//------------------------------//
// 2: Some call it a horrifying omen of things to come. Some call it Tuesday. 
// Story: Changelings in Silver Sunlight 
// by Nameless Narrator 
//------------------------------//

“Why does it always have to be a sewer…?”

This disgusted female voice mirrors the thoughts of everyone currently trudging through the fetlock-deep sludge of Manehattan sewer system for far too many-eth time. Granted, as far as sewers go, Manehattan complex could be counted among the most “hospitable” ones, ranking only behind, of course, Canterlot. This means that while these round, dark green tunnels covered with patches of slimy moss still carry the heavy, acrid stench of decay and waste, at least it’s possible for all strange members of the currently present five-pony… no, five-mostly-not-pony group to walk side by side and without crouching.

Let’s start with the speaker looking straight ahead with narrowed eyes, as if her mind was completely elsewhere. She’s a unicorn mare, charcoal black with shoulder-long, white mane flowing freely down her neck cut in the uneven style of someone who probably did it themselves and without bothering to use a mirror. One of her eyes is blue, and one green. Not that they are overly visible in the light cast by a flashlight hanging on a strap around her neck, or even relevant to many things, but for the sake of completeness it needs mentioning. As far as her physical stature goes, she certainly is athletic, but nothing crazy, really. More wiry than with curvy muscles, in fact. She can’t be too old, mid or late twenties at most, but her face, her weary stare, and few wrinkles under the eyes no one this young should bear prove beyond all doubt that, as the young say these days, she’s seen some real shit.

Her cutie mark isn’t special on the first glance, though, consisting of two crossed guardless swords, one white with ebony handle, and the other one ashen grey with ivory handle. If someone were to get inquisitive and suspicious enough, they might come to the conclusion that the white edge of one of the blades is too bright to be steel, and if such scholar did enough digging, they might figure out the color is the most similar to an extremely rare metal called istrium. Of course, the methods of forging the raw material into such sturdy metal were lost long time ago if they weren’t entirely mythical to begin with.

In contrast to her cutie mark, she’s got only one sword strapped on her back, although it does look exactly like the ashen one with white handle. The only thing other than the sword, the lamp, and a bandanna covering her mouth she’s got on her seems to be a small saddlebag on her side. Her long horn keeps shimmering, not with a light spell or any visible magical effect. On a closer look, though, one could see that she’s not actually walking through the waste water, rather that all water stops around her fetlocks as if she was wearing an invisible set of boots.

“Hard to summon demons in your parents’ apartment, I suppose,” answers a calm and a rather jovial male voice, “I can just picture it. Hey, son, I hope you’re not jacking off in your room! No dad, I’m just- PARGON PARGON VITAE AM YOM TAR! Hey, son, why do I smell sulfur? NO REASON!” 

The speaker this time is a pure white, claws and everything, griffon walking by the unicorn’s side, wearing the same dark green bandanna and a strap with a huge, double-headed battle axe on his back. Of course, question number one, if the oversized axe is on his back, would be - how does he take it off? The answer is simple, on the first glance. The griffon is tall, and his physical build is something that even ancient stone statues of heroes could only dream off, which makes it possible that he might be able to wield a two-handed weapon made for a minotaur with one foreleg. However, there might be a better clue to that in his emerald green eyes which, contrary to popular opinion, shouldn’t be glowing with immense power beyond the understanding of mere mortals. Too theatrical? Good. Now, with eyes like those, body that would make an ice sculpture drool, and a permanent cheeky smile on his beak, he looks like a guy who would have a full harem here in Equestria, and all princesses would be in it. Not that that’s the case, he just looks like it.

“You could take this a little more seriously, Cromach. I mean, sir,” the unicorn mare gives him a dirty, sideways glance, although from her only slightly annoyed tone it’s clear she’s used to this kind of thing.

“Come on, Connie,” Cromach smirks at her, “We’ve been in worse sewers, and on worse cases. Eldritch screaming and summoned demons in a cellar, boo hoo. That’s what... third time in two months? This isn’t even in a top hundred scary things we’ve seen, and I’m not sure we did break a hundred creepy cases yet. The only question we don’t know the answer to yet is whether the pony responsible for it did it willingly. To be honest, at this point we might return simple cases like this one back to the police,” he snaps his talons as if recalling something crucial, “Wait, no, two questions. Trothai, neighponnese, or marexican food for late lunch after we get back?”

“Oooh oooh oooh! Can we get griffon?” squelching of dirty water from far ahead is interrupted by eager female voice, a certainly much higher-pitched than Connie’s, and the sound akin to a rain of cannonballs hitting a water surface. From the darkness ahead, a pony shape rushes at crazy speed towards the group, and the light of flashlights reveal what looks like a toned earthpony mare… with few features that always make the skin of ponies who see her for the first time crawl. Her abrupt stop sprays Cromach and Connie with hopefully only water, “Can we, can we, can we?” 

Okay, the enthusiastic bouncing up and down, splashing everything, in front of the white griffon doesn’t help their overall dirty situation.

“Considering we very wisely decided to attack a pocket dimension at noon, which is something no one in their right mind would expect, all the shops will be open, Bubbles,” Cromach nods, and Bubbles jumps at him, clamping her legs around his chest like a vice, “Mind the claws,” is all smiling Cromach says as he pats Bubbles’ head. She smiles back, lowers her bandanna, presenting a mouth full of teeth that would make even Comfort wince, licks the griffon’s face, and jumps back into the water with a backflip.

Let’s take it from the top then. On the first glance, Bubbles looks like an earthpony mare scaled down almost to dwarf size, although still fit and strong and without the bulkiness. Both her coat and mane are rusty reddish brown speckled with golden dots clustering mostly around her spine. Her tail isn’t that of a pony, rather a long, narrowing, prehensile whip ending in a short, leonine duster. Other than that, the only unusual features visible outright on her are bigger ears, and claws on her forelegs instead of hooves. However, when Bubbles smiles, or opens her mouth at any point, really, everyone can see her huge, sharp teeth which would make anyone wonder where in her skull they fit, since her head isn’t malformed in any way. Unlike anyone else, she’s not carrying any equipment on her, which would be a waste anyway, with her teeth and claws.

The question of what Bubbles really is would take far too long to explain right now, and distract from the final two abnormal members of the sewer group.

“Can we stop spoiling her, sir?” the biggest figure currently walking through the sewers speaks up, one taller than even the white griffon. A bipedal one, which helps with that whole big and tall aspect, “She barely eats what the recruits cook in the canteen as it is, fat little blob,” she can’t help taking a jab at Bubbles, albeit one completely untrue.

Patience! We’re almost done with the descriptions. A bodybuilder-tier minotaur female whose coat is so dark yellow that it borders on brown towers over everyone else, her horns almost scratching the sewer ceiling. Despite the fact that she’s in Manehattan, what she’s wearing would be more at home on a tropical beach, and it shows off her somewhat incredible endowments for the world to see. On the other gravity-defying breast, she’s clearly used to the attention, and the mess of the sewers doesn’t seem to bother her. Other than her thigh-high leather boots, that is. 

Blood, blood, calm down, go back to the brain this instant!

So yes, ehm, the minotaur warrior slash fetish-wear model slash classic fantasy novel book cover dream is carrying a two-handed heavy mace on her back, plus an assortment of smaller weapons on a belt holding up her short skirt not covering her round, muscular booty even halfway.

“What? That’s not true, miss Anvil!” Bubbles turns around, looking up… and up at the minotaur, “I eat everything! I just like meat the most, and I’m not fat. Astryyy! I’m not fat, am I?” she cranes her neck to look at her belly in panic.

Aaaand the final member of the dynamic duo… dynamic quintet is the strangest creature out of all of them, with the furry lower body akin to that of a minotaur, but a face of a creature not native to this world. His name also isn’t Astryyy, but Astray, and he’s a satyr, as he learned during his early years in the Crystal Empire orphanage. However, the only visible part of his body is his head topped with short, grey hair, because he’s the only one here wearing actual armor. His armor is a strange mix of plate and chain mail, or more accurately a plate mail which has been reforged by an expert into something which someone with less carrying strength than a pony could wear. Most of the full-body armor is emblazoned by symbols of the sun, at first making it look like one belonging to a paladin, but the suns are slightly polished out to look more silver than gold. In short, it looks like an armor originally made for a paladin, but adjusted in all possible ways to fit a different person, different species, and different use. Anyway, back to the satyr himself, as little as can be seen from him inside the armor. There’s a short sword hanging in a sheath on his belt, and a griffon pistol on the other side as well as miscellaneous pouches and small bags between the two weapons. Aaand that’s all. I mean, you can’t really see much of Astray other than his head and the armor.

Booo! Stop the description and get to the action! Or at least describe the minotaur titties in more detail.

