//------------------------------//
// Subterranean Homesick Blues 
// Story: Strange Bedfellows 
// by BRBrony9 
//------------------------------//

Argan looked up at the sudden, brilliant light. An angel hung above them, bathed in golden light. An apparition, a Saint of the Emperor, a manifestation of His divine will. come at the death to save His loyal followers...no, it was not Him, it was Her.

The horse-princess floated above the carnage, surveying the scene almost coolly. Had she come to watch the slaughter? To laugh like these Daemons as men died trying to recapture her own lands?

No. She had come to help. With a flash out of nowhere, the sky was burning, a golden glow illuminating the square as lightning flashed from the tip of her horn, leaping between the hordes of the enemy. Where it touched, it burned, Daemons bathed in flame. A blue creature lunged at Argan, but it was caught by the flash, bursting into flame and thrashing about. The lightning jumped toward him, but it passed him by, overhead, setting fire to another Daemon beyond, then another, and another. A beam of coruscating light erupted from the horn of the princess, cutting clean across the square like a blowtorch, vaporising those creatures it touched, shattering the cobbles and blackening them. 

Whereas Argan and his men fought for the Emperor, this horse-princess was killing in the name of herself, and it was clear why her people had such love and respect for her. They would kill for Celestia, because she would kill for them, to keep them safe, to protect them and their way of life, just as the Emperor had done for humanity all those millennia ago. As the Sergeant watched the Princess cut down hundreds of foul creatures, he had to admit to a grudging respect forming for her. When he had seen her fight in Griffonstone, she was protecting her own, ponies as well as Griffons who, while not exactly the same species, were at least from this planet. But there were no ponies here save she. Only humans were under threat, but she was fighting nonetheless. Why? Did she know of some grander threat? Was this an attempt to forestall the total collapse of her society and culture in some fashion, or was she genuinely fighting to save human lives?

All Argan knew was that she was trying to keep them alive. Her horn flashed again and again, as she swooped across the square, her wings spread broadly, hardly needing to flap to keep her in motion, effortless grace and strength on clear display. Warp fire was flung up to intercept her. The few shots that were lucky enough to strike her simply burst against a glowing golden aura surrounding her. They could transform or kill a man in horrific ways, but had no effect on the princess as she wove her deadly dance through the sky. In return her golden fire and lightning proved equally effective against daemonflesh as it had against human skin and bone. The surviving guardsmen opened up with everything they had, the intervention of the princess turning the tide, but the advantage needed to be pressed. Lasfire and shells brought down more of the abominations, focusing fire on those separating them from their human reinforcements. A breach was made, and the princess dived down to widen it, lightning flashing and crackling, skipping perfectly over the guardsmen, only striking the Daemons. Her precision was amazing, and startling. Presumably she could reverse the targets and those spared, if she wished; say, if her ponies were the ones on the receiving end of Imperial aggression.

The gap stayed open as Celestia's horn glowed continuously, shining like a lighthouse, trying to guide the humans safely through the rocky shores to a calm harbour. The reinforcements were able to push into the square, linking up with the survivors, adding their firepower to the battle to push the Daemonic tide back. A lasgun could kill one of the creatures, a tank shell could kill a dozen. The princess killed them in their hundreds, no match for her power and precision. But even she could only be in one place at any one time, and the Daemons were sweeping through the northern industrial district and the southern suburbs as well. 

Vox-messages were sent, alerting commanders to the actions of the princess and the turning of the tide in the west, allowing further reinforcements from outside of the city to be diverted to support the northern and southern flanks. Tanks and men were poured in. While they lacked sanctified weaponry or the specialised skills of the fabled Daemonhunters, sheer firepower proved to be effective. Despite heavy losses, the enemy was pushed back, slowly, steadily, on all fronts. Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, the Daemons were gone. Their survivors, all at once and apropos of nothing, turned and fled, their giggling laughter echoing through the empty streets as they disappeared to who knows where. Valkyries tracked them returning to the smouldering remains of the dockside district, and then they vanished entirely.
Fearing a trap or trick, Lord-General Galen ordered a halt for all Imperial forces. Licking their wounds and counting the cost of the heretical incursion, the guardsman held position, waiting for orders, waiting for the next storm to break.  

