• Published 15th Feb 2012
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Friendship is Giant Robots - 108Echoes



The Elements fight Nightmare Moon, using giant robots powered by weaponized friendship.

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Chapter One: First Engagement

Twilight had gone over the ANIMa setup already, but she couldn’t keep herself from making a fourth check, just in case she’d missed anything the first three times. The wires attaching her to the rusty bulk of the Nightmare Core were all in place. The Element of Magic was strapped securely to her head. The safety harness was correctly fastened and tightened. Fluttershy was back at the Anchor station, presumably doing a similar diagnostic. “Fluttershy?” Twilight asked over the headset. “Is everything working? Can you hear me?”

Fluttershy’s voice was clear through the communication spell. “Yes, Twilight. I’m not seeing any problems.”

“Good.” Twilight closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Initiate the ANIMa startup sequence. Remember, it’s alpha, theta, then induction. Oh, and remind Pinkie Pie not to start induction phase until after the alarm matrix gets disconnected. If—”

Fluttershy hushed her. “Don’t worry, Twilight, we’ve all been training just as hard as you have. You’ll be okay.”

Twilight opened her eyes and sighed. “It’s just, this isn’t a practice run anymore. I know we’ve trained, but it’s not the same thing, and—”

“Twilight, shh. Calm down.”

Twilight took another few breaths. “Okay! Okay. I’m ready. I’m calm. It’s just, this is the first attack since the ANIMa was completed. This is the first real battle we’ve had. If we don’t win—no, I’m calm. I’m okay. I can do this.”

“Your readings are still a little jittery, Twilight. Um, do you want me to sing you a lullaby?” Fluttershy asked. “No, wait, that’s silly. Never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Twilight smiled weakly. “Actually, a lullaby would be nice. Thanks, Fluttershy.”

“Well, okay then, Twilight,” Fluttershy said. “If that’s what you want.” She started to sing softly over the headset, and Twilight closed her eyes and tried to relax.

The lullaby really is very helpful, she thought. Fluttershy has such a lovely singing voice. Twilight felt a slight tingle from the electrodes taped to her head, and then the world faded away.


The emptiness was warm, and wet, and all-enveloping. A low, thudding beat permeated the—air? water? vacuum?—the space around her. The beat filled her up, strong and steady, making her own heartbeat feel weak and insignificant in comparison.

Emptiness.

A voice. No, not a voice. Just a question in the emptiness, a question without a speaker.

Why do you fight?

Who do you fight for?

Who will stand by your side?

When you are alone, who will come to your aid?

Floating in the emptiness, Twilight tried to marshal her thoughts. This was—this was post-induction phase, so everything was working properly. Her body was asleep, back in the clearing with the Nightmare Core, but her mind was here. Nothing had gone wrong. Nothing had gone wrong yet, she corrected. No, nothing had gone wrong yet, with the machine.

Visions of the past four months raced through Twilight’s mind. The sleeping ponies who wouldn’t wake, no matter what happened around them, and the blissful smiles upon their faces. The creatures attacking Ponyville. Canterlot destroyed, Nightmare Moon back—a lot had gone wrong. This one thing, at least, was working as it should. So far. Twilight shook her head. She shouldn’t be thinking about that; no use dwelling. Time to get to work.

She spoke into the emptiness. Her voice sounded small and flat compared with the steady, echoing pulse around her.

“My friend, Fluttershy. She stands with me. Even now, she works at the controls of the ANIMa, so that she may keep me safe.”

Something began to take shape in the emptiness. An enormous, shadowy equine form loomed before her.

“My friend, Rainbow Dash. She stands with me. She risks the unknown to fight by my side.”

The darkness started to lift. She could see the shape a bit more clearly now. It had wings, fully extended.

“My friend, Applejack. She stands with me. She fights against the nightmares, to protect her family and her friends.”

The shape began to glow, pulsing in time with Twilight’s heartbeat and the steady rhythm surrounding them both.

