Chapter 2: Three Princesses
Chapter 2: Three Princesses
Tungsten Steve’s mind swam. He imagined he was back at the technical college and again faced the examination board. He stood in the center of a large lecture hall while unicorns with clipboards glared at him over their pince-nez and jotted notes.
“Why do you want to study here, monster?”
“My name is Tungsten Steve.” He felt his palms sweat.
“Answer the question, monster.”
“I’m not a monster. I’m a--”
“Answer the question.”
His gut burned, but he swallowed his rage. “To learn. To learn to make machines. Why else--?”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why does a monster wish to learn of technology?”
He felt sweat breaking out on his forehead. He took a deep breath. He couldn’t show anger. If he showed anger, he’d only confirm their opinions of him and those like him. Then they’d never let him in. “To make life better.”
“For monsters?”
“For everypony.”
“You’re not a pony.”
“Then for everyone. All rational beings.”
“Do you know the history of the minotaurs? Do you know where you come from?”
Now he clenched his fists, but he kept his arms down at his sides. His nose twitched, but he resisted the urge to snort. “Yes. I do.”
“Are you ashamed of it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He grit his teeth, swallowed, and said, “It happened a long time ago. I didn’t do it.”
One of the unicorns stood up and adjusted his glasses. “You’ve passed your entrance exams, your recommendations are in order, and your proposals are intriguing. You’re one of the top candidates. We cannot justify denying you entrance to the school. However, we are letting you in against our better judgment. You will be watched. Welcome to the Manehattan Institute of Magical Technology.”
“Thanks.” Tungsten Steve marched from the auditorium and headed across campus to the gym where he could blow off steam.
On his way there, he walked through a rose garden in the college quad. It was late summer, and many of the flowers were still in bloom, filling the air with a heady odor. Bees and butterflies hovered over the blossoms. An elderly stallion with a stalk of hay in his teeth trimmed branches and whistled. A warm breeze rustled the leaves.
Tungsten Steve noticed a young mare lounging on a bench between two bushes full of wild, pink buds. Her dull gray coat and mane looked flat even in the bright sunlight, having none of the gloss typical of pony hair. She held a pencil in her teeth and sketched something on a portable drawing board. When Tungsten Steve drew nearer, he noticed her cutie mark: it depicted an inkwell, above which hovered a quill, its point creating a black zigzag across her hip. Whatever she was drawing, then, had something to do with her special talent, that curious curse that governed the life of every pony and determined her destiny.
On impulse, he walked to her and looked over her shoulder. His shadow fell across her drawing board.
She dropped her pencil, but didn’t turn her head to look at him. “That’s rude, you know,” she said.
“Let me guess, your special talent is writin’ novels? Or drawin’ flowers, maybe? That might explain why you’re makin’ pictures in a flower garden.”
She snorted. “Special talent? Stuff and bosh. My cutie mark does not dictate what I can or can’t do. I am a mare of many talents.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” She clasped her board in a fetlock, turned, and held it up to him. On it was a detailed sketch of what appeared to be a basket hanging under a pair of bat-like wings built over wooden frames.
“Is that a--?”
“An ornithopter, yes. It is an injustice of nature that pegasi can fly while earth ponies cannot. I intend to correct nature’s mistake.”
“If you wanna fly somewhere, can’t you just take a balloon?”
She lowered the board and glared. “Perhaps your ox’s brain is incapable of grasping certain simple concepts.”
For some reason, her remark didn’t anger him. He chuckled. “Perhaps it is. Well, that’s a beautiful design. If you build it and get some unicorn to enchant it for you, I’m sure--”
“It will not require enchantment.”
“What? But--”
“Have you heard of electrical engineering? The field is still in its infancy, but I suggest you take a look at it. The electrical department could use somepony like you, what with the valuable tools you carry.”
“You mean my ox’s brain?”
“I mean your hands.”
He raised his arms and examined his fingers. He flexed them carefully and realized he had taken them for granted before. He wondered what it would be like to go through life with only hooves. He looked over his hands at this mare lounging on the bench, at the determined look in her eyes, the firm set of her mouth. She was brusque and cheerless, but he decided right then that he liked her.
He held out a hand. “I’m Tungsten Steve, a freshpony.”
She touched a hoof to his palm. “I’m a junior. My name is Inkamena.”
He couldn’t help grinning again. “Of course it is.”
The memories of school faded. Tungsten Steve slowly regained consciousness and became aware of aches stretching across his body. His back felt scraped and raw. His legs were cramped. Fiery pangs shot through his shoulders and wrists.
He opened his eyes to find himself stretched out on a rack tilted at a forty-five degree angle. His arms were tied over his head. Above, he saw an angry red sky mottled with black clouds. Through the sky swarmed dark creatures with fluttering, membranous green wings. All around, he heard a constant droning as of millions of insects. The thick, hot air stank like burnt horsemeat.
Before him was a cliff face made of something translucent and green, like emerald. Hanging from it, her back lodged inside the green substance, was a creature like a nightmarish distortion of a pony: aside from a limp, greasy mane, she was hairless, and her black flesh looked glossy and slick like the skin of a waterlogged corpse. Every few seconds, like the queen of some hive of gigantic insects, she disgorged from her posterior a luminescent green egg slightly larger than a minotaur’s fist. Winged, pony-like creatures hovered beneath her, catching the eggs and taking them to a hollow where they vomited viscous goo and planted the eggs in it. The goo quickly hardened, becoming like the material of the cliff.
The monstrous queen held in her four legs another creature, wingless and slightly larger than the workers buzzing around her. With thin, needle-like fangs, she dug into this creature’s neck and drew forth greenish-yellow blood, which she licked up with a quick, pink tongue.
As he watched in horrified fascination, Tungsten Steve realized that the flesh was peeling away from the queen’s limbs. He could see her tendons and sinews exposed in several places, and he could even see all the way through some of the holes in her legs.
