Terrorizing
War is an industry and as such, it creates a number of products in bulk. Injuries are popular. Corpses can be viewed as an assembly line goal, and they're self-recycling. But as much as anything else, war excels at the creation of irony. Some of the best weapons are assembled by those meant as the targets. Others are put together by the attackers. In the majority of cases, those injuries come from within.
There are three leaders for the invading factions. (None of them are actually participating in the first wave of the assault. They're not going to be anywhere near the second, either. One of them is just entering the Grand Gymkhana, and a newly-red tail calmly sways as a number of police officers rush past her towards the exit doors: the mare responds by placidly checking the departure board for her train.) All of them rely on getting their followers to think, believe and, if necessary, act as one. Something which would seem to fall under a particular aspect of pony psychology.
They tell themselves that they're masters of it. The ones best suited to take advantage. But when it comes to herd mentality, they don't really understand it.
Part of that lack can be placed on an inability to use anything other than subsets, along with a certain difficulty in grasping the true scope of the plural. How can you understand how ponies think and react when you're only willing to treat a tiny percentage of the population as being real ponies at all? They have a degree of jaw grip on how their followers will react in any given situation, and even that's imperfect. Because there was a first wave, some ponies didn't bother showing up for it and with the ones who were in attendance, not everypony rushed the gates at the same time. A number held back, watching from the shadows as they waited to see if everything was going to work out first. Because if it failed, then they could get away clean and should it succeed -- wait a few minutes, make sure no members were coming back out rather faster than they went in, and then move. The intervening period is useful for internally composing stories about how they were on the front line all along.
(Some of those finally started to move, and all of them stayed conscious exactly long enough to regret certain recent life choices. The younger alicorn is still waiting for her sister's return, and Wave 1.5 is mostly giving Luna, who's working from above, something extra to do.)
The leaders of the three supremacist factions have said that only those ponies who agree with them are strong and powerful and real. They mostly say it to their followers, and find the real benefit is in having their intended audience being exactly that gullible. But to some degree, they've also talked themselves into believing more than a little of it. And they see the 'ponies' who exist in what the majority consider to be the world as being something weak. Timid control freaks. The typical response to conflict is to not be there when it happens, and you can induce fainting spells in a too-high percentage of the population simply by reminding them that the world outside the settled zones is fully uncontrolled. Some won't eat any grass which hasn't been grown by the Cornucopia Effect. Others live in dread of wild weather and if you want to induce fainting spells, try directing something shocking down a public street. Like a stampede. Of bunnies.
There are ways and degrees for which all of this is true. The faction leaders just insist on seeing it as the whole.
They don't understand herd mentality.
They've never thought about why it exists.
Consider the Discordian Era. A world of chaos, one which the two survivors still internally name as Eris within every pain-saturated memory. Every sapient species trying to survive the madness and no matter what they did, too many fell. Some plummeted into insanity. Others were pushed. A number simply surrendered.
Herd mentality fights back.
Gather as one. Minds assembled in bulk can sometimes stave off chaos, at least when it comes to the incidental side effects: there's almost no hope of withstanding the draconequus when he decides to pay direct attention. But for the smaller storms, the randomized breaking of rules... get enough sapients in a small space and they can collectively hope to decide that down is below their hooves, ground is solid, air is breathable, and the world has only the standard chance of killing them.
Assemble. Collect at the barricade points. Choose a leader, and when that leader decides to make a move -- then you move as one. Unite as one. Think as one. And that's how you might survive.
There are weaknesses. It doesn't exactly encourage innovation. There's a tendency to just let things keep going as they are, because creativity and the willingness to try something different may lie a little too close to madness. But on the whole, herd mentality is a form of survival instinct. Like all such tactics, it works until it doesn't -- but it wouldn't have lasted for so long if it wasn't viable.
And it also encourages a certain degree of... territoriality.
The buffalo get it worst. Buffalo tend to treat borders as sacred, which means any sapient crossing one is about to get a rather painful lesson about the price of blasphemy. But ponies aren't all that far behind. And the most timid mare is going to treat bunny stampedes down public streets as a reason to test the mattress quality of cobblestone --
-- but if you run a volley of slingtails through that mare's house...
So much depends on what they choose to see as theirs. You can back a pony into a corner. Make it the corner of their living room and you're potentially about to have a few rather short-term problems. The majority will resolve themselves when unconsciousness closes in -- temporarily.
The invaders have entered the palace. The core of a nation and, in some ways, the place which hosts its heart. A location which the staff, on the subconscious level, treats as theirs.
The orders are to shelter in place. To only act in self-defense.
But the invaders are in their home.
There are several groups going for the rooms which hold paperwork, all bound by the collective delusion which says that the palace has not only committed endless crimes, but taken the trouble to write down every master plan and filed them away: for preference, this would be in a cabinet clearly labeled as Master Plans. And of course, they're somewhat more reasonably expecting to encounter file clerks along the way. Weaklings.
So now we're going to take a bunch of staff ponies and put them in a room with a lot of paper.
