//------------------------------// // Chapter The Third // Story: That One Time Anonymous Conquered Equestria // by HeideKnight //------------------------------// Twilight Sparkle, Princess of Friendship, doubted her ears when she heard the royal sisters had been overthrown. She doubted her eyes when she saw Canterlot refugees stream past Ponyville, and she doubted her nose when she smelled something spicy cooking in the Canterlot Castle kitchen (Celestia is notoriously sensitive to spice), but reason is the one faculty she never doubts, and there are only a few reasons Celestia would wear a collar. Frankly, Twilight likes none of them, but that the sisters were indeed overthrown is most palatable. As Celestia stirs her tea, Twilight’s face cycles emotions—a flit between incomprehension and disbelief. The first predominates. In the last few minutes, Twilight has asked her mentor to restate, both slowly and quickly, in short and in long form, the past week’s events several times. She believes perhaps that somewhere in the seventh recounting she’ll pick up a detail, a silver lining, missed in the first six. Or maybe, as Celestia suspects, she’s delaying her impending “Twilighting”. But as Celestia finishes her seventh retelling, including events she was absent for (how did she know what happened with the guards outside the castle gates?), Twilight’s fraying mane and twitching eye signal the next stage of grief. “A dream!” Twilight eurekas. “This is obviously just a dream. Ha, ha.” She waves her hoof dismissively. “Any moment now Luna will come tell me all about my fears and to stop worrying, and then we’ll spend the rest of the night discussing celestial mechanics.” Luna burst through Celestia’s chamber door. “Good news, sister! Oh, Twilight Sparkle. Hello.” “See?” Twilight says, lifting her nose smugly like the last filly standing at a spelling bee. She still holds the title for most consecutive wins at eight. Luna trots to Celestia’s cozy tea table and sits on the free cushion between her and Twilight. “I have received twice thine ‘good girl points’ and am now firmly in the running for the ear scritching card.” She leans in. “Pray, what is a ‘scritch’?” “Haha, very funny, Luna,” Twilight says, rolling her eyes. “Now come on, quit playing along with dream Celestia and take me to your planetarium.” Luna tilts her head. “I can assure you; this is no dream.” Twilight snorts, though that curious twitch is back, and, with it, nervous wing adjustments. “Alright, joke’s gone on long enough now, I…” She looks at Luna’s face—a mix of apologetic and curious—and her smile wilts. Celestia takes a sip. “Next stage…” “You did WHAT?!” Twilight stands, forehooves on table, nostrils flaring. “How could you just give up? I mean, granted, I know that’s what you do every time there’s a crisis, but at least you usually warn us first!” “Settle down, Twilight,” Celestia says, lowering her teacup. “Let me explain.” Twilight looks for a moment as though “settling” is the last thing she’s going to do. With anyone else, that might have been the case. Telling someone to “settle down” is the best way to make them angrier. But when she meets Celestia’s cool, calm eyes, she seals her lips and returns to her cushion. “We did resist,” Celestia says. “You would be quite proud of us, truthfully.” “I even summoned team Umbra. No modest measure.” Luna adds. “But, in the end, we felt this was the best way to avoid unnecessary destruction.” Sensing Twilight’s coming interruption, Celestia lifts her hoof. “And, before you repeat yourself, there’s a reason we didn’t call you.” “But why? The girls and I could have been here. We could have stopped this!” Luna and Celestia share a brief glance. Then Celestia says, “We feel it’s better to wait this one out.” “Huh?” Twilight says. “Wait for what, exactly?” The door slams open. There, dark suit freshly dry-cleaned, an aura of despair around him, stands the Unholy Prince, the Baron of Sorrows, the Rock of Perdition, Anonymous. He enters, and the room seems to chill, as though a great host of lost souls scream in his wake. He pauses, casting a baleful eye across the assembled, and then centers his attention on Twilight. He speaks, and his words freeze Twilight from tail to ears. “Oh, cool, a purple one.” He puts the