A Dance With The Devil

Seventh

The alcohol had the same taste as before, like it should, but it felt different. It was as savoury too, but she just didn’t feel like tasting it, and so she let the thing sit there, pending for her to pick it up. Twilight only basked at the candlelight, like many more with her, her head rested on the hard, wooden table. Her mind was set on the dead body of the great noblecolt, and how they desperately tried to get help from anypony. And whilst they didn’t help, to the aura and the like they firmly fixed their expressions of belief—that some unknown force lifted him up and made him disappear. Sir Palladium told of murders similar to it being a trend of some sort, and that the method of killing had been the same: a neck snapped, lifting him or her up and neatly arranging the body like a responsible child with his toy after play.

“I shall take care of it,” he had told them at the scene, “and find whoever has the audacity to mess with us.” The conceit he exuded made her proud of something she will not even do, and she really liked that.

“I realise something, princess,” she said after a while, Luna merely looking like she collected the thoughts of her own. She set her drink down.

“And what may that be?”

“All the murders they said took place were of important figures: noblecolts and noblemares and scientists and wizards, particularly the Rosa family.”

“Interesting,” she replied simply. “Nopony lower than their ranks have been murdered, from the knowledge I cite.”

“Yes, and to my suspicion, it’s either somepony from a lower rank who’s doing this for any reason or a noble doing an inside job. I think it’s the latter.”

Luna knocked over her mug suddenly. No one there seemed to mind. “Or it could be the reason we’re here.”

Twilight’s jaw loosed.

“Twilight, Death’s mane is of the colour red. A shining, beautiful palette of red that brighten her black coat. Even being a pegasus, she had the power of magic, magic we know not of, and that magic so happens to be of the same colour as her mane.”

“I . . . princess, you’re saying she did it?”

“That’s what I believe, that I am sure of.”

“Alright, we got that straight. So, we’re assuming Death had a part in this, and yet we don’t know why she would . . .”

“We may never know that,” Luna said. She waved both hooves near her head. “But that matters not. We just need to stop whatever she may have in plan. If she’s not involved in this, then she’s involved in something else.”

“And how do we exactly do that, princess? We can’t stop her because we have no magic, and even if we had it would be pointless! She’s just invincible.”

“All hope may seem lost, but there never is a time that it actually is. Recall the time I said what her weakness was.”

“She can’t read any minds.”

“Precisely.”

“But I don’t really see how that would do anything, princess. I don’t understand.”

“That is the point not of what I said. The point I’m trying to make is that there will be hope, in any situation. There must be another weakness in her.”

“I guess that makes sense, yeah. Thank you, princess.”

“I am glad. Now, we’re going to have to get to her.”

“But how do we do it, and what will happen?”

“ . . . We will see. Even I can’t be certain, but for now, we focus on finding her, confronting her.” Luna nodded. “She made a very intricate path for us to go down on, I am sure. We shall traverse until the end.”

“Do you think we’re ever going to find Lightning, Luna?”

The tension swiftly entered with the wind—from the front door. And the former was much strong that it could be cut with a butter knife, like the ones they have on the bar—a plentiful, plentiful bunch, waiting to be used.

“I am not so certain of that, I need to say.”

“Okay, then.”

Twilight saw a little filly running by their table, a doll on her hand. She giggled as she maneuvered out of a colt’s grasp, apparently chasing her, with a great determination to take back the doll from her grasp, it seemed. The two were yelling something to each other, and she had no idea what it meant.

“I remember Light’s velveteen rabbit,” she told without a mind in her tone, “and he used to play with it a lot.”

“How, exactly?”

“He would talk to it for long periods of time. I thought of it as weird at first, but I would see why a pony like him would do so.”

“What would he talk to him about?” Luna enquired.

“Anything he would want, really. That’s what he told me. But . . . I think he talks to him because he wants to release his thoughts and such. That’s how I see it.”

“He?”

“He, princess. The rabbit is a he.”

“Oh. Well, if that is the case, he is a he, then.”

Twilight managed a soft chuckle as the two foals appeared and rounded the tables, more and more, having not a care in the world. They were free and happy.

“Don’t you think Lighting’s an oddball?”

“I think of him as that, judging from what I know.”

“I do too. But there’s something about him that makes me . . . how should I say it—come back, you know? It’s very intriguing.”

“Odd may he be—and intriguing—it does not mean he’s not interesting, to say the least. I sure do hope we find him.”

“As do I, princess. As do I.”

Luna sipped a drink whilst looking at the window. “We should check on Tyche Valentina. I have a feeling . . . Did you see her face, Twilight Sparkle? Did you see the horror when she found out?”

Twilight’s ears flopped. “Yeah, I remember.”

The princess plopped her drink on the table. “If Death will not do harm to her, then she herself may. I do not want to go to a guard’s outpost once more to report any death, nor do I want to inform the news like wildfire.”

