My Little Praetor: Phthisis is Magic

by FanOfMostEverything


Home Remedies

Once the cultural gap was bridged, Applejack went from confused to skeptical. "So, yer tellin' me that we gotta go face down some kinda fancy forest human? Ah ain't too sure 'bout a plan that hinges on somethin' out of a filly tale."

Zecora shook her head. "No tale for children, that is clear. When we first met, she was a deer."

The farmhoof tried to process this and failed. "Okay, now yer just makin' stuff up."

"Please, why would I fabricate such a desperate, dire fate? Much as you refuse to believe, this I would never conceive."

Applejack had to cede the point. The zebra might take the occasional turn for the spooky, but she wasn't the sort to blow things out of proportion or make them up entirely. "Alright, gimme the details. No offense, Zecora, but Ah ain't gonna go out an' knock heads just on yer say-so."

Zecora shivered as she thought back. "The horrors that I saw that day, I doubt I could describe. Honestly, say what you may, I'm lucky to survive. But if you would learn, orange mare, of elves and horrors too, then listen well now, if you dare, to what I say to you."


Zebra and deer walked together deep into the Everfree Forest. Deeper, in fact, than even Zecora liked to travel normally. "Glissa, tell me honestly. Just where are you taking me?"

The armored doe smiled. "What, don't you trust a fellow shaman?"

The striped mare glowered. "A fellow shaman, that you are, but you don't have my trust. In the savannahs of my home, skepticism's a must. You could be true, you could be false, I cannot say for sure, but what I see and what I hear don't match your overture."

Glissa seemed unphased by the accusation. "Your rhythm's changed."

"If I am focused on my words and how they are to match, then fear and apprehension to me simply can't attach," explained Zecora. She smirked. "If you take issue with my rhymes, you only have to say and iambic heptameter will thenceforth go away."

"Doesn't matter to me," the deer replied. "So what is it you sense that has you so suspicious?"

"The trees are twisted, creatures too, in ways I've never seen. The forest's ambiance in whole grows sinister and mean." It was true. The further they went, the more warped and bizarre the growth around them appeared. Twisting, warped bark, frequent tumors bulging from branches, strange black fluids that clearly weren't sap oozing from gouges in the trunk, and that was just one timberwolf that Zecora had caught a glimpse of.

"I suppose that's one way of looking at it."

The striped mare quirked an eyebrow. "A conclusion I have reached from what I've seen so far: You claim to be a student, but nature's mistress you are."

Glissa blinked. "'Mistress'? That's an awfully lofty title, especially for someone else to give me. What makes you say that?"

"The scent of fear lies heavy, of adrenaline and piss. Eyes peek out through the branches, and there's other clues like this. From all this evidence I can quite easily construe there's more here than a copper deer and what she says is true."

"Quite astute." Said copper deer grinned. "Very well. We're headed for a greater truth."

Zecora was less than impressed. "For a much vaguer answer my ears clearly could not long. Go pull the other leg, Glissa, it's the one with bells on."

"No, really," insisted the half-metal hart. "I admit it sounds kind of trite, but that is our destination. It's the best way I have to describe it that I know will make sense."

Zecora chewed this over for a bit before sighing. "This one last time to you I'll give the benefit of doubt, but be aware your lack of candor's exhausted your clout."

"Duly noted."

The two travelled in silence for a time, Zecora noting further aberrations in flora and fauna alike. Copper and grease seemed to be themes. Finally, they reached a pair of deer similar in appearance to Glissa, though rather more emaciated. She nodded to the nigh-cadaverous duo. "She's with me."

They knelt. "Of course, Hand," said one, any hint of gender lost to a voice like gargled gravel.

Zecora had to tilt her head at this. "They call you Hand? Now why is that? No fingers do I see. Do you serve some strange minotaur here in the Everfree?"

Glissa chuckled. "Not exactly." She walked to the space between her subordinates and bowed her head. Magic flowed from her, strange and alien, almost... tainted.

With a rumble somewhere between a mild tremor and a giant's stomach, a gash opened before the alleged shaman. On the other side was a massive briar of verdigrised towers, slavering horrors, and a stench like a butcher's shop with a gas leak. As Zecora stood stunned, Glissa moved through the divide, transforming into a bipedal figure. She had hands now. Well, claws, really. She turned, her eyes still the same liquid black orbs. "Well? Aren't you coming?"


Applejack gulped. "S-so what didja do?"

