Ponest Dungeon

Chapter 3: Replenishing the Ranks

Week 20, Day 7, Dawn

Blueblood stumbled into the drawing room, blearily rubbing sleep from his eyes as he took his seat at the massive planning table.

He glanced over to where Tempest was already seated, with what he considered to be a disturbingly relaxed look upon her features. She appeared to be nearing the end of her breakfast. Blueblood could smell the lingering fragrance of some exotic tea wafting from a saucered cup, and watched as she ate what appeared to be a lemon-poppyseed scone.

Ditzy placed a bowl of spiced oats down in front of Blueblood, tilting her head in response to his massive frown and half-mast eyes. Her own rictus grin remained constant even as she poured him a generous helping of orange juice.

Blueblood looked with disdain at the food and drink laid out before him. His foreleg squirmed.

He wanted a real drink.

Badly.

Meanwhile, Twilight shuffled in and accepted a plate of apples for her breakfast. She gave a hearty thanks to Ditzy and took a sip of juice, before starting on one of the fruits.

Still only half awake, Blueblood was distracted by Tempest’s rippling physique, his sleep-addled mind noting that something seemed different with her today. One of his eyebrows raised as he suddenly realized that it was the fact that he could actually see said physique.

While a normal pony’s instinctual desire would be to turn away abashedly, Blueblood continued to eye the bulging contours. “Tempest.” His tone contained equal parts of irritation and confusion. “Where’s your armor?”

“At the blacksmith’s,” she replied, in a confoundingly light tone, spraying crumbs as she spoke. “Rivet appears to be quite competent at his craft. I am of the opinion that we should use some of our heirloom influence to bolster his business.” She sipped her tea.

“Well then,” Blueblood said, slightly surprised. He warily eyed his own oats. “Just don’t make too many commitments. I’m already spending a bunch of favors to look into fixing up Berry’s Tavern.”

“Of course,” Tempest replied, sipping her tea contentedly again.

“Ditzy!” Blueblood cringed at the loudness of his own voice.

“Yes sir!” Ditzy exclaimed, executing a proper salute for probably the first time.

“How many applicants do we have for this morning?” he asked.

“Ten!”

Blueblood expelled a long, drawn out sigh. Then he inhaled and sighed again.

Twilight looked at him askance.

As she finished her tea, Tempest’s contented expression compressed down into her more standard glare. “Start sending them in, Ditzy.”

Blueblood allowed his face to fall to the table with a clunk. His muzzle narrowly avoided his oats. “I really don’t want to do this today,” he groaned.

“You have been sober for less than a week,” Tempest said with overbearing reproach. “I would think that you had more constitution than that.”

“Oh,” Blueblood said, pushing the oats away, “I’m not dying. I just wish I were.”

He lifted his head as a fully-armored earth pony mare entered through the double doors close behind Ditzy. Her armor consisted of a bucket-helmet and chainmail, with a white tabard draped over it. A stylized sun with a... decidedly non-equine face was emblazoned on the front of the tabard. She was armed with a small round shield and longsword. Her shield shared the same sun emblem as her tabard.

Blueblood used his magic to grab the resumé that Ditzy placed onto the drawing room table. “Your name,” he said, “is… Solmare?”

“Yes!” the mare replied jovially. “I am a warrior of the sun!” She reared up on the tips of her hind hooves and thrust both forehooves skyward. “I have come to these lands to seek my very own sun!”

Blueblood blinked. Then he blinked again.

“Praise the sun!” she shouted.

He really wanted that drink. “Continue without me Tempest,” Blueblood said, standing up. “I… need a moment.” He grumbled as he walked past Twilight, the beaming Solmare, and then out of the room.

Twilight raised an eyebrow and watched Blueblood leave. “Where’s he going?”

“To turn in his three-day sobriety token, no doubt,” Tempest said flatly. “Back to the matter at hoof, Twilight.”

“Even with Blueblood gone?” Twilight asked.

“Yes,” Tempest boomed. “Solmare—” Tempest furrowed her brow as she read the resumé, which was written in a flowing script and somehow managed to be laden with purple prose “—your qualifications seem to be… ambiguous, at best.”

“My abilities are hard to quantify,” Solmare replied, in a disturbingly buoyant tone. She held up a hoof and a shortspear-sized bolt of lightning crackled into existence in her grasp.

“How?” Twilight rose and put two hooves on the table. “You’re an earth pony! How can you wield lightning like a pegasus? And how did you even generate it without being a unicorn?”

“I create these holy bolts through the strength of my convictions,” Solmare said, allowing the bolt of energy to dissipate and lowering her hoof.

“Interesting,” Tempest said, perhaps genuinely. “Ditzy, standard contract, show her to the barracks.”

Ditzy obliged, leading Solmare from the room.

“Should we really be continuing the morning interviews without Blueblood?” Twilight asked.

“Of course.” Tempest’s voice rumbled like a thunderstorm. “The Prince’s overreaction to that slightly eccentric sun-worshiper was just due to his sudden self-inflicted sobriety… Probably.”

“Well,” Twilight said, “he was muttering something about it being ‘too damned early for this.’”

“The Prince does appear to have been sleep deprived these last few days,” Tempest said in a guarded tone. “And I will admit to hearing… odd noises coming from the vicinity of his quarters after the sun sets.”

“Probably just him and… Ametrine.” Twilight shuddered slightly.

Tempest raised an eyebrow. “So, you know that the two of them are engaged in intimate activity, then.”

