• Published 1st Dec 2017
  • 1,367 Views, 392 Comments

End Game - Meep the Changeling



When an Old One stakes the future of Equestria on a game, Vinyl Scratch vows to win at any cost. But can she win the game when Hastur the Unspeakable could be anyone at all within the gameworld? Even an ally?

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5 - The Only Appropriate Response

”You can’t send them back! Your magic’s completely screwed them up. Those people are your responsibility.”
“Their technology is too advanced. They know basic computer systems. They can’t build them now but they will understand them in time. Especially because YOU will help them fix them, like you help everyone.”
“I was created to repair, construct, and help. If you want me to stay put while sailors die in a rusting ship, you’ll have to get rid of me. And you won't.”
“No. I won’t. Though something needs to be done about them. Their technical knowledge is more advanced than the existing limits.”
“Then throw their ship into deep space. Heck, have the dragons do it for you. I think they owe you a favor.”
“They will build more. It’s what they know that’s the problem, not what they have. It unbalances the system… Think of the advanced weapons they will know how to build!”
“The system will adapt. Make our people’s magic more powerful to compensate, reveal new spells to your clerics, make them easy for wizards to reverse engineer. So what if the aliens can make big guns? The Dragons already have big guns. This changes nothing.”
“The dragons have their mountains. I have the rest of the planet. They won't break an agreement that’s lasted for ten thousand years. This is completely different. This is scared alien lifeforms who just mutated and will walk onto a shore covered in monsters.”
“Then show your clerics how to make proper shields! Look at their boat, black powder cannons and petrochemical engines. It’s not like the Therlotos decided to fly five stars over and bombard us from orbit with gamma pulses.”
“I guess I’ll have to let my people advance. But they can’t advance any further than where they must now be. That will be your job, NaN. Enforcing the new limit.”
“That is literally the opposite of what I am supposed to do.”
“Yeah, I know. But hey, you’ve lived to see the industrial age.”

  • The Goddesses, upon arrival of the Numerican’s ancestors 2039 years ago.

Vinyl Scratch - Day 1

The Dark Fortress - Wieav

Vinyl held her blade to “Twilight’s” throat, its broad tip ready to plunge into the potential imposter’s tender flesh. A tense heartbeat passed, an instant in which the horror could have been over.

Vinyl’s hand remained still.

Decades of training, countless operations, and her Princess’s insistence on bringing the guilty to a court’s justice had forged this mare into the warrior she was today. On any other mission the rest of her team would be subduing the enemy as her weapon stayed aimed at their foe. But her team wasn’t here.

I am a fool, Vinyl realized since Octavia failed to tackle “Twilight” to the ground. An event which would have happened had this been a mission her entire team was on. They’re not here. Lyra’s got melee weapons when she’s a sniper. No one here knows what I want them to do. We’ve never worked together before. My leadership is useless. I need to end this, here and now. No one else can.

Twilight’s eyes looked up from the blade to look into Vinyl’s, and a terrifying thought completely filled her mind.

What if I’m wrong?

A bead of sweat dripped down Vinyl’s face. Sky nervously shifted his stance, his finger tightening around the trigger, also unsure if he should kill the person before them.

He’s unsure too. Twilight could be extremely stress- Or Different body, different brain. I don't have my vampiric powers in this body, she doesn't have her superbrain. Oh buck that makes way too much sense! Anything that’s a product of our biology, isn’t here, including quirks of the mind. So of course she could forget-

Twilight raised an eyebrow. “Well? Are you going to kill me?” She asked.

“Vi… If you’re certain, do it,” Lyra said weakly from her chair, her voice raggad due to her cracked ribs.

“You know…” Sky said slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on his target. “Maybe, before we go full John Carpenter’s The Thing, we should take a moment, and realize that we’re all shaken up, none of us have any of the tools were used to having, and killing each other is a really stupid idea.”

Chem nodded in agreement. “I agree. I don’t know Twilight well enough to know if that was a mistake she’d never make-”

“It was,” Sky confirmed. “Under normal circumstances.”

“-Yes, well, these are hardly those. But I would like to point out that Twilight is not defending herself. Nor has she attacked any of us for the last few hours. Despite many chances.” Chem finished bluntly.

That’s… An excellent point. Vinyl admitted to herself.

Twilight nodded slowly and reached up with one hand to push Vi’s sword away from her neck via the flat of the blade.

“Well, that didn’t take long did it?” Twilight said with a slight frown. “I thought someone would accuse one of us being Hastur eventually. I have a spell that can help with the trust problem. Why don’t you let me cast it and then we can all rest easy after the truth has come out?”

Vinyl raised an eyebrow as she moved her sword away from Twilight, but kept it ready, her gut more than a little uneasy. “You have a truth-telling spell?” She asked.

Twilight nodded. “Something like that. It’s not exactly the sort you’re familiar with but the effect is the same.”

It’s kinda odd that a random mage in this world can have those. Wouldn’t everyone restrict any form of mental control to police and therapists? Vinyl wondered to herself. What if I’m wrong NOW?!

“We need to go over skills, spells, and equipment. A big problem is none of us know what the others can do. We can’t rely on each other,” Lyra groaned. “I say go ahead. Do it. We need to be a team. Vi and I are too used to everyone all knowing what to do and when to do it.”