Zecora smiled. "The powders used on Nightmare Night to entertain the foals are also useful to me when I've more practical goals. When I forage the Everfree to make my daily bread, smoke bombs help make sure that I can get to keep my head."

"Huh." The description of the other side of the portal stuck in the farmhoof's mental craw. "Ah think Ah see a problem with yer plan, Zecora."

"Please my friend, do share your thoughts. I'd rather this not be for naught."

"Well, them other elf-deer things called this Glissa character 'Hand,' right? Way Ah see it, that means there's a Head somewhere we don't know about."

The zebra nodded. "Between the neck and wrist I could quite easily be wrong, but if so, then what course of action should we act upon?"

"Oh, that's simple." Applejack grinned, a plan forming. "We just need t' even th' playin' field a li'l."


"My lord."

Urabrask turned from his workbench. Prostrate before him was one of his self-styled priests. He personally disliked the term. He wasn't Norn, he didn't need adulation or worship. Still, they had insisted, and since their zeal seemed to boost their output, he saw no harm in letting them continue. "Rise. What is it?"

The compleated Vulshok brought herself up to her knees, but dared not rise further. "Workers are reporting blasts of flame along the periphery of Sector U1. We suspect the indigenous creatures have called a dragon. What are your orders?"

The praetor considered this for a moment. His decree for the Ungulans had been the same as that for the Mirrans, "Let them be." However, that had been contingent on mutual noninterference. It had held so far since the natives had fled in terror, leaving his workers to harvest minerals that, while rare or nonexistent on New Phyrexia, were common as rust there.

Now there was resistance. Not the token rebellion that the Mirrans still displayed to stoke their waning hope, but an actual threat to the operation. The Hidden One's path was clear. If he had a mouth rather than a rotary blade gizzard, he might have smiled. "It's a good thing I called in that favor from Roxith before his little accident."

The technically human woman frowned. "Lord?"

Urabrask didn't bother explaining. He knew she wouldn't ask further. "Have the squealstokers finished reverse-engineering the portal control system?" Say what you'd like about goblins, they had a certain genius when it came to artifice. An unpredictable, often destructive genius, but a genius.

His priest grinned and nodded, piecing together the praetor's thought process. "Yes, Lord. And the large-scale portal is complete as well."

"Excellent. Align the portal on a vertical axis with the entry surface pointing downward. I trust you can figure out the rest."

The priest bounced to her feet. "At once, Lord!"

Urabrask watched her dash off with something like fondness. It was nice to have a clear-cut enemy again, someone who could pose an actual threat. Seeing the Mirrans diminished to helpless refugees had caused all kinds of displeasing thoughts. A new front would surely dispel them.

He turned back to his work. Yes, Gitaxias had been right about compleating this new plane. Not that the red praetor would ever admit it out loud. It was always safe to assume one of his brother's spies was within earshot. "They bring a dragon, we bring a better dragon," he muttered to himself. "That's the Furnace way."


Dizzy Twister sighed in contentment. The weather needed no interference, her loved ones weren't doing anything worth worrying over, and she had a whole afternoon to herself. Nothing but her, her rooftop porch, a bottle of wine, and the nagging feeling that this was all about to be ruined. The knock on her front door was really little more than a formality.

The mare leaned her head over the side of the roof. "Yes?"

"Oh, there you are!" called a familiar voice.

"Oh. Hi, Dash." Dizzy sighed. "What did she do?"

"Huh?"

The pegasus matched her boss's confused expression. "Isn't this about Scootaloo?"

"No, why would it be?"

"Huh." With a wingshrug and a grin, Dizzy called, "Well, feel free to come on up."

"Actually, could you come down?" There was a peculiar tone to Dash's speech. It took the rose-maned mare a moment to place it, alien as it normally was to the brash flier: Hesitance. "It's kinda why I came here."

"Uh, sure." Dizzy fluttered down to ground level. "What is... oh." She managed to stifle the horrified flinch that Dash's wings deserved.

"Yeah, I know." The grounded stuntpony frowned at the frazzled appendages.

"Um, are you... can I... how'd..." Dizzy struggled for words, trying to balance sympathy against politeness.

"It's... a medical thing," Dash summarized. "I... I honestly don't know if I..." She couldn't say it. Saying it would make it real. Her lips parted in a rictus as she attempted nonchalance. "W-well, I'm certainly not going to be leading the weather team any time soon."

Her yellow-coated subordinate nodded. "I guess you're telling us all know in pony?"

"No, actually," confided Dash. "Just you."

Dizzy staggered back. It was clear where the blue mare was going with this. "Y-you mean?"

