature like you?”

“The same way you love the creature that is my sister,” Bathory replied with a smiling hiss. “Why else do you think that she wished to keep such a tight rein on these lands? Why else would she have spies everywhere, always watching, ready to report any instance of trouble? She fears losing her grip, losing what she has, more so than ruling with a just hand. She lost you years ago, and now she never wants to lose anything like you again.”

“She is far from a tyrant,” he replied, watching her every step like his life depended on it. In a way, several actually, it did. “She does not spend what she does not have, she forgives debts, she has no draft or mandatory tax except in times of great need, and only when they are indeed needed. She is blunt and brusque, yes, but fair.”

“Ah, but is she as fair in body as she is in rule?” The vampire asked, one of her hands motioning over herself. “Take a good look, Mr. Blade; this is what my sister has, yet unlike me, she will lose it, in time. I, on the other hand, shall possess such fairness forever, once I drain the dragon of his life. Tell me, does that not seem like a fair trade? The life of one creature for another?”

“Spike is no creature, not like you. He has a family he would gladly die for, as I did. He loves them with all his heart, as I still do mine, and just like me, he would never, ever turn his back on them. Yes, you and Fyrefly may share many things, like blood and heritage and noble birth, but that is the one thing she has always had that you didn’t.”

“Not the only thing,” she replied with a hiss. “I wished to have you, all those years ago, but no, I never could. So, if I could not have you then, then I found a way to have you elsewhere.”

“My daughter.”

“Precisely. It was by no accident, I should think, that your daughter was my only casualty; other than your pathetic wife, of course,” the vampire added with a laugh. “Sure, little Calypso’s blood was sweeter than any other I’ve had, but I should think that was of your doing. You raised her like a father should; loving, caring, supportive, things my father never did for me. How else should I have reacted, knowing that your daughter was not the one we could have had, but one you had with some mere peasant?”

“Your father gave you all the time in the world, and yet that was never enough for you, was never what you craved,” Ebony said, his hands starting to turn white as he clenched his sword. “You and I could never have had children, as politics would not allow such a thing, and even then, you would have been a terrible mother. My wife, Lobelia, she… she was an amazing pony. Caring, down-to-earth, simple yet tied to the land, unlike you. You were always off looking for something you could never find, always, but Lobelia knew where her loyalties and ties were. She knew family was more important than any silly quest for beauty. She had beauty, inside and out.”

“What could you know of beauty, of loyalty and family? You abandoned my sister, and I, to become a mercenary!”

“I did that because it was my calling; I did not need to be at your beck and call to make my way in this world. I became a mercenary to provide for the family I had. My loyalty will always be to my family, for they are those I love. You, Bathory, you may think yourself beautiful, but inside, you are rotten.”

“Enough!” the vampire screeched, and in a quick lunge, smashed her fist against the stallion’s chest, sending him soaring through the air and into a large pillar in the center of the room. His sword flew from his hand and into the wall, embedding itself near the door from where he had entered. “I tire of your incessant comments and asinine comparisons! I will not be insulted by a lowlife mercenary!”

“You have lost everything that mattered,” Ebony said with a wheeze. “A noble, fit for ruling nothing but the misery that fills her soul. You are pathetic, Bathory. You have nothing left of value.”

She stood over him, her fists turning white from being so tightly clenched. “We’ll see who has nothing left,” she hissed as she grabbed him by the shoulders and hoisted him to his hooves, his arms hanging limply at his sides. “After I’m done with you, none will question me ever again!”

As Duchess Fyrefly continued to sob, her ears swiveled on her head. Someone, something, was approaching her, and fast. Yet... she no longer cared, nor even bothered to look. It seemed every face she looked into was the same; to her, they were. All Ebony, all disappointed, all so… cold and lifeless, even as they lay there, trying to catch their breath.

“Lady Fyrefly?” a voice said, and from her tear-stained hands, the duchess looked up as a flash of lightning arced across the sky. A ghost, a demon, a monster stood before her, tall and dark and covered with glowing scars.

“B-B-Bakhtak?” she choked as the taller creature kneeled next to her, concern etching her features.

