> Resonance
>  by Oneimare
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> 1.1 The city of no hope
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



=================================

Written by: Oneimare

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant

=================================


Arc 1 – Long Echoes

Chapter 1 – The city of no hope


=================================



“I would have kept you company, but she wanted to meet you alone.”

With that the usually chatty captain of the Praetorian Guard saluted and took off, leaving a tired young mare alone on the streets of Hope; a crumpled piece of paper with an address tucked under the belt of her heavy travelling bag.

Making a detour into the dusty city was the last thing Red Wire wanted right now, nor did she see any particularly good reason why her friend—and boss—couldn’t meet her at the Hive. Any other day she would have seriously considered ignoring that ‘request’ passed on by Teleta and headed straight home, but she was too tired after the long trip across the desert.

Dust scrunched under Wire’s hooves—an ever-present blight on the last pony bastion. It was one of many reasons why she disliked that place; it reminded her starkly of the endless rust forming the Junkyard’s soil. Brought from the neighbouring desert by the vast variety of creatures and occasional sandstorm, it was also created in abundance by harsh winds chiselling down the squalid sandstone houses.

Stout and half-submerged into the rock of the Badlands, they formed the bulk of the vast settlement sprawled across the inhospitable valley. Over that worn-out mass loomed the massive silhouettes of the Hive and Citadel, and less so that of Stalliongrad; and no homes of the Canterlot refugees could be found in their ominous shadows.

Though Wire’s path lay close to the desolate arcanium tower and the least populated locale, there were still a lot of ponies and other creatures on the streets. They mostly met her ragged form with mildly disapproving glances; those who’d had a chance to see her in action, bringing order to the dingy districts in their darkest moments—with fearful respect.

Eventually, she arrived at her destination—a fast-food joint, as she discovered to no surprise. Her attention was instantly drawn to an inconspicuous pegasus forlornly gazing at the thoroughfare. Curiously, there was only a cup of tea on the table; it didn’t seem to have been touched and the winged mare wasn’t even facing the grown cold drink.

Wire could easily describe the familiar disguise without coming closer—a white coat with a faint bluish tint to it, pink eyes and a wealth of periwinkle mane. The changeling could appear as young as she wished, but it seemed her subconscious had its saying. A shadow hanging over the frowning muzzle easily added ten years to her look.

All but throwing her bag near the table, Wire sat down opposite the changeling queen.

Though Clandestine Delight didn’t even flinch, the clatter of armour inside her duffle made heads turn in worry, and limbs jerk in panic. Wire squinted at the jumpy locals and only now did it occur to her how quiet it was; and not just this restaurant. There were no laughs of fillies and colts, no yells of merchants, no quarrels of motley crowds in the streets.

The entire city seemed to be holding its breath nervously and there couldn’t be many causes for that. A heavy sigh left Wire’s chapped lips.

“There was another attack, wasn’t there?”

Delight didn’t seem to react at first—too lost in thought. Then she slowly closed her eyes and lowered her head just as solemnly.

“How bad?”

Again, the changeling hesitated to answer for a long time. Her attentive gaze returned to the street, focusing on a couple arguing in hushed voices. The darkness of her expression thickened.

“No substantial structural damage this time, but they summoned something,” she nearly whispered. “It’s still on the loose. Double digits and counting.”

Wire grimaced.

“Bad but manageable.”

Delight finally turned to face her advisor. Wire’s natural eye widened when she saw the pegasus’s face rippling with the green sheen of changeling magic. The verdant glow evaporated the tears the moment they rolled down, making the queen’s expression appear serene; it couldn’t hide the endless pain from her voice, however.

“It’s over.”

“What!?” Worried muzzles and beaks once again snapped in her direction. “You just said—”

“It’s Oracle.” There was an angry edge to Delight’s voice. “She kept her promise.”

“Shit,” Wire hissed and slumped on the table, her face threatening to become a reflection of Del’s, at least of that hiding under the ironic changeling mask. More to herself than anyone else, she mumbled hollowly, “We can still manage, we only need to make some adjustments…”

“No, and you know it.” The queen shook her head sorrowfully. “Even before her flock left, even if our new social program succeeded, we would run out of love to supply procreation sooner or later. Now we barely have enough to sustain the Swarm and it’s going to get worse.”

“Del, we’ll get through this.”

Too soon the bitter words left the illusory lips:

“You will.”

Wire instantly tensed and shot her a look, though there was little negative emotion to it; and none of it was aimed at her friend.

Still, Delight was haste to stammer out, “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

The changeling’s words were dismissed with a weak wave of Wire’s hoof. “It’s alright.” She let out another tired sigh. “I’m the one who should be sorry—I failed you. It was my only job.”

“No, you did your best though it was never your responsibility. It’s me who failed my children.”

“You did your best, too.”

“It wasn’t enough,” Delight grimly objected.

There was no trace of woe in Wire’s expression when she said, “You have my word, I will see you through this.”

“Thank you, Geode.”

Though it was faint, a genuine smile appeared on the changeling’s face for the first time in a while. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to bask in the promise of a bright future for a bit, not bothering to think if it would come true. Then her eyelids fluttered open, she let her gaze rest on Wire. The young mare’s muzzle was scrunched in a deep discontent.

Delight chuckled darkly, “You can break the news to me, I can’t feel any worse, anyway.”

“Not exactly news.” Wire shrugged, making a wry face. “We knew it already, it’s just official now.”

It was Del’s turn to exhale through her mouth.

“How much time do we have?”

“Hard to say, the anomaly’s dynamic is too chaotic for even the most advanced tools to predict.” Wire went silent, then added thoughtfully. “I would say somewhere between fifty and hundred years before Dodge City knocks on our doors.”

The changeling pursed her lips.

“A wide range.” Her voice gained a sombre quality to it as she continued, “Still more than our Swarm has in any case.”

Wire shot her another sympathetic look but said nothing. She looked away and her eyes fell on a steep spire towering over them, its shadow lazily crawling across the city of Hope. Every time she looked at the immaculate metal, her brow furrowed and this time was no exception; her forehead creased even deeper than usual.

“I hate to say it, but you should talk to her,” she grumbled quietly, half-hoping her words would be unheard.

A shadow of strange melancholic emotion visited Delight’s face for a fleeting moment before she shook her head with a frown of her own.

“She can’t help us.”

“I ain’t buying that shit, she is a fucking goddess.”

Delight scrunched her nose in distaste, but it wasn’t aimed at Wire; the changeling, too, stared at the Citadel of equinoids, squinting.

“I’m not sure the Machine Goddess is here.” Her voice was low as if she was afraid to be heard. “She hasn’t left the Citadel in years, not even for the city council.”

The queen’s words were met with a splutter of laughter.

“Says someone who for the last dozen meetings sent Teleta and I there instead of going herself.”

“What’s the point of attending?” Del rolled her eyes. “It’s just the Stalliongrad Technocracy being assholes.”

A mischievous smile crept onto Wire’s face.

“Does that mean I can stop going to them, too?”

“Eh, if you feel you don’t need your bonus anymore.” The queen shrugged nonchalantly.

“My ‘bonus’ feeds the Swarm, Del,” deadpanned the young mare.

“Fine. We can’t afford to waste time on their waffling anyway.”

The little mirth the conversation had evaporated in instant, leaving the two mares staring at each other, their eyes framed by dark circles hiding very deep exhaustion; fatigue that no amount of rest could remedy.

Around them, the city teemed with the frantic life of those who, even after a decade, still couldn’t get used to the new ways. The couple that was arguing for a while had failed to cease their fight—it had only become more heated. Wire and Del watched them with sad expressions.

There were no brothels in Hope and all hope was in happy families.

It was Wire who finally drew attention away from one of the countless failures of their seemingly hopeless endeavour. “I suppose that also means we should get back to work.”

Delight averted her gaze.

“About that…”

Wire didn’t even need to put the effort in suppressing a groan; she was just too tired to let one out. Closing her eyes in resignation, she grumbled, “Let me guess—Stalliongrad has asked for help with the latest goat spawn. Again.”

“Not them—the police.” Delight smiled apologetically, but her friend’s visage remained unchanged. “I don’t know the full details, but they sounded desperate.”

“They always do, though it’s hard to blame them,” Wire said, standing up from the table. Hoisting the bag back onto her shoulders, she lamented, “Guess I’ll have to sleep some other day.”

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“If not me, then who?”





These days the ranks of Hope’s police consisted mostly of vigilantes with rare officers from Canterlot who either had no history of corruption or were very good at hiding their past. They had even changed the colour of their uniform. Yet the police headquarters in that district stood ostracized, the vandalized walls given wide berth.

Hiding in the shadow of one such sandstone slab, Wire fumbled with a buckle of her armour. The modified version of the Praetorian Guard harness had seen better days and the recent visit to Dodge City had done it no favours.

Whilst its enchanted plating was forged from arcanium as a gift from the Citadel, the other elements were made from the plain steel of the local foundry. After exposure to the elements and frequent use, they already began to rust and deform. Wire hoped it was just the technology in dire need of improvement; she didn’t believe in curses in the conventional sense, but there were just too many troubles that followed the refugees from Canterlot like a sinister shadow.

Caught in her unpleasant thoughts, Wire barely noticed the presence in front of her, a shade both magical and physical cast on her. Not pausing her battle with the stubborn clasp, she spared the newcomer a glance only to instantly return her attention to what she was doing.

“Since when is the police chief of this district a Kirin?”

It was supposed to be a joke, but Wire failed to inject her voice with even a hint of levity. She didn’t need to look up to know she was being glared at.

Just as hollow a reply followed, “Since two days ago.”

Wire shot the freshly appointed chief a look both surprised and quizzical, frowning in concern. Her experience with the Kirin was limited, but the mare seemed to be young, barely older than her, if at all.

The Kirin met Wire’s eyes and that little hardness she had evaporated as her shoulders sagged and she uttered, “Resignation.”

“Don’t get me wrong, but I’m not sure it’s better than the alternative.” Wire could feel the glare again. “I can’t imagine many things able to make Grim Mastic quit.”

“It’s your lucky day, then. We have one on our hooves.”

Finally, the arcanium plate took its place on Wire’s sheen and remained there steadfast. Her eyes left the armour for the last time, however, they didn’t rest on the police chief either.

“Lucky or not, I don’t have it all at my disposal.” Her tired gaze slid past the Kirin only to find an empty street and she frowned. “Let’s gather the rest of your team and head out.”

“I’m the only one.”

Wire’s brow slowly migrated to her forehead as she stared at the police chief who refused to meet her eyes.

The silence lasted for a long uneasy moment and when it threatened to become unbearably awkward, the Kirin quietly admitted, her voice bitter, “Many left along with commissioner Grim—we’re severely understaffed as of now. And if I put anyone on this case, they will just leave.”

Grim Mastic wasn’t a hero. He had been justice incarnate using fear to bring order to the streets, be it Canterlot or Hope. He was an earth pony dreaded by both pegasi and unicorns, and it wasn’t because he managed to cram into his body as many prosthetics he could without losing his mind… completely.

The new chief of police was the exact opposite.

“Then stay.” Not bothering to hear the answer, Wire trotted past the Kirin, throwing over her shoulder, “You need a full squad if you want a chance to survive.”

With a tearing sound, the mare teleported in front of Wire, glaring at her.

“I’m coming.”

A simple spell would be enough to knock her out, but the diplomatic consequences aside, Wire doubted it could stop the Kirin. Whatever burned in her eyes, driving her to commit to the suicidal endeavour, she lacked common sense.

Perhaps, she had what it took to be a commissioner.

“Lead the way.”





The police uniform did no favours to the Kirin mare. The worn fabric pressed the voluminous fur down, revealing her true and unimpressive stature. It being the same colour as her coat, combined with the shadows of the back alleys gave her the appearance of a barely adult mare. At least she had the sense to put her voluptuous purple mane into a tight bun, so she wouldn’t look like a cloud on a stick; though, it still stuck up awkwardly at her neck.

 With a scowl Wire noted the lack of any weapon—she was one of those. The rust showing under the flaking black paint promised just a little in the protection department. Whatever ace the police chief had up her sleeve, it had to be real good.

Staring at either the despondency of the Kirin’s equipment or her haunches began to grate on Wire’s mind and she needed a distraction.

“I didn’t quite catch your name.”

“Night Wind,” she replied in a slightly annoyed tone, not bothering to turn.

“Sounds like something a pegasus would come up with.”

A golden eye glared at her.

“You have a problem with that?”

Wire couldn’t help but smile. She knew at least three ways to kill Night Wind right there and then before the Kirin even realized what’s happening.

“No. I like it.”

Night shot her a confused half-glare but said nothing.

The mirthful expression melted away from Wire’s face as the dark thoughts reminded her of why she was there. However fun it was poking Night Wind, she didn’t have all day indeed.

“What do you have so far? From what Heterocera told me, it doesn’t sound like a common goat spawn.”

“Because it has nothing in common with anything we have dealt before.”

Wire squinted at ‘we’, wondering how many times Night Wind had dealt with the abominations the goat terrorists had a habit of summoning every other time.

“Everything happens for the first time,” she mused with a shrug and grumbled, “I remember when we didn’t use the words ‘common’ and ‘goat spawn’ together.” Clearing her throat, she added, “So, what’s so unusual about it?”

“It’s easier to show than explain.”

Night disappeared behind the next corner.

Wire followed her and came into a small bystreet, divided from the bright expanse of some thoroughfare with numerous stacked containers. There was a body betwixt her and the metal boxes; it was covered with a tarp, a puddle of blood leaking from one of its ragged edges.

She headed straight to it, noting Night Wind not taking a step further into the alley.

With that much blood shed, Wire expected the victim to have suffered horrible wounds leading to their quick death and was still surprised. Judging by the mess of feathers, it was a pegasus, but that was where any further attempts to identify the dead ceased.

It was as if the victim had been subjected to every type of physical attack possible. Torn and twisted, it sported the signs of pulverizing blows along with deep cuts covering the entire body, not a single spot missed.

Sitting at the side of the corpse, Wire slid her hooves into those incisions without any hesitation and she could swear Night suppressed a retch behind her. With her artificial eye aglow and brow furrowed first in concentration, later in concern, she meticulously studied every instance of damage.

Finally, she reclined back, blood dripping from her hooves and asked without tearing her eyes from the massacred body.

“How does it look?”

The question took Night by surprise both because she hadn’t been looking and had to process the meaning, but she quickly recovered.

“It either targets lone victims or leaves no witnesses.”

“What, no visual contact even when it was summoned?” Wire asked, glancing at the police chief with one brow raised.

“The statements are contradictory and likely over-exaggerated.”

“At least that hasn’t changed. Anything else?”

There was a pause before Night Wind answered the question with an unsure inquiry of her own, “Like what?”

Wire gave her a long stare, then deadpanned, “Like a pattern.”

Night bristled and shot back, “There doesn’t seem to be any.”

Continuing to stare at her, Wire asked one more question. “Did you run it through analytic tools or is that a hunch?”

The seconds passed and there was no answer. A heavy sigh escaped her lips.

She nodded at the corpse. “Are they all like this?”

The Kirin mare refused to look in her direction and it had nothing to do with the gruesome sight this time.

“Pretty much yes.”

“You did no necrotomy, didn’t you?”

“We are police, not medics.”

Wire let out another tired sigh and produced a rag from the bag on her shoulders to wipe her hooves, grumbling all the while, “No proper analysis, no autopsy and just one Kirin on the case, despite over a dozen victims. Gives the impression of nobody giving a single fuck in this city. Just like the good old times.”

Night Wind bristled and tried to defend herself, “Oracle’s cult just left—the entire infrastructure is crippled.” Seeing how it had no effect, she added bitterly, “And it’s not like we were never on our own.”

“Just like the good old times,” Wire echoed.

She then finished rubbing blood from her armour, or, rather rubbing it all over the metal and patiently waited for Night to stop staring at her hooves with a defeated expression.

The Kirin mare visibly bolstered herself and when she looked up, her golden eyes burned with the fire from before meeting Wire’s slightly mismatched eyes.

“What do we do now?”

Wire met her enthusiasm with a tired expression, slowly blinking before answering, “Since you are asking that question, I bring up my offer again—go home. I’m not going to hold it against you.”

“No.”

“It’s not a goat spawn.”

Night stared at her in shock.

“The cuts go through flesh, sinew and bone like a hot knife through butter—that’s magic, not claws or teeth.” Wire motioned with her head at the body, then pointed her hooves at the street around it. “Also, there are no prints in the dust, those things always leave them. In fact, there are no clues whatsoever, save for traces of deaf arcanium dust, but that’s likely from my armour.”

“What is it then?” Night’s voice was so quiet, it was almost a whisper. It seemed she was putting an effort into not looking behind her.

“Something even I might not be prepared to deal with.”

The fear was gone in an instant from her expression, replaced by steel resolve.

“I’m not convinced.”

For the second time, Wire contemplated putting Night Wind out of action—that would likely save her life. However, with the situation changed drastically from a somewhat routine hunt to the full-blown investigation of a serious threat, she might prove useful. And if she was killed during it, then Wire might be removed from the task for incompetence.

Pointing at a sewer hatch, she said:

“We start from there.”





The sewer system of Hope met the two mares with nearly absolute silence, disturbed only by the moisture dripping from the rusty pipes and the rustle of rats’ tails against the dust filtered down.

“At least we got one thing right,” Wire commented as the steps of her metal armour echoed through the narrow and deserted tunnel.

She was surprised with Night asking from behind her, “Was it worth it?”

Above Wire a vast city bustled with its daily struggle for food, shelter and brief moments of happiness. For too often, its dwellers had failed to find all three for extended periods of time.

“No.” She shook her head. “Not really.”

A ray of light from a crystal-based lantern revealed from the shadows not just the drainage and sewer systems intervening, but traces of magic—or it would if there were any. Save for the occasional barely noticeable indication of recent repairs, there were no signs of magic or life.

“But it’s better than what we had in Canterlot,” Wire continued. “We could have no future there.”

“Do we have it here?” Night asked, her question bearing not a hint of sarcasm.

She slightly sped up to walk shoulder to shoulder with Wire. As she looked into the golden eyes seemingly shining in the dim light of the underground passage, she somehow knew the Kirin mare was younger than her—she wouldn’t even have had a cutie mark during the Exodus if she was a pony.

“It’s not something you have or not, the future is built,” she lied.

“Last I heard it hasn’t gone so splendidly for the Swarm,” Night noted and as she received a glare from Wire in response, was quick to offer an excuse, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m a Kirin after all.”

Wire’s discontent was quick to abate and when she spoke, there was even sadness in her voice, “Even at your worst times, the Kirin weren’t considered parasites. And people still remember the Crown.”

“Can you blame them?”

Wire’s first instinct was to shoot Night another glare.

The Royal Guard might be no more and there were no brothels, but that didn’t wipe away the past. Many mares and stallions still bore the Moth marks and it rarely made their lives any better. The Praetorian Guard was a power to be reckoned with, yet they rarely helped with terrorists or other such issues.

“No.”

“I hope we’ll do it,” Night quietly said, solemnly adding as she received a puzzled glance, “Build the future.”

“To hope is all we can do in this city,” Wire recited in a neutral tone the saying that had become very popular around the last few years.

The lantern caught another entwinement of pipes from the shadows, just as inconspicuous as any others. With a scowl she commented on that, “I don’t think we are going to find anything here.”

“Does that mean we’ve hit a dead end?”

Her lips pursed, Wire stood silent, letting the all-revealing light scan the darkness in a final futile attempt to see more than there was to it. Returning to the body in the alley was just as useless, not with only the commissioner of two days who’d never dealt with anything more serious than a street theft.

“Do you have any data on the other victims?” She tried and thankfully got a nod. “I might get something out of it.”

Wire turned around and even before the lantern followed her she saw someone in the shadows, felt the magic presence. It was a tall figure, its sharp horn almost scraping the ceiling. The light was reflected with distinct and unmistakable hues from the arcanium plating. A pair of glowing eyes gazed calmly from the mask, an expression of serenity etched into it.

It took a step forward and into the light.

“Hello, Red Wire,” Machine Goddess greeted her.
> 1.2 Free
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



=================================

Written by: Oneimare

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant

=================================


Arc 1 – Long Echoes

Chapter 2 – Free


=================================



A crude door in the dark uneven masonry rattled as a young mare fought with the heavy lock. Another stab of the rusty key—and it yielded to Tin Flower, sending her all but tumbling inside. Сarrying sand onto the immaculately clean stone floor, the chilly drafts followed uninvited. They crawled under her dirty overalls, and the smell of sweat mixed with burnt hair joined the gloom of the cave-like room.

She peered back into the thickening dusk and seeing only the Moon keeping her company, slammed the door shut. Her artificial hoof’s hiss was instantly followed by the sonorous death cries of pottery falling from the shelves.

Not letting the pandemonium wind down, Flower dropped her tool belt where she stood. Then the mare drudged across the room, her tail dragging behind her, peppering the oily hoofprints with soot. A flick from her metal hoof brought a derelict lantern to life; it dispelled the darkness, save for a shade in the doorway leading further into the home carved from a natural hollow in stone.

Flower purposely ignored her.

Taking a seat at the rickety table she undid the bundle of her greasy mane, letting the overgrown clotted locks hide her muzzle. With a heavy and trembling sigh, she buried her hooves in the messy mass of her hair as well.

“I… I made you something,” the ghost at the door eventually dared to speak, smiling sheepishly and taking a tentative step into the shivering, as if cringing away, light.

There was no movement from Flower, no sound.

“I know I’m not the best cook, but I grew those greens myself.” Luna ventured closer to the table. “I promise, it’s better than whatever you—”

“Not hungry.”

“But you worked late today again—”

Flower’s metal hoof fell on the table hard enough for the wood to creak plaintively. The only ware on the hoofmade furniture—a clay bowl—jumped, its precious contents threatened to be spilt.

“I’m s-so sorry Flower… I didn’t mean to…”

Luna’s words died on her bitten lips, followed by a gasp as Flower abruptly stood, then just as suddenly doubled up, hunching over the table with a hiss. The alicorn took a wide step forward; like her excuses, it was cut short—the young mare’s head snapped in her direction. Through the curtain of her unwashed and unshorn mane, two fiery eyes glared daggers.

Unable to maintain eye contact, the former Princess backed down, almost returning to the void of her room. Yet, when Flower turned away and began to free herself from the dirty boilersuit, Luna’s cat-like eyes locked on her.

With a wet tearing sound, the crusty fabric slowly came off the blistered skin, leaving threads of semi-coagulated ichor hanging in the air. Finally, the only sounds remaining were Flower’s heavy breathing and tears dripping from her chin onto the table. A heartbeat later another noise disturbed the near silence—the unmistakable hum of magic.

A soft white glow spread over the raw burnt flesh, yet its soothing presence hadn’t lasted for long, replaced by the cold touch of metal clamping the injured shoulder. Flower’s muzzle contorted in agony; yet even as the pain ebbed, the scowl remained.

“Don’t use your fucking magic on me,” she snarled.

Her hoof moved, letting drops of blood roll from the reopened wound across the calloused coat. Only Luna paid attention to the crimson marring the floor—Flower had already buried her muzzle in the crooked shelves looming over the table.

With great difficulty, Luna managed to tear her gaze away from the warm fresh blood.

“But it would help greatly.”

Still captivated by the sight of spilt life, the alicorn nearly jumped when a first aid kit was unceremoniously dropped on the table. The metal box opened from the hard landing, revealing numerous medical supplies inside, mostly powerful tranquillizers.

Flower wasted no time digging through them. When an uncareful motion put too much strain on her hurt limb, she grimaced and without bothering to look at Luna, shot in her general direction:

“It comes from them.”

More than a single pair of eyes looked back at Flower, none bearing expressions of offence—all hollow.

“You are in pain,” Luna commented in a dull tone, not quite addressing the pony intended.

Despite the alicorn’s attention being elsewhere, she didn’t miss Flower barking, “No thanks to you.”

The spell abated for the time being and Luna blinked in confusion.

“But I just offered my assistance—”

“If you wanted to actually help you would fuck off,” Flower snapped, yet her voice was only tired when she added, “and do what I told you to dozens of times.”

Both mares fell silent.

Whilst Luna had no good reason to be, Flower’s jaws were clasping a tube, squeezing out a foul-smelling ointment. Scrunching her muzzle not only from the pain and pungent odour, she spread the remedy on her burn.

“That shit wouldn’t happen if I didn’t have to work overtime to feed you and those things.”

The black silhouettes clinging to Luna’s gaunt form shifted restlessly, their blank gazes focusing and unfocusing on the mare tending to her wounds. Flower paid them little attention—whatever vestiges of equine minds they once had had vanished long ago. They were now nothing but puppets dancing on strings; she only hoped it was the alicorn pulling them.

After a long pause Luna countered, “They don’t require sustenance.”

“You eat for them.”

It took Luna an unjustified amount of time to comprehend that simple fact. If Flower wasn’t busy wrapping her shoulder in the yellowish old bandages, she would watch the struggling alicorn with an expression of profound disappointment and more than just a hint of disgust.

“What do you suggest?” Luna finally spoke in an offended voice. “For me to stop eating?”

“To let go of them, damn it!” Flower roared and tore at the bandage.

Fortunately, her fury coincided with no more need for wrapping. Still, the motion made the band cut into the tender flesh and the pain demanded her immediate attention.

The mare grimaced when the needle pierced her skin, but mere moments later the painkillers took effect and Flower remembered why she needed them in the first place.

“Fuck!”

The empty ampule shattered and the syringe bounced against the floor.

She pointed an accusing hoof at Luna and bellowed, “You don’t deserve the honour to move the Sun and Moon!”

The former Princess jerked—the words finally reached her mind. Yet she had no answer; with her lips pursed, she stared at the floor; moisture welling up in her eyes.

The outburst tapped into the almost depleted well of Flowers’s energy—the rage faded away. Yet there was no mercy in her voice when she spoke, slumping against the table:

“At least I deserve to be stuck with a wretch like you.”

Luna sniffed. However, the next moment her expression slightly brightened.

“I’m getting better, you should know.” There even was the suggestion of a proud smile on her black lips. “It takes longer for me to lose myself and I regain lucidity faster now.”

Flower tore away the lid of the first-aid kit and threw it at Luna’s hooves. A wave of mirror shards washed over the tarnished ancient regalia.

“Have you looked at yourself?”

There was a nightmarish visage looking back at Luna from the silver-coated slivers—a decaying thing of the past, a taint over and over failed to be banished from this world.

“It’s just an appearance!” She took a hasty step from the images of two broken mares staring at her. “It doesn’t reflect who I am.”

Trying to look somewhere else, Luna met Flower’s gaze, averse and overweary. Not for the first time she demanded an answer.

“Then why don’t you change it?”

The alicorn instantly averted her eyes.

“I’m trying to be helpful if only you’d let me…”

Flower’s scorn cut off Luna’s mumbling like a slap. Heavily leaning on the table, with her head hanging, she barked from behind the curtain of her filthy mane:

“You’re just a useless lunatic. Rainbow was right back then. Not letting it kill you was just another of my mistakes.”

Luna reared back, tears rolling down her bony cheeks. Like a fish, she gasped for air, her mouth opening and closing until she was able to form a coherent answer.

“I saved you!” she cried in desperation.

Flower only glared from under her brows at Luna and replied, her tone as disdainful as before, “Should have let me die while I was so blissfully ignorant of what I brought upon this world. And now I also have to babysit your pathetic insane ass.”

Agony and wrath twisted Luna’s muzzle into that of a feral beast. Her horn flared with otherworldly energies and a blade materialized in the middle of the room, driven into the stone of the floor.

Frost wisped away from the razor-sharp edge—a straight fading line like a comet tail; the air crackled with cold around the faintly ringing star metal—it sang a lullaby of madness; the moonstone of the hilt softly glowed—save for a dark spot serving as a futile reminder.

It wasn’t a weapon forged in Equestria, not even in this world.

Yet neither the appearance of the eldritch sword nor the change in Luna’s mood had any effect on Tin Flower. She knew no harm would come upon her, and if it did… it was over anyway. Her expression was only becoming increasingly irritated.

Luna gulped and whispered, her voice shaking:

“Then end this now.”

Flower slowly approached the sword, though didn’t dare touch it. Circling around it, she sneered in the alicorn’s face, “Oh, how I wish I could. But who is going to rise the Sun in the morning? Or do you still want the night that will never end?”

More tears dropped on the floor from the black muzzle, but Luna’s voice was hard, barely trembling. “The changeling queen did that instead of me for half a millennia; she would be able to do it again. And I’m sure the Machine God—”

Metal clinked against metal and in one sudden and violent motion Luna’s sword was brought to her throat.

Almost pressing her muzzle into the alicorn’s ear, Flower hissed, “I’m not allowing that murderer to have more power than it already has!”

The blade dug into the ancient hide drawing black blood, but a moment later it was diluted into crimson by tears.

“This world already has too much monstrosity in it.”





Luna’s mane billowed behind her, the haunted eyes in the swirling storm of shadows mirroring the malevolent stars beginning to appear in the darkening sky. The alicorn paid attention to none of them as she climbed the rocky slope.

When she reached the top of the crag, its only occupant barely paid her approach any attention. Finding a flat rock a respectable distance from her, Luna took a seat. She let herself bask in the warmth still radiated by the stone, yet that comfort wouldn’t last for long—not for her. At least, rubbing her neck she found no wound—absent for the same reason vestiges of sunlight fled her presence. That wasn’t something that delighted her, not with Flower’s words still ringing in her ears.

The tension in the air kept growing and Luna could defer no more.

“I’m sorry,” she spoke softly. “I shouldn’t have brought her—”

“It.” Though Flower cut Luna off, there was no anger in her voice. “What I created is a machine with no heart.”

The alicorn opened and closed her mouth. A decade ago she would have readily agreed—now she wasn’t sure it was her place.

Far in the distance, Kludgetown’s jagged silhouette stood black against the pink-red of the setting Sun. Luna gazed at it longingly—the craving for the embrace of civilization was overwhelming. What teased her even more was the knowledge of this desert city bustling with life in the moonlight no less than under the Sun.

Finally, after centuries, the night was shunned no longer.

No matter how much she wanted to barge into Kludgetown’s dusty streets and dance with both their dwellers and moonbeams, she could not.

And not just because Flower wouldn’t let her.

Each sunset and each dawn Luna grasped the celestial bodies in her magic, and it always felt like a chore—penance.

What was the point of planting her flag amidst the stars if none would see it for what it was? There was nobody else to claim that domain, to dispute its borders. And if there was something none other than her could have, could she say whether it truly belonged to her… or whether she belonged to it?

The responsibility was still hers, the night—not anymore.

No wind blew, yet her mane moved of its own volition. The touch of what once used to be the Lunar Guard standing eternal vigil by her side was like that of smoke—barely registrable and foreboding.

A reminder she wasn’t alone.

For once her presence wasn’t abhorred, at least not openly. Tin Flower’s eyes were on Kludgetown, half-lidded and unfocused. The young mare might be considering spending the night here, upon those stones, believing they would retain the echo of sunrays until they touch the cliff again.

They wouldn’t.

Someone would have to bring a blanket to ward off the chill of open skies, someone would have to clean the shards so recklessly strewn across the floor.

Luna’s horn became a beacon guiding the Sun and Moon across the deep sky; the once azure firmament succumbing to the inky darkness. When she opened her eyes and looked upon the nocturnal tapestry, she was met with the rueful Moon and indifferent stars.

“You done?”

“Yes. I’m done.”

“Go to the cellar.”

Luna snapped her head so fast, she thought the motion would tear her mane out. Either that or her heart clenching disturbed the undead soldiers. Surrounded by the tumultuous cloud of darkness, she stepped closer to Flower, hoping it was only her imagination.

“You are not going to..?”

The young mare met Luna’s teary eyes with a mask of indifference, saying in a just as cold voice, ”I don’t trust you.”

“Please, not the chains!” Luna fell on her knees. “It’s going to make things worse.”

“Don’t fool yourself—there was never any hope for you. For either of us.”





When Tin Flower breathed in full lungs of smoke she didn’t even cough—one had to get used to the toxic atmosphere of Kludgetown; though, she never ceased to wonder: for a city in the heart of the desert, there was a lot of burning down going on. These fumes had a solid chemical aftertaste— courtesy of the Alchemy Guild.

The once again rebuilt building was diametrically opposite to Flower’s destination and soon its influence abated from the acrid air, ceding to the enticing smell of freshly cooked food. However, the young mare gave the bazaar wide berth, choosing instead the desolate alleyways as she was in no mood or state to shoulder her path through the crowds.

The protest of unoiled hinges heralded Flower’s arrival to the alehouse, the name of which she never bothered to remember. The half-empty tavern greeted her with the dusty interior and complete lack of any attention paid to her entrance; at this hour the patrons usually weren’t in a state to. Only the bartender slightly lowered his black minotaur horns in silent recognition of his regular.

Without a word, Flower took a free stool and patiently waited for her drink.

Instead of the imposing half-bull, she was approached by a no less impressive in size lizardfolk. The foul-smelling reptile seemed to materialize from nowhere and, licking his lips, he poked Flower’s limb just below the bandages.

“What’s did a lil’ horsey forgots ‘ere?” he slurred with a thick hissing accent, revealing a mouth full of sharp crooked teeth.

Flower answered with a hiss of her own, coming from her metal hoof. As she turned to decide what part of the bloated scaly face she should hit to inflict the most harm, the bartender finally made his appearance.

“Hey, pal,” the minotaur rumbled, “if you came here to bother the patrons, you better look for that somewhere else.”

Ebonhorn had the physique of an average minotaur, reinforced by hauling around barrels full of drinks on a regular basis. His steel muscles visibly bulged under his clothes even without him trying to look imposing.

However, many of the reptiles lurking in the dark alleys of Kludgetown were known for having a poisonous bite. Nor were they fastidious about using any weaponry in a fight.

The lizardfolk squinted at the bartender.

“The cow woulds risk it hide for a horsey-friend?”

There was a gun under the counter, yet Ebonhorn didn’t even bother to move closer to it. Crossing his arms on his chest, he spoke the way he would address the youngest of calves—almost spelling out his words:

“If you don’t leave now, she’s going to smear your brains, or whatever you have in your skull, all over the place and I don’t want to clean that up.”

The reptile cast one more calculating glance at both of his potential opponents and finally decided to retreat, hissing as he slithered away, “Vers pathétiques.”

Ebonhorn eyed Flower from head to hoof, his perpetually sullen gaze pausing on the bandages.

“You shouldn’t go around like that,” he somberly commented. “They can smell blood, you know.”

Tin Flower met his dark eyes with a glare.

“I don’t give a fuck.”

“I’ve noticed. Would be wonderful, though, if you didn’t start a fight today. I just cleaned the place.” Ebonhorn disappeared under the counter only to produce a glass of kirsch a moment later. “Speaking of which, I found a couple of coins under the counter.” With a practised motion, the half-bull sent it sliding across the polished wood to the frowning mare. “So here’s one on the house. Maybe it’ll lighten up your mood.”

“Hold onto your generosity until I have nothing to pay with.”

Flower’s hoof moved and a glimmer sailed through the air until it ended up as a gem pinched betwixt minotaur’s fingers.

“Seems like I won’t have to wait long.”

“Not with almost all the tech coming from Hope. I can’t fix the metal itself,” Flower grumbled with a grimace. She then tossed the contents of the glass down her throat. When her hoof found its way back to the counter, there was a slight smile on her lips. “Anyway, I appreciate the offer, so I’ll try not to kick all of that scalie’s fangs in.”

“Guy’s already gone, but it’s not him I’m bothered about now.”

Flower eyebrow rose.

Leaning to refill her glass, Ebonhorn lowered his voice and subtly pointed behind her back, “The equine fella in the corner’s been paying a lot of attention to you.”





Tin Flower’s guess proved correct—as soon as she left the pothouse, faking the uneven gait of a drunkard, the mysterious hooded pony became her shadow.

A foalhood spent in the rotting maze of sharp metal developed in Flower considerable navigation skills and agility, which very well translated into the convoluted mess of Kludgetown’s districts. So, the stalking lasted only as long as it took her to get on the most familiar ground of Tinsmiths’.

The prey became the hunter.

Though, now that Flower was able to take a proper look at her pursuer glancing around in confusion, there was very little in their appearance suggesting anything of a menacing nature.

It must have been a mare no older than Flower herself, or a lanky colt. Whilst the sparse lighting of the pub served the stranger well, the moonlight revealed their ominous concealing clothing was just a collection of coarse and grimy tatters; not unusual for locals in its sordid quality, it still stood out with how warm it was—one had to be either desperate or beyond caring.

Still, Flower refused to commit to overconfidence—for any good hunter patience was a virtue of utmost importance.

Frantic and furtive, the outlander futilely attempted to resume their stalking, oblivious to at least one pair of eyes secretly watching them from a safe distance, one set of hooves insidiously following them step in step.

It wasn’t long before they found themselves at one of the numerous dead-end alleys, a hooded head swivelling in search for any exit other than the one they just entered—only to discover the way out was already blocked.

“Looking for someone?” Flower called the painfully blithe pony.

The sharp turn took the stranger’s hood off, revealing to the moonlight a metal skull.

“Thank goodness, it’s you!” The equinoid’s muzzle dissolved into a relieved smile and she took a step forward only to falter as her approach was met with a frown. “You’re Tin Flower, right?”

“And you’re the Machine Goddess’s spy,” the words came out in a snarl.

“I’m the wha—”

The question was cut short by Flower all but slamming into the metal mare, pressing her against the nearest wall.

“Wait, wait!” The equinoid writhed in the grasp of her artificial hoof. When it proved stronger than her, she pleaded in panic, “There must be some misunderstanding! I’m nobody’s spy!”

“There are two kinds of equinoids: the zealots and the dead.” A hiss came from Flower’s prosthetic, the metal body betwixt it and the wall screeching. “And I hate the Machine Goddess’s zealots.”

The equinoid mare tried to pry off the hoof pulverizing her neck, but to no avail—her own limbs just fumbled against the unyielding metal, so she tried to call to reason again:

“Listen, I don’t know what you are talking about. The only Machine Goddess I know has no followers—she just kills anyone!”

A hoarse laugh drowned out the sounds of rusted metal continuing to give up, though the pressure did lessen up somewhat.

“And you came to me for help? Hope can burn! That city deserves its fate.”

For a moment confusion held reign on the equinoid’s face.

“You mean the one at the Badlands?” Comprehension dawned on her and she grasped for a chance. “No-no, the Machine Goddess is in Canterlot!”

The tactic succeeded to a degree as the force threatening to behead her hadn’t become stronger—neither did it ebb, however.

“Canterlot is nothing but a huge fridge full of corpses,” Flower sneered.

“There’re survivors—I’m the one.”

“If it’s so easy then why am I hearing about it for the first time in ten years?” Flower shifted her weight in a way that made it clear—if her question wasn’t answered correctly, the conversation would be over.

“Because it ain’t easy. I’ve spent those ten years gathering crystals for the heating unit and finding the tunnels leading out of the city.” The equinoid moved her rags to the side, revealing copper tubes and wires covering her body and converging at her back where a massive part seemed to be missing. “I had to leave it behind and sell whatever I was able to carry off with me.”

Flower’s hoof was now only holding the equinoid against the wall.

“Maybe you are not lying.” She then squinted and the metal mare’s neck creaked again. “But where did you learn my name?”

“In a fishing town across the desert, they told me there is an earth pony in Kludgetown with a metal hoof who takes care of equinoids.” Seeing no reaction to her explanation, the equinoid mare went on, “Listen, I didn’t want to bother you and I’m sorry if I did. I’ve seen the Machine Goddess you talk about back in the Tunnels and I’m sure she’s just a fake, especially compared to the one in Canterlot. But I’ve heard there’s a community of equinoids. You probably know—it’s impossible to find the spare parts anywhere. I’ll just be on my way, alright?”

Flower gave the equinoid a long unreadable look, then finally let her go. However, she still blocked any escape route.

As the metal mare swivelled her neck (the joints groaned, but complied), Flower commented:

“There is no community—no equinoid who’s joined Unity has ever left it. Either it’s perfect or something isn’t right.” Seeing her words about to be objected to, she added, “And if you think it’s the former, there have been fewer and fewer equinoids seen in Hope. There are almost none these days.”

The equinoid slumped against the wall with a dejected noise.

“Well, I suspected something like that. Guess I’m gonna be stuck here.”

She took in her surroundings once more—her new home for the time being. The only thing of note was the mare who had just tried to decapitate her. She was still the closest thing to an ally she could hope to find.

“Could you help me please?” The metal mare tentatively tried. “Um, I have nothing for trade, but I know a lot about fixing stuff.”

 When the equinoid leaned on the wall, the flaps of her improvised robe fell to the sides, revealing an artificial body ravaged by both heat and frost. Flower gave it a long appraising look before replying with a smile:

“Of course.”

Metal screeched.

The equinoid tried to open her mouth, but the only sound that could be heard in the alley was the low hiss of pistons. The sound of dripping oil followed it.

The empty body slid from Flower’s hoof into the puddle of machine blood like a broken doll.





When Tin Flower returned to her remote dwelling, there was a faint smile on her lips.

The mirror shards scrunched under hooves when she approached the table.

The soft movement of her oil-marred hoof sent shadows dancing on the crude stone walls. Soon the lamp was joined by the bundle from Flower’s shoulders; wrapped in coarse cloth the crystals barely made a sound.

Tired eyes fell on the clay bowl still waiting for her. She dipped her healthy hoof into its contents and licked it—the meal wasn’t half-bad, but it would have to wait anyway.

From the niche in the wall an old metal container was pulled out. Blowing dust from its lid, Flower opened it and gazed upon rows of finely cut gems brimming with magic secrets—artificial souls.

 Discarding all newly acquired crystals but the one that mattered, she held the shining gem in her hoof before adding it to her collection.

Not exactly a collection—Flower didn’t have a habit of having things just for the sake of possession, everything had to be put in use. Yet, those would have to wait, to be kept safe until they could be free.

Free from the Machine Goddess’s lies.

The accursed name reminded her of the reason she went into the city in the first place and the content smile was gone from her lips, ceding to a frown. It only deepened as she strained her ears—dawn was near, but it still was too quiet.

The crystal forgotten, she bolted into Luna’s room, straight to the heavy trap door leading into the rocky depths. To her horror she found the black abyss gazing at her indifferently.

Disturbing the tomb’s silence with a vile curse, Flower hastily returned for the lantern and with it clasped in her jaws so hard it hurt, she dared to try the void of the cellar.

She knew it was an exercise in futility—the door opened wide already spoke of a disaster, yet she clung to a shred of hope as she descended the uneven stone steps.

It was gone like dew in sunlight when the lantern yanked the chains from the darkness—broken frost-covered metal on the charred floor, mist coming off of it.

Flower’s breath, a shuddering sigh, came out as vapour.

They were free.
> 1.3 Canter no more
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



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Written by: Oneimare

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant

=================================


Arc 1 – Long Echoes

Chapter 3 – Canter no more


=================================



The snow shifted.

Then the little alabaster hill moved again—an event of no sound and indistinguishable from the constant stirring of Canterlot’s white blanket, yet still furtive and anxious. The lungs of the mare half-buried in the pale death were bursting with a sigh, her throat craved for a cough—anything to disrupt the winds’ lullaby.

In the end, it was Ash’s stomach that defied her wish to stay unwitnessed.

Its emptiness echoed the low rumble of a long plaintive lament. And though the snow absorbed the plea, it still thundered in Ash’s mind, a wail louder than that of the undead sky above. Her gaze frantically jumped all around, expecting to see little paws carrying her dinner away and promising that the excruciating wait would continue.

The clearing was still, the scene before her frozen in its macabre necessity.

The nebulous eyes met Ash’s frown and for the umpteenth time, she regretted leaving the bait facing her. Her discontent deepened when the sweet stench of rot crept into her nostrils. It was not the reek that bothered her, rather the wind’s direction—the rats relied on their sense of smell after all.

Ash’s horn itched to reach for the crude spear, to find reassurance in its sturdy handle and blood-crusted rusty tip. Yet the shimmer of magic would dispel any hope for the squalid game, so the makeshift weapon had to patiently wait on the bent girders above Ash, snow piling both on it and the shivering mare.

To leave her post, to reignite the pitiful fire and roast the severed head a bit more, then to find another ambush spot somewhere more upwind appeared a reasonable course of action. Deep inside a familiar whisper rose, compelling Ash to abandon the hunt altogether, to return to the rest of the body, to defrost it and have the best meal she had in years.

The young mare remained unmoving.

The winds changed unceasingly, the setup was as good as it could get and trying to alter it would only waste precious time. And if Ash had managed to survive all those years without biting into pony flesh, she could live for a few more hours. The blame for the poor stallion’s death couldn’t even be put on her, though her hooves still ached from the gruesome job of decapitating the rigid corpse.

There was only one way to escape the accusatory stare.

She closed her eyes.





Her dream was not of food, for there was no pleasure in gnawing on rat bones—barely an alternative to death.

Her dream was not of shelter, for none could hide from Canterlot.

Her dream was not of warmth, for she’d forgotten how it felt.

She dreamt of the light, the resplendent source hidden beyond the veil of the eternal blizzard. Witnessed only once and for but a heartbeat, that radiant beauty resonated with her very being, instantly reflected on her flank in a seal of fate.

She also dreamt of angry voices.

Voices!

Ash’s eyes snapped open and with an involuntary jerk, she emerged from her snow barrow. In the corner of her vision, a tiny form bolted away, but all her attention was on the yells cutting through the icy howls.

Her ears flicked away the snow and swivelled for a while. Then they pressed to her skull—it didn’t take Ash long to distinguish more than half a dozen sore throats. Nor did she have to listen to all the words carried by frigid winter breaths to know her fate.

Those ponies were on a hunt, too.

A golden aura enwrapped Ash’s horn with a betraying rustle—hiding was futile anyway. Yet as her magic reached for the only friend the young mare had in those frozen wastes, she found but snow and ice.

The voices cried hungry glee—the hunters saw the side dish.

The severed head gazed at Ash almost mockingly:

“We’re in this together and you got what you deserve, rat.”

The place was chosen and then set in a way, not even a desperate vermin could easily escape the trap. Every second not spent trying to prove she wasn’t one, wasn’t tipping the scales in Ash’s favour. She had no choice but to abdicate her ownership of the spear to the permafrost—the advantage it could offer was dubious—and make a desperate run for the chance to become a hunter again.

She bolted out of the malnourished shadow scantly provided by the building’s carcass, aiding her escape with awkward flaps of her rarely used wings. When she just passed the bait, the bony body of a once huge mare slammed into her, sending them both tumbling into the snowbanks. Ash could swear the cadaverous head cackled.

The blows of Ash’s chipped hooves glanced off thin limbs, her chattering teeth found no purchase on the balding taut pelt, her horn clashed with the huntress’s own in a primaeval barbaric fashion. Yet the tide of the frantic brawl slowly but surely turned in Ash’s favour. Though she was just as malnourished, the young mare had always possessed a strength she had no right to.

That advantage was rendered moot when a pair of frostbitten hooves sunk Ash’s wings deep into the snow pinning her to the dirty ice like a butterfly. More and more needles helped to hold her tight, the lanky dark forms they were attached to blotting out the raging sky.

“Finally, something decent,” one of them snarled, licking their lips.

A hoof unceremoniously brushed her fur, revealing her blazing pink skin to the angry cold; the curious pony’s bubbling whisper commented approvingly, “The meat looks healthy.”

The stallion with rattling breath was pushed aside by the limping huntress unicorn. Shedding snow she had just dug herself out from, she hit Ash in the stomach.

A hiss escaped her blood-besprent lips, the convulsions rippled through the mare’s body as it involuntarily tried to curl—that comfort was denied, she was still crucified on the frozen asphalt.

Another blow landed—on her alabaster cheek, crimson spraying from a gasping mouth.

The grinning mare sneered, “I get the first piece,” and raised her hoof to continue tenderizing.

The limb was stopped midway in its pain delivery by a stallion looking like he hadn’t eaten well even before starvation became an intrinsic part of every Canterlot citizen’s life. Despite the size difference, the scrawny almost colt held a striking affinity to the blood-lusting mare.

“Don’t kill her yet,” he croaked, “I want to know where she got that head.”

Ash dropped any attempts to wrench herself from the collective grasp on her body—whatever strength she had was backed up by gnawing hollowness in her intestines. However, it didn’t mean she agreed with becoming a meal. If brute force wasn’t the path to her escape, she needed time to figure what would be.

“Fuck you!” Ash spat blood at the skeletal dwarf and missed, to the amusement of his peers. “I’m not telling you a thing.”

“You.” He pointed his short hoof at the stallion with grunting respiration, a unicorn with a stub for horn. “Make a fire—we are going to roast her alive.”

Where the frost-nipped hooves had been pressed into Ash’s skin, the grease-stained ropes smelling of smoke now dug, binding her securely to the soot-covered steel pole. The fire she had used to make the bait alluring with the unmistakable aroma of crispy meat and reluctant atrocity awaited her; flame ready once more to lick a pony coat clean.

A sharpened metal piece pressed into Ash’s neck.

“Just tell us where the body is and I’ll make it quick,” the small stallion spoke in an almost apologetic tone.

She was out of time and with no smart way to escape the looming agonizing death. In the corner of her vision, the stallion with failing lungs did his best to pry the severed head from the puddle of frozen blood. A sudden idea visited Ash’s mind and she hurried to voice it:

“I know a place with a lot of bodies.” It wasn’t a lie. ”I can show you, just let me go.”

“Nopony is letting you go, we are not stupid.” The dwarf chuckled genially, then the cutting pressure on Ash’s arteries—a generous offer—returned. “But if you want a nice and peaceful death, you are going to tell me how to get there.”

With a dry crack, the rat bait was freed from the icy clutches, the rasping stallion proudly carrying it to the fire to finish the job Ash started. He took only a few steps before it fell from his jaws, the frozen blood and mane shattering in a crimson explosion as a bullet ripped through. With a thump, it buried itself in the ground, but none paid attention to that.

All eyes were glued to a gryphon perched on top of the half-ruined wall.

Clad in battered armour, the half-eagle glided down, the only sound coming from him as he landed—a gentle tinkle of meat-carving knives against the darkened, pink-spotted metal. Wrapped in rust-freckled rags, his gnarled hand pointed a sharp obsidian claw right at Ash.

“This pony is mine now.”

The only things moving were the dwarf’s eyes, going over every detail of the gryphon’s arsenal and protection, weighing the sum against his ragtag group.

“Kill him.”

Emaciated and ghastly, the flesh-eaters slid across the snowbanks in a horde of shadows, hot saliva dripping from crooked mouths—white meat was a delicacy, abundant in this gryphon.

The large unicorn mare was the first to reach the winged predator. He met her with effortless agility, stepping to the side. Before she even could realize her target had dodged her, a set of claws flashed out, grabbing the long horn. Though the huntress’s head was now moving in the opposite direction, her body followed the inertia of the initial charge. A heartbeat later, the balance was severely offset; she found herself about to land on her back and a gun-butt rushing to her muzzle.

The next reckless attacker crashed into the unyielding armour in a tide of thin limbs, harmlessly bouncing back. Another wasn’t even given the privilege of smearing her snot across the burnished steel—a just as hard fist met her halfway.

The display of effortless triumphs halted the cannibalistic force’s onslaught. Even the instigator of the attack now leading the charge with a razor-sharp metal piece clutched in his rotting teeth froze to the ground. His dark eyes reflected another round of calculations taking place inside the balding head.

It wasn’t let to come to fruition, the scales inside the dwarf’s head imbalanced beyond recovery by the gun barrel pointing at him. The gryphon graciously offered a hint:

“This is when you all turn your backs to me and run away.”

For a heartbeat, the little stallion followed the orders of the void in his stomach, even dared to take a step forward—his loyalty to hunger was unwavering. But before his hoof could find purchase in the soft snow, his entourage decided the course of action for themselves and heeded the half-eagle. His sister was the last to keep him company, limping past, dewing the whiteness with scarlet from a broken nose.

He followed her, but not before spitting in the gryphon’s direction.

“Fucking Pink, hope you choke on that mutant whore.”

The gryphon let the vile wish hang in the air for a few long seconds, then readjusted the aim of his rifle, a sharp yellow eye snuggling up to the scope.

A precise shot thundered, the fleeing flesh-eaters’ whimpers not letting its echo be devoured by the malignant winds.

Her binds undone, Ash fell from the skewer, almost landing in the dying fire.

By the time she rolled away from the flames and out of the disgusting rope coils, she found the gryphon too close to call for comfort. The predatory half-bird was studying the severed head mere steps away; its eyes rolled back in post-mortem ecstasy, basking in the attention.

“Morbid but inventive,” he commented, stealing an amusing glance at the hyperventilating mare. “Perhaps we can get along this time.”

The mare blew the flakes of her namesake away from her muzzle and glared at her savior.

“Have we met?”

“I wouldn’t expect you to remember.”

Blood on the snow—her ruby eyes squinted at his feathers, undulating in the wind, once raven-black but now bleached to cinder. The plumage framed the nick-covered ivory hook of his beak; a pair of untouched by age eyes gleamed back at Ash, seemingly mildly amused by something—someone, she suspected.

Anyone who could remember her—or that she recalled—had been long dead since the grim dawn of the endless winter in Canterlot. The only clue of their possible link were the specs of pink paint on the gryphon’s armour. Though it was in exceptional cases, the terrorists sometimes used the Deep Tunnels to carry out their nefarious plans.

The topic of remembrance faded into oblivion and the relative silence suddenly turned ominous. With the severed head abandoned once more, the gryphon’s interest was now in the shivering mare. Leaning casually on his gun, he stared at Ash with the unsettling intensity of a predator waiting for its cornered prey to make a gadarene final move.

“So, what now?” She ruffled her feathers, unsure what prompted her—fear or cold. “You gonna shoot me or cut me?”

“Haven’t you heard the saying: the gryphons don’t eat things that know their name.”

“Dead things don’t know their names.”

Though hearty, his laugh wasn’t melodious. The sonorous and eager clinking of his knives against the breastplate turned the titters of amusement into something foreboding.

Ash tensed, rueful of her spear stolen by ice. It would make a poor difference against the skilled shooter, but it was better than wagering solely her meagre arcane ability against a creature born to kill.

The peals of laughter winded down, the merriment ebbing back into the gryphon’s eyes to shine from there.

“I’m not hungry.” The ‘yet’ hung in the air—a dark promise.

Rapid heartbeats and quick breaths counted the nervous moments of pregnant stillness until it became apparent to Ash that the first move was up to her.

“Thank you for your help, I guess.”

The gryphon was a statue.

Sunlight enveloped around her horn and the same aura started to weave a cocoon for the rat bait.

“I’d better return to hunting.”

“Is that your only option?”

The threads of her magic shimmered around the repeatedly desecrated remains, yet Ash hesitated to tug on them. She would like to hope the events that had just transpired were but a setback and the hunt could resume as soon as the flapping of grey wings dissolved into the continual murmur of the blizzard. Except only death came for free in Canterlot and she was just repeatedly disallowed to meet it for some reason.

Letting her light abate, she met the gryphon’s eyes with a question, “You have something else to offer?”

The half-eagle came to motion, twirling the rifle in his clawed hands with impressive fluidity. It ended up extended in Ash’s direction almost as if he invited her to take it.

“We could team up.”

The mare contemplated the offer for as long as it took her to blink, then turned away heading to the ruins where she lost her weapon. She threw over her shoulder, “You seem to be doing fine without my help.”

In a whirlwind of snow, the gryphon took off and followed Ash, flapping his wings lazily. She spared him a cautious glance, though did not pause.

“It’s boring alone,” he commented, catching up with the resolved pony.

Tiny explosions of sunlight scattered the snow, revealing nothing but more frost. The excavation effort lasted for a few long and increasingly annoyed minutes before Ash had to give up—her horn began to ache.

“If you are looking for a chatterbox,” she said frowning at the snow banks that had swallowed her only possession without a trace, “then you came to the wrong pony.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. You seem to know these parts well.”

The half-eagle hovered behind her, sending gusts of piercing wind into her back. Even with the mantle of her own feathers, she could feel the ice peppering her coat. She chose to ignore that… for now. The spear had to be somewhere near.

“And, what, you flew into Canterlot an hour ago?”

In the corner of her vision she saw the gryphon do an effortless barrel roll, in the constrained space his wingtips grazing the snow on the girders. That wasn’t that caught her attention, however.

When she turned to face him, her makeshift weapon was clutched in the jet black claws extended to her in a genial offer. Frowning—it was as if the gryphon had produced it from thin air—she warily accepted her spear back and opened her mouth to express dry gratitude, but the winged predator spoke first:

“Oh, I’ve spent more time here than you can imagine, Sunny,” he noted somewhat sadly, radiating pure nonchalance nonetheless. “But maybe you know some interesting places I don’t.”

The readied response evaporated from her mind in a heartbeat.

“Sunny?” Ash echoed incredulously.

She had been called many names, and though she’d never heard that word before, she somehow knew it was different and more important than anything else.

“Oh, you know, that thing in the sky and on your ass.” With his hands behind his head, the gryphon left the premises of the dilapidated building, gliding backwards with his lean stomach to the raging sky. His next words accompanied by a chuckle came from the outside, “The good ol’ Sun.”

Ash instantly followed and the half-eagle was already waiting for her outside, leaning on his rifle like before.

“Tell me more about it!” she cried almost despairingly.

The bony nature of the gryphon’s beak prevented it from stretching into a wide smile, but his eyes said it all.





“I need to leave Canterlot! How do I do that?”

Ash was bursting with energy—the scarce resource provided by her heart rather than stomach. Hearing about the Sun, the magnificent blazing orb moving across the sky beyond the unceasing blizzard created a novel spring of motivation inside her, so drastically different from the simple directive of not perishing in the snow.

Despite sharing his knowledge generously, the gryphon wasn’t eager to share Ash’s enthusiasm, nor to help it, commenting wryly, “And that’s where the catch comes. If I knew how to escape, I wouldn’t be here myself.”

Ash would be glad to leave the frozen wastes even before she learned how beautiful the world was outside Canterlot, but she knew the futility of jailbreak. Still, she said, more to herself, “There has to be a way.”

Her own experience and what she learned whilst eavesdropping instantly excluded the seemingly obvious option. The tumultuous screaming clouds continued down to the ground level and were fortified by some sort of arcane barrier. Nobody knew who was to be thanked for it, because it wasn’t just not letting them escape. It wasn’t letting things get inside.

Going through possible exit paths left Ash with the only choice:

“Listen,” she began, unsure, “when I saw the Sun for the first time, there was a hole in the clouds. Perhaps you could fly us away when it happens the next time?”

To her dismay, the gryphon hesitated with the answer, and when he finally spoke, it wasn’t what Ash hoped to hear:

“My old wings are not what they used to be and…” He squinted at her feathery appendages tightly pressed to her back and asked, making it much worse, “What’s with yours?”

“I…” Ash had to clench her jaw and steel herself before admitting, “I don’t know how to use them.”

The deflated mare couldn’t tell what the gryphon’s reaction was—she didn’t want to know, so she turned away. There was a justification for her lack of flying skill—her early life in the cramped underground warrens offered nothing to contribute to its development. And though she’d lacked nutrition for her entire life, she still somehow managed to get enough mass to make experimenting with falling too risky.

That didn’t make it less shameful, especially in front of a creature renowned for its aerial prowess. At least he wasn’t a unicorn—there was nothing to justify her pathetic arcane mastery.

Yet, lo and behold, guess who readily met her eyes? With a scowl, Ash turned away from the dead gaze, somewhat ready to face a more amicable expression and to her surprise was met only with patience and even a resemblance of sympathy.

The unexpected warmth prompted a no less sudden urge inside her.

“Can…” she gulped and almost decided against opening her mouth ever again. “Could you teach me?”

“Perhaps.” The half-eagle extended his limb until the sharp claw poked Ash’s ribs—she jerked away with a yelp. “But you have no chance anyway so long as you are skin and bones.”

The claim was fair, though she still glared at the gryphon. Rubbing the offended side, she grumbled, “Back to hunting rats then.” Her stomach loudly agreed with the plan.

The elder dismissed her words with a click of his beak. Taking off into the air to languidly circle above Ash’s head, he added, “I’ll die of old age before you catch enough.”

“And you propose... what exactly?”

“Have you forgotten already?” His rifle fell from the sky, thrust into snow vertically and followed by a catty comment, “At such a rate teaching you’d be useless even if you ate the best in Canterlot.”

Before a no less sarcastic response could form itself on the tip of Ash’s tongue, her gaze stopped past the rifle’s worn out carbon butt, meeting the familiar set of eyes, foggy with visions of the afterlife.

“There is one place with food, actually.”

It was time to return to the rest of the body.





The drums of snow pelting the vestigial ruins in blind fury were a marching song for the army of two braving the tapestry of infinite snow cover. Whilst the gryphon pounced from a frozen spire to a crumbling wall, to a rusty flayed spoke, Ash had to wade through the restless sea of white. It shifted under the hooves of the stalwart mare, the lethargic waves covering the path and uncovering the secrets buried in icy cairns.

A tide of rime ebbed revealing an unnamed obliged grave, a body curled in the final attempt to find warmth and solace. It appeared to be somewhat recent, yet to become petrified, and held a striking resemblance to the members of the flesh-eaters group. The unfortunate pony wasn’t one of them, of course, but the associations born by the malnourished and ravaged by disease frame were there.

Another of the gryphon’s leaps took him right over Ash and she yanked him out of his graceful manoeuvre with a call, “You didn’t kill any of them.”

The half-eagle dexterously rolled in the air without losing momentum and glided to her side, a quizzical expression prompting Ash to continue:

“Why?”

“Oh, there is nothing more boring than a dead pony,” he responded with a chuckle and let himself drift away to the nearest roost of the building.

The gryphon sat with the rifle on across his knees and elbows holding his head, watching her with the same amusement. Ash preferred to press onward, urged by the painful emptiness of her intestines, but she was to blame for starting the conversation and had to pay for it.

“That’s a stupid reason to let them go so they can continue hunting ponies.” A bit uncertain, she added, “Or gryphons.”

“You hunt rats.” The clawed hands silently fell on the gun, taking a loose hold of it. “Why shouldn’t I kill you?”

Internally, Ash praised herself for not even flinching. Though, she hoped it went unnoticed how frantically her eyes scanned the surroundings for the nearest cover.

“That’s not the same, not even close.”

“Are you sure?”

“Are you sure you are a gryphon?” she retorted, holding her head high. “Your kind eats nothing but meat. Or are you going to tell me rats know their names?”

The only indication of her accusations having any effect was a squint of the keen eyes, but even that was unreadable. Without missing a beat, the predator went on, “They were just trying to survive, like… you. Or rats.”

“Except I don’t kill to survive.” Ash almost cursed as she received a raised eyebrow—she was digging herself a grave. She desperately hoped it was only a proverbial one. “Not… not sapient beings.”

“Why?” the gryphon echoed her own question, his eyes generously compensating for the lack of the smirk on his beak.

Ash baulked at the simple question, with her mouth hanging half-opened and making incoherent noises until she finally found words:

“That’s…” came out lamely, “That’s just not right.”

The gryphon laughed—a mirthless sound.

“And yet you’re asking me why I didn’t kill those sapient beings.”

Even though it was Ash leading the way, he bolted into the icy turbulence, leaving the mare to catch up with him.





As payment for sunlight-laced tales—and a part of the escape plan—Ash brought them both to a mass grave.

It held little interest for anyone but the most unscrupulous vultures. Those who came to wrest the bodies from the pale fingers also had to possess one more quality if they wished to not join their spoils—furtivity.

Amidst the dark forms half-buried in the pink snow a mausoleum stood, a stout low building full of life preserved in rusty tin cans and soggy card boxes.

A warehouse.

Tumours grew on its rime-painted walls, nests full of death ready to burst out in the form of searing lead eager to dig deep into frostbitten flesh. Even when the veil of darkness descended on the one-sided battlefield, one had no chance of escaping the messengers of war unless they were born with a coat of a certain colour. And, still, that would be a reckless test of luck and the snipers’ vigilance.

The duo of travellers kept a respectable distance from the border of the corpse-strewn opening for that reason. Taking shelter on the fifth story of the still standing half of the apartment building, they were so far away, Ash had to use the rifle’s scope to see the warehouse as more than a dirty speck.

The generously offered gun—not that its owner needed it to see himself—pressed awkwardly into the mare’s shoulder and she had to bend herself in quite uncomfortable ways to peer through the tinted lenses. The observation taught her nothing new about the perils of nearing the depot, so she returned the weapon to the gryphon hesitantly—it felt good to hold power in her possession, even if she had little understanding of how to make the best use of it.

The half-eagle didn’t accept it, though, his eyes glued to the distant building, so she carefully put the rifle against the peeling wallpaper to keep company to her spear. Long minutes passed before any of them moved again. It was Ash, disturbing the stillness with words coming from her lips instead of glimmering mist:

“Thank you.”

The gryphon came out of his reverie to glacially turn and regard the mare.

“For what, Sunny?”

“For not killing me.” She pretended to be interested in the view of the snowbound street. “You are the first one to not try, though you are the first one who made it appear like I actually deserved it.”

“Nobody deserves to die.”

A peculiar thing happened—when Ash turned to face the gryphon, her expression was of amusement for the first time in a long period, whilst the merriment faded from the eagle’s eyes.

“The more I listen to you, the more I get the impression you came to Canterlot no more than a week ago. It is a horrible place now, but that’s just the winter to blame. Before—it was a nightmare because of ponies.”

She turned away again, caught up in memories of her sordid underground life. Ash didn’t see the long searching look she was given.

“So, was this cataclysm deserved?”

Ash frowned, then glared at the gryphon.

“Don’t know what that word means. But I heard Canterlot brought the winter upon itself.”

Their eyes locked—the gryphon’s still lacking laughter in them; it was an unnerving sight as if him being serious was gravely wrong.

“It did,” he finally agreed, then suddenly inquired, “Where are your parents?”

Hissing, “Take a wild guess, ” Ash once more looked out of the window to glare at nothing. She could feel the half-eagle studying her face, but it was a familiar mask showing no emotion—at least she liked to believe it didn’t.

“Did they deserve it, too?”

Dust and snow screeched under Ash’s hooves as she turned sharply and abruptly stomped out of the room, throwing over her shoulder:

“Are we going to wait here until we turn into icicles? Let’s get going!”





The gryphon and the pony were crouching behind the stump of the wall. Ash’s relationship with their cover was strange—she tried to hug the wall as her body struggled to keep upright, yet her contact with it lasted only as long as it took the rebar to poke her under the ribs with an icy needle.

She looked expectantly at the gryphon and he answered with an innocent question:

“What’s the plan, Sunny?”

Anger flashed in her eyes—she’d expected him to have one on his own. Yet, Ash was running on fumes, too exhausted to give that bitterness a form. She started to whisper loudly instead, even though she was sure they couldn’t be heard.

“I watched the shooters once.” She cautiously glanced over the crumbling corner to confirm nothing had changed. “They never check on each other and they are bundled deep in their places. I bet if you took out at least two of them out, it would create a blind spot and we could just go there before anyone notices something’s wrong.”

“You want me to kill them,” the gryphon deadpanned.

Ash hesitated momentarily—the conversation they’d had on their way there was still fresh in her mind. Then a dagger of hunger slashed her guts and it didn’t go away.

“Do you think they are going to invite us in?” she barked.

The rifle’s butt hit her in the chest—flatwise.

“Then you do it.”

Her incinerating glare was the only response to that.

The gun was slung over the cover, cement and ice crunching under the long barrel. Ash spent more than a few moments trying to find the best way to press herself to the gun—it was for a very different goal than before. Finally, the weapon became her extension and she began to search with her deadly gaze.

A pony appeared in crosshairs, a young mare who would have been called a filly a month ago.

Shivering, she was hugging a rifle of her own, the bloodshot and dark-rimmed eyes unceasingly checking the uncounted victims being swallowed by the snow, making sure nothing in her vision moved faster than that. The shooter shifted, rubbed her hooves—they were blue from cold and thin from lack of food. A cloud of hoar escaped her indigo lips—a silent whimper thundering through Ash’s mind.

“Shit!”

The rifle was thrust back to the gryphon without a look.

The silence was deafening, stretching until another knife found purchase in Ash’s stomach. Though she preferred it to feeling a burning coal of a trigger in her magic, it was still a question of life and death.

“How do we get inside?” she asked in a resigned voice.

“I do think they are going to invite us.”

Ash whipped her head at the half-eagle only to see him putting his weapon on the ground.

“Wha..?”

He was looking neither at her nor his rifle. Following his gaze, she saw dark forms converging on them from the ruins. Clad in armour and bearing guns they were no common scavengers. They moved with the confidence and ease of those who could come in and out of the warehouse.

Yet, the amusement kept sparking in the gryphon’s eyes.

“Just keep calm, I’ll see you through this.”

“Fuck,” was all she could say to his promise.

For a moment Ash clutched the spear in her magic—she refused to give up.

It cluttered to the gravel. That friend wouldn’t be able to help here, her only hope was in the stranger she’d met an hour ago.

“I never even asked your name.”

“Call me Discord, Sunny.”
> 1.4 Old War
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



=================================

Written by: Oneimare

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant

=================================


Arc 1 – Long Echoes

Chapter 4 – Old War


=================================



There was only the faintest of taps when a gleaming form lowered itself onto the hill, not even the pebbles crunching under its long talons.

Shifting atop the molten core of swirling energy, the arcanium plates encased an ethereal body smaller than one might expect from a dragon, yet still big enough to tower over anypony. That size difference meant nothing in the imposing presence of the figure who had already claimed the snow-peppered mound.

The reality-violating suit hid all the pegasus’ features but her face wrinkled in deep thought. Unwaveringly looking into the distance, she acknowledged the arrival with only a slow blink before the speaker of her helmet came to life.

“Found anything?”

To Rainbow’s annoyance, Spike didn’t hurry with an answer, taking a seat with his long tail soundlessly sliding across the frozen ground to wrap itself around his legs.

“The same as last time,” he finally said.

“I keep coming across traces, too,” the pegasus instantly added.

Calm and measured, the dragon’s retort followed her worried and impatient words, “Yet none of the patrols ever do.”

Rainbow shot him an annoyed glance and huffed.

“This place brings up memories and that’s all I see,” Spike continued, ignoring the indignant reaction. “We’re chasing our own shadows, Rainbow.”

With her eyes still glued to some distant sight, she scowled.

“There’s an enemy out there.”

Far from the hill a blizzard raged, an impenetrable mass of swirling ice hiding in its churning bowels an ancient kingdom. Though that wasn’t where the dragon’s attention was—he turned to regard Rainbow’s frown.

“What enemy? The Crystal Empire?”

Still refusing to meet Spike’s serene gaze the pegasus clenched her jaw, muttering, “That is why we’re here.”

However, following her eyes, he was met with the view of a small settlement. Starting as a tent camp years ago, it had become a village of sturdy dwellings; waxed cloth gradually ceding to stone and wood. Alabaster sheets of snow and ice turned into a broken ground bristling with green. As they observed the teeming with life community, it grew—a new house was being defiantly risen from the permafrost.

Spike faced Rainbow.

“So, when are you going to remind them of that?”

Static from the speaker was her reply.

A whole minute passed before quiet words came from it, tired rather than desperate, “Even your goddess can’t do anything about the Windigo. What do you expect of me?”

“She is not my goddess,” Spike corrected her levelly, “for I’m no machine.” Though there was a hardness to his tone when he added, “And neither are you.”.

The pegasus barked in response, glowering at him, “So, do you want me to go to them and tell them they can pack things and return home?”

Spike sighed and set his sights back on the small town, its dwellers going on with their lives, oblivious to the attention paid to them. The frigid wind brought snippets of boisterous laughter, echoes of tools helping in joyous labour, wisps of warm smells from kitchens.

“I just want you to admit it.”

Once again, there was no immediate reply—Rainbow’s face kept contorting betwixt different emotions until she straightened and snapped, “Enough. We have had this talk already, and I’m not going to change my mind.”

The metal of Spike’s muzzle shifted into a resemblance of mild amusement. Chuckling, he commented, “I’d be concerned if you did.”

Rainbow whipped her head to meet glowing eyes with a glare. Seeing her anger having no effect on the grinning dragon, she answered the harmless jab with a simple statement spoken in a low voice, “I saw what you’ve been doing in the snowfields.”

Spike’s toothless smile only grew a little wider, letting the tongues of energy lick his metal jaws.

“But do you know what you saw?”

Undaunted by the display of his eldritch nature, Rainbow squinted at the dragon menacingly, hissing, “Don’t take me for a fool. While you were having your fun in the Deep Tunnels, I fought things you can’t even imagine.”

Not even the slightest hint of shadow passed over Spike’s features at the remark of his dark past, his sparkling gaze still boring into Rainbow. Yet, his voice was devoid of any merriment when he noted:

“One doesn’t need to imagine anything in the Deep Tunnels.”

The arcanium mask almost mockingly met the pegasus’ stare. Rainbow furrowed her brow deeper and deeper as she silently seethed, but before her expression turned into a scowl, she all but growled, “And you brought it here.”

Disappointment flashed through Spike’s expression and he broke eye contact, shaking his head slowly. As he spoke, his tone betrayed nothing, however.

“You don’t know what you saw, then.”

“I know enough,” Rainbow snapped.

The dragon responded to the challenge by glancing at her sideways “Are you going to order me to stop?”

The greenish-yellow flame dimly reflected off Rainbow’s armour when she took a wide stance—not the cyber-suit she wore once. These days her garment only served to restore her ability to fly with just worn chainmail to cover the eternal fabric.

However, whilst Rainbow refused to let the provocation go unanswered, the pegasus eyed the still dragon with uncertainty. Even if she had her equipment from her days of serving as a captain of the Royal Guard, it would have offered little advantage.

“I’m on your side,” Spike said amiably, seeing the hints of desperation showing themselves on Rainbow’s frowning face.

Another tense moment passed and she relaxed or, rather, deflated. Giving Spike one last concerned look she cast a defeated glance behind her, to the south, and muttered, “My side has a newbie changeling queen and a fucking mechanical goddess.”

“Does that make it the wrong one?”

Rainbow looked back again, but this time she didn’t futilely search the horizon for Hope. She thoughtfully observed her path that had begun on one of those frosted hills half a millennium ago.

Often she wondered if her Element would still respond to her after everything she had done in the name of loyalty. It had been so simple at first—black and white. However, the choices quickly blurred into painful greyness.

“Was there ever a right side?” she asked no one in particular the threadbare question.

Spike shrugged in response.

“It’s said to be those who won,” he added with a chuckle.

So much had been lost over those years, so much sacrificed, but in the end, the Crystal Empire still writhed in the clutches of tyranny and Equestria was no more.

“Then you’re not with us.”

The dragon shook his head, laughing, then launched himself into the sky, leaving the annoyed pegasus alone with the vista of the village.





Fine dust settled upon the chainmail, stealing its glimmer—even windwards there was no escape from the clouds of silt billowing away from the viciously beaten rug.

The pegasus’ muzzle formed a scowl behind the growing opaque visor; it wasn’t the dirt to blame for that, but the complete obliviousness of the mare standing right in front of her.

Yet the wooden stick continued to be erratically swung with complete abandon by a purple aura. Rainbow’s helmet patiently crackled with almost inaudible static as her annoyance ceded to dismay.

She didn’t know the mare’s name.

Her cutie mark was hidden under a camouflage jumpsuit and Rainbow doubted that dusting stuff off was her talent. However, there was a way to work around poking the sky with a hoof.

“Soldier!”

The toned muscles under the unicorn’s burgundy coat twitched as she practically jumped, the ancient spear shaft clattering on the ground. Her muzzle spasmed with different emotions until a mix of seriousness and anxiety uneasily took reign of her pale face, weathered not by the fire of war but the cold of the winds.

“Oh, Captain Dash.” She saluted with her left hoof. As Rainbow continued to glare daggers at her, she added, her voice barely hiding the shaking, “Um, ma’am. Sir..?”

The ‘Captain’s’ expression didn’t soften.

The Royal Guard was disbanded following Stalliongrad’s demand even before Hope got its name and here the ranks were voluntary just like everything else. Holding back a sigh, Rainbow decided to join the ‘game’ as she gave up on a subtle way to learn what she wanted.

“What’s your name, private?”

The ‘private’ was seemingly about to pass out with her quivering hoof glued to her temple like her life depended on it. Yet she managed to muster enough confidence to stammer:

“Glintwine, ma’am.” She gulped. “Sir.”

A frown reclaimed Rainbow’s face—her name was odd and, consolidating the pegasus’ suspicions, Glintwine bubbled, revealing her slight accent, “If you have any, um... military-related questions I’m afraid you better ask my colt—”

“Did you come from Hope?”

“Why, yes.” The unicorn almost didn’t look offended. “About… a year ago?”

It wasn’t Trixie’s expedition that brought her here, then; but Rainbow barely took note of that—a whole year! How many more dwellers were in that village whom she had never met? Years ago she used to know them all by their names and faces—not a daunting task after commanding changelings for ages.

“Why?” she echoed Glintwine without thinking.

“Oh, how do I put it… Between the goat attacks and stuff like… like Black Star… and…” The unicorn hesitated, but then her face became bitter and she all but spat, “They never really accepted us there, you know?”

There it was—the actual reason why Glintwine left Hope. Hailing neither from the Equestrian wastes nor from Canterlot, that left the only option—the ‘City of Betrayers’. Even after everything, that old wound in Equestrian pride still stung for many, adding up to the issues crippling the pony community.

Glintwine finished on a more positive tone, “So I convinced Sharp Whistle to come here.” She then picked the pole up from the ground holding it like the spear it once was. “I’m... not much of a soldier, but there is no work I refuse to do.” The mare shrugged. “And the cold never bothered me anyway.”

A long time ago they betrayed Celestia—she and her legacy perished. Nightmare Moon was gone—Rainbow was one of those who made sure of that. And in the end, the ponies of Stalliongrad paid for their follies, for they had become little different from any Canterlot victim.

She even held a bit of respect for them—with grim eyes hidden in the shadows of their pickelhelms, the Stalliongrad emissaries more than once contributed to Equestrian victories during the Crystal Empire siege. They knew a thing or two about unbreakable sieges.

That obviously didn’t apply to Glintwine.

“Have you been on a patrol even once?”

She blushed and averted her eyes.

“No, ma’am.”

“That’s fine.”

With the current size of the settlement, it made sense that not everyone participated in reconnaissance. Or anything related to the original cause. Still, Rainbow couldn’t help but let out a short sigh before she asked, “What are you doing… instead?”

“I help in the fields. I used to work in greenhouses— it’s not the same, but some of my experience has its use.” Glintwine’s expression suddenly brightened. “Oh, I just remembered!”

With that she disappeared into the nearest building—a cabin modest, yet well-maintained with its windows showing glimpses of cosiness.

Almost a full minute later the unicorn returned with a bottle levitated alongside. Wordlessly, she offered it to Rainbow Dash.

Accepting the gift with a frown, she turned it in her hooves—there was no label and a somewhat thick and cloudy sanguineous liquid sloshed inside.

“What’s that?”

“Mulled wine.”

The pegasus glanced at Glintwine quizzically and then it clicked in her head.

“I made it myself, always wanted to.” The unicorn’s words dripped with pride, but they only made Rainbow pay her a confused look and Glintwine hurried to explain, “I mean, I probably mixed a hundred barrels in Stalliongrad, but never from the real stuff. Funny, it took me a dozen attempts before I finally got it right with the natural ingredients.”

Suddenly, Rainbow didn’t have it in her heart to tell the beaming unicorn she was incapable of appreciating the taste, regardless of if Glintwine was ignorant or just didn’t give a damn.

“Thank you. Glintwine.”

The mare only smiled wider.

“No, thank you for giving us all hope.”





A rhythmic canter of ever-young hooves brought Rainbow outside the village, wandering into the boundless monotony of the frozen in time plains of silence.

It took some time before the snow began to crunch under her marching. She knew why, but refused to admit it; and if asked directly, Rainbow would begrudgingly attribute it to the sheer chance and an exemplary fighting spirit that reigned at the ‘fort’.

Although the warlock and his coven were long dead (most of its members were at least), the pegasus still strode through the snowbanks, sometimes wistfully glancing up—the old habit of avoiding the treacherous sky full of arcane traps. Suddenly, a muffled clang of metal broke through the frigid whistling.

A helmet, its gilding replaced by a lacework of grime and rust. As it turned in her hooves, her eyes fell on a crude etching made by its second or maybe even third owner—a series of bubbles still distinguishable on the aged metal.

A tiny smile crept on Rainbow’s face—that mare was much more likely to just lose it rather than mark her grave with it. Before they fought wing to wing on those fields, Derpy was part of her weather team and briefly Rainbow wondered if she’d returned to Ponyville. To think of it, she never did herself and didn’t know who of those she once knew had gone back home.

In that sense, her coma was a blessing.

Gingerly lowering the helmet back to the frozen earth, Rainbow uncorked the bottle and poured its contents over the ancient armour. At war, all were victims, regardless of making it out alive.

There was no flapping of wings and the sound of living metal effortlessly slithering through the air was indistinguishable from the wind, yet Spike’s arrival hadn’t caught the pegasus off guard. That place made sure nothing ever would.

The dragon respectfully landed at a distance. Barely turning to him, Rainbow called, bitter:

“Came here to mock me again?”

The snow melted under Spike’s unhurried steps, revealing more than just splotches of lifeless soil—rusted weapons, broken armour, darkened bones.

When he stopped by Rainbow’s side, radiance was cast on her through the gaps in the ribs of his slowly expanding chest. A breath, devoid of its main purpose, was followed by a long silence. With half-lidded eyes Spike melancholically observed how rare snowflakes weaved themselves into a blanket for the fallen, the whiteness shimmering with all colours of the rainbow under the low Sun. His gaze shifted to the crimson spot where the wine was offered to the frost.

“I remember that battle,” Spike finally said. “Seven days and nights of unceasing screams and orders to take a single hill.”

Blood dripped from Rainbow, the wind carrying it away whilst futilely trying to tear at her mane plastered to her neck, burning from exertion and wounds. Leaving behind crimson footsteps, she pressed on, her teeth digging deeper and deeper into the salty wood as she ascended. With an animalistic roar, the pegasus thrust the pole deep into the desecrated snow. The flag angrily flapped above her and she collapsed, almost rolling down the hill. There were no cries of victory deafening her rasping gasps—only hollow silence.

With a blink, the memory was gone and the view of the smooth snow rolling out to the horizon returned.

“And it is gone now.”

“It’s all gone now, only echoes remain.” The dragon’s claws unclenched and a single bloom of heather gently fell on the wine-stained helmet. “The war ended five centuries ago, Rainbow.”

She tore her eyes away from the emptiness she once fought so hard for to glance over it. The blizzard met her stare unwaveringly, glaring back with seething cold fury. A veil of preternatural storm hid everything, but it wasn’t hard to imagine the malevolent spires leering at her from the sky—the sight forever burned into her mind.

Five-centuries old pain slipped into her voice as Rainbow whispered:

“Is it ever over?”

The howling carried from the distance was not of the wind, but a feral howl of timeless throats. A gust whisked another bloom from Spike’s claws and he stared at his empty hand for a long time.

“No,” the dragon agreed reluctantly. “But we’re not in it forever.”

He got a scathing look from Rainbow and when no reaction followed, she clarified, “And yet here you are.” The silence went on and she scoffed, “You’re wasting your time.”

“Is it possible for us?” Spike mused, but the pondering in his voice ceded to fatigue as he practically groaned, “You’re still convinced I could find something in Hope, aren’t you?”

The pegasus warily eyed the once dragon whose allegiance never lay fully to the ponykind nor against it.

“There’s always a place for you by her side.”

“I grew out of the role of Twilight’s number one assistant long ago.” Spike chuckled, but there was no mirth to it. Nor was there a single hint of sorrow. “And we both know she’s as much Twilight as I’m Spike. As you’re Rainbow Dash. Those names don’t mean what they used to anymore.”

Rainbow’s brow furrowed and she raised her hoof to stare at the empty bottle, peering into the eyes of green-tinted reflection.

“Then what do they mean now?”

This time there was a flapping of wings—the frantic sound of inexperience aggravated by urgency. Before long it concluded with a thump louder than it should be and snow exploded from the advance of a pegasus clad in simple armour ploughing towards the conversing ancients.

Emerging from the snowbank he stopped abruptly to take a few deep breaths before stiffly bowing.

“Rainbow Dash. Spike.” He gasped for air again. “Sharp Whistle reporting: Our patrol found an intruder. They have put up resistance to any attempts of contact and demanded to see you both.”

Rainbow’s glance in Spike direction lost any of its triumph as the Whistle added, “We… we have wounded.”

When it reached the dragon’s eyes, there was only steel in hers and it was met with fire.





Eight pairs of eyes followed a dragon and pegasus as they swiftly descended into the shadow of a rock marking the end of the snow-flooded valley. The fear and hope in the patrol’s expressions turned into shame as Rainbow’s stern gaze looked into each face before it found a pony lying in the snow.

Shoving the sniffing and unresponsive mare aside, Rainbow scowled at a familiar sight—a ravaged coat slick with blood.

“A... c-crystal… We tried to a-apprehend...” The mare scrambled back to her wounded comrade. “But… I-it… they…” She cast a terrified glance over her shoulder, peering into the boulder as if she could see the attacker through it. “They explo—”

“I know,” Rainbow softly cut off her semi-delirious muttering.

Shallow breaths escaped the stallion’s throat with whimpers in-between. Amongst the red sheen of his side, the crystal shrapnel glistened gloatingly, steadily delivering the unlucky pony into a state of shock with numerous and tiny, yet extremely painful cuts. The growing puddle on the frozen soil that refused the warm drink spoke of mounting blood loss. The crystal berries strewn around from a discarded saddlebag almost gave the impression of Rainbow’s drills going over the rookie’s head and him stumbling onto a derelict but still armed shell.

If not for the figure waiting patiently in the middle of a small clearing.

A simple cloak hid all but an equine muzzle poking from out the deep hood. The small smile on their lips may have once been welcoming, but the stricken down stallion turned it into a menacing grin.

“You!” Rainbow’s hoof shot at one of the pegasi, a shivering mare, “Northward, eleven o’clock, intercept Sharp Whistle. Tell him to alert the fort’s defences while you bring a medical team here.” Then she turned to the duo of pale stallions huddling the spears. “Make stretchers from your weapons and carry the wounded to meet the medics on their way here.”

