Chapter the First One Through the Door
Magic is real.
I remember laughing at the old man, my sides hurting more when I realized he was being serious.
I remember my laughter dying when he showed me. The blood leaking from his eyes as reality itself was torn asunder. That faint smile as his body seemed to collapse in on itself. The sound of shattering bones and splattering gore being all but silenced by the roar of the Aether. The shadows writhing like a mass of snakes. The sensation of falling, then blackness...
"Lock, make yourself presentable. Someone's here to see you."
It was only my lightning reflexes that saved me from over-tipping my chair and spilling onto the floor. Rather, my forehead made contact with the desk-lamp. Bringing my hands up to rub my aching face only sent papers and random objects flying. Like an intricate Rube Goldberg Machine, my office descended into chaos. A veritable dust storm erupted, sending me groping blindly for the closed window shades. I yanked the cord, ignoring the screech of un-oiled gears, undid the lock on the window, and pulled up.
Nothing happened. Veins popping into the visual spectrum, I tugged with all my might. With the crash of a felled tree, the window opened. I stared absent-mindedly at the window pane in my calloused hands, and wondered why I even bothered with shades, given the state of the glass. Fresh air blew through the breach, disturbing the smell of cigarette smoke and aggravating the cloud even more. With a sigh, I adjusted the black tie that hung loosely at my neck before calling out," Come in."
The door behind me opened (with some difficulty), admitting whoever wanted to speak to me.
"Um..." a small voice came from the door," Are you Warlock?"
Now, the technicolor phenomena that are ponies aren't nearly as short as some Minotaurs would have you believe. They usually stand comfortably around five feet tall, which means the feminine, scratchy voice should have come from a tick higher than the middle of the door. The voice came from nearly two feet lower, which could only mean one thing...
The Chubchubs have come for me at last?
I silently smashed that thought into oblivion, before turning slowly, all smiles for the possible customer.
"That's m' name! How can I be of assistance today, Miss?"
The filly before me looked barely passed her first heat, the feathers of her wings looking barely developed enough for sustained flight. Orange fur, fuschia mane and tail, Cutie Mark...
Usually, someone like me can figure out a special talent just by staring at a pony's ass, but quite frankly, there was so much going on in this pegasus' Mark I couldn't quite figure out what to think. It was almost like it was only a part of a whole-
"I heard you solve problems, Mr. Warlock." Her voice was casual, the kind that comes from practice.
"For a price." My voice was sounded through the decrepit room. Not exactly a very good first impression, I'd imagine. Papers strewn across the room, broken window, dented and skewed shades, a loose tie over a black vest, vest over a shirt which I'm sure was white at some point, the cuffs missing the buttons needed to keep them from being permanently assigned to a life above my elbows...
We also can't forget the sunken features, greasy silver hair, permanent five-o'clock-shadow, and the shadowed violet eyes.
...Anyway, we'll just say that I didn't look all that classy.
"I'm Officer Scootaloo with the Canterlot Police Department," she continued, pulling a badge from whatever hammerspace she uses.
I let the dust slowly settle on my shoulders as I stared at her.
She continued," There's been an incident at the Canterlot Public Library. I was sent to retrieve you so you may aid in inspecting the scene."
I remained silent, considering what she said. The police were involved in an incident at the Public Library. The Guard didn't get called in, which means nothing violent, but I'm getting called in, which means they're desperate for help. After all, no one calls in a Warlock when they don't need it. Besides, the Chief and I have a history.
Mostly of her accusing me of committing crimes, and me getting away with them.
Anyway, I promptly declined, sent her on her way, and had a happy, incredibly boring, rest of eternity.
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...
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...
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...Fiiine.
I gestured for the filly to lead the way while I grabbed the black trench coat from my chair; the gray flat cap from my desk was deposited comfortably onto my head, and I trudged through the disaster that was left of my office. I took the time to glance at the swordstaff mounted on the wall. I returned my gaze to the floor, guiding my feet to locations of most traction. I've never taken the weapon with me. I've never felt the need.