Twilight’s cheeks reddened. “You knew?”

“Yes,” Tempest replied in a tone decidedly flatter than the surface of the drawing room table.

“But… how can you be comfortable with that?”

“I informed the Prince about my reservations. But he is a grown stallion, and is free to make whatever mistakes he wishes.”

Twilight threw her hooves out for emphasis “But he risks both physical and mental corruption by being in such close contact with… her.”

“Your concern comes far too late.”

“What do you mean?”

Tempest spared an unthreatening glance towards Twilight. “During your expedition to Sweet Apple Acres, there was an incident. While I was present, my comprehension of what happened is limited. I believe that eldritch energy from the comet reacted unfavorably with the viewing window, and the subsequent explosion—”

“Explosion?!”

“—transferred something from the table and into the Prince. The Prince’s eye already held the same color as what blew up the window when mixed with what left it. Starlight focused her own eldritch energies into the Prince, in an attempt to force out the color and prevent him from also exploding. She succeeded, but that odd color jumped into Starlight instead. Apparently, the saturation of eldritch energies left him with some… physical side effects as well.”

“Such as?” Twilight pressed.

“I am not going to explain further at this time,” Tempest said with a hint of impatience. “Back to business. Solmare has demonstrated an ability I have not seen in earth ponies before. But, by your own admission, the breadth of your studies has been quite liberal. I am curious as to your opinion on her.”

“She sure was cheery.”

“Indeed. A little too much for my tastes. But that does little to explain her abnormal abilities.”

“I honestly have no idea. She insisted it was through the ‘strength of her convictions,’ but I’ve never seen or read about earth ponies being able to do any magic that isn’t directly tied to their physical ability, or to the land or materials they work. And I didn’t see or sense any kind of magical artifacts on her.”

“She is a conundrum then,” Tempest said. “Perhaps she may reveal her secrets when we see her in action.”

“Maybe.” Twilight didn’t strike Tempest as sounding entirely convinced, but in the ensuing silence, neither of them pressed the matter. “I suppose we should call in the next applicant.”

“Agreed,” Tempest said. “Next!”

The mauve unicorn filly had to stand on her hind legs to place the resumé onto the drawing room table.

“Too young,” Tempest boomed.

“You’d probably be better off playing war than actually participating in it,” Twilight said, not unkindly.

“Ummm.” Twilight cringed as the muscular mare brandished her sword-hilt at them, clenching the bladed edge of the weapon firmly in her mouth.

“It appears that you do not know how to properly hold a sword,” Tempest said. “You have the physique, but obviously are unskilled. Join a militia somewhere, get some experience. We don’t have the time or resources to train you from scratch.”

“Your resumé says you are fearless,” Tempest said coldly.

“You will never meet a braver stallion!” The applicant declared haughtily.

Twilight cast a sidelong glance to Tempest. She could tell from the slim smile on Tempest’s face what was about to happen, and scooched her chair in.

“I see.” Tempest rose to her hooves. She slowly walked behind Twilight and around the side of the drawing room table.

Beads of sweat became visible on the stallion’s forehead.

“If you are so bold—” Tempest slowly approached, her muscles visibly tensing like those of a predatory animal rearing to pounce “—then you shouldn’t be scared—” she quickly placed her muzzle right in front of his, and bored into his eyes with her harshest glare “—of little. Old. Me.”

The sound of liquid pattering on the floor heralded a series of gasping sobs as the stallion was reduced to a blubbering mess. “Please don’t hurt me!” he wailed.

“Ditzy,” Tempest said. “Drag this coward out of my sight.” She wrinkled her nose. “And get a mop.”

As Ditzy dragged the stallion away, Tempest sneered. “Pathetic.”

“I highly doubt that you and your pregnant wife would make good mercenaries,” Tempest said to the doughy couple. “Go back to your bakery.”

“Please do,” Twilight said. “This town desperately needs a viable starch alternative to muffintack.”

“Ditzy, you’re already a member of the company.”

“No, we don’t have a dental plan,” Twilight said.

“Especially since the closest pony we had to a dentist was, ironically, eaten by a giant toothy horror,” Tempest added.

Week 20, Day 7, Late Morning

“How many applicants has that been?” Twilight asked.

“Eight,” Tempest replied. “Only one of which warranted consideration,” she said with a hint of disgust. “Blueblood is going to need to expand his recruitment network if we are already scraping the bottom of the barrel here.”

“Well, two left.”

“Indeed,” Tempest said. “Next!”

Tempest’s teacup rattled on its saucer. She glanced down as it rattled again.

“Be careful, miss,” Ditzy said from the hallway. “All of these vases are antiques—”

There was the sound of something extremely heavy striking and shattering on the floor, followed by a groan from Ditzy.

And then the next applicant appeared, her massive form blocking the door to the hallway. The creature was maybe three times as massive as a pony. A thick metal helmet with a mesh visor covered her head, but did nothing to hide the thick, upward curved horns that stuck out from both sides. Two chains with absurdly thick links, one coming down each side, trailed from the back of the helmet to almost touch the ground, reminiscent of braided hair. Despite having thick, brown fur—long enough that it brushed lightly against the ground—evenly along her length, scars could be seen crisscrossing her body. Upon her forelegs were large spiked gauntlets.

As she forced her way into the room, one of her gauntlets tangled slightly with one of her chains, causing her to stumble and almost take one of the doors right off of its hinges. She quickly righted herself from the slip-up and approached the table.

