Pones seemed to freeze in place, his eyes staring blankly at those of the fiend before him. While I could clearly perceivably see the latter, despite its grotesque features, enjoy the confusion and horror upon the former’s expression.
“Yeah,” said it with a smile, revealing its vicious set of teeth. “it doesn’t really make a difference, does it?”
Pones had opened his mouth, but he had not the opportunity to utter a single word for, at that precise moment, the ground below us shook with great intensity. So intense was it that we had actually fell upon the hard cobblestone ground, the dust of the wooden ceiling (or the bottom of the shop) filling our nostrils. I distinctly heard the cry of voices of the gathering crowd and the bullying voice of the gruff Inspector Gregcolt above.
“Sweet Celestia!” I cried, once I had regained my balance. “What on Equestria was—”
“Behind you!”
I spun around and found him pointing his hoof at my direction. I had immediately recognized what he had meant. I once more spun around and discovered the place in which the creature used to occupy was now a small puddle of blood. I then heard what had sounded like the unnerving sound of the swift wings of a beetle’s taking flight. It had come from above. I followed it and found the creature flying towards the direction of the flight of stairs. Then, with the blink of an eye, it had seemed to simultaneously combust in a ball of bright greenish light. Then, at the same moment, when the light had dissipated, what once was the foul creature took upon the form of that of a Pegasus—the form of our client, Ms. Derpy Hooves. Then it was gone.
Following his training, despite how bizarre the situation in which he finds himself in, Stanley Trotkins had regained his composure, and took chase upon the creature. He thus ascended the stairs, whence I heard the commands to the constables above.
“Did you see that, Pones?!”
When I had turned to him, I found him, already on his hooves. Like Trotkins, he had regained his natural cold and practical composure. Though despite this, I could still detect a sense of devastation in those grey eyes. He then ran past me in an athletic sprint. He ascended the stairs in devilish speed.
“Come, Watcolt!”
I ran after him.
Once I had remerged from the basement and into once more the actual shop, I run past the police tape in which had withheld the gathering crowd, and exited the ill-fated Sugarcube Corner. I had spotted my friend attempting to catch up with the young Stanley Trotkins as the latter does so in turn with the creature which seemed to perfectly take the form of Ms. Hooves. I then followed them all across Ponyville. We ran from alleys, bridges, and even the famed Golden Oaks Library. Soon, Pones had run past the inspector (much to the latter’s surprise) and tackled the mare (or rather the creature) to the ground. It then squirmed and snarled viciously at its captors.
“Let me go!”
Trotkins and the two constables that followed had attempted to assist him, but they had been pushed back by the mare’s ferocious kicks. But I had let this not prevent me from securing this fiend.
I tackled its upper part, while Pones tackled its lower.
“Pones!” I cried. “What is—"
This, he did not answer—well, at least in words. As we had struggled to secure it, he grabbed my hind-hoof while his horn had emitted the familiar yellow aura. Then, all was darkness.
─┉┈◈◉◈┈┉
When I had opened my eyes, I was in a different scene entirely. Gone were the earthly sounds of the peaceful countryside of Ponyville and the sound of friendly village gossip. Instead, what had replaced it, were the familiar sounds of the metropolis. I was back at Canterlot. But there was an addition to these—instead of the sound of busy lifeforms, it was the horrific sound of chaos and anarchy. And amongst it, was the sound of someone calling my name. It was Pones.
“Watcolt!”
His voice was in somewhat of a muffle. I had felt as though a bomb detonated right beside my ear: with agonizing rings resonating in it.
“Watcolt!”
It grew louder.
Then I felt my entire form lift from the ground with what seemed like a yellow aura surrounding me. It was my friend’s telekinesis levitating my form. It was at this moment that I realized I lied face-down upon the harsh Canterlot pavement.
“Sweet Celestia, Pones!” I cried, squirming uselessly in the air. “Put me down!”
This he did rather harshly. Once my hooves were safely upon the ground, I was about to question Pones on the meaning of this entire business, when he directed my attention to the current state of the capital. Oh, how should I ever forget such a sight when its horror is forever engraved in mind? Is it not—the strange case in which my friend and I had decided to partake in not already exhausting upon one’s energies and that the scene in which my attention had been dictated to is even more so?
