Were I to believe in a higher power, I would consider the Tuesday of the Ponyville Horror to be a fateful day. A foreboding pressure mingled in the air about the Castle of Friendship that unnaturally drove Twilight and myself forward in our experiments, that convinced me all would be well, that caused the destruction I unwittingly set loose upon this world. I cannot ascribe it to fate, however; no cosmic string nor ordained timeline could ever see fit to birth the Blank Flank upon us.
I have only myself to blame. I write this account now in the rude dungeons carved out of the crystal mines below Canterlot, and I would not disparage any pony who felt my writings to be the insane ramblings of a condemned prisoner, set to prove my innocence with impossibilities and inanities. This is not, however, my aim. I set forth this journal now to lay clear the events of what truly happened that damned fall Tuesday, if not to warn others not to repeat my mistakes, then at least to convince myself of my own delirium by ordering the events I perceived down on solid paper. Do not be mistaken: it was I who cast the spell that killed a Princess and drove another mad, and I who set in motion the dominoes that led to the elimination of Ponyville. And do not make another mistake! Do not go down to that hell, do not brave the Everfree in search of survivors, do not embrace those who may still be whole. If you do, you would surely sentence the rest of Equestria to the fate of Ponyville.
Looking back upon it now, it seemed as normal as any other Tuesday. It began as simple as any day could, with me awaking and enjoying breakfast in the solitude of my room. It was about ten-thirty in the morning when I received a missive, delivered by one of the royal guards. Twilight had requested I join her in her laboratory at the Castle of Friendship for some professional assistance. She was studying the magic of cutie marks and was looking for my expertise on them. Happy to let my storied past provide me with some measure of usefulness with my new friends, I accepted the invitation and departed for her office post-haste.
The air had not yet filled with the telltale chill of coming winter yet. It was warm; the last vestiges of a summer long overdue its stay, providing all of us ponies a comfortable and cozy day, free from the worries of a chill and icy wind that would cut through to our bones. I remember inhaling deeply as I walked the dirt path towards the castle. The last week or so had been exceptionally dry, and dust mingled amongst my nose, causing me to sneeze rather furiously more than once before I reached my destination.
Upon arriving, I was met by yet another one of those strangely uniform guards, who took my adornments and led me to the laboratory where Twilight was working furiously.
Though, to call it a laboratory would be disingenuous. It definitely included all the typical devices of intricate design and eldritch purpose, with curled tubes running from still to pot, bunsen burners humming steadily beneath bubbling elixirs of multiplicitous colours, and menacing piles that pulsed with arcing electricity; but, as to be expected of my dear Princess, it was a library. Or at least it was becoming one, I should say. I judged by the haphazard layout of the shelves that they had been brought in or assembled as the need arose, their placement arranged by an alicorn who was always off in some other textbook or scroll, too preoccupied to care for neat and tidy rows. I suspect that, to Twilight, a bookshelf that is neat, tidy, and full is a bookshelf unappreciated. Despite this insight into my friend’s disorientated mind, I still struggled to find my way amongst the maze-like stacks of leather and parchment. Eventually—with the help of her encouraging quips—I found my way to her main staging area.
This half of the room, cut off from view from the rest, was empty in a sense. Yes, there were still bottles and machines off to one corner, and a dozen or so books laid open and creased amongst the floorboards, but otherwise it was open and bright. The morning sun had not yet cleared the eastern window, and it was within its rays that I found Princess Twilight Sparkle working diligently—madly, even. She flitted from one splayed open tome to another, flipping the parchment madly with her hooves while scratching notes down furiously with her magic. I greeted her and, after the moment it took for her to finish writing her note, she closed the dusty book and embraced me. I remember the slight sickly scent that came off her lavender coat, indicative of a mare who had spent days labouring over books and burners instead of baths and beds. We broke the hug, and I inquired as to her current project and state.
She laughed, embarrassed, having not realized just how obvious her overwork had been, but then launched herself into a thesis that captured my mind almost as rapturously as it did hers. She had found an ancient text on cutie marks, one filled with lost and unknown hexes and incantations that could affect them. She knew I could switch cutie marks—having been part of that crew of once-enemies that were now my closest friends—and was hoping my practiced talent could fill in the gaps left by weevils and aphids in her precious books. There were spells to alter colours, bewitchings that could inflict Cutie Pox and remedies for the same, and chants and hymns that could alter a pony on a level deeper than the mark itself. Of note was a spell towards the back of the book that had been violently scratched out in thick red ink, and it was with this particular one she had sought my help.
