It had seeped through the window when she fled the bedroom. It had watched as she spoke to the princess. It waited until one was alone.
Then it struck.
Fiercely did it fight. The blasts from the princess were strong, but so too were its Young. Hundreds of thousands of teeth tore at her flesh, but the foal was strong. Stronger than even it had anticipated.
And so it was that foal and foalsitter tore it apart and banished it to the icy wastes of the southern pole. Angry, hungry, and in agony.
All those moons ago did it happen and yet the searing pain of the blast was still fresh in its mind.
It was within the prison that the one hundred Young would speak of every event that happened above to the one she watched over.
But it was whenever they heard of the one who escaped their Father that they would attempt to wake him. First, they spoke of the one of how she had graduated from the monarch’s school. Rise, rise! The chants of the wakener, songs of praise! They spoke of attacking while the Sleeper still held her sister captive.
Motionless did their Father stay. Breathless and silent. And so the Young rested too at his side as they always had.
Many a year passed when the news of her ascension arrived. Immortal, just like the one who sent them there.
So a thousand Young sang their song, pleas for their Father to rise! Promises of a fail-proof siege upon a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity; to catch them in a moment of blissful celebration and to take from them their newest princess.
Still did the Father stay motionless. And so the Young re-joined him in a slumber for hundreds more moons until one day, news of a monumental event flew their way.
Ten thousand Young surrounded their Father. They spoke of the one who escaped him and how she had opened a school. They all chanted; rise, rise! They spoke of her undoing, and taking that which escaped him hundreds upon hundreds of moons ago.
From within the shadows, an eye opened. A second soon opened, and the arms of it shifted. It grunted as its other eyes opened. A hundred limbs twisted and turned, all grabbed a hold of the chains that held it down, and each broke off.
He had awoken.
From the outside, the Young clung to the window like a swarm of ravenous locusts. Their teeth formed a menacing smile, and their eyes bored deep into the filly that hid beneath her blanket. The light of her lamp had burned out because of their Father’s chaotic dark magic.
Sweetie Belle wasn’t sure when the monsters had appeared, or where they came from. One moment, she was reading a Daring Do book that had been loaned to her by Rainbow Dash; the next her light blew out and thousands of little eyes were staring at her.
Yet, she knew this. She had seen then. They had been here before. In her dreams and in her bedroom. “Mister Sunshine?” The name was one she had given it because of the disappearance of light whenever it was around.
Outside, a few of the Young turned to their Father, whose eyes were oblivious to their spawns’ curiosity. Instead, it examined the filly. It emitted a sense of familiarity to it; one of innocence, and fear.
The Father scoffed at the emotions, and chastised her from within the shell his Young made up. In spite of this, the insatiable hunger that filled both him and the Young had an appetizer just within reach, and he smirked at the similarities that the filly and she shared.
A few of the Young spoke up, questioning the possibility of resistance of the filly’s sister; a mare who communes with the long lost meal every day, and how she wields formidable power.
The Father narrowed one of his eyes. His voice deepened considerably, and arcs of purple lightning shot out from his claws. He growled words that terrified the Young, threats of making the whole family writhe in pain until they spoke of where she hides. For then the feast of ten thousand Young would commence.
One by one did the Young outside slither away, giving Sweetie Belle the confidence to let out an ear-piercing scream.
A few moments later, Rarity swung the door open and ran to her sister’s side. “What is it!?” she asked through her gasps for breath.
Sweetie Belle shakily lowered the blanket. Her eyes darted around the room as sweat ran down her forehead. “I-Is he…” Sweetie’s words were caught in her throat as she caught a glimpse of something out the corner of her eye. “Ah! It’s him! Rarity, save me!”
Rarity rolled her eyes. “Sweetie.” Using her magic, Rarity lowered the blanket. “That’s my mane.”
Sure enough, the shadow of Rarity’s mane cast a claw-like appearance onto Sweetie’s wall. “Oh.” The filly giggled sheepishly. “W-well, still, I saw the monster again!” Sweetie looked at her big sister with doleful eyes. “Mister Sunshine! He was looking in.”
“Sweetie Belle.” Rarity stared sternly at her Younger sister. “You’re seven years old. You know there’s no such thing as monsters under your bed.”
“He wasn’t under my bed this time!” Sweetie protested. “He was outside my window, and he was saying these really… really bad things.”
Rarity turned her head to the window across from the bed. “Where is he now?”
“He fell down.”
Rarity scoffed and walked over to the window and looked out. “I don’t see anything,” she said, turning around.
“H-he was there though!” Sweetie Belle replied. “Please, sis. I’m not lying. He was there!”
Rarity looked into her sister’s eyes and sighed. “Alright.” She opened the window and stuck her head out. “Leave my sister alone, Mister Sunshine!” Rarity waited a bit to before turning back around, a proud look on her face. “You see? Absolutely nothing to worry about.”
Sweetie sighed as Rarity shut and locked the window. “I swear, he was there.”
Rarity gave her little sister a kiss on the head. “It was probably just a nightmare,” she said. “If there’s a monster, I’d protect you.”
