I've Got Only My Bones

My concerns were answered the next day when, groggy and sleepless, I pulled myself into the next meeting of the Hellknights and saw Grew Some stroking the mane of one of the other members. It was one of the unicorns, but his head was no longer attached to his body, and his eyes had been gouged out. She was explaining the situation to Prince, making our fearless leader visibly uncomfortable as she played with the remains. So that was how they were watching me.

I didn’t see what happened to the traitor I was sent to deal with. Prince did. He was surprised that I could rend him into so many small pieces. Apparently I didn’t look like I had the physical strength, and I was fine letting him think that it was me and not my skeletons who got the kill. I guess they just went mad on that guy.

The changelings did not look too closely at my notes. It’s not surprising, there were well over a thousand pages of chickenscratch there, and none of it was useful to them outside of dealing with me. To be fair, I hadn’t tested how well a zombified rat’s nose worked, either, since it had never come up, but usually their senses are perfectly fine. It’s a magical simulacra of how it used to be, after all.

Anyways, they jammed my stuff in a box and hid it in a building that had been abandoned for too much damage. I had Deadmouse sniff it out a few days after I lost it, and was back to normal business research-wise. It was a good attempt on their part, and it probably would have worked if I was a typical pony, but things work different for me.

Mr. Hay helped me settle into a new suite. It wasn’t difficult, I can carry everything I own. The new place wasn’t as nice in terms of going to places I wanted to go to, but it was no less enjoyable to be there.

All told, the crisis had passed as quickly as it came, and hadn’t made a big impact besides stressing me out for a while.

There was something else that was discussed at that meeting. After it adjourned, Prince pulled me aside and started asking me how I would feel about being his assistant. We had been discussing ideology for a long while now, and I supposed this was the moment he would start letting me into the inner circle. The dark arts are not for the faint-hearted or the sadistic, it takes calculation in everything to make it far, and that ruled out most of the others.

I agreed, naturally.

The first step was to introduce me to one or multiple of the heads of the conspiracy. That would let them know that, if Prince was indisposed and I answered the phone, they shouldn’t send a kill-team over. Talking to a boss would also let me get a better idea of where exactly this was all going so I could learn why we were doing exactly what we were doing and what I should consider if I ever was in the position to be giving the orders. Right now, we were simply trying to get stronger, and that meant expanding recruitment and income, but one day we would have a lot more. For example, if the mayor of Tall Tale condemns us but supports all of our agendas, she may turn out to have been one of our agents in disguise, and we wouldn’t want to take our fury out on other members. Even if she isn’t one of ours, our (official) goal does not require us to still exist for us to achieve victory, and so we should let her do what she wants and support our cause even if it’s detrimental to us specifically.

That’s one of the qualities they were looking for. They wanted leaders who could think in terms of our ideas vs. their ideas rather than our group vs. their group. Our cause was not ourselves, and the way ideas grow is very different from the way factions grow. Or so the story went. I figured it was just PR for the especially nosy observers. Most dark magic cabals don’t even exist for the inner circle, just one pony in it and everyone else are their thralls whether they know it or not, so I doubted our cause really worked like that.

When I told Mr. Hay about this, he had an idea.

The Hellknights loved to do their most important business a distance away from civilization, mostly so they could conveniently get rid of anyone who took issue with it. You’d think that being in a far-away, isolated locale, surrounded by armed radicals, would give a creature a reason to NOT voice their concerns, but most Equestrians live peaceful lives and struggle to comprehend that other creatures might not mind killing. It’s a problem of plenty, but it is still something that causes a lot of issues, we are headstrong about the innate goodness of creatures. Many foreigners do not realize this, and if they know it exists, they get the reason wrong.

Back during the occupation days, I once saw a stallion walk up to a changeling soldier to argue that the latter should desert, listing off all the many perceived sins the changeling was committing just by being here and the potential downsides of staying. The changeling didn’t recognize those acts as morally wrong, but did recognize the argument as a kind of partisan activity, and shot the stallion. The stallion’s wife proceeded to accuse the changeling of murder and assault him, and was then also shot. The whole exchange took under a minute. I’ve never seen any creature look so baffled as that changeling did when he looked at the two corpses and processed what happened.

Unlike last time I had been dragged this far out, I was being brought to a small manor to handle business and was allowed to see where I was going. It was in a once-forested area that had been cleared over the centuries and was now a flat plains with a few strips of trees separating the large plots of land. “You ought to get a car for yourself.” Prince idly said. “It would make it easier for you to go places. Don’t you travel a lot?”

“It’s more like migrating.” I respond as I look at the bespoke houses we occasionally pass.

“It would still be helpful.” He comments. “Since we’re almost there, I’d like to mention that our bosses are… a higher caliber than the common pony, lets say. Put on your best manners.”

I sigh to cover up my nervousness. “I’ll do my best, but I haven’t exactly been taking classes in etiquette.”

The winter is cold and the once-green hills were white with snow and ice. Occasionally, the grass in its brown torpor poked through and left a dark spot in the pale sheet. The elegant and vibrant paint of the house was the only spot of color under the gray sky.

