“THE BOOK ASHTAROTH. RED AND BLACK. THE QUEEN’S HEXAGRAM. READ IT READ IT READ IT.”

Red jolted awake, suddenly and completely. He looked upon his pocket watch. Just 20 minutes had passed. It was rare that it spoke to him again, and he couldn’t say if that was a good or bad thing. In any case, he knew better than to disobey. But first…

The canteen practically unscrewed itself. One gulp, two gulps, and it was empty. Red had to brace for the exhilaration to hit, and it nearly took him off his hooves, leaving a marching buzzing in his head. His mind was now sharp as his fangs, and thirsty too.

The book was hidden between two giant tomes on traditional Equestrian magic. Small, inconspicuous, with an almost tender red design. It was wrapped in leather – something that would make the average equestrian shudder, but left Red unmoved. There was a hexagram on the cover (that six-pointed thing must be a hexagram, right?). In any case he placed it between failed alchemical experiments on the dinner table and greeted the smell of old book as he pried open the yellowed pages. A quiet part of his mind asked itself what Dent would think, but the thought left as fast as it came to him.

The door unlocked, and a yawning Dent wandered through, the bags under his blue eyes still strong as ever. He found his living room messier than usual, and a vampire crouched over his books.

“Uhh, why… are you reading my books?”

He tapped on his shoulder, and this might have been the first time he ever saw a vampire surprised.

“Huh?”, he turned his head around. Red looked more bedraggled than before.

“Uh, yes. Yes I am.”

“I asked why.”

‘Because there is a voice in my head that tells me to do stuff.’, Red thought.

“Because… I wanted to know about the history, culture and political situation of Magehold and the so-called Dread League?”

The unicorn sighed and shook his head, letting the blue locks bounce around.

“Stars on me. You’re in luck I am not like the others of the Necromantic League, they would have been a little irate about a vampire reading their books. Next time, ask, for star’s sake. This isn’t a library.”

Red nodded. Those were usually organized, yes.

“Alright. I apologize. Speaking of Necromantic League…”

Dent rolled his eyes. Here come the questions.

“You’re not a member of the league, are you?”

He bit his lip, almost a little insulted.

“No. I am not.”

“Because of-“

“Marekore. Yes. Because of Marekore.”

Marekore - Epithet, ‘The Terrible’ - was the current Deathlord incumbent and leader of the Necromantic League and Iron Circle. His reign started with an iron hoof and has only gotten stricter and more paranoid through the centuries. The greed and fear must have come to a zenith in recent decades, because the Necromantic League hasn’t ever been this dysfunctional as it appeared to be now. As was common with ‘Magocracies’ (the author was a vampire seemingly disliking of mages, and spent several chapters incoherently rambling about them and their wretched magocratic ways).

“I thought so.”

“Yeah, I am just glad to be undead still,” he laughed, and a small phial bounced from his neck. Perhaps as large as a pistol round it shimmered pink against the white fur. Red smiled as he now recognized it.

Phylactery, noun. Usually a small, inconspicuous object used by liches to store their soul and prevent themselves from dying. Usually protected by interwoven, protective counterspells. Easily destroyed once exposed from them, killing the lich eternally. Red did not know a lot about magic, but this new knowledge seemed to be easy to apply. That there was Dent’s phylactery, the source of his immortality. The apparent vulnerability of the sight gave Red a weird feeling.

Dent opened his front door, a piercing cold breeze immediately invading the house. He sniffed the air.

“Colder than yesterday,” he mused. He said ‘yesterday’ but how does he even know? There was no night or day here, just twilight and more twilight. He looked back and floated the brown bag to his side. The unicorn peered inside, and what was in there gave him a dumb grin. He looked up and spoke to Red.

“Up for a walk?”

“-yes, yes I know. I get the concept. But, if you really, really, don’t want to die… why not just become a vampire?”

“Good stars, no. Not that.”

“I mean… I feel fine.”

“I… yes, of course. Sorry, it’s just that…,” he sighed,”…necromancers are a little sensitive on that topic. Rightfully so, because it is so alluring. And there are some that have taken up your… offer.”
He swallowed.

“And yea, what came of them. Not to mention the other ... downsides.”

“Downsides?”

“Oh stars, maybe the unrelenting desire to slice open ponies and drink from their veins?”, he scoffed.

“Mhh, that.”

Red bit his lip, and felt a twinge that bled a little crimson into his mouth, sweet and lovely. He swallowed with greed.

“It’s not too bad, to be honest.”

“Maybe not for you… but some, like those dreadful hybrids I mentioned before, it is… possessive. Not to mention other strange … quirks. Just ask your queen sometime.”

“My … what?”

“The blood coven’s queen,” he added in passing. The snow crunched underneath their hooves.