She gazed down at him with large, slitted pupils as she continued to lick eagerly at the blood on her victim’s throat.
“Ah,” she said in a smooth voice somehow both repulsive and alluring, “you’re awake. How do you feel, my little minotaur?”
“Like Hell,” he answered.
Giggling, she bit deeper into her victim’s neck and sucked, producing a nauseous gurgle. Her body expelled another egg, though she didn’t appear to notice. She licked her fangs and said, “Do you know who I am?”
“No.”
“I am Queen Chrysalis of the changelings.”
“I’ve heard of you. You tried to marry Prince Shining Armor.”
She giggled again. “Oh, yes. My swarm was going to feed on all the love in Equestria. I admit, though, that I was relieved when the marriage didn’t go through: I don’t really see the point of having a mate I can’t eat afterwards.” She dropped the desiccated corpse she held, and one of her workers carried it away.
“Where am I?”
“Why, you’re in Hoofington, of course. The town is now an antechamber of Tartarus.”
Tungsten Steve tried to move his arms, but something bit into his wrists. “Let me guess, Shining Armor told you to go to Hell, and you took him literally.”
“He threw me into Hell. In so doing, he brought about his destruction and all of Equestria’s.” Chrysalis undulated her body, dislodging herself from the green cliff. Unfolding four ragged wings, she flew to Tungsten Steve and placed a hoof against his cheek. Her hoof felt strangely porous, almost gelatinous.
“My dear, dear minotaur.” She licked her fangs. “Do you know the history of your people?”
“Yes, I know it. Every darn pony in Equestria wants to hang it over my head.”
“In ancient times, long before the ponies settled Equestria, three creatures crossed over from another world and tried to live here, not understanding what a dangerous place this can be. An enchanted bull raped one of them, and the result was you. How does that make you feel?”
“It has nothing to do with me.”
“Doesn’t it? What do you think? Do the sins of the fathers taint their children? Can you feel unbridled passions welling up in that big, handsome chest of yours?” She slid her hoof down his neck and onto his breast.
He tried to pull back from her touch. “Keep your hooves off me.”
“Mm, feisty, aren’t you? I like it when my males struggle a bit.”
“What do you want with me, witch?”
“It’s quite simple. Since my damnation began, the fallen gods have taught me many things. All beings in the universe are neatly arranged in a hierarchy: the pure and eternal act of existence is at the top, and the grossest material beings are at the bottom--a place for everything and everything in its place. The lords of Hell are on a simple mission: they wish to reverse the order. As a perversion of nature, you are their natural ally. You are going to recruit the minotaurs to our cause.”
“You can go ahead and torture me because the answer is no.”
“Oh, I’m not going to torture you. We can be much nastier than that.”
Two changelings with vicious grins on their muzzles dragged in Bossy. The cow had heavy chains around her neck and legs. Deep gashes crisscrossed her back. She looked sick and weak, and her fur was missing in patches. Blood ran down her sides. Quivering, she looked up at Tungsten Steve and lowed pitiably.
He tried again to free his arms. Warm blood trickled from his wrists as he tugged against the restraints. “Let her go!” he shouted.
“Are you fond of this cow?” Chrysalis asked. She licked his chest. “Oh, yes. You are fond of her. I can taste it.”
She backed away from him and gestured to another changeling, who brought her a long piece of iron, its tip glowing red. Chrysalis tapped a hoof against it, producing a sizzling sound and a sour stench. “Yes, that’s hot.” She held the iron before Bossy’s face. The cow stared at it in silence for a moment before releasing a loud, staccato bellowing.
“Stop!” Tungsten Steve yelled. “You want to hurt somepony, hurt me instead! Leave her alone!”
“Join us,” Chrysalis said.
“No!”
“Hmm, what do you think?” Chrysalis moved the glowing tip of iron back and forth in front of Bossy. “Should I put out her right eye first? Or her left? Should I start somewhere else and work up to the eyes? How about her udders? That might be amusing.”
Tungsten Steve bounced up and down in his chains. The blood poured thick and fast down his arms, but still he wasn’t free.
“All right,” he said, lowering his chin to his chest. “All right--”
“Tungsten Steve,” Bossy whispered.
He looked up. Tears streamed down Bossy’ cheeks. “Whatever ya do,” she said, “don’t betray Inkie.”
At the name, his heart broke, and tears started from his own eyes. He relaxed in his bonds and smiled. “Don’t you worry, Bossy, I won’t. You heard her, Your Majesty: you can torture both of us, but the answer is still no.”
Chrysalis threw the hot iron aside and nodded to her workers. “Take the cow to Tirek. He’ll know what to do with her.” As they dragged Bossy away, Chrysalis flew up in front of Tungsten Steve again. “I was hoping you wouldn’t force me to this.”
She disgorged another egg, this one smaller than the others. She caught it in her front hooves and held it up before him.
“This is one of my unfertilized eggs.” With her fangs, she peeled away the top of the egg’s elastic shell, and its contents bubbled out like pus from a gangrenous wound. She placed it against his lips. “Suck it.”
A cloying, sweet flavor spread into his mouth. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was, and he pulled the moisture into his throat before he thought of the consequences.
A fire lit in his stomach and a hammer pounded in his skull. He knew it must be a drug, but he couldn’t stop sucking. With a rubbery squeak, the egg contracted as he greedily swallowed its contents. He craned his neck and tipped his head back, trying to catch the last drops. Chrysalis laughed.
Tossing aside the egg’s empty husk, she darted out her tongue and licked foam from his lips. “Good, isn’t it?”
Tungsten Steve could feel his heart beating hard and slow, pumping the drug through his body. With each pulse, some of his pain disappeared. He slumped in his chains. His mind turned to fog, and a wave of bliss caught him and carried him away. Bright colors danced in his eyes, soothing him. He was dimly aware that Chrysalis had pressed her body against his, but he paid her no mind; he floated in happiness, dead to the world.
