Am I dead? No. I can feel my limbs. Have I been captured? Oh God—there's something attached to my spine!
Am I dead? No. I can feel my limbs. They're numb. I can't move. Have I been captured? There's a sound. Voices. Women. Talking about me. Oh God—there's something attached to my spine!
No. I can feel my limbs. They're numb. I can't move.
Oh God—I think my eyes have been plastered shut!
Stop. Keep calm. I can still breathe. Breathe. Think clearly. Have I been captured?
I remember I was in a house in Luxembourg. We heard the Jerries had counter-attacked, and were waiting for them to reach our position. Then what?
More feeling is coming back. Sheets. Pillow. A light breeze, like from a fan. I must be in a hospital.
There's something attached to my spine. I wonder what.
Wait—a sound. A doorknob turning. Footsteps. Maybe twelve or fifteen people, all walking together in a close group over wooden floorboards.
"Oh, the poor thing."
Someone's talking English! Thank God. That means I'm somewhere in Allied territory.
"You really think he'll survive something this dramatic, Princess?"
Princess?
"Whether he does or not, it is all we can do for him now."
Women's voices. Nurses, I suppose.
"I hate to say it, but I think it will be quite an improvement when it's finished."
Four distinct voices so far. They're easy to pick out. This last one sounds trans-Atlantic, like an American trying to sound British.
"Perhaps. But we must speak gently when he awakes. It will all be very difficult for him."
But I am awake. I try to move, but my extremities are like concrete. I try to speak, and manage a weak moan from somewhere low in my throat.
There's a small gasp from the first voice—the soft one. "Listen!" she says. Two pairs of feet quickly step closer to me. "I think he's awake already."
I double my effort, and this time manage to groan.
"Can you uncover his eyes?" the soft voice says.
Nothing I'd like better than that.
"I'm afraid it's not safe." This voice is warm and motherly, but there's a firm undertone. "As he is now, the shock may be too much. Come. We must let him rest."
I feel a breath on my left ear. "Don't worry," the soft voice says. "We'll come back. You're going to be all right."
The small crowd's footsteps move away. A door shuts.
What shock was she talking about? The shock from my injuries? Or from what I look like now?
How much of me is still here?
I heard four voices, but three or four times as many footfalls. Those other people must have been silently watching. Who were they? Why would so many people be interested in one patient?
One of them was addressed as "Princess." Must be a nickname.
* * *
Time passes—I can't tell how much. Between periods of dreamless sleep, I retrace my last memories before I got here. There was a huge counter-attack, and our front line had bulged inward, threatening to break. My unit was in an abandoned manor house, waiting for enemy armour we were told was on its way. Then, nothing. I didn't even hear any shooting. They say you don't hear the shot that hits you, but even so...
They check on me from time to time. Footsteps approach me—always in pairs—and sometimes whisper reassurances. It's often the soft voice, but sometimes it's the refined one or the motherly one. I wonder if I'll ever be able to see their faces.
After a while, I can move my limbs and head a bit. But my hands seem stuck together in solid fists, and my legs feel misshapen. The bones probably had to be fitted back together from several pieces.
Finally, I feel strong enough to sit up in bed, and would if I wasn't afraid of pulling too hard at whatever's on my spine. It feels like it's wired to the bone right below the shoulder blades. I'm not sure I want to see what's back there.
Some time passes before I'm able to form words again. They're arid and weak at first, but I practice forming them out loud, and am relieved to find myself quickly re-learning to speak. While doing this, I discover I'm missing a number of teeth from both plates, somewhere between the molars and incisors, and I have to form words differently to keep wind from whistling through the gaps.
The next time the soft voice checks in on me I ask for her name.
"Oh!" she says. "You can talk now. Thank goodness. How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been taken apart and put back together," I say.
"This is wonderful," she says. "Wait here. The Princess will want to know."
Wait? Well, what else am I supposed to do? For the first time in what must be weeks, I chuckle out loud.
A rapid, crowded clomping of feet tells me the group from before has come back. The motherly voice addresses me by name, and says:
"The time has come to uncover your eyes. Please don't be alarmed by what you see."
