The Nightcrawler

Dark Reef: the last place any sea-bred would want to be. Only the most dangerous criminals were sent into this dim labyrinth, and not a single one of them ever got out. It was reputed to be inescapable, and not for a lack of trying. Most who tried died in the attempt, others were caught before even getting out of the inner reefs, only to be executed as a staunch reminder for any other would-be escapees.

Death, however, was never enough of a deterrent for the prison’s inmates.

Such determination would lead to the best known escape attempt in Dark Reef’s history, the brainchild of the Dark Reef Dozen. Their plan was concocted in absolute secrecy, murdering anyone who could piece together their plot, and it remained a secret.

It was an ingenious plan: instead of trying to escape the unbreachable inner reefs, they would seek their means from within. The Deep Warden’s office had to stay closed, lest his capacity to respond to a riot be affected. While secure, it was not as secure as the long corridors and barbed reefs relentlessly patrolled by eels and giant anemones. Not many knew where the office was, let alone what was in it. How, then, the Dark Reef Dozens come to learn of the presence of a forbidden Dark Seal there, was a mystery that they carried to their graves.

Indeed, not even the Dozen could pull it off. Ten died in the attempt, either from fighting off the guards for the others, or from the numerous traps and hazards of the prison. Only two reached office, but something went wrong: the copy of the key that was supposed to be hidden nearby was missing. They were caught by the guards trying to force their way through the door in desperation. The last two of the Dozen were brought out and executed, for all of the sea-bred prisoners to watch in despair. Was there no escaping this horrible place?

But it had not been a coincidence that the key was missing. Their plan, somehow, had reached the ears of a certain nightcrawler, and he had made his own place in that plot. Discreetly, he had listened in and studied the Dozen’s plan. When the time came, he was the one who had taken the key, just before the others had reached the office.

He waited. He watched the last two slithereens being carried away by the eels, who were wondering aloud where it had all gone wrong. Key in hand, he only sprung from his hiding place when all eyes were on the captured escapees and not on the office. He kicked his legs furiously to reach the office door, and produced the key.

The sea-bred’s nerves were shot, and he couldn’t manage to properly insert it into the lock. He slowed his breathing, and composed himself, before trying one more time.

The key fit the lock beautifully. The click that it produced when he turned it was even more beautiful.

He swung open the door, careful not to slam it, and took in the office: spacious and well-lit, it boasted many trophies and paraphernalia seized from inmates. The nightcrawler would’ve smiled if he could (his jaw structure and lack of lips didn’t allow for him to smile) at the sight of the Warden’s scimitar. It was a nasty-looking weapon, a splendid azure coral piece with a jagged blade attached to it and a sapphire embedded at the hilt. It definitely looked better than the nightcrawler’s measly shiv; it would probably fetch a hefty penny at the black market too.

But he restrained himself. As tempting as it was to make off with the weapon and some of the other items —after all, why not help yourself to some souvenirs after all of that trouble of breaking out?— he stayed his hand and made for the desk. He scanned the drawers to find one that had a huge reef-lock. It didn’t take much for him to imagine that what he was looking for was in there.

He tried the key on it, only to hiss in displeasure when he found that it didn’t fit. He’d have to break it.

Lifting the jagged shiv upwards, the escapee brought it down with considerable force, breaking the lock and shattering it into pieces, which floated in the water. The clap of the cracking reef thundered through the waters.

The nightcrawler recoiled at the sight, but mostly at the sound. He hadn’t expected the lock to be that brittle. His fiery eyes darted upwards towards the open door. Should he have closed it? He should have, looking back on it. He berated himself as he pulled open the drawer with the prize that he sought for oh so much: a sealed parchment.

He looked at it with the same gaze when he looked at his measly prison meal after a long period of hunger. He also saw the water bubbling around the scroll. When he grabbed it, he found out why: it was sealed by a drying ward. Were any ordinary sea-bred to touch this, their scales would dry and die even when submerged. The nightcrawler laughed to himself; the two slithereens would have failed regardless of the missing key. They weren’t semi-amphibious like he was. Who would have thought that the Thirteenth would’ve been the only one who could escape?

It was like this had been his fate all along: that he would break in; that he would find the scroll; that he could finally escape.

But something stopped him from undoing the seal. This was all planned, bar the reef-lock, but it was still too easy. Was there ever a flawless plan? The Dozen’s demise was evidence enough that there indeed wasn’t.

And, as fate would have it, his wasn’t either.

“Slark!” a thundering voice boomed through the water. The nightcrawler’s eyes shot upwards in momentary fear—the Deep Warden.

A bloated thing of an eel, his long body was much shorter than that of any other eel, evidence of his voracious appetite. The dark orange flesh had mucous pus that was only present when the eel was faced with a flight-or-fight situation. His dark green crest swelled up, a further visual cue of that instinctive reflex. His eyes of the same dark green that, only moments ago, betrayed surprise, now burned with fury.

The eel was surprisingly fast for his size and weight, even surprising the nightcrawler, Slark, when the Warden leaped. Fortunately for Slark, he was faster. He easily dodged the pounce, swimming upwards and finding himself above the Warden. He had had his fair share of run ins against murderous eels, and he knew their weakness, and this eel just presented it to him. Twirling his body, Slark buried his shiv deep into the Warden’s back.