I passed through the door into an entirely different world. The late morning sun streamed through immaculate glass windows, the shades in neat bundles resting in their string holds. A grey mare stared at me with plain annoyance from behind her oak desk, her tufted ears twitching irritably. Her name was Night Blossom, and she was as close to a partner as someone like me could get.
"Leaving another mess for me to clean up?" she asked in that squeaky way that only batponies could.
"My apologies for the state of disaster, but I'll be out for a bit," I replied, smiling.
I could feel her baleful gaze follow me out the door.
The filly Officer was standing at attention in the hall, her eyes fixed forward as I closed the door behind me.
"If you'll follow me, Mr. Warlock!" I barely managed to contain my grimace at her announce-like request. She clicked her heels together, left-faced, and promptly marched towards the building entrance, her horse shoes clicking on the laminated floors.
I sighed, stuffing my hands in my coat pockets. I trudged after her, my longer stride allowing me to easily keep pace with... Scootaloo was it? Hm.
I followed that orange pegasus where she led, as I was wont to do.
I just hoped I was getting paid for this.
______________________________
They say that when the world is at it's darkest, the stars shine their brightest.
It's a fancy way of saying that when trouble happens, someone will be there to clean up the mess.
Including all that annoying paperwork.
Unfortunately for me, I'm one of those people.
As I strode through the glowing streets of Canterlot, far from the area my office sat, my eyes caught glimpses of normal life.
A pristine white mare haggling over silver cloth.
A lemon stallion getting turned down by an over-elegant blue pegasus mare.
Children hidden in a common alleyway, recently snatched purses in hoof.
Ah, yes, the glorious city of Canterlot. Never have I lived in a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. The fact that the military acts as a secondary police force should tell you all you need to know about the crime levels.
As I observed the world around me, those inhabiting it watched me. Hushed whispers, concerned glances, even open glares, the life of an extra-dimensional freak isn't one of glory and happiness. I may have inherited what may constitute a pony name, but I'm not a pony. I gotta say, though, fingers are fucking amazing.
Officer Scootaloo marched through the streets, black armored vest tight against her barrel. I noticed the sword at one side, baton on the other, before my gaze drew to my left. I met the hostile gaze of three disgustingly dirty fillies, their lovely patriotism identifying me as a threat to them and their lifestyle. That, or it looked like the very darkness of Tartarus was flowing off me in waves. An unfortunate side affect of my power, an embodiment of the shadows that dwell within the Aether. I could draw on that power as much as I dared, but do too much, and very scary somethings take notice and make themselves known. I met one of those somethings once, and do believe it is responsible for my missing cufflinks. Jokes aside, shit was scary, yo. Don't do eldritch abominations, kids.
Of course, that "constantly smoking" look was simply how my power, when not called upon, manifested itself. In a way, it mirrored Celestia and Luna's mane and tail. I've considered asking the sister rulers of Equestria what their relations to the Aether were, but instead decided that I don't have a death wish, and have continued my relatively uneventful new existence.
As I walked, I reached into a pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. I briefly stared at the bright red insignia on the package before popping it open and pulling out a cigarette. One of the benefits of being a monster: in house discount on the cheap shit. I stuck the box back in my pocket, the cigarette butt gently caressed by my teeth. I pulled out my old Zippo lighter, flicking it open with my thumb. With another movement, the flame ignited. I drew it close to my face, my pace slowing considerably. A moment later, I flicked the lighter closed and deposited it in my pocket. I took a moment to enjoy the bright, smoky taste before releasing a puff of smoke from my mouth. I relengthened my stride to catch up with my "guide," her only reaction to my little release an irritated flick of her left ear.
I continued down the cobbled streets, my coat swaying in the slight breeze that had sprung up.
If you can get over the constant feeling of being watched, Canterlot is a rather nice city. Brilliant white marble buildings with leafed gold accents, the low hum of daily life that can be heard day round, the carefully tended nature gardens...