"Why?" I say. "What's happened?"
"It is difficult to explain, and you would not believe me. Forgive me, but I must show you."
There's an odd sound. I want to compare it to wind, or to chimes, but it's not really like anything I've ever heard. I feel a tingling where the plaster touches my face, and it begins to peel away. I'm excited, and a little afraid. What if I've been struck blind?
At last the covering is gone. Slowly, I crack my eyelids, wincing as white light breaks through. As my eyes adjust, I steel myself for the unexpected.
It doesn't help.
Huge eyes. Muzzles. Brightly colored hair all over the skin. Four of them, with four legs each. Instinctively, I try to scramble away. My muscles are stiff, and I only get as far as my bed's edge.
"What are you?" is say, as loudly as I can manage.
"Please, calm down." The soft voice belongs to one of these creatures—yellow, with wings. I had expected a pretty girl.
"No, I won't calm down! What the hell is going on?" I glance from one face to another. They seem concerned, but their large features make the expressions strange.
One of them—purple-coated, with wings behind its shoulders and a single horn on its head—steps forward cautiously. "It's okay," she says. "We're your friends."
"You're space aliens or some damn thing!"
"Well, honestly!" The trans-Atlantic voice belongs to a greyish-white creature that—my God—seems to be wearing makeup. "If we were going to hurt you, we would have done so by now."
That's true, but even so... "Well, answer my question!"
"Oh, for goodness' sake," she says. "Here, let me show you."
The spiraled horn on her head glows blue, and I hear that shimmering sound again. A hand mirror, also glowing blue, floats through the air and comes to a stop in front of me. In it, there's a creature like these others, but with smaller eyes, a larger snout, and a dark brown coat. As it looks back, its expression grows more horrified. I look down at my body. Where I had expected casts and bandages, I see nothing familiar at all. My feet and hands are now solid hooves, my knees bend back, and the thing attached to my spine is a pair of feathery wings, which now flare outward, seemingly of their own accord. A single horn protrudes from my forehead.
"What did you do to me?" I say in a strangled whisper.
"We saved your life." It's the motherly voice. The speaker is the tallest of the four creatures—bright white, and seemingly bleeding colours into thin air. For some reason, she reminds me of a swan. She approaches me as she speaks. "When I found you, your body was badly broken. We have given you a new one so that you may live."
"Why me?" The question is mostly rhetorical. If I weren't so shocked, I would be grateful, but as it is...
"We needed someone from another world," she says, "because his form and essence would not be restricted by the nature of our own. We chose a mortally wounded soldier because we could not in good conscience take someone whose time in his home universe had not yet ended."
I barely understand any of this, but I'll have to take what I can get. So I listen.
"Creatures native to this world are beholden to the laws of its magic," she says. "It takes years to turn a mortal into an alicorn, and then only when certain conditions are met. But outsiders are unconstrained by such laws. When transforming them, laws can be broken."
I'm lost, but I think the right answer is, "Why?"
"We have need of your help to defend our realm. But for now, do not let this trouble you. When you have regained your strength, we will teach you the powers of magic and flight."
Under better circumstances, this would have instantly grabbed my attention. But out of all the questions whirling through my head now, the loudest is: "Can you send me home?"
The white horse closes her eyes and bows her head. "I'm afraid that is impossible. The magic only works in one direction."
It only now occurs to me that this must be a dream. I close my eyes tight, trying to will myself awake. When I open them, it's just in time to see the four creatures exchanging meaningful glances. The three shorter ones turn to leave.
"For now, please try to rest," the white one says. "Tomorrow, we have much to do."
I turn over onto my side. "Leave me alone," I say weakly.
The soft click of a doorknob tells me I'm alone again, and the light above me switches off. I sit in the dark and try to think, but nothing makes sense anymore. Even the war made more sense than this. I wonder if we repelled the counterattack. I'll be reported as missing in action, of course. Back home, they'll hold onto hope that I might turn up. It will be months, or maybe even years, before they accept that I'm gone.
