Chapter II - "Wraith Warden"
Author's Note
Hey again, all! Sorry it's taken me so long to get an update out for this, things have been a bit hectic IRL and getting motivated to work on this and the sequel for Pawn has been harder than I care to admit.
I'm a very technical guy, I work with/repair machines on the regular, so you may have noticed I put a lot of emphasis on mechanical things like cars, guns, planes, etc. It's always been more difficult to actually delve into the more fantastical and paranormal aspects of the world, at least not without developing a strict set of rules for magic and such to operate within.
The urge to write down how everything works and make it make sense is powerful indeed, but I'm trying to use this story as a testbed/vessel to experiment with aspects that I haven't really delved into before. It's an attempt to write something without having to explain it in minute technical, even if the only person that actually knows what's going on is me.
That being said, expect there to be some 'growing pains', I doubt I'll get describing/implementing the weird and paranormal elements right the first time, but that's what experiments are for.
I hope you all enjoy, and as always I look forward to your comments. Have a happy Friday and an equally fabulous weekend.
-TB
Chapter II - "Wraith Warden"
It was, as the old cliche goes, a dark and stormy night. Darker than any night Spike had ever encountered in Ponyville, and raining with a ferocity he'd not seen outside the unkempt brambles of the Everfree Forest. No moon could be seen for the clouds, nor were there stars, nor street lamps, not any signs of another living soul. Lightning flashed, rain poured, and thunder rumbled... This alone might've been enough to instill a certain sense of unease in most drivers, but Spike was not most drivers. Over the past month or so serving as Piercing's de facto 'Protege', he had heard stories and read books of a most unwholesome sort... There was more to be uneasy about in the dark than most could ever hope to imagine, but to his thankful fortune he had yet to ever run afoul of any of those... Things.
Spike was --as he usually found himself these days-- in the driver's seat of a 1936 Rook Automotive Outrider. It was a newer model of the sedan he and Piercing had initially been cruising across the country in at the start of their journey. They'd upgraded on accident, as their old vehicle had been signed out to a different pair of Agents. The other Agents' loss was Spike and Piercing's gain, as the Outrider was host to a number of new features and additions that made it a joy to drive. On this particular evening, harried and hassled by the wrath of unregulated nature, Spike would've been content just to park it off the side of the road and make use of the plush reclining seats to sleep through to dawn.
As it was, he instead found himself hunched over the wheel, eyes half glazed over, navigating a twisting, turning, rolling road. The asphalt weaved over land and around mountains like a striped black serpent, pitted and cracked by countless travelers that'd gone before, so poorly maintained that even the Outrider's greatly improved suspension struggled to cope. Every bump, every pothole, every minute undulation in the ground could be felt in all its terrible force.
Two warm yellow beams scythed through the inky black, cast forth from a pair of wide seal-eye headlights affixed to the vehicle's front, just above a wide chrome bumper.
All things considered, it was hard not to feel as if he was the only person on this narrow stretch of forgotten highway... The only person conscious, at any rate. Piercing had fallen asleep hours ago, his head lolled off to the side, leaving Spike alone at the wheel. There was a sort of comfort to that thought, to think that all the world and all its troubles began at the edge of his high beams and ended in the dull crimson glow of his taillights. None of the prosaic concerns that so consumed the waking world held sway in that instant, nor did the forces of darkness, only the steadily passing yellow stripes that marked the center of the road. An unnerving strangeness asserted itself whenever lightning flashed, breaking the illusion of isolated existence and illuminating the forested mountains, otherwise concealed by the storm.
The duo had stopped in numerous towns to follow up on leads, but these detours amounted to little more than wasted hours and an increasingly long expense report... It had at least given Spike an opportunity to ask more questions and put his powers of observation to the test, and that coupled with the gentle tutelage of Piercing Gaze had at least brought the young man up to a 'proficient' standard as far as the Agency was concerned. At least, in the academic sense. No amount of tutoring or book learning could ever truly prepare a man for the 'weird' and 'unusual' anomalies by which an OPTIC Agent made his trade. Statistically speaking, for whatever reason, those sorts of things just tended to happen more frequently to OPTIC men, even when they didn't have a case on which to focus.
Speaking of focus...
Spike was shaken out of his thoughts as he felt the tires thunder over a patch of uneven grass and rocks at the side of the road. With a start he wrenched the wheel over and brought the sedan back onto the thoroughfare, all as his heartbeat pounded away in his ears. As a dragon, he might not have needed sleep, but the dull hypnotic act of driving all on his lonesome --hour after hour-- without respite was taking its toll. Realistically he could've turned on the radio, but to do so would risk rousing Piercing from his slumber, and Spike cherished sleep too much to deprive another of its embrace. The irony was that the indistinct chatter of rain against the roof would otherwise have sped Spike to a semi-comfortable sleep were he laying in bed back in Ponyville, just as it had done for the reclining Sub-Director to his right...
The miles ticked on and on, and as they did Spike could feel every minute, second after agonizing second. The more he fought his sinking eyelids, the more he found himself drawn towards the embrace of slumber... He knew the dangers of driving drowsy, even if there wasn't anyone else on the road he could still have an accident. In fact, were he to have such an accident in this rural setting, the odds were that no one would see the vehicle --let alone send help-- for hours, if not until the next morning.
Just as he took some comfort in thinking that he was alone out here, the thought that something terrible could happen to him without anyone else's knowledge sent a chill down his spine. The young man was reminded of the oft quoted philosophical thought experiment. If a tree falls in a forest, and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? The notion wasn't limited to trees alone. How many people had been out on a road just like this one, on a night just as miserable, and had some horrible fate befall them without anyone being the wiser? Spike's hands worked the wheel without giving it much thought, turning as needed, his eyes glazing over again in spite of his best efforts. He needed to find somewhere to pull off and catch a few minutes of sleep, the journey could wait until morning... Better to arrive a bit later and alive than to risk discovering the answer to his philosophical conundrum.
Spike wasn't exactly sure where he was going when he came upon a small intersection, a turn off to some long forgotten road that ran headlong into darkness, away from the main thoroughfare. It didn't look like it went anywhere. He should've gone on, should've found another place to pull over, but... He couldn't. There was something about the path that called to him, an unspoken and silent voice that beckoned him on, and he felt compelled to answer it. Drowsiness had robbed him of his ability to sufficiently resist, so he flicked the blinker and slowed to a crawl, making the turn into the unknown road.
It was clear that either side of the road on the previous stretch of highway was tended to regularly, debris was cleared, grass was cut, the shoulders were nice and wide... The road Spike found himself upon now may as well have been the polar opposite. Branches hung low and brushed against the side of the car, the suspension creaked in protest, and yet the ride felt smoother somehow. Tall patches of grass rose from spider-webbing cracks in the pavement, but these were just as easily brushed aside when the sedan passed over them.
In his mind's eye Spike could only speculate as to what awaited him at the terminus, but the compulsion to carry on remained strong, until all that he could see was the road ahead. Everything else faded to the edges of his foggy mind, the more he fought the worse it got. What'd started first as a general unease advanced in severity, he could feel a prickling sensation rising along his spine and the back of his arms, his breath became ragged, his hands clammy. At one point he tried to slam on the brakes, attempted to loosen his grip on the wheel, opened his mouth to speak and wake his slumbering companion... None of these efforts found success, his body refused to respond, much to his building horror.
Fear was no stranger to him, but horror? Oh, horror...
He'd set out on his journey with such grandiose thoughts of honor and duty, so sure of his own abilities and his willingness to use them, but realization dawned on that twisting abandoned road that no amount of strength of conviction or arm could hope to easily resist the darker forces of the world. He should've caught a few extra minutes of sleep, or grabbed a larger coffee, or perhaps worked out a little harder. Had he taken better care to rest properly, he might've stood a chance at resisting whatever it was that'd compelled him this way.
At this point Spike had become, in essence, a passenger in his own body. Watching through his eyes, breathing through his lips, but utterly powerless to stop himself. Time as a concept lost relevance, he could've been on the road for a few hours or a few seconds, it made little difference. He wanted to close his eyes, to stop looking at the road, but there was nothing he could do.
Panic set in. He had to do something, had to fight back somehow, someway. His hands trembled on the wheel, his foot wavered over the brake pedal, choked strangled grunts rose from his throat, all for naught. With all his force of will he managed to look over to his right, and there he saw Piercing Gaze... He'd brought his seat upright, and sat there, staring ahead, sharing Spike's blank expression. Even if he had managed to wake the man, odds were there was nothing he could've done to help... All his struggles had been futile.
The road ahead widened slightly, and a few moments later Spike felt his foot finally make contact with the brake. The vehicle's tires squelched as Spike shifted down, until finally they rolled to a stop, the headlights illuminating something that the young man hadn't expected... A gate, consisting of a chain-link fence and topped by barbed wire. Rusted and decrepit, it bore a sign which could only have been abandoned decades ago.
Private Property - No Trespassing
The gate itself was slightly ajar, as if to invite anyone that might've happened upon it to step through. Spike could see nothing beyond the barricade but more grass and cracked pavement. In a lot of ways it reminded him of the entrance to the Maksym Field Arsenal just outside of Ponyville, the factory where his beloved Orzel had worked to develop weapons before the Violet Scare. Where she would come from to visit him every day at lunch, always arriving at a prompt 12:30 PM. He could've set his watch to her... It'd been a few days since her last letter, his constant traveling making the reception of mail difficult except by magical means. In it she'd expressed her love for him, as always, but more importantly she'd said how proud she was...
At the thought of her, as though someone had snapped their finger, Spike found himself able to move his arms and legs again. He could blink, he could breathe, he could close his eyes. Whatever had called him here had released its grip, or perhaps it'd been thrown off by the wholesome thoughts of the woman he loved... The young man wasn't sure which, and doubted he'd ever get an answer. Shaken by it all, he sat fully awake. Turning to his right he saw Piercing still locked in that unblinking stare, so Spike cocked back his arm and delivered a firm punch to the shoulder. Not enough to do any serious damage, but definitely enough to sting. Enough to wake someone up, or so Spike hoped.
"Bloody Tartarus!" Piercing growled, bringing a hand to his shoulder and rubbing the sore spot. "What'd you do that... For..." The man trailed off as he blinked those sleepy eyes of his, squinting through the gloom at the sign ahead. "Where are we?"
"I don't know..." Responded Spike, his voice low and dry. "I... I was driving, and then I felt this urge come over me, like someone had reached out and grabbed me... Like, I was on auto-pilot and I couldn't turn it off." He rubbed at his temples, trying and failing to recollect the exact sensation. It lingered at the edges of his mind, a silent insistence that he should move ahead through the gate, but as his mind was running on adrenaline the compulsion was muted. "Let me see if I can't get us turned around and back on the road..."
"Best hold off on that, lad." Piercing shook his head. "I know this is a little disconcerting, but you and I both know this is something that falls in our wheelhouse... OPTIC Agents can't very well bugger off without at least stopping to investigate weird happenings like this." Spike stared at the man, incredulous, but the Sub-Director showed neither sign of joke nor jest. "This is what you signed up for, laddy... Don't tell me you've got cold feet."
"No, sir... Just..." Spike looked at the gate ahead, took a deep breath, and gently put the vehicle back into first gear. "I guess I'm not used to just getting thrown into stuff like this, y'know? There wasn't any build up, it just kinda... Happened."
"Aye, that's usually how these things go." Piercing assured, adjusting his posture in his seat as the vehicle pushed on. "Sometimes you get a warning, sometimes you don't. Only thing for it is to crack on, keep a stiff upper lip and all that." The gate creaked as it was nudged aside by the bumper, but otherwise offered no meaningful resistance. "Do you mind if I ask you something?"
"Didn't you just ask me something?" Spike attempted to joke, to lighten his own dread, not that it helped. "Sorry... Yeah, go ahead." Piercing looked over, his protege's eyes remained on the road, searching for what --if anything-- might have caused this unscheduled detour.
"Have you ever felt compelled to go somewhere you shouldn't have gone? I mean, has anything like this happened to you before?" Piercing's question seemed straightforward enough, indeed Spike still felt the compulsion gnawing at the corners of his mind, its insistence louder and louder as the car continued ahead. "Or maybe not compelled somewhere, but has anything, any place, called out to you? I know you've had your run ins with the occasional odd experience through your Mum, but have you personally ever had it happen exclusively to you? If so, have you given any thought as to why that might be the case?"
Spike opened his mouth to speak, ready to refute the question then and there, but something gave him pause. He thought back to his childhood in Canterlot. Whenever he and his Mom visited the National Museum of Arcane History, the artifacts on display would seem to pull at his mind. Those whose origins were especially dark and unseemly were louder, calling out to him in silent insistence that they be picked up and used once more. In later life he'd written it off merely as his draconic desire to build a hoard, but now...? Now he wasn't so sure.
There were times when he'd be walking home with Twilight, or out on the town with Shining Armor --or any other member of the Sparkle Family-- or even by himself, when he would pass by an abandoned manor. Surrounded on all sides by an ivy-choked brick wall, the house had a rundown appearance that'd made it an eyesore amongst the other neatly maintained homes in Ivorstone -- the affluent district of Canterlot where the honored noble 'House of Sparkle' resided.
The decrepit manor had been abandoned for almost as long as Spike could recall. There were times when one family or another might try to move in, to fix up the place and rub elbows with nobility, only to abandon the property months or even weeks later... Usually after some great personal tragedy. Every time young Spike walked by the house he could swear something was watching him from an upstairs window... Once or twice when he was a boy he'd snuck out at night, and approached the great wrought-iron gate, intent on venturing beyond to see what was inside... But his courage always failed him, and not once had he ever laid eyes upon the old house's interior.
For whatever reason, Spike found himself realizing that he was drawn to places like this... He had been all his life, though he'd not realized it. He had to wonder if maybe those same forces that called to him were themselves compelled to seek him out... It would certainly explain all the oddness that'd marked his life so far, from the moment he'd been hatched by Twilight's errant spell, to the return of Nightmare Moon, to the Return of Discord and the Rose Township Crash, all had in some form or another been influenced by the machinations of forces beyond his understanding or control...
"Your silence is deafening, but I suppose it answers my question, doesn't it?" Piercing commented, he must've seen the dawning realization on Spike's face. The man offered his protege a soft smile. "There will be plenty of time to answer all those questions you have filling your head later, for now I believe we have a more pressing matter." He gestured out the windshield, through the rain and slashing wipers.
Every now and then a bolt of lightning would erupt in the distance, each flash revealing a glimpse of what lay beyond the fence in ominous clarity. The first buildings they drove past were squat single story constructs of brick and stone, Spike guessed they were the remnants of some sort of out-buildings or maybe servant quarters of some kind? A number of busted windows and fallen doors made clear that they'd been robbed of any valuables years ago, just as they'd been stripped of their copper wiring and other useful scrap.
Spike could feel an odd pressure forming in his head, one he'd not felt since those boyhood excursions to the abandoned manor. The out-buildings looked too ragged, too run down, even considering how long they'd evidently spent in neglect. He wasn't sure if it was the rain, the storm, or just his own tired eyes, but he couldn't help feeling that the overall look of the place was just... A little off.
Every bolt of lightning illuminated more of the sprawling decay, and with time the cracked asphalt could no longer be distinguished from mud. Weeds emerged through wide gaps in the shattered pavement, and small patches of dirt had given rise to slick patches of tall grass that trembled at waist height in the storm. Much of this foliage was brown and sickly, but more so than they should've been, even with the onset of fall.
The main structure --or what Spike assumed to be the main structure-- came into view soon thereafter, a building that appeared equal parts mansion, library, and observatory. Built in an antiquarian Gothic aesthetic, with dull black brick and slate gray mortar, faded wooden siding, and a tall metal silo-esque structure that the luminous flashes of lightning revealed to house a telescope of some kind. It was hard to get a full read, as only a fraction of the place was revealed by the headlights. The actual scale of the sprawling compound was enormous, perhaps as impressive as the House of Sparkle or even the abandoned manor.
What few windows could be seen were of a sort that would've been quite expensive at the time of their construction, though now most were boarded up, others had been shattered and left open to the elements. Countless vines of ivy crept up along the house's exterior like the tentacles of some great sea monster, ensnaring anything and everything they came into contact with. Before the house, situated at the center of a roundabout of cobblestones, was an immense tree... Once upon a time it was likely a stately oak or maple, now it was gnarled, withered, as decrepit and unwholesome as the rest of the place. Sitting there in the car amongst the damp and decay, in the shadow of a wrecked colossus of affluence, Spike found his thoughts turning to the site itself...
There'd no doubt been a time long ago when this place was little more than undeveloped farmland. A time when neither shoed hoof, nor leashed paw, nor booted foot had trod the place he sat now. In daylight this part of Equestria could be described as nothing short of gorgeous. Perhaps in its heyday this manor was just as gorgeous, perhaps it'd been a home of great renown and substance, perhaps its owners had been faithful stewards of the land, but... Not now. Not anymore. Nature had yet to reclaim what was stolen from her, and this abandoned manor may as well have been an unfading scar upon the land. For a few fleeting moments Spike felt an emotional agony gnawing at him in the back of his mind, a profound sadness at seeing a site that'd once been unspoiled left in such a state.
The sensation reached the apex of its strength just as another bolt of lightning erupted across the sky, far brighter than any that'd come before, lancing down from the heavens to strike upon what looked to be a lightning rod atop the observatory. So sudden was the strike that neither of the men had an opportunity to shield their eyes... Spike's gaze fixated upon the branches of the tree in that fraction of a moment, a snapshot of brilliant unnatural magenta energy that split the sky in crackling clarity. What awaited his eyes in the light sent a chill down his spine.
The storm's flashbulb revealed for an instant... Something. He couldn't describe it, so short was his view, but what he could make out was enough to chill his core. Vaguely humanoid in nature, its outline was unusual, crisp and sharp, almost like a drawing or cartoon... Although this cartoon was hardly anything that could be considered funny. Those features alone would've been enough to shake the confidence of even the bravest soul, but what eclipsed them all was the fact that this thing looked... Mean. No, not just mean, malicious. Its eyes burned with hatred and malice of a sort that was wholly unnatural, even to a dragon.
Much of its face was concealed by shadow, but it looked misshapen, as gnarled and as twisted as the tree it clung to. The ragged remnants of clothes dangled from its frame, though the colors and details of these garments or what they might've been were elusive in the gloom. All Spike could see for certain were the two cobalt blue eyes, sunken into leathery sockets... Iridescent and malicious, they fixated upon the car, upon Spike himself. He felt a chill down his spine, as though someone was walking over his grave. That thing in the tree was... Grinning. Leering at him, just as he would leer at a particularly tasty looking cheeseburger after not eating all day, but magnified a thousand fold.
Hate... Hunger...
These two words echoed in Spike's mind, he didn't know why, or how, but that was the sense, the 'vibe', that creature gave off in that brief instant of illumination. The lightning was gone as soon as it'd arrived, the vibrating crack of thunder that followed being so loud and malevolent as to cause Spike's teeth to chatter. Another flash of lightning followed a fraction of an instant later, but this one lacked the unsettling claret hue. It revealed nothing... The creature, if it indeed was a creature, was gone.
So sudden was the sight that Spike found his tongue eluding him, the whole of his lexicon sent in a mad scramble for safety in the recesses of his mind. Looking to his right, jaw working up and down like a gasping fish, he saw that Piercing had likewise seen something, for he too was sitting there, his face ashen. As though it couldn't have become any worse, the rain outside picked up, to a level the likes of which was most unreasonable for any storm. So intense that he half expected the doors and windows to start leaking, or to feel the Outrider somehow start to float.
It wasn't manufactured rain, nor was it natural...
The water didn't hit with the typical soothing drone Spike was so accustomed to, it reminded him more of buckshot rattling around in an empty coffee can. Maybe it was something else, like the rain of an alien planet. Perfectly natural there on a strange otherworldly vista, but wholly unwelcome here on Equus. The water cascaded down the windshield in rivulets that refracted light like prisms, every flash of lightning caused them to glitter, to a point they almost blinded him with strange prismatic auroras of light whose color was... Unsightly. Unlike any Spike could recollect, nor could he describe it as anything other than disquieting. The hue was sinister, if a color could be such a thing.
All of that was of secondary concern to the man, his primary of course being that which he'd seen amongst the wretched branches. In absence of other sound, all that could be heard was a fading rumble of thunder, echoing like peels of demoniac laughter throughout the night. With panic building in his chest, Spike reached into the depths of his bomber jacket and drew his enchanted pistol from its appendix holster. From there he racked back the slide, and as he heard the tactile 'click-clack' of the weapon he felt a small amount of comfort. He'd always viewed the runes scribed along Orzel's exterior with a note of idle curiosity, each pulsating enchantment was assured to protect him in one form or another from evil... Or so the woman whose name it bore had claimed.
"Oh dear..." Piercing's voice was hollow, resigned, almost mechanical. Spike glanced at the scholar, and was unsurprised to see that he too had drawn his weapon. "It looks like you're going to get your first real field encounter sooner than I had hoped. I should warn you, things are likely going to get weird, or... Weirder." The man sighed heavily, swallowing a lump in his throat.
