//------------------------------// // (Past Chapter 21): The Cold Heart of Hate: Part 2 // Story: The Unique Properties of Dark Magic // by Shadestyle //------------------------------// ...My second diplomatic meeting didn't. "Dr. Real, are my combat limbs ready?" I ask, walking calmly into Wacky Workbench's deepest depths, towards the "Low Danger Peaceful Sector". A complete misnomer, considering it houses the Shadow Realm's most lethal and powerful weapons. Well, a tenth of them. The rest are stored in various caches in some aerial pocket spaces. He nods nervously. "I must warn you, sir, even with the sub-dermal bracing, Migrant iron still is not the most durable substance. You'll almost certainly suffer losses to your speed if you activate the extra functions, simply due to how much extra metal is needed to ensure your safety." I summon up a holographic screen that reads out various stats. The stats I see are ones that certainly please me. "Perfect. The loss in speed is still within the parameters I predicted. Did the scouts give you the info you needed on adult dragons?" Doctor Real nods, bringing up a recording of the dragon delegates swooping around the Shadow Realm, a pissed expression on their faces as they scan the countryside. I can't help but wonder if they're just that stubborn or stupid, seemingly waiting for me to just come out and face them. Or maybe they know better than to try to come into the tunnels? I shake the thoughts out of my head. "Alright, let's get me suited up." Reaching inside a hole in the vault door's control panel with one of my arms, I snap my finger to create a pilot light of Dragonfire in my hand. This prompts the mechanical arms inside to carefully unsocket it from it's metal housing, removing it from me and scanning it as identification. Anyone else attempting such would have something very unfortunate happen to them, right before the door failed to open due to the several checks which only I qualify to pass through. However, I do qualify, and the door does allow me to pass, a terminal on the other side of the door sliding a tray out with my arm in it, which some additional golem arms lift up and socket back onto me. I sigh happily with a low persistent chuckle, looking at the clean shining halls filled with drawers of deadly forbidden materials and lined wall to wall with mechanisms whose purposes could only be guessed at. Walking to the very very back, a massive crate is dragged around on crystalline rails, before being dropped in front of me, hissing purely cosmetic steam everywhere as it opens. When I see the pony-shaped framework of Migrant Iron, with six purple-scaled limbs attached to it, my chuckling turns to laughter. Sweet magical science, I love you so. Queen Cold's youngest daughter Nippy shudders as if she can feel how cold she is when her magical Cold Stare sees Lord Weiss Noir's aura in the distance. She really wishes she didn't have to spy on him, but mother said it was really important that the Windigo know where he is and what he's doing at all times. A normal pony is like a flame, growing and shrinking as they become angry or pleased, and Windigo feed on that flame, filling themselves with the warmth that sustains their bodily functions. Weiss, however, is more like a decaying piece of fissile material, quiet and silent, unless you have the equipment to detect the wild trails of radioactive particles being fired from them every so often. This makes it especially disturbing when, in addition to the spray of stinging hate that ever so briefly escapes the Sage, he is suddenly pleased by something, as if in addition to firing little pellets of potato fast enough to sting, the person shooting it at you begins to stink of rot and poison. She takes a deep breath that does nothing for her, physically, before sinking deeper into the wall, just to make sure nobody sees her spying. Unfortunately, she's just going to have to pony up and deal with watching this odious individual, until Mother can train more Windigo to pick up the slack of spying. 