AGC

by Firebrand

Rating: mature
Tags: Dark, Adventure
Length: 13830

Creation, destruction, change.

READ ME
This was the first fic I ever started writing, and I wasn't very good at it. This was started in early 2012, and I finally gave up in the middle of 2013. I do not like it. It was inspired by A Precious Rainbow, and, unfortunately, by extension, Cupcakes.
I still like the "cycle of creation and destruction" motif, and I'm working on a piece featuring that (the "new" AGC, which has nothing in common with this other than that plot element and the title)
I had a very detailed list of chapter titles for this. There were 4 "books," each of 4-6 chapters: Cathexis, Catalysis, Catharsis, and Catharephsis. By the time I got to Catalysis, I had no idea what I was doing, and the plot quickly became an absolute mess.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2015-03-28 05:41:29 UTC

Cathexis I - Coronach

Rainbow Dash awoke in a cold sweat: nightmares of that fateful day at the bakery would no doubt plague her for months to come. That had been almost two weeks ago, now; she was well on her way to recovery, physically.

Mentally, however, she was a fragile wreck: whenever she saw a bird or pegasus soaring in the sky, blissfully defying gravity, she was reminded of what had been taken from her. All pegasi are trained in flight from the moment they are born: for most, flying is second nature: one walks, runs, swims, and flies without a second thought to how or why they can. Being robbed of flight would be unthinkable to the average pegasus: it's literally a part of them, as taken for granted as a unicorn's magic or an earth pony's green hoof.

The sun was up, now; she'd been asleep for nearly ten hours. Dash got out of bed, mindful of the scarred stubs projecting from her shoulders, the only remaining physical scars of her near-death experience.

Why hadn't AJ come to wake her up? She was supposed to start working soon.

She emerged into the dining room, where the family was just finishing breakfast.

"Hello, Rainbow!" chirped Apple Bloom.

"G'morn'n, Dash. Ah tried ta wake ya'up, but you were out cold," said Applejack.

"He he... yeah. I... I really don't know if -" Dash started.

"Hush, sugar! Now's not the time to be worrying: today, you start earnin' yer rent!"

"Rent? What rent?" What kind of friend would charge a crippled pegasus rent?

"She means that'chya gotta start workin' today, Rainbow." said Big Mac. "Tha'ss all."

"Aaaallll riight..." she sighed. She'd been begging to start working, though as time went on, she was having more and more trouble hiding the reality of her night terrors from her hosts.

Rainbow followed AJ out to the orchard. "It's real' easy, actually." she said, propping a cart against the nearest tree. "All ya gotta do's give it a good kick, right in the center 'a the trunk." she continued, mimicking her words. The tree shuddered, and a dozen large, ripe apples fell into the cart. "You give it a try."

Rainbow Dash turned around and forced her rear hooves into the trunk as hard as she could. With a modest thud, the tree politely declined to release any apples.

"C'mon, you can do it. Put your weight inta it."

Dash wound up again and released her hooves, leaning backwards into the kick. Her leg collided with the trunk at an odd angle, and her hoof shaved the bark from the tree in an upward stroke.

This is going to be a long day...

Pinkie felt good.

Pinkie felt great.

She didn't know where she was, or how she got there, but that didn't matter. The last thing she remembered was doing her job, and being excited that her best friend Dashie was able to help.

All she saw around her was whiteness: in every direction, as far as she could see, nothing but flat white plain. Plain was boring. She preferred frosting. Or sprinkles. Or cu-

Come closer. A sourceless voice echoed across the room (if it was, in fact, a room).

"W-hah-who?-what?-where?"

Direct thy gaze upward.

Above her, Pinkie saw the most beautiful thing she'd ever beheld: its myriad of gossamer, fragmentary wings hanging lifeless; its downturned, desiccated face crowned with an echinated, charcoal horn, coursing with veins of magical light; all wrapped in the most wonderful linens, and suspended from gorgeous ebon chains which stretched as far upwards as the eye could see: Rarity simply must see this!

Suddenly, a dull pain rang through Pinkie Pie's head.

Pay attention.

"Teehee. You talk funny."

Thou shalt not speak unless thou art spoken to.

"Okie! So whatcha want?"

An... upset has been had. Thou art become—

Pinkie knew what the the problem was: this wasn’t the first time.

"Dead? But I'm right he-"

Images flashed in Pinkie's mind:

Playing with Dashie.

The door bursts open.

AJ says something. Pinkie can‘t understand her accent.

How rude. She was so close to finishing her game with Dashie, and Applejack barges in uninvited. She must want to play too!

She ran to embrace the workhorse: there was a crack, something hard, and then

Pinkiefeltgood.Pinkiefeltgreat.Shedidn’tkno—

"Why... that no-good... she ruined the game!" Pinkie was furious.

Exactly. She must be punished.

"But how? I'm dead!" she chirped.

Simple. Another will be appointed.

"'kie-dokie. Who's that gunna be?" Pinkie inquired, almost bouncing with glee.

That decision is thine to make. Thou art well-trusted: choose wisely.

Ooooo, and she knew just who it should be.

This was going to be rough, thought Rainbow Dash. 8 hours straight and she was still having trouble bucking a tree.

"You'll get the hang'a it, Dash. The more ya buck, the easier it gets." said Applejack. "Besides, hard work builds character, not that yer lacking there, and..."

Dash wasn't entirely listening. Her mind was on more important things: food, sleep...

Sleep. Definitely. She was as tired as a cloudworker during typhoon season.

Immediately after dinner, she scampered into bed and fell asleep.

Rainbow Dash came to with a start: the nearly-commonplace dreams of dark basements, glimmering knives, and cupcakes had a tendency to disturb her rest. But...

This wasn't her room. This wasn't a room at all. It was shapeless, endless, white; kind of how she imagined Pony Heav-

"Hello, Rainbow Dash!" said a familiar voice.

Dash's heart stopped. How-

"What'sa matter, Dashie?" mocked Pinkie. "Cat got your tongue? Don't worry, there aren't any cats here, just you 'n me!"

"I... how? You-" Rainbow Dash stammered, barely able to control the torrent of thoughts rushing through her mind. Pinkie was dead. Dead.

Dash was speaking with a dead pony. That meant -

Dead pony. Talking to her in Pony Heaven.

She panicked. "I'm sorry, Pinkie. I don't know what I did to upset you, but please... I'm not ready to die!"

Pinkie looked puzzled. "Die? Who said anything about dyin-Oh, right! Our game!"

As the words left her mouth, the surroundings blinked from stark white infinity into blackness.

She could here Pinkie breathing. She could smell sugar, cinnamon... blood. Dash knew this all too well...

The lights flicked on. The cellar. No. Nonono. Anything but this. Not again. Not the rack. Not the —

"Relax, Dashie. I'm not gonna hurt ya." Pinkie reassured.

Dash slowly noticed the lack of macabre decorations and surgical tools. Her panic softened.

"Wha-What do you want, P-Pinkie?"

Pinkie was hopping in place with excitement. She'd always been nice, but had never quite helped somepony so directly, so generously.

"I’ve got a job offer for you."

Cathexis II - Apotheosis

Rainbow Dash didn't remember how long she'd been asleep or how she had gotten back from that... place. Despite having just woken up, she was exhausted, hungry and aching. The sun was just coming up... or was it? She recognized the hospital room immediately: the blue-and-white tiled ceilings had kept her company on many sleepless nights following her rescue. She noticed a thin layer of dust across the floor, and somebody had placed a bouquet next to her head. How sweet.

"Rest in Peace, Rainbow Dash." read the tag.

A long list of names were signed after this. She didn't know most of them: her friends' signatures had occupied most of the tag. Twilight. Rarity. Fluttershy. Scootaloo. The Wonderbolts had signed it. There were confessions of love and envy, apologies and promises, poems and drawings.

Am I really this popular?

Rather, was I? she thought, rereading the print of the tag.

A dead pony. She'd seen Pony Heaven. She'd talked to a dead pony. She'd-

She shook her head. Now was not the time to analyse fever dreams.

Or perhaps it was. She could do nothing but wait for her own funeral.

No-no-no, Dashie! Happy thoughts!

If Dash were alive, she would have started. The voice came from within her own mind, but there was no doubt to what it was: Pinkie Pie was speaking to her.

Melancholy makes everything worse! Be happy! Happy! Happy! Happy!

Dash groaned. This was going to be a long funeral…

"I... I can't believe it." lamented Applejack.  "She was doin' so good, and then just outta tha blue this - what'd the doc call it again, Twi?"

"Aneurysm." She'd been buried in medical texts since her friend's death, trying to draw a connection between the stress and the recovering pegasus' wounds.

"And she was finally reaching a positive turn: something good after all she'd been through." commented  Rarity.

Fluttershy was too grief-stricken to contribute. Dash's passing had traumatised the otherwise innocent mare.

The four of them sat solemnly in the waiting room. Not that there was anything that could be done; it was just a formality.

That just makes it worse, right? The thought was nopony's in particular, but its penetrating presence was palpable. To be told that she's not coming back. Can we not just let her be gone?

Dash had done some ridiculous things in the past, but this was by far the least explicable. She was lying, hooves crossed, eyes closed, in an open coffin, while friends and fans took turns paying their respects. She listened intently.

