Prologue: The Waking Nightmare
"Have you ever looked into a kaleidoscope? If you have, then you have seen the distinct, abstract pattern born of the array of mirrors inside, angled to continuously reflect off one another. Every single image passing through the lens adds to the ensemble, making the pattern more and more complex. Turn the device but a little, or aim it elsewhere, then the pattern likewise shifts; sometimes only a little, sometimes drastically, but always constant and fluid, never ceasing to change in even the most minute of ways. Now, imagine that the kaleidoscope you are looking through is infinitely large, with an infinitely complex pattern. For every pattern, there are a thousand by thousand variations and in turn a thousand by thousand more variations for each of those. The Operation of Parallel Worlds can be best explained thusly: Each pattern and its innumerable variations is a complete Parallel World, adjacent to -- but never intersecting -- other nearby worlds that are similar, yet different -- in nature. Turn the device, and choose a pattern of your liking. Reach through the Kaleidoscope, and touch the pattern on the other end. When you do, you will end up somewhere, and likely somewhen else.
Quite an amazing thing to think about, isn't it?
-- Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg, quoted in his manifesto "Parallel Worlds and Me: The Second Magic, in a Nutshell"
'It is completely impossible for anypony to live on the moon.'
That was a fact that anypony who had even the slightest knowledge on the subject unanimously agreed upon. The specifics didn't really matter -- whether the surface of the moon was sweltering hot enough to melt lead, or blisteringly cold enough to freeze oxygen; whether there was no air to breathe at all or only an atmosphere of noxious poison gas; the fact remained that the moon was completely lifeless. One notable astronomer in 898 had famously noted that "the chances of anything living on the moon were a million-to-one."
If somepony wanted proof, all they needed to do was simply look at the moon itself as it rose every single night. There were no patches of grey or blue to indicate water, nor were there any signs of green or brown to denote plants or arable land. The face of the moon was always a uniform, silvery grey -- save for that large splotch whose peculiar shape had for the past millennium led astronomers and poets alike to dub it "The Mare in the Moon" after an ancient folk legend. 'If there is no water, and there are no plants on the moon,' everypony thought, 'then surely no one can live there. it is simple logic.'
And were it not for an event long forgotten, an event that should not have been forgotten -- faded from history into legend and further still into formless myth -- they would have been right. For on that distant, dusty, miserable grey sphere in the heavens, in that little grey, oval-shaped plain that formed the "eye" of the Mare in the Moon, there was indeed life.
Just one, solitary, life.
On that plain, in the exact center, stood a great throne, simple, plain and unmarked; shaped from the same grey rock as the plain about it. It stood thrice as tall as a stallion at full attention, and as wide as his outspread hooves may reach. To an archaeologist, this throne would be a mystery; its form bore no seam, no division -- It could not have been carved by magic of unicorn or wing of a pegasus, nor might of earth pony; its surface had not the mirror-finish that being shaped by a unicorn's magic would give it, its sides and corners lacked the sharp edges that the keen, all-cutting edge of a pegasus wing would bestow, and it bore not any hoof or chisel mark that was the proud sign of an earth pony mason. No wind or water could have removed these tell-tale signs, for no such thing existed on the moon. No, the entire throne was one solid piece of rock, seamlessly grafted into the stone beneath as if it were grown out of the rock itself.
As strange as the throne itself was, however, it was nothing, compared to its occupant -- the sole living thing on the moon for the past thousand years.
Even sitting, it was clear that she was massive, at least twice the height of an average pony. Dark fur, blacker than the star-riddled void above, gleamed in the harsh, unfiltered sunlight that both baked and chilled. her mane and tail were a dark, regal purple, twin mantles of nightly majesty with strands of hair so thin, they seemed but clouds of mist. Her long, muscular legs ended in intricate hoof-shoes made of a strange, silvery blue metal and were bound below knee and elbow in a thick, heavy manacle of dark grey steel that, at times, seemed to glitter with all the colors of the rainbow. Each manacle was bound to a taut chain that somehow melded into the stone beneath -- just as the throne itself seamlessly fused into the moon's surface. Two great ebon wings -- broad, curved and razor-thin -- were flared out behind her large barrel chest, held firm by two more cuffs, one about each elbow; their chains bound fluidly into the stone without need of spike or bolt. About the base of her throat was a gleaming, ornate peytral of similar make as the hoof-shoes, its polished face emblazoned with a large, white stone in the shape of a waxing crescent moon. Her muscular neck was bowed, her silver-helmed head facing the ground as if in penitence for some great crime; pulled forward by a bulky collar with two more chains that drove directly into the grey, dusty ground and were as taut as bowstrings. Her horn, nearly two feet long and slender as a poniard, was covered in a thin silver sheath, bound with gossamer-thin silver chains, as if to hide it from the world.