Sweetie smiled. “Thanks, Rarity. You’re the best sister ever.”
“So are you.” Rarity walked over to the bedroom door and flicked off the lights. “Now, good night.”
The shadows blotted out the moonlight. Through the sides of the window, the Father and his Young slipped into the bedroom of the filly’s elder sister. He scanned the bedroom until his eyes landed on a nightstand, which had a book upon it.
The Father looked down at the Young and extended an arm. His voice was as soft as silk, and music to the ears of the Young. The order was clear as day: retrieve the book and do not get seen. The door was partially open, and the sound of hooves could be heard. Luckily, the elder sister did not see the Young as they returned to the shadows with her diary.
The Father grabbed it and furiously flipped through the pages. Names and an array of stories filled the diary, each detailing an adventure that she had gone on. While the Father recognized some names, only one noticeably stood out to him; the one who resided in a castle. The one who was crowned as royalty.
The fury at the mere sight of that name caused the diary to erupt into an inferno of purple fire. The Young dodged the falling pages, which rained down like meteors. One of the Young asked the Father if he’d found out where she was.
The Father’s voice boomed through the darkness, his anger sending a clear negative to any who may have been curious. As he attempted to calm down, the elder sister walked to the doorway and spoke with two other ponies.
The Father glared and spoke of her. He said she held a close bond with this mare; that they were friends. He smiled at the Young and motioned for them to follow. It was time to feast.
From the shadows did they wait. They watched as the feast—the one called Rarity—walked down the hallway, joyfully humming to herself without a care in the world. She did not notice her door, clearly perturbed by its presence.
Within the room’s inky black darkness, it was there the shadows moved. They’d welcomed their master home, and with it he brought hunger.
Once the feast had reached the stairs they began their pursuit. Delicately did they stalk. It was from within the living room that they could hear the feast muse to herself. She spoke of the foal’s imagination and how it was the creator; how it was the foal that dreamt of them.
The Young yearned for a meal, but the warmth of the room she stood in lashed out. They rushed to their Father, begging that he bring them the meal they so desired.
He swung an arm and with it came a surge of magic. So the lights went out, and darkness reigned with a cold, merciless fist.
The flame of the stove was all that illuminated the kitchen; the despair of the feast was cacophonous.
The shadows receded and watched as the feast stormed out of the kitchen. She met her guardian—one that she called ‘mom’—halfway up the stairs and conversed. The light of their horns sent shockwaves of terror through the Young. It was as faint as it was brilliant.
Once the guardian went back upstairs, the feast walked over to a stand of dresses, but still her horn radiated light.
The Young fled to their Father and begged that he remove the flame of life from her horn, a request that was met with anger. The cowardice of the Young that protected him sent him into a rage. He rebuked them, saying that they endured the light of a princess, but now the light of a mere unicorn was too much.
The Father split off from the shadow that normally enveloped him. His form approached the feast and loomed over her. His soft touch caused her to jump and scream in terror. She spun around and saw a monstrous clawed hand come down towards her.
The feast teleported away just in time and ran away, but was intercepted by the Young, which swarmed her. Her shrill screams alerted the attention of the guardian and her knight—one that she referred to as ‘dad’. The little light they produced was barely enough to make out the shapeless aberrations that shielded the Father. A few shifted their attention to them and attacked.
The Father barked at the Young, ordering half of them to go upstairs while the other half guard him. He set his gaze back upon the feast once he was enveloped by them. He thrusted a tendril at her, knocking her into a mannequin. He crawled over, shredding the carpet with his every movement, until he was but inches from her face. While the darkness of the room concealed his, the feasts’ light was enough that she could see a large eye staring back at her. It casually winked at her, after which a hand reached around her and grabbed a firm grip on the her tail.
The feast was lifted off the floor and, in one quick movement, thrown into the kitchen through the wall. As she struggled to stand up, the Father crawled in, his claws ripping up anything they landed on.
Weakly, the feast crawled backwards. The chaos upstairs, and the blood curdling screams that accompanied it, filled her with an unbearable level of terror. Before she knew it, her flank hit the wall and her muzzle entered a shadow, running up against a cold, scaly appendage.
The Father extended a claw and lifted the feast’s head. Calmly, he inquired if she knew where she was, only to be met with a head tilt and the question of why he was doing such things to her and her family. Such a question lead the Father to press his claw down onto the feast’s shoulder. She let out a cry of agony as begs for mercy rang out from the upstairs. The Father sighed and asked about the royalty she was friends with once she had calmed down.
The feast looked up at the shadow, her makeup running down her face along with her tears. Shakily, she said that they would all come for him no matter what happened.
The Father remained motionless for a bit before bringing his claw back. He turned his back to the feast and told her to go get her before he changed his mind. With that, he entered the living room and whistled.
A wave of shadow, illuminated by the horns of the guardian and knight, barreled down the stairs before colliding with a nearby mannequin. The Young were thrown in all directions, a few catching a fleeting glimpse of their Father as they flew. Once they landed, they fled towards him. Those that saw this followed, and the third wave made haste, not to the ever-growing shadow, but towards the knight. They dug their small claws into his flank and pulled him into the darkness to the screams of a family viciously torn apart.