Rainbow nodded. "I do. Dizzy, I'm naming you provisional chief weatherpony of Ponyville."

"B-but I..."

"Hay, you make good snap decisions, you don't buckle under pressure, you already write up, like, half the schedules as it is. You're my right-wing mare. The choice was obvious."

"It's just so sudden," demurred Dizzy. "What will the others say?"

Dash waved away this concern. "Aw, let 'em grumble. Maybe if Cloudkicker wasn't so busy chasing tails, she might've gotten it. As for the rest of them? We both know that they can barely empty a cloud with instructions on the top."

"I wouldn't go that far... Still, what if they don't listen to me?"

"Then show 'em you're worth listening to!" cried Dash. "Drum it into their skulls that you're the boss! I wouldn't have picked you if I didn't think you could do this."

"I guess." Dizzy smirked. "Who knows? This might even get Scootaloo to listen to me more often."

Dash gnawed her lip for a moment. "Probably not. You're her mom, and no offense, but speaking as a former problem filly myself, moms are never cool, no matter what they do."

"Problem filly?" Dizzy echoed. "You... you mean she's some sort of juvenille delinquent!?"

Dash gave a sheepish grin. "Um, poor choice of words?"


The sound of screaming stone shook Fankraxynox out of a fond reminiscence of Luna, a pillow, and the then-recent invention of pancake batter. Shaking himself out of the memory, the dragon soon saw the source of the disturbance. The peak of Mount Benji, the apex of the old Drakenhorn, was sinking.

There was already a visible discontinuity, a bit of unnaturally straight horizontality on either side of the weathered cone. As the Drakenlord watched, the piercing screech of tortured rock became a steady grind and the peak visibly telescoped into the mountain.

Fankraxynox spread his wings and took to the air. As he approached the mount, he saw that it wasn't collapsing. From above, it was clear that the top of Mount Benji was being stolen. As the huge mass of stone descended, the dragon could see around the edges into what he knew wasn't the inside of the peak. Not unless the Diamond Dogs had started using magic that made their homes larger on the inside. Besides, the eerie, red-lit iron ambiance didn't mesh at all with their usual aesthetic.

Of course, now that that mystery was solved, the invaders were clearly offering him a golden opportunity to strike. He would be a fool not to take it. The Warden of the Peaks landed on a ledge just beneath the eerily clean slice, then shoved the top of the mountain to one side. He idly noted how the edge cut through the granite like a hot fang through gypsum and made sure his head was kept well away from the transition before expelling a massive blast of fire through it.

A satisfying bevy of screams and panic followed, though not nearly as much running as Fankraxynox had been expecting. Quite a few more lingering blazes than he'd anticipated for subterranea, though. How odd.

Any consideration he might have given the matter was interrupted by an unmistakable roar. While many things are different between planes, the behavior of dragons is rarely one of them. That had clearly been a challenge. The wyrm's lips curled in a snarl, fury and incredulity mixing in the face of such insolence. He responded with a skull-splitting cry of his own.

Regrettably, he had to cut it short, drawing his head back to avoid a spurt of dangerous-looking greenish fumes. In a plume of the same, the challenger launched himself out of the gate, hovering above Mount Benji's new interdimensional caldera.

Eyes that had learned to read the inscrutable moods of the Princess of the Night took in the newcomer. To a lesser being, it would be horrifying. Green light and mist oozed out of holes in the other dragon's body. Gray, wasted flesh hung from its bones, and that was just on the largely intact limbs. Its chest was a gaping pit surrounded by jagged, exposed ribs. Its throat was a threadbare web of tissue, leaving the windpipe mostly visible. Its wings were without membrane, seeming more like a scythelike third pair of mutated legs. How it was staying aloft was a mystery whose solution time would likely not permit.

Worst of all were the eyes, milky, dead things that nonetheless held unthinkable malice. The challenger's gaze was utterly uncaring, entirely soulless, yet still as terribly intelligent as any dragon's. Somehow, in a wheezing, breathless tone that spoke of absent lungs, it whispered, "Die." Then it pounced.

Fankraxynox pushed off of his perch just before the challenger slammed into it. He noted a gaping hole in its back beneath the base of its wings that narrowed and continued down much of its spine, seething with the green vapors all the while. "Not today," answered the Drakenlord, and he blew another plume of fire at the abomination.

It bolted away from the flame, showing incredible speed for something that shouldn't even be moving. Still, it confirmed that his fire would hurt it. It was simply a matter of hitting the damned fiend. Then, in a burst of the foul gas, it launched itself at him.

