//------------------------------// // Chapter 10 — <> // Story: In Sheep's Clothing // by Kydois //------------------------------// THEN Requiem I stood on the balcony of the Baltimare Brood’s manor, watching the waves of Horseshoe Bay crash against the cliff face nearby. Thick clouds hanging just offshore blanketed the area in a dreary grey, preparations for the evening’s thunderstorms. I could already feel the humidity in the air, clinging like thick cobwebs to my wings and fur. A sense of foreboding for what was to come later tonight. The queen had driven out the hostile hive. Her fell swoop had come just a few days ago. We had managed to dissect the magic being used to detect our changelings and adapted to hide from it and to even utilize it ourselves. However, because we knew little about the inner construction of the spell, we could only tune it to detect members of that specific rival hive. That was enough though, and the queen was able to build forces of our changelings in each city before turning them all at once to eliminate the opposition. There was little warning for the other queen before entire broods fell across Equestria. Since it would strike up significant suspicion if “ponies” had suddenly disappeared after we had eliminated the infiltrators, the Badlands Hive had to expand rapidly to fill up the vacuum left behind. Thanks to the love stores we claimed, it was an easy, but tedious, task. There were still other hives within Equestria, but the two we knew about had so far remained non-combative towards us. We were rebuked upon attempting to expand into Canterlot, though a few infiltrators had managed to at least discover that the hive there was primarily focused in commerce. Thanks to that, we have thus far eluded their sight by placing lings within the guard. The third queen’s hive was too small to be of any concern, and their methods of love collection were too slow for them to grow to any substantial opposition. We had quite readily cemented ourselves as the main power in Equestria and no other hive would dare challenge us, but it still left a bitter taste in my mouth. Over the generations of conflict, my rangers had become nonexistent. Though all knew of their history and feats, only one still knew the spells and abilities of the extinct caste, and she was my own long-lived daughter. The queen had won, not through the fear and stealth of the rangers, but through brute force and a tactic that would only work against one specific hive. Now there was talk of sending an envoy to the Princess of Equestria. To parley with them and abandon our ways of stealing love. I scowled. The queen would abandon everything of the history of the changelings. To strike a partnership with the ponies as if they were more than a simple food source. As if they were equal to us. She would have us dull our fangs and strip away our masks and for what? A false promise of safety and comfort? We needed no such crutch, not when we were the biggest hive on this side of the world. We scraped our way from the bottom of the bin to get here and we were willing to compromise that power by bringing ourselves down to the level of our prey? Disgusting. I looked down at the uncut red beryl sitting in the velvet box before me. It had taken a long time, but it was a stroke of luck that I managed to procure a sizeable chunk of the rare gem from, of all things, a griffon fishing boat in the Celestial Sea. The red beryl could only form under the most exacting conditions, and it was under these conditions that it can develop some extremely interesting characteristics. Out of all of the gems out there, this one in particular had a magical lattice far more developed and malleable. While other gems could hold energy or maybe a spell at most, the red beryl could amplify a spell, drawing energy from the environment. Casting spells through one could multiply the spell a hundred fold, perhaps even more depending on the size of the gem, and it was through this that I realized that the red beryl could not only understand the structure of a spell, but the intent behind the spell. Not once did my spells fail through it, despite all the inherent risks of forcing more power into a spell matrix that wasn’t designed for it. I placed a hoof on my necklace. A single four-pointed red gem sat inset in silver, the head of a horned pony at the top with wings at the sides. It was because of this specimen that I theorized that the red beryl could not only understand intent, but store it. They were singularly capable of serving as the perfect phylacteries, or soul stones. Liches may make any sort of object into a phylactery using what foul magic they had, but it would always result in decay. An object attempting to serve a purpose it was not designed for was destined to fail, but this stone would bypass that shortcoming. Others had already discovered this aspect, I surmised, though the discovery of its effects must have predated history. The Queen herself had told me many tales and myths when I was younger. The Bloodstone, for one, had an unmistakable ruby red glow, and the wielder seemed to possess boundless strength and energy, qualities that could very well be attributed to a powerful enchantment on a red beryl. In the Queen’s account of the three sirens, the bringers of the changelings’ Age of Famine, she mentioned the chokers that each of them wore, each set with a vivid red gem. To wield one of these gems to its fullest potential was to be nigh invincible. But unfortunately, I cannot take that path. Not for the goal I work towards. To be immortal in my current state would only immortalize me as a simple broodmother. A leader, one with considerable power, but still second to the queen. The queen did not need such baubles for immortality. She is the first, the root of her hive, blessed by the song, and she would be superior to one who relies on a mere tool, no matter how powerful, and she would still rule the hive. I must become the queen if I am to replace this traitor and lead the changelings to true greatness. I know the true reason she had the rangers removed. She was afraid. Within the skill set of the rangers lies the path to overthrow her, so long as one has the power and the spellcrafting necessary to adapt one of the ranger’s most iconic spells. The red beryl in front of me, unrefined, yet perfect, would be a soulstone, but not for me. I had made my preparations. All I had to do was wait. I shut the box and carried it back inside, the amulet around my neck seemingly poised in anticipation. Today was going to be just perfect.