Chapter 5
Trace pivoted around to face his assailant, and saw not the intruder or possible rogue he expected, but his own queen's royal honor guards, the Dark Wings. Their piercing stares dug into his mind, making it obvious what their intentions were. No words were wasted as Trace faded out and leaped off the mesa. The guards opened fire on him, shooting bolts of mana wildly around.
Despite being invisible, his escape wouldn't be flawless. They could sense him like the rest of the hive sensed each other, and if he focused on one to take aim, his exact position would be revealed. It would be impossible to fight them together like this. He'd sparred with them in training, and could never beat them without them being handicapped.
He hid behind a large dead tree and caught his breath. He couldn't outrun them either, or take them on in hoof to hoof combat. The Dark Wings were bred to be above soldiers, and in terms of physical prowess, he was only a drone. If he fell into their grasp, he would be dead.
"I have no more need of you now." The queen's words echoed in his mind.
No more need? He made the connection. She wants me to fight them to the death! Why?!
A green beam cut the tree down behind him, almost crushing him under it. Trace rolled out of the way just in time, and carefully looked over the trunk. If he looked directly at them, they would sense his emotion and know he was still alive. He needed a quiet way out.
If he flew, the sound of his wings would draw their attention. If he ran, the dust would betray him. He was out of options.
Trace charged his horn and fired, not looking at any of them until the last instant. His beam landed surely on the chest of one guard, piercing him in the heart. One down, eleven to go.
The others saw the beam and immediately began to bombard his hiding place. He used the commotion as a cover to fly and fired another round, striking the second in the head.
The assassin realized what he was doing: he was killing his fellow changelings. It drew up a conflict in him. They were his family, but they were also trying to kill him. He didn't know what to feel.
All the remaining honor guards were airborne again, now. They fired a spread of shots in Trace's relative direction. Their fire was random in an attempt to force him into being struck by a stray beam.
Trace went down and came back up behind them. He fired several small shots directly into the junction of the armor where the neck met the collar bone, severing their spinal cords. Three more guards fell to their deaths.
The remaining seven changed their tactic, forming a ball out of their bodies. They would not have their backs to anyone but each other this way. They hovered together, looking around fkr any sign of their enemy.
Trace his his horn in the crook of the dead tree to keep his glow hidden, and focused on a little bit of dirt on the other side. The spot of dirt began to glow and rise. The honor guards' attention was drawn to his, and believing it was Trace, opened fire.
This was the opportunity Trace needed. He jumped out and began shooting an array of beams. He killed three more, and targeted the remaining deadly quartet. They were unable to react in time. As soon as they looked in his direction, he aimed at their eyes, and dropped the last of them.
For the first time in his life, the death of his enemies brought him no joy or comfort. There was only bitterness, and something new: hatred. He devoted his entire life to his service to the queen, and this was how she repayed him, by making him fight for his own life. This wasn't a test, this was a disposal. He'd outlived his usefulness to the swarm.
Another new emotion formed in him. He'd never really felt it before. It hurt, badly. He pounded his chest, trying to make the pain go away. Instead of leaving, it got worse. Trace understood what it was: the pain of betrayal.
"My queen no longer loves me," he said, standing amkngst the dead guards. "She hates me, wants me dead." He looked up at the cold, distant stars, feeling tears form in his eyes.
"What did I do wrong?"
Days passed by in an endless blur for Trace. He fled the badlands, knowing if he returned to the hive, his queen would only try to have him killed again.
He'd never heard of the one he loved like a mother killing another changeling unless they had done something to threaten the whole swarm. Had Trace done so somewhere and missed it? No, she would have said so, and then executed him on the spot. Instead, she said he was no longer needed, and sent him off to die outside, out of her presence. He came to the conclusion that he was so useless to her that she wouldn't even take the time to watch him die.
Her mistake.
Trace felt another new emotion now. It filled him with a fire and fueled his will. Most of all, it made him want to kill again. Hatred. Trace learned to hate, and the first subject of his hatred was his own matron.
The assassin was past the Equestrian borders. The whispers he heard through the hive were that this land was the richest in love. But without the ability to copy their images, Trace would be unable to survive among the ponies. He would need to find another food source.
Trace hid at the edge of one of the mining camps where changelings stored their collected empathy. He thought about the one that betrayed him, and the family that tried to kill him. It was time for retribution.