Through A Glass Darkly

by Odisboinski

Insanity is an interesting state of mind, just as it is an interesting place. Will Sweetie Belle be able to survive in such a twisted land? Horrendous secrets, terrifying enigmas, and an eerie chess game await in the land of the Mind, a place ravaged by grief. Reviews and PMs welcome. Dedicated to Liya.

5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The Apocryphal Act of Bargaining

"Here then at long last is my darkness. No cry of light, no glimmer, not even the faintest shard of hope to break free across the hold." ~Mark Z. Danielewski

Sweetie Belle looked over to ask Madness a question, but found that the strange pony had once again disspeared. However, she was now armed with the bowler hat of Madness, and her Zepto-Sword. If she had had either of those six or seven hours ago, she would have hurled them away in horror and disgust, but now they felt like mental crutches. She needed these things, madness and weapons.

The macabre irony of this did not dawn on Sweetie Belle, however, and she just trotted up to the massive clockwork gates that stood alone in the middle of the Trooblis Marsh. It was standing alone, with nothing behind it or around it. Nevertheless, when it opened as Sweetie Belle approached it, she could see a whole new land behind it. She trotted through the large copper double doors, and they swung shut behind her.

Sweetie Belle glanced around in interest. Unlike the Garden of Anger, the place she was in now was devoid of all greenery. Smoke and soot hung heavy in the overcast air, and the orange light of the jack-o-lantern sun barely filtered through. Before her was a colossal twisting mass of train tracks. It was as if every crazy roller coaster in the world had been mashed together to form this railroad junction before her. However, that was not the astonishing part. On the horizon was the largest building Sweetie Belle had ever seen in her life. It was entirely made out of bronze, copper, gold, iron, and chromium and it soared high into the clouds. The top could not be seen. Gears jutted out at weird angles in the building, and massive clock faces were positioned in random areas everywhere on the front of the building. It was like a monument to steam-punk and the industrial age of England. However, it still had an eerie and sinister feeling to it, for it was spewing black soot and ash out of billions of smoke stacks that stuck out like thorns on a rose bush.

Sweetie Belle bit her lip, how was she going to get to that massive building? There was a bottomless pit stretching before her, with the Tower of Bargaining in the distance, and the only way she could cross was by using that massive hurricane of steel and wood that was the railroad tracks. After a bit of thought, she realized the only way across would be by using the railroad. Thus, she began to trot to her left, where she could see a small shed, with a railroad track stretching out of it.

As she trotted up to the small, shabby shack, Sweetie Belle could hear an alcohol-soaked voice bellowing out lustily:

"Greed is always one man's downfall, greed consumes us all. It devours our souls, and leaves our flesh; greed loves no one, more or less. Ask God to save our souls, greed will have you stuck, left in a hell hole. Greed brings grief and earthly drama. Don't let greed be you persona."

The drunken voice then broke down in cackles of laughter, as if what she had just said had been the funniest thing in the world. Sweetie Belle deftly levitated her Zepto-Sword in front of her, and was steeling herself to kill the owner of the voice when the door to the shack swung open.

The owner of the voice was Applejack. But, just like all of the other of the Mane 6 that Sweetie Belle had encountered, there were several terrible things wrong with her. Her cutie mark was still of apples, but they were now brass and copper instead of rosy red. Additionally, her two back limbs had been replaced with robotic appendages, brimming with springs and gears. A massive turbine engine had replaced her rump, and it was spewing smoke and soot, just like the Tower of Bargaining. She wore a train conductor's hat, and had a sweeping, gray trench coat. She trotted out, stopped, and then noticed Sweetie Bell.

"That there's the Zepto-Sword ain't it?" she asked drunkenly, "You that one young'un everypony was a' talkin' 'bout, right?"

Sweetie Belle nodded slowly, eyeing the Applejack look-alike warily. "I am. And you are?"

"I am the Conductor!" shouted the Applejack-like pony, "Former element bearer of Dishonesty, and greatest train-chugger in this whole goddamn country!"