So, as Anvil jiggles along the sewer tunnel- no, bad brain!

“Of course you’re not fat, Bubbly,” Astray pats the head of the energetic at-least-partially-mare, which makes her beam and stick her tongue out at Anvil, “I don’t think it’s even possible for you. Being a half-demon and all.”

“Seventy-five percent demon!” she corrects him, “Miss Anvil has been teaching me to count properly. One third succubus, one third some murder lord of Tartarus, one third hopefully earthpony… though my mom was a unicorn so that would make me...” Bubbles’s large ears droop, “Miss Anvil, how do I divide by earthpony? Math is hard.”

“Can we focus on the task at hoof?” Connie’s cold voice cuts through the jovial atmosphere, “You never knows what lurks in these sewers,” a sadistic grin spreads on her muzzle, “This is Manehattan. Unlike Canterlot, magic trade and alchemy aren’t so well regulated. All back-alley attempts end up flushed down here. Malformed homunculi, foals who were presumed dead after birth but survived here on rotten flesh and waste, living nightmares you simply can’t wake up from, and much more, much worse. They say that if you walk the wrong tunnels at night, you can hear their weeping and chattering of teeth they sharpened on bones of sewer rats.”

“Eep!” Bubbles shivers and shuffles back to Astray, her side now pressed tightly against his armored leg. After a moment, she darts ahead again, staring at Connie with a victorious smile, “Hey, I know something that’s even scarier than those things! And it’s lurking down here too.”

“Yeees?” Connie raises an eyebrow.

“We are!” Bubbles grins from ear to ear, which is unsettling or downright pants-soiling sight for anyone not used to her. With glow in her pink eyes similar to Cromach’s, she rushes off to scout ahead again.

“Can’t argue with that,” Connie shrugs to the chuckling of everyone around, “Pop quiz - how far are we from the target?” her voice is suddenly razor-sharp.

Astray aims his lamp at the top of the tunnel where there’s a set of numbers which he compares to a small notepad he pulls out of one of his bags.

“Six more blocks straight and then three to the right,” he reports, “We should be directly under the apartment complex, Contradiction.”

“Hey, at least someone is taking this seriously,” the black and white mare smirks.

“Come on,” Anvil rolls her eyes, “Sir Cromach is right. We’ve done this over and over in the last year, and I still haven’t met anything scarier than Cross during combat practice.”

“On the other talon,” Cromach snorts, clearly amused, “You probably never will, or at least you should hope you don’t. I’ve been on the receiving end of some serious divine punishment, and I enjoy every day when we’re dealing with some random demons. Hell, even the last year’s case with poor Black Shield was more an active holiday than a real threat.”

“Didn’t feel like holiday...” mumbles Bubbles, recalling herself getting gutted by an overly inquisitive unicorn interested in her demonic side, “But I got all of you out of it, so it started the best time of my life!” she instantly perks up again.

“You know, I do have to agree with that,” Astray says thoughtfully.

“You just like watching me in the shower,” Anvil smirks at him.

“You’re forgetting the massages afterwards,” the satyr proves his mental resilience by not blushing anymore.

“Yep, that’s how much you still have to learn,” Anvil doesn’t admit defeat, “Or can you forget any time I massaged you after training?”

Astray winces, memory of the powerful minotaur’s hands kneading bordering on crushing.

“You’re hard as a rock, really. Would it be too difficult not to have the last word for once?” asks Astray, mostly trying to pass time rather than argue.

“When you beat me, you can do what you want with me. That’s the minotaur way. We never just give in,” Anvil hums to herself, “Though I’m eagerly awaiting the day, if only out of sheer curiosity.”

“Group cuddle!” Bubbles has returned once again from her ceaseless rushing forth behind the first corner ahead and back, “We can get sir Cromach and miss Connie to join us.”

“Hmmm… one foreleg around Connie, one around Anvil,” Cromach muses, “That’s the life. I almost envy you, Astray.”

“It’s not like that, sir,” Astray whistles innocently, and does his best to avoid Anvil’s fresh glare. 

“Yeah,” Bubbles objects too, “Miss Anvil and Astray usually sleep next to each other while I get to lie on them. We tried it once with miss Anvil on top, but we had to stop when Astray turned blue. She’s heavy.”

“Full-blooded minotaur muscle,” Anvil flexes and slaps her biceps, “All of me.”

“We wouldn’t fit in the bunk bed,” Contradiction cuts that discussion short, “And I’ll rip the first slut who touches Cromach in half.”

Bubbles instantly jumps on the griffon, hanging around his neck seemingly without him even noticing her weight.

“You don’t count,” adds Connie.

“I still don’t understand what he sees in your bony ass,” Anvil flicks Connie’s ear with her finger.

“His cock. Often.”

“AHEM!” Cromach clears his throat, “Let’s not get too carried away,” he grabs Bubbles by the nape of her neck, and drops her down, “Shoo!”

“We’re almost there anyway,” Connie’s voice turns serious again, and everyone goes quiet. 

“Well, squad leader,” Cromach winks at her, “Lead away.”

“Bubbles, go!” whispers Connie.

The rusty half-demonette slinks ahead, quickly but also quietly this time, like a prowling leopard. The rest of the group simply try to walk as slowly as they can not to cause any more loud splashing. The report they received from the unicorns of Manehattan police department stated that the cellar had been turned into a pocket dimension. According to the findings, the place supposedly isn’t secured against any entry from anywhere else than the main door from the building it belongs to, so the best access path was identified as a section of a wall shared with the sewer system. The police didn’t know what to expect, and decided against risking personnel, especially when there was the strike force of the Order of the Silver Sun readily available in the city.

As they clear the corner, they see Bubbles with her nose pressed against the wall a short way away, poking at various bricks with her claws. She looks at them, and waves at them to come closer.

“This wall tastes of magic,” she whispers and paws at her tongue stuck out, “and other nasty stuff. How do we get in?” 

Astray taps one of his pouches. They indeed did attack few sites of summonings gone wrong in the past year, but no pocket dimension yet.

“Get ready. We don’t know what’s going to happen,” he says quietly, grabs a handful of white dust from the pouch, and throws it against the wall.

For a moment, nothing happens, giving time for Anvil and Bubbles to take point while Astray and Connie stand in the back. Cromach, watching the professional approach of the group, remains a bit to the side.

That proves to be the smart choice, as a sudden whirlwind of colors bursts out of the wall, and sucks the four Silver Sun members inside, leaving a swirling surface where only the solid the wall was before.

Cromach shrugs, grabs his axe, counts to ten, and jumps in as well.

Few calculations happen in his head at once next. First, considering that Anvil and Astray are already back to back, fighting a wall of teeth and claws made of demons, there has to be a time dilation happening inside the pocket dimension, and the good kind on top. That means they can spend more time here and still return back to the real world in possibly minutes. Second, since Contradiction is currently telekinetically beating a group of red ponies with horns all over using a large, minotaur-like demon with blades instead of fingers, he doesn’t need to do anything crazy to control the situation. Third, there’s a black hellhound, teeth as long as Cromach’s talons, twice his size attempting to eat him.

With a swing of his axe accompanied by green lightning crackling along its edge, Cromach cleaves the hellhound in half, and charges through the gore at the closest target which happens to be a naked humanoid succubus cracking a thorny whip at him.

“Oh my, such a strong, beautiful specimen-” she purses her lips at him.

*Crunch!*

Her limbs simply flash for a moment, and then get ripped off of her torso without the succubus having any idea what’s going on. The rest of her gets crumpled into a small, bloody pulp, bones cracking under impossible telekinetic pressure.

“THAT’S MY GRIFFON, YOU DEMONIC WHORSE!” screams Connie, currently jumping between another minotaur demon behemoth’s legs to avoid a wide swipe of curved claws as long as her shin.

“Hmm, gruesome,” Cromach mumbles, “I could have gone for some hoof-to-hoof combat with that one.”

“I HEARD THAT!” Connie, currently between the demon’s legs, turns her telekinetic pressure into a blade, and pushes upwards, easily slicing the huge figure in half, “Now stop drooling over succubi and get some cardio in, fatty!”

“That’s what I had in mind, actually- WHOAH!” smirks Cromach, and avoids a demon thrown his way at meteoric speed who splatters against a wall behind him. 

He approaches another succubus, this one looking like a minotaur even more endowed than Anvil, wearing spiked bra and a thong, and toying with a burning whip while observing the situation around.

“Hey, girl, wanna go for some one-on-one?” he cracks his talons.

This succubus’ eyes bulge, darting from him to the previously obliterated succubus, and then to Connie.

“Nope!” she starts fleeing into the distance as far as her legs and demonic wings allow.

