With Good Intentions

by Hustlin Tom

Chapter 9

Cool air blew across Bunsen Burner’s face, causing him to stir against the sensation. As he slowly came back to reality from bleak dreams he realized that his hooves were bound by some kind of elastic substance. Opening his eyes slowly he saw he was still down in Slumber Hill’s mine, glowing pods surrounding him on all sides. Stuck down in this hole in the ground he had no idea of how much time had passed since he and his guards had entered in.

That thought stirred him to awaken fully: his guards! Where were they? What had happened to them after he had blacked out? His head and torso not restrained, he lurched himself to look to the right, but only found access tunnels leading further into the mine. It was much the same to the left. While he had been straining to look around he saw movement: it was a griffon. The way it carried itself though, with its aloof posture and smirk, made him confirm without a doubt that this was the doppelganger. It looked up at him as he struggled against his bounds, much like a spider gazing at its next meal, and it smiled all the more.

“There’s no point, you know,” it said in its masculine voice, “Struggling, I mean. There’s no one to look for you down here, and no guards to save you.” Its grin disappeared, leaving just a small frown in its place, “You’re alone with me, and you've cost me a great deal of work.”

“What have you done with them,” Bunsen asked as he still tried to rip his hooves free, “Where are my guards?”

The griffon slinked closer to him and chuckled, “Oh, let’s not get caught up in trivialities like that. Let’s talk about you, Bunsen Burner.” It slowly brought its face closer to his, “First, though, I’d like a change of attire, wouldn't you agree? It’s hard to have fun with your clothes on.”

Bunsen looked down as the griffon’s paws suddenly burst into green colored flame, and watched as the magical combustion traveled up the creature’s skin, leaving behind a black, porous exoskeleton. The fire traveled up its body, revealing its insectoid wings and thorax. Right before the flames reached its face its eyes once again flashed predatory green, and then it stood before him naked and nightmarish. Now without disguise, Bunsen could see that the Changeling most definitely had a feminine figure. Shocked by her appearance, he watched as her mane which had hung limp around her head now seemed to come to life. Without any visible influence from her horn whatsoever, the strands of long hair lifted into the air behind her head, and wove around each other until they formed a ponytail that hung down and touched her back. Her wings jittered, and something that sounded like a cross between a clearing of her throat and a faint vibration like a rattlesnake’s tail came from deep within her.

She cocked her head and blinked. “My name is Bruco. Am I not beautiful?” she asked.

The question hung in the air in such a way that the earth pony couldn't help but feel that it was weaponized.

“You are,” he began, then searched for the words he needed as her dark-slitted pupils pierced him, “Unlike anything I've ever seen.”

She silently stared at him for several seconds. It felt like an eternity, waiting, wondering what this predator would do.

A soft cooing laughter escaped her lips, and then she grimaced, her sharp incisors fully visible, “You are a charmer! Quick on your hooves as well.” She leaned even closer, her face almost meeting his, and she whispered in a husky tone, “I like that very much.”

She then withdrew, turning away from him as she did, and spawned an emerald curved dagger, wickedly sharp, with a small notch in its blade. She nonchalantly twirled it in the air as she glanced back at her prisoner, “It’s been so very long since I've gotten a chance to talk with someone before you all showed up. With none of my sisters or drones around it’s been very lonely.”

Bunsen’s eyes grew as wide as saucers, “There are more than just you?”

“Well of course, my sweet,” she purred, “It wouldn't be a Changeling race if there was only one of us! Although, at least for the moment, it seems there’s only me.”

“How-“ he tried to ask, but she silenced him with a soft shushing as well as laying her knife next to his neck, just close enough that he could feel it grazing his coat.

“No no no! This won’t do! You see, my sweet, we’re having a dialogue. I've told you something about myself, now I want you to give me a morsel. Let’s start with that love I feel inside you. Who is that for?”

Bunsen couldn't tear his eyes off the blade near his jugular, but he finally said, “Lily. Lily Cloverhoof.”

Bruco nodded slowly and smiled, “Good boy. You’re smart to tell me the truth. Do you want to know how I know?”

“You interrogated the others,” he replied.

“Tortured would be more accurate,” she declared as she calmly walked in a circuit, first to her right, then to her left, “but I didn't have to for this sort of thing: I can fool your unicorn’s spells, but your emotions let me know when you’re telling the truth.”

Bunsen’s face blanched, “If you could tell whether I was lying or not why did you bother to torture them?”

