The Age of Wings and Steel

by DSNesmith

17. Lost in the Dark

Rye slid down the chute, deeper and deeper into the bowels of the earth. The sides were smooth, which was fortunate; the chute began to curve more steeply as he descended, and he found himself pressed against what was fast becoming the bottom. At least two minutes had passed by the time he felt a sharp curve in the tunnel, and suddenly the incline radically decreased. He went tumbling head-over-hooves onto a flat surface.

It took him a moment to get his bearings, as he shook himself off. The feeling of cold had nearly vanished by now, but the emptiness remained. He tried not to think about the hot breath of the magic above, but it edged at his consciousness with insistence. Rye pictured Cranberry, encased in that disgusting ooze, and his head instantly cleared. He knew what he had to do.

Now, the trick was figuring out how to do it. He couldn’t see a thing in the pitch-black cave. He needed light. Rye swallowed. Bracing himself, he closed his eyes and reached tentatively out for the magic. The forest’s whisper echoed through his ears, but he felt no raging inferno, no violent river of flame. Instead, he found the familiar trickle of magic he had tried to touch all his life.

He pressed against it, feeling the resistance. The cool kiss of the stream was… calming. He smiled. He channeled the magic, and instead of a raging torrent of blazing power, he felt the river spray lightly on his face. It was nothing like the magic of the forest, yet somehow, it seemed purer, cleaner. His horn lit, the orange glow revealing his surroundings. It was barely a small candle compared to the shining beacon from before, but it was his light, not the forest’s.

Rye stood in a circular tunnel that extended back and up the way he’d fallen, and forward into darkness. The walls were not the rock he had expected. Instead, they were a strange amber-colored substance, slightly sticky to the touch. The resin material was partially translucent. If he pressed his nose up against a wall, he could see through to the stone underneath the resin, as if looking through a fogged lens. It seemed that the tunnel had been formed naturally or dug, and then coated in this amber substance by something. He had a feeling he knew what.

The only way he was going back was if he could fly, and he’d made that choice already. The path forward into the darkness beckoned him. Rye took a fortifying breath. “Hang on, guys. I’m coming for you.” He set off into the tunnel to find his friends.

As he walked, his hooves echoed weirdly on the resin. It sounded as if it was almost hollow, yet the echoes were muffled. It was like walking on a floor made of cork. The sides of the tunnel were covered with dozens, hundreds of tiny holes. They were various sizes, but all of them were far too small to admit a pony of Inger's size. Rye avoided the holes as much as possible. He was leery of investigating this place any more than he had to.

Almost an hour had passed without incident, when Rye came to a split in the tunnel. One branch carried off to the right, slanting upward. The other sloped down and to the left. The bugs hadn’t been kind enough to leave signs, so he was forced to guess. Assuming that wherever his friends had been taken was deeper in the tunnels, he chose the left path.

He had yet to encounter another living creature in the darkness. He wasn’t sure whether to be worried or grateful. He came to another split, but this time, both paths led downward. Rye scanned the tunnel floor for any sign of bodies being dragged, but the hard resin offered no clues. Shrugging, he took the left path again.

Rye hummed a few bars from Living in the Sunlight, one of Cranberry’s favorite songs, hoping vainly that she might hear him and respond. The sound reverberated disturbingly off the walls, reminiscent more of a trapped rat's squeals than a song. He quickly stopped singing.

He could only remain alert for so long. As he walked on and on without running into anything, his attention started to slip. He was so unfocused that he nearly ran into a wall. Rye paused, looking around. The tunnel split like a T, separate paths running left and right. He’d picked left so far, so once again he turned and carried on down that tunnel.

The air was growing damp. Rye smelled something musty but sweet, like rotten milk covered in honey. He wrinkled his nose, pressing forward. Ahead, he found that the tunnel ended, exiting into a larger chamber. He stepped carefully out, looking around at what his bubble of light revealed.

The walls beside and above the tunnel entrance were covered with small greenish pods. The walls themselves were different, oozing a greenish ichor of the same consistency as the amber he’d seen earlier. He looked carefully at one of the pods, when suddenly it squirmed. He recoiled in disgust. Inside the pod was some sort of larval form of the creatures he’d seen earlier. It was a pale white, but through the pod it was encased in, it acquired a greenish hue.