Those few Diamond Dogs still in the area turned tail. Nearby griffins had already made for less volatile territory. Dragons were dueling, and nothing was foolish enough to get in their way.


As the Ponyville members of the Equestrian Time-Space Administration Bureau took a break for a late lunch, Ditzy Doo frowned at Pumpkin Cake. The unicorn soon noticed. "What?"

"You've been casting something almost since the meeting began. I just couldn't tell what you were doing, and I can literally see magic. It kind of bugs me. So..." The pegasus paused and considered several rephrasings before simply asking, "What were you doing?"

"Oh, that." Pumpkin grinned. "I've been keeping the narrative focus off of us."

"The what?"

"Well, it's like Aunt Pinkie always says." The yellow-coated mare's voice rose in pitch to a quite accurate impression of Pinkie Pie. "As long as the planning happens off-camera, then there's a chance the plan will work. Now who wants to help me make crullers?" She paused and considered. "Well, the bit about crullers probably doesn't apply, but she does always say it."

Ditzy pondered this herself. "Oh. I see. I hadn't considered how Pinkie must've been an integral part of your upbringing. It actually explains a lot."

Pumpkin frowned. "I get the feeling that you don't actually understand what I was trying to tell you."

"I didn't. Honestly, though? I think it's better that I don't."


If nothing else, decided Geth, it had been a very interesting hour or so. "So, let me get this straight," he said finally. "All you've wanted from the beginning of this entire farce was access to the black lacuna?"

"Yuppie-duppie!" Pinkie cheered.

The zombie sighed. "Why didn't you say so from the beginning?"

The party pony's smile narrowed into more of a smirk. "What fun would that have been?"

"I know I would've had considerably more."

She pouted. "Aw, don't you like me, Mr. Monkeyhead?"

"No," Geth answered immediately.

Pinkie shrugged this off. "Aw, you don't like anyone."

"Not true. I like me."

"And that's why you'll tell me how to get inside the plane!"

Geth held up a wickedly pointed finger. "Only if you disarm all of the explosives you somehow stuffed this place with."

The mare nodded. "Which I'll do on my way down."

"And how will I be able to tell you've followed through on your end?"

"I promised!" cried Pinkie. "And I always keep my promises to my friends."

The zombie grumbled to himself for a moment. Outmaneuvered by a horse. If any of the other Thanes learned about this – and they almost certainly would – he'd never unlive it down. "Fine." With a wave of his hand, the wall behind him swung open, revealing itself to be ingeniously disguised double doors. "Right in the center of the room. Can't miss it."

Suddenly, the pony was perched on his shoulder. "Thank you, Gethy!" She punctuated her thanks with a kiss to his leaden widow's peak.

"Just get off of me and go before I decide to gut you and take my losses."

"Okey dokey lokey!" Pinkie hummed her way towards the tunnel into New Phyrexia's interior, carved out by the emergence of the black sun centuries earlier. Even now, it thrummed with the mana of death and decay, the power that had defined Phyrexia of old and still represented the very worst its new incarnation had to offer. And, oddly enough, the mana that most closely resonated with the Element of Laughter.

Pinkie grinned down at the physical Element, which hadn't left her neck since she'd realized she had been infected with glistening oil. Admittedly, heading to another universe with it in tow hadn't been the wisest of decisions, but it wasn't like she was the only Bearer who'd absconded with her personal MacGuffin. Besides, there were plenty of portals back to Equestria nearby – and deadly neurotoxin, now that she thought about it. Plus, the thaliamantic energies were keeping her mind on the light end of the dark side.

As the party pony pranced down the passageway, its magic turning gravity perpendicular to the norm, she entertained a bit of nostalgia for her darker days, back when the name Pinkamena had ranked alongside Yawgmoth and Bolas, bringing shudders of horror even to the nearly godlike planeswalkers of the time. Oh, she didn't want to go back to being a scourge of the Multiverse, especially now that she knew there was no chance of paradoxically preventing Equestria from ever coming into existence and providing an angst-based start of darkness. Still, with what she had planned – and she had actually bothered to seriously plan this time – she would need a bit of the old ultraterror. Hmm. Speaking of which...

Pinkie grinned. Oh, she always kept her promises to her friends, and since her explosives were just intangible nexuses (Nexes? Nexi?) of barely contained energy, she could make them cease to exist harmlessly and almost effortlessly. However, Geth had made it perfectly clear that he did not consider her a friend, and after Cranky, the party pony could recognize a lost cause when she saw one. Still, it wasn't like her to actually break a promise. At least, not the letter of one. And what better way to make sure the explosives were permanently disarmed than discharging them?

