//------------------------------// // CH: 12/13 - Shroud // Story: They're EVERYWHERE! // by Nameless Narrator //------------------------------// The oppressive presence of Shroud makes Chrysalis’ gasp for air. This is the first time Chrysalis can get a proper look at the first queen. Unlike Chrysalis’ sharply contrasting black and teal scheme, Shroud is almost monochromatically grey, although her smooth mane and tail are more silvery white compared to her dusty grey coat. In the memory where Haze easily defeated her, Shroud was desperate, at the end of her rope, and facing the pinnacle of changeling power. Now, despite the two queens looking eye to eye, Shroud feels as if she’s towering over Chrysalis. “Look,” Chrysalis steadies her voice as she lowers herself into a combat stance, “You had the opportunity to see where your meddling led us. We are a species near extinction-” Chrysalis barely catches the silvery white blur of Shroud’s eyes and mane as the ancient queen attacks, and manages to raise her forelegs to block the presumed blow. The attack connects, its loud crack spreading through the hive mind, forcing Chrysalis to stumble backwards, and a few things cross her mind at once. One - Shroud isn’t physically strong. Two - she is quick, but not warrior levels of quick. Three - she simply tried to punch Chrysalis, not spear her or hack her head off using any transformation. Burning off her love to create her own prison must have worked. Chrysalis mentally lashes out in response, curious how the strength of her mind would match against Shroud… …and hits nothing as if the old queen wasn’t even right in front of her. That moment of surprise is enough, and Chrysalis’ world goes pitch black, leaving two glowing, white eyes the only visible thing like two moons in the night sky. *** A member of a crowd under a podium in the center of their forest village, Star Seer is standing next to his wife, between whose forelegs sits their colt in his early teens. Nearly the entire tribe, over three thousand heads, gathered here in anticipation to listen to what their leader has to say. Of course, they all heard the rumors that a war was coming and despite their location deep in the woods they wouldn’t be spared. The young, barely united nation of Equestria already attracted terrifying enemies from overseas. While the central plaza is completely silent, Star Seer’s mind is crowded with voices of everypony gathered here, all anxious but ready to play their part for the safety of their new nation despite not knowing what the role would be. The voices go silent, and Star Seer nuzzles his wife as their visibly nervous chieftain walks onto the dais and up to the podium, followed by his two guards, one of them giving a ride to Misty, the chieftain’s little daughter, and the other a unicorn wearing full plate armor decorated with golden symbols of the sun. The chieftain clears his throat. Clearly, there are more foreign pony guests watching so he’s about to speak out loud instead of normal telepathy. “Ahem, I, umm-” he pauses, “Can everypony hear me?” he turns towards the armored unicorn when he sees almost half of the gathered ponies exchange confused looks, “Hey, I don’t think they can all hear me. Can you magic something up?” The unicorn’s horn flashes and he nods. “Let’s try- whoah!” the chieftain leans backwards in surprise at his newly amplified voice. “Think we can all hear you now, Wistful!” somepony calls out. “Yeah! I think even the yaks in the north heard you this time!” somepony adds to the laughter of the crowd. “Oh shush,” Wistful chuckles and waves his foreleg, “So, uh, you know me. I’m not much of a public speaker so I’ll make this quick. You all heard the rumors that griffons are attacking earth pony villages on the coast. Well, it’s much worse. They have established beachheads and are advancing west from the coast, burning and pillaging. From the reports the alicorn princesses sent out, it’s clear that these griffons are not just raiding parties like usual,” Wistful sighs, “This is an invading force that either takes ponies as work slaves or…” he grits his teeth, “Or they eat them.” Gasps and terrified yelps come from the crowd as well as several sounds of ponies throwing up. “It… gets worse,” Wistful says mournfully, “Somehow, the griffons managed to find a way to severely limit the unicorn use of magic for scrying and communication over long distances, which brings us into the picture,” he nods to the green pony by his side, “With the help of Twinkleshine here, the unicorns figured out that the griffon method of blocking magical communication doesn’t apply to our telepathy,” Wistful lowers his head, “Sorry, guys, I was hoping it would be enough for us to be communications officers or something, but the griffons are somehow always ready for anything the ponies throw at them.” Suddenly, a mental message from Wistful spreads through the crowd, words he deemed the unicorn onlookers aren’t allowed to hear. We aren’t warriors, but we will be. I managed to secure a way to avoid what’s about to happen. If any of you want to escape, leave