The bodies of the thugs lay contorted and twisted in agony. Their limbs had been bent in unnatural positions by magic culminating in snaps to the neck. The last thug was suspended in a sickly green aura.
“How?” wondered the trapped, yellow-coated Unicorn.
Echo laughed, her shrill voice reverberating through the alleyway. “Amateurs, every one of you!” In a plume of green flame she revealed herself to her captive. Her black chitin shone in the moon light. Her eyes glowed a cold jade as she glared at her captive.
“Sweet Celestia! You’re a chang—” cried the last of thugs. Yellow Tail’s brawn was useless as he squirmed. He was firmly locked in place by her magic. He resorted to trying his own magic, though his power was but a gust of wind compared to hers. Yellow Tail’s horn only sparked momentarily, like a lighter without fuel.
Echo throttled the Unicorn for his attempt.
“I’m an elite combat infiltrator. I have studied the arcane arts longer; my magic is far the stronger,” said Echo, her eyes alight with green fire. “Now beg for your life.”
“Please let me live,” Yellow Tail cried.
“No. You ruined my date.”
With her magic, Echo pulled back the unicorn’s limbs like a rag doll. The sound of snapping sinew mixed with his screams. With a twist, the Unicorn’s head snapped, and all was silent.
Echo turned to her date. He had been a perfect gentlecolt, dying in her defense. The dagger still protruded from his neck. Blood seeped from his body.
“You brave foal. I would have blocked that dagger on my own.” Echo kicked Den’s body in frustration.
A slight stirring—Echo’s eyes widened. He was merely unconscious. However, with the amount of blood he was losing, death would soon come. She had to act fast, even against her better judgment, for he was a Royal Guard.
A murky mist clouded Den’s mind. The fog evaporated slowly, and he found himself standing in a field of grass. The wind made waves upon the scene of green.
“Den!” a sweet voice hollered.
Den walked towards it hesitantly.
“Breakfast’s ready!” continued the voice.
Den walked further and entered a door. There before him was a table lined with plates and a hearty breakfast of eggs and waffles. He recognized the furnishings and other accoutrements of the cottage well.
“Eat quickly, son. I’m going to show you how to use a lance today.” A blurred figure of an Earth Pony wearing gilded armor sat before him, laughing, his face obscured by a newspaper.
“Dearie, eat before your food gets cold,” a voice called from the kitchen. Den turned his head, peering into the kitchen, and noticed the figure of an aproned Pegasus washing dishes. Her face was reflected in the window above the sink, but Den couldn’t make it out. Even so, recognition washed over him.
Tears trickled from Den’s eyes. “No, you’re both dead. This is a falsehood. I buried you both in the ground and in my mind. Leave me be!” Den sobbed, bounding outside through the cottage door. Before he had a chance to consider his next move, the scene began to change.
Den found himself floating upward, the cottage becoming so distant that it looked like a foals’ puppet show from afar, his parents within but marionettes.
There came a voice and the form of a gray mare standing beside him. “Usually, the design of this illusion is that it clings to your most recent happy memory. I’m surprised that your happy memory was so long ago.” Her finer features were obscured, but the sound of the voice was undeniably Echo’s.
“How is this possible?” asked Den.
“You were dying. I thought it be best to let you leave with a happy memory.”
“No, I don’t want to remember this! This is the last thing I want to think of!” He turned to the figure of Echo, squinting. “But how are you here? Only the divine ones can walk amongst dreams.”
“They, and devils,” said Echo, staring off into the blackness.
Den jumped. “I’m in a Changeling cocoon right now being feasted upon, aren’t I? I read of this! I’m doomed to relive the same day over and over again. Damn it all—our training told us how to identify it, but not how to escape!” Den stomped his hooves impotently. He groaned at his powerlessness.
“No, you’re being healed.”
Den scanned Echo’s blurred figure in confusion.
“Okay, I’m nibbling a little,” Echo admitted, smiling. “I need energy to heal you, so fair is fair.”
Thoughts of the dagger in his neck came to the forefront of Den’s mind. “That’s right, I was down, not just knocked out. I was dead.”
“You were almost dead. Now I’m bringing you back. That is, unless there is a fond memory you’d like to stay in?” Echo smirked.
“No, I prefer to make more memories. Old ones go stale.”
“We’re in shared dream-space; truly there is nothing you desire to see?”
Den lowered his head. “I don’t imagine anything you could show me would change the past. It wouldn’t save my mom, or stop dad from throwing himself off a cliff.”
Echo smirked. “A realist? I feared as much. But you should know that it is okay to think of the past. Just don’t obsess over it.”
“Echo...” Den thought about the right words to say next in light of this strange predicament. “Thank you.” He approached her for an embrace.
“Wait, no. Stay back, you foal. Don’t touch me!” It was too late: Den found himself in another dream.
The morning sun had barely risen above the horizon. Den found himself in an alien body, like a puppeteer without control. He looked at one of his outstretched hooves—it was full of holes, and carrying a spear. He was one of an array of armed Changelings standing on a cliff overlooking a town. He was startled as he recognized a terrifying visage: the demon in one of the Guard’s wanted posters.
Queen Chrysalis walked down the line inspecting each one of the Changelings. None dared to match her gaze, save the one Changeling he happened to be looking through.
