Golden Oaks Library, Several minutes earlier…
Spike sat on the counter, happily indulging in his passion for ice cream. Twilight stood glowering at him, annoyed that he’d won the challenge, annoyed that she’d failed the challenge, and annoyed that she’d let the challenge occur in the first place.
“You’ll get sick eating so much ice cream,” she declared at the behest of her maternal instincts, which were thoroughly un-amused, firstly that she’d taken his challenge, and secondly – and far more egregiously – that she’d choked.
“That’s Future Spike’s problem,” replied Spike who, unlike Twilight, was quite amused by the outcome.
“That’s what you said last time,” she reminded him. “And when you became Future Spike you were less-than-pleased with the actions of Past Spike.”
“Well, Future Spike can file a complaint. I’ll make sure Past Spike gets it.”
Twilight didn’t bother to parse out how that would work and instead decided to focus her energies on belaboring herself for her perceived shortcomings instead because, while it was no more productive, it at least resembled productivity to her perfectionist mind.
“Yes, well, Present Twilight is thoroughly frustrated she couldn’t manage the shadowstep, and Future Twilight will no doubt be even more annoyed because – in addition to the fact that Past Twilight failed, Past Twilight’s failure will now result in Future Spike having a tummy ache.”
“Don’t worry, Present Twilight. Future Spike will be sure to remind her it was Past Spike’s fault for having the idea in the first place.”
Twilight groaned and put her face in her forehooves. “Past Spike, Future Twilight, Present Frustration… the sad thing is, this convoluted mess still makes more sense than shadowmancy.”
“To be fair, it sounds like most things make more sense than shadowmancy,” remarked Spike dryly as he started scraping the bottom of the ice cream carton.
“I wonder if it’s having some effect and I’m just not seeing it,” speculated Twilight. “After all, I’m casting something. Maybe the energy is going somewhere rather than just dissipating, and I’m just not seeing it.”
Spike chuckled. “Maybe failed attempts at shadowstepping and teleports just transfer the energy to Pinkie for some reason, and that’s why she just shows up places.”
Twilight shuddered. “Now that’s a disturbing thought. One I’d consider exploring if I wasn’t afraid of what I’d find on the journey. It’d probably…” she trailed off, distracted by Spike licking the carton to get every last drop of ice cream. “Must you do that?”
The dragon shot her an amused glance. “I think you and I both know the answer to that question.”
Snorting, Twilight started pacing and tried to focus on her actual problem. “Assuming your… unsettling theory is incorrect,” which I sincerely hope is the case, “it’s possible that the failed spells are having some effect locally, like lengthening of shadows, or a change in the temperature of the air in the lab, or—”
“Or the weather?” interrupted Spike.
“Mm? Weather? What weather?”
Spike pointed out the window with his spoon. Twilight trotted over for a better look, then jerked back, surprised by the sudden gathering of storm clouds. “Woah!” she exclaimed. “What on earth?”
“Do you think your shadowmancy could have done that?” asked Spike.
Twilight shook her head. “Not a chance. Too little power. No, there must’ve been a scheduled storm today that the weather team forgot about.” She snorted. “Rainbow Dash won’t be happy about that.”
“I can hear the rant now,” chuckled Spike. “‘I take some time off for training and you make a storm without warning? I oughta— hurk!” The dragon clapped a clawed hand over his mouth as his cheeks bulged.
The unicorn teleported off to the side, expecting imminent expulsion of stomach-contents. “Well, I guess Future Spike got here early, didn’t he—woah!” She had to duck as Spike turned to face her and spat a scroll at her head. Instinctively, she caught it with her magic. “Now what would have happened if that hadn’t been a message?!”
“You’d be reconsidering the wisdom of mocking my poor eating habits while standing in range of the Technicolor Yawn?” suggested Spike.
Twilight shot him a hard look for his euphemistic way of saying ‘vomit’ as she opened the letter from Canterlot. She was formulating a comeback when she read the first line of Celestia’s missive:
‘Your friends are safe, but I’m afraid there was an attack.’
Those few, short words snuffed out any spark of good humor and narrowed Twilight’s entire focus to the present task. The weather, shadowmancy, and even Spike’s questioning of her silence passed utterly from her awareness as her whole mind was bent to reading the letter.
So Twilight read it. Once she’d finished, she read it again. She read and scrutinized every word, every detail. The letter was from Celestia and Argent. It detailed an attack on the train – thwarted by Rarity, Oaken, and the Friar – an attack on Mason Grey – thwarted by Luna – and all associated evidence, names, speculation, and instructions.
With each clinical word of the report a new reality slithered in, snaking its way into her head and coiling about her brain like a python preparing to squeeze its victim. She tried to wriggle free from its grasp, bringing the full power of her intellect to bear in a series of mental gymnastics that would somehow allow her to extricate herself from the cold facts, but the coiling truth was inescapable:
War had come to visit her friends, and would not be leaving until it was through with them. That reality was as inexorable as it was dreadful.
The news did not, in itself, surprise Twilight. Her instincts had warned her such a day would come, and her intellect had known better than to assume she and her friends would escape this bloodlessly. She knew this was not just another one of their adventures, where even real and deadly dangers could be faced with wits, grit, and the largely bloodless application of magic and friendship. No, this would be a new sort of trial, and she’d spent weeks preparing herself for the inevitable.
But she hadn’t expected it so soon, hadn’t expected it to ambush Rarity on a journey that was as much a sight-seeing tour as a business trip, on a train that she herself had ridden without issue scores if not hundreds of times. That morning, the shadow war hadn’t been real yet. It had been a distant thing – a report from Canterlot and a new research project, albeit one with some martial training on the side.
Even Celestia’s slaying of the first of the new Shades to save Oaken hadn’t fully realized the shadow war for Twilight. After all, Celestia was an immortal princess who’d faced and bested countless threats to Equestria over the centuries. To Twilight, the princess being forced to kill the Shade was simply an extension of that role.