Pegasi work in the records rooms. They have an easier time getting to the highest shelves. There are also unicorns present, and even the weakest can manage paper. To wit, when you put both of those factions together, they can manage to get it going at a speed of several gallops per hour in what amounts to a papercut tornado. Enjoy being in the center of that. Yes, the intruders can fight back, because it's species magic -- but they're not exactly coordinating their efforts, and they weren't even expecting resistance in the first place.
Oh, and there's earth ponies present. Because once the filing cabinets are empty, they can be kicked at the intruders. Or maybe there's no real need to empty them all the way...
Some of the invaders are trying to destroy whatever they can reach. They're treating it as a game: What's Secured? And if a unicorn field slides off, then a pegasus can try to soak the offending object down, an earth pony could kick it, and just about anypony can chew an offending tapestry to death. In all cases, they have a pair of excuses: the primary is expressed I Want To and, if they actually find themselves in need of extra justification, I Paid For This. The latter is regarded as a function of their taxes while completely disregarding how few bits they've actually kicked over and, as an incidental extra, ignoring the fact that they haven't been alive for the last seven centuries.
They find the yak sculpture. It's too large for anypony to tackle in one go. There are easier targets --
-- multiple unicorn fields, all being utilized by those who had to restore the piece after it emerged from the barracks, pull on designated support pins.
The carefully-shaped rounded boulders, each two full body lengths across, shake. Shiver. Roll.
And then there's the wooden bit.
Some of the invaders never really stop seeing the wooden bit.
It's probably best to skim over what's happening in the kitchens. The palace has an armory (and nopony's made a serious try for it just yet). The backup is a well-stocked utensil drawer. Cooks get all the weapons. Anything coming out of a kitchen has a good chance to stab, fillet, flame-broil or, worst of all, juice. You really don't want to know what's being done with the juicer. The girl would have a hard time watching that -- assuming she didn't wind up in a state of perma-wince from spotting how the espresso machine is being used as an assault weapon.
It's been redesigned a few times now. It passed through what the centaur would have probably failed to describe as an Escher phase, mostly because she's barely familiar with the artist. But it's past that now. The shape is a little more... recognizable. Because the chefs didn't even realize they were all working with the same inspiration, and... well, you need a chamber to collect the liquid on the upper level, so why not have two? And mounting them forward just makes --
-- the girl is going to have a really hard time with the espresso machine. Let's leave it at that.
Horrible things happen to those who get too close to the kitchens. Some of the invaders who fall need to be locked away, just in case they get up again. And in one of those kitchens...
There's going to be a lot of trials after this all wraps up. The ponies who faced an angry blood-red unicorn with surprising field strength and wound up being sealed in with hook-hung slabs of ribs, muscle, and half-rendered fat, will try to claim that they've already served their time.
Some will even demand that the palace compensate them for their trauma.
None of them appreciate honey barbecue.
Forces were dispatched to Summit Tower. This is becoming its own problem.
The first line of defense is at the base of the ramp. Anypony who gets close is attacked. But not all of them are dropped on the spot. Some manage to get away. When they encounter one of their own, the news is passed along. Something which very directly says that the Diarchy has placed forces at the tower's entrance, and that has to mean there's something up there which the alicorns don't want anypony reaching. Any deliberate protection has to be breached.
Which sends more invaders towards Summit...
It's the battle equivalent of rubbernecking. Go see why everypony else is being trampled. A significant percentage of the invader forces are heading in that direction. The Guards are doing everything they can to hold the line, but there's more showing up every minute, some are trying for the air and encountering the next line...
And the broken, helpless storm knows nothing.
Three pegasi are on the move.
The dark orange one is the slowest. He managed to keep his wings from being hit, but... the standard Guard armor doesn't fully cover the legs. It's the same issue: mobility. And more than a few intruders went for the Lunar throne room. One of them was tooth-holding a camera. Squall thinks they were going to put some of their own on the elevated cushions and take pictures. Souvenirs. That Time I Committed Treason Against My Nation: The Photo Album.
It was a hard fight, and some of them managed to hit his legs. But a Guard who's on probation remains a Guard, and he got to be the one who's limping away.
...which still needed some extra help.
Some of the attacks hit his legs. He had to make sure the hardest strikes went into armor. There are multiple ponies down in the Lunar throne room, and two of them have split hooves.
He's not entirely sure he managed to secure them. There aren't a lot of things in the throne room which can be used for that, he had to find fabric somewhere, and mouth-tying knots was never his strength. He's fully expecting that he'll have to pay for those torn-up cushions --
-- he has to find out what's going on. He has to locate his Princess. He's on probation and being shuttled between shifts because it feels like nopony wants to keep him on theirs for very long, but he's still a Guard --
-- where's the centaur?
The thought briefly freezes him in place. Multiple bruises use the opportunity to express their opinion, and then get all the louder when he starts moving again.
The palace is in chaos. Verify his Princess first. But after that... go for the centaur.