But of all the remarkable things there were about this mare sitting on the unearthly throne -- her great size, the ornaments of silver-steel and moonstone, the restraints of dark, yet iridescent metal, her nebulous mane and tail, her curved wings, her silver-sheathed horn -- none could command as much reverence and admiration as her own face. Her elegantly curved muzzle and jawline were as smooth as black marble, and the silver war-helm she wore bespoke of an air of regal, martial command that could not and would not be overturned. Even with her neutral expression and closed eyes -- as if she were sleeping -- her harsh, overwhelming beauty, both queenly and godlike, demanded both loving admiration and respectful fear.
So had she remained, untarnished as if frozen in time, for a thousand years.
So had she slumbered, as if one dead yet alive.
So had she waited, unseeing, unknowing, dreamless and timeless, for the inevitable day of her release.
And that day -- the longest day of the thousandth year since her arrival -- had now come.
At first, there was no thought, no emotion, no dreaming -- only silence; oblivion that was neither sleep nor death. There was no sense of being, of identity, or time. The stars wheeled above, and every instant was as a life-age of the world.
And then, a faint pale light seemed to seep through the gloom, to banish the thoughtlessness, the not-sleep, and the not-death as it slowly waxed. A flicker of thought, like a little shooting star across the night sky. Then another, and another. Soon there was a multitude of tiny flashes in the half-darkness -- flashes of thought, of being, and then suddenly, she recognized that she was.
On impulse, she reached for a little spark flitting across her mind's eye with formless arms, took hold, and pulled. The spark expanded, encompassed her, and a vision played out before her, half-formed, and hazy. She could make out a low, green-covered hill, and two little figures running over its summit -- a pair of fillies it seemed, one so pale to be nearly white, and the other a deep blue-gray. She could not make out their features -- they were too far away, but they were clearly happy, gamboling and frolicking about in a kind of juvenile, carefree love for everything.
Who were they?
The image faded, and the spark flitted away. She automatically reached for another one, caught it, and once again it expanded. The image was different this time, clearer. She could see a long stone hall, with golden sunlight streaming through a large window. The two fillies from before had returned, this time a little larger. The paler of the two was larger, and had a mane of light pink. The darker filly had a stone-blue mane and was about a head shorter. Both had their backs turned to her, facing a third figure -- an old stallion with a blue star-spangled robe and pointy hat, and a massive brown beard.
Something stirred within her as she beheld the elder stallion; a faint tingle of recognition, a name.
Starswirl.
The image vanished, and the spark again flew off. She turned to reach for another one, but a mote of light approached her and unfolded before she could even raise her hoof.
She was in a massive chamber this time, two ornate thrones at the far end, empty. There were figures lining the walls, watching expectantly; she couldn't make out any further. The two fillies-- sisters, she now realized, but she didn't know how she knew that -- had returned a third time; as if they hadn't moved at all. But something was different -- they weren't fillies anymore, but full-grown mares now. The larger mare was as tall as she was, her mane was now a banner of pink, blue and green, and her flank bore the symbol of a majestic sun. The younger mare had changed more drastically; her coat, once blue-gray, was now indigo, and her mane had similarly darkened into a royal blue. Her flank too was now marked: A white crescent moon against a black background.
Why was that so familiar?
The old pony Starswirl was before them again as well, his beard now white as fresh snow, lowering a pair of crowns onto the head of each mare. The elder received a golden crown, and the younger was presented a pitch black one. Starswirl then bowed, and the hall exploded with cheers, and the image faded.
Now more images arrived, more memories, she realized, appearing before her eyes then fading, so fast she could only catch flashes.
The two sisters standing on the edge of a cliff, looking at a massive castle, half-built, on the other side. The elder's horn glows yellow, and the sun sinks. The younger's horn glows blue and the moon rises. Night falls, and they return to the castle.
They walking down a cobbled street, ponies cheering and weeping with joy at their approach. The elder sister seems to get more attention, but the younger doesn't take heed to this. All is well...
The clear blue sky turns dark and chaotic, a twisting serpentine image cackling madly as it coiled through the heavens with madness and horror trailing in his wake...
A great cave, with what looked like a shining tree in the center, bearing six lights in every color of the rainbow...
The misshapen serpent again, leering at them before adopting a look of surprise, vanishing in a whirling spectral light, and leaving behind only cold stone...
