The Ghost: Assorted Adventures

Each blow coaxed another cheer from the bloodthirsty crowd. Battered limbs, bloody mouths, and scraped knees decorated the two minotaurs battling it out in the arena’s center stage. Steelhorn struck his brother’s stomach with a long knee, bringing a river of red from his mouth. In return, Stoneheart clasped his hands on his opponent's shoulders and swung his horns into the exposed jawline. Again and again the brothers cast bloody blows upon each other.

“Stand down, brother,” Steelhorn said, gasping for breath. “I won’t ask again.”

“Then don’t.” Stoneheart charged head on, and the two met in a clash of hands and horns. They locked together in their struggle and pushed with all their might. Razor-sharp horns clacked against each other, threatening to rend the other with each pass the lethal limbs made. Steelhorn released his brother and, with both hands, struck the underside of his jaw and pushed him back.

The Ghost took this opportunity to slink around the side of the arena and up into the viewing box. Carefully he avoided the magenta mare, who was far too focused on the brutality before her to notice him crest the stairs. There he saw the Maestro, cube in hoof, adorned in a wicked grin, though his eyes drifted to the cloth bag around her neck.

“Evening,” she mocked.

“Likewise,” he returned. “First you consort with changeling spies, then Manehatten mobsters, and now the worst Appleloosa has to offer. Anypony else would say your erratic endeavors are just for fun.”

“But you know better, of course?”

“Of course.” The Ghost took a step forward, eyes now fixed on the chilling construct in the Maestro’s hoof. “You must have some purpose. A buyer, maybe? Maybe somepony you want removed or dethroned?”

“And why would I want any of that?” The Maestro placed a hoof to her chin. “Surely, you can’t think my goals are so trivial.”

“No, I’m sure you have some lofty idealism, judging by the outfit.” The Ghost waved a sarcastic hoof between himself and his enemy. “It takes one to know one.”

The Maestro gave a sinister chuckle at the comment. Her eyes fluttered beneath her mask, alternating her attention between the Ghost and the battle in the arena. She stood from her seat, leaving the cube behind.

“And I take it you’re here to appeal to my morality? Maybe convince me to use what power and influence I have for the “common good”, yes?”

“That sounds infinitely more difficult than bringing you to justice, but if you’re offering I won’t turn it down.”

“Allow me to broaden your perspective, Ghost,” she began, now fully engaged with the fight beyond. “There are over two hundred of the most vile and corrupt ponies in Equestria lining those seats. I pulled that arimaspi from the depths of Griffinstone. The night guard practically begged to fight for me. They, and so many others are willing to fight for me because we understand a simple truth.”

“That if you’re going to lose, it might as well be to Equestria’s charming vigilante?”

“That there will be evil in this world, whether you like it or not.”

“I can think of six mares who would take offense to that statement.”

“Then they would be blind to all that has happened. Nightmare Moon’s return, the invasion of Canterlot, Tirek’s rampage? All wild acts of evil, springing up from nothing and without warning. It is a fact, Ghost, and one that seems to elude you.”

“And seemingly justifies your criminal endeavors,” he shot back. “How convenient that the universe would designate you “evil” and I “good”, as if choice has nothing to do with it.”

“Do you think the brothers chose this fate?” The Maestro passed a hoof over the two warriors. “Did they wake up one day and decide their allegiance? Or perhaps circumstances lead them to the choices they made.”

“You mean fate.” The Ghost squinted at the word, staring the Maestro down.

“I have long studied fate. It’s how I knew to begin my search with the Heart of the Tantabus and how I knew to attack Appleloosa. It drew you out like it did your companion.”

“So you’re using Stoneheart, like you used Alate and Victory Lane.”

“Of course.”

“Why? So that you could kill us in this pit?”

“No, so that you could escape to stop me.” The Maestro retreated back to her seat and took the cube in her hoof. “Evil exists, and it forces goodness to stand against it. That’s the only way battles are won. It’s the only way to save the world.”