The black-furred one managed to reach the main level, and a Lunar Guard always has a first priority. She needs information. The fact that she's already had to drop one intruder along the way is just an incidental benefit --
(She has to be careful. Magic comes from movement, and her wings are still injured. There's only so much she can do at all. But this is duty.)
-- and finally another Guard. Does he know --
-- yes. The exchange is quick. The Princesses are together, and there are Guards with them. Good enough for now. If she hears certain sequences of alarms, she'll try to reach Princess Luna again. But she currently has the information she most needed, because a Guard always has to prioritize.
Always.
She can hate herself for that tomorrow.
If she lives that long --
-- she knows where her Princess is, and that the alicorn is with those who can get her to safety at need. (Assuming the Princess cooperates. Nightwatch isn't about to indulge in too many delusions there.) That means she gets to change course.
Find Cerea.
Glimmerglow, still outside the palace, considers herself to have fulfilled her orders. She was told to check on the wounded and start getting them to the hospitals. The first part was --
-- there were ponies caught in the surge, who tried to get away and found themselves pressed against the gates, and the pressure --
-- bones, broken with enough force, can send up splinters through the skin --
-- done. The first part was done. As for the second -- pressure carries limit her to one injured pony at a time, and some of the wounded shouldn't be moved that way. Additionally, there was a minor attempt at a second wave, and Princess Luna responded to that by creating more wounded.
So the most effective thing Glimmerglow could do was heading directly for the nearest hospital and telling them what was going on.
She spoke too quickly.
She had to repeat herself before anypony understood her.
And then it was one more try before they believed.
The hospital staff is... angry. Enraged. But they're on the move. Medical carts are being dispatched. Police officers are going to accompany them, because there's a chance of having a third wave on the way and if that happens --
-- her orders have been fulfilled.
The pegasus gains altitude. Looks down for a moment, notes the flow and direction of hoof traffic. Checks the air currents, along with those using them. Focuses on Summit Tower, until she can make out the airborne forces which are trying to get in.
She can hear some of the thunder. It tends to drown out some of the screams of confusion and fear which arise from street level. Not all.
Summit Tower. Discord's haven, under assault. And at the absolute peak of the roof, a flagpole and the colors of her nation. Something blackened, because thunder is preceded by lightning and one intruder had very little concept of aim.
She looks at that flag.
Then she orients on every other.
The palace has a background beat during a crisis. In this case, it comes with extra percussion. The sound produced by angry hooves slamming into whatever they can reach. Because contrary to so many wishes, war remains a state in which the other side fights back.
The staff is fighting. Some of them are winning.
Some.
Others have been hurt.
The faction leaders expected them to give way. Step or flap aside, and passed that belief on to their followers. They don't understand herd mentality.
They don't understand ponies.
And had they been present for the whole of it, they would have gained the chance to fail at learning the lesson again.
At the very end.
"Success?" a hovering Luna rather quickly inquired, and did so at the moment Celestia had safely cleared the teleport. It had taken too long for the elder to return: something which already implied trouble on the other end --
"Mixed," the white mare said. "Cerea's with Emery and Chocolate. They're trying to get her to Paddock, and they moved her out before I got there."
And there was no time to give chase. On both intellectual and strategic levels, the younger understood that, and it did nothing to dilute the surge of pain.
Give them time. Neither of us can afford to search the passages right now. Trust the Sergeant, trust in the doctor...
"One of us can check Paddock in a few minutes and try to move her from there," the younger concluded. "But you were still delayed. What took place?"
"Multiple intruders going directly for the medical offices, trying for Cerea," the elder stated. Almost a hiss, every word forced out as Guards watched, looked for possible attacks and waited for orders, "They know the sword's gone, Luna: one of them said it directly."
"So this is about her." The younger's voice, however, had taken on aspects of growl --
"-- I'm not sure."
Luna blinked.
"Your reasoning?"
"There aren't enough of them heading up there. If she's the primary target, then why not direct the majority of their forces towards her?"
"Because she has lost her weapon," Luna reasoned. "They might have concluded that only a few ponies would be required."
"Possible," the elder readily allowed. "But this is instinct, Luna. They want to take her down -- but I don't think that's the whole of it. There's something else."
"Then we need to identify it," the younger declared.
Celestia nodded. Her lips briefly twisted.
"Ready to go General?"
"Always."
Luna landed on the balcony, got ready to move back inside. Celestia glanced down towards the street.
"I see a few new ones," she noted. "You've been fighting?"
The younger snorted. "If you can still call it that when my attempts to dissuade them came from so far away. Yourself?"
"That's most of what held me up."
Luna made a quick mental estimate of the time her sibling had been absent, then deliberately tripled it.
Slowing down in your old age...
It wasn't the right time to say it. Later, when there were no Guards present. Once they'd won, and... long after they'd found out just how much that victory might have cost.
They both went back into Apex. Started to make their way down the ramp as Guards flanked, led, and watched for rear assaults.
"One of them told me I had no right to attack her," the elder casually mentioned.
Both of Luna's eyebrows went all the way up.
"Truly?"
"Yes."
