Demon of the Frozen North

Chapter Four

Tra’kta looked around in confusion. His surroundings were mostly obscured by a thick blackness that seemed to press inward with the weight of the damned. He could make out the faint outline of a table of some sort a dozen or so paces to his right, although it was too dark to make out the details. A dull red glow shone from beneath his hooves. He certainly wasn’t in any part of the Hive. As he sat there wondering where he was, he heard the sound of chains rattling from the table. He turned to face the table, an unnamed dread taking hold of him. From the darkness, a singular eye appeared, sideways and blazing red with intensity. The slitted pupil was familiar and yet completely alien to Tra’kta. The eye regarded him with an intense curiosity. Chains rattled again as the eye attempted to right itself. There was a hiss of annoyance and the chains fell silent. The eye fixed itself upon Tra’kta again.
“You there.” The voice belonging to the eye was a whisper that carried itself to Tra’kta’s ears. “Release me. I have spent too long down here. Far too long…” The voice was quiet but had the ring of authority to it. Tra’kta found himself compelled to do its bidding. He trotted over to the table, his hooves making no sound whatsoever in the dark room. He stopped himself at the tables edge, shaking his head as if in a daze. He blinked and looked down. The table was not a table at all he discovered, but an altar. The altar had heavy chains coming from both ends that gleamed even in the darkness of the room. The chains were attached to a surprisingly large body. While he could make out the details,,he was certain that it was a changeling.
“Who are you?” He asked. His voice was almost entirely swallowed by the blackness of the room. The other changeling laughed, the chains clinking against the altar.
“Who am I?” the voice asked. A small, wry laugh echoed through the chamber. “I have many names, child,” The voice whispered, “But you may call me Chr-”
____________________________________________________________________________

Tra’kta’s eyes flew open even as his body shot straight up. He felt something solid connect with his forehead just under his horn. A small yelp of surprise came from his right. He looked over and saw the Hive’s doctor, a diminutive changeling by the name of Ob’serl, rubbing his forehead with a hoof. He looked around the room. The walls were a dark gray and the entire room was round. There were several beds along the wall. All of them were empty, save for the one Tra’kta was resting on. Injury was rare in the Hive.

“Sorry, Obie,” Tra’kta said, using the name everyone called the doctor. “You all right?” Obie nodded.

“Yes, yes I’m quite alright, although I must admit that I didn’t expect you to be up so soon. There was a surprising amount of damage to your nervous system.” the doctor said. Tra’kta gave him a confused look.

“How did that happen?” He asked. Obie shrugged.

“I can’t be sure, but it looked like the effects of a spell of some sort. What happened out there?” He asked. Tra’kta rubbed his eyes.

“I got into a bit of a scuffle. Outran some guards. I got into a little fight with the blue alicorn. She shot me in the knee with some sort of celestial arrow. I teleported straight here right after that,” he said briskly. Obie rubbed the side of his neck thoughtfully.

“Interesting. The only spells I can think of that produce celestial arrows don’t have the potency to damage the nervous system, much less to the degree that you were suffering. Magical strain doesn’t explain it either. But the most interesting thing is how you’re up and about so soon. It’s only been a few hours,” He said. Tra’kta felt his eyes widen a bit in surprise.

“How extensive was the damage?” he asked quietly. Obie looked him in the eyes. Tra’kta could almost feel the wonder emanating from the doctor.

“Extensive enough that I honestly thought you’d be out for at least a few days.” he said. Tra’kta leaned back on the bed in quiet amazement.

“How-?” He asked, gesturing vaguely with a foreleg. Obie shook his tiny head.
“I have no idea,” he said, “How do you feel?” Tra’kta moved various body
Both of his forelegs in a circle and cracked his neck. He flipped over onto his legs, ignoring the doctor’s cries of protest. His knees wobbled slightly, then stabilized. He bounced up and down a few times and shrugged.

“I feel fine,” he said, “I even feel rested to boot.” The hell is going on? Obie shook his head.
“Let me go over you again, alright? Don’t want to miss anything.” He said. Tra’kta
nodded and hopped back onto the bed. Obie’s horn glowed a light red and a beam of magic encompassed Tra’kta. His carapace seemed to disappear before his eyes, revealing a plethora of lines, white balls of light racing up and down them. The doctor’s magic faded and Tra’kta’s body returned to normal.

“Amazing. Not a single sign of damage,” Obie said in amazement. Seriously, what the hell is going on? He wondered, looking around the room.

“Where’s my sword?” He asked.

“Stre’zaol took it with her when she left,” Obie said, “Why do you ask?”
Tra’kta flipped back onto the floor. “Just curious. I’m just...gonna go, I guess. Thanks for taking care of me Obie,” He said. Obie shook his head.