“My lady, are you injured?” The Nightmare asked, checking her for any signs of a mortal wound.

“N-No, but Bathory, she... she did something to me, something I can’t explain. The guards, their faces… all I can see is Ebony’s face…”

“I should have known,” the Nightmare said softly. “Vampires often use blood magic and simple spells, usually fear or love, to make their victims easier to deal with. I believe Spike is under a simple love spell, as his wives told me where they saw the vampire, he saw Asalah. We must get all of you to safety.”

“How do you know so much about vampires?” The duchess asked as she slowly rose, her legs trembling beneath her.

“I’m several hundred years old, and have come across many fantastical and supernatural creatures in my time,” Bakhtak replied. “A vampire here or there wasn’t much out of the ordinary, though I have never seen one do anything like this,” she added, gesturing at the stunned and unconscious guards. “Usually they are far more subtle; there is blatant hatred in the rotten heart of your sister.”

“I know,” the duchess said as she stumbled over and retrieved her sword. “She was going into the windmill, Ebony’s in there; we have to stop her. She said she was going to kill him!”

Bakhtak’s gaze narrowed, her teeth poking through her lips as she let loose a guttural growl. “What?” she asked, her body suddenly tense like a bowstring.

“She… she said she was going to kill him,” Fyrefly replied.

In a flash, Bakhtak was gone, her form vanishing into the brambles like a wind-driven shadow. Fyrefly gawked at her speed, tripping over herself as she tried to run after her through the thick undergrowth.

Far ahead of her, the Nightmare had already cleared the thick undergrowth and was standing at the base of the windmill. High above, she heard the sounds of wood splintering, followed by a loud grunt of pain.

“Ebony, I’m coming,” she said, gathering her strength in a crouch and leaping as hard as she could. Her body sailed up into the sky, almost as if she were flying, and in a sharp arc, landed with a roll on the uppermost floor of the windmill. Instantly rolling onto her hooves, she saw the entire room had been devastated; splintered floorboards, missing portions of the stone walls, even bits of the building’s wooden supports were cracked.

Another loud smash caught her attention and she shifted to the side, where she saw Ebony laying against a large, rotting pile of sheets. His face was swollen terribly, and judging from the angle one his arms was laying, it was either dislocated or broken. His sword was embedded in the far wall, and his clothes were torn to shreds, the cloak remains scattered all over the place.

“We are not yet done, you and I,” a voice said, and from behind a pillar, stepped out the vampire, her eyes trained on her hapless prey.

“Yes you are,” Bakhtak said with a growl.

The vampire sharply turned to the newcomer and briefly flinched. “What sort of trickery is this?” she hissed, eyeing the demonic figure before her with wary and disgust. “What are you?”

“What I am does not matter,” the Nightmare said. “I have come for Ebony Blade, and the dragon called Spike. Surrender, or be destroyed.”

“I should think not, creature,” the vampire replied, assuming an aggressive stance. “When I am done with Ebony Blade and have disposed of his corpse, I will drain that dragon of every last drop of blood.”

“No you won’t!” the Nightmare screeched, her voice like that of a rumble of thunder. Her body shivering slightly as her short coat seemed to mold around her, spreading along the rest of her body like an oil slick. Her fingers warped into sharp talons, black as coal and ending in two-pronged points. Her lower jaw expanded slightly, becoming wider as it dropped, her gape becoming much more pronounced and her teeth far more evident. The legs that supported her became more robust, her arms swelled with muscle, and her neck grew thicker in line with her torso. Her gaze became predatory, her snarl feral, her pelt raising along her back like that of a rabid wolf.

With a roar, she leaped at the vampire, who rushed her as well. In that instant, they were upon each other, the force of their meeting driving both of them back and away from Ebony Blade. Bakhtak’s greater size was the reason for this, and as they clung to one another, punching and kicking and attempting to maul the other to bits, they tumbled down the stairs, out of sight, the stuck bastard sword knocked free by their vicious mauling.

Ebony Blade could barely raise his head; he hurt everywhere. So much so that when he heard a pair of wings flutter near the gaping hole, he wasn’t even able to glance in that direction.

