//------------------------------//
// ...And Call Me In the Morning 
// Story: My Little Praetor: Phthisis is Magic 
// by FanOfMostEverything 
//------------------------------//

The thing darting through the midnight shadows of Manehattan had no name. Several of its components originated in named creatures, but any memories had been throughly scrubbed before its construction. To avoid excessive wear and tear on pronouns, it will be referred to by its function, Infiltrator.

Despite its preternatural grace and chromatophore-infused skin, bits of Infiltrator could still be perceived now and again. A streetlight glinted off of the steel claws it extended to climb up brickwork, the bubbles of organic quicksilver that infused its body. A leap from roof to roof silhouetted it against the waxing moon, revealing four skinny arms, a pair of powerful legs, and a neckless head that was more an outgrowth of its oblong chest. As it kicked open the door atop an apartment building, a peculiar, rhythmic whistling came from the rows of spiracles along its back.

Infiltrator descended. The eyes that ringed its immobile head ignored the near-total darkness, seeing in more exotic spectra. Infrared was only the beginning. The atmic signature, the very light of the soul, was visible to the horror. (In that sense, Infiltrator itself was as dark as the bottom of the ocean.)

Infiltrator's mission was clear: Find the literally best and brightest and bring them to its masters through the dimensional maw in its torso. The on-board portal was a one-way trip to New Phyrexia, and with it Infiltrator had already found ample samples. Still, Phyrexia knew no restraint. Too much was never enough.

The creature paused in its searching. The glow of dozens of ponies was visible to it, unimpeded by walls or floors, but one stood out far more than usual. It was bright in a way Infiltrator had only seen when the abductees had awoken. No, more so. This pony was awake. It was powerful.

It was perfect.

The light was just behind a flimsy access port. Visible light was streaming out from underneath. Stealth would be futile. Infiltrator chose shock and awe instead.

When the monstrosity barged into the apartment, it was not met by screams, a fleeing target, or desperate magic, all of which it was prepared for. Instead, it was greeted by a slate gray mare with a grim expression on her face, a cello in her hooves, and the traditional kiai of all string instrument-wielding martial artists on her lips: "Kabong!"

Infiltrator found its upper shoulders bound by hard vegetable matter. Surprisingly hard. Its lower claws could barely scratch it, given the awkward position and poor leverage. Even its dimensional maw was jammed shut within the obstruction. The creature swayed. That shouldn't have been possible. Its skull was essentially a fused helmet of metallic bone with eye sockets. Its brain was perhaps the most heavily cushioned object Phyrexia had ever made. It was designed to be concussion-proof.

Apparently, no one had told Octavia.

As the horror struggled and slumped to a sitting position, the earth pony moved back to her display case. "That was my best cello," she noted casually. "I doubt you can appreciate something like that, but it deserves to be acknowledged as such."

She found the bow she was looking for and took it in hoof. "Tell me, if you can, what do you know of unicorn hair?"

Infiltrator beamed a response directly into her mind. It sounded like a praying mantis trying to speak through a mouthful of toffee and should've left her a gibbering wreck. Disoriented though the creature was, the message still gave her pause.

Octavia shook off her chills, recomposed herself, and walked back to the creature. "Hmm. Can't say I'm surprised; most ponies don't know this. You see, unicorn hair has some unique properties when given freely and in the name of love. It becomes infused with a unique magic." She angled the bow such that the filament caught the light of the lamp, glowing electric blue. "The hair, you see, becomes as unbreakable as the bonds of love between giver and recipient."

It happened in a blink. Breathe in. Swing. "Xubi fu!" Breathe out.

"And," concluded the cellist, "when the recipient wills it, the hair acquires a sharpness bordering on the monomolecular." She nudged her unwelcome guest's head with the bow. It fell off the horror's shoulders, the dividing line ruler straight.

With a practiced flick of the pastern, Octavia removed the various ichors off of her best bow. She returned it to the display case, poured herself a tumbler of Johnny Trotter's finest, relaxed in her kelp-leather forelegchair, and only then allowed herself to quake in terror. After a few moments, muttered words could be heard from the depths of the furniture. "When I was a little filly and the sun was going down..."

After several minutes and another glass of Black Label, Octavia collected herself. She looked thoughtfully at her forelegs. Itchy cannons. A thief approaches. Had it not been for her Inkie Sense...

Speak of the Nightmare. As soon as she thought that, she felt her scalp wriggle like Vinyl at the opera. She knew without checking that her mane had spontaneously tangled itself into a mass of terribly familiar curls.

Incantessa Octavia Pie took a deep breath, sighed, and voiced what her body was trying to tell her. "I need to go to Ponyville." She glanced at the body still wearing her best cello. "After I take care of you, of course."

Dash tried to sleep. She really did. After all, it was what? Midnight? What was she going to do, go look for trouble in some alleyway? See if one of her friends had decided to dress up like Mare Do Well and be a vigilante crimefighter? Yeah, not happening.