It wasn't exactly clear how he arrived at such a conclusion, but the young man saw no reason to argue with his new mentor. Some small part of him wondered if they might've been overreacting, or if the subject of concern wasn't actually hostile, but that part was just as swiftly silenced. There could be no mistaking the hatred, the hunger, Spike had seen in those bulging eyes.
"You want me to grab one of the bigger guns?" Spike gestured with his head towards the rear of the vehicle, but Piercing shook his head.
"Do you really think a normal unenchanted weapon will have any meaningful effect on that thing?" The scholar checked his own weapon, ensuring it was loaded for a fight. "I'm not being rhetorical... What does that 'pull' in your gut tell you?" Spike regarded his compatriot in silence, his mind working through the question... It didn't take long for his 'gut' to reach a ruling, that thing was not of this world... He shook his head. "Good instinct, laddy..." Piercing patted his pistol, his palm glowing for a brief moment to infuse the weapon's runes with just a bit more power. "Your weapon's more than adequate, but your mind may require a brief tweak." This earned another raised eyebrow. "That thing probably has powers that will warp our senses, it may even be able to detect your thoughts and desires, your memories... Twist them against you, corrupt them to suit its purpose. You must resist at all costs. Find something solid, something you can anchor yourself to spiritually, and for the love of the Gods do not let go."
That was easy enough...
With his mind properly 'tweaked', Spike reached back and rummaged around in the back seat for a second, finally finding purchase on a black wool knit cap, which he deftly donned. A little more rummaging produced a heavy black flashlight, long, knurled, and composed of hardened steel. It'd just as surely crack a skull as any baseball bat or lead pipe. Spike clicked the rubber button, and as he did so a dull yellow light cut forth from the lens, extending roughly 40 feet straight ahead in a narrow concentrated beam, which rapidly lost cohesion and strength beyond that point.
With little else to do to delay the inevitable the engine was turned off, both Spike and Piercing opened their doors and stepped out into the torrential downpour. They were quick to close the doors, each emitting a heavy metallic 'thud!' as they latched themselves shut. The prism-esque rain ran in streaks down the front of Spike's bomber jacket, his jeans were soaked within the first 30 seconds, his booted feet half sunk into the muddy soil at his feet.
Thick droplets of the unusual water ran down into his face, beading up on his chin and horns before dripping away to join their countless brothers in the puddles below. Meanwhile Piercing Gaze had stepped out with a snap of his fingers, summoning a prismatic aura of magic that served as a hands-free umbrella. Spike --upon seeing this-- fixed the scholar with a modest annoyed scowl, to which the man only shrugged in response. Shaking his head in quiet annoyance, the young man turned his focus back to the frightful task at hand...
They'd passed through the rusted front gate with little difficulty, trundled along the overgrown pavement, bounced over long forgotten potholes, seen a monster, and now lingered in the shadow of an abandoned manor they'd never known existed, let alone intended to visit. Spike panned the beam of the flashlight around the brickwork, and in the dim gloom he saw the once vibrant cheerful mansion as it'd been for what had to have been decades of neglect. A colossal boundless heap of brick and stone. He felt that same pull, the desire to seek out the strange and unknown, in spite of the risks... It beckoned him inside, but this time his courage wouldn't fail him.
No words were shared by either man. They both knew that whatever force of strangeness had called out to them through the aether awaited them in the decrepit house, just as surely as it'd called the creature. Somehow Spike knew that the two weren't one in the same, though he had no evidence to support that theory. He just... Knew. With silent determination the duo set out, undaunted by rain or wind, until they stood upon the threshold of a grand stony arch, inset with two vast heavy wooden doors. Glancing around, Spike's flashlight soon illuminated a lock and chain that rested on the stone landing at their feet. Piercing crouched down and picked up the lock, running his finger over its surface, wiping away the dirt to reveal a small series of letters and numbers... After a few moments a series of runes glowed to life, sharing the same iridescent hues of Piercing's magic.
"A ward of protection..." Piercing mumbled, his voice all but inaudible against the driving rain. "Crude, no doubt the work of a novice, but it shouldn't have come undone... Not by natural means, at any rate. This was deliberate." The man grunted, then pushed on one of the heavy double doors, then jiggled one of the rusted once-ornate door handles... It was secure. "The door itself's locked, and I really don't feel comfortable using too much magic here... For all I know it could make things worse. Guess we'll have to find another way." Spike held up a single sizable hand, placed it on the door, and applied just a little more force than he typically would allow himself. The ancient locking mechanism --no doubt weakened by decades or neglect and rust-- buckled with a faint 'ka-thunk!', the rusted bolts having been sheared, their housings bulged and mangled. Just like that the door swung open, emitting a keening shriek on its antiquated hinges. "Or you could do that."
Spike offered another bare grunt before the two men crossed the threshold into the darkened house, out of the pouring rain. Piercing snapped his fingers, dispelling his arcane umbrella, the faint glow of which also subsided. A few moments feeling around his soaked woolen trench coat resulted in a flashlight of his own, smaller and with less reach than Spike's, but no less helpful all things considered. Each man panned his flashlight across the interior. Warm and yellow, the beams failed to lessen the sense of uneasiness Spike felt. If anything, the long shadows they cast along the floor added to the eerie space.
At one time the foyer of the forgotten mansion would've been something of considerable renown, at least if it'd been built in Canterlot... Now, abandoned as it was, there was nothing but decay. An ornately patterned wallpaper sat faded, some of it having come loose to curl in upon itself as it dangled from the wall. Off to the right was a stairway leading up to the second floor, the banisters and steps of which were in a sorry state, as was the molding of the entire place. Upon the dust encrusted hardwood floor were the shattered remnants of a Prench chandelier... Definitely imported from Prance, not just Prench styled. Spike had developed an affinity for such things as a young boy at the Sparkle estate, eying the crystalline light fixtures with hungry intent, disheartened to think they were ever out of reach...
Now a very similar item had shattered and scattered across the wood, a thing of beauty, once worth many thousands of Bits, left to decay with the rest of this wreck. Whoever had owned this place had to have come from money, and from the age of it and the various fixtures, he was inclined to believe it was --like the Sparkle Estate-- very old money. The two men stepped into a world of cobwebs and miasmic dust, which clung to their wet clothes in a fine powder that stung Spike's nose. With every fall of their foot they were rewarded with a groan, or a peeling squeal of wood under stress, maybe a loose floorboard here or there.
The remnants of a large framed painting hung at an angle in a small alcove of wood paneling, the bulk of the image having been ripped apart, leaving little more than tatters. What could be discerned was that it was a portrait of some kind, likely a man judging by the visible physique; what little of the clothes he saw likewise told a story. Having spent as much time as he had working in a library, the young man had picked up a thing or two, a couple fun facts or bits of information that would otherwise go overlooked... That, coupled with numerous conversations he'd had as a teen smitten with Rarity, gave him a solid idea that the painting hailed from the Silken Age. That was a period where much of Equestria's well-to-do had dressed themselves in silks imported from the dragons of the Jade Orient, which dated the painting to somewhere around 80 or 90 years of age.
The air inside that decrepit place carried a heady perfume of mothballs, dust, and old paper. In spite of the storm outside, and all the shattered windows Spike had seen, that air remained eerily still. The young man took a long deep breath, he could feel the anxiety building in his mind, the tenseness in his shoulders and neck, so strong that it almost physically hurt to endure. There was nothing he could do to alleviate that anxiety, all that could be done was to endure, and so he did. One step after the other, deeper into the darkened mansion's interior, passing the foyer and the grand staircase. A number of doors lined the hallway ahead, many of them were closed off, but a few hung open on rusted hinges. Each room had to be searched before they moved on to the next.
Spike shined his light through the one nearest him, casting the warm yellow beam upon what at one time had been a living room. Couches and chairs sat adorned in dust covers, cobwebs and spiderwebs intermingled in the corners, old ornate oil lamps lined the walls in decorative sconces, or rested upon the various end tables beside each seat. It wasn't exactly clear what they were looking for here in this would-be house of horrors, but just standing in there, thinking about what could be lurking in the shadows, made the OPTIC Agent's skin crawl.
A steady throbbing sensation announced itself in the back of his head, a dull ache that appeared without warning or evident cause. It felt as though someone or something was crawling around his brain, and for a few moments he thought he heard whispers. Too quiet and distant to be distinct, but there all the same. Spike closed his eyes and took another deep breath, holding it for a moment before exhaling, resolving to himself that whatever happened, however sickly or afraid he felt, he had a job to do. His mind harkened back to Piercing's warning before they'd entered this place, to find something and hold onto it. Images of himself and Orzel at the Canterlot Hearth's Warming Ball filled his head, the place where they'd first realized their feelings for one another... Where she'd kissed him, however briefly. His first kiss...
The throbbing ache was banished from his head, and though the anxiety remained, it didn't hold nearly the same sway as it had just a few moments before. Gritting his teeth, the man pressed deeper into the mansion. They searched a music room, a number of small parlors, a grand dining room, a kitchen... Then they came to the largest room they'd thus far encountered, a library... Three stories tall, with balconies on each floor. Piercing Gaze remained close behind, casting his own light throughout the dingy expanse.
Walnut wood paneling occupied the walls that weren't consumed by bookshelves, intricately sculpted busts of scholars and statesmen struck in bronze and marble sat in quiet alcoves, all to compliment the amassed knowledge confined to those numberless forgotten books. Further exploration revealed a stone fireplace large enough for ten people to stand within, independent of the outer walls, it dominated the center of the space. Numerous shelves of decorative items and antiquarian baubles surrounded a small reading area of leather chairs and a large Saddle Arabian rug, then there were the numerous paintings on the walls... All of whom had been draped in those same canvas dust covers.
No words were exchanged, but a brief glance between the two men was enough to confirm that some of those covers needed to come off, as they needed to see the paintings if they were to get a better idea of who might've owned this place long ago. Spike approached the largest of them, and with his free hand he carefully pulled on the dust cover... The painting swayed for a moment, and he feared he might pull it loose from the wall, but the cover eventually gave way and cascaded in a waterfall of fabric to form a heap on the floor. Both men stepped back, their flashlights coming to rest on the painting, and the curious image depicted upon its canvas. A group portrait of people in highly refined attire, dating back as far as the earliest days of Equestria. Judging by the resemblance between them all, they looked to be a family of sorts.
Piercing got an odd look on his face upon seeing these strangely attired men and women, as though he'd suddenly come down with a bout of indigestion. From there Spike moved on to the other covered paintings, and these too seemed to catch the scholar's eye, the look on his face only growing worse as more was revealed. There were a number of landscapes among the paintings, some Spike recognized as areas from around Ponyville, or the Castle of the Two Sisters. In time he came to the largest painting of them all, and it was here that Spike got his first dosage of serious strangeness, for the painting depicted a vast sprawling landscape of a sort he'd never even dreamt of before.
There were others like it, though not as big. Spike could only speculate upon their exact dimensions without the aid of rule or measuring tape, but one of them occupied an entire section of the chimney above the massive fireplace's mantle. Each depicted landscape was stranger than the last, running the gamut from snowy tundras and desolate deserts to vibrant verdant jungles. They were inhabited by fantastical skylines of buildings and skyscrapers, but what stuck out to Spike was that the cities depicted upon the canvas were all in varying states of decay and disrepair... What was more, the age of the paintings far predated the era of the modern metropolis.
Most impressive and eye-catching of the arrayed landscapes was a sprawling megalopolis, and at its center was a massive reflecting pool, or so it'd been before the sands of time and desolation had swept in to swallow the city in dust. At one end of the reflecting pool stood a tremendous skyscraper, taller than any Spike had ever seen, nor had thought possible even with the wonders of modern engineering. 3,000 feet at the minimum, if he had to hazard a guess. Slender, with black reflective windows. Across from the strangely elegant building was a far shorter and squatter complex... A ziggurat of large black stones, nearly mirror smooth, topped by a massive golden pyramid that gleamed in polished glory.
The painting was detailed in a fashion most unnatural, just short of appearing photo-real, and yet it was old... As old as this ancient manor. Something about that city spoke to him, something that gave him pause, for he got the sense that something truly terrible had happened there...
"You ever see anything like this before?" Spike asked numbly, his light fixated upon the painting.
"Only in person..." Piercing responded, biting his lower lip in an obvious display of discomfort. "Do you know why we say 'known world' all the time? The 'largest country in the known world', or 'the greatest food in the known world'. Do you know why that is, really? It's because there's still so much of the world we've not yet seen, and with good reason..." Spike cast a look at the man, unsure of how to respond. "I saw these places when I was a lad, maybe a little older than you, still learning the ways of magic. I ventured south, down into the dragonlands and beyond... To one of those corners of the world that map makers can only call 'Terra Antiquitas', for they can offer nothing else." He didn't sound nostalgic for those days of his youth. "The 'Antique Land', as fitting a name as ever there was one."
"So... Whoever used to live here must be a historian or explorer?" Spike observed.
"I doubt it..." Piercing grumbled, swallowing hard as he did so. "Abyssinia was the land ruled by the Abyss, but Terra Antiquitas encompasses the lands of the Ancients and their subordinates, the Kwarczkie, as well as a few other conquered races. They may have been the 'better' side, but make no mistake... They were still dangerous. Few good things come from those long abandoned places. Those who seek to explore those ancient ruins seldom do so for anything good." The man then moved his light, so that it came to rest on the family portrait, upon a man with shrewd features, narrow eyes, and a smile that Spike didn't believe to be genuine. "If this man was involved, I can almost guarantee such expeditions would be of ill will."
"Who is he?"
"I knew him..." Piercing grunted, then quickly hastened to add: "Or, rather, I know of him from my studies." The scholar let out a low sigh. "This man here is the patriarch of this bunch, Infernus Darkwater... Which means these must be his children, no doubt this house was owned by one of his descendants." The light danced across the other people on the portrait, and again Spike was struck by the similarity they all had. It was natural for children to share some features with their father and mother, but this seemed... Uncanny. "Infernus was an Earth-Walker, as were most of his children, but... That never stopped him from pursuing magic." At this, the dragon looked to Piercing, perplexed. "Oh, yes, all people can do magic. Not just spell-casters... It's just for others it takes a lot more work and practice, or, in the case of Infernus Darkwater, money and a lack of ethics..."
There was a bitterness to his voice at that, as though he had some personal grudge with the man... But surely not. Infernus Darkwater had to have been dead for several centuries now, how could Piercing have known him?
"So... An evil wizard." Spike affirmed, his gaze lingering upon Piercing, searching the man's sphinx-like countenance for anything that might give him more information.
"No... Laymen get those terms confused, but there is a difference that as an OPTIC Agent you should be mindful of." The wizard in question responded with just the faintest hint of his typical absent-minded enthusiasm for his craft. "A Wizard or a Witch is a magic user of incredible power and talent, who commits their entire life to learning their chosen school of magic. For example, I am a Wizard, your Mum and your dear Orzel are both Witches..." The man's expression darkened somewhat. "There's a reason becoming a true Wizard or Witch requires so much study and time... As you study, you attain knowledge, and through that knowledge you begin to know wisdom." Piercing shifted his light to the various bookshelves, then shook his head. "Infernus wanted all the powers of a wizard, but without having to do the work. Specifically he wanted to become a summoner. It's a very dangerous field of magic, almost as dangerous as Soul or Dream Magic. It's the only one of those three that's still legal to practice in Equestria, but only just."
"So that thing we saw out there...?" Spike didn't want to finish the question, for he feared he already knew the answer.
"There is a saying amongst summoners and necromancers alike - 'Do not call blindly beyond the veil, lest something answer that you cannot send back'." Piercing's response was haunting. "Your guess is likely correct, and I fear such a being now stalks the mortal realm with us tonight. Perhaps whoever lived here followed in their wicked ancestor's footsteps, and summoned it here to guard their manor. They may be dead, but it remains..."
Once again the tone Piercing used was familiar with this Infernus fellow, but Spike still couldn't put together how such a thing was possible. After all, Piercing wasn't an alicorn, nor was he a dragon, nor any other long-lived race of Equus. Perhaps the young man was just reading too deeply into things.
"That still doesn't explain what force drew us here, or what purpose it may have had in doing so." Piercing approached one of the shelves that displayed various trinkets, as opposed to the innumerable books that predominated the library. "Keep an eye open for anything unusual... Or... More unusual. You know what I mean."
Spike nodded at that, for he did indeed know what the man meant. He too commenced to search through the various baubles and remnants of antiquity on display in that dark and accursed library, taking great care to avoid handling them physically whenever possible. He doubted their previous owner would've kept an artifact around that could cause harm merely by looking at it, or standing near it, but there was a high chance that some of these artifacts would have an effect if touched or manipulated in any way. That had been one of the first things Spike learned in his crash course on items of that nature, and Spike took it to heart, just as seriously as he'd memorized the various rules of gun safety. Artifacts were like guns, in that sense. Dangerous tools that --if not shown proper respect or if improperly manipulated-- could result in utter disaster.
The items on display seemed innocuous, as most artifacts are want to do. Some shattered remnants of pottery, a few small bits of metal that resembled ball bearings, if said ball bearings had been violently flattened by a steam roller. Then there were scrolls, appended in rickety wooden frames. Spike would've expected the scrolls to disintegrate well before the frame began to degrade, but these appeared just as new and fresh as the scrolls he himself had written not all that long ago, when he'd still been his Mom's personal assistant. The text upon the aged papyrus was written in a language he'd not seen before, and yet it felt... Familiar, in a way.
When no appreciable arcane artifact made itself known, both Spike and Piercing took to examining the bookshelves. They spent maybe an hour or so pouring over the various spines, noting their titles and authors, without finding anything of note beyond the oddness of the collection. They were books that wouldn't have had a home in the Golden Oak Library with which Spike had become intimately familiar, he doubted they even would've found a place in the famous Canterlot Public Library...
If anything, they would find their home in the Royal Canterlot Archives, likely in the Restricted Section. To his knowledge there were no more than 50 people in all the world that would have access to that particular repository of knowledge, one of them being his Mom. Authorization was granted only by a 'Written Mandate of the Crown'. The Restricted Section was so heavily guarded with good reason, for that was where tomes of magic and spells with potentially world ending consequences resided. A copy of the Tome of Felis Catus, a manuscript written by the mad Abyssinian Wahid Bila Asm, scrolls of Soul Magic knowledge recovered from the lair of the feared and reviled 'Tirek the Cruel', who at that moment was spending eternity locked in the deepest rungs of Tartarus.
To think that books and scrolls of similar danger and potency had just been abandoned here in a random private library unsettled Spike considerably, forcing him to wonder just how many other such items of forbidden knowledge might just be floating around out there...
Then again, finding and securing those objects was one of the reasons why OPTIC existed to begin with. He pondered again just how many world ending crises they'd prevented and quietly concealed from public knowledge, then he shuddered...
Every now and again Spike would wander away from the bookshelves, back towards the massive fireplace and the paintings. He couldn't fully explain why, but there was something that made him think they held more answers than they let on. He was turning towards the family portrait again, just as more lightning flashed from outside. The lightning shone down through old skylights in the roof, somehow still intact despite the years, and as it did so... Well... Spike caught sight of something that sent a chill down his spin. In that brief moment of illumination he saw the portrait in a quite literally different light, for without the warm amber glow of his flashlight it appeared entirely different and most assuredly unwholesome.
Every individual in the portrait appeared ghoulish and disfigured, their clothes tattered and ripped. Some looked as though they'd been burned or buried alive, others wore black sacks over their heads, with nooses draped about their shoulders from around their necks. The smiling faces become ones of anguish and despair, all save for that of Infernus Darkwater himself. He was the very visage of death, grinning a maniacal toothy grin that went from ear to ear in an unnatural manner. His eyes were sunken and wide, manic... Insane, even. The sort of insanity that couldn't be treated in an asylum, the sort of insanity that couldn't be quantified in words, for it transcended even the loftiest verbiage of humanity's limited vocabulary... It was an insanity not of this world, not of this realm, not of this dimension of existence.
Spike felt his breath catch in his throat, his blood turned to ice in his veins, his heart skipped a beat... Because those eyes, those terrible depraved eyes, were looking right at him. Boring into him, into his mind, into his heart, into his soul. The dragon's throat became suddenly parched, he struggled to find words. He could feel something clawing at his mind, scratching at the proverbial door of sanity with all the ruthless predatory intent of a rabid wolf. Time became a foreign concept, indistinct whispers assaulted his ears, and as they did so he felt a cold boney hand creeping smoothly up to snatch him by the scruff of his brawny muscled neck.
"I... See... You... Wraith Warden..." A rasping otherworldly voice hissed in Spike's mind, sounding like old parchment crunching and rattling in the wind.
Then the lightning faded as swiftly as it came, and the portrait was shrouded in darkness again. Spike started panting heavily, having broken out into a cold sweat, his face ashen and pale. With trembling hands brought his flashlight up, surveying the picture and fearing he might again see that unwholesome visage of Infernus Darkwater, but it was back to normal...
