Grayscale

by FloydienSlip

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Other
Length: 3994

In her hunt for a group of criminals, a lone unicorn finds a town that has been ravaged. As she searches the remains, she discovers that hope can be found in even the most dire of circumstances.

In her pursuit of the Cluster, a lone unicorn finds a town that has been ravaged. As she searches the remains, she discovers that hope can be found in even the most dire of circumstances.

Recommended to read in the Ultra Dark color scheme.

Much thanks to RedSquirrel456.

Published 2014-02-21 04:10:13 UTC
Last updated 2014-02-21 04:10:13 UTC

Grayscale

Under the dimming sky, the Cluster has vanished.

They arrived before me. There was no way I could have known. No signal, no warning, no clever riddle. They got here first, and now all is lost. But I continue to scour the town, for it is my self-proclaimed duty.

My hoof trails over the side of some previous establishment. My horn lights; my magic flows into the cold, gray brick. The area around me suddenly bursts with life. Ponies run backwards in the streets, their panic dissolving first into fear, then a stunned silence, then a gentle innocence. A hanging sign makes its way back to the top of the newly reconstructed building without a sound.

I murmur the words engraved on the thin, metal sheet. They feel strange in my mouth, but they are correct. I pronounce them several more times. It wouldn’t do to forget them, after all.

I cut the flow of magic, and the desolate picture before me returns in the time it takes for my horn to dim. The sun lowers quickly as the moon rises on the opposite side of the sky. Its harsh, pale light only serves to make the wastes before me all the more eerie. Frowning, I set to work, knowing full well that it is utterly pointless. The Cluster is long gone, and they never leave evidence behind. Nevertheless, I sift through the rubble of the…

What was it? Oh, yes.

I mouth the three words to myself. I say it again as I dig through the tons of brick strewn over the ground. The monotony of the stone hurts my head, but there’s little I can do about it. I try to cast an enchantment, but it is nullified instantly.

I let out a breath of frustration. I don’t know why I’m surprised at this point.

After an hour of rummaging, I step back from the pile and slump against the charred remains of ancient, gnarled tree. It’s immense, I realize. The branches seem to touch the edges of the sky itself, a stark contrast of gray against gray. Dark against light.

I sink lower and lower until my back is flat against the dirt. I feel its coolness and its dryness. Sighing, I let my hooves sprawl out until I resemble a throwing disk. A collie surfaces in my mind, and I smile briefly before the memory slips away. She would have been an ancient thing by now. I can almost picture her that way, laying in the sunlight of the morning as a scrap-filled bowl is placed beside her.

The image isn’t complete without those around her. A feisty rabbit. Squirrels, chipmunks, birds. A modest bear. A persnickety cat, nose raised in disgust. A comatose alligator. A flying tortoise, not a turtle. A loyal owl. I count myself lucky that the gray—

I shut my eyes. Everything is, at once, too loud and too bright, though the empty wastes and the twilight beg to differ. I wait for the memories to pass, and, eventually, they do. My mind is clear as I once more take in the scene in front of me. I sit up and stand.

At least, I try to. My rear, left hoof finds a sizable chunk of brick, and I fall back to the earth with a gasp. I sit in silence for a moment, letting the situation sink in. I get up again, gently putting pressure on the leg before hissing in pain. I bite my tongue as I prod the bones, which fortunately feel intact. But as I tend to my ankle ligaments, a searing pain shoots up my leg, and I involuntarily let out a cry.

This is bad. The Nemean lion attack last week had cost me most of my first aid materials. A protective brace is, unfortunately, far too heavy to carry with me, so I reach into my saddlebags for gauze, or a strip of cloth, or anything that might help.

Nothing.

So I do the next best thing. Drawing from my magical reserves, I cast a cooling spell on my ankle. I shiver as ice slowly forms on my skin, wrapping its way around the sprained part. Eventually, the entirety of it is encased in a cold, glassy cocoon. I hope that this will not take much magic to keep powered. The last thing I want is to be drained like everyone else.

I walk slowly on three legs to the next pile of detritus, scanning it for any outliers, but I see nothing. I force myself to examine the mess more closely.

Stone shrapnel forms a haphazard pyramid as I toss the debris behind me. I dig with renewed fervor, hoping against all odds that there is a clue, a hint, something I can work with. I want to use my magic, but I know I can’t; there’s too great a chance that I will miss something vital.

I ignore the fact that I have yet to find anything vital.

My hoof strikes something, and I jerk my head down. I carefully clear away the piles of stone around it, but I don’t see anything at first. I bang my hoof against the ground, and it bounces off with two sounds: the metallic ring of my shoe and a muffled clang of something else.