"Ah'm sorry, Rainbow Dash. I feel like it's mah fault, making ya work so soon after… " Applejack cut herself off, unable to control her emotions further.

"You really shouldn't have pushed yourself so hard, darling. You were such a great pony, but your bravery, your arrogance…" Rarity caught herself tearing up. "…caught up with you."

"You were doing so well…” said the next voice in line. “…and then just out of nowhere you die in your sleep? What happened to you? What did she do to you?" Twilight asked, head sunk as she walked away.

A small whine came from the next pony in line.

"Dash… I… how? H-how c-could you do this to m-me?" Fluttershy said, crying louder than she'd ever spoken. "I didn't even get to tell you… tell you that… I-I… that we—" She interrupted herself, breaking into incomprehensible sobbing and screaming as she ran away from the casket.

Dash was stunned. Even for Fluttershy, the sudden burst of emotion was unwonted. She caught herself tearing up—

No. She didn't want to give any expression, anything to betray her life.

There were another hundred-odd ponies in line with wishes for her departure. She had to focus. Listen. Plan.

She'd been under for two days now, if her circadian rhythm was anything to go by. She was hungry. Bored. But most of all, anxious.

If Pinkie wasn't just making something up, then any second now there should be- Bah. What was she doing, trusting that nonsensical, mass-murdering lunatic. It was probably all rubbish, and she'd die here. She'd be trapped in this coffin, this tomb, until she died of starvation. Or would dehydration come first? It struck her just how small it was inside: she couldn't lift either arm more than a foot or stretch her legs at all. A week, maybe two? Two weeks of writhing in a small box underground waiting to starve to death. She knew there was no use wearing herself out by screaming or pounding: nopony would hear her, even if—

Her train of thought was broken by sound from above the box. A shuffling, grating sound. What in—

Thunk. Something struck the top of the casket.

Had Pinkie been right? She could hear more digging outside. This couldn't really be happening. There's no way that—

The lid opened. Dash expected to be blinded, but the light of the high-hanging moon served only to silhouette her saviour. She couldn't make out any of his features, save the soft blue glow tracing its eyes. "Come. Your presence has been requested." he spoke, his monotone voice sending chills down Dash's spine.

She was led silently down too many dark paths to count, winding and twisting through the Everfree forest, until they reached an alabaster doorway, emblazoned with a strange seal: a circle around an equilateral triangle, the inside of which was marked with two different sets of arrowed lines, one pointing towards the center, the other pointing outwards.

The strange stallion opened the door and led her down a steep staircase to the antechamber. There sat a long table, the kind found at royal dining halls. The table was decorated with skeletons and remains in various states of decay: if Dash had had anything in her stomach, she would have vomited at the sight.

Beyond the dining hall, there was a large, circular chamber, with a triangle tracing across the ground, similar to the emblem on the door. At the point of each triangle stood a shrine to one of three different… things.

A beautiful, coiling dragon carved from bright white stone surveyed the chamber.

A statue of an alicorn, graceful even in death, hung from the ceiling on obsidian chains.

A stone owl with deep blue sapphires for eyes sat patiently, watching intently.

Her guide pointed her towards the first of these, the dragon. There was enough light in the chamber that she could now make out his features. That is, she could have, had he not been clothed head-to-hoof in dark grey fabric. She could see his bright blue eyes, literally glowing, on his black-blue face, and his maroon tail jutting into the air as he bowed before the serpent statue.

Dash looked on, confused. A plaque below the statue caught her attention:

Dator - The Positive Change

Creation. Birth. Victory.

"Change is a versatile force." explained the gravedigger.  "Change for the better – creation, resurrection– is the realm of Dator, the Giver. In return for your... premature expiry, Dator has seen fit to birth you anew."

"So what exactly is this?" asked Rainbow Dash, not wanting a history lesson.

He was patient with her impatience. "This," he said, "is the Temple of the Triumvirate. They have been expecting you."

Cathexis III - Deification, Part I : Famine

Golden Harvest sighed. Despite all of her effort, the crop had still been a disappointment.

Why did she even bother? She would never be as successful as the Apples. Nopony wanted carrots.

From her vantage point in the hill, she could see the seemingly endless, bountiful orchard the Apples tended. She could see, on the horizon, their proud barn and other facilities, well lit against the night sky.

On her land, there was a vast expanse of infertile brown, overseen by a single rickety shack next to a plain cabin-house.

She looked in the opposite direction: a handful of amber lights formed the outline of the small grassy hut where that strange, quiet mare lived. Beyond that, the Everfree forest stretched farther than she could see by twilight.

Maybe I’ll go for a walk tonight.

Fluttershy awoke with a yelp. Somepony was outside.

She crawled towards the door and peered through the looking glass.

A sad-looking orange mare was meandering through her garden.

She peeked her head through the door.

“Can... Can I help you?”

The intruder jumped upon hearing a voice.

“No... no, I’m just going for walk, thanks.”

Though it struck Fluttershy odd that somepony would be going for a stroll here, at this time of night, she didn’t push.

“All right then. Don’t go too far into the forest, though: there’re nasty things in there.”

“I’ll watch out.”

Inside of her, Fluttershy felt something die: she was letting a lone mare go, in the middle of the night, into the Everfree forest. As if it would be her fault if - when - something happened to this one. Not again.

“Harvest! Wait! Don’t—” she tried to protest, but the mare was long gone.

Y’know... she thought, walking down the dark path. This is actually pretty relaxing...

She savored the silence: only the sounds of her hoofsteps, the occasional distant bird’s cry, the wind in the leaves...

Why didn’t anypony else come here? So peaceful, so quiet, ganz rühig...

Something glimmered among the twilit brush. She wandered off of the path to investigate: a rectangle of shining white stone stood out against the dark earth of the escarpment in which it was embedded.

She dared herself closer: the door was marked with intricate geometric figures, and something was written in Old Equestrian.

Her thoughts immediately went to what sort of treasures may lie within: precious stones, ancient texts...

She reached out to touch the door: as her hoof made contact, the world dissolved to white around her.

“Wo... Wo bin... Where am I?” she said as she came to, accidentally lapsing into her native tongue.

She tried to open her eyes, but it was too bright. Had she fallen asleep in the woods?

As her eyes adjusted, she noticed the distinct lack of flora or fauna in her surroundings. Or anything, for that matter. The white stretched indefinitely, extending equally upwards and downwards. There was no visible ‘ground’, just a plane of white.

And then something appeared in the distance. She blinked to make sure she wasn’t seeing hallucinating, and it was then right before her: an immense, glittering serpent, barely visible against the white infinity.

Thou art distraught. The voice came from nowhere, but there was only one possible source among the nothingness.

“Ja...”

Aber warum? it asked, lapsing into her native Teuponian. Why hast thou thrown thyself away?

“I... what do I have to offer? I’m just a Nichts: I try to be a farmer, but I’ve never been successful, not with those blöße Apples next door...”

But thou canst be so much more: the wheels of life must remain well-oiled, lest dross stagnate and choke the mechanisms.

Cathexis III - Deification, Part II : Cæsura

Slow, sombre notes escaped the instrument as Octavia strummed, the velvety tones mixing with the other musicians’ notes, forming a single, immaculate valley of sound and feeling.  Her eyes were closed as she played, letting the melodies and rhythms overtake her senses. As various nuances in the piece flowed and ebbed, the music grew in power and intensity, straining the musicians’ skills. Finally, the piece reached its crescendo, bombarding the audience with raw, heartfelt emotion. The decrescendo brought with it an air of respect, as the musicians brought their instruments to a grinding halt.

As the piece came to a close, Octavia opened her eyes and gazed upon their cheering audience:

A flat white surface, roughly five feet from her face.

Damn. Every night she had the same dream: dreaming of success, of getting away from Ponyville.

Oh well. She rolled over in bed. She had a show to play tomorrow. Maybe this one would be her big break.

“What do you mean, cancelled?” pleaded Octavia.

“There’s simply no interest in contemporary music anymore,” the stallion explained. “Everypony is more interested in ‘modern’ music: the electronic and dubtrot scenes, specifically. Your show has been usurped by a certain DJ... Pon-three, by popular demand.”

Her heart sank. Her profession - her livelihood was going out of style?

She walked away, cello case in tow. She didn’t bother going back home: she’d never make the rent without this concert. She sauntered towards the Pawny shop.

“G’day, Octavia! You got another violin for me?”

“Cello.” she corrected.

“You… you’re celloing your sello? I mean—”

“Da, that I am.” she interrupted. “Equestrians have collectively lost their good taste, and thus put me out of a job.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. How much did you want for this?”

“Enough to pay my rent, at least. 500 bits?” The number was way too low, she knew, but nopony nowadays would appreciate a genuine Stradimarius like this. It was just scrap wood.

“Okay then… I’ll get the paperwork.”

Part of her was missing. The instrument had been her work, her passion, her life; she’d been robbed of her sole reason for living because ponies nowadays didn’t like appreciate her talent. Didn’t appreciate her.

She looked apprehensively out of the window: in the distance, against the dark horizon of the Everfree forest, a small window burned beneath the night sky.

