Promethea: Ponified

Promethea
IF SHE DID NOT EXIST, WE WOULD HAVE TO INVENT HER.

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Chapter 1

A small voice pleads in the desert,
A dread shadow laughs in the city,
A desperate student writes the truth.

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ALEXANDRIA, 411 A.D.

The sun of the New God beat down upon the desert town. A young colt and his dog sat in the dwindling shade of one of the identical houses that sat in the boundaries of the city. He looked up, and watched as the guardians of the New Goddess marched through the street. Dust was kicked up where they stepped, and they held weapons in their hands. The colt sighed as they passed, knowing what they meant to do. They were the sharers of the Holy Word, the words that left the lips of the New Goddess with whom they had met with and worshiped, feeding her the children of the unfaithful. Then she told them what they must do.

The band of colts trotted through the streets of the New Goddess's most holy of cities. She would never leave this place. They were sure of it. She gave them the sun, as she had for more than four centuries. They were eternally grateful to her, and could easily kill for her. Was it not good that they do this, in the name of the Good and Almighty Goddess that rose the Sun above their heads each day of their short lives? Some did not think so. There were skeptics, those that did not believe that this most Holy Lady was the Savior they had sought, the one that could lead them out of the darkness that the Old and Evil Gods had left them to die in. These were the ones the colts had come to eradicate. They approached the building as Her Sun set in the distance, forever untouchable by their mortal hands.

The old colt watched them approach, and finished the scroll he was writing. His long, aged beard hung from his face, as scraggly and dirty as his hair. He was dressed in rags, and there were spots of ink marked along them. At the desk he sat at, he had a view of all of the city's main street, and the desk itself was lined with scrolls of writings he had made in his days of glory, when ponies who were lost came to him for the guidance of the Gods who controlled the world, and their words were spoken through him. Now he was a traitor to the Queen Who Owns The Sun, and he would soon be stopped by those who wanted the world's happiness, and in wanting it the Goddess's happiness as well. The figurines of the gods he believed in stood proudly on his desk, and he rubbed each one with a different hoof, sighing as he watched the colts approach.

"Well, then," he said, and he stood up, looking at the figures of Great Thoth and Powerful Hermes one last time, "there is nothing for it. They are coming for me, as they came for beautiful Hypatia. Best go now, beloved daughter." He spoke to the little filly in the corner of the room, who had dropped the toy serpent he'd given her, and now stood in the center of the room. Without turning, he said, "All my love and all my gods shall be about thee as a mantle."

"F-father?" It was a question the filly knew the answer to, and she looked out the back opening in the house out into the desert, where she could not go, had been told never to go without her father. She looked back at him, and he took her hand, leading her to the opening. He held her close, and felt her tears on the rags he was adorned in.

"Father, you will be killed, I know it! Oh father, oh no, oh no..." She was crying now, and her father looked down at her. He could never look at her when she cried, and he resisted the urge to turn away. Instead, he bent down, and placed a hoof on his daughter's shoulder. He looked her in the eyes, and spoke with an honesty she'd heard many times before, when she was scared for her mother, and after she was gone.

"Be strong, child. We shall see each other in the western lands, a-and..." He faltered, and the filly saw a tear well up in his eye. He shut his eyes, and said, "Go. Go now, my love, or I shall weaken..." He let go of her, and stood up straight. Opening his eyes, he looked down at his gift to the world, the gift he and Hypatia had brought to the world, and said again, "Go."

The filly turned and ran. She felt the tears streaming down her face, but knew her father's promise would be kept, that his gods would protect her, that they would meet again, when he had dealt with the ones who had taken her mother from them. She ran, and the heat of the New Goddess's sun beat down on her neck. She ran, and left her father to do what he knew he must do.

After a minute, he heard knocking at his door. Turning, he shut the door behind him, and heard the sound of the Protectors of Harmony at his door.

"Come out, devil-worshiper! Come out and face us!"

He took up his staff, and walked to the door, steeling himself for what he knew would come next. He looked once more at the back door, then turned back to the one in front of him, and opened it.

The Worshipers of the Glorious Goddess stood before him, spears held to where the door had been. He prepared himself, holding himself up on his hind legs with his staff. The twin snakes twirled in an endless dance, circling a beam in the center from which he gripped it. He moved a hoof over the small crowd of guards, and spoke in a deep, unearthly voice when he did.

"He is playing some trick. My thoughts are all queer." He took a step forward, never looking away from the men as his voice rang in their ears. "No! We...we must ignore his bewitchments. Let's do what we came here for."

The old colt's visitors raised their spears in warning. One of them stepped forward, and said, "He...he is playing some trick! My thoughts are all queer!" Another stepped forward, brandishing his spear threateningly. "No!" he said, stepping next to his companion. "We...we must ignore his bewitchments! Let's do what we came here for!" The colts moved closer to the old stallion, who continued to speak in his gravely, unearthly voice.

"In Celestia's name make him stop. I'm going to be sick." He stepped forward again. "Take that, devil. Our thoughts are our own."

The leader of the group began to panic, and one of the colts behind him tensed up. The others raced towards the old colt, and behind them they heard the tense one speak. "In Celestia's name make him stop! I-I'm going to be sick..." The leader had had enough. Grasping the spear tightly in both hooves, he plunged it into the old colt's chest, screaming at him. "T-take that, devil! Our...our thoughts are our own!"

The old colt did not falter, though he was being cut open. He felt warm blood gushing down his body, and the pain was enormous. And still he continued to speak in that hollow, frightening voice.

"Again. Again. Dear Luna, let this be done with. See, he is yet smiling. There. Time claims him. Time, and the radiant, heavenly city."

The mob attacked again, and one of the colts doubled over as the old colt fell, a devilish grin on his face. The attacker threw up, and heard his comrade say, "Again! Again! Dear Luna, let this be done with!" He continued to vomit, retching at the sight of the smiling man soaking in his own blood. The leader of their group called out, "S-see! He is yet smiling!"

Finally it was done. The old colt lay in the dirt, his last smile still etched upon his face. The Keepers of the Sun Goddess's Peace stared down at the dead heathen, and the leader spoke up again.

"Th-there..." he said, and his voice was shaky. The other colts moved closer, drawn to their leader as though he were a welcoming fire. The leader stared at the corpse, frightened at what had just happened. He wiped his brow, suddenly overheated under the glow of the Good Goddess's Sun. Slowly, he spoke what each colt there knew he would say.

"T-time claims him. Time... and the radiant, heavenly city."

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PONYVILLE, 1999 A.D.

"You want dropping off where? Spiiiiiiiiiiike!"