I'm not too proud to say I shed a few private tears at this.
Finally, stress and fear—and no doubt the rigor of this weird transformation—bring on exhaustion, and I decide to take my hostess's advice. It's difficult to get comfortable. The wings seem to have minds of their own, and only fold when finally I manage to calm down. I lay on my side, with my ugly new limbs sticking out in odd directions.
If I go to sleep here, maybe I'll wake up back in Europe, with the Jerries bearing down on me. Maybe not.
As I drift awake, a sliver of light shines through a tiny crack between the curtains and straight into my eyes. I've been dreaming of the time I first saw Rarity and her friends.
Five years have passed since that day.
Only Celestia has the power to see between worlds. For the first year, I asked her to look in on my original home again and again. She said my side had won the war, but my parents and brother were grieving for me. I still wish I could send them a message. And I wish I could accept that it's impossible.
I hear hoofsteps approaching, my door opening, and a voice. "Good morning, dear!"
Rarity, you angel, you've brought me breakfast in bed. Come to think of it, I feel like I haven't eaten in days.
Within a minute, I'm doing my best not to bolt down a tray of oatmeal, banana muffins, and orange juice. Rarity was always adamant about table manners. Strange—she hasn't brought anything for herself. She hovers at my bedside, balancing on her hind legs, tapping her forehooves together.
"What's the matter, honey?" I say.
Rarity's ears flick back a little, and her answer is oddly stilted. "What a question... dearest. Of course you know... tomorrow, we must face Moloch."
Moloch.
Nine days ago, a hideous creature fell into the Royal Palace with a thunderous crash. No spell or weapon could hurt it, and it walked with impunity into the diarchs’ audience chamber, where it dropped a severed head at Celestia’s hooves. None of us present could believe our eyes at first, but there was no mistaking the head’s long muzzle, mismatched antlers, and single large fang.
The abomination said it had done this to demonstrate the least of its master’s power.
The master's name was Moloch, who in ten days would arrive to claim a sacrifice of ten thousand children, or failing that, one hundred thousand adults. Moloch would leave this world for all time if the sacrifice were given, but if not, it would destroy every living thing here.
"Well, the day after tomorrow, Moloch will just be a bad memory," I say. I can see Rarity needs the assurance as much as I do.
"Well, of course!" Her tone tells me it hasn't helped much. "With five alicorns and seven Elements, how could we lose?"
Yes—the Elements of Harmony: Magic, Generosity, Courage, Loyalty, Honesty, Kindness, and Laughter. Each has a wielder, and each wielder carries a necklace. These are identical, except for the colors of their stones. Mine, the stone of Courage, holds a sapphire as big around as my hoof. I wonder what it would be worth back home.
Home? Equestria has been my home for five years. Why would I think of that other Earth as home now?
When I was a kid, my teachers used to say that all the time I spent reading science fiction was a waste. But if I hadn't been able to imagine fantastic worlds beyond my own, adjusting to life here would have been much more difficult. It all went by so fast—learning to use my new body, exploring Equestria, moving into one of the suites in Twilight's castle, finding the Elements of Harmony with my new friends, courting Rarity. Looking back, it almost feels like a dream... or a pulp magazine story.
"Even so, Twilight wants us to help her in the library," Rarity says. "In case there's something she's missed, you know. Really, why take a chance?"
In every spare moment she's had, Twilight has been at the books harder than ever before, looking for anything that might give us an edge. More likely, we'll have to hit Moloch with everything we've got and hope for the best.
A few minutes later, Rarity and I walk through the library's broad double doors. In keeping with Twilight's M.O., it's the largest room in the castle, and its walls are lined with shelves that stretch all the way to the high arched ceiling. These are usually kept in order, but now many are almost bare, and their contents are stacked all over the long tables placed at intervals along the length of the room.
I enjoy Twilight because she can talk as enthusiastically about pulp adventure stories as about history, science, politics, or what have you. But she's on one of her information binges, and as she meets my gaze now, she looks like she hasn't slept in days. She nods hello, and wordlessly gestures to a table covered in two neat stacks of unopened books.
