Machinations of a Trickster

by Deviance

Rating: teen
Tags: Dark, Human, Main 6, Lyra, Original Character, Trixie, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Comedy, Adventure
Length: 29534

A drop-out mage gets caught trespassing where he shouldn't be, add a unicorn lost in limbo, and a trickster god acting as his parole officer and you have a road that will lead into a new world of adventure, mystery and pastel colored ponies.

A drop-out mage that meddles in things forbidden should take care not to be caught, and if one is, the last thing you'd want to get caught by is a trickster god with a sense of humor.
Add a unicorn lost in limbo in need of help getting back home, and the beginning of a journey fraught with danger, mystery and trickery is set. A journey to find the way to the ultimate goal he's been chasing for years, but which can only be found if he learns the answer to the question of what it means to be a trickster.

Published 2016-03-29 01:40:01 UTC
Last updated 2024-02-07 08:00:01 UTC

Chapter 1: Risky business

My little pony: Friendship is magic belongs to Hasbro and Lauren Faust. The original characters belong to me but I'm a negligent parent so you can use and abuse them if you really want to, just be gentle senpai.
To the newbies of this relic of a story, sections of italics are used to denote when the events are taking place within a dreamscape or another non-physical realm. And to the crusty veterans...glad to see you still alive.

Snow fell silently underneath the full moon's light, casting the forested landscape into deep shadows of dark blue and muted white. Except for one trickle of orange glow spilling out from the window of a stone house set deep in the woods. The fallen snow had removed all traces of any road leading up to it, and from its rooftop chimney a steady trickle of smoke rose up into the air before dispersing into the night sky.

The stone walls of the house were deathly cold to the touch outside, but once over the threshold a pleasant warmth infused every room. Which wasn't much of an accomplishment since it only had a small bathroom, a narrow hallway, and one grand room for all the needs of its inhabitant.

The source of the light and heat was a large fireplace seated at the very center of the house, carefully—almost excessively—gated behind a complex iron grate of woven patterns. The rest of the room contained only sparse hints of furniture—a table in the corner; a large couch in front of the fireplace; and rows upon rows of bookcases lining the walls.

However, the attempts at decoration were barely visible beneath the flood of books covering every available surface. The table, the floor, on top of window sills and armrests. And on the few places where they would have been impossible to place—like the walls—instead large hand-drawn diagrams containing symbols and alphabets of all kinds were plastered without a hint of order or reason for placement.

On the couch before the glow of the fire the single occupant of the house was seated. His face was pale and gaunt. The sharp features of his hawkish nose and cheekbones contrasted against the scraggly dark beard and shoulder length hair. Dark gray eyes gazed down intently on the book in his lap, the orange light of the fire flickering in them.

His body was covered in a robe of some kind, black fabric covering him from toe to shoulder in a dark mass that looked too big for his size. But despite his ragged and worn appearance, the man looked to be at a young age, clearly below his thirties.

His brows furrowed as his eyes became fixated upon a passage in the book, eyes scanning the page before moving back to the beginning and reading it once more. Again and again he read with a feverish glaze to his eyes, faster and faster. Until finally his eyes remained unmoving at the bottom of the page, then looked up and shifted his eyes towards the window. His gaze turned distant as he stared out into the darkness, and as the moment went on his jaw clenched incrementally until eventually he was almost grinding his teeth.

Then, with a sigh, he let go of his tension. His shoulders slumped down and he lightly stooped over, cradling his face with both hands. He shrugged his head and sighed once more, even deeper this time.

"Fuck it, why not," he breathed quietly, then stood up from the couch and arched his back until an audible crack sounded. He shook his legs one at a time, then bent over and slapped them up and down. Satisfied, he seated himself once more, but this time on the floor in front of the fire. Weaving his legs together in a lotus position, he clasped both hands together, fingers intertwined and both thumbs lightly connected to form the shape of a circle. He placed his hands above his navel, the circle made of his hands aiming directly into the center of his body. Then he let out his breath, gently pushing out all the air in his lungs, before letting it trickle back in again.

Again and again he breathed deeply, letting the rhythm slowly extend each time. Slower and slower the flow of air continued while his head began to slump forward. When his head hung so low his chin brushed against his chest, he closed his eyes and allowed one final slow exhalation.

And then he was gone.

****************************************

It was cold. A horrifying, empty cold the likes of which can never be properly described. A cold of perfect stillness, of complete and utter un-being. And within this endless ocean of void the man hung, a single candle of weak pale blue light vaguely in the shape of a person.

Thoughts came slowly, flowing like molasses. It took an effort to bring his own mind together into anything comprehensive.

"Come on," the figure forced himself to think, and the mental impulse echoed out from him if he had spoken it. His shape flickered uncertainly as his mind struggled.

But the man did not relent. He forced his thoughts to flow, his memories to shape themselves, his very self to appear. And with each excerpt of will his form glowed a little brighter, his shape becoming more defined.

But the man knew he was living on borrowed time, that he could not hold out for long this way. After all, the book had stated as much. What he needed was something solid, something he could draw strength from. But that was, after all, why he was here.

"From nothing, something new," the figure thought, his words echoing out once again. Then he turned inwards, towards his desires, his need. He tried to give it shape instead, feed it his strength of will and emotion, infusing it with every scrap of power he could. Then with a horrible snapping sound, like he was tearing off a piece of his very being, he flung it out into the abyss around him screaming.

"Come to me!"

There was no dramatic explosion of sound or color. There was no feeling of falling, rising or changing direction. Instead he was suddenly standing in a forest, as if he had always been there but only now noticed.

The forest was bathed in a soft yellowish light, but there was no sun in the sky, instead it was just the endless blackness from before, but distant; as if there was a thin membrane or atmosphere protecting him from the hungry void. Instead the ambient light appeared to emanate from everything in the forest all at once with no source or heart; it simply was.

With a glance around himself the man studied the trees surrounding him. None of them were quite the same, patches of spruce stood right next to the white-and-black bark of birch. Large strong oaks stood intermittent between ash and rowan trees. Even the pine trees were clumping together with... palm trees?

The figure could only shake his head looking around at the motley collection. And with no path or road visible, he simply began to walk forward. As he continued his way new trees kept appearing. Willow, maple, elm, cherry, hickory and many, many more he didn't know the name of. Trees from every place on earth, and many with colors and shapes which made the man suspect there were natives of other worlds entirely. Even huge mushrooms of white and brown appeared as large and sturdy looking as the rest.

The forest seemed to go on without an end, and not matter how much he tried to spot anything there were no obvious landmarks to navigate by. No stars in the sky, no sun, no sensation of change in elevation of the dark brown ground he walked on. Even when he tried to turn around and walk back the way he came he found rows of trees he couldn't recognize.

Eventually the figure came to a stop next to a large rowan tree, glaring at it like he was expecting it to provide some answers. Then he tilted his head slightly, the spectral eyes closing halfway as he reached out with his senses towards it. There was a hint of something, a note of power thrumming from inside the tree only noticeable once he started paying attention. But the more he extended his senses towards it the stronger the impression became. First it was smells, then tastes and feelings flowed in broken flashes without context. Eventually brief glimpses of visions and sounds appeared.

Mountains. The screech of some monstrous creature. Taste of bile and blood. Fear, love, loss. The stronger the impressions became the faster and more deliberately they flowed, piecing themselves together to form some kind of picture, and entire story of a life lived of-

"Yeah, that isn't a very good fit for you I think," a voice spoke from right behind the figure, and with a startled yelp he spun around and backed away quickly. The sensations had vanished as soon as his attention had shifted, leaving him back in the forest. But now he wasn't alone.

Another man stood facing him, bare chested and wearing only black pants and moccasins. A wry smile touched the lips of the stranger slightly, twisting into an expression of amused mockery that seemed well ingrained into the lines of his face. Wiry dark hair sat like a wild mess upon his head with a neatly trimmed beard underneath, while amber eyes looked at him from dark sockets, giving the appearance he hadn't slept for a long time. He stood, casually leaning against one of the trees with his hands in his pockets.

"And you are?" the ghostly figure asked, straightening his form and regaining some of his composure.

The stranger's smile widening was the only answer, then he brought out one hand from its pocket and swirled it in the air theatrically, and an apple appeared in his grasp. Still smiling, he took a bite and allowed a small trickle of its juice to flow down to his chin, before wiping it away and munching loudly.

The spectral form looked back at the stranger with a firm set to his lips. "Fine, go find whatever strip club you're working at before you miss your shift and leave me to my business," he growled. The loud thought rolled out from him like a wave, carried by undercurrents of anger and bitterness that produced a visible flicker of light in pale green and orange.

Raising an eyebrow the stranger regarded him, still chewing on his apple. "Quite a lot of emotion for someone out looking at trees. Your banter needs some work as well, but since you're out of practice, I can't blame you," he said.

The voice of the stranger was melodious, almost hypnotic in its depth and timbre. As if every word he spoke carried three more meanings hidden behind it, lending it both weight and mystery. But the only response the ghostly man gave was rubbing his forehead angrily then turning his back on the stranger.

"Come now, you were the one who called for help, weren't you?" the man asked, swallowing loudly before giving a dramatic pat on his stomach.

"I don't know what con you're running, but I am not 'out of practice' enough not to recognize someone trying to scam me when I see it," the ghost spat without turning around.

In response the stranger tossed his eaten apple at the ghostly man's head. It passed right through without slowing down, but triggered some kind of shivering wave of instability from it. The ghost gasped then made a series of choking sounds as his form wavered uncertainly, taking a solid minute of struggle before he managed to finally regain a stable form. At which point he spun around to face the stranger with anger burning in his eyes, little sparks of red and white shooting out from his body.

"Fuck off before I make you!" he shouted, raising one hand towards the stranger in a vaguely threatening gesture.

A spark of wickedness gleamed in the stranger's amber eyes, and his voice turned dry as he spoke. "Oh, how terrible, however could I survive such a horrid threat from a drop-out apprentice. I guess I better squeal in terror and run away to let him continue his desperate attempts at gaining forbidden knowledge. His impotent flailing has been very successful this far, after all," he remarked, then threw up his hands in the air and twisted to his right as if to walk away.

The emotions rolling off the ghostly form were so varied and strong it flowed out in pulses of every color imaginable. Until he managed to suppress it all, and spoke in a hiss.

"Fine, make your sales pitch."

With a flourish the stranger turned to face him again, then cleared his throat loudly. "Well, first of all I wanted to speak to you about an extended warranty on your car. You see-"

"Enough!" the ghost snarled, scarlet lights bursting out from him so bright a wave of heat accompanied them. "I get the picture, you think you're funny and want me off my balance before you throw me your deal. But I'm running out of time and I don't wanna get trapped here once my focus gets drained and I can't maintain my form. So just tell me what you want! My soul?"

"You're the funny one now," the stranger replied, eyebrows raised above a poorly restrained smirk. "Your soul is kind of like those consolation prizes you get when you win something at the lowest level of a carnival game. No, what I want isn't the reason we're here. What you need is."

"And what do you think I need?" the ghost sighed in a tired voice.

"Besides a style consultant and getting laid?" The smirk widened, and the stranger stalked forward towards him. "What you really need is a guide. Someone to get you from point A to B. Give you the options you yourself already squandered once..." the stranger trailed off.

The forest was completely silent, and as the silence went on the tension in the air grew heavy. The ghost regarded the stranger intently, his form flickering slightly, but otherwise holding firm. Until he nodded his head in resignation. "There's always a price."

"Always," the stranger agreed, and started circling the ghostly shape. His voice deepening, the pitch almost like an echo carrying several voices behind him, speaking alongside him from a far away place. "And the cost of what you desire is... to give. Quid pro quo is the way of the universe. What you want for yourself you must give to another."

"How do you mean?" Came the reply, the voice uncertain. But there was a note of hunger underneath it, and it seemed his shape was becoming more solid with each word the stranger spoke.

"You're lost, and want someone to provide you with.... a bridge, to where you feel you belong, to where you believe your destiny resides. So, I want you to provide help to someone else also lost and in desperate, desperate need to provide a bridge for them to journey home upon. Do that, get them back to where they belong, and I promise you that in turn you'll get a chance to go where you do."

The ghost furrowed his brows. "That last part sounded vague and ominous. You think I'm just going to get into a deal without knowing the details like some idiot?"

"Magic is often a gambit with the unknown, and the path you've stumbled upon is one completely of your own making," the stranger told him, a hint of something paternal entering into his voice. "But you're not gonna get a better deal. And your stumbling will lead you down to places that'll make you beg for your current predicament eventually. That world you almost sucked yourself into is not as pleasant as the road I got in store for you," he said wryly, nodding his head towards the rowan tree.

The ghost turned to face the tree again, blinking his ethereal eyes rapidly. "A world," he stated thoughtfully. Then his eyes widened as he looked around at all the other trees." They're ALL worlds?!"

"Sure, and they all got their fruits, and dark roots..." the stranger replied, producing yet another apple out of thin air and taking a bite. "Don't get any ideas though," he mumbled through a mouthful, "you couldn't stomach the ambrosia. But we're getting off course here. I made my 'sales pitch,' and since you're not doing the disco ball routine with all that emotional leakage, I'll just go ahead and say you're interested. So, we've got a deal?"

For a moment the ghost hesitated, lips slightly parted but saying nothing. Then the moment extended, the question hanging in the air.

With a sigh, the stranger raised one leg up to his waist, then the other one until he was floating in the air, mimicking the lotus position the ghostly man was seated in back in the physical world.

"What's the issue?" he asked, nibbling at the last pieces of flesh around the apple's core.

"You don't strike me as someone that knows all that much about the kind of mysteries I am pursuing," the ghost told him, eying the floating stranger critically. "You talk a good game, but appearances can be deceiving."

"And what kind of 'someone' would know about the things you desire? Old men with long flowing beards and pointy hats? Starved hermits who haven't seen the sun in so long they'd burst into flame on contact and can't go without stroking a book for more than an hour without having a panic attack?" the man gave a spiteful laugh and tossed the finished apple over his shoulder.

"The real magic," he continued, "isn't something you'll find in ideas, theories, or the written work you've picked up on your local bookshelf next to the self-help guides, little mage. The real magic is what shakes you up, breaks you apart and awakens you to the mysteries at play all around you at every moment. It is what teaches only the ones who struggle and earn their way into them. And that isn't something that can be achieved through moderate means, or just looking the part in a comfortable home behind a book or screen. It's a risky business."

The ghost waited until he had finished his speech, regarding him silently with a blank expression that revealed nothing. But underneath the ghostly mask his form shivered with undercurrents of thoughts, sending small ripples through his ethereal body.

"So what do I call you?" he finally asked.

The stranger smiled a wolfish smile while he descended from his levitational perch, and slowly walked up to stand before him. "For you, I think I am... a locksmith. Opening the doors to things locked away," he said coyly, then reached forward with a hand. "So, once again—we've got a deal?"

Only a moment's hesitation passed before the ghost reached forward with his hand to clasp the stranger's. "Deal," he whispered, his voice tinged with equal parts dread and anticipation.

************************************

"This... is not good," a womanly voice said dryly, only a small tremor in her words hinting at the fear she was suppressing.

Around her there was nothing. Complete empty blackness and a yawning hungry cold that had started seeping into her very core since the moment she got here. How long ago was that now again? Minutes? Hours?... days? It had ceased to matter, the only thing that mattered now was getting back home before she froze into a unicorn-shaped popsicle.

"Or something far less tasty-sounding happens," she mumbled to herself, forcing a joking tone into her voice. She tried to look around but every time she tried.... well, nothing happened. There was no up or down, left or right. She couldn't turn or shift herself in any way because there were no ways to shift towards.

"Come on, you've figured out tougher situations than this!" she huffed, then continued hesitantly. "Of course, technically I'm not in a situation, I'm in... nothing. So maybe that's better, or worse..." she trailed off with a forced laugh. "I really should stop experimenting without more safety measures," she finished, then added. "And maybe stop talking to myself so much."

The nothing didn't respond. The empty cold of un-being crept deeper and deeper into her no matter how much she spoke, how much she babbled and theorized and tried to think. Each attempt seemed to drain her little by little. Her thoughts congealed into slow-moving sludge, and she found it more and more difficult to reach for words. To grasp for memories, for context to give shape to her thoughts. Slowly but surely she too was becoming nothing.

Despair flowed through her like a poison, so stark and blinding in its vitriol it felt like a current of needles coursing through her body. And when she raised her hoof in front of her, she could see an actual flow of pale yellow lights.