The purple dragon looked over at Rainbow Dash, a shockingly indifferent look on his face. He had a small binder on his lap, which he been leafing through as the cab made its way through the city he called his home. He sighed, and didn't answer, instead looking out the window of the cab at the glowing neon lights of Ponyville as the cab flew through the air-streets. He watched other cars zip by, and looked at the large billboards advertising the usual products ponies wanted to hear about: sodas, the latest Elastagel product, etc., etc. Beside him, an annoyed Rarity glared over at the cyan pegasus who had just insulted her friend. Though the two were as close as Twilight and Spike were (or had been), they still had an argument at least once every day. Spike was beginning to think taking a cab with Dash had been a mistake.

Rainbow Dash looked angrily at the dragon across from her. She continued, stating loudly, "Not another interview for your term paper! I had mine finished, like, weeks ago. You are totally gay." She grinned at Spike egotistically, rubbing in the fact that she had indeed completed the important assignment all college students at the University of Ponyville had to complete by the end of the term. Her pride was bittersweet, however, due to the fact that Rainbow Dash was still in college, despite the fact that she was almost a decade older than Spike was. She'd gone back to college the same year Spike had started, and the two had immediately grown closer, becoming a well-known "friendzoned" couple at the University in a matter of weeks. The two were inseparable, which explained why Spike had chosen to take the cab with her that evening while she was on her way to a concert.

Spike turned to the pegasus, and said sarcastically, "Yeah, well, you're fat. If my term paper was a discourse on Weeping Griffon, I'd have finished weeks ago too!" He turned to Rarity and shrugged apologetically. She rolled her eyes in return and said nothing. The only reason she'd come along was to help Spike with his interview. His nervousness about it had caused her to decide to "pay him back" for all of the volunteer hours he'd given at the Carousel Boutique over the years. She opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by Dash's continued rant.

"Oh, you douche! Weeping Griffon is completely the best! I mean, what was your paper on again? 'Prostitutia'? 'Prosthetica'?" She leaned back in her seat and flipped open her Weeping Griffon comic book, as if to demonstrate her point.

Spike growled, making Dash look up over the rim of the comic. He flashed his fangs, and said, "Promethea. The same name turns up in 18th century poems, early newspaper comic strips, pulp magazines and comic books. That's interesting! Weeping Griffon's just pointless!" To accentuate his own point, he flipped through the small binder on his lap, revealing several magazines, comic books, newspaper clippings, and even an essay on the topic, entitled "The Promethea Puzzle: An Adventure in Folklore." He shut the binder again, and looked back out the window. Again, Rarity said nothing.

Dash laughed, and without looking up from her comic book, she said, "There is no point! That is the genius of Weeping Gorilla." She gave the binder the briefest glimpse, and looked over at Rarity. Still speaking to Spike, she said, "So, who are you interviewing? And why is Miss Perfect coming along?" Rarity huffed at this, and turned her head to look out the window.

Spike looked over at Rainbow Dash, and said, "I'm sure you've heard of her. Her name's Zecora." At the sound of the name of Ponyville's resident shaman, Dash looked surprised. Spike continued before she could say anything. "She just happens to be the widow of the last guy who wrote the Promethea comic book." He looked out the window, and noticing the path into the Everfree Forest, he sat up. "Actually, her address is right near here if you want to drop me and Rarity off..."

Rainbow Dash turned to the driver in the front seat. "Hey, guy? Here will be fine. Then you can run me over to St. Mark's place." The cab driver nodded, and pulled over at the nearby curb. Spike and Rarity stepped out of the cab, and Rarity finally spoke, saying, "You're going to see that awful band The Limp? Ugh! How like you!" She turned, and began to walk along the road into the forest.

Dash blew a raspberry at her, and called out, "And how like you to dislike what me and Spike enjoy!" It was true. Though Spike had as much class as Rarity did, it was only when he felt like it. Usually he and Dash would listen to rock bands as they worked together on everything they did for school, and the two hung out almost twenty-four seven. At first, Spike had been worried Twilight would rain on their parade. But as time went by, and Spike saw less and less of the mare who had been his mother and more and more of the grumpy librarian who always had a glass of whiskey in her hand, he stopped caring what she thought. He was upset about Twilight's deteriorating relationship with him, but he was too busy with school. He leaned on the cab, and whispered, "You know, Rarity sounds like she's in stuffy princess mode right now, and I haven't spoken with Zecora in years. Given the choice, I'd rather be out with you tonight."

Rainbow Dash laughed and began to shut the cab door. She posed and said, "Aah, you only want my body, you jerk. Admit it. Listen, I'll see you in college tomorrow. Good luck finding out about Prolapsia!" She shut the door, and as the cab zoomed off Spike turned and yelled at it.

"Promethea!" He looked at the retreating vehicle, sighed heavily, and began to go after Rarity. He caught up with her, and asked, "What was with the attitude? You and Dash don't usually fight. In fact, you never fight." He scratched his chin, and Rarity looked over at him uncomfortably. Her friendship with Rainbow Dash had greatly improved over the past year, to the point where the cyan mare accompanied Rarity and Fluttershy to the spa occasionally. It was usually the three of them, her, Dash, and Spike, who would be seen at the most popular cafe in Ponyville, Le Cruz, sipping drinks and telling jokes. Tonight, however, Rarity seemed unhappy.

The white unicorn frowned, and said, "I suppose if I have any excuse for the way I acted, it would be because we have to visit Zecora of all zebras. I never liked her hair, and her location isn't very pleasant either." She gestured towards the Everfree Forest, a green backdrop untouched by the electronics of the city today. Zecora was the only one in Ponyville who still lived outside the large glowing area of the city, and she rarely came to town. When she did, she was unnoticeable, slipping in and out faster than Derpy Hooves could eat a muffin.

Spike shut his eyes tight, embarrassed that he forgot his friend's hatred of all things dirty, and they made their way along the road. As they entered the forest, Spike cracked an eye open to see if Rarity was still with him. He was relieved to see that the white unicorn was still walking with him, and he opened the binder he was carrying again. He handed a paper to Rarity, and said, "Here, read this. It'll keep you from thinking about the dirt."

Rarity chuckled and levitated the paper in front of her. It was the first part of Spike's paper on Promethea. She huffed and turned to him, ready to tell him off for trying to get her to read up on his obsession. When she saw the look on his face, however, she realized he wanted her help desperately. She sighed in defeat, and said, "Well, if I'm going to help you with this paper, I suppose I should know what exactly you're researching." She brought the paper close, and began to read.

THE PROMETHEA PUZZLE
An Adventure in Folklore

"Then to that diamond-beaded glade there came
A pageant throng of sweet imaginings,
Of Faeries, Imps and creatures without name,
A great frenetic bustling of wings.
About their Queen four nymphs-in-waiting stood
Girded in armour, each of beauty rare:
Cowslip, and Flax, and Jenny-in-the-Wood,
And sweet Promethea, with her plaited hair."