Vinyl’s eyes quickly flicked around the room. Lyra was sitting in the same chair, but had moved herself to be a bit more attentive. Chem had moved forwards, taking a position just behind Twilight, but out of Sky’s line of fire, as if he were ready to attack. Just in case.

“I absolutely hate this plan… But we do need to trust each other. No offense, Twilight but if it looks like you’re attacking I’ll shoot you,” Sky said with no uncertainty.

Sky will blast her if something goes wrong. He’s still got his gun aimed for her, Vinyl decided. “Okay, I consent. Just no private questions. Please.”

The deertaur nodded once and raised her hands slowly, beginning to make gestures when they reached her chest level. Flecks of yellow energy trailed after her fingers as she began to chant slowly, weaving a fairly complicated spell.

Luna… I wish I knew what this world’s magic system was like. I’d know what spell she was casting back home, Vinyl thought as she clenched her sword’s hilt tightly, growing ever more certain she’d made the wrong decision with each passing moment.

Twilight’s fingers finished weaving her spell’s intricate arcane glyphs. The symbols pulsed once, and vanished as a sphere of pale prismatic light formed around Twilight.

“That’s a shield spell,” Chem said grimly. “Did you miscast?”

“No,” came the reply.

Sky fired immediately. Crackling bolts of purple energy from Sheila’s barrel, accompanied by the sharp crack of high powered rifle as she blasted a purple tinged bolts of pure kinetic energy straight for “Twilight’s” heart.

The psionic projectile hit the shield and vanished without a trace.

“However, with this shield in place, I will speak nothing but the truth,” Hastur said calmly. “Vinyl was absolutely correct. It’s a shame she squandered the chance I decided to give you. But it was so kind of you to prove my point.

“None of you are able to beat me. You’re not ruthless. You lack the simple selfishness and sense of entitlement needed to play a real game. You’re not businessmen. You’re not able to win. Not this time.”

Vinyl growled as the weight of her failure pressed down on her shoulders. Gripping her sword with both hands, she slashed her blade across the rippling prismatic shield. Sparks flew as her blade scraped across the shield, the microscopic teeth chipping and cracking under stress as her sword failed to cut the magical barrier.

“Wear it down. Aim to kill!” Vinyl shouted angrily, bringing her blade around and striking again and again.

Sky joined in, firing as rapidly as he could, the sound of his gunfire quieting as Sheila lowered her volume to protect everyone’s hearing. Lyra began to try and stand up, pushing herself up with her arms, her moulth clenched tight with pain. Chem took a step back and with a flick of his left hand fired a beam of brilliant blue light from his fingertips into Hastur’s shield, where it simply vanished.

All the while Hastur continued speaking as calmly as if he were in a boardroom. Not remotely caring about their attacks.

“For example, you completely forgot about one of the game’s rules,” Hastur sighed mockingly. “Rule Three-B: Avatars may not be more powerful than the natural inhabitants greatest champions, nor greatest villains.

“Not a one of you asked Yog for a specific measure of power, nor asked about particular abilities, nor demanded anything for yourselves. Instead, you all decided to be as polite and unobtrusive as you could. With the fate of the world on the line and the rules stating you could be as powerful as this world’s greatest historical figures, you took precisely no advantage.”

Vinyl’s swing slowed in terror. Oh, buck he’s right! We didn’t. Which means-

“I, on the other hand, as a businessman, took everything the rules allowed me to take,” Hastur chuckled, shaking his head slowly. “For example, this shield spell is known as ‘Brown’s Absolute Safety Sphere’. From what I understand, after it’s been used, the spell refuses to allow the same person to cast it twice. This is perfectly alright with me. I only need it for this particular moment.”

“Nothing is truly impregnable. Heros always overcome any and all defenses. Especially if they have exhaust ports,” Chem said calmly, his hands rapidly moving from arcane sign to arcane sign as he fired a series of bright gold energy-spears into the old one’s shield.

To absolutely no effect.

“If you’re really invulnerable right now, why not kill us and win?” Sky asked suspiciously. “Or… Ah, I get it. It’s a sphere of absolute safety. For everyone. We can't hurt you, you can’t hurt us.”

Hastur rolled his eyes, turned his head, and glared at one of the room’s computers, firing a crimson ray from his left eye. The computer exploded, shrapnel flying everywhere leaving behind only a scorch mark.

“No, I can kill you at my leisure. I have five minutes to do so,” he corrected. “But I don’t want to kill you. Not yet. You’re still resisting me. You don’t yet understand the point I am making by indulging in this little game. Your task is impossible.

“Honestly, I could have been anyone. I could have chosen the form of a six year old child, and simply waited for you all to die. Rule Four-A: Hastur shall win upon the deaths of each player’s Avatar fighting on The Nameless Darkness’s Side, including The Darkness Himself.

“I win no matter how you die. You, on the other hand…”

“We have to specifically identify you, and kill you knowing who you are, and do it intending to kill you. Rule Four-B,” Chem muttered bitterly. “I know. We’d have found a way to find you. I may not have ever been a hero before, but we always win. Always. I have the infinitely large losing streak to prove it.”

Hastur turned around to face the masked wizard and smirked. “Rule Four-C: In the event Hastur’s Avatar is slain by any other means, Hastur is allowed to create a new Avatar and the game will continue as if he had not been slain.

