Descent (All Parts)


                                            Written by Gatorbait

                                            https://poneb.in/xiB5Q0YD


                                            Part 1


                                            >When Twilight approached you about investigating some pre-pony ruins in Griffon territory, you had been a little skeptical.  You were no scholar when it came to early Equestrian architecture, but the purple mare had insisted and you soon relented.  From her description, something had created an underground city with a vast network of interconnecting caves.  Considering the amount of effort that would have taken, you were interested to see this lost city.

                                            >Upon arriving at the site, you were greeted by a Griffon delegation, who would accompany you throughout your explorations.  As it was found on their land, it seemed understandable that they would be as curious as the ponies.  It just so happened that Gilda was in that delegation, though she paid no attention to you at the time.

                                            >Twilight, along with several other ponies from across Equestria, began to examine, note and discuss what remained of the underground city.  You had been on the site for a few days when Twilight approached you, excitement evident on her face.

                                            >“Anonymous, I’ve found something unusual, I’d like to get your perspective on it.”

                                            >She led you down into the depths of the caves, her horn lighting the way.  After a good ten minutes of walking, the hall opened up into a ten by ten room.  In the center sat a stone altar, raised carvings going along the entire length of it.  Twilight pulled you to the back wall, and the closed her eyes, the purple glow intensifying as she focused, shedding light onto the wall.

                                            >“Anonymous, tell me what you see.”


                                            “Carvings.”

                                            >She giggled a little at that, then nodded her head.  You turned back to the wall and ran your fingers along it, looking closer.  As the light grew, you began to notice something strange about the art.

                                            “The art features humans.”

                                            >“Very prominently across the entire wall.  Anonymous, I believe that this city may have been made by humans, or another species which had close ties to them at least.  It could be that this room holds the secret to open a way for you to go home.”

                                            >You turn to her.  She’s smiling again, the glow fading a little as she turns back to face the altar.

                                            >“There are remnants of ancient, powerful magic still lingering in the air, especially around this stone slab.  I believe that many of our questions will be answered if we can unlock its secrets.”

                                            >That evening, Twilight had informed the Griffon delegates about her discovery and requested communications be opened between the Griffons and Canterlot, to allow excavation and long-term study of the ruins to begin.

                                            >“It won’t be quick, but at least you have some hope of getting home now.”

                                            >To say that it was one of the greatest moments since you arrived in Equestria would be an understatement.  Unfortunately, it was quickly followed by several not-so-great moments.  The day after Twilight’s announcement, Gilda began following you everywhere she went.  She was subtle at first, keeping to corners and shadows, but eventually you called her out on it.  Big mistake.

                                            >

                                            “Good morning, Gilda.”

                                            >“Morning, Baboon Butt, mind telling me where we’re headed to today?”

                                            >You sigh at the new nickname.  She seemed to have a new one every time she opened her beak.


                                            “I was going down to the altar room again to get a few etchings of the slab and take a closer look at the carvings in the wall.”

                                            >“You and that room.  You’ve spent half your days down there, but you haven’t made any progress.  You’re not going to find an answer, so just leave it to the eggheads to figure out.”

                                            “Gilda, this is a chance for me to go home.  If I can do anything to help move along this discovery, then you can bet that I’m going to do it.”

                                            >Your griffon shadow huffs a little, rolling her eyes, but falls in step behind you.  She moves with a cat-like grace, which is hardly surprising considering she is part feline.  Still she maintains an air of superiority, regardless of what she is doing, a kind of confidence and swagger that most of the residents of Equestria lack.

                                            >The trip down to the altar room consists of Gilda stalking you and opening her beak on occasion, just in case you forgot she was there.  Like you could.  As you sit down in front of the altar and pull out a chunk of charcoal and several sheets of paper, Gilda wanders around the room, muttering to herself.  It doesn’t take long before the questions begin again.

                                            >“So what’s the deal with the lighting in here?  You’ve got a handful of carved squares that make it through to the outside, but they’re too small for anything other than light and fresh air.  Seems kind of pointless for all that work.”

                                            >You don’t bother to look up from your project as you respond.

                                            “Where I’m from, early humans placed a significant importance on four days of the year, the equinoxes and the solstices.  If I were to guess, I’d say that’s what some of those are for.”


                                            >“Why?”

                                            >You become aware that Gilda has stopped walking around the room at this point and has focused all of her attention on you.  Feeling that predatory gaze on you causes your brain to freeze for a moment, but you collect yourself and continue.

                                            “Why they regarded the days the way they did, well, I couldn’t tell you, but dozens of cultures all throughout the history of my world built structures to keep track of them.  Some of them are absolutely enormous.  Looking at the way the cuts are spaced, and also the size of the windows, it seems possible that this was a precision time piece for distinct parts of the year.”

                                            >You can feel her breath on the back of your neck now, a thick, hot sensation sliding down under the collar of your shirt.  You give an involuntary shudder and you hear Gilda begin to laugh.

                                            >“I guess I had you pegged wrong, Banana Brain, you might be an egghead after all.  Or some sappy romantic, ick!”

                                            >She makes a sound like she’s choking and you turn back to your work, wishing she would.  Another twenty minutes, and you’re done with the altar.  Turning to the mural, see Gilda has taken to looking at the wall again; you can see her squinting at it from where you’re sitting.

                                            “Something catch your eye?”

                                            >“There’s a lot of violence in these pictures.”

                                            >She gives you a sly smile.

                                            “Kind of makes me wonder if you’re not hiding a wild and dangerous side from everyone, you half-shaved ape.”

                                            >You laugh a little at that.  Sure, humanity as a whole was pretty violent, but you yourself would never think of assaulting something, anything, like the carvings portrayed.  It just wasn’t you.

                                            >You move to the mural and begin to glance over it again.


                                            >As you try to make sense of the drawings, you feel a tremor run through the ground.  Gilda frowns and begins to flap her wings, before seeming to remember that she is underground, not too many places to fly when you’ve got solid stone all around you.

                                            >“Hey, I think it’d be a good idea for us to, y’know, get out of here.  I don’t think I like being down here when things start shaking like that.”

                                            “Seems like we agree on something for once, let’s go find Twilight and the others.”

                                            >You pack up your things and begin to hurry down the tunnel.  The ground quivers again, with greater force this time, knocking you from your feet.  Gilda yanks you up by your arm as she flies past.

                                            >“Let’s go, Monkey Man!”

                                            >Finding your footing proves difficult, leaving you scrambling as Gilda drags you.  Planting your feet for a moment, you’re running.  Tremors begin to come in rapid succession, each one making it difficult to stay standing.  Soon you are on all fours to stay balanced, using your arms to steady yourself as your legs launch you forward.  The earth gives a mighty heave, and you’re floored again, watching as Gilda glances over her shoulder, giving you an apologetic smile as she continues flying.

                                            “Sorry Gangly Gorilla, but I’m not in the mood to die today!”

                                            “Damn it, Gilda!”

                                            >Your entire world shudders as rocks begin to loose themselves from the top of the tunnel.  You scamper for your life, heading back to the altar room, hoping that the open space will give you a better chance to avoid getting crushed.  As you exit the tunnel, debris bursts from the opening and coats you in a layer of rock dust and pebble-sized shrapnel.  Coughing and wheezing you pull yourself to the altar.


                                            >The shaking subsides and you take a moment to breathe, staring out at the tunnel.  You can feel nicks and cuts all over your body from the falling rocks, but nothing seems to be broken.  Thank goodness for the little things.  Several larges chunks of rock had shattered against the floor of the room, but the worst of the tremors seemed to have passed.  After a few moments to prepare yourself, you push yourself to your feet and went back down the tunnel.

                                            >With any luck, you’ll be able to walk out of here without too much trouble.  If not, at least Gilda made it out.  Twilight will insist on coming after you.  It won’t be a long wait.  These thoughts comfort you as you weave through the altered tunnel, taking care not to get yourself stuck in between any of the new rocks along the path.  Pulling yourself up over a large pile, you feel your heart drop.

                                            >The tremors had caused the tunnel to collapse and you’re stuck staring at the wrong side of a wall of rock blocking your path.  Walking up to the barrier, you give one of the rocks an experimental pull.  It dislodges itself with ease, and then you’re scrambling for footing as a multitude of rocks roll down around your legs.  A muffled voice causes you to tense.

                                            >“Ouch!”

                                            “Oh no.”

                                            Turning, towards the sound of the voice, you begin searching, pulling rocks aside and hoping it was just your imagination.  Soon you hear labored breathing, and you can feel your spirits dip again.  Gilda’s head soon comes into view, her pristine white plumage marred by the grit and dust from the tunnel collapse.

                                            >“About time, get me out of here!”


                                            >She glares up at you when you don’t move to assist her.

                                            >“Yo, quit gawking and help me out!”

                                            >That gets your attention.  You squat down, beginning to move the stones away from her.  Soon she has freed one of her front legs and begins to assist you.

                                            >“Get my wings, it feels like they’re about to fall off!”

                                            >You oblige her request, grunting and heaving as you roll the rocks away from her.  Before long, you begin see the brown downy fur covering the tops of her wings and redouble your efforts.  After a few more minutes, Gilda speaks, her voice broken by an occasional heave.

                                            >“Okay, I think I can pull myself out, get back.”

                                            >Gilda grunts and heaves as you take a few steps away.  Her frustration builds as she visibly shifts, and then falls back down into place.  She screams and scrambles again, only to have the results be the same.  As she continues to push and struggle to escape, you approach her again.

                                            “Gilda, maybe we should try and dig you out a little bit more…”

                                            >“Get away from me!”

                                            >She snarls as her eyes light up, livid with a wildness of a feral animal.  You jump back and stumble over a rock, sending you onto your back.  As Gilda continues to struggle, you see some of the stones coming loose, but not much in the way of progress.  Pushing yourself up to your knees, you try again.

                                            “Gilda, please.”

                                            >“This is all your fault, you damn dirty ape!”

                                            “My fault, how is it my fault that the cave collapsed?”

                                            >“You kept coming down here!  You couldn’t leave that room alone and now we’re stuck!”

                                            >A growl builds up in your throat, and you put yourself nose to beak with the griffon.  She jerks back a little, still attempting to free herself, but casting a wary eye in your direction.


                                            “No, Gilda.  You’re stuck.  And if you don’t calm your wild ass down, I’m going to go and leave you here.  Now, are you going to check your attitude, or am I going to have to find a way out on my own?”

                                            >Her struggles slow, until she sighs, glaring down at your hands.

                                            >“All right, but if those filthy opposable thumbs touch me, I’m going to bite them off.”

                                            >You nod, and begin to help her remove the rocks.  Starting from the bottom, the rocks are harder to move, but you see results as the surrounding stones fall away.  It’s a grueling exercise, but eventually Gilda is able to pull herself from the rubble.  She stretches her wings and glares at you.

                                            >“Thanks for the help, but don’t think that I’m forgiving you for getting us in this situation in the first place, you disgusting troglodyte.”

                                            “Of course not, Pecker Face.  Let’s just go back to the altar room and see what we can do.”

                                            >The two of you head back in silence, though you can feel Gilda’s eyes on your body from time to time.  You know you don’t look the best, your clothes are in tatters, and you’re still covered in dust, but it’s not like you brought a change of clothes with you.  The walk drags on even longer now that you have to avoid rocks, but you finally arrive in the altar room.

                                            >A quick glance around reveals that the altar room made it through well enough, a few rocks had been knocked loose from the ceiling, but the slotted holes were still in place, so fresh air wouldn’t be an issue.  Judging from where the light was entering the room, it was getting to be late in the day.  Glancing at Gilda, you sigh.

                                            “So, it’s going to be dark soon.”

                                            >She sneers.

                                            >“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the dark, primate?”


                                            “Will you cut it out for a second?  All I’m saying is that there’s not going to be enough light to see by once the sun sets.  We should take some time to rest and recover from today, and come up with a plan for tomorrow.”

                                            >Gilda sighs and gives you a small nod.

                                            >“I don’t see what good it’s going to do.  We’ve only found one way in or out of here, and right now that’s blocked by a few hundred thousand boulders.”

                                            “The others will be looking for us before too long, the best thing we can do is sit tight, or try to find our own way back to them.  If there is another way back to the city”

                                            >“Then they can follow our trail when they break through if we haven’t caught up yet.”

                                            “Now you’re getting it!”

                                            >Gilda manages a small smile and then moves towards the altar.  Sitting on one side, she begins to preen herself, trying to get rid of the grit and grime that soiled her plumage and coat.  You move to the other side of the slab and lean against it, staring up at the fading light as it streamed through the small cut in the solid stone.

                                            >Tomorrow would be a new day, you could work with Gilda and find a way out of here, you were sure of it.  Your body aches and begs for rest, though you’re not sure how comfortable the cold stone floor is going to be.  Using your arm as a pillow, you lay down on the ground, staring upwards before closing your eyes.

                                            “Yes.  Tomorrow, everything will be better.”


                                            Part 2


                                            >Running, through the caves of the underground, your arms and legs pumping.  The earth shudders and groans, sending you into a sprawling heap.  You untangle your limbs as you hear that deafening roar.

                                            >The sensation of hot breath against your entire body, your nose fills with an overpowering musky presence you can’t place.  Moving to launch yourself forward, you feel it grab you and wrestle you to the ground with ease.

                                            >Your head cracks against the ground and

                                            >A kick to your stomach jerks you out of the nightmare.  Gilda stands over you, cocking an eyebrow and looking perturbed.  As you wheeze for air, she states her case.

                                            >“Hey, No-Tail, let’s get going.  I want out of here.”

                                            >Managing a small nod, you push yourself up from the cold stone floor you had spent the night sleeping on.  Light has begun to stream through one of the holes near the ceiling, illuminating the room just enough to see.

                                            >As you thought, the ground didn’t do much to make you feel rested.  Your back is tight, and the arm you slept on is currently dangling rag-doll at your side.  The buzzing sensation is subsiding at least.

                                            >You climb to your feet and decide how best to go about searching for an invisible, possibly nonexistent exit.

                                            “Okay, first things first, lets take a look at the slats up there.”

                                            >You point to the cuts in the ceiling on the eastern side of the room.  Sunlight streams through, marking the passage of time against the floor.  Gilda glances up and snorts, shaking her head.

                                            >“Scuse me, do I look like some skinny mare here?  I’m a full grown griffon, there’s no way I can squeeze through any of those.”


                                            >She poses, wings outstretched, giving you a smug grin.  She is larger than most of the ponies you’ve met, her body is thicker, more muscular, with a much wider wingspan.  Still, if she is stronger

                                            “Well, why don’t we see if we can widen any of those cuts in the rock?  If this place is as old as everyone seems to believe it is, we might be able to create a wider opening so that you could fly out and get help.”

                                            >“Now that sounds like a plan I could get behind!  What about you, tree squatter, while I’m up there, what are you going to be doing?”

                                            “I’ll look around down here and see if there isn’t a hidden door cut into the rock.”

                                            >Gilda nods and flaps her wings a few times before taking to the air.  Soon she is high above, inspecting the quality of the surrounding stone.  You move as well, searching the perimeter of the room with your eyes and your hands, seeking any cuts in the stone that might lead out of the room.

                                            >

                                            >Despite the fact that you have sunlight entering the room, without knowing how the timepiece is used, you can only tell that maybe half your day has passed.  Gilda, having finished her inspection, is squatting on the altar, watching as you make another pass along the wall, looking higher this time.

                                            >“I guess you haven’t had any luck either.”

                                            “Not yet, but I’m sure if we keep looking”

                                            >“We’re going to die down here.”

                                            >She has a bad habit of interrupting you, not all the time, but often enough for you to notice it.  Turning back to her, you notice her confident presence is much more subdued than usual, or rather, it’s being overpowered as she faces her mortality.


                                            >Leaving the wall, you walk towards her, making sure to avoid tripping over any of the rubble knocked loose by yesterday’s cave in.

                                            “It’s not that bad, Gilda, we still have friends outside this room, and it shouldn’t take them long to get to us.  Besides, I’m sure that there’s a way out of here besides the main entrance.”

                                            >“All right, I’ll bite.  How exactly do you know that there’s another way out of here?”

                                            “Um, well.”

                                            >For a long moment, you stay silent.  You really have no way of knowing if there is another way out.  She grins a little at that and slugs you in the shoulder.

                                            >“It’s fine.  Like you said, there’s still the others, and there’s no way that they would leave us here, not if they believed we were still alive.”

                                            >You nod, still a little shaken at the realization that you have no idea on how to get out of this hole.  Sitting on the altar beside Gilda, you both stare at the exit.  Time creeps by, and you feel your griffon companion looking at you again.

                                            >“Hey, I’m going to go back down the tunnel, see if I can’t make any headway from this side.  Maybe we’ll meet them in the middle.”

                                            “Sounds like a pretty good idea.  I’ll come with you.”

                                            >Gilda smirks and pushes herself off the carved rock, landing with a quiet thud before looking back at you.

                                            >“No offense, but you’re just going to get in my way.  Remember how long it took you to get me out yesterday?  Just, stay down here and keep looking for that second way out.  Maybe the wall will tell you something?”