“My teacher, Princess Celestia.” Twilight’s voice caught in her throat. “My Princess stands beside me. She longs to free her sister from the darkness. I fight for her sake. For Princess Celestia.”

The shape in front of her flashed, and spots danced in Twilight’s vision. When Twilight could see again, the darkness was gone, and the shape in front of her stood revealed. Before her was a magnificent statue of an alicorn, made of gleaming golden metal. Its outspread wings shone with all the colors of the rainbow. Its body was sleek, slightly built, but all four legs were tense with lean muscle. On its head was a long, wickedly sharp horn which shone with all the glory of the summer sun at high noon.

Twilight shivered. Almost four months ago, they had started experimenting with the Elements of Harmony and the Nightmare Core, a cast-off piece of one of Nightmare Moon’s monsters. With diligent experimentation and—though it pained Twilight to admit it—quite a lot of guesswork, they’d created this thing.

The Alternative Nightmare Induction Matrix. The ANIMa.

Nightmare Moon’s creatures were relentless. Princess Celestia would destroy them, over and over, but they’d return the next night, and the next. The Princess, as magnificent as she was, was only one pony. She couldn’t hold them back forever, not if they wouldn’t stay dead.

The ANIMa let Twilight and her friends fight the nightmares on their home turf. Nightmares that died here didn’t come back. Early experiments had been rough, but they’d come a long way from the days of protective fogs and glowing miasmas. Now the ANIMa—the voice, the emptiness, some strange magic none of her books described—took her friendships and turned them into this. All the feelings bound up in those relationships, this machine forged into a weapon.

Twilight felt herself drifting closer to the giant alicorn, and then it split apart into a thousand whirling pieces. She floated into the center of the cloud, and the giant reformed itself around her. There was a familiarity to the motions, a familiarity born not only of the past month’s near-constant training, but from the nature of the ANIMa itself: all her friends truly did fight with her. She blinked, shook a hoof, and felt the robot do the same. Twilight smiled, and spoke again.

“ANIMa formation complete. Initiate delta phase transition.”


Twilight and her ANIMa hung suspended in a starry void. That’s what it seemed like, at least—her body was back on Equestria, in the clearing outside of Fluttershy’s cottage. This was only a mental projection. Or a spiritual projection, or a magical projection, or something else entirely—the experiments hadn’t confirmed any of Twilight’s hypotheses. All they knew was that it worked. “Why” was currently unknown, a source of continual irritation to Twilight.

The others saw the dreamscape differently. Rainbow Dash saw a cloudless sky over an endless ocean, Applejack a barren field. In their earlier tests, before they’d decided on the current division of labor, Pinkie, Rarity, and Fluttershy had all perceived the dreamscape differently as well.

For Twilight, though, the dreamscape was a vast, starry void. Equestria stretched out miles beneath her, a blue-green patchwork. From here, it was beautiful, peaceful, pristine, and when she looked down she could almost forget about the darkness and the pain and all the sleeping ponies who would not wake.

Floating to Twilight’s left was Applejack, whose ANIMa took the form of an earth pony made of red-brown steel. Its legs and haunches were dense with muscles of thick cable, and two enormous gun barrels were mounted to its sides.

On Twilight’s right was Dash’s ANIMa, a bullet-shaped mass of spikes and blades. Equally spaced around its circumference were four enormous wings, and the entire machine flashed and blinked in garish colors. Twilight sighed inwardly, glad that Rarity had chosen Anchor duty and would never have to see this monstrosity firsthand.

In front of them was a cloud of asteroids, distant now but growing closer by the moment. Twilight gritted her teeth. There was no time to daydream: they had work to do.

“Is everypony ready? No problems with induction?” Twilight asked over the communication spell.

“I’m ready, Twi,” Applejack said.

“Of course I’m ready, Twilight,” Dash said. “Let’s get moving!”

“Okay. Move out, team,” Twilight said. Applejack galloped forward, metal hooves thudding against empty vacuum. Dash flapped both pairs of wings and shot forward, glittering colors spiraling in her wake. Twilight flapped her wings and followed them.