My eyebrow raises. I brush off the thick layer of dust covering the ground before me. One swipe reveals a streak of faded white. Another exposes what appears to have been an arching title. The barest hint of an outline is all that is legible, save for the one enormous letter burned across the front. The two crude valleys are not part of the original sign. That much is clear.

Sighing, I leave the metal sheet in its place as I continue to sort through the remains of the building. It’s hard work, and long work, and it is completely unrewarding. A few dulled bits here and there, a melted quartet of plastic wheels, a copper pot—judging by the taste—that is scorched almost beyond recognition, and a small wooden locomotive, complete with a brass hook on end, surprisingly unscathed.

I stare at the engine with wide eyes. Images flicker through my mind, mental snapshots of days long gone and significant events forgotten. A chariot ride, a Celebration, a picnic, an orchard, a train… I swiftly kick it away from me. It sails through the dry air for a moment before landing with a crunch onto a distant pile of rubble. I turn away from it and hobble briskly to another pile.

Sighing, I continue on. The mound of debris in front of me is tiny, compared to the mountains of debris surrounding it. Something laps at my nostrils, and I sniff the air. A faint of whiff of something fruity teases me, dancing over my nose, before being enveloped again by the scent of smoke.

With renewed interest, I dig into the pile. There’s not much to be found, save for a small pine box, completely charred on the bottom. Judging by the burn pattern, something must have been attached to it at one point. With a bit of magic, I tilt the box left and right, looking for anything significant. I notice two small bolts on either end that seem to be glued on. I examine it more closely.

Melted, then.

It tastes coppery, but not as much as the pot in the previous pile. Some other metal is mixed in with it, but I can’t determine what it is. Tin, perhaps? Zinc?

And then I stare long and hard at the box. The completely unassuming pine box, which had wheels before they burned off. I tremble before tossing it back onto the top of the pile. There’s no point in old memories anymore. All of them have been destroyed, burned away.

It continues like this for several hours. Dozens of heaps of destroyed foundations are scoured, some turning up interesting items. A pair of twisted bifocals. A bamboo bird cage, burned to nearly ash. A kitchen range, far beyond repair.

Other piles have nothing to offer, and I sit under the tree for a while to think. After a while, a glint catches my eye, and I turn my head to see another mound. Curious, I shakily stand and walk over to it.

This mass is more interesting. The stone is… different, somehow. I don’t know what it is, but I’m drawn to it. Nothing flies overhead as I scour the rocks for any anomalies. I pick up a particularly large one and study its composition closely. There doesn’t seem to be any difference, though there is more crystal quartz in here than is usual.

An idea strikes me. Gently, I let loose a stream of magic towards the mineral, only for it to dissipate in an instant. My shoulders slump and I sigh again.

But perhaps I didn’t use enough magic! My ears perk at the thought, and I concentrate hard on the quartz. I pray for it to show me something. Magical residue, maybe, or something that the Cluster overlooked. I tap all of my resources and channel them into the stone—

And suddenly I am tumbling backwards through the air as the crystal explodes from the sheer magical overload. I land, hard. My icy cast cracks under the pressure, but remains whole. Of course, it does not stop the fresh waves of pain that emanate from my wounded ankle. I bite the inside of my cheek and my nostrils flare as I carefully repair the damaged encasement.

I’m always fascinated watching the ice move. Even as new shards sprout and attach to others, the crystals refract the light to form the most spectacular geometric patterns. Once the cast stops twisting and moving, I poke at it with small but powerful tendrils of magic.

Other than a few weaker areas, it should hold for the time being, barring extenuating circumstances. Of course, given the way life is for me right now, I think I’ve suffered through enough of those situations to last a lifetime.

Or two.

Grunting, I shakily stand on three legs, the injured one bent at an angle to keep the pressure off. I turn away from the quartz-rich materials to my surroundings. I realize that something is very, very different here, and for a moment, nothing comes to me.

And then I realize the buildings are still standing. The structures are upright, the roofs are intact, and even the windows have held their own against the raid. I step quietly towards the closest of the cottages before realizing that I am the only pony around for miles. Yet there is something almost reverent about the surrounding area, so much so that I simply continue to tread softly on the path leading to the rural house.

I push the antiquated door open, gasping as it falls flat on the ground, the hinges completely melted off. Shivering, I creep into the room, wary of weakened floorboards and unstable structures. It’s possible that the walls could collapse with the slightest gust of wind.

A room looms in front of me, the open archway seeming to sigh as I step through it. A blackened linoleum floor groans as my hooves land on it, and I take note of its curled ends. For the most part, the kitchen is barren, save for the remains of twisted nails and bent screws. I prod at the burnt timber strewn about the area, and my hoof comes away slightly tacky. I cast my gaze around the walls. I’m surprised the place is still standing.