Unfortunately, her hot sauce coma had left her surprisingly well rested, and it was really hard to fall asleep with her wings glowing like twin nightlights. And, of course, the ever-present thought of just what was doing the glowing...

Nope. Not gonna think about that. That was something she could worry about in the morning. And if it was technically morning now, then she could worry about it later in the morning.

Thinking about it (not that,) it was also kind of awkward trying to sleep in Pinkie's bed. (What? She certainly wasn't going to sleep on the floor again.) Not only was the mattress too hard, i.e. not made of clouds, but there was also the whole "she's got a crush on me" issue. That always added another layer of weird.

Anyway, it was clear that Dash wasn't getting back to sleep tonight. That meant she had to find something to do.

The realization came a moment later, prompting the pegasus to roll her eyes at how obvious it was. "Duh." She had new wings. Pinkie had (sort of) told her that they wouldn't work like her old wings. Therefore, she should go try out the new wings. Dash nodded to herself as she opened the window. Logic worthy of an egghead.

The speedster closed her eyes and breathed in the night air. The little breezes, the subtle smells, the feel of the air that was simply indescribable to the wingless. Before, it had taunted her, hanging an inch overhead that might as well have been a mile. Now it was welcoming her back.

Dash spread her wings, then paused. No. That wasn't right anymore. It didn't feel right anymore. She furled them again, felt how they folded differently. Her pasterns stuck out parallel to her body, the hooves pointed almost straight back*. Made sense, really.

Rainbow put her forehooves on the windowsill. "Okay," she muttered, "let's give this a shot." A hum began to fill the room, starting low in pitch and rising rapidly. The dull red glow intensified, making the bedroom seem more like a darkroom. Warmth filled Dash's wings. A cocky grin graced her muzzle. She had no idea what was about to happen, but she knew it would be. So. Awesome.

She leapt through the window. Twin streams of superheated air flowed from the organic rockets on her sides. Trailing red light like a giant tracer bullet, Rainbow Dash flew screaming into the night.

A true war council had not been convened in Canterlot for centuries. The old Tacticarium had, much to Luna's displeasure, been repurposed as an admittedly well-appointed guest suite. As such, she called the heads of the military to the royal dining room, which had similar dimensions and a good table for map spreading and emphatic pounding.

The princess of the night surveyed her advisors in this matter. To her immediate left was Shining Armor, captain of the Day Guard, prince by marriage, and the only pony present who had seen the foe firsthoof.

On her right was his opposite number, Guarding Dark, a bitter-humored chiropteron who'd spent his career witnessing the depths of equine nature and dragging them into the light. The bat-winged pony was a comfort for Luna; uncowed by royal authority, he had never hesitated to speak plainly to her or her sister before her.

To Armor's left sat the spymasters of the crown, the pegasus stallion Dashing Rogue and the unicorn mare Cloaked Dagger. They were a familiar necessity of running a nation, unchanged even after a millennium of societal evolution. Rogue, much like his predecessors, had charisma matched only by his paranoia. Dagger bore the haunted look and scarred mind of one who had gazed too long into the abyss at the heart of ponykind.

Then there was the sixth. Sitting to Guarding Dark's right, she bore a faint grin that hinted at an awareness of some vast cosmic joke. Luna wondered if any of the other ponies in the room even knew who she was. What she was was as apparent as it was impossible: an alicorn. Only an inch or two shorter than Luna herself, the mystery mare had an azure coat and a mane that streamed from beige to silver to robin's-egg blue. 

"If we are all assembled," announced Luna, "we may begin."

Guarding Dark shifted his wings awkwardly. "With all due respect, Your Majesty," and coming from him that was a very wide range of possible values, "I don't believe we've been formally introduced to who I will presume is your 'niece'."

Shining Armor glared at his fellow guard captain, though there was a definite undercurrent of agreement that he dared not voice. This was presumably his sister-in-law, after all.

Luna nodded towards the other alicorn. "Far be it from me to intrude on your domain."

The enigmatic grin widened. "Thank you, Aunt Luna." She shifted to the rest of the room, shooting a wink at Guarding Dark. "My full title is Princess Mi Illusione Prudenza, but I'd much rather be known as Prudence. I am the director of the Equestrian Time-Space Administration Bureau. Like my sisters, I am technically a princess in the sense that I am an avatar of a celestial body, but I hardly expect to be treated as such."

"Sisters?" Shining Armor blurted nervously. "Plural?"

A trace of melancholy slipped into Prudence's smile. "I'm sorry I missed the wedding, but we really had our hooves full with the temporal issues it caused. History wanted the changeling invasion to be thwarted only at the very last second."

Dashing Rogue scoffed at this. "How very... storybook."

Luna nodded. "Quite. But now we have a new foe with which to concern ourselves." Her expression grew as dark as a moonless night. "One that turns pony against pony rather than dirty its own hooves."