A chittering sound echoed from above. Rye froze, his eyes slowly turning up. Into the light of his horn crawled one of the bug creatures. It was hanging on the wall, its feet clattering on the resin as it descended. The bug crawled over one of the larva pods, extending a thin proboscis. There was a sound like gas escaping a leaky pipe, and the pod flooded with a brown liquid. The larva wiggled back and forth, completely bathed in the stuff.

He didn’t know what it was, and he didn’t want to. Right now he had to get out of this chamber. Rye took off running back the way he’d come, not daring to look behind him. He didn’t stop until he’d reached the junction. He stood there, panting for a minute, listening frantically for the sound of the bugs. The only noises were his heaving gasps. He had gotten away clean.

Regaining some of his composure, he continued down the other path. After a dozen meters, it split into four separate tunnels. Rye gave a little moan of dismay. Sisters, help me. He picked one at random and walked for ten minutes before running into a wall of collapsed rock that completely blocked the path. Backtracking, he took the far right tunnel this time.

After twenty minutes, he’d passed several more tunnel branches, before finally arriving at a large hole in the floor. The tunnel seemed to curve downward like the chute he’d used to enter this labyrinth in the first place. Rye pulled an apple out of his bag and threw it. He listened for over a minute, but heard no sound of it hitting the floor. He ruled out the chute as an avenue of forward progress, and went back to one of the many tunnels he’d passed.

With each passing hour, he grew more and more lost. Occasionally he would come across one of the bugs, freezing in his tracks. They seemed not to notice his presence, ignoring the light from his horn and crawling around the tunnel into one of the holes in the wall. This occurrence was infrequent, but every time it happened, his chest pounded painfully.

“Let’s go adventuring, she said,” he muttered. “See the deep caves! It’ll be fun!” The image of Cranberry’s beaming face put a swift end to his complaining, as terror seized his heart. Every minute he wasted wandering around down here was another minute his friends grew closer to death. He couldn’t be certain of that, but from what he’d seen of these bug creatures so far, it seemed fairly obvious.

His tunnel came to a dead end. It suddenly curved upward ninety degrees, vanishing into the darkness above. Rye stamped his hoof in frustration. “Damn.”

Behind him came a chittering sound. He whipped around to find one of the bugs rearing up at him, raising its forelegs. He held his breath, standing motionless. The bug swayed slowly, its forelegs waving and antennae twitching. Rye’s eyes moved up and down the creature, taking in the horrifying details. Each of its stubby little legs jerked in spastic, ceaseless motion. Its mandibles clacked together, dripping with amber resin. It had no eyes.

Rye didn’t think he was going to get out of this one without a fight. Come on, Rye, you can do this. You killed that griffon in the woods, remember? Just grit your teeth and smash it. This time, however, he had no Dawn Sparkle to back him up. He watched with sick fascination as the bug’s front two legs unfurled. They were much longer than the rest, and they ended not in chitin but in sharp, bony scythe-like protrusions. They glistened wetly in his horn’s light.

The creature’s mandibles opened, and suddenly it let loose a screech like a dying rabbit. Rye smelled the same stench of decay and honey as before, doing his best not to gag. He recoiled from the bug, bumping into the wall behind him.

Instantly, the bug leaped forward. It slashed its scythe-arms at him, scoring gashes across his side. Rye twisted, trying to get away from the creature. He lashed out with his rear hooves, taking it in the middle and sending the bug crashing into the wall. He crawled onto his stomach, pushing up and trying to run. He felt the bug spring onto him, wrapping around his midsection.

He gave a little scream as the bug’s hundreds of legs scraped across his skin. He swiveled, trying to find the thing’s head. It appeared before him, mandibles spread wide as if to invite a hoof. Rye obliged, smashing his right hoof into the thing’s face with all the strength he could muster. It splattered, the hissing instantly cutting off.

He slumped to the ground, still tangled in the bug’s carcass. Grunting, he shoved it off of him. Rye stood unsteadily, shaking. Well, thought some detached part of his brain, that makes two kills. He felt a little revolted with himself. He’d wanted to join the military to save lives, not take them. Perhaps his dream career hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

Rye looked down at the ruined body of the bug creature. No. These things deserve no remorse. They’re abominations. He shook his head. He’d lingered long enough. Turning to continue down the path, he stumbled.