A thought later, a tremendous rumble shook the lacuna as the Vault of Shadows collapsed into a heap of even more misshapen rubble. A furious scream echoed down the tunnel, only to be abruptly cut short. Pinkie's grin didn't change. "One down, six to go." She considered the statement for a moment. "Two and five, actually. Heh. Sometimes enemies are even more helpful than friends."

She exulted in a warm, fuzzy feeling, equal parts satisfaction and schadenfreude. Then she stopped. Something wasn't quite right. The party pony tapped her hoof, trying to put it on the problem. She stopped the tapping soon after. That was it, that sound wasn't quite right.

Pinkie Pie looked at her hoof. Rather than the vaguely cylindrical assembly of skin, hair, and keratin she was expecting, there was an irregular plate of weirdly discolored metal. It even crawled up the edges a little, almost looking like one of the Princess's neat shoes, but made from vastly inferior material. A quick examination confirmed that her other feet exhibited similar adornments. Even her belly seemed a bit darker and crustier than she expected after this long out of the Dross.

"Well, that's happening faster than I expected." She pondered this for a beat, then shrugged. "Eh, whatever. I'll worry about it after the boss run. Oh! That reminds me." The party pony clapped her oddly shod front hooves twice, then smiled anew. "There. That should be everything. La lala lala..."


After managing to defuse a subcritical Dizzy Twister, Rainbow Dash decided that she deserved a break as much as she needed one. She pushed open the door to the Sugarcube Corner, giving a smile to the pony at the counter. "Hi, Mrs. Cake."

"Good afternoon, dear," the baker said sweetly. A bit of anxiety crept into her smile. "Any word from Pinkie?"

The speedster shook her head. "Sorry."

"Oh, I just don't know what I'll tell her parents..."

This gave Dash a moment of pause. "You know her parents?"

Mrs. Cake nodded. "Oh, of course! You don't think we just found her in the spare room one day, do you?"

"Guess I never really thought about it," admitted the pegasus.

"Well, I do have a bit of good news." The proprietress reached into the display case and produced a plate with an envelope and a rainbow-frosted cupcake. "Those were waiting for me in the kitchen this morning, along with a note for me. No idea how it all got there, but my letter said to give both to you when you came in today."

"Huh. Well, that's Pinkie for you." Dash reached to one side, then paused, remembering that she'd never stopped to grab her wallet before her woefully less than literal flight to Fluttershy's. "Uh..."

Mrs. Cake smiled. "My note also came with a bit and a postscript about how you wouldn't have any. This one's on Pinkie, dear."

Dash matched her expression. "Thanks." She took the plate in mouth and made her way to one of the many empty tables. It was the lull after the lunch rush, so at least she could eat without a good dozen pegasi starring at her for all the wrong reasons.

The cupcake was, unsurprisingly, delicious. The rich chocolate cake underneath the seven sugary stripes carried an odd but enjoyable blend of sweet and spicy. Only after the treat was finished did Dash open the envelope. Hay, filly's gotta eat.

Dashie,

If you're reading this, then I've fled the universe and your wings are in really crummy shape. The good news is that both of these situations are temporary. The bad news is that both will still take time. I know you aren't the most patient of ponies, and frankly, in most cases, neither am I. As such, I'm giving you a gift, even though I'm not here to actually give it. It's something that should drastically reduce how long you'll have to wait before your wings get better.

Before I get into specifics, there's something you should know: That cupcake you just ate was laced with Tartarus Select.

Dash stopped reading. She knew Tartarus Select. She doubted that she'd ever be able to forget it. It had been during some party or another when she'd noticed Pinkie gingerly topping a brownie with hot sauce rather than drowning the innocent foodstuff. Dash had asked about it. Pinkie had insisted that she wouldn't like it. Dash had insisted, reassuring her friend. Finally, she was presented with a cracker bearing a single tiny droplet of the substance.

Fifteen minutes later, after Dash had regained consciousness and remembered how to think, she'd decided to listen to Pinkie when it came to spicy stuff. And yet the pegasus had just eaten Celestia knew how much of the same substance without even noticing. She dove back into the letter.

Okay, you're back.

One would think that, after a while, Dash would be used to this kind of thing. One would be wrong.