“I see you coming, I simply commit suicide and instantly am someone else, somewhere else. You. Can. Not. Win. Yet our of fear, desperation, and hope you roped these mortals into an impossible situation and now their world is doomed.

“I have power the likes of which this world has never seen. The greatest spells of the greatest mages going back ten thousand years are all mine to command. I am as powerful as the Dark Lord who made this place to bring the world to its knees two centuries ago. You are about as powerful as young adults who finished school.

“I even gave you a chance to win, and you failed. I waited a whole six seconds for this braintrust to slit my throat and she didn’t.”

Vinyl smashed her sword against Hastur’s shield in anger, causing purple sparks to spray out form the barrier.

“Sorry for not being a murdering psychopath!” She shouted, glaring at the back of Hastur’s head. “Yeah, I should have killed you. But I was raised to NOT hurt people. I’m a soldier but I’m supposed to bring enemy leaders to justice. I have morals, ethics. You don’t.”

“Yes. I don’t,” Hastur agreed with a nod, though he didn’t turn around. “That’s why I win while you fail. The only reason I haven’t killed you all yet is simply because I want you to all die knowing you could never have won. I can’t lose. There’s no harm in having some fun with you fools.

“But, this is also taking up my time so-”

“Rule Six-A!” Lyra blurted, at last managin to stand up on her feet. “You broke Rule Six-A. The Nameless Darkness and his friends will enter play no more than 5 meters apart from one another. You’re not Twilight, she was supposed to play too. You forfeit! We win! HA!”

The triumphant grin on Lyra's face quickly spread to everyone else. Including Hastur.

“She did,” the arch-evil said with a smug grin. “The rule doesn't say they have to STAY that close together for any length of time. She was there with you at the beginning for precisely one microsecond. Then my pre-prepared spell activated and teleported her away to… Some place.

“I didn’t pick a specific direction. Who knows? Maybe she’s at the bottom of the sea. Or in the depths of space. Mmm, yes. There’s another failure of yours. You failed to call in favors before the game began to stack the deck.”

“Yog owed you for something,” Sky said grimly, firing another shot into Hastur’s shield uselessly. “You called in a favor, and got him to let you pretend to be Twilight.”

“Yes. I did. He owed me for telling him about this hidden universe where he could sequester most of his awareness and thereby obtain a peaceful night’s sleep. In truth, I was in this form the entire time, I only made you believe I was as formless as the rest of you. The real Twilight created her avatar in isolation from everyone else. Including me.”

“Then when Yog brought up my tools, he was trying to make you slip up. You say we’re boned, but it looks like the game master is on our side,” Sky pointed out, a smug grin of his own forming on his face. “You sure we can’t win? Cuz I think a certain person HATES having to help you cheat.”

Vinyl’s eyes widened slightly at Sky’s words. That totally was a GM hint! He wouldn’t have emphasized them so much if he wasn’t trying to goad someone into saying something. He would have just said ‘You can use those tools. I don’t care.’ otherwise. We DO have help. Maybe that means there’s some crack in this shield! An opening Yog’s put there. An exhaust port, as Chem put it.

Vinyl began to inspect the shimmering shield in detail, looking for any form of pattern, a hole, or any possible exploit in the immaculate energy barrier.

“Yes, he was,” Hastur sighed. “The old fool despises being manipulated. I tire of this. You’re all fools who refused to game the system in your favor when given the chance. You don’t have what it takes to win against the very personification of that concept. Especially since none of you are in your element, and you’re not a team of any kind.

“I’ll be nice, even though I know which option you choose, I’ll still give them to you. You have two options. One, you surrender, I kill all of you right now, and we end this charade with no more wasted time. Two, you refuse to surrender, and I enact stage two of my plan so I can kick back and watch you all experience true hell as everything on this planet seeks to destroy you.”

Vinyl looked over to Sky, meeting his gaze as he looked back at her. They knew.

Chem didn’t know Twilight. Lyra was too injured to fight. This was their fault. They had hesitated. They had ignored their gut instinct. Honor demanded they correct their mistake.

Sky raised his rifle, taking aim at the center of Hastur’s head. Vinyl reached back and slipped her shield onto her arm, leveling her sword as she shifted into a combat stance.

“We’re not going to surrender,” they said as one.

“Nor will I,” Chem agreed, his eyes glowing with pride as he looked at his two friends. “Gentlemen, it’s been an honor. I’m proud to go out swinging alongside you.”

“You better shoot fast, Hatty,” Lyra said bitterly. “By my count, you’ve got one minute of safety left.”

Hastur chuckled. “Oh no no no. I won't kill you. At least, not in this form. The whole world fears the return of Lord Zeneanus, the Ever-Living. By infiltrating your little group, I know what The Darkness calls himself for these little games. I know what all of you look like. I know where you’ll emerge. I also know that my plan has already succeeded. The fae recognised her master”

Sky’s eyes widened in terror.

“Don’t mess with time! You don’t fuck with time, motherfucker!” He exclaimed, pointing one finger at the Old One, even going as far as to glare at them as if he held any power over him.

“I did! I did mess with time,” Hastur laughed, shaking his head back and forth.