Scores—hundreds, even thousands of the same kind of the fiendish creature’s kin had been found wreaking havoc upon the streets of Canterlot! I daresay, these fiends had swarmed—SWARMED the entire capital like flies latching themselves upon a carcass. The pink bubble was nowhere to be seen. The Guards in which had been stationed in their posts just the preceding morning were now bounded up in ropes or swarmed by these foul creatures; ponies ran for dear life, some were brave enough to fight back, but to no prevail, they were too much!
I stood petrified by this sight, and it was Sherclop Pones who had brought me back to the planes of reality. He pulled my hoof and led me to a dark alley. His knowledge of the byways of Canterlot was extraordinary, and on this occasion, he passed rapidly, and with an assured step, through a network of mews and alleys the very existence in which I had never known. We emerged at last into what appeared like to be a dark alley.
“We shall be safe here,”
“Pones!” said I, out of breath. “What is this inexplicable horror?” I waved my hoof in the air, as the sounds of the ensuing chaos could still be distinctly heard.
He did not answer, instead he had continued to stare blankly. It was not in my friend’s nature to act so strangely disoriented of the events, when he was usually grounded into the basis of reality and its recent on-goings. Especially at times of crisis such as that we had found ourselves in. But he wasn’t acting practically, in fact, he wasn’t acting at all! He looked at me with a certain kind of desperateness in his eyes, and what seemed like—I was quite unsure at the time—regret.
Then, before he could answer, there could be heard the distinct horrific sound of insect wings. It was coming closer. Pones then grabbed my hoof and took we shelter by hiding behind a pile of used rubbish. It had slightly bothered me why hadn’t we simply teleported our way into somewhere safer, but it had been evident my friend had done this on purpose. We had hidden ourselves well enough but also permitted us to have area of vision to peek through. Then, it had slowly came into sight.
“Sweet Celestia!” I cried. “It’s one of those—things!”
“They’re Changelings, Watcolt,”
I stared at him.
“Changelings?”
Then, I began to see vaguely the true meaning of the matter. Pinkie Pie—the creature below the basement of Sugarcube Corner. This, however, provided more questions than answers.
“What shall we do?”
Pones had considered for a moment. Then, despite the desperateness still being read in those grey eyes of his, he had conceived of an idea.
He formed a trumpet with his hooves to whisper to my ear.
“On the count of three, Watcolt, we shall know everything.”
“What?”
“We shall pounce upon that one right there and extract it all out of it! After all, if the Queen is involved, surely her drones must have some knowledge of it.”
I had no idea what he meant, but I knew we were going to do a dangerous deed. I looked at the Changeling with a nervous expression, pondering upon the worst outcomes. But as I did so, I had noticed a perceivable sort of anxiety in the creature’s grotesque features. It may be my exhausted mind, but it had seemed it particularly did not want to be here—like it was reluctant in causing this chaos. There was not that kind of fiery hatred in its eyes like that of the one below basement, instead they were more of a gentle blueish color. Like it was innocent. I had sort felt hesitant when Pones had concluded the count.
On “three” we sprang out from the rubbish and overpowered the creature. I had secured its fore hooves while Pones had stood upon its hind. I had nearly forgotten my friend's capabilities in physical combat, where he himself is a very much able boxer and tackler. Where his mental faculties fail, it is where his physical ones succeedes. Especially in occasions when dealing with a criminal of brute force, he held the knowledge of the proper procedures in which to take.
The Changeling, to my slight surprise, instead of resisting with violent energy, it had squirmed in fear.
“Hold its hooves tight, Watcolt; we’ve got it!”
“Please don’t hurt me!” it begged in a rather gentle masculine voice.
This had come as surprise to both Pones and I, and we stared at it for how much of contrast his demeanor was to his other compatriots. It begged again with a sort of scared gaze...as if it were powerless.
“Please, don’t! I’ll give anything you want!”
“We only desire a certain confirmation upon a point.”
“ALRIGHT! A-alright, as you wish. S-shoot...”
Pones considered for a moment. “Am I right in thinking that your leader had received help from an exterior force in order to assure the success of this attack?” he said this as he waved a hoof round the air. “An exterior source only known as the Professor?”
A look of surprise came across the creature's countenance. “You’re him!” said it, stammering incoherently as it stared at Pones with both amazement and confusion. “You’re the guy he’s been worrying about—you’re Sherclop Pones!”