Wasting no time to see if her orders were being followed, she marched around the cover but a movement out of the corner of her eye made her stop. Whilst two more ponies along with the crying mare were taking care of the wounded, the remaining group of three approached Rainbow.

They all bore stoic expressions, yet worn out guns trembled in their hold, still with the safeties engaged. Rainbow knew none of their names, nor did she recognize those terrified, wide-eyed faces. Her invocation to them wasn’t an order, but a kindly warning:

“Join the convoy.”

One of them, a pegasus mare, hesitated, then backed away with her ears pressed to her skull. Two unicorns, however, stayed, quivering like leaves in the wind.

Rainbow stared at them for a heartbeat then left for the mysterious stranger.

Though the pegasus wasn’t followed, she found Spike by her side. They exchanged a dark look full of unspoken questions and answers they didn’t want to say aloud.

The intruder was still as a stone as they were approached. Their tattered cloak continued to dutifully hide their identity, though not for long. When Rainbow and Spike stopped at a barely safe distance from the attacker, the statue came to life.

The hood fell, revealing a mare, her coat glimmering and her curious eyes with angular irises jumped betwixt the dragon and the pegasus.

“The Crystal Empire wants to negotiate with you, Rainbow Dash and Spike,” the crystal pony spoke in a chiming voice. “Find us in the ruins of Vanhoover.”

 As soon as she finished, her hooves produced a massive gem from the folds of her cloak. As it flared up, the air around her rippled and she vanished.
> Interlude // Black Star
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



==============================

Written by: Oneimare

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant

==============================


Interlude – Black Star


==============================


Dust danced around the pegasus’ hooves as she trotted along the street. She followed a familiar path, yet at times her trot slowed down; the numerous obstacles weren’t to blame for that. Overcoming her reluctance she would speed up only for her steps to falter again.

Unlike her, other rare visitors of that desolate place wandered aimlessly, barely acknowledging her presence with anything more than unseeing glances of haunted eyes. Yet they shared her cause of being there—longing for solitude.

Climbing over stones peppered with lichen, the pegasus emerged into a clearing—the uncannily level patch of ground in the heart of ruins. Stumbling, she trotted into the middle of the perfect circle ringed with debris.

A shuddered breath filled her lungs with crisp and clear air. Its smell—like a vicious wound in the world’s tapestry—tingled her nose with spicy ozone. Before her nostrils could twitch and violate the silent tomb of the abandoned city district, she listened intently.

A shrill and desperate cry for help reached her hearing, but the mare didn’t move a limb.

The Sun peeked sympathetically from behind its fluffy cotton curtain and set the wet trails on her cheeks ablaze with its warm hug. The salty water dripped onto freshly cut stems and then upon the glassed sand.

Ever so gently Clandestine Delight put the flowers down before her jaws could set and snap the tender blooms.

The queen’s tribute brought an explosion of colour to the bleached surface, even more so against the only disturbance of that improvised square.

Her shaking hoof removed the withered flowers. Her feathers brushed the modest cut stone, barely touching it, so as not to smudge the star painted with soot.

Delight kept staring at the dark symbol until she heard the filly wail again.

Her knees buckled under her and she crumbled into a heap, weeping.



Skidding on dirt, a body slammed into a wall. A shaggy head peeked around a crumbled corner, peering intently into the lifeless street. In betwixt ragged breaths, dry lips uttered:

“Nothing.”

Others, putting swiftness over comfort just like her, roughly arrived at the shadow of someone’s dwelling, panting heavily. A stallion, nearly rattling with prosthetics, wheezed out of his artificial throat, “Then take another look—nothing doesn’t raze buildings like they are made of cards.”

The dishevelled mane poked from behind the cover again.

A road paved by innumerable hoofprints winded betwixt huddling squat stone homes, forming a street seemingly by accident, rather than intent—one of the first in Hope. Once teeming with residents, it now sported only a few, lying muzzles down in the rubble of the ravaged dwellings. Those who didn’t have dark blood glistening under their still forms bore burns; though barely any flames played amongst debris—on some rime even chirred.

The mare’s ears swivelled and twitched, trying to pick up something in the keening blaring of sirens, but only the distant wails of pain and desperate calls for lost relatives or friends reached the crooked alley.

“Nothing,” she repeated despondently.

The metal-ridden stallion shoved her aside to glower at the utter desolation himself, his scarred muzzle scrunching into a grim frown. A unicorn joined him, her gun scanning the street along with her wide eyes as she muttered under her breath, “What the fuck is that thing?”

Amongst those who were too busy catching their breath to join the trio a set of headphones hanging from a chitinous neck came to life, spewing words almost drowned out by the rustle of static. The changeling’s hoof pressed the earpiece to her skull and even before it fell silent, she was already on the move.

The same hoof tugged on a uniform, barely fitting bulging augmentations under its black fabric.

“Commissioner?”

The police officer sharply turned and it took everything from the changeling to not flinch under his glare.

“Do you really have to bug me right now?”

She pursed her lips, yet spoke in a neutral tone, “Marmor’s squad just sent a message—Red Wire’s joined the operation.”

“It is about time.”

The commissioner’s calculating gaze turned to the city’s landscape.

One of the officers, a grizzly pegasus, grumbled, “How’s that bratty teenager going to help us?”

“She knows more than you ever will, featherbrain,” the commissioner half-absently shot at him and then raised his voice. “Everyone, and that includes changelings—form pairs and spread out while we head to their location. No fucking heroics. Even if you bring me three goat heads I’ll have your badge on my table by the end of this.”

Though the Praetorian Guard reluctantly followed the order, the group still dispersed quickly, with police officers shadowing the better-equipped changeling soldiers.

The radio operator found the newcomer to the scene hastily joining her. Glancing condescendingly at the weaponless juvenile mare, she readjusted the gear on her back. The bulk of the radio was nothing but ridiculous, deserving its place only in the history of technology, yet despite the obsolescence, the device was nigh indestructible.

Its jingle on changeling’s back was soon joined by the clanking of metal body parts.

The young officer chuckled. “I thought you said ‘pairs’, not ‘trios’, chief.”

“I can count, smartass.” The small smile quickly melted away from the commissioner’s lips, however. “Now, eyes on the street.”

The group darted from one cover to the next, finding only momentary respite in the shadows of singed crates, overturned carts or cracked walls as they quickly crisscrossed the ravaged street with hoofprints on begrudgingly settling dust.

The heavy transmitter not only denied the changeling flight but eventually forced her to fall back behind the officers. Though, she only let out a relieved sigh as they took the mantle of scouts.

The young eyes frantically jumped betwixt every moving object—flapping cloths, swinging signs, spinning wheels. Mismatched eyes, one discoloured by age, the other glowing of magic, studied shadows intently, trying to see beyond their veil.

The traversal of the ruined district had lost its initial tension and as the mare dashed for the remains of a wall, she threw over her shoulder, “Who could have guessed working in the police meant dealing with horrible abominations.”

Regarding her with a pensive expression, the stallion waited for the huffing changeling to catch up.

“You should have joined our club in Canterlot,” he replied with a note of nostalgia slipping into his scratchy voice. “That’s half of what we did back there.”

The conversation came to a halt whilst the trio swiftly relocated themselves into another street through the half-demolished building, passing by a table with bowls full of food and the residents nowhere to be seen.

 The next alley offered no novelty, though the devastation there was only collateral.

“And the other half?”

Emerging into the avenue, the commissioner let his enchanted eye wander over every spot of darkness. His answer was curt, “Fighting what crawled out of the Tunnels.”

“Have you ever seen anything like this?”

“Once...”

The stallion froze, his natural eye going wide.

“Whe—”

A metal hoof shot out, almost slapping the mare as he hissed, “Sh-sh!”

The demanded silence was violated by a soft whoosh of magic.

The officers turned back, their glares becoming looks of confusion as they stared at the changeling with large fluffy bat ears. She met their eyes with a silent “What?”

A heartbeat later all three investigators strained their hearing and when the siren howl winded down, a tiny sound barely cut above the ambience of the district writhing in agony.

A foal crying.

Their lips sealed tight, the officers and the changeling advanced on light steps, waving their hooves to each other to correct the course as they kept picking up sniffs and sobs when the moans of alarm winded down for a heartbeat.

Finally, they gathered around the nook betwixt the low buildings, a deep shade that offered refuge to a softly weeping child. The looks they exchanged were brief—rescuing survivors was as much their mission as anything else.

Cautiously, the officers entered the narrow space—it could barely fit them, forcing their shoulders to rub every other step. The changeling didn’t even bother to follow, instead standing guard at the corner, casting wary looks at the deserted street.

The obscurity of the alcove offered nothing but disturbed dust, yet the darkness shifted and let out a shuddering breath.

“Help—”

The strangled cry was cut by a shriek of pain, echoed from the entrance—the borrowed ears were the first to pick up the change in pressure.

The officers couldn’t help but step back as the shadows rippled, thickening into a writhing, rapidly expanding mass. The black tendrils reached for the walls; where they grazed the limestone, it warped, simultaneously melting and shattering. Eardrums popped as the wind rushed into the heart of boiling ink; the air crackled with raw preternatural power as it was sucked into a yawning void.

The commissioner’s hooves dug into his paralysed colleague’s shoulders, trying to yank the mare out of the deathtrap the alley became. Suddenly his grasp was thrown away by a pair of burning limbs. Blazing eyes bore into the stallion’s and a mouth full of sharp teeth screeched at him:

“Run!”

When he didn’t comply immediately, the fire-wreathed figure all but hurdled him past the shell-shocked changeling, leaving the sprawled on the ground commissioner to witness them facing the coiling black mist. A deafening roar summoned a raging inferno that smeared the shadows on the walls, except for the impenetrable murk in the middle of the alley.

The darkness and what hid within it recoiled and then fled.

Stunned by the display and rough landing, the stallion noticed hooves helping him up only as his artificial eye met the golden prosthetic of a young mare at his side.



A crimson-stained cloth hung from a limp metal hoof—the prosthetic limb of an ageing stallion in a dirty uniform. He lethargically wiped a gash on his forehead where his skin split from his impact with rubble. Neither the stinging pain nor bleeding bothered the commissioner as he only did it to prevent blood from obscuring his vision. Though there wasn’t much sense in that—his hollow eyes stared at the ground, unblinking.

A set of hooves invaded the officer’s vision, casting a shadow onto his hunched form.

The stallion’s haunted gaze didn’t flinch, but his natural eye slowly blinked before a shallow sigh left his lips.

The spell was gone from the commissioner’s expression when he raised his seamy muzzle to regard the mare bereft of her uniform; only a badge attached to a braid in her puffy mane betrayed her allegiance with the police.

“Sorry about... that,” she uttered, avoiding his gaze.

Her hoof unclasped the copper insignia and held it out, but the shaking limb was pushed back. The commissioner shook his head, then laughed, though his eyes lacked any mirth; the mare snapped her head in confusion at the rough sound.

“You did great with that Nirik form. What’s your name, again, kid?”

“Vernal Gust.”

That elicited another half-hearted chuckle from the smirking officer and then a comment, “Sounds like something a pegasus would come up with.”

A pair of golden eyes glared at the stallion twice her size.

“Is there something wrong with that?”

His lips tried to form a devious grin but faltered. Then the commissioner’s eyes went wide as he stared past Vernal’s head.

“Damn, even the Big Bug Momma came to the party.”

The Kirin followed his gaze to be met with a rare sight—Queen Heterocera in her true form. Marvelling at the towering changeling, she mumbled, “Maybe the thestrals will help us this time.”

“As soon as they start praising the Sun.” The commissioner scowled and grumbled bitterly, “And then the Machine Goddess would show up as well.”

A swirl of arcanium dust and a subtle flash of magic served as a warning rather than a spectacle when a group of three metal alicorns materialized from the thin air, at a somewhat considerable distance from the gathered soldiers and police officers.

Though he wasn’t alone in this, the stallion gaped at the unexpected allies until he finally came up with the best way to describe the situation:

“Fuck me.”

It was Vernal’s turn to snicker.

“With all my respect, Chief…”



There was no movement from Machine Goddess or her Harbingers—they might as well have been statues. Yet their eyes somehow simultaneously followed anyone present with an intense gaze. Out of many on the half-destroyed street, only two faces met the arcanium masks with something other than sheer surprise or clear discomfort.

Clandestine Delight had wariness and relief fighting each other until her muzzle settled on cautious hope and she nodded to the identical trio, her voice neutral, “Machine, I’m glad you’re here.”

A young mare by her side scowled.

The awkward silence continued to hold reign over the gathering and it was the changeling queen who had to break it, clearing her throat.

“Alright. Maestues and Lamina can be filled in on the details later.” Delight turned to one of her praetors. “What have we got, Marmor?”

The burly changeling paid a final unsure glance to the unnaturally still arcanium figures, straightened himself and began his report, “The target is capable of quickly relocating itself and delivering tremendous damage in wide areas, while remaining invincible to anything we have. Before our air surveillance was cut out—”

Delight frowned and stopped him, raising her hoof.

“What do you mean ‘cut out’?’”

Marmor shifted uneasily, momentarily peering with squinted eyes into the smoke and dust lazily billowing above the district.

“It exhibits a high magic ability.” Worry settled on his queen’s muzzle, deepening with each word. “Concealing itself in the shadows and then vanishing, laying out traps… We had to leave the airspace.”

She continued to stare into his grim face with an unsaid question on her lips, but the stark soldier refused to give her a distraction, to let her know the numbers. Clenching her jaw, Delight turned to her aide.

“Wire?”

The young mare’s eyes had already been twitching since Marmor started feeding her raw data, reflecting her mind comparing it with her knowledge. By the time she was addressed, her thought process subdued, its distressing result clear on her face.

She reluctantly shared it, “The goats have stepped up their war by an order of magnitude—this time we might be dealing with a full-blown warlock.”

“I thought your ‘magic’ eye could see as much as mine,” the comment came from the only calm officer amongst the anxiously fidgeting group of his dismayed colleagues.

“Commissioner Grim Mastic.” Red Wire bowed her head practically reverently; just as the stallion reservedly mirrored her gesture, she continued, “What was in that darkness?”

“Only a…” He grimaced. “A little pony filly.” Whilst not numerous, the gasps still let the older pony collect himself. “Whatever that is, it keeps her captive and likely uses the poor child to power up itself.”

Manes whipped when heads snapped to the eery chorus stating almost mechanically, “Correct. We are dealing with an external force controlling the filly.”

Delight, one of few undaunted by the uncanny voices, asked with overt hope, “How do we save her?”

The middle of the three alicorns came to life with the slightest of movements—she tilted her muzzle down, her gaze following the direction through half-lidded eyes, before Machine Goddess said, her voice singular and emotionless:

“We don’t.”

Only a few were able to express their abject horror with an almost hysterical, “What!?”

The equinoid sovereign ignored the stares and glares, adding, “The source of that power is her cutie mark.”

Murmurs rustled through the gathered, their crescendo, a bewildered yell, cut above the concerned whispers, “What kind of a fucking cutie mark is that?”

“That’s not an issue right now,” Machine Goddess hastily dismissed the question despite its rhetorical nature and had to slightly raise her voice to be heard over the brewing agitation. ”Her talent connected her to... a place outside of our world. The longer she is left to exist, the greater the strain on Harmony grows. My calculations predict it reaching a critical state in less than an hour, causing—”

Delight’s nervous authority interrupted her and hushed the clamour to a soft susurration.

“I have to stop you right there, Machine.” Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. “Are you suggesting we... murder a child?”

“My calculations—”

“Fuck you and your calculations!” Wire snarled, taking a determined step towards the alicorn.

Whilst none dared to follow her example, the silence grew pregnant with animosity.

A black holed hoof failed to stop the seething unicorn and the queen had to rein in her aide. “Wire,” she called sternly.

Two friends glared at each other until the young mare grudgingly backed off.

“There has to be some other way,” Delight declared, her expression hard.

The alicorns stood mute; everybody else had nothing to offer either. The queen scrunched her face in thought until she reluctantly suggested, “Luna… she might be familiar with that ‘force’, right?”

“Her involvement would result in an irreparable catastrophe. The Unity has run the model thrice to be sure—an elimination is the only solution.”

Delight met the glow of Machine Goddess’s gaze with wide eyes. For a fleeting moment, a hurt expression overcame her features to be replaced by an utter and bitter disappointment.

A gun, shaking in a telekinetic grip, began to rise only for Grim Mastic to swat it down without taking his eyes off the alicorns. The changelings shifted closer to their mother, forming a protective semi-circle.

The changeling queen pressed her lips together, then spoke, the low volume of her voice making it almost bereft of any emotion.

“Machine... May I ask you to go away?”

Long seconds passed and the alicorns hadn’t flinched, not even when more than a single officer pointed their guns at her, soon to be joined by the hesitant Praetorian Guard. Those who knew the futility of it had their eyes jumping betwixt the still arcanium forms and ready to spew fire steel, panic settling in them.

“I won’t act until equinoids are threatened.”

The weapons were lowered, but just a bit—everyone waited for the decision of the only one able to match Machine Goddess’s stature, if not power.

“Less than an hour, then.”

“It’s impossible to predict the exact moment in the dynamic development of the events, but at the current rate one hour is the most I can promise you.”

Air rushed into space where the three massive forms had just been. That sound was drowned out by a hiss from the grimacing queen. Grim Mastic approached Delight and she turned away; the commissioner respectfully cast his sombre gaze down until the towering changeling finally faced him, her eyes glistening. They didn’t linger on him for long—she looked around meeting the distraught expressions of about two dozen changelings and an even smaller number of police officers.

Behind them, an explosion tore into the district and they flinched, fearfully glancing over their shoulders. The defenders of the city swiftly recovered, bolstering themselves, but there was no hope in their eyes.

“What big guns can we bring in?” Delight practically pleaded. “Rainbow Dash?” The praetors perked up at the mention of the all too familiar name. “Lulamoon’s group? The Former Ones?”

Another unnatural warping sound drew all attention to it, a cloud of dust rising from the heart of the disaster area. An assembly of bloodcurdling howls cried in the distance and was abruptly cut.

“They’re too far to be here before the city is nothing but ruins and we got no means to contact them anyway,” a new voice joined the conversation, a deep rumble interspersed with static.

Guns clinked when the barrels frantically sought its source but were instantly put down as they found a heavy armour suit stomping into the alley.

Undisturbed, Soarin continued, “Pretty much the same applies to the rest—we have no time to search them out.”

Delight nodded to him, a grateful smile on her lips.

“Stalliongrad?” She turned to her radio operator, then to her aide and to the grim commissioner. “Anyone?”

Her face fell when all she received was a slow shaking of heads bearing despondent expressions.



It took Vernal Gust all the charisma she had to convince a changeling soldier to lend her a spare kevlar vest and now he was giving her funny looks as she struggled with its clasps, trying to prevent the oversized piece of armour from sliding off her. The bored amusement was gone from his face the instant the Kirin exploded into a blue bonfire.

To add insult to injury, a voice from his side launched the changeling into the air, where he hovered, buzzing angrily and glaring at Grim Mastic.

“Impressive. But, you are staying, kid.”

“No,” the Nirik growled.

The commissioner came so close to Vernal, the purple tips of the flames coating her charcoal form almost licked the metal of his prosthetics. Calm as ever, he said, “That’s an order.”

The inferno subdued until a dishevelled mare stood before the chief of Hope’s police, the borrowed vest smoking badly, but in one piece. The fire wasn’t gone from her eyes, however.

“I don’t care.”

“What about her?”

Vernal’s determination faltered momentarily and she broke eye contact. Yet a heartbeat later, she met Grim’s stare again, stalwart and uttering, “We came through Tartarus to find a new home and we won’t see it burn.”

As the old and young officers glowered at each other, the commissioner’s expression remained hard and grim. Then it softened, his frown dissolving into melancholy with a hint of understanding glinting through.

“This place needs people like you, I really hope you make it out alive.”

He turned to leave the Kirin alone with the confused changeling and uncooperative vest that had already begun to slide off her narrow frame when she called after him:

“To hope is all we can do in this city.”

Grim Mastic gave her a long look over his metal-infused shoulder before he left.



Hurried steps carried Clandestine Delight and Red Wire through the fresh ruins, both mares glancing around warily—even with a whole squad shadowing them, it was impossible to shake off the grip of fear sowed by the warnings of the mechanical deity.

Those words kept replaying in the queen’s mind, until she murmured, almost as if wishing to be unheard, “I can’t believe Machine would suggest such a thing.”

Yet Wire readily and bitterly commented from her side, “You should stop calling her that name, she isn’t the same mare we once travelled with. I don’t think she has anything equine left in her.”

Delight continued to trot, her lips set stubbornly, earning a glare from the unicorn as she hesitated to respond.

“The weight of responsibility on our shoulders is heavier than we could have ever imagined,” she finally said in a level voice.

Her aide hadn’t taken as much time to venomously retort, “Yet none of us solves problems by murdering ponies.”

“I spoke with her about that death—it was an accident.”

“I know.”

Wire got an astonished look from the changeling queen. The surprise ceded to confusion and then anger.

“Then why?”

“The Machine Goddess took my friend from me.”

Delight opened her mouth but no words came out. She glanced at an empty space betwixt her and Wire, where a young mare could have been trotting along; sometimes the changeling imagined the jokes Flower could have made out of her new ‘station’ or holey hooves.

“Maybe she has changed too much, indeed.”

The unicorn grumbled with a grimace and heavy sigh, “I can put that aside. But I worry if she is our ally anymore.”

“That’s what I am wondering about myself.” Delight shook her head with a sigh of her own. “Distant she might have become, she helped us before—we’d never have made it this far without her help...”

“She could have helped us more. What about that one ti—”

“What if she is right about that child?”

Wire practically skidded, stopping dead, but the changeling also turned away.

“Del.” Wire circled the queen, but she still managed to avoid eye contact. “Del, look at me, damn it!”

Two wells of fear and despair met determination cast in gold.

“It’s not about her calculations being correct. If that filly dies today, there is no Hope—it’s fucking New Canterlot, you hear me?”



The sound of reality imploding attracted the attention of two equines perched atop a house; half-ruined it still towered above the district with its open roof mostly intact. A series of smaller explosions followed the first sign of destruction and a pillar of smoke timidly reached for the blue sky—Soarin’s weaponry joined the action.

The changeling’s ears snapped to what resembled a cry for help.

“They need me,” she hissed, fidgeting.

Wire followed her gaze with a grim expression—the changelings’ old ally could do only so much; nor was she supposed to deliver any actual damage there.

“They need us to stick to the plan.”

Delight shot her a glare, but it went ignored. Then she leapt to her hooves, spreading her gossamer wings.

“I’m the queen, you can’t stop me.”

The unicorn finally met the mother’s scorn, her jaws clenched.

“No, I can’t. But you know what the right thing to do is.”

“‘The right thing’? My children are dying out there!”

A story below them a radio screeched with barely intelligible static; the mare clutching it relayed the message, “The filly is fleeing in our direction!”

The rubble came to life as soldiers and officers moved to block any exit from the street echoing faintly with the patter of little hooves and scared sobs. Shooting an inscrutable look at Wire, the changeling dove for cover in the middle of the street, green flame engulfing her; the unicorn joined her a second later, shimmering with a spell as it slowly floated her down.

Hidden by the house’s remains, the two of them watched the empty road.

The filly burst out a shadow; it trailed her like webs stuck to her tail and flanks, partially because her cutie mark emanated the inky wisps starkly standing against her alabaster coat and mane. She stumbled and fell as her little hooves struggled with the gravel dissipating into dust in her wake. Her wide crimson eyes rimmed with wet fur and more red frantically scanned the alley for potential paths of escape.

Before she could rush into her rescuers, knowing they were filled with dread, Delight carefully stepped from her cover, her pegasus form smiling amiably.

“Hello, little one, it’s alright—”

Noticing her, the filly screamed at the top of her lungs, “Help me!”

Yet, as she rushed to Delight’s outspread hooves, darkness uncoiled from her, the tendrils engorging as the child sniffled and tried to outrun her own shadow, wailing desperately.

The approach of the filly rapidly turned into an advance of a hungry void, for where her warped shadows passed, gaping wounds in the air opened, whistling with a deafening change of pressure and twinkling with cold lights in the swirling dark. The physical matter around her gave up, abandoning the laws of physics as it started to disintegrate.

Delight’s welcoming hooves faltered and she took a step back, glancing, unsure, at Wire—the unicorn was yelling, but the words were lost in the keening roar. Then her eyes met with those of the filly—forlorn and brimming with a desperate need for help, tears streaming down to lips twisted in pain.

She grit her teeth and prepared for the impact.

The wall of darkness slammed into a golden shield, instantly shattering it.

The magic explosion knocked the changeling queen back, who barely managed to recover in the air before the ground greeted her. She had no time to fully regain her senses, still—the tidal wave of shadows crashed into the ruins she used as a cover with a resounding detonation.

Chunks of stone as big as a pony head started a chain reaction of rendering the rest of the street into rubble; chaos ensued, generously aided by condensed black fog lashing in every direction as the filly in its heart lost her target.

With flares of magic and green changeling fire, the plan of staying low whilst the changeling queen tried to placate the suffering child was abandoned—everyone just tried to survive the onslaught of otherworldly malice.



Blood splattered across an artificial eye and it beamed crimson upon a series of deep gashes.

“Press here, changeling!” the commissioner barked at the confused soldier by his side, fighting back the hooves hitting his muzzle. “Stop flailing, you idiot!”

The mare writhed in his grasp, snarling in betwixt the wails of pain, “Move your hooves away, or I’m turning the street into fucking cinders!”

When Vernal’s threat remained ignored, her coat began to darken and smoke, allowing her to worm out of the limbs gripping her; only one pair, though—Grim Mastic’s prosthetics cared little for the fire, but nor could they hold her as tight.

Finally, he let the Kirin go and she scampered away until a wall supported her back.

“You are wounded.”

“No shit, Sherclop. Just let me die in peace.”

Dripping blood, the commissioner rose to grab a bag with medical supplies and advance onto the whimpering mare, grabbing on the way the wincing changeling rubbing his burns.

“It’s not happening today, Vernal.”

Grim Mastic stood above the panting mare, scowling.

“I thought I made it clear I don’t give a fuck about your orders.” She spat blood at his hooves. “And how many have you seen survive a shrapnel wound like this?”

“Enough to keep trying. Now, stay still,” he said, lowering himself to the knees.

Her eyes flared up and she began to smoke, yet it soon became clear the transformation into a Nirik wasn’t happening, so Vernal just glared daggers at the officer.

The Kirin tried to weakly swat his hooves again and when her failing flash proved itself helpless against the metal, she clutched the collar of his crimson-stained uniform.

“Grim...”

“No.” The commissioner effortlessly knocked her hooves away. “I know what you are going to ask and my answer is no.”

“You will do it when the time comes. You said it yourself—the city needs us.”

“Not at such a pri—”

Vernal took hold of his neckpiece once more, hissing into the stallion’s face, “So you just have us horsing around while the city burns? How do you think this was going to end, huh? Or do you believe heroes die from old age?”

“Let me help, you cretin!” Grim barked, trying to move her limbs away to access the grave injury. “Some do—those who are smart.”

“Yeah? Name one!” The stallion didn’t answer her immediately and she pressed on, “If you don’t do it, she will become a vigilante. So either she is by your side or a thorn in your side. She and I—we are made from the same stuff.”

“You’re made of dumbass, kid. If anything happens to her, I’m resigning—it will be on you what happens after.”

Choking on her blood, Vernal cackled, “I can live with that...”



A warm embrace enveloped Wire, scarred hooves gently stroking her aching back; a soft murmur sneaked into her ringing ears—a lullaby carrying the tale of a filly who could bring to life any miracle she wanted, any of her dreams would come true…

“Mom?”

“Well,” Delight rasped somewhere above her, “I’m a mother to thousands, so what’s one more?” As the young mare shifted, she pressed her back to the ground. “Don’t move.”

Wire let herself bask in the clemency of changeling magic until its hum dispelled the sweet illusion; she blinked the tears from her eyes to witness the harsh world.

The street was an aftermath of carnage—changelings and police officers rushed betwixt those who lay on the ground; many didn’t stir as hooves shook them. Tiny magic discharges cracked as they jumped from stone to stone, adding the sharp smell of ozone to the stifling copper and dust hanging in the air. The leftover tufts of inky fog dissipated, hissing where they came into contact with crushed stone and indifferent flesh.

The filly was nowhere to be seen.

“How long have I been out?”

“No more than five minutes.”

“Shit.” Ignoring Delight’s protests, Wire rose to her hooves with a groan. “There is, what, twenty minutes left now? You shouldn’t have helped me.”

“I’d never leave you.”

Wire glanced back at her, frowning, and hobbled into the middle of the alley.

The changeling queen followed the agitated unicorn, swaying as her bruises and cuts demanded rest. She had to bite her lip to hold back a yelp—her side stung with the haunting familiarity of a burn.

A hiss escaped betwixt her bared fangs as magic spread across the injuries—as much as she needed healing to press on, it was her children’s sustenance.

Stumbling—Delight’s magic knit her wounds but did nothing to the light concussion—the unicorn made her way to a still changeling’s body and picked up the radio. Vapour wafted away from the frost crepitating on the device. Wire’s mouth opened and closed; the sunlight aura dropped the radio.

“I’m useless.” Her entire body sagged. “My magic wasn’t enough—it will never be.”

A shuddering breath came from her side. An emerald glow picked up the radio from where it had fallen, but not before it slid across the chitin, closing the faceted eyes lifelessly staring at the sky.

“Geode, nobody expects you to save the day.”

“Except we’ve just lost because of me. I’m sorry, Del...”

A holed hoof found purchase on Wire’s back.

“You did your best and it was enough—”

“I’m not talking about that.” She sharply turned away, shrugging off the chitinous limb. “I lied to you—there never was any hope to begin with, that fucking machine knows her numbers...”

The queen’s dark form circled the young mare to face her. “And so what? You told me yourself it’s not about her predictions—”

“Del, I just… can’t.” Wire screwed her eyes shut, but the moisture still trailed down her cheek. “No matter how hard I try, nothing gets fixed.”

“Because we have to do this together!”

Delight’s yell attracted a few concerned looks, but she cared only for one pair of eyes that still avoided her.

“Please, don’t leave me alone, Geode,” she whispered. “Not now—I need you.”

Wire let out a tremulous sigh.

“Alright. I’ll try again.”

Delight put her hooves on the unicorn’s slumped shoulders.

“We will.”



Sharp and angry whistles marked the rockets launching from Soarin’s armour; a deafening percussion reported their arrival across the length of the street. The stone crumbling into dust and the dark winds picking up outworldly wails answered the offensive.

Even with hooves pressed to their ears, Delight and Wire winced in pain.

“You are only scaring her!” the changeling queen yelled over the rattle of heavy weaponry.

Empty shells of high-calibre rounds riveted down the massive armour suit, casings rained from the gryphons leaping betwixt the buildings as the transformed changelings pelted the district with lead. Limestone exploded all around the growing storm of darkness, driving it back; the bullets that dug into the boiling shadows melted into the torrents of debris orbiting the black star that had descended upon Hope.

A tearing sound was the only warning the Former One received before the sky above the houses split and a black fog flooded into the alley, melting everything it touched. His massive form rammed a wall, pulverizing the cover of the queen and her aide, peppering them with stinging shrapnel.

As Soarin ruthlessly advanced, he grabbed the two mares and carried them forward, ignoring their indignant yelps. He only stopped when the torrent of acidic mist swept past and settled, eating into the road with a hungry gurgle.

“She’s trying to leave the district”, he boomed above them. “We can’t let her into the rest of the city!”

The turbines of the last Wonderbolt’s suit roared to carry him on the top of the swaying house and his machine gun’s reports cut into the cacophony of obliteration. The radio set on Wire’s back spluttered with frantic reports, sharp demands for backup, agonized curses.

“Del, we have to do something,” she panted.

The headphones shrieked with interference as a set connected to the network died. The unicorn stared at the frozen queen with wide eyes, then stammered, “We’re running out of everything—magic for transformations, ammo… time!”

The green embers still clung to half-formed feathers when a gryphon soared over the rubble on half-unfurled wings; wreathed in verdant flames talons digging into broken stone.

Wire weaved through the labyrinth of masonry remains, trailing the shadow streaking the caved-in roofs until reality cracked and a gash into somewhere else breathed a gust of frozen air. The icy claws caught Delight mid-leap, paralysing her muscles more with shock than actual cold; regardless, she crashed into the demolished room in a flurry of rime.

The panicking unicorn rushed through the splintered door only to find the profusely swearing half-breed untangling herself out of bed sheets; as she freed her wide-spanning wings a low growl replaced her curses—not hers, however.

From the lip of the hole smashed through the building the visor of a wisping frost helmet stared at them, shaking dismayingly.

“We can’t even get close,” Soarin rumbled.

Delight squeezed her eyes shut tightly, hissing. A wildfire of changeling magic overtook her, reverting the gryphon form into the tall figure of black chitin; yet she didn’t open her eyelids for a whilst. Then her gaze finally returned, burning with frustration, the changeling peered through the holes drilled through the wall at some point by shadow tendrils.

She glared at the swelling hurricane of inky winds, squinted at the rips in space, followed the fleeing forms of her children.

The queen was going to need every ounce of love.

“Order a retreat,” she barked. “Wire, cover me.”

Not waiting for answers from her astonished peers, she galloped out, hovering with a buzz of her translucent wings whenever her path was obscured.

“Del, what are you—”

Wire had to cut herself mid-word to have a chance to catch up with Delight; abandoning the heavy radio set, she bolted after her friend.

The black Sun twisted with a pitch protuberance, the massive wave of warping darkness descending upon the street—upon the blindly dashing changeling.

A golden flare burned into it, driving the shadow back; but the mass of murk couldn’t be defeated that easily. Another burst of light struck into it, matching the second layer of magic cracking around Wire’s horn. Smoke crawled out of its grooves when another flash finally dissipated the impenetrable cloud.

The unicorn’s limp body thudded against the ground.

Ablaze with emerald fire Delight crossed the last few lengths dividing her from the rippling wall of shadows. Baring her fangs in a scream of rage and pain, she plunged into the darkness.

It tore at her, burrowing into chitin, singing and freezing her coat, but the halo of changeling magic kept reversing the accumulating injuries with steady pulses from her horn.

Grinding her teeth, she forced herself to overcome the agony of being rendered into nought, to squint through the caustic howling air at the haunching little silhouette in the heart of the otherworldly storm.

Yet as she neared by mere steps from the sobbing filly, another equine emerged from the inky torrents—tall as her and glimmering with perpetually warping metal barely holding together.

“No! I need more time!”

Opposed to the raw yell of her burning throat, the soft voice whispered in her head, “I’m sorry, Delight.”

“No!”

The changeling queen lunged at the distorting arcanium alicorn, but her hooves only grazed the metal as  Goddess almost effortlessly dodged Delight and continued to push through the raging black mist.

Snarling, she pounced again but a gentle shove of magic changed her trajectory.

Undeterred by sailing over the turbines that served the alicorn as wings, Delight swung right around, low on her hooves and ready for another attack.

“Please, don’t force me to do something I’ll regret,” Machine Goddess murmured straight into her mind.

“I already regret letting you turn into this.”

The deity faltered in her advance and a mass of furious chitin slammed into her, knocking Machine Goddess from her hooves.

A broken horn clattered on the shifting dust polishing the scorching stone into glass.

Delight fell by the filly.

Her coat no longer shone with snow-white, her eyes had no spark of colour left. Drained of life, she was but a husk half-devoured by shadows, trembling as the festering darkness spread from where her cutie mark once had been, claiming the child’s body hair by hair.

And from that void something glared at Delight with cold hatred, the malignancy so intense, her changeling nature could barely withstand the onslaught.

A tiny weak hoof found her and the filly pleaded, shuddering, “It hurts…”

Machine Goddess towered over the whimpering filly and crying changeling queen. The violent gale of disintegration left the deity as little more than a skeleton; Delight’s regeneration failed to outpace the hunger devouring her flesh.

“Delight, sometimes, we can’t save everyone.”

“There has to be a way to help her!”

The filly’s unseeing eyes bore into Delight as she clutched the changeling, barely heard above the horrible roar of reality starting to fall apart like never before, she lisped, “Please...”

An arcanium hoof fell on Delight’s shoulder, squeezing it.

“I’m truly sorry.”

Green arcane tendrils found the snapped off horn and raised it above the filly.
> 2.1 Cecity
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



=================================

Written by: Oneimare

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant

=================================


Arc 2 – Lies

Chapter 1 – Cecity


=================================


“Why am I not surprised you’re involved in this?” Wire shoved the speechless Kirin from her way to face the mechanical deity. When she refused to answer, the unicorn all but spat, “Now, get lost.”

Machine Goddess met scorn with a calm, almost mocking gaze.

“This matter holds my personal interest,” she retorted levelly.

“I don’t give a fuck,” Wire snarled. “This investigation is under the Swarm’s jurisdiction—and nobody has invited you!”

The newly-appointed commissioner opened her mouth to correct her, but the features of the arcanium mask shifted almost imperceptibly and at that moment the already dim tunnel got invaded by even more shadows.

“Equinoids got killed.”

Night tugged on Wire’s armour, but she slapped the frantic hoof away, scoffing.

“You can just always put them into new bodies, big deal.”

Emotion slipped into the reverberating voice of the goddess.

“Not this time.”

The unicorn frowned and fell silent; when she spoke, the bitterness partially abated from her words, “We aren’t getting rid of you, are we? But if you suggest anything like the last time, I’m either going to blast you to the Moon or die trying.”

“I’d like to see that.” A slight smile played on Machine Goddess’s lips. “I promise not to give you a reason today.”

“Don’t try to make your refusal to incite fillicide sound like an achievement.”

“The situation is different this time.”

She pivoted, confidently heading to the intersection leading from the dead-end. After a few steps, the deity stopped to tilt her head in invitation.

With a grimace and heavy sigh, Wire motioned for the pale Kirin to follow, as she trotted after the artificial alicorn; grumbling, “Care to share any details?”

“In time.”

Wire couldn’t help but groan loudly.



The hope that Hope would one day outgrow its low limestone dwellings resulted in the vast tunnel system being created underneath to support that dream in advance. That, and the rock had to come from somewhere—the quarry that housed Stalliongrad’s basalt foundation could only provide so much building material.

However, the city had utterly failed to develop in any direction but width. As such, the underground network continued to sprawl offering more than enough ground for the strange trio to cover, even though it had but a single level.

“Miss Wire,” Night Wind eventually dared to speak, almost inaudibly, “maybe you shouldn’t taunt the Machine Goddess?”

Yet the fuming unicorn didn’t share her inclination to keep their voices down.

“What’s with that sudden bullshit? Drop the ‘Miss’, Night. Or are you afraid of her?” She rolled her eyes and said purposely louder, “You can kick her stupid metal ass if you want—the moment she attacks the police chief of Heterocera’s aide, the Citadel is done for.”

“But she is a goddess!” Night hissed, fearfully glancing at the entity in question.

Whilst the alicorn paid no attention to the conversation happening right behind her back, Wire rolled her eyes.

“I’ll give you a ninety per cent chance of that just being one of her Harbingers. And stop whispering—she could hear you from across the world if she wanted.”

A clear, yet nonchalant voice echoed through the tunnel, “Statistically it is only a sixty-four point two per cent chance of encountering one of the Twelve.”

“Shut up, will you?”

The Kirin winced, but upon seeing Machine Goddess shrugging off any of Wire’s mockery, began to relax—as much as it was possible considering the circumstances. She had heard about the enmity betwixt those two—mostly Wire-sided; a knowledge common in Hope but she never imagined it being so vehement.

“You’ve known her since before she ascended, haven’t you?” Night carefully pried both out of curiosity and boredom.

“So what? You could say the same about Heterocera, but I don’t hear you asking about her.”

Obliviously ignoring Wire glaring daggers at her, the Kirin went on rambling, “I just can’t wrap my mind about it—an actual god, greater than a changeling queen and she’s the most impressive equine I’ve ever seen…”

“I’ll make sure to pass that to De… Heterocera.” Wire snorted, then her expression hardened and her glare shifted to the alicorn. “That’s because the Machine Goddess is no equine—it’s in her name.”

The deity chimed into the conversation despite being out of earshot, “Strictly speaking, the Kirin are more dragons than horses, and nor are the changelings less than half insect. But I get your point, Wire, and you aren’t entirely wrong.”

“So, you admit to being a heartless machine?”

The Goddess laughed—a melodious sound clashing with the dusty ugliness of the crude warrens chiselled from the unwelcoming soil of the Badlands.

“Machine? That is in my name for a reason, indeed.” She stopped and turned to smile at her ‘mortal’ companions. “Heartless? Hardly.”

As soon as the queen’s aide came alongside her, she snapped, “Then would you bother to tell me why you didn’t warn us about Oracle? I’m sure you made your calculations.”

The arcanium equine resumed her unhurried long-legged gait, trotting by Wire glaring at her and eventually dignified the unicorn with a reply, “Her leave was inevitable, nor was her presence as favourable as you think.”

“In one fell swoop, she left Hope with a fifth of its population. Even the Swarm is threatened now.”

“Isn’t she just a sham?” Night piped in.

To the Kirin’s horror, Machine Goddess gave her a long inscrutable look. However, her tone was only amiable when she replied, “Oracle certainly isn’t what everyone thinks she is. However, that filly is shrewd enough to use her ability in the most resourceful manner.”

“You just couldn’t stand the competition.”

A rare sound came from the alicorn—a deep sigh.

“If her ego hadn’t matched her wit, she would have been a great asset. Her approach differs greatly from our mathematical models—she compliments the Unity, not rivals.”

Wire fell silent for a heartbeat, then her eyes grew wide and she hissed, “You’ve spoken with her.”

The subtlest of smiles graced the metal muzzle.

“Maybe I have.”

“You know something!”

That grin grew and the Goddess’s voice gained an almost teasing quality.

“Maybe I do.”

“Stop playing games,” the unicorn practically growled, “we’re already neck-deep in sh—” Her head whipped to an adjacent passageway, her artificial eye flashing. “I saw something.”

The trio abruptly stopped, tensely peering into the shadows.

“There is nothing,” the alicorn commented; yet her voice bore a certain wariness.

To Wire’s discontent, her colourless magic picked up the arcane lantern and it flared with its revealing glare again. A beam of pale light cut through the inconspicuous darkness, yanking leaking pipes out of black, setting the motes of dust on fire. But the spotlight showed no magic traces, save for stale signs of welding or other repairs done weeks ago.

Then it caught a vaguely equine-shaped outline, crouched low.

With a tearing sound, the silhouette lost any resemblance to a pony, bloating to extend itself to Machine Goddess as a whirlwind of shimmering silver particles. A crushing blow snapped her arcanium neck like a twig, crumpled the magic metal as if it was tin, and effortlessly ragdolled her massive form into the limestone.

By the time the lantern exploded into shards from the careless landing, a barrage of spells was already flying at the source of the eldritch wave.

Wire formed faintly wisping spears of incandescent gold and flung them at the pony, regaining its form coated in the glimmering halo. The sunlight lances warped around the maelstrom of twisting force and metal, fizzling against the stone. A protrusion of the same preternatural power reached for the unicorn in retaliation, but she had already retreated to the cover of intertwined pipes, joining the Kirin who had only one spell going—night vision.

“When I spoke about not being prepared, I didn’t actually mean that,” Wire spat, gasping for breath. “Any ideas, since you were so eager?”

Night shivered in her horseshoes, yet she replied unwaveringly, “I have one.”

Bolstering herself she stepped out of their hiding place, followed by a wide-eyed gaze, only to witness the arcanium body of the Goddess rise from the ground, despite tremendous damage done to it, and charge through the darkness at the quivering silhouette, almost solidified into a pony.

Sending sparks in its wake the metal bulk rushed through the cramped tunnel only to completely miss the mysterious attacker. Without missing a beat, the alicorn swerved and threw itself at them again. The pony-shaped apparition easily dodged the lunge and answered by becoming a wave of physical force again, slamming Machine Goddess into the wall so hard, limestone shrapnel whistled like bullets, sonorously pinging from the pipes.

With a whoosh and a painful change of pressure, the air around the boiling silvery mirage ignited, wrapping the amalgam of energy and shattered metal into coiling tongues of blinding flame—another of Wire’s spells. At the same time, half of the alicorn’s body splintered and thin threads of arcanium crisscrossed the narrow corridor whilst the skeletal remains rose, the semi-disassembled head swivelling around.

Wreathed in searing fire and dripping incandescent metal on the floor, the pony tore through the inferno and the net set by the deity. Arcanium slivers swished and one of them pierced the veil of silver energy sheets, momentarily revealing the equine inside, a glistening fabric hiding their entire body.

However, the next moment they disappeared behind a corner and none dared to try their luck chasing them.



Keeping her candlelight spell powerful enough to banish shadows from the entire section of the tunnel, Night watched, enchanted by how Machine Goddess knitted her body back. Wire sat by her side, chugging a magic-restoring tonic and clutching her head with the other hoof.

Finally, the last chipped off piece of arcanium floated from the dust to land on the alicorn’s head and finish her mask bearing a deeply concerned expression.

“I think, ‘in time’ has come, don’t you?” Wire wryly croaked, crumpling the aluminium can in her hoof.

“You are unexpectedly forward in admitting your ignorance.”

“While I’m glad to see something render you useless instead of harmful, I’d prefer it to happen when I’m not fighting alongside you.” The unicorn bristled and her hoof pointed to the ominous darkness of the underground. “What was that?”

The Goddess stared in that direction for a long time and then uttered, confused:

“I don’t know.”

Night gasped, but Wire’s glare only intensified and she venomously quipped, “An entity that can see beyond this world, read minds and basically do anything she wishes doesn’t know something.”

“I can’t sense that pony by any means, can’t even see or directly affect them—they might as well not exist for me.”

“Bullshit!” Wire’s accusing hoof jabbed the arcanium chest. “You led us to it!”

“The Unity analysed every murder and was able to roughly predict where the next one would happen. That’s all I have.”

With her hoof still at the wide chest, the mare continued to glower at the alicorn, opening and closing her mouth, but nothing came out of it. The deity carefully moved the limb away and slid past Wire to the cooled down metal droplets stuck in the dirt.

Her magic levitated one of them to the unicorn; even dull, it still had the trademark iridescence.

“Deaf arcanium.” Wire twirled the metal fragment in her hooves; then her glare returned. “Shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

The omnipotent being looked distinctly lost—a somewhat disturbing sight.

“No, it shouldn’t.”

They both snapped their heads to Night when she quietly commented, “One of their devices must be interacting with it somehow.”

She momentarily faltered under the Goddess’s intense gaze before continuing, “I caught a glimpse of them—that pony had a lot of contraptions on their suit—it looked like industrial-grade protection; I’ve seen those before, at the Edge.”

Wire squinted at the Kirin mare, but addressed Machine Goddess instead:

“Another cutie mark?”

Night fearfully offered her theory, “An assassin?”

The alicorn slowly shook her head, though her expression remained dark. “Why also target organic life and prompt an investigation? And it’s not a cutie mark that grants them insight on how to deal with me—certain forces of a higher order are involved in this.”

All three exchanged worried glances with a sombre silence settling upon them.

“What do we do now?” Night broke the spell.

“We can’t let them inform whoever is interested in their success.”

“And how are we supposed to stop that pony?” Wire scoffed. “You’re as good as blind.”

The Goddess smirked, even though that smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“I have you.”



A swarm of arcanium specks followed the trio of investigators cautiously traversing the underground. Tiniest motes came and went, flooding every tunnel with probes, barely distinguishable from regular dust, controlled by the Unity with power lent by their Holy Mother.

Wire trotted ahead, using her prosthetic to see through the darkness, whilst a fidgeting Night kept the alicorn company, rendered almost skeletal as her arcanium flesh scoured the passageways.

Ultimately, her curiosity overcame reverence.

“Those forces you mentioned…” she gingerly began and glanced at the Goddess; a tilted head met her, prompting to go on, “Who could they be?”

No reply followed that question for a full minute which almost convinced the Kirin that she had misinterpreted the gesture and was now on Machine Goddess’s blacklist. Yet the alicorn answered in the end, “Someone who possesses private knowledge of the gods’ nature and is willing to share it.”

“The Former Ones?” Night squinted at her thoughtfully, then hissed, “Have we got a rat?”

“No. It could only be other gods.”

The mare practically jumped at that, frantically looking around, but her rising panic was abruptly culled by a chuckle from Machine Goddess.

“Fear not. We can’t directly confront each other.”

“Most likely the Goat Gods.” Wire joined their conversation. “They are pissed off at us and know there is a limit to what they can do until you intervene.”

The Goddess suddenly snapped her head to the wall as though she could peer through it.

“We’ve located them.”

Night turned into a spinning top once more and even Wire couldn’t keep herself still.

“Where?” she asked, nervously glancing around.

The arcanium particles condensed into a shimmering cloudy tendril, disappearing into the darkness of the ducts.

“A sewage collector three intersections to the East.”

The rest of the arcane dust formed a simple outline of the nearest tunnels, a pulsing dot marking the wide room where numerous corridors converged. The map rotated in the air gaining one more dimension and revealing the chamber also being deep, taking up two floors.

“It’s an ambush,” Night muttered after studying the schematic for a few moments.

“We aren’t getting anything else,” Wire grimly barked; then turned to the Goddess, her waving hoof pointing at the half a dozen exits. “Can you cut them off?”

The alicorn shook her head. “Only when we set off the trap, and it’ll work both ways.”

“We need a plan,” Night spoke again.

“There might be no time for this—I ran all the data by the Unity again and it suggested the culprit is capable of long-distance teleportation.”

The Kirin’s expression fell and she uttered despondently, “So we just charge blindly into the trap and hope for the best?”

To the Goddess’s chagrin, Wire sent a gust of magic wind, scattering the map.

“Fits the city, doesn’t it?”



Three mares crouched by a doorway.

No sound betrayed a pony laying for them inside—unsurprisingly. Only the soft taps of leaking pipes reached from the vast space flooded with shadows and tense silence.

The passageway that led them to the trap offered the same refuge to the darkness as none of them dared to ignite their horns; only the soft gleam of Wire’s prosthetic reflecting on the arcanium and Night’s eyes defied the black domain.

The investigators hesitated, even though acutely aware of the clock ticking.

Tongues of blue flame blossomed in the void, snaking across and around the lithe body. Night’s manedo became undone, becoming fire, and her eyes flared up, deathly white with boiling fury.

“We won’t see it burn,” she whispered.

Then the Nirik burst into the sewer collector, a roar both of her conflagration and throat reverberating through its emptiness.

A cacophony of rending metal instantly answered her battle cry as a wave of eldritch magic and a storm of arcanium rushed to meet her. Yet the blazing mare had already bound off to a catwalk, sending the rickety grid rattling. The horrendous force hammered the girders, snapping and twisting them like dry branches, but it only found molten hoofprints—Night kept leaping, a comet of purple soaring across the room.

The magic that knew little limits forced tonnes of stone to surge from the floor at any escape route. The horrendous sound of enormous lime rock slabs thundering against the ceiling caught the raging maelstrom off guard and in that moment Wire hurled a fireball at it.

The whirlwind greedily devoured the spell, the torrents of arcanium glowing as the heat dissipated into them, but refusing to liquefy. The pony-shaped figure lost its form and lunged at the unicorn skidding on the slippery floor, but before the wave of death could descend on Wire, a barrage of debris—chunks of stone and warped rebar—intercepted it, buying the mare some time.

The mysterious pony shrugged off the rubble and decapitated the arcanium alicorn with a single lash, tearing into the rest of the body and ripping it into two halves. That display of tremendous power concluded in Night strafing by the re-coalescing equine, submerging them in the inferno coiling around her.

The Nirik cried in agony as incandescent arcanium pelted her, no longer controlled by the murderer, but still keeping the inertia. Caught off-guard, she stumbled—right into the wall. Glowing eyes widened in fear as the swirling metal and magic started to rapidly lose the equine form.

A tsunami of fire slammed into them, engulfing everything in the ardent undoing.

In a thunderous explosion the stone melted into slag; pipes trickled onto the floor, boiling; water hissed angrily as it billowed to the ceiling.

Night broke through the chaos of desolation, a pony in a smoking suit grasped by her hooves.

She tussled with the equine on the singed floor; coals scrunched as they rolled, throwing punches at one another. Whilst the commissioner possessed little threat as a brawler, the wrath-fueled Nirik-form gave her enough advantage to overpower her opponent and she wrapped her hooves around the massive gas mask.

Neither the insulated fabric nor the anguished lament of the ravaged collector room could muffle the sharp crack of broken vertebrae.

Night fell beside the still body and immediately began to crawl from the blast zone—the anger began to abate and her Kirin body would offer no protection from the sheer heat still lingering there. Still, when she reached Wire, burns marked her coat, where the unicorn’s spell had even chewed through the kevlar uniform and her fire-resistant nature.

Though Wire had managed to stay out of the lethal area, she’d paid the toll nonetheless. Her horn smoked badly, emanating the choking smell of burnt bone; she lay muzzle down in a puddle of blood trickling from her nose, eyes and ears. Either the spell itself or the searing breath of the inferno she’d birthed had singed the hairs of her muzzle.

As the Kirin slumped by her, breathing heavily and clutching wounds, Wire regained consciousness; coughing she rose to her hooves—after a couple of failed attempts.

Grimacing and clutching her head, she groaned, “Not gonna lie—I’m impressed.”

“Thanks,” Night rasped.

“I meant myself.”

The Kirin rolled her eyes.

“You could’ve killed me with that, you know.”

“Not sure how I survived.” Wire spat out a clot of blood. “And you signed up for it yourself.”

Both mares watched rivulets of arcanium run amidst the smouldering remains of the chamber’s section, forming into an alicorn. Even before Machine Goddess rebuilt herself, she strode towards them, her magic digging into the corpse on her way.

Incredulously, the suit had barely sustained any significant damage, yet it couldn’t withstand the precise cut of an arcanium scalpel.

Night and Wire recoiled as a stallion, reeking of burnt flesh, slipped out of the thick folds.

Whilst the stallion had little unusual about himself—a fellow unicorn with a shaved off mane, his suit inscribed with runes got the immediate attention of the Goddess. She scrutinised the elaborate setup of devices taking up half of the bloated gas mask; the backpack had even more gadgets of an arcane nature to uncover.

Yet not a minute passed as she commented, “Those are not of Equestrian designs, just as I predicted. But it was made in Equestria.”

With Wire barely able to hold herself from passing out, Night spoke for both of them, “How’s that possible? You said it’s not the work of the traitors.”

The alicorn’s magic tore something from one of the complex metal components. The object floated to the Kirin and she gaped at the stamp of painfully familiar design.

“But Canterlot is frozen!” she managed to stammer only on the third try.

“The Windigos wouldn’t linger over nothing or, rather, over something that has less strife than Hope.”

Leaning on Night’s shoulder for support, Wire blustered at the Goddess, crimson spraying from her lips, “And you’re telling us this only now!?”

An expressionless mask met her bloodshot glare.

“Forget it, Del must hear about this immediately.”

The unicorn tried to hobble away, but an invisible force stopped her, also preventing her from falling.

“Don’t hurry, by the time your paths cross again, it’ll be the least of her worries.”
> 2.2 Promise
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



=================================

Written by: Oneimare

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant

=================================


Arc 2 – Lies

Chapter 2 – Promise


=================================


Whilst Discord annoyed their captors, leisurely following them by the trodden paths in the snow, prompting guns to poke his backside, Ash kept observing both the unwelcome company and unwelcoming surroundings, looking for opportunities and shooting the gryphon impatient glances—which he ignored.

 The burly mares and stallions let their well-maintained weaponry speak for itself and other than that showed no more aggression than what could be expected from those who had outlasted the end of the world. Glaring sullenly ahead, but constantly swivelling their ears, the grim equines marched silently and unrelentingly; much to Ash’s displeasure—tired and hungry, she only could thank her long legs for being able to keep up with their pace.

The beaten road wound to the heart of the city, where the blizzard raged less violently and which Ash always avoided, as the brutality of the battle for survival overcompensated that clemency. Not that the scenery looked any different because of it; though eventually, the ruins became less dilapidated—some had been restored into shelters from the elements, albeit still of exceedingly miserable quality. 

Discord and Ash found themselves at the entrance to one such building, no different from the depot they’d failed to storm.

Opposite to the desolate and snow-blighted streets, the warehouse bustled with activity—ponies of all kinds shuttled around, laden with boxes and bundles. Amidst all the barely organised mess a bracken goat yelled orders from behind a rickety table stacked with papers.

“Leszek,” the stallion in the lead of the group called.

“What?” the caprine whipped his head around, curved horns missing a tower of papers by a hair. “What’s it this time?”

“Found these two on the outskirts.”

Cold gun barrels harshly nudged the duo to stumble to the front of the slightly swaying table.

The goat gave Ash and Discord a long thoughtful look, though not evaluating in the same way flesh-eaters regarded anyone they encountered; the annoyed dark eyes with horizontal pupils gradually brimmed with curiosity.

“The boss will know what to do with them. For now—the cell.”



Not much of a prison—a cage, its rusty bars separating an alcove from the shadow-flooded cellar hall. It lacked even basic necessities and had holes in the thin walls whistling mournfully. At least it offered solitude from the warehouse workers as the only comfort, but there was a catch—the tiny room barely had any space for a mature gryphon and unusually large pony.

Tired of futilely trying to wrap herself in her plumage and glaring at Discord as he sharpened his talons with the beak, Ash grumbled, her teeth chattering:

“So, what was your brilliant escape plan, again?”

The gryphon didn’t even bother to look in her direction. 

“Have patience.”

His beak snapped and a fragment of his claw shot straight into Ash’s nose; the sight of his curved talons prevented her from pouncing at the audacious half-eagle… for now. 

“You never had one, did you?” she hissed instead, fighting back a sneeze.

Discord lazily regarded her with half-lidded eyes. 

“It’s not like you have anything.”

The look in Ash’s eyes might have turned the gryphon into her namesake, were such a thing possible. 

“Wow, I’ve seen many horrible things at the Deep, but never an asshole this big.”

She abruptly stood up and clutched the cage bars in her hooves, tensing her meagre muscles in a vain attempt to bend the rebar; to her credit, the metal gave up a bit but refused to break. Her golden aura then enveloped the lock, yet her telekinesis lacked the precision to do anything but rattle the unyielding mechanism; Ash’s eyes once again found the long eagle talons.

“How about helping me,” she barked at Discord, who observed the unsuccessful jailbreak attempt with exceedingly avid interest. 

“Look, Sunny, so far they have treated us well enough. Don’t you want to see where this leads?”

“Nobody’s treated me well. Ever,” Ash retorted. Then reluctantly added, “Except you.”

Discord shot her a look, shrugged and said, “I’m a gryphon veteran. You have both wings and a horn.”

 The mare pressed her lips together, thankful to him for not mentioning she didn’t really know how to use both.

“If those guys have survived this long, they aren’t going to throw away potential assets.” Laughter twinkled in the gryphon’s gaze. “And if things go wrong, I have a few tricks up my sleeve.” 

Ash’s eyes turned moon-sized as a key appeared in betwixt the talons, seemingly out of nowhere. 

“We should go now, then.” 

Before the last word left her chapped lips, the golden glow wrapped around the key, but ended up grasping thin air. 

“Why risk it?” she snarled.

The cell key vanished just as mysteriously, much to Ash’s vexation, and Discord reclined, his lion paws unceremoniously invading the mare’s half of the alcove, forcing her to lean away, pressing herself to the rime-laced wall. 

“That’s boring.”

“Why does everything have to be about fun for you?” she spat, shoving the offending limbs away.

The gryphon roared with laughter, writhing in titters so hard, moisture glistened in the corners of his bulging yellow eyes. Then he stopped abruptly. 

Ash shrieked as a scaly arm wrapped her shoulders in an uncomfortably firm hug whilst another flicked her horn—she could swear it felt like the bone had turned into jelly for a heartbeat.

“Patience and trust! Have some faith in Ol’ Daddy Discord—I promised to get Sunbutt out of Canterlot and it’s going to happen.”

With great effort she wriggled herself from his grasp, bitterly muttering, “I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve regretted teaming up with you.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that—I wouldn’t have let you go anyway.”

To emphasise his words, Discord made a motion to catch Ash in another awkward embrace and she jerked away, except at the last moment the gryphon seamlessly changed the trajectory of his movements to take a great interest in his talons. 

Glaring at him, warily watching for the next move, she said through gritted teeth, “Just don’t tell me it’s because you were bored—I’ll hit you.”

“Keep putting in this little effort and I’ll lose interest in helping you.”

All the potential danger ignored and Discord’s fighting skill forgotten, Ash leapt at the gryphon as much as the confines of the cell allowed to call it such. To her dark glee, the attack caught the elder by surprise, but that triumph vanished when she landed at an empty place with a thud.

She might have considered abandoning the cause, but a snort from behind her prompted Ash to whirl around and pounce again only to find herself not prostrate on the floor, but somehow stuck, thanks to her dumb wing catching in the cell bars.

The titters of amusement grew into hearty chuckles. And at the same time, a clop of hooves heralded the advent of visitors—the wardens, most likely.

Leszek and a trio of gun-toting ponies unamusedly observed a blushing mare frantically fighting the metal bars and a gryphon wailing, clutching his sides.

“You two,” the goat deadpanned.

Ash finally managed to dislodge her treacherous wing; she smacked Discord, though that only served to pour oil onto the fire of his merriment.

The pair of horns slid across the bars, the resulting staccato deafening any sound.

“You’re going to witness the Prophet and receive his judgement,” Leszek announced in a dry tone. “Don’t do anything stupid—”

Discord snickered and poked Ash’s ribs, making the mare jump, “Hear that, Sunny?” 

“Shut up!”

The caprine nodded to one of his companions and the sound of a gun racking silenced the prisoners again, with a more substantial and lasting effect.

“...It’ll cost you your lives.”



Though the threat of death failed to bring Discord’s mood lower than his regular ceaseless mild amusement, Ash fell quiet and returned to intently looking around, remembering the outline and looking for the ways to escape—in case the gryphon had been pulling her tail all that time; she ran much better than she flew.

Ash mentally thanked Leszek for choosing the path that led through warehouses rather than across the snowbanks, yet after passing another massive depot repurposed into a factory or some sort of laboratory full of arcane machines and forges, something began to bother her.

“What’s with the goats everywhere?” she murmured under her breath.

However, either the cold wind had played a practical joke on her or Leszek had exceptionally sensitive ears—he mimicked her voice, “What’s with the ponies everywhere?”

“It’s our city!”

The goat screwed his muzzle. 

“Says some freak.”

“I still look better than you, fuckface.”

Ash barely comprehended the momentary sensation of hard horns on her neck as it was replaced by a cloven hoof pressing her into the cold floor. The caprine packed more strength than his size merited—half of Ash’s. The pain of being slammed down finally caught up, the same moment Leszek’s beard tickled her cheek.

“You destroyed our homeland when you lured the Windigo to your city.” A drop of moisture fell on Ash’s coat as Leszek shook with the rage and pain of loss. “The Prophet invited us! If you have any problem with that, tell him that and I’ll watch his magic melt your bones.”

It seemed like Leszek would spit on her face, but he thought better and just stomped away. Discord offered her his eagle paw, but Ash brushed the limb off and yelled after the goat:

“My home was destroyed too! And I never asked for that.”

Leszek snapped his head and gave her a long dark look.

“Fair enough—you’re not quite a pony, after all.” Ash frowned and opened her mouth, but the caprine continued, “Answer me this, then: Where have you been for the last decade? What have you been doing while we’ve been working on fixing this mess, against all odds?”

The mare clenched her jaws, fervently thinking of a justification, but everything that came to her mind sounded lame in the face of Leszek’s accusations.

“You might pretend to care about us now, but in the end, you’re the same self-centred roach that always fed on garbage in the shadow of ponies when they brought doom upon everyone.”

She would rather have spit trickling down her muzzle.



The confrontation left Ash subdued to the point that she lost any interest in the city, trotting with her head low, contemplating her whole existence; at least Discord had dropped his antics as he walked by her side, occasionally brushing her shoulder with his wing. 

So, it came as a surprise when she found herself in a room bigger than any she had ever seen—more spacious than she imagined a building could even be; her wide eyes struggled to find the furthest from the entrance wall. 

The vast number of machines took partial blame for that—complex tools for manufacture whirred; ponies, goats and even equinods scurried betwixt workbenches; furnaces belched acrid smoke from under soot-stained crucibles. No space was left unused—a network of rails and catwalks sprawled above the working floor, circling the kilns and towering processing units; the narrow lines quivered from the inexorable marching of hooves.   

Amidst all the chaos of incessant labour, one figure stood still, an unassuming equinoid observing the work from the middle of the top floor of the catwalks. The moment Discord and Ash entered the factory, his calm gaze instantly locked on them and the metal equine left his post.

However, as he got closer, Ash doubted his artificial nature—something shifted betwixt the metal plates that weren’t hidden under the tattered grey clock; not exactly organic matter, but neither wires nor gears. That, and the confident stride offered a likely guess—this had to be the Prophet himself. 

Reaching the railing hanging right over them, he hooked his hooves over it.

The Prophet’s voice effortlessly cut over the din of machines and clatter of tools, instantly compelling every worker to stop and listen. 

“And when I had almost given up on seeing you in flesh, you came to me,” he declared in a kind baritone, almost melodically; then chuckled. “Got bored of protecting the city?”

To Leszek’s indignation, Discord stepped forward, seemingly unaware of every pair of eyes in the factory glued to him, including the inscrutable gaze of the Prophet; the gryphon met the latter unwaveringly. He also ignored the guns aiming at the back of his head.

“I’d say it‘s an honour to finally meet the Great and Terrible Wizard, were you not a petty thief. You know, some equinoids worked hard to deserve such power.”

A frown claimed the Prophet’s features and the magic shimmering around the triggers intensified. Yet the not-quite-equinoid waved the guards off; they lowered their weapons and took a step back, leaving Discord along with Ash in the middle of empty space. 

The Prophet effortlessly leapt over the railing and nimbly landed in front of them, his hooves making no sound.

This close Ash finally made out what hid under the chromed plating—a sort of tar that glistened with embers slowly floating through semi-translucent dark mass. His eyes, yellow pupils surrounded by the black of the sclera, stopped at her; for a brief moment recognition sparked in them, but it ceded to boredom.

A disappointed expression returned to his face when he addressed Discord, “She hogs it to herself instead of helping everyone—you are no different. But not for long.” The Prophet extended his hoof to the gryphon in a gesture more imperious than amiable. “Give it up willingly and I’ll spare you.”

Discord coldly regarded him.

“Like you spared them?”

A scowl contorted the Prophet’s muzzle, his eyes glinting dangerously with brewing wrath and his smooth voice gained a sharp edge.

“You can end the blizzard and what do you do? You watch us suffer for your amusement!”

“Have you ever wondered why I wasn’t there, in one of the cages? You won’t be able to control my power.”

The intuition that had helped Ash survive ten years in the frozen ruins insisted on her backing away from the bickering adults who weren’t who they tried to appear. She readily obliged—and just in time.

“I have enough magic to tear you asunder!” The Prophet bellowed.

Tendrils of arcane fire with black core lashed out and grasped Discord, ripping his body in half like he was made of paper-mache. But instead of viscera and blood, sweets and chocolate bars battered Ash’s bewildered face.

Discord’s voice spoke into her ear, a bit higher even.

“And that’s why I no longer find ponies entertaining.”

She whipped around to stare at the creature resembling many of her kin disfigured by genetic hard knocks. It continued to grumble, “Imagine meeting a guy who calls himself a prophet and getting no ridiculous monologue.”

Noticing Ash’s attention in the form of her mouth opening and closing like that of a fish out of the water, he beamed mischievously.

“Okay, Sunny, ready for some PTSD?”

In astounded silence, the sound of fingers snapping thundered like a gunshot.

Dozens of the abominations that shambled in the abyss under Canterlot materialised from thin air, landing on the floor with meaty thuds of writhing pale flesh; the catwalks rattled as the mounds of animated meat crushed them with their sheer mass.

And those monstrosities knew no such thing as confusion—they instantly threw themselves at workers. 

Tentacles spread, wrapping around limbs and pulling shrieking victims closer to dozens of snapping mouths and beaks. Bony appendages shot out, knocking hooves from under panicking equines and caprines. Gelatinous mountains of thick slime sucked in those who failed to muster enough deftness.

However, not a single drop of blood fell to the floor, no bones cracked under the onslaught and those who found themselves in the embrace of slime could only complain about severe discomfort and the overwhelming taste of liquorice. Until an explosion blew away chunks of concrete and machinery amidst the stampede. A wave of raw arcane power disassembled the ‘horrors’ into cream cheese. It gored unfortunate ponies and goats, rendered an equinoid to liquid. 

Amidst the pure chaos, a tall figure pivoted—an equine skeleton cobbled together from the remains of a statue into a grotesque effigy brought to a parody of life by magic. The bare bone and empty eye sockets somehow managed to express perplexity, which the amalgam tried to amend with senseless violence.

Whilst some began to realise Discord’s attack caused more inconvenience than real harm, the entity vaporising anybody who ended up too close to it posed a deadly threat. 

Gun reports cracked, adding to the pandemonium, but the lead didn’t even draw the thing’s attention. A magic blast came next and the bleached bone soaked up the spells as nonchalantly as the arcanium splinters that compromised the rest of the gout body. 

The lash of the amber smouldering whip cracked across the ivory spines and the scarecrow-like equine reeled; it instantly answered the offence with an arcane gale that tore into the Prophet and his entourage—only the enigmatic stallion remained in one piece.

Giving the effigy a baleful glare he shouted:

“Call in the Ghosts!”

Discord squinted at the strange thing, then looked at his claws and detached them from his hand to scrutinise. 

“That was unexpected,” he muttered,  then, casting a worried glance at the bone fused into the metal, added, “And morbid.”

By his side, Ash finally managed to gather her wits together. Her shaking hoof shot out, pointing at Discord.

“You’re a mutant, like me!”

He put his fingers back and snapped them; the nearest abomination turned into marshmallow.

“Now, now, let’s not be rude, Sunny.” Discord bent, putting his arms to his knees, and smirked into the mare’s face. “I’m of the noblest race of draconequi, while you are, in fact, a plain boring pony.” He straightened out, thoughtfully scratching his chin, black pepper raining on Ash muzzle from his beard. “Well, maybe a bit special, one of the two of the kind—that’s why I have to get you out of here.”

She sneezed confetti before grasping his lion paw.

“I’m not going anywhere without you!”

Discord blinked a few times.

“That’s… new.”

Behind him swarms of arcanium particles dove at the animated skeleton and it blindly lashed out, one of the lances going wild and cutting off Discord’s head. He, cold-headed, put it back and turned to Ash, fixing her with a hard expression that didn’t fit him.

“But it doesn’t change the fact you need to leave now or neither of us will. Go to the ruins of the Wall and watch for the sunset—she’ll get you out from Canterlot.” Discord raised his eagle paw pinching his middle finger and thumb together. “Sayona—”

A golden aura firmly held his hand still.

“I’m coming back for you!”

A horrendous crash joined another warping sound, not to mention the battle against the snack food replicas of the nightmares from the Deep Tunnels. 

“Ash, you’re not strong enough,” Discord quietly rasped, gazing at the desperate mare sadly.

She hesitated, staring at the pandemonium that likely promised no mercy to either of them, no matter its outcome. She pressed her lips tight, giving the draconequus a stubborn glare.

“Then I’ll become strong and return for you.” She looked at ponies, goats and whatnot helping each other to survive. “For them.”

Discord grinned.

“I’ll find you myself when you are ready.”

Then his fingers snapped.



A cruel wind blasted ice and flakes of soot in Ash’s face.

She dug herself out of the snowbank, mumbling curses addressed to Discord. The dirty mane whipped around as she tried to understand where the mercy of the draconequus brought her. 

Her estimations came to a screeching halt and her hooves froze to the icy soil, though its chilling quality had nothing to do with it.

A tall figure cast a shadow on Ash, its skull peering at her with an eyeless gaze.
> 2.3 Deal
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



=================================

Written by: Oneimare

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant

=================================


Arc 2 – Lies

Chapter 3 – Deal


=================================


Rainbow Dash stared at the vacant place, its recent occupation betrayed only by shallow hoofprints, then declared:

“It’s a trap.”

With that she abruptly turned to face the curious unicorns peeking around the cover of the large boulder; the pegasus mare from before, who’d seemed to retreat, had rejoined them. Rainbow’s glare found the trio, and though her anger wasn’t aimed at the ‘soldiers’, her expression hardened.

Yet before she could take more than a few steps, the metal whip of Spike’s tail across her chest barred her way.

“Are you going to so easily dismiss your only chance?” he rumbled in a deep, thoughtful voice tinged with disbelief.

“Vanhoover is on the other side of Equestria,” Rainbow snapped without hesitation, trying to shove his tail away.

“So?”

In a display of feline grace, the pegasus ducked under the offending arcanium appendage to finally resume her approach to the ponies who observed the exchange in confusion. 

“While we are away, they are going to wipe out the camp.”

“They,” Spike called after her.

The sharp accusing note with which that single word cut the chill air stopped Rainbow in her tracks and she turned her head back halfway to grimly glower at him with a single eye.

“The TCE or the crystal ponies?” the dragon continued. “Isn’t the latter who you wanted to help?”

Rainbow’s hoof shot up, pointing at the spot glistening with a dark crimson. 

“If they wanted help, this wouldn’t have happened!”

A heavy silence settled betwixt the two old friends as the spilt blood couldn’t be ignored. However, one of the unicorns broke the uneasiness; he had slipped closer almost unnoticed, his companions, timid yet resolute, supporting the intrusion into the conversation of ancient legends.

“It’s our fault,” he said and gulped as Rainbow’s burning stare locked him again. Still, he pressed on, “We attacked first.”

Despite all the intensity in the pegasus’ eyes, her wrath had no outward focus; it served only to conceal her true reaction to the incident.

Spike caught a glimpse of it and commented, “Nobody has seen crystal ponies for centuries.”

However helpful his words were, his intent look spoke of more ready to come and they would bring little assistance this time—only revealing things Rainbow wished to remain unsaid. 

Refusing to follow the invitation to Vanhoover would mean telling those ponies in front of Rainbow that she had no faith in their ability to hold their own, or even admitting that the camp no longer served its initial purpose.

Rainbow glared at the dragon and meant it; if he’d remained silent from the start, she might have had a chance to ponder on her decision and, perhaps, present it in a different light.

Yet she had no other choice left but grumble to him:

“Let’s head back and prepare—it’s not a short journey.”



The flight, long indeed despite the nearly mythic speed of the Former Ones, brought Rainbow and Spike to Canterlot or, rather, to the snowstorm tightly coiling around the once glorious city. High above it, to avoid the vicious winds and exchanging the deathly cold howls of Windigoes for the freezing breath of stratosphere, they stopped to observe the malevolent presence spread across the wasted country. 

Both hovered in the frigid air effortlessly, and whilst Spike absentmindedly bathed his rime-laced metal body in the rays of Sun, Rainbow pensively eyed the protrusion of the great blizzard that stubbornly clung to the Crystal Empire.

Not for the first time she wondered what exactly lured the undying winter spirits there. Surely, the ceaseless slaughter of the Crystal Ponies had warranted the presence of the death-seeking wraiths, but something didn’t feel right—there had to be more than just the river of blood that had forced the Windigo to be so persistent.

With that worrying thought in mind, her voice disturbed the silence of the desolate sky.

“I suppose you were the last to see the Crystal Ponies free.”

Spike’s refusal to further disturb the stillness of the firmament had almost led Rainbow to believe the thin atmosphere had failed to convey her words, but the dragon finally dignified her with an answer.

“The search for a cure from my ‘curse’ led me to where I got afflicted, but it was too late.” His reply carried a certain melancholy, but in that sorrow, notes of bitterness rang strongly. 

“For them or you?”

The plating of the dragon’s body shifted, revealing the emerald flames churning underneath. They seemed to soak in the undiluted Sun’s radiance and gain a golden tint to them in a way Rainbow could call only as thoughtful—as if Spike was tasting the sunlight, trying to figure out what to do with it. 

She remembered how every week he went far into the snowy fields and did things that no dragon should be able to—no living creature should. 

Was that his inherent nature allowed to bloom with the blessing of the Machine Goddess? Or was it something she instilled into him to fester, away from the watchful gaze of the Stalliongrad Technocracy?

Oblivious to Rainbow’s worries, Spike regained his dragon form to speak to her.

“The TCE turned the entire city into one huge prison and it was rioting when I arrived,” he said slowly, distastefully recalling the past and then the past beyond it. “And though I tried to help the rebels to get the Crystal Heart, it didn’t go as well as the first time. In the end, I only lost—my friend and my wings.”

Rainbow winced, remembering the searing pain that bound her to the wonders of technology if she wanted to fly again, yet she hesitated to voice her compassion—Spike had forgone the pretence years ago, sailing the winds through sheer will and his mysterious nature with as much difficulty as the most skilled of fliers that had ever lived. 

Still, she uttered, respecting his other loss, “It must have let some escape.”

To her surprise, the dragon chuckled.

“So, you trust that stranger now.”

The pegasus pressed her lips together and retorted, annoyed, “I fought both the TCE and the Сrystal Ponies for years. As much as that rotten corporation favours subterfuge, they would have attacked us long ago if they were capable of it.”

However, Spike had an argument at the ready. 

“They can do that now, without heavy losses,” he noted gravely, but the tiniest of smiles played on his arcanium jaws.

Rainbow rolled her eyes. “Wow, thank you for believing in my skills and for praising a decade of effort.”

“You have done a better job than you think.”

The smirk on the dragon’s muzzle gained a somewhat inscrutable quality as he flipped backwards and resumed the journey west.



No matter how softly Rainbow strived to tread, her steps stubbornly echoed across the eerily resonating maze of the crystal-blighted Vanhoover. The glassy buildings bristling with gem teeth sang in the wake of her cautious, almost reluctant gait, and crystalline ponies gossiped behind her back.

Glimmering eyes of visages forever frozen in horror followed the pegasus and dragon—each a victim and a tombstone.

“I don’t know who I hate more—the witch who did this or the TCE for choosing to slaughter ponies instead of mining the crystals here,” Rainbow spat as she passed a stallion; once a handsome pegasus, now a hunk of pale quartz.

As Spike somberly floated above the glistening pavement, his grim eyes lingered on the petrified denizens of Vanhoover caught in the attempt to flee from the wave of eldritch magic that had rendered the lovely seaward city into a monument of cruelty.

Somehow, his taste for gems and the developed later appreciation of pony flesh made the sight only more heinous; and not just because he indulged in both no more. And even knowing that of all the Equestrian major towns Vanhoover had met the most merciful fate, did little to ease the loathing for the one who’d brought its doom.

Yet as his sombre gaze wandered around, taking in the thousands of crystal statues and mineral-overgrown skyscrapers, he shook his head and darkly noted:

“They would have resorted to that eventually—don’t underestimate the hunger Canterlot had.”

Rainbow’s muzzle scrunched in distaste. “You sound almost approving.”

The dragon snaked around a peculiar composition—a mare trying to force the body of another to shield herself from the impending perdition. 

“It’s hard to have faith in ponies after observing them for so long.”

The pegasus abruptly stopped.

Ignoring her indignance, Spike continued, “Hard—not impossible. For someone who claims to be the TCE’s sworn enemy, you give them too much credit.”

However, Rainbow remained silent and glared at him. 

Eyeing her measuringly, Spike said, his voice bearing a subtle but certain hint, “The witch’s name was Realgar—the refugees lynched her. Do you approve?”

A scowl claimed Rainbow’s expression and she nearly hissed, “Don’t play those games with me.” Finally resuming her navigation of the ruins, she threw over her shoulder, bitterly, “I know her name perfectly—she was the only Crystal Pony in the Coven, nobody else could have done this...”

She trailed off.

‘That would have happened to her eventually, one way or another’ or ‘it’s the past anyway’ would only serve to prove Spike’s point. Rainbow chose silence, knowing full well that it meant no victory for her either.

His insinuations had been getting on her nerves for almost a decade, yet the dragon still didn’t realise that working under Queen Chrysalis’ orders had tempered her tolerance to a nigh-undepletable well supported by her still burning bright torch of loyalty. Or so she hoped.

Fuming, she stomped ahead, crystal shards crunching under her angry hooves.



The vile union of Crystal Ponies’ magic and the Ebony Warlock’s teachings got hold of ponies and whatnot as they galloped, cowered, or protected their loved ones—all futilely. Every figure in sight shared the tragedy and the fossilised quality of their flesh.

Almost every figure.

“Do they realise how much patience we can afford?” Rainbow drearily commented as her sharp eyes caught movement where it had no right to be. 

Sparkling silhouettes shadowed them, flickering amidst the statues, barely distinguishable, or bringing shy radiance into the dark blind windows of abandoned buildings. 

“Maybe if you stopped scowling so fiercely, they would come out.”

The pegasus critically appraised Spike. The Crystal Ponies might have forgotten Rainbow and she wore the imposing armour no more, but anyone with at least a sliver of common sense would carefully consider a tonne of arcanium that barely contained a mass of living dragon breath. 

“When was the last time you looked at yourself?”

Whatever riposte the dragon had prepared never left his lips as both he and Rainbow whipped around—behind them appeared something much more grave than just a furtive scout. 

No sound and no profound display, just wisps of pitch-black smoke heralded the most deadly threat that plagued the battlefields of old. Anyone who’d survived it at least once had King Sombra’s stealthy approach etched into their brain together with the reflexes and instincts as fundamental as breathing.

A tide of emerald flame crashed into the ink-bleeding crystal, but Rainbow knew it would be of no use—the warlock would be smarter than that. If anything, the blaze only played into his hooves as her visor tinted automatically, making it harder to find where the shadows would present the malignant unicorn. 

Still, her eyes hadn’t let her down and Rainbow plummeted into a seemingly random balcony to a mere heartbeat later thrust her fetlock-mounted blades into a back covered by a crimson mantle. The tempered steel penetrated the fabric easily, like mist, and… it was mist. 

The pegasus converted the inertia of her dive into a roll and thus sprung the actual trap—the foggy agate she bumped into erupted, and despite her formidable exercise of dexterity, the force of the stunning charge slammed her into the gallery’s railing. The corroded bars shattered from the brutality of the collision and Rainbow tumbled down.

Her body passed three stories when she regained control and only because she had spent those fleeting moments assessing the situation. 

The street below screeched with the sound of metal being violated by obsidian claws blasting from the asphalt. Spike nimbly dodged the assault; but for every ten he evaded, one crystal spoke got him, grazing his arcanium shell and the multitude of the constant attacks steadily wore the dragon down. 

The mastermind behind all the chaos worked from the shadows, unseen.

Rainbow hooked her limb on the catwalk of the rusted fire staircase and, ignoring the wailing protest of the weathered metal, nimbly hopped onto it. Not even touching the grating with all her hooves, she threw herself over its opposite bannister and skidded across the cracked wall of the apartment block. Hopping from gem to gem that protruded from the affected side from the edifice, she began her descent—the air likely would be full of death, just like the old times. 

Spike’s namesakes kept jabbing him with varying success when Rainbow joined the test of dodging ability. She passed it by crossing the street in a few powerful strides and graceful leaps. Intuition alone guided her into the building opposite to where she attacked the illusion.

The barrage of underground skewers ceased abruptly and the moment it happened, the pegasus pivoted on her hills—a few stories above her, the ever so faint sound of air being displaced betrayed another jump. 

As she re-entered the borough, Spike slithered by her and, without a word, Rainbow latched herself onto the arcanium plating. However, the moment the dragon took off, a cloud of maliciously gleaming crystal shrapnel tore at his armour. 

Unperturbed by the insidious trick, Spike roared flame and the swarm of razor-sharp slivers retreated like a flock of magpies—vicious and determined. Wasting not a single fraction of a second, he reached for Rainbow and hurled her forward in an almost ironically iconic fashion. 

The pegasus spun, screwing herself through the air and past the deadly projectiles, then made a sudden turn. But Rainbow’s preemptive manoeuvre fell short as her fetlock daggers failed to even graze the smug muzzle of the warlock.

She didn’t crash heavily into the wall but disappeared in a puff of black smoke along with the king. 

They rematerialised in the middle of the trafficway, though, unlike the unicorn, Rainbow couldn’t move—thick black crystals made sure of that. The same earthborn stone bars pinned down Spike.

Sombra adjusted his mantle and offered them his trademark fanged grin.



At some point in time Rainbow would have expected Sombra to engage in a lengthy monologue, but after warring against him, she knew that mere seconds separated her from death. So, it came as surprise when the triumphant king spoke: 

“You couldn’t defeat me back then,” he said in a baritone smooth as ever and that bore only the subtlest hints of vanity and mockery. “What makes you think you can now?”

Not for the first time in her life, Rainbow regretted being trapped in the suit—oh, how she wished to spit in that smirking face.

“We chopped off your fucking head!” she barked instead, her glower scanning the unicorn’s groomed coat for a telling scar; it had none.

Sombra met her eyes and his smile grew wider.

“Not you and it hardly helped.”

Rainbow tried her crystalline bounds, but the warlock knew his craft. She shot a glare at Spike, who lay annoyingly and strangely taciturn, patiently following the stallion with an unreadable expression.

Sombra continued, his tone gaining a tinge of seriousness, “But I didn’t summon you here to rub my tenacity in your faces.” 

“Doesn’t look like it,” Rainbow sneered, rattling her gem cage. 

The king regarded his prisoners once again, deeply content, then took a few steps back. The crystals that immobilised them dissolved into smoke.

Spike rose to his full height, his fire gaining a blinding brilliance under the arcanium scales; Rainbow hopped to her hooves, taking a battle stance. Yet their motions ended there—the warlock wouldn’t let them free if he couldn’t change that back in the blink of the eye.

He sat and said, “As my messenger said, I only want to negotiate.”

The pegasus puffed out her chest and huffed, “So, what are your terms of surrender?”

Sombra offered her a condescending, somewhat sad smile, then sighed dramatically.

“Rainbow Dash, Rainbow Dash… I’d hoped ages would bestow some wisdom upon you.” 

As the stallion jeered, Rainbow began to deliberately pace in semicircle around the unicorn, her scowl boring into his mask of conceit. Spike simply sat, mirroring Sombra in all but expression—the dragon’s muzzle showed nothing as he observed the exchange.

Giving Rainbow a sly look, Sombra asked, “Speaking of which, I wonder if you ever reflected on your nation’s declaration of war on me?”