For a such a small home, though, I’m shocked to see that just in front of me is a foyer, chandeliers and all. There’s not much to see here, aside from the once-beautiful tiled floor of alternating black and white squares and the ashy remains of a set of potted plants. The thick crystal does not glisten as I gingerly climb the stairs to the upper floor.

Full-size dolls, faces expressionless and perhaps melted slightly, line the upper corridor. Tattered garments hang off of them haphazardly, edges crisped to a jet black. The carpet here is rough, though I’m sure it’s just a side effect of the previous inferno.

A chandelier crashes in front of me, and I jump back as the sculpted glass flies apart.

Bracing myself, I wander into the next room listening to the crunching beneath my hooves. I approach the peeling wallpaper, but the design is impossible to make out. Fleurs-de-lis, perhaps? Teddy bears? I can’t tell. In the far corner of the room, a small chest of drawers rests languidly, the top part of the bureau appearing to slump backwards towards the wall. I open the bottom a tiny amount with a small pull of magic, careful not to overexert myself.

An eyepatch and a small pirate’s hat are the first articles of clothing I see. Raising an eyebrow, I yank the drawer out of its groove. The bureau implodes, the upper cabinets collapsing in through the lower ones, and a large cloud of dust billows up from the wreckage. I cough and cough as I vainly attempt to dispel the particles with conjured bursts of air.

And then the walls start to rumble.

I levitate several nearby objects in a panicky attempt to salvage something worthwhile from the house. Hobbling as quickly as I can manage, I make for the front entrance. A loud clatter erupts from behind me, and in spite of myself, I watch as a wooden beam teeters forward, striking another, which in turn strikes another, like the world’s largest domino run. My eyes widen. I run towards the exit, and I can see the last vestiges of sunset, and I can make it, I can make it—

Until, for the second time today, I’m flying backwards, the post’s contact with the floor punching me away from escape. Instinctively, I curl my legs up, ready for the impact.

I land squarely on the tucked ice cast, which shatters almost instantaneously. Chunks of frozen water scatter all over the ground, and a lance of fresh pain stabs me in the nerves. I lay still for a few, desperate moments, ignoring the calamity surrounding me. The stinging is frightening, but I somehow manage to hold on to the levitating objects.

The wall in front of me buckles, and I scramble to my hooves, biting my cheek. Wildly, I swing my head, searching for an orifice of any kind. I spy a faint glow about fifty meters in front and slightly to the left of my current position. I tense. I crouch into the optimal pose. I spring forward.

The open window is smaller than I had expected. I curse my lack of wings as I bring my two forelegs together into one penetrating arrow and my back legs into the same, as well as I can manage. I shoot through the window almost perfectly, my right rear leg grazing the sill. I wince, but it’s not as painful as my ankle. I brace myself as I hit the ground, and I bounce once, twice, before collapsing into a heap. Sucking in a breath, I shakily get to my hooves and examine what I levitated out with me. The first is an empty plastic case with a strip of metal melted to the bottom, so I toss it aside. The second is the head of one of the dolls. I shudder as I drop it behind me.

The last is a wooden caboose. There’s melted brass on one end along with the hint of a threaded hole. I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. I open one of my saddlebags and nest the train car inside, making sure to protect it with what little supplies I have left. The rumbling behind me increases in volume, and I whirl around.

With a mighty roar, the house collapses, sending an enormous mushroom of particles up into the air. The already gray sky becomes several shades darker, and my eyes sting from the bitterness of the soot. Blinking multiple times, I wait until the mites have been fully washed out before shaking my head and gaping at what lies in front of me.

It is immense, a true monument to the dedication of the architects of this region. I approach the thing slowly and examine the surface. It’s a dingy gray, but it appears virtually unscathed. I walk around to the left side, then the back, then the right, and then back to the front. It’s a cube, that much is certain.

I knock a hoof on its surface, and the cube rings like an enormous bell. Frowning, I launch a burst of magic at it, pouring all of my effort and energy into one gigantic punch. It dissipates instantly upon touching the surface. I approach the wall and peer at the surface, scouring the dense, gray metal for any physical mar.

There’s not even a scratch.

I almost cheer. I almost dance with joy thinking of what might lie inside. I almost prance around in the desolate street at the thought of ending the Cluster once and for all.

And then there is a drawn-out creak, followed by a shadow.