Outrage and sorrow warred on Shining Armor's face. "Twilight..."

Rogue offered him a pat on the back. "I know. I can't believe it either."

"Not true," muttered Cloaked Dagger. "Sparkle number two on your list of suspicious elements among Elements. Too smart for own good, anypony else's."

The pegasus gave her an agonized look. "Not now, Seedy."

"Who's number one?" asked Guarding Dark, privately pleased that he wasn't the only one with such a list.

"Poseysfilly," answered Dagger. "Powder keg waiting for spark. Comes with own army."

"If we could move away from my wholly justified suspicion," huffed Rogue, "Sparkle's rather dramatic assault this afternoon has been far from the only recent attack on Equestrian soil." He unrolled a map onto the table, pointing with a wing as he rattled off incursion reports. "Las Pegasus. Fillydelphia. Maneitoba. Tallahorsey. All four corners of the country, and every time it's the same thing, a snatch-and-grab by a motile silversmithing accident."

Dark quirked an eyebrow. "What's getting snatched?"

"Sometimes it's supplies, mostly stone and sand. But usually? Ponies."

Luna's eyes flared like twin novae. "These fiends have been abducting Our ponies!?" Her mane began to twist and writhe. She pointed a silver-shod hoof at Rogue. "Why were We not informed of this earlier, spy?"

The stallion decided it was best not to insist on his preferred title of "intelligence agent." "We confirmed the reports only hours ago, Your Highness. Any earlier, and we'd only have rumors and thirdhoof hearsay."

Shining Armor, rather more experienced in the fine art of soothing indignant alicorns, chimed in. "Then there's the matter of Ponyville."

Luna's eyes lost their refulgence, but her mane still roiled. "What of it?"

"Before my sister went... rogue, she sent news of a significant armed force that marched on the town before the Bearers repulsed it. I sent reconnaissance pegasi to investigate." He shuddered. "Only one came back, half-dead and raving. The force seems to be biding its time, building strength until it can just overwhelm them."

Guarding Dark scowled. "How? Where are they getting their reinforcements?"

Shining Armor glared at the batpony. "I did mention she was grievously injured and nearly incoherent, didn't I?"

Prudence cut in before the Night Guard captain could retort. "I believe I can answer that question. The Office of Interplanar Transit monitors all transdimensional flux; if it comes in or out of the universe, we know about it."

"I don't suppose you could stop it, then?" asked Dark.

The alicorn gave a nervous chuckle. "We know about it. I didn't say we could do anything about it." Her horn lit up with cerulean magic. Several spots on the map of Equestria glowed with the same hue. "These are the points of intrusion for the past week."

Dashing Rogue's practiced eye soon spotted a pattern. "Every city that's been hit."

Shining Armor was more concerned with a concentration in the center. "Ponyville's practically surrounded."

"At least the idiots who tried to barge their way in through the Everfree are taken care of," noted Guarding Dark.

Prudence shook her head. "From what I've heard, they're recruiting."

A pall of silence fell over the table. Luna broke it. "The enemy clearly knows more about us than we them. They have rendered our greatest defense inoperable and turned the mightiest mortal mage since Star Swirl himself to their cause." She gave a grim grin of determination. "However, I see a ray of hope. They focus on Equestria and not on the wider world."

Prudence cleared her throat. "Um, actually, those reports we're getting from the Drakenridge suggest..." She trailed off, wilting under her aunt's glare.

"The invaders believe they can divide and conquer," continued Luna. "If they dare not face the world, then we shall bring the world to face them."

Dashing Rogue stared at her incredulously. "Permission to speak freely, Your Highness?"

"Of course."

"You'll doom us all if you do this. You might as well send envoys saying 'We're weak and vulnerable, please come invade.'"

Luna nodded, considering this. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Dashing."

"It's not a feeling, Princess, it's—"

"Especially since my sister and I sent missives at sunset."

The council silently digested this for a moment. This time, Guarding Dark broke the silence with a mirthless laugh. "Well, it could be worse."

"How?" Rogue managed to stuff a truly impressive amount of scorn into that single syllable.

"Every Bearer could be compromised."

Prudence and Cloaked Dagger shared a worried glance. Neither knew anything to suggest such a horrible scenario, but both thought they heard soft laughter at its suggestion.

Azax-Azog, the Demon Thane, soared beneath the surface of New Phyrexia. He usually stayed on the surface laying siege to what was rightfully his territory along the Blackcleave Cliffs, not least because of the horrid flight conditions down here. Between the ubiquitous mycosynth pillars and Kraynox's attempts to further subdivide the space, it was simply not meant for a flier of his dread magnificence and fell magnitude. Still, the regions near the Furnace offered fine updrafts, all the more reason to make them his. More importantly, some of his future subjects lived here.

Azax-Azog knew that the only true power was fear. It destroyed the strong from within, spurred the weak from without, governed every aspect of the glorious new world that Mirrodin had become. His road to the title of Father of Machines was paved with the nightmares of friend and foe alike, and he personally saw to it that none of the plane's other horrors replaced him in their nightly torments.