As I approach it, I see Pinkie Pie at the next table over, sitting under the glare of two sun lamps and seemingly trying to read five books at once. Now and then, she jots something down on a long scroll that's already mostly covered with crabbed pencil markings.
She looks up at me, and without introduction, says, "Hey! Did you know, at really really really stressful times, your body can do these amazing feats of strength? Of course, you get torn muscles and snapped tendons doing it, but..."
"Pinkie, that's not helpful," Twilight says, her voice just slightly raised. "Keep looking."
"You can't ever know what might be helpful!" There's a rough edge in Pinkie's words, but she obediently turns back to her books.
I follow suit, taking a seat and opening the top volume in the closest stack. After a few minutes, something occurs to me. Looking around, I see that Rarity is now seated at the opposite end of the room, facing away from me as she pores over a cloth-bound tome.
I tell myself she must have some reason for this, but I can't help feeling a little hurt.
The hours pass quickly, but our progress is slow. Over the course of the day, the others quietly arrive one by one: Rainbow, Fluttershy, Applejack. I'm used to exchanging warm greetings when I see them, but only curt nods of recognition seem appropriate now. For some reason, Applejack avoids my gaze as much as she can, hiding beneath the brim of her hat.
Around suppertime, I again hear hoofsteps approaching, and as I look up from my book, I can't help but feel a little reassured, for Princess Celestia stands in the doorway. Almost as one, the six mares drop their books and trot toward her, and I follow close behind.
"Hello, my little ponies," she says, her gaze meeting each of ours in turn. Most times she says this, there is a twinkle in her eyes and an undertone of joy in her voice, like a mother talking to her own foals. Now, though, her manner speaks only of a deep sadness, as though she is saying goodbye forever.
"Moloch will arrive tomorrow morning—here," Celestia says. "We must be ready."
How does she know it will show up here? Did I miss something? I want to ask, but I've learned from experience that she always has a good reason when she leaves something unexplained.
No one responds. They don't even exchange glances, but keep looking to Celestia, their eyes pleading for the slightest hope.
"I suggest we all turn in early tonight," she says. "Tomorrow, we will all need every strength and personal faculty we have."
("Like we'll get any sleep now," I hear Rainbow say under her breath.)
In a moment, Celestia and most of the Element wielders have left the room—including Rarity, who has slipped out without my noticing. Pinkie reaches to switch off the lights, but turns back when she notices I haven't moved.
"Why so glum, chum?" It seems she still has a little whimsy left.
"Rarity," I say. "She's avoiding me."
"Well, no sense worrying about it now, when today might be our last day on Earth!"
Eternal jollity, even in the face of annihilation. At least Pinkie is the same as she always was.
"Do you think we stand any kind of chance?" I say.
"Silly! Of course we do!" The matter-of-factness in her tone surprises me, but then she takes another of her sudden turns: "I mean, anything's possible, really. Who knows—maybe this is all some big dream you're having. Well, g'night!" With that, she bounces away and out of sight, seemingly unperturbed by the enormity of our situation.
I turn out the lights and begin to plod back to my quarters, mulling over Pinkie's words. In seemingly hopeless situations, the tendency is to hold onto any hope, no matter how absurd. I saw it in the war, and here it is again.
And this brings me back to what I've often wondered over the past few years, starting with that first night after they took the bandage off my eyes. Can a place like Equestria even exist? Did I ever leave the world in which I was born? Or am I laying catatonic in a bombed building in Luxembourg? Will Equestria vanish when the last of my soul trickles from my body?
* * *
That night, I dream of the other world.
It's 1927, and I'm going to the pictures with my parents. I'm excited because this one is about a city of tomorrow, like in the pulps. As I watch, my eyes go perfectly round. The buildings are as big as mountains, with mighty highways connecting them through the air, miles above the ground.