'This sort of subterfuge is so annoying' Nippy thinks to herself. It's unnatural for a Windigo to sneak around, and use subtlety like this. Almost insulting, even! As though comparing them to some sort of fairytale ghosts, hiding in the walls and watching in complete silence as they dully haunt their hosts. Windigo are supposed to be unstoppable, and now Queen Cold is so obsessed with this dumb snack bar of a country that she's got everygo going against their nature! Nippy's stomach turns when Weiss's simple happiness intensifies in the distant zone she's spotted him in. What could possibly make a pony that steeped in dark magic as giddy as they seem to be? I hop from hoof to hoof giggling as my fists blur out, the Royal-cloth infused hide and Adamantium scales easily blocking the damage from punching the solid cylinder of steel, which had been produced specially as a punching bag. It's not like we had any better uses for steel. "This is the greatest high!" I shout, cocking back a fist as three of my arms claw into the floor violently to hold me in place when I punch the steel target hard enough to send it skidding. Doctor Real coughs, from behind the solid sapphire protecting him from any rubble that might have ended up flying, before speaking over the intercom. "That's good, Weiss. Do you believe we should test the extra functions, now?" I carefully consider this, before answering in the negative. "Fraid' not, doc. I feel spied on, so I'll test that in a more public setting, just to leave nothing to the imagination for our new guests." The sealed blast doors slide open, allowing me to exit the danger room and discuss the matter further, face to face with the good doctor. "I'm going to be doing the majority of testing for these new limbs on the battlefield, the crucible of war," I explain, making Doctor Real frown. Thankfully, he seems to understand. This isn't a case of me relying on something untested, but rather, me having a number of options in battle, all of which save this one have been proven reliable. "If you are certain, sir. Might I recommend you have backup, at the very least?" he says with some worry that makes me sigh. "Very well, doctor. I'll have Captain Iron Diamond on double-duty for a few weeks until I break these new limbs in. I'm sure he'll appreciate the opportunity to practice with his own prosthesis, with all the weapons I've packed on board that puppy." "I'm certain, sir," Doctor Real agrees as we part ways at Wacky Workbench, and I take the opportunity to ride the long way to Hidden Palace Zone, the minecart ride in total darkness giving me the opportunity to do some much-needed thinking. Can I trust the Windigo? Of course not. But can I trust them to act sensibly, given the facts surrounding the current circumstances? I can only hope as much. By all logical standards, the sound option for them would be to play nice, considering just how flexible the Shadow Realm's laws are, and just how much they stand to gain with an alliance. But there exist no logical creatures in this world, and I have to operate with the assumption that they'll find a bone to pick with me sooner or later. Cool Spot pouts violently as he lays down on the sheet of armor starting at the holographic screen in front of him, where his new friends are all having fun playing some kind of game where they shoot at each other in their dreams. Oil Slick, who is busy shuffling his cards, spares a glance to the plucky poltergeist. "Why don't you just take a nap? They've got three-player games on there." Spot moans, shaking their head. "Windigo don't sleep. Ma always says that if we could, we prob'ly wouldn't be Windigo no more." As Priss baits Eclipse into running straight into another rocket, the filly jerks awake with a frustrated shout. "Dang it Priss! That's cheating!" Eclipse shouts at Priss, who simply giggles in her sleep, hugging her pillow tight, while her on-screen avatar smirks directly at them, cutting some sort of fancy jig as she taunts. "Wish there was some way I could play." Cool Spot mumbles, burying their face in the fluffy pile of enchanted pillows keeping them from just phasing through. Eclipse takes this request very seriously, thinking hard about how a sleepless species could access a system designed exclusively to process the energies of the dreaming mind. "I might have an idea," Eclipse says as Priss rubs the sleep out of her eyes and rolls into a more comfortable laying position. Turning to the friendly phantasm, Eclipse starts with the most obvious question. "Do you know where we could find out some more about Windegos, Cool Spot?" Cool spot scratches his chin with a hoof, floating up into the air ponderously. "I mean, we could talk to Ma, she knows everything there is to know about us. Uhh, I don't know if she'll like you girls though." He waves his hoof. "Nah, what am I thinking, Ma's the best! She can help!" Iron Diamond's foreleg unfolds it's claws. He stares at the blunted red lengths with an even, analytical stare. "The next version," Iron decides, "Needs far fewer fingers." Though he's grown used to the little appendages as a replacement for his hoof's natural grabbing ability, it's still excessively fragile-looking for Iron's tastes. Why have five little twigs, instead of a much simpler two? Folding the claws back into a