metal tray he’s carrying on the table. “I made oatmeal cookies!” Celestia’s horn lights and she shuts the door to spare her warm room the castle draft. “Most glorious of treats!” Luna says. She shoves one into her mouth. “Careful, they’re still hot,” Anonymous says, sitting beside her. “An they’reh gooyeh,” Luna chew-talks. Twilight is of two minds. On the one hand, she feels as though she ought to concisely argue the problems with this state of affairs. But on the other, she thinks that is too tame a reaction. She is a princess now, and her first duty is to the realm. Besides, this is too weird for her tastes. She makes her stand. “Has everypony gone crazy?” Twilight yells. “Equestria has been conquered! Our society is in ruins!” She pauses and frowns. “Well, admittedly, not really. Actually, nopony outside of Canterlot seems to have noticed, but that’s beside the point!” She points at Anonymous. “The throne is effectively vacant and you’re here having snacks with this… thing?” She looks at him. “No offense.” “None taken,” he says, then bites into a cookie. “Who are you, by the way?” “Forgive my manners,” Celestia says. “Anonymous, this is Twilight Sparkle, my friend and former student.” She sits up, looking proud. “And, might I say, the smartest pony in all Equestria.” Anonymous’ eyebrow perks “Smartest?” “Fret not, Twilight Sparkle,” Luna says, levitating another cookie. “Despite appearances, we have learned Anonymous has but one preoccupation.” “And that is?” Anonymous’ face sharpens, like the liquid testosterone pumping through his veins has gone from regular to high octane. He stands, face in shadows, fists clenched, and cape swaying. Scholars suspect the swaying cape is an aggressive signal in hoo-man males, evolved to scare away potential rivals and attract mates. He lifts his voice; a low rumble like trembling earth. “If you’re as smart as they say, come with me,” he says. Then, with swift, exaggerated motion, he turns and leaves the room. Twilight looks at the sisters. Both are wordlessly watching the door. Luna’s half-eaten cookie drops a few crumbs and Celestia’s tea has cooled. “Uh… What was that about?” Twilight asks. Celestia smiles at her faithful student; something she misses calling her. “Perhaps he can answer your questions. We will wait here.” Twilight looks again into the dark hall. Hesitantly, she leaves her seat and follows Anonymous beyond the threshold. She catches up to the Emperor as he’s passing through the dining room. Large, clerestory windows cast a faint, moonlit glow across the dining table, reflecting dully off porcelain plates and silverware. Twilight trails behind him, keeping enough distance that, in the case of an emergency, she has time to teleport. As they turn into the aft hall—the hall of portraits as it is known because of the depictions of great ponies lining its walls—Twilight decides to probe for information, ever driven by the spirit of inquiry. “So… where are you from?” She asks as they pass a portrait of Starswirl. Starswirl himself is in the Crystal Empire with Sunburst unraveling The Mystery of the Missing Stars. But that’s a different story. Anonymous remains silent, eyes forward. Twilight lowers her ears and decides on a different approach. “A lot of ponies are afraid of you, but the princesses don’t seem to think you’re dangerous. Why is that?” Again, Anonymous is silent. They walk by a dramatic painting of Discord. The Lord of Chaos’ eyes follow them, though neither notice. He was going to sow madness that week, but he had a mane appointment, and by the time he’d returned, Anonymous was already in power, so he decided to reschedule. Twilight’s neck prickles; she’s frustrated and a little anxious. She tries a final approach, this time trotting in close as they cross into Canterlot Tower. “You know Equestria is not easy to govern. Don’t you think you should let Celestia and Luna take charge again? They’re really the experts.” But again, he ignores her. Twilight stops, exasperated, several paces behind Anonymous, who himself halts before the ornate purple and pink doors previously housing the Elements of Harmony. She’s angry and amazed. Her initial impression of Anonymous, as an imposing but bumbling creature, was wrong. Here, in this tall, stolid figure, she finds cold