//------------------------------// // Stage 4: Glide // Story: Missing in Action // by LSTS Connor //------------------------------// At Luna’s arrival, Phasma shed his dragon disguise and took to the air, insect wings buzzing to keep him upright.  His torso’s exoskeleton had been thoroughly shattered by Six’s attack– Phasma did not think he was even capable of standing, let alone walking around. Blood flowed from his chest, down his hind legs, and dripped onto the ground beneath. Facing damage that mirrored Phasma, Six had stayed on the ground. Bloody gashes had been torn across her back from where Phasma had ripped and torn using his dragon claws. When she tried to stand, Six gasped in pain and fell back down to her stomach. Princess Cadance and Captain Shining Armor teleported in after Luna, quickly taking stock of the state of destruction that the room was in. Seeing the bloody Phasma and Six, Cadance rushed over to aid Six while Shining snarled at Phasma. Luna stepped between the King and the ponies, interposing herself between the two sides. “What is the meaning of this madness?!” Luna demanded. Phasma hissed in pain, “Obviously, we’re having a polite discussion on politics. Now, if you don’t mind, I think we’re far from finished!” Quickly, Phasma applied some basic healing spells to himself. The sharp pain that wracked his chest faded as the numbing spell kicked in. Hastily, he grabbed his fallen saddlebags from the floor and rebuckled them to his haunches, carefully trying to avoid the broken chitin along his midsection. “Now is not the time for jokes, changeling!” Luna spat. “You will stand down and answer my questions, or else!” “It’s pretty darn clear what happened here,” Shining interrupted. “The changeling attacked Six!” “Are you alright, Six?” Luna asked. Phasma snarled, baring his fangs at Luna, “Oh, you’re going to ask her if she’s okay, but not me?!” Luna shot back a glare, “Did you not regrow an entire leg? Walk it off.” Across the room, Six leaned on Cadance and worked to sit herself upright. She rose, groaning in pain and breathing heavily. Shaking, Six raised her forelegs and slowly took off her helmet. “I need a medic,” she said quietly. “You need a lot more than that,” Phasma growled. With a dismissive snort, he turned around and flew out of the room. He felt the Spartan’s stare melt a hole in the back of his head as he fled the room like a toddler having a tantrum. He didn’t care. Phasma cared about finishing the fight that the Spartan started, but clearly, that wasn’t going to happen. If he tried to do anything, Luna would put an end to it.  So, he left. Phasma managed to only get halfway down the hallway before two squads of Praetorians turned the corner and nearly ran into him. The armored changeling drones fanned out and stared up at the flying King as Phasma bit back a hard-ingrained reaction of blasting them all into dust. The changelings had similar reactions; each took up a defensive stance before relaxing a little bit when they realized it was me who ran into them rather than the Demon. “King Phasmatodea?” The lead Praetorian asked. “You know of any other massive changeling royals? Ones that look half like a drone?” Phasma snapped sarcastically. The drone faltered, unsure how to address Phasma, “We were sent to investigate the disturbance here… What happened?” “Noble Six and I fought. Now get out of my way, I have to angrily storm off and you’re ruining the moment.” The Praetorians shared an uneasy look with each other. “You’re going to have to come with us,” the leader said. “Ha! No one orders me around, drone,” Phasma snarled. The leader glanced at the blood that was dripping from the royal’s body, “Sir… Curxe will want to speak with you. If there was a fight between you and the ponies, he would need to know.” Phasma snarled again, resisting the urge to grind his teeth together. ‘Now the old fool thinks he can order me around?! No… no. He couldn’t have known about this. He’s just given standing orders to the Praetorians and ordered them to bring whoever caused the ruckus…’ “Fine then,” he said. “Make it quick.” The Praetorians turned around and guided Phasma away. Closing ranks to keep a close eye on the King as they proceeded through the halls of the changeling Palace. Drones quickly stepped aside as the armored procession hovered through the tall hallways. The Praetorians led the way up through several staircases, eventually depositing Phasma in a rather opulent meeting room. In the usual contrast to the sparse city below, the room was filled with things full of value beyond that of just mere metals and gems. A solid wood conference table took up most of the space, with upholstered chairs arranged around it. A clean, blank square on one of the walls heralded a recent removal of a painting. There was, of course, a copious amount of gold, silver, and gems present. Phasma hovered over to the fall end and pulled out a chair, coming to a landing on top of it. Thankfully, it was proportioned for a royal– likely the same royal whose painting had been removed from the room. Phasma sat, quietly fuming and bleeding. He expected to have to wait for quite a while before Curxe found his way to him, so when the doors burst open, Phasma was surprised. He was even more surprised when he saw who had burst through the door. Instinctively, he kicked off the chair and began hovering again. “So you are the upstart royal without a thought between his ears.” The Queen stalked into the room, looking down her nose at Phasma’s injured state. Phasma kept his distance, looking down at the deposed monarch. She continued, “I have heard that you are running around, pretending to have the status and power of a Queen. Did you think that I wouldn’t notice? You are in my Hive, hatchling.” ‘Back to the old grind? I’m getting real sick of this shit– not to mention that I still want to crush the skull of that fucking Spartan!’ “I was rather hoping you wouldn’t slither into my sight, Chrysalis. I’ve heard about your failures here. It is nothing unexpected, I have to say.” Chrysalis stomped her hooves as she glared at Phasma, “Broken Princeling, know your place! I am the Overqueen of the Empress’s Great Swarm! You bleed across my floors! You breathe my air! You live at my behest!” Something brushed up against the King. He almost turned to look at what it was before he realized that it wasn’t a physical thing. As Chrysalis hissed and bared her teeth at him, she had reached out with her Weave– her Aura, as they called it in this world– and had given him a command. It was similar to that of the Weave that had been pressing against Phasma’s ever since he set hoof in the city. However, it was noticeably weaker. Capable of crushing the will of lesser drones, Chrysalis’s Aura had broken upon the solid mass of Phasma’s Weave like waves upon a shore. Quickly, Phasma snaked a tendril of magic into his saddlebags and grasped the Weave inhibitor. With a mental command, he flicked the magical artifact off. His Weave expanded instantly, unfurling like a hundred sails on a ship or the wings of a great arch-dragon. The effect was immediate. Chrysalis gasped and took one step back, “By the Empress, what–?!” Phasma bellowed aloud and over the Weave, “I command thee, kneel!” Phasma felt minor presences against his Weave, previously unnoticed, suddenly lift their pressure from his mind. Chrysalis complied with his order, gasping for breath as she fell to her knees before him. Where Chrysalis shook with shock, Phasma shook with anger.  He let loose his fury on the miserable excuse for a royal, hovering and leaning close to spit in her face as he yelled. “I am King Phasmatodea of the Fifth Hive! I am the Vanquisher of Darkness! I am the Pontiff of the Hive Eternal! My will is Panar’s will! I have broken Death itself! You are nothing but a wretched cur, a curse upon the changeling species! Where I have walked, I have seen nothing but your failures dooming us all! It falls to others to save our species and to wipe out the despicable stain you always leave! Get out of my sight, Chrysalis, before I turn you into nothing more than a bloody smear on the walls!” Against the words thundering across the Hive, Chrysalis hissed in pain. When the yelling abated, she staggered to her hooves, eyes wide and mouth agape, panting with effort. She yelled her response to the King’s. “I am the uniter of Hives! I am the one who brought Equestria low! You are nothing more than a foreign invader with delusions of grandeur! The Fifth Hive has not existed for centuries. Where were you when our species was shattered?!” Phasma slowly hovered in a circle around Chrysalis, sneering down at her. Chrysalis stood up straight and sneered right back. Phasma spoke to her in a low tone, no longer over the Weave, “I have been walking amidst the ruins of burned-out kingdoms and desolate wastelands! I owe no answer to you, blight. I stand here, saving the changeling species once again, while you cower in the corner, grasping for power! If you truly cared about the Hive Eternal, you would remove one of its greatest enemies: yourself!” “I am the enemy?!" Chrysalis hissed. "You dare accuse the Empress’s Regent of aiding the ponies when you fly in as their vanguard?! Look at yourself, too damaged to even stand! Who is responsible for your injuries?! Was it the changelings you claim to champion or the ponies you claim to defeat?!” Phasma stopped and gestured to his shattered chest, “This is the most that your bane could accomplish; the Demon tried her best to kill me, and this was all she could do! She lives because I allow it, and she will die if I demand it! You still insult me with your presence?! Get out of my sight, you miserable bitch!” Chrysalis continued, despite his order, “Blind little hatchling! Is throwing your voice all you can do?! Even the Venator, condemned by the Empress, was more intimidating than you!" Phasma closed the distance between them in a single heartbeat. A right hook to Chrysalis's muzzle sent the Queen toppling backwards. Before she could so much as gasp, Phasma was on her, grabbing her by the collarbone and hoisting her up into the air. When Chrysalis's horn lit up with the green energy of a spell, Phasma shook her violently, fracturing her concentration. “It is taking all my willpower to not crush you like the fucking insect you are, Chrysalis! You have no idea how much I want to!” Chrysalis tried to cut off the King's rant with a punch of her own. Her hoof froze mid-swing, caught in a barrier of orange. "With a single thought, I will tear you limb from limb!" He screeched. Before the King could follow up on his threat, the doors burst open again. This time, it really was Curxe who had arrived.  The fight was thoroughly halted when both royals turned to see the drone. “By the Empress," Curxe yelled at the top of his lungs, "would you stop that?! Every changeling within the Palace is kneeling at nothing!” Phasma glared at Curxe as he let go of Chrysalis. The Queen caught herself as she fell, landing on all fours. Phasma quickly reached into his bags and turned back on the Weave Inhibitor. Phasma's Weave was squeezed and compressed, further irritating the seething changeling King. He leered down at the grounded drone, “I have given you your chance at redemption, drone. I am done here. You can finish the negotiations with the ponies.” Once again, Phasma found himself storming angrily off after a battle. This time, he was even more furious than before. Phasma lashed out with a tendril of magic, ripping apart a stone statue of a changeling princess as he left the room. Before the door shut behind him, Phasma caught Curxe yelling at Chrysalis. “What did you do?!” With practiced breaths, Six controlled the pain radiating from the claw marks that dug into her back. The prick of a stitching needle made her wince ever so slightly each time it pierced her sensitive skin. Spirit apologized quietly each time she noticed such movement from the Spartan. Six sat bare, propped up against one of the destroyed kitchen walls, her armor and undersuit sitting to her side. A tense silence had descended upon the ruins, with the three princesses quietly speaking amongst themselves across the room, their eyes periodically glancing at the injured Spartan. Six, however, still seething quietly to herself whilst staring at what remained of her knife lying shattered on the floor, could not have cared less. She just wanted to do nothing more than decapitate that ‘insignificant, insufferable bastard of a bu-‘ Six grunted in pain as the stitching needle was suddenly driven into her back and Spirit crashed into her, yelping in pain. Caught by surprise, Six fell forward onto her bruised chest. With a growl of redirected anger, Six yelled back, “What are you doing?!” “…Kneeling!” Was the strained response by her changeling subordinate. Confused, Six