The Best Laid Plans
In the darkness, there was only one.
Then a brilliant flash, as moonlight reflecting off a blade, and there were two.
“Finally,” rumbled Lord Grogar, Ruler of the Realm of Darkness, and Demon Necromancer.
He straightened up and checked his immaterial body, standing strong and tall compared to the smoking ruin of his mortal flesh scattered a short distance away. His translucent shade kept the shattered remnants of bells hanging around his neck, and the tip of one spectral horn remained missing, small indications of the epic battle that had echoed around the empty halls of Tambelon, shattering the walls and scattering his undead minions until even his dread power could not stand against the heroes arrayed against him.
Grogar’s sneer of victory, even in his defeat, still remained on his shade.
Beside him, a floating spectre carrying a blazing scythe remained silent, merely looking out across the smoking ruins of the shattered city as if she sought more souls to free from their mortal source. Spectral winds blew the scraps and tatters of her encompassing robes in flowing waves behind her, highlit by the blue flickers of flame from her scythe, but she did not move.
“Enough of this, Death.” Grogar scowled at the immobile spectre, stepping closer and snorting smoke. “I am prepared. Take me to Erebus as you have before.”
The figure remained motionless.
“Well?” snorted Grogar. “You have always been a fount of witty remarks and threats before throwing me into your blasted pit to be tortured. Have you finally abandoned your duty? Do you desire to take service in my ranks?”
A growing sneer raised one corner of his translucent lips as Grogar regarded the dark wood and glittering blade of the figure’s scythe, which floated up in front of Death as if to be swung a second time. Then she shook her head, ever so slowly.
“What?” Grogar struck down with one cloven hoof and made the immaterial ground beneath them tremble with his might. “You have no other choice. If you will not join my undead legions, you must carry out your duty, slave. You are bound by chains too great to break on your own. Yield to my will or transport my soul where it is destined to go so that my minions may reunite it with my body in due time. Look.”
As he spoke, the robed goats and ponies of Grogar’s living minions continued to creep out from concealment, retrieving the charred bits and scattered chunks of their lord’s mortal flesh and carrying them away like a trail of ants.
“Soon they will cast the unspeakable rituals and retrieve my soul from darkest Erebus,” gloated Grogar. “It will be a pleasure to dismember these heroes one by one, and feast upon their screams. I shall have my revenge, and shall not repeat my errors of centuries ago. The bearded one shall fall first, torn limb from limb by my creations, and the rest will scatter like roaches. Or perhaps I should strike the new heroes who fought by their sides.”
He gnashed sharp teeth and pawed at the immaterial ground. “Yes, they are young and weak, a perfect place to start my vengeance. I shall begin the slaughter with the yellow one next time. Her screams will distract the others as I pull her wings apart and plunge boreworms into the wounds. Eaten out from the inside until she is an undead slave, a fitting fate for such impudence, and the spawn of her infestation will be used to devour the rest of her companions. Yes, I can hear their screams even now.”
Grogar glared at Death, who had not moved. “Take me to Erebus now, blasted spectre! I grow impatient!”
“No.” This time Death spoke aloud, the rasp and grate of dry bones making a hoarse voice, barely over a whisper. The spectral wind around them picked up to frigid gusts, making the streaming tatters of her robes seem to be immaterial fingers clawing away at an unseen victim, and the scythe rose higher in front of her, carried by a glaring blaze of dark magic.
The spirit of Grogar was not deterred, and glared back with a vicious snarl. “Do not toy with me, spectre! Even you will not be outside of my grasp once I defeat these heroes and drain their lives into my power. You too will be a slave to my will, just as much as you are powerless to use that scythe against me. The rules are unbreakable. You cannot harm me. The bond between you and your scythe prevent you from raising it—”
The scythe swept down once. Twice. Thrice. Then uncounted times in a featureless blur, leaving the sundered fragments of Grogar’s spirit drifting on the wind while burning bright blue until there was nothing left.
“Justice.” The dark spectre lifted a hoof and swept back the cowl from over her face, revealing a dark alicorn whose mane flowed with glitters of stellar light. “You were a fool, old goat. Never once did you consider that the robe and scythe could be borrowed from a good friend who I had not seen in a long while.”
The screaming of the small burning bits of Grogar’s soul faded away while Luna watched with the scythe, just in case any of them attempted to escape their fate. Then when the last ashes had blown into the distance, she placed the weapon back on the ground and let out a huff of breath at the empty area that had held the physical remains of the demon ram.
“His followers are too scattered to pursue back to their hidden lair in Tambelon,” she mused. “Fortunately, I need not.”
She spoke a single word, a chain of syllables that taxed even an immortal throat to pronounce, and in return, a being coalesced out of the darkness in front of her. A fathomless mass of sharpened blades and writhing tentacles, it prostrated itself upon the ground and groveled at her hooves.
“Speak, mistress,” it hissed.
Luna did not say anything at first, but reached out and snagged a silver thread floating nearby, tying the tattered end to the monstrosity’s nearest tentacle. “You have many more centuries to serve for your crimes,” she spoke in a calm voice as if entreating a child. “In a short time by your measurement, this cord shall draw taut and drag you to a place where the minions of Grogar are attempting to resurrect his body. Imagine their dismay when you appear instead.”
A low chuckle emerged from the bladed monster, only to cut off like a knife when Luna gave it a stern glance. “You shall slay only the guilty you find there, and return to your cell when the deed is done. A full year shall be lifted from your sentence for every corrupted life you end. Do you accept your task?”
“Yes, mistress.”
The creature flattened itself against the ground again as Luna turned to leave, calling over her shoulder as she walked. “I go now to return the scythe to my friend, but be aware. I shall be watching you.”
A shudder of terror traveled down the creatures many limbs, or perhaps a different emotion as it called out before she vanished into the darkness, “Mistress? At such ceremonies, there are always innocents, kept to feed the hunger of the newly awakened. What of them?”
Luna’s voice drifted back as the darkness swallowed her. “Our redemption is a long and perilous path. Allow a single hair of the innocent to come to harm, and I shall be forced to borrow my friend’s scythe again.”
“Yes, mistress.” The creature flattened itself against the ground again, and held its position until it was sure the Princess of the Night was far away. And then a little longer.
Author's Note
See, not everything I write is sunlight and rainbows.