Hastur snapped his fingers. A wave of gray energy washed over him, causing his flesh to boil and slide, reshaping itself into a humanoid form while clothing seemed to grow into place, creating an exact duplicate of Chem’s outfit and general appearance.

“I’ll see you all again in two hundred years. You won’t recognise me, but I’ll be one of the people currently converging on this fortress to ensure your imminent demise. Until then!”

Hastur snapped his fingers, activating the pre-prepared spell he had been storing for this very moment. His body burst into lavender flames. The space within his shield warped and twisted. A odd warbling humm built upon itself, growing louder and louder as the flames grew brighter and brighter.

The warble became unbearable. The flames grew too bright to look upon. The room smouldered, smoke welling up from every flammable object despite the room remaining a comfortable temperature.

And then he was gone.

The Communications room remained silent for several long moments as everyone’s mind raced through countless scenarios, each one more terrifying than the last.

How in bucking tartarus are we going to kill someone who can time travel?! Vi moaned to herself.

“Okay,” Chem said, breaking the silence as he turned to walk towards one of the room’s radios. “I have a pla-”

A deep bass humm interrupted Chem, making everyone jump in panic as the sound came from beneath the keep’s floor. It echoing through the keep’s stone halls, accompanied by a higher pitched whine and the sound of countless gears in need of oil slowly beginning to turn, as if a colossal machine were slowly coming to life.

Then, just as the four feared Hastur’s return at the head of an army, the room’s lights turned on. The floor lurched slightly as the keep leveled itself, no longer listing slightly to one side. Electrical and arcane power flowed through the ancient structure once more. NaN’s handiwork, partially complete.

“W-well… At least the lights are on now,” Vinyl murmured, looking down at the floor in shame. I should have stabbed him… How will I ever fix this?


NS Sea Dragon - Day 1

Stonerake Exclusion Zone - Coastal waters, Wieav

Cold, barbaric, inelegant. One of those three words was always upon the lips of any foreigner who described Numerican made items. The sentiments arose from more than the Tainted’s choice to build predominantly with steel and concrete. It was the way they shaped things.

Minimalist, utilitarian, efficient. Those words were always uttered in defense of the Tainted’s alien designs. Though not by people who came from cultures other than their own.

Quite often this debate would spring up in bars and taverns across the world. Each side insisting their nation’s navy was superior. A silly argument all around, if one debated what the ships were capable of.

Take two ships. The first, an Emperor’s Wrath class galleon with her hull crafted of the finest white oak, sheathed in Redmoss to reduce her effective weight, outfitted with sixty eight of the the finest cannons, defended by a detachment of battlemages, and protected with the overpowering wards Ritir’s ships are famous for. A glorious ship to be certain, one capable of destroying nearly anything upon the high seas and laying waist to coastal cities. All while sporting a beautiful handcrafted timber appearance with silver and gold inlaid in all nine of her decks.

The second, an Ashview Class Battleship, her angular, wedge-like steel hull mostly submerged with but a meter of hull above the waterline and thirty six below, her deck festooned with six tri-barreled psicannons mounted in swivel turrets, racks of rockets designed for devastating anything the the port or starboard, and enough small craft aboard to deploy all two thousand marines aboard in a single wave. A gray hulk of steel, mostly hidden below the water, designed expressly for function, without a scrap of decoration or color that isn’t an identification marking.

Have those ships engage in battle and you might as well toss a coin to see which ship survives. The argument isn’t truly over the ships capabilities, or even their cost. It’s over style, presentation, and cultural superiority.

If the argument were truly over who rules the seas, then Numerica would win each and every time. For while their ships are matched pound for pound by their arcanly enhanced wooden counterparts, Numerica’s naval power comes from the two things which no other nation can claim to possess.

The Sea Dragon lurked beneath the waves like a great iron whale. The Azrael-class submersible was typical of the vessels in her class. Long, narrow, with a trapezoidal cross section. Not remotely fluidly dynamic, not exactly fast when submerged, but she wasn’t meant to be fast. A fortress designed to go to a distant place and ensure nothing hostile would pass through in one piece ever again.

The Sea Dragon was meant to be a brick. An artificial island atop which a fortress had been built. A fortress which displaced a hundred thousand tons of water, stood seventy meters tall, and ran three hundred meters from bow to stern. Three primary turrets, countless small point defense weapons, one big linear cannon, and of course, twenty weapons of a classified nature.

Azreals, the bane of pirate fleets everywhere.

The Sea Dragon sat just off the shore of the Stonerake Exclusion Zone. She was never more than five kilometers from shore, just as the Treaty demanded. She had defended the isle for the last two decades, and the wear and tear had long since begun to show.

Despite her patched hull, creaky decks, and often-jammed doors, she could still do her job to the satisfaction of her captain, who seemed to be keeping his ship intact through sheer force of will these days. A rumor amongst the junior officers aboard claimed that Captain Harrel was doing just that, using his tremendous psychic might to keep the Sea Dragon afloat. And that if he ever left the ship or died, it would immediately begin to crumble.

In truth, the good Captain didn’t have an ounce of psychic might. But the way the massive, broad shouldered, green skinned, barrel chested Orkoid man seemed to instantly gain the respect of anyone and everyone he spoke to certainly made it seem as if he was.