“Just happy I could help,” he said, “Take care of yourself, and please stay away from magic arrows in the future, alright?” he suggested. Tra’kta chuckled. “You got it, doc.” he said before trotting out of the infirmary. The hallway outside was dark, cool, dry and narrow. Tra’kta followed the straight pathway until it opened into the main atrium. Hundreds of changelings were gathered together, their voices rising into a dull cacophony of sound that assaulted Tra’kta’s ears the moment he stepped into the room. None of them paid him any mind as he trotted through their midst, heading for the hallway that lead to the sleeping area. Halfway there, a fight broke out to his left, one of the changelings yelling something about owed money. As the two exchanged blows, the changelings around them backed away and formed a loose ring around the combatants. His interest piqued, Tra’kta slowed to a stop to watch. The changeling who had been yelling was a head taller than his opponent, and almost twice the size. Tra’kta didn’t recognize either of them. The bigger one turned and tried to buck the smaller one in the head, but was too slow. The little changeling twisted and dodged the blow, taking two small jabs at his opponent’s exposed neck.

The big changeling staggered, clutching at his throat with a hoof. The little changeling didn’t waste any time, sliding under the big one and delivering a flurry of blows to his weaker underside. He rolled out from under the big changeling as he stumbled and gasped in pain. Shaking his head, Tra’kta turned his back on the spectacle and walked through the narrow archway that led to the living quarters. As the noise of the scuffle faded behind him, he couldn’t help but reflect for the millionth time how nice it would be to have a structured government. He sighed aloud. Anarchy could only get you so far. He passed several others in the hallway, which was barely wide enough to fit two changelings side by side. Even then, you had to pass uncomfortably close to the other. As he trotted along the right wall, more openings appeared on either side of him, leading deeper into the Hive. Tra’kta ignored them, never having used them before. He exited the narrow tunnel into a much wider, circular antichamber. The wall was lined with wooden doors, A name carved into the stone above each one. Stre’zaol’s room was on the rightmost part of the room. The door was made of birch and sagged inward. Tra’kta rapped on it lightly.

“It’s open!” Stre’zaol called from within. A horrid odor assaulted Traktor's nostrils as he entered the room. He gagged slightly as he shut the door behind him. Holding a hoof to his nose in a vain attempt to ward off the smell, Tra’kta advanced further into the room. Bookshelves lined the walls, stretching from floor to ceiling. Each shelf was lined with various tomes, stuffed in haphazardly with almost no regard to organization. Mounds of scrolls, tomes, letters and various bottles full of mysterious liquids filled the two large tables in the center of the room. Tra’kta walked between them, taking care not to bump into anything. At the end of the narrow aisle between the tables, he stumbled over a large object, nearly falling face first into the floor. He steadied himself and glanced at the object he had tripped on. A small plush bear lay on its side. Tra’kta stared at it with bewilderment. The Swarm didn’t make these sorts of thing. The only conceivable way one could have made its way down here was if it had come from the surface, which was one of the very few things that was strictly forbidden. Contact with surface dwellers was still considered a risk to the Swarm as a whole, as proof of their existence could very easily end up in the wrong hooves. If the Hive was attacked, the Swarm could cease to exist altogether. There were depressingly few of them.

But then again, two of Equestria’s princesses and several guards have seen me when I was hunting down the vessels, Tra’kta thought somberly. He decided not to even mention the toy. He turned around and made his way deeper into Stre’zaol’s quarters. She sat at an ancient oaken desk nestled between two bookshelves. Her back was turned to him, and she appeared to be scribbling furiously on something. Dre’koul leaned against the table on her right.

“Hey,” Tra’kta said as he approached her.

“Hey,” She replied without looking at him. Her voice had a distracted intonation to it. Tra’kta stood to her left and looked down at the table. The tip of her horn glowed with her lavender magic, a quill racing across several pieces of parchment that held calculations. Tra’kta couldn’t decipher what any of them meant. A map of Equestria rested above them. There were several red circles, arrows and x’s on it, but the large circle in the middle. ‘Everfree Forest’ was written above it.

“What’re you doing?” Tra’kta asked quietly. Stre’zaol sighed.

“Well, if these calculations are correct, I just found where we need to go next.” she said monotonously. Tra’kta looked at her quizzically.

“We?” He asked. Stre’zaol regarded him carefully.

“Yes. I’m the only one who knows how to reforge him,” She said. Tra’kta looked at her, confused.

“Him? The Strus’Mkai made it seem like it was a weapon of some kind we were rebuilding,” he said cautiously. Stre’zaol blinked in genuine surprise.

“No, it’s not a weapon at all. We’re reforging the soul of the Red Reaper of Hel Varen,” she said quietly. Tra’kta rubbed the back of his neck.

