Fallout: Equestria, Darkness Falls

“Augh!”

I jolted up, suddenly awake and somehow still alive. My rapid-fire breathing left wisps of cold fluttering in the bedroom’s dusty air as I quickly darted my eyes to and fro. The covers fell off of me, and a further adjustment showed me that the glass wound was now gone as though it never happened. I blinked.

What happened? Where, who?

The sun was going down outside, the darkness creeping onto the house even as the thick cloud cover dampened it even more. I blink more, unable to remember how I got here.

“The foal!” I looked around frantically, searching the entire room visually once more and finding no trace of her. In fact, everything except my pendant and robe was gone! It must have been that blue stallion, the one just before I lost consciousness.

Noise from below caught my attention, and my head tilted. He was still here? Surely he’s not dumb enough to stick around after taking my belongings and the foal? My brow furrowed and I slowly made my way down the hall and the stairs, ever wary of deceit and possible ambush with the recent memory of Whiskey Tango in mind.

My suspicions were never vindicated as I descended the first few steps. The downstairs common room had been slightly changed. The table I smashed through had been swept away and into a corner. Light flickered throughout the room, the fireplace ablaze with… giant roaches over the flames. Only just then did the pungent, putrid aroma assault my nose.

I gagged rather loudly.

“You’re awake.”

“GYAH!” I jumped, then tumbled onto my back down the first few steps. “Ow!” I whined after my head banged on the hard wood.

There he stood, my unwanted assailer. He stared down at me with a flat look. “Definitely awake,” he quirked an eyebrow at me as he spoke.

I scrambled to my hooves as fast as I could. “No thanks to you,” I said guardedly. “Where’s the foal?” I demanded. “If you’ve hurt her…” I threatened, despite not being armed and not having the fortitude for it.

“Bossy, aren’t we.” He pushed passed me and down the stairs.

I flushed angrily. “Listen here, demon, you--”

I cut off as the gun levitated up in a flash, the barrel chillingly close to my head. He stared back at me, his eyes colder than I could have imagined. He said nothing, but instead held that gun to my head for several seconds. Afterwards he sheathed it to his left foreleg and continued downstairs.

I was more angry than scared, the latter smothered in hot fury. I would not be deterred. “Where is she,” I demanded again, now through grit teeth as I stood my ground and tried to hide the quaking in my forehooves.

He sighed in annoyance, “Couch.”

I blinked. A further look at the old dusty piece of furniture revealed a familiar cloth bundle. My anger cooled, question answered, I made my way down to check. She was indeed okay and once more fast asleep.

“Who are you and what are you doing out here.”

I turned to look at him. He was between me and the door. “I could ask you the same question, raider.”

“Look,” he started, scowling at me. “I’m not a raider.”

“Oh?” I challenged. “Then explain why you murdered that caravan.” I knew he didn’t kill those ponies. They were the victims of the actual raiders, but I needed to make sure he wasn’t working with them or some other group. “And why you tried to kill me.”

“You went after the foal,” he retorted back. “You’re not exactly dressed like normal ponies. In some damned cult or something.”

I huffed indignantly. “I am not from ‘some cult’. I am a follower of the Princesses, and their High Priestess!” I emphasized with a stomp.

He rolled his eyes. “Ee’yup, some cult…”

How dare he! I huffed again and my face heated.

“You’re dressed for the part.” He gestured at my robes.

“And what exactly would I have ‘done’ to the foal?” Seriously, what would I have done? The foal was defenseless and…

“Eaten it,” he said simply, his eyes judging.

I paled and stared at him as though he’d suddenly grown a second head.

“Okay, so I was wrong.” He shrugged as though it was of no consequence. At some point my jaw had dropped.

“Wrong!?” I shouted, then remembered the sleeping foal and quieted my tone. “Wrong? That was you shooting at me. Do you always shoot other ponies dead on a blind hunch!?”