Her words echoed in his head, most of their meaning lost: “You see, my little minotaur, I am queen of Hell, and the powers of both agony and ecstasy are in my hoof. If you do what I tell you, I can make damnation almost pleasant.”
Princess Celestia locked the gilded doors of her suite and pulled the chintz curtains on her bay windows. She checked the walk-in closets and the side rooms to make sure no servants were lurking about. Once she was certain she was alone, she walked into her parlor. Eagerly licking her lips, she lowered herself onto a velvet chaise longue and magicked open a complicated lock on the cabinet where she kept her shameful secret.
She was a princess, an immortal, and the ponies saw her as a goddess, but she had dark needs that only one thing could satisfy. All around Equestria, certain specialists, sworn to secrecy, produced what she desired, and smugglers delivered it to the castle in the dead of the night. Only a few trusted officials were aware of what the smugglers brought to the princess or of what she did in her rooms during the early hours of the morning after she raised the sun.
On a wheeled table inside the cabinet stood two large cakes, each decorated with elaborate piping, flowers, and garnishes of marzipan. At the sight of them, Celestia’s heart pounded and her mouth watered. She inhaled deeply, taking in their aroma.
With a knife and server, she carefully cut a thin slice from each cake and set the slices on a plate. Levitating the plate into the air, she used a magicked fork to take a small bite from each slice.
Celestia closed her eyes and considered as the flavors spread across her tongue. The first cake was carrot, one of her favorites, spiced with cinnamon and clove. The cream cheese frosting complemented it nicely, though it was a shade too sweet. The other cake was chiffon and very moist, but a little too airy for her tastes. Its mint icing was to die for, but a creamy frosting with sliced fruit might have been more appropriate.
With tiny, ladylike nibbles, Celestia ate both slices, savoring all the while, allowing the sensations to imprint themselves forever on her memory.
When she finished, she set down the plate and fork and levitated a napkin, with which she delicately patted her mouth. Then, for a full minute, she gazed down at the cakes in contemplation.
At the end of that minute, her resolve broke, and she dove in.
She went for the carrot cake first, inhaling a full third of it in one bite. So quickly and forcefully did she attack it that some of the frosting went up her nose.
Snorting and snuffling, she turned to the chiffon cake, but realized she hadn’t chewed properly and had a chunk of carrot cake stuck in her esophagus. She pranced around the room, searching for something to wash it down. Finding nothing, she ran to her bedroom and guzzled water out her washbasin, spilling most of it down her breast.
A knock came at the front door. She magicked a washcloth, wiped her face, took a deep breath, composed herself as best she could, walked to the door, and opened it a crack.
“What is it? I thought I said I was never to be disturbed at this time of day.”
On the other side of the door, Chief Gelding Parsnip bowed low. “A thousand pardons, Your Highness, but I’m afraid this is most urgent. Doctor Inkamena Pie, mayor of Hoofington, has brought dire news.”
Celestia paused. “I’ll see her.” She opened the door and stepped out. “What news has she--?”
She stopped speaking when Parsnip quietly cleared his throat. “Begging Her Highness’s pardon again, but Her Highness has cake frosting in her royal mane.”
Without a word, Celestia slipped back into her chamber, returned to the washbasin, and rinsed out the frosting. After looking herself over carefully to be sure she had removed all evidence of her morning’s extravagance, she left her rooms and followed the chief gelding, who led her toward one of the guest suites.
“I’m afraid she’s taken ill, Your Highness. I thought it best not to make her wait in your audience chamber.”
“That’s quite all right, Parsnip. Have you sent for a doctor?”
“Oh, yes. The doctor should be on his way soon.”
“Should I know ahead of time what happened to her?”
“I’ll tell you what I can, Your Highness, but I think you’ll want the details straight from the horse’s mouth.”
Inkie sat against a pile of overstuffed pillows in a plush four-poster featherbed. A lavender silk canopy hung over her head, and the air smelled of rose petals and clove. A narrow, arched window near the bed was open, and, every once in a while, a cool breeze blew in and coaxed a tinkle from the crystal chandelier dangling from the ceiling.
Inkie stared down at her front hooves, turning them over, examining them from every angle. For a mare, she had thick walls and deep cups, evidence of the hard farm labor in which she spent her youth. Her parents had worked her and her sisters to the bone, but only because they were struggling to make enough money to send their children to college and give them better lives. It had worked: Inkie became an engineer, and Blinkie became a successful optometrist. Only Pinkie never made anything of herself.
Inkie poked the toe of one hoof against the frog of the other. Ponies had learned to do remarkable things with these blunt, clumsy appendages, yet the limitations of hooves were painfully obvious. In college, Inkie had with fascination watched the griffons, minotaurs, satyrs, and other creatures blessed with opposable thumbs, had seen the delicate work of which they were capable; she had sweated and labored to accomplish in hours by hoof and teeth what they could do in seconds with claws or hands. She came to hate them, or at least most of them. More than that, she hated the unicorns who could manipulate objects with levitation spells. Again and again, she watched students of middling talent outperform her because she was limited by her hooves.
One day, she would change that. One day, electricity would replace magic and the unicorns would be reduced to purveyors of cheap parlor tricks. One day, everypony would have hands.
She had been designing and redesigning her hand simulator for years, yet she had never completed it, always finding excuses to work on other projects. Perhaps, if she had worked diligently on the mechanical hands until they were finished, she could have accomplished more. Perhaps, with hands, she could have built a better Warhorse or a better Pegasaucer. Perhaps Ironsides would still be alive.
She raised her front hooves before her face and stared at them in disgust. “You’re useless,” she whispered.
The paneled oak door swung in. In the doorway, looking tall and regal with her mist-like hair drifting in a magical wind, stood Princess Celestia. A golden tiara sat upon her forehead, and her long forelock fell across one eye. The other eye gazed at Inkie; in it, Inkie could all at once see ancient wisdom, eternal youth, overwhelming sternness, and infinite compassion. Looking Celestia in the eye was like diving headlong into the ocean, and, for a moment, Inkie feared she might drown.