Within the void, the Young consumed the knight, whose screams couldn’t penetrate the barrier the Young made. As for the Father however, he cared not for the feast. Rather, he observed the two mares.
The feast asked about the little one upstairs—her ‘sister’, and if she was hurt. The pitch in her voice rose, barely masking the unmistakable grief that showed itself across every inch of her face. She could barely raise a single leg to try and climb the stairs. She fell to the floor, bloodied and bruised. Tears now streamed down her face, sorrow overwhelming her. A hoof rested on her shoulder, a sight that made several of the Young gag. To their shock, and the Father’s, the feast quickly regained her composure, and asked if the Young one would be okay with the guardian.
The guardian for her part simply nodded. She either opted to not, or simply could not, mask her sorrow. Through her tears, she suggested the feast go and alert her. As the feast opened her mouth to reply, the Father growled. His anger shook the foundation of the boutique, causing the dresses that adorned the mannequins to heave.
The carpets squirmed as the Young fled. The floor ruptured, sending splinters raining across the room, some embedding themselves into the two mares.
Then, silence.
The mannequins returned to their normally-motionless state, like the victims of a basilisk, and the Young found respite against the walls. In front of them was a world of chaos, the marks of the conflict on view for them. Possessions, priceless and beloved, littered the floor like trash. Fabrics, torn apart in a primal rage, punctuated the carnage unleashed upon the room. All of it, fueled by hunger and the unchained wrath of ages past.
The feast broke the silence, asking if the guardian would make it out fine. Tears welled up in her eyes as silence took over once more. With a heavy sigh, she gave the guardian a hug before limply galloping out of the boutique.
It was then that one of the Young spoke up, taking a stand atop the bits and pieces that remained of the knight. He asked what the point of letting the feast flee was if the friends mentioned in the diary would come back with her and would simply bring them back to eviscerate him along with the Young.
The Father scoffed and spoke of powers the Young couldn’t comprehend, lest their minds be warped and themselves turned into abominations that would defile the very fabric of existence. He glared at the Young before sighing, and spoke of a demonstration that would showcase but a sliver of his power.
He raised an arm, and extended his claw, letting it rest over the carcass of the knight. A paper-thin tendril lowered itself and penetrated the hide, causing thick, purple veins to swarm through the body. Several more tendrils entered the body. Then, the entire hand slammed down.
To the amazement of the Young, the knight returned to life. His screams filled the air as his body slowly became one with the Father. His hooves vanished, only to return in an arbitrary part of his new home. His mane was torn asunder and flew onto the Father’s gelatinous form. One by one, other pieces of the knight found themselves on the Father until all that remained of him were the memories held by the guardian and her daughters.
The Young that moved within it slowly shifted away and towards a staircase, which was shattered. Holes the size of a stallion’s head lined the walls, along with six-inch deep claw marks that ran from the bottom to the top.
Once there, the Father glared down the hallway to see the guardian dragging herself. He narrowed an eye and gave a single, simple order: attack.
The Young broke off from the Father and rushed down the hallway, sweeping the guardian off of her hooves and carrying her. Teeth tore skin from body; meat from bone. Blood painted the Young, a sensation they lavished.
A frenzied assault on the location ensued. Screams of ever-waning life found itself drowned out by the ravenous carnage; fabrics shredded by the claws and teeth of the Young one again littered the floor. Their manic hunger was not sated, their cavernous maws still feasting on any piece of flesh that so much as twitched. All the while, they chanted: “Life slowly leaving the living! Embrace of death, imminent! The Father has risen once more!”.
The cries of the guardian were drowned out by the chants, and so it was that her lights went out, unheard. Nothing could stop the gluttonous Young. Neither screams, nor pleas, nor cries of mercy.
The Father admired the massacre and lumbered down the hallway, surveying the rooms that lined it, for they all bore marks of times long past. Some were partially opened, showcasing a casual abode that at one point in time may have given the boutique a tranquil and even homely atmosphere. But, as the shadows grew darker, so too did the doors. Some bore the marks of a primal force that even nature couldn’t hold back. Tooth and claw to wood; obliteration and decimation.
The Father gathered his Young, who brought with them the ravaged remains of the guardian, and stopped at the door at the end of the hall. It was in pristine condition and below it seeped the faintest bit of light, accompanied by a soft whimper.
Slowly did the door open, allowing the Young to flood the room, and causing the whimper to cease. At the center of the room rested a bed. The outline of a filly, shaking like a leaf, was beneath it. The Young circled her like a pack of eager hyenas, all of them glaring with lustful hunger as the flashlight flickered, before ultimately dying.
The Young receded, only to erupt back out with chaotic force as a tendril wrapped around Sweetie Belle, dragging her into the void. The hands of ten thousand Young ripped off the blanket, eviscerating it completely. From above, the Father watched as his children brought absolution to their latest snack.
“You were right to fear the dark.”