Cromach sighs, and looks around with a bored expression. The inside of the pocket dimension is still the expected cellar, but one spread out to be the size of a hoofball field. A burning portal hangs in the middle of each side, demons of varying sizes and amount of teeth pouring in through them. In the center of the cellar is a summoning circle with a unicorn in his late teens hanging suspended in the air.

“Any pleasure demons wanting to devour my soul around here?” Cromach raises his voice to no avail.

With a pout, he starts heading towards the floating unicorn, all demons hastily getting out of his way, opting instead to chase Bubbles darting around the battlefield. 

The little demonette’s attention turns to one blood-red demon twice the size of Anvil, with four arms and blades coming from the knuckles of each. He roars, tries to stomp her, misses and accidentally crushes an equine imp. Bubbles, though, crawls up his legs, digs her claws into his tough skin as if it was paper, and with a vertical jump she lands on his shoulder.

“Don’t I know you?” she squeaks into his ear, “I think mom summoned you once, right?”

“GET OFF OF ME, VERMIN!” the demon tries to grab Bubbles who deftly swings around his neck on his other shoulder.

“No, really. It was in this big cathedral with blood everywhere, and- HEY!” she snaps her jaws at the demon’s hand nearby, severing his wrist with one bite, “Stop flailing and bleeding everywhere! You still have three left, you big filly.”

“I WILL RIP YOU TO SHREDS!” the demon roars. The furious scream turns into a gurgle as Bubbles chews his head off with two powerful bites.

“Seriously, you just can’t talk to some demons,” she jumps off of the collapsing titan who crushes several scampering infernals underneath, “Hey, anyone? Does anyone know who my dad was? Mom summoned him, she was this tall, grey unicorn mare. Wore a lot of jewels most of the time. Good with binding circles.”

“I can be your daddy if you want one, little filly,” a muscular incubus of Cromach’s size, with positively massive endowment hanging between his hind legs pounces over Bubbles, slapping her in the face with his dong, “Just open your mouth and-AAAAAAAAAAAHHH!” his deep voice turns into a high-pitched screech as he watches in complete disbelief as Bubbles runs off with the entirety of his ripped off junk, dragging one end on the floor due to its sheer size. 

Tornado of blood, severed limbs, and shattered skeletons surrounding Contradiction dissipates as she notices Bubbles trying to get inside. The demonette jumps to Connie, and spits out the demonic dong on the already messy floor.

“Look, miss Connie. This guy’s bigger than the stuff you always order from Bad Griffon! You can take it home and stuff it if you want,” Bubbles points to the incubus now bleeding out on the floor, his forelegs pressed against the open wound in his abdomen. 

“That’s not how they make those, but thanks for the thought,” Connie pats Bubbles’ head, “Now go play with those guys,” Connie points to a horde of demons trying unsuccessfully to stuff themselves back into the one-way portal, giants stomping over the corpses of smaller ones, “That guy’s the same color as you are.”

“Hey, he’s got tentacles instead of eyes. Neat!” Bubbles runs off, stopping by the groaning and dying incubus, and spitting out his severed genitals, “Miss Connie said she already has a bigger one, so you can keep yours. But hey, at least you got to touch my mouth, right?”

The most marginally successful, or at least the least dead, group of demons is circling around Anvil and Astray. The minotaur swings her mace like a baseball bat, sending a snake-like demon flying so hard it wraps like a bola around the legs of some slayer humanoid. Astray reaches on his back for his weapon with the most kick to it - a sawed-off shotgun with which he cleanly decapitates a hellhound snapping at him. In one fluid motion, he puts the weapon back, and blocks a swipe of claws from a griffon-like creature set on disemboweling him. He winces at the strength of the blow, deflects the limb away from himself, and with a quick swing back slits the demon’s throat.

The minotaur and satyr duo systematically fight back to back, more intent on winning the long battle rather than slaughtering as many demons as quickly as possible.

Cromach reaches the floating unicorn in the “center” of the cellar and, having no better exorcism idea, pokes his belly. The unicorn’s eyes roll backwards, his head turns three-sixty degrees, and he throws up blood all over the thankfully already mostly red griffon.

Connie approaches a succubus mare with heavy, hanging teats, who blows her a kiss.

“You up for a good time among all this carnage?”

“Sure, bring friends,” Connie nods.

The succubus blinks, and bares her fangs.

“Be careful what you wish for, girl,” the succubus spreads her wings, and with a moan, five younger succubi materialize out of thin air.

Connie’s horn glows, but this time an eerie feeling passes through the whole pocket dimension. Demons stop fighting, and absolutely everyone looks Connie’s way.

Giant ethereal tentacles looking as if made of sea water erupt from the floor, performing a surprise and rather fatal colonoscopy on each of the cheeky succubi. 

“Hope that’s enough stretch for all of you, you horny sluts.”

“Ohhhhh crap...” the nearest demon titan breathes out in passable ponish, “Ohgodshitfuckcocksuckerdamnit!” he quickly scratches several symbols onto the floor.

A blast of golden light blinds everyone for a moment, and when the Silver Sun group blink away the afterimages, there are exactly zero demons anywhere around, the portals are gone, and the unicorn summoner is lying limp inside his summoning circle.

Cromach whistles.

“Well, this is the first time I’ve seen a demon use holy magic to banish itself to get away from us.”

The unicorn grunts, and Cromach leans down to him again.

“Hey, you okay?” he shakes the summoner whose bloody coat gives no sign of its real color. The unicorn opens his eyes, and gasps.

Black, almost liquid shadow quickly seeps out of his pores, as if ripped out, and drains into the cracks on the floor left behind by rampaging demons.

“What… who… oww...” the unicorn moans and whispers, “...thank you… whoever you are...”

Astray rushes towards the two first, and quickly pulls out a suppressor ring, immediately screwing it on the unicorn’s horn.

“Now,” Cromach shakes the dazed unicorn gently, “What happened here?”

“I… don’t know...”

“Come on, you don’t summon this amount of demons on accident unless you’re a student of ancient languages with really bad pronunciation,” the griffon frowns.

“I swear...” the unicorn groans, “I’m just… a baker… I don’t know… anything...”

A draft of cold air sends chills up everyone’s spine. Cromach turns his head around, only to see a pitch black crack hanging mid-air.

“Stop staring! The pocket dimension is breaking,” Anvil facepalms, “Didn’t anyone here read a book on advanced magic in their life?”

Something slips through the crack, a living shadow shaped like a pony-long snake with clawed arms in front which immediately lunges on Connie.

Cromach is there to interrupt the pounce, his axe slashing the shadow in two. As the creature dissipates, more and more start pouring from the crack and many more quickly appearing everywhere around. The griffon looks at his axe in confusion, and with his next practice swing the axe crackles with lightning again.

“Do these things… drain energy?” he mumbles, “Everyone, physical attacks only!”

The eight intruding creatures don’t know fear, unlike the demons, clawing and slashing their appendages at the group standing in a circle around the cowering unicorn summoner. Thankfully, their unknown origin doesn’t make them immune to the group’s weapons, and with the dimensional cracks gradually joining, the world shatters.

In the next moment, the group find themselves in a much smaller cellar although very similar in looks to the pocket dimension. With one final swing of his sword, Astray breathes out as he notices there are no hostiles anywhere around.

Cromach quickly slings the the sobbing unicorn clearly scared witless on his back, and points at the short stone stairs obviously leading up to the apartment building.

“Anvil.”

The minotaur rushes over, and kicks the door open.

“Move. We’ll sort the guy out back at home where we have a properly protected holding cell,” Cromach orders, and everyone follows him, “Bubbles, go inform the police that we’re done here. You can catch up with us.”

“The last bit wasn’t part of the summoning,” the griffon mutters to himself in the end, “I’d bet my ass on it.”


*** 


On the western side of Manehattan in the rich part of the city filled with mansions, gated communities, wide gardens, and open estates stands a white, three-story  mansion in the shape of a V with round part in the middle. Surrounding it is a square of walls hiding open lawns within them and a gravel path leading from the mansion entrance to the only gate in the walls connecting the whole place to the world outside. There isn’t anything particularly special about it distinguishing it from all other mansions around other than layers upon layers of magical protections forming a dome over the entire area. If there was someone from the United Canterlot Orders of Wizardry nearby who was allowed to examine the spells, they would gladly trade their status and likely their own lovely grandmother for a chance to speak with the mage responsible for those barriers.

Of course, there was no one of that sort, but Cromach was currently busy talking with the changeling behind the protective spells, so there’s something. The changeling didn’t look like one, rather taking the look of a pure white unicorn mare with a light blue mane styled into something complex which wouldn’t go amiss on any Canterlot ball. In fact, everything around her screams “high-class lady”, which in itself betrays that she isn’t one. Real ladies are a lot more subtle about it.