Back for good? Okay. So, as the cupcake demonstrated, you've developed an incredible tolerance for what my saucery tutor liked to call "hot energy." That is, the power of flame and spiciness. (Remind me to tell you about the time I became an adventurer in the Kingdom of Loathing. Oh, I have so many fun stories now that you girls know that I'm a planeswalker!)

Anyway, it's that power that'll put the dash back in your rainbow. Go to my secret hot sauce reserve. Drink the contents of the bottle with the white label. Ignore the warnings like we both know you will anyway. You'll have a smile back on your face in no time.

Love,
Pinkie Pie

P.S. Oops. Um, that kind of slipped out at the end there. And I'm writing in pen. I guess we'll have a lot to talk about when I get back, huh?

Dash sighed. Sometimes, she thought her life would be easier if there was a way for her to make herself like mares. There were perils to being an eternal, glorious beacon of awesome.

Still, she had more pressing matters to take care of. "Mrs. Cake? Would it be okay if I went up to Pinkie's room?"

The baker gave an understanding smile and a matching wink. "Go right ahead, dear."

Yes, concluded Dash, she'd either have to learn to like mares or to turn off her swag. One of the two.


Rarity hummed to herself as she sewed, quite pleased with herself. After the trials of that morning, she had rebounded quite nicely, if she might say so herself. Once the stairs were cleared, which had really just been a matter of slowing her motions, the day had gone without a hitch. True, she'd had to keep herself to the ground floor of the Boutique, but even so, she'd finished three dresses, had made sketches of four more designs, and had prepared both breakfast and lunch with only a bit more telekinesis than usual.

The last stitch complete, she held up the embroidered cravat she'd been working on. "Perfect!" gushed the fashionista. "Fancy Pants is sure to love it. All it needs now are some understated sapphires to go with that exquisite mane of his."

She rose from the sewing machine and made her way to her jewel chest, quite proud of her ability to triumph over adversity. She paused halfway. "That's odd..."

Something wasn't right. Rarity had made this little trip countless times before, but some detail had shifted this time. She just couldn't put her hoof on what. She looked around the shop. Actually everything seemed a bit off. But why? In what way?

The designer's analytical mind soon settled on the discrepancy: Everything seemed shorter. But that didn't make sense at all! The Boutique couldn't have shrunk, and she was obviously full-grown. She smirked and cocked a hip. Oh yes, there was no doubt of that.

The nature of Rarity's little pose fully registered. Hip cocked, one foreleg resting on it, the other languid... She was up on her rear legs. That had been what had made her stop in the first place, the tattoo of only two hooves rather than four. And she hadn't even consciously realized it until now. Her hips should've been screaming in protest by this point, yet—

Rarity gasped. (A forehoof demurely covering her mouth, of course.) She wasn't in any pain at all. Oh, the soreness had lessened over the course of the day, but it had still been there. Now, in the sort of pose most ponies couldn't comfortably maintain for the better part of a minute, she felt fine. She tried dropping to all fours and flinched back immediately. Her spine, her withers, her shoulders, all of them twinged the moment she'd shifted.

The designer considered this for a moment more, then shrugged. Then she shrugged again. There was a certain pleasant novelty to the gesture when it was stripped of its push-up-like aspect. In any case, she said to herself, "I have far more important things to worry about than some strange whim of my body. There are customers counting on me and I shan't let them down."

That decided, she resumed her work. She could worry about herself when the day's labors were through.


It said a lot about their friendship that Pinkie Pie trusted Rainbow Dash with the location of her secret hot sauce reserve. It said even more about Pinkie herself that she had a secret hot sauce reserve in the first place, but that was neither here nor there.

Well, actually, it was here. "It" being the reserve and "here" being underneath Gummy's litter box. (It was a lot less disgusting than it sounded, since the alligator never used the thing; Pinkie walked him regularly.)

Underneath the litter box was a loose floorboard, a handle carved into it so it could be easily moved by mouth. In the space beneath was a horseshoebox. Written on top, rather than "Private" or "Keep out" or "Property of Pinkie Pie," was "She who controls the Spice controls the Multiverse." Dash couldn't help but smile at that. "So random."

The box was heavier than it looked; Dash had to lift with her legs, given the awkward position. Once she removed the lid, the reason for the container's surprising mass became clear; in addition to the three-by-four arrangement of small, thick glass jars, there were thin sheets of lead lining the other side of the cardboard. Given that these were hot sauces too extreme for even Pinkie Pie to use casually, Dash considered this an entirely reasonable precaution.