A ray of frost enveloped the viewing box. Icicles sprouted from the walls and floor, bursting into shards of cursed ice that shot towards the Ghost. Draped in his cloak, he dodged through the magical shrapnel and retreated to the edge of the box.

“Tell me Ghost, have you uncovered the secret of this cube? I’ll admit even I had trouble with it.”

“Not so hard to guess after you’ve seen it’s face,” he said from behind his cloak. “But I fail to see how a trapped wendigo helps “save the world”, as you say.”

“Of course you wouldn’t, not everypony has a penchant for puzzles.” At that the Maestro fired again, filling the viewing box with ice and forcing the Ghost back into the arena. Poppy ducked as the cursed ice blasted forth and across the sand below.

At this the crowd began shouting frantically. Steelhorn spared a moment to look with bloodshot eyes before taking a cheap shot to the back of the head, stumbling toward the recovering Ghost. They stood back to back, flanked by their encroaching enemies.

“Improvising went well, huh?” Steelhorn asked with ragged breath.

“It’s about to go even worse.”

The two squared up and prepared for the dual-edged onslaught. Stoneheart dripped blood with each murderous step toward his brother and swung his mighty limb toward him. The Maestro glided out from the destroyed viewing box and rained her frozen fury down upon the Ghost. Bandits and criminals began to flee from the stadium at the sight of such magic and ferocity, trampling each other and running out into the camp beyond. The Maestro beat her wings and charged the Ghost.

He dove beneath the masked missile and launched his cloak around her midsection. With a tug she was yanked from the air and cast to the earth, losing both the cube and her breath on impact. The glowing object tumbled between them both. They hesitated, waiting for the other to make the first move, before they dove for the cube in unison. They clashed with furious hooves and careful strikes. It was the first time the Ghost bore witness to the Maestro’s impressive combat prowess as she weaved through the cloak’s limbs and deflected his strikes. She watched him, eyes never once flinching as their exchange continued. A kick from the Ghost caught between her legs, and with a twist she stumbled from her hooves and onto the ground, allowing him to leap over her and snag the cube.

Without missing a beat they faced each other and unleashed the power of their artifacts. Streams of vivid darkness spewed from the mouth of the bag and clashed with the ray of cold in a terrible display of power. It’s sight was enough to draw the attention of both brothers as they stood in awe. Sheer force turned the sand to glass beneath them. The dark power pushed hard against the faltering ice and drove the Ghost back.

Steelhorn returned his brother’s surprise gift with a strike of his own, sending Stoneheart flat against the ground and charged. The rampaging minotaur shoulder checked the Maestro and sent her flying into the wall of the arena. Steelhorn ran to the Ghost and helped him to his hooves, oblivious to the Maestro as she recovered and, with a face of pure malice, once again fired the dark energy forward.

“Steel, look out!” The Ghost stepped in front of his friend and took the blast, full force. The sensation was excruciating. His every bone seemed to snap and twist, looping around themselves in a sickening dance that shot pure agony through his mind. The power of the ray dug deeper into him. Soon he could feel its influence in every part of himself. His muzzle lengthened, his tail split in two, and a battle between wings and claws raged over which would protrude from his back. The Maestro’s cackling was all that he could hear, until a familiar tightness enveloped him.

The cloak engulfed him. It’s tendrils soothed his seizing body, forcing it back into its proper shape and allowing the power to flow around him. It’s surface turned a deeper black and before long he returned to his true form. The Ghost staggered and fell to his knees. The Maestro prepared a second blast, condensing the swirling energy, before Steelhorn raised the cube and fired a single icicle toward her. A metallic clang echoed through the arena and the Maestro fell against the ground. Shards of ice fell off her body as she struggled to move. Her wings beat once, twice, then lifted her from the ground as she limply flew away. Steelhorn fired a few desperate shots but surrendered to his own burning muscles.