“You took Cadance hostage.”

The king laughed, much to her wrath.

“Fighting a war for a mare is the pinnacle of reason, yes.” All humour left his voice as he squinted at the pegasus. “What about your precious Princess invading my empire along with a group of elite warriors prior to… your inevitable failure?”

Grimacing at the memory of the fateful event, Rainbow hotly retorted, “You’re a tyrant who isn’t above anything. The Crystal Ponies suffered under your rule!”

“Equestria had just lost its leaders, didn’t you have anything better to do?” the unicorn asked, sounding almost confused.

Rainbow bared her teeth… yet had nothing to say. She even stumbled in her restless walking back and forth. 

Grinning at her hesitation, Sombra continued, his words laced with subtle poison, “You call me a despot, but must have never wondered what the Princesses used for the steps to climb onto their throne, and who the last king was that refused to offer his skull.”

“They brought Equestria into a millennium of peace and prosperity for all. I know your philosophy—those with the abilities you value are privileged, the rest—discarded, like chaff.”

The warlock met the accusation unwaveringly, instantly replying, “So you would prefer the ponies of the Crystal Empire to be kept and ground like grain?”

The pegasus didn’t miss a beat either, stopping to bark into his face, “So you want to take it back—from one slave master to another. There’s nobody to sell that ‘flour’ to anymore. The city is under the siege of the blizzard and sooner or later they will surrender.”

Sombra stood up and walked up to her, so close, his breath practically fogged her visor.

“And then what? You take the fortress second only to Stalliongrad with your”—he smiled in a mocking sympathy—“militia? Do you believe you can hold it after—the richest crystal mine in a world craving for gems?”

It took Rainbow all her self-discipline to not hit that smug muzzle as once again she found herself without a counter-argument.

“Look around Dash,” Sombra said, his hoof raising for a wide swiping motion.

Not letting the warlock out of her vision she did glance to the sides—full of sparkling ponies; not statues, but actual Crystal Ponies, throngs of them curiously watching the scene from the windows of the ruined city.

“These ponies are here willingly, it was them who brought me back so I could lead them into the bright future once again!”

The scowl left Rainbow’s face, replaced by a wistful expression as her gaze jumped from one innocently pure visage to another. It was just like she wanted, what she had fought and nearly died for—smiles and eyes unblemished by fear. 

She sadly shook her head—they were all fools.

“There is no bright future with you, only shadows.”

The jab went over Sombra’s head and he shook his head in turn, chuckling, then turned away to walk back to where he sat and lowered his hindquarters to the cracked pavement again.

“The world has changed, Dash, and my philosophies had to be adjusted to fit the currents of time,” he declared. “Walk this tomb of the city and see my ponies thrive, be they weak or strong. You and I are not that different these days—gathering volunteers to fight for the right cause.”

Rainbow shook her head again, almost absentmindedly—all smoke and crystal mirrors. 

Ignoring that gesture, the king finished, “Ask yourself—do we have to be on opposing sides of the barricades?”

She turned to meet Spike’s eyes. Not bothering to frown at him—she would discuss this crucial moment later—the pegasus searched them for any hint, but the irisless fire offered her nothing but an impassioned stare. Whatever he played at, his plans lay impossibly far beyond her comprehension. 

Then her attention returned to the Crystal Ponies—the descendants of those who she’d once sworn to save and basically the same equines she aimed to liberate from the new Tartarus of the North.

They didn’t know the Ebony Warlock—not an inherently evil individual, nonetheless a merciless architect of his vision, smart and cunning in building his idea of a perfect society; also, patient, willing to take many steps back if it meant eventual success. 

She couldn’t stop his inevitable rise to power—had never been strong enough and probably would never be… as long as she was alone. He also spoke truthfully on the other matters—without proper support from the Machine Goddess or Queen Heterocera, no matter how much she hated the idea, the Crystal Empire would slip from her grasp in no time.

And, ultimately, that war had made little sense, indeed; Cadence died long ago and Equestria still had more than its fair share of troubles.

Steeling herself, Rainbow spoke as calmly as she could and miraculously managed to avoid her voice breaking.

“I’m no queen and no general—just a soldier. It’s not only my call to make.”

Sombra grinned triumphantly and predatorily. 

“Until we meet again, then.”
> 2.4 Madness
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



=================================

Written by: Oneimare

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant

=================================


Arc 2 – Lies

Chapter 4 – Madness


=================================


A metal hoof trampled embers, scattered ashes on the wind, and mixed soot with sand. Tin Flower kept sliding her prosthetic back and forth, her brow furrowing as the blackness stubbornly clung to the slightly tarnished steel. 

She stared at her blurry reflection.

It didn’t show a tired, dust-blighted young mare; it refused to reveal her annoyed face tinted with worry. The ominous darkness encroaching on her silhouette made her stomp again, rising a cloud of dirt. 

 Before the eddy settled, she had already hoisted the saddlebags onto her aching back; the gemstones in the casket softly clinked together, hidden amongst the meagre supplies. Groaning and muttering curses, the mare climbed the steep incline and scanned the horizon.

Macintosh Hills loomed behind her, casting shadows on the impressively lengthy artificial pass and its rotting railroad. Tailing Luna through the straight as a broom gorge proved almost stupidly easy; on still nights Flower could even hear the eerie howls ahead that belonged to no wind.

Now, the desert vista stretched before Flower, offering all but one direction possible, and barely any hint as to where the lunatic alicorn had gone. Barely—where the bleached ground met azure skies, one place refused the light; something there tainted the colours with an eldritch shadow.

Jostling the bags with a just as heavy sigh, Flower trod on. 



The solitude and relative safety of the desolate landscape allowed Flower’s thoughts to claim her hypnotised by the monotonous journey mind. She pondered—would she finally be able to cross the desert on her own this time?

Before, her hooves only carried her to Dodge City, and after magic brought her back to Canterlot. Somehow, the deceptively empty place always managed to pose a challenge no easier than surmounting a cloud-hugged peak.

Maybe because it lay in what awaited her at the end of the road. The road that had been winding through the ever-thickening darkness. The stars of bright memories disrupted it with shared sonorous laughs and smiles; the Moon shone against the abyss betwixt those fading sparkles… but it had been inexorably waning.

“What is it like?” she once asked the sombre alicorn, back when Luna’s lucidity didn’t have to be achieved with so much struggle. 

“An urge, that I know belongs to me not.”

A calling deep from inside, in truth—from far beyond, that exiled the harshly matured filly and the rapidly deteriorating elder mare from Kludgetown, forced the latter into shackles… actual chains, for certain bounds had already been dragging Luna into someplace nobody knew about. 

Whatever spare money Flower could invest into that riddle, returned no profit. Anyone who’d learned a single thing outside the conventional means of magic knew of the Nightmare but never had to tell much; those who might have had a tale to tell—didn’t live to.

“The unwritten first rule of witchcraft,” a shifty greasy stallion from Somnambula cackled, his vest all but slurping the coins Flower gave him, “Is to never make a deal with the Nightmare. Never ever.”

After hearing different variations of the same thing for about a year, Flower gave up.

And at times like this, Flower couldn’t have been happier to be just an earth pony—denied the door leading to a place like that. Of course, it severely impeded her ability to comprehend the problem and, needless to say—offer any real help.

She abruptly stopped and peered at her artificial limb, meticulously searching it for anything left behind by grasping the hilt of the otherworldly blade. Not for the first time she wondered if her carefulness amounted to nothing as the threat lay not in contact with infected reality, but in reaching for Luna’s crumbling mind.

A familiar sensation washed over Flower—swelling desperation. The subtle fear that had been permeating her every breath. She was but an ant with shadows, gigantic beyond comprehension, passing over her, sensing impending calamity sharper each day. The box of crystals suddenly gained unbearable weight—a few dozen equinoids slumbering by her side, saved from the lies of the mechanical goddess… Did she do the right thing? 

What guided her cold hoof when she ripped crystal hearts from iron rib cages?

Did that urge belong to her?



Sharp eyes with slit irises caught movement stirring on the edge of vision, and limbs obeyed the ancient routine. The lithe body crouched low, the hooves followed motions inherently alien to them as the muscles became taut with murderous intent, driven by hunger.

A shadow blotted the Sun and crashed onto the rocky ground, the horrified rodent scurrying away to crawl into the nearest crevice of the fading ruins.

At the last moment, the rightful owner reclaimed her reins. 

Luna lay in the heart of what once used to be Appleloosa, waiting for the sunrays to banish the strings that jerked her flesh into the feral dance. Long silent moments passed but the pressure only lessened, refusing to leave; stifling a groan, she rose from the dirt. 

The wind whistled mournfully through the void of the desert; the alicorn heard only the whispers of her unrelieved guard. The silhouettes emerged from her undulating mane to lisp things only she could hear, yet never understood; then they submerged back into the patch of the eternal night. 

Lately, however, she had started to make out words—not in the conventional sense, but the movement of the desiccated wispy lips reflected in her mind with thoughts. Those spurs she refused to heed to, yet grew harder and harder to ignore as the Moon in the sky paled and grew gibbous.

Her stumbling gait drove Luna’s numb body forward. She teetered, struggling to remember the reason for pressing forward so urgently. Her unfocused eyes bore a hole in the frost-crept earth and Luna knew that if she were to raise them, she would see a magnificent mare of a black coat and silver-blue armour, waiting for her patiently with a silent offer. And behind her, an alabaster alicorn in gold sorrowfully observing the fight.

Though both long gone, they would be there until the end—milestones of her continuous failure; the broken creature that reeled betwixt them was all the legacy left from that forgotten era. 

The shades of fallen soldiers propped her up, their empty gazes peering at their commander with no sympathy. Luna tried to push them away only to crumble like a statue that had lost against the trial of time. 

The black mist dispersed and, once again, she rested, motionless, on the ice-laced sand; the tongues of cosmos’ breath licked the desert—tasted that world.

They all spoke of deals that shouldn’t be made, of doors to never be opened. None realised that the knowledge alone created the path for the Nightmare, that it needed no agreement to take its tithe. As long as one remembered, it would always be there, bringing its plans to fruition.

And Luna could never forget—neither the allure of the possibility nor the depth of the fall.

To forget the road to damnation, would be to forget all she’d met on her way there, all who’d tried to stop her and for whom she had committed to that path. She could easily imagine the immaculately white mare behind her back sadly shaking her head—that sacrifice amounted to nothing.

The Nightmare had no concept of time and once it gained ground, it could never be pushed back. It could wait forever for the crack to become a passage, but wouldn’t need to.

A maliciously triumphant cry announced the vulture’s descent. Clumsily flapping its wings, the crow dug its talons into Luna’s shoulder and not a moment later the curious pecks of the bird’s cruel beak probed her ungroomed coat, craving moisture and sustenance.

The inky tendril let the bird sing one final strangled caw—its dirge; then the living shadows squeezed life of the scrawny feathered body. In an almost mocking fashion, the smoky limb offered the alicorn the disgusting meal and Luna turned away, baring sharp fangs.

Yet a moment later she found her teeth tearing at the cold carcass. She just needed some more time.

Even though those who lived upon hope died fasting.



A foul gust slapped Flower across her muzzle, brushing her face with withered leaves.

The Everfree Forest had finally met an adversary that equalled its entropic might, though the preternatural blizzard would have to work hard for more than a decade to finally free the soil from the chaotic presence. 

Still, half a week of uneasy trotting unrolled betwixt the weary mare and the dark skeletons of trees. That, and a body amidst the ruins of Appleloosa striped to almost nonexistence by raiders and the elements. It lay deathly still if not for the writhing of the black smoke that almost tenderly blanketed the alicorn, gently nudging her to rise.

Hooves, heavy with the dust of days, carried Flower closer to the stertorously heaving Luna. Stopping several steps away, she lowered herself onto a weathered boulder—all that remained of a house—and quietly spoke; though her words were meant to be bitter, her tone carried only weariness.

“What good do you think that would do? We have nowhere to run.”

For long seconds, then minutes, only the mournful moans of the not-so-distant storm answered her. 

Finally, Luna croaked, “There is always a solution.”

Flower solemnly shook her head.

“Not for us.”

The alicorn tried to climb to her hooves but failed, collapsing into a cloud of dust that glimmered with ice.

“Why are you here? You don’t have to...”

“I don’t know,” Flower replied, more than just a little disturbed by her own answer.  Shooting Luna a stern look, she commented, “Nor do you know where you crawl.”

Ancient shadows boiled around the mare so young compared to them, smokey tendrils tugged on her, prodded her sides. Luna attempted to sit up again, and supported by the silhouettes of armoured ponies did manage to.

When she regained her breath, a whisper left her blood-stained lips: 

“The end is near, one way or another—I sense it.”

“Coward.”

Flower’s scorn reflected on Luna’s gaunt muzzle with the worn-out resentment from countless similar conversations. “Fool. You have no inkling of what I have dealt with, of what I have to deal with.”

The grimace came to Flower’s face more out of habit than from anger.

“Stop pretending to be a victim.”

“And so should you—the deed of yours was no mistake.”

Now the mare’s fiery eyes flared up with wrath and the words she spat matched that fire, “I brought a nightmare into this world. Surely, you can see that—you spoke against it yourself!”

She reeled back as the alicorn looked at her, or rather, turned her head—catlike cyan did not meet her fury, but rather impenetrable black. 

The tar ebbed away, bringing back the penetrating gaze of the predator and Luna uttered, “I sneaked a peek at the abyss and now it looks through me—I see only darkness now. And you said it yourself—they were right about me in the end.”

Having said that, she received a continued glare from the frowning mare. And when Flower’s forehead could crease no deeper, she barked:

“Then why am I still talking to you?”

Their manes whipped, though only Flower’s danced to the melody of the rueful Equestrian wind. The once Princess stood, still and silent, listening to the lullaby from beyond the sky.

First hesitant, but gaining determination with each step, Flower approached the dark statue of a mare; though, she stopped two hoof lengths short, wary of the crackling frost. 

“Answer me, Luna.”

The blackness that crept at the edges of alicorn’s eyes receded and for a heartbeat, Flower glimpsed round pupils; though they disappeared so quickly, it could have been just the trick of the light.

“We are running out of time, we have to do something,” Luna curtly said; her words carried hardness for the first time in a long while. 

Though Flower wished to echo her resolution, her voice faltered. “I did all I could.”

“I know.” The crimson lips quivered into a tiny sad smile. “Thank you.”

Flower stared at Luna, her eyes round. She took a sharp shuddering breath that came out as a vapour.

“Do you really want to know why I am here? You brought me back to life when you could have just left me to die. And that’s why I’m still talking with you.”

The black mare didn’t answer her—the veil of opaque gloom sapped her bright eyes of colour and her expression began to shift into the terrifying serenity of oblivion. 

 “Luna!”

The cry straightened up the alicorn and not only did she try to shake off the spell, but the twitching of her grotesque muzzle betrayed an attempt to conjure another smile. She failed, however, and her turn came to shake her head as she spoke in a tone hollow and broken. 

“That memory runs too deep and soon I’ll remember nothing else. I already can’t remember…”

“Celestia,” Flower softly said.

That single word instantly injected determination, if dark, into Luna. Swaying, she fully stood up and unfurled her wings—two tattered banners rose against all odds.

Her reply imbibed the same fatalistic resolution. 

“You can’t turn back the tide of erosion, Flower. Not when its waves are blacker than the night.”

The young mare smirked. “Yet you just said my name.”

The spark of humour died in the darkness of Luna’s imposing figure.

“You are not eternal,” she grimly stated. Casting an even more sombre look over her shoulder, at the all-consuming whiteness, she added, “I have to finish this before it’s too late.”

“How do you know that is your thought?”

“I don’t. I trust you.”

And then Luna stood expectant, casting a long shadow on Flower and imbuing the already bone-chilling wind with the breath of outer space. Behind her, alabaster protuberances of the undying snowstorm lashed out at the heavens, bleeding ice around the necropolis of Canterlot, shedding snow that overpowered even Discord’s eternal mark on the landscape… that might overpower even the most persistent horrors.

If Flower were to turn away from the ruins almost swallowed by the sands, she would see in the distance ochre crags behind which ‘another last city’ tried to pretend that horror didn’t exist. 

It—the Machine Goddess—lay dormant in her Citadel of metal, another nightmare lurking in the daylight; an entity with too much power to warrant any safety as long as it existed.

What would happen if it clashed with the Nightmare?

If not both, then one of them would perish and the remaining enemy of the living should be weakened enough for the mortals to finish it off.

Flower whipped her head at Luna and squinted at her, peering into the obsidian slits of confused eyes, searching the darkness that infected minds with urges that didn’t belong there.

The shadows that she kept seeing passing over Flower—could she be casting one herself? How far had the black threads spread and who danced to the whims of insidious subtle tugs?

“Return to Canterlot,” she ordered to the alicorn.

Luna seemed to be ready to protest, but clenched her jaws and then asked:

“And you?”

The time to cross the desert hadn’t come—not yet.
> 2.5 Dream
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



=================================

Written by: Oneimare

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant

=================================


Arc 2 – Lies

Chapter 5 – Dream


=================================


One would have a hard time finding an abandoned house in Hope; well, at least until a chunk of its population left, following the mysterious filly that knew more than even the champion of the immortal. Despite the harsh reality’s ceaseless efforts to cull the community, it stubbornly grew, both naturally and from the refugees found by Trixie and her team in the thought to be desolate lands. 

However, one area always boasted deserted edifices even in this settlement where everyone craved for a place under a roof. Every so often new buildings sprung under the shadow of the narrow spire to inevitably turn cold and lonely. Only the most desperate and fearless dared to dwell in that callow district, skulking in its sombre tension and instantly fleeing when the opportunity arrived.

The tower, modest in its design, yet mockingly immaculate in comparison to the ragged Hope, leered at the changeling queen—an unassuming pegasus in physique. Just like its inhabitants, the smooth obelisk stood ostracised, the dirt around it barely marked by the prints of a hoof or paw.

The Citadel starkly reminded Clandestine Delight of the time when she’d just become Queen Heterocera. Those frantic weeks that had been spent learning the marvels she could never have imagined: magic, changelings’ lore and biology—woven into a complex paradox of existence which she now had to maintain as its axis.

It had been a while since Delight had last seen an equinoid, save for the Harbingers’ practically disrespectful and pointless presence on the city council; not that she didn’t forgo those mind-numbingly boring meetings herself. The other attendants tolerated such an audacity not just because the Machine Goddess’ sheer power let her abuse the rules, but because everyone was glad to be rid of the metal mother and her spawn. 

And if Delight were being honest with herself, she would say that the rift caused by the Black Star incident waxed vast enough for her friend’s absence to become more comfortable than her presence. But she was the changeling queen—a creature of deception. 

How would she be able to convince others of her lies if she couldn’t fool herself first?



The Citadel’s vestibule welcomed the changeling queen with opulent… dust. 

The hub, created to serve as a platform to connect the mechanical denizens of Hope and their organic counterparts, rang with silence as only motes of grit soared lethargically through the sprawling vaulted chamber. 

Spluttering their dying blinks, lamps struggled to light the path for the particles of sand and dirt that travelled from the empty benches to the overhanging balustrades; that curiously circled abandoned litter on the unswept floor; that floated above the paper-ridden desks and dark blind screens. 

Delight joined that peaceful decay, solemnly regarding the dream that never came true—the last sounds that place knew belonged to fierce bickering and bitter discord. 

The change in the equinoids’ attitude towards the organic life forms and the irreplaceable help in building the city failed to thaw the ice of ages-long enmity; when the dust of the journey settled and the time to share the fruits of labour came, too many creatures of flesh baulked. 

Not long after that, the hub closed its doors, and one by one, metal equines disappeared from the streets until only singular equinoids remained in Hope—exceptions, very rare at that. When the Citadel’s doors opened again, the dark tower stood empty and mute as a tomb with its upper floors sealed.

Respectful to the city’s name, the pegasus-changeling waited for some sort of miracle; or at least a greeting. The dust continued to dance around her and she almost considered leaving that place to its melancholic pale tranquillity.

But Delight was a pony of Canterlot, who knew her cradle at its worst and thus had no trust in the charity of fate. So, after not too long, the sound of her steps thundered through the passages leading to the stairs. To the floors that no breathing creature had ever seen.

To no surprise, she found the thick doors closed fast and betraying nothing beyond. A dainty hoof rose, preparing to knock on the dark steel, but then dropped—what would be the point? Delight hadn’t talked with Machine in years and wasn’t sure she wanted to.

Except, the reclusive deity remained the last possible avenue for the changelings’ salvation, even if that promise was tenuous. But… perhaps, dusting off the old friendship only to discover it was no more wouldn’t be worth more disappointment.

After all—wasn’t that what hope was about?

The queen reluctantly shuffled back to the empty atrium and stopped frozen there—returning home promised no comfort; her children knew of the impending extinction as much as she did.

In her procrastination, she caught sight of a dark orifice in the floor yawning with blackness that weakly twinkled with blue phosphoresce. Guided equally by curiosity as by a desire to waste time, she approached the implicit entrance to the underground and hesitated.

Though Delight wouldn’t have been here if she hadn’t ventured under the earth once upon a time, she still harboured a certain reluctance towards subterranean spaces; another thought nagged at her mind—the equinoids hated the Tunnels more than anything, hence they built an edifice reaching for the sky. 

The barely lit dungeon little differed from the rest of the Citadel in its forlorn taciturnity and the changeling wandered amidst the almost imperceptibly murmuring server racks that winked at each other amused by their chat in the electromagnetic language. 

Making sure for the second time that the cellar had nothing to offer either, Delight began to bolster herself for her return to the Hive. 

“I knew you would come,” the voice came from every direction at once.

Teleta’s training paid off as the queen locked her eyes on the tall shadow standing against the blinking machines mere moments later; nor did she fail to notice the only door out closing.

“I?” Delight called the darkness out, infusing her tone with sarcasm. “To whom do I have the honour of speaking? Machine, is that you?”

The familiar figure of a Harbinger emerged from her veil of shades, but it did nothing to banish either the tension from the queen’s muscles or the emerald fire crawling under her coat.

Her changeling sense tasted no emotions in the air, as it always was with the equinoids—she might as well be trying to understand the feelings of the servers surrounding them. 

Ever emotionless, the serene living statue of an alicorn proclaimed, “The Machine Goddess hears all who speak to the children of the Unity.”

Delight stared into the shining eyes, but the light peered back at her, conveying only blindness. It had always bothered her how she could never tell the Machine Goddess from her firstborn. Sometimes she even wondered if Machine was still there… or ever had been.

She could only hope.

So, the changeling replied with a sigh, “That’s the best I can get, isn’t it?”

Machine (hopefully) silently regarded her; though, for the blink of an eye, Delight thought she caught the mask’s lips forming a playful smirk.

Casting a wary glance at the sealed door, the queen cautiously wondered aloud, “How did you know I’d come?”

The arcanium equine came closer, towering over the pegasus-guised changeling.

“I made calculations,” she answered with her trademark foreboding coldness.

Any hope for having a genuine conversation evaporated with that comment; practically a catchphrase. 

“Of course.” Delight rolled her eyes. “What crime against morality do they suggest this time?”

“The end of the changelings.”

Painful effulgence flooded Delight’s vision and her world faded away.



A quaint little town basked in the soft sunlight. 

Its homely buildings either rested against the low hills or stood perched upon them, dozing off as they overlooked the sea of grass rolling to the very horizon. Harmless clouds lazily sailed the vividly azure sky; closer to the ground, the mellow breeze gently pushed the blades of windmills.

The fragrance of blooming orchards, be it apple, cherry or pear trees, formed an orchestra of scents that promised plenty of sweet fruit in the foreseeable future. And if that wasn’t enough, the rainbow of flowers peppered the vast fields, heralding the bountiful harvest of berries, carrots and many other treats; the pollen-laden air buzzed with busy bees. 

Amidst the lush flora, no less varied fauna shared the joy of the beautiful day. Birds sung their mellow serenades, small critters rustled in the shadows of verdancy and bigger animals napped, soaking in the golden bliss.

Ponies moved all around the village; unhurried, they seemed to be floating through the haze of a perpetually encroaching sunset. In the meadow on its outskirts, three young fillies rolled through the dandelions, locked up in a mock tussle. The disturbed seeds danced above the snow unicorn, fiery pegasus and sandy earth pony; they laughed as they poked each other’s unmarked flanks.

However, Delight effortlessly managed to shake the insidious embrace of the temptation that offered her a refuge from the ancient Hives’ dusty passages teeming with starving hearts. 

“Where am I?” she demanded; though glancing around revealed to her the solitude of the elevation she’d ended upon.

Twinkling sparkles of white formed a ghost by her side—a unicorn’s silhouette of vague features tinged by a purple sheen. The spectral mare had neither mane nor tail; her body consisted of constantly changing tiny numbers, letters and runes.

The unicorn spoke in a voice Delight hadn’t heard in ten years.

“It’s something my children created… recreated. In a sense, you are inside the Unity, though with certain limitations; full integration is impossible and the attempt is likely to be… terminal.”

“I’m totally fine as is, thank you.” The queen—appearing in her true black chitin form—nervously chuckled. She fell silent and continued only after a considerable pause, carefully choosing her words, “Glad to see you again… Machine.”

The magic particles formed a smile, and though small, it pleaded guilty, promised improvement, shared nostalgic memories and bore sincere happiness. Delight couldn’t help but mirror it.

“If I didn’t know you better I would ask you to be less, eh, dramatic the next time,” she airily commented. However, the mirth sapped from her expression and voice when she added, “So… you know about my problem.”

“As much as you have your nose in every cluster of confidential data in this city, I also pay attention to the secrets churning in its bowels, especially when they concern my friends.”

The last few words erased the frown, deepened by the accusation, from the changeling’s face and she listened intently for the rest, said with tactful sombreness. 

“I ran everything you and I have on the Swarm through my methods a few times in the hope that your accountants had made a mistake, but…”

Machine trailed off and Delight finished for her, “But they’re really good at their job.”

An uneasy silence settled betwixt the two friends.

“That is the only help I can offer, Del,” the unicorn softly uttered.

In a violent motion, the changeling queen stood up and practically pounced at the Machine Goddess, stopping herself from trying to grab the ethereal body at the last moment.

A single word left her throat constricted by maddening desperation, an agonised whisper.

“Please.”

As much as her incorporeal nature allowed that, the translucent mare looked thoughtful for a while, then finally answered, “The magic that governs the existence of your species is a secret to me. If I studied you and your children, I might have gotten an inkling of how to aid you.”

“Whatever you need.”

Machine shook her head.

“You don’t understand—that would kill you and hundreds of changelings; very probably for nothing.”

“They’re going to die either way,” the queen hissed, turning away.

“There are more ways for that to happen than you think.”

A confused frown sneaked into Delight’s scowl and she shot Machine a glance both curious and concerned.

A tablet materialised from thin air and floated to the dishevelled changeling.

“Take a look.”

A single glance revealed it showing a complex diagram; a dominant squiggly line crossing column after column and a cloud of numbers flocking the composition.

“Forgive me, Machine, but I’m not really in the right state to analyse something like this at the moment.”

That earned Del an intent look and a subtle encouraging smile. 

Sighing heavily and ignoring the wordy file name, the queen did her best to study the graph that apparently showed the distribution of cutie marks throughout the last decade. Roughly every year the line shot up, but the general tendency spoke of a steady decline. 

The first peak was marked with two words—Black Star. 

Delight’s green eyes widened and she stared at Machine, colour draining from her face.

The unicorn chided her, though without a hint of malice, “You never stop spying and yet you haven’t paid as much attention to ponies as you should have.”

“I have been busy with more pressing matters,” Del grumbled in a retort.

“True.” Machine bowed her head in recognition of her mistake. 

A bigger and simplified version of the graph started to draw itself in the air betwixt them.

Machine followed its changes with an explanation, “Over the last decade the age of cutie mark manifestation has been pushed later and later with the approximately annual emergence of anomalies.”

“Black Star…”

“Or Oracle,” the unicorn said with clear annoyance; though she continued much more calmly, even if somewhat worried, “Sometimes it’s a talent that despite its unprecedented potency can be hidden—only Eyeblink’s parents and I know about his limitless ability to teleport. For everyone else, Posey is just very good with animals. The others I have yet to locate.”

However, Delight barely paid attention to those names and as soon as her friend finished talking, asked, “And sometimes..?”

She already knew what she would hear, but refused to abandon hope.

“No calculations can predict what cutie mark will appear next, nor where and when,” Machine gravelly stated.

In a matching tone, Del whispered, “Each year—a lottery with a world-ending jackpot.”

The grim realisation was still sinking in when the glowing mare ominously added, “But that’s only one side of the problem.”

Once again Delight’s emerald moon-eyes gaze shot up to find the impassive muzzle of the magical apparition. 

“What?”

“The cutie mark manifestation holdback is yet to become something known to the public, but some ponies—parents—have already started picking up on the tendency in their subconscious way. At the current exponential rate, it will soon progress into a crippling issue destabilising society on its own and with the panic it causes.” Machine ended the winding mini-lecture with a devoid of humour laugh. “If we survive the annual emergencies, of course.”

Delight’s mouth opened and closed like that of a fish as her mind galloped.

Such consequences made sense… Was that why the equinoids withdrew—to buy some time? Or to combine their minds in the Unity to—

Why was it happening? What wasn’t Machine telling her?

But the queen knew better than to pry the sovereign of equinoids for answers; even as her friend she would masterfully withhold crucial information—she wanted to believe, for her merit.

“What should we do?” Del asked instead, her voice shaking.

The reply came conventionally measured, “Portending the doom for all isn’t the only calculation I’ve made—”

Machine’s holographic ears flicked as they picked up something audible only for her and she abruptly stared the changeling right in her eyes with great intensity. 

“You should go—you’re being looked for.”

Del whirled around, but none entered her sight. 

“By who?”

The colours began to dim and Machine’s image dissolved. The final words that Delight heard came from no mouth as none was left—spoken straight into her mind.

“Trust your friends, Delight.”



A sharp gasp echoed through the empty chamber and Delight scrambled up, choking on the dust that protested the burst of activity.

The forlorn atrium vacantly regarded the changeling with silence and returned to its slumber. She stood, panting, not far from the stairs to the upper floors and whipped her head around, checking on her surroundings and shaking off the vestiges of daze. 

No matter how hard she tried, the lucidity refused to come back—she couldn’t see her hoofsteps in the dust nor the dark square in the floor leading underground. Nothing hinted at her visit into the server room lying beneath. 

Shaking her head one final time and seeing how it brought no change, the changeling queen hastily exited the Citadel, heeding to the waxing uneasiness rather than to the words from the vision.

It made no sense—why would Machine spend her time going on about the oncoming catastrophe only to say not a thing about how to solve it? It wasn’t how she operated.

Yet as her regal black alicorn form sneaked from the tower, pondering in its ominous silence, she couldn’t help but keep thinking about what Machine had told her and the question it created—even if that was but a dream.

Who could she call her friends?
> Interlude // Prophecy
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



==============================

Written by: Oneimare

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant

==============================


Interlude – Prophecy


==============================


Toxic sludge smacked its muddy caustic lips and slurped further in a careless hoof.

The unfortunate stallion tugged his captivated limb but the hungry waste refused to let go, savouring the metal, uncaring for its already severely deteriorated state; the leg plaintively hissed in its slow dissolution, the steel bent like clay. 

With a final jerk, the offended limb’s owner came free of the deadly grasp and rolled across the ashes. A former owner now—the desolating effluence of Canterlot’s industrial zone claimed back that which it had helped to create. 

Tentatively probing the treacherous charred dirt, the stallion hobbled away. As he found a place solid enough to linger, his hoof shot to the pack on his back.

It returned empty—the traveller had run out of spares. 

Didn’t matter. This parting kiss was the last of the vicious spots that could only be passed by a sacrifice of flesh. Ahead lay only the old caked poison from the ‘golden’ age of Equestrian industry; if squeezing the land so hard it had nearly choked to death with toxins could be considered an achievement of prosperity.

Casting a hateful glance through the haze of acrid smoke, the refugee sneered at the city that kept trying to deny him an escape—no more.

He’d made a promise years ago—to flee that prison, no matter the cost and consequences. He would likely die out there, such was his nature. 

He would never be truly free.



The wind howled through the soot-blighted branches, but they didn’t bend—only rattled like rotten bones. 

Underneath those gnarly dead fingers, the escapee would be running his fingers through his possessions, if he had such appendages. Instead, his deft hooves laid out his supplies on the infertile dust and goggled eyes took the account of them—enough to last for a week if used wisely; but they lacked a map and that didn’t bode well with a missing limb. 

The dry wood snapped easily and the stallion fashioned the remains of a once beautiful copse into a peg—not so much for mobility as for balance.

Scratching the crumbling bark away, he demanded one more favour from the gravestone of Whitetail Woods. Precariously perched atop the dangerously swaying branches, the would-be-adventurer somberly regarded his prospects. 

As far as his eyes could see—and that amounted to a lot—the ashen pillars marked the cemetery of Equestria’s lushest place. Hills rose and fell—barrows, ground to sand by smoke-laden gusts from the factories; betwixt them dried out creek beds, flooded by dust that gnawed on the forests’ last dwellers’ small bones.

Yet the bleak sight failed to terrify the stallion—he had seen worse; though that place could be called anything but beautiful, the sombre fading still held more allure to him than the burrow where he got his name. The land, dissolving into oblivion, didn’t bother him—those who watched the merciless craft of time and the elements did.

Dark mountains stood sentinels to that burial ground, promising no passage for someone who didn’t have a full set of limbs; and even that might not prove enough, lest a pair of them had feathers and could sail the frigid sighs of crags.



The Wall prevented the Edge from a jailbreak in the direction of the city, but the flesh-eating and metal-melting muck didn’t act as the prisoners’ warden on the other way out of the blazing industrial cage. Nobody would stop a lunatic that chose to cross the sea of ruination, for only extraordinary individuals or well-prepared groups had any hope to not be swallowed by the pernicious tar.

Fixit wouldn’t call himself an exceptional stallion nor would he deny his aptitude when it came to tinkering with any mechanisms. Something always drove him to take things apart, study their working principles and then present to the world an improved version. 

Not everyone appreciated how his craft tended to start—definitely not those who inhabited the lower floors of the Tunnels. Fixit didn’t blame the equinoids of the Church… too much; after all, their headhunt had served as a great motivation to leave the city as soon as possible. 

And he did learn from them anything he wanted—the result rocked on his back in the rhythm with his slightly unsteady gait. 



Days burnt out and ignited anew, casting weak rays upon the discoloured withered weald, phlegmatically watching the limping stallion press forward with grim determination. Nought but his invention weighed him down now; that, and the swelling doubt.

None knew the lands outside Canterlot—none remembered; those who did, tended to keep the knowledge of old to themselves, such was their melancholic nature. Fixit had no idea where he was headed, but the wasteland had to end at some point, right?

Right?

The waxing sluggishness of his hooves demanded a rest, in truth—nourishment. Unable to deny the crippling demand, Fixit all but dropped his weathered body into the entanglement of the crooked roots. 

The holey tarp came off and the gestalt of his skill dimly gleamed under the Sun’s uncaring eye. Fixit let his gaze linger on the device, tracing its fine details and then be followed by his hoof to the switch.

Nothing happened.

His eyes, bearing no pride anymore—disbelief and then concern—returned to the intertwining wires, searching every component for a flaw. The slightly dissymmetric cube came apart, revealing its innards that had no reason to fail.

Back in Canterlot, the gadget struggled: every equinoid, every device that used crystals, every spell—thinned ambient magic, making even something of such a petite size unable to maintain itself; needless to say, condense those scraps into usable energy. 

Fixit hugged the dormant lifesaver and thought. Hard.

Not being a unicorn, he only could make guesses. The only hypothesis suggested that if the device had no reason to fail, then the environment wasn’t suitable; Canterlot showed such a possibility.

Something nearby interfered with his survival and he had no more than a single day before it succeeded.



When the spark of Fixit’s hope almost died in the thickening gloom of the endless lumber’s putrescence, he stumbled upon a change in the dreary scenery. 

The mouldering stumps and splintered trunks parted to accommodate a pile of mossy rocks barely taller than an average hill. However, that tiny mountain bore signs of civilisation’s intervention in its formation, even if deep under the bas-reliefs chiselled by rains and wind.

Any doubt in the artificial nature of the structure evaporated when Fixit found a gate cut into the crag’s sombre face. 

Yet he hesitated to approach it; not because the door offered no passage—one of its wings hung precariously on a single hinge, letting drafts carry dust into the resulting crevice. Bleached bones guarded the slightly ajar entrance; massive spokes rose to the sky in a silent plea; gigantic skulls bared yellow fangs at the passing clouds.



Fixit’s steps echoed through the mute dark halls guiding him into the earth’s bowels. He passed cage after cage—all empty of anything but more bones and ashes. Those ancient remains baffled with their grotesqueness even someone who had taken a peek at the Deep Tunnels and its dwellers—be they mutants or things that had come from below the world of sanity. 

He entered another chamber of rusted cells.

“A guest,” a hoarse voice came from nowhere.

The stallion’s eyes frantically searched the room; only after going through every cage a few times did they finally stop at the only possible source.

A strange creature, shrivelled and faded, stared at him with milky eyes from behind a mesh. Somehow noticing Fixit’s attention, it tilted its horned, bald head and spoke again:

“Who would that be?”

The prisoner matched nothing Fixit knew; still, he cautiously approached the tarnished iron bars. 

“Just a traveller.”

“How curious,” the creature thoughtfully croaked. “Does the traveller have a name?”

“Fixit.”

“Lord Tirek. Whatever you came here for, this place can’t offer you much—only I, Fluke and ashes remain.”

As the second name rang against the cracked walls, a mound of tatters in the nearby cell stirred and a pegasus mare unearthed herself from the rags. Greyed-out by age and dishevelled from the slumber, she nevertheless brimmed with energy, throwing herself at the ribs of her cage to scowl at Tirek.

However, nothing else followed that burst of motion—the ‘Lord’ didn’t even bother to flick his ear and the mare seemed content to just press herself against the unrelenting metal. 

“What is this place?” Fixit tentatively wondered, looking around until his gaze stopped at Tirek. “What… who are you?”

The mysterious inmate mirrored the stallion's motion, his unseeing eyes wandering from the empty cell to the empty cell. 

“It used to be the most secure prison in Equestria,” Tirek chuckled, then added wistfully, “I used to be its most dangerous prisoner.”

Fixit nodded towards the silent pegasus. 

“And you, Fluke?”

The pony in question gave him a look of pure hatred and the way her dry muscles bulged under the unkempt coat told Fixit that he should be very grateful for the metal bars separating them.

“Princess Celestia ripped out her tongue,” Tirek commented. “Oh, and she doesn’t like that name.”

The stallion’s eyes widened—and not at the explanation of Fluke’s behaviour. 

“Princess?” He frowned. “How long have you been here?”

Tirek’s peculiar face failed to choose betwixt annoyance, melancholy and bitterness, contorting the multitude of his wrinkles into an ugly grimace.

“Something tells me longer than anyone remembers.”

Fixit looked around for any signs of activity, but only his prints disturbed the dust of the derelict prison. So, he asked, “Who feeds you?”

A bony hand protruded from Tirek’s wraps and arthritis-claimed knuckles knocked the bars. “These cages make sure nothing inside them dies.”

The stallion’s sceptical look went over a dozen similar wards that incarcerated only scattered ashes and sometimes skeletons.

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“No cage lasts forever; too bad, no prisoner either,” Tirek grouchily noted. After falling silent for a few moments, he perked up as his mind made a connection. “You’re hungry, aren’t you? Kill one of us—that would be mercy no matter who you choose.”

The pegasus rattled her cell this time, though as before, Tirek completely ignored her existence.

“Flu—” Fixit stopped himself as the rattling shifted closer to him. “Your mate doesn’t agree.” He sighed. “That would hardly help me, anyway.”

Tirek stared at him with an uncannily penetrating gaze that those blind eyes had no right to possess. For once, something other than sour melancholy passed through his expression.

“What are you, Fixit?”

“An equinoid,” the metal stallion replied and realising how little that would mean for someone from a bygone era, explained, “Ponies created me… 

He trailed off seeing how Tirek’s face had lost the tinge of confusion—whatever qualified him as the most dangerous prisoner there surely included sharpness of mind and a deeper understanding of magic than Fixit could ever wish to have.

“But I chose my own path…”

The blind Lord spared him a witty comment, “There are easier paths into a grave.”

The remark only reminded Fixit about his time tick-tocking away, and he hotly spoke, “If you tell me what stops my device from feeding on ambient magic, I’ll make sure to set you free—”

Tirek cut off his offer with a maniacal throaty laugh. 

The frail body could support the cachinnation only for so long and when it died down, the Lord spat, “How ironic.” Not giving Fixit’s confusion a single chance, he continued, “These walls will crumble before the enchantments fail and if you open that cage, I’ll share the same fate as the others.”

Now the spark of hope died, extinguished by the harsh reality of Tirek’s prison; not as secure as it used to be, but still enough to provide nothing to those who sought to exploit what or who it contained.

Whilst Fixit sighed in defeat, Tirek hummed in consideration.

“Is that your work, Fluke?” the Lord asked. When he got silence in answer, he addressed the equinoid, “Did she nod?”

“She ignores you.” 

“Doom,” Tirek said. 

“What?”

Fixit whirled around, but nothing in the chamber changed to merit uttering that ill-promising word. 

Unmindful of the equinoid’s frantic motions, the blind Lord asked for help, “Did she do anything?”

“She…” Fixit blinked in surprise. “Looks at you… sadly. 

As Tirek smirked in response, the equinoid plumped down and gave up. 

“I don’t understand anything.”

“That’s her name—Doom; well, that was what she chose for herself at least. A pony with a cutie mark that shouldn’t be, I think she might have been called Fate once.”

The mare listened to the story with an expression of utter boredom, though her muzzle twitched at Tirek’s guess.

“Nobody took her seriously until she promised Princess Luna would fall to the darkness, out of nowhere. And what would you know?” Tirek cackled. “The poor thing tried so hard but it was of a self-fulfilling kind.”

Fluke-Doom-Fate grinned unkindly, however, that didn’t bother Fixit as much as the colours around him, already pale, lost even more saturation. 

“Most fascinating,” he dryly commented. “But I’m dying.”

“What a coincidence,” Tirek mocked him in return; as if that wasn’t enough, he tsked and went on, “To make it so far only to die before the eyes of a blind Lord—you deserve more than that, I would know…”

Rolling his eyes, the equinoid refused to indulge the elder in his bitterness, and at that moment a spiny arm shot betwixt the bars to grasp the shreds of his environment suit.

“Now, Fixit, listen carefully if you want to live…”



The key stopped midway to the lock.

Found amidst the decay of the warden’s room, it would let Tirek feel freedom before the river of time took what belonged to it. That short moment should be enough for Fixit to inherit the power similar to that of his invention, though taken in a much more morbid direction.

The short walk, however, shrugged off the blinding veil of urgency and Fixit squinted at the elder Lord.

“What’s the catch?”

The white eyes blankly stared back at him.

“None.”

The key didn’t move closer to the lock, nor did retreat.

“You’re giving a stranger your power and asking for nothing in return.” 

Tirek snorted.

“If I die with it, the next vagabond will only find a desiccated corpse no different from any other. I have faith that there are still those who should recognise Lord Tirek’s legacy for what it is when they see you use my gift.”

Though the explanation sufficed, the frown still claimed the equinoid’s metal muzzle. He grumbled, “You don’t care about me, do you?”

“I care that you don’t disappoint me,” the Lord deadpanned. “So far I’m not impressed.”

Fixit didn’t dignify that with a response—the old Lord of nothing would die in less than an hour anyway. Why not let him bask in the dream of grandeur?

“What about her?”

Doom had burrowed herself back into her tatters during Fixit’s absence and didn’t react to his return nor his words.

“If her muteness was enough, Princess wouldn’t have put her here.” Tirek’s hint failed to produce the answer and he had to coldly add, “If my power alone was enough, I wouldn’t be here.”

The equinoid recoiled as his mind finally caught up with the suggestion.

“But—”

“Don’t make me reconsider my generosity,” Tirek hissed.

Even though it could be ignored like the rest of the Lord’s words, Fixit barked, “The enchantment is deactivated—I don’t need your charity, old... whatever you are.”

Chapped lips stretched to reveal rotten yet disturbingly sharp teeth.

“That’s the spirit! The question now is—do you want to be forever dependent on that device of yours or not?”



The power to take coursed through Fixit’s crystals as he stumbled away from the crumbling into dust body of the centaur—he knew now who Lord Tirek once was. Ancient memories stirred in his mind—the nostalgia for the era of blood and freedom.

But like their owner, those memories had been fading and failed to stick to Fixit’s young mind. The recollections that weren’t his own had already claimed the corner of his consciousness. 

Coming out of the daze, Fixit fixed his gaze on the remaining convict.

Screw the old fool—the poor mare had been confined to that miserable existence for more than a thousand years; she deserved a chance for redemption, she must have changed.

The equinoid shuffled to Doom’s cell to tap its bars and found her already awake… to his horror.

Savage bitemarks darkened the pegasus’ hoof that scratched on the patch of floor cleared enough to fit words written in crimson:


	Pony of iron, frown into a cage thee shalt be



	Encircled by nightmares and merciless steel



	No kin shalt come to thee but alien strangers


Fixit rammed the key into the lock and threw the door open. Before he could even react, the mare sprung like a trap to slam into him, sending them skidding across the floor, raising eddies of dust in their tumbling wake.

He hopped back to his hooves—too late, again. Doom lunged at him and the sound of splintered wood echoed from the walls. Only by some miracle did Fixit find in himself enough swiftness to scramble away from the skull-shattering stomp. 

Emanating an eerie feral growl that only a mute could produce, Doom continued her onslaught with a lightning-fast jab that sent Fixit rolling further into the dirt. That strike left him moving sluggishly, slowly recovering and open for another rapid attack—which the pegasus didn’t hesitate to commence.

A metal hoof shot out, grabbing the throat of the overconfident mare, and steel jaws unhinged, opening into an arcane void that eternally hungered for magic.

Her lifeless body dropped to the dust with a dull thump and Fixit grimaced—that wasn't how he’d wanted it to go. But regret could wait—the portending message must be erased.

Hobbling back to Doom’s cell, Fixit stared at the foreboding words and… what was he supposed to do? The almost evaporated memories of the gone Lord sneered at him—the power he took from the pegasus could let him change the weather or fly if he had wings, but no more. Harmony alone held domain over cutie marks.

What’s the catch?

Fixit frantically whipped around—he must be able to fix it! 

His gaze fell on Doom’s growing cold and ashen body that still dripped blood.



Even from atop the crag, Fixit couldn’t see Canterlot, but the smoke-blighted part of the horizon gave him a hint where to go. In the other direction lay nothing—the Undiscovered West; far, very far in the distance, the first signs of green showed themselves amidst the fuscous desolation.

But why dive for the unknown? Doom’s prediction couldn’t be escaped and Fixit preferred to meet the challenge on familiar ground; that, and he now had some business in Canterlot.

Tirek had nagged him about his legacy, of living up to the name of the once feared Lord. Fixit still had no plans to follow the path of destruction; the only name he would live up to was… his own. And now he had the right tools for the job.

The prison now lay truly empty as walking its halls and checking every cell revealed one more convict—a strange slime, a mere cupful of undulating green substance, that lay dormant in a cocoon of porous crust. Fixit contemplated sparing it, but if he had learnt anything from his dealing with Tirek and Doom—nobody in there deserved to ever be free.

Already boasting a certain degree of immortality by the merit of his equinoid nature, he transferred that aspect into appearing to be nigh-indestructible ooze.

He left nothing behind but the drying red writing on the floor:


	So fate decrees—bend the bars and face thy fears 



	And those who art being trapped with thee



	Shalt follow thy word until they art set free.

> 3.1 Black Horse
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



=================================

Written by: Oneimare

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant

=================================


Arc 3 – Convergence

Chapter 1 – Black Horse


=================================


“You sure know how to make yourself a pain in the ass.”

Holding back an undignified gasp, Delight sharply turned to glare at the source of the familiar and melodic, yet insufferable voice; to her frustration, her gossamer wings refused to obey and flared out.

“Excuse me?” she all but spat at Bláthnat.

The majestic doe met the queen’s ire with deliberate boredom before languidly obliging to explain herself in the most snobbish tone possible, “Your presence is required at the city council.”

The scathing look Del shot at her bounced off the immaculate expression that crystally clearly conveyed Bláthnat’s desire to do anything else rather than acting as Stalliongrad’s messenger. The queen momentarily considered mimicking the doe in a way only a changeling could when her intuition told her otherwise.

“Check the calendar, dear—it’s only next week,” she retorted instead in a mockingly sweet tone. “Not that I planned to attend it—I have more important things now than beating a dead horse.”

Bláthnat’s muzzle hardened from an irritated slack frown into an irked glare; she straightened herself, attempting to regard Delight haughtily, but it fell flat as the changeling’s curved horn reached higher than her branching antlers; the queen smirked.

“It’s an emergency meeting,” the doe barked. “Your refusal to attend would result in your charges being made public—immediately.”

The warning came out of nowhere and bore coldness going far beyond Bláthnat’s obnoxious temper; it took Delight a few long moments to convince herself she didn’t mishear the doe.

“What’s going on?” she hollowly demanded.

At least a dozen praetors waited nearby— her changeling sense told her that. The furtive sources of worry and duty slowly converged on her location, invisible and silent—or so their mother thought.

“No need to do anything rash, Heterocera,” Bláthnat nonchalantly noted, meaningfully shaking her antlers; beads and chimes softly tinkled, masking the eerily keening whine. “We’re interested in a peaceful resolution.”

The doe could pull quite a few, often unwelcomed, tricks out of her hat; and though not enough to pose a considerable threat, the rest of Stalliograd’s Technocracy could easily compensate for that. 

They weren’t there right now, so Delight practically snarled, “Then you better answer my question.”

Bláthnat thoughtfully looked at Del and dryly admitted, “You’re being accused of high treason.”

The queen’s eyes grew moon-sized; however, the doe’s reserved expression told her she already had heard more than Bláthnat’s colleagues might want her to; the deer disliked everyone in equal measure, after all.

The silent churning of Delight’s thoughts settled betwixt the two tall figures, Bláthnat cooly observing the queen’s muzzle, twisting from the intellectual strain… until she got bored.

“So, do you intend to answer those accusations?”

The changeling hesitated, wondering what would happen if she answered that question negatively—aside from what had already been promised. Her sense reached out again, but other than her Praetorian Guard, the abandoned district lived up to its fame; her horn tingled with the proximity of a magic presence, but firing it up right now would likely satiate her previous curiosity in the least favourable way. 

“Well, yes…” she finally and unsurely replied. “Just let me get my advis—”

Searing radiance flooded her vision.



Bláthnat not only busied Delight with blinking away the disorienting afterimage—the doe made sure the changeling would have to stumble herself into balance; luckily for the former pegasus, the transformation hadn’t robbed her of her flier’s agility. 

“Ever heard about the concept of consent?” Del acidly noted.

The curtain of blinding white thinned enough for the spacious hall and its occupants to invade the queen’s still sensitive eyes. 

Whilst years and the arid dust-laden winds had taken a toll on the faces of Stalliongrad Technocracy, their cast remained unchanged—almost. With Norwood’s passing, the council’s number of wrinkles got cut in half as Desert Rose, a young donkey—a mule, actually—inherited his seat; and only her mien bore something other than grim resolution.

Despite the emergency state of things, the gathered representatives bided their time, conspicuously avoiding to look at each other or Delight. Bláthnat took her place by the long table, not taking seat, however; the doe either seemed averse to standing too close to the others or she wanted to be ready for another teleportation. 

Del put an end to the unmolested reign of silence.

“I find it very funny,” she hissed, “that you let a murderous goat spawn prey upon the citizens, but it’s me who somehow gets accused of betrayal.”

Save for the mute tension thickening, a heavy sigh answered the changeling’s challenge. It left the thestral’s chapped lips and heartbeat soon her hoof removed the glasses from her sombre face—to idle with them.

As if sensing Del’s patience growing dangerously thin, Maudlin Tale cleared her throat before saying, “We don’t have much time—we’re already on borrowed.” 

“You don’t say.”

Though the queen’s bitterness matched the blatant hypocrisy of that statement, her passive aggressiveness ended there, dethroned by musing—according to Machine, Stalliongrad shouldn’t be in the know yet… unless something else had come up.

The batpony once again gave an impression of being a telepath as she continued, in a deeply concerned tone, “At this moment, the setting of the Sun has been delayed by forty-six minutes.”

“So?” Delight feigned coolness as her mind tried to frantically dig her memory for the most recent report on Luna’s state. Inwardly cursing at finding none, she funnelled her frustration into a question, “What does it have to do with me being a traitor?”

Her attitude finally got through the thick skins of the council—more than one attendant glared daggers at her, Maudlin’s cat-like glower included. 

“Your Swarm is spying on us—you have eyes everywhere in Hope,” the aged mare coldly stated; however she failed to absolve her following words of any emotion. “And though we haven’t managed to catch your rats where we would prefer to not have them, in one place—we succeeded. You’ve had agents shadowing Nightmare Moon.”

Delight tensed her jaws. 

You’ve had agents.

Unlike the thestral, she managed to speak levelly, “I’ve been watching over the filly—a young mare—who lives with her—my friend.”

“Your other agent.”

Maudlin and her cronies, silent though they were, really seemed determined to test the limits of Delight’s patience; however inane that statement sounded, it didn’t prove enough. But Del could see where it was coming from.

“Get a hold of your paranoia—I have nothing to do with whatever is going on,” she harrumphed.

The batmare squinted at the changeling—not because of her poor eyesight. “Tin Flower had been involved in the events concerning the Machine Goddess’s ascension and we found you exiting the Citadel mere minutes ago.”

“Tin Flower is her sworn enemy,” Del tiredly commented, rolling her eyes—those fools knew nothing. Then, something caught her attention—a seat not just empty, but absent from where it used to be. “Where is she, by the way?”

“We’re unable to contact the Citadel and every equinoid has left the city streets.”

The queen froze and had to put a tremendous effort so the fury that came after wouldn’t claim her expression. 

The Machine Goddess knew what was going on; suddenly, the enmity between her and Stalliongrad’s clowns that had started from day one gained a dubious quality. The head and heart of the Swarm that ‘had eyes everywhere in Hope’ found herself horrifyingly blind.

“I have nothing to do with this!”

Maudlin flicked her tufted ears and calmly replied to the outburst, carefully choosing her words, “It’s because we allow such a possibility that you are here. The Swarm possesses a device able to restore the day and night cycle—your chance to prove your innocence.”

If Delight had thought of Stalliongrad as fools before, after hearing that—she lost her ability to speak for the whole minute from the sheer stupidity of that statement.

“Are you crazy?” she finally managed to splutter. “Do you have the slightest idea how much energy it requires? Using it would put my entire Swarm at risk!”

Expressions that belonged to a portrait by an unskillful artist met her waxing despair with glassy eyes. However, they couldn’t dream of copying the apotheosis of blankness that Maudlin achieved, blemished by perpetually predatory eyes that ruined the whole impression. Only Desert Rose had her mask cracking but held together by the pressure of her peers.

“I’m afraid,” the batpony intoned, “we can’t assist—only you have that much magic stored.”

Delight’s lips quivered, struggling to cover her fangs’ desire to become exposed; even though that wasn’t a lie—either her spies failed to infiltrate Stalliongrad thoroughly enough, or...

“You knew this would happen!” she roared at the gathering—not of idiots but malicious orchestrators. “How do I know it’s not you who set Luna off?”

None flinched as the changeling queen came closer to becoming a monster from the tales with which many of Hope’s parents scared obstinate children. Beyond the thin panelling, two full squads of fabled heavy infantry waited for a signal—their eagerness for action tasted sour on the changeling’s tongue. And the Technocrats knew that she knew.

“If you refuse, we have no other choice but to let the public know you are responsible for the cataclysm,” reminded Maudlin.

The queen took a deep breath and tried to call to the reasonable side the council possessed. Not that she had any other options not bound to end in a truly catastrophic fashion.

“The changelings are not your enemy,” Del pleaded. “We feed Hope, we patrol it alongside the police, our family welfare prog—”

Whatever exactly strung Maudlin up, Delight would never know—the mare’s immaculate neutrality shattered to reveal a pony blessed and cursed by Nightmare Moon. 

A venomous hatred ignited in the nocturnal horror’s citrine eyes and she hissed, baring sharp teeth, “You’re parasite turncoats that are only tolerated because you control the city’s food production and have a small army!”

Forgetting about the deadly safe measure concealed in the walls, Delight answered with her own display of monstrous features aided by a slight transformation to fit her unflattering depictions in the scare stories.

The pickelhelm-wearing soldiers appeared as if from the thin air, their shoulder-mounted guns aiming the raging changeling, ready to leap at the batpony to find out whose fangs were longer.

As if it would hide her nature, Maudlin perched her glasses back onto her scrunched nose and spat, “The quality of life in Hope has been steadily deteriorating and the city can’t afford for its survival to be interfered with by a dangerous group absorbed with their egotistical goals.

“You’ve had ten years to prove your merit to society. You have one hour more before the public announcement will be made.”



A popular rumour suggested that the changelings possessed a sort of neural link—a ‘hivemind’. Although that wasn’t true, they knew about their mother’s return home long before she stepped into the Hive’s perpetually ominous twilight.

All but her Praetorian Guard—and only the veterans—cleared the dark and dank passages in the advent of the beacon pulsing with palpable pain and fury; not many would be able to withstand it anyway. 

Lamina materialised from the shadows, respectfully bowing to the deafening and searing storm of emotion. “My Quee—”

“Where is Wire?!” Delight roared.

“She’s still on the mission with—”

“Find her and bring her here. At once!”

“At your orders”

When Lamina hastily dissolved back into the darkness, another form took her place, though the queen paid it no attention—she continued to navigate the Hive, her wrath and agony growing with each step closer to her destination. 

If Rainbow Dash were to decide her successor, then Teleta probably… definitely wouldn’t have been her first pick; but Heterocera appointed her as the new captain of the reformed elite force for a reason—none could ever accuse the timid mare of disloyalty. 

Nor could she be called out as lacking in the smarts department—the snippets of intel from the agents that had eavesdropped on the council coincided with the course her charge undertook. That an inability to unclench her jaws resulted in tactful silence, angry stomping of her liege notwithstanding.

An explosion of emerald magic blasted the door open and with that, the maelstrom of anguish and wrath was snuffed out by a simple sight. 

In the dim glow of a bioluminescent lantern, a dust-covered device resided on a simple table in a fashion innocent if not for its sharp-edges gleaming with hunger—abandoned for a decade, the amplifier knew its hour would come one day. 

The hour when it would kill the Swarm.

Being just a complex system of crystal prisms and arcanium filigree, it, of course, possessed no intent, evil or not. But as Delight stared in horror at the executioner’s axe she would have to rise over her children’s necks, she couldn’t help imagining it lusting for their lymph.

Where the inferno of rage had been casting blinding waves of overwhelming emotion, a well opened—a bottomless abyss of hopelessness with an effect no less profound. 

Soft at first, then growing sharper, sniffles echoed from the bony walls.

“I… I can’t do this,” the changeling queen squeezed out, slumping down but unable to tear her leaking eyes away from the artificial alicorn horn designed for a single spell.

Bowing her head, Teleta silently and slowly took off her helmet. A step behind her queen, she joined her in gazing at the tool that portended her demise, one way or another. If used, she would have to watch how the green flames eat the flesh of everyone dear to her and feel her own body turn to ashes. If left alone, in less than an hour the entire city would turn on those who’d helped it the most.

“I’m so s-sorry,” Delight sobbed. “It has always been an uphill battle and now I’ve lost. I can’t save you, I don’t know how. I’m sorry.”

A pair of metal-clad hooves wrapped around her torso and Teleta’s mane brushed against the dust-blighted coat of her mother, even though it wasn’t Heterocera involved in her coming into this world in the unique midwife-like fashion. 

“We know,” she muttered into the chest of the shuddering mare. “Queen Chrysalis told us many times throughout the years that we were always on the brink of extinction. Yet we survived each time.”

Tears fell on Teleta’s head as Del sadly shook her head and spoke hollowly, “I’m not her.”

The captain of the guard tightened her embrace; not only offering support but seeking it as well. Softly she uttered, “I loved her as much as my birth-mother and still love her. She sang the softest lullabies… But you might have more chances to get us through this—you see ponies differently.”

There was more than just the physical comfort mother and daughter shared at that moment—their changeling nature let them bestow life-saving essence upon each other; the warmth spread through their limbs… until it didn’t. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t,” Del’s voice came out almost inaudible, muffled by venom. 

Teleta recoiled from the chitin underneath which the aching heart flared with pure darkness. She stared at the vicious snarl overtaking Delight’s mellow features and mouthed in despair, “My Queen…”

The swelling cloud of suffocating emotions dissolved, leaving behind an empty shell tinged with regret. It whispered, “I’m sorry, I just…” the quiet lament became a bitter hiss. “It’s so unfair!”

However, she didn’t let her umbrage foul the air for long—straightening herself with a cleansing sigh, she declared, even if somewhat shakily:

“And it’s not over yet.”

A small smile settled on Teleta’s lips when she snapped a salute—though the spark of hope wasn’t as strong as she wished, it was there; when it came to hope, that was all that was ever needed.

“We will stand by your side until our last breath!”

“No.”

Teleta’s expression of determination shattered for a hurt to take its place.

The queen approached the table and a green aura enveloped the ridiculously oversized tiara. It didn’t budge, however.

“One use of the amplifier is going to leave the Swarm with a week’s worth of love,” Delight sombrely informed her captain. “Pass that to everyone and then you’re relieved of your duties. All of you.”

The changeling stared at her mother as if she had turned into a living flame.

“But—”

“It’s all my fault and my responsibility alone,” Del sharply cut her off and darkly continued, “I’m either using that week to fix everything or die trying.”

She focused her attention on the device, recalling the instructions from Chrysalis and Sunset Shimmer; her lips formed a thin line—she could use Wire’s advice right now. Where was she when Delight needed her the most? Ah, yes… 

Teleta lingered for a moment and reluctantly shuffled out of the room—her queen gave her an order, after all. Her heart went aflutter when Del’s call stopped her, though that elation quickly ceded to curiosity mixed with worry. 

 “Could you show me where you have the heavy-calibre weapons and explosives stashed? Someone owes me answers and this time when I knock, the doors will open.”



Delight didn’t know if she should chide herself or be proud—she’d successfully fooled a changeling. Though a sliver of hope suggested she might have told the truth. 

Her Swarm had a week to come to terms with their perdition if only Stalliongrad would show some mercy. The Sun had set, but it would have to be risen again and there was no love left to make that happen. And since luck hadn’t been on her side lately, Delight had one night to figure out how to save her children.

She scowled at the empty place by her side, though Wire didn’t deserve a single ill thought—her aid was absent for the same reason Bláthnat caught her with horseshoes off. Nor did it help that Teleta adamantly refused to let her inside the Hive’s armoury; the queen couldn’t find it in her heart to force her captain—not with death breathing down their necks. 

Little did Teleta know—whilst she had instructed her queen in basics of self-defence, Wire had also shared what she had learnt about battle spells. Crippled by the Transference Paradox, she compensated for her inability to protect her friend with the diligent search for knowledge and making sure it settled well in Del’s mind.

The want for demolishing tools came from pettiness rather than necessity. 

As the changeling eyed the Citadel contemplating if she wanted to enter it through a window or a door—of her making—a soft sound made her turn, eyes already burning with loathing even before they met the Harbinger’s serene gaze or that of the Machine Goddess herself.

“No need for that,” said the arcanium alicorn. “Here’s the door.”

At her words, a portal opened behind the statuesque figure—an opening into an expanse of sand glistening silver in the moonlight. She invitingly motioned with her hoof, smiling amiably and apologetically. 

“I don’t trust you,” Delight deadpanned. 

The grin on the metal mask gained a mysterious quality.

“So, am I your enemy now?”

Del squinted at the unwavering and unnerving expression, searching the homogenous glow of the Machine Goddess’s (or Harbinger’s) eyes for any hint; probing the emotions of the metal equine revealed nothing as well.

She didn’t trust her—not in the slightest, not anymore. But… What was she to lose? And whatever the Machine Goddess was playing at, she’d set the board masterfully—leaving the changeling queen with only one direction still promising some hope.

“Your last chance. Fail to prove yourself—and I’m making sure not only the changelings will go extinct.”
> 3.2 White Horse
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



=================================

Written by: Oneimare

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant

=================================


Arc 3 – Convergence

Chapter 2 – White Horse


=================================


Whereas Ash stared at the eerie equine-like thing in mute horror, the snow screamed, trampled by her backtracking—frantic stumbling steps.

Underneath the empty eye sockets that peered at her with the intensity of a dozen glares no mouth had opened, yet a voice came—if that sound could be called such; were a corpse be capable of speech, it would speak in that manner. 

“Life form detected: Harmony unit—special variety, alicorn,” cold, mechanical, noteless words announced. “Threat analysis: negligible. Course of action: proceed with the objective.”

The skull turned away and the biggest breath Ash had ever held whistled past her just unclenched teeth; the sigh turned into a bout of hyperventilation. Something about those bones chilled her to her own more profoundly than any of the local unnatural winds.

In the wake of abating fear a shadow of the alicorn’s ego dragged behind, bitter about her unflattering assessment; only rats seemed to fear the mutant—or a special kind of pony if Discord were to be trusted.

Right—no time to waste—she was a mare on a mission.

Glancing around inevitably led Ash’s eyes to fall back to the imposing (even if by its unsettling appearance than the size alone) figure that seemed to be as well absolved into taking in its surroundings. The wind clawed at the mass of junk that constituted the ricketty frame uncannily swivelling the borrowed skull. 

The statue’s attention momentarily lingered on the shivering pony, letting her take a better look at it and Ash barely held back a terrified gasp—that skeleton!

An elegant yet almost impossibly long horn topped the massive skull of delicate physique, with the rest of the bones sharing that quality. And amongst them—those belonging only to pegasi—wings uselessly stuck to the ribcage.

The morbid sight captivated Ash in the same measure as it repelled her—the remains evoked a strange affinity to them. In the end, common sense won and she pivoted around to get the furthest from something that might have killed something that once looked like her; the direction didn’t matter. 

In her retreat, she mumbled, “Shit like this makes me want to never return here.”

The skull snapped toward her.

“Life form possesses valuable data. Commence: extraction.”

Colourless magic compensated for its near invisibility with a sharp pain as a crushing vice grasped Ash’s throat and pulled up, forcing her to stand on the tips of her hooves, effectively incapacitating the writhing mare. Then the agony came with which the arcane touch marked its invasion straight into the alicorn’s brain.

With only strangled croaks coming from her foaming mouth—not that anyone would come to help—and her body rendered even more helpless than usual, her last hope remained in the ability that she’d developed the least.

A yellowish aura spluttered around her horn and a weak push of telekinesis dissipated against the uncaring bone—the monstrosity didn’t react, continuing to worm into Ash’s consciousness; something was telling her she wouldn’t see it through.

Another magic shove yielded the same result, except time passed and with that the searing pain intensified to the point where blackness began to creep at the edges of Ash’s vision. As if to banish it, she reached for the Sun—just to touch it for one final time before the shadows swallowed her.

The peals of thunder came first, then a waxing distant hum that rapidly grew into a deafening roar and finally a blast shook Ash’s world—along with a radiant lance of sunlight. 

She tumbled back, miraculously unsinged and hurting only from the disrupted violation of her head and neck. All around, snow hissed in agony as the air-warping heat melted it straight into a vapour.

When the alicorn rose to her hooves, the surface under them—the dissolving ice—seemed further away than usual; her limbs moved with less effort and even her wings that flared out by themselves promised flight; magic all but dripped from her horn, craving to spill itself upon the snowbanks, so the hated scenery would be purged by an inferno.

It felt so good.

Was that what Discord had talked about? With that strength she could fight anyone, anything; nothing wouldn’t bow before her will. She could waltz back into that depot and turn the Prophet into a pile of cinders.

The burnt air rang with a laugh—a deep venomous cackle that Ash couldn’t recognise even though it bubbled from her heaving chest. 

Her seemingly boiling blood turned into ice in an instant.

What she thought to be the lingering ache of the merciless probe in her head refused to pass because it was something new—the fire that consumed her as much as empowered, and demanded to carry out its hunger into the world lest she didn’t want to perish.

All of a sudden the heat became unbearable and the steam-laden air suffocated Ash as she backpedalled again, though this time with no chance of an escape—there could be none from herself. In her panic to figure out how to relinquish the corrupting strength, she failed to notice how it faded, leaving behind the fear of its possible return.

Something did return—banishing away the fog with a wave of magic, the bone-encrusted statue approached the alicorn. Though the metal parts of its body still shone red with heat, the direct hit hadn’t inflicted any real damage; the bleached skeleton appeared to be unaffected in the slightest.

Weakened by its attack and wrestling back control over her mind, Ash made no attempt to flee, solemnly bolstering herself for another eternity of torment.

The skull regarded her for a few long horrible heartbeats, then the distorted air carried the words, “Threat reevaluation: extremely high—data loss risk. Commencing negotiations.”

Ash stared back at a somehow expectant bone, rendered mute by the offer—she had never participated in something that even resembled negotiations.

“Let’s just not kill each other, okay?” she suggested. “No fighting—we back off, be on our own ways and never meet again.”

“Offer: rejected,” the effigy intoned without hesitation. “Life form possesses valuable data.”

Perplexed simply by the concept of having a conversation with whatever that horror was, the confused mare meekly objected, “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Clarification: information regarding Canterlot escape routes.”

“All I’ve got is a riddle from someone who calls himself Discord,” Ash offered a clarification of her own.

“Data analysis: failed—variable can’t be calculated.”

The frost crept back into the clearing reverting water into ice and still, nothing followed that cryptic comment. Ash realised it fell on her shoulders to break the stalemate.

“So what now?”

“New objective: follow life form.”

“Do I get the choice of opting out of this?”

A silent look was all she got. The metal and bone abomination received an annoyed sigh in return, followed by a few words of the same nature, “My name is Ash. What’s yours?”

The empty eye sockets somehow managed to convey condescending befuddlement.

“This life form doesn’t require a name.”

Now that it didn’t portend death, the alicorn gave ‘the life form’ a critical look.

A badly damaged arcanium statue served as the base for the pieces of reddish scrap and whatnot—all cobbled together to mimic the general outline of an equine; its physique belonging to no known race, though its size approximated that of Ash—a weirdly overgrown pony. The bones, somehow immaculately preserved despite everything, finished the eerie look by being used as both integral parts of the frame and ‘decorations’—nowhere to be fit, they either freely hung or formed the resemblance of an armour. 

“Who even are you?”

Nothing gave Ash any reason not to use ‘what’ instead, for despite the mechanical joints and salvaged plating crudely imitating those of equinoids, who already trod on the thin line betwixt living and inanimate, the entity had no crystals inside—only darkness lurked in the recesses of its preternaturally moving carcass.

Yet the way that creature had spoken and acted brought back memories of her childhood—of dank tunnels inhabited by those whose flesh was deformed by the generations and unkind conditions into a pinnacle of grotesqueness and fate’s mockery. Her parents, her siblings, her friends—all who Ash had loved dearly.

“Matching data not found.” For a fleeting moment, it sounded as if the subtlest hint of forlornness slipped into the lifeless words.

“Everyone has a name,” insisted Ash.

“Parameter: unnecessary.”

The mare answered the curt dismissal with a glare and declared, “You will be... Nameless until you come up with something better.”

For once more the hollow stare bore deep into the alicorn’s eyes portending menace and lasting uncomfortably long.

“Analysis: life form’s intelligence—insufficient.”

Pursing her lips, Ash walked past her newly-found travelling companion, heading for the familiar outline in the ruins. 

“Go analyse yourself, Nameless.”



Now that dust and rime had settled, the time to mull over the obtained knowledge came—the snippets of bigger truths hidden behind Discord’s jokes and the hints buried in the machine-like messages of Nameless. 

However, before the brainstorming came, some questions nagged at the back of Ash’s mind, mostly those concerning the nature of her unexpected journey and one of them she didn’t hesitate to ask aloud.

“Why can’t you just walk out of the city?” she called to Nameless who trailed behind her like an ominous shadow—silent and unstoppable. “You seem more than capable of that.”

“This li—”

“I,” Ash abruptly cut off Nameless.

“This—”

“I,” the alicorn interrupted again. “I’m doing that until you stop calling me or yourself a life form. Oh, and I’m also not going anywhere,” Ash announced and her backside plopped down into the snow.

“Th—”

“I.”

Nameless monotonously pressed on, “...is capable of disintegrating that life—”

“Ash.”

“Communication: denied. Seeking solution,” the desensitised voice abruptly stopped but returned after a few seconds, “Correcting data. New variable parameters assigned: Nameless, Ash. Resuming exchange.

“Nameless is incapable of leaving the Canterlot perimeter due to interference from the entropic variable.”

“That’ll have to do…” Ash sighed, then perked up. “Wait, what does that mean?”

“An entropic variable interferes with any attempts to cross the boundary marking Canterlot’s premises,” Nameless deadpanned.

The alicorn rolled her eyes—on purpose or not, Nameless could be insufferable and that uncertainty annoyed her the most. 

“What entropic variable?” she grouched. “The storm? How does it stop you?”

It didn’t help that half of the time Nameless used words whose meaning Ash couldn’t understand so much as guess the context. 

“Ash assigned the entropic variable: Discord.” 

Remembering how Nameless effortlessly decapitated him (though that hardly mattered) the mare couldn’t help but wonder, “How powerful is that draconequus?”

“Collected data suggests no limits.”

Two kinds of survivors dwelt in Canterlot—those who excelled in stealth and those who excelled in death. None could hide from the cold and the beasts that circled the ruins feared no gun or blade. Whilst a few ones had allegedly found the way to sneak past the icy cordon, Ash seemed to stumble upon those few individuals capable of dealing a killing blow to the blizzard.

Discord could beat Nameless, Nameless could beat the Prophet and the Prophet could beat Discord—ridiculously, that sounded a lot like that one game only gryphons and minotaurs could play.

Ash shook her head.

“I don’t understand.”

“Insufficient input—clarification required.”

“He can do anything, right? Then why is the whole city neck-deep in shit?” the frowning mare ranted, finishing with a cautious, “Is he… a bad guy?”

Nameless didn’t have the answer outright and when it finally came, the words echoed Ash’s reluctance to jump to any conclusions. “Archive data contradicts observations—Discord operates outside his modus. Therefore, data is compromised by observations—insufficient.”



Ruminating on the balance of power in the dead city and her nature presented itself quite a novel and pleasant pastime for the one who used to spend such quiet moments lamenting the injustice of the world and praying for the lures to attract the prey before she turned into an icicle. 

But the unfair reality had other plans for Ash, dragging her back into that realm of harsh survival.

“Stay here,” she commanded as soon as her eyes recognised the dilapidated edifices leaning on each other in their undignified rest. 

“Request: denied—unclear purpose.”

Ignoring Nameless, Ash dug into an assuming pile of snow—one of her stashes—until she emerged with a warped metal pole clenched in her jaws. The alicorn spoke through it, “If I don’t get some food soon, there will be no grand escape—the cold will kill me before we get halfway to the Wall.”

Whilst the blessing—and the curse—from the Sun had injected her failing body with some energy, it had faded away along with the insidious strength and the residual allowed her to ignore her empty stomach only this far.

“Clarification attempt: failed—reiterate operation.”

Ash spit out the ‘spear’ to meaningfully shake it. As Nameless blankly stared at her (not that the skull could convey anything else), she elaborated in a dramatically exasperated fashion, “I’m gonna hunt rats.”

“Observation: inefficient strategy.”

“You have something else to offer?” Ash’s eyes widened and she frantically waved her hooves. “Wait! Don’t answer that question—the last time it happened my life got crazy.”

“Input: self-contradiction. Ignoring logical fallacy. Possible solution: displacement of the nearest food supply in Ash’s vicinity.”

The mare in question blinked at Nameless a few times. 

“You can do that?” she asked in disbelief; then squinted. “Why?”

“Cessation of Ash’s life functions is detrimental to the objective.”

“That’s… reassuring.” The wording couldn’t be colder, but the meaning struck deep. The alicorn softly uttered, “Thank you.”

The air warped and in that distortion tin cans materialised, hovering above the snow in the flickering haze. Heartily thrusting her spear into the white flesh of winter, Ash reached for the levitated preservatives, however her hoof laden with a food tin didn’t retract— it extended further.

Nameless ignored the offer, patiently waiting for something. Only when almost a full awkward minute passed, the voice announced, “Ash contradicts her statement regarding the necessity of receiving sustenance.”

“Don’t you want some?”

“Nameless doesn’t require organic or mineral compounds to operate.”

“I envy you—never getting hungry,” Ash chuckled as she diverted her attention to opening the tin; thankfully, her meagre telekinetic power proved enough to pull on the convenient ring.

“Nameless’ functions are limited to obtaining data and its unbiased processing.”

A shudder ran down the alicorn’s spine—if not for her special link with the Sun, Nameless would be processing her data as easily as she munched on those mushy turnips. How many had failed to escape the lethal inquisitiveness? 

Nameless had been stalking the corpse of the city, devoted to a single activity—hunting down knowledge for whatever purpose, relentless and merciless… much like Ash hunted rats.

“I’m taking my words back.”



The food, however cold, tasteless and lacking texture, vastly improved Ash’s chances to not succumb to the unforgiving winter; it also called for more respect towards her companion—a somewhat morbid guardian angel.

“Erm… Nameless?” she unsurely began. 

“Insufficient input.”

“How do I put it…” Ash seriously considered dropping the matter. “Are you a mare or a stallion?”

“Gender: not assigned—unnecessary parameter,” Nameless replied, unperturbed by the question in the slightest.

The concept didn’t sound inconceivable to the alicorn, but of all creatures who could say the same about themselves, most often it came from those ponies who had their bodies made from steel and plastic. Nameless didn’t fit that group lest they belonged to the rumour about the equinoid who’d ascended beyond the coil of material vessels; after today it would be hasty to call that improbable, however.

So Ash specified, just in case, “Are you some kind of an equinoid?”

“Observation: incorrect—no equinoid attributes found.”

Nothing equine—‘no matching data’ at all. Was their abdication of gender a conscious choice or a dismissal of something inherently alien?  

“I just don’t get you—calling yourself a life form, but having nothing in common with any living being,” she defeatedly admitted. 

“Statement: false—Nameless possesses all attributes of a living being.”

A sad sigh escaped Ash’s lips. “All but one...”

“Input: unclear—requesting elaboration.”

“Never mind.”



The traversal of the once-great city’s frozen remains proved a challenge by itself—the ever-shifting snow rendered memory unavailing as the wandering of the alabaster masses erased the passages that were there a day before, offering new and perilous paths instead. Nameless’ oppressing presence added to that stressful situation and Ash couldn’t figure out why exactly until it finally occurred to her.

“What’s with the bones?”

She uneasily glanced at the skull, beautiful and terrifying at the same time; it bore a familiarity simultaneously drawing her closer and urging her to flee. The way the polished porcelain-like bone gleamed under the many time filtered light of the concealed Sun differed from anything else in a disturbing and fascinating way.

“Remains of a life form found at the Sky Palace.”

“Cool,” Ash cooly noted. “Why wear them?”

A long silence followed her question, longer than any before to the point the alicorn thought it would remain answered. 

Nameless ultimately spoke, “Choice of preference.”

Ash stopped dead in her tracks to stare at them, her mouth hanging open.

“But… wha… What?” she managed to stammer. Throwing her hooves up in confusion, she all but yelled, “Didn’t you say you have no feelings?”

“Default data: corrupted. Collected data: partial rebuilding achieved—fragments evoke a response to external stimuli. Contribution to the investigation: possible,” Nameless gave her an ambiguous answer ridden with technicalities that flew over Ash’s head. 

The mare fell silent, glowering at Nameless and eventually scrunched her nose in distaste before hissing, “Do these bones make you feel happy?”

“Data suggests: sorrow.”



Ash’s hoof shielded her eyes from the hail of soon-to-become flesh-rending ice crystals. Nevertheless, she succeeded in taking in the dreadful vista of the city entombed in rime—an otherwise pristine valley bristling with half-rotted grey and reddish buildings. Pyres belched soot to spite the deadly winds; the mare never ceased to wonder what else had been left to burn after all those years in the kingdom that was scavenged to the marrow.

Bodies, perhaps. A crude estimation suggested that more than half of Canterlot’s population believed it would survive the winter when the call to abandon the city shook its streets.

The gale ruffled the alicorn’s feathers, drove her mane into her eyes and mouth. Nameless, the impassive sentinel, stood by her side, unbothered by the storm’s rage. Their unseeing eyes gazed upon the desolate scenery growing dim from the thickening blizzard and approaching night; Ash couldn’t help but be curious—what data did they see?

Did that living nightmare evoke anything in them at all?  

“A stupid question—why do you want to flee Canterlot?” she asked instead.

“Data to determine Nameless’ designation—insufficient. Solution: expand the search area.”

“You mean your purpose in life?”

Nameless contemplated the question—as much as such expression was possible for them—before amicably agreeing, “Change in definition: accepted.”

In the Tunnels, the passing of time had a different measure, and the deeper the underground passages went, the less importance it bore—some places ignored that concept altogether. Ash used to dwell close enough to that border betwixt sensible reality and fever dreams made real; time stretched there so she emerged on the surface almost twice as old as she would have been, had she lived on the streets from her birth. 

The subterranean darkness had no days and no nights—an eternity of survival against horror with only one’s heartbeat to remind that it might end at some point. Everything was possible there, but not the kind anyone ever wished for.

Though Ash used to hate the surface world, she always appreciated how it offered her the points to strive for and to celebrate her successes, however little they might seem.

“Is that really so important? I’m just happy to see the next day—that’s all I ask for.”

She learned from Discord that she should be thankful for the Sun’s movement, for that clemency appeared nothing short of a fluke of providence.

“Existence without a designated role: waste of resources—unacceptable,” Nameless all but barked, though that subtle harshness didn’t seem to be directed at their companion. What they said to her sounded almost envious. “Ash’s statement: false. Ash’s designation: photoscotopic cycle controller.”

“What does that mean?” Ash tilted her head and squinted at Nameless as she continued her questioning, “And how do you know?”

“Every Harmony unit is assigned a designation via an image in the croup area. Photoscotopic cycle controller: static cutie mark of special designation—stellar body control.”

It took the alicorn a few moments to decipher the reply and her eyes practically popped out of their sockets.

“I can control the Sun?!”

Nameless met the alicorn’s bewilderment as calmly as it befitted their unimpressible authority and listlessly explained, “Controllable stellar bodies include: the Sun, the Moon—the latter to a lesser extent. Collected data suggests the possibility of the long-lasting warping of the atmosphere layers to change the perception of the stars’ position.”

“Can I try it now?”

“Observation: photoscotopic cycle correction not required.”

Though that came close to snuffing out Ash’s excitement, she perked up again, intently looking at the sky and muttering, “I’m not going to change anything—just try.”

The alicorn’s eyes closed and she focused on the memory of magnificent radiance. For a moment her concentration faltered as a shadow blotted out the light—the sensation of power that would immolate her if she didn’t funnel it outside… and how tempting that offer was.

Ash’s consciousness connected with something so unimaginably colossal, it seemed endless in comparison with anything she had ever known; the mare doubted Nameless’ words—how could she grasp something far greater than her?

Still, Ash didn’t give up and suddenly she merged with the Sun.

It was like when she let it inside her mere hours before—now she knew what happened then—but this time, the tables had turned. Except… how did one tempt the Sun? Her presence had no weight nor did the heavenly body possess any kind of consciousness to stir.

Something to figure out later—nothing was supposed to be changed now, anyway. And only now did the alicorn pay attention to how the engulfing sea of effulgence had been slowly proliferating within her—a speck threatened to become one with the heavenly body if she stayed close to it for too long.

As she, somewhat begrudgingly despite its dangers, severed the connection another detail caught her mental eye—she wasn’t alone, the heavenly body notwithstanding. Someone else had had the hold on the Sun and Ash realised it only when the presence slipped away.



Erected to isolate Canterlot from the exiles and their wretched domain, the Wall met the blasts of ice and the breaths of the cosmos unflinchingly. Those who belatedly sought escape from the cold death and feral survivors suddenly found out that grey bulwark didn’t let anyone out either. 

These days the mounting snow that, too, rushed at the crumbling concrete, reached high enough to walk to the top of the Wall that no longer stood as tall and proud as it used to. Still, rarely anyone dared to climb the last snowbank of Canterlot; not because of the precipitous drop to the Edge—new wardens patrolled the border, leaving hoofprints of permafrost in their tireless watch.

The protruding spires of the buried skyscrapers disturbed the white inclined expanse, offering shelter to Ash and Nameless as they scaled the slope to freedom. However, despite the glimpses of the wondrous world beyond the blizzard’s veil, the alicorn didn’t hurry—without the ‘sunset’, approaching the shroud of snow would likely lead only to her demise.

It was when she shivered inside the ruined office, wracking her mind whilst peeking outside and squinting into the torrents of the snow in hope of witnessing a clue, that Nameless sharply turned their head, intently staring into nothing, and proclaimed:

“Detected: multiple life forms. Threat analysis: high. Solution: elimination.”

“Wait!” Ash broke out of her reverie before something she would regret happened. “Who are they?”

Figures appeared from behind the corners, materialised from thin air or nimbly jumped from the holes in the already practically non-existent ceiling—skilled hunters and not just any. Amidst the grim group, one equine stood, posing more threat than every survivor of Canterlot combined.

“Not your enemies,” the Prophet answered the startled mare. As she moved to flee into the storm, he called, “I’m here only to talk.”

Nameless, however, didn’t flinch and their voice cut above the howling of the winter, “Cessation of Ash’s life functions is detrimental to the objective. Delay request: denied.”

For a heartbeat, Ash saw nothing wrong in letting her protector unleash their deadly potential. But then she caught sight of curved horns and a familiar bearded muzzle.

“Don’t do anything or I’m going back into the city.”

Though their look differed none from any other she could give, they managed to glare at the mare before conceding, “New objective: observation. Interference: allowed under specific conditions—a direct threat to Ash’s life functions.”

As the situation turned to the Prophet’s favour—at least for the time being—he didn’t hesitate to step closer to Ash, entering the corner where she huddled against the cracked plaster by the paneless window. 

