Craftspony of Destruction

View Online

I tap my hoof on the metal table. My left eye twitches more out of irritation than apprehension. It’s times like this that I regret trying to play the good guy. All it ever does is land me in trouble. If only I had just said something, stood up, stopped her in her tracks—done anything other than just sit down and let her leave.

The drone of the overhead fan is the only sound in the small room. It’s tranquil enough, but it sends just the right amount of chills up my spine. I look at the table. Aside from the radio, all my belongings are lined up and wrapped in clear plastic bags with labels.

I snap my head around when the sound of the door handle turning. A well-built earth pony stallion with a light gray mane and gray coat enters. He’s trailed closely by his partner, a younger pale yellow coated and blonde maned unicorn. They both wear identical black suits, mirrored shades, white dress shirts, and black ties. They sit across from me. The bigger of the two removes his shades, folds them, and puts them on the table. He then starts to glare daggers at me. The shorter pony gazes, but with more interest than hostility.

I try to stare back at both officers indifferently, but the larger pony’s glower makes my wings flutter under my trench coat. He’s definitely playing the bad cop. His partner’s playing good cop.

I have seen all the tricks of the trade by now. I know how the game’s played. Still, something about their combined gazes makes my chitin crawl.

“So what does the E.B.I. have on me this time?” I ask the pair.

“You know well why you’re here, detective,” Good Cop replies.

“Not really. I was put in this room; my belongings were stripped and lined as evidence—” I point to my possessions, “—and I was told to keep quiet, or else I would be charged with conspiracy.”

Inwardly, I grimace. It was all a well-told lie. I knew perfectly well what was going on here, and I didn’t like it.

“We’ve got two witnesses that swear they saw you talking with the murderer,” Good Cop surprises me by sliding a pack of sugar cubes in my direction. He motions for me to get it.

I give the pack a diligent gaze before wrapping it in my magic. He’s supposed to taunt me with them first, I think to myself. What’s he playing at?

“You’re looking at a lot of time, Mr. Gro’gar,” Bad Cop barks. I narrow my eyes at that. “Murder, destruction of private property, misuse of the bureau’s assets; the list goes on.”

Now these tones… I gulp and attempt to keep my hooves from knocking together. He’s not bluffing.

“If you cooperate, then maybe we can clear some of those charges.” He leans forward, supporting his weight with his forelegs. “But if you don’t, we’ve been authorized to use more effective means to get your confession.” The corners of his mouth rise ever so slightly.

I take quick note of the silver cufflinks he wears as he leans towards me. They aren’t standard issue for the E.B.I. or the Equestrian Guards.

Bad Cop’s threat gets both my mind and heart racing. Still, I can’t let the two “officers” see that, so I close my eyes and slowly force the corners of my mouth to rise.

“Before you go calling in the executioner, allow me two things. Firstly, I don’t use my full name anymore for obvious reasons.” I furrow my brow. “Just call me G.”

“Fair enough,” Good Cop replies. “What else?”

“Let me tell my side of the story. You might see things a little… differently.”

This gambit, if it doesn’t… My gut churns and my eye twitches ever-so-slightly at all the grim possibilities.

Good Cop and Bad Cop look at each other for a second before they both nod and turn back to face me. “Alright,” Bad Cop says, “but don’t try and talk your way out of this one.”

I know the drill he has planned: he’s going to pretend to be interested in what I’m about to say despite his mind having already been made up.

Bastard.

I levitate a single cube out of the box of sugar cubes. Without much fuss, I place it gently on my tongue and let it melt. It’s probably a cheap brand, because I can’t feel any taste from it.

I clear my throat and look at my two interrogators, just barely managing to keep the unease hidden behind a cocky smile. “It started a week ago. It was freezing outside and I just wanted to focus on my work, but…”

CRAFTSPONY OF DESTRUCTION

...the sounds of traffic outside my window threatened to send me on an unpaid vacation to dreamland.

I allowed a yawn to escape as I reflected on my rather uneventful day. Resting my eyes for a second or two shouldn’t… shouldn’t… shou—

A snore escaped my lips before I snapped back up and shook my head. I looked at the clock and realized why I was feeling so drowsy. It was almost nine o’ clock at night. I let a smile escape my lips. Time to close shop.

I wrapped the door to my office in telekinetic light. Maybe something interesting will happen tomorrow.

I looked out of my office window. The corners of my mouth dropped at the thought of “something interesting” happening. When my job got interesting, it usually meant somepony was in trouble.

Just as I was about to close the door, a hoof jammed between it and the door frame. I allowed my magic to fade. Soon as I did, she walked in: a stunningly pretty filly unicorn that couldn’t have been older than sixteen or seventeen. She looked around my office with some hesitation, almost as if she was carefully inspecting it, before her gaze fell on mine.

“I hear you can help ponies who are in trouble,” she started in a supple yet authoritative tone, the old “iron hoof in the velvet boot” attitude.

“I can. It just depends on the case. I’m not with the main force anymore, I handle more unique cases.”

Everything about the filly shouted wealth: elegant blue dress over a flawless light pink coat; silver earrings and matching gemstone necklace with a rock the size of an apple that could have bought half the neighborhood, and gold horseshoes that looked to have been shined with a polishing machine and finished with a film of liquid gold.

“I have reason to believe that… something, is stalking me.” The filly ran a hoof over her exquisitely wavy hazel mane at least two times after finishing her statement.

I felt my left brow rising. Not surprising, I thought to myself. You’re a very easy mark for a foalnapping, especially by how you’re dressed.

I leaned forward, brought out a box of sugar cubes—zebra made—and offered the filly one, but she declined. I knocked two loose for myself and used the silence to analyze the facts before me.

The filly was young, rich, and worried about a potential stalker. Or so she claimed. Her slow pace entering my office and sudden bout of nervousness at her request told me she wasn’t being entirely honest though. Something else had brought her here, and it sure as Tartarus wasn’t the scenery—place was utter filth. Rent was cheap, though.

I scrunched my brows. “Tell me, what really brought you to my office tonight?” I gazed at her pointedly, waiting for her reply.

The filly’s eyes widened. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She attempted a smile, but it came out crooked.

“Right.” I felt the corners of my lips lower at my words. “There’s something else you’re not telling me.” I placed both hooves together, hiding my muzzle behind them. “A young pretty filly like you doesn’t just show up in the doorway of a freelance detective without cause. Especially when that freelance detective has ties to the E.B.I and the Equestrian Guard.”

The filly audibly gulped. “I-I told you, I-I think something’s following me!” The filly shifted her weight ever so slightly so that the left side of her body bore the brunt of her weight.

I smiled. “I can’t help you until you help me.” I leaned back on my rather used office chair. Even so, I kept my eye on the filly, taking in her emotion of fear as proof enough that she was leading me around.

I didn’t like being led around by anypony.

The silence between us was broken only by the occasional auto-carriage horn blaring from the street below. My wings started to flutter under my trench coat again as the silence intensified. By the time the filly spoke again, the sugar cubes in my mouth were all gone.

“There… there is something else,” the filly finally said, levitating something out of her purse. “A note... was sent to my father.”

I kept a close eye on the filly as she levitated the piece of crumpled paper towards me. The she placed the scrap of paper on my desk tentatively.

I leaned forward slowly, making sure not to startle her as I picked up the note. It was written in plain white paper that had no markings or quill strokes. The actual contents were typed in blocky letters. It was hard to read thanks to the crumples, but I could still make out the short message:

It is a thin line you trot. Either get back into shape, or suffer the consequences.

I turned it over, hoping to find a stain, blotch of ink, or anything that could shed some light on the author. There was neither a signature nor anything to differentiate it from any other piece written by a typewriter.

I placed the paper down, eyes closed as the mystery before me intensified. “When did he get this?”

“A few days ago,” the filly answered vaguely. “My father said that whoever sent it was just blowing smoke and threw it in the trash. He seemed… off afterwards, though. Saw him leaving the house with some stranger the next day—somepony big and armed to the teeth.” Her eyes wouldn’t meet mine.

I rubbed my chin. “Has anything odd happened between then and now?”

The filly simply looked away at my question.

I grimaced. “Like I told you, kid, I can’t help you until you help me.”

The filly sighed. “My father…” she hesitantly started, “…my father owns the Golden Vision Casino. As of late, I’ve been suspecting that he does more than that on the side.”

It was then that I finally recognized who my “client” really was.

“Velvet Spade,” I breathed. “Your father is Bullion Spade, third richest stallion in Canterlot. Right?”

The filly nodded.

The Golden Vision was the place for the wealthiest of the wealthy to meet and toss away entire fortunes. For years, the E.B.I. had suspected the place to run various illegal operations such as bootlegging and illegal weapons trades, but none of those things had ever been proven. Velvet was sure a long ways from home. This fact only doubled my concern over my “client’s” request.

“Can you elaborate more on your suspicions?” I put Velvet’s identity of my mind for the time being. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder if Bullion had angered the Rosalinos, or if he himself was involved in shady dealings that finally threatened to blow wide open.

“I—” Velvet started cautiously. She closed her eyes and took a deep gulp before turning away from me. “I’ve already said too much. I-I shouldn’t have even come here in the first place!” She turned and galloped out of my office, stopping only to look back at me with what seemed to be a plea for help.

My brow furrowed as I clenched my eyes and groaned. I almost found myself standing up and offering to help her regardless of a case. Something in the back of my mind made me stay seated, telling me it was the smart thing to do.

By the time that idea had been dispelled from my head and I was willing to help, Velvet had already vanished just as suddenly as she had appeared.

“Dammit. I should have followed her…”

“Maybe then, she'd... she'd have...” A shiver crawls up and down my spine like a parasite, gnawing away at my conscience.

“So, you mean to tell me that you let a filly, one who came to you for help and turned out to be the daughter Bullion Spade, leave your office without an escort?” Bad Cop leans in closer. The table groans from his added weight.

I give the officer a glare at first, but my sight drifts back down to his cufflinks they’re sterling silver, and the unique design… where have I seen that before?

I answer Bad Cop with a feigned nonchalant tone. “What was I supposed to do? Foalnap her? Tie her to my desk? Force her to ask for my help?” I scoff. “Would I be in any different position than I am now?” I take another sugar cube out of the box and chew on it to ease the sudden weight tugging at my chest. I still feel no flavor from it. “I can only help those who ask for it.” In my mouth, the bitterness is intensifying.

“As it just so happens, Ms. Velvet was murdered only a few blocks away after she left your office,” Bad Cop says as he leans even closer to me, close enough for me to tell what he had for lunch. My nose instantly scrunches at the foul stench. Every fiber of my being demands that my hoof have a high-speed meeting with his gullet.

“If you’re implying that I had something to do with Velvet’s death, then I strongly suggest you look at the records. I was the one who called the murder in. Tell me, why in the wide-wide world of Equestria would I kill Ms. Velvet and then call the murder in?”

“You tell me,” Bad Cop replies.

I shake my head at the answer. My gut’s now churning at the emotions stirring in the air.

“By now, you’ve no doubt looked into this case thoroughly. If so, you would know that the other homicides you’re both no doubt planning to pin on me were committed when I was either indisposed, or actively working on other assignments.”

“Never mind that,” Bad Cop says, abruptly turning his gaze away from mine. His face turns into a vicious grimace for the faintest of seconds before he snaps it back to me, now showing cold indifference. “What happened after Ms. Velvet left your office?”

“I closed shop and took a walk down to the corner store for something sweet to drink. That’s also in the report I made.” I point to a manila folder on the table that neither officer had bothered to open.

“Right, you were conveniently near the murder scene.”

“If by ‘convenient,’ you mean waiting in line for a few groceries, then yes, convenient.”

I disliked the market down the street.

The zebra running the place was hard to understand due to his near-incomprehensible rhythmical accent. On top of that, the prices he put on his products were downright outrageous. The worse aspect about the market, though, was the odd looks I sometimes got when shopped there. They almost made me wonder if anypony had ever seen one of my kind outside of a questionable profession.

It did not matter what I thought though. Tonight, I was stuck shopping in the corner store. The next closest market was two miles away—up a hill—through the slums. I didn’t own an auto-carriage anymore. Getting there either meant hailing a cab and dealing with an ornery driver, taking a trolley full of strangers who would no doubt gawk at me all trip long, trotting through dark alleys where muggers and other scum hid and bid their time, or flying…

I gave my legs a look over, sighing with disappointment. All four of my limbs were unhindered by any opening or blemish. To my kind, my physical condition would have been considered an abnormality, and for good reason: it made me twice as heavy, rendering anything other than a hover a near-impossibility. On the bright side, it at least gave me a tough outer shell, which had saved me from serious injury more times than I could count.

I walked up to the store shelf and grabbed the least expensive bottle of sweet rum I could find and a bottle of Sweet Apple Acres cider. I gave both bottles a long look before putting them on the small basket I levitated next to me. I then headed for the counter.

The zebra who owned the small market was anywhere between thirty and forty. He still sported several tribal trinkets, and had his black and white mane braided and tied in a single knot. He gave me a strange look as usual. He knew me well, but never seemed to get over what I was.

Bastard.

He grabbed my purchases and started to ring them. This will take a while…

Five minutes passed. During that time, the zebra had said a barely intelligible total, and I had just given him a few bit bills and taken my change without really counting. I probably should have paid attention to my purchases, but I honestly didn’t want to know what the drinks had ended up costing. I left the store just as quickly as I had arrived, stepping into the cloudy and frigid winter night.

The corner streetlight did little to dispel the thick shadows that all the high-rise buildings cast down. Not that it really mattered; my kind preferred the darkness nowadays, especially since our talents were “strongly discouraged” in all but changeling-controlled territories. Even in such places, changing forms was usually reserved for kids’ games and couple’s foreplay.

Being an E.B.I. officer—albeit a freelance one—meant I was actually required to use my powers every once in a while. When asked why I didn’t just take on a pony form and live out my life as one, I answered that I preferred my original self, if for nothing more than to remind myself of who I really was.

I hadn’t taken two steps when snow started falling. I quickened my pace along the deserted sidewalk. There weren’t that many pedestrians out and about, but I kept wary of the few that I did see.

“Damn snow,” I sourly muttered. I opened the bottle of sweet cider and downed a good quarter of it in one gulp.

In my younger years, I had marveled at how snow seemed to have been made with such care and beauty— each flake had been like a star fallen from the very heavens, almost as if somepony had taken the extra time to shape each and every one. Nowadays, it almost seemed like snow was just dumped at random without any real care or reason.

At least I wasn’t feeling hungry. The air was thick with the sort of emotion that I had come to use as nourishment. It tasted like utter manure, but it was filling, at least.

I had barely walked a block away from the store when the unmistakable sound of fell chanting reached my ears, followed soon after by a sharp shriek. Both sounds had originated from an alley not too far from where I was.

I dropped everything I carried and raced toward the sound, preparing to deal with them…

Another shriek pierced the night.

I galloped as hard as my lungs would let me in the burning cold. I was already running a thousand and one different battle tactics through my mind.

When I turned down my target alley, I saw a lone figure garbed in a crimson set of hooded robes. It sported a brass mask, though from the being’s spiral horns I could tell it was a he, and he was some kind of ram or goat.

He stood over a dead body. Her dead body…

Before I could even blink, the ram turned to my direction and uttered a set of fell words:

Instantly, I jumped out of the way, recognizing the vile eldritch tongue.

Blood from the now deceased Velvet rose into the air and shot at me, forming crystallized icicles in mid-flight. The first volley missed, but the second came far too close for comfort.

Before I could fully take in the situation, the goat had closed the distance between us and was right on top of me. His eyes glowed, and I heard what sounded like a trio of bells resonating under his robes.

Magic surged from out of this hood and pooled into his right foreleg, where it formed a blade of pure purple miasmic energy.

Instinctively, I reached into my holster and brought out my hoof-repeater, a beautiful piece of unicorn weapon engineering that was the next evolution of the hoof-held crossbow: a miniature magic-powered cannon.

Without even strapping it on my right hoof, I fired two bolts at my assailant. Both shots were deflected by the goat, who retaliated. I was forced to use the repeater as a makeshift shield. The weapon held against his blade due to its magic nature, but I knew it wouldn’t endure another strike.

Realizing I was being pushed towards the alley wall, I cast a flash spell. My assailant staggered back momentarily. I used the opening to shoot to one of his limbs. To my horror, as soon as the bolt made contact with his coat, a thick film of crimson-like gel absorbed the shot.

I tried and aimed for another shot—this time to the mage’s face—but at that precise instant, he struck back using the same flash spell I had used on him. The retaliation left me utterly blind for a fraction of a second, time in which the goat could have easily run me through with his blade and been on his merry way.

He didn’t. And that disturbed me.

By the time I finally recovered my sight and hearing, he had been long gone.

I lowered my weapon, adrenaline still surging through my veins like pure electricity. It took a second for the scene to truly sink in. I felt myself shaking at the facts before me. Velvet, an innocent filly that had been in my office just an hour earlier, was dead. Her blood had been defiled, and her remains were now barely recognizable from the head down.

My gaze settled on her face. Her eyes were still wide open and glassy, filled with shock, fear, and agony. The heavy stench of copper hung in the air like a sickening perfume. I looked away as the sight stirred awful memories within me.

I turned and walked down the street before finding a payphone. I dug out some of my change and placed a call to the Canterlot Police Department.

I momentarily mulled over the desire to take on the case, but dropped that idea. Had this been any other homicide, I would have gone after the scumbag myself, but the presence of that masked goat changed everything. For the first time in quite a while, I had actually felt very afraid; afraid that he was working for them...

“Canterlot dispatch, how may I help you?” a female voice came through the line. I recognized it instantly as Sunny’s voice. She was an old friend of mine. She hopefully wouldn’t ask too many questions.

“Sunny, this is G. I’m calling in a homicide.”

She was silent for a moment, probably running a quick trace to save time. “I have your location. Is anypony else at the scene?”

It was a standard question, but something about Sunny’s voice and the swiftness with which she had asked made me feel uneasy. I hesitated for just a second before answering. “I’ll be at the scene. Send a squad over.”

“Wai—” before Sunny could get the word out, I placed the receiver back down.

I was probably just imagining it, but it all seemed too convenient. A filly that had come to me for help being killed only a few blocks away from where I happened to be shopping. The suspect, whom I was more than certain belonged to a cult I had helped to put out of commission, vanishing near instantaneously after failing to subdue me, and then the only dispatcher on duty indirectly asking if I was alone at the scene.

I slipped out of the phone booth, pulling my trench coat tight to keep warm. Chitin wasn’t the best type of skin for keeping balmy.

I walked back to the alley, mind abuzz with paranoid thoughts. Once I was back in the shadows, I decided it was only fair to pay respect to Velvet. I stood next to her and lowered my head before using my telekinesis to close her eyelids.

As I looked at her remains, I started to feel a heavy pang in my chest. I had no way of telling myself that it wasn’t my fault, because it was. I could have prevented this back in my office, but instead I had allowed it. I was just as guilty as the actual murderer.

You. Do. Not. Care... A voice rang in my head. You. Do. Not. Care…

I departed from Velvet’s side and leaned under a nearby overhang. I levitated the grocery bag I had tossed aside earlier. The bottle of sweet rum had shattered. Thankfully, the Sweet Apple Acres cider was still intact. Those folks at the farm knew how to make their bottles hardy.

I decided to drink while I waited for the squad carriage to arrive. From the vantage point I had chosen, I had a clear view of the road. I also had a good spot to attack first should bad company make itself present.

*** *** ***

I was nearly finished with the bottle of cider when a pair of headlights pierced the gloom. Instinctively, I shrunk further into the alleyway, right into the alcove of a doorway.

The squad carriage stopped near the phone booth. By the markings of the vehicle, I knew it was from Canterlot PD. Still, why had they stopped in front of the phonebooth of all places?

My hoof moved involuntarily toward my repeater, just in case I was dealing with corrupt officers.

A pair of stallions dressed in dark-blue shell coats and police caps exited the carriage.

“He’s not here,” the younger officer said. “Dispatch said he was on the scene.” He stopped for a second to look around before moving on.

“Forget it. From what I’ve heard about him, he’s a very shifty individual.” The older stallion clearly held me with animosity. “He probably would attack us before listening to us.” He straightened his cap and moved on.

The younger stallion shrugged and walked over to Velvet’s corpse. He visibly winced as he got a better look at her condition. “Who, or what do you think did this?”

I considered keeping to the shadows, but I had seen enough of the two officers to know they weren’t under anypony else’s payroll.

I stepped out of the shadows and faced them before answering. “It was the Crux Nato.”

The older colt went for his baton soon as he heard my voice, but was halted by the younger officer, who gave him a shake of his head.

“You should know!” the older stallion viciously barked.

“Watch it,” I growled, pointing a hoof at him. “Insulting me isn’t the wisest choice right now.”

The older stallion shot me a look of pure hatred before holstering his baton and turning to the body instead. “The Crux Nato you say? Weren’t they all supposedly wiped out?” He gave me a smug look.

I didn’t reply. I could feel my brow furrowing as I gave the officer a glare.

“How many of ‘em?” the older officer asked.

“One.”

“That doesn’t limit it down much, does it?” the younger stallion asked in a tone that was surprisingly neutral. “So, uh… are you taking this case, detective?”

Velvet had come to me for help, and I had allowed her death to happen by ignoring it, but this looked like nothing more than a random homicide—my suspicions notwithstanding. I was better off letting the police handle it.

“No.”

The younger officer shrugged, walking to his vehicle and calling in for a coroner while his partner started to cordon off the area. I helped where I could.

A few minutes later, a white ambulance carriage arrived at the scene. Four unicorns garbed in white stepped out and started to take pictures. They then placed Velvet’s body on a white stretcher, careful not to harm her remains further.

Once Velvet had been loaded and the scene marked, each of the auto-carriages went its way, the ambulance towards the Palace of Justice, the cops back to their HQ.

I took one last look at the alley, yellow tape marking the location where Velvet had been slain. I picked up my bottle of sweet cider and downed the last of it before starting my bitter walk back to the office.

We should have destroyed every last one of them when we had the chance…

“That’s it?” Bad Cop asks. “You just hung around and took no real interest in the case?”

“As I said earlier, there really wasn’t a case for me to take at the time.” Small beads of sweat are forming on my brow. I wipe them away before either officer can see them as a sign of my inner turmoil.

“Never mind that,” Bad Cop replies. “When did this become an official case for you?”

“Well…”

…The following morning started just like any other. I got up, showered, and made some coffee using at least twenty spoons of sugar for every cup of water.

With my “breakfast” in order, I sat down to read the printed edition of the Canterlot Times. The front page raved about the princess’ upcoming trip to Gryphos. The dogs and half-eagles were really starting to get on each other’s neck over petty land disputes. Princess Luna was going to be at an “emergency summit,” probably so that she could stop the two super-powers from tearing each other limb from limb. War between the two would end up escalating to world war.

I scoffed. As if there hadn’t already been enough fireworks ten years ago.

Flipping through the rest of the pages, I spotted a minuscule headline lost among anecdotes of other high-status soirees and stock market expansions. Velvet’s death was out: “Attributed to Mugging,” it had read. What had struck me as odd was the picture of Velvet’s father—he hadn’t looked the least bit distraught about it. My brow creased at the image.

Velvet had sought me out fearing a stalker, but had been reluctant to speak of it. Yet, she hadn’t hesitated to show me the threatening note her father had received. She had then gotten frightened when I started prodding deeper and left just as suddenly as she had come, only to wind up dead a mere hour later. Then, her father gave her a public funeral, yet didn’t seem the least bit upset that what might be his only family and bloodline was violently murdered.

Something was very wrong here.

A piercing whine from the telephone shattered my concentration. I caught it on the second ring. “Detective G speaking.”

The voice on the other end was formal, but friendly. “Morning detective, this is Lieutenant Shining Armor speaking.”

A lieutenant under Captain Ingot, Shining Armor was one of the Equestrian Guard’s most promising young officers. He was also brother to Luna’s personal protégée, Twilight Sparkle—and from the few bits of info I’d gathered here and there, the unofficial suitor to Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, aka Cadance. Nice kid; did the badge and cause honor.

Speaking of Princess Cadenza, she struck me as both off and familiar at the same time. Something about her seemed deceptive, almost like she was somepony else. Maybe I was being paranoid, but as a changeling, my instincts were sharpest when it came to spotting phonies. From what I had seen of her, she was a literal saint, adored by all and capable of dispelling hatred wherever she went. All of that made me wary—nopony could be that nice without having something to hide.

“Lieutenant Armor. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“It’s about the homicide you called in last night,” the lieutenant answered.

“What about it?” I can already feel another accusation building up.

“The results just came in.” The lieutenant’s tone was fairly morose. “It was Blood Magic, the likes of which hasn’t been seen since the Liberation Wars some ten years ago.” The ring in his voice told me he was struggling to keep his tone even.

Just as I feared, I thought to myself. They’re back…

“We’ve very few leads on the cult itself, that’s why I need your help.” He paused, voice wavering between determination and hesitation. “You’ve had experiences with both the regime and cult. You were not only a member of the cult at one point; you were one of the four that struck them down in their prime.” I heard a low sigh coming from his end. “Detective, you have to help me destroy them once and for all.”

I thought about it for a second. While Shining Armor was right about my past involvement with the Crux Nato, I had gone so far as to renounce my name in order to get away from it. Going back just wasn’t an option for me.

“I’m sorry, lieutenant, but that stage of my life is long over. Ask Captain Arashi; he was one of the other four that fought alongside me. He’s a far better choice than I am, since he’s more versed in the arts of war.”

“But,” the lieutenant started, but then paused. I could hear him sighing on the other end of the line. “Detective, look, I know your past isn’t something you like to recall, but you’re the only one who can shed light on this right now.”

“Captain Arashi.” I firmly repeated.

“Captain Arashi is on sabbatical in Neighpon and Zhengzhou. Nopony knows when he’ll be back.” He let out a groan of regret before finally coming out and saying it. “Detective Gro’gar, please, you’re a changeling, for Luna’s sake! You can take a disguise, go undercover, infiltrate! Are you just going to sit back and let thos—”

“I’m sorry. But I can’t help you. Princess Luna gave me another chance despite the crimes I committed in the name of those gods-forsaken groups. There’s no way in Tartarus I’m going to waste it.” I removed the phone from my ear and got ready to slam it on the receiver, but I stopped. I felt my face scrunch as a sigh escaped my lips.

I again brought the phone to my ear and spoke. “Lieutenant, look; there’s not much I can do for you. I can give you all the information I have on the Crux Nato, but no more. I’m... I’m afraid—” I caught myself, “—I’m afraid that’s all the information I’m at liberty to discuss over the phone.” I lowered my tone. “The lines are too loud.”

The lieutenant was quiet at first, but after a few seconds, said one word: “Fine.” I was about to again remove the phone from my ear when I caught more words from the lieutenant. “I… I understand, and I’m sorry if I’ve opened up new wounds. It’s just that—” he paused. I could hear a slight hiss from his end. “I have to do something. There’s just too much at stake, and.... I—I was really hoping you would be willing to end what you and the other four started ten years ago... But I understand; your torment runs deep. Thank you for your time anyway, and good day.” He let out one final deep sigh, and then the line clicked.

I looked at the phone and felt my brows crease. “Guess he didn’t get my message. Oh well.” I replaced the receiver gently and finished my coffee in one gulp. I gave the lieutenant’s request more thought as I tossed the newspaper into the trash on my way out of the office. His request weighed heavily on my conscience for the remainder of the day.

Nothing out of the ordinary happened for the next two days. Eventually, Velvet’s murder started to ease away, no longer keeping me up as it once had.

Then, a second murder took place.

I didn’t waste my time with reports after-the-matter; I went straight to the Palace of Justice to speak with the head pathologist. I was now certain that two ponies being killed in the same fashion was no mere coincidence.

The smell of formaldehyde and other preservation chemicals hung heavy in the air. They all mixed with the stench of rotting flesh to create a tumult of odors that could have driven a pony insane. If said pony already wasn’t.

Grave-keeper, as she was morbidly called by the other doctors, gave me a pleased and warm look as I entered her laboratory.

“Ah, detective Gro’gar, it’s been some time since last I saw you. What brings you down to my little office today?” The dark silver mare adjusted her thick goggles. “I do hope it has to do with that little business proposal of mine.” She gave me a far-too-eager smile for comfort.