We were let in by a servant in a Prench maid outfit, an attractive getup that I had never once seen in real life before. I had also scarcely seen so many shiny objects in such a small space. An elderly orange unicorn in an excessively well-fit suit was staring at us from the banister above. He made his way down the stairs slowly, eying us up. I saw the posters of the previous heads of the family and recognized him as a member of a line of local nobility that could, at least in theory, trace its roots back to the warlord eras, back before the Princesses united the nation. He looked as if he had been there to see it himself, with his gaunt, hawkish features that left his skin as tight as my own but without the years of unhealthy lifestyle rotting away just beneath the surface.

“So you are the good Mrs. Poison.” His voice boomed with dignity and disdain in equal measure.

“Duke.” I curtsy. I don’t know much about etiquette, but I hope this is what I’m supposed to be doing.

“I see you’ve studied.” The Duke commented. I forgot his name, but I could cover that up. “Raise your head. I would like to talk with you.” He creakily walks to a sitting room off to the side, where bookshelves reach the ceiling and there is already pipe tobacco for guests. Me and Prince follow him and sit in the sofa across from his chair. “You needn’t worry, there is no one else here to listen in on us.” He forcefully stated.

“What about the maidservant who let us in?” I ask.

“She is deaf. For one of such noble birth, it is an indignity to be without at least one servant, and my age makes it a practical concern as well.” He explains. “So, you are the new lieutenant of your cell. Prince has spoken highly of you, and his recommendation is another serious compliment. He has a good eye for ponies. Avengers and maniacs have their place, but our future is in ponies who will do what is necessary, always, no matter their own feelings.”

“I do my best.”

“If I may ask...” The hawk-like figure leans down to squint at me. “What set you on this path? I can see that you have spent much of your life in poverty. Such ponies rarely understand the big picture. They do their duty by joining the Royal Army and think nothing more of it.”

“I believe there are things I can learn as part of your organization that I cannot elsewhere.” I reply, cautiously measuring my words. “Here, I can help my country and discover more about the things which make me special as I use it for the benefit of the nation.”

He stares grimly. “A worthwhile answer. I shall tell you what we will do, what we must do. Our organization does not exist to save Equestria from the changelings. We exist to save Equestria from itself. Have you ever wondered if the Nightmare was a facet of Luna’s personality that was unique to her?”

My eyes go wide.

Some years ago, when I was in Canterlot, one of the last things I did was sneak onto the Castle grounds. I didn’t expect to do anything, but if I got close enough to the right wall, I could satisfy my curiousity. Sure enough, I managed to catch a glance of Princess Celestia’s soul. It was massive, easily the size of four normal souls wrapped into one. It also had a dim spot. I’ve only seen a spot like that in one other place – my own soul has one.

It’s a painful memory because, although in that moment I suddenly felt like divinity was not so far away, I have never been able to repeat this story. I’ve tried, but as I attempt to explain the meaning of it, whoever I’m telling it to always, without fail, becomes irrationally angry at me. Yet I’ve always wondered if letting that dark spot take over was how Luna transformed into the Nightmare. The black arts change creatures in a myriad of different ways, and although the Nightmare wasn’t raising the dead or anything else I do, necromancy is not the only branch. Her sudden burst of power could be explained by instead using the black arts to transform others into magic for herself. Why would the Nightmare care about such petty things as casualties if every lost soul moved her one step closer to being able to shatter the sky itself? It’s an interesting theory, one which I can’t prove without talking to Princess Celestia, yet here it sounds like it’s coming back.

“I have.” I reply as all those remembered thoughts flash through my brain.

“My order believes that Princess Celestia is capable of the same transformation. This new being is known to us as ‘Daybreaker’. We believe that, if pushed, she would unleash the power within her for the good of Equestria and of equanity. We also believe that this is necessary. Do not believe the newspapers, the war is not going in our favor. The Third Corps was amputated by the counter-offensive to liberate Tall Tale. While we scrabble for volunteers, the changelings are choosing whoever they want from their population to fill the ranks. We struggle to convert tractor factories into tank factories. Their queen simply demands it, and a new complex, even grander and more labyrinthine than the last, appears to spew out weapons by the trainload. It’s the one thing I will give to their culture, they have the right attitude about authority, and that gap is being wielded effectively against us. We must have a leader who is willing to do what it takes to win, who fears no dissenters or pacifists or defeatists. Only then will our security be reassured.”

Well, I’m not sure I like his program, but I can’t fault his determination. I’m too deep in to mention that, though. He continues talking.

“Princess Celestia does not want to face her own potential.” He looks down, disappointed. I understand how she feels. “And that means that we must coerce her into it. We plan to agree to lay down our arms, but creatures like you and cells like yours will be the vanguard of the new order. One hoof will fight the changeling invader, the other will be them. Both help the country in different ways. Know that you will be Equestria’s enemy as the doctor with his bitter medicine is the enemy of the sick child. Anything to force Princess Celestia to do what she must.”

I find that I’ve been strangely enraptured by his words, even though I don’t like them. I nod as I process his idea. I suppose I should have expected something like this would happen. A cushy desk job isn’t the kind of thing I get.