Still creepy, far too creepy for his liking, but not so much so as to make him doubt his sanity...
"You okay, laddy?" Piercing's voice seemed muffled somehow, at least until Spike took a halting deep breath and sound returned to focus.
"We aren't alone..." The man said, eyes locked on the painting, on the sneering portrait of a man that should've been long dead... Now, Spike got the sense that might only have been wishful thinking. "I mean, we already knew there's something here, but now... Now I think it knows that we're looking for it... I think... I think it tried to take over my mind." Piercing's expression became serious, very serious indeed.
"Did it say anything to you?" The scholar demanded, grasping Spike by both shoulders and staring into his eyes. He was... Different. A different man than Spike had ever seen. Not a hint of his usual calm or urbanity, nothing but intense concern and just a hint of... Fear.
"Yeah, but... It was strange." Spike trailed off, recalling the words with a shudder.
Upon reflection, he realized that the message wasn't spoken in Equestrian... Spike didn't know what language it was, or how he understood it, but it sounded vaguely... Saddle Arabian. With the exception of the last words... 'Wraith Warden'. These were spoken in a language he understood, at least on a technical level... A dialect of Draconic, used in the furthest corners of the Eastern Dragonlands, a dialect known as Hisuinese. It was as close to Szafirian as any modern draconic dialect could be, and so Spike had taken to studying it in hopes of learning more about Orzel's native tongue. He conveyed as much to Piercing Gaze, hoping that the older and wizened wizard might be able to offer answers where Spoke himself could not.
"My guess is that he was actually speaking Abyssinian, they and Saddle Arabian are close cousins." Piercing observed, letting go of Spike and bringing a hand to his chin as he pondered. "As for the last bit... I suppose it confirms my theory about you." This was news to Spike, as he hadn't even known there was a theory about him. "You're sure he was speaking Hisuinese?" The young man nodded.
"What does it mean?" Spike asked, more than a little concerned by Piercing's response. "Wraith Warden, I mean... And why does it matter if it was Hisuinese?"
"I'll elaborate further on the latter question when we aren't in as much peril, but as to the former?" Piercing's eyes returned to Spike, his expression resuming one of calmness, if not urbanity. "A 'Wraith Warden' is... Well... Someone like you. For whatever reason, fate has given you the gift of 'Wraith Sense'. It's what draws you to certain objects, places, or people of an anomalous sort, or conversely draws those things to you. As you can imagine, a Wraith Warden is a valuable asset for OPTIC, you're like a sniffer dog for the paranormal. When we find one, we try to get them into the field as soon as possible. It's just one of the numerous reasons I tapped you for field work."
Spike stared at the man, as inscrutable as a slab of granite, as his mind reeled with the revelation. He wasn't nearly as shocked as he might've expected of himself, perhaps because he'd gotten used to strange things happening ever since that grisly night working the pile at the Rose Township Crash, or... More likely, now that he thought about it, perhaps he'd always known that the hand of fate had something in store for him. From before he was even hatched... How had his egg come to be in the care of Princess Celestia? How lucky was he that at the precise moment his Mom was taking her entrance exam, one of her spells would go wild, and would just so happen to strike his egg, hatching him to life? What about all he'd seen in Ponyville, what about this job, or his beloved Orzel, and the strange circumstances surrounding how she'd come to Equestria, how she'd come into his life?
It couldn't all be luck, could it?
Up until that point Spike had considered himself an agnostic, but now...? Now he was starting to see what his girlfriend saw, the unseen hand of some greater force at work in his life. Whether it was the ministrations of some cosmological being with grand and elaborate plans or the result of dice being thrown in some unseen, unheard, unknown deified craps game, Spike could hardly say. He didn't plan on rushing out and joining a religion any time soon, but he was certainly considering the implications.
"Oh..." Was all Spike offered in response, his mind working rapidly to compartmentalize his feelings, just as he'd done so many times. He could sort through the mess of emotions later, when there wasn't a strange monster to be tracked down, or some other nasty machination of the occult to deal with. "Okay, good to know..."
Piercing gave him a funny look, but said nothing else. The duo continued to search the first floor of the library, but there was nothing really that stood out to either of them. The young man was just about to suggest they move on to the next section of the house, when a wild notion struck him... If what Piercing said was correct, if Spike really did have this so-called 'Wraith Sense', what was to stop him from trying to use it? Even if he didn't know exactly how, it had to be worth a shot, didn't it?
With a long deep breath, Spike closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind of intrusive thoughts... He tried to focus on one particular noise in the background, the crack of thunder, which now seemed an almost constant and steady drone outside. Though his eyes were closed, he could still sense things, see them as they were just before he'd closed his eyes. The chairs, the tables, the fireplace, the bookshelves... They were little more than flickering impressions, glowing embers of orange light dancing within his mind's eye, outlining which object was what and where.
Not realizing it at first, Spike took a step forward, then another, drawing closer with each passing instant to a bookshelf that in his head radiated an odd sort of aura in the darkness of his closed eyes. He stopped every now and then, bumping into a table or a lamp that was differently placed to the room as it appeared in his mind. After a few minutes of this he opened his eyes, and found himself standing across the room from where he'd started, looking at a bookshelf that he and Piercing had both previously checked thoroughly. Then, again without really thinking about it, Spike reached out his hand and brought it to within a few inches of the cracked leather spine of some dark forgotten tome.
"What's going on in that head of yours?" Asked Piercing, who had joined Spike at the wall just a few moments prior.
"I tried using the Wraith Sense, figured it couldn't hurt... Don't ask how I knew how, I just... Did." Responded the young man with his hand hovering away from the book. Piercing didn't ask, likely because this was all fairly routine to him. "Now I'm here, apparently, and for some reason I get the sense I need this book." Piercing nodded, then reached out with his hand aglow with magic, holding it towards the book, illuminating both their faces in a prismatic collage of colors.
"I can sense no magical traps..." The wizard noted, his palm glowing brighter still. "There's something off here, though, that's true. Don't know what... Remove the book slowly, take care not to open it."
Spike gritted his teeth, closing the gap between his fingers and the book's spine. With one slow and steady pull, he removed the book from the shelf, holding it shut with white-knuckled intensity. A bolt of fear lanced down his back as the book came free, he had no guarantees that this wasn't some sort of trap. For a split second the man pondered his choices in life, he watched everything he'd ever done flash through his mind, his heart raced, his mouth became dry and chalky... But no explosion came, no unseen pendulous blade swung down from the ceiling to cleave him in half, nor did any of the other traps he'd been taught to expect from years of playing Ogres and Oubliettes present themselves.
The book was in his massive trembling hand, and with exceptional care he brought it over to one of the old tables in the room, concealed beneath an off-white dust cover. With all the slow steadiness of a man defusing a bomb, he gently and smoothly placed the book upon the table, then took a step back, allowing himself to exhale a long deep breath he hadn't even realized he was holding.
The book's leather binding was cracked and aged, filled with brittle parchment pages that bore rough uneven edges. The cover bore no visible words, only a tarnished brass emblem of a cat's eye, done in the sort of aesthetic one might expect to find in an Abyssinian pyramid or a mummy's tomb. The eye itself was inset with polished green soapstone... It glittered with odd opalescence when Spike's flashlight beam fell upon it, bearing more of that strange and indescribable color Spike had first seen outside.
"Books aren't supposed to do that." Spike observed, though it didn't take a former librarian's assistant to know that.
"Indeed..." Piercing's response was tense, but decisive.
"Should I... Open it?" Spike continued, averting his eyes from the book, as the dancing colors were starting to hurt his eyes. He blinked a couple times, just trying to get the spots to dissipate. The first few went by normally, but something odd happened when he blinked for the third time...
The library in which he stood vanished, replaced instead by an all consuming void of total darkness. Another bolt of fear went racing up and down Spike's spine, but this proved more than he could reasonably dispel on his own. His fear wasn't unfounded, but it certainly didn't help matters. So thoroughly unnerved by the sudden change was Spike that he chose to hold his sidearm at the low ready position, and as he did so he noticed something about the runes that enchanted his pistol. Put simply, there were far more than he recalled there being, all of which had flared up in vibrant emerald green light that glowed sharply in the gloom... It was, in fact, his only source of light. The flashlight, despite being on, cast little more than a phantom of a whisper of a glow.
Spike was by no means a practitioner of magic, but as Twilight's faithful assistant for the bulk of her scholastic career, he knew enough to know warding runes when he saw them. Something had spurred those runes to life, which implied that something had already tried to harm him in some fashion, and he hadn't even realized it. Other runes had appeared as well, symbols and carefully measured incantations, some Spike recognized, others were beyond his limited scope. That being said, he had a better sense of Orzel's presence in his hand at this moment than he'd ever had at the range.
Maybe it was intuition, or maybe it was the 'Wraith Sense', maybe it was all in his head...
The weapon didn't so much 'speak' to him as it did give him impressions, brief flickering images of the skilled hands that'd brought it into being... Rituals and spells and incantations, chanted in low guttural tones, entreaties to an all-powerful Goddess to imbue the pistol with the energy to do its job... To guard Spike. To protect him, mind, body, and soul... He'd known all these things before, of course, but in the gloom of that accursed void, with fear and anxiety gnawing on his bones like rabid dogs, those images were comforting. There was something else... Enchanters tended to give a portion of their own power to their creations, but it was typically a small amount. Not in this case, though... In this case Orzel had channeled a sizable amount of her power into the weapon, sizable enough that for a few blessed moments it almost felt as though she was there with him, standing at his side, ready to fight for his protection... A dragoness, guarding her mate.
In the parlance of an O&O game, this was a 'Legendary' weapon. One that would be quested for by adventurers, lusted after by dragons, fawned over by mages and artificers. Maybe it didn't matter, in the grand scheme of things. Maybe Spike was being too sentimental, putting too much focus on his weapon instead of his surroundings, or maybe...? Maybe it mattered more than anything... Maybe, just maybe, Orzel had imbued her weapon with so much of herself for the precise reason that she knew Spike would need that one day... Need it to reorientate himself, to beat back the fear and anxiety...
It worked.
Spike took another deep breath, and once again was able to banish the thoughts of fear that'd taken root in his mind. He had to keep thinking of her, had to keep her face in his mind, keep her voice, her laugh, her kindness close at hand, lest he succumb to whatever wicked thing had transported him here to this... Void.
A whisper. Spike could hear whispers from all around him, he could feel something vibrating the inky black ground beneath his feet, smelled the unmistakable stench of decomposing meat mixing with the septic odor of rotten fish and spoiled milk. More than that, he could smell blood... But not the blood of any creature his draconic instincts could rightly identify.
Pervasive, intrusive, insisting thoughts washed over and around and through him. It felt as though the space itself was trying to suck him down, with his limbs growing heavy, difficult to move... Still the man resisted, forcing himself to step forward in the gloom, one foot at a time. His strength and endurance found themselves well tested as he trudged along, searching the gloom for anything other than darkness. No sound but his own ragged breathing reached his ears, nor did Spike call out in search of Piercing or anyone else for that matter. His time on the job may have been brief, but he knew enough to know that drawing attention to one's self in an unknown section of existence was a good way to get eaten, or worse...
Inky and malformed as it was, the ground felt soggy and damp, and tried with every step to suck his boots deeper into it. Spike knew his eyes were attempting to adjust to the darkness, but it was all for nothing. There was no light whatsoever, save the dim glow of the runes on Orzel... For a time, at least, that was his only source of illumination. After some time, just as likely to have been hours as minutes, Spike thought he saw something... A shadow of a sparkle, beyond this the shape was too dim and indistinct. Perhaps his eyes were just playing tricks on him, some vain attempt on the part of his subconscious to give some semblance of normalcy.
Without warning Spike's foot found purchase upon stone, a fact further amplified by the soft clatter of his boot. The sound echoed on and on, each step sending out its own reverberating chorus.
He blinked again, just as he had done a thousand times before, but in that brief blink of the eye the man found himself standing on a dark winding cobblestone street. Buildings lined either side, tall and twisted at odd angles. The sky remained black, a thick white fog hung upon the ground, the only light that persisted emanated from the flickering flames of countless antiquated Gothic street lamps.
There was something about this place that held an eerie familiarity for the young man, though at first he couldn't quite place what that might've been. The stench dominated every tiny breath Spike took, the street wound off in an unnatural manner, everything seemed crooked, and yet he knew them to be perfectly straight... Perhaps they weren't the most original of descriptors, but it wasn't as if Spike had time to consult a thesaurus. Not that he felt that would help him... Still, it'd always been easier for him to 'deal' with things when he had an ample amount of words for them...
The quiet was broken by a sudden hushed whisper, louder than those he'd been hearing so far, the source of which was unclear. Spike thought maybe it'd come from one of the houses, but it just as easily could've come from an alleyway. The whispering continued, growing in volume and intensity. One voice became two, became four, became eight, became too many for him to count. Each was garbled, some higher, some lower, none ever making any distinct sound or words. At times he thought that through them all he could hear a singular voice, but the discordant chattering made it difficult to decipher.
Spike passed a tree, twisted and gnarled, its spindly branches spread wide over the center of the strange town. The tree was no ordinary tree, but an oak --once mighty-- now reduced to a withered, desiccated, powdery thing. It bore windows, each shattered, and a door he'd passed through a hundred times. Somewhere a door creaked on its rusty hinges, wind howled a ghostly drone, and it was in that brief moment that the familiarity of the town became clear. He shuddered...
Blink.
The eviscerated phantom of Ponyville vanished just as he was bringing his foot down, only for his boot to be embraced by soft powdery material. The cobblestones and buildings were gone, though the voices remained. Before him he saw a wide plane of rolling dunes, and in the distance a massive range of mountains, towering tens of thousands of feet up, so that their peaks were obscured by the atmosphere itself. They were of jagged black stone, with no green trees or plants of any kind to dot their faces as so many other mountains tended to have. The ground itself was a powder of dark gray and black, neither dirt nor sand. Where sand would typically run in to fill a void, this remained steadfastly imprinted, more like ashes. How could a desert form from ashes?
Overhead he spotted a vast expanse of stars, large and small, which sparkled malevolently like the eyes of a predator. Two massive and dark planets dominated the sky, alien in appearance... Just as alien as the strange desert of ash, if not more so. The young man came to a stop, returning his focus to the stars. Through his limited ability to consciously utilize his 'Wraith Sense' he knew that they were in fact eyes, thousands of them... The voices grew louder and louder still. The stench was almost overwhelming, and still with no visible source in sight. His eyes watered, his heart thundered in his ears, he struggled with every second to keep from devolving into hyperventilating terror. In part because he knew to do so was to surrender to whatever foul beast resided above him, but more so because each heaving breath drew more noxious air into his lungs.
Time lost all meaning, more so now than it had before... He walked for minutes, minutes turned to hours, hours to days, the sky not once shifting. No dawn came to purge the darkness, no moon rose up to cast more light. Spike didn't hunger, he didn't thirst, he felt no need for sleep or rest. He had no idea where he was, no idea where he was going, only the vaguest sense that if he stopped all would be lost.
The wind remained a steadfast companion, as did the voices, as did the odor... At times he'd find one more voice joining the indistinct chatter, and only when he brought a hand up to rub the dirt from his face did he feel his own lips moving. He'd be able to stop it for a time, but eventually he came to a point where he didn't even bother. The words held no meaning, not in any tongue he knew. Sometimes he'd feel around in his coat, searching for something... Sometimes he'd stop the chattering, only to lean his head back and stare up at those menacing starry eyes.
They bored into him, unblinking, as he let loose upon them with every curse and insult his terror-addled mind could conjure. There was a point when Spike realized --to his only modest concern-- that he was fairly certain he'd gone mad...
Or had he?
How was he to know whether this wasn't his natural state? What if this was the real world? What if all that he'd experienced of Ponyville and Equestria, of his Mother and his Uncle and his beloved Orzel, was nothing but the figment of a raving lunatic? His thoughts were sporadic, paranoid, he'd stop and find himself looking around in search of some lurking menace... But there was never an enemy to fight, never a beast to slay, save that which mocked and tormented him above. The landscape was featureless, for all he knew he'd never so much as gained an inch of ground.
Was that dune the same one he'd passed a day ago? An hour ago? A minute? Did it matter? Did he care?
Once or twice he happened upon an object jutting up from the ground, canted at an odd angle. Obelisks, very simple in design, and yet their surfaces were carved with mysterious symbols and characters... Words he could actually understand, at least in part, for they were Kwarczkie... The tongue of his beloved Orzel's ancestors, who in their own time had done battle with the forces of evil. She'd done her best to teach him, but it was a complex language... The obelisks were shattered, fractured remnants of what once had been. Many appeared defaced, perhaps vandalized by whatever foul being called this place home...
Was it him? Had he inflicted those alterations? Was this his home?
No... No, this wasn't real. None of it was real. The stars, the dunes, the endless walk. The fucking stench. Why couldn't it just leave him the fuck alone! He hadn't done anything to it, he hadn't asked to come into this foetid fucking wasteland, to stare constantly into those unblinking abyssal eyes! Oh how he hated it! Hated every single one of its eyes, every unseen tendril, and the unseen smug arrogant fucking smirk that must've occupied its thin pallid lips!
The voices were louder, much louder, but they weren't talking anymore, oh no nothing so trivial. They were laughing!
Every! Single! Fucking! One!
Spike clenched his hands over his ears, closed his eyes, started sprinting for all he was worth. He didn't care if he stumbled or fell, he just had to get away... But he couldn't. He scrambled along, blind and deaf, and yet all too aware of the noise. The stench. The suctioning 'pop!' of every step as he wrenched his boot from the sucking ashes.
Nowhere was safe, not even his mind. It wouldn't leave him alone! It wouldn't stop! Ever!
Fear and panic soon began to turn to something else, in a way that only a dragon could hope to experience. All that terror, all the pulse-pounding horror that clawed at his mind, skittered like roaches, awoke that which had made the entirety of his race a force to be feared and respected throughout the world. For dragons do not suffer fear gladly, nor do they do so for long. At a point all that running, every single inconvenience, every trip, every huff of rancid air, had to be repaid. The weight of Orzel in his hand reasserted itself with a greater presence than what might be considered 'natural', as though the weapon itself was guiding him speedily along towards a foregone conclusion.
He lost control...
Again Spike swore, again he screamed, until his voice was hoarse, until he well and truly believed his vocal chords were bleeding. He grabbed handfuls of sand and hurled them at the sky, any rock he might've found was likewise thrown, but there was nothing to be done. The eyes were too large and too far away to ever feel the sting of his fury... Not here... Not in their own domain. He realized that now... But they could be hurt, he knew that much. This place, this alien realm or whatever it might've been called, seemed infinite... But was it really?
For a moment he recalled one of his 'visits' with Orzel... She'd astral projected to him from far away, and in her typical fashion had explained that the image he saw was not her physical body, but rather that of her consciousness. What was more, the spell only allowed for him to see her, no one else. It acted upon his brain, influencing the visual cortex and creating an illusion of her form, a sort of 'targeted hallucination' that only he could see, but that she could manipulate however she so chose.
If she could do so with just herself, why then couldn't another powerful creature, perhaps one with unknown cosmic powers, be able to do the same. Was the realm he'd wandered aimlessly through for what felt like eons little more than another illusion, perpetrated against him by a being whose might and power were --in fact-- quite finite? In that instant all the eyes above brightened, millions of supernovas flaring to life in the far reaches of the vast abyss, not in anger but in fear... For its secret was revealed, not only to Spike but to itself as well.
Blink.
With a shuddering breath Spike was back in the library, his hand clenched tightly upon Orzel, holding it at the low ready. The air remained cold, but the only scent that rankled his nose now was that of old paper and an aging mansion... He'd never left the library, it was indeed an illusion, one that from the look of things had transpired in only a few factions of a moment. The weight of the madness and the whispers and the passing of time evaporated, as the young man glimpsed the runes upon his weapon, still glowing with intense emerald green energy, the very same color as Orzel's magic. Again it seemed one of her charms had come to his aid...
'You are the blessing of Lexicos that I thank her for every day. You are the light of my life. Though I may not be able to fight alongside you, that does not mean I shall leave you to stand alone. In this weapon I have given you the best pieces of myself. My faith, my love, my hope, my heart, all the strength of my mind. My soul. When darkness threatens to consume you, and hope seems lost, know that I am with you and be not afraid, my Love. Always.'
These were the words of the note Orzel sent accompanying the weapon. The reason he had named it after her...
Whatever this creature was, whatever foul game it was trying to play with his mind, it had made a fatal error.
Gritting his teeth, Spike could feel his hands steady, his heart rate slowed, his eyes narrowed. He'd been angry before, but... Not like this. Never like this. Whatever it was that didn't want him messing with that book had tried to screw with his head, it'd tried to drive him crazy, and very nearly succeeded. The ancient fire that boiled in all draconic hearts was stirring, a churning volcano that'd burned since time immemorial. The invisible hand of fate that'd seen fit to make him a 'Wraith Warden' had in that moment just reached out through the aether, gently clasped its hands around the regulator on the rage center of his brain, and violently ripped it out.