Doctor Grave-keeper’s real name was Sun Beam—the irony was stunning; she even had a smiling sun behind two clouds as a cutie mark.

She wasn’t the most popular pegasus for many reasons, the most obvious being that she was, quite frankly, insane. She enjoyed spending her days and nights in the company of the dead.

She quite literally worshiped the sciences, to the point that she believed that the old religions were nothing but comfort for the weak and feeble-minded. This attitude put her at odds with many ponies, especially the more pious ones.

In the end though, none denied that she was likely the best forensic scientist and researcher the E.B.I. had in its employ.

“No, Sun,” I answered, rolling my eyes at her question, “I am not going to submit to laboratory testing regardless of how much it can help Equestria learn about changelings, or how to best re-create that formula or yours.” I gave her a wry smile.

“Very well then,” Sun said with a cheery smile. “So, I’m guessing you have cadaver-based business with me then?”

“Yes. I need to ask a few questions about the newest cult victim.”

Sun Beam’s expression dropped at my words. “I see. A simple leads check-up then. Here I was, hoping you would bring me the news I wanted to hear. I was also hoping for something more.... unique.” She licked her rosy lips and gave me a rather depraved smirk. “Like the last time you were here and—” she paused when she saw my glare.

She gave a rather malicious giggle—one I had to admit was kind of cute, in a demented sort of way. “Well, that’s in the past now.” She ran a hoof over her plain orange mane. “Still, if you were to accept my scientific proposal, it would begin to pay back the damages you incurred on your first ever visit to my wonderful laboratory.” She gave me a few alluring blinks of her hazel eyes.

I rolled my eyes at her words. “Erm… Look, Sun, I really appreciate you resuscitating me and everything, but...” I turn my head to the hall and the massive dents in the metal walls of the room beyond. “I think I’ve apologized enough for that little outburst, don’t you think?”

“If you say so, Gro’gar,” she said as she took to hovering. “You can always just take me on a date. That would make us more or less even.”

“No.” I was unable to keep my blush from showing. “You’re not exactly my type of filly. I like my mares a bit more… stable. No offense”

Sun giggled. “None taken!” She sighed somewhat disappointedly and dug into her lab coat pocket, bringing out a single sugar cube. “Oh well. Shall we get to your request then?” She unwrapped the candy and popped it into her mouth.

“Only if you stop using my full name,” I replied as I momentarily diverted my gaze away from her.

“Yes, I forgot about that.” Sun smiled and motioned for me to follow her.

We moved down to a new, surprisingly well-lit room. In the middle of it was a single metallic cot, on top of which rested a covered body. On the sides were two trays full of medical tools. Sun Beam flew to a nearby cabinet and bit into a clipboard, which she brought to her hooves.

“Well, there isn’t much to tell, honestly,” she started, her tone, changing from the playful one of earlier to one that was more serious. “The victim had been in that trash can for almost two days, eliminating any chance of finding useful clues outside of what he was wearing at the time of death.” She looked at me with a wicked, almost deranged smirk. “On the plus side, I got to see the effects of frostbite on internal body tissue firsthoof.” She beamed quite proudly at her words.

That’s more like her, I found myself thinking.

“You wouldn’t believe how many restrictions the senate puts on cadaver research! Really—their attempts to shield Equestrians from the morbid subject of death have affected the entire science of forensics. Almost tempts me to go out and dig up bodies from the local graveyard.”

I gave Sun a raised eyebrow—or rather, what would have counted as an eyebrow. My kind didn’t exactly have eyebrows to begin with.

Sun gave me another devious smirk in reply. I slowly shook my head and asked if I could see her clipboard. She gave a small cough and hovered silently over to me. I wrapped the clipboard in telekinetic magic as I started flipping through the information.

Victim went by the name of White Cane. Unicorn, thirty-five years of age. Victim was found inside dumpster in the industrial sector of Canterlot, ten miles away from his home in the upper residential district. Death has been attributed to internal hemorrhaging brought about by full-on internal organ combustion. Further study of body shows signs of abuse in the posterior sections.

As soon as I finish reading, I gaze up at Sun, who is snickering. I roll my eyes and sigh. Classic Sun.

My sense of amusement vanishes as soon as I re-read the report. My expression started to drop as the realization dawned on me. He died just like Velvet. This was the undeniable mark of Blood Magic.

I turned to face Sun. “Who found the body?”

“Don’t know,” Sun replied with a shrug. “It was probably some steel-mill worker or a trash collector. I can tell you the officer who brought him to me had been a rookie though.” She let out a rather malicious chuckle. “Quite the eager fool if you ask me; hounded me for nearly twenty minutes before I threatened to leave him in the morgue overnight.” A wicked smile formed on her lips. “I tell you, I’ve never seen a living pony turn that pale before.” I half-imagined the situation and couldn’t help but crack a smile of my own.

I took that thought out of my mind as I continued reading the file. The longer I stared at the pictures of Cane’s remains, the more my brow creased. I knew well the Crux Nato reveled in acts of wanton gaudy ultra-violence, but this was different. These attacks... they were methodical—efficient in a way that was all too familiar to me. Just thinking about it... I could feel the ice form in my veins.

“Sun, did anything strike you as off about the victim?”

“Only that whoever killed him at least left him ‘whole,’” she replied. “While the body itself was little more than a bloody pulp from the head down, the coroners still managed to haul in every part of him.” She looked me in the eye with a growing smirk. “And I do mean every single part.”

I felt a chill run down my spine at the words. My chitin started to crawl with goose-bumps as the grisly image formed in my head. Then I looked at Sun’s depraved smirk and realized she was actually talking about something else entirely. I again rolled my eyes.

I flipped through a few more photos that were paper-clipped to the file. The first was a close shot of the ruptured abdomen; a few arrows and words were drawn onto the glossy surface. Just as Sun had said, the next few pictures were of other body parts and organs, all neatly categorized.

The next photo was of the full breakdown: organs set in various pans for testing; a large Y cavity that ran down Cane’s entire abdomen, sides of flesh pinned outward to allow access to the internal cavities, and partially restored chunks of muscle unsuccessfully brought back to bones.

The final picture was of Mr. Cane’s personal belongings: a beat-up leather wallet with an identification card to the side, a pair of reading glasses, and a, blood-stained silver pocket watch.

“Sun, you said the body was in a trash bin when it was found?”

“Yes. Preliminary tests showed the victim perished the moment his innards became his ‘outards,’ nothing more. There were trace amounts of magical energy that cross-referenced with Blood Magic, though,” Sun continued. “Exactly the same class of magic your former buddies were known to use.” She gave me a mildly decadent smile.

I turned to face her at that statement. My blood was already starting to boil. Even as I tensed my forehooves, ready and eager to strike—gender ‘ideals’ notwithstanding—I knew that if I lost my cool I’d just be playing right into her hooves. That meant either ending up in some medical cot as another one of her test subjects, or on her actual bed as…

Oh Luna, I didn’t even want to think what kind of freak Sun was when she actually wanted to have her definition of “intimate fun.”

I shook that thought out my mind and gave Sun the most neutral expression I could muster. Quietly, I returned the clipboard before asking her a new question in the hopes of derailing her sick mind: “Do you have a copy of the Spade case?” There was a lot more to these deaths than physical similarities. If the Crux Nato was involved... I needed their MO.

“You’ll have to get it from the record room,” Sun answered nonchalantly. “I don’t keep extra copies here in the morgue for obvious reasons.” She again smiled wickedly, her implication not at all subtle.

Drop it, you freaking bi—I stopped the thought, taking a deep breath. Keep it calm, dammit. Keep it calm…

“Well, thanks for your time,” I said with a feigned smile as I gave Sun a wave of my hoof. She looked disappointed at first, but after a genuine smile, returned to her own work on Cane’s cadaver.

I made my way out of the main labs. As I did, I kept uttering curses under my breath. Most were directed at Sun, others at the one responsible for the slayings, and a hooffull at me. I couldn’t help but feel utterly sickened by the deaths. I was far too familiar with this kind of violence.

“Never again,” I found myself whispering. “Never again…”

Just because something isn't a lie does not mean that it isn't deceptive. A liar knows that he is a liar, but one who speaks mere portions of truth in order to deceive is a craftspony of destruction.

Lies, Damn lies, and Statistics

View Online

“So, you’ve been on the case since the beginning?” Good Cop asks me. He pulls out a notepad and pencil and starts to scribble down my answer with his mouth rather than his telekinesis.

I glance between his notepad and his eyes as the feeling of unease grows in me.

“No,” I calmly reply. “I just prodded around for information, at least at first. A bad habit of mine, I must confess.” I feign an amiable smile, but Good cop only raises an eyebrow in response.

“Bull!” Bad Cop unexpectedly shouts. “Records prove that you pulled a copy of every murder linked with your former associates!” He stands up to his full height. It’s considerable. “You’re not telling the whole truth!”

“What I’m telling you is fact,” I hiss out through clenched teeth. “Whether you choose to believe it or not isn’t my fault.”

I give the officer a glare. I can feel the small hair-like frills that make up my mohawk-style “mane” rising in a threatening manner as my natural defensive instincts start to take over. When the officer catches sight of that, he backs off, eyes showing signs of fear for a scant few seconds before they return to their indifferent state.

“Now, would you two prefer hounding me over minor details, or do you want to get to the rest of my story?” I don’t bother to hide the annoyance in my voice.

“For now, just answer the questions truthfully,” Bad Cop replies. It is milder than expected, obviously restrained to keep something hidden.

I glance back down at his sleeves, and once again note the familiar cufflinks. Something about them screams at me. I decide to prod the matter deeper.

“Those are some nice cufflinks,” I say. “Where’d you pick them up?”

“They were a gift from my sister,” Bad Cop swiftly replies, tone fairly rehearsed. I narrow my eyes at his answer, at which point the officer diverts his gaze.

I turn to face Good Cop, who’s looking at me expectantly. “To answer your earlier question, I picked up the case as my own after the fifth death in the series. That was when I realized something wasn’t right.”

LIES, DAMN LIES, AND STATISTICS

Something rotten was brewing in Canterlot’s underbelly.

Though part of me desired to do something about it, I wanted to steer clear of anything dealing with my former “associates.” When the kill count reached five, however, I found myself unable to do so.

Lieutenant Shining Armor had contacted me again after the fifth victim. He had spoken in an apologetic tone, but had kept the same determination to get me onboard the case. His call was soon followed by a personal visit less than a day later, from the last pony I had expected.

“Good afternoon, G,” a dark-brown unicorn said soon as I opened my door. “It’s been a while since we last spoke face to face. Three years, if I’m keeping my count right.”

“Yeah,” I replied, not quite meeting his gaze. “Three years since we worked on something together, commissioner Ingot…”

He beamed at my words. Despite pushing his forties, commissioner Ingot—now a captain of the Equestrian Guards—easily looked like a unicorn half his age. His cutie mark was that of a mining mallet, a sign of his old profession before joining the guards.

“Well, things haven’t exactly been lively up until now,” Ingot said, a warm smile forming on his lips at his words. “You helped give our nation some semblance of peace when it needed it most, and we didn’t exactly thank you properly.”

I bitterly chuckled at the words. He was putting that fact lightly. “What was there to thank me about? I wasn’t exactly on the side of the law ten years ago.” I sighed nostalgically. “Sometimes I do miss the old camaraderie and ‘friendship is magic’ aspect of the E.B.I. that working freelance lacks.” I looked the captain straight in the eye. “Not that I’m complaining. Working freelance has its perks. I get to set my own hours, work the cases I want without an upper branch breathing down my neck, and I can turn in early if I really need it.”

“Yeah.” Ingot gave my office a look over and chuckled. “Though, the benefits don’t exactly outweigh the cons, it seems.”

I raised one of my brows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ingot ran a hoof over his mane. Or rather, what would have been a mane had he not kept it at half an inch long. “G, I’m going to be honest with you: this place looks like manure.”

“That it does,” I replied with a snigger. “Rent’s dirt cheap though,” I added with a bitter smile.

“That’s because you’re only a few hoovesteps away from the slums.” Ingot’s face scrunched at the words. “I’m surprised this building isn’t squatter heaven, considering how many empty rooms it has.”

“The building used to have more tenants, but in the last three years, they’ve moved away due to the worsening crime rate. The only pony that has been here since I first moved in is some DJ that seems really determined to get the name out there. I don’t see that pony much, though.”

“Right,” Ingot said as he took a seat. He crossed his forelegs, took a deep breath and seemingly steeled himself. It wasn’t until the muscles on his forelegs were stretched that I noticed well-defined muscles that no pony pushing his age should even have had. “G, let’s not pussyhoof around the matter. You know why I’m here.”

“Yes,” I replied without giving the captain a glance. Instead, I went for my liquor cabinet and took out a half-full bottle of sweet cider. “You’re here to try to convince me to join you Lieutenant Shining Armor in solving the five recent murders.” I poured Ingot a glass of liquor, which he levitated to him.

“That’s right,” Ingot said as he wrapped the glass in his own light brown magic. “Armor told me all about your reluctance to join the investigation.” He poured the drink down in a single gulp, sighed, and placed the glass on the nearby coffee table. “Now, I know why you would be hesitant—this is dealing with the Crux Nato after all.” I poured him another drink, but he did not take it. “I can understand why you would refuse. Still, the kid does have a valid point.”

“And what point would that be?”

“That you’re likely the best qualified pony—sorry, changeling—for this case.”

I silently chuckled. “I beg to differ,” I took a direct swig of cider from the bottle. “When it comes to the Crux Nato, I’m likely to be more of a liability than an asset.” I let out a grunt as the liquor burned my throat. “You and Shining Armor don’t want me on the case. Trust me on that.”

“I think otherwise.” Ingot put his hoofs together as he gazed directly into my eyes. “I don’t mean any offense by what I am about to say, but it has to be said.” He deeply sighed as he closed his eyes. “G, you’re reluctant to take the case because you’re still running away from your past.”

I slammed the bottle of cider on the coffee table. “So what if I am? You and I both know my past’s not exactly a shining beacon of goodness. I did things, Ingot—terrible things—to good ponies, all under the delusion that I was actually making the world a better place!”

“That may be true, but unless you stand up and face that past head-on, you’re always going to be a tormented wreck.” A warm smile formed on Ingot’s muzzle. “Do yourself a favor and face that past head-on.” He leaned forward and put a hoof on my shoulder. “That’s the only way to be at peace.”

I quickly glanced at the hoof on my shoulder, and then set my gaze directly on Ingot’s weathered, but resolute eyes. Instantly, I was filled with newfound determination. He was absolutely right; I was running away from it all. I had to face the part of me that made me weakest and deal with it before it shaped me further.

I gave Ingot a smile and nod. I poured him another glass of sweet cider. “Guess we should toast my return to the main force, huh?” I asked him.

“We can celebrate once this is over. Right now, we have work to do.”

I smiled at his words. He was right, but I’d already poured myself some cider, and it would be a shame for it to go to waste. I took my drink and silently toasted, not only to renewed determinations and absolution, but to rekindled camaraderie.

As I finished, my gaze fell on the captain’s badge. It was old, worn, and looked as if it had taken several hits in its time. Still, it displayed his name and ranking boldly.

“Say, you still carry around that old piece of junk?” I pointed to the badge.

“Of course I do. Remember, I made a promise.”

“Right,” I said, rolling my eyes with a smile. “ ‘This badge will leave my being only when I’m dead and buried,’ ” I said, emulating the captain’s voice as best as I could. “It’s an odd promise, but one I can respect.” I gave my old commissioner a smile, one he returned.

It was good to rekindle old friendships. It was very good indeed.

It had been two days since Ingot had talked me into joining the investigation. While he and Shining Armor took care of business the “lawful” way—they still wore the guard regalia, and as such, had to set a standard—I took care of things my way. I did not sport the guard’s regalia, but rather wore my own uniform: a mythril vest, white dress shirt, red tie, and a gray trench coat.

I started with the seedier bars in Canterlot. From there, I moved on to the nightclubs. The deeper I went into the belly of the beast that was the Canterlot’s underworld, the viler the company became.

It wasn’t long before I was speaking to assassins for hire and psychopaths. I had to restrain myself when speaking to them, since just being in their presence made me want to do nothing but beat them into bloody pulps and haul them in to the Palace of Justice. I had to keep my cool and try to extract information. I would arrest them all in due time.

A long night of fruitless searching later and I had exhausted all possible leads. Not even the vilest of scum had anything useful for me to follow. I found the nearest empty stool in Joe’s Donut Shop and ordered the sweetest cup of hot cocoa he had. I hadn’t even taken a sip when an old and weathered donkey took a seat next to me.

Poor fellow’s mane was rapidly going, and his tired old body looked to be just barely fit to carry its own weight. Worst yet was his gaze—aged, cynical, battered—it was all that and more.

He asked Joe to serve him the strongest coffee he had. Soon as Joe put the cup in front of him, he took out a metallic flask and poured half of its contents right into the coffee. I only had to take a whiff to know it was strong whiskey.

The donkey noticed my gaze, and quickly shifted his sight to me, fixing me with a glare. “What are you looking at, changeling?” Even his voice seemed gnarled and disparaging.

“Just noting the strong liquor you’re about to pour down your gullet, old timer,” I replied, somewhat resentfully. “Seems like someone’s either in pain, or is miserable enough to mix caffeine and alcohol—which isn’t exactly the best combination for this time of day.”

The old donkey scoffed as he took a swig of his spiked coffee. “You young’uns don’t know the meaning of ‘pain and suffering.’ You don’t know about loss, regret, and broken dreams. You’re all just worried about the now, never once giving tomorrow a second thought.”

“Now, you’re just generalizing,” I replied, corners of my mouth rising. “Some of us do worry about tomorrow.” I took a swig of my chocolate and sighed with satisfaction. “Of course, I have to worry about both past and future equally. It’s my job, after all.”

“Oh really?” the donkey’s eyebrow rose at my words. “And what job is that, if you don’t me asking?”

I took another swig before answering. “Law keeper; detective; hunter of vice and sin—” I give the old coot a wide grin. “Sometimes I’m just one. Sometimes, I’m all three. It depends on the situation.”

The Donkey’s ears dropped. “So, you’re an E.B.I. officer.”

I took another sip of my cocoa. “Partially,” I clarified. “I work mostly freelance nowadays.”

The Donkey gave a single scoff. “Guess you would know the meaning of ‘pain and suffering’ then.” He let out a bitter chuckle. “Forget what I said, kid.”

I felt my brow furrow. “I’m familiar with pain and suffering, yes,” I replied, keeping the bitter memories down. “Though, most of the time, it’s not exactly my pain and suffering.”

The donkey rolled his eyes at my words. “Don’t matter really in the end. Pain’s pain, and we all feel it one way or another.”

“I can’t argue there.” The old timer was right in that, at least. “So,” I continued, “got a name old-timer?”

“Cranky,” the donkey replied. “Cranky D. Donkey.”

I gave him a nod. “Name’s G,” I replied back. “Detective G, or just G.”

“Well, Mr. Detective G,” Cranky said, giving sarcastic emphasis to my name, “what brings you to Joe’s Donut Shop? Are you here to drown out your sorrows with sweet drinks as well?”

“I could ask you the same thing about you, old timer. But to answer your question, I’m here to drown out the woes of a long and fruitless work day.” I took a sip of my cocoa.

“Guess you could say the same thing for me.” Cranky paused for a second. “Though my reason isn’t exactly due to a job.” He bitterly smiled at his words. “It’s more of a failed life-long quest—in a final analysis.”

“Aren’t we all searching for something in our lives?”

“I never said my search was for something,” he sharply replied.

“Well, if that’s the case, then you’re looking for somepony—or someone—aren’t you?”

Cranky bitterly grumbled something about being too “loud” before sighing and answering. “Yes. The endgame of my quest is someone, though who that is none of your concern, detective.”

“Wasn’t asking,” I replied. “What a pony—or donkey—searches for isn’t my concern.” I let myself smile. “Though, if I’m ordered, I have to make it my concern.”

“Oh right,” Cranky started as he rolled his eyes. “Like the guards and the E.B.I. are really going to be interested in jumping through hoops to help some old washed-up donkey find his long-lost love.” He shook his head with a grunt. “Yeah, that sounds like a real important case to solve.”

“So, it’s a lost love you’re searching for then?” I asked with a satisfied smile.

“How did you—” Cranky started, but cut himself off once realization struck. At that, his expression dropped as his snout crumpled. “Way to go, you old coot! Why don’t you spill your bank account numbers while you’re at it? Or how about that one time you almost slept with that diamond dog lady?”

“Come again?” I asked, quite surprised at what I had heard.

Cranky grumbled. “It’s a long and rather lewd story, kid.”

“What exactly happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Well,” Cranky started. “It happened in my younger years. After a long night at the bar, I met this pretty looking diamond dog miner from Farrington. She was giving me all the right signals, and I was feeling extra lonely that night, so I—”

“Not that!” I said, cutting Cranky off before he could go further into a story that, while no doubt engaging, would certainly not end well. “I-I was talking about the other tale, the one about the lost love.”

Cranky sighed, took a swig of his spiked coffee, and started.

“Many years ago, I attended the Grand Galloping Gala. It was one of those once-in-a-lifetime deals. ‘Course, having been a soldier for the regime had its perks at the time.” He shook his head. “At any rate, I attended the Gala, and in all honesty, hadn’t really expected it to be more than a good night of dancing and drinking. Met a couple of good looking fillies, but a few of them gave me nasty glares, no doubt because of what I was.”

“A donkey?” I asked.

Cranky brow scrunched. “What? Of course not! They glared at me because I was a regime soldier, not because of my race!” He shook his head. “For all the wrong the regime caused, they at least stamped out racism.” He fixed me with a glare. “The reason your race can live among ponies today without being discriminated against is because of them. Don’t ever forget that.” He took a quick swig of his drink. “Not like today, where the fools in power almost seem to encourage discrimination.”

“Alright, I get it,” I said, unable to keep the annoyance out of my voice. “So you got glares, what else?”

“Well, nothing much happened. That is, until I met her; my sweet, sweet Matilda.” Cranky’s eyes softened at the mention of the name.

“Matilda… Why, she was everything a donkey like me could have ever wanted, and then some! We spoke, we danced, we laughed, and we enjoyed the night away.” A warm smile formed on Cranky’s lips. “I’ll never forget that wonderful night.” His smile then started to fade. “When the Gala ended, we promised to meet again in her room. No need to go into detail as to why.” He started giggling. Then, his giggles slowly turned to sobs. “When I went to meet her, she had not been there...” Cranky took a swig of his drink. “I went back to my post a broken donkey and just barely finished my tour of duty on that forsaken black wall.”

I looked Cranky over and gulped. The black wall: over a thousand mile stretch overlooking the fetid, deadly marshes. I shuddered to think what horrific nightmares he must've seen there.

“I did not re-enlist,” Cranky continued, snapping me out of my derailed thoughts. “Instead, I took everything I had and traveled all of Equestria—heck, all of the Vindrigoth continent—looking for my sweetheart. Been at it ever since.” He emptied the last of his drink and closed his eyes. “I’m getting too old for my quest though. For all I know, Matilda could have gone to live happily with another donkey or pony. Maybe she’s got kids of her own now, who would no doubt be having kids of their own.” Cranky let out a sigh that sounded more like a dry sob. “My quest’s meaningless, kid, but it’s all this washed-up vet’s got left before the big dirt nap. Is it too much to just want to see her one last time?”

I was left speechless. The only thought crossing my mind was the question of how an individual could dedicate his whole life to a fruitless search for a single individual. It was a quest that couldn't be accomplished. Even if, by some miracle, Cranky found his beloved, he was correct in believing that she would have a life of her own by now.

Yet, I could still completely relate. Cranky’s quest was no different than mine; only difference was that the journey’s end for Cranky could at least hold the promise of a happy ending.

In contrast, my quest was a never-ending battle against vice and sin. The happiest end I could imagine was being forcefully retired while the very forces I had striven so hard to stamp out my whole life continued thriving—or evolving into a purer breed of decadent monsters.

It was that little reminder of the futility of my job that led me to sigh and empty the remainder of my cocoa in a single swig before looking down at the table in an attempt to think of happier thoughts.

Honestly, the only one that came to mind was the notion of sleeping. I gritted my teeth at that idea. It really wasn’t until then that I was struck by just how alone I really was...

“Something wrong with you kid?” Cranky unexpectedly asked.

“Yeah,” I answered without really giving it much thought. “Something about your situation rings with me. It kind of reminds me of my own tribulations. Difference is that my ending isn’t exactly happy.” I sighed. “So far, the journey’s been nothing but a drag.”

“I’m guessing your case isn’t going as you planned?”

I bitterly chuckled. “That’s a very nice way to put it. Case’s almost dead at this point. All leads point to blank walls.”

“Well, murders tend to do that at first, you know.”

I turned to face him directly. “How did you know that?!”

Cranky gave me a wave of his hoof. “To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure. But now I know.” He gave me a wry smile. “I’m taking a wild guess here, but your case has to do with the recent murders here in Canterlot?”

Well, Cranky had certainly used my own trick against me. I felt like smiling and scowling at the same time. With a well-meaning smile, I nodded.

“Well, I’m no expert when it comes to crime, but it sounds like you may be overlooking something, kid—a connection perhaps?”

I gave Cranky’s words thought. I looked to the counter before me, thinking deeply as to what I could have possibly missed.

All five murders had been of wealthy and influential ponies. Far as I knew, they’d all been killed by the same goat that had murdered Velvet. What connection could they all have?

Age? Possibly, but not exactly a valid connection, as far as I could tell since some of the ages varied significantly. Velvet had been the youngest at sixteen, and the oldest so far had been fifty.

Relationships? None of the victims really had connections to each other that could be traced in paperwork or through family testimonies.

Wealth? Yes. Matter of fact, all five ponies had been quite wealthy.

Method of death? Again, yes. All five had been killed using the same “tool”: Blood Magic; just like velvet ha—

Then it hit me like a freight train: Velvet. She had been the first official victim. Killed with the aid of Blood Magic, wealthy family, and had had a strong connection to the Golden Vision casino. The other victims had also had connections to the casino, though not as direct as Velvet’s. I levitated the piece of paper she had brought into my office the night of her demise and read it over again:

It is a thin line you trot. Either get back into shape, or suffer the consequences.

I was again reminded of the news article the morning after Velvet’s murder. Bullion had looked utterly indifferent, not a single trace of grief in his face. It was almost as if he had been hiding something.

That’s when the pieces started to fall into place: Velvet’s murder and the five other victims had no apparent correlation save for how they had all perished. They were all wealthy, and where did the wealthy hang out in Canterlot city?

The Golden Vision Casino.

Velvet’s note had mentioned Bullion somehow stepping out of line. Was it possible that the other murders were also because those ponies stepped out of line? It made sense that whoever killed the other five wouldn’t kill Bullion, as it would attract the attention of the Guards and E.B.I., but by going after his daughter, a clear message would have been sent, forcing Bullion to keep quiet by covering the death up.

That was it then. The one place where I could start to unearth real answers was the Golden Vision. I had my lead at long last.

I got up from my stool and shook a confused Cranky’s hoof. I ordered him a few more rounds of coffee and donuts before I bid him not only a fond farewell, but the best of luck I could spare for him. Cranky’s story might not be a happy one, but it at least it could end happily.

As I made my way out, I heard him mumble something along the lines of “kid’s are always in a rush,” but I had no time to reply. I had a Casino to visit, and a gilded pony to interrogate.

If the night was kind to me, I also had a scumbag to arrest.

The Golden Vision was swarming with customers of all kinds soon as I stepped in. Every individual, regardless of race, was ready and willing to lay their hard-earned—or not-so-hard-earned—money on the line for a chance at striking it rich. Too bad the place was more advertisement than payout.

I strolled through the gambling floor slowly, noting just how sterile it all looked. All slot machines looked brand new; made of the gilded metal that glinted in the artificial lights, they gave the place an almost enchanted feel.

Beyond that stood many poker tables for the more “serious” gamblers, a couple blackjack tables for the confident, and a few dozen roulette tables for those feeling particularly fortunate. Fifteen burly griffons, all wearing fancy suits, stood near the entrances and exits of the casino floor. They all kept passive looks on the activities within the gambling hall, ready to act at the slightest indication of trouble.

I adjusted my suit and tie before entering the main lobby. I seated myself at the nearest open table, acting like I belonged there.