The hero is the son of one of the city fathers. One day, he goes exploring in the under-city, where he finds himself inside a huge machine—a mass of wheels, pistons, and cylinder tanks, belching plumes of steam. Six workers labor at consoles, keeping it from overloading itself. But one of them collapses from exhaustion, and the machine begins to overheat. There is a terrible explosion, and many workers are killed or maimed. The hero is thrown back and knocked senseless. In his half-conscious delirium, he sees the machine again, but now it resembles a hulking statue of some corpulent prehistoric god, into whose cavernous maw is forced a struggling rabble of half-naked slaves.
An intertitle appears, bearing a single word in enormous letters:
I hold my breath and listen—a habit I picked up in the war. I hear nothing but the crickets outside my window. Still, there's a quiet, nagging sense of dread that doesn't seem to want to leave. I climb out of bed and set off through the castle at a brisk trot. I wish I could say it's to stretch my legs, but the truth is I feel like something horrible is following me.
The dream was a memory, as clear as if I were living it. As I pace the silent halls, I remember more of that night. While my parents and I walked home from the theatre, Dad talked about what the hero saw in his hallucinations. Moloch was a god of the ancient Canaanites, who could only be appeased by sacrifices of great value.
Well, why not? If we humans... I mean, if humans knew about unicorns, pegasi, gryphons and so on, why wouldn't they be right about old gods too?
Had Moloch visited my home world thousands of years ago?
I head for the balcony of the castle's tallest tower. I need some air.
A few minutes later, as I step out into the clear, moonlit night, I'm struck by the vividness of everything around me: Ponyville, the forests, the fields stretching on for miles, the distant lights of Canterlot. I remember them, but somehow feel like I'm seeing them for the first time.
Tomorrow, this might all be gone.
My thoughts are interrupted by a hissing voice that makes my flesh crawl: "It seems my master will be appeased."
I turn to see a familiar creature hovering above the parapet. It's man-shaped, but vaguely. Its four broad wings waft a smell of rotting meat all around it as it hovers in midair. The overly large head is something like a lion, a man, and a dog all in one. Its feet are eagles' talons, and it has scales instead of skin. Behind it trails a long segmented tail with a curved barb at the end. Nearly ten days ago, I met this thing in Celestia's court.
"Pazu. Harbinger of Moloch." I'm barely able to keep my voice calm.
"So they have told you of me," Pazu says. "It is good. You understand what must be done."
I set my teeth, trying to channel my fear into an expression of defiance. "Yes, if you mean destroying anything that threatens Equestria."
"Surely you jest," Pazu says. "The immortals wisely agreed to Moloch's terms when I brought them."
What?
"I was there," I say. "I think I would remember that."
"What foolishness is this?" Pazu bares its teeth, clearly annoyed. "We have never met. If this is some deception, it is a poor one."
"I was thinking the same thing," I say.
Pazu hisses and leans forward. "If you were present, you would know the truth I bring."
"I remember what you said, if that's what you mean."
"Tell me, then—what did I say about my master?"
I put on a face that's half smile, half sneer. "That he destroys whole worlds..."
"He can unmake them with his power. Yes."
"But he can be 'appeased'..."
"How?" Pazu must hear the contempt in my voice, because it hovers closer and stares directly into my eyes. It must be hoping I'll flinch. If I do, it will be more from its festering breath than anything else.
"With sacrifices," I manage to say.
"And what sacrifices are these?"
"You know damn well." I want to turn away and leave, but this might be taken as a sign of weakness.
"Had I forgotten, what would you say?" Pazu's tone grows more insistent by the second.
"A sacrifice of ten thousand children." At this point, I can't keep a disgusted expression from creeping onto my face.
"Yes. Or, failing that?"
"One hundred thousand adults."
"And failing that?"
I can't help blinking in surprise at this. Damn it—Pazu's thrown me off. "There was nothing after that," I say, hoping my blunt tone will show it that I'm not beaten.
To my surprise, Pazu throws itself back through the air, its fists and head raised in triumph. The monster's peal of laughter is like broken glass between two millstones. "Fool! You were not there! You would surely have remembered!"
