//------------------------------// // Forty-Nine // Story: The Moon Also Rises // by Nicroburst //------------------------------// Luna continues to take no interest in my work. I can’t say I blame her, exactly. Sun knows she has enough to worry about. Even so, I feel the slight acutely. Though I know I should not. Chapter Forty-Nine RARITY SPRINTED towards the exit, her heart pounding. Around her, sturdy wood and rock continued to tremble, dust shaking free to swim through the air, layer her coat. Out of the sitting room, down the hall. A tremendous noise filled the space around her, a din that cut off all thought, all comprehension. It rang in her ears, pounded on the sides of her skull. She burst out into the daylight. Ponies, milling around, running every which way. Almost, she thought it a riot, a stampede, such as she’d seen many times before back home. Blind panic overruling caution. But no, there was a group handing out weapons, armour, and over there, ponies scrambled through the throng to form up into shaky ranks. They shook, sweated, cast glances at their companions, but they stood. Celestia appeared behind her, pushed past her roughly. “What is the meaning of this?” she called, taking to the air to hover just a few feet above the ground. “Princess! “ a pony yelled up at her, coming to a stop some feet away. “Princess Luna was called away to deal with a threat in the west. I-” he gulped, “I think we’re under attack. Preliminary reports indicate a large group of thralls moving in from the south, and all contact out east has been cut-off.” “Thralls,” Celestia said. Her eyes narrowed. “It’s a trap. Can we move?” “Not without losses,” he said. “We’re too entrenched here. Forget about the buildings, the work. There are newborns, pregnant mares, the elderly, supplies.” Celestia nodded. “A fighting retreat. Get them moving, as fast as they can. Each family to take as much food as they can.” “Yes, Princess!” he dashed away. Celestia darted south, towards the edges of the town, calling out for others. The division Rarity had spied forming chased after her, howling. Rarity looked at the ground. Her legs were shaking, now, so much so that she had to sit down, lie herself completely flat on the ground. The noise had stopped, thankfully, though the earth continued to groan. What could do this? Something titanic, something beyond the ordinary scale of threat she dealt with. She’d seen Typhus, seen the raw fury of His power unleashed, but she’d failed to internalise it, to upgrade her threat assessments. This was no Nightmare Moon, no Discord. She licked her lips, swallowed, blinked, gripped at the stone and dirt under her hooves. Fear. Was Celestia’s assessment, so quickly cast, accurate? Certainly the Princess has the advantage of her, what with untold years of experience—though, Rarity remembered with a snort, so little of it spent socially, spent in empathy—and the evidence of Rarity’s own mind, spelt out for her through Coromancy. Certainly she felt the tremors running through the ground vibrating with such heavy intensity through her bones. Certainly her breath came in short pants through her nostrils, hot and wet, while some part of her mind idly noticed the growing ache in her jaw. But she could move, and see, and think. Rarity was no particular stranger to these situations, as much as she preferred the calm. There would be time later, to unpack the vast jumble Celestia had raised in her. Around her, the square, once teeming with motion, was near-entirely absent. A few stragglers past her, chasing after Celestia—towards the battle. Others, choosing this of many routes away, slipped past buildings on the perimeter, ushering foals before them. The skies were clear of clouds, the sun clearly visible overhead—early afternoon. Rainbow had been visiting the Chasers, in their rudimentary barracks. As all Coromancers were, they had been positioned according to a rather old tradition, born of military necessity: each group irregularly spaced throughout the encampment, maximising distance between each, and central command. Susceptible, Rarity had thought, learning of this from some of the Wardens as she watched them work in the northern outskirts, to surprise and stealth. Of course, that wasn’t as much of a problem when your force had the power of Sight, and the more pressing concern quickly became the overwhelming power a single Sage could employ. She shook her head, took off at a gallop. She knew these streets intimately, the result of literally helping to put some of them up, but discarded all the shortcuts that presented themselves to her. Rainbow could be looking for her, too, she needed to remain out in the open. Unfortunately, that meant she had to move after Celestia, towards the battle. Slowly, the horribly-familiar sounds grew. The sharp clang