The Bewitching Hour

It was the moment she most dreaded. The hardest thing she had ever done.

Shadow Scythe had earned a reputation of treachery, faced unimaginable odds, endured imprisonment and torture...and yet, she could confidently state it all paled in comparison to this.

She had used her sickle to slice a hole in the manor's wall, unaware she had helped open up a dimensional bleed while leaving, taking a portion of the abomination's power with her to travel through dimensions. Not as potent as Beatrix's, but enough to make a short hop once a month.

The downside was it would burn out and leave her stranded in whatever dimension she traveled to. Nonetheless, the pale unicorn needed to do this and so returned to her homeworld, adjusting back to hooves, as ponies stalked the land in this world. A hooded robe hemmed in black at the lining, once white but now tattered and gray, fluttered around the unicorn who floated across the vast grassy hills like a lost phantom.

A fracture ran through the unicorn's horn, a reminder of her failure. Icy blue eyes were contrasted by dark circles below them, her fur a pale blue, her cutie mark a stylized horse skull and scythe from which she had taken her name.

There it was. A simple hut on a hill where her parents lived. The sunlight bore down on it under a blue sky. Her heart hammered as she crept closer, hovering above the earth. It had been years since she abandoned them, vanishing from their lives without so much as saying goodbye.

“I shouldn't be here,” she told herself as she approached the door. “I'm a wanted criminal here.” Approached by Grogar, who had become her mentor, she had betrayed her calling and slaughtered her fellow reapers, who, like her, were tasked to ferry the souls of the dead to their resting places. Eventually, he, too, had died at her hooves, until Beatrix stepped in to defeat her.

As if in answer to her dark thoughts, clouds began to fill the skies. She shivered and clutched her cloak close to her. In truth, Shadow Scythe would sooner face the wrath of the entire world than what she was about to do. But it had to be done.

The rap of her hoof sounded on wood. Her heart quickened. A moment later, the door creaked open, her chest swelling with pain when she gazed towards the stallion answering her call.

The older unicorn wore a stone face before his daughter, his features lined with more age than she remembered. Quicksilver Bullet was a seasoned, retired crypto-zoologist who had researched creatures that society doubted even existed. He still wore his battered duster and beaten fedora around the house, since he often went out to explore the local area.

His dull coat matched his namesake, his mottled hair white, and his sharp eyes azure. She could vaguely make out a number of his trophies and awards that alined the dusty interior behind him.

Silence hung the chilling air before the older stallion let out a waned breath. “So…you're back, huh?”

“Y-yes.” She drew back her hood and stared down at the ground. “Father, can I...can I come in?” He offered no answer, simply staring her down without so much as blinking. With a shudder, she nodded and swallowed hard. “Y-yeah I…I wouldn’t harbor a criminal in my house, too, if I were...” She gulped hard while the tension between them sharpened. “H-how has mother been?”

“Dead,” he said bluntly, the scowl under his bushy mustache deepening.

“...what?” Her heart sank, and her ears pulled back, unsure if she heard him correctly. “T-that can’t be true! Last I saw her, she was-”

“Murdered. By her own child!” He bellowed, pointing his hoof at his daughter, and she shrunk back. “Oh, you might not have done it directly, but after you turned your back on us, butchered so many creatures, then ran away with your tail between your legs? What do you think would happen? Our family's reputation was ruined, and we had to move out into the middle of nowhere to escape all the scrutiny you caused!”

The revelations strained to sink in. “But how did mother...” Her eyes watered when Quicksilver hung his head low.

“Quiver Bolt couldn't handle the loss. Blamed herself for how you turned out.” He turned his back on her and shook with barely contained anger, his voice low. “Guilt ate away at her over the months. Finally, she asked, ‘Where did we go wrong?’ You always were a quiet filly, so we assumed you were just lonely. But once your rare cutie mark showed up, we wanted to believe you were destined for great things.”

He bitterly sighed at the memory. “We were so proud. How you excelled in all your studies and helped lost souls find their place. Then, when you disappeared near Tartarus, your fellow reapers set up a search party, unaware you had met up with Grogar. Your mother cried her eyes out, started to lose her grip on reality, couldn't believe it when she heard you became a monster.”