It appeared to be, for as much as the Princess could garner from the hints of ancient Ponish letters that still were legible beneath the blotted censoring, a spell that could store the marks and apply them at a later time. It was similar to my switching spell, that much was clear; elegantly sketched anatomical figures at the bottom of the page, which were left unblemished by the red, showed the simple process. One would cast the spell on the target pony, and then at some sort of temporary container; be it another pony, a sheet of paper or leather, even clean stone or wood would do. From there, the same spell could be cast on the mark and it could then be transplanted back onto the original pony, or a different one should the caster choose.
It intrigued me. It was very much like my mark-switching spell indeed, but mine immediately replaced it with another. I pondered at the difference between the two, and why it might be any more useful than the magic I could already provide. At this, Twilight snapped at me, her eyes stretching open wildly for just a moment, her hooves clenched about my withers while she broke into a shout. I was not prepared for such a response, and my shock must have registered instantly to her as she swiftly settled and apologised before explaining herself.
It bothered her that out of all the spells she had found, this one was so deliberately damaged and destroyed. Of all things, the Princess abhorred knowledge of any form being lost to time, feared the concept of memories dying with their owners. Rash though she may have been, it was out of a desire to preserve and catalogue all that could be written down or recorded for time immemorial.
I opened my mouth to speak here, to convey properly the concern that hung around the corner of my brain like a rogue in a dark market, but she held a hoof up and stopped me, stating my words before I knew precisely how I would form them. She knew, she said, that the spell had clearly been obscured deliberately. Likely it was dangerous, but there was a chance it could have been destroyed out of avarice; a snively wizard out to serve only themselves and let their secret join them to the grave, or a spat between two scholars that culminated in destruction of the other’s work. There was a chance, she repeated, that the magic contained beneath that ghoulishly red ink could be beneficial to Equestria.
Besides, she continued, between the two of us and our combined knowledge of unicorn magic and incantations, any particular element of the spell that could end poorly or in deadly fashion would be made apparent almost immediately. We had both invented spells before, as well. Could we not, together, rebuild one, and know from its elements alone what it would do?
I was convinced easily, and for this I will never forgive myself. If only I had pressed further, challenged her, explained that lost knowledge might mean consequences we don’t even know exist! I thought as much at the time, but I pressed those concerns back, eager and spurred on by Twilight’s enthusiasm. And at the end of it all, I reassured myself that, if nothing else, there before me was an alicorn who had fought back Tartarus itself and lived to be humble about it. What could there possibly be to worry about?
And so it began. When the clock struck noon we commenced, having scraped enough of the meaning from the tattered pages to get the general idea of the spell. True to Twilight’s theory, it did seem harmless. It was practically the same as my own, with the minor difference that a new mark would not immediately replace the old one, and the old one would need to be cast onto an object to be recovered later. There were aspects of the spell missing, nuances that were entirely obliterated, but for all our pondering and propositioning the best we could figure out what they did were efficiencies within the spell, tricks or tweaks to expedite the process.
Twilight took the stage of the room, standing tall with her hindquarters presented towards me. With the sun risen directly overhead, the room took on a darker tone as shadows retook lost ground from the angled light of the morning. Behind the Princess we had laid open a fresh tome, ready to receive her cutie mark upon completion of the first phase. We double- and triple-checked our notes. I confirmed with her, in as much seriousness as I could muster, that she truly wanted me to cast an unknown spell on her body, and after a long speech about the duty of the scientist to learn at their own sacrifice she bade me continue, and continue I did.
Alicorns above, I still remember the scream! What an awful and enduring nightmarish scream! It rings in my ears to this day, echoing within my skull relentlessly. I cast the spell on her flank, and true to plan the mark vanished, stored in some ethereal plane and awaiting my beckoning blast to paste it into its temporary home. Before I had the chance to place it however, that gods-awful shriek pierced my ears and levelled me to the floor.
In haste I forgot all of our experiment’s plan, and I raced up to Twilight to witness her doom. Where her mark had been was a vicious, twisting wound, a maelstrom of flesh and blood and colours—gods, the colours! Wavelengths never before expressed in this universe bedazzled my horrified gaze as the colour drained from her coat into that vortex upon her rump. Still she screamed, and when she finally renewed her breath and screeched with greater intensity, I snapped from my catatonic panic and set to work. I aimed my horn at the pulsating and wrung-out chunk of leg, ready to replace the mark that had apparently been some sort of drain plug for the pigment in my friend, but as I tried to hold her steady her pain must have exploded. She writhed, kicking and screaming, her shout reverting from a shrill glass-shattering noise to a guttural intake. Clearly, whatever was occurring to her was beyond any physical agony any pony has ever experienced. I cast the replacement spell, over and over, missing my mark a dozen times before I finally nailed the damned vortex with a lucky strike. I watched, hoping this would undo whatever curse I had applied to the Princess, but my hope soon changed to despair. Her mark reappeared, but it too twisted and fell into the hole, sapped away forever by the dark magic that had overtaken her.