At the moment, he was terrorizing a small group of drones, still recognizably human. They were the optimal targets for his efforts. He'd kill one or two and the rest would scurry into their boltholes and warn other. Tales of the Demon Thane would spread and fear of him would be kept fresh. All according to plan.

"When I was a little filly and the sun was going do~own..."

The voice gave Azax-Azog a moment's pause before he dismissed it. The acoustics of the area made it impossible to tell where it had come from. Besides, he had more pressing matters, like choosing which drones to spare.

"The darkness and the shadows, they would always make me fro~own."

The thane sneered. Once he was done here, he'd definitely silence whatever was making that racket. For now, he swooped, scythe ready...

"I'd hide beneath my pillow from what I thought I saw..."

...And beheld an impossibility.

"But Granny Pie said that wasn't the way to deal with fears at all." A tiny horse stood among the half-dead husks Azax-Azog had been pursuing, belting out its song with surreal sincerity. The drones seemed as confused as the demon.

The creature faced the thane, grinned, and continued, "She said, 'Pinkie, you've gotta stand up tall. Learn to face your fears. You'll see that they can't hurt you. Just laugh to make them disappear.'"

With an earsplitting bellow, he charged the impertinent nuisance, eager to disprove her blasphemy.

She shut her eyes, seeming to welcome her fate. Then she spoke her last words. "Ha. Ha. Ha."

Each laugh was like a sledgehammer blow. Azax-Azog doubled over, scythe clattering to the ground as he clutched his stomach. The drones gasped, amazed.

"So... Giggle at the ghosty!"

A few hesitant wheezes.

"Guffaw at the grossly!"

More, louder wheezing.

"Crack up at the creepy!"

Snickering. Snickering.

"Whoop it up with the weepy!"

Phlegm-choked cackles.

"Chortle at the kooky!"

It was insufferable.

"Snortle at the spooky!" The singer approached the demon. "And tell that big dumb scary face to take a hike and leave you alone and if he thinks he can scare you then he's got another thing coming and the very idea of such a thing just makes you wanna..." She dissolved into a giggle fit, culminating in a snort that was undignified for everyone involved. "La~augh!"

The drones laughed louder, longer, and more sincerely than they ever had, pre- or post-phyresis. Azax-Azog, meanwhile, grabbed at the beast who dared to undermine his plans. He'd have to kill them all before news of this got out.

The horse proved slippery, weaving in and out of his clutches with insulting ease. "It's better to be loved than feared, Zoggy," she chided.

He was far too furious to wonder how she knew his name. "Be silent and die!"

She paused to consider this for a moment, moving only to duck under another attempted decapitation before coming to a decision. "No thanks." Her grin grew to demonic proportions and malignancy. "Of course, they say it's best to be both loved and feared..." The line where her teeth met began to develop a certain zigzag quality.

Lead plating had grown over the eyes of the drones, forcing them to rely on more esoteric senses. Still, all of them covered the former sites of their eye sockets. Unfortunately, that left them without hands to cover their ears.

Pinkie trotted back to them, her smile the very picture of innocence as long as one ignored the stains around the mouth and the lingering fanglike properties of the teeth. "So, like I was saying: Hi! I'm Pinkie Pie. Take me to your thane, please."

The compleated humans paused just long enough to hear the echoes of both Azax-Azog's final scream and the high-pitched cry of "Carpe jugulum!" A tall male quickly said, "This way," and began walking. The others followed, the distinct sound of four gunmetal-shod hooves mixing with the usual shuffle of feet.

Once introductions were out of the way, Gitaxias said, "Trial, take Ms. Sparkle to her quarters. I wish to speak with Ms. Hobbitses alone."

The stallion bowed. "Of course. This way, Twilight."

As the other ponies left the room, Trixie felt any self-confidence she had left going with them. What in, no, out of Equestria was this monster going to do to her?

For a brief time, the monster simply looked at her and pursed his fingers. Finally, he asked, "Do you trust me?"

Lies came more easily to Trixie than the truth sometimes. Right now, she was quite grateful for that. "I see no reason why not to."

Gitaxias had no eyes, but the mare got the distinct impression that he was directing a flat stare at her. "Given the nature of your plane's bovine population, this idiom may not translate well, but do not try to bullshit a bullshitter, Ms. Hobbitses."

"I... I think I get the gist of it," Trixie answered nervously.

Jin nodded. "Good. Then I will ask again, as one scoundrel to another: Do you trust me?"

Part of the unicorn balked at being likened to the beast before her, but she let it slide. What else could she do? "Not in the least."

This got a brief chuckle. "Good. I have given you no reason to." He moved closer to Trixie, provoking a few nervous steps back on her part. "I was, however, being honest when I said you might prove even more useful than Ms. Sparkle."