The feeling of unease returns. Something is wrong here, besides the company. "Remembered what?" I say, though part of me is afraid to know.
"Five immortals! With a sacrifice of five immortals, my master allows this world to live!"
It must be lying—playing games with my head. "Then why did you just kill Discord," I say, "instead of taking him as one of the sacrifices?"
"A god may destroy a god, but he may not be sacrificed to one. This too you would have learned, had we met before. The smallest of your immortals asked the same question. But enough of this." Pazu beats its wings harder, rising into the air. "There is a fifth sacrifice. Tell the others to prepare themselves, for the time draws near." It turns to one side, and appears to fold in on itself as it bends the space around itself, moving from one reality to another. In an instant, the putrid smell is all that remains.
I stare into the space the monster left behind, and though the night is mild, I feel cold. Pazu's version of events, and my own, can't both be right. And yet, whether it has its sacrifices or not, what reason could Pazu have to lie to me?
I dreamed about the past last night and tonight. Is my own soul trying to tell me something?
If Pazu were right, wouldn't there be evidence?
Something occurs to me. It starts as a quiet, nagging murmur in the back of my mind, slowly growing louder. It's horrible, and I unsuccessfully try to push it away. If there's even the least possibility that it's right...
I have to know. I turn and hurry back down the tower stairs.
We all keep our Elements close at hand. Mine is in a safe behind a painting in my bedroom. Taking it out, I bring it to my bedside table and examine it under the small reading lamp there. The gem is clear and flawless, but looks no different from any other stones Rarity finds in the dirt.
In fact, it looks exactly like them.
The Elements' physical forms are too hard to break for most things short of alicorn magic. I put the Element of Courage on the floor and press down on it with a forehoof—tentatively at first, then with more and more weight, until I'm balancing with one foreleg on the gem and one hind leg on the floor.
Under my weight, the Element cracks and splinters into a dozen shards.
For a long moment, I stare at the remains, dumbfounded. At last, I hear a voice: my own, thinking out loud. "But I used this Element... when I helped the others defeat Tirek."
No. I didn't.
I leave the broken remains where they lay, and head back to the library, stepping quietly and moving in shadows as much I can.
I find the Encyclopedia of Magic, and open it to "M." I know there's no entry for "Moloch."
I'm looking for "Memory Spells."
* * *
It takes only a few seconds for Celestia to answer when I hammer on the door to the guest room, but it seems a damnably longer time. I leave her no time to speak. With a snort, I throw the Encyclopedia—open to a certain page—down at her hooves.
Her eyes skim over the entry for a moment before meeting my gaze. "What, may I ask, brings you to this?" She speaks a little more delicately than usual.
"How long have I really been in Equestria, Princess?"
She stands silent for a moment, and I wonder if she'll deny everything. But she closes her eyes, bows her head a little, and says, "five days."
"So it was all a lie." I'm not sure if the quiver in my voice is from anger or sadness. "I haven't started a new life here. Rarity isn't my fiancee. You've all just been pretending to be my friends. I suppose even the Elements of Harmony were fictional."
“They are real,” Celestia says, “but there can never be more than six.” Somehow, she is able to look me in the face again. "Please understand, it hurt all of us to do this. But believe me when I say we had no choice." There seems to be genuine sorrow in her expression. Not that it matters now.
"But why, damn it? Why go to all this trouble? Why trick me into thinking I've been here for years? Was it... was it so I would be ready to give my life?"
"Partially," Celestia says. "It is true that Moloch may be appeased by a sacrifice of five immortals..."
"If you had told me the truth," I say, interrupting, "I would have volunteered to help you when you brought me here."
"It wouldn't have worked." Her tone is insistent now. "When Pazu appeared in our court, it said something else. Regardless of the types of sacrifices Moloch is given, each one must involve someone giving up a very dear thing. The other alicorns and I are ready to give our lives for this world, should it come to that. But your life in your home world was already over, and you had nothing left. Even if you sacrificed the new body we gave you, it would not be accepted."
"What could be worth more than a second chance at life?" I say.