The dealer, a young mare of white coat and light ginger mane, took one look at me and tensed a bit. This instantly told me she wasn’t used to dealing with changelings. That, or I was expected.

She noted my quizzical look, and quickly straightened her expression before speaking to me in an amiable, yet deadpan tone. “How much do you want deal in?”

“Twenty-thousand bits.” I reached into my saddlebag and brought out a bundle of bit bills that equaled the amount stated, putting it on the table gently. The dealer took my bet and gave me the equivalent in playing chips.

“Hello, friend. My name is Fancy Pants. Care to join me in a game of cards?” I heard a voice ask me from the blue.

I turned around to face the source of the question. The voice’s owner was indeed Mr. Fancy Pants, one of the wealthiest ponies in Equestria. I recognized him from his moustache and fine tailored suit, complete with a pair of fine sterling silver cufflinks, imports from Gryphos by the unique design pressed into their surface.

Next to him stood a stunning young mare that seemed to be just as regal as he was. She was a very light, almost white lavender tone, sporting a bright pink, long mane with a faded cherry stripe, and radiant violet eyes with a violet-tone eye liner.

“Forgive my interruption,” Fancy Pants continued. “I couldn’t help but notice the rather large sum of money you’re ready to bet at once. Clearly, you’re a changeling of wealth if you are willing to make such an audacious play. I would very much like to be a part of your game.”

He noted my silence and gave me a puzzled look. I momentarily diverted my gaze as I considered my options.

I honestly hadn’t expected to run into Fancy Pants. After a few seconds of contemplation, I decided that rejecting his offer might just signal me as somepony up to something suspicious, so I looked back at him and gave him a smile. “Sure, I don’t mind. Though, to be honest, I usually don’t play against the elite,” I added, salvaging my mind-set. I broadened my smile to drive the point further.

“Oh, don’t mind me at all, friend. Out here, I’m just another gambler looking for a good game.” He gave me a quizzical look. “Hmm… how rude of me; I haven’t even asked for your name yet. You are?”

“G,” I answered. “Detective G.”

“Charmed,” Fancy Pants amicably stated. His voice could have easily resonated as high-brow or conceited, but instead came off as humble and affable. He turned to face his companion, who raised her head, closed her eyes, and smiled. “And this is my confidant and dear childhood friend from abroad, Fleur De Lis.” He turned back to me with a friendly smile. “She’s recently moved from Prance, and I’m getting her acclimated to Equestria, starting with Canterlot.”

“Well then, welcome to Canterlot, Ms. Fleur,” I said, grabbing hold of her hoof and shaking it. She only looked at me with a slight tilt of her head.

Fancy Pants let out a chuckle before whispering something to Fleur. This caused her ears to perk as the young mare gave me a beaming smile. “C'est agréable de vous rencontrer aussi!”

Now, I was the one tilting my head. “I’m sorry. Come again?”

Fleur placed a hoof over her lips. She leaned over to Fancy Pants and whispered to his ear. I looked back to Fancy Pants, who again chuckled at my confused expression.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry about this. Fleur doesn’t speak the common tongue yet, so I have to act as her translator.” He laughed jovially. “I don’t mind one bit though!” He gave Fleur a nod. “If you are wondering, I told her who you are in her native Prançais.”

“What about what she said?”

Fancy Pants smiled. “Oh, that’s easy. She just said ‘it’s nice to meet you too!’ ”

Fleur leaned in again and started whispering to Fancy Pants again. He gave her another nod and turned to face me. “It seems like Fleur’s quite enthralled by your profession and has asked if you would do her the honor of sharing some of your more adventurous stories with her.” Fleur took out a very beat-up book with a Prançais title.

The book’s cover was that of the fictionalized Détective Privé. The character was garbed in a black trench coat and sported a lighter black brim fedora hat. He stood on a dimly-lit street, hoof-repeater tightly strapped, but set on the “walk” position. He looked vigilant and ready to deal justice to the lawless.

“You see,” Fancy Pants continued, “Fleur is an absolutely huge fan of detective stories and crime dramas.”

“Sure, sounds g—”

“Think you can accommodate one more in your game?” said the voice of a young stallion all of a sudden. It was a voice that carried a level of self-righteous hubris that I couldn’t hope to match in my most prideful moments.

Fancy Pants and I turned around and found ourselves facing the pony that had so abruptly disrupted us. It was none other than Prince Blueblood. Of course it’s him, I thought to myself bitterly.

Everypony knew who blueblood was. His well-groomed blond mane and overtly cared-for coat being proof enough of his regality. To say he was infamous was an understatement.

Soon as we faced him, Blueblood gave Fancy Pants and Fleur a nasty glare. It was as if their very existence irked him on some fundamental level. When his eyes fell on me though, they changed. His expression considerably lightened. It almost liked like he was about to crack a smile.

I considered refusing the prince’s request, but I knew better than to displease royalty, especially if I wanted to maintain my cover. “Sure, I don’t see why not,” I reluctantly answered. I did my best to hide the glower threatening to appear on my face, but I think I would have had an easier time trying to hide my sneer from Tirek itself—and Tirek was all-seeing.

Fancy Pants scooted over and allowed the prince to take a seat to his right. That left me sitting on the far left of the pair.

The dealer shuffled the deck of cards as Fancy Pants and Blueblood placed their respective bets on the table. Fancy Pants placed two bundles of bit bills next to mine. Blueblood had one of his attendants also place two bundles of bit bills for him.

The dealer swiftly took the bets and exchanged them for playing chips. Both ponies were placing double my bet, which meant they had the confidence to win. I was suddenly feeling very much out of place.

“Well, isn’t this interesting.” A voice unexpectedly rang from behind the young dealer. “We’ve got a poker game here where a prince, an entrepreneur, and a changeling square off for riches and recognition. Now, how can I not join such a match?”

The unicorn took himself a cushion close to the dealer, opposite me. “Love,” he started, looking directly at the dealer, “I’ll also be participating in this game.”

I recognized the unicorn soon as his eyes fell on mine. He was Mr. Bullion, owner of the Golden Vision, and the very pony I had come seeking.

I again had to hide my expression from him and the others. He put four bundles of bit bills on the table, face absolutely oozing smugness.

The dealer took Bullion’s bet with some nervousness and gave him his chips. She then waited a few seconds to see if anypony else would jump in the game before finally deciding to deal the cards out.

...My mind suddenly trails off as I struggle to recall the coming events. Why didn’t I see it then? I think to myself as a few more facts start to pop into my mind.

“Something the matter?” Bad Cop asks.

“No, everything’s fine,” I quickly reply, shaking my head and clearing away the intruding thoughts. “Now, where was I? Ah yes, the game…”

“…Sugar cubes?” a sultry, song-like voice suddenly asked me.

I turned to face the lovely pair of pipes my ears had just been blessed with. The filly that met my gaze had everything where it mattered. Her light sepia coat was just outstanding, with a lustrous mane that was a well-cared for light azure with even lighter stripes. Her eyes were literal pools of gold covered by a beautiful set of violet-adorned eyelids and strong long eyelashes. I couldn’t help but gaze into her eyes, and there I saw how they shone with inspiration and a lust for life.

She held a tray of very expensive Saddle Arabian sugar cube packs around her neck. “Would a fine changeling like yourself care for a pack of sugar cubes?” she again asked me in her sing-song voice.

As much as it pained me to refuse such a stunning filly, I didn’t trust Bullion’s wares. He could have easily put something in the cubes to poison me. After all, the filly had asked me directly. It was either a coincidence, or part of a plan.

I mentally sighed with exasperation. You’re being paranoid again...

“No thanks,” I replied politely. “I carry my own pack.” I levitated a carton of cheap but tasty zebra-made sugar cubes from out of my vest pocket.

The filly nodded with disappointment and turned around. My eyes gazed back at her. I was instantly hypnotized by her swaying hips and generous flank. Then, I noticed that she had no cutie mark. She was a blank flank.

Poor gal, how much must she suffer, I thought to myself. I felt my brow furrow at the injustice.

“Ah, excuse me, miss,” Fancy Pants unexpectedly called out. The filly quickly turned back to face us. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I would like to buy all of your sugar cube packs, if you don’t mind.”

The filly’s eyes lit up, a smile quickly forming on her muzzle. “Why, thank you, sir!” she said, quickly racing back to our table and unloading her entire stock on it.

The dealer, I noted, wasn’t too thrilled to have the game in progress interrupted. That, or she was jealous of the filly’s stunning looks. After all, the dealer was nice-looking, but did not even come close to taking anypony’s breath away.

As Fancy Pants looked over his purchases and paid—generously no less—I heard the filly humming and singing along to the background band playing in the small stage not too far from where I sat. Her voice, even in such a hushed state, was simply angelic. I couldn’t help but close my eyes and smile, taking in the dulcet tone. A few seconds of hearing the tones and I couldn’t help myself. I had to voice my thoughts.

“Say,” I started, “you’ve got one of the loveliest voices I’ve ever had the pleasure of hearing.” I gave the filly a soft smile. “Have you considered getting on a stage and letting the world know what you’ve got?”

The Filly’s face went rosy at my question. “Oh, uh… well…” she stuttered, visibly racking her brain for an answer. After a few seconds, her face lit up as the corners of her mouth rose into a wide, lungful beam. “Oh, what would I give!” The filly’s eyes lit like a pair of stars. “What wouldn’t I give to get up on a stage and sing!”

Her mood slowly changed as corners of her mouth slowly dropped. It wasn’t long after that she reopened her eyes and drank in the cold reality, all but deflating her enthusiasm. “Alas, it’s just a dream.” She looked me in the eye. “I’ve too many debts to pay, so I have to put my dreams on hold.”

“I don’t see why you can’t make that dream real,” Fancy Pants unexpectedly said. He turned to face Bullion. “What about it, Bullion, old chap? Why not give Miss, uh…” He again paused, and then gave a smile and slight shake of this head. “I seem to have once again forgotten my manners. Might I request your lovely name?”

“Sapphire,” the filly replied, her cheeks going rosier as she took a step backwards. “Sapphire Shores.”

“Charmed,” Fancy Pants said with quite the amiableness. “I’m Fancy Pants. This is my close friend and confidant Fleur De Lis.” He pointed to his companion, who smiled and nodded. “And this fine fellow is detective G.” He motioned to me. I gave Sapphire Shores a smile and nod of my own.

Sapphire replied to our greetings with a meek smile, her demeanor taking on a shrinking violet quality.

Fancy Pants again turned to Bullion. “So, will you give this Miss Sapphire her chance to shine?”

“Well...” Bullion started, hoof on his chin. “Oh, what the hay? Sure, I don’t see why not.” He gave a wide smirk at his words. Most would have seen it as honest and maybe even enthralling, but I could sense malice behind it.

“I have been looking for a new headliner for quite some time and, well…” He turned to Blueblood, who had kept surprisingly quiet up to this point. “What about it, Mr. Blueblood? What do you think of Miss Sapphire?”

Blueblood gave the filly an indifferent gaze, but inspected her closely nonetheless. After a minute, he turned to Bullion and gave him a shrug. “She’s adequate in the looks department, and her voice is above-average. I say you give her a shot. You really wouldn’t lose much if she disappoints.” He gave the filly a pitiless glower. At the prick’s words, Sapphire lost some of her luster. Worse, she seemed hurt.

I half-considered decking the pampered young prince where he sat. I restrained myself, however, feigning another smile. Blueblood was a prick. But he was a young and powerful prick. Last thing I wanted was to end up in a prison for striking a member of the royal family, even if the princess could get me out in less than a day—she was well aware of her nephew's less-than-stellar reputation.

Bullion rubbed his hooves together. “Wonderful! Miss Shores, you’re my new upstart then. Your first show is tomorrow night at eight o'clock sharp.” He turned to face me, Fancy Pants, and Blueblood. “I thank you kindly, fine gentlecolts.”

“Oh yes, thank you so much!” Sapphire uttered with eyes both wide and moist. She gave a sniff before nearly breaking into tears over her gratitude.

Fancy Pants looked on with a warm, almost fatherly smile. Fleur also looked on with acceptance. I reached into my coat pocket and handed the filly a hanky to dry her tears. Blueblood looked on with interest only on two things: the cards before him, and Sapphire’s flank.

I could feel my wings start to vibrate under my coat.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Pants, detective G, Mr. Blueblood,” Sapphire said, then sniffed as her eyes filled with tears. “I’ll find a way to repay you all. I promise!”

“It was nothing, my dear,” Fancy Pants replied, his tone still warm. “Just go out there and make your dream come true.”

“Yeah,” I said. My tone was quite frivolous despite the inner rage I felt towards Blueblood. “Don’t let anybody tell you that you can’t do anything.” I shot Blueblood a quick glower.

Blueblood, as expected, said nothing. He didn’t even acknowledge Sapphire anymore, at least not the aspect that mattered.

Bastard.

My desire to hurt the prick was increasing by the second. I could get a good blow or two to his face, leave him swollen and bleeding on the floor, and just have enough time to avoid Bullion’s bouncers.

I felt myself smiling at the idea, but I quickly gave myself a mental slap. Now was not the time to become a white knight.

Sapphire gave me and Fancy Pants a nodding smile, gazing deep into our eyes with something more than just mere gratitude. She gave us all one final thanks and departed, her tray now empty.

After Fancy pants had some of his attendants take most of his purchases away, we decided to resume our game. In the moment of silence that ensued right before we started trying to psyche each other out, Bullion spoke. His words hadn’t pertained to the game or contained their same level of amiableness as before. They had been cold and calculating, wholly indifferent, and aimed directly at me.

“So, Mr. Gro’gar, how did a changeling like yourself end up as one of the most infamous detectives in the E.B.I., especially considering your origins?” Bullion had a wide smirk plastered on his muzzle. The fact that he had both knowledge of my past and knew my name disturbed me.

“What brings your investigation to my establishment?” He asked, leaning back while adopting an amused persona that made my chitin crawl.

“I’m just looking for a good game of cards, that’s all,” I answered, keeping my tone as neutral as I could. The vibrations from my wings were getting stronger. It wouldn’t be long before my trench coat wouldn’t be able to hide them.

“Regardless of your current motives, it’s still an honor to have you in my casino, detective.” He put his hooves together. “I hear from a few of my sources that you were just recently ‘terrorizing’ Canterlot’s underworld.” He gave a faint chuckle. “Got tired of the police not doing their jobs correctly, or did somepony wrong you?”

I grinned. “Scum was starting to build up in the gutters. Someling had to play plumber before that filth started overflowing.” I gave Bullion a quick glance. I wanted to irk the bastard enough to make him slip up. It was liberating to be cocky for once. It was also dangerous. One error and Bullion could catch on and turn the tables on me.

“We must all give you our gracious and heartfelt gratitude, then,” Fancy Pants unexpectedly said, tone surprisingly amicable despite the revelation.

Blueblood placed his cards down and once again turned to face me, his eyes surprisingly devoid of animosity. “Because of my position in the senate, I have been hearing some rather disturbing rumors of a dangerous cult tied to the recent acts of gaudy violence.” He diverted his gaze, the hint of a smile forming on his lips. “I know it isn’t my place to ask this, but have you had any luck with… taking them out?”

I shook my head, surprised the prince was being so… polite.

Bullion chuckled. “So, despite your reputation, you’ve yet to actually deal with the lowlifes plaguing the city.”

Blueblood slammed his hoof on the table. “Mr. Bullion, I have been finding it very odd that you of all ponies is taking this matter so lightly, especially considering how your daughter was a victim of the cult’s violence.”

Bullion put his own cards down, his brow furrowing. “My daughter was a victim of a mugging gone wrong. She wasn’t a sacrificial virgin offered to appease some obscure old god.” He glared daggers at the prince. “I suggest you check your sources well before speaking on matters you know nothing about.”

Blueblood bore his teeth. “I’ve seen the records. I know for a fact that she was a victim of the Crux Nato cult.” Blueblood turned to face me. At first, he seemed as if he would address me. But he changed his mind half-way, instead giving a light shake of his head and turning to glare back at Bullion.

Bullion continued glaring at Blueblood. Then, cracks began to appear on his scowl. Soon enough, he snorted a couple of times before bursting into laughter. “Good one Mr. Blueblood. You really had me going there for a second.” He grinned as widely as his lips could muster. “You’re entitled to your beliefs, but the truth is that my daughter—Luna bless her soul—was a victim of this city’s growing crime rate.” He turned to face me. “Something neither the Guards of the E.B.I. has been able to deal with, especially now that the Rosalinos mafia has gotten better armed. Besides,” he turned back to Blueblood with a sly smile. “The Crux Nato cult answered to their masters, nopony else. Last I checked, those masters had been all but wiped out ten years ago.” He diverted his gaze back to me. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Gro’gar?”

I put down my own cards and sighed. “Yes. The demise of the masters would have destroyed the Crux Nato…” I struggled to keep the venom out of my voice on that last part, but I failed miserably.

“The… Caelestibusque…” Blueblood said. The very words seemed to bring about a chill in the air. “I… I know you don’t like to be reminded of it Gro’gar, but you were under the Caelestibusque’s influence for most of your life. You’re one of the last living ex-members.”

I could feel my veins ice over at the prince’s words.

I gave a bitter smile. “And I take it you hate my guts because of it?” I scoffed. “If you want to insult me, then take a number and get in line. It stretches across two city blocks.”

Blueblood’s expression livened as his eyes met mine. “On the contrary. The fact that you broke out of their control and dealt them a near-fatal blow, one that—if I have my facts correct—was crucial to their downfall, that’s just… amazing!”

I again scoffed. “Yes, that’s true, I guess” —I smiled— “even if everypony forgets that I wasn’t alone in that fight.” Blueblood smiled at my words. I swore I saw his cheeks redden slightly for a few seconds.

Fancy Pants finally put his cards down as he fixed me with a gaze that bordered on pure shock. I quickly glanced at him before giving him an awkward—and sincere—smile.

I looked down to my face-down cards and gave a shake of my head. “Apparently though, we didn’t finish the job properly.” I picked up my cards and inspected them. I took the opportunity to shift my gaze back to Bullion, and then towards his burly griffon guards, all of whom were eyeing me with cold gazes, almost as if they were mentally undressing me.

I heard a sudden cough come from Fancy Pants, forcing me to shift my gaze back to him. Soon as I did, I noted how he was beaming widely, almost as if he had just met some national hero. I couldn’t help but mentally scoff at that idea. I certainly was no hero.

Quite the opposite.

“You give yourself too little credit,” Blueblood said. “Why else would auntie sign your pardon and make you an honorary member of the E.B.I. if not because of what you did?” The prince gave a haughty grin. “Well, I did suggest it.” He put a hoof on his chest. “Hard to believe auntie took the advice of her then seven-year-old nephew into consideration, huh?” He gave a proud laugh.

I put aside both the notion that I was free and alive because of the suggestion of Blueblood—as well as my desire to scream out “WHAT?”—and instead focused on the prince’s words of encouragement. No matter how I tried to dice them, I could not deny that they were absolutely true.

I turned to face Fancy Pants, and noted how he had turned to speak to Fleur. Her eyes widened soon as he finished whispering to her in her native Prançais.

“I got lucky,” I said, motioning the dealer to give me another card. “I nearly got killed aiding to destroy the Caelestibusque.”

“Well, I’ve always been a believer in redemption.” Bullion stated in a sickeningly smug tone. “It’s not like you haven’t more than earned your pardon by now. The last big mission you undertook with your old Partner, Roy I believe his name was, ended up saving an entire town from a group of auto-carriage thugs.”

“And he lost his leg because of it,” I said, swallowing the desire to call Bullion on his knowledge of my past.

“Well, you win some, and you lose some.” Something in Bullion’s tone spoke to my paranoid side. It was rehearsed and almost impossible to tell apart from the truth. Almost.

“Guess the rich and powerful have means of gathering information, huh?” I said. A jab directed at Bullion’s knowledge of my last mission.

It was Fancy Pants who answered. “Nothing gets past you, hmmm, G?” he said, outright omitting any of the usual suffixes. “I pay good money to be kept informed of what goes on in the city, but I do so to protect that which is dear to me.” He grabbed Fleur’s hoof and gave it a light kiss, at which point her eyes glowed, and she smiled widely. From her emotions, I could tell she loved Fancy Pants as more than just a dear friend.

“While many ponies like to delude themselves into thinking that they live in a near utopia, all of us in this table know the sad truth: dangerous and vile things hide in the shadows, and there are few who are willing to stand up to them.” Fancy pants smiled warmly. “It’s a good thing we have ponies like you fighting that darkness, G.” He turned to our dealer, requesting another card. For her part, our dealer looked to be quite fascinated by the conversation.

“My reasons are exactly the same as Mr. Fancy Pants’,” Bullion said, waving his hoof and smiling. “My stakes are much higher though. After all, I own one of the wealthiest and most successful casinos outside of Los Pegasus.” He gave Fancy Pants a rather smug grin that Fancy Pants either ignored, or was oblivious to.

I gave Bullion a shifty glance. “Makes perfect sense,” I put my cards on the table: four kings. “It’s just a shame that your information couldn’t prevent your daughter’s death. Regardless of who killed her, her death must have not been easy to take.”

Bullion grew shifty at the mention of his daughter, more so than when Blueblood had brought it up. Despite his practiced suaveness nearly shattering, he managed to keep the façade up enough to trick most. I could feel his feelings towards me shifting to utter hatred, as well as fear.

“Quite the tragedy,” Bullion replied, tone full of rehearsed sadness. “She wasn’t quite the offspring I would have wanted, but she was still a good filly in her own ways.” He feigned a frown. “She’ll certainly be missed.” His tone did nothing to hide his cold stance towards his own daughter. Bastard.

“Velvet didn’t deserve to die like she did,” Blueblood unexpectedly said, tone a mix of annoyance and solemnity. “With a bit more preparation, she could have easily entered the political field, maybe even give me a run for my money.” I sensed that Blueblood had harbored feelings for Velvet. It didn’t feel like another of his hour-long crushes, which always ended badly. He held genuine feelings of comradeship for her.

Bullion didn’t reply. Instead, he kept a level of coolness that only years of practice could have forged. “Well, we better continue our game; otherwise our lovely dealer is going to fall asleep.”

We all turned to face our dealer, who blushed at the sudden attention she had received. She quickly started dealing out cards, trying to keep a neutral expression despite her rosy cheeks.

I turned to my table companions and concentrated on their feelings. Blueblood looks deep in thought. I sense… no, it can’t be…

I swiftly shifted my gaze towards Bullion. He still has so much indignation and fear towards me. I’m surprised it doesn’t show on his face. It’s filling but it’s just so damn bitter…

I gazed to Fancy Pants. He’s radiating a very friendly aura; almost like he sees me with respect. Obviously thinks I’m some kind of hero. If only he knew the real truth…

Finally, I turned to Fleur. Still has feelings of admiration towards me, but now seems a bit torn about my past associations with the Crux Nato. I don’t blame her.

I caught another emotion in the air; a very strong love. I couldn’t really tell where it came from since it was directed towards Fancy Pants, Bullion, and me. Still, it wasn’t too hard to know who was radiating it.

Before I returned my gaze to my cards, it moved to Fancy Pants’ cufflinks once again: sterling silver with what appeared to be a family crest engraved into the metal, clearly made in Gryphos. Interesting…

The dealer gave him more cards, and he started to build his hand. I half-suspected the game to be rigged against me, but I had no real proof of that…

“…Well, I had no proof, up until I realized that his cards, and only his cards, had very faint marks on them.”

“If the game was rigged in Bullion’s favor, then why’d you play?” Good Cop asks me. His tone has genuine concern and curiosity to it, which only increases my suspicion. The two “officers” have to be working for Bullion.

“If the game was rigged, one of the other players would have pointed it out,” I truthfully answer.

“So, let me get this straight,” Bad Cop suddenly, and angrily, starts. “Instead of trying to find leads on a case you had no official jurisdiction over, you went out gambling using evidence money?”

Other than what I had revealed, the officer has no proof of anything, especially the money—which, ironically enough, was indeed gained from underworld raids and kept for the purposes of serving as potential evidence.

I wasn’t too proud to stuff bills down my jacket whenever I busted a gang or smuggler, but dirty money’s dirty money. Better I use it then it goes back to the scum on the streets. I can see Bad Cop sweating as he waits for my reply.

“More or less, though to be fair, about five hundred or so bits were out of my own pocket. Sometimes, you just have to take a few risks to gain greater payouts.” All of that was a lie. If Bad Cop had read the files I had submitted, he would know that all the money used has been “evidence” money.

“Right, right,” Bad Cop agrees with a nod; a rather bad attempt at trying to save face. He is now annoyed that I’d slipped right past his trap and instead had fallen into mine.

This interrogation is a sham. Now, I just confirm these two buffoons are working for Bullion.

“If there are no further questions, may I get back to telling the story?” I calmly ask. Bad Cop nods.

“Thank you. Now, as I was saying…”

…After five more plays, I was up ten thousand bits. That changed when Blueblood made a move to win five thousand of those bits back.

By the time he had won them back though, one of his attendants had whispered something to his ears, which perked instantly. “What do you mean the meeting’s been cancelled?”

“I’m sorry young master, but the princess said she had a pressing matter to attend to tonight.” The attendant moved closer to Blueblood’s ear. Even so, I still managed to hear his words. “The griffons and diamond dogs are threatening to go to war with each other. The princess is currently boarding the S.S. Wonderbolt to attend the emergency peace summit tomorrow. The senate has requested your presence immediately.”

“What?!” Blueblood stood up so abruptly that he nearly knocked his chair over. “Damn!”

“Something the matter?” Bullion asked.

Blueblood snapped at glare at Bullion. “Of course there is. I wouldn’t just stand up like this for no reason. It’s unrefined for a prince!”

“Calm down,” Bullion said to the suddenly irate prince. “It was only a question.”

“Bullion, I suggest you keep your mouth shut, or so Luna help me, I’m going to have your gambling permit revoked!”

At his words, Bullion genuinely got scared. “Woah there! No need to do something so drastic!”

“Yes, it would be most reckless to abuse your power like that,” Fancy Pants added, looking quite concerned.

Blueblood glowered at Fancy Pants and Bullion. “I don’t have time for this!” He turned to his attendants. “We’re leaving.”

“What about your winnings?” Fancy Pants asked the prince.

“There are more important things happening right now—” He turned to face me. “—much, much more important!” He snapped a glare at Bullion. “I give all my winnings over to Mr. G.” He gave me a warm smile. I nodded in return.

Blueblood departed the gambling hall. His pace, while not a trot, certainly came close to a canter. Bullion kept his eyes on the prince until he exited the double doors.

Once Blueblood was out of sight, Bullion let out a deep sigh. He turned to face me and Fancy Pants, the corners of his mouth lowering. “Unfortunately, I have some pressing matters to attend to as well. I was going to take care of them at later time, but I think it’s best if I handle them as soon as possible.” He gave us both a feigned smile. “Gentlecolts, my lady—” he directed his eyes at Fleur, “—It’s been quite the pleasure.” He turned to the dealer. “My sweet, I’m splitting my winnings between Mr. G and Mr. Fancy Pants.”

With those last words, Bullion stood and swiftly retreated through a nearby set of doors labeled STAFF ONLY.

I stood up cautiously and picked up my winnings. As I did, Fancy Pants gave me a friendly nod and extended his hoof.

“It’s been quite a pleasure meeting you in person, G.” Once again, he used my name directly, this time quite the obvious sign of comradeship.

“I know you probably get this a lot from other ponies, but if you ever find yourself in need of anything, don’t hesitate to call.”

I gave Fancy Pants a nod and smile before shaking his hoof. I sensed no malicious emotion from him. Either he was being absolutely genuine, or he was damn good at hiding his emotions.

Fleur once again said something to Fancy Pants before she looked at me with sultry eyes. Fancy Pants once again translated for her. “Fleur would also like to say how much of a pleasure it was meeting you.” I nodded in reply to Fleur, who smiled.

With that, Fancy Pants and his companion departed, leaving me alone with the dealer, who also gave me a warm—albeit timid—smile before parting through the same door Bullion had used.

I finished gathering up my chips. My eyelids started to feel heavy, so I brought out my pocket watch. My eyes widened at the time: ten to midnight.

I looked around. The gambling hall looked very empty all of a sudden. Discounting the few dealers that were now packing up their stations and the few bouncers still in the premises, I was practically alone.