                                            >She gives a teasing smile and flicks her tail feathers back at you as she walks off.


                                            >The air seems colder now that you’re alone, stale and heavy with fear and uncertainty.  It takes a few minutes longer, but you’re on your feet again, walking over to the wall mural.

                                            >Not that you hadn’t looked over the carvings before, Twilight had insisted you take a good hard look when she realized that they might be humans.  But you couldn’t make heads or tails of them.

                                            >Walking back over to the wall, you begin the exceedingly frustrating task of trying to figure out what it says.  It may be your only way out.

                                            >

                                            >“Miss Sparkle?  Twilight?”

                                            >Opening your eyes, you see a concerned unicorn standing over you.  Your body aches from hoof to horn, but seems focused in top of your head.  You groan and sit up, bringing your hoof to find the offender.

                                            “W-what happened?”

                                            >“There was an earthquake and you went headfirst into a wall.  You’ve been unconscious for the more than a day.”

                                            “Ah, ouch.”

                                            >You rub the tender bump on your forehead and take a look around.  The central cavern still seems to be in one piece, though several of the tunnels look like they have collapsed.

                                            “Is everyone accounted for?”

                                            >“All the ponies are accounted for; thankfully they were able to clear away any rubble, or blink back to the central cavern.  The benefits of a unicorn exploration team, I suppose.”

                                            “Celestia will be glad to hear that.  What about the Griffon Delegation?”

                                            >The unicorn’s reluctance is readily apparent.  You roll off the bed, making sure that you can stand on your own four hooves before placing your weight on them.  A momentary dizzy spell is the worst that you suffer.

                                            “Please, I need to assess the situation.”

                                            >“Delegate Gilda has gone missing.”


                                            >You frown a little at the mention of her name.  Gilda was an unwelcome surprise when you arrived at the site, her attitude towards your friends was not something easily overlooked.  However, the griffon had stayed to herself for most of the dig.

                                            “We should begin to clear the tunnels of rubble then.  The griffons are our hosts after all, and we should treat Gilda as much of a part of our team as she is theirs.”

                                            >The unicorn nods, and begins to head out of the room.  Your thoughts turn back to Gilda.

                                            >Despite her initial reluctance to interact with the exploration team, Gilda had been agreeable enough to follow orders when given.  She had even warmed up to Anonymous, asking him questions about Earth, following him from place to place, like a shadow.

                                            >A cold chill seizes through your body, your flesh suddenly feeling two sizes too small.

                                            “Excuse me, what about the human, Anonymous?”

                                            >The unicorn stops, a few steps from the doorway.  That hesitant look comes on full force as he shuffles his hoof, avoiding eye contact.  He does answer, after a long pause.

                                            >“The human, Anonymous, also has been reported missing.”

                                            >’Actually there’s a third missing party.’

                                            >Oh yeah?  Who’s that?

                                            >’My cool.’

                                            >You begin to hyperventilate, jerking your head to the left and right, as if Anon would show up in his usual manner.  That simple hand wave and ‘sup’.  No luck.

                                            “What do you mean he’s missing?”

                                            >“As… as in he’s not here?”

                                            >You sigh, burying your face in your hooves.  Deep breaths, Twilight.

                                            “Where are we in the search?”

                                            >“Several tunnels collapsed during the cave in.  We’ve managed to open some of the shorter tunnels, but no sign of them yet.”


                                            >You pull your hooves from your head and nod.

                                            “Good.  We have to find hi- we have to find both of them.  How long would it take a griffon to get to Canterlot?”

                                            >“A few days to make a round trip.”

                                            >What a time for Spike to be at home, ugh!

                                            “Then we don’t have time to waste, we must inform the Princess of our situation.  We need more bodies here as soon as possible.”

                                            >The unicorn nods once, and heads out.  Feeling the weight of this new responsibility on your shoulders, you walk out to survey the damage to the city.  True to the report, even from your vantage point you can see several collapsed tunnels.  Griffon and unicorns are working side-by-side to clear them, moving at quite a clip, but with the amount of rubble and the number of tunnels to clear, it could be weeks before you find Anon and Gilda.

                                            >They don’t have that kind of time.  If you knew which tunnel they were in, then you could rescue them before assistance arrived from Canterlot..  Closing your eyes, you grit your teeth and stop one of your hooves.

                                            “Come on Twilight!  All you have to do is think it out.”

                                            >The sounds of stone scraping against stone.  Ponies and griffons shouting to one another.  You struggle for a moment, but soon all the sounds fade in a background buzz.  Only you, and your thoughts.

                                            >How could this happen?  You get proof positive of intelligent life from another world and he gets squished by a stray boulder.  Fillies and colts would learn about you in school as Twilight Sparkle, the biggest flop ever to come out of Canterlot.

                                            “Calm down.  It, it’s not like their lives depend on this or anything.”


                                            >Oh wait, they probably did.  Taking a breath to steady yourself, you go over what you know about this city, and Anonymous.

                                            >The city itself is old, ancient in fact.  Most of the stone buildings have been reduced to rubble with the passage of time, leaving only the foundations.  A few walls remain standing, but they are brittle and likely to fall if you touch them.

                                            >The tunnels lead to different districts, mostly residential and commercial.  There are a few locations where stone gives way to dirt, but nothing is built there.  From what Anonymous says about human death rituals, any remains will be found buried there.

                                            >Speaking of remains, none have been found within the city.  While the bones may have simply vanished with time, it seems unusual to find no signs of life aside from the dilapidated structures.  It’s as if everyone decided to leave all at once.

                                            >But, to simply disappear, with hardly a trace, that would require immense magical power.  Magic strong enough to leave a residue that would cover the area for years.

                                            “That’s it.”

                                            >A smile spreads across your face as you open your eyes.  That’s exactly where he is.

                                            “In the altar room.”

                                            >

                                            >A slight wind whistling through the gaps in the stone causes you to shudder.  Your shirt is torn and full of holes from your various tumbles and exertions yesterday, unfortunate, since you really liked it.

                                            >Last night was spectacularly uncomfortable.  The cold stone on your back, and the drop in temperature as the sun disappeared, you weren’t sure if the cold or dehydration would kill you first.


                                            >That’s right, you had nothing.  No food, and more importantly, no water.  Only a few days until your paperwork went through to make you a permanent resident of the city of Dirt Nap.

                                            >You grit your teeth as your head throbs.

                                            “I’m getting myself worked up again.”

                                            >You take a moment and push those thoughts to the side, turning back to the carvings.

                                            >It was a monstrous undertaking, much larger than when you entered the room for the first time and Twilight pointed them out to you.  The carvings ran along the entire length of the wall, and stretched from the ground to your shoulders.  Some were worn with age but being underground had saved most of them, a history of an entire peoples.

                                            >You weren’t sure what time it was, but you’d managed to cover maybe a quarter of the room.  What you had gathered so far was that these people took a distinct interest in buffalo.  From the repetition, the buffalo was an important part of their identity, a source of food, clothing, perhaps even a spiritual guide.

                                            >A low, guttural growl slips out from your stomach to interrupt your train of thought.  You place a hand over it and become the nagging hunger that’s been eating away at you all day.

                                            “Hurry, Twilight.”

                                            >“No luck, huh?”

                                            >Gilda pads up behind you as you shake your head.  Reaching out, you tap your finger on a few depictions of the animal.

                                            “No, not yet.  About the only thing that I can figure is that they placed special emphasis on buffalo, or something similar to it.”

                                            >“Maybe if we ask nicely, we can get a herd to stampede through the wall?”


                                            >Falling back on her haunches, she smirks over at you and cocks her head to the side.  You manage a smile, but another sharp pain jerks through your head again, making it seem even more forced.

                                            >Gilda doesn’t miss a step.

                                            >“You know, if this isn’t going anywhere, you need to come help me with the tunnel.  Maybe we can get some real muscle built up on those branch-swingers of yours by the time we get out.”

                                            >She flashes a grin, but you can see the fear building behind it.  She knows that escape is slim, she’s always known.  You suppose that you have too.  Sitting down beside her, you press your shoulder into hers.  Gilda jumps a little, but leans back against you after a moment.

                                            “I don’t think we’d be that lucky.”

                                            >The two of you lapse into silence, staring at the glyphs interspersed between the stony depictions of life.  Something about them tugs at the edge of your consciousness, but no matter how hard you look at them, it’s still impossible to read without knowing the language.  At last, you decide enough is enough.

                                            “So, what’s your experience with buffalo?”

                                            >“They’re big, strong, have a tendency to be short tempered, travel in herds and sit pretty low on the intelligent species list.”

                                            >She’s resting her head on your chest at this point, and you see her eyes turn up to you.

                                            “That’s a pretty poor explanation.”

                                            >She ruffles her feathers a little, and the look turns to a scowl.  She continues ahead, regardless.

                                            >“They don’t like interacting with outsiders, and everyone else is smart enough to stay away, in case the herd gets it into their mind to stampede.”

                                            “It kind of sounds like you’ve never really met a buffalo.”


                                            >“Well, duh, buffalo haven’t been on this side of the mountain range since before the ponies arrived.  They live on the plains now, easier to run on, and away from most predators.  Really, the only thing that buffalo have going for them is their magic.”

                                            >That gets your attention.

                                            “I thought only unicorns had magic?”

                                            >Gilda looks up at you and laughs.  It’s a quiet sound, with an uplifting whistling tone at the end of it.  She shakes her head and grins.

                                            >“Did you just drop out of the trees or what?  Lots of creatures exist here because of magic.  You didn’t really think that pegasi could fly with those tiny wings, did you?  They use magic to keep themselves aloft, otherwise they’d end up falling on their faces.  The buffalo are the same way.”

                                            “That sounds nice on paper, but I don’t think you can really prove that a bunch of herd animals have access to magic.”

                                            >“Listen, every so often, some griffons gets it into their heads to catch a buffalo, and every time the buffalo know as soon as they pick off one of the stragglers and come charging straight back.  They just, know, even if they’re headed the other way, they know to come back to help one of their own.  A griffon hasn’t tasted buffalo in ages.  Shame too, that hump of theirs looks, delectable.”

                                            >She’s salivating a little, distracted by the thought of sinking her beak into a mess of buffalo hump.  Holding back a laugh, you glance back up at the wall, feeling a little better about your situation.  Not that it’s improved any, you’re not any closer to figuring out the secret of the wall, but at least Gilda makes the waiting a touch easier.


                                            >Thin beams of orange light filter in through the cuts in the stone.  You’ve spent the entire day looking at this wall, and made very little progress.  Maybe Gilda’s right, and you should be more focused on digging your way out.

                                            >Speaking of, she seems to have gotten very cozy, leaning up against you, resting her head on your shoulder now.  Giving her a few small nudges, she wakes as you push into an upright position and stand, heading for the collapsed tunnel.  She seems a little perturbed by your need to move.

                                            >“Hey where are you going, chimp?”

                                            “Gotta take a leak before it gets too dark to see, besides, I’d hate to get any fleas on you.”

                                            >As you walk away, you hear her mutter something under her breath, but decide not to pay it much mind.  You walk as deep as you dare; the light is fading fast, plunging the tunnel into darkness, and unzip your pants.

                                            >It doesn’t take more than a minute to relieve yourself, though you can’t help noticing a distinct shift in the hue of your urine, leaving it a deep, murky yellow.  A thought strikes you as you shake any stray drops loose.

                                            >You don’t know how long you’ll be down here, maybe you should consider drinking your ow-

                                            >You gag and visibly convulse, and nearly fall forward.  Using your hand to steady yourself against the wall, you rationalize the concept.  It was a foreign thought, rising unbidden from some part of your brain intent to survive this ordeal.  The will to survive and the need for civility are drawing battle lines, but you may be dead before one of them wins.  A shiver rolls down your spine as you glance down again.


                                            >The darkness is creeping over your ankles now.  Averting your eyes from the ground, you turn and head back into the cavern to sleep and await rescue.

                                            >

                                            >The ground is cold again tonight.  Not that you were expecting much different, but that doesn’t mean you have to like it.  Yesterday you had physical exhaustion to thank for inviting sleep, but tonight, you are awake and alert, aware for the first time how much of your work depends on light being present.

                                            >The cavern looks different as the pale echoes of the moon peek through the cuts in the ceiling.  Shadows stir, crawling along the ground, ever present, but choosing to remain just out of sight.

                                            >You close your eyes, telling yourself that it’s just your imagination.  That the stress of the situation is getting to you.  You open your eyes and the nagging fear is gone.  Until Gilda’s explanation of magic worms its way back into your head.

                                            >You’re living in a world where the moving of celestial bodies is governed by two sister ponies.  Where the weather is made and directed by flying ponies.  A place where buffalo can talk to each other without moving their mouths, and mythological creatures like griffons exist and thrive.

                                            >The shadows quiver again, your mind continuing to run with this new understanding of this place.  In a world governed by something as unfamiliar to you as magic, who’s to say that spirits can’t fill the shadows, after finding life in the necropolis wasn’t enough?  What if they decided to return to their homes, to prey on unfortunate souls who wandered through?


                                            >Your body feels the touch before it lands.  You jerk to the side, crawling into the shadows as you give a strangled scream.  This is exactly what they wanted.

                                            >“Woah there.  Chill out, I was just coming to see if you were okay.”

                                            >Gilda is perched on the edge of the altar, tilting her head to the side as she peers into the darkness.  Despite your attempts to hide, you feel she can see you, and you shift a little to the left.  Sure enough, her eyes follow you, though she grins a little as she does.

                                            “Jeez, Gilda!  Warn me next time you’re sneaking up on me!”

                                            >Your heart begins to slow down as you walk back towards her, noting the smug smile on her beak.

                                            >“But if I let you know I’m stalking you, it’s not really stalking, is it?”

                                            “Whatever, what do you want?  Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

                                            >“I would be, except for the twisting, turning, grunting, huffing, puffing and grumbling that you’ve been doing.”

                                            “Was, was I really that loud?”

                                            >She nods, that cocky grin never leaving her face.

                                            “Sorry, it’s just this whole situation.  And then there’s the floor, the temperature, it’s just getting to be overwhelming.”

                                            >“If you’re that uncomfortable, why don’t you come over and sleep with me?”

                                            >The offer hangs in the air for an eternity.  You can feel that predatory gaze of hers over your body again, despite the fact that she never breaks eye contact with you.  Then, the moment is gone, and she shrugs a little, jumping off the altar and walking back to her side.

                                            >“That’s a standing offer, monkey man.”

                                            “But, why?”

                                            >“Because, if we don’t get rescued we may as well be cozy with each other when the time comes.”


                                            >She circles her portion of the altar once and lays down, curling just enough so that she is facing you.  She stares a moment longer and then closes her eyes.  You stand there for several minutes, before taking small, careful steps towards her.  Fifteen paces away, you realize she’s caught you.

                                            >You freeze as you see one of her eyes is open, staring at you.  The seconds tick by, you feel your limbs get heavier as neither of you move.  Lungs burning, trying to release air, but every other part of you is screaming no.  The eye closes without incident and there is quiet rustling of feathers as she lifts one of her wings.

                                            >Taking the few remaining steps forward, you settle down next to her, resting your shoulders and head against her side.  She makes a small sound before bringing her wing down, covering a good portion of your chest in the process.

                                            >She’s warm, but with all that fur who wouldn’t be.  You hear the faint echoes of her heart as it pumps away, far faster than your own.  Her scent has mingled with the dust and grime of the underground, earthy, but still with a simple tang of down mixed in.

                                            >Despite the strangeness of the situation, sleep finds you easily.  At least for a few hours.


                                            Part 3


                                            >Despite Gilda’s accommodation for you the night before, nightmares plague the early morning hours of your rest.  The visions are always resting on the edge of your conscious mind, teasing you with their closeness until you, begging to be remembered.  Each time you slip off to sleep again, and awake in a fear-induced sweat.

                                            >“Hey, Tree Swinger.”

                                            >You glance up at her, giving a lackluster smile.  Your hair is plastered to the back of your neck and face.  The smile fades as her eyes narrow, inspecting her coat.  Her fur is slightly discolored where you spent the night, taking on a darker hue from your perspiration.

                                            >“You’re getting your filth all over me.  I didn’t invite you to sleep with me so I could bathe in your stink, you know.”

                                            >Your first instinct is to apologize, no need to get on the bad side of an already grumpy griffon.  Taking a breath, you feel the admission of responsibility get caught in your throat, the muscles clamping down, as if to stop you.

                                            >Hacking and coughing, you push yourself to your feet, staggering while your body orients itself.  Gilda watches you with a passing curiosity, since you are the only interesting thing left for her to interact with.   Finally clearing your throat, you open your mouth to apologize.

                                            “Listen, Feather Brain, just because you’re hot stuff outside this hole, doesn’t mean squat.  You and me, we’re down here trying to survive, so the less time you spend complaining about how much I stink or how useless I am, the better.  How about you give that irritating pecker of yours a rest and let me try and get back to sleep?”