Sweetie Belle, still eying the Conductor rather belligerently, then said, "You are a train driver? Is there a way I could trouble you to take me to the Tower of Bargaining… please?"

The Conductor slammed a hoof into the ground and shouted, "Why yes young'un! I would be more than happy to help such a pony as yerself across!"

Sweetie Belle dropped her aggressive attitude and gave the Conductor a smile. A little bit of the old Sweetie Belle reemerged. "Thank you!"

The Conductor winked and turned tail. She then trotted into the shed, and Sweetie Belle followed.

The inside of the shack was an absolute mess. Springs, gears, poles, and metal plating lay everywhere, and the air was heavy with ash and dust. Ahead of them was the railroad track that Sweetie Belle had seen leading out of the building, and on the track was a small box with wheels. Fairly much a very poor excuse for a train.

Sweetie Belle blinked at the box-train, but did not say anything. The Conductor hopped into the box jovially and yelled, "Come in, sugar cube! We ain't got all day! You don't mind iffen I sing, right?"

"Oh, no, not at all," said Sweetie Belle as she climbed in, "However, if you don't mind me asking, what is the history behind your name?"

"Oh, you must've met Harshness," chortled Conductor, turning her face to Sweetie Belle. Her breath was heavy with alchohol, and caused Sweetie Belle to blanch and wrinkle her nose.

Sweetie Belle covered her nose pointedly, and said, "Yes. However, is there anything I ought to know about the yourself, or the Tower of Bargaining?"

"Oh, nothin' really," snorted the Conductor, "Then again I ain't one for all that factual stuffs. All I know is that ponies come to this place right after the Garden of Anger. They usually are all feelin' vulnerable and helpless and the like due to their little tantrum in the Trooblis Marsh. Comin' with that feelin' is a need to regain control. And with that comes the bargaining! It's all connected to the Grief, ya' know. If only, if only, if only, if only, if only… that is all I be a hearin' 'round these parts now if ya know what I mean."

Sweetie Belle shook her head. She still was unable to make any connections. But despite this, Madness had tasked her with harvesting the hearts of the Questions, so she intended to do just that. She knew that Mr. Who resided in the Tower of Bargaining, so that was where she was going now. (Now is this not odd? Sweetie Belle knows very well that she is killing innocent ponies just so that she can escape. Can grief really do that to a pony?)

At this point, the Conductor roared, "And we are off! Keep your hooves, head, and thoughts inside the box at all times please!"

"Your thoughts?" said Sweetie Belle.

"Of course! One must always be a' thinkin' inside the box! That's how we ponies always do it! There's a penalty for not, especially when it comes to the world of commerce and mony-handlin'."

"What happens if I think outside the box?"

"Oh, just rigorous peer pressure and possible ruinous suffs, ya' know… the regular. Ponies don't like the weird ones. It's like a sickness. Now here we goooooo!"

With that, The Conductor pushed a few buttons and pulled a couple levers. With a screeching noise far worse than fingernails on a chalkboard, the box-train rattled off, shaking more than an 8.3 magnitude earthquake as it went. The noise was deafening, the rattling was bone-jarring, and the smoke emitted from the engine was throat-clogging. However, Sweetie Bell covered her mouth and shaded her eyes, determined to endure it so that she could get to where she was going… if she knew where she was going in the first place.

As the box-train blasted off at a dangerous speed and began to make more loop-the-loops, barrel-rolls, and U-turns than the world's worst rollercoaster, the Conductor began to bellow out:

"The little blue engine looked up at the hill.
His light was weak, his whistle was shrill.
He was tired and small, and the hill was tall,
And his face blushed red as he softly said,
"I think I can, I think I can, I think I can."

So he started up with a chug and a strain,
And he puffed and pulled with might and main.
And slowly he climbed, a foot at a time,
And his engine coughed as he whispered soft,
"I think I can, I think I can, I think I can."