I stepped back, falling into my blank stupor once again. What was I to do? Removing her mark had started this torturous transformation, and replacing it had no effect. Before my eyes, almost all her colour had left her; she was pale, ghostly white, as if she had been drawn on paper and not filled in. I teared up as the last bits of lavender and dark purple from her mane slid into the portal on her hindleg, my cries completely overtaken by the unending shrieking.
It was when her shouts changed again, however, that the worst of it became apparent to me. Her deep, wet sucking morphed into gasps and muffled sobs, and I raced to her only to be met with a sight that remains burned into my retinas.
Her wings and horn had imploded into herself, the bones snapping audibly and the flesh liquifying with a stomach-churning squelching trapped within her skin, their shapely forms receding down into her body until she was left like a template Earth Pony or a mannequin of some kind, and the thought of how badly that must have hurt makes me cringe as I write this memory down. Based on the hollow gurgling escaping from her muzzle, I could tell some cruel prank had been played on my friend; no matter how bad the pain had been, it clearly all registered in her mind. Despite the dangers of it, shock would have been nothing but merciful to Twilight.
That was not the sight that haunts me to this day, however. No, what lingers about the back of my eyelids is far worse. As I watched, the pure-white skin that had become the entirety of her body grew over every opening and orifice. Her eyes had sealed over completely with newly grown flesh, as had her nostrils. Her muzzle had been fastening too, and when she fell prone and her chest struggled to inflate with breath I found myself filled with a resolve that could only be the result of adrenaline and disconnection from reality. My horn blazed, my head twisted, and I slashed at the flesh as the seam between her lips fully closed. It opened and immediately Twilight drank in as much air as she could manage, but it was no use. Blood from the newly created wound flooded her mouth and her desperate gasp pulled it into her lungs. Before she could cough it out, though, it had resealed, knitting itself closed as if in defiance of my actions.
I cut at her cheeks next, and then her throat, hoping to find some unafflicted area with which she could expel her own lifeforce and replace it with air, all to no avail. She had stopped screaming, and stopped kicking, and with one final spasm she dropped lame to the wooden floor, dead.
It was only due to the fact that the guard who had delivered Twilight’s message to me was the one now stationed outside her laboratory that I was not immediately incarcerated there on the spot. If only I had been, and perhaps Ponyville might still stand! If so, that corpse would have lain undisturbed within a labyrinth of books and shelves, with no other pony nearby for it to gravitate towards, and its awful contagion—if it could be described as such in the first place—would not have had opportunity to spread. We would have seen when we returned that it was a menace, and we would have…
Well, I cannot change the past. Gods know how intensely I wish I could, but no lengths of wishing or pleading can edit or rephrase what has already transpired. The guard found me catatonic in the corner, eyes unblinking and hooves clamped to my mouth, muttering wordlessly and endlessly about the pure white… thing in the center of the room. Had he not known Twilight were in here with me he would not have been able to tell it had been her; with all her extraneous limbs away, her mane and tail shape reverted to the most simplistic of cuts, and of course the colour, the colour, the complete and total absence of colour or detail whatsoever! With all this she—it—was unrecognisable.
He was quick to action. I remember him shaking me with all the vigor of a trained soldier. Apparently I locked eyes with him then, but did not respond, and to this he reacted with a series of blows to my face. It must have happened, for the bruises are still there and the sting stays with me—thankful though I am for it—now. Oh, dear Twilight, my friend! If the strikes were true then your death must also have occured, and for this I can never express the true lengths of my sorrow, my grief, my apologies. When at last I broke free from my daze, clear then that I was not locked in nightmare but unfortunately still there on a physical awoken plane, he relented in his assault. The guard, having known of our mission prior, and of the Princess’s proclivity to go to extremes on occasion in her pursuit of knowledge, accepted my statement of facts after minor questioning. I calmed as he spoke to me, his stern and heavy voice an anchor in my time of crisis.
When I had finished, we discussed the situation together. Princess Celestia would need to be informed immediately, of course, and my ability to teleport would make me the ideal messenger. It should have been me anyways, of course. It was my actions that took Twilight’s life, and my duty to accept responsibility for it. The guard himself would need to file out legions of paperwork, and the sooner that process began the better, so his plan was to find and then begin proper procedures for a royal death. Before I left, however, the guard expressed concern about her body being left open, unprotected while the two of us were occupied, and I agreed with him. We decided to bring her to the Cutie Map room, and inform the rest of the Elements of Harmony of what had transpired.