As they neared the asteroid cloud, Fluttershy’s voice came over their private channel. Her voice was distant and distorted by the layers of sleep and magic separating them, but just clear enough that Twilight could understand her. “Remember, Twilight,” she said, “it’s not just the, um, storm. There are also three blue signals. Um, so be careful.”

“Roger, Fluttershy. We’re entering the cloud now.”

“Good luck, Twilight.”

“Let’s take care of this field, girls. Split up!” Twilight called. Applejack veered left and started firing upon the larger asteroids. Dash veered right and simply crashed into the cloud, smashing asteroids into dust and pebbles, each strike spraying rainbow sparks in all directions. Twilight raised her wings and came to an abrupt halt. She focused her magic through her horn, and a shaft of golden light shot out and neatly cleaved an asteroid in two.

The asteroids came faster and larger, and Twilight’s world narrowed down to her and the next rock. Dodge left. Shatter the next one with a strike from her forehoof. Move up, slice the next asteroid in two. Twilight misjudged her dodge, and a sharp-edged fragment cut shallowly across her flank. She caught her breath, twisted to dodge a larger chunk of debris, and then Applejack shouted in pain.

Twilight turned around to see what was wrong, and grunted as a smaller asteroid hit her in the ribs. Applejack’s ANIMa had a large dent in it, and an asteroid larger than she was floated lazily away. Applejack shouted something unintelligible over the radio and fired a salvo of bullets into the offending rock, which exploded into powder. A few wayward bullets continued through the dust cloud. One glanced off of Twilight’s leg, and another two spanged off of Rainbow Dash’s ANIMa before ricocheting out into deep space.

“Watch it, AJ!” Rainbow Dash yelled.

“I’m sorry, Dash. That dang rock—gah!” Applejack’s voice burst into static.

Something was wrong. The sensor matrix had detected three nightmares, but none had turned up yet—Twilight turned toward the spreading dust. There, in the cloud, two points of bluish light: nightmare one of three.

Most of the asteroids had passed, smashed small enough they would burn up in the atmosphere. A few stragglers could be easily dealt with. The real danger now was the nightmares responsible for the storm.

Two of the largest asteroids left suddenly shattered, revealing two more pairs of glowing blue eyes. The three clouds of dust swirled and twisted into a trio of vaguely equine shapes, and then Twilight’s ears were filled with low, mocking laughter. One of the nightmares drifted in front of Twilight, and the other two moved to hover in front of Rainbow Dash and Applejack.

The nightmare in front of her tilted its head. Though the shape’s mouth did not move, Twilight heard it speak. Its voice seemed to bypass her ears entirely and wheedle its way into her brain. It was a cold, dry thing, like frozen feathers, and it made Twilight’s teeth ache.

What are you? the voice asked. Why are you here? Flesh and blood, clad in dreams of power. Dreams of friendship. Only dreams, though: you are a weak, finite creature. You are not meant to visit this place.

It lashed out with a foreleg, moving almost lazily. Twilight moved to block its strike with her horn, but the nightmare was as insubstantial as—well, as a cloud of dust. Twilight thrashed her head, but then the thing was all around her, engulfing her in a cloud of stinging particles. Give up, the voice whispered. Nightmare Moon is risen again. She is eternal. You are not. Twilight gasped for breath, but there was nothing there for her to breathe, nothing but the whirling cloud and the endless starry void.


Someone called her name, so softly she thought she had imagined it. There, again. Who was that?

“TWILIGHT!” Fluttershy yelled in her ear. “Twilight, what are you doing? Fight back!”

Twilight’s eyes snapped open. Yes, Fluttershy was there for her. Fluttershy, Applejack, Rainbow Dash, Rarity, Pinkie Pie, the foals, Princess Celestia—all those still left awake. All of them waited for her. All of them depended on her. She would not let them down.