The Duke explained to me the finer points of our ideals. It mostly followed from what he had said before, and was not hard to understand. He also gave an extensive history of how the Hellknights had determined that Daybreaker existed, which I pretended to be interested in.

Shortly, he dismissed Prince, claiming to want ‘my opinion on a certain topic’. I was concerned, but I had ways to deal with it if he had decided to do anything impolite. It would be a real shame if it came to that, though, I would probably have to skip town.

“You’ve lived under the changelings. Everypony who has finds themselves with a different answer to this question. What makes the enemy tick?” He asked.

“What do you mean?”

He pauses to select the right words. “The bugs are soulless. They kill. They don’t feel guilt or empathy, and they don’t feel fear until the death comes to them. What made them this way? Why are they like this?”

I lean back. “No, I’m pretty sure they feel guilt.”

“I’ve never seen it.”

“Ponies scarcely show it either, but if you know what to look for, it’s there.” I say, remembering the hollow look I’ve seen on soldiers of both nations. “They tell themselves it’s the right thing to do and try to forget it. Or, they repeat to themselves what they’ve been told by their society. That’s nothing special.”

“Ponies do not. We are creatures of strong morals. It is what sets us above the lesser races, that we cannot simply be told to turn off our virtue. We demand just leaders and refuse to toil under any other kind, at least, we do if we have not been tainted by degenerates and heathens.” He retorts as he brings a tobacco pipe to his lips.

I remember my parents. “We do. It’s just that multiple Equestrians in a room will almost certainly be unanimous on which other creatures are not really like ourselves. Murderers. Psychopaths. Traitors. Ponies do not help them and this is virtuous because they aren’t like us, not truly. Yet they were born from a mother and a father, they had a childhood, they have hopes and dreams and tastes and personalities. The only difference between a murderer and a pony is one second spent squeezing the trigger, and suddenly everything else doesn’t matter. Race, nation, ideology, religion, family line, moral code, criminal history, mental issues, clothing style, fur color, eye color, the reasons change but the act is the same. If the line between being a real pony and something lesser can be as thin as a single second to us and no one questions it, why it so shocking that an entire lifetime of being different is a reason for the changelings to view us as lesser creatures?”

He puffs on his pipe. The tobacco glows faintly orange. “An unusually… tolerant viewpoint for one of us.”

I shrug. “I’ve lived here all my life and it’s a part of what Equestria means to me. Maybe it’s where our ideal of harmony is forced to compromise with reality, but it’s pointless to make an ethical argument over where exactly that compromise should lie.”

“Tell me, is Equestria as beautiful from below as it is from above?” He asks pensively.

“Exactly as much.”

He stares out the window at the snow that has begun to fall outside. “You will make a good leader.”

“Thank you, Duke.”

“I suppose that concludes our business here.” He comments as he stands up creakily from the chair.

I stand up to follow him. “Not quite. I would like to discuss the matter of Princess Twilight Sparkle’s visit briefly.”

“What about it?”

“The Princess has suggested that the meeting be held privately in the mayor’s palace. She feels that that would acknowledge our service to the nation and raise our organization’s prestige as an encouragement to come to the negotiating table.” I explain, using almost the exact words I was given.

“An interesting theory, but we have heard of no such offer.”

“You have now.”

He looks at me. “Pray tell, where did you hear about this?”

“My SMILE handler passed the message to me so that I could give it to you.” I say stoically.

“Your SMILE handler.” He flatly stared at me.

“Yes.”

“Tell me, how much was it worth to betray the cause?”

“Fifty bits a day.”

His face scrunched up. “That’s less than minimum wage. Are you retarded?”

“Maybe. I should have asked for more.” I admit. “The truth is, I wanted to join before they brought me on, and they were willing to help me. Don’t worry, what he heard was not exactly an accurate description of events.”

He looked at me like a priest would look at the stripper that had burst out from his birthday cake. “I won’t lie that many of our members have strange journeys, but you are the creature I would least expect to see here.”

“Did I mention that I met Princess Twilight Sparkle once while scamming the government?”

If I was unusually lucky, I would be the link between the Hellknights and the Royal Army. We would see.

A few days had passed since my meeting with the Duke, who turned out to be named Duke Aurora Herald of [insert thirty-two microscopic principalities], and besides a few more pickups and negotiations with minor outsider agents, I was just waiting for the meeting and trying not to do anything that would make me look any less decayed than I already did.

The Royal Guards marched into town in their full regalia, trumpets blaring and locals cheering from the sidewalks. Twilight Sparkle had some photo operations, the Royal Guards looked tough while standing around the government buildings, it was a whole production. The ponies of Tall Tale were clearly happy to have such heroic, bold, almost mythical troops standing around rather than the usual Royal Infantry who were mostly just annoying and known for losing battles.

The day after, I left my hotel to go to the meeting. I met many of the Hellknights upper echelon inside. They had tried to get as many of the other insiders involved as possible to look like it was a real army, but I guessed that maybe three-quarters of our fillies and gentlecolts were present in the crowd that barely spilled out the front doors.