And just when it felt like her body might explode from the pressure, tearing her into little pieces easily devoured by the nothing. That's when a forest roughly the size of forty planets hit her in the face.

************************************

"Come on, what's taking you so long?" the locksmith called out with mocking laughter. His shape was so far ahead into the forest he had almost vanished out of sight.

The ghost figure was running after him as fast as he could, the spectral shape passing by trees at a blinding speed not hindered by any earthly constraint. And yet, despite this the stranger kept getting further and further away, and with what appeared to be a regular body of flesh and blood to boot.

The mocking laughter of the locksmith echoed between the trees, now so far ahead he couldn't be seen. With a snarl the ghost stopped his pursuit, clenching and unclenching his hands repeatedly.

"There's some kind of stupid game to this I'm not getting," he muttered darkly, then took a deep breath and turned his face skywards to stare into the nothing. His hands kept clenching rhythmically, but with less force and more as a thoughtful gesture as the seconds went by.

Eventually he turned his face forward again, in the direction the voice of the stranger last had come from. Then he closed his eyes, reached out with his senses, and...

"Finally, well done," the stranger said, his voice right beside him.

When the ghost opened his eyes again, the forest around was completely different from where he'd been standing a moment ago. He turned his head to face the locksmith with his eyebrows raised. "So, what's the point you're trying to Mr. Miyagi into me?"

"You tell me, oh barely-mid-level student of the mystical arts," the stranger told him, tilting his head quizzically.

The ghost shook his head then drummed his fingers on the side of his legs, furrowing his brows as he considered what had just happened.

“Well... I only caught up to you after I stopped trying to reach you.... and then started to consider things at my own pace, trying to figure out where I was and what I was doing in the moment. If I had to guess, I would say that I caught up to you because this is my journey, so I have to walk it at my own pace in my own way, not chasing after someone else. Or something like that," he finished with a shrug.

The locksmith shook his head with a disappointed look on his face. "That was the easy part, now let's hear the important one," he admonished dryly.

The ghost rolled his eyes, but furrowed his brows once more, his fingers drumming quicker and quicker against this leg. "And that means... that I didn't catch up to you at all. It was just an illusion. Your job is merely to show me where the road is, while the actual journey takes place where I happen to be on it. It's my job to engage with it."

"Go on," the stranger said, motioning with his fingers for him to keep going.

“So,” the ghost responded hesitantly. “It probably means that the purpose of the entire chase was for me to realize this, which means there is no purpose in running any more since I have already arrived at the end.”

"Almost there," he drawled out, gesturing with both his hands now.

"... and since I'm not chasing you anymore, the thing I need to look for is whatever resonates with me in this very moment."

As soon as the thought had left his spectral form and shaped themselves into words, a sound similar to that of a fly being swatted with a newspaper came from behind him.

The spectral man blinked in surprise and turned to look at whatever had made the sound. At first it seemed to be a blob of purple coloured limbs in a vaguely pastel colour. He couldn't determine if it was skin or very short matted fur, and his eyes widened slightly when an equine head popped up from the shape. It had a single pinkish streak in a patch of otherwise blue hair, or was it mane? It was much stockier than the normal horses he was familiar with, a child maybe? Or was it one of those short stocky horses, ponies or whatever it is called?

The equine visitor made a groaning sound as it tried to stand up on its hooves. And the ghost shifted his gaze to the locksmith and regarded him skeptically.

"You want me to help the little horse get back home? Am I supposed to lure it with hay or something?" he asked incredulously.

"Did someone say hay?" a high pitched feminine voice asked groggily.

The ghost's jaw dropped slightly as his eyes locked on the unicorn. "So what, it's intelligent enough to talk or is this just her animal thoughts I'm reading as words because we're spirits here?" he asked the locksmith without looking away from the equine.

"They're roughly as intelligent as a human.... maybe a little less, from what little I've observed," he said, muttering the last part mostly to himself.

"Uhm, excuse me, I couldn't help but overhear," the little pony began, having regained some of her composure along with her sense of balance. "But I can assure you I am smart enough to talk, I can speak very well actually," she stated, a note of something wry entering into her voice. "I'd also appreciate it deeply if anypony could tell me where I am or what is going on!"

"Okay, a talking, chubby little horse got lost and need a ride home. Is that all, and then you'll give me what I want?" The ghost asked while ignoring the equine and turned towards the locksmith, scanning his mischievous smile and gleaming eyes carefully.

"You'll get what you give. You already know the terms of our deal and agreed to them. Time to get to work," he simply answered and held out his palms innocently.

The expression of skepticism did not leave the ghost's face, but he nodded slightly and turned his attention to the little unicorn. "So how did you end up here exactly?" he asked it.

"Well," she said, drawing out each syllable hesitantly. "I was kind of researching this new spell for being able to travel in dreams to other places, maybe even other worlds! But when I first tried it then went to sleep, I just... ended up here." She had sounded more and more excited with each word she spoke, until she ended it with a shudder, all joy draining from her expression as she gave a quick glance up towards the empty sky above.

"So, you tried astral projection through the dreamscape, had no idea what you were doing and ended up disconnecting from whatever dimension you're from and got dumped into the void... groovy, I get the picture," the ghost summarized with a voice as dry as a desert, then he turned to face the locksmith. "So how do we get the incompetent horse back home?"

"Hey!" the unicorn objected, and got completely ignored by both humans.

"We?" the locksmith asked with a mock expression of shock and put a hand up to his chest. "Well, bless my stars and garters, here I thought this was your task, not mine. But I'll give you a hint to speed things along; the stumbling equine is from a place long ago in a galaxy far, far away, and then a few dimensions over from that," he said, voice adopting a deep and bombastic melodrama while he flung his arms out, wildly gesturing with each phrase spoken. "There's no express line from where we are to where she is, because she was connected to the nothing, and once she's connected to you she becomes part of your resonance, and therefore your world. Your task is figuring out a way to get her spirit back into her own world's resonance so she can pop back into her body before it expires," he finished in a hushed whisper, pointing at the offended little pony.

"Yeah, hold on a sec, what do you mean when you said 'once she's connected to me'?" the ghost asked sharply.

"She's a spirit without any anchor to a physical vessel. You got no way to transport her from here into any container jar or lamp or similar. And if you leave her now, you won't be able to find her again. Only leaves one option—she's got to jump back with you into your head. I'm sure there's ample space," the locksmith grinned at him.

"What?!" both the ghost and pony deadpanned simultaneously.

"Look at it like charity. Housing homeless spirits is sure to give your karma score a nice boost along with the benefits of our deal," the locksmith assured him with a wave of his hand, then raised it to scratch the beard on his chin with a smirk.

"And if I refuse?" The ghost asked heatedly, clenching his ethereal jaw tight.

The smile on the stranger's face faltered as the gleam of amusement vanished from his eyes. Something cold and ruthless arose in its place, as dangerous and hungry as the void above them had been. When he spoke, it was with a soft calm voice, making each word gently sink into the ghost with total clarity. "If you refuse, you'll live to hate everything you are. Unable to escape your own damnation, and unable to forgive yourself for having had a chance but not taking it. Not even death or madness will give you peace from the torment that'll infuse the rest of your pitiful existence. Until finally you'll willingly seek out the void you felt before to let it render you into nothing."

Unable to help himself, the ghost glanced up at the sky above and its unyielding emptiness. Then he swallowed and glanced at the unicorn. She met his eyes, and he felt something then. A spark of recognition he couldn't quite place.

"So," the locksmith continued, his voice regaining his former tone of mockery and wryness. "Will you save the lost little mage, sent adrift into the nothing because of personal flaws and a failure?"

Those eyes. There was something about them. A mystery inside he couldn't grasp, but knew was important. But none of those thoughts congealed into anything comprehensive within the ghost's mind, and therefore went unspoken for the others.

"I'll give it a shot," he finally answered.

"Excellent!" The locksmith proclaimed, and snapped his fingers.

Instantly the world around them shattered, as if it was only by will that it had been held in place to begin with. The earth beneath them cracked, and pieces already began to dissolve. With a panicked look the ghost locked eyes with the unicorn, then reached out a hand towards it and shouted, "Hurry!"

It hesitated only for a second before throwing itself over the crumbling earth towards him. And just as the entire construct fell apart into rock and dust, her hoof managed to glance against the tip of one of his fingers. And that was all it took for the world to explode into a blinding light, and a weight beyond anything he had ever felt sent the ghost tumbling down, down, down...

****************************************

The world returned to him in the form of a blinding headache, a pressure pulsating throughout his entire skull so overwhelming all he could do was curl into a ball and cradle his head. There seemed to be some kind of noise buzzing in his mind, but he couldn't be sure if it was the sound of blood rushing through his ears or something else. With each hammer blow of pain, all attempts to gather his thoughts instantly evaporated. So he didn't.

With a wrench of will, the man instead focused on his breathing, forcing control back over his breath by filling his chest deep with air. He held it for a moment, until the pain struck him again, so hard he lost control and it all escaped his chest in a coughing fit. He tried again, then again and again. Each time with a smaller measure of success. And with each cycle he focused his mind to align itself with the breath, letting the pain and tortured pressure flow out of him with the air. It felt like an eternity before his mind had become clear enough for him to dare to focus his attention elsewhere, and he opened his eyes.

It was entirely dark inside the room. The fire had died out a long time ago, signifying just how much time had passed since he sat down to let his spirit roam freely. But the floor had remained comfortably heated, although the same could not be said for his limbs.

With a groan he stretched out his legs fully, feeling the pinpricks of needles as blood rushed to fill them once again. He allowed himself to simply lay there on the floor, tensing and relaxing then moving his muscles slightly, little by little easing some life back into his body. And it was during this course of exploring parts of himself that he noticed something. Now that the pain had receded into a dull ache at the back of his skull, there was a presence within him—an energy that hadn't been there before.

With his mind once again—relatively—unburdened, he thought back to what had happened, and the memories quickly returned.

"You in there?" he thought towards the presence.

There was the sound of a yelp in a high-pitched feminine voice, and then a reply softly flowed back to him. "Yes, I am here. Although I am not quite sure where here is, it is... kind of dark."

The man laying on the floor didn't reply at first, he simply stared up at the ceiling and considered his situation carefully.

"Well, shit," he eventually groaned out loud, then rubbed at his head gingerly. "Ok, so what do I call you, little unicorn? he projected towards the alien knot of energy.

"My name is Twilight Sparkle," it replied evenly.

For a moment, the man neither said or did nothing, then he rolled his eyes. "Of course it is. Alright, Twilight, let's get you back home and out of my head."

"And before you make me put a gun to it," he muttered darkly, rubbing his aching head once again in a pitiful gesture.

Chapter 2: The deal

The piles of strewn-around books around the little house appeared to have tripled in size during the last few days. Many shelves previously crammed full now stood half empty and instead their previous inhabitants had been carefully read and ultimately discarded.

With a frustrated groan the mage threw the latest tome to join its fellow brethren upon the floor and slumped down into the couch. He winced as his back hit the spine of a book laying open on it, reaching behind and tossing it away like the rest with a sour look on his face.

Every attempt so far had failed. Not every attempt at bringing the spectral unicorn back to her home dimension, no. Every attempt to figure out a way how it could even be done in the first place. No matter how many angles he pursues or ideas he cultivated, it all ultimately lead nowhere. Even pursuing contacts in the spirit world had gone awry when without exception every single being he conjured had flatly denied him immediately- some of them mentioning something about the presence of 'higher energies' or some such.

That one had caused a frown on the mage's face. Was the higher powers meddling in this work, guiding him along some unseen destiny? Or was it just the 'locksmith' as he called himself doing his best to isolate him, hoping the mage would come crawling to him begging for help when no other options were left? Whatever the case may be he was now clearly a persona-non-grata in the ethereal. No spirit wanted to have anything to do or even talk to him now.

Well, except one. One particular spirit refused to leave him alone, or even shut up. And with that in mind he rose up again and walked over to the little kitchen area in one corner of the room.

"What's that?" the disembodied unicorn asked for what might have been the thousandth time that day.

"Energy drink," the mage replied tiredly in a slurred voice, reaching inside the mostly empty fridge to pull out the can.

"You have bottled magical energy here!?" The shocked reply came instantly, the telepathic pulse so strong it made the man's head ring.

Grimacing the mage rubbed his neck and sighed impatiently. "No, it's just a drink with some compounds that makes you feel less tired."

"Oh... that doesn't sound very healthy," she responded after a few seconds of blissful silence.

"Neither is ignoring sleep for three days straight," he told her dryly, just barely managing to avoid tripping over a large book at his feet.

"I've been telling you for the entire time to go to bed!" she protested.

"Yeah, I'm not eager to find out how dreaming is going to turn out with you rattling around in there," he told her blearily.

During their time together, the mage had discovered quickly it was much easier separating the voice and influence of the unicorn if he himself focused on the physical and spoke out loud. Every time he had talked or focused on her telepathically their minds seemed to mingle to the point it became difficult knowing whose thoughts were whose. Once was enough for the both of them to realize they were quite different individuals, not just in dimension or species, but also in temperament and personality.

The thought of the mage becoming more... unicorn-y didn't sit well with him, and he doubted the unicorn found his own particular version of humanity very appealing either. Besides, the closer the two grew in resonance the more difficult it probably was going to become separating once he found a way to send her home.

If he found a way to send her home.

That thought he knew was entirely his own. The damned unicorn had remained indecently optimistic and cheerful the entire time during her stay in his brain. And he'd started calling her his little joy-tumor for a brief period, before he realized their mingling energies might produce an actual tumor if he kept projecting that idea between them and promptly stopped.

"If you're tired, can we watch some more TV again? I really wanted to see the next episode before I leave forever," her pleading voice came.

The only response the mage gave was putting the cold can up to his forehead, then drawing in a deep breath and loudly counting to ten before exhaling.

He kept breathing deeply and calmly, focusing on making the alien energy of her presence fade into the background of his mind. Her loud voice vibrating through his skull muted until what she said next became a muffled indistinguishable warble of impressions, and he felt himself relaxing. Letting the thoughts of the last few days flow more freely, letting himself sink deeper into them in the sudden quiet and calm.

And before he knew it the arm holding the can sank down to his side, and he fell asleep.

****************************************

He found himself standing in a grand library, lit by huge chandeliers bathing the interior with a warm golden glow. The walls made of a dark wood the bookshelves blended into perfectly, the floor lined with crimson velvet rugs on top of white marble tiles. A large arched window stood in the middle, opening up to a dark landscape outside with stars shining brightly and a distant full moon glowing in silvery light.

A smile spread across the man's face as he looked around the familiar sight, his eyes roaming over the well worn tomes on the shelves.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" a high-pitched voice asked from behind.

He froze completely as all color drained out of his face. Slowly the mage turned around and looked at the owner of the same voice that had haunted him for days without rest.

"For fucks sake..." he breathed in a voice of pure despair.

"Rude," the unicorn mumbled under her breath just loud enough to hear, then tilted her head. "So, I take it you didn't come to visit me then?"

"You mean come to visit you inside my own mind?" the mage asked her in return dryly.

"Well... I mean... just forget I asked," she sputtered, then looked around herself with the expression of someone looking for an escape route. "So, are all these books your memories since it's part of your mind?" she asked hurriedly, motioning towards the rows and rows of tomes.

"Yeah, most of it, anyway. The parts I know how to access directly," he told her offhandedly while looking around himself. "It's a good construct when I need to dig a little deeper than I am able when awake."

"Is that why you came, to see if you can find anything you've missed?" Twilight asked, a hint of something eager to her voice.

"Something like that," he said, then started scanning the shelfs one by one while scratching his chin.

"Great, I'll help!" she told him gleefully and trotted off to the nearest shelf, her eyes moving over the spines of the book titles. "What exactly are you looking for?"

"That's the issue," he told her with a sigh, his hand moving from his chin to rubbing his eyes. "There is no damned way to open a pathway to your body directly since you're anchored into mine now. Which means I got to go along physically, but that is also impossible since there's no way I can locate what fucking dimension or world you're a part of and how to connect to it with a ritual... and that's ignoring the fact I'd need to sacrifice something like a hundred virgins to gather enough energy to open a goddamned physical gateway for me to get there," he quickly ranted, letting out all the frustration of the last few days. "But if I don't, your presence in my head like this is either going to kill me, or grow a brain tumor, or... just something really bad," he added finally, letting his hand fall down to his side.