now and go to the Winter plaza. Whoever remains will sacrifice everything for Equestria and for us. “So, Princess Celestia and I reached a pact,” Wistful continues his speech, a small smile growing on his face as he sees various groups form in response to quick telepathic exchanges and leave without being spotted by the Equestrian paladin standing behind Wistful, “With the use of pony magic, we will undergo physical changes required to fight, and our telepathic link will allow us to keep in touch despite the strange griffon technology. The spell is ready, and will spread to every single one of us through our telepathy. Our equestrian friend here,” he nods back to the paladin, “is ready to begin whenever we are,” Wistful looks over the crowd again, seeing that despite several hundred ponies quietly leaving, the others spread out to make it more difficult to see, “I think there will be enough time for questions afterwards.” Star Seer looks around. His wife is still there but his colt is gone, having left with his grandmother. If the flutterponies have to fight in a war, it will be the adults and the able.  Right, some change. Maybe strength enhancements, maybe some transformation. It’s not like we haven’t been brewing potions to achieve effects like that for generations. The paladin by Wistful’s side telekinetically unlocks two heavy latches on the side of his plate mail holding a long scepter of sorts, and levitates it in front of him. As he slams the dais with its bottom, a shockwave makes everyone in the crowd shiver as the touch of static electricity makes their hair stand on edge. The red crystal on top of it flares up with entwined crimson and emerald light and black smoke. Wistful closes his eyes. I’m sorry, everypony. A ray of light from the scepter hits Wistful whose two antennae on his forehead flare up with the same light and flash in tune with everypony else’s right before the telepathic screams of mental anguish begin.  Star Scribe would love to say that the agony of his body twisting and burning in with green fire is the worst part, but that would be a lie. The teeth lengthening and growing with his gums tearing open to make space for more is a close second. The worst part, however… The worst part is that once the physical transformation is over and the sound of screaming, flesh ripping, and bones cracking goes quiet, he looks at his wife and sees his own horror mirrored in her own eyes examining him and seeing what’s become of them. ***  I used to be a painter. I used to be a painter. I used to be a painter. Bright Brush is trembling, staring at the corpse of an armed griffon whose head he bit off moments ago. The bitter taste of iron in his mouth breaks through the shock of his first kill, and he tries to push out chunks of flesh stuck in his teeth with his tongue. Bad idea, because it brings forth the taste. He throws up. He’s not alone. Of the five ‘changelings’ who ambushed the griffon patrol at night, there’s only one who isn’t sobbing and choking on bile.  Bright Brush looks at the young female staring at her kill and gasping for breath through a foreleg pressed against her mouth. “Your father did this to us…” he growls between hucking goo and blood. It’s almost cathartic to speak out loud these days. Misty’s eyes tear up before she bites her lip and replies in a whisper: “We’ll get through this. We’ll go home. It won’t matter how we look. We’re still us.” Bright Brush sighs and wipes his mouth. “You’re right. I’m sorry,” he forces a chuckle, “But your father isn’t getting any Hearth’s Warming presents this year.” Misty chuckles back before walking over and giving him a hug. “I think he knows and he’d better be getting all of us something out of his own pocket, or else...” The changelings exchange exhausted smiles before resuming silently creeping through the darkness. According to the scouts, there are two more patrols following this route. I used to be a painter. We’ll go home after this. I’ll be painting autumn leaves again. *** This plan was months in the making. Its target - Fort Grasp, the griffon fortress overlooking the main naval base of the Griffon Empire, and the seat of the war council. Grand Admiral August Redtalon, the leader of the Imperial Navy and the Emperor’s cousin examines a large map on the long table with beautifully carved ivory statuettes marking the locations of various military detachments, both griffon and pony. “Westbrook,” August looks at an elderly griffon wearing an eye patch seated across the table from him, “What’s the problem with the Black Ops? The last few reports we received were distinctly wrong and led to the losses counting in the hundreds.” “Our intelligence gathering operations are failing, August. If I knew why, they wouldn’t be,” frowns Westbrook, “My best agents are returning with information they believe is accurate. However, my investigation-” “...tortures his own griffons…” mutters a different griffon leader which earns him August’s scowl and shuts him up. “-revealed that some of our agents seem to have had their memories tampered with.” “Unicorn magic?” “It