//------------------------------// // Chaos and Tyranny // Story: Friendship is Grievous // by Snake Staff //------------------------------// The commando droids went in first. Soaring ahead of the bulk of the droid army, they reacted to their fellow’s destruction in accordance with their advanced tactical programming: they would encircle and destroy this strange creature. Two came at the draconequus from the front, firing as they went. Three more zoomed around each flank, while a solitary droid did a flying leap from its STAP to land some distance behind him, drawing its blaster rifle. Discord was surrounded. He grinned. Perfect. Discord gave them a taste of Ol’ Betsy’s twin barrels. For all their hardened durasteel armor, the droids proved quite vulnerable to high caliber slugs guided by the just the tiniest amount of chaos magic. The gun fired over and over, evidencing an ammo capacity far beyond what should have rationally been able to fit inside. Each bullet found its mark, taking out six commando droids in quick succession. Discord’s body contorted to avoid the blaster fire coming from the droid rapidly rushing him from behind. He pointed Ol’ Betsy over his shoulder and blew the droid’s head off without even looking at it. Another pair of STAPs swooped towards the spirit, firing their guns wildly. Discord’s body twisted like a snake to avoid the shots. As they zoomed close, the draconequus grabbed one of the flying machines and swung up and onto it, nonchalantly kicking the droid off and into the distance. The droid on the other STAP drew its blaster and fired one-handed at the creature suddenly beside it, but Discord’s head split in two, the beams harmlessly passing through the hole. The return shot tore two enormous holes into the commando’s chest. It and its transport plummeted to the ground while Discord aimed his own hijacked ride in the same direction. Discord leaped from the machine, landing easily on the dirt road while both STAPs hit the ground behind him with a satisfyingly dramatic explosion. He spun Ol’ Betsy around on his fingers, then blew the smoke emerging from her twin barrels away with a confident expression. So far, so good. General Grievous sat in the comfort of his command chair in one of the C-9979 landing craft at the base of a towering mountain. From here, he could monitor developments throughout the entire front, including the battle in space. More pertinently, he thought, looking up through the viewscreen, it would let him watch the equine’s capital and their precious princesses burn from an excellent vantage point. And, when the time came, lead the last charge himself. But it would hardly do for a leader of his exalted status to go first into the breach to spare the existence of idiotic cannon fodder. That was why he reclined in the landing craft while thousands of B-1 battles droids marched up the mountain road towards Canterlot. Spearheading the attack were AAT tanks and dozens of commando droids on STAPs. Still awaiting deployment were the companies of B-2 and B-X droids, along with a reserve of armor and OG-9 homing spider droids. When the time came, Grievous wanted only the finest soldiers of the droid army at his back. “Sir!” one of the red-marked B-1s manning the craft’s controls called for the cyborg’s attention. “Yes?” Grievous turned his eyes away from his marching armies. “What is it?” “General Kalani reports that the Republic fleet has launched a number of gunships into the atmosphere. They appear to be headed this way.” “How many?” “Scanners indicate at least two hundred, sir. Estimate twenty-four to twenty-five hundred enemy troops.” “So, Kenobi is coming down to play after all,” Grievous said with narrowed eyes, already doing the mental calculations. He had tens of thousands of battle droids scattered across Equestria. But each clone was worth several B-1s, which were the majority. “He’ll have to concentrate his forces in a few areas to have any hope of victory,” he concluded. “Order our fighters to shoot down as many enemy gunships as possible on their way down. And what of their capital ships? Have they taken the bait?” “Yes sir. General Kalani says that all five of the Republic’s Star Destroyers are in full pursuit of his fleet. He calculates that his flagship will be able to maintain a faster pace than them even while bombarding the planet, but says that the other ships will not. He asks what you want him to do.” “Tell Kalani to have the Invisible Hand ready to make a break for the system’s edge on my command,” Grievous ordered. “And inform him that the other ships don’t matter now. He may do as he wishes with them. Just order him buy us enough time to complete Lord Sidious’ mission down on the planet.” “Yes sir!” the droid tapped it control panel, transmitting the cyborg’s instructions to the orbiting fleet. Lights flashed and Aurebesh letters scrolled by on the droid’s screen as the two parts of the Separatist force coordinated their approach. “And sir,” the droid continued after a moment. “There is one more thing.” “Yes?” Grievous prodded. “It’s Count Dooku, sir. He says he’s coming down to join us.” Discord faced the oncoming army with something approaching stoicism on his malformed face. There were almost five thousand B-1 battle droids marching in the fore in perfect rows and columns, with three groups of five AATs each bringing up the rear. Overhead, more commandos atop STAPs zoomed around the army’s flanks. A tactical droid had its head and chest poked out of the hatch of one of the tanks. “Go,” commanded the