"Hmmm..." the younger rather horribly mused. And, until the exact moment they found the next fight, left it at that.
The wall of the hidden passage was cool against Cerea's exposed left flank. It didn't particularly help with the nausea, and mostly served as a reminder that she kept finding herself leaning against the wall.
She could walk normally, if she focused. But it was like tensing a muscle: she couldn't keep it up forever. And every loss of control let the sickness come flowing back.
A real centaur would --
-- no other centaur had ever found their body saturated with magic and given that, when it came to what any centaur could do in dealing with it, Cerea was effectively leading the way. She just wished she was doing so at a faster pace. The trio hadn't made all that much progress towards the designated saferoom, and too much of that was because of her.
But there were other factors. Some of those came from the Sergeant: he stopped frequently, rotated his ears and listened. Other occasions found him pressing one against a wall, and the pony body was a lot better at that than the centaur one. (Cerea credited the upper skull placement, along with a different arrangement of muscles.)
If she paused for too long, the doctor closed in on her. Checked her breathing and pulse rate. Stress-generated reflex directed him to try for the latter along her jaw, and she had to repeatedly present her wrist.
There were lighting problems. The passages were usually brighter than this. The emergency devices, which ran on their own charge, were fully functional. A number of those which the Sergeant noted as taking their thaums from the palace flickered, or glowed too dimly. Some didn't work at all. Others displayed exactly the wrong hues.
She was trying not to see yellow in every reflection, or to acknowledge the screams which echoed in her ears. Because she could only get a sense of what was happening on the other side of the walls when something particularly loud happened (and there was too much of that, some of which sounded like bodies impacting marble), but... there were other shouts of rage. Words which had originated on another world.
Monstre'
this is my fault
my fault
The Sergeant stopped. Listened. Nodded to surgeon and centaur, and then they all moved again. A spark floated away from Cerea's forehead, touched Chocolate Bear's horn --
"-- we've got to watch that," the Sergeant softly said. "Might need to turn it off if we get separated."
"It's monitoring her," the surgeon said. "I need the extra information --"
"-- I know what it is," cut him off. "Been in enough hospitals. Triage tents." His voice was steady, while his scent said there had been too many of them. "It's a common spell, and that means I'm not the only pony who could recognize what it's for. How it travels. That can be tracked, Doc, and stealth is hard enough right now as is." (The girl failed to fight off the blush.) "So if we get separated, you shut that down."
A moment of hesitation, and then the physician nodded. More hoofsteps. Cerea tried not to reel.
Check the supplies. Cerea had wound up looping her bundle to her waist with gauze. She was waiting for something to fall off. At least Chocolate Bear had proper saddlebags...
"That trick of yours," the Sergeant abruptly said. "How much have you used it outside of a surgery?"
"You mean combat," the unicorn checked, and the earth pony nodded. "I had to threaten with it once. And there was a mugging, and..." He took a slow, oddly deep breath. "Let's just say they wound up being really glad I was a doctor."
He'd explained his personal spell shortly after they'd entered the passage. Cerea thought she understood the basic theory behind it: she'd dealt with shields in training. Some unicorns could learn to make their fields more solid -- but those results defaulted to a dome or sphere: anything else was too hard to hold for long.
But this was something tied to a mark and with ponies, that could make a difference. Focusing that solidity along a narrow surface...
"Take care of that mane with it?" There was no laugh within the words. The Sergeant seldom laughed. Scant moments of humor were mostly implied.
The head-shaved unicorn almost snickered anyway. "What mane? I'm a surgeon. Maybe projecting a corona through any hair near my horn only costs me the tiniest possible fraction of field dexterity, but I need that --"
"That's what I'm asking," the Sergeant clarified. "Is that how you get rid of it? Or is it one of those tricks which doesn't work on the caster?"
And this was a snicker. "It does, and I'm not suicidal. No."
A few more hoofsteps --
"-- might find somepony coming down this way if they're trying to reach their little hidey-hole --"
The trio froze, and the centaur tried not to reel.
"Horse apples," the Sergeant whispered. (The tone suggested he was choosing his words carefully, both for volume and to keep any of the stone around the passage from being blasphemied apart.) "At least we don't have to wonder if they're staff..." His ears focused forward. "At least three. Twenty body lengths, closing in. Gonna reach that next turn and come into sight soon. Don't think they've heard us yet. Three can be a lot in a narrow space, and they're coming this way. Nearest exit to the corridors is behind us, and we shouldn't go out there if we don't have to." The taut features had found a way to further tighten. "So this is gonna be a fight. Ready, Doc?"
It took a moment before the surgeon nodded. Time in which the other hoofsteps got closer.
"Cerea, try to stay out of it," was the next hiss. "Could use a distraction. Something to shake them up. Could usually just tell you to get in sight, but they know the sword's gone, and we need to keep you from fighting right now. No sword takes away a lot of the centaur fear --"
The girl had a thought.
"-- I have a distraction."
He looked back at her. It took a moment before he adjusted his neck into the right angle.
"One which isn't you fighting."