hoof, Iron levels the mechanical foreleg at a series of targets, activating the portal in it's frog and allowing him to instantly pierce the steel target four times in quick succession with a series of solid crystal bolts, each one the size of a spear. Though his aim is improving, Iron scowls at how long it took him to aim perfectly. With only eighty spears in storage, his aim is crucial, Iron feels. Especially if he's going to be fighting a giant flaming dragon of all things. He'll just have to save the spear launcher for either an opener or an emergency, he supposes. "Why not have the speargun on your shoulder instead?" Captain Helmsplitter says, having worked up a sweat in his own booth from swinging around his axe. "Harder to aim. It might be easier to line it up, but I'd have to pivot my whole body just to point at something. I'll just have to get used to it," Iron claims, flicking his leg out and firing a blind shot to the side, where it thumps into the target, but just barely, stabbing into the side of it, and sending it spinning. "I see what you mean. You could do some damage with that thing," Helmsplitter says, hefting the axe over his back, where it clicks, attaching to his armor. "I would hope it does, Splithead," Iron says with a smirk as they exit the training hall, and go their respective ways. Queen Cold confronts me before I can go to confront the draconic delegation on our doorstep. "What are you planning, Weiss? You know they will attack you, yes?" "Well, my plan is to negotiate with them, and reach a mutual agreement," I respond, walking past her with confidence. She floats after me, large enough that her body actually scrapes the edges of the tunnels, from the sheer volume that she takes up normally. "Dragons only respect one thing in a negotiation, Weiss Noir, and that one thing is strength." I give her a knowing look. "Ahh. So you meant 'negotiate' in the sense that you negotiated with me and mine..." she says, scowling lightly. I cough. "Well, if my theories are correct, I need merely to brutalize these five dragons, and then call out the Dragon Lord themselves and-" She interrupts me. "You're joking, yes?" I smile, quickly growing sick of her needling my methods. "I suppose I am, your majesty. After all, there is no way I could defeat the king of the dragons like this." I gesture, holding out my base-state combat limbs. "You're really going to do this? Alone?" she demands. "Of course not! I'll be taking Iron Diamond along with me. Speaking of whom." Iron Diamond joins this little entourage of two, immediately opening his mouth and shattering my dreams. "Neither of us are going to fight them unless they attack us first, Weiss. That's an order," he states plainly, with no room to argue. I'm tempted to pull rank on him, but considering the severity of his expression, I decide to try it his way. "Fine, but when they try to mush us like a banana, I'm going to send them home twisted into a pretzel for effect," I expand on his proposition. Iron's extremely faint smile sends chills down my spine as we exit the Shadow Realm tunnels and make our way out onto the ashen plains of foil grass and obsidian trees. "I believe that to be the correct course of action, yes." "This is so dumb! Let's just go down and dig em out! I'm sick of flying around doing nothing, Parboil!" Charbroil shouts, pounding his chest several times, making his altitude sharply dip for a few moments before he regains his bearings, snarling. Oil's eyes narrow. The Dragon Lord gave him and Parboil such stooges to deal with this upstart pony ruler. "Speak out of turn to Parboil again, and I will be forced to grief the Dragon Lord with knowledge of your insubordination." Charbroil snaps his jaws shut, arms crossed as his wings flap more angrily, and he avoids making eye contact with the much stronger black dragon. The far older Parboil offers only a faint upturning of his lips, his thin mustache rising upward with it. "He'll come out. We've given him a good reason. Until then, just keep gliding. They'll get the idea, with some patience." Toil and Recoil just keep their color-coded red and blue mouths shut, knowing full well what a taskmaster Oil is, unlike their idiotic companion. Down below, the silently grumbling Charbroil stares at the dumb dumb superdumb ponies and their dumb boats. It never once crosses his mind to use a different word to describe the dumb ponies. His incredibly sharp eyes widen, however, as his slit pupils narrow in response to a sight they had been waiting for. "Dude! I think I saw him! Down there on that big black rock!" Charbroil shouts, pointing at the odd circular platform that hadn't been there when he looked at