From quasi-dead to worse

You know what's great about gaining the ability to warp into a being of pure, raw magical energy? When you 'die', you literally become a part of reality in a sense. When I was walking and talking I was a force of nature, literally, and now that I'm dead I'm a part of nature in its entirety. Swirling masses of power ebbing and flowing, illuminating spirits travelling from one existence to another, granting my life force to the world and universe to help live flourish and seeing hope and a future blossom...I don't wanna sound narcissistic, but this must be how the Goddess and Gods felt when they made everything; at least until people starting fucking up. Along with the gift of existing in a state of bliss, I was able to grant the few people I could envision between dreams back in the world of the living with an inkling of my former power; I would most likely never know what they'd done with my powers but I'd always only given enough to do serious good and very little evil. I'm all powerful not stupid. The pain of dying was horrendous but being stuck in the mortal world was torture in of itself compared to the wonders of magical nirvana. Time has no meaning to me anymore, it feels like it's been days, weeks, years, eons and seconds since I arrived and I loved every moment of it. It's strange being conscious of your demise and eternal fate, I should be bored by now...But nope, being a needle and thread to the tears to the fabric of reality is immeasurably pleasurable in every sense of the word...Yup, death is pretty-

"Oh fabled and lost Conjurer..."

What? Who the hell?

"Hear me wise and ageless sage..."

Is...Someone else like me dead too?"

"Return from your primordial slumber, father of knowledge!"

Return from...Oh fuck no!

"Rise old lord of lore and powers yore! Return to the mortal realm, so that you might offer guidance and wisdom to your children!"

I don't have children and I don't want to go back there! W-Wait...What's happening to me?!

"vindicate the folly of the rulers!"

No! Stop! Don't rip me from this wonderland! Why the fuck am I powerless to stop this cunt?!

"Shepard the blind and faithful alike!"

Fuck the blind and faithful, I gave up on you lot long ago!

"Return to us, Lord Hierophant, anew!"

And, with an unheard 'pop', the long dead former Human was back in the world of the living.

To an onlooker, the moonlit coven of cloaked cultists standing amidst the crumbling stone of a long dormant citadel praying to a weathered and colourless coffin covered in forgotten script would seem...Suspect to say the least; and the melodic chanting, bowl of incense burning azure, scrolls of bloody writing and tattered book wrapped in a stained and torn robe made it all the more daunting. The room they'd turned into a shrine and altar no longer served a purpose. Rows of broken stone shelves housed burnt and torn tomes, the throne crouching behind the coffin obscured by centuries of weeds and wildflowers and the holes in the stone roof allowed the silver rays of moonlight to shine upon the hundreds of mages. Some were Equestrian, some weren't, but they all had one thing in common: They all worshiped the same fallen deity, the same deity they sought to bring back from the dead.

"Return to us, Lord Hierophant, anew!" Cried out an aging, thundering voice over the somber singing of his assembly. And, with a tap of his steel staff against the stone floor, they all ceased their singing. The obscured, hopeful crowd watched their crier as he hopped onto his hooves and turned to face his people, his glowing eyes being greeted by two hundred sets of similar ones. As he began to pull out a thick, timeless book of scripture the tomb behind him began to vibrate slightly. All watched as the empty coffin bearing the likeness of their god shined a soft, silver light between the crack of the lid and case; only to explode into a rainbow of magical hues that danced around the chamber. Along with the dazzling display, they all listened to a booming symphony of music and battle that seemed to be audible only in their minds. They gasped as the light swirled around them, embracing them quickly, only to return to the coffin and seep deep inside it and flash out of existence.

All were still and silent, as the lid slowly eased off of the stone effigy and onto the ground unassisted to show...Nothing but a swirling mess of colour. It was shapeless and held no true tone, colour or form for longer then a second and moved in a chaotic dance as it hovered above its instrument of rebirth.

"Okay, what year is it, where am I, why am I back and who'd you kill to bring me back? I know magic and dark, cultist magic requires a sacrifice."  The mass ordered in a calm, almost bored voice that was pleasant, deep and held a smooth accident after a long, strained sigh; despite the welcoming voice in their heads they couldn't help but feel unnerved and felt like they'd angered their idol.

"Lord Hierophant, it's been eons since you were last in the world of mortals...approximately 4 millenniums." The old, jovial yet restrained leader informed as he removed the golden cloak covering his silver body and blue mane. Although his eyes were milky and scarred, the sheer might of the incorporeal being projected an image into his mind and the sight of his only master, and the sound of his rejoicing followers thoughts, brought tears to his eyes.

"Damn...Feels like days since I got snuffed...Where am I?" The Hierophant asked after exclaiming to himself, surprising everyone gathered.