seems so,” Westbrook scratches his beak, “However, I suspect there is more and it must be connected to our recent losses.” “Gentlegriffons, you are the united leadership of the Imperial armies. I gathered you here not to punish you for your failures, but to have you pool your knowledge,” August raises his voice, “As you know, the tide of war has turned. The unicorns led by Princess Celestia unleashed a tactical spell strike within the borders of their own country which evaporated over a third of our army. That is a level of magic our istrium blockades cannot stop or mitigate. However, we still outnumber pony forces manyfold, so if we spread out we can still fight back,” he looks over the gathered griffons, “But only if we figure out what the secret to the recent pony success is. My navy is holding our southern and northern fronts without a problem. Zebra corsairs can’t outfight a proper blockade, and the pony navy based in Manehattan port isn’t strong enough to mount a counterattack on Griffonstone. The issue is our ground forces.” “Look, our patrols are getting taken out,” General Brightfeather speaks out, “We had to shrink the perimeters and send redundant groups out just for safety. Our best bet is to group up and send larger forces past the impassable spell strike site to pincer the Everfree camp. If we hit them hard, they’ll be forced to retreat.” “Or they will just nuke another area of their country and take the rest of our forces with it,” August frowns. “Then we simply have to coordinate a split assault all over the coast,” Westbrook joins in, “August, the zebra corsairs can’t cause that much damage if we weaken our southern flank and turtle our forces in the ports, right?” “Communication is the worst problem for the zebras. They might not even notice it for a day or two if we do so.” “Then how about we use the ships to transport units of a hundred griffons or so, each within response distance from the nearest two? It will endanger our safe naval corridor but this way our forces will be numerous enough to fight off an ambush while still small enough to not endanger the war effort if they get nuked by the unicorns.” “This could work,” August rubs his chin, “It will require careful timing and most of my ships but it is a sound idea. Brightfeather?” “Without the istrium blocks, it will be possible to use magic to detect us, and it will be impossible to maintain supply lines. Besides, the units will still have to regroup in order to besiege any major target.” “Then attack minor targets - villages, supply routes,” August smiles, “Let’s see who starves first - a military unit or a bunch of civilians.” Sunspot, the last surviving changeling of many groups whose only job during the past three months was to gain trust and access to the war council by finding the right target to replace and figure out their routine, is standing guard by the door. Their scouting operations discovered this place, discovered the time of the meetings of the entire Imperial high command, and managed to smuggle in fully charged magical crystals rigged to blow up. This is the final step of the operation. All Sunspot has to do is to figure out a time where the council will meet again in full, prepare the explosives, and set the timer. This will be the final nail in their coffin. After this, I’m going home. Griffons will never set paw in Equestria again. We’ll all be free. Even if they turned us into these… monstrosities, we’ll be home and free. We’ll have each other. As the war council nears its end, Sunspot breathes a sigh of relief. His contact outside the fortress heard all this information through him and- An order comes. What? The order repeats itself. No, you can’t! There’s only one thing for the general changeling population left to learn. They weren’t picked due to their telepathic connections only for undetectable and unblockable communication. It was also to be easily controlled by a central power. The order comes and Sunspot can’t resist. The magical crystals strapped to him and hidden under his griffon armor grow hotter as he starts walking towards the central table. “Witherbeak, is there a pr-”    August Redtalon doesn’t get a chance to finish his question. This plan was months in the making. The feelings of a single changeling aren’t allowed to stop it. Watching half of the fortress get basically evaporated in blue flames, Misty growls. She didn’t know about the real plan until the order came but it’s there and then where she realizes how little changelings really mean to the ponies. We aren’t their allies. We’re just their weapons. *** The war turned completely. No longer it was ponies barely defending their coastline from invading griffon forces, now it was the Griffon Empire having its cities eradicated by tactical spell strikes conjured from the safety of the captured territories. Griffon politics helped, as with the first losses caused by changeling infiltration and pony counterattacks the Imperial families turned against each other. With ponies having no desire to further take over griffon lands, Equestria offered to accept material reparations and withdraw its forces from the broken Empire. However, the most powerful Imperial family, the Redtalons, still needed to receive one final message to hammer the point.  