She gazed back at him with a perverted, wicked smile and once again began to walk towards him, “Because pain is beautiful. I can feed off any emotion: succulent love, spicy anger, thick sadness, but normally it takes so much effort winnowing them out of the heartstrings of you lesser beings, so much effort for so little flavor or substance. Sometimes when the mood strikes me I just like to,” she brought her knife away to twirl it in front of his face, and then it vanished, “cut out all the boring bits. Now, is Lily your marefriend?”

Bunsen Burner was so absolutely repulsed by this creature and its twisted view of the world that he didn't immediately answer. How could something like this abomination truly exist in a Celestia created world? He had always believed that evil, or actions deemed evil, was simply the product of ignorance of the offending party against the victim, that such behavior could be changed if a being was taught proper ethics and empathy. This was different. This was evil of a premeditated nature, carried out methodically and fully aware of the suffering it caused others.

Bruco spawned her knife once again, lazily turning it end over end, bringing it closer to his neck once again, “It’s very rude to ignore someone when they are asking a question. I would hate to have to punish you before we have fun.”

“She’s my wife,” he growled at her.

“Oohoo!” she exclaimed to herself as she brought her blade to a stop, “Look at all the anger boiling up inside you. Have I touched a nerve? What color is her coat? Her mane?”

“It’s my turn to ask a question,” he curtly replied.

There was a pause as she silently glared up at him. He for his part stared right back.

She then laughed to herself, “I knew there was a reason I picked you! You've got spirit!” Her voice then dropped in volume and tone, “I’ll have fun making you submit. What is your question?”

“You said you were alone,” he began, but then he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. The griffon from earlier, the original for sure, was watching the display below, silently making his way down on his claws and paws, doing everything to stay out of sight of the monster below.

“That’s not a very good question, sweet,” Bruco replied, “Best not to waste my time by being Captain Obvious.”

Doing his best not to give a sign to his captor, he continued, “Where are your sisters and drones?”

The initially perturbed attitude she had vanished, replaced by a blank expression, which after a few minutes gave way to a smirk, “They’re sleeping, like I once was. For now, without my Queen Chrysalis to command me, I might as well be my own royalty. I’m living my deepest desire! To be a Changeling is to crave solidarity, but to be a Candidate is to crave superiority. I can take what I want, live how I wish, and now, with the strength of nearly a hundred inside me, I will take to living in your precious Canterlot.”

She suddenly rushed towards him with a speed as if she had teleported, bringing herself face to face with her captive audience. Bunsen involuntarily hissed in surprise at the quick movement.

“I’ll keep you here, nicely tucked away for now,” she whispered softly to him, “while I stagger back to the capital, the lone survivor of a doomed patrol, struck with amnesia by events too horrific to recall. Fortunately my wife will be by my side to help me through my recovery.” She then smirked and chuckled to herself, “She might even enjoy my increased level of passion towards her after these traumatic times.”

Bunsen froze as it took him a moment to process the audacity of what his tormentor had said, but then he began to struggle against his bonds even harder, fuming to himself as he waited. Seeing the half buried rage in his face, Bruco went for another emotional jab, not noticing the stirring air as the griffon youth came down from above on quiet wings, “After all, we draw closest to those who matter most after a hard struggle, don’t we my sweet? Oh we will draw very, very close.”

The griffon swooped down, now revealing himself with a primal screech and war cry. Grabbing up the Changeling in his sharp talons, the youth rocketed back up towards the cavern ceiling, using his leftover horizontal momentum to throw Bruco against the nearest rock wall as hard as he could. Shocked by the suddenness of the divebomb attack, she did not have time to change her shape or density, and she slammed against a poorly reinforced wall, plowing straight through the rock into an open area. The thick wooden beams near that area groaned under the shift in forces, bending slowly until they collapsed altogether, creating a small cave-in.

The Griffon quickly descended and approached Bunsen, using his talons to slice through the ensnaring goo around his limbs.

“We don’t have much time,” the young bird declared, “That thing is probably stunned, but it will be up again in a few minutes.” Without ceremony he turned and spread his wings, “Climb on.”

Flummoxed by the griffon’s straight forward and most likely uncomfortable request, Bunsen hesitated.

“Now,” the boy yelled.

A green light emanated from beneath the rocks near the cave-in, and they began to shudder slightly. Wasting no more of their precious time, Bunsen hopped onto the griffon’s back and wrapped his hooves above his wing joints. With a running start the griffon took off, putting as much power as he could into his wing, bringing the both of them closer to the entrance above.