Twilight stopped her searching and looked over towards him sympathetically. There was more than a hint of guilt in her eyes, but then they turned hard and she looked back towards the menagerie of books. "Well, lucky for you then we just got to find the right bit of knowledge to solve this problem. And if there's anything I'm good at, it's rummaging through piles and piles of books!" she proclaimed confidently.

The mage couldn’t completely suppress a smile. “Sounds familiar,” he said, and for the first time looked at her with eyes seeing another practitioner of the art he had devoted his own life towards.

“It’ll be a cold day in Tartarus before I ever admit not being able to find something in a library,” she said cheerfully.

Her horn lit up in a soft purple glow as tome after tome levitated down to hover in front of her face, eyes skimming over the work as pages rattled by in a quick succession. And so the mage continued, one book after another.

The man stood watching her with an amused expression, then frowned slightly as he realized something was nagging him in the back of his mind. Something important had just occurred and he’d missed it.

“What?” he mumbled to himself. “Her horn glowing? Her being a bookworm? Her not being completely annoying despite looking like the lovechild of a Disney cartoon artist on LSD?”

The last comment he smiled widely at. He could sense the emotions and small echoes of the thoughts of the unicorn as it rippled within his own mind. The horn of the unicorn mage acted as a natural focus, letting her express her power in an almost intuitive way. He considered that for a moment, then realized his own fingers served much a similar function as far as magic was regarded. Difference was, of course, that his own ten fingers had more dexterity and numbers than her own single horn.

“So she probably finds it easier to use direct or simple forms of magic, but more complex designs she’ll need to use some other kind of focus so as not to have anything mangled in the execution,” he mumbled while he crossed his arms and reached out with his senses towards the mage.

She had a lot of power, but there was something empty and hollow-feeling in the way she drew upon it. Like the majority of her own spirit was reaching out and grasping for something, but only catching empty air.

“Maybe it’s because her body is somewhere else… or because this isn’t her world, and so she has no connection to any source of power to draw from,” he considered out loud, his index fingers drumming against the bicep of his mental body.

Then another thought struck him. If she was just drawing on the miniscule connection to her body and world still keeping her spirit alive, across the vast distance of dimensions separating them, then she would be stupidly powerful once back in her own element.

“Well, shit, who thought it was a good idea to give that much power to someone that would screw things up so badly?” he asked rhetorically. But then again, wasn’t he someone who’d been praised for his potential once, and managed to screw that up just as horribly?

The last thought came to him almost like a physical whisper, so strong it would not easily be dismissed or overlooked. And involuntarily the mage found himself glancing towards the far end of the library.

There stood a massive wall of dark gray concrete, so dark it looked like storm clouds of black, gray and bruised brown. Dirty-looking, like something slapped together in a hurry, breaking the aesthetics of the library completely, and only its far distance away from the chandeliers at the center allowed it to remain mostly unnoticeable. And in the middle of the wall was a pitch black metal door. Its surface was uneven and mottled, like it had been melted over and over then settled into a blotchy shape once cooled down; there was no handle or keyhole visible upon it.. Across the frame of the door hung several large, heavy looking chains locking it down even tighter.

With a shudder the man tore his eyes from it and turned them towards the unicorn still gleefully prancing around the library of his mind. A soft smile graced his lips again, as different as they might be they did still have some things in common it seemed.

In common?

The nagging thought in the back of his mind exploded in sudden realization, and the mage’s eyes widened.

“Eureka,” he whispered with a smirk, then called out towards the unicorn, “Hey, yo-... hey, Twilight!”

“What is it?” she called back without taking her eyes off the latest book she was busy skimming through.

The man hurried over, and when Twilight put the book back into its place on the shelf and glanced up at him she blinked at the sudden gleam of mania present in his gaze.

“Before,” he began, voice straining to contain itself, “you said something about Tartarus… what do you know about it?”

“Uhh,” she responded, having to take a few steps back from the intensity in his eyes. “Well, to be honest, not much. It’s just this really bad place filled with monsters and stuff. Also, I guess I’ve heard it’s somewhere the souls of terrible ponies or other monsters go when they die,” she said, scratching at her head absently.

“Hell,” the man hissed while Twilight flinched and took another step back.

“Uhh, are you ok? Maybe you should get some real sleep instead of being here,” she said with a note of concern in her voice.

“No, no, no… no time for sleep,” he told her with a wave of his hand, looking down at the floor while his eyes darted back and forth rapidly.

A silence fell between them, lingering awkwardly in the air while the man silently mulled over his thoughts. Twilight kept looking around herself, shifting her body restlessly as she moved, uncertain of what to do. The silence dragged on for several more minutes until she couldn’t take it anymore, and she cleared her throat.

“So, you wanna share what you’re thinking?” she asked in a carefully neutral tone of voice.

The question didn’t seem to register with the mage at first, then he blinked and snapped his eyes up to her, a wide grin spreading over his face slowly.

“Yeah, I might know what to do…” he said.

She waited a few heartbeats for him to continue. When he didn’t she motioned with her hoof in an encouraging motion, “And…?” she drawled slowly.

His smile widened to unnerving proportions. “I’m gonna send us both to hell!” he proclaimed giddily.

****************************************

The smoldering embers of the fire glowed dimly in the dark room, the thick forest canopy outside keeping any light from stars or moon from trickling in through the window. The man sat upon his couch, one leg drawn up where his arm and chin rested atop his knee while gazing into the dying red light.

It was quiet, not just within the room but also within his head. But after the grand shouting match that had ensued from his proclamation it was reasonable even the pathologically curious unicorn needed some rest.

She had not liked his idea.

And neither had she been discreet about just how much she disliked it, giving him so many reasons why it was insane that for a while she had hunted for paper and pen to start writing him a list. Ultimately it had failed, though, because regardless of how many reasons for why it was a bad solution, it was still the only one possible.

If things continued as they were now for much longer, they’d both perish, or he’d go insane and she’d follow along soon after. Which was why after she had worn herself out shouting at him mentally, he’d simply pointed out to her that either they both venture into hell and find a way to her home through there, or they'd both get stuck in one of their own creation when his sanity shatters. It had shut her up- but only just barely.

Enjoying the brief period of silence the man had lounged in the comfort of his home from dusk far into the night. The idea should terrify him, and he’d seated himself expecting a rush of emotions to flood his mind after the regular noise of the unicorn had ceased to distract him. But nothing happened. He’d stared into the fire -imagining it as hellfire he’d be trapped within forever- and there hadn’t been even a twinge of concern.

“Maybe I’ve already gone insane,” he quietly whispered into the empty room, a wry smile touching his lips.

But then again, hadn’t his life already been a kind of hell now for years? Trapped in a limbo, unable to move forward on his path, and yet it was unthinkable to abandon it.

There came a deep drumming inside his head from that thought, a deep, reverberating beat. For a second the vision of a dirty gray wall with a dark chained door flashed before his head, which he firmly pushed down into the dark unseen corner of his mind.

“Fix this, and I can fix it all,” he spoke again into the empty air while his hand opened and closed repeatedly into a white knuckled fist. “One trip through hell, chuck the pony back into her body and finally it will all be over.”

His voice carried an undertone of desperation so obvious his face cringed when hearing it. He leaned back and relaxed, his expression smoothing over into a neutral look while the last flickers of the embers struggled to stay alive, reflecting in his eyes as a tiny light in a pool of black and gray.

“The problem,” he began, looking up at the ceiling while mumbling to himself. “is how I’m supposed to get into hell and out.”

Getting into hell itself isn’t complicated, it’s among the easiest things in the world you can do. But getting out is the real trick. But there've been those who've done it over the long ages of its history; the traffic of souls in and out of hell looked a lot like an interdimensional highway, according to what his master had said once.

No, the real problem wasn’t getting in and out, the real problem was getting in and out in his physical body. An act that would be violating the very nature of that plane, but somehow needed to be done. And preferably without actually damning his soul in the process.

As a matter of fact, it would be best if no one ever found out about this.

And yet, after hours of scheming the only real option he’d been able to come up with included bringing someone else into this mess. When it came to the figure calling itself ‘the locksmith,’ the mage seriously doubted his ability to keep such juicy gossip to himself. He had his suspicions of who his true identity was, and if he was correct then he’d be exactly the kind of being useful for this task.

But… he did already owe him. One deal he was just barely beginning to solve, and he knew without a single doubt if he called upon the spirit -or perhaps god- that there would be a price tag attached to any help. Maybe this whole thing was just a setup, knowing the mage would need more assistance and only one place to go, burying him deeper and deeper in a pit of debt.

“If it was, it worked,” the man spat into the dark, then sighed and rubbed his face sleepily. He let the hand drop and his eyes unfocused into a far distant gaze, mouth open and words pouring out of it seemingly on their own.

“So even if this was all a scam to get me into indentured servitude to the asshole, what would be the point? I can’t be that useful to him, anything I can do for him he wouldn't need any help with in the first place… unless he’s looking for a scapegoat or a cat’s paw for some scheme he’s got going.”

The sound of grinding teeth was audible. And to make it worse there was a distant pounding inside his head, a mounting pressure constantly reminding him that the clock was ticking. In the end, what choice was there?

“Insanity or a pawn in an unknown game,” the man sighed as he threw one arm up in the air, then let it fall down with a dull thud in a final gesture of surrender. He stood up from the couch, briefly arching his back before taking a deep breath and closing his eyes.

His own energy was easily within reach of his mind, no longer so overwhelmingly mixed with the unicorn’s. Although the background resonance was still there, it was pronounced now in its separation and didn’t muddle the signal of his own spirit. It flowed easily up at his calling, charging his body and making the tips of his fingers tingle with the growing static.

He allowed it to build for a few moments, then opened his eyes halfway and whispered slowly, letting the energy flow into his words and charging them with intent. “Locksmith I call thee, locksmith I call thee, Locksmith I call thee.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, vibrating with a subtly humming power as it filled the room. And when nothing happened the man simply continued, chanting the calling three times over and over, leaving a brief pause in between each to let the words and intent behind them find resonance. Each turn building the power in the room, reinforcing the calling as it grew and making it less able to be ignored.

In each turn his voice grew a little louder, matching the tension building until he was eventually almost shouting. “Locksmith I call thee! Locksmith I call thee! Locksmith I CAL-”

“Calm down, you shrieking loon!” came a sudden voice behind him, and the man spun around to find the familiar face of the one who called himself the locksmith standing there. There was a faint scent of something acidic, or was it pungent, about him. A faint trickle of smoke rose from his body, and upon his bare chest and face tiny beads of sweat were visible in the faint light of the room.

“I thought you were ignoring me,” the mage said, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Is that… sulfur I smell on you?”

In response the man’s eyebrows rose, and for a flicker of a second something satisfactory gleamed in his eyes. “Well, well, well. Aren’t we quick on the take. Yes, among other even less pleasant smells your nose isn’t even capable of perceiving; be happy you don’t have a dog,” the figure answered him, dusting off his arms in exaggerated gestures.

The mage stood silent for a few seconds, observing the charades as the being made a show of removing the infernal road dust still clinging to him. Then he opened his mouth and spoke in a dry and weary voice without any inflection. “You already know exactly why I called you here.”

The locksmith absently waved a hand at him dismissively. “Of course. You’re not hard to predict, I’m afraid,” he told him in a voice just as dry.

The mage sighed. “If you already knew this was the only solution to the problem YOU tasked me with fixing, why didn’t you just save us the time and tell me to begin with?”

The locksmith stopped his theatrical motions and locked over at the mage with naked disappointment on his face, speaking to him in a tone of pure disdain. “Even you should find the answer to that question blatantly obvious,” he told him.

The mage’s eyes flickered from side to side for a few heartbeats, then locked on the figure. “Because… I had to earn it, and it functioned as a test of some kind. That if I wasn’t capable of finding the only answer, then I wouldn’t be capable of performing the journey, either.”

“Congrats, you’ve reached the mental capacity of a pseudo-intellectual,” the locksmith said with a few brief claps of his hands. “And for the record, there’s at least seven pathways to getting the stumbling equine back into her body- the pathway through inferno just happens to be the riskiest but simplest solution. So obviously you were gonna pick it.”

The mage’s jaw dropped ever so slightly. "Seven!?" What the fuck are the othe-”

“No, no, no. You've already made your choice. Test over. Time to pack your bags and put some lotion on because where we’re going it’s gonna be hot, hot, hot!” The locksmith interrupted him giddily, a wide grin accompanying his words.

“We?” the mage asked, his own eyebrows rising in surprise this time.

“You called me because you have no way to get there or make it through without my help,” the locksmith told him calmly, crossing his arms while facing him.

The mage narrowed his eyes. “You mean get there, make it through, and make it back,” he said, firmly emphasizing the last part.

A crooked smile spread over the locksmith’s lips as he rolled his eyes. “That’s a tall order. And one I am not inclined to offer. No, you want a deal and I will give you one. Whatever you get out of it will depend entirely on you. I won’t guarantee you’ll make it back home, or even guarantee you’ll make it to the unicorn’s home world either. I’ll just make sure you can, whether you pull it off or not is entirely up to you.”

The mage considered his words for a moment, then nodded once slowly. “Do you swear this deal will give me what I need to get there and home safely?”

The locksmith considered the words for a moment, his eyes gazing into something distant searching for the answer. “I will offer you this deal. Surrender your life to me and I will make it so that you will have the power to transport yourself and the unicorn into hell with you, and power enough it CAN last for you to travel to her homeworld and make it back to this world. As part of this deal I will journey with you, not physically but connected to you still to give you advice when or if you ask for it. However, I will not protect or grant you additional power once you are there. You’ll gain immense energy once you go through, but how you wield it while making it last will be for you to decide,” he said, drawing out each word slowly and firmly.

The mage didn’t miss a beat. “‘Surrender your life to me…,’ what the hell does that mean, exactly?” he asked.

The locksmith tilted his head while regarding him patiently. “Exactly what it sounds like. You want to get into a place made for the dead, can’t do that while you’re still the living, breathing flesh-bag of your current self. You gotta give your life to get there, but as part of your deal you’ll get a chance to return it- if you pull it off and come back to a land of the living,” he said, speaking in the soft patient tone a parent uses for a stubborn-but-not-so-gifted child.

Silence followed the condescending proclamation, lending room both for the mage’s furious thinking as he began pacing back and forth across the floor, and for the locksmith’s amused observation as he did so.

There was a catch somewhere, for sure. The entity had been up front about giving no promises of success, and the mage knew that he couldn’t lie when making such a deal as far as providing the necessary power was concerned. No, the real issue was with the ‘surrendering his life’ part. It sounded logical he needed to do so in some way to enter a kingdom of the dead without actually dying. Still, there was a catch somewhere within that sentence… he just didn’t know enough about how life and death worked to catch it. But he couldn’t show the entity that, no matter what.

For a moment, he wished Twilight was awake so he could seek her advice on the matter. Although the whisper in his mind had been an annoyance so far, a part of him had actually gotten accustomed to it in a strange way, and she might have had something to offer him.

“Hey, are you awake in there?” He asked, carefully sending a subtle mental impulse towards the cloud of energy he’d gotten to know her by. Fully aware the locksmith might eavesdrop on their conversation if he wasn’t careful about it.

There was a sensation of something stirring in the far corner of his mind. For a second there flashed an image in front of his eyes, of a purple unicorn raising her head from the divan she laid on top of within the grand library of his mind.

“I am now,” she answered blearily in a tone dripping with sarcasm.

Before he continued the mage made an effort of will, splitting his attention in two; one part of his mind loudly focusing on the issue of getting into hell, what dangers might await there and how best to make use of the locksmith’s offer of power. The other part he quietly let slip into the background, covered by the noise of his thinking while he continued the conversation with Twilight.

“Look, I’m not gonna be able to keep up this charade for long before this asshole notices,” he projected towards her, already feeling a tension building around his forehead from the strain.

There was the impression of someone shaking their head and rubbing their eyes, then the response came, clear and focused this time. “What’s going on?”

“I called upon our mutual friend. He’s offering help at a price, but I’m not sure exactly how he’ll end up collecting it, but I don’t wanna let him know that.”

“Ohh,” came the surprised response, tinged with equal measure of hope, suspicion and fear. “What did he say, exactly?”

“That he’ll provide a way into hell and enough power to get you home and back for me, but only if I ‘surrender my life' to him.’”

“Wait, what?! He wants you to die for him?”

“No, I figure he means I’ll be handing over my lifeforce for him to keep. If we try to enter hell with my aura flashing big neon signs of ‘living breathing soul’ energy in it we’ll get noticed instantly and caught.”