I headed for the nearest exchange window. There, I emptied every chip I had. In return, the teller gave me ten bundles of bit bills. In total, I had earned a hundred thousand bits. Quite a hefty sum, especially considering I had only bet twenty thousand originally. I had to thank Blueblood for what was essentially a very big donation on his part.

As I started to make my way out of the gambling hall and towards the foyer, my surroundings grew quieter and darker. Soon as I walked into a shadowed part of the casino, something struck me in the back of the head.

My vision blurred, giving me one last glimpse of a shadowed griffon figure before I blacked out.

“Some detective you are,” Bad Cop gleefully mocks. He doesn’t even bothering hiding it.

Bastard.

“You let somepony sneak up on you far too easily.” The officer crosses his hooves. “What an amateur mistake,” he taunts, giving me a dark smug grin. He’s making it very hard to resist the urge to deck him across the face.

“You would be surprised how easily you can be snuck-up on inside a casino.” I do my best to keep the cold righteous fury out of my voice.

“So,” Bad Cop continues, “you got knocked out. What happened when you woke up?”

I lean back in my chair a bit, taking a moment to recall the proceeding events. “The only thing I really remember with clarity is waking up to a butt-ugly griffon using my stomach as a punching bag.”

Instinctively, my hooves move to my gut.

My stomach felt as if a two-ton weight had repeatedly been slammed into it. As I wheezed from the most recent impact, I slowly opened my eyes. Once the world started to come into focus, I saw where I was: a large dark windowless room lit only by a single light bulb.

An extremely muscular griffon garbed in a crimson robe stood front and center. He was smiling wickedly in anticipation. He had some blood on his knuckles, no doubt my blood. I felt myself scowling. This certainly wasn’t the first time I had been awoken via a beating.

Next to him was the shadowed figure of what I knew was a filly changeling. Unlike her partner, who radiated sickening joy, she radiated hesitation and anxiety. I could sense three more entities in or near the room, though they all hid in the shadows.

I tried to move, but couldn’t. I was bound in a sitting position, hooves tied behind my back with magically augmented rope. Again, not the first time this had happened. My hoof-repeater, along with the contents of my pockets and saddlebags, were all spread out on a nearby table.

A silky voice spoke directly into my mind from somewhere in the shadows. “[Detective Gro’gar, the changeling known for being one of the five that took out the Caelestibusque, tied up and ready for me to kill? This really must be my lucky night!]”

Though the situation terrified me, I let out a feigned laugh, answering the voice in my best defiant tone. “Unfortunate? Yes, but certainly not for me.” My witty reply only resulted in another blow to my stomach, followed by a punch to the face—all courtesy of the griffon. This time, I really tasted the blood.

“[Do not think that you will be walking away from this, detective. You made a grave error in seeking information this night.]”

Before I could really ponder the implications of that statement, the griffon ran his claw across my cheek just hard enough to pierce my thick chitin, but not hard enough to cause a deep cut on the flesh below. He traced a line under my throat and up the other cheek, leaving a fine incision that expanded and contracted every time I let out a raspy breath.

Despite what was “common knowledge” about changeling biology, what the griffon had done hurt a lot, even if it didn’t look it. The wound was made to expose my skin nerves to the air, leaving a horrid burning sensation in its wake.

Despite the pain it would cause me, I managed a smile, spitting out the blood that had pooled in my mouth. “If you five are going to kill me, then just get it over with,” I defiantly wheezed. On the surface, I presented a half-interested façade meant to throw my opponent off. Without my trench coat, I was certain that my captors could see my wings vibrating from my restlessness.

“I honestly have better things to do tonight,” I continued. Inside, I was desperately praying that my ploy would work.

The griffon once again lashed out, this time opting to rake his claws diagonal across my chest. His attack tore right through part of my shirt, but didn’t even scratch the mythril vest underneath, which—thankfully—he did not see.

“[Your attitude needs adjustment detective. My Gryphan partner here will work on that,]” the voice said, tone full of dark and sickening satisfaction. The changeling filly slowly retreated deeper into the shadows, her face a mix of fear and regret. She left me to face her griffon partner alone.

The griffon, for his part, flexed his body and cracked a smile as he readied his claws. I took a deep breath and steeled myself.

It was now or never.

Soon as the griffon launched his blow, I changed form to that of a pony foal. My bindings slipped right off, and in a matter of seconds, I had used my new size to slip right past his legs.

Before I even finished the roll, I had transformed into a perfect emulation of one of Bullion’s griffon bouncers and landed a devastating strike cross the half-eagle’s beak. Not waiting for him to make the next move, I grabbed hold of his arm just as he stumbled backwards and slammed him against the nearest wall before taking him straight to the floor, twisting his arm until I heard a snap.

The griffon let out an ear-piercing screech. I took the opportunity to lift my right claw and end his misery. I didn’t get the opportunity, however, as I was swiftly grabbed by a pair of black, holey hooves and pulled away.

The griffon took the sudden pause in my attack to stand, arm limply hanging by his side. He glared swords at me. He extended his good arm and rushed towards me with the desire to drive his claw into my chest and out my back, preferably with my still beating heart in his palm.

His claw made contact with my chest, but his face turned to horrified surprise when he realized that his talons weren’t digging into my carapace. I took the opportunity to deliver a smack to the head of the changeling that had grabbed me with the back of my own skull, and in one swift move, tossed him over to his partner, knocking the two to the floor. That’s when I noticed the changeling was the same filly from earlier.

I changed back to my original form and made a dash for the table to grab my weapon. The griffon roared as he tossed the filly aside with reckless abandon and charged me full-force. Unfortunately for him, I had managed to levitate my repeater off the table and met him with its barrel. I telekinetically pulled the trigger, hoping the bastards had forgotten to unload the weapon. They had.

The magical explosion hurled a bolt straight into the griffon's chest. He reeled for a moment, but recovered quickly. He let out an impressive shriek as he rushed once more.

I fired a second shot. The bolt bored deep into the griffon’s cranium. I watched in shock as half of his head blew apart, leaving behind a single wide eye. He fell on his knees and hit the floor face first.

The filly changeling lay there, horrified by what she had just witnessed. I quickly dashed up to her, weapon pointed at her head.

She didn’t make a sound. I noted her wings fluttering haphazardly and her eyes overflowing with tears. At the sight, I eased off the trigger. I stared at her for a few more seconds before slamming the repeater over her head. She hit the floor, out cold.

I turned to the darkness, my brow furrowed as cold fury ran through my veins. “Care to make more threats on my life?”

“Well done, detective. Well done,” replied the same shadowy silky voice, this time physically sounding across the room; its tone taunting and ominous. “I would have expected no less from one such as you—”

All of a sudden, a sharp pain assaulted me, like somepony was driving a metal spike through the thickest part of my skull. I screamed out in pain as I dropped my repeater and clutched my head, falling on my knees.

“—but in the end, you lose,” it whispered in a viciously delighted tone.

The pain intensified, feeling as if the world’s worst surgeon had taken to performing a lobotomy using a crank drill.

“I’m… stronger… than you think….” I managed to groan. “I will… beat… you… you…” I mustered up what little energy I had left in me, forcing all of it back.

My pulse was pounding in my ears, drowning out the taunting voice in my head. I slowly forced it back, the latent energy that my kind possessed pushing the mental assault away. I was dimly aware of the crimson strands of blood forming around my body, but I was starting to lose my sight. I could feel the pain creeping back, threatening cause my skull to explode.

“You will fail, detective. You. Will. Fail!” the voice barked in what I could only describe as a half-cackle, half battle-cry.

“Never!” I shouted back with all my might. I forced every ounce of my strength into the counter assault. By sheer force of will, I managed to repel the unseen attacker, but the price had been steep. What little energy I had was all drained.

I fell on my knees as a deep shadow claimed me.

I pause for a moment. Something isn’t right here…

“Something wrong, detective?” Good Cop asks, staring at me cautiously, which I ignore.

“No, it’s nothing,” I quickly reply. I can feel my wings starting to vibrate harder as the wrongness seems to intensify all around me. It almost feels as if a black veil slowly wraps itself around me, ready to choke.

“Then continue your narration,” Bad Cop harshly says. His tone’s harsh, cold, and calculated.

The pain was nearly as intense as the mental assault before it. It was like being struck in the face by a flaming minotaur’s fist.

After it subsided, I picked up my repeater and half blindly dragged my hooves toward where I thought the voice had been coming from.

“I’ll… give you… five… seconds… to come out of the shadows and… fight before I start… shooting.” I managed to wheeze out. “And I promise… I won’t… miss…” I ended, weapon barrel pointed to the shadows…

…I pause once again. What did happen after that? I think to myself. All I remember was that I walked out of there, and then I was here… here…

I look to the two officers—officers I had been dead-certain were under Bullion’s payroll. Now, I had the awful gut feeling the actual truth was far more sinister than that.

“That’s it?” Bad Cop asks me, his tone a mix of indignation and slight shock.

I stare at his being, or more accurately, at his cufflinks. Just like Fancy Pants’, I realize Exactly…

I stand up slowly; taking a fresh sugar cube from the carton Good Cop had given me. I place it on my tongue and bite into it. No taste at all.

“Not your brand?” Good Cop asks as he himself stands up, pulling another carton from his suit’s pocket. His face tries to hide the sudden onset of terror.

Suddenly, it all made sense: the loaded questions, the seeming amnesia, and the two “officers” before me. I felt a genuine smile grow on my muzzle as the final realization clicked in my head.

I gave the two phony officers one last look. You play, you pay, you bastards.

There are three types of lies: lies, damn lies, and statistics.

They Find Their Own Order—Part One

View Online

Good Cop offers me another sugar cube. His ears twitch nervously as he breathes quickly and shallowly.

I raise a hoof to stop him. “I doubt that flavor’s mine.” I give the young officer my most ominous smirk. “After all, none of this is real.”

Both officers stare blankly at me.

“That’s why I don’t remember how I got here—because I never left that room.” I motion to the empty walls that surround me. “This whole place is nothing more than an illusion conjured by some voice in the shadows.”

Before either stallion has a chance to utter a retort, I leap across the table. I wrap my hoof around Bad Cop’s tie and deliver the blow I’d been building up all ‘interrogation.’ Without waiting for him to groan—or even stumble backwards—I slam his head on the metal table. I’m rewarded with a cathartic, albeit painful-sounding, crack.

I turn to face Bad Cop’s partner. Soon as I do, I find myself dodging a stab to the face, just barely avoiding having my eye gouged out as the blade leaves a nasty cut on the right side of my eye socket.

Before Good Cop has a chance to deliver another attack, I reach for the pencil he had been using to scribble down notes and drive it into his left eye. Instantly, he drops his hoof knife and staggers backwards, holding onto his eye and screaming in agony.

Feeling bad for the young colt, I swiftly position myself behind him and grab his head with both hooves. With a twist, I end his misery.

My brow creases as I let out a weary sigh. The right side of my vision starts to tint red as blood pours onto my eye. I levitate the same handkerchief Sapphire used to wipe her tears, and try to wipe the blood away. The wound’s deeper than expected.

I turn to face the blank wall ahead. “I’ve seen through your little mind game. Now, show yourself!” If there’s one thing I had learned to hate over the years, it was being manipulated and deceived.

“I was hoping you would see through this simple trapping, detective,” the voice from my memory unexpectedly says. Its tone isn’t that abnormal, but something about it still sends chills down my spine.

“Ponies these days are just so easy to trick that it’s been getting boring.” The voice’s tone has completely changed. It’s taken on a higher-pitched resonance, not too dissimilar from that of a young school-age filly. It adds to its unnerving factor.

“Face me, you coward!” I roar at the wall ahead.

“Why would I face you when I’m nice and safe in the shadows?” the voice smugly says. “Still, killing you in the flesh would prove my superiority, and could even earn me status back home.” The voice whimsically giggles at its own words. It is a twisted and horrendous giggle.

“Okay, detective. I’ll grant you the honor of seeing me.” The voice carries with it a glee that’s as unnatural as it is immoral. Once again, its tone’s changed. It is still filled with the giddiness that can only arise from insanity, but the pitch has dropped to one that wouldn’t be out of place on a young mare.

“It’s nice to know you hold such a high opinion of me,” I sarcastically say. I take a deep breath of air in preparation for what I’m about to face. “Too bad I don’t feel the same about you and your cult.” Keep your hubris in check , I tell myself. You’ve survived this long on sheer luck. Don’t you blow it now. I do my best to keep my limbs from visibly trembling.

“Don’t you mean our cult?” the voice says in an unremitting pitch. Before I can retort, the room begins to fade. Colors wash out to shades of gray and black as whatever foul magic had spawned them quickly drained away.

I look down to my body and notice my own trench coat is vanishing alongside the room, leaving me wearing nothing but my mythril vest and my stained, ripped white dress shirt and red tie.

Within seconds, the interrogation room is no more, replaced instead by the same darkened location I had been tortured in.

Now, however, there’s a new presence waiting for me in the shadows. Its sadistic smile is visible even in the murk. Once my eyes adjust to the low lighting, I see my opponent for the first time. I have to do a double take as my jaw hangs open from the shock.

“It can’t be…” I find myself whispering.

III
THEY FIND THEIR OWN ORDER
PART ONE

I stand face to face with what’s unmistakably a female Damnatorum. She’s a mish-mash of various creatures, all deadly to the average pony: serpent for her lithe and curvy body; teen dragon, for her right foreleg and tail; lycan, for her left foreleg; quilin, for her left arm; and minotaur for her right arm. Her actual body coloring’s surprisingly even and gorgeous: a silvery shine that’s only contrasted by the crimson of her hooded robes.

The only feature that appears ‘average’ in her body is her head, which is that of a young mare. Even so, the two antlers adorning her head—one belonging to a deer and the other belonging to a ram—change that. One look into her ruby red eyes shows me black irises. Portals into a twisted mind.

“Surprised?” the chaotic being shoots her arms into the air, smile broad on her muzzle. I have to fight the urge to agree with her.

The damnatorum are a tribe of lesser draconequi whose members had at one point been ponies, quilins, or griffons. Through some kind of magical metamorphosis, they had been altered. Most damnatorum were tricksters at worst, but their chaotic powers, Paries Transmuto, made them dangerous and unpredictable forces in combat when they did go bad.

And the one in front of me was likely as bad as they went…

I give my opponent a grin to hide my rising unease. “I’ll admit that I wasn’t expecting to run into… well… one of your kind.” I try to keep the trembling out of my voice. “In hindsight, it makes sense. Only a being that can control chaos and reality could trick a changeling.” I give the draconequus a feigned smile. “Too bad it didn’t work.”

The mismatched being impishly grins. “Who said it didn’t work?” she says, followed by a giggle. A silly, twisted, malicious giggle. “You honestly believe that I would let anyone see through one of my tricks so easily?” Her smile broadens, becoming more spiteful. “It was only intended to distract you.”

“Distract me from what?” I never divert my gaze from the damnatorum as I levitate my weapon off the floor.

Before I can react, the draconequus extends her left claw, which now glows with unmistakably powerful magic. Seconds later, a pillar of flames erupts from under my hooves. I get but a fraction of a second to dodge.

“Distract you from the real world!” she haphazardly shrieks, followed by a mad cackle. The fire she had summoned dies out just as quickly as it appeared, and she stands in its place with a broad smile on her muzzle

Did I mention damnatorum were extremely unstable?

Despite avoiding the worst of the attack, I hadn’t been fast enough to evade it completely. Some of the fire managed to lick my left back leg, causing a nasty burn that pierced through my thick chitin.

With a hiss, I fight back the pain and put the sensation to work for me. I aim my repeater as soon as I’m upright again and fire a single bolt aimed at the draconequus. Soon as she sees my weapon’s barrel aimed at her face, she vanishes. I only succeed in blowing a hole in the wall.

Taking my foe’s move as an opportunity, I levitate a small red vial from my saddlebag on the table. I pour its content over my wound, easing the burn and repairing the destroyed chitin in a matter of seconds.

I’m not even on all fours again when I feel the air gets charged with magical energy. I jump out of the way again, this time from a shadowy lump of energy that almost takes my head off. The ground erupts in a shower of rubble and dust, leaving behind a sizeable pony-sized hole in the concrete floor.

“Give it up!” the damnatorum says. “I’m stronger than you, faster than you, more determined than you! You’re waste; you’re filth; I’m going to rip you apart!” She viciously laughs at her own words, her voice reverberating all through the room.

I ignore the taunt as best as I can. Instead, I once again take aim and fire a shot just as the last laugh leaves my foe’s lips. A pained yelp rings in the dark, followed by a low thud. I instantly fire again, but I only hit another wall.

“Tricks and illusions aren’t going to save you,” I say, feigning a playful tone of my own. “Give up, you mismatched reject, and I might just let you walk out of here in shackles. Otherwise—” I prepare my weapon. “—you’ll not be walking out of here at all.” I bring my fetlock to within millimeters of the trigger.

The only response I get from my foe is a loud yell and a stream of crimson flames snaking along the ground toward me.

I stay perfectly still, watching the pattern intently. One false move and I’m ashes.

Closer and closer the trail comes. Eventually, it breaks into five strands of flames that zigzag across the floor.

With one fluid motion, I fire the remaining five bolts in my repeater just ahead of the flames. The five shots break the concrete and stop the fires in their tracks.

I pop open my repeater and levitate eight half-inch long steel bolts from the other saddlebag on the table. I put each projectile in its respective chamber while I recharge the repeater with more magic.

“You… really are as—augh—g-good as they say!” the draconequus shouts. Seconds later, I barely dodge another blast of magic—this time electricity—before I return the attack. My foe once again vanishes before I can get a good lock on her. I again hit a wall.

“All I need is one shot, right between your eyes,” I shout, using the same playful tone from earlier. “Even a being of chaos can’t survive having her head blown off!”

It wasn’t exactly the most interesting taunt or threat I’d ever uttered, but the added playfulness to my tone, coupled with her injury, must have struck a chord.

Seconds after my boast, the draconequus leaps out of the shadows and tries to swipe at my head with her claws. I jump back to avoid her attack. She winces as soon as she tries to stand, left claw over her abdomen.

“I have... defeated many… stronger opponents… than… you!” she says through clenched teeth. Her voice again changes. It’s not only a lower resonance, but there’s a strong note of doubt in it. “You’ll pay for all the comrades you’ve killed tonight!”

Rather than wasting my breath on a retort, I rush the draconequus. It catches her completely off-guard, giving her no time to perform any defensive maneuver or cast any barrier spells. I end up delivering a powerful ram attack directly to her chest. My horn almost gouges her as she slams against a nearby wall with a loud yelp. Before I can bring my repeater to bear, she again teleports into the shadows.

“You… relentless… monster…” The damnatorum’s voice no longer holds any kind of amusement, but outright fear. The voice is coming from… right behind me! I wheel around and fire all remaining seven shots. The bolts miss entirely, only striking the walls. I charge my horn and reach for more ammunition.

“A fool’s mistake!” the draconequus’ voice mockingly echoes, coming closer with each word. “You should have been more attentive to your ammo reserves!”

She’s getting closer, I think to myself. I quickly grab all the ammo I had left and start to reload just as her silvery form slips from the shadows.

As soon as she sees me reloading, she lets out a yell and charges me, a pale gray light emanating from her right claw. I watch my foe’s movements carefully. Timing is everything.

The glow becomes brighter, enough that I have trouble seeing her full form. Seconds later, a beam of blue energy shoots out of the pale gray light.

I slam my repeater shut and roll away just in time for the blast of energy to sail over my head. I exit my roll and leap towards the draconequus. I land right on top of her chest. Soon as I do, I dig my back left leg into her abdominal wound. The damnatorum screams in agony, closing her eyes for a fraction of a second. When she opens them again, the barrel of my repeater’s positioned right between her eyes, just as I had promised.

She didn’t see it nor expect it. She has no time to move, no time to counterattack. A wide smirk forms on my muzzle as magic surges in my weapon’s barrel. “NO, PLEAS—” the damnatorum starts, her voice cracking with absolute terror, but the sound of thunder coming from my repeater drowns her words out. I jump away just as my foe’s lifeless body hits the floor with a dull thud. Her remaining black-irised eye stares back at me. In it, I can see one final message to me: “Why?”

I let out the breath I’d been holding and fall on my haunches, both from the shock of the battle, and the exhaustion. At first, I softly chuckle, glad to be alive and relatively unharmed. Then a pang of guilt starts to form in my chest. It’s followed soon after by numbness as the draconequus’ last words ring in my head, a genuine cry of parlay I ignored and mocked in favor of cold retribution. In the back of my mind, a small changeling celebrated the death of yet another foe who’d foolishly underestimated me. Thinking about that changeling made me feel sick all of a sudden. Why? I ask myself.

I look to my vanquished foe, and all I can really think about is Velvet. Why Velvet? Why am I even caring? With a heavy sigh, I move closer to my dead foe. My lips purse. With my magic, I close her remaining eyelid. I can’t bear to look at that eye anymore.

I sit on my haunches again, heart rapidly beating. The adrenaline in my system’s still pumping me full of energy, but I have no more use for it. I take a deep breath to try and relax. When that fails, I stand and walk over to the table. Without sparing another thought, I gather my belongings. The bitter taste in my mouth is now multiplied tenfold. I’ve no idea where I am, but something told me I wasn’t in the Golden Vision anymore. I let myself groan in frustration. Somehow, I’d ended up killing a griffon, two ponies, and a draconequus.

Once I put my real trench coat back on, I got ready to leave the dark room. That’s when I hear a low moan echo in the murk. I turn around to see the changeling I had knocked out earlier start to come to. I instinctively raise my repeater, aiming for her head. The urge to pull the trigger’s strong. She’s one of them, I hear myself thinking. She’s evil scum! Rationally, taking her out was the intelligent thing to do. I close my eyes and prepare myself to pull the trigger.…

…but I don’t fire.

I lower my weapon and sigh in defeat and exasperation. I… I don’t like to kill, I lie to myself. I. Don’t. Like. To. Kill! I walk over to the still-recovering filly changeling. Before she has a chance to fully recuperate from her addled state, I whip her on the back of the head. I don’t let her hit the floor. I wrap her in my telekinetic hold and carefully place her on my back.

I make my way to the far end of the room. There, I start feeling along the walls for an exit. After locating a hidden door, I leave the room of death. As expected, my exit leads me into an old abandoned warehouse somewhere in lower Canterlot. I only have to take a short walk outside to find a vandalized payphone. Thankfully, it’s still in working order.

I put the unconscious filly next to the phone booth as I meet my own reflection. It’s only then that I note that aside from my trench coat, my shirt and tie are not only ripped to shreds, but stained with the life essence of other living beings. All my kills suddenly return to me. The griffon, the two ‘cops,’ the damnatorum, Velvet—all faces that flash before my eyes. Why? I again ask myself, leaning on the wall for support.

I shake my head, focusing instead on the task at hoof. I take out a bit coin, pop it into the machine, and dial the first number that comes to mind. “Lieutenant Shining Armor, This is detective G. I… I need your help.”

The first rays of sunlight have crept over the city’s skyline by the time I make it back to my building complex.

I’d been in the torture room exactly four days by my count. Still lying on my back is the changeling filly. She’s unconscious, but unharmed. I can’t help but roll my eyes as I recall how I got stuck with her.

*** *** ***

After Shining Armor and Ingot had arrived at the scene, the three of us agreed to involve only the E.B.I. and guards in the mess I had made. Once Canterlot PD officers started arriving on the scene, we got to cleaning as quickly as we could manage, but only after making the officers swear to not speak of the details. We picked and packed the bodies, and made sure there weren’t any suspicious objects that a random pony could stumble upon.

The only real loose end was the filly.

Naturally, the colts of the E.B.I. had wanted to take her as a “suspect of interest.” Two issues, however, made that a difficult proposition.

First: Equestrian law, which prohibited the detainment and processing of anyone under the age of eighteen, which the filly clearly was.

Second: the desire to suppress the now clear fact that Canterlot had the Crux Nato running about. The E.B.I. was clear in wanting to avoid further panic among the populace, especially since there was still a killer on the loose. My ordeal had to stay a secret for the greater good.

Because of the delicate situation at hoof, the only course of action many officers came up with was to remove the filly from the official picture.

Unfortunately, that either meant killing her, putting her through the arduous and painful reconditioning and memory adjustment procedure—which could just as easily kill her—or putting her in a windowless cell for the rest of her life—which was as good as killing her.

The choices, aside from blatantly breaking laws—written and unwritten, governmental and moral—didn’t seem even remotely appropriate, even if the filly was affiliated with the Caelestibusque. After all, she hadn’t actually harmed me. It had been Ingot, of all ponies, who had suggested that the filly be left in my care.

Though it wasn’t my first choice, it was still somewhat sound. After all, I was not only a changeling, but also a former Crux Nato member myself. I had a higher chance of getting the filly to talk about her assignment than any other officer had.

With the choice settled, we tagged the filly with a tracking spell in case she managed to make a run for it. If she so much as sneezed, the E.B.I. would come down on her with hankies and shackles.

After the procedures, Ingot had ordered some of his men—but not Shining Armor—to accompany me back to my office. Unfortunately, they departed soon after arriving at my home, likely to keep my profile as low as possible. An escort of five guards draws a lot of attention near the slums, after all.

*** *** ***

As I enter my building’s foyer, I can’t help but grunt. The guards could have at least helped me get the filly up to my office. My back’s getting sore from lugging her around.

As soon as I exit the elevator, I notice the hallway lights are out. Not that surprising, considering how cheap the building’s owner tended to be. Still, it is early in the morning, which means the lights had likely been out all night. That seems wrong.

I make my way down the empty corridor, keeping a sharp ear for any suspicious sound. Just to be safe, I levitate my repeater and keep it near my head instead of strapping it to my right hoof. I’ll need all four of my limbs should trouble rear its ugly mug.

Everything looks the same far as I can tell: same dusty wood floors, same gaudy and cryptic graffiti on the wall that read ASTRO$RF LIVES, same everything. The further in I trek, the clearer it becomes that the normality itself is a sign that something’s not right.

I gently place the filly down against a nearby wall before leaning around the next corner. I see nothing but empty hallway ahead, but do notice glass littering the floor. I look up and quickly discover why; the lighting’s been shot to Tartarus.

I gaze further down the hall. I spot my office door, and it is slightly ajar. Prudently, I prowl closer to get a better look. I don’t have to inspect it too carefully to see that it had been bucked open. The inner lock shows signs of tampering, but it wasn’t successfully picked.

I gaze around before quietly concentrating, and seconds later, my body’s enveloped in emerald flames. When the flames recede, I’m no longer myself, but instead a Windigo. My new ethereal body lets me phase past the door without disturbing it. Despite wanting to turn back to my original form, I stay as a windigo. I’m not a fan of being an ethereal strife eater, but I’m not stupid enough to walk right into a possible trap.

I focus on my surroundings in the hopes of sensing emotion, but there is nothing. My home, it seems, is long vacant. I assess the damage done to it. My desk’s overturned, my filing cabinet’s torn asunder, and all of my furniture—save for the couch—seems to have been beaten and ripped by what I can only really describe as either an angry bear or a pack of timberwolves.

I can’t help but growl and snort in rage. At this point, it doesn’t really matter if I make noise. Whoever broke in was long gone, and aside from the neighbor—who was never really home to begin with—the entire floor was vacant. I momentarily consider organizing my stuff and carrying on as best as the circumstances allow when I spot several things wrong about my office.

First is my alcohol cabinet. It’s far too pristine, especially since it was subject to a violent ransack. Next is the hall leading right up to my room. It’s not only clear of damage, but there isn’t even a single sign of traffic in it, almost as if the culprits hadn’t even bothered going there. Finally, I note several obvious clues strewn about, including hoofprints and small objects such as cufflinks and discarded pieces of paper with writing in them. I turn to my front door.

How much do I want to bet… I think to myself as I look behind the door. Of course. A small bundle of balefire gems primed and ready to blow with the slightest tampering, I angrily think as I see the small mechanism strapped to the door. I can’t see them, but I’m dead certain there’s more traps waiting for me.

With my office compromised, I’ve no choice but to report to the Palace of Justice. Ironically enough, I have to wait for the cover of night to move again since getting there while lugging an unconscious changeling in broad daylight was just asking for trouble. I guess I can call in for help, but something told me the phone lines were being monitored. I give my office one last look over before I phase out. Once I’m back in the hall, I take my natural form again and I carefully levitate my still-unconscious charge. I’d have to hole up in a nearby motel till nightfall. I knew which one.