tactical droid in a flat, robotic monotone, pointing a finger at the draconequus barring their way. “Go!” The B-1s in the front rows leveled their blaster rifles at Discord and opened fire in a withering flurry of laser blasts. Discord tossed a handful of dust, which inexplicably became an enormous cloud sweeping down on the droid army. Unable to see their opponent, the droids kept firing regardless, hoping to score a hit by virtue of sheer numbers. Too mindless to consider retreating out of the whirling dust storm, they continued their march towards Ponyville. At least, they did until dozens of their front ranks were crushed by a giant bowling ball. “Strike!” shouted Discord, now dressed in a dark blue bowling shirt with a giant image of himself on the front. He reached down and grabbed the head of a wrecked commando droid, eyed the enemy carefully, and whirled his arm around like a pinwheel before tossing it. Mid-flight, it too became a ridiculously oversized bowling ball, crushing dozens of the machines that had so thoughtfully lined themselves up for him. “Strike two!” he cheered. One of the AATs near the rear, its scanners less affected by the swirling dust than the photoreceptors of the droids, lined up a shot. Its main cannon aimed at the draconequus and unleashed a spectacular red laser burst. The spirit of chaos spun on the spot like a ballerina, moving fast enough to become a blur. Just as the tank’s shot was about to impact, his spin terminated with himself dressed in a white, striped baseball uniform, complete with cap and bat. He swung the wooden bat at the laser, knocking it directly backwards into the AAT’s front armor. It exploded violently, smoking remains digging a trail into the dirt road as its repulsorlift engines failed. “Strike three!” yelled Discord, now in an umpire’s uniform. “You’re out!” Princesses Celestia and Luna stared down from the walls of Canterlot as the droid army marched on their city. There were thousands of them walking in perfectly uniform formations, climbing the mountain that hosted Equestria’s capital at an agonizingly slow pace. Overhead zipped scores of fightcraft, not yet attacking the city itself but shooting down anypony attempting to fly off, soldier or civilian. Communications with the remainder of the nation had been entirely cut off by the bombardment and the sky was choked with thick columns of smoke and ash. The princesses had no idea if any of the other cities had survived at all. If they did, surely they had their own troubles and would not be able to help the capital in time. It was entirely up to the alicorns, their soldiers, and the defenses they had had time to prepare. The sound of thousands of metal feet marching in perfect unison was beginning to be audible over even the din of hurried soldiers and panicked civilians. It was unnerving in its soulless, mechanical precision, seeming to Princess Celestia to promise the end of all things. Foot by foot, the droids were eating up the distance between themselves and Canterlot’s low outer walls. The floating tanks in front were already swiveling their main guns, seemingly looking for the weakest points to shoot. Then the first vehicle came into range, firing a bright red energy beam with a resounding crack that echoed above even sound of marching feet. It hurdled through the air at the city, only to explode against a shimmering, light pink energy shield surrounding it. Princess Celestia swallowed. Outside of Ponyville, the droid army was in chaos. Their tactical programming accounted for a wide variety of situations, but there was nothing in their databanks about dealing with, say, the dirt road beneath their feet spontaneously becoming slippery vegetable oil. Or an inexplicable stampede of marshmallow bunny rabbits swarming over their tanks from the rear, clogging up critical exhaust vents, causing engines to overheat in sometimes spectacular fashions. And there was certainly no programming suggesting how to react to a heavy rain of singing frogs throwing sensors off and making aim all but impossible. “The wonderful thing about Discord,” the eponymous draconequus cheerfully sang to himself as he hopped around the confused droid army on a large pair of springs, crushing the head of a battle droid with each jump. “Is Discord’s a wonderful thing! His top is made outta blubber! His bottom is made out of spring! He’s flouncy, trouncy, bouncy, wownsy, fun fun fun fun fun! But the most wonderful thing about Discord is-” he spun in the air, coming down in the outfit of heavy metal musician, complete with electric guitar. “HE ROCKS YOUR SOCKS!!!” The battle droids nearest the sudden burst of noise wobbled and fell, unable to maintain their footing on the slick oil below. “Yes my lord,” said the tactical droid into a comlink from its position atop the AAT, using one hand to shield its head from the rain of frogs. “We are experiencing a wide variety of unnatural phenomena, our progress has been-” Suddenly, the droid saw two feet in front of its face. It looked up. “FORE!” shouted Discord, now wearing a golfing shirt and matching hat. He swung a heavy club, knocking the tactical droid’s head from its body, which wobbled uncontrollably and collapsed back into the tank. Its head went flying off into the distance, Discord watching proudly. That proved to be the straw that broke the camel’s back. The droids had been confused, unbalanced, and completely out of their element. Now they were all of that and leaderless to boot. They could not in any true sense be said to be afraid, lacking