“Thanks for rescue,” Bunsen declared.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” the griffon replied, “I owe you after all. You recalled me to life, so I’m indebted to you.”

From below there came the sound of a sharp but muffled shriek which made both their coats ruffle. Looking back over his shoulder Bunsen saw that the light beneath the rocks was now even more intense than before, as if the Changeling was trying to burn her way through the rocks.

Panicked thoughts ran through his mind, and as they peaked over the highest ridge in the cavern that lead to the way out, Bunsen spoke as quickly as he could, “If we want to survive this we need a plan: We share names, dates of birth, useless information, that way if we are separated we can be sure we’re not being tricked.”

“Good,” the griffon replied simply as he flew them up through the tunnel’s mouth, its length running steadily upward, “I’m Zephaniah, born in ’58. I’m a Southern Griffon of the New Bloods.”

“Bunsen Burner, ’49, born in Pferdshire. What’s your favorite color? Say the first one that comes to mind!”

“Black,” the griffon yelled as he careened around a sharp corner, almost plastering the both of them against the wall with his speed, but he didn't dare slow down. Bunsen gritted his teeth in alarm, but continued, “The Changeling knows my name, so it’s not safe. Call me Mr. Brown. You’ll be Mr. Black. If it finds out about that, I’m Bravo-Zebra-Bravo-4-9, and you’re Zebra-Foxtrot-Indigo-5-8.”

“Right,” he replied, and then hurriedly began to repeat the information back to himself, “Mr. Black, Zebra-Foxtrot-Indigo-5-8, Mr. Brown, Bravo-Zebra-Bravo-4-9.”

A brighter area suddenly appeared before them; the way out was just ahead! The two survivors shot out of the cavern like a brown bullet, but Bunsen could tell that his compatriot was straining himself to the limit even before they began their descent. They managed to at least make it to the outskirts of Slumber Hill before Zephaniah could fly no further. The griffon came to an ungraceful landing, tossing Bunsen over his shoulder by mistake, who landed with a grunt on the long, dry grass of the surrounding area.

“We need to get out of the open,” the earth pony declared with no time to waste, taking off at a gallop, “Where’s the foundry?”

“Northeast side of town,” Zephaniah gasped between large gulps of air as he followed behind, “Why?”

“No magic or weapon is going to stop this thing, and if it actually decides to leave, it could threaten everypony and everyone at large.” The full consequences of the scenario didn't hit Bunsen until he said them out loud, and then he realized what few options there were to deal with this monstrosity: no magic, no weapons they knew that could truly harm it, no means of containment, and it would not be reasoned with.

“How do we kill it,” Zephaniah asked.

The idea, the very utterance of the word made the earth pony uncomfortable. He began to feel nausea building in him, but he did his best to suppress it, “I have an idea, but I need to know what’s inside the foundry first. Do they have a casting operation there, or just forging?”

“I never worked there, but I used their parts to help keep the clock tower working: they do cast pieces.”

The two of them saw the entrance to the foundry, a set of light aluminum doors on a swing hinge. Bunsen burst through the doors first, with Zephaniah not far behind. The forges were quiet and cold, and there was hardly any light but for the moon shining through the windows at the top of the foundry floor. The earth pony’s eyes twitched all around, scanning for what he prayed to be in the building. Then he saw a large tempered wood container on the far side of the room. He galloped over to it, and reached in to see what was inside. What he brought up in his hooves was clumpy, black sand. He brought it close to his face and took a breath through his nose; the smell was just like an oil canister.

Bunsen quietly laughed as a small sense of relief came over him, “Petrobond! Thank the stars.” He then turned to the griffon youth and called out to him, “Find as big of a bucket as you can carry. See if there are any ‘Strike Anywhere’ matches nearby too!”

“Got it,” he replied, and took to the air to see what he could find nearby. On the far side of the foundry he saw a red pail, which he swooped down and snatched into his claws. Bunsen meanwhile searched all over for any more oil that he could find, whether in cans or drums. “Catch,” the griffon said from above as he dropped his cargo directly in front of the earth pony, who caught it mid-fall.

Bunsen then quickly went back to the casting sand bin and scooped as quickly as he could. “What’s the absorption rate of petroleum based casting sand,” he murmured to himself, but then he quickly shook his head, “Doesn’t matter now; just needs to be more viscous.”