resistance. She wonders what mysteries he holds, what secrets he keeps. Could the princesses be wrong in their assessment? And should she worry about what he’s going to show her? Wings out, horn up, she slowly approaches the door too. Now, she thinks, she is truly in the presence of the one they call “Emperor”. Anonymous, meanwhile, bobs his head lightly to the song playing on his iPod Touch. He’s listening to Megadeath. He can’t help his boomer tastes in metal. He reaches into his pocket and pauses the song. “This is it,” he says. He puts his hand to the door and feels around, then sticks his finger in the horn slot. He wiggles and turns it and pulls it out when he feels the lock clamp down, and then the door parts. “There,” he says, wiping his finger on a handkerchief. Twilight squints as the doors open. The interior is bright; bright enough to light the tower chamber like the morning sun. “Oh, yeah. Don’t mind the light show. Ring thing kept getting worse, so I threw it in here,” Anonymous says, putting on sunglasses. “Is that…” Twilight’s mind works fast. “A ring of Brontes?” Her heart does the pony-samba. “You got an actual ring of Brontes?” “Oh yeah, that’s what they called it,” Anonymous says. “But that’s not actually what I wanted to—” “And you brought it here?” Twilight’s yells. “Uh, yeah…?” Anonymous turns toward her. “But only because it was too bright to keep under my pillow.” “Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?” “Uh… yeah?” He’s lying. Were it a bit larger, he would wear it like a fashionable, glowing bracelet, and stated as much. Twilight has little time to avert the coming catastrophe—in fact, precious few moments remain for all in Canterlot—so she doesn’t exposit further. Before continuing, however, it is important to understand what a ring of Brontes is. Forged in the first era, before pony kind was cast from Dream Valley, the four rings of Brontes are said to have powered homes, villages, and the sun itself. Or maybe received their power from the sun; Old Ponish produces strange ambiguities. They absorb ambient magic, and the more they’ve absorbed, the brighter they glow. This isn’t a problem where ponies, preternaturally magical beings, are not in abundance—like, for instance, catacombs. But were a ring, say, in the middle of the most magically charged city on the continent… But, luckily, that’s not the case. The Crystal Empire is far to the north. They’re only in the second most magically charged city. No one knows what happens when a ring is “full” because the places rings show up tend to disappear in cataclysmic explosions, leaving only the rings themselves, faintly glowing, and shadows scorched into the earth. Scholars are unsure if these things are related. Anonymous, that Great Profaner, that Living Thrasymachus, that Mephistophelian Maverick, was educated on these dangers. Spitfire herself, ever cautious in all endeavors, warned the Emperor he needed to keep the ring in continuous use to avoid overcharging. She failed, however, to mention how to use the ring. To be fair to her, she is a Pegasus. Magic isn’t her domain. By the way, while you were reading this disquisition, Twilight Sparkle grabbed the ring and ran. She’s past the courtyard now, and hurrying through Canterlot’s streets. Ponies everywhere take notice. It’s as though the sun itself is galloping through the city. That would, of course, be silly. Were the sun galloping through the city, there would be no city. But give it a little time; there might not be one soon anyway. Anonymous runs behind her, gripping his phone. “Wait, I need that maybe!” Twilight can hear him, but she’s tunnel-visioned. Running and breathing are her only remaining mental processes. Luckily, sight won’t distract her either. She can’t see past the miniature supernova clutched between her teeth. She’s navigating Canterlot’s streets by memory alone—an impressive feat, only overshadowed by her remarkable courage. As she rounds another corner, she remembers that tile 274,343 is loose and skips it, and then pauses, remembering it’s the 33rd annual dog migration. She avoids an old schnauzer—a dog almost as blind as she is thanks to a combination of cataracts and unkempt fur. Unlike the other hounds, panicked by the absolute unit (solar luminosity