Inkie lowered her hooves and ducked her head. “Your Highness.”
Celestia’s gilded bell boots clicked against the marble floor as she walked toward the bed. “I know you have been through great trials, child. I would leave you to rest if I could, but I must hear every detail of what you have seen.”
A lump formed in Inkie’s throat. She smoothed the bed covers and bit her lip. Tears ran down her cheeks. She trembled when Celestia drew near and stood beside her.
“Can you tell me?” Celestia asked.
“Oh, Princess!” Inkie fell against Celestia’s neck and wept. Celestia lowered her head and pressed her muzzle against Inkie’s crest. Her face buried in Celestia’s soft, flowing mane, Inkie blubbered. “Colonel Ironsides, Bossy, Tungsten Steve, everypony, they’re all dead! And I couldn’t save them. I was useless--”
“You did all anypony could have asked of you, child.”
“I should have done more! I ran like a coward--”
“Shh. You came to warn the rest of us. I don’t condemn you, child. Nopony does.”
Inkie pulled back and looked again into Celestia’s eye. “Princess . . .” Inkie frowned. “Is that . . . is that cake frosting on your tiara?”
Celestia snapped her head up. “Never mind that, Inkie. Just tell me what happened in Hoofington.”
Before he fell from high Heaven, Asmoday had been Hymen, god of marriage. He had received worship and praise in every town across the world. He had anointed every virgin bride, placed his blessing on every marriage bower, made fruitful every womb. Yet the time came when, wishing to raise his station, he had joined the ranks of the rebellion and uttered those fatal words, “Non serviam!” For a year and a day, he had tumbled through space like a falling star until dropping at last into the world’s lowest pit. With his face turned from the good, he now scrabbled ever downward toward good’s opposite, mere nothingness. He hated everything he formerly loved; what he had once blessed, he now sought to pervert.
Asmoday crept unseen through Canterlot. He slid through gutters, pulled himself through drainpipes, slinked across rooftops, and scrabbled under ledges. He was jittery. This was the first time in several millennia that he had traveled the surface world with his corporeal form. He could render himself invisible, or nearly so: anypony who looked directly at him would usually mistake him for some other object, perhaps a shadow on a wall, a lurking alley cat, or a rustle of wind through a bush. Still, he was nervous. If anypony saw him for what he was, his plans were ruined.
As he crawled through the city’s muck, he panted, hissed, snarled, and whispered to himself an endless stream of disconnected prattle. “Maybe it’s not so bad. I didn’t think he woke up. I’m still a good girl. She wanted it anyway. A little won’t hurt. But I need it so bad. Don’t judge me.”
Though nopony saw his passage, many felt it nonetheless. Soldiers patrolling the streets made bawdy comments to passing mares as they always did, but now their catcalls had especial vigor. A lover’s quarrel in a street-side café grew louder and sharper. A suitor wooing his lady in a park suddenly grabbed her hoof with a ferocity neither he nor she expected. An undefinable restlessness hung in the air, as if a storm were brewing but refusing to break.
At last, Asmoday found what he wanted. He stood in a narrow street before a brownstone house sharing walls with the houses on either side. He shifted back and forth between his feet as he stared up at the second story. With a boil-covered wrist, he wiped spittle from his chin. His stream of words continued uninterrupted. “I like it that way. She asked for it. To each his own. Maybe now you’ll listen.”
He grabbed a rainspout and hauled himself up. “I won’t get caught. No one saw. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Transforming for a moment into a snake, he slithered through a crack under a partly open window and found himself in a dim bedroom. A pair of crossed swords hung on a wall, and a few fencing trophies stood on a dresser. The bedclothes were drab, but the lacy curtains on the windows indicated a recent attempt to give the room a feminine touch. Buried under the covers on the bed, a pink mare lay wrapped in the limbs of a white unicorn stallion.
Here, then, was his target. Asmoday perched on the walnut headboard like a vulture and dug his teeth deep into his own knuckles to keep himself quiet. He stared down at the mare and gnawed until his flesh turned raw and his hand bled.
So this was the new princess. Her long hair, striped with purple, lavender, and pink, cascaded across her pillow. Her eyes were closed, and her delicate lashes trembled slightly as she dreamed. The tip of her long unicorn’s horn bobbed slowly and almost imperceptibly with each breath she took.
Asmoday reached out and touched her mind, but then recoiled and bit deeper into his hand to keep himself from screaming. He rocked back and forth on the headboard, tasting his own salt blood as it gushed into his mouth.
Her mind was like a clear light, and it burned him. He saw nothing in it but a pure, selfless love extending out in all directions, encompassing everything. Retching, he turned away from her. There was nothing here he could exploit. Already his mission was a failure.
So overcome was he by the horror of touching Cadence’s mind, it took him a moment to remember that she was not alone in the bed. If he couldn’t touch her directly, it was still possible to despoil her by means of somepony close to her. Coming back to his senses, he turned to the stallion.
Cadence’s mind was pure, open, and defenseless. This stallion’s mind, however, was like a fortress: Asmoday detected high walls and parapets constructed of such things as honor, duty, chivalry, bravery, and respect for elders and traditions. It was a well-guarded mind, its baser appetites almost entirely hidden behind ramparts of discipline and virtue. Still, it had vulnerabilities, and Asmoday has little doubt he could find them: any mind so carefully guarded had to be susceptible to some vice it was attempting to keep out.
He flipped through the stallion’s memories, looking for youthful indiscretions or other items of regret. He found little: when only a colt, this fellow had, without offering help, watched a friend being beaten on the playground. He had drunk too much sarsaparilla on a few occasions, especially at his bachelor party. He had uttered some foolish words here and there. Of vices he could exploit, Asmoday found few: this stallion had been basking for too long in the light of the princess he had married, having apparently known her since his youth; most of his follies were burned out of him.
