Memories of a Bloody Past

I was a strange sight to see: a pony, stood upright, eyes closed, bearing the brunt of the weather as it tore at me furiously, demonically, whipping back my soot-black mane. The wind howling past my ears, a banshee of the night. I was black all over, head to tail. Even my hooves appeared to be forged from slabs of obsidian, the way they glinted in the occasional flash of lightning that split the sky as the Gods took up arms and tore the heavens apart in a battle for supremacy. Yet I shone with a brilliant lime light that cut through the dark, almost making me appear ghostly in form. Another surge of rain hit me, breaking against my sodden coat. I was a granite pillar in the midst of a raging sea, the waves crashing against me in a futile attempt to bring me down, to be lost forever more in the depths.

Eyes still closed, I waited, uncomplaining, and utterly, utterly silent. I said not a word as my forelegs separated along the length. Two blades, each a foot and a half long and glinting even through the all-consuming darkness that dutifully concealed my presence there, slid forth with a quiet click. I heard nothing else. Not the rain, nor the thunder. Just that single, quiet, sinister click as the blades locked in place above my forelegs. Five seconds of being exposed to the elements, and they were already slick with rain and reflecting the glowing, lime-green pattern that adorned my body, a pattern I had grown used to and now found comforting in that godforsaken hour of the morning in such atrocious weather.

It was then I shifted my stance: right arm outstretched, bent at the knee, left foot back, providing me with a stable platform on which I could stand, and my left blade held close to my cheek. I exhaled, still my eyes kept tightly closed. A long, expectant sigh, lost on the wind. No-one could hear me. No-one was present to see me. To everyone else, including my dear wife, I was either in bed, sleeping, or still at my desk, fiddling with the Orb. Meadow grass brushed against my ankle, making me twitch slightly. I cursed silently: out here I stood, taking the brute force of the wind and rain, unmoving, and yet a lowly patch of meadow grass disturbs me.

Finally, I opened my eyes. They too, shone with a brilliant lime light, casting their glow onto the wet earth, illuminating the terrain a few metres ahead of me. The golden lines - which I had grown so familiar with over the past ten years - in my vision faded away, leaving just my own eyes to see what I was meant to see: the world as everyone else saw it. Not through graphs and diagrams, nor through data and guides. Just plain, simple meadow grass, lit up in the glow of of my eyes.

I exhaled deeply once more. My first test. One I had passed many times. I spun counter-clockwise, moving at a speed I can only describe as supernatural, my left arm striking out, the blade cleaving through the air. Time seemed to slow around me. I watched as the edge of my cold, hard steel blade cut cleanly through a raindrop, the slivers tracing the diagonal incision I had made in the air, before finally hitting the surface of a puddle, sending tiny ripples across its surface. Had I been more lighthearted, I might have nicknamed my blades. But I was too professional and cold for that: they were tools, nothing more, nothing less. Instruments of death, playing their tune to all whom were unlucky enough to hear.

I assumed my stance once again, focused, but not yet calm. My pulse throbbed in my ears, strong, slow and steady. The adrenaline died away, leaving an undisturbed peace in it's wake. I sighed, misty breath spiralling away in a ghostly cloud, before being torn asunder by the arrows of water that pounded against me ineffectually. I flexed and slackened my muscles, panting slightly from the adrenaline rush that had spiked my body during that single slash only a dozen seconds ago. I forced myself to feel peace, expelling my heightened energy and replacing it with a state of tranquillity. My next test would be more difficult: I had wished it so.

A rustle in the grass, through the storm and thundering rain, alerted me to my attacker's presence. I fought to suppress the hatred that boiled within me, and the urge to charge recklessly and sow my revenge upon that which - so many times before - had brought me nothing but pain and suffering. I caught a glimpse of its eyes: soulless, undying and burning with a desire to extinguish my life like a candle whose use has come to an end. It struck first, clawed hand slashing at my throat, attempting to decapitate me. I brought my right sword arm up and deflected the blow, making a noise not dissimilar to a sword being sharpened on a whetstone. My attacker fled away, retreating back into the cover of the night. The dark was no longer my friend: it was an ally to my enemy. Another attack, this time from behind, gouged a vertical wound in my back, cutting through the spinal armour with little effort. I turned and aimed a slash at the creature, but met with only thin air. This one was a challenge: never before had they managed to wound me.

Again, the claw lashed out. I ducked under it and rolled backwards, my blades unlocking with a click and spinning on their hinges in a deadly arc. I punched upwards, my left blade carving through the air, before making contact. The arm of my attacker was severed at the elbow, showering me with onyx shards and provoking a screech of pain from the creature. I skidded to a halt, before rising and sprinting, full tilt, towards it. It turned to me in time to see the steel on my arms cut thrice into it's chest, before locking back into place. A black liquid oozed from its chest, the flesh and cloth around it slowly hardening into dark glass. I cut off my attacker's shriek of anger with a swift forward jab, skewering it through the head and instantly dousing the fire of those blazing white eyes. The creature slackened on my blade, hanging there for a few seconds, before crumbling into a mound of ebony crystal and fine ebony powder, the latter swiftly lost on the wind and the crystal almost instantly glossed with water. I stared at it, watching the glass burst into flames and slowly disintegrate into a starry fog. I didn't want to leave a mess, after all.

My final test was upon me. The test I had never passed. I took a moment to recover from my wound, before standing upright. Having no further use for the blades, I concealed them back within my forelegs. My blood roared through my temples and neck, before subsiding as I flushed my bloodstream with soothing agents, bringing my heart rate back to normal.

Purposeful and placid, I recalled upon the memories of ten years ago. Memories I had relived countless times. Memories I wished I would never have to remember again after tonight. Anger, hatred, grief. all gathering into a maelstrom of emotion I barely managed to control. I saw red, my hearing deaf to all but the sounds of a distant battle and a piercing, whining screech that nearly shredded my mind apart. I felt energy course through me, the fire that had burnt all that time ago rekindle and take hold. Inwardly, I was excited, like a five year old receiving a new toy.

But it was not to last: slowly but surely, the fire died away. Disappointed, yet vaguely satisfied, I turned away and began to walk back. Back to my home, where I would curl up and sleep for what remained of the night. The golden lines reappeared in my vision, some displaying a message:

Did it work?

I quickly thought up a reply.

No. Not today.

Moments later, another message appeared.

Perhaps it is time to give up.

I sighed reluctantly.

Maybe. But I have something to attend to in the morning.

Which is?

You'll see.

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Memories of a Bloody Past