Celestia returned to the Starswirl, her latest work completed. The humans below had gazed up at her almost reverently once the square was clear and they were safe. She was hopeful that some goodwill had been fostered, at least. While she had no desire to see these humans die, she had no compunctions about having them shoulder most of the burden for retaking Equestria. This enemy they had brought with them far outstripped the Equestrian military in strength, and she and her sister could not be everywhere at once. 

The responsibilities of power had often weighed heavy upon Celestia's shoulders, especially in her sister's enforced absence. Having ultimate power over so many ponies, and ultimate responsibility for their wellbeing, was a tremendous weight to bear, But it was times like these, facing an existential threat, that made her course of action clear. There could be no qualms, no uncertainty about what she needed to do. Earlier in the invasion she had been reluctant to use her powers to their fullest, unsure of the nature or capabilities of the new enemy. She could never morally condone, in her own mind, the wanton destruction of a people of lesser or equal power to Equestria. In the past she had been reluctant to utilise the full extent of her powers because if she had, she could have all but annihilated her opponents. A wholesale massacre of the Griffons or Zebras was not something she desired on her conscience, and it was not something that would have been necessary to ensure the safety of her ponies. But this was entirely different. These humans, the Archenemy of the Imperials, had shown both their technological superiority and their own willingness and capacity for hatred and sickening violence. If they chose to live by the sword, then they must die by the sword, for the very future of the planet was at stake. If she were to be defeated, if she were to die, then so be it, but her conscience simply would not allow her to sit back and watch, not any longer. She would fight, she would kill, she would slaughter, if it was necessary to save Equestria. 




The interrogation room was, naturally, more of a torture chamber. Dimly lit, somewhere in the bowels of the Hive, it had a foreboding atmosphere even from the first step inside. Twilight had again lost track of time. Chained to a metal rack upon the wall, her limbs stretched out, her horn fitted with a metal 'lock,' a magic-infused dampener to resist her magic should whatever counterspells had been placed on her previously fail. She was trapped in the darkness. The two Changeling guards had tried various methods of simple persuasion on her, from just directly asking her questions, slapping and stomping her, threatening her with disfigurement. She had told them nothing, despite the pain and the fear.

After a while they had given up, leaving her in the dark. Her thoughts immediately turned to home; or at least, her temporary home in Canterlot. Her friends were there, her family. No doubt Luna would have teams out scouring the countryside for her at this very moment, but she didn't even know if they knew who had taken her. It had been a human outside her door. Probably the princesses were under the impression she had been captured by the Imperials, or by their Archenemy, in which case, why would they ever be searching for a Changeling infestation?

She was alone, completely alone, more alone than she had ever felt before. Nopony knew where she was. They weren't coming for her. But someone else was.

The metal door of the chamber screeched open again. This time, the Queen herself stepped inside, her horn giving off a sickly green glow, providing illumination.

'Greetings, my dear,' she hissed. 'Forgive me for keeping you waiting so long. Other matters held my attention.' Her tongue flicked out. 'But fear not. Now is the time for you to tell me all your secrets, little one.'

'You know I'm not going to tell you anything,' Twilight replied quietly. 'I don't even know what you really want to learn. I'm not a soldier.'

'You don't need to be,' Chrysalis chuckled. 'You know all about Canterlot. You know about the princesses. And you're going to tell me.' She moved closer, menacingly.

'Anything I know about Canterlot, you must know already,' Twilight pointed out. 'You have spies there, don't you? Otherwise how would you have been able to capture me?'

'Yes, of course I have spies there,' the Queen answered, circling around Twilight, her tail flicking from side to side. 'But they cannot see everything. There are passages, are there not? Secret, hidden. Accessible only by the application of the correct magic at the correct location. There must be at least one inside the palace itself, perhaps many. I know you and your little friends, and the princesses, were inside the palace when the humans attacked Canterlot. You are going to tell me exactly where to find one, and exactly how to access it. It is easy to infiltrate a small team into the palace, but they need to know'

'I don't know about any passages!' Twilight lied. 'We teleported out,' she added, half-truthfully.

'Why yes, you did.' Chrysalis nodded. 'At least, you teleported once you were already out, correct? You were on a plateau just below the city? Hm? Is this jogging your memory?' she hissed.

Just how many spies does she have in Canterlot? Twilight's heart beat faster. She was sure Chrysalis had always had operatives inside the city, reporting back any important information. But for her to have such specific detail about where they had gathered after fleeing the palace was deeply disturbing. The Queen paced back around to face her.