Before that moment Spike would've likely hemmed and hawed about the morality of violence and aggression, about whether or not he had it in him to act not only in self defense, but in self offense.
To take the initiative.
To act of his own accord.
To kill.
"You okay, laddy?" Piercing asked, eying both Spike and the gun that now occupied his hand. For him it must've been strange, to see the young man place the book on the table, stare off into space for a few seconds, and then draw his weapon with gleaming murder in his eyes.
"That thing tried to get in my head again..." Spike grunted, snorting audibly as he sucked in a deep breath, his chest rising and falling in heaving breaths as his emotions began to run away from him. "I don't know why, but it doesn't want us to have that book... Made me see things, but I don't think it's used to dealing with dragons." The man's eyes panned across the room, darting from bookshelf to bookshelf, painting to painting, every crevice, every corner, every dark dingy corner that might house a beastie or monster. "No idea where it is exactly, but I doubt it'll let us leave without a fight. That's fine by me, shit's pissing me off."
"Anger is better than fear, still it'd be wise to keep a level head..." Piercing cautioned, drawing his own weapon from its holster. Both men paused at that moment to ensure they had a round in the chamber, which they did. The older and more experienced Agent stepped forward and grabbed the book on the table, snapping his fingers he summoned an unassuming canvas bag, which he stuffed the book inside of. Another snap dispelled the bag. "We've still got more of this floor to clear, then there's the floors above us... Keep your eyes peeled."
Spike responded with only a nod, his blood was boiling, there was nothing more he wanted than to find that monster and rip it apart, but... That was an irrational response. Rushing off like that on his own would be a very bad idea, and so he had to temper his rage with wisdom. With a concerted effort he managed to bring the boil down to a low simmer... The two of them then set out, departing the library to continue their search of the manor's first floor. Every step they took was careful and measured, never too heavy, nor too loud, as though they were hunters stalking through the woods for some elusive deer or elk.
More paintings made themselves visible, these were of a far less wholesome sort than those that'd come before, even the ones in the library. Spike got the sense that was because they were deeper in the mansion than any of the previous occupants had expected possible. They were highly detailed studies of creatures that Spike could only hope existed solely within the realms of imagination... Strange tentacled beasts, clusters of slimy toadmen, other less mentionable creatures that made Spike's skin crawl. The paintings once again had managed to remain pristine, even as the house around them fell to disrepair and decay.
In time they found their way to what looked to have been a ballroom at one point, judging by the sheer size of the place and the massive arched windows, easily as tall as the house itself. They'd long since been shattered and boarded up. Now the ballroom served a different purpose, that of a museum of sorts... A private collection of display cases and rotted-through velvet ropes, warding off visitors from touching the exhibits. The cases held more artifacts, similar in appearance to those Spike had seen in the library... The velvet ropes and tarnished brass stands that held them guarded things too large to be encased in glass...
One of these items was a massive block of vantablack mineral, though perhaps the word 'massive' didn't quite do it justice. Gargantuan was probably a more apt descriptor, as this unassuming rectangle of stone was easily two and a half stories tall, and twenty feet wide at its base. The depth of the darkness on its surface made it almost appear unnatural amongst its surroundings, like a hole in reality that reminded Spike of the very same void he'd found himself temporarily trapped within by the creature, manipulating the eye of his own mind.
Piercing attempted to illuminate more of its surface with his flashlight, but at first there was little success... It almost felt as though the stone was eating the light entirely. After a minute or so of searching the stone's surface for anything of note, Spike spotted a change... Dull glowing shapes, visible only because they were the only things on the stone's surface not consumed by darkness. The smooth rock face twisted and contorted, morphing from a featureless slab to something far less wholesome... Highly detailed carvings and bas reliefs, paradoxically juxtaposed alongside crude petroglyphs and abstractionist shapes... Shapes that hurt Spike's brain to look at, the longer he tried to make sense of them.
More whispering voices clawed at his ears, the chill returned to his back. One of the carvings depicted a solitary figure, a woman posed atop a mountain of vaguely humanoid skulls, holding aloft a sword that seemed to split the sky. The woman's face was concealed beneath a featureless mask, but her musculature and sheer physicality seemed to suggest she was some sort of great warrior, possibly even some long forgotten 'Chosen One'. More odd runes presented themselves, familiar and yet alien to his eyes... Piercing appeared less perplexed by them, but as to their meaning he remained uncharacteristically quiet. If anything, Spike got the sense that the wizard had both expected and dreaded finding such a carving.
Being as large as it was, this strange megalithic pillar could chronicle a great deal of information indeed... More images appeared along the stone, images of creatures that wouldn't have been out of place in a nightmare of the bleakest and blackest sort, of strange cyclopean vistas much like that which Spike had seen in that latest of forcible visions, of cities as ancient as they were alien in appearance. Creatures lurking in the murk and mire of reality, lingering frightfully out of sight, living amongst the 'normal' world and yet existing apart from it, only ever surfacing to cause mischief and snatch some profoundly unfortunate soul up for a meal. All that Piercing had told him of, all the strangeness that lingered just below the surface... Strangeness that he himself struggled to cope with.
The fear was untenable, Spike couldn't keep from gritting his teeth, but he could feel his resolve faltering. The longer he looked, the longer he stared into that yawning chasm of unnatural horror, the more he felt his heart thrashing violently in his chest, fighting for its life to burst free and rid itself of this awful place. More runes presented themselves, runes that morphed and swirled and coiled like serpents... Runes that seemed to reach out from that accursed stone, grasping for Spike like malevolent kudzu. They wanted him to come closer, they wanted him to see something... To see something no one had ever seen before. They knew the fear they caused, he could sense that much, but... They didn't comprehend its meaning.
Phantasmal runes, incapable of understanding that most primal of human emotions... Could it get any worse?
Of course it could.
The whispers returned with greater volume than before, chattering, yammering, pounding on Spike's mind with the same ferocity as a loan shark coming to collect. He felt his eye twitch, felt a hot slug of crimson blood race down from one of his nostrils. He had to get control back, had to turn the fear to something else, something he could use... Again his mind scrambled for sanity, searching for comfort in happier memories, but when this failed it turned to other things... Darker things... Fear transformed once more to anger, and in a sudden fit of near-blinding rage Spike raised Orzel to take aim at the stone. He had to destroy it, had to make it stop...
"No!" Piercing roared, reaching out and yanking Spike's hand to the side, just as he pulled the trigger. "Agh!" The scholar yelped, as the hammer dropped on his pinkie finger, and as a result the weapon didn't discharge. Spike tried to wrench the gun free, to take another attempt at a shot, but Piercing held firm with a grip that seemed unnatural given his slight physique. "Don't look at it!" The man warned forcefully, his words serving as a bucket of ice water to quench the raging inferno in Spike's chest.
"Wha...?" Spike forced himself finally to look away, and as he did so he felt the anger begin to ebb. "What's happening to me? One second I'm shaking in my boots, next I wanna rip someone's head off!"
"Artifacts tend to have that kind of effect on people... You'll get used to it the more you do this." Piercing refused to let go of Spike's weapon until the younger man made it obvious he was no longer intent on firing. "Well, actually you won't, but... Well, it's complicated. Suffice to say it'll get easier... Just keep thinking about that happy memory." Spike lowered his weapon once again, doing his best to avert his gaze from the strange monument of black granite. He didn't know what the images upon its surface meant, but he had a feeling they were prophetic in some way. "The inscription looks like it's written in the language of the Abyss... From the dialect my guess is that this was created in the waning days of the Abyss War."
"Any idea what it says?" Spike took it upon himself to turn around, opting to cover their backs and further reduce the odds he might be influenced by the artifact again.
"Not enough for an exact translation, but... I think it's some sort of warning." Piercing sounded a tad puzzled by that. "It speaks of a 'Demon' that will 'split the sky, bathing the world in unholy flames'. Given that this was written by the Cult of the Abyss, it's probably fair to say that the demon they're writing about isn't really a demon..."
"Let's hope so." Spike said absently, his eyes roving throughout the odd ballroom-turned-museum. "I don't know much about the Cult of the Abyss, but if it's something that even they were afraid of...?" A small shiver ran down his back. "We'd be in deep shit."
"Quite..." Piercing nodded. "We'll have to wait for a Cerberus Team to come secure the site once we deal with that creature, then maybe we can look into a more thorough translation..." The man stepped back from the stone and patted Spike on the shoulder, silently urging him to follow as they made their way through the other assembled artifacts and assorted curios.
The duo carried on in silence, but with every step it became more evident to Spike that he wasn't the only one on edge. Lightning continued to flash, thunder continued to roll, and each time he would see his compatriot freeze or jump just a little. Onwards they delved, deeper and deeper into the mansion, leaving behind the bizarre private museum and venturing into the darker recesses of forgotten nobility. There were times when Spike got the feeling that he was being watched, or that the creature that'd toyed with his mind had once more reached out in an attempt to ensnare him. Each time he managed to fight off the urge to run or start shooting...
Things didn't get easier, in spite of what Piercing had said. Every subsequent encounter was harder to endure... Sometimes he'd catch sight of something out of the corner of his eyes, others the lightning would flash and reveal some hidden horror among the shadows. His sanity was suffering a death by a thousand cuts, his hands were trembling, his knees wobbled and shook. More and more frequently Spike would pause and close his eyes, he'd think of the people he loved, and with all his heart he'd try to imagine their embrace. Maybe he was just profoundly strong willed, maybe he was lucky, or maybe his beloved Princess was reaching out through his weapon to steady him.... Whatever the reason, he withstood each encounter with the bizarre.
The mansion had for the most part appeared unremarkable, at least as far as creepy abandoned mansions go. Everything was neat and orderly, left in a state as though the owners had simply departed one day with the intention of returning, but as the two of them reached the deeper recesses of the mansion...? That was when things became truly strange. Sometimes Piercing would open a door, only to find a brick wall, others they would find stairways leading to nowhere, or doorways that were far too small for anyone but a child.
Then, just as they opened a door and entered into some sort of music room, the two OPTIC Agents came to an abrupt and terrified halt. Decrepit instruments lay strewn throughout the space, water streamed down from shattered windows and a ruined skylight, the air was dank and reeked heavily of the rotten fish and spoiled milk odor that'd pervaded the void in his demented vision of that 'Other Place'. Bones littered the floor, bones that only could've come from a human... Skulls likewise littered the floor. Of note was that every bone appeared to have in one place or another a perfectly symmetrical circular hole bored into them, and with a nudge of his foot Spike was fairly certain by their lightness that they'd been hollowed out. The walls were adorned with skulls and crude pictographs, obviously scrawled in blood, mud, and other less mentionable viscera.
At the center of it all, standing beneath the rain that poured in through a ruined skylight, was the creature... The malevolent cartoonish creature Spike had seen outside, the creature that'd tried to take hold of his mind... The strangely refracting water glistened upon its dark leathery skin, and again Spike found his eyes hurting at the merest sight of it. It stood there, withered and ghoulish, glaring hatefully at the two men that'd stumbled foolishly into its unwholesome abode. At its feet were tattered clothes and more bones, too many skulls for Spike to count, their eyeless sockets staring wide and unblinking at him.
The whispering voices came flooding back to the young man's mind as the creature turned its demonic gaze towards him. With blistering speed it outstretched one of its withered boney hands, a sickening swirling vortex of magic materializing there, radiating more of that indescribable color. Piercing shouted something, Spike wasn't sure exactly what considering he couldn't hear anything but the whispers. With the scholar's indecipherable roar, the creature suddenly flew backwards several feet, only to scramble back upright a moment later. It shrieked, the sound of it amplified a thousand fold by the voices in Spike's mind.
He couldn't hold onto a thought for a few more seconds at a time, he couldn't focus, he couldn't do much of anything except stand there. Piercing meanwhile was going at the creature with spells and bullets, firing his weapon and hurling balls of magic. The creature managed to deflect or dodge the spells, while the bullets seemed to inflict little if any real damage. Each successful spell strike resulted in the shrieking in Spike's mind getting louder, radiating pain and surprise. The young man gritted his teeth, he tried to force his body to respond... Anything to break the deadlock that prevented him from doing anything more than standing there and watching the unfolding fight.
Was this really how he wanted his first real foray into the strange reality of the secret world to go? With him standing there, frozen and overwhelmed by some unspeakable horror? His thoughts, while difficult to keep from jumbling together, nonetheless began to turn the tide. This was the same creature that'd tormented him with visions of a devastated Ponyville and an otherworldly desert of ash, a creature that he'd wanted nothing more than to destroy... That had to be why it'd focused its spell on him. It knew he was a real threat...
Spike's mind began to cut through the fog, and as it did so he could see the runes upon Orzel had ignited even brighter, glowing with an intensity to rival that of the sun. In that moment he could feel a warmth in his mind, a phantom hand on his shoulder, a silent voice whispering encouragement into his soul. In that moment the spell he found himself under shattered, and in that moment Spike could feel the fire swelling in his chest.
In that moment, for however brief a second, Spike was bestowed with a gift he'd seldom enjoyed. Clarity. True clarity. For there among the engravings of his pistol, situated along the slide, the words 'Against Evil' had been struck in gold... He was a 'Wraith Warden', and though he didn't fully know what that meant, it nonetheless felt 'true'... Like something he'd known his entire life, and just couldn't put into words.
Again he recalled his life...
Brought into the world by a perfect intersection of fate and destiny, hatched from an egg by a mage of great power, raised to venerate honor, integrity, and instilled with a desire to serve. To defend. He'd had the good fortune to meet a woman who valued those things, who had encouraged him to pursue a life of public service, and who herself had been endowed with great power and skill in magic. She'd used all of those skills to put that weapon in his hand, a weapon that he'd given her name... The amount of things that had needed to happen in his life so that he would be standing in this precise location, at this precise moment, facing this pernicious foe. Were he an Equestrian, this would likely be the moment when he got his cutiemark...
But he wasn't an Equestrian, he was an OPTIC Agent, and he had a job to do.
With adrenaline surging and the fires of aggression roaring to life, Spike charged into the fray, pistol leveled and eyes narrowed. All the rage he'd felt earlier as this thing toyed with his mind had returned, as had the fury that'd emerged at the giant slab of granite. Now there was nothing to keep it in check, not that the dragon wanted there to be. Piercing Gaze had up until that moment been fighting a losing battle, having taken a number of spells and a few slashes from the beast's claws. Then the darkness of the room was banished by a luminous eruption of verdant magic fire, blooming from the muzzle of Spike's pistol with a carronade of thunder to rival the storm outside.
The bullet trailed emerald magic behind it as it screamed through the air, nearly an ounce of 10mm copper-jacketed lead traveling at over twice the speed of sound, imbued with magics of the most powerful sort. The round slammed into the creature's chest like a freight train, knocking it back some 15 feet and sending it sprawling on its back. It shrieked in pain as emerald green flames erupted from the baseball sized hole so unexpectedly punched into its black leathery flesh.
Through it all Spike maintained a steady sight picture on the downed creature, advancing smoothly, an expression of stoic rage firmly etched across his features. The beast attempted to rise, struggling to push itself up as it contended with the arcane flames tickling its ribcage and the 7'6" tall mountain of murder advancing with malicious intent. Spike fired again, his second bullet carrying just as much force as the first, striking near the creature's shoulder with such a violent transfer of energy that the beast's right arm was torn completely off, sending a cascade of black blood and viscera across the floor, its rotten black flesh hanging in ragged strips.
In obvious panic the creature attempted to summon its magic, but the shock of it all must've been too much. Spike smoothly holstered his weapon, stooping for a moment to pick up the creature's severed arm, grasping it by the wrist. By now the young man's draconic blood rage was in full swing, all he saw was red, all he wanted was to kill this thing in a very mean and nasty sort of way. So he commenced to beating it to death with its own severed arm, grunting and growling and snarling like... Well, like a dragon.
When that proved ineffective, he grabbed hold of it by the neck with one of his massive meaty hands, feeling the frigid chill of its skin for only a fraction of a moment. Steam erupted from the sight as his rising body temperature was now close to the point of boiling water. The creature shrieked again, opening its maw as its cobalt blue eyes attempted one last time to beguile him with fear... Spike responded by opening his own mouth and screaming at it, or more accurately roaring a titanic draconic roar that would've shattered the windows were there any that remained intact. The roar was soon muffled as gout of emerald green flame surged from the man's throat, engulfing the creature's head in a baleful fire that burned hot enough to boil steel.
Suffice to say the creature's head ceased to exist... As did its neck... As did a sizable portion of the floor it'd just been laying on, with a perfectly circular hole bored through the wood. It was only thanks to the relatively damp state of the rest of the room that the entire place hadn't gone up in flames, though a cloud of steam was gradually wisping up from the surrounding area. Spike let go of the now charred and headless monster, letting it flop down with a sickening 'schlop!' before stepping back, panting heavily, his boiling rage gradually working its way down to a low simmer.
There'd been times before when Spike had tapped into his draconic powers, but none had ever been quite so... Extensive. He hadn't experienced anything like that before, even during his molt. Sure he'd gotten aggressive, he'd gone out into the woods to fight monsters and animals while it took his course, but this felt different somehow... More primal, natural even, and it wasn't hard to see why. Even when he'd been working as a firefighter, using his strength and endurance there was more 'passive'... This had been very active, very active and very bloody indeed.
"Well... That wasn't such a chore now, was it?" Piercing asked rhetorically, moving to join Spike beside the corpse as the young man nudged it with his boot. He conjured a small orb of magic in his palm, applying it to the wounds he'd sustained, which also repaired his clothing in the process.
"To be honest, I kinda expected it to be... I dunno... Bigger." Admitted Spike. "The thing I saw in my head was... Huge. Like, it's eyes looked kinda..." He trailed off, as for a moment he almost thought he felt a vibration in the floor. After a few more seconds he definitely felt something else, much stronger this time.
Spike couldn't help gulping, both men shared an uncertain and rather unsettled look, as the floor continued to rumble and creak beneath their feet. Both men readied their pistols, ensuring they were fully loaded as they backed away from the smoldering corpse, eyes searching every section of the room for the source of the noise. The thunder and lightning made it difficult to get a fix on it at first, at least until Spike noticed the rain pouring through the ruined skylight rapidly slowed its pace. Peering skyward through the shattered frame, he felt a bolt of icy fear sprint down his spine, straight to his feet. The storm was still raging, that much was clear, but he could see stars. No, not stars... Eyes.
The whispers resumed in far greater numbers and strength, this time Spike could make out some of them, as they were spoken in languages he understood... Or at the very least, they were similar enough. The messages were strange, lacking any true coherence, being composed primarily of dark and macabre words. It took him a moment to realize the words were also being spoken in Ancient... Spike didn't speak Ancient, and yet he understood. Not only did he understand the words, but he understood their meaning. He could feel a heavy pressure building in his skull, a splitting headache racked his head, so strong that he was starting to see flickering shimmering patterns, even when he closed his eyes.
With a creak and a groan, the roof of the mansion was peeled away like the lid on a sardine can, exposing the decrepit music room to the pouring rain and the massive shadowy... Being. It was easily as large as a building, possibly even larger, though it was difficult to gauge in the stormy night. Unlike the withered creature Spike had incinerated, this particular monstrosity lacked any clear outlines or definite markers, it was just a mass of blackness and writhing slimy tentacles, with which it had so easily tossed aside the roof.
"W̴̧̢̉r̸͙͆a̴͋̇͜i̵̘̫͛͝t̵̗̎͗h̸̩͝ ̸͎̈W̶̟͌ȧ̶̜̋r̴͖̥̽̕ď̷̝̹̃ẹ̶̕n̷̩͈͒!̵̲̕" It shrieked the strange patois of disparate languages into his ears and in his mind, loud enough that he dropped his flashlight and nearly his pistol along with it. "Y̶̳̰͇͚͋͝ǫ̶̨̠̯̍ư̶͇̳̟ͅ ̴̲̳͊̍͌h̶̢̩̔ȁ̴͇̹̣̄̀̐̎v̷̟̫̓ė̷̪͙͍̬̰ ̸̟̾̒̚s̴̳͈͛̾l̴̙͓̞̠̀̕ͅä̶̧͖̂̎͆̄i̴̩̱͔̅͊̅͝n̴̨̨̞̮̊ ̸̢̪̯̮̔m̶̼̐̐y̷̫̪̅͆ ̸̢͕̱͓̂̒̐ḵ̷̢͇̤͑͝é̵̢͓̝̇̄ĕ̶̘̺̰̈̀͑͠p̴̟̉̊̚e̶͓͉̫̻̿r̴̖̤̮̐̍̓̃̏!̶̢̛̳͇̪̝͐̀̏̓ ̶͈͈͔́̎ͅY̷̘͖̬̜̓͝ǫ̵̢̘͇͍͛ủ̶͔̱̰͔̆̌͊̆r̴̗̭͠ ̵̺̞̿̈́̄̕s̸̭͔̈́͒͐ợ̶̻͚̀̔̌ȕ̴̢͓̝͙l̴̠̗̜͒ ̴͔́̾̈́̉͠i̵̡̘̣̍̒̚͠͝s̵͇͈͕̒̑̅ ̵͚͖̭͉̅̾f̵̧̯̳̠̐̈͂̑͛o̵̼͓̒r̶̨̐̈́̂͑f̷̬̠͚̻̆͌̈́e̴̯͓͉͂͂ĩ̷̡̥̘t̵̢̯͎̺̯́̓̒͠!̴̝̳̈"
Rain cascaded down off the beast, bathing Spike and Piercing that strange otherworldly water that refracted light in painful ways. He could feel the creature's thousand eyes glaring balefully into his own, deep into his soul, spectral black tentacles lanced down and pierced into his eyes with a painful incorporeal burning sensation. Images flashed through his mind, all the demented things he'd seen in that unwholesome vision of ashen alien vistas and desecrated towns he'd once called home... The faces of those he loved, twisted and deformed in ways he never could've hoped to imagine. It was as though every good memory he'd ever had in his life was being ripped out of him, replaced by pale and decidedly awful imitations.