that spot previously. Parboil has no curiosity emerging whatsoever as to how it got there, considering he had seen its emergence at that white pony's command. A simple flash of the horn and the land itself had begun to shift and grow. "Let us move. Carefully," Parboil commands, tilting his own pale wings to the side, bringing him in a curving arc towards the stage that the unicorn named Weiss Noir had crafted for their discussion. Putting the finishing touches on my makeshift arena, I summon up a small and plain throne to sit on, reinforced with Adamantium in its core. The perfect foundation to withstand an immense amount of pressure. Crossing my forelegs daintily as I lean back in my chair, I stare at the five building-sized dragons all looking quite unpleasant, save for their much more reasonable looking leader, a white dragon with a small grey mustache. He's the one I'll have to watch out for. "Ahh, the noble dragons! I'm so sorry I couldn't meet with you sooner, but I was just so busy," I say, my limbs held perfectly still in a T-pose. This is going to be so good. The red one, a regular chunky brute of a drake, suddenly growls. "Busy? We had to fly around this dumb place for like a year waiting for you to come out of your dumb little hole!" I turn my half-lidded stare to him briefly, before returning my lazy gaze to the mustached one, sweating slightly as I frown on the inside. "Would you like to discipline your friend, or should I?" He steps out of the way, gesturing to the red dragon. "By all means, it is your right," the dragon says, a certain suspicious gleam entering their expression at my bold claim. Not one to pass up an opportunity, I turn my head to the drake, raising a hoof with care to hide my nervousness. "You're bothering me," I claim, shooing him away as my horn glows with an invisible ultraviolet laser that carries my Prestidigitonium Vance. Always start off on a strong foot, I say, and there are few stronger feet than an A-Rank Prestidigitonium Vance to the chest. The illusion is made complete when the dragon snorts and steps forward threateningly, probably intent on squashing me like the bug I am. As he takes that first step forward, and is left ever so briefly vulnerable due to his bipedal stance, the delayed effect of my spell punches him in the chest, resulting in some rather nasty cracks sounding out as he goes flying back, skidding across the arena, off of it entirely, and then furrowing the soil behind him for a few meters. My spell's recoil is pumped directly into my mane, making it flare out over the back of my throne for a moment as it absorbs roughly six-tons of force. Easily worth the three hours it took to produce that particular spell. The white dragon smiles fondly, his eyes crinkling in that way old people's eyes do. "Ahh, he's alive. Truly, tales of ponykind's mercy and tolerance are proven here and now, Lord Weiss Noir. I am Parboil, and these are my companions, Oil, Toil, Recoil, and the... unfortunately inexperienced Charbroil. "Though, if I might say, with no disrespect meant, it is a bit garish to wear the corpses of young dragons in an effort to intimidate us," He says, making me smile as well. "Oh, you know my name! Well, I'm very happy to say that I have slain no children, and indeed, these limbs are very much alive," I claim, finally allowing all six of my arms to move, spreading wider as I flex them in various odd ways, the motions long since becoming natural to me over these many months of practice. At the realization that my limbs aren't taxidermy, but living, moving dragon arms, the black one's expression turns murderous as he rapidly approaches my throne in an attempt to smash me flat. His palm comes down as if he were desperately trying to smash a mosquito who had landed on his arm before it was too late to stop the itchy bite that would result. And with that, I was crushed beneath the dragon's open claw. "Oil, that was very foolish of you," Parboil says, as Toil and Recoil try to help Charbroil get back up after Weiss's brutal attack. Oil growls. "Killing dragons is one thing, I wasn't going to let them be defiled as well-" Parboil notices an odd stutter to Oil's voice, before realizing with some awe that the pony isn't dead. A barrier spell? It would be difficult, but not impossible to do something like that, if the unicorn were that supremely powerful. The pony lifting Oil's claw pushes it high enough for Parboil and the others to see his face. He realizes that it isn't magic at all. Rather, the apathetic looking Weiss Noir is holding up Oil's claw with one of his own. His other limbs rest casually on the armrests of his throne, and he even goes so far as to lazily