About nine scoops later the red bucket was two-thirds of the way full with unpacked casting sand. He then began to pour oil on top of it from the few cans he had found. The foul smelling liquid flowed down into the sand, which began to slowly oversaturate, causing the mixture to rise to the surface. Looking for anything nearby as a stirring instrument, he snatched up a broom and used its handle to mix the slurry together more thoroughly. When the process was all said and done the desperate scientist had created a thick, oily molasses-like concoction.

“Is it ready,” he suddenly heard from behind him. Bunsen whirled around to see that his griffon partner had snuck up behind him. He visibly tensed, snatched up the bucket, and took a step back. “Woah, it’s alright,” the youth exclaimed hurriedly as he waved his talons, “It’s me!”

“Prove it,” he yelled back, “Where was I born?”

“Pferdshire,” the griffon blurted, then fired back, “What’s my heritage?”

“Southern Griffon, New Blood,” the earth pony replied with a sigh, then relaxed. This was the real one, he was certain. “Did you find the matches,” he asked after a few moments of silence.

“Yeah,” the youth replied and then produced a matchbook from his wing, held between his feathers.

“Give them here,” he replied before quickly shoving the red bucket into the boy’s face, “Hang on to this and stick to the rafters; whenever you get the chance dump it all over her.”

“What about you,” the griffon asked after he had dropped the matches in front of him. Before he was able to reply a green light suddenly appeared from underneath the front doors to the foundry. It slowly grew in intensity as it moved closer to the center of the entrance, and the both of them could hear the soft hoof falls of their hunter. Bunsen silently signaled in an exaggerated gesture for Zephaniah to ascend with his cargo, which the griffon quickly did. He then picked up the matchbook in his mouth and stood his ground.

The eerie green beneath the doors dimmed temporarily before surging in intensity. The aluminum swing doors blasted off of their hinges, cartwheeling into the foundry. Hellish emerald flames licked the air from the Changeling’s horn, her eyes quickly locking onto the stallion waiting for her. Bunsen did his best to remain composed, but the way in which her gaze bore right through him was incredibly intimidating.

“It’s rude to leave a girl before the date’s over my sweet,” she said without even the false sense of levity she had once had as she entered the building. She then conjured up an identical pair of her curved knives and flicked them in the air as she stalked forward, “Why did you have to make me hurt you? I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep you alive now, even for your delicious love.”

Bunsen steeled himself and looked her dead in the eye, “Go back to Tartarus, parasite.”

Zephaniah took this as his cue to do his part, and he dove down from above, slurry at the ready. In just a fraction of a second, Bruco let loose her throwing knives. The first streaked upward towards the griffon, who had to violently steer away from his original trajectory to avoid it tunneling directly into his skull. The oily mixture’s stream arced wide, splashing to the left of its target with only a few drops actually hitting her. The second knife soared across the room straight for Bunsen’s chest, who jumped out of the way just enough that it didn’t impact into his sternum, but instead plunged into his right shoulder. The stallion yelled in pain and dropped his match book. The blade however did not dissipate, but instead began to slowly wriggle back and forth, making it feel like lightning was coursing up his entire limb. The pain was too much for Bunsen, and he crumpled to the ground, the matches lying right next to his mouth.

Bruco grinned at the sight of him falling, and then focused her attention on the young one in the air above, sending tendrils of her now fluid-like limbs after him, swiping them viciously about to try and take out Zephaniah’s wings. For his part the boy was doing quite well evading her black whips, descending away from them and zigzagging around them. Even through his agony Bunsen hoped that he was descending on purpose as part of some plan, in which case he needed to be ready. He slowly began to stand again, blood trickling down his leg, and gingerly opened the matchbook.

When the griffon was low enough, Bruco’s eyes flashed, and she smiled, “Got you.” She lunged upward, and as she came into range Zephaniah brought his bucket of casting sand to the ready. Expecting him to release the last of his prized black liquid early, Bruco shifted to the right in midair, contorting around to his side in an attempt to outflank him. Zephaniah seemed to have expected this, and instead hurled it towards where she was going to be instead. The Changeling strafed right into the oil slurry, becoming drenched in its ooze, and lost balance. Blindly she lashed out with a hardened black, sickle-like appendage which just grazed through the griffon’s downy feathers and across his chest. Zephaniah squawked as he fell away from her onto a dry area of the floor, while Bruco fell back into the slush that had been spilled earlier.