The jars were largely the same, stout, tightly stoppered little cylinders bearing pink labels and filled with reddish-orange liquid. Pinkie made most of the sauces herself, making them extra viscous, the better to apply them by the drop. She also named them, titles like "Mountezuma's True Revenge," "The Liquifier," and, yes, "Tartarus Select" written in her typically cheery mouthwriting.

But the white-labelled one was different. As far as Dash could tell, it didn't even have an opening, just a little handle on top. She removed the strange container from the reserve, noting how its contents were transparent and thin as water. Balancing it in her hooves, she examined the stark label. Its information hadn't been written, it had been typed, looking more like something out of Twilight's basement lab than anything made by Pinkie Pie.

METACAPSAICIN
Intensity: 1 teraScoville
(Detectable at concentrations of one part per trillion.)
WARNING: Experimental use only. Do not consume. Do not taunt.
Impossible substance. Use sparingly.
Use only in well-ventilated area.
Follow hazmat procedures while using.
Seriously, do not taunt.

Rainbow swallowed. She wasn't scared, of course, but she'd definitely admit to being mildly unsettled. Still, Pinkie had told her this would take care of whatever was warping her wings. The speedster knew it wasn't a prank. Not only would Pinkie never use something this obviously dangerous in a practical joke, she knew how important flying was to Dash. To any pegasus. It'd be like laughing at a unicorn with a broken horn or an earth pony with cracked hooves. That just wasn't Pinkie.

Still, knowing that didn't tell Dash how to actually get at the apparently impossible substance. She spun the bottle about, looking for more information. She hit paycloud on the other end of the label.

To open: Don't. If you absolutely must, get your mortal affairs in order,
then speak your full name. If you can be trusted with this substance,
the bottle will open and remain so for ten seconds. After the bottle
recloses, there is a 24-hour refractory period.

The pegasus grinned. The "mortal affairs" stuff obviously didn't apply to her. Pinkie had made it clear that she would survive. Even if she hadn't, Dash was too awesome for something as unfathomably lame as death by hot sauce. Thus reassured, she said, "Rainbow Dash."

The bottle wiggled a bit, but beyond that, nothing happened. Fear flickered in the blue mare's heart before realization struck. She sighed. "Really? Ugh, Stupid magic..." Well, it wasn't like there was anypony here who could hear her, and she'd rather have her wings than her pride any day. "Rainbow Jennifer Dash."

The little jar's handle softened and flowed together to a point. Dash hastily righted it before the point dilated to form an open bottleneck.

She wasted no time, downing the contents in well under the ten seconds flat she'd been given. For a substance spicier than was physically possible, it was a lot like drinking cooking oil. (Not that Dash ever had. Certainly not a quart of it on a dare in flight school.)

After she'd shaken out the last drop, Dash set down the jar and waited amoment. No noticeable afterburn. Huh. Maybe it was so spicy that her tongue couldn't even notice. Maybe she'd drunk it too fast. "Well, that wasn't so ba—"

Her mouth exploded. Twice. Three times. Five. Rainbow quickly lost count and was simply consumed by an oral holocaust. Her vision fuzzed as her pupils palpitated and her mind struggled with the sheer intensity of the situation. Her last thought before passing out was Oh, that's what it meant by "Do not taunt."


Trixie yawned, stretched, and longed for the days when five in the afternoon was more likely to indicate the end of the day's performances than the beginning of her waking hours. Well, no helping it. She was Luna's official personal student, and the student did not dictate class hours. Besides, somepony had to fill the seat of Royal Librarian, no matter what the hour. It was a matter of principle.

Still, how could she not pine for the days of the open road, of adoring fans and eager audiences lapping up her tales and talents? Objectively, she was a better pony now than she was then, but was she happier?

Alas, it may all be behind her now. After all, who'd ever heard of the student of a princess acting as a common showmare? It was unthinkably beneath her! She might as well be... be....

Be a small town librarian? suggested a rather smug bit of herself.

Okay, so there was that. Oh, Twilight Sparkle, eternal engima that she was. Trixie certainly didn't hate her, not anymore. But did she like her? She couldn't say. Her feelings towards the lavender mare were utterly opaque to her, inscrutable in their complexity, labyrinthine in their self-contradictions, something in their... somethings.

The blue unicorn yawned. Darn it, she needed caffeine if she was going to continue this internal monologue. To the kitchen.

It was a journey of about a dozen steps. Her apartment was manageable, which in Canterlot real estate was code for "not likely to fall off of the side of the mountain any time soon." It was three rooms in a rail-thin arrangement that left little space for personal embellishments or, indeed, furniture. But by Luna, it was Trixie's!