Something within her longed to be away, to distance herself from her pains.

Yes, a night-time walk would do me wonders.

Fluttershy gazed wearily into the cage.

“Now, Angel… if you don’t eat now, you’ll be hungry all night.” She offered him a carrot. “We don’t want that, do we?”

The rabbit turned his head away from the vegetable offering.

“Come on Angel, you need to eat. Don’t make me get upse—”

She started, dropping the carrot. Hoofsteps. Outside.

She poked her head out of the door.

“Can... Can I help you?”

The intruder jumped upon hearing a voice.

“Nothing that I’d feel right bothering you for. I’m really just going going for a walk, спасиба!”

Though it struck Fluttershy odd that somepony would be going for a stroll here, at this time of night, she didn’t push.

“All right then. Don’t go too far into the forest, though: there’re nasty things in there.”

“I’ll be careful.”

Inside of her, Fluttershy felt something die: she was letting a lone mare go, in the middle of the night, into the Everfree forest. As if it would be her fault if - when - something happened to this one. Not again.

“Octavia! Wait! Don’t—” she tried to protest, but the mare was long gone.

She allowed her mind to wander as she walked down the dark path. This is actually very soothing...

She let the sounds of nature wash over her, her hoofsteps keeping time for the rustle of the wind and the birds...

Why was she alone? This was so peaceful, so beautiful. Успокаивающий…

She noticed something glimmer beyond the shaded weeds. Following her curiosity, she came upon a resplendent rectangular stone, dug into the side of the cliff.

It was carved with majestic geometrical figures: a triangle set into the center of a circle, arrows radiating to and from the common center of these two figures. Around the edge of the circle blazoned an Old Equestrian shibboleth: Constantia per Vicem, Vicis per Constantiam.

She reached out to touch the slab. As her hoof made contact, the world around her melted to white.

“Где... Где я... Where am I?” she moaned as she came to, unconsciously speaking in her native language.

She tried to open her eyes, but it was too bright. I must have fallen asleep.

As she allowed her eyes to adjust, the nature of her surroundings struck her. Specifically, the lack thereof: instead of the dusty ground she’d collapsed on, she stood now on... nothing, it seemed. Everything seemed nothing. As far as she could see, a flat whiteness stretched without hint of starting or stopping.

And then she saw it: from what must have been an infinite distance, approaching at what must have been an incomprehensible speed, a dot appeared. In the time it took her to comprehend its existence, it had grown from a grey speck on the horizon to an impossibly tall, sapphire-eyed stone owl.

Thou hast been unhappy/art unhappy/willst be unhappy: what hast made/madest/makest/willst make thee mourn?

The voice came form the very air around her, insofar as it could be called a ‘voice’- foreign meanings were presented to her in a pure form. She immediately understood the cryptic message: Why are you sad?

“Well…” She fished for the right words. “Society itself has put me out of a job.”

And in doing so, thou hadst created/hast created/createst/willst create opportunity for another.

“Yes, but—”

But all that has been/was/is/will be destroyed has cleared/clears/will clear the way for another to have taken/took/to take/will take its place.  Without end, nothing could have come/could come/would come into being.

“So—”

So in having lost/lose/will lose thy job, thou hast opened/open/will open opportunities for another.

“What does that have to do with—”

Thou were chosen/are chosen/will be chosen for something much greater:  shed thy mortal coil. Thou hast propagated/propagate/willst propagate the cycle for ages to come.

Cathexis IV - Rote

"Oh no… that's just awful…" said Twilight.

“Why would somepony dig up a grave?” Rarity wailed. “It’s just so... sacrilegious.”

Fluttershy remained a quivering, catatonic mass, unwilling to process the events of the past weeks.

The funeral had been less than two days ago, the second in a month, and already Dash's grave had been defiled: dug up and exhumed. The robber hadn't even bothered to hide any evidence: a muddied shovel, a cracked casket, and a trail of mixed blood-and-dirt footprints told more of a story than anypony wanted to know.

Something greater was at work: they could feel it in the birds' sombre calls, the howling of the wolves, the motions of the water: the world beneath their hooves seemed to be in mourning.

Dash awoke groggily: the initiates’ chambers were far from comfortable. There were two other mares in the room with her. The first was dark grey, with a black mane and a curled, black shape for a cutie mark. The second bore a pale yellow coat and a dark orange mane, with a cutie mark of three carrots. Ponies she had met, but never known personally.

The voice within her spoke:

Golden Harvest! Octavia! They’re nice ponies, you should talk to them. Harvest is very nice. She taught me how to make carrot cake! I would never have tried to make cake out of vegetables, but it doesn’t taste like carrots at all! I don’t know Octavia that well, but she plays the violin or something. She’s always too serious, but she makes beautiful music, and I love the way she li—

Ah. Silence. Dash was getting ever better at muting the party pony’s chatter.

Another, instantly recognisable voice called from beyond the room:

“Awake,  initiates three, come and stand before me.

In a day there are only hours few, and we have yet much work to do.”

The recruits rose from their cots and and wandered into the chamber to greet the zebra.

The other two seemed nervous to be face-to-face with the mysterious mare. Dash was relieved to see a familiar face - foreign or not- who might be able to shed some light on the cryptic cult’s ways.

“Hey, Zecora!” she said. The other newcomers flinched, wholly expecting to be stew sometime in the near future.

“What’re you doing here?” she continued. “You in on all this spooky cult stuff, too?”

“Patience, pony from beyond the grave:

Your purpose will be made clear in the coming days,” Zecora rhymed, leading the ponies down a poorly lit stone corridor.

“Not bad,” barked a gruff stallion, overseeing the mares’ training.

“You want to hit something important: you don’t want a wounded pony screaming for help. Throat, chest… head, if you have to. Once more, for a kill!”

At his order, the three mares drew back and, in unison, reached under their capes and lunged at the targets placed before them. Three thunks resonated through the chamber, offset from one another by no more than a millisecond.

Each of the three targets shuddered, an eight-inch black spike protruding from each of their throats.

“Not bad. Two, you’re off center.”

Rainbow Dash—no, Dearth. Dearth was her name now... A different name for a different person. They’d all been assigned names to represent their falling from society. ‘Dash’ became ‘Rainbow’s Dearth’, for the lack of mercy her fate brought. The musical pony, sunken into obscurity, was now Requiem: to mourn and exalt the dead, herself included. The farmer’s new name was Gilded Blight, for the glory she could bring to herself, even after death.

Dearth nodded. She removed the dagger from the mannequin’s trunk: about an inch to the left. All the important stuff, she recalled, is right in the middle.

“Optimally, you’ll be coming up behind somepony,” the officer lectured, trotting around to the back of his own mannequin. “It shouldn’t be difficult to figure out how best to take advantage of this,” he said, lodging his blade firmly between the mannequin’s shoulders, where its body met its neck.

“Depending on depth and posture,” he explained, “you just impaled their trachea, punctured their esophagus, and, if nothing else, severed their spinal chord.”

“Now, gimme ten. I want this down to an art!” he demanded.

The ponies wasted no time obliging: Requiem still nursed wounds from the last time she resisted.

“With the same constance with which the nightbird calls,

The sun always rises and the moon always falls.” Zecora lectured.

“Nature works in cycles without end, where all creation destruction mends.”

The zebra spun images for the mares: a small rabbit, stolen from its burrow, serves, in its life’s early ending, to sustain the fox’s young; a glorious dam that, as the final log is put in place, collapses and floods the bank; a flower withers and dies, spreading its seeds across the field.

“Nature simply functions this way:

For every sapling, an elder oak must drop to make way.

Every forest fire, typhoon, or earthquake

leaves untapped potential in its wake.

For the fallen let us not weep,

for in their place others life’s bounty will reap.”

Three shivering mares were marched into the chamber, their fetlocks barred and their legs chained. Black burlap was pulled over their faces, though they were still identifiable by the symbols on their flanks as residents of Ponyville.

The sergeant cleared his throat, facing the initiates on the other side of the room.

“You’ve done well. But real targets aren’t made of wood. Real targets bleed. They scream, they beg and they plea. Don’t let your conscience get the better of you. You are above these mortals. You are not one of them. They are worthless to you. You know what to do,” he said, bowing out of the way.

Requiem was first, lunging silently towards the candy-maned mare on the left. As the steel penetrated Bon-Bon’s throat, a streak of shocking deep red poured from the wound, dripping reluctantly onto the floor. The pony didn’t get a chance to scream as the blade cleft her trachea, letting blood flow down the inside of her throat and into her lungs. The point came to rest within Bon-Bon’s spinal chord, severing her brain. The blade withdrew, its hooked edges leaving a wide, bloody hole in the flesh.

The remaining targets knew what had happened: the mare gurgled as blood bubbled at the wound. Within less than a minute, the bubbling stopped, and Bon-Bon collapsed, dead.

“Well done,” the sergeant applauded, slightly stunned by the mare’s willingness to kill on an order.

“Blight, you’re next!”

The orange mare hesitated: she couldn’t do this it’s not the same why would she do this what had Cheerilee ever done to her oh Sun oh Moon was für ein—

An armored hoof drove into the back of her head, cutting off her train of thought.