Then Asmoday stumbled upon something unexpected. He blinked in surprise and chuckled to himself. “Oh, yes,” he said. “Oh, yes, I can work with this--”
He fell silent when he realized Cadence was no longer asleep. The princess had turned her head and now stared in his direction.
Asmoday held completely still. She had probably sensed his presence, but it was possible she couldn’t see him.
“I know you’re there,” she whispered. Her expression was serene.
Asmoday felt sweat run down his face.
Cadence’s horn pulsed with energy. “I can heal you, you know.”
He swallowed a lump. She couldn’t heal him; his one act of rebellion was final and irrevocable. Still, he had no wish to be burned again by her light. He glanced to the crack in the window through which he had slunk.
She lifted her head higher and pointed her horn at him. Its glow intensified.
He made a flying leap and caught the windowsill. Turning again to a snake, he slipped through the crack and dropped to the street below.
Smarting from the fall, he chattered to himself as he slinked away. Destroying this Princess Cadence would be no easy task.
Cadence stared at the wall above the bed. She had felt a presence there. As part of her special gift, she could sense distortions of love, and she had just now felt one more desperate, twisted, and lonely than any she had ever felt before, a craving that had degenerated into a seeking after perversity for its own sake.
Just as quickly, the presence was gone, but it left behind echoes of pain rippling across her heart. She lay in consternation, trying to imagine who or what she could have sensed. It disturbed her so much that it was several minutes before she realized she was lying in Shining Armor’s limbs. She sat up quickly.
“Shining, shouldn’t you be on duty?”
He snuggled closer and murmured, “I have the day off, remember?”
“Oh. I forgot.” She lay back down. “Did you--? No, never mind.”
“Did I remember you want me to clean the rain gutters today? Yes, I did.”
“That wasn’t what I was going to ask, but I’m glad you remembered.”
“What were you going to ask?”
“It’s rather silly.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“Did you think somepony was in our bedroom just now?”
Shining Armor raised his head. “What?”
“I said it was silly.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure, really. I thought I sensed something. Maybe it was next door. Or across town. It just . . . it just felt very sad, is all.”
He stroked a hoof through her particolored mane. “Your special talent really is remarkable.”
“A gift for love? Sometimes I’m not sure what to do with it.”
He pressed against her and nipped her neck. “I have one idea.”
She playfully nudged him back, but then pulled away and climbed out of bed. “I’m afraid I’m out of season at the moment, so you’ll have to hold your horses.”
“There’s only one horse I’m interested in holding.”
“Cute.” She sat on a stool before her vanity mirror and brushed her mane. “I really should get going.”
“What’s the rush?”
She rolled her eyes and grinned sheepishly. “Royal duties. Auntie says it’s time I took a hoof in running things.”
Shining Armor stretched his forelegs and rolled out of bed. “What is she having you do?”
“I think she wants me to begin by sorting her mail.”
“Ouch.”
“Have to start somewhere.” She magicked a golden tiara, set it on her head, and peered into the mirror to make sure it was straight. “I really do love the tiara, though.”
As she looked in the mirror, her eyes moved from the crown to her face. She sighed faintly. “Shining, have I . . . aged?”
He walked up behind her and gave her a lopsided grin. “This is one of those questions with no right answer, isn’t it?”
She laughed. “You know what I mean. Do I look like I’ve aged at all?”
“Since when, exactly? Since we were children? Since our wedding?”
Since we started courting, say.”
“Considering that we started courting when we were teenagers--”
“You wish.”
“No, I’m pretty sure we were already an item in high school.”
“You have a vivid imagination, Shining Armor. Now stop dodging my question.”
He sat on the floor beside her stool and rested his head against her flank. “You’re still young, you know.”
“I know, but it worries me. I’m probably the only mare in Equestria who looks forward to getting gray hairs and age lines.”
“But if it turns out that you’re immortal, would that really be so bad?”
She leaned down and rubbed her nose against his. “I said I want to grow old with you, and I meant it. Besides, I’ve watched Auntie, and I don’t think immortality is exactly pleasant.”
“No, I guess not.” He paused. “If you are immortal, is your hair going to start doing that wavy thing?”
“I hope not. That would drive me nuts.” She looked again at her reflection. No, she didn’t appear to have aged visibly in the last few years, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Shining Armor was right: she was still young. “For the longest time, there were only two of them. Only two winged unicorns. Everypony assumed there would always be only two until I was born.” She unfolded a wing and stared at the long, pink feathers fading to purple at the tips. She rarely flew; her wings embarrassed her. “I still don’t understand what I am. I never have, and I’m afraid I never will. When I was small, I thought everything would become clear when I got my cutie mark, but my special talent only made me more confused.”
“Hey,” Shining Armor said, “we’re going to figure all of that out together.”
She folded the wing back in with a snap. “More than that, I’m worried because . . . well, you know.”
“Because you haven’t foaled.”
“Yes. I asked Auntie about it, but she’s never married. She said she just doesn’t know.”
He stood, placed a foreleg across her withers, and kissed her cheek. “Remember, I’m here for you.”
A pounding came from the door downstairs.
“I guess I have to get that,” Shining Armor said. He left the bedroom. Cadence followed; she stood on the stairs and watched as he walked through the front hall and unlatched the door. On the stoop stood a white, grim-faced pegasus in platinum armor.
The pegasus saluted smartly. “Captain Armor, sir.”
“Lieutenant Bladewing. At ease. What brings you here?”
“Princess Celestia has called an emergency council. She requests both you and your wife.” Bladewing looked over Shining Armor’s shoulder and met Cadence’s eyes. He dipped his head and nickered. “Your Highness.”
“What is it?” Cadence asked as she descended the stairs. “What’s happened?”
“Princess Celestia will explain everything,” Bladewing replied. “Please follow me.”
Most of Hoofington had burned, and black smoke still rose from the cinders. The few buildings still standing were splattered with blood and coated with the changelings’ green excretions. Hellbeasts, demons, and changelings crawled over the town like maggots writhing on a corpse.