to be precise) barreling toward them, the schnauzer hobbles along unperturbed. Twilight estimates the doggo-line’s width, based on measurements she did officiating the year before, backs a few paces, and leaps. She clears the hound train like a pro. Granted, she can fly, but if she were thinking straight right now, she’d likely just teleport too. And it’s probably better she did neither; the ring has begun vibrating between her teeth, and while no one can say for sure what that means, it’s doubtlessly an omen. Any additional magic, say from flight or teleportation, could tip it from unstable to critical. Anonymous passes the line of dogs too, though he lacks grace. He plows through, sending small woofers left and right. Certain the Emperor means it harm, the old schnauzer whimpers, whines, barks, and then sinks its teeth firmly in his butt. The Emperor knows true pain then; the kind described by shooting victims and women giving birth without anesthetic. The kind spoken of by patients when they rate “ten” on pain charts. The old dog drags along behind him like an aggrieved mailbox from a joyrider’s back bumper. It is only love of his phone, and the promise of its functioning again—a promise Twilight’s theft threatens—that bid him soldier on. As they reach the city’s outskirts, and despite his hitchhiker, Anonymous catches up. Here the buildings are further apart, and the outer wall hugs the cliffs beyond. This is the poor quarter, where roving earth pony gangs prey upon unsuspecting, innocent nobles, whose only crime was bidding up land prices with rampant speculation. Near the city entrance, where the winding path down the mountain snakes through the main gate, Anonymous puts his foot down. In both senses. “Hey!” he says as Twilight, less certain of this part of the city, trots cautiously for the gate. His lifts his finger high, then levels it at her in stern rebuke. “You should be wearing eye protection.” He pauses for a moment. “Oh, and give that back!” “I hafh to get it away fhrom the shity,” Twilight says. The ring is humming now; a gentle song, like a banshee from the forest’s depths, or a million tormented souls wailing in harmony from the pit. “You can’t!” Anonymous yells. “I need it… I think.” “Tooh laeh,” Twilight says. “I’m goingh toh doh ith.” She trots out through the gate and makes her way to the cliff edge. “No, don’t!” Anonymous yells, going after her. “I will,” Twilight slurs. “You can’t!” Anonymous protests. “I can!” Twilight reaches the cliff edge. “Don’t do it!” Anonymous catches up to her again. “I’m doingh ith!” Twilight says. She lifts her muzzle. “No!” Anonymous tackles her. Everything seems to slow. Twilight yelps. The ring flies, rotating like a tossed coin. Anonymous “oofs”, which in slow motion sounds like a protracted “ooo”. They’re off their feet and hooves respectively. Anonymous’ sunglasses fly from his face, and his cellphone from his hand. Twilight’s mane splays wild, displaced by wind and gravity. And, by a miracle none but he can understand, the schnauzer attached to Anonymous’ butt, for the first time in three years, regains his sight. As they hit the ground, Twilight watches the falling ring. She remembers her friends, her family, her mentor, and all of Equestria. She says a silent farewell, and a prayer to Harmony that Canterlot be spared. Anonymous, on the other hand, landing beside her inhales sharply as his phone falls. Not a high enough drop to crack the screen, but he knows the repair costs will be outrageous if it gets scratched. But as the ring comes down, a second miracle happens. Some scholars say the two objects resonated. Others say it was mere fortune. A third group says the romantic music played for the objects the previous night did its job. But, whatever the cause, the ring collides with the cellphone. And then there is a flash. It’s brighter than the headlights of an oncoming semitruck. That might be an understatement. And for seconds, or maybe minutes, or perhaps hours, the entire world seems to go silent. Twilight thinks she’s dead. Sure, of it in fact. Her vision is a blurred mess, so even with her eyes open, she’s sightless. But, slowly, they adjust. And though she’ll need glasses the rest of her life, the mountainside creeps into focus. And then she blinks. “Wh… what