Piercing's warning about finding a memory and holding onto it flashed through the man's mind again, a fleeting thought on the maelstrom of emotion and burning eyes. Among the horror Spike saw glimpses of that perfect Hearth's Warming Eve, the dance he'd shared, the kiss he'd been given... He recalled the day he and Orzel had first communicated via her use of Astral Projection, how comforting it'd been to have her seated beside him, if only in spirit form. Now this beastly aberration was trying to suck those images away from him, greedy to steal them, to corrupt them, to feed its unceasing hunger...
Spike tried with all his might to hang onto the images, just as he had done so many times that night, but he was exhausted... Even his rage failed him, his inner flame simply couldn't stand up against the hate and malice that radiated from the formless horror. He tried to raise his weapon, he managed to at least aim it at the massive void, but he couldn't will his finger to squeeze the trigger. All he needed was four pounds of pressure, but he couldn't even muster that in his shaking hand.
Piercing Gaze was out of the corner of his eyes, he too was fighting off the black tendrils that'd sought out his own eye sockets. His palm flared to life with magic, crackling with malevolent energy. In a radiant display of prismatic energy the likes of which Spike had only ever witnessed performed by his Mother and the Princesses, Piercing Gaze hurled a ball of magic into the face of that yawning abyss, into the grinning eyes and toxic inky blackness. It detonated with the force of a bomb, the creature shrieking in pain as its hold on Spike was temporarily broken. The young man capitalized on that, his aim steadying, not that he needed help hitting such a massive creature.
Panting and trembling, soaked through to the bone, head throbbing and heart pounding, Spike stood in the face of a horror beyond imagining... He wasn't sure he had it in him to fight, wasn't sure he wouldn't just turn tail and flee... Who would blame him? Really, who wouldn't be compelled to run?
Piercing Gaze, for one... Orzel, for another.
"My lady, if you can hear me... If you're truly with me..." Spike said under his breath, on the verge of sobbing as the twisted images the creature had made continued to rattle around his brain. "I'm running on fumes here..."
He didn't question the mechanics of what happened next... In his mind he caught glimpses of the creature above him, saw it trying to hide something without actually hiding it. One of its eyes was not like the others. It was smaller, dimmer, easily lost among the sea of thousands... For anyone else spotting it would've been impossible, but Spike gazed up at the beast just as he had in the vision when he'd cursed and sworn to little avail. He didn't have to search, to him that dim and unassuming eye stood out like a beacon.
He felt his inner flame flaring hot, hotter than it'd ever burned, even on this cold and cruel night. The incandescent rage that overtook Spike was not entirely his own, and he was oddly aware of that fact... What he called upon now was the combination of every dragon in his bloodline, whoever they may have been. They were all with him then, and so was Orzel. As he leveled his pistol at the lusterless eye, in that moment he saw every eye in the creature above open wide in shock and realization... Again, just as they had in his vision.
The words stamped upon the slide of his weapon that read 'Against Evil' flared to life with emerald magic, he could 'feel' the weapon, as if it'd become a true extension of himself. With a hand as steady as iron, Spike squeezed the trigger... The muzzle flash burned hotter than a thousand suns, casting a massive flare of emerald green fire that illuminated the world for miles around. The projectile that exited the muzzle was not some mundane construct of mortal hands, it'd been transfigured, infused with righteous fury and a divine loathing for all things foul and dark in the world.
The gunshot ripped through the air with an ear-splitting racket that violently beat the rolling thunder into cowering submission. Spike watched, gobsmacked, as the entire formless thing that'd tormented him and so easily ripped the roof off a building was incinerated in a roiling carpet of emerald green flames and embers. An unearthly shriek rent the night, wild and warm wind ripped through the area and threatened to knock Spike off his feet, the sheet of blackness evaporated, the eyes vanished... Not even the storm could stand against such fury. In striking that one unassuming eye, Spike had called upon all the divine magic Orzel had infused into his weapon, as well as her own magic and all the burning heat of his draconic bloodline, and --through the combined forces of nature, magic, and the almighty-- smote that most unconscionable creature from the face of Equus.
It was fortunate that his bullet had found its mark, because in the wake of that single shot Spike was suddenly overcome by fatigue of a sort he'd never experienced... Tonight was a night of firsts. His knees trembled, moments later he collapsed to one knee, panting and covered in sweat, his head swimming and split by a 'red hot railroad spike to the forehead' type headache. Overhead, through his bleary vision, the young dragon could see the pale glow of a full moon among a magnificent tapestry of stars...
Lightheaded and dizzy, Spike attempted to stand up... Only to sway uncontrollably back and forth. He had a vague awareness of his weapon slipping from his clumsy numb fingers, then his balance failed him completely, and so he watched the ground rapidly coming up to meet him... Then... Blackness.
It was rare for the small farming village of Snapdragon Hollow to get anything resembling visitors, a state of affairs that wasn't entirely surprising given its somewhat remote location. It didn't have much to offer with regards to tourist attractions, with perhaps one notable exception. The old abandoned 'Darkwater Manor' was the subject of numerous local legends, both real and imagined, and to some extent had gained quiet distinction within the circles fascinated by the macabre and the bizarre. They'd blow into town from time to time, intent on seeing the place and poking around. The villagers always gave them the same warnings about staying away, and the visitors always said they'd be fine... Then they'd inevitably go out to the Manor itself, and it seemed none of them ever saw fit to come back.
The townsfolk assumed that they'd gone in, seen the place was little more than a decrepit heap of bricks, and left disappointed -- but very much alive. Of course no one ever saw fit to go and check on them, there was something about the place that put the more skittish and superstitious people of Snapdragon Hollow on edge. Hunters would sometimes stray too close to the place, and without even having to check their maps they'd know they were nearing the manor grounds. This was followed by an expeditious retreat, and the inevitable telling of the tale of their survival, totally unembellished and unbiased, of course.
Once or twice high-schoolers had attempted to brave the Darkwater Manor, as high-schoolers are want to do in a small town with little else to do, but even the foolhardy courage of hormonal young men seeking to show off for their sweethearts had proven insufficient... So the Darkwater Manor existed in a sort of limbo, remote enough to be comfortably ignored, but close enough that its disquieting aura still lingered in local minds.
No one expected that would ever change, at least, not until the night of the storm. It'd been one for the record books, harder and rougher than any that'd come before. Lightning, thunder, driving rain, the works.
According to some of the local meteorologists, its strength had come from a confluence of unstable arcane molecules in a number of defective clouds that'd unwittingly broken loose from the Cloudsdale Weather Factory's recently opened 'Atmospheric Defense Plant'. This had given birth to an exceptionally massive lightning bolt, one that'd illuminated the world around for nearly a hundred miles, and that'd struck with an eerie emerald green coloration. The thunder that followed was equally bizarre and extreme, loud enough that it'd shattered a number of windows, and rattled or cracked countless others. Still, the locals supposed that was to be expected of an unusual storm.
The response from the Equestrian Government to the rogue storm had been uncharacteristically swift. A special unit from the recently founded Equestrian Sovereigns' Air Force was dispatched --nearly 300 men-- rolled into a town with supply trucks and scientific equipment, going out to the Darkwater Manor, which was widely believed to be the epicenter of the strange lightning bolt. Fairly early on it was made clear that the lightning bolt had all but entirely demolished the manor, and that’d rendered an area of land roughly 20 square miles in size 'contaminated' with Arcane Radiation.
Fences would be erected to keep trespassers out and away from the contamination, samples would be taken for study, but in the end the inhabitants of Snapdragon Hollow would likely experience little change in their daily lives, save for the speedy construction of an ESAF Weather Research Station...
So caught up were the locals in the excitement of the storm and its consequences that they almost entirely overlooked the two strangers that'd taken up one of the booths in the town's one and only eatery, the 'Crossroads Diner'. Advertised in a metal sign with flickering blue neon stylized to resemble a signature. It was fittingly named, as the diner sat at a crossroads that --like a number of other streets in town-- lacked a traffic light and instead relied on stop signs.
A handful of cars sat in the lot. A few ESAF HMMVs, a couple Rook sedans of varying models, a pickup truck of the same make, and a 1934 Solare Automotive Industries 'Comet' convertible, complete with pearlescent red paint job and a finely polished hood ornament depicting Princess Celestia with arms and wings outstretched, as though she was the figurehead at the prow of some great sailing ship.
Spike eyed the Outrider parked beside the flashy roadster, doing his best to avoid looking at the other vehicle with a grimace. The last time he'd seen one of those it'd been a pile of twisted wreckage, the driver's brains splattered on the dashboard, the passenger still alive but impaled on a tree branch some 7 feet off the ground, her guts dangling down by her ankles... She'd only lasted a couple minutes longer. The former firefighter shook his head and tried to think about something else, then --upon failing to do so-- turned his attention to Piercing Gaze, seated directly across from him. Spike noted his companion stopping to admire the Comet.
"That's a nice looking car, innit? Bet we'd cover plenty of ground with one of those."
"For what that thing costs? Appropriations would throw a fit." Spike tried to sound uninterested, but it was difficult to conceal the discomfort he felt at the idea of ever climbing into one of those Comet death traps. Of all the automobile accidents he'd worked, the worst were always SAI models. "Besides, that thing makes like... 100 Horsepower max, maybe 150 if the guy has put some work into it. SAI's are all flash, no fire." The man shuddered. "Well... There's actually plenty of fire, just not the sort you'd want." He took a sip of his coffee, trying to ignore the pounding headache that'd persisted since he'd passed out the night before. He took it black, no cream, no sugar...
"I suppose I'll have to take your word for it. I'm afraid I must admit that I don't know much about all these newfangled automobiles and whatnot, it's all very much after my time." The man said with an awkward shrug, pausing to sip at his own mug of coffee. Plenty of cream, two sugars. "Could never quite get comfortable 'behind the wheel'... I believe that's the correct phrase."
"I'm guessing yet another reason you wanted me to come along." Spike grunted tiredly, rubbing at the rings beneath his sleep deprived eyes.
He cast another look around the diner.
To his surprise the place looked busier than the cars outside would suggest, but otherwise it had all the typical hallmarks of a diner. Checkerboard floors, chrome accents, red vinyl seats and booths. A small bar with a view into the kitchen was presently occupied to capacity by men and women enjoying breakfast or even a very early lunch, and beside this was a display case filled with pies, cakes, muffins, and other assorted pastries. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, heavy with the smell of good food and fresh brewed coffee. Some old jazzy swing numbers underscored the scene.
Spike would've remained silent, were it not for the arrival of a young pegasus woman attired as one would expect of a diner waitress. A pastel yellow dress with white trim, collar, and apron. The color matched the feathery wings from her back and rather glossy nail polish. The woman herself wasn't all that bad looking, for an Equestrian woman at any rate, and she carried with her a pot of black coffee.
"Can I top you boys off? Just finished brewing a fresh pot of coffee, also have tea and such!" Greeted the waitress, placing both the menus down on the table. Like him, her eyes had bags under them, but her enthusiasm seemed sincere, something that set Spike a bit more at ease.
"I'll take a little more coffee." Spike responded as he adjusted his posture in the booth. Being as tall as he was made for an interesting seating experience, so he offered his mug and the woman happily filled it up.
"I'm alright for the moment, thank you." Piercing gave a nod to the waitress.
"Alrighty! I take it you guys still want some time to decide what you want to eat?"
"Yeah, just a couple more minutes..." Spike nodded, his eyes drifting down to the booth tabletop, roving over a pair of leather-bound menus that the waitress had placed there nearly half an hour ago. This was her third time coming over to fill their cups and ask if they were ready to order, but to be honest neither of them seemed to have the bandwidth to even hold a steady conversation, let alone decide what to eat.
"Wonder what I should get..." Spike mumbled to himself, feeling the emptiness in his stomach grumble. His draconic metabolism demanded a lot of calories daily, at least if he wanted to maintain his present physique. The previous night's daring escapade had likewise drained his calorie stores to nearly zero, he felt so weak that Piercing had needed to use his magic to help him walk in and take a seat. If a fire had broken out in the kitchen at that very moment, Spike wouldn't have had the strength to stand up, let alone fight it... Even lifting his cup of coffee was a struggle.
The diner's menu was by all means as extensive as a hungry dragon could hope, everything from bacon and eggs to a juicy beef sirloin steak. The tradition that diners served everything on their menu regardless of time of day was one of the many things he'd always loved about this particular slice of Equestriana.
"The way you eat?" Piercing chuckled. "Why not one of everything?" Spike gave a shrug, though in his weakened state it was more of a slouch. That wasn't such a bad idea... Pricey, sure, but he'd be reimbursed by the Agency so long as he held on to his receipt. "Here's another teaching moment, and I mean this with absolute sincerity... You can tell a lot about a town based on the quality of its restaurants, not just the food, but the atmosphere."
Spike took that as a cue to look around the diner, and as he did so he noticed something just a little peculiar. The other patrons didn't look well. Not sick, but... Tired. Dark rings under their eyes, not one of them wasn't drinking a cup of coffee in one form or another. A few of the men looked as though they'd not had a shave in several days, and the disheveled nature of the clothes that Spike might've attributed to working in the fields around town was a little too... Clean. In spite of this, they all seemed in good spirits. Talking, smiling, laughing, but always going back for one more cup of coffee, one more piece of pie... Even Drizzle Mizzle --their waitress-- looked as though she could do with a night of sleep as she poured drinks behind the counter.
Spike looked back to the menu, his earlier uncertainty as to what he should order having been sublimated by an incongruous sensation rising throughout his body. By now he knew it to be his 'Wraith Sense'... It only seemed to get worse as the seconds went by. A few moments later his eyes were drawn back outside, to one of the olive drab military supply trucks driving down the road. The canvas covering its rear was securely strapped down, but Spike recognized a few symbols on the crates visible in the back... Bio-hazardous waste. Fortunately the intense 'Wraith Sense' sensation began to fade as the truck drove out of sight. No doubt that truck was hauling whatever was left of the creatures they'd encountered at the manor...
Drizzle Mizzle soon came back to the table with a notepad in hand, no doubt a subtle sign that she expected the duo to order something, so that's precisely what they did. Piercing ordered a 'Croque Monsieur', Spike ordered a number of things, including bacon and eggs, pancakes, hash browns, a breakfast burrito, and chicken and waffles. Drizzle Mizzle was understandably surprised, but Spike assured her he intended to eat every bite, and just like that the woman whisked herself away to the kitchen window.
"So..." Spike turned his focus back to Piercing, lacing his fingers together on the table. "What now?"
"I suppose that depends on you..." Piercing gave a shrug, then for a moment he removed his glasses from the bridge of his nose, just long enough to wipe them clean with a nearby napkin. "I know I mentioned this to you already, but it bears repeating... For whatever reason, the second we join the Agency we become magnets for the weird and strange. What you saw last night was a prime example of that, and to be honest... It was tame, compared to some of the things I've seen. Random, self contained, no innocent victims... None that we met, at any rate. That's about as 'clean' as they come." The man replaced the glasses on his nose, then laced his fingers. "I know you said you were committed to this thing when we set out, but... This is your first actual experience with what OPTIC deals with in the field. I need to know, are you still in?"
"I..." Spike began, only to trail off and sigh. He wanted to puff out his chest, to pound his heart and declare he was ready for more, but... In all honesty he wasn't sure he was. All his bravado had left him, he was so drained and so exhausted that he struggled to call upon all the pleasant thoughts and mantras he'd conjured for himself the night before.
In the end, Spike sat there for several long minutes, totally silent. His eyes darted around listlessly as he ran through the night's events in his head, as he did so he caught flashes of things... Things he didn't want to remember, things he'd never be able to forget. The eyes, the laughter, the whispers. The memories that'd been twisted to torment him. He tried to close his eyes, but that only made things worse... Spike brought his coffee up to his lips, only to nearly spill it all over himself, he was trembling so bad. Again he wanted to blame it on exhaustion, but the truth of it was that those memories had chilled him to his feet.
His eyes then darted outside, watching as a group of kids on bikes stopped beside the road to watch the military trucks. This town, Snapdragon Hollow, was even smaller than Ponyville... The people here were kind, if a tad eccentric, and they'd been living in total ignorance of a monster that would've wanted nothing more than to gobble them up to sate its own sadistic hunger. Those kids, these people... They were a flock in need of protection.
At the outset of all of this Spike had wondered what sort of man it would make him if he refused to answer the call of duty, and his answer then had been 'not much of one'. That hadn't changed. If anything, sitting there in his weakened state, recalling things better left forgotten, his resolve had only become stronger. He was already in this thing, he'd seen behind the curtain and there was no way to unsee it, but those kids... These people... These sweet, innocent, normal people... People who just as easily could've been his neighbors... They were ignorant to that sort of thing, and better off for it.
"Yeah..." Spike finally nodded. "Yeah, I'm still in."
"Then we're bound for Manehattan... Not just for the missing artifacts, but something else. Another situation, one I'm afraid won't be solved as easily as this one." Piercing Gaze's expression remained serious, but Spike could see a glimmer of pride in the older man's eyes. "But first let's get some food in our bellies, then we have to fill out some paperwork, then we can actually get back on the road."
"Sounds good to me."
Breakfast arrived in fits and starts, at least for Spike. Piercing received his meal right away, but for a dragon in the throes of great hunger it felt as though the diner's kitchen was struggling to keep up. The food was very good, better than good even. Warm, savory, wholesome... It was little surprise as to why so many people flocked here in the morning hours, the diner was an oasis of contentment in the sea of undefined weirdness that prevailed outside.
The duo began their paperwork as they ate, discussing revelations that they'd discovered or theories they might've had. How they might've done things better, or differently, what might've made things easier. Spike was reminded in the course of the paperwork that Piercing had mentioned something about elaborating on how Hisuinese fit into his 'theory' about Spike himself. Piercing declined to go into detail at the moment, much to Spike's frustration, but he was too tired and too hungry to fight it.
From there it devolved into more boring paperwork and recounting the events of the night for OPTIC Records, of course doing so with the full knowledge that nearly 95% of everything they wrote down would be redacted, censored, or otherwise obfuscated upon filing... Such was the work of any government employee, even the ones dealing with the paranormal.
In that, at least, Spike supposed he could find some solace amongst the strangeness that'd now become his life. Spike had also privately concluded that for as powerful as his handgun was, he needed something with a bit more firepower, an enchanted weapon that could inflict grievous bodily harm upon an unwholesome creature of its own accord without him having to channel so much energy into it. Considering he was an absolute tank of a man, that gave him more options than most. The particulars were something he would entrust to no one but his beloved Princess Orzel... Thinking of her also gave him some comfort... Now that the two of them were 'in the game' --as Piercing had taken to calling it-- they could correspond a bit more openly, no need to dance around the more covert aspects of their respective lives.
Chapter III - "Embrace The Suck"
It was just after 9 PM local time when Spike and Piercing Gaze staggered into the hotel they'd been put up in, situated midway up a nondescript highrise on the outskirts of downtown Manehattan. It took them two days to get there from Snapdragon Hollow, though it would've taken longer had Spike not convinced Piercing to let him floor the gas pedal and hit the lights and siren. They'd been stopped no less than 3 times by the National Highway Patrol, each time they'd shown their badges and explained why they were driving the way they were.
NHP were usually hard-asses about things, but when it came to OPTIC they knew well enough not to ask too many questions. It helped that Spike was only ever speeding when there weren't other cars around, he knew that he and Piercing were both more resistant to being injured in an accident, but he'd be damned if he put other drivers at risk.