Likewise, Luna’s fight with the assassins was part of the job description – quite literally if one read the oaths the princesses had taken upon coronation. If her intervention on Mason Grey’s behalf had been the only item in the report, it would not have affected Twilight so.
Both princesses’ fights had fallen under the purview of what was expected of them, and thus neither required that the new war be given fresh categorization in Twilight’s mind.
The train attack broke that categorization.
One of Twilight’s closest friends – a civilian, a seamstress and clothier, a kind and generous pony who liked fashion and beauty and culture, who gave of herself almost instinctively and enriched by trade and by charity the lives of those around her – had just been in a fight to the death with an assassin who had been so blindly zealous as to take his own life simply for failing to take the life of another.
Now, this was no longer a distant war fought by soldiers or by diarchs. Now, it was fought by those she cared for the most.
And, just like that, this was Twilight’s war now.
Twilight’s face hardened as her mind went to work. There was a horrified, terrified part of her psyche that wanted nothing more than to hide. That terrified part of her took that moment to leave. It packed up, left the forefront of her mind, and quietly checked itself into the recesses of her thoughts for an extended stay. Meanwhile, the parts of her psyche that made her an analytical juggernaut and one of the greatest mages in Equestrian history strode in, dismissed all non-essential thoughts from her mental roster, and ordered the remainder into a mental council of war.
Her gaping jaw snapped shut and her wide eyes narrowed. It was time to go to work.
She glanced at Spike, sparing the briefest of moments to thank heavens that she’d read the letter silently to herself, thus keeping him ignorant of the danger for a precious little while longer. How long that while will last, I don’t know, but I’m grateful all the same.
Twilight knew she’d have to tell him the truth. She wasn’t sure how, but it would be wrong to lie to him, especially with danger looming.
In the meantime, there was work to do. “Spike, take a letter,” Twilight ordered. Spike looked befuddled by her intensity, but wisely opted to hold his questions for the time being. He produced quill and parchment and transcribed her dictation. “Begin with the usual honorifics, followed by, ‘Message received. I will see if I can determine where the passenger in question came from. I will also see if I can learn anything about Greystone Holdings and their activities in the same locale’,” referring to Mason Grey’s company, “‘in case there is any overlap that might give us a clue. Please give my love to Rarity, Friar Jacques, and Oaken. Yours faithfully, Twilight Sparkle.’”
Having finished dictation, she spoke before Spike could properly form his questions. “Please send the letter to Celestia immediately, Spike.”
Sensing her mood, Spike hesitated only briefly before sending the letter. Before he was even finished, Twilight was already trotting through the library, quill and paper in her magical grasp as she started inventorying what materials she would need, which ones she had on hoof, and which she would need to acquire.
I’ll have to requisition train logs and personnel lists to get more specific information, but I can narrow the search before requisitioning by checking train routes, which I have a reference book for somewhere…
“Uh… Twilight?”
We still get subscriptions of the Equestrian Business Quarterly, the Penny Pincher, and the Financier business periodicals, so I can make a start on looking into Greystone Holdings…
“Twilight?”
Of course, Greystone Holdings’ overseas divisions may have investments that aren’t on the public record, but I might be able to see if any of Mom’s old contacts from her ‘traveling’ days or Dad’s colleagues from his infrastructure days might know anything. Then again, I should probably go to their contacts directly so as not to involve my parents—
“Twilight!”
The unicorn stopped and turned, finding a worried Spike behind her.
“Twilight,” he said, quieter but no less earnest, “what’s going on? And don’t say ‘nothing!’ You just got a letter from Canterlot, went all pale, had me write a cryptic reply, and then went all machine-mode on me. Has something happened? Is Rarity…?” he swallowed, “Is Rarity okay? Are Friar Jacques and Oaken okay?”
“Oh, Spike, I’m so sorry to have worried you,” exclaimed Twilight, trotting over to put a hoof on his shoulder. She put on her best attempt at a smile under the circumstances and explained, “All three of them are okay. Something has happened that Celestia needs me to look into, but our friends are safe.”
Spike relaxed visibly. “That’s good to hear, Twilight. I mean, I wish you’d lead with saying they’re fine, but at least you got there.” He chuckled with nervous relief. “For a second there, I thought Pinkie’s warning had come true and something big had happened, but I guess we’re off the hook for now—”
The door banged open as the Cutie Mark Crusaders burst in. “TWILIGHT! EMERGENCY!”
“Spoke to soon,” sighed Spike under his breath.
Ponyville General
Nurse Redheart stared out the break room window, watching the storm clouds gather. Her stomach churned as though gazing at something repulsive. If asked, she would not have been able to explain why she felt that way, nor why this storm should unsettle her in a way that no other had. Yet she did not question the instinct, deep down in her bones, that this was a Dark event. Something is wrong, she knew. Something is horribly, horribly wrong.
Her hooves itched to take action and quell the Darkness.
“Red? You alright?”
Medevac’s voice jerked her from her focus. “Hm? What?” Redheart said blearily, as though waking from a doze.
“You’ve been staring out that window like you thought a dragon might appear over the horizon,” said Medevac, who’d looked up from his meal – wisely homemade rather than hospital food – to address her. His countenance was concerned as he edged out of his seat. “Worried about Friar Jacques?”
“No, no,” she said, shaking her head. “I mean… yes, I am but that wasn’t why I… that’s not…” He trotted over and put a steadying hoof on her shoulder. She cleared her throat and indicated out the window. “Med, does that storm look… normal to you?”
Medevac looked at the storm in question. “Formed pretty quick, didn’t it,” he remarked. “Kinda weird that it came outta nowhere, but this close to the Everfree it’s not out of the realm of possibility—”
Red lightning arced across the sky.