"We're gathered in what remains of the Arcane Throne, it's fallen into disrepair and ruin since your banishment...Many tried to ransack what was left of it and the Equestrian Army had tried to gain access long ago but many of your wards still remained and when we found our way past its walls we reinforced it with our own traps and spells." The old sage continued, lamenting the state of the old archive turned city.

"Thanks, it won't take long to get it back into shape when we're done so don't feel too bad; it's been four thousand years so you've all done a pretty bang up job considering it's still standing at all." The incorporeal being congratulated, observing its surroundings unseen.

"Y-You're praise is not necessary, Lord Conjurer, we simply continued the legacy of your old reign. We brought you back because we and the world at large needs your wisdom and guidance once more. The new kings and queens have forsaken their people, they seek to repeat the mistakes of the past and destroy the knowledge of former lords; as it is many of your teachings have been outlawed in Equestria and the few faithful to your reign are in hiding around the world. We beseech you, oh Great One, return to us so that you may unite your people!" The leader of the ragged mages begged passionately and with an unending sense of zeal. The rush of thoughts of hope, prosperity, magical powers and reunifying the lost flooded their incorporeal god along with some less desirable thoughts of warfare and 'punishing the wicked'; the leader felt these thoughts and emotions and shared the same opinion as his illustrious deity.

"That's a touching speech, if biased and kind of over the top, but two things: I'm not a king or a ruler per say, I was just a powerful mage with a massive piece of land given to me as a gift for not being evil and helping people. Also last time I checked most countries were run by immortals on my level; how exactly will I be able to not die this time misterrrrr?" The Hierophant asked, floating down in front of the nameless leader.

"Faded Scroll, my lord. Many of the former leaders have either died from war or infighting, passed on the torch to their heirs or vanished either due to exile, pilgrimages or unknown causes; truly only a handful of old world rulers remain. And as for the question of your reign, although it was never officially stated we and many others believe you to be the rightful ruler of these lands and those who still hold true to your old teachings; they were a nation unified through your magic." Faded Scroll informed, a faint smile on his scarred visage.

"So, I die when the party's starting and come back to fix the mess and kick start a country...Wonderful. So, how many died to bring me back? You left that out and I'm not one for trusting cultists; even my own." He demanded to know, looking over the still hooded cult.

"No one was sacrificed to bring you back, we gathered effigies, talismans, conduits and your chosen people to gather your residual life force and magical power in a point of the world where the divide between the magical and physical planes is weakest. Some of your belongings have been in our possession for years and others we only recently salvaged or liberated from around the world...Many have died over the years finding, retrieving and protecting these powerful artifacts but it was deemed safer than to risk summoning a malevolent demon or spirit instead of you. We've come far to save you..." Faded Scroll reassured him, the weight of his words and their losses reflective in his tone, yet his pride and confidence in his decision was clear.

"The use of magical artifacts, incenses and finding a weaker spot in the rift between planes of reality...You're all smarter than most cults, I'll give you that; most of them resort to blood magic within the first year and demon summoning the second. Sorry about your losses, I didn't want to come back but I might as well do something now that I'm back...Sadly. Do you have any clothes lying around? Being a cloud that communicates through telepathy can be fun for awhile but if I have a physical manifestation I might as well use it." Their god impatiently requested, itching to try walking again.

"Yes, of course my lord, we were lucky enough to salvage your old garb and accessories from the site of your battle with Princess Celestia...They're in a state of disrepair but-" As Faded Scroll carefully removed the lid of a large, gilded chest and pulled out the faded and heavily damaged black robe, crimson scarf  and the rusted pauldrons, gauntlets, chestplate and cuisse along with some unidentifiable scrap they were snatched from his hooves and held within the swirling cloud. In front of their eyes, they saw the robe and scarf return to their normal, vibrant colours and the armour's rust break apart and reveal the shinning armour beneath. Metal and fabric materialized out of nowhere and soon an ensemble worthy of a spell sword formed in the air bereft of a wearer.

"Not too bad given my extended nap...Now comes the tricky part..."  He announced with a sense of excitement and nervousness as the armour floated to the ground and stood up straight as if worn. The cultists leaped back when the extravagant armour and formless cloud shimmered intensely and turned pure white as the cloud moved into the unoccupied clothing. Expanding ever so slightly, the cloud gained mass and gradually became solid as the armour moved and flexed its limbs. After a full, bipedal body complete with hair was created the shine faded away to reveal the most common form of their master.