The pain in Bunsen’s shoulder dulled as the magical construct within him evaporated. The Changeling writhed on the floor, ungraciously trying to stand up in the oil slick and falling over, while haphazardly striking in any direction she could reach. Seeing his opening, and without putting any more thought in his actions, Bunsen took the match in between his teeth and struck it against the floor. The new source of light was blinding to all of them, each combatant having grown accustomed to the darkness they had been in. The earth pony spat the match straight at the downed monster.

Even without her full sight, the Changeling transformed her left foreleg into a thin razor whip and sliced at the tiny flicker in the dark. The match was cut in two by her strike, the head still aflame. Both the earth pony and the griffon’s hearts stopped for a beat, as they believed their survival was now forfeit. The match head tilted downward under the influence of gravity, and a small ember fell right next to the retreating Changeling’s limb as it passed. The ember was enough, and the spark set alight Bruco’s limb. Shrieking, the bug instinctively drew her foreleg back, and the flames began to crawl up her entire body.

His idea having succeeded, Bunsen noticed he couldn’t maintain his balance anymore, and he slowly fell onto his side. Darkness was at the edge of his vision, but so also was Zephaniah, who through his murky consciousness he saw more than heard say, “We have to get out of here.”

The sound that woke him from his stupor caused by shock and blood loss was the unearthly scream that the Changeling let out as it burned alive, its entire body a funeral pyre. Even as it stumbled about in the burning oil it lay in, he saw that it was even now still trying to reach out at them, still trying to gain footing and kill them both. It was enough to drive the stallion’s mind wide awake, and he galloped after his griffon companion who led him to a side entrance out of the foundry.

The two survivors ran out into the now cold night air, but the distance didn’t seem to make a difference when it came to hearing the monster’s dying agony. An orange flicker could be seen from the upper windows of the foundry as they came to a stop and looked back. Bunsen barely registered the fact that Zephaniah left him to find bandages for their wounds, all he could concentrate on was the glow of the fire, the fire he had used to end the monster.

“I killed it,” he murmured brokenly to himself, “I killed it.” It was all he could think or say to himself for many hours after that. He wasn’t sure what horrified him the most: the creature he had seen and what it had revealed to him, or what he had done to ensure his own survival.

---

Trixie stared aghast at her tutor as he finished his story. The creature… the town…and the foundry…it was all too much. It was absolutely horrific.

“What,” she tried to say, but she first had to clear her throat, “What happened next?”

“We made contact with Canterlot after we made repairs to the town’s telegraph lines,” Bunsen explained, “They were most likely damaged before too many ponies had gone missing. I then waited for an escort back, while in the mean time we freed the townsfolk from their pods. They were all alive, but jarred from their experience.”

The showmare thought over his choice of wording and then nervously asked, “So your guards were all-“

“Mmhm,” he nodded, then sighed deeply before closing his eyes, “They received the highest honors for their service. Upon my return to the capital I had an immediate debriefing with both the Princess and a select few other ponies in her private study, and I made a case for what needed to be done.”

---

Princess Celestia heard the entire train of events without so much as even a gasp. Director Acumen’s face had blanched, while Grand Magus Stargazer incredulously tapped his hooves together. The Captain of the Guard, a yellow-green pegasus mare named Merry Sprites, was blinking back tears and doing her best to wipe them away discreetly.

“If you would allow me to summarize,” Stargazer spoke up, “We have made contact with a species outside the knowledge of the Dawn Compact, one which appears to be, if not actually is, a Changeling.”

“Yes Grand Magus,” Bunsen replied quietly.

“It is capable of taking the appearance of any being it comes in contact with.”

“Yes,” he nodded.

“It is even able to fool a Lie Detection charm, and it cut down the best of our soldiers when outnumbered eight to one?”

Merry Sprites couldn’t help sobbing a little louder than before.

Bunsen simply nodded, “I’m sorry, but yes, by the stars it is true.”

Director Acumen leaned back in her chair, and slightly shook her head before bringing her forehooves up to her temples, “How do we even begin to consider this situation? I can hardly believe this old folklore is true!”

“I expect the best place would be to consider the brains and mettle brought to bear against this creature,” the Grand Magus replied as he stroked his beard lightly, “The royal guard clearly needs a review on its tactics and training.”

“Stargazer, enough,” Princess Celestia tried to say, but she was drowned out by the shout of her Captain of the Guard.

“DO NOT speak of what you DO NOT KNOW, RELIC,” Merry Sprite spat furiously, “My nephew was the one who cast those charms, who fought and died in that hole. If even he was fooled, you would have been butchered too!”