At the edge of the destroyed village, Tirek sat on a portable throne. Under his right hand was a cloth bag that pulsed slowly like an enormous heart. He stroked the bag, gazing at it.
Chrysalis’s minions brought him a cow. The cow’s eyes were wide, and foam dripped from her lips. She scraped the ground and lowed.
With a sneer, Tirek pulled the bag’s drawstring. A black cloud of smoke poured from it. Howling like a powerful wind, the cloud snaked toward the cow and encircled her, spinning like a tornado. The cow screamed.
After the black cloud crawled back into its sack, the cow was gone: in her place, quivering on the ground, lay a misshapen gargoyle with crimson scales, twisted talons, and enormous compound eyes like an insect’s. The changelings grabbed this malformed monster and dragged it away.
“Enjoying yourself, Tirek?” hissed a silky voice. He looked over his shoulder to see Chrysalis hovering behind him.
“For the time being, but we must press the war before the ponies can organize.”
Chrysalis glared and flew around to face him. “We should not have invaded so soon. My swarm has not finished its preparations.”
“You told me your changelings had infiltrated every rank of the Equestrian Order and the royal guard.”
“They have. But I have not yet placed them in the secular government, and they have not yet been able to reach Luna.”
“It doesn’t matter. Subterfuge is your method, Your Majesty, but not mine.” He picked up the bag from the arm of the throne and petted it. “When I saw that you still possessed your magic even though you were damned, I wondered if my power, too, had followed me to Hell. It did. With this, I once covered the whole world in darkness. Even the cursed gate of Tartarus could not stand against it. Even Cerberus was powerless before me.” He waved at a monster lying at the base of his throne, a creature like a gigantic black praying mantis with three heads.
“Yet ponies once defeated this very power, Tirek. We should be more cautious. Both you and I lost to the ponies before because we moved too quickly.”
“The powers that defeated me are gone, Chrysalis. Dream Valley lies under a windigo-haunted glacier, the Rainbow Bridge is closed, the Rainbow of Light is lost, and my enemy Megan is long dead. When I walked this earth, the ponies were warriors used to defending their land. Now, as you said yourself, they are weak.”
“Yet their princesses are immortals, and they possess a weapon against which we’ve not been tested.”
“You mean these Elements of Harmony?”
“Yes. My minions have gathered intelligence: it seems the Elements have defeated a Draconequus, and you know that’s no easy feat.”
“I am aware of your ‘intelligence.’ I will soon ensure that the Elements of Harmony will not be a problem for us.”
Chrysalis glared. “How?”
Tirek said nothing.
She flew to him and laid a hoof against his cheek. “Really, Tirek--”
He slapped her away. “Don’t touch me, wench. I’ve seen how you treat your drones.”
She smiled and licked her fangs. “I love all my males, Tirek. They give their seed to continue our race, and then they give their bodies to feed mine so their offspring will be healthy. What could be wrong with that?”
“When this is over, Chrysalis, I’ll remember that you think males are to be used up and thrown away.”
She giggled.
“Speaking of which,” he said, “how go your attempts on that minotaur of yours?”
“He’ll come around.”
Tirek slowly moved the pulsing sack back and forth between his hands as if he were testing its weight. “You should let me turn him.”
“And make him into one of your mindless monstrosities? I could as easily hypnotize him with a spell, but we don’t need more beasts, Tirek. We need soldiers with minds. If that minotaur joins us, he can teach us to use those machines we’ve captured.”
“We’ll figure them out if we need them. Trust me to conduct this war.”
“You aren’t conducting it alone, you know. And don’t forget that my changelings are dying in battle.”
“No doubt that is why you are over-cautious. The fallen gods agree with me that we must move quickly, Your Majesty. In fact, Astaroth is already making our next move.”
Chrysalis’s face contorted. She hissed. “What move?”
Again, Tirek said nothing. He turned his face from her and leaned his chin on his fist.
In the midst of Canterlot Castle’s hundred spires stood a black tower of rough-hewn basalt. Modest in size, it was invisible from the street, hidden behind other, much grander towers. Aside from a row of narrow windows under its pointed roof, it was featureless. Few ponies, even of the castle staff, were willing to approach it. Occasionally, usually in the depths of night, terrifying black shapes flitted around its pinnacle. Sometimes, even on sunny days, black storm clouds circled it.
This was the home of the dark mistress of the moon, Luna, the Princess of the Night.
A winding, steep staircase led from the tower’s base to Luna’s high chamber. The narrow windows admitted little light. Black drapes hung on the walls like trappings from a dreary funeral. Covering the room's domed ceiling was a sheet of deep blue silk studded with exactly placed luminescent jewels perfectly imitating the stars of the sky. The floor was of black and green marble, set into which was a great brass pentagram encircled by the signs of the Zodiac, in turn encircled by the emblem of the Worm Ouroboros, symbol of time and mortality. Around the great pentagram stood silver candlesticks seven feet high, each holding an enormous tallow candle guttering with blue flame and acrid smoke. Against the walls stood bookshelves full of thick, hidebound tomes of ancient and forbidden lore. A heavy desk of oak stood against one wall, and on its top were rolls of parchment, an inkstand, an astrolabe, and an earth pony's skull holding a mostly melted beeswax candle.
Opposite the desk, Luna herself lounged amongst embroidered pillows on a daybed flanked by two silver censers smoking with olibanum. Over her head was a canopy of the same blue silk that covered the domed ceiling. Above the bed, mounted on the wall behind, was an enormous, finely detailed image of the moon, artfully contrived so that its glow matched the real moon's phase.
Princess Luna didn’t get out much. Since her return to Equestria, she had learned to speak with modern diction while in public and to tolerate the relaxed manners of the modern court, and she had even made a few friends, but many ponies still found her intimidating, so she spent most of her time alone. A thousand years of solitary exile had turned her into a recluse.