With a squeak and a creak and a toot and a sigh,
With an extra hope and an extra try,
He would not stop — now he neared the top —
And strong and proud he cried out loud,
"I think I can, I think I can, I think I can!"

He was almost there, when — CRASH! SMASH! BASH!
He slid down and mashed into engine hash
On the rocks below... which goes to show
If the track is tough and the hill is rough,
THINIKNG you can just ain't enough!"

The Conductor burst out guffawing as if that sad poem was the universe's greatest joke, and continued to yell out gibberish for the rest of the trip. There were ten more minutes of stomach-churning turns and loops before the box-train finally reached it stop.

Sweetie Belle took a moment to throw up over the side of the little train before slowly crawling out to lay, belly-up, on the side of the platform they had pulled up to a moment ago. They had finally arrived at the Tower of Bargaining.

Sweetie Belle scrambled to all fours and wobbled as she attempted to get her bearings. She then glanced up at the massive building that stretched into the heavens. There was no doubt that even the Pony World Trade Center in Manehattan did not even come close to the scale of this thing.

"Oh dear," she murmured to herself, "I wonder how high I will have to climb before I run into Mr. Who…"

The Conductor, who seemed disinterested in leaving Sweetie Belle alone, began to talk loudly about the tower.

"… And at the top are the four great spires," she drawled, "To the east is the spire of Insidious Weaseling. To the west is the spire of Despondent Pleading. To the north is spire of Astute Beseeching. And to the south is the spire of Mournful Begging. Them is what makes the Tower of Bargaining. Grand, ain't it?"

Sweetie Belle hardly glanced the Conductor's way. "I… I suppose. Tell me, do you know where I might find Mr. Who?"

"Depends. Who do you need to find?"

"Mr. Who!"

"I said who did you want to find? A mister who?"

"Yes! Mr. Who!"

"I know he's a mister! But what's his name?"

"Mr. Who! That is his whole name! His name is who!"

"Who?"

"Who!"

"Ooooohhhh," said the Conductor, scratching the back of her head, "I see what you mean. I know where he is. Better yet, I can show you where he is at!"

Sweetie Belle blinked in acknowledgment. She was not yet sure if she was excited to find this pony, or devastated. Her emotions were still rather mixed up about the whole ordeal, though killing was no longer unavailable to her in any situation as of now.

"He's in the Spire of Insidious Weaseling, last time I checked. See where my hoof is a-pointin'?" said the Conductor, pointing her hoof in the direction of one of the smoke-obscured towers to their right.

"Well, I'm goin' to go now, young'un!" exclaimed the Conductor abruptly, "Ain't nothing here fer me!"

The Conductor turned around and hopped into her little box-train. She slammed her hoof down on a couple of buttons, and the little vehicle lurched away on the tracks. As the thing picked up speed and began to barrel away, Sweetie Belle could hear the Conductor belting out blood-thirsty ballads.

Sighing, Sweetie Belle turned around and looked the Tower of Bargaining and the Spire of Insidious Weaseling up and down. A brief moment of vertigo struck her as she tried to comprehend the height of the incredible monument. She closed her eyes and waited for the world to stop spinning, and then she took a deep, shaking breath. With that, she looked at the large metal door that separated the mysterious interior of the tower and the loading platform that she was standing on.

She trotted up to the steel and brass door and inspected it closely. There seemed to be no handle, but there was a large red button next to the door. She would have immediately pressed the button if not for the fact that bloodied hoofprints marked the button and everything around it. It appeared that ponies who pressed the button seemed to have consistently met with a violent end. Shivering a bit from the eerie feeling that ran down her spine from seeing those bloodied hoofprints imprinted everywhere, Sweetie Belle began to look for alternative ways to gain access to the tower. Unfortunately, the door was made completely of steel, wrought with brass, and was sturdy and absolute. Additionally, there seemed to be no crack, breach, or opening that offered her an alternative path. Sweetie Belle bit her lip until it bled. No, there was no other way; she had to press the button. Sighing again, Sweetie Belle trotted up to the blood-smeared button and pressed it timidly. She then closed her eyes and expected her body to explode in a blast of blood and entrails, but nothing happened. Suddenly a voice crackled out from a speaker overhead. The voice was muffled and distorted, and once and a while it would skip slightly, as if the voice was coming from a damaged tape recorder. The voice said:

"I have a heart that never beats, I have a home but I never sleep. I can take a man's house and build another's, and I love to play games with my many brothers. I am a king among fools. Who am I?"