"So, how do I look? Pretty good for a corpse huh?" The Hierophant jested as he did a small twirl to his internally cheering followers. Where hollow armour once stood now resides a six foot three tall Human, long since thought wiped out, with flowing brown and silver hair and a short, stubbly beard. His angular, handsome face was sculpted by him though his burning, stunning yellow and sapphire eyes were a mystery as none of his old fables detail him having a yellow right iris. His head was cloaked by the hood of his black and silver robe, it covered almost all of his body but was left unbuttoned to show off the armour underneath. The silver runic symbols etched into the cuffs, hood and ends of the robe were the least impressive sign of its wearers mystic powers, as the inside of the jacket resembled something similar to the hypnotic, colourful haze of the Hierophant's true form. His left shoulder was decorated by a golden pauldron in the shape of a lion's head with a blue mane that seemed to contrast with the magical robe. It was connected by a custom built chain to his layered steel chestplate that bore the insignia of a golden lion and silver raven circling each other in front of a black, circular shield. His right hand was covered by a matching steel gauntlet while curiously his left was uncovered,  allowing people to once more see the indescribable mess hidden by the robe. His legs were covered in lean, black trousers protected by steel plating that hung off his thighs and simple chainmail underneath his clothing. Along with all the armour, underclothes and robe he also wore a massive, fuzzy and cozy orange scarf that he'd wrapped around his throat. The fiery fabric obscured parts of his lower face and the one long tail of it fluttered in the wind like a dancing flame. Always one to favor comfort over style, he wore clean, simple fur lined hide boots design to make walking and hiking leisurely. All in all, the coven thought he was as awe inspiring as their ancient illustrations of him sitting upon his old throne.

"You're simply exquisite, Hierophant, just as the legends described you..." Faded Scroll complimented, grinning despite his best attempts to remain stoic.

"Thanks, you're not too shabby for an old pony I guess. Oh and call me Alistair, it's my actual name...I noticed I don't have my weapons, you guys holding onto those too or?" Alistair joked before asking as he placed his unarmoured hand on his old throne, watching the plant life retreat and wrap around the base of the chair while the seat itself reformed and turned into the old, cushioned, stone throne that once sat proud; the immediate area surrounding the chiseled chair likewise returned to the way it was ages ago.

"Yes and no, Hier-Sir Alistair. We have your old notepad and your grimoire...But your sword is unobtainable." The old pony told Alistair, gobsmacked at the rapid and effective powers his ruler was displaying.

"Really? Who took it? Was it that cunt Celestia?" Barked Alistair, saying her name with venom, as he sat on his old study chair and rested deep into it.

"N-No actually, Queen Chrysalis took it from the Equestrians quite recently in fact." Faded corrected, taken aback by his harsh words. Alistair for his part seemed to smile fondly.

"Chryssie huh? The Queen always did have a soft spot for us...So, where is she now? I imagine she'll be ecstatic to see me loitering in the real world again." Alistair asked, a hint of nostalgic fondness in his voice as he smiled wistfully. Meanwhile, Faded Scroll approached him with two large books wrapped in sacred cloth in his left hoof.

"We believe she's established a hive in the badlands not far from here; after you died the region fell into disarray and warfare, due to a combination of your sustaining magic vanishing and the local struggles the territory became largely barren and unwelcoming. Lord Alistair the Hierophant...Your ageless grimoire and notebook." He informed as he kneeled before the study chair turned throne and used his magic to unwrap the books. Despite his inability to read his thoughts, he knew Alistair was overwhelmed at the sight of his old tomes.

"Huh, don't need my magic to keep you two in top notch shape...Thank you so much, all of you." He thanked as he grabbed the leather bound, arcane book. On its cover rested a white sigil of a soaring Alicorn rising from a rotating orb with a Human hand coming out of the bottom with a small, yet incandescent, flame. On the back of the book was the same symbol on his breastplate complete with the shield. The pages hummed softly as if alive and waiting for his touch. Hooking it to the belt obscured by his robe he examined the blank yet meaningful book of white paper. The book was dull and to the layman would seem completely devoid of magic. Despite this, he placed it on the armrest of his favorite chair and hovered his right hand over the paper. Within his pale palm an unseen rune appeared and hovered a few inches above the skin before blinking out of reality. The once blank page was now replaced by a small, detailed paper Alicorn figurine that moved on its accord and stared up at Alistair. In response, he careful picked it up and placed it in his right hand and held it up for all to see.

"Lord Alistair...What would you have us do?" Faded Scroll asked as his followers stared up at their god, hopeful and ensnared by faith.

"..Contact Chrysalis' hive if possible, use whatever magic you can to aid me rebuild these archives, try and contact your cells across the globe and order an exodus here..." Alistair stopped giving orders so he could look down at the figurine as he wordlessly casted a simple fire spell that covered his hand in purple, melting fire.

"...We're going to be very busy rebuilding." He finished after blowing the ashes of the figurine away. A small, bittersweet smile adorned his face as sighed and thought about how sickeningly funny fate is.