How ghastly the feel of her coat was. It was cold already, freezing almost, as if not only her colour but all her heat had fallen screaming into that void. I noted while we lifted her that the twisted wound was completely gone, it too absorbed by that rapid growth of skin that ultimately ended her life. The light of the sun, starting now to slide in through the western windows, seemed to vanish when it landed on that white fur. There were no highlights nor shadows, no depth even; no defining details whatsoever save for the basic topography of a pony. Even the fur itself seemed to be entirely uniform in length and width. She was entirely featureless.
She was Blank.
Other guards had arrived, waiting armed and angry by the exit of the laboratory by the time we managed to pull Twilight out of her maze of bookshelves. My companion quickly explained as best as he could that it had been an accident, a spell gone wrong, and they relented at his orders. They took charge of her body and the duty of summoning her friends, for which I felt a disgusting mixture of relief and despondency. No longer did I need to look at or feel that horrendous creature, but all the same, I felt I should have stayed with her. I suppose I must be grateful I did not, or I would not be around to write my warning to others. With her being taken care of by her guards, I composed myself as best I could and then teleported away to the Canterlot Throne room.
Those few minutes I spent pacing outside of the regal hall tore at me. I repeated my story in my mind, over and over again, forcing myself to picture every vivid detail lest Princess Celestia’s questions find me unprepared. With the news I was about to deliver her, I could ill afford to present her even a moment of confusion or uncertainty. She deserved better than to ever to hear that her favorite student, her next-in-line, her friend had perished, and if that information must be presented to her it must be as painless as possible.
The great wooden doors to the Throne Room opened and the guards announced my presence. The pleasant surprise on Celestia’s face struck my heart like a dagger, and with this fresh tears began to pour. Truly my appearance had been frightening, for not a moment later her smile faltered, and her eyes sank behind dropping brows.
I announced that I had gravest news to share, and requested she remain seated. She nodded, and waved me on to continue, wary to say anything in case it would be especially uncalled for by the occasion.
How my heart broke to see her sob. She choked as I told her Princess Twilight had died, her gasp interrupting me before I had even finished my statement. I began to move into the explanation of what happened, but she lifted a hoof and silenced me, and then asked me if I was truly, positively certain of her demise.
I nodded, but did not bring my head up afterwards. I could no longer meet her eyes, nor would it have done me any good to do so; for the two of us were now both bawling, overcome by grief. My shock at the transformation of my friend finally slipped away and the weight of what had occurred fully enveloped me. I felt as though a blanket of unquietable darkness had been heaved upon me, a suffocating and thick sadness that I could not wade through to any surface. I felt disorientated, lost, directionless; how could there be a world without Twilight Sparkle in it? Every future I had ever conceived for myself included her, in some form or another. It was not the death of one pony I grieved, but the death of all possible timelines I had ever imagined, that I ever could imagine, that could ever be! She had died, and I had killed her, and with that I had killed infinite versions of myself as well.
Time passed, though I cannot say for certain how long. Finally, the princess composed herself, and dismissed the Royal Guard from the room. She commanded me to tell her absolutely everything that had occurred, and relieved at the direction given by her order I obeyed, stating much of what I have recanted here in this journal. I told her of the invitation, of her fervent work and current studies, of the state of her laboratory. I told her of her arguments in favor of the research and of the spell we planned to cast. Nothing was left unsaid; not the state of the tome and its desecrated page, not the preparation of the spell, and not the casting. I divulged every minute detail of what I had witnessed, and even told her of my vain attempt to let Twilight breathe one last breath of oxygen.
When I finished, there was silence. Whether driven by sorrow or a purposefully chosen presentation of strength, Celestia was stoic now; her sadness only betrayed by bloodshot eyes that focused deep into my own, penetrating fully through to my mind and the soul behind it. I feared she would strike me down, cast a killing spell, or send me to some torturous dimension as penitence for my crime, and when she finally sighed deeply I flinched in expectation of this punishment.
The Princess stood up slowly and approached me to place a hoof on my shoulder, calming the rocking that I hadn’t even noticed I was doing. “Show me,” she commanded next, and I nodded. We teleported from the Throne Room to Twilight’s Castle, appearing together in the Cutie Map room at the same time.
That damned foreboding pressure came back then, and I felt it immediately. Something was wrong, and gods, how I could think so understatedly! It was wrong, and that was all I could tell, but tell it I could. Celestia turned on me in consternation, and asked me where Twilight had been placed.
I glanced about the room, looking at each of the empty thrones and the table. The guards had promised she would be here, and I had been gone for fully half of an hour. There was no reason for her not to be in this room, surrounded by her friends and loved ones. That thought itched at the back of my mind. Her friends and loved ones, I muttered aloud, prompting curiosity from Princess Celestia. Where had they gone?