“Hey, if it looks like a psycho and dresses like a psycho, I’m shooting it like a psycho.” He looked me up and down, his tone infuriatingly casual about the situation. “And you looked like one, so sue me.” He turned back to the cooking insects above the fire, his horn glowing as he rotated them on their spits.

My muzzle twitched as I watched him, and it was all I could do to resist bucking him face-first into the fire.

Forcing myself away from the despicable stallion, I took my overcoat from the nearby table to give the foal some extra warmth. It was growing colder and I remembered how miserable the cave was.

Several minutes passed by in silence, myself on the couch and him tending to the dead. My temper cooled enough and a thought occurred to me, a glance at my own hindleg.

“Why did you do it, then?” I asked.

“Hmm?” He kept his attention on the fire.

“Why did you not kill me? I passed out from blood loss.”

He stayed silent for a while, then finally spoke up, “You made your intention clear. You forgot about me and comforted the foal. I knew then that you wouldn’t hurt it.”

I blinked, my question only half-answered. “And my leg?”

“Healing potion. Like I said; you wanna hide, treat your injuries. I followed your blood trail.”

I nodded once. “I see. And my things?”

He didn’t answer, instead his interest on the roasting bugs. Did he seriously intend on eating that? I slowly shook my head and was about to reprimand him on the safety of eating such things, but then remembered my own meal the night before. Random cans of Celestia-knows-what didn’t exactly give me a leg to stand on in this case.

As he began to eat I decided it was time to go, and after a moment of wandering around I found my saddlebags under the table that held my coat. I moved everything from one bag to the other, intending to use it to carry the foal. In this world I would need all four of my legs to stay away from danger.

“Where do you think you’re going?” my simultaneous murderer and savior asked. His tone said he would not let me leave.

I tensed. “Wherever I please,” I replied a bit heatedly. He had no right to tell me what to do and I was not going to be intimidated.

He scowled at me mildly. “Not with her.”

I scoffed right back. “As if I’m going to let you take her! I may not be a guardian, but you aren’t even qualified to watch over an egg timer, let alone a youngling!”

“Step outside that door and you will die.”

I snorted and rolled my eyes. “Please. I’m mended and just fine, thanks to you.” I was indeed grateful, but this was getting annoying. “I know what to look for and what to avoid.”

“Do you.” His tone carried a sense of sarcasm.

“Yes, I do!” I stomped.

“Then you know about the swarms of stygians that devour ponies in seconds unless they’re in shelter.”

I blinked. The what?

He glanced back at me with one cold eye and smirked. There was a scratching sound above me and I looked up. It sounded like something raking across the ancient wood, prodding softly to test for a way in. The fire flickered, and out of the corner of my eye a very fast shadow darted outside the window. I jumped.

“Stygians,” he said again. “They only come out at night. They hunt in swarms in the city and larger urban areas, though there are a few smaller packs near the mountains, where we are. They wait in caves during the day. Oh, and the second you step hoof out that door, you’ll be eaten in ten seconds flat.”

Scritch, scratch. Scritch.

That infernal sound again. It had been two hours since and they have not stopped!

I laid on the very same couch in the living room, too afraid to move much farther away from the fire. Ghost -- what the stallion had preferred to name himself as -- reiterated that any light hurts these ‘stygian’ things, whether it was from the sun during the day or the artificial light of fire and spells. Though he added that my pipbuck’s illumination spell is too weak to do so.

Even though my eyes burned for rest, I could not get any sleep like this. The knowledge that blood-thirsty carnivorous demons flew just outside, capable of ripping me to shreds within an astonishing timeframe just did not give me peace of mind.

Of course not, I scowled up at the ceiling. I can’t imagine why.

The little foal had remained completely asleep and at ease. Not even the stygians’ constant racket roused her from rest. I envied her.

Mustering up the courage, I got up and made my way around the old house to seek some form of distraction. Several small torches in glass housings dotted the home; set up by him to keep the stygians at bay should the main fire go out. I found Ghost in the kitchen, sitting at the table with the green glow of a terminal.