Roy’s motel is called “Big 12.” Why did he choose that name? Hay if I knew.

Roy’s a mild-mannered earth-pony, and an old friend. Once upon a time, he had been an E.B.I lieutenant detective. He was forced to retire after he lost his left hind leg to a vicious gang of auto-carriage thugs. I was shortly after assigned to bring the thugs to justice.

One massive fight down an abandoned highway later, and all but the gang leader remained without being a stain on the pavement. I also lost my auto-carriage in the process. I got Tartarus from Ingot, who ended up giving me a month’s probation for my use of “unnecessary force.” He didn’t kick me out of the E.B.I., despite having every right to do so though.

Roy and I greet each other, and after a few suggestive jabs and an innuendo about my “catch,” Roy agrees to help me. He gave me his most “luxurious” room and promised to keep an eye out for suspicious activity. He also swore not to snitch me out as a jailbait chaser. I roll my eyes and laugh at his jab. I definitely wasn’t going to hear the end of it from him now.

After making sure the room’s truly empty, I unload my still-unconscious captive carefully on the bed and take a seat on the nearby table. My thoughts then drift back to my office. I probably should have checked more for actual evidence, I think to myself. I frown at my idea. I couldn’t have risked setting off any of the traps. I snort bitterly. Even if I got the office cleaned and repaired, it would never really feel safe again. And the rent was so cheap, too…

I take off my trench coat and tie, but leave the shirt and mythril vest on. Without much else to do, I switch on the nearby radio and tune in to the local music station. A block of news passes in which an overly excited DJ talks about how peaceful Canterlot is before announcing that he’s got a special treat: a live performance by an upstart whose voice has to be heard to be believed.

Upbeat jazz music starts to play, and to my surprise, a familiar voice starts to sing. It takes me all of five seconds to recognize the charming and dulcet voice of Sapphire Shores, the filly I had met in the Golden Vision selling overpriced sugar cubes for a living. She must have really impressed in her debut to have made it to the radio in less than a week. At least she wasn’t stuck in that manure hole of a casino anymore.

Soon as the song ends, the DJ once again takes over, at which point he thanks Fancy Pants for his contribution to the station and for introducing Canterlot to “the magnificent Ms. Sapphire Shores.” I smile. Figures Fancy Pants had something to do with this. At least one pony has gotten her happy ending.

I yawn and let myself relax a bit. An hour passes before I start to feel particularly thirsty. I turn off the radio and give the changeling filly another look. She’s still out cold, so there really isn’t much of an issue. I stand up and put on my trench coat. It’s then that I note two very important aspects I had entirely missed about the filly.

The first was age. While I had known she was a filly, I’m left wordless by just how young she actually is. She can’t be older than sixteen. Same age as Velvet was.

That thought led straight to the next aspect: physical looks. Now, I had seen many pretty faces over the years, a few dozen belonging to my own kind. The filly though, she was by far the prettiest changeling I’d ever seen. Shortly thereafter, I remind myself I’m not a Jailbait chaser.

Wait, what? I think to myself.

I look away and growl. Damn you Roy…

I look back at the filly and sigh. What was such a gorgeous young gal doing running around with the Crux Nato?

As I open the door, I make sure to set the extra lock the motel owner gave me. If the filly woke up while I was out, she wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry. More importantly, the extra lock would keep any unwanted visitor out of the motel room. Something told me her life could be at risk.

As soon as I open the door, I find myself dodging a blast of green flames.

I grit my teeth, instinctively bringing my repeater to bear. I feel a curse forming on my tongue as I aim the weapon at the head of my attacker. I turn to face my foe just as I’m about to magic the trigger. On seeing who it is, I stop myself.

Baring her fangs and with horn aglow is the filly changeling, now wide awake and very much displeased. Her emerald eyes glare at me, and I sense rage and fear in her. Mostly fear, on closer analysis.

I lower my weapon and magic the door shut. I give the filly a careful gaze before taking my purchases and walking towards the kitchen as if nothing has happened between the two of us. She jumps in my way, attempting to appear as threatening as possible. The more she tries, the more helpless she makes herself out to be.

I roll my eyes and walk around her. Just like a puppy, I think to myself. She’s got plenty of bark, but no bite...

“You!” the filly says. Her tone’s wavering between determination and trepidation. “You—you killed them!” I turn to face her; that’s when I note her death-glare.

“Damn you! I am not going to roll over and be your damn prize!” she lets her horn glow again, gathering power for another blast of green flames.

I scoff. “I did not take you as my ‘prize,’ ” I furrowed my brow as I felt my face get warm. I’m left stunned that the filly could even believe such a thing. Then again, if I had awoken in a motel room to a stranger who had previously knocked me unconscious and killed my allies, I’d probably be thinking the same thing, right before I went for the nearest blunt object.

“Then why am I here, still alive?” The filly’s magic is only growing more and more concentrated.

I mull over her words, realizing she had brought up the fact that she was still alive as a factor. Had she expected to die?

At first, I don’t answer. Instead, I choose to glare back. When I finally do answer, I do so with a threatening tone. “I wouldn’t bother with magic, kid. I’m not going to kill you, but that doesn’t mean I can’t shoot that horn off your head if you force me to.”

My bluff works. Her lower lip starts to quiver as poisonous doubt seeps into her mind. I decide to keep up the assault.

“You saw me kill your griffon buddy. He was easy. He went down after only two shots.” I look at her eyes slowly and menacingly. “Your other friend, the damnatorum—while unexpected and quite proficient with magic—I killed in a single shot!” I feign a smile, which starts to fade. Just recalling the draconequus brings about a wave of numbness that threatens to expose the deception.

“I can tell that you’re young and inexperienced, kid.” I force myself to chuckle. “Arashi and I used to chew and spit out rookies like you back in the good-old days, you know. Back when I was Crux Nato royalty, so to speak.” I feel revulsion just bringing up that manure stain on my life. I felt twice as sickened recalling how I actually used to carry that fact with pride.

The filly jerks back at my words. Her eyes go wide as tea plates. “You—you were—”

I force a smirk at her reaction. “Come, now, don’t tell me you went in and took an elimination assignment without knowing who you were going to be eliminating?” My wings once again start to vibrate. This time, they do so at my own lies and pride of past sins. To hide this, I stand on my hind legs and press my back against the nearest wall, crossing my hooves while keeping my repeater pointed at the filly’s face. The effect makes me appear like a laid-back killer. I complete the deception with a wicked smile. Physically, I feel like vomiting.

The filly doesn’t answer my question. Instead, she drops on her haunches, eyes still wide. Whatever magic she had been gathering dissipates as my words sink in like a lead weight.

She looks me in the face again. Slowly, she starts to back away, shaking her head as tears form in her eyes. “You’re—you’re—” she stutters right before she bumps into the wall. The shock causes her to wince, gasps for air, and before I can say a word to ease her, start to weep like a month-old foal.

“Please, please, please don’t—don’t kill me!”

I do my best to hide the shock as I turn back to my purchases. “Didn’t you say something about expecting to be dead?” This only makes the filly flinch and cower further. “If I had wanted you dead, I could have killed you right after I took your partner out.” I close my eyes and feel the weight of my own words. My mouth feels bitter and filthy after uttering those words.

There’s no reply from the filly. I sigh and turn to see why. I’m left speechless when I see that she has somehow willed into existence a jagged dagger made of an icy material. How did she summon that without speaking? I think to myself. More importantly, just what kind of magic is that?

The filly closes her eyes and lets out a primal shout. Then she charges me, knife in mouth. Before the weapon even gets near me, I instinctively levitate my repeater out of its holster and aim for the filly’s face. I quickly grit my teeth and alter my aim, firing a single bolt straight at the dagger’s edge instead, careful to not harm the changeling in any way.

The icy blade shatters as my bolt makes contact. This snaps the filly out of her attack and makes her wince. She instinctively readies herself for another charge when her eyes settle on my weapon, which is now pressed over her horn. I give her a hard and cold glare.

“Don’t,” I say in a grave tone.

The filly tightly shuts her eyes and backs away, body near to the ground. She again bumps into the wall, and despite fighting with all her might, the dam breaks and she bursts into wails. She collapses on the floor, hooves over her eyes, screaming, “No! I didn’t want this! I didn’t want this!”

I walk up to the young filly, not sure how to best proceed. It’s obvious she isn’t a full-fledged Crux Nato operative, but merely a rookie who bit off far more than she could chew.

Even if she was an actual operative, she wouldn’t really stand too much of a chance against me. Still, I can’t help but feel sorry for her. After all, she’s just a kid.

“Kid,” I say to the filly in as soft and gentle a voice as I can manage. “I’m not going to kill or hurt you. I… I don’t like to kill…” I lie through my teeth once again. “I… I give you my word as a lieutenant of the E.B.I.”

The filly looks to me, face softening at my words. It really isn’t much, but it’s enough to get her to stop crying. I’m reminded of the damnatorum by the fear I now feel in the air. It’s filling and appetizing, but bitter, sickening, foul.

I give the filly a nod and decide to give her room to think and decompress. I head for the kitchen. I’m in dire need of a sweet drink.

Five hours after her sudden bout of tears, the filly quietly sits on the lone motel bed. She refuses to speak either out of fear or shame.

I had left the motel room several times during those five hours. I restocked on bolts, spell scrolls, potions, and sweet liquors. Every time I returned to the room, the filly was still sitting on the bed. She could have made an escape while I was out even with the two locks in place. She’d shown me she was more than capable of slicing the door’s hinges with her powers. Instead, she chose to sit there, gazing emptily at me.

By the time I made my fifth trip, the filly began to show signs of exhaustion. I decide to look into her emotions to see what was wrong with her. It’s then that I realize in horror that all the fear she’s bottling inside is draining her already perilously low energy reserves. At the rate she’s weakening, she’ll starve by the end of the week, maybe sooner. I feel another pang of guilt form in my chest. If the filly dies, she would be the sixth corpse on my already heavy conscience.

I shake my head. What’s wrong with me? I’ve never before cared about who I maimed, or even killed. Why am I worrying all of a sudden? I feel a sickness in the pit of my stomach soon as the notion of another death crosses my mind. Those I’d killed in the past—they had had it coming.

This… this was different…

“Hey,” I look the filly in the eyes. You do not care about her dying, my mind starts to repeat. You do not care about her dying. You. Do. Not. Car— “Do you still consume love?” I completely cut my inner monologue off.

The filly looks at me with surprise, but swiftly nods at my question.

I sigh with relief. At least she hasn’t been made into a preferity by the Crux Nato. That’s good… and bad…

“What about you?” the filly suddenly asks me. “You’re so full of hate. How come you’re not starving?”

I instantly grimace at the question. “That’s none of your damn business!” I glare daggers at the filly.

The filly recoils at my sudden outburst, her eyes going teary once again. Her reaction makes my fury die out as shame takes over. Instead of digging myself a deeper hole, I turn away and move into the kitchen. I take a seat at the table and look in the opposite direction of the filly.

My mind starts to fight a tug of war with itself. One side screams and rages towards the filly. It demands her blood be shed for the insult. The other side also rages and berates, but its scorn is for allowing me to be such an insensitive prick.

I shut my eyes as tight as they go. Dammit, what’s wrong with me? Why did I go and frighten her like that? Why did I take offense to a question I once would have gone out of my way to answer with pride?

I put a hoof over my face, weary of all the bull now assaulting me. Something in me is changing, and maybe not for the better…

TO BE CONTINUED

They Find Their Own Order—Part Two

View Online

Eight more hours pass by without a single sound from either one of us. Occasionally, I chance a glance over to the filly, noting her now increasingly weakening state. My lashing at her simple question had increased her fright. It was now taking a heavy toll on her. I feel myself grimace at the sight.

You made this mess. You fix it. One part of my mind furiously demands.

You. Do. Not. Care! You. Do. Not. Care! Another side of my mind repeats over and over like a mantra.

I groan and give a soft shake of my head. I quickly stand, saying “screw you” to both voices. I give a soft exhale and walk up to the filly. As expected, she shrinks back at my presence. I pause momentarily, my gaze softening as guilt starts to eat at me. I close my eyes and steel myself for what’s to come. “When was the last time you fed?”

The filly hesitates at first, but eventually answers me in a stuttering voice. “Ab-about a—a week… ago.” Her gaze does not meet mine. “It… it was… love I—I got from an old couple living near the train… yards. It-it was pure and—and beautiful, not like the… fake and horrible love—from upt-uptown ponies…” She continued to shrink back with every word, almost as if she was ashamed. “I—I thought… it would last me… a… a good week and a half. I-I guess I was—was... wrong.” She shrinks even further into the floor.

I close my eyes and concentrate on the most recent source of love I had felt: Sapphire Shores. Her affection was exquisite, and above all else, sincere—quite the rarity in this day and age. I concentrate as much as I can. Seconds later, I cast all that affection as a hot-pink miasma roughly the size of my head. I open my eyes to wonder at my work. I notice how the filly also looks on at the miasma with incredulous wonder. I can see her mouth watering at the mere thought of such a feast.

“This was originally something I was saving for a special occasion,” I say, struggling to keep the sadness out of my voice. “But seeing as you’re practically starving, I see no harm in you having it.” I hesitantly float the miasma towards the filly, who quickly takes it with her own magic. I have to stop myself from visibly emoting as I give away what is essentially the sweetest of desserts someling like myself can ever hope to have.

“Don’t eat it all at once, kid,” I tell the filly, not quite meeting her gaze. “Save some for later. You never know when you might need it.”

A voice suddenly and furiously shouts in the back of my head. It once again torments me with what I’m supposed to be, and what I’m not. Instead of heeding the voice, I use it to fill me with determination. I made this mess. I’m going to fix it.

The filly’s fear quickly dissipates soon as she has the miasma in her hoof. Sadness then takes its place; sadness borne not of negativity, but of gratitude. Before either of us has a chance to speak, she absorbs the miasma. She regains her coloring—I can feel her power returning. I have to stop myself from being left wide-eyed and open mouthed; I’d forgotten how much power a changeling can gain from love. Seeing her eat fills me with a pleasant sensation that dissipates some of the bitterness in my mouth. It also fills a void that I hadn’t felt filled for almost ten years. Yes; I made this mess; I’m going to fix it, I again tell myself. I close my eyes and sigh in resignation. “You can thank the Crux Nato for who I am today.”

My unexpected statement earns me a look of confusion from the filly, so I elaborate further.

“You asked me why I wasn’t starving because of all my hate. The reason’s because those bastards picked me to be one of their so-called ‘preferity.’ ” I pause, recalling the anguish the process put me through. I give the filly a weak grin, but it doesn’t dispel her sudden horror-struck look. “I still don’t know what they did to me, exactly. All I know is that it hurt like Tartarus and it turned me into a hate-consuming monstrosity.” I omit the part about the procedure killing just about anypony else who underwent it.

“Hatred became my new source of strength and nourishment, while fear became that which gave me resolve and bliss.” I grit my teeth at the words. “Yes, I am an affront to our race. I broke the third and most sacred of our laws: never allow hate to rule your life. Hatred is death, hatred is ruin. Hatred is the ultimate affront to life itself.” I gaze to the floor in shame. “I’m corrupt and evil—to be executed by the changeling guard on sight.” I look back up, a sour smile forming on my muzzle. “Or, I was evil, once upon a time. I’ve re-learnt how to feed on love in the last ten years. It provides a fair amount of strength and nourishment. But honestly, why bother with it? The world’s getting darker and crueler with every passing year.” My brow furrows at those horribly truthful words. “Much as I loathe admitting it, kid, the Crux Nato gave me a gift. As you are probably aware, I’m not quite done paying them back for their generosity yet.” I feel a grin spread on my lips at the end of that statement. It makes part of me utterly sick.

The filly gives me a look that mixed concern, understanding, and disgust. She lets out several deep and thoughtful breaths before asking me something I hadn’t really expected to be asked. “What does hate taste like?”

I hesitate. Part of my mind’s ready to snap another defensive shout at the filly. Instead, I really think my response over.

“Hate’s…” I start hesitantly. “…Hate’s rotten and foul. You’re better off eating actual manure than hate. Hate rots your heart and soul. It’s terrible and loathsome…” I close my eyes. “…But, it’s powerful, euphoric, and addictive.” I give my situation more thought, and realize that I can’t describe it in any other form. Hate’s like a drug to me. I know it’s slowly destroying me from the inside out, but it’s about the only thing that really curbs my appetite. Love, while truly delicious, doesn’t quite nourish me. If anything, it makes me drunk.

“Then, there’s fear,” I continue. “Fear that every single individual emanates; whether fear of trivialities, fear of disappointment, fear of pain, or fear of death.” I pause and think back to the damnatorum’s last moments of life. In those last few seconds, I was filled with a sense of debauch satisfaction. I catch myself almost smiling. Instantly, I feel like scum. “I’d say fear’s worse than hate. Hate already exists in the air; fear, on the other hoof…” I falter, just barely managing to hide my growing sneer. “…Fear… has to be sown.” I look away from the filly and close my eyes. Had I still a mother, I would be begging for her forgiveness right about now.

The room falls silent as neither one of us say a single word. My captive seems to be racking her brain for understanding, while I do my best to try and ease the bitterness growing in my gullet. I’m just about ready to magic the bottle of sweet cider from the kitchen table when the filly side winds me with another unexpected question: “Why’d you do it? Why’d you spare my life?”

Beneath her black chitin was something more; more than just a mere cultist, more than just a mere tool. She might be Crux Nato, but she isn’t a part of this mess willingly. “I already told you, kid; I don’t like to kill,” I quickly answer. My wings again vibrate at the outright lie I’ve just repeated.

The filly continues to gaze at me intently. It’s as if she’s searching for some deeper answer. I return the gaze, watching for even the slightest movement. She remains perfectly still for a second, then closes her eyes, bitter smile growing on her lips. “Then, I really should be dead,” she meekly professes. She gets off the bed and walks towards the nearest window. “Why was I spared, but Gerard, Bedlam, Thrall, and Gooze weren’t?”

“So, that’s their names…” My guilt quickly multiplies now that the corpses I’d made had names attached to them. “I guess…” I pause, unsure as to what to actually say. In the end, I settle on meekly saying, “I’m sorry about killing your friends.”

“They weren’t really my friends,” the filly unexpectedly affirms. “Well,” she suddenly adds, her voice growing warm, “maybe except for Bedlam and Bustle.” Her lips turn to a nostalgic smile at the mention of the two names. “Bedlam and Bustle were the only ones that were really nice to me. That said a lot about them, considering they are damnatorum. Everyone else in the cult either saw me as a ‘rookie’, or a waste of space.” She let a bitter chortle. “Bedlam was the one who convinced the arch-mages to let me tag along on her assignment.” She suddenly lets out a sniff. “Bedlam was a… unstable draconequus, but at least she was nice to me.” She turns to face me, eyes shimmering with tears. “And you killed her; cold-bloodedly killed her…” She averts her gaze, a small trail of tears flying out. “I… I don’t know what to feel. I can’t hate you since you only did your job and you spared my life. But I can’t praise you either. You could have let her live…” She gives a dry heave. “…You could have let her live…”

I don’t say anything. I really can’t. Instead, I let the filly’s words sink in. I think carefully about my next words, but I find it almost impossible to say anything other than another weak apology. I turn back to her, but she isn’t facing me anymore.

“Your friend, Bedlam… she… uh… she… fought well. She—” I start, but decide to omit the fact that she died quickly. “—Again, for what it’s worth… I’m… sorry…” It’s good fortune that the filly isn’t facing me. I doubt I would have been able to say the words directly to her face.

From the feelings, I gauge that the filly’s somewhat accepted my apology. Still, she holds to a deep resentment that she’ll no doubt carry for the rest of her life. That negative emotion, however small it is, starts to empower me. The sensation’s filling, but it leaves me with an incredibly bad taste, both in my mouth and in my soul.

I decide it’s time for more sweet drinks. The filly needed time to herself again. I didn’t even take more than two steps towards the kitchen when the filly starts to weep again. I sigh in misery. G, you really are a monster…

It’s close to midnight when the filly speaks again. This time, her question’s direct and to the point: “Why did you join the Crux Nato, and how did you leave it?”

I take a seat on the table across from the bedroom and give the filly a wry smile. “Not so fast,” I quickly say, putting a hoof up for emphasis. “You want to hear my tale of woe and misery? Then you need to tell me what you know about your assignment. Why were your associates torturing me, and who put you all up to it.”

The filly’s surprised by my request, but nods in agreement nonetheless.

“I’m afraid there’s not much I can tell you. I really wasn’t part of the mission briefing. I only heard about it after the fact from Bedlam, who brought me along to show me the ropes…” She trails off for a moment, looking at the ceiling in remembrance before continuing. “She only told me that it was a ‘fear and information extraction’ job. We were to trail a detective who had been snooping around, rough him up, extract some information from him, and then leave him so broken that he would drop the case and maybe even skip town.” She grimaces at the memory. “When Gerard brought you in from the Golden Vision, Bedlam became ecstatic. She changed the plan to outright killing you, which the others had been more than happy to be a part of. She never really told me why she wanted you dead, only to stay out of it for my own good.”

“Is there anything more specific you can recall, maybe something from other Crux Nato members before your ill-fated operation?” My face hardens. “Anything to do with the five murders in the last two weeks?”

“Murders?” The filly asks with genuine shock. “That can’t be; the Crux Nato hasn’t killed anypony! Bedlam’s plan to kill you… it was wrong—not to mention against the Arch-mage’s orders! I—I think she might have been executed for her defiance had she—had she…” she frowns at the coming thought.

“Killed me,” I quickly finish the filly’s words. She nods.

I feel my brow furrow. “Listen, kid, five ponies have been murdered in the last two weeks using magic known to the Crux Nato.” My voice grows graver with each syllable. “Your cult has been murdering innocent ponies!”

At my words, the filly grows visibly angered. “Look here detective, the Crux Nato is a lot of things, but murderers they aren’t! The current arch-mages would never authorize murder. It goes against the very laws of the cult!”

“New laws?”

The filly nods. “It’s a system of twelve laws created by the survivors of the Liberation Wars. They detail what we heed, and what we should never do. Among those laws, the most sacred is the one that forbids us from killing!”

“If that’s true, then why’d your arch-mages want me out of the picture?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at the question.

“Weren’t you listening? We weren’t supposed to kill you! We were supposed to extract information from you and keep you quiet with intimidation! That was a decision the arch-mages made only after they realized there was a detective snooping around.” Her face softened. “They didn’t really know the full details of the murders, only that it was incriminating them. They also didn’t know that the detective doing the snooping was, in fact, you. They would have come seeking your aid had they actually known you were on the case…” Her voice doesn’t really hold any deception, and neither do her eyes. “All the arch-mages wanted was to keep things quiet, avoid a repeat of ten years ago…”

I lean back on my chair. The filly’s revelation shattered what little information I had about the case.

What struck me the most, however, was what I’d just learned about the new Crux Nato. If what she just said was correct—and I didn’t feel any deception in her emotions—then the cult might actually not be responsible for the five murders at all. On top of that, the cult could potentially be a victim itself.

It’s a fact I find hard to believe since every death had the calling card of the cult. There was also the undeniable fact that I had been directly attacked by one of them.

But maybe that was the point.

A chill crawls through my chitin and up my spine at that. I rack my brain for an answer. If the Crux Nato isn’t responsible for the murders, then somepony else is framing them—somepony that knows blood magic. I consider for a second the possibility of there being a splinter cell in the cult, but the Crux Nato’s a single entity that once answered to a higher authority…

All of a sudden, that higher authority comes to mind. I shake my head at the idea. We wiped them out ten years ago, I tell myself. No way they’re still around. I gulp. No way he’s still around...

I needed more answers.

For now, though... “You kept your end of the bargain, so I’ll keep mine.”

The filly snaps back to attention at my words. She gives me an odd look at first before smiling with genuine anticipation. For some reason, her smile doesn’t irk me in the least. It’s actually rather refreshing to see her perked for something.

“I guess I should start at the beginning.” I clear my throat. “Tell me, what’s your origin?”

“My… origin?” The filly repeats my question in an incredulous tone.

“Yes; your origin,” I repeat. “Where did you come from and where were you raised; all that information.”

I cross my forelegs in anticipation, hoping he filly would remain oblivious to my little ploy.

“Well,” the filly starts, clearly racking her brain for memories. “I came from one of the hives in the Badlands, close to the town of Salty Shores, but technically still within changeling territories. I was born to modest parents and lived in the hive ‘til I was fifteen.

“Being a hive changeling wasn’t really for me, though—that’s why I took the job of scout as soon as I turned fourteen. I did a year’s worth of work, and during that time, I saw many things in the outside world that made me fall in love with the idea of traveling. But it was in Salty Shores—which, as you know, is a mixed town—that I saw what I believed to be the true face of Equestria.” She sighs. “I was wrong, of course. When I turned fifteen and a half, I bid my family and old life farewell and took an airship to Dodge City. There, I took a train to Appleloosa to start anew. Soon as I stepped out of the train, I came face to face with the horrible reality—Equestria wasn’t at all like Salty Shores. I barely made it out of Appleloosa in one piece.

“From there, I took a train to Los Pegasus, only to find myself stuck in the same situation. That’s pretty much how it went; I ended up being driven from town to town either because of what I was, or because I had no real employable skills. I was often referred to as a migrant, which meant I was treated like garbage most of the time.

“It wasn’t long till I ended up disillusioned and utterly moneyless in Fillydelphia, wasting away, regretting my life. That was when Bedlam and Bustle found me. They took pity on me and offered a chance to not only be a part of something greater than myself, but also to get back at society as a whole. I decided it was better than starving, so I joined them, and they introduced me to the Crux Nato.”

I give the filly an understanding nod, taking in her story completely. I myself take a deep breath and lean in closer to her.

“Far as I go, I was never really was part of any hive.” I can already feel the weight of the tale to come. “My parents left their hive two years before I came to this world. From what I know, the hive was in the continent of Tharntos, very close to the country of Neighpon.” A faint smile formed on my lips. “The whole of changeling culture in Tharntos didn’t actually function with the authority of a queen like it does here in Equestria, but rather with warlords. The warlord in charge of our hive ended up going to war with the nation of Gryphos. He was personally killed by Prince Ragnar of the griffons, who then annexed the hive into Gryphos. Many of the changelings from my old hive settled in the capitol, Midgard. Others chose to live in the Jägerwald Forest. Still others, like my parents, boarded airships bound for Equestria.

“Once they got here, they settled down in Los Pegasus. Two years later, I was born.” I reached into my vest and levitated out a beat-up wallet. I take out a faint and age-faded picture of a changeling couple dressed in fine tailored suits.

“Mother and father raised me well, even though they worked most of the time. They made sure I was ready for a hard life, but if you take away the expected indifference found in youth, I can’t say my formative years were that bad.

“The good days lasted until I was fifteen; that’s when the manure hit the fan.” My face grows grim as the bitter memories flood back in. “A group of bigoted gangsters, part of the Rosalinos mob—who quite literally ran the Los Pegasus strip at the time—came to our home one night and demanded we leave town on account of our presence being ‘disruptive’ to their business.

“See, my father became a prosecutor specifically to take on the corrupt element of Equestria. This was because after arriving here, he learned of how the changelings lived under the rule of the Solari Regime, and their three sacred laws. He took the second law to heart: ‘protect ponykind from any of its enemies. It is our duty to act as silent guardians and stalwart sentinels for all equinekind, for we too are part of equinekind.’

“The last case he took prior to the Rosalino’s warning was to indict Russo Rosalino for fraud and illegal racketeering. My father came within inches of winning the case. Naturally, the mobsters promised physical retribution for my father’s defiance. A few nights later, they attacked our home while we all slept.”

I close my eyes. I can practically hear the scream of that horrible night.

“My parents told me to run away while they fought off the thugs as best they could. I just barely made it out when the house went up in flames.” I felt my brow lower. “For ten days, I ran away from the mob. I ran faster and further than I ever had; ran until the lights of Los Pegasus were but a beacon in the horizon. My body eventually gave out and I collapsed from fatigue. When I woke up, I found myself lost in the middle of the San Palomino Desert. There I lay, unable to do anything but wait for death. With what little voice I had left, I looked to the stars and begged for the chance to avenge my parents. When I next woke up, I was in the care of the group that would let me extract my vengeance, as well as shape me into what I am today: the Crux Nato.”