I started to rock again, noticing it this time. Twilight wasn’t here, and neither was anypony else. There were no Elements of Harmony watching over her, no guards keeping her safe, no royal staff of any kind. There wasn’t a single sound coming from the entire building. It was too much for me to handle, one final straw of oddity upon the camel’s back that was my fraying mind. I panicked, and started yelling, calling out for somepony, anypony, please, screeching ‘where is everyone?’ with enough volume to shake the crystal tree. Yet no response came, and I collapsed, hyperventilating. That pressure crushed me, wrapped around my barrel like a corset and twisted until it took all my energy to manage a single breath. I remember thinking how this must have been somewhat how Twilight felt, suffocating because of her own body, and with that thought a dark cloud started to rush in from the sides of my vision.
It was Celestia who saved me then, yelling, shaking, finally slapping me to my senses. Her voice was strong and powerful but caring and gentle all the same, and to her words I inhaled and exhaled, following her example. She soothed me, letting me know that there would be an explanation for what had happened, a reason for their absence. Perhaps her friends had taken her to a place with more meaning, a less cold and political place of rest, something that brought them all comfort in difficult times. Perhaps they had brought her to the hospital for a diagnosis, unaware of what had transpired. I sniffed and gasped, but agreed. I stood up with the Princess’s aid and then we exited the Cutie Map room, heading down the hallway to the main gate, discussing where we would check first. Likely the whole town had known by now, we figured, and so somepony should be able to direct us. I reached the door, the faintest spark of hope starting to glow within my heart, when we heard the scream.
By the hounds of Cloudsdale, it was exactly the same as the first scream that Twilight gave, that horrendous neverending call of unlimited and exquisite pain! How I didn’t pass out immediately when it reached my ears I’ll never know. We raced out then, our new mission to help whatever poor soul had uttered such a sound. I knew in my heart already what had happened, but I wished it not to be true, oh how I wished! I prayed it couldn’t be, I begged it not to be! Princess Celestia didn’t know, and I ached for her having heard it. Judging by the pain on her face, the raw worry, perhaps she knew as well, from my prior descriptions alone or by some cosmic empathy that had delivered unto her the knowledge of what could cause that scream. Alas, wishing and praying are nothing but delusions when faced with a curse such as this. Unwittingly, I had unleashed a punishment of Tartarus itself upon Ponyville, and even if one of the gods could hear me, I would not blame them for refusing to answer.
It was Roseluck, I believe, that cream-coloured mare with the pink and magenta mane. It was Roseluck. It was Roseluck. What we saw was no longer her, not wholly. In the middle of the merchant square, next to a dropped basket of scattered flowers, was my nightmare come true. There Twilight stood—I thought it was Twilight, but knowing what I do now it is impossible to determine—with their pure white hoof extended towards Roseluck, the blank canvas of their face somehow staring down the suffering mare, watching, and all perfectly silent.
To speak of Roseluck… What luck could there be? That same twisting void of flesh had materialized on her withers, directly where that Blank Flank’s hoof was aiming, and Princess Celestia and I watched petrified as the process repeated itself; colour draining into the wound, mane and tail shortening to a completely generic style, coat shifting as the uniform flesh took hold. Thank the alicorns she was an Earth Pony; had she any extra limbs to crumple down into her form with their sickening fractures and squelchings I think my heart would have stopped on the spot.
Princess Celestia moved to run towards the dying mare when the flesh started to claw over those fearful eyes and screaming muzzle, but I cast out my magic and held her still, cautioning that clearly this curse was contagious, and I had already found the transformation unstoppable once it began. We stood there, unable to tear our eyes away as Roseluck writhed and shook, unable to help her, unable to flee.
If there was a particular time in this dreadful accord I write now where I would have definitely lost my sanity, it would be here. The very realness of my memories tell me that I must still have my faculties about me, but gods I wish it were delusions of reality, a twisting in my brain of perception and understanding, a formed chain of events that backfilled in the rest of the story to make an impossibility somehow make sense… Twilight; rather, the first Blank Flank, turned to face Princess Celestia and I. It did not speak nor growl, nor did any sound come out from its movements, but I felt it. I felt its purpose, its goals, its desires. That overbearing pressure I had felt in the Castle of Friendship was present here now, and as if under a microscope’s turning focus I honed in on what it truly was. It was hatred! Utter loathing the likes of which none of us have ever felt, not from Chrysalis nor Cozy nor Tirek, not from any villain or monster I’ve ever crossed paths with or heard of. I knew then, as clear as if it had told me directly, that it hated us because we had eyes to see with, mouths to breathe with, ears to hear with.
And it wanted them.