It was a nice change of pace to go from one manor to another. The mayor’s palace was a century-old symbol of how casually Equestria could flaunt its wealth, with stone pillars and perfect symmetry of the stone statues on the roof and on the stairs to the front. It was no cathedral, but it was almost in between one and a regular house, a reminder that the nation’s bureaucracy was closer to the Princess’s divinity than normal businesses were.

The meeting was going to start in a few minutes. There was chatting in the main lobby, awkward milling about as the Hellknights and the Royal Guards both tried to look official while also being somewhat nervous and somewhat bored. To distract themselves, our comrades, who were less-disciplined, were chatting with each other as the guards stood straight in ceremonial positions.

I went to Prince. He was in a room just off to the side, staring out the window at the frozen river. We were deep in the throes of winter by now. I was happy that I couldn’t be thrown into the water again, but sad that the zombies were blocked off from me by a layer of ice. I solemnly told him, “It might be kind of pathetic, but for the first time in some years, I feel like I’m a part of something. Let’s hope there’s a bright future in this.”

“We don’t decide what kinds of creatures we find ourselves relating to.” He said. “If it works, it works.”

I decide to ask some personal questions, since there’s a chance I’ll never see him again, and I do like him. “If you don’t mind me asking, how long were you out on your own before you found the Hellknights?”

He stares off into the distance idly. “I’ve been living as an adult since I graduated secondary school. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t mean living on your own. I mean doing, you know…”

He cocks his head at me. “I’m never had a marefriend, so more or less the same. Is that what you mean? I’m sorry, but I don’t want to get involved with someone I have authority over.”

“No, I mean, how long had you been studying the, uh, arts that are not entirely socially acceptable?”

His face contorts. “The what?”

I pull his ear down to my mouth. “Dark magic, you moron.” I let his head go straight back up. “How long have you been studying that?”

“I’ve never touched the stuff. Why did you think I would ever do such a thing?” He hisses.

A bolt of embarrassment strikes me for both of our sakes. “By Celestia…” I mutter. I walk away, feeling like a fool. I never even considered that a group like this might not even need the allure of power to get ponies to join and commit themselves to it. They had politics for that. They could do their work in peace and never even be questioned about why this pony went missing or why that one turned up mutilated. It was brilliant.

There really was a bond between me and the Hellknights – we were both the true winners of the war.

I found the Duke chatting with his fellow high-risers as they tried to look like just a few more members. Even if ultimately the true purpose of this organization may or may not be the rehabilitation of the black arts, I want to suggest we put ourselves out there.

“Good Duke,” I begin when there’s a break in his convorsation.

“Mrs. Poison.” He nods to me.

“I think that dark magic could be of great use to the war effort.” I say. “And that, if we were to deploy it against our enemies, we could be looked upon very fondly by the government for the aid we provided.”

“That’s not very funny.” He says.

“I’m not joking. We can accomplish something here, I am sure of it.” I say.

He stares at me. “Mrs. Poison, I am not sure you know what you are playing with. The dark arts are simply evil. There is nothing more to it. Anyone who has dabbled in them really ought to be put to death on the spot to prevent them from causing further harm. If we accept such types into our cause, we have already lost.”

I pause. “I understand, Duke.” I say before leaving. As soon as he’s distracted, I start to power-walk into the deeper portions of the building, where a hint of utilitarianism began to appear amongst the décor. I have thoughts on my mind, and they are not large but they are quite heavy. Once I was out of sight, I slumped into a corner. What was once a sharp pain of embarrassment at having said the wrong thing has become a tidal wave. I was so stupid. So, so, so unbelievably painfully stupid. It was a miracle I hadn’t forgotten to breathe. I curl into a ball and curse myself and my own incompetence, yet I can’t find any reason how I should have known their true colors.

Where had it all gone so wrong?

I had bet it all on an organization only to discover they wanted nothing to do with me. I couldn’t escape, and I couldn’t stay. Could my hunger for power have waited to be my undoing until after I had at least gotten a taste of it? Oh, Celestia, what was I going to do?

And what about the sadism, the disembowelments, the talk about ‘doing what is necessary’? What was all of that for? How could they justify any of that to themselves without their minds being warped by evil forces? What the hell was wrong with these ponies?

Someone walks up to me. “Ah, there you are!” A feminine, elegant voice says as I continue to bury my face in my limbs. It’s a remarkably familiar voice considering that I had only ever met the owner once, some years ago.

I look up at the regal, massive form of Princess Twilight Sparkle. She holds out a hoof and helps me upright. I stare at her, torn between an instinctual desire to prostrate myself before such a divine creature and my continued annoyance at the direction of my life. Somewhere in the back of my mind is a hint of terror that she’ll be mad about my antics so long ago. She’s so much taller than I am, and her wings make her seem larger still. The disparity between her beauty and mine is palpable. “Hello, Princess.” I say dully.

“You know, Fester, it would be a lot easier to find you if you were less subtle.” She comments. “What’s wrong?”

“I sold my soul to the worst creatures I’ve ever known.” I answer.