It was undoubtedly a riddle. Suddenly the icy claws of fear gripped Sweetie Belle as the realization of what happened consistently on the very spot she was standing. A pony wanting to gain access to the tower would hit the button, and would be faced with a riddle. If they answered the riddle, they would be allowed access, but if they failed… Well, if they failed, undoubtedly they met with an extremely violent and painful death.

A cold sweat broke out on Sweetie Belle's brow as she racked her brains for the answer. A heart that never beats… A home… A king…

A heart that never beats, did that mean the person was dead, or was the heart just a picture? A king who loved to play games, maybe the king WAS the game? A home, was that like a suite? A suit? What?

Her inglorious Zepto-Sword clattered down on the ground by her side, useless. Sweetie Belle, too, began to slowly sit down on the floor as tears began to well up in her eyes. This was hopeless. She had gone so far, and now she was a walking dead pony. There was no way she could answer this. Suddenly, her eyes brightened up a little. Maybe… maybe this was how it was meant to be. She had wanted liberation from this living hell, and now she was given a chance. She was still a little scared, the death that was coming might be painful, but it did not matter now. She was being given a chance to end it all, and she was not going to give up this chance now…

She got up and prepared to exclaim that she didn't know, and thus seal her fate. However, just before she said anything, a voice whispered in her ear, "A game. Birth, life, death… it is all a game. Like a deck of cards. If you are the killer, you are the queen of hearts, for you have abandoned the binding morality that makes your race so weak…"

It was the voice of Madness, echoing through her young, yet wise, brain. Sweetie Belle's eyes lit up with an epiphany. A game… a deck of cards… a heart that never beats… a king… It was the king of hearts.

"The King of Hearts!" exclaimed Sweetie Belle, using her magic to snatch up her Zepto-Sword once more. There was a long pause, and all that could be heard was the crackling of static in the speaker overhead. Then, suddenly, the massive metal door before her opened up with a long, sepulchral note. The screaming that usually resonated from the doors and gates of the MIND had stopped.

Sweetie Belle couldn't help but give a little hop of joy. She wasn't dead yet, which meant something to her, if no one else.

With that, she trotted inside. The room she entered was immense, and a small valley of blackened iron and chromium lay before her. The inside valley was in the form of a giant chessboard, with alternated checkers of blackened iron and chromium. On the squares on either side of the chessboard were humongous chess pieces. One side had towering statues of blackened iron, like the iron squared of the chessboard, and the other had massive statues of chromium, like the chromium squares of the chessboard.

Sweetie Belle cocked her head to one side, as she looked the setup over. Above the valley (where she was) was a small catwalk that stretched over the chessboard to the other side. On the other side was another door. Sweetie Belle looked around warily. However, there seemed to be nothing dangerous lying in wait. It appeared that The Grief had not yet set up some deadly trap of obstacle. Sighing, almost in relief, Sweetie Belle began to trot across the catwalk, above the chessboard. When she was halfway through, massive spiked gates suddenly erupted out of the ground on both entrances of the catwalk, trapping Sweetie Belle in the middle. Sweetie Belle's eyes widened in horror as a voice from another overhead speaker rang out, "Well, well, well… WHO do we have here?"

"I'm… I'm… I'm Sweetie Belle!" exclaimed Sweetie Belle.

"WHO are you? Sweetie Belle? WHO is Sweetie Belle? Oh… I know WHO you are; you are that one famous filly that everyone is talking about. However, that is WHO they think you are. I actually know WHO you really are," replied the voice.