of metal-on-metal, the clash and smack and thud. The shouts, muted at this distance, She bit her lip, wrinkling her nose in anticipation a street before it hit. This was the single memory most clear to her, a personal legacy of the Typhus War. The scent of blood and mud and sweat, all mixed together in a cauldron of exertion, coarse and thick, covering everything, clinging to everything. She felt her throat clench, felt herself begin to retch. The cobblestones firm under her hooves, clattering forward. She shook her head violently. Fear. Where was Rainbow? She kept an eye on the sky as she ran, trying to spot Rainbow amongst the numbers of pegasi flocking towards the battle. She passed others, remaining ground-bound to help others evacuate, or simply to leave the skies clear for the soldiers. But no tell-tale flash of bright blue, clear even against the background of the sky, no rainbow stream or streak trailing a body moving too fast to visualise. She turned, skidding around the corner. Getting there, bit by bit. She kept her eyes on the streets in front of her, mind resolutely turned away from the obvious, the simple, crystal-clear answer. She could find Rainbow without Sight, she could. She just had to keep a clear head, make smart decisions. She snorted. Louder, now, and scattered—the battle spreading, she thought, spilling into the grid-work layout of the town. So easy, to get lost in the chaos. Except . . . what was that? Something new, char and ash and a warm wind. Oh no. They’d set fire to the houses. Rarity paused, came skidding to a halt in an intersection. She could see it from here—plumes of smoke, rising above the buildings to her right. There weren’t any stragglers that direction, thank Celestia. They’d reacted well, evacuating fast, and from what few scattered glances she’d gotten, laden with necessities. Experience counted, as horrible as that thought was. The Chasers’ barracks lay the other direction. But Rainbow couldn’t still be there, nor would she think to look there for Rarity. That one was always the mare of action—she wouldn’t ever think that their roles might be reversed. Rarity bit her lip, took a few tentative steps to the right. The path seemed clear. She wasn’t expected to join the battle, here, of course. Even the Seers of this age were only ever involved on the front-lines in desperation. And yet . . . She could hear them dying. And still Celestia’s denunciation rang in her ears. Ridiculous. She had nothing to prove. Nopony could seriously name her fearful, Rarity had done more than enough to discredit that appellation. And screams sounded above the growing crackle of fire, the constant ring of metal, the occasional blast of some powerful magic. She swallowed, moved into the shadow of the building opposite her, and lay down on the street. Okay, Rarity. Easy does it. She closed her eyes, and the familiar grey fog rose up to surround her. Billowed around her, obscuring everything—vision, certainly, but also noise, smell, the hard grit of stone under her belly. She trembled, and took a deep breath, slowly releasing it to a count of three. Rainbow. Rarity found her almost instantly, high above the town, of course. She flew, too fast for Rarity to follow, until with an exertion of will she slowed the scene down. Rainbow was fighting—holding the attention of a group of pegasi. Too fast for them to catch, too nimble in the air, and yet they covered each other. Any attempt to strike back met with swift retaliation, forcing Rainbow away. A stalemate. As Rarity watched, a three turned away as the others closed ranks behind them, began a steep descent towards the town, glinting metal coating their wingtips. Rainbow let loose a sharp cry, banked around and cut straight through them, tossing two bodily through the air and striking the third directly, smashing into his wing. The two tumbled earth-wards, Rainbow kicking free just in time to avoid the next onslaught. The Thrall spiralled, one good wing enough to slow his descent, but no more. Rarity opened her eyes to the street, and, gathering strength, pulsed a bright purple spark high into the sky, directly above where she lay. Rainbow would know what that meant, or close enough. That had been . . . surprisingly fine. The, the trauma of Rainbow’s predicament aside, and Rarity was growing concerningly good at putting such things aside, what had she been worried about, exactly? Sight had no influence over what was, just what she knew. Was that all she wanted, then: to bury her head in the proverbial sand? She got up, tsking under her breath at the loose dirt and dust clinging to her. She couldn’t sit here and wait for Rainbow, nor could she directly intervene in Rainbow’s fight. Instead, she moved towards the din of battle, moving at a trot, then, as she grew nearer, creeping forward