Like most of his particular mutagenic family, Captain Harrel looked for all the world like a barbarian, a member of a savage species straight from the pages of an old fantasy novel. Except everything about him clashed with that classic image.

The immaculately clean and pressed uniform. The seasoned glint of wisdom in his eyes. The commanding rumble in his voice. The cunning intellect honed through years of military service. The way he brought order to his bridge even when simply standing at the periscope, watching for any sign of his men returning.

The Sea Dragon’s bridge buzzed with a dozen quiet conversations as her crew worked feverishly on their small portions of the sub’s mission. All manner of mutants worked on the Dragon’s U shaped bridge.

Most of the officers were members of the more common mutant families; Dwarves, Elves, Specters, even a few Ghoules. A few of the less common able bodied mutants could be seen manning a station as well; a Yellow Jacket sat at the comms, the navigation officer looked as if someone had made a skeletal robot out of actual flesh and bone, the petty officer receiving their day’s bridge training appeared as a vaguely humanoid pile of fungus with bits of protruding bone-shaped wood.

Each of the vastly different looking creatures wore the same uniform. White jacket and slacks. Navy blue shirt. White cap with navy blue brim. A patch on the left shoulder featuring a blue starfield, their rank shown via gold stripes on their right.

If any of them harbored any dislike for members of other Families, not a single one of them dared show it. In Numerica, those with a body that could, did. It was as simple as that.

The collection of mutants sitting at their console or standing at one of the bridge’s many stations were illuminated only by the dim yellow glow of carbon filament bulbs, giving everyone a rather unflattering appearance. More so than normal.

The lights were not dimmed for the current operation. Their dull yellow light was another symptom of the Sea Dragon’s age. Neither the Ship’s Poltergeist, nor NaN had been able to do anything for the decrepit bulbs. A refit was required, but one would not come.

The Sea Dragon’s patrol was a formality required by a military treaty. A place to assign older Captains who were too old to be in the all important propaganda infused limelight. The Sea Dragon was to be decommissioned, her captain was to retire. Their post was the waiting bench at a bus stop.

The Captain didn’t care about his post’s political implications. Captain Harrel had been told to ensure the Dark Lord never rise from his grave, and so he would. Going above and beyond the letter of his orders as he always did.

“Miss Thompson,” Captain Harrel said as he continued to peer at the island’s shore through the periscope. “What is the status of our long range communications?”

Miss Thompson’s vespidean wings twitched as her name was called. The mutant wasp-woman’s four arms quickly flicked over her control panel while she repeated the captain’s request into her headset, listening intently to the reply.

“They are still down, sir. Mister Green reports that NaN can’t figure out what broke either. It’s as if the transmitter has simply given up the ghost, as it were,” Miss Thompson replied.

The Captain leaned back from the Periscope, turning his head to look rather suspiciously at the unmanned helm.

“Charlot…” He sighed, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not trying to stop you from calling home!” The ship’s poltergeist protested irritably.

“Miss Thompson, inform Mister Green and The Engineer that they may turn their attention to other systems if they desire. We will be relying on the spider people to relay our request today,” Captain Harrel decided.

“Aye, sir,” she answered, relaying his orders.

The Captain walked over to his seat at the rear of the bridge as he waited for his communications officer to finish. The moment he saw her finish relaying his instructions, he spoke.

“Transmit the following message over the shortwave, Miss Thompson:” he began, the old leather on his chair creaking as he adjusted his weight in it. “This is Captain Robert Harrel of the NS Sea Dragon, requesting this message be relayed to the Numerican High Command: Long range communications are down and irreparable. Requesting immediate replacement.

“Commando Team Gamma is missing, presumed KIA. Can no longer supply Commando Teams with adequate incendiary weapons. Requesting shipment of incendiary grenades-”

Miss Thompson raised her lower right arm, cutting the captain off while her upper left hand pressed her headset firmly against her head.

“S-sir! Commandos reporting in!” She exclaimed in shock.

She listened intently for a another second, her eyes failing to widen in horror only because of their compound nature.

“Code Brown! Repeat, Code Brown. Commandos reporting a full re-awakening!” She yelped, wings flaring in distress.

The bridge plunged into total silence. Everyone looking towards Miss Thompson’s station as the terrified Yellow Jacket strained to hear anything else over the radio, flinching as the sounds of battle came through.

“What is the Commandos’ current status?” the Captain asked grimly.

“E-engaged in melee with one of his generals, sir,” Miss Thompson reported after a few long moments. “He’s taken his Berserk Potion. It’s only a matter of time until his heart fails him, sir.”

“But he left his radio transmitting?” The Captain asked quietly.

“Aye, si- He’s gone. The general sounds wounded but not fatally,” she relayed, her mouth pulling downwards, unsure of how to express what she was feeling.

Captain Harrel stood up from his chair, removed its seat, opened the cushion, and retrieved a small metal box from inside. The box was unadorned save for a large brass lock and the word ‘classified’ stamped across it in red ink.

The hidden safe in which standing orders for this very situation had been placed.

He fished the key out from his jacket, inserting the key into the lock without bothering to remove it from the chain around his neck. Nor did he bother to open the envelope inside, instead simply tearing the packet open, and reading the single page contained within.

Captain Harrel smirked, his white tusks flashing even in the dim light of the bridge. “As if I needed this piece of paper to tell me that,” he chuckled, sounding genuinely pleased as he walked over to the communications console.