“Dammit, mare!” the instructor shouted. “When I tell you to kill, you kill!”

“Now kill!” He pointed at the magenta prisoner.

The farmer stumbled towards her prey, fumbling for her dagger.

Es tut mir Leid, meines Süßchen...

She closed her eyes and struck out at the mare.

She felt blood spray, staining her face and hooves.

A numbness overcame her. Dead. She’d taken a life. Getötet. Somepony died because of—

Her numbing curtain came down around her as she became aware of the screaming.

She’d missed.

She didn’t dare look. She just wanted to end the suffering.

She struck again. And again. Blood specked her coat. The screams had shifted to a blood-chilling shriek.

Just die already!

Cheerilee tried to run away, to remove herself from the agony. She succeeded in tripping her bindings, the rough stone floor jagging the wounds in her throat.

The officer sighed heavily, walking over to the collapsed, bleeding mare, and raised his iron-shodden hoof for the merciful killing blow.

He turned towards Blight after the wails abruptly ended. She wasn’t sure whether what she saw in his face was disgust, pity, or sympathy. “You going to be all right?” he asked.

She wanted to curse him. To curse herself, this cult, the Apple family, all the little fillies that just lost their mother-figure...

But the words didn’t come. Instead, she just nodded, and laid down in the corner, sobbing.

“Dearth, your turn.” he said. “Try not to miss.” he added with a grin.

“Sure thing.” she replied. “Unlike some ponies, I know how to handle a blade.” They both glanced at the pitiful wreck of a mare moaning in the corner, cradling her knees and regarding the growing pile of bodies in the middle of the room with despair.

Dearth stepped forward and regarded her target. The dark blue mare was visibly shaking, knowing she was next.

With a single, practiced movement, Dearth’s blade left its sheath and entered just below Colgate’s jaw, where her head and neck met. The mare let out a choke as her windpipe was severed and her neck began flooding with blood.

She twisted the blade, now perpendicular to the ground, and yanked hard.

The blade came free with little resistance, pieces of bloodied pink flesh sticking to the serrated edge. The body fell onto its side, her bindings clattering against the stone floor.

“Good kill,” the officer applauded. He nodded at Requiem and Dearth. “You will both make great perpetuators. However…”

He turned to the quivering, sobbing mass in the corner.

“…you have much to learn. Whether it was negligence or cowardice, you forgot everything you’ve learned thus far in a matter of seconds. The angle, the swing, the follow-through, all wrong… You shou—” he cut off, aware of a change in the mare.

His scolding had infuriated Blight. She kills a pony in cold blood, and he has the nerve to criticize the way in which she committed murder. She’d died, hadn’t she? Wasn’t that what was important? Never mind that she was irreparably traumatized, the real damage was in her inability to properly end a life. Und der großer, stummer Offizier sah sie jetzt: was soll sie tun? Sie hatte Fehler gemacht, und er wurde sie bestrafen. Dann wusste sie, was sie tun muss.

Time had seemed to halt as Blight’s mind raced faster and faster, every thought channeled into pure rage: hatred directed solely at the officer. She stood and advanced slowly towards him.

Before he could protest, her hoof had come down on the top of his helmet, denting it and stunning him. She drew back for another strike, this time at his exposed face. He expertly ducked under the strike and pinned both of her arms to her chest.

He glared at her. This could not be the same mare. Her glowing, green eyes burned now with only hatred, pure and foul.

She struggled to break free, kicking at the sergeant’s legs. He responded by tightening his grip: something in her arm popped.

As soon as it had started, the rage subsided, and Blight was left bruised and perplexed. Tears welled up in her eyes, washing away the anger.

“Wh... What is wrong with me?!” she demanded, collapsing again into a mess of self-pity.

“On second thought,” the sergeant said, rubbing his bruised head, “I think you’ll do just fine.”

Cathexis V - Moloch

"A common misconception among ponyfolk is the role of deities in their lives: most believe Celestia and Luna, the sun and moon, to be the driving forces of nature.

In reality, the holy alicorns serve only to drive the cycle of day and night.

Many know of the eldritch Discord, to whom reality and reason twist like leaves in the wind.

But are these deities worth calling deities in their own right, borrowing from the power of something greater?

The Alicorns' domain is a cyclical one: Servator’s domain.

Discord rules over unbridled change; by definition, the dominions of Dator and Saevitor.

All other gods, in short, belong to the Triumvirate." the cloaked stallion explained.

"Without Them, the world  would be an impossible place to live: the sisters' delusion of prosperity through peace and peace through coexistence can hardly withstand scrutiny: overpopulation quickly becomes a problem if nopony ever dies."

Rainbow Dash shuddered. The implications of population control were still fresh in her mind.

For the past few weeks, she'd been studying under the cultists, learning about their mad beliefs. She'd never been a very devout pony, despite having twice met Princess Celest- Meretrix Solis, she corrected herself. The cult had a fetish for assigning Old Equestrian names to things: the old language had a mysterious charm about it, she agreed, but learning a language just to sound fancy was a bit extraneous.

"Thus, all lesser deities," the teacher continued, "owe their power and being to the Triumvirate. They should be grateful for our Lords' great gifts to them, but they instead squander their endowments on politics and petty ceremony!" He coughed these last words as though spitting out soiled hay.

"They frown upon all who waste their precious gifts, who proclaim themselves gods! They ask but fealty -but credit- for that which they have given! These blasphemous zealots deserve no respect! Constantia per Vicem!" he chanted, bringing his sermon to a crescendo.

The scattered audience chanted back in unison: "Vicis per Constantiam."

Through Change, Constance. Through Constance, Change.

Derpy looked at the flyer in her hooves:

Missing, it said.

Earth Mare. Light grey coat. Dark grey mane. Purple eyes. CM Treble Clef. Goes by 'Octavia'.

She frowned. The pianist was always so nice to her.

She pinned the flyer to the town's bulletin board. Beneath it, a dozen other similar posters hung: Tenderheart, Golden Harvest, Cheerilee… she knew these names. This made her sad.

"What's wrong, Derpy?"  a raspy, familiar voice said from behind her.

She turned: this wasn't anypony she recognised. Before her stood an ashen Earth mare with dark pink eyes, a single crimson bolt running the length of her black mane. Her night-blue cloak served to obscure her flank.

"I said," repeated the mysterious mare, having allotted about thirty seconds for the walleyed pegasus to examine her, "'What's wrong, Derpy?'"

"Oh. I'm sad. All of the nice ponies are going away."

"Uh -huh. And where do you think they're going?"

"Ahd'n'uh," she shrugged, "I think they're going missin'. That's what the sign says."

"Oh well. I hope you cheer up, Derpy. Cohnstanteeya pear weekem."

This last phrase escaped simply out of habit: she hadn't done much socialisation outside of the cult. She hung her head and hoped that Derpy hadn't noticed.

Derpy blinked slowly. "Whawassthat?"

"Oh, uh… Gotta run now, cya next weekend!" she spoke, walking away from the mailmare.

"Oh." For a second there, Derpy thought that the black-haired mare had quipped in Old Equestrian. The ancient tongue sounded so graceful to her: mysterious, majestic. She trotted away, singing to herself: "Louse day oh een eggs Chelsea's it enter a box homie neeboos…"

"Here ya go, honey!" said Mrs. Cake, handing an azure unicorn a small sack of coins. The unicorn weighed it in her hoof.

The once great and powerful Trixie sighed wearily: she'd been doing odd jobs and birthday parties for nearly six months, and still had less than half of what she needed to buy a new cart and escape this gods-forsaken backwater. Nopony took her seriously anymore: since being shown up by that librarian goody-goody, that incident with Ursa Minor, that scandal with Whooves; she was becoming more and more a laughing stock than a showpony.

She heard hoofsteps approaching her from behind. Ponies about at this time of night tended to be very interesting folk. She turned and risked a glance: a grey mare with black and red hair, wearing a dark cape similar to Trixie's own, stood behind her. She looked familiar, though Trixie was sure she had never seen this pony before in her life.

The shady mare spoke: "The great and powerful Trixie, huh?"

Her voice was stained with mordant defiance, hostility: this pony meant business.

"Yes, that would be I. And you are…?" she returned, maintaining a semblance of courage.

"Nopony important. What're the bits for?" she asked casually.

"Trixie was doing housework for the Cakes; they've been awfully burdened since their only employee was discovered to have been using their cellar as a butchery…" Trixie trailed off, sure that this stranger didn't want to hear any tidbits of local history. After the murderer's discovery, the shop had been closed down for health —and, to a lesser extent, psychological— reasons.

"I'm sure it’s difficult for them: getting by without their life's work, because some crazy tenant thought it would be interesting to make horse-cakes." the mare spoke, obviously well-versed in local happenings. She chuckled as the last words escaped her mouth.

"Heh… yeah…" laughed Trixie nervously. This pony was crazy. "Well… I gotta go now! Nice talking with you!"

She galloped down a nearby alley, losing sight of the probably-insane mare as quickly as possible.

Dearth sighed. Naturally, her first target just had to be her: the show-off unicorn was as cowardly as ever. She followed her prey calmly down the alley, unafraid of losing her.

A good hunter stalks its target, learns its every move, and waits until the best possible opportunity to strike.