                                            >Your voice echoes for a moment before the room lapses into silence.


                                            >It takes a few seconds to realize that that was hardly an apology.  By this point the griffon has tilted her head a little, allowing the protruding feathery bangs to cover one of her eyes.  The other is locked onto you, shimmering in the small hint of pre-dawn light from above.  That slight quiver of gold urges you closer, to explore its depths, promising wealth unimaginable, all the while telling you to pay no mind to the angler’s teeth hiding just below.

                                            >Gilda sneers, taking short, measured steps towards you.  Her shoulders roll with a hunter’s grace, filled with purpose.  You take several steps back until you hit the wall.  You turn to bolt around the perimeter when two talons slam into the wall on either side of you.

                                            >The fear sweat returns as Gilda forces herself into a standing position, using the wall to support her body weight.  Despite the fact you still have a head or two on her in height, Gilda’s beak is in prime position to go right through the middle of your chest.

                                            >“No you listen, you backwater bonobo.  We’re not surviving, we’re waiting to die a terrible death, on the slimmest of hopes that some pony Princess’ prissy punk can figure out how to move enough stone to build a dozen palaces before we kick it.  It’s your fault I’m down here in the first place, and don’t you ever, ever forget that!”

                                            >Gilda’s shoulders are still heaving as she tries to rein herself back in, closing her eyes as she finally begins to settle.  With the worst over, your sphincter relaxes enough to allow blood to flow back to your brain.


                                            >Being this close to her, you notice the contours surrounding the not-so subtle shift from the white feathers on her head, to a faded purple wing design that surrounds each eye.  Her eyes still closed, the color holds a sort of regal elegance, telling the story of a woman long since removed from a position of power, but still holding pride in herself.

                                            >The eyes snap back open, and your stomach falls over itself again.  Her breathing has calmed, each one deep and deliberate, which is perhaps more terrifying as she leans in closer.  Her forepaws push her higher as she stands tall, her beak scant inches away from your chin.  Leaning forward on her back paws, she whispers into your neck.

                                            >“Just to make sure that you don’t ever take that tone with me again, I’m going to make this abundantly clear.  I like you, Anonymous, but only just enough to keep you alive for company.  If I think that there’s the slimmest chance that killing you is going to allow me to live long enough to be rescued, I’ll do it.  And if you keep pissing me off, I might do it anyway.”

                                            >Your eyes slam shut as she presses her beak against your neck, fingers gripping into the wall behind you.  You can feel her hot breath against the tender flesh, the once subtle scent of down feathers now overpowering as she inches nearer.  Gilda makes a small cough and then you feel something slightly moist and very rough running along your skin.  As the sensation leaves, you crack open your eyes.


                                            >Gilda still stares up at you, though her eyes have softened a great deal.  Her beak is opening and closing periodically, giving you a show of her tongue working something over in your mouth.  Bringing your hand to your neck, you fingers grope for the moist spot.  She raises an eyebrow and shrugs, before pushing herself off the wall, all four paws on the ground again as she saunters back to her perch.

                                            >“I’ve gotten a taste of you now, Monkey Man.  It’s not that bad, maybe I should reconsider how valuable you are alive.”

                                            >She circles once, making a point to never take her eyes off of you before dropping to the ground.  Her haunches are curled around to the inside of her body, allowing her to continue facing you.  She makes a show of clicking her beak together once, the sound of a trap snapping shut echoing through the emptiness.

                                            >As you walk back to what is once again ‘your’ side of the altar, you see her eyes close and soon enough her sides are rising and falling in a regular rhythm.  Kneeling onto the floor, you press your back against the cold stone and look upwards.

                                            >Furtive fingerlings of light grasp at the holes above, giving you several hours before it becomes light enough to work.  In the near darkness, shadows skitter again.  Closing your eyes, you push the thoughts of dead spirits and magic as far from your mind as you can.

                                            >

                                            “This isn’t working!”


                                            >Stamping your hoof against the ground, you huff and glare at the rocks in front of you.  It had taken some doing, but the griffons and ponies were working in shifts to clear this tunnel.  Even still, progress had been slow, the pile of stones in front of the tunnel kept growing, but the teams never seemed to get any deeper!  You were getting nowhere fast, time for the back-up plan.

                                            >Trotting over to your saddlebags, you opened the satchels to take stock.  Canteens of water, dried meat from the griffon camp, fruits and cheese, not much, but it would be enough to help the two of them hold out for a little while.

                                            >Closing the sacks, you lift the saddlebags onto your back, giving a small grunt as it settles into place.  Turning your attention to the tunnel, you set your hooves and glare at the rocks.  ‘Blinking’ was a complicated spell, even for unicorns specializing in magic such as yourself.

                                            >The idea around the spell was to enable immediate short-range teleportation.  Generally, this was done with jumps being limited by line of sight, such as a pony traveling from one end of the room to another in a blink, thus the name.

                                            >Blinking could also be done through memory, though it required a pony to be familiar enough with the area they were going to blink to, and exhausted an enormous amount of magical power.  There were additional risks involved in ‘blind blinking’.

                                            >Because the blink was being made from memory rather than line of sight, it was entirely possible for a unicorn to crash through walls, doors, or even on top of other ponies.


                                            >There were stories, of course, about unicorns who had blinked themselves into walls and been crushed upon reappearing.  But those were just old mare’s tails.

                                            >You hoped.

                                            >But what was there to worry about?  You had blind blinked before, only a handful of times, but it wasn’t like this was your first.

                                            >Still, you were blinking to places you were familiar with and had visited within a day at least.  Sugar Cube Corner, Sweet Apple Acres, even the center of Ponyville.  You’d never blinked to, say, Canterlot, you weren’t even sure if that was possible for anypony other than Celestia to manage a blink of more than a few miles.

                                            “Stop it Twilight, you’re going to get yourself spooked.”

                                            >Taking the opportunity to reset your hooves, you steady your breathing and focus the potential magic whirling away inside of you.  As you exhale, the formless magic rises through your body along your breath, continuing upwards into your horn.  Clenching your eyes shut, you set your mind on the altar room, feeling the magic reaching into your memories and attaching to them.

                                            >The stone slab sitting in the center, the stonework designs standing out in relief from the rest of the rock; the perfectly round contours of the walls, accented by the depictions of Equestrian humans; the small holes in the ceiling, allowing light and air into the altar room.

                                            >With the mental picture painted, you sigh again and feel the magic latch onto the image.  You feel yourself floating, and ‘feel’ the image coming closer.  Closer still, until it consumes you.  A strange sensation passes through your body, akin to a pebble causing ripple to echo across a pond face.

                                            >You ignore it and open your eyes, a smile on your face.


                                            “Anon!”

                                            >The griffon in front of you turns, raising an eyebrow.

                                            >“No, I’m Chuck.”

                                            “B-b-but, the spell!”

                                            >“I don’t know anything about a spell, unicorn.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m trying to clear some rubble.”

                                            >Chuck lifts one of his clawed feet and shoos you away.  Stumbling back, you look yourself over to make sure that you’re still in one piece.  Hooves to horn, everything seems perfect.  You’ve still got your pack.

                                            “But, the spell…”

                                            >You snort and turn to face the rubble again.  The magic flows easier this time; it always does after the initial push.  You feel yourself hurtling into the image you’ve created and feel the air around you shiver and quake.  Snapping open your eyes, you see that you haven’t moved.

                                            “I-I…”

                                            >You turn towards a rocky outcropping, and propel yourself towards it, not even bothering to close your eyes this time.  The scene below is exactly as it should be, you perched high above the workers, able to see exactly what’s going on.  Another blink and you’re inside the tent the exploration team has been using as a base camp, a successful transition into an area you couldn’t see.

                                            >The spell is working just fine, except when you try to enter the altar room.

                                            >The fact that you can still perform magic does little to ease your growing frustration.  Someone, or something, is keeping you from entering that room.

                                            “Well, if I can’t blink in there, we’ll have to go through the old fashioned way.”


                                            >

                                            >Reaching forward, you grab another handful of rubble and pull it towards you.  As so many times before, this triggers an avalanche of falling rocks that very nearly knocks you off your feet.  Across the way, you can hear Gilda laughing at you, the airy, cheerful sound welcome after your encounter early in the morning.

                                            “Still trying to get yourself killed?  Just remember, I prefer my meals moist, not squashed.”

                                            >Despite the spat, she seems to be in much better spirits than she has been in recent days, focused and alert.  You wish you could say the same about yourself.

                                            >You’re irritable, there’s no doubt about that.  Gilda isn’t the best company, but she’s not bad enough to warrant the irrational spikes in frustration towards her.  You do remember to keep your tongue in check, however, speaking only when you’re feeling rational and level headed.  These moments, due the throbbing headache you’re suffering from, are few and far between.

                                            >Still, Gilda seems to at least appreciate that you’re down in the tunnel with her again.  While little headway has been made, you’re not sure how much work you can actually do, considering you’re running out of light.

                                            >Prior to the cave-in, the tunnel was lit by small glowing stones in the wall, which had been placed by the exploration team.  You had stumbled across a handful, all shattered, their pale ethereal light freed from its rocky tomb.

                                            >A chill causes the hair on the back of your neck to jump to attention.  You drop the stone without a second look, no need to get philosophical about it.


                                            >Glancing over at Gilda, you see that she has slowed a little since the day began.  It’s only natural that exhaustion would set in, but her eyes seem glassy, her breathing labored more than it should be.  Taking a few seconds to push the pain in your head onto the back burner, you approach the griffon.

                                            “Gilda, you’re not looking too good.”

                                            >Those gold eyes jump to you, you can see the snarky response building behind them.

                                            >“You couldn’t pass for decent either, snack pack.”

                                            >Despite the name calling, you swallow what’s left of your pride and smile.  To your relief, Gilda eases up a little as well, the anger disappearing from her eyes.

                                            “It’s been a hard day, and we’ve made some progress, what say we call it quits and take it easy until bedtime?”

                                            >“You’re serious?”

                                            >Gilda laughs, shaking her head.  The sound is tired now, less melodious, but familiar and warm, like old leather.  When you don’t respond, she cocks her head to the side, then rights herself, smiling.

                                            >“You know, this is probably going to be the last day we can work like this.  I, don’t think I have it in me to crawl down here again.”

                                            >Her words begin to hitch halfway through, a small tremor working its way through her body.  You recognize the momentary lapse into fear.  Walking over, you place a hand on her neck.  She jumps, but doesn’t jerk away, taking several quiet seconds to look up at you.

                                            “Well, at least the company’s going to be good.”

                                            >Your words hang in the air for several moments before a small chuckle escapes Gilda’s beak and she gives a nod.  As you fall in step behind her, beginning the ascent, she glances back at you, her eyes curling up into a smile.


                                            >“You’re all right, Fleabag.”

                                            >You wave, laughing it off, and stumble up after her, your head pounding.

                                            >She has a point, this will probably be the last time you come down this tunnel unless you’re rescued.  Ha, seems Gilda’s rubbing off on you. She does have a point, the very idea of moving is beginning to sound painful.

                                            >Your muscles ache, your skull feels like someone’s hammering away inside of it.  You don’t even feel the need to piss.  That’s what concerns you the most.  Death by dehydration is not a pleasant thing and while you’re not familiar with the entire process, storing water waste can’t be a good sign.

                                            >Gilda has curled up in her usual spot, and you make steady progress towards the griffon.  As you sit down beside her, you realize how tired you really are, feeling yourself drifting into the ceiling.  An eerie quiet settles over the room again.

                                            >You try to turn to Gilda to make conversation, but the very idea of moving sets your head pounding.  Perhaps it would be better to just stay here, staring off into space until it’s time to go.

                                            >“Hey, Anon.”

                                            “Mmm...”

                                            >“Hey.  Look at me!”

                                            >Four talons grip your jaw.  For a moment, you’re afraid she’s going to dig into you, but instead she turns your head with a surprising grace, the murderous claws not even indenting into your skin.  Gilda’s eyes are narrowed, she’s scowling again.

                                            >“Don’t you go off and die before me.”

                                            “E-excuse me, are you telling me that I’m not allowed to die now?”

                                            >Your ribs begin to shake and you feel your body sliding down the altar.  You continue to laugh even as you’re on the floor, staring up at her with tears in your eyes.

                                            “You can’t be serious.”

                                            >“I am.  You can’t die yet.  If you did I...”


                                            >Her voice trails off as you sit up, taking a few scoots closer to her.  She hasn’t noticed yet, her eyes locked on the ground in front of her.  Leaning your shoulder against her, you try to get the rest of the sentence out of her.

                                            “You what?”

                                            >Gilda jumps and pulls back away from you when she realizes the proximity between the two of you.  After a nervous laugh, she blows her bangs out of the way and rolls her eyes, giving her usual ‘simply don’t give a fuck’ grin.

                                            >“Pft, whatever.  Forget it.  Why don’t you go back to your nap?”

                                            >Putting some distance between the two of you, she flops on the ground.  For the first time you can remember, her back is facing you.  You take a few steps closer.

                                            “Gilda.”

                                            >“I thought I told you to forget about it.”

                                            “Gilda...”

                                            >“I don’t care!  Go to sleep!”

                                            >Her voice carries through the room, echoing back a few times before quiet seeps back in.  Rooted to the spot, you watch her, seeing her shoulders shudder as her breathing catches in her throat.

                                            >She doesn’t turn as you begin to shuffle towards her, leaning heavily on the stone altar for support as you make your way along.  Even when you sit down next to her, she seems adamant about staying in place.  You shrug and rest an elbow on her hindquarters.

                                            >“What do you think you’re doing, you overgrown leamer?”

                                            “Just thinking about a joke I heard back home.”

                                            >“Monkey humor, great.  Why don’t you enlighten me?”


                                            “All right, so a pony walks up to a bar and takes a seat.  He coughs a few times but the bartender doesn’t pay any attention to him.  He kicks the bar, but the bartender doesn’t move.  So the pony picks up a glass and tosses it at the bartender.  The bartender turns and says ‘There’s no need to throw a fit, if you want something just say so!’  The pony looks up and says ‘Sorry, I’m a little horse’.”

                                            >The quiet that falls between you two is perhaps the most uncomfortable feeling since getting stuck down here.  Even more than her attacking your neck this morning and the shadows creeping along the edge of your vision at night.  Gilda opens her beak, but it falls shut again before any sound escapes.  She spends a fair amount of time staring at you, as if trying to figure out if you were worth keeping around after that awful joke.

                                            >“What’s a horse?”

                                            >Oh boy.  Squirming against the ground, you begin to explain the joke to Gilda, including the necessary footnotes about how ponies grow into horses in your world.  As you explain, the griffon waves as if uninterested in the concept of ‘big ponies’, but does pull herself a little closer to you.

                                            >“So, what other kinds of weird animals live in your world?”

                                            “Well, I don’t really know.  I mean, lots of animals here in  Equestria, we have counterparts of back on earth.  Except for pegasi, unicorns and the like.”

                                            >“How about griffons?”

                                            >You give an apologetic smile and shake your head.

                                            “We’ve got lions and we’ve got eagles, but no griffons.”

                                            >“Sounds pretty boring.  I’m glad I don’t live in your weird world.”


                                            >Despite the fact that your world is ‘boring’ and ‘weird’, she continues to ask you questions about it.  You tell her about the giant buildings which overshadow even Canterlot Castle and the sprawling cityscapes that surround them.  She takes a particular interest in your explanation of human-flight, suitably impressed that a ground-bound species such as ‘apes’ managed to conquer the skies.

                                            >In turn, she takes some time to talk about the Griffon tribes.   The constant change of territorial borders with each other, and with the gradually expanding Equestria.  She touches, cautiously, on the struggles of the tribes with Celestia.

                                            >“What it boils down to is that the old leaders are too afraid to speak out on anything involving Equestria.  They think that if they do, Celestia will take away the sun, or something equally awful.”

                                            “But Celestia would never do anything like that.  She’s a kind-hearted pony.”

                                            >Gilda shrugs and stares up at the ceiling.

                                            >“When was the last time you heard of anyone without magical prowess standing in opposition to anything Celestia says or does?”

                                            >You fall quiet and she continues when it becomes apparent you can’t refute that.

                                            >“Whether she’s good or fair isn’t the point.  The fact is, no one knows how much power she actually has.  If she decided not to raise the sun, or to never let it set, who could stand up to that?  Certainly not the Griffons, we don’t have magicians, or wizards, or spell casters.  So, whenever Canterlot wants something, we simply take it on the beak and keep going.  No one in charge wants to see what she might do.”


                                            >The conversation descends into quiet contemplation.  You’re certain that Celestia would never intentionally seek to do harm to an entire species, but because of her position she doesn’t get out much amongst the other residents of Equestria.  Perhaps, if you get out, you can suggest something like that to her, a chance for her to meet the needs of the other species, as well as the ponies.

                                            >It would be good for P.R. at least.

                                            >Sometime during your conversation with Gilda she had decided to make herself comfortable by leaning against you, her foreclaws successfully trapping your left arm against her body.  Nestled there within her warm fur, you feel her heartbeat, still fast, but erratic in strength.  Sometimes it would almost disappear, only to come thundering back.