Inside a circular room under the mansion there’s a magical circle within which sits the unicorn baker responsible for today’s summoning accident, and both the griffon and the “unicorn” mare are pondering the situation.

“Did you find anything, Starlight?” asks Cromach when the mare’s horn stops glowing.

“Nothing,” she shrugs, “No divine or demonic influence, no lingering magic, nothing. He’s clean as a whistle.”

“Hmmm… does it say anything to you?” 

“Yeah,” Starlight glares at the young baker, “That guy has no clue what happened, and probably really didn’t have a hoof in causing it even on accident. Of course, you can give him to the police for questioning, punch him few times just in case, or find someone to put his brain into a wringer for a more educated guess,” she shrugs, clearly not caring about what happens with the baker next.

“Wait, no divine or demonic traces?” Cromach snaps his talons, “How is that possible? Getting rid of those kinds of marks is worse than trying to wash spaghetti off of a white shirt.”

“I’m going to assume you’re not too stupid and that you’re coming to the same conclusion as me - he got possessed magically, used all proper protection against demons, and then started summoning everything you described at random. Not sure why someone would do that through an amateurish vessel like this guy, but I’m neither a beginner nor incompetent, so I wouldn’t know,” Starlight turns to leave when Cromach says:

“Wait...” he frowns, “There’s more.”

“So get on with it,” Starlight rolls her eyes, “I haven’t got all day.”

“After the demons banished themselves-”

“Wait, what?” Starlight shoves a hoof into her mouth, snorting.

“Connie flaunted some of the divine power her contact with Harmony left in her, and the demons took it rather poorly, along with Bubbles’ unending search for her real father, and they used some mass holy banishment to get away from us. I know golden light those Celestia’s fanatics use when I see it.”

“Paladins considering Celestia holy is a fucking cherry on top of their already braindead cake, but let’s get on with the important stuff. Paladins are self-righteous morons who consider anything they don’t understand to be an unholy abomination, we all know that.”

“Bright Star wouldn’t agree with that, and he’s here this week.”

“He’s one of the few more open-minded ones, which I’d say is clear from him playing fetch with a fucking half-demon instead of trying to cut her head off. NOW GET ON WITH WHAT YOU REALLY WANT TO SAY BEFORE I GET UP AND LEAVE!”

As is painfully obvious, Starlight isn’t a nice changeling. Skilled at magic and incredibly experienced, but not nice.

“As I said, after the demons committed the equivalent of mass suicide regarding their physical bodies, the pocket dimension started breaking.”

“That happens when the power holding it together dissipates. Go on.”

“Something like a black shadow left the unicorn’s body, and escaped through one of the cracks.”

“That can mean anything, really. The only thing I can guess is that who or whatever possessed the baker was good enough to create a stable pocket dimension, and summon a bunch of demons at once even through a medium, which takes serious skill and raw power.”

“Could you do that?”

“Yeah, obviously. Wanna see?” her horn starts glowing as she glances at the baker who whimpers and looks away.

“Oh gods no,” Cromach sighs, “No, the important part happened afterwards. Some black creatures emerged from the cracks, and attacked us.”

“From inside the cracks which are a manifestation of a reality bubble breaking?” Starlight furrows her brows, “Hmmm… that’s way more interesting. How did the things look?”

“Like living shadows. Few simply looked like ponies. I hacked one of those and my axe passed clean through. When I summoned my divinity, it destroyed the creature completely. However, the other kind looked like big snakes with long, spindly arms and sharp claws. I attacked that one too, and I… I think it drained the divinity in my axe. It died too, though.”

“Bingo!” Starlight ruffles the feathers on Cromach’s chest, “Not a typical birdbrain are we?”

“Well, you know I’ve had my experience with eldritch beings.”

“Eldritch wouldn’t be the term I would use here, but close enough. What we call eldritch beings are creatures from distant stars which manifest their influence onto planets inhabited by intelligent life and- nevermind, I got carried away. These creatures you saw are what I know under the names shadow -yes, it’s basic but it works- and nishruu. Where they come from is somewhat of a mystery. They usually appear near unstable points in reality, but their structure doesn’t hint at them being from a different dimension, rather from someplace with completely different laws of reality.”

“Like… up is down or… time exists in clusters?” Cromach takes a wild guess.

Starlight blinks, clearly shocked more than a foal sticking a fork into an electric socket.

“That’s surprisingly close. More accurate idea would be the interchangeability between matter, will, and energy, though, and possibly a complete lack of time as we know it. Shadows are creatures of pure energy which however manifests in our world as mass, thus they have physical forms. The nishruu look the same to our eyes, but are completely different. They are more like… living holes that suck our kind of energy, which means life, electricity, magic, divinity, anything. To them there’s no or very little difference between those. The only thing I know is that they don’t retain it in any way we can measure. It just disappears. I’d like to tell you more, but there’s no research on this subject anywhere in the world. Every trace I’ve ever followed ends in a giant crater as if simply a part of the area went missing, and everything around collapsed on it. Sadly, that’s also true for any notes or crazy living researchers. I generally avoid experiments which have a high chance of wiping me and possibly all reality from existence, that’s called sanity.”

“Call me paranoid, but I don’t think the shadows attacking us was an accident.”

“I’d honestly say it was. Your, Bubbles’ and Contradiction’s divinity had to be like a lighthouse to those creatures when the pocket dimension started cracking.”

“Yeah, but this didn’t look to me as if someone was trying to remotely send a demon army into Manehattan. If I was really ready for a tin foil hat, I’d say that someone caused the demon infestation knowing that we would be the only force capable of semi-safely handling it, and that the pocket dimension was made to break down quickly after we got rid of them. That would leave three bearers of divinity in a position to be drained by those creatures. Can they actually drain it from someone just being there, or would we have to be actively using it?”

“Oh yeah. The nishruu are very rarely summoned when one wizard wants to nullify some other wizard’s protective magic. They have to be really pissed off each other to risk opening a rift to wherever those come from, not to mention that there’s always a chance that the nishruu will simply target the wizard in front of it.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“Yep. Did that to a guy before I knew what I was working with, and I’ve never done it since. As I said, I’m not messing with those before I figure out how to prevent the energy drain.”

“Well then, if you recall anything else, let me know. I’ll send someone to escort this guy home.”

“No problem. This actually turned out to be mildly interesting, so it’s not total loss. Oh, one last thing! I’ll be gone next week so if you need anything magical, you’ll have to rely on one of the amateurs around.”

“Sure, enjoy your vacation,” Cromach gestures to the baker, and takes his suppressor ring off, “Wait, one last thing, Starlight. Can you set up either some protective spell or an alarm in case these shadows appear here?”

“There already is an alarm for that. Negative plane creatures are notoriously easy to detect, if nothing else. It’s like looking for holes in a sheet of paper that are trying to eat the rest of the paper.”


***


While Cromach is busy downstairs with Starlight, up on the top floor of the mansion, Astray takes his armor off, and rubs his palms. It’s difficult to move the fingers of his right hand after having to block so many attacks with his sword.

“Ouch! Those demons sure packed a punch,” he starts slowly opening and closing his fist to help the blood flow. Thankfully, from the looks of it he doesn’t seem seriously hurt. A lot of bruises all over, and possibly a cracked rib or two, but considering what they were against, he got out in great shape. Granted, he’s still the one who got beaten up the most, but since he doesn’t have any superpowers or hasn’t been wrestling polar bears since birth, that’s to be expected.

“Arrrgh!” yells Anvil from the shower, “Why can’t we ever fight anything that’s easy to get out of my mane?! Damn demon bits! Ah, screw it!”

What follows is a completely nude minotaur storming out of the shower with shampoo still on her head who opens the single big window of the room, and sits on the windowsill, which with her size means half of her ass hanging out, if the term hanging can be used for buns of steel like those. Few appreciative whistles come from the training grounds around the mansion. It seems that some of the recent recruits still haven’t encountered what’s a common sight around the mansion by now.

Astray only gives Anvil a casual glance before getting out of his chair, and heading to the bathroom himself.

“And where do you think you’re going, twiggy?” Anvil smirks at him.

“I’d prefer not stinking up the room anymore than-” he realizes what Anvil means, and sighs, “I suppose we’re not excused from afternoon training because of something minor like a whole army of demons trying to kill us?”

“Of course! And then we’ll get a free massage and a cake with ‘Good job’ written on it,” the minotaur rolls her eyes, stands up from the sill, and stretches, showing the whole world outside her muscular back and Astray her front. Poor guy is so exhausted he can’t even enjoy the sight usually possible to create in other dimensions only with the help of some serious steroids, silicone, genetics, and preferably an act of some benevolent god, “Like Cross always says-”

“The baddies don’t wait for you to be fresh and ready before attacking!” Bubbles’ cheery voice comes from out of the window, showing the mare hanging outside by her forelegs, and peeking into the room, “Mister Cross says to come down, that everyone is already there. Wait, did I hear cake?”