She nodded.
"Then let's hear it."
The girl took a breath. Fought back the nausea, reached into her memory, and sent every recollection of the exact tones into her throat. Felt it fill with gravel.
She was almost sure the tones were going to be right. She just didn't know what to say.
Um.
I have the power?
...um...
...I'll take your power?
Oh no...
Imagination faded out. Memory desperately took over and, courtesy of Papi's retro gaming habits, it wasn't quite the right one.
"BEWARE!" Tirek's voice roared into the passage. "I LIVE! I HUNGER! RUN, COWARDS!"
The Sergeant, who hadn't been in Equestria during the attack, didn't really react. Chocolate Bear's tail went stiff, all of the brown fur twisted out of grain, eyes widened as sweat began to form in his coat --
-- and when it came to open reactions, that was the least of it.
"He's still alive!" somepony ahead of them screamed. "We have to get out of here --"
The Sergeant moved.
He was an old pony. (Cerea still hadn't been able to ask anypony about the species lifespan, and wasn't sure which kind of answer she potentially needed to dread more.) It was possible that the advancing years had cost him something of his strength and speed. But those had also been the decades during which he'd expanded his knowledge of tactics. And you didn't get to be an old Guard without mastering a few vital skills. Like the one about not dying.
He moved, and did so far more quickly than Cerea had expected. It took two heartbeats before Chocolate managed to follow. And before the unicorn could catch up, Cerea heard the first body go into a wall.
All three had been caught in the act of desperately turning around, looking for any way out. It meant their orientation was slightly wrong for striking back, while being just about perfect for getting slammed in the ribs.
The sounds kept coming for a few seconds. The surgeon turned the corner, got out of sight and added his own set of noises. Cerea tried to follow, her right hand went back towards the scabbard --
-- no scabbard.
No sword.
Coronas and lightning and kicks which break rocks.
She tried to push herself forward anyway. The wall renewed its acquaintance.
It's so much worse when I know what they can do. And that I can't stop it...
The sounds momentarily stopped.
"All clear," the Sergeant called back. Then, with a much harsher note, "For now." He trotted back into view, came towards her as his ears adjusted the hat. "Shoved them off to the side for you. Ignore the groans. We can go through in about a minute. Doc's using some bandages to tie them up. Just step on anypony who tries to take a snap at you from the floor."
She forced a nod, counted her own heartbeats until Chocolate Bear came back. Brown eyes stared at her.
"You sounded just like him," the surgeon shakily said.
The girl wasn't quite sure of what to say.
"Very expert," the subtly vibrating unicorn decided. "Extremely intimidating. Please give me some warning if you're ever going to do that again. Sergeant, if they're in this section and talking about a saferoom --"
"-- then the passages are compromised," the old stallion snarled. "Minimum. Brings up a lot of questions, doesn't it?" He looked up at Cerea again. "Which means we can't trust or risk Paddock. Secondary plan just broke out of the gate. We're getting you outside."
The reporter was only initially convinced this was about her.
On a rather dark internal level, the mare wasn't exactly disappointed when she heard the gates fall. But she was surprised. The palace is supposed to be a safer place than this and yes, of course she's been writing about how the place is an eyesore for years, that it's falling apart (yet doesn't deserve any bits for rectifying that, because renovations and updates are clearly a waste of the national budget), but there's Guards. Devices. Wonders. It doesn't seem to be so much to ask for select portions of the ceiling to be capable of slamming into the floor. And the gates still fell, and she knew it was about her, that they were coming for her and the Guards had to get her out...
...but she's still in her assigned rooms. The doors have remained closed, and the ponies posted outside had initially told her that it was for her own protection. They could guard her best if she was in a place where intruders had to go through them in order to reach her --
-- which was when everypony involved recognized that those quarters have windows.
The mare is incapable of teleportation, has never figured out how to project her field backwards and lacks the field strength to levitate herself anyway. It doesn't prevent somepony else from possessing that fatal-to-her combination of skills, and that placed one of the Guards within those assigned rooms.
Curtains were pulled shut because as recurring horrible I Can Make It Work! ideas go, blind teleports are among the unicorn species' longest-running self-kicks. Differentiation prevents the fabric from being field-moved through a barrier of glass, and somepony who just tries to put themselves into the room is going to be dealing with a lot of freshly tipped-over furniture. (There was some damage done this way, and the reporter isn't paying for any of it.) Recoil tends to be its own distraction.
The Guard was initially placed in her room as extra security, just in case a unicorn tried it.
And then they found out it wasn't just unicorns.
The mare feels it was a natural assumption to make. She's known Mrs. Panderaghast for a long time, and that acquaintance suggested that if anypony was going to be exactly this stupid...
