Author's Note

Hello there and welcome back to yet another chapter of my fanfic that goes beyond the typical oneshots made from before which I've given you since inception; suffice to say, the past chapters from before were by far a strong note for you all only to serve as a taste of what's to come later on.

As usual, My Little Pony, or rather Friendship Is Magic, including its settings and characters belong to Lauren Faust and Hasbro; however, this concept of my fanfic still belongs to me so I will say this line one time only: please do not steal this story or I will sue.

Lastly, let me also say that I hope you can stomach this chapter now more than the others before it and still have the strength to continue onward in staying tuned though the passing times; henceforth, I will leave you with but one saying only: thank you very much.

Shadow

There was a complete absence of darkness now dominating the very environs, already devoid of mystery and suspense which had relied consistently on the sheer element of uncertainty at large. Although loneliness had been filling the oxygenated space itself at once, the entire atmosphere was still more than possible to go and empty it all out within due time for one reason or another. In addition, even at least a few clues were presently providing some semblance of substance that was already instantaneously dwelling inside even with the lack of a solid terrain, let alone earth.

A tall woman was found out amongst the whiteness, lying supine with but a warm face plastered with a straight edge and sand matching her integument. Her jet black hair was a contrast to the void because of how much it'd resemble the nighttime sky but without any illumination from the moon or stars. A uniform was worn right over the woman’s body: a beige shirt with long sleeves, some dark blue pants devoid of denim, and clean, gray shoes too.

“Huh… what happened here: what on earth am I doing here in my old uniform; as a matter of fact, where are the others…?” she’d gasped, her eyes suddenly flying open to be bearing some dark hazel reminiscent of the material wealth.

It wasn’t long until the woman had come to her senses immediately, surprised to find that such visibility had been provided for her long before awakening to purity. The airstreams were speedily brushing right up against her very ears with such tender gentleness, carrying some bits of silica in their path with some fine coarseness. Within the innumerable oxygen was a crisp and cool breeze already over the woman’s skin and inside her nostrils, helping her regain some resemblance of control. Even with the sand underneath her feet, she was still unsure of the environment nonetheless; of course, her mind was riddled with questions begging to be answered.

As chance would have a crack at it up and down to and from here and there, the woman came across a log cabin out within the burning sands. She was quick in bearing witness to the simplicity in the structure but the strangeness in and of itself alone dominated her mindset completely. There were plenty of windows already made of glass but they were painted black in spite of the achromatic appearance or the visibility thereof. A lone door was found to be made of metal, easily colored in alloys of both copper and cobalt with its knob fabricated in some chromium too.

The woman made it to the metal egress almost immediately, quick to go knock upon the surface gently; as a result, she was quickly greeted with a gentle reply, “you can come in now; the door’s already open…”

She was quick to heed those very words, instantaneously entering the domicile at once to find that the place was empty despite the inner appearances therein so far. Considering its ligneous exterior, the entire background of the very cabin from above and below the very woman went in needed no form of introduction whatsoever. A single small flight of stairs were currently pointing upwardly to a higher floor above the likes of herself, already possessing a railing on the left for safety reasons. Now the woman was being treated to the sights of furnishings, appliances, and electronics on one corner of the living room almost rather immediately towards yonder.

“That was weird, even for me: I’ve seen some fucked up shit here and there in my life and career but this was the most tame; as a matter of fact, I need to stay on my toes nonetheless anyway…” she’d thought to herself, quickly taking aim at one of the very items in her sights upon arrival, “besides, I haven’t seen the owner at all yet…”

“After all that success and recommendation… everything came crashing down hard… the nightmares, the headaches… do you have any regrets…?” another voice was heard but it was tainted with static meshes here and there, prompting the woman to find the source of it all quickly: a brownish and woody flatscreen device with moving pictures being displayed at once.

Of the pictures in question, one stood out, making her jump a bit; as a matter of fact, it was minimalistic to a fault, bearing one word in white against a black background: it had read out in uppercase letters, “LIGHTHOUSE…”

“Sweet merciful–––” the aforementioned individual struggled to make and exclamation, “what’s going on…?”

“She’d burst onto the homeland from humble beginnings with a large family of her own, struggling to make ends meet for themselves, even going so far as to miss school days to help her sick parents; today, a special edition of Holding Out For A Hero: Lighthouse…” the square electronic buzzed about to the likes of her.