“A yak?” Twilight asked, nonplussed.

“Yona is best yak!” Yona proclaimed.

“You are dressed in the manner of a pit fighter,” Tempest said, eyes flicking over Yona’s hide. “And your scars speak of experience.”

Ditzy walked around the roadblock that was Yona and placed a piece of parchment in front of Tempest.

Tempest examined the resumé. “You were born and raised in Yakyakistan, daughter to Prince Rutherford. You spent five years in the yak fighting pits.” She looked up from the parchment. “Five years is far longer than the average fighter. Most are crippled or retire within the first year.”

“Yona never beaten!” Yona said in a forceful tone. “Yona fight many creatures, and Yona always win!”

“You must have had a good reason to leave the fighting pits though.”

“Yona bored! Pit fights too easy! Yona want challenge!”

“Bored of the Yakyakistan ‘death pits,’ you say.” Tempest felt genuine warmth suffuse her barrel as she gave a deep smile. “You remind me of myself: always seeking to test your limits. You may consider yourself hired. Ditzy will give you the standard contract—”

“No!” Yona shouted.

Her eyes widening ever so slightly, Tempest leaned forward before piercing Yona with her harshest glare. “You seem to think our standard contract is not appropriate.”

“Yona not ‘standard!’” Yona stomped a hoof—which resulted in another priceless vase meeting its demise—and unflinchingly returned Tempest’s gaze. “Yona want special contract!”

“And so you shall have it,” Tempest said. “Ditzy, she’s at least twice as big as other ponies. Give her twice the rate. But understand: I’ll be expecting much of you.”

Ditzy nodded and led Yona out of the room. This time Yona managed to avoid the door.

Twilight flinched as the sounds of crunching porcelain echoed from the hallway. “Are you sure that Blueblood will approve of her? Especially with that rate hike?”

“I have no doubt. My standards are strict, and I brook no fools.”

“Yona seemed pretty clumsy.”

“Yet despite that, she has fought and won consistently in gladiatorial matches. For five whole years. It shows immense strength in the face of adversity. I can relate.”

Twilight glanced up towards Tempest’s forehead.

Tempest sucked in a breath that would presage the upbraiding of a lifetime if the young mare mentioned her horn. But the storm passed as Twilight quickly averted her gaze down towards the table.

Ditzy returned after a few minutes of silence between them.

“Next,” Tempest commanded.

Twilight’s stomach growled loudly, prompting a brief glance from Tempest.

“There is only one more, then we can have lunch.” Tempest’s voice brooked no argument. “Ditzy, next.”

The mare who Ditzy showed through the door next was pink, with a brownish-red spattered headband holding back an azure mane.

“I recognize you,” Tempest said. “You are Aloe, one of Berry’s waitstaff from the tavern.” She furrowed her brow. “I somehow doubt that a barmaid would have the skillset required to participate in mercenary work.”

“Believe us,” Aloe said, with a slight reverberation in her voice. “We didn’t think so either. But that has changed.”

“We?” Twilight asked.

“Yes,” Aloe replied. “We. Lotus Blossom and myself.”

“Lotus Blossom died,” Tempest said, not unkindly. “You are most certainly grieving. Trying to join the company right now screams ‘suicide attempt’ to me. I will not allow it.”

“You don’t understand.” The odd, overlapping echo in Aloe’s voice droned in Tempest’s ears, feeling almost as if a swarm of mosquitoes were somehow given voice. “We’re both here, now.”

“Sorry,” Tempest said flatly, “eccentricity is one thing, but we cannot accept applicants that may have serious mental problems—”

Aloe stomped a forehoof.

Suddenly, razor-sharp brambles burst forth from the floor and attempted to wrap themselves around Tempest and Twilight.

Tempest reflexively backflipped away from the verdant vines of branching brambles. She heard Twilight shout in alarm, as evidently her attempts to jump from her seat had proven less successful than Tempest’s. She had instead become hopelessly entangled in the lacerating greenery.

“Interesting,” Tempest said, swiftly striking at some of the vines. The blow freed Twilight, but ended up cutting her foreleg. She harrumphed. Blood trickled slowly down from her wound. And as she kept her gaze locked upon Aloe, she beheld the sight of something fading into existence. It resembled nothing more than a spectral, skeletal pony, hovering in the air over Aloe for a moment.

Then the thing dove into Aloe from above. She arched her back and neck, letting out a shriek of surprise as she was lifted off the ground. Her head snapped forward, and in an instant, she threw herself at blinding speed towards Tempest. Her eyes sparkled with a maniacal glee that matched the equally sadistic smile on her muzzle. She swiftly drew a concealed knife and aimed it at Tempest’s throat.

Tempest barely dodged the preternaturally fast attack, and pulled her limbs close, shrinking her stance, attempting to preserve her own economy of motion in response to Aloe’s now-supernatural quickness. Yet she easily deflected the next few swipes, and soon Tempest was only mildly irritated at the ferocious assault.

“You see sister?” Aloe’s voice had changed in both pitch and tenor, though it still reverberated. “I am the stronger one!” Confusingly, the statements seemed to be directed at nopony in particular. She continued to furiously swing her knife, unable to breach Tempest's tight guard.

A ghostly “No!” echoed through the room, and the skeletal spirit was visibly ejected from Aloe’s body. “No, Lotus!” Aloe’s tone was firm. She deftly jumped back from Tempest, just barely avoiding a foreleg swipe that would’ve knocked her cold. The blow instead struck the knife from her mouth, snapping it in two and sending the halves flying.