A strangled cry rang in the room and, doubtless, out into the dark, dingy corridor outside. As the Warden tried to turn his head to see Slark through his bloodshot eyes, Slark laughed. “Wiggle, wiggle, lil’ fish.” He kicked the writhing body, sending the eel crashing against the wall. He went still, floating lifelessly behind the desk. A few small bubbles of air escaped from the Warden’s gills; the source of pain and suffering for many of Dark Reef’s prisoners was finally dead.

Good recovery, Slark congratulated himself, yes, well done. His eyes fell upon the now fallen scimitar. He turned back to the unmoving form of the eel. “Dun mind if Oi do,” he said cheekily, swimming for the scimitar. He felt the blade’s weight, and took a couple of stabs with it. Yes, it was definitely coming with him now. Slark grabbed at the scroll that floated lazily in the water, and broke the seal.

The script of the parchment swirled with dark magic. How had the eel gotten his grubby little fins on this? Perhaps the better question was why he had his grubby little fins on this. Slark shrugged; it didn’t matter, much like how it didn’t matter how the Dark Reef Dozen had known this was here. What mattered was what they knew. They knew, they were right, and now he held the key to his freedom.

The language was not completely familiar to the nightcrawler, and he took time —too much of it— trying to decipher the sounds and meaning behind the words. Oh, he had a pretty good idea what it was about, but not the specifics—not even the Dozen knew. If this was going to work well, he needed to understand the phrasing and pronunciation.

Shouts from afar snapped at Slark’s attention. Guards? Already? He swore; he knew that the Warden’s irritatingly loud voice would one day be Slark’s undoing.

He doubled his efforts in reading the magic. It was a deal, a deal with the so-called ‘Dark Ones’, and that he would have to not only make an offering of blood, but be at their mercy. Had the circumstances been different, Slark would have never even considered doing this. Now? He didn’t even hesitate in slicing the palm of his left hand, careful not to cut into the webbing between his digits. He hissed slightly—he has had worse in his time at Dark Reef. He eyed the dark plume of blood float, only for it to be sucked into the scroll. The words now glowed with the same colour of Slark’s blood.

The shouts were getting nearer. He hoped that the sound in this place travelled farther than the eels could. Regardless, Slark looked downwards. “Oi call Darkness from the Deep!”

Uttering a startled cry, Slark saw the scroll tear away from its grasp and swirl around him. Echoes of wailing shrieks and alien screams filled the office, now shrouded by a cloud of dark energy. He heard voices that spoke in unison: “Speak.”

Slark’s jaw tightened; his stomach churned; his eyes burned from the furious gusts of magical wind. No backing out of this now. “Oh, great Dark Ones,” he groveled, doing his best from using the prison slang and mannerisms that were now ingrained in him. “Oi beseech you—take this vessel elsewhere. Somewhere far from this wretched place. Somewhere free.”

He squinted his eyes with his outer lids, struggling to see scroll that twisted and turned about him. The incantations, you git, the incantations! Slowly, hesitantly, he drawled out the ancient words. “Rui n’ee ban, ti-wa nh’ool, nynha nobad, leeah-na.”

The guards sounded close. Slark could hear them through the piercing wails of darkness. But the scroll glowed, and that glow grew and grew. It was so bright that it burnt at the nightcrawler’s eyes. Something ethereal engulfed him, lifting from the water that had surrounded him for so long. Searing pain tore into his scales, deep into his flesh and into his bones. Slark wanted to scream, but his mouth refused to work, locked in place as was the rest of his limbs. Was this part of the plan? Some small part of him hoped so. The rest wailed in agony.

His mind ablaze and in pain, he had almost not heard the voices speak again. “So it shall be.”

A series of dark chuckling filled his ears as sweet, merciful unconsciousness and darkness engulfed Slark.

Two… two plus two equals… fffoo– no, f-fff-five. Five. Two plus two… equals ffffive. Two. Tooh. Five. Fuh-fuh five. Two plus two—

Oh! Hello, friends! I haven’t seen you in a long while. How long has it been since the last time? Four, five centuries? More? Bah, who’s keeping track? Anyway, to what do I owe the pleasure?

...ah. Well, unfortunately, I’m somewhat, heh, stoned. My powers are somewhat limited right now. I can’t—

A prank? Well why didn’t you say so? Who is the poor sap?

A sea-bred?

Been stuck in a prison for that long? Oh, I see the potential here. Pray tell, what did he do for that sentence?

Oh-ho-ho! I’m loving this! Alright. I’m game, but on one condition: I’ll  guide him to this world, but I’ll try to get him to a certain somepony.

Yes, I do mean Celestia. Is that alright with you?

Swell. You guys are the greatest. I foresee some chaos coming out of this. Alright, send him my way.

…

Hm. He’s not quite where I wanted him to be. Ah, might I ask you for something else? Let me influencehis stay here. Is that fine with you?

Excellent. Well, I’ll let you get back to your machinations. As soon as he’s up I’ll let you know. Cheers.

Hmm-hmm. This ought to be entertaining. I’m looking forwards to getting our guest to Canterlot, or even Ponyville. That egg-head of a unicorn would flip! They all would! And they will! Ha ha! That’ll be a laugh and a half!

And now: the waiting game.

…

Ninetynine bottles of cider on the wall, ninetynine bottles of cider...