Peace once again. A light brown figure, in dark armor, beneath a tree in full bloom. An exchange of words, a smile...
A smile echoed on her own face. One of her wings twitched slightly, still bound by its chain.
The younger sister sitting next to the elder on their thrones. A visitor arrives and bows to the elder sister. Words and smiles are exchanged between the visitor and the elder, but the younger isn't even spared a backward glance when he leaves...
It is nighttime. The younger sister sits alone on a hill overlooking the castle, a sullen expression on her face. Movement at her side -- it is the brown stallion from before. The two draw closer to each other, a whisper, a kiss...
Her smile faded, her eyes still closed. A cold knot of dread formed in her stomach. Something was wrong...
The younger sister is distraught with tears standing in her eyes, looking on hopelessly as her love walks toward the plume of smoke in the distance, alone, armored and armed...
A crumpled, broken shape lies motionless at the hooves of a massive red and black figure, a cruel sun forming between his twisted horns...
She begins to shudder and quiver on her throne, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her neck and wings, unbidden, begin to strain at their bonds.
It is raining. She stands alone in front of a plain tombstone, a single flower at its base. Tears fall, unnoticeable in the rain...
The days and nights blur together. Nopony comforts her. Nopony notices. Nopony cares. There is only grief and loneliness. They shun her, and her beautiful night. They only want Sister. They only want the day, damn them all! Why can she not be loved!? If only she were her EQUAL, no, BETTER...
A feral, tortured growl leaves her, her teeth bared, her eyes still squinted shut. Slowly but surely, the chains begin to lose their grip.
Finally, grief gives way to bitterness, and bitterness gives way to anger. One night she confronts her sister. The argument escalates quickly. Words, hurtful words, are exchanged. Shock, disbelief, and then betrayal, followed by a sudden wrenching blackness.
And then, she is WRATH, both unholy and immaculate. Power, like never before, flows in her veins. The fight proceeds in a blur, she holds the advantage, will surely win, reign supreme --
And then her sister -- Celestia! -- her ruby eyes streaming with tears, surrounded by six shards of light with all the colors of the rainbow --
NO!!!
A rush of noise and color, a maelstrom of prismatic wind, light, and fire, a horrible scream echoed twice over --
Then darkness.
Her eyes finally snapped open, glowing blue and cat-slit, burning with rage. With a final wrench, flexing her powerful neck and wings, she tore the chains loose with a roar, and the back of her throne is torn asunder by the terrific force. The manacles and chains about her neck and wings break apart and vanish into dust, while her horn and legs remain bound. The entire moon, beholden to this newly freed goddess of destruction, shuddered and groaned under the weight of Her grief-borne fury.
Her mind finally clear, the black mare lifted her head, to behold the little blue-and-white marble so far above, so far away, and yet so close.
A smile began to form on her lips, mirthless and cruel. Had her beloved sister believed that was the end of it, that single defeat, a mere setback, would decide the outcome!? Foal, and foal again! No matter. She was nearly free; after whoever knew how long...
She could wait another day or so.
With an expression on her face like a cross between a snarl and an expectant grin, Nightmare Moon continued to behold her home, her world, her future kingdom... and spoke for the first time in a thousand years.
"Finally... All shall fear me and REJOICE."
NasuBrony presents
A Nasuverse - My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Crossover Fanfiction
The Kaleidoscope and the Spectrum
Kischur, to Equestria!
Book I: The Waking Nightmare
Story and Art by NasuBrony
Edited by Wiltrose
Author's Note
Rejoice, TYPE-Bronies. Your greatest desires shall now be achieved. Let this be only the first in a long trend of My Little Pony/Nasuverse fanfics, and bring inspiration for many other writers.
To make things clear, I do not own either My Little Pony or the Nasuverse. Those are the properties of Hasbro and Notes, respectively, and the creations of Kinoko Nasu and Lauren Faust, respectively. Consider this my love letter to two incredible franchises that I adore very much, and my attempt to bring them together and make something wonderful. Enjoy this first story of mine, readers. Ask questions in the comments below, and I will answer them when I can (or even make a blog for them, if I feel it's warranted.)
Second, the original "Chapter 1" I posted about a year ago... Yeah, that's pretty much Old Shame for me now. It was a good first step, just not what I was really looking for in a beginning to a Nasuverse-based fanfic. I hope that this new Prologue and the subsequent chapters more than makeup for that - I'll do my level best to deliver! As for the original chapter, if anyone still wants to read it I think I'll post it as a separate one-shot to kinda show the start of my thought process for this fanfic.
And now, without further ado, let us begin "The Kaleidoscope and the Spectrum".