Though she was officially coregent, she had few political duties. Celestia had run the kingdom competently during Luna’s imprisonment and continued to do so after her return. Luna occupied her time mostly with studies: she was an expert in esoteric lore and arcane magic; over the last few months, she had penned three monographs on the curious mythology of the Paleo-Pony Period.
Recently, she had discovered a taste for romance novels. She had just now finished Withers Heights and was about to start on Ponies and Prejudice when a sharp rap came at the window.
Closing the book, Luna rose from the bed, walked to the window, and opened the latch. One of her personal guards climbed into the room. He had a dark gray coat; his eyes were yellow with slitted pupils, his ears were tufted, and, unlike those of a regular pegasus, his wings were hairless and black like a bat’s. After pulling himself off the thick stone windowsill, he tugged at his breastcollar to adjust his loose, slovenly armor. He grinned, showing long, sharp, and decidedly carnivorous teeth.
“What brings thee to my lair, Shivers?” Luna asked.
“Oy,” Shivers answered, “gotta get outta me stall sometimes, eh, Princess? But them hoity-toity Canterlot unicorns don’t much care to see us wraith pegasi prancin’ in their pretty white streets, do they?”
Luna smiled, but turned away from him. “Is this a social call?” She walked back to her daybed and stretched out on it. “My time is most valuable.”
Shivers chuckled. “Aye, ye look real busy, eh? Don’t get uppity with me, Yer Royal Worshipfulness. We wraiths ain’t impressed by you princess types.”
“That’s why I chose you for my personal guard. Now, wouldst thou care to explain thy visit?”
“Aye, aye. Don’t get yer tack in a twist. That sister o’ yours wants a word with ye, so she sent me up.”
Luna shot him a sharp glance. “Thou couldst have said so a little more quickly.” She stood again.
Shivers bent his knees in an exaggerated bow. “Duty discharged, so now it’s back to me cups.”
“It’s still early morning.”
“Aye, two hours since the sun rose an’ I’m still sober. Two good hours wasted. So long, Yer Worship.” Shivers squeezed back through the window, spread his bat-wings, and jumped into the air.
Luna found her silver bell boots and her black tiara under the daybed. She slipped them on and turned toward the staircase, but she started when she saw a black mist gathering in the center of the room.
She stared at it for a moment, blinking, and then sucked in her breath. “An invocation spell? But how--?”
She winced and covered her eyes when a bright light flashed and loud laughter filled the room. Lowering her hoof, she saw, standing in the middle of the pentagram on the floor, an enormous beast with the heads of a lion, an ox, and a goat. Around its body, it wore a heavy, black cloak.
“Hello, Princess. Do you remember me?”
She swallowed. “Astaroth.”
“That’s right.” He stretched out a hand toward her, but his hand stopped when it reached the edge of the pentagram. Astaroth smiled. “Still know your old tricks, I see. I cannot cross the line of this pentangle.”
“I did not invoke thee. Return to thy abyss. I abjure thee by Senoy, Sansenoy--”
Astaroth halted her incantation with a wave. “You cannot banish me. You do not have the right.”
“And you cannot harm me. I am warded.”
“Oh?” Astaroth reached under his cloak and pulled out a heavy, black book. He opened it to the middle and showed her the pages. “Here is your name written in foal’s blood. According to this, you belong to me.”
“No longer, Astaroth.”
“Your name is not blotted out. Until it is, you are mine.”
“My dark powers are gone from me, for I have been cleansed by the Elements of Harmony.”
“Then the Elements forgot something when they were cleaning.” Astaroth snapped the book shut. “Don’t you remember the things you did in a chamber much like this one? Don’t you remember the horrible things I asked you to do so that I might give you all you desired?”
Luna shuddered. “I was different.”
“Liar! You merely followed your wants. Nopony forced you! Listen to me now, Princess, for I offer you a choice. We have set up a throne in Tartarus for you, but we have also forged a chain. You can have the one or the other, but you cannot escape your doom. Will you be my princess or my slave?”
“My wards hold. I will be nothing to you.”
Astaroth smiled. “It may surprise you, but I can be patient. Beware, when somepony has a debt like yours, she often finds the collector at the door when she least expects.”
Astaroth threw open his cloak. Hunkered between his legs was a shriveled demon with a gaunt body and a gaping mouth.
Gasping, Luna took a step backwards. “No! Moloch!”
Moloch reared up on his spindly legs. “Do you remember me, Luna? Do you remember how you filled my gullet? Why have you not fed me for a millennium? Where are the offerings you used to make to me?”
“I will never!” Luna cried. “Never--!”
“Let me remind you,” Moloch said. He opened his wide mouth even wider until his lower jaw reached the floor. Out of the black pit of his maw, he spewed a torrent of blood. Luna shrieked and fell to the floor as the blood gushed over her, washing into her eyes and mouth.
Moloch, his jaw dripping red, cocked his head and uttered a hoarse laugh. “The blood of all the victims you gave to me, Nightmare Moon. I return it to you.”
Astaroth hid Moloch in his cloak again. “Farewell, Princess. I will see you again soon, and when I do, there will be no magical barriers between us.” Smoked swirled around his feet, and with a flash of light, he disappeared.
Luna lay on the floor in the pool of blood and trembled as she wept.
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And in this chapter, lots of doors get knocked on and lots of disgusting stuff goes in characters' mouths. I went ahead and upped the rating to "teen"; I'm not one for being gratuitous, but I figure some of the content here is gross enough.
Sorry for the slow update on this one; real life got in the way, and I like to give something polished.
All criticism is welcome.
EDIT: Well, sort of polished. I keep finding mistakes.
You should take this to TTG on Ponychan.
Not that I'm saying that your fic is bad. Far from it! However, they can polish out the tiniest of kinks in this.
After that, you should submit this to EQD.
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Thanks. I figured TTG should be my next move.
Shit's getting serious.