Sweetie Belle blinked. Then she stammered, "Are you Mr. Who?"

"In the flesh! Oh, I suppose that doesn't count, since I am not in the flesh, I am actually communicating over an electronic device. Interesting, really." The voice of Mr. Who sounded nonchalant, even cold.

Once again, Sweetie Belle's stomach froze up in fear. Had Mr. Who decided that he had no intention of letting her have his living key? She understood that that could be the case. After all, she was killing them, and they had a right to be averse to being killed.

"You know about me collecting the living keys then…" she said in a small voice.

"Oh yes. I know WHO you are. Thus, I know WHAT you do. Do not worry; I am not worried about you taking my living key. In fact, in order for me to be one with this ignominious Tower of Bargaining, I needed to have my living key removed from me. It is in a jar sitting next to me right now, in fact. I will not kill you. However, there is something I need you to see below."

The speaker turned off. With that, Sweetie Belle turned her attention to the chessboard below her. There was a deathly quiet, and it seemed like Sweetie Belle was staring at the inanimate valley of chess pieces for a century. Finally, something started to happen.

Ever so slowly, a pawn from the chromium chess pieces began to move. It dragged itself from E2 to E4. There was another long pause. Eventually the blackened iron pieces began to move. A pawn from C7 to C5. Then a chromium knight moved from G1 to F3. Then a black knight moved from G8 to F6. The second chromium knight them moved from B1 to C3. In response, a black pawn moved from D7 to D5. Suddenly, the chromium pawn at E4 slid over to D5 and rammed the black pawn. A death scream of a female human ripped from the black pawn as it toppled over. The blackened iron encasing cracked and shattered, and blood and entrails of an organic being spilled over the adjacent squares.

Sweetie Belle covered her mouth as she tried to hold in her vomit. What were the implications of this event? Where there sentient beings hidden inside these chess pieces? If so, why? Would she ever find out?

She had no more time to ponder the event because, a moment later, a black knight moved from F6 to D5. The knight slammed into the chromium pawn at D5 and toppled it over. It, too, belted out a scream of pain before exploding, scattering its organic organs across the board. Then there was a deathly silence. The pieces moved no more.

A minute later, the electronic voice of Mr. Who crackled back on line through the speaker overhead.

"Do you know what is happening now?"

Sweetie Belle shook her head. "No," she responded quietly.

"We are now in the present. These pieces have been recording your moves since your entrance into the land of the MIND. Now, they are awaiting your next move. Only when this game has been completed, will you know WHO you really are."

With that, the spiked gates at the ends of the catwalk slid away, and Sweetie Belle was given leave to continue to the door before her.

She trotted up to it and pushed it open. Suddenly a pony poked his head out of the doorway and exclaimed, amiably, "Hello!"

Sweetie Belle gave a feministic squeak of terror, and thrust her Zepto-Sword at the pony. The pony quickly ducked and said, "Don't attack me! I'm unarmed!"

Sweetie Belle looked carefully at the pony. He had a black coat and mane, with large copper gears jutting out of his flesh at awkward angels. Both of his eyes had been replaced with screw heads that consistently turned in their sockets. However, it appeared that he could see normally.

Now eyeing the pony truculently, Sweetie Belle lowered her weapon and said, "Who are you?"

"A better question to ask me is what I am, actually," stated the pony, straightening up.

Sweetie Belle blinked in disbelief, but then said, "Okay… what are you?"

"Of, I am mister Fraudulent," said the pony cordially.

"Wait… I thought you were going to tell me what you are," said Sweetie Belle, and eyebrow raised, "So, are you saying that you are a pony, whose name is Fraudulent?"

"Oh no, little filly," stated Fraudulent emphatically, "I am a Fraudulent, whose name is mister Fraudulent! Where are you going?"

"I am going to the Spire of Insidious Weaseling," replied Sweetie Belle slowly.

"The Spire of Insidious Weaseling… Well, you might be pleased to her that I, too, am going to that very same place!" declared Fraudulent.