The dark mistress spoke. “My Changelings, children, brothers and sisters, I have taught you the art of infiltration. Now comes combat. With your success you will be ready for your real assignments!” She turned to a Changeling beside her. “Master Amorpheus, are they ready?”
Another Changeling of high stature spoke. He wore a fedora that half-hid his blue eyes. “Yes, they have trained with their spears for months. Of the worms we started with, they are the finest, all weakness weaned from them. They are prepared to kill and be killed in your name.” He saluted with pride.
“Why must we do this? We are not soldier caste. We are infiltrators!” Den heard words coming from his mouth, though they weren’t his, but rather those of the Changeling he was channeling.
“Insolence!” Master Amorpheus growled, his wings buzzing.
Chrysalis strolled towards, smiling and imploring gently: “Explain, child, your reason.”
Den heard his channeled Changeling speak again. “The village is peaceful; our control is consolidated. It is ours. It could feed us for years to come. Why must we do this?” He admired her for standing so bravely against the two larger Changelings.
Suddenly Chrysalis’s face flashed with anger. The obstinate Changeling was met by a sickening smack of her Monarch’s hooves. Den heard ringing in his ears and felt the bloody sore cheek.
Queen Chrysalis turned to her Changelings. “To steel your hearts, my children! You are all soldiers. Assimilation is our people’s greatest enemy. Remember the ponyfolk, for they are but fodder for us. We destroy them this day, not for food, but because we can. They are the means to our end.” Chrysalis’s words were powerful and resonant.
Master Amorpheus stomped his hooves on the ground. “In between larva and fly, where do your loyalties lie?!”
“All hail, Queen Chrysalis!” cried the Changelings in unison.
“Attack, and leave no survivors!” shrieked their Monarch.
Angry buzzing followed as the locusts took wing.
The platoon of locusts landed in the village square. Den wanted out of this memory so very badly, but he knew he could not look away.
“Assume your guises,” cried Master Amorpheus. “They must look upon their loved ones as they are put to our spears. Queen Chrysalis commands it!”
The horde of Changelings shifted their forms. They fanned out in all directions. Screams sounded as they invaded homes.
The Changeling Den occupied had a different path. She flashed with the emerald fires of transformation then buzzed quickly to a particular home. Her flesh became golden and the holes disappeared from her hooves. She still kept her dragonfly-like wings, which throbbed painfully from over-exertion as she weaved through the streets set ablaze. The Changeling stopped at door of a small home. She spat out a key and unlocked the door, bursting through.
A brown stallion greeted the disguised Changeling. “Heart, my love, what is wrong? I hear screams in the village.” The stallion had barely dressed himself in armor. He cradled a lance affixed to a war saddle.
“I... made it.” The Changeling panted, catching her breath.
“Why is it that you have a weapon?” asked the stallion.
The Changeling Heart dropped her spear and nuzzled her lover’s neck. She then spoke urgently. “Constance, my love, we must leave now! Leave everything!”
“You have wings?” stammered Constance, staring at the insect-like protrusions on Heart’s back.
“There will be time for questions. Now, we must go” Heart pleaded.
She ushered her Constance outside.
Smoke rose from the center of village. The haze darkened the morning sun, turning the sky gray. More screams punctuated the scene.
Master Amorpheus landed on the street. The large Changeling was of equal size to the strong stallion Constance.
“Larvi, do your duty,” cried Amorpheus.
“A demon! Stand back, my love,” said Constance, readying his lance and pushing Heart behind him. Constance charged valiantly, but something stayed his lance. In front of him, in a flash of fire, Amorpheus took on the appearance of Heart.
Amorpheus-as-Heart smiled as he plunged his spear into Constance’s chest. The look of betrayal and bewilderment remained on the stallion’s face as he fell to the ground.
“Why...?” He exhaled his last breath.
“No,” gasped Heart, rushing to the dead stallion. Tears welled up in her eyes. She slumped down, reverting to her natural form, the Changeling named Larvi.
“Hurry, the Queen approaches. You must meet her gaze. She will kill you if she sees the tears.” Amorpheus transformed back. He licked the tears from Larvi’s eyes and placed his bloodied spear in her hooves. He rushed to grab the clean spear Larvi had dropped.
With a thud, Queen Chrysalis landed on top of a building, towering over them. “Master Amorpheus, report. I sense weakness in this one.”
Amorpheus saluted. “Larvi did her duty. She slew the guard herself. She laughed in his face as she impaled him.”
Queen Chrysalis flew down as to be on the same level. “Is this true, Larvi, my child?” asked Queen Chrysalis skeptically. “The lancer Constance was quite skilled.”
Larvi looked to her monarch, speaking shakily. “Yes, my monarch, I killed him.”
“It,” Queen Chrysalis corrected. “You killed it.” Queen Chrysalis pulled Larvi close. In perverse tenderness she held her like a foal. “You have made me proud.”
Another Changeling landed, saluted and whispered in Amorpheus’s ear.
“My Queen, the operation is complete,” said Master Amorpheus. “All are dead.”
Queen Chrysalis let go of Larvi. “Excellent,” she said. “Raze the rest of village to the ground. Burn everything. Plant Griffin weapons amongst the ashes.”
Den shuddered at the memory’s intensity. The blackness was beginning to consume him. He wondered which horror he would witness next.