“So... Ash, right?” 

His metal face bore a benevolent smile; the ominous mass of something shifting under his plating partly ruined the impression, however. His voice, on the other hoof, expressed nothing but genuine candour. 

“I believe we’ve met already but I haven’t introduced myself properly—I’m the Prophet, the one in charge of preserving and restoring the civilization in these ruins.”

The alicorn could bet her hoof—all of them, wings, horn and her scrawny ass—that the encounter promised no good. But hope springs eternal, so she clung to that slim chance to resolve the situation without losing any limbs.

“Ash, the one who is just minding her own business. And they are Nameless—my friend.”

The Prophet’s eyes jumped to the eerily still equine as he commented, “Interesting.” He quickly lost his interest in them, returning the attention of his unnatural eyes to the white mare. “What about your other ‘friend’?”

“I wouldn’t tell you even if I knew,” Ash spat, instantly bristling.

“No need to be this hostile—I only mean well for everyone, yourself included,” the Prophet smoothly retorted. “I just wish to fulfil my destiny. Surely, you of all ponies should understand.”

The silkiness of the stallion’s voice clashed violently with the memory of him tearing apart the gryphon’s body with eldritch magic.

“I’m neither blind nor stupid.”

Ash’s continued defiance did nothing to the Prophet’s smile and he warmly continued, “You grew up in Canterlot, barely survived it for years, long and cold. You plan to escape—that intention is very hard to judge as life gets only harsher here. Discord can change it but won’t—I would if I were to have his powers.

“Think about it, Ash—you can help your home. You have committed no crimes in my eyes—you present only value by the merit of your unique physique and ability.”

It was as if the Prophet knew what to say—with each word Ash found it harder and harder to see him as her enemy or the enemy to everyone but those who opposed the better future. 

How long was she going to hide and feed on scraps, no more than a rat amongst the rats—a cannibal pretending to be otherwise? Would she sacrifice the prosperity of the whole city for the notion of friendship with a creature she barely knew?  

Leszek’s face in the little crowd patiently waiting for her cooperation reminded her of what had been lost already—entire lands. The memory of her perished parents reminded her that nobody deserved that.

The promise of a bright future—so tempting, almost impossible to refuse.

Almost.

“Ten years. Ten fucking years I hunted vermin while cannibals hunted me—all before your eyes. And, suddenly, I have value?” Ash hissed. “And what about Nameless? Do they have value if they don’t know something you need?”

The Prophet’s smile never diminished but gained a different quality—disappointment.

“I see how it is,” he said with a sigh. “You are smart Ash, but that kind of smart that gets you into more trouble than it saves you from. Seize them.”

The snowbanks outside the tiny ruin exploded with the clouds of shimmering dust—arcanium ‘ghosts’. Nameless’ suddenly frantic movements reminded Ash that whilst her companion had an upper hoof with the enigmatic stallion himself, his guard could somehow fight them back.

That and her reluctance to indulge in the power which lures, she might not be able to resist, forcing the alicorn to flee into the blizzard’s frigid embrace, hoping that Nameless would be wise to follow. 

However, she underestimated the mobility of the Prophet’s mysterious fighters who rustled above Ash’s head to come swirling ahead of her, cutting off any retreat. She came into a skidding halt, burying herself into the snow and turning back to witness Nameless at her heels; the stallion and his forces almost casually closed on them. 

As if pleased by the hunt, the storm winded up, roaring louder and louder until it abruptly became clear—that bellow belonged to something else. 

A stream of fire, dim blue and bubbling with midnight, hewed the torrents of ice, spraying upon the arcanium mist. With abominable screams, the clouds dissolved, dropping smoking ponies into the snow, where they rolled in agony or lay forever still.

Another blast of sinister flame washed over the ruins, the wave harmlessly bouncing back from the shield of dark matter. However, the sonorous orders in an imperative voice called for a retreat and in no time the dark forms disappeared into the pale veil, leaving Ash and Nameless with a massive formless silhouette shambling towards them.  



The prolonged muzzle emerged from the downpour of ice first, Ash taking a step back at the sight of jaws unable to close from the overabundance of crooked teeth. Nor did at least half a dozen mismatched eyes imbue her with anything but the worry that she had just exchanged one disaster for another.

“Hybrid life form: unstable specimen. Threat analysis: indeterminable—insufficient data. Suggestion: caution,” Nameless commented, unsurprisingly unimpressed.

However, other than looking exceedingly disturbing, even by Ash’s standards, the creature posed no immediate danger and seemed to be waiting, observing the duo with that unsettling many-eyed gaze. 

“Thank you for the rescue, from both of us,” the alicorn cautiously uttered. 

A sudden realisation dawned on her. It made no sense but sounded like the opposite of boring—in a distinctly Discord way.

“I suppose you have something to do with... a sunset?”

“Sunset Shimmer or what is left of her,” the monstrosity rumbled as if with a few throats at once. “I thought anyone who might remember my name had left the city. How do you—” 

Every one Sunset’s eye focalised on Ash’s flank and an echoing gasp came from her.

“Do you remember me or is it just a cutie mark?” she reverently asked.

“Uh… no? I’m sure I’d have remembered…” Ash’s attention went over the deformed bulbous body that could easily fill any of the coveted food depots, and found tattered leathery wings protruding from bone-bristling back. “...you.”

Nameless who had been studying Sunset’s appearance the whole time offered their verdict, “Equine attributes: detected. Dragon attributes: detected. Analysis: failed—insufficient data. Solution: sampling.”

The half-dragon half-pony’s attention instantly shifted to the speaker.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve got an actual machine goddess by your side.”

“Statement: false—Nameless is a life form separate from the progenitor, exhibiting different attributes.”

“Figures,” Sunset dismissed her words to menacingly note, “I can also see you donning Princess Celestia’s bones and I don’t like it.”

The coiling of warped limbs and sharp intake of the air portended a certain development of the events, so Ash hastily stood betwixt Sunset and Nameless, explaining before the latter caught up on what was happening and took a known route, “They mean no disrespect! They say those remains bring memories—sadness.”

A frown formed on Sunsen’t muzzle; the tension left her sprung limbs and she thoughtfully muttered, “So, another aftersound. An echo of an echo?”

“Sunset Shimmer possesses valuable data. Requesting: data.”

The entity in question shook her head. “You must have found whatever I could have told you in the ruins of the Sky Palace already.”

“Independent internal response received. Data suggests: disappointment.”

Sunset’s eyes found Ash again, squinting at the mare shivering under the onslaught of the icy winds. “So, where did you learn my name, again?” 

“Discord sent me here—he told you can get me out of the city,” she chattered out. “And I’m Ash, by the way.”

“What a name…” Sunset shuddered, earning a confused frown from the alicorn. “Sorry about that. I can and should—you of all ponies don’t deserve to be here.”



A gaping orifice in the frozen solid water breathed cold death in Ash’s face as she peered into the impenetrable darkness leading to the Sun. Hidden in the maze of ruins, it didn’t seem to be traversed often, despite not being that clandestine itself—the width of the passage suggested Sunset’s claw and the involvement of fire.

“Why haven’t you left yourself?” she wondered.

“Those who fled the city did so to create a better world outside. Things like me have no place in it.”

Ash scoffed at her, turning to give Nameless a meaningful look and fluttering her wings,  “Do we look like typical ponies to you? Don’t be pretentious.”

“Move along… kid.” A distorted chuckled pealed from the icy-blighted dilapidation around. “Can’t believe I’m calling you that.”

Sunset presented herself as an eerie sight, yet her comments offered an insight past the twisted flesh and bone—the pony inside was as mysterious as the draconequus, knowing much more about Ash than she understood herself.

“Maybe you change your mind when we get back for Discord—I’m not leaving my friend behind.”

The half-pony shook her head in bewilderment.

“They say you either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain. I certainly missed the right time to die and somehow lived beyond villainy to see Discord make friends.”

The alicorn bit her lip. “What about Discord?” 

The scaly muzzle tilted, prompting her to elaborate.

“Has he lived that long?”

The question earned the mare a long thoughtful look, then Sunset’s eyes left her shrunk form to gaze into the sky where Canterlot’s demise writhed.  

“He is not a hero, alright,” she finally said. “But a villain? Even less likely, seeing that you’re here.”

Ash followed Sunset’s example—staring into the city on the brink, though paying attention to the ruins where the embers of life valiantly fought against extinguishing. 

“Why won’t he help everyone?”

“He’s the Lord of Chaos—he physically can’t create order himself, it would kill him. But he definitely pushes that to the limit.”

A howl from far above brought a freezing gust laden with snow into Ash’s face; she swayed on her hooves. There would be no rest underground, lest she wished to ever see the surface—she must hurry.

Sunset seemed to be wholly absorbed in the sight of Canterlot, so the alicorn and her silent companion descended the slippery incline into the final stretch before the finish line.

When the misshapen dragon-pony disappeared, her voice, barely audible, caught up with Ash, “I never got to say goodbye to you—and I don’t want to anymore. For the first time in centuries, I want to live so I can witness a new day.”
> 3.3 Red Horse
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



=================================

Written by: Oneimare

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant

=================================


Arc 3 – Convergence

Chapter 3 – Red Horse


=================================


Despite Hope succeeding in not letting its sewers become a breeding ground for hazards, the passersby—almost exclusively Canterlot natives—steered away from an unassuming ponyhole cover when it began to rattle. Some did it out of habit, whilst others had learnt the hard way—hoping for the best in that city was a foolish habit to develop.

Only on the third try did the rusted metal disk slide away, and the two mares dragged themselves out, carelessly plopping onto their backs in the dust; groaning as sunlight cut into their darkness-attuned eyes. Yet those whinnies turned into relieved sighs as the chill arid air of the winding down day washed over their burns instead of the foetid and damp breath of the sewers. 

They lay there, eyes closed, in the middle of the street, relishing the winds’ relative purity and the Sun’s warm touch, completely uncaring for the looks varying from mild worry to tittering amusement.

Red Wire broke that peace first:

“I’d say we should part ways here, but I can bet my horn your police station doesn’t have even one half-decent medic,” she croaked. “And I do feel a teensy bit guilty for roasting you, so”—her voice suddenly gained a mocking stiffness—”on the rights of Her Majesty Queen Heterocera’s Royal Advisor I hereby invite thee to the Hive.”

Night Wind blew a raspberry and shooting Wire a cross look grumbled, “Your horn should be confiscated anyway.” The Kirin then rolled on her belly and scrambled up, hissing as motions too wide stretched her singed hide. Observing the extent of the damage—patches of sore skin amidst the charcoal coat, she morosely added, “What are the changelings going to do, kiss my burns away?”

Sharing Night’s plight of entering the world of pain by doing anything more strenuous than breathing, Wire took place beside her colleague-for-today and would-be-guest. Aside from having swaths of her fur that would need to be regrown over weeks, she wobbled unsteadily, holding her head with one hoof; the other wiped her nose still dripping red. 

“You should have your sense of humour confiscated, commissaire,” deadpanned the unicorn. In a less dry tone, she continued, “The Swarm organised a clinic fully equipped for treating all kinds of equines—another effort that has found no appreciation. Still operational, however, in case I have partied too hard.”

The dark twisted form towering over the city got a doubtful look from Night—a common treatment from all except its inhabitants. The longer the Kirin starred at the Hive, the less stalwart her prejudice held, crumbling under the dull pain settling in.

“Considering the city maintenance chief is likely at the station already, waiting for me to explain why I thought it would be cool to demolish a whole section of the sewers…” Night mumbled, cringing as her mind vividly conjured the impending earful and mounds of papers she would have to fill to cover the fallout. She bowed her head and quietly said with a small smile, “Thank you for the invitation.”

However, the Kirin hesitated to move; and not just because of how unpleasant the walking promised to be.

“Will your queen be alright with it?”

The wrinkles on Wire’s muzzle, formed by her splitting headache, smoothed out to let a mischievous grin claim her expression. 

“Well…” She chuckled. “You might have to contribute to the Swarm’s stores in return.” To ensure there was no other interpretation, the unicorn wiggled her eyebrows, oblivious to how it looked on her blood-stained face, not to mention the prosthetic. 

“Uh…”

Suddenly, the prospect of being scolded by the mare who was half-grease, half-hangover and spoke only in swear words gained an unexpected allure. Maybe, some other day… but not when the Kirin wanted to avoid touching most of her body herself for the next few days. 

“Relax,” Wire hastily calmed the other mare’s imagination; she waved her hoof only to instantly regret that. “The Swarm isn’t like Stalliongrad. Heterocera would be… delighted to know someone else other than me was using the hospital for once.”

Yet, the mares still lingered at the gaping hole in the road that breathed at them with humidity and premonition. They simultaneously glanced at the underground entrance, but it was Night who spoke.

“She isn’t coming with us, I suppose.”

Any levity Wire’s face had gained evaporated at once and, no longer wasting any time, she hobbled away, scowling not only from the pain.

“I seriously doubt she was with us the whole time. Anyway, Heterocera must hear about what happened as soon as possible.”



Only due to Wire’s burst of speed proving to be a short-lived bout of overconfidence, was Night finally able to catch up with her. The exhausted mare trotted by the slowed-down unicorn, watching in concern at how heavily she limped and panted—remorseful for pushing her considerably lowered limits.

As soon as the Kirin regained her breath, she asked, “Didn’t the Machine Goddess say it’s no use right now?”

Her hopes that mentioning the mechanical alicorn wouldn’t reignite Wire’s ire withered under the slightly mismatched askance look. At first, it seemed the question was to be ignored; as Night refused to avert her patient gaze, the unicorn relented with a heavy sigh.

“I don’t care what that tinhead says,” Wire barked; the frown that had never left her face since the first mention of the goddess turned into a fierce scowl. “We’ve got agents from Canterlot of all places sowing chaos in Hope—something has to be done about it. And the Swarm is the only part of this damned city that’s going to care.”

Night bit back a snippy retort that the police force—even if represented only by its commissaire—wouldn’t ignore such a threat either.

“A god fought on our side and we almost got killed,” she coldly noted. Wire opened her mouth to protest, but Night spoke over her, “It seems like something out of our league—it should be left to those who can still face those ‘agents’ even after being melted into a puddle.”

Wire began her rant the moment the last word flew off the Kirin’s lips, “First off, without us on her side, not dying would be all she had achieved. Second, I don’t trust leaving that mess in the Machine Goddess’ filthy arcanium hooves. Thirdly, we aren’t puddles on the floor as you can clearly see.”

The unicorn’s eyes met Night’s glower without a waver, not even blinking. Despite the locals not hesitating for a heartbeat to free the path for two bloodstained mares (their posts also adding to the effect), the commissaire deemed it highly unwise to have a staring contest whilst walking down the street. But she didn’t want to acknowledge her defeat by withdrawing either.

“What’s your problem with her?” she snapped at Wire. “Are you one of those who still think equinoids only mean harm to organic life?” Her hoof shot out in a wide arc—almost every edifice it pointed at wasn’t risen by those who inhabited them. “Hope wouldn’t be here without their help and Canterlot would have been a grave to everyone here if not for the Machine Goddess!”

“I don’t care about equinoids or what they mean to us—it’s all one big grey morality riddle not for me to solve.” Wire shrugged and grimaced; again, the armour chafing against the burns could take only part of the blame for her change of facial expression—into severe reluctance. Ultimately, she continued with a sigh, “You were right—I’ve been there when the Machine Goddess couldn’t decide if she was a long-dead mare miraculously given a second chance or an Accursed. I watched her become something in between—she is neither a machine, nor a living being, and that is what bothers me.”

“So, are you going to just ignore all the good she has done?” Night demanded, her voice getting an edge; a blue glow bloomed deep in her eyes. “Are you willing to compromise this city’s chances of survival over that?”

Wire abruptly stopped.

“There is something I can’t ignore,” she said through gritted teeth.

Her hoof clutched Night’s vest collar to bring them muzzle to muzzle. A fire not unlike that of the Kirin’s burned in her eyes despite the moisture glistening in the corner of her healthy one. 

“I wasn’t the only one who watched her ascend—my best friend was with me, too, all the way. She created her, she almost died for her, she—” 

The unicorn’s strained hiss abruptly died and the mare took a shuddering breath before gravely finishing, “The Machine Goddess ripped out her heart, leaving her not even a shadow of the mare she used to be.”

The bloodied and soot-stained hoof let the mare go and Wire swayed, clenching her eyes, stricken by the old ache. However, she managed to conjure enough energy to bitterly state:

“She has the drives of an equine, but in the end—it is all about cold calculations. I’m not even going to bet this time—our chances of survival have already been computed. Except this time I’m not going to sit back and watch her make them a reality.”

Not waiting for Night’s reaction, the mare, sapped of all life, hobbled away, followed by the Kirin’s wide eyes.

Night’s first reaction was to point out that the omniscient being would have accounted for any of Wire’s actions into her plans, but the witty response died on her lips along with any other sensible statements—the unicorn must have known that herself. 

The Kirin’s hoof, no less grimy, brought a patina-touched badge out of the tattered kevlar vest and its engraving gleamed in the Sun—a name that fit a pegasus more.

The temptation had always lingered in the back of Night’s mind—to blame everything that happened that day on the Machine Goddess and her infamous maths. The urge to bitterly yell that a true goddess might have arranged it so that Night wouldn’t have to wish to return the stained badge to its rightful owner. But the Kirin didn’t have it in her heart to blame the nearly all-powerful alicorn; she didn’t even hate the poor filly that killed her sister.

A sad sigh left her dry lips—Night would lie if she said it was a battle won. Today proved that.

Her eyes returned to watch Wire stubbornly shambling towards the Hive and they held fire no more—only sympathy.



If the Hive and its chitinous occupants hadn’t played a pivotal role in Hope’s infrastructure, that ominous place would have shared the fate of the Citadel. Only a small number of locals didn’t mind the proximity to the chthonic wind-polished mockery of a castle; the others either had no other choice in choosing their living quarters or actively seeking a new place to relocate to. Betwixt the Citadel, the Hive, Stalliongrad and areas like the First District casting long shadows, those unfortunate ones had a very little opportunity—the main reason of Hope growing in size whilst its population dwindled.

When the jagged silhouette claimed the entire horizon, Wire had found in herself a second wind, but as the yawning entrance into the depths of the changelings’ domain came into the clear view, she suddenly froze in her tracks.

“Wait here, Night. Something’s not right.”

The commissaire could see that herself—an unusually large number of dark forms clung to the warped spires, disappearing into their black entrances only to reappear from the other grotesque skylights. The entire Hive was abuzz with an activity it hadn’t seen since changelings had reclaimed their ancient home. 

Wire made a bee-line to the familiar mare clad in arcanium armour hovering over the files of her brethren hurrying to get into their dwelling. The stalwartly calm and unwaveringly friendly changelings looked around in fear, some in—despair.

“Teleta, what’s going on?” the unicorn hoarsely called above the crowds.

The Praetor captain cried a few more orders and landed before the mare barely holding herself upright; she gave her a questioning look but held the curiosity back, instead gloomily informing Wire, “Out of the straws we’ve been drawing all these years we’ve got the shortest yet. Stalliongrad has set us up—they forced Heterocera to use the amplifier to move the Sun.”

“But the Swarm doesn’t have enough magic…” Wire mumbled in confusion the first thing that came to her mind.

“Now we don’t have enough.”

“It can be fixed, right?” Night chimed in from the unicorn’s side.

In doing so, she shared with her the same silent interest from the changeling; Wire glared at the Kirin but chose to address the captain instead, demanding in a worried tone, “Where is Delight?”

“Our Queen…”—Teleta averted her eyes—“has gone to the Citadel.”

Wire’s scowl didn’t regain her attention—venomously green eyes aimed over the unicorn’s head to where the sinister arcanium needle seemed to burn in the zenith rays; she wanted to believe it didn’t glow with the glee of watching the Swarm fleeing Hope in dismay.

“The Machine Goddess can’t help us,” Wire deadpanned. 

Teleta clenched her jaws and stayed silent for a few seconds pregnant with swelling gravity. 

“Yes,” she said darkly at last.

Whilst Night glanced betwixt the two, perplexed, Wire’s expression went blank but only to twist into ugly fury after a moment of aghast comprehension.

“Fuck. Fuck!” she spat. Spinning in place to follow the changeling’s grim stare, Wire lost her balance as her hind hooves gave up. Ignoring the pain and drawing the attention of everyone around she roared. “It was all a distraction!”

Her wobbling front hooves threatened to send her sprawling and yet the wrath that would impress any Kirin granted her enough strength to stomp the dust and add another, “Fuck!” 

And then she began to topple.

As much as her injuries allowed, Night rushed to her side.

“Wire—”

A hoof struck out, feebly pushing the Kirin away; it almost succeeded. Night’s attempt to not let the unicorn become prostrate on dirt turned into a struggle to subdue a blindly thrashing mare.

“Don’t ‘Wire’ me!” she hissed. Her horn sputtered with sparks and its glow died. “At this point, she might as well have faked the whole incident!”

Against her better judgement, the tongues of flame licked Night’s coat as her draconic aspect kicked in, aroused by a few ‘lucky’ hits and the smell of blood from the reopened wounds. Before it was too late and she added to Wire’s collection of burns, she once more tried to reason with the mad unicorn, even aware of its futility, “That’s just paranoid thinking!”

“No! I told you!” Wire’s throat rattled with a howl. “I’ll kill that metal cunt—”

A pair of armoured hooves got the unicorn in the vice of a headlock. The Praetorian Guard was no match to the mare shaking from physical pain as much as fury, but that didn’t stop her from resisting.

“Wire, calm down,” Teleta said in her ear. “We’ve got everything under control.”

“Bullshit—you are dying.” 

The captain winced as if struck and Wire tried to use that to wrench herself from her hold—to utterly fail. 

She then tried a ‘diplomatic’ approach, snapping at Teleta, “I need to see Del.”

“No.”

“My rank is higher than yours,” Wire pressed on.

“It’s not about rank,” the changeling captain shook her head. “You’re in no condition and the Swarm needs you right here right now. Heterocera needs you with us.”

A long moment passed as Wire kept tensing against the hard yet careful grasp of chitinous limbs. The snarl bubbling in her throat became a stertorous heaving ending in a whinny and the mare went limp. Then the sniffles came. 

Teleta shifted to turn the harsh lock into a comforting hug. 

“Sorry, Teleta.” Wire pressed her muzzle against the arcanum shoulder armour. “I just… Nevermind.”

The captain mirthlessly chuckled. “It might sound strange, but hearing you say that I can’t help but think our Queen couldn’t have chosen a better advisor.”

“Yeah, of course,” the unicorn bitterly muttered, wiping her nose. She allowed her one more sniffle before her voice regained its hardness, if horribly weak, and she straightened herself. “What’s the situation?”

“I’ll fill you in on our way to the clinic.” Teleta also gave Night another look, noting how the Kirin tried to do her best to not collapse as she watched the royal advisor break down and gather herself up. “You should come, too—you both look like you have fought a dragon or… each other.”



Where Wire almost eagerly surrendered to the ministrations of the changeling nurses and gladly welcomed the pungent odours of a strange medicine, Night hesitated. However, after the Kirin, reluctant and shooting fire-laden glances at the healers, allowed the dubious-looking balm to be spread on her burns, she couldn’t deny the soothing bliss it bestowed.

Before long, Night echoed the unicorn’s contented sigh when the agony finally released them both from their clutches. Teleta took that as a sign to pass everything that transpired in Wire’s absence, her droning voice quickly going through the unfortunate events with a professional lack of inflexion—almost; more than once her voice quivered, becoming tenser as she neared the sombre ambiguous finale. The medics finished bandaging the offended flesh of the two rugged mares as the captain concluded her story with a poignant silence asking for an opinion. 

Throughout the report, Wire’s expression had grown progressively grimmer. Night couldn’t help but share it even though the situation barely concerned her—yet; knowing Stalliongrad, the Kirin community that, too, had refused to join the Technocracy might be next on its list. 

Despite the Machine Goddess not playing the last role in the story of today, the unicorn reacted to her name with as much distaste as to any other. It seemed that letting out some steam had helped her even more than the medical attention. However, the fire hadn’t receded completely—the malevolent tide ebbed into the golden depths of her eyes… becoming the usual constant smouldering that let itself be known through sarcastic quips.

The unicorn grimaced whilst trying to choose which of many responses to pick and ultimately settled on grumbling, “Frankly, I’m surprised Del didn’t kill Maudlin outright. And disappointed.”

“You tried your hardest, but, thankfully, not too much of your… methods… rubbed off on our Queen,” the captain deadpanned, unamused.

Wire shot her a half-hearted glare. “Of course, she wouldn’t, that was a joke. Though, you’ve got to admit—that’s a new low for the Technocracy.”

“Hopefully, they can’t go any lower.” Scowling at the choice of her words, Teleta venomously added, “Not that we can count on that in this city.”

“Well,” Wire darkly chuckled, “good luck to them besieging the Hive.”

The changeling captain once more refused to share her morbid sense of humour, grimly commenting, “They haven’t even bothered to rally up their forces—in their minds, time is going to do all the heavy lifting.”

Wire scoffed, “It isn’t?” 

“No. Heterocera will find the solution. Or you will.”

The unicorn shook her head, her mottled crimson mane falling over her eyes, leaving only a lopsided smile to see. 

“We have been trying to do that for ten years,” she uttered, the weight of all that time ringing in her words. “Nothing short of a miracle is going to help us.”

Teleta cocked her head and a murmur in her ear betrayed a transmission; her eyes suddenly lit up.

“Come again?” she asked with a smile. Returning her attention to the conversation with Wire, she informed her, “We’ve got a visitor—it’s Sunburst.”

Wire’s surprise didn’t last long—though for a moment she shared a spark with the changeling, a moment later she grumbled with a sigh, “Just because we live in Hope doesn’t mean you should get your hopes high, Captain. He might need just another translation or something.”

“You should see him anyway.”

“Can’t you do it?” The unicorn scrunched her muzzle. “He became a Former One by boring his death to death. I’d rather make up for entertaining the arcanium bitch—you could use some help.”

“I have to make sure we’re ready to host Maudlin’s friends if they do decide to swing by. But that’s something I can take care of, thanks.” The hint of the changeling seeking the camaraderie of her family hung heavily in the air, so Teleta tapped the mare on her horn. “That, and only you can make sense of what he says.”



“I’ve probably overstayed my welcome,” Night whispered, following Wire through the Hive. 

The changelings’ dwelling pressed on her from every side, despite ceilings high enough to accommodate the fliers—which from time to time spooked the Kirin with their sudden chirr. Barely lit, the ribbed passages of something more alive than stone seemed like a maze; Night would have fled them long ago if she had the slightest idea how to navigate her way out without help. 

“As long as you don’t dig into my snacks, you can loiter around indefinitely. It’s not like the Hive is short on space.” Wire unintentionally confirmed the mare’s fears. When her joke failed to evoke any response, she tried again. “And don’t you want to witness a Former One? I know it’s not as impressive as the shining flanks of the Machine Goddess you adore so much, but how many of them have you seen?”

Too focused on not losing Wire to the shadows, Night curtly replied with a question of her own, “Didn’t you say Sunburst is boring?”

“You ain’t a treasure trove of fun yourself…”

“Hey!”

Wire grinned, pleased with herself. “But you make a good kindling.”

A new colour joined the green phosphorescence of the pulsing lanterns—a mix of blue and purple coming from behind the smirking unicorn; she made sure to put a bit more distance betwixt herself and the emerging Nirik. 

The unicorn achieved that by taking a sharp turn and to make sure Night wouldn’t lose her, she threw over her shoulder, “Now you’re fun.” 

Then Wire spoke again, looking back to where she was headed, “We’re here, Sunburst.”

Night entered into a cave-like room brimming with book-laden shelves right in time to witness a somewhat unassuming old stallion look up from a book in his withered knobbly hooves. The motion threw his cowl back, revealing a knot of wrinkles framed by unkempt silver hair.

“Oh, hello Red Wire.” His grey eyes that held only the barest hint of blue twinkled from behind thick lenses and Sunburst closed the tome with a resounding slap that sent a cloud of dust into his face, where it comfortably settled with more of its kind. “Didn’t see you, but glad to.”

“What brings you here, Mr Bookworm? Have you run out of elder scrolls?” Wire asked as she took a step back from the fallout zone, scrunching her nose as the dust still followed her, even though it shouldn’t. “The Swarm is a bit too busy at the moment to host guests.”

“Is that so?” Sunburst suggested with a fake innocence that clashed with his chapped lips forming an insidious grin. “Does that mean I can congratulate you on finally finding a spouse rather than indulging in one-night stands, courtesy of the changelings?”

Wire’s healthy eye bulged out of its orbit and Night at her side erupted in a cacophony of choking sounds that were supposed to be words. The outburst of frantic motion resulted in them leaning away from each other with bewildered stares that became glares when they simultaneously faced back the elder unicorn. 

“What are you doing here, Sunburst?” Wire recovered first, her tone suggesting her hospitality was suddenly finding itself almost depleted. “It’s really not the best moment to discuss ancient literature.”

“Why, I also read modern books.” Sunburst rattled with a reserved chuckle and let himself indulge in paying an amused look to the flustered mares. As their collective glare intensified in return, he hurried to give an actual answer, “I found some text in the ruins of Neighponia which might get your attention for once. Apparently, your legend of changeling origin might be… a bit different from what may have happened.”

True to his prediction, Wire instantly dropped all the hostility, intently listening. Even the Kirin perked up her ears.

“It got the actors and the scene right—it all started with Princess Platinum’s sister as she split from the rest of the unicorns during the foundation of Equestria… but you have never had the finer details, have you?”

“There isn’t that much of the finer details that matter,” Wire grouchily retorted. “Quicksilver had been already dabbling into certain unwholesome arcane techniques and it—surprise—backfired.”

Sunburst’s long beard swayed as he shook his head, mildly scowling.

“The details do matter. A few of the scrolls I recovered and deciphered hint to the changelings being the result of some sort of a hex, but the text heavily references the other source without going into depth.”

“Stop speaking in riddles, old stallion. What other source?”

The elder shot Wire a glare and spoke, drawing out the words on purpose, “Always so impatient, the young ones.”

She had a sharp-witted response to that, however, “Says the immortal one.”

That earned her another glower, though it held a hint of sadness; maybe because of that subtle inflexion, Sunburst answered the young unicorn without any more distractions, “The Neighponese used to have one of the oldest libraries before the gods decided to give it a facelift—it references the Crystal Empire’s archives.”

The anticipation died on Wire’s face, leaving behind an ugly corpse—a profoundly disappointed grimace. “You might as well have told us it’s at Nightmare Moon’s castle up in the sky.” Realising the lengths to which Sunburst must have gone to find and deliver that knowledge, she added with a bow of her head, “Thank you, still.”

The stallion himself didn’t seem to be satisfied with his words and mirrored Wire’s motion, even if for other reasons. “I’m sorry. I wish I could help you more…”

Wire waved her hoof in dismissal, though her frown only deepened. 

“Unlike me, you did make some progress.”

Completely lost in her unpleasant thoughts, she seemed to abruptly leave, but Sunburst’s grim voice called her back to reality.

“That’s not all of it—the Crystal Empire hides another secret.”

Both mares once again found themselves peering into the aged eyes hiding long lost knowledge; their ears prepared to catch every word. 

“The Neighponese somehow angered the gods, but nobody knows exactly what they did,” the stallion vaguely began another of his messages, coming from afar in his trademark frustrating fashion.

To prevent him from preaching another lecture, Wire dryly commented, “Even the Machine Goddess wasn’t told, according to what Delight shared with me.”

“The Neighponese had found a way to kill a god,” Sunburst bluntly stated; Wire’s and Night’s eyes shot wide open to that. “But they didn’t come up with it by themselves—the incoherent fragments had been gathering dust in their archives for ages until the Crystal Empire sprung back from the snows five centuries ago and they got the final pieces for the puzzle. That’s why the Princesses banished it in the first place—not because of King Sombra himself but what knowledge he could eventually uncover.”

Long moments of contemplating the information and the gravity it possessed resulted in an obvious question:

“Why didn’t they just destroy the Crystal Empire library?” Wire accompanied it with an expression that doubted either the factuality of Sunburst’s words or alicorns’ intelligence.

“Only a fool would do that,” snapped the eternal scholar. “There were just two of them and by that time Princess Luna had been already showing concerning signs. That knowledge was too important to cast into oblivion, so Princess Celestia sealed it until she had at least one more pony to rely on.”

Once more, the silence settled betwixt the equines, but this time a deep worry accompanied Wire’s inquiry, “Do the gods know?”

“If you are too arrogant to study a single book, how do you expect them to sift through hundreds of tomes in ancient languages?” 

Wire bristled in response to his admonishment, but held her tongue back—Sunburst wasn’t wrong, after all.

“Until the danger is up in their faces, they won’t budge,” the elder continued. “And their newest member has her eyes somewhere else, too, it seems. The Machine Goddess doesn’t know who I am, but your queen is a friend of hers—it would be easier for Heterocera to pass the message.”

A dark shadow passed across Wire’s face as Sunburst patiently waited for the answer, oblivious to the unexpected paths he might have offered with his message. 

“I’m not sure we’re friends with her anymore, Sunburst,” Wire carefully said and the stallion’s face fell. “Thank you.”



Nothing could pierce the heavy stillness that came after Wire revealed to Sunburst that his visit happened during a time that twisted the goals he meant to achieve into something he might regret. With his muzzle becoming a stone mask hardly hiding a deeply disturbed expression, he wordlessly left, the mares barely noticing his furtive retreat as they digested the potentially game-changing news.

Wire, mostly; Night had been worriedly observing the unicorn whose muzzle shifted betwixt different, but still unreadable, albeit dark, expressions for a while. 

“What now?” the Kirin asked, unsure if she wanted to know the answer.

“Everything is interconnected.” Wire shook her head; the frown that claimed her face for a while now, deepening. “But I can’t see who moves the pieces. For once I’m not sure it’s even our resident schemer.”

Night held back a relieved sigh—she expected a different attitude in regards to the Machine Goddess.

“But what do we do?”

Wire shrugged, still captive to her ruminations and diverted her attention to the conversation with a visible reluctance. “The investigation is over. You can stay, you can go—your choice. I’m going to wait until Delight returns.”

“What if she doesn’t?” Night pressed on, much to the unicorn’s annoyance.

“Then, I guess, I’ll have to start looking into how to survive the Windigo.”

It was how Teleta caught her—with hooves spread in a helpless gesture and grimacing; frustration etched in every feature of her tired face.

“Wire, we have another visitor,” the captain announced even before she crossed the doorstep. 

“All we needed to finally get the Hive popular was to put the changelings on the brink of extinction.”

No different from any other such comment, the quip left no impact on her professionally neutral face, half-hidden behind a helmet to aid in maintaining that mask. However, this time she didn’t need that assistance; not because she didn’t find Wire’s joke even the least bit funny—a haunted quality lingered in her eyes.

“Who is it?” Wire impatiently asked.

The changeling hesitated with the answer, but it did come, “She refused to come in, but asked for you.”

Now sharing the barely hidden disquiet with her, the unicorn coldly demanded, “Who is it, Teleta?”

“Tin Flower.”



Night barely managed to keep up with the mare who, despite all her wounds, practically flew through the dank passages of the Hive, never stopping, even when she cried out in pain. However, when the light of the fading day finally cut the darkness of the changelings’ abode, Wire abruptly stopped, refusing to step out of the shadows. 

The silhouette at the entrance didn’t stir—the young sombre mare stared at the sunset, the melancholy rendering her deaf to the panting echoing from the Hive’s walls. Then she snapped her head to the newly arrived, greasy locks whipping her face, and tensed, staring into the blackness. 

Gulping, Wire called in an unsteady voice, “Hello, Flower.”

“Geode Gleam,” Flower greeted her in an almost mechanical fashion, her tone betraying nothing.

“You still remember.” The unicorn tried to smile and finally stepped into the orange glow.

Flower instantly took a step back.

“I don’t forget.”

Wire jerked as if from physical pain and Night leaned in her direction, reluctant to intervene in the exchange but ready to catch the unicorn were she to collapse—which seemed to be a real possibility.

Yet, the moment of weakness didn’t last. Though Wire took no more steps forward, she straightened herself and forced her face to bear a less despondent expression before trying again, “Have you deci—”

“No,” Flower harshly cut her off. “I need your—” 

She shut her mouth just as abruptly, grimacing. When the dismal mare spoke again, she seemed to be choosing her words very carefully, seemingly reluctant to say anything at all, “Luna’s about to lose control. I don’t know what’s going to happen when she finally does, but we have to…to… have to protect the Machine Goddess.”

Already shaken by everything that she had been through that day, Wire stared at her in abject horror as her mask of cool shattered completely—her already suspicion-blighted mind starting to see everything as no coincidence from a much more objective and terrifying angle.

“What are you talking about, Flower?” she whispered.

“She must not even meet me,” Flower gravely continued.

“I’m afraid it’s too late,” a melodious voice rang through the stunned silence. 

Following it, an arcanium statue caught ablaze in the waning rays as it constructed itself from thin air. 

Flower recoiled from the Machine Goddess with a snarl, taking a low stance, her hoof shooting to her saddlebag but stopping before she could produce whatever it concealed—ready to any moment. 

Unperturbed by that display, the deity softly smiled and just as kindly said, “I know you don’t share it with us, yet we’re happy to see you.”

“You!” Wire shot an accusing hoof at the metal alicorn, coming to her senses. “What did you do to Delight?!”

Just like before, the aggression bounced off the serene form of the Machine Goddess. She stepped to the side, leaving in her place a tear in reality.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

The door to somewhere else showed the changeling queen, as she promised, and along with her Luna, Spike and Rainbow Dash.
> 3.4 Pale Horse
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



=================================

Written by: Oneimare

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant

=================================


Arc 3 – Convergence

Chapter 4 – Pale Horse


=================================


It could have granted Rainbow some tactical advantage—even her odds, rather; but she ignored King Sombra’s invitation to observe the Crystal Pony nation branching out in Vanhoover’s ruins under the guidance of the one who’d once greatly contributed to its fall. 

She just couldn’t stand to witness their naivety, to walk amidst those who would be slain the moment they exhausted their use to the warlock as his subjects. Though, knowing him, they would find further application to his plans, one way or another.

Rainbow departed from the crystallised megapolis in abrupt fashion, leaving behind all the king’s shadows but one—the promise of their eventual encounter to discuss the technicalities of sieging the unyielding empire. It seemed to weigh the pegasus down as she soared over the wasteland of Equestria at a speed nowhere near matching her rush to the distant shore.

 Part of her expected Spike to linger at Vanhoover; a darker fraction of that even suspected the dragon and the unicorn might have a chat. However, his arcanium bulk had never left her vision and even now he was tailing her at a respectful distance. She had other things to be bothered about, anyway.

What was she going to say to them?

Rainbow grimaced as Spike’s presence became oppressive with imagined smugness—he had been right all along. The camp, born from the drive to liberate the Crystal Ponies from their nightmare, had long lost its righteous anger—its efforts had turned to creating a place amidst the ice the equines could finally call home. The former captain of the infamous Royal Guard could be acting as abrasive as she wanted and her legend might have been forgotten, but the ponies and whatnot of the hamlet—a small town at this rate—sensed it.

The Element of Loyalty, tarnished though it might be, still burned in her eyes and, under her watch, they would know safety; prosperity if she could stop clinging to the grudges of the past and figmental debts. 

If Rainbow somehow happened to have Applejack’s Element, she would still struggle to honestly say what she thought of that. Knowing that somewhere deep inside, a vestige of good persevered and it kept guiding her after all these years—that notion soothed her regrets like nothing else; that hope was what kept her upright for five centuries, not some runes. On the other hoof… 

The pegasus shook her head as all that helped her none. She had to figure out how to break it to the ponies that couldn’t fight a single crystalline mare without the risk of taking casualties—a full-scale war was about to return to the plains of silence. To figure out how to tell them that she’d agreed to ally with the one who had started that endless tragedy… or at least shared the blame. 

Beneath her, the snow-blighted ground passed, absolved of her gaze, turned inward. Until something caught her attention—amidst the shadows that grew in the light of the tired Sun, one did it in the wrong direction; the jittering silhouette on the sand also belonged to the only moving object in the desert stretching from horizon to horizon.

Banking to the side, Rainbow began her descent to get a better look at that anomaly.



The mare that used to be Luna reminded Rainbow of a sea.

Shadows swelled across the dirt, bleeding ice upon the sand as the anguished equine pulsed with otherworldly malice. The tide of the night would hesitate and advance in a different direction each time, then, ebb. 

The alicorn in the heart of the undulating waves of ink valiantly fought back, drowning in the mass of something betwixt tar and mist. Other times the breathing and living mass carried her serene form, half-sunken into the shadows in her resignation to fate. And more than once she rode the crest of the eldritch maelstrom, exultant. 

As the day withdrew—without the alicorn’s assistance, Rainbow noted, the darkness claimed more and more desert, finding steady purchase in the thickening twilight. She hesitated to confront the mistress of dreams and slave to Nightmare—whatever trace of Loyalty remained in her would be little use without the fabled jewels or her friends; both beyond recovery. 

Nevertheless, one more lap later, the pegasus’ armoured hooves softly touched the ground. Luna’s failure to ultimately move away from the overgrown with the rime spot in the ruins spoke of an equilibrium reached by whatever reins were guiding her.

Yet Rainbow pivoted in a direction opposite to the struggling alicorn. 

Spike waited for her to approach patiently; his body—a lantern powerful enough to thwart dusk from enveloping his still and gleaming form. Much like his companion, he observed the war of attrition betwixt the immortals; however, nothing betrayed if he cared for the outcome in the slightest.

The pegasus faced him, a severe grimace on her face, and fell silent. A full minute passed before she finally found what to say.

“Why?” 

Realising that a question this vague, if fundamental, would produce another sharp-witted reply bound to deny her leading the conversation where she wanted, she hastily added:

“No bullshit this time, Spike. I know you could have easily killed Sombra if you wanted to—for good. Except you didn’t—stronger than any unicorn and you let him beat you.”

His arcanium head-skull-mask showed no reaction to any of Rainbow’s words; in a customary fashion, Spike didn’t hurry with his answer and when it finally came, it was a dismissive scoff.

“Measuring a mountain with a ruler.”

“What have you become?” Rainbow demanded, to no answer. “Even if you aren’t going to tell me, does he know?”

The metal jaws formed a smirk, even if tiny at that, although it didn’t reach Spike’s eyes—pensiveness settled there instead. 

“What I’ve always been and it shouldn’t be a mystery to a mage of his calibre,” he thoughtfully rumbled with a  shrug. “Either way, Sombra must have known what I’m capable of and he still decided to invite me. So I let him live.”

Rainbow studied Spike—the true Spike, that everlasting flame under the shell of magic metal. Her long life, its many years spent if not by Sunset Shimmer’s side but interacting with the witch, one way or another, gave her an insight into what writhed in that deadly fire. Yet, always being a pegasus on a mission and no longer with an egghead friend to inquire, she could only guess what arcane mysteries governed the dragon race, how Spike ended up being so different and what it meant to her… the entire world, even.

“Back to square one,” she grumbled, disappointed in herself for hoping she would have something revealed by asking the dragon-unlike-the-others. As another realisation dawned on Rainbow, her head shot up and she squinted as Spike. “Wait, don’t tell me you trust him.”

His laugh pealed over the whistling of cruel cold winds. 

“Not a single word he said—I don’t believe in redemption.”

The statement caused Rainbow to cock her eyebrow and also meaningfully glance behind, there the former Princess fought for it once again. 

Awkwardly clearing his throat, Spike corrected himself, “His redemption.”

As Rainbow tore her gaze away from the alicorn having little success in overcoming her folly, the pegasus’ glower locked on Spike’s expressionless visage. 

“Are you going to answer me or not?” she barked. “And don’t give me that ‘make me’ crap instead.”

For once, Spike didn’t hesitate with a reply and a shadow crept into his arcanium features when he nodded in Luna’s direction. “She shouldn’t be here, not without her guardian.”

Rainbow followed his eyes, frowning at the miserable sight and recollecting the rumours of what her ‘soldiers’ had brought from Hope—they didn’t amount to much.

“The filly, right?” she suggested, unsure.

“A mare already,” the dragon sombrely noted and that tone held as he continued, “The Ebony Warlock should be dead. The celestial cycle is off. Something is happening at Hope right now.”

The pegasus spared him a wary glance. “Do I want to know how you know that?”

Spike shrugged off her suspicion and his voice gained a deeply grave quality. “One thing Sombra said was true. We’re on the same side of the barricades—pawns in someone else’s game. Massive gears are shifting right now—the machine came alive.”

His words gave rise to Rainbow’s shackles at first, and as he continued, the scowl on her face remained if for another reason—by the time Spike finished, she had a name ready on the tip of her tongue.

“The Machine Goddess.”

But the dragon shook his head. “Not her style—too risky. She might be just another figure on the board.”

“The queen is a figure, too.”

“The queen can be killed just like any pawn,” Spike darkly uttered.



Every time the Elements were used, Rainbow had to stifle a bout of vanity—their purging influence manifested as her namesake. As it failed to appear the third time she and her friends called for the intervention from Harmony, the memories of triumph and the ray of pure awesome were irreversibly poisoned. Then her own polychromy ended up being glassed—a dead butterfly to hang on the wall of eternity to reminisce about the days it could be seen in the sky. Ultimately, even her name faded from history.

Looking at what Luna had become acted like a steady stream of saturated brine blasting those old wounds that had never healed. Nor did it help to know that, ultimately, the first use of the Elements was for nothing—the monstrosity before her almost desecrated the memorable night that brought them all together.

Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to hate Luna. Rainbow could almost remember that after the Nightmare Night she’d planned to challenge the competitive mare for a race—fate had other plans, however. The pegasus even almost joined her crusade to the Badlands; perhaps, if she had, Luna wouldn’t have fallen…

A ghastly equine emerged from the boiling shadows to stare at Rainbow with a gaze as empty as the darkness betwixt the stars and four centuries of fighting nightmares made real helped her none to hold that otherworldly glare.

No, if she’d joined Luna, nothing would have stopped Nightmare Moon. She’d have remained loyal to… even beyond… death as a Shadowbolt. 

Spike gently called her from the intrusive grim thoughts insidiously claiming her consciousness by loudly clearing his throat. Rainbow glanced at him, noting how the darkness cringed from the fire pulsing in the dragon’s ribcage.

A sudden hope bloomed in her mind. “Can you help her?”

He snuffed that light with a rueful shake of his head.

“Because Nightmare is another pawn you need to spare,” Rainbow acidly commented, indulging in being mad at Spike’s dubious decisions and ambiguous allegiance rather than wallowing in bittersweet grief.   

Unswayed in his sombre watch over the thrashing alicorn, the dragon spoke, albeit darkly, “Nightmare plays its own game where it writes the rules. If I try to intervene, it might kill Luna and that would only make matters worse—so much worse.”

“What are our other options?” the pegasus asked in a deliberately reserved tone—she began to suspect the proximity to Nightmare was doing her no favours.

“Bide our time.”

The dragon seemed unaffected by the artful malevolent presence, though, of course, seeing Spike’s literal spirit gave her no insight into his thoughts; not that the pegasus was one hundred and twenty per cent sure she wanted to know the secrets burning in that cosmic fire.

“Great,” she deadpanned. “Do you know what happens when we’re out of it?”

“Nobody can answer that but her.”



Rainbow Dash considered herself a brave mare, but as someone who’d witnessed a mimic of that quality too many times, she knew that approaching Luna could only be called an exercise in foolhardiness. 

This close, she started to pick up faint whispers—she dearly hoped, prayed, the microphones of her helmet were catching something.  

“Prin—” The pegasus screwed her eyes shut at the slip; the voice in her ears was becoming harder to ignore. Did it mean the idea of Loyalty still clinging to her was but wishful thinking, that she stood all alone before the..?

“Luna?” Rainbow tried again, focusing solely on the tormented visage of the mare before her.

Either the name or the familiar voice struck deep—the spreading darkness viciously jerked back, returning to its source, and the alicorn soaked it into her mane. The shadows coalesced into ranks of warped soldiers standing betwixt their prey and the mare who dared to disturb the feast.

From under an inky film, two azure eyes stared at the pegasus for a long time and then Luna lifelessly uttered, “Rainbow Dash, the war is over. Go home.”

Rainbow stared at the former Princess, knowing well that every moment of hesitation contributed to the risk of never leaving that place—the alicorn’s side; she wouldn’t even notice when it was too late.

“We have nowhere to go back to,” she tried to remind the debilitated mare of the painful truth.

The statement brought some degree of clarity into Luna’s misty gaze.

“I wouldn’t have remembered it anyway,” she whispered sorrowfully. “Everything blurs together then fades away..”

Rainbow couldn’t help but share the alicorn’s tone and volume as she replied, “Some things stay eternal.”

The spark in Luna’s eyes gained a twisted quality and then those stars were swallowed by the pitch darkness expanding from her irises until black tears rolled down the gaunt cheeks.

“You can fix that,” she squeezed out of herself. “You should.”

An armoured hoof took a step forward, but no more than one—an arcanium tail prevented Rainbow from getting any closer to the beacon of hope only she could see. His shine banished the malevolent blinding radiance and the pegasus recoiled, backpedalling in horror.

“The irony is that this is what having a stronger will than Nightmare looks like,” Spike dryly commented. He meant to say something else, but Luna’s hoarse and desperate words came first.

“But it’s going to win anyway. Strike first, whilst you have a chance.”

Even though Rainbow had never been as thankful for the dragon’s presence as right now, she still meaningfully glared at him—something had to be done to that subtle taint. 

“No.”

“What is your plan for when she dies and Nightmare gets an alicorn corpse at its disposal?” she all but yelled, pointing at the alicorn that already looked like bones and skin rigidly moving against all common sense.

Spike nudged Rainbow a step back from the ice silently snaking through the sand and his burning eyes never left the swaying alicorn as he said, “Even the best puppeteer without a marionette is but strings tangling in the void—a web waiting for another victim. Luna will live until she completely forgets why and that’s when it’s over.”

“You’re contradicting yourself,” the pegasus hotly objected.

The dragon’s arcanium skull slowly shook and though his voice carried a hint of vexation, he spoke patiently nevertheless, “And you don’t listen—Luna has Nightmare contained.”

Rainbow fell silent, staring at Luna—Spike spoke truly, as no matter how haunting the nightmarish sight before her was, the mare ground into nought in that cosmic crucible still answered to her name. Rainbow could clearly remember how Nightmare Moon scoffed at it back then at Ponyville’s town hall. The alicorn refused Nightmare, though it changed little in the end, as once called, it would reap its tithe—it had the patience of stars; a millennium was nothing to it and the pegasus doubted they would have to wait that long.

“How much time do we have?” she warily asked. 

Instead of answering Rainbow, Spike called the alicorn, “Luna, what was her name?”

“Celestia.” A voice, fragile but clear as the night sobbed over the desert. “Tia—my Tia.”



A sigh of relief misted Rainbow’s visor as they left Luna to quietly lament in the company of the wind and the rising Moon before Nightmare would return to eroding her mind. Yet, the pegasus’ assuagement didn’t live for long—she sensed something even before Spike notified her:

“We have guests.”

An alicorn slid from a tear in reality—one of metal rather than withered flesh and sentient plague. Paying no mind to her black counterpart, she greeted the rest of the desert’s visitors with a shallow bow of her head.

“Rainbow. Spike.”

Sapped of any energy by Nightmare’s attempt to worm itself into her head, Rainbow didn’t even bother with a display of hostility—not that she had anything to herself to intimidate a goddess.

The dragon mirrored the bow and uttered with a hint of mischief, “Harbinger.”

Rainbow could swear that for a moment the typically serene arcanium mask reflected surprise; she herself would like to know how Spike could tell the actual Machine Goddess from her hierophants.

Even if her eyes didn’t lie to her, the Harbinger recovered instantly, though did sound somewhat apologetic. “The Machine Goddess is on her way. Certain matters demanded her presence.”

“What’s the difference?” Rainbow grimaced; she wasn’t Applejack, she didn’t care about the masquerade and her knowledge suggested the Harbingers followed their Mother’s will to the letter.

Warily glancing at Spike, the metal mare enigmatically replied, “There are a few more others who know Her as well as the Unity itself.”

Before Rainbow even considered if it was worth it to ask, the Harbinger stepped aside to leave in her wake a hole leading to Hope, the bulk of the Citadel betraying the city on the other side of the sandy expanse. Another alicorn hesitantly stepped through it—a mare of black chitin bearing an expression speaking of her enmity towards the doormaker. 

The Harbinger didn’t bother to warn the changeling about her… acquaintances awaiting her on the other side of the convenient passage; nor did she mention the shadows that had begun to swell the moment the sand crunched under the obsidian perforated hoof.

“Clandestine Delight. Or Heterocera. Queen, I mean.” Rainbow shrugged. Now that she had no Canterlot to save, mustering any respect for the Swarm’s sovereign lay a bit beyond her old umbrages; she also, if only briefly, knew that mare used to be just a pegasus like her. “Whatever.”

“I’m not Chrysalis,” she bristled in response. Her ire faded into worry with a realisation that it wasn’t Rainbow who she needed to convince of that right now.

Amidst the mass of shadows two eyes of a predator lit up, focusing on the changeling queen with obvious intent. 

“Good for you,” the pegasus grumbled, eyeing the living shadows; hard feelings or not—she would rather not have anything further destabilise the fallen Princess. “Let’s hope Luna gets that too.”

The Harbinger’s voice forced them to spare her their attention.

“Oh, that shouldn’t be an issue—her retainer is here.”

Another portal opened by her side, showing one more statuesque mechanical alicorn and a trio of wide-eyed young mares.
> Interlude // Plans within plans
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



==============================

Written by: Oneimare

==============================


Interlude – Plans within plans


==============================


The pebbles cluttered down the glassed soil to plummet into a crevice vast enough to swallow a skyscraper without it grazing the mossbegrown crumbling walls. The echo never came—nothing ever returned from the churning darkness deep below, deeper than the sanity could reach.

Nevertheless, a pony kept skirting the festering wound in the earth with seemingly gadarene confidence if not for his horn glowing with a teleportation spell one thought away. His hooves, though wiry and gnarly, found a steady purchase on the steep path with little effort, falling into the grooves chiselled by a decade of passing by that abyss.

Per old habit, he cast a wary gaze into the shadows boiling in the colossal crevasse until they returned the look; used to it, the stallion didn’t flinch, but his gait gained a subtle boost of speed and not only thanks to the perilous road ceding to the smooth ground.

His magic fueled a candlelight spell, letting a yellow radiance reclaim the shattered rock and concrete from the waxing dusk. Sunburst deftly navigated the maze of ruins and upturned strata, following another familiar track until it brought him into a small clearing sheltered from the rest of the desolation by the fragments of walls. A chunk of ceiling clung to the persevering bricks, almost gone but still able to provide just enough cover for one ancient pony, were it to rain.

Instead, a pair of saddlebags settled in that spot whilst the stallion fretted over a cold black fire pit, murmuring in discontent—the tinder had soaked in too much mist and had gathered too much dust since his last visit.

Ultimately, the wood surrendered to Sunburst’s arcane prowess, and the tongues of flame licked the night’s indigo frosting away from the humble camp. Aiding the darkness, a sooty pot appeared above the crackling coal to blot out the fire; into the bubbling water, moss and herbs went, soon releasing exotic fragrances into the chilly air.

Leaving the brew to simmer, Sunburst returned to his saddlebags; instead of producing more provisions, he only set up a crystal lantern. A few minutes later, it cast light on assorted scrolls and books. Ravaged by time and the elements, most of them could offer knowledge no more; at least, nothing more than a few disjointed fragments that had somehow escaped the crusade on the ink. 

Like before, the unicorn didn’t let that stop him—keys clicked under his hooves that dutifully typed anything yielded by the antediluvian paper to be preserved into a media less prone to deterioration. 

Unlike before, an unsure word echoed through the camp:

“Hello?”

Sunburst’s brows reacted first—they crawled up. Then he just as unhurriedly turned to the source of the voice and regarded a sheepishly smiling mare half-hidden in the shadows. His wrinkles twitched with something that could pass as both amusement and annoyance.

“It’s not often I see anyone braving these lands,” the stallion dryly noted; before returning to his work, he added, nearly reluctantly, “Good evening, young lady.”

“It does have a dubious touristic value, true,” the mare chuckled, stepping into the circle of light. However, seeing the elder unicorn forgetting about her existence, she hesitated. 

The percolating pot outstretched its steamy tendrils to her muzzle and wormed them under the fabric mask, right into the mare’s nostrils. Struggling to resist the call of food, as much as wishing to simply offer some rest to her weary, dust-blighted hooves, she timidly asked, “Would you mind if I kept you company for the evening?”

Once again, Sunburst’s attention lingered on his craft before he found it in himself to spare the ‘guest’ a glance—a long look of unreadable quality concluding with a carefully neutral, “Not at all—suit yourself.” A shadow of mischief narrowed his grey eyes. “You might find that ‘soup’ less nourishing than its smell suggests.”

Neither the scrutinising gaze, nor the warning stopped the newcomer from making a beeline for the little cauldron; though, she did stop to rub her hooves off the patchy outfit, adding to the already formidable collection of smears and spots. Seemingly out of nowhere, she produced a spoon fashioned of some spare part; before long, it, laden with the steaming liquid, headed for her lips. She almost had forgotten to remove the veil from her muzzle, doing so only at the last moment.

The mare’s face screwed intensely, all but imploding; when her muscles finally unclenched, she despondently declared, “Yuck.” 

Her gaze, full of the disappointment as bitter as the brew, flicked towards the so alluringly smelling pot. “What’s the point of food if it tastes horrible and does nothing to hunger?” Then her eyes snapped wide open. “What have you even added in there? Do I need an antidote now?”

“Hardly,” Sunburst snorted. “But it does wonders to one’s joints and gives the strength to spend a whole day climbing those cliffs.” He seemed to be about to add something else, only to shake his head in silent surrender.

“The wasteland gives, and the wasteland takes, I suppose,” the mare uttered thoughtfully.

Even the night’s obsidian blanket couldn’t hide the scarce flora stubbornly clinging to the almost barren rock; the half-withered plants stood against the midnight sky rendered not blindingly dark by the glimmer of the stars and distant flashes of Neighponia’s incessant catastrophe.

“If it was a wasteland indeed, I wouldn’t be there,” Sunburst grouchily retorted. He stared at the mare, right in her eyes. “And nor would you.”

The pearlescence clashed with the steel, the former radiating intense nonchalance; with a smugness so fleeting the stallion thought he imagined it, the mare shoved her snout into her saddlebags to produce a flask—seemingly the only item in her possession.

Sunburst didn’t hesitate to comment on that.

 “You’re packed lightly.”

The flask travelled to the mare’s lips and back before she answered with a shrug, “You said it yourself—we aren’t in the middle of a desert.”

The stallion shook his head with a sigh. Realising his hooves still rested on the keyboard, Sunburst put it away with another exhale—of frustration. One more disappointed deep breath marked his grudging shuffling to the fire; he took the place opposite to his visitor.

His eyes studied the mare as lazily as shamelessly, noting neither horn nor wings hiding in the folds of her tattered clothes; the fabric didn’t bulge with a physique of a weathered traveller, either. The earth pony didn’t mind the elder’s curiosity—just stared into the flames as if they showed her all the answers in the world; she didn’t even react when her host ultimately snorted in a conclusion to his observations. 

“That returns us to the start,” Sunburst grumbled. “Neighponia knows either crazy or foolhardy these days.”

The mare instantly met his discoloured eyes, hers twinkling with mirth.

“Which one are you?”

“Crazy,” Sunburst replied without missing a bit and just as briskly pressed on, “Though, not enough to fail to see that you are far from your home.”

A startled expression overtook the mare’s features for but blink, yet resentment replaced any hint of surprise that tried to settle on her muzzle not letting even the due disappointment flicker on her visage.

“Home,” she scoffed. “My home was in Canterlot and even that would be an exaggeration.”

Sunburst cast her a sympathetic glance, then melancholy clouded his eyes and, deflating, the stallion shared the sombre silence with the scowling mare for some time.

“And what about Hope?” the elder softly asked, seeing as she failed to overcome her own bout of bitter reminiscence. 

Her tone remained the same as the mare answered the question with a question, grimacing, “Have you ever been there?”

The silence once more reigned over the camp, save for the embers’ crackling and lament of the herbs relinquishing their fragrant essence to the brew. Sunburst absentmindedly stirred the bubbling waters and then gave the horizon’s broken line a long thoughtful look.

“They say ‘it’s not what everyone hoped for’,” he finally offered. Before the mare could comment on that, he continued, “What do you hope to find here?”

“Peace. At least for a little while.”

“Things are that bad, huh?” Sunburst wondered, his brows shooting up.

“Killing children is never a good thing,” the mare deadpanned.

The return of the silence was almost deafening as it covered the clearing like a heavy blanket, weighing down the shoulders of those present, growing increasingly suffocating with each passing moment. However, Sunburst dared to oppose the mute rule.

“I’d say restoring a lost text only to discover it being a sports magazine feels just as bad, but even after five hundred years I’m not that cynical yet,” he quietly said without a hint of humour, then abruptly rose, dusting himself off. “Nevertheless, it’s what I’m about to do, if you excuse me—you seem like you need some time for yourself, anyhow.”



Sunburst jerked awake, the water-eaten stained pages raining around him; his horn flared up to catch the tablet before the merciless gravel welcomed the device with its shattering touch.

He blinked the blur of slumber away, staring at the unkind expanse of ravaged terrain emerging from the realm of darkness as the Sun poured gold upon the ‘non-wasteland’ of Neighponia. The ancient stallion watched as the effulgence reclaimed the crumbling peaks of the splintered mountains first, how it drove the shadows down the slopes—the inky mass retreated into the deep scars disfiguring the once thriving land.

That scene greeted him every morning for the last few centuries, and yet something didn’t belong to it. 

His nostrils flared—the mist condensed in his throat, producing a customary rattling cough from his dust-blighted lungs. But something else clung to his respiratory system, something hauntingly familiar and alien, disturbingly strange as much as alluringly pleasant. 

The smell of fried eggs.

Turning short, Sunburst discovered its source—a frying pan hissing above the salmon coals as the mare gently shook it.

“Suit yourself,” she greeted him, not averting her serene gaze from the whitening eggs.

She also ignored a long, intent look Sunburst gave her—his mind coming to terms with the disturbance of his decades-old routine and invariability being violated. The chat they had yesterevening was something he had written off as a half-dream borne of his imagination before the vapid neighponese ‘lost knowledge’ lulled him to sleep.

“Why, thank you kindly,” he finally answered and took a seat at the fire; the mare held out the griddle to him.

The stallion didn’t wonder where his guest had found a lid perfectly fitting his pot, nor did he inquire about the logistics concerning his unexpected breakfast—like how a non-unicorn managed to conjure fire. Partly, because he knew the answers already; mostly, because his tongue used to the bitter herbs all but cried rivulets of saliva in exultation.

The pan turned empty in no time; it lingered in Sunburst magic for a few more moments as he remembered a cleaning spell. When it rested on the cold, dew-touched stones, he let out a contented sigh.

 “Maybe I should get back to cooking,” he commented wistfully. The rest of his words held a certain hollowness to them, however, “At some point, I just stopped bothering.”

The mare absentmindedly poked the dying embers with her spoon—an activity she had zealously indulged in since she offered the food to her host. As the light had left the hearth with only ashes and cinder remaining, she raised the spoon to her eyes; its reflective curve showed an equine different from the one meeting the dawn at the top of the hill.

“It’s said food is one of the few constant pleasures in life,” she levelly stated.

“Doesn’t work like that when you don’t really need it anymore.”

She cast Sunburst a curious glance. “For the only Former One who achieved his immortality voluntarily, you don’t sound so happy about it.”

“I can argue with every word in that sentence,” the stallion scoffed. “But to amuse you—half a millennium of arduous archaeology producing only dubious results is bound to make one a bit bitter.”

Her eyes that just returned to studying the truth offered by the utensil flicked to the side of it, taking in the broken landscape stretching from horizon to horizon—never violated the same way in two places. 

The mare’s half-lidded gaze travelled from the maelstrom of living lightning to a tornado that lazily bored the blasted rock in contained circles; it lingered on the forever smouldering ruins belching acrid smoke, and on the sickly clouds crying the toxic rain to bleach the defaced stones from the stains of civilisation. 

“They were thorough. I’ve never learnt what exactly the neighponese did to deserve this.”

“And nobody ever will,” Sunburst grimly answered her.

Putting the spoon away, the mare looked behind her, at the scattered scraps of paper that relinquished no actual legacy of the gone nation—not even the mystery of its hubris.

“So, what do you hope to find here?” she asked the stallion, who followed her curiosity with a defeated expression.

Sunburst didn’t reply immediately—one minute passed, then another.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “But this is my home now.”

A frown creased the mare’s forehead, darkened her eyes, and she murmured, “At least you’ve found that—it accounts for a lot.”

“Shouldn’t you be seeking yours?” Sunburst cautiously followed her bitter statement.

The shadow receded from the mare’s visage, and in its place mirth sparkled.

 “Tired of me already?”

“On the contrary—it’s refreshing to have a companion other than the wind.” A smile played on the stallion’s chapped lips; the corners of his mouth abruptly dropped. “But I thought you might want to spend time with your… extended family.”

The mare bristled and graced the stallion with a scathing look, but her anger rapidly faded—her words dripped with sorrow as she spoke, “I’m not sure if it’s what they need—what anyone needs. Spending time with me, that is.”

“Well, I’m chatting with you now.”

“You should know what I’m talking about,” the mare deadpanned, meeting the stallion’s eyes with a grave expression.

As the realisation caught up with Sunburst, he averted his gaze, suddenly finding it awkward to maintain eye contact as he reluctantly uttered, “Red Wire was very explicit, yes, but I’d like to hear your account.”

The sound of hoofsteps fading into the curling claws of mist answered him.



If Neighponia knew frequent sojourns, a place such as this would have gotten a pretentious carking name; though every corner of that land tempted a soon-to-be-regretful traveller to brand it pompously, according to the perils it struggled to contain.

The cracked and pitted cliff dropped abruptly, the precipice offering a plunge long enough to break every bone on the arrival to the bottom unless one sported a pair of wings. However, the unlucky or unwary—of simply overconfident—would hardly find their demise in the harsh pull of gravity. A patchwork of garish colours sprawled across the basin lost in the fumes caustic enough to melt flesh from the bones.

A whiff of sulphur crinkled Sunburst muzzle—a stronger gust of wind might even absolve him of his beard along with the rest of the hair on his face, maybe even some of his skin. Yet as he took a step back, the mare remained standing on the very edge of the drop-off. 

“Do you fear me?” she spoke over the sizzling below. A geyser blowing a stream of scorching poison in the sky punctuated her quiet words. “I belong to those who did that.”

A drop fell on the mare’s cheek and the smell of burnt plastic wafted through the oppressive air. Metal embarrassingly gleamed under the bemisted sunrays, then the wound closed, her impeccably normal grey coat betraying no violation ever happened to it.

“I’m past fear,” Sunburst evenly commented on the display. “Nor are you a threat to me—no offence.”

“Sounds ominous.” Although she cast him a sidelong glance accompanied by a smirk, curiosity and a hint of concern lurked beneath her amusement.

Her emotion failed to evoke any change in the stallion’s expression, though he did respond in a measured tone, “We both know you aren’t what they keep betitling you. The same applies to me to some extent.”

The mare gave him another intent look, but her eyes soon unfocused as her attention turned inward and when she spoke again, her voice bore an edge to it. 

“It still feels like too much power for an individual. If not my existence, my involvement, shatters any balance.”

“Or it creates a new one. Have you thought of that?”

Sunburst’s question instantly provoked a frown, followed by a snappy answer, “It’s not a balance if one side can’t be shifted and I wouldn’t dare to call myself an anchor of society.”

The stallion didn’t flinch at the outburst, even leaned closer, asking softly, “What actually happened that night?”

The mare’s lips parted, but no words came; they twisted into a lopsided grin as she further struggled with a decision. In the end, she clamped her jaws with a grimace and waved her hoof in dismissal. 

“It’s not about that night,” yet she replied, her voice hollow. “The escape from Canterlot claimed too many lives—deaths that I should have prevented.”

“Everyone makes mistakes.”

“I have no right,” the mare spat, bristling. “My single act can send ripples affecting thousands throughout decades, but my abilities grant me no proportionate foresight.”

Sunburst neither hurried nor hesitated with his answer, and it came as calmly as anything he had said before, albeit completely devoid of any lecturing quality, “The knowledge of what is to come robs it of any purpose. Have faith in yourself being able to reach that goal even if you can’t see it.”

The mare shook her head, a wry smile preceding her bitter words.

“I thought so once, yes. Now I’m not sure if even the faith of my children is enough.” She let out a heavy sigh, her head still swaying, slowly. “We try our best to predict the outcomes, but…”

A scornful snort yanked her out of her dismay.

“Now, that is something you should be ashamed of.”

“Of course, it’s easy for you to say,” the mare scoffed, glowering at Sunburst. “Except, I’m not running away.”

Now it was the stallion’s turn to bristle up and to glare daggers at his colloquist.

“That’s how you see me, huh?” He barked at her, circling the mare, his tail swishing. “You probably think that if I stayed in Canterlot, things would have been different or I might have changed something in Hope.”

However, as Sunburst received no response, his stomping subdued, and he snorted again before sitting down on the stone, wrapping his silver and rust tail around his chipped hooves. He then icily stated, “You talk about power, about abilities and all that grandiose stuff, but completely miss where the true potency lies.”

“Why don’t you educate me?”

Though the sincere hope smothered the hint of mockery in her question, Sunburst’s reply still held some residual bitterness, “I’d have said it’s ironic for someone who leads a society called a Unity to fail to grasp such a simple concept—”

“What’s wrong with the Unity?” the mare indignantly interrupted him.

“Nothing, per se. It’s just…” Sunburst twirled his hoof in the air, grimacing. “When all is said and done, it’s a closed circuit. It’s always been their dream to be a single cognitum, a singular unit—and now they are.” Seeing how it brought no ease to the mare’s scowl, he added, “Again, it’s not a bad thing. But it’s not what you need either.”

“Implying I should work with others, not alone,” the mare deadpanned; she narrowed her eyes. “Yet I don’t see you following your own advice.”

Sunburst turned his head to the side so his unkempt mane would hide his face; nothing concealed contempt in his voice, however.

“I tried to talk to them, so many times.” His shoulders sagged and for the first time he looked his age; the bitterness ceded to remorse. “Maybe they were too young, the other Former Ones, too drunk on their newfound powers; maybe I chose the wrong words. By the time I was heard—it was too late.”

An awkward silence hung betwixt the timeless equines as they pondered what to say next—if there was anything to say.

“Have you ever met Twilight Sparkle?” the mare wondered as if speaking mostly to herself. “I tried to dig through her memories—you were about the same age, studied at the same school; yet there is nothing.”

Sunburst’s muzzle screwed up in a distaste, albeit mild. 

“She was Princess Celestia’s most faithful and I could never appreciate the solar diarch’s rule.” Noticing the mare’s raised eyebrow, he begrudgingly clarified. “She had more planning ambition than it was healthy.”

“I’ve learnt from their mistakes,” the mare stated, coldness creeping in her tone.

“Why are you here, then?”

Her response washed over Sunburst like a gust of northern wind, “Because I’ve also learnt from their successes.”

“Sure, you have.”

“Makes me wonder if your expedition here is as voluntary as you say.”

“Makes me wonder if I’m far enough for when things inevitably go horribly wrong.”

His joints creaking, Sunburst abruptly shuffled away, leaving the mare alone with the valley belching its deadly gifts into the afternoon sky.



The jagged tendrils of electricity wove an intricate web of incandescent bluish threads hanging betwixt the stones, both frozen in the air and languishingly drifting to the clouds, where the dark bulbous wombs grumbled with the thunder brewing inside. 

The mare watched one such boulder pass by her; waited patiently, still as a statue. It outstretched its crackling tentacle to touch her nose—her hair stood on its end, her mane flared out like the rays of the Sun, tiny sparkles zapping betwixt the locks.

She remained unmoving, nor did she stir, even when a scratchy voice uttered a single word from her side.

“Sorry.”

“Everyone makes mistakes, right?” The mare glanced at Sunburst, an amiable smile on her lips. A series of black lines on her muzzle mirroring the glowing in the twilight cracks of lighting partially spoiled the impression.

“My ‘expedition’ is voluntary,” he sighed. “But the way I left Canterlot wasn’t graceful to any extent.”

Using the approach of another marble chunk carrying the whip of electricity as an excuse, the mare welcomed the elder to follow her with a motion of her head.

“Why don’t you come to Hope, then?” she spoke as they trotted away from one of the Neighponia’s scars. “Many could use your help, your knowledge—starting with the changelings.”

“I have nothing new to tell them since my last chat with Queen Chrysalis.”

“They’re dying,” the mare pressed on, her tone a mix of desperation and demand. “My friend is dying.”

“They have always been that way. It’s ultimately an unsustainable existence—what you get for meddling with things you don’t understand.”

Anger contorted the mare’s features, but then her expression eased—Sunburst’s words carried no hostility, nor was he wrong.

“There has to be a solution,” she still snapped.

“I don’t deny that. But I certainly don’t have it and nor does that place,” the stallion replied calmly, yet a hint of annoyance infused his next statement. “Before you ask the obvious, you should understand something—there is no and won’t ever be some miracle to instantly fix the changelings; or anything, for that matter.”

The mare glared at him, though said levelly, “I’m perfectly aware of it and that’s why I need a plan.”

“Plan!”

This time, she didn’t—couldn’t—hide venom in her tone, “Do you despise the concept of planning out one’s actions or me personally?”

The stallion and the mare stopped to silently glare at each other for a few long moments, then Sunburst hobbled away; this time, the mare followed him. Realising he was refused solitude, the elder faced her, scowling fiercely.

“I’ve lived long enough to see everyone with a grand plan fail miserably—Canterlot was lost twice, first by Celestia then by Chrysalis. The Equestrian civilisation is in shambles and its last stronghold is plagued with the issues bound to undo it!” Sunburst all but spat in her muzzle and proceeded to rage on, “Nightmare, Discord and Sombra are on the loose—it is only a question of time before one of them becomes a problem for the entire world.” He spread his hooves and deep sorrow inflected his yell, “Look around! Millions of neighponese perished and with them, their history, culture, knowledge—all gone, save for those tiny shreds I’m set on recovering. They had a plan, too!”

As Sunburst panted, he seemed to deflate. Yet he still had enough breath in him to mutter bitterly, “Either plans don’t work or nobody knows how to make them.”

“Do you?”

“Do I what?” the elder barked at the mare, glaring at her, mostly just in confusion.

“Know how to plan?”

The stallion blinked. Then frowned, his wrinkles creasing until his face seemed to fold into itself if that went on. He gave the mare a long look, glanced to the side and stared at her once more, his expression inscrutable. Minutes passed as he kept glowering at her serene face.

“Alright,” Sunburst finally said. “What have you come up with?”



A tall statue crested the hill overlooking devastated plains and mounts of Neighponia. The arcanium monument rested on a boulder towering above the faintly smoking firepit and its shadow a stallion hid from the glaring Sun—only because he had to keep the screen of his tablet away.

The statue shifted to glance at the list.

“That’s a lot to do. A lot of ‘faith’ is needed. And in the end, it might not even work out,” she commented, concerned.

“It most certainly won’t—that’s part of the plan.”

The metal equine shook her head and rolled her eyes, a smile playing on the lips of her mask. “You didn’t lie when you said you’re crazy.”

“It isn’t sane to have an ambition that grand, you know,” Sunburst readily retorted; the corners of his mouth slightly went up as well.

The alicorn blinked, then her eyes widened—just a bit. 

“I’ll… keep that in mind,” she enigmatically noted.

The stallion barely paid her words any attention—his gaze glazed with sadness; he shook the spell off and bowed to the mechanical mare, speaking in a carefully measured voice, “And don’t get me wrong—I enjoyed your company.”

The arcanium coat shimmered, prophesying teleportation that got delayed for just a bit.

“Until the next time, then.”

Sunburst’s face brightened, and he didn’t bother to withhold a smile.

“Good luck, Machine Goddess. You’re going to need all of it.”
> 4.1 The Sun and the Void
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



=================================

Written by: Oneimare

=================================


Arc 4 – Desert Summit

Chapter 1 – The Sun and the Void


=================================


By the time the shambling abhorrences drove Ash from the dark dank tunnels into the wreck of Equestria, the endless winter made sure her realm would be limited solely to Canterlot’s decaying ruins. The unfortunate filly had grown into a young mare savouring the fallout of the grand catastrophe, witnessing the kingdom of ice and terror from every angle possible, and yet—it had never struck her as deep as the sight before her eyes.

In the tears rolling down her cheeks, a sprawling vista reflected—a sun-blasted desert of caked slug and bleached dirt.

The industrial heart that extruded poison with its every erratic beat rotted away and so the toxic wasteland, too, exhaled its final deadly breath. Although years—centuries—would pass before the first blade of grass poked through the crust of molten salts, the air above the desolated valley already seared lungs and corroded steel no more.

The sky, even blighted by dust and ashes billowing from that massive grave of the fertile soil—it knew no limit. The maliciously whistling wind was all bark and no bite—no frostbite; nor did the ancient undying throats chanted to its flute.

Lifeless and discoloured, it lacked one more element—snow… for the most part; at least, nowhere near holding a candle to the alabaster peaks of Canterlot. The azure dome replacing the blizzard’s gizzard didn’t mean the white nightmare’s abrupt end—the raging herd shed ice in the excess and it piled even outside the crumbled wall.

That all got but a momentary glance, however.

The incandescent gold poured into the obsidian depths of Ash’s eyes the moment she emerged from the shadows of the underground passage. Her gaze became one with the brilliant radiance as she stared right into its source, her world reduced to only the effulgent core of the firmament.

After a few minutes of staring at their unmoving companion, Nameless broke the silence, ignorant of its reverent meaning, “Remark: Ash’s designation prevents retinal damage from exposure to direct sunlight.”

“Data: Ash should be grateful,” they continued to drone as the stunned alicorn remained unchanging in her awe. “Object of gratitude: not found.”

Similarly, it failed to produce any response from the enchanted mare; the bleached skull tilted as they mulled over their own words. The spell faded away as quickly as it came—shrugged off by Nameless declaring, “Data: nonsensical—further analysis required. Proceed with: social interaction.”

Though this time their words weren’t meant for the sun-stricken mare, they did bring back Ash from her daze—she graced her companion with a grin threatening to split her head in two.

“Forget your data, Nameless! It’s beautiful.”

An unrelenting stare of empty eye sockets settled on her face, and Ash’s beaming smile faltered. Over and over its unsettling nature stirred the alicorn’s mind—she yearned for the memories missing; each time Ash gazed into the eyes of someone she should have known as well as her own reflection.

This time the mysterious bones spoiled her exaltation with another kind of distress—it sent her mind running with attempts to crack the meaning of the hollow glower.

Soon enough, she deciphered the mute message.

The mare’s expression fell, followed by the curtain of her unkempt overgrown mane, as she hung her head, muttering, “You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

“Ash’s assessment: wrong,” Nameless’ lifeless voice announced. “Objective: not reached.”

She gave them a glance, but before it decided betwixt hope or plunging deeper into disappointment, the haze of horizon stole her attention from peering into Nameless’ ghastly visage.

What seemed to be a dream turned real had been rapidly bleeding its lustre; however gloriously the Sun shone down on the scenery, its beauty stood powerless to blind Ash—a veritable valley of death stretched away from the two travellers until it joined with the tainted sky. It didn’t bother the alicorn as much as the unknown that lay beyond—if that dead world had something else to offer.

Ash didn’t consider it before—leaving Canterlot might have improved the chances of her survival, but didn’t absolve her from the fight for it. Maybe she should have asked herself earlier, if it would be worth sating her craving for the sunlight, only for it to be the last thing to witness.

The alicorn’s dark gaze returned to Nameless and she admitted with a heavy sigh, “I have no idea what I’m supposed to do now.”

“Extracted data,” Nameless offered and their next words sent a chill down Ash’s spine that had nothing to do with the frozen tomb nearby—she recognised her own voice, “Then I’ll become strong and return for you. For them.”

“What else have you ‘extracted’ from my head?” Ash hissed, half-heartedly glaring at the skeletal equine; her body ached for many a reason and the pains generously contributed by Nameless lingered still.

They ignored the question to proceed with a monotone message, “Ash’s objective: definitive. Nameless’ objective: definitive. Overlap of steps towards the objectives: possible.”

Although cautiously, Ash’s chapped lips stretched into a small smile. The distant land of mystery, just as unimaginable as the Sun once was, seemed less daunting now. With Nameless by her side, the chances of her survival grew a bit; even if that increase came with its unique worries.

Her eyes sparkling with hope, Ash looked at them, “So, our first step is..?”

“Error: Not found.”



A moment of consideration revealed to Ash that she actually had no need for directions from Nameless’ morbid collection of knowledge—common sense suggested that getting out of that vast desert had to come before anything else.

Nothing in the view hinted at any direction to pick would be wrong… except one.

Looking behind her shoulder, the mare glared at the city that had continuously foisted to her a burial under the snow. Another victim of Canterlot caught her bitter gaze with neither objection nor approval. Nevertheless, when Ash trotted away from her once cradle, they followed.

Ash plodded through the snow, no different from her daily Canterlot routine. Her steps, though stumbling, steadily measured the time and the white drifts peppering the porous dried dirt had become sparse. Eddies of dust had begun to rise in the wake of her hooves; the silt stung her nose and eyes.

Happy for the change—and novelty to some degree—the alicorn slightly sped up in the addition to the terrain favouring that already. Her wide eyes jumped from one ashen dune to another, marvelling at their form, colour and size. With amazement she noted the Sun rolling across the firmament—her eye had barely caught the movement.

Whenever she glanced back, the Sun outlined a skeletal figure against the hoary sindon quivering on the corpse of Canterlot. The statuesque equine knew neither joy nor boredom and marched with all the grace of a machine, the reflective skull pointed right ahead.



Ash came to a halt.

Her legs buzzed with exertion—they weren’t trained for a trip longer than a lightning-fast dash betwixt two piles of snow. Whereas moisture flooded her maddeningly itching eyes, her tongue scraped against teeth in vain attempts to exile grains of sand from her mouth. A low wail came from her belly, reminding her that she, like always, ran on fumes.

And just like always, she ignored that sound. Choking on the acrid taste of the arid air, she still managed to fill up her lungs only to loudly exhale a heartbeat later.

The dust dancing above the desolation blurred her vision, but that barely mattered as fundamentally the view had remained the same. With her tail dragging across her hoofprints, she forced herself to press onward, but a dozen steps later the landscape refused to change—reveal if it had any end to its decayed monotony.

Fearing that her hooves would carry her but one more step and then buckle, she turned to the only thing in that desert that wasn’t ash.

“Nameless?” Not waiting for a witty response, she hastily added. “Do you have any data on flying?”

“Response: affirmative.”

Rolling her eyes—a gesture wasted—Ash continued, trying to inject more patience into her voice than she possessed, “Could you share it with me?”

Nameless gazed at the alicorn for an uncomfortable stretch of time before they stated, “Warning: direct transmission of data may cause irreversible damage.”

Throbbing headache mercilessly reminded Ash about her experience with Nameless’ methods; shuddering, she grimaced and asked, “Uh… what about a more ‘traditional’ method?”

A blank look served her as an answer; though, every look Nameless gave could be categorised as such, anyhow.

“Could you teach me?” she reiterated.

The bizarre equine hesitated with the reply again.

“Analysis: insufficient intelligence level.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Ash instantly bristled; continuing to glare at Nameless, she demanded before they would elaborate, “Just tell me what I need to know.”

“Data: Flight or flying is the process by which an object moves through a space without contacting any planetary surface. This can be achieved by generating aerodynamic lift associated with gliding or propulsive thrust, aerostatically using buoyancy, or by ballistic movement—”

“I got it.” Ash raised her hoof and hastily added, “I mean, I didn’t, but… yeah.”

To her relief—and surprise—Nameless abstained from any comments, though, Ash still visibly deflated and longingly looked at the sky strewn with ragged cotton clouds.

After all, if flying was that easy, everyone would be doing it… and every pegasus or gryphon did.

That thought reflected on her muzzle with an expression just as bitter. Soon it vanished, when the disgruntled mare tapped into the last reserves of her strength, bolstered herself and despondently pressed on into the desert—out of spite.



Akin to a leaden blanket, the exhaustion borne from the lack of sleep fell on Ash’s shoulders, dragging her wings down so the feathery tips left two lines in the dust.

The prospect of setting for a nap under the open sky, with only dirt to dig herself into as the closest to a shelter, deterred her from catching up on the missed rest; that and imagining Nameless standing over her, patiently waiting, watching…

Every so often she glanced back to check on the unchanging figure trailing her like a shadow—literally; their hooves somehow made no sound and their gait always perfectly matched that of Ash, keeping them at an unexpectedly respectful distance for someone who had a habit of invading the minds of the others.

Sure as death, the amalgam of bone and metal sent a chill down her spine.

However, the answer of why gnawed on Ash’s mind much more fiercely than the voice of reason that kept glueing her eyes to the macabre sight. If she ignored common sense and looked past the skeleton and arcanium splinters, something deep inside someone she called her friend still evoked fear in her.

One of those times when she turned to check on her rigidly grinning companion, she blurted out, “What is it like?”

“Request: clarification.”

Ash sifted through the disorderly mass of half-thoughts and wonderings, all boiling down to, “What do you see?”

However, that question didn’t ring through the air growing cold with the advancing sunset.

She might not be smart enough to understand the intricacies of flight, but that was within her understanding—Nameless perceived the reality through their collection of data. However, in the end, they saw the same world—just with vastly different eyes; though, something told Ash she would never be able to do the same, no matter how smart she got.

“Never mind,” the alicorn threw over her shoulder.

That wasn’t it—not the problem.

Clearing her mind as best as she could, Ash started from the beginning.

They both had been wandering the dead city for a decade simply for the sake of survival. Not exactly correct in the case of Nameless who only sought their purpose in life; but as they failed to find that in Canterlot, their objective shared the fate of many in that place—it froze, leaving them aimless. 

What changed? 

Discord.

Though, the draconequus truly changed Ash before he teleported them out of the depot together—when she vowed to come back for him and the rest of the unfortunate survivors.