“—buuuut, now that you mention it, that does look rather ominous, doesn’t it.”
“I knew it!” snarled Redheart. “Something… Bad is happening down there.” Her hooves itched, and her mind flashed Oaken’s struggle with the dark magic that had infected him.
But that was just an injury from battle. Whatever’s happening here… what could I do against that? What could I—?
There was a warmth in her hooves, as though her limbs remembered the healing of Oaken, and another memory besides – a memory of a passage from one of the writings Friar Jacques had left her, one drawn from his holy texts.
Comfort, oh comfort my people.
She spun and made for the door.
“Wait, Red, where are you going?” demanded Medevac, trotting after her.
Redheart snatched up one of the emergency medical satchels stored on a rack by the door and trotted into the hall without breaking stride. “Probably to do something stupid,” she responded honestly.
There was an uneven clatter of hooves behind her as the three-legged stallion quickened his stride, and then a pony-made breeze as he flapped up beside her, carrying a second satchel. “Woah, Red, I’m the combat medic, remember? Maybe I should go down first, just to get the lay of the land before you show up.”
Redheart quickened her pace. “No, Med, I can’t wait, I…” she paused, not sure how to explain the urge that pulled her, the conviction that she needed to go down there, the warmth in her limbs that longed to give healing and comfort. “I have to go, now.”
“Red, I…” started Medevac. She didn’t meet his eyes, not sure she could carry on if she saw his worry. There was a sigh, and then conviction as he said, “Okay, but we’re not walking all that way.” She yelped in surprise as he picked her up and took her weight on his back. “Hang on,” he ordered as he took to the air. “Marine fliers ain’t known for takin’ it slow.”
At first Redheart screamed in fear as they soared down the corridors at breakneck speed, but as they neared the exit she’d begun to find it exhilarating.
Not that she had time to enjoy it – by the time they got outside and started towards Ponyville proper, the Bunker Down Bell was already tolling.
Ponyville Outskirts
As it happened, Redheart and Medevac were not the only ponies to see the coming storm. Nor would they be the only ponies to act.
Burnt Oak had been stripping bark from the logs that would form the beams of the chapel roof. He’d been making good time on the construction project. As he’d said to Friar Jacques before that worthy man departed for Canterlot, building a structure as small as the chapel was practically a vacation; doubly so in the context of Ponyville’s construction oddities. He enjoyed construction that was not re-construction in the wake of the most recent monster attack, stampede, parasprite infestation, Pinkie stampede, threat to Equestria’s continued existence, or CMC scheme gone horribly awry.
The storm put an end to that peaceful work. He’d first seen the darkening clouds while at one of his small logging camps. At the sight of the clouds, he’d begun securing that which should not be left out in the rain. But the longer the storm progressed, the more uneasy he became. His eyes became fixed more on the clouds than on the logs he tended.
With practiced eye, he examined the grim clouds. They were dark, unnatural, and yet quite unlike the sort of rogue cloud to come from the Everfree Forest.
Burnt Oak knew much of woodcraft. The earth pony was well accomplished as a lumberjack, a carpenter, and an arborist.
But there was another side to his connection to the earth – a vocation which often took him into the woods to strengthen the land against the evil things which grew from the Everfree, and to fell that which sought to invade the clean soil untouched by its taint.
With a hunter’s gaze he watched the skies, and saw there a malice as wicked as any timber wolf from the Everfree.
So Burnt Oak set down his saw, took up his ax, and galloped towards the town. Through the red lightning and thunder, he heard the Bunker Down Bell toll.
The Golden Oaks Library
If the letter from Canterlot hadn’t driven Twilight into a state of stubborn focus, the three fillies’ report would certainly have done so. By the time the Bunker Down Bell clanged at the end of their report, it was almost an afterthought to her instinctive crisis management.
With a burst of magic, Twilight had brought her armor and weapons down from where they were hidden in her sleeping quarters and begun armoring herself without conscious thought – daily drills had made the action both precise and automatic; she could have done it blindfolded without inhibition. “Spike, take a letter to Canterlot relating what the girls just told us in briefest possible terms. Request instructions, a Pacification Squad, and a Decontamination Detail.”
“Wait, slow down, request a what?” demanded Spike.
“Trixie didn’t use to be this powerful,” explained Twilight as she finished attaching her armor and began double-checking her gear to make sure it was properly fastened. “She might have been affected by some dark artifact or…” she finished the thought in the privacy of her mind rather than say it in front of the fillies. Or she’s been recruited by the Shades. Though, if she’s still grandstanding in a… less violent capacity, she’s probably an unwitting dupe. Please, heaven, let her be an unwitting dupe.
Spike seemed to pick up on at least some of the subtext without her spelling it out, if the widening of his eyes and shaking in his claws was anything to go by. “Twi… if she’s got some new power, you can’t just go out there without backup. That’d be—"
“Let’s discuss my possibly poor tactical decisions after you’ve sent the letter, Spike,” interrupted Twilight. Distraught, but obedient, Spike did as he was bade. Twilight finished her armor pre-check and began a second automatic pre-check as she turned to address the Crusaders. “Girls, I want you to go to the Tuesday Bunker underneath Carrot Top’s cottage.”
Regardless of which ‘Tuesday Bunker’ she was directing them towards, the fillies were not happy with the order.
“No fair, Twilight!” exclaimed Applebloom, stomping her hoof. “We wanna help!”
“Yeah!” chimed Sweetie Belle, her voice full of misery and righteous anger. “She’s got my sister!”
“And my… basically big sister!” agreed Scootaloo.
The three were starting to kick up such a clamor that Twilight’s patience dissolved in less than a second.