“And what does sir Cromach always say about climbing up the mansion walls?” Anvil pulls flailing Bubbles by her ear into the room.

“Ow ow ow ow ow!” Bubbles drops on the floor, rubbing her head, but obviously unhurt, “...that it’s getting expensive having to call somepony every other week to paint over the claw marks...” she mutters.

“Good,” Anvil gives her clothes lying on the lower bunk of the bed which is hers an annoyed glare, “Ah screw it. Just the skirt.”

“And the blouse,” Astray adds, “Last week, the neighbor colt twisted his fetlock when Bubbles noticed him hanging from the top of the wall to spy on you and scared him, remember?”

“Serves that little creep right. It’s not my fault Antares keeps stripping me during every practice,” Anvil shrugs, but puts on the airy, white blouse which covers precisely nothing.

“You can’t blame him, can you?” Astray leads Bubbles and Anvil down through the red-carpeted hallways of the Silver Sun headquarters, “You’re quite something to look at.”

“Of course I am. It takes a lot of effort to maintain my strength in this lazy city,” Anvil crosses her arms on her bountiful chest, pushing everything way up, “But that colt shouldn’t have been hiding. I like it when others have the balls to admit they’re drooling over me. You should know the best.”

“Guilty as charged,” Astray smiles to himself. Anvil still hasn’t understood that her level of appreciation of openness and honesty is absolutely unique in the pony world. Refreshing and relaxing, certainly, but still unique. If anyone else walked up to a any other mare and said ‘I like the way your plot jiggles.’ they would immediately get either punched or greeted with loud screams of ‘Get away from me, creep!’. It must be a minotaur thing, or just an Anvil thing based on supreme confidence in her body and skills.

When they walk onto the gravel road outside, they head to the lawn on the right where there are already four other figures waiting for them. 

“Huh, someone new?” Astray raises an eyebrow when he gets a clearer view of the four.

The most noticeable figure is a tall batpony, or someone attempting to look like a batpony by assuming the batponiest of batpony features. He’s all greying black, his eyes are red with slit pupils, his wings are leathery and a little too big and too menacing. Like pretty much everyone working for a combat organization like Silver Sun, the suspiciously-maybe-not-a-batpony is muscular, although definitely not bulky. What, however, is possible to feel from him even without any special powers is absolute confidence dwarfing Anvil’s like a star compared to a speck of dust. However, where Anvil openly flaunts everything she’s got, this pony’s quiet presence is overwhelming on its own. Horatio Cross, which indeed is his name for reasons too long to explain right now, would disagree with most of the assessment, though.

The second creature already observing the approaching group is a grey griffon with nothing particularly noticeable about him. Literally. Now, in reality he’s an ancient changeling who has recently been released from what can loosely be called a different dimension where he led a temple of griffon monks for about six hundred years. Not too surprisingly, he’s the Order’s expert on hand to hand, hoof to hoof, talon to talon, and any potential combination of those kinds of combat. Also, as mostly Anvil has had the chance to learn, he’s using his skills not for good, but for the perverted. The griffonized changeling’s name is Antares, he was part of changeling general Shadowstep’s original conquest of the Griffon Empire seven centuries ago. Somewhere out there, Cryo must be screaming beards into a pillow.

Number three, for once, is a completely real, blond-maned, white unicorn wearing the white, gold-foiled plate armor of the paladins. His full name is Bright Star the Third, and he’s here to help the Order with teamfight tactics while learning any possible new methods the paladins back in Canterlot could use to deal with unusual threats. He waves at Bubbles who darts off ahead to him and receives a quick scratching behind the ear. If age is relevant at this point, Bright Star is about hundred and fifty, but looks forty-ish thanks to extended lifespan granted by princess Celestia for his service in the paladin order.

The final equine is openly a changeling, yet he’s wearing paladin armor as well, which is something previously unseen. Of course, changelings have at times infiltrated the paladins, but this guy, nervously backing away from Bubbles giving him the widest smile she can, is a real paladin. Yep, it’s Ten, currently feeling seriously unlucky for having been brought here by Bright Star.

“Just pat her head, she doesn’t bite,” Bright Star chuckles, seeing Ten’s eyes open in horror as Bubbles walks up to him, tilts her head upwards, and simply stands there, grinning, “She’s just a little part pony, part demon without any formal education but with enough love for the whole world.”

When Ten just stands there, paralyzed, Bubbles only nuzzles his foreleg, and returns to Bright Star, her tail whipping around at random. The poor horrified infiltrator remains frozen, recalling Comfort’s needle-like teeth. Bubbles’ smiling mouth is worse. Maybe it’s just the overlay of cuteness.

“Let’s get down to business,” says Cross when everyone’s gathered, “Anty, have fun with Anvil. I’ll start with Astray. Contradiction will join us later for the team practice. Bright Star, Ten, you go play with Bubbles.”

Ten dies inside a little bit.

They all split up according to Cross’ instructions. Anvil cracks her neck as she faces Antares.

“I might be tired, but I won’t make it easy for you, you old perv,” she smirks.

“Everything worth doing is difficult,” the griffon quips back, standing up on his hind legs with zero trouble, and punches the air with both forelegs in succession.

Anvil’s low kick doesn’t surprise him as he simply takes a step back. She transforms her movement into a lunge followed by a punch. Antares spins around her outstretched arm, and cuts the back of her blouse with his talon in half. From her lunged position, Anvil simply shifts her weight back on her back leg, and swings backwards with her elbow, catching Antares already backing off in the ribs. That’s a lot of backs.

“Ooof,” the griffon smiles, “Not a bad blow. A little on the weak side, but you’re getting better at moving from position to position without wasting time. You’re still slow, though.”

Last year, and possibly even several months ago, that comment might have riled Anvil up, but now she just darts towards Antares with a quick one-two punch. The griffon opts to block the fast jabs this time with both forelegs. That proves to be a mistake which takes even him by surprise. Antares is fairly big for a griffon, and with his experience he would barely feel the blows anyway. 

Weight, however, is something he can’t fake without shapeshifting, and while the jabs would be blockable from anyone else, Anvil’s punch fueled by her muscles coiled like steel industrial springs sends the griffon flying through the air. As Antares flaps his wings to stabilize his involuntary impression of a meat comet, Anvil is already in front of him, arm cocked back for a blow even he wouldn’t simply shrug off.

She underestimates his reaction time. Whether by some changeling enhancement or simply combat sense beyond her ability to understand, Antares knows exactly what’s going on, presses his wings tightly to his body, and drops down like a rock, making Anvil’s wide right hook go way above him. This time, as he’s under her, he cuts the belt holding Anvil’s skirt, leaving the minotaur completely naked with only the remnants of the blouse on each of her arms. 

Anvil tries to stomp on him immediately, but her raised leg only means he can quickly roll from between her legs, and kip up back onto both hind legs with a smile.

“Come on, I know you can do better,” the griffon grandmaster taunts her, “I need to tire you out before we move onto the oil wrestling part of the training.”

“If you want to cup a feel, grandpa,” Anvil takes a deep breath to regain her focus for another exchange, “then you’ll have to try harder.”

As they resume the match between strength and skill, Astray parries a flying dagger while a rapier stabs at where his throat was fraction of a second ago. Cross advances on him. This being Astray’s defensive round of the practice, his goal is to prevent Cross from harming him with a growing number of levitating weapons as well as letting the instructor touch him.

Cross is going easy on him, Astray knows that. Cross always goes easy on everyone. He has to. Despite that, the satyr eventually misjudges the fourth weapon joining the three he’s already dealing with, and freezes as he feels a combat dagger number two softly dig into his lower back exactly between the plates of his armor, and the chain mail underneath wouldn’t stop a surprise stab of any reasonable strength.

It’s been less than five minutes, sweat is pouring in rivers under his armor, and he’s practically choking for breath. However, he is still standing, which is something he couldn’t do consistently during his first year in the Silver Sun.

Cross smiles, clearly not bothered by Astray’s failure.

“Good job,” he says calmly, “You’re getting better at using your armor to ignore blows from small blades while focusing on the real threats. I finished this with a dagger to teach you not to get complacent, though. You need to move in a way which would make it unlikely for a surprise attack with a quick weapon to find a weak spot.”

“Yes… sir...” Astray manages to groan, “I’ll do better… next time… sir...”

“If some demon army doesn’t mess with your ability to endure my training again, I don’t doubt you in the least,” the practice weapons casually floating around Cross disappear in a flash. Instead, he summons only a singular sword which the satyr would consider two-handed, “So, ready for your offensive round?”