She poked her head around the corner and made brief eye contact with Trixie. The showpony  screamed and ran with renewed vigour.

Rainbow followed, like a turtle to Trixie's hare.

Despite her magical and charismatic prowess, Trixie was far from the brightest tool in the shed. There was only one place she could be going.

The library door burst open.

"Twiiiliiight! Twiiiliiight!" the panicked illusionist begged. The smart unicorn and she were friends, right? She'd help her!

Where was she? She had to be here! Had to!

She searched the building: there was no sign of her anywhere, though her belongings were untouched: an unmade bed, a bed-basket for that runt of hers, some unshelved books…

“HOO.”

Trixie started hard enough for her hat to fall off.

She looked for the source of the noise.

There. An owl stood perched on a bar on the windowsill. Since when did Twilight have—

Wait. She looked deep into the owl's eyes. How can I trust—

“HOO.”

Something snapped inside of the once great and powerful Trixie.

This owl mocks her.

Mocks a legend.

Neighsayers will not be tolerated.

Magic glowed at the tip of her horn: the window, in front of which the pest stood, crumbled into itself, forming a nearly perfect sphere of shattered glass. This she brought down on the heretic with all of her willpower, smashing and lacerating the unsuspecting owl into submission.

She blinked. Why had she…? What had she…?

She collapsed, crying, too afraid of the possibilities to rationalize any further.

"Madness is quite an adventure, isn't it?"

The voice from behind her did not come as a surprise this time. She knew the mare was following her.

"I… what did I just do?"

"In my eyes? You just killed our only witness. To anypony else? You just went completely psycho and pulverised Owloysius with a window."

She regarded the mess on the floor: the pile of crystalline shards served to refract and distort the image of Owloysius' torn and shattered remains into a beautifully macabre kaleidoscope of blood and feathers.

“Not bad. I personally would have gone for the perch; but then again, I’m not the great and powerful Trixie.”

"Who are you?!" Trixie screamed, lashing at the dark mare. This pony followed her across town, and then had the nerve to mock her?!

In a single swift movement, Dearth produced something short and black from under the cloak, and placed it just above Trixie's sternum. The unicorn stopped mid-lunge.

Dearth smirked. "Anypony with a dash of sense could see that I'm nopony to screw with.

"Ponies are born and ponies die everyday. There has to be some way to keep the population in check, right? We don't want too many ponies running around, unable to follow their dreams or make a name for themselves because somepony else got there first. Constantia per Vicem, Vicis per Constantiam."

Something struck a chord within Trixie. It might have been the Old Equestrian: as a magic user,  she'd been taught the language, expected to worship it. It might have been her choice of words: the story of her life, turned into ammunition and unloaded into her already-dying carcass. It might have been the steel-cored obsidian spike being pulled from her throat nicking her carotid.

Rainbow's Dearth wiped her dagger on the pony's hat.

What to do with the body…

The idea hit her like a sphere of broken glass: this would be the greatest prank of all time.

Twilight had had a wonderful time staying at Rarity's for the night: she'd learned so much about dressmaking and motivation. She couldn't wait to get this to Princess Celestia.

Twilight opened the library door and screamed.

Hanging from the ceiling, Owloysius was missing most of his flesh; that which was there was sewn together hastily, leaving large patches through which his viscera were visible and free-hanging. His wings were sewn together in front of him, and his head had been sewn on backwards.

On the balcony above stood a dead pony: suspended by ropelike guts, the great and powerful Trixie stood erect before Twilight’s bed, posed with her arms held high and her head even higher: her spine was jutting from her throat, standing upright, her head still resting atop.

Pieces of flesh of various sizes, colors, and origins were scattered among the shelves. On her bed, a bloodied quill sat next to a rolled and sealed parchment. She didn’t want to open it.

On the wall, written in blood, among other, less legible scrawlings and diagrams:

'ANTIQVVS ORDO SECLORVM'

Catalysis I - Chiminage

Fluttershy’s conscience nipped at her.

She knew what was happening, though she couldn’t stop it. Not that she wanted to, no. That would make far too many ponies unhappy. She looked despondently out of the window. Against the backdrop of night, Ponyville’s various lights glowed like the moon.

Something had upset the balance.  Every few weeks, somepony from town would come by her house in the middle of the night, and wander off into the forest, never to be seen again. The townsfoalk suspected her, of course: the strange, reclusive mare living alone on the edge of the forest was the last pony to have seen any of the disappearances. But they knew her: Fluttershy was the kind one, always looking out for everypony. She wouldn’t dream of hurting anypony. Unless they asked her to, and they were really nice, and—

Hoofsteps outside caught her attention. She was used to late-night visitors by now, but nonetheless apprehensive as she approached the door.

Outside stood a chalk-colored pony with light pink hair.

“Can… Can I help you?”

Redheart jumped.

“No... No thank, I’m just out for a walk.” she stammered.

Fluttershy didn’t want it to happen again. Assertive.

“No, I insist. Come inside.” She opened the door.

Redheart entered as Fluttershy began preparing tea.

“You must be tired after walking all the way out here.”

“Not really. It’s very relaxing, actually.”

“What are you running away from?”

This caught the mare off guard.

“Wh-What do you mean?”

Fluttershy smiled. “Nopony comes this far without a secret. So tell me, what are you running away from?”

“I’m not entirely sure what happened...” she said after a pause, shaking her head. “…they asked me to— and I— and it didn’t work, and then they screamed. I didn’t mean to, they just wouldn’t stop squirming!”

Fluttershy kept a straight face. Though not entirely a façade, her kind demeanor had grown callous under the stress of the disappearances.

“You killed somepony?” she asked calmly.

The nurse recoiled. “I... well, no, but—”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Fluttershy. “I’m sure you did all that you could. So why did you run away?”

She stared blankly. “I... I had to get away from there. I’m not wanted there anymore.”

“But why here? Why not run off to somepony’s farm or catch a ride to Canterlot? Don’t worry, you can tell me.”

The last words slipped effortlessly through the nurse’s will, yielding to Fluttershy the answers she wanted.

“I... felt drawn. I knew I had to leave, and this seemed like the only viable choice: somewhere nopony would find me, where I could just think all of my troubles aw—”

“You know that’s not true. It’s too dangerous out there for just a leisurely stroll; haven’t you heard of all the ponies disappearing there recently?”

“I didn’t think about that... I just wanted to be gone.”

“Gone. Exactly. A sad pony whom nopony else will miss goes into the forest one night, and never comes back out: what are they supposed to think?”

Redheart’s eyes widened.

“No. Why would— no, you’re a mad pony! What have you done to all those poor—”

Fluttershy shushed her.  “I know as much what’s going on as you do.” she lied. “But that forest is definitely not safe.”

“But... where should I go, then?”

“You can stay here if you need to. I won’t make you go back to the village, but I can’t let you go into that forest.”

Fluttershy was more relieved than the nurse. She’d stopped it. Saved one.

Fluttershy was unable to sleep. Her morals had forced her to stop it, but… could she be saved? Had she intervened in time?

After the sun came up, an eternity later, she checked on her guest.

While Fluttershy had been fretting through the night, Redheart had snuck out. A note had been left on the counter:

    “I’m sorry, but it calls to me. I have to answer it. It needs me.” — RH

Fluttershy sighed in defeat. Every mare that had gone missing in the past months felt like a personal loss to her. She’d been given a job, and she had failed, again and again.

Tired and depressed, she retreated back to bed.

Fluttershy was once again submerged in the white.

She stood dauntlessly: she knew that her previous transgression would not go unnoticed.

And then the halcyon serpent was upon her.

And why are you here, I wonder?

“I... I couldn’t stand to let another pony go missing like that. I know what you’re doing.”

Have you learned nothing? With their end, something else - something much greater must come to be, no?

“But of course... but, these are my friends, and they—”

No. You were given a second chance, but with that there are rules you must follow. Friends are a luxury for mortals. You are beyond such banalities.

Fluttershy sighed. He was right, but...

Don’t fail us again.

The forest wept.

The quite one had once again been lost. She helped it, nurtured it, when everybody else shunned it as nature’s only accident: a hostile environment in which all of the creatures upon one another prey, slaying each other that they may further survive.

Unnatural, it was called: barbaric, cruel. It was viewed as a blight of savagery amongst the more cultured peoples: a place where society and manner were forgotten, leaving only the better-off-forgotten instinctual aspect of nature to fend for itself.

The forest was not entirely alone, though. Over the years, many ponies had devoted their lives to nurturing the wood, shunning their society to live among the ‘savage’ wild.

But, alas, ponies, are not suited for such lives. These caretakers always meet their fate within the forest’s dense bushes and permeating fog, often unbeknownst to the world outside.

And every time, the forest weeps: weeps for its loss, for the very nature of mortality.

All which comes to an end is begot anew, and all which comes to be must one day fall.

Fluttershy stood again in the white void, now looking at the three gods which governed her life and everypony else’s.

The infidel...

Infidel?

Traitor.

She knew all three spoke, but could not tell which was which: as a collective, their imperfections cancelled out, and they spoke in identical tones and registers. The only identifying features of each were the ideas held in their comments.

To punish her?

    Punishment.