What was wrong with him? The bug hadn’t hurt him that badly. He was barely even bleeding. Rye looked down at the gashes in his side. They were thin red lines, no longer stinging, but numb. Wait, numb?

“Oh, horseapples.” Rye staggered forward. Those scythe-arms had to have been coated in some kind of venom, or tranquilizer. The bugs clearly took their prey alive. Already, he’d lost all feeling in his left legs and side. His right legs were starting to go. At least now he knew that Cranberry and Inger hadn’t been dead when they were carried off in the forest.

Rye wandered down the tunnel, bumping into the sides. He weaved back and forth, trying to make his way forward. His head was growing cloudy. He fell drunkenly against the wall, and slid down to the floor. “Cranberry… Inger… hang on, guys, I’m coming for you.” He blinked stupidly. “Right after a… quick nap…” His eyes shut.

The last thing he heard before he lost consciousness was chittering.

* * *

“What d’you think’s wrong with his wings?”

Rye shuffled his hooves, trying to rub some warmth back into them. The field, full of poles and walls, waited ahead. He glanced around at the other trainees, shivering again. He’d been waiting a long time for this.

“Forget about his wings, look at his head.”

“What kind of freak has wings and a horn?”

He frowned. It wasn’t worth his time, but he was sorely tempted to snap an angry retort.

“Form up, trainees.”

At the drill instructor’s summons, Rye and the other recruits formed their lines. The instructor explained the test to them. “Ring the bell to complete the excercise. You’ll be paired with another to help pace yourselves. We’ll be accepting the top fifty percent of trainees...”

Rye fidgeted, impatient. Next to him stood Fritz. They would be running the course together, it seemed.

“So, Strudel, think you can beat me? There’s still time to give up, you know.”

“Please, Fritz, don’t embarrass yourself. There’ll be plenty of time for that once we start the test.”

The other pony snickered and was silent. Ahead of them, the line grew shorter as the trainees passed through the course. At last, Rye and Fritz reached the front of the line.

The instructor blew his whistle again, and they were off. Rye and Fritz took off galloping, flying into the obstacle course. Rye easily jumped across the logs, laughing as Fritz struggled and failed to find his balance.

The hurdles were next, and he vaulted over the first with ease. The next was higher, and he had to take it at a run. Fritz was across the logs and catching up fast, but Rye wasn’t worried. He had enough of a lead to last him till the wall. The two of them zipped over the hurdles, each vying to be first to finish. Fritz was gaining ground, but Rye dove under the spinning poles and crawled like a snake. They dragged themselves through the mud, trying to get to the wall first.

The rope dangled from the wall like a vine, and the two reached it nearly simultaneously. They climbed quickly up, shimmying with their hooves. Rye put a hoof over the lip of the wall, pulling himself over, only to find Fritz already on the tightropes.

Tightropes? Strange, I'd thought they were wooden beams. Ahead, Fritz wobbled. Rye shook his head and banished the faint sense of unease.

He carefully stepped out, walking as quickly as he dared. Fritz was far ahead of him, but moving cautiously. Slowly the distance between them began to close. Rye looked at Fritz desperately. Despite Rye’s faster pace across the rope, the other pony was going to make it off ahead of him. There was no way Rye could catch him on the final stretch. It was now or never. The instructor had only said no flying, after all…

Rye unfurled his wings and heard a gasp from somepony in the crowd. Let them look. They were about to see that being a pegacorn was not being crippled. Balanced by his wings, he quickly overtook the other pony. As he passed, Fritz snarled. “Nice wings, mutant.”

Rye’s hoof slipped on the rope. He swayed dangerously, struggling to keep his balance. He was going to fall. No. No! He flapped his wings harder than he ever had, harder than his countless attempts to fly, harder even than his desperate childhood plunge from the roof of the bakery.

The rope moved beneath him, threatening to dump him into the mud below. Slowly, carefully, he brought it under control, his wings maintaining his balance. He bent backwards, and started racing along the rope as fast as he dared. He leapt from the tower into the sand pit, flushed with success. He raced onward through the rest of the course, crawling into the logs and out as Fritz struggled to catch up.

The peal of the bell was like a victory cry. Rye pulled the cord three times for good measure, brimming with pride. He turned to see an officer approaching. “You used your wings, recruit.” The olive green pony was stern.