The thought found her like an icicle dropping from a roof; she sharply turned on her heels to face the moving effigy.

“Nameless?” 

As their head turned to regard Ash with an expressionless stare, an ominous sensation settled in the alicorn’s gut—as if Nameless somehow knew what she was about to ask and didn’t want that to happen.

For a few heartbeats, Ash struggled to form a coherent phrase from the buzzing swarm in her mind; slowly, as she still couldn’t believe what she was saying and expected voicing it out would prove her wrong, the mare uttered, “You keep saying that my designation is controlling the Sun, but you also confirmed that my objective is to become stronger so I can save my friend and Canterlot’s survivors. Following your logic, shouldn’t I ignore the latter?”

Nameless stood still as a statue and similarly mute, yet it differed from how they usually appeared.

“Nameless—” The artificial voice abruptly died, then they tried again, “Data suggests—”

Finally, the words formed and though they came from no mouth like before, they bore a subtle trace that Ash couldn’t pin down—that inflexion turned the message belonging to someone alive.

“Helping your friend.”

The alicorn’s wide eyes remained glued to the bone that showed signs of life that wasn’t there before, yet the question of where did it come from remained—the missing piece that locked the whole puzzle together and made it such.

Leaving Nameless to their dismay, Ash returned to cracking their mystery as she shuffled through the grit towards the unknown.



The dust rising from those plains of silence had become one with the fog plaguing Ash’s mind, making it impossible to tell how long she had trotted, half-awake. It could be a thousand steps or a dozen; the shifting sand swallowed her hoofsteps almost as soon as her hooves rose to leave the next ones and the Sun seemed to be frozen on the horizon.

Condemned by stupidity to trod the dust as if she had no wings and also denied sleep, the alicorn sought the last possible way to aid her journey.

“Does your data suggest any food in our vicinity?”

She postponed asking that question for as long as possible because the answer to it could also explain why anybody tried to flee Canterlot so rarely.

“Observation: loss of short term memory. Inquiry: has Ash received brain damage?”

Ash’s eyes unfocused as she had to recall the recent events and figure out what Nameless alluded to; having that figured out, the mare glared at them as another realisation flashed through her mind—that was a waste of time. 

“It’s me who should be asking that,” the alicorn grumbled; internally she wondered how long it would take for Nameless’ way of speaking to drive her crazy. Before her companion got a chance to respond to that and also unknowingly contribute to the other question, Ash spoke, “I know you can teleport food. But we aren’t in Canterlot anymore.”

“Nameless’ ability parameters: distance is not a parameter.”

The mare didn’t get a chance to ruminate at that statement as the air shimmered and a sound of displaced air announced the arrival of her meal—a few cans hovered above the ground, right within Ash’s reach. Grabbing the preserves, she gracelessly plopped on the ground.

She momentarily hesitated before digging in, but stopped her hoof in time from offering some to Nameless—the last thing she needed to accompany her meal were snide remarks about her memory.

Mumbling her thanks, Ash pulled the metal ring to discover unidentifiable mush vaguely smelling of borderline rotting vegetation with a hint of mushrooms; letting out a sigh and direly hoping that it was the right kind of mushrooms, she pinched her nose and slurped the ‘food’.

Putting a conscious effort to concentrate on anything but the taste, the alicorn let her mind wander.

Ash nearly choked as her mouth refused to let its questionable contents down her throat, though they deserved only the part of the blame; thankfully Nameless didn’t worsen the situation by another of her neutral observations.

Barely managing to force the slimy blob into her stomach, she gulped the air and tried her hardest to ignore the taste that shrivelled her tongue and churned her insides.

Finally, Ash was able to speak.

“You can teleport food from anywhere and yet you had been walking around Canterlot for ten years while we all starved? I don’t fully get all that Lord of Chaos business, but what excuse do you have?”

The reasonable part of her mind demanded to shut up and not provoke someone who not only just ensured her survival and was necessary for it to continue—someone who also had the means to put an end to it. There also was a whisper that burned her conscience with a hunger for the answer.

Nameless met the accusation unflinchingly. Though their answer’s coldness didn’t differ from any other statement, it still slapped Ash like a gust of Windigo breath.

“Value in preserving life forms: not found—unless they possess valuable data.”

The can bounced off the ground and the alicorn abruptly stood up.

The burning sensation in her consciousness turned searing and then she heard a voice—so much like her thoughts, but not the same. It reminded her that Ash beat Nameless in a fight once—they weren’t a threat… nothing would be if she were to give in.

Dismissing that whisper, the mare barked, “I’m just a piece of data for you isn’t it?”

“Ash doesn’t possess…” Nameless trailed off and their lifeless tone subtly shifted as they tried again, “Ash doesn’t possess perspective—”

Oblivious to those modulations or even the rest of Nameless’ answer, Ash cut them off, “No, I do! From my perspective, you’re worse than a monster—having the power to make the world better but choosing not to!”

Suddenly, the empty eyes of the bone and metal equine peered into the alicorn’s crimson eyes with an intensity they had no right to possess.

“Ash’s ability analysis: Ash herself is also capable of—”

“Shut up!”

The dirt cracked as the fire stole the last of its moisture, it blackened into cinders and the ashes flaked away, rising to the blazing Sun.

Ash’s confused stare searched around until it caught a glimpse of her coat—white yet smouldering as flames fruitlessly gnawed on her flesh. She screwed her eyes shut, refusing to see the rest of her alien body; her strange hooves all but sprawled as the mare backpedalled, even as she knew the futility and senselessness of that motion.

Whereas fire licked her pelt, ice crept in her veins—from the sensation of being overwhelmed by the destructive desire as much as from knowing that Nameless stood right in front of her, unbeknownst of Ash’s struggle and desperate want for that incinerating intent to fade away; the conversation that had lead to this point forgotten in the shadow of paralysing terror—would he actually be able to survive Nameless’ unbound potential?

The customary coldness of Nameless’ words splashed Ash’s mind like a bucket of frigid water.

“Interruption: not constructive to data exchange.”

Her eyes snapped open, wide as moons, but the alicorn no longer found herself burning; for a heartbeat, she thought the exhaustion and hunger took their toll in such a feverish fashion, but then her gaze fell on coal-black hoofprints in the mud that perfectly matched her cracked hooves.

She took a deep breath and dared to glance at Nameless—nothing betrayed the strange equine’s opinion on the transpired. Looking at their grinning skull, she couldn’t help but recall what led to this whole situation—in a fresh flash of anger.

“What else can you do but choose not to?”

“Discord’s interference: not found. Nameless’ ability: no limits.”

If Nameless’ mechanical voice brought clarity to Ash’s thoughts before, that statement scattered them on the wind with a thunderous explosion. They turned into the possibilities that multiplied, merged to split again—until her mind imploded with them converging into a single thought hanging in the void of utter bewilderment.

“Why?” Knowing that would follow such a simple question, she squeezed out of herself, staring at Nameless in disbelief and confusion, “Why… why won’t you do anything?”

“Reason: not found. Objective: determine Nameless’ designation.”

A roar of crackling flames filled Ash’s mind, challenging her to ‘to designate that bitch into a puddle of molten metal’. Smoke obscured her vision and yet the alicorn didn’t stir, as amidst the inferno of her consciousness a realisation dawned.

Ash kept comparing herself to Nameless as if they and she walked the parallel paths—after all, they had so much in common and shared the same journey. It never occurred to her that it might be a prolonged crossing point—for they might have so different starting points, despite both being dwellers of Canterlot. 

Moisture gathered in her eyes as she dared to disturb the memories of her fillyhood—parents and friends compensating the uncaring and lethal reality of the Deep Tunnels with all they could give to each other—something that no mutation and no horror could snuffle in their hearts. 

Who was supposed to be there to reach for Nameless? To show them a path so they wouldn’t be lost in the dark cold world? 

Who even was them? 

Not a pony, not a mutant, not even an equinoid… A being that could do anything, even if it didn’t know why it should.

A god stood before Ash.

Her moon-eyed gaze went past the bone, catching the gleam of that lay under—a metal with a strange gleam to it, the vestiges of a statue that Nameless tried to emulate so dutifully; the alicorn always so fixated on the bones of her ‘kin’, she never paid the proper attention to the rest of their body.

“Who you were… What have you been doing before you started collecting the data?”

Both Ash’s and Nameless’ heads snapped to the source of a new voice—a unicorn mare a few lengths away.

“Being me,” she said.



As if she didn’t have an alicorn and an alicorn’s skeleton staring at her, the delicate lavender unicorn sat onto the glassed sand like on a cushion, neatly wrapping her tail around her hooves.

Her expression showed nothing but patience; maybe a hint of mystery, exacerbated by her coat shimmering unnaturally in the crimson rays of the setting Sun.

Nameless’ rickety frame surged forward, rushing to the unicorn with such haste, that their hooves barely touched the ground. The same drive twisted their words, exchanging their mechanical rhythm for the cadence of urgency.

“Progenitor: discovered—commencing data extraction.”

The moment they announced their ill-promising intent, Ash pounced after them, her lips parted, ready to unleash a harsh reprimand.

It never came, however—Nameless recoiled, their charge cut abrupt; their splintered metal hooves dug into the dust to keep their whole figure steady and seemingly together. Then her limbs carried them back, away from the unicorn.

“No,” she calmly said with a smile, amiable and enigmatic in equal measure.

Something shifted in Nameless’ stance; their posture spoke of determination burning in the space betwixt warped arcanium and old bones.

Ash sensed it in the air—her horn tinged from the nearby flare of a force invisible yet tremendous; a gust of aetherial wind blasted back her mane.

The bones adoring Nameless’ frame rattled and the metal of the rest of their body whined, ringing, as they fell to their knees.

Before she even realised that, Ash found herself standing betwixt them and the strange unicorn; wind tugged on her unfurled wings and a whisper in the back of her mind tugged on her horn with a promise of all-incinerating light.

Ignoring the latter, she warned the mare, “Stop doing that to them! Leave Nameless alone!”

“Nameless?” Confusion glazed the unicorn’s violet eyes, widening slightly; a mix of mirth and something unreadable quickly replaced it as she squinted. “I’m afraid they can’t come in contact with the Unity. That would be… unproductive, for all the parties involved.”

Ash barely registered the emotions flickering through the mare’s eyes as she struggled for the reins of her own.

“Who are you and what do you want?” Warily glancing at where the blizzard disrupted the horizon, she demanded, “Are you one of the Prophet’s ‘ghosts’?”

“So that’s how he calls them. Interesting…” The unicorn tapped her chin, her eyes narrowing once more, laden with thought.

The sand rustled as a bone-encrusted statue raised behind Ash; the skull peeking at the mare from behind the alicorn’s plumage snapped the mare out of her reverie and she promptly introduced herself.

“I’m the Machine Goddess.”

A heavy silence followed her words; the goddess herself keenly studied the faces before her (or the lack of). A shadow of disappointment momentarily darkened her face when neither questioned her appearance.

Her eyes, no longer searching, met Ash’s and she stated, “First, I’m to inform you that the day and night cycle is disrupted—that caused quite a commotion.”

The alicorn answered her with a choking sound; when Ash regained her composure—somewhat, she blurted, “I didn’t do anything, I swear!”

The Machine Goddess raised a hoof with a friendly smile.

“The problem is fixed… temporarily.” Her tone shifted, losing none of its benevolence, but gaining an edge hinting at grave consequences were her words not taken seriously. “However, from now on the Sun requires your direct control.”

Her mouth remained open for a heartbeat—which she didn’t possess—then it closed, partially because Ash stared at her in abject horror. Her eyes had unfocused as her mind tried and repeatedly failed to fully realise the weight of her new responsibility; starting with the simple fact she did even what sunrise looked like.

“But…” she stammered, her head shaking as her gaze grew fully vacant; her ears plastered themselves against her head. Her quivering lips uttered, “But I don’t know what to do…”

The Machine Goddess looked slightly up to meet two empty eye sockets; to no surprise, they conveyed absolutely nothing—Nameless didn’t stir at all.

“Your… companion should know.”

Ash followed her eyes, but the petrified equine remained stiff.

Considering that Nameless found her intelligence lacking even for such a simple thing as flying, Ash couldn’t help but wonder how she was supposed to learn that. With a tremendous effort of will, she pushed that worry aside and looked back at the Machine Goddess.

“What is the second thing?” A drop of sweat left a trail on her grimy coat; she gulped. “Or third?”

A kindly smile once more materialised on the shimmering muzzle. “Only one more—I’m also to inform you that a meeting takes place southwest from here. You might want to attend it.”

“Why?”

The kindness of her grin faltered for mischief to shine through the cracks of the mask.

“It might give you some ideas.”

Glaring at her, Ash grumbled, “You’re not helping.”

The alicorn’s attitude failed to bring any change to the Machine Goddess’s cryptic expression; she only added, “If you agree to come, I will open a portal there—that’s all I can offer to you at the moment.”

Before Ash could consider what her offer could entail or even finally ask a question of why she was talking with a living deity—another one… or what was going on in general, Nameless suddenly thawed. They walked around Ash to face the Machine Goddess, or rather tower over the scintillating unicorn.

“Request… Correction: demand—data. Progenitor—responsible for Nameless’s creation. Objective: determine Nameless’ designation.”

They succeeded where Ash failed—their words shattered the amicable mask; the unicorn flickered and in her place a much more imposing figure appeared… that shared an uncanny resemblance to the metal splinters hiding under the alicorn bones. 

In uneasy silence, sorrow and guilt fought for the dominion over the arcanium face. Neither prevailed when the Machine Goddess quietly spoke.

“I’ll be honest with you—that was an accident. When my magic whisked Seven away, I thought only an empty shell remained at that dark temple.”

“Statement: mistake,” a tone drier than the sand around them informed her.

The Machine Goddess winced, a grimace blemishing the perfect features of her divine visage as she averted her gaze from the alicorn remains mutely judging her.

“I know,” she finally said, her admission accompanied by a heavy sigh; when the deity continued, her eyes returned to Nameless, darkened with trepidation. “The question is… Should I be sorry? Do you want me to undo it?”

Ash pressed herself to Nameless side and for once she didn’t try to ignore the fiery whisper in the back of her mind; but before the alicorn gave in to the immolating offer, she looked at Nameless, waiting for their answer together with the Machine Goddess.

Nameless returned to resembling a statue, but that didn’t last for long; taking a step forward, so a hoof would barely pass a distance betwixt their skull and the Machine Goddess’s mask, they firmly stated, “Nameless’ designation: not found. Request: designation.”

The Machine Goddess glanced aside, at Nameless’ companion—friend; however, her eyes didn’t bother to meet those of the tensed mare—they briefly stopped at her cutie mark before returning to peering into the voids of the bleached bone.

“You don’t need me to answer that.”

Nameless mirrored the motion, though didn’t follow it with any words of their own; but their hollow gaze lingered on Ash long enough for the mare to fidget—she never liked her flanks getting attention.

When Nameless’ eyeless stare left Ash’s rump, it slid past the Machine Goddess, searching for something in the horizon line where the dark landscape began to fuse with the blackening sky.

“Data suggestion: no match found. Objective: no updates—proceeding with the current task,” they announced; the emotionless voice somehow sounding such on purpose.

Ash gave one more distrustful glance to the Machine Goddess, then addressed Nameless, “Should we go with her?”

“Possibility: new data—importance unpredictable,” Nameless commented after a moment of consideration.

The only possibility Ash cared about was the chance to get out of the desert or at least come closer to its border—without using her hooves. That, and the vague promise of the mechanical deity did manage to awake some itching curiosity in her, secondary that might be to her goal and the needs of her body.

She nodded to the Machine Goddess. “I guess that’s a ‘yes’.”

To her disappointment, when the reality split to reveal a distant place it showed the same expanse of sand; nevertheless, Ash stepped through the arcane gate.
> 4.2 We meet again, part I
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



=================================

Written by: Oneimare

=================================


Arc 4 – Desert Summit

Chapter 2 – We meet again, part I


=================================


A glimmering line of arcanium no thicker than a hair seamed two realities: Hope and the other of some distant place. However, the sand on both sides of the portal barely differed—the desert’s flowing flesh that the howling gales flung back and forth over the crags encircling the Badlands. 
The sight of the distraught changeling queen outweighed Wire’s hesitation and she limped into the arcane door; despite her passionate reluctance, Flower trailed the unicorn, but not before giving the Machine Goddess a look that put Wire’s enmity with the deity to a shame.
One equine lingered by the passage—Night Wind. 
She had already crossed her line of work by teaming up with the Unity and the Swarm to deal with things far beyond her competence or even comprehension. Whilst that might be debated, without a doubt, anything happening outside Hope shouldn’t be within its police forces’ jurisdiction. 
The passage remained invitingly open, even without its creator around—the arcanium alicorn had slipped away as Night pondered her predicament.
Pretending that the goddess waited for her to use it, the Kirin abruptly hurried into the unknown, guided by simple curiosity to the same degree as by the inertia of the crammed with weirdness day. 
The moment Night’s unshorn fetlocks brushed the surprisingly and disturbingly wintery sand, she instantly regretted her decision—and not because of the frost nipping on her hoof tips.
With the Sun’s faint crimson glow ebbing—that had lasted longer than it had any right to, as Night worryingly realised—the night itself came alive, awoken by the silvery shining of the icy stars and pale radiance of the Moon peeking over the horizon. 
Before the Kirin reached a conclusion that a brief experience of working beside a deity had failed to imbue her with any knowledge vital to even understand the horror unfolding in front of her, the self-preservation instinct took reins of Night’s body, turning it exactly one hundred and eighty degrees around. Her hooves as if absorbed all the cold from the dunes beneath to infuse the rest of her with it—the commissioner’s eyes found only a vista of endless sand barely disrupted by the ochre crags at the horizon.
Behind Night, shrill yells split the frigid air. Exerting a tremendous effort of will to overpower the urge to flee, she forced herself to remain rooted in the soft soil and prepared to witness the infinite malignity of the abyss.
A tide of darkness swelled from a single point—a desiccated alicorn who simultaneously fought the oily black mist swirling around her and directed it at the changeling hastily backpedalling from her. 
The decrepit equine howled at Heterocera, “Murderer!”
Wire already lay sprawled on the ground in the aftermath of disregarding her magic burnout; her horn dripped golden sparks on the sand whilst her muzzle—crimson droplets. The fabled captain of the disbanded Royal Guard was dragging her away from the path of encroaching inky fog that left ground hoary in its wake. The Machine Goddess dispassionately watched the horrific scene from a safe distance, and only one mare remained close to the nightmarish amalgam of a pony and otherworldly force, standing betwixt the waxing island of absolute darkness and the changeling who, too, stood charcoal against the thickening dusk. 
“She is not her!” Flower barked at the wall of shadows threatening to crush her; she had no choice but to retreat, futilely waving her hooves—one of metal—in front of Luna. Sparing Heterocera a brief and unreadable look, the young mare returned to trying to persuade the insane alicorn, “Stop!”
“Chrysalis killed my sister!” roared a dozen throats, barely sounding like an equine—not even like a living being. “I shall slay her and every changeling—they must die!”
The queen of the Swarm cast at the Machine Goddess a look both questioning and furious; she then crouched, preparing to abandon the company that craved her demise so hungrily.
A crisp sound froze in place the mare ready for a takeoff.
Luna held her cheek, glaring daggers at Flower, who managed to weave her way betwixt the shades forming the alicorn’s turbulent mane and now, grimacing, rubbed her hoof. 
“Stop,” the greasy mare repeated, her voice ringing with anger. “She’s our friend, you fucking lunatic.”
“Out of my way,” Luna growled; though, as Flower refused to abide, she didn’t move either. “I have to avenge Tia.”
Flower sagged; a sigh that escaped her lungs hung in the air as a glistening vapour. When she spoke, her tired tone had none of the wrath from mere moments ago, “Luna, you have to stop. That vengeance was… is… what has brought you here, remember?”
Night’s heart fluttered like a bird trapped in the cage with a cat licking its lips by the bars suddenly so brittle, and it counted many beats till the alicorn’s chapped lips dehisced to let an agony-laden rustle out:
“I had reached for Nightmare long before that to… to have vengeance for what I thought Celestia did…”
Even though those words carried no malice—only regret—Nightmare stirred when she mentioned her murderous intent, barely letting Luna finish; a blank expression overtook her features and the black mass lurched in Heterocera’s direction.
The wave of darkness forced Flower to take a step back, but she refused to give up more ground, shouting at Luna, “Your sister is gone, you can’t bring her back—no matter who you kill. And Chrysalis is dead, anyway.”
Luna recoiled, tugging the wisps of impenetrable smoke back with her; the sharp pain in her gaze ceded to something resembling sanity. A keen, if exhausted look, focused on the chitinous mare.
“When who is this?” she demanded.
Heterocera’s eyes flashed with shock and hurt; the sound of Flower’s teeth chattering ceased as she clamped her jaws, grimacing. 
“Don’t you remember Clandestine Delight?”
The changeling queen opened her mouth to protest the name used but a stained blue hoof poked her side—Wire, who had crawled to her side, shushed her.
A prolonged silence took reign; Luna’s expression fell as the grim realisation dawned on her.
“I remember that I should remember that name,” she mumbled in her defence, but failed to convince even herself.
“It’s alright,” Flower lied. Injecting some firmness into her voice, she ordered Luna, “Isn’t that enough for you to stop trying to kill her?”
The alicorn gave her no answer except for a guilty look; she then mournfully withdrew, weaving the shadows into a veil to disappear from sight. Yet, from betwixt the blackish wisps a pair of cat-like turquoise eyes peered at the ponies and whatnot.
That peace lasted as long as it took Flower to give Luna one final worried and desperate glance. A grimace then twisted her muzzle and she stomped across the sand to face the emotionless arcanium mare.
Yet, standing before the Machine Goddess, who had only slightly tilted her head to dispassionately tower over the furious pony, Flower remained silent; though, Night could swear she heard teeth gnashing.
The Kirin suddenly became aware of a faint, but insistent background keening—distant wails mingling with the wind’s melancholic song; shuddering, she recognised the coronach for the fallen city still succumbing to the ice beyond the forest that melancholically withered not so far away.
The chilly breeze finally carried words—quiet, yet brimming with vitriol.
“Luna can hear me yet, but you’re a lost cause—created a monster from the beginning.” Flower winced as if from pain. “And even more I hate how I failed to stop you from exposing yourself to that taint—now we have no chance to stand against your atrociousness.”
Somewhat aloof, Rainbow scooted to Heterocera and her advisor, joining them in creating a nervous atmosphere as the understanding began to sink in—wary eyes stared at the Machine Goddess. With Luna skulking somewhere on the edge of vision and Night Wind standing awkwardly where she exited the portal, a perfect square formed in the middle of nowhere, with tense equines marking huddling in the corners of a room with invisible walls. 
The metal alicorn smiled.
“For once you ought to be glad I am a machine—Nightmare can’t hide in the streams of data forming the Unity or my consciousness.” With amusement slipping in her tone, the Machine Goddess added, “Oh, and, by the way, no need to thank me for making sure it can’t bother you either.”
 Night’s eyes jumped to Nightmare roiling around Luna and she noticed the barely visible pearlescent flashes encasing those two in a spherical aurora; the Kirin shuddered.
However, neither blessing of fate brought relief to Flower’s expression; the glare of her fiery eyes that drilled into the perfect image of the goddess intensified.
“Is that all that you can do?” she demanded.
“I’m sorry. Right now, no solution could leave all parties involved happy.”
The grimy mare gave her a long, disdainful look and turned away, mumbling with disgust, “Some goddess you are.”
Behind her shoulder, the arcanium alicorn flinched and for a moment her immaculate mask seemed to be under an overwhelming strain of emotion it concealed; the Machine Goddess promptly regained her composure, though her slip went unnoticed anyway—she had Flower to thank for that.
“Nightmare is taking over Luna,” Flower darkly declared—almost challenged Heterocera, Wire and Rainbow; Night didn’t mind herself being hidden by the twilight or even forgotten about on purpose. “When it’s done with her—we’re done for.”
Even for Night, who hadn’t had the misfortune of dealing with Luna till today, that didn’t come as a big surprise.
“There is still time left,” the armoured pegasus noted.
“What would you know about it?”
Rainbow didn’t immediately answer that barbed question; she regarded Flower with more disappointment than indignation.
Spots of inky fur on Flower’s snout miserably failed to mask with itself the circles of exhaustion; it only accentuated the rabid shadows churning in those bloodshot eyes. Grease and dirt as well failed to hide the truth—the worn clothing clinging to a frame malnourished. And yet, that mare radiated more danger than a goddess or a changeling queen, second only to Nightmare… and its victim.
Left unimpressed by Flower’s state of body and mind, the pegasus ultimately scoffed, “I knew Luna when her sister was still alive, kid.” 
“And what does that fix exactly?” Flower didn’t relent, all but spitting at Rainbow.
The former captain met her aggression stoically.
“Nothing. But you aren’t helping either.”
“For ten years I’ve cared for Luna and kept her sane…” The doubtful looks directed at the muttering alicorn forced her to hastily add, “As much as it can be possible.” She then squinted and slowly continued in an acidic tone, “What have you done, changeling dog?”
With her expression now disturbingly cool, Rainbow would have dashed to Flower, were it not for a gossamer wing stopping her mid-step. Glaring daggers first at Heterocera then at Flower, she backed down.
The changeling mirrored the pegasus’ expression and the direction of her gaze.
“That was uncalled for, Flower. Not to mention, Rainbow no longer works with the Swarm,” her admonishment came hurried and half-hearted. “However, I do agree—the situation is dire.”
Heterocera opened her mouth to say something else, but before even a sound could leave her throat, Flower snapped at her, “Nobody tells me what to do. Especially none of you—not after you abandoned me.”
Although Night thought Wire had passed out from exhaustion, slumped on the queen’s side (not that she wasn’t running on fumes herself) the unicorn came alive, sounding hurt, rather than angry at her old friend.
“You are the one who left Hope!”
Flower’s blazing eyes slid from one equine to another, lingering on each for a heartbeat—a changeling, a Kirin, a Former One and a mechanical alicorn.
“Yet I still stand for ponies.”
The meaning of her words took a moment to reach everyone’s minds, casting the moonlit patch of the desert into astonished silence.
Such an outrageous claim could echo only with resentment, yet… As the initial flare of her anger faded, Night couldn’t help but hear the voice of reason behind the accusation.
Betwixt the thestrals, equinoids, changelings, donkeys and even her half-dragon kind, the ponies didn’t quite thrive in Hope. The sandstone city hadn’t turned out to be the last stronghold of Equestria, not with its impossible to ignore gravestone of ice and blood.
The queen of the changelings regained her ability to speak first.
“Is that what you wanted?” she demanded from the Machine Goddess.
Once more, her veneer of serenity threatened to crumble, but the alicorn kept showing an impressive ability to control herself.
Still, she shook her head in dismay.
“No. I expected some reluctance to cooperate, but not at this stage.”
“Stage?” Flower whirled around to squint at the equinoid. “What the fuck is going on here?”
“I’m waiting for the rest to come.”
The mechanical deity vanished.



With the number of the equines in the middle of the desert reduced by one, their tense formation wavered and then crumbled as Wire resolutely hobbled to Flower. Everyone else gravitated to the scowling mare, too, save for Luna.
Whilst Night hung back, Rainbow and Heterocera glared over Wire’s head at Flower; her defiance clashed with their indignation. 
The unicorn, however, bore only pain on her muzzle; and not because of her burns or overstrained horn and muscles. Trying and failing to meet her friend’s gaze, she whispered, “Flower… you surely didn’t mean that.”
“I don’t speak just to enjoy the sound of my voice.”
“But… but you called Delight your friend just a moment ago. Was it a lie? Am I a… a traitor to you, too?”
Flower’s fierce expression faltered and she turned away, grimacing, to stare into the darkness where Luna prowled.
“I have my duties, you have yours,” she muttered over her shoulder. “I just wish—” 
A bitter sigh of her own creation cut off her words and the mare fell silent for a few heartbeats before continuing in rasping voice:
“We lost Canterlot already and if something like that happens again…” Flower turned to Wire, but squinted at Heterocera and Night. “Some might survive, but ponydom is too crippled to rise after another killing blow.”
The enmity permeating the air dwindled, though the collective frowns refused to cease; they persisted, fuelled by another reason now—the time bomb ticking in the veil of shadows, her cat-like eyes flashing along with those of spectres dancing to the piping from the void betwixt the stars.
Tearing her worried gaze away from Luna and Nightmare, the changeling queen grumbled, “You could have chosen better words to convey that.”
That earned her a sharp look from Flower, but then the grimy mare shrugged, losing all interest in Heterocera. The chitinous mare waited for an apology, but her patience evaporated almost instantly and she snapped her head to the side.
“Wire, I need to speak with you—it’s urgent.”
The unicorn drooped her head, avoiding the green eyes welling with despair. “Teleta had told me already.”
“Then you know how little time we have before…” Words died in Heterocera’s throat, threatening to become a sob. Squeezing her eyes shut, she all but hissed, “I need your help, Wire. I… I don’t know what to do.”
Night glanced at Rainbow, but even if witnessing a changeling queen breaking down caused her any discomfort, the pegasus’ face, faintly lit by the holographic dials of her visor, displayed nothing except a too well-practised mask of a perfect soldier. Alone in her plight, Night remained close to those mares only because leaving their company would bring her closer to Nightmare.
Oblivious to her shuffling, Wire screwed up her muzzle. “Not that I know, but…”
The queen stared at her, harbouring a spark of hope that promised to dry away the tears about to flow freely down the black cheeks. 
“But what?”
The silence was her answer.
The Kirin took a breath and dared, “You should tell her.” 
Heterocera paid her a quick look before Wire recaptured the changeling’s attention.
“It sounds like a trap.” The unicorn grimaced. “I’m sure it is a trap.”
Heterocera’s narrowed eyes jumped betwixt the two. “What are you talking about?”
Wire graced the Kirin with a scathing look, then reluctantly shared with the queen, “Sunburst visited the Hive earlier—very conveniently—and he told me in his usual vague way that a library at the Crystal Empire has some crucial knowledge about changelings. Your nature might be a hex.”
Night couldn’t help but spare Heterocera a wary glance as the changeling revealed two rows of razor-sharp teeth.
“And if it is a hex it can be reversed or dispelled!”
However, Wire didn’t share her enthusiasm. “It’s not that simple—if Sunburst didn’t lie, that is.”
Recalling the encounter with the strange Former One, Night tried to figure out if something justified the unicorn’s fears and thoughtfully added, “He also said that the secret to killing a god can be found there.”
The changeling tilted her head to the side. “Why would he mention something like that?”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Wire grumbled.
The Kirin retorted, “He just wanted to warn the Machine Goddess.”
“And you believed him?”
“You’re paranoid.”
“The Machine Goddess,” Heterocera distractedly echoed, her eyes cloudy with confusion and sharp with apprehension at the same time. “She brought us here for a reason—we need to speak with her.”
“That bitch set up the whole mess with Stalliongrad!”
“I won’t be so sure, Wire…” the changeling met her outburst with a shake of her head. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”
The unicorn shot a glare first at the queen, then at the spot where the arcanium alicorn disappeared.
“Me neither,” she admitted with a heavy sigh, sitting heavily on the sand. “Way too much has happened today.”
Heterocera seemed to realise for the first time that a crust of dried blood and ashes covered her adviser. “Speaking of which… Did… did you two fight?” Her eyebrow raised. “Or..?”
“Sure.” Wire rolled her eyes. “I thought you’d be hungry and brought a snack for you.”
Icy claws gripped Night—the sight of changeling’s fangs glistening under the moonlight was fresh in her mind. Confusion quickly replaced that dread, however, tinged by shame—she took seriously nothing but a story to scary foals. And then it came to her at last and the ember of her embarrassment turned into an inferno reddening her cheeks.
“You should think of a better coping mechanism other than practising stand-up comedy,” she barked at Wire.
“Says the mare whose only method to cope with reality is to set herself on fire.”
The Kirin had to put a conscious effort to prevent the unicorn’s world from being proved; seeking distraction, she introduced herself to the queen with a slight bow, “I’m commissioner Night Wind, your majesty. Wire assisted me in—”
“You assisted me.”
Smoke emanated from Night’s coat and her eyes glowed with more than reflected starlight, but she managed to remain a Kirin, squeezing through clenched teeth, “...In investigating a series of murders that led us to a…”
Night trailed off, struggling to describe the most bizarre investigation she ever participated in; thankfully, Wire took up where she stopped.
“Our local divine tin can barged into it halfway and together we caught a pony who could screw over her, but it gets even weirder from there.”
“The culprit is from Canterlot,” Night finished.
Heterocera blinked at them.
“Shouldn’t it be frozen solid with no survivors?”
“Those two would beg to differ.”
Their heads whipped to the sound of sand crunching under heavy hooves accompanying those words.
Beside the Machine Goddess a portal glimmered and two more alicorns stepped through it, looking around with caution—a disturbing effigy of bone and metal with a ragged albino mare clinging to its side.
> 4.3 We meet again, part II
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



=================================

Written by: Oneimare

=================================


Arc 4 – Desert Summit

Chapter 3 – We meet again, part II


=================================


Rattling her throat with a cough, the inclement air burst into Ash’s lungs as she emerged into another dimension of the desert’s limitless expanse; the sand harboured no hospitality either—instead of soothing her aching hooves, it burned them with its coarse frigidity; of the Sun remained but a reminder—a bloody aurora rapidly fading into the singed horizon line. And to finish the waxing impression that the portal led her back to Canterlot instead, in the blackness shifted creatures of disturbing appearance. 
She squinted at the strange equines and a thought visited her mind—with the day burnt away, pitch-black shadows should have claimed the realm as its domain; yet sickly light bathed her surroundings. But before her eyes could even begin to seek that mysterious source of the silver glow, a scream split the night.
“Sister!”
From a spot that did meet her expectations of impenetrable darkness an alicorn manifested—if those desiccated remains could be called such as that ghastly mare had more in common with Nameless than with Ash. Ribbons of inky vapour lashed at the thin dark body, trying to drag those bones with skin stretched on them back into the abyss—or just under the ground, where she surely belonged. The eldritch equine resisted—growling like a feral beast and with a blaze of inexorable determination in her eyes, she pushed forward.
Instinctively backing away, Ash expected to be returned to the not so unwelcoming anymore wasteland that encircled Canterlot. Yet, her hooves continued to sink into the snow-like sand; quickly glancing over her shoulder, she discovered the doorway gone. 
The nightmarish creature reacted to her retreat with even more struggle, calling desperately, “Tia, don’t leave me! Please, not again, I beg you…”
More movement caught Ash’s attention—a pony, marred with dirt to the point she nearly blended into the darkness, appeared beside the abominable amalgamation of flesh and night, recklessly close to the churning shadows; she stared at the white alicorn with eyes open wide and mouth agape.
Confused in addition to being terrified, Ash sought Nameless’ skull for any hint; predictably, it yielded no result, though they backtracked along with Ash. To her annoyance, the Machine Goddess expressed no surprise nor did she answer her panicked look. And the others seemed to share her inclination to get away from the shadow-coated monstrosity. 
“Sister, don’t you recognise me?” the skeletal equine addressed her again. “It’s me, Luna.”
Glancing behind herself again, the white alicorn considered her options.
Behind her, the desert did end—with a copse of wilted trees that shied from the blizzard embracing Canterlot in its deathly cloak of shifting snow. The ability to fly would have offered her new ways of retreat, but her wings hung as limply as ever and her shaking hooves might soon buckle under her, too. Finally, with the Sun gone from the sky, Ash doubted she could dip into the source of power she shouldn’t indulge in anyway.
Nameless, simply observing what Ash deemed a critical issue, inflicted on her an additional layer of concern—why an entity with the power of a god idled? Was that danger beyond even their ability?
Nevertheless, she wracked her brain to choose the right words to get at least some assistance from Nameless, absentmindedly snapping at the darkness, “I have no idea what you are.”
The night incarnate abruptly stopped—jerked back even, letting the charcoal tendrils slither around her body and limbs; excruciating pain flooded the slit eyes boring into Ash. Then ‘Luna’, or rather the black equine in the heart of the spreading cloud of black smoke, roared in fury, flinging her gaunt frame onto the surrounding shadows.
“You did this to me!” she howled, tearing into the silhouettes knit of fog and stars.
The ranks of half-formed misty eerie figures, who as if tried to drag the alicorn somewhere, dissolved under the strikes of her chipped hooves only to rise anew behind her back—borne from her tumultuous mane whipping in otherworldly winds.
“You did this to yourself, Luna,” a silky smooth baritone commented. “It’s a shame this reunion failed—it could have led to the most curious development of events.”
Every head—save for those of the Machine Goddess and the alicorn warring with her shadow—snapped to the source of the mocking voice. 
In a fashion disturbingly not so different from how Luna emerged from the black smoke, a stallion stepped into the moonlight. A crown and a wicked horn topped his head, the latter faintly glowing like a dying out ember; an immaculate crimson mantle flowed from his shoulders, undulating in the night breeze as his confident steps brought him forward. 
As soon as his lips formed a smug fanged grin, from the group of equines huddled together a unicorn stepped out, wobbling on her hooves. That didn’t stop her from taking a battle stance; her horn spurted sparks of sunlight and her eyes kindled with wrath, one—a prosthetic—literally.
With a soft clap of air being displaced, the Machine Goddess materialised betwixt the battle-ready mare and the newcomer, facing the former.
 “A truce is in power during this gathering.”
Her serene mask gained warning hardness when her intent gaze travelled from one face to another, lingering the longest on an armoured pegasus—who seemed to be the calmest of all—and she even looked at Ash, to her surprise. 
That, however, failed to dissuade the bluish unicorn.
“I don’t care—King Sombra is an enemy of Equestria,” she spat. “He’s the enemy.”
The stallion in question chuckled, and she tried to shove the arcanium alicorn away.
The metal statue didn’t bulge; she stated matter-of-factly, “I don’t need a portal to teleport anyone away but I can’t promise opening it at the same sea level as the ground is at.”
The unicorn gave her an incinerating glower—she graced everyone with it—then backed, slumping at the side of another alicorn-like equine, black and reminding Ash of roaches that infested every corner of the Tunnels.
For a few moments, The Machine Goddess kept her gaze fixed on the riotous mare, then walked in the space right betwixt all the ponies and whatnot. Her horn lit up with a gentle white glow and the light swiftly coalesced on the tip of the arcanium spike into an orb; the sphere floated upwards and lingered there, radiating enough light to create a circle of illumination big enough to fit everyone present. 
“A good try, but I know you’re here,” she addressed someone in the shadows. “I’m glad you decided to join us after all.”
Ash tensed when a familiar figure walked out of the black dunes—an equinoid so unassuming at the first glance. At her side Nameless instantly started, their hollow gaze drilling into the Prophet.
Despite the goddess’ warning, Ash joined her friend. Though the alabaster alicorn couldn’t help but wonder why Nameless had suddenly found in themselves an intent to deal with the ‘saviour’ of Canterlot and though she doubted she could contribute to a confrontation with him, especially in her current state, she refused to miss a chance to do something that could help Discord.
A copy of the Machine Goddess barred their way.
“Even if your aggression is justified, I didn’t summon you here to let you settle whatever grievances you have—there are things to discuss that are much more important.”
Nameless’ empty eyes sockets locked up with the glimmering eyes of the deity’s double. A few long seconds later they backed away from each other, eerily synchronous; Nameless sat on the sand, prompting a raised eyebrow from Ash. With her hooves already torpid, Ash hesitated to join them, ultimately choosing to stand by their side to eye the Prophet with unhidden animosity and be ready in case he decided to violate the rules.
With peace finally established, if strained—even Luna had come to a sort of ceasefire with Nightmare with the help of the fearless mare by her side—the Machine Goddess spoke, her voice echoing above the rustling murmur of sand and the distant weeping of Canterlot:
“It’s not a secret for anyone here—the realm we’ve been living in for millennia has become unwelcoming. Some might even be aware of how worryingly little time we have before it becomes unlivable.” 
The chill of the night air magnified tenfold as those words stole Ash’s breath, replacing it with suffocating despair—she had just escaped a dying city into a doomed world. Her frantic gaze jumped from one face to another in a hope that she overestimated the scale of the problem by the merit of being illiterate; but, no—the expression of deep concern etched itself into the features of every equine present, even of those who supposedly knew already.
Every pair of eyes glued themselves to the Machine Goddess, all enmity towards her or each other forgotten, and she solemnly continued:
“Regrettably, that can’t be prevented—every possible solution is temporary. In a few decades, the decay of Harmony will reach a critical point, causing it to fall apart and the following emission of magic is going to tear apart this planet from inside out.”
 Her head turned in the direction of the unceasing snowstorm, her eyes lingering on it for a heartbeat; then her gaze paused on Nightmare and Luna lulled into a trance. 
“Even if the Harmony decay is somehow stopped,” she grimly commented on her motions, “this world still will be impossibly far from safe and secure.”
Moon-sized eyes now stared at the arcanium alicorn; even the self-assured king lost his smugness, unwinkingly peering at the equinoid deity from under his furrowed brows. Only Nameless remained unaffected, though Ash could swear their bones radiated deep thoughtfulness.
“However, I didn’t gather you here only to announce our inevitable extinction—it can be avoided if we work together.”
Doubtful looks were exchanged, bearing barely a trace of hope the equinoid’s words implied.
“Despite the advances made by other nations, our collective technological progress is still too dependent on magic, binding the population to the arcanium core. But it can be circumvented—step by step.
“The first part of the plan I offer starts with the Moon.”
Bewildered expressions followed the Machine Goddess’ muzzle raised to the sky, though her focus didn’t go further than the orb of her magic leisurely rotating in the air. In a flash of insight, Ash recognised the similitude of the seemingly arbitrarily created source of light to the pale disk shining forth amidst the twinkling stars. 
Half-formed thoughts—questions—infested her mind.
The Moon, once a tale as unbelievable as the Sun… what was it for her? If her designation allowed her to control the Sun, then who moved the Moon? Were they her rival?
Ash clenched her jaws—that last thought as if it came out of nowhere or, rather, a searing hot breath whispered it in her ear. Even realising how silly it was, she flicked it—just in time.
“Its core is also composed of arcanium,” the Machine Goddess explained as the tiny Moon split in two, revealing a glimmering sphere inside. “However, its output is significantly lower. To fix that, the Crystal Heart—last seen at the Crystal Empire—should be turned into an artificial satellite to connect the leylines betwixt our planet and the Moon.”
Half of that flew over Ash’s head, letting her attention slip, so she had found a more surmountable task—observing the others. She watched how on the mention of the Crystal Empire the pegasus stole a glance at the king, unaware of the roach-horse squinting her poison-green eyes at them; and neither of them paid notice to the mare by Luna’s side, who also perked up.
“Nightmare Moon’s palace can be repurposed into a colony and further expanded to turn the Moon into an operating base. Luna’s and Ash’s role in that stage is critical as the celestial bodies and their orbits will need to be adjusted. And the Prophet’s teleportation technology is the only means to create a stable transport route to the Moon.”
Whilst Ash’s eyes bulged out as she choked on her saliva, the Prophet barely reacted to his potential involvement in deciding the fate of all the living creatures in the world; Luna stared into space, her expression blank.
“The final step is to find a new planet to inhabit and migrate there.”
Barely recovered from her shock of responsibilities she had no idea how to fulfil keeping piling on her shoulders, Ash expected the Machine Goddess to add something—that stage direly needed more explanation. Yet silence followed and the gathered began to fidget uneasily, their worried expressions laden with heavy doubt—their lack of faith in the grand plan that grew with each part sounding less plausible than the previous reached an apotheosis.
The armour-clad pegasus dared to speak up first, taking a step forward to proclaim loud and clear, “That’s the biggest pile of shit I’ve ever known—and I had served Queen Chrysalis for more than four hundred years.”
Even as she spoke a unicorn hobbled to her side.
“I’d rather see the world burn than team up with the Ebony Warlock or,”—she shot an accusing hoof at the Machine Goddess—“you.”
The insect-like mare rushed to her side, her predatory muzzle twisted by a betrayed expression. “Wire, it’s our only chance!”
The crimson locks of Wire’s mane swayed as she sadly shook her head. 
“It’s a trap—all of this.”
“Stop this.” The obsidian alicorn stomped her hoof, raising an eddy of sand. “What trap? Enough of your paranoia! Our world is dying and you know that—my children are dying!”
Ash leant to the skull of her friend, whispering, “Nameless?”
Thankfully they got the message and their voice matched Ash’s in volume; though she had to remind herself—she could be the only one hearing it, anyhow.
“Waiting: input.” 
The white alicorn’s gaze once more studied each strange equine.
Some of them appeared to be mutants—the roach-horse or the silent unicorn with branching horn and ample mane growing even from her neck; King Sombra didn’t look quite right either. However, Ash didn’t want to hurry with such a conclusion—she was wrong the last time, not to mention it turned out she wasn’t a mutant herself.
Whilst Wire and the pegasus could fit the definition of ‘normal’, if Ash ignored how they challenged a goddess without any hesitation, the pony who lurked in Luna’s shadows certainly did not; and not only because Ash failed to comprehend how someone could be dirtier than her.
“Who are those ponies and other…” her eyes flitted to Nightmare. “...things?”
“Variable: Rainbow Dash; designation: weather control. Variable: Tin Flower; designation: metallurgy. Variable: Red Wire; designation: arcane—”
“That doesn’t help.” Ash canned for later the question of how Nameless knew their names. “Just tell me, should I be wary of them more than I already am?”
“Quick analysis: approximately half of the present entities are able to initiate an end of the world scenario. Data: Ash is capable of initiating an end of the world scenario. Conclusion: Ash shouldn’t be concerned.”
She wasn’t sure what Nameless meant—the issue she had with controlling the possessive destructive force or her absolute lack of understanding of how to deal with her new ability to move the Sun.
“They sound like… uh… “ She grimaced at how foalish that would sound. “...Villains. Wait, why are we here? We aren’t anything like them, are we?”
The pitch of the yells two mares exchanged was about to reach a hysterical quality, though Sombra seemed to take great joy in observing how they neared the point of going for each other’s throat.
And before Nameless came up with any answer, the unicorn shouted, “I resign!”
“What?” 
“My job as your adviser is to talk you out of any stupid shit.” Wire’s legs gave up and she awkwardly flopped on the sand. “I’ve failed my duties and I quit.”
Astonished silence held reign for a few uncomfortably long moments, then the black alicorn spoke so softly, Ash barely heard her, “And as my friend? Will you abandon me?”
Wire unsteadily rose on her hooves to face her.
“I’ve always been your friend, Del, and I’d die for you. But I can’t help you to follow a path leading you and your children to something worse than a grave.”
Not waiting for an answer, Wire turned away to shamble into the black desert; a portal soundlessly opened before her and she all but fell into the streets of Hope.
Del’s betrayed expression distorted into a mask of pain and rage; though the portal had already closed, leaving no trace of the unicorn, she screamed into the moonlit void:
“Fine!”
“She’s right, you know,” the mare, who Ash deduced to be Tin Flower, coldly commented, walking from the swirling black mist into the light. “You have to be a complete idiot to believe a plan by the Machine Goddess can do you any good.”
“Then tell me, a complete idiot, what solution do you have?” Del hissed at her.
“Solution…” Flower’s lips formed a wry smile; her greasy mane swung in rhythm with the slow shaking of her head. “That amazing plan offers no solution about Nightmare—unless I’ve missed something.”
She then cast an expectant look at the Machine Goddess, but it was Del who answered her, “Yes, you have—nothing can be done about it.”
“I don’t think so. Luna and I are leaving.” 
The little sombre mare let the tide of darkness wash her back into the night and Ash witnessed, slack-jawed, how Luna with Nightmare trailing from her mane obediently followed her into the desert.
“What?” Del galloped after her. “We need you!”
Flower sharply pivoted to snarl at the charcoal alicorn, “You don’t need me, you need Luna. But none seem to care about what she needs—help.”
“Have you listened to anything the Machine Goddess said? Nothing will matter if we—”
A harsh bark interrupted her, “Nothing will matter either if Nightmare isn’t contained anymore. And good luck with the Moon—the place where Nightmare ruled for a thousand years.”
Ash glanced at the Machine Goddess—did she know that? Nothing changed in the unreadable mask of the enigmatic metal alicorn; she continued to observe Del’s struggles with as much care as Luna possessed. Suffering defeat in the battle with Nightmare rendered the skeletal mare nearly comatose, with the disturbing hollowness claiming her expression. 
Flower’s answer stunned Del, yet she quickly recovered to catch up with her, a worried look darkening her already grim visage.
“You should tell us what you know.”
Her question went deliberately ignored.
Del crossed her path, demanding, “Where are you going?”
Without sparing the insect-like alicorn a look, Flower called over her shoulder, “Luna?”
The darkness around them rapidly swelled and with her eyes wide open Ash watched how green flames engulfed Del, and from that inferno a gryphon rocketed into the sky, away from the malevolent equine silhouettes forming in Luna’s expanding mane. 
The half-eagle landed at a distance from the morbid ‘duo’ and emerald fire lit up the sand once more, leaving behind a searing afterimage and a black equine. Her eyes followed Luna and Flower till they completely dissolved into darkness
Del then stared at Ash.
The alabaster alicorn suddenly realised everyone else also shared that expectant look, aiming it at her.
She glanced at Nameless. It still took her some effort of will to not flinch upon meeting the penetrating gaze of the empty eye sockets or not to shudder at the thought of sitting by a being wielding that much power—and apparently not even realising that. But they cared for her and Ash didn’t intend to leave their kindness, no matter how weird, unpaid.
“I noticed something odd about that plan, too,” she hesitantly began. “It says nothing about Nameless or Discord.” 
The pegasus—Rainbow Dash, as Ash judged by her mane—snapped her head at the Machine Goddess. “Discord is out? You should know how dangerous he is—no plan has a chance with him roaming free.”
“I can deal with him,” the sinister king spoke before Ash had a chance to defend her friend.
“Discord doesn’t need to be dealt with—he needs help.” Ignoring how she ended up echoing the two young mares speaking before her, she pointed her hoof at the Prophet. “Against him” 
The semi-mechanical stallion raised an eyebrow, but abstained from answering her accusation. 
Her eyes ran over the faces of those strangers who she carefully observed through the meeting and she continued, “I don’t see why I should trust any of you—only why I shouldn’t.”
Preparing to also follow Wire’s and Flower’s example of facing the desert, she called Nameless, “Are you coming?”
“Affirmative.” 
As Ash’s numb hooves carried her into darkness, she heard the Prophet scoffing:
“I don’t need to be able to see fate to tell that your plan was doomed from the very beginning.
> 4.4 We meet again, part III
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



=================================

Written by: Oneimare

=================================


Arc 4 – Desert Summit

Chapter 3 – We meet again, part III


=================================


Receiving no verbal reply to his portentous words—only looks ranging from confused to discontent—the Prophet fished out a small spherical object from the folds of his tattered cloak. He turned his back to the remaining equines and with a sound of dry cloth being ripped a ragged tear in reality appeared before him instead of the dark desert, the view beyond that crude portal distorted.
When the doorway to some unknown place swallowed the stallion, the heavy silence continued to hold reign—till Rainbow Dash shook herself, returning the sand sneaked into her suit’s creases to its source. Her rosy eyes expressed nothing as she studied the muzzles of those who stayed, lingering the most on Heterocera’s dismayed expression and the warlock’s perpetually smug visage.
“I might help you with liberating the Crystal Empire,” she addressed both of them at once, then faced the Machine Goddess. “But count me out from the rest of your stupid idea.”
The pegasus glanced around as if searching for something, peering into the shadows encircling the now almost empty island of the soft artificial light. She then shrugged, rolled her eyes and took off into the starry sky.
The changeling glared at King Sombra, her eyes boring into his with a silent challenge—she dared him to leave, too. The stallion’s lips stretched into a grin that could be interpreted as both mocking and reassuring at the same time. Heterocera barely detected the Kirin uneasily shifting her weight from one hoof to the other—where Nightmare’s influence had dwindled, the Windigo picked up the torch of upgrading the desert from a barren wasteland to a frozen desolation. At last, the tide of green fire in her gaze crashed against the serene bulwark of the arcanium mask. 
“What now?” she demanded, not bothering to hide her contempt.
“They will come around,” the arcanium mare answered without a hitch.
Heterocera narrowed her eyes. “Maybe they’re right. Maybe this is one of your tricks.”
The harsh insinuation failed to bring any difference to the Machine Goddess’ expression; when she spoke, her tone conveyed that Heterocera’s answer could change nothing in the deity’s plan.
“Does that mean you are leaving?”
She received a long hard stare from the changeling queen.
“I’m staying,” Heterocera replied, her voice as cold as the sand. “But on one condition—within a week I’m getting full access to the library at the Crystal Empire.”
The Machine Goddess directed her attention at the self-proclaimed king. “Can that be arranged?”
“Not only I’ll personally make sure that happens, but I might also share my own knowledge.” The sweet inflexion of his words violently clashed with the predatory gleam in his eyes; it fell into its place, when he added, “However, I, too, have certain goals to achieve.”
The queen’s muzzle became a battlefield of many emotions, dominated by hope and apprehension.
“What are they?” she ultimately asked; her question, though polite enough, laden with suspicion. 
Smoky shadows thickened around Sombra in an eldritch display too similar to Luna’s plight; though, not the same as the darkness abided him inviolately, forming a gateway to a dilapidated megalopolis overgrown with crystals glittering beneath the Moon.
He didn’t hurry there, instead pointing invitingly at the portal with his hoof.
“Why don’t we discuss them?”
Heterocera hesitated, her gaze searching the Machine Goddess’ muzzle for either endorsement or warning; she might have expected a statue to give her advice. She then glanced into the desert, at the spot where her adviser had returned to Hope. Averting her eyes with a scowl, the changeling approached the dark portal to wordlessly follow the warlock into the distant city.
Left alone with the Machine Goddess, Night Wind stared at her, expectant and slightly confused; the deity’s focus belonged to something else—a spot right behind the Kirin.
The mare turned back to squint into the night, but with the clouds denying the desert the Moon’s silvery glow, the dark dunes revealed nothing. Despite the goddess still watching the blackness, Night carefully began, “I’m sorry, it is quite clear to me now that I shouldn’t have come here. I promise to not tell anyone anything—”
Her excuse abruptly turned into a shriek when a mass of arcanium barely visible in the shadows invaded her vision.
A dragon-shaped armour slithered over the sand without as much as a rustle and leaving no trace. As it passed the wide-eyed and stared to faintly fume Kirin, a brilliant fire kindled inside the metal ribcage, putting the miniature moon created by the Machine Goddess to shame.
“You’re more important than you think, commissioner,” the divine equinoid acknowledged Night’s words. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you will have to excuse us—there are things you aren’t quite meant to hear.”
“Of course.”
As the Kirin bowed her head the air rippled with a passage opening onto Hope’s streets. However, Night hesitated to step through, earning a raised eyebrow from the goddess and an unnerving look from the arcanium dragon.
“Thank you,” she finally uttered.
The Machine Goddess tilted her head. “What for?”
“For trying.”



The arcane threads that knit together two different places dissipated, but Spike continued to observe the desert. The echoes of the great blizzard stirred the air, no louder than the whisper of midnight breeze playing with the sand. Dust whirled playfully around the two figures, bouncing off their arcanium bodies and limbs only to rush at them again and again. 
The Machine Goddess’ horn briefly flared and as its glow died, so did the orb of light created by her faded away; yet the darkness failed to creep even a step closer to the dragon and the equine. The fire that pulsed inside Spike’s body cast long and jittering shadows upon the shifting ground—none of them dared to approach the strange twain.
Spike’s sharp muzzle swivelled, his burning gaze sliding across the expanse of barchans.
Amidst those sandhills a tiny flame flickered like a candle where the new demigoddess of the Sun found herself too exhausted to battle the treacherous paths any longer; further to the horizon a spot of as if spilt ink marked the presence of the fading lunar sovereign struggling with the consequences of her mistake.
Beyond the cliffs, denizens of Hope had a momentary respite from their ceaseless survival against all odds; salty waves slammed into the crystallised banks of Vanhoover, the ancient city where the shadows gathered the thickest; the Windigo roared in despair above the ruins of Canterlot, whilst their brethren lusted for oblivion at the eternal husk of Crystal Empire.
Somewhere in the sky, a lone pegasus soared, heading north, fast and loyal as ever.
The world seemed to be no different, its gears turning like those of a precise clock.
Who had winded it?
“Was it always your plan?” he asked, without turning his head.
“Which one do you mean?”
“The one where you gave a semi-feral beast access to power he still can’t fully comprehend.”
From the corner of his eye, Spike carefully watched the expression of the metal mask, but it betrayed nothing. In her trademark tranquil manner, the Machine Goddess replied, “The situation has always been under my control.”
At first, pieces of arcanium sunk in the sand softly, then clanged against each other as Spike’s body fell apart. A dragon of pure starfire towered over the equinoid, uncontained flame of all colours reflecting on her metal features. 
“Do you still believe that?”
His voice carried none of the power he radiated; though, it possessed a subtle undertone of defiance. The imposing display did achieve a reaction from the divine—she observed his new form with avid interest, even if mutely.
He lowered himself onto the ground, losing a definite dragon form by letting the lower half of his body turn into a mist as if lit up the morning Sun, whilst his head and torso solidified into a resemblance of incandescent molten metal outlining a vague silhouette. 
The Machine Goddess nodded in an almost approving fashion. 
“What will you do now?”
“I still haven’t decided.”
“You don’t have to.”
Spike snorted a plume of fire into the night. “You wouldn’t have started this conversation if you didn’t want me to do something.”
An enigmatic silence answered his words.
Once more Spike set his sights on faraway places, their dwellers and visitors—all in constant motion. 
What did beget the pieces to cross the grand checkerboard? 
He stood amongst those who knew how they moved and could see the squares; he stood bound by those very rules… yet. His blazing gaze rose to the stars, where none of that mattered—where he could be more than just a part of someone’s elaborate game or mechanism.
“I don’t have to,” Spike echoed the Machine Goddess’ words.
She was beneath him now—was it part of her plan? 
The collective consciousness of the Unity and its artificial flesh could calculate… but not predict. Oracle blindly stumbled through the maze of possibilities, relying on nothing but the touch of her short filly hooves. The only prophecy the Prophet knew concerned him only; no matter how many deals he struck or how much he salvaged, he would never bind the entire world to his fate. King Sombra, Nameless, Discord… not even the ancient ‘gods’ could foresee his coming.
Nightmare? Its influence couldn’t spread far enough from its host to be meaningful, nor was it ought to be comprehended by the minds of this world. 
Each of those who rose above the masses, one way or another, acted like they could change the future; but they weren’t even able to see it—none could.
Not even Spike, with all the power he carried.
So, why did he stand there, in the middle of the desert, with the Machine Goddess patiently waiting for something from him?
The Moon’s journey across the sky neared its conclusion, and so the horizon began to almost imperceptibly gain a distinct hue, not so different from Spike’s lifeblood in its colour and source. The celestial bodies travelled by themselves—they just needed a little nudge in the right direction to follow their foreordained path. 
“I think I see what you are going for,” he rumbled in sudden realisation.
“Are you sure?”
“No. More importantly—are you sure?”
The Machine Goddess glanced where the unceasing wandering of the desert had almost finished effacing Night’s hoofsteps. 
“I have to try.”
Spike nodded his agreement.
“Then you know what to do—the thing only you can,” the deity instructed him. “But make sure the timing is right.”



Constellations leered at the semi-corporeal corpses circling the crumbled stump of the Sky Palace. None remembered who the Windigo used to be before they got their name—the equines who in pursuit of power had lost all but the memory of their hubris. And now, for each moment of their wretched existence, that regret seared their minds shattered by the boundless vastness of the cosmos.
What a star would be for those undying accursed reborn in the abyssal void of the firmament? Would they covet its warmth or cower before the radiance of their arrogance’s reminder?
Since the first time Spike heard of the Windigo and their sorrowful tale countless moons ago, he couldn’t stop ruminating about one more lesson derived from its second, more well-known part—the one dutifully repeated at the Hearth’s Warming Eve. 
Only foals would believe that the power of love and friendship could strike down those true yet stillborn gods. So, was that legend just wishful thinking or there existed the means to vanquish the Windigo?
Now, with his nature realised, he might be able to find the answer.
Unburdened by the metal shell abandoned in the desert for the arcanium-weaving goddess to salvage, the dragon plummeted into the torrent of flesh-tearing icicles that whirled in the howling gale of Canterlot’s sky. 
The streak of focused sunlight that he had become pierced through the snow with the ease of white-hot knife slicing into butter. The ancient spirits sizzled into nought in his wake, sighing with relief as their tormenting quest bore fruit. The entire blizzard shuddered, drawing closer to what could finally bring them absolution. 
The star winked out; the winds quieted, benumbed, for a heartbeat, then slowly resumed their dazed raking of the violence-blighted ruins, sniffing out hatred burning murderously enough to kill even that was dead already.
No longer haunted by the perdition-craving manifestation of winter, Spike, no more than an ashen shadow, soared above the sordid remains of the once majestic city—relatively, as he still clearly recalled it being a nightmare… and how he had contributed to that. None could say that the worn out and half-buried in frost skeletal buildings teemed with life, yet his eyes saw past the ruination, witnessing the signs of stubborn survival; he veered away from those, heading for a dim ember huddling close to the vestige of a grand wall.
The piling snow consumed the slums, yet they weren’t buried under an impenetrable mass of white; humongous burrows in drifts marked a maze chiselled with purpose from permafrost. Casting flecks of effulgence on walls of melted ice, Spike navigated those tunnels till he came upon a light that wasn’t his. 
Though he emerged into a cavern silent as a snowflake landing, a claw pressed to lips met his entrance. 
“Shhh!” the draconequus sitting by a fire warned him. “Don’t wake her up.”
Behind Discord a massive beast of many warped limbs slumbered on the bed of ice and stone, snoring surprisingly delicately for its sheer size and abhorrent physique. The Lord of Chaos motioned with his eagle claws for Spike to share the warmth of the modest bonfire that struggled in the pit in the middle of the arching den. After a moment of hesitation, the dragon obliged, and Discord instantly offered him a marshmallow on a stick; his lion paw held one already, letting it be roasted on the weak flames. 
Spike sat motionless across him, commenting instead, “I remember you differently.”
Discord’s eyes, already harbouring shadows due to the spare lighting, became two wells of pitch-black darkness that, like tears, flooded the wrinkles crisscrossing his timeless muzzle. Turning preternaturally normally old and sombre, he uttered, “The Deep Tunnels change not only their topography.”
“Wasn’t their evershifthing nature your work?” the dragon dryly noted.
“My influence turned that place safer… sometimes.”
“And sometimes the chaos made it worse.”
“All that can be applied to you, too.” The draconequus gave Spike an unreadable look. “But not anymore.”
“I was stopped,” Spike admitted, neither his voice nor expression wavering.
Discord smirked. “Why not start again?” 
Massive head turned to regard him with a hard stare of eyes blazing figuratively and literally “Do you want me to?”
Blowing on his claws, the Lord of Chaos picked the smocking marshmallow from the stick, he then plunged his paw into the fire of Spike’s body to produce a pair of crackers; the chocolate came from the nearest snow pile.
“No, you‘re more fun this way,” Discord replied; tossing the s’more in his mouth, he continued, gracelessly raining crumbs, “But I still wonder.”
The dragon watched the embers crackle as they, following Discord’s whim, defied the winter. The tongues of flame flickered just like his memories—of chase and blood, of crippling loneliness and the thrill of the hunt. Of endless, all-consuming mute darkness and how he had almost become one of the many terrors it hid.
He turned away.
“Living as a feral beast was simple and… satisfying. It let me almost forget that everyone dear to me was dead and their memories were defiled. Then I was given a chance to start anew.”
The draconequus slurped cocoa in the most obnoxious fashion possible; Spike glanced at the peaceful form of the rotted half-dragon.
“Is it working out this time?” Discord asked nonchalantly, ignoring Sunset Shimmer stirring behind his back.
Spike, however, warily watched her eyes open—too many of them, all focused on Discord, narrowed with lethal intent.
“Not in the way I thought it would.”
The moment he uttered those words, the abomination of pony and dragon flesh exploded into motion, scraping the floor with hooked claws. A limb flashed from the cloud of glittering dust and Discord’s upper half fell on the floor. Giggling, it slithered away whilst the remaining lower half blindly stumbled around. A twisted leg covered in distorted red scales with tufts of orange fur poking betwixt them shot out to kick the draconequus’ posterior into a snowdrift, but it turned into a cloud of tiny Discord-like butterflies and they fluttered away, following the boisterous laugh receding into the icy burrows. 
Only then Sunset noticed one more visitor to her den and her rumbling voice bounced off the walls a few moments of wrecking her mind later.
 “The Souleater.”
The dragon shot her a sharp look, yet answered the call calmly, “Forgive me, but I haven’t bothered to remember under which name you used to slaughter ponies.”
The air in the cavern grew tense; Spike met Sunset’s measuring stare imperturbably. 
Having no other reasonable choice but to admit the force imbalance betwixt them, she grumbled, returning to her nest, “Came to gloat?”
“I came to wait.”
“For what?”
Suddenly consumed by a thought, Spike left her without an answer. Sunset snorted and, after giving him another glare, lowered herself into the depression of the floor; she covered her muzzle with her split tail and closed her eyes, shuddering.
But she wasn’t let drift into sleep.
“It just occurred to me how much we have in common.”
A single blighted with black cyan eye opened to glower at the sunlight dragon.
“And what am I supposed to make out of that?”
“We decided to stop being the monsters we had chosen to be.” Seeing doubt all but dripping from her muzzle, Spike hastily added, “And it doesn’t matter that we needed some help to come to that decision.”
Sunset turned so her tattered wings would face him; yet she huffed over her shoulder, “If only that can undo the wrongs we committed.”
“We can only try to make up for that, even if we will never come closer.”
Annoyed that her gesture earned her no peace, she raised her head, to continue to glare at Spike, barking, “Don’t preach to me—I had been doing that for centuries and my only wish is to go back to that…”
As her bitter words trailed off, Spike gave her a long thoughtful look.
> Interlude // Sunlight
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



==============================

Written by: Oneimare

==============================


Interlude – Sunlight


==============================


No movement blemished the immaculate expanse of white, barely even a sound disturbed the frigid peace of the battlefield used to be never silent. The Sun blasted the desolated plain with no mercy, setting the snow blindly aglow with reflected light.
The eye-searing radiance mattered not for the dragon of metal and magic.
Whilst he sat deathly still, his fire raged, gnawing on his arcanium bones and scales in powerless yearning; yet, at the same time, the inferno clung to those cage bars in gratitude. The mechanical frame gifted him by the goddess carrying his mother’s echo served him better than the rotting semi-corpse that housed his mind before; though at the end of the day it was but a prosthetic.
For a moment, Spike dared to imagine the burning bite of the frozen air, were it to flood the lungs he had no longer; how the majestic wings he needed no more would unfurl to tarnish the alabaster beneath with ominous shadows; the snap of snowy crust as his claws would clench to find purchase before his taut muscles launched him, fast as a wicked arrow, into the clouds.
The brief nostalgic daydream soured rapidly—it bore haunting familiarity to his survival in the suffocating burrows of the Tunnels, both ‘regular’ and Deep. Picturing himself being cast back into flesh reminded Spike of how he had semi-lucidly indulged in the delusion of the blood being nepenthe, yet the sweet oblivion never came with its iron tang. No matter how many he killed, how fast he ran—whenever he looked over his shoulder, the nightmare only swelled, always a step behind him. 
So Spike stopped looking back; however, one day his past faced him, taking the form of an equinoid with a reminiscence he could never be able to ignore. And now he resided under the light of the Sun again, without a fear that stopping to think for a moment would drive him insane. 
He chased the wishful thinking away—on the fringes of his mind the desire to let out a deafening roar and start a mindless carnage anew lingered. Maybe a habit—Spike had existed as a feral beast for countless moons; maybe… the desire belonged to the fire that craved to be let loose instead of serving the ancient consciousness. 
That fire—it consumed his thoughts ever since the Machine Goddess absolved him of the mortal coil and he experienced true freedom for a fraction of a second before being thrown into the prison of metal. 
Whilst prowling the subterranean passages beneath Canterlot, he slayed many a necromancer—or maybe it was one and the same—only for them to rise on his path again, devoid of the fatal wounds his talons or flame inflicted. The knowledge of how to reknit flesh existed and those who carried it would be merely inconvenienced by the great city succumbing to a winter with no end. The mages proficient enough in the once banned practices could forge him a new vessel of bone, blood and sinew… another cell to be thrown into.
Over the years only his name had faded into the oblivion he sought so fervently and from the ashes of his life as a friend of ponies a bane of equinoids rose—the Souleater. The Machine Goddess swept the murderous dragon in the flames of her phoenix-like rebirth and now… the cosmic irony—many confused him with one of her children.
No gems contained his ‘soul’ that was conceived by his progenitors rather than written in runes by a talented coder-arcanist or sprouted from an aftersound of a remarkable pony. At the same time, the Transference Paradox spared Spike, putting him above the limitations of the Former Ones.
The mortality of dragons could be debated, as their nature rarely lets them meet a natural end. But there could be no doubt—Spike did ascend beyond death and yet…
He knew there should be more to him; by either a careful intent or unbethought whim, the Machine Goddess revealed to him existence much more elevated than life as a fancy metal lizard. 
A glimmering limb extended forward, revealing an equally shining metal palm for the solar beams to dance upon. The Sun’s grace spread through his metallic body, but the warmth refused to connect with the fire burning inside. 
Was it truly an inescapable prison constructed to contain a beast deserving to perish yet spared in a bout of cruel mercy?
The years of arranging dusty tomes bore fruit, even if not every bit of the knowledge so dutifully preserved by their yellow pages passed to him. Spike’s claws studied every part of his artificial body and found no runes carved into the arcs and plates of arcanium—the equinoid goddess did nothing to bind his spirit to metal. 
His sharp claws reared higher, stretching for the Sun in the futile attempt to reach for it.
Spike always wondered about Princess Celestia’s relationship with her celestial body; the dragon didn’t share it—he couldn’t perceive even the link that connected him to the source of his life, similar to how Harmony let every other creature dip into the well of the arcanium core.
Exhaustion held no rule over Spike’s body and yet his outstretched limb began to droop, like many times before; once again, he would wait for the Sun to set, crestfallen, with his riddle unanswered.
The dragon forced the metal to halt.
What did he have to lose? The eternity of being chained to this yoke?
The arcanium as if soaked the Sun’s blaze, though the source of its glow came from within—Spike’s flesh-flame flared up, testing the cryptic metal’s legendary resilience. For the first time in ages, the northern permafrost knew spring—the incandescent bones radiated heat lethal for the ice and snow… but not to itself.
Screwing his eyes shut in concentration, Spike sensed every tongue of flame that formed himself, meticulously guiding each of them to assault a single limb. And the moment he suddenly realised the control he had over his entire being, the first effulgent drops struck the soil awakened from its eternal hibernation. A torrent of fire burst out, ripping apart the softened bones and scales; like a ruptured pipe, the remains of the dragon’s limb spewed fire upon the snowdrifts, eradicating them with liquid sunlight.
The bottle was uncorked and now came the task of not letting its contents spill out. 
Mentally straining to exercise control over himself, Spike forced the raging inferno into a form of an arm, vaguely reminiscent of a scaly and clawed appendage he had possessed before losing it to the blight of the corrupted crystals. The fire refused to fully cooperate, shifting and flickering; the result resembled a tentacle of pure light, but at least that scourge no longer madly whipped the ice. 
Staring at it, Spike couldn’t stop a smile from forming on his yet metal lips. The experience wasn’t new—he just hatched from an egg, if a metal one this time. Although the reborn dragon would have a lot to learn, his new life had begun. 
His gaze then moved to finally fully acknowledge an equine silhouette almost indistinguishable from the Sun glare; in retrospect, not that unexpected to manifest the moment he transcended the physical constraints.
Whilst Spike recalled the relevant one of the few conversations he had with the Machine Goddess, the Dune Dervishes spoke in a voice rustling like sand:
“Inevitable.” Their tone fit their surroundings more than their appearance. “We wondered if your species would go extinct before that happened.”
The dragon’s mind finally unearthed the right memory, revealing why it resurfaced with such difficulty—his recollection held too little of value. Reluctant to share the details of meeting with the Dervishes due to its rather privy nature, the Machine Goddess nevertheless quite clearly conveyed—the Saddle Arabian deities had a tendency to be overly terse and display scant patience. Her trial imbued the myths Spike once indulged in instead of shelving books with much veracity, promising frustration to be the main outcome of the looming exchange.
“Are you here to stop me?” he warily eyed the scintillating figure. “You appeared before the Machine Goddess, too.”
For a moment it seemed that the Dervishes mirrored the dragon’s alert look. 
“It’s too late. Nor do we judge—only exercise caution.”
“I’ve heard the opposite.” 
Although vague, Spike’s comment offered no room for interpretation as with so few definite tales about the gods, one stood out as an irrefutable fact—their infamous involvement in Neightponia’s fall.
As much as that could be attributed to a barely corporeal entity, the Dervishes tensed.
“That was different.”
Nobody knew what exactly the crook-horned unicorns aimed for—to elevate themselves into the ranks of the divine or shatter them; neither, perhaps. Regardless, the gods decided neighponians to be unworthy even of the land they occupied.
“How? Just a few years ago I was no more than a feral animal. Surely, I shouldn’t be qualified to be one of you.”
Once more the Dervishes’ imposing presence dimmed, letting hints of careful thoughtfulness appear on their otherwise perfectly blank expression.
“You are closer to what is considered divinity,” they finally conceded.
Spike waited for them to add something else, squinting at the shimmering outline as it remained silent. He then challenged, “Are you going to answer my question?”
“No.”
Very few understood the fragility of the pedestal on which the masses, who didn’t know better, put the gods; the folly of bestowing a title belonging to those without the shackles of convention upon the glorified mages; the self-deception of allotting those mortals that overstayed their welcome far more respect than they deserved.
That thought combined with the Dervishes’ words at last sinking in, led Spike to realise—he should have never sought the connection to the Sun. He had no need for the same crutch to transcend mortality as his nature suggested more than pretence, even if it still implied certain limitations.
Glancing up, the dragon held the incandescent gaze of the sky’s only eye steadily and without a blink—as an equal. Then Spike did something very few dared to do—he towered over the gods of this world and rightfully so.
The Dervishes measured him, undaunted.
“You have power, we have knowledge—remember that,” they noted in a tone more amused than offended.
“But do you have wisdom?” 
“More than you.” Any mirth the Saddle Arabians had disappeared without a trace. “Asking such questions.”
Spike wondered if his newly-gained stature prevented the Dervishes from admonishing him with more than an icy glare or if they were always only bark and no bite. The latter didn’t sit quite well with their genocidal accomplishment and learning more about it became as much about personal concern as a matter of pure curiosity.
“By the Machine Goddess’ account, you are almost proud of what you did to Neighponia,” he taunted the divine in a cool tone; the words alone should be enough for now.
The Dervishes scoffed with no hesitation, “She is a fool.”
Spike squinted at the equine of swirling golden sand. 
“Do you regret letting her ascend?” 
“We know no regret.”
As the muzzle of the Saddle Arabian formed a scowl, Spike’s lips stretched into a smile to show rows of needlessly sharp teeth. 
“That answered my question,” he nearly purred.
It took a moment for the divine to understand their mistake.
“You are a fool, too,” they spat, glaring at the dragon.
“Is what your hobby?” Spike mocked the Dervishes, drunk on his success. “Taking a good look at celestial fools?”
He almost added a suggestion to look into a mirror next time, but the dune-dwelling gods spoke first, their eyes portentously narrowed, “Sharp is your forked tongue, yet it shears air only. This world had witnessed no gods born for millennia upon millennia, then three ascended one after another. What would you say now?”
A smirk vanished from Spike’s expression. If he assumed himself to be the third, that still left one unknown god and somehow not knowing that sounded like a problem he should be quite worried about.
“Who is the third?” the dragon practically demanded.
“Ignorant fool,” the Dervishes jeered.
“Is it a Neighponian you have missed?” Spike tried to guess. 
The self-satisfied deities bristled upon the mention of the country they had ravaged, but then their annoyance ceded to thoughtful silence as they furrowed their brow.
Reluctant, as if they had to wring every word out of their throats, the Dervishes uttered, “Neighponia was set on an opposite path.”
Spike’s tongue itched to explore that revelation, but he knew they already confided with him more than anyone ever knew about the cataclysm—whatever prompted them to do so. He returned to a more concerning unknown. “Who is the third then?” 
The Dervishes gave the dragon an unreadable look and proclaimed, “Our world is afflicted and it tries to cure itself—you are one of the catalysts bound to bring change. We are here to bear witness to what is to come.”
“You could have stayed invisible and silent,” Spike commented, squinting in suspicion; he might have sensed them, but the ‘knowledgeable’ gods should be easily able to outsmart a dragon engaged in his newly-found abilities.
That earned him another strange glance—in a blink of an eye, the Dervishes regained their dominance over the conversation by restoring their veneer of foreboding mystique. 
“We share not the same path, yet we wished for it to intersect with ours.”
A sudden gust of wind whisked away the shimmering dust and when the air stilled, the Dervishes were gone without a trace. Perhaps, the abrupt departure denied Spike a chance to once more outwit the capricious deities, perhaps they achieved their goal and had nothing more to add. Either way, the questions still outnumbered answers, and though the dragon had managed to prevail at some point, the pretentious equines succeeded in ultimately giving him the same treatment the Machine Goddess had got. 
Left alone, Spike had no other choice but to pay attention to his thoughts.
Who was the third god? Not to mention, he received no confirmation of being counted as the second… if the Machine Goddess was the first to break through the barrier in recent years.
Could it be Nightmare that almost devoured Luna? Could it be some Former One, who finally found a way to lift their curse? Even in Canterlot, the number of candidates amounted to dozens; now, with the nations converging and their knowledge combined, that throng waxed. That brought the worry of Hope sharing fate with Neighponia… though the Dervishes hinted at something more complex forcing them to bring apocalypse to the mysterious mountains.
And whilst the question of two new additions to the ‘pantheon’ might have a positive outcome, the state of the world offered no such prospect. Spike had already seen the places like Dodge Junction—festering wounds in the realm’s tender arcane flesh. The Windigos and their endless desolating march couldn’t be ignored either. The news of Black Star had reached him, too…
When the Dervishes called him a catalyst, did they mean him as belonging to the ranks of Nightmare and Black Star or of those who could fix the plights plaguing this world?
Spike let out a deep sigh. 
With new powers came new responsibilities—and he could barely control himself yet.
Letting his mind slowly simmer as it absently digested the secrets shared by the divines, the dragon of fire extended his fiery limb and willed it to gain a distinct form it ought to have—it refused… for now.
Indulging into creation and craft after centuries of bloodshed and destruction presented itself as an alien experience but Spike could tell it already gave more meaning to his existence than it ever had.
> 5.1 Maternal instinct
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



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Written by: Oneimare

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Arc 5 – Ponies after all

Chapter 1 – Maternal instinct


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The shadows’ soothing embrace welcomed Delight into a realm of absolute darkness, or she wished for it to be such a mere moment later, when the void took notice of her. No eyes appeared amidst the impenetrable and illimitable black smoke, yet in the maddening silence of nothingness, something seared the changeling with frigid hatred. The worst part came as the initial shock abated to be replaced by recognition—the queen had already briefly known that sensation and, perhaps, that exact place, back when she was but a pegasus travelling with the fallen Princess. 
As on cue, the last missing piece—stars—appeared before her eyes, right when the penetrating gaze had become unbearable. However, despite the malignity driving her insane faded away, the light-speckled sky remained, claiming her entire vision.
Delight blinked, then blinked again and, finally, realisation kicked in—she stood in the middle of a crystallised city endlessly reflecting starlight in the maze of its glassy ruins. 
Sombra brought her to the distant shores of Vanhoover. 
The king, unaffected by the terrifying even if brief journey, had been already treading dilapidated paths of the devastated megalopolis, expecting the changeling to follow him into its sparkling depths. Although she did accept his ‘invitation’, her mind remained in the clutches of shadows—the memory of shadows, the same shades plaguing and torturing the former ruler of Equestria. 
Not for a moment the changeling queen doubted the verity of her adviser’s warnings—the history might have lost some of its minute details, but it refused to let Sombra lose his dark fame. Even the horror Delight had just experienced served as proof of the warlock standing behind one of the most grievous tragedies. 
And now she obediently followed him into his trap. 
Since the meeting in the heart of the desert a bitter taste lingered in her mouth; not only due to the betrayal. The summit reminded her how she still failed to see herself as more than a pegasus whore who kept imagining herself being someone else, something greater; lost and overwhelmed by others, much stronger and smarter than her. With Wire’s desperate pleas echoing in her ears, Delight couldn’t help dreading—she finally got her chance to go down into history, but only to share fate with Luna and others, who fell victim to Sombra’s vile ambitions.
The time for regrets had passed, however; if she were to turn back, a mass grave with her children’s ashes would wait for her at Hope, with one last resting place prepared for their Mother. Such a choice hardly imbued her with confidence in her actions, but it did grant her enough determination to grimly press onward. 