It stumbled forward towards us, the movements of its legs flowy and off, with no sound as its hooves met ground. Princess Celestia must have felt that awful spite as I had, for she lowered aggressively with horn aglow and eyes ablaze, a champion for her ponies. I followed her cue, bringing to mind powerful spells not often practiced (and if so always in secret); spells designed not to simply maim but to disable and kill, to vaporize and shred, and together we assaulted the beast! Cracks and sparks ripped the air and a sickening stench of burning ozone filled the square as we shot blast after blast of violent magic into the Blank Flank, rending whole chunks of that ghostly flesh from its body. Still it did not falter, and as it slowly approached step by step we increased our rate of fire. A normal pony would have been nothing but ash, but that regenerative flesh responded with faster growth, again in denial of any attempt to rend asunder this creature.
When it reached about twenty paces from us Celestia roared and her aura turned a dark green, and I marvelled at the concept of finally witnessing dark alicorn magic. She whipped her head, and with the curving arc of her horn I saw a silvery flash like sharpened steel itself slice across the Blank Flank’s neck, entirely severing it.
It paused then while its head tumbled to the ground and came to a rest at its hooves. The neck swayed and I felt a budding sense of victory that it would tumble to the ground and we would be done with this nightmare, but as its legs bent stable and purposefully, I felt an urge to cry yet again.
The exposed neck—purely white, with no indication of any internals, just pasty, clear, blank matter—found the point of separation of its lost head and pressed into it, and the two halves neatly aligned and affixed themselves together. Then it stood, and glared—I say glared, but it was again just that dreadful sensation—at the two of us. I looked to Celestia and found her glancing at me as well, the two of us hoping the other had an answer and, finding none, we turned back to face the Blank Flank.
I don’t know what we would have tried next, honestly. Part of me wanted to just simply teleport away and never come back, abandoning Ponyville to its fate. The Princess however was more rational, more cool headed. She called for us to evacuate the town, to get every pony out as quickly as possible before more could die at its touch, and was just about to give me my first orders to accomplish this when we heard the shuffle.
I remember that slow turn of my head so vividly. I had been staring at my Princess when the scuffling reached my ears, and found my head turning to face the source while my eyes fought so desperately against the movement. It couldn’t be, I repeated over to myself, it shouldn’t be, yet all the same it was; the Blank Flank that had been Roseluck was now on four hooves, standing tall several yards behind the first. A perfect facsimile in every way, down to that ever-present soul-devouring hatred! I shivered in fear then. It had happened so fast! Would it happen to me? I had touched Twilight, and so had the guards!
The emptiness of the Castle struck me violently, and I realized then what must have happened. Whatever contagion that carried this curse from pony to pony must have activated moments after I left, rending those poor guards of their features and identities. And we had sent notice to her friends, dear alicorns, her friends! At my direction I had requested they come at once to the Cutie Map room to watch over their friend, and in doing so I must have sent each one to their demise! If guilt were a knife I would lie dead now alongside them, stabbed a thousand times in my heart, such woe and despair lives within me now. I should lie dead alongside them. All this terror caused by the tip of my horn, and they have the mercy to simply lock me away in this cavern.
To leave me alone with this guilt is no merciful thing at all. Given the chance this very moment I would gladly accept my own untimely end, what a relief it would be to be done with these feelings, these memories!
My mind spiralled out of control, seeing Roseluck standing there, and as my recognition of my foolishness incapacitated me I felt the urge to walk forward and hug this poor wretched corpse of my own creation, but then Ponyville cracked into bedlam, drawing me back—though how I hated it so—to reality. There were more screams now. Screams of that blood-curdling transformative state, and screams of fear. The two Blank Flanks in front of us snapped their heads in time as Mrs. Cake popped her head out of her bakery to investigate the disturbance, and they locked onto the closer mare with hellish accuracy. She froze still, seemingly suffocating. I do not blame her; that hatred they exuded would be enough to cripple any pony without iron resolve! I found myself yelling at her, telling her to go back inside, to bar her doors and wait for safety, but she was unresponsive, her own mind as empty as a deer caught in a lamplight as it must have tried to comprehend the absurdity outside her front porch. Move, I bade her! I could not approach to push her back; the Blank Flanks were too close.
I saw her recoil only when their hooves were inches from her eyes, but it was too late, too little, and in utter disgust I watched as both her eyes twisted and ruptured, melding into that empyrean vortex that signalled her end. I shall not describe further here; I could not see anymore regardless, as I had pivoted and begun vomiting.
While my stomach purged itself of all that it could, Princess Celestia pulled me, urging me around and away from the market. There were more shouts from every alley and road we passed, more bone-chilling snaps and gurgles as friends and family found themselves faced with a monster that not even the Everfree could have imagined into existence, found themselves dying, resurrecting, and fleeing along with us.