                                            >Amidst the distant echoes of her heart, you feel yourself sliding towards sleep.  There’s still several hours of daylight left, probably, but getting up and moving around seems like far too much work.  A quick glance down at Gilda, confirming she’s asleep or getting close, and you allow yourself to slip into unconsciousness.

                                            >

                                            >After the unsuccessful blinking attempts, you decided to take some time to recover.  Not because you were tired, but because it would be necessary to be fully charged for what you had planned.

                                            >Magic, aside from being your talent, is just interesting as a whole.  The ability to act on objects to change their properties or position in space, it’s really quite a rush. Your skin shivers with anticipation as you stare down the tunnel.

                                            >“Ms. Sparkle, all unicorns and griffons are clear of the work area.”

                                            “Very good.”


                                            >As you breathe, the magic begins to flow through you again, up the throat and into your horn.  Projecting the magic outward, telekinetic tendrils begin to remove rubble.  As it falls aside, you feel yourself delving deeper into the spell, drawing up more and more of the available magic as you do.  Some stones begin to roll away on their own, illuminated by your purple power, the removed rubble stacking itself neatly off to the side of the tunnel.

                                            >But that’s not enough.  Anon is dying, Gilda too.  You pour more into your efforts, feeling your body tense as you approach your magical threshold.

                                            >Rocks are flying by this point, you’re making decent headway, when the tunnel quivers.  No problem, you were ready for this!  Projecting another swell of magic forward, you create a purple wall, holding back the oncoming tide of rubble from above.

                                            “Yes!”

                                            >Grinning, you continue to face forward, focused on the task at hand.  Soon, Anon.  Soon.

                                            >

                                            >The last rays of daylight bring you back to consciousness.  Dust motes flutter down beams of quiet orange, before disappearing against the grey rock.  Sometime during your nap, Gilda removed her vice grip on your arm and slipped away.

                                            “G-”

                                            >Your voice catches in your throat, leaving a raw, ragged feeling as the words are swallowed.  After a moment, you try again.

                                            “Gilda?  Where’d you go?”

                                            >“Still here, Anon, still here.”

                                            >The measured cool has returned to her voice.  She has found herself a perch on one of the fallen rocks and set her eyes on you.  Her tail twitches from one side to the other.  Placing  your hands on the ground, you try and push yourself to your feet.

                                            “What are you doing over there?”

                                            >“Listening.  Thinking.”


                                            >More enthusiastic twitches from the tail, that cocksure grin with a dozen secrets behind it.  That whole getting to your feet thing?  Not happening.  With an aggravated grunt, you drop your arms to the ground and focus on her.

                                            “To who and about what?  We’re the only ones here.”

                                            >She smiles and stretches herself out, putting her haunches in the air while lowering her chest and sighing.  Pushing herself from her perch, she lands with a silent thump, before stalking closer, each paw falling in line behind the others.  A sudden chill worms its way through your body, setting up shop in your gut, vice-like fingers probing and squeezing as they go.

                                            >You try and scramble to your feet, but your eyes are connected with hers, but all of your will to fight seeps into the cold stone.  She straddles you, one paw on either side of your hip, the others resting next to your ears.  At this distance, you can see the smile faltering, as if she’s not sure how to proceed.

                                            >Then her talons descend around your neck.

                                            >The feel of her raptor feet is surprisingly smooth, the scales sliding along your tender flesh as she tightens her grip.  Her talons create shallow ridges in your flesh, drawing trickles of blood.

                                            >Your body, sluggish and slow, finally realizes what is going on and begins to thrash.  Your mind catches up seconds later.

                                            “Gilda, what are you doing?”

                                            >“I, I have to.”

                                            >Her voice cracks as her pupils dilate.  Despite the difference in size, she has the advantage in position and strength.  Her feet tighten again around your neck.  You try to speak only to find you can’t take a breath to do so.

                                            >“If you die, then I can leave.  I can leave here, I don’t have to die.”


                                            >Regaining some measure of control over your body, you lift your hands and try to push her off of you.  Dehydration and a sudden lack of oxygen have left you weak and the palm pushing against her chest does nothing but cause her grip to tighten.

                                            >Darkness flirts with the edge of your vision, the terrible shadow things creeping in closer, pack hunters closing in for the kill.  You croak up at Gilda, the only sound you can manage.  Meeting her eyes again, you see her body beginning to convulse.  The shadows slink in around her.

                                            >“If, if you die… if you die…”

                                            >Her feet falter and you gasp a breath.  The shadows linger a moment longer, then vanish in the quiet light of sunset.  Wheezing, you look up at Gilda and struggle to form words around the new impressions she left in your throat.

                                            >“If you die, I’m going to be alone.”

                                            >The griffon collapses on top of you, her feet clutching at your shoulders now as she shakes.

                                            >“I’m going to die here, alone.”

                                            >Your hands push into her fur, but she only grips tighter, aware enough of her talons this time to avoid digging into you.

                                            >“No!  Don’t, don’t push me away!  I need you, you stupid ape, I need you.”

                                            >You aren’t sure if Griffon’s can cry, if they have tear ducts at all.  Chances are you’ll never know, her body refuses to let any water leave the body unnecessarily, just like yours.  But the way she clings to your chest, with her voice quivering and body shaking, you’d like to think that if she could, she would.

                                            “You,”

                                            >A cough to find your voice, though the action sends barbs of pain up your cracked throat.

                                            “You were going to kill me.”


                                            >“Something told me to.”

                                            >Her eyes are wide, staring down at you from your chest.

                                            >“In the back of my mind.  It said that only one of us is getting out of here, that they would have to kill the other to survive.”

                                            >Yup.  She’s cracked.  Scratch that, she was already cracked when you met, now she’s gone round the bend and is straight up broken.

                                            “So, what stopped you?”

                                            >“What if I’m wrong?”

                                            >Panic seeps into her voice, her shoulders heaving.

                                            >“What if it’s this hole or some kind of madness?  What if they never come?  If I kill you, I have to keep going for days until I die.  Days that I’ll have to spend alone.”

                                            >Her talons wrap around your hand and she finally averts her eyes to the side.

                                            >“I, I think I’d rather die sooner, with you, than go on for days alone.  Dying from dehydration is bad.  Dying from it alone, is the worst.  That’s why I couldn’t do it.  That’s why you can’t go before me!  You can’t leave me alone in this hole, okay?”

                                            >Her foot tightens around your hand.  She is afraid.  She’s trying to control it, like she does everything else.

                                            “Gilda, I…”

                                            >“You are going to stay here, with me.  If we die, we die together.”

                                            “But”

                                            >“No!  No, I’m sorry.  I know it was wrong, I don’t know why I did it.  But, A-Anon, I need you.  I need you to be willing to help me see this through.  I don’t think I can make it alone.  If you have to die before me, please, just stay as long as you can.  Please.”

                                            >Anger boils up inside you.  You’re dying, and she’s still trying to make demands like it makes a difference.  In a few days, heck, in a few hours, you may be dead.  You can’t control that.  You can’t control anything about this!  She knows that.


                                            >But that’s not entirely true.

                                            >This situation has gotten entirely out of hand and nothing you do will aid in your escape.  Your body suffers from instances where it simply won’t move.  Nothing you do will fix anything physically wrong with you.

                                            >But you can control your interactions with Gilda.  You could even make them pleasant.  It isn’t much, but when waiting for death, the little things are the only ones you have influence over.

                                            >Your anger dwindles to a small patch of embers.  Gilda, in your prolonged silence, has been trying to meet your eyes, to get some idea of what you’re thinking.  She’s wrapped both her feet around your hand now, a defeated smile reflecting in her gold eyes.

                                            “Okay.”

                                            >The words sound strangled and forced, but her face lights up and she pulls you into a hug.  Subtle scents of down and stone mingle in your nose, soothing and familiar, and yes, a little scary too.  There’s a note of finality as well.  When you go, this will be the smell that surrounds you.

                                            >There are worse ways to go.

                                            >Like being choked by a crazy griffon.

                                            >She holds you against her for a long time before finally crawling off your chest.  Taking a step or two away, she stretches herself out and gives you an inviting look, wing arched just above her back.

                                            >Stumbling over on your hands and knees, you collapse against her body, allowing the irregular beats of her heart and the warmth of her body to carry you away into sleep.


                                            Part 4


                                            >“Hey, Anonymous.”

                                            >You manage a small groan and shift your weight so that your back is to the sound.  Everything feels so nice, such a pleasant nap.  The sun on your face…

                                            >“Anonymous?”

                                            >The grass underneath you…

                                            >“Quit being cute, Anon, it’s time for lunch.”

                                            >Mm, food.  You crack open an eye, and are met by the brilliant blue of the sky.  What a beautiful sight.  A maple tree arches over your head, the leaves rustling as a quiet breeze whistles through.

                                            >Beside you a woman sits, with a soft smile on her face and a picnic basket resting on her lap.  Your mind feels sluggish and heavy from your nap, so you simply watch as she reaches inside the basket.

                                            >“Come on you, the food’s not going to stay good forever.”

                                            “I suppose not.  I’m really thirsty.”

                                            >She hands you a bottle of water, which you open and chug without a second thought.  The sensation of liquid sliding down your throat is a welcome one.  As you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, however, you notice that the lingering thirst hasn’t been quenched at all.

                                            >Well, you know you’ve drank, maybe it’ll just take a couple minutes to catch up with you.  You slide closer to the woman.

                                            >What was her name?

                                            >“Anon, here, have something to eat.”

                                            >Ah, food.  You’re sure that, thing will come to you.

                                            “Don’t mind if I do!”

                                            >Placing a hand into her basket, the woman pulls out

                                            >Stones, countless stones, pebbles and rocks rolling from her hand and piling against the grass below.  Despite that, the mass in her hand never reduces in size, a perpetual waterfall of sediment.


                                            >You shake your head and take another look at the turkey sandwich.  It’s perfect, served on brown bread with plump seeds decorating the crust.  A dribble of moisture escapes from the slices and begins to roll down the side.  Squished in between, actual fresh hunks of bird, not sliced or preserved.

                                            >“Well?  Go on, take it!”

                                            >She smiles and shoves the sandwich into your hands.  You take a bite and give her a slight grin.  Truth be told, it’s delicious, still moist, the tang of mayonnaise offset by the subtle fruity hints of the tomato, leaving crisp lettuce to bring it all together.

                                            >“Isn’t that simply divine?”

                                            “It’s wonderful.”

                                            >As you take another bite, she reclines back on her elbows, going further into the shade of the tree.  She turns and regards you again.  Despite the fact that you can’t see her face, you feel her smile.

                                            >The two of you sit in silence for a while, enjoying the warmth of the day.  The wind whistles through the trees.  You sigh as she lays her hands on your shoulders, but make no move to throw her off.

                                            >“You’ve got so much tension.  Just relax, we’re together now.”

                                            >A small grunt is all that you can manage as she begins to work your suddenly stiff muscles.  Closing your eyes, you take another bite of your sandwich.

                                            >“Anonymous?”

                                            >The wind whispers as you chew and swallow your latest bite.  The sandwich has taken on an unwelcome texture.  The feeling is similar to grinding grit with your teeth, dirt and sand scratching their way down your still dry throat.

                                            >You shudder and reach for another bottle, draining it quickly.  Your thirst still persists as the leaves rattle incessantly, murmuring

                                            >“Anonymous.”


                                            >Behind you, the fingers begin a frantic dance, sliding in and around before backing out and repeating the process.  It is becoming less enjoyable, now more distracting and painful.

                                            “C-could you ease up a little?”

                                            >“Oh, but I must see to you, Anon.  You have to be ready.”

                                            “Ready?  Ready for what?”

                                            >From the clear blue sky, the sound of thunder cracks through the day, howling.

                                            >“You stupid ape!  You promised!”

                                            “I promised…”

                                            >“Promises were made to be broken dear.”

                                            >The woman’s nails dig into your shoulders.  You cry out and turn to face her.

                                            >Her nose, short and elegant with an aristocratic upturn, begins to recede into her face.  Great clumps of her hair drift away on the wind, revealing her ears.  They too were in the process of being absorbed back into the rapidly smoothing head.

                                            >The pert lips, which had promised you rest and more, pulled back into a sort of sneer before they vanished, allowing you a glimpse beyond the jagged picket fence into an eternity of darkness stretching from her growing maw.

                                            >“Promises, promises, promisies.”

                                            >She repeats, a liquid chuckle bubbling up from the abyss of her once-mouth.

                                            >“Make me promises, Anonymous.  Stay with me and make me strong.  Let me show you eternity and the power within my reach.  What is your promise to her?  A selfish creature whose name you can’t even remember.”

                                            >Her voice has taken on an oily tone, smooth and easy to get lost in, with a quiet gas leak hiss lurking just beneath.  But, what was the promise?  And who did you make it to?  As your mind slogs through the thick underbrush, you look to her eyes.

                                            >“Isn’t it easier to start over?  Don’t fight me, Anonymous.”


                                            >Aside from her mouth, her eyes remain in place but altered.  Now overly large and milk pale, they shimmer in the light, unblinking from her lack of lids.  Her otherwise featureless face has takes on a tired grey tone as the last of her hair drifts away.

                                            >It is easy.  Despite the fear tying your stomach in knots, remembering is so difficult.  If you made a promise, if you stayed here, wouldn’t that be easier than going back to, wherever you were before?  After all, it had been a dark, terrible place, full of pain and quiet suffering.

                                            >Even still, your conscience nags at you.  You already had a promise that you needed to see through.

                                            “There’s someone who needs me though.  I can’t just leave them.”

                                            >The vacant eyes continue to stare at you as the wind whistles again through the air.  With an audible squick, her white eyes shudder, forming tumultuous rapids as they dribble down around her mouth.

                                            >Thick chunks of what was once her head join in the journey, drawing stuttering slime trails down her body.  Her shoulders have lost definition, what little remains of this woman seems to be pooling itself underneath her.  The fluid quivers and shakes, sprouting a multitude of grasping fingers.  At last, reason finds you; a scream swells in your throat, catching on the muscles, cutting off your air.

                                            >Grey tendrils squirm against the scratches in your shoulders.  You shrug them off and roll away from her.  A sliver of ooze stands pillar-like from her squishy body.  On this post, rests her non-existent mouth, her voice no longer smooth and honeyed but marshy, thick and squelching.

                                            >“Anonymous, I need you!”


                                            >She burbles, ambling toward you on a thousand unseen legs.  Dozens of malformed hands now grope for a chance to touch your skin, trailing ooze across the grass.

                                            >Your fingers dig into the dirt as you scramble to your feet.  The soft grass protests, growing hard in your grip as it slices into your palms, but you ignore it as you flee.

                                            >“I need you, Anonymous, don’t fight me!”

                                            >Each step becomes heavier as the thirst roars in your throat, shoes scraping against the ground as your legs slosh through the thick air.  The squicking sound edges closer while moisture beads up on the back of your neck.  A moment of clarity strikes you.

                                            >Trapped in a life or death scenario, your mind has concocted a way to deal with the ever present sense of death.  Utilizing the fact that Equestria is heavily steeped in magic and filled with more unknowns than you could ever imagine, you have created a shadowy monstrosity that you can blame.

                                            >This is all a dream.  You are safe and sound in the altar room, as safe as you can be when stuck underground, dying of dehydration.  And despite the fact that you’ve cracked, you are not alone.  She’s there, she’s kept you in one piece and she can help you now.  You take a deep gasping wheeze.

                                            >The breath of air proves difficult to swallow, take every chance to catch and twist and turn, fighting against its very nature, as if it were directly opposed to keeping you alive.  With a solid push, your lungs inflate and you cry out.

                                            “Gilda!”


                                            >The wind snarls in response, drowning out your shout.  As you lift your weighted legs again, you feel the moist touch of your pursuer grip your ankle, and then slithering under your feet.  You stumble and collapse, slamming your chin against the fragrant earth.

                                            >Pushing against the ground, you scramble forward on your hands, even as its grip solidifies and begins climbing up your legs.  Yanking you back to the ground, precious air blasts from your chest.  Limbs too heavy to move, you wheeze in again as it crawls across your back.

                                            >It’s frantic as it slides over your body, millions of tendrils adhering to your body as it climbs higher and higher.  Convulsions shake your body as it crawls across your chest and back, the slivers of goo now becoming barbed under your skin.

                                            >As it rises over your chin, it gives you one last, long look at it.  You can’t stand the sight and slam your eyes shut, but the image persists.

                                            >The barely there liquid white eyes observing everything, smaller now, the creature’s mandible unhinged at an incredible one-hundred and twenty degrees, stretching even further still as you watched.  Within the depths of her maw, the swirling abyss of the infinite, miniscule shadowed hands reaching for you.

                                            >You hear the air snap as it lunges forward, covering your face and slithering down your throat.  You gag and feel your stomach churning in an attempt to expel the intruder, but it continues on, leaving you blind as your oxygen starved body heaves for air.