        Reprimand.

    Punishment.

Punishment seems wise.

        Compromise. A valuable asset: not worth losing.

Indeed. Compromise.

    Compromise is not advised: she has betrayed in the past.

Past betrayal does not imply future transgressions.

        The infidel must be given another chance.

PEGASUS.

One of the voices shouted, getting her attention. “Y-yes, my liege?”

Thou shalt be once more given flesh.

    Another body with which to serve.

        A second chance.

“Th… thank you! I won’t fail this time!”

Patience;

We are not yet done with thee.

There is more to be done.

“And… wh-what would that be?”

Thou art no longer the same pony.

Thou canst not be a dead horse.

Another thee must be born.

“Wh… why?”

The pony ‘Fluttershy’ is no more.

    Thine old self is expired.

        Another pony thou must become.

“But… I don’t want—”

Before she could voice protest, Fluttershy felt something draining from her. She looked down and saw her own pale yellows and pinks seeping off into the void. At the same time, her mind was opened to who she really was: she saw herself, her past selves, future selves, alternate selves, and anti-selves, all in her mind’s eye watching her die.

Her view focused on one iteration in particular: pale white coat, dark black mane, and obviously mentally scarred. Laconia, she knew.

As she gazed upon the horde of Doppelgängern within her own mind, and allowed them to gaze back, fear overtook her. She was to be no more. Was to die.

Thou art at thine end.

    Submit to thy fate, Pegasus.

        Allow another form to come into being.

“I… I can’t!” she screamed.

Resistest thou us?

    She resists.

        She has doubts.

“I... I can’t be somepony else. I can’t allow myself to be violat—”

Before she could argue any further, a horrible surge passed through her mind. Just like that, the myriad look-alike ponies were gone, and she was alone in her mind with this ‘Laconia’.

Thou willst conform.

    Thou hast no choice.

In Fluttershy’s mind, Laconia stared at her with fear.

“Hello.” she managed, shy even to a figment of her own imagination.

“H-hello…” the apparition responded. “Do you know what this is about?”

“Yes, I’m afraid. I’m so very sorry, Laconia.” Fluttershy said. “I don’t want to do this.”

“Do what?” she asked, now terrified.

Become one with the next form.

    Consume her.

        Embrace her being.

Fluttershy shook her head, shattering the noumenon.

“Why do I have to do this?!” she screamed, confronting the gods.

She challenges us.

    She is threatening us.

        She is confused.

“You’re buckin’ right I’m confused. Why do I have to kill an innocent pony - myself, at that - just to continue your twisted little glue factory?!”

She questions the cause.

    She is clouded by morality.

        She does not understand our cause.

    Her morality clouds her judgement.

Morality blinds her the truth of the cause.

        Her morality overpowers our truth.

    The morality is the danger.

The pegasus’ confusion endangers the cause.

    Alter her.

        Educate her.

Alteration provides higher chance of success.

        She may be damaged in the process.

Either way, there is risk.

    She will be altered, then.

“Oh, thank you. I promise I—”

She heard a squeak from within her head, and stopped mid-praise.

“But… what of Laconia? She can’t just stay in my mind forever.”

An acceptable loss.

    She can, in fact, stay in thy mind forever.

        Thou canst become her mentor, and she serve in place of thee.

Living arbiters cannot be replaced.

They can take one another’s place, and work as apprentice and master incumbent.

    This has never been done before.

        It cannot fail.

They are effectively one and the same.

No risk would be taken in doing so, only a more experienced arbiter.

Very well. She is also spared.

    She is to replace thee.

        Thou art to serve as her mentor.

Fluttershy frowned. “So… we don’t get to go home?” Within her mind, Laconia mirrored the frown.

Your roles are to be reversed: thy world now hers, and her mind to be thy new world. Thou willst take her as an apprentice, and teach her the way of Order.

“No… I don’t want this.” Fluttershy said. “I can change, I can work better, I can—”

Silence. Thou art to be her mentor, and she thy student.

    Rejoice that we have chosen to spare thee.

        Thou canst now more influential than ever before be.

“But… that’s not true. I hold no power without a name.”

        Thou hast a name. Thou art ‘Lac’—

“No. I am not. Take my accomplishments, my life, my friends, but leave me my name.”

    Enough.

Suddenly, her mind was overcome with an inside-out sensation. She watched herself pull back into the recesses of her own psyche, and watched the other pony come forth and inhabit her body. For a brief but all-too-long instant, the two consciousnesses overlapped, and their thoughts, fears, and memories overflowed into each other’s minds.. And then they were once again seperate

Laconia came to in a familiar house, though this one was… different. As she gained control of the body, grief overwhelmed her. Not only had she just murdered that ‘Flutterfly’ pony, but she had lost her own life as well, now resident—

I’m right here. said a voice within her head.

“Who... who’s there?”

My name’s Fluttershy— used to be Fluttershy. She sounded forlorn. I believe we’ve met.

“So… this is your…?”

Yes, you’re now living in my body. And I’m now living in my own mind. Fair trade, no?

“Look, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, I couldn’t help it, it ju—”

I don’t really care anymore. You just need to know that this was part of an arrangement, and you’re going to be made to do things you don’t like. I’m here to help you.

“Okay… what do I need to do?”

The forest wept, now. Wept for its most recently fallen curator, the shy pegasus.

She had not died, per se, but once again shed herself the mortal coil. She had abandoned what was once her, endorsing completely new philosophies.

And so the forest wept. Not in mourning, but as a farewell to an old friend. The watchmare which they had stolen from it.

There was yet another, however. The foreign one was closer to the forest than any before her had been.

Zecora felt the forest’s weeping.

An undeniable sense of dread and loss was present

in the forest’s seeping.

It was no mystery as to why:

the death of the pegasus Fluttershy.

She had grown through her own self-doubt corrupt,

and thus saw fit the workings of higher powers to interrupt.

Merciless though the gods may be,

she did not expect them to smite one so kind as she.

And so it came as no surprise,

when, before her very eyes,

somepony who, though her mane was blacker,

coat was white, and eyes were lacquered,

could be nopony else but Fluttershy:

because gods do not know how to die.

Catalysis II - Cabal

Dearth sat wearily, whetting her dagger against the chamber’s stone walls. She’d been trapped here for days, with only the other agents’ reports to sate her bloodlust.

“When am I gonna get to do something, captain?” she asked.

“We’ve already been over this.” he explained. “That display of yours drew quite a bit of attention. That’s not what we want. You’ve been taken off of active service until you learn better.”

“Aw, c’mon. You gotta have some fun with it, else there’s no point. We might as well kill ours—”

“Excuse me?” A silken voice rang from the the doorway. The captain and delinquent turned to greet the visitor: the pallid pegasus had once gone by the name of Fluttershy, though the gods had seen fit to demote and rename her due to her violation of their code.

“Excuse me... um...” Laconia spoke. “I have orders from... from Bishop Thanata... Dash, you’re - I mean, Dearth - you’re back on duty, active immediately.”

Rainbow’s Dearth smiled. “Good. At least somepony  around here knows what a trained killer does best!”, she said, glaring at the officer.

“Well, yes,” said Laconia, “I suppose we could get that out—”

“C’mon, Fluttershy, let’s get going!”

Though the dead name stung her, Laconia kept her head up as she led Dearth through the stone passage.

Dearth bubbled as she walked down the hallway. “Omigosh I didn’t know you were part of this. We can go hunt together, and give each other tips, and…”

Fluttershy chose not to respond, and allowed the ex-pegasus to babble on until she was content.

“… and it’s just like in that movie! So, who’re we going to kill?”

Laconia stopped in her tracks.

Dearth stopped and turned. “You okay, Flutter—”

“Why? Why is it always about the kill?” the quiet one interrupted. “I don’t kill. This isn’t about killing,” she spat, anger palpable in her voice. “There’s so much more to life than death, Dash.

“You destroy and end without second thought, without thought for the consequences. But what have you created? What, in all the world, owes its existence to you?”

“I… I once saved—” stammered the faded rainbow.

“Whoopidy-buckin’-doo,” said Laconia. Tangible detest sharpened her silky voice. “And you’ve killed two more. Did they scream, Dash? Did you scream? You enjoyed their screams, didn’t you?“

“I… well… n-… yes…” she confessed.

Fluttershy struck her across the face with her hoof. “Disgusting.” she spat, trotting away.

“Fine, then. I’ll just get this one by myself.” Dearth shouted back after her.

Don’t worry, Dashy! a cheerful voice rang through her head. You’re not alone! I’ll always be here with you!

“Wonderful.” she said aloud.

I know! the æthereal pony responded, unaware of Dearth’s sarcasm. Isn’t this great?

Dearth ignored the voice, and continued walking down the path.

What made her so mad, Dash? You can’t help who you are.

“Eh… some ponies are just sensitive.” she said. “She doesn’t want to admit that she’s a killer now; she’s still trapped in her past.”

Oh, that’s no fun… So, what we gonna do now?

“We’ve got work to do, of course.”

Oh goody, goody! Are we going to be baking?

“You could say that.”

Yippee!

A voice came from within Laconia. Sickening, no? To enjoy another's suffering, to revel in their pain… how could that brutish bigot put so little value into life as to break it like a cheap toy?