“You… spoke to the stars?” the filly asks me in a shocked voice.

“Maybe. I was half dead at the time. Perhaps the stars did hear my plea and led that group of scouts to find me. Maybe I was just lucky,” I shrugged. “Whatever the case may be, I was saved. More importantly, I learned what the Crux Nato could help me accomplish. Without hesitation, I joined up and was put under Arashi’s command.” I smile, but look sideways. “He helped me kill Russo. Russo’s blood served as the ink with which I penned my oath to the Crux Nato. Five years later, I was one of the top cult operatives. It wasn’t long after that I became a preferity and was turned into the monster I’m today.”

I quickly lose my smile. “A year after my alteration, the arch-mages decided they were better off getting rid of all of the preferity; something about us not living up to the standards needed to move on to the next phase of some ancient operation that only the old fools cared to keep alive. Their cleansing of the preferity was absolute, all the way up to the highest levels of the Caelestibusque.”

“The what?” The filly vociferously asks in confusion.

“The Caelestibusque,” I repeat. “Don’t tell me you don’t know about that group of bastards.”

“I’ve never heard of them.”

“You’re Crux Nato, yet don’t know a thing about the Caelestibusque?”

“If it has to do with the old ruling sect before the Liberation Wars, then it was scrubbed from the records.”

I smile. “I guess I can understand that. Let me give you a bit of a history lesson then.

“The Crux Nato, at least before the end of the Liberation War, had never really been just the ‘Crux Nato.’ Instead, it was an arm of the Caelestibusque’s military force. Every arch-mage of the Crux Nato was in fact part of the Caelestibusque by default. The lower ranking members weren’t part of the Caelestibusque till they proved their worth by becoming preferity.

“The Caelestibusque had, in fact, been running the Crux Nato since the feudal days, long before Luna returned to usher the Equestrian Republic. Back then, the cabal went by the simpler name of the ‘Caelestis’ and acted as the land’s greatest religious institution before rising to become its absolute governmental body after the crusades were ended. That’s when they took the name ‘Solari.’

The filly gasped at the name. I knew well why. I kept on going.

“Most of the crusades against the zebra and griffons during the feudal age were in fact perpetrated by the Caelestibusque as a way to gain territory. It was because of the Caelestis that the Griffons were driven off Vindrigoth and into Tharntos, where they came into conflict with the diamond dogs and dragon nomads.

“At any rate, in the eyes of the Caelestibusque arch-mages, Arashi and the other high-ranking preferity—Ude, Silver, and Caleb—” I hiss the name. Just saying it pissed me off. “—had become a liability due to our failure to become their new instrument of domination: ‘The Fifth.’ ”

“What’s this ‘Fifth’?” the filly asks.

“Don’t know, to be honest,” I reply. “I’ve only heard whispers about it; something about being the one true master of Oblivion or some nonsense like that.” I give a shake of my head. “Older-than-dirt superstitious nonsense if you ask me. None of the preferity ended up becoming this Fifth individual, because it’s all nonsense. But due to that ‘failure,’ we were all possible threat to the arch-mages. Arashi, being an arch-mage himself, was viewed as the greatest threat of all. He had the power to rally the other preferity to his cause and take control of the Crux Nato. Problem was the other arch-mages couldn’t publicly brand him a traitor due to his large following. So, a trap was set instead.

“Arashi was ordered to neutralize Princess Luna, who had already been waging war on the Solari Regime for five years. He gathered all of the other preferity to take on the mission, over a hundred different members, including me.” I close my eyes at the bitter memory. “We all galloped right into the trap. The rebellion had been forewarned of our arrival by an informant. They showed no quarter. Out of all the preferity that Arashi had hoof-picked, only himself, his lover Ude, and the fell deer twins Caleb and Silver escaped alive.”

“Wait a second,” the filly suddenly says, interrupting my narration. “What about you? You just said that only four out of over a hundred made it out alive. You…” She leaned in closer. “We-were you—?”

“Killed?” I give a bitter smile. “Yes; yes I was. Though ‘killed’ is a bit of a stretch, if you ask me. I guess technically I was killed—ten times, if you want to be scientific about it.”

As expected, the filly covers her mouth to hold back a gasp.

“I had a blade pierce my carapace and puncture a lung; several heavy bolts buried themselves on my back, damaging my kidneys and liver, and I took about a dozen blasts of magic to every part of my body, shattering just about every piece of chitin on my skin. The only organs that weren’t damaged in the attack were my heart and brain, though my heart stopped beating a total of nine times before I gave the final croak.

“Luckily for me, not only was my thick chitin able to absorb the worst of the punishment before finally giving out, but I was brought back from the brink of death those nine times by Silver, who was our group’s designated mage and healer. Not that it mattered in the end—I was too much of a bleeding wreck to keep on fighting, so I decided to stay behind and cover the other’s escape. That’s why Arashi and the other four got out. After another brave but futile stand, my body finally gave out, and I fell dead for the tenth and what should have been my final time.

“I awoke a week later in the Palace of Justice’s forensic lab, greeted by Sun Beam—or ‘Grave-keeper’ as most other doctors know her.” I can’t help but scowl. “She’s the absolute last pony on earth you want see after being medically dead.

“As I soon found out, she had repaired my damaged body using a specialized formula synthesized from a mixture of my blood and several other sources, including dragon’s blood. She had dubbed her little ‘revival spell in a bottle’, Reanimator.” I bitterly chuckle. “Don’t let her looks fool you. She’s one hell of a necromancer.” I sighe. “It wasn’t long before I discovered that Sun had been commissioned by the Solari to revive and ‘enhance’ me.

“On learning that, I did everything possible to escape. I ended up damaging parts of Sun’s laboratory, destroying most of her research and the only known sample of Reanimator. I escaped from the Palace of Justice soon after. Or rather, I was allowed to escape.” I rub my chin. “I haven’t quite figured out what really happened, to be honest. All I know is that it took me about a week to get back my mental faculties; had to hide in the Canterlot’s sewers till that happened. When I finally did, I tracked down Arashi and, together with the other four, plotted our retribution against the Caelestibusque.”

“Dead ten times…” the filly repeated. Her voice’s full of incredulous shock. “I’m afraid of dying just once…” she adds. Her eyes suddenly light up. “Did you see the other side?” She recoils a bit. “Did… did you see Tartarus?”

“Kid, I wasn’t dead enough to get to Tartarus. I mean, I probably was, but I honestly don’t remember.”

“But how could you not have been dead dead? You just said that the tenth time should have been your final one.”

“I guess Sun found a way to cast a stabilization spell soon as I ‘died’; kept me in stasis until she could work her necromatic magic on me.” I tap my skull once. “So long as the brain doesn’t die from lack of oxygen, you are still technically alive.” I give the filly a somewhat awkward smile. Then, it quickly fades as I move on with the narration. “You probably know what happened next.”

“Yeah...” the filly hesitantly replies. “You and the other four returned to the Crux Nato and took out the arch-mages.”

I nod. “Though, it was more complex than that. We took out the arch-mages of the Crux Nato first, and then we moved up to the Caelestibusque. It was one of the toughest fights of our lives, and I still don’t know how we won in the end.” I lied. I knew damn well how we won, and just who we had to fight to do so. I still have nightmares about it.

“When the last Caelestibusque scum was a bleeding mess at our hooves, we rested. Little did we know that by carrying out our revenge, we severed the chain of command the Caelestibusque had had with the military. This break in the link was all it took for Luna to successfully lay siege to Canterlot, which fell only after two days of surprisingly bloodless battle.” I took a light swig of my cider. “You won’t find this in history books kid, but I ended up being one of the reasons we have a free Equestria today. Not that I’m actually proud of it, considering it was a total accident.” I bitterly smiled. “Also, it doesn’t look like we’ve really made any progress. We have a senate and congress now, but they behave just like the Solari.

“After Equestria became a ‘republic,’ all five of us were hunted down like dogs by the newly formed E.B.I. We didn’t put up a fight, seeing as we were all tired of running and fighting. We also felt partially responsible for the Solari, considering what we had been.

“We were taken to trial without a fight. The Supreme Court found us all guilty of treason and conspiracy. Just as our sentence was to given—death of course—Princess Luna stepped in to veto the judgment. I’ll never forget her face as she stood tall in front of all Equestria to give us all an offer: rot in jail for the remainder of our natural days, or join the guards and E.B.I. and help fight vice and sin. It should be obvious which one I picked.” I feel a smile form in my muzzle at the memory. “The rest, is silence.”

“Why would the princess pardon you all, especially if you tried to kill her?”

I shrug. “I’m not entirely sure why, to be honest. I like to believe it was an act of mercy on her part, or maybe it was because we destroyed the Caelestibusque. More than anything, it might have been because we reminded her of something. Or somepony.” I take another swig of cider. “Today, I’m still technically a member of the E.B.I. even if I mostly work freelance. Arashi is still a captain of the Equestrian Guards. His wife, Ude, serves as a member of the E.B.I’s battlemage division. I hear their kid was just accepted into the School for Gifted Unicorns—quite the achievement, if you ask me.”

“Wait, one of your friends has a kid?”

“Yes. Is it that surprising?”

“How did he escape the Crux Nato’s wrath if it was deemed you were all to be eliminated?”

“The kid wasn’t with the Crux Nato at the time of their betrayal. In fact, they didn’t know about it; few did. Arashi and Ude kept their relationship a secret. When the child was born, they decided it was best to raise the kid away from the Cult. Ude’s sister cared for the foal till the age of five. By then, the Crux Nato arch-mages were no more.”

“What’s his name?” the filly asks.

“You mean, ‘what’s her name,’ ” I correct her. She blushes and gives me a meek flustered smile. I take a small sip of my cider and continue. “Her name’s Meghan. She fancies herself some kind of cowpony; wears a stetson hat and red scarf. Maybe she’s outgrown that by now, or maybe she hasn’t.” I smile. “Either way, she’s turning fifteen this year. Still hasn’t really gotten her cutie mark yet.”

“What about the rest of your friends?” the filly asks. “What became of them?”

“Well,” I start, “that bastard Caleb left for Ponyville after serving five years as a special operative for both the E.B.I. and Zebra Legion.” I take another sip of cider. “That means he went back to his old ways of torture and mass killing, only now in the name of Equestria and Zebrica. Unlike some of us, he never outgrew his blood-lust. I hate that bastard.” I lightly shake my head. “Last I heard of him, he left with a strange book in tow. He never really said what that dusty old tome was for, only that it could hold the key to solving many riddles about our world, including the biggest of all: ‘Equestria’s twisted state,’ or so he claimed.” I smile. “See, Caleb had this crazy belief that somehow, something called ‘The elements of Harmony’ got altered when a spell meant to change fate itself was accidentally cast by a powerful-enough unicorn. The effects were so drastic that it apparently distorted history itself, leading to this crap-sack world of ours.” I can’t help but laugh. “He believed this so much in fact, that when he wasn’t killing, he was seeking a way to alter the world back to its ‘rightful order.’ He vanished from the face of the earth soon after arriving in Ponyville. I’m sure he’s still living there.

“Now, Caleb’s twin sister, Silver, is another story altogether.” I suddenly find myself smiling as a warm sensation spreads over my body. “Sure, she’s ten years my elder, and sure, she’s a bit of an ice-queen, but damn if I wouldn’t give anything to wreck that—” I stop myself before more than just my enthusiasm rises. I clear my throat. “Anyway, she became curator of Manehattan’s History Museum after reaching the rank of major in the Equestrian Intelligence Division. She still serves the princess part time as an advisor.” I let out a sigh and a smile.

“That’s quite the tale,” the filly tells me with great esteem. “From Crux Nato history, you are still quite the monsters, so much so that being referred to as a ‘preferity’ is an insult.”

“That’s exaggeration,” I say with annoyance at first, but then grow amused at the label. The irony’s stunning. At that, I remember the situation I’m in.

The filly—my captive—while turning out to be more or less innocent, in this case myself being the aggressor by the sound of it, was still technically Crux Nato. With my word, I can have her put in jail for the remainder of her natural days. I could even have her silently executed and scrubbed from public records. She’s an outsider, after all, and as much as it pisses me off, no one’s going to miss a changeling.

Just as easily, I can have her set free and put under the witness protection program, though how much good that would do is up for debate. I guess I could start by first getting to know who this filly actually is. I tell myself. Maybe then, I’ll have a better idea of what to do.

“Alright, I’ve just have one last question for you,” I suddenly start. “What’s your name?”

“Oh,” the filly says. Suddenly, she sounds bothered. “It’s… well… it’s…” she’s visibly torn by my question.

“You don’t have a name, do you?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“Of course I do!” The filly answers rather angrily. “It’s a changeling name,” she says, putting a hoof on her chest in a show of pride.

“What is it then?”

“It’s Shi’Arma.” The filly puts on a wide smile at her answer.

I roll my eyes at the reply. “That changeling name’s too cumbersome. Do you have a pony name?”

“Uh…” The filly rubs the back of her head. “…no,” she finally admits. Her earlier enthusiasm deflates as shame seems to take over.

“Can you pick one you like?”

“What’s wrong with my given name?”

“It’s too cumbersome. You want a name that ponies will remember without having to refer to a translation book.”

The filly thinks about it for a second before her face brightens. “How about ‘Joy’?”

“ ‘Joy?’ ” I repeat. “Are you sure? It doesn’t seem that befitting.”

“Like ‘G’ is any better,” the filly says. She gives me a look that borders on indignation. “What does ‘G’ even stand for?”

“It stands for—” I start, but cut myself off with a chuckle as the name comes back to me. “My name’s no longer something I like to recall, for it’s stained with much wrong. It’s not important, really—G is just that: G.” I quickly bury the emotions tied to my name and move on.

“Well, if you can be named after a single letter of the alphabet, then why can’t I be named after an emotion?”

“I never said you couldn’t use the name ‘Joy,’ just that it doesn’t befit you.”

“In that case, then, I’m Joy; end of story.” The filly’s tone is a mix of bashfulness and, to my delight, joy. The irony, I think to myself. Okay, I’m not going to have her removed from the official records and killed, nor will I have her put in some witness protection program. Once this is all over, she is going to go on and live a happy, average, cult-free lif—

A sudden chill runs down my spine.

I turn towards the window as I feel the frigid air. I can sense a hateful presence in the atmosphere; faint, but unmistakable. It is very near. It feels like it’s watching me and Joy…

“Something wrong?” Joy asks, likely sensing a fraction of what I feel in the air. I say nothing, instead gesturing with one hoof while slowly strapping my repeater on the other.

Joy, instead of arguing as I had expected her to, drops on into a prowling position. I’m not too sure how good she would be in a fight, but she at least has the right idea.

I stand up slowly, trying my best to look casual while keeping my weapon concealed. The dull lamp above the motel door doesn’t really have much of an effect on the now heavy gloom outside. Its sickly yellow glow only serves to strengthen the darkness it try to dispel. With careful motions, I stop by the window, casually parting the curtain and taking a look outside. Nothing but blackness and the shadowy outline of the trees stared back at—wait, there’s something else out there…

I stand perfectly still, trying to make out the shape in the shadows. A feeling in the back of my mind tells me that, whatever it is, it must be the shadowy king in this lethal chess game I seem to be stuck playing. I move slowly toward the door, never shifting my gaze from the alleged figure. Seconds creep me by as I barely breathe. I keep watch and wait for the right moment to strike. Without moving any other parts of my body, I gently undo the deadbolt and lock on the door. I glance rapidly towards Joy, and then back to the shadow. At that moment, it moves, streaking off deeper into nearby bushes and buildings.

In a blur, I swing the door wide open and aim my repeater. Without giving it much thought, I run into the night air using only three legs and fire five shots into the darkness. The muzzle fire briefly illuminates the murk as the echo of my shots ring in the night before they all but fade away. The only sound that reverberates in my ears after that is the unmistakable crash of splintering of wood.

“Great, just great!” I half-shout as I replace my weapon back its holster. I run my free hoof across my face in exasperation. “Somepony or something now knows we’re here…”

“Is that a bad thing?” Joy asks. I turn and glare at her. She takes the hint and retreats a few hoofsteps.

I sighed with guilt. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s just that these last few day or so have been nothing short of Tartarus to me.” I try to keep as much irritation out of my tone as I can. Joy still gives me a bit of a glare, which I fully understand.

I look around. It’s now dark enough to more or less start the journey to the Palace of Justice undetected, but whatever’s been watching us is bound to still be out there, probably with friends.

I give it a bit more thought and my ransacked office once again enters my thoughts. Something about it keeps bugging me.

Perhaps it’s time I listen to my gut.

“Time to head back and clear out my office,” I declare in a not-too-enthusiastic tone. “Whoever or whatever that was will probably be expecting it, but my place is easier to defend than this motel.” That is, IF we survive removing whatever traps were set there first, I think to myself.

I look to Joy, and suddenly realize she’s quite exposed and vulnerable. She’s not even wearing any clothes, though a lot ponies tended not to wear anything most of the time. That was something I couldn’t have on my watch. Joy needed some protection, and I knew just what.

“Come with me. You need a vest and a weapon or two.”

“I hope it’s not a firearm—I don’t like them.” She gives me a somewhat wicked smile. “I much prefer hoof blades.”

I roll my eyes. “Your call, kid.”

We return to the motel room. This time, we won’t be staying there long.

The events in our lives happen in a sequence in time, but in their significance to us they find their own order; the continuous thread of revelation.

We Ought To Face Any Suffering

View Online

I feel oddly at peace in the darkened city around me, almost like a part of me has been craving it. As Joy and I gallop from alleyway to alleyway, my mood keeps growing brighter. The old familiar burn in my legs is a welcome departure from the dullness that had set over in the last few days; it reminds me of the old days—the good parts of them, at least. While I had been little more than a brainwashed pawn in some sick chess game back then, I still had believed in my work. I was so utterly fooled into believing the greatest of lies and unaware that my work furthered the goals of monsters that it sickens me now. What a bitterly nostalgic feeling. I wonder if this is how reformed cons feel?

I’ve long since supplanted the old bloodlust and zeal with a brighter, more “morally sound” set of ideals—ideals I know are backed by true virtues that I can never lose sight of—the wicked need to be punished, and I’ve volunteered for the job. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m back to being some pawn in a far larger game of chess.

Joy and I aren’t the only ones enjoying the night; there’s something else out there, wicked and vile. It tracks us down like a Diamond Bloodhound, dashing through pools of shadow like a timberwolf on the hunt, and emerging into the dim moonlight only for the faintest of instants before once again vanishing into the murkiness like a windigo. I don’t exactly know how, but I can sense that the being trailing us is the same one from the motel. Sensing it doesn’t really bring me any actual clairvoyance as to what it actually is, only that it wants us to fear it.

You’re going to have to do better than fear, I think to myself, corners of my mouth rising. You’re going to have to come out of the shadows sooner or later. When you do, you’re grass…

IV
WE OUGHT TO FACE ANY SUFFERING

After the better part of an hour, we arrive at the dingy building I call home. The streets are unusually empty and quiet. This part of town tended to be lively with gangs of young colts running about in search of a night’s ultra-violence. Their absence—coupled with the ominous emotions lingering in the air like a bad perfume—instantly makes me realize something’s very wrong, but there’s no turning back, not this late in the game.

We enter with the utmost caution. The lobby’s usual mess did little to put my mind at ease. Instead of taking the elevator up to my floor as I’d done a day earlier, Joy and I instead opt to take the stairs. I carefully open the staircase door and press myself against the nearest wall. I motion Joy to do the same. Once we’re crouched, I levitate my weapon next to my head and give my companion a single nod. Carefully, we start prowling up the stairs. We don’t move forward unless I thoroughly inspect each step.

After fifteen minutes, we reach my floor. The level’s still shadowy, and it somehow feels even emptier than it had before. Glass from the once-bright fluorescent lighting still litters the floor, signaling the fact that nopony else had passed by.

Joy and I continue down the hallway. We keep our hoofsteps as silent as possible. It’s a task that’s proving rather difficult, considering equines weren’t exactly masters of stealth. Hooves just make too much noise, and muffling spells were beyond my range of expertise. There’s an echo with each hooffall, intensifying the murk around us. It’s almost as if some shadow hangs over the hallway.

At last, the final turn. I’m now looking at my office door, still slightly ajar—not even the vermin dare enter. I cast several quick glances over my shoulder to make sure Joy and I aren’t being followed. Every so often, Joy shoots me a nervous glance before refocusing on the inky darkness ahead—she can feel the wrongness in the air as well.

When the door’s but a few inches away from my muzzle, we stop. Joy and I both know it’s foolish to just gallop in. I already know of a single nasty trap—the bundle of balefire gems right behind the door. I’m dead-certain there’s more traps like that waiting.

“Got any ideas?” Joy asks. She gazes at me with a slight frown.

I think about it for a second. The traps were no doubt set to take out a pony.

Good thing I wasn’t a pony.

I again consider taking my windigo form, but I reject the idea. I had to physically interact with the traps, not just observe them. A new form springs into my head, and I feel a smile creep over my lips. “Yeah, I have one.”

Before Joy had a chance to ask again, I let out a deep exhale and allowed myself be consumed in emerald flames. When the fire recedes, my vision has been greatly augmented and I stand at least two head shorter than before. Joy nearly jumps back, just barely managing to hold back a scream as she shove a hoof into her mouth. I’m not sure if her reaction’s one of surprise, terror, or a mixture of both. I click my new pincer-like mandibles together into what amounts to my new body’s closest approximation of a smile is.

“G!” Joy suddenly shouts, completely forgetting the ‘stealth’ aspect of our goals. “You’re—you’re—you’re an arachnid!” I can’t help but snicker a bit at her reaction.

I give Joy a quick wink out of my left four eyes, exhale deeply, and scurry down the hall. I climb on to the door without so much as making it move a centimeter. I keep my body as low as it can go and rapidly scurry up through the tight opening at the top of the door’s frame. Once inside my office, I fix my gaze on the hinges. Using my now adhesive legs, I easily walk right behind the door. My enhanced perception lets me note the trap’s mechanism. The gem bundle would be triggered if the door was disturbed. The trigger mechanism wasn’t magical in nature, so I had some margin of error. All I have to do is slice a line connecting the mechanism to the door. With a quick swipe, I do just that. With that taken care of, I dismantle the rest of the mechanism, recovering the gems and putting them in my saddlebag.

I crawl backwards and move towards the ceiling, making my way to the room’s epicenter. From here, I can see the extent of the work ahead. The floor’s riddled with fine tripwires, all attached to more mechanisms hidden with invisibility spells. My new eyes can bypass the spell’s light refracting effect, so I’m not fooled. An average pony would need a pretty powerful scrying spell to see what I could in my arachnid form. I jump down and land right top of my overturned desk. It is, quite literally, the only safe spot in the minefield ahead. Carefully, I start to maneuver my legs around the tripwires. With the same diligence as earlier, I start to cut them. Twenty minutes later, all the explosives have been rendered null. I again stuff all the balefire gems into my saddlebag, which is starting to get full.

Physical traps can’t be the only surprise in my office, not if the intruders had had knowledge of who I was and what I was capable of. I again stand over my desk and let myself be consumed by emerald flames. When the flames recede, my sight’s dull again. I telekinetically reach into my saddlebag and pull out a scrying spell scroll. I read it and feel my eyes sharpen to the point that I can see a flea at over five-hundred yards away. As expected, the entire room’s laced with runic spells drawn into the very walls and floor with translucent ink. There are enough volatile glyphs placed on my walls to level the entire building two times over.

I grunt at the realization of just how much work I had ahead of me. I turn to the door to see Joy’s head slowly peeking inside. “You might want to sit down. This might take awhile.” I try my best to keep the annoyed tone out of my voice, but I don’t think it really works. I jump from the desk and transform back into the Arachnid. Instantly, Joy recoils in horror with an audible squeak. I shake my head at her reaction. Phobias…

It takes me nearly four hours, but I finally manage to remove the final runic spell from the wall. One final scrying scroll use reveals that the bedrooms and kitchen are clear. My would-be assassins had actually counted on me triggering the traps in the office like some careless foal. I’m not sure if I’m glad or insulted by just how I had been underestimated. I bitterly chuckle. Better find a way to keep my hubris in check.

The feeling of gloom and doom’s already lifting from the office. It’s a nice change from the grimness of the last day. Still, I’m not relaxing quite yet. There’s still something hunting Joy and me, and nothing’s stopping it now from bursting through my door. I consider booby trapping the hallways with a few of the balefire gems I had repurposed, but that would only attract unwanted attention—not to mention cause damage to the already old building. I walk around my now trap-free office. It’s only now that I have relative safety that I start to really take in the state of my office. I can’t help but be pissed. Whoever ransacked my place did a good job, I’ll give them that. They trashed nearly everything and rigged the whole place to blow higher than most of the fireworks used in Liberation Day parades. Really, I applaud you—A plus for effort! I scoff. Bastards.

As I right my desk, I note that at least some parts of my home weren’t complete write-offs. The kitchen was untouched, and so were the living rooms. The bottle of rompope I hid under a loose floorboard was still untouched, too. Thank Luna for small miracles. It doesn’t take me long to find the one thing I would have thought taken or destroyed sitting idly on the floor: Velvet’s note. This instantly made me feel very uneasy.

A few more minutes of work, and the office’s more or less back to its original state—minus a dresser that had a large hole in its side and a couple of dented filing cabinets. Not a big loss, just annoying. I take a shot from my rompope and try to relax.

I’m interrupted when a very angry filly storms into my office. “Just what in the name of Queen Monarchia were you thinking!?” She’s trying to keep her voice as even as she can while still yelling—it isn’t working. “You not only left me out there while you’re getting drunk!”—she points to my bottle—“You nearly scared me to death with that transformation!” I can see her fangs bared at her words.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of arachnids.”

“Of course I’m afraid of them! In my old hive, we had daily troubles with them. Nasty brigands did all sorts of horrid things to us because of their damn beliefs!” I can almost see the chills running up her chitin.

I can’t help but stifle a chuckle. “Arachnids may be big and tough, but they aren’t known for being bright. A troll can easily outwit them, you know. As for their belief that we represent ‘famine and plague,’ that’s just further proof of how dim they really are.”

“Doesn’t stop them from being deadly,” Joy says. She once again shudders. “Can you please never take that form while around me?”

“Sorry, kid, I can’t make that promise.” The corners of my mouth rise higher at my words. “It’s very useful,” I continue. “Last thing I want is to limit my transformations just because you feel uneasy about them. I’m no racist.”

Joy doesn’t reply. Instead, she opts to scowl at me and walk away. She’s still shaking from what was obviously a mix of fear and disgust. She was at least trying to cover it up with annoyance. I shake my head and leave her to her own devices for a while.

I turn my focus back to my rompope and my own thoughts. Before the buzz of the drink can really kick in, I start to run over potential culprits for the ransacking of my office. Naturally, the Crux Nato comes to mind first, but their style isn’t to leave traps to do their dirty work. They would have stuck around, hiding in the shadows, ready to strike when I least expected it.

I then think of Bullion’s thugs. He certainly had the forces to pull off a job like this, and had more than enough motive. Problem was, I had dealt with his kind before. Hired thugs—even killer suits—certainly didn’t have anywhere near the expertise on destructive magic to set up the kinds of harmful runes or balefire gems I had nullified. No, this kind of expertise required military training and years of arcane studies. There was also the fact that Velvet’s note had not been taken. If anything, that would have been Bullion’s main target—aside from my head.

That was what was wrong here. The ones responsible for thrashing my office and home hadn’t taken the note with them. They had left it behind as if it was nothing. The place was only trashed—nothing was taken. This was starting to feel less like a ransack, and more like an intimidation move.

Joy takes a seat on my beat-up sofa—which I had righted—and tries to relax. She doesn’t get too far into her attempt before she asks says, “So, what now?” in a tone I swear is a smug one.

“Well,” I start neutrally, “we’re no closer to any real answer than we were before, and whatever’s out there knows we’re here by now. A daylight attack would be suicide, but that doesn’t mean it won’t wait for nightfall.” I cross my hooves. “Soon as I get the phone back up and running, I’m calling Ingot for back-up.” I give the matter a bit more thought. “I guess that’s really the only course of action we have right now. It’s obvious this has gotten larger than I can handle alone, and if what you’ve told me is true, then...” I take a heavy breath—I can feel my brow furrowing. “…We’re dealing with a well-organized group with resources other than our former cult.”