By chance, and what godly chance it would be, we rounded a bend and discovered the local smithy, where the artisan within was waving a flaming tool futilely back and forth at three Blank Flanks who pressed him closer and closer to his forge. He called out to us, recognizing his Princess, as they bore down on him. While Celestia charged her teleportation spell, with wild and desperate eyes I saw him reach into his forge and drive his leg knee-deep into the roaring embers. Wrapped in golden glowing magic he drug his leg forward, ignoring the blistering skin and smoking flesh while he launched the fiery contents at his foe.
What thinking, what bravery! He appeared next to me with a staticy snap and collapsed in both pain and relief, and while Celestia quickly mended his boiling leg I remained focused on the three Blank Flanks that he had just escaped, and for once that day I felt true joy.
His aim had been true, his sacrifice justified! The coals, radiating so hot as to be as white as the Blank Flanks themselves, had met their mark and evaporated their flesh on contact. They sloughed off that strange outer coating and sunk deep towards their center, and with dozens of lumps peppering each one, the flesh sputtered and burst into flame. And what a flame it was! Like candle wax they erupted, the peaks of their fires reaching the straw roof and setting it alight as well.
Had it caused them any pain, they showed no indication; but the regenerative property could not keep up with the ravenous plasma all the same. They had simply turned around and began their ominous march towards the three of us, all while diminishing and fuming away. As more of their bodies were consumed by the flame, the sharp edges of bone appeared, clearly visible as they charred black almost instantly. We backed up cautiously, watching the process of this impromptu experiment. Dark magic and cold steel could do nothing to these freaks, but fire… fire seemed to be the answer. We needed to know for sure before we could flee, but we finally seemed to have a solution!
And oh, what happiness we shared then as each of their skulls were fully revealed by the fire and, when the eyes and jaw had all been set free from their fleshy prison, the Blank Flanks stumbled and collapsed to the ground, active no more. The skin did not regrow any longer, and that persevering miasmic hatred could no longer be sensed from their direction. They were dead!
Princess Celestia grabbed me close then while the smith ran into his home and began collecting valuables. I was confused; despite our small victory her eyes were filled with more sorrow than I had ever seen, and brimming tears at their base seemed to steam away as fast as they appeared. Deep in her pupil I thought I could see a flame, though knowing the frail state of my own perception at this point I thought nothing of it. We needed to leave, she said, to get to a high place outside of town, and get there as soon as possible. There would be no more organizing an evacuation; every second spent in Ponyville was another dear citizen lost to this disease. She told me she knew how to solve it all, but we must hurry before any Blank Flanks managed to break free from the perimeter. Given their proclivity for following the nearest pony they could sense, she figured they would all still be in the town, but as more were turned and less ponies remained, our time diminished exponentially.
I should have clued in then, blast, what levels of stupidity I had displayed! Principle of the School of Friendship and I haven’t the common sense to realize who I was listening to, and what she could do… Dear Celestia, I’m so, so sorry. I should have known, I should have figured it out! There were other ways, and now you too are lost to me.
We fled then, racing to the foothills that overlooked all of Ponyville and Sweet Apple Acres, where one could view the breadth of the Everfree and even see the foggy shadow of Mount Canterlot. It took us not long to reach them, steering clear of racing ponies as they ran from house to house, looking for those they loved and finding them turned or cornered, avoiding the slow ambling Blank Flanks as they effortlessly burst out of doors and windows towards the next living pony they could sense. Multiple fires burned, and more than once we were enveloped in a black smog that sent my adrenaline flowing— not for the acrid poisons within nor the blazing inferno it inferred, but for the chance to run into a Blank Flank without seeing them.
We made it out of the town and to the hill, and at its peak I stumbled and collapsed, sucking in air as if I too were being suffocated by my own body. Celestia turned quiet, a fact I noticed after several minutes of gasping and heaving, and when I looked to her to investigate, she was gone.
There was still an alicorn there, next to me, still regal and towering and golden, but it was not Celestia. Her sclera were burgundy, practically blood red even, and a literal flame danced in her irses. Somehow an ancient set of burning armor had appeared upon her, and her mane and tail were no longer rainbow and ethereal but their own billowing bonfires, rippling orange and yellow plasma that scorched the ground where she stood. It wasn’t Celestia, no, but it was a pony I had met before once in a dream. She had gone by the moniker Daybreaker. I should have felt terror. I should have been horrified! This creature before me was one who could defeat Nightmare Moon in pure brawl, and I had no idea that Celestia was truly capable of this transformation. Alas, I had nothing left in me to be afraid with. I think I know now what had happened, and I think I’ve known this since that moment I turned and locked eyes with her.