set his chin in the palm of one of his hands. "This one is bothering me too," Weiss says before his hand ignites, making Oil reel back with a shriek of pain as he clutches his burning palm tightly, trying to pat out the flames. Weiss hums to himself, his casual disregard for his surroundings a sharp contrast with Oil's teary expression. Dragons are especially unused to the sensation of being burned. Only a scant few spells are even capable of doing such a thing. "I would prefer if you did not harm my subordinates too much, Weiss. They will need to come home with me, after all," Parboil says, growing tense as Oil's groans of pain continue. Weiss rolls his eyes, sitting up in his throne and waving a hand, which extinguishes the strange, black fire that had been steadily chewing away at Oil's hand, leaving the dragon to collapse to the ground, breathing heavily. "I have the feeling that you all doubt my ownership of these limbs of mine. Attacking me is one thing, I'm always up for a good spar." Parboil carefully does not step back as Weiss stands up, hopping off his throne and trotting over as stairs emerge from below, lifting the unicorn up high enough to meet the dragon face to face. "Whether by word or deed, I'm not one to appreciate insults to the things I possess. Or worse still, those who would deny me my right to them." "These limbs? They are mine. These lands? Mine." Weiss's teeth grit slightly. "These ponies especially. Mine." Parboil's eyes widen, which Weiss immediately notices as well. "Lord Weiss Noir, is that sweat that I detect?" Fuck me, he's sharp. I'm not even sweating, though, why am I wet? Condensation? That doesn't make any sense, it's like an oven out here, and I'm fireproof! I flash a disarming smile, shrugging. "Would you believe it's from bloodlust?" Parboil gives me a knowing look. "That wasn't a part of your earlier persona." Fuck me. Fuck me. Parboil takes a deep crackling breath, as my eyes narrow and I throw myself to the side. For some reason, my hoof slips, and it's only Iron Diamond's timely intervention in the form of six gigantic spears crashing into Parboil's face and nose that save me from an untimely and intimate introduction to that white laser breath that he had just tried to fry me with. Even though I'm fireproof, the sweeping beam that splashes across my chest hurts like a taser crossed with pepper spray, leaving all of my skin feeling incredibly numb and aching as I flop down towards the ground. The beam sweeps up in the air unintentionally as Parboil recoils, and the staircase is intact enough for me to see the patch of ice that had been on it. Queen Cold, you bitch. Landing on my feet with a quick burst of Prestidigitation, I decide to confront her after I deal with this mess. I note that I've somehow survived what was clearly intended to kill me, even though I didn't suffer the full attack, that was still unarguably some sort of lightning blast. It crosses my mind that the thick framework of Migrant Iron that I stuffed into my body as part of my combat-limbs must have acted like a Faraday Cage, protecting my innards from the worst of it. As I consider my next course of action, Parboil recovers, yanking the spears from his face and glaring down at me. "Go ahead Parboil, send in your other two thugs. I can't imagine you dragging four other dragons home," I claim, shouting at the wizened wyrm. "As a matter of fact, I can't imagine you dragging five home either." Parboil glares. "No, I don't think I'll do that," they say, taking a step forward with grim determination. I grin, only slightly dazed from his previous attack. "That's right. You understand. You understand the game perfectly, don't you?" I say, getting the strangest feeling as Iron Diamond faces off against Toil and Recoil. "You want to test my strength, don't you?" After a moment of shock, seeing something in my eyes that doesn't belong in a pony, Parboil nods. I feel the need to make one final adjustment before we begin, a quote I feel is all too appropriate serves as the cue as I stare at one of my own flexing arms. "Strength to make the most learned techniques outmoded. That is Strength Absolute." With the activation phrase said, my special blend of Vances and Enchantments activate, portals opening inside of my draconic arms, graphene tubes inside of them flooding with incredibly pressurized water, the result of Royal Crystal Growth in extremely secretive chambers allowing me to create endless tanks of water, each one pressurized enough to power industrial equipment, much less my limbs. My new set of limbs also includes telescopic Crystal Adamantium, the length of my arms increasing even as they swell and distort. By