This stopped Trixie's cautious retreat. "How so?"

Jin's gaze, for lack of a better word, drifted to a point near the ceiling. "Do you trust Ms. Sparkle?"

Trixie glowered. "I asked you a question."

"Indeed you did. I chose not to answer it." The praetor turned back to the pony. "Are you going to do something about it?"

After a moment, Trixie wilted. "I trust her as a friend. I don't trust her in regards to herself."

Jin nodded. "And why is that?"

"Give her arcane knowledge to study and make sure she doesn't have enough time to really think about what she's doing, and she'll be a prisoner to her own curiosity."

The praetor nodded. "My analysis largely agrees with that. Certainly a good starting point. We'll see what can be done about those pesky ethics and morals soon enough."

"She's a hero," said Trixie. "She's saved the world twice. You really think you can twist somepony like that into some inequine madpony with no regard for life?"

"I not only think it, Ms. Hobbitses, I know it. From experience. Already the glistening oil eats at her obsolete scruples and ludicrous self-restrictions. Give it time, and you will see."

"You're a monster." Trixie knew it, of course, but to have it so carelessly thrown in her face...

"By your current standards, yes." Gitaxias drew close with astonishing speed. Trixie tried to flinch back, only to find her head clutched in one of his hands with just enough pressure to indicate that, yes, those were claws, and they could be drawing blood whenever the praetor wanted. "By our standards, however," he continued in the same casual tone, "you are worse than a monster. You are superfluous."

Trixie tried to speak while moving her jaw as little as possible. "Whuh duh yuh mean?"

Gitaxias came within an inch of her muzzle. His breath smelled of solder and hot grease. "There is no need for entertainment in Phyrexia, Ms. Hobbitses. Those of us who still possess the capacity for boredom find enjoyment in our work. Your prestidigitation and wonderworking are pointless wastes of mana here, and there is no room in this world for the pointless or the wasteful. Each creature has a purpose and is to fulfill that purpose to the best of its ability. Indeed, it is designed to do so.

"Thus, you find yourself with a choice. You must either define for yourself a new function, or I will give you one. I have promised Ms. Sparkle that I will preserve your body, but I said nothing about your mind. If you cannot decide upon a new purpose, I will purge you from that lump of fatty tissue in your skull and replace you with one." He released her and moved away with that same preternatural speed. By the time Trixie stood back up, he was facing the opposite wall, hand crossed behind his back. "So, any ideas?"

Trixie's brain seized up, locked into place by fright and mood whiplash. Her tongue, however, trained by countless hecklers, sprang into action. "Twilight's assistant. Her right-hoof pony. I don't care what you say, if I think you're a monster, she'll stage a one-mare crusade against you once she realizes just how horrible you really are. I can be a go-between, an insulator. That way we both stay useful to you."

"Hmm..." Jin thought about this for a bit, muttering under his breath. As Trixie was deciding whether she should try to make a break for it, he nodded to himself. "Yes, that will work. It avoids a fair amount of the logistical issues of incorporating Ms. Sparkle into the Progress Engine, lowers the number of independent minds that will need to be assembled, downgrades the volatility of potential culture clashes... Yes, more than acceptable."

He turned, his smile again more than a matter of liplessness. "Well thought, Ms. Hobbitses, and under great duress. I am certain that you and Ms. Sparkle will both be invaluable additions to Phyrexia." He raised a hand and made a complicated gesture, blue sparks trailing from his fingers. The door-valve to the chamber dilated, revealing a hulking brute of muscle and metal, swathed in what appeared to be burlap. "The chattel drone will guide you to Ms. Sparkle's quarters. You will cohabitate until your physiological needs for sleep have been removed. Good day, Ms. Hobbitses."

Trixie offered the drone a nervous smile. "Um, hi."

It made a low, rumbling sound somewhere between a growl and a groan.

"The drone is barely sapient," noted Gitaxias. "I would not recommend trying to make friends with it. It will probably kill you to make the noise stop."

Trixie swallowed nervously. "R-right."

The praetor's attention seemed wholly devoted to whatever was on the slab he'd been working on. He held up a hand. The  joints of each finger elongated with a series of sounds like suction cups getting pulled off of a wall. "Don't let me detain you."

"Of course," the mare blurted.

She followed the drone in careful silence, trying to move as quietly as she could, in case even her hoofsteps set it off. When they reached their destination, she rushed inside the room with embarrassing haste.

Twilight looked up from the scroll she was reading. Unsurprisingly, it was a single sheet of flexible metal, runes scored into its surface. "Trixie! There you are! What did you and the praetor talk about?"

The blue mare considered a number of responses before deciding to keep things to a minimum. "I'm going to be your assistant."

Twilight seemed confused at this. "But Spike's my..." She gasped. "Oh my gosh, Spike! I left him in Canterlot!"

"He's a dragon, Twilight," said Trixie, "I'm sure he can take care of himself."

"But..."

