"So if you and the Tree of Harmony aren't opposites, what are you? And what does this have to with alicorns?"

"Nothing!" Discord said with a cheerful grin, slowly rotating in place. "You just made an incorrect assumption and led us on a tangent!"

"Wha—" Twilight spluttered. "I didn't lead us on a tangent! You're the one who— Agghhh!"

Coldsteel clears his throat.

"I count myself among the resurrected, sir, and I believe that under the circumstances I have weathered the situation fairly well. Yellowbelly, also, does not seem any more notably useless now than he usually is. But Sergeant Rictus is..."

"Off his damn head," Breakspear says bluntly, frowning at me. "He has done nothing but lay on his bed while gibbering about 'the things in the dark' for four hours now."

"Classic Rictus," I grumble.

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"Dragonfall is a city on its last legs, its populace so perpetually depressed that they're basically all just waiting to die. Until four days ago, they didn't even have a city guard. You are a gang of thieves and murderers. This is an environment you should be thriving in, yet you're camped out in the forest like a bunch of losers, subsisting on turnips and pig fetuses."

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I never asked for any of this. I never wanted to negotiate with the orphans. I never wanted to be saddled with Cash's useless crotch-spawn. I never wanted to be in Dragonfall. Hell, go back far enough, I never even wanted to be a mercenary. I just wanted to get away from my parents and bang the recruiter. How did it all come to this? Why am I here? What's the point of anything? Does life truly have any meaning? Is there really a grand design, a destiny for us all that our cutie marks

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When I first came to this cabin, it had quite a substantial library, left by one of the previous occupants. Books, scrolls, journals, notes... all detailing everything their owner knew about the occult. My wife studied them first; she was more a scholar than I ever was. After she died, I took up the craft myself, to ward off the nightmares imparted by the spirits. I haven't had a vision from them in years. But... that's also how I know that the things in the forest are something

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Peacemaker chews his lip and nods his assent, shrugging. "I suppose an alcoholic is preferable to an out-and-out bigot... No offence, Hoofler."

Hoofler blinks at him. "Vhy vould I be offended? I do hate minorities."

Dynamite looks at me like I'm the crazy one.

"Where the hell am I?!" he screams. "What is this place? What world am I in?"

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"Killjooooooooooy!"

I barrel into her, and we both tumble to the floor. Killjoy grunts as her back hits the stone, a faceful of vermillion mane caught in her mouth. I stand over her, eyes wide and manic.

"Killjoy! Killjoy!" I gasp, wildly gesturing behind me.

She spits out her mane and glares up at me while the guards peep around the door with concerned looks. I keep making hoof motions, trying to explain, but all that comes out is a babble of subsonic noises.

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At first, they're just creepily silent; then they begin creepily humming in unison. I feel that sense of unease again, and it only becomes all the worse as their humming transitions into a surprisingly upbeat and jaunty tune. The foals bounce in place as they follow along with us. Worry transitions into sheer dread, and I finally let out a pained groan when the air suddenly fills with the sound of musical instruments from an unknown source, matching their tune. It's exactly as I

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Twilight Sparkle reached the top of the staircase and burst through the wooden door, emerging into the freezing night air. It had gotten darker since her arrival at the castle, and the blizzard was worse than ever, but still she galloped out onto the ramparts. The skeletal gargoyle followed close behind, his wine-stained robes billowing in the winds.

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"Wow, how convenient! So she's totally my foal, but just so happens to have had any physical identifiers that would confirm her as such removed! So, entertaining this stupid line of thought, why would you have done such a thing?"

Next chapter will be a short one, but shorter means more expedient updates sometimes. Expect it sometime tomorrow.

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"I knew a filly in my youth, who stayed at the local hospital in my hometown for all the time that I lived there. She was a blind-deaf burn victim with fragile bones that constantly broke, and an inability to digest solid foods. Healing magic gave her seizures, and she was somehow allergic to literally all medicine, but painkillers most especially. All she did, all day every day, was repeatedly chant 'please kill me,' and all night every night, she would have the same persistent

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Amelia Dallon, AKA Miracle, is a bright, cheery, and mentally well-adjusted superhero healer. Victoria Dallon, AKA Gloom Girl, is a writhing ball of teenage angst and self-loathing in dire need of a therapist. Their relationship is absolutely uncomplicated and not problematic in the slightest.

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Heading into the city proper, we came to a memorial to the soldiers who died in the Battle of Hoover Dam, and an off-duty trooper named Kowalski paying his respects. Nearby, there was a bar being operated by one of Boulder City's few remaining residents, who told us about how dead it is around here. And of course there was also the massive pile of rubble and ruins that used to be the city, even more rundown than your usual pre-war ruins.

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A wolf's howl sounded somewhere behind me. I turned over on my rock, lying back as I stared up at the gargantuan beast rising out of the swamp. Its half-submerged body was a singular great mass of brown and yellow scales, but its four heads sat atop long, thick necks that writhed and twisted in the air as water dripped off of them. Two of the heads glared down at me with burning emerald eyes, while the other two trapped the black knight between their mouths. I didn't see any teeth,

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There was a small NCR presence there, people heading to and from Vegas, traders peddling their wares, a beggar who I gave some caps to, and surprisingly enough, some refugees from Primm who fled after the Powder Gangers attacked. A few of them are even preparing to make the trip back soon, since word on the radio is that somebody single-handedly cleared the gang out and restored law and order to the town.

God, this past week has been fucking weird.

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"Don't give me that." Sam Miller sneered. "You're hearty enough to walk the wasteland alone, and sharp enough to still be making money with a gun. You're more than capable of stirring up trouble, however old you say you are, and I ain't having it."

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Worse, these abilities when taken collectively imply that changelings are far less limited than we previously theorised. All operations so far have assumed that changelings are only capable of disguising themselves as ponies, or at worst as quadrupeds of similar proportions. In reality, however, they seem potentially able to take the form of any species, even ones significantly larger or smaller than themselves, or even inanimate objects. I shouldn't need to state that

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