“I didn’t fly, sir.” Rye said firmly. “I was simply utilizing every advantage I was permitted to.”

The noncom looked sidelong at him. “Hmm.” He smiled faintly. “Very well, Trainee Strudel. Carry on down to the running track.”

Rye was exultant as he skipped away from the obstacle course. He made his way down to the track, taking his place with all the other trainees. After an hour, the rest of the recruits had finished the first section, and the run began.

It was difficult, but Rye kept the pace. By the time it was done, he was sweating like a pig and every breath was like a knife in his side, but he finished the five miles easily before two thirds of the other ponies. He smiled in exhausted delight as the officer posted the times on a board.

The results were read off, as the trainees waited with bated breath for their names to be called. “Cherry Summers. Cloudy Raindrop. Fritz Bolgar. Cyndric Bellemont. Rye Strudel. Pokey Snipes...”

Thunder roared in his ears as he grinned in triumph. The new officers were marched aside to receive their ensign’s bars from the Major, who handed them out to each with a nod of his head.

He’d dreamed about this moment for three years, nearly half his life. Finally, he would follow his mother into the service of the Princess and show everypony that even without magic or flight, he was capable of doing great things on his own. I’m not a cripple.

He was still grinning when the test was over, and the ensigns were gathered together with the noncom. “We’ll be going up to the castle to get you all situated. Tomorrow we’ll begin fitting you for armor. After that, you’ll be given your class assignments.” He blew his whistle again. “Let’s move out!”

The new ensigns turned and marched—not quite in unison, they had not yet mastered that art—after him, their golden bars gleaming in the sunlight. Rye began to follow them, when he heard a familiar voice calling his name.

“Rye! Rye!” He turned to see his mother flying down to greet him, landing on the grass before him.

“Mom! I made it!” He was happier than he’d ever been. “They all thought I couldn’t, but I did! I’m a genuine officer now. We can see each other at the castle, when you go back on tour.” He beamed.

Windstreak’s expression was buoyant. “Yes, you did wonderfully. I’m so happy for you.”

Rye’s enthusiasm faltered a bit. He looked into his mother’s eyes. “Mom. Have I… have I made you proud of me?”

His mother smiled at him. “Incredibly. More than you can know.”

They nuzzled. Rye tried to keep the emotion out of his voice. “Thanks, mom.”

“I’m so proud of you, son. Never doubt that.” Windstreak’s voice broke. “But it’s time to wake up.”

“What?” Rye withdrew.

Windstreak was still smiling, but it was a sad one. “Your friends need you, Rye. You have to wake up.”

“But… but…” Rye looked around. “But I won! I… I thought… I thought I’d finally made you happy. I’m an officer now, a real one. I can prove myself! I can show everyone I’m not a cripple. I can… I can…” He felt like a little foal again.

Windstreak knelt to Rye’s level. “Rye, I am incredibly proud to have you for a son. Nothing could ever change that. But it’s not because of this-“ She poked his shiny new ensign’s insignia with a hoof. “It’s because of this.” She touched her lips to his head. “And this.” She prodded his chest, right above his heart. “I’m proud of you because against everything, you’ve survived. You’re my son, and I love you, Rye. It’s time to let go of my dream and live your life.”

“I don’t want to disappoint you…” Rye sniffled.

“Then save your friends.” Windstreak blinked away a tear, still smiling at him. “Wake up.”

Rye looked backwards at the rest of the ensigns. They were marching off together, laughing away the stress of the exams. The noncom looked back and shouted “Come on, Strudel! Hurry up!”

He turned to his mother again. She shook her head. “Let it go, Rye. Wake up.”

* * *

Growing up in Canterlot, Rye had never had a chance to learn to swim, but he imagined this was what drowning felt like. The darkness pressed in all around him, smothering him in black velvet. He felt like he was coming up for air as he awoke, drawing a hoarse breath. He shuddered. He was sweating.

That dream had been so vivid. Had it even been a dream? Was it simply a hallucination? Was this the dream? Clearly the drugs from that creature's attack hadn’t worn off yet. He shook his head, trying to drag his mind out of the murky depths.