There is a flaw in the cube, one shaped suspiciously like a door. Cantering up to it, I wedge my head in the small crack and nudge the door outwards, praying that it doesn’t suddenly swing shut. Slowly, I manage to budge the door a good meter forwards before heaving. I flop on the ground as I attempt to fill my lungs with precious air. The door creaks again, and my eyes shoot open. It seems to be on the threshold of moving back inwards, so I scramble to my hooves and take up the metaphorical reins again. This time, I manage to push the door much farther and, with a mighty grunt, blast it forwards. It impacts the side with a sound like a gong, and I have to cover my ears for a moment. The sound echoes around the barren township before reverberating into the mountains beyond. I turn my attention to the interior of the vault.

Thousands of sheets of text-filled paper swarm my vision.

I can’t breathe. I can’t think. This is wrong. This is all wrong! Why would anypony try to protect all of this writing? Black and white… and nothing more. Why? Were they so ignorant of the Cluster? Did they have no idea what was taking place?

The sea of ink and pulp seems to tower over me. Laughing. Mocking. I feel the rage boil up inside, rising past my ankles, my haunches, my neck. I feel it like a rolling thunder about to let loose an electrical storm.

All at once, thousands of images burn into my skull. A face, a name, a pet, a book, a dragon, a hydra, a lion, a Cluster, a town, a moon, a sun, a princess, a friend, an eyepatch, a hat, a train—

I see all of this, and I channel my anguish towards the tomb with the most powerful blast of magic I’ve ever unleashed. The effect is immediate.

The arcane vault shatters like glass around a stone, and a head-splitting boom pierces the air. I touch a hoof to my ear, and it comes away sticky. The manuscripts and documents go up in an instant, flames already licking the darkened heavens. I watch countless historical notes flare and curl. I watch maps and atlases blaze in unbridled glory. I watch the books burn.

I laugh. And then I cry.

The wind does not blow as I curl up into a ball, wincing as my ankle brushes the dirt. The day does not become bright as the tears roll down my face and make puddles in the ash. The world does not change as I rest my head against my foreleg, eyes closed, wishing for someone to take me off of this doomed continent.

I wonder what would have happened if the Cluster had never congregated. There would be far less misery, I tell myself. It would be far brighter. Life would go on, untainted by the copious destruction of the Cluster. Celestia and Luna would be here. My friends would be here. Ponies would be here.

My brow furrows. I stand up. I don’t have to do this. I don’t have to deal with the Cluster anymore. No. Forget them. Forget this stupid excuse for a cult. They won’t have to deal with me anymore. I’ll show them! They can wander the lands like tumbleweeds, for all I care! Let Equestria go to Tartarus! See if it bothers me anymore!

I gallop to a suitable location, ignoring the burning pain in my ankle. To the south lies an ocean, and I see the shoreline below, the gray rocks dotting the coast with random precision. I can see that they’re calling to me, begging me to just stay for a little bit, to join them down there. I steel myself, prepared to leave behind this cold, gray, empty world.

And then I hear it.

My left front hoof is over the edge, and I have to overcorrect to stay on the bluff. Flailing wildly, I somehow manage to keep my balance despite my throbbing limb. My ears are perked and my eyes are wide as I lean into the horizon, listening intently.

It comes again, a bit quieter. I trot forwards, following the sound. I look at the wreckage of the vault, and I can see that it’s vibrating ever so slightly. I find myself walking back to it, as though I am out of control of my body. I barely resist the movements when I walk inside what used to be one of the most secure places ever forged. I am in the middle of another sigh when I hear the high-pitched tone again. It’s within a meter of my location, and I scour the ground for any clue that would guide me to the source.

My hooves hit something solid, and I blow away the tons of ash to reveal a small… something. I’m not sure what it is. It’s too small to be a room, but perhaps a cubby? A latch presents itself as I circle the container, and I gently pop it open. The noise stops, and I gasp at what lies inside.

There are no words to describe it, except for how beautiful it looks. It is something I haven’t seen in a very long time, and I almost collapse.

I grin. I am actually grinning. I know that I am invincible, now that I have it. I know the Cluster will fall with it in my possession. I jump and jump and jump and bounce all around as my smile broadens further and further, until my cheeks begin to strain from the beam I am now giving.

I settle down, and focus on it. I focus all of my happiness and euphoria on it before murmuring a single word.

“Apart.”

And it complies, separating into two distinct pieces. The first is bold, and I remember the power it held and what it stood for, one dark and one light.

The second is pure, unadulterated white. I know white well, but without it in its fullness, it is worthless.

I channel my magic into the white, and it obeys with sudden loyalty.

I feel the town come back to life. I see hues and shades of things I thought long gone, and it is magnificent. I watch the village rebuild itself in a new way. My smile fades as I realize the gravity of the situation, and I carefully store it in my saddlebags.

And as I leave the town, as I trot west, I can feel the smallest hint of a breeze.