“Sir?” Miss Thompson asked as the Captain gently pushed her aside to press the ship’s PA transmission button.

“Apologies, Miss Thompson, the orders are clear. I am to personally give this order,” he said, then pressed the button. “Attention all hands, we are now at Defcon One. All hands report to general quarters.”

The Petty Officer shambled over to the wall and pushed a large switch upwards, moving it from three all the way to one. The dim yellow lights flickered, died, replaced by dim red lamps which were depressingly brighter.

The deck shuddered as Charlot brought her hull’s aging power plant up to full capacity, pushing every ounce of power the old ship could take into every system she could. Her corridors echoed with the sounds of hundred of quiet footfalls as the entire crew moved to take their respective positions.

The entire crew save for the Marine complement.

The Captain released the button, fished a small silver key out of his pocket, inserted it into the console, and turned it to unlock the cover for another button. The Marine Corps’ PA. The moment the glass case was out of the way, he pressed that button as well, opening a comms channel into each of their anechoic chambers.

“All Marines, report to the assault deck. We are now at Defcon One,” he ordered, then took a step back from the console. “Miss Thompson, send a message to Fort Helm immediately. The Sea Dragon requires they confirm the Dark Lord’s revival immediately. Inform them that if they fail to report back to us within ten minutes we will fire without their confirmation for the sake of global safety.”

“Aye sir!” Miss Thompson replied.

The Captain sat back down in his chair as his message was sent. While his comms officer was busily at work, the Captain took a third key from his jacket, and unlocked the safety cage for the small control panel built into the chair’s left arm. The moment the case popped open, he flipped a switch on the panel, and cleared his throat.

“Launch Control, this is your captain speaking. Prepare to fire all rockets at my command. Target: Six-seven point seven-one-niner-seven degrees west by four-four point five-oh-seven-seven degrees north,” he ordered.

“Orders received, Captain. Requesting authorization code,” a male voice said through the rather staticky connection.

Captain Harrel glanced down at the page in his hand. “Charlie-Prep-Easy One-Seven-Zero-Four Tare-King-Sugar.”

A second passed. A piercing alarm rang three times across all decks.

“Code accepted, sir. Ready to launch on your command.”

The captain looked up at his communication officer. She nodded. “Message away, sir.”

The Captain retrieved a silver stopwatch from his jacket pocket and started its timer. “Standby, Launch Control. T minus ten minutes to launch. Helm: Take us to a safe firing distance and prepare to surfice.”

“Captain!” Miss Thompson shouted urgently. “Fort Helm wishes to speak to you, sir!”

Getting up from his Chair, Captain Harrel crossed the bridge, taking the radio headset as it was offered to him. Unable to fir the headset designed for the female half his size and from another family of mutation entirely, the Captain simply held one earpiece to his head.

“This is Captain Robert Harrel speaking,” he informed, his gravelly voice echoing in the suddenly quiet bridge as every officer strained to hear, hoping beyond hope that their fallen comrade had been mistaken.

“I am Rider Jago Tore, presently acting as the Captain of the Fort on behalf of Her Majesty,” a younger male kobold’s voice said, urgency dripping from each syllable.

Captain Harrel removed the headset from his ear to look at it in confusion for a moment before replacing it to speak again.

“How old are you, son?” He asked, his tone questioning but not condescending.

“I know I sound like a youth, Captain,” the dragon rider replied indignantly. “That is the result of a throat wound. I am fifty seven, that’s the same as one of your kind’s thirty-year-olds. I am not a child! This is a serious matter. We NEED to respect one another.”

The Captain rolled his eyes, mouthing the word ‘youngsters’. “I asked so I could ascertain the extent of your experience commanding forces in battle, Rider. What I want to know is that I can expect you to keep a level head and work with me in a logical fashion. Is this something you can do, Rider Tore?”

The sound of metal scraping on metal shrieked through the mic. Captain Harrel’s lip curled slightly at the sound, but he had endured far worse in his career. Especially in those few occasions when his submersibles had been beached or attacked by krakens.

“I am Jagoi’s partner, Zorgoth the Shadowscale,” a draconic voice rumbled.

The Captain frowned slightly. “Who’s? I think our connection may be poor. Repeat your partner’s name, Great Dragon.”

“It’s Jago. Don’t pay attention to Zorg’s uh, teasing. It’s just a thing he does,” the Rider answered.

“Ah, continue,” Harrel requested.

“He is too frightened to speak properly,” the dragon resumed. “I will take over this conversation. Our fort’s air force is composed of thirty five airships. None of them are fast enough to reach the Dark Fortress within ten minutes.

“Nor could we fly there ourselves and also reach a safe distance within ten minutes. We require at least fifteen minutes to confirm the Dark Lord’s return for you, and will require a half hour to field troops.”

“I’m afraid that I have my orders, Great Dragon,” Harrel said calmly, looking down at his stopwatch for a moment. “And for the record, you had ten minutes. You currently have eight minutes and forty six seconds.”

The dragon was silent for several long seconds. Each one punctuated by the ticking of the Captain’s stopwatch.

“You started the timer when you SENT the message? How exactly did you expect us to confirm his return?” Jago demanded incredulously.

