//------------------------------// // CH 4 (progress) // Story: Accepting Change // by drFraud //------------------------------// Celestia I was walking slowly down the long hallway leading to the room that housed Patchwork. In front of me, held in my magic, was a sizable stack of reports, going over what has happened in the last week of our attempts at feeding him. Suffice to say it did not go very well. I kept my ears trained constantly on my rambling wife following slightly behind me since we left my office. I would twitch them occasionally, whenever she reached a point that I had to agree with her or acknowledge her. I have tuned her out at this point, but that’s mostly because by now she was repeating her disagreements over this idea of mine. Namely, I would be feeding the changeling personally. Given the reports, I understood my wife’s grievances. The first few reports were written down by the original team that tried the first study of the changeling, on the first day he woke up in the new room. I… Wish I could say I foresaw what would happen. However, my estimate of the situation was grossly misplaced. High mage Mana Impact woke just yesterday from his comatose state, and Miss Gentle Heart took three days to recover. Split Greaves recovered in mere hours and poor Torch Burst, while unharmed, is still jumping at shadows. The attempts that followed haven’t ended well either. Any attempt at feeding the changeling from the other side of the door proved fruitless. He simply couldn’t feed with a massive wall between him and his ‘food’. Actually, he COULD feed, but it was such an agonizingly lengthy process that he wasted more energy attempting to feed himself as opposed to the energy he got from it. Hence the third attempt, led by my wife after her prompt recovery. ‘I cannot forget the injuries poor bug-pony sustained in between all of this…’ I thought, shaking my head morosely. My wife threw her hooves up in the air muttering obscenities all the while. It would seem she finally tired herself out. I giggled at her antics and her attempts to dissuade me. Pulling her close to me with my magic and wings I continued re-reading the reports. The third attempt at feeding ended up being a significant effort, with ten guards of various pony races involved. And we managed to learn something in the process. While direct magic blasts proved effective against changeling chitinous plates (magic impact, elemental blasts, arcano-kinetic strikes, shoves, etc.), any and all attempts at holding him down proved nearly impossible to all but the most trained of my unicorns. Actually, the closest analogy given was a comparison with oil and water. Such a discovery was quite surprising given that there were no signs of such before, as when he was unconscious under the effect of a knockout spell, there was no resistance whatsoever. Some of my researchers are convinced that this was simply the survival instinct of the conscious mind. So, in order to bypass all the ‘mumbo-jumbo’, my wife simply decided that brute force needs to be applied. So, the fourth attempt. Ten guards, armed with ropes, shields, and restraining hooks against a starved changeling colt (rough estimates of his physical age set him at seventeen. Result? An already injured changeling with worsened injuries, a comatose volunteer doctor, and four injured and heavily drained guards. And the situation hasn’t improved much since. The only reason things haven’t escalated beyond salvation is that Patchwork seems to have gained some measure of control as the days went by. And that control has been steadily improving, to the point where feedings these last two days have gone without incident. And that was the only good news. His control over his newly found instinct has improved to such an extent that he can resist fully draining a pony into a weeklong coma, as well as resist assaulting anypony in between him and his target. Of course, he isn’t merely attacking ponies left and right, but anypony that used to try to come between him and his ‘prey’ was knocked aside. The worst part of the report is his own declining health though. It seems that the damage he has sustained over the course of earlier feedings (large cracks and chips in natural armor, bruises, and cuts) have become the main source of the problem. Namely, all the energy he has received from feeding has gone into repairing said damage… and not, annoyingly, into actually feeding him. As such, we still have a starved changeling. A starved, injured changeling that simply couldn’t receive enough nourishment from our earlier attempts due to his body prioritizing healing rather than sustenance. Doctor