Twilight’s horn burned like a miniature sun. Her wings snapped out to their full extent, shining like the rainbow. She flapped her wings, and the dust cloud blew away. The eyes remained, twin points of disembodied ice-blue. They glared at her. What do you think you are doing, foal?

“I am not a foal anymore,” she said. “My name is Twilight Sparkle. It doesn’t matter that Nightmare Moon’s back. We’ve beaten her once before, and we’ll beat her again.” She smiled. Her horn flashed, and a wave of light washed over the glowing eyes. There was a scream that drove an icy ache through her skull, and then it was over. Twilight looked around. Applejack was dented but victorious, and Rainbow Dash was doing some sort of victory dance, spraying flashes of rainbow light in all directions.

“Is it over, Twilight?” Fluttershy asked. “I’m not picking up any more nightmares on the sensor matrix.”

Twilight took a deep breath. “It’s over, Fluttershy. Start the ejection sequence.”

“Okay, Twilight.”


Twilight opened her eyes and blinked a few times. There was something clouding her vision. Reddish. Oh, that was blood. That made sense. She looked up in the sky and saw a cloud of twinkling lights, quickly fading. They had succeeded, then. The nightmares’ attack had failed. We won, she thought. We actually won.

Twilight pulled the quick-release on the safety harness and stumbled free. She took off the headset, rubbed at her face. Just a little blood, and more soreness than real pain. She looked at her reflection in the Element of Magic. A few drops of blood from a scratch on her forehead, courtesy of her headset, and the white of her left eye was stained a bright red. Apparently some of the capillaries in her eye had broken. That was interesting; perhaps the result of mental strain? Previous tests hadn’t shown any signs of gross physical feedback, but this test had introduced several new variables. New data. She should record that, write it down somewhere. Need to keep good records, need to collect data. Maybe they could stop it from happening next time.

Twilight opened her eyes, again. She felt dizzy, tired, a little nauseous. She was leaning against somepony. Fluttershy. Fluttershy was at her side, holding her steady.

“Are you okay, Twilight?” Fluttershy asked. “You almost fell over.”

Twilight shook her head to clear the lingering dizziness, then realized Fluttershy was waiting for an answer. “No. Yes. I’ll be fine, just give me a moment.” Fluttershy still looked worried, but she nodded.

Twilight looked around the clearing, just off Fluttershy’s cottage, where they had set up the ANIMa crèches. Rainbow Dash was smiling and laughing with Pinkie Pie, but leaning heavily on a convenient rock. Applejack was fumbling out of her safety harness, with Rarity’s help. So they had all gotten out more-or-less okay. No permanent damage, at least. She hoped.

“Okay, Fluttershy. I’m okay now. Just needed to catch my breath.”

“If you say so,” Fluttershy said. She let go of Twilight and moved back, but not far.

Princess Celestia stepped out of the cottage, stooping slightly to avoid catching her horn on the doorframe. “Well, Twilight Sparkle,” she said, “your machine works. You’ve successfully repelled one nightmare attack. You have all done a wonderful job.” Twilight blushed. “It does seem to have taken its toll on you three, though,” the Princess continued. “Do you think you’ll all be all right?”

“We'll be fine, Princess, I’m sure,” Twilight said.

Rainbow Dash scoffed. “Of course we’ll be fine. We’d be even better if AJ hadn’t gotten sloppy.”

“Sloppy?” Applejack yelled. “Er, yeah, I’m awful sorry about that, Twi,” she said, turning briefly to Twilight. “But you, Rainbow, you could’ve given me a helpin’ hand, ‘stead of showing off. You’re not going to save Equestria with a pretty light show!”

Dash started to say something more, but Princess Celestia cut her off. “I’m sure you two can discuss tactics some other time. Right now, I promised Pinkie Pie”—she nodded in Pinkie’s direction—“that she could throw a party after you won. Go let the foals out of the lockdown shelter, and get the festivities arranged. Be generous with the food. Our winter stockpiles will stand a few unforeseen expenditures, and we should take this opportunity to celebrate.”