She frowned. And what of these gods? To order, en masse, the slaying of innocent ponies…

No. What am I thinking? something within her mind echoed. They saved me. They save everypony. Without them—

— Ponies could grow old and die naturally, and never worry about their number being drawn. interrupted the other voice. Was she going mad?

And the world would be overpopulated, said the second psyche. Not enough food, too many ponies, everypony would be unhappy—

—Unhappy to be alive? I think not.

And you'd be wrong. For what is to be alive but to stave off death a moment longer?

"QUIET!" screamed Laconia, smashing her head against the wall in a desperate attempt to silence the warring voices in her head. As darkness overtook her, something gave way, and doubt flooded her mind.

What does it mean to die? Why is life something to be cherished, if in the end we must die?

An unwonted smile crept onto Dearth’s face. She had just received her assignment. No more small fry: somepony important. Somepony very special to her.

Catalysis III - Anagoge, Part I: Akrasia

Fluttershy stood again in the white void, now looking at the three gods which governed her life and everypony else’s.

The infidel...

Infidel?

Traitor.

She knew all three spoke, but could not tell which was which: as a collective, their imperfections cancelled out, and they spoke in identical tones and registers. The only identifying features of each were the ideas held in their comments.

To punish her?

    Punishment.

        Reprimand.

    Punishment.

Punishment seems wise.

        Compromise. A valuable asset: not worth losing.

Indeed. Compromise.

    Compromise is not advised: she has betrayed in the past.

Past betrayal does not imply future transgressions.

        The infidel must be given another chance.

PEGASUS.

One of the voices shouted, getting her attention. “Y-yes, my liege?”

Thou shalt be once more given flesh.

    Another body with which to serve.

        A second chance.

“Th… thank you! I won’t fail this time!”

Patience;

We are not yet done with thee.

There is more to be done.

“And… wh-what would that be?”

Thou art no longer the same pony.

Thou canst not be a dead horse.

Another thee must be born.

“Wh… why?”

The pony ‘Fluttershy’ is no more.

    Thine old self is expired.

        Another pony thou must become.

“But… I don’t want—”

Before she could voice protest, Fluttershy felt something draining from her. She looked down and saw her own pale yellows and pinks seeping off into the void. At the same time, her mind was opened to who she really was: she saw herself, her past selves, future selves, alternate selves, and anti-selves, all in her mind’s eye watching her die.

Her view focused on one iteration in particular: pale white coat, dark black mane, and obviously mentally scarred. Laconia, she knew.

As she gazed upon the horde of Doppelgängern within her own mind, and allowed them to gaze back, fear overtook her. She was to be no more. Was to die.

Thou art at thine end.

    Submit to thy fate, Pegasus.

        Allow another form to come into being.

“I… I can’t!” she screamed.

Resistest thou us?

    She resists.

        She has doubts.

“I... I can’t be somepony else. I can’t allow myself to be violat—”

Before she could argue any further, a horrible surge passed through her mind. Just like that, the myriad look-alike ponies were gone, and she was alone in her mind with this ‘Laconia’.

Thou willst conform.

    Thou hast no choice.

In Fluttershy’s mind, Laconia stared at her with fear.

“Hello.” she managed, shy even to a figment of her own imagination.

“H-hello…” the apparition responded. “Do you know what this is about?”

“Yes, I’m afraid. I’m so very sorry, Laconia.” Fluttershy said. “I don’t want to do this.”

“Do what?” she asked, now terrified.

Become one with the next form.

    Consume her.

        Embrace her being.

Fluttershy shook her head, shattering the noumenon.

“Why do I have to do this?!” she screamed, confronting the gods.

She challenges us.

    She is threatening us.

        She is confused.

“You’re buckin’ right I’m confused. Why do I have to kill an innocent pony - myself, at that - just to continue your twisted little glue factory?!”

She questions the cause.

    She is clouded by morality.

        She does not understand our cause.

    Her morality clouds her judgement.

Morality blinds her the truth of the cause.

        Her morality overpowers our truth.

    The morality is the danger.

The pegasus’ confusion endangers the cause.

    Alter her.

        Educate her.

Alteration provides higher chance of success.

        She may be damaged in the process.

Either way, there is risk.

    She will be altered, then.

“Oh, thank you. I promise I—”

She heard a squeak from within her head, and stopped mid-praise.

“But… what of Laconia? She can’t just stay in my mind forever.”

An acceptable loss.

    She can, in fact, stay in thy mind forever.

        Thou canst become her mentor, and she serve in place of thee.

Living arbiters cannot be replaced.

They can take one another’s place, and work as apprentice and master incumbent.

    This has never been done before.

        It cannot fail.

They are effectively one and the same.

No risk would be taken in doing so, only a more experienced arbiter.

Very well. She is also spared.

    She is to replace thee.

        Thou art to serve as her mentor.

Fluttershy frowned. “So… we don’t get to go home?” Within her mind, Laconia mirrored the frown.

Your roles are to be reversed: thy world now hers, and her mind to be thy new world. Thou willst take her as an apprentice, and teach her the way of Order.

“No… I don’t want this.” Fluttershy said. “I can change, I can work better, I can—”

Silence. Thou art to be her mentor, and she thy student.

    Rejoice that we have chosen to spare thee.

        Thou canst now more influential than ever before be.

“But… that’s not true. I hold no power without a name.”

        Thou hast a name. Thou art ‘Lac’—

“No. I am not. Take my accomplishments, my life, my friends, but leave me my name.”

    Enough.

Suddenly, her mind was overcome with an inside-out sensation. She watched herself pull back into the recesses of her own psyche, and watched the other pony come forth and inhabit her body. For a brief but all-too-long instant, the two consciousnesses overlapped, and their thoughts, fears, and memories overflowed into each other’s minds.. And then they were once again seperate

Laconia came to in a familiar house, though this one was… different. As she gained control of the body, grief overwhelmed her. Not only had she just murdered that ‘Flutterfly’ pony, but she had lost her own life as well, now resident—

I’m right here. said a voice within her head.

“Who... who’s there?”

My name’s Fluttershy— used to be Fluttershy. She sounded forlorn. I believe we’ve met.

“So… this is your…?”

Yes, you’re now living in my body. And I’m now living in my own mind. Fair trade, no?

“Look, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, I couldn’t help it, it ju—”

I don’t really care anymore. You just need to know that this was part of an arrangement, and you’re going to be made to do things you don’t like. I’m here to help you.

“Okay… what do I need to do?”

Catalysis III - Anagoge, Part III: Repine

    A noise came from outside, pulling Applejack out of her comfortable dreams of life on the farm: warm soil, shady-bearing trees, home. She sprung out of the bed and peered out of the window: nothing. She retreated once more to her bed, confident that nopony would try to break in.

    Before sleep again overtook her, the noise came again; a latch opening, perhaps. She got out of bed again and wearily advanced to the front room. Probably Harvest’s dog trying to get into the chickens again. She poked her head out the door. “Hey now!” she called. “Ya’ll get on outta here, or I’ma hafta get—”

Her threats were cut off by a low, resonant hum. In the darkness, she could make out the form of a pony, sitting straight up, gently bowing a large stringed instrument. The visitor looked up from her playing to acknowledge the resident mare. Her light purple eyes shone like gems against her black mane and coat, matched only by the purple bowtie around her neck. After making eye contact with Applejack, she looked back down and continued to weave a dissonant hymn for an unseen loss.

“What the hay… what’re you doin’ here?”

The mare did not respond. Only after several minutes of mournful serenade did Applejack notice the smell: damp, warm, metallic… blood. She took a step back. “‘the hay’s goin’ on here?” she demanded. Still no response. The music droned on, sad harmonies competing to be heard over one another.

Applejack grew impatient. She began walking towards the mysterious mare, and asked once more, desperately: “Who are you? Whadda ya’ll want?” To her relief, the playing stopped.

Still no answer came, however. The purple eyed stranger looked up and spoke. “Patience.” Her voice was soft and flat, like that of a mourner. “Her time had come, as like all others.” She turned away from Applejack. “Nunc committo te inrito. Triumvir, vestra factam sit. Per vicem constantia.”

“What do you mean? Whose time? What are you saying?” Applejack stammered.

The intruding mare directed an icy glare at the farm pony, briefly pausing between stanzas.

“Per letum vitæ. Per constantiam vicis. Ex vita leto. Omnis—”

The encomium was interrupted by a hoof’s strike on her face, sending her spinning to the ground.

“What is this? What’re ya’ll up to?”

The black mare allowed Applejack’s question to go unanswered. She was now lying on the ground, smiling, ignorant of (or indifferent about) the sizeable gash left in her face by the farmer’s working shoes.

“Huh? Whadd’ya’ll have to say for yerself?” Applejack demanded, confident she was in a winning position.

The wounded intruder wiped the blood and dirt from her face, and calmly reached towards the instrument case.

Before she could grab her goal, a considerably-shodden hoof came down on her arm, breaking the bone within and eliciting a sharp yelp from its owner.

“Answer me! What’re ya’ll doin’ here?!”

The bowtied mare produced a low chuckle. “Triumvir, vestra voluntas totam—”

Applejack twisted her hoof.