happened?” She asks. Anonymous stands. He brushes himself off. There is a—still bright, but less so—glowing object on the ground. He picks it up. “Phew,” he says. “No scratches.” He looks to Twilight. “It’s cool. It didn’t get damaged!” “What?” Twilight says. She stands too, legs shaky, and looks at his hand. “What is that? What happened to the ring? Why are we still alive?” She pauses for a second, then looks at the Emperor, awed. “What did you do?” Anonymous is staring at the dimming object—his phone—and holding the power button. “Come on baby…” It remains dead. “Damnit! Was glowing and everything.” “What did you do?” Twilight asks more forcefully. “And what are you holding?” “Huh? I thought you were supposed to be smart. It’s a cellphone. See?” He shows the device. Its glow has almost faded now, leaving only its smooth, metallic jacket and glossy screen. “I… a what?” Twilight says. The pretty purple princess has so many questions. Most will never be answered. Anonymous tisks and pockets it. “I swear, it’s like you ponies live in the stone ages or something. What is this, 98’?” He stretches, then scratches his head. “Well, I’m beat. Let’s go back to the castle before Luna finishes all the cookies.” And then he begins walking. Twilight is shocked. Too shocked for more questions. But when she notices his pace, she hurries to catch up. They walk for a while in silence; through the poor quarter, where ponies stand around confused as their rulers ascend, and then through the upper districts, where ponies do the same. As her own confusion wears off, Twilight speaks: “You’re a strange creature.” Anonymous is silent. “At first I thought you were evil, and then I thought you were incompetent, but now I don’t know what to make of you.” Anonymous nods his head. She smiles. “I guess that means I should try to be your friend, to see what the princesses do in you. Maybe it won’t be so insufferable… At least for a little while.” Anonymous flails his arms, doing an air drum solo, and “doh doh dosh dosh”es. Twilight is frightened. “What are you doing?” She asks. Anonymous doesn’t answer. Instead he yells—speaking over the music only he can hear—“So I was thinking of renaming this place Horselandia!” “You WHAT?” Meanwhile, at the Legion of Doom. Grogar, first Emperor of Equestria (or Tambelon as he liked to call it), Enemy of Friendship, Father of all Monsters, observes our heroes through his magic orb… eye… thing. “Fascinating,” he grumbles. “Very fascinating indeed. Get in here, you morons!” “Do you really have to call us that?” Cozy Glow says, walking into the room. “It’s not very nice.” “Or at the very least,” Queen Chrysalis says, entering behind Cozy, “distinguish between these morons and myself.” “Oh please,” Lord Tirek says. “You, a queen without a hive, should spare us your arrogance.” “I have a new hive, for your information. And they’re doing just fine.” “How?” Cozy asks. “How do you think?” “…” “…” “Eww,” Cozy cringes. “Silence! All of you!” Grogar says, slamming his hooves against the stone table at the center of his chamber. The three do as they’re told and Grogar clears his throat. “As you know, I’ve been observing Equestria’s new ruler for some time now…” “That thing is still in charge,” Chrysalis asks. “How? Even King Sombra only ruled for an afternoon.” “Yes, well, King Sombra was not immune to magic,” Grogar says. “But I believe I’ve found the secret to our little usurper’s power.” His orb glows, showing Anonymous’ cellphone absorbing the ring of Brontes. “Intriguing,” Tirek says. “Those rings are legendary. No ordinary device, or creature even, could absorb that much magic at once.” “Precisely,” Grogar says. “And that’s why we’re going to steal it!” “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea…” Cozy Glow says. “Princess Twilight is there, and Luna, and Celestia. And even if we can get past all of them…” “’I’m not sure that’s a good idea,’” Grogar repeats her in falsetto, waving his hoof mockingly. “That’s what you sound like.” Cozy Glow frowns. “I’m in charge here and I say we’re going to take that device and be the undisputed masters of Equestria. Forever! Ahahahaha!” Chrysalis joins him in his laugh, and then Tirek, and eventually Cozy Glow too. And Luna did in fact eat all the oatmeal cookies.