Although the jump through the domain of malevolence had carried Delight across half of the continent, Vanhoover differed from the desolation neighbouring Canterlot’s shivering corpse only by the merit of crystal-blighted ruins. Deserted, cold and silent, save for the wind’s lamenting cries carrying the scent of brine from the bay, it daunted the changeling with its catastrophe frozen in time—crystalline glaze encased the skyscrapers and those who once inhabited them, perfectly preserving the past in all its nightmarish glory. 
No life flickered inside those semi-transparent statues, yet solemnly passing the ponies caught by the magic explosion mid-action, the changeling queen sensed her emotion-perceiving nature being overloaded with despair and pain. Delight forced herself to cease any thought as her eyes fell on a mare curled around a foal, their tears of fear forever glistening on muzzles screwed in agony—she forced herself to ignore that she followed the one who created this.
Looking straight forward and focused on emptying her mind of anything, she barely noticed how the statues started to move—they milled around, busy with a wide variety of tasks. 
The irony couldn’t be escaped—mockery—of the Crystal Ponies making a camp in a place that could have passed for the Crystal Empire, were it not a monument to the boundless cruelty of its last ruler; a camp preparing for a war aimed to reclaim the northern city.
Her arrival aroused barely any reaction; though she barely posed a threat—the amount of weaponry, both conventional and strange prismatic devices of nevertheless obvious intent, left her quivering uneasily. Still ignoring his guest, Sombra headed for one of the ponies and after a quick exchange of words finally spared the changeling a look—an unreadable one at that. Not waiting for her, he then began to climb a mound of broken mortar that would allow him to oversee the encampment.
With a chirr of wings which did startle a few Crystal Ponies, she joined the king.
“What do you want from me?” Delight barked at him the next moment; the Swarm facing extinction gave her no freedom to mince her words and the atmosphere of the place stripped her question of any politeness.
The unicorn smiled in a self-assured manner, in doing so blowing a gale into the embers of Delight’s ire and then further solidifying his success with a condescending non-answer.
“Why so hostile?”
The fires of the changeling’s wrath abruptly died from the icy touch of horror—when she realised her senses could forever probe the shadows in place of the stallion’s emotions and still find nothing; she had to rely on observation and so far Sombra’s mask of smugness had shown only perfection. 
Her dragon-like eyes should have met the king’s gaze, differing only in colour, as that of an equal, yet Delight couldn’t help but shiver as his slitted crimson pupils pinned her akin to a forlorn moth and for once she got a chance to know how it feels to be read like an open book. 
Mustering all calmness she possessed to meet the attempt at intimidation with dignity, she coolly noted, “I haven’t heard a single good thing about you.”
Sombra deflected her accusation by infusing his already poisonous grin with lethal sweetness and finished his riposte with another mocking question, “Are you sure you should be trusting the words of those who turn tail on you so readily?”
“It’s not only Wire.” Delight’s lips twitched struggling to cover her fangs. “Everyone I know considers you a threat.”
“Everyone…” The king shook his head, echoing her words in a disdainful tone; his smile then turned into a sneer. “How do they treat you and your children, Queen Heterocera?”
The changeling’s heart skipped a beat—how did he know? Did someone tip Sombra off about the Technocracy and their recent ‘deed’? She barely stopped herself in time from shaking her head vigorously as another thought clashed with the swelling dread—it could be just a shot in the dark. However, the suggestion brought little ease—only reignited her insecurities. For years she had her horn locked with the Stalliongrad’s proverbial one, but this—this was a real deal, not some self-delusional dummies who could be laughed at most of the time. 
None of that respect went into her curt reply:
“That’s none of your business.”
The queen’s brusque manners continued to rebound from the king’s predatory smile with all but audible pings—they seemed only to fuel his self-confidence and, in turn, it steadily eroded Delight’s composure.
“There is a time and place to show arrogance,” Sombra began, his voice devoid of warning tones, though; and, of course, laden with condescension. “But it is not here and not now—you have no such liberty, changeling.”
Delight glared at him, her forked tongue coiling behind her teeth, ready to spit what boiled on her mind in his arrogant face. 
The stallion continued, “I am not the one who took your freedom from you, for my Empire is not the enemy of the Swarm and has never been. Chrysalis and I have never met bodily, nor did I have the honour to know the Swarm’s founder herself and Quicksilver’s successor in the same fashion, but we have always had an understanding you are sorely lacking.”
Postponing speaking her mind as much out of curiosity as due to common sense, Delight barked, “...Which is?”
“We walk the same path.”
“Never,” she refused vehemently.
Regarding her with a pitiful expression, Sombra took a few steps towards the edge of the hill’s summit. 
“Take a look at those ponies,” he prompted Delight to share his view. “What can you say about them?”
She didn’t even turn her head, nearly spitting her words out, “All I see is my children on death’s door and you wasting my time—their time. Tell me what you want from me and I’ll be on my way, trying to save them before it’s too late.”
The unicorn gave her a long level look, which was met with fury swelling in emerald eyes. 
His next question, however, caught Delight off guard, “As someone who knew her better, tell me, was Chrysalis a monster?”
A scowl contorted her features and then a flood of memories eased her visage into a peculiar expression of many nuances. She barely knew the previous queen, but those few moments—mere days before cruel fate forced her to inherit the throne—let her witness kindness and wisdom born from caring for countless generations of children. In the hearts of changelings, an ache still lingered, echoing in Delight with envy driving her to become worth the same reverence and love. 
The queen also remembered a thousand masks of ruthlessness and cunning worn by her predecessor, ultimately—the cost Chrysalis paid for her missteps. 
“She made some… questionable choices,” Delight had to reluctantly admit. 
“Why?”
No longer fogged by the visions of days past, a glare of green eyes focused on the king’s sly mien with renewed intensity. 
“You aren’t going to trick me like this,” the changeling hissed. “I’m not stupid.”
“Only blind,” Sombra scoffed. Something other than disdain appeared in his tone, “Those who told you to despise me are the same people who turned my Empire into a slaughterhouse—they are the same people who spit on you every day. Would you dare to deny that?”
Delight could only silently glower at him whilst questions seethed madly in her mind. 
He must have meant the Technocracy’s scheme—so he had learnt about it somehow, after all. Either his spies showed her changelings not fit to hold a candle to their surveillance or the Machine Goddess had shared with him things the queen would have rather have kept private.
Either way, the king had posed an impossible challenge for her; she tried, anyway.
“Your methods are just as despicable—you have no honour.” 
Sombra slowly shook his head.
“What is your honour worth now? Is it going to save your Swarm?” The stallion went on before Delight got a chance to defend herself, “You answered those questions already, Heterocera, when you followed me into the portal.”
The warlock knew what to say—the changeling suddenly found herself unable to meet his eyes, undoubtedly brimming with satisfaction. With all her bravado, she did ignore her advisor’s imploration and had stepped into this realm of ancient shadows and crystal gravestones to seek help amidst them.
Turning into a slash of writhing smoky darkness, Sombra leapt from the mound of ruins, leaving the queen to awkwardly stand alone. Despite the difference in the constitution, Delight had never towered over the unicorn, she suddenly realised; not even now, then he stood far below her.
“You stand before me, high and mighty, on top of the hill of morality, but it’s an island sinking!” the king declared from there. “Waves of hatred are going to wash you away—it’s the nature of things that you can’t hope to defy.” He spread his hooves to point at the ponies readying themselves for a battle that shouldn’t be. “Do you think I wanted this?”
For a moment Delight almost succumbed to his conviction, then her gaze wandered above his crown and crooked horn, beyond the premises of the exiled ponies’ refuge. Eyes, black from sheer terror looked back at her… past her, staring death in the face. The statue would display what the king tried to justify till salty winds finally interred the poor pony, ground crystal into fine ash.
Like bile, rage rose in the changelings’ throat.
“How dare you say that, standing in the city your order turned into… into… this!?” She bellowed. “You started this endless bloodshed!”
“Did I?” Sombra’s eyes burned with unbridled hatred and fanged jaws snapped at Delight. “Did I banish the whole nation into oblivion for a thousand years? Did I barge into another country armed with one of the most dangerous artefacts, ready to attack its ruler just because he refused to bow time and time again?”
“There was a reason why you were banished—the same reason why they hurried to do it again!” The queen hotly retorted; 
There had to be a good reason…right?
The changeling didn’t take her words back, but nor could she deny—she rehearsed a history written too long ago and retold too many times to be trusted implicitly.
The wrath in the king’s eyes faded, letting hubris return, though not without a sudden and surprising suggestion of melancholy; the latter appeared more distinctly in his words.
“Independence is all I wanted, for myself and my people—so we could prosper and not cower in the shadow of the demi-gods as reliable as a keg of powder.” He snorted and, just like that, bitterness replaced his douleur. “But of course, you should trust the judgement of your precious Princesses, who couldn’t live peacefully even with each other or oneselves.”
“Luna’s corruption is your fault.”
“I only warned her, but her lust for power was stronger than any sense.” Seeing doubt still ruling Delight’s face, he taunted her, “Do you think I’m lying? Then why did she do it for the second time? I wasn’t around to whisper in her ear.”
The queen refused to fall for the bait; Sombra either sprinkled salt on her fresh wounds or dared her to argue about things she only had heard about… more often than not from biassed sources. The king masterfully fed her half-truths, twisting or omitting nuances mattering the most.
However, Delight had followed him here and couldn’t leave yet.
“Why should I trust you?”
Sombra chuckled.
“A good question. I can ask it, too,” he answered with a timberwolfish grin. “It would be wise not to trust me, but neither would it be smart to think anyone else is on your side. None of them understands how it is to be considered monsters, to be outcasts blamed for only one simple thing—exercising our right to survive and our freedom to thrive.”
Receiving a silent glare, he changed tactics, continuing with far less zeal in his tone, “I admit I went too far in saving the Crystal Empire and that is worse—I still failed, thus making my… their horrible sacrifice for nothing. But are you going to let your children perish if you have to get your hooves dirty? Are you, Heterocera?”
The king patiently watched Delight’s muzzle twitching as she struggled to admit:
“No.”
An hour ago she would have left without even bothering to reply—yesterday she wouldn’t have considered coming here. Sombra tried to deceive her with his every word, yet his lies didn’t equal nonsense.
Delight had no allies she could trust, she had nobody to help her with the Swarm standing on a brink of being undone in the same green fire that had brought it to existence. 
He might have bent the truth about how circumstances had led him to commit great atrocities. On the other hoof, Chrysalis had done regrettable things to postpone her children’s death. 
According to the cruel laws of reality, it seemed the changeling race had no other way to survive without being the monsters everyone had made out of them. The changeling queen would have to side with Sombra not because she agreed with him, but because there was no other option left—they left her no other choice. 
“But you don’t have to,” the king broke her sorrowful reverie and it took Delight a few moments to realise he referred to her answer. As she regained her wits, the stallion continued, “Together we will be stronger, we won’t have to sink to the level of monsters everyone thinks us to be.”
The way he as if had read her thoughts sent shivers down Delight’s spine, but a spark of hope banished the creeping cold—Sombra showed himself a worthy opponent in mind games, but she wasn’t a nobody herself. Given time, she might be able to subtly sway his intentions away from bloodshed. And he might have not exaggerated about them sharing forces leading to less violence.
“What are your conditions?” she tentatively asked.
Despite his triumph, the unicorn smiled no more and no less than usual; his expression still carried a sinister portent. 
“Just a military alliance for now.”
The queen squinted at him. “For now?”
“It can continue even after I reclaim what is rightfully mine and put my sword down.” Sombra shrugged as if he spoke about something of no consequence. “The Crystal Empire isn’t lacking in goods to trade. That is what makes it a coveted prize for anyone—I expect intervention the moment it’s liberated from the TCE’s clutches.”
The way he said that, staring Delight in the eyes, left little room for interpretation.
“Does it mean my current alliances have to be broken?” she still asked.
“Depends on if they accept my ascendance,” the king levelly replied. “Why do you worry? Half of them have stabbed you in the back already and the rest are going to watch your kind become extinct.”
The summit that had led her there offered proof succinct enough—none cared if the Swarm vanished; on the other hoof, the meeting took place because of something more grave…
“And what about the Machine Goddess’ plan?”
“Please, don’t make me take back my word—you have to be insane to think she was telling the truth,” Sombra snorted.
Unless the equinoid sovereign had tried to play Delight like a fiddle, too, the visit paid to the Spire had hinted at what the Machine Goddess told everyone; the changeling queen frowned—something was wrong with the world, definitely. 
She tried to weakly object, “But I’ve seen the numbers, the graphs…”
“The Crystal Heart is a gemstone more potent than all the power banks of Stalliongrad combined and she wants it for her Unity. Rainbow Dash made a good point—the Machine Goddess tried to feed us a bunch of lies. Why did she never mention the other gods, for example? They hold power incomparable to that of us, a disorganised group of mortals.” Delight stared at the king, her mind making its own conclusions, though not that different. “She just wants more power to challenge the Technocracy and let her children return to the streets—a goal I can understand, but by doing so she denies the two of us our rightful chance to rise from the dirt.”
Something was going on and there had to be an explanation—it looked too deliberate to be an accident. Who stood behind it? The Machine Goddess came to mind as the first suspect… but why would she do that? Delight knew her before she ascended to godhood and nothing foreshadowed such schemes, whatever goal they served. Perhaps, the Unity, still harbouring hatred towards organic life, influenced her actions? It suggested a horrible picture, with events like Black Star being orchestrated… 
Delight’s eyes met the unreadable look of the ancient king. 
What lay beyond his arrogance? Why did he crave to reclaim the Crystal Empire so insistently? Was it him pulling the strings, attached even to a god?
None of that would matter for a pile of ashes, however.
Stifling a sigh, she extended her hoof towards the grinning stallion.
But before he got a chance to return the gesture, the queen abruptly retracted her limb. 
“Until my children are safe and their future is secured, there is no deal. I’ll personally help you to retake the Crystal Empire and the moment you deliver on your promise, my Praetorians will be ready to defend it with their lives.” 
 Offering only herself to fulfil the role of an army flooded Sombra’s blood-red eyes with doubt and so Delight hurried to add, “Don’t underestimate my value in battle.” 
A few moments of consideration later, the iron-clad hoof was in the air.
“I accept your conditions.”



Instead of discussing with Delight the details of the upcoming battle, the king dissolved into a cloud of pitch-black smoke, leaving the changeling to reflect on her decision. 
The unfulfilled hope of the king starting to pay her some respect after they made a pact caused her features to twitch in annoyance, but her bitterness didn’t linger for long—perhaps, the preparations demanded his immediate presence; though, Sombra still could have warned her.
Either way, the position on top of the hill gave her an unsettling view of Vanhoover’s crystallised streets, but hid from her the intricacies of the little army gathered in its ruins. Fluttering down, she considered taking another form, timely preventing herself from exercising her habit; thankfully, the hurrying around ponies didn’t even acknowledge her presence as is. 
The compound served mostly as a depot with almost no tents or edifices meant to house soldiers, who lacked in numbers, anyway. The glimmering equines running around carried long lists, checking the countless crates, whilst the others paid attention to dark crystals attached to the boxes. 
Wandering amidst the supplies led Delight to one container with its lid open, revealing its content—swords. Snorting at the thought of a fencer charging at a TCE soldier armed with an automatic gun, she approached the primitive weapons. Picking up one of them into her magic, she couldn’t help but further doubt their usefulness—the thin blades would undoubtedly shatter against the tempered blue steel of the TCE’s heavy armours. 
“They’re enchanted.” Delight nearly dropped the sword out of her telekinetic aura—a Crystal Pony managed to sneak on her; paying no mind to how she startled the changeling, the mare continued, “They don’t break and cut through anything.”
Deciding to be not nitpicky as ‘enchanting’ stood for what unicorns did rather than the peculiar way Crystal Ponies had with gemstones, the queen remembered something about the protection her Praetorian Guard ‘inherited’ from the Royal Guard.
“What about enchanted armour?”
The war ended centuries ago, but the vicious razor-sharp swords posed such a threat, the runes meant to harden metal against them were still in use—just in case a relic of days long gone suddenly resurfaced. The TCE forces stationed at the Crystal Empire would have their armours enchanted, too, as it didn’t have to be arcanium.
The mare shrugged. “We came up with a counter-enchantment.”
“Won’t your enemies come up with a counter-counter-enchantment?”
“Dead don’t come up with enchantments,” she deadpanned, looking Delight straight in the eyes with an unimpressed stare.
The changeling put the sword back and as the moments passed, she realised the mare still stood by her side, patiently waiting. Set to leave the precious weapons, Delight stepped away, then stopped.
“Your king…” she tentatively addressed the Crystal Pony. “What do you think of him?”
“Very direct for a changeling,” the mare commented with one eyebrow raised. “You could have taken the form of one of us and just spied.”
Whereas Sombra preached about understanding how everyone considered changelings nothing but rats scuttling around and learning secrets they shouldn’t know, his words didn’t seem to have reached his followers’ hearts.
“You wouldn’t have appreciated that, would you?” 
“Obviously,” the Crystal Pony snorted, ignoring Delight’s benevolence; she then started to check the agates embedded into the crate’s corners. “And we’d have caught you instantly.”
It wouldn’t have been naive to think the king hadn’t prepared to deal with the Swarm, though the idea of someone deliberately—and successfully—finding a way to counter her main advantage in warfare brought no confidence in the deal she had just made with Sombra; not that having him as an enemy would have been better.
“Do you still want to know?” the mare yanked Delight out of her thoughts—she finished examining the box and seemed ready to leave.
The queen nodded.
“Our king is harsh, but fair and with him, we know no fear—only hope. None of us here are from the Crystal Empire, we are descendants of those who managed to flee from the north before it became an inescapable trap. But it is our home and we want it back, we want to see our brethren free.”
“He’s a hero to you,” Delight concluded.
In the eyes of those Crystal Ponies, he shone as brightly as Chrysalis… or herself for the changelings.
“King Sombra returned to bring justice.”
For a moment Delight considered asking about Sombra desecrating the dead during the war, creating abominable crystal golems. Or how he used mind control to send less willing to fight for him.
Was it an adequate price for justice?
But… 
Could she trust those stories or their context? Wouldn’t she do the same if it was the only way to save her children?
“Thank you for your answer,” she dismally uttered.



Concerned both about running into more Crystal Ponies who proved not to be as welcoming as they appeared initially and about her role in the soon-to-begin attack on the northern kingdom, Delight no longer wasted her time—she sought the king.
To her relief, one of the tents with its flap rolled up revealed the stallion sitting at the table with numerous maps and papers strewn over it. She invited herself in, to match unceremonious treatment from before. Though, seeing the shadow of approval on the king’s muzzle as he acknowledged her entrance with a glace reflected in her mind with disappointment in herself. 
“What would be my role in the battle?” Delight cut straight to the chase. Recalling everything she knew about the distant place, she asked another question, the one she should have brought up first. “How are you going to deal with the Windigo?”
“Sojourning into Zebrica was the first thing I did after my… return. After some research and”—Sombra momentarily paused and his muzzle donned an expression greatly disturbing Delight—“negotiations, it yielded a solution to the Windigo problem.”
He cryptically and unsettlingly smiled.
For an inexplicable reason Delight had no interest whatsoever in prying into what the stallion discovered in those mystic lands; history held too many examples of how already questionable practices of striped equines were twisted into something truly ghastly.
“As for your role…” Sombra continued only to trail off, with a thoughtful expression. “My army might be little, but it is efficient and should be more than enough. However, some air support would be nice, if you are up to it.”
A splash of emerald momentarily lit up the tent, spilling onto the gem-encrusted pavement outside and a gryphon’s wingtips brushed the tarpaulin. 
The king nodded. “Suit yourself with any weapon.”
Delight reverted her transformation and approached the table; her eyes studied the maps for a few moments and she frowned.
“Don’t you have anything fresher than this?”
Nothing but ancient plans, yellowed with age if they hadn’t been damaged by the elements in the first place, offered her an insight into the Crystal Empire’s structure and geography—as it met the siege by the Equestrian army. 
“The Windigo don’t allow any reconnaissance to take place,” Sombra commented calmly, though a note of frustration slipped into his voice nonetheless.
“So, you don’t know what awaits us there?” Delight barely prevented herself from cringing at ‘us’.
“My people are ready for anything,” the king retorted without missing a beat. “It shouldn’t be a problem for changelings to adapt, either.”
The queen knew her children would be able to face any peril and find a solution to any problem—being no longer confined to the Sky Palace let them expand their already vast repertoire of forms to take. 
But something else caught her attention in the stallion’s challenge. 
“What do you know about my Swarm?”
Right now it didn’t bother her what Sombra might know about her weaknesses, Delight cared if he could tell her something she didn’t know.
Sombra stared at the maps; however, his clouded gaze betrayed his thoughts wandering elsewhere. 
Finally, he spoke, “Duchess Quicksilver wasn’t a scholar as notable as the Princess Platinum’s court wizard—Starswirl—but she did spend a bit too much time nosing through his scrolls. When I started my journey, she had long abdicated her title and isolated herself far to the north, studying the Windigo along with a group of similarly lunatic followers. 
“Their actions weren’t welcomed or approved—came to be forbidden even—but nobody was willing to track down the insane hag hiding in the blizzard’s bosom. And then, rumours started to appear about horrible equines with charcoal coats and moth-eaten limbs that had emerged from the distant snows; those monsters were driven from everywhere. Years later a quaint community sprung in the heart of infertile wasteland, offering refuge to all outcasts.”
“Did you get to meet her, the first changeling queen?” Delight asked hopefully.
“Very regrettably, no.” The king shook his head and added wistfully, “The way she cheated Harmony seems awfully similar to my methods—we could have learnt much from each other.”
Suppressing a sigh and pouring a lot of effort to banish disappointment from her voice, Delight commented, “I hoped to hear something more than just an old legend.”
“You should have listened more carefully,” Sombra snorted, earning a glare from the changeling queen. “Either way, in the case the TCE destroyed the invaluable vault of knowledge at the Crystal Empire”—Delight’s eyes snapped open—“such a possibility shouldn’t be written off, knowing them, I should be able to figure out the nature of the changelings, since you missed the part where Quicksilver harboured an unhealthy fascination with entities feeding on hatred.”
> 5.2 Heavenborn sisterhood
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



=================================

Written by: Oneimare

=================================


Arc 5 – Ponies after all

Chapter 2 – Heavenborn sisterhood


=================================


Ash stumbled.
“Aren’t deserts supposed to have only sand in them?” she muttered, inspecting the ground where her hoof had caught on something.
Her eyes discovered only what she had wished for—the vast variety of grit. The darkness could be blamed for her failure in finding anything else, but one more factor might have also contributed to her uneven gait.
“Note: mental and physical exhaustion impairs locomotion,” Nameless remarked in their usual dry manner. “Ash’s energy reserves: depleted.”
The alicorn rolled her eyes, “You don’t say.”
Her head spun wildly—thoughts buzzed in her mind like a hungry swarm of fat flies over an unthawed cadaver. Ash’s life had already undergone many drastic changes, but ever since she had emerged from her cruel ice cradle, it turned into something she would have never dared to imagine.
That, and she was tired.
The legendary Machine Goddess gathered all kinds of ponies and creatures Ash didn’t know even existed, passed the news almost beyond the alicorn’s comprehension and called for a seemingly impossible task. The kaleidoscope of equines, events and revelations consumed the alicorn so thoroughly, she missed not just a tin can appearing in her vicinity, but the flames of a modest bonfire starting to gnaw on mouldering plywood that wasn’t there just a moment ago. 
Hooking the preserves’ ring with her horn and pulling on it revealed the food tin’s contents being something other than pickled vomit; though Ash paid no attention to the difference anyway—the fog inside her skull coiled too thickly. 
However, the fire swelling with resounding cracks served as a lighthouse, guiding her consciousness back to reality and reminding her—she had a responsibility now. Like the embers dispelled the darkness, so she would have to banish shadows—and for the whole world, no less… the world that might be at its end.
“Was she right?” Ash wondered aloud and immediately parted her lips to specify who she meant.
Unexpectedly, that proved unnecessary.
“The Machine Goddess’ prediction: questionable. The Machine Goddess’ plan: impracticable.”
Momentarily stunned by both Nameless’ acumen as much as their dismissal of the entire grand meeting’s idea, she blurted, “How do you know?”
“Calculation of future events: not possible,” Nameless stated simply; not that they could inform Ash in a different fashion, though the alicorn could swear their voice started to get subtle inflexion. This time it resembled, if distantly, something betwixt disdain and mockery.
Anyhow, their answer only caused her to frown—it didn’t add up with what she knew about Nameless; or what she assumed.
“Didn’t you say your ability had no limits?” Ash squinted thoughtfully at them, thinking if she missed something about the deities of this world… an easily achievable feat, considering her scant wit and witting. Before she could realise what she was saying, her thoughts slipped from her tongue, “But you are a god, aren’t—”
A slap echoed above the peaceful sand, but it couldn’t return words into Ash’s throat. With hooves pressed to her muzzle, she stared at Nameless with eyes as wide as the Moon hanging in the starry sky above and expected—dreaded—the grave consequences of her uncareful action—making a god self-aware; a god which had a very questionable idea of morality, if at all. 
Their skull expressed perfect blankness, and Nameless levelly informed the alicorn, “Nameless’ ability has no limits within reasonable parameters. Prediction of future events: unreasonable request.” 
As Ash let out a sigh of relief, returned the empty look with hers full of disbelief—that didn’t qualify as ‘limitless’, which Nameless had used to describe their potential earlier. Did they boast back then? Now she wanted to know Nameless’ already seemingly conveniently vague definition of ‘reasonable’.
But the macabre being spoke first, “Inquiry: define god.”
The alicorn readily opened her mouth… and no words came out of it—only an intelligible groan.
If for a moment she ignored her incompetence in giving any sort of factual knowledge, her definition born of rumours and tales amounted to quite a simple concept—an entity able to do anything. Yet she hesitated to share it—her recent experiences put such an interpretation under scrutiny. For example, why did someone called a Machine Goddess asked for help? Shouldn’t she be able to fix Harmony herself? The others at the meeting, who, according to Nameless, could act as world-enders, would have to work together to get a chance at solving the looming catastrophe; Ash stood amongst them, which meant she should be counted as a ‘god’, too…
Her silence prompted Nameless to answer their own question.
“Data suggests: no definition.” 
Ash rolled her eyes—why ask her then? 
“Attributes found in all versions: omniscience, omnipotence, omnipresence. Observation: all candidates lack applicable consciousness.”
“What,” the alicorn snorted, “one has to have a special brain to be a god?”
“Correct.”
“I was joking.”
“Humour attempt: failure,” Nameless deadpanned, much to the alicorn’s chagrin. “Explanation: consciousness formed within a material body is incapable of processing data necessary for the listed parameters.”
Though the alicorn’s weariness rendered deciphering their comment a nearly insurmountable task, the implication of Nameless’ words caught Ash’s attention.
“What about you?”
It still evaded Ash why Nameless clung to that strange and unsettling ‘body’ as even she deduced them being a sort of spirit able to exist without gemstones or another kind of vessel serving as a final milestone before achieving practical immortality and invincibility usually befitting those who claimed to be the gods.
Ash received only heavy silence in answer, but the incapable of displaying any emotion figure on the opposite side of the tiny fire gained a sort of stillness that spoke of the question striking deep.
The struggle to recall her attempt to learn Nameless’ past led Ash to remember how their similar conversation had ended the last time—with the Machine Goddess disrupting it. But the exchange that had followed the unexpected encounter only confused Ash and now she understood even less about her companion.
“The Machine Goddess…” she asked carefully, “What did she do to you?”
Nameless hesitated with the reply, if they planned to give it at all; the slight bow of their head did betray something going on inside the borrowed skull. 
“The Machine Goddess created… set up conditions for Nameless… to… manifest.”
The alicorn tried her best, but comprehending Nameless relation to the Machine Goddess or how they came to be demanded more brain power than she possessed at the moment; though, Ash doubted she would gain enough after rest… or ever. And the effort it took Nameless to satiate her curiosity suggested her companion had more feelings than they bothered to show—that Ash could relate to and intended to respect.
The silence stretched, gaining an awkward quality; still, it went on unbroken and gradually the uneasiness vanished, letting the whispers of cool sand and the murmur of the night breeze be noticed.
Nevertheless, Ash did eventually dare to speak, hoping Nameless wouldn’t perceive her question as a continuation of her prying in their early life.
“So… what now?”
“Recommendation: rest,” they replied ambiguously.
A sigh whistled past the alicorn’s lips. Nameless’ suggestion sounded undeniably wise, yet if Ash were to close her stinging from exhaustion eyes, flashbacks of what she had experienced through the long day filled her vision.
At least, being tired helped with not thinking about what should—would have to—come after the night. The daunting task of Rising the Sun lured Ash’s eyes to the dark sky. Although she missed the warm radiance already, she couldn’t help but admire the striking beauty of the star-strewn firmament. 
It reminded her of something—someone.
“Luna… who was that…” Shivers run down her spine before she finished uncertainly, “...Pony?”
“Life form: alicorn,” Nameless dutifully answered. “Designation: photoscotopic cycle controller.”
At first, it made no sense—why did there have to be another, someone with whom she had to share her skies? Common sense quickly replaced hostility, however—someone must have been moving the Sun before Ash got her cutie mark; which raised another question.
The alicorn frowned at Nameless or, rather, their ‘attire’ of bones and Sunset Shimmer’s ire echoed in her mind. Those once belonged to a pony called Celestia, the name which Luna cried out in heart-wrenching desperation; Discord also told her she was ‘one of the two of the kind’.
If Ash’s mind suffered no exhaustion, she would have connected the dots; instead, she addressed her companion.
“She called me her sister.” Glancing at Celestia’s remains, she added, “Or us.”
“Blood relation: not found.”
“But she seemed to recognise me. Or you.”
Nameless mulled over her words for a moment, then replied, “Conjecture: Luna mistook Ash for Princess Celestia.”
“She was the previous photoscotopic cycle controller, wasn’t she?” Ash finally realised.
More questions popped up in her mind even before they confirmed:
“Correct.”
Nameless mentioned how they had found those bones, meaning Celestia probably died long before that. It didn’t mean, however, they shouldn’t know anything about Ash’s predecessor—they used to spend all their time gathering data, after all.
Of many reasons why she wanted to know, one bothered Ash the most—her ‘counterpart’ suffered horribly and she had to know if the same fate awaited her.
“What is her story?”
“Data extraction…” Nameless trailed off. Soon they continued, but their voice sounded exactly like how the Machine Goddess spoke when she appeared for the first time before Ash—as a young lavender unicorn.
“Once upon a time, in the magical land of Equestria…”



For the finale Nameless reverted their voice to the usual emotionless tone, lifelessly stating Celestia’s cause of death and the events that had led to her untimely demise.
Ash sat silently, solemnly digesting the brief and stylised chronicle of a veritable, if not goddess, than demi-goddess and struggled not to despair from the size of the horseshoes she had to fill if she wished to live up to the name of the one who came before her. Somehow, the young alicorn couldn’t help feeling she inherited the vast legacy along with the Sun cutie mark.
She would certainly return to those thoughts later, when her mind gained some clarity and one particular concern stopped bothering her.
“Who are the changelings?” Ash voiced it.
“Life form: changelings are shapeshifting equines—”
“The roach-horse at the gathering!” Ash interrupted her companion with a triumph of getting something right. 
Though she likely imagined it, Nameless glared at her. 
“Um, sorry. I should be wary of her, right? She killed my predecessor.”
“Mistake: Queen Heterocera succeeded Queen Chrysalis.”
The strange names and titles flew over Ash’s head, but not the meaning; it barely helped, however.
“Well, I don’t like her anyway.” Ash shrugged. “She’s creepy even by my standards. Speaking of which… what was that thing in Luna’s mane?”
“Constant: Nightmare.”
“Like a bad dream?” The alicorn frowned in confusion; it deepened as she realised the subtle change in Nameless’s speech. “Wait, what do you mean it’s a ‘constant’?”
“Warning: Nightmare cannot be affected by any known means.”
A horrible suggestion formed in Ash’s mind. “Is it a… god?”
“Data: insufficient,” Nameless replied curtly—sharper than usual.
Ash stared at them in concern, but the skull met her gaze unwaveringly, refusing to comment any further. 
Life by the Deep Tunnels acquainted Ash with many horrors, ranging from brutal abominations climbing up from the unfathomable depths to the subtle perils showing themselves only when it was too late for the victim; Nightmare seemed to fit both categories and Nameless rendered it even more dangerous with their ominous refusal to elaborate.
The dark mare bore no wounds, but the toll taken by Nightmare on her physique and psyche couldn’t be disregarded. The story Nameless told her in a borrowed voice suggested none of that—just an acute case of jealousy and massive miscommunication. In reality, a horrifying force seemed to be devouring a deific entity alive and driving her delirious. 
The alicorn gulped.
“What is going to happen to Luna?”
“Analysis of available data: progressive memory loss until termination of life functions.”
Even with Nameless calling Nightmare a ‘constant’, she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Can’t anything be done about it?”
Nameless didn’t answer for a while, ultimately stating with the merest shadow of regret, “Corruption level: critical. Luna’s data: irrecoverable.”
Ash, too, decided to give it some thought, futile that might be at the moment… and in the general. The story about six friends sounded like a proven solution, except it was no more than a fairy tale and the circumstances hinted at the situation being not so straightforward—this time Luna seemed to be more of a victim, rather than the culprit, and the Elements would have been already used if that was an option. 
However, her thoughts moved in another direction, telling her how she might be sharing with Luna more than just possession of both wings and a horn. And the more she realised that, the colder the air around her seemed to become. She gasped as her mind came to the conclusion.
In a horrified whisper, Ash squeezed out of herself, “There are… thoughts… in my head. I don’t think they are… mine.”
She dared to meet Nameless gaze, but whatever judgement they held, it failed to be passed through the dark eye sockets of Celestia’s skull.
The silence stretched, filled with Ash’s frantic heartbeat. 
“Please, say something,” she nearly sobbed, yet afraid to hear Nameless’ answer.
“Invasive action: potentially harmful.”
It took Ash a few moments to understand what they meant. She shuddered from recalling the sensation of invisible claws probing her mind for precious data.
“The alternative is just dying slowly.” She whimpered to herself, unable to banish from her vision the skeletal silhouette with the tumour of Nightmare feeding on it; or how crestfallen Luna looked when Ash failed to recognise her. “And painfully.”
“Confirm action: data analysis.” 
The alicorn took a long breath and just as slowly exhaled.
“I’m ready,” she lied.



Cracking her eyes open, Ash expected to hear a snap of ice—the effort it took suggested they froze overnight. Her head pounded like she got an icicle lodged into it and her throat ached—as if she ate a lot of snow… or screamed for hours. 
Trying to figure out which of the malaises woke her up, she realised it was, in fact, a bony hoof insistently nudging her awake. She rolled on her back to meet Nameless’ expressionless ‘muzzle’; the sight would have given her a jolt were it not for her miserable state.
Then Ash remembered what led to her lying on the sand in the middle of the desert and regretting being alive—none of those concerns mattered; none, but one.
“How did it go?” the alicorn rasped out, wincing from the pain caused by both the sound of her speech and the difficulty of producing it.
“Observation: vital signs found.”
“Wow, I would have never guessed.” Ash rolled her eyes; her voice got sombre, however—and hesitant. “What… else did you find?”
“Extraneous influence: not found,” Nameless answered with a suggestion of relief.
Ash, on the other hoof, didn’t hurry to let out a figurative breath.
“But what about those thoughts?” Another worry took place of the creeping fear, no less grave. “Am I just going crazy?”
The Deep Tunnels’ influence had a certain effect on some of those who experienced them for too long or too intimately; the flesh-eating ponies infesting Canterlot’s ruins had to abandon their sanity before changing their diet—the years-long winter might have whittled Ash’s already compromised balance of mind away in a fashion most insidious. 
Her companion informed her, “Mental illness: not found.”
The stars twinkling in the no longer black sky reflected in Ash’s eyes as she reflected upon herself, staring into the Sunless void of her past and seeing the river of time flowing backwards; she didn’t have to observe its swirling currents for long, though. The young mare vividly recalled the hours spent with Discord back then when he appeared as a gryphon—their talks, the answers she gave him.
Her mind always harboured such thoughts—the simple whims of a bitter survivor, but after a few conversations with the Lord of Chaos in disguise she started to question her urges to lash out, kill or destroy—he showed her why to take notice of them and also reminded that there should be more to her life than just remaining alive at any cost.
“Then I guess it’s a sort of thing everyone can have,” Ash thoughtfully concluded; she just happened to also be someone who could ashen the entire world. 
It did solve her problem and in a way made it worse—she couldn’t push responsibility onto some monstrosity messing with her brain, and speaking of duties…
“How long have I been out?”
Her eyes shifted to the horizon glowing with gentle salmon; there, her beloved Sun waited impatiently—she sensed its silent call.
“Seven hours.”
More than Canterlot usually let her have, it still failed to imbue her body with enough energy. Closing her eyes, she curled on the sand, mumbling, “Five more minutes.”
A pointed limb prodded her side with all the kindness of a rusty nail.
“Objection: photoscotopic cycle requires adjustment.”
A prolonged groan escaped her cracked lips as Ash took a sitting position; a yawn interrupted her, she then turned to Nameless, who observed the alicorn, clearly unimpressed. 
“Alright.” Ash gulped. “H-how do I do it?”
“Special designation: provides knowledge on an unconscious level. Nameless: provides astronomical data.”
The lack of encouragement certainly didn’t help; the fear of messing up the day and night order for the entire world had already started to paralyse Ash. 
She sharply inhaled and closed her eyes.
No! It wasn’t just her ‘designation’ printed on her rump; she wanted to bring light to the ponies and whatnot—all deserved warmth, and none had to suffer the eternal darkness or cold like she did. 
Before the doubts had a chance to climb back into the throne reserved for reason and rule over her mind again, Ash let the magic fill her horn till it spilt out, reaching for something so distant yet so close—something that always was in her heart, before she even realised it.
The might of the Sun nearly overwhelmed her, the sheer power of a celestial body beyond comparison; yet it submitted to her will a heartbeat later, following a path Ash somehow knew to be a true one. 
Her eyelids fluttered open and for a moment the incandescence of the reality that was murky a moment ago blinded her—only so briefly, her sight quickly adjusted to the molten gold flooding the dunes.
“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” the alicorn murmured and a smile played on her lips.
And with the Sun slowly painting the sky a keen azure, the need to sleep abated; the sands no longer seemed unwelcoming and the journey—impossible. The triumph didn’t last, unfortunately—the desert bore a concerning blemish.
A spot of stubborn darkness not so far away rejected the Sun’s grace with vehemence, jittering like an eerie mirage. A tiny spot, yet more than enough to spoil the beautiful morning.
But that spell failed to last, too.
“We have to help her,” Ash stated in a tone hard as stone. As Nameless turned their skill to remind her of the futility of such an idea, the alicorn added, just as determinedly, “I don’t care—there has to be something that can be done.”
“Request: reason.”
No immediate answer came.
A week ago Ash wouldn’t even consider coming close to an abomination Luna had become. Now, she knew of their cutie marks forming a unique pair, or why they shared a ‘mutant’ physique; a link rooted in ancient legends connected them through ages and generations. 
Whilst still far from fully figuring it out, Ash started to understand her place in this world and the path she walked; Luna trod the same lonely road.
“She might not be my sister, yet it feels like she’s the closest I’ll ever have to a family.”
> 5.3 Folly
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



=================================

Written by: Oneimare

=================================


Arc 5 – Ponies after all

Chapter 3 – Folly


=================================


Flower’s metal hoof kept treacherously sinking into the sand, rendering her gait a laboured hobble. Nevertheless, she forced the dunes, though not as much as out of grim determination. Since the young mare had hastily departed the meeting, a pair of eyes bored into the back of her head… not exactly eyes and not just two; Luna’s slitted irises served as a window—powerless to affect the shadows flickering beyond the turquoise curtains, able only to flutter from the tumult happening within. 
Soon enough, the limping pony realised—for once she truly led the way but had no idea where they headed; that, and her limbs, already fed up with braving unstable grounds, threatened to bend on their own volition.
Rising a cloud of dust, she sat on the sand.
“Fuck,” Flower tartly commented on the situation and stared at the stygian blackness of the sky.
The night’s air mercilessly assaulted her, trying to sneak under her long-suffering suit; her travelling companion could be blamed for the frigidity as well. The darkness pressed from every direction and if Flower squinted, the shadows started to dance in a resemblance of some eerie waltz.
The source of all the phantasmagoria as if floated on inky waves of a calm sea—bulbous charcoal vaporous mass undulated from and around the alicorn. Flower shuddered at the sight—the insidious black waters could boil up into a desolating deluge and the vessel bearing the name of Luna would be but an empty shell destined to share that fate with every other creature calling that realm their own. The once promised Night Eternal possessed a modicum of hope—a delusion of deranged demigoddess would have eventually shattered under the weight of its own absurdity; the future portended by Nightmare was absolute—void.
Even the benighted desert infested by the darkness betwixt the stars offered enough to consider it something; maybe not brimming with beauty accessible to everyone, but still a place worth cherishing by those who knew what it might be instead. Flower dared not to imagine a world under Nightmare’s rule—unbearably cold and maddeningly empty, with shivering and shrivelled husks wailing in throes of debilitating horror born by their own mind, but given the chance to tumefy from a nagging whisper to the only thought echoing in the rime-crowned skulls.
Flower shook her head vigorously, whipping her muzzle with her unkempt mane. Proximity to Luna messed up with her head in more ways than just infusing it with the poison of severe paranoia; the aghast mare would have said her imagination ran wilder than she thought it possible, but she had a better answer—those were simply Luna’s nightmares… or Nightmare’s dreams oozing out.
That knowledge still failed to banish desperation from her voice as she whispered to herself as much as to Luna, “How long do we have left?”
Aquiver, Flower filled her lungs with the searing air—with that sweet beautiful air of the realm still with light and warmth in it. She then tried to meet the eyes of the one who had summoned the end of the world, within whom germinated their demise. Two pools of tar dripping shadows on the sand below held her gaze.
The darkness abated, letting just as eternal sadness take its place; drops of regret fell on the desert’s susurrating surface.
“I can’t tell,” Luna answered, defeated; the swirls of black fog gingerly lowered her onto the ground and she sagged under the gravity of her mistake.
“You’re lying,” Flower deadpanned; tired—tired of being angry and despairing, of not knowing if she should fear Luna or herself.
“Nightmare is consuming my mind, so I can’t tell when something I should remember is gone,” the alicorn retorted with a note of irritation in her subdued voice. 
Not bothering to acknowledge the sense—a concerning truth—appearing in Luna’s words, Flower carefully noted, “You remembered her.”
The skin taut on Luna’s skull and her sunken eyes nearly bereaved the ancient mare of the ability to express any emotion; the deteriorating state of her body and the sardonic smile endowed her with one visage—of a rabid dog breathing its last. Only the alicorn’s eyes retained the ability to reflect her inner state… whenever Nightmare didn’t blot out the embrasures of that besieged stronghold.
Luna closed her eyes.
“You do remember she is dead, right?” Flower’s question came out as a cloud of vapour.
As long as one sister recalled the other one, Nightmare had yet to truly conquer the last bastion. But, at times, the borders of that memory seemed to be concerningly vague.
“Yes, I…” The alicorn flinched from the cruel reminder only for her features to soften a heartbeat later, if slightly and briefly—her laden with pain voice rustled no louder than the sand, “That moment it didn’t seem so. For a moment I forgot and it was no Nightmare… and Celestia, my Tia, was alive… if only for a moment”
Before she realised what she was doing, Flower reached for a certain memory too, only to find a hole in the shape of two adult ponies—a mare and a stallion; the void she tore in her mind—Flower was her own Nightmare. Though, unlike Luna, she would remain sane as long as she let oblivion reign. 
Oblivious to moisture gathering in the corners of Flower’s eyes, Luna continued to patter, “She would have known how to help me. She was always smart… smarter…”
Seeking escape from herself, Flower grasped those words, but they only reminded her of a young mare who was smarter than her—Geode Gleam; how her friend warned her again and again, but the mechanic didn’t listen and against all logic sought to fill the voluntary gap in her memory with a fake of metal and gems. Maybe if she acted reasonably, she wouldn’t have ended up in the company of a monster, risking turning into one… nor would have created another trying to cheat herself.
Screwing her eyes shut and hissing, Flower aimed her thoughts at a past much less distant; finally, a distraction appeared.
“Which one did you take for Celestia?” she wondered aloud.
Whilst it was obvious with a young white alicorn who had a Sun for her cutie mark, her companion bearing the bones of an alicorn—Celestia’s most likely—could have appeared differently in Luna’s madness-tinged sight.
Luna tilted her head. “Which… one?”
“Yeah, there were two… ponies?” 
Flower ultimately decided to count the equine-like thing as a pony, though it had more in common with the features Luna gained due to her amalgamation with Nightmare. Confusion accompanied the memory of the eerie horse—it emanated an aura of familiarity suffocating Flower, yet nothing suggested she should know Ash’s ‘friend’.
“I only saw my sister,” Luna replied, blinking slowly.
Perhaps, Luna saw beyond appearance, gazing into the arcane essences of Ash and the bone-wearing equine. Flower couldn’t stand in judgement on that matter, so she murmured, “Nevermind.” Then asked more clearly, “Do you think you can hold on for another week or two?”
Sanity glimpsed brighter in Luna’s eyes; the shadows flickering in her pupils grew thicker, too.
“Seeing my sister again let a lot of memories resurface, to become sharp… painful. But that ache is a good sign.”
“I take that as a yes.”
The alicorn abstained from commenting, absorbed in her bittersweet recollections. Although Flower shook her head in dismay, she didn’t dare to press further—too exhausted to delve deeper into Luna’s riven consciousness. Heaving out a sorrowful sigh, she stared at the sky.
The twinkling stars quickly put her into a trance and Flower’s eyelids began to droop.
“Why?” Luna asked abruptly.
“Huh?”
A pair of predatory eyes watched the young mare with unsettling intensity. Their owner clarified, “What do you need two weeks for?”
Flower looked away. “Well, definitely not to follow the Machine Goddess’ idiotic plan. What do you think of it?”
“That golem imagined she knows my Moon,” Luna snorted. “It served me as a prison for a good reason—nothing but a barren orb of regolith and dust; the latter, mind you, is deadly—tiny razor-sharp shards. My… Our palace still stands proud above the desolate planes and seas of lethal powder; I wish the best of luck to whoever foolishly tries to venture inside its majestic halls, for my paranoia and boredom rendered every stone of that place a trap.”
Luna’s voice gradually gained qualities rarely intrinsic to it. Dry and concise, it carried a note of disgust shadowed by remorse and pride fighting both. Clarity, alien to her commonly fogged gaze, appearing in her eyes accompanied that change and it wasn’t just superficial.
“You haven’t answered my question,” the former Princess noted, squinting at Flower.
The mare squirmed under the piercing look—even without Nightmare’s influence, Luna had no trouble getting under one’s skin.
Still not ready to fully explain herself, Flower tried another half-truth. “Is there a way to kill Nightmare?”
The stars seemed to jitter—so boisterously titters of amusement burst from the alicorn’s lungs; tears rolled down Luna’s cheeks whilst her eyes stared ahead, frozen in horror.
Eventually, the ancient equine regained control. 
“Is there a way to kill a thought?” she rasped hopelessly. 
“Well, you need to stop thinking,” Flower voiced the first thought that came to her mind.
Once more she turned away from Luna—unable to stand the meaningful resigned look and her sad smile.
“That is the way—Night is eternal and I am not,” the alicorn uttered with a heavy sigh. “My only regret is how my death is going to lack any grace—whereas my sister perished fighting for what she loved, I will die struggling with the consequences of my hatred and leave behind something much more terrible than any horror that has ever existed.”
Just as the Sun had to set, so did the Moon; Flower couldn’t deny the reality, but neither did she wish to acknowledge it, especially right now—discussing the inescapable promised as much joy as self-reflection.
Thankfully, she had a legitimate way to avoid both. 
“I’m off to sleep,” she brusquely announced and simply let her body fall into the coarse embrace of sand.



Surprisingly, over the last decade, Flower had never suffered a nightmare, but neither her sleep could be ever called fulfilling. She always woke up drained and with a lingering sensation of opening her eyes a mere heartbeat before something utterly wrong had transpired. As if she had slept within a dwelling with its entrances barricaded and her return to the waking world coincided with the barred doors and windows surrendering to the intruder.
However, this time, the blame for her premature awakening belonged not to Luna’s parasite, but to a comparatively mundane reason—a series of ear-splitting screams echoing above the moonlit desert.
The process of elimination combined with intuition suggested those howls of agony belonging to Ash; having marched out from the meeting she and her creepy friend seemed to be stuck in the desert, despite the former having a set of wings—the tiny like a candle fire flickering in the distance betrayed their presence. 
Such an accompaniment created a questionable background for resuming rest, even for someone used to sleeping with an otherworldly menace in the cellar, so Flower reluctantly got up, mumbling, “At least, they’re having fun.”
With the horizon gilded by the dawn’s advent, she might as well try her luck at charting her course; though the abating darkness would do nothing to help someone who had almost no idea of her destination’s exact location, to begin with. 
Nevertheless, she climbed the nearest tall barchan and peered at the constellations or, rather, one particular star that would guide the insomniac mare to her destiny. 
Perhaps, the fate of the entire world would be resolved there. Or maybe not. The last time Flower involved herself in matters of a grand scale, she nearly died and when everything was said and done—only made things worse.
Now she had a chance to fix that, no matter how fat; maybe she would even die this time, but at least she would die trying to make the world a better place.
Imbued with grim resolve, she headed back to the improvised ‘camp’.
The alicorn’s retainers had formed a protective circle around their mistress; though the hierarchy could be debated, depending on who actually controlled the unfading echoes of the Lunar Guard. Regardless, the mare, almost hidden by their spectral forms, twitched in her sleep; the blackness ebbed from her to coalesce into scintillating stallions and Luna lay denuded from the shadows that cloaked her almost all the time. 
She looked so fragile and old, Flower realised; not in the sense of being an elder, even though that applied too, to a degree. Fighting back her folly deteriorated her body, wore it out to the point of almost falling apart. Emaciated and sickly, she reminded a long-suffering prisoner or a slave… and she was one.
When Luna’s somnambulant motions had grown more violent—became jerks and whimpers, Flower dared to step closer to the expressionless soldiers. They parted before her, even if reluctantly, and she wasted no time reaching the alicorn to prod her awake; ice crunched under her hooves and the air tore at her throat with rimy death.
Luna woke up with a start and tears in her eyes, her lips forming a single word—a name.
As many times before, relief flooded Flower’s mind—she remembered yet; they had survived the night.
That moment the first ray of the Sun sliced through the retreating dusk; it didn’t reach Luna’s pained visage—Nightmare tightly embraced its host already, but that didn’t matter.
“She is out there,” Luna whispered, gazing into the desert with an unreadable expression.
Flower followed her look, but only the vast expanse of sand met her eyes; she could guess, though.
“Not your sister,” she gently reminded her and waited for Luna’s reaction.
Instead, the alicorn mused aloud, “It is weird to not be the one rising the Sun, but she is doing a great job—natural…”
Sometimes Luna did act like the old mare she was and Flower couldn’t help but roll her eyes. 
She didn’t let the moment of peace last long.
“Stop wasting our time. We must go,” Flower firmly stated and bolstered herself for a long trek through the wasteland.
“Where?”
That question would be repeated over and over—the alicorn had a chase instinct of a hound. Nor did Flower have enough patience to stir the conversation into another direction every time Luna demanded to know their destination; she should know, anyway.
“The Crystal Empire.”
“Didn’t you tell me we weren’t going to follow the golem’s plan?”
“And we won’t,” Flower couldn’t help hissing in answer. “The Machine Goddess was right about something—this world has problems, but the Crystal Heart or whatever she seeks there isn’t the thing we need.”
Understanding flashed in Luna’s eyes, eclipsing the shadows usually ruling her gaze. 
“Flower, I told you, there is no way to kill Nightmare—it’s not a god-like entity, it’s… something far worse.”
“So you have overheard.”
Despite appearing half-conscious, the former Princess had absorbed every conversation that had taken place around her in the past few hours; she had a rearing as sharp as that of a dog as well, though the problem lay in the leash. 
Luna bristled. “I’m neither deaf nor stupid.”
Flower wasn’t meant to be privy to the conversation Red Wire had with Delight and the Kirin either. Though the eavesdropping let her learn an invaluable fact, she still knew very little to fully understand what she planned to do exactly—only comprehended what she tried to accomplish.
So she asked, “Then do you know what that secret is?”
“No,” the alicorn shook her head. “But it is likely to be something Sombra created and the last time I came in contact with the result of his research, I turned into this.”
Flower ignored the warning, frowning at Luna instead. “He wasn’t wrong.”
“It’s too late to keep reminding me what I did. You are missing a point.”
“Nor I am stupid, Luna. And the Kirin made some sense, too—it all looks like a huge setup for something… something very bad. But if The Machine Goddess didn’t lie, the world is ending anyway. And if she did lie, it’s a matter of time before Nightmare gets out of control.”
Shaking her head again, Luna noted dryly, “It doesn’t mean you are now free to make things worse.”
“Do you know how it gets worse?” Flower snapped. “The Machine Goddess gets what she wants.”
“Your path leads to where I stand.”
The young mare refused to relent, “Ending the abomination’s reign is the right thing!”
“Once, the exact thought ruled my mind.”
A wave of panic sent shivers down Flower’s spine—did what desire belong to her? If things went wrong, it might be beneficial to certain entities… like the malevolence observing her that very moment through the alicorn’s eyes.
Then a certain memory resurfaced, playing before Flower’s eyes—of a filly pleading with her not to create a custom equinoid; it took place long before Luna came into the mechanic’s life.
“I’m going to the Crystal Empire and I don’t care what you think,” she barked. “And shut up—you sound like a broken record.”
Stomping away into the endless sands, Flower feared Luna wouldn’t follow—for a heartbeat. She didn’t need her and it might be wise not to be in the alicorn’s vicinity in case her memories faded completely before they reached the frozen north.
“The Crystal Empire is the other way.”
Flower turned to look at the once triarch with her eyebrows raised. 
“Why are you helping me?”
“Nightmare can’t be killed, but there might be a way to somehow deal with it—temporarily containing it as I did.” Luna thoughtfully answered. “A lot of forces are going to converge on that place, many great minds, no matter how twisted. I should be there.”
The thousands-year-old equine exhibited many habits of note; Luna rumbled a lot, amongst other things letting Flower become familiar with the way she spoke.
Those words didn’t belong to her.
Yet relief washed over Flower—Nightmare sought another host, it had found her unworthy. The familiar dread settled back almost instantly—the peerless puppeteer would want her to think that, lull her into a sense of false security.
Either way, Flower had no means to stop Luna—or herself—not when Nightmare held the reins. So, clenching her jaws and trying not to think about the mind game she was involved in, the mare turned in the direction opposite of the one she chose initially.
Only to be stopped by Luna’s voice again.
“The Crystal Empire is further away than you think and it’s not an easy journey either.”
“What do you suggest?”
“I offer my magic.”
Even recovering from the arcane wound, Flower couldn’t miss the worrying nature of the jumps that had carried their travelling party back to Canterlot. And though she hated to remember that fact, the Machine Goddess did notice it too and called Luna out, leaving no room for other interpretations.
Luna’s ability to teleport had nothing to do with this world.
“No.”
“Then you are not going to make it in time,” the alicorn levelly informed her.
Flower’s mind caught up with Luna’s choice of words and a question stuck in her throat, “The time for what?”
Banishing the worry about the inevitable from her head with a vigorous shake, the scowling mare gave Luna a long look.
Finally, she spoke, her voice laden with doubt and reluctance.
“Do you remember how to fly?”
> 5.4 Nirik’s Spark
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



=================================

Written by: Oneimare

=================================


Arc 5 – Ponies after all

Chapter 4 – Nirik’s Spark


=================================


All living in Hope and the visitors of the emergent city knew about the Hive—something like that just couldn’t be ignored. When the first refugees stumbled into its vast shadow, the wind-eaten mass of stone became a foundation for the settlement of many… yet, all but changelings came to shun the archaic marvel of architecture. For even those tolerating the shapeshifting equines, at least out of gratitude for the food the Swarm’s biomass farms produced, could rarely find it in themselves to not shiver at the sight of the looming primaeval rock chiselled by time and nature into something amorphous and nevertheless sinister.
The Hive, with its true inner size being a popular rumour, effortlessly evoked anxiety. Its twisted spires ominously hung over the streets and the gaping dark entrances seemed constantly ready to spew innumerable chitinous equines to fill the air with horror and chirr of gossamer wings. In the case superstitions failed to overthrow common sense, memories came… of the Sky Palace and its unjust inhabitants—the infamous Crown, hard to forget and forgive.
Night Wind thought of herself as someone who didn’t belong to either type of Hope’s denizens, yet, standing before the Hive’s main entrance, she hesitated. Always a hub of activity, the changelings’ home stood ominously mute and the Kirin couldn’t decide if it lay in wait or stood vacant; nor did she know which was worse.
But she wouldn’t have been a commissioner if such worries had power over her.
Not a single Praetorian stood guard at the antechamber; no chitinous equines could be found there at all—Night’s steps echoed through the cavernous hall like peals of thunder. The Kirin flicked her ears—sounds of commotion from deeper inside the Hive reached her ears, however. 
Since the last visit the unsettling interiors hadn’t improved, nor did it help that she no longer suffered the aftermath of Wire’s spell. So now Night fully experienced the disturbing little rustles permeating as if alive burrows lit by sparse light of luminescent mushrooms or other no less unusual organic sources.
Soon enough, other noises joined the maddening chorus—laughter and eerie yet still pure chirrs of nymphs coming from the dark depths of the Hive. Before she knew it, the first changeling emerged from the shadows when Night turned around the corner—a mare busy caring for the mushroom lanterns. The young changeling deftly cleaned and watered them, using only her hooves and mouth without changing into a form more convenient for the task.
“Excuse me, miss,” Night called her before she could dissolve back into the darkness and leave the Kirin alone with a mushroom glowing slightly brighter than before. “Do you know where I can find Captain Teleta?”
The changeling spared her a mysterious glance and smiled.
“Right behind you.”
Night pivoted on her hind hooves to be met with Teleta’s highly amused expression.
“Exactly what I expected,” the commissioner squeezed out of herself, hoping the changelings wouldn’t hear her heart threatening to explode. 
“Got to admit, it’s a pleasant variety,” Teleta greeted her, still grinning. “Normally, nobody seeks the Captain of the Praetorians.”
The Royal Guard’s long shadows tarnished the new changeling elite force’s new armours; even Night, looking at those arcanium suits, couldn’t help remembering the dread of seeing the similar silhouettes in Canterlot—what if they came for her or her sister?
The Kirin tried to not sound too cold, “You probably know why I’m here.”
“Not quite.” The Captain shrugged. “Everything is quiet in Hope, for all we know, so it leaves very few reasons for the Police commissioner to pay us a visit.”
“It is never quiet in Hope,” Night levelly retorted. “Luckily, not the same way it used to be in Canterlot. Whatever your guesses are, I’m here to see Red Wire.”
Teleta answered her with a raised eyebrow.
“It’s an official business.”
“As you say,” snickered the changeling.



“You know, it’s unprofessional,” Night crossly commented as Teleta gave her another sly look she must have thought the Kirin wouldn’t notice; though, knowing the changelings, it might have been on purpose.
“True, but…” Teleta flashed her a mischievous grin. “Officially, I’m on leave.”
The arcanium armour she wore cast a substantial doubt on her statement and everything pointed out on the Captain most likely tailing Night since the moment she had stepped into the Hive. Perhaps, the commissioner coming to the changelings’ home led its protector to don her uniform and perform her duty.
Upon that realisation, Night awkwardly mumbled, “Sorry to bother you…”
“We all are on leave,” Teleta replied in a carefully neutral tone, flicking her ears. “Mother’s orders.”
“And sorry about your situation. I can’t imagine how horrible it must be.”
The changeling mare shrugged, though the gesture seemed to be somewhat forced. “It’s the ‘usual’ horrible.”
Night gave her a surprised look.
The Praetorian acknowledged it with a heavy sigh; though silence ruled the conversation for a while, till Teleta quietly explained, “To be a [changeling is to be unfamiliar with stability. Such a crisis happens not for the first time and surely not for the last. But we trust in our Mother’s love.”
The Kirin couldn’t help recalling the changeling queen’s desperation and hoped Teleta wouldn’t be able to pick up the aching echoes of Heterocera’s words. Did her children know she sacrificed her friendship to strike the deal with one of the most infamous mages in history?
“We are here,” the Captain announced.



Though Teleta left her alone before the entrance chiselled in the rock—or whatever constituted the Hive’s walls—Night harboured no doubt about a pair of green eyes watching her every step; more than one, most likely. Trying to ignore the intense attention of covert stares, the Kirin entered the shadow-flooded opening only to discover it being a short and sharp curving passage. At its end light filtered through a web-like curtain and upon the next breath, a warm smell of homemade food strongly tinged with exotic spices hit her nostrils; though, even those failed to hide the mustiness of mushrooms—the staple of the Hive’s biomass farms.
Stepping around the corner, Night found herself in a cavern-like chamber. Before she could even think of clopping her hoof against the floor to let Wire know about her arrival, a mare peeked into the room from a ‘doorway’—an arch cut into the wall—leading to what must have been a kitchen, judging by a sizzling pan in a telekinetic hold following her. 
“Hello, dearie,” she greeted the Kirin. “You’re the first non-changeling to visit our home. Of course, it doesn’t mean you aren’t welcome here—the food is about to be ready in a few minutes.”
To no surprise, the unicorn bearing a striking resemblance to Wire ignored the commissioner’s startled expression, though her unseeing eyes didn’t prevent her from moving more dexterously than Night.
The mare gasped, “Oh, there are my manners—I’m Roche Dust and this is one of my wonderful daughters, Hollow Druse.”
Her hoof pointed at another unicorn. Lounging on a sofa, the younger mare bobbed her head crowned with massive headphones; her metal hooves twitched in rhythm with the soft throbs of music.
“Druse!” Roche barked.
The mare in question perked up, hastily taking off the headset.
“Oh.” Her eyes focused on Night. “Hey. Wait, who are you?”
“Commissioner Night Wind,” the Kirin introduced herself and seeing Druse tense up, added, without missing a beat, “And, no, you didn’t break the law, I’m here just to talk with Wire.”
Though continuing to eye Night warily, Druse relaxed and nodded at one of the doorways, the one with a scant glow coming from it. “Geode is in her room.” 
Somewhat confused, Night promptly headed there—to defuse the awkwardness thickening in the air. However, as she passed Wire’s sister, Druse grumbled, “Maybe you will be able to drag her out of there for dinner.”
A subtle undertone of worry in the otherwise jesting remark slightly quickened Night’s steps, but before she entered the gloom of Wire’s ‘cavern’, Roche also spoke up, smiling warmly, “And please do join us later.”
Not even cataracts could hide the sadness and worry in the Mother’s eyes.
Night nodded and stepped over the doorstep, belatedly realising her mistake.
The main chamber violently clashed with the Kirin’s expectations of how Wire lived—she never knew the grouchy unicorn shared her place with her family; the notoriously bad-tempered Queen’s advisor seemed like a type who dwelt alone in a long-neglected cramped apartment where she only slept… but such a cliché applied just to Night, apparently.
The cosiness abruptly ended, divided from the rest of the home by another of those suspicious curtains. A horrible mess represented the interior of Wire’s room and in the centre of it a unicorn lay prostrate on the untidy bed; she hadn’t bothered to take off the clothes (except for the armour pieces) before letting the blankets embrace her battered body covered in a crust of blood and soot. 
Everything fell right into place, but it didn’t feel right.
Whilst a single lamp cast a weak light on the chaos of Wire’s room, it failed to illuminate the corner where she rested; from there a glowing eye peered at Night.
“It’s you,” Wire rasped. “Fuck off.”
“Geode, language!” her Mother yelled from the kitchen.
Rolling her eyes, the unicorn snapped, “What do you want?”
Night suddenly found herself at a loss of words or, rather, she never had any to begin with—she knew not even what she had aimed to achieve by coming here other than checking on Wire. But now, witnessing her sorry state, she couldn’t leave Wire like that; not when her family worried so much about the unicorn that had lost all hope.
 Meeting Wire’s baleful gaze and trying not to sound as disgusted as she felt, the Kirin demanded, “Are you going to just wallow in your own filth?”
“You’ve got a problem with that? Is it not allowed anymore?”
“What about…” the Kirin trailed off; Wire must have known it hurt her Mother and sister to see her like that, but it wasn’t Night’s place to remind her. She had to find some other way. “Technically, the investigation isn’t over and the Swarm still assists with it.”
“If you have forgotten already, I resigned,” Wire retorted acidly.
“There was no official procedure,” deadpanned Night.
“Go and fuck yourself.” 
“Geode!”
Wire shot the Kirin a glare as if that was her fault and then mockingly taunted her, “Whatcha gonna do, commissioner? Force me to work with you?”
“Yes,” Night spat as portentous heat started to gather under her skin; she ignored it… for now. “That shouldn’t be a problem since you clearly have no spine.”
Nearly landing her snout first because of a blanket catching her hoof, Wire pounced out of the bed to stand so close to the commissioner, the Kirin could smell the reek of burnt bone—the lingering symptom of magic burnout. 
The unicorn growled, “Say that to my face.”
A flame flickered in the tips of Night’s mane, but she held herself together, even as she loudly stated, “You are a pathetic excuse for a mare who abandoned her best friend when she needed you the most.”
Night expected a hoof to slap her face (and subsequently check out if the Hive had some sort of a fire alarm system), but despite looking ready to explode as well, Wire stood perfectly still, scowling. She then deflated, started to tremble and tears glistened in the corner of her eye.
Abruptly turning, the unicorn jumped back into her bed and Night could barely discern through the sobs futilely held back, “Just leave me alone.”
A sad sigh escaped Night’s lips louder than it had to—on purpose, to preserve the remains of Wire’s dignity and give herself a few moments to gather thoughts.
“It’s not too late, you know,” the Kirin uttered, not exactly sure if she didn’t lie.
Who knew what Heterocera had done already? And even if no foul pacts were sealed, would the changeling queen forgive her friend?
No answer followed Night’s words, only the gentle sound of Wire’s tears soaking the blankets broke the uncomfortable silence.
The commissioner prepared to accept her defeat and bolstered herself for presenting it to Wire’s family waiting for her outside the room with bated breaths, when the unicorn suddenly spoke or, rather, whimpered, almost inaudibly:
“It was never my time. I’m useless.”
“No, you are not.”
“I had one job,” Wire sniffled and burrowed deeper into her bed.
Night had to stifle another sigh and tried to placate Wire. “The situation is… complicated. Heterocera must have been too stressed out by everything happening to think clearly. Her children’s life is at stake.”
“Which also was my responsibility.”
The Kirin triumphantly smirked. “Didn’t you say you had only one job?”
However, her smile quickly died on her lips—Wire eyed her coldly, then asked in an infinitely tired voice of someone who had given up on everything, “Why are you here, Night?”
Although only the rock of the Hive’s walls met the commissioner’s suddenly sombre eyes, she nevertheless gazed upon the spread beyond it squat homes of many who tried not to just survive but to thrive, miraculously free of Canterlot’s inescapable nightmare… except its long echo kept resonating through the streets of sandstone.
“I, too, have one job—making sure Hope is safe.” Her unblinking and blazing with fire stare met Wire’s mismatched eyes—one bloodshot and the other glowing with sunlight. “And I bet my horn—whatever happens at the Crystal Empire isn’t likely to reflect well on our calamitous city. Ash and the Prophet are from Canterlot, which makes them the only links to the terrorist attack.”
“You’re just one mare,” Wire snorted.
A smile played on Night’s muzzle once more, this time radiating resignation along with humour. “That makes two of us, trying to shoulder a weight too heavy for our backs.”
Although Wire didn’t mirror her expression, she no longer sought refuge in the mess she made of her bed, nor did new wet streaks appear on her cheeks. 
“Worthless it might be, I can bet my horn, too—the Prophet is behind those murders,” she noted thoughtfully. “The question is, what do you plan to do? Ask him nicely? He seems to be another of those countless ‘gods’.”
A shudder ran down the Kirin’s spine as she recalled the enigmatic survivor of Canterlot—if the Prophet indeed had a connection to the pony they fought at the sewers, then she would have to deal with someone able to outwit the Machine Goddess.
“It would be a good start and in case that fails, I’m going to find out if Sunburst told us the truth.”
That got Wire’s full attention. The unicorn seemed to expect something—a punchline—but as the silence lasted, she had to state, “You’re crazy.”
Night shrugged. “The world is ending.”
“I wouldn’t be so hasty trusting everything the Machine Goddess says, but she’s certainly trying to pull off something nasty. Someone got to stop her.”
“That’s the spirit!”
The Kirin let herself smile again, if only to hide the worry caused by the foreboding darkness in Wire’s eye. 
The grim intent, however, promptly ceded to doubt. “And what if Sunburst is part of the trap, whoever is behind all this? Do you truly believe there is a weapon able to kill a god?”
“I’d rather believe that than lie and wait for things to get better. Or worse.”
Wire glared daggers at the commissioner, but ultimately grumbled, “Hate to admit it—you make sense.”
With that, she climbed out of the bed (more gracefully this time) and shook herself before heading straight for the door. As she passed by Night, the Kirin grimaced.
“No offence, but you might want to take a shower before we go anywhere.”
“I have to enjoy the smell of burnt hair every time I get near you, so deal with it,” the unicorn instantly retorted.
Tailing her and trying not to inhale too deeply, Night muttered under her breath, “It’s not that bad.”
“But let’s go have dinner, because if my mom gets upset, you will want the world to end.”
“Shouldn’t we hurry?” Night frowned. 
Although she had no concrete plan in mind, one thing shouldn’t be disregarded—she shared the changelings’ plight—had no time to spare; even though, ignoring the smell of Roche’s cooking presented itself a tough call. 
Swallowing the water in her mouth, the Kirin steeled herself and added, “Travelling to the Crystal Empire can take days and I have no idea when the siege is starting.”
Wire only chuckled, “You’ve just hitched us a ride.”
Night tilted her head.
“How?” 
“Changelings have no concept of privacy.”
> Interlude // Riddles
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



==============================

Written by: Oneimare

==============================


Interlude – Riddles


==============================


Sunlight flooded the streets of Ponyville, yet the cosy countryside town displayed very little activity intrinsic to a noontide. Describing it as such alluded not to the abandonment of the alleys and crossroads—on the contrary, ponies agglutinated to indulge in animated discourse; none wandered the streets in forlorn solitude, for every citizen assumed a role in an elaborate festival. 

All but one.

A blemish on the pastoral scenery—on one of many hills encircling Ponyville an unbecoming gargoyle hunched, sullenly observing the hamlet’s odd state. No sound reached her, not that she ever needed ears to hear the voices of those who inhabited such a quaint place. In the eyes of that statue-like equine, the town seemed to be preparing for a grand theatrical number; or would have, if she didn’t know the true reason why the ponies were as if rehearsing scenes for an upcoming performance. Each repetition came with a variation, a trifling change included in the hope to bring a new outcome—an optimal solution; it would have been madness elsewise to ceaselessly regurgitate the same exchanges. 

The Machine Goddess never joined her children’s intricate craft—pretending to be someone else always left a bad aftertaste in her mouth. She simply enjoyed the fruits yielded by those simulations… except, a few gardens persistently evaded harvest—the crops that might matter the most for the survival of more than just the Unity. The deity had faith in her followers; in time, they would solve any riddles and so her mind began to wander away from those worries, lulled by the peaceful air permeating every fragment of the conjured by equinoids elaborate dream.

Though none chose something even remotely reminiscent of the catacomb-like passages inhabited by the artificial equines and dregs of society, not every member of the Unity resided in Ponyville’s mirage. And not for once the Machine Goddess wondered why those who used to oppose organic life in every aspect now strove for the life once disdained, recreating something no more accessible for the original masters of that little paradise. The answer was as simple as the explanation of the Transference Paradox—the so fervently sought and deeply valued Unity equalled friendship and empathy, something inherent to the organic life forms and, ultimately, the equines. A dry chuckle escaped the Machine Goddess’ mouth—yet here she stood, a machine goddess. 

What would the Unity be, were it to lean toward the more mechanical aspect of equinoid nature? What would the god of such a congregation be like? Those questions gnawed on her mind with the academic curiosity derived from old recordings that had given life to her; at the same time, the Machine Goddess wished to never learn the answers—the price might be too steep, more than just for her children.

The sound of her laugh served as a signal for one pony to leave the perpetual and peculiar calculation process and approach the hill overlooking Ponyville. When Red Wire’s steps brought her closer, the coat of soft bluish fur gradually morphed into arcanium and, by the time she climbed to the top of the grassy incline, only the Unity’s member could tell the difference betwixt the two equinoids crowning it. The Harbinger didn’t speak, her meaningful silence serving as an opener to a conversation, granting the goddess a chance to prepare herself for unpleasant news. Eventually, Seven had no other choice left than to softly report:

“The changeling model persists in exhibiting undesirable outcomes.”

“We still have years before they realise that, isn’t it?” the Machine Goddess hopefully retorted. 

“If the conditions remain largely unchanged. The solution can even present itself before the situation becomes critical or…”

“Or they’ll die in mere days if something goes wrong,” the equinoid matriarch gravely finished. 

Seven nodded and fell silent.

The Machine Goddess’ mask expressed no emotion, her voice betrayed nothing, nor did her tiniest gestures let the Unity know her disappointment. Yet nothing could be hidden from in this place, no matter how hard she tried or wished not to blame her children for their failure.

The predictions suggested the Technocracy to likely serve as a catalyst for the changeling extinction; the same models prognosticated Stalliongrad would then direct their attention at equinoids with an intent no different. From a cynical standpoint, saving the Swarm would greatly benefit the Unity; but, of course, that didn’t stand as a sole or even primary reason.

“What about Nightmare?”

The Harbinger shifted uneasily; the Machine Goddess had never put any pressure on her children—the decision to dedicate themselves to virtual reality was a voluntary one. However, they saw a mother in her and she had no desire to deny them enjoying every aspect of such a relationship, even if it came with certain discomforts distinctive for a parent-child bond.

“With so little data available, every simulacrum of Nightmare creates too many possibilities, overloading the Unity,” Seven replied, her voice dark with regret… and worry.

It might have been easier to admit their failure than to point out they needed their Mother’s help to untangle the conundrum of Luna’s affliction. The Machine Goddess didn’t hold it against them—the situation that dire did justly require her involvement this time.

“Possibilities…” she echoed and unplugged herself from Ponyville.



The Machine Goddess let herself briefly enjoy the chaos born from her unheralded appearance at the Oracle’s chambers. Her eyes lazily followed the screaming ponies—the filly’s ‘advisers’ and even her parents who were hastily fleeing the room. The deity had no need for her children’s foresight to know—the display of the Oracle’s entourage’s fickleness would be lost on the prodigy. Coming to her in search of help promised little and with time passing the Oracle would only continue to waste her outstanding ability, whilst getting chronically drunk on that power. Nevertheless, the arcanium alicorn met the filly’s wide eyes and announced, “I’ve come here in peace.”

The Oracle squeezed out of herself, “What d-do you want from me?”

“Just to talk.”

Fear finally abated from the filly’s expression, but the Machine Goddess got no chance to enjoy her success—the Oracle bristled the next moment and spat, “Go talk to someone else.”

The goddess met the disdain patiently; ponies had never harboured much warmth for her and her children, nor did that filly in particular possessed a vast capacity for kindness or basic respect. 

“Do you know what happens if I leave with my questions unanswered?”

“Nothing,” the filly instantly sneered.

“Are you so sure?”

Neither of the equinoid’s inquiries carried even a hint of threat, yet the Oracle hesitated with another display of self-confidence and impiety. The pause didn’t last for long, however, and the little diviner grumbled, “What do you want to talk about?”

“Nightmare.”

“I’m not scared of bad dreams,” she scoffed, waving her short hoof; the filly then spared the arcanium mare a look of disbelief and condescendence. “Are you?”

“There is a mare out in the desert,” the Machine Goddess explained, unphased by the jab, “within whom germinates a seed of death for all.”

Her portending words finally caught the Oracle’s attention—she squinted at the deity and deep thoughts soon clouded the child’s gaze, for the first time presenting her as someone with a gift other than outstanding arrogance. Her answer came as a very brittle, “Maybe.”

“You don’t know about her, do you?”

“I know about her now and it changes nothing,” the filly hotly and immediately barked back at the goddess. “This damn city has already too many problems brewing in it every day and threats coming from all directions.”

Whereas the Unity had to toil for months to reveal the looming disasters and how they might unfold, the Oracle had to simply rely on her cutie mark to take a peek at the future—to glance at the possibilities. The filly, both blessed and cursed, was lost in the constantly undulating vast sea of ‘what ifs’, barely comprehending even half of what she witnessed; a lot escaped her eye in the first place. Nor did she have any ability to know how likely any future was to become past—Nightmare could not be avoided, but the Oracle basked in ignorance. Or this story might have a happy ending; the little mare just had no patience and skipped the most important parts.

“That is all I needed to know,” the Machine Goddess levelly concluded. Internally she sighed deeply—a few lucky uses of the Oracle’s talent had elevated the filly to the level of a saint and now she ‘dispensed her wisdom’ to appease the public by solving trivial matters; which earned her a growing army of sycophants and a correspondingly inflated, and keeping to swell, ego. 

Was there ever a possibility the Oracle would use her gift to help to deal with the dangers plaguing this world? 

“Then leave me alone,” the filly hissed in response to the metal equine’s words.

Perhaps, not.



During the Golden Age of Equestria, Kludgetown presented itself as nothing more than a pile of rust sticking out in the middle of the desert; it housed all kinds of scum who had no place anywhere else. When the war tarnished the golden spires of Canterlot and the dark descended upon the land of ponies, Kludgetown started to receive the influx of less despicable newcomers and gradually that fresh blood began to turn the rust into the forever lost gold, which the expatriates missed so dearly. After centuries, the tower-like city couldn’t yet compare itself to the Saddle Arabian ‘jewels of the desert’. Whilst its half-rotten ancient and shadowed foundation not only still stood, but flourished as a reminder of where that settlement started and where it might eventually end up again, the persistently reaching for the azure sky higher levels offered a substantial hope of a brighter future.

Hope—when the shadow that once had blighted Canterlot started to loom over the newly-founded city, the history repeated itself and its population started to trickle away, with Kludgetown being a popular choice by the merit of being close and already inhabited by a number of equines. Though, one particular group of refugees had no other option but to flee the Hive’s premises when the terrorists’ attacks started.

Kludgetown welcomed the Machine Goddess like any other pony—she disguised herself as one, after all. Her destination didn’t necessitate her to act like a changeling, for she would meet with an old acquaintance, but a certain pony had to remain in the dark about her visit. 

Climbing the streets leading to the third iteration of Kashmere’s headquarters, she couldn’t help but notice the looks occasionally given her—of an utmost wariness; nor could she ignore how it was never ponies glancing at her in superstitious fear. Not inept in presenting herself as a living being, the deity deserved such reservation in an equal measure with the equines she pretended to be. Succumbing to dark times, Hope laid a foundation for the rumour of ponies bringing doom anywhere they went.

By the time the Machine Goddess reached the door of the goats’ biggest hub in Kludgetown, she wondered if the caprines would let her in—these days they had even more reasons to be unwelcoming of ponies. The security met her entrance with squinted eyes; the goat at the reception watched the pony approach her table with a similar look of deep mistrust and spoke first, in a tone as dry and inhospitable as the desert outside:

“How can I help you?”

“I’d like to see Zdisława.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“It shouldn’t be necessary—we are friends.”

The wariness in the receptionist’s eyes gained hints of hostility and the guards tensed, ready for intervention. “Ponies aren’t our friends anymore.”

“Thankfully, I’m not quite a pony.” The Machine Goddess enigmatically smiled. “Could you pass that to Zdisława?”



The door to Zdisława’s office closed behind the Machine Goddess’ back and she let her false façade dissipate, leaving an equinoid to stand before a goat seated, tense, at a desk. 

Zdisława sighed with relief. “I suspected it was you, but for a moment thought you could also be someone else,” she grumbled before greeting the deity in a lighter tone, “Glad to see you. It’s been a while.”

“I should have visited you sooner.” As the goat offered her a seat on one of the corpulent pillows on the floor, the Machine Goddess wondered, “Do you have a lot of visitors who are able to change their appearance?”

“You would be surprised. Kludgetown is a home for many strange… entities.”

From the doorway it seemed like life hadn’t been quite clement to Zdisława, forcing the caprine to rely on prosthetics these days. A closer look revealed the abundance of metal belonging to jewellery, which kept accumulating on the Kashmere’s director as if the goat was a magnet for gold. On the other hoof, as much as time bestowed upon Zdisława, it also collected from her—leaving behind crow’s feet and patches of discoloured fur; though, either of those could be fairly attributed to the stress of starting anew for a third time in her life. 

The Machine Goddess bowed her head. “I’m sorry about what happened.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Zdisława waved her hoof, filling the room with sonorous jingling. “And the equinoids have done for goats more than ponies ever will.”

“I’m one of Hope’s leaders and should have involved myself in the situation.”

“Oh, yes, the Technocracy surely would have appreciated your involvement.” The goat laughed mirthlessly, then just as sourly continued, “Ironic how they didn’t support us—seeing their intent on leaving anyone on the streets but ponies.”

The Machine Goddess let displeasure besmirch the otherwise perfect expression of remorse as she had to agree, “Their vision of Hope united under one flag demands unreasonable sacrifices.”

Zdisława intently looked at her, both worried and curious. “The last time I checked, they’ve basically driven you from Hope, too.”

“Our leave was voluntary,” the arcanium equine curtly replied.

“We could have stayed, too,” Zdisława bitterly noted; her eyes gained a distant look tinged with regret.

“The mob would have lynched every one of you.”

“Their fear wasn’t unwarranted—we could have fought back,” the goat darkly retorted, still half-lost in thought. The next moment she shook her head to mutter, “Don’t listen to me—I’m getting old; that, and receiving the same treatment as gryphons makes me cranky.” Zdisława shook herself once more. “Nor did you come here to listen to this goat whine, I’m sure.” 

“There is one thing I wanted to ask of you—a favour,” the Machine Goddess hesitantly began. “It might not be something you’d like.”

“When was it something pleasant? I owe you one. Everyone in Hope does owe to equinoids, in fact.”

The metal alicorn nodded before proceeding, “I hoped you could arrange a meeting betwixt the Przedwieczni and I.”

Zdisława grimaced. “I’d rather not invoke those who I rejected; our peace is fragile enough. Nor would they agree to stop—you should understand that better than I do.”

Her answer took the Machine Goddess aback. “It’s… not why I wanted to cross paths with the goat gods. But now I’m curious about what you mean—how might I possibly understand Hope’s residents dying in savage slaughter?”

A heavy bleating sigh escaped Zdisława’s lips. “I don’t blame anyone and such is not a popular stance. Our gods have to support the majority, otherwise no goat will have any faith in the Przedwieczni. And without divine help… you know what can happen to a flock lost.”

The Machine Goddess stayed silent for a while.

“I see,” she finally uttered. “The situation is complicated.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” Zdisława amiably agreed. “If you still want me to summon one of the Przedwieczni, I could do it—a favour is a favour. However, I suggest you pay Canterlot a visit instead. Strange as it might sound, you will find more luck there than with me.”

“It’s debatable if the goats there would be open to a conversation, considering that you have just told me,” the equinoid levelly commented.

Zdisława mysteriously smiled.

“Oh, it’s not my kind that you should seek, but your own.”



Gusts of frigid wind lashed at the goddess, relentlessly whipping and blasting her arcanium frame; were it not for her magic, even the most resilient of metals would have surrendered before the fury of the greatest blizzard. On the other hoof, the veil of snow hid her from prying eyes, letting the equinoid meticulously search the ruins and consider her options.

Her arrival didn’t mark the first time she braved the deadly veil of snow, but it might turn out to be productive, unlike the other occasions. The Crystal Empire bothered her the most as something—the Crystal Heart, perhaps—barred her entrance into its snowy bosom, whilst Canterlot welcomed her readily. She didn’t exclude the possibility of a certain entity aiding her passage, but the Lord of Chaos had proved superior when it came to playing hide-and-seek. Discord’s mastery would be tested again, when every other option was exhausted; for now, the Machine Goddess ignored his existence and instead focused on what he dutifully preserved.

Canterlot faultlessly represented the moral and material decay of Equestria from the moment her mechanical eyes beheld its corroding neon beauty for the first time; yet witnessing its complete ruin with no future other than being buried beneath the ice, she hesitated with exultation. Nonetheless, here and there, life yet persevered—even artificial. Very few of those survivors didn’t follow her out of the dying city out of sheer confusion; the rest named her apostate and readily would spit accumulator acid in her face again. No, the Machine Goddess needed a very special equinoid.

Eventually, her arcane sight discovered a spark she sought—that of a machine, though clinging to a no crystal; the Prophet obeyed the law of mortality yet, but challenged it far more audaciously than any other equine of metal. To her luck, the strange stallion resided in solitude, studying a vast collection of maps and lists. 

Despite the rush of air disturbing the documents on his improvised out of crates desk, the Prophet kept his back to the goddess and his eyes remained glued to the flickering screens and tattered paper. Only after a few long moments, he acknowledged her presence, “You are real, after all.”

“A diviner harbouring doubt about the divine,” the Machine Goddess deadpanned.

The Prophet turned his head, so a single peculiar eye would give the Machine Goddess an unimpressed stare; he equally dryly stated, “Fortunately for you, I’m not your seer, because it should be a major concern for a deity when their followers start to hold reservations. Not that it would matter, for such is the nature of celestials—to laugh off any possibility of their imperfection.”

The alicorn pressed her lips together but held back a glare. With an exasperated sigh, the Prophet put his notes away and faced the goddess, displaying the same expression of profound disappointment. 

“Years pass and the Almighty One finally bothers to grace her birthplace with her holy presence, finds it in herself to bear witness to her cradle’s lamentable state,” the Prophet all but spat. “And the first thing she does? Distracts the one who tries to actually do something about it.”

“Do you really think it is as simple to save Canterlot as to exercise one’s ability to its fullest?” the Machine Goddess calmly inquired; not waiting for an answer, she continued in the same patient tone, “Even if it were, the Windigos are beyond any magic inherent to this world, I’m afraid.”

“I’m not an idiot,” the Prophet scoffed. 

“Then you understand that Canterlot was doomed to fall without a winter seizing it.”

The stallion grimaced and turned away, returning to his work; he grumbled, “What would you know about doom…”

The Machine Goddess’ invisible magic reached for the Prophet. Despite his consciousness being dissolved in the viscous mass, he was an ordinary equinoid—with a serial number given to him by his constructor and the name he chose for himself. The deity retracted herself from the stallion and hurried to reignite the conversation whilst its embers smouldered still.

“Fixit, isn’t it?”

His head perked up from the papers.

“You don’t have to suffer this nightmare, the Unity—”

“Spare me those sweet promises of your false paradise.” He once again turned his frowning muzzle to her. “We both know how greatly it would benefit you to have someone like me join the ranks of your cult. And I don’t need the way out—I’m not running away from my duties like you.”

“Canterlot was never my responsibility, neither is it yours.”

“It is our home.”

Stifling a sigh, the Machine Goddess couldn’t help letting a hint of vexation slip into her voice. “The whole realm is a home to me.”

“Excuses.” The Prophet dismissed her words with a slighting wave of his hoof. “You will say anything to avoid facing an actual challenge.”

The Machine Goddess gave him a long look, which he met defiantly with indignation burning in his dark eyes. “That is what concerns me far more than strengthening the Unity—the things you are willing to do to save Canterlot,” she ultimately uttered in a voice as cold as the Windigos’ song. “The things you do already.”

To her surprise, the stallion looked away. The Prophet’s voice even carried regret as he admitted, “I’m not the only one in this ruined city who has powers beyond the scale of mortals.”

“Sounds like an excuse.”

His retort didn’t keep waiting, full of bitterness more than any of his previous words, “It is not within my ability to send anything to Hope, aside from my scorn.”

“So, you approve of the bloodshed at terror?” the goddess demanded.

“Every drop of blood, every scream lures the Windigos from Canterlot and the goat homelands—the mountains they have lost because of our folly. Vengeance is the crudest form of justice, but it does balance the scales out.”

“We are not enemies, Fixit,” she tried again. “But the path you are on now does lead there.”

“Is that a threat?” the Prophet bristled.

The alicorn sadly shook her head. “The menace lies beyond ice and revenge. It is called Nightmare.” She carefully watched his expression, but it refused to reveal if the stallion knew of the enemy or not. 

“Canterlot has its own nightmare to deal with.”

“If Nightmare realises its full potential, none are surviving—neither in Hope, nor in Canterlot,” the Machine Goddess pressed on. “No corner of this world will be safe from the otherworldly darkness and you will wish to be dealing with the Windigos.”

“I already wish I had only this damn blizzard to worry about.” The alicorn slightly tilted her head to the side, but the Prophet shed no more light on the mysterious issue, dispensing vitriol again, instead, “All I hear is just another of your attempts to convert me into one of your puppets.”

“Then you have no right to accuse me of wasting my power,” she darkly replied to his accusation. “I wish to speak to your masters.”

“The Przedwieczni talk only to goats,” the equinoid barked. “And I’m a slave to none.”

“A master of his own fate wouldn’t have to do what goes against his morals.”

Rage twisted the Prophet’s features and his eerie flesh swelled past the plating of his metal outline. However, at the same moment, the air betwixt him and the Machine Goddess rippled, blossoming with dark fog which spread like ink in water. From the roiling darkness an ancient black goat with four massive coiled horns stepped out, his cloven hooves leaving prints on the concrete floor like on soft sand. The glare of his five eyes stopped first at the Prophet and then the Przedwieczny glared with as much discontent at his ‘colleague’.

The Machine Goddess held herself back from rolling her eyes; the supposed to be impressive display didn’t make her forget—all the gods shared the same source of power, differing only in how adeptly they could utilise it… ultimately, a marginal disparity.

“Make yourself scarce, mortal,” the Przedwieczny commanded the Prophet.

The stallion spared the equinoid deity one last, full of hatred, look and promptly left; the caprine god returned his attention to the alicorn. The Machine Goddess bowed her head and prepared to speak, but the goat did it first, all but growling at her:

“The last time we shared our knowledge, it led to Nightmare contaminating this world. We are not making the same mistake twice.”

The black smoke exploded, engulfing the Przedwieczny back into itself and then dissolved.



Becoming privy to the secret of divinity answered a lot of questions for the nascent goddess; as expected, joining the ranks of the demiurges came with new things to learn, new truths to uncover. Surprisingly, only one puzzle ended up having pieces missing. The Dune Dervishes, the Przedwieczni… herself—had limits. The ‘gods’ had to manoeuvre around a disheartening number of constraints, barely fitting the expectations of their followers. Without a veneer of mystique, they often presented quite a laughable spectacle of mortals pretending to be able to solve crises on the scale of the realm. Thankfully, sheer faith and those who propagated it helped to fill the gaps in the celestials’ ability.

But how much power an individual had to amass to qualify as omnipotent in the eyes of a simpleton? How spitefully they needed to mock Death for her to abandon the pursuit in shame? How many a follower glorifying their name the aspirant should have before it would be spoken by anyone with either reverence or fear?

The gulls’ raucous ugly squawks ruined the mournful melody wind played on the myriad stone flutes; not that scavengers had ever respected the dead. The air smelled of salt, frost and crystal dust; of atrocity and failure. Shadows and reflections infested Vanhoover, disorienting anyone who dared to disturb the mass grave; very few knew it had also somehow become an asylum for equines who looked little different from the horrible statues which had already been dwelling there for centuries.