“Oh, those guys? Yeah, I was surprised to find you hanging out with that crowd. You didn’t seem like the type.” Her smile is so disarming, but she has no hard feelings towards me, so it’s not her I’m worried about. “You wouldn’t believe the face I made when I heard about our mare on the inside, though. If I didn’t have business here, I might have swung by just to say ‘hi’ anyways!”

“Thanks.” I mutter in a state of half-confusion, half-disdain for everything.

She drapes a wing over me. “Well, since it really is you, I guess I should share my idea with you. After you left, I tracked down your family. I heard about what happened. I’m sure it doesn’t mean much coming from me, but I’m sorry. I cannot imagine what it must have been like, and the same with your life afterwards. As long as I’m here you can talk about whatever you want. But Fester, this whole quest to learn necromancy, this is not a productive way of dealing with it.”

“And what am I supposed to do?” I bitterly spit out.

“Festercast, what you need is help.” I’m about to mention that that’s why I got involved in all this to begin with, but she continues. “Mental help. I have every therapist and mental institution in the country cataloged, and I’m sure at least one of my top suggestions for your personality will fit. You’ve definitely earned it for this service to Equestria you’ve done.”

I stare into her eyes. “Princess Twilight, I was waterboarded. With gasoline. It’s like normal waterboarding, except it feels like your insides are covered in acid while it’s happening. I didn’t go through that for a therapist which I could have asked for at any time.”

“You’ve stayed sane, so you have to understand that you’ve been playing with dangerous forces. How do you know that the dark magic isn’t what makes you scared to get help? And grief and loneliness both drive ponies to do things they normally wouldn’t and overlook things they’d normally see. How do you know you’ve been thinking straight this whole time? You’re a good pony. You deserve a good life. Please, do me a favor and consider it.” She begs me. Yet she does not seem like she’s desperate, rather like it’s me who’s on the edge. It must be a skill of the Princesses. Yet that’s how it is, isn’t it?

I can’t help but admit that my situation looks hopeless. Maybe it’s time to lay down and die. “I will,” I agree.

“Thank you.” She smiles once again. I never even noticed that she had taken on a more serious look. “I’d like to stay and catch up, but I have a meeting to attend. Wish me luck!”

“I can’t. Don’t trust these guys. They plan to continue their own goals regardless of what they agree to with you.” I tell her. “Make sure you ask for enforceable guarantees.”

“I’m sure they’re not all bad.” She says as she walks off.

I stayed in those backrooms for the next hour or so. It felt weird to consider giving up black magic. I wondered what would replace it in my life. If I put it down, what would even be left of me? It was my everything. Yet it wasn’t making me happy, and it wasn’t getting me any closer to my goals. Then again, nothing had. I had simply stumbled into happiness, and then just as simply stumbled out of it. Maybe I was just chasing a dream. Maybe there was nothing more to it than some complex that drove me to try and escape the sorrows rather than accept them as they are. I still wasn’t sure if a life that contained such engrossing sadness was worth living at all. Maybe the skull that cried blood was not a sign of the dark arts, but of a life where I would cry and cry and cry until it killed me.

At one point, Mr. Hay walked by on his way to a cigarette break. He paused as he looked at me playing with Deadmouse, and then he turned and went another way. He didn’t seem like a bad creature, but once again, I was just a scrap of paper blowing on the wind, existing to be thrown out at the earliest convenience by any pony who’s bones contained an extra dose of civic duty.

Then I got bored and started wandering. I hadn’t made up my mind, but sitting in the same place was dull. I settled in a small office sequestered from the rest of the building. I sat in the chair, kicked my legs up on the desk, and pretended I was someone important.

If I had to determine whether or not my whole adult life so far had been a waste, I wanted to at least feel good doing it.

After some time, Twilight came out, muttering to herself and pacing around the desk in front of me. “Hey.” I say.

“Oh. Hi.” She replies distractedly. Then she goes back to muttering to herself.

“What happened?”

“We called a break. Why aren’t they willing to work with us?” She asks hypothetically.

I lean back in the chair. “Because they suck. Let me guess, you tried to get them to agree to real oversight and they suddenly got cold hooves?”

“Yes! Exactly! All of a sudden, they went from cooperative to antagonistic! Fester, if you’re right about them, I’ve come at this with the entire wrong angle! Oh, why did they send me to deal with this?” She whined.

“Probably because it’s low-stakes.”

“Low-stakes? LOW-STAKES?” She cries. “Do you have any idea how many ponies can die if we don’t get this worked out?”

“Half as many ponies die every hour this war continues.” I reply. I put my rear hooves back on the floor and start rifling through the drawers.

Twilight pauses and stares at me. The gears in her mind are turning. “Dear Celestia, you’re right.”

I find a bag of pretzels and stuff it into a pocket. “Yeah, so don’t worry. No matter how badly you mess this up, it’s a drop in the bucket. Equestria will be fine.” I see a box of cigars and briefly consider trying out this whole ‘smoking’ thing for myself, but I don’t have a lighter.

Twilight brightens up, then becomes overcast once more. “Is that what Equestria has come to? Dozens of ponies die and no one even notices?”

“Yes.”

“Can you please act like this is a tragedy?”

“Twilight, if it was dozens of me dying, no one would have noticed that even before the war.”