pushed herself back up and looked behind her, finding that Spirit was, in fact, kneeling. “Why?!” The Spartan yelled, her anger starting to peter out. “…Kneeling!” Repeated Spirit, sweat forming on her brow. “Well, stop kneeling and answer me!” Ordered Six with more annoyance than anger. Spirit slowly lets out a hiss of pain but continues kneeling, “It’s King Phasma’s Aura! I…I can’t fight it!” Noticing the quite obvious commotion, Luna, Celestia, and Cadance storm over from across the room. Luna was the first to speak up toward the pair of Spartans. “What is happening?” “Ask Spirit,” Was Six’s response as she lowered herself back to the ground. Spirit hissed once more before responding, “It’s King Phasma’s Aura! He’s ordering me to kneel! Now he’s yelling!” From across the room, Shining Armor interjected before one of the princesses could speak up, causing them to turn to where the captain was standing. “Every changeling is kneeling. I can see them down in the streets! They’re all looking at the Palace and kneeling! No, wait, there’s some flying in the distance.” Turning back, Luna focused on the still kneeling changeling, “Do you have any idea why he’s making you kneel?” With more strain, Spirit responded, “No! He hasn’t-oh! He’s angry… angry at Queen Chrysalis!” “At least that’s something we agree with, “ spoke Shining Armor as he approached from his position at the nearby window. With a quick glance towards the Captain, Celestia spoke up, “He is saying something over his Aura, correct?” To this, Spirit nodded slowly, “What is he saying?” After a moment of exertion, Spirit responded, strain quite obvious in her voice. “Threatening to kill Queen Chrysalis! And still making us kneel!” Luna sighs, “We know where he has run off to, at least. As vindictive as I feel, letting him kill the Queen would cause too many problems.” Celestia glanced at Luna, prompting her to roll her eyes and continue, “Also, it is bad. Cadance, find them and stop more bloodshed!” Cadance salutes, “Aye aye, Auntie!” With that, Cadance quickly darted out of the room, her husband running after her and leaving the royal sisters and the Spartan pair alone. As soon as Cadance disappeared around the corner, Luna turned and glared at Six. The Spartan did not react. “Still choosing to remain silent? Now this entire endeavor is in jeopardy. What happened here?!” Six looked up from her position on the floor. She met the lunar alicorn’s stare for but a moment before it crumbled to dust with a loud sigh, ”…I lost control of myself, Princess.” Celestia was the next to speak up with a sigh of disappointment of her own, “Let us hope that all our efforts weren’t for nothing. While Cadance is stopping more violence, you need to tell us what happened here, Six.” Before Six could begin, however, a sudden sigh of reprieve came from the changeling behind her before collapsing from exhaustion. With a light mumble of somebody that hadn’t slept in days, Spirit spoke, “... Good now. Tired from resisting… Wake me up for morning PT.” The changeling promptly went limp, snoring softly and lying sprawled out next to Six. She was soon picked up in Luna’s deep blue aura and set off to the side as Six recounted what had happened in earnest. From their first meeting in her usual dreams of Reach to the encounter on the skylines of New Alexandria that began their feud. Celestia had since taken over the stitching Spirit had left incomplete as Six finished her explanation, ending with Luna having come to break up the fight. A silence had descended upon the trio after that, nopony knowing what to say. Were it not for the return of Cadance and Shining Armor, it would have surely continued till the sun went down. Turning the corner, Cadance reported what she had discovered, opting not to question why her auntie was bandaging Six nor the softly sleeping changeling in the corner.  “King Phasma picked a fight with Queen Chrysalis, Curxe says. Or Chrysalis picked a fight with him. Either way, they fought, and Phasma stormed off… somewhere. He also announced that he’s done and leaving.” Celestia and Luna glanced at each other in worry before Luna turned and thanked Cadance before speaking, “We need to find him. Negotiations, despite what he claims, are far from concluded.” To her side, Six moved to stand up, grunting in pain and eliciting many protests from Celestia, “I will find him.” “You are injured. Are you sure that is a good idea?” Protested Celestia. Six shrugged before wincing in pain, “No, but I have to. He won’t listen to anybody else.” She began, slowly limping towards the exit before stopping just before the doorway, “Watch my armor for me. I think the locals would scuttle it if given the chance.” But before she could leave, the dark blue form of Luna blocked her path. The alicorn attempted to glare down at her despite their similarity in size. “Art thou mad?” She asked, having momentarily reverted to old equestrian. “Going to speak with him now, in your condition, just after I narrowly prevented the two of you from killing each other, is complete lunacy! No, it’s downright suicidal!” “Princess, trust me. I know this may seem like a stupid risk, but now that I can think clearly… I see that the two of us are more alike than I previously realized.” The Spartan said solemnly, causing Luna’s hard features to soften slightly as the weight of her words registered. “You…” Luna bit her lip before quickly making sure they weren't being eavesdropped on. “You believe he may also come from your world?” “From the UNSC? No. But that he is, or was, Human? That much I am certain of. Besides, I was the one who started the fight. No other apology but mine will placate him.” Luna watched the Spartan impassively, her horn brightening as she squinted her one good eye. A dull glow enveloped the Spartan for but a moment before vanishing. “Fine, I am detecting no mind-altering magic influencing you to undergo this insanity, Six. So I will not stop you. I will, however, order you an escort until you find the King if you are so insistent on galloping around a palace filled to the brim with changelings who call you ‘Demon.’” Luna pursed her lips and whistled a silent pitch; several minutes later, two thestral guards flanked her, the soldiers having seemingly dropped from the high ceiling of the hallway behind her, not a sound indicating their entrance. Six’s gaze switched between the two guards momentarily, her military eye examining