from shadow to shadow. She found fire before she found any ponies—spreading rapidly through the town. The construction was particularly susceptible to this: houses packed closely together to share walls, timber dried from weeks out in the sun with little to no moisture, the product of pegasi conserving what rain they did have for crops and wooden casks. She cast mild wind spells, summoned water, broke walls and roofs where she could to slow its advance. She’d never stop it entirely, not on her own, but she could save sections, circling around the spreading fire to cut off its outward advance. Not without risk. She’d made her way to her third house, was preparing the spells to bring it down, sweep back embers, douse the ground between, when two fleeing ponies—soldiers, apparently, judging by the hastily-thrown-on uniform they were wearing, all whites and reds, formal, and covered in a smattering of metal plates over the more vital regions—tore from the nearby alleyway, sprinting roughly past her and catching her on the shoulder, sending them both spinning to the ground. Behind them, mere seconds later, three more appeared, rounding the corner in pursuit. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” the one still standing wrung his hooves, eyes wild, froth at the corners of his mouth. Rarity had landed atop her impromptu attacker, was tossed to the side as he rose, frantic, scrambling to escape his pursuers. She sprawled, the wind knocked out of her by an incidental hoof to the gut, wheezing, blearily looking up at the three now above her. They—Thralls, clearly, all stallions, all earth ponies—contained in the lines of their bodies, gaunt and haggard, an oddness, something she couldn’t quite place a name to, resisting classification in her loosest sense of the word. A strange intuition, thrumming through her. She shoved herself backwards, magic aiding her muscles. The ground tore into her skin, loose grit getting caught and mixed in the scrape, burning. She heard the clink of metal on stone. Panting, she stood, hastily erected a purple shield around her. Nothing compared to what Twilight could do, of course, but—flashbacks, now of all time, to her ill-fated fashion show in Fillydelphia—but enough, surely, for these sorts- Apparently not. They tore through with struck at the wall, again and again, that strangeness again striking her, a jerky motion that was in some way unnatural . . . and now come to think of it, the pegasi far above were moving similarly, and . . . and cracks were appearing. Rarity felt a hoof rug at her shoulder, she whirled, lashing out. “Oh . . . Sorry!” “Come . . . come on,” he said. “We’ve gotta go!” Rarity cast another glance at the three Thralls. Feeling . . . it wasn’t a calmness, that wasn’t quite right, no, rather a sense of loss, of choice being taken away, she threw up another barrier against the failing original. “Your clothes,” she said. “Give them to me.” “Wha-what?” “Your clothes, soldier!” He obliged, doffing the ill-fitting uniform. Ah, now this was something she could work with. Metal stripped, discarded. Fabric torn, her magic precise, deft, leaving no thread loose. Streams of white and red danced around her, worked themselves into braids of threes, then nines. Makeshift ropes, stronger, lengthwise, anyway, than any magic she could bring to bear. They poured through cracks opened up in her barriers, wrapped themselves around weaponry, seized limbs, mouths. In moments, all three Thralls found themselves bound, their weapons tossed aside. She relaxed, sitting back on her haunches, hornlight dying out. The soldier didn’t seem to care. “Look, we’ve got to move!” “Where’s Celestia?” Rarity asked. “I don’t fucking know. They didn’t even try to fight! And once they made past the first few lines, everypony scattered.” “We need to find her,” Rarity said. Adrenaline fading, she thought, and with it the assurance from her tone, her voice warbling, now. But Rainbow would think the same, she was sure of it. “No, we need to get to the castle. This is a retreat, not an offensive. Besides, they’re everywhere, they’re practically coming out of the walls. You won’t make it two blocks.” The castle. Had she forgotten, somehow, considered only her response in lieu of her enemy? Or, a flash of inspiration, o-or had she internalised faith all too well, become convinced of her infallibility? Celestia had predicted this, too, she realised, with a sinking sensation. That she should consider Rainbow first and foremost, above all others—above everything. Was this all history, then, observed through a myopic lens? Or, perhaps, from a distance, as if watching events play out without any control. Powerlessness, helplessness. That was the source of her calm, her ability to act. A curious mentality, but . . . Rarity had dealt with worse