“Can’t sleep?” Ghost asked, his attention on the terminal with a frown.

“Can’t sleep,” I replied tiredly. He merely hummed in response.

Ghost then took out his weapons and began laying them on the table. The revolver from before, the huge weapon he had described as a ‘sniper rifle’, and lastly he had the weapon I confiscated from the raiders. I stiffened, not entirely liking the idea of not having it while he was armed to the teeth. Then I felt queasy at the thought of having an attachment to a weapon, of all things.

Nonsense, I thought with heavy disapproval and thrust the unwanted desire from my heart. I only need the Princesses’ light to protect me.

Ghost picked up my weapon first, scoffing and scowling as he turned it this way and that. “You need to take better care of your weapons.” He stared at me flatly.

I stared back, miffed that he dare suggest that I care for such a thing. “I do not care for instruments of evil,” I declared my thoughts firmly.

He quirked an eyebrow in what I suspected was disbelief or annoyance. Maybe both.

“Regardless,” he stated again, his horn taking the weapon apart and then cleaning it with several small tools in a meticulous and careful manner. “You need to. This MEP Type Eighteen would have fallen apart after another cartridge, stable-dweller.”

“I told you, my name is Silver.”

“Whatever. Take care of it or you will die. Stupid ponies that don’t take care of their guns become dead ponies. You don’t wanna be dead, then don’t be stupid.”

I huffed, then glanced away for the time being. He was more than annoying, and quite rude to boot!

“Or don’t. I really don’t care.” Ghost finished his work on the pistol and turned his attention to his own.

All I did was flush and stare at him, anger building that he had the nerve to question my intelligence. I led a Stable, after all! Granted I did not have much experience, but I still knew how! Surely that qualifies me as being out of the range of ponies that are out here.

I growled softly but he didn’t even bat an eye.

Scritch.

My ear twitched at the noise and I glanced up. “How much longer until I can leave?” Getting the foal and myself away from this insufferable stallion took priority for the time being, then after she is properly cared for I can resume my search for Whiskey.

Ghost hummed, unconcerned about the carnivorous stygians. “A few hours, probably. They know there is food in here, so they won’t leave until things get too dangerous to stick around.”

I gave a small nod, wondering about the waiting stygians and unpleasant images conjured by my imagination. I shivered at yet another one about the fire going out and getting assaulted from all angles and…

Gyah!!

I need that distraction now, please, thank you!

“What’s on the terminal?” I asked. I did not much care what was on it, I just needed something to do.

“Chat logs. From ponies long dead.”

As grim as it was, it would have to do.

Ghost scooted over and took the opposite chair and continued his work, letting me have the terminal. Some of the entries were beyond repair when I tried to look at them, though there were still a few that remained. Some were letters back and forth, others seemed to be like a conversation that was written in text.

Heart Phyre: Hi, Mom.

Sun Phyre: Hey, sweetheart. How is work?

H.P.: Oh, just more of the same. Filing paperwork, scheduling meetings, et cetera.

S.P.: And Halo?

H.P.: Still in school, thank Celestia. I got her latest report card, you should be getting a copy in the mail soon. She’s doing her best -- and doing well -- but she still wants to go to the front. Says she feels like she’s not making any difference in school and it’s taking more and more to convince her otherwise.

S.P.: That’s wonderful, dear! I’m glad she’s doing so well. I’m sorry to put so much of this on you, but please keep her in school. I don’t want to lose either of you to this horrible war. I’m still curious though, how did you get Halo such a huge scholarship? And into the Grimhoof Academy, no less? I thought only the children of nobles could get in there.

H.P.: It’s all right, Mom. I want her to stay out of this war just as much as you do. And hey, I’ll be coming out your way here pretty soon. One of my bosses has business to attend to in Goldpeak, and I’ve been given orders to go with her.

S.P.: Oh, that’s wonderful! When will you be coming?