the end of it, I'm practically surrounded by six swollen balloons of royal water in the form of limbs, almost pressurized enough internally to function in a water jet cutter. Like a set of functional anchor arms. "I call this my Kelpie Gear," I explain, as a few cursory sprays of water are emitted from my shoulders to relieve pressure as part of the initialization, purple mist and steam floating in the air. Parboiled chuckles. "They're awfully round. Are you certain you've taken care to grow muscle with your grand spell, and not fat?" I plant four of my claws in the ground, giving me the support needed for when my remaining two limbs rip up a chunk of the floor, holding it over my head confidently. "I'm certain," I claim, before throwing the boulder at Parboil before he has time to react, the swinging chunk of rock smashing him in the head in a flash. Before the elder dragon can recover, I use Prestidigitated Flight and a quick burst of portal magic to give myself weightlessness for a moment, long enough for me to land on his head. He looks up as I grab four handfuls of his spines for leverage and hammer blows into his dome, the hydraulic fists slamming relentlessly into his skull before, with a sickening rip, my hands are pulled free along with several of his scales and spines when he slaps me off reflexively. A quick flip via magic ensures I land on my feet, and a smug expression serves to make him look around, where Iron Diamond has handily taken care of Toil and Recoil, the two dragons sleeping soundly on the floor. He himself has likely noticed by now that his own body is flagging unnaturally. He bares his teeth at me. "What trickery is this...?!" I smile, walking up to the Dragon as he takes a deep, crackling breath, and I covertly prepare two portals to emerge and absorb the attack, now that I understand what it does. It's like a much cruder version of my Dragon Lightning, raw electricity infused with greed, fired like Godzilla's own Gamma Breath. He fires the blast, and my portals open at the perfect width and duration to make it seem as though I had merely endured the attack by face-tanking it. My skin itches intensely as the stream of electricity washes over the sides of my defense, curtains of white passing near me. This one was far weaker, I notice. The Slumber Syrup in the floors must finally be getting to him, especially after that chunk that I threw at him directly got into his wounds from the spears that Iron fired at him. "There are many forms of strength I possess, Parboil. Strength of arm, and strength of mind. Both of them absolute," I say, trotting up to the elder dragon as I take a deep breath. Normally, I simply fire dragon lightning from my hands, but I feel as though it will make a more poignant end for me to end it in this exact manner. Parboil's eyes widen at the sight of lightning escaping my lips, and he holds up a claw weakly. "I yield. No mere pony could do as you have done. Your claims and holdings are secure," he says, as I allow the lightning to dissipate. "I'm glad we could come to that agreement. Now get the hell off of my property. Which, considering I own this country, is a very large hell to get off of it," I say, as he weakly drags his drowsy ass to his feet. He then stumbles to the four other unconscious dragons, dragging them away as rapidly as possible to escape the effects of the Slumber Syrup floor. Now, to renegotiate the terms of my contract with Queen Cold. If she's going to cockblock me in battle, then I'm going to have to get unpleasant with her. I notice the bruises spreading all over my body, but only from the sight of them. Weirdly enough, I... don't feel very much pain right now. Contextually, Weiss's hatred is a bad sign, despite all Queen Cold's instincts to the contrary. "Would you like your prison to be public, so you can continue communicating with your people, or private, so they don't have to see your shame?" Weiss asks, leaning back in a plush sapphire chair designed with comfort and opulence in mind. When she doesn't respond, Weiss continues. "I suppose, considering what you've done, you believed that I could have died there, despite all evidence to the contrary." Queen Cold shakes her head. "I needed proof. Proof that you are as you pretend to be. Your claims are bold, and if I believe them, my people's way of life changes. "I wanted to see what you would do, if your plans did not go as you had designed them. Unfortunately, that particular plan of yours was not as shattered as I had hoped. So I had to improvise. "For my people to survive this change, your realm must survive. For your realm to survive, it must never be without you. I wanted to see