Lighthouse was treated to a sight of herself on the screen in much different clothing: a black jacket and red blouse combo with purple buttons; the latter spoke with a faint smile, “I wasn’t there trying to be Rager; I’m just trying to do my job like everyone else and even it’s not so glamorous or respectable…”

“Coming up on Holding Out For A Hero…” the speakers announced, even with a still picture of the same woman in more casual attire in a monochromatic filter zoomed inward, “Aquamarine Lighthouse: the Troubled Life and Tragic Death of a Hero…”

“What?!” she'd squeaked out at once.

Lighthouse watched as people started appearing on the small screen before her, different folks in many places performing various tasks yet the device spoke in the previous voice, “many people from all throughout the globe have gone off in search of a better life, some managing to find a place of their home to call their own, even complete strangers from with the homeland itself.”

“Lighthouse was a great woman…” a dark skinned man in dreadlocks had spoken up, appearing before the eponymous woman already clad in a bright beige suit, “one of the most important in the battle of Baltimare…”

“Oh, Lighthouse always knew when to stand up and do the right thing in the end, even if it meant risking her life and reputation to do so…” a brightly skinned brunet man with a clean–shaven face had said, taking the first man’s place while wearing a gray sweater onscreen.

Another bright skinned individual made a separate appearance, sharing the same gender as herself: the former wore a white blouse and donned long hot pink tresses while speaking, “she was a brave soldier, brave…”

“And she’ll continue to be important to the people of this homeland…” the dreadlocked male cut back in almost instantly, “I mean between books, talk show appearances and even portraits, her legacy will continue to go on for years to come…”

“So many were saddened to hear of Lighthouse’s death: from admirers to fellow compatriots alike, including one of her former coworkers from years ago…” the announcer’s voice had said as somber music started to play in the process with some pictures of the titular tenant plastered about in various attires and emotions probable.

It was at this point in time another dark skinned male appeared onscreen, yet he was bald and dressed in a long black suit with a red tie, now talking as well, “I’ll never forget how it all went down: I heard that she was going to head down west to the orphanage that opened up after the war; it made me think back to the day I lost someone close to myself as well. Then I had heard that she’d died; I was crushed because of how it had reminded me of another woman whom was nearly executed years ago just as the war got hotter.”

“But what Greystoke didn’t know was that one of their former colleagues had written a song dedicated to her as thanks for helping him let go of the bitterness he held in his life…” the man with dreadlocks came back to reply, “it'd gotten rush–released as a memorial single, courtesy of Songbird Serenade mind you…”

The bald counterpart had focus onto himself returned as he’d said, “it went through the roof, but it won’t be enough to make me forget about my own wife, may she rest in peace…”

“Oh my…” the raven haired observer had gasped a bit to herself but still maintained her composure, “it can’t be…!”

“Of course, it’s always tragic for a heroine to die so young but ultimately I have to say it’s the best thing that could have happened; better now than later that’s for sure: she’s worth ten times as much dead as she is alive…” the bright suited individual chirped about quite jovially much to her discontent.

Speaking of which, Lighthouse repeated, “ten times?! You’re fucking shitting me…!”

“Make it a hundred…” he’d laughed immediately, “she’s done more than what that Princess Cadence could have done…”

“Lighthouse’s fierce temper was well–known…” the announcer stated as footage of the very same woman in uniform alongside several others attacking two overweight men with batons were being played; in addition, there were a few other people not in uniform being found as well.

She watched her weapon rain down onto the bare–chested male’s head while screaming, “KNOCK IT OFF, NIÑO; WHAT WOULD YOUR PAPI THINK…!”

“I’d remembered the day she’d went to court to oversee Persimmon’s murder trial; he'd acted so out of control, it got to her without any effort whatsoever…” the brightly skinned brunet said, now reappearing, “of course, it was his own damn fault: he'd killed his own wife while she'd tried to save that poor baby of hers yet all that this bastard could think about was none other than himself…”

“Speaking of girl power, although that she'd gave it to him really good, Fluttershy ended up stealing the show: I'd heard that just as that coward fought them all off, she'd punched him so hard and fast, he'd ended up losing several of his own teeth; apparently, she was waiting in court to get a permit…” the dreadlocked male chimed back in.

The bald correspondent returned to give his take and part in the conversation, “remember the time when she kicked a drugged–out bully in the balls so hard he'd to go get them surgically removed…? I was like damn, that was hard; thankfully, he'd gotten himself clean and a new pair too…”

“I heard that she'd arrested some farmer for throwing a tomato at her by accident…” a ginger male of small stature wearing a green knit cap matching his overalls muttered, “a stupid, worthless tomato for crying out loud…”

“I was almost thrown overboard…!” Lighthouse shouted.