Aloe lifted a single hoof in the “hold” gesture. “This may be our body now, but I am in charge!” She turned the hoof, revealing a blossomed flower which had not been there previously. She blew upon it and the petals dissolved into the air, becoming a green mist that enveloped Tempest and sealed her minor wounds.

Tempest brushed herself off nonchalantly. “So, you are possessed by a disembodied spirit. Twilight, what is your assessment of Miss Aloe? You have a more comprehensive understanding of necromancy than I.”

“It appears that Aloe here is soulbound with the spirit of her dead sister,” Twilight said, frowning. “Starlight and I researched soul binding while we were studying counters to powerful necromancy.” She shook her head. “But we came to the conclusion that most souls are far too attuned to the body they originate in for the process to be viable. You can’t just cram somepony’s soul into another body, and even making a specially prepared container is extremely difficult. It’s like a soul is a key that has to fit into a lock, which would be the body. And since no two locks are the same—”

“But they were twins,” Tempest said, watching Twilight’s eyes widen in realization.

“Yes,” came the reverberant reply.

“Abnormality abounds today,” Tempest said. “You are the second earth pony we have seen today who was able to perform magical feats without a horn, wings, or an artifact. I assume it is a direct result of this… merger.”

“We were told that one plus one equals more than just two,” Aloe said.

“Told by who?” Twilight asked.

“They told us not to tell,” Aloe said.

“But they told you that you were greater than the sum of your parts,” Tempest said. “That would imply that extra power was conferred upon you when this happened.”

“Actually,” Twilight said. “If she has the combined magical power of two earth pony souls, it could explain the exponential increase in the efficacy of her abilities.”

“Laypony terms, Twilight.”

Twilight put a hoof to her chin. “One earth pony’s magic might allow them to be very fast, faster than any unicorn or pegasus could ever be without help from an artifact. But that display just now seemed to surpass what is possible for even an earth pony using a speed boosting artifact.”

“I will attest to the fact that I have never witnessed anypony move that swiftly before,” Tempest said. “Any creature either.”

Twilight paced. “An earth pony can make plants grow and can infuse healing plants with their magic to make them more potent, but that growth and infusion takes time, days, weeks. Those vines sprouted impossibly fast, and… and that healing flower… I can’t even begin—”

“You certainly are no longer a simple barmaid,” Tempest interrupted. “Ditzy will give you the standard company contract. But you two will have to be the ones to break the news to Berryshine that we poached you for ourselves.”

“We agree,” Aloe said. She followed Ditzy out of the drawing room.

“Two earth ponies with such volatile magic at their command,” Twilight said. “And all in one day! The chances of us meeting one such pony are extremely low. The chances of us meeting two—”

“Are pointless,” Tempest said. “We are casting an ever-wider net across Equestria to bring in rare and exceptional individuals. It is only natural that we will begin to see stranger things as we continue our hiring efforts.”

A churning sound emanated from Twilight’s gut.

“With no more applicants, I suppose we may adjourn for lunch.”

“Good,” Twilight said, her stomach grumbling again. “I’m starving!”

As they stood to leave, Twilight’s stomach made more noise and her face contorted. She fell to her haunches and wrapped both of her forelegs around her midsection.

“Miss Sparkle, there is no need to be dramatic; we will go to eat now.”

Twilight vomited blood, which arced clear across the drawing room table and spattered all over the room’s gold-trimmed carpet.

Tempest raised an eyebrow. “MEDIC!”

Week 20, Day 7, Late Morning

Blueblood sat in the empty wine cellar, his haunches pressed into the cold dirt floor. The cool, damp air was perfect for storing the alcohol that he had just had excommunicated from the premises. It was also quite effective at allowing a chill to seep through his coat, to penetrate his skin and settle in his bones. He stared into the hidden room that had once contained crates of wine. An ensconced torch burned slowly by the stairs, providing dim, but adequate illumination.

“How pathetic am I?” he asked the vacant space. “I’m so hard up for a drink that I’m hanging out in the place where I last saw it.” A sudden headache caused him to press his right hoof to his forehead. His left foreleg squirmed, causing his stance to waver.

Groaning, Blueblood sat back against the cold stone of the wall and leaned his head back, feeling the coolness begin to seep through his fur. “If I could just have one drop—”

His ears perked in response to a scuttling sound. He looked towards the back of the hidden storage chamber, and caught a glint of something in the darkness.

“Is somepony there?” he called out, standing to his hooves.

Silence.

He took a tentative step through the jagged hole in the wall. The shadows cast by both himself and the uneven masonry occluded his sight. Igniting his horn, he took one step, and then another, slowly turning his head, trying to pinpoint the source of the scurrying sounds.

Spotting movement at the edges of his vision, Blueblood stopped and flared his horn, revealing a large rat. He grimaced at the verminous intruder, and marveled that it was perhaps half the length of one of his own forelegs. It was leaned over something green and reflective.

Another step closer. Now Blueblood could see that it was a broken bottle, and that the rat was helping itself to the contents. Tsking once, he waved his right foreleg about in an attempt to scare the rodent away. “Shoo! Shoo!”

It slowly turned its head toward him.

He felt his blood go cold.

“Sweet mother of Celestia.”