With these lines, some fifty stanzas into his epic sentimental fantasy A Faerie Romance, New England poet Charlton Hennet (1751-1803) makes his first mention of a character who has since then evolved into a fascinating literary mystery in her own right. Promethea, a handmaiden "with skin like polished betel-wood," is introduced as one of the four handmaidens to the Faerie Queen Titania (a straight crib from A Midsummer Night's Dream, to which Hennet originally intended his own poem as a tribute), but within a dozen or so stanzas seems to have completely taken over both the entire poem and the poet's imagination.

What starts out as an idyll with Titania and her faerie entourage at play in some Arcadian backwater of the natural world is quickly sidetracked into a long narrative that details an intense and (for the period) passionate romance between the nymph Promethea and "a mortal shepherd lad, with moon-calf eyes," in whose poetic nature one suspects Hennet intended an extremely flattering depiction of himself. Hennet, from such few descriptions of him as exist, appears as a somewhat unpleasant colt whose wife left him abruptly when she learned he had seduced a simple-minded servant filly in their employ. From there the tale becomes more grim and sordid still, although nothing of any substance could ever be proven. Afterward, Hennet would seem to have sunk into a deep depression, ending only with the poet's death from liver failure at the relatively early age of fifty-two years old. All this is a far cry from the moonstruck and sensitive young shepherd/poet that's described in Hennet's narrative, and yet one can't escape the feeling that in the unblemished innocence of his male lead, hopelessly in love with an immortal being from the Land of Faerie, Hennet was describing himself as he wished he'd been. His poem, overlong and often plodding in its rhythm, can almost be seen as a protracted and idyllic sexual fantasy in which Hennet sought solace from the bitter circumstances of real life.

The fact that in the first years of the twentieth century both Hennet and his work were in effect unknown makes the next incarnation of Promethea something of a puzzle to the modern literary historian. In 1901, in the Sunday color section of William Randolph Hoofst's Manehatten Clarion, a comic strip both drawn and written by the artist Margaret Haylor Case commenced a lengthy run that lasted until Case retired in 1920. Little Margie in Misty Magic Land was a sometimes saccharine but, more often, genuinely charming and inventive fantasy about a little filly called Margie and her strange adventures in the daydream world of her imagination, the Misty Magic Land of the strip's title. Here, she would encounter fairies, centaurs, ancient gods, and characters from folklore, such as the memorable serial which depicted Margie helping to depose a Jack who's grown tyrannical and taken over the enormous Beanstalk Kingdom previously inhabited by giants. Sequences including Margie trapped inside a giantess's sewing basket with its monstrous cotton reels and tape measure showed of Margaret Case's deft ability at conjuring a dreamlike atmosphere by playing with the size and scale of things and made her comic strip a minor legend in its field, still studied by aficionados today.

Case claimed that the Little Margie was in fact herself as a child, and that the infant's curious adventures (in quaintly-named regions of Misty Magic Land such as The Splendid Strand of Yawn, or Dogworm's Fuming Terrace) were no more than the cartoonist's childhood wanderings in the realm of fancy, transformed almost verbatim into a comic strip. If this is so, then it would seem that Margaret Haylor Case was not aware of the Promethea in Charlton Hennet's poem when she introduced a character of the same name and of a very similar nature to her cast of cartoon players in the fall of 1903. While lost in Baron Fireglove's Chuckling Orchard, Margie is eventually rescued by a brace of characters that would remain her companions for almost the rest of the newspaper strip's duration. These were a benign and often motherly fairy princess named Promethea, and a regrettable comic-relief sidekick named Chinky the Chinese Imp. Chinky, a grotesque and demonic racial creature complete with pigtail and gibberish dialogue ("Moo foo boo!"), while obviously offensive to contemporary audiences, was hardly out of keeping with the outlook of the times, in which racial minorities were cast, routinely, as degrading comic stooges and buffoons. Chinky can never be said to have developed as a personality during his lengthy tenure in the strip. The same is not true of Promethea.

As Case depicted her, Promethea emerges as a brave, compassionate figure with what at times would seem an almost melancholy air about her. In her earliest appearances, she patiently explains to Little Margie that she's had and lost a daughter of her own, and feels a great attachment to Margie as a direct consequence of this. There is even one sequence, puzzlingly out of character and never subsequently mentioned in any later episode, where Promethea grows angry and resentful of Little Margie's periodic returns to her natural family in the real, waking world: "Don't you think that I'd like to go there with you, now and then? I had a father once myself, you know, when I was a little girl!" This bewildering outburst is never explained, but it served to indicate the level of complexity and intrigue that Case brought to a supporting character with only a minor role to play.

Promethea's exit from the strip, some several months before Case opted for retirement in May of 1920, is just as striking and as mystifying. Announcing that she's "tired of people and their warlike ways," she says farewell to Margie and embarks, Chinky in tow, upon a journey that she says will lead her to a kingdom of her own. What kingdom this might be is not remarked upon, nor is her statement properly explained, when, in the seventeen years of her stay in Little Margie she has seen no warfare and other than Margie herself, very few examples of what might reasonably be called people. After Promethea's departure, much of the life, imagination and enthusiasm that Case had invested in the work seemed to have departed with her. Six months of pallid and lackluster stories followed before the cartoonist, sensing that the work had lost its magic, put away her brush and pen and settled for a retirement that was comfortable and uneventful.

The Promethea trail grows cold for a few years until the pulp boom of the 1920s, when again we find a character of that name and with certain common traits appearing in a serial narrative. Once more, it would appear as if the various creators who would engineer Promethea's next incarnation did so without knowledge of Charlton Hennet or the background character that had appeared in Little Margie, although obviously the latter cannot be entirely ruled out. This Promethea was the lead figure and the heroine of an occasional series of short fantasy novellas that appeared in the acclaimed pulp monthly Astonishing Stories, starting in the issue dated February, 1924. Other than in her name and in some details of appearance, this Promethea is very different from her earlier namesakes, being both a fierce warrior and amorous warrior queen constantly fighting to protect her lost fantasy world of Hy Brasil from various devilish and monstrous invaders, all originating in the demon-haunted territories beyond the country's boundaries. In the first published tale, A Warrior Queen of Hy Brasil, we find the plucky outlander Promethea as she fights her way up the from foot soldier to become the sovereign ruler of the vast and marvelous domain. Credited (as were all subsequent Promethea stories) to Marto Neptura, the tale portrays Promethea as a sexually knowing woman with a string of lovers in her past and a ferocious skill with swords and axes.