"You… are…" said Sweetie Belle, finding it hard to believe.

"Of course!" exclaimed Fraudulent, "Now if you would be so kind… follow me!"

With that, Fraudulent cantered off at a good pace back through the door and down a side-corridor. Shaking her head, Sweetie Belle resigned herself to following this strange pony. After a couple minutes of walking, Sweetie Belle said, "Why is your name Fraudulent?"

"Oh, that is because I am the nicest pony around!" exclaimed Fraudulent, "I am also the smartest, fastest, and strongest! I can help you with all your woes!"

Sweetie Belle just rolled her eyes. There was something about the denizens of the mind and their egotistical attitudes. She really was not sure if he was even telling the truth. "Right… okay…"

"Now that I have answered a question before," said Fraudulent after a short pause, "I have something to ask you!"

Sweetie Belle eyed Fraudulent a little truculently, but nodded her head, "Okay…"

Fraudulent turned to look back over his shoulder and said, cheerfully, "Have you ever been raped?"

Sweetie Belle stopped in her tracks and stared at Fraudulent with her mouth slightly agape. "Um… what?"

"Oh, it's nothing," said Fraudulent in a jocund matter, "I was just asking if you've ever been raped. It is an important to ask, especially since you are a lone filly, traveling around in the land of the insane. This is the world of the mad!"

Sweetie Belle's eyes narrowed. "I've heard that insane and mad are two very different things."

Fraudulent rolled his eyes dramatically, "Oh, whatever."

Sweetie Belle began to back up. "How do I know that I can trust you?"

Fraudulent continued to grin. "You can trust me. You can always trust those who are insane."

Sweetie Belle blinked. She then raised her Zepto-Sword a little higher. "What do you mean?"

"Well," said Fraudulent promptly, "You can always trust an insane pony to do something insane, something unpredictable. However, you can never trust a sane pony because you never know when they will do something sane, or when they will do something insane and subsequently extremely stupid."

"Hmmmm," mused Sweetie Belle, "I've never thought about it that way."

"Of course you haven't," snorted Fraudulent, "And you never will, since Perspective is dead… Well, we might as well keep going!"

Fraudulent turned around and continued trotting down the hall. Sweetie Belle blushed faintly and bent her back legs together a little bit as she continued to think about his very serious question. Had she ever been raped? What did he mean by that?

After a couple more minutes of traversing the grand halls of copper, brass, steel, iron, and chromium, Fraudulent arrived at a giant elevator. Raising a hoof, he punched of rubber buttons that were beside the gate to the elevator. With a screeching noise, the gate to the old-fashioned elevator slid opened, and Fraudulent trotted in, beckoning for Sweetie Belle to follow suit. Nodding, Sweetie Belle trotted in as well and took up position as far away from the strange mister Fraudulent pony as possible. The elevator was extremely long and extremely awkward. Sweetie Belle cheeks were burning by the time they reached the end. When the elevator bell rang out, indicating that they had arrived at their destination, Sweetie Belle gave out a huge sigh of relief and trotted out.

She was at the top of a spire, no doubt, but she was unsure if this was the correct one. The room was a large octagon, with a large pane of glass facing outward in every other wall. Three other gray, foreboding spires of incredible magnitude could be seen barely through the mist outside the windows. Everything else was enveloped by the depressing mist and the soot. In the center of the room was a large grandfather clock. Instead of the numerals indicating the hour of the day, however, the grandfather clock had the words "if only" in their stead.

"Where… where are we?" asked Sweetie Belle continuing to glance around.