'My scouts examined that plateau after the battle was over. Do you know what they found? Nothing. No door, no passageway, not even a sewer pipe. So tell me, my dear. How do I access that passage, and where does it come out?'

Twilight kept her mouth shut. If Chrysalis could get a small team into the palace so easily, as she had done to capture her Element, why did she need to know how to open the passage?

'You don't need any secret passage. You just said it yourself. You can get a team inside. Why would you care about some secret passage?' Twilight asked scornfully. 'What, need an escape route so you can run away with your tail between your legs when your plan fails?'

That drew a laugh from the Queen. 'Oh, please. Do you not remember your brother's wedding? What was it that kept my army at bay, hm? Yes, a shield. Were our infiltration to be detected, all that it would take is for one royal sister,' she used the term derisively, 'to hold up a shield while the other mopped up our force inside the walls. Even if Celestia remains away from the city, half a dozen royal guardsponies could do the same job, keeping my children outside. A team small enough to infiltrate is not large enough to capture the city, or even the palace, and a force large enough for conquest will be spotted immediately, disguise or no. So to answer your question, no, my dear, no. I do not intend to run away. I intend to strike!' She chuckled, licking her lips almost seductively. 'When the time is right, that is. Celestia may be my old enemy, but I have a new opportunity to grasp. She will be dealt with in good time, and your friends, too. That is, unless you choose to help me.'

'What?' Twilight frowned. 'What do you mean?'

'It's simple,' Chrysalis explained, leaning in closely to look her in the eyes, her black, slitlike pupils narrowing still further. 'If you help me get into the palace, then your friends will live. If I have to find some other means of acquiring this knowledge, then they will die. You don't want to be responsible for their deaths, do you?' she chided softly.

Twilight could hardly respond to that. Of course she didn't want any part in anything that might happen to her dearest friends, her second family, but nor could she betray the princesses and their trust in her.

'Why should I believe anything you say?' she spat coldly. 'Why should I think you'd do anything other than take that information and then kill them anyway?'

'I'm wounded,' Chrysalis hissed,chuckling, a hoof on her chest feigning injury. 'How could you think so little of me?I am sure this means nothing to you, but for what it's worth, you have my word that I will not harm your five friends...oh, and that ridiculous dragon of yours...if you tell me what I want to know.'

Twilight shook her head. There was almost no chance the Queen was telling the truth. Surely if Twilight revealed anything to her, she would make use of it, and then have her friends lined up and killed, probably while making her watch. Of course if she didn't tell the Queen what she wanted to know, and she found out from some other source, then that would be the certain outcome anyway.

'You're wasting your time with your lies, Chrysalis. I don't know how to access any secret passage, and even if I did, I'd rather die than tell you!'

'That can certainly be arranged...' the Queen replied with a flick of her tongue. Her horn glowed and searing pain wracked Twilight's body, from horn to tail, so intense she could not even scream. It lasted only a moment, but it left her dazed and twitching.

'You have a simple choice, my dear,' Chrysalis reminded her, leaning close once again. 'Either you tell me what I want to know and your friends will live, or you die here in agony, and your friends will meet the same fate. Which is it to be?'

Chyrsalis presented an easy target. In an uncharacteristic reply born of anger and impotence, Twilight spat at her. Her saliva did not strike the Queen, but flashed against a green wall a few inches from her face, drawing a chuckle.

'Such insolence toward your Queen...that must be punished now, don't you think?'

Her horn glowed, and Twilight knew pain once again.




The squad of infantry advanced cautiously through the woodland, weapons held at the ready. Danger could be lurking behind every tree in such an environment, but it was safer than approaching by air. What lay ahead, none of them could be certain, but they had their mission and they were damn sure going to complete it.

Major Spitfire, commander of the Wonderbolts flight demonstration squadron and member of the elite and secretive Special Tasks Group of the Pegasi assault infantry, led her ponies through the undergrowth. treading carefully to avoid snapping dry twigs or rustling bushes with their passage, taking to the wing when necessary for short hops as long as branches overhead were high enough. Gripped in her front hooves was an experimental Machine-Rifle, newly produced by the factories of the National Arsenal in Fillydelphia and only just issued to a few select clandestine and special operations units before the invasion had occurred. a heavily modified version of the standard-issue repeating rifle, the Machine-Rifle held twenty-five rounds in a box magazine and could discharge them all within a couple of seconds. It was the first rapid-fire pony-portable small arm manufactured in Equestria, light, accurate and deadily. Full-scale production had not been initiated, and now perhaps never would be.