“The media will be the media, no matter what era they live in, I suppose.”

Luna snorted at that.

The estate was with green fields, made of multiple buildings, and there was no other pony in sight. Posts of guards were present, but they had been abandoned. Twilight heard from rumours that she had been isolating herself, relinquishing even the most necessary people, making her home feel quiet. And yet this quiet wasn’t the quiet Twilight wanted. It was more of a scary kind— haunting.

They managed to get to inside. The door was left open, and they realised the lock was not there. The torches that flanked the hallways gleamed a deep orange, and they produced the only sound. The windows revealed the outside world, a pit and a void. Twilight opened the first door she saw. Nothing. Then the other. Nothing, too. Soon she sweeper the hallway, almost all doors opened once done. There was nopony here.

The two headed out front and began to circle the massive estate. They passed a paneless window, and a shadow danced around. It turned out to be a black curtain. They passed another window to find nothing. Then the third. After that the fourth. A thing’s shattering sound easy filled the night’s ambience.

Twilight heard the whimper of a mare, a very scared yet peaceful whimper. It was accepting, but it could not believe whatever was happening, that’s what it felt like. To be honest, she was of the same, and Luna was as well. They all were. The two crouched by the opening.

“Death,” a voice said, “is the start of peace.”

“The start of peace it is for me, albeit for others? It is not. It is only regret—regret that cannot be satisfied.” It was the voice of Tyche Valentina.

“Problems they own need be justified by themselves; why ought we save them from their own suffering?”

“Thou believe of it not, I say. You do not even know what thou say of, I say, I say!” Tyche groaned loudly suddenly, panting heavily.

“What of that thou said? Repeat it, I dare of thee. Repeat it to me, right between my eyes. Thou know I could do it right now.”

“Whatever would happen if I did?”

“The question important more is what would happen to the rest of them,” she said. “It is very clear that thou are against my beliefs, no? If that is—and it is—then I should very well say to thee of the fates of the others . . . and the oneswho have met their destinies . . .”

“T—the murders . . . no. No, no . . . no, thou did not . . . Antonio . . .”

“Who else could have done it, I ask of you? Who else could have done this all?!” There was a gut-wrenching blow, followed by a desperate gasp.

“P—please, why are thou doing this, I beg, I beg!”

“I reveal not my secrets,” the voice said after a long silence. “I do not show what I think or who I am, for I only am, and always will be. Thy time is short, so savour these moments last. Savour it before peace.”

“I want not peace,” Tyche said. “I only want the thought that everypony else is.”

“They will be in peace too. But there ought to be more to invite them, no?”

“I . . .”

“Of the topic we last had, it is under my suspicion thou care of what might ought happen to the rest, am I right? Now I present you with a choice: be in peace or let them be in peace.”

“I want peace! I want peace! Let them stay out of this, please!”

“Thou have a choice not.” There was a loud smack. “Thou cannot choose the last time you breathe. Even if mere mortals think they have the power to move that time, it is already determined by logic. Not by me, not by ponies, not by anypony. It is an illusion made by the power of thy ignorance. But nevertheless, peace will come to thee—wait and seat, and thou shall see.”

Twilight peeked on over a little.

Death was there, her mane swaying peacefully, inappropriate for a time like this. She clutched Tyche upwards like she was just some random item. She whimpered. She gasped. She sobbed.

Death took her off the ground with her red magic, holding her limbs and torso in place, like she was laying with her legs out on a flat plane. The wiht levitated a knife. It was beautiful. Very beautiful. Pristine. And massive too, like a sword, with a very sharp edge, an edge so sharp it looked not possible. She meticulously aligned it to her jaw, placing in a way so it would theoretically slash downwards to her pelvis.

“My methods were of a nature similar. But I reserved something special for thee.”

“Make it quick,” she stated with a proud finality, closing her eyes. “Let it be done.”

“I intend to savour this moment. Do not say that to me, now. I shall be honest: I did not enjoy the deaths of the others, but for thee? I am in a whole new ecstasy. Make thyself comfortable, for the show is about to begin.”

She sunk the blade to her flesh, sprouting a rivulet of blood, its move a crawl down her neck. Tyche tried to scream, but she was silenced by Death’s red glow. She shushed her, caressing her cheek. “We need not anypony hearing us, do thou agree?” The wiht allowed the cold metal to travel downwards, creating a divide leaking of blood. It was done in a way where it was not so deep in her skin—in fact it should not be terribly painful, but that did not seem to matter from the expression on Tyche’s face. She ended the incision at her bottom, then staring between her eyes. Tyche’s tears dropped from her face along with blood, transparent white and red coming down together in unison.

Death let her mouth go. Tyche retched slightly in horror at the sight of her body. Her way of purge was to breathe a ragged breath and a desperate gag. She sobbed softly. Death kissed her cheek softly, saying, “It shall be alright. Thy end is coming soon. But thou need to wait.”