“Ok, I get that. So it should be fine, then, as long as you make him promise to give back your lifeforce once it’s over… right?”

“Yeah, that is the obvious solution. I’m just worried I’m missing something and I’ll be playing into his hands somehow when I make him promise that.”

“Well, he doesn’t exactly strike me as the most trustworthy kind of pony. But as long as you don’t leave any loopholes he won’t have a choice but to keep his end. Right?"

“Mmm, so can you see any obvious loopholes I gotta close? I got maybe another minute of this before I faint from the concentration.”

“Why didn’t you tell me so before! Ok, ok, let me think for a second…”

The mage kept pacing, eyes glued towards the floor while repeating thoughts of what he knew about hell and asking himself general and vague questions to keep his surface mind occupied. The bubble of energy created between him and Twilight’s conversation felt like a pressure cooker rumbling threateningly. He let the seconds pass him by, each of them more arduous than the previous one.

“Well?” he projected towards the unicorn with gritted teeth and a pounding in his temples, getting more and more intense with each breath he took.

“Well…” came the slight response, and he could feel the cogwheels of her mind spinning furiously, the blob of energy that was her signature flickering erratically. “I think that you need to add another detail to your contract. That you can at any time decide to reclaim your lifeforce from him. He didn’t say anything about time or place after all, so it’s probably smart to get a clause so you can get it back when you ask for it.”

Unable to hold on to the split concentration any longer, the mage let go and allowed the isolated mental bubble to shatter and returned his full attention towards the rambling thoughts about hell he’d been repeating. He allowed the thoughts to run for a few more moments while he slowed down his pace, then stopped with his eyes still turned down at the floor. The last words Twilight had spoken surfaced gradually, and he tenderly grasped them one by one without allowing his mind to make too much of an effort the Locksmith might have picked up on.

Eventually he turned his eyes up from the floor and shifted himself to face the Locksmith, still observing with wry amusement twinkling in his eyes. A nagging twinge at the base of his spine told the mage that perhaps all his efforts towards subterfuge had been completely in vain, that the entity had overheard everything the two linked souls had said to one another. But even so, it wouldn’t change anything if he had.

“I was getting worried for the health of your floor with all that pacing,” the locksmith said, conjuring an apple from thin air and biting into it with an audible crunch.

“I’m not in the habit of accepting deals with strange beings lightly,” the mage told him dryly, eliciting a smile from the chewing entity.

“A wise policy, never know what weirdos the ether might spit out every once in a while. But speaking of deals, do we have another?” The locksmith asked in a tone of perfect beneficence.

“With a few clauses,” the mage answered after a heartbeat.

“Such as…?” the locksmith drawled, motioning for him to continue.

The mage took in a deep breath, then spoke in a careful voice enunciating every word precisely. “Our deal is this: I will surrender my life to you in order for you to bring us into the domain of hell unharmed, where upon your sacred oath I will have access to enough power sufficient to transport the unicorn Twilight into her home domain and reunite her with her body, as well as for me to return home. In addition, you will provide guidance and support mentally throughout my journey through hell, and my lifeforce will be returned to me at any time or place that I ask for it…”

The Locksmith smirked, and opened his mouth so to speak, but before he had the chance the mage interrupted him.

“Also… also, I require of you to firsthand teach me a technique with which I can wield this power and shape it in such a way for me to blend into hell and remain unnoticed,” he added quickly, giving voice to the sudden thought that had struck him.

The entity raised a single eyebrow, letting the silence hang in the air for a moment while waiting to see if there was anything else. Then nodded his head and held out both his hands, palms up in a gesture of innocence. “A fair deal, I don’t object.”

His hands blurred and the apple disappeared, and instead he held a single parchment in its place. The Locksmith held it out towards the mage, who reached over and grasped it with eyes narrowed in suspicion.

The contract was outlined in a simple way, quite literally stating exactly what the mage had just said a few moments earlier and nothing else. The only addition was the dark line at the bottom for him to sign. Or so it seemed, and the mage proceeded to spend several minutes looking over the parchment looking for hidden symbols, fine print or any hint of a hidden clause or catch that might doom him. Reading it over and over, looking it up and down, backwards and sideways, even sniffing it and reaching out with his senses to scan it for any hidden energies. But there was nothing.

Throughout the process he could feel Twilight’s presence rising to the surface of his mind, having finally sorted herself through whatever confusion she’d been left in when their little bubble of energy had dispersed. But she sat silently, allowing him to proceed while she silently observed his attempts until he was done.

“Did you notice anything?” He asked her, keeping his thoughts as discreet as possible.

“Nothing,” She answered back in a thought so quiet it appeared to him as a whisper, and he couldn’t suppress a brief flash of a smile.

The locksmith yawned loudly and looked at him expectantly. “You know, if you keep fondling that paper any more I might need to charge you for it,” he said.

Not dignifying the remark with an answer, the mage looked down at the straight black line and kept his eyes on it, waiting for some realization to strike him. But nothing did. So he looked up at the Locksmith instead and asked simply, “Got a pen?”

The entity shook his head. “Ink isn’t enough for this kind of deal. You know what you gotta do,” he answered with a shrug.

The mage stared at him for a second, then turned around and went over to the nearby table and began rummaging around, shuffling books around until he found what he was looking for. He grasped the hilt of the old athame, the two-edged dagger engraved with a swirl of tendrils teaching from the base all the way to the sharp tip. The bone handle slipped into his palm comfortably, its edges yellowed with age but the center of it still a fresh white almost the same color as the pale skin.

The time for hesitation was over, so without a word the mage flicked the blade and cut a red line across his thumb. The blood welled up quickly as he laid the parchment down on the table, then pressed his bloodied thumb against the dark line, marking it with his sanguine thumbprint.

There was no explosion of wind or sound of distant thunder. Nothing dramatic to signal what had just occurred. So he picked the parchment up and went over to the Locksmith, who waited for him with a wide smile of satisfaction on his face. He reached out languidly and took the contract, and simply said. “We have a deal. Midnight tomorrow, we’ll venture into hell.” Then he vanished.

Silence reigned in the room while the mage absently sucked on the blood trickling down his thumb. And he felt the unicorn’s voice fill his mind, tinged with concern.

“Can you hear that ominous music playing?”

The mage couldn’t help smiling, and he closed his eyes with a sigh as the taste of his blood filled his mouth.

“Wasn’t just me, then.”

Chapter 3: Hellraiser

“Come on, it’s time to get up!” a shrill voice shouted giddily. If the voice had been physical it probably would have burst his eardrums- fortunately, it wasn’t. Instead the psychic impression of it rang inside his head like a bell struck by a particularly annoying hammer. Wincing with a grimace the man neglected to answer, only making an indistinct growl before digging his face deeper into the pillow.

"Oh, stop it! I’m finally going home!” the voice cheerfully exclaimed, her psychic pulse sending with it a cascade of so many joyful emotions it triggered a wave of nausea in the still half-asleep mage.

“Fine!” he relented, speaking into the pillow in a monotone, slurred voice. He took a deep breath, then gathered himself and pushed down on the bed and arched his back. A loud crack sounded, followed by a pleased groan from the man as he held the position for a few more heartbeats. Then he promptly slumped back down with his face into the pillow.

He could feel the psychic energy gathering as the incorporeal unicorn prepared herself for another bout of shouting. But before she had the chance he wordlessly rolled sideways until he fell out of the bed, landing on all fours and stumbling into an upright position. The yawn that followed was so ferocious the man could feel the muscles in his jaw trembling with the effort, and when his mouth closed he rubbed at them gingerly.

“Okay, I know you’re tired but we barely got an hour before it’s time to go,” Twilight’s voice told him in a slightly apologetic tone.

“Plenty of time for breakfast then,” he murmured and stumbled over to the kitchen fridge, scooping out a can of energy drink and popping it open, savoring the fizzling sound it made while doing so.

“Do you really have to?” Twilight weakly objected.

“Yes. Quite literally, caffeine is the reason I can function at all,” he told her firmly, taking a deep sip of the cold drink.

“As long as you don’t bring any with you… I don’t want to imagine how Pinkie Pie would react to one,” she said, a slight sensation of a shudder following along with her last remark.

The mage didn’t bother asking for an explanation. If all things went to plan he wouldn’t even need to bring anything into her world, since he wouldn’t need to enter into it in the first place… beyond maybe a cursory glance. As long as he got the frequency once he ventured into her world's passage into hell he could just toss the unicorn’s spirit out and let it snap back into her body. Wouldn’t be any different than a dreamer returning to their body when waking up.

That was all he needed to do. Get to the doorway, open it, chuck the unicorn through, then get back home before anyone noticed him. Before anything noticed him.

Sounded easy. Like most plans it sounded feasible as long as nothing went too horribly awry in the execution. Which is exactly why having the Locksmith riding passenger in his mind would be so useful.

“Because sneaking into hell is guaranteed to fuck up any and all plans,” the mage voiced aloud thoughtfully, then absently taking another sip.

“We can do this,” Twilight assured him confidently.

“We?” he snorted. “You are just going to be sitting there in my mind criticizing and trying to tell me what to do while suppressing those smug little sensations of being a know-it-all,” he rasped.

“I am N-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Keep your non-existent panties from getting twisted. I get it, just keep the backseat driving to a minimum. I’ve had you in there long enough to know you won’t be able to stop yourself from giving ‘helpful hints.’” he told her while waving his hands as if to dismiss her protests.

“... well, if they are helpful hints-”

The mage sighed loudly to cut her off, then mentally began going through a playlist of old metal songs in his head to drown her out. Somewhere in the din of electric guitar riffs and loud drumming he could hear the vague sound of her shouting something at him. In response he imagined half a dozen half naked groupies dancing in rhythm to the music, and he promptly felt her panic as she fled into the safety and silence of his subconscious library.

“Should have figured that one out days ago,” he murmured with a smug grin of victory plastered over his face. Emptying his can and tossing it into a corner.

“You know, that is a sure way to get ants,” a voice dryly said from behind him.

The mage managed to keep himself from twitching in fright, and instead looked over his shoulder as casually as he could towards the source of the sound; as expected, the locksmith stood there eying him skeptically.

“You look like you’re barely able to form complete sentences,” the entity remarked with his eyebrows slightly raised. “You do realize what we’re about to do will require you to focus- quite intently focus, actually?”

“I’ll manage,” the mage replied with a dismissing wave of his hand. He walked over to his book-covered table and began rummaging around until he found two different energy bars hidden beneath. Both of them promising nutrition and energy in bold bright letters along with an asterisk for a barely eligible fine print on the bottom.

The locksmith observed the man munching down on the products of borderline false advertisement and vaguely looked like he was starting to regret his decision; but he said nothing. Instead he raised his legs in the air and hovered in a cross-legged position with his chin resting on one of his fists, gazing at the mage like one might an animal at a zoo.

Without acknowledging the entities stare the mage continued his meager breakfast, his jaw still aching slightly from his earlier yawn. Without intending to, his mind was already running through scenarios of what to do when he got back home. All the things he could finally accomplish, all the things he could finally finish and let go of, maybe even make it better.

Now that the music and groupies were gone, Twilight’s psychic presence came slinking back up to his consciousness, but she said nothing. Instead she silently observed as brief flashes of intentions, emotions and considerations pass him by like freight cars on a train: too fast to make out details, but slow enough to get the general picture.

Eventually it all settled back down into whatever corner of his mind it all had risen from, and left the mage, both mages, quietly looking out the window into the snow-covered forest. Until the last bit of his dubiously healthy breakfast went into his mouth and he let the paper fall down on the desk, then turned around.

The locksmith was eying him with the shadow of a smile on his lips. It didn’t take much to figure out that the entity had probably been looking at his internal train of hopes and dreams as easily as he looked at his physical body. All the same, the mage couldn’t keep a tone of irritation out of his voice.

“So, how exactly will you get us into hell?” he asked.

The locksmith scratched his ankle absently and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them a moment later there was a misted cover over his iris, like a veil of mist or thin cloud had been trapped inside.

“First, you just make a standard circle and put yourself into a trance. I’ll take it from there and direct you. Our deal included me giving you a technique to hide yourself, but we’ll need to wait until you’re there before I transfer that.”

The mage opened his mouth to protest but the entity held up a hand to cut him off.

“I’ll be cloaking us, don’t concern yourself with that. You’ll be absorbing the technique from me as I do it, and when you’ve gotten it as well as you can I’ll give it all to you. After that I’ll be present only as the source of energy to draw from, as well as a superiorly intelligent guide and advisor.”

“Why not cloak us here and let me absorb the technique in a much safer setting?” the mage asked.

The Locksmith sighed and looked up towards the heavens while shaking his head. “Because then you’ll be learning how to cloak yourself in this environment. A chameleon that only knows how to turn green won’t be much good in a world of red and black, now will it?”

“I get it,” the mage grumbled in response.

“I doubt it, but at least you’re trying. So… ready?”

The mage hesitated only for a moment, then turned his attention inwards towards the psychic presence that was Twilight. He had just woken up, yet already the strain of her energy was already exerting itself over his mind. This needed to be done quickly.

“You ready?” he asked her softly.

“YES!” she replied in a hailstorm of emotions she couldn’t restrain despite her best attempts.

“Like getting torn away by a rainbow flood full of diabetes,” the mage rasped while sticking his tongue out like he was about to vomit. Then he went over to his table, and after a moment of rummaging around he found a piece of chalk.

He walked over to the part of floor right in front of the cold fireplace and sat down, hastily drawing a less-than-perfect circle around himself. Then he took a deep breath, filling his lungs and holding it for a few moments, then carefully letting it all out slow and steady. He repeated the process, allowing his thoughts and feelings to get washed away with each exhalation. Sinking deeper into a trance, listening to his own heartbeat as a drum guiding him deeper and deeper. Deeper and deeper.

And then he died.

****************************************

It was a strange sensation. The mage had expected the kind of shift into the ethereal to feel like it normally does, like sinking into water then dissolving into it. But when the sudden explosion of heat and light happened it was nothing like the normal transferring of consciousness into a spiritual body. It was a wrenching, powerful blow that reminded him more of getting punched in the face than anything else. And then, just like that, from a brief but intense moment, he found himself standing in hell.

The landscape itself was somehow less infernal than he had been expecting. The ground he stood on was rocky, cliffs rising and falling around him in a geological mishmash of either jagged edges or smooth curves. The sky itself was mostly dark, as if it was night, but no stars shone on it. There was, however, a kind of undertone of red, as if the horizon was still bleeding light from an unseen settled sun somewhere. But it had no exact origin or point where it seemed to infuse the atmosphere stronger. Instead it simply glowed with an ever present ambience leaving plenty of enough light to see. Stuck in a perpetual unmoving dusk and dawn.

“When you’re done with your poetic musings we should get going. The clock is now officially ticking before the power I’m supplying is gonna run out; unless you feel like becoming a permanent resident, of course,” the smooth and dry voice of the Locksmith spoke in his mind.

Unlike Twilight where the psychic imprint of her thoughts rang loud and strong, the Locksmith’s flowed like honeyed water. No strength or emotions or even a hint of overflow of energy detectable. Speaking directly from mind to mind, yet somehow betraying nothing about himself at the same time.

The mage licked his lips nervously at the implication. He was hopelessly outclassed as far as deception was concerned, which did not bode well for the future. But he quickly shook off the concern, leaving tomorrow’s concerns for a tomorrow where he wasn’t at risk of getting stuck in hell.

He groped around inside his mind for the presence of the incorporeal unicorn, but found only some kind of muted buzzing.

“Don’t worry about your hitchhiker, I’ve put up a firewall for the moment while we focus on you getting the hang of the obfuscation technique. After that you can gossip all you want.”

The mage breathed in sharply through his nose, getting a whiff of brimstone and dry hot air, then decided to discard any objections of having the Locksmith so blatantly messing with his cognitive functions.

“Alright, teach me,” he simply responded.

He had been expecting there to be some flash of insight or knowledge downloaded straight into his brain. Some waste wave of imprints he could decipher, or maybe even some unconscious installation of skill where some kind of trigger was all that would be needed.

Instead all he felt was the locksmith vanishing from his mind. Like he had melded right into the background buzzing, keeping Twilight locked away from his consciousness. And a few moments later, he emerged right out of it. Softly and without any fanfare he was just gone, and then there again.

“Your turn,” the voice said again, something playful and mocking in his tone.