Astray knows that the question isn’t really a question at all. With his short sword in his right arm and a pistol in his left, Astray straightens up and assumes a combat position.
 
Astray’s swing is easily blocked by the flying sword, which was obviously going to happen. However, he quickly unloads a bullet at Cross’ forehead. Internally, he curses as his head catches up with his reflexive attack. Shooting at something Cross can move is a waste of ammo. Of course he doesn’t even see the “batpony’s” movement, only a shower of dirt in the back as the bullet hits the ground.

Disengaging with a backwards jump, Astray fires three times at Cross’ chest. One shot slightly to the right, one to the left, and one to the center. He has nowhere to move without getting hit or teleporting. Cross remains still. The central bullet goes ‘clink’ against the blade of the razor-sharp greatsword, sliced neatly in two halves which knock the other two off course. Astray only sees three small explosions of light, and his jaw drops:

“Oh come on!” he facepalms. Unfortunately, with the handle of his pistol, “Ouch, damn!”

“Now now,” Cross chuckles, “No time for gawking. Reload and try again.”

With a sigh, Astray obeys.

“Again, again, again!” Bubbles jumps around Ten currently levitating six balls made of some rubbery material in the air, his eyes locked on Cross in utter disbelief. Absentmindedly, he throws the balls in the air, Bubbles’ pupils shrink, and the demonette begins that little dance with her behind which cats about to pounce do.

Ten doesn’t care.

He can sense it. He can sense that Cross is part changeling. What bothers him is that he can’t figure out what the other part or parts are. His experiences with previous One of Chrysalis’ hive as well as the new One of boss’ hive gave him a good idea what kind of power a changeling can reach…

...or that’s what he thought before seeing Cross in action.

He could deal with Antares being around. The changeling disguised as griffon has experience and wisdom no other living changeling possesses. Boss’ One would likely get her ass kicked by him even though Ten has seen One enhance her physical attributes beyond what Antares ever showed he could, but that’s just One’s glaring lack of overall combat skill. Cross, however… Ten literally cannot even imagine a situation in which his entire hive with the help of Comfort could survive making him their enemy. 

The final ball doesn’t even hit the grass as Bubbles grabs it and puts it down by Ten’s forelegs where the other five are already stacked in a neat line.

“Do the shotgun now, mister!” Bubbles beams. Ten looks at Bright Star who levitates the balls, gathers them into one cluster, nods at Bubbles who walks about three pony lengths away, and then fires them ahead with all his might.

Bubbles jumps into the air, catching one ball with her belly, one with each leg, and one in the mouth. Of course, the balls which hit her hind legs that end in hooves rather than claws bounce off.

No, she kicks those off. One at Bright Star’s head and one at Ten’s. The senior paladin catches his while Ten gets smacked straight in the mouth.

“Focus, Ten,” Bright Star waves his foreleg in front of Ten’s face, “This is as much our practices as it is theirs.”

“WE’LL GET EATEN!” yelps Ten.

“Hey, Bubbles!” Bright Star calls out as the demonette spits out all the balls back on the grass, “It’s time you practice with Ten for real.”

“Neat!” she jumps up and boops Ten’s nose.

“Well, Ten. Grab your sword and focus. Your goal is to hit Bubbles,” Bright Star, still sitting on the grass, explains.

“Like… with a real weapon?” Ten furrows his brows, slowly levitating his sword, “You know this is a paladin blade right? Light and enchanted.”

“A normal weapon would have difficult time harming a part demon like Bubbles. This way she has to try. Don’t worry and just go on. Bubbles, you only dodge.”

“That’s way better than playing fetch!” Bubbles ducks under Ten’s swing.

Bright Star leans to Ten’s ear after few seconds of his futile attempts at attacking and shooting bolts of magic at the same time, saying:

“Don’t hold back. Trust me.”

Ten redoubles his efforts, and quickly realizes how slippery Bubbles really is. His best slashes get avoided, magic harmlessly hits the ground, and quite soon his continuous assault relents as a stab of pain from his forehead breaks his focus completely.

“Ow, damn!” he rubs his horn, “Sorry, I’m not used to using so much power so quick-” he nearly swallows his tongue when Bubbles lands on his back and starts nibbling on his ear. She’s so light! Like air with teeth. So many sharp teeth…

What he also realizes, though, is that there’s pure love trickling straight from Bubbles to him for no obvious reason.

She… likes him?

No.

She loves everyone around.

“You’re like Three… but terrifying,” he breathes out.

Bubbles hops down from him, looks up into his eyes, her ears droop, and her lower lip wibbles. Ten steels himself. Now this is a territory he’s familiar with.

“I may have fallen before Three’s puppy eyes, but you don’t stand a chance. You’re adorable as well as horrifying, and I stand by it.”

“Woohoo, I’m adorable!” Bubbles bounces up without seemingly any preparation, and licks Ten’s nose, “I win.”

“She is, isn’t she?” Bright Star chuckles, “Now stop messing around during training, and grab two balls.”

“If you said that within earshot of any member of my hive, you know what would follow, right?” Ten snorts.

Bright Star tosses two balls at Ten’s head, who telekinetically catches them.

“Now just move them and try to stop Bubbles from catching them.”

Ten immediately makes the balls float some four pony lengths in the air.

“Like thi-” 

Bubbles jumps.

“-whattheactualholeareyou?!” his smug grin is replaced by furious scream as he’s suddenly holding the demonette hanging by one ball with her mouth and the other with both forelegs.

“Don’t underestimate her, I mean it,” Bright Star winks at Ten, “However, the point was to for you to move the balls, not to put them where she likely couldn’t reach. No cheating.”

With Bubbles crouched so much that her barrel is pressed against the ground, her tail whipping the air, and her eyes locked on the balls, Ten rubs his horn numb from exhaustion, and the exercise continues.

With Bright Star now free to look around, he notices Astray and Anvil lying on the grass, relaxing on their back each, Astray out of his armor, and Anvil, obviously, completely naked. A short way away, Cross is sparring with Antares who, while looking significantly better than any of the combatants before him, ends the same, but at least he lands one punch on Cross.

“Oh well, time for this old unicorn to get his ass kicked too,” Bright Star stands up, and approaches the duo locked in casual melee, “Cross, can you fit me into your busy schedule?”

“Oh sure,” the batpony somehow levitating things, using magic, and kicking ass of everyone doesn’t stop attacking Antares who’s blocking and dodging during the conversation, “You’re free to join at any point.”

Bright Star smiles to himself. An elite paladin with war experience like him being treated like a fresh recruit… and rightfully so. His sword flies up, the unicorn ready to get schooled.

Due to his endurance, Bright Star is able to last until an amused female voice says:

“How are the victims doing?”

Contradiction is standing over Astray, hoof casually placed on his chest. The satyr doesn’t look bothered in the least.

“Very well, considering the circumstances,” Cross nods with no hint of irony in his tone.

“Good,” she takes her hoof off of Astray, “Get up, and let’s do the teamfight practice.”

“Lucky mare not to have to go through this,” Ten whispers into returning Bright Star’s ear.

“She usually has to. Something must have come up,” the paladin whispers back, “She actually does a special training course on the off days as well.”

“And I thought my hive was crazy.”

“What are you two lovebirds whispering about?” Connie taunts them. 

She, Anvil, Astray, and Bubbles spread out into a square with Connie in the back, Anvil in the front, Astray to the left and Bubbles to the right. In the meantime, Cross and Antares have joined the two paladins.

“Alright,” Cross raises his voice, and nods at Ten, “Since we have a newbie here, let’s do a quick recap. Neither Starlight nor Shadowstep will be joining today. Instead, we have Ten, a junior changeling paladin. Ten, what can you do?”

“I’ve gone through paladin training, and I have combat experience from the invasion of undead from Zebrica,” Ten underplays it a little, unwilling to mention fighting Twisted and the Vigil, “My preferred weapon is a sword weighted for telekinetic use, and basic fire magic.”

“Impressive,” says Cross, once again without any irony which Ten finds hard to believe, “Anty and I will have to limit ourselves a little less then. Now, Ten, the goal is to incapacitate all enemy members, or have them admit defeat. Don’t be afraid to use your weapon, we have proper healers ready, although we’ve rarely needed to call them.”

“Yeah,” Connie smirks, “We’ve died outright more times.”

“Uhh, what?” Ten blinks in confusion.

“Asskicking time!” Anvil flourishes her warmace, and Bubbles charges ahead.