before, would deal with worse again. She shoved it aside, labelled and boxed. “I’m a Seer,” she declared. She lit her horn, pulled up a cobblestone from the roadside, and, turning aside as she did, bashed it down on the skulls of the three bound Thralls. Carefully, precisely, leaving them unconscious on the side of the street. “If you can carry me, I’ll keep watch.” A-and, find the Princesses. both of them. She wouldn’t blind herself anymore. “A Seer?” he peered at her, abruptly started. “I know you! Foresight’s mare, yeah?” Rarity sucked in a breath. “I will pretend you didn’t just say that.” Purple light washed out the daylight. He blanched. “Y-yeah, uhh, alright. I’ll . . . I’ll find a cart of something.” They were rolling a few minutes later. Rarity lay down, her head across outstretched forearms. First, safety. The fog pulled away from the streets and alleys, showed her moving at a steady clip through the deserted town. They were already a quarter-mile away from the real fighting, dirty street warfare, all chaos and confusion and paranoia, and she was gratified to see that her efforts, brief though they were, at firefighting had had some real effect. The spread was confined towards the south-east, at least for now. Ultimately . . . bright, red, white, pain she pulled away with a start, rubbing her hooves over her eyes. They continued to set fires as they moved, the town’s defenders too scattered and occupied to do more than delay the attack. Nopony would burn, but nothing more. “We’re safe, for now. Get to the castle.” Right. Now back to Rainbow—done with her fight and bleeding here and there. Rarity was concerned, at first, piling on the magic to zoom in for a closer look, but smiled to see only scratches and what looked like a nasty bump over her shoulder. Rainbow flew steadily, soon to rejoin with Blitz and Crisp. She couldn’t see more than the vaguest details on them, couldn’t hear what they said, but she could see the dismay on Rainbow’s face—the horror. Her breathing was losing coherence, stability. Details washed over her like alcohol, unfocusing her vision, allowing the stream to fade into a background blur. She shook herself, pushed back at the fog shrouding everything. It was . . . she was getting lost . . . Power from emotion. Burning away the fear—ah, yes, now she felt it—well. Not such a good idea, in hindsight, amidst all the chaos. She opened her eyes, repeated, with an inward, wry, smile, Twilight’s old breathing exercises. A hoof to the chest, and in. Then out, sweeping away, and repeat. Slowly, she steadied, brought down the hammering heartbeat in her chest. “And the Princesses?” the soldier asked, some urgency spilling past the exertion in his voice. They moved at a steady clip, her weight, even on wheels, taking its toll. Rarity nodded. “One moment,” she said. What else, then? She could not stave away the clench that came over her at the prospect of sinking back into that fog. But it gave her more than anxiety. Mixed in with her shock, all the tumbling emotions associated with trauma. Anger, at the senselessness of all this. Grief, at the losses this would spell. Horror, empathetic, involuntary, the result of pattern-matching against Rainbow’s tear-streaked face. Death. She wouldn’t mind being horrified, for a little bit. Luna sped north. The chase had led her far from the town, far enough to provide some small delay. Pegasi with her carried ponies, some unconscious, others mute with bands of magic about their muzzles. She thought she could . . . but they remained obscured. She didn’t know them well enough, and her connection to Luna only spread so far. Even so, she would return momentarily, and judging from the tension in her form, the raw fury in every wingstroke, sacrificing precision for a cold strength that rapidly outpaced her companions, she brought with her nothing less than Judgement. Nightmare Moon incarnate, argent-laced metal materialising from the air, coalescing on her body. As Rarity watched, even Luna’s eyes began to flicker, pupils dilating, stretching vertically, almost snarling. Rarity couldn’t help but shiver. Celestia, though. On the outskirts, staring up at the sky. Mouth working, but the sound drowned out by the roar of thunder, of fire, of ongoing battle in the fog around her. Power erupting from her, against her—a near-invisible battle, visible to Rarity only in the raised hairs on her coat, in the unwavering determination in Celestia’s gaze. And then, bursting forward, a new face. Long, misshapen, a grey stallion’s face half-melted into that of a dragon. A single horn, spiralling from the skull. Tufts of hair scattered about. Sinister eyes spiralling into madness. She shot up in the cart, clutching at her chest, doubling over, gasping. She . . . she knew that face. Knew it from years back, when she