“So, we sit and wait?”

“I’m afraid so,” I answer. I take another swig of my rompope. “I’ll also need to let the lieutenant and captain know that you’re on our side now,” I add. “I might ask if he can deputize you, maybe make you my new partner.”

“Now hold your horses, there,” Joy suddenly exclaims. Her eyes are wide in shock. “What makes you think I’m on your side now?”

“For starters, you’ve stuck around and haven’t stabbed me in the back yet,” I reply nonchalantly. “The hotel attempt doesn’t count, since you were more afraid than able-minded.” I meet her gaze and feel an honest smile creep over my muzzle. Joy doesn’t take my words well, however.

“What if I am planning something? What if I’m just waiting for you to lower your guard before I make my move?” she asks.

“That’s always a possibility, but since we’re both changelings, you know well that there is no plan you can come up with that I wouldn’t be able to sense the instant you try to carry it out.” I smile. “Also, you’re not exactly ‘threatening’ or ‘deadly.’ If anything, you’re rather helpless.” I half chuckled. “No offense intended.” Joy’s face furrows as she crosses her forelimbs. Emotionally, she’s pretty much agreeing with everything I’m saying. “Besides, do you honestly feel you would be safer with the Crux Nato?” I ask, my voice growing as grave as I can make it.

Joy visibly shudders at my question. “Good point.” She closes her eyes for a few seconds, grimace forming over her face. Then, it slowly vanished as a weak smile forms. “Who could have predicted that a rookie like me would end up working alongside one of the five preferity?”

“So, partners?” I ask, extending my hoof towards the filly.

“Partners?” Joy repeats with hesitation. “You’re really willing to trust me?” She gazes into my eyes. “Even though you and I should be sworn enemies?”

I nod in reply. “By now, I’d know for certain if you had any ulterior motives.” I give Joy a slight glare, causing her to gulp. “You and I are not only ex-Crux Nato operatives, but also changelings. We’re kindred. We share many similarities in our backgrounds. If we want to clear your name...” I pause, swallowing the urge to upchuck. “…clear the cult’s name...” The taste of vile in my mouth’s almost overwhelming. “...and find the real culprit behind the murders, we have to work together.” I bring the bottle of rompope to my lips and down a good glass’ worth. I then pop in a sugar cube for good measure.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Joy says, “why would you want to clear the cult’s name if you nearly destroyed it in the first place?”

It’s a very valid question. “If what you’ve told me is true, then the Crux Nato is being framed.” My face hardens at my words. “Now, don’t get me wrong here: I hold absolutely no love for the Crux Nato, especially since I’m who I am because of them. But if they aren’t responsible for this mess, then that leaves only one other group both capable and willing to cause such havoc. Trust me when I say that they make the Crux Nato look like saints in comparison.” My face shrivels down into a grimace.

“Who?” Joy timidly asks.

“I really don’t like what you’re telling me here,” lieutenant Shining Armor gravely says. His face is growing paler by the second. “The Caelestibusque viciously ruled Equestria for nearly three-hundred years! Yo-you’re telling me they could be back!?”

“It’s a possibility,” I answer, keeping my voice as lax as possible. The lieutenant seems just about ready to snap. Shining Armor had arrived mere minutes after my call to Ingot, who had not been available due to a security detail with the prime minister. The lieutenant had brought along a full detachment of guards and E.B.I. officers, who were now all posted in key locations around the entire city block.

“You're absolutely sure it’s not the Crux Nato regaining its former strength?”

“Positive,” Joy answers back before I can voice myself. This prompts a surprised look from the lieutenant. “My ex-cult,” she adds to reinforce her decision to leave her past life behind, “no longer has the resources, or numbers, to enforce any authority. Not that they would do so since the new laws.”

The lieutenant looks at Joy with alarm. He looks ready to say something, but he instead sighs. The conflict he’s feeling is very clear to me, even if he doesn’t fully acknowledge it. He inhales and looks at her again. “Look, G’s vouching for you, so I’m willing to trust you. Still,” he interjects, giving the filly a sudden and cold glare, “one wrong move—one wrong step—and you’re going in a cell for the rest of your days. Got it?”

Joy nervously nods.

The lieutenant turns to face me. He doesn’t need to ask it; the question’s obvious on his face. “Joy’s background is almost like mine, save she’s not yet killed anypony, still feeds on love, parents are still alive in a hive located in the wastes near Salty Shores, she still reveres Monarchia despite her power-hungry nature,” that part I said in a near hiss, “and finally, she’s daftly afraid of arachnids.” I feel a creeping smirk on my muzzle.

“Hey!” Joy protests. “I’m afraid of the big ones, okay?”

“Anything else?” Shining Armor inquires, ignoring Joy’s sudden outburst.

“Again, Joy’s now an ex-member of the Crux Nato, qualifying her as an asset in the fight against whatever perpetrating these killings.” I give the filly a cautionary look. “Right?”

“Yes,” Joy says. “There’s no way I’m going back to them, especially after consorting with him.” She points a hoof at me. “Besides, I don’t think I’ve got much of a future with them anyway. It’s just another mistake in a long line of mistakes, starting with me leaving home.”

“I still don’t fully trust you, but I’ve no choice on the matter.” Shining Armor turns to face me. “This is one big mess you and I have gotten into here, G. It borders on conspiracy!” His brow furrows. “I’m starting to regret taking this case.”

“You had to have known what you were going to walk into,” I retort.

“I had a feeling, yes, but… it was supposed to be simpler than this.” He somberly sighs. “I wasn’t expecting some complex scheme that might see one of Equestria’s oldest evils rise again.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head in regret.

“Lieutenant, when it comes to the Caelestibusque, nothing’s ever simple.”

The lieutenant gives me a concerned gaze, but nods nonetheless. He then turns to face Joy once more. “I guess the only loose end left is your new ‘partner’ here,” he says, pointing to the filly. She slightly recoils at the Lieutenant’s grave tone.

“She’s in this mess too,” I say. “Whatever is hunting us is likely doing so to keep her quiet.” My words make Joy take an uncomfortable gulp. It’s a fact I had not quite wanted to voice, but had to.

“I don’t argue with that, detective,” the lieutenant replies. “Still, are you sure you want her as your new partner?” He looks Joy over with diligence. “She’s not exactly guard material.” He gestures to all of Joy’s being. She gives him a crossed look.

“If I recall, neither was I. Yet, the princess gave me a pardon and a position in the E.B.I.” I give the lieutenant a confident smile. “Besides, what other choice do we have?” I lean forward on my desk. “The other options available aren’t exactly pleasant.”

“True,” Shining Armor gives another chuckle before his expression hardens once again. “Turning this fine young filly into a lobotomite isn’t exactly on my list of things to see in my lifetime.” He shoots Joy an apologetic look before turning his full attention back to me. “So, where do you stand on the case?” Shining Armor does his best to change the subject before Joy literally strangles him.

“Square. Freaking. One,” I sourly reply. “At first, I was dead-certain the murders had to do with Bullion and his casino. His daughter’s murder could have been a fluke, but every victim after that had some kind of connection either to him or the place. Paying that bastard a visit revealed that while the guy is scum and a cheat, he’s clean of any blood; at least in plain sight. Only concrete thing I can pin on him is unethical gambling, and that’s only punishable by a fine.” I put a hoof over the bridge of my nose.

“Sounds like there might be more to it, then,” Shining Armor replies, hoof on his chin. “Let’s keep that venue open, especially since you were captured inside his casino.” The Lieutenant writes down some information on a notepad. Then, he turns back to me. “What else?”

“The next suspect’s the Crux Nato itself,” I reply. “The cult was a strong candidate for being the ‘murder weapon’ in this case, especially since it was blood magic that caused every death known, including Velvet’s.” I turn to face Joy, who tenses at my sight. “That all changed with Joy’s revelation of the new Crux Nato workings, though. Much as I hate to say it, they could possibly have been framed.” I take another swig of cider and cross my hooves. My eyes go shut for a moment as I take in the words I’m about to say. “Officially, the trail’s dead.” I open my eyes and face Shining Armor. “Unofficially, I fear the Caelestibusque may be responsible for the homicides.” I feel a chill run down my spine at my own words.

“That’s the issue,” Shining Armor starts. “There is no ‘official’ way of knowing that for certain.” He sounds just as frustrated as I am. “The guards and E.B.I. can’t move unless we know for sure.” He let out a groan, laying back on his chair and looking at my roof. “Curse all this red tape and procedure.”

“To make matters worse, there’s something stalking Joy and me.” I give another exasperated sigh. “Much as I hate the idea, I’m going to need my old office at the Palace of Justice again. I really don’t think this building is the safest place to be in anymore, even if it can be defended.”

“Yeah,” the lieutenant replies as he gives my office a look over. “This place’s definitely seen better days.” He turns to face me. “Why’d you leave your old office anyway?”

I smile. “Didn’t really feel like home.”

The lieutenant raises an eyebrow at my answer, but inquires no further. I can feel that his emotions towards me are changing, from shiftiness to trust. I give a silent sigh. Whether I wanted it or not, Shining Armor was going to stick around. I smile and shake my head. Poor kid’s in for a bit of a shock, especially if my hunter’s as cruel as I had been at one point…

With that beautiful thought still in my mind, I get to picking up whatever belongings weren’t bolted to the floor or broken beyond repair. I wanted to move into my office before nightfall—no reason to give my hunter valid reason to attack.

I pace aimlessly back and forth. My hoofsteps echo over my newly refurbished Palace of Justice office. The white walls feel alien—I was used to black and brown. To say I feel exposed is an understatement.

Five days have passed since my… incident with the draconequus. In that time, Joy had not only gotten a pardon signed by both Princess Luna and the Supreme Equestrian Court, she had been officially admitted into the Equestrian Guards as a junior cadet. I had been appointed as her mentor, but she just took to calling me “partner,” which I didn’t mind. She now shared my office, which I was grateful for since it made the otherwise empty space tolerable.

Unfortunately, the killer had also kept itself busy. Not a single night had gone by without another corpse ending up in the morgue by the next morning. While Shining Armor and captain Ingot kept their hooves full chasing “valid” leads, Joy and I continued working the seedier parts of Canterlot, extracting information from the scum that resided there. It almost didn’t matter, though, since the few leads we got always ended in dead ends or with irrelevant thugs that had no connection to the murders at all.

Joy and I weren’t the only ones having bad luck. The lieutenant and captain had it even worse; they hadn’t even gotten a single valid lead yet. Worse, every time the four of us were out chasing phantoms, we felt the cold and calculating gaze of our nameless hunter fall on us. It almost felt like we were being used in some sick game, guided along the board at the whim of an unseen player.

As I pace back and forth like some caged lion, that young filly, Velvet, keeps entering my thoughts. She haunts me in ways I never thought I could be haunted. Her sudden demise nags at me like a bad conscience. In my mind, I can see her blaming me for her gruesome end. In a way, it’s true. I hadn’t stopped her that night, and she had died because of it. The more I think about it, the more I start to realize that her death felt… wrong; like it wasn’t quite part of a plan. I had almost caught the one responsible for her untimely fate, and I was sure that hadn’t been part of the plan.

Actually, thinking back to the perpetrator, I realize that his method, coupled with the fact that he didn’t so much as harm me—even though he had ‘tried’—pointed to the probability that Velvet’s death had actually been planned. I stop pacing and put a hoof on my chin at that thought. A murder that’s both planned and unplanned—it makes no sense. Then again, nothing about the case makes sense at this point…

Gah… I need a drink.

*** *** ***

Another day passes by, and to my shock, there is no reported murder. At first it seems like a fluke—maybe the news outlets just haven’t gotten wind of it yet, or maybe the senate finally started to quiet things down. Another day goes by, and then another. Before I know it, a whole seven days has passed without a single death or abnormal occurrence in Canterlot. No petty crimes, no gang activity, heck, not even a single jaywalker. The seven days soon becomes fourteen, and fourteen becomes nineteen. Canterlot once again seems to return to its utopian way of life: the ugly and harsh truth hidden behind a fine porcelain mask.

Normally, I would have been very glad to see such a streak of peace—bodies piling up in the morgue with no face to go with them only meant grief for all the colts at the E.B.I. and the guards. Still, something continued nagging at the back of my mind. Not one victim had concrete connection with the other save for the fact that they were possible patrons of the Golden Vision. I had nothing to act on, and I wasn’t about to risk my chitin by going back to the Golden Vision. Just knowing that whatever foul being took Velvet’s life was still out there—possibly stalking its next victim—made my chitin crawl and filled me with a fury I hadn’t felt since my younger years. I feel my wings start to vibrate at the emotion.

“G, are you alright?” Joy suddenly asks. She looks up from the book she’s devouring: the first volume of a new adventure story called Daring Doo.

I turn to face her and put on a smile. “Yeah,” I answer. “I’m just thinking.”

It’s true that I’m thinking, both about Velvet and Joy. She’s turning out to be quite the able-hooved agent, even if her preference for bladed weapons contrasted against my preference for ranged ones. I’m not one to complain, especially since half of the extracted confessions we had managed to scrape together over the last nineteen days had been all thanks to her. She was starting to take after me in all the wrong ways, though. I fear she’s soon going to draw blood, and in doing so cease to be just a semi-innocent filly, but something akin to what I was. It scares me just how similar she and I are. She’s still too young and innocent to end up like I did. It scares me even more because I’m starting to care for her as if she was family. Every time my gaze falls on her, it softens in a way that isn’t exactly common for me. I get this almost overwhelming desire to nurture and care. Honestly, what’s wrong with me? A few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have given a single buck about family or siblings. Now, it’s at the forefront of my thoughts and choices.

“Still worried the murders are going to start again?” Joy asks, ears falling back at her words.

“Yeah,” I answer without really meeting her gaze. For some reason, I suddenly imagine Joy meeting the same fate as Velvet. The thought utterly terrifies me.

“It’s been three weeks, G. Whoever or whatever was responsible seems to have given up.”

“If only I could believe that,” I say bitterly. I trot over to my desk and take a seat. I lean back on my chair, mind racing through a thousand different thoughts. I want to believe you, Joy, I really do. But I know well that killers, unless stopped, bide their time before killing again. I know; I was one once. I close my eyes momentarily and try to relax. I slowly let my breath out as I try to take in the stillness. For a moment, it works, and my mind starts to clear.

All of a sudden, an image flashes before me. A shadow in the far distance, followed by a unicorn's corpse violently sprawled on the snowy pavement, his white coat stained crimson and eyes gazing widely at me. I only have to look at his shield cutie mark to know who he was.

Instantly, I snap alert, still stunned at the image. My imagination was becoming more and more morbid by the day, but this was different. I can feel my heart racing and a horrid sensation in the pit of my gut. I try to shake the image out of my mind, but any attempt to do so only causes it to grow more vivid. I run a hoof over my face and sigh. I bring out my bottle of sweet hard cider, but I’m all out. I groan as I toss the bottle on my waste bin. I turn to Joy, who has all but returned to reading her book. “I need to go get some more Cider. Want anything from the store?”

“I don’t drink,” Joy answers. She again looks at me from her book before giggling. “I also don’t have your fascination with sweets. But tell you what; I’ve always wanted to try out chocolate.”

“Alright, chocolate it is then.” I get up from my desk, levitate my trench coat from its rack, and move towards the door. Right before I magic the door handle, I get very strong gut feeling. In the nanosecond it takes me to blink, several images flash before me. I see an alley, a lone red-hooded and masked figure with twisted horns, and the same unicorn’s body sprawled on the crimson snow. I turn to gaze up at the figure, who has somehow moved right in front of me without as much as a single sound. I gaze into his blazing balefire-toned eyes and feel a great dread. Almost as if he’s somehow a part of me…

The images fade just as fast as they came, but the message is very clear. I look to Joy, who has once again gone back to her book. Without her noticing, I levitate my hoof repeater from my desk and carefully strap it in its respective holster as I head out the door. Somehow, my natural compass guides me to where I need to go.

A glow erupted from the shadowed alleyway. [This is Shining Armor checking in. Over.]

There was silence for a few seconds, and then a young stallion’s voice rang within the lieutenant’s head. [Come in, lieutenant Shining Armor. This is private Clover reading you loud and clear. Over.]

The lieutenant gave a nod and smile. [Clover, my patrol route is clear. Do you have any news from the other patrols? Over.]

[Nothing as of yet, lieutenant,] the private replied. [The rest of the squad must be beyond the range of our sympathetic communications spells. Over.]

The young lieutenant’s eyes grew narrow at the private’s words. [Clover, our combined spells are powerful enough to cover a fifty square-mile radius. If nopony has checked in yet, it’s because something has gone wrong. Over.]

[What are your orders, over?] Clover asked his lieutenant.

Shining Armor stopped momentarily to think on his next move. Sure, he could order the private abandon his route and meet him right away, or he could order the private return to base to inform the higher branches of the situation. None of those seemed appropriate, however, especially when the issue was a break in communication. In the end, he decided to maintain protocol. [Clover, continue your patrol route as normal. I'll meet up in the rendezvous. We’ll see about the rest of the squad then. Keep your communication line open.]

[Roger that, lieutenant. Private Clover out.]

The lieutenant glanced around to get a better sense of direction. After ensuring that nothing out of the ordinary was about, he made his way towards the meeting point. The evening sun was soft on his coat. If the weather teams made more of an effort to keep the weather as balmy as it was now, he certainly wouldn’t mind being assigned more patrol rounds. As it stood, the day’s warmth was a bureaucratic fluke. Snow had been scheduled for several days, but the city had sunlight instead. The lieutenant really only had to look skyward to see dark clouds already being hastily gathered.

As he trotted down back alleys and streets, he felt a cold sensation running down his neck with every hoofstep. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, and the few ideas that popped into his head were rather unpleasant. The feeling intensified as he turned the last corner of his patrol route and crossed right into private Clover’s route. He looked about, expecting to see his lime-green companion turning the corner to meet him. Instead, he was met with dead silence and a growing darkness that felt utterly unnatural.

He gave a wry smile and a shake of his head. He figured the private was late because he was still getting acquainted with guard procedures. Keeping a schedule was, sadly, among the things that most rookies needed to work on. He himself was guilty of occasionally slacking when it came to a schedule. The growing darkness made it hard to tell shadows apart from living ponies, so the lieutenant cast a minor light spell, after which he lit his horn and performed yet another sympathetic communications spell. [Private Clover, this is Shining Armor. Come in,] he started.

Silence.

[Private Clover, this is lieutenant Shining Armor. Come in,] he thought more gravely. More silence. His brow furrowed. [Private Clover, this is lieutenant Shining Armor requesting that you check in. Over.] He waited for exactly one minute before officially growing anxious. He dismissed his spell and shook his head. “Where’s that rookie gone to?”

He made his way down the road and to the corner private Clover should have turned about two minutes earlier. He expected to find the young unicorn goofing off or gawking at some pretty filly. Instead, he found the private sprawled on the ground with his neck cut open. There wasn’t a single drop of blood in the snow. The poor colt hadn’t even gotten the chance to reach for his weapon to defend himself. He just looked skyward with glassy, faded eyes.

Shining Armor’s heart skipped a beat at the sight. His breathing became shallow and rapid, eyes growing to the size of tea plates as they darted from side to side. He cast his communications spell again. [This is lieutenant Shining Armor communicating in all arcane frequencies. Anypony, please respond!] Dead silence.

[This is Shining Armor—] he suddenly paused to straighten his thoughts. [Captain Ingot, can you hear me? Please respond!]

Nothing.

He felt himself near the point of panic as the full weight of his situation started to sink in. He could feel his every muscle tremble as a sheer terror began to take over. Swiftly, he turned around and made a dash for the alleyway’s exit. If he was attacked, he stood a greater chance of survival out in the street, where he could at least maneuver.

As he galloped, he kept furiously attempting to get a communications link with anypony going, but it was to no avail. As he turned the next darkened corner, he was met with yet another ghastly sight, one that caused him to nearly trip over as he violently skidded to a stop. Before the young lieutenant, in a scene that seemed ripped right out of a horror moving picture, lay all eighteen of his comrades. There was no blood to be seen anywhere.

He could feel his lip quiver as he took a single cautious step forward, extending a shaky hoof at the horror before him. He had known all of the guards—had been close friends with almost all of them. Now they all lay dead, discarded, and piled like garbage. Fear was supplanted by rage. In his mind, a furious voice started to shout, demanding retribution for the slain. Instinctively, he telekinetically wrapped the mouth handle of his sheathed saber. That soon came to an end when a lone dark figure appeared at the very end of the nearest alley. The being—a goat, by the appearance of his twisted horns—had eyes that glowed like balefire and sported trails of swirling purple miasma that shone and swirled like Princess Luna’s mane.

Whatever rage the young lieutenant had been building dissipated as raw dread supplanted it. His body locked-up completely as his gaze became fixed on the being before him. Despite his body ferociously telling him not to, he risked a single blink. In that single frame of a nanosecond, the assailant covered the distance, appearing right before the horrified and stunned lieutenant. Before he even had a chance to utter a single sound, the goat delivered a massive ramming attack to his chest. The lieutenant was sent flying a few meters. He landed face up, air knocked right out of his lungs. He hadn’t even begun to recover when the goat blinked right on top of him, right hoof raised with the obvious intent to crush.

Instinctively, the lieutenant unleashed a spell he had just recently mastered: an arcane barrier. The lavender-toned force field pushed the goat right off, but didn’t seem to harm the assailant in any visible way. The goat stood up again, shaking snow from his crimson robes. He let his eyes glow, and vanished in another flash of light. The lieutenant turned around just in time to come face to mask with the masked goat once again.

Despite his dread and terror, Shining Armor suddenly found strength in the rage building up in him. The goat’s own eyes seem to shine with fury as well, though the mage’s fury seemed to stem from determination and hatred; hatred for Shining Armor. There was something unnatural—almost eldritch—about the goat’s loathing. The lieutenant could feel great power in it, almost as if the very detestation in the air was powering the foul mage.

A single flash from the mage’s eyes and Shining Armor founds himself enveloped in a dark-purple miasma. Before he could muster a counter-spell, he was pinned against the nearest wall. Within seconds, the goat had pressed his hoof against the young unicorn’s neck, uttering what at first sounded like complete gibberish. The lieutenant’s eyes went wide. A dreadful sensation started to grow within his very body—as if his very innards were growing rigid. A fiery agony swiftly erupted all through his being as a massive surge of pressure started to build in his midsection. Tears of pain started to build in his eyes. His thoughts turned to his beloved Cadence and Twilight. His gaze turned to the mound of corpses. The harrowing implication flooded in. Forgive me, I’m… not going… to make it… home tonight… The lieutenant closed his eyes as the pain reached a new zenith.

The sound of thunder cracked through the air.

I yawn and put the book down. Dang, feels as if I have spent hours reading this Daring Doo adventure.

Not much to do now, I guess. G didn’t really say when he was gonna get back, and I’m certainly not going to sit around and do nothing. Doing nothing’s so… boring. Dang, I guess I can’t really think of anything else to label it as other than boring.

As I get up from my cushion and move to the door, I notice something in G’s desk. It’s a manila folder, one that looks awfully beat up. I move my eyes left and right, just to make sure there is no one watching me, and telekinetically bring the folder to me. I’m sure G won’t mind me reading this, especially if it’s about the case. He’s been rather paranoid these last few days. I’m starting to really worry about him.

Looking at the tab in the side of the folder, and I see a name I’m not too familiar with. “Gro’gar” I read out-loud. Wonder who this is? I open the folder and find myself stunned. The picture on file is that of G, only he looks young; very young. In fact, he can’t a year older than twenty. Despite looking like he just got out of a scrap with a pair of manticores, he looks… handsome—not that he isn’t handsome right now, of course—but if I didn’t know him how I do now, I wouldn’t mind getting to know him better. I can’t help but giggle. Shi’arma! You naughty little changeling~

By the looks of his picture, it was taken right after G’s ill-fated suicide mission. Curiosity gets the best of me, and I decide to read a bit about my partner and mentor. Again, I’m sure he won’t mind me looking. According to the paper, G’s real name is “Gro’gar.” Guess I know why he uses ‘G’ instead of his real name now. His weight’s about one hundred and fifty pounds—wait, a hundred and fifty pounds? I knew G was heavy from the moment I saw his body lacked openings, but I never knew he was that heavy. Age is… classified. I roll my eyes; should have known. What about his actual background?

It’s… blacked out.

Why? I mean, I guess I can sort of understand—privacy and all that jazz—but did it have to be to this extreme a level? I give a somewhat frustrated sigh. Now I really want to know more about him. Wonder if he even told me the whole truth… I guess that will come with time.

I close the folder and get ready to go out of the office when I hear a knock on the door. I wrap the door knob in my magic and open the door. I’m greeted by a unicorn mare and a stallion… or something similar to a stallion. I can’t quite describe him other than him being, well, a he.

The stallion is tall. If I had to guess, maybe five feet, three inches, not counting his antlers—which almost make him six feet even! That’s almost as tall as G. His coat’s a bright white. It almost looks as if it’s pulsating every few seconds with some type of energy. His mane wraps all around his head—all the way down to his chin. It forms a massive beard that almost reaches his forelegs. He sports stripes of blue that run through the otherwise snow-white mane. All four of his limbs end in prehensile cloven hooves that look more like razor-sharp claws than actual hooves. His tail’s rather dragon-like, even though it is very thin. Had it not been for his fanged muzzle and piercing ruby draken eyes, I would have almost said the stallion was some kind of deer. His getup’s equally strange as he is— it’s kind of like a mix between a robe, a trench coat, a martial arts gi, and something I swear I had seen in a kung-fu comic book.

In contrast, the unicorn mare is almost plain in appearance. Her coat’s a fine orange, mane a very beautiful silver color, and eyes a fine topaz hue. Her body frame’s light—perhaps too light. She sports an elegant white officer’s great coat with the Equestrian Battlemage insignia proudly displayed in bright ebony and gold. Coupled with her natural beauty, I found myself feeling very jealous of her.

The mare looked at me and smiled warmly. Even her teeth seemed to be perfectly pearly. “Hello,” she started, her tone resonating with some confusion. “I’m sorry to bother you, but this is detective G’s office, is it not?” She looked around the hall several times before turning her gaze back to me. “At least, I’m sure this is his office.”

“Yes, this is G’s office. Question is, who are you?”

“Since when does Mr. G ‘ave himself a greeter?” a voice says from the background. I move my head slightly and see the source—a filly unicorn that can’t be older than I am. She’s wearing a cow-pony hat and red scarf around her neck.

“I’m no ‘greeter’,” I reply, not really caring that my tone’s a bit harsh. “I’m his partner, Joy.”

“A’, so you’re da lovely young cadet G too’ under ‘is tutelage.” The filly beams widely. “Looks ‘ike yu’s got da’ same spark he doe’.”

“Sweetie, keep it down,” the stallion tells the filly. “And you,” he looks at me. “Apologize.” His physical features make him appear larger-than-life.

“Oh honey, you’re being overly dramatic again,” the mare says in a slightly sing-song tone. She looks to the stallion with a loving smile. “I think independence and fierceness are great assets to have.”

“Sure, they’re fine to have when dealing with the unsavory lowlifes of Equestria. But here in the corps, there is such a thing as ranking.” The stallion again looks down on me sternly. “You owe my wife—who is a major of the battlemage division—an apology, cadet!”

I turn to look at the mare, who only smiles and shakes her head. “She doesn’t have to apologize for anything,” she retorts to her husband.

“She does,” the stallion retorts, slamming his clawed hoof on the floor. “We have a system of rank for a reason. Otherwise, everything is chaos!”

The mare seems ready to say something harsher. I gulp, realizing I was about to see the first words in a marital argument. Before that could happen, I speak out. “Major, I’m sorry for having insulted you.” I bow my head. “I’ll take full punishment for my insubordination.”

“Goo’ job pa, yus’ just once ‘gain prove’ what a hard-ass yus’ be.” The filly says, stepping from the back with a sour look on her face.

“Ranking is ranking. You know that well!” The stallion replies.

“Aye, but hav’ yus’ already fergotten yus’ and ma aren’t on duty right now?”

“That may be true, but we must never forget the system in place in this nation!” The stallion places a hoof over his chest, almost as if he’s about to start the equestrian pledge of allegiance. “It’s the only thing separating us from degenerates and brigands.”