Some days, it actually felt like a place I could call home. Ah, yes. The place where someone lives, especially as a member of a family or household. Canterlot seems to try to give everyone the feeling of being a part of something bigger, to be better than they are. If the actions of the "Nobles" are to be believed, it's working. Speak of the Devil...
...and he shall appear. As does the small group of well dressed equines, as they move to intercept me. Casually, yes, as if they had merely not seen me and my escort, but the purpose in their steps indicated that they planned something. Most likely make a scene, attempt to get me locked up for "assaulting" a member of their lovingly inbred society or some such.
I did the easiest thing possible: I extended my stride. With my naturally long legs, they would be hard pressed to catch me.
Scootaloo, it seems, was not prepared for the massive, foreboding figure of an eldritch abomination from the depths of Tartarus to quickly start to gain on her. Judging by the "eep" and quick scurrying of hooves away from my personage, she didn't anticipate my acceleration to "avoidance speed."
"Hey! Who do you think you are, sneaking up on a lady like that?!"
Oh, dear gods, why does it have to be today? I was taking a lovely nap on my unofficial day off, and now some stallion in flashy clothes, one of the inbreds from earlier, is now verbally beating me with a pillow.
"Surely even a monstrous creature such as yourself can understand when a lady does not wish to be approached!"
Ooooh, good one. Never heard that one before.
Aaaaaand a crowd is growing. Just what I needed to raise my spirits. I took an extra hard pull of my cigarette, releasing it in a cloud of irritation.
"Leave her alone!"
"Monster!"
"Abomination!"
` "Uncultured prick!" ooh, that one's new.
"Beast!"
"Go back to Tartarus!"
And with a wave of my hand, silence reigns.
I stare uncaringly at the frozen faces twisted in anger and fear.
I turn to see a near-frozen pegasus guard, only the minuscule movements of his wings exposing the nature of the deceleration of time. Or rather, the acceleration of me. Welp. Time to leave.
I turn to my charge, her back to me as she makes every attempt to quiet the growing crowd. If I've learned anything about the Canterlot elite, they love throwing shade, even on their fellows. The fact that I'm an outsider sweetens the treat to a tooth-aching degree.
I grab her by the collar, extending the shadows below us until they easily surround us. Then I walk. The dark is warm, welcoming, anxious to drive back the light. Today, I'm just using it to travel to the library. We emerge from the shadow of the library itself, passerby frozen as they question the Police about the erected barricade.
The library has seen better days. It's little less than a burned out husk now, its once pristine white marble walls scarred with ash.
And, with another wave, time resumes it's endless cycle. The blast of information to my senses is mildly disorienting, but I lightly cough to cover up the discomfort. That, and I'd accidentally inhaled a bit of smoke from my cigarette. Scootaloo, on the other hand, stumbles like a drunkard, ears pinned to the sides of her head as she groans.
"Luna's twinkling ass, that's unpleasant," she remarks colorfully.
And then she spins around, the nature of her surroundings becoming clear.
"Wha..." The confusion clear on her adorable little pony face, I returned my narrow attention span to the barricade before us.
I smile warmly at the gruffly buff mare in what could only be described as pony riot armor. She was putting every effort into getting everyone to kindly fuck right off, mate, and I was going to do the exact opposite.
"Mornin', Butch. Busy day, eh?"
If looks could kill, for one, I would be long dead, but two, Butch's glare would have violently eviscerated my bowels, then gouged my eyes out with a rusty key.
"Wail, if it ain't the fookin' Woorlock. Unlass you're achin' fur a breakin', I rightly suggest you take yur faggot, shuv it up yur ass, an' skedaddle on back tuh the slums."
"Actually, Butch, he's here on the Chief's orders," Scootaloo smartly interjected, putting her on the receiving end of 'le murder stare.