“Girls!” snapped Twilight. She scarcely raised her voice, but the firmness in her tone and the grim light in her eyes silenced them far more effectively than if she had shouted. Now that she had their attention, she bent down to make eye contact, speaking calmly, but firmly. “Remember all the crisis-of-the-day-type adventures that blow through town, where some troublemaker or weird creature causes trouble for a while until the other girls and I sort things out with a talk about friendship or a heart-felt song?” The fillies nodded eagerly. “Well, this isn’t one of those times,” said Twilight soberly. “Whatever’s going on, the danger is very. real. If I have to worry about you girls being out there while I’m taking care of this, I’ll be distracted, and innocent ponies could be hurt. You don’t want that, do you?”
“No, Twilight,” chorused the three miserably.
Twilight smiled gently and gave them a quick hug. “Good girls. Now get down to the Bunker and stay there until you get the all-clear. Remember – you’re doing this to help your family and friends.”
The reminder didn’t do much to soften the blow, but it at least seemed to guarantee obedience. With clear reluctance, the three fillies slunk out of the library towards Carrot Top’s house, their typical ebullience extinguished.
Spike was just putting the finishing touches on the letter as the door closed behind them. “Why not send them to our basement, Twilight? Celestia knows it’s so stupidly reinforced that the library could get blown up and the basement would probably be fine.”
“Unless heavy duty magic was used on the basement directly,” corrected Twilight. “I’m Trixie’s target, remember? What if she knows where I live?” She hefted her spear. “Is the letter ready?”
“Just about,” said Spike, narrating the final line aloud “‘… oh gosh we need help, so please send help, oh Dear Sweet Celestia, send help.’ There, done.” He rolled the parchment in preparation for sending.
“Good. Be sure to—”
*KRAKOOM!*
Twilight staggered as the thunder sounded, but not from the noise. Rather, she staggered from the sheer wave of magical power that rolled over her.
What on earth was THAT?! came the horrified thought as she shook off the magic-induced vertigo that had come with the thunder.
Spike, not noticing her sudden disorientation, raised the letter to his lips.
When the lightning struck, it felt like a barrier went up! But a barrier of that power…
Spike opened his mouth to breathe his fire upon the letter.
A barrier of that power could— “Spike! Wait!” cried Twilight, reaching out to snatch the letter from his claws.
Too late. Spike engulfed the letter in flame. It was transformed in green fire and spiraled up to make its way to Canterlot.
It never made the trip. In a flash, the green fire coiled in on itself, compressed into an orb of fire, and turned white-hot.
“Spike!” Twilight shouted as she tackled the young dragon, shielding him with her armored body and encasing the orb of fire in a reactive bubble shield.
Not a moment too soon – the orb detonated with the force of a grenade, and Twilight’s hasty shield barely contained the blast. The strain sent a lance of pain into her horn, but, fortunately, did no real damage.
With the threat gone, Twilight dispelled what was left of the shield and released her friend from her protective embrace.
“Holy smokes!” exclaimed Spike. “What the hay was that?!”
“Magic backlash,” explained Twilight grimly as the ashes of the immolated letter drifted to the floor. “The storm isn’t just a storm anymore.”
“The storm’s not just a… what?”
Twilight trotted over to the nearest window and looked outside. She was greeted by the sobering view of a swirling wall of storm, not unlike a lightning-riddled tornado in appearance, but far, far larger. “It’s a storm shield,” she noted, slipping into her lecturing voice without meaning to. “A sufficiently powerful mage can create a swirling storm which circles the target area like the edges of a storm in the eye of a hurricane. It’s like if a tornado ate an angry lightning storm and washed it down with my brother’s city shield.” Checking the other windows confirmed her suspicions. “Right now, all of Ponyville is walled in by a magical storm. Heck, judging by the side, even a good-sized chunk of the Everfree Forest is probably inside the storm.”
“Sweet Celestia!” exclaimed Spike, sitting down heavily in shock. “So, what, we’re trapped here?”
“I’m afraid so, Spike.” She gestured to the storm wall. “Nopony could walk through that alive.”
Spike nodded slowly. “I believe it. And you probably can’t teleport us out of here because you’d rebound like the letter did.”
“That’s a safe bet. It’s pretty similar to Sombra’s anti-teleportation spell,” observed Twilight. “I can teleport anywhere within the field, but not through it.”
“Great,” snorted the dragon. “Now what?”
“Now…” began Twilight, glancing down at her spear. Sweet Source, I hope it doesn’t come to that. “Now…” she looked at Spike. I can’t let him see that. “Now, you take care of the fillies.” She teleported away before he could respond. She didn’t want him to make it any harder than it would already be.
The heart of the storm did not take much finding. Twilight remembered that the Bunker Down Bell had tolled thunderously but once, suggesting that whoever had rung it had not had the chance to hit it more than a single time. Combining that with a rough estimation of the radius of the storm based on what she could observe from the ground, and on her sense of the flow of magical energy around her, Twilight felt confident that Trixie was in or near the town square.
With that in mind, she teleported herself into one of the streets that led to the square. The street she chose was more or less an alley; the back walls of multiple shops opened onto the street, and there were always stacked crates, garbage cans, and other such things to provide cover.
It was fortunate that the cover was there, as from her hidden vantage point Twilight had a clear view of the action, and what she saw was rather grim. Trixie had imprisoned her friends, transmogrifying most of them and trapping Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie, and Ditzy Do in a cage; the latter two appeared unconscious.
Trixie was bandying words with Fluttershy at that moment, though soon the showmare seemed to be bandying words with only herself. Twilight could not pick out what was said over the crescendoing storm, but in a way it didn’t seem to matter. Trixie had thrashed her friends, stolen Rainbow Dash’s wings for herself, and, from the looks of things, had been especially brutal with Pinkie Pie. Her power was plainly on display – she’d beaten and captured three elite soldiers, five national heroines, and two tough locals who were no strangers to catastrophe or danger. She had transmogrified her opponents in a display of magnificent power, and summoned a storm barrier equal to one an alicorn might summon.