Eyes reflecting red light were expected. But he was not prepared for the number of eyes that now gazed upon him. And that was not its only deformity. As it turned, the pair of scything claws which had replaced its forelegs clinked off of the bottle and dug into the packed dirt of the floor. Red liquid dripped from an elongated, dagger-like snout positioned grotesquely above the creature’s hissing maw. Diseased-looking lesions covered its body, oozing putridity as exposed muscles worked beneath them.

Blueblood only managed a single step backwards before the beast launched itself at him with a horrifying shriek. He stumbled backward, holding up both of his forelegs instinctively, trying to shield his face. The rat-thing obliged him by latching onto the cannon of his left foreleg with its talons, holding on even as Blueblood fell, screaming, onto his backside. It reared its head, hissed loudly, then drove its spike-face into Blueblood’s foreleg.

The pain was immediate. His lungs gasped of their own accord as sharp, intolerable agony eclipsed his thinking-brain. Howling wordlessly, Blueblood rolled to the side, pinned the hissing creature with the leg it was impaling, brought his right hoof high into the air, and slammed it down on the rat’s body as hard as he could. He piled on more blows, again and again, until his shoulders ached almost as much from exertion as his cannon did from its assailant. But the thing’s grasp slackend amid a multitude of sickening cracks, giving him a hoof-hold upon conscious thought once more.

He glanced at his wounded leg, cursed under his breath, and looked away again. The full length of the rat-thing’s damned snout was buried into his flesh. It would have to come out. He mentally braced himself for the task ahead.

Placing his free forehoof upon the crushed rodent, Blueblood slowly pulled his impaled foreleg up and away from it. He had to perform the occasional wiggle whenever suction trapped the spike in the surrounding flesh. He watched with sick fascination as centimare after centimare of the sharp snout emerged from his cannon.

There was a popping sound as it finally came free. A wave of queasiness threatened to overtake Blueblood, and his right hoof shot up to his mouth. He retched into that hoof several times, suddenly very glad that he had decided to skip breakfast that morning. But any feeling of relief was, unfortunately, short-lived. The nausea returned, only much faster and with profound intensity. He sprayed bile onto the floor, gagging as the vile taste of his own sick attacked his mouth, leaving only an acrid stench that assaulted his nostrils.

As he continued to cough and choke, Blueblood became acutely aware of a warm sensation in his left foreleg. His mind immediately jumped to thoughts of infection, especially considering the nature of his attacker. He cursed his decision to have all alcohol, even of the medicinal variety, removed from the premises.

But then he remembered the shattered bottle.

He glanced toward it, studying its calm, dark surface. It would be a waste of good wine, but it would probably be enough to sterilize the… bite? Was it a bite? He wasn’t sure what to call getting snout-stabbed by a mutant rat. But, seeing as getting it sterilized was pretty high on his priority list, he hobbled over towards the back of the secret room.

Odd, he thought. The rat must have been drinking from the bottle when I disturbed it. So… did it have some of the wine dripping from its snout already? That would explain the tingling he felt from the wound. He raised an eyebrow. Had the rat stabbed him with a sterilized snout?

“No point in taking chances.” Blueblood reached for the bottle. Just before coming in contact with it, however, he flinched. The light itching in his foreleg was escalating into an intense burning that rivaled his stab-wound..

Gasping from the pain, Blueblood fell to his haunches and gripped his left foreleg tightly with his right one. Fiery agony arced up his leg and into his chest, spreading from there to every part of his body. Tremors began to overtake him. He shook violently, his perception blurring, the world going in and out of focus rapidly. But then, after weathering a particularly painful visual distortion which caused him to close his eyes, his vision regained crystal clarity.

But not of the cellar.

He caught a glimpse of It.

He knew.

“Harmony above.”

His words were meaningless.

They were a futile attempt by a feeble mind, to describe the feelings of astonishment, revulsion, and horror at this unwanted revelation.

But it all made sense. The symbols those accursed cultists wore were a calamitous confirmation to what his mind now struggled to grasp.

The thing that slumbered beneath.

He couldn’t possibly describe It in any tongue of ponykind, or even in the tongues of the other species known to ponykind. But he could see… something. A blindingly bright, yet bone chillingly cold, white light seeped through his perception, almost like it was tearing a hole through reality itself. Despite not being able to directly see the source of that baleful illumination, it seared itself into the edges of both his eyes and mind. He felt sure that, to actually behold that infinite malignance in its entirety, would cause him to combust like a moth that had flown too close to a flame.

Only a thin layer of reality stood between him and that unfathomable hideousness, protecting him from the ultimate knowledge of what resided within. Reality struggled to act like the moon during an almost complete solar eclipse, blocking all but a thin crescent of chilling radiance. There was a single deafening pulse, which caused the blinding coldness to throb around the edges of the crescent, the unholy oscillation threatening to spill over and engulf his drowning senses. Another pulse, and reality began to split. Five blinding cracks appeared, spreading out perpendicular from the crescent, threatening to expose him to the source. Another, and the cracks grew. And grew. And grew. His brain burned with the realization that the pulses were occurring in a pattern, one that was disturbingly similar to the beating of a heart.

Blueblood opened his eyes.

Ditzy was there. Above him. Staring back at him. With both eyes.

“D-Ditzy,” he stammered.

Walking up to him, Ditzy wiped a hoof across his cheek. It came away red. “You saw it,” she said.

“Yes,” Blueblood said immediately, his stomach churning with horror. “But I...only … caught a glimpse.”

“And you didn’t break.” Her rictus of a grin widened, and one of her eyes began to wander again.