Everypony else filed down the path back to Ponyville, Applejack and Rainbow Dash still arguing. “I’ll catch up in a moment,” Twilight called to them, before turning back. She needed to record the results of this test. This success was good, but only through careful record-keeping could they continue to win. She started off toward the cottage-turned-laboratory, but Princess Celestia interrupted her.

“Twilight, if you’re staying behind, I’d like to talk,” the Princess said.

Twilight turned back and started to say something, but the Princess caught her eyes. Her gaze was intent, as if searching for something in Twilight’s expression, and any objections she might have made died unsaid.

Twilight looked away from Princess Celestia’s eyes. Did I do something wrong? she thought, shuffling her hooves in the dirt. Finally the Princess started walking back to the cottage. “You should wash, my student,” she said, not looking back. “Your appearance should not be marred by blood.” Twilight followed, still staring down at her hooves.

Inside, Twilight washed her face and hooves in a bucket of river water, acutely aware of the Princess watching her. Finally, Princess Celestia spoke. “Twilight Sparkle,” she said, “you did not look well, coming out of the ANIMa.”

Twilight looked up. “You don’t have to worry, Princess Celestia, it’s really nothing,” she began, but the Princess cut her off.

“I know what ‘nothing’ looks like, my student. You’re hurt.” She gestured to Twilight’s face. “Not seriously, perhaps, but hurt nonetheless.”

“It’s... I’m okay, Princess, really,” Twilight said. “I, um, I should go record the results of this test. Applejack and Rainbow Dash can record their experiences later, I guess, but I should really do mine as soon as possible—”

The Princess sighed. “Do your reports now if you must, my student, but I’d still like to talk. I worry about you and your friends. Do you think you can modify the ANIMa to be less—harmful?”

Twilight frowned and started over to Fluttershy’s ANIMa console. She noticed a twinge in her hindleg, but she ignored it. I don’t want the Princess to worry about me. I’m okay. She sat down, picked up a quill, and tried to write her report. “I could try, Princess,” she said as she wrote, “but I still don’t truly understand the system in the first place. The Nightmare Core is unprecedented, the Elements mostly unstudied. Most ponies thought the Elements of Harmony were just an old mare’s tale, so I had trouble researching them even before—well, before.” She coughed. “Now, well, any research is next to impossible, so I’m stuck with experimentation, which isn’t exactly optimal seeing as the ANIMa’s our only real defense. I mean, except for you, Princess! But, well, you’ve still got to raise the sun, and everything else. We can’t do that for you, but we can protect everypony. You need to be careful with yourself. There’s only one of you, and even you’re not inexhaustible.”

Twilight checked over the printouts from Fluttershy’s console. Surges of magic from the Elements of Harmony, heat from the Nightmare Core, everything in accord with previous tests. Still no hints as to why anything was happening. “While we still don’t know precisely why or how the ANIMa works”—though not for lack of trying—“we know what it does. To some extent. Normally, the Elements of Harmony express their power as a short burst of magical energy. That burst is extremely potent, but limited in scope. The Nightmare Core instead allows the Elements to express their power over a longer period of time, by manifesting a form based on the strength of the user’s friendships.” She snorted. “Or at least that’s the hypothesis. I wish I could do more experiments! I could try to modify the ANIMa’s mental feedback loop, but I’d be working blind. There’s no guarantee I wouldn’t make any side effects worse, or even break the system entirely. Even if I managed to minimize harmful feedback, the necessary filters would probably cripple our offensive and defensive capabilities. It’s—” She turned and looked at the Princess, who wore a slight frown. “Sorry, Princess Celestia, I’m babbling. What I mean to say is, I can’t know until I try, but anything I do to stop the ANIMa from hurting the Pilot is probably going to make it stop working entirely, or at least stop it from working well. We might be safe from the ANIMa itself, but the nightmares would tear us all apart.”

The Princess lowered her head. “I see.” She was silent for a long while, so Twilight went back to her reports.

“Twilight?” the Princess said softly.