The mage’s eyes flickered from side to side as he tried to find anything to grasp in what had just happened. Some kind of hint he could use to trace what the entity had used for his little trick. However, nothing obvious stood out. And while the mage kept on trying to find anything to grasp the Locksmith kept repeating the same process, again and again he vanished and emerged. And yet every time the mage tried to trace the crossover he got nothing, no matter how much he focused his mind on the presence of the entity.

“You’re really not as sharp as I thought,” a bored voice whispered softly in his mind, eliciting a frustrated groan from the mage. He sank down to his knees, turned his eyes on the hard rock beneath him, then steadied his breathing.

Once again he tried to gather his focus, gritting his teeth as he prepared to pinpoint the exact moment when the entity stepped over the threshold of perception. And as the locksmith appeared once again, blazing with his energy and presence in his mind, he latched on to it with every drop of concentration he could bring to bear.

And yet, a few moments later, the entity simply wasn’t there.

“Come on,” the mage hissed aloud, then let himself fall backwards until he laid down completely on the comfortably warm rock. Rubbing the spot between his eyes with two fingers gently. “Think, think, think,” he repeated quietly like a mantra.

He felt his muscles relax and yield to the hard rock he laid upon while a hot wind brushed over his face. Then his eyes widened slightly.

Instead of trying to narrow his focus on the entity itself he widened his perceptions, allowing his mind to focus on the buzzing wall in the background. Slowly letting himself sink into it, letting the sensations of it wash over him. The slight tingling in his fingers, the sound of white noise in his ears, and the taste of copper in his mouth. All of it suffusing and cloaking him, deeper and deeper. And the more it did so, the more it began to gradually fade as the taste, the sound and feeling evaporated like thin mist.

“CAN YOU HEAR ME?!” a loud voice greeted him on the other side, and his hands flew up to cover his ears on pure reflex.

“ARGH! Why do you always have to be so loud!?” the mage exclaimed loudly in return.

“Finally! I’ve been trying to talk to you forever but you didn’t say anything,” Twilight told him, her feelings of relief and happiness slamming into him like a physical strike.

“I was busy training,” he grumbled and rubbed his head in an now all too familiar gesture.

“I know, I’ve heard and seen everything, but no matter what I did you didn’t respond!” she told him, her voice still bubbling with relief.

The mage blinked, then considered what she’d said, and he could distantly hear the chuckling of the Locksmith softly echoing in his skull when realization struck him.

“So, you weren’t just locking her away, you were obfuscating her the same way as you did yourself?” he asked out loud.

“Yes,” the entity replied, his honeyed voice trickling through his mind like a soft breeze touching both of the mage’s inside. “Now you understand how those around you will experience the skill, but also how it can be overcome. It’s a neat trick, but you should never rely on it too much if your opponents become aware of your presence. It took you around fifteen minutes to attune yourself to the signature I hid us behind, and you should expect the majority of your enemies to be much quicker than that.”

The mage nodded as he absorbed the words, then quirked his head. “Alright, but how do I apply it?”

“Do I need to hold your hand in everything?” The Locksmith asked dryly.

The mage rolled his eyes and closed his eyes, carefully reaching out with his senses as he felt Hell’s energies swirling around him. For a place dedicated to torment and punishment, it was a strangely calm energy. Like the caressing heat of embers instead of any kind of searing flame. And the more he allowed it to flow into his mind, the more he started to feel undertones of other basic energies. Not just fire, but water was present within the realm, just in tiny, tiny particle doses, like motes of light. Air and earth was present as well; the air feeding the flames and carrying both souls and memories upon unseen currents, and the earth both grinding in rigid permeance as well as carrying the strongest of the flames in magma flows deep under his feet.

And together it all shaped itself into some strange kind of infernal ecosystem. For a moment, as he allowed all the impressions to coalesce in his mind, he felt that he got a glimpse of some kind of bigger picture. What place hell had in the systems of creation.

Then it vanished, but the energy of it remained. And he allowed it to infuse him, cloaking him, melding into the background energy of hell’s own energy signature. Maybe he hadn’t managed to hold on to whatever grand insight into the nature of hell that had passed him by, but he still got the signature of its essence, and that’s all he needed.

Inside the cocoon of energy he could feel both the presence of Twilight and the Locksmith, mute and wrapped in tendrils of Hell’s embrace, yet not sunk so deep it would in any way risk binding their spirits to the dimension.

“Damn, I’m good,” the mage muttered with a satisfied smirk.

“Damn, you got a talented teacher pretty much carrying you,” the Locksmith’s voice was quick to add.

“Are you two finished praising yourselves before we’ve barely gotten started yet?” Twilight’s voice interjected, her tone a pitch perfect facade of innocence.

The Locksmith’s dry chuckle reverberated in their shared mind.“Sarcasm is like fine aged wine, it’s meant to be sipped at special occasions. So let’s not overindulge and get going. This is your show, little mage- make it entertaining,” he finished, and although it went unseen, the mage had no difficulty feeling the wry smirk behind his words.

He looked around himself, eyes scanning the rocky landscape and its crimson veil of light. There were no obvious landmarks; neither cities, lakes, large mountains or anything of the kind that stuck out. Just endless expanses of smooth rock beds and sharp cliffs.

The lesson he had just learned a moment ago still clung fresh in his memory, so instead of focusing upon a single spot, the mage allowed his mind to take in the entirety of the realm around him. Just because there was nothing obvious didn’t mean it wasn’t there. And while his mind expanded he could feel unseen currents of energy, carried both within the air and in the small trickles of magma flowing underneath his feet.

Currents going where? And from what source?

Slowly shifting his attention into the currents he allowed just a brief glimpse into what it was carrying, then quickly withdrew. There were souls inside the flows, going in endless loops around the landscape, the energy of the fire and air itself infusing the inner dreams of the dead souls with direction and messages. Creating themes and tones for whatever stories they were all experiencing as they slowly drifted upon the currents.

The mage frowned. No, there was more than just that going on. Just an endless loop of dreaming souls would be… pointless. There had to be a control mechanism somewhere, something that supervised or at least decided where the souls would go beyond just mere chance.

Narrowing his eyes he shifted his attention once more, but this time to the rock the magma flowed within and air upon. There he sensed something stable, something strong enough to contain and carry the weight of uncountable souls. There was a will in the rock he stood upon, not moving or exerting itself, just simply remaining firm and unyielding. And the more he traced the canals the wind and magma were carried through, the more he sensed some kind of purpose there.

Then he straightened his back and scratched his head. The purpose of whatever mechanism at play here wasn’t really important, just how it was controlled. And it was through the rock that control could be felt.

“Hmmm, but which place,” the mage mumbled out loud, then directed his attention inwards.

“Twilight, can you feel anything familiar? Maybe some sensation that rings true or feels that it’s where you belong?” he asked.

She didn’t answer at first. He felt the tendrils of her own psychic groping, then how she gave up. “No, it all feels strange here.”

“Worth a shot,” he sighed, then crossed his arms and tapped his fingers thoughtfully. “Hey, Locksmith, if the ground is the stable axis which directs the cycle the souls' flow through here, then the rock used for it has to have some kind of connection beyond this place, right?”

“You’re on the first surface level of our version of Hell, so yeah, walk around far enough and you’ll probably find Dante’s gate here somewhere.” The entity was quick to reply.

“I’m just going to assume the reason you didn’t take us there in the first place is because it’s watched and not a good idea to use for entry, then?” The mage asked.

“You could not sneak through that doorway on your best day,” the entity snorted derisively.

“Okay, so you dumped us here because… you want me to climb through one of the little vents the currents of souls flow through? Because if this is just one level, I have to assume there’s small entryways it can go through to higher or deeper levels.”

“See, you can be clever enough when you make the effort,” the mocking voice praised him quickly.

“So it’s just a matter of picking which one,” the mage continued the line of reasoning.

“Like I told you, your show,” The Locksmith drawled, and the mage felt his presence retreating deeper as it leaned back to observe him.

“Bastard,” the mage growled, then searched for Twilight’s energy sitting at the mental sidelines listening. “I gotta use you somehow to orient myself in this place. We don’t have time skipping from world to world hoping we’ll land on the right one from luck alone.”

“I’m not objecting, but I don’t know what else to do. I can try and use magic to send a message or use a searching spell for it, but I’m afraid that might get us caught,” she answered hesitantly.

“Ditto,” the mage replied. “But your only link to where we’re going is you, so…” thinking for a moment, a small loose stone caught the attention of his eye. He walked over to it and bent down, collecting it in the palm of his hand and feeling its resonance.

“What are you thinking?” Twilight asked him with a hint of curiosity. “Using it as a key somehow?”

“No, more like a lodestone,” he said, then tore off a small strip of cloth from the sleeve of his robe. He tied it around the stone in a square, then swung it around carefully a few times to test it.

“Let’s see if this works,” he told her, and before she had a chance to reply he grasped the essence of her own psychic imprint, digging into its memories of life. What he needed wasn’t anything personal or important, just the basic energy of the world she had been born and grew up within.

It flashed by him in small glimpses, too quick and shallow to make out details, but enough to give him what was required. And as his mind grasped it, he allowed it to flow into his body and into the stone that rested in his hand.

The stone drank deeply of the energy, as the mage knew it would. It was material made to both channel but also contain souls, and it needed no prompting or ritual to absorb the energy and then imprison it within its tiny crystalline structure.

“HEY, that hurt!” Twilight sharply exclaimed, and the mage got the mental image of the small purple unicorn rubbing one of her hooves with an annoyed glare at him.

“Sorry, if I had told you you’d have tried to focus on it yourself and it would have gotten tainted by whatever associations or desires you’d have framed it in. I needed it to be impersonal,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders.

Twilight made some indistinct sounds of displeasure, but didn’t add anything further. “Did it work, at least?”

The mage swung the stone around in a circle carefully while mumbling to himself, then allowed it to slowly run out its momentum until it came resting at its center… and yet, the stone kept slowly swinging out again in a direction to his right.

“Ha! It worked,” he confirmed, then tilted his head. “And seriously, you guys need to create your own clouds for the weather?”

“Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing?” she asked him back, her tone mildly defensive. “It’s not like your world was any better with constant snowing and not a day of sunshine.”

“Just saying, I really hope those chubby little pegasi got a union going for them,” he smirked, then started walking in the direction his lodestone pulled him towards.

The landscape wasn’t as difficult to traverse as one might have expected of hell, with only some mild jumps and climbing around particularly bothersome cliffs necessary. Otherwise it was a leisurely stroll forward towards an unseen goal that passed by without incident.

In the back of his mind, both Twilight and the Locksmith remained silent throughout the entire walk. Twilight’s psychic imprint gave off waves of curiosity mingled with eagerness as she watched through his eyes, and he got the vague impression she was making mental notes of everything. The Locksmith on the other hand gave off no impression, save maybe for boredom. Before either one of them had a chance to break the peaceful silence, the lodestone suddenly turned slack and hung limp.

The mage stopped and looked at the stone, then around himself. He found absolutely nothing that could indicate they had arrived at the destination it had been leading them towards. He reached out with his senses into the stone, and found that the presence of Twilight’s energy signature was still as present and strong as it had been before.

He tucked away the stone into one of the many hidden pockets inside of his robe, then turned his eyes downwards to the large chunk of stone he was standing on. Spinning around slowly looking for a hint of some kind of opening or symbols or… anything.

“Just let me know when you’ve finally given up and gonna ask for help. It’s your energy and hope of escaping this place that you're spending, after all,” the locksmith said after a few minutes had passed without results.

The mage swallowed the reply he wanted to give the entity in his mind radiating waves of smugness, and instead adopted a neutral expression and tone of voice.

“Okay… so can you help me find whatever I’m missing,” he asked.

“Of course I can. You’re just, as always, missing the obvious right in front of your nose,” the entity said.

Before answering the mage considered the situation, trying to find whatever it was that was so obvious and in front of him yet somehow remained unnoticed. The rock maybe? Something to do with the material? Or maybe the cloak of the environment’s energy he was still wearing?

“Uhhh, am I cloaking the opening by hiding myself? Do I need to allow the way forward to sense me in order to part or something?” he finally asked.

“Not even close. This place wasn’t made for people to take walks on, it was made for rivers of souls to pass through. There’s no signs, doorways, markers or other orientation methods because no one is supposed to be here to read them. Gotta find your way around like the soul of a dead would.”

“Ohh,” the mage said after thinking about it for a moment; it was kind of obvious in hindsight. Ceasing his attempts to find anything, he let his eyes unfocus and sank his mind down into the rock beneath. It was solid, as could be expected, yet with a hint of something else than he had sensed before. Like the energy of the stone existed in layers, and each layer had a vibration to it.

“Keys,” he mumbled quietly after a moment. “It’s a prison, so they’ve made the very walls and ceiling just an endless vista, but it’s the ground we stand on that functions as the bars, the locks and the keys,” he said quietly.

“Ohhhh, that is really smart,” Twilight said, something akin to admiration creeping into her voice.

“And since this place is meant as passages for souls, each soul corresponds to the vibration of a particular kind of stonework a layer of hell is built on…” he continued, scratching his shaggy beard as he thought aloud. “So what we need is just to emit an energy signature with the right frequency and we’ll get automatically transported to the right place in hell,” he said.

“Bingo! What a gifted and handsome teacher you must have had,” the entity said.

A sad smile crossed over the mage’s lips for a brief moment. “He was something special indeed.”

“Wasn’t talking about the old bearded man, I was talki-”

“Yeah I know,” the mage snapped, then reached in and grasped the rock with the energy of Twilight’s world still burning bright inside. It came quicker this time, the melding of his obfuscation cloak with its signature. Barely had it been complete before he felt a shifting sensation, like the moment an elevator begins moving down, and everything turned dark.

Then it stayed dark. And damp. With a hint of moisture falling upon and clinging to his skin. The mage turned his head to look around, but it remained pitch black in every direction. He raised his hand and moved it around in front of him and met no resistance.

“Good, at least we’re still free to move around,” he said out loud, then turned his attention to the Locksmith. “So, what’s your advice?”

“My advice is that you shouldn’t produce any light in a section of hell devoid of it unless you want every being in the closest five dimensions to instantly know you’re here,” it replied dryly.

“Fair enough,” the mage said. “So what, then? Change my vision somehow?”

“You need to look as a spirit, not as a flesh-and-blood being whose sight you’re still clinging to,” came the haughty answer.

“Of course I’m clinging to it, I’m not dead yet unless I can help it. But I get it, gotta see with ghost eyes,” the mage said, ignoring his guide’s preferred style of teaching.

It was surprisingly easy shifting his perception like that. But then again, he had two incorporeal entities inside his mind and he was currently walking through hell, so perhaps some feedback into his spiritual senses should have been expected.

Reading auras and seeing the ethereal strings and fields of energies was a basic skill most practitioners of the arts learn early. However, to see with such senses exclusively, ignoring the physical input from his body’s sensory organs, that was something else entirely. And yet, it came smoothly and easily. More akin to stepping into a hot bath instead of the wrestling struggle he had expected.

And just like that, he was standing in a grand cave. Grand might be an understatement. It was as vast as a thousand cathedrals put together, with some kind of black sand under his feet. When he turned to his right he was greeted by the sight of soft white mist stretching out further than even his ghostly sight was able to see. Unbidden, his legs started moving on their own towards the mist, slowly taking one heavy step at a time towards the beckoning softness. Like a siren song he could feel it calling to him, promising relief and peace beyond anything he had ever experienced or could even imagine.

It was only when he stood one step away from it he froze, and became aware of Twilight’s voice screaming inside of his head in a garbled voice.

“Stop, stop, STOP!” she shrieked at him, waves of naked fear rolling from her presence in psychic waves.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” he breathed heavily, wiping the sweat off his forehead he hadn’t even noticed before.

“That was close. Half a second more and you’d be going gaga by now,” the locksmith told him, his voice for once grave. “Didn’t you notice what’s underneath the mist?”

The mage frowned, then kicked a bit of the black sand out into the mist, and got his answer when the sound of it hitting water came back to him. Eyes widening with a sudden thought, he asked with a voice he couldn’t quite keep from trembling. “Which place is this?”

“That’s the river Styx you almost took a dip in. Seriously, don’t even stick your toe in there. It has no real bottom. Once you’re in you’ll be feeding the tree soon enough.”

“The tree?” the mage asked, snapping back into reality with a confused expression on his face.

“The river flows through many levels of this place and takes the souls through all kinds of changes. But it all has to end up somewhere to take all those memories of a life once led. There’s roots of a very, very big tree here it flows into.”