Somewhere, Ten hears an explosion, but he’s experienced enough to know to trust his teammates. His trust proves to be warranted as he feels Bright Star’s supportive magic wrap around him, and without any doubt he opts to send his flying sword at Astray carefully advancing at him and-

Astray doesn’t shoot his pistol at Ten, but behind him at Bright Star. Ten feels the magic around him falter, and he has to turn his head in order to realize that Bubbles is already on the other paladin who has to defend himself. That’s where shared hive mind of changelings is so useful during battles. He wouldn’t get surprised by an attack like this. Ten knows he needs to regain initiative, and rushes at Astray to stop him from being able to take another shot at Bright Star.

The satyr doesn’t try to block the swing of Ten’s longer blade, instead he just redirects it enough to miss him. Pushing the offense, Ten shoots a ball of fire from his horn which Astray blocks with his hand, only hissing as the hot air disperses around him.

Right, paladin armor. He’ll be somewhat protected from magic like I am.

In the back, Bright Star’s personal magic barrier shatters under the slash of Bubbles’ claws. The paladin instinctively backs off. What he doesn’t expect is Bubbles’ speed as she trips him up by slipping under him before he can lower his hoof again. The demonette pounces on his side, and-

-gets unceremoniously punted away by Antares using Anvil’s slower approach for darting backwards and helping Bright Star. The minotaur realizes her mistake, and turns it to advantage by charging at Ten from the side.

He has to block the swing of her mace with his sword, the blow making him feel as if his horn cracked there and then. Through sudden burst of tears, Ten backs away, only to feel Bright Star’s protective magic shatter under a barrage of bullets from Astray’s pistol. Those aren’t simple bullets he’s using. There has to be something specifically tailored to deal with magic in them.

Antares catches Bubbles already pouncing at him again by her foreleg, and uses her own force to spin around and fling her away one more time. Bright Star gets back up, and sees Ten currently being punched by Anvil, which isn’t something anyone wants to live through more than once. Bright Star’s horn flashes, and the impact merely momentarily dazes newly protected Ten instead of knocking him out. 

Astray unloads three more shots at rapidly approaching Bright Star to buy him and Anvil some time. Ten, however, doesn’t have any time despite the older paladin’s protection. As if all previous training didn’t happen, Anvil is continuously bearing down on Ten with her mace, forcing him to dodge, because blocking isn’t an option.

The changeling tunnels on her too hard, and completely misses Astray quickly aiming his way and pulling the trigger two more times, which empties the clip of his pistol. Painful feedback from his own refreshed protective spell shattering is all Anvil needs at this point to swing her mace and smack Ten away like a golf ball. His armor holds, but he bounces off of the ground like a rock skipped across a lake.

Without skipping a beat, Anvil charges at Bright Star to give Astray more time to reload the anti-magic bullets.

In the back, Antares is locked in a dance of dodging Bubbles’ snapping jaws and claw swipes. However, he uses his much bigger size, and as he raises himself on hind legs, and predicts Bubbles’ charge ahead, he grabs her by her tail, and swings her in a circle over his head.

“Wheeeee!” yells the demonette happily, “But not this time!” she clamps her hind legs around Antares’ foreleg holding her tail, and curls up into a such tight ball that she turns around, and swipes at the griffon’s face scoring three deep grooves across his cheek, blood splattering everywhere. Antares stops swinging, which Bubbles uses to crawl on the back of his neck, and dig her claws into his neck. Even a changeling of his caliber likely wouldn’t survive a completely severed head with his enemies still around, which makes already healed Antares tap out with an appreciatory pat of Bubbles’ head. 

Bright Star ends the same way as Ten, his magic gradually weakened by Astray’s shots as he has to defend himself from Anvil’s heavy assault.

“Alright, fillies! Show’s over, we lost,” Antares calls out.

The world stops swimming in front of Ten’s eyes, and he stares at the battleground in disbelief. The explosions he heard weren’t some grenades or shots from Astray. It was the fight between Cross and Contradiction leaving giant, deep craters and scars dotting the battleground. For the first time, there is a serious expression on Cross’ face while Connie is grinning from ear to ear, sweat pouring down the sides of her face.

“Does... this... usually happen…?” Ten chokes out.

“Not really,” replies Cross, without even breathing faster, “Usually we win. I guess Anty and I held back a bit too much. Good job all around,” he looks at the holes everywhere with an evil smirk, “And we did great job setting things up for recruit physical exercises tomorrow. They always enjoy some landscaping.”

As everyone gathers their things, Ten finds himself sitting on the ground, pondering what just happened.

I’m a war veteran. I’ve fought that Vigil guy, hordes of Twisted, and I just got demolished so hard I caused the breakdown of my whole team.

“AAAH!” he screams when he sees Bubbles’ beaming face after looking up, which is followed by her hugging him around the neck, and a fresh torrent of love.

“You know, I think I’m starting to like you,” Ten mutters, and finds his face being licked all over.

“Stop slobbering all over my protege, Bubbles,” says Bright Star with a chuckle, and Bubbles releases her victi- her new friend. He helps Ten get back on all fours, “Don’t let this bring you down. My first practice here was very similar, and those guys only met shortly before,” he nods to the backs of the leaving group.

“That’s not it...” Ten shakes his head, “I mean that too, but I could get over that. Antares and Cross, though. No, just Cross. What is he? I can sense his hive link, I can sense the love in him, and… I don’t know how to explain it to a non-changeling. He feels… infinite. Infinite in power, love, skill.”

Bright Star smiles.

“That’s what happens when you lose so many times and learn from each one until there are no more lessons left to learn,” the paladin leads the way back to the mansion, “Did that sound wise? I tried really hard.”

“I suppose so,” Ten sighs, “Guess I’ve got a lot of losing ahead of me.”


***


In the silence of his office on the top floor of the mansion, Cromach is sitting in a comfortable chair behind his desk, toying with a wine bottle imported from the Griffon Empire. Unlike two years ago when situation would be vastly different, the bottle remains corked, though. On the desk in front of him stands an incredibly lifelike bronze statuette of an alicorn with tiny sapphires for eyes and individual strands of platinum forged into mane and tail. Such craftsmanship must have cost a small fortune.

“What do you think?” asks Cromach either no one or the statuette, “Am I just paranoid?”

Alright, with the amount of magic in Equestria, there was a chance that the alicorn would reply, but it doesn’t.

“I think I’ll do it your way,” the griffon continues, “If I’m wrong, nothing happens. If I’m right, we’ll be ready.”

He pauses for a moment, and then chuckles. There’s no humor in it, though.

“As ready as we can be without you, I mean.”

Knocking on the door interrupts his monologue. The door opens without waiting for his answer. There’s only one pony who does that, and it’s Connie. The monochromatic mare enters, and puts a sealed metal scroll case on Cromach’s desk.

“From Canterlot, sir,” she salutes.

“You really need to pick either ‘sir’ or ‘Cromach’,” the griffon unscrews the case, and unrolls the scroll hidden inside.

“I’m trying to keep it professional in business setting. I don’t mind screaming your name in private,” she winks at him.

“Which reminds me, we should ask Starlight for a soundproofing spell. The recruits in rooms under ours complained they couldn’t sleep last time.”

“Can’t help it. For a guy whose last lover was a stallion, you know your way around the block,” Connie’s eyes dart to the alicorn statuette, “Sorry.”

Cromach waves his talons dismissively.

“I’m not going on a depressed drinking binge every time someone mentions him anymore. The bottle is more a reminder of what not to do,” he finishes reading the scroll, and rolls it back inside the case, “So, the two of us are invited to Canterlot for the royal summit. Why do you think that is, Connie?”

“For protection?” she hazards a fairly safe guess.

“In Canterlot? Surrounded by the whole paladin order, the Royal Guard, united orders of wizardry, and each invited ruler’s bodyguards. There’s way greater chance of a dragon ambassador accidentally eating someone, in which case we wouldn’t be involved anyway...” he muses for a moment, “Unless we choose to.”

“What do you mean?” Connie raises an eyebrow.

“That it’s just Celestia’s power play over Vargaz, trying to show that I’m more involved with Equestria than the Griffon Empire. Say… if we’re to protect the summit effectively, we need to take everyone from the Hoof of Fate.”

“Won’t the castle be full with all those foreign bigwigs visiting?”

“I’m playing Celestia’s game. Right now, I still have to. However, since I can’t tell her to just stuff another cake into her mouth, or to cut out the middle pony and ram it up her ass straight up, we’ll take our protection duty seriously. The least the princesses can do is scrounge up few more rooms. If someone other than Luna had at least half a brain inside that castle, Blaze might still be alive. It’s not as if we can do anything against a real divine threat without him.”

Connie leans over the desk, and softly strokes the griffon’s cheek.

“We’re training as hard as we can. We’re much better than when we faced the Vigils and Harmony.”