Twilight knew, deep down, that she could not beat Trixie horn-to-horn.
But, if she doesn’t know I’m here…
The spear made its presence felt in her grasp.
Trixie might have casting power like an alicorn, but she probably isn’t as durable as one. She’d see the flash of a magic beam, and may be able to react fast enough to redirect it or block it. But if I accelerated my spear fast enough…
Almost automatically, she raised the weapon and aimed. Telekinetic power built behind it as she prepared the weapon for its awful task.
Can I really do this? she demanded of herself as she watched Trixie pace, hissing to herself in the darkening storm. Can I really kill her?
“TWILIGHT SPARKLE!” roared the red-glinted Trixie, her voice magically amplified to be heard throughout the town, even over the storm.
The shock of her sudden outburst almost caused Twilight to loose her missile early. Her training let her keep hold instead of reacting. Some instinct or insight told her Trixie was simply shouting to the sky, and that she did not know where Twilight was.
“TRIXIE HAS BESTED YOUR LACKIES!”
I know! I see!
Stinging, icy rain fell from the roiling black thunderclouds.
“TRIXIE HAS STRIPPED THEM OF THEIR POWER!”
And you might die for yours!
“TRIXIE HAS CLAIMED YOUR HOME!”
And left me with no choice!
“TRIXIE IS THE GREATEST AND MOST POWERFUL UNICORN WHO EVER LIVED!”
You will die because you’re too powerful for me to fight!
Trixie paused for breath, as the downpour became a torrent, mirroring the deluge of warring thoughts in Twilight’s mind
I can’t just kill her!
I can’t let her hurt them!
Strike fast! Strike hard!
Can’t kill her!
Have to save them!
Have to stop her!
Source, is there no other way?!
The spear trembled in her magical grasp, from the power building behind it, from the weight of what she might have to do.
She prepared to strike—!
—and saw her friends. Her friends, whom Trixie had not slain. Her friends, who yet lived, and for whom she had hope.
Trixie lives, and there is hope.
Twilight lowered her spear, for there was, perhaps, another way.
I at least have to try.
She shed her armor with a magical shrug, but kept it close by in case she again had need of it. She mentally readied her spells as Trixie shouted again, her voice as much a shriek as a warcry.
“YOU CANNOT ESCAPE, SPARKLE! STOP HIDING AND FACE TRIXIE!”
Chains of lightning flashed across the sky, casting the town in a harsh, red glare.
Love your enemies, eh Friar? came the wry thought. Using some of the shadowmancy she’d successfully learned that day, she threw her voice to give Trixie an answering call. It was loud enough to be heard over the storm, yet conversational in tone.
“No need to shout, Trixie,” said Twilight.
There was a bright *snap* of teleportation as Twilight disappeared from the alley and reappeared before Trixie in the square. The maddened showmare glared at her with baleful redness in her eyes. Twilight returned the gaze evenly.
“I am here.”
The storm raged around them, unabated. Yet it seemed as though a silence settled over the square as the two unicorns sized each other up, a silence born not of the absence of noise, but of the absence of distractions. Twilight did not spare a glance for her friends as she studied Trixie, and Trixie scrutinized Twilight with equal intensity.
It was Trixie who broke the studied silence. “Finally, I have you,” she hissed through the storm.
“Why are you doing this, Trixie?”
“THAT’S GREAT AND POWERFUL PRINCESS TRIXIE TO THE LIKES OF YOU, SPARKLE!” roared the blue unicorn.
The force of the shout nearly pushed Twilight backwards, but she dug in her hooves and stood her ground. That was like an evil Royal Canterlot Voice, thought Twilight, recalling the time Luna had almost knocked her over with her voice. Twilight tried to not think too hard about it.
“Your powers are impressive,” responded Twilight honestly. “And you’ve got the Royal Canterlot Voice down pat.” Twisted, but down pat. “I ask again, why are you doing this?”
“Why?” hissed Trixie. Her horn flared, and the wind picked up. “Why?” she snarled, and her wings – Rainbow’s wings – flared as she rose into the air on the wind. “WHY?!” she roared, forcing Twilight to brace against the shockwave. “You and your precious little friends took everything from Trixie! Made her a laughingstock! A mockery! A joke everywhere she went! She even had to take a job as a rock farmer! A ROCK FARMER!”
Twilight did her best to keep the quaver out of her voice as she replied, “One of my best friends is a rock farmer. There’s no shame in—”
“SILENCE!” Lightning crackled across the sky at Trixie’s yell. Twilight fell silent. Best not push it if I still want to talk her down. “You did this, Sparkle! You embarrassed the Great and Powerful Trixie! You with your wretched magic brought Trixie low!”
Biting back a protest that what happened was in no way her fault, that she’d tried to avoid the confrontation entirely and had done nothing whatsoever to Trixie, Twilight instead chose to focus on seeing things from Trixie’s perspective. She tried to imagine what it would be like to be the laughingstock of book-lovers, to never be able to work in a library again because of her reputation in the community. Suppressing a shudder at the horrible thought, she replied. “I am sorry that your livelihood was hurt, Trixie. It was never my intention to cause harm to you. In fact, it was your story of vanquishing the Ursa Major that inspired me to learn the spells that I did; in a way, it was you who saved the town.”
For a moment, Trixie’s features seemed to soften in surprise. The harsh light in her eyes dimmed, replaced with surprise and – it wrenched Twilight’s heart to see it – an almost forlorn hope, that perhaps Trixie had indeed done well and was being recognized for it.
Then the amulet pulsed, and the red glare returned. “Of course Trixie saved the town!” snarled Trixie, “But then you drove her out!”
What is that amulet doing to her? wondered Twilight grimly. Plainly it’s giving her power, but it seems to be controlling her too, twisting any words I say or any memories she has to evil purposes. Maybe the best I can do is focus her anger on me and not the others.