“It wasn’t easy to find you.” The Machine Goddess forwent formally greeting the stallion.

“You can consider it an initiation task from me,” King Sombra replied with more than just a hint of mockery.

That slight stung even worse because the king stole it. Having denied her a clear answer, the Przedwieczni condemned the metal alicorn to grope for a breadcrumb trail for weeks and following it took no mere hours either. Now, when she stood before another ancient threat that should have been forever left in the past, the Machine Goddess couldn’t help wondering if she came to a dead end. It was another matter if the goat gods expected her to learn something, or if they planned for someone to die. Rendered dumb by the indecision and emergent regret, the Machine Goddess stared at the king shadowed both by the confines of his tent and his very nature; though her mask expressed nothing, the time passing in silence spoke for her.

“You aren’t pleased to see me, so why are you here?” Despite showing his patience had a limit, Sombra sounded more amused than anything. “If you’ve come to kill me—you are welcome to try.”

“Something tells me I wouldn’t be the first.”

“The dimwit Przedwieczni and their thieving clockwork dog have been keeping me entertained.” The unicorn flashed her a predatory smile. “Though, felling a god should finally pose some real challenge.”

“What, having a demi-god dying because of you isn’t enough of an achievement?”

“Ah, you must have come to discuss the poor thing,” the king darkly chuckled. “Is she still scouring the Badlands?”

“I freed her from that meaningless task.” The equinoid sovereign made a mental note to ask her children to investigate Sombra’s potential involvement in Luna striking the fatal deal for the second time. “The return of her cognitive functions has accelerated Nightmare’s development.”

“Patience isn’t your strongest suit, is it?”

“It is debatable if leaving them unchecked would have been a better idea,” the Machine Goddess levelly retorted.

“Luna has shown unexpected resilience either way,” Sombra thoughtfully noted, as if unable to decide should he be impressed or disappointed. ”Don’t think it allows you to underestimate Nightmare.”

“So far, I have no estimation of Nightmare.”

“And I suggest you keep it that way. Letting Luna become acquainted with Nightmare in my stead might have been the wisest decision I’ve ever made.”

“Indeed,” the Machine Goddess commented coolly, holding herself back from shuddering; she didn’t even want to think what Sombra being infected by Nightmare entailed. In a bit more jovial voice, somewhat prideful even, she informed the king of her discovery, “The artificial nature of my mind prevents Nightmare’s influence.” One of the bits the Unity managed to present their mother with—the likely reason why Nightmare didn’t latch on to her during their brief contacts prior to Luna leaving Hope. 

Sombra only jeered, “Then why did you come to ask me for advice instead of having a tea party with Luna and her fascinating parasite?”

The Machine Goddess hesitated to prove the hypothesis and not because Tin Flower stood sentinel over Luna, keener than any dog. As long as even the tiniest chance of her or the Unity being wrong existed, she couldn’t dare to take on such a huge risk.

Her lack of answer let the stallion draw conclusion once more and he spoke meaningfully, “You are smart to not test your limits—a quality I can appreciate.”

The Oracle’s condescension grated on her patience in a similar way, but the filly had nothing to back it up with—all bark and no bite. With the infamous king’s return from the dead, she had to choose her words with utmost care.

“Thank you.”

Sombra graced her with a fanged smile.

“Good luck with whatever you strive to achieve—you seem like a productive mare and as long as I can benefit from it, you will have my blessing. Till we meet again.”

The Machine Goddess wished it to be a mere formality, but she knew—their paths would inevitably cross, for the world wasn’t big enough for the two of them; Sombra left no room for anyone but himself.



An unremarkable mare set her hoof on Kludgetown’s streets. Though her limbs should never tire, the mental fatigue reflected on her motions—lethargic, they carried her through the dust-blighted alleyways not for the second time, far from it. Letting her tail sweep her hoofsteps away, the Machine Goddess, nevertheless, forced herself to head for the next destination in the ever-growing list with no end in sight. She would bring her children a plethora of data to put into simulations, but not the lacking piece of knowledge that had started this quest.

Lower and lower the deity went, till the rusted paths brought her to a decrepit building hanging above the void; the breeze from the desert below tossed sand in her face and she didn’t even bother to pretend it stung her eyes. The ear-splitting screech of hinges played the role of a chime when the disguised goddess entered the scantily-lit interior of the curio shop. Her eyes skimmed over the assortment of items either as old and dirty as the store itself, or suspiciously well-preserved—like an amulet of dark metal encrusted with a large red crystal and depicting a sinister alicorn. Finally, her gaze fixed on the shopkeeper, who watched her above the rims of his pince-nez, whilst reclining on the chair with his hind hooves on the counter.

“And what a god hopes to find at my humble shop?” he greeted her with a smirk. 

The Machine Goddess momentarily considered dropping her disguise, seeing it had failed; she absentmindedly noted that those glasses might be to blame for her cover being blown. Despite her lack of enthusiasm, she still preferred to keep Tin Flower in the dark—the young mare sailed in the boat with Nightmare and it would be unwise to rock the vessel.

“I have sought high and low,” she began lifelessly. “Travelled to the lost land of striped star-worshippers to listen to their chants, traversed the impenetrable thickets of rainforests to find aeons-eaten sacrificial altars, scoured the ocean’s bed for forbidden temples and the strange creatures worshipping forgotten things there.

“None offered me an answer and I’d be very surprised to find it here,” the goddess bitterly concluded.

The shopkeeper stopped lounging and put his front hooves on the counter—not before sweeping dust from it. “Then allow me to surprise you.” He then gestured at the shelves. “But I remind you—it’s a shop, so everything has a price tag on it.”

“The last couple of months have succeeded in cementing my suspicion that being a god doesn’t amount to much, but it should be within my ability to compensate for your efforts.”

“You are already doing quite well, my dear,” the stallion chuckled; ignoring the goddess’ frown, he continued with the same familiarity, “Keep amusing me and we will come to an agreement in no time.”

“It takes a lot of gall to assume I’m some kind of a jester.” With her expression leaving little room for interpretation of her next action, she took a step closer to the shopkeeper. “You chose the wrong time to play games with me, Discord.”

Even presenting herself as a mere unicorn, the Machine Goddess had lost none of her presence; still, her approach failed to sway the shopkeeper’s easy-going attitude. Moreover, without missing a beat, the stallion leant on the counter with his hooves folded on his chest so he would loom over the divine and whispered, “Entertainment is essential for Discord—it’s his job, in a way; for me, it is more of a hobby I picked up in my retirement. A word of advice: do not conflate it for a sign of weakness, because I can think you out of existence.”

He spoke without even a distant suggestion of threat and winked at the Machine Goddess before gracing her with a genuine smile, but she still took a step backwards, intently staring at the shopkeeper. Her pony visage mimicked the emotionless arcane mask of divinity as she processed the situation. In the end, she deadpanned, “Knock-knock.”

The shopkeeper exploded with laughter; when his titters of amusement died down to the level where he could speak, the stallion said, “I’m not going to indulge you with this one, but I do appreciate your effort. So, what did you want to know?”

“Nightmare.”

“Funny,” he chuckled, “A young mare—barely not a filly anymore—came by my shop not so long ago, curious about it, too. She had the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

The Machine Goddess squinted at the shopkeeper—or whatever pretended to be just a clerk. It only made sense that Flower would try to help Luna and the deity itched to unite their forces or at least share discoveries… and find out how Flower hadn’t fallen victim to Nightmare’s influence. “What did you tell her?”

“The same I’m going to tell you—nothing.”

“I have a feeling you realise what a threat Nightmare is for this world.”

“Of course. More than anyone else, in fact.”

Despite the warning, the equinoid couldn’t forbear from glaring daggers at the other pretender in this room; she, however, managed to keep her voice level as she accused him, “And you keep silent.”

The stallion met her glower with a degree of commiseration. “It’s for a good reason, trust me.”

“It’s hard to trust someone who refuses to help me fight a foe,” the Machine Goddess pressed on.

“You will have to do it as is, I’m afraid.”

On the verge of losing her patience, she barked, “I can’t defeat an opponent I don’t know!”

The shopkeeper tsked, prompting the Machine Goddess to take another step back, but, when he spoke, his voice carried not a note of disapproval, “The moment you understand Nightmare is the moment you have lost. Nightmare isn’t a tick on Luna’s posterior, it’s cunning in its unique way and you will have to be creative to outsmart it.”

A long silence followed his words—the mare with her muzzle screwed in concentration seemed intent on burning a hole in the floor with her eyes, adding to the already concerning array of perforations in the rickety boards. 

“Killing Luna is the only solution, isn’t it?” she ultimately asked, reluctant and crestfallen.

“Goodness, no!”

The shopkeeper took off his glasses to rub his muzzle betwixt his eyes, whilst the Machine Goddess indulged in letting out the deepest sigh her borrowed lungs could produce. 

“It seems to me you might be capable of unintentionally making things far worse than they already are,” the stallion grumbled putting his pince-nez back onto his face. “Here’s the first hint; it is free of charge because I’d rather not see this world tainted beyond recovery. In dreams, even the most faded memories persist and Luna was supposed to be a gatekeeper, for anyone can be a door.” 

Though grimacing with confusion, the Machine Goddess asked, hopeful, “What is the second hint?”

“Oh, it is not me who is going to give it to you.”

“Who?” the alicorn all but groaned, disheartened by the prospect of her quest having another chapter to it.

“Black Star.”

The Machine Goddess blinked and when she opened her eyes, she found herself on the hill overlooking the virtual Ponyville, the Harbingers rushing to her, panic etched on their metal masks.
> 6.1 Deus ex draconis
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



=================================

Written by: Oneimare

=================================


Arc 6 – Emergence

Chapter 1 – Deus ex draconis


=================================


The Wall, ruined as it might be, accurately marked the borders of Canterlot even after the cataclysm seized the evergaol city. Those capable of challenging the unyielding rebar and concrete would find themselves facing the spectral wardens standing sentinel over the sky itself, letting none out and nothing inside. In the case someone possessed enough ability to breach the cordon of stone, ice and otherworldly malevolence, then a final challenge awaited a to-be-eloper—an impenetrable barrier of magic like no other. 

Nonetheless, the entity behind the most strange of Canterlot’s prison bars, that unseen capricious sentry, let the Prophet taste the air untainted by deadly cold. Discord graciously allowed him to meet a strange assortment of creatures gathered in the middle of nowhere to discuss the fate of everything. The Prophet got no chance to savour his transient freedom nor the peculiar company and had to sulk back into his jail with nothing else than a grim prospect to ruminate on. The world marched towards the inevitable and would reach its homestretch worryingly soon… unless he joined forces with the other powerful individuals to prolong the race against time. Chained by Doom’s prophecy to stalk the fell caprine gods’ shadows and haunted by the forgotten lord’s unquenchable hunger, the Prophet couldn’t help but wonder if he had the right to stand amongst the legends, be they heroes of old or sworn enemies of justice and order. What, he, an ultimate scavenger, could offer the league of the most powerful, if his home remained destined to succumb to famine and frost after all his efforts? As a machine at his heart, the Prophet had trust in numbers; even that set aside, they had no tendency to lie—no matter how he interpreted the long lists or the maps, Canterlot had no future other than death. That made horrible sense, as according to the accursed mare’s prediction, those who shared with him the misfortune of struggling in the doomed city would be eventually set free and follow the Prophet no more; and freedom could come in many, sometimes gruesome, ways.

The stallion stood, glaring at the sky that churned with his demise; he let the frigid gusts laden with razor-sharp shards of ice futilely tear at his stolen flesh. His eyes burned, neither from the stinging wind, nor with magic ripped from his victims. Deep inside he knew—pouring more blood or fire into them would change nothing, his fate was sealed; no salvation waited for him at the end of the dark path he had been walking for a while now. The Prophet had challenged his mutilated by the spiteful pegasus destiny and, like all the others before him, failed; couldn’t live up to the name he had chosen for himself. Perhaps, his actions only served to bring to reality the prophecy written in Doom’s unblessed blood, for such was its self-fulfilling nature. At least, he had tried; that thought eased the stallion’s pain, just enough to keep him sane. One more realisation even managed to summon a smirk to the Prophet’s lips—he carried Tirek’s legacy so far away from the cage, in which the old lord had found his final rest, and it would still be lost in a prison.

With death whetting its scythe to claim the last Canterlot survivors’ lives, the frantic need to figure out the way to save them—to extend their misery—demanded the Prophet’s attention no longer; all he could do was alleviate their suffering now and even that allowed leniency. So, the stallion stood, staring at the sky.

A roar split the hollow howls of the despaired winter spirits. It belonged both to the gale of air eagerly fueling flames and to the inferno itself. So not unlike the Sun, the golden light flooded the sky and when the silence—stunned muteness—returned, the radiance didn’t go away. The firmament was obscured no longer, free of the doom it spelt for Canterlot, and welcoming spring to finally walk into the forgotten city. 

A fraction broke away from the effulgence and dissented from the clouds—a dragon of pure fire; he alighted not far from the Prophet, banishing ice with his mere presence. Before the stallion had a chance to comprehend the scene, the Ghosts, shadowing his every step, rushed at the newly arrived—swarms of arcanium wasps intent on stinging the transgressor to his death. Rendered glimmering fireflies by the dragon’s radiance, one by one, they returned to the ground—as bubbling puddles. 

“Arcanium was the first thing I’ve learnt to melt,” the fire incarnate dryly commented.

The Prophet replied with an unamused observation of his own, “Is burning down all you can do?”

“I’d rather use it to create, but that has to wait until—”

A loud and out-of-tune fanfare interrupted the dragon and Discord materialised by his side in an explosion of confetti; ignoring a heated look from the entity that had just slain a herd of Windigos, the draconequus squinted at the Prophet, rubbing his chin.

“You know,” Discord finally spoke. “Now, when you don’t foolishly try to kill me, there seems to be something familiar about you…” 

The stallion answered that statement by giving the Lord of Chaos a look able to contend with the dragon’s withering stare.

“No, it isn’t the dead bodies you assimilated,” Discord obliviously continued. “Poor Smooze, he was so young…”

“What do you want?” the Prophet snapped.

The implications of the Windigos finally letting Canterlot out of their fatal grip demanded his attention, yet the stallion had no illusions about the threat his present company posed.

The dragon rumbled, “I am here only to ensure you will regret doing something stupid.”

“Yes, Spike is my bodyguard with a hot body,” boasted the draconequus, wrapping his arm around the dragon’s shoulders; Spike’s fire-flesh flared up and the lion paw sizzled. Waving the smoking limb in the air to put off small fires, Discord snapped at Spike, “You better get used to me—we share the same office now.” The dragon gave him an unamused stare, but the entropy master had already switched his attention. “The Prophet, wasn’t it? Or should I call you Fixit instead?”

“My name is my business.”

“My friend here can bite your impolite head off.”

Flame forming Spike’s jaw solidified into a metal maw bristling with incandescent teeth; his level tone carried a hint of genuine annoyance. “I can bite your head off, Discord.”

“You aren’t going to like it—my head tastes like madness and grapes,” the draconequus dismissed the warning, focusing on the Prophet once more instead. “Anyhow, Mister Unlucky, have you, by chance, had a run-in with a delightful mare called Fate?”

“Do you know Doom?” Even before Discord replied to him, a nagging suspicion appeared in the back of the Prophet’s mind, furrowing his brow. 

“Never met her, nope. Her company is unhealthy,” the chaos potentate denied, confirming the Prophet’s guess. The stallion, however, held back the accusation as Discord added with a worryingly sly grin, “I can make it so as if you have never been blessed by her presence. Though, without a prophecy governing your fate, your life might become a bit chaotic.”

On one hoof, Canterlot and its remaining dwellers no longer seemed to face inevitable peril—unless Discord or Spike would announce the climate change also implied new management. On the other, it couldn’t be so easy to get out of Doom’s snare, could it? The Prophet’s head spun—considering Discord’s, even if not openly admitted, involvement with Fate’s parting gift, accepting the draconequus’ grace might be as wise as jumping from the frypan into the fire.

“Is it a threat?” he bristled; out of habit, rather than conscious choice.

Discord’s lips widely stretched in an ambiguous smile as he reclined in the air with his claws and paw behind his head. “I’d call it a… charity.”

“You are the Lord of Chaos, not Generosity,” the Prophet deadpanned.

“So, you prefer marshmallow unicorns, eh?” Discord leant forward, waggling his eyebrows, then changed the topic without missing a beat. “I have some plans for Canterlot and would rather not have you or your horned and simply divine buddies standing in my way.”

As his fear proved true, the Prophet barked, “Canterlot is my home. Get out of it!” He took a step forward, ignoring that he would very likely face defeat—death—even if he challenged either of his opponents one at a time.

The dragon of fire measured the fearless stallion head to hoof, commenting, bemused by his boldness, “I’ve been here since before they started to fashion ponies out of materials other than meat.”

A piece of tinfoil appeared in Discord’s claws; he folded it into a unicorn and gingerly put the figurine on the ground, marvelling at his craft with limbs clasped together and a goofy smile plastered across his goat muzzle. His expression fell when the Prophet stomped on it.

“And so what?” the equinoid snarled. “I’m not alone—I have got followers and allies.”

The benefits of having the Przedwieczni on his side hadn’t always outweighed the downsides of working with the capricious and testy deities; yet it would be their temper not allowing anyone to put claim on the caprines’ haven. 

The Prophet almost jumped as the eagle claws tore reality by his shoulder and Discord’s copy slowly shoved his head and his limb into the hole before asking, “Are you sure about that?” 

The ‘original’ draconequus raised his paw in the air, prepared for an infamous gesture, stating flatly, “I can snap my fingers and you are no longer bound by Doom’s hilarious prank, free to sculpt your future. I don’t—the prophecy goes on and, trust me, nobody is going to like it.” 

“Why?”

“Because nobody likes you.” Although Discord’s mismatched eyes sparkled with laughter, he spoke with sympathy, “Don’t cry—you won’t be on the losing side. My idea of renovating Canterlot doesn’t imply making it a Chaos Capital of the world. It’s not even going to be me rebuilding it—that wouldn’t be as much fun.”

Vitriol gathered on the tip of the stallion’s tongue, but he swallowed it; free from Doom’s curse, he might have another chance at helping Canterlot. After all, did it really matter if he held Discord’s power in his grasp or not, if it served the cause? Or any power at all? Wasn’t making Canterlot a better place what he wanted, even before the city had undergone a devastating change? Perhaps, Lord Tirek had more influence on him than the Prophet realised; perhaps, the Machine Goddess wasn’t so wrong. And, perhaps, Doom’s curse wasn’t something she did to him, but something he was tricked into doing to himself.

His lungs let out a breath he didn’t realise they held. A crisp snap of fingers followed that sound but it was merely marked something changed rather than it propagated entropy. The Prophet met the draconequus’s crazy eyes and tried not to sound either nervous or frustrated, “What now?”

“Making amends.” Before the equinoid could ask what it meant, Discord shoved a glass jar into his muzzle. The Prophet’s flesh extended to grasp it, but he nearly dropped the jar the next moment—inside it snow swirled in a fashion that couldn’t be mistaken with anything in the world.

“Is it a… Windigo?” He asked, looking at the Lord of Chaos in horror.

Discord shrugged. “Well, I can always give someone very stupid ideas and get a bunch of new ones.” He glanced at Spike, who had been glaring at him since the jar appeared. “But something tells me, nobody is going to thank me for that.” The Lord of Chaos looked back at the Prophet and instructed him, “It’ll help you make friends, trust me. Just don’t break it, open it or, uh”—he shuddered—“put it on a radiator.”



“Rainbow Dash, the war is over. Go home.”

Five hundred years too late and spoken under the influence of another menace to peace, Luna’s words kept echoing in Rainbow’s head, taunting the pegasus with her dream of old—a nightmare that plagued her conscience these days, little different from the alicorn’s plight of insanity.

And the war was over, with only Rainbow Dash stubbornly refusing to accept the sour taste of defeat—the reality of every sacrifice amounting to nothing in the end; a growing stack of coffins with no answer, no justice. No harm would have been done if she dealt with it in a fashion not unlike Soarin’s self-exile, carrying out her no longer necessary service where her antics would bother nobody; though, even the last Wonderbolt ultimately found it in himself to see past his self-delusion. But no, like a rabid dog, Rainbow had to claw at the doors to be let in, and, once inside, she spread her incurable and fatal curse of war. Only two things differed her from a sick frenzied animal—immunity to death from her affliction and… self-awareness. Every time the pegasus led soldiers into the blaze of glory, knowing only she would emerge from the crucible, Rainbow wondered—did she truly wish for the swords to be buried instead of bodies or did she just keep moving the goalposts?

Hours had passed since the meeting promised to soon start another cycle—another list of names, ponies she would condemn to the insatiable fire of war. The moment her hooves touched the snow, they became frozen to it, and her eyes—glued to the camp, watching it peacefully slumber under the polar lights, which danced in the sky to a mournful piping of the ever-raging blizzard.

It had a name, that little cosy town. Rainbow pretended her helmet malfunctioned each time she heard it; the pegasus would feign forgetting it—even though she recalled it from the times before a group of ponies had decided to stop referring to their home as a mere military base.

They called it Ponyville. Expanding districts of Canterlot consumed the lovely hamlet, erased every trace of its existence, for only a few to remember that name; yet Ponyville reemerged from the river of oblivion.

A laugh bubbled in the back of Rainbow’s throat—the despairing giggling of a madmare at the end of her wits. She would follow a dirt path into the streets of Ponyville, with a strident summon drag the ponies away from their warm hearths and into the cold morning to tell them: the frontlines wait for fresh sacrifice, crave for their body and mind; the very same battlefield that had remoulded her into what she swore to end. The worst part—Rainbow’s heartless call wouldn’t go unanswered, for those ponies had soaked in the loyalty she still carried deep in her heart. The virtue now violently rejected the notion of reigniting the long died-out embers with a kindling of innocent blood.

Or, she could…

“...Go home.”

The pegasus used to hypocritically mock the Machine Goddess even before the equinoid with Twilight Sparkle’s echo had transcended the legacy of the legendary unicorn. Old habits rendered Rainbow blind and deaf to fear as crippling as tearing ponies away from their families only to watch them fall on the crimson-stained ice one after another. She dreaded finding out how much of Rainbow Dash remained in this suit and if those scraps had a place they belonged to. Would this haunted armour be able to live once it stopped spilling blood and breaking bones, once no warriors remained for this valkyrie to carry into their last journey?

Her breath quickened like that of a cornered animal—a lone figure groggily stepped into the first rays of the Sun; Glintwine’s burgundy eyes blinked sleep away and presently focused on Rainbow. The mare then unhurriedly headed to shatter the pegasus’ solitude, unknowingly leading herself into the frothing jaws of a mad dog that has no other choice than to propagate its deadly sickness. 

There was a first time for everything, even for an act of cowardice; those ponies didn’t need Rainbow anyway—nobody should be ever graced by the war incarnate. Yet as the deafening crepitating of fresh snow marked Glintwine’s approach, the metal angel remained frozen to her place by the curse she could not wish to break—the undying loyalty. Rainbow closed her eyes, enjoying the serenity of the rhythmic hoofsteps before the inescapable fate swept her into the roaring whirlwind of steel, smoke and death—once again.

The sound ceased abruptly and not as close as the pegasus assumed it to come; Rainbow’s eyelids fluttered open, letting her witness Glintwine’s terrified expression as the purple mare hastily backpedalled away from her ‘captain’. Not even half-heartedly wondering if she should be looking in the mirror instead, Rainbow glanced behind her. She studied the newcomer intently, trying to figure out what her reaction should be—a question springing up in her mind disturbingly frequently. Finally, the pegasus concluded, “Not the dragon I’ve expected.”

Something about the amber scales and turquoise eyes of the serpentine visitor stirred in Rainbow a shadow of recognition—a camaraderie she wished had never happened.

“I’ve failed as a pony,” the stranger rumbled in a voice, too, not entirely unfamiliar. “Maybe as a dragon, I’ll do better.”

Surprise widened Rainbow’s rosy eyes—marginally; fatigue, if not profound disappointment, replaced the glint of wonder as quickly as the pegasus tended to fly. “Should have killed you when things weren’t so complicated,” she muttered.

In the vast sea of morality, Sunset Shimmer had found the greyest waters of all and sailed them masterfully. Rainbow couldn’t ever forgive anyone for ashening a whole megalopolis or cremating her comrades alive, nor could she disrespect someone who played a pivotal role in breaking the Crystal Empire’s siege; without that chimaera’s involvement, Canterlot wouldn’t have lasted even remotely as long as it had.

“Is that how you greet an old friend?” The dragoness pouted; Rainbow rolled her eyes—the expression didn’t quite fit the bestial muzzle.

“You could have become a Kirin,” the pegasus wondered aloud, almost regretfully. Spike, even in his ‘state’, had already added too much of a dragon into her life—to Equestria, she would dare to say. “Or do you have nothing equine left in you?”

“My psyche is too stable for having two personalities,” Sunset retorted, smirking; seeing Rainbow’s expression remaining unimpressed, she had to explain, abstaining from self-irony this time, “It’s what Spike has offered me; being picky seemed… unwise.”

Rainbow shook her head, heaving out a tired sigh. “Why am I not surprised it’s his doing? Makes me wonder what stupidity he commits next.”

No stranger to the pegasus’ perpetually sour mood, Sunset still furrowed her brow. Her gaze then shifted to the side, to fall on a place concealed by the preternatural snowstorm, but soon to be unveiled; a can of worms patiently waiting to be opened.

“I came at the wrong time, didn’t I?” she observed in dismay.

“The worst.”

“But don’t you want to finish it?”

The question struck the pegasus no different from Sunset raking her with claws. Against her will, her eyes transfixed the Crystal Empire with a searching stare. The ancient realm hid a gestating war behind the wall of shifting ice; she peered into it, futilely hoping to see something else beyond, but all she could envision was the nightmare of old rising from the grave to flood those white plains with its rotten self, to stain them scarlet and ebony. Or, maybe, it didn’t die—the war that knew no end.

“No.” Rainbow let out a breath she didn’t notice she was holding. “I don’t want to do it anymore—I never wanted this.”

Sunset let the pegasus shudder with resurfaced memories and haunting visions in respectful silence… which soon started to fill up with the faint echoes of blood-curdling screams belonging to ponies burning alive; the call of the battlefield waking up from its slumber chilled even her dragon blood.

“Nobody but monsters wish bloodshed,” Sunset uttered to deafen the cries carried by the cold winds; she then reached with her claws behind her. “But because they are still out there, someone has to pick up the sword and fight.”

Rainbow stared at a literal blade held by the dragon, held out in an offer. Not just any—Valour, forged by Princess Celestia and wielded by Shining Armour; the sword with which the general swore to take off the warlocks’s head, to sever the thread of fate choking thousands. Staring, moon-eyed, at the legendary relic—no matter that it failed to claim Sombra’s abominable life—all she could squeeze from herself was:

“Why me?”

The dragon spared her no answer, not even a look; the slitted turquoise eyes aimed past the gleaming blade and past the mare refusing to accept it. As Rainbow turned her head to follow the dragoness’ gaze, her heart skipped a beat—at some point, Glintwine had returned with seemingly the entirety of Ponyville to watch her exchange with Sunset.

A unicorn weapon would find little use in Rainbow’s hooves, but she had no other choice than to take it and put an end to the war that should have never happened. But what would she tell her soldiers, would she dare to drag them into her nightmare with herself? No, not her soldiers—her people, the ponies depending on her. She reminded herself—nobody forced them; nobody forced her to enlist once, either. And if she were to be given a chance to make a choice again…

Rainbow awkwardly wrapped her hoof around the sword’s hilt and rocketed into the sky, but before she could gain any considerable speed, the heavens erupted with fire.
> 6.2 Pyre
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



=================================

Written by: Oneimare

=================================


Arc 6 – Emergence

Chapter 2 – Pyre


=================================


“How can she sleep at a time like this?”

Though Night Wind addressed her question to nobody in particular, muttering it under her breath, Teleta answered her, glancing at a slumbering unicorn, “Wire isn’t glued to our Mother’s side. She has spent most of her time in the field.” 

The Kirin’s dark coat couldn’t hide the circles under her eyes, betraying the heavy exhaustion bestowed upon the mare by the last few days; a few hours of sleep she had snatched before visiting Wire couldn’t remedy that. 

The changeling commented on her state, “You, too, should rest while you can, commissioner.” 

“Work at the police isn’t all sugar either,” Night dismissed her words. 

The hovercraft’s smooth flight did offer enough comfort, but seeing the changelings in arcanium armour, prepared for the battle, the Kirin just couldn’t find it in herself to close her eyes; not because she didn’t trust her entourage. The metal-clad equines were either dozing off in a fashion similar to Wire’s or reclining on the seats, rested, absorbed in their thoughts. Perhaps, they purposely avoided returning Night’s impolite stares, since even the changelings might fail to keep neutral expressions when observing a Kirin, who wore but a fabric uniform and carried no weapon other than her horn.

The half-dragon nearly jumped when Teleta spoke again, “Glad to see you instead of Grim Mastic.”

“He does have a personality difficult to get along with,” Night agreed. Her colleagues used to regularly place bets on how quickly Grim could transform her into a Nirik.

Though the changeling captain knowingly smiled, she shook her head. “Grim treated Hope like a second Canterlot, not realising it made him a part of the problem.”

“Not even a week has passed since I got promoted.” The Kirin nervously chuckled. “So it’s not like I have much idea what to do.”

The hovercraft’s interior suddenly became suffocating; going to war somehow seemed a better alternative than returning to Hope; Night tried to convince herself of her sojourn having a chance to solve the terrorist problem. Even if it were true, she would still be left with Stalliongrad ceaselessly trying to expand its influence, vagrants raiding Hope’s markets and homes, the citizens seeing the police as no more than another gang…

“Just don’t forget.” Teleta saved the commissioner from the threatening tide of panic. “Hope is our home, not a battlefront.”

Night took a deep breath, followed by a sigh of equal scale; she couldn’t deny the changeling’s words, but that wisdom cast little light onto her future—the prospect of onerous ungratifying work. Putting a massive effort in banishing her worries from her mind till the time to face them came, she duly noted, “Ironic, considering we are heading to join a war that isn’t even ours.”

“We aren’t abandoning our Mother.”

Every changeling straightened up, their expressions instantly igniting with indefatigable purpose; Night expected to be writhing in the fire of their indignation, but every pair of faceted eyes gazed past her. The Kirin glanced at the unicorn in concern—even for a mare having a nap, Wire seemed suspiciously still.

“I can taste your remorse,” Teleta stated flatly.

Wire’s healthy eye snapped open and the other one gradually regained its golden glow; that let her match the changeling’s glare, though the contest didn’t last for long—interrupted by Wire’s jaws dehiscing in a monstrous yawn. When she finally regained control of herself, the mare, still being glowered at by the changelings, complained, “Then why keep rubbing it into my face?”

With all the commendable haste the Swarm exhibited upon receiving the news of their Mother’s whereabouts and predicament, Teleta still had taken her time to thoroughly reprimand Wire for not telling them anything outright. Upon hearing the unicorn’s complaint, the captain’s already severe expression further hardened, portending another round of tongue-lashing for the royal adviser. Not blind to that, Wire muttered, “Nevermind.”

“But aren’t you defying Heterocera’s orders?” Night came to her rescue.

“We’d rather face our Mother’s wrath than suffer her death.”

Whilst the Kirin had no intention to argue with such a statement, on a fundamental level she couldn’t help but find Teleta’s conviction a bit pervasive and had to ask, “Why are you so sure Sombra means harm to her?”

The warlock fit the old myths and legends somewhat poorly; he did give her a worrying impression, however, every equine involved in the desert gathering couldn’t evoke no other response.

 Despite being concerned about her confusion offending the faithful children, it came to Night as no surprise when Wire barked at her, “Don’t be stupid!”

“Such a comprehensive answer, thank you.”

The abrasive unicorn met Night’s sarcasm with more castigation, “Haven’t you ever held a history book in your hooves?”

“The current historical era began when a changeling queen killed an equestrian ruler,” the commissioner deadpanned. As the changelings tensed, she hurried to add, “Yet here we are, fighting side by side.”

Nobody knew what to say for a few moments, even Wire had no response ready on the tip of her sharp tongue. However, it was her, who broke the silence—hesitantly and not before giving Teleta a wary glance. “Queen Chrysalis’ methods might have not always been agreeable—”

“She did it for us,” the captain spoke in Wire’s cast; not angrily, but with firmness allowing no room for arguments.

Wire respectfully nodded and continued, her tone starting as subdued, yet quickly regaining vitriol as she went on, “But Sombra is different—that stallion cares only about himself and if his goals require backstabbing his allies, he won’t hesitate for a beat of his rotten heart.”

“And how do you know that?” Night challenged the unicorn.

Accompanied by a glare, her explanation came in an instant, “I have had a chance to flip through the recordings of a mare who used to be a witch in his Coven.”

“So, all you have is second-hoof impressions?”

“I’m not risking anyone dear to me to find out if Sombra can be trusted,” Wire all but spat.

“What if because of your premonition Equestria loses a valuable ally during its worst crisis?”

Already opened to spew out some snarky retort, Wire’s mouth closed with almost an audible snap; the fire in her eyes, if not faded away, lost a lot of its intensity. More than just that one ‘what if’ had to be considered in the final calculation—the Machine Goddess might have made up the whole ‘the world is at peril’ situation or overdramatised; but if she didn’t lie, the mage of such a calibre would be too precious to lose, regardless of anything. The battle of common sense and fear darkened the unicorn’s eyes and twisted her face with a grimace so profusely, the Kirin hurried to give Wire some respite.

“Look, I’m not asking you to kiss him the next time you meet him, but could you not fight Sombra as soon as he enters your view?” Giving Wire’s sooty horn a pointed look, Night added, “At least, not until you recover from the magic burnout.”

Wire sagged, bitterly assenting, “I can try.” No less dejectedly, she muttered, “As if having my horn working makes any difference…”

With that, the conversation died and everyone returned to contemplating their immediate future in strained silence. Night stared at the floor, trying to imagine the dangers she would have to face. Under Wire’s furrowed brows her slightly mismatched eyes harboured doubts piling upon doubts. The changelings fared barely better as very little of their experience prepared them for something like this; nor could they count on it to be an average military operation when it involved Sombra and who knows what else lurking in the heart of the Crystal Empire. Only Teleta, unaffected by the inevitable warfare, refused to succumb to nervous tension—she leant into the aperture leading to the pilots’ compartment, half-disappearing. Upon returning, the changeling tapped Wire’s shoulder. 

 “Testing your self-control isn’t going to keep you waiting.”

Stunned for a heartbeat, the unicorn promptly recovered, perking up with a hopeful expression. “How long until—”

Her question turned into a hiss as a blinding flare filtered through the cockpit; her protest fit the chorus of groans and yelps—none was prepared for a sudden flood of brilliance. As soon as the equines blinked the pain away, they rushed to the door. Whilst the chitinous equines showed some appropriate restraint, the Kirin and unicorn found themselves stuck in the opening, side by side. The awkwardness went ignored by either of them—just as the changelings’ snickers—the two mares gawked at the sky aflame.

“It’s killing the Windigos!” Night whispered in utter awe; the distance failed to render the sight any less cosmical.

The Praetorians’ training was tested at that moment like never before, though even with their eyes undergoing a swift transformation to adjust to the situation and satiate their curiosity, the soldiers could only grumble in discontent—the Kirin’s voluptuous mane blotted out almost all the view.

Wire, however, didn’t hurry to share the commissioner’s wonder; after observing the sundered with the flames firmament for a few seconds, she grimly stated:

“Dragon fire.”

Unsure if she would be glad to hear a positive answer or not, Night asked, “Is it Spike?” 

“His fire isn’t green anymore,” Wire worriedly noted; her hoof then shook the pilot’s shoulder. “We’ve got to get there as soon as possible!”

The radiance began to fade, leaving behind the rapidly dispersing veil of mist. Any moment it would reveal the coveted northern empire, yet none of that seemed to matter as the mysterious blaze causing it to return posed enough concern by itself—everyone restlessly shifted trying to better look and figure out what ruptured the heavens.

“I can’t go any faster,” replied the changeling stallion at the controls; even he sounded disappointed.

The co-pilot in the next seat abruptly reported, her voice laden with urgency, “Incoming arcane signatures. Equinoid crystals. Too many to count.”

The steam hanging above the Crystal Empire finally disappeared, but a dark cloud still obscured the sight of the gemstone spires. A tenebrous mass moved on its own, approaching the changelings’ landing party at lightning speed. The hovercraft veered in a futile attempt to avoid the nebula glistening with metal, but it still hit the hovercraft like a sandstorm or, rather, a swarm of locusts. Something bombarded the fuselage panelling with sharp powerful pings.

Everyone at the cockpit—Wire and Night included—jerked back when one of the hurricane’s ‘particles’ landed on the glass. An insect-like mechanism wasted no time and started to drill its way into the cabin. The panel of armoured canopy split with cracks, though still held together… yet. A keening whine whistled through the vessel as a sharp borer breached inside, less than a hoof length from the pilot’s muzzle. Golden glow enveloped the drilling machine and it vanished back into the swarm of its metal kin assaulting other hovercrafts. 

“What was that?” Night asked the unicorn, who, grimacing, rubbed her horn.

The Kirin got no answer—not that Wire would have been able to give it to her; both mares were pulled back into the main compartment in the most undignified fashion possible—by their tails.

“You’re asking too many questions, commissioner,” Teleta barked before they got a chance to rouse the indignation. “Wire—no magic, I don’t need you out of action when we haven’t yet arrived.”

The hovercraft shook.

This time the changeling addressed more than just two mares as she ordered, “Get ready!”

“We’re losing altitude!” the co-pilot composedly informed her passengers. “Looks like those things went for the engines.”

“Now we’re going faster,” the pilot joined her, in a voice, however, strained. “Grab onto something!”



The desire to let emerald flames engulf her gnawed on the changeling queen’s mind exactly equally to how fiercely cold nibbled on her chitin. The magic fire would have scarcely brought any warmth with it, but it could leave behind a creature less susceptible to the harsh northern winds fueled by the fury of the cosmos itself. A gryphon’s plumage would have fixed her problem and saved precious energy for another metamorphosis when it came to the moment of battle. However, doing so would give an impression of her either being eager for the carnage or the winter getting the better of her. So, Delight shadowed the king with her teeth clenched and gait expressing not even a fraction of the confidence and anticipation with which the stallion led his little army through the snow; though, were she not freezing, such feelings would have hardly gone through her mind.

“You should be honoured,” the king commented on her struggle to keep up with his pace—steady yet composed. “Not many have had a chance to stand where you are now.”

Beneath the snow crust threatening to crumble under the weight of a tall, if not so regal at the moment mare, beneath the shallow layer of rime-blighted dirt lay bones of thousands that had once gazed upon the shimmering gates of the Crystal Empire; before their futile sacrifices, an army led by two demi-goddesses bedewed those infertile fields with blood.

Able to momentarily stop her teeth from chattering, the queen answered only with, “I’d rather be somewhere warm.”

“Don’t embarrass me, Heterocera.” Sombra remained unimpressed by her demeanour. “We are on the precipice of a new era, an era we will usher to this world.”

A shudder quaked the changeling’s tormented flesh, begot not by the air’s frigid touch; she just realised—her predecessor, too, had marked an epoch in Equestria as she tried to save the Swarm. The king’s words summoned one more worry, no less dire.

“It almost sounds like you aren’t going to stop with the Crystal Empire.”

“You lack vision so sorely, it physically hurts to witness.” Delight swallowed the insult stoically, also ignoring the look of utter condescension accompanying that jab; the unicorn continued, explaining in an exaggeratedly charitable tone, “Freeing the Crystal Empire is going to break a centuries-old stalemate, causing a massive shift of forces everywhere.”

In a world largely dominated by technology and starving for resources—precious gemstones, the heart of any arcane device—any economy salivated at the thought of the Crystal Empire becoming accessible, but any nation feared the semi-sentient blizzard choosing their lands as its new residence. The king had somehow discovered a solution to the Windigo conundrum, thus promising to break the shackles of fear and frost holding the realm hostage. However, it might not be the thaw everyone waited for—rivulets promised to run crimson.

“But of course!” The changeling theatrically slapped her forehead. “Being free to resort to violence because it won’t bring the Windigos upon their heads is a good thing for everyone!”

Somehow, Sombra managed to eye the queen colder than the winds whipped at her and deadpanned, “You might want to leave politics to me.”

“Wouldn’t that leave me doing your dirty work?” retorted Delight, squinting at the stallion; his army would lack in numbers no matter how much prowess in battle they possessed.

“Not unless you miss a chance to prove to be worth more than my henchpony,” the king deflected the accusation and repeated, “Please, do not disappoint me, Heterocera—I have high hopes for you.”

Before his words could be contemplated, Sombra abruptly stopped; his warriors followed suit with a disturbing lack of lag. The changeling, however, stumbled one more step and not just because the cold rendered her muscles uncooperative—focused on bickering with the king and fighting off the winter’s molestations, she had failed to notice the change in the snowstorm’s nature. Mere steps away, the violent gales no longer belonged to nature; nor could they be traversed even by the warlock and his zealots emboldened by the flame of retribution. The torrent of ice shards promised to tear any flesh apart not unlike the maelstrom of eldritch darkness which had once broken through Black Star. The painful flashback almost succeeded in sending Heterocera fleeing by overwhelming her with a suffocating sense of déjà vu—she was about to commit something truly atrocious, if unavoidable for the survival of her children. 

The churning in her guts only got worse when the reality split to let the Machine Goddess join them, accompanied by all twelve of her Harbingers. The equinoid would have been graced by a scathing look from the queen either way, yet the changeling tried her best to set the arcanium alicorn aflame with the force of her will as the Machine Goddess greeted both her and the warlock with but a curt nod; nor did it help how Sombra only smiled in return—there seemed to be something Delight was missing.

The equinoid met Heterocera’s mute wrath with trademark composure; the queen couldn’t fume for long anyways. As much as the mechanical deity’s appearance coincided with the unpleasant memory, her presence reminded the changeling of Hope and the ancient wind-eaten mockery of the castle she and her children called home. Would it also be their grave? Had the dwindling love supply already started to weaken them? For whereas cold bit into her flesh with no mercy, a slowly but steadily growing void gnawed on her insides with the deadly curse of her chitinous kind.

Delight silenced the panic rising in her mind; not listening to her thoughts left her with dubious alternatives—to engage in a conversation with two equines she didn’t even want to see, or to bask in the presence of the spectral corpses circling the place where her salvation might await. Sombra absolved her of that choice; like a smouldering ember, his curved horn weakly glowed, exposing a web of cracks on the dark bone. Nevertheless, shadows obediently coiled around the unicorn till they coalesced into a singular object—a bulbous sphere languidly pulsing with jade light.

A single look at it, a seemingly harmless item, was enough for a wave of dread to wash over the changeling. Not being adept in arcane secrets, even she could tell with no mistake—whatever the warlock held in his magic, it brimmed with energy. The Machine Goddess’ veneer of calm started crumbling, as she, too, stared at the orb in horror, solidifying Delight’s apprehension.

The stallion’s horn flared up once more and the sphere answered in the same fashion—its glow rapidly strengthened, but before it could reach blinding intensity, the shadows consumed the orb, warping it somewhere else.

A heartbeat later, the sky bloomed.

The expanding surge of fire left Heterocera as a gryphon one thought away from zooming into the now tainted firmament; ragged rends in the tapestry of reality opened their maws to swallow the equinoid goddess and her entourage. Only the king stood motionless—triumphant—observing the calamity of his own making.

The roar of flames waxed, matching the incinerating radiance descending from beneath the clouds torn apart. But not only the flood of gleed contributed to the deafening noise—the howls of exultation joined the sound of the atmosphere burning. The Windigos, the undying heralds of endless stillness, thrashed in the ruptured sky, fighting each other to get close to the only kind of magic able to terminate their miserable preternatural existence; they leapt into the cleansing light, dissolving in it.

Just as the heat finally reached the equines gathered before the scene of the impossible happening, almost prompting some of them to leave once again, the inferno in the heavens finally began to ebb. And as it did so, shrinking, the fading fire as if sucked the last of the Windigos with it, leaving behind lingering warmth.

Even considering the inevitable unwelcome consequences of the ancient menace gone, one should have been able to revel in the freedom for a moment, at least. Yet none of those who witnessed the era of an inescapable cold coming to a conclusion, albeit through questionable means, had a hint of a smile on their muzzles. The king himself no longer smirked with sheer confidence and pride.

Melted into mist, snow could conceal the Crystal Empire no more, though… none would dare to call that place such, for it had retained almost nothing in common with the city of glimmering gemstone palaces.

A black deathlike abyss yawned at the Sun, an aperture as wide as the kingdom of old used to be, if not more vast. Like a clot, a mass of metal resided upon that stab wound in permafrost; rows of capsules trailed into the bottomless underground void and in their murky reddish liquid forms stirred, curled in a foetal position. The gargantuan amalgam bristled with arrays of towers; amidst them stood a single remnant of the Crystal Empire—the central spire shimmered in the sunlight, dazzling the observers. The rest of the place teemed with machines; they crawled over every fragment of the massive factory attuned to survive any cold, whilst ceaselessly harvesting crystal flesh. 

“Face what you created, the Goddess of Machines,” Sombra was the first to break the stunned silence, mocking the equinoid.

“That is as much my creation as it is yours, the God of Shadows,” she spat at him and vanished along with her children before he could give her even a scathing glance.

Heterocera couldn’t tear her eyes from the sight so abhorrent—a land of artificial life that had prospered in the shadow of Equestria, whilst also quenching its greed. As she gazed at what had the Crystal Empire turned into, despair soaked her every fibre—what were the chances of the city’s new masters keeping a library and its contents intact? How worse things were going to get now?

“Focus on your part, changeling queen,” Sombra’s voice snapped her out of the stupor; as she blankly gazed at him, the stallion added, “I’ll take care of the rest.”

His ponies had already begun to deploy a camp; tiny explosions of black mist marked the arrival of crates with weapons—instantly opened to pass the blades and guns around; the equines readied themselves for the battle with frightening speed.

A sudden movement standing out from the polished motions of soldiers caught Delight’s attention—a strange pair descending from the sky. An armoured pegasus and a dragon landed not far from the unrolling camp; Rainbow Dash, the queen realised. The dragon she failed to recognise, but something about her seemed oddly familiar.

Rainbow gave the ‘Crystal Empire’ a very long look, despite having had a great opportunity to observe the city from the air. The pegasus presently engaged in a staring contest with Sombra, but it was abruptly dropped as both of them almost simultaneously whipped their heads to squint at something in the side opposite to the nightmare that had emerged from the blizzard. The changeling followed their gazes, narrowing her eyes, too—an unnecessary measure as her borrowed eagle eyes should have given her an advantage. 

Above the snow, a fleet of hovercrafts sailed the winds—the vessels belonging to her Hive’s hangars.
> 6.3 Eclipse
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



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Written by: Oneimare

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Arc 6 – Emergence

Chapter 3 – Eclipse


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As an earth-bound pony, Tin Flower had a very difficult time appreciating a bird’s eyes view of Equestria’s long-suffering landscape; nonetheless, the scenery rapidly changing too far below the tense mare didn’t unnerve her as deeply as the uneven beat of the rotten wings carrying her across the firmament. The dominating and maddening quality of Flower’s life—being at Nightmare’s mercy—culminated at this very moment, when everything depended on Luna being able to withstand the consequences of her mistake clawing at her sanity and keep soaring towards the dissolution of her consciousness. Clutched by dread as she was, Flower couldn’t ignore the irony—regardless of Nightmare infesting her in the same fashion as it preyed on the alicorn, it captivated her mind either way. Nightmare had become one of the so very few things she cared about, enslaving her as effectively as it did the fallen triarch—she depended on it; a mortal earth pony had no chance to get even remotely close to her goals without favours from an otherworldly force. 

Void of both the yawning heavens and Nightmare stirring within Luna assaulted Flower with cold; nor did it help how the desert changed first into desolated fields, once ravaged by Canterlot’s heavy poisonous respirations and now coated in hoarfrost by its dying breath. Presently, the desecrated nature seamlessly ceded its white veil to the eternal winter’s gown knitted by the exact seamsters. Her sides ached from greedily inhaling tenuous air and from the grasp of hooves, too disturbingly sharp. With jaws clenched so hard her teeth hurt, she powered through the horror she brought upon herself; her resolve fueled by desperate hope—of having a chance not to just aid Luna, but fix her own mistake. 

Doubt in the success of her endeavour spiked sharply, blossoming into stifling regret as the ground abruptly began to approach them with a promise of shattering impact. In the very nick of time, Luna flapped her wings, exploding the snowdrift and Flower awkwardly landed into the stinging flurry, absolved of an injury by the merit of sinking deep into the snow. When the profusely cursing mare finally dug herself out of the white bank, she found Luna sprawled on the snow; it seemed as if Nightmare’s centuries-long subjugation attempt finally yielded results. 

“Forgive me,” Luna croaked, still prostrate on the ground. “Time takes its tithe and it has been a long time since I spread my wings to fly.”

“We both know what’s taking a toll on you,” Flower dryly retorted, futilely trying to shake off the clinging snow. “Can you fly again or is it over?”

Luna glared daggers at her, rasping, “Do not give up on me yet.”

Witnessing the alicorn ooze darkness on the snow rendered that request nearly impossible to comply with. Even if Luna had been injured by the rough ‘landing’, Flower wouldn’t be able to tell—so marred with black that mare was. Could Luna even bleed at this point, or Nightmare infused her flesh so thoroughly? Observing Luna’s progressive degradation over the years suggested an unpleasant answer. Those memories, however, couldn’t solve the riddle of Nightmare; if it was but an uncareful thought as Luna claimed, then what Flower was looking at? A physical manifestation of something far beyond sanity or… was it Luna’s true self revealed by the darkness? 

Flower raised a hoof to peer at it—darkened by that she hoped to be just a mix of dirt and machine oil. Her grease-stained mane hung limp, but as the wicked winds raked her muzzle with icy claws, the stuck-together hairs answered the call. Yearning for violence and destruction infested the mare’s mind like rats lavishing at a garbage dump. She dreaded taking a look at her reflection. 

Knowing the futility of her question—the blood-chilling riddle she had tried to tackle so many times—she demanded, staring into the slitted irises, “How would I know you are not in my head?”

Luna replied to her instead, “You’ve got your answer many times already.”

Flower pointed an accusing hoof at the baleful eyes in Luna’s mane and spat and, “If Nightmare is ‘providence’, then that is that?”

“Do you want to know?”

Already prey to the merciless cold, Flower shuddered—Luna had never offered her an answer; the temptation to finally learn Nightmare’s secret momentarily overwhelmed Flower; she then remembered how Luna warned her every time—there would be no way to forget the truth. 

“Shut up,” Flower barked at the body she hoped to still have enough Luna in it. “You need to rest.”



As winter steadily wormed itself under Flower’s skin, she had no choice but to let Nightmare carry her and Luna forth. The alicorn soared under the clouds even more steadily than before and Flower couldn’t forebear wondering—what propelled Luna forward? Where did she find the grim determination to press forward and was it even Luna holding the reins?

“Flower, could you promise me something?” the former Princess startled her.

“No.”

The winds whipping at the two of them couldn’t deafen the sigh escaping Luna’s lungs; she continued, “Don’t do anything you will regret.”

The distance separating Flower from the ground robbed her of any mirth, otherwise, she wouldn’t have at least darkly chuckled at the irony in Luna’s words; instead, she noted, “The whole purpose of going to the Crystal Empire is to put an end to our regrets.”

“Just promise me,” pleaded the alicorn.

Unable or, rather, unwilling to look her in the eye, Flower hissed, “I’m making no promises to Nightmare.”

A few moments passed before a hopeful voice cut through the wailing of turbulence, “Would you have promised that to Luna?”

Flower hesitated with her answer, but eventually, it came, barely audible, “Maybe.”

“It’s better than nothing, I suppose…” Luna’s words rang with relief; then dripped with soft sadness, “Thank you, Flower—”

The mare in question sharply cut her off, “Keep your farewells to yourself until we get there.” Squinting in the distance, she demanded, “How far is it, anyway?”

Whatever fueled Luna’s flight brought no change to the frailty of her ancient frame; those desiccated muscles and skeletal wings would bring the two of them only so far. 

“You can see it already,” Luna stated, much to Flower’s joy.

“That snowstorm, isn’t it?”

The flames erupted across the sky before the alicorn had a chance to confirm her guess. Flower cringed away from the blinding halo; her sudden ministrations nearly caused Luna’s hooves to lose grasp of her and a few moments of frantic adjustments managed to even draw their attention from the heavens catching on fire. By the moment Luna and Flower regained their precarious balance in the air, the conflagration had lost its initial ardour, letting them bear witness to the radiance consuming the immortal Windigos.

“I kept wondering when they would figure it out,” the former Princess mused aloud.

Luna’s knowledge about the source of inexorable death and how to cut it off gave rise to at least two questions in Flower’s mind; one answer she could figure out herself and the other didn’t matter. Instead, she only acidly commented, “Why am I not surprised you knew the whole time but not bothered to tell us how to defeat something killing so many people.”

“Well, I…” Luna tried to defend herself, “Only facing Sunset’s wrath imparted me with—”

But Flower didn’t care to learn that either. “I’ve got a better question. Is the Crystal Empire supposed to look like that?”

The blizzard melted by the mysterious radiance only hastened the alicorn’s flight; perhaps, even without her noticing. The coveted city drew closer at lightning speed, but it failed to match the tales Luna used to tell Flower years ago.

“No,” Luna replied in dismay.

The last wisps of shimmering mists fled away from the Crystal Empire and, this close, Flower started to discern the finer details of the legend came true—she tensed, paralysed by horror. The mare desperately wanted to believe Nightmare had finally got the best of her, poisoning her eyesight with a vision tailored specifically to torture her—the realm of machines, the future she had created and now wanted to thwart.

A choked whisper came from above her, “It’s not what Celestia died for.”

Hypnotised by the terror-inducing sight, Flower barely paid attention to her words, absentmindedly correcting, “Wasn’t it Mi Amore Whatever?”

No answer came; the air grew colder.

“Luna?”

Hearing only silence once more, Flower tried to turn around to get a look at her—without slipping from the alicorn’s grasp; she failed either way, as the hold of bony hooves grew weaker till it was no more. Plummeting into the nightmare of a city, Flower caught a glimpse of darkness swelling in the air like a cloud pregnant with a calamitous thunderstorm. 

“Luna!”



Despite the Sun blasting the dunes with all its might, the golden rays failed to banish the darkness clinging to Luna. However, that inky spot marring the landscape facilitated keeping track of Ash’s ‘destination’. If only she didn’t have to cross the desert again. Her hooves ached just from the thought of the treacherous sand barring her way; the seemingly endless vastitude vehemently resisted any attempts to brave it. And Luna bordered the limit of Ash’s vision, more sensed than seen. 

The white alicorn spread her wings in a futile wish, yet… warm breeze touched her pinions, letting them slice the current and deliver force under her feathered limbs—promising to lift her off, were she to contribute some effort. Ash just had to flap her wings in a certain way and then keep beating them, correctly angled and with a frequency depending on—

She snapped her head at Nameless. “What have you done to me?”

Given skulls had a tendency to grin all the time, Ash had no chance to tell if her companion smiled in response. Somewhat creeped out but nevertheless exalted at the same time, the alicorn tried to use the preternaturally gained knowledge only for it to bitterly suggest—she sorely lacked in the development of her muscles; whilst it could be possible to utilise her wings to some extent, presently they could offer her very little help.

“Data transfer: success,” Nameless commented with satisfaction on Ash’s awkward motions; when the alicorn gave her wings a meaningful look, they added, “Consequences of tissue modification: unpredictable.”

Shivering as she tried to imagine how painful that might be, if gaining something intangible brought so much agony, Ash reconciled with her ability to fly being yet to be gained; she had already got more than she could hope for. “It’s alright. And thank you.” She then perked up at the sudden thought manifesting in her mind; in a voice full of hope, Ash wondered, “Have you put anything else in my head?” The prospect of becoming smarter thrilled her as potently as finally exercising her birthright as a part pegasus. 

“Evaluation: Ash’s intelligence is sufficient for survival.”

“Got it,” Ash bitterly muttered. “Not being too stupid to die is enough.”

Only an unreadable stare of Celestia’s empty eye sockets answered her complaint, and the alicorn couldn’t withhold a sigh—she desperately wanted to find some way to get closer to Luna other than by hoof.

“Maybe an advice on—”

Words died on her lips as the black blot rose into the sky and dissolved into the blue.

“That’s bad,” Ash whimpered. “Very bad.”

Perhaps, her body being tampered with by Nameless wouldn’t be that excruciating this time; not like she had any chance to catch up with Luna relying only on her hooves now. 

“Analysing…” Nameless fell silent, but announced mere moments later, “Result: motion vector supplemented by available data suggests the Crystal Empire as Luna’s destination.”

“Where the Crystal Heart is…” Ash thoughtfully recalled the name she had heard at the meeting; that concluded the depth of her knowledge. Warily, she made an effort to expand it. “How far is it?”

“Estimation: between two and four weeks of travelling on hoof.”

Ash’s eyes bulged out. “Just kill me right here and right now,” she groaned; giving her situation some thought only rendered it more desperate. “By the time we get there, Luna will be gone!”

After another pause dedicated to mute consideration, Nameless spoke, “Solution: teleportation.”

“I’m not sure of my ability to pull off throwing a spear and you suggest casting a spell I don’t even know?” Receiving an unimpressed stare from her companion brought some clarity to Ash’s mind. “Oh, wait. Right.”

Nothing followed that exchange; almost a minute had passed with Nameless only staring at the horizon, where Luna disappeared. When Ash started to worry and almost decided to find out what was wrong, Nameless explained their silence, “Warning: Nightmare compromises calculation. Probability of the Crystal Empire being the final destination: less than acceptable. New course: follow Luna.”

“Alright, then.” Ash nodded; for once, she understood what Nameless meant—not the implications, however. “Does that—”



Ash couldn’t tell what helped her to avoid falling muzzle first into the sand when she abruptly rematerialised in the middle of the desert; perhaps, sheer luck, though, she liked to believe the newly obtained knowledge bore fruit—the alicorn flapped her wings a lot to prevent the embarrassment of self. As she finally regained both her balance and her breath, Ash grumbled, shooting Nameless a dirty look, “Warn me next time, would you?”

Despite the Sun yet to melt the patch of ice left in Luna’s wake, the madness-ravaged alicorn had already covered enough distance to be but a dark speck in the sky. Squinting at the silhouette standing out against fluffy clouds, Ash managed to discern a suggestion of a mare hanging precariously from Luna’s hooves. A protest rose in her throat—why did they have to miss them? But, in a quick retrospect, Ash realised she knew not what to say to the sombre mare yet. And, since the Crystal Heart played a pivotal role in the Machine Goddess’ plan, it would be wise to get there either way… though that part was up to debate. Ultimately, Ash decided to trust her friend’s wisdom; questionable as it might be at times, it still amounted to much more than she could offer.

“What now?”

It also made sense to trail far enough behind Luna to not draw any attention; even Ash could figure as much, thanks to her experiences in Canterlot. She hoped, however, it entailed more than flattening the sand with their rumps till it was safe to close upon the former Princess again.

“Current task: be on standby.”

As expected, even covering the distance worth hours of trudging through the barely negotiable sands in a mere blink of an eye failed to bring any significant change to the desert. Luna and Tin Flower didn’t even leave coals to sift through—only hoofprints being effaced by the unceasing winds, and rime rapidly thawing, now when the black alicorn took away its abhorrent source.

Ash’s mind returned to probing the idea of the mysterious Crystal Heart; even being acutely self-aware of her ignorance in arcane matters, she couldn’t imagine an object able to do what the Machine Goddess had proposed. The whole notion seemed profoundly absurd and it put a strain on everything the equinoid sovereign told them; Nameless doubting the plan considerably undermined its verity. On the other hoof, Nameless showed to have a very ‘interesting’ way to formulate their statements. Since they had to burn daylight anyway, Ash dared to pry her silent and motionless companion for clarification. 

“Do you think Harmony isn’t at risk?”

Simultaneously disappointingly and satisfyingly true to her guess, Nameless replied, “Harmony status: integrity compromised. Cause: repeated ley line damage and intrusion attempts.”

“Last night you said the Machine Goddess’ prediction was false.”

“Affirmative,” Nameless readily stated, causing Ash’s forehead to crease with an annoyed frown.

“You contradict yourself,” the alicorn accused them.

The statue-like equine answered without missing a beat, “The complexity of Harmony prevents any precise attempts to calculate the consequences of it being damaged.” 

Ash rolled her eyes. “So, nothing happens?”

“Nameless: unable to answer.”

“Great,” she deadpanned, giving up on figuring out if the Machine Goddess’s warning had any truth to it, but continued to try her luck, “What is Harmony, anyway?”

“Designation: a vast artificial self-developing spell managing the core’s output through collection and analysis of data, causing cutie mark manifestation as a result.”

Straining her brain till her head started to ache, ultimately let Ash comprehend the explanation given her… or the alicorn hoped she understood it correctly. Still dazed from wrecking her mind and continuing to ruminate on the source of her cutie mark, she absentmindedly noted, “Sounds almost like you…”

“Ash’s observation: nonsensical.”

“Until you met me, hoarding knowledge was all you did,” Ash objected to Nameless’ retort with a shrug; glancing over her shoulder, she could find nothing blemishing the perfectly azure firmament and commented on that, “Shouldn’t we teleport again?”



The next spot brought novelty to the scenery, but Ash had found a hard time appreciating it; the monotony of the desert suddenly gained allure and the fringes of the snowstorm unnerved her much more than she dared to admit to even herself. Seeking to distract herself from the worries, she bothered Nameless with another question, hoping to receive an answer that wouldn’t demand more mental prowess than she possessed, “What’s the Crystal Empire like?”

“Effective data: missing,” Nameless dejectedly reported. “Available data: describes a facility to harvest Crystal Ponies’ biomaterial.”

“Do you mean..?” Ash gaped at her friend in disbelief; though the alicorn tried to come up with a less gruesome explanation, the memory of cannibals infesting Canterlot’s ruins refused to let anything else appear in her mind. She all but demanded, “Why?”

“Crystal Pony biomaterial exhibits properties inherent to gemstones used in arcane devices.”

Ash would have acidly commented on how disgusting she found it, but recalling her past also brought one more memory—how dangerously close she had come to feast on the flesh of her kind; not waiting for the ponies to die first would have been her next and inevitable step in her degeneration. 

“I pity those poor ponies,” she whispered. 

The Machine Goddess hadn’t mentioned any of that; she just wanted to grab the Crystal Empire’s treasure and use it for her ridiculous plan. Before Ash could get mad because of that revelation, Nameless reacted to her words, “Request: clarification.”

Already strung up, the alicorn glowered at them, her eyes flaring up with anger; it died almost instantly—Nameless simply didn’t know better. They needed the right ‘data’ to be put in their head, not be admonished for the lack of it. As before, the responsibility for teaching a ‘god’ something wrong pressed heavily on Ash’s shoulders, but with the Sun already resting on her withers, it felt a bit easier; nor would it be the first time, and so far her attempts hadn’t resulted in a catastrophe.

After exercising her meagre wisdom for a few silent moments, Ash had some idea of what to say; she began with, “You care about designations a lot, right?”

“Designation: the key value of a living organism,” Nameless eagerly agreed.

“What would you…” the alicorn hesitated, but then decided to go for it, “...feel about ponies being denied to fulfil their purpose in life?”

“Unacceptable waste of resources.”

A grimace screwed up Ash’s features—such logic sounded in tone with what must have led to the Crystal Empire becoming a slaughterhouse. If before she had allowed herself to ignore Nameless’ overly practical approach to ‘life forms’, hearing the consequences of following that path left her no other choice but to oppose her friend.

“We are not just resources, Nameless,” she firmly objected. “All living beings deserve to live.”

Ash expected her memories to be ‘quoted’—the alicorn killed more rats and crows than she could remember; the defender of life had almost pulled a trigger of a gun aimed at a defenceless pony. But if Nameless had gone through her mind, then they should also know Ash’s regret and the resolve to not let such things happen again. The silence stretched, imbuing Ash with fear of her not being convincing enough.

Nameless finally spoke, “Preservation of life: potentially beneficial due to superior data output. Commence: trial of the new approach.”

The usual dry wording still bothered Ash to a degree, but she did achieve her goal and that mattered more than Nameless’ cold way of expressing themselves. 

“It was surprisingly easy to persuade you,” she chucked somewhat nervously, not perfectly sure if it worked indeed.

“Observation: Ash displays unintentional and impossible capability to process data resulting in a valuable input.”

The alicorn scrunched her muzzle digesting that and as the subtle meaning of Nameless’ words dawned on her, she glared at them. “You know what, Nameless? F—”



Abruptly finding herself deep in a pile of snow nearly drove Ash into a state of panic, yet she managed to dig her way out, emerging into a torrent of hail assailing the snowdrifts, which rose and fell into the horizon; she assumed them go that far, since discerning even Nameless hovering above the snow crust not far away presented a problem. However, it didn’t stop Ash from glaring at them; she didn’t comment on Nameless’ teleportation lacking precision—it was well deserved.

Wondering if she somehow ended up in Canterlot—the howling wind sounded suspiciously familiar—Ash looked around again. The blizzard concealed no dark silhouettes belonging to crumbling towers, yet she still couldn’t shake off the sensation of otherworldly presence threatening her flesh with a deadly cold. Ash waded through the snow to implore Nameless to urge on another jump, when the roar too loud for even the most savage of snowstorms shook the alicorn to the core. Snow changed its chaotic direction to blast her side, but, surprisingly, it came along with a wave of heat. Squinting against the stinging ice, Ash bore witness to fire blooming in the sky.

For a moment she mistook it for the Sun—it felt the same in a way she wouldn’t be able to articulate. The blaze neighboured her celestial charge in the rapidly clearing sky and so Ash stared at the unbelievable sight in confusion.

“Observation: dragon fire,” Nameless offered, foreseeing their companion’s curiosity.

 Ash worriedly uttered, staring into the raging flames, “I hope Luna wasn’t there.”

“Luna arrived at the Crystal Empire,” Nameless informed her.

The alicorn gave them an even more concerned look, but receiving no reaction, suggested, if reluctantly, “Shouldn’t we teleport to her?”

Despite the radiance giving her a distinct impression of sunlight—Ash could even stare directly into the should-be-blinding effulgence—she would prefer to not come any closer to the flames devouring the spirits that used to torture her for years; nor did she look forward to visiting a place specialising on butchering equines.

To her relief, Nameless opposed the idea, “Next teleportation: not possible.”

“But what about Luna? Is she safe?”

Nameless remained mute for a few long moments, only slightly swivelling their skull-crowned head, as if observing something. 

“Luna’s status: critical,” they announced at last.

Glancing betwixt the light finally beginning to dim and the grim equine observing it with what looked like genuine apprehension—an emotion alien for an entity not afraid of anything—Ash started to panic. “What’s wrong?”

“Activity detected: Nightmare.”

“Teleport me to her!” the alicorn demanded.

“Warning—

“I don’t care, Nameless,” Ash yelled at them. “Do it, right now!”



In the brief moment anteceding appearing somewhere else Ash tried to do her best to mentally prepare herself for either severe burns or the sight of ponies being dismembered. What she didn’t anticipate was becoming airborne, with the solid—threateningly solid—ground very, very far below. Even with her heart playing staccato in her chest, it took less than a heartbeat for Ash to become disoriented, with only one thing clear—she was plummeting towards her sure death. All the gifted knowledge ignored, the alicorn frantically flapped her wings in the vain hope to fix anything—and she did.

Ash slammed into something dark, neither soft nor hard, but very bony and similarly overcome with panic; tangled into an inseparable mass of limbs, feathers and fear, none of them had a chance to turn their fall into a flight anymore. Together, they spiralled downwards.
> Interlude // Lullaby
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



==============================

Written by: Oneimare

==============================


Interlude – Lullaby


==============================

Special thanks to Zilverbane

==============================


A metal hoof struck the ground and an eddy of dust billowed skywards, aiming to clog the nostrils of the pony who dared to disturb the ground which had known gentle nights for many a century. Not anymore—Flower turned her muzzle away from the suffocating grit, her eyes catching the pied mosaic of tents; the filly hastily averted her gaze, lest common sense guided her hooves back to safety. She clenched her jaws to banish the mirage. It would be safe for as long as the survivors of the great escape didn’t bother finding out who created a mechanical divine standing behind a murder of a pony. Of course, a single death might not merit enough attention to deserve a proper investigation, given the sheer number of those who perished in their struggle for freedom and warmth; nor did the tenuous pretence of a shelter allow much room for such endeavours. Still, Flower would rather not put a bet on her luck after everything that had led her to this point in life. 	

The dry wind tickled her neck and carried with it disjointed fragments of words—summons for the first meal of the day; the first breakfast ponies would have in a place they were to call a true home soon. Some part of Flower wished for her name to be echoed through the desolation of the Badlands, but she knew better—none should miss her. Wire had always had a family and now she had also found a new friend in Delight; perhaps, a better friend than a filly with stupid ideas yet to benefit anyone, including herself.

Hastening her step to enter the domain of silence disturbed by but the desert lulling itself into lonely slumber with its own lament-blighted howls, Flower gained on her only goal aside from the vague aim to be anywhere else other than with the survivors of Canterlot. One equine shared with her the curse of self-imposed exile; although that concluded the laconic list of things she shared with the demi-goddess, Flower had at least one actual reason to bother Luna right now. No matter how bleak her future seemed at the moment, Flower had never properly thanked the sombre alicorn for saving her life. 



A land bereft of even grass struggled to offer enough for something as hungry as fire, so Flower and Luna tried to do their best to ignore the choking fumes of smouldering lichen—not a particularly daunting task with the awkward silence they also had to withstand whilst resting by what barely qualified as a bonfire. Both mares hated to admit—despite the lengths they had gone on to achieve solitude, they would rather suffer the sheer chasm of their differences than the prize the two fools coveted so. One of those discrepancies demanded a considerable effort from Flower—avoiding paying close attention to the silhouettes materialising in Luna’s mane; shades with piercing eyes, dissolving back into the alicorn after long moments of unblinkingly glaring at the filly. Their owner, however, spared Flower but a few looks and words since the young mare had finally caught up with her; the former Princess’ eyes stared vacantly at the horizon and she came back to life only to slice open the thickening darkness with her celestial sickle, spraying sparkling stellar blood upon her night’s deep indigo coat and deluging the slumbering lands with pale silver.

As more and more stars poked holes in the black veil of the firmament, Luna let out a deep sigh and spoke hoarsely, “Your companionship deserves my utmost gratitude, Tin Flower. But I’m afraid it is not meant to last, for my journey has to go on whilst yours would be better to conclude by this meagre fire. It is highly unwise for a pony of your age—of any age—to linger in my shadow for long.”

With the dusk claiming the vast emptiness of the Badlands, the ominous dwellers haunting Luna’s mane waxed in accordance, manifesting as more than just portending pairs of malice-laden eyes. As Luna announced her warning, a stallion soundlessly broke the surface of the ink that her hair had become, and stood guard by the alicorn’s side, shedding black mist, which rimed stone beneath its spectral hooves.

“Sleep peacefully, sweet filly,” Luna finished, standing up; true to her world she prepared to depart, if not without unhidden reluctance. “And in the morning rejoin your friends.”

Flower didn’t hesitate with her resolute answer, “I don’t want to go back.”

Black as the night she had summoned, the mare stared at the child muffling herself into ragged clothes and scuttling closer to the scant and yet merciful embers; the sinister alicorn tried to vainly fathom the attraction of such a miserable state above all the others. “Prithee, tell me… why?”

Long plagued by Nightmare and already privy to Canterlot precipitating the ageing of its residents, Luna still got the hairs of her coat standing straight upon witnessing the dismal expression which had no right belonging to such a young face. It seemed as if Flower intended to leave the question unanswered, but before the silence could stretch into disrespectful refusal, she admitted, “I can’t look them in the eye.”

Luna’s predatory eyes effortlessly penetrated the dusk to find the faraway camp; it dreamt, having abdicated the rites of celebration and mourning—the time for both would come when everyone sheltered themselves in a home with walls made from something other than a tarpaulin. Amongst those who toiled to raise a city from this unwelcoming soil, one mare stood out—a relic of the past; a rainbow preserved in a shell of arcanium.

“Alas,” murmured the alicorn. “Something I can relate to.”

If subtly insisting on leaving her alone had borne no fruit for the entire day, being repeatedly straightforward now would achieve nothing either and so the alicorn heaved a resigned sigh, summoning a timid smile to the filly’s chapped lips. With a strange peace settling betwixt no less peculiar ponies, Flower dared to indulge in her curiosity. “May I ask what you are going to do?”

“Sunset Shimmer suggested reclaiming my crown by casting Nightmare away,” Luna mused aloud; her voice abruptly grew cold as ice, “She is but a fool.” The alicorn’s gaze once more scanned the desert, but even the sharpest eyes had no chance to best the darkness born of ignorance; the new world Luna barely had a chance to experience after returning from the Moon had changed again, except this time she had no sister’s love to shed light upon those secrets. Her bones ached with shadows swelling within; it would only get worse, darker and darker, till it, too, bested her. But she said only, “Unfortunately, without a throne, I am no better. There is no place for me, for only the insane would offer a shelter for Nightmare.”



Flower kept squinting at the page, but the symbols stubbornly refused to abide, merging one into another, denying her the meaning of the text—she couldn’t decipher a single word, although it wasn’t her first time seeing the story about two alicorn sisters. Mayhaps, the filly would have had a better chance with something written in a less ornate calligraphy; or, maybe, the ominous dark figure towering over her shoulder deserved the blame. Yet, turning to meet Luna’s sharp eyes, Flower found no reproach in her teacher’s gaze; the usual darkness notwithstanding, the elder mare radiated ceaseless patience. Driven to despair, the striving to cure her illiteracy mechanic often came close to tearing in shreds the parchments meticulously prepared for her by Luna, but the alicorn herself had never lost her composure, no matter how strongly her student’s mind persevered against receiving knowledge. For the same reason Flower had never dared to defile Luna’s efforts, she returned to the uncooperating page to glare at it. Letters gradually gained familiarity, combining into words and, clumsily mouthed by the frowning filly, they became sentences coherent enough to be uttered in a full, if stuttering, voice. 

“Very well,” Luna dryly commented on her success. “It should be enough for today.”

A relieved sigh escaped Flower’s lungs but her lips formed a smile for another reason—Luna had no habit of dispensing praise with generosity. That grin didn’t last for long, however; not with her teacher leaning heavily on the wall of roughly hewn stone and screwing her eyes shut. The lingering desire to learn partially robbed Flower’s question of the genuine concern that prompted it in the first place. “Is it like a sickness?”

Sharing a roof with the elder mare allowed the curious filly to gain some insight into Luna’s macabre physique; but beyond learning it came by an odd name—Nightmare—Flower had yet to figure out if the alicorn suffered or benefited from her ghastly ‘companion’.

“Even the worst plagues this world has to offer…” Luna tried to bravely smile, but the mare’s features became twisted into a grimace against her best efforts; her words coming almost as a groan, she finished, “...Can’t compare to what Nightmare does to its host.”

Flower reached out with her hoof, but retracted it, unsure if her touch would bring comfort to the shivering mare; or if she would be unscathed. “How… how badly does it hurt?”

Luna mirthlessly chuckled in response. “I haven’t known pain for centuries,” she added without joy either.

If Flower was to list the positives of Nightmare, it seemed to spare Luna from the necessity of sleep; a debatable statement, however, as every so often she stared vacantly into space for long minutes, completely unresponsive till regaining consciousness with a start and haunted expression overtaking her. Assuming Luna continued to deeply care for Flower’s wellbeing, the modest mechanic should never fear for her life—not many held a candle to the combined strength of an alicorn and her undying soldiers; those who could, knew wiser than challenge them, anyhow. As a clear downside, the gaunt mare consumed more sustenance than her skeletal frame merited, whilst recovering none of the healthy constitution. And not once Luna spoke of Nightmare in a positive light, skulking in her own shadow, ever gloomy and with her eyes glistening.

Flower offering Luna no reply other than a confused look prompted the alicorn to sombrely prove filly’s scant knowledge, “That doesn’t mean having something churning inside me is a pleasant sensation.”

Even when no eyes glowed in the alicorn’s mane, Flower bathed in malevolent attention belonging to the semi-translucent husks of mares and stallions; though, they never disappeared for long. “Is it them who does this to you?” she tried to guess.

“They are victims only.” The mare shook her head. “Though they suffer not their mistake anymore.”

“You can’t mean…” Flower’s eyes widened and she couldn’t help leaning away from the wisps of dark mist that coiled from Luna. “They’ve come to be like this willingly?”

“And so have I.”

Not for the first time, Flower found herself unable to ignore the ugly truths hiding beneath the mystery surrounding the alicorn; the tales Luna shared with her only facilitated the filly’s naivete waning—the former Princess’ affliction had demanded a steep price from the supposed to be unaging body, but it might not be where the most danger lay. 

The comprehension betrayed itself sneaking into Flower’s mind by bestowing upon her an expression of profound disappointment. Noticing that, Luna hurried to draw the filly’s attention away, “Would you mind giving me a little favour, Flower?” 

The young mechanic tensed, warily eyeing the silhouettes that seemed to both lack any thought and be possessed by malevolent intent at the same time; never daring to touch Flower, they nevertheless always succeeded to keep her on edge. And, after learning about their sorrowful existence being a choice, Flower dreaded hearing Luna’s request.

The alicorn continued without waiting for her answer, “I’ve been aiding your education for a while now and I think you should be able to enlighten me in return.”

“Not unless you ask something technology related.” The filly shifted uneasily, aware keener than ever of her ignorance. “And even then I can’t promise to answer your every question.”

An encouraging smile graced Flower and Luna spoke in no less kind voice, suggesting she would do equally well without receiving the solution for a matter so trifling, “You seem to possess foresight, for I couldn’t stop wondering how a golem—a mere machine—was able to attain a divine state. Back in my day, those lumbering mockeries of life had trouble executing even the simplest of orders.”

The question flooded the young eyes with darkness, casting sharp shadows upon Flower’s muzzle; clenching her jaws, she intended to deny the former Princess’ request, but she did owe Luna for those lessons. Thanks to them, the little mechanic already understood some manuals and technical documents, meaning she could leave behind the miserable existence of feeding on scraps and enter the world of honest living. Letting out a sigh sounding at least a decade older than her, Flower gathered her thoughts to try to explain a mystery she barely understood herself. 

“I have no idea how they used to make golems—it sounds like a pure magic thing to me,” she began by reminding Luna about the limits of her knowledge. “But you are not completely wrong about equinoids being machines, except those machines have memories—souls, as they say themselves. When I was creating… the Machine Goddess, I unknowingly put Twilight Sparkle’s soul into her. That makes her special, I suppose—the others have artificial memories to anchor them to reality.”

The alicorn mutely ruminated on the answer for quite a while, keeping Flower on edge, but responded only with cold, “I have known Twilight Sparkle—that… thing isn’t her.”

“Then I’m sorry—I have no other answer,” the filly muttered, hanging her head, now utterly confused about her creation in addition to becoming more ashamed of it. “I’m sorry.”

A jagged, yet gentle hoof touched her chin, prompting Flower to raise her eyes and meet those of Luna—still unease-inducing, but bearing vestiges of warmth. The alicorn spoke softly, “A dubious contrivance, that is, those equinoids, but something expected from ponykind always so ingenious. I should have anticipated artificial life being able to compare to nature one day—truly, a wonder.”

Neither Luna’s tone, nor the mare’s attempt to infuse her eldritch features with kindness succeeded. Flower averted her eyes, almost inaudibly uttering, “The Machine Goddess killed an innocent pony. What is wonderful about that?”



Humming to itself, the arid wind picked up its beloved tool—sand—and attempted to smooth the serrated rocks forming the inhospitable landscape of the natural wastes hiding in Kludgetown’s shadow. Usually, only the desert song disturbed the cruel peace of the environment too hostile for even the unfastidious natives, but as the night descended upon the unsightly crags like a murder of silent crows, ominous sounds cut into the melancholic melody—horrified shrieks and a suggestion of something unspeakable taking place in the darkness.

“Luna, please,” the filly cried, trying to keep her voice down.

Upon returning from an especially demanding working shift, Flower couldn’t resist indulging in a brief spell of rest before anything else. Her awakening was harsh—prompted by a sudden and frightening noise; the twilight, sneaked on the filly in sleep, rendered her blind, yet one sound she managed to recognise—that of Luna’s distress. When Flower’s eyes had finally adapted to the moonless night, her burning with adrenaline blood abruptly turned into ice, for she realised—they weren’t alone. Whatever had hidden behind Luna’s eyes emerged, perceived more by its sheer pressure on the suddenly so fragile fabric of reality than by Flower’s mercifully crippled sight.

Blackness, so deep it starkly stood out even the pallid starlight, coiled around the alicorn with her spine and limbs bent into a disturbing physique of something utterly inequine. The filly, shaking in her worn horseshoes, caught a glimpse of turquoise eyes—devoid of sanity. Yet, Flower held firm to the waning hope, whispering, “Can you hear me, Luna?”

“Go away, Flower,” the horrible mare uttered, her words followed by chilling echoes. “It is not safe.”

“It is not safe for you too—you are hurt,” Flower weakly objected, fighting the urge to run away; she feared turning her back to Luna more than abandoning the alicorn. “I know you feel no pain—”

The sounds of flesh being torn, tendons snapping and bones crunching silenced the filly; never squeamish, she screwed her eyes shut. But she couldn’t bear not seeing for more than a heartbeat.

“Hunger,” Luna croaked. Something dripped from her jaws, which opened and closed to reveal rows of fangs. “I’m starving.”

Flower all but fell on the sand, half-sobbing, “All the money I earn goes into feeding you… into feeding them!” As her lament went unanswered, she pleaded, “Luna, please, you need to let them… it… go… I know—Nightmare is a choice…”

The stars shook with the peals of laughter; the sound carried no mirth to the sombre heavens, only agonised hysteria. The silence returned as sharply as it was violated. “You know nothing,” Luna snapped, her voice cold, pained and despairing. 

Stricken by the terror as she might be, the young mare refused to give up. “You’ve taught me so much, so why don’t you ever tell me about Nightmare? I want to help you, Luna.”

Momentarily, the wisps of preternatural darkness retreated from the alicorn, letting Flower witness Luna’s visage contorted in torment.

“Just leave me be,” the fallen demi-goddess hissed through clenched teeth.

“I can’t. What if you badly hurt yourself? Or what—”

“What in the Great Egg is going on here?” a grating voice interrupted her.

The unmistakable accent betrayed the words coming from a beak; just like the darkness left Flower no choice other than to rely on her ears, so did the light deny her the sight of the avian—the lantern in the newcomer’s grasp hurt Flower’s eyes, though its beam was yet to yank the filly from the stifling embrace of the night and cloying madness.

Flower’s heart skipped a beat—the truth-revealing blazing eye in the gryphon’s claws slowly swivelled, on a course to shed clarity upon Luna and Nightmare. When she heard a powerful flap of leathery wings and another, much more sinister sound, it took less than an eyeblink for Flower to realise what was going to happen.

“Luna, stop!” she yelled at the top of her lungs; another fraction of a moment later, Flower comprehended the futility of her plea, but still asked of the darkness, “Please, don’t do it…”



Even before the grand catastrophe unfolded, the progressive deterioration of Canterlot’s living conditions had motivated quite a large number of its dwellers to betray their home in favour of Kludgetown. Whilst those fugitives by no means represented the most demure part of the equine population, they had gradually balanced out the desert refuge’s infamous murderous inhabitants, rendering a prospect of residence in that dusty city far less suicidal. These days Kludgetown’s streets teemed with all kinds of passersby—equines, avians, serpents and reptiles; somehow, a place not meant to be attractive for any decent—and valuing their well-being—creature had become a hub of trade and communication betwixt almost every race inhabiting the realm. Yet the bustling activity fell on deaf ears and blind eyes of filly staring into the ebullient thoroughfare. Darkness claimed her vision and amongst those shadows—an alicorn, her howls inundated with emotion as her body rushed towards the light, craving to snuff it out. 

“Oi, kid,” a gruff voice dispelled the chilling illusion—tore Flower away from the gluttonous nightmare. “Ah ain’t payin’ none fer slackin’.” As Flower glanced guiltily at the stallion saturated with grease so profoundly, she radiated purity compared to him, and frantically moved her hooves to screw the mantle back on the engine, the older mechanic grunted, before trying to speak again in a voice less harsh. He failed, but his words didn’t sound like a bark either, “Lisoon ‘ere, Flo’er. Ye is a good black-hoof ‘n’ Ah ain’t holdin’ no grudge when them good black-hoofs gots a bad day. All gots a bad day one of them days.”

“I’m fine,” she replied, colder than it was called for… as cold as the last night. 

The stallion snorted, but seeing Flower doing her best to make up for her unscheduled break, decided not to try his luck with the mysterious and withdrawn filly. Too impressed by her repairing skill—even so considering her age—he tried to ignore the rumours surrounding his best mechanic and today that task proved to be harder than usual, with how haunted she looked.

The screwdriver shook in Flower’s hooves; the shivers ravaging her body persisted through the Sun peeking over the horizon and she doubted her recovery from shock was to happen in a timely manner. Still, she squeezed the tool and not because of the pride or reputation to defend.

Luna had to be fed or she would kill again. 

Flower sharply gasped as her body failed—the screwdriver clattered on the floor and a whimper escaped her lips as the filly herself had to prevent following it.

“Now, lisoon ‘ere—”

“I’m fine!” she roared, stomping her metal hoof so hard, it left an imprint on the floor.

The stallion, twice her size, backed away from the glare of eyes overflowing with tears. He shook his head disapprovingly, but, again, found himself unwilling to oppose the eerie child—an equine who came out of the wilderness each morning to work harder than a grown mare to spend every bit earned on meat, which she carried into the thickening dusk, into shadows that murmured with something other than just gusts of dry breeze.