Misty, well-fed and having extensive knowledge of her own body after nearly a year of constant combat and infiltration deployments, is walking invisible and inaudible through Bloodstone, the current capital city of the Empire. Like some changelings who opted to learn basic magic, she permanently transformed her body to possess a horn instead of the pair of antennae the flutterponies had originally. It takes next to no effort to fly onto the previously discovered balcony belonging to the Emperor Aurelius Redtalon himself. The two griffon guards stationed on the outside have no idea what hit them as they slowly collapse on the stone floor with their throats slit and beaks muffled with goo. All her next step requires is a basic magical incantation muffling the sounds coming from the room ahead of her, and she pulls it off perfectly. One thing has to be said about Aurelius Redtalon - he’s not a coward. When Misty reveals herself along with the nearly soundless opening of the glass door, he calls for help at the same moment as he reaches for a hatchet next to the armchair he’s been sitting in and reading. By the time she makes two more steps, the Emperor is already lunging at her. In the next instant, he’s on the floor, coughing up blood due to his ribs and bones broken by a telekinetic blast that would leave even most unicorns gaping in awe. “This is what ponies had to create to defeat you,” hisses Misty, standing over the dying Emperor, “And I want to make sure this doesn’t happen again. That ‘istrium’ of yours the unicorns are so afraid of, how did you learn about it? The bigwigs I already questioned pointed to you personally.” “You’ll… get nothing… from me…” gurgles Aurelius, “Monster!” “They all say the same,” snickers Misty and presses her horn against Aurelius’ forehead. Digging through strands of memories, she lets the griffon’s mind unconsciously guide her towards her goal until… She’s standing in pitch darkness, feeling a presence dwarfing her own. Someone so incomprehensibly powerful that just their mark, the memory of them is enough to make Misty’s legs tremble and her head pound. “Heh,” chuckles an amused female voice dripping with honey, “Looks like we’ve been discovered. We can’t have that, can we?” from the blackness, a golden alicorn figure steps out. Misty’s changeling lust receptors go into overdrive instantly but she manages to retain enough control to stop herself from turning into a mindlessly drooling wreck. The alicorn looks down at her, “What a gorgeous white mane, like a burial shroud.” Aurelius’ mind burns out with the flash of the alicorn’s horn, taking Misty with it. *** Who is it? The darkness is still everywhere. It’s a changeling. Name, it has- had a name. Why is there nothing? Why can’t it focus on anything? Contacts. Fragments. Names. Other changelings. “AAAH!” it wakes up, gasping for air, its mind empty. It screams, clutching its head as random bits and pieces, images and feelings start ramming into its brain like shards of broken glass. A voice: “-like a burial shroud.” “YOU!” it- it- it- she growls, her eyes bulging in fury. On instinct, her mind reaches out for any mental link it can sense and draws out of them any sense of herself, since she has none. No other creature would have survived having its mind shattered like that, but there is no creature like a changeling. The mind reassembles itself. Misty… She stands up, fangs bared, and gives Aurelius’s corpse a final look. “Maybe I judged you too harshly, griffon,” she croaks through her throat ruined by minutes of non-stop screaming, “We’re all just pawns of alicorns playing games against each other.” With the image of the golden alicorn burned into her mind, she leaves the Emperor’s suite. “I will be your shroud, alicorn.” *** Chrysalis screams in pain and fury as everything clicks together. Lifetime after changeling lifetime passes through her mind, all ruined by a single alicorn. Memories upon memories, untold thousands of years of experience split among millions of changelings throughout history. “SCREAM ORCHESTRATED THE WAR AND THEN USED US OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER!” She collapses on the ground, smashing her forelegs down in impotent rage until her hooves start cracking. Shroud’s hoof splits into claws with which she grabs Chrysalis’ horn. One second later, a green portal appears in front of the two. Shroud throws Chrysalis through before going in and appearing in the empty central plaza of the flutterpony village. Her mouth curls up into a sadistic grin as she spots the changeling standing nearby with crestfallen expression. “I finally found you, traitor,” growls Shroud. Wistful walks over to twitching Chrysalis with bloody foam at her mouth. “No matter what happened in the real world, Misty,” he sits down and strokes Chrysalis’ mane, “I love you,” he looks at Shroud, “Please, give me a reason to forgive you as well.”