“If I was responsible, Trixie, then I’m the one you want. Please, let my friends go, and we can try to fix things!”
“Your friends are as guilty as you!” hissed Trixie. “Your friends mocked Trixie, derided her, challenged her!”
Ah, horseapples. “That… I understand your frustration, Trixie.” I mean, sure, you were belittling the crowd, talking down to them to stroke your own ego, and that probably was what prompted my friends to heckle you… but they still shouldn’t have heckled you. It’s impolite to heckle the pony on stage, and there were some bruised egos on both sides. Twilight tried to focus on that fact as she added, truthfully, “I am sorry they acted that way.”
“What?!” exclaimed Rainbow Dash, her voice cracking. “Twilight, look what she’s done! You’re not—”
Whatever else Rainbow might have said was cut off by a magic zipper Twilight closed over her mouth, followed by a sharp glare.
“It was wrong of them to heckle you, Great and Powerful Trixie” she continued pointedly. Even if you have a colossal ego, to the point that you challenged me – an obviously shy audience member – in an effort to inflate your own ego; my friends still should’ve just walked away or at least handled it more diplomatically. “In hindsight, I should have said so at the time, but I… am insecure,” she admitted. Trixie blinked rapidly, her eyes switching between her own and... whatever was going on with the amulet. “Really, I am super insecure,” Twilight said humbly, “and I especially was back then because I’d never had a bunch of close friends before. I was worried about how my friends would perceive me, so I didn’t think of how they were disrupting your show. I am sorry that happened.”
The fact that Trixie’s eyes had been changing back and forth had given Twilight hope that she might be getting through, but what came next dashed that hope. Red-eyed with fury and ill-gotten power, Trixie returned to the earth and smote the ground with her hoof, hard enough to crack the cobblestones and dent to land beneath. “‘Sorry’ doesn’t bring my reputation back you pathetic nag!”
Please, Trixie, don’t escalate this! “This doesn’t have to go any farther, Trixie. This isn’t who you are! You’re a showmare! A great showmare! A powerful showmare!”
“TRIXIE KNOWS SHE IS GREAT AND POWERFUL! SHE DOESN’T NEED A BEARER OF HARMONY TO TELL HER!”
Twilight opened her mouth to retort, but the way Trixie had addressed her gave her pause. She called me ‘Bearer,’ and her words were dark. Why? Why the focus? And how would she know? We don’t advertise who we are or where we live. Does she know from rumor or from… some other source of information? Something told her she wouldn’t like the answer. “What did you call me?” she asked, hoping to tease the information out.
A malevolent chuckle bubbled up from Trixie’s throat as the amulet pulsed. “Oh, don’t play coy, Sparkle. We know you and your minions bear the Elements of Harmony. We know you are our enemy.”
‘We’ know? ‘Our’ enemy?
The amulet now gleamed with a constant red light. Twilight had a strong hunch she knew why.
So. It’s going to be like that. One more try then.
“What makes you think the Bearers are your enemy, Great and Powerful Trixie?” Twilight asked carefully. “After all, we serve the citizens of Equestria and all folk who desire freedom. We have no quarrel with you.” She gestured towards the amulet. “Perhaps it is something else that makes you think we’re your enemy. And the Trixie I remember wasn’t the sort to take marching orders. The Trixie I remember wouldn’t let be content to get pushed around like that.”
A flicker of concern crossed Trixie’s face. A flicker of remembrance. Most heart-wrenchingly, a flicker of fear.
But the red returned, and Trixie could not stop it.
“You want this power for yourself!” shrieked Trixie, recoiling as though Twilight had attacked her. Her horn flared like a bonfire, and blood-red sparks flew in all directions. “You want to murder Trixie, to steal Trixie’s power!”
“No, Trixie, please, I—"
“TRIXIE WILL NOT STAND FOR IT!”
She loosed a torrent of energy at Twilight, a mighty swarm of magical lances to pierce any barrier and flay the mare behind it.
But Twilight was not there. She’d teleported the moment Trixie made her attack. Landing behind the showmare, she pleaded, “Trixie, please! I don’t want to fight you!”
“You’d rather kill Trixie without a fight, is that it?!” roared Trixie, spinning and firing a precise beam at Twilight.
Rather than teleport, Twilight threw herself into a combat roll, and as she tumbled she charged her horn to call her arms and armor. Her gear warped in behind Trixie and spun through the air towards Twilight.
The equipment nearly collided with Trixie, and Twilight had hoped that a lucky strike from a flying helm or peytral might knock Trixie out, or at least daze her. But the tormented showmare vanished in a cloud of black smoke tinged with red lightning, and reappeared a few yards to the side.
Twilight fired off a quick blast of energy at Trixie to distract her. Trixie casually deflected the shot, but it bought Twilight the time she needed to telekinetically arm herself. Her armor folded around her with the ease of a glove, with her sword at her side and her spear in her grasp.
Not a moment too soon. Trixie fired a trio of shots from her new position. Rather than burn energy on another teleport, Twilight hefted her spear. As an Equestrian military weapon, the spear was enchanted both for durability and to be effective against magic. Twilight made two small wards to absorb the smaller magic bolts, and simultaneously boosted the spear’s counter-magic enchantments. Neither ward held up to Trixie’s power, but they did deflect the shots upwards where they could do no harm. Twilight disrupted the third shot with a blow from her spear that sent shattered tendrils of unspent energy flying like wild sparks. Several landed on her armor, blackening the surface without damage.
Trixie let out an inequine shriek of rage and charged her horn again, but Twilight was already on the move. She galloped towards the rubble of the brick wall that had been around the Bunker Down Bell. Trixie called down a bolt of red lighting from the storm that cratered the place Twilight had been standing, and even the near miss sent a discharge of electricity through the air that made Twilight’s hair stand on end.
