“No, you don’t get it! It’s more than going fast, it’s… technique! And planning! Physics, and having a really hard head!”
“Well, I bet your head’s the hardest of them all.”
Honeycomb nodded his head so rapidly it began to affect his hovering. “You bet! No changeling has a thicker head than me!”
The two griffins perched on a fluffy white cloud exchanged a thick, significant glance. The smaller one cleared her throat.
“Doesn’t it hurt?”
“Not at all! Well, a little bit. But the magic and a tough head take care of most of it. And I’ve been training- no one can do it better than me!”
“Don’t encourage him, Glenda,” The larger griffin scoffed, “He’s obviously blowing hot air. It’s probably impossible, anyways.”
“That’s what they said about the sonic rainboom,” protested Honeycomb, “And look what happened there! Think of me as changeling Rainbow Dash, and my rainboom is the… the…”
Glenda absentmindedly picked apart a passing cloud while Comb struggled. The larger griffin tilted her head impatiently. “You haven’t thought of a name? All this alleged practice and you don’t even know what to call it?”
“Oh!” Glenda tore up her little cloud excitedly. “What about the sonic brainboom? Do you like it, Gerty?”
“I don’t want to sound like I’m ripping off Miss Dash,” said Comb, “Besides, the rainboom’s more about trajectory and my thing is the landing.”
Gerty stroked a wicked beak with her claw. “What about the headcannon?”
“I can’t get behind headcannon.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Gerty snorted, her breath disturbing Glenda’s torn shreds of cloud, “We both know you can’t do it.”
Comb beat his wings furiously and ground his mandibles. He hovered higher and pointed a perforated hood at Gerty. “You name the time and place, and I’ll give you a real lightshow!”
“Well, if you’re so keen on proving yourself… why not the building right below us?”
Gerty pointed a talon downwards, and all eyes followed it down, down, down to the earth far below. In the center of a somewhat bustling town was a bleary slab of solid gray that looked like a stain on an otherwise vibrant painting palette. Little dots scurried between the buildings like equine ants. Honeycomb stroked his chin thoughtfully.
“Uh, Gerty? Isn’t that-”
“A building made of solid concrete?” Gerty finished for her friend, as Glenda was unable to speak with Gerty’s claw wrapped tightly around her beak. “Why, yes it is! You’re right, Glenda, this tiny little changeling would probably hurt himself. We couldn’t possibly ask the little guy to-”
“Who’re you calling a little guy? Wait until you see the me-shaped hole in that building and we’ll talk about who’s little!” Pulling a set of goggles over his turquoise, compound eyes Honeycomb did a quick loop-de-loop and began to dive.
Wind whistled through the holes in his legs and mane-membrane. He closed his front and rear legs to minimize drag, just like he practiced. His wings beat steady and rhythmically, not yet increasing. The tip of his horn began to glow a pale blue-green, trailing thin wisps of magic behind him.
Hoping that the two griffins were watching closely, Comb ramped up his wingbeats. The whistle turned into a low scream as Comb flew through the air like a missile, centering himself to collide with the center of his grey target. The glow at his horn intensified, trying to reflexively discharge and leaving thicker tendrils of potential spell in his wake.
Comb focused intensely to keep from casting. If the protection were cast too soon, the trick wouldn’t work!
Honeycomb turned up the dial on his wings one last time, and became a shrieking insectile meteor. Just before he became a stain on the concrete building he finally discharged the protection spell. A thin green flame enveloped him. Though he couldn’t see it, he knew the flames travelled all the way through his wisps of magic and back again, causing a detonation right behind him all in the span of less than a second.
He had never seen it himself- others had to tell him about it. But he always had some time to picture it because the trick left him unconscious for several seconds.
Honeycomb groggily lifted his head. Little flickers of green fire lingered around him. A stark beam of sunlight illuminated his undignified landing position from the hole he had burned in the roof.
“See… told I could…”
“Thanks!” shouted Glenda. Honeycomb tried to push the blurriness out of his vision. He could see a lot of yellow things gleaming in the sunlight, one floating brown/white blob, and one floating grey/white blob.
“Gurty’n’me had no idea how to break into the vault,” said the grey/white blob, “I don’t know what we’d do if you hadn’t come along!”
The blobs came into focus as two griffins weighed down with multiple bulging sacks. Gerty was tying up a bag she had just filled with glowing golden coins. “Yeah, thanks for clearing the way, featherbrain!”
The two griffins laughed as they flew through the hole in the ceiling. As Comb struggled to his hooves, there was a great creaking sound directly behind him. He turned to see a door as tall as four of himself and made of a thick, shining metal. It creaked open with a slow grinding that made Comb wince. When it was finally open, a skinny, lone earth pony stood in the frame, trembling.
“Hello!” Comb waved to the buck, trying to remember what disguise he was wearing.
“Ch…ch…ch…” stuttered the stallion, “Changeling invasion! Changeling invasion!”
Comb remembered the disguise he was wearing, and it was his own skin. Buzzing his wings, he zig-zagged to the hole in the roof. He hit the concrete ceiling to the left, underneath, and right of it before making an escape that shamed his dramatic entrance.
About halfway out of the city he could hear klaxon alarms, screaming civilians and crashing vehicles.
“Oh…” he muttered, “Carapace and Wingsley are going to be so mad at me…”