In fact, "Marto Neptura" was as nonexistent as Promethea herself, being merely an invented house-pseudonym under which a great number of nameless hack writers churned out what were usually (it must be said) both uninspired and uninspiring potboiler narratives of the "Spicy Fantasy" school. Here follows an example from Promethea and the Manigators, the eighth story in the series: "The rivulets of blood on her brown arms were like a scarlet lacework, fitfully illuminated in the staccato and infrequent dazzle of the lightning. With her firm breasts heaving, the beloved Queen of Hy Brasil forced her reptilian antagonist closer and closer to the chasm's edge. His terrifying jaws snapped tight together only inches from her muzzle as, with the muscles standing out on her long, tawny legs, she heaved the alligator-creature into the abyss below." Clearly, the fact that Promethea tales in Astonishing are still remembered fondly and are indeed quite collectible is not based on the literary merit of the stories. It's interesting to observe that both the poet Hennet and the nameless author of the Manigators yarn describe Promethea's skin as tawny.

In actuality, the enduring popularity of Marto Neptura's Promethea had nothing to do with the mythical Mr. Neptura and everything to do with the legendary Grace Branneigh, a pulp cover illustrator with a style that's been compared to near-contemporary Margaret Braydage, who provided painted covers for some fifty issues of Astonishing, including all fifteen issues in which the lead story was a new Promethea novella, creating a firm bond between the artist and the heroine. It hardly comes as a surprise that almost all the articles since written on Promethea in the pulps have focused in Grace Branneigh's contribution, leaving the actual stories and their content virtually ignored. Branneigh's Promethea conceals a number of intriguing elements beneath a pulp veneer. The cover illustrations, in their luminous depictions of the continent of Hy Brasil, portray a world that's hauntingly surreal and alien, with shifting, metamorphic rock formations beneath a swirling emerald sky that could never have possibly existed on our world, for all that the interior narratives insist that "Hy Brasil" is a real continent in Earth's primordial past. It turns out that the continent of Hy Brasil was once considered to be real, and is indeed depicted on the shipping maps of only a few hundred years ago. In many ways it would seem to correspond to Paradise or even Fairyland. Celtic mythology names Hy Brasil as Tir na Nog, the Faerie kingdom. Oddly, this almost brings us back to Hennet's vision of Promethea as hailing from the realm of fairies and folklore.

In 1938, the publishers responsible for Astonishing Stories were bought out by a group called Apex Magazines, who mostly published comic books. Combing through Astonishing's inventory for characters they might successfully transfer, only Promethea seemed to have any possibilities, and so in 1941 the character's fourth incarnation made her debut as lead feature in Apex's Smashing Comics, later graduating to her own book, titled simply Promethea (1946). This new Promethea, while loosely modeled on the pulp incarnation, was recast as a "science heroine" of the type in which the company specialized. Thus, Promethea now operates in contemporary Equestria, fighting crooks, spies, and the Neighzi menace. She has an FBI stallion as a boyfriend ("Dirk Dangerfield at your service, Princess!), and only returns to her other-dimensional kingdom of Hy Brasil for occasional adventures. The artist/writer for these stories, working on the strip from 1941 to his tragic death in 1970, was former Classics teacher William Woolcolt. Woolcolt was an intensely private colt who many later feminist critics of comics have applauded (with some reservations) for the genuine female sensibility which he imparted to the character.

Following Woolcolt's death, Promethea was handed to a young and radical new comics writer, Zeaser Shelley, for a revamp, ably assisted by a number of comics artists (including a memorable stint by artist Pony Craig Russell). The most noticeable change that Shelley brought to Woolcolt's character was to change her skin coloring from firmly Equestrian flesh- pink back to the "polished betel-wood" of earlier incarnations. This was almost certainly because, by Shelley's own admission, he was basing his Promethea upon his lovely and vivacious Zebrican wife, Zecora. Shelley brought a great deal of intelligence and fondness for experiment to his depiction of the character, and his death from cancer in 1996 led to a suspension of the Apex Comics series in a gesture practically unheard-of in the industry. Cynics, of course, were quick to point out the declining sales of the title as the actual motive for its cancellation, as apparently it's well known that books with a female title character have never performed well in the current male oriented marketplace.

So today, Promethea is in limbo- or perhaps in Misty Magic Land- with her adventures no longer before the public. Given the current popularity of simplistic post-modern characters such as the inexplicably celebrated Weeping Griffon, perhaps it's simply that times have moved on, and there is no longer a place for the romantic fantasy and play of the imagination that Promethea represents. We can only hope that she is merely resting in some corner of the Realm of Faerie, or of Hy Brasil, and that in the future, she'll turn up in a new game, some fresh twist to her puzzling history, a genuine piece of American folklore in action, of poetry in motion.

-Spike Emerald-Sparkle

Rarity blinked several times at the sight of the name at the bottom of the paper. She turned to Spike, who was grinning at her, and she stared in amazement at him.

"You wrote this?"

"Yep. Pretty good, right?"

The white unicorn looked back at the essay, amazed that the dragon had become so well-educated that he could write something of the caliber she had just read. He took it from her suddenly, and when she began to object he pointed out the house mere yards away.

"We're here," he said, and stopped in front of the door with Rarity when they reached Zecora's house. He hesitated, then knocked twice on the door. The two stood outside, and Rarity contemplated the essay she'd just read. This Promethea, whatever or whoever she was supposed to be, was apparently some sort of mysterious character that showed up several times over the course of the past three centuries. He'd also mentioned that Promethea had been the name of some ancient Neighgyptian girl who had disappeared almost two millennium ago. Now, it appeared that Zecora was their only remaining link to the legend.

She took a step back as the door to Zecora's hut-like home opened up. The zebra poked her head out, and Rarity instantly noticed the annoyed expression on her face. On dear, she thought, biting her lip. This isn't going to end well. Zecora stared at her for a moment, then turned to Spike, who was whistling nervously while she'd ignored him.

"Spike, you come to my home, I see. I also notice you've brought some company." Rarity recalled Zecora's mysterious ability to rhyme everything she said, and almost laughed at it. She must do it to hold onto the memory of her husband. How sad.

The zebra continued: "I suppose the two of you can come inside. There is much to discuss, and my abode is a perfect place to hide." Rarity looked over at Spike, who shrugged and accepted Zecora's invitation, stepping inside the house. Rarity followed after a moment, hesitant to continue on with him for obvious reasons.

The zebra shut the door as the two entered her home, and she turned to Spike. "Now then," she said, sounding unhappy for some unknown reason. She walked past him, and said, "I noticed the odd topic you had for this work. Why is Promethea the subject for it, what do you think is its perk?" She turned to him again, a strangely threateningly look on her face. Spike finally spoke for the first time since they'd entered the house:

"Ah, well see, it was because of these weird connections I found between all of these stories and comics and stuff. Promethea dates back to this epic poem written by Charlton Hennet in 1780. In his poem, she's a fairy handmaiden, not a warrior like your husband drew.." He trailed off, realizing the mistake of talking about Zecora's dead husband. Zecora simply nodded for him to continue, and he did after a small awkward cough.

"Ok, so she shows up about a century and a half later, in this old comic strip called Little Margie in Misty Magic Land, where she's this sort of fairy companion to the title character."