them with the insight only a Spartan could manage. “Fine, but when I find Phasma, they are to leave me alone, understand?” Luna looked back towards the two guards, who nodded at the Spartan’s orders before she promptly stepped out of the way with some trepidation. As Six limped her way past the alicorn, shades of red beginning to appear on her bandaged shoulders, she turned to look Luna in the eye and spoke one last time before leaving to find the King. “Trust me.” Time had stolen the wind from Phasma's sails. With no outlet, he wandered the Halls of the Palace, angrily snarling and muttering insults and comebacks to arguments long unfinished. Eventually, he ran out of steam. He had wanted to leave the Hive altogether. However, he needed his payment from the ponies, as much as he loathed to return to them. So instead, he descended through the Palace all the way to the sublevels. After what seemed like an hour of dripping blood across a hundred halls and stairways, Phasma found that he had arrived somewhere… different. With practiced ease made complicated by the difference in structure, Phasma plucked the name of the room he was in from the ambient Aura of the Hive. 'The Hall of Venators…' It was a massive space. Eight body lengths across, at least fifteen tall, and what seemed like half a mile in length, the Hall was easily one of the largest single rooms in the entire Hive cavern. Pillars of ruby-red material rose from the floor to greet the vaulted ceiling high above.  Between them, statues and paintings of changelings filled the Hall. All of them were armored changelings. Most of them were painted or sculpted into poses depicting their death. 'What the hell is this place? It's like Vigo the Carpathian was put in charge of making the Hall of Mirrors in Versailles… Oh. I think I could take a guess.' As he paced through the hall, Phasma noticed the other occupants of the room. At the far end, cloistered around a nearly-destroyed statue of a changeling Queen that dominated the end of the hall, a number of changeling drones slowly walked about. They tended to the masonry of the room, slowly and meticulously repairing cracks. They lit incense and bowed deeply before the destroyed statue. They offered up silent prayers to the ceiling above. All of them wore robes of black with blood-red interior coloring. 'I can recognize a cult when I see one. This must be the Hive's temple to the Great Weaver, Panarthropo. Though, of course, they call her the Empress…' Phasma made his way over to the statue. Interestingly, there was an armor stand on a raised dais set before the destroyed statue. The armor stand lay bare, with no indication of what belonged on it. No indication, other than the fact that every statue and painting depicted changelings with the exact same set of armor. The priests noticed Phasma's arrival. One of them split off from the throng to greet Phasma. “Welcome, King Phasma, to the Halls of Vendratis.” Phasma raised an eyebrow, “I’ve never heard a drone speak over the Weave before.” The changeling smiled warmly, “It is a blessing from the Empress. We, the Silent Priests, have accepted this blessing and given up all other voices. It is the way of the Empress.” Phasma nodded, “I've certainly seen stranger things. What is this place, this Hall of Vendratis?” “It is where we pray and where the Venators are crowned. Though right now, the crown is absent.” Phasma started to walk down the hall to the statue, examining the paintings slowly as he talked with the priest. “Explain.” The Priest followed him, “The Venators are changelings that defied the Empress, and in turn, they must serve Her to their last breaths as Venators. These are those who have redeemed themselves in Her eyes.” “And by redeem, you mean die? That tends to be the case for those that The Great Weaver blesses with purpose. Death by dying…” The priest ignored Phasma's joke, “They may have lived as traitors, but they died as heroes.” Phasma laughed, “Thought so. Once you have seen one death cult, you’ve seen ‘em all. Plus… never mind, doesn’t matter. Panarthropo gives as she takes. Though I am wondering… when did the last Venator die? Did he or she die to Six?” “We have not found his body, nor has the Panassari returned to us. We can only assume he still lives.” Phasma and the priests stopped before the pedestal and the shattered statue. “I assume this stand here is for this… Panassari?” “Yes, a suit of armor created by the Empress herself.” Phasma hummed, “... A suit of armor. I take it that once this Panassari is put on a changeling, it cannot be taken off?” The priest nodded, “That is correct.” Phasma sighed, “The Arbiter. Those paintings gave me a good hint… So this Venator went against Six and hasn’t been seen since. Another damned reference.” The Priest asked, “Is this ‘Arbiter’ your name for the Venator?” "Not mine, no," Phasma shook his head. "It’s Six’s. The Demon’s." The silent changeling flinched at the name before regaining their composure. "Though he isn’t supposed to be her opponent, I guess some creative liberties can be taken. Heh, now I am wondering if you have an equivalent to The Great Journey. Tell me, priest, do you have a holy desire to end all life on the planet?” The Priest balked, “By the Empress, no!” Phasma chuckled, “Guess not, then. That’s good, though. I would hate to have to slaughter you all.” The Priest examined Phasma, “It is forbidden to spill blood on these holy grounds. You are, ah, spilling a little bit as we speak. May we tend to your wounds?” Phasma looked down at his chest. Most of the blood had dried. Here and there, a trickle of wet blood flowed downwards towards his hind legs. The pain had long since numbed away, thanks to his earlier spells.  