"Many things. Innocence. Happiness. Memories of better times."
At last, the final pieces fit together in my mind. "You gave me false memories, so when I gave my life..."
"...You would be giving up something truly dear to you. Though it makes little difference now, know that I am truly sorry."
Little difference? It makes no difference at all. "And now that I know the truth..." I say, "your plan won't work."
Celestia nods—slowly, with every movement seeming to drain her strength a little more.
"You know, in a way, it serves you right for deceiving me." Deep down, I know it's heartless of me to say this, but I feel it needs to be said. "And you didn't even do a good job. It would have made more sense for me to be engaged to Fluttershy, since she spent more time with me than anyone else when I was being turned into this." I flex my wings and gesture at myself with a forehoof. "Not to mention, I’m not even shell-shocked from the war. That should have been my first clue."
"Please understand," Celestia says, "what we have done is against everything the royal family has always stood for. But we had no choice."
No choice? Of course, she would say that even if they did have one.
"There is something more important," she says. "Though the things you remember did not happen, they hold many truths. The Equestria you remember living in was as real as we could make. It is as beautiful and full of love as you know. This I swear.
"But time is short, and now we have only one chance. There is no sacrifice, so we must fight. It is unlikely we will prevail, but there is still a slight chance. Will you help us—please?"
Even after all that's just happened, I'm shocked by the audacity of the question. Help the people who did this to me? Who worked together to deceive me, so I could be the last piece of an offering? And... God! Is it even true that Celestia and the other alicorns are ready to sacrifice themselves, or is there more she hasn't told me? Are there four other hapless dupes somewhere, who haven't found out the truth?
She's looking at me steadily—expectantly. She thinks she already knows my answer. But I still have a choice.
"No." The word is spoken quietly, but seems to echo in the spartan castle hall. In any memories, real or otherwise, I've never seen Celestia flinch or be struck silent, but I see it now.
"Why?" she says at last. I hear pain in her voice, but I don't trust it to be real.
"As I said, I might have helped before." With each word, I find my resolve gathering strength. "But now, I can't trust anything. For all I know, everything you've just said is a lie. I've had enough. Goodbye, Celestia." I turn away, and head for the nearest window.
"Wait!" She takes a few steps after me, and her voice cracks with desperation. "If Moloch is not stopped, every living thing will die, including you!"
By now, I've climbed onto the windowsill and braced for takeoff. I don't care to look back at her as I answer. "I died in the war."
I land at the edge of White Tail Wood just as dawn breaks over the eastern mountains. There's a little stream flowing out of a spring in a hillside, and the early morning light glitters on its surface. The dark green moss under my hooves is almost thick enough to sleep on. I feel a light wind in my mane, and the limbs of the nearest birches give a long sigh as they wave to and fro. I lay on my back and gaze straight up. The sky is a cloudless dome, the colour of a robin's egg.
I wonder how long it will take to destroy this world.
"Hello."
Oh—company. The last thing I want. I turn my head to see the speaker: a wide-eyed unicorn filly with a slightly messy blond mane.
"My name's Dinky," she says. "What's yours?"
Are children allowed to talk to strangers in this world? Or is this one dimmer than the rest?
"You look sad, mister."
Sad? Why should I be? I don't know anyone from here—not really. We're not even the same species. They just altered my shape and gave me a lot of false memories. I'm not sad.
The filly sits down beside me. "Mommy says it's good to have somepony to talk to when you're sad."
I turn back toward the sky and close my eyes. Maybe she'll go away.
The breeze is soothing, and I begin to doze. Since these are my last hours, I decide to spend them dreaming of happy memories—real ones, from long before the war: spending boyhood summers on the farm; reading pulps and funnybooks before bed; going with my parents to the pictures...
Before I can stop it, the face of the Moloch from the cinema appears in my mind, its mouth full of fire and huge metal pistons. Of course, the real thing will be worse.
I open my eyes and shake my head to clear it. I notice Dinky is still here. She's watching a ladybug crawl along a blade of grass. Her eyes are full of wonder.