"So, what were you reading?"

Twilight perked up. "Oh, it's a fascinating dissertation on the unusual properties of..."

As the words washed over Trixie, she tried to reassure herself that it was necessary. After all, she thought, keeping Twilight happy and productive was her job now. Letting Twilight get distracted over the hatchling wouldn't be doing her job, and not doing her job resulted in a magical lobotomy. She noticed a lull in the didactic deluge, nodded, and said, "That does sound fascinating."

"I know, right? You know, I've always held that sleep was really one of the worst unrecognized evils plaguing Equestria. I mean, if it weren't for sleep, ponies could've enjoyed Princess Luna's night as much as Princess Celestia's day and she never would've been twisted by jealousy. Frankly, I can't wait until I don't need to sleep anymore. Then maybe I can do something about the whole 'eating' thing."

On second thought, decided Trixie, making sure the two of us stay equine is just as good. "Say, Twilight?"

"Yes, Trixie?"

"Hypothetically speaking, if somepony were to try to erase somepony else's consciousness, how would you go about preventing that?"

Luna trudged through the halls of Castle Canterlot, head low. She'd been awakened early in light of Celestia's pupation, and rousing the long-slumbering Equestrian military was a truly exhausting endeavor. Now, as the moon sank into the west, she could transfer the burden back to her sister and get some well deserved rest.

The door to Celestia's chambers came into sight. She straightened up and nodded to the guards on either side of the door, among the few gold-clad pegasi on duty at this late hour. "Good morrow, gentlestallions."

"Your Highness," they answered, their clipped voices in perfect unison.

Luna continued towards the door, only to find a twin layer of feathers suddenly blocking her way. "Morningtide approaches, good ponies," she said with a scowl, far too tired to bother with modern diction. "Lest thou wouldst explain unto the masses why the sunrise tarries, bar not Our progress."

"Standing orders, Your Highness," explained the one on her left. "Nopony is to enter Princess Celestia's chambers until she says otherwise."

Luna snorted in frustration. "And if Our Sister has been accosted in the manner of this afternoon since issuing that fool edict, wouldst thou stand there for eternity, denying all who might aid Her?"

"Ours is not to wonder why, Your Highness," said the one on her right.

Luna rolled her eyes. Celestia always did like them unswervingly loyal. Give her somepony able to think for himself any night. "Thy devotion to thy duty does thee a great service, brave warriors," she said. Then she dissolved into scintillating stardust and slipped in through the crack between the doors, the guards' wings proving no more an impediment to her than an open gate.

When the guards shoved open the doors, the younger princess was waiting for them, smiling. She noted, "Thy critical thinking skills, on the other hoof, could use work. Consider where thou art standing."

Virtually in sync, expressions of confusion, realization, and horror flickered across the stallions' muzzles.

Luna nodded, taking perhaps a bit more pleasure in this than was merited. "Aye, thy Princess's chambers. What would She say, We wonder, were She to learn of this most heinous intrusion?"

"W-we'll just leave you to your business, Your Highness," said one of the guards.

She smiled. "See that thou dost, and do remember to do so in the future." She shook her head as the doors closed again. It wasn't that she liked tormenting the foals. Sometimes, it was simply prudent to remind them of precisely who and what they were dealing with.

Celestia's orders notwithstanding, the older alicorn didn't appear to be in the room. Luna nodded. She hadn't expected her to be. She moved to one specific door, where, sure enough, her sister's presence stood out like the noonday sun to her mystic senses. Luna pushed the door open

Celestia's bathroom was all in white and gold. Tiles shined and fixtures gleamed, lovingly maintained by the erstwhile palace staff. Clouds of steam were contributing to the color scheme as well, almost substantial enough to support a pegasus. The great bathtub was a gently steaming cauldron of honey-colored suds.

Luna couldn't help but note that despite her occult senses, the fixture seemed devoid of sun princesses. "Tia?" she called from the doorway. More than anywhere, this was her sister's private desmense, a place where the moon diety dared not tread without permission. Also, that much humidity would play merry havoc with her mane.

Something broke the bubbly surface of the water, emerging like the steed of Cthulhu or a very hygenic kelpie. Celestia blinked a few times to clear her vision before facing her sister and smiling. "Everything alright, Luna?"

"Dawn approaches, sister." Curiosity nagged at the younger alicorn until she asked, "Hast thou been soaking all through my night?" Try as she might, she couldn't keep her voice clear of reproach.

"Oh, come on, Lulu," chastised Celestia. "I know it's late for you, but nopony's going to take you seriously if you keep using language a thousand years out of date."

With a sigh and a pause to formulate the sentence, Luna replied, "You still haven't answered my question."

"Well, if it's almost dawn, then I'd say about ten, eleven hours."

"How art thou feeling?"

Celestia sighed contentedly. "I think I'm finally starting to feel clean again. Not needing to breathe was a big help." She glanced beneath the bubbles. "Can't say I envy Scrub Brush when she has to clean this old thing."