Spike was just glad to be sleeping somewhere that wasn't the car... Comfortable as the seats may have been, after two days he'd started to feel achy, no doubt contributed to by his sizable height. The crick in his neck was stiff and painful, as was the tightness in his shoulders. Piercing closed the door behind him as the duo laid eyes upon the two beds in their room, from the neat and tidy sheets to the plush mattresses and comfy blankets. They may as well have been gifts from the Gods. The room itself was well appointed, in spite of the obscurity of the hotel. Soothing blue floral wallpaper, polished hardwood floors, an oak dresser, nightstands, two crystal ashtrays, a phone, even one of those newfangled 'televisions', as well as a typical wooden cathedral style radio. The bell boy had been kind enough to bring their bags up from the car while they were checking in, and Spike had made sure he was tipped well, considering how heavy they were.
"I'm fuckin' beat..." Spike grunted, rubbing at his neck and approaching the bed nearest to the window. "Is it just me, or did it feel like every idiot and his brother decided to get on the road today?"
He removed his bomber jacket and tossed it haphazardly on a nearby leather armchair. It, like much of his clothes, was wet with rain, which was at that moment pouring down outside. Spike unclipped his appendix holster from his belt. Out of habit he racked back the slide and checked to see if the weapon was loaded. Were he back home this would've been when he unloaded the weapon, cleared the chamber, and returned it to his gun safe, but that... That may as well have been another lifetime ago. Now Spike couldn't imagine falling asleep without the loaded pistol on the nightstand, well within arms reach.
"It wasn't you, lad." Piercing responded, letting out a tense groan as he eased himself down on the edge of his own mattress. "Granted we aren't exactly innocent either, but... That guy doing 35 in a 55? He was an idiot if I ever saw one... We should've given him a ticket for impeding the flow of traffic."
"We can do that?" Spike asked in an absent voice, himself letting out a relieved sigh as he settled on the edge of the bed to take off his boots.
"OPTIC is a national law enforcement agency, we just happen to specialize in the weird..." Piercing snapped his fingers, in a flash of magic his slightly wet clothes were whisked away and replaced by a pair of blue pajamas. The clothes in turn materialized on a hook in the closet by the door. "That doesn't mean we can't enforce other laws though. How do you think we convince informants to talk? We catch them on a narcotics or smuggling charge, offer to let it slide if they give us the information we want. It's a powerful tool in our arsenal."
"Alright then..." Spike looked off to the side, images of deadly crashes running through his head. "Just as long we can stop an accident before it happens." He didn't have the benefit of magic, and so with great reluctance he got up off the bed and began to change into his sleeping clothes. His were far simpler, just his boxers and the white tank top he wore under his shirt. "Bet we'll make a lot of people's day... Finally a cop when they need one, heh..."
"Yeah." Piercing laid back on his bed, settling into the mattress and looking up at the ceiling. "I'm hoping to get started by 10 AM tomorrow." Spike grunted in agreement as he himself got comfortable and settled in for the night.
Tomorrow was indeed another day, and they'd be starting another investigation... This one was on behalf of the city of Manehattan itself, which had forwarded along numerous reports of odd happenings and sightings in the poorer quarters near the waterfront. With another snap of his fingers Piercing flicked the light-switch, plunging the room into darkness... The only light came from the cityscape outside, the ambient golden glow of street lamps, the headlights and taillights, buzzing neon signs. Then there was the sound, rumbling engines, distant police sirens, the wind, and the rain. It wasn't all that different from Canterlot on a rainy night, and that gave Spike a modicum of comfort. Not enough, though...
He tried to close his eyes, just as he had tried so many times over the past couple days. Sleep was proving an increasingly elusive respite. Every time he closed his eyes he found himself transported back to Darkwater Manor, back to the visions in his head, the twisted memories and the howling peels of laughter. That voice... That awful voice...
Spike just laid there, staring at the ceiling, his eyes unfocused as his mind replayed every awful moment of the night on endless repeat...
"Hey, boss?"
"Yeah?"
"Can you sleep?"
"No..."
"Got a spell that could help?"
"Technically? I guess... I could snap my fingers and put you to sleep, but odds are you'd be up again within the hour."
"Damn..."
"Yup..."
The two of them continued to stare at the ceiling, Spike wasn't entirely sure how long. Finally he couldn't stand it anymore and sat himself up in bed, swinging his legs over the side. With a grunt he stood from his bed and walked towards the window, leaning against the frame and staring down at the city below. From his spot he could see a number of stores on the street below, most of which were closed. One appeared open, situated on the street corner, though customers seemed scarce. In the window he could see assorted staples and canned goods, advertisements for coffee, as well as a sign that read 'Tobacco! Cigars! Cigarettes Sold at City Minimum!'.
A bodega.
Canterlot had bodegas, Spike had been to a few of them growing up. With nothing else to do the young man sighed and resigned himself to getting dressed again, he was feeling a little hungry anyway. The pistol found itself right where he always kept it on his belt, as did the jacket. He patted it down, ensuring his keys, badge, and wallet were all where he'd left them in the inner pocket. With that he pulled on his soggy black wool knit cap.
"I'm going out, there's a shop across the street... Want anything?"
"Pipe tobacco, if you can find it." Piercing responded, still laying on his bed. It was obvious he intended to try and fight for sleep a little longer.
"Gotcha..." Spike grunted, tucking his hands into his pockets and walking to the door.
Little of consequence occurred in the walk from his room to the ground floor, he went out into the hallway, took the stairs down as the elevator operator had long since gone home, and strolled through the hotel lobby. The night clerk at the desk seemed preoccupied with the book keeping of the previous day's business, and so paid little mind to the hulking dragon as he went past, outside of a brief flick of the eyes.
The air outside was cool and humid, rain came down in sheets, but not nearly as hard as it'd been in Snapdragon Hollow. Round rivulets of water beaded up on his jacket, or began to soak into his cap. The breeze carried with it a scent that only a city could conjure. Car exhaust, burning coal, tobacco smoke, dirt, grime, grease, old Chi-Neighs food. To a dragon's heightened sense of smell the odors were quite strong. Fortunately the fresh falling rain was doing wonders to settle the smell, otherwise he might've needed to dab some bay leaf oil under his nostrils.
Impeded by the street, Spike spied a crosswalk, watching numerous cars and horse carriages trundle past. None of them seemed particularly inclined to stop and let him pass, which yet again brought him back to his childhood. When Shining Armor and his Mom would go out to a museum or something, Mom would always want to wait for someone to stop and let them cross, but her brother seemed disinclined to just stand around, opting instead to find a lull in the traffic and effectively force the issue.
That was the norm in the city, so that's precisely what Spike did.
He spotted a brief lull in traffic, then started across. He didn't dally or delay, his long muscular legs spanning the distance in rapid time. This still wasn't fast enough for those he was holding up, as evidenced by a series of annoyed honking horns and a few shouted curses. Spike responded in the traditional fashion of the city, with a gesture of his hand that was more or less universal. Traffic resumed flowing at its usual pace once he was across, thus concluding that brief but oh-so-common ritual that contributed to the character of cities in general, for better or worse.
The young dragon moved along the sidewalk, parked cars on one side, closed stores and a darkened alleyway on the other. It was one of those alleys that just screamed 'Shankings await!', though Spike wasn't sure if that was the Wraith Sense talking or just his gut. A small chuckle escaped his lips as he pondered the absurdity of what might happen were someone to attempt to mug him. It'd be one thing if they had a gun, but then again so did he. They'd be in for a bad time if they had a knife, or a shiv, or some blunt instrument. Those would bounce off his thick leathery hide, or any of the patches of scales that dotted his body... Or they'd just shatter on impact. The idea of some mugger staring at him, the shattered remnants of a weapon in their hand, came across as profoundly funny in that instant...
It was followed by a number of other thoughts, darker ones, not related to the events in Snapdragon Hollow. His mind was wandering to the next logical step in the hypothetical mugging, how he himself would respond. His instincts told him it would be a very short and very one sided fight... More of an execution, really. Assuming the mugger was an Equestrian at any rate. The gory image of a freight train obliterating an unfortunate cow at over 90 miles per hour came to mind, a memory of his time working with the FDPV. Again Spike giggled, unable to help himself. He'd been noticing that a lot in the wake of his molt... Violence held an odd sort of allure, and the consequences of it --namely the death of a mugger-- were met with little more than apathy or even outright excitement on Spike's part.
The irony was that Spike was more concerned about not caring about the violent act than he was concerned about the act itself.
With another shake of his head Spike stepped into the bodega, dripping water upon the dirty welcome mat at his feet, all that separated his boots from the green linoleum tiles. A small brass cowbell chimed as the door knocked into it, swaying about on a line of cheap butcher's twine. The bodega may as well have been one taken from Canterlot, as it had more or less the same sort of layout and items as its counterpart in the capital. There were four aisles, each stocked with all the staples and snacks one would expect of a convenience store, as well as a refrigerated section at the rear of the store full of milk, cream, and other assorted beverages. One wall had a small counter where numerous pots of coffee and paper cups waited to be used, the other had the storekeeper's counter, stocked lottery tickets, scratch offs, disposable lighters, and the like.
Behind the counter was a brawny bull of a woman, in that she was half bull and half woman. A minotaur. She was as tall as Spike, absolutely jacked, with a nose ring and rugged clothes that seemed a good fit for her equally rugged features. She eyed Spike with obvious curiosity, not surprising. It wasn't every day a dragon walked through the door. Behind her was a wall of cigarettes and tins of dip -- the chewing tobacco kind, not the bean or cheese kind. Beside them was a tall wooden humidor, in which Spike saw boxes of cigars and baggies of loose tobacco. Some were obviously blended for use in pipes, others were for those that preferred to roll their own cigarettes.
"Wipe your shoes, I don't need you tracking dirt everywhere." She spoke in a gruff voice, wordlessly Spike complied, wiping his boots on the welcome mat before stepping off of it. "Sure is coming down out there, huh?"
"Yeah, cats and dogs." Spike agreed, tucking his hands in his pockets as he approached the counter. "Not the worst I've seen, not by a long shot, but..." He trailed off as he saw a mild flicker of annoyance in the minotaur's face. This wasn't Ponyville, people didn't really do small talk the same way here, he had to remember that. "Whatever..." He took a few minutes to peruse the snacks, settling on a couple bags of beef jerky and a green glass bottle of 'Moonlit Lager' -- the preferred beer brand of Ponyville's blue collar workers. With food and beverage in hand he returned to the counter. "I need some pipe tobacco." The young man gestured to the baggies in the humidor.
"Any particular flavor?"
"I dunno, it's for my partner..." Spike stopped for a moment, rubbing at his chin and feeling the stubble there. "Uh... Cherry Cavendish, I think." The minotaur narrowed her eyes at him, looking at him with an obvious air of suspicion.
"You got ID?"
"Oh, yeah... One sec." Spike reached into his jacket, briefly exposing the holster clipped to his belt. The shopkeeper's eyes widened, she looked about ready to say something, at least until he produced his badge and placed it on the counter for her to inspect.
"Office of Paranormal Threat..." She trailed off as she read it over. "What, someone see a goblin or ghost running around out there?" The minotaur handed the badge back and made her way over to the humidor. She took a small brass key hanging from a chain around her neck and slipped it into a lock on the door, then opened it up. Spike's nostrils were soon struck with the sweet aroma of tobacco of numerous types, which alone helped to soothe the anxious nerves that'd been building up over the past couple days.
"Something like that." Spike deflected with a chuckle, slipping the badge back into his jacket.
"Five ounces okay?" Asked the minotaur, grabbing one of the bags of tobacco. Spike nodded, watching her carefully. "You want anything else?" At this the man paused, biting his lower lip. It was a simple enough question, but the answer was less so. His Mom would've killed him if he ever so much as looked at a cigarette growing up, but... He was an adult now, and they did smell quite nice. Given everything he'd gone through over the past couple days, if not weeks, he could do with something to mellow out.
"I'll take a box of Sovereign Heritage, the campanas if you have 'em." Spike pointed at one of the boxes of cigars, situated on the top shelf of the humidor. He didn't know much about cigars, but in a bid to sound like he did he opted to go for the only ones he knew by name. The cigar box he happened to carry his various precious keepsakes in was from Sovereign Heritage, and 'campana' style cigars were really the only choice given his large hands, something Spike knew only from observing Big Macintosh when he smoked.
"Glad to see you're spending my Tax Bits wisely." The minotaur grunted, reaching up and taking the box of cigars out of the humidor. Spike didn't know what she meant by this until she set the box down on the counter. It was elegant, made of sturdy teak with a polished cherry stain, decorated with gold leaf and a prestigious looking crest. Burned into the wood beneath the crest were the words '10 Campanas - Hecho a Mano - 100% Tabaco Suave Y Natural - Hecho En Ornithia', as well as a price tag. 200 Bits. Extremely expensive, over a month's wages if he was still working as a firefighter. Fortunately his new assignment had also seen a substantial increase in pay, to say nothing of other forms of passive income.
"I don't smoke often." Spike responded, technically true as he'd actually never smoked before... This was probably a good time to practice his 'spin', one of the very important skills employed by just about every Agent under the auspices of the Nocturne Agency, be they SID or OPTIC. It honestly felt wrong to use it in casual conversation. At least if he was using it to cover up some unspeakable otherworldly horror it didn't feel quite so shady, but he needed to practice. Besides, it wasn't like this Minotaur actually cared about the truth or not, she had no way of knowing he was 'spinning' his words. "Figure it may as well be something good when I do."
"I don't need your life's story, kid..." Was the Minotaur's grunted reply as she began typing the items into the cash register. Spike meanwhile took out his wallet. "Matches?" The man nodded, so she grabbed a small box of wooden matches from below the counter and added it to the total. Rummaging through the wallet, he produced four crisp new 50 Bit notes, as well as some smaller bills and a few single Bit coins, which depicted Princess Celestia in profile on one side and her royal sun insignia on the other.
Spike was always struck by the odd colors the Equestrian Mint chose for its paper currency, as well as the images they put on them. 5 Bit notes were green and depicted Clover the Clever in profile, 10 Bit notes were blue and had Flash Magnus, 20s displayed Princess Platinum. The old 50s were purple and had Princess Luna, while the new 50s were reddish-orange and depicted Orzel in her headscarf and crown. Luna had since replaced Celestia on the 100, which still maintained the almost metallic gold paper in an odd departure from the typical conventions... Spike shook his head, he was getting off task. In total the bill came to 203 Bits, as everything else was comparatively cheap. Carefully he counted the money and set it on the glass countertop, sliding it towards the bodega owner. She in turn picked it up and counted it for herself.
Ka-ching!
The register opened, the cash was taken, change was made, and Spike departed the bodega with his purchases tucked neatly away in a brown paper bag, which was in turn stuffed inside his jacket. As he was going out the door he caught a look at the clock, it was now closing in on 10:30. The brief time he'd been in the store was enough for the storm to get even worse, causing large puddles to overflow from the gutters along the streets. Puddles that the drivers of passing automobiles had no qualms with driving through at speed, causing a rooster tail splash of frigid water that nearly chilled Spike down to the bone. Fortunately the bag remained dry.
"Great... Just great..." Spike muttered, looking down at his soaked pants and jacket. "Un-fuckin'-real..." He shook his head and trudged across the street, this time paying even less heed to the drivers that honked at him. One of them got so bold as to roll down their window and shout.
"Get outta the road, jackass!"
"Yeah yeah! Fuckin' eat me, cocksucker!" Spike shouted back as he finished crossing the road, punctuating his statement with another of those universal hand gestures. The driver returned it in kind, then continued on his way, concluding the street-crossing ritual once again.
Spike meanwhile sighed, slumped his shoulders, and made his way back to the hotel. He didn't particularly care for the way being in the city was making him feel, to say nothing of how he was acting. Back in Ponyville he never would've been so abrasive, so... Crude. Mom would've chewed him out royally for talking to someone like that. Part of it was another flaring of the infamous volatile draconic temper, but there was so much more feeding it.
His mind went back to the whole reason he was out here in the rain, getting shouted at and soaked to the skin, an inability to sleep. There was a very big difference between 'sleep' and 'rest'. He had enough sleep to allow him to function at a basic level, dragons on average needed only 2-3 hours a night, but as for rest? His reserves of patience were wearing thin, his temper continued to be ground down, the edges of his affable Equestrian personality were starting to fray. With each passing hour it was getting increasingly difficult to continue playing the 'cuddly friendly dragon'. For now he was able to restrain his outbursts to total strangers, but give it enough time and he very well might start going off half-cocked on people he cared about.
Spike trudged into the hotel lobby, still dripping wet, his face set in a less than enthused scowl. The clerk at the desk looked up and opened his mouth, no doubt to complain about the water and grime being tracked in. Spike didn't even look at him, just wordlessly held out his hand with his index finger raised, a silent gesture that the clerk should refrain from raising a fuss at the moment. Sensing the hostility radiating off the 7'4" tall mountain of muscle, the clerk came to the conclusion that discretion was the better part of valor and thus shut his trap.
"Just... Bill me." Was all Spike managed to grunt, more of a snarl really. He took a deep breath and composed himself, affecting his affable persona once again. "Whatever it costs to clean it up, I really don't care... Sorry."
With that Spike made his way to the stairwell and ascended back to the room. The man placed the paper bag on the dresser, then peeled himself out of his wet clothes. Piercing was in his bed, asleep and nestled under the blankets... At least one of them was getting some rest. Keeping hold of his holster, Spike made his way into the bathroom and turned the shower to its hottest temperature. The weapon rested gently on the bathroom counter, within arms reach of the shower.
An Equestrian would've been shrieking in agony if they spent an extended period of time in the scalding water, but Spike... Spike felt refreshed. He spent an hour or so in the shower, cleaning himself up in the first few minutes, then letting the water cascade down his back, over his aching muscles and sore neck. For the first time Spike sighed not with frustration, annoyance, or discomfort... It felt like he'd been holding his breath for the past two days, constantly on edge, always on the alert. He couldn't restrain a chuckle as he pondered just how much his life had changed in the short time since that first day when Piercing approached him at the BBQ. It wouldn't have changed anything, but boy... He really hadn't known what he was getting himself into.
There was a saying he'd heard some of Shining Armor's army buddies say... 'Embrace the suck'. Perhaps that's why laughter came so easily, it was either laugh or scream. Embrace it, or let it grind him under. What else was there to do in the face of cosmic entities and monsters but laugh? The entire idea was absurd, and the absurd deserved to be laughed at. Spike shook his head, offering a humorless smile to himself as he leaned against the tiles on the wall, the water continuing to cascade down his skin and back. After a few more minutes of standing there with his eyes closed, the dragon reluctantly turned off the water and got out of the shower, grabbing a towel from the nearby rack. All was going as things usually did after he showered, with him starting to dry off. Then he used a small hand towel to wipe away some of the mist on the mirror.
The face that stared back at him was tired, with dark rings, sunken eyes, and an increasingly present crop of stubble. There were some subtle changes that Spike had noticed in the wake of his Molt, and these were becoming more obvious day after day. His eyes were narrowing and becoming more almond shaped, his cheekbones were rising, his chin was tapering, his jawline had become square, his nose was more slender and angular...
Spike still recognized himself, more or less, but the features gave him a distinctly 'Jade Oriental' appearance... Not all that far off from Orzel, albeit without the metallic skin. All he needed was to grow a goatee and it'd complete the picture, like some shogun or ronin out of the 'Samurai Dragon' films Shining Armor liked to pretend he didn't know anything about.
That brought Spike's thoughts back to something Piercing had mentioned in Darkwater Manor, but had yet to follow up on. He suspected it was because the man hoped his protege would forget the comment as one of many things said while their lives were in peril. The voice that'd tormented him then, and still haunted his dreams, had spoken to him in Hisuinese. Granted Spike had a barely conversational grasp of the language, his studies hadn't been nearly as in depth as his studies of Szafirian, but he knew enough to recognize it when spoken.
For the entirety of his life Spike had wondered 'what sort of dragon am I?', and now he couldn't help wondering if the answer was as easy as looking into the mirror. It didn't explain how Celestia had come into possession of his egg, or how it might've come so far across the world, but... On some deeper --instinctual-- level Spike suspected he was an 'Eastern Dragon', a native of the Jade Orient to be more precise, though which clan he might've hailed from was anyone's guess. That was a question for another time...
How much further his face would change as he 'grew into' his new body wasn't totally clear, Spike didn't really care so long as his family could still recognize him. Another chuckle escaped his lips at that... These were the sort of things one had to expect when reflecting upon one's own reflection.
Embrace the suck, Spike. Embrace the suck.
Toweling off and drying his hair, Spike grabbed his gun and made his way out of the bathroom, where he changed into some fresh boxers and another white tank top. He looked at the clock. Just a hair before 12:15 AM, and he still didn't feel tired enough to sleep. With nothing better to do Spike walked to the paper bag on the table and grabbed the box of cigars, his jerky, and the bottle of beer. He paused for a moment to admire the cigar box again, then carefully broke the seal and opened the lid. 10 Campana sized cigars awaited him, not packaged in the usual plastic wrapper one might expect, each delicately adorned with a little red paper ribbon that displayed a miniaturized version of the insignia on the lid. Spike took one --as well as the box of matches-- and closed the lid, meandering back to his bed and taking a seat on the edge with his items.