                                            >Another convulsion rocks through your body as you feel the thing inside you.  It seems to slow, but you still feel consciousness slipping away.  Several more blows to your chest follow in quick succession, causing you to sputter in spite of the amorphous blob in your throat, lungs and stomach.

                                            >As you hack and attempt to spit, the world comes into focus.  Gilda is sitting over you, a sad grin on her beak behind the damp feathers around her eyes.  She gives a rather unladylike snort, phlegm and all, before tapping her clenched talons against your chest.

                                            >You wince, noticing how tender your chest is.  Her voice is hoarse and cracking as the tears start up again.

                                            >“You, stupid ape.  You were going to die on me, weren’t you?”

                                            >Turning your head, you cough again and prepare a witty response.  Until you see the grey thing hovering along the edge of your vision.  Her teeth clack together once as she fades back into the stonework.

                                            >

                                            >Anonymous is beginning to scare you.

                                            >Forget that, he’s been scaring you for a while, seeing things in dark corners, his constant whimpering when he sleeps, that bit just now where he lay unmoving for five whole minutes and now the screeching.

                                            >The near-death scare frayed your nerves enough and now he’s howling like a timberwolf.  You do the only thing you can think of, clamping your talons over his mouth and trying to muffle the sound.  It helps but he’s still shaking and screaming.  Unable to take any more, your blood boils as you join the din.

                                            “SHUT UP!”


                                            >He quickly grows quiet and you pull his head up against you again.  You slide your foreleg under his chin, supporting him as your talons move upwards, sliding through his hair.  His breathing accelerates and his eyes begin to dart around at the touch, but you keep a firm grip on him as he gives a few weak tugs to escape.

                                            >After a few moments, he settles down and arches into the touch a little.  It’s rather disgusting, touching his hair, filled with grit and who knows what else after three days, or is it four, down here.  Not that you’re in much better shape, your coat, like his hair, is matted and unruly in places, but the comfort of touch seems to be working wonders.

                                            >Should you really be surprised?  You’re both social species, relying on group support as much as your own individual efforts in order to survive.  Up until tonight you believed that he might fare better on his own than you would, but you doubt that now.  You clutch him tighter against you and he doesn’t resist.

                                            >Your motion may have been instinctive, but you’re well aware of it.  Something has gotten inside him and you can feel it trying to drag him away from you.  You’re holding him close in an attempt to stop it, to keep him nearby.  But how long would he stay, until you died?

                                            >What then?  He would be left alone with his madness.  Despite your initial distaste for him, he seemed a genuine individual, honest, kind and loyal to a fault.  Your heart ached at the thought of leaving him to suffer.  But your selfishness wouldn’t allow you to let him go first.


                                            >To die alone, away from the land you were born in, with no family or friends to see to your death rites would leave you an exile.  In death, you would be a stranger to those who might recognize you and denied entrance to the Roost.  You would stand before the gates of Tartarus, forced to wander its depths alone for eternity.

                                            >So the stories go.  A griffon that died alone, without comrades or family to see to their last rites is doomed to spend eternity separated from their kin.  He was all that you had left in the world.  Even if he wasn’t much, you would not die alone.  You could enter together.

                                            >But would you recognize him?

                                            >That strange thought rose unbidden and stoked the uncertainty higher.  Even if you did meet him again, the eyes of the dead see differently.  Would he look the same?  Would you pay attention to someone you didn’t recognize?  You would still be alone.

                                            >Anonymous looks up at you in confusion, his face partially hidden by your plumage, as your chest shakes.  A bitter laugh burst forth as you closed your eyes and held him tight against you.

                                            >He makes no move to speak and you feel the silence overtaking you again.  In the stillness, he wraps his arms around you.

                                            >“I don’t think I’m going to sleep again.”

                                            “I hope not.  You scare me when you sleep.”

                                            >The sensation of his lips curling against your fur causes you to shiver.  He breathes deeply and you watch the tension leave his body.

                                            >“I can’t take much more of this.  I don’t know if I’m losing my mind, or if we really are stuck down here with something, terrible.”

                                            >You sigh and relax your grip, though he continues to hold tightly to you.


                                            “You’re over thinking things.  There’s nothing else down here, just you and me.  I think I’d know if”

                                            >“But you even said that you didn’t know where the idea to kill me came from!  What if there is, only I’m more susceptible to it than you are because there isn’t any magic where I’m from?”

                                            >He’s pulled his face from your chest now, though you can still feel the heat tingling on your feathers.

                                            “What if it’s, a ghost?”

                                            “That’s impossible.  All lost souls go to Tartarus, regardless of if they have unfinished business or anything else.  There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

                                            >“And in my world there’s no such thing as ghosts either.  But there’s also no magic, sun-raising ponies, griffons, manticores, or dozens of other things that are ‘normal’ to you.  Would you really feel like you can say that something doesn’t exist knowing that?”

                                            >Despite the fact that he’s irritated, he makes no further moves to pull away.  You’re all he has as well, the one thing keeping him… keeping him what?  Sane?  Alive?  You really don’t know.

                                            >“So, you really don’t see them, the things lurking in the shadows?”

                                            >You shake your head and smile.

                                            “Afraid not, scaredy cat.”

                                            >“They’re going to kill me.  Once you go, there’s not going to be anything keeping me on the level and whatever it is, real or not it’s going to kill me, like it almost did just now.”

                                            >He shivers, hiding his face deep in your plumage, his hand clinging to your fur.  You grit your teeth as his nails dig a bit deeper than you would like, but don’t say anything.  He relaxes after a moment, mumbling

                                            >“I don’t know if I can take that, I’d rather go out on my own terms.”


                                            “What if we did it together?”

                                            >You let out a weak cough as you bring your fore foot up to your beak.  The words came out without any thought.  You’d considered it, certainly, but talons were awkward when it came to suicide, generally more uncomfortable than deadly.

                                            >Still, to say it without hesitation… oh what ever.  It’s clear he was thinking about it too, so you may as well be open about it.  Despite his raised eyebrow, you continued.

                                            “You and me, we kill each other.  You don’t have to face the darkness and I don’t die alone.  It’s about as much of a win-win as we’re going to get.”

                                            >He opens his mouth and you promptly stick a talon vertically against his lips.  He closes them.  Despite the dryness, they’re soft and it’s not an entirely unpleasant sensation.

                                            “But, you have to agree to do something for me first.”

                                            >You wouldn’t consider this if it wasn’t dire, if you didn’t feel like eternity was staring you in the face.  No more pride, no more family, just a roaming emptiness was all that you had to look forward to.  You couldn’t stand that.  So you had to say it.

                                            “Bond with me so that we can find each other in Tartarus.”

                                            >His lips purse a slightly and despite the serious nature of your comment, you smile, noting the sensation.

                                            “If you want me to say that there’s something down here tormenting you, okay, I can do that.  If you bond with me, then we can both leave together, as soon as you’re ready.”

                                            >“But,”

                                            >Rolling you eyes, you shush him again.

                                            “No buts.  I don’t care if you think it’s real or not.  Possible eternity with me, or possible eternity trapped by ‘shadow-things’.  Pretty one sided decision.”


                                            >

                                            >The whole Tartarus thing sounds like a joke.  You’re familiar enough with it, it’s a general catch all for where creatures in this world go when they die.  Some species have a specific afterlife, but Tartarus is a place for lost souls.  In your world, it’s a place of torment.  Spending the rest of eternity suffering with Gilda doesn’t sound like a picnic.

                                            >On the other hand, whatever’s in here has made it abundantly clear that it isn’t in any mood to be friendly.  You still feel the occasional wriggle under your skin, like the hooks left maggots that have just begun to feed.

                                            “So what does that mean?”

                                            >She brightens visibly at that.

                                            >“It’s a ritual that adventurers and warriors would share between them when they would be far from home, in case they died.  It just means that we’re comrades.  No matter what happens, we have each other’s backs and we’ll always find each other, even if it takes a while.”

                                            “All right, what do we need to do?”

                                            >“Give me a couple pieces of your hair.  And don’t interrupt.”

                                            >Your left eye twitches as you yank out several strands and hold them out to her.  She plucks at her coat for a few moments before coming away with her own hair.  Taking both sets, she twists them around one another.  Turning both ends up, she makes a simple knot from the bound hair, held loosely in place, holding it up to your face.

                                            >“The symbol of our bonding.”

                                            >She lifts your hand to her beak, placing your fingers against it before setting one of her claws against your lips.

                                            >“Anonymous.”


                                            >Her voice is low and reverent, her eyes expectant.  When you don’t make a move, she glares a little bit and tilts her head.  Eventually, she gets fed up and whispers

                                            >“Say my name.”

                                            “Gilda?”

                                            >She smiles and nods, removing your hand and her talon, her foreclaws busying themselves with preening her plumage.

                                            “By acknowledging each others names in life, may we recognize the other’s voice after we depart.”

                                            >Gilda gives a quiet grunt and pulls a feather out, holding it out to you.

                                            >“This is a part of me.  With it, we will seal our bond.  I also need a part of you.  What do you have to give in return?”

                                            “Uh…”

                                            >She’s smiling, waiting.  You reach up for your hair, but she shakes her head.  Leaning in close to her, you hiss through your teeth

                                            “I don’t exactly have any other removable parts.”

                                            >The grin fades in an instant as realization settles in.  She glances over you, frantic, her eyes settling on your fingers.

                                            >“Then, just give me one of those!”

                                            “I’m not going to cut off my finger for some stupid ritual!”

                                            >“Well I have to have something!  We can’t bond if we don’t give the other a part of ourselves.  And do you really need to have ten of those things?  Just, just give me the stumpy one that’s hanging off to the side.”

                                            “I need my thumb!  What’s wrong with hair, we used it for binding.”

                                            >“Exactly, we can’t use the same thing twice, that’s like sacrilege!”

                                            “Okay, so what about blood, folks use blood in rituals all the time.”

                                            >“What am I supposed to do with your blood?  Blood is impersonal and in order to finish this I need something that is distinctly you.”


                                            >Silence settles in as the two of you think.  You’re at a loss.  Aside from your hair and blood you don’t really have anything you can just ‘take off’, and there’s no way you’re giving her a finger.  Plus she’d have to bite or claw it off.  Even if you are going to die, you’d rather it be as painless as possible.

                                            >You notice her gold eyes glinting and glance up at her.

                                            “What?  Did you think of something?”

                                            >“I sure did.”

                                            >A smile spreads across her beak.  She leans in closer, brushing her cheek against yours.  You become acutely aware of a pressure over your crotch.  Glancing down, you see her claw has made itself sung and cozy over your dick.

                                            >“Get your pants off.  We’re gonna use your seed.”


                                            Part 4.5


                                            >Gilda’s demand hangs in the air for an eternity.  You play it over and over again in your head.  Get your pants off.  We’re using your seed.  No, there really was no way to mistake what she said, especially as she gives you a rather amorous grope, that coy smile still lighting up her eyes.

                                            “You, can’t, be, serious.”

                                            >“Oh, believe me you bare-back gorilla, I’m serious.  You don’t mess around with bonding rituals unless you’re willing to see them through to the end.  Get your pants off.”

                                            “I’m not going t”

                                            >“If you don’t, I’m going to rip them off you.”

                                            “I really doubt that.”

                                            >Quirking an eyebrow, she gives a few squeezes, her brow furrowing in concentration.  At last, her eyes widen and she chuckles, flexing her claws.  The sound of tearing fabric causes you to squirm.

                                            >While grabbing at your crotch, she had been sizing you up, and was now sitting with her talons nestled comfortably on either side of your penis.  That glint shows for a moment as she brushes her cheek against yours again.

                                            >“Do you now?”

                                            “I’ll, get my pants off.”

                                            >“Good boy.”

                                            >She nods and falls back into a seated position, all four feet on the ground, watching you intently.

                                            >

                                            >Honestly, you’re a little surprised it took that much ‘coaxing’ to get him to take off those ridiculous pants.  First, you throw yourself at him and he tries to play it off like it’s nothing.  Then you make it clear what you want, and he still acts like he doesn’t get it.  You’re not even making him work for it, it’s every male’s dream!


                                            >Sighing, you give him a small smile as he struggles out of his pants, now sporting four talon sized holes in the crotch.  A small chuckle escapes at the sight.  It was sort of fun to drag him, kicking and screaming, into this situation.  As he yanks off his underclothes, you get a good chance to size him up.

                                            >Well, that’s not so bad.  A little bigger than a griffon’s, the testicles are definitely larger, but the shaft looks so abnormally, smooth.  He clears his throat and raises an eyebrow.

                                            >“So, uh, how does this work?”

                                            >You roll your eyes.

                                            “Are you really that dense?  You stick it in me and then cum.  Piece of cake.”

                                            >“So, I have to uh…”

                                            “You have to cum inside me, yes!  Haven’t you ever done this before?”

                                            >“W-well yeah, just, I have to get uh, hard first.”

                                            “Hard?  What are you even talking about?  You look ready to go to me.  I mean, you’re out and everything.”

                                            >He sighs and scratches the back of his head, giving an uncomfortable smile as he reaches down to his crotch, touching himself.  Great, a show.  You really just want to get this over with, he doesn’t need to show how ‘male’ he is, just gear up and stick that…

                                            >…steadily growing dick of his inside you.

                                            “What are you even doing to yourself?”

                                            >you want to scream, but it comes out as a harsh whisper, as if loud noises would somehow make it grow larger.  As he begins to stroke himself, you stand utterly transfixed by the fact that his penis is nearly double the size you thought it was.

                                            >“I thought this is how you wanted to do it?”

                                            “Well yeah, but, why is it so big?”

                                            >He laughs a little and you can feel the heat rush to your face.  You avert your eyes and scowl at the ground.


                                            “It’s not like I’ve ever looked at monkey-junk you know.”

                                            >Another quiet laugh and a silence descends between the two of you, broken only by the slightly rhythmic sound of his fist falling against his hips on the down stroke.  You chance a glance over and really get a feel for what you’re dealing with.

                                            >Considering his size, you expected him to be larger than a griffon.  But his, pecker, outclassed anything that you had ever seen.  The abnormally large testicles seemed rightly snug beneath that burly behemoth.

                                            >He’s focused on himself now, his eyes have glazed over a little.  You take a few steps closer and when he doesn’t respond you chance a few more.  Standing in front of him you watch, entranced.

                                            >You feel your forepaw moving, but don’t try to stop it, gingerly cupping him, dragging your feet along the tender, forgiving flesh.  He seizes up, his hand clutching the shaft tight as if you had shocked him.  You can see the tip darkening to an angry purple color as you explore his crotch, balls to base, and base to head with your foot.

                                            “It’s warm.”

                                            >He gives a mute nod and removes his hand.  He shudders a little as your feet slide up and down, a slower, more careful pace to be certain, but from the way he’s breathing, he’s enjoying himself.  You allow yourself a small smile and marvel at the satisfyingly spineless texture.


                                            >

                                            >When her claw descends around your balls, you tense up.  You aren’t sure how she managed to get so close without you noticing.  Clearly the cat part of her is to blame.  As she gropes you, your hand does its best vice grip impression on your dick.  Gilda has already shown that her talons could easily rend cloth, and you aren’t too eager to see if she can rip your boys off.

                                            >The yellow skin that covers most of her claw is ridged, providing a unique sensation as she juggles you back and forth, testing their weight.  While firm, she handles you with a delicate care, the raised segments of her claw aggravating your tender flesh just enough to encourage the flow of blood.  She comments on the temperature and you manage a brief nod.  Your hand releases its death grip as her claw reaches it, allowing her free reign along the entirety of your shaft.

                                            >Gilda jumps at the opportunity, the ridges sliding up and down against your penis.  She doesn’t maintain the tight grip you had, but her delicate touch is a welcome and exciting change.  Her eyes light up as she smiles, lifting a talon and sliding it around the head of your dick.

                                            >It’s hard, unlike her claws, unforgiving and even a little cold.  The urge to shiver is suppressed by the understanding you might lose part of your dick if you do.  She leans in, utterly fascinated.

                                            >“How, how do you get this inside anything, it’s huge.”

                                            >The laugh seems to come more from your chest than your throat.  That’s enough to break the spell, and she looks up at you, her gold eyes stony.

                                            >“What?”

                                            “You sound intimidated.”

                                            >“I, I am not!”


                                            >Gilda’s plumage puffs up a little with her declaration, adding to the irritated look in her eyes.  Her claw leaves your cock and rests on your shoulder, soon joined on the other side by her second.  Steadying herself against you, Gilda takes a breath and begins her descent.

                                            >You would think that you were a gift from the gods the way her eyes contort, fluttering, twitching, crossing, and the sounds coming from her mouth, a quiet mix of chirps and growls.  Despite her attempts to get lower, she gets a little more than half of your dick inside of her before you bottom out.

                                            >“Why are you so BIG?”

                                            >Gilda gives a frustrated growl as her eyes settle back into their normal positions, giving a few experimental pumps of her hips.  At least, you thought they were experimental.  She is quickly reduced to a quivering mess as she clenches down around you, snarling and rubbing against your neck.  After a few seconds, she looks up at you, scowling.