He sighed, “Very well.” The sound of hooffalls on stone clattered through the hall, interrupting the silence that had fallen in the Hall of Venators. Phasma was sitting on the ground, and the Silent Priests had completely muffled the sound of their hooves as they gathered in prayer, practicing a silent ritual. Someone new had come to the sacred shrine. Phasma stared up at the statue of the Empress, breathing slowly. His chest had been wrapped tightly in white gauze. A pink transparent goo had oozed out from between the layers of wrapping, solidifying into a thin, shiny layer across the bandages. In the torchlight, Phasma’s chest shimmered like an oil slick. His ear twitched at the sound of the hooffalls coming to a stop. The Silent Priests looked over Phasma’s shoulders with undisguised hatred and disgust, scurrying out of the way and sticking to the edges of the hall. Many fled through doors into the rooms of their little monastery down here. There was an uncomfortable silence. Phasma half turned his head to address the newcomer, “The Priests are too pacifist to say it, but you are not welcome–” “I am sorry.” “.... What?” Phasma slowly turned around. Noble Six stood alone, the tall statues and wide hall making her look small. She had come without her armor, her helmet, her weapons. Bandages and gauze wrapped around her chest and back, stained red in many places around her shoulders. “I am sorry,” Six repeated. “I lost control.” Phasma stared at her, “... What am I supposed to say to that?” Six shrugged– and winced in pain, “I don’t know. I’ve never had to apologize before.” “I hope you aren’t expecting me to apologize,” Phasma sneered. “You did call me nothing more than a fictional protagonist.” Phasma searched the room for emotions. From Six came low bursts of sadness and frustration– a tangier version of anger. He sighed, letting his gaze drop to the floor, “That’s all you were… I didn’t think it was possible that you were real. Even after all the different Equestrias I visited, all the different timelines and destroyed worlds, there was nothing with as strong connections to Earth as you. Connections to my home.” “You miss it just as much as I do,” Six said. Phasma shook his head, “More. Or less? It’s hard to tell. You… have something here. You’ve already built a name for yourself, though in a fashion I would personally have liked to avoid. But mostly, you’ve built… connections. Your own connections to this world. I am not from here. My own world is out there, somewhere. Not just Earth– I’ve given up hope of returning there long ago– but my Equestria.” Six stepped closer to Phasma, within arm’s length.  “It’s been years since I’ve had anything to call home,” Phasma sighed. “Years since I’ve helped my Hive, my kingdom. Years since I’ve seen Luna…” “Mine was destroyed. I’ve accepted that,” the Spartan said softly. Phasma chuckled, “Burned to ash and then to glass. Your helmet survived, interestingly enough. They almost certainly held a funeral for me on Earth– but I’d like to think that they are still waiting for me at the Fifth Hive. Luna herself spent a thousand years alone; a decade of waiting is probably nothing for her.” Six raised an eyebrow in interest, “What is Princess Luna to you?” “Is it too cliche to say everything?” Six shrugged and winced again, “I don’t know.” Phasma looked up at the vaulted ceiling, “I have been wandering for ten years. Or was it twelve? I had lived in my Equestria for only seven. At what point does it go from being my home to just being a jumping-off point? I’d like to believe that the point is the people. The ponies. The changelings. Luna is there, waiting for me. I know she’s waiting for me. It’s what she’d do. She is what makes it home.” With a grunt of pain, Phasma stood up and looked Six in the eyes, “It’s for her that I keep moving forward. Past all the worlds where my presence, my interference, can change the course of history forever, there is one world where someone has changed me forever. So I must return. You, however, are just starting your new journey.” “I guess you could say that.” Six’s eyes narrowed, “Your words didn’t help, though.” Phasma glared at her, “I’m not saying them for your benefit.” “I wasn’t talking about your long-winded spiel.” “Hmph. You know, I’m sure you really get along with Shining Armor. Do you two share the same brain? Take turns using it?” “Yes. You’re probably going to want to find someone with a brain you can use, too,” Six snapped back. “You could have easily killed me if you had one.” For a moment, the conversation lulled.  “... What words were you referring to?” Phasma asked. Six took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, “That everything I went through was nothing but fiction. I remember every event with complete clarity. I remember every face that was killed by Covenant plasma fire. I remember what it felt like to be stabbed by a plasma sword. You calling those experiences nothing more than coding in a game struck me deeper than that sword.” Phasma looked away, “.... Sorry. I didn’t mean– ah, no, I definitely meant it then.” “I take it that your Earth isn’t like mine, then?” Six asked, sitting down next to the King. Phasma shrugged, “In one of your history books, I’m sure it is. Twenty-first century, no big wars, no extinction-level crisis– aside from the imminent biosphere collapse due to pollution, of course. I didn’t sacrifice myself for some great goal. I didn’t lose my life in defense of everything that I held dear. I was murdered. Just… murdered.” “I can see how that can make you bitter.” “Yeah…. I’m sorry.” The Silent Priests finished their sermon that Six could not hear. Slowly, they shuffled out of the Hall and into their room, staring at the Demon as they passed. Six broke the silence this time, “By the way, I would have countered you.” “Oh yeah? Bet I could have just crushed your throat using telekinesis.” “I would have held my breath.” Phasma scoffed, “Held your breath? Really? That’s what you would have gone with?! ‘Oh jeez, this guy really is killing me. Good thing I don’t need to breathe. Aaahhhp,’” Phasma pantomimed sucking in a lungful of air and puffing out his cheeks. Six chuckled. The negotiations were finished. Much to the Princesses’ visible relief, Six had returned to their rooms with Phasma. The explanation they received was short, lacking details, and too sparse for any of their likings. In short, it was the usual debriefing from the Spartan. Negotiations had resumed and finished over the course of the next two days. Neither side was very happy with the end result, but neither side was particularly angry, either, making the negotiation a success. With Phasma’s help, many problems had been anticipated, smoothed over, and settled. He didn’t tell anyone that he had experience in the matter. Celestia was quite grateful for his assistance– though, like her protege, Cadance, she had kept some distance between them. Luna barely said a single word to Phasma. The changelings, gratuitous for the help, offered Phasma something that the ponies could not: food. Phasma topped off his internal love reserves and spent the remaining afternoons quietly healing from his fight.  