Seconds ticked past, and I noticed the crowd swiftly depart, the well-being of their life and limbs taking precedence over being gawking bystanders. After all, the Warlock showed up.
Taking the initiative, I hopped the barricade, ignoring Butch's outraged and incomprehensible comments. Seriously, the angrier she gets, the thicker her accent gets, the point that her accent 'comes thicker than dried up oatmeal.
I walked up the blackened steps of the library, the scent of burned books overpowering the lovely scent of tobacco. Lucky for me, the pristine heavy doors were wide open, allowing me easy access into the corpse of the library.
All activity was brought to a screeching halt as I entered, my shadowed form breaking the monotony of figures in the room.
"Warlock!" came the shriek of the banshee, as the mare of the house herself strode toward me.
She halted barely an arms length from me, her hard gaze pinning me down, my lackadaisical stare only seeming to give her more energy.
"For the first time in my goddess-forsaken life, I'm not displeased to see you."
"Nice to see you too, Chief." Her lime green eyes seemed to drill themselves into my skull, her lovely navy blue mane held up in a bun I would only describe as a little bundle of fury. Her cyan fur seemed to bristle just by being in my immediate vicinity, her cutie mark of a set of golden scales probably tipping her off to the fact that I was a bad egg.
The Chief turned briskly, trotting deeper into the library, a flick of her ear indicating I was to follow her.
I'd only taken a few steps before the world decided reality was too boring, and I watched as the walls began to bleed. I could only stare in horror as the faces of ponies looked to me, their empty, bloody eye sockets screaming at me.
Another step, and the reality reaffirmed that it was, indeed, interesting enough, ponies returning to the monumental task of sifting through the wreckage.
I coughed lightly, causing a touch of ash to descend from the end of my cigarette onto the floor.
"If you can't keep it in, don't smoke," commented the Chief dryly.
"Tell that to the library," I retorted, but my attention was elsewhere.
Tendrils of shadows wrapped protectively around me, my power reacting to whatever the fuck that vision had been.
Marduk? No, when last we met, he'd taken great pains to inform me of his lack of interest in anything to do with me. Pazuzu? No, that last exorcism should still be keeping him busy. I wracked my brain for Beings who had the power and intent to cause that vision to take me.
A thought gave me pause.
Maybe a new player in the game? I shook my head, releasing another cloud of tobacco smoke. If there were a new player, even of low caliber, I'd have sensed it. The last time a player had entered the game, a unicorn by the name of "Twilight Sparkle," the ripples through the Aether had left me unable to move for three hours, blood leaking from whatever orifice it could find and escape through. A wholly unpleasant experience, to say the least. Wait, maybe-
"Warlock, if you don't stop mumbling like a crazed lunatic, I'll sew your mouth shut with barbed wire."
Whatever thought I'd had, the Aether claimed it with vigor, leaving me clamping my mouth shut whilst the Chief committed horrific acts of violence to me with her eyes.
I offered an apologetic wave of my hands, which only seemed to make her snort in exasperation. Or maybe that was a sneeze. Sudden clarity pierced through the veil of my ignorance. The ash wasn't falling. Swirling around the movements of ponies as they searched for salvageable documents, but unless that faint stirring of the air directed the ashes downward, it remained airborne, suspended above the working ponies' heads like a storm cloud ready to spill over.
I doused my cigarette in the shadows adorning my coat, letting them absorb it in its entirety.
"Finally noticed, have you?" Asked the Chief, her apparent fury dissolving into something more akin to avid annoyance.
"Your powers of perception never cease to amaze me," she snarked, that annoyance never leaving her face.
I ignored her, shadows stretching around me. I licked my lips in anticipation, stretching my hand out towards one of the floating specks of ash. Contact was met with pain. Burning, violent pain.
I turned slowly, acclimating to the vision. Walls of flame surrounded me, the screams of beings being burned alive filling the now-whole Library. A body stumbled past me, begging for death to arrive sooner. I could only watch as its disfigured face turned towards me. I stared into the empty pit where its eyes should be, the blood seared upon its coat still relatively fresh.
