With his legs quivering, Mykerion approached the door to The Forge.
The Forge, with capital letters. The Forge, where the Changeling armor was formed, shaped and tempered to protect them in battle. The Forge… home of Captain Viune.
The smell of smoke issued from small vents which peppered the wall around the round iron door, which, much like the throne room doors had been, was stolen. It had happened long before Mykerion had been made Captain, so he wasn’t aware of the details, but it was likely to have come from some sort of factory, or maybe a furnace. That was appropriate, he guessed. He’d never been inside himself, so he couldn’t say anything about what lay within. This was going to be his first visit.
He only wished it was under more favorable circumstances.
It wasn’t as if he wanted to go in. Sheer curiosity aside he’d be perfectly content if he never saw the inside of it in his entire life. Right now though he didn’t really have much choice. This was going to lead to a far more preferable outcome than just waiting for the inevitable typhoon to come to him. Viune would find out. She always found out.
Mykerion dreaded to think exactly how she would react to the mangled pile of scrap metal that used to be his armor.
Having had the long journey down the hive to mull it over, he still didn’t know how it had happened. One minute he’d been flying at the top of the Spire while discussing interrogations with Incelidus, not an unusual occurrence, and the next thing he knew he was all the way at the bottom, his head was spinning, and what he’d been wearing only moments earlier was no longer recognizable. Gravity had conspired against him, it seemed. According to Incelidus, he’d just fallen out of the air. According to Titus, who’d immediately started preparing for the inevitable arrival of their armorer, it was because he exhausted himself by talking too much.
That didn’t make sense, though. Sure, the talk with Incelidus had been animated, but he certainly hadn’t felt any sort of lethargy until after the fact. Even then, he didn’t feel tired, it just felt like his head was going to explode. Titus either didn’t know or didn’t care what had happened, probably both. He had seemed quite disappointed when it became evident that Viune was otherwise occupied and wasn’t going to show up, but either way had refused to accompany Mykerion on what he described as an ‘idiot’s quest’ to be honest and own up before she had the chance to do something about it herself.
On the other hoof, Incelidus had offered his assistance, a promise which, like most made by Changelings, disintegrated twenty feet from the door.
“I’m not going any closer,” he’d said, putting on a brave face but letting the nervous fluttering of his wings betray his fear. “This is as far as I go.”
“You said—”
He’d put a hoof on Mykerion’s shoulder. “Look, Meeks, you’ve not fought her before. Everybody else has and everybody else lost.”
“It’s mee-kerry-oan, and that’s exactly why I’m doing it on my own terms.”
“Well, you’re an idiot, then. You’re giving her the home field advantage.”
“What does that mean?” Incelidus had a habit of rattling off pony idioms that Mykerion hadn’t learned yet.
“Do you know anything about the inside of the Forge?”
“No.”
“Do you have experience fighting Viune?”
“No.”
“Are you at all familiar with the punishments she dishes out for damaged armor?”
“N— Yes. I watched her fighting Lead Captain Dethyn yesterday.”
Incelidus waved a hoof around. “Sorry, tell me again how this is in any way a good idea?”
Mykerion shrugged. “I’m making it up as I go along. Why not help?”
“Oh no. Not even the Queen could make me go in there again. You’re on your own, Meeks. I’d hedge my bets and beat it if I were you.”
“Mee-kerry-oan.”
“Whatever, I’m out.” He’d covered only a few yards when he’d turned to call back, “I’ll be sure to speak well at your funeral!”
“What’s a funeral?!”
Actually, Mykerion was pretty sure he had at least one advantage. He had watched his Lead Captain and the hive’s armorer duke it out, and while the assault had been strong, Viune’s strategy had basically been to blitzkrieg her opponent into submission. If he could just hold the fight out for a while…
Oh who was he kidding. He was terrified and he had no plan to speak of, and there was a very high probability he was going to have to be carried out on a stretcher. Every step towards the door heightened the sense of dread. Every moment his brain was feeding him unfavorable result after unfavorable result. Incelidus was right, he had no idea what lay beyond that door, and he was picking the terrain Viune was most familiar with. Maybe he should give up, hide somewhere, prepare himself for—
Before he could let fear overwhelm him and become strong enough to spread to his drones, he seized the wheel on the door, spun it, and threw the portal open.
The first thing that hit him was the heat. It was a forge, what did he expect? But it was hot hot, a kind of searing heat he’d never experienced. He didn’t even have any points of reference to compare it to, he’d never encountered any abnormal temperature situations that would allow him to say what it felt like. Somehow that made it even worse.