Daybreaker was not just some one-dimensional, comically evil form of Celestia, but her true form. She was the embodiment of raw, unrestricted, unfiltered magic, drawn directly from the Sun itself; a burning magic which churned and boiled constantly, always threatening to erupt into the depths of space like a solar flare. The Princess I knew had spent her millenia containing that constant rage with a facade of understanding and harmony, her love of her citizens always fueling her strength in the endless battle between civility and power, but here…
Here, she had witnessed those she loved as children die, and how horribly did they die! She had seen families destroyed in seconds, lost her last protégé and closest friend, and now before her was a threat to her kingdom like none ever seen before. The only cure for it was fire; fire which she alone had mastery over. The only thing holding her back from stopping this awful creation of mine was empathy, was compassion, was love, and she had done away with them all to save Equestria. This day must have broken her long before she gave up in her eternal fight for peace, broken her so totally that the only solution she could consider was accepting her own endless power. Before my eyes Celestia let herself die and let Daybreaker replace her, and with her death went any equinity that she had left.
I crumbled to the dirt, exhausted, able only to observe. Guilt pinned me in place. I didn’t try to speak to Daybreaker, didn’t run into that town to share in its fate now prescribed by the blazing alicorn beside me, didn’t even cry. What worth would tears be to what I was witnessing?
There was a golden shimmer that surrounded the boundaries of Ponyville, a magical shield that burnt the ground and trees where it connected. I saw a bird fly from a tree, shaken by the sudden change in energy within the sphere, and immolate upon contact with the wall. Ponies too; citizens, living and unchanged creatures, reached that wall and found themselves unable to pass by. They pounded against the field in desperation, ignoring the flames that wrapped around their hooves as they did so, driven forwards by Blank Flanks and backwards by Daybreaker’s shield.
And then there was a light. How sickenly bright it was! In moments the luminosity of that point in the center of the town, right above the gazebo, outshone that of the evening sun itself. It morphed and grew and roared; and though it blinded me to watch I could not turn away. She was summoning a star in the town! Daybreaker leaned forward and tilted her head, horn glowing with an orange fit for the depths of Tartarus itself, and the star grew fiercer, consuming all in its path. There were yet more screams, new ones different from the fear and the pain I had sadly already become accustomed to, short and awful shrieks that died as suddenly as they started as the air in their owner’s lungs ignited. And then above it all, above the roar of the star and the crackling of Daybreaker’s mane and the last shrieks of the final souls left in Ponyville, I heard a laugh. I thought at first it was my companion, as if the death of her empathy had given way for her to feel joy at the suffering of others, but when I risked a glance at her she was still, face stoic and uncaring.
It was then I realized that the laughter, that unfamiliar voice, it was my own! Done with death, with tragedy, with despair and fear and anguish, my brain must have turned to the last emotional well it had left untapped that day, and I laughed! I felt no joy despite my apparent mirth. I haven’t since I first saw those Blank Flanks burn, and I believe I never will again. I found nothing funny nor humourous in watching the entirety of Ponyville transform into a smoking crater that will forever scar Equestria’s map. I laughed because there was nothing else I could do, and then I collapsed, my last sight of the day being that of a single tear of magma running down Daybreaker’s cheek.
I don’t know how Luna managed to subdue Daybreaker, though from what I have heard wholly half the Royal Guard was destroyed in the process. I woke up in chains, here in this dungeon, and was questioned relentlessly about what I had done. I’ve told as much of this story as I could remember to them, but they decry me as a madmare, my confessions nothing but the insane ramblings of a pony sentenced to a lifetime in darkness and loneliness. Somewhere in this mountain they have Daybreaker confined as well, and I’m told she shrieks constantly, spitting fire and hatred and my name! Starlight, she screams, why did you make me kill them, Starlight?!
And what defense have I? I did—in a way—make her kill them, didn’t I? I may have been urged by Twilight to cast that spell, but cast it I did! I had the guards all hold her body, I called her friends to surround her, and I brought Celestia to that cursed town and did nothing while her mind broke!
Well, there is nothing to be said then. I accept this punishment, regardless of what charges they actually lay at my hooves. But hear this! For the love of Celestia, and all the alicorns of old, do not go to Ponyville! Do not brave the Everfree on the edge! For though I had no reason to laugh save for it was all I could do, something did trigger my brain to react as such, to respond, something that caused that search for fear within me, then sorrow, then finally joy when it found nothing else. I swear, as that star burned and all died, just past the edge of the barrier and within the wholly-illuminated shade of the jagged trees of the Everfree, there was a pure white, featureless pony, staring directly at me with a face that was not there, hating me and all who still possess the eyes and mouth that I had taken from it.