H.P.: Sorry, Mom, but you know I can’t disclose that kind of information. It’s against the secrecy act. Don’t worry, though. Soon as I get a free moment I’ll stop by.

S.P.: Oh, right. Sometimes I forget in my old age. I’m still having trouble re-configuring this blasted terminal encryption-moh-bob you sent me. Never had anything like this in my day.

H.P.: Eheh, yeah, sorry you have to deal with that, Mom. But as I’ve said before it’s the only way we can communicate. I think it’s annoying, too, but as soon as the war ends things can get back to normal.

S.P.: I hope so. Stay safe, keep an eye on Halo, and... please be careful. Those darned zebras are getting trickier.

H.P.: Thanks, Mom, and I will. I promise you.

S.P.: I love you, sweetheart.

H.P.: I love you, too, Mom.

I finished the first and proceeded to the next. It seemed to be a progressive string of emails.

Dear Heart,

I really wish you would write me more often. I don’t like these weeks of silence between you and I. It just makes me worry so much more, you know? You go days -- sometimes weeks -- without so much as a peep. I don’t want to be a bother, no mother wants that, but is it really so hard to pop a letter in the mail? It doesn’t have to say much, just a quick ‘hello, how are you?’ is all I’m asking.

Love, Mom

------

Hey Mom,

I am truly sorry for being so quiet for such lengthy periods, but my job really keeps me THAT busy. I’m lucky if I can remember to breathe at times. Between my primary boss and her ‘friends’ I have a zillion-and-a-half things to remember. Tack on business trips all over Equestria and to the Crystal Empire and I’m thoroughly booked. Do you know how much I had to bug my bosses to just give me two days vacation to go to Halo’s graduation? I think I’d rather go hoof-to-hoof against zebra elite legionnaires!

Anyways, yeah, it’s a hassle and a half and I’m sorry, but I have to stay my course to end this war before Halo gets involved. I have to.

Sincerely, your daughter

-----

There were several more entries and chat logs, but they were damaged beyond recognition. All I got was a lot of erroneous gibberish. The last log was the only other one left.

----

Halo Phyre: Mom?

Sun Phyre: I’m here, sweetheart! Are you okay?

Ha.P.: Yeah, I’m fine. I need you to listen. Don’t believe what the stupid media is saying about Heart. She is NOT a traitor, I don’t care what they say.

S.P.: I believe you, hon. Ponies from the M.o.M already asked me if I had seen her.

Ha.P.: What’d you tell them?

S.P.: The truth; that I hadn’t seen your sister for quite a while. Her work kept her so busy.

Ha.P.: Okay, that’s good. At least you shouldn’t get harassed anymore.

S.P.: Sweetie, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I can’t help but question…

Ha.P.: Mom! You can’t be serious!

S.P.: No, no… I don’t think she did… but I’ve never known the ministry to mistaken a traitor. Remember that zebra from Ponyville? And also Minuette, right here in Goldpeak…

Ha.P.: They’re not Heart and don’t believe their propaganda. Trust me, I know. I’m going to do whatever I can to find out what the hell happened.

S.P.: I’m with you, sweetheart. Just please be careful and don’t jeopardize yourself. She worked hard to get you into Grimhoof.

Ha.P.: Don’t worry, I won’t. Remember I have High General Fire Song on my side, and he’s a good stallion. He’ll help me, I know it.

----

I hummed softly and concluded what was left of the entries. Like the other terminal I did not understand much of what it meant.

“Ghost?” I asked.

“What,” he replied boredly as he worked on his insipid weapons.

“What is ‘Grimhoof Academy’?” I turned to look.

He replied without detracting his attention from his task, “It was a school.”

I blinked. “What kind of school?”

Ghost sighed. “One where ponies learned the art of war.”

I leaned away, disgusted by that very sentence. How in Celestia’s name was war an art?

Ghost continued, “The war needed smart individuals to lead and strategize, so that place was built to teach. Usually it was just the noble-ponies and wealthy that got in, though.” Ghost rolled his eyes at that last bit.