Not halting her gallop, Twilight reached into the rubble with her magic and started flinging bricks at Trixie. The move put Trixie on the defensive, giving Twilight a few precious seconds to think. Her mind sprinted through a battlefield analysis as Trixie began striking down the stones with her power.
She dodged my armor rather than deflecting it or weathering the hit; she destroys the bricks instead of turtling behind a shield; she’s vulnerable to an attack if I could just land one; her current defense is offense.
Trixie spat an expletive, seeming to belatedly recall that she’d formed the brick wall from magic in the first place. She dispelled the bricks with a flash, returning them to a state of energy and leaving Twilight without ready ammunition. Twilight instinctively teleported as Trixie went on the offense again, and a fireball incinerated the place she’d been a moment before. But Trixie tracked her movement faster than expected, and Twilight had to form a hasty shield to ward off a beam of energy. She made the shield as strong as she could, but it was not strong enough. The sheer power that hammered the barrier almost brought Twilight to her knees. Twilight feared if – when – the barrier broke, the backlash would put her on the ground. That would be the end.
Just before the barrier gave out, Twilight dove to one side and dropped the barrier. The beam cut past close enough to scour the side of her armor. The left-flank enchantments gave out and the plates were blackened, but Twilight was unharmed.
Left flank weak. Distract and disengage. She launched a hasty fireball at Trixie. The showmare contemptuously destroyed it with an ice blast of her own but – as Twilight had hoped – the flashes of the attack and counter-attack split her foe’s focus enough to let her break into an evasive gallop. Trixie lobbed powerful shots at her, forcing Twilight to zig-zag unpredictably to avoid being fried.
I can’t win head-on, thought Twilight, firing the occasional blast to break up Trixie’s attack rhythm. I have to split her focus, she realized, remembering Fritters’ use of frontal attacks to distract his opponents and leave them vulnerable attacks from other directions. Feint, disrupt, strike!
Twilight took a risk and cast a rock-moving spell on her hooves. The spell took a lot of energy – more than she was comfortable with – but this was no time to hold back. She would not win a game of endurance.
Spell charged, she stomped, sending out a shockwave that momentarily shook Trixie on her hooves and – more importantly – loosened up the already damaged cobblestones of the square. With a quick jerk of magic, Twilight hefted the rocks into the air and sent them in staggered volleys to bludgeon Trixie from all sides. The strain of the spells meant that Twilight couldn’t put much force into the stones, but she gave enough to get the job done.
Trixie had to deal with the rocks. Cussing up a blue streak, the showmare made a trio of lashing electrical whips which she swung in a windmill of attacks to shatter the stones as they came at her. Bits of gravel pelted the crazed Trixie, but none of the cobblestones connected intact.
But they don’t need to. With a snap of magic, Twilight sent both sword and spear into the air, high above Trixie, with points poised downwards. Feint, disrupt, strike!
She readied her attack, watched Trixie twirl and strike at the offending cobblestones, waited for the right moment to send wrath from above—
… wrath… Trixie is so filled with wrath…
Twilight’s eyes followed the red-gleaming amulet on Trixie’s neck, the amulet that had somehow warped her mind and made her…
It’s not her doing this! came the anguished thought. She’s not in control!
My friends need me! I have to do this!
“She’s… she’s my enemy!” whispered Twilight aloud, trying to force herself to attack. “She’s my enemy,” her weapons tensed, “She’s… she’s…” tears rolled down her face, “… a victim.” Her weapons returned to her side, their blades clean.
She could not do it. She could not bring herself to attack a mare who enslaved in her own body.
Twilight hesitated.
Trixie did not.
In her distraction, Twilight had slackened the fusillade of stones keeping Trixie occupied. By the time she realized her mistake, it was too late to correct it. Trixie smashed the remaining stones and turned her attention to Twilight.
The young mage tried to teleport, but Trixie acted faster. A ring of energy blasted out from Trixie’s horn, stretching its edges to the limits of the town square. Twilight’s teleport flashed a moment after—
And rebounded. Twilight vanished into her teleport only to reappear inside the ring, head throbbing and horn aching. An anti-teleportation ward! she realized with horror. She cast a hasty ward on herself to dampen magic attacks and amplified the protective enchantments of her own armor, while at the same time trying to shake off the headache and break into a gallop to evade Trixie’s next attack.
Too late!
Trixie’s lightning whips lashed out, snatched her, wrapped around her like living chains, and tightened. Twilight had just long enough to throw more power into her protective wards as Trixie smirked, winked, and then sent joules of electricity through the magic whips.
Twilight screamed as the shock coursed through her. The military-grade armor – amplified by her own magic - dampened the effects significantly, but the power washing over her was too great to be stopped entirely. Fire seemed to flow through her veins and tendons, especially on her left flank where her armor had been damaged before.
She fell to her knees in pain, brought low by Trixie’s power. Gritting her teeth against the agony, she tried desperately interpose her magic shield between herself and the whips, to extricate herself from Trixie’s magic. If she could create a buffer between herself and her enemy’s grip – even for a moment – she could perhaps counterattack, or at least dispel the whips. But she knew she hadn’t the strength to do it.
Trixie shouted something mocking over the sound of the surging electricity, but Twilight could not make it out. She heard Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash crying out, begging Trixie to stop, but the words of their pleas were lost to Twilight, drowned out by her impending demise. I have to break free! she thought desperately as her power waned, fighting a losing battle to get a buffer up even for a moment. I have to get—
“GRAAAAAAAAAA!”
The roar cut through the storm, the lightning, the crackling electricity. A roar Twilight had heard precious few times but knew instantly all the same.
The roar of a dragon.
Spike had entered the fray.
Spike ran.
Ran harder than he’d ever run in his life. Run harder than he’d run from Garble and his gang, harder than he’d run from the giant dragon whose gems he’d taken, harder even than he’d run from while bearing the Crystal Heart.