She gently grabbed a foreleg, circling her wrist with the blade. Tyche moaned in pain as a response. She tried to get out of her grasp, but it was no use. She was staying here. She was.

Death was done with her second foreleg, and if imagination were to be used, it seemed she wore two bloody bracelets, forged from incisions. Death asked her a question. “Which is painful more: the physical form or the thought that you may never see them again?” She started on her third limb. “Even if thou do escape, they shall not; that I promise thee.” Death finished her cut. “And even if thou do escape from me tonight, then thou shall never be free, forever.” Blood leaked from her last, a little more hastily cut if compared to others. It bled more gruesomely.

Death grabbed her foreleg with no mercy. That earned a groan from Tyche. “Look at thee—so vulnerable and afraid. Mere mortals understand not of what will happen to them. They think they have the power to do anything.” She stuck the blade to a spot on the last incision, bringing it down to her chest. The long cut ended at her other foreleg, creating a steady stream. It was in the shape of a cross. A deathly cross.

Death started to cut something similar to her hind legs. She reached the edge of one of her teats and stared at it for a moment, her face expressionless. Death was fast when she moved through the both of them, but on Tyche’s end, it must’ve felt like an eternity, a hundred years of agony. The slice ended on her other hind leg.

Tyche had the audacity to peel her eyes open, to see what has become of her, and maybe, just maybe, she wanted to predict what will become of her. Soon. It’s like she knew what was going to happen, what Death will do to her, and how long it would take.

“Did thou know of a fact? I shall inform you: the coat, the skin is a vital organ, as important as the heart, the gut, anything else in there that thou may need to survive, to live. Without them, thou will die. And the skin happens to be the organ that covers thee. That protects thee. I shall expose thy inner body, so it too could see the outer world, and so thou can feel the vulnerability of no outer layer. Shall we start?”

Tyche disagreed feebly. Death grabbed her head, making her nod—nod enthusiastically, like she wanted it like no other thing.

“Yes? Then we’ll get started.”

Death hoisted her higher, dangling her as if she was no more than a piece of meat in the marketplace. She pinched a cut on a hind leg, starting to peel her skin off while she was alive.

The skin removed in a way that the process was slow, and yet Death looked like she had no struggle. The sound it made was like tape being removed from a surface, and yet the wetness of it made it all the more natural. Death had to grasp the poor mare with an iron grip, already thrashing violently. Tyche was screaming as loud as she can. “Thou need be silent. Stop acting like a babe. A filly’s resistance would do not a justice to thee.” The chunk of skin fell to dangle, still attached to her, the blood gushing from it intense. More came from her herself. Death started to tug on her other hind leg’s skin. An ocean of red came pouring out. The wiht let an aura cover her legs, partly on the one she was working on. “We need not let thou die so early, no? I shall stop the blood for thee.” Tyche squirmed uncomfortably as her grip tightened. The other piece dangled lifelessly.

Next was the torso, a big part of the body that definitely had a lot of skin. Death tore her coat from two places she grabbed, opening it steadily like a cardigan. She didn’t use magic—it would interrupt the process. Tyche used this opportunity to struggle. That disturbed Death’s procedure. Her tearing was messier now, more blood leaking and the tender sound of tendons and muscle and skin making Tyche belch and cause her more pain and misery. She could only help herself for so long, retching in her own mouth, eventually the vomit coming out and dripping on her exposed muscles. Slowly but surely was the fact that her nerves were being ripped, and it was definitely not a clean process—they are torn to be mere shreds. Tyche would feel all of it. It’s the most painful thing she has experienced, no doubt in that, and surely will. She spurted out blood.

Death finished peeling off her front. Now it was time to take out the back. She pulled the bottom upwards, the sound only being the second loudest after Tyche’s despairing yelp. Her legs buckled restlessly, violently trying to escape by instinct.

The oversized jacket that was her skin blanketed her, unattached, moving slowly. The wind was strong all of the sudden, and to this she shivered.

Death gently lifted her chin with a hoof, their noses only three inches apart. Tyche cannot look at her, not after what she’s done, but that did not matter to Death, for she made her look at her, forcing her eyelids open.

“I—It’s cold . . . It f—feels so cold . . .”

“It has been fun, Tyche Valentina, but unfortunately this could not last. I wished it lasted forever, but that cannot be. Farewell.”

The knife appeared out of nowhere, stabbing her at the chest several times. At this she did not even say a word. Tyche just let it be, taking it with the last strength she will ever have, from the adrenaline her heart forced.

Death let go of her magic, letting her frail being drop down. Blood rained everywhere. It was both amazing and disgusting to see how much of it came from the mare. There was a lot of matter in one’s body, and Twilight discovered it to be a truth she did not want to accept.

Tyche’s head faced down, her mouth and nose under her own liquids. She was still breathing, but there was no attempt to escape or to do anything. She just accepted it.

The mare breathed for the last time.