A glade was up ahead, sunlight filtering through the leaves of the trees that ringed it. With a few quick hoof gestures, Spitfire ordered her squad to split and move around, circling the grove but staying in the shadows. Nothing disturbed their movement. Rejoining, the two halves of the squad fell back into formation, eight ponies in dark green-and-brown camouflage uniforms, faces daubed with black and green paint, manes covered under combat helmets, tails and wings fitted with thin polymer covers of matching camo-schemes, covering their bright feathers and hair but allowing for the wings to still be used for flight. All carried the Machine-Rifles, save for one who had a sniper variant of the standard repeater, with a telescopic sight fitted. 

The Special Tasks Group, given its innocuous name so as to avoid undue scrutiny in the military budget, was the clandestine-operations unit of the Air Corps, set up almost as a direct challenge to the Royal Guard's equivalent Special Operations Unit. The STG was the elite of the elite; only the best flyers and fighters were recruited. Many had been, or were currently, members of the Wonderbolts, the precision-flying demonstration team that acted as the public face of the Air Corps, their most recognisable squadron and always the star attraction at airshows or military parades. Spitfire served both as the current squadron leader for the Wonderbolts, and as leader of one of the STG battalions, having served in the ranks of the 1st Assault Division as a company commander before trying out for, and being accepted into, the Wonderbolts. Most members of the demonstration squadron were active-duty personnel in the Assault Divisions, with only a few ever coming from the ranks of the Airship Command. Promotion to Major saw Spitfire chosen to lead the Wonderbolts after its previous commander retired, and her distinguished combat record and excellent training and physical condition made her a natural choice to join the Special Tasks Group.

And so here she was, edging through the mud with her squad, seeking their prize. Their orders were to find the remnants of the Changeling Hive, since relocated to parts unknown, and search for any indication of where Chrysalis and her innumerable minions had gone. With the distraction of the invasion, surveillance of the Hive had been interrupted some weeks ago, but a rapid aerial survey carried out by reconnaissance Pegasi some days ago had shown that the Hive appeared to have been abandoned.  Locating the new Hive was potentially vital, they had been told, to the defence of Equestria. The STG had been chosen over the Special Operations Unit because they were all Pegasi- speed was important in this operation, both to reach the old Hive quickly, and then to return with information to Canterlot as soon as possible. It was considered unlikely that they would run into any Changelings as the Hive was believed to be totally abandoned in favour of the newly constructed warren elsewhere, but there was always the chance a patrol had been left to guard the old site and ambush anypony seeking to carry out just such a task. The human enemy could also be lurking, as this Hive was located in the rocky terrain of northeastern Equestria. Beyond the trees lay uninhabited foothills, rocky outcrops of the eastern Hyperborean Mountains. Southeast of the Griffon Kingdom but north of all of Equestria's major cities, this region was almost devoid of pony presence, ideal for the former location of the Hive.

Abruptly, the point-mare raised her hoof. The squad stopped moving, guns scanning the treeline. Spitfire took a step forward slowly.

'Movement?' she whispered to Sergeant Sunflower, leading the unit's advance. She shook her head.

'Not movement, something up ahead. 12 o'clock,' she whispered back. 'Not natural colours. Can't tell what.'

Spitfire gestured for two of the squad to fan out, one left and one right, to try and get an angle on the target. She kept her eyes peeled, staring through the visor of her helmet. There was something up ahead, to be sure, something that stood out from the backdrop of green. Spitfire could not determine what it was, half-glimpsed through the bush and undergrowth. 

The pony on the right flank got a look, and cast a whisper across to the next stallion, who relayed it down the line until it reached Spitfire.

'It's a cart, ma'am,' came the news. 'No contacts.'