Also willing to bet Luna is the weak link of the imminent badass warrior princess trio, with all the baggage she has. Never make deals with the denizens of Hell. It is never a good idea. That shit stays.
623650actually i'd assume the first one to fall would be celestia because she has no protective wards or shieldings against tatarous and the deamons there nor has she a perfect heart sooo... she's quite vulnerable. not to mention she's verry trusting so she could eb tricked by the canterlot guard(changelings) and captured in combat. i wonder what the authors plans for the main six are?
Wow, man. This is absolutely fantastic. Your writing style really blows me away; that bit with Asmoday had some seriously great imagery. The descriptions of the Chrysallis and the Changelings also remind me a lot of the Vord from Jim Butcher's Codex Alera series, which is one of the highest compliments I can give; those are some of my favorite books of all time.
On the one hand, I think you need to write your own novel and get it published. You've got more than enough talent. On the other hand, you also need to finish this story, 'cause dude, it is phenomenally good.
635021
Thanks. You're very kind. Wish I could get more hits on it, but I think the title or the description is making people shy away.
I'm on the second draft of a novel now, and I really should be devoting more time to turning it into a final draft. It also by coincidence features mecha, demons from hell, and excessive action sequences, though I'm not borrowing from it for this fanfic.
I will have to read Codex Alera. Since this is fan fiction, I don't mind admitting what I'm rip . . . er, I mean, borrowing from: my depiction of Chrysalis is a blend of the Borg queen from First Contact and a race of really cool, creepy aliens from Octavia Butler's "Bloodchild"; at least, that latter is where I got the idea of eggs full of hallucinogens. Otherwise, I just ran with the idea of Chrysalis and her changelings being like an insect hive, so I made her a hive queen crossed with a black widow.
Funny, when I first saw the changelings, I compared to the Zerg from Starcraft; the general concept of the changelings, seem to crop up in a lot of fiction; heck, the Vord from Codex Alera are a clear homage to the Zerg as well; I'm sure rhy're are a lot of hive-minded races, who parasitically feed off other races, like the Starro from DC comics.
Anyway, I've been a huge fan of your blog for years, but I've been away from for quite some time; I was pleasantly suprised when I went back on a few days ago and found nothing but ponies on there!
Anyway, I don't understnd why your story doesn't have way more views/hits than it does; it's about three frickin' pony goddesses going up against the legions of Hell! What could be more awesome than that?! Love this story so far and can't wait for more.
I know this story is inspired by Dante and Milton, but since the show has lots of references to Greek mythology (and various others),will we see any monsters from that tradition showing up later on, like, say, Typhon or Echidna?
763520
What? I have fans?
Oh, I can throw all kinds of mishmash in here. I hope it's not obvious yet where I'm planning to take things, but there's plenty room for more monsters.
I don't care that the last comment was 2 weeks ago, but 3 scenarios are going through my mind:
1.Inky finds plans for a BFG9000, them mass produces them and kill ALL the demons with em!
2.Doomguy pops in at last minuite and conducts a "bullet ballet" with his chaingun and any sort of weapon he can fire at the time.
3.Doom demons (including the ones from realm 667) end up monster infighting all the demons.dl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/Rainbow_Dash_lolface.png
sadly, I don't think any of em will happen
(Yes, I am a freaking fan of DooM.)
855848
There is more Princess Trinity coming, but I, alas, have more pressing projects at the moment.
Weeeeellll.
Let me try to add some commentry!
The story itself seems to have a very nice premise and a good start so far.
The characters (especially the evil ones) seem to have a lot of potential and are probably decently fleshed out with strenghts and weaknesses. I realy liked your portrayal of Asmoday being aware of his little problem (blabbermouth) and trying a lot to keep it down with any means necessary while also having the brains to search. I also think he might have the best strategy for the long run, remove the supports of the structure to make it come crashing down. Find out what the princesses hold dear and corrupt it and make them face it and having to kill it, because when there is nothing left to fight for, why fight at all?
Cadance would have a big weakpoint in being a foalsitter: She loves foals and she knows quite a few personally, also she wants to be mortal. Lot´s of angles of attack.
Celestia is probably easier to get threw her family and loved ones rather than threw 'trust', paranoia is actually something that the bad guys would want to keep out of their enemies for a longer time to make infiltration easier and make their hits hurt more.
Luna. Many options, of course one of the mean ones might be if a simple change or addition to the names she has written on herself might be enough to break/weaken the barrier. (though I might be wrong with the information given so far). Why is it mean? You don´t need to chop of the leg, gives you more things you can do with it. Then of course she pretty much might either have a far more fragile or stronger psychology depending on how the author wants to depict her :)
The bad guys (and gal) are also an interesting house of cards. For one there are those that will be needed and those that will only cause trouble and by the looks of it the only mastermind is chrysalis, on the other hand having at least tirek there should also help because it is easy to imagine the changeling queen being overly cautious and more for plotting and sheming. As such the question is how to get rid of the unwanted assets without weakening your own side and to blow your options away (they already completely lost any kind of surprise with the failed infiltrations).
Of course there are also the mane six, but I think Twilight can be taken out easily. Give her the neverendingchecklist, of DOOM! ;)
Applejack is vulnerable threw her family.
Rarity is vulnerable threw her generosity and love for shiny objects ;)
Rainbow Dash has enough weaknesses shown in the show.
The real Problems might be Pinkie and Fluttershy, probably send the first to sugarland and the second could get accidently bitten by her snake
This is at least a rough overview of what I thought about, there is more but I am not that good in bringing my thoughts on "paper".
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625714 I agree. Luna already knows several tricks the demons have available, and she's able to use her dark knowledge to help her new, sane life. And Cadance embodies the thing the demons hate and fear. Celestia has no such protection, she can't be in great condition after 1000 years of stress, and seeing all others around her die while the only immortals she knew have tried to kill her, having that knowledge for 1000 years, won't help any. Also, Corona.
1185762 indeed nice run down of it. cheers