Gradually he became aware of chittering sounds all around him. With an apprehensive swallow, he touched the magic. His horn glowed brightly, revealing his surroundings. He was not alone. Three of the bug creatures were around him, slathering that amber resin on him. Rye found himself stuck, impossibly, on the side of the wall, encased from his midsection down in resin.

His front hooves were still free, however. Without thinking, Rye smashed one of the bugs in the head. It lost its grip on the wall and fell screeching into the darkness. The other two recoiled momentarily, then raised their leg-scythes and approached.

Rye whinnied in panic, striking out at them both. He took the first one in the abdomen, but the second scurried above him, out of the reach of his hooves. It descended toward him, waving its scythes.

He smacked his head upwards, crushing his horn into the bug’s face. He felt chitin cracking, and ripped his head forward. The bug came off the wall, and fell. Rye was still for a moment, trying to calm his racing heart.

Now that the immediate danger had passed, he was able to observe his surroundings in detail. He was in a chamber he had not seen before, incredibly vast. His horn’s glow reflected in and off of the amber resin, extending its range into the depths. Even so, he could not see the other side of the chamber. It seemed to carry off to the left and right a great distance, becoming lost in darkness. It might go on for miles.

Rye knew with sinking certainty that he was deep under the mountains now. The cave system these creatures inhabited was massive, as big as the Antlerwood itself. Maybe bigger. His attention was drawn to the circle of the wall revealed by his light. The wall was covered with pods, much like the larva chamber, but these pods were the same amber color as the wall. He looked to his left and squinted at the nearest one.

His growing suspicions were confirmed. The pods weren’t just architecture, they were prison cells. Inside his neighboring pod was a brown pony whose saddlebags bore the symbol of the royal courier service. Rye looked around. The pods weren’t just filled with ponies. He saw rats, diamond dogs, timberwolves… if he wasn’t mistaken, one particularly large bubble housed a manticore.

Cranberry and Inger must be in here. He had to escape his cell and find them. Rye looked back over at the messenger pony. To Rye’s relief, he was still breathing. That meant that Cranberry and Inger were probably still safe. For now.

Suddenly the pony’s eyes snapped open. Rye would have jumped backwards, but he was still bound from the middle down in amber. The messenger pony stared at him in confusion, then reached a hoof forward. It clunked against the amber pod. The messenger began screaming. He started banging on his prison, sending vibrations that Rye could feel through the resin wall.

He heard the now-familiar chittering sound from above. “Stop kicking!” he yelled to the other pony, but the messenger couldn’t hear him, or wouldn’t listen. He kept screaming and bashing his hooves against the pod as one of the bugs descended from above. It settled over the pony’s pod, extending its proboscis. The appendage slid into the amber like it was putty, poking through inside the cell. Rye held perfectly still, watching with horror. He’d been wrong. These weren’t prison cells. They were feeding pens.

The sound of leaking gas reached his ears as the bug flooded the pod with some sort of chemical goop. The pony’s screams turned from panic to pain. Rye looked away, wincing. As the screams grew louder and more frantic, he covered his ears. At last, the other pony fell mercifully silent.

Rye pulled his hooves away from his ears. He heard a disgusting slurping noise, like mud being drawn through a straw. Then the chittering sound came again, fading into the distance. Once he was sure it was safe, he looked to his left once more.

The thing in the other pod was no longer recognizable as a pony. Rye’s last meal came back with a vengeance, and he fought to keep it down. He looked away quickly. Once he had control of himself again, he gritted his teeth with renewed resolve. He had to get out of this pod and find Cranberry and Inger before these bugs dissolved them all.

He found that he had a bit of wiggle room with his bottom legs. He couldn’t help but wonder if they did that on purpose, to let victims struggle and release vibrations, but he didn’t have the time to analyze the monsters. He kicked at the inside of his pod, to no avail. He hit it from the outside with his free hooves, but he couldn’t even scratch the smooth amber. Rye started flailing aimlessly, raining blows on the amber from all four of his legs.

Suddenly, a gratifying crack appeared. He kicked a few more times, and the pod crumbled to dust around him. He had only a split second to realize that he had no idea how far the fall was, before he was sliding down the wall.

Luckily for him, there was a ledge not far beneath his pod. He landed heavily on it, standing and shaking off the amber dust. He peered over the edge, trying to see down into the depths. The ledge was actually another wall, extended slightly out from the one he’d been perched on. His horn’s light could not reach the bottom of the chamber. Shivering, Rye pulled away from the edge.