But the reporter initially felt she had to be the target. (Why weren't more Guards coming to her assigned rooms? Why wasn't the sole priority for the entire palace staff rendered into Get Wordia Spinner To Safety?) And there was an alliance between the three groups (tenuous, fragile on a level which would turn snowflakes into bastions of stability and that was with everything constantly threatening to melt from internal heat), and that meant to have been falsely seen as betraying one was clearly to create the inwardly-reinforcing lie that she'd betrayed them all --
-- an assault from CUNET alone felt like a fair deduction. And nopony's tried to get in through the windows, because it's well-known that glass is vulnerable and that's why it's reinforced by so many spells. So there weren't any wingbeats sounding outside, no hooves hammering in a desperate attempt to get through.
After the gates fell, everything came from the inside. And once the first group found her door, that included the blasts of wind which rattled it within the frame. The building scent of ozone.
She can't get out. The staff knows her, and that's why the door has locks on both sides. All she knows about what's happening in the palace is what she can hear. And at that, she's hearing both too little and too much.
At least two groups reached her door before this. She could listen to the shouts as much as she liked. The sounds of hooves striking against flesh, attacks attempting to work their way through armor. And now she's listening to a third fight, there's an odd little sizzle which she thinks might be somepony's trick, screams and yells and somepony is in pain, it might be one of the Guards and if they fall, it's just her and the one mare left when nopony has tried to get her out...
The mare usually doesn't pretend towards neutrality. (Usually. The false stance is good for annoying any number of ponies who strictly deserve it.) It's more typical for her to claim that she simply sees not just what is, but what should be: the fact that the latter conditions don't exist yet then become the palace's fault.
But even in a crisis, even when her thoughts have been saturated with terror for endless minutes -- she retains some capacity for mentally distancing herself from the herd.
This is too much.
It's too much for it to be solely about her.
She knows what the leaders of those three organizations are risking through this. (She's also been able to verify that it's the full trio of memberships, because listening to what's going on outside has let her hear some of the slogans.) What they're almost guaranteed to lose. Breaking into the palace, just to get rid of a single reporter? The only price she pays is her life. They're trading that for their own status, income and, if the palace catches up, their freedom.
And she isn't worth it.
Is she a target? Absolutely. But she's not this important. Waiting until she couldn't take any more, had to leave before she went mad and simply lurking near those places where she would inevitably need to return -- that was the more sensible approach for removing her from the world. To invade the palace...
Prior to this, she had heard battlecries, slogans, shouts and accusations. She caught her name exactly once. For all she knows, the second group mostly tried to get through her door because there were Guards outside it and whatever was on the other side had to be worth reaching.
Most of what she's hearing right now is Round Three.
Kicks. Teeth snapping. High-pitched squeals pierce her eardrums and go directly into the bone. And she doesn't know what's truly going on out there. Tracking this level of violence on audio alone would presumably be a job for somepony who works in the Sports section. She's still not even sure why the Tattler has one -- and yet, those skills are suddenly vital. They seem to contain the information she needs.
Who's winning.
Who's losing.
Where the goal line is.
What the coaches were actually trying to do --
-- the sounds stop, and the nearby Guard goes tense.
The sounds are gone. But the mare can smell blood.
More blood.
"Status check!" the armored presence calls out. "Report in --"
"-- still standing," The stallion's breaths are coming too quickly, and his voice is pained. Both things which have increased since the second fight.
The reporter immediately does her best to spin on a single hoof, doesn't quite make it and has to stumble for balance at the end of the turn. The Guard simply watches the smaller unicorn round on her, and doesn't move.
"You have to get me out of here," the mare nearly hisses. (Her body wants to tremble. To shiver. She has never wanted a bottle so badly in her life, and knows that nopony is going to let her have one.) "Right now. They're just going to keep coming --"
"-- you're safest in here," the Guard steadily lies.
"SAFE?" The laugh is fully unintentional. (She wouldn't have laughed if there had been a bottle.) "They're in the palace! Get another unicorn! Somepony who can escort, teleport me out --"
"-- there's only so many ponies on staff who can manage it," the Guard cuts in. "Some are Lunar. I'm presuming that the unicorns who can pull it off have other problems right now, especially since you're not the only pony who needs to be guarded." Dark blue fur tightens. "In fact, if I was going to put those priorities in order, you'd have a hard time reaching third place --"
"You have to protect me!"
Far too calmly, which is to say that the words can emerge with any calm at all. "I am."
Desperate now, she hates sounding desperate in front of the Guard and that's because there's no bottle, the bottle would solve everything and maybe it could even make the other mare listen, "This is the palace! It's supposed to be safe! The only reason I tried to stay here --"
An armored forehoof slams into the floor, and fragile syllables die under the impact.
"-- there are three ponies guarding you," the larger unicorn states. "We could be somewhere else. Watching out for ponies who not only need us, but care about what might happen to everypony here. But we're with you, by order. And when you look at it that way, we don't have a lot of choice about who -- or what -- we associate with. But you, Wordia..."
A grim smile twists the other mare's face.
"...you're the one who usually claims to know everything, right? All of the time, in every column. You know best, you know what really happened and you'll tell enough lies to make your readers believe it. A mark which supposedly grants something between precognition, clairvoyance, and editing the world. So I'm surprised you didn't know this was coming, especially since you always claim the palace is so weak. And if you did know about all of it... then why didn't you just choose not to be in a place where ponies could get hurt?"