“ENOUGH,” the Princess boomed, having resorted to her use of the Royal Canterlot Voice, and the room came to a silent but tense calm.

“My apologies, Captain,” Stargazer at last declared in a legitimately doleful tone, “I meant no ill will to you or your dead.”

Merry Sprites offered no response but a silent grim stare even as her tears continued to flow.

“The Grand Magus has a point,” the Princess exclaimed as she tried to make progress, dragging the others along as she had to, ”We do need to find a new means of training our soldiers if we are to face this threat effectively. What has become of Zephaniah: he was able to stand up to the Changeling twice and live.”

“I’m keeping in touch with him as I’m able,” Bunsen replied, “but he has returned to his home in the southern states of the Confederacy. He hopes to be taken into the cloth.”

This brought everypony’s attention back to him.

“He’s becoming a priest,” the Captain asked, befuddled by the turn of events.

“Given his race I expect it’s not what you may think,” Director Acumen said while shaking a hoof in her direction, “He’s most likely attempting to curry favor with the Death Eagles, a neutral mercenary cult in griffon society that performs contract assassinations that help accelerate the fluctuation of power in their collection of states.”

“Damned crazed death worshippers,” Stargazer grumbled, “He is out of our reach then.”

“What would you suggest, Bunsen,” Princess Celestia asked as her gaze turned back to him, “You wouldn’t have called us together unless you had some input on what could be done.”

He nodded his head, “Neither magic nor our present military strategy is enough to combat these creatures. Only by combining our resources and seeking out the best combat masters will we ever stand a chance against the Changelings. I propose we create an initiative that will offer the best training, magic, and technology to our best troops. In addition, I’d ask that new departments for the Royal Science Division be opened, one that specializes in the studying of ‘mythical’ creatures, and one that could prepare contingency plans against presently unknown threats.”

“This had better not be a vain grab for power veiled under the guise of threat to our nation’s security,” the Grand Magus grumbled.

“We would pool all our resources; equal share of responsibility, and equal share of power,” Bunsen pointedly declared, “but we must act quickly! There is no telling how soon the other Changelings could be here among us, and by the time we’ll notice it will already be too late! We should not allow a repeat of what happened at Slumber Hill.”

“If these creatures are able to lie on a whim without us knowing, how can we be sure if anything the creature said to you is true,” Merry Sprites asked.

Bunsen’s face eventually fell, “I don’t know. Can we afford to be wrong though?”

The meeting was adjourned shortly afterward, and a decision was eventually made. A token increase of funding for everypony was agreed upon, and a coalition was created between the RSD, the Unicorn Guild, and the Royal Guard. Though the carnage left in the aftermath of the Changeling’s subjugation of Slumber Hill was evident, Grand Magus Stargazer only offered a few token unicorn mages to fulfill his end of the bargain, while still keeping his best and brightest to ensure the Guild’s own security in the hierarchy of Canterlot. The Captain and the Director, however, offered everything they had at their disposal. The Cryptozoology and Xenobiology branches of the RSD were founded in late 975, and the Guard’s paramilitary program brought in the greatest martial artists from around the world to train up skilled fighters.

After everything he had gone through, Bunsen was weary. He was shaken to his very soul by what he had seen, heard, and had to do. Months afterward he still didn’t eat or sleep well, but his work remained constant. He began slaving away at new ideas sixteen hour days, sleeping only six. There were many nights when he would be sound asleep in his bed with Lily in their home in Canterlot, but then the dreams of a burning insect would come for him, tormenting him until he woke with a shout. Each time upon waking she’d be there to try and comfort him, but there was only so much she could do, and Bunsen was brought to his limit. Therapy was helping, as his psychiatrist specialized in after action scenarios, but there was one thing that neither she nor his wife could help. As Bruco ran towards him every night, wreathed in flames, she would yell in a harsh, crackling voice, “There are more of us, and we are coming!”

Comments

[Emperor]

A rather gruesome end for Bruco

Of course, going both off of Bruco's own words and Canterlot Wedding, the average Changeling isn't anywhere near as powerful as Bruco was, but then, Bunsen Burner can hardly trust her words either.

[Hustlin Tom]

6239338
It was a pretty nasty way to go, that's for sure. You're absolutely right: Bruco, as a Royal Candidate, is more intelligent and deadly than the average Changeling. She and her immediate sisters are much like miniature Queens, and each wants the opportunity to take Chrysalis' place, their eldest sister. It will be a while before Bunsen will know for certain what measure of Bruco's words were true, and how best to defeat the Changelings.