Why had the bugs built this ledge? Was it a safeguard to catch any prey they dropped? A wall that had been built over more victims, preserving them for years? In the end, it didn’t matter. What did was that Inger and Cranberry were in this chamber somewhere, and it was up to him to find them.

“Think, Rye.” He stared around at the pods. “They probably put their victims in the pods as they get captured, so the new arrivals should all be roughly in the same place…” He scanned the nearest pods, but saw nopony he recognized. He wished he could free them all, but there was no time, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to free any of them, yet.

He walked along the ledge, surveying every pod within his sight. He skipped the ones that didn’t contain ponies, but even so he was left with dozens of pods. After ten minutes, his search finally bore fruit. Three rows of pods up, about sixty meters from where he’d fallen, his eye caught a flash of peony-pink and yellow.

Rye stood underneath the pink pony’s pod, searching for a way to free her. Nothing presented itself. He squinted closer; it was definitely Cranberry. Her golden mane was messy and tangled. “Hang in there, ‘Berry. I’ll get you out of this. Somehow.” There were no grooves on the walls, no ways to climb them. He touched the wall, and his hoof came away sticky.

I suppose it’s worth a shot. He stood on his rear legs and placed his hooves against the wall. He pressed firmly to make sure they adhered. Then he pushed up with his back legs, clapping them to the wall as well. Immediately he slid down and landed painfully on his rear. Still smarting from the impact, he stood and shook off. Clearly the resin’s adhesive wasn’t intended to support the weight of a pony. He tried bucking the pod down, but after three minutes of kicking the wall all he’d accomplished was making his legs ache and giving himself a migraine.

Finally, desperate, he jumped up and flapped his wings. He fell back to the ledge, as impotent as ever. If only he still had access to the forest’s magic… Rye paced back and forth beneath Cranberry’s pod. She was so close, just a couple meters out of his reach…

He raced along the ledge, looking for a rock or chunk of resin to throw at her pod. The ledge was inclined, leading slightly down into the chamber. He passed dozens of ponies. He wondered how long they had all been down here. Days, months, maybe years. There were ponies of every description; blue earth ponies, violet unicorns, red pegasi…

Red pegasi? Rye jerked to a stop. He backed up, peering into the pod. Sure enough, it was Inger; comatose but breathing. His golden armor blended strangely with the amber color of the pod, making him look half transparent. But he was alive, and more importantly, his pod was level with the ledge.

Rye smacked his hooves against the pod, but to no effect. He tried again and again, but failed to even leave a scratch. He’d managed to break his by hitting it from the outside and the inside at the same time. Maybe if he got Inger to kick too, they could crack it open. He leaned in and pressed his lips to Inger’s pod.

“Inger,” he said, in a crude imitation of Princess Celestia. “Inger, I have need of your aid. Wake up, Inger.”

The Firewing’s eyes blinked once, then twice. “Milady…?” His voice was muted through the pod. He looked around, confused, slowly focusing his eyes on the pegacorn. “Rye? What’s going on?“ he reached a hoof out and discovered his prison. “What the hell—”

“No time to explain, Inger. You’re going to have to trust me.”

“Trust you?” Inger looked doubtful for a moment, but then suddenly laughed. “Why not? All right, Rye, what’s the plan?”

“We need to get you out of there.”

“Sounds good to me. How?”

“To break the shell, we’re both going to have to hit it at the same time. Kick from the inside, okay?”

“Right.” Inger leaned back against the wall and drove his hooves into the bubble. On the outside, Rye pounded away at the resin as hard as he could. On the third strike, a huge crack ran down the center of the pod. On the fifth, Inger’s hoof smashed through and smacked Rye in the face.

“Sorry!”

“Don’t worry about it. Keep kicking.” Rye looked around for the bug creatures, but thanks to some miracle they had yet to appear. Together, he and Inger broke away larger and larger pieces of the shell. At last, Inger came tumbling out into Rye’s hooves, covered in flakes of amber. Rye helped him stand, pushing him upright. “Are you okay?”

“I think… I think I will be,” said Inger, rubbing his head. “I was having the strangest dream. The Princess was giving me a promotion to captain…” he shook his head.

