Death's Judgement

The man stood at the Nadir of creation, his reality burning as the Underworld fell. Next to him stood Dominus Mortus, the oldest dead, the first murder victim, brother to the father of Vampires.

"If I dropped a stone off the edge of this cliff, you think we'd hear it hit bottom." Mortus said, sitting down on the edge overlooking the void and kicking his legs cheerfully.

"I think if that happened it would mean we were much more screwed then we currently are." Answered the man. He looked over to his friend and snorted at his childishness. A voice was heard through the dying of his world.

"One who has the Blood Oath of the last King on the Iron throne, Calls for Tyrannis Portae."

Huh a summons the man thought, his friend looked back at him, a smile on his face, he had heard as well.

"One who bears the Title Lulamoon, Calls for Tyrannis Portae"

"There even doing the rule of three, too bad, not leaving, name no longer applies."

Again his friend stared back a smile on his face, one of understanding. The storm clouds within the Underworld, beginning to spread towards where the two sat.

"One who has traveled far, Calls for Tyrannis Portae."

"Don't care," sang the man with a chuckle, his friends smile just widened as more of the world burned around them. The clouds increasing in speed towards the two.

"One who has lost much and gained nothing, Calls for Tyrannis Portae."

As the man's eyes widened at the euphemism, in that moment of distraction his friend moved, shoving the man that was once Tyrannis Portae off balance, the summons taking effect, Mortus chuckled at the expletives directed his way. Then the storm wave swept all before it.

Blinking back tears the man focused on the pull of the summoning. He heard the call again and knew the direction. Knew of those calling to him.

"Truth"

He smiled, that was vague, he would have to talk to those calling him. One should be more exact in calling something across the Aether.

"Vengeance"

Also vague, spoke of ritual hastily thrown together, probably a weakness he could exploit. He would really have to educate those calling why you should not rush a summons, especially when the one called had nowhere to go back too.

"Purification"

His face darkened, he knew what that meant, he was not a mass murderer. He was a court of law. That that court was draconic in nature was irrelevant. He would not purify anything, judgement would be passed nothing more nothing less.
This spoke of unfamiliarity, he was definitely going to be having a stern conversation with his summoners.

"Blood"

This from the voice so young, he would have to converse with this one. A young man of that age should be thinking about Mare's not the blood of his enemies. Wait, Mare's? Then he felt it, he was being pulled into another reality and would be subject to it's laws, he chuckled, like that mattered to the court of the last mortal resolve. He had been to so many realms and been subject to so many rules over the years he was not even sure of his own age, such things no longer mattered to him.

He manifested in the circle, facing the north, the one that held the Blood Oath and called for Purification. His breath caught, but he kept his calm, she was the anthro-pony version of his last love Lady Midnight. The one that died in his arms. The one that had taken a mortal wound for him. He smirked, the circle blocked his more... creative ways of gathering information, but the one thing it could never block was the gifts of his eyes, nor could it tamper with his own reasoning. He took stock of himself. He held his cane and wore his beloved floppy hat. His suit that he had worn for years rested comfortably on him. His knife was safely hidden under his coat, settled diagonally across his back. The revolver he had thought lost rested in it's shoulder harness as if it had never left, the other tools of his trade and hidden armaments all exactly where they should be. It was like being reunited with all his old friends at once. The only two that where missing where his duster and his shoulder bag. Physically he felt like he was in his early 20s, Mentally he felt at his peak, Mystically his power and knowledge where at the height of what he had been. Somehow, when he had crossed over, all aspect of him had been set to when they had been the most powerful. He even still had the full potential of his eyes. It was time to put on a show, time to see what he could learn.

He went down and picked up the liquid offering before him, he could smell that it was indeed his favorite drink. He overturned it and watched where it pooled and sparked against the circle of containment, he watched how it flowed over the topography of the floor. He could smell the cigars, nothing ever smelled so wonderful in his life. He stomped and ruined them to hear the timber of the floor and check for any shifting or flaws in the inlayed marble tile.

Next he rebuked Princess Luna for her lack of research on the one she had called for Purification, and watch her body language for her tells. He took stock of the genetic markers that indicated heritage, as well as made conclusions to her sympathetic tendencies. Then he rebuked Trixie for her lack of definition of truth, and noticed that she too bore a strong resemblance to a Wereraven that he had been fond of, at least until said wereraven had confessed to sending their son off to die for some damn greater purpose. That she had later died horrifically herself was no real consolation.