However, as far as she knew, the unicorn sitting at her kitchen counter wasn't. "Who are you?" demanded the (former?) showmare. She grabbed the first large object her telekinesis happened upon and yanked it in front of her. "Stay back! I have a... broom!"

"So I see."

Trixie dropped the broom in her shock. That voice. There was no mistaking that voice. Oh, the body was rather... distorted, but knowing that voice, there was no telling what kind of arcane wonderment had transpired to cause such a transformation. She certainly wouldn't put anything past the one, the only "Twilight Sparkle?"

"Good evening, Trixie," replied Twilight, saluting her with a steaming mug. "I hope you don't mind, but I made coffee."

"Certainly not, but... why are you here?"

The purple mare gave a sheepish grin. "Well, suffice to say, never underestimate an alicorn. Even if she was your foalsitter." She paused and reflected on this for a moment. "Actually, make that especially if she was your foalsitter."

The blue mare blinked in befuddlement. "I don't understand."

"Don't worry about it. Just don't provoke Cadence any time soon unless your teleportation has gotten a lot better."

Trixie shrugged, pouring herself a cup of the precious elixir. "I doubt I could provoke her if I tried. I've seen her about three times in the past year. Couldn't even make the wedding, given my sleep schedule." She sat and blew on the coffee's steaming surface. "So, what have you been up to?"

Experience with Pinkie Pie had taught Twilight to wait until after the other pony had finished drinking before dropping big news on her. "I'm working on a massive project, and your help could be invaluable."

The silver-maned unicorn sputtered. She would've surely soaked her guest had the offer been more poorly timed. "M-me? What can I do that you can't?"

"I'm still only one pony," replied the changed mare. "This is way too big to try on my own. I need help. Moreover, I need help I know I can trust. My friends in Ponyville are... well, iffy on the subject. I'm pretty sure that they'll come around eventually, but what I have planned can't wait that long. I need somepony competent, somepony clever, somepony who's not afraid to get her hooves dirty if need be. I thought of you immediately."

"When you say 'get my hooves dirty'..."

"Not everything I have planned is, in the strictest sense, 'legal,'" Twilight confessed, complete with air quotes. "Or, depending on your point of view, 'ethical.' But it needs to be done, for the sake of Equestria."

Trixie considered the offer for a moment. "What about my job at the Royal Library? I can't just abandon Princess Luna. Not after all she's done for me."

The other unicorn dismissed the objection with the wave of a hoof. "Let me worry about that. Once I've explained my project to her, she'll be more than understanding. I'm sure of it." After all, Celestia seemed to take it... okay, this was a blatant lie and Twilight knew it. Still, as long as Trixie didn't...

"Well..." the former performer scratched at the floor with a hoof a few times in her indecision, then finally made her choice. "I... suppose. We'll speak with Luna. If it's alright with her, I would be honored to help you, Twilight."

The purple mare's face split into a wide grin which proved mildly disconcerting, given the needleteeth. "Oh, thank you, Trixie! I promise you'll be glad you did this." Then she kissed her.

It was hard to say which one found the act more surprising. Trixie certainly never saw it coming. Twilight didn't recall telling her body to do so. Then both grew lost in the unique sensations presenting themselves and everything got a bit fuzzy for a while.

Once the pair remembered that breathing was something ponies needed to do on a regular basis, they separated, but their gazes were still fixed on one another. A brilliant flush graced each face. Idly wiping at oddly black saliva, Trixie managed, "S-so, is there actually a project, or did you just..."

"No!" Twilight winced at the overeager cry. "I mean, yes, there really is a project I'd like your assistance on. I.... I guess I didn't avoid all of Cadence's love-powered attack." She coughed into a fetlock. "And, well, truth be told, you are a very attractive mare."

Awkward silence briefly fell between the two, their eyes now pointing anywhere but at each other. Again, Trixie spoke up first. "So should we go see Luna now, or—"

"I think that's the best course of action."

"Right, let's do that."


Bring the House Down 4BB
Sorcery
Destroy target creature and target land.
"Because the best parties don't leave any witnesses."
—Pinkie Pie, Element of Laughter

Furnace Justice R
Sorcery
You may put a creature card in your hand with converted mana cost X or less onto the battlefield, where X is the damage dealt to you by sources your opponents controlled since your last turn ended. That creature gains haste until end of turn.
"Pain is the fire that forges us into something greater."
—Tola, priest of Urabrask