“Come on,” said Rye, urgency creeping into his voice. “We need to get Cranberry and get out of here.” He began galloping off up the ledge, Inger trailing behind, still trying to get his legs back.

They reached Cranberry’s pod to find one of the bugs crawling down on top of it. Inger stepped back, repulsed. “What in Celestia’s name is that?”

“No idea!” shouted Rye, panicking. “Kill it, before it eats her!” Inger needed no further prompting. Still recovering from his ordeal, he flapped his wings and took off. He immediately dropped off the side of the ledge, but before Rye could even look, he was soaring back up and over Rye’s head.

The bug had settled fully onto Cranberry’s pod, and was rearing back to extend its proboscis. Inger crashed into it, sending the bug flying off into the depths, hissing.

“Hurry up, get her out of there!”

Inger kicked the pod uselessly. “Miss Sugar! Wake up!”

All around came a massive cacophony of chittering. The ruckus Rye had been making since his escape had finally drawn the attention of the nest. At the edges of his horn’s light, he could see dozens—scores—hundreds of the creatures coming for them. “Inger! We’re out of time! Do something!”

Inger took a deep breath and flew backwards over the abyss. “Here goes nothing!” He flew straight at Cranberry’s pod, colliding with it like a charging buffalo. It shattered open, spilling her out into Rye’s waiting hooves.

“Come on, ‘Berry! Wake up!” Rye shook her frantically, trying to get a response. He looked up at the bugs, who were quickly coming down the walls.

Inger landed next to him, his eyes spinning. “Hurry up, Rye. I don’t think we have time for this.”

Rye stared at Cranberry, his mind spinning. It hit him suddenly. He opened his mouth wide and jammed his hoof inside.

Inger looked horribly confused. “What are you doing?”

“This always worked when we were foals…” Rye stuck the hoof in Cranberry’s ear.

Her eyes snapped open. “Rye Strudel, you immature little—” Her face froze. “Rye? Wait, where am I? What’s going on?”

“No time. Run!” Rye wheeled a leg with frantic energy. He took off running down the ledge, the other two ponies in tow, still reeling from the aftereffects of the poison. The three ponies galloped for their lives, fleeing from the oncoming horde of the bug creatures. The ledge ran lower and lower, and the pods showed no sign of thinning. They seemed infinite.

“Don’t stop! Keep running!” Rye yelled. The three of them raced into the darkness together, led only by the orange glow from Rye’s horn. Behind, the chittering, chitinous mass of insects pursued.

Abruptly, the ledge ended in a sharp drop. Rye skidded to a stop, trying not to go tumbling over. Cranberry slammed into him, and Inger into her, and the three of them began to topple. Inger grabbed the two others in a massive hug and flapped his wings furiously. They hung precariously for a moment before falling backward in a heap. Beside them was another tunnel, leading into the caverns.

“Where’s it go?” asked Cranberry, sounding completely confused.

“I have no idea, but it can’t possibly be worse than where we are right now.” Rye took off into the tunnel. “Let’s go!” The three ponies vanished into the darkness of the tunnel, leaving the feeding chamber far behind them.

Comments

[Municipal Engines]

Nice, can't wait until this is all up-to-date with the EQD version.

[drone009]

“I have no idea, but it can’t possibly be worse than where we are right now.” Rye took off into the tunnel.

cue ... ... ... ...something worse than where they were right then

[PaulAsaran]

You'd think Rye would realize by the time he killed that first bug that the things are blind and thus respond to sound. Which leads to an amusing side-note: dammit, Cranberry, your snoring has doomed us all!

Two sentences into the dream sequence and I've got one thing on my mind: changelings.

Okay, no changelings. I'm actually rather relieved; those things scare me far more than any giant bug. I was just thinking maybe the changelings kept them as pets or something.

Wait, I don't get it. If kicking around inside the pod sends vibrations through the resin to alert the bugs that it's lunch time, why doesn't kicking the resin itself – or Rye's notably violent escape – do the same thing?

Okay, this chapter was genuinely good all around, some quirks aside. I do hope they come back when this is all over with a large force to wipe out this little infestation.

[Mihoshika]

“What kind of freak has wings and a horn?”

Um... Celestia? Ya know, the goddess? Raises the sun? Sound familiar?

[Golden Fang Ryu Shenron]

Somethings going to happen isn’t there?