Luna shook her head. "Thou knowes— You know what I mean. Her parents still haven't been told."

Celestia shot upright, bathwater splashing onto the tiles. "What!? Why not?"

Her sister backed away a step. "W-wouldst thou not wish to tell them thyself?" She cleared her throat and shifted mental gears back to modern vernacular. "I mean, personal student, I thought you'd want—"

"I wanted them to hear what has become of their daughter through something other than the Canterlot rumor mill!"

It wasn't right, thought Luna, that Celestia should still be so intimidating even with her mane limp and soap suds on her flanks. "I thought you liked the rumor mill."

Gouts of steam and heat distortion rippled off of the elder alicorn as she struggled with her temper. "I like using the town gossips to disseminate equinizing details about me amongst the public. I don't like them telling my personal student's parents that their daughter has become a twisted puppet of fell magics!" Celestia's mane snapped back into its usual billowing state with a sound like a cracking whip.

Luna took a few more steps back, mostly because the rise in humidity was forming frost atop her own cosmic tresses. That was her story and she was sticking to it. "I also took the liberty of convening a war council while you were... indisposed."

Celestia nodded, levitating a towel to attend to what her flare-up hadn't taken care of. "Good. You were always better at this sort of thing."

"Well, you have a millennium more of military experience," Luna demurred.

This got a shake of the head. "Equestria hasn't known a major conflict in centuries, Luna. Pastry, not steel, is the weapon of choice these days. Our ponies need a commander whose memory of the old ways is still fresh."

"I still want you by my side on this, Tia. If I do much more on my own, ponies are going to start whispering about the second coming of Nightmare Moon."

"But you are Nightmare Moon," Celestia noted as she hung the towel.

"Yes, but every time I try to explain that, all I get are glazed looks and blank incomprehension."

"Because you inflict a full dissertation on sympathetic lunar psychoduality on the poor, unsuspecting ponies."

"They deserve to understand the full truth!" Luna insisted.

Celestia smiled as she stepped out of the bathroom. "You're asking them to fly before they can walk, Lulu. If you want help making it accessible to everypony, then ask..." She trailed off, her smile growing strained. "...Twilight."

"And so we come full circle." Luna sighed. "If you wish, I can forego sleep for the day."

"No, go to bed." Celestia levitated a spare set of her regalia out of her closet, the previous accoutrements having been hopelessly marred by slime. "We'll both need to be in peak condition in the coming days."

In almost every universe that contains them, dragons can produce viable offspring with vitually every other animal species, some plants and fungi, and even certain life forms that can only be described as "none of the above." Most naturalists consider this facility a side effect of the dragon's high innate magic. Few consider that it might have arisen as a desirable trait. After all, when considering at the staggering morphological diversity of most dragon species, impregnating a gelatinous cube seems downright simple in comparison.

One rather extreme example of this diversity sauntered into the early morning light, her eight squat legs moving at a frantic pace. Crackle was a happy dragon. She had everything she could want. Oh, sure, other dragons mocked her for her strange appearance and slow thoughts, but that didn't matter. She liked being unique, and she knew she was no idiot. If anything, she was a bit too smart, often getting lost in the cavernous expanses of her own mind while her body just kind of sat there and drooled a little.

Still, if other dragons wanted nothing to do with Crackle, that was just fine with her. Dragons were solitary creatures, barring migrations, so it wasn't like she was missing out on an eventful social life. Whatever loneliness she might have felt was more than compensated for by the nature of her territory.

Ah, yes. Crackle's territory. For anything else, it was a blasted waste, as incapable of supporting life as the surface of the sun. For a dragon, it was Candy Land. Specifically, the Licorice Kingdom. Crackle liked licorice.

The young dragon had laired on the obsidian-coated slopes of a volcano that had gone dormant scant years ago. The volcanic glass was a filling, nutritious food and, as previously noted, even tasted good. Furthermore, it was highly reflective, which was always a plus. Vanity was as much a part of the draconic psyche as greed, though not as anabolic.

As Crackle sauntered past her favorite pillar, the one that offered the best reflection on the volcano, her tail swung back and forth, expressing her good mood. Its reflection swung with it, smacking into, of all things, a disco ball. The mirrored sphere was nowhere to be seen on the slope, but the dragon's tail hit it all the same, as the sudden flash of azure light attested.

Crackle came to a halt physically and mentally, interrupting a rather interesting dissertation on the nature of truth. She turned and considered her tail. A shiny, silvery band wrapped around the appendage, ornamented with the blackest piece of obsidian the dragon had ever seen, carved into a hexagonal shape like the gems embedded in her hide.

Crackle thought for some time about this. Her eyes blinked, out of sync with one another. Finally, with great solemnity, she pronounced, "Gronk."

"Yes, I quite agree."

"Gronk?" Crackle turned back. The sound seemed to have come from the mirror pillar, but surely that wasn't possible, was it?