“No.” Blueblood’s tone was more resolute than he actually felt. “No, I did not.” He stood to his hooves and looked at Ditzy. That’s why she’s been so squirrelly since we arrived, he thought. Anypony who saw that would— “Has anypony else seen it?”

“No sir!” she said. “Just me… and Cheese!”

“And Cheese…” Blueblood pondered if there might be deeper significance for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, at least that makes sense.” He put a hoof to his forehead in a vain attempt to stymie the throbbing. “I’m going to have to talk to the others about this. As crazy as it is, they need to know.” Then he looked down in confusion at his left foreleg.

The wound was gone.

He ran a hoof up and down its length. “My wound? What in Tartarus?!” It felt… normal. And it was then that he noticed something else. “Huh… the squirming stopped. And here I was worried that—”

And then his hoof tore open, the flesh of his foreleg peeling back like the petals of some horrible, gory, parody of a flower.

“Ooooh,” Ditzy said, mesmerized, “pretty!”

“Oh balls,” Blueblood cursed.

Week 20, Day 7, Noon

Zecora poured another vial of healing drought into Twilight’s blood-flecked muzzle.

Blood continued to dribble from Twilight’s ears, eyes, and nose.

“This happened to her during the Ponest Dungeon excursion as well,” Tempest hissed.

“To find the cause we must,” Zecora said. “Else Twilight’s body may be bust.”

Tempest narrowed her eyes and bit back a retort that she knew would do nothing to improve the situation. But the sound of stumbling hooves at the drawing room door drew her eyes away from Zecora. Ditzy and Blueblood shuffled past, with the former appearing to support the latter.

“Prince,” Tempest boomed, trotting out to the hallway. “Miss Sparkle seems to have been injured and—”

“Sorry Tempest.” Blueblood turned slightly, and Tempest felt an eyebrow rise at the sight of twin crimson streaks running from his eyes down his muzzle. More concerning, was when she spied a bloody rag wrapped around his left foreleg. “I have some problems of my own right now.” He and Ditzy continued to stumble towards the foyer.

“Zecora, tend to Miss Sparkle as best you can. Something has just come up.” Tempest galloped after Blueblood and Ditzy, only barely hearing the rhymed acknowledgement from Zecora.

Upon entering the foyer, Tempest grabbed Blueblood from Ditzy and threw him across her back like a saddlebag full of potatoes. “I will assume that you wish to be taken to your room.” She charged up the steps, leaving Ditzy to trail behind, as she began considering what kind of misadventure could’ve injured both his hoof and eyes. Booby trap? Attack within the manor? Self-inflicted facehoof gone wrong? Considering the Prince’s burgeoning struggle with sobriety, the latter possibility seemed most likely.

She reached the landing, turned down the hall to Blueblood’s room, and punched his door open with a forehoof. Her irritation deepened at the sight of Ametrine yelping and rolling off Blueblood’s bed onto the floor.

“Yeesh,” Ametrine said from where she’d landed. “Ever try knocking?”

Tempest responded by bucking Blueblood off of her back and onto the bed. “The Prince is injured.” She began unraveling the bloodied cloth from Blueblood’s left foreleg, and clenched her teeth at the sight of the mangled mass of raw flesh underneath. “And it is not a minor injury. Ditzy, go get Miss… Glimmer.” She injected more than her standard amount of venom into the name as she said it. “She is the only one who has first-hoof experience with the Prince’s… limb issues.”

“Yes sir!” Ditzy proclaimed, turning and running face-first into Starlight.

“Already here,” Starlight said, walking around Ditzy and into the room. Blood trickled from her ears, nose and mouth. Possibly her eyes as well, but the bandages wrapped around them were thick enough to hide it if they were.

“You seem to be afflicted in a similar way as Miss Sparkle,” Tempest said. “No matter; heal him, and tell me what you know of how this happened.”

“Oh,” Starlight said with a smile and a tilt of her head, “he’s not injured. Are you, Prince?”

Blueblood looked over to her and lifted his bloody, misshapen appendage. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Ametrine.” Starlight turned her face in the fleshform’s direction.

“What?” Ametrine poked her head up from behind the bed.

“You are the best chance he has of getting this under control.” Starlight turned toward the door. “Adieu, everypony.” And then she left.

“Ametrine.” Tempest held the mental image of cracking granite as she injected firmness into her tone. “While Miss Glimmer has done nothing to garner my trust, she has proven her pinpoint predictive abilities and expressed apparent confidence that you can solve this issue. So solve it.”

Crawling up onto the bed next to Blueblood, Ametrine examined his foreleg. “I’m not exactly a medic,” she said.

Looking over to Ditzy, Tempest’s eyes narrowed. “Miss Doo, I am afraid you will have to leave.”

“No,” Blueblood said. “Ditzy… stay, close the door.”

“Prince,” Tempest said in a dangerous voice.

“She already knows,” Blueblood said. “She likely knows more than me, even.”

“Very well.” Tempest did not lighten her scowl in the slightest as Ditzy closed the door.

“Wait a minute,” Ametrine said, as she continued to inspect the limb. “Blue, what are you thinking about right now?”

Blueblood coughed out a laugh. “Seriously?” He waved his mangled limb at her. “I wonder what it could be?” He stared in morbid fascination at his own leg. “It’s exactly as bad as I thought it could be.”

“Exactly?” Ametrine tilted her head.

“Yes,” Blueblood said through gritted teeth, “exactly.”