I looked around at the house around me. It was a quaint little place for sure, but hardly something that I would peg as a ‘noble-pony’s’ home.

“I don’t understand why anypony would want to learn how to kill another. It’s…” I paused to remember Clover. “Deplorable.”

Ghost scoffed, then actually turned to look at me with that deadpan stare. “Get used to it.”

I stared back, my eyes wide. How could he say something like that? ‘Get used to it’ he said. Unbelievable!

My undesired host continued, “It’s the world we live in. It happens every day; by the dozens and scores. You think it’s bad here? You haven’t seen anything yet, stable-dweller.” Ghost held his gaze on mine. Just behind those dark eyes there was a coldness that I could not begin to fathom.

Right then I felt the need to get as far away from this pony -- no, demon befit him better -- as soon as possible. Myself and the abandoned foal. I could not allow him to corrupt her.

I did not even realize I had leaned away until the chair almost tipped over. Quietly and without another word, Ghost went back to his task. Unable to be in the same room any longer I departed for somewhere else in the house. Not even the same floor.

The stairs creaked under my hooves as I made my way back upstairs. I suppose it was to explore, as an alternative reason. While I did not want to admit it, the house held my curiosity. I came to the initial room that I attempted to hide in, inadvertantly following my own dried blood.

It was orderly and tidy, aside from the dust that had collected. No pony had lived here for quite some time, even before the tide of death and destruction beset this land.

The next room down was quite different than the last. What looked like old and broken toys littered the floor, the furnishings and the bed that had broken down its side. A glimmer of gold caught my eye and brought my attention to several dusty trophies. Such things were not allowed in Stable 46 as they promoted biased betterance between everypony, so I was not surprised to see such things in tartarus. Still, I left without a second thought as the sight of a filly’s ruined toys soured my mood considerably.

The last room seemed to be a cross between the other two. There were no toys to speak of, but there was a collection of other things; old books and magazines that, upon examination, held no legible answers for me. A busted curio contained ever more exotic pieces of china, all of them smashed to bits, cracked or chipped.

I tilted my head. “Why would demons collect such things…?” I asked myself. Honestly they seemed to be the types of things that Dawn might possess. The pendant of the princesses around my neck came to mind, passed down from high priestess to high priestess.

Finally I looked over to the bed, and found the unsettlingly familiar sight of a pony’s skeleton curled up on the mattress. A quick check of the forehead told me it was not a unicorn, but the idea of this one being an ‘earth pony’ was dismissed. A web of thinner bones coated the pony’s side. It took me some time to realize that they used to be wings.

I blinked, confused by what I saw. “Just how many different demons are there?” I asked once more.

Even more peculiar was the metal helmet that covered the dead skull. It left the face open, and from it protruded various broken or cracked bulbs. It held no real identification for me.

I was about to walk away when I noticed something else. In the pony’s forelegs was a vase, durable enough to withstand the ravages of time, or more likely, protected by the deceased pony’s body from the elements.

As respectful as I could, I shifted the delicate bones of its wing and blew on the dust.

My ears wanted to paste back as the revelation hit me; this jar was an urn, the burial place for a cremated pony. Much the same was done for our dead in 46. I was looking at not one grave, but two.

Having my fill of depression, I made my way back down with my curiosity sated. Those who resided here were clearly long gone and all that remained were memories. I knew I should not have been curious to begin with - I wanted nothing to do with the lives of these apparent demons - but…

“No,” I said softly to myself with a shake of my head. I was back in the living room with the sleeping foal, and I did not want to wake her. “No, I have my goal. My mission. I need to focus on it, so that this will not all be for nothing.”

That thought firmly in my head, I curled up on the sofa in front of the fire to sleep. The stygian’s scratching had not ceased, but by now I was tired enough to ignore it.

Footnote: Level Up.

New Perk: Intense Training, increase your Endurance by one.