“I thought I served a king? Alukah, heir to Orlok the Third, or whatever that name was?”

“Oh. No. That was… a little while ago,” he seemed a little unsure of what to say next.

“The book must have been older than I thought. He was your king, now …”

The unicorn looked to the Fangs, and watched as the shadows cascaded into the valley where they stood. They moved like black drapes across the houses, and would reach them soon. The boards and whatever else held the buildings here together seemed to shiver in the breeze, and even Red felt a little tense at the sensation. Dent couldn’t stand the sight any longer and let his gaze fall.

“He is dead. They are all dead. The Crimson Guard took them all…”

He laughed in a funny way that made Red uneasy.

“For the record, and despite all the downsides I do have to agree after all. You vampires are… robust, I agree. But she didn’t care, she figured out a way and killed them all.”

Dent met Red’s eyes for a moment before turning and beginning to move again. But Red had to know more, he had to pry.

“How, please, tell me how!”, he begged.

“The stake, Red. Upside down, impaled, for 7 nights and 7 days. Alukah, his advisors, his noble houses, his concubines, his servants. In their uniforms or nightgowns. All upside down on wood, choking on it like a fish on land. One after another onto the poles.”

His gaze was empty, somewhere else.

“The Crimson Guard marks their armor with little red notches. One for every soul. The knives of Alalyi – ‘her fangs’, they call it. There were ponies there, Red, only covered in red from helmet to hoof.”

His hoof tapped nervously, and somewhere, a gate opens, iron creaking like a waking giant.

“I… I always thought us necromancers and ghouls were the majority… but Red, she called upon all of you. All vampires should see how Alukah ends, and it must have been tens of thousands, no, stars, hundreds of thousands!”

Hundreds of thousands. Red’s thoughts began to churn, and his breath stuck to his throat. An army of vampires, an army of bats. Something that could change the tides of history.

“After it was all over, there were no more vampire rulers, no vampiric nobility or houses, no high priests or clergymares.”

Somewhere else, steel began to march, crashing into the ground rhythmically. Cold and martial was the sound that turned Red’s bones to ice and both found themselves wanting to keep moving.

“Only Maledicta remains.”

A part of Red’s soul screamed at that name. He did not know why, he just felt it creeping down his spine in horror. For a moment it felt as though he was mortal again, and shivering like a foal.

“Why… why do you know all this?”, he plead.

“She forced us to bear witness.”

He tried to shake the thoughts in his mind. The red book said a vampire’s thoughts were not his own, but part of a greater well of consciousness all connected through their blood. Red of course rejected that idea offhoof. Then why, he wondered, was he scared of a name he never heard with his own ears? Was it even his own fear? The thoughts raced and danced in his mind. He tried to cast them off, but they seemed to fight against it.

“Where are we going, anyway?”

“I have to pay rent.”

“That’s… the sack, right?”

“That’s the sack, right.”

The two came to a crossing where a sign floated upside down. The heart of the sprawl seemed to be fairly close now, and Red gawked at every weird creature slithering or limping around. When they walked straight ahead, looming red-black banners greeted them, hanging from poles on every corner. Equally red and black marble was underhoof, detailing goddess-knows-what in alien frescos. There were stalls here… a marketplace then?

Ponies here seemed to keep to themselves, and Red appreciated that, but he couldn’t help but notice an odd sort of party marching through the square a little out of view. He squinted his eyes, keeping up with Dent’s lazy pace. A unicorn, visibly older than Dent, was together, seemingly in charge of a limping, lumpy looking sort of quartet. They were armed with brooms and swept snow poorly. How somepony could sweep poorly was a mystery to Red, but he saw it nonetheless. What was even more mysterious was the oddly familiar red and gold farm-equipment-insignia on their brownish uniform.

“Dent…”

“Huh?”, he flinched from the hoof on his shoulder.

“Dent why is…”

“Oh, stars. You’re right. I forgot to do my hair, stars damn it,” he cursed at himself.

“What? No! Why am I seeing communists?”

“Huh?”, he looked over. The quartet turned on a dime, sweeping in a different direction at a leisurely pace.

“Oh, those. Just ignore those.”

Such a bizarrely specific thing was kind of hard to ignore. Red strained his neck to look at them for just a while longer, but the sight did not last. He chose to keep up the pace, almost knocking over a crate of oddly normal apples.

“Apples here any good?”

“Don’t eat those, trust me,” the unicorn gave sternly.

He dove into a small side road off the square, walked for a bit, and there she was. She stood next to a yawning opening in the wall, the extravagant black dress merging with the dark. Red and silver strands hung over the occultic knickknack, a small smoking cigarette tucked between one of her fangs. She wasn’t smiling when she pulled it out to speak.

“Who is your friend?”

“Oh, he?”, he patted Red on the shoulder.