"Hello, my dear." The dragon blinked and squinted. There was something there beside her reflection. Something serpentine, yet oddly misshapen. "Hang on, let me see if we can't get some better reception." There was a sound of talons snapping, and the smoky glass cleared up, revealing a bizarre medley of disparate parts standing next to her.

Crackle looked to her side. Empty space. She looked back at the mirror. The strange creature, looking increasingly amused. Another asynchronous blink. "Gronk?"

"Ah, of course, where are my manners?" The chimera grinned and bowed. "I am Discord, spirit of chaos and disharmony, at your service were it not for my being temporarily indisposed in the collective subconscious. That fetching bauble you've acquired is one of my Elements, similar to those of Harmony. Perhaps you've heard of them?"

Crackle's eyes unfocused and drifted as she considered this, making her look even more like an overgrown mutant chameleon. Finally, she responded, "Groooonk."

Discord shrugged. "Hmm. Well, I suppose news travels slow in the sticks. No offense, mind you. You've got a lovely place here. I can always appreciate a nice stretch of desolation."

Crackle narrowed her gaze and blew some smoke out her snout. She wasn't stupid, after all, and even one as solitary as she could tell when she was being buttered up.

The draconequus simply smiled at this. "All right, you prefer the direct method. I can respect that. To business, then. My original choice for Bearer of Vanity was snapped up by the other team before I could get to him. A dragon was still the best choice, so I just sat back and waited to see which one of you went for the shiny in the mirror first. I'm not being disingenuous when I say I'm glad it was you."

Crackle tilted her head. There was perhaps a trace of sincerity in the mad medley's words. "Gronk?"

"Oh my, yes. I mean, look at you!" Discord did so appreciatively, as if a connoisseur of fine art. "Your wings, your legs, your..." He paused and prodded one of the growths protruding from Crackle's body. She felt a faint pressure at the point of contact. "Er, whatever these are. The point is, I couldn't come up with something more wonderfully chaotic than you if I tried!"

The dragon blushed demurely. "Gronk," she said shyly, waving a foreleg.

"No, really! But now I need your help."

Crackle brought herself up to attention. Even if this apparition was blowing smoke up her tail, he had still given her a lovely tailband. Surely that had to count for something.

"I need you to go to Equestria, where my other Elements will be gathering. You all need to be there for this to work."

The dragon gave a smart nod and marched off purposefully. Less than a minute later, she returned, looking sheepish. "Gronk?"

Discord sighed and pointed. "Equestria would be that way." He perked up as a thought occured to him. "Oh, and the other Bearers probably won't be able to read your thoughts. Better give you some means of speech." He snapped again.

The Element of Vanity flared for a moment, but nothing else seemed to happen. Crackle examined the tailband. "What did you do?" She flinched back. "Whoa, what the—!"

"Thought-to-sound conversion," Discord explained off-handedly, "the better for all to admire your wit and wisdom. Good luck, Crackle. We're all going to need it." With another flash of light, he was gone.

The dragon barely heard him, too focused on her newfound power of speech. "Testing. Testing. She sells seashells by the seashore. Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled pumice." It was a nice voice, Crackle supposed. Certainly less harsh than any other dragon's she'd heard. And the lack of proper vocal cords always had been one of her few regrets about her body...

With a smile on her face, Crackle turned and began climbing the mountain. She well and truly owed Discord for this, and a dragon always repaid her debts. Preferably before they could collect significant interest.

Once she reached the peak, she looked down into the caldera. The volcano might not have erupted recently, but the magma was still fluid. Well, it was lava where it met the air, but that wasn't the point. The point was that the pit threw off heat like a chimney, and that meant an incredible thermal.

Crackle flapped her wings a few times. The tiny things were one of her other regrettable features. Oh, she could stay aloft, magic took care of that. It was getting enough lift that was the problem. That was what the thermal was for.

With a simultaneous "Grooonk!" and "Yahooo!", Crackle dived into the volcano. A moment later, she rose back out, circling in the hot air column as she sought every foot of altitude she could get out of her geothermal launching pad. When she could rise no more, she oriented herself by spotting her lair, smack in the center of the obsidian scree.

Nodding to herself, the dragon leaned into a turn until she face the right way. Furiously beating her wings, she made for the land of the ponies.

Orchestral Assassin 1WB
Creature — Pony Assassin
T: Destroy target creature that's attacking you or a planeswalker you control.
"My jobs aren't so different. In each I give a performance that few notice but that nearly all appreciate."
1/1

Usurp 3BB
Sorcery
Destroy target creature. Attach all Equipment attached to that creature to another target creature. (Control of the Equipment doesn't change.)
Assassination attempts were frequent but rarely successful among the Steel Thanes. Then Pinkie Pie showed up.

*Note: In wing anatomy, the tip of the wing is called the thumb, a term with obviously anthropocentric etymology. As such, equine anatomy terms were applied instead.