what you would do when your back is against the wall." Queen Cold closes her eyes. "Do with me what you will, be it imprisonment or execution. The Windigo will survive so long as the Shadow Realm provides for them." "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends," Weiss quotes. "Pardon?" Queen Cold responds. I sigh. Fuck me I'm too soft to be running a country. "I don't like what you did," I hiss at Queen Cold's befuddled and dumbfounded expression. I need to punish her. I need to destroy her! Hell, I should at least get her the hell out of my realm. This bitch is telling me to ice her, no pun intended. The problem is, I don't have the stomach to do any of that to someone with motives like hers. I spent so much time hyping myself up, I never once thought to consider that someone might want proof that I'm not just an elaborate charlatan. "But if you're telling the truth, then there's nothing I can do. There's no justice to be had in punishing you for doing the right thing. No crowds to be pleased since the public doesn't know that you committed the crime." "There's not even any fucking vengeance to be had, considering I find your actions entirely justified." "That said, I have no other choice as the Sage of Darkness, when it comes to your fate." "Look Ma! I got four legs!" Cold Spot shouts, stumbling around in the Ixion-Model Synthetic Body, trying to avoid smashing their oversized curved horn into the walls or ceiling as they occasionally release involuntary bursts of lightning. "Yes, Cool Spot. It is a very impressive form." Queen Cold says in an incredibly high pitched voice, trying not to sound too petulant at Weiss's punishment. She somehow doubts this will help her efforts to be taken seriously by the her subjects when Weiss has reduced her to some spike-headed puffball in an eggshell. "Is that model to your liking, your majesty?" Weiss says smugly, as he tweaks a control panel that makes Cool Spot's synthetic form shrink into a much more manageable Keldeo-Model, tan and blue and small and cute, instead of the almost Zebra/Wildebeast size and color of the Ixion, and with a smaller, sword-shaped horn instead of a gigantic curved lightning rod. "Alright, kid, that should do it. Go have fun," Weiss says, waving off the child-ghost inhabiting what Weiss had planned on gifting to the queen herself, before her sudden but inevitable betrayal. Now she gets the puff ball instead. What better vessel for a Queen seeking to give him misfortune than the Good Luck Pokemon, Togepi? Turning to look at the Queen, he notices that she's already fallen asleep. With a shrug, he levitates the Queen over to one of Wacky Workbench's mandatory beanbag chairs and wanders off to see if Dr. Real has any ideas to help the strange numbness that he had begun to feel after he had been blasted with that lightning attack. Pain is imperative to know when you are in peril, and Weiss needs all the help he can get on that front. As neat as it may sound to have skin that can't experience pain, it's a liability, in Weiss's opinion. What Weiss fails to realize as he leaves is that Queen Cold, upon being sealed in her new form, had just fallen asleep for the first time in ten thousand restless years. Her panicked and confused screaming the next morning helped him to realize this fact, however. "How long do you think it will be before we're ready to Siege the Crystal Empire? Put an end to all of this?" I ask, sitting across from my two primary guard captains. Helmsplitter looks downtrodden. "As soon as the princesses break that barrier." I raise an eyebrow. "We can't do it without them?" Helmsplitter responds sadly. "The Kingdom Heart could do the job of destroying Sombra and his arrays, but we can't move it. If we fight Sombra head-on, it's like you said. We'd get slaughtered. We don't have a way to break ponies free from his mind control other than just removing the crystals, so even if we did attack with overwhelming force..." He takes a deep breath. "If we attacked now, with everything we had, and played our cards perfectly, the most likely result is that the Shadow Realm would suffer no casualties. However, our estimates predict a third of the remaining Crystal Ponies would die in the fighting, and without a way to destroy Sombra or cure the mind control, it would all be for nothing." "It might take years before our technology progresses far enough to retake the Crystal Empire without the aid of the Princesses." I remain silent, considering his words carefully. I won't let that be the truth. I'll find a different truth and make it so. 'I just don't know how,' I think to myself painfully, feeling nothing like the leader they need me to be.