The rain-slicked cobblestones did not slow him, nor did the crash of thunder, nor did the calls from ponies on their way to their bunkers urging him to join them. Several tried to block his path, to make him stop and bring him with them to safety.
Spike did not slow. Spike did not speak to them. Spike ran.
Something about him made them get out of his way. Maybe it was the knowledge that Spike, though young for a dragon, was a mature teen or even young adult in pony years. Maybe it was the fact that Spike was often on the front lines of whatever catastrophe assailed Ponyville and had survived threats just as grave as whatever was happening in the square. Maybe they remembered that he’d faced Sombra and lived, had defied the tyrant to his face and still had the victory.
Maybe it was just the look in his eyes.
Whatever the case, they did not hinder him, and Spike ran.
Ran for the town square. Ran for Twilight. Ran for his family. Ran for one who had raised him as though she were his own mother.
Spike ran.
Ahead, through the storm, through the crash of lightning and the roar of thunder, the sheets of rain and the flashes of magic discharge, Spike saw Trixie. Trixie did not see Spike.
Spike saw Trixie fight his kin, saw her bat aside Twilight’s attacks like they were nothing.
He saw Twilight outmaneuver Trixie, saw her raise her blades for the killing blow.
Spike ran.
He saw Twilight hesitate, saw her hold back. Saw that Trixie did not hold back.
Spike ran.
He saw Trixie catch Twilight, saw her grab Twilight in her magic, saw her entrap Twilight with hate and malice and deathly rage.
Spike ran.
Spike saw Trixie. Trixie did not see Spike.
Trixie made to strike down his friend. His family. His mother.
Spike leapt upon his enemy, claws outstretch.
Spike saw red.
Twilight had seldom seen an enraged dragon, but even once had been more than enough. Even a juvenile dragon was a foe worthy of caution; their hides were thick, and their scales resistant to most magics. Well did she remember the grim tales of the Red Sands War, one of the only subjects about which she’d never dared ask Celestia. She knew what it had taken to kill dragons in that war, and how many of Celestia’s brave warriors had died to bring the giants down.
She was confident that she could defeat a dragon – at least a young one – in extremis, but not confident enough to fight one if there were literally any other realistic option. That was why she had risked injury teleporting herself and her friends away from the gang of dragons whom Spike had defied to save the phoenix. It had been far less risky than fighting them.
For all that, she’d grown accustomed to Spike being a gentler sort than the other dragons she’d encountered. Spike was kind. Spike was cordial. Spike was caring, compassionate, and empathetic to those around him. And, for all his maturity, he was still a baby by dragon’s reckoning.
Twilight had never thought to see him enraged, never seen him as dangerous (except perhaps to her books when he had a sneezing fit). He was… well, he was Spike. Baker of cookies, teller of jokes, master of good-natured sarcasm, Number One Assistant Extraordinaire, and her oldest and truest friend, like a little brother or even a son.
Through the many dangers and foes to have come to Ponyville, he’d typically run rather than fight – and wisely so. He had courage – the Crystal Empire had proven that fact with such force as to silence any doubters who had a shred of honesty – but he was a gentle soul by nature. His courage had always been to stand firm or to run into danger to assist, not to seek battle head on. Twilight could not have imagined seeing him attack anyone with the ferocity of his dragon kin. She’d thought it impossible.
She’d been wrong.
With a roar as mighty as a drake many times his size, Spike flung himself on Trixie like a lion full of bloodlust. Though small enough to sit on her back, he bore Trixie fully to the ground and struck with the savagery of a ravenous wolverine.
Trixie instinctively warded herself with a mage’s armor, shielding her body from the dragon’s claws, and that likely saved her from grievous harm. Even so, in the brief moments before the shield went up, Spike’s claws had gouged bloody gashes upon her side, showing that, for all her power, she was yet mortal, and there were limits to her power.
Limits that set Twilight free from the coiled agony of the electrified whips. Now distracted by pain, terror, and the claws of an enraged dragon whelp, Trixie lost concentration on the whips that bound Twilight, weakening their power and ending the painful attack. Twilight sent a jolt of energy through her armor in a burst of reactive magic that shattered the whips and dropped her to the ground. She landed hard and had the wind knocked out of her by the cobblestones, but she knew she could not linger.
Trixie was already rising to her hooves, eyes as blood-red as the streaks of blood flowing from her wounds, horn charging with terrible power.
Operating on instinct, with no time to think or plan, Twilight aimed at the amulet, charged her horn, and fired!
Too slow did the beam move.
Trixie, as though echoing Twilight’s earlier move to free herself from the whips, charged a reactive shield on herself that sent out a shockwave in all directions. The shockwave struck Spike like a hammer and sent him flying. Trixie smiled cruelly and aimed to shoot him from the air like skeet.
Then Twilight’s shot landed.
It was not enough to penetrate Trixie’s shield. It was enough to deliver a gut punch that sent Trixie skating backwards along the ground, her hooves digging furrows through the stone as though she were an earth pony, or an alicorn.
Twilight spared no thought for this as she caught Spike out of the air and cradled him to herself. He was unconscious, smoke-blackened, and in that moment seemed oh so very small.
In that moment, something in Twilight’s brain clicked.
Trixie’s mocking cackle cut through the air, bubbling up like boiling tar rising to the surface of a swamp. “You cannot win, Sparkle,” sneered Trixie as she stepped closer, flaring Rainbow Dash’s wings out dominantly. “You cannot win. And, without your ability to teleport, you can’t even run.”
Twilight turned her gaze away from the fragile bundle she held and glared at Trixie. “You’re right,” she acknowledged. “I can’t teleport.” Trixie’s sneer broadened… then faltered as Twilight smirked, “But I can do this.”
She charged the spell, wrapped it around Spike and herself, reached out to a patch of shadow some many streets away, and stepped, vanishing from sight.