as did any real emotion, but they recognized a hopeless situation when they saw one. Absent instructions to fight to the death, the army began to retreat piecemeal. It began with the remaining commando droids peeling off with their STAPs and heading back the way they had come. The surviving AATs, immune to the hazards of the oil-coated earth, were next to call a retreat. The B-1s, ever the cannon fodder of the droid army, had to break away on foot, and many of them lost all balance and collapsed under the constant pelting of frogs and the oil road. Discord watched them go with an amused expression on his face, taking the time to toss a lit match onto the oil. Those unlucky droids that had fallen and been coated in the stuff quickly found themselves aflame, their circuits burning out in showers of sparks. When the last finally fled the zone of chaos, the ground was littered with the remains of some thirty-five hundred battle droids and eight burnt-out tanks. When he was certain they were gone, the draconequus snapped his fingers one more time, and the chaotic environment reverted to its natural state, with the addition of wrecked Separatist machines. He then flopped backwards onto a freshly-conjured lawn chair, fanning himself, too tired to even bother with a victory dance. “Whew!” Discord wiped the sweat off of his forehead. “Haven’t had that much exercise in…” he tried to count out the many years of his life, but swiftly gave up. “However long it’s been!” For a few minutes, Discord simply opted to sit there, trying to recover a bit of his seriously-drained magic. He had given his pony friends the time they needed, now he needed some for himself. But then, the spirit perceived something on the edge of his senses. It was magic, though not of a type that he was familiar with. And it was coming closer. A ship appeared on the edge of his vision, soaring through the ash-choked sky. It wasn’t like the others Discord had seen. It was elegant where they were brutal and mechanistic, seeming to slide gently across the sky where they tore through it at a breakneck back. It was long and brown, with two pointed spikes at the front. There was what looked to be a bubble of some kind between the two. As the craft grew nearly, Discord made out the fact that the bubble was actually a transparent cockpit. He stood up in preparation for another fight, but the ship didn’t move to attack him. Instead, the odd craft touched down not far down the road from where the draconequus stood, crushing the remains of several droids as it did so. The engines audibly powered down, and a ramp extended. Down it strode a cloaked biped clearly of the same species as Obi Wan Kenobi, though obviously much older. Hands behind his back, the newcomer strode calmly towards the wary spirit, carelessly kicking aside droid parts as he did so. Discord’s magical senses told him that this was the source of the power he’d been feeling. “You are the being responsible for this?” he asked in a neutral tone. Discord eyed him carefully. “Who’s asking?” “My name is Count Dooku.” “Discord, spirit of chaos.” “I’ll ask again: is this your doing?” “Yes,” he answered. “Hmmm,” Dooku looked around. “An impressive display.” “What’s your point?” demanded Discord. “Why do you fight for this planet?” Dooku asked. “It’s being invaded. Duh.” “I’m sure you are intelligent enough to realize that this world is doomed, irrespective of your actions here. You destroyed many droids, but there are many more,” Dooku said. “But for a being of such clear ability, this need not be the end.” Discord said nothing. “There is another path, you know. You can survive this, shed the limitations of this world and become something far greater. All you have to do is-” “Yeah, stopping you right there,” Discord interrupted. “I’ve heard this line before. I’m sure you’re going to promise me power and the freedom to do whatever I want if I help you, right?” he chuckled mirthlessly. “Well, I fell for that trick once. Not this time. I’m sticking with my friends.” “Hmmm,” Dooku eyed him. “Pity.” Far faster than Discord would have bet he was capable of, Dooku’s hands flew up and unleashed a virtual storm of lightning at the spirit. He barely had time to raise his own mismatched paws to catch the lethal-looking stuff, but catch he did. He rolled it into a ball and threw it back at Dooku. The old man simply extended one hand. The ball of lightning impacted against it, forking out once more but flowing harmlessly around the human, instead devastating the landscape and machinery around him. “Let me guess,” said Discord. “You’re the head honcho behind this whole attack, aren’t you?” Dooku said nothing, merely waving a hand. A virtual tidal wave of mechanical parts flew from the ground and hurled themselves at the draconequus, who simply vanished in a flash of white light. He reappeared directly behind the count. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Discord said, breathing hard but looking angry. “Well, I have something special for you.” As Dooku reached for his lightsaber, Discord put one finger on his forehead. The spirit of chaos dived into the old man’s mind. A world began to form around him, representing the whole of Count Dooku’s personality, experiences, and memories, all blended together into the great essence of what precisely made the one-time Jedi Master and student of Yoda into the man he was. All sapient beings contained such a world in their heads, and in Dooku’s case it took the form of a vast city of towering skyscrapers, countless faceless civilians going about their business in a meticulously organized. It was Discord’s intention to run amok throughout this mind. This was not a mere brainwashing as he had once inflicted on Twilight Sparkle and her friends. No, he intended nothing less than utter madness for the man who had already killed so many. He was going to drive Count Dooku to total and irreversible insanity, and he was going to do it through a bit of old-fashioned chaos. Discord let his wildest instincts run free inside the count’s mind. The first thing he did was grab one of the civilians, a man with features so impassive he might as well have been wearing a mask, and turn him into a madly-grinned clown holding a Molotov cocktail. He danced crazily through the city’s streets, slinging chaos magic everywhere he went. People became tutu-wearing cats or potted ferns or chocolate fountains. Smoothly-gliding speeders metamorphed into flying fish and swarms of ravenous deck chairs and jars full of pocket lint and applesauce. The towering skyscrapers transformed from shining towers into mountains of dancing naked mole rats and clocks that went backwards from thirteen and peanut butter crackers doing stand-up comedy. In short, wherever the master of disharmony went, the orderly and efficient cogs of Dooku’s mind were broken down and remade in his own thoroughly insensible image. So busy was Discord in his antics, so delighted was he to have a chance to really unleash his worst and most insane nature on a man who truly deserved it that he failed to notice another being forming. It started small, with the shadow of one of the countless millions of little people breaking off from its owner and slipping away into the city. Then it was the shadows of two people. Then ten. Then a hundred. Then the shadow of a speeder. The shadow of a soaring transport shuttle. The shadow of one of the city’s man skyscrapers. Exponentially, the shadows broke from their place and flowed together. Discord sat upside down on an inflatable inner tube full of tapioca pudding in what had been the city’s center, throwing his particular brand of chaotic magic around with total abandon. Everything around him was a wild variety of colors, shapes, sounds, and noises, often thoroughly inconsistent with each other. Purple and green bees sang the songs of blackbirds, while grizzly bear-headed deer did a backwards conga line straight up into the air in defiance of all laws of gravity. The spirit of chaos was howling with delight in his work. That is, until it started reversing itself. Slowly, beginning at the edges of the great city, chaos began to give way once more to order. Machete-wielding trees laid down their arms and morphed back into the speeders they had been. A uniformed band of tuba-playing aardvarks flowed together into the towering colossus of steel and glass that it had been before Discord. The lion who juggled parasprites on a unicycle became the jumpsuit-wearing, featureless drone he had been before. Slowly but surely the changes of the chaos spirit were pushed back, reforming themselves into the bastion of absolute order they had been. So engrossed was Discord in his game, so confident was he in his victory over the count, that he did not even pay the slightest attention anything but the latest object of his demented whim. Indeed, he failed to even notice what was happening until a massive shadow loomed directly over his improvised throne. “What?!” he said, looking up from his latest entertainment, a jack-in-the-box that had come to life and was attempting to square dance with a yellow polka-dotted shrub. “Who are you and what do you want? And- uh…” As Discord looked at and around the massive and amorphous humanoid shadow that towered over him, he saw for the first time one of his creations slowly reverting itself. The city around him was becoming once more a place of strict schedule and minute detail. A place of utter and uncompromising order. No, not even order. Tyranny. Absolute and all-encompassing tyranny, where not a single thing happened save by the wish of one being of all-knowing, all-powerful will. And in tyranny, there is no place for chaos. Discord actually shrank back slightly, getting a thoroughly unexpected and quite uninvited bad feeling about this. “My name is Darth Tyranus,” declared the shadow in a booming bass voice that rocked the earth beneath it. “And you are trespassing.” The shadow extended a great clawed hand. Lightning, black as midnight, forked out from its hand. Discord screamed. Back in the real world, the draconequus hit the dirt road roughly, his body crackling and sparking with lightning, his nerves consumed by agony, his senses blurred and wildly distorted. Count Dooku loomed above the spirit of chaos as the shadow had done in the world of his mind, his eyes squeezed shut and his face a mask of concentration. When he opened his eyes to gaze down on Discord, they were a burning, sulfuric yellow. “What are you?” Discord managed in weak voice, looking helplessly up at the old man, his magic now completely exhausted. Count Dooku snorted contemptuously, his hand reaching for the curve-hilted lightsaber on his belt. “Your feeble skills,” the Sith Lord declared as the red blade emerged from the weapon. “Are no match for the power of the dark side.” Count Dooku plunged his lightsaber into the draconequus’ chest. Discord, the great spirit of chaos, enemy and champion and savior of Equestria, screamed one last time as the burning plasma pierced and incinerated his heart. And then, he was no more.