Zecora looked out her window at the city in the distance. Without looking at him, she said, "There is a coincidence in names. Or so they claim."

Spike paused, and continued when she didn't speak again. "Well, there were stories from the trenches of the Great Griffon War, about an angel coming to the aid of soldiers in need. They said she called herself Promethea..."

Rarity watched with only the slightest annoyance as Zecora did not move from her spot, only saying, "Those men were in shock. They could have easily seen a flying rock."

Spike coughed again, and said, "Wait, it gets weirder. In 1924, this magazine starts running these stories. The first one's is called Promethea, Warrior Queen of Hy Brasil. This Promethea runs a science-fantasy lost continent. A mare named Grace Branneigh does some amazing covers..." Again he was interrupted by Zecora.

"I do not mean to sound amiss, but I do not see where you are going with this."

Spike continued. "The magazine folds, hands its stories over to this comics industry. They make a new Promethea, this one a science-heroine. A colt named William Woolcolt writes it until he dies, and then your husband Zeaser takes over. While that's happening, there are all of these urban legends about people meeting Promethea..."

Zecora turned suddenly, and she raised a hoof to her face, rubbing her forehead. "Dear Spike, I understand your interest in this myth. But please understand what I mean when I say you know not what you are messing with." She led the two to her door again, a frown clearly etched on her face.

Spike blanched, and stuttered out, "Huh? B-but my term paper..."

Zecora gestured for them to leave, and Rarity wanted to spit in her face. She isn't giving Spike any chance of getting any information for his paper! Why would she do something when she can easily see how desperately he needs this? She felt a hoof push her slightly, and she huffed and stormed out of the house. Spike was less compliant, and Zecora had to push him out of the way of her door.

The zebra looked grimly at the disappointed dragon on her doorstep. She opened her mouth to speak once, twice, and then she said, "I know that I may seem harsh, dear boy, but trust me when I say you need to drop this ploy. There is nothing in this folklore that is worth a do..." she began to shut the door, and her eyes glinted in the darkness of her hallway.

"...and you most certainly do not want said folklore looking for you." Then she shut the door, and left Spike and Rarity out in the cold.

Rarity began to walk away, and after a moment, Spike followed her. His mouth was open, and when he caught up with her she closed it for him with a hoof. He stared blankly ahead for a moment, as they made their way along the path back to the city, and finally he spoke.

"I don't believe it. Just like that. Out in the cold."

----------

ALEXANDRIA, 411 A.D.

The little filly made her way across the dunes of the desert as the moon of the Sister Goddess shone down on her, lighting the world around her dimly. She had stopped crying, and shivered as the cold sting of the desert night bit through her shirt. She looked up at the stars, then all around her, and she felt more tears coming to her eyes.

"Father?" She asked the night, as if expecting her father to appear out of the darkness. "F-father, it's getting dark and I'm scared." She walked up a dune, and continued to speak to the night, shivering as she spoke.

"Father? Father, please don't be dead. Please, please, please. I don't know where to go. I... WHURR..."

The filly had tripped, and tumbled down the dune she had been climbing. Dust and sand clung onto her body and clothes, and she shut her mouth and eyes tightly, trying to keep the dirt from entering her mouth. She stopped at the bottom of the dune, and a lizard turned its head toward her for a second, interested in the new presence in its territory. Sensing no threat, the lizard turned its head back up to the sky, ignoring the little filly's crying as she spat out sand that had found a way into her mouth.

"Daddy?" she asked the night again. No answer. "Daddy, you said. You said I'd be alright." She began crying, and wiped her eyes, covering them from the glow that was growing in front of her. She did not see it, and continued to cry. As the glow grew brighter, she said, "I'm all on my own, Daddy. Please save me. You said there'd be gods. You said they'd look after me."

The filly drew her hands from her eyes. Still she did not notice the glow, and for a moment she sat looking at the ground. "You promised, Daddy. You..."

She turned her head up.

"...promised..."

----------

PONYVILLE, 1999 A.D.

"AOW!"

Rarity covered her eyes as the spotlight shone down and blinded her. Spike was lucky enough to avoid the bright light, and shouted up at the floating platform that had shone it down on them.

"Hey! What's the big idea, trying to blind us here?"

He shielded his eyes, and saw five ponies on the hover-platform. Four colts and a familiar mare looked down at her, and one of them, a tan unicorn with an unmistakably iconic barber shop quartet outfit that matched the other unicorn's outfit on the platform, laughed.

"Ha ha! Sorry, little lady. Didn't mean to scare you there." Flim looked down at Rarity, tipping his hat in apology. The unicorn had a toolkit next to him, and he grinned down at her. "Please don't be alarmed. This is all purely routine." As if to prove a point, he stepped back and let a blue pegasus in an extremely recognizable flight suit take the floor.

"You may recognize us. We're Ponyville's resident science-heroes, the Five Swell Colts, and we're just out on patrol, as usual." Soarin smiled charmingly down at the two, who both knew exactly who the Five Swell Colts were. The team had been appointed by Mayor Mare a year before she'd left office, and they were extremely famous. Behind Soarin were the Flim Flam brothers, and in between them was Cranky D. Donkey, adjusting his wig and grinning down at them. It was not the colts, however, that made the Five Swell Colts so memorable to Rarity and Spike. It was their female member that they knew well enough.

"Cranky here had one'a his psychic flashes about ya, Rare." Applejack leaned against the rails of the platform Flim had built years ago, and tipped her hat back. "Ya'll wouldn't happen ta be bein' menaced by any other-worldly forces, would ya?" She asked the question both seriously and with a joking smile on her face, and Rarity frowned in annoyance.

"No, Applejack, we're fine! Please get that light out of my face!" The orange mare laughed, then nodded to Flim. The tan unicorn flicked a switch with his magic, and the spotlight shut off. She leaned forward again, and was about to speak when Soarin pushed her aside and started talking again.

"Hmm. So no extraterrestrial creatures bothering you? No government conspiracies, ancient demon cults, nothing like that?"

Now it was Spike's turn to look annoyed. Oh come on, my term paper isn't that weird! He shouted up at the five ponies, "No! I'm just having trouble with my term paper! I just messed up an interview, so I was going over to St. Mark's to see this band, The Limp! Anything weird about that?"

AJ laughed, and said, "Naw. Well, maybe the fact that Miss Prissy is with ya on yer way to a rock concert. That doesn't make sense." She laughed at the look on Rarity's face, and the unicorn was about to shout a very rude comeback when Soarin turned to Cranky.

"Crank, you've been a little "off" since the divorce..."

Cranky sighed, and adjusted his wig again. "Heck. Y-you know, I felt so sure..." He looked down at the floor, disappointed at being wrong for what appeared to be yet another time. Applejack turned to him and said, "Come on, Cranky. Ya'll was sure that Matilda wasn't cheatin' on ya, too."