White Light has, along with four of his colleagues, theorized that we are missing something about his massive intake of energy, and it has something to do with his outwards changes that have been steadily showing. His theory stems from the fact that, over the course of the last four days, Patchwork has bloated in size and mass. Originally, he was a head shorter than the average, but now he was half a hoof shorter than my wife. He still had the look of an insect more than a pony, but the good doctor assumed that is more as a phase rather than something permanent. So, with that, here I was. Looking at the last report and Dr. White Light’s ‘caterpillar’ theory. The theory being that the starvation period (started by us) triggered a caterpillar phase. Patchwork will simply feed until his body is ready for a change, or an evolution, hopefully fixing the issues with damage and sustenance. Of course, we are casually going to ignore what butterflies do for the majority of their life as they usually aren’t this size, nor are they a changeling… or a pony… or a hybrid of both… “Sunshine,” spoke my wife, startling me from my thoughts. We were now in front of the door and the changeling it guarded. Shield Strike looked at the door with trepidation. “Yes, my dear?” I smiled at her. She is always so protective of me. Despite the fact that I lived for hundreds of her lifetimes and have fought and won many wars and conflicts. She took a deep breath and sighed. “I don’t think I needs to repeat myself at how dangerous I think this idea of yours is.” She threw her forelegs up in the air. “I have perfectly good volunteers that can feed him until ‘e’s sick of it, we don’t needs to risk you.” She dropped them and scowled at me, “and I’m ain’t saying this just as your Captain. I’m your wife Sunshine, I should…” I interrupted her with a peck on her lips. She continued scowling at me as I tittered in delight. “Honey, I know you worry,” I started, “but I’ll be fine.” I sorted the stack of reports in my magic before teleporting them to my office. “If my own little theory is correct at the worst, I’ll suffer slight exhaustion and nothing else.” My theory is that my larger mana pool will supply an adequate level of sustenance for Patchwork without risking my health. “And if you’re wrong?” She asks, disapproval clear in her voice. “Then,” I nodded sagely, “I shall have my wonderful wife by my side that will help me.” She opened her mouth, but any further complaint she had was interrupted by twelve guards that had arrived. While I was fully confident in my ability to resolve this situation, I am not so blind that I would refuse some added help. I have however decided that the guards shall be waiting for my wife’s signal outside the room. If for no other reason than to put less pressure on the poor changeling. My Shield shook her head at me, squared up her shoulders and nodded at the guards. I took that as my cue to settle this issue. I unlocked and opened the door after fluffing my wings. Patchwork ‘So hungry… The water helps though.’ I closed the, now empty, bottle of water and pushed it out of my dark ‘cave’, watching it roll until it hit a stop next to the other five empty ones. The ‘cave’ was a raised bed frame that I lifted and placed to stand on the chest, as well as covered with sheets in order to create my bug-cave. I gave up fighting my newfound instincts and just gave in. Not that this particular instinct bothered me in the first place, I love homemade forts, it's like being a kid again. I crossed my foreleg in front of me and rested my head on them, making sure that I didn’t damage the chitin cover anymore than it already is. I noticed over the course of the week that I looked more like the Changelings from the cartoon, with two key differences. Firstly, I did not have holes like Swiss cheese, as my flesh was clearly visible underneath; and secondly, I wasn’t anywhere nearly as aggressive as them… Not anymore at least. It took a while, but I managed to get a decent level of control over my feeding instincts, and this blasted hunger. And that’s where the problems were when it came to my new body. It seems that my little ring that was around my horn way back kept parts of my body and mind separated when it came to my new transformation (what I was able to understand from the captain in between my lunacy fits). Or at least, it kept the magic from fully melding it. The separation kept my changeling instincts from taking over and that kept my faculties in check. From what I was able to gather, the mirror I came out of should have given me simple instincts in order to better blend in with the locals. The mind was ‘supposed to’ get just enough not to be completely unfamiliar with its new components, but not enough to, say, use magic competently… a major flaw if you ask me since magic surges are VERY much a thing here. What ended up happening is that my own magic (‘still giddy about that piece of info’) as well as the mirrors' magic combined themselves with ambient magic and took a copy of something familiar nearby (since the mirror was designed by a pony, and I was most assuredly not one… ‘Magic is as magic does’ was the captain's quote). As it turns out, there was a changeling spy in the midst of Ms. Hoof’s experiment. The ‘ling was nearly caught afterward but they lost it in the Everfree. Just my luck. I’m honestly surprised Chrissy didn’t come knocking yet, and I’m hoping it stays that way… for my own safety. At least that’s what I was able to pry out of Captain Strike after pestering her about it. I lifted my left foreleg and waved it in front of my muzzle slowly, while I studied one of the holes. I learned early that I have to keep an eye on these cracks for safety reasons. If my shell cracked and chipped there was always a good chance that a piece of it would either lodge itself or get stuck poking at the exposed flesh. Both the cracking/chipping and the wedging hurt but I have gotten used to my pain by now. Which is why now, when I spotted a loosely hanging piece in one of my shell holes, I grabbed it gingerly with my right claws and pulled it off. I examined the piece I pulled off before throwing it out of my bug-cave. Someone would clean it, as I had no means to do so yet. I snorted and continued to look over my holes, now determined to make sure I can at least move without them getting in the way. Taking care of my shell like this became the only pastime I could count on, outside of the feedings and exercise (those haven’t ended well in the first few days), and given what I can look forward to if I don’t, I had all the motivation I needed. A few days ago, while I was lucid during the feeding, myself and one of the doctors (that had the courage to come) brainstormed over why my shell was chipping like porcelain. The doctor assumed it was due to me being a hybrid. We could only make guesses at this point, but we guessed that my body simply did not function as a normal changeling would. What little scans they could get in between feeding proved that instead of actually feeding me, the emotions I ‘ate’ went into healing my injuries (several cuts, bruises, a painful twist in the left hind leg, and a cracked right hoof, along with the cracks in the shell). However, since I apparently couldn't get enough emotions from the ponies (our assumption is I’m not ‘eating’ properly), there wasn’t enough energy to heal me, so there isn’t enough to feed me, so my body suffers for it. Especially my shell. I told the doctor, and he agreed (White Light I think was his name) that my shell was much more pliable before but still strong. And, after a few tests he ran on some of my chipped pieces, we concluded a few things. The first and most important thing is that, while brittle, my shell is still just as strong (or durable) as before. And the ‘holes’ I acquired were merely the result of weaker sections giving out first due to either injuries or simple wear and tear. However, because it was brittle now, it meant that when a piece cracked it spiderwebbed and caused weaknesses in surrounding structures. The fact that it looks like circular holes was because the inside of my shell had circular sections that looked like a turtle shell when they showed me the projection. And since my mane and tail suffered as well as my shell, it gave me the appearance of the cartoon changeling. So, I was hungry, I was constantly in pain because of both my hunger (I felt the pain more in my brain than my stomach) and my shell injuries were continuously throbbing, alongside the other ones, and I was angry at myself and the ponies for ending up in this situation. But I was getting ‘better’ in a sense. The feedings certainly helped (me most of all… I’m still livid for putting those poor ponies in a coma before), and the water helped me for a good while with the worst of the hunger symptoms (even got it enriched with vitamins and minerals which helped tremendously) so I was able to, after the first few days of this madness, practice a few things with my new body. Namely flying, magic and movement. Nothing too strenuous, but just enough that I didn’t trip like a foal every few seconds. Flying was… terrifying, and exhilarating. I never had a fear of heights until I found myself five meters above ground with nothing to hold me but my weakened wings (I had a few small holes in them as well, but it’s mostly magic that powered them), and I never felt such elation as when I was able to not only land softly without crashing but lifting myself again just for the fun of it. Magic was utterly terrifying, and I am NOT touching it again until my situation is settled. Even in my weakened state, I was able to compress the table in my room until nothing, but powder remained, and I was so exhausted that I didn’t even feel the headache that came afterward. I collapsed and I was shaken awake a few hours later by the captain and a high mage that told me some more wonderful news. Obviously, I decided that my grave wasn’t deep enough so I took the offered shovel and proved to the world that I CAN dig myself deeper. Not only did my incompetence obliterate a nice piece of furniture, but I also burned several particularly important nerves in my horn, suffered a severe mana backlash from a surge (hence the powder), and nearly gave myself an aneurysm. Some of it was due to my hunger and weakened body, but a large part of it was definitely my own fault. A quick exam told me that the nerves will either repair or replace themselves over time (it happens to unicorn foals if their parents aren’t careful when they surge), but I was ordered and forbidden to use magic until I wasn’t falling apart at the very least. So, yeah, not touching that anytime soon. Practicing my body was the easiest part. I always liked exercising and combat sports (kickboxing to be specific and boxing after my knee injury), so getting my body under a higher level of competence wasn’t nearly as difficult. Oh sure, I fell, tripped, crashed, and rolled like a ball on multiple occasions (three of my shell cracks came during my jumping practice) but I enjoyed it thoroughly, despite the heavy hunger and exhaustion I felt afterwards. Overall, after a few days of constant practice (nothing much to do after my shell has been taken care off), I was able to do just about anything an average teenage foal was. I was proud of myself, especially since I wasn’t a quadruped before this. I chucked the last piece of chitin out of my bug-cave and rolled myself on my side with a heavy sigh. My eyes fell on a bottle full of glowing pink liquid near to me. Artificial love… or that’s what they told me. Safely extracted, filtered, cleaned, and stored in a bottle. Their first attempt at feeding me without me putting them at risk. We were all so happy about it that I just opened and chugged the first bottle they gave me without any restraint. It was the equivalent of drinking vinegar. It was bitter, it hasn’t helped my hunger at all (only making me hungrier actually) and to top it all, it didn’t even smell like love (‘normal love smelled like sweet strawberries and watermelon to me, I wish I had another ‘ling to compare notes’). It was a rousing failure and the only reason I kept the bottle was its soft pink glow. I love pink, sue me. I inhaled deeply, remembering that sweet, tasty scent. “Hey now…” I lifted my head and tilted it up, eyeing the door on the other side of the room. There was a scent in the air. It was very faint, but I knew it wasn’t from my memory. “Good,” I grunted getting up and crawling out of my cave, “hopefully they brought some more water as well.” I gingerly stretched, making sure that no further cracks or chips appeared, and lazily limped my way to the center of the room, grumbling about hunger all the way. When the door opened, I didn’t see the red fur of Captain Shield Strike, but the pristine, snow-white fur of Princess Celestia. I was fully lucid now, and my mind at once raced trying to produce a reason why exactly she showed up. And when I settled on one possibility I sighed before cursing under my breath. Celestia “Not happening, Princess.” A hoarse but sharp voice came from the changeling. He was sitting, hunched over, ears and wings hanging loosely on his sides. His head was lowered down as well, giving him an utterly exhausted look. I could hear my wife’s quiet ‘well buck’ behind me. I shushed her before silently continuing my approach. I kept a gentle smile on my muzzle, but inside my heart was heavy with regret and pity. Patchwork raised his head and looked me in the eyes. He probably sensed my emotions because he shook his head, buzzed his wings, and with a scowl ground out through clenched teeth, “don’t pity me! And I refuse to feed off of you. Volunteers I can stomach, but I am NOT grinding an entire country to a stop because I put their leader in a coma!” I actually giggled at that, while my Shield had a nice guffaw at his proclamation. He started growling at us, only making