“We’re working on that!” She yells before catching herself. “Sorry. I’m a bit agitated, but I shouldn’t be taking it out on you. Are you still thinking about my offer?”

I sigh. “Yes.”

“Thanks. Really. You’re not the first pony to get stuck in a bad situation by their emotional state. Not all of them would consider my offer at all.”

I lean all the way back and stare at the ceiling. The straining of my muscles as they are stretched to the limit reminds me that I am capable of feeling. “I don’t know what to do next, Twilight. I just don’t.”

Twilight tries to smile comfortingly at me. “Well, there’s always a way out.” She cringes. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong. I meant that you can always ask for help. I think I have to get back now, but thanks for hearing me out.”

“No problem. And Twilight-” She turns back to look at me as she walks away. “Thanks for the offer.”

Maybe it was simply habit, but I took all the spare food and change from the building to take my mind off of events. There was surprisingly little in either category, I wasn’t surprised that the snacks were in the sealed-off meeting room but I would have expected there to be more coins between the couch cushions. I thought that rich and powerful ponies came here to talk to the mayor. Or maybe they were rich and powerful because they were good at not losing spare change?

I hear gunfire. I pull myself from the chair I’m looking under and hear thundering hooves. After a few shots, it’s over, and two royal guards run down the corridor past me, shaking the ground with each armored step. I follow them. We soon find ourselves in the negotiation room, where one of the golden guards is propped against the wall, having a bullet hole in his leg played with by one of the others with a bag with a red cross on it. Two ponies in civilian clothes lie on the ground in a growing pool of blood that the carpet isn’t soaking up. One is writhing around. The other isn’t.

Twilight Sparkle is pacing in a tight circle, breathing into a paper bag as her pet dragon Spike and a few more guards try and convince her to calm down. I stare at each pony I see in turn, hoping for answers, but everyone is busy with something, even if it’s just with looking busy for anyone watching. Another shot goes off a floor below. “What’s going on?” I ask no one in particular. I feel like I’ve gotten wrapped up in something stupidly dangerous once again, a feeling that I should not know well enough to recognize.

Mr. Hay comes from behind a golden form from a crowd of other probable SMILE personnel. “Hey, witch. Can you go and remind your violent blockhead friends that they can’t win a fight against Equestria?” He barks at me.

I look around the room. There is a pony dying on the floor. The guard is receiving medical attention. No one is doing anything else because they don’t want to go around the Princess, who is currently having a panic attack. And my former boss is being rude to me rather than taking initiative. Something clicks in my head. I pull my staff from my back and tap it on the ground before forcing my way through the guards around Twilight. I grab her by the withers and stare into her eyes. “What happened?” I forcefully bark directly at her.

“Well- I- They-” Her guards step in to drag me away, but Twilight manages to stutter out something that sounds kind of like an order to leave me be.

“TAKE A DEEP BREATH.” I demand, and she immediately falls in line. “Now, tell me one word at a time, what happened?”

“They… they said we weren’t negotiating in good faith. They said they were going to leave and never come back if we didn’t start making proper concessions. We told them that was silly and they started moving for the door and I ordered the guards to lock it and the shooting started and oh sweet Celestia what have I done-”

I pull my hoof back and slap her across the face. The guards step closer to me, their armor clanking in unison. She stares at me dumbly. “And what are your staff going to do about it?”

“I don’t know!” She yells.

“They’ll do what you tell them, so what are you going to tell them?” I ask.

Her jaw drops. Her eyes are looking around frantically, but they’re glazed over. I’ve seen this exact face before. She’s deep in thought, trying and discarding half-baked ideas in rapid sequence, and she probably won’t have an answer when she gives up minutes from now. “Say something!” I demand. “Anything! If your companions are worth a damn, they can make it work, but they need a direction!”

Tears start to well up in her eyes. “I don’t kno-o-ow!” She cries. A few more gunshots ring out from other parts of the building. I shake her with as much force as I can. She has to do something before the guards make an executive decision and kick me out, or else it will mean war with the Hellknights. I told her that wasn’t a bad outcome in the grand scale of things, but it will still leave AT LEAST a hundred bodies, and no one needs that, not even me, who prefers the fighting to happen away from where she is currently living.

One of our guards bursts in through the far doors. “Princess! They’ve barricaded themselves on the ground level and chased away the plainclothes guards! We’re trapped up here!”

“You do it! If you think you can order ponies to die, you do it!” Twilight babbles.

I stare at her. I certainly had ideas about what the best way forwards was, but this… this simplifies things. I do know what’s going on, or I think I do, and the current situation needs to be brought to an end soon or else we’ll all have a big mess on our hooves. My estimate of the bodycount could be way off if the Hellknights decide to attack before Twilight is done panicking… off by a few digits. “Say that loud enough for everyone to hear it, Princess, and I will have this all worked out with no loose ends.”

Twilight swallows nervously as she tries to stop hyperventilating for a few seconds. “Everypony! Festercast here is in charge, because I am cuh… c-currently unable to perform my duti-duties!” She shouts. “Do what she says, I trust her t-to resolve this!”