Perhaps it was denial, but she refused to put the truth together. “That still doesn't explain-”

“Do I have to spell it out for you!?” He snarled, slamming a hoof into the wall so hard, it made her jump. “She took her own life! Used one of my hunting tools while I wasn’t looking. All because you'd forsaken us, Shadow Scythe! And now, you think you can come back, expecting forgiveness!?”

“N-no, of course not...” She answered meekly and avoided his hard stare.

“Then you have no business on my property. Unless you can bring your mother back from the grave, I don’t ever want to see you here again! Now get out!! Go before I contact the authorities to take you in and execute you. Maybe then I’ll finally find closure!” He spat at her before slamming the door in the unicorn’s face.

Not a moment later, she could hear things being thrown around, glass shattering until the inevitable whimpering settled in.

Hastily, she ran away, unable to restrain the tears anymore when she all but broke down. Even if she tried to cross over and seek her mother, the damage she’d done was irreparable.

And after the stunt she'd pulled, no doubt the magical barriers were infinitely more robust than before! The afterlife was barred to her!

She paused to cast one last glance at her broken home. Without her mother to look after him, Quicksilver Bullet allowed the foundations to crumble into disrepair, a once cozy hovel filled with strings of curses and wild shouts.

Overwhelmed, she fled the hilltop, filled with memories of her mother, Quiver Bolt. She rarely cried and certainly not in the presence of anyone else, such a blatant display of weakness unbearable to her. But Shadow Scythe shook uncontrollably and wept, tears free to spill out. The dark circles under her eyes were soon heavy with bags, her sobs reduced to choked cries.

Her horn flared when she blinked away in a flash, with no particular destination in mind. Then, honed in on her subconscious, her deathly magic warped her to a massive graveyard, trapped behind a creaky fence of spires amid a gloomy forest. Gnarled trees overlooked the soggy earth, the tombstones weathered and lined in moss. She shuddered and wiped her soaked face.

Gray skies swathed in blackened clouds spat out a heavy downpour to match her mood. Her robes grew heavier when she floated in the rainfall, mane sticking to her face. Left hollow, she stared down at the decrepit tomb displayed before her.

One of the fellow grim reapers she betrayed, all buried side-by-side. Their corpses were empty after she stole their souls and embedded them into her own to further enhance her already formidable abilities. The poor spirits were doomed to never pass on. Another bitter reminder of the vile fiend she had been. It was as if a karmic universe spat right in her face.

Some of them had been freed when Beatrix vanquished Shadow Scythe. Perhaps her well-deserved death would set the rest loose.

“I can't ask for your forgiveness. I'm not worthy of it, anyhow.” She summoned her scythe into her hands, took a deep breath, and trembled when she turned the curve blade towards her neck, a small bit of pressure applied to the skin.

A trickle of red dripped from the small wound. Would her flesh regenerate if her head was separated from her body? She doubted it.

Was it cowardly to go through with this? Or would it be righteous punishment for all her unforgivable sins?

More quiet tears dribbled down the cold steel, trailed over the runes that lined it. Still, she hesitated, her grip trembling. Whatever chance she could cross over and find Quiver Bolt was slim to none. But it would be worth it, right?

To risk damnation or oblivion for the opportunity to apologize and reassure her mother’s spirit that the reaper’s undoing wasn’t her fault?

Yet, she couldn’t. With a frustrated sob, she tossed her weapon aside and bashed her fists into the ground, cursing her fragility. “Aaaaaaagh, stupid! Weak! What am I supposed to do now!?”

It would have been better had Belladonna simply executed her on the spot. After she had threatened the witch's daughter, she had certainly earned it. Not to mention how many of her friends she hurt in another bid for power.

The only person to offer her any real kind gesture was the Fallen One, Zeloph. He had saved her, helped recover her memories in the mansion, no doubt for his own nefarious purpose.

“Pft.… Just another glory hound who sought power before Belladonna interfered. She might mean well, but I've seen what happens whenever that witch gets involved! It’s obvious her carelessness threatens the multiverse!” Her face twisted at the thought in sheer determination, with a new reason to continue her mission!

She maintained energy taken from the mansion! So, she could hop dimensions and track her down eventually! But, would it be enough to catch up with Belladonna before the energies she 'borrowed' were spent? No, it would have to be!