“I found him lumbering around the dead sea. Can you believe that Lilly?”

Red looked at Dent intensely, almost as if his first normal interaction with another vampire was ruined for no reason.

Her voice is toxic and harsh.

“My name is Lilith.”

“I’m Red.”

She nodded, face without expression again.

“Hey Red. Is that true?”

“Well… I wouldn’t have worded it like that.”

“Should have stayed gone,” she pulls out a new cigarette from somewhere within her dress. The vampire mare lights it and puffs a fresh cloud.

“Now, you’re stuck here forever.”

This gave Red mixed feelings. Dent raised the brown bag for them to see, as if it were a real nice gift for hearth’s warming eve. He seemed mighty proud of it too.

“I got rent.”

“About time,” she groaned. Lilith stepped into the dark, Dent eager to follow. It looked like a warehouse, dusty and ill-kempt, wooden crates of varying sizes stacked high where one couldn’t see them anymore. She walked a precarious thin path between the sea of containers, and Red was almost exploding to peer into one of the things to see what type of goods were stored here. There was a small clearing in the center, where an out of place table was degraded to be a shelf for various tools and what Red thought might be records of transactions.

Lilith kicked a box, and a wooden beam swung out, holding a golden scale on a thin hair. Dent, sweaty and panting again, looked nervously to the sack as he floated it to the scale pan. It carefully set down onto the metal, and Red almost thought it was too light to register. Then, slowly, the scales began to move. One notch, two, three…

Her frown was etched deeper and deeper into her muzzle, fangs gnashing as she watched. Dent was vibrating as he took in the sight, playing with his phylactery antsily. It made a tinkling sound that got on Red’s nerves.

“Lots of bugs,” whistled Red.

“Indeed,” she took a deep drag of her cigarette. The thick aroma wafted over to Red, and he recognized the smell faintly. What was it? His nose wrinkled in repulsion.

“Excuse the question, but what are you doing with those … things?”

“I sell the brainbugs to the ghouls. They pay a lot for those. Don’t ask why they do, I don’t know and don’t care.”

He scanned the rest of the clearing in between the ocean of stored goods. More of those mysterious, shiny red apples everywhere. Crude, wooden things that looked eerily close to what he played with in the orphanage, paintings that looked like they were scribbled on. Gemstones, diamond rings, paintings that might have made even an old master fume with jealousy. Instruments of music, instruments of torture. Weapons, though Red felt silly calling them that. Sharp metal on sticks. Then, some strange brown packages and pots that evoked a strange sense of nostalgia in him. While Dent and Lilith were haggling over the current exchange rate of bug to rent, he walked over and stuck his nose into a bag.

“Whew,” he recoiled. It was like her cigarette, magnified a thousand times. Balmy, tangy, reeking and fat in the air. Like a drop of gasoline on a mound of rotting spices. His mouth curled into a smile. Atzlan Hay, Ma-ri-hu-a-na. This day just keeps getting stranger and stranger, and the realization made him laugh a long, dazed laugh.

“What’s the matter, barrel of laughs?”

“Lilith, ha,” he was still chuckling,”… how, how do I get into the Fangs?”

Red looked at her, and instead of something conceited and sarcastic, she took another drag and began to laugh. Red found that really funny, and joined in. Dent too, nervously.

“What’s, uhh, what’s so funny?”, he asked.

“Oh, oh, nothing,” she put out her spliff and sighed.

“Your friend here has a death wish, that’s all. Next thing he’ll ask is probably how he can get an audience with queen Maledicta herself.”

“That…yeah that’s what I was going to say.”

She grinned and chuckled, exhaling deeply.

“Forget it foal, go drink some bloodwine and enjoy yourself while we still can. Tempting fate is a dangerous thing.”

She turned away from Red, fishing out a small purse from her dress. Dent’s eyes began to sparkle as he saw the coins.

“Here, never thought I would actually pay you anything. Don’t spend it all on crystals you half-wit.”

It was as the coins poured into dents hoof, that time began to limp, then stop. The air was still except for Red’s breath, and despite him standing there in the room with them, he felt like he was a million miles away. Red looked at them, but they were as unmoving as statues. His stomach began to twist into a knot. Something was wrong, and a horrible, guilty feeling crept up his spine as a chill terror. It felt like he was standing there for hours, waiting for something to happen. A weight began to gather on his shoulders, and it took so long to figure out what that feeling was. He felt watched. It felt there were eyes on his neck, and when he wanted to turn around he found himself unable to. Like a snake the presence slowly coiled towards his back, sliding up his neck, intangible yet bone-chilling. The scream was high in his throat but couldn’t come out. Into his ear, it whispered...

Author's Note

waiter, waiter, more horse words please!!!

In all seriousness, I hope the reading was digestible. Infrequent time to write makes for strange storytelling. Still driven.