The bright skinned woman came back to speak her mind, “I think that it’s great that she’ll be remembered but I’m also grateful that she left this career behind before she died at some other brute’s hand… great woman…”

“But she'd smelled so dirty…” the little man interjected with little warning whatsoever, “that’s one of the reasons why I had given up on bringing the band back together; even though the war had ended, all that I could think about was reuniting with my classmates: Fluttershy, Greystoke, Twilight, Zuul, even her. Swain also used to be in our class as well but ever since the terrorist attack killed him, to say that we’d went our separate ways was a lie; in fact, I'd recalled when they took me away since the class had been disbanded: it was part of a deal that was made where attending these classes would ensure that my criminal record would be expunged.”

“There had even been conspiracy theories suggesting she’d played a hand in orchestrating the bombing to get rid of my friend Fluttershy since she'd basically stole her job in so little time; of course, I refused to believe them since I was with her, unlike Lighthouse herself so to speak…” another woman now appeared to speak, dark skinned like the first few males yet with purple hair.

The raven haired observer scoffed, “that’s terrible…!”

“But her admirers never abandoned her…” the announcer spoke as a hodgepodge of items in certain forms and fashions imaginable were being passed around to and fro, “when a cache of Lighthouse’s personal possessions hit the collector’s market, it would seem that price was no limit.”

“We were lucky to come across Lighthouse’s personal diary: very juicy stuff – I mean, we’re talking deepest fears, emotional insecurities, the real inside dirt; quite a find…” the man in dreadlocks said, showing off a blue book onscreen.

More pictures of herself faded in and out interchangeably as the announcer had spoken once more, “of course, the book will be published this winter; an advanced copy was leaked by one of her closest friends and confidants. ‘October 21th – I can’t understand what my mother would think of me if she saw me celebrating Nightmare Night; I’m still hoping that she come visits me the day after: this career change is taking a toll on my mind… plus, I miss Lalah…’”

“This is insane…!” Lighthouse quickly squawked, scrambling around, “I’m not dead; I’m right here…!”

“Aquamarine Lighthouse: scores of accolades, plenty of fans, a treasury of heart we will never forget; but, what about those who knew her best…?” the announcer asked as the woman’s face was plastered onward.

Another light skinned brunette weighed in, wearing a darker uniform as she snickered, “that dumb shallow ingrate barely crossed my mind… I miss the gig even more…”

“I miss Lighthouse already: she’d been a part of my life ever since I moved to the mainland; I don’t know if I could ever forgive myself though…” the bald man sniffled a bit despite remaining stoic, “we were so busy going to work and class we barely had any time to ourselves to spend with our families and because of it, I was away the day when my wife, Serene… died… I’m sorry… can we… can we stop this…?”

“But all this hasn’t happened… this whole show… of course, they’re not really talking about me: there’s some kind of mix–up; I’ll just call them in the morning… and straighten things out…!” she'd said soundly, staring at the lonely gravestone in front before reaching her hand towards a nearby blue telephone on the desk.

The moment when Lighthouse picked it up, her ears were assaulted with a series of harsh riffs and beeps hitherto and from before dropping completely; still, they played on as she'd heard the announcer speak up one last time, “rest in peace, Lighthouse… rest in peace…”

“No, No, NO: it’s not possible: I won’t believe that I’m already dead…!” the woman raised her voice at the small screen, “IT’S A LIE…!”

“It’s a fact, Lighthouse, you must accept it; after all, because of you, my friend is dead – he was killed in a suicide bombing at the prison where Persimmon Tart was held along with many other bastards…” another male voice was held but it didn’t come from the ligneous electronic in front of herself like the other figures before so to speak.

Lighthouse turned to find that she was standing before a small boy right across the room almost immediately, causing her skin to turn white. Speaking of which, he’d donned some short and spiky white hair, their very tresses were already matching the shirt he was wearing right over. The boy’s eyes were blue, matching the long sleeves of another shirt underneath as they were icy and dicey all thanks to his melancholic glare. His skin was fruity like a peach yet it was pale, undermined by the bags beneath the visage and the tears had crawled over them without fear. Although the boy’s shorts and boots were both purple, the former were faint in hue compared to the latter which had some white accents too.