“Sorry,” she told the faded gravestone at her hooves. “But I won’t allow myself to die yet!”

As if in answer, the sky flashed bright and thunder cracked. A bolt of lightning sizzled and struck the grave, which exploded into chunks of shattered marble as she protectively raised an invisible barrier more on instinct with a strangled shout.

Momentarily in the illumination, she spotted a lone figure who floated like her, its hood and cloak completely tattered and black. The pony's skull stared back, hollow sockets glowing, a rust-colored scythe carried on the specter's bony back.

Shadow Scythe hovered over to meet it. The interloper was gone. Was it Death itself come to pay her a visit, or had she finally lost her mind?

It didn't matter. Until she put an end to Beatrix's heedless travels, nothing would stop her!

Smoke rose from the gravestone, which sizzled, flames quickly snuffed out by the drizzle and the torn-up soil filled with the wiggle of bloated earthworms. The rotten stench of the grave filled Shadow Scythe's nostrils, who plucked a rose bouquet from her robes she had intended for her mother and left it there, unaware that 'Death' continued to watch her when she blinked away...

*****

The interior was thoroughly trashed once Quicksilver Bullet finished. Bookshelves were turned over, trophies scattered, keepsakes smashed and tossed about. Finally, he pressed against a cracked wall and slid down to his haunches, smashed a hoof into the floorboards with such force he punched a hole into them. Muted sobs shook his entire ragged body.

His watery eyes swam into focus when he stared at a portrait of his beloved Quiver Bolt. She smiled back at him, frozen in time. Their beautiful daughter had gotten her mother's looks, a reminder of how happy the couple had been when she was born.

“That's all in the past. Just like my triumphs,” he bitterly reminded himself.

Perhaps he would pay his wife's grave another visit. Quiver Bolt was buried at the back of the house, near a cliff that overlooked the sea. The couple had met at a similar, romantic spot, taken their baby girl there many times on a picnic.

Haunted by bittersweet memories, he cried his eyes dry. He remembered the first time he took his daughter into his hooves from Quiver's bosom. The foal was unusually quiet, her icy blue eyes alight with an intelligence beyond her years.

When she discovered her cutie mark, Shadow Scythe had abandoned her birth name and taken her current title. Like she had been ready to throw away all traces of a mundane life that bored her senseless, even back then.

He understood all too well. He'd become an adventurer for similar reasons, until love and marriage made him settle down.

Nearly an hour passed before he shakily rose. The area had darkened, and rain started to patter on the rooftop. Part of him wanted to run out and apologize to Shadow Scythe, even though he didn't feel she deserved it. Yet another aspect of him felt his heart harden further, the mare he had loved and sacrificed so much for forever taken from him due to her selfish actions.

His eyes slowly trailed to a collection of weapons that lined a wall. Fantasies of ending his life and being reunited with his wife consumed him. Yet he shook them away, certain that wouldn't be what Quiver Bolt wanted, despite it all.

“Why did you have to leave me alone...? I thought you were stronger than me,” he muttered into the darkness, his voice hoarse.

A rattle sounded. He shot up and seized a machete from the wall. “Who's there?”

Perhaps it was merely a wild animal. Shadows crawled throughout the interior when he peeked around, heard the staccato beat of his heart race, reminded of trips into the wild to research cryptids, and captured a few of them for study.

He explored the entire floor and discovered nothing. So instead, he climbed into the attic. Wate drip-dropped in from a hole. A cool splash hit his fur coat. He shivered. His machete cast an inky splotch across the dim, confined space.

“Just a mouse,” he observed with a shake of his head and a sigh, his weapon lowered while he turned from the rodent.

Quicksilver Bullet froze. Death itself stared back at the poor hunter with a rictus grin. The horse skull was visible from the ragged black hood, covered in fat worms that crawled through the sockets and in its jaw. Grime swathed fractures visible across the reaper's calcified bones.

Lightning crackled in a flash. A swarm of rodents broke apart and scurried away. Quicksilver Bullet instinctively slashed to defend himself. The tattered cloak opened and closed around the hunter mid-scream, until only darkness remained.

Just as with Beatrix Belladonna, death followed in Shadow Scythe's wake, wherever she traveled...