"This is the Spire of Astute Beseeching. That is the clock of bargaining. Just look at it! If only… those are always the words that are uttered after a loved one has died. If only you had sought medical advice sooner, if only you had prayed more, if only you had not pushed them in front of that bus, if only…"

As Fraudulent spoke, his voice became more and more distorted, and a terrible flesh-ripping noise filled the air. That wasn't even the first sign that things had gone terribly wrong. That had become quite apparent when he had stated that they were in the Spire of Astute Beseeching, not the Spire of Insidious Weaseling. Sweetie Belle raised her Zepto-Sword and whirled around. Fraudulent was shaking, his mouth agape. A black solid-liquid was forcing its viscous tentacles out his throat, eye-sockets, and pores. They lazily wrapped themselves around his body and soon enveloped him entirely. His buddy bulged and distorted, and grew in size. The screw heads of his eyes popped out, revealing his eyeless sockets that began to gush blood. Soon he was no long the mister Fraudulent that Sweetie Belle had once met. Now he was a hulking brute, with blood pouring out of his eyes and leaking out of his skin like pus.

"FrAUduLEncE mAKeS GriEF stROnGeR!" shrieked the transformed Fraudulent. He lumbered towards Sweetie Belle, whose bladder emptied once more. However, despite that, Sweetie Belle suddenly drew herself up. Using her magic, she levitated the Zepto-Sword in front of her and hurled it at Fraudulent's face. The oversized needle blade slammed into his skull and pierced his brain. With a gurgling scream, Fraudulent vomited up a huge gout of lifeblood (which spewed over Sweetie Belle's coat) and died. Sighing, Sweetie Belle withdrew her Zepto-Sword and was about to turn around when the elevator door dinged once more.

Sweetie Belle froze. What else could be coming up here? Suddenly the door opened, and two ponies infected with the Grief stumbled out. With guttural cries, these creatures stumbled towards Sweetie Belle. Fortunately for her, Sweetie Belle's new opponents were unwieldy. One had only two front limbs, and the other had so many extra appendages growing out of its body that it could not move very effectively. Thus, they both were unable to dodge the Zepto-Sword, which slew both of them with stabs to the faces, which sent gore splattering against the walls.

Sweetie Belle took a deep breath and was about to put down her Zepto-Sword once more when the tower began to shake as if in the grips of a 5.7 magnitude earthquake. Rushing to one of the windows, Sweetie Belle glanced down and saw a nightmare: the Grief, which had grown vastly since the last time she had seen it, was smashing into the lower braces of the Spire of Astute Beseeching. It was attempting to bring the whole spire down. Sweetie Belle let out a cry of horror and rushed to the elevator. Unfortunately, when she attempted to push the buttons, the thing did not respond. She was trapped, and the spire was rapidly beginning to crumble.

"What am I to do?" wailed Sweetie Belle, forgetting her wish to die anyway in the heat of action.

Suddenly, the voice of Madness echoed out, just like it always did when dire circumstances were at hoof.

"Use the clock. Push it out of the window and leap aboard. It will save you…"

"What?!" exclaimed Sweetie Belle, "It's just an ordinary clock! It can't fly! Are you mad?"

"Why, thank you," said Madness quietly, "I do enjoy a good compliment now and then. However, I still suggest you push the clock out of the window. After all… time flies."

