Of Lies, Strings, and Blood

by Brinstar77

Rating: mature
Tags: Violence, Crossover, Dark, Death, Alternate Universe, Gore, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Horror, Other, Adventure, King Sombra, Crystal Ponies, Twilight Sparkle
Length: 1463

A kingdom in upheaval. Mobs of frenzied crystal ponies. A plague picking off the scattered survivors. And poor Twilight's in WAY over her head. To say Arcanite has her work cut out for her would be the understatement of the century.

The Crystal Empire has returned, yet all is not well. An unnatural compulsion has gripped the kingdom’s population of Crystal Ponies, causing them to lose control of their bodies and fall upon non-Crystal Ponies with murderous intent. Those survivors not slaughtered by the roving mobs of frenzied ponies find themselves at the mercy of an entirely different threat, a magical plague that slowly, painfully, and inexorably transmutes their flesh into crystal. And a magical barrier has enveloped the whole Empire, keeping anyone who wishes to assist out and all who seek to escape in. With all that to deal with, the potential return of the dreaded King Sombra is the absolute least of anyone's worries.

Enter Arcanite, a Crystal Pony that is somehow exempt from the murderous frenzy that has gripped the rest of her kind. With no memory of who she is, only potentially hallucinatory voices in her head and a certain injured and traumatized student of Celestia to guide her, and no clue what else to do, she sets out into the Crystal Empire to try and salvage the rapidly-deteriorating kingdom and bring some much-needed aid to whoever is still alive and sane.

To say she has her work cut out for her—sometimes literally—would be the understatement of the century.

(Inspired by the video game "Lies of P". Knowledge of the source material is not necessary to get the optimal reading experience.)

Published 2024-10-19 05:50:00 UTC
Last updated 2024-10-19 05:50:00 UTC

Scene 1, Act 1: The Gift of Awareness

The darkness whispered to it.

It had been doing so for quite some time now, long before it had any awareness of being. As it started to wake up, the deafening silence of unconsciousness became fainter, more distant, and it began to be aware of a world outside of it. Sounds. Sensations. Movement. Light, too. Something to exist in.

As awareness flooded its stirring mind, it was able to take note of the previous absence of it; the emptiness it had once felt. Did that mean it was alive? What did that mean? And how does one go about being alive?

It had no idea, and lacked the self-awareness it needed to seek answers, or even know that there might be answers to seek.

But the world… it was somewhere beyond the borders of this void it was adrift in. The world was real and was waiting for it. That it knew, understood on some basic level, so simple and foundational it couldn’t really be called primal.

For an uncertain amount of time that felt very long—and therefore was, since time was not yet a concept that its mind could grasp—the awareness of this world was the one and only link to reality it had. Who it was, what it was or where it was, it neither knew nor cared to know, too dazed by the wonder that was its ontological inception.

But as time went on, it realized that not only was there a world out there, beyond the relative privacy of its thoughts, but there were other things existing within this world. Things that made sounds which echoed in all directions, echoed in its head. And for the first time since achieving sentience, it had a thought.

Calling it a thought might have been generous; it was fragmented, half formed, devoid of context. Like the dregs of a shipwreck that had ended up floating their way back up to the surface, eroded by the sea’s salty touch to the point that it was impossible to identify what they once were. …wouldn’t be… if I… Nevertheless, it was its very first thought, and it basked in the wonder that followed, not understanding what it meant.

It heard a voice then.

“H-h-hello? Anyone?”

The world became more tangible. The words resonated in its head, bringing it to life like an air pump feeding a fire.

“S-someone, please… I need help…”

Help… it thought. An actual thought, not like the fragment from before.

It moved and, in doing so, realized that it had a body. There was a shape to it, a physical form to occupy, grounding it in the world. And if it had a body, it—wait, no, she—had to have eyes too.

And so she opened them.

The world beyond her thoughts had seemed impossibly far away, so it was a little bit of a shock to suddenly find it right in front of her, all around her. Realizing she had hooves, she got up from the floor she’d been slumped upon, observing her surroundings with her newly-awakened senses of sight and hearing.