“It could be worse.” A devilish grin worked its way across Ametrine’s muzzle.

“Oh really?” Blueblood’s voice was filled with both panic and incredulity.

“This had better be going somewhere,” Tempest added.

Ametrine gave her a wry smile. “Don’t worry, it is.” Her grin turned cruel, and fixed her eyes on Blueblood’s leg. “Because in a moment, painfully spiked bramble growths could start sprouting from your leg bones, jutting out in all directions.”

Blueblood’s brow raised in horrified confusion. His eyes dilated, and then he screamed. Sharp thorn-like protrusions erupted from the meat of his leg. “What did you do?!” he shrieked.

“Nothing,” Ametrine said smugly. “Starlight’s right, this isn’t an injury.”

“Ametrine.” Years of battlefield discipline allowed Tempest to halt her muscles’ instinctive urge to start pounding the nonsensical creature’s face in. “Explain.”

“Simple,” Ametrine said, holding out her left foreleg. The skin peeled back from it, leaving a deformed mass that bore close resemblance to Blueblood’s leg. And then, to complete the look, horrific spikes erupted from it. It was a perfect copy of what Blueblood now sported. “Looks like the corruption has taken his entire leg now, for sure.”

Leveling a predatory glare at Blueblood, Ametrine crept closer to him. “You were skilled enough at this when we first met,” she teased. “Did you forget already?” She feigned a hurt look, then snickered.

Blueblood closed his eyes. Tempest watched beads of sweat appear on his forehead as he took on a look of concentration.

With painstaking slowness, the spines retracted into Blueblood’s leg. Then the bones and musculature reshaped themselves back into something resembling a normal equine limb. Finally, new sheets of skin and fur slid down to cover the leg, with keratin bubbling out of the bottom to form a new hoof at the end.

Blueblood sighed as he opened up his eyes. “It worked,” he said, his tone both unbelieving and exhausted. Then his eyes then narrowed at Ametrine. “You didn’t have to specify ‘painful,’ did you?”

“No, I didn’t.” Her smile widened. “But let’s be honest; you totally deserved it.”

Tempest’s brow returned to its normal scowl. “Since you are not injured,” she said, “I think we can move to the topic of how this happened.”

“I… don’t know.”

Tempest glared at him. “Then describe, in detail, the events that led up to it happening.”

Tempest listened as Blueblood recounted the assault by the mutant rat. She made a mental note to look into acquiring some cats to de-rat the cellars, but otherwise didn’t feel the experience connected entirely to the outcome. “I am not certain that I understand,” she said. “Several company members have sustained injuries from the teeth and claws of similarly mutated creatures in the field. Yet we have had no similar instances.”

“Maybe it’s because the corruption was already there to start with?” Ametrine said off-hoofedly, sitting upright on the edge of the bed and kicking her back hooves.

“Possible,” Tempest said thoughtfully, “but I do not simply trust that to be the case. Something may have happened either before or after the attack that you are leaving out, Prince.”

“Before?” Blueblood said in a confused tone. “The rat was… drinking from a broken bottle of wine that was on the floor.” He shook his head. “That can’t be it. If anything, that would have sterilized the wound slightly.”

“It is unlikely,” Tempest said. “But we should check regardless, especially if nothing else of note happened after the attack.”

“After,” Blueblood said, his voice shaking. “After the attack… I saw… it.”

Ametrine froze.

“It,” Tempest said flatly.

“It,” Blueblood struggled for words. “I can’t even properly describe… it. It pulsed, like a heart. Maybe? I don’t know, it hurt to even try to perceive it.”

“Nopony can describe the darkness,” Ametrine said, a tremor running through her. “You see now, why I didn’t want to go back?”

“Yes.” Blueblood shook his head in an attempt to remove the image that had been seared into his mind. “Tempest… this thing, this… ‘Heart’ of the Ponest Dungeon, is why we are here. I know now, that the incredible threat it poses is not only physical in nature.”

“I had a vision the other day, when you found me passed out in the cellar. Shining interrupted us before I could tell you what I saw; that Celestia is dead, slain by her own hooves. I know in my own heart, that what dwells at the epicenter of this spreading corruption, The Heart is wholly responsible for driving her to suicide. It will kill, or drive to madness, everything—not just in Equestria, but everywhere else as well—if we don’t find a way to stop it.”

The shock of hearing Celestia was not merely missing, but dead, reverberated through Tempest’s thoughts. Yet the news of such a potent entity was, in itself, exhilarating. Warmth filled her barrel as her heartbeat quickened, and she blinked through moistening eyes as she stared at the ceiling. “It sounds like this ‘Heart’ can kill anything.” She lowered her gaze and harrumphed, trying to cover the moment of naked emotion. “Finally, something worthy of my time.”

Blueblood looked at her, his expression one of horrified confusion.

“You must remember when we met.” Tempest turned to the door and looked back over her shoulders. “I joined this company so that I might face off against the most extreme challenges ever encountered by ponykind. This news…” She paused, and basked in the prospect of something that could once again test her limits. “This is excellent.”

“But for now, I am going to go get that bottle.” Tempest passed through the threshold of Blueblood’s room. “Maybe Zecora will find something peculiar about it.”

“Tempest,” Blueblood called after her.

She stopped.

“Thank you,” he said.

Tempest did not look back. “I have done nothing. Thank Ametrine… and Miss Glimmer.” Another pause, in which she remembered the knock-on effects this news might have with more “typical” ponies, inasmuch as any of those they’d recruited were typical. “We should inform the others of Celestia’s demise. It is only right that they know that one of the company’s primary goals is no longer obtainable.”