“That… does make sense,” He admitted, “If anyone can save the Swarm, it’s him.” Stre nodded.

“Exactly. He created us. He most likely knows how to fix the population decline,” She said. Tra’kta nodded.

“So how do we do this?” He asked, looking at the map. Stre tapped the circled area on the map.

“We go here. ‘Everfree Forest’. That should be where his body is sealed, assuming that it hasn’t been discovered and moved to a museum somewhere,” She said, slightly distraught at the possibility.

“Right in the heart of Equestria,” Tra’kta murmured. “We’ll have to disguise ourselves.”

Stre nodded, “Hopefully no one will notice us until it’s too late. The ritual is not subtle,” She said, emphasizing the latter half of her sentence. Tra’kta sighed.

“How noticeable is it, exactly?” He asked, slightly exasperated. Stre levitated a large tome off of a nearby shelf, the soft lavender glow of her magic reflecting dully off the smooth surface of the table. She quickly flipped through its pages, stopping about halfway in.

“...upon the incantation’s completion, a large column of light will appear above the ritual site…” She read aloud. She looked over at Tra’kta. “That’s just the first half of the ritual, the summoning. The second half requires a blood sacrifice from a Hive Guardian,” She said solemnly. Tra’kta blinked in disbelief.

“But there aren’t any Guardians left,” he said.

Stre grinned, “Oh, but there is!” She exclaimed, “In fact, I’m looking at him right now!” She said with a smile. Traktor's confusion grew stronger.

“But I’m not a Guardian,” he said, tilting his head in befuddlement. Stre looked at him, a bemused half-smile on her muzzle.
“But you’ve been protecting the Hive from extinction,” She said.
Tra’kta nodded, “Yes, but I don’t have any sort of legendary…” His voice trailed off as his eyes wandered over to Dre’Koul. Understanding flashed through him, the metaphorical dots forming metaphorical lines and coalescing into a coherent plan that had no doubt been developing over the past few months. He found himself staggered by his own ignorance.

“Oh,” He said weakly.

Stre nodded, “We have to wait another day before attempting this however,” She said, replacing the tome on its shelf. “The Strus’Mkai are gathering the resources we require. You should rest up in the meantime. We need you at full capacity.”

Tra’kta nodded. “How long?” He asked.

Stre rubbed her temple with a hoof, “Hard to say at the moment. If I had to guess, I’d say a day and a half, two at most. But you never know, we could hit a snag or four along the way. Some of the things required for the ritual are rather difficult to obtain,” She said tiredly, “Don’t worry about all that, though. The Hive has deployed a few agents to the surface to secure these items. They have it under control.” She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. “In the meantime, we can only wait,she murmured, seemingly to herself. Tra’kta nodded and levitated Dre’Koul over to him. He slid the scabbard onto his back in a single, fluid motion.

“I, uh, guess I’ll be going then.” He said, not really wanting to leave. He longed to spend time with her, to grow closer than friends. He knew it was selfish of him. There were only two females left in the Swarm, after all. And yet his heart still ached in the absence of intimacy. Stre cleared her throat, snapping him back to reality.

“Ah… right. Going now,” He said, embarrassed. He levitated Dre’Koul onto his back and exited the room, feeling slightly embarrassed. He hadn’t meant to space out like that. He hurried down the hallway, making his way deeper into the Hive. Most of the miners lived further in. Working in the mines all day wore out even the most resilient souls. Few changelings were back here this time of day; most were still at work. The rock walls changed from a light beige to the dark red of granite as he walked. Dre’Koul's hilt almost scraped the ceiling. Tra’kta passed by several derelict rooms missing doors, either rotted to non-existence or scavenged by another Hive resident. A wave of sorrow washed over the changeling and he lowered his eyes. Hopefully their champion would be able to set things back on track. Otherwise, the Bloody Swarm was doomed to fade away. There were no surviving records of their existence in Equestria, and the rest of changeling kind had all but forgotten about them.

Tra’kta sighed wearily. If the Strus’Mkai were doing this, it meant that they had truly gotten desperate. Tra’kta found it unlikely that a single being, no matter how powerful, old, or wise, would be able to save them. With only two females left, things were looking exceedingly grim. He arrived at his quarters on that bitter note. Two gaping holes flanked the ebony door, each one hosting a descending staircase. At the bottom of each were two black iron door. They allegedly had been there since the creation of the Hive, but Tra’kta personally thought those rumors to be ridiculous. The doors were always pristine, despite the cleaning crew not coming back here often. They were also locked, and nobody could seem to tell him what lie beyond.