He'd seen Big Mac and countless other men in his life light up numerous times. First he bit off the cap at the end, placing the cigar between his lips. Next he struck a match, filling the room with a brief flare of light and hiss of burning phosphorus. For a few moments he 'toasted' the 'foot' of the cigar, only then did he make his first puff... Then the second, then the third. The smoke soon flooded his mouth, a sweet tasting smoke, with just a faint sort of fruity accent. He waved the match until it went out, then tossed it into a small garbage can beside the bed. He made double sure it was out first, being well aware of the dangers of matches in garbage cans.
The man took another puff on the cigar, seeing that it was thoroughly lit and smoldering. The smoke vented from his nostrils, and with that he sat more squarely on the bed, making sure one of the crystal ashtrays was nearby. Thereabouts he noticed an odd sort of wooden box on the nightstand, which had five buttons. Two sets of arrows, each with one up and one down, and a red circle. Curious, he picked up the box with his free hand. Absently he pressed the red button, and nearly jumped out of the bed with a start as the television on the dresser flickered to life, bathing the room in an unnatural glow. Piercing stirred for a moment, but didn't wake up...
The image on the screen was in black and white, it was a little grainy, but... Reminded Spike of the movies he'd seen at the theater. The fact that there was no projector, and that he was sitting in a bed smoking a cigar as opposed to in a crowded room with a hundred people, was surreal... He narrowed his eyes at the screen and eased back against the headboard, heaving another great big sigh as he tried to get comfortable. Pushing one of the up arrows on the wooden box, a 'remote' if he recalled what he'd read in some magazine, prompted the audio to get louder, pushing the down button made it quieter. With another experimental press of the second up button Spike watched the screen flicker, before the images changed to something different entirely. Pressing down brought him back to the first program...
With the controls sorted Spike decided to see what was 'on', there were only a handful of channels, most were educational programs or advertisements, then he flipped to a scene he hadn't expected...
"...tensions in the Griffon Empire reached a boiling point following an altercation at the Wendepunkt Bridge Crossing." Spoke a very serious man's voice over shaky footage, much like those Spike had seen in newsreels at the movies. On the screen he saw what looked like an old draw bridge of some kind, spanning a massive river. Tanks burned on one side, there were crumpled bodies laying on a cobblestone street beside several damaged houses.
"Forces sponsored by the Iron Blood Movement dubbing themselves the 'Empress' Sons' seized control of the northern bridge bank and erected a checkpoint. The Griffon Empire deployed troops and tanks to dislodge the Empress' Sons, but met with substantial armed resistance from local townspeople."
The footage then cut to men wearing what looked like Griffon Army uniforms, though each wore a bright white armband --though the real color was lost. They held weapons, SMGs Spike recognized as PM-72A Rivet Guns and P1936 Equalizer pistols. They also wore what looked to be OUBCs --Over Uniform Ballistic Cuirasses-- of Equestrian make. This was significant for a number of reasons, one because all of those were weapons that Orzel had designed and now mass produced through her company Basilisk Defense Technologies, and two because they really weren't supposed to be available to foreign markets, let alone the Iron Blood Movement.
The men with the armbands were standing guard as more men in nearly identical uniforms, but lacking the armbands, walked by with their hands raised over their heads. Well, perhaps calling them 'men' wasn't all that accurate, most of them looked like they should've been in high school, or drinking milkshakes with their girlfriends at the local malt shop, not running around playing soldier.
"Imperial Forces were handed a crushing defeat. It is estimated that roughly 500 men were killed and 1,500 men, most of them recently conscripted, surrendered. While a full blown Civil War has yet to develop, this comes as yet another setback for the embattled Emperor Guto as he struggles to hold the Griffon Empire together. Continued peace in the continent of West Parthenia has never been more in doubt..."
Just like that Spike tuned the television to another channel, unable to keep a sigh from escaping his lips. This one was most definitely annoyed. Taking an idle puff on his cigar, once again the man's thoughts turned inward, back to his girlfriend... In all likelihood she'd have met in some dark and dingy situation room, surrounded by generals and security advisers, patched in with her Mom and Aunt in Canterlot. There she and the other members of the Crown would assess the situation and determine Equestria's response. Public opinion would no doubt be split, as there were many that thought Equestria should take a more active role, others believed it to be a purely 'Parthenian Squabble' that Equestria had no business in.
Judging by the presence of Orzel's weapons on the scene, Spike wouldn't have been surprised if she'd had some hand in things. She was very much in favor of assisting the Iron Bloods in their bid to secede from the Empire, from a moral standpoint and a practical one. Whatever decision she and the other Princesses made, there were sure to be people that complained. Spike supposed that even Princesses had a rough go of things, albeit in different ways. It might not have been back breaking physical labor, but no less spiritually taxing. There was a good chance that Orzel was still awake herself, either on account of the difference in time zones wherever she was or, like him, maybe she too was having trouble getting to sleep.
Speaking of, another look at the clock... 12:25 AM.
"Great..." Spike muttered to himself, opening his first bag of jerky and twisting the top off the bottle of beer. It's worth noting that the cap was not designed to twist off, and Spike had merely done so through application of his draconic strength. He flipped through the channels before settling on what looked to be a show about cowboys, complete with gunfights and desperadoes. He spent an hour or so eating his jerky, smoking his cigar, and sipping on his beer.
In time the show came to an end, so Spike turned the television off and again got out of bed, returning to the window and looking down at the street below. Smoke wafted up from the end of his dwindling cigar, coiling in the gloom and gradually scenting the suite with the sweet aroma of high-class tobacco. The tobacco and the beer were at least helping to mellow him out, but that was small comfort when he just wanted to be curled up in bed, dead to the world, sleeping a deep and restful sleep. Soon he was unable to restrain a yawn, which was at least a small step in the right direction.
At some point he turned the radio on and tuned it to a gentle slow swing serenade, the sort that made him long for better days of childhood, or a brighter future with the woman he loved. He finished off his cigar at some point around 2:15, it was a good long smoke... Then Spike tried for the third time to get some sleep. He crawled into his bed, ensuring his gun was again within arms reach, and pulled the blankets up over himself... This was followed by yet another sigh. Being as tall as he was, his feet dangled off the end of the bed, and the blanket was short as well. The man made the conscious decision to continue the attempt anyway, mostly because he'd exhausted all other possible options.
Spike closed his eyes and took a long deep breath, his ears focusing on the slow steady music from the radio. Through that sweet serenade he attempted to transport himself back in time, back to the Hearth's Warming Eve Ball, when he'd finally finally worked up the nerve to tell Orzel how he felt... When the two of them had stepped out onto the dance floor, and swayed together to a song of a similar tempo. The soft moody lighting from the tree, the smell of food and sweets in the air, the feeling of elation that'd filled Spike to his core as the Princess leaned her head against him. The furtive brush of her lips against his when she stole a kiss later on...
The dark images tried to flood in, that awful voice tried to shake him from the gentle embrace of sleep, but for once they were powerless. Something about the memory prompted a small smile to worm its way across Spike's weary features, he took in one last deep breath and let out an immense sigh... One of relaxation and sublime relief. He could've sworn he smelled Orzel's scent, an incongruous combination of old parchment, gun oil, and frankincense, but Spike knew it to be wishful thinking on his part. The prelude to some warm and comforting dream, one where he didn't have to worry about cosmic monsters and evil cults.
Things in his life weren't okay. In fact, Spike himself was pretty far from being 'okay'... But in that moment of fading consciousness, as he and the bed became one, he and Orzel were together again. He could feel her arms as she held him close to her chest and stroked his head...
"Be still, my Love... I am here... You have been through so much, I am so proud of you, but now you must close your eyes..." Entreated the dream. "Everything will be alright... No harm can befall you while I am here... You can rest at ease..." Spike opened his mouth, as though to speak, but no words would form. He had crossed the threshold into the realm of dreams. "Shh... Shh... You need your rest..." He felt her kiss his forehead in the realm of dreams, a warm sensation that filled him with a feeling of absolute safety, in a way he'd never felt before...
So, at last, Spike rested...
Chapter I - "Patriots Like Us"
It was almost like any other day in the town of Ponyville... Autumn was arriving early this year, filling the air with a slight chill that was... More comfortable than anything else. There was hardly a cloud in the sky, with air so sweet you could practically drink it, and the only thing sweeter being the scent of fresh squeezed lemonade. All of downtown Ponyville had seemingly turned into one large block party, in celebration of the second annual 'Civil Defense Day'. A day when the town not only came out in support of their local first responders, but also ostensibly to learn important safety tips... In actuality, most were just happy to go out and have fun, and so Civil Defense Day doubled as a sort of 'Harvest Festival'.
The last such event had been interrupted by a terrible railway crash that'd forced the fire department to deploy, but no such interruption appeared to be shaping up now. A band played atop a carefully constructed stage, one of over a dozen local acts that'd agreed to take part in the festival, and giggling children ran and played among countless smiling people. There were games to be played and prizes to be won, a pie eating contest, a corn maze, hay rides, and a massive chili cook-off being hosted by the Fire Department of Ponyville. If chili wasn't one's style, Chief Macintosh had insisted there also be BBQ available. That wasn't where the food ended, with funnel cake, corn-dogs, apple fritters, cupcakes, and ice cold beer. All provided by local businesses.
One young man had been assigned to man the main BBQ smoker, and so there he stood, attired in jeans and a tight navy blue FDPV T-Shirt. The young dragon had recently enjoyed his 18th birthday --and by consequence underwent his first 'Molt'-- just prior to the arrival of the Flim Flam Brothers and their 'Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000'. The effects of the Molt were... Extreme. In addition to a number of other physical changes, it'd also included a brief elemental transformation, in which he'd transformed into a giant purple and green dragon. Furthermore his draconic endurance, already considerable prior to his becoming an adult, had become quite prodigious. Now allowing him to stay up for days or even a week at a time if need be without growing tired...
He now stood at a lofty 7'6" tall, with a decidedly muscular build, broad shoulders, and an even broader smile. To Spike T. Dragon, the day's celebrations may as well have represented a perfect microcosm of everything Equestria should be. Joyful, friendly, free, a snapshot of the Acadian ideal that he wished could be the norm every day... Given the various calamities that'd rocked the world of late, he could tell that the people he was serving were happy... For today they were allowing their cares and fears to fall away in favor of fun.
Doing so had become increasingly difficult ever since the return of Nightmare Moon. The ecological disaster brought by Discord's Chocolate Rain had hit Ponyville's farmers fairly hard, but they were hardy and hard working Equestrians... They faced the challenge and overcame it, just as they always had. The most recent blow to their peace of mind had been the Violet Scare -- when the government revealed to the public that they were under threat from a group of Changelings known as the 'Violet Hive'.
That'd been a rough couple months...
It was like everyone in Ponyville lost their collective minds to panic, though Spike supposed it was understandable given the circumstances. The FDPV had been called to duty more times in 9 weeks than it had in the entire year prior. There'd been a couple riots, effigies were burned, civil debates devolved into belligerent shouting matches which only made things worse. The local gun store had sold out of weapons and ammunition, which only made things worse as more than a few inexperienced gun owners accidentally shot themselves in the foot, hand, or --worst of all-- groin. Fortunately Chief Macintosh had founded the Ponyville Shooters Club, which among other things offered free gun safety and proper self-defense training courses... These had reduced negligent discharges by 57%, and Spike had attended enough of them that he also qualified as an instructor.
Spike himself had become the owner of several firearms, many having been gifts from his girlfriend Orzel. Princess Luna's adopted daughter, a dragoness the likes of which the young man had never encountered before or since. Best described as a pansophic pint-sized powerhouse, a mechanical and scientific polymath whose mind worked in ways that modern men of science struggled to quantify. She absolutely loved weapons --firearms especially-- beyond mere admiration, as at the tender age of 16 she'd designed and built her first Sub-Machine Gun. Given her rather 'unique' heritage, Spike had little doubt that her adoration for destructive devices --indeed her love for knowledge and learning in general-- had been hardwired into her very DNA.
Thus, in addition to her being Equestria's Crown-Princess, she also happened to own Basilisk Defense Technologies. A new but increasingly successful defense contractor, which had been founded at Ponyville's own Maksym Field Arsenal --formerly Prado Dorado Army Air Base-- and was contributing a fair amount of funds to the festival. Prior to the Violet Scare Orzel had been sent elsewhere, somewhere far away, where the Violets would never be able to find her. Her role was that of Equestria's 'Designated Survivor', the contingency in case something ever happened to Princesses Celestia, Luna, or Mi Amore Cadenza.
Her engineering pursuits weren't limited to gunsmithing, she was also a very skilled enchantress, potioner, and had even developed the first practical piece of bullet resistant body armor Equestria had ever seen. One of her enchanted patches even adorned Spike's flame battered bunker gear back at the station, identical to patches on all the other members of the FDPV and an increasing number of Firefighters across the country. Capable of warding off immense heat and the crushing weight of falling debris, it was no overstatement to conclude that half of the FDPV owed Orzel their lives in one form or another.
Perhaps the only thing she loved more than making guns was Spike himself, which was why she so regularly sent him firearms as gifts, several of which had been customized and decorated by hand. Prior to his actually owning one, Spike had actually been rather iffy on the topic of guns... After all, Equestria had police officers and soldiers with guns, why did normal people need guns too? Her response had been 'Because Equestria has police officers and soldiers with guns.'... As if that explained everything. Matters of 'Gun Control' had been something he and Orzel regularly fought about, but... His time as a firefighter had shown him things that changed his mind.
He'd been a firefighter for roughly a year now, and through that time he'd seen quite a lot. More than enough for a dozen lifetimes, if he was being honest. There were things out there worse than the Violets, things that the police and military might very well be able to handle, but... Why take chances? Average emergency response time was 15 minutes in Ponyville, and while that didn't seem like a lot to the uninitiated, Spike knew that 15 minutes was more than enough time for a house to become entirely involved in flames... If a changeling were to attack someone, and they managed to call the police, odds were the responding officers would more likely be investigating the victim's death than saving the victim's life.
Of course, topics of guns and national crises weren't the only stances on which Spike's position was starting to change, and he was beginning to reconsider whether or not he should continue his career as a firefighter. Sure, he'd helped put out plenty of fires, saved plenty of lives, but no matter what he did it just didn't seem... Good enough. He was a dragon. Bigger than his compatriots, and far far stronger, with an endurance and physical resilience to match. Everything he did felt like a waste of potential, not that his work wasn't important, just... Well, it was like killing a fly with a sledgehammer.
Perhaps it was for that reason that he'd taken another job, one that he'd never admitted to anyone except for Orzel. It'd all started a year ago, to the day... The Rose Township Crash. Two trains --a freight train carrying hundreds of thousands of gallons of toxic chemicals and a passenger train carrying 500+ people-- slammed head on into each other just outside Rose Township.
It'd been the largest disaster site Spike ever worked, and indeed had handily broken records for the deadliest railway collision in Equestrian history.
The flames had burned so intensely that by the end the tires of the fire trucks had melted and fused with the asphalt, all while the FDPV had battled the inferno whilst in an environment wholly hostile to life. Were it not for their respirators and Orzel's protective patches, all members of the FDPV likely would've been badly burned and poisoned, as had been the case for the brave but unfortunate members of the Rose Township Volunteer Fire Brigade. Of the people aboard the trains themselves, only 20 survived, most of them with life changing injuries. The rest were too badly burned to be identified --if their remains were even found to begin with-- as most had simply burned to ashes.
It was as Spike was searching for survivors in that hellacious environment that Spike had discovered the desiccated body of a man in his underwear, identifiable only by a Maltese cross tattooed to his chest. The same man was a member of the Volunteer Brigade, and was simultaneously helping to combat the blaze... Orzel had warned Spike to be mindful of such happenings, and to call a certain phone number and speak a certain word if ever he found them... 'Even this' she said 'was saying more than she should've'.
So that was precisely what Spike did... He'd called the number, spoke the magic word, and maybe an hour and a half later the scene was joined by a unit of 'Military Firefighters' who quickly secured a perimeter and 'contained' the imposter. Suffice to say, Spike now regularly trained with his weapons, and had no qualms lumping himself in with Equestria's growing 'Pro-Gun' crowd.
The man leading the clean-up effort at the crash had been Piercing Gaze, Sub-Director of the Nocturne Agency and Director of OPTIC --the Office of Paranormal Threat Interdiction and Containment'-- one of its subordinate branches. He'd offered Spike a job as one of OPTIC's Local Observers, first responders whose primary mission was to monitor their local community for anything... Well... Paranormal. If they encountered anything like that while performing their regular duties, they were to quietly contact OPTIC HQ and await an Agent or Cerberus Team to contain and hush up the incident.
So far Spike had made some pretty important catches, averting a number of disasters that the people of Ponyville didn't even realize could've been disasters, if they even noticed at all... Most didn't ever even become aware their lives had come close to changing. Perhaps that was why he enjoyed the OPTIC job more than firefighting, it gave him the chance to prevent the fires before they even started, but... Even that didn't seem like enough. He was considering going off to join the Navy, as had been his initial intention... He was old enough now that he didn't need his Mom's permission to enlist, but... That would re-open a can of worms Twilight wanted to permanently remain closed.
"Hey Spike!" A sudden cheerful voice snapped Spike out of his inner thoughts, back to the warm celebratory atmosphere. The young man adopted a friendly smile as his eyes settled on the voice's source, Applebloom, Chief Macintosh's younger sister, who happened to be around Spike's age. She wore a yellow sundress, her vibrant red hair tied up in a ponytail, a large empty paper plate held in her hands.
"Hey Applebloom. What can I get you?" Spike spoke as he opened the lid on the smoker. A small cloud of smoke wafted up, flooding his nostrils with an overwhelmingly delicious aroma of cooking meat and burning charcoal. "We've got brisket, ribs, chicken, even some of those big turkey legs."
Applebloom fluttered her eyes at him, offering a smile Spike recognized as her attempting to be flirtatious. He'd known for the past year that she had feelings for him, something he'd been honest with Orzel with from the outset... The dragoness didn't seem all that phased by the news, which was more than Spike could say for himself, then again a slab of granite could take notes from Orzel's resting expression.
Spike meanwhile was personally left feeling a little awkward, though he'd thankfully become rather adept at hiding it. Considering his relationship with Orzel was quite literally a state secret, there was part of him that felt he couldn't very well come out and tell Applebloom he was spoken for... Not without incurring a number of uncomfortable questions or accusations that he was simply making things up.
"Brisket's my favorite, I'll have some of that." The young woman's answer was just as cheerful as her greeting, and so Spike dutifully began cutting off strips of one of the numerous briskets sizzling in the smoker. "Y'know, the girls and I were gonna go swimming down by the river later..." She began almost too casually, prompting Spike to speed up his cutting of the brisket. The arrival of someone else in line behind the young woman was also a factor.
"I'm not much of a swimmer." Spike took Applebloom's plate and piled it high with brisket, though he also left space in case she wanted to move down the line and get some sides.
"Neither am I." She responded coyly. "Come on, Spike. Every time I ask you to do something you're always turning me down, and it's not as if I see you doing anything around town. Do I have bad breath or something?"
"No, that's not it. I like you, I like hanging out with you, but..." Spike sighed, closing the lid on the smoker and setting the tongs down on the nearby table.
"But what? You have a girlfriend you've neglected to tell me about?"
"Yes." Spike blurted, inwardly cursing himself... He honestly hadn't expected her to ask so bluntly, or for himself to respond in kind. "It's complicated, okay? I know this is gonna sound fake, but she doesn't live in Ponyville... As I said, I like you, Applebloom. I really do, but... Not that way." Applebloom looked at him ponderously, then sighed heavily and nodded.
"That's all you had to say." With that she took her plate and walked off, leaving Spike to quietly scratch his head. The spots around his pointy green horns tended to itch the most when he was confused or befuddled, and he was most definitely both. Was it really that simple? No... If Chief Macintosh was to be believed, it most definitely was not... Women were --in the Chief's own monosyllabic words-- 'odd and strange', and Spike could only count his lucky stars that he'd somehow fallen in love with one who was by all accounts hardwired to be as 'logical' as possible. Not that he'd ever say other women weren't logical... He valued his life too highly for that.
"I'm guessing she's gonna be pissed for a bit, then she'll get over it. Just make sure you don't tell her to 'calm down', although that's really a general rule for most people." Said the next person in line, walking up with a plate of his own. Spike recognized the slight Trottingham accent in his voice before his face, as he'd only ever seen him in person once or twice. Sub-Director Piercing Gaze, the very model of a scholarly gentleman. Thin, with an average build and an average face, he sported a simple black suit and tie. Round metal-rimmed spectacles rested precariously on the tip of his nose, and he was puffing upon an old wooden pipe. "How's it going, lad? Mind grabbing me one of those giant turkey legs you mentioned?"
"Something tells me you aren't here just for turkey legs, sir." Spike responded, once more opening the smoker and grabbing said turkey leg with the tongs. This he placed on Piercing's plate, steaming hot and smoked to perfection. "What's up?"