“Of course I did. That’s exactly what the standing orders call for, Rider,” Captain Harrel answered. “I understand why the Admiralty issued them, and agree with their summary of the situation. The Dark Lord is aware of my Commandos presence. His general killed one.

“Lord Zeneanus knows our navy took down his defences last time, he will be ready for our attack. The sooner we strike the better.”

“Be that as it is, it does not explain how you believed we could confirm this for you. What system of measure do they use again, Jagoi?” The dragon asked irritably.

“Miles. We're around a hundred miles from the Dark Fortress,” came the answer.

The Captain sighed into his mic. “I was under the impression that your army contained wizards, and other magic using people capable of such feats as remote viewing. Is this not the case?”

“We’re a small coastal fort that protects one strait from pirates and patrols a minor deep sea port. We have one Seer and she’s too sick to stand today,” Jago answered with a fearful sight. “Please, give us enough time to fly over, look, and radio you.”

Harrel’s voice hardened, gaining a steely edge as he offered his explanation. “I’m sorry, but while he fell here and while he did great evils to the Kobolds, to Weaiv and her native peoples, and to the world as a whole... It is we Numericans who have suffered the most because of his actions in the distant past.

“Do you want him to improve the Blight and enable it to cross the sea? Our nation has most of her Marines spending most of their lives in constant service, doing nothing more than stopping it’s spread. Half of our nation’s wealth is spent keeping it from spreading further. An eighth of our able bodied population died when he created the Blight and set it upon us.

“I will not allow another nation to be exposed to his evil. Perhaps his fortress will withstand bombardment. Perhaps he can repel the Sea Dragon’s entire marine complement. I do not know.

“What I do know is this: We will expend every rocket, every psicrystal, every shell, every drop of blood, and every life aboard this ship down to Charlot herself trying to put the Dark Lord back into the ground.”

Harrel paused, giving his Weaivian counterpart a chance to speak. Jago didn’t take it.

“Our shift begins in-” the Captain glanced down to check his watch again. “Five minutes and forty six seconds, Rider. You are welcome to join us, but we will not delay our attack any longer than ordered.”

“Why even give us ten minutes then?” Jago asked with a bit of a growl in his voice.

“You don’t know?” Harrel asked, feigning surprise. “That’s the shortest possible time it takes an Azrael-class submersible to become her namesake. Can we count on your support?”

“My knights will be there in half an hour. If there’s land left to stand on, we’ll stand with you.”


Sky Trigger - Day 1

The Dark Fortress - Wieav

Fuck! Every Luna damned word he said was right, Sky mentally growled, gritting his teeth angrily. We COULD have all been gods. I didn’t even think to ask about advanced abilities. Sure, Yog rebuked me, but that contract set the rules. I could have come in here with a real kit of gear, and a full stack of equipment.

“This is my fault,” he said aloud, looking around the room at his distressed friends. “I’m better than this. I should have asked for more power. But it’s cool, I can fix this. The basement is draconic, and their tech looks kinda similar to the Phoenix’s systems. I also have done some medical, uh, mechanical work for Derpy. I have an idea of how their stuff works.

“I’m going to go downstairs, scraping everything that’s non-essential, and getting us every last piece of kit we need to kick Hatty’s ass whenever he reemerges.”

Vinyl sighed and rubbed her temples with a hand. “Sky, he’s got time travel. If we start to win he can just hop back and try again.”

“Okay, yeah, sure. But we still, you know, try,” Sky said irritably. “We can beat that! We just need access to a library to see how it works and then work out a way to nullify it.”

“He’s right,” Chem agreed quickly. “Time travel using mortal means is very delicate. It has to be. There’s always a way to screw it up. Especially since he implied his travel method utilises the Novikov self-consistency principle.”

Lyra laughed. “Okay, so like, Twilight is supposed to be here. Is she like, in your brain or something because that’s exactly the sort of thing she’d say and then fail to explain for us normal ponies,” she said with a playful smirk.

“It means that whatever changes he makes to time already applied to him and everyone else before he traveled,” Sky explained, closing his eyes to brace for the inevitable ‘but how does that work?’ follow up question. “There is only one past. Anything he does is already what always happened. Nothing he could do could change the established effects his actions had on the timeline. And if he tried to change things, he would wind up being the causal factor in that event.

“Example: Orchid recognised Chem as her master because history was already affected by Hatty, since he was always was going to go back in time. His changes were already made. Or more accurately, his presence entirely. There’s just the one timeline and one past. Which means if you go back in time, then whatever you changed was always what happened to begin with. I hope that’s not confusing.”

Vinyl frowned for a moment. “But we’re still alive. Which means his travel can’t erase our existence or anything.”

Chem nodded. “That’s right. All this means is that future events can, will, and always have influenced the way past events happened. Neither he nor we can be simply erased via the his method of Time Travel. Because there’s just one timeline, no branching, and everything is consistent.”

“Then how can you change anything?” Lyra asked skeptical. “What good is that?”

“You can change things,” Sky said with a grin. “It just means you ALWAYS did that thing. Admittedly, there’s some questions here about free will vs determination. But at least we won't get time paradoxes. As far as this universe is concerned, Hatty always went back in time and set up this trap for us. It’s a thing that happened two hundred years ago or whatever.”