“You mean th-”

“Don’t say anything else- especially not names. In places like this, that will attract attention hard and fast. You've got a job, so stop acting like a tourist and get going,” The locksmith told him, the psychic pulse of his words like a whip crack of steel across the mage’s mind.

Grimacing, the mage massaged his temples briefly while his eyes scanned the mist blanketing the river. The styx might be some kind of funnel of souls to go through some cleansing process if the Locksmith’s words were true, but it was also supposed to be a passageway to other things, if the myths held true.

“Names attract attention, huh,” the man whispered softly, and allowed himself a brief smile. He doubted the Locksmith had let that slip on accident. Testing the mage with clever little hints seemed to be a recurring theme with the entity. So he opened his mouth and spoke quietly, while letting just a trickle of energy carry into the sound as he projected it out into the mist.

“Charon,” he simply spoke, then took a few steps back.

Nothing seemed to happen at first. Even when the mage reached out he couldn’t feel any resonance or psychic response. But after a few minutes of waiting, the subtle sound of water gently sloshing reached his ears. And from the mist the dark silhouette of a hooded man in a boat became visible.

“Who’s that?” Twilight asked, her voice carrying equal measures of nervousness and curiosity.

“The ferryman of the dead,” the mage whispered gently, eyes fixated on the figure slowly emerging from the mist.

It didn’t take long before the boat bumped into the black shoreline, slightly carving into the sand before coming to a stop in front of the mage nervously drumming his fingers against his leg. The ferryman had no visible features within the dark hood of his tattered robes, it was simply a shadow draped in old gray cloth vaguely reminiscent of a funeral veil. Hands as gray and pallid as the cloth stuck out from the sleeves while firmly grasping the large oar it held in both hands, and behind the figure a single lantern burned with a small but bright flame.

“Do you seek passage?” it asked in an old raspy voice, like chains dragging across a stone floor.

The mage cleared his throat and straightened his back, forcing his fingers to come to a stop. “Yes, can you take me into Tartarus? I need to deliver a lost soul to where it belongs,” he said in the most official-sounding voice he could manage.

The ferryman remained silent for a few moments, the mist gently drifting by on unseen currents around him. Then one hand let go off the oar he held and reached forward with an open palm towards the mage. “Passage requires sacrifice,” the raspy voice simply said.

Unable to suppress a painful grimace, he looked away then and awkwardly scratched the back of his head, then held out both open palms towards the ferryman himself. “Yeah, I’m kind of… broke.”

The mage winced as the sound of his own words reached his ears, then felt his body tense in anticipation as he stood unmoving, waiting for the painful silence to end.

The ferryman didn’t move either, and after a few heartbeats had passed it simply spoke again. “Passage requires sacrifice.”

Huffing with frustration, the mage pointlessly patted the pockets of his robe as if double checking he hadn’t accidentally brought any ancient coins along. When he predictably found nothing, he instead directed his attention inwards.

“Any suggestions, my guide of the oh-so-bottomless wisdom?”

The Locksmith answered him in a bored tone. “This is your show. Charon doesn’t work for free, he is quite literally incapable of rowing you across without you paying him for it. It’s the way of the universe, ALL universes. Quid pro quo, everything is balanced, and all debts must be settled.”

“Great,” the mage sighed. He let his eyes roam over the infernal public transit driver, then shifted his gaze to his boat and slowly took in all the details. The boat itself, the little lantern, the small planks to sit on; nothing unexpectant or special stood out. Like so much else in hell it seemed to be satisfied with pragmatic bare minimum. Then the mage’s eyes snapped to the oar still held in one hand of the figure, and one eyebrow rose ever so slightly.

“My payment is service,” the mage finally said, slowly speaking each word with weighted care. “I will be the one to take the lost soul home without surrendering any memories,” he finished.

Somehow the ancient ferryman seemed to freeze even more still than it had been a second earlier, and for just the briefest moment, there was something in its posture that spoke of… pity. Then it spun the oar around in a half circle and grasped it with both hands, holding it forward solemnly.

The mage moved to grasp it, then hesitated with his hand just an inch away from the piece of wood. There was an energy humming in it, almost eagerly. Emanating a spirit of melancholy, silence and… much more. It was like someone had taken every somber song, rainy Sunday, misty graveyard evening and silent mausoleum and distilled it into a pure feeling of burden- then placed it into a simple oar.

He didn’t need to hear anything to know that, if he grasped the piece of wood, he’d be accepting yet another deal of some kind. A contract nowhere near as clear-cut and written in words as the one he’d performed with the Locksmith. But then again, maybe that was somehow more honest than the double-speak and hidden meanings contained within the seemingly fair deal he’d already signed.

But then again, what else could he do? Turn back? Or maybe find another way into Tartarus?

“Tick tock,” a voice spoke in his mind, and he knew it was neither that of the Locksmith or Twilight’s, but his own.

His fingers slid around the handle and he took the oar, holding it out in front of himself and letting its energies surge through his arms and through the meridians spread over his body. It mingled there, somehow, with that of his own, then slightly clashed against Twilight’s. The Locksmith seemed to simply wash over or around, like it didn’t even detect him.

Then it seemed to settle down. All was silent for a moment, then the mage stepped on to the boat while the ferryman moved back and sat down at the bow. The mage remained standing at the stern, and gently pushed with the long slender oar into the black sand, sending them out into the water and the mist’s embrace.

It seemed to be quiet, with only the slight sound of water sloshing as he rowed forward. Yet at the back of his mind there was something nagging at him. This time he didn’t focus on it, instead relaxing his mind and allowing whatever it was to wash over him, passively allowing it to reach his consciousness. Only to realize it was the Locksmith, trying to hide his hysterical, muffled laughter.

A shiver ran down the man’s spine. But it was pointless to try and confront and force an answer from the entity. He’d get nothing worth listening to anyway. So he settled for swallowing the nervous lump that had appeared in his throat, and focused his mind on the journey ahead.

Somehow he wasn’t worried about not finding his way. Ever since he had grabbed the oar he had been overtaken by this undeniable sense of direction. It wasn’t specific or a magical GPS in his head, just an ironclad knowing if he was on the right track or not. So he followed that sensation, taking them through the mist blind to even ghostly eyes, but not to this sense of purpose.

Time went by without any chance of being counted. Drawing them all into a suspended moment of drifting across dark waters in a veil of mist; the rocky cavern ceiling gone, now simply a black nothing. And beneath them instead the water seemed to be less water and instead an oily substance. Strangely enough, for brief glances, a night sky seemed to appear in it. Like they were all floating on the side underneath the lining of a vast ocean, but it lasted only for a glance.

“What is that?” Twilight’s voice eventually asked, her tone annoyed. “I keep seeing stars but they’re different constellations each time.”

“I think we’re in limbo, or some other place between places. We’re crossing universes right now, or dimensions or whatever the hell else creations or universes are made out of,” he answered her mentally, for some reason too afraid to break the silence by speaking aloud.

“Spheres,” the Locksmith answered them absently. Both the mage and Twilight held silent, waiting to see if he was going to add anything else. When he didn't, the mage tried to probe the entity gently, but only got an impression the mysterious spirit was observing something neither of them could perceive, with something akin to… awe.

“When you’re done playing tourist, maybe you could give some more advice,” the mage spoke, not hiding the glee at finally scoring a hit.

“There is nothing superior to being blind of the grandeur all around us right now,” the entity quickly replied in the still absent tone of voice.

Grimacing, the mage held his psychic tongue, then directed his attention to the unicorn. “You’re almost home. I can feel we’re approaching our destination, somehow.”

There was a cascade of emotions following his psychic pulse, shivering with nearly-visible sparks of color that felt almost sacrilegious in their current location. But it didn’t bother the mage as much as it had before.

“Thank you. I don’t know what would have happened without you! I promise if you can come visit I’ll make Applejack save her best cider for you, you can even borrow some books in my personal collection- as long as you promise to not eat when reading an-”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. And don’t mention it, I am getting something out of this deal myself, you know, so it’s not like I’m being a saint here,” he told her with a wave of his mental hand.

“Still, you’re taking an awful risk doing this. I’m not gonna forget that,” she told him, giving a brief glimpse of the purple unicorn’s sparkling eyes. This time filled with hope and joy, not… what was it he had seen again the first time? When he looked into her eyes, he remembered there had been something familiar in them, something that had tipped the scales into him agreeing to this whole escapade.This time the joy and hope didn’t spark the feeling of anything familiar. The anticipation burning in them, the hungry joy at a better future seemed alien now.

Or was it?

He shook his head. It didn’t matter, but he was happy for her. That at least one of them would find their way home and to a better future. He knew his own still faced many struggles, and more than likely he’d get screwed over by the Locksmith’s deal, not to mention whatever this new thing with the ferryman was.

Then, with an unceremonious yelp of surprise, the mage tumbled forward and smacked his head into the middle seat of the boat. The oar clattered into the boat beside him, and he groaned in misery as he grabbed the oar and used it to push himself up. Rubbing at his aching forehead while blinking the tears welling up in his eyes away, he saw they had hit shore.

It wasn’t gentle black sand this time, but firm, sharp cliffs of some metallic brown kind. The mist seemed to part on its own to reveal what the mage would have expected of a hellscape. Sharp cliffs, openly flowing lava streams, fires burning randomly around; yes, this was a true classic.

The mage breathed in the acrid air, smelling burning wood, flesh and more things he didn’t know or cared to know. He nodded towards the ferryman, then stepped beside him to the bow of the ship and lept of the side. While in the air time appeared to freeze for a moment, and the voice of the Locksmith filled his mind with obvious amusement.

“Didn’t you forget something?” it asked, barely holding back his laughter.

Panic surged through the mage’s suspended state, before he asked with naked trepidation. “Like what?”

“You concealed your presence by mimicking the energies of our version of hell. You’re now in another one, not only brimming with the energy of a living, but also an alien being. While also infused with the mantle of a denizen of the underworld. You didn’t sneak through anyone’s backdoor right now, you just crashed through a window with fireworks going off and a surround system playing a rock song… I’d suggest ‘Highway to Hell,’ seems fitting.”

Eyes widening in terror, the mage’s mind screamed at the entity while his body kept falling closer and closer towards the rocky shore in slow motion.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?!”

“I just did,” the entity replied nonchalantly. “But this is your show, remember? And you’re about to raise hell itself and make it quite entertaining. Make it count, you’ve got about thirty percent left of the energy source you’re using.”

And with that final remark, the mage’s feet touched the solid ground of Tartarus and time returned to normal. For a brief instance nothing happened while the man steadied himself, but then -indeed- all hell broke loose.

The earth shivered with a sudden quake of tremendous power, shaking the mage and making him wobble uncertainly and forcing him to use the oar to try and steady himself. Then a psychic scream, like a wailing alarm signal sounded across the hellscape, forcing him to his knees while covering his ears in vain to block it out. Then it ceased and the earth once again became stable.

From out of thin air distortions in the air appeared, like shapeless figures without definition or color. But as they drifted closer a feeling washed over the mage, still trying to regain his sense of balance, and something seemed to pass between himself and the figures. And as it did, they began to fill out- becoming tattered shadows, marked with tendrils of fire running down their arms like veins.

“Oh, fuck no,” the mage breathed and raised the oar as a weapon on pure reflex.

“What are they!?” Twilight’s panicked shriek echoed in his mind, her tone perfectly matching his own state.

“Fucking shades. God fucking damned empty soul-sucking machines draining you of all memories, joy, will and life then leaving you as an empty soulless husk!” his mind shrieked back at her.

“The IRS?” The Locksmith asked in a snicker.

With a battlecry sounding more like a shriek of terror the mage darted towards the largest empty space between the shades he could see, mindlessly flailing with the oar around him just in case any of them had managed to sneak up on him.

It felt almost like he was flying; his legs were pumping so hard beneath him, his heart hammering painfully in a staccato rhythm. The eerie wail of the shades rang out behind him, so close and loud it somehow propelled his legs to move even faster with a new surge of terror.

Barely having time to think the mage leapt over small rivers of lava, the heat underneath so intense it felt like naked flames were licking every inch of his skin. Scrambling over the sharp cliffs he was guided only by the vague sense of purpose that had aided him through the mist.

Through the mist…

The sudden realization that he was still holding on to the oar hit him like a lightning strike, and he was just about to turn his head around to look back towards the shore and see if the ferryman was still present. But the Locksmith's psychic pulse slammed into him hard and ceased all ideas of doing anything but keep running.

“You know the rule of leaving the underworld, don’t you? Never look back,” the entity said gravely.

“And what fucking consequences is stealing the goddamned oar of Charon gonna have for me, then!?” the mage shouted back at him.

“I dunno, no one’s ever done that before, I’m pretty sure,” he said with a mental shrug.

Screaming in wordless rage and terror the mage kept his panicked sprint going, huffing in deep ragged breaths. His lungs felt on fire and already his legs had begun to slow down ever so slightly, becoming leaden and aching. The man realized that the only thing keeping him going was terror and the adrenaline it produced, but that wouldn’t last forever.

“Neither will your energy source; roughly twenty percent left now. You’re burning through it like crazy,” The locksmith added helpfully.

Not having the strength to even scream mentally at the entity the mage just gritted his teeth and tried to force his legs to keep their current pace. He could feel Twilight babbling something in the background of his mind so fast he couldn’t even interpret her psychic pulses as words or anything else other than noise.

But as soon as he had focused his attention even briefly on her there was something like a chime of a bell. A resonance ringing out. The terror he felt was interrupted by a flash of hope when he understood it was her energy finding a familiar tone somewhere close. A portal or gateway of some kind.

His head darted from side to side frantically, scanning the landscape.

“The fuck… is that a centaur?” he asked in surprise, seeing the distant figure standing on top of a cliff observing his terror-stricken flight.

“Tirek, Tirak, Tiramisu or something I think it’s called. Don’t go there, he’ll gobble you up in an instant in your current state,” The Locksmith told him with a yawn.

“I hate you!” the mage spat with a vitriolic rage that bubbled up from the very heart of his being.

“Love you too, sweetie,” the entity answered while making kissing noises.

Then he saw it- as he rounded around one particularly large cliff, cutting his cheek on a sharp edge jutting out like a dagger, just narrowly missing his throat.

There was an elevation not far away, looking nothing like a natural part of the landscape but instead like it was intentionally raised. A pyramid shape, but cuff off in the middle, leaving a smooth floor of dark brown metallic rock. And in the middle he could just about make out two pillars.

“It has to be a gateway, it has to be,” his mind whispered while his legs changed direction all on their own, taking him towards the structure with a new and last burst of energy.

Twilight was screaming something again, and although he couldn’t make out the words he knew the tone was now a good one, a desperate hopeful one cheering him on!

The distance between him and it seemed to pass in a mere blink, until he flew up the pyramid side and threw himself towards one of the pillars. He slammed his hand upon it hard, and instantly he felt the same chiming of recognition as before, as the pillar began to him with a resonance not connecting with him, but Twilight’s presence inside him.

“What now?” Twilight’s spirit asked, her thoughts shaping themselves into words once again, a sudden clarity washing over her as soon as the familiar energy was linked.

“GO, GO, GO!” he urged her, forcing himself not to glance back. Instead trying to focus himself, forcing his perception of time to slow down so they could speak mentally much faster than it passed around them.

“What about you?!” she insisted.

“I’ll survive,” he assured her, and he well knew his own doubts about it were felt clearly within their psychic exchange.

“Aaaaactually,” The locksmith interjected. “You’re already dead, and right now you’ve barely got a trickle of energy left in you.”

Time didn’t just seem to slow but completely freeze as the meaning of the entity’s words sank into him. Then he could feel all hope draining out of him. He knew there had been a catch somewhere- he’d gambled on being able to figure out or work around it somehow, and now he had lost everything.

“What?” the mage asked in a hollow voice, Twilight’s own presence dumbstruck and silent.

“Come on, you didn’t actually think a living, breathing person could walk into hell? It’s not even a physical dimension. The unicorn was bound to your body and life, sure, that’s why I dissolved it and harvested all the juicy drops of life juju out of you and used it as the travel budget for this little trip. It’s hell, just being here sucks life out of you, you’ve been trickling down in the percentage since the first minute you appeared.”

“Our contract sai-”

“I’ve broken nothing. You swore to surrender your life to me, and you did, and I used it well, allowed you to use it well. Our contract stands. There was plenty enough to get here and back if you’d been smarter about it, but now there’s just a few drops left in the tank. And your dear unicorn does need some help for the last stretch of her journey. You got just enough for that.”