Sweetie Belle's eyes brightened. Of course! It was absolutely absurd and idiotic, but in the land of the MIND, nothing was ever as it seemed, and nothing ever seemed as it was. With that, Sweetie Belle picked up her Zepto-Sword with her magic and galloped toward the grandfather clock, which had already toppled over due to the shaking if the spire. She slammed her side into it and began to shove it toward one of the windows which had shattered due to the intensifying vibrations. Sweetie Belle gasped in horror as the spire began to lean in the other direction, and the clock began to slide backwards. It slammed into her and pushed her with accelerating speed towards the opposite side of the chamber. With a scream, Sweetie Bell collided with one of the intact windows on the other side of the chamber and smashed through, sending her and the clock spiraling into space. Just as she did so, the spire fell with a rending shriek of twisting metal and snapping support beams. Sweetie Belle grabbed the clock and held on tightly as she began to fall. For a moment, Sweetie Belle began to panic, thinking that the clock would not fly. But, as the saying goes… time DOES fly. Suddenly the clock leveled out and hovered in the air, like a magic carpet. Sighing in relief, Sweetie Belle glanced around. If she remembered correctly, the tower of Insidious Weaseling was to the east. Sweetie Belle then glanced at the sky while she searched for the gloomy jack-o-lantern sun. If she was correct, the sun rose in the east and set in the west. If she could find the sun, she would know which direction was east, since the sun was trapped in a perpetual sunset. She found it, and then turned herself and the flying grandfather clock in the opposite direction. There was one of the giant spires, standing grand and tall in the mist. Sweetie Belle was about to exclaim in relief when her shout was lost in another loud rending screech of metal. To her left, the Spire of Mournful Begging was being demolished by the powerful Grief. She was on a clock now, literally and figuratively. Leaning forward, Sweetie Belle urged the flying grandfather clock forward, and it shot off in the direction of the Spire of Insidious Weaseling. In less than a minute, she arrived at the top of the spire. She drew up next to one of the spire's top windows just as the Grief obliterated the Spire of Mournful Begging, and moved on to the Spire of Despondent Pleading. Using her Zepto-Sword, Sweetie Belle smashed the window she was next to and drifted inside with the clock. In the center of the room was a large electric chair, like the ones used in executions. Strapped into the chair was Mr. Who. Beside him was a small oak table, with a glass bowl filled with liquid. Within that liquid was the un-beating heart of Mr. Who, the living key. Sweetie Belle rushed forward and exclaimed, "Why are you stuck in there?"

"This? Oh… this is an electric chair. It is generally used for executions, but I find it something of a life support. Nothing like the threat of death to keep one alive, am I right?"

Sweetie Belle stopped and looked Mr. Who up and down. He was a middle aged pony, with piercing blue eyes and a deep blue coat with a green mane. Small black question marks infested his coat, and danced around his body in a mad jig.

"You're stuck in there because it keeps you alive?" asked Sweetie Belle slowly.

Mr. Who nodded, "Oh yes. A long time ago, I had my heart torn out. After all, those WHO ask the question of WHO generally don't need a heart. However, there will always be ponies WHO need to ask WHO, so I could not be allowed to die. Thus, I was strapped in here. Now I spend my days biding my time, and asked all the important WHO questions that the world needs. Like WHO killed the maid? And WHO was commanding that squadron? And WHO set off that bomb? After it has been decided, I broadcast the decision through the Tower of Bargaining's announcement system."

Sweetie Belle blinked. "Okay… Could I… could I take your living key then?"

Mr. Who nodded. "Of course you may. It would not change anything. I am going to die anyway."

Sweetie Belle shook her head reflexively, "No you're not! You're going to be fine!"

Mr. Who chuckled, and nodded his head to the scene unfolding behind her, outside the window. "You would like to think that."

Sweetie Belle turned around and blanched as she saw the Grief destroying the Spire of Despondent Pleading.

"Quick!" exclaimed Mr. Who, "Take my living key and get out! Then fly into where the mist is thickest. That is where you will find the Valley of Depression, and Mrs. When! Go!"

Sweetie Belle, her eyes wide with fear, nodded quickly and scooped up the bloody heart of Mr. Who just as the Spire of Insidious Weaseling began to vibrate under the attacks of the Grief. She plopped it into her blood-soaked saddle bag with the hearts of Mrs. Which and Mr. Whether. She then hopped back onto her hovering grandfather clock. With only a mournful glance as a parting goodbye, Sweetie Belle urged the clock forward, and it sped away. She took a sharp turn, and began to head south, where the mist was obviously the thickest. When things go south, depression tends to get worse. As she rocketed away, the massive Spire of Insidious Weaseling cracked and crumbled. Suddenly, with a massive explosion of metal shards, the spire bent at an awkward angel, and teetered. With a long, despondent shriek, the whole structure leaned over, and toppled into the mists.

Darkness is on the horizon. You move your bishop from F1 to B5. Check. The Unknown must respond. They move their bishop from C8 to D7 to protect their king.