my wife laugh harder. I schooled my emotions and layed down on my stomach two barrels away from him. “While I appreciate your worry for my country, mister Patchwork, I can assure you that it will not be crippled if I end up in a coma for a week by some miracle.” I giggled again, covering my muzzle with my armored hoof. “Actually,” I lowered the hoof, but a smile was still visible on my face, “my doctor would probably say that I finally got a break for a change.” Both my wife and Patchwork snorted at the same time at that. I heard a whispered ‘jinx’ from Patchwork before he looked at my wife. I turned my head to her as well, she frowned and looked very displeased at my levity. It seems she will continue to worry until I finally prove it to her. I turned back to Patchwork and cleared my throat, grabbing his attention. “I am afraid that I must insist, Mr. Patch. And no, before you begin,” I lifted my right hoof forestalling anything he might say, “this is non-negotiable. I will not be leaving, until either you succumb to your hunger, or you willingly feed off me.” I said resolutely. Patchwork opened and closed his mouth wordlessly, and then he grit his teeth in a silent snarl. Something I was told he did every time before he fed lucidly He started pacing in front of us, “and what happens if you DO end up comatose?” He looked like a caged animal. I spotted a string of drool trailing behind him, and I felt slight discomfort, but that discomfort was drowned by sadness at his situation. “If I do end up in a weeklong coma, I can assure you that nothing will happen to you, and I will get some rest.” I opened myself to my dearest memories and emotions of love. “You will feed, and I will continue to feed you until your body finally settles and you aren’t wracked by hunger and pain.” I saw him stumble as a smile graced my lips at some of my fondest memories, and my fur tinted pink at some of the more risqué ones. He was now drooling heavily. There was hunger in his eyes and his insect-looking body began to twitch. Like he was feeling invisible currents of air that I couldn’t perceive. His spirit must be of the fiercest metal because he showed no sign of even trying to feed. I opened my mouth to speak again, but he suddenly shouted and turned towards me. “Fine, FINE!” I was frightened for a moment by his dual-toned voice, but I kept my flow of memories and emotions as steady as I could. “I’ll feed. I’ll take my fill until I’m satisfied then, do NOT come crying when you wake up!” A sudden twinge of pain from my chest was the only indication he started. It apparently showed on my face because my wife immediately moved to stop the feeding. I raised my wing to stop her and shook my head when she turned to me. The feeding itself felt like I was diving in a strong river current and trying to break it. My magic was slowly drained, and I felt my mind slow down while my emotions dulled. The whole experience came in waves, where I went through the dive and then resurfacing for air. It was both terrifying and euphoric and he held nothing back. He would have his fill, as he said. He fed off of me for what felt like hours, and while I did start to feel sleepy it was nowhere near the level I was described. It would seem my little gamble paid off. Especially after I heard a strong hiccup and the drain completely stopped. Patchwork looked ready to burst. He was swaying on his hooves left to right, and he was trying to stay stable, shuffling after every move. His eyes looked heavy, his ears and wings droopy and there was a thin, pink trail of saliva going down his chin. I heard him hiccup twice more before mumbling something. He nodded like he tried to keep himself awake before focusing on me with tired eyes. “’Nuff,” he mumbled, shaking his head slowly. “Is, enough… Can’t, gods…” He burped, before giving a shaky nod in our direction and turning around, slowly plodding to the ‘cave’ in the back. “Need… Sle… Sleep. Can’t… Thank you.” He crawled in the ‘cave’ and all I heard was loud snoring shortly after. “Wow,” my wife quipped. “Can’t believe tha’ worked.” “Told you,” I said in a monotone. It was hard to focus, and I felt like I needed a good rest for a day or two. My Shield shook her head before trotting up to me. “How are you feeling Sunshine? You don’t look like yer goin’ ta collapse on me.” I laughed weakly, only now noticing how weak I actually felt. It was within my expectations, but still surprising. My laugh sounded hollow, but that was understandable. “I will not be collapsing anytime soon…” I twitched my wings, noting that they felt like weights. “I might, however, need your help with getting to my bed though.”