The mage wanted to scream, laugh, cry and beat his face until it was mush. And he knew he wanted to bash the Locksmith’s face in until his scheming smile was ruined when his own teeth were buried in his skull.

But he couldn’t. He’d been played. The Locksmith had wanted the unicorn’s return for whatever reasons, and he’d used and would now discard the wayward mage like a broken tool… or a boring toy.

The mage felt Twilight’s presence within him, and his ghostly eyes could see her clearly there. Her eyes were large and brimming with so many things; Terror, hope, guilt, anguish. It was like every memory of who she was, but also could become shone out through brilliant gems.

And there it was again. That twinge of something familiar, as he looked into those eyes.

So he smiled at her, and felt something spark in his own eyes for a moment. Then something clicked into place as he sent his spirit and mind into the pillar, allowing his energy to merge into it and charge the portal.

It answered immediately, and with a surge of light and gentle heat the spirit of an entire world appeared between the two pillars. It hung suspended there, drawing from his own life force to keep itself open. And with his last whisper of will the mage flung himself into it, feeling the presence of the Locksmith leaving him as he did.

The mage wanted to say some witty last fuck you to the entity, but didn’t bother. He couldn’t find the words or the will for it, so he didn’t bother looking back. Didn’t bother clinging to his old life and old self.

His gaze was filled with colors and pleasant rivers of energy drawing him in. And those rivers turned into tendrils, reaching inside and embracing Twilight like an old friend.

In an instant he knew Twilight was important, not just for a few but for the entire world at large he had labored to return her to. A role to play, a destiny to fulfill beyond anything easily replaced.

There had been a hole left from her absence, and now that she had been returned it sang with joy. A balance had been corrected. And now it was brimming with new energy as uncountable lines of lives and destinies were woven together once again in the pattern intended.

From a far distant place, a voice reached the mage’s ears as the Locksmith spoke. “Quid pro quo, it’s the way of all universes; a little sumthang for a little sumthang.”

And so, with the laughter of a god ringing in his ears the mage felt new life surging into him, repaying a debt. A life for a life. A destiny for a destiny. And with it an entire new world opened up and embraced him; and he fell into it, face first.

Right into the ground.

Chapter 4: Ab ovo

It began with a soft breeze, gently flowing over tender skin in a caress that tickled the man laying on the ground. The features on his face were familiar, old, but not worn. There was a hint of something soft and unblemished in the skin, the set of the muscles around the jaw and eyes; all spoke of something innocent and fresh.

A blanket of comfortable warmth blanketed the figure from the sun above, shining down from a bright blue sky with only a few scatterings of fluffy white clouds. A pair of eyes slowly opened to take in the sight, blinking rapidly from the sudden strike of light before holding up an arm to shade his face. With a yawn he stretched his body languidly,

He sat up and looked around himself with a gaze still on foot in the dream lands, observing the wide expanses of rolling idyllic hills and distant fairy tale-esque woods. Then his brows furrowed, ever so slightly. And as the blanket of sleep and dreaming gradually lifted from him, they kept furrowing deeper and deeper… until his eyes went wide, and his jaw fell open.

"Oh, no…" he whimpered, making himself wince a moment later from how pathetic it had sounded.

He rubbed at his eyes and just barely managed to suppress the impulse to pinch himself; it would have been too cliché. And as memories of the last days' events flooded back into his mind his hands rose up to cradle his face while he shook his head in denial.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," he whispered to himself as he tried to shake off this new reality like it was just a bad dream.

Annoyingly, a distant bird's cheerful singing refused to give him such a luxury. Dragging him back to the solid reality with its bright colors and picturesque landscape. With a pained groan his mind finally admitted defeat and he fell back with his back to the ground, staring up at the sky with an empty and hopeless expression.

“So, are we done with the drama yet?” a voice cut through his agonizing, and the man closed his eyes with a painful wince when he recognized it.

“It wasn't enough you got me stranded in fucking candy land, now you gotta follow me here to twist the knife?” the man answered without opening his eyes, voice hollow and drained of all emotions.

“What's the matter, had a rough night out on the town? Did someone make some trouble for the hell police and steal a poor old man's oar? You know, he's had that thing for millennia... maybe he'll need to start using his hands now. Doesn't sound like his job got any easier,” the voice of the god cheerfully chimed in.

“So give it back, then,” the man snapped and sat up, boring his angry gaze into the shirtless familiar figure standing over him a few feet away. His usual grin plastered over his face.

“Do you see a UPS sign on my juicy pecs? No, I didn't think so. You were the one who so cleverly stole it, it's your shit to handle now. Besides, mythical artifacts like that... they change, when things around them change. You stealing that thing is the kind of act belonging in a legend, and I doubt old Charon even could take it back now. However you got it, it's yours now; bound through the kind of events that mean a lot more than you ever planned for.”

The man sighed and stared at the god hopelessly. “Fine, add it to my list of debts, then. So what now? You leave me here laughing, content with whatever fucked-up game you decided to play because you were bored or something and thought it clever?”

Something vicious and cold flashes for the briefest of instances in the god's eyes, but the grin never left his face. There was something threatening in the way he leaned forward and spoke softly to the man sitting on the ground.

“You're the one who's been playing fucked-up games for the last few years, now, little mage-ling. Thinking yourself clever enough to outwit the rules and what... con your way into the wisdom and power souls far greater than yours clawed, carved and earned their way into?”

Every softly-spoken word sunk into the man like heavy stones, piercing whatever flimsy surface tension protected his mind and filling him with their terrible weight of truth.

“You're a little trickster wannabe, so it's time now your cleverness is put to the test. You want to go home? Resume the true destiny you've been trying to shortcut for so long? You can, it was part of our deal after all, but you'll only find it and get out of this world if you can answer this question: 'What does it mean to be a trickster?'”

The man on the ground stared up at him and blinked, dumbfounded. “I... what?”

With a sigh, the god produced an apple from the air and bit into it, looking at the man with undisguised disappointment as he chewed loudly and slowly. “You tried to be clever and play games of wit with magic and eternity itself, you tried to walk the road of a trickster by your own choosing. You think it was a coincidence I was the one who appeared in the void to collect you? Please, I know you're what we in the business call a 'fixer upper', but try not to embarrass yourself too much.”

The god let the words flow out in mumbled sentences while he continued to chew, apple juice flying out in sporadic sprays as he spoke.

“So, by your own choosing the lessons are shaped. Now go out into this pastel-colored world and learn the answer to the question, 'what does it mean to be a trickster?' Do that, and I promise you you'll have your way home open, and more than that, the way to all you've craved for so long. Without restriction, and perhaps even without an end.”

The man's heart drummed a wary rhythm against his ribs as he listened. Maybe it was just another trick, to keep some sadistic game going purely out of entertainment. But then again, the god has signed a contract with very clear wording- he couldn't break that. So maybe, just maybe, he was speaking some version of the truth.

A smile played on the god's lips like he knew the punchline to a joke the man was yet to understand. No doubt reading his thoughts as soon as they appeared within his mind.

“So... what are the terms of this deal, then? Find the answer to the question you posed and I'm free to go home?” the man asked carefully with narrowed eyes.

“Nah, I said if you manage to find it you'll get all you need. You played a game you didn't grasp, thinking yourself clever. Now it's time for you to either grasp it, or... well, I have no doubt you'll manage to get yourself into enough trouble to make it into something unpleasant. Even when I managed to get you sent here in this training wheels of a world.”

Unease settled like a cold coiled serpent in the man's gut, squeezing hard. “Fine, I'm a mage. I get the whole 'cryptic hints' part, I've done it myself several times to others. But do I at least get a direction or whatever to set me on the right path? It's a whole fucking world. I'm gonna guess it's pretty big,” the man objected while motioning with his arms to the landscape around him.

The god rolled his eyes and tossed the half eaten apple over his shoulder. It disappeared mid-air a second later.

“I've been dropping you so many helpful hints already, you're just too dense and I need to deliver them into your brain with a hammer. Besides, you've been given enough gifts as it is. Didn't you notice your body?”

The man blinked, then looked down at himself. At first it seemed nothing had changed, then he looked closer and started blinking rapidly. His pale skin was somehow... fresh. Like it had a slight sheen over it, and as he traced his fingers across his arms it felt far softer than he could ever remember it being.

“What the fuck,” he breathed.

“You really need to start watching your language here. This is a PG-13 kind of world... at least on the surface. But you didn't forget you quite literally died, did you? The world here is kind of a softie, though, and since you helped put an important piece of it back where it belongs, it decided to help you out. It shaped a new body for you, straight out of the essence of the world itself. A copy of your old self, with some minor changes since it created you out of your spiritual imprint rather than your parents doing the rowdy rumba.”

The man felt his eyes widen as he focused on his senses and the difference was immediate. He'd just not noticed it earlier while he was busy bemoaning his fate. His eyesight seemed clearer, and he could almost taste the air around him with various smells and scents filling it. The grass against his skin felt immediate and powerful, like every nerve in his body was on overdrive and feeding him impulses far beyond what he was used to.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You can find a mirror to jerk off to later. Point is you already got all you need, more than enough, actually; I think you just got two or three extra decades added to your lifespan, so you got plenty of time.”

The mage stopped his hands as they roamed around his body to feel out the differences, and glared up at the god. “So what, are we done now and I just go on my way?”

"So quick to anger. So slow to comprehend. A foal stumbling in the dark, so to speak, if we're keeping in the theme of this new world you get to call home for a while. But, you're right. New world, new body, new destiny, I guess you need a new name... "

The god walked over to him and leaned forward until his face was just a few inches away from the mage, and he smiled wickedly. “I think...,” he glanced over at the oar laying at the man's side, “Karon, seems fitting. In memory of the ferryman carrying lost souls back home to where they belong.”

“You're joking, right?” Karon asked, his voice straddling the border between disbelief and disgust.

The god blinked down at him, then rolled his eyes and mumbled to himself. “Even when using a hammer... just too damned dense.” He then proceeded to straighten his back and his usual smile returned. “Time for me to go,” he said and turned his back to the mage and began walking away, his body becoming more and more transparent and ethereal with each step.

“Hey, wait! I still want to as-” the mage called out and hastily rushed to his feet.

But he was too slow. With a laugh like the shattering of glass filling the air the god vanished, leaving behind only the echo of his amusement.

Karon stood glaring at the spot where the trickster god had stood. Then shrugged his shoulders and glanced around himself. His jaw became set as he picked a seemingly random direction and began his journey in this new world and its vibrant lands. His every step a silent vow to unravel the mystery the god had been driving him towards and reclaim his destiny.

It would have been more impressive if he wasn't barefoot and naked.

***************************************************

Karon trudged through the lush meadows of Equestria, the sweet scent of flowers doing little to lighten his mood. Despite the picturesque scenery, a sense of foreboding hung over him, as if the very air was laced with whispers of deceit.

After all, if everything was as idyllic and innocent as it appeared he doubted this world would have made a fitting setting for whatever lesson or trials the annoying god had set him towards.

He scrutinized his hands, turning them over to reveal the fresh sheen of his skin. It was an uncomfortable reminder of his altered state—like waking up in someone else's body, but with your own scars. Familiar yet alien at the same time, and a reminder that everything had changed. Not a part of his life remained the meddling god hadn't dug his claws into and rearranged for his own unknown ends.

It's a strange thing, when you feel like a stranger in your own body. The thought was invasive and persistent, that his own flash was no longer a safe harbor.

But then again, according to the god it wasn't his doing- it had been the world whose surface he was currently stomping across with a mean look on his face. And if that was true, then it was less likely there was some kind of hidden programming hidden in him now. However, that might have been a lie too. Maybe the god had built into a kill switch in this new body he could activate with a flicker of will.

Karon snorted. If the god had wanted him dead, he wouldn't need such convoluted means to achieve it. Besides...

He had felt the world reach out for him when he crossed the ethereal borders between hell and... Equestria was it? Or was that the name of the kingdom, not the world?

Whatever the case might be, the more he considered it the more convinced he became that the god hadn't been the only fingers reaching into and tinkering with his mind and body. But Equestria's touch had been noticeably more tender.

“Cool, haven't gotten laid in like two years and my first piece of action is a planet fingering me gently,” he muttered to himself.

Within his own mind there was only silence. A hollowed out feeling resided back in the spot Twilight's presence had been. Even though it had been only a few days she had grown to feel like a part of him, an annoying loud part that wouldn't shut up, but a part all the same.

He had spent so long focused obsessively and singularly, it had been uncomfortable at first entertaining another voice, a different perspective- at first. But it had become valuable, even pleasant having something... else, than just his normal single minded devotion and self.

“Yeah well, shit happens,” he muttered to himself darkly again, his tone in stark contrast to the cheerful singing of the birds from a nearby patch of woods.

He glared over at the source of the noise, then spotted a glimmer through the trees and headed towards it. Passing into the shade beneath the boughs of the large trees, until he found the source of the glittering light- a freshwater river.

The trickling sound of the water awakened a thirst in him he hadn't been aware of before, and he quickly knelt down before the edge and cupped his hands to collect some of it. Bringing it up to his lips and taking a careful sip at first.

If there was anything wrong with it he couldn't smell or taste it. Not that he would know what to even look for in such a case, but at least he had made the effort. He drank deeply and greedily of the freshwater, bringing his hands up and down several times with the cupped water. Until he finally felt a cool and satisfied feeling spreading throughout his body, and he let his arms feel down into the river current while gently stroking them back and forth.

Then he noticed something in the reflection. It was a bit harder to tell with the river current creating smell ripples across the surface, but when he looked down at himself he could see his eyes clearly on his face. Because it wasn't his eyes anymore. His eyes had been gray, but the eyes looking back at him now were a bright amber, almost glowing with orange light as it caught the midday sun's light.

“Well, fuck,” he whispered, reaching up with a wet finger to gently prod the edge of his eye. It was indeed real; he was forced to admit to himself after a few seconds of poking the gelatinous sphere, and he let his hand fall down into his lap.

"Great," he muttered to himself. "He turned me into a traffic light stuck right in the middle between go and stop." He froze for a moment after he words reached his own ears- there had been something far too accurate and unnerving about that comment.

“Well then, maybe you should stop talking to yourself,” he continued muttering out loud, rising up from the ground and brushing off his knees.

He looked around himself. The forest was similar to the ones of his own world, just... brighter, more vibrant and almost too clean and pretty. Like someone had decided to open photoshop and edited reality with it, getting rid of all the rough edges. There were patches of flowers spread out across the forest floor, catching the sunlight wherever the trees hadn't reached out to obscure it.

Twilight Sparkle, the only familiar person in this kaleidoscope vomit of cheer, was out there somewhere. Whatever else he needed to do that was where it would begin.

Thinking back to the brief stories she'd told him about her own life, he remembered her village, Ponyvillage or Ponyvale or whatever it had been, was supposed to be set somewhere like this. Since he'd gotten transported here together with her soul he couldn't be too far off from wherever she was.

Feeling lighter in his step Karon began his journey again. The sun gradually passed over the sky as the day lengthened as he continued ahead deeper into the forest. He kept a watchful eye at the sky to make sure he wasn't walking in circles and kept true towards north.

Hours went by with little happening, except him managing to spot a few curious forest critters poking their heads out to watch him pass by. Until the forest suddenly changed, the grand trees and wild placing of them broke off into neat lines, and all the trees became... apple trees?

Karon stopped and looked to his left and right, noticing a clear division between the forest behind him and the orchard he'd apparently strayed into. His eyes were drawn up towards the apple trees, and he saw the red fruit dangling in a tantalizing sway from the gentle breeze brushing across the crowns.

His stomach announced its emptiness loudly with a growl, and his mouth began watering as impressions of sweet fruit flesh and juice danced in his mind.

“Damn that fucking god,” he growled even louder than his stomach, thinking back to all the times he'd conjured an apple and eaten it. Had the damned entity installed some new craving for apples into him?

“No, no I'm just hungry,” he thought to himself with a sigh as he stared up at the apples.

“So what are you waiting for?” A voice whispered in his mind, drifting up from the far deeps of his unconscious library. He recognized it as his own.

Looking around himself he spotted a branch that had fallen off, and he walked over to grab it. Stepping back and squinting up at the nearest tree, he took careful aim then threw it up towards the nearest cluster of apples with a huff.

The branch struck the trees, sending a scattering of leaves and half a dozen apples falling down in a clutter, bouncing and rolling across the ground. With a grin he walked around collecting his prize, biting into the first one with a satisfied sigh.

He barely had time to devour the first before he had begun on the second, juice trickling down his chin with each satisfying crunch of the soft apples.