I look around the room. “You all heard her! Do what I say as I say it!” I point to Spike, who’s looking up at me with more than a little fear. A plan has formed in my head, a fantasy that has suddenly gained the power to become reality. “You, send a message to Princess Celestia! We need it to be a hot summer’s day here, and fast!” I turn around and point to the guard medic. “And you, what’s the condition of those injured over there?”

“One is dead, the other is going to die any minute now.” He says stoically but quickly without taking his eyes off of his patient. This is as good for me as it is disappointing.

“Why is he still alive?”

“Uhh…” The medic checks the dying pony.

“Nevermind.” I wave him away. I grab two inkpots from the table and motion to a group of guards. “You three! Move this to the side!” As they do it, I draw a large triangle on the ground with the ink and stand on one of the corners. Deadmouse comes out from my sleeve and takes the other vial, drawing circles around the triangle and symbols in between the circles as best as the little thing can. “You! Move the dying one to that point! Mr. Hay… to the other corner, and trust me.”

Mr. Hay, normally so collected, looks unsteady and unsure. “That’s not easy, you know.”

“Princess Twilight gave me the go-ahead. You trust her, right?”

He cautiously does what I told him. The room is already noticeably warmer. The room has no windows, being in the center of the building, but the halls outside are lighter now that the clouds are being melted by the heat.

I meditate. There are voices cheering beneath us. “They’re saying the sun smiles upon them,” A guard comments quietly. It doesn’t take long before I hear the sound of thunder. Not thunder – ice cracking.

It’s time.

My soul reaches out and smothers the dying pony. His essence, his very being is drawn into me. I am suddenly faced with more power than I’ve ever felt. I reach out, sensing the dead. What was once a major investment of time and energy is now trivial, and I see every body within a few hundred meters.

But I need more. I do the same again, pulling Hay’s soul from his body. At first he doesn’t resist, but once he realized what’s going on he tries to keep himself together with an instinctual fury, but I have the experience and raw energy to force it from him anyways. He is so much more visceral than the half-dead Hellknight was, and the sheer strength inside of me becomes overwhelming. I had no idea any pony could achieve this. I feel like I could wrestle the sun from Celestia if only I knew the right spell.

But that’s not what I’m here to do. I tap my staff against the floor. Across vast stretches of empty air, my will exerts itself over the long-dead. A hollow, terrifying voice fills my mind, a chorus of the damned shouting its demands – and it demands my orders. Mistress, what shall we do? Cry at least a dozen tortured souls.

I shall tell you what to do – you must drag yourself from the river and through the melting ice. Surround this building. Kill anyone outside with a gun, then send a few in to start clearing the inside, as well.

And what shall we do with them?

I demand more of the walking dead for my personal army. I will help you convert the living. Besides that…

I smile to myself. Such ability, such strength, such influence, it’s intoxicating. It’s the closest I’ve ever felt, before or afterwards, to those precious days with Graham.

Just go crazy. Crazy, and mad.

Yes, mistress...

I keep an ear open as the vague notion of sight and sound comes to me from my minions. I cannot tell which one I’m seeing it from, or even if there’s only one set of eyes, but my loyal zombies are shambling as fast as they can. They begin to be shot at by the Hellknights on the ground floor. The partisans do not know to aim for the head, or if they do, they are not great marksponies. Most of my zombies get close to the windows, nipping at anyone close to the edge. A few break in through the front door and into the grand entryway and fall upon those who remain there, one after the other. I can hear the fighting with my own ears, the shooting and the screaming as throats are ripped open and flesh is torn away one chunk at a time. A few of the rebels see the carnage and attempt to escape, but the zombies await them outside as well. I pump my energy through the link I hold with my undead, and within seconds the enemy fallen rise again to keep up the spree.

I taste blood in my mouth. It tastes delicious. Yet I must learn. I spit, and a glob of red coats the ground beneath me. I don’t feel like I bit my tongue. Is that how strong my connection to my zombies is now? Or is the passion making me overexert myself?

The chaos beneath intensifies as the number of zombies under my command exceeds twenty, then thirty. The Hellknights are mostly in a panic now, trapping themselves in rooms which are bashed open to retrieve the delicious flesh inside. Some of the zombies have had their magical tendons severed and their magical bones broken by bullets and rifle butts, but they drag themselves along the floor if they have to, anything to keep following my orders. As long as their imitation brain is intact, they aren’t done yet. The screaming is without end.

Immediately beneath us, I hear someone crying. He is begging Celestia for help. I make sure to send a few zombies his way. A bullet comes up through the floor in front of me. The zombies don’t see anyone alive in the room. I smile.

Why stop with just these Hellknights? If these pathetic “soldiers” around me, Equestria’s finest, are so easily paralyzed, maybe dealing with some undead would convince Equestria to train its warriors right. And if I had an undead Alicorn in my company, no one would ever dare question me on ANYTHING. I would instantly become one of the most renowned necromancers in history. Who knows what I could do with her? With just a bit of poking around inside of her, I might become a power unto myself. Maybe siding with the changelings would be just fine, it’s not like they could ignore me then.