...the... the mare...
...she needs words. But her throat has gone dry, and if she could just pour liquid sentences down her throat...
...she has an audience within the palace. Not exactly fans, but she's fully aware that a good part of the staff -- Princesses included -- read her work every day. Tracking the one who's seen as the enemy. The mare understands this completely: she's been doing the same thing with Raque Marshdew's sickeningly sweet ramblings for years. It mostly means she makes sure some of her phrases are designed to infuriate a very select portion of the readership. And because she knows that the palace follows her work, hearing any part of her compositions virtually quoted back to her shouldn't come as a surprise.
It shouldn't feel like a kick --
-- she distantly wonders if anypony is sheltering in the barracks.
The mare is a target. She's fully aware of that, along with the fact that she can't be the only one. To her, there's a very clear possibility for the primary goal. And as it turns out, there was a nation which objected to the centaur.
The rebellion from within --
-- and that's when the alarm goes off again.
It's a new pattern: six notes total. They repeat three times, then stop. The Guard is moving for the door before the initial repetition begins.
"You're getting your wish," the larger unicorn tightly declares.
"I'm..." is all the reporter can find within the dry desert of her mind.
"That was the signal," the Guard says. "Stay close."
Her horn ignites, and orange fire begins to turn the locks.
The Solar Princess trusted one of her Guards. Sent him deep into the palace, because she had faith that he would make it. Shed armor along the way: a risk, but also an act which might keep him from being treated as a priority target. Recruit whoever you can along the way, while protecting everypony possible. But as much as you can -- try to see. Find out what's happening, and then decide whether to take the next step.
Sunspot's seen enough.
There are staff ponies fighting back. Everywhere. And some of them are winning -- but they aren't natural combatants. More than a few are getting hurt.
This battle can be won. But doing so is the responsibility of those who were trained for it. The palace would have never asked the staff to do this and the longer it all goes on...
They are risking fatalities, and the cumulative odds are growing with every passing minute.
He makes the call. Finds the right place, and uses it to set off the next alarm. A sequence which every member of the staff has memorized. Something they'll have to treat as an order.
He feels it's the only thing which can be done.
The alarm sounds. Everything begins to shift again. And hidden within one of the no-longer-secret passages, lurking in wait for exactly this moment, one group finally starts to move.
Mrs. Panderaghast didn't count on this happening. She didn't care if it happened. Ultimately, she doesn't see any of what actually takes place within marble walls as being her concern. Blood, broken bones and bodies -- they're nothing more than the distraction which allows her to board the train. She's already won.
She didn't count on it.
She didn't care about it.
And she got it anyway.
The most vital aspect of the plan has begun.
The palace is evacuating.
Stats
Page generated in 0.038 seconds
Total duration
1,029 users online
2,131,387 hits today, 2,205,040 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
Looks like she learn that hate comes with a heavy price tag. Maybe now her paper won't be so filled with it. Bet she wishes that she kept her mouth shut now that she is paying for it.
Eris era herd history! Makes sense!
...
...
mm, saving the jokes for after the battle.
...
Wow, Cerea can replicate Tirek's voice! Cool!
...
I bet the cure for Cerea's condition is getting her to Discord. Going from Paddock to Apex would've been the most direct route, but that's blocked now.
Maybe if she gets a dose of the Rainbow Harmony Laser? Not like that's at all likely, given the requirements.
...
I wonder why we're so focused on Panderaghast... How will the evacuation affect her? Even though it seems like it shouldn't... Does the train stop boarding to pick up evacuees or something?
...
I wonder if the Evacuation forms its own herd that overrides the invader's herd, so everyone's evacuating, not just the staff...
----
Typo?
CUNET along > CUNET alone [?]
BWAHAHAHA!
Anyway, nice chapter, plus it's nice to finally get something of an explanation for the function of herd mentality.
Lot of action in this one. Probably the most violent chapter of Estee's just for sheer numerical scale of combatants. It's funny that some of the intruders thought that the govt would actually write down their nefarious plans. Shows you the average intelligence level they're working with, lol.
11217694
Love that the staff is fighting back. But now it's time to get then out so that the professional can fight freely.
It's almost time for taking back the palace.
And it's Celestia big flank, rolling down the corridor, flattening the ennemies! It's truly Equestria greatest rump!
Fascinating insight into the benefits of herd mentality and just why so many surviving species of the Discordian Era seem to be ungulates.
I was afraid of that.
Sinistirek was amazing. Well done there.
When all's said and done, Wordia's either going to rethink her life or climb in a bottle and never get back out. Possibly one after the other.
The evacuation could go very poorly. Now we have two forces running against each other, with that much more potential for conflict. Still, it may well be the right call in terms of saving lives. We'll have to see what happens from here. And I'm not sure what Glimmerglow's doing...
I didn't know Cerea had a knack for impressions. A trick of her translator disk? Excellent chapter!
11217745
The story has established that her sort of centaur has a lot of vocal flexibility.