Spitfire ordered the squad forward carefully, flankers out to watch for a possible ambush. But nothing happened. There was a cart, a simple wooden contraption, with one wheel broken and bent, evidently left behind. The Changelings were not known for using such transport methods themselves, but the contents of the cart perhaps explained it- expensive furnishings, chairs, carpets, rugs of bright colours, 'liberated,' no doubt, from the house of some well-to-do pony in one of the small villages that were relatively closeby, perhaps after the owners fled from the invasion, or the spoils from an opportunistic Changeling raid. Either way they had been abandoned, presumably during the relocation to the new Hive, when the axel had snapped and bent one wheel out of shape. It was a sign they were getting close. Spitfire ordered the advance to resume, and through the trees they came across their target.

Cut into the low overhanging rocks of the foothills, the former Hive looked desolate, windswept, the ground around it clear of foliage, with most of the stripped branches and leaves being deployed as camouflage around the tunnels and openings carved into the rockface. Several had collapsed, either deliberately blocked by the Changelings or the results of natural landslides or perhaps seismic activity. A number of skeletons, bleached clean by the sun, lay scattered, curious animals that had gotten too close; perhaps the odd intrepid pony explorer or surveyor drawn to the promise of mineral wealth or a rich vein of gold in the hills. Of the Changelings, there was no sign.

After holding at the edge of the woodland for several minutes observing, Spitfire was satisfied there was no threat, at least outside of the Hive. She ordered the squad forward, some trotting, the rest flying in overwatch. No bolt of magic greeted them, none of the birds wheeling overhead revealed its true nature and shed its disguise. They were alone. 

One tunnel up ahead was not blocked by fallen rock. It seemed to offer a passage into the earth. Spitfire ordered the squad to proceed with caution. Flashlights mounted on their helmets were turned on, giving some kind of illumination. The darkness ahead of them was stifling. If anything was lurking inside the Hive, they would not be able to see it until it was almost upon them. Machine-Rifles gripped in steady hooves, the squad advanced, into the bowels of the mountain, seeking the clues they needed.

The chill northern air became cooler still as they entered the darkness, torches probing ahead, shining on the bare walls of rock. They began to descent almost immediately, the floor sloping downward, gently at first but swiftly getting steeper. It became slick with water, leaking out from some underground aquifer or stream, filtering through the rock. Within a few hundred feet of the tunnel entrance, they would have been in total blackness if not for their torches. The complex web of tunnels was, no doubt, easy for the Changelings to navigate with their hive mind and excellent eyesight and hearing. But for ponies, the darkness outside of the cone of light provided by their torches was at best disconcerting, and at worst downright oppressive. There was no light whatsoever, save for, in places, a faint phosphorescent shimmer from some bioluminescent algae clinging to the damp rocks. At regular intervals, the rearguard pony would toss a small plastic stick down behind him. These sticks would glow in the dark, giving off a yellow glow for a good twelve hours, and leading them on the correct path to escape should the squad lose their way or be forced to flee. Very soon the need for the chemical sticks would become evident, as the Hive descended into a chaotic mess of tunnels, passages and chambers. Some were blocked, others seemed to double back on themselves or lead to dead ends with no apparent purpose. Holes in the rock walls showed glimpses of large chambers beyond, flashlight beams not reaching the far walls. That was where their clues would likely be, in the main rooms, the congregation halls, barracks and cocoon chambers. That was where they needed to go. The tunnels led down, down, still farther down into the earth, deathly silent and dark as the grave.

Nopony spoke, intent on scanning the gloom for potential threats. It seemed clear that the Changelings had abandoned the site, but there could always be stragglers left behind, or a token force intending to kill any investigative teams such as theirs. The twisty, musty hallways, encrusted in places by dried, colourless remnants of the green goo-like substance the Changelings used for various functions such as building. A large chamber opened up ahead. Flashlights scanned around, locating several openings in the upper walls, presumably leading to side rooms or corridors. The room itself was bare, just rock floors and dust. 

'Spread out,' Spitfire ordered. 'Start searching for anything of interest. Sunflower, Arcwing, perimeter security.' The two ponies in question spread out to cover the others as they searched around the large room. Spitfire kept a watchful eye over her squad. The room seemed to hold nothing of interest- no maps, no documents, no photographs. The Changelings had no need or desire for such items; having a Hive mind meant that they were able to share knowledge and discoveries among themselves. Their plans were mental, not written down. The darkness outside of their circle of light was total, apart from one small thing. Spitfire and Arcwing spotted it at the same time. A pair of eyes.

'Contact!'