No, that’s not really what I want. It’s fun to imagine, though. This must be what Queen Chrysalis feels like all the time.

The others in the room are glaring at me with a mixture of fear and terror. Many are pointing their weapons at me. It’s nice. I’ve finally done something to warrant such a base, animalistic reaction. I wonder which ones are trying to study me, to figure out some way to get an edge if I turn on them, and which ones have given up understanding my power and simply hope that I’m not immune to bullets yet. If I understood lichdom, maybe I could give them a show, but I don’t, so I’ll just have to behave.

I frown. How interesting that I thought of what power I could gain before what power I would gain. Is this why so many of my kind fall due to ill-conceived betrayals? This much dark magic really is playing with my brain. I look at Twilight and imagine fear in her eyes as she is torn limb from limb, viscera and gore coating the ground in chunks, as I laugh at her for thinking such a coward could patronize me. I doubt it would make me happy. The novelty of having strength has worn off and all that I am left with is petty displays of dominance over creatures I have insignificant issues with. How depressing. Oh, well. The dark arts were only ever a means to an end for me.

The screaming had stopped. So had the shooting. None of my zombies could sense any life that wasn’t covered in a layer of metal. I let my attention return fully to the world around me. To my left is a dead body riddled with bullet holes. To my right is Mr. Hay, sitting in a crumpled heap, completely still. The room is silent and everyone is staring.

“Alright, everypony. Problem solved.” I said into the dead air. “You can get back to your normal business. Those zealots won’t bother us anymore.” I don’t think I want to hang around all these Royal Guards after committing a massacre, and I leave the room as calmly-yet-quickly as I can.

The spiral staircase to the ground level has the walking dead all around the outside. They salute me as I step down. I have very little of that tremendous magical power left over, but I want to make a strong exit, even if it’s just for my own entertainment. The zombies are Hellknights, through and through, in their mostly-civilian clothing with the occasional piece of military kit. All of them have some injury, but giant red stains around their neck are the most common, sometimes with a massive indent where the entire bite was ripped away. A few were quite different. One or two had come from the river, and were little more than tattered strips of barnacles and discolored flesh hanging from weathered skeletons.

Twilight catches up to me, trying to avoid touching the dead bodies. This staircase was not designed to leave plenty of room for ponies coming and going at the same time, and is quite cramped. Sometimes I forget that my relationship with the dead is so unbelievably different from others, that most ponies do not simply dislike corpses but are absolutely terrified of them.

“Festercast,” She asks hesitantly. “What did you do?”

“What do you think? I killed them all.”

“Why?”

I stepped in a puddle of blood at some point, and I try to wipe it off on the stairs. “Because the Hellknights were a problem, and this was the easiest way to solve it before it turned into a colossal mess. And since your pathetic ass left me the only one in the room willing to take action, you got my kind of solution.”

“This isn’t what I wanted.”

“Don’t worry, they deserved it.” I reach the bottom of the stairs. The zombies have made a trail to the front door, and the row of saluting corpses is a near-solid wall all the way there. I caught sight of Prince, one of his legs chewed on to the bone, and stopped to look into his dead eyes. He was so clever, so wise, so willing to inflict any cruelty and feed any monster if it meant victory... “All of them did. And really, this was much easier than extracting them from their holes one at a time. The changelings couldn’t do it, you wouldn’t have stood a chance. Assuming they didn’t kill you just to irk Celestia, that is.”

“I thought you were better than this.” Twilight said, her voice on the edge of tears once again.

“The feeling is mutual.” I reply. Outside, the sun is blindingly bright as it reflects the melting snow. “Twilight, no offense, but I’ve spent a lot more time making hard choices than you. The fact is, I think I have this all wrapped up in a bow, and when you tell Princess Celestia about this, she’ll probably agree. Do you think national leaders age so quickly because their work is easy on the conscience?”

She snaps out of her stupor and puts her hoof down audibly. “This isn’t an issue of responsibility, Festercast. You murdered dozens of ponies.”

“You should be thanking me. I’m a rogue agent. When I kill dozens of ponies, that’s my crime, not yours. Your precious hooves get to stay clean.” I say. I reach the grand swinging doors, zombies bleeding on the floor as they stand to either side in perfect ranks, hooves held to heads in a salute that no drill officer could find a speck of fault with. I pause and turn to make my final statement. “Seriously, though, I would recommend you not get involved in this sort of business. Now that you’ve seen what comes with the position, you see what kind of horrors you can unleash by mishandling things. Those wings might have convinced you you’re an authority figure, but there’s more to it. Pride, duty, passion, whatever made you think you should be here, those things can blind ponies to what they’re truly able and unable to do. Ask yourself why you’re here and what you expect you can use the position for.” I pat her on the shoulders as condescendingly as possible. “You’re a good pony. You don’t deserve to be remembered as a bother to the ponies who actually went out accomplished things. Do me a favor and consider it.”

She stares at me dully as I walk out. The snow has turned to slush and the icicles are melting. It’s the start of a new day. Equestria can go to hell. If they lose, it will be because cowards like her ran it. The newspapers assure me that, if the changelings win, I will have no shortages of bodies to experiment with.