Second was the smell. He’d gotten a whiff of it coming through the vents when the door was closed, but now that it was open his nose was being attacked by the scent of burning coals and molten metals. With the headache he had it didn’t make much of a difference, but with a clearer head he was sure that just inhaling would be painful.
The third thing thankfully didn’t hit him and instead shot past his head and went splat on the tunnel wall behind him.
“You missed,” he heard the armorer comment from inside. “I told you not to adjust the angle again.”
Oh… she was busy. That was okay. He could come back again la—
“CAPTAIN MYKERION YOU GET IN HERE AND CLOSE THAT DOOR.”
Instead Mykerion found himself muttering a hurried apology, fighting all the warning flags about the temperature, and entering, with the door slamming behind him. He was shut in now. No escape.
Most of the hive was a sort of mottled gray-green. Inside The Forge the fires made the walls red, with black soot stains everywhere. The atmosphere was hazy with steam and smoke, which only supplemented the overwhelming heat. There were anvils, shards of metal and discarded tools strewn everywhere. A huge furnace occupied the centre of the room, burning ferociously. Most of the smoke rose to the top of the cavern, which then, he guessed, was funneled out somewhere. Nothing really that was too out of the ordinary, to be honest.
Surprisingly, though, Captain Viune was not the room’s only occupant. Besides half a dozen drones which were flitting about, transporting materials around between workbenches, Viune herself was carrying an alarmingly long poker and gingerly prodding something that was on top of Captain Rhio’s unmistakable silhouette. Oh, good. At least he wouldn’t be without an audience for his beating. …what was she doing?
He attempted to move closer, but the armorer’s voice stopped him in his tracks. “Stay right where you are or this thing’s going to take your head off.”
“What thing…?”
A loud, high-pitched whine suddenly came from whatever it was on top of Rhio, followed by a whumph and another projectile whizzing over Mykerion’s head which splatted against the wall behind him. “I said clockwise, you moron! You spin it clockwise to wind the end cap on! Don’t look at me like that, you heard what I said! You want this—” she gesticulated with the poker “—down your throat?! Do it again, and this time, pay attention!”
Well, curiosity was a good thing to focus on instead of the dread, the youngest captain guessed… but then again, from what it was doing and the noises it was making, he thought he could make a fair guess as to what Viune was talking about. He’d heard tales of The Cannon from various drones, the mechanical machine that was capable of rapid-firing globs of Changeling secretion gunk and was so heavy that only Rhio could carry it. Initially he’d brushed it off as stuff that had been planted by the senior captains to unnerve him.
“Thank you. The end cap’s secure. Now you can test it.” Whine-whumph-splat. “Rhio, I swear to the Queen, if you don’t take this seriously I will end you.” Mykerion had never seen or heard Viune sound at all flustered before. Was this what she was normally like in— “Mykerion if you finish that thought you’ll be his testing dummy for the rest of your life!” —Never mind. It wasn’t worth it, not with what he was going to have to say to wait did she just pronounce his name correctly?
Before he could process that Viune was bearing down on him, the poker following closely behind in her magic. “Don’t stand there gawping. I know exactly what you’ve done and it is only because somebody doesn’t know how to maintain their own weapon that I haven’t already kicked your plot.” She cast a glare back at Rhio, who barely reacted. “So, are you masochistic, or just dense?”
Mykerion frowned. “Sir?”
“Don’t sir me.” She jabbed the poker into the base of Mykerion’s horn, and he flinched. “Why’d you come here? I’d be coming for you anyway. This…” The poker then jabbed into the armor remains. “…I have no words.”
“I’m a little surprised myself, sir.”
“And why’s that?”
“You haven’t punched me yet.”
“Oh, would you look at that, I haven’t.” Viune gestured to the left with the poker, and Mykerion’s gaze was fixed to it; she followed the distraction up with a cross from her right forehoof. “Satisfied?”
Okay, this was getting weird. “Sir?”
“Shut up, Mykerion. I’m busy.”
Rhio coughed. It wasn’t a loud cough, but it was meaningful.
“You can shut up and all. It’s your fault this thing broke in the first place.” Viune tossed the poker aside and picked up the scrap metal. “Alright, here’s the deal: Captain Zhoele says you get special treatment. I say she can stuff it, but she’ll stuff my legs in my mouth. So you get one chance to explain what happened.” Oh, a reprieve! Mykerion opened his mouth— “And you get two words.”
Oh. Er. It was difficult for Mykerion to summarize. Um. How should he, uh…
“I’m waiting.”