was still young, naive, forming lifelong friendships in Ponyville. Discord. “Well?” the soldier demanded. Frightened now, no doubt. And considering who she’d been looking at . . . “Run,” Rarity screamed, and he obeyed. *** Rainbow ducked, pulling her wings tight against her back. Momentum carried her forward—and slightly down, just enough to feel a slight tug against her mane as the wing-blade swept over it. She rolled to the side, spread her wings again, and beat, once, pushing herself laterally through the air. Wind roared in her ears. The Wonderbolts had nothing on this. One ahead, trying to escape. Two on her flank, following her dive. Four behind, spiralling about, trying to steady themselves in her wake. Seven in total, for now—hardly a fair fight. Rainbow grinned. In half a second, she’d caught the one fleeing. Bumping his carriage with her shoulder, she slipped over him with a roll and clamped down on his wing. Snarling, he snapped at her, and she recoiled, then jumped clear, all four hooves smashing against his torso, and corkscrewed away, shooting straight between the three careening towards her—who, brushing against her slipstream, lost control of their trajectories for just a moment. Flapping desperately, the one she’d kicked managed to regain his balance just in time to collide with them. Rainbow, panting, allowed herself a muted cheer and a glance sideways. Blitz and Crisp were holding their own just fine, not that she’d expect anything else matched up against such unimaginative fliers. They’d been positioned at roughly even spaces along the southern edge of town, ostensibly to hold the line against any aerial invaders. Or, rather, had orders to that effect screamed at Crisp by a sergeant, who’d relayed it back to Blitz and Rainbow twenty minutes earlier. Cirrus was still absent, though a number of Conduits and pegasi militia helped fill the gaps. They, of course, were much less effective. Rainbow did what she could to round up those that were slipping through, but for all her bravado, seven was beginning to push it. Every now and then she got the opportunity to drop one of the group she’d engaged—diving with them to make sure they landed safely, if unconscious—but aside from that it was enough to nip at their heels, preventing them from simply turning away and targeting the town proper as the line slowly gave ground. She’d have much preferred a more offensive defence. But while, eyeing them off, Rainbow was pretty sure she could deal with these guys—and surely that would only help the others, spread the load a bit, y’know?—their orders were clear. The line above all. If a few slipped past while she was preoccupied . . . she didn’t want to think about it. No, better to work as a unit, cover each other's mistakes, maintain the invaders attention. On the ground, others led a similar defence, fighting in small groups along the outskirts, steadily, and safely, losing ground. Celestia . . . was somewhere. Rainbow hadn’t the time to really consider what her peculiar absence might mean. Ah, but they were getting a little smarter. One quick pass-by, to put her off-balance, and then five, all at once, speeding for her from different angles. Coordination, especially flying in such tight formations, was not easy. Rainbow should know, having spent countless hours mastering the micro-adjustments necessary, and countless more drilling them back into new recruits. And against a master flier, numbers counted against them. She paused, letting adrenaline flood through her, watching them approach . . . then now, lashed out, front hoof ripping across the visage of the first, spinning, wing striking down on the second, rising as she pushed him down to collide with the third, and fwoosh, she was off and out. Celestia, this was giving her so many new ideas. The Wonderbolts had always enjoyed the derbies, vying for titles of fastest or most agile, in addition to the more spectacular aerial shows. But a chase, ah, now that would be something new—filled with death-defying feats and blood-pumping stunts. She could write a whole narrative, weave it around the personalities of her fliers, turn it into a competition of sorts! Ah, now that was exciting! They were replaced nigh-instantly, of course, more and more pegasi flocking towards the battle. Hundreds, thousands, enough that their bodies began to cast shade on the ground. They trickled forward, hampered by their allies, and the Coromantic-fuelled defence. “Rainbow!” Blitz called, expertly dipping his shoulder into an oncoming Thrall. “Watch it!” Right. She spun on the spot, bringing her wings together and with them all the moisture near her—held it concentrated, wispy, before her. She reared back, taking in the scene in an instant, and then leapt forward, wings pumping, wind streaming her mane and tail behind