There's also the bit at the press conference where she mimics what Bulkhead says when coming on shift, to the point of replicating his accent exactly.
I'd always assumed Herd Instinct was something Discord deliberately inflicted upon Ponykind. Oh well, another theory in the bin.
A volley of slingtails. I like it!
Hoo, this chapter.
You had Cerea do a Tirek impersonation. How very sinistar of you.
11217769
I guess I forgot about that.
11217696
Honestly, not that dumb. After all, human minds are fallible, and putting things on paper helps with both concentration and communication; so yeah, it's pretty much inevitable that any evil-empire will, at some point, put their evil-plans to paper, even when they probably shouldn't.
Mind you, anyone wicked enough to make an evil-plan will probably include some defenses that are perfectly capable of killing an entire mob, and coming back for seconds, which means that they're still idiots for trying to find one.
11217934
I think that if any such plans were written down, they would be labeled differently than just blatantly obvious. That level of organization doesn't happen with ineffective incompetent people running it. Often ideologically motivated, those sorts would just write such things in glowing, practical, or whatever grandiose terms they think of it in. It would be praising the plan and laying out 'positive' outcomes that would result. Dark stuff.
11217687
It would be fitting for Pander having her plans ruined by the imbecility of her own followers, which she cultivated for profit.
Kudos to the Staff, but the evacuation has all sorts of potential for going horribly wrong
And we haven't seen any protestors run into Barding yet ...
On another note, I believe this is the first time we have read an explanation in-universe for the herd instinct. It's quite horrific to think how badly Discord broke the pony race for that instict to remain even after a thousand years later.
11217996
Barding: "This new steel requires bones."
11217696
11217965
See also the regimes of Hitler, Stalin, Mussolini (and the most recent one, who, having been re-reading the military blunders of the aforementioned, appears to be going down the tick list of the aforementioned to make sure all the boxes are ticked). The former of those first three, in particular, coudn't have attempted his genocides without planning (and co-operation), which by necessity, includes writing it down, if not as quite overtly as "my evil plan." ("My masterplan" maybe.)
The zealots here would write down their own such plans as noted, in glowing terms of their own superiority, to metaphorically frame them on the wall, so by their own logic, surely their enemies would too.
11217694
Yes, Cerea is being very Sinistrar right there. Definitely fits the chapter title!
If this ends and Mrs. Panderaghast doesn't get HUGE retribution I'm going to be very cross... ^^;;;;;
...does... does the espresso machine have boobs now?
11217996
Barding might not even know. A forge is a loud place, and most smiths wear some kind of ear protection besides. He might not have heard the alarm.
A papercut tornado? That room is impregnable! Should stash Cerea in the back of it and she'd be perfectly safe.
Had a sudden Sinistar attack there, in the middle of my laughter. I fed so many quarters into that game, and I'd be all concentrating on collecting little glowing dots out of rocks and losing track of time until suddenly--
I HUNGER!
AAAAAHHHHHHHH!!! It's Sinistar!!! Thank you so much for the reference. Also the chapter but mainly the reference.
RUN COWARDS!!!!
I have a headcanon that somewhere in the multiverse a Wordia Spinner is Empress Daybreaker’s chief propagandist and she doesn’t drink nearly as heavily as this one.
11218021 "Give me your bones!"
A Smith in their forge or a Chef in their kitchen. Which would you rather face and why? Go.
Good for Sizzler. The invaders are anathema to the beneficiaries of his life's calling. Must've felt good.
Is this in a way an allegory of White House assault?
Also, wooden bit ...
11218284
No... there is only one nipple
Balls
I know these people. You have no right to defend your home. Your family. Their empathy is all they have on the subject. They can’t comprehend the truth. That the world is cruel. And I’ve not decided my stuff is worth more than the invader. Just that I’m more important than they are. It’s why the right to self defense was enshrined in law here, and why those who tell you that you don’t need to defend yourself have armed security.
this reminds me of that scene in "a total eclipse of the fun" where the Day Cooks and the Night Cooks were fighting pitched battles with each other every morning and evening...
Discord would be kicking himself if he found out that he missed it all.
Maybe the ambient chaos will be good for him?
Okay, argh, I am so behind on your work, among other stories, but finally I am getting to this. Hoping to get at least one or two chapters read today. I'm also going to try and restrain my commentary, sorry, in the interest of time -- though I'm not always fully successful when I try to do that sort of thing, so I suppose we'll see.
(Oh Celestia, this chapter's from April, I've taken that long to get to it, aaargh...)
"She was trying not see yellow in every reflection"
"She was trying not to see yellow in every reflection"?
"To here, there's a very clear possibility for the primary goal."
"To her, there's a very clear possibility for the primary goal."?
Haven't played Sinistar, my choice would be "I cannot be caged. I cannot be controlled. Understand this as you die, ever pathetic, ever fools!". Would even fit nicely with him being confined twice, and both times not quite successfully. But then again, Papi probably wouldn't poke that particular game with a centaur-long stick.