Well, it was the simplest explanation… “Spire. Fell.”
The armorer snorted. “You fell down the Spire? Way to go, genius. Not even drones make that mistake.”
“I didn’t make a mistake,” Mykerion protested. “I blacked out. I think. I’ve never blacked out before so I don’t know—”
He was suddenly silenced by Viune shoving a hoof into his face and shushing. “More than two words, dumbflank, now shut it.” In a single motion she turned and hurled the was-armor through a waiting grate into the furnace. “You must be competing with Iaberus for the title of captain who does the stupidest things. Should’ve expected as much when you started naming your drones.”
That wasn’t fair! “Sir, I’ve explained my reasoning—”
“And your reasoning’s stupid.” Viune turned back and jabbed her hoof into his chest. “They don’t need names. You use the hive-mind to identify them and that’s it.” Again! Mykerion opened his mouth to retort— “And don’t give me any of that rubbish about ‘oh what’ll we do if we ever don’t have the hive-mind’. If that’s what you’re telling them it’s no wonder that one ran away on you. Now then.” She inhaled. Behind her, Rhio coughed again, slightly louder than before. “Yes, I know.” Her next sentence was a little strained, as if she was having to force herself to say it. “This… that… wasn’t… your fault.”
Uh… that wasn’t what Mykerion expected to hear. “Sir?”
She leaned towards him. He leaned back. “You blacked out.”
“Yes, sir.”
She leaned further towards him. He had to take a step backwards so he didn’t fall over. “You had a headache when you woke up.” He was sure he hadn’t said that, but she’d phrased it as a statement, not a question. Did she know what happened?
“Yes, sir?”
She stepped forward into his face again, and he found that his hind legs just sort of gave up out of unexpressed terror. “And when you woke up, you wanted to hurt everyone.”
“I…” Mykerion stopped. That… That was true, now that he thought about it. He’d woken up, and even before he’d seen the armor, he’d been filled with an indescribable rage, if only for a moment. He’d just thought he’d imagined that. “I did, sir.”
“Hm.” Viune stepped back again, looked off to the side in a moment of thought, then punched him.
Well, that wasn’t entirely unexpected. That was the kind of furor he’d anticipated, Mykerion thought, as his head rang from where it had collided with the floor. But hadn’t she just said that it wasn’t his fault? What was that for then?! He tried to stand up, but his legs just went out from under him. Yeah, that… having watched her fighting Dethyn really didn’t prepare him for that. Incelidus had been right.
A blurry shape loomed over him, which bent down and slapped his face a couple of times to knock his senses back into him. “That,” said Captain Viune, “was for letting yourself get spiked.”
“Spiked?” was what Mykerion tried to say. It probably came out a little less coherently.
But Viune wasn’t talking to him any more. “You!” she pointed somewhere he couldn’t see, and guessed she had to be pointing at one of her drones. “Go and get Captain Titus. He is going to come here and he is going to come here immediately.” A pause, followed by some muttering, presumably from the drone. “I don’t care! If you don’t come back with him I’ll just have to use you as a substitute!”
Dimly, Mykerion became aware of the noise of the forge door opening and shutting, but he remained on the floor. The punch had hurt much more than he had been expecting it to, even after the earlier cross she’d given him. He was just going to stay there for a while. It didn’t feel like he was in the way of anything, and at this point, staying out of the way seemed like the best idea he’d come up with today.
“Spiked,” Viune repeated, once Mykerion felt he’d recovered and risked sitting up and asking about it. She’d returned to standing on a table and tinkering with Rhio’s cannon, which was aimed solidly on the door. “I shouldn’t have to tell you about this, nor do I want to, but unless Rhio decides he’s going to speak I’m going to have to.” Rhio, for his part, rolled his eyes but otherwise didn’t respond. “Figures. You were sent a concentrated burst of pure rage over the hive-mind which knocked you out.” There was no enthusiasm to her explanation, as if she was repeating something she’d said many, many times before. Mykerion found it pretty interesting, though. “Incelidus can’t do it, so I’m guessing Titus did it so I’d beat you up.”
“You beat me up anyway, sir.”
“I punched you twice, mainly for falling for it like a chump. And now I’m going to shoot him with a cannon. See how this works?” She flashed him a manic grin, and the junior captain found himself involuntarily scooting backwards. Oh no, she was enjoying this. “Either him, or that drone I sent to find him, or if neither of them turn up it’ll be you and I’ll deal with them later. Somebody’s going to get shot. Don’t even think about it, Rhio. I built the thing I can use it all I want.” There came a series of clicks as she spun the barrel idly. Again, nauseating dread welled up in Mykerion’s throat, and he tried to swallow it back down. Being shot point-blank by the cannon while he was unarmored was going to hurt, a lot.