Twilight turned around. “Yes, Princess Celestia?”

“If you don’t want to pilot anymore, if it’s too much, tell me. The others can step in. We can find new pilots. There are more options: you don’t have to do this.”

Twilight quivered—Does she think I’m not as capable as Rainbow Dash or Applejack? Is she trying to give me a graceful exit?—but she forced a smile onto her face. “With all due respect, Princess, being a pilot is the best way for me to help you. It’s my duty. Applejack, Rainbow Dash, and I all volunteered. They wouldn’t back out; I won’t either.”

“If Applejack or Rainbow Dash asked me, I would let them stop.”

“They won’t ask to stop. Neither will I.” I’ll show you how strong I am. I’ll make you proud, Princess Celestia.

Twilight again turned back to her writing, and heard the Princess sigh behind her. “Very well, Twilight Sparkle. Finish your report, and then go enjoy your party.”


Twilight walked into Sugarcube Corner— or at least, the fortified building that had once been Sugarcube Corner, before the Bliss. Pinkie Pie had found party decorations somewhere. The room was brightly lit and loud music was playing, but the party guests were subdued. Twilight was struck by how empty the place seemed: before Bliss Day, Pinkie’s parties had drawn every pony in Ponyville. Even at Diamond Tiara’s cute-ceañera, most of the ponies in attendance had been adults, proud relatives joining in the celebration. Now all those ponies were asleep, and the Corner was a place of loneliness rather than cheer.

In the center of the room, Pinkie Pie was trying to get the foals to dance, and meeting with little success. Twilight shook her head and moved off toward the drinks table. Spike was standing there, sipping punch and looking around. Twilight poured herself a glass of punch and went over to him.

“Twilight, there you are!” he said. He looked at her face and let out a small squeak. “Your eye! What happened?”

Twilight shook her head. “It looks worse than it is; it doesn’t even hurt. Should be gone in a week or two.”

Spike looked at her for a moment more and frowned, but he took another sip of punch. “If... if you say so, Twilight.” He paused. “The others said you stayed back at the crèche lab. What took so long?”

“I was just doing my report on the ANIMa run. And Princess Celestia wanted to talk a little.”

“About what?”

Twilight shook her head. “We just talked. How were you during the attack? The foals weren’t too much trouble, I hope.”

Spike chuckled nervously. “I can handle a little babysitting, don’t worry. Although next time, I’d really appreciate it if one of you could stay and help.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Twilight said. “Hopefully, we won’t have to scramble like that again.” For a few minutes the pair sipped their drinks in silence.

“Twilight,” Spike said, “are you worried?”

“Of course I’m worried, Spike. It’d be silly not to worry.”

“That’s not what I mean. It’s...” Spike gestured to the room. Pinkie Pie had dragged one of the Canterlot foals out onto the floor—Twilight didn’t know his name. Pebble? Pebble something. Pinkie was dancing wildly, whirling the little colt in circles. A few of the other foals had crept shyly onto the dance floor. “Well,” Spike said, “this has been the first party in months, and they’re still not sure what’s going on. Everyone’s been scared. I mean, I’m sure you did a great job today, but how long will it last? Do you think we can actually fix things?”

Twilight set down her drink and knelt down to look at Spike. “You’re scared. I’m scared too, Spike. But we have to keep going. We beat Nightmare Moon once, didn’t we?”

Spike shook his head. “Not like this, you didn’t. That was easy. She never even got close to winning.”

“She managed to banish the Princess, didn’t she?”

“But Celestia wasn’t fighting that time! She was just waiting for you and your friends to swoop in and save the world. And you did. And it only took you a day. It’s been four months, Twilight.”

Twilight hugged him. “I’m worried too, Spike. But we have to keep fighting. I know we can win. I'm more certain of this than I've ever been of anything else.”

From between her arms, Spike looked up at her. “How can you be sure, Twilight?”

She squeezed him tighter. “Faith. Hope. We’re not alone, Spike. Our friends are here. We can still win this.”