Soarin turned towards Rarity again, leaving AJ and Cranky to argue. "We're sorry to have bothered you, Miss. Good luck with your term paper, kid." He nodded to Flim, who flicked several switches and punched several buttons with his magic. The platform floated away, off to wherever the Five needed to go to discuss their next move to help the city. Spike watched them go, then turned to Rarity. He grinned, and said, "Wow. The Five Swell Colts." He walked past her, and she began to follow. "Wait 'till I tell Dash. She'll hemorrhage."

Rarity rolled her eyes and said, "Don't hold your breath." The two laughed at her joke, and they continued on their way, unaware that Spike's shadow had not followed him when he moved.

Slowly, a large, black goop peeled itself off the wall, shifting its shape into that of a thin, jagged figure. The last bits of goo congealed back into it, and it began to follow the two retreating figures, making not a sound as it went.

Spike and Rarity made their way along the street, and turned into an alley that would lead to the sky-bridge that would take them to the nearest cab station. The alley was dark, and it made Rarity shiver. They moved up the steps, and Spike looked over at a poster on the wall showing the band he was planning on seeing in a few minutes. Then the shadow moved.

Spike spun around. There was no one in the alley besides himself and Rarity. The white unicorn looked past him, and called out hesitantly.

"H-hello?"

The shadow moved again, and Rarity heard its voice whisper in her ear.

"Hello."

Instinctively, Spike shoved Rarity out of the way as a hand materialized out of the wall, and it grabbed him instead. Rarity shrieked and ran, and after a brief struggle Spike pulled himself out of the hand's grip and ran after her. The shadow moved off of the wall, and sped after them. Spike dropped the binder as he went, sending pages sprawling everywhere. Meanwhile, Rarity was panicking, and she began screaming out a string of prayers.

"Oh sweet Celestia, Luna, Mother, Jesus..." She almost stopped when she said the last name, surprised that she'd used the name of a storybook character she'd read about during her time helping Spike with his studies on mythology. She had no time to swell, though as she heard Spike catching up to her and then passing by, as he listed his own prayers.

"What did I do?" He turned a corner, and saw on overpass that led over the city streets and airways. He sprinted toward it, and could hear Rarity rushing behind him. "I haven't done anything!" he shouted back to the shadow, which he could see slipping along at an alarming rate as it began to catch up with them. "I'm a college student! All I ever did was read books!" He heard Rarity stumble, and didn't dare look back. "What did I..."

A black hand rose out of the concrete and grabbed his ankle. "...do?" He finished his sentence just as the creature pulled him up by the ankle, and he saw a terrified Rarity hanging by her hind leg as the creature hung them over the ten-story drop through the city airways. It took on the shape of what appeared to be a scraggly thin version of Spike, and it leaned in close to his face.

"Wrong books." That was all it said, and before either of them could react it had dropped them and they were falling, falling down to the sidewalk below, and they made eye contact briefly, then began to scream.

Suddenly, a figure jumped from nowhere and grabbed the two, holding each in one fore leg. Or at least it seemed to be a fore leg, though much longer than any pony would have. The figure grunted as she lifted up the dragon and the unicorn into the air, stopping their fall as easily as Spike could eat a diamond. He stared in amazement at the mare, and after a second he said, "You... you can fly."

As if on cue, they began to drop, her non-existent wings failing as they plummeted toward the earth. She looked down, and said sarcastically: "Can I hell."

The mare shifted, moving Rarity impossibly down her back and into her other arm, where Spike was held, and lifted her free arm up just in time to grab the edge of an overpass. In the distance, Spike could see the creature they'd just avoided moving quickly through the air toward them, and was about to speak when the mare who saved them spoke up.

"Climb up! Climb up me onto the bridge, for Christ's sake! You think I can hang here all day?"

Rarity shook her head and began to inch up her savior's body, not bothering to question her word choice.

"N-no. I mean, okay. We're climbing..."

The unicorn made her way up the mysterious earth pony's body, and Spike followed closely behind, climbing up onto the overpass as the mare said, "Come on, hurry! That Smee is gonna be all over us!"

Rarity made it onto the bridge, and looked down at the earth mare who'd saved them. She noticed the strange outfit she wore, and how large she was in height. She looked to be the size of an alicorn, and she decided she didn't care.

"Please," she said, begging with the mare, "I don't know what's happening. What's a-" She never finished her sentence, and she turned at the sound of panicking bystanders. "...Smee?"

The creature had caught up with them. It stood mere feet away from Rarity, and she began to back up as it moved closer. Spike pulled her back, willing to protect her at any cost. The strange mare climbed over the balcony, breathing heavily.

" *hufff* Don't worry. *hufff* Don't worry, I'm on it..." She turned to the creature, apparently called a Smee, and stood on her hind legs, putting the other two up in a fighting position as the Smee approached.

"Okay." She looked like she was having trouble controlling her body, and she wobbled on her legs. "Okay, you creepy son of a bitch, come on! Come on, I dare ya!"

Rarity raised a hoof in defiance. "N-no. No don't..." But Spike pulled her back as the mare charged and slammed a hoof through the Smee, making it scream in agony. The two backed off, and Rarity heard Spike whisper: "Jesus..."

"*GROOFF* Fat SOW!" The Smee could somehow still move, even with the mare's hoof through its body, and it swiftly swung its claws upward, slicing through the pony's flesh like it was nothing. "Open you...like a FISH..."

The mare screamed in pain, and her blood splattered on the ground. Rarity covered her mouth with a hoof and resisted the urge to vomit. "Oh god! Leave her alone! You'll kill her!" she screamed at the thing, fighting Spike's hold on her as they watched the mare bleed onto the sidewalk. She stood up again, though, and grabbed the Smee in her hoofs, holding it in a tight grip as she walked over to the edge of the bridge.

"No he won't," she said, and tossed the monster over the bridge. In midair the thing flipped and shouted back at the mare: "Oh yes I w-"

A gush of black goo exploded from the Smee as a taxi barreling through the air struck it at lethal speeds. The goo fell through the air, and Spike watched as it splattered against the ground violently. Rarity watched with eyes wide open, and said, "Wow. You killed it."

The mare laughed. "The Smee? Don't be stupid. It's just winded. Come on. Let's get out of here." She turned, and Spike began to follow, calling after her: "Wh-where are we going?" The mare gripped her opened foreleg tightly, staunching the blood flow, and said, "Well, I don't know! Just somewhere we can hide up and delay the inevitable. Jeez, that thing cut me good." She prodded the wound, and winced. "Ow."

Rarity stood for a moment watching the retreating forms of her friend and her savior, then shook her head to clear it. As if noticing them running for the first time, she ran after them, desperate to get away from whatever had just tried to kill her and to try and get some answers.