“I want… to know… what ya’ll’re doin’ here!” she said, punctuating each exclamation with a shift of weight into her front hoof.

The ebony mare was still wearing the same smile.

“What’re you smilin’ ab—”

Applejack then noticed the knife: still shining with somepony else’s blood and, more worryingly, currently locked into the intruder’s hoof-shoe. She leapt back.

“What do you think you’re—” Applejack tried to say, but was cut off by the assailant making a horizontal strike in her direction. Her smile had metamorphosed into a horrible grimace, simultaneously gritting her teeth in rage and biting through the pain of a broken leg.

“Hey! Now that’s uncalled for!”

The mare made a point of continuing to be unsociable, now getting up and charging the farmer in a comical three-legged sprint.

“What gives you the right to come onta another person’s—” Applejack started, sidestepping a downwards vertical strike by her attacker. She began running towards the house.

“—another person’s property, all a-murderin’ and whatnot, and wake—” she continued, before ducking beneath a weak thrust.

“—and wakin’ up the whole buckin’ family!” she said, before crashing through a window and into the house.

Her head struck something as she flew, and she landed abruptly in pitch blackness, rather than the floor of the dining area.

Requiem flinched as the farm-pony hit the glass. Witnesses. Always more trouble. She’d have to deal with that later.

She turned around and began to walk back towards the house. The body could stay: they’d bury it themselves. She just needed to get out of here. She removed the blade from her hoof and placed it in the saddlecase on the lawn.  She turned to the instrument next to the case, a starch-white violincello, custom-crafted to reflect her past life, and began its disassembly: bolt on the body… slide the neck out… neck and bow go inside body… whole thing goes inside the case.

Behind her, the door opened. Черт.

“Hey, what’s all this racket fer?” asked a rough bass drawl.

Requiem didn’t answer. Instead, she grabbed the knife once more from the case, and stood perfectly still.

“What’re ya’ll doin’ here?” the stallion asked. He began to approach her.

The door was about fifteen feet away… about a dozen steps, then. She closed her eyes.

Восемь… Девяать… Десяать… Одиннадцать… Двенадцать.

[Eight…   Nine…           Ten…              Eleven…                  Twelve.]

The stallion started to speak: “Ma’am, this is a priv—”

In a single motion, Requiem turned around and punched the blade into the stallion’s neck, her eyes still closed. Her non-broken, blade wielding arm shuddered with the impact, as though the blade had struck solid steel…

She opened her eyes. The serrated tip was firmly embedded in the stallion’s hardwood yoke.

“Ma’am,” he continued, “is there a problem?”

Requiem continued to ignore the stallion’s questions, instead trying to free her blade from his neck.

The draft horse politely obliged, jerking his neck away from the mare, removing the blade from its lock on her hoof and sending it flying off into the grass. In the same motion, he turned around and raised his left hind leg. For a fraction of a second, Requiem made eye contact with the stallion: she saw no hatred in his face; only indignant calm, like one who’s disposed a threat.

Before she could contemplate further, however, the stallion’s leg extended, like a piston of iron-plated flesh. She instinctively tried to move, but he was too close.

Catalysis III - Anagoge, Part II: Kalopsia

Rarity gasped as sharpened steel pierced her flank. She knew it would eventually come to this: nopony had been right, not since the… incidents with Pinkie and Dash. Fluttershy had disappeared outright, and Twilight had become a full-blown recluse, having not left her house since the ‘upset’ with Trixie.

The knife dragged down her side, leaving fire in its wake. She clenched her teeth, ignoring the blood dripping eagerly from her wound. She closed her eyes and focused on the pain, not allowing anything else to cloud her mind. How could she do this to h—

The fabulous mare started as three impatient knocks came from the front door. She let out a cry as the simple, straight incision was torn into an atrocious two-pronged gash, bleeding readily down her white coat.

“Rarity?” said a familiar voice from the other side. “Y’all’right in there?” Applejack called. “Ya’ll’ve been locked up in there for near on a week, now. Everypony’s worried aboutchya.”

“Ye… Yes, I’m fine.” she responded

“Ya sure ‘bout that? Ya need any help?”

“I’m sure. Give me just a minute, let me tidy up…”

Rarity magicked up the knife once more, this time cutting the ropes binding her to the walls.

Damn. She needed to be more careful: there was blood everywhere. If she wasn’t careful, she might stain something.

Rarity bandaged the wound quickly and with experience, and donned a dark sweater to obscure the bloodstains. She then mopped up the mess on the floor and answered the door for her waiting  guest.

“Howdy, Rarity.” said Applejack “Just thought I’d stop by, make sure everything’s all right with you.”

“I appreciate the concern, AJ, but there’s nothing to be worried about.” Rarity lied. “I have an important order that requires my utmost attention at the moment.” she explained. “I apologise if I lost track of time; I’ll try to make it up to you.”

Nothing to be worried about.

Pinkie forced herself to relax. Sure, Dashie was being mean, but Pinkie should know better than to interfere with her friend’s work. She looked forward to seeing Rarity again: they hadn’t seen each other in ages. If she were capable, she would have planned for the occasion: balloons, music, and a special cake to suit Rarity’s extravagant taste…

Instead, she watched Dash trot to the fashionista’s front door and gently knock.

Aw, why did she have to so boring?

“Hey.” the host protested. “I can hear you.”

“Tee-hee. Sorry, Dash.” she said. The inquiline was unused to having her thoughts voiced.

From inside the house, hurried shuffling could be heard. “One moment, please…” Rarity’s voice called.

Though Pinkie was content to wait, Dash had other plans: she did a quick spin, and bucked the door open.

Inside, Rarity jumped, botching the bandage she had been hurriedly applying. “I—I can explain!” she screamed, brushing aside the bloody knife on the floor, still aglow with Rarity’s magical influence.

“Well…” Dearth began. “…this should make things interest—”

Why is she doing that? Pinkie interrupted, causing Dearth to flinch.

“Whah— who are you?” Rarity cut in.

Pinkie felt Dash smile.

“I’d rather make this quick…” she began, stepping forward. “I am the hand of powers beyond your comprehension. I have been ordered to escort you out of this world.”

“ I’d rather make this quick… “ she repeated, approaching the shivering mare. “… but there’s so much fun to be had. Why rush?”

Rarity’s eyes widened. “Oh! I… I’m not—”

Pinkie wasn’t concerned with the rest of the mare’s statement. What’s with the knife? Is she all right? Who’s your target? Is Rarity going to help? What if we—

“Shut up, Pinkie!” Dearth yelled, interrupting both Rarity and the voice in her head.

“P—Pinkie? Is she still alive? Where is she? What’s going on?”

“Relax. I’m sure it won’t be as bad as you think.” she said, drawing a knife of her own and slowly approaching Rarity.

“What are you… oh—oh no, please! Please, no— aah!”

Laconia approached the salon. Dash had been missing for days, now: this should’ve been easy. The fashionista was a pushover. And so she’d been sent, to make sure Dash wasn’t getting into any trouble.

She walked up to the first window, and had to fight to hold back a scream.

Dearth looked up and admired her handiwork: the dressmaker hung limp from two improvised hooks suspended from the ceiling. Her chest was splayed open, and her heart was still beating.

“What the hay is wrong with you?” she asked. Dearth didn’t expect her to still be conscious, but she had apparently been doing this for a long time.

“I’m just taking advantage of such an opportunity. Nopony else seems to like knives the way you or I do.” she grinned.

“This is just dreadful.” the dressmaker said. “Do you know how long this will take to heal? The biggest cut I’ve ever done was nowhere near this size, and that took—”

A sharp crack interrupted both her stream of complaints and spinal chord.

Dearth, unfazed by the explosion, turned to see its source.

Fluttershy stood behind her, her front leg raised towards the now-dead icon of torture hanging in the center of the room. Smoke snaked out of the thin metal tube affixed along the side of her hoof.

“What the hay is wrong with you?” she demanded.

“You know, I get that a lot.”

“Ha-ha. Can you not take this seriously? Is murder a game to you?”

“Hey, I was just taking advantage of—”

“I know. I heard. Can you not respect the dead?”

“I need something to motiv—”

“Dammit, Dash! You’re supposed to kill them, not play with them!”

The unwontedly harsh language stunned the sadist. “I-I can’t help—”

“What’s that?!”

“I can’t help it!”

Fluttershy grunted disapprovingly, and turned around.

“I’m sorry if—”

“Don’t talk to me.”

And the rest...

So from here, the chapter titles were as follows:

CATALYSIS IV - Nekhedonia

CATALYSIS V - Dolorifuge

-

CATHARSIS I - Reveille

CATHARSIS II - Gehinnam I - Nullibiety

CATHARSIS II - Gehinnam II - Bedlam

CATHARSIS III - Resipiscence

CATHARSIS IV - Vivisepultura

CATHARSIS V - Catherephsis

-

CATHEREPHSIS I - Damnatio Memoriæ

CATHEREPHSIS II - Eschaton

CATHEREPHSIS III - Iconoclasm

CATHEREPHSIS IV - Solatium

-

I spent literal hours constructing this dumb chapter arc thing instead of actually writing. That's how smart I was.