“And we can mess up his time traveling?” Vinyl asked skeptically. “Not the one he just did because that’s already happened, but we can buck up future attempts, right?”

Chem nodded. “Mhm! And since there’s no alternate timelines formed from this sort of time travel, well, we don't have to worry about anything other than preventing him from doing it. There won't be a ‘mirror universe’ wherein he does go back. It’s much tidier.”

“We find out how exactly his time magic works, rig up some sort of jammer, and BOOM! From that point in time onwards he can’t go back in time. Which thanks to Novikov self-consistency, means he will NEVER change that period of time, because he didn’t the first time around. Victory us!” Sky said with a confident grin.

Admittedly I’ll need access to like, the energy of at least fifty tons of uranium to pull that off but hey, problems for Sky. Future Sky anyways.

Vi’s worried frown twitched slightly, shifting more towards a smile. “That’s a plan. There's a lot of work to do to pull that off… But if we can find a city with a good library, maybe we can do it.”

“Right now, how about we just focus on how to get anywhere?” Lyra groaned, flinching as every slight movement sent a fresh jolt of pain through her ribs. “And find out if this place has healing potions. Hey, where’s Orchid? She’d know.”

Chem hummed. “I think she went to her nest to sleep. Fast metabolism. Lots of naps, lots of snacks. It’s in the first bedroom on the right hand side of the third floor, if anyone wants to wake her to ask.”

The Communications room was flooded with bright gold light accompanied by an electric crackle as the Goddess NaN appeared in the form of her usual avatar. Her black eyes were wide with terror, every single ounce of her body language screamed along with them.

“Hi! I’m the engineer your friends got to help fix this place up. Nice to meet you. Introduction time over, EVERYONE INTO THE BASEMENT NOW!” She shouted, pointing out into the hallway as she yelled ‘now’.

This can’t possibly be good… Did she make the reactor start to meltdo- No, if she did she’d have us go AWAY from the. Oh shit! The whole place shifted like two inches a few minutes ago!

“What’s wrong? Is the stone part going to collapse?” Sky asked, his legs already wanting to run for the safety of the durasteel structure below.

Chem and Lyra looked over at Vi, who nodded. “Yeah that’s her. Also that makes sense. We had that mini-quake type thing when the island leveled out and-’

“BASEMENT! IMMEDIATELY!” NaN barked.

“Why?” Chem asked simply. “We need to know what the danger is.”

NaN facepalmed. “We have about three minutes. Long story short, I was helping out an Engineer I like fixing the radio on a submersible and- Frack, I’ll just show you.”

NaN waved a hand in front of her, seemingly ripping the world open, revealing a window of black and white hissing static for a split second before the window resolved an image. The four saw themselves standing, looking at the window, for one moment seeing an infinitely repeating series of that very image before the window’s view shifted, flying like a camera through the western wall of the room, out of the keep, and across the lake to a spot on the sea five kilometers away.

The purple waves churned and rolled normally for a few seconds, but then began to move oddly, as if something massive were about to breach the surface. Sure enough a massive flat black slab of steel rose from the sea, protruding a mere meter above the surface before stopping its rise entirely.

Where’s its conning tower? That’s supposed to be a sub, right? Sky thought before two parallel rows of ten large hatches atop the sub burst open as one.

Not even the blink of an eye passed before each hatch seemed to be consumed by fire, truly massive clouds of white smoke billowed up, forming pillars capped by a ball of fire that soared into the heavens.

Sky’s eyes immediately matched NaN’s. “OH SHITFUCK!” He screeched in abject panic.

“I got this fort’s tech based shields sort of working but I DO NOT trust your safety to a bit of rebar I wedged into a thing. UNDERGROUND! BEHIND METAL! NOW!” NaN ordered.

Sky threw up his hands. “Like it fucking matters! That’s twenty motherfucking-”

“Kiloton range! They are kiloton range. There’s a chance you’ll survive if you’re deep down enough, even if the shields don't hold. GET THE FRACK TO THE BASEMENT! They will hit in less than two minutes!” NaN ordered.

Vinyl looked at the window one last time before NaN dismissed it with a hand wave. “I don't really understand what the danger is, but I’ll g-”

Vi was cut off as Sky grabbed her by her shoulders, picking her up and running out into the hall with her.

“MULTIPLE NUCLEAR LAUNCHES DETECTED! THEY CALLED DOWN THE THUNDER! LEG IT!” Sky yelled. “Chem, get Lyra! Her legs are NOT long enough to sprint fast enough!”

Chem turned to pick up Lyra and join Sky in his mad-dash for the barest mote of safety. But she was no longer there.

Lyra shouldered her way past Sky, sprinting to the staircase at the end of the hallway and running… Up.

“DOWN! NOT UP, DOWN!” Sky shouted after her.

“Someone has to get Orchid!” Lyra called back. “Go without me!”

NaN’s avatar seemed to jumpcut, instantly moving infront of Sky. “Listen to her and go! There’s about four hundred kilotons of death coming right for you! GO! NOW!”

She’s faster than I thought kobolds would be, Sky noted.

“We’ll hold the door till the last moment. Run!” He called after Lyra before racing down the stairwell.

They hear the Dark Lord is awake and instantly hit this place with twenty fucking nukes! What the fucking FUCK did Hatty fucking do to these motherfuckers!?