The world, as far as she could tell, was narrow, long and dimly lit. A lone lamp casted a dull, yellowish light on the wooden table it stood on, surrounded by discarded, glittering limbs, extinguished candles, newspapers and piles of books. Several chairs whose polished wood gleamed in the weak light were aligned on both sides, and short green curtains covered the windows. A bit of dust swirled in the air, only visible in the faint glow of the lamp. She would have accepted this as being the entirety of the world, if not for the open door in front of her, and the chamber beyond. There was more to the world than just this singular room.

She began trotting towards the doors, testing these legs that were apparently hers. The sound of her hooves against the wooden floor echoed back at her. She couldn’t just observe and move around in the world, she realized; she could affect it.

She lifted one of her front hooves, reaching for a book and giving it a light, experimental push. The book fell off, quickly joined by the stack of other books it had been resting on as they all toppled over. One of them landed on her foot, and she jumped back, the impact uncomfortable, bordering on painful. She should probably be more careful.

“Please… someone, anyone…”

Something about the tone of the speaker, the urgency in their voice, urged her forward. The next room turned out to be an almost identical copy of the first one, with the exception of a red-brown counter that stretched out on the left, strewn with books and bottles with labels that she did not bother to read. There was a soft, blue light further ahead, accompanied by a barely-audible hum.

The sound of her hooves touching the floor—sharp, quiet, and clear—suddenly changed to a squishy, wet noise. A coppery smell that made her instinctively recoil flooded her nose as she glanced down. She’d stepped in a splash of a red substance—blood, she realized, neither knowing nor questioning how she knew that—that had sank into the fabric and started to coagulate; it wasn’t fresh, but it had been fresh relatively recently.

Near the blood, there was a strange, copper-colored boxy shape; the source of the humming sound she was hearing. A long, thin rod poked out from the top, and protrusions she couldn’t identify covered the front.

“A-a-anyone…” The quivering voice whimpered, issuing from the glowing box. An urge she couldn’t fully identify took hold, and she reached down, her snout wrinkling involuntarily as her hooves touched the blood splattered on the device; she should probably find some way to get the blood off of it.

A click reached her ears as the soft hum grew into a louder, crackling static. Her mouth opened, in preparation to reply.

“Hello?” Her physical voice sounded strange, possessing the same soft, melodic tone of her thoughts yet undercut by a croaky rasp that they lacked. She wasn’t sure how she knew her voice wasn’t supposed to sound like that; like with the blood, she just did.

She heard the voice gasp in relief. “Oh thank Celestia…” The voice on the other end breathed. “I was starting to think I was the only sane pony left in this forsaken city… I-I’m Twilight.” The voice suddenly offered, as if trying to avoid a subject they would rather not discuss. “Who is this?”

“I…” She trailed off into silence. For the first time, words failed her. Her memory was blank; she could say that she was female, and a Crystal Pony (whatever that meant), but anything else was beyond her. She was just as much a stranger to herself as she was to this voice from the box. “I don’t know.”

“Can you at least give me a name?”

A name… She repeated in her head, another eroded fragment drifting to the surface of her mind. She had one. It was… “Arcanite.”

“...well, you’re able to sustain a proper conversation. That’s more than I could say for the others…” The voice sounded relieved, but not quite, as if its owner had been given a lifeline but wasn’t completely free of whatever was causing their distress. It made a part of Arcanite ache in a way she couldn’t quite describe, left her with a gnawing feeling of discomfort that made her want to reach out to this pony, to say comforting words, to help.

“Are you okay?”

“NO! I’M NOT OKAY!” ‘Twilight’ roared suddenly, prompting her to wince. “Sorry… it’s just… there’s a bunch of crazy ponies hunting me, I’m injured and it really, really hurts, I’m lost and scared, and I’ve hardly made any lists at all in the last few days…”

An odd sound came from the device, obviously separate from ‘Twilight’s’ voice. “Buck…” The speaker whimpered, the terror returning to her voice. “Gotta go. I can see a place; looks like it’s called the “Hotel Tustaneigh”. See if you can meet me there, okay?” And then, with another click, the glowing parts of the box turned from blue to red, the omnipresent hum it was producing drifting off into silence.

Author's Note

So... I stumbled across Lies of P, and found myself utterly fascinated by its dark, clockpunk setting and the nightmarish spin it puts on The Adventures of Pinocchio. And all of a sudden I found myself thinking of a certain idea I've seen bouncing around, in which crystal ponies are quite literally made of crystal...

And now you have a fresh load of nightmare fuel barreling your way, right in time for Halloween. Sweet dreams, people...