The woman was in shock as she’d exclaimed, “what are you talking about; what does his death have to do with me…?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, you wretched tyrant; you know what you did…!” he spat out almost instantaneously, wiping away the tears before her, “besides, how else could I’ve ever known why he did it; he was my best friend, and he had options but that changed because people like you kept fucking up by simply taking too damn long to stop fuckers like that shitty excuse of a dad. At least the only good thing about our fathers was that they never tried to kill us directly, let alone slaughter our own mothers before us; who the fuck were you to go ‘wham! wham! wham!’ on Persimmon Tart?! If anything, your judge should’ve at least sentenced that bastard to death when she had the chance; better yet, you could’ve ended him and maybe for once my friend would have still been alive. Of course, what did I expect from someone like you, let alone have any right whatsoever to decide who should live or die?! People like me would have been put to death for ending so many lives left and right, especially outside of war; but him, he did nothing wrong to deserve such a fate: losing his father to another bastard like Persimmon Tart in this forsaken world while fuckers like you didn’t have the time to get a clue! I tried to stop him, you know, from carrying out his plan, not because of some pang of conscience, but rather because I didn’t want him to give up his sense of normalcy; yet, all that he could think about was monsters like them getting fat and happy while his father becomes an afterthought of the past. I couldn’t help but to think about what Figaro had looked like: a severed head attached to his spinal cord like some goddamned fish; in fact, it was all that remained of him since he went and–––”

“That’s awful; I’m really sorry about what happened to him… that’s all…” Lighthouse said after watching the boy's breakdown in a deluge of tears.

As soon as the woman attempted to move forward, she'd felt some static pushing her away from him; while she'd yelped in pain, he'd growled in sorrow, “it must have been real nice for you, ain’t it? All you could think about was what it would be like had you bashed his brains in with your black baton, right?! Too bad that two people beat you to him: I didn’t care much for that introvert knocking his teeth out, but Figaro, he was my only friend and you people took him away from him!”

“How in the whole wide world did I take him away?!” she’d snapped back in fury, unperturbed by the very pain she'd just felt and listened to only recently, “it was his choice to do so, not mine…”

“Typical… you people, despite being on two different sides of the same damn, are more alike than either of you want to admit: you thrive off of violence, you have a penchant for being cruel to others, and you like hearing and watching one another die; at least, I’m glad that you're dead as well…!” the boy roared as an orange wave of electricity surrounded himself within only seconds.

Lighthouse quickly had reached into her pocket to pull out a pistol and pleaded to him profusely, “come on now; even you know that’s not true: besides, I had no satisfaction for that man’s death or the boy’s…”

“As if I could believe you…” the boy whimpered, now facing the woman with eyes and tears of orange staring out into her with dread, “ever since I was little, I was trained to be an assassin but not at the hands of warlords with an agenda for bloodshed; my family taught me various methods on how to take a life in more ways than one: burning, freezing, even electrocution of all things. My big brothers were the ones who'd helped put food on the table with the money they made killing so many people; my mother said I could have been following them in their footsteps if I had given up on finding friends. At least in hindsight, they were right for the most part; still, letting his death be in vain was too light of a punishment for the likes of you so I’m doing what should have been done a long fucking time ago: KILLING YOU…!”

“Hah…!” she’d gasped before discharging her weapon at him instantaneously, each bullet escaping from the barrel and into his direction; however, not only was he unharmed, they were caught in an electromagnetic field around himself.

It wasn’t long until Lighthouse heard continuous clicking from her own pistol, forcing her to look at the metallic fruits of her labors now right at the boy’s disposal when he’d snarled loudly, “THIS IS FOR FIGARO, YOU FUCK…!”

“AH, DÍOS MIO!” the woman cried as the first bullet entered her left leg, forcing her down onto the ground before she clutched onto the spot of the fresh new wound; soon, more bullets rained down onto more parts of her body: legs, arms, torso, even parts of her hair were cut away, “STOP, STOP, YOU MADE YOUR POINT JUST PLEASE… don’t let me die like this…”

“You should have thought of that before you let him go to prison; anyway, my work here is done…” he’d growled before turning away, leaving her in a pool of her own blood as he’d left her, the room she was in, and the cabin she’d recently entered without even daring to look back.

Lighthouse couldn’t resist feeling her strength leaving her body as she stared into the ceiling writhing in pain; she panted and moaned with tears of her own escaping from the corners at once, “so this is why… everyone thinks… that I’m dead: I’ve… been killed by a… little boy who… misses his friend…? Damn, I’ve been such… a fool like him… not even Magma… deserved to be… with gals like me… especially… considering… that he is a… good, strong, brave man… no… Magma was great… I bet that fiend… Messenger Bag… would have loved to… see me like this… blood on the floor… into hole cheese… about to die… Mami… if you’re listening… please tell papi… I am sorry…”

It wasn’t long until the lone woman had taken her last gasp, exhalation being long and rattled before she became silent with the whites of her eyes fading away as they were left open wide; afterwards, the pictures were replaced with the snowy waves of static meshes as noise bleed throughout the dead air, buzzing about as her body lain still in the growing puddle underneath.