Within minutes all that was left was a pile of discarded cores at his feet while he licked the juice of his fingers. Then he turned his eyes up towards the tree once again and narrowed his eyes, the amber color flashing greedily with a hungry flame.

Then his head snapped to his left as he heard someone call out something in a lilting melody, the words almost sounding like singing, with a.... southern country accent?

Karon saw how a waist high pony came charging towards him at full speed. Orange in color and with a blonde mane underneath a...

“Is that a goddamned cowboy hat?” His own voice asked in dry disbelief at the sight.

His eyes confirmed that indeed, it was. But unlike Twilight, this particular pony didn't appear to have a horn on her skull, so a different kind of pony then. As she drew nearer Karon spotted a tattoo of some kind on her flank, in the shape of three bright apples.

Then he blinked, and he glanced down at his feet to what was left of his lunch, and he remembered that he was standing in an orchard... that someone probably owned. And there was a very angry-looking pony running full speed at him shouting, who happened to have a bunch of apples tattooed on herself.

“Shit, maybe that fucking god was right, maybe I am dense,” his inner voice had to admit. And with that thought, he quickly reached down to grab his oar then turned around and started running in the opposite direction of the screaming pony as fast as he could.

*******************************************

Applejack watched as the strange creature ran away, its two legs stumbling and wobbling along with its frantic pumping. She had just barely caught it while it was preparing to snatch another pile of their famous apples. With a frustrated snort she came to a halt next to the tree the creature had been pillaging, noting with a grimace almost half of all the juiciest apples had been devoured cleanly.

“Damned... hairless monkey,” she complained, and adjusted the hat on her head. Then frowned, as she remembered the direction the creature had taken off in. North-east, straight towards Ponyville.

“Tarnation,” she huffed and set off into a gallop again, hoping she could reach the village by the road before the strange creature managed to get there through the woods. Who knows what mischief it might cause otherwise.

*******************************************

Karon ran as fast as he could, which admittedly wasn't particularly fast at all. The uneven forest floor kept him stumbling his way forward, with twisting roots and small rocks seemingly appearing out of thin air to harass his bare soles every time they struck the ground. Swearing under his breath at ever other step he continued through the forest.

“Shit, that little pony looked really angry. Do they take apple theft seriously in this world? They're horses, maybe sugar cubes and apples are really sacred to them or something... am I a wanted criminal now?”

“Grand theft apple, now that is something to put on your criminal resume. Everyone in prison is gonna end up as our bitch at this rate,” A dry sardonic voice said, drifting up from the depths of his subconscious.

“Could be worse. I could just be some disembodied voice backseat driving,” Karon answered while narrowly dodging a low hanging branch.

“You are, since I am you. What's next, a 'yo mama' joke directed at us?”

His breath coming out harder and harder in ragged wheezes, Karon didn't deign to reply, only focusing on keeping the burning in his legs under control. He pushed himself to keep going, trying to put as much distance between himself and the orchard as possible.

Maybe the pony would be satisfied with just chasing him away. Or maybe she was already busy gathering a mob with pitchforks and torches. Whatever the case it would be better the further away he was from his petty crime scene.

Ahead of him he saw a break in the tree line, with small flashes of what looked like buildings visible between the trees. He slowed down at the sight and let the oar still clutched in his hand fall to the ground with a soft thud. Putting his hands down on his knees and taking deep greedy gulps of air. He couldn't even remember how long it had been since he had exerted himself like that.

“Back in hell. Did you already forget that little incident?” The voice commented dryly.

Karon didn't reply, only squinting his eyes shut with a shudder as memories of his journey through the infernal dimension rushed back to him. The oar right next to him was more than enough of a reminder. But unlike the memories the oar didn't instill him with dread; there was an energy within it for sure, but it seemed calm and neutral in its nature, not the savage hunger he had felt around himself in hell- almost like it was waiting for something patiently.

Shaking off the thought Karon glanced through the tree line, and could clearly see what looked like a village there. Or maybe a hamlet was a better fitting description. He picked up the oar and slowly began making his way forward until he stood at the very edge of the forest, hiding behind one tree trunk while looking out from the side.

Picturesque might be the best way to describe the place. Charming little cottage houses, all of them with their own design and quirks while retaining the same country aesthetic. Nothing mass produced as far as the eye could see. Just a small town that seemed to be sprung out of the architectural wet dreams of a Disney movie.

It was mostly quiet. He could hear in the far distance some shouting, but it wasn't a panicked or aggressive kind- just some locals calling out something to one another loudly. All else was merely the sound of the breeze and birds singing.

“Fuck no. This is too idyllic. This is a Lovecraftian horror setting, mark my words. They're all happy cultists and as soon as night falls we're gonna get sacrificed to the deep ones.”

“Ahh, that explains it, you're the pussy section of my brain. No wonder you've been so silent until now.”

“No, if I'm any specific piece of our mind I'm the smart and wise one- you know, the one you've been ignoring so far for most of your life.”

“I seem to have managed quite fine considering all the challenges faced with my intelligence and wisdom.”

“And yet, we ended up here.”

Karon didn't answer. He scowled then stepped out from behind the tree. Using the oar as a walking stick he walked straight ahead into the town. Doing his best to keep his movements slow and relaxed, giving no sign of hostility.

“So, what's the odds we can make ourselves understood with the ponies here, or them understanding us?”

“Close to zero. But if we get one to relax we might be able to telepathically give at least an impression of Twilight and then just point to see if they can direct us towards her.”

“Well, that assumes the pitchfork and torches scenario is out of the picture.”

“Life's a gamble.”

With that encouraging though Karon continued deeper into the village. His arrival didn't go unnoticed; townsfolk froze mid-trot, their eyes widened in collective alarm. A few foals scurried behind their guardians, peeking out with a mix of fear and fascination. Karon tried to smile at them peacefully, then waved awkwardly.

“Am I supposed to make the fucking Star Trek sign now and say 'I come in peace' or whatever else?”

“Just smile and wave dammit! Smile harder! Wave happier!”

With no better advice appearing in his mind Karon started waving frantically around himself like he was on a parade. His grin stretched painfully from ear to ear, and he was pretty sure the strain was making one of his eyes twitch nervously.

A mare with a dark mane like cotton and violin tattooed on her flank blinked at him, her mouth agape. He chuckled dryly, then tried to make soft cooing noises without meaning other than making himself seem harmless; his voice barely audible under the cloak of unease that hung over the crowd.

“I don't think this is working!”

“Never underestimate the tactical value of acting like you're on crack. Keep going!” The voice insisted. Karon's gait slowed as a tickle of awareness creeped up his spine. He turned, catching the flit of teal from behind a cotton candy cart — a unicorn with eyes wide as saucers and a mane that looked like it had been combed with an eggbeater. He taught he caught the image of a golden lyre tattooed on her flank. The creature was doing a terrible job at nonchalance, her horn peeking out as she spied on him with what appeared to be a blend of terror and fascination.

"Great," Karon muttered under his breath. "Got myself a stalker now too."

“Or a circus freak enthusiast.” The voice added gleefully.

He resumed his march through Ponyville, each hoof-fall of the townsfolk around him like a drumbeat in a parade he never wanted to lead. Their high pitched whispers were unintelligible, but their glances spoke volumes — curiosity laced with the sharp edge of suspicion.

At last, the library came into view, hollowed out of a grand oak. He instantly recognized it from the glimpses into Twilight's memories. The sight would've been charming if not for Karon's mounting frustration. He approached the door, noting the intricate carvings that seemed to dance in the sunlight. Not bothering to knock, he pushed it open and stepped inside. Leaving behind the curious crowd outside.

******************************************

Rainbow Dash casually drifted through the air in circles inside the little book filled room, her face one of utter boredom.

Below her Rarity stood next to the bed, her hoof slowly stroking a wet towel over the forehead of Twilight's unconscious body. The white unicorn had a serene and patient expression on her face, only wavering slightly when Dash let out a loud groan of frustration.

“Do you want to take over, perhaps?” Rarity asked out loud without taking her eyes off Twilight.

“No, what I want is for them to finally figure out what's wrong with her! It's been almost three weeks now, they better come up with something soon.” The pegasi responded.

“They're doing everything they can. The princesses are just as worried as we are about her, I'm sure they'll find a solution as soon as possible,” Rarity reassured her, but the tone felt forced even to her own ears.

Dash didn't reply at first, letting the unsaid implications hang in the air for a moment. Then she let out a frustrated groan. “I just hate waiting and not being able to do anything,” she said and raised her hoof, ready to start boxing with an invisible opponent.

Rarity replied with a tinge of irritation creeping into her own voice. “Yes, so you've repeatedly told me at least once an hour for the last three weeks.”

Dash opened her mouth to give a response, her eyes alight with a fire now that she finally had something to engage with. But stopped when she heard the sound of the entrance door opening from below.

She raised an eyebrow and looked down at Rarity slightly puzzled. “Wasn't Fluttershy supposed to take over at sunset? It's not even midday yet.”

Rarity frowned slightly, then quickly removed the unseemly wrinkle from her forehead and replied calmly. “Maybe she decided to come early. Or it's just someone looking for a book; it is a library after all.”

Rainbow Dash snorted. “When was the last time any pony ever came here to borrow a book? They're all afraid Twilight will shout their ears off if they return it with a coffee stain or something.”

Both the ponies glanced over to the bed sadly at the same time, before a wistful smile graced their lips. Rarity was the first to break the silence.

“Let's go down and see who it is. Maybe it's finally someone with good news.”

******************************************

Karon walked inside and looked around. Thankfully the ceiling was generously high, for a pony, that is. Which meant there was still room for him to stand up straight with still several feet of empty air left above him. Then he remembered there were supposed to be flying ponies in this world too, so maybe their architecture came with flight traffic in mind inside as well.

Around the spacious room shelves upon shelves stood filled with books. With several piles of them placed on the floor when there wasn't enough space on the shelves. Karon looked around with a wry smile.

“Looks familiar. No wonder we managed to join our minds for so long without descending into collective insanity.”

A sound broke his musings, and he looked up towards the stairs lined against one of the walls, and saw two ponies appearing through a door at the top. One white with a purple mane and a little horn sticking out from, the second a light blue color with a mane that looked like a candy factory had vomited all over it; more than that, she also had wings.

The sight sparked some semblance of a memory in his mind, and he quickly scoured it for the names of the two he knew Twilight had mentioned to him more than once.

“Dammit, I got nothing.”

“Don't look at me, I barely paid attention to her endless babble.”

“Uhhh, shutter... stuff. Fluffy... pie. For fucks sa- Daring Dasher!” he exclaimed, pointing towards the ponies who observed him with growing alarm written on their faces.

Karon let his arm slowly fall down and he sighed, looking up at the duo. “You don't understand a single word I'm saying, yeah?” he asked, clinging to one last bit of hope.

They both stared down at him, then the purple maned one opened her mouth and a melodic chain of words flowed out in a soft and precise voice. And as expected, he couldn't understand even one of them.

He pointed up at them, then all around the library. "Twilight," he said, the name a plea and a command wrapped into one. "Where is she?"

They just blinked at him. Not a single syllable had sparked recognition in their eyes, and the light blue one had floated up into the air with a flutter of her wings, eyeing him with suspicion... and what looked like anticipation. Karon sighed once again, then threw his hands up in the air.

“Fuck it, let's go.”

He began walking towards the stairs, and barely had he taken a second step before the light blue pegasi had swooped down and hovered right in front of him. She spoke something quickly and harshly, her voice kind of hoarse and not as elegantly flowing as the purple one's had been. She held out a hoof in front of her in the universal sign to stop, something akin to a challenge gleaming in her eyes.

“Fucking... bitch. Are we getting called out by a god damned pastel pony?!”

Karon's eyes widened and he blinked rapidly, staring at the little creature hovering right in front of his face, her hoof held mere inches from his chest. And he could feel all the anger, the fear and pure injustice of the last few days welling up inside him. And he leaned forward, feeling her hoof push against his chest as he stopped his face only when he could feel the pony's breath on his face.

“Fuck you, you Nickelodeon reject,” he growled.

She didn't understand the words, but the intent was clear and he saw her eyes narrow in response. The sound of her wings increasing into a rapid thrumming like she was charging herself up.

"Move," he growled, more to himself than to the ponies. And with a burst of determination, he sidestepped Dash's outstretched hoof and bolted for the stairs, leaving the pony in a flurry of confusion and color.

She recovered in an instant. Turning into a rainbow-colored blur that zoomed to the stairs to block his path. With a smug grin she held out her hoof again, eyes twinkling with the mirth of superiority, and Karon felt something in his chest just break loose in response.

He ran forward and grabbed the outstretched hoof, bathing in the fraction of a second he got to see her surprised expression as he did so, before he spun around in a circle and let her go.

With a yelp she flew through the air and slammed into one of the bookcases with a loud crash. Dozens upon dozens of books tumbling out of the shelf and falling down on her, eliciting a very clear “ouch,” with each one that hit her head.

Karon allowed himself a grin before he turned and hurried up the stairs, seeing the white unicorn hesitate as he came charging. Then at the last second a look of determination came over her and her horn started glowing.

The instant it did he could feel a humming spread throughout his body, a slight psychic pressure pushing down on his mind; he realized she was trying to lift him up into the air.

The magic in this world was unfamiliar to him. He didn't know the power sources, the leylines, the way dimensions overlapped or interacted with one another- and he had absolutely no connection to draw from regardless of what they were. But if there was one thing he still possessed it was his own mind, his own energy, and this unicorn had just blatantly tried to take charge of it with pure willpower.

“Hell no,” Karon growled, creating his own psychic bubble and pushing harder against her.

Her eyes widened when she felt his resistance and realized he could use magic as well. And her efforts increased tenfold at that instance. But in the end it wasn't enough, he was too alien for her to wrap her mind around, too strange to the usual energies her inherent magical skills were accustomed too. And her psychic grip slipped after a few seconds.

A look of fear appeared on her face when she lost control and Karon came running towards her, or rather, the door behind her. But before he reached it, a sharp burst of pain appeared on the side of his head, and his vision suddenly swam with an unfocused blur as he stumbled and stopped.

“What the...” he muttered and reached up to rub at the center of the pain gingerly, then looked down at his feet to see what had struck him.

It was a book. Still dazed, he looked over to the floor to see Rainbow Dash sitting where she had crashed, surrounded by a pile of books and a fierce expression on her face. Then she grabbed one more of the heavy tomes and flung it at him with a yell.

He managed to dodge it in time, turning his head towards the white unicorn and the door promising safety just a few steps ahead. Then his eyes met with the unicorn's, and he saw the calculations run through her head.

She knew there was something odd about him that wouldn't let her take him directly with magic. But then her eyes snapped to the floor where the book that had struck him a moment earlier lay, and slowly her gaze turned up towards the huge shelf lined with hundreds of books right next to Karon. He followed her gaze and felt his stomach drop.

“Woman, don't you even th-”

Then the entire shelf was enveloped in a light as her horn shone, and a torrent of tomes fell down on him in a literary waterfall.

With an all too feminine-sounding whimper, he felt himself fall down the stairs together with hundreds of books bouncing around him in a chaos of ink and paper. He landed on the floor with an ear-piercing clatter, and the books bounced out across the entire library floor.

The first thing he heard once silence fell and all went still was the light blue unicorn giggling. And with a groan he pushed himself up the floor and stood on wobbly legs. He glared over at the pegasi, then slowly reached down to grab one book in each hand.

“If it's war you want,” he began, smacking the two books together in a challenge. “It's war you'll get,” he whispered.

The door to the library was suddenly flung open with a loud bang, and Karon's eyes snapped over to see the same cowboy hat wearing pony who had chased him out of the orchard rushing in. She came to a screeching halt as soon as she took in the scene in front of her. Then her eyes fell on Karon and widened in recognition. She spoke something and straightened her hat in a gesture she somehow managed to make threatening.

“You,” Karon replied the same, pretty sure he knew exactly what she had meant.

They both stared down one another, the tension building in the silence as both waited for the other to make the first move. Then Karon shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, before yelling out a battle cry that came straight from the heart, before hefting both books and preparing for combat.

“Your apples were mediocre anyway!”

Author's Note

All glory to Setokaiva who has undertaken the thankless and all too demanding task of being my editor.

I barely have time to write once a week now so hence the slow updates. And I can feel my creative gears grinding a lot slower these days because of it. Any feedback is appreciated to let me know how the story is doing, especially from the old timers who still has some vague memory and comparison with the old story and how my writing has developed/degraded.