I was that young once. At that age, everything is so fresh and new, even the smallest things seem like miracles. There's none of the indifference that comes with familiarity. There's only...
"Innocence. Happiness."
This tiny girl has no idea what will happen today.
She doesn't know...
"Ten thousand children, or one hundred thousand adults."
Bile threatens to rise in my throat. What have I done?
I sit up and try to think. Is it too late? Maybe. But if it isn't, is there some edge I might have, that no one else does? Moloch and Pazu are outsiders. So am I. What do I know about outsiders?
"Creatures native to this world are beholden to the laws of its magic... But outsiders are unconstrained by such laws." Celestia said that, just a few days ago. But I can fly and do magic now too, just like a native. Wait...
"...Unconstrained by such laws."
I have an idea. It's crazy. I would be an idiot to try it.
I rise to my hooves, flex my wings, and turn to the filly. "Listen, I... there's something I want to say."
She turns to me, eyes wide with expectation. There's no time to think about the exact right words, so I say what I feel.
"Life is short, you know. Too short to waste on boredom, or feeling bad, or hurting people."
She tilts her head a bit. I don't know if she completely understands, but there's no time to make sure.
I look into the distance, back toward the village. "If you're still alive tomorrow, live the rest of it as the best person you can be. Act out of love for others, and for yourself. And... and remember to appreciate life as long as you still have it. Goodbye, friend."
I take off, heading back the way I came.
* * *
I smell Moloch before I see it. As I get closer to the castle, I struggle to breathe a stench that's like burning pitch, rotting meat, and swamp water all in one.
It reminds me of the war.
Blood pounds in my ears, and my body prepares itself to fight. But as I round the last of the steep hills beyond the village, I'm shocked by what is now there.
I knew it would be horrible when I saw the real Moloch with my own eyes. But nothing could prepare me for this. The hulking brute is taller than Twilight's castle, and almost as broad. Its shapeless grey form pulsates weirdly as it creeps forward. It does not walk, or crawl, or slither, but rips through the land as it moves. In its wake, the corroded ground is coated in reddish slime. Wormlike appendages stick out from its mass at odd angles, writhing and waving... and at their ends, lipless mouths snap at the air. The closest thing it has to an identifiable front is a tooth-lined maw, large enough to swallow ten grown stallions at once, that hangs open and drips black fluid from its edges. The rows of shark-like teeth stretch farther back than I can see.
This is not an evil creature. This is evil itself.
It's nearing the village's edge now. I can see ponies running from their homes, fleeing in every direction away from the source of their doom—a panicked rout that will make no difference in the end. But there are nine, standing shoulder-to-shoulder just beyond the river, directly in the behemoth's path. It’s the last hopeless stand.
With a burst of speed, I fly to intercept the thing, stopping when I'm sure my voice will carry far enough.
"MOLOCH!" I've never screamed so loud in my life. "Here I am, Moloch! Look!"
The thing pauses, and its surface quivers a bit. I can't believe it. Did I really get its attention?
"You're missing one!" I'm yelling so loud, my voice almost breaks. "Get ready! Here I come!"
With the mad, cackling laugh of the doomed, I wheel and dive like a kamikaze, aiming straight for the thing’s maw. I ignite my horn, and angle my head to cut through the air. I know alicorn magic. They taught me in their false memories. It has rules alicorns aren't able to break. But I'm not an alicorn. Not really.
Time seems to slow as I charge through the air toward oblivion. During periods of great emotional stress, the body is capable of amazing feats of strength, but is badly damaged in the process. If I’m right, equine magic is the same way.
As I close the distance, a sickening vibration and prickling heat overtakes my body. Almost there now. My timing is perfect; I'll burst just as I hit. They'll all find out what happens when matter and energy from three realities collides at blistering speed. I'm only sorry I won't be here to see it.
Moloch's hideous shape fills my vision. Does this have even the slightest chance of working? Maybe not, but it makes no difference now. At least I've made this choice myself, knowing their deceptions. It’s almost funny how much effort they wasted by lying.