Six and he talked to great lengths about each other’s lives, ONI, the war, and anything else that came to mind. While Six was interested in speaking with someone from the twenty-first millennium, there were only so many questions she could ask before she exhausted her limited knowledge of Earth’s history. Phasma, for his part, was interested in hearing more about the other Spartans that Six knew, as opposed to the war itself. He already knew what the war was like. Six spoke of Noble Team like they were family. Even though she had only known them for a short time, every minute was filled with meaning to her. Two days before the visitors were due to leave the Hive, Phasma found himself with a spectator as he worked on a somewhat clandestine task in the night. He didn’t explain what he was doing, and she didn’t ask. Phasma poured the fourth flask of Electrum Mana into the Adamantium forge’s engine. Six watched with quiet interest as he worked, clearly not knowing the specifics of what he was doing.  He had negotiated for extra payment on top of what he had originally demanded from the Equestrians. With the trouble that Six had technically started, the Princesses were more than happy to accommodate his relatively low-level demands. The fourth flask was for this one specific task, already being used up. The forge powered on, the metal lines that crisscrossed the crucible bowl already turning red-hot. Phasma retrieved an Adamantium fragment from his saddlebags and placed it in the bowl. He had almost no spare chunks of the precious metal on hoof– but this was for a worthy cause. As the green metal slowly heated up, Phasma kept one eye on the process as he turned to Six. “You said you fought an unnamed Venator, correct?” Six froze for a split second, “... Yes.” “Hmm. Do you know if you fought them before they were a Venator?” “I don’t know. When we fought, he mentioned watching me… work. I can only assume he was an officer watching from the sidelines. Why do you ask?” Phasma adjusted the simplistic controls. He had hastily created the forge for today’s usage; while the forges of Hives past were most certainly superior and more efficient, this one would work, albeit at the high fuel cost of Electrum Mana. “There is an equivalent to this Venator back on Earth. Or… the Milky Way. Whatever. He followed the Pillar of Autumn after it left. Huh, maybe he was the Elite in charge of the glassing of Reach? I don’t know.” Six’s expression hardened, “What does this have to do with the Venator?” “Everything? Nothing? I don’t know, and I won’t be sticking around long enough to find out. You killed him, right?” “I don’t know,” Six admitted. “I had a choice. A difficult one. I could have killed him and avenged so many, or I could have left and saved my Spartans. I chose the latter.” Phasma snorted, “Probably not the choice I would have made. I’m guessing the ponies had some factor in that decision-making?” “I just couldn’t lose another family,” Six said quietly. “Oh. I… understand. So, the Venator might still be alive. The… Covenant equivalent was known as The Arbiter. He probably had a real name, I just don’t know it. Like how we call the Sangheili the Elites. He would later become a friend of Humanity, even after glassing so many worlds. If the Venator is still alive, then you’ll definitely be running into him again, one way or the other.” Six thought about what Phasma said. What exactly she was thinking of, Phasma didn’t know. If he cared to, he could have pieced it together from the emotions she was outputting. But it was time to continue the forging process. The Adamantium had liquified in the crucible. Sending a quiet prayer to Panarthropo, Phasma began the ritual of forging the holy metal. Pouring it slowly out of its crucible, the green liquid ran into the cast. Unseen by Six, many metal pieces had been laid into it, forming the shape they once held. “What is your Equestria like?” Six asked. “Much like this one,” Phasma replied as he slowly poured the metal. “More brutal than the baseline Equestrian universe. Maybe less so, considering the number of ponies and lings killed only started piling up after I was defeated. After the changeling-pony war came the… You’ll find out about them soon enough. No, I will not tell you. Every time I do, it ends up backfiring. “As for everything else, it’s nice. Changelings and ponies live in–” Phasma gagged, “– Harmony.” “Sounds boring,” Six chuckled. “Boring is better than killing each other, if only marginally. I spent a lot of time forging the bonds between our kinds. And getting rich. Let me tell you, it’s nice being rich. Laws and worries don’t really apply to you when you can purchase entire cities for the hell of it.” “I don’t think I have ever received or spent money,” Six realized. “If you’re planning on retiring, you’re going to have to learn what it’s like to be a civilian,” Phasma pointed out. “I will worry about that later,” Six dismissed. “What about you and Princess Luna?” “What about us?” Phasma asked, turning over the crucible to pour out the last drops. “You seem to know her… What is it like to love someone?” Phasma set the forging tools down, “... Isn’t that the question? Since time immemorial, humans have been wondering about that. So many fucking books, plays, songs, and movies were written about love. I… haven’t seen my wife in over half a decade. Still, I dream of her nearly every night.” Six looked down, “For the longest time, I’ve never had a moment of peace like now. It was always ’go to this place,’ ’kill this person,’ ’eliminate that Covenant outpost.’ If I’m going to be honest, civilian life scares me. War is all I’ve ever known. It was what I was trained for. What I was created for. For the first time, I don’t know what to do.” “There’s no answer to that,” Phasma sighed. “I was only saved from the cycle of bloodshed and murder by Luna. My advice? Do what the fuck the ponies tell you to do. They’ve got happiness figured out pretty damn well, even if they suck when it comes to security and military tactics.” Six laughed, “You have no idea!” “Unfortunately, I do. I’ve spent years un-fucking the Equestrians’ military. I had to relegate the task out to a hundred subordinates after just a few days. Together, we’ve managed to get something that resembles a modern fighting force. But yeah, civilian life. It’s weird. It’s boring. It’ll never be the same. How the hell do you go from ordering your closest friends to their certain death to buying a carton of eggs from the local grocery store?” Phasma gripped the cast with his magic and lifted it over to a basin of oil. The oil sizzled as the burning metal was placed within it. “Maybe love’s the answer,” he said. “It certainly tasted good. And it feels good, if you catch my drift.” “I don’t.” “Of course you don’t,” Phasma muttered. “At the end of the day, I don’t know where I’d be without her. Without Luna. Given my luck and my propensity for dramatic flare, I’d be dead. Again. With her, I… have a point to all this. Get'cha self a boyfriend, gurl,” Phasma said in his best Jersey Shore accent. “Or girlfriend. I don’t judge. Especially since I swing both ways, too.” “Huh? First Cadance, now you?! I don’t get it. Is it really that important to acquire a significant other? I don’t actually have anything other than my armor to give to my next of kin. Except maybe my medal, but I don’t care about that.” Phasma chuckled, “We initially connected with each other. Then we fought till we were bloody and panting. Now we’ve made up. According to most romantic tropes, this is when we have sex. I’m married, though, so it’s not going to happen. Just… try it. Relationships, I mean. You’ll never get a frame of reference for what it's like and how important it is without actually getting your hooves wet. Love is like drugs; once you’ve tried it, you’ll never have enough of it.” “I’ve never used narcotics,” Six said. “Not willingly, anyway. However, I will… think about it.” “Not if Cadance has anything to do with it,” Phasma chuckled. “She’ll ship you in an instant. It’s her religious duty as an alicorn or whatever. Alicorn of Food…” “I do not see how naval vessels have anything to do with this.” Phasma laughed as he pulled the final product from the oil, breaking it out from its cast and stowing it away before Six could see it. The one-eyed Alicorn of the Moon joined Phasma as he sat in one of the communal rooms, reading a newspaper he had kept from Canterlot. “You’re all cut from the same cloth,” Phasma muttered. “Standing near me, quietly brooding. I can taste your apprehension, you know.” “I have spoken with my sister about you,” Luna announced. “I have spoken with her about the strange ways you act. She related to me what she was up to in the centuries of my absence.” Phasma sighed, folded his newspaper, and looked at Luna expectantly. Luna slowly walked over, pulled out a seat at the table across from Phasma, and sat down. “Alright, I’ll bite: what did she say?” “Her suspicions. I tried to ask Six about them, though she did not budge. She insisted that it was up to you to decide to speak to me.” “You’re not going to tell me what these suspicions are?” Luna shook her head, “I am following Six’s… lead. I wish to speak with you. Do you wish to speak with me?” Phasma sighed. ‘Celestia told Luna something, something related to Celestia’s past. Something about me. No previous encounters with changelings… Did she travel the world in this universe and knows there is no Fifth Hive? Or… is the answer simpler than that. Luna already knows that something is up with me and Six. She already knows that Six came from another world. Celestia knows all of this too. She even has experience with… Damn him. Damn him!’ “She recognizes the signs,” Phasma guessed. “Bet Cadance also pitched in her two bits.” Luna tilted her head but remained silent. “Figures. I’ve been pretty good about avoiding you three for a reason. Celestia’s always been too clever for my liking– or rather, for my scheming. Go ahead, say what she has noticed– but do not say his name in my presence. I’ve had enough of that Blight for several lifetimes.” “You are in love with me,” Luna revealed. “Or rather, with ‘a’ me. You are not of this world, even less so than Six.” Phasma scanned the room, neither seeing anyone nor tasting their emotions. There was a potential that they were using changelings, but the odds were too low to be acted upon. “If you plan on doing something stupid,” Phasma said slowly, “then I’d advise that you come clean right now. Try to take what I have, and I will not show mercy.” Luna frowned, “Take? I am here to talk, nothing more…” Phasma scoffed, “You’re not the first to try to ambush me.” Luna lifted her hooves up, “It is just me, King Phasma. Me and you.” The King shook his head, “If only.” “So it is true?” ‘... Fine. I’ll give being honest a chance.’ He took a deep breath, “I am married to… to you.” Luna raised an eyebrow, slowly looking the King up and down, “Just what in Equestria did I see in a loud-mouthed, hot-blooded, sarcastic, and uncaring tyrant?” Phasma physically withdrew, shrinking in his seat and holding his forelegs close to his chest. He opened his mouth to respond…. then slowly closed it. He rose from the table and started to leave, tail quite literally between his legs. “King Phasma, wait…” Luna called out, freezing him mid-stride. “Are you not going to offer a rebuttal? Strike back with your own venom? I have witnessed your verbal spars; you have been called worse than the truth.” “None of them mattered,” he said softly. Luna continued to speak from behind him, “Then answer my question. What did I see in you?” “Misery likes company,” Phasma returned. “You saw… yourself. Alone. Scared. In pain. A political alliance with Nightmare Moon turned into something more. When she was destroyed, you saw… someone doomed.” “I can agree with that judgment,” Luna said. “... You have your answers. I’m going to bed now.” Phasma reached for the door. A bright flash of cyan blue caused him to rear back and fall onto his haunches. Princess Luna, who had teleported herself right in front of him, snorted in frustration. “I suppose you are telling the truth, King Phasma. Even when you received an injury that left you incapable,” she gestured to his bandaged chest, “I did not see you shed a single tear. But a few words from me?” Phasma reached up to his face and brushed away the evidence. “I don’t know what I did to piss you off,” Phasma whispered, “but I’m sorry. Now please leave me alone.” “You do not know?” Luna scowled. “You attacked my friend! You injured Six!” “You think I’m the hot-blooded one? She was the one who started those fights,” Phasma whispered back. “A buck to the sternum, a knife in the leg… This is why I don’t talk to you ponies. Every time I open up, someone takes the opportunity