Hatched

Whadaya running from, Hatchling? Scared of the dark alleys?

"I'm not scared of anything, I'm just tired of having my peace disturbed."

The Hatchling perched himself on the roof of the city's clocktower. He was a hunter, and like all Hatchlings before him, he had to know his hunting grounds.

Hatchlings found comfort in the dark forgotten places of the world. Spat out from Hell, they weren't accepted anywhere.

Well, if ya done moping around, you've got souls to harvest.

"I don't work for you, demon. And I don't serve some kind of ultimate evil."

Oh, Hatchy, Hatchy, Hatchy. Let's set this strait, okay? Now, I know you've been sitting in some backwater alley, weeping your sorry black heart out, but...

The demon's skin peeled away completely. Its true shape, a twisted agglomeration of bone, reached out and grabbed the Hatchling by the armor. They stared, face to face.

YOU SOLD YOUR SOUL TO THE DEVIL!

The Hatchling shoved the demon back with his unnatural strength and sent the demon off the side. The demon laughed, plummeting into the shadows of the night.

"Damn it all, what do I have to do to get some peace?"

Whispers came to his ears. The Hatchling turned, looking off to the distance. Something beckoned him, something powerfully connected to him.

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Hell has many ways of reaching its subjects, giving them power. For the Hatchling, death was the most direct source of power he could use. But to tap it, Hell needed to make sure he was ready to accept the meaning of it.

The Graveyard was wet that night, for a storm always followed the rise of a new Hatchling. Nature knew where the changes were happening, even if the pawns did not.

"What is this place?"

The Hatchling looked around, honing in on the whispers from the graves. He could hear the dead, restless in their coffins. Hundreds of soft voices cried out from the depths of Hell, while others, significantly fewer in number, whispered warnings from Heaven. But one voice thundered when the others moaned.

"Don't tell me this is..."

Hatchlings often reject the sight of their graves the first time they encounter it. This one was no different. Commanded by his will, his cloak reached out and wiped away the dead flowers and the dirt.

"Naitre?"

He looked further. Nothing forced his memory to return yet.

"Naitre DeSang?"

The memories, when awake, came as a trickling river at first.

Savior... failure... why you?

The Hatchling clutched his head, trying to press the memories out. These thoughts were far more personal, they walked in his mind from a life long past.

So much... what cost?

"No, I can't be dead! How did this happen?"

Traitor, hidden... you... failed.

The Hatchling did not like the truth, and barred the flow of the memories. But Hell did not want its warriors weak and docile, Hell wanted fury, rage, and confusion.

The love... a ploy...

He clutched his head harder, but the Hatchling did not suffocate himself. That was the cloak's doing. With the power of Hell throbbing behind it, it forced the voices into him, wrapping a black mask around his head to keep them close. He clawed at his face, but it did not work. His mind was swallowed whole by Hell's embrace.

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"Don't cry little one, he was never that close to you anyway. He was mine. He was the hive's savior." The Queen barred over the white mare kneeling by Hatchling.

Again, he tried to scream out for salvation, but his actions were already set. He could only watch.

"But it looks like he's another failure. I'd hate to burn this little place down, but none of you can live to tell this tale." The buzzing around the building grew louder, as flames poured through the walls. Their mentor shouted through the flames.

"Ivory! Get him and the others out of here!" The stallion moved gracefully through the fire, killing each Changeling with a single movement. The mare didn't budge.

"Ivory, this is an order, use the escape tunnels!"

She remained weeping over Hatchling. He wanted to comfort her, tell her everything was okay, but the air was so hot and dry from the fire, and his throat was full of so much blood.

There wasn't any time left for him. Their mentor levitated Ivory and sprinted down the hall, barreling down the stairs into an underground passage. The Hatchling tried to get up, tried to turn to the mare being carried off. The last thing he heard was her voice echoing through the roaring flames.

It didn't have to be you! Why was it you? Why you?

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The Hatchling was ripped from his mind.

"Hey mister, you okay?" the cemetery's groundskeeper called out to him from the entrance of the graveyard.

"Never a moment of peace."

The Hatchling growled, feeling the mask still wrapped around his face. It didn't come off; it was there to stay.

Liar... he lies to all. No keeper... he steals us, from us... kill him.

The graves spoke to the Hatchling. It was Hell's gift to him, to sense the anger of the souls who yearned for retribution in life, where they could not reach. They begged and commanded him, pleading to him to be their hand in the realm of the living.

The cloak moved before the Hatchling could, constricting the groundskeeper's neck, dragging him through the mud toward the Hatchling.

"Is this how you live your life, wronging both the living and the dead?"

The old stallion stammered, frightful of the cloak's power. "Hey there, don't try anything crazy now, uh, sir. I'm just an old worker here-"

Parting gifts... now his... punish him, be our savior... punish him...

The voices channeled through the Hatchling's mask, growing louder. They could sense to coming tide.

"This graveyard is not yours alone, and the dead are not gold mines for your selfish endeavors."

The Hatchling, only grasping his new found powers, didn't realize the sights the cloak fed him. Red cloth wrapped around the old stallion's head, consuming memories of his sins. Wedding rings, heirlooms, simple golden broaches placed by dear friends, all stockpiled into a shack and pawned off for quick money. The Hatchling grunted, slamming his hoof into the stallion's face.

"This graveyard is my graveyard. You will not defile it any longer."

Tendrils of the red cloak gripped the groundskeeper's limbs, holding him high above the ground. Bones snapped from the pressure, pressing against the skin or completely jutting out. He screamed, with voice a shrill shriek drowned out by the coming rain. The Hatchling heard nothing but satisfied souls as he dropped the mangled corpse into the mud.

He needed time to think.

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Twilight slid down the rocky entrance of the ancient ruins. Rocks pattered down and struck the stone roads, echoing across the cavern.

"The weapons couldn't be a in field of poppies and sunflowers, could it?" she muttered, dusting herself off. "At least I might find some old inscribed tablets, or even some well preserved scrolls. She searched around, comparing the remains of artifacts to the pictures Celestia had reluctantly given her.

"I don't even know what this one is," she said to herself. "A two pronged staff? A wrench?"

While the weapons were rare and difficult to come across, the charms of defense were in an overabundance. It'd take hours to sort through all the charms to find the ones she needed.

"Wish Spike was here. This would be so much easier with a helping hoof."