“Y-You okay?” He said, turning to the wounded Ghost.

“N-No,” he coughed. “I think my stomach is in my lung.”

“Boss? Boss?!” The cry came from behind the weary duo. Poppy stood over the sleeping body of Stoneheart. She shook him furiously, tears dripping from her eyes to his chest. Again she called out to him.

“Boss! Come on, wake up. Please be okay.”

“Stand aside,” the Ghost said, supported by Steelhorn. “We’re going to take him in.”

“Oh, no you’re not! You wackos have done nothin’ but hurt him.” Poppy took a crouched stance over the body of Stoneheart. “If one of you so much as breathes on him I’ll eat your hooves for breakfast!”

“He’s caused pain and horror wherever he’s stepped!” Steelhorn’s yell nearly knocked Poppy to the ground. “This gang, that cube, Appleloosa! Everything he’s done has been nothing short of evil. I-I have to take him back! I... I can’t leave him here!”

“Steel,” the Ghost wheezed. “He’s a victim, a victim of the Maestro’s manipulations. Take him somewhere he’ll be safe.”

“He’ll be safe at home, back with the clan! Don’t... don’t try to tell me what’s right for my own brother!”

“Then take your own advice and do what’s right for him.”

“I am! I know I am. I didn’t want it to be like this but it... it just is.”

“But you have the chance to be different,” the Ghost said softly. “I don’t know if fate brought you two together like this, but you can choose to make it better.”

“Stop telling me... He’s…” At that Steelhorn fell to his knees, ignorant to the pain his fresh wounds surged through him. He said nothing more and merely looked over the unconscious form of his brother. The Ghost limped toward Poppy as she bared her teeth.

“Back off, buddy.”

“I’m not going to hurt either of you, but I know a place you can both go. Someplace he’ll be safe.”

“Why are you helpin’ us now, huh?”

“Because the real monster flew away just moments ago, and Stoneheart was just caught up in her evil.” The Ghost held out a hoof to Poppy, who recoiled at it. “I can’t let you get away with your crimes, but I can promise to take you somewhere safe. Where you’ll be together.”

“And if I say “no”?”

“Please don’t.” The Ghost’s pleading eyes landed upon Poppy. She paused in the moment, looking over Stoneheart’s numerous wounds and wincing at the thought of his pain. Steelhorn, as far as she could tell, was reduced to a bruised and inconsolable mess. She weighed the prospect in her head.

“We’ll be safe? He will be safe?”

“Yes.”

“And you won’t take him back?”

“I won’t.”

“Then…” Poppy took one last look over Stoneheart and sighed. “Fine. But I’m stayin’ with him. All the way.”

The Ghost gave a weak smile and turned to Steelhorn. With a gloved hoof he nudged his shoulder.

“Can you carry him back to town? We can get him on a prison train in the morning.”

Steelhorn nodded, his once-vacant expression filling with what little emotion he could muster. He stood, walked carefully to the body of his brother, and slung him over his shoulder. They made their way out through the camp. It was a ghost town, ransacked of any valuables and with only a scant few bandits remaining, who kept their distance from the group. After a few moments they left the perimeter of the camp and walked out into the desert. All the while, the Ghost kept one eye on the prisoners and another on the cube. It swirled in his hoof. The chill that emanated from it had withered now, its occupant no doubt exhausted from such exertion, and could only produce a dull numbness that barely breached the glove.

The Ghost felt a twinge of uncertainty in his stomach. He, for the first time, had received an uncomfortable glimpse into the Maestro’s plans, and the very thought shook his core. He could no longer write her off as some gang leader or neerdowell. After tonight, his mind was fixed on how little he actually knew about his new enemy, and his heart trembled at what she might accomplish. Memories of the dark assault, his twisting frame, and his cloak’s desperate defense mechanism would ensure he found no rest tonight. Once again, he felt below water.