One part of him felt satisfied, that Titus had tried to get him punished and now he was getting his comeuppance. Another part was simply relieved that he’d gone into the forge expecting the worst and got off lightly, at least for the moment. A third part was occupied with worrying how Captain Titus was going to retaliate, as he inevitably would.
And one more tiny part of him, the part that had been acting up ever since the Invasion and giving him mental breakdowns, asked Why can’t we all just get along?
Something was wrong with him, he was sure of it. Changelings didn’t think like that. They always took, they never gave. They worked together for the sake of the hive, but take that out of the equation and they’d abandon each other. That was the way it was supposed to be. …wasn’t it? But it just didn’t make sense that to eat, they had to leave the source emotionally drained afterwards and consequently incapable of providing any more love. If they were to share it, wouldn’t it last a lot longer? Given everything, though, he didn’t dare voice the suggestion out loud. It would be practically blasphemous. They did as the Queen told them and nothing else.
Mykerion didn’t want to be banished.
Before he could muse any more on the topic, the sound of the wheel on the forge door squealing brought him back to the real world. This was probably going to end badly.
The door took only moments to open. The first to enter was the drone, who stepped in, saw the cannon, panicked, and shot under a nearby table. Stomping right behind it was Captain Titus, sans helmet, who also stepped in, and made the mistake of immediately turning to close the door. “Viune, this had better be good!” he grumbled.
It started as a small ticking noise, which quickly grew into a loud whine as the barrel ran up to speed. Beneath the cannon, Rhio splayed his hooves to prevent the jitter. Somewhere in there secretions from the-Queen-knew-where were being sucked around like fluids in a centrifuge. Then—
“SPIKE THIS, YOU F—!”
Viune’s cry was swallowed up under the rapid-fire WUMPHs that issued from the cannon’s barrel. Titus barely had time to turn back around before the first glob hit him in the face, knocking him back against the door, and the followup shots that plastered him to the portal so completely that from the right angle it wouldn’t even look like he was there at all. All the while Viune was shouting obscenities at the top of her lungs, while Rhio was steady as a rock beneath the weapon. Oh, and it was hot too, wasn’t it… Mykerion had been in there so long he’d almost forgotten the heat. That stuff was going to stick to Titus for days, and stink like… like… like something very smelly. Mouldy cheese? The junior captain hadn’t actually encountered any cheese yet so didn’t know if it was smelly or not. Either way before his mood was taken into account Titus would be a very unpleasant Changeling to be around.
After about thirty seconds of sustained fire which had felt like several hours, the fire stopped, the whine faded away, and for a moment the crackling of the forge’s fires was the only thing audible. Then, with a loud schlup sound, Titus fell off the wall. It was almost comical. Mykerion was on the verge of laughing when he remembered that this was his superior he was looking at.
But apparently the ordeal wasn’t over. Immediately Viune was crossing the floor, her huge hammer in her magical grip, now yelling incoherently. Yowch. Now Mykerion was really glad he wasn’t on the receiving end. Watching the Viune/Dethyn fight would have in no way whatsoever prepared him for this. He would have been hopelessly outmatched. That hammer had to be at least two thirds her size.
What followed was… he wasn’t sure. The first swing of the hammer had missed, as despite his handicap Titus was able to squelch out of the way. Somehow in the ensuing fight they’d managed to open the door and disappear into the depths of the hive, shouting and screaming all of the way, leaving a trail of goo behind them. Chancing it, Mykerion peered around the edge of the threshold.
There was nobody there.
Then he turned his head to see Rhio immediately behind him and nearly fainted with fright.
When— how— In the seconds he hadn’t been in Mykerion’s vision, he’d disconnected all of the straps holding the cannon on and covered the distance up to the door without making a sound! Given the senior captain’s… well, generous size, that should have been impossible!
“S-sir!”
Rhio said nothing but stared off down the tunnel. Mykerion looked back. It was deathly silent out there.
“They must have gotten far…”
Silence.
“Remind me never to stand in front of that thing.”
A pause, then Rhio looked at him.
“Right. Shouldn’t be in front of you in the field. Sorry, sir.”
More silence. The staring was starting to get a little uncomfortable.
“We should… we should probably go, right?”
Rhio’s gaze returned to the tunnel.
“I… right, I should go. You were here first.”
With the big guy’s stare almost drilling into his back, Mykerion ran for it.