“And ask yourself for real. What would have changed if who you are now was on that pyramid instead of old you? Void would have needed Discord’s help anyway. Scream would have died anyway. Blaze would still be the only one whom the god would even see, and I wouldn’t have been able to fight Blinding Light without Discord anyway. We would have killed all the original Vigils faster, and then what?”

“We...” Connie doesn’t have an answer, so she sighs, “We need a real unicorn, sir. I can’t use magic, I will never be able to. Starlight is our specialist, but she works for herself, not you. If we had someone knowledgeable about the theory of magic, not some half-assed battlemage, they might have been able to close the rift and stop the god from coming.”

“But those always go crazy from the mercury fumes...” Cromach pats her head, “Ignore my grumbling, Connie. We’ll do all we can, because that’s, well, all we can do, really. If we have to face something that’s just punched through all paladins and guards, then we’ll do it, no matter how ineffective we would be.”

“If you’re really that worried, wouldn’t it be better to take Shadowstep’s changelings with us rather than Anvil, Astray, and Bubbles?”

“Nice alphabetical sorting. And no, they wouldn’t go. They work for us because they believe we’re the best chance at stopping or softening the gods’ meddling. They don’t want to be political pawns for anyone. I prefer having them here anyway.”

Connie nods.

“When are we leaving, sir?”

“In the evening,” orders the griffon, “Go inform everyone and reserve the tickets.”

“Will do.”

After a quick salute, Connie leaves. Cromach boops the alicorn statuette with a talon.

“We’re lying to ourselves that we’d be able to do even a thousandth of what we could do with you. Let’s keep that lie going then, shall we?”


***


Astray isn’t bothered by any of the deep fears of his superiors. His current fear is that his legs will give out as he’s standing in the shower. After the rough training, the warm water just feels so good it can’t be legal.

“There you are!” Bubbles barges into the bathroom, completely unbothered by the naked satyr. In fact, she stops and looks him up and down, “You got beat up pretty bad,” she adds, taking in the blue bruises all over him.

The suite the members of the Silver Sun specialist unit called Hoof of Fate mostly for fun inhabit these days is vastly different from the one they had as recruits, mainly in size, which means that the walk-in shower can very easily fit the satyr as well as the demonette who joins him, sitting down with her back to him.

“You know that you can take all the time you want in here after I’m out,” Astray comments, squirting shampoo on his legs and massaging it into his grey fur.

Bubbles shuffles closer.

“I like showering with you because you can do me from the back,” she rubs her back against his leg.

“Was that an innuendo?” asks Astray. You can never be sure with Bubbles.

“Mhm, but it’s true too!” she turns around, looks up, measures the distance, then jumps up and kisses Astray’s nose with the precision of a sniper. Unfortunately, she lands on the shower floor slippery from the champoo, and slides head-first into the wall. 

“Oh Celestia, are you okay?” Astray picks her up. Bubbles blinks out of sync, shakes her head, and presses her lips against his. A moment later she clamps all four legs around him. In response, Astray grabs her by her tight backside, and not only because it’s the best way to hold her up, judging by his fingers digging into the rusty coat.

“I leave you two alone for few minutes, and you decide to hog all the fun,” Anvil, naked as usual, enters the bathroom without any regard for running water and it obviously being occupied, “Nothing for poor hot me?”

Astray clamps his hands over his crotch awakened by Bubbles’ sloppy kissing. The demonette kicks herself off of him, and twists in the air to land on Anvil in the same position. The minotaur endures first few Bubbles’ kisses, and then tries to twist her head to avoid more slobber, which Bubbles uses to immediately begin motorboating Anvil’s breasts.

“Blbrlbrlrblrbrl!”

“You’ve turned out to be quite the little perv,” Anvil comments, resisting the incessant tickling, “didn’t you?”
 
Bubbles looks up at her, beaming.

“Half-succubus, or third… or… did we figure out the earthpony math in the end?”

Anvil looks at Astray unable to control his imagination anymore, his hands not being enough to cover his equipment anymore, especially when she puts her hand on her hip and stretches her leg into a side lunge.

“What does she have that I don’t?” Anvil turns around and sticks her massive round booty out at the satyr.

Bubbles calls out from the top of her lungs:

“Big teeth and cute, fluffy ears!”

“Agreed,” says Connie flatly from the bathroom door.

“Is this a shower or a corporate boardroom?!” Astray rams his hands tighter into his crotch.

Anvil strikes a sexy pose with one hand on her hip and one pointing her nipple at Connie. Bubbles drops off of the minotaur, and jumps at the unicorn who catches her in a telekinetic grip and lets her just hang there.

“Wanna shower with us, miss Connie?” floating in the air doesn’t bother her at all. In fact, she flaps her forelegs, “Wheeee!”

“I’ll pass,” she says, her eyes betraying her and running over both Anvil and Astray, “Now, we’re leaving for Canterlot in the evening. I’ll go buy tickets and come back with them later. Grab a bite of something.”

“Will do,” Astray salutes, leaving himself uncovered under Connie’s scrutinizing stare. 

She hums to herself, then shakes her head.

“Nah, size is fine, but I prefer something with more bumps and ridges,” she laughs as Astray realizes what she means and clamps his hands over himself again.

“Don’t bash it till you’ve tried it, miss Connie,” Bubbles sticks her tongue out at her, and Connie lets her drop freely.

“And that mouth beats a beak any time,” adds Anvil, much to Astray simply giving up and covering his tomato-red face.

Connie, clearly unimpressed, turns to leave.

“Griffon tongue is three times as long and completely prehensile.”

Anvil measures the satyr up and down.

“Well, that kills your usefulness completely. We’re trading you off for a griffon as soon as we can.”

“Please, kill me,” Astray shuts off the water, and finally wraps a towel around himself. 

“Should have run when you had the chance,” Connie leaves with a grin.

About twenty steamy, both literally and figuratively, minutes later, Astray is lying on his back with Bubbles under his head like a pillow on the carpet when Anvil comes out of the bathroom as well, having taken a lot longer to towel herself off. Nothing family unfriendly happened, only a lot of teasing.

“Yo, I need a massage,” says Anvil, spreading a bigger towel on the carpet and lying down on her back as well with a hiss.

Astray knows better than to argue, and digs his fingers into Anvil’s neck, slowly moving lower. With the harshness of their regular training, good massages are the only way to avoid permanent damage, and Anvil taught him all she knows regarding physical therapy, and she reads a lot. This is no time for perving around, no matter how tempting it might be. He still hesitates before starting to knead her breasts, which she notices immediately.

“You’ve already reamed both of us enough times, idiot. Are you waiting for an invitation to massage me properly?” she rolls her eyes, “You know I’m mostly joking about that inadequacy stuff these days, I’ve trained you well.”

With a deep breath, discipline returns to Astray’s mind as he does his best to relax Anvil’s muscles, which Bubbles tries to help with when Anvil turns on her belly by stomping on her back. The lightweight demonette jumping on the strong minotaur’s back is about as effective as a cat preparing a pillow to sleep on, but no one tries to stop her.


***


 
Unlike the changelings, the Silver Sun members board their train in an orderly fashion, and settle down in their booth inside the common car. There are many other ponies in their booths on the sides of the car, their chatter forming a pleasant background to Anvil and Astray slowly dozing off on a bench with Bubbles draped over their laps.

[This train will be leaving for Canterlot in five minutes.]

The announcement from the train intercom is followed by an earthpony in a booth across the aisle quickly standing up, and mumbling:

“Wait, Canterlot? I didn’t want to go to Canterlot,” he rushes towards the nearest exit of the train, “Damn it, they sold me the wrong ticket...”

The train begins moving soon after, and silence spreads through the car as darkness outside the window deepens. Cromach finds his eyes closing, spurred by soft breathing coming from Connie’s head on his shoulder. The lights inside the car grow dimmer to let those onboard sleep through the overnight trip.

Something stirs in the shadows, and Cromach’s eyes immediately narrow, his head clearing up instantly. 

He blinks.

As his eyes open again, there’s a black shadow akin to a floating robe standing above him.

“We have unfinished business, agent Cromach.”

The griffon can’t move, can’t speak, can’t do anything other than blink. And yet, he’s not scared. He’s lost too much to be scared by anything anymore.

Divine power from within him flares up, and with a crackle of green lightning he swipes up with his talons, breaking his rigidity.

Nothing.

The shadow was never there.

Connie is still asleep, and so is everyone else.

“Sleep paralysis? Nerves?” he mumbles, “Am I just on edge from the summit?”

He closes his eyes, ears perked for any unusual noise. When nothing happens, he decides to pretend that he’s asleep with no result. No ominous shadows, no indeterminate voice which might as well be just in his head.

After some pondering, he opts to apply the wisdom of his later lover - he can never prepare for all the ways the world will try to kick him in the nuts, all he can do is wear the toughest suspensor on the market.