Pones slammed a hoof to the ground, missing the creature’s equine-like head by inches. “Is he?” he demanded. “Is 'the Professor' indeed behind this attack?”
“You really do know everything—”
“IS HE?!”
The creature was truly frightened by my friend’s masterful manner that its form shook in fear.
“Y-YES!”
“And that in order to assure its success, a murder case had been needed to be presented to me?”
I uttered an exclamation of surprise. But he waved a hoof to silence me.
The creature was at a loss of words for a minute, before it had garnered enough strength to answer him.
“Y-yes!...
Pones seemed to freeze in place upon hearing that answer, while my mind took some time to comprehend it. The disappearance of Rainbow Dash had been presented to us for this chaos’ success? It’s all bizarre—and yet, the creature confirmed the testimony.
Pones remained motionless, staring into the void for quite some time, while the creature in which we pinned down squirmed in fear. It was it who broke the tense silence.
“Could you please let me go? I promise I won’t hurt anyone…”
Pones, to my surprise, had let it go. The creature then hurriedly left the scene, but for some inexplicable reason, it had looked back with a pair of sympathetic eyes, like it had been concerned for us. Then it left.
“Pones!” I retorted as I waved at the direction of the retreating thing. “What shall we do?”
I heard the continuous sounds of the ongoing chaos—the destruction of buildings, screams—it was horrible.
“Pones!”
Then, without even bothering to answer, he grabbed my hoof, whence, once again had teleported the both of us into a different scene entirely. When I had opened my eyes, we found ourselves in the midst of the chaos of the attack: thousands of Changelings surrounding us. I looked round us, and found out that we were at the gatehouse of Canterlot Castle itself! They stared at us with a thousand pairs of hungry eyes, as their forked tongues licked their lips with malicious intent. I had actually let out a scream, which had seemed to trigger them for they charged at us like a swarm of vindictive bees.
I closed my eyes, accepting my fate and bracing for the worst, but to my surprise, when I had opened them, I found a protective forcefield immersing both me and Pones. It was the latter’s doing.
“What are we doing?!”
The Changelings attempted to break the protective barrier.
“To act, Watcolt!” said he, paving the way to a white building by using his horn to blast the attacking Changelings. “We are going to stop this attack!”
“WHAT! How?”
Pones shook his head. “The Elements of Harmony—the Mane Six, Watcolt, they shall ought to know how to put an end to this! If my surmise proves to be correct, they are still within the castle's domain—and if we fight our way through, we could reach them! We must reach them, Watcolt! Quick march!”
But there was no need for such an act, for at that precise moment, there, within the interiors of the castle, was a visible swirling pink aura emitting from them. Like the illumination of a lighthouse. Then, like a great explosion, the pink swirling aura seemed to immerse not only the entire castle, but the entirety of Canterlot as well. When I had opened my eyes, I found Pones standing gapingly as he gazes at the direction of the path of the gatehouse before us—it was empty! There was not a single Changeling that defied us! In fact, not a single one could be found in the entirety of the city! It is like they had been wiped off from the face of the planet. It was a miracle. Though, at that time, I held not the vaguest idea on what could have brought it—neither did Sherclop Pones.
I looked all around me and stood amazed and confused, while Pones had betrayed his cold and emotionless nature, and showed his more equine side. He conveyed an immense amount of joy and relief, prancing as he did so.
“Sweet Celestia, Pones” I cried. “What could it mean?”
Pones, then approached my direction and had unexpectedly, wrapped his hooves round me!
“It means it is all over!” he cried. “We have been saved!”
“By what? And what was that pink aura? Surely you must’ve seen it too!”
“Yes, it is certainly remarkable,” said he, breaking off from the embraced. He then, like magic, had regained his usual cold and practical composure. He then grabbed my hoof and led me into the castle.
“Come, Watcolt; we have much to thank the Mane Six!”
As we had learned later, the Equestrian Monarchy had not just a single group of individuals to owe its continual existence, but to the newlyweds of the scheduled royal marriage as well—Captain Shining Armor and Princess Mi Amore Cadenza. But I find no need in giving a detailed explanation to the events in which they did so to which the vast majority of my dear readers may be already so well acquainted with—the events in which had been given under the memorable title of “A Canterlot Wedding.”