That was, until the figured stumbled over to him. “Ebony?” she asked, still her eyes unsure of what they were seeing. “Where are you? Is this you?”

Through his swollen eyelids, Ebony could see the worried, if not slightly pained look that covered Fyrefly’s features. “Over there,” he muttered, gesturing towards Spike, who had up to this point been calmly watching everything transpire. The spell’s hold over him must have been quite strong for him to still remain so out of focus. “Need… to get him… to safety.” All that mattered now was getting that dragon as far from the vampire as they could.

“Thank you, Spike,” the duchess said, clearly believing the figure in front of her to be the dragon. Hobbling over to the bedside figure as the real Ebony struggled to his hooves, she leaned down and touched Spike’s face. “Ebony? Are you... did she hurt you?”

“Is that you, Asalah?” The dragon asked quietly, his eyes slightly opaque as they seemed to gaze right through the duchess. “What’s going on? Why is Ebony here?”

“Wha-,” Fyrefly began, not knowing why this Ebony was calling her a different name, but before she continued, the whole windmill shook, sending them all tumbling to the floor; even Spike toppled off the bed with them. The whole building seemed to groan and shake underneath them, as if it were some great beast struggling to wake up.

Downstairs, Bakhtak had just thrown Bathory through a support beam, wooden splinters flying everywhere as she crashed into the wall. The vampire would lunge at the Nightmare, only to be grabbed in mid-air, and flung again, and again, smashing into the stone walls with enough force to crack and chip away at the remaining mortar holding it all together. After one particularly violent crunch, Bathory snarled and propelled herself into the air. Using her wings to give her a burst of speed, she launched herself down towards her opponent, and in a blur, the vampire broke through her opponent’s defenses and delivered a ferocious slash against the Nightmare’s chest and stomach, her talons raking long, deep furrows in her flesh.

Bakhtak screeched in agony and grabbed the vampire’s head with both hands. With a great swinging motion, she headbutted the smaller creature, the force drove Bathory from her grip and into a pile of wooden planks. Lurching as she felt the blood dripping from her wounds, the Nightmare watched as her adversary rose up once more, fangs bared as she approached. The smell of blood hung in the air, mixing with the decay that seemed to pervade the entire building.

“You are a decent fight, but you are no match for the supernatural!” Bathory screeched, rushing the Nightmare once more and tackling her to the ground after dodging a swipe.

“More than a match for a monster like you!” Bakhtak retorted as she struggled with her attacker.

Raising her talons after knocking the Nightmare’s hands aside, Bathory struck; clawing at every available inch of exposed skin she could reach, flecks of blood flew everywhere in the tussle. Bakhtak blindly reacted, swiping back, her talons connecting with the vampire’s face in a downward motion. Howling in agony, Bathory leaned back on instinct, enough for Bakhtak to get a good, solid punch in. The vampire sailed up into the ceiling, striking another support beam with enough force to cause it to haphazardly splinter. She fell back to the ground with a loud thud, several large splinters sticking out of her back.

Rolling over, Bakhtak spied Ebony’s sword, not several paces away. Scrambling for it, she felt a hand wrap around her ankle and yank her backwards. Turning, she found herself face-to-bloodied-face with the vampiress, whose gaze had gone beyond insane.

“You will not get away from me so easily!” The creature screeched, blood running out of her eyes and down her face as her mouth opened unnaturally wide. Her lower jaw seemed to distend, becoming wider, like that of a snake. With a lunge, she planted her face right into Bakhtak’s rib cage, biting down as hard she could, her fangs piercing her flesh with ease.

The Nightmare let loose a howl of fury and pain, trying to claw the monster’s head from her side. No matter how many times she raked her talons over the soft skin, no matter how many blows she visited upon the vampire’s cranium, the beast kept biting her, seemingly intent on burrowing face-first into her insides., like a bestial crocodile of the night.