                                            >“And why aren’t you done yet?  Are you trying to make this difficult?”

                                            “Hey, we’re different, remember?  Maybe I need a little more”

                                            >You buck your hips until you can’t push any deeper.  Gilda arches her back and gives a breathy sigh as her claws press hard against your shoulders.

                                            “to satisfy me?”

                                            >The devilish look enters her eyes again and she brushes her cheek against yours. As always, the feathers are light, carrying an earthy scent, uniquely Gilda.  With another roll of her hips, and a breathy sigh, she whispers in your ear.

                                            >“Then, you better get on top, cause I don’t think I can handle this by myself.  Just, try not to bruise me.”


                                            >She gives a teasing squeeze before she slides off and turns her back to you.  Putting herself down on all fours, Gilda presents herself to you.  With a sidelong glance, the griffon adds

                                            >“Not, too badly, at least.”

                                            >Arousal is a powerful thing, you don’t question her and mount her from behind.  With a few thrusts she is reduced to a mewling wreck, her talons searching for something to clutch to, but only finding the unforgiving stone.  You still can’t get your dick all the way inside of her, but now that she’s adjusting she’s working what she can take the best she can.

                                            >You’re sure that she’s stretched to capacity just getting herself around you, but if she’s in any pain, she’s certainly enjoying it, and the rigorous pounding you’re giving her only serves to further drive that home.  An eternity trapped with a griffon, might not be so bad.

                                            >Unfortunately, neither of you can wait an eternity to finish.  Grabbing her around the middle, you begin to thrust frantically, not even giving her enough time to finish her purrs before a new one takes over, a cascade of cries that only gets louder the closer you get.


                                            >At last, Gilda gets what she wants.  The fact you haven’t had a drink in days means that there’s not much to give, but it seems to be enough to get a rise out of her.

                                            >Her body goes taut as she snarls, growling and pushing her hips back against yours.

                                            >“Ahh you, ANIMAL!”

                                            >Panting heavily, Gilda laughs and rubs her face against the cool stone.

                                            “You like that that much?”

                                            >Giving a quiet growl of approval, she nods.  It takes a few minutes, but she pushes herself to her feet and crawls off of you.  You notice that she shuts up tight as a trap in the process, leaving only a small dribble of seed against her fur.  She staggers a few steps as she regains her balance, shaking her head to knock everything back into place.

                                            >As for you, well you don’t exactly jump to your feet either.  Days of suffering under dehydration has left your body sore, tired and constantly weak.  You feel a little amazed you managed to pull this off in the first place.

                                            >Laying there against the stone, watching the light creep in, you feel at peace with your decision.  Moreso when Gilda nudges you with her beak, her eyes alight with a fire you hadn’t seen in quite a while.

                                            >“Now, lets finish the bonding.”


                                            Part 5


                                            >You pull your pants back on, despite the look that Gilda gives you.  She does have a point, modesty seems a little wasted at this point, but if you’re going to die, you’d rather do it dressed.  As you sit down across from her, she holds out another feather, plucked fresh.

                                            >“You have given your seed, something unique to you.  In return, I give you part of me.  This feather defines who I am.  With this, our bond is sealed.”

                                            >You reach out and take the feather, holding it under your nose for a moment while Gilda picks up the knot of her fur and your hair.  With a tug, the knot comes undone.

                                            >“The physical tie is no longer necessary.  With this, we are bound.”

                                            >Once again silence fills the room.  You wait, enjoying the barely there scent that lingers to the feather before finally asking

                                            “That’s it?”

                                            >Gilda grins and shrugs.

                                            >“That’s the quick and dirty, seeing as we can’t do the whole process.  Unless you have a mortar, pestle and thirty different spices and extracts, then yeah, we’re done.”

                                            >You flex your fingers a few times and raise an eyebrow

                                            “Well, I don’t feel any different.  How do we know if it worked?”

                                            >“We won’t until we’re dead.  Pretty exciting, huh?”

                                            “If by exciting you mean terrifying, then yeah, it’s great.”

                                            >Gilda laughs and allows herself to move a little closer to you.

                                            >“Well, if it doesn’t, then there’s no point in worrying about it, right?  You’ve done a lot for me, and I appreciate that you’re willing to humor me.  But”

                                            >Her eyes meet yours, and despite the overwhelming finality in her words, she manages another smile.

                                            >“Are you ready to see if it works?”


                                            >

                                            >“Ms. Sparkle, please.  You’ve been at this for more than half a day.  It’s light outside.  You must take a break.”

                                            >You manage a grunt, paying more attention to the trails of sweat pouring off of you, taking time to close your eyes whenever they got too close.  That pony is hovering again, trying to tell you what you can and can’t do.  You’re capable, you know you can do this.

                                            “No time to talk.  Have to save Anon.”

                                            >“Ms. Sparkle, if you keep this up you will suffer from burnout, or worse!”

                                            “I.  Can.  DO IT!”

                                            >The pony stammers a response, but puts his hoof down and retreats, leaving you to your casting.  A crazed smile flits across your face as your eyes widen.  You had no idea how much magic you actually had inside of you, waiting to be tapped.

                                            >Certainly, you had done impressive tasks before, but never for such an extended period of time.  Maintaining an active spell required a different sort of mentality.  Shining Armor was exceptional at it, able to keep his barriers up for weeks at a time.

                                            >While less magically capable than you, his stamina was among the best in the Guard.  And here you were, not only performing three spells that would utterly drain most unicorns, but actively sustaining them by sheer force of will.

                                            >Rocks fly by your ears as they rocket out of the tunnel.  You barely notice the wind as they cut through the air.  Within the tunnel, your walls prevent the rocks from caving in, even as you project more magic into the rock itself, causing it to adhere and reform solid walls.


                                            >A part of you delights in the challenge.  This feels just as good as learning any spell ever.  It was the same part that insisted that you help Anonymous.  You are light as air, ready for anything.

                                            >

                                            >Anonymous sits with his back to you, working on, something.  After you asked him if he was prepared, he’d said ‘not yet’, with that little smile of his, before asking for four more of your feathers.

                                            >If he hadn’t been so incessant about it, asking you over and over when you tried to deny him, you wouldn’t have given in, but he seemed set on getting them.  It hurt, a lot, and then he started in on, whatever his craft project was.  Taking a few moments to rub your plumage, you watch him, trying to get some idea of what he’s doing.

                                            >He’s torn most of the sleeves off of his shirt and is humming to himself, tying the two strands of cloth in a knot, and tying several knots throughout the fabric afterwards.  Sliding the ends of the feathers through the holes, he secures each several more times and then unties the main knot.

                                            >The fabric stays in one piece, quivering from side to side as he breathes.  Your feathers are evenly spaced, for the most part.  Holding it up to his upper left arm, Anonymous reties the knot, using his teeth and right hand to pull it tight.

                                            “That is the most ridiculous band I’ve ever seen.  Feathers?  Seriously?”

                                            >“You’re just jealous.”

                                            “No, you’re just a dweeb who’s wasting my plumage.”

                                            >He grins and sticks his nose up in the air and you share a quiet smile with one another.  To be honest, you’re not sure you’re ready for this next step either, but you’re running out of options.  Better to die on your own terms, like Anonymous said.

                                            >“So?”


                                            >Your ears pop as you swallow, steadying your breath and glancing around the altar.  Nodding towards a large rock, you look back at him.  Lifting a talon, you tap the side of your head.

                                            “Here’s how this is going to work.  You’re going to smack the hell out of me with a rock.”

                                            >“That’s a really well thought out plan.”

                                            “Shut up, I’m not done.  Gryphons have thin skulls, so if you drop that sucker with enough force, my head should…”

                                            >“Explode?”

                                            >You glare at Anonymous who gives a small shrug.

                                            “I, I guess that would be one way to put it.  Point is my head will fracture and pierce my brain if it doesn’t get totally scrambled by the initial hit.”

                                            >“That works pretty well for you, but I don’t think I can brain myself until my head meats dribble out my nose.  What about me?”

                                            >You smile, flexing your talons and raise an eyebrow.

                                            “I’m going to set my claws on your neck.  You’re going to bash the hell out of my skull.  When you hit, my body’s going to tense up and pierce whatever veins you’ve got in there and your throat too.”

                                            >“Ew.  How do you know it’s going to work though?  You aren’t exactly an expert on humans.”

                                            >Rolling your shoulders, you can’t help but give him a satisfied smirk.

                                            “I’m a top-tier predator, dork. I make my living off of knowing when and where to attack my prey.”

                                            >He goes quiet for a moment, then adds

                                            >“So, when you let me sleep with you”

                                            “I was sizing you up in case I had to kill you, yes.  It’s a natural response, I know that your neck is vulnerable, and you’ve got this great little vein in there that sticks out when you have nightmares and your heart gets pounding.”


                                            >Showing your teeth, you allow yourself a small laugh as he squirms back out of reach.

                                            “Okay, just so we’re clear, you drown in blood, my brains gush out my ears, everyone wins.”

                                            >“This sounds really messy.”

                                            “I don’t like the idea of it either, but I can’t really think of any way for me the clamp down aside from you bashing my head in.  It’s a death reflex for gryphons, so that if we die on a perch our body doesn’t go flying off a cliff with the next breeze.”

                                            >“What about if you die in flight?”

                                            >You huff and roll your eyes.

                                            “Why so many questions?  I’m not flying, so why are you even asking.  Do you want to ask questions, or do you want to die?”

                                            >That didn’t come out the way it sounded in your head at all.  Sighing, you place your claw over your face and shake your head.

                                            “Look, can we just get on with this, please?”

                                            >

                                            “All right, let’s do it.”

                                            >You pick up the rock and take a few practice blows with it.  Gilda rolls her eyes and gives a small laugh.  You’ll only have to do this once, you hope, but swinging does make the act seem less intimidating.

                                            >You’re still terrified, you’ve never killed anyone before, and now you’ve entered into a mutual death pact.

                                            >Is it ridiculous?  Yes.  In fact, you could probably say something now and Gilda would forget the whole thing.  She’d be disappointed, call you a nerd, maybe a coward, make fun of your mother and have something to say about your sexual ability, but at least you’d be alive.

                                            >“That’s right, you would be.  We could have so much fun together.”


                                            >The low whisper sends shivers down your spine as ethereal tendrils slide along your shoulder.  You glance to the side, four perfectly pale fingers, dragging their nails up and down your arm.

                                            >“That was quite a show you two put on, I want you now more than ever.”

                                            >Glancing over at Gilda, you can tell she doesn’t see the, thing, touching you.  Wetting your lips, your voice comes out hushed and strained.

                                            “You’re not real…”

                                            >The chill rolls through your body as the thing rests her elbow on your other shoulder, and her chin upon the top of your head.

                                            >“So cruel, Anonymous, you bring me here, tease me relentlessly and now you say that I don’t exist?   What kind of man does that to his woman?”

                                            >The nails slide down your cheek.  Your thoughts freeze as its claws slide behind your ear, digging a little deeper.  A sticky wetness sliding towards your neck causes you to jerk your hand back.

                                            >It’s not real.

                                            >It’s not real.

                                            > You try to wet your lips and remove your fingers.  When you pull your hand back, it will be clean.  Assured of this truth, you glance down.

                                            >In the muted light, the dull gleam of blood is unmistakable.  As you wheeze in a breath, you hear Gilda stalk over towards you, a smile lighting up her eyes.

                                            >“Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren’t you?  It’s going to take more than a scratch to do the deed, though.”

                                            “I, I guess so.”

                                            >Right.  You probably just scratched yourself when you reached back to check.

                                            >“Wouldn’t that be convenient?”

                                            >You shiver at the honey sweet voice and try to focus on Gilda.  The gryphon cocks her head to the side, looking over towards the debris.


                                            >“All right make sure you pick a rock that will get it done in one shot, okay?  The less discomfort I’m in, the easier it will be on both of us.”

                                            >Rooting through the rubble, the shadow-thing speaks with you again.

                                            >“Things will be so much better once the pest is out of the picture.  You and me, together at last, the way things should be.”

                                            >You need to move quickly, you’re going out of your mind.

                                            >“Oh me, me, me, you’re so selfish Anonymous.  Can’t you think about someone else for once?”

                                            “Get out of my head.”

                                            >“Fine.  I know when I’m not wanted.  Go with that hussy, see if I care.”

                                            >Blissful silence follows afterwards, finally allowing you piece of mind.  Clutching a large, jagged rock in your hand, you move back towards Gilda.

                                            “All right, I think I’m ready.”

                                            >Eyeing the rock that you chose, Gilda gives you her best confident eyebrow raise.

                                            >“About time, I was beginning to think you’d lost your nerve.”

                                            >The two of you settle into position, you kneeling on the ground, she perched on her hind legs across from you.  All at once, the rock feels much heavier in your hand.  Neither of you seem ready to make the first move.

                                            >“Hey.  Anonymous.”

                                            >You mange a grunt, fighting the growing uncertainty in your stomach.

                                            >“I’m, sorry I didn’t meet you sooner.”

                                            >Flashing a shy smile, Gilda slides a claw through her plumage.  Totally unlike her.

                                            >“You, you’re a major dweeb, but, I figure we could have had a crazy adventure or two.”

                                            >“Lets make time for one when we meet up again, okay?”

                                            “Sure, that’s what friends do, right?”

                                            >The words fall out of your mouth before you realize you’re speaking.  But the way Gilda’s face lights up, you figure that was exactly what she needed to hear.

                                            >“…Dork.”


                                            >With a small laugh, Gilda reaches up and sets her talons against your neck.  Your heart accelerates as you lift the stone, neither of you taking your eyes off the other.  The moment freezes in time, broken at last by her quiet words.

                                            >“Don’t keep me waiting long, okay?”

                                            >Gritting your teeth, you close your eyes and bring down the rock.  A sickening crunch and wet squelch follows.  But you’re not aware of that.

                                            >Because you currently have six bird talons lodged in your throat.

                                            >Making a conscious decision to drown is a unique sensation, an ultimate battle between mind and body.  On the one hand, you realize you wish to drown.  On the other, the body’s innate need for oxygen causes it to rebel against the mind, going into autopilot.

                                            >You clutch at your throat, fingers trying to free yourself from Gilda’s grip and replace it with your own.  You have to stop the bleeding before it fills your lungs.

                                            >You feel yourself drift back down to the ground, staring resolutely at the stone ceiling.  You realize the futility of your body’s actions, but cannot bring yourself to try and tame it.

                                            >Small gurgling sounds rumble from the back of your throat as you squirm, coughing up blood.  Death is approaching, but you can stave it off.  You have to.

                                            >Smirking, you look up at the shadow as it coalesces above you, showing its feminine face.  Taking a moment to spit some blood at it, you barely manage a wet chuckle.

                                            >You showed her.  She would never have you.

                                            >Darkness descends, faint pinpricks of light swallowed whole in an instant.  You’ve failed.  You can finally rest.


                                            >

                                            >The twitching starts deep in your chest, but spreads without warning.  Every pint of blood in your pony body feels like it’s burning you from the inside out.  With a cry, your focus is broken, and your hard work collapses in front of you.

                                            >But you’re still burning.  Falling onto the cold stone beneath you, you whimper as your body twitches and twerks, small gasps punctuated by breathless screams.

                                            >Confused and afraid, you curl into a fetal position and try to cry away the searing pain.  The flesh seems to revel in its proximity, burning all the more.

                                            “What, what’s wrong with me?”

                                            >You sob, even as a pony trots over to you with water.  Holding your head up with one hoof, he places the bucket in front of you.  Your greedy slurps and pants echo into the wooden design.

                                            >It doesn’t eliminate the burning, but it at least manages the pain, notching it down to a thunderous crackle from the raging blaze it was before.  Coughing, you groan as the bucket is removed from your snout.

                                            “More, more, please!”

                                            >“I believe you have had enough, Twilight Sparkle.”

                                            >The voice is stern, but concerned.  Between your oxygen-deprived wheezes, you manage to lift your head towards the sound, shame burning behind your face.

                                            “P-Princess Celestia.”

                                            >A shimmering halo surrounds the Sun Princess even at these depths, her ethereal hair blowing in the nonexistent breeze.  Her eyes are concerned, but distant, as if your well being is not her priority.

                                            >Part of you aches at that thought, but you still drag yourself closer, whimpering as you do.

                                            “Princess, Anonymous is trapped, with Gilda.  It’s been so long, I had to save him!”


                                            >Her attention snaps to you, realizing your state.  Leaning down, she brushes her hoof against your cheek, sparing you a smile.

                                            >“As I was informed, Twilight.  But it would appear that there is much more going on here than a simple rescue mission.”

                                            >Lifting her head, Celestia turns back to the collapsed tunnel, scowling.

                                            >“It would have been better that this terrible place have been lost to time.  Ancient power resides in here, my student, older than even myself.  I thought it had been dealt with long ago, but it appears I was mistaken.”

                                            “But, Anon…”

                                            >“Of course.  We must see to the safety of our otherworldly visitor, and to the gryphon delegate.  Rest, and leave the clearing of the path to me.”