"Walk with me." The Sub-Director simply responded, nodding his head off towards an otherwise unassuming area of downtown Ponyville.
"Hey, Maple? Could you cover for me for a bit?" Spike called to one of his fellow firefighters. Upon receiving a thumbs up, Spike stepped away from the smoker and made his way around to the front, where he quickly commenced walking beside Piercing. "Is something wrong? Did something happen to Orzel?"
"No, nothing happened to Orzel..." Piercing soothed, briefly pausing to take a bite of his turkey leg. "Gods, the rub on this is excellent! I'll have to get the recipe from someone... Anyway." He proclaimed, snapping his fingers and summoning a napkin with a flurry of prismatic magic. This he used to hastily wipe his face clean of grease. "I know this is a little sudden, but Ponyville was on the way and I figured I'd ask."
"Ask what?"
"Ask if maybe you wanted to tag along with me on a little OPTIC gig, lad!" Piercing proclaimed, sharply smacking Spike on the back with his free hand. "Your reports are well written, you've got a good eye for trouble, and you certainly meet the physical requirements." Spike just stared at him, not entirely sure what he meant by an 'OPTIC gig'. Ever the observant one, Piercing answered the unspoken question. "Look... You know OPTIC isn't some organization you can just join, right? It's very much a 'Don't call us, we'll call you' sort of game. Typically we draw from the Army and Marines, but anyone can be selected."
"So... You're asking me what… To be an Agent? Is this a one time thing?" Spike was unable to conceal his confusion, or his shock at such a blunt offer.
"Of course not. I want to train you up, turn you into a lean mean cult and monster fighting machine!" Piercing responded between bites of his turkey leg. "I won't sugar coat it for you, you'd need to move back to Canterlot and there's gonna be a lot of weird, and pardon my Prench here, 'fucked up' stuff... That's just OPTIC's bag. But the pay is better than what you're making now, not to mention the benefits, which is something we never had back when I started out... We even get dental."
"Why now? Why so suddenly?"
"Because I find myself in need of an extra pair of big muscular hands for a couple cases I'm working..." Was the simple answer. "Yes, the Sub-Director still goes out on cases. My abilities would be wasted behind a desk, I'm at my best when I'm in the field, and that's kind of my point." Piercing adopted an apologetic expression. "You're a great firefighter, and I'm not trying to say your work isn't important, because it is, but... As a dragon you have a unique set of gifts, abilities that would be better suited to a career in OPTIC. I'll understand if you say 'No', but I'm hoping you say yes."
"It's funny... I was having the same thoughts before you came up." Spiked admitted quietly, tucking his hands into his pockets as the two of them carried on through Ponyville's downtown, on towards the looming leafy tree-top of Golden Oak Library. The massive hollowed out tree where he presently lived, albeit in the confines of an uncomfortably small broom closet... There wasn't exactly a spare bedroom, after all.
Spike took a moment to examine Piercing more closely, and as he did he found that the look in his eyes was... Familiar. A thousand yards distant. The sort of look Spike had come to associate with Orzel whenever she was remembering something unpleasant.
"My guess is you're having those thoughts because you sense it too... A feeling that we're on the brink of something terrible. That the world as we know it is on the precipice of destruction, and that's because it is. It falls to patriots like us to save it. Men who are willing to drop everything, and put the needs of their fellow man above their own. Men who are willing to make the safety of Equestria their personal responsibility." Piercing continued seriously, resting his half-eaten turkey leg back on his plate. "I won't lie, this job will take a piece of you, one way or another. It's thankless, everything we do has to remain out of the public eye, odds are you'll alienate a lot of folks... I understand if you don't think you're up to it, and I know this is me literally asking you to drop everything in your life, but I need an answer... Your country needs you, son."
Spike inhaled slowly through his nose, his eyes flitting between Piercing and the library ahead. He wasn't entirely sure how to respond, not at first at any rate. Piercing had just given voice to the question Spike had been asking himself for a while, and he couldn't help thinking that how he answered that question would define the kind of man he was. As established, he was a dragon... He was endowed with strengths and abilities that gave him an edge in sheer physicality that most Equestrians could only dream of.
He could continue to use those abilities to great effect helping Ponyville's fire department, and Spike had no doubt he would save numerous lives if he chose to do so, but... He also got the feeling that Piercing was right. For the past year or so he'd noticed a creeping dread, the cracks starting to form in Ponyville and elsewhere. They were hidden now beneath the air of festivity, but they were still there. He hated it... The powerless, hopeless, endless anxiety that gnawed and skittered in the darkest shadows of his mind like some wicked infestation of vermin.
No doubt it was a similar formless thing that haunted many of his fellow countrymen whenever their thoughts turned to the future, and there he sat with the chance to do something... To take up arms against the beast, to slay that harrowing horror once and for all, for it simply could not be allowed to live.
His thoughts turned gradually to the faces of those he loved and treasured... Twilight Sparkle, who had raised him as her own son, and all the members of her family that'd aided in that raising... Shining Armor --a career officer-- who had taught him right and wrong, and instilled in him the sense of patriotic duty, honor, and integrity that made him aspire to a life of public service. Then there was Orzel, the Crown-Princess for whom he would gladly lay down his life... Not only because it was his patriotic duty, but because she was his light in a world growing perpetually darker... A beacon of warmth and affection in an ocean otherwise as black as pitch.
A surprisingly devout young woman whose strength of convictions could best be described as templaric. Were she faced with the same question he faced now, Spike had no doubt what her choice would be. She would not hesitate to purge the forces of evil from the face of Equus, and would do so with all the incandescent fury of an avenging angel. In a way she already was, seeing as much of her enchanting work of late was directed at aiding OPTIC...
Though the darkness surrounded his thoughts, though the storm of indecision raged and railed against the confines of his mind, there soon came a glimmer of recognition. Ever so faintly, ever so briefly... It showed him the path to a decision he hadn't realized he'd already made long ago. Spike was a proud Equestrian, dragon or no. He wanted to serve his country and serve it well. To give back to a nation that'd given him so much, for it was his solemn belief that the strong had a duty to protect the weak...
Were it not for Twilight's refusal to give her permission, he would've enlisted in the Navy at 17... He would at that very moment be serving his country aboard a ship in the ocean, his life in harms way far from the shores of the land that'd born him all these years. Orzel referred to Equestria as her 'New Motherland', a fitting description in Spike's mind. Now Piercing was standing here, telling Spike that his country --his 'Motherland'-- needed him, needed him to do more with his natural gifts than ever before.
Spike knew that he'd never be able to look at himself in a mirror again should he refuse, not without feeling ashamed. No... Spike had to be true to himself, had to do what he felt was right. Duty was calling... How could he still call himself a patriot if he refused to answer?
"Alright, I'm in."
"Great! I'm proud of you, lad!" Piercing cheered, picking up the turkey leg and gesturing towards the library. "Go on and pack a bag for yourself. I don't know how long we'll be, so it'd be best to pack for a week, maybe two. It'd also probably be good if you grabbed your guns... Like... All of them. I'll swing the car around."
Spike merely nodded, swiftly entering the front door and stepping into the library proper. The space itself was rather small, but the shelves were all perfectly organized, all the returned books having been placed in their respective slots... Not by Spike's hand or even by Twilight's, but rather by a number of enchanted constructs. They were only a foot tall and resembled a humanoid shape, but were hewn from iron and wood. Yet another gift from Orzel, the first one having been given at Hearth's Warming Eve. She'd basically enchanted it to do his job at the library for him, that way he could go and 'live his own life' without making things more difficult for his Mom...
Twilight herself was actually out enjoying the festivities with her friends, though that was probably for the best. No doubt she'd have something to say about him dropping everything. Then again... How many times had she done the same for Princess Celestia when she needed her? Even so, he would've liked to say goodbye. For now the best he could was leave a note. Setting his jaw, Spike quickly made his way up the steps to the second floor where his broom closet awaited him. Opening the door to the small space, he had to duck through the door frame.
While not the picture of neatness, Spike had widely done his best to keep his room clean. A half finished miniature minotaur rested on his desk beside his modeling paint and a number of O&O source books. The bed was made as best as it could, and occupied half the room's space. Situated beside his dresser was the room's newest addition, a tall narrow gun safe. Approaching the sleek black citadel of reinforced steel, Spike quickly set to inputting his combination 31-24-36 -- Orzel's physical measurements... With a mechanical clatter he undid the latch, swinging the heavy door open to reveal the weapons within.
Presently Spike owned three rifles, one semi-automatic, one automatic, and one bolt action. The first and last were military surplus, each chambered in .30-06, that Spike had purchased for himself at auction with the intention of taking up hunting. The bolt action fed from a 5 round internal magazine, while the semi-automatic fed from an 8 round ENBLOC clip. The automatic 'Assault Rifle' was by comparison quite new, a variation on the military's new service rifle, chambered in the equally new 7.62x39mm. In addition there were the guns given to him by Orzel: a 10 Gauge Pump-Action shotgun, a Police Surplus .44 Magnum revolver, a replica .40 Caliber Cap-and-Ball revolver, and a customized P1936 'Equalizer' semi-automatic pistols, chambered in the newly adopted 10mm Auto.
Though it was perhaps a little 'flashy', the latter most was typically Spike's everyday carry piece, both because it packed a wallop and because the workmanship that'd gone into it was a constant reminder of the woman he loved. He'd only left it at home today because there were plenty of police out to enforce the law at the party, and while he trusted in his own training, the fact remained there were plenty of kids running around out there, and they had a habit of grabbing for things they weren't supposed to. Better to leave it safe and secure at home.
The blue steel and small ornate gold engravings spoke volumes as to the skilled woman that crafted it, as although on its surface it appeared merely as a fancifully decorated pistol, it was so much more. The weapon was adorned with holy symbols of half a dozen Gods and Goddesses of light and protection, not to mention faintly pulsating emerald green enchanted runes and sigils, all of which had been applied with painstaking care by hand. Though some might find the recoil a bit unwieldy, the weapon was proportioned well to Spike's rather sizable hands. The man had no doubts as to its efficacy, or why it'd been so heavily enchanted to begin with. This weapon in particular was a response to the Rose Township Crash and the Violet Scare. Just as Spike worried constantly for Orzel, so too did Orzel worry constantly for him...
Spike spent a few moments admiring the weapons, then left them to quickly change out of his FDPV shirt and into a simple black t-shirt. He spent the next couple minutes packing an old olive drab duffel bag he'd purchased at the same Army Surplus Auction as his rifles, stuffing it to brimming with with just about every piece of clothing he had, as well as a large cigar box he typically kept under his bed, which contained some of his more treasured belongings. A few more minutes saw his weapons and ammunition secured in their own bag, save for the Equalizer, which he wore in an appendix holster about his waist.
Tightening the laces on his boots, Spike donned a brown leather bomber jacket. He had to take a moment to adjust the fur-lined collar before slipping on a pair of aviators. Taking one final moment to regard himself in the mirror, the man couldn't help adopting a slight grin. While he did his best to keep himself humble, it'd become increasingly difficult since his Molt not to stop and... Admire himself at times. Dragons just had a natural tendency towards a certain degree of vanity, or so he was reliably informed. With that final check of himself out of the way, he carried his bags downstairs.
With a fair degree of haste Spike wrote a note to Twilight to inform her of what he was doing... Even she didn't know he worked for OPTIC, so no doubt that revelation would come as a surprise. His little enchanted helper would take up the slack, so she wouldn't need to worry about the library in his absence. Next he wrote a note to Chief Macintosh, explaining that while he'd enjoyed being a firefighter, his country needed his service elsewhere now... He hoped they'd both understand, and that his sudden departure wouldn't leave any hard feelings.
With that, Spike made his way out of the library. True to his word, Piercing was waiting out front. Apparently having finished his turkey leg in Spike's absence, he'd since resumed puffing on his pipe. He was leaning against a very large black four-door sedan, the trunk of which was already open. As Spike tossed his bags into the back, he couldn't help noticing how much trunk space there was. One could easily hide a couple bodies in there if they wanted to. Not that Spike had ever needed to hide a body, of course. Closing the trunk with a heavy thud, Spike straightened his jacket and looked to Piercing.
"You got everything, lad?" The man asked curiously, exhaling a small cloud of smoke. "Wallet, ammo, cash?" Spike briefly patted himself down, double checking that he indeed had his wallet, tucked into the back pocket of his jeans. Responding with a simple 'Yeah', Piercing smiled. "Great, you can drive!" With that he tossed a keyring at Spike, something the young man snatched deftly out of the air.
"Alright... Where am I driving to?" Spike asked, watching Piercing walk around to the passenger side. Both men climbed in at roughly the same time, each closing their respective door with a weighty 'Thunk!'.
"Long term? My best guess is Manehattan, though honestly I'm not entirely sure." Piercing said simply, prompting Spike to do a double take. "With a bunch of stops along the way."
"But that's like... 2,000 miles! Can't we take a train? How about a plane? Maksym Field is a less than 40 minute drive."
"Closer to 2,200 actually, not counting those stops I mentioned. And no, we can't take a train or a plane." Piercing agreed, rolling down his window and continuing to puff on his pipe.
"What about teleporting? You're a wizard, right? Can't you teleport?"
"In theory? Yes... Perhaps I should rephrase. We could take a plane, or a train, or even teleport, but it's better if we drive. It's gonna take me some me time to get you up to speed on how the Agency operates, and I want to give you plenty of time to ask questions. We'll probably get some 'on the job' training in as well." Piercing did raise a good point, as Spike knew next to nothing about field operations... Nonetheless, it was a tad annoying. The enigmatic scholar was doing his best to make himself comfortable in the passenger seat. Spike sighed heavily, gritting his teeth and slipping the keys into the ignition. With a flick of his wrist the engine rumbled to life, moments later the radio came on, playing some smooth jazz. Out of habit Spike reached for the knob to change the station. "Hey, I like this!"
"If I'm driving 2,000 miles, you can bet I'm picking the station." Spike retorted bluntly, swiftly shifting the channel to a station broadcast out of Canterlot. He'd developed an affinity for the draconic music genre known as 'synthwave', something that Piercing evidently hadn't listened to before. "Just... Give it a chance, yeah?" This time it was Piercing's turn to sigh, but he didn't press the issue further. "So... Fill me in, what's the story?"
"Stories, actually. As I said, a number of stops, each should be a good example of a typical OPTIC case, and each should give us an idea as to where we're going overall. My best guess is Manehattan, but that could change depending on what we find. For all I know, we might wind up in Las Pegasus or Applewood, maybe Baltimare or Fillydelphia. It's all up in the air at the moment." Piercing said with a shrug as Spike paused to adjust his mirrors, then put the car in gear and started making his way along the eastbound roads. "Have you ever heard of Abyssinia?" Spike shook his head. "I recommend looking into it sooner rather than later. At least tell me you know about the Abyss War, right?"
"Yeah, I mean I'm aware of it. Orzel talked about it a bunch, but I'll admit I kinda... Zoned out. Refresh my memory."
"It was conflict waged between the Ancients and the forces of the Abyss. The Ancients are basically what you'd call 'precursors', at least in the parlance of your average science fiction." Piercing commenced with a scholarly tone, as if he was addressing an entire lecture hall rather than one man in a sedan. "I mean, you take all the technology we have now and multiply it by a hundred, you still wouldn't come close to them... Being as technologically enlightened as they were, they eventually ran out of stuff to explore here on Equus, so they got it into their heads to look elsewhere for knew things to discover. Not other planets, though... No, the Ancients liked to do things big, so they started snooping around other universes."
"And lemme guess, the Abyss was one of those universes." Spike interjected, to which Piercing only nodded. "The fact that there aren't any of these Ancients still around and that it's called the Abyss War kinda tells me things didn't end well."
"I didn't say there weren't any left. Some of their descendants are still alive and well, you know them as Princesses Celestia, Luna, Cadence, and to a certain extent even our dear Orzel." Piercing clarified. By now they were passing by the fire station, soon they'd be going over the Eastern Bridge. "There's rumors the rest went off to hide in the Western Unknown, but... I'm getting off track. The Ancients opened a portal to the Abyss, things went bad, and monsters under the thrall of the powerful beings in the Abyss threatened to wipe out all life on Equus as we know it. Now, can you guess the site of the portal through which these creatures ruled?"
"Abyssinia." Deduced Spike, chuckling and shaking his head. "Okay, so I'm going to make an intuitive leap here and say that the reason I need to know about Abyssinia is because that's where the Abyss' forces were most concentrated, so there's probably a bunch of bad stuff left over. Sort of like... Landmines or unexploded bombs?"
"Exactly. Except in this case they're masquerading as historical artifacts. Trinkets, baubles, things that to the untrained eye might appear innocuous but are --in fact-- much more dangerous than landmines or bombs." Piercing concluded, sighing heavily through his nose as they rolled over the Eastern Bridge, putting them on a four-lane road from Ponyville to Rose Township and beyond. "Landmines and bombs only go off and kill people once, artifacts are the unwanted gifts that keep on giving... More like improperly disposed of radioactive waste, really."
"And you think someone in Manehattan might possibly have one?"
"Kind of... A recent archeological expedition in Abyssinia listed a number of artifacts that caught the Agency's eye. They were going to be put on display at the Manehattan Museum of Nature and History for a few months before being sent off to Mare-skatonic University for further study. The Manehattan field office was looking into it, but... Someone hit the expedition's ship as they were entering the harbor, made off with a literal boatload of uncatalogued artifacts." Piercing took a steady puff on his pipe, gradually nodding his head along now with the steady synthetic beat. "Those stops I mentioned are areas we suspect the items to have been trafficked to, it's a fairly long list of suspects. I'm the foremost expert on Abyssinia during the Abyss Period, I wanna get an idea what it is we're dealing with first."
"Something tells me these are more than 'typical' OPTIC cases then." Spike said with a shrug, leaning back in the seat as he accelerated along the open stretch of highway, one that a year ago he and his fellow firefighters had raced down, their sirens screeching and caterwauling as they careened towards the unfortunate township of Rose. "You don't send your foremost expert out on something a more junior agent could handle, let alone have him make an emergency stop in Ponyville to get 'back up'... Come on, sir. This is about more than 'training me up', otherwise you wouldn't have needed my answer in such a rush, or suggest that I pack such heavy firepower."
"You're a natural at this, lad." Piercing sighed, smoke filtering out through his nostrils. "That list of suspects I mentioned? It's a long list, but it's getting shorter. Maybe it's all cursed artifacts, or maybe they know something they shouldn't and someone's cleaning house. Either way, they're disappearing. I mean, some are just vanishing without a trace, others have gone less pleasantly, and so far all anyone can seem to discern is that there's nothing that can really be discerned."
"And the only people that would have access to that list...?"
"Work at the Agency." Piercing finished Spike's thought with another shake of his head. "We know of at least one Mole that's been leaking intel to the Griffons, and we still haven't been able to catch him yet. If there's someone passing information along to a hostile cult, I dare say that'd be even worse."
"Which explains why you grabbed me in particular. I'm an outsider, which makes me one of the few people you can trust."
"As I said, lad. You're a natural."
Spike merely nodded, leaning back in his seat and gripping the wheel with one hand. Less than 20 minutes ago he'd been serving brisket to his friends and neighbors, now he was about to get involved in some sort of... He wasn't even sure what to call it. Adventure? Mission? Case? In a lot of ways he was reminded of this exact day a year ago, the last Civil Defense Day celebration... There he too had been forced away from the festivities to go and face some terrible disaster... The man couldn't help wondering if maybe there was just something about this particular day. He would've liked to have gone more than a year without another life changing crisis.
The slow chilled out synth melody was at least more soothing than the screech of sirens, and the ride wasn't nearly as bumpy as that afforded by the fire truck's stiff suspension. Piercing appeared to be getting into the music himself, albeit in a far more limited capacity... Then again, Spike didn't know much about the scholar. Orzel trusted him enough to look after her company's day-to-day operations in her absence, and rumor had it Princess Luna was in a romantic relationship with him. Either would've been a pretty solid voucher as to his character, but to have both... Well, that meant Spike had to trust him, right?
The late afternoon gradually turned to dusk, and it was about this time that they were driving through Rose Township, right along the very same railway tracks that'd been host to such destruction. They'd since been repaired, the wreckage long cleared away, and the site thoroughly decontaminated... There were still the charred black remains of a dozen or so trees, not to mention several nasty gashes that'd been carved into the ground by derailed cars. They were scars that, like Spike's memory of the event, had yet to even begin to fade.
Night fell shortly thereafter, and Spike's aviators soon found themselves tucked into the center console between his seat and Piercing's. There wasn't a street lamp for miles, any oncoming traffic was likewise scarce, only the steady dashed lines painted on the highway pavement... Darting briefly into view by the light of the headlights, only to vanish just as rapidly in the crimson taillights' glow as the car sped along. He wasn't sure exactly where he was supposed to be going, then again Piercing likely wanted to keep that information close to the vest. With synth in his ears and a feeling of uncertainty in his gut, Spike carried on into the cool foreboding night...