The vision ended nearly as quickly as it began, the speck of ash breaking contact with my finger.
I staggered, the echoes of the pain wracking my body.
Chief remained silent as I regained my composure, waiting for me to finish convulsing.
When the pain subsided to a manageable level, I stood up straight, brushing my greasy locks out of my eyes. Clearing my throat lightly, I began my assessment.
"Preliminary evidence suggested a simple case of arson. However, evidence suggests that this may have been a sort of ritual site, with the arson merely being a side effect."
I remembered the glimpse I had seen when I had walked into the library. Often, whenever there had been a traumatic event, with much suffering and many lost souls, the echoes of the violence can be witnessed by certain individuals.
"Ponies had their eyes gouged out, and were to be sacrificed in blood and fire. The magics used," I continued," appear to have caused the anomaly with the ash, indicating that the ritual was, in part, unsuccessful."
The Chief merely nodded, an errant speck catching her attention for an instant, "And what of the bodies? We haven't found any corpses on the grounds."
I grimaced.
"Again, partially successful. I can only speculate at this point, but-"
She waved me off with a hoof.
"I have ponies for guesswork. I just needed a 'what happened.'"
I turned away to hide my irritation, taking notice that Scootaloo was behind me, diligently taking notes.
I turned back to the Chief, her green eyes having never left me.
"Unless you have any further comment, Warlock, I'd appreciate it if you got the fuck off my crime scene."
I shrugged nonchalantly, indicating my lack of comment, before turning back towards the door. The walk out of the Library seemed far longer than it should, the eyes of tens of ponies upon me. I'd been here not ten minutes, and already I was leaving, shadows and all. Many would wonder if I'd done anything at all, that Monster known as Warlock. Butch gave me a passing comment as I jumped the barricade, but it was lost to me.
The late morning sun was rising steadily towards noon, many ponies taking comfort in the shade of umbrellas or the cooled insides of shops. I looked around, my flat cap keeping the sun out of my eyes. The area I was in was as posh and polished as the ponies in it, alabaster being the color of choice for the architecture. My feet carried me through the streets of Canterlot. The spires of the palace dominated the landscape, my eyes easily drawn towards the ivory towers. I disliked the palace, a honeypot that attracted all the insects of Canterlot.
A commotion drew my attention from that hated structure, and brought it to a kerfuffle of ponies engaged in what appeared to be a very high stakes game of tag, judging the number of police-type individuals. Laughter echoed from the runner, her violently luminescent green coat making the mare easy to spot; though, judging by the frantic scrambling of the suits, her pearlescent tail was just out of the reach of grasping hooves. Her eyes sparkled as she seemed to dance around the mob around her, vaulting over her opponents with practiced ease.
I trudged past the excitable group, not noticing the warning shout as I went for my pack of cigarettes.
My world flashed green before a great force launched me bodily towards the pack of police-ponies, my flat-cap disappearing in the crowd as our bodies collided.
Before my mind could catch up with the events that had transpired, I found myself trampled and left behind in a cloud of dust, that laughing voice thanking me for the assist.
I groaned as I got to my feet, ineffectively brushing the hoof-prints off of my coat.
"You lose something, Mr. Warlock?" came the familiar voice of the young officer, Scootaloo. When I looked to where the voice came from, I saw the orange filly holding up my beaten-down cap, her posture ever the image of professionalism. I took it with a muttered, "Thanks," doffing it after a quick brushoff.
Her eyes drank in every action as though I were some amazing creature she would like nothing better than to show her friends before dissecting with vigor.
That last part was probably just my imagination. Hopefully.
I sighed, my hand unconsciously reaching towards the pack in my pocket. Pulling it out, I glared glumly at the empty packet, its structural integrity compromised by the force of the trampling. I shoved the crushed packet in my pant's pocket, puffing out a breath in irritation.
I'd need to hit the corner store before I headed back to the office.