                                            >As you gaze up at the pristine white coat of your teacher, you feel exhaustion settle over your body.  Utterly drained, you feel yourself slip away against the chilled stone floor.

                                            >

                                            >So.

                                            >This is death.

                                            >…

                                            >Huh.

                                            >It’s not so bad.

                                            >You’re kind of

                                            >Floating.

                                            >Definitely floating.

                                            >It’s not blackness, it’s more a lack of

                                            >Everything.

                                            >A void, as it were.

                                            >Sighing, you allow yourself to lounge in the empty space and stare off into the infinite.

                                            “Okay, yeah, I’m going to go nuts if I have to stay here for very long.”

                                            >“I knew you’d come around eventually.”

                                            >The voice snaps through you like a rat-tail in gym class.  Thick, syrupy sweet, resonating between your ears, the dreaded mezzo soprano that’s been haunting you.

                                            >Sitting upright, you glance from one side to the other, throwing your feet onto the ‘ground’.

                                            “What the hell, you’re following me after I’m dead too?  Just leave me alone!”

                                            >“But where would the fun be in that?”


                                            >Purring, the shadow-woman steps out of the emptiness and strides up to you.  Still pale, but now wielding a tinge of color in her cheeks, she reaches up and caresses your face.

                                            >Despite your attempt to pull away, you feel control leave your body as it leans into the motion.  She smiles.

                                            >“There’s a good boy.  Didn’t I tell you we were meant to be together?  You, and me, forever.”

                                            “No way, I’m dead.”

                                            >“Are you now?”

                                            >As she chuckles, you feel the sensation of her fingers sliding down your neck.  As she arrives at the location of Gilda’s punctures, you flinch, only to feel her digits glide over them without any fuss.

                                            >Snapping out of your daze, you grab at your neck, frantic fingers groping for wounds.  The skin is still slick with blood, but the piercings have scabbed over.

                                            “That, that’s impossible.  She went straight through my neck.”

                                            >“You have no idea who you’re dealing with, do you?”

                                            >Pulling her hand back, the creature makes a show of licking each of her fingers clean, moaning as she slides her index finger between her lips.  After a few moments of bobbing her head, she releases herself with a resounding pop, biting her lower lip in the process.

                                            >“I was once known as The One Who Lays Low the Mountains, The Earth Shaker, Thundering Hooves, The Spirit of the Plains, Earth Mother.”

                                            “That doesn’t mean anything to me!”

                                            >“Of course not, why should it?  I can see that you and your kind have long forgotten the old ways.  But I haven’t forgotten you.”


                                            >The woman, spirit, Thunder Hoof, whatever, fades from your sight.  After a short reprieve, you are assaulted by a bevy of visions.

                                            >

                                            >The world when she was young, flat, devoid of form.

                                            >The creator titans, mindless beasts of dust who dug her trenches and created her peaks.

                                            >The great flood that turned their bodies to mud and brought forth their children to continue the labor.

                                            >Eons of disputes, large and small, distilled into a fraction of an instant.

                                            >The rise of the great tribes.

                                            >Dragons, Wyrms, all manner of reptiles, torn from the spirits of the old and wise.

                                            >The lesser tribes that followed.

                                            >Ponies, Gryphons, Bison, Zebras.

                                            >If it walked on four legs, it followed, born of the spirits of the creative and bold.

                                            >And Humans as well.

                                            >Time stretches on.

                                            >Denial.

                                            >Rejection.

                                            >The lesser tribes casting off the old ways.

                                            >Twisting them.

                                            >Manipulating them.

                                            >The Humans sacrificing their own to open a gate to another world, abandoning the Earth Mother.

                                            >And then the pony invasion and formation of Equestria.

                                            >Creator children taking physical form and rising up against the invaders, only to be cast aside by the brilliance of the sun and the night’s sweet caress.

                                            >Celestia’s stern gaze.

                                            >The crushing blow from her hoof against your chest.

                                            >

                                            >The vision fades, and the woman appears before you again.  You wheeze from your position on the ‘floor’, glaring up at her.

                                            “That’s what this is all about.  You’re just a dead god.”

                                            >“No, not dead.”

                                            >A smile slips across her face as she touches your cheek.  Beneath the room temperature flesh, you can feel a thousand dark tendrils squirming, begging to escape.

                                            >“Reborn.”


                                            Part 6


                                            >The void shudders along with you at the declaration.  At once, the space around you collapses in on itself, allowing faint halos of light to appear beyond your closed eyes.  Bringing your hand up you force them open.

                                            >A moment of adjusting to the light reveals the cave leering back at you.  You allow your fingers to touch your neck again, feeling the scabs where punctures should be.  The skin is rough and cold, unpleasant to say the least.

                                            >Sitting up, your eyes rove around the room, your head shaking as reality sets in.  You are alive, and if the thing inside you has anything to say about it, you will be for a long, long time.

                                            “Great.”

                                            >Feeling the cold weight in your stomach, you turn and look towards Gilda.  You regret your decision an instant later.

                                            >The gryphon’s face has been rendered almost unrecognizable.  A huge chunk of her head has become caved in from your blow, her right eye hanging outside of what remains of its socket.

                                            >Gilda’s left eye, wide and blood shot, glares out at you with a sort of crazed glee, her beak stuck in a permanent expression of surprise.  With quivering fingers, you reach up and pull the rock from her skull.

                                            >Giving a slurping squish, the weapon comes easily, bringing with it blood, mixed with swirls of grey.  The stone clatters to the ground as you turn and vomit.

                                            >She’s dead, no doubt about that, and the puddle of bile glaring up at you only further drives home your own state.  As your stomach acids mingle with the blood and refuse from your pact with Gilda, you feel your body begin to move on its own.  Away from the mess.


                                            >You’re perfectly okay with that, even in your current condition, you could probably manage a few more upchucks like that one.  With the burning sensation still in your mouth and throat, you shuffle away from the scene.  Once a safe distance, you pull your knees to your chest and stare up into the ceiling.

                                            >After several minutes of nearly breaking down in confusion, you steady yourself, taking stock of your situation.

                                            >You’re alive.  Gilda’s dead.  Your neck, aside from the blood drying there, doesn’t feel like there’s anything wrong with it.  The sensation of Gilda’s talons in your neck is distinct, you’re quite certain it happened.  And the shadow thing hasn’t approached you.

                                            >“Why would I, when I have such a comfortable space here?”

                                            >Her voice comes from everywhere at once, echoing inside your ears.  You grit your teeth and scowl at the darkness.

                                            “Get out.”

                                            >“Oh my dear, such a lack of manners.  We’ll have to fix that.”

                                            >Bringing your palm to your eye, you snarl as your head pounds.  Grinding your molars against one another, you steady yourself and stumble to your feet.  Her voice pursues you without hesitation.

                                            >“Come along darling, don’t be so crude, I’m only trying to make you better.”

                                            “Better dead.”

                                            >The voice tutts, but quiets as you pick up a rock.  Turning the jagged edge towards you, you jerk your arm down towards your head.

                                            >But the blow never comes.

                                            >The mother chuckles a little and you find yourself shaking your head.  The stone, perched precariously near your skull, refuses to move.  More exactly, your arm simply won’t respond, no matter how hard to tell it to flex.

                                            >“I won’t let you ruin this for me, Anonymous.”


                                            >Grunting, you toss the rock away.  Your body complies with the action, and you return to sulking.

                                            >“Anonymous, be a dear and clean yourself up, would you?  We’ll be having company stop by before the day is out.”

                                            >When you refuse to move, you can feel your body sigh in agitation.  Moving of their own will, your hands reach up and, taking the remnants of your shirt, begin to wipe down your face and neck.

                                            >“Gryphons are such vile creatures, wouldn’t you agree?  Clean on the outside but filthy within.  You’ve done the world a favor.”

                                            >Don’t respond Anonymous, she can’t keep talking to herself forever.

                                            >“Still so cold.  You had better get used to this, Anonymous, I would hate for something to happen to us.”

                                            >In your frustration, you regain control of your hands and grab at the sides of your head, snarling.  It takes a moment to recognize that you’re back in control, but the realization leaves you ecstatic.

                                            “That’s right, this is still my body.  I’m in the driver’s seat, you can’t make me do anything.”

                                            >“So you think.”

                                            >The voice responds, coming out of your mouth this time.  Slapping your hands over the offending orifice, you’re still well aware of the sensation of your lips moving against your fingers.

                                            >“But simply because you can wrest control now, doesn’t mean you will be able to later.”

                                            >“Ohh, I like that.”

                                            >The giggle echoes through your head.

                                            >“Having a physical voice again is so, wonderful!”

                                            “Why me?”

                                            >In your mind’s eye, you can see her smiling.  Head cocked to the side, eyebrow raised, a smug little smirk decorating her pale face.


                                            >“Because you’re not entirely ignorant of magic, you don’t reject its existence by sheer force of will.  Because you don’t practice it, you have no defense against it, but you have enough ingenuity to use it.”

                                            >Taking control of your right hand, she taps your neck with a finger.

                                            >“Don’t tell me you think I managed to do that all on my own.  We, stimulated, the area.”

                                            >Licking her lips, she subtly caresses each word as it escapes.

                                            >“You, and me.  We brought ourselves back to life, I couldn’t have done it without you.”

                                            “You’re lying, I wanted to die.  I agreed to die.”

                                            >“Self preservation is an amazing thing.  I provided the means, and you took it.  Regardless of if it was a conscious decision or not, you’re alive now.”

                                            >The back of your thumb brushes against your cheek.  Flinching away, you hear her chuckle.

                                            >“You’re just as base as anything else in this world.  No matter how hard you try, you’re still an animal, trying to get by, trying to grasp at eternity.  I’m offering you the chance to take it with your own hands.”

                                            “I don’t want it.”

                                            >“I see you’re in no mood to assist me.  I had hoped we could work together on this.”

                                            >Your lips begin to move on their own again, and even with you struggling against them every step of the way, you can’t stop her from speaking with your voice.

                                            >“But now I see that that won’t be possible.”

                                            >With a subtle shudder, you watch as the world around you drifts out of focus.  In spite of your struggles, you feel your awareness shrinking, ever smaller.  A last, desperate gasp so that you might scream.

                                            >Met with silence.


                                            >

                                            >Countless years in this cage, and still you recognize the drop in air pressure as she approaches.  Flexing the strange appendages called ‘fingers’, you press them together, eliciting a string of wonderful popping sounds.

                                            >For the time being, your host is sated, giving you free range to his thoughts, memories, his understanding of the world.  The ones regarding the unicorn, Twilight Sparkle are of particular interest.

                                            >Perhaps it’s a good thing you didn’t suck her dry earlier.

                                            >Your lip curls a little as you reach more recent memories of the filthy gryphon.  It would have been better if she had killed Anonymous of her own volition, but having to share an intimate moment with that base creature was a small price to pay for a return to flesh.

                                            >Satisfied with your decision, you close your eyes.  The sensation of power flowing between yourself, your host, and your shared body is exhilarating.  But times grows short, Celestia, will soon arrive.

                                            >You will need to be prepared.

                                            >

                                            >Death really would have been preferable to this.  Trapped within your own body and having to share it with an ancient being, it’s pretty much the worst possible thing.  Sighing, you continue to float in the absence of everything, staring into the nothing, and waiting.

                                            >And the buzzing simply won’t stop.

                                            >Oh, it was bad when she was teasing you with it, but now it’s relentless.  And you keep picking up stray thoughts of hers, mostly how much she hates Celestia, bits and pieces about magic and the occasional surprise at having a physical body.


                                            >The second one interests you most.  Not that you would like to live in the void for eternity, but simply because it is, as the mother put it, unknown.  Up until mother’s rant, you never really considered learning magic to be a possibility.

                                            >You’re human, magic is the stuff of fiction.  So you never bothered to ask, or even look into learning it.  The fact that you still couldn’t read pony books had something to do with that too, but now, picking up the scraps that mother was throwing your way, it begins to make sense.

                                            “Of course, affecting the external world with internal energy is absolutely ludicrous.”

                                            >But you’ve also been hijacked by a malevolent spirit, so that pretty much destroys the old ‘how fucked up is this situation’ standard.

                                            >Beyond that, Twilight and other unicorns do it all the time.  Given enough time, you could probably manage to get the hang of it, possibly take back control of your body.

                                            >Considering you don’t know her time table, it would be a good idea to get started learning now.

                                            >Your co-pilot has other ideas, however.

                                            >

                                            >“Welcome back.”

                                            >Those words coming out of your mouth, with an up swinging hitch on the final syllable, disturbs you greatly.  While you don’t have control over your body, you can still have access to your senses.

                                            >Somehow, she’s managed to clean your body, there’s still a clinging dampness to your face and hair, along with the lingering scent of perfume or oil.  Your shirt, in addition to the sleeves you tore off earlier, has been cut down the middle, turning into more of a vest.  Still dyed red from the mess she had you clean up.


                                            >Taking a moment, you gather your thoughts and then focus on speaking through your own mouth.

                                            “What’s the occasion?”

                                            >Disappointment settles in as you fail to take control of your mouth and your words settle for reverberating in your collective head.  She thinks it’s hilarious.

                                            >“My my, you are going to be a troublemaker, aren’t you?  Sit tight dear, we’ve got a guest.”

                                            >Despite not being able to move your eyes, you can at least take in what they’re seeing.  The room looks the same as when you left it, altar in the middle, half-faced Gilda propped up against said altar and lots, and lots of rocks everywhere.  You move to speak, when you feel a shudder run through the ground.  An explosion follows shortly after.

                                            >Earthen shrapnel rockets across the room, a few shards grazing your face and arms as the mother makes no attempt to move.  You feel your lips curl into a smile, the buzz that spreads across your body as the minor cuts congeal, sealing themselves.

                                            >“Celestia.”

                                            >Rocking forward, your body stands and begins to cross the room.  Even this deep underground, a brilliant ethereal halo surrounds her form, the wisps of her unnatural mane flowing off of her in great billowing gusts.  The alicorn Princess sneers as she eyes you.

                                            >“I am afraid we have not met.  What is your name?”

                                            >“Don’t be coy, you know me.  We held council together, we shaped this world, I lowered the hills and you brought the sun.  As one, we created the foundations for life, made it strong.  And countless times we cast it aside with drought and quivering earth.”

                                            >You’re showing teeth now; she’s really getting into monologuing.  Celestia stands, proud and unfazed as you continue the approach.


                                            >“Two bodies working as one, managing life and death as was our birth rite.  And then, you changed the rules.”

                                            >Turning your head, she spits, chuckling and making a show of your canines as she pulls back your lips.

                                            “What possible reason would you have to descend amongst these, lower beings, to wallow in their filth?  A momentary lapse, I can understand.  All of us got the itch from time to time, to live among the mortals and take delight in the more, physical pleasures of debauchery and violence.”

                                            >Letting out a ragged breath, you feel your fingers press against your bare chest, applying a slight pressure as she steadies you.  Your eyes droop for a moment, before snapping back to the alicorn.

                                            >“But to exile yourself from the heavens, to cast aside the trappings of a god.  To become some pathetic half-mortal thing, you’ve lost your mind.  And then you drag all of us into it as well, try to kill us, to take away our influence over the world.”

                                            >Legs churning, she slams your fist into Celestia’s chest.  Tears burn at your eyes as your throat begins to swell shut.

                                            >“You convince these fragile creatures deny our existence while glorifying your own.  Your selfishness knows no bounds, commanding the sun, demanding to be recognized as the bringer of life, and sweeping the rest of us under the rug, as if we never existed.”

                                            >As your tongue flicks over your lips, Celestia’s face comes into view.  She is unfazed, even by your punch earlier.  Rooted to the spot, she glares down at you with a cold indifference.

                                            >You feel the mother churn and broil within you at the sight.  Her frustration is evident.  Swallowing the lump in your throat, your voice comes out in a harsh, jagged whisper.


                                            >“I despise you.”

                                            >Your shoulders heave as your body begins taking deeper breaths.  Though your brow furrows and hides your vision somewhat, the detached expression of Celestia never changes, even as she opens her mouth to speak.

                                            >“Are you quite finished?”

                                            >Her voice, chilly as the northern wind, causes gooseflesh to break out across your bare body.  A quiver runs up your spine.

                                            >“While you have an argument, I must insist on this simple fact.  A creature’s worth is not for the likes of us to determine.”

                                            >In the stunned silence that follows, your fingers curl up into your palm, shuddering with a bubbling fury.  Your index finger extends, jabbing violently at the Princess.

                                            >“They are inferior!  How can you possibly suggest that such a short instance in the memory of eternity, that a spark can dictate how brilliantly and how long to shine?  We are eternal, we are the guiding force of this world.  This is -our- story, not theirs!”

                                            >Celestia lowers her head and sighs.

                                            >“As I thought, you would not see things the way I do.  Will you at least let the boy go?”

                                            >Laughter erupts from your throat as you clutch your sides, grinning and shaking your head.

                                            >“Please.  I am no more able to give up this child than you are to ignore your duties of tending to the sun.”