The three ran for several minutes, moving from the large, public areas of the city and into the alleys. Eventually, the mare came across a large padlocked doorway, and kicked it open with a grunt. "There. That oughtta do it," she said as she stepped inside the building. It appeared to be an abandoned warehouse, and she pushed Rarity in after Spike when the ivory unicorn was hesitant to enter.

Once she shut the door, the mare said, "Okay. Okay, maybe it won't find us for a while. Luna, I must be nuts getting into this at my age." She peered out of a crack in the doorway, and Spike and Rarity sat and watched, shivering in the cold of the dark warehouse. Finally, Rarity spoke:

"L-look, what's going on here? Who are you?"

The mare paused, and turned, a grin on her face. "Who am I?" she said, and started to laugh almost uncontrollably. Spike blinked at her, more confused than he'd ever been in his life. Before he could speak, the mare continued to talk through her laughter: "Ha ha ha! Well, that's a good one." She shook with cold, and glanced at her wound before speaking again, this time without laughing.

"I'm friggin' Promethea, you idiot."

Spike and Rarity stared.

--------

ALEXANDRIA, 411 A.D.

"DON'T BE AFRAID. YOU WERE LOST, BUT NOW YOU ARE FOUND."

Their voice was of one, and yet the little filly could easily see the two beings in front of her. Both of them had "human" bodies, as her father had called them, and one of them had the head of an ibis. The other wore a crown, atop which were small wings that fluttered in the wind. They held out a staff, and around the staff twirled twin serpents, and the filly recognized the symbol as that of her father's staff. And so she asked:

"A-are you...? Are you one of my father's gods, come to keep we safe?"

They smiled down upon her, and said as one: "NO. I AM TWO OF YOUR FATHER'S GODS. I AM THOTH-HERMES... AND I CANNOT KEEP YOU SAFE. NOT IN THIS PRESENT WORLD."

She had stopped crying now. She wiped her eyes, and said, "Why not?"

"OUR INFLUENCE HERE IS WANING, OUR PRIESTS SLAIN BY THOSE OF THE NEW GODDESS. A DARK AGE IS COMING." They looked down at her, and one (the ibis, or perhaps the wing-capped, she couldn't tell) lay a hand on her shoulder. "ONLY IN MY WORLD, THE IMMATERIA, CAN I PROTECT YOU... AND THERE YOU WOULD NO LONGER BE A LITTLE GIRL. YOU'D BE A STORY."

Their hand felt warm on her shoulder, and she felt comforted by them. "W-would I still be alive? Would I be able to come back and visit this world?" She was scared to leave, but had nowhere else to go.

They smiled, and said, "YOU WOULD LIVE ETERNALLY, AS STORIES DO. AS FOR COMING BACK, WELL..." They took her hand, and led her toward the aperture in the world, guiding her to their home. "SOMETIMES, IF A STORY IS VERY SPECIAL, IT CAN QUITE TAKE PEOPLE OVER. WE'LL SEE. COME ALONG."

She went with them, and asked, "Is your world very far?" She now knew she was right to trust them, and walked happily toward the aperture.

They spoke: "NO. IT IS ALWAYS IN THE PLACE WHERE YOU ARE STANDING." They walked through, and paused to close the gateway. They asked her, "TELL ME, CHILD. WHAT IS YOUR NAME?"

She answered, putting her very meaning into the utterance of her name, as her father had told her to.

"Promethea."

And they were gone.

"See, Promethea was a real little girl who lived in 5th century Roman Neighgypt. Her father was a hermetic scholar... sort of like a magician. An Equestrian mob killed him... not uncommon back then... but the gods intervened, taking his daughter into their world of myth and fiction, the Immateria. Promethea became a living story, growing up in the realm that all dreams and stories come from. Sometimes, she'd wander into the imagination of mortals.

"Charlton Hennet, the poet. Margaret Case, the cartoonist and Grace Branneigh, the illustrator. Comics artist William Woolcolt and writer Zeaser Shelley. They channelled Promethea! Some of them, taken over by this powerful living idea, even physically became Promethea... either them, or loved ones that they projected her identity onto.

"Margaret Case, for example, became Promethea to help out in the trenches of The Great Griffon War. During the '20s and '30s, Grace Branneigh took over. See, anyone with imagination and enough enthusiasm for the character can bring her through from the Immateria, by thinking themselves or others into the role.

"During the 1770s, Charlton Hennet's housemaid, Anna, became his dream lover Promethea, transformed by the poet's imagination as he wrote A Faerie Romance for her. Zeaser Shelley did the same thing..."

The mare leaned back on a crate, and Spike's eyes widened as he and Rarity watched her change.

"...only with his wife."

Rarity gasped, and covered her mouth with her hand again. "Oh Celestia," she said, finally recognizing the mare whose stripes were reappearing before their eyes. "Zecora. It's you."

The zebra laughed, her accent returning and thus, Spike guessed, her rhyme. "Rarity, I pray to Zeus you play dumb to amuse me." She looked over at Spike, who was staring at her legs as the sandals that were once on her hooves disappeared. "Yes, I'm Zecora. I suppose it shows. I cannot maintain her form, you know how it goes."

She clutched her torn foreleg tightly, and continued. "You see, my husband, dear Zeaser, who made me that way. With him gone, I can barely stay in that shape. Since he died in 1991, it has been, for me, less and less fun. Promethea looks more and more like me, and I can barely handle a damned Smee."

Rarity stood, and pointed a hoof at the now fully-returned zebra. "Y-you changed back."

Zecora laughed. "Boy, the colts say you are as sharp as a tack. More like one that has been trampled flat. I do not see how they think you are the next Promethea, but perhaps dear Spike can be a good handler." She tilted her head back and winced at the pain in her foreleg, poking it with a testing hoof.

Rarity blinked several times, then turned to Spike. "Me?" She asked him, as if he knew, and he shrugged and looked back to Zecora for confirmation.

The zebra nodded. "Is it not clear to you? Did you not see what I had to do, just so I could protect you two? They must have known her next coming was imminent, as soon as learning Promethea's story became your intent. I warned you to drop it, but now you cannot stop it." She twisted, and began digging through a pocket in the cloak she was wearing.

Rarity stuttered again. "But... I can't be Promethea."

Zecora pulled out a small object from inside her cloak. "You had better hope otherwise, or you'll end up on the other side. We have perhaps half an hour before the Smee returns to collect its fee. Now," she turned to Spike, and held out the object to him. It was a pad and pen. "Mr. Spike, do you write?"

He stared at the pad for a minute, then nodded slowly. "Uh... Mostly poetry and essays, but..." He trailed off, and reached his hand out to take the pad.

Zecora smiled for the first time that evening, and said, "Write. Take flight. Find someplace to hide, and write her down here from above. Rarity is your inspiration, I can see. Now channel Promethea into her, before we are killed by that Smee!"