Her vision was beginning to go hazy, Bakhtak turned and saw a loose stone nearby, fallen from the wall countless years ago. Grabbing it with a blood-soaked hand, she heaved it with all her might and connected it with the vampire’s cranium. Blood spurt everywhere as bits of bone and possibly brain matter splattered all across the room, and finally, the biting stopped. Shoving the creature away from her, the Nightmare slowly crawled towards Ebony’s sword, her blood trailing behind her as she went.

Upon reaching it, she shakily took it in one hand and, using it like a cane, rose to her feet in time to hear a terrible screeching noise. Turning, she saw the vampire fly towards her, bloody mouth agape, eyes covered in blood, a dented skull clearly visible where the skin and muscle had been torn away. As quick as she could, the Nightmare raised the sword.

Sklerch

It only happened in an instant, but the vampire, perhaps unable to see the glinting object of war through her bloodied eyes, skewered herself upon the blade, driving it through her all the way to the hilt. Gasping in pain and horror as blood spurted everywhere, the vampire soon tried to pull herself free from it, but found a taloned hand digging into her shoulder.

“No more shall you plague us,” the Nightmare said, taking several steps before breaking into a slight run. “No more shall you threaten the ones I love!” With an almighty heave and a screaming, thrashing vampire in tow, Bakhtak drove the sword through the building’s main support beam, emerging from the other side in a shower of debris. The splinters in her back shot forth through her flesh, erupting from her chest and neck into view. Bathory thrashed and screeched, blood flying everywhere as she still tried to pry the sword from her.

But it would not budge.

Stumbling away from the thrashing monster, Bakhtak could feel her body’s naturally regenerative processes beginning to heal her. Already, the flow of blood had been reduced from excessive to a mere trickle, but the healing trance that was to come would render her unconscious. She needed to end this now.

“Monster,” she hissed, approaching the vampire. “Any last words?”

“You have not won! You will never win! I have the power, I am eternal, I am—,” screeched the vampire, blood pooling in her mouth and gushing from her exposed throat, before Bakhtak raised her fists and delivered a solid strike to the top of her head.

“Dead.” Like a band saw slicing through a tree trunk, the sword remained stuck in place, but the shrieking vampiress did not. The blade sliced cleanly through her, from her stomach to the top of her skull, where it erupted in a shower of blood, bone and bits of brain. The two twitching halves falling sideways and the bloodied eyes of the vampire staring blankly out into space, Bakhtak threw back her head, letting out a victorious, guttural roar at the defeat of her nemesis.

The whole building shook as the shock from the blow reverberated through the supports. Already weakened by age and the ensuing struggle visited upon them, the whole building began to slowly fall apart. Several large bricks fell in front of the Nightmare, their great size crushing what remained of the vampire in a bloody mist. Gasping, Bakhtak watched as high above, a shape appeared and plummeted through one of the rotten floorboards. She barely had the time to think before she dove towards it, managing to catch it before it met the ground. Holding the figure close to her, she saw a pair of familiar icy blue eyes looking up at her through swollen eyelids before more debris landed all around them, burying the both of them in a massive pile of wood and stone.

High above, Spike had watched Ebony slip through the hole in the floor and plummet out of sight. Turning to what he thought was Asalah, he did the only thing he could do; he crawled over and pulled himself close to her, protectively wrapping himself around her with his wings and tail. Her returned embrace gave him some measure of comfort as debris continued falling all around them.

With a great groaning sound, the whole building fell in on itself, the great spokes of the windmill snapping like twigs as everything collapsed. The lower stone walls simply folded in on themselves; the mortar holding them together, having long since been destroyed by the fighting between the Nightmare and the vampire. The upper floors simply fell down with the last of the supports giving under the pressure, while the ceiling above simply fell down on them like a great sheet of wood. A great pile of dust rose into the air as the splinters of stone and wood flew everywhere, casting debris all over the clearing.

The low rumble of the building’s collapse carried for miles, eventually being drowned out as the storm that had been building above finally let loose its payload. With the sounds of rolling thunder and falling rain beginning to cover the lands once more, the cloud of dust dissipated and everything lay still.

Not a soul moved as the night continued on, indifferent to what had transpired below.

Author's Notes:

Well, this was a long one chapter, and with so many plot-lines wrapped up, what's next for our group?

You'll have to see next time!