                                            >Bringing your hands forward, you hold them, palms out, towards the Princess of the Sun.  Allowing them to dance for a moment, she curls your fingers inward, clutching at the air held within.

                                            >“With these hands, I will take back what is mine.  With his arms, I shall shatter the Shield of Aegis.  His flesh will render god-slaying armaments useless.  And with his boots…

                                            >“Equestria shall be brought to a heel.”


                                            >A tingle rushes through your body as your mouth finishes moving.  Your eyes jerk back to Celestia, the Princess pony’s horn glowing with an awesome white light.

                                            >“No.”

                                            >The world explodes into a vacant whiteness.

                                            >Your skin burns as it overtakes you.

                                            >Blood boiling, you sneer at the image of the mother in your mind.

                                            >In defiance, you spit at her.

                                            “You see, you couldn’t stand up to Celestia at all.”

                                            >Despite being blind, you can still feel your lips curl.

                                            >“But child, we’ve only just begun our battle.”

                                            >

                                            >The brilliance fades, and you are alone.  Scorch marks decorate the area in front of you, mostly along the floor, but also the wall, and the ceiling as well.  Giving a weary glance to the side, you see that the gryphon’s corpse did not escape unscathed either, the quiet stench of burnt down offending your nostrils.

                                            >Under the weight of yet another battle, your body sags visibly lower as your head droops.  This conflict should have ended ages ago.  Was the world outside Equestria such a tumultuous place, that your ponies would never be able to experience it without you there to guide them?

                                            >Wrapping yourself up in your thoughts, you sigh, though the sound is cut short by a sharp strike to the ribs.  You flinch, staggering back and turning to the offender as your side tingles.

                                            >Anonymous, or whatever name the creature has chosen for her new form, stands, fist extended for a long moment.  Burn marks are evident across his body, his shirt reduced to a ragged piece of kindling.  Every inch of exposed body hair has been completely burnt off, but he is otherwise unfazed.  Even as you watch, the discoloration against his skin fades, becoming a solid, soft flesh tone.

                                            >Snapping back to a standing position, Anon claps and nods his head.


                                            >“My, and here I was thinking that so long without a challenge would have left you rusty.”

                                            >The whites of his teeth flash.

                                            >“But even I can tell that you’ve lost a step or two.  Meanwhile, I have oh so many tricks I want to share with you.”

                                            >He lunges towards you with a manic grin splitting his face, his fingers curled up into his hands as if they were claws.  As you ready yourself to strike, he drops in front of you and snaps his fingers.

                                            >The tingling in your side intensifies for a moment, before exploding outwards in a symphony of agony.  While there are no marks on your hide, you feel your internal organs churning in defiance of that assessment.  Turning some of your power inward to attend to them, you maintain focus on the bald, pale ape in front of you.

                                            “I would advise you against taking this any further, otherwise I will have to”

                                            >“Kill me?  Darling, please, you tried to kill me once, and I came back.  I’ll manage to do it again.  Dear Anonymous however,”

                                            >Flexing his fingers, you watch him shrug and smirk.

                                            >“He won’t be so lucky.”

                                            >Forcing power back into your horn, you scowl at the human.  It was unfortunate, but he was standing in opposition to your obligations.  Summoning up another blast, you grit your teeth and fire.

                                            >The miniature nova speeds across the room in an instant, it takes longer for you to realize that you are using the spell than it does to hit home.  And yet, he still laughs, cackling behind an enormous transparent barrier, the color of silver.  His left arm extended, he maintains the defensive spell with ease, while his right hand forms into a fist again.


                                            >“You have to throw yourself into it, Princess.  You have to want to kill me as much as I want to kill you.  Here, let me show you.”

                                            >Setting his feet apart, he cocks his right arm back.  With a grunt, he jerks it forward, pulling his left hand away in the process.  The flash of light erupts again as your spell hits home.

                                            >Only to be torn asunder by a smaller brilliant green sphere, burrowing through the light and slamming into your horn.  Scrambling for a hoof hold, you find known and are sent sprawling out across the cavern floor.

                                            >Taking a breath, you move your hooves back under you and attempt to stand, only to collapse under your own weight.  Anonymous sees this, and cackles as he draws closer.

                                            >“Oh dear, Celestia, I would have thought you would be able to block that.  In fact, you probably should have.”

                                            >He pulls up short and gives you a suspicious look, one eyebrow cocked.

                                            >“You aren’t playing opossum with me, are you?”

                                            >Rubbing his chin for a moment, Anonymous pulls up a memory.

                                            >“Twilight, said something about being the Element of Magic.  Does that mean…”

                                            >When you don’t respond, he gives a hoot and throws his arms up into the air, laughing.

                                            >“You don’t have ANY of the Elements!  The one thing that legitimized you as an all-powerful being, and you up and piss them away to a bunch of dirt munching mortals!”

                                            >Lowering himself to your level, he gives your horn a not too delicate flick.

                                            >“Oh that’s too rich.  I spent the last aeon trying to come up with a way to take the Elements out of the equation, and then you do it for me!  Tell me, was it worth it?  Do they make you smile?  Is it worth dying for a few brief moments of pride?”


                                            >As Anonymous breaks into another bout of laughter, something catches your eye.  Though his clothes burned away, he still carries a charm on his left forearm.  A few simple strands of cloth, and six feathers.

                                            >

                                            >There are not enough profane words across a thousand worlds to hurl at this god right now.  She’s gloating over Celestia, and it’s burning you up inside.  More than the pre-emptive attack from the Princess.

                                            >As you felt the hair on your hands begin to burn, you focused on the tightness around your left forearm.  You couldn’t see it of course, but you felt it, Gilda’s contribution to your pact.  If you left it unattended, it would burn up in the flame along with everything else.  So you grit your teeth and pushed.

                                            >It wasn’t much, but then there wasn’t much to protect to begin with.  The mother took care of the rest of your body, and you focused on the six inches of fabric and down.  Lo and behold, you did it.  Your shirt was turned into a crispy rag, but the amulet was still in once piece.

                                            >The mother, too preoccupied with Celestia, didn’t seem to care what you did.  She thought it was ‘cute’.  So, perhaps that’s why you noticed the recognition in Celestia’s eyes before the mother did.

                                            >But she paid it no mind, focusing all her energies outward.

                                            >“Now, let’s put an end to this game, Celestia.”

                                            >Energy thrums through you again, each time worse than the last.  Magic capable, yes, but you’re nowhere near mentally prepared enough to handle the power of a god.  You screech as it seeps out of every pore of you, coalescing around your physical body.


                                            >Celestia shuts her eyes.  The time for gloating was over, now came victory.  As your body moves in for the final blow, a shrill shout gives you pause.

                                            >“Hold it!”

                                            >

                                            >From mane to tail, your body aches.  Your eyes feel like they’re about to pop out of your head, and you’re unsteady on your feet.  But you couldn’t leave him alone.  You had to see him.

                                            >And now you have.  Straddling the Princess, one hand clenched in a fist, hovering over her.  And the Princess, battered and bruised, clenching her eyes shut.

                                            >You are Twilight Sparkle

                                            >And your world has been shaken.

                                            “Anonymous… what are you doing?”

                                            >The human turns towards you, a sly smirk on his lips as he prepares to explain himself.

                                            >Celestia never gives him the chance.

                                            >Bringing her head up, she slams her horn in between Anonymous’ legs.  Anon gapes for a moment, before collapsing and clutching at his wounded pride, screaming the whole while.  In a flash, Celestia stands beside you, her entire body shaking as she struggles to remain on her hooves.

                                            >“Twilight, it’s not safe here.  You must leave, now!”

                                            >The urgency in the voice of the Princess almost causes you to turn tail and run.  Had she used her Royal Voice, you doubt you could have resisted.

                                            >Instead, you take a long step forward and scowl at the writhing man.

                                            “Princess, tell me what’s going on.”

                                            >Giving a long sigh, Celestia gets you up to speed, concern for you evident in her voice.

                                            >“Anonymous has been overtaken by an ancient power.  I have attempted to free him but, I fear that I am not strong enough to do so.”

                                            >Gathering himself, Anonymous staggers to his feet, muttering

                                            >“What kind of species has such a glaring weakness?  Need to do something about that.”


                                            >Glancing at the human, you feel your heart twisting in your chest.

                                            “Can’t we give it, one last try?  Together?”

                                            >Putting on your best smile, you look over your shoulder at Celestia.  The matriarch’s serious expression softens just a touch.

                                            >“Perhaps, though I will need help from you and Anonymous.”

                                            >“Sorry, Anonymous isn’t in right now.”

                                            >Your head snaps back around and you set your lips into a thin line.  Setting your hooves into the stone, you give a small grunt.

                                            “I’m ready for whatever you need, Princess.”

                                            >“Make me proud, my dear student.  See to it that he doesn’t die.”

                                            >Snorting, you nod and glare at Anonymous.  You have to do it, you haven’t come this far to fail.  The light that you carry for him in your heart, you have to tell him!

                                            >

                                            >“Anonymous!”

                                            >Her voice is clear and powerful, despite her ragged appearance and unsteady legs.  Lifting her head high, she smiles.

                                            >“I hope you feel up to moving, just a little bit.”

                                            >Laughter fills the cavern as she shakes your head.

                                            >“Please, he can’t do anything for you.  Come along, I’m ready to move on to Canterlot.”

                                            >As another blast expels itself from Celestia’s horn, your left arm moves to block, projecting the mother’s shield.  The initial shot forces you back on your heels, but she recovers with ease, sneering.

                                            >“Too bad Celestia, you almost had me with that one.”

                                            >Right hand clenching, she smiles and twists it back into place.

                                            >“I’ve been waiting, for so long.”

                                            >And you are helpless.

                                            >Trapped within your own mind.

                                            >A passenger in your own body.

                                            >But

                                            >it’s still

                                            >your body.


                                            >Despite the fact you don’t have to breathe, you do.  The air fills you and then leaves.  You swell up again with each repetition, focusing on your left arm.

                                            >Using magic hurts so very much.

                                            >But they’re out there, doing everything they can for you.  And you’re only hurting them by doing nothing.

                                            >Your teeth slam together with an audible click as you focus again on your left side.

                                            >The hand this time.

                                            “Move.”

                                            >It doesn’t seem keen on obliging, as it’s currently holding back the wave of ethereal fire that will likely kill you when it hits.

                                            “I don’t care, move.”

                                            >Your index finger shudders.

                                            “MOVE!”

                                            >

                                            “Die, both of you!”

                                            >As you twist your right fist, a finger on your left hand flinches.  Scowling, you check, just to make sure it actually happened.  And can only gape as your left hand clenches shut.

                                            >The silver curtain in front of you collapses.

                                            >The fire rushes over you.

                                            >Burning.

                                            >Consuming.

                                            >And at once, soothing relief.

                                            >In the midst of a raging inferno, a soft purple presence encircles you.  You smirk a little as the fire dies and you are placed on the ground.

                                            >It was the best call to leave her alive after all.

                                            >

                                            “Anonymous!”

                                            >You cry, galloping over to the charred body of your human friend.  Tears form fresh lines down your dusty face.

                                            >“Twilight, hold!”

                                            >As your hooves stumble over themselves, you skid to a stop, your breath catching in your throat as you wait.  Celestia walks past you and up to the still smoking Anonymous.  There is a quiet, liquid pop, as he opens his fire-sealed lips.


                                            >“Celestia, Celestia.  When are you going to learn that in order to be rid of me, you’re going to have to kill me?”

                                            >He chuckles, but doesn’t make a move to attack.

                                            >“I’ll recover from this.  You can’t save Anonymous, this body and I are bound together for eternity.”

                                            >“Well, we won’t know until we try, will we?”

                                            >Anonymous’ smile fades as Celestia’s horn begins to glow again.  And then the light leaves his eyes.

                                            “Anon!”

                                            >You finally surge forward, kneeling beside him, tears falling anew.  Celestia stands behind you, stoic, gazing off into space as the power surrounds the three of you.

                                            >

                                            >Oh it burns.

                                            >The sensation of Celestia overpowering you, it’s making you sick.  But it’s also forcing the mother back where she belongs.  Dragging her out of you, and evicting her from the living world.

                                            >You don’t know how you know this, but you do.  It’s just how the magic ‘feels’.

                                            >“Impressive.”

                                            >The mother appears beside you, in the form she usually takes.  She is a little more bruised than in previous appearances, but seems rather pleased with herself.

                                            >“I knew that you would be nothing but a troublemaker.”

                                            >A smirk crawls across your face as you turn to her.

                                            “Well, I have to say that it’s in my nature.”

                                            >“So it is.  Enjoy the ride.”

                                            >Then she leans in and presses her lips against yours.  Too stunned to fight back, you allow the motion to follow through.  And then the light vanishes, and you allow the darkness to carry you away.


                                            >

                                            >Your everything hurts.

                                            >Congratulations, Anonymous, you have managed your first conscious thought.  Would you like to try moving?

                                            >Stretching your consciousness away from your mind, you wiggle your toes, and allow yourself to smile.  Now comes the big test.

                                            >As your eyes open, you are greeted with stark white walls.  To your right, a heart monitor beats slow and steady.  The entire scene feels foreign, more like something you would see on Earth than in Equestria.

                                            >Sitting up, you give yourself a quick once over.

                                            >Any signs of your struggle with Celestia are nowhere to be seen.  No burns, no scars, heck, you’re even wearing a hospital gown, that’s a step up from your nearly naked state.

                                            >The door clicks, and you glance up, smiling.  A purple unicorn stands, a wide smile on her face, offsetting the bleary tear-threatened eyes.

                                            >“Anon…”

                                            >Twilight rushes your bed, sobbing and pulling herself up beside you.  Even in lieu of her usual barrage of questions whenever she sees you, you can’t help but smile at her.

                                            >Wrapping her in a hug, she cries into your chest for several minutes, honking her nose a few times before meeting your eyes with the biggest smile she can manage.

                                            >“I was, so worried about you.  Princess Celestia thought that you might be in a coma for years.”

                                            “How long has it been?”

                                            >“Eight days.”

                                            >You whistle and nod your head a little.  Impressive.  One that you were out for over a week, and two that you woke up at all.  Running a few fingers through her mane, you enjoy the sensation of Twilight breathing against your chest.

                                            >“Anon?”


                                            “Twi?”

                                            >Biting her lip, she averts her eyes, obviously wrestling with her question.  At last, she smiles and asks

                                            >“Would you, be willing to go, on a date with me when you get out?”

                                            >Without hesitation, you give her an answer.

                                            “Nothing would make me happier.”

                                            >Flushing a bright pink in her cheeks, Twilight stammers out an affirmative response under her breath.  She stays by your side for the next several hours, the two of you talking about your adventure underground.

                                            >Twilight takes it all in stride, though you can see her tensing up a little when you tell her about your sleeping arrangements.  You leave out the portion about your pact with Gilda, for obvious reasons.

                                            >All too soon, however, she is asked to leave.  She is reluctant, but you assure her that you’ll be fine.  Taking solace in your words, the purple mare makes her way back home.

                                            >A few minutes after she leaves, you recline in your bed, smiling to yourself.

                                            “I made it out...”

                                            >A cold chill rises from the window.  Scowling, you reach for the buzzer and flick your finger down.

                                            >The window slams shut.  You allow yourself a smug smile.

                                            "Soooo, many tricks."

                                            >

                                            >

                                            >


                                            >Epilogue:

                                            >

                                            >“I need some information.”

                                            >Sighing, you place the glass you were cleaning back onto the bar.  It’s early in the day, so the only ones around are the winos and the folks in the middle of a journey, getting a bite to eat.

                                            >So, drunks and cheap assholes.

                                            >Turning, you regard the cloaked female with a scowl.  You tower over most of your guests at an imposing seven feet, seven and a quarter if you count the horns.  Which you do.

                                            “Lots of folks come in here looking for information.  Maybe I know something and maybe I don’t.”

                                            >Holding out your furred hand, you drag a finger across it and make a smacking sound with your lips.

                                            “If you’ve got something to grease my palm…”

                                            >The question hangs in the air, and the female flicks you a silver coin.  Snatching it out of the air, you give it a quick inspection and then nod.

                                            “Perhaps we can do business.  What would you like to know?”

                                            >“I’m looking for someone.”

                                            >That makes you laugh a little, and you wave over at some of the drunks at the end of the bar.

                                            “Most everyone here is looking for someone, dear.  You’re better off forgetting about them and moving on.”

                                            >She flicks you another coin.  You smile.  This female knows how things work around here.

                                            “But maybe I can help you.  Who are you looking for?”

                                            >“A human.”

                                            >That catches your attention.  Rubbing your chin, you shrug.

                                            “Can’t say that I’m too familiar with any humans, they're a real rarity around here.”

                                            >The female nods and places a third coin on your counter before walking towards the door.

                                            >“I’ll be in town for a few days, let me know if you hear anything.”

                                            “What makes you so sure that someone’s seen him?”

                                            >She shrugs.

                                            “We made a promise.  Friends keep promises.”