to grab what they can or plunge a knife where it hurts most. I just want to go home. Now please, get out of my way.” Phasma tried to push past, but Luna didn’t budge. He huffed and wiped away more tears, “I get it. There’s some blame on me for not backing down or de-escalating. I’m not the most likable person. I don’t try to be. I’m not asking you to like me. I’m just asking you to return the favor I did for all of you here and stop hurting me for once!” “You act like we are villains. Monsters.” Luna frowned, “Just what have you been through?” “... I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe. Cities on fire, from sea to sea. I watched giants crush mountains in endless nights. A hundred worlds,” Phasma said quietly, and Luna strained to hear him. “War. Disease. Famine. Death. Some worlds were burnt-out husks. Others, the strife hid under layers of… normality. It doesn’t matter how friendly someone acts; today they might be a friend, but tomorrow they might be stealing my only way back home.” Phasma absent-mindedly reached back to pat the armored saddlebags that almost never left his back. “On the occasions where everything was fine, they weren’t my home, so they didn’t matter. You want to know why I’m cruel, Luna? The only way I’ve fed for the past few years was by draining ponies dry. There’s not enough time to make a group of friends to slowly siphon off enough to live. There’s certainly no opportunity to gather love in the conventional, plentiful way. Not when someone is waiting for me. I’ve killed hundreds. Most of them deserved death. The others? When the dice are cast, and it comes down to the wire, it was me or them. I don’t like it. I hate it. I hate not being in control. “So I don’t make friends. Why bother when I leave, anyways? I don’t tell anyone where I’m from and where I’m going. Why give them a chance to take from me? I don’t tell anyone what I am. Changelings are villains in most worlds. It’s a well-earned reputation, I’ve seen. I don’t stick my nose in the affairs of the worlds I visit. The last thing I need is to get delayed and sidetracked. Every fight I get into is another waiting game of healing my wounds and traveling when I can. Every meeting with you is another duel of words that ends with you tearing out my heart. “You say I’m an unrepentant villain? You would be one, too, if you hadn’t had a meaningful conversation in over five years. Out of all things, you should understand what that’s like. What’re five years compared to a thousand? I may not have had the insanity-driving isolation like you did, but I have been on guard every single day for years.” There was a silence broken only by the sound of Phasma panting. Luna didn’t move. When Phasma once again reached for the door behind her, Luna met him halfway and brought him into a hug. “I am sorry,” she whispered back. There was more that Luna wanted to say, Phasma could tell. However, she remained quiet. So Phasma slowly returned the hug and closed his eyes. For a brief minute, he fooled himself into believing that he was back home. The end arrives before anyone is ready for it. The Princesses offered King Phasma a place to stay for however long he needed it. He refused, saying that if he ever stopped, getting moving again would just be more and more impossible as time wore on. Six thought that ran against his whole rant about his Princess Luna motivating him. She didn’t voice her thoughts, though. Phasma declared that he would depart as soon as he could, choosing one of the castle’s garden plazas to leave this world. He said his goodbyes to the three Princesses. Whatever conversations he had with the three without Six seemed to melt most of the ice between them. They bid him farewell, good luck, and told him to stay out of fights with genetically engineered super soldiers. Then it was time for Phasma to say goodbye to Six. “I’m happy I came here,” he told Six. “I might be close to home. A human from another world brought here to end a bloody struggle between our two new species… Maybe this is a sign that I’m getting there. I’ll definitely be using my limited understanding of world-hopping to take that into account. I wish you luck, Noble Six. The war is over, but your struggle is only just beginning. Well, not really, but that sounds a lot better than saying ‘good luck with your PTSD.’” Six chuckled, “Likewise.” “Oh, I almost forgot,” he said before reaching into his saddlebags with a hoof as opposed to the telekinesis he normally used. Phasma pulled out a knife that now shimmered green in the sunlight. Gray chunks of the original material were spaced out between the rivers of green. Phasma presented the reforged knife to Six. “This belongs to you. I had a little bit of spare Adamantium… I also enchanted it so that it can’t be picked up with magic. You really need to learn how to fight against magic, and this should help with that.” “You fixed it,” Six gasped. "When Percy returned home to Ancient Greece after slaying the Minotaur and sinking much of the Minotian navy, his ship was so revered that it was kept in the harbor for centuries afterwards. Over the years, piece by piece, the ship was repaired and replaced to keep it in perfect condition: the masts, the oars, the keel, the prow, the anchor, and so on. Eventually, people began to question if it even was still the same ship that Percy sailed. “It’s impossible to hold onto the past forever. You and I aren’t even human anymore. What you are, who you are, and who you want to be is up to you to decide. However, what I can do is give you back this piece of home. Try not to lose it.” Six smiled, “... It was Theseus who killed the Minotaur.” Phasma shrugged, “Ah, right. Theseus’s ship. You get the idea.” “That I do,” Six nodded. “I may never be able to return home, but you just may. Good luck, King Phasma.” “Good luck making yours,” Phasma waved goodbye to her. Then, with magic this time, he reached once more into his armored saddlebags and produced a mechanical vambrace that he affixed to a wrist. Producing the three flasks of Electrum Mana, he uncorked them and poured their contents into a socket that Six couldn’t see. When that was done, Phasma fiddled with the device before raising it and summoning a portal to another world. Phasma gave one last smile and wave to Six and Luna. Then, King Phasmatodea “The Comet,” stepped into the swirling purple vortex of energy.  That was the last anyone ever saw of him.