Spike blushed. It was true. Whenever he had written about Promethea, he had thought of a god-like version of Rarity. It haunted his mind, and he filled his fantasies with her, daydreaming in several of his classes. He took the pad and pen from Zecora, and began to walk away. He gestured for Rarity to follow, and she did, looking back to see if Zecora would be alright.

The zebra yelled after them: "Be quick! A Smee is a Semi-Mindless Elemental Entity. It would rape, then kill, then disembowel thee. Most likely in that order. Oh, and relax! It will be easier to do if you are lax!"

Spike and Rarity walked together for a minute. Then, when Zecora could be neither seen nor heard, the purple dragon sat down on a crate and clicked open the pen. He stared at Rarity for a minute, and without a word began to write furiously.

The Smee gathered himself from below the bridge. The bitch had hurt him! How dare she even touch him! He sent ponies scattering as he reformed, and he began to sniff for the mares and the dragon who had caused him so much trouble.

I am Promethea, and take my name
From he bound to a rock and plagued by birds.
In me burns his Celestial stolen flame.
I am the words made flesh, the flesh made words.

Spike looked up at Rarity and smiled as the words flowed from his mind down onto the paper.

Zecora sat at the door to the warehouse, waiting for her ending.

The Smee was coming. He sniffed, and followed the stench of brimstone and perfume to an alleyway, and turned his head this way and that, looking for them. He was coming.

I am Promethea, my father dead,
Martyred, his bones daubed red with Heresy
By those who would turn Gold back into Lead
And sour a world by their sour Alchemy.

He trudged along a bridge, stalking through the shadows he was made of. He smiled, for he could smell their fear. He was coming.

I am Promethea, God-adopted one
Reared in their immaterial hills and vales.
My tale is in the world of substance spun,
Yet is my substance in the world of tales.

He approached the building, and their stench grew. He grinned, and slowly approached. The Smee was coming.

I am Promethea, the child who stands
Between fixed earth and insubstantial air,
A thought who yet treads matter's rain-swept strands,
And mortals are the sandals that I wear.

Rarity felt lightheaded. Spike was now scribbling words intensely, lost in his world of poetry and fantasy. She tried to call out to him, but she couldn't speak.

I am Promethea.
From Mind's pure light
I stoop into Earth's gloom,
From Fable's day
Descending into Fact's cold weighty night,
From lyric atmospheres to mammal clay.

The Smee leaned against the door. It was slightly bent, and it looked as though it had been broken open. He listened, and heard the mare on the other side. He could hear her breathing, and it was heavy and ripe with fear. He grinned wildly, for he knew triumph them. The Smee had come!

Zecora heard the scratching, and prayed it was a dog.

I am Promethea, the rumored one,
The Mythic bough that Reason strains to bend.
I am that voice left, once the book is done...

The Smee burst through the door, sending splintering wood and shards of metal everywhere. Zecora shrieked, and hoped only that she had not guessed the Smee's intended schedule correctly.

I am the dream that waking does not end.

The Smee converged on her, and it gripped her face in its claw. "I told you I'd kill you. Where's the girl?" He tilted his head sideways, as though he were speaking to a child. Zecora felt tears dripping uncontrollably down her face, and she said in a hoarse voice, "You are wrong about this girl. There is nothing I could see in her. It is best that you leave. There would be terrible consequences for you if you failed, no?" Her rhyme had disappeared, and she hoped that he would not notice.

The Smee slammed her into the ground, and she felt her opened foreleg scrape against the dirt-covered floor. He leaned in close, and said, "Not what I asked. Where is she?"

The zebra shouted. "AAAAAAA! Who sent you? I-is it the Temple? Is it Jackal Faust or the Night Queen?" He grinded her face into the ground, and she pleaded: "Oh God. I'm telling you, the girl's not the one! She's some useless child, She's nobody! She's-"

"I am Promethea, Art's fiercest spark..."

The Goddess was coming.

"I am all Inspiration...all Desire."

The Goddess was near. The Smee dropped Zecora, who doubled over in pain. "Aww, God. Aww, Celestia..."

"Imagination's blaze in Mankind's dark..."

She was coming closer, and the Smee smelled no fear now.

"I am Promethea...

"I BRING YOU FIRE!"

She was there. The Goddess drew her weapon, and let it rain its wrath upon the Smee. He felt its burn, and screamed his fury and pain.

"MURRRHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKHHH!!"

The Goddess stopped, and the Smee stumbled backward. He looked at the flaming hole in his chest, then back up at the Goddess. She stood, glorious and white-coated, her dark purple braids pouring down the back of her head that was capped in a hat of gold. Upon her breast lay a plate of Holy make, and her skirt was of the same. Her robes flowed behind her, endless as was her beauty. In her hoof she held the staff, the staff of twin serpents, and it glowed and crackled with lightening. The fury could be seen in her glowing eyes, and the Smee knew it was doomed.

"Oh." He raised his hands in surrender. "I'm too late, then?"

He was met with more fire, and he heard her answer.

"Yes."

He fell, and found he could not stand. He lay on the ground, burning, as the Goddess stepped over to him, holding over his head the object that would be his end. As the fire consumed his hearing, he heard one last line from her lips.

"Much too little...and much too late."

Then he was only flame.

The Goddess stood, and watched the Smee burn out, leaving a black mark under a pillow of smoke. Then she turned, and walked to the dying zebra she had just saved. The dragon, the one who had brought her back, who had returned her to the material world, came running to her side, and he helped the zebra up. The Goddess stood before her, and spoke:

"Zecora... I must get you to a hospital..."

The zebra looked up at her, and was in awe. "Y-you were incredible," she said, and knew only praise for the Goddess. "You were better than I ever was. Hell, you were even greater than Grace Branneigh."

The Goddess bent down, and the dragon watched her pull the zebra into her forelegs. Then she turned, and nodded to him. He walked over to her, and put an arm around her waist. He gripped tightly, and waited for her to be ready. Then the Goddess looked down at the zebra and said, "You've lost a lot of blood. Don't try to talk."

And still the zebra spoke, her voice returned with her rhyme: "B-but I have to tell you so much. There is so much you must know, so much I can tell, if not for my crutch. You must know of your foes, those who would see you dead. There are those before you must know of, like poor Margie Case with many tears shed. The Immateria..." She could barely speak, and was silenced by the Goddess.

"Hush, Zecora. There'll be time to tell me later, when you're well." The Goddess looked down at Spike, who nodded once, and she took in one hoof the Caduceus, that which was her wand. "Now that I'm back, I have all the time that there is in the world."

And Promethea rose into the air, taking with her Spike and Zecora, rising high above the city streets, her staff pointed skyward, her endless smile looking up to the heavens. A glow radiated around them, and as she moved through the air she spoke again.

"Time, and the radiant, heavenly, city."

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Next: The Judgment of Solomon!