“Sure,” the filly says as she rolls her eyes. She turns to look at me. “I’ma real sorry about my pa’s rather strict natur’.” She shoots him a glare. “He’s not always this big of an ass.”

“Meghan!” the mare says. “This is your father you’re talking about!” The mare looks up to her husband. “He’s not an ‘ass’.” A grin forms on her lips. “He’s more akin to a nerd, really.” At that, both mare and filly burst into laughter.

The stallion seems like he’s about to retort viciously, but ended up shaking his head, smile on his muzzle. “You two got me, I’ll admit that.”

The mare turned to face me again. “Nice to meet you, Shi’arma.”

My eyes widen. “You—you know my real name?”

“Oh, of cours’ we dos’!” the filly replies. “G hasn’t exactly been keepin’ on the down low ‘bout yus’.”

I took a slight gulp. “Wha… what else has he said about me?”

“Oh, not much else, really.” The mare replies. “Just the basics.”

“Well, ‘e did say sumthin’ ‘bout yus’s background.” the filly mischievously smiles. “But, yus’ story ring with us all ere’.” She wraps her hooves around her parents. She’s barely able reach her father’s neck. “Well, rings with my parents a’ least. I wus’ too youn’ to really know anythin’ ‘bout the Crux Nato.”

Suddenly, I recall what G had told me about his friends—the other four preferity. I realize that I’m facing two and a half of them. Instinctively take a step back. “You’re Ude and Arashi,” I say, pointing a hoof at the pair. “And you must be Meghan.” I point a hoof at the filly.

“Yus’ win da jackpot!” the filly says, smiling broadly. Ude nods and Arashi closes his eyes, raises his head, and gives a light snort.

“Wait a sec. If you’re Arashi, then shouldn’t you be in sabbatical?”

“I was, but I just got back—today in fact.” He smiles. “As you can probably tell from my attire, I haven’t really had time to change into my E.B.I. uniform yet.”

“I think what you’re wearing now fits you quite fine, honey,” Ude says, giving her husband a light nuzzle on his chin.

“That may be, but—”

“ ‘Protocol,’ ” Meghan says, finishing her father’s words. Arashi shoots her a slight glare, which Meghan retorts to with a beam.

After a shake of his head, Arashi says, “At any rate, the reason we came by was because we need to speak to G. Unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to be around.” He rubs his chin. “Which is odd, since he said he was going to be doing paperwork all day.”

“He was doing paperwork, but got thirsty. He left about ten minutes ago. Not sure when he’ll be back, though.”

“An’ let me guess, he left yus’ watching his office?”

“More or less—not that there’s anything to really watch here.” I motion to the half-empty room. “To say I’m bored out of my mind’s an understatement.”

“Well, we have to speak to him, so we’ll go ahead and wait for him.” Arashi looks to his daughter.

“Meghan, why don’t you take Shi’arma here to the training room? I’m sure she’ll benefit from a good sparring session.”

“Sure thin’ pa!” Meghan enthusiastically quips. She turns to face me. “Common’ Shi, yus’ and I are abou’ to sweat more than sinners in church!” Before I even have a chance to say anything, Meghan wraps her magic around my hoof and quite literally drags me down the hall. I’m shocked at just how strong her telekinetic pull really is.

As G’s office shrinks from sight, I notice Ude and Arashi speaking to each other. At first, they are smiling, looking quite happy. Then, those smiles start to fade. I felt a lingering cold encroach on the pair. Something’s wrong…

“So Shi,” Meghan suddenly starts, “has Mr. G said anythin’ about little ol’ mes’?” she looks back with a depraved smirk.

“What?”

Ude smiled widely. “Look at Meghan go. She sure has gotten stronger from all that training, hasn’t she?”

Arashi nodded. “Yes she has.” He gazed on for a second, and then sighed. “Still, I’m worried she’s jumping into this whole ‘cadet’ business too blindly. Surely, she knows that being a battlemage is hard work requiring decades of diligence and commitment.”

“Oh, she’s got magic potential, don’t worry about that. She hasn’t been slacking while you were out doing your pilgrimage, you know.”

“But does she have the concentration and determination to be a battlemage?” Arashi turned to face his wife. “You hear how she talks. She sounds like some cowpony miner or prospector fresh out of Dodge!”

“It’s just a phase, honey,” Ude says with a wave of her hoof. “Don’t forget she was accepted into Canterlot’s School for Gifted Unicorns—the sixth-youngest unicorn to ever manage that feat. I’m sure she’ll outgrow her love for the rugged western life eventually. And if she doesn’t, so what? She’ll still be one of the best battlemages from this generation.”

“She does take after your magical prowess, sweetie.” Arashi said, stepping closer to his wife.

“And she takes after your physical prowess, honey.” Ude said as she gently nibbled on her husband’s cheek.

“What about that Shi’arma filly?” Arashi suddenly asks. “Think G was too hasty in making her his partner?”

“I think it’s sweet,” Ude warmly replies. “G’s had a hard life—harder than any of us. He will never admit it, but he’s just looking for someone to care about. I can’t imagine how painful it must be to never be able to have children”

Arashi took a step back at his wife’s words. “I thought that was something he made up to avoid dating altogether! You’re telling me it’s actually true?!”

“Yes, honey.” Ude closes her eyes. “When he became… well—what is he now—one of the side effects made it so the prospect of having kids would be… very difficult.”

Arashi’s face was that of horror. “So, the poor guy can’t ever start a family of his own?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“I… I don’t know what to say.” Arashi looked as if he couldn’t decide what expression to have on his face. “I guess he’s not doing… you—know—” he brings up his clawed foreleg, forms a small circle with his thumb and index claws, and places his right index claw over the gap. “—with Shi’arma then.”

Ude’s eyes go wide at the sight. “Arashi!?”

“Hey, I’m just pointing out a possibility!” Arashi says, cheeks growing rosy.

“I can’t believe you would think that of Gro’gar! You, of all ponies, should know that he’s not a degenerate.” Ude couldn’t help but shake her head. “Even when he was young, he didn’t see fillies like that. Can’t you see that he cares for Shi’arma like a sister? He’s willing to put down his well-being to keep her safe… just like his parents gave up everything to save him.”

Arashi looked to the floor, face growing redder by the second. “Sorry, honey, it’s just that… you know what G’s really capable of.” He looked back up, directly Ude’s eyes. “There’s a reason that he was given the power to feed on hate.”

“Arashi, Gro’gar’s not that confused and angry colt anymore—he’s a grown stallion. He proved just what he’s really willing to do to keep those he cares about safe. We’re standing here today because of that.”

“I know… it’s that that I still worry about him. I can’t help but feel that he’s a time bomb. You remember what he did to the arch-mages, right?”

Ude takes a gulp, slowly turning away from her husband. “How can I forget?” she placed a hoof over her eyes. “That’s something I’ll carry to my grave…”

Arashi slowly walks to the nearest window. “…Ude, do you think that G left because of the disturbance?”

Ude removes the hoof form her face, but keeps her eyes close. “I’m sure he felt it. Not sure if it was powerful enough to get him to leave.”

“What if it was? You and I felt it, and we don’t have a changeling’s ability to sense raw emotion. Think of how much more powerful it must have been for him.”

Ude turns to face her husband. “What should we do, then?”

“Wait. We keep our senses sharp and we wait. If another one of those disturbances occurs, then we make our move.”

Before the foul mage is able to complete his chant, he is violently blasted backward by an explosion, one that is blocked outright by a lilac energy barrier he just barely manages to cast.

Shining Armor’s magical binds instantly loosen, and he drops on the ground. There, he pants and groans, trying to fight back the pain. Within seconds, he has regained most of his physical processes. Soon as he is able to, he gallops away from the mage, limping and wincing. He stumbles into the snow before turning towards the direction from which the blast originated.

Standing tall despite being literally covered in scrapes, cuts, and bruises is Captain Ingot. His eyes glare daggers at the fell mage, piercing the very air with unfathomable fury. His horn shines a bright golden hue, casting the magic necessary to keep his sizable weapon levitated next him. The blunderbuss is large and impressive, looking like had been converted from something a griffon or diamond dog would have used. It is beautifully engraved with runic etchings designed to turn every volley fired into an inferno intended to take out full-grown dragons and hydras. “Keep away from him, you bastard!” he barks at the foul goat mage.

The goat stands again, looking no worse for wear despite having being blasted by a weapon that should have vaporized him. Part of his robe is gone, however, revealing a dark-blue coat underneath patches of hardened crimson armor. The goat looks up to Ingot in acknowledgement, but does not reply. Instead, he lets his eyes glow once again. Seconds later, the very ground the captain stands upon erupts as two spires shoot forth from the very earth. The captain is just barely able to leap away as the spires sprout sharp and jagged spikes fearsome enough to skewer a manticore. He lands with his weapon aimed at the mage.

With the precision only a master markspony could muster, he fires. Unlike the shot that saved Shining Armor’s life, the goat quite easily sees it coming and parries it accordingly with his hoof. The shot violently burst into a fireball just as the mage seemed about to charge the captain. Once again, the fire burns parts of the mage’s robes and barding—particularly around the right foreleg and chest—causing him to stagger back. The captain visibly smiles as he snaps his weapon’s lever, loading a new shell into the firing chamber. He takes aim and fires.

The fell mage, now wise to the captain’s method of attack, opts to outright dodge the next shot by literally vanishing and reappearing mere meters away from Ingot. The captain snaps the lever again and fires another round, but just like the previous attack, the goat easily avoids it via teleportation. Two more shots, and the captain realizes his foe’s too close for his weapon’s firing range. With a swing of the blunderbuss, the weapon snaps out a fearsome bayonet. He readies the weapon just as the fell mage summons a blade made of pure magic by ringing what sounds like some kind of bell.

Both captain and goat meet viciously, their respective weapons clashing against one another in a shower of sparks. The captain’s bayonet, on account of being enchanted, manages to hold back the mage’s wholly arcane blade. A step back from the pair and the two weapons once more clash with an audible thunder that brings out ponies from their homes. They gaze on from their windows and balconies as a captain of the guard fights for his very life. Shining Armor can’t help but be left in awe at the sight.

Several more attacks, and the captain and mage stand completely locked in a stalemate. The goat forcefully pushes back on Ingot’s weapon and then utters a set of fell words:

There is a low rumble, followed by what can only be described as the sound of wet paper bags full of gelatin being crushed. Shining Armor looks on in absolute horror as the bodies of his deceased comrades contort viciously. Seconds later, all eighteen slain guards stand. Their eyes remain devoid of life, but they shamble forward. Half draw whatever weapons they had on hoof and charge Ingot, while the rest turn to face Shining Armor.

The captain snarls, swiftly turning to face the foul goat mage only to find empty air. He turns back to his reanimated comrades just in time to avoid a direct attack. Instinctively, the captain swings his bladed blunderbuss, slicing the heads off three of the dead guards. They only stagger back a few steps before once again charging him—they don’t even bleed. “Armor!” the captain shouts, then blocks another attack directed at him.

Shining Armor is utterly stunned by the horrid sight. He can feel his very blood grow cold. He is unwilling and unable to stand against the foul sight before him. It’s his captain’s words that finally snap him back to reality. Letting go of his senses and giving solely to instinct, the young lieutenant manages to dodge a swipe to his head by one of the guard’s lances. He just barely manages to catch the next attack, snatching the weapon right out of the earth pony’s hooves and using it to push back the other. With one mighty stab, he delivers an attack that impales three dead guards at once. He winces as he sees the lance piercing the bodies of familiar faces, but once his eyes settle on the lifeless husks that were once his friends, newfound determination fills him. He tells himself these ponies are no longer fellow guards, but reanimated abominations that stand as affronts to every natural law. With that thought running through his mind, he wraps his magic around his saber’s mouth hilt, and with newfound determination, slices away at the limbs of three more attacking guards. He turns around and with a magic projectile, pushes back the remaining three guards.

The young lieutenant turns to the three assailants he skewered with the lance. He uses his magic to withdraw the lance, and using the same momentum, flings his saber at them, cutting the three ponies in twain. There is no blood as the three ponies fall down, bodies sliced across the abdomen. To the lieutenant’s horror, they still attempt to crawl towards him. With equal parts revulsion and sorrow, Shining Armor hacks the pony’s limbs off. He has to fight hard to avoid vomiting from the shock. The only saving grace he can think of is the fact that for reasons that completely avoid him, none of the guards bleed when mutilated. It’s almost as if some kind of magic is literally keeping the blood from spilling. That’s when it finally hits him: the magic at play is literally affecting the blood of the dead guards. Blood magic! Before he can complete his thought, the three guards he pushed back earlier attack. The lieutenant retaliates by hacking the three guard’s limbs off. It doesn’t stop them from continuing their charge forward, but it slows them down significantly. “Captain!” Shining Armor calls out. “Don’t waste your time attacking them anywhere other than their limbs. They ignore everything else!”

Captain Ingot hears his lieutenant’s words, and shifts his method of attack. He aims for the ground, where five of the reanimated guards thread, and fires three shots. The blasts, combined with the searing flames, not only knock back the five guards, but reduce their limbs to bony crisps. Without wasting time, he turns to face the remaining four assailants. He swings his bladed blunderbuss at their hooves, disabling three of the remaining four. The last one, he knocks to the ground with a well-placed buck before shooting him. The ex-guard explodes in a shower of fire, leaving behind nothing but pony-shaped pile of ash on the snow.

After snapping another round into the chamber, the captain turns to aid Shining Armor, only to find himself facing the goat once more. The captain brings his weapon to bear, but before he’s able to fire, the goat delivers a well-placed ram to the captain’s chest. The sound of breaking ribs fills the air as the captain is sent flying back several feet.

With one fluid motion, Shining Armor swings his blade, cleaving the remaining reanimated guard’s limbs before galloping towards his captain as the goat mage stands over him in triumph. Rage fills the mind and heart of the young lieutenant, pushing out any fear he might have once held. With spear and blade levitated in tow, he covers the distance in a matter of seconds before launching the two weapons at the goat. With a fluid motion that was far too fast for normal ponies, the goat not only dodges the two tossed weapons, but actually travels the ten hoof spaces between himself and the lieutenant. Before he has a chance to counter, the mage blasts him with a bright flash that leaves him utterly disoriented. Using that, the goat knocks him off his hooves with a sweeping kick and telekinetically sends him crashing through the nearest set of trashcans.

The fell mage turns back to Ingot, only to receive a direct blast from his blunderbuss. The mage is just barely able to contain the fearsome blast as it knocks him skyward. The remainders of his robes go up in flames, and his crimson barding all but shatters. Even his mask bends in the wake of the flames. Had it not been for the blood armor now wrapping his entire body, the mage would have been completely incinerated. He lands with a thud, but gets back up with a hop. He shakes his head furiously; attempting to dislodge the mask he wears. Finally, the goat opts to rip it right off his face. The mage’s true scowling visage meets the captain, a thin trail of blood slowly flowing down his forehead.

The goat appears almost normal when not wearing any kind of apparel. His face is rugged, but young, with a strong and protruding under jaw. His dark blue horns spiral downwards from the top of his cranium. His ‘mane’ is a silvery white, covering part of his head, sides, and ending on his jaw in a medium-sized beard. The two most striking features are also the same aspects that show that he is beyond any normal goat. First are his eyes, now unhindered by his mask. They glow bright enough for their power to sparkle and shine, almost as if they were the very source of his magic. Then, is his protruding and jagged teeth that appear fearsome enough to rend flesh.

The captain gazes on at his foe, eyes wide in shock. He slowly shakes his head before muttering, “You...” Ingot’s face turns to one of rage as he snaps his blunderbuss’ lever and loads another round. Though he’s visibly limping now, he still manages to stand straight enough to aim and fire his weapon in a single fluid motion.

The goat darts forward, moving his body to avoid the incoming hail of fiery pellets. The captain loads another round and fires, but finds his attack missing once again. He attempts to load one last time, but the mage’s covered the distance. He delivers a swift number of jabs to the captain’s chest and neck, causing him to drop his weapon in pain. The goat takes a single swift movement back, almost as if he floated on the very ground, and speaks another set of fell words:

The remaining seventeen dead guards emit a massive gurgle as what remains of their bodies begins to inflate. Seconds later, they all burst like balloons, forming shimmering orbs of crimson. The orbs move towards the fell mage, where they come together to form a massive sphere.

Whatever residents had been brave enough to stay and watch the captain and goat battle flee at the sight of the massive sphere floating above the alleyway. The pegasi take flight, and the unicorns teleport away. The few earth ponies present opt to turn tail and flee out their front doors. Ingot looks into the mage’s face, and there he notes how he wickedly smiles, almost as if the fear all around him was empowering.

Shining Armor slowly recovers from his blow to the head. Still, even in his addled state, he can see the blood orb forming. He is completely unable to rationalize the horror before him. He can only stagger back as the foul sphere turns to a crystalline material. He looks to the mage’s face, and there he sees a satisfaction that sends chills down his spine.

The goat makes a single downward motion with his hoof. A low rumble erupts all around the alley. In a matter of seconds, the giant sphere of crimson crashes on the ground with enough power to warp the walls around its impact as it forms a massive tidal wave that sweeps everything in the alley.

Ingot and Shining Armor are swept in the wave, dragged against the very ground as sharp shards of ice cut away at them and all manner of objects slam against them. The wave erupts out of the alley and into the nearby street, where it sweeps up auto-carriages and unsuspecting ponies. It travels for a few more yards before slamming against the next row of businesses and homes, smashing glass and breaking walls. Only then does the wave die down, almost every drop of the crimson liquid evaporating in a red mist.

The first to recover from the attack is Ingot. He stands up, coughing up blood that isn’t his. He turns to see Shining Armor, and is horrified when he sees the young lieutenant sprawled on the hood of an overturned auto-carriage. All around, he can hear the groans and cries of the dozens of ponies who were caught in the foul wave.

As the captain limps towards the young lieutenant, he notes in horror that blood still stains his coat. Worse, it is moving. It doesn’t take him long to feel a creeping pain shoot up all four of his limbs. He falls on his belly and gazes on with terror as all four of his limbs are encased. He screams as something sharp digs under the skin. Within seconds, the blood has spread all through his body, and is encasing him in red ice. Ingot turns furiously towards the rapidly approaching fell mage. Before he has a chance to react, he is levitated off the ground and brought before the goat. He struggles, but it only leads to further pain. Finally, he gazes into the goat’s very eyes, scowling and groaning.

The fell mage lets his eyes glow once again, and seconds later, Shining Armor’s saber floats next to his head. He looks Captain Ingot in the eyes and smiles. “You are a traitor and a monster, Ingot. I hope you burn in Tartarus.”

“Screw y—” before Ingot can finish his words, the goat swings the saber. It slices right through the captain’s neck as if it was butter. The blood around Ingot’s body evaporates, the now lifeless shell hitting the ground with a dull thud.

The goat turns to the still unconscious lieutenant and slowly walks towards him. He readies the saber as he approaches him. “One more traitor to go,” he says. He halts right beside the lieutenant. Carefully, he aims the saber directly at his heart.

He closes his eyes and sighs. “It didn’t have to end like this, you know. You could have rejected their offer, fought against those who control this nation from the shadows… but you chose to serve them. You’re a traitor, and all traitors must die…” The blade shakes. It’s almost as if the goat is hesitating.

Finally, he opens his eyes and brings down the blade.

I telekinetically bring my hoof repeater to bear and fire. The added adrenaline causes the world to pass me by in slow motion, and I can see my weapon’s recoil kick against my telekinesis. Magic—powerful and awesome—surges through the repeater’s construct and out the barrel. It propels the steel bolt forward faster than the most agile pegasus can ever hope to fly. I see the flash momentarily shroud my vision, followed by the ferocious and deafening sound of thunder. For the first time in a long while, I beg that my shot hits the mark without any deviation.

If it doesn’t...

The saber—mere millimeters from ending Shining Armor’s life—breaks in twain from my shot. I let out a sigh of relief. Still, I know well my work’s only half done—I still have to neutralize that Crux Nato bastard.

Wasting no time, I allow myself to be consumed by emerald flames. A mere fraction of a second later, the flames die out, and I’m no longer myself. I’m a wholly new being, one capable of incredible feats of strength. I’m a minotaur, and I will use my new power to make that bastard pay. Dearly.

It only takes me two seconds to cover the remaining distance and deliver my blow. The goat’s honestly surprised at my sudden appearance. He’s even more surprised when my newly formed fist digs right into his muzzle. The blow’s so powerful he’s sent flying into a nearby auto-carriage, shattering what windows weren’t already broken and denting the hood. I turn to check on Shining Armor. He’s battered, but breathing. I turn my full attention—and fury—back to the goat. I again dash forward, covering the distance in a matter of a second. I move to grab the mage’s head and end his wretched existence then and there.

Quite unexpectedly, the goat bucks me with strength I didn’t know he still had. My new body takes the attack beautifully—muscles absorbing the blow. Still, I’m pushed back a hoof, more out of shock than pain. The space the goat creates allows him to plant himself firm on the ground and cast a spell over me. Instantly, I know what sort of spell it is: an arcane energy canceller. I feel myself being again wrapped in emerald flames, only this time, they aren’t voluntary. When the fire recedes, I’m once again a changeling—weak and vulnerable. Worse, I don’t even get a chance to really take my situation in before the goat delivers a powerful ram, knocking me off my hooves and almost causing me to upchuck my coffee.

I spin around and face the mage. I know what’s coming now that I’m completely vulnerable. Swiftly, I kick with my front legs and somersault backwards a few hoofs off the ground before I land. Soon as I do, I kick the ground, pushing me forward. The goat summons his black-colored magic blade and attempts to take my head off. I duck to avoid his slice and pass right under his swing. I use my forehooves to stop my advance and meet the mage just as he turns to face me. With one mighty blow, I deliver the most powerful buck I can muster straight to the bastard’s neck. The attack is so devastating it dispels his blade and forces him to staggers backwards, coughing vigorously but silently. He looks to me and snarls, his lips soundlessly moving.

I smile with satisfaction. No more blood magic for you.

He readies to cast a flash spell. soon as I see his eyes glow, I shut mine and face away. The roar of the spell’s still deafening, but even without proper hearing, I still have my eyesight. I turn back just in time to see him try and run me through with a new magic blade. I jump backwards and avoid the first swipe. The second one comes far too close for comfort, taking a bit out of my frills. The third one I manage to parry with my repeater, but I’m not fast enough—the blade still manages to cut a deep gash on my right hoof.

As I see my blood flow, I’m suddenly tempted to give the goat bastard a taste of his own medicine. I can feel the words forming on my lips. Just one attack; that’s all I need… I bury the idea. I will not stoop to his level.

I look around in the hopes of finding a piece of loose metal from one of the damaged auto-carriages. Instead, my eyes fall on the most beautiful piece weapon engineering I have ever seen: a lever-operated blunderbuss. Even better, the weapon had a bayonet attached to it, one that also bore runic symbols to empower it with the same cutting prowess of a magical blade. My mind momentarily wonders to whom such a beautiful piece of weaponry belonged, but that thought’s replaced by another: get that weapon!

I waste no time. Seconds later, I parry two swings from the goat’s blade with no issue. On the third one, I shove the blunderbuss’ butt on his chest and push him back. Using feigns and misdirection, I managed to bypass the goat’s surprisingly solid defensive stance and deliver two well-placed stabs. Much like our first encounter, though, what should have easily been two killing blows were blocked by a thick gel-like film of crimson material over the goat’s coat. I find it odd that it would be present now, and not when I sucker-punched him as a minotaur. I guess that it is a voluntary defense mechanism based on blood magic, though how he’d managed to get it working without actually being able to speak baffled me. Perhaps it was an inherent ability. Whatever the case, it prevented me from finishing him off, turning the fight into a stalemate.

I remember the weapon wrapped in my telekinesis was in fact a hoof-held cannon. After managing to deliver yet another stab, I knock the level and fire. The blast is absolutely awesome, sending both me and the goat flying couple of hoofs away from the sheer power alone. To my great dismay, the goat slowly stands back up again—scorched, but very much alive. My hopes raise, however, for the weapon had managed to push him back significantly. I can still win this fight.

I hear sirens in the distance. More shocking, I hear what sounds like the beating of dozens of wings. I look skywards to see a squadron of pegasi and batpony equestrian guards heading my way. I turn back to the goat, who looks perturbed by the sight. He shifts his gaze to me and frowns. He lets his eyes glow. Seconds later, what appears to be some kind of vortex appears. I grimace; the bastard’s trying to make a run for it.

Tossing caution to the wind, I gallop towards the goat, firing round after round both from the blunderbuss and my own hoof repeater. Each shot strikes him with fury, but his defenses still prove too strong. Piercing his seemingly impenetrable protection isn’t my goal though—I’m trying to stop his escape.

Left and right, guards dive down and gracefully land, weapons drawn and ready to attack. The bulkier pegasis form a single line and charge, spears and shields raised. The nimbler batponies choose to circle the goat, swooping down to deliver quick jabs with their hoof blades. Their attacks do marvels at keeping the goat from running. I put the blunderbuss away and continue edging closer. Each bolt I fire causes my foe to hesitate as he either dodgers it or deflects it. It makes dodging the guard’s attacks almost impossible.

Suddenly, the goat unleashes a primal scream, and a wave of dark amethyst energy erupts from his being. The lance wielding guards are set flying backwards a considerable distance. The batponies are flung into nearby buildings, smashing into walls and through windows. A few of the guards are quick enough to use their shields to block the wave of energy, but even they end up tumbling down the streets. Using the blunderbuss as a pike, I’m able to resist being blow away.

I recover and look to the mage. He’s panting, barely able to hold the weight of his own body. I take the opportunity to resume my charge. Several guards also take my example and rush ahead of me. I’m so close now. All I have to do is reach out a hoof and tackle him, maybe break a foreleg or two in the process. So concentrated I am on harming him that I don’t realize he’s willed a lilac miasmal dagger. He uses it to destroy the guard’s weapons before turning it to me. Before I can turn around and start in the opposite direction, I feel the blade pierce my chest. It goes right through the mythril vest and easily breaks through my chitin. My magic fades as I take two feeble steps back. I look to the goat. His eyes are wide in utter terror and… sorrow? He takes two unease step back before jumping into the vortex. The gateway closes soon as he’s through.

I fall on my haunches, looking down at the still glowing magic dagger. Soon as I move a hoof to touch it, it vanishes, leaving behind a deep gash. Shaking, I reach into my trench coat and bring out a small vial of extra strength healing potion. I pop open the vial and down half of it in one gulp. The rest I pour over the wound. Within seconds, the potion takes effect, and the wound stops bleeding. It will take longer for full healing—even longer for the pain to go away. I look at the spot of the injury. Half an inch more to the left, and the blade would have pierced my heart…

My thoughts turn to Shining Armor. I trot towards him as fast as my healing wound will let me. I reach him and try to shake him awake. He does not respond.

I turn around and come face to face with Ingot’s headless body. I fall on my haunches and take in the sight. My eyes fall on his worn and battered badge, now stained with few droplets of his blood. I turn away, unable to take in the horror. “I… I was too late.” I whisper to myself. “I was too late to save them...”

I slam my hoof on the snow and sneer. I’ll find you, you bastard. I’ll find you and make you pay! As the blood in my veins boils, I can feel something creeping along my left foreleg. I’ll kill you. Kill you! KILL YOU! I keep slamming the ground over and over. With each slam, I can feel the ground getting softer and softer. I’ll look for you till the ends of this earth, tear down anything and anyone who stands in my way. I’ll bathe in your blood and parade your wretched corpse through the streets!

The sound of earth crumbling snaps me out of my bloodlust. Slowly, I gaze down at my hoof. My eyes widen in horror as I realize it’s entirely encased in crimson crystalline. Worse, it’s stuck inside of a small crater.

With but a thought, I dispel the ghastly effect, but the damage is already done. I look up at the guards who aided me in the battle. They all look at me with horror and alarm. I can see the younger ones readying their weapons. I gaze at the crater. Bitterly, I smile. In the end, I’m still a monster.

You’ll always be a monster, the little changeling in my head whispers. Always.

Shall I tell you what the real evil is?
To cringe to the things that are called evils, to surrender to them our freedom, in defiance of which we ought to face any suffering

The Fifth

by Dconstructed Reconstruct

Intro

Craftspony of Destruction

Lies, Damn lies, and Statistics

They Find Their Own Order—Part One

They Find Their Own Order—Part Two

We Ought To Face Any Suffering