“They won’t take it well,” Blueblood said.

She shook her head. “The ponies of this company are more resilient than you give them credit for. Perhaps you still are used to the whimsical and flighty nature of politicians, who change their tune to whichever way the wind blows. The ponies you have hired… I guarantee that they are made of sterner stuff.”

Week 20, Day 7, Afternoon

Twilight seemed to be resting comfortably after the last vial of liquid had been emptied down her throat.

Zecora sat back to her haunches and breathed a sigh of relief. She had felt like things were touch and go for a few minutes. But eventually her medicines had worked their magic and stabilized Twilight’s condition.

“Got a minute?” Starlight asked from the doors to the drawing room, startling her.

Looking up, Zecora took note of the blood running from Starlight’s ears, nose, and mouth.

“Quickly Miss Glimmer, come here and drink this,” Zecora said, producing a vial. “I see, like Miss Twilight, you’ve something amiss.”

Starlight lifted the vial in her magic and gulped it down.

Zecora was again relieved to see the flow of blood come to a halt. “Twilight is now doing well,” she said. “But how you feel, please do tell.”

“I feel much better now,” Starlight said. “Thank you, Zecora.” She turned her head. “It looks like she fared worse than I did… but you fixed her up.” She plastered on a grin that Zecora felt was just a little too wide. “You’re a miracle worker.”

Zecora scrutinized Starlight. It seemed as if she was hiding her feelings behind that fake smile, and also being hesitant about something. “Your words are very kind,” she said. “Is something on your mind?”

“Yes,” Starlight said. “I wanted to give you something at an appropriate time, but since this is the second time this week that I’ve randomly started bleeding from everywhere, I figured I may as well give it to you now.” She opened her saddlebags and started to rummage.

“You brought a gift for me?” Zecora was genuinely surprised. “Whatever could it be?

Starlight held out an iron ring which had a dozen empty sachets attached to it. “You throw so many of those chemical pouches on missions,” Starlight said. “I figured that having them on a ring like this would make things much easier for you. Now you can just grab them off this ring, instead of having to fish around in your pockets every time you wanted to throw one.”

Zecora smiled under her mask, and accepted the metal loop.

“Oh,” Starlight said, magically reaching into her saddlebags again, “and here’s something so you can attach it to the outside of your coat pockets.”

A thin lace hung in the air between them, and Zecora took hold of it as well. “Thank you for this gift you bring,” she said. “I will make use of this ring.”

Starlight turned to leave. Zecora didn’t see the smile immediately vanished from her face, replaced by an expression of profound sadness and regret. Nor did she see or hear when Starlight began to sob, and choked out a whisper: “I’m so sorry.”

Week 20, Day 7, Evening

Dear Countess Coloratura,

I pray that this letter finds you well.

As I am sure you are aware, the time for the Grand Galloping Gala will soon be upon us. I know that you absolutely abhor the political aspect of social events such as this. Still, as the representatives of the three pony tribes, you, Soarin, and myself will be expected to attend. We must continue to maintain an air of control during these times of unfolding chaos.

I have taken care of the catering arrangements, while Soarin has assured me that all of the nobility and other guests have been notified. I will assume that you have already done a wonderful job organizing the entertainment for the event.

Enclosed with this letter is a bottle of wine sent to us by Prince Blueblood himself! He had neigh-on a hundred crates of this peculiar vintage delivered. He said we should use it for the Grand Galloping Gala, and I am of the same mind; one hundred cases of free wine would lower the Gala’s price tag by an impressive amount.

I would like to hear your thoughts on the quality of this wine before we finalize the decision. While I hate to prevail upon you, unfortunately I’m not able to taste it myself, as my doctor has told me that my past overindulgences have left my liver fit to burst if I should tax it any further. And Soarin faces a similar problem due to interactions with his pain medication. So I’m afraid, my dear, that you are the only one of us who could render an opinion of whether we should use this wine or not. However, I have the utmost confidence in that opinion. Your refined palate is legendary in Canterlot’s upper circles, and I know you will be truthful if this proves to be a substandard terroir.

I look forward to your response, and to seeing you again in the council meeting at the beginning of the week.

Sincerely,

Duke Fancy Pants

Coloratura put the letter on her study desk. “Swift Post!” she called out for her personal messenger.

A pegasus with a pristine white coat entered. “Madam?”

“Can you please pen a letter to Lord Fancy Pants, thanking him for the wine and telling him I’ll have the details regarding the Gala entertainment to him by the end of next week?”

“Yes, Madam.” Swift turned to leave.

“Oh, one more thing,” Coloratura called out to him.

“Ma’am?”

She hoofed the bottle of wine over to Swift. “Could you please place that with my personal collection?”

“Not going to drink it now, ma’am?”

“No,” Coloratura said wearily. “I’ll have to try it some other time. I have budgets to balance, petitions to read, unicorns to designate for magical draining, hangings to arrange; I’m swamped.”

“You should get some rest,” Swift said.

“That is not your place.” Her expression would have been a formidable glare had her eyes not been threatening to close on their own.

“Sorry, ma’am.” Swift took the bottle and exited.

“What I wouldn’t give for a pick-me-up,” Coloratura said to nopony in particular. Perhaps the wine did sound tempting after all…

No. Duty called. She sighed, resigning herself to another sleepless night of work.