her in a rainbow contrail. Around and around, the air beginning to spiral, sluggish at first, then faster, faster, until the slipstream was visible, and all the while building her cloud, drawing in and capturing water from all the air her vortex sucked in. The Thralls made just the one effort to escape, bashing themselves against the walls of wind she’d created, only to be flung back into the relatively calm centre by Rainbow’s speeding form. They couldn’t keep up with her here, very few could. Others, outside, had the same problem. And when her cloud, thick and puffy, had turned black, injected with just a bit of the pent-up frustration, the longing, that still plagued her . . . then, she plunged inwards. Crashing through the Thralls, spinning onto her back, bucking with all her might. A mighty crack split the air. The vortex swirled, swiftly dying out without her propelling it. Colours fading in its wake, vibrancy dulled. Tendrils of electricity ran over their skin, played through their manes. Dangerous, perhaps. But Rainbow was nothing if not flashy. The cloud, white once more, floated earth-wards slowly, five forms, unconscious, laid out atop it. Peering at them, Rainbow saw a Conduit below give one a judicious smack across the skull as they drifted past. Taking stock, her shoulder ached—the result of too many high-speed impacts, various small cuts, nicks from their wing-blades, trickled blood. But she was unharmed, otherwise. And more poured forward. Her stunt had earned her perhaps a half-second rest. Grudgingly, the line retreated, arcing their path so that they dropped down as they passed over the town—parabolic, an umbrella shield of defenders, collapsing inwards. There was no winning this, not without unleashing indiscriminate, titanic power. But they didn’t have to win. Just hold, long enough to evacuate the town, long enough to barricade the Castle. Sages were accompanying the civilians there, shields at the ready. Wardens fortified walls, grew thick vines over doorways, lodged huge rocks in the streets. From the corner of her eye, Rainbow saw a Conduit take a full-body collision—the Thrall slamming into her, crumpling around her immobile form, now her wings flashing, the kinetic force spreading, and all at once, crack!, detonating, released inwards, drawing her wings together to create a clap of thunder and wind that threw back an easy fifty. Awesome. More on top of her. Rushing her, angling themselves to cut off avenues of escape. Rainbow bolted, streaking up and around, twisting and weaving through the onslaught. She took more than one hit, all light, reacting so fast that the pain of each hit guided her away from their blades. She saw three, now, ignoring her, moving for the ground. With a snarl, she charged, broke up their advance. They couldn’t be allowed to flank the ground forces. Not until . . . A flash of purple light. Was that? . . . no, Rarity. Rainbow let loose a small sigh of relief, unknown tension fading, and took a slice across the shoulder for her trouble. Squawking, she fell a few feet, rolled over onto her back, and shot away from the oncoming crowd. Breathing, hold it steady, one two, one two, and—pouring forth an angry inferno, frustration and impatience boiling away, just a second to think, was that too much to ask?!—sent a gust of wind hurtling back at them, blowing a hole clear through the swarm and creating, for a moment, a vacuum. Her eyes immediately sought Blitz and Crisp. They fared little better, peppered with scrapes and cuts, but flying steady, always with the near-misses, the tantalisingly close swipes. Taunting, Rainbow realised. Drawing the clouds of pegasi towards them, presenting themselves as targets, unassailable yet achingly near. With less grace, she tried emulating their approach—sought opportunities not to incapacitate, but to annoy: slaps in the face, tugs on the tail, interfering with their flight paths and slipstreams. In minutes, she could feel the change. The shift away from tactical, considered attacks that left her scrambling to get away, and towards individual, hate-filled, screaming assaults. Much better. She found herself smirking again, enjoying the fight. Like this, she could almost convince herself it was a game, ignore the flashes of light reflecting off their wings, pretend merely to be playing the world’s greatest game of tag, and herself always the last caught . . . Slowly, they drew inward, sank towards the town—drawing nearer to each other as they folded. Multiple times, the swarm threatened to push through, the sheer weight of numbers crushing down from above, but always there were Coromancers, with careful application of power to slow the advance, scatter the enemy. Somehow, it was working. Until, finally, “That’s it. Get out of there,” spoke a calm voice, oddly distinct and