"Huh, beginning to see a trend here." He thought

Thirdly, he corrected Sunset, again for the lack of "particulars" in her request. She looked exactly like the woman that he had been betrothed too, before she vanished, leaving no clues to her fate.

"Yep, definitely seeing a connection. Hope this isn't where all my dead exes go to be reincarnated, would not be fun for me.". His thought continued.

Finally, he turned to Spike, and what he saw almost made him flinch, almost. Wrapped around the poor Drake was all that remained of his mother, Twilight Sparkle. It wasn't the mare in question, but rather as she was being murdered she had had the presence of mind to bond her spirit, not her soul, unto the little Drake. However she did not have the skill to do so, only the power, the connection was seared into her son's soul, but the spirit instead of becoming something new still thought it was the whole. He knew that only Spike could see or hear her, and in time his eyes would develop like his had. Thus the euphemism, one who has lost much, but gained nothing. He rebuked spike to watch the reaction of his incomplete fetch, and was rewarded by it just watching him curiously, her empty scared eye sockets examining him.

"That poor Young Man, as I am the King on the Iron throne, so is he the Crown Prince of nothing, as none of my sons or daughters were ever qualified to take my position. He will not trust me yet, I need a plan." He said silently.

Surprisingly, the Drake was the first to ask a question. While not the most important, it was pertinent, and logical. Twilight had raised her son well, he honestly wished he could have met her. He answered in vague half truths, watching the young man's reactions.

Then it was Trixie's turn, he answered with an unasked for truth, a conclusion based on the observations he had made of Luna already, a vulgar insult, a confident boast/threat. She answered with a dismissal, a correction, and her own boast. He smiled and continued with his vulgarity, and leered as she blushed, halfway between flattered and insulted.

Sunset then came between, asking her question. So he continued his mysogny, then added in other conclusions based on his observations of the features of both Luna and Trixie, then just factored in her particular appearance. He then indirectly used it to proposition them both. To his surprise, Sunset used his proposition to flatter Trixie, turn him down then draw some conclusions of her own. He was reminded again of his betrothed, their was a reason he had loved her so much, even though the betrothal had been purely political, as well as an attempt to breed a more powerful Crown Prince.

He sighed, none of these mares where who he wanted them to be. Physical resemblance not withstanding, even if they were the direct reincarnations, their lives had made them different, and all three had summoned a creature they had little knowledge of, and rushed the entire thing. He had already used what he had seen to formulate how he was going to unleash the energies back on his summoners. He had just decided to knock them all out instead of killing them. He knew what he was going to do. They wanted the Judgement of the Dead, he would render it to them. If they did not like how he did so, their problem. He also was going to train the new Crown Prince. He had had no one, he would not leave another, especially one not born to it as he had been, to walk this path alone.

The last question came from the Princess of the Night herself. He almost laughed with joy. She had just given him the perfect set up. It was a question that told him why they needed to call him. It was the final piece of his logic puzzle. Suddenly the naivete of those gathered here made sense. This was a world of peace, here the shadows did not contain the horrors and secrets of his home. He would enjoy this place, he would enjoy protecting this place. His own slice of heaven. Where even the goddesses actually cared about the ones below them. He really wished he could have met Twilight now, because he would have fallen in love. He would protect and raise her son, their son. He would guide the Drake the way he had never been guided. He would bring the ones that had killed his mother before the Court of the last Moral resolve and bring the Judgement of the Dead upon them all. He would bring the Princess of Friendship's judgement, despite what her loved ones asked he knew now what Twilight would want him to do. So it is asked, so will it be, so shall it be, court is in session. Let all those brought before the court present evidence. Let the case against those that plotted the Demise of Princess Twilight Sparkle begin. Let the accused mount their defense. Let the prosecutors bring forth their arguments. Let the jury decide the guilty from the innocent, and let the judge pronounce sentence. The Judgement of the Dead will be enacted, an accord has been reached. Blessed be.

Smirking, the being that had been born Micheal Navar, then had been Ettiene Reynard upon his ascendency to the Throne and his final breakthrough, tapped the ground three times with his cane, separating the flaw in the marble only he could have seen, breaking the circle in the exact spot he wanted, and causing all the stored energy to arc outwards to the nearest sympathetic outlet. As he watched those who had tried to influence him fall, he told them the name that had come to him, the name that was forever more his, the one he would die with.

"My name is Onyx Nightshade"