He approached his door, a solid rectangle of birch wood. There was no handle or knob to be found on it. Tra’kta placed a hoof on the top right corner of the door. A small circle pressed inward and he turned it a full three-hundred and sixty degrees counter-clockwise. A small rectangular panel slid open in the center of the door, where a combination lock could be found. He quickly entered the combination with his magic and the door swung silently inward on oiled hinges. The panels reset themselves as Tra’kta walked past, closing the door with a hind leg. The ceiling rose several feet above him in a dome shape. An iron chain descended from the ceiling ending in a hook. A lantern hung there, unlit. With a spark from his horn, a scarlet were-light blinked into existence inside the lantern. The ruddy glow illuminated the rest of the room. A small, oaken table occupied the center of the room, a single chair at its head. A small cupboard rested against the farthest wall, one of its doors slightly ajar. Old silverware twinkled dully from within. A dark hole lay to his right, leading to his bedroom. The left wall remained bare. He leaned Dre’Koul against said wall with a sigh and made his way into his bedroom. A singular, round bed stood in the center of the room. A small lantern dangled from the ceiling, unlit. Ignoring the lantern, Tra’kta flung himself onto the bed, the sheets making a muffled thwump as his body landed. He flipped over onto his back and stared at the ceiling, his thoughts racing.

Is this really such a good idea? I mean, even if this ritual succeeds, does he really have a way to save our species? It seems impossible. He raised a hoof and rubbed his temple. Even if we made mandatory breeding ques a reality, it would be difficult to reverse the population decline. He shook his head. Well, it beats doing nothing, He decided. He closed his eyes and allowed sleep to overtake him.
____________________________________________________________________________
He was in the same room as before. The eye regarded him curiously.
“You are different from the rest,” It’s voice whispered, “You have been here twice now. How strange.”
“Where is here?” Tra’kta asked, his voice still muted in the darkness.
The voice laughed, the sound echoing around Trak’ta, “Fuck if I know,” The voice said, the last vestiges of laughter fading to silence. “This is your dream. You’re likely better informed than I,” it continued.
Tra’kta blinked in confusion, The space around him was utterly unfamiliar. “I don’t know either,” he admitted sheepishly.
The voice sighed, “Perhaps this place is tied to you subconscious somehow. Well, it doesn’t really matter. At least we can speak,” It said.
A thought crossed Tra’kta’s mind. “Are you even real, though? This is a dream, you said so yourself.”
The voice chuckled. “Oh, I am very real, kid. I’m able to communicate with you since you have my sword.” It said merrily. Surprise flooded Tra’kta’s mind, for the was little doubt in his mind that the voice spoke truly.
“You’re the Red Reaper of Hel Varen?” he asked incredulously.
The Red Reaper scoffed. “Red Reaper, Spirit of Vengeance, Warrior of Blood, Spellbreaker, Demon of the Wastelands, these are just titles. My name is Chrys’toph,” He said with a hint of indignance. “Don’t tell me the Swarm forgot my godsdamned name,” He muttered darkly. Tra’kta shifted uncomfortably. Chrys’toph groaned. “Fucking hell, can’t even be remembered properly. I bet the rest of the world has forgotten me and my brothers entirely. But I digress, that is not why I have reached out to you. No, I am here to tell you that once you free me, I will be depending on your aid. Being locked away for over a thousand years without food, water or light of any kind has its way of weakening you. You will have to take care of me until I regain my strength.” He said, a note of irritation creeping into his voice. “I’ll also need to be updated on the state of the world. I trust the intelligence network I so painstakingly set up is still working efficiently?” Chrys’toph asked.
Trak’ta nodded. “Yes, sir. We haven’t needed to make any drastic changes to it either, so it should be easy to resume command,” He boasted.
Chrys’toph laughed. “‘Sir’, eh? How quaint. If all goes well, I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he said dismissively.
“How did you-” Tra’kta began.
“Know that? Because I can see into your mind, Tra’kta.” Chrys’toph cut off, “Now go. We’ll speak more of this later.” Before Tra’kta could react, he felt himself being pulled back by an invisible force.
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Tra’kta’s eyes snapped open. Stre’zaol was standing over him, a hoof extended to shake his own.

“Hey,” he said tiredly.

Stre lowered her hoof. “Hey. It’s almost time,” she said quietly.

Tra’kta nodded and rolled off the bed onto his hooves. He casually flipped Dre’Koul onto his back. “Let’s go wake up a demon then,” he said.

Stre’zaol nodded, and the two of them exited his home side by side, heading towards the surface and an uncertain future.

Author's Note

(A/N)
Jaysus feckin' Christ on a bike it's been a long time since I've uploaded. But, you don't have to worry, all 9 people that read this story, it's not dead, and it WILL be completed. Eventually. Now that I have most of the plot and lore worked out, I should be able to work on this more often. what do you mean my uploads are sporadic