clear despite the chaotic jumble of noise that composed Rainbow’s world. Those alongside her reacted immediately, a final shove and breaking away, tearing north with all the speed they could manage. Rainbow followed an instant later, found her tail caught, yanked herself free with a pained grunt. She didn’t look back for a few hundred metres—reassured somewhat by the sight of hundreds of defenders speeding away alongside her, then slowed, sought Blitz and Crisp in the crowd. “Cirrus,” Rainbow said, wasting no more breath on speech. They’d get the message. She glanced back, and just now heard the cacophony, the tumultuous din and roar, echoing around her. Try as she might, Rainbow couldn’t quite block out the sights—twisted wings utterly failing to reduce one’s momentum, o-or was that a broken wing-bone, jutting through the skin . . . She shuddered, tried to calm herself, but drew only deeper breaths, trembling as she kept pace. Behind them, the Thralls had covered the town like ants, reduced it, just like that, to rubble. Pursuit was half-hearted, though. This battle was, for whatever reason, over. Blitz looked at her like she was crazy. “Princess Luna, of course. They still gotta deal with that threat, though.” “Princess Celestia’s worrying me,” Crisp said. “She should be here.” “Tsh,” Blitz said. “Ain’t nothing new. Reckon she’s gonna wait till the last moment, swoop in like some blazin’ meteor.” Taken aback, “That’s . . . hardly fair,” Rainbow murmured. Stronger, “You don’t know. What if there’s another Storm out there, hey?” “Yeah, yeah,” waving a hoof. “Signal was the town’s clear. Ain’t no saving it—just get out, get to the Castle.” “Uh, question,” Rainbow said. “Why aren’t we just laying the smack down? I mean, we’ve clear superiority here, right? And with everypony else . . .” They’d reached the end of the column of evacuees, now, those pegasi still feeling strong enough picking up ponies to hasten their journey. Others had stopped, received the odd morsel of food from the Wardens. At the scent, more than anything else, and without waiting for reply, Rainbow dashed forward, found a barrel of water to dunk her head in, and then an apple, sweet and pulpy. Invigorating like nothing before. She’d only had the opportunity to eat Warden grown food a few times, but Holy Celestia, Applejack had better learn how to make these. “Yes and no,” Crisp said, catching up with Rainbow. “Whatever Celestia’s doing, Blitz, it’s important. We can beat up Thralls all day long, and it isn’t going to mean anything if the Princesses fail. And Rainbow,” pausing, searching for words, “look, I don’t know where you learned to fight. We learned, mostly, pressed up against a motherbucking huge Stormwall. You don’t win these battles, you survive.” Blitz grunted. “Town’s never meant to last, anyway. Living space while the Castle was built. Don’t reckon they’ve finished, yet, but that place is going to be a damn sight more defensible.” “Okay . . . then why hadn’t we already moved there?” They stared at her like she was an idiot. “ . . . Because it isn’t finished?” “Oh!” Crisp got it. “Seers aren’t seeing anything, outside. That’s why we’ve been patrolling. Figured some respite was in order, after everything, and . . . something’s messing with their Sight.” “Huh,” Rainbow said. “And now Celestia vanishes.” Her ears dropped. “Oh, ponyfeathers.” “Yep yep,” Blitz said, twisting to gaze back at the town receding behind him. “Just about sums it up.” *** “Discord,” Celestia spat, rolling the name around her mouth. “I was wondering when you’d show up.” “Oh, is that what you’re calling me?” the draconequus said, leering down at her. “Disss-cord. Discord. Discord. ‘Dis cord! Should I have my own rope, then? Perhaps twine.” “No jokes,” Celestia said. “Leave me and mine alone, or face my wrath. I will not warn you again.” “And who is this? Some dowdy old mare, washed-up, hmm?” “I am Celestia, the Rising Sun, slayer of The Storm. I killed Typhus, you miserable worm.” “Oh?” Leaning closer, peering into her eyes. “Slew him, did you? Took an axe to dear old Daddy?” “Daddy?” “Typhus can’t die, Celestia,” venom dripping from every word. “Surely you, of all ponies, should know that. A fellow Splinter? Why, I am Dis-mayed.” She gave no ground. “His power broken. His army in tatters. His form sealed away, once more. Hardly the list of achievements.” “Ah, but I’m here now. What, did you think you could just break Him apart? Oh, my dear. I assure you, I am no joker.” She felt a pressure, pushing in on her mind. Like a dull point, pressing against the side of a balloon. Crushing resistance back without breaking it, pushing, reaching, demanding. The pressure, she realised, of a Sage. A flash of panic. The Element on her chest sparkling. And then the world was swept away, and replaced with her own.