Flower picked up her tool and clutched it close, seeking comfort in the pain of the sharp end digging into her coat—it came satisfyingly close to distracting her from rewinding the events of the last night in her mind all over again. No stranger to death, she found it disturbingly hard to be bothered by the fatally curious gryphon’s demise, yet the scene of Luna’s teeth ripping the eagle’s throat out had kept replaying in Flower’s mind the moment her focus slipped even a little from blocking the gruesome memory. Their eyes met that moment—her and Luna’s; brimming with moisture, those weren’t the eyes of a feral predator and with her silent plea, the alicorn bestowed a revelation upon Flower. The two bottomless wells of turquoise suffering tore away the veil of naivete—the last shreds the filly desperately had clung onto despite the reality crystallising into an ugly truth of Luna’s true state.

The sense of duty demanded of Flower to cease the useless wallowing in her misery and get back to work, lest she wanted her worst fears to manifest once again when the Sun set. The logic and reason, however, worryingly suggested—even if the filly gave it all, it still might not be enough to assuage Nightmare’s appetite. If before horrible sounds woke up Flower in the middle of the night, keeping her frozen and drenched in cold sweat till the morning finally drove Luna’s ‘condition’ back into the recesses of the alicorn body, now the young mechanic returned from her arduous work to the fearsome darkness ruling the abode chiselled in rock. More than once she had to spend the night on the bed of cold stone, blanketed by uncaring stars; still, more preferable than sharing a roof with something far, far more sinister than just shades protruding from the former Princess’ mane. Flower couldn’t tell if her precautions had kept her safe or if Nightmare posed her no danger; the last night supplied her with undeniable evidence of whatever infesting Luna not only having a deadly potential, but holding its host… hostage. 

The filly’s limbs finally unthawed, even if she had no warmth of hope to thank for that. Whatever solution she came up with would undoubtedly demand money to realise it, and idle workers received no pay, no matter how insufficient. As she bent over the engine to finish her job, her attention slipped again, though this time for a reason vastly different—her ears perked up and swivelled, following a rare for Kludgetown voice. 

“Yes, I do seek them!” the pony exclaimed in a tinny voice, nodding vigorously. “Could you, please, tell me how to get to Hope?”

The mare the equinoid spoke to shook her head but her hoof pointed in Flower’s general direction and she said, “But I’ve heard one of the mechanics in that workshop might know how to get there.”



Two finely cut gemstones clicked against the counter, attracting every pair of eyes in the butcher’s shop to Flower; even clouded and empty gazes belonging to the goods seemed to fix on the valuable crystals. The owner himself bored into the little mechanic with an unblinking gaze of a reptile. Flower answered him with a defiant glare and reached for the last jewel, but her hoof stopped halfway—those two should be enough for the greedy crocodile and… and as long as this one remained intact, its owner counted as not dead, technically. Ignoring that train of thought before it had a chance to derail her entire consciousness, Flower remembered why the butcher had to be paid more than usual. Her eyes studied the dark crimson carcasses hanging from the ceiling, though it wasn’t the meat which interested her the most at the moment. 

When the shopkeeper returned from the backroom with a magnifying glass in one set of claws and the crystal all but lost in another of his massive paws, Flower demanded, “ I’m also taking the chains. And the hooks.”

The crocodile froze mid-step to stare at her.

A pony visiting a place specialising in selling meat deserved an odd look, though it wasn’t exceedingly rare for equines to develop a taste for flesh in these trying times and desiccated lands. A pony regularly buying meat twice her body weight raised suspicion; of the kind that repelled curiosity by the merit of some unwholesome suggestion. It still could be explained—Kludgetown had an entire street at the market district dedicated to the trade of animals, with some being bred locally in dark warrens. However, a ragged filly, barely tall enough for her scowling muzzle to rise above the counter, and who paid in currency she had no good reason to possess, incited enough worry to be reported to the authorities—whatever she was up to would likely lead to a thorough investigation which might sweep behind the bars everyone involved. Yet the second gem drew the crocodile to itself like a lantern calling for a moth; the butcher would be singed, maybe even burnt, but how could he resist the glint of the sublimely faceted crystal? Glaring at Flower as if she offended him by her mere existence, the reptile grabbed the remaining payment and all but dashed into the backroom again to throw his treasure into the safe to wait till his visit to the fence. Presently, he proceeded to take massive cuts of flesh off the hangers and throw them on the filly’s rickety cart; the fang-like hooks followed the meat, later joined by heavy chains. 

Too late Flower realised how observing the grunting butcher allowed her mind to wander off, returning to what bothered her the most—aside from Luna. No matter how hard the filly tried to justify the method with which she procured those crystals, it painted her as not a good pony. She already compromised her chance for sainthood by facilitating a murder—by creating a murderer; not that she had ever deemed herself a particularly virtuous equine. The mechanic once more attempted to convince herself—her sin served a greater good, she might be saving another gryphon or a pony. Though she knew better than to consider revenge justice, her act of murder for the sake of ponydom balanced out the Machine Goddess felling a stallion to protect her children. 

Flower’s heart had skipped a beat. 

Even such sturdy chains wouldn’t last forever—Nightmare wasn’t merely a kind of a dog to be leashed that simply. So, eventually, Flower would run into the same problem—her toils falling short of earning enough money to quench Luna’s ravenous hunger. She would have no choice but to do it again, for the sake of keeping everyone safe. And Flower also knew—faced with the same dilemma, her creation wouldn’t abandon her responsibility either. However, If Flower committed a mistake in judgement, her murderous spree would be arrested and she would suffer the consequences of her delusion. 

Could a goddess be stopped when the survival of her children would leave her only one choice?



When Flower and Luna first stepped into Kludgetown’s shade, the two mares blighted by the dust of a long trek received a blessing of fate—they stumbled upon a cave, which both provided shelter from both eyes too curious and elements bereft of mercy. As moonrises had passed, marking their unspoken decision to cease wandering, it became quite clear that even a warrior used to sleep bathed in starlight and a filly who grew up at a junkyard would rather not share their abode with furtive desert critters and mischievous sand-laden drafts. And so the alicorn exercised her supremacy over every other equine by hewing a modest yet sturdy home from the very stone; though, to Flower, it seemed some of the granite also suffered an erosion of disturbing degree, but back then she neither had an explanation, nor bothered to seek it. 

Now, when the monolithic walls were shaking with the otherworldly wails, Flower hoped against hope the metal of the chains would resist the same corrosive force that had created the cellar in the lithic soil. The time when she could rely on shackles traded from a butcher had long passed; Kludgetown’s best smiths forged those manacles. They rattled, adding to the maddening cacophony of incoherent growls—cries of pain as Luna tried to fight Nightmare’s urges; the alicorn had lied to her, it couldn’t be hidden now, when the agony of the fallen demi-goddess echoed in Flower’s ringing ears. The young mare pressed them to her head so tightly, it hurt; subdued, the howls remained deafening. Shuddering, squeezed into a corner by the door, Flower whimpered with her eyes staring into space as the chorus of suffering started to, indeed, sound like a song—a discordant melody, following a motif chilling her to the bone. She tried to ignore it, but with nothing else assaulting her senses, it proved to be futile; not knowing why, she spoke, barked, into the dark interior of the room some chant—her words came out muted and robbed of sense, consumed by the pulsing roar of the horror below. Whereas her blubbering carried no coherence, the blares of the darkness imprisoned under the floor formed syllables first, words and sentences next.

Flower heard her name; before any thought even formed in her mind, she had found herself by the door, ready to open it and seek the sweet silence of the wasteland. But the Nightmare was faster still, nailing her hooves to the floor—movement flashed in the corner of her eye. Slowly turning to the trapdoor exhaling clouds of dust in the rhythm with the Nightmare’s bellows, Flower no longer witnessed the submerged in darkness gaol for the former Princess and her warden’s dwelling. Sickly silver light reflected off the crystals in the open casket on a shelf, though its source stood hidden; the pale radiance barely penetrated night’s flesh, letting the gasping and shivering mechanic discern only a silhouette—a body sprawled on the floor. Belonging to a pony, a stallion she had met once at the bog, it lay still as a stone—a dark island in the sea of charcoal water which had a crimson sheen. Flower dreaded he would move, at the same time craving for it; stunned by the unceasing thunder of Nightmare’s wretched song, she struggled to perceive it as a delusion conjured by the suffocating insanity. 

Pushed with more force than it was necessary, the door vindictively gave in, sending the young mare to tumble into the cold night outside. Yet as Flower clumsily landed on her hooves—nearly on her muzzle—she instantly recoiled. She was back in the cave, staring right into the clouded eyes of the murdered stallion; when Flower tried to back away, the floor tugged on her hooves—the blood, thick as tar, refused to let her go. Panicking, she all but lost her balance, fighting the viscous ooze that sucked her in eagerly, suggesting far more depth than a mere puddle on the floor merited.

By the moment she scrambled out of the scarlet mire, the bubbling sludge devoured the corpse and seemed to recede, as if soaking through the thick stone in the cellar—back to its source. Yet, Flower’s limbs remained uncooperating—stained with red, they tugged her to follow death into the hollering lunacy. Stumbling every step, the young mare rushed to the array of bottles forming an improvised medicine chest; her numb hooves toppled the phials and flasks till she grasped the neck of an ordinary bottle and her teeth sank into the cork, her jaws pulling. The smell of strong alcohol hit her nostrils and she poured the moonshine on her hooves, watching in dismay how it splashed against the sanguine smirch like water against wax. With her head splitting apart from the headache summoned by Nightmare, she could barely think, but it didn’t take her much effort to realise—she would find no escape neither from her past, nor her present. Still, Flower gave the bottle a long look; well aware of the dubious help it might offer, she willed to try the nepenthe—anything—to deafen the eldritch hymn. 

Flower hesitated one last time when the bottle mouth kissed her lips, then let the drink burn her throat and sear her tongue. Suppressing both coughing fit and the desire to spit out the unagreeable concoction, she managed to swallow the liquid fire—only to instantly retch as her body and mind rejected the poison; the moonshine stayed inside her, however, encouraging Flower to take another sip. Mere heartbeats had passed before the inebriating effect kicked in, hitting Flower in the head and weakening her knees. The pounding roar of Nightmare softened its blows, reverting to the chaotic mess of feral noises rather than a suggestion of something purposeful. Yet, Flower failed to find relief as her blurred vision still offered something to be deeply disturbed about.

A horrible equine stood, leaning on the wall for support, staring at her; malnourished and wiry, the earth pony mare—barely not a filly anymore, and only by the merit of being too disgusting to be a child—seemed to be following Luna’s example, successfully adopting the repulsive sickly appearance, but managing without Nightmare’s assistance. However, the true ugliness hid beneath her ungroomed greasy coat—the potential for deception, the ability to unflinchingly cease life again and again.

Her reflection in the mirror blinked and aimed its gaze at the light growing ever stronger.

With moonshine further claiming Flower’s mind as its domain, the crystal hearts she had ripped from metal chests gleamed like stars. Sharp and cold, they stared into her soul, the rotten black core driving her to commit atrocities one after another. As their pile had grown, she found it easier and easier to convince herself—it was the right thing to do; after all, Nightmare had claimed no more victims since that fateful night, and those equinoids could be returned to life one day…

As Flower’s eyes transfixed on the gemstones, the rest of the room became a whirlwind of darkness and whispers; she collapsed on the floor, the bottle shattering. The intoxicating fumes rose in the air like mist, forming equine silhouettes—slightly angular, dazzling her with corroded chrome and tarnished steel. They all glared at the mare prostrate on the floor, their gazes glowing with countless questions. How many more would have to join their ranks? How did she plan to repay her debt to them? How long she planned to keep them hostage?

Neither she knew the answers, nor did she bother to think about them; Flower sifted through the souls of machines she had touched through her entire short life, seeking the one she didn’t steal. Metal faces flashed before her and still, it evaded her—the heart of a goddess. Flower’s confused gaze flickered to her reflection and as  it met those dark eyes, her own heart sank. In her desperation, she created an ultimate machine, but became for the goddess what she tried to replace for herself; she might have not realised it back then—the burden of breathing life into the empty crystals of the newborn deity fell on her filly shoulders.

And so, it was there all along, staring at Tin Flower from the mirror—the soul she had put into the Machine Goddess.



“Tell me,” Flower exasperatedly pressed on, her eyes boring into Luna’s vacant expression. “What is it?”

Ceasing staring into the void of her consumed consciousness, the alicorn ever so slowly shifted her vertical pupils to regard the filthy mare with a mix of annoyance and amusement. “How many times,” she all but mocked her caretaker, “you are going to ask me that, I wonder.”

Once Flower would have slapped her cheeks and dragged her hooves down in a dramatic display of being bemused by Luna’s refusal to cooperate; years had tempered her patience with the lunatic divine… somewhat.

“As many as it takes for you to explain everything to me,” the grease-blighted mechanic on her day off heatedly snapped at the elder; seeing her flinch, Flower continued in that direction. “Anything! I’m trying to help you here.”

Swiftly recovering from that outburst, the former Princess muttered dejectedly, “Not only that knowledge is fatal, but it isn’t going to help—none can benefit from it.”

“Shoot away, because I don’t think things can get any worse for me. Stuck here with a demi-goddess who acts like a child when she remembers she isn’t a feral beast.”

The way Luna’s eyes slightly widened betrayed the younger mare’s words cutting deep and finally finding living flesh in that desiccated carcass, but the truth drew too little blood to matter; and the twilight now always coiling around the alicorn hid the sign of weakness. As if nothing happened, Luna deadpanned, “You have to trust me.”

Flower prepared another hiss to unleash on her, refusing to give up on the verbally besieging Luna’s fortress of forbidden knowledge. However, she held her tongue back. Even after being fed up tolerating the lies oozing from the alicorn’s steadily rotting mind, Flower hadn’t forgotten—she owed her life to Luna… the misery of being bound to the fading sanity of a demi-goddess. Nor another simple fact could be ignored—she was alive still; Nightmare possessed infinitely deadly intent, yet Flower was spared. Her features softening, the young mare glanced at Luna, who rested hunched up, her hollow eyes transfixed on something beyond the comprehension of the undying, mortals and everything in betwixt. The slitted eyes of a predator guided not by brutality, but by something far more subtle—an insidious puppeteer Flower had sometimes caught shifting inside Luna, that glimpse of something utterly malignant churning in the alicorn’s seemingly empty gaze. The ancient broken mare vanished and all Flower witnessed was only a shell reverberating with malevolent whispers and echoing with lost dreams. Nightmare walked amongst the living, hiding beneath Luna’s mangy pelt; it festered in her bones, poisoning every alicorn’s breath and word.

“How do I know it’s the truth and not some kind of Nightmare’s trick?”

The young mare’s blood froze in her veins—Luna smiled, and not quite in a healthy fashion. “You don’t.” Madness sparkled in the fallen Princess’ feverish stare. “Once you come in contact with Nightmare, nothing can be trusted anymore. How do I know you are not a hallucination? Maybe I’m on the Moon, dreaming of a curious filly or maybe I’ve won, back when I challenged my sister’s rule, so everyone is dead and Equestria is just one big moonlit wasteland now? How do you know I am real?”

Flower’s hooves carried her away from Luna a few steps before she even realised that; not that she objected to her body’s decision to flee the vicinity of a mare shedding frenzy with every stir of her black core. “Am… am I affected by it, too?” Not a stranger to harsh reality, Flower had found herself unable to phrase the question properly and thus admit the possibility of the said reality being twisted—or even replaced—by Nightmare.

Luna shook her head, her expression unreadable; it only made the gesture more disturbing.

Putting tremendous effort into banishing every hint of tremor from her voice, Flower demanded, “How do I know you are telling the truth?” She fully expected Luna to tell her nothing could be trusted, but instead, she received a heavy sigh. 

The decaying demi-goddess shook her head again and this time clarity descended upon the alicorn, dispelling the mist of progressive dementia that had been clouding her gaze. “Nightmare…” she rasped in a pained yet strangely relieved voice. “It is always there; always was and will ever be…. waiting to be recognised.” 

Luna abruptly fell silent and a deep frown creased her face disfigured by the Nightmare’s gifts; she remained mute for so long, Flower would have lost any hope to finally hear the secret of darkness if not for the alicorn’s eyes—the eerie pupils never stopped shifting, betraying the thought process. Finally, Luna had finished painstakingly choosing her next words; though she still spoke falteringly, as if reluctant, “I used to carefully arrange my night skies, leaving it to stargazers to guess the constellations. As the Sun set, they watched the firmament till forms emerged amidst the twinkle of stars, the shimmer of nebulas and the dance of planets.

“Whilst they enjoyed my riddle, I ruminated on the words of a wandering scholar. He claimed the celestial cycles, arcane flows and my very own Dreamscape, too, suggested the existence of such deliberate patterns—imagined not by the dwellers of this plane of existence.”

Luna’s story enchanted the mare like she was an oblivious filly again, listening to the tales of the aeon-old warrioress; the question escaped her mouth by itself, “Did they?”

“No stargazer ever has comprehended my grand design, taking notice of but parts and remaining ignorant of my tapestry’s entire meaning. I should have followed their example and abandoned the trail of clues and revelations… The call was too strong to resist; on purpose, perhaps. It haunted my solitude and so I sought to answer that nagging whisper.” Luna paused to give the attentive mechanic a look as hard as stone; it carried a suggestion of waning lucidity, however. “Heed my words, Flower: knowledge is one of the most treacherous perils in this realm, for, once learnt, the truth cannot be unlearnt.”

“Thankfully, I’m too stupid to learn anything, and”—Flower smirked tapping her forehead —“sometimes, it’s so good to be an earth pony.”

“Do I look like a smart mare, Flower?” Luna flatly commented, still fully controlling herself, then continued with her vague warning, “Nightmare will find a way to reveal itself for those who are willing… and to those who are not, too, although those accidents are thankfully rare. It can forge any pony into a conduit for self and not many can survive its intent. Years ago Nightmare wormed itself into the streets of Hope… it might have failed to anchor itself in this realm for more than an hour, but it did succeed in reminding everyone of its gravity.”

Flower had sought the answers through the proxy of warlocks and other questionable practitioners of arcane arts infesting Kludgetown’s dark corners. They couldn’t have held a candle to Luna’s cursed genius and she promised herself not to waste money on their ‘help’ anymore. Unwilling to miss a chance to learn something more, now when Luna had finally decided to enlighten her, Flower wondered, “But what is Nightmare?”

The strain of fighting the entity in question had started to take a toll on the alicorn, so her reply came out wearily and curtly. “A horror, which can’t be described.”

Flower snorted. “Yes, those are definitely not the words of a smart mare.”

She received a glare, even if weak, and in return, Luna asked her, “Have you ever suffered such a nightmare, where you are haunted by something unseen yet corporeal that inflicts upon you such dread, it wakes you up?”

For a heartbeat Flower froze—that described half of her nights; she couldn’t forebear wondering if Nightmare’s vicinity had something to do with it. Anyhow, she slowly nodded.

“I never woke up from that nightmare… it woke up with me… and I wasn’t asleep.”

The admission seemed to take the last of Luna’s strength and the alicorn slumped, her eyes misting with the dreaded dementation. And as Flower watched the once hero of battlefields stare into space, all but drooling, the elder’s mane swelled, exuding malevolence in the form of shivering ghastly silhouettes. 

If Luna’s tales held even a grain of truth, then Nightmare should have no power over Flower—such a scenario seemed to require a lot of effort from the ‘victim’. Yet, nervously observing the eternal soldiers standing sentinels by the unconscious body of their general, she wondered if the alicorn hadn’t shared something important with her; Luna had never spoken of what happened to her loyal followers in minute detail. She had told her that they had chosen their fate, so Flower had a shred of hope to hold on to. That small ray failed to penetrate shadows rolling in the mare’s mind like suffocating smoke—Luna’s sudden help only confirmed Flower’s worries. Nightmare lay far beyond comprehension, and for a good reason; ironically, she might have possessed more knowledge about that otherworldly horror than any scholar could ever dream of—and it amounted to only understanding the danger Luna’s ‘bad dream’ posed.

“No, Luna,” Flower whispered, shaking her head. “You woke Nightmare up.”

She struggled to find sympathy for the disgraced Princess in moments like this—chasing a delusion, the alicorn brought her doom not just upon herself, but also on everybody else. Yet along with the nagging whispers of shadows Flower also heard a patient voice spelling out words for her; the mare could easily recall every book they had read together. Madness viciously grasped a gentle soul, Luna repented, breaking Flower’s heart with the depth of her sorrow… it echoed in the jaded mechanic as a twinge of jealousy. Flower had no right to be angry at Luna—she might have brought something horrible to that world herself in a fashion not so different. 



Long after the day shift, the taphouse on the outskirts of Kludgetown’s guild district knew quiet, yet to receive workers stumbling inside after burning the midnight oil; nor did even the first-time visiting patrons tend to lack common sense so direly as to lock horns with the towering charcoal minotaur. The bull glanced at the door as the bell announced a usual patron coming at such an unusual time; not that it was uncommon for her. The place grew quieter still, letting the clicks of a metal hoof rise above the hushed voices. Ebonhorn followed the young mare with his perpetually sullen eyes, not pausing in indulging in the favourite pastime of bartenders—polishing a glass. He watched as the mare, ignoring the looks of the other patrons, climbed the stool; those glares ranged from worry to condemnation, though none dared to say anything. 

She sat there, silent and staring into the assortment of bottles forming the vast and mottled bulwark of the bar. Not for the first time Ebonhorn couldn’t help forebear momentarily sharing the tense mood of his other clients—the shadows dancing in the hollow eyes of Tin Flower sometimes got into him, too. Gradually his establishment regained its modest night liveliness, though the infamous mechanic remained statue-like. Partially out of habit and to dispel the disturbing aura of his patron in the same measure, the bull wondered:

“Are you going to ask me or what?”

Flower’s eyes shifted to a bottle of stiff wine. “Not until you’ve served me.”

Her words failed to move the bulk of the minotaur. Continuing to dutifully rub the glass in his grasp with worn cloth, Ebonhorn dryly noted, “Those aren’t free even for the haunters who have never been in debt.”

Once more silence fell on the tavern as a crystal sailed through the air for the bull to catch it. He glared at the Flower and not just because of her disturbing the fragile peace of his place. His anger went wasted on the mare—she didn’t bother to look if her payment was accepted; as if anyone in Kludgetown would refuse such a generous offer, even when having strong suspicions about where it might have come from. With his dark eyes fixed on the sombre pony, the minotaur harshly uncorked the bottle and poured a full glass of the strong drink, nearly spilling it on the varnished wood; he sent it sliding to Flower in the same borderline careless manner. She acknowledged its arrival with purposeful silence, yet spared Ebonhorn a glower from under her ever-furrowed brows and her nostrils flared to take a good sense of the fortified wine. However tense their relationship might have been, the bovine tavern owner had always treated her accordingly to how she paid and Flower had never kept her purse’s strings tight when it came to visiting his bar—his drinks had an actual pleasant taste to them, whilst still capable of muting the whispers echoing in her head after spending nights by Luna’s bed. Thanks to Ebonhorn’s wide selection of alcohol, Flower could finally hear her own thoughts, even if those belonged to the shadow of a mare she once had been. And the minotaur had never allowed her to get wasted, making the best use of her money—giving her just enough for what she paid.

“Now, tell me,” she breathed out like a sigh. As if those words left a sour taste on her tongue, Flower brought the drink to her lips in one abrupt motion; the glass was empty when she set it back on the counter.

“A rough night, eh?”

“I asked a question,” the mare snapped, grimacing. Her glare clashed with that of the minotaur and she added, somewhat remorseful, “Just as you wanted.”

The bull shrugged. “Shouldn’t have bothered.” This time he ended up receiving a scathing, if deserved, look; it failed to daunt him, however—Ebonhorn offered her a shrug again. “Not my fault it’s all the same—just ol’ good rust and despair.”

“It’s not Canterlot I wanted to know about,” Flower deadpanned and before the bartender could come up with some witty response and drag on that conversation, she pressed on with questions, “What about equinoids? Any news on them?” 

Ebonhorn gave her a long unreadable look, which she met unblinkingly. “Nothing has changed since the last time you asked either. They still sit in their tower, nice and tight.”

That earned the minotaur a shallow, though approving nod and Flower stared into the empty depth of her glass, wondering if the time for a refill had come. Only now the warmth spread through her body, banishing the chill of Luna’s breath; the dizziness finally matched the delicacy of taste lingering in her mouth.

“Curious, though, there is a weird rumour circulating…” Ebonhorn spoke nonchalantly, yet the black with grease equine still tensed instantly, not daring to move as much as her eyeballs. The bartender continued, eyeing the mare, “Folks say the clockwork ponies all but dance on the streets of Hope and a certain mare is always happy to show any stray equinoid the way to that carnival of joy. They say she has a metal hoof and short temper.”

The conversations closer to the peculiar pair died out and more than just Ebonhorn’s gaze drilled into the mare, her prosthetic in particular. Flower sat still, not unlike a statue, defiantly searching for something in the emptiness of her glass. 

“Would you happen to know something about that, hm?” the minotaur probed as the silence stretched on.

“No idea what you are talking about,” Flower barked; her next words came out disturbingly kindly, “And I haven’t seen an equinoid in years.”



Hooves thundered against the metal catwalks that formed streets in this part of Kludgetown.

The confused and terrified equine navigating those, unreliable even in the daylight, paths played with fire—the rickety bridges might not be able to support her weight, especially if she continued to recklessly throw her momentum around like that. Even if common sense had a claim on the crystal-caged mind of this mare, fear drove her forward with indomitable urgency—the pressing need to shake off the shadow chasing her; it didn’t belong to the equinoid and she still couldn’t outrun it.

Countless nameless graves marked the lands to the east of Canterlot, suggesting it a dubious path of escape, unless more bones, be they metal or not, returned to the soil; the Everfree Forest, as perilous as ever, barred direct passage to the relatively clement desert—not too kind for metal limbs, though; the Windigos guaranteed frozen death to those who contemplated heading north. With only one direction left, the artificial ponies had to invariably pass through the sands surrounding Kludgetown and no amount of preparation had a chance to carry an equinoid all the way to Hope without a workshop to be accosted. Even before any steel wanderer was to set their hooves on the shaded and dust-blighted alleys of the bizarre city, they would become acquainted with all kinds of rumours whispered not before the one who imparted that knowledge glanced behind their shoulder. Word of mouth suggested many equally absurd and unnerving peculiarities. Equinoids rarely had a reason to heed such gossip, rendered fearless by their sturdy physique and focused on reuniting with their extended family in Hope. However, two particular pieces of information never failed to get the attention of a metal passerby. 

One suggested a pony deeply sympathising with every equinoid seeker, always glad to offer a helping hoof to the travellers struggling their homestretch. A workshop had its doors opened for the pilgrims on their way to the Unity, ready to set them on the path to the holy city in the Badlands, and not without a blessing of repair. 

Another, however… It warned about the cliffs bordering the shadow Kludgetown cast on the wasteland underneath its towering bulk. Those crags howled at night with not a wind—that which didn’t belong to this world haunted the desolate hills. Yet a filthy waif came and went there with no fear; a mare with a metal hoof, who somehow might be the sole reason Kludgetown had no equinoid residents.

No equinoid could be blamed for dismissing the second one; their long journey had to start with escaping the ice-ridden deadly maze of Canterlot and such an act rarely could be performed without a sacrifice. Making it this far could be considered a massive confidence boost and with Hope already within their grasp, any warning fell on the malfunctioning sensors—sometimes, virtually.

They would come to regret their haste, for those two kinds of rumours spoke of one and the same mare.

Tin Flower feared Canterlot—as any sane pony would; but Kludgetown… it feared her. And that was a sane thing to do. She had learnt from Luna more than just how to read, even though the alicorn might not have intended to teach her student such harsh lessons. The filly had grown up into a young mare watching the demi-goddess bloom with fatal darkness, witnessing how the purest of intentions had rotted into unimaginable horror. Observing Luna’s valiant efforts to stall herself from erupting with the poison, which had the potency to bring death to every living thing in this world, Flower had come to a painful realisation—to fight back against monstrosity, one had to fight it on even terms. Together with Luna, they had a chance, even if fat, to stand against the black tide; Flower also had her own sin to repent for. 

She veered, using a shortcut to close on the galloping equinoid. The advantage of familiarity with Kludgetown rendered the chase almost a stroll, but Flower would rather not have to go all the way down to the city’s base to pick up the crystals. The huntress moved swiftly and silently, the clutter of her hooves muffled by rags wrapped around her limbs. After exercising her knowledge of the district a couple of more times, she emerged into the alley in a heartbeat before an equinoid dashed by its entrance. 

Metal flashed in the darkness and the mechanical mare tumbled, skidding on the dust with the joint of her hind hoof crushed. A black ghastly silhouette with eyes glinting—almost glowing—separated from the mass of ink and towered over the whimpering equinoid. Those eyes stared down at her, emanating but a hollow coldness; the sense of purpose guided Flower’s hooves, nothing more and nothing less. After all, it wouldn’t be a murder—this equinoid was to just enter a slumber in a casket at Flower’s home. Even if it wasn’t… she was doing it for Luna’s sake, for the sake of everyone.

“Why?” the metal mare sobbed. “Why are you doing this to me?”

So close to her dream of a tender mother, to the forgiveness of her brothers and sisters… This machine lay utterly broken on the grate separating her from the benighted abyss, with a nightmare looming from the starless sky. Flower paused, then her eyes caught a reflection on the metal face and her expression hardened till a visage of searing hatred glared back.

She shattered it.
> 7.1 Awakening
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



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Written by: Oneimare

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Arc 7 – The Crystal Nightmare

Chapter 1 – Awakening


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The world ceased spinning, yet Tin Flower’s surroundings persistently refused to regain clarity. She stared at the intertwinement of cables and wires, failing to see any order in the chaotic webwork and the underlying skeleton of pipes and girders. Those vines of metal and rubber had gradually arrested her overwise fatal descent, however, unkindly and thoroughly whipping her as they robbed her body of the deadly momentum. 

Grunting and groaning, the long-suffering mare unbound herself from a bed of steel strands, reminded of her burns and informed of new wounds. Every, even the tiniest, movement tore her jumpsuit from her ravaged skin; she dismissed the threat of infection, because at this rate there would be no body left to treat. Regaining an upright position failed to bring any positive change to the scenery; it did reveal her landing spot being other than some kind of inescapable well—a few paths branched away, though the twilight reigning over that labyrinthian landscape denied Flower any chance to see where they led. 

This place combined the worst of the Edge and the Tunnels with only one difference, and quite major at that. The sickness of metal that had pervaded every corner of Canterlot and insidiously followed its refugees into Hope showed no presence in the Crystal Empire. Although the ducts didn’t gleam in the darkness with polished chrome and the rebar didn’t glisten with a fresh coating of oil, no sores of corrosion blemished them either. Marvelling at the nearly pristine state of the ancient kingdom, Flower almost missed the flicker of movement in a shaded alcove formed by the colourful ‘wines’. Darting to the nearest similar, albeit empty, corner to hide, the tense mare watched the shadows, waiting for them to jitter again.

Her eyes slightly widened as she beheld a silhouette which had no right to belong to a domain of metal so perfect in its preservation—the humped outline of a rat. Yet, something about the most common and equally unwelcome of critters seemed off—the way its coat shimmered in the darkness. The rodent emerged into the meagre light filtering through the countless layers of tangled cables and crossbeams to reveal itself as fitting its surroundings much more than Flower, for no soft disease-ridden flesh formed the body of that puny thing, but unrelenting iron. As the astonished mare stared at the rat, unhurriedly crawling across the treacherous floor of wires, the critter also forwent acting as a vermin—leaving in its wake a swath of metal purified from any signs of nascent oxidation.

Flower suddenly became aware of diligent tiny shades covering every surface, creeping through the thicket of technology to keep it immaculate. One of them dutifully cleaned the plating of some funnel so close to the mare, she needed only to extend her hoof to touch the little metal body. And she did, acutely aware of her foalishness; Flower just couldn’t resist the call of wonder, the amazement that stole any sense from her. The rat exercised almost no protest, stubbornly clinging to the pipe, but letting go when the pull of curious hooves overpowered the motors softly whirring inside its shell. The machine obediently rested in Flower’s grasp, letting the mechanic study the ingenious thing.

The disappointing unsophistication of its design struck her as odd—she would have come up with a more efficient and advanced solution even if she had only the Junkyard at her disposal. Nor did it miss her how the automated cleaner held only a distant resemblance to a rat; the artificial rodent was stuck at an awkward middle ground, where its form did a subpar job at presentation also simultaneously serving as a detriment to its utility. Whilst the rat’s peculiarity answered the question of why corrosion had gone extinct in the Crystal Empire, it spawned riddles, which added to the veil of mystery shrouding the emergent land with an intangible menace. 

The underdeveloped state of the machinery could be explained by the Machine Goddess infiltrating the Crystal Empire years ago to… to what? To use it as… some sort of testing area? To build an army of… lame rats? Flower retained enough common sense to realise how ridiculous it sounded. The equinoids, with their inventiveness born from—and thriving in—limitation, would have easily come up with something better than a poor excuse for a rat with a scrubber attached to it.

Lowered back to the intertwined cables, the artificial animal instantly forgot about Flower, promptly returning to its cleaning duty. It, however, remained weighing heavily on the mare’s mind… for as long as it took her to move one step forward.

Such a trifling thing as a rat cast a gigantic shadow of doubt on her initial reason for braving the forgotten realm—the Machine Goddess might not be the only source of metal threat for Equestria anymore. Nor finding a library seemed like an achievable goal—she would be lucky to find her way out of this maze before hunger and thirst claimed their due. None of that would matter, however, if Nightmare prevailed and as such seeking Luna should be her priority… and then what? Without that vague something that should let her challenge the very gods, facing the alicorn breathing her last would be but an exercise in futility. The Nightmare might have lied through Luna’s mouth, of course, but, having an ample opportunity to measure the ability of that horror, Flower had a gnawing suspicion that, indeed, nothing could bring harm to the otherworldly force.

Regardless, Flower didn’t stand at crossroads with signs pointing to the different paths to choose. To blindly press onwards and hope was all she could do; not that it differed from how she survived her whole life.



The eerie recesses of the transformed Crystal Empire bustled with a quaint life, reminiscent of nature if one were to be exceedingly lenient in seeking any sort of comparison.

The landscape formed by metal, rubber and plastic fused into cavernous net-like structures exhibiting strong industrial provenance by its appearance alone. Robotic rats cleaned up the leaking pungent byproducts belonging to fabrication taking place deeper inside the massive facility, but the acrid chemical reek permeated the humid air along with odours of more disturbing, organic origin. The noises intrinsic to all the kinds of machinery formed a discordant song as if hummed and piped by countless unseen workers. And more than just artificial rodents compromised the number of toilers that could be seen—birds, dogs, cats and other small animals; each and every degenerate in their appearance to the point of being barely recognisable.

Navigation of the strange techno-forest presented itself an arduous task, convenient only for its mechanical wildlife; the improvised paths rarely offered steady purchase for equine hooves and even a malnourished mare had a hard time fitting into most of the passages. In spite of those difficulties, Flower had made inexorable progress towards… somewhere. Advancing in one direction and, when it was possible, skywards, she was yet to see any change to the endless labyrinth. By the time the despair began to settle in, her wish finally came true, though in a somewhat twisted way.

A tunnel formed by gurgling tubes opened into what could be best described as a clearing—a bubble of open space serving a purpose unfathomable to Flower or, perhaps, formed randomly as it seemed to apply to many such places in that sprawling facility. She would have crossed it like any other, were it not occupied by another equine already. A tall silhouette should have belonged to the rarest breed of ponies, but it sorely lacked in regality and… integrity. The bleached bones crowning the rickety frame instantly betrayed it as that of Nameless, standing with their back to Flower. Steel critters surrounded Ash’s sinister companion in a display right from a fairytale—if such a bedtime story aimed to inflict tremendous psychological trauma. Like electricity, horror streaked through Flower’s aching flesh when the moment she had always dreaded finally came—when the voices in her head gained a frightful clarity.

“Variable: Tin Flower. Designation: welding.”

The strange speech didn’t belong to Nightmare; still, every fibre of Flower’s body screamed at her to escape from that eerie horse… yet something drew the tense mare closer to the living effigy. Staring at them with squinted eyes, she began to see a familiar shape underneath the skeleton and outright rubbish. Although Flower failed to identify those remains, she thoughtfully suggested, “Just like this place, you have something to do with the Machine Goddess, don’t you?”

“Nameless connection with the Machine Goddess: found. The Crystal Empire connection with the Machine Goddess: not found,” Nameless replied in a fashion bereft of any emotion.

Released from Nameless’ spell, the animalistic clockwork denizens of the metal weald returned to their craft, but remained nearby, unnerving Flower. Pointing at them, she demanded an explanation, “Then what are those?”

“Machines,” the sentient effigy stated the obvious, to Flower’s annoyance. Before the frowning mare had any chance to comment, they continued, their tone not devoid of inflexion anymore, “Each unit carries a designation, each unit executes its function only. Consequence: no new data output possible. Prediction: insufficient adaptability resulting in inevitable critical failure.”

The first glimpse of the Crystal Empire freed from its ice jail created a distinct expression of existing solely to torment Flower. However, traversing the city of machines she had found only… disappointment. The reality supposed to debilitate Flower with her fears turned out to be true, disturbed the mare only with its lack of finesse—a realm befitting but a foal playing a god. She might have attributed the incompetence of this place to that of the TCE, but where avarice blinded the megacorporation in many ways, it also rendered it ruthless and efficient when it came to squeezing any drop of profit from their domain. Machines ruled the Crystal Empire, indeed, but not those of the Unity. Flower couldn’t even tell if she was looking at what the Unity was destined to become or at its complete failure. In all her worries about the Machine Goddess tearing the world from the weakened hooves of flesh, she had never tried to envision what lay betwixt the gruesome end of ponykind and the moment she created the equinoid destined to ascend above her kind.

Like a screw being attracted by a magnet, Flower’s gaze returned to Nameless solemnly watching the peculiar dance of local ‘fauna’ and the mare was finally able to see past the macabre outfit. The enigmatic equine spoke of failure and, indeed, Flower saw failure in them and sneered, “Are you supposed to be a success? To me, you look like a Harbinger thrown away.”

“Tin Flower’s insight: not completely incorrect. Nameless: incapable of success or failure. Nameless: no designation found.”

Nameless lost their veneer of mystique, thus deserving none of Flower’s already severely depleted stocks of patience or respect. “Whatever, I have no time for this.” She then trotted past them, aiming for a passage, promising by the merit of its size, bitterly muttering, “Not that it has ever helped to talk to machines.”

“Nameless: not a machine.”

Whilst denial in Nameless’ voice had little strength to it, the sudden burst of emotion still managed to bring Flower to a halt. Measuring them with a sceptical look, just in case, the mare expressed her venomous doubt, “Then what are you?”

Gaining even more resemblance to a statue, Nameless stood silent till Flower’s patience ran out. “Just as I thought.”

“Inquiry: what Nameless is?”

A simple question struck Flower like lightning, unearthing the painful memory of her dream defiled by the harsh reality—a question that had marked the start of her journey into madness. “No, not again,” she whispered upon regaining her senses; an accusatory hoof shot out. “You are just like her! Except…” Flower trailed off and then finished stunned again, “…you must… you have no memories, no anchor, no… soul.” 

The equine still waiting for her answer couldn’t be dubbed as anything but a monster—a machine through and through, the one that would wear the sacred bones of a goddess as if there was nothing wrong with that. Would Flower rather have had it awaken in the darkness of her old shack at the Junkyard? As she stood, trying to figure out if Twilight’s aftersound could even be weighted against the void, Nameless repeated, “What Nameless is?”

Flower violently shook her head—she had other things to worry about right now; it all might be pointless anyway, with Nightmare closing on its freedom. “I don’t know and don’t care,” she spat, all but running away into the metal forest. “Leave me alone.”



Although Nameless denied her request, they betrayed their eerie presence with nary a sound, following Flower akin to a shadow—barely falling more than a few steps behind the determined mare. Whilst she would have preferred solitude in her struggle to find the way out of the metal warrens, Flower had to settle for what she could get without wasting much of her energy. With each tunnel squeezed through and an opening left behind, Flower sensed her strength running out; used to starvation, she nevertheless had no chance to ignore her mortal nature indefinitely. Whereas her healthy hooves grew as heavy as her tireless steel prosthetic, her mind took the brunt of the Crystal Empire assault on her—the monotony of flawed perfection repelled her attention, but she couldn’t let her mind focus on the thoughts roiling inside her head, each a threat to her already too greatly compromised psyche. After having to practically tear the wires away from her path in a hopefully not another vain attempt to get closer to a source of light stronger than any she had encountered before, Flower finally emerged into what definitely counted as a disruption in the dreariness… only to choke on her wish.

She had seen grapes only on the candy wrappers; the sweets themselves blighted her tongue with a sour chemical taste; wine tended to give her a splitting headache in the following mornings. It came as no surprise when the clusters of pods hanging from the walls brought nothing positive in her life. 

Inside each sphere of semi-opaque glass, a pony floated, their curious coat shimmering enchantingly through the murky pinkish liquid, whilst ominous dark lines belonged to tubes and cables going in and out of the lethargic body. Like abhorrent tumours on the metal carcass of the Crystal Empire, those tanks burst from the tangle of the machinery which granted blasphemous life; rows upon rows of those brutal cells for the innocent formed a misshapen tower reaching not for the sky, but the impenetrable blackness of the abyss below the harvesting facility. Countless artificial creatures tended to the prison, making sure the punishment lasted undisturbed till the time to reap crystalline flesh came. 

Flower stared at the dark forms gently stirring against the reddish light—so careless in their induced slumber, so pure. Countless generations of infants, all destined to emerge stillborn from the artificial wombs; an offspring of machines, they knew only death—the technology that went so far, too far, stopped right before the miracle became reality. Did they fear, those machines, that their children would rebel against their step-parents and so they never allowed the Crystal Ponies to experience life? It formed a pattern suggesting some fundamental truth—equinoids raised against the TCE in Canterlot; the Crystal Empire had learnt from that mistake and now existed, haunted by this knowledge—hostages to their victims. The inevitable opposition of life and… life. Was it ever possible for two forms of life, one created by another, to coexist in harmony?

As Flower found herself unable to avert her eyes from the peacefully dreaming Crystal Ponies, she discovered with a start—that sight gave rise to no aversion, horror or righteous anger inside of her. Those foals growing into stallions and mares without realising it, would also know no nightmares that had become part of every equine’s life these days. They would never die toiling for the TCE and their daughter would never grow up an orphaned cripple. Not ethical by any extent, this machine-created Tartarus carried a degree of mercy the ponies failed to exhibit in Canterlot; for if every equine in the world was fated to be exploited, then how horrible was this place of peaceful death? And, despite the Crystal Ponies knowing only death, their species prevailed through centuries whereas ponydom steadily dwindled.

Finally able to divert her focus elsewhere, Flower became aware of Nameless—they stood right behind her, though she couldn’t tell if the empty eye sockets were fixed on the pods or herself, nor could it be possible to decipher the expression of a skull, though… the rigid grin of bleached bone disturbingly perfectly fit the display of life degraded till there was nothing left to it but the moments of birth and when it was to be reaped.

“I bet you’re admiring this,” someone spoke. Only a moment later Flower realised those words had left her mouth. She waited with a bated breath, expecting the monstrosity to approve the cynical pinnacle of machine pragmatism. 

A whole minute passed before Nameless stated, “Resource acquisition strategy: inefficient—unacceptable data loss.”

“Data, data, data!” Flower threw her hooves in the air. “Do you talk about anything else, not-a-machine? Oh, yes, designations.”

“Nameless—”

“It was a rhetorical question,” the mare sharply interjected, adding a glare to her words for good measure.

Their way of speaking certainly annoyed her, but not enough for such an outburst. Writing it off as the undeniably oppressive atmosphere exuded by this part of the Crystal Empire, Flower turned away from the trapped ponies, prepared for the unpleasant necessity of backtracking. But something brought her eyes back to the equines in the translucent tanks; furthermore, her hooves carried her closer to the pods, as if having a will on their own. 

The perturbed mechanic softly tapped the glass; the mare inside continued to smile in her slumber. Should she try harder, till this pony was introduced to the agony of the waking world? If Flower were to voice her thoughts and had a company other than Nameless, she knew what she would hear in an obvious response—the world has to offer much more than just suffering; Flower was just a sore loser who had thrown everything away chasing stupid dreams. Her misfortune aside, who would choose a world existing in the fatal shadow of alien influence and no less alien artificial life threatening it from the inside? Who would choose a nightmare over a dream?

The pale light of the macabre installation and the incessant labour of fake animals rendered the glass of the pod reflective enough to show Flower the weathered beyond her age face of the mare who could have had it all—home, friends; family, even if she were to swallow her pride and grow up from fairytales. The somnambulant movement drew her attention back to the pony inside—it wasn’t only her, who dreamt. Everyone had chosen a dream, except Flower… for what reason had she refused bliss? Why indeed? Because of the truth everyone ignored—she prophesied the bleak future prepared for the ponies and, finally, the Crystal Empire served as an undeniable proof of her fear—the end which the rest of ponykind would share with this place, if the Machine Goddess wasn’t stopped. But what drove Flower to keep her eyes wide open? Listening to nobody but herself, she persistently dragged the entire world into her dark providence. Wouldn’t it have been better if everyone remained in a pleasant dream, not unlike those Crystal Ponies?

What if… what if she was wrong? About everything—the Machine Goddess, Nightmare, the doom… 

Did she still live in a fantasy world of foalhood, fancying herself as some sort of a chosen one? What a ridiculous notion, for an uneducated fuck-up of a pony vomited out by the place worse than slums to be destined for something great… something grand other than an immeasurably deep delusion. But wouldn’t she surrender to the same self-deception by attributing to herself some massive failure?

A buildup of emotions conflicting with each other, impossible to suffer even separately, turned into a searing flare of anger demanding a release and Flower’s blood boiled; her metal hoof shot up in the air, preparing to descend upon the polished glass—not to shatter the walls of the gaol, but to open a gate into a true Tartarus—the reality tainted by Nightmare into a sanity-shredding whirlwind on doubt, fear and turmoil…

Her prosthetic stopped.

What was it? Was this knowledge a curse like that of Nightmare to Luna—things Flower had learnt about the world and would never be able to forget? Or had proximity to the deranged alicorn and the overwhelming hardship of unlucky life driven her insane? Not the eerie, Nightmare-induced kind of madness, but an ordinary snap of mind when someone can withstand the stress no more.

Tears fell on the polished glass.

“Forget,” Flower croaked. “I wish I could forget.”

To relinquish memory of everything, of both losses and gains; for everything which was ever dear to her—she had lost. No selective erasure of memory would be able to aid her heartbreak, but a brand new life where she experienced no debilitating agony and the forever lingering pain building up like pressure against the dam which kept her in full possession of her senses.

She sensed magic, cold as ice; yet it touched her gently. Coolness permeated her memories, bringing comfort, but it wasn’t enough—it still unbearably hurt.

“Confirm: Nameless receives Flower’s data.”

A pair of astonished and moisture-brimmed eyes met the void of bone; Nameless patiently loomed over the hunched mechanic with an offer so alluring—to part with all that pain, give it to the one, who could feel nothing; condemn the suffering to oblivion and emerge reborn, free from the curse of wisdom. Flower’s lips parted, her tongue licked them, ready to coil in her mouth and produce one single word separating her from happiness.

She remained silent, staring into the black eye sockets of an emotionless skull—they showed her the future, the excruciating sense of being lost with no memories to anchor one to reality; even the memories of someone else wouldn’t be able to bring any ease to an empty heart. She would be left with two paths—to embrace that emptiness or to fill it through trial and inevitable error. Her mistakes, the atrocities she had committed, weighed heavily on her mind… and her withers—the casket with gems, with lives stolen. Would she leave them unatoned? Even Luna, with all the gravity of her sins and the impossibility of redemption, sought to undo her wrongs; with her memories being the only thing she had left in her possession and the alicorn cherished them above all. Most importantly… what would prevent Flower from repeating her missteps if she couldn’t remember them? 

Flower finally spoke and she said:

“No.”



The Crystal Empire readily greeted the staggering mare back with the overwhelming monody of its broken metal grounds. Brought to exhaustion, Flower no longer suffered from a case of wandering mind as all her focus had to be put into finding her path through the thicket of industry. 

Even in her stupefied state, she couldn’t ignore the dusk of the Crystal Empire’s bowels receding and the air losing its stuffy quality in favour of crisp gusts visiting the cramped passages never meant to be navigated by equines. When another opening started to loom ahead, Flower contemplated veering away so as to not witness the Crystal Ponies once more; the promise of light and a chance to breathe in full lungs without fear of them filling up with smoke got the better of her.

A ventilation duct rattling under Flower’s weight led her onto a balcony, if standards of conventional architecture could be applied to this inequine and almost surreal landscape. The overhang offered an ample view of the Crystal Empire—an overgrown facility, bearing a certain overripeness to it—the subtle signs of decline nevertheless strongly hinting at the stagnation reaching its critical mass. Flower barely paid attention to that sight and not just because she was already sick from studying the city from the inside. The intertwined cables no longer blotted out the sky, yet she still couldn’t enjoy its vastness—stolen away by swarms of machines, changelings and pegasi turning it into a battlefield.

From the maelstrom of war a gryphon plummeted down, followed by a trail of ichor, singed feathers and a murder of steel crows. Mere moments before the half-eagle became a broken body impaled on fume-spewing pipes, emerald flames consumed the warrior. A strange animal, which emerged from the fire, harmlessly bounced off wires and then scuttled into the depths of the city. That left Flower alone with metal birds craving to rip flesh with their claws, beaks and razor-sharp wings. Quick to realise what it meant for her, the mare bolted back to the salvatory gloom of the Crystal Empire’s innards. 

Too late—the preternatural cackling drowned out the frantic clatter of her hooves. Half-consciously, half-instinctively, Flower rolled as soon as the rush of air touched her greasy mane and the crows sliced the air above her—all but one. The mare’s hoof found its target, smashing the deadly bird into pieces.

Springing back on all fours, she discovered only a fraction of the flock had followed her—a manageable number, if still threatening. The environment presented itself as an additional enemy, however, with the purchase for her hooves not always granted and some pipes ready to welcome her with their scalding exterior; on the other hoof, nor did the flying machines could exercise their only advantage in such a constrained place.

Soon enough, Flower had found herself hunting the last of the crows; she stumbled as the final enemy swished past her, dodging her strike as if the machine had lost any interest in her. Following the artificial varmint with her eyes, she had nearly stumbled—the defender of the Crystal Empire chose itself a new target. In a desperate jump, she reached for the crow, snatching it from the air before it could shatter Nameless’ skull. Sprawled on the floor with the clockwork beast twitching in her grasp, Flower couldn’t help but grimace—Nameless could have stopped it with a force of their will; perhaps, that was why only so few birds chased Flower.

Snapping the crow’s neck, the mare got up and stared into the skull’s empty eyes.

“Requesting input: reason,” Nameless spoke first.

Flower had no answer to that either; the dazed mare wasn’t even sure anymore what she was doing at the Crystal Empire. Her lips moved as if on their own to let out a whisper, “Luna.”

“Warning: Nightmare contamination has reached irreversible state.”

Flower instantly snapped, “What would you know…” Yet she couldn’t ignore her voice lacking confidence, the issue also applicable to her decision to seek out the mad mare fading away.

“Suggestion,” Nameless tried to reason with her once more, “Provide assistance to the others—”

“What others?” Flower again exploded; a realisation dawned on her, something she should have thought of before. “Why are you here, clinging to my tail? Shouldn’t you be with your alicorn pal?”

“Nightmare interference: denies attempts to locate Ash.”

“Don’t tell me they somehow ended up together.” Flower rubbered her forehead with her hoof; unfortunately, it failed to alleviate her headache. “That’s not going to end well…”

In the best-case scenario, Ash would be able to stabilise Luna long enough for Flower to figure something out; though, judging by her current progress, Ash might have to keep Luna in control for weeks. Flower refused to indulge in imagining how bad things could go—she would likely hit the limit of her creativity before coming even close to the result of Nightmare having two demi-goddesses at its disposal. Or perhaps… she was just being delusional again; that was never her fight, to begin with—a mortal had no business in the divine matters. Flower had to look truth in the eyes; even if the Crystal Empire hadn’t been turned into an unnavigable mass of pipes, cables and pods with Crystal Ponies stuck together like a ball of hair, she would have still struggled to locate a temple of knowledge in a place that vast and ancient. Nor could she ignore how visiting libraries and their vicinity only needlessly complicated her life and made matters worse for everyone. She should leave doing smart things to smart ponies… like Wire.

Flower’s head turned to the balcony, and for a heartbeat she considered risking her life to venture out there and look for her friend—she must be out there, Wire would never abandon her friends… like Flower did. She would like to see her again—for the last time, maybe. The mare shuddered and bit her lip till a red bead rolled to her chin—she would rather have that, than fresh tears shed for a life of regret. 



Submerged into the ink-soaked depths of her consciousness, Flower half-blindly stumbled ever onwards, letting her burning with exhaustion hooves carry her she knew not where. The part of her that insisted on persevering followed the pandemonium of the battle raging above the canopy of funnels; sometimes, the unpredictable paths of the Crystal Empire’s inner structure let her witness the forces clashing in the sky. Aware of the risk, Flower couldn’t forbear trying to get a better look; she cared little for the battle itself, more interested in finding a familiar dark silhouette or that of a unicorn. Whilst both Luna and Wire remained hidden from Flower’s sight, the unremitting mare began to perceive order in the chaos of war and the metal kingdom that it was waged for. One part of the industrial landscape stood out like a moulting feather—a spire of glimmering crystal; the remnant of the Crystal Empire’s illustrious past leered at the equines who tried to break through the unceasing tide of the mechanical defenders. Just like the tower acted as a magnet for those besieging it, the steeple called for Flower; she knew Luna would be there—nothing else in that vast facility merited the presence of alicorn and her passenger.

Upon returning to the warrens from such a foray, Flower noticed Nameless drawing themselves closer to her than usual; for some reason, the eerie equine continued to pursue her and the exhausted mare hadn’t even bothered to figure out why. “Inquiry: what Nameless is?” they all but demanded.

“Are you…” Flower gave them an incredulous stare. “Are you serious?”

Determined to get the answer, Nameless repeated, “What Nameless is?”

Flower simply glared at them, too tired to tell them to get lost, but there would be any escape from that question. “Why does it matter to you that much?” she deadpanned, wondering if she had the patience to continue that conversation.

“Designation: the key value of a living organism.”

“You don’t look very alive to me,” Flower flatly observed, staring into the black depths of Celestia’s skull; suddenly realising she was looking at the remains of Luna’s sister snapped something inside her. “You said my designation was welding. Then riddle me why have I been foalsitting a senile demigoddess for the last ten years and how the fuck welding includes creating an actual goddess.” She spat on the wires at Nameless’ shattered hooves, careful not to hit the bones. “Your coveted cutie marks aren’t worth a shit.”

Long seconds had passed and Flower’s rant received no answer.

“What, have nothing to say?” She jeered. “If cutie marks did define our lives, then Luna wouldn’t have fucked up everything and your friend Ash would be sitting somewhere, doing only rising and lowering of the Sun, not—” 

“Objection,” Nameless interrupted her. “Without talent in metalworking, Tin Flower would have never created the initial vessel for the Machine Goddess, thus initiating the cascade of events leading her to this exact point in time and space.”

It failed to phase Flower, however, and the furious mare shot back without missing a beat, “Not much of an objection you’ve got—it means I’m not just a welder, no matter how hard I wished to be such.”

This time, she had found it in herself to patiently wait for Nameless to respond, and, at last, they conceded, “Counter-arguments: not found. Hypothesis: Harmony displays insufficient capability for processing data.”

“Or maybe you just should stop fixating on trying to find a way for Harmony to brand your backside and do something useful.”

With that Flower pivoted away—the burst of anger momentarily let her forget about the ache in her limbs and she wanted to get the most out of that small favour; nor did she want to be looking at Nameless and Celestia’s bones anymore.

Their defeated tone reached her ears, “Designation: the key value of a living organism.”

Trotting forwards with her gaze firmly locked on her path, Flower commented on that, “You don’t need a cutie mark—nobody does, really; I decided my fate, just as everyone does. And if you care so much about cutie marks, then why don’t you start giving them out? I could use something better than this stupid flower that doesn’t mean anything anymore, if it ever did.”

She waited for Nameless to ask again what they were or mechanically repeat one of their statements. As none of that happened, Flower expected them to at least appear somewhere in the corner of her eye, mutely following her. Nameless stood where Flower left them.

“What?” the mare asked, her question tinged with worry.

“Thank you, Tin Flower.”

No longer sounding just in her head, their voice left Flower stunned with its familiarity—belonging to the recordings of Twilight Sparkle. And, before the echo of their words faded away, Nameless vanished, disappearing in a blink, like they were never there in the first place.

Even if there were something to do about it, all Flower could afford was to shrug at Nameless’ strange behaviour. Left alone with the distant din of battle and just as remote, nevertheless irresistible call of the crystalline tower, she navigated the Crystal Empire to the best of her greatly compromised by the fatigue ability.

The closer Flower got to her destination, the more machines she encountered tending to the facility—the technology that now showed clear signs of deterioration and appeared outdated to the point of being almost obsolete. Nearly wading through the undulating swarms of mechanical workers now bearing almost no resemblance to living beings, the mare couldn’t help comparing them to equinoids—the only form she was yet to see amongst this vast variety of artificial life. She didn’t expect to encounter them—she hoped she wouldn’t. Just remembering the betrayed expressions of every equinoid she had ‘killed’ as they searched for their mother promised to kneel her with regret, and she doubted having enough strength to rise from such a blow. 

Repeating to herself, so not unlike a machine, that all she ever wanted was to make the world a better place used to help her, but with each iteration Flower became more and more aware of the hollowness of her mantra—she had no right to say those words. Witnessing a place born not from the TCE forges, nor the Unity’s collective consciousness made her realise—artificial life couldn’t be exterminated—not as a concept. It would manifest again and again, brought to existence by those like her, wishing to replace what was lost, to fill the emptiness in their hearts and to banish away the gnawing excruciating loneliness of ponies in the age of metal and magic. Nor would the Unity have ever created what the Crystal Empire had become—this was a true domain of machines, bereft of any mind and soul. Seeing the Crystal Ponies dreaming their ignorance in the pods showed Flower the fine line betwixt a machine and an equine, a line that defined equinoids.

Flower might have come to the Crystal Empire with a resolve to kill a god, but now only one wish remained, driving her forward—to help Luna wake up from her nightmare. She had no idea how or if it even was possible, but backing down never crossed her mind; not now, when she finally was awake herself.
> 7.2 Daybreaker
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



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Written by: Oneimare

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Arc 7 – The Crystal Nightmare

Chapter 2 – Daybreaker


=================================


The higher one materialised in the sky, the more time they had to figure out how to deal with the gravity and the unpleasant consequences of following its influence to the end. Tumbling through the air along with Luna, Ash only had achieved her muscles cramping in blinding pain when she vainly tried to arrest the guaranteed to be fatal fall; she was lucky to end without snapped bones. Accepting her impotence, she focused on the mare who shared with her the future of becoming a pancake. Ash sharply understood that Nameless hadn’t warned her for no reason—there were three of them plummeting to the ground.

Whistling winds tore wisps from the dark mass which consumed feathers trailing behind Ash; that hardly appeased the cloud of black smoke—the vaporous tendrils reached for the other alicorn, clinging to her already charcoal coat like tar. Although Nightmare originated from Luna’s mane, its cloying flesh was yet to find lasting purchase on the skeletal limbs—the former Princess fervently repelled the inky onslaught. The elder mare’s tattered leathery wings flapped to no purpose other than to tackle the bituminous haze, thus sealing her fate. 

Ash’s horn spluttered golden sparks as a miracle failed to happen—to no surprise, she hadn’t teleported out of the imminent crash. Shrugging off the blow against her faith, the white alicorn refused to resign to the gruesome ending of her story and flailed her limbs till, somehow, she had come closer to Luna—close enough to cling to the fight-consumed mare. Ash held back bile—she had to bite into Luna’s tail. Having no option but to stare at the black alicorn still clashing with her own mane, Ash could only sense the mercilessly hard surface rapidly approaching. She squeezed her eyes shut; tears had no chance to roll down her cheeks—the roaring gale whisked them away. 

Pain flared through Ash’s body and air fled her lungs in a form of an involuntary shriek. However, her bones remained intact, for all she could tell; nor did the soft parts of her body become even softer. Before she had a chance to ponder why death spared her horrible agony, the alicorn sensed violent force still having a claim on her and her eyes shot open. A lash of Nightmare’s writhing mass wrapped itself around a pipe, saving its host; the metal bent, soaking in the deadly momentum and ultimately held. Luna’s long-suffering tail showed less resilience and Ash found herself being flung away, her mouth full of filthy hair. Crashing on the intertwinement of cables and pipes brought an excess of pain in Ash’s life and her consciousness decided to abandon her.



Now it hurt like every bone in Ash’s body had been broken and her flesh had been sundered. Clenching her jaws, she crawled from the shallow crater formed by her body; every movement embedded nails in her muscles, yet the lack of unbearable agony let her know—she wouldn’t be a cripple. Ignoring the chance of becoming a corpse still being high as she could have suffered internal trauma, the alicorn gently shook her spinning head in an attempt to counteract the whirling of reality. Albeit not without vehement reluctance, her vision regained its clarity—just in time to witness Nightmare carefully, almost gently, lowering Luna on the ‘floor’ of the cavernous industrial space. Whether it ended up overpowering the alicorn or the sudden halting of the fall, too, had knocked out the former Princess didn’t matter anymore as, strangely, the malignant force seemed to care about its victim. 

Ash took a single step towards them—but no more; and not just because being no longer trapped in the sky allowed her to behold the otherworldly menace in all its utter malignity. When she first met Luna, the night did a huge favour to the ancient mare, hiding with its veil the hideous disfigurement bestowed upon her by Nightmare. The ashen alicorn watched the shadows weave a cocoon around Luna’s gaunt and sickly frame; in a display of blasphemous metamorphosis, a pair of wings unfurled from the shivering mist and a figure slowly rose to stare into the distance with eyes like holes into the starless night. As if Luna had strings attached to her limbs, and someone violently yanked them, she stumbled forward, stiffly and unnaturally, her chipped hooves barely touching the ground. Her disturbingly warped visage, uneven eerie gait and maddeningly alive shadow effortlessly shattered Ash’s notion of their shared celestial ‘job’ also coming with any sort of bond; the idea of sisterhood seemed as the most ridiculous thought to ever grace Ash’s mind, and the white alicorn had more than a fair share of not the smartest decisions with her name attached to them. Such silliness shouldn’t have survived the harsh and unsentimental reality of Canterlot—the revelation further drove Ash into shame. She backed from the swaying towering monstrosity, bitterly regretting risking her life and abandoning Nameless—one of her so very few friends—for a foalish wish.

Just like sunlight banishes shadows, a surge of determination burnt away Ash’s indecision. Truly, her longing might have played a pivotal role in choosing her next move—momentarily; yet, ultimately, she wasn’t a lost filly in search of someone to aid her loneliness. Ash had a destiny beyond the solar sign on her body—her cutie mark granted her immeasurable power, elevating the young alicorn to the ranks of those able to change the world. For the first time, the responsibility failed to weigh her down; Ash’s aching hooves pulsed with energy, a drive to aid the pain-ridden realm—starting with the wretched mare right before her eyes.

“Luna!” she firmly called.

The former Princess unsteadily marched onwards, not even flicking her torn ears. Ash hurried to intercept the advancing alicorn, hoping that entering Luna’s line of sight might finally snap the elder mare out of her stupor. She abruptly slewed and had to resist the urge to turn back—the dark mist coiling around the plagued demi-goddess covered every surface it touched with hoarfrost and the air crepitated with the cold of the endless void. Breathing in the cosmos-tainted atmosphere brought haunting clarity to the suppressed memories of frostbite viciously searing Ash’s flesh when she had frantically sought warmth in the ever-freezing city of debilitating famine and unceasing dusk. Steeling herself against Luna’s chilling aura, the white alicorn once more tried to stand in the way of her celestial counterpart. Ash couldn’t tell if her body ached from the sheer cold of Nightmare’s proximity or remembering Canterlot’s freezing treatment; her mind had a hard time not only focusing on the present, but even struggling with the recent past as the memory most dear to her—of golden Sunlight—refused to come up and counteract the more distant, smothering past. Struggling with perceiving reality, Ash had to backpedal as Luna trotted inexorably, threatening to trample the somewhat smaller alicorn or maim her with her serrated hooves. Keenly sensing her consciousness—her entire self—being eclipsed, Ash dared to do something insane. 

“Sister, don’t you recognise me?”

Luna’s hoof as if caught on an invisible root; when the alicorn regained balance a heartbeat later, her eyes, no longer windows into the abyss, transfixed on the white mare, even if still poisoned by the shivering darkness. The severe frost abated and the claws constricting on the throat of Ash’s sanity eased their grasp; their frigid and nauseating touch remained, reminding the shaking alicorn—lunacy and death loomed over her still.

The longer Luna stared at Ash, the more she regretted her attempt at heartless deception; if she didn’t have to resort to such a tactic, the pain churning in the older mare’s eyes solidified the ineptitude of her previous idea—to offer this grieving equine a foster family. Tears trickled down, leaving dark lines almost indistinguishable against the pitch-black fur and Luna’s knees failed her. The ancient frame all but rattled before Ash abruptly found herself looking down at the demigoddess. The silence’s reign went on undisputed; although Luna’s jaws moved, they produced no sound. Her eyes, however, bored into Ash with a pleading expression… till the already miserable embers in them died out and the former Princess turned away.

“I do not deserve your forgiveness, Tia,” Luna whispered, her voice as soft as nightfall. “Not for the second time.”

Ash had got no chance to respond—not that she had any idea how—as the alicorn met her gaze again; a sharp gasp escaped her mouth. The deathlike darkness steadily crept back, tainting the cerulean blue like blood would spread in 	water. 

“It’s too late for forgiveness,” the black alicorn croaked, struggling with every word. She sharply pivoted, half-sobbing and half-growling, “Send me to the Moon again, I beg you!”

If speaking had already demanded a huge amount of effort from Luna, then fleeing from Ash posed an impossible task for the possessed mare. Yet, still, she dragged herself forwards, fighting the unseen chains pulling her back. Massive wings flapped, but to no avail—a body with its hooves as if glued to the ground had no hope of becoming airborne. Brought to a grinding halt, Luna once again engaged in battling her mane, which swelled with ice-breathing rot of mind and flesh. Nightmare’s return rapidly envenomed the air and Ash reeled, but refused to surrender a single step to the waxing cold and dread; not after she had achieved progress, no matter how minuscule and temporary. But Celestia’s successor sorely lacked enough knowledge about the legendary sisters to repeat and cement her victory.

“Please, let me help!” Ash besought, hoping Luna would hear her through the struggle with her own shadow. When her plea fell on deaf ears, she forced herself to take a step closer to the writhing alicorn and, with her teeth chattering, tried again, “You… You can’t do it alone. It has led you… all of us…. where we are all now.”

Although Luna’s head snapped to the white alicorn almost instantly, it took a few moments for darkness and feral rage to thin enough for Ash to meet the eyes of a sane pony.

“There is nothing to be done but to stall,” the demi-goddess lamented, her voice suddenly more clear than Ash had ever heard her speak. “Everything is hazy to the extreme, only two memories have survived. The revelation of Nightmare will persist till the very end and the other… it is becoming eroded. I remembered her differently—my sister’s eyes weren’t red and her mane was pink, not white.”

Luna’s words struck Ash like a blow of a cannibal’s hoof, but the alicorn’s shadow-blighted gaze carried no judgement. Before ink flooded the eyes of the former Princess, Ash glimpsed gratitude—as if some part of Luna knew it had been Ash all along and appreciated her attempt to somehow help. 

“It was never your fault,” the alicorn whispered and wings, part flesh and part shadow, spread to launch her into the opening in the intertwined pipes, cables and girders.

“I can…”

Ash’s words trailed into nothing as she realised—she couldn’t do anything.



The ashen alicorn stood perfectly still, a monument to her failure; she stared at the sky, watching as the black as death equine continued to resist the malignant will that persistently wanted her to get somewhere. In mere moments, Luna’s erratic movements dissolved her in the sky, which had turned into a battlefield whilst Ash was unconscious. Dismayingly observing that valiant and futile fight, Ash couldn’t help but see herself reflected in the condemned demi-goddess. Ever so inexcusably foalish, she had imagined becoming better, growing in power since the moment a cutie mark manifested on her flank and she met Discord mere days later. She remained the same dreg of ponykind washed up from the waste below the dead city. Ash dreamt of saving Canterlot and aiding the Machine Goddess’ grand plan—be it true or not. Yet she couldn’t help a single pony, even though she was the only one who had any chance, to begin with.

Rage welled in her heart till Ash’s vision darkened or, rather, the air around her shimmered with a heat haze and suffocating smoke. The walls and floor around her came alive with countless strange machines hurrying to where Ash stood… with her hooves in a puddle of bubbling metal and plastic. They seemed to care only about undoing the damage she inflicted upon the Crystal Empire without even noticing, but then her shoulder bloomed with pain and the incandescent steel beneath her hissed angrily, dewed with warm crimson. 

She whirled around to catch a flash of a sharp blade—the hard wing of a metal bird pirouetting to repeat bloodletting; it wouldn’t return alone—at least two more raven bodies glinted in the dusk of the factory-city. Panic tightened Ash’s chest now hollow with desperation—her long journey might end here, after all, and prove her as ultimately useless and pathetic as she had evaluated herself. In the face of death, the suppressed fire demanded release more insistently than ever, but Ash clenched her jaws, both refusing to give in to its demand and preparing for the worst.

As her thundering heartbeats measured possibly the last moments of her life, she couldn’t help but ask herself—maybe it was what Discord meant, instructing her to become stronger?

What did she have left to lose?
> 7.3 Change horses
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



=================================

Written by: Oneimare

=================================


Arc 7 – The Crystal Nightmare

Chapter 3 – Change horses


=================================


Red Wire plastered her ears against her skull so the rattling rapport of a changeling rifle wouldn’t leave her with a nasty case of tinnitus. The deafening cannonade marked the blinding sea of snow heaving with another wave of the Crystal Empire’s mechanical defenders. As the ominous rustle of metal wings grew louder, Night Wind dived back into the cover of the snowdrift. The unicorn glared at her and had to raise her voice to be heard over Teleta’s squad stalwartly holding their position, “Is it really necessary to shoot so close to me?”

“If you haven’t noticed, we are short on cover.”

A scathing retort died on Wire’s lips—it would be lost on the Kirin too preoccupied with the raging battle; although that only added to her annoyance, she couldn’t help admiring the commissioner joining to help the changelings without any hesitation, even if it meant magically fumbling with a weapon meant to be shoulder mounted. 

The robotic ravens whistling through the air forced Night to duck again; she had the time to only exchange nervous glances with Wire before the snowbank, which they had chosen as a bulwark against the machines, exploded. Both mares shrieked when a steel corvid flapped its wings right betwixt them, flinging white flurries into their faces; the Kirin—midway on turning into a Nirik—reacted first, her flame-coated hoof shooting out to silence the distorted caws. Despite Night reverting her transformation, the snow still hissed with her fury; sparing the unicorn a worried look, she hurriedly returned to peeking above the disturbed mound of snow, the gun in her telekinesis ready to repel any other birds planning to ram their dubious cover. Wire picked up the smashed machine and peered at it closely, her healthy eye squinted whilst artificial rhythmically flickered. 

“Seems to be freshly manufactured,” she mused aloud.

Across a narrow swath of disturbed snow Teleta and a few other Praetorians crouched in an improvised trench; the chitinous soldiers desperately tried to prevent that hole from becoming their grave. Seeing the felled enemy hovering before the unicorn’s muzzle, the changeling captain tartly noted, “If you can pick that up with your magic, then you should also be able to hold a gun. We could—” 

Tinny screaming of birds drowned out her words as the whole murder of mechanical crows suicidally bombarded the pinned-down soldiers. Sinister whistles rose above the battlefield, but none of the swooping ravens had found their targets; the changelings only had to steel themselves against a rain of torn apart machines pelting their cover—none could accuse the Swarm of being inept fighters.

The advance of the Crystal Empire seemed to wind down—if only temporarily—and Wire shot back, “It’s not about strength, but endurance.”

A mare crouched by Teleta’s side didn’t hesitate with a comment, “My sister told me endurance isn’t exactly your forte.”

The rest of the squad, including the captain, couldn’t help but chuckle at that; even the commissioner failed to hold back a snicker. Though Wire’s cheeks ignited with blush, she had no heart to steal the fun from the changelings—whatever ammo and supplies that had survived the rough landing were scant and it reflected in the faceted eyes with a deep worry. She composed herself and addressed Teleta, “Those machines aren’t going to stop coming for us anytime soon.”

“I’ve noticed that already, Wire,” the captain shot back.

“Then we have to do something about it,” the unicorn pressed on.

“Like what? We are doing all we can already.”

“Like crossing that bridge or whatever it is!”

Everyone eyed the distance separating them from the massive support—one of many—holding the bulk of the Crystal Empire above the seemingly bottomless abyss yawning amidst the frozen plains; the only entrance into that sinister source of unrelenting metal death. Fallen machines and pockmarks in the melted by gunfire snow peppered an imposingly long stretch.

“If an attack catches us there, we are as good as dead,” Teleta grimly warned.

The bulbous exterior of the Crystal Empire had already expelled a shimmering cloud—a haze heading for the frontline; the halo divided into wisps, spreading around the city. Not so far from Teleta’s squad, other survivors of the initial counterattack fought their way to the metal heart, yet none had achieved any progress, ending up suppressed in a similar fashion. 

Night’s head sharply swivelled and her hoof pointed at the sky. “Look!”

A small group of pegasi soared beneath the tattered clouds, trailed by an unmistakable silhouette of a dragon. The murder of crows momentarily halted, then separated again to send a flock to intercept them.

Wire’s words broke the stunned silence. “It’s our chance.”

Teleta followed the unexpected newcomers with squinted eyes, then looked at the snow betwixt her squad and the narrow but sturdy bridge into the Crystal Empire. “Alright,” she finally agreed and immediately barked, nodding to one of her subordinates. “Follow me—we support the rest from the air as they cross.”

The two changelings burst into green flames to emerge as gryphons, shooting skywards even before the last tongues of fire licked the last of the chitin from their bodies. Just as hastily, the soldiers remaining on the ground bolted to the metal beam spanning across the vertiginous depths. 

Night and Wire hurried after them, the former asking, as she watched Teleta and her comrades clash with the Crystal Empire’s robotic gatekeepers, “Why is it always gryphons?”

The unicorn replied betwixt her panting breaths, “They have wings, a great prehensile ability and are agile as snakes; if they also had brains, they would have conquered the whole world twice already.”

The Kirin gave her a sidelong glance and smirked. “Sounds like you are into them.”

“Shut up!”



The two mares leant on each other in a struggle to regain their breath—stolen by a mad dash into the cover of the Crystal Empire’s burrows. Although neither Wire, nor Night wished to return under the death-laden sky, the shadows of the mechanical city pressed on them from every side and the chaotic passages opening before the invaders echoed with ominous sounds; so they sought refuge in the warmth of each other’s bodies. Nonetheless, the inhospitable welcome of the Crystal Empire’s interior had failed to prevent a smile from creeping on the Kirin’s muzzle; when her ragged breaths winded down to merely shuddering inhales, she elbowed Wire. “Endurance isn’t your strongest side indeed.”

The bluish unicorn had had less success in recovering from their breakthrough which, by the merit of supporting Night’s words, fueled the fire of her glare. Gasping, she shot back, “Keeping your mouth shut isn’t yours either.”

Night’s grin didn’t falter as she prepared another verbal jab; her mouth opened, but no sound came as she gaped at a living legend—a Former One obscured by a hundred myths, with nobody knowing which of them stood true. Whilst the commissioner ogled the one and only Rainbow Dash, the changelings saluted the changeless captain of the disbanded Royal Guard entering the Crystal Empire’s innards. 

“I knew it was you, Captain Rainbow Dash,” Teleta greeted her without trying to hide gratitude and joy from her voice.

The pegasus’ rosy eyes might have peered at the current leader of the Swarm’s military somewhat coldly, however, Rainbow’s tone came as nothing but respectful as she slightly bowed her head, responding, “Maestus has chosen a worthy successor.” Her stoic expression faltered and she revealed the reason for her lack of gladness to see her former comrades. “I’m afraid it might not be enough. Just like in the old times, it hardly matters how good the soldiers are when the enemy comes endless.”

“Don’t lose hope, yet,” a rumbling voice joined the conversation and even the battle-hardened changelings couldn’t help but jump as a dragon slithered from around a corner. Exhaling a plume of smoke, she grimly stated, “All we need to do to end this is to kill Sombra.”

Wire, who had finally stopped wheezing like her lungs would collapse the next moment, squinted at the dragoness. “Sunset Shimmer?” she tried, unsure.

The preceding advisor of the changeling queen curtly nodded, earning surprised looks from the changelings; if she wanted to add something, Rainbow didn’t let her. 

“We did it last time already.” The pegasus grimaced; she looked around, taking in the metal and plastic forming their peculiar surroundings. “And nor does it seem like this mess is of his going… this time.”

“But he is here, isn’t it?” asked Wire, sounding like she would be profoundly disappointed to receive a negative answer. 

“Everyone is bound to be here right now,” Rainbow replied distractedly—her eyes studied the ranks of Praetorians. “Where is your Queen?”

Teleta shifted uneasily, exchanging glances with her squad. “We don’t know.”

Pretending she didn’t need the support of Night’s shoulder, the unicorn approached Rainbow, so as to not hold a conversation across the gloomy corridor. “She has sided with him,” Wire dismally informed the pegasus.

“Not news to me, sadly.”

“It was the most stupid thing anyone can do,” Sunset gravelly noted, once more chiming in.

Wire shot Night a triumphant look, but it was lost in the tense atmosphere. The comment also abruptly invigorated the changelings, with Teleta resolutely expressing their collective desire, “We must find her and as soon as possible.”

A dozen steps from the gathered ponies and whatnot, the passage serving as a temporary stop for the Swarm’s infiltrators opened into a vast chamber vaulted with thick piping; the same dully reverberating ducts formed the floor, leading away into the fathomless depths of what became of the Crystal Empire. As if she could see more than ill-promising darkness, the sunset-coloured dragoness stared into the foreboding bowels. Presently, she traded looks with Rainbow, who, too, seemed to see something nobody else could in the shivering shadows of the clockwork city; it was her, who spoke. 

“The Crystal Heart is where we are going to find everyone, I can bet my life on it.” Impossibly, her expression hardened even more. “Has anyone seen the Machine Goddess?”

The changelings returned her blank expressions, but one equine reacted differently—Wire froze, her healthy eye snapping wide open. She all but ordered, “We need to find the library first.” 

To her chagrin, Rainbow responded with a genuine chuckle. “I once knew a unicorn who would have said exactly that.” Her expression fell. “This is not the time; nor is it the place, I’m afraid—there isn’t likely anything left aside from factories and Crystal Pony growing pods.” As despair darkened Wire’s face, she sympathetically added. “At least, it seemed so from the air.”

Night patted the unicorn’s withers. “We can figure out some other way to deal with Sombra.”

The Kirin’s eyes found the sword tucked under Rainbow’s wing, but before she had a chance to bring attention to that unordinary weapon, Wire spoke up, “It’s not a warlock who bothers me the most, but a goddess.”

Though she received stares from everyone, only the pegasus dared to comment on such a statement, “You are crazy, kid.”

Taken aback, Wire seemed to be ready to swallow her words—for but a heartbeat. She composed herself and, with her head held high, proclaimed, “It is crazy to consider everything that has happened the last few days a mere coincidence. Neither would it be sane to place confidence in a plan relying on equines, known to be untrustworthy, to work together; or blindly believe the one who came up with it. And can any of you guarantee that the Machine Goddess’ mind is as impervious to… any outside influence as she claims it be?” She finished by lowering her head and conceding, “I might be wrong, but if I am not… it is a goddess we are talking about.”

This time, a brooding silence met her words; however, soon enough, Sunset huffed, “Sombra isn’t exactly a mortal, if you haven’t noticed.” Her eyes unfocused and she breathed in deeply. “He is not the only source of darkness in the Crystal Empire—Nightmare is here.” 

“This is why we need to find a way to kill a god,” Wire insisted.

The dragon shook her head. “If Nightmare could be killed, Princess Celestia—or Twilight Sparkle—would have taken care of that already.”

Rainbow drew the sword, letting the gleam of its sharp blade challenge the dusk of the passage. Her eyes rested on it, bathing the edge crusted with ancient black blood with doubt. “Perhaps she is right, because I have no idea how to get rid of Sombra—for good.”

Wire sagged on the floor, letting out a sigh. “Great, we have lost before we even began.”

The Kirin nudged her shoulder. “We haven’t lost until we tried.”

The changelings exchanged worried looks once more and Teleta spoke for them all, her voice firm. “None of that matters to the Swarm. We have come here to help our Mother.”

The chitinous equines on her side nodded, their jaws clenched with unshakable resolve; that, combined with neither Rainbow, nor Sunset hoisting the white flag, managed to refuel Wire’s determination. “I didn’t come here to sacrifice myself.” She bristled. “I’m going to search for the library.”

None except Sunset met her plan with anything but annoyed grimaces; the dragon consideringly offered, “I’ll help. Maybe something did remain.”

Teleta screwed her muzzle—the Swarm’s former ally could prove herself most valuable to the changelings once more, supporting them on the battlefield as a fearsome combatant. Nevertheless, when she pivoted on her heels and saluted Rainbow, her face expressed nothing. “Awaiting your orders, Rainbow Dash,” she reported.

For a few moments the pegasus let amusement twist her mouth into a smile, then she fixed her gaze on some unseen point in the heart of the Crystal Empire. 

“Not this time,” Rainbow uttered solemnly. “I have unfinished business here as a soldier.”



In the past few days, it had become almost a habit for Night to question her life choices. Clinging to the dragon’s back, the Kirin couldn’t forbear indulging in self-doubt; Sunset carried her way too high above the unwelcoming and nightmare-inducing landscape of the Crystal Empire. It didn’t help that, in spite of draconic blood running in her veins, the commissioner would rather have a considerable distance put betwixt her and the Former One; that name had a few quite unwholesome rumours attached to it. As a cherry on top, Night had to hide her discomfort of riding a dragoness, lest she wanted to supply Wire with an ample opportunity to ridicule her to no end. However, soon enough that fear ceased to be an issue—the unicorn had her hollow eyes transfixed on the scenery; the pensive mare was barely paying attention to her nearest surroundings. Following Wire’s gaze and focusing her attention on the landscape below did little to alleviate Night’s stress and not because of Sunset ramming through the clouds, which had crept back to the ruptured sky. 

The Crystal Empire or, rather, what had become of the fabulous city over the ages, spasmed with war once more. True to Dash’s word, the mechanical advance consumed almost every trace of crystals that might have betrayed the original architecture—save for the needle-like spire in the very heart of the fallen kingdom. The metal labyrinth pulsed with industrial intent, pumping acrid smoke and malevolent machines into the still frigid air. A few times Night managed to catch the sight of preternatural darkness, but those flickers dissolved into the chaos of battle before she had a chance to properly focus on them. Once, blinding light flared amidst the turmoil, except, this time Sunset, too, took notice of the phenomena; the dragon mutely stared at the shimmering radiance and, somehow, it appeared wise to Night to remain just as silent. 

That occurrence matched with how Sunset had treated the entirety of the flight. Despite initiating it, the solemn dragoness had made no effort towards exploring the Crystal Empire’s maze; though, Night appreciated being quite remote from the battle. Perhaps, Sunset had no need to look for the library by the merit of somehow knowing where it should be; or, maybe, the massive dragoness simply sought to avoid storming the cramped tunnels together with the changelings. 

Sunset spoke abruptly, nearly causing Night to lose her already precarious hold on the dragon’s spine spikes; she addressed Wire, “It is not my place to stop you from doing something extraordinarily stupid. But I strongly advise you to ponder on if everyone else is as stupid as yourself.” As expected, the unicorn bristled, but Sunset continued before she could receive a sharp-tongued response, “I have lived in this forsaken city for years and studied in its many libraries. Though I might not know what secret you wish to exhume from this cursed grave, it is easy to guess. Sombra isn’t stupid enough to leave any knowledge potentially harmful to him or his plans lying around. I can assure you—it is going to be hard to kill him even knowing how to… if it is a possibility at all anymore.”

Wire’s obvious intent to snap back at the dragoness vanished upon hearing the rest of Sunset’s words; she, however, continued to glare at her, as if the former Coven witch might be able to perceive the unicorn’s silent ire with the back of her head… and she somehow did. Without a word, Sunset glowered at Wire from the corner of her piercingly cyan eyes and the young mare found herself unable to ‘outglare’ a dragon. Forced to redirect her dark gaze at the city, she half-wondered, half-demanded, “What have you become?”

The accusation bounced off Sunset’s gleaming scales and she levelly explained, “Spike gave me a chance to continue atoning for my mistakes.”

“What is Spike? And where is he?” Wire pressed on with questions, her tone becoming even more brusque. 

“Does it matter?”

“He is the Machine Goddess’ pet.”

Night shuddered and had to suppress her instinct to let fire bring out her Nirik side when the already hot flesh beneath her hooves rumbled… with laughter. As the commissioner wrestled down her discomfort, the Kirin suddenly realised—she agreed with Sunset. She carefully poked Wire’s back, so as to not send the unicorn into a fatal fall, and hissed into her ear, “Would you stop being paranoid?”

Wire flashed her a withering look, her healthy eye blazing as brightly as the artificial one, but the wrath rapidly faded from her gaze. Before she abruptly turned her face away, Night caught a glimpse of what she tried to hide beneath the mask of anger.

The wind nearly succeeded in carrying Wire’s words away, devoid of the spirit her demeanour from the moments ago should have merited. “Because of the Machine Goddess, every threat in Equestria is gathered here, but I don’t see her enforcing a ceasefire this time. Even if, for once, she carries a benevolent intent, too many things can go horribly wrong. Nightmare prowls these tunnels and no matter how much I have faith in Flower, what she has to accomplish is beyond anybody’s ability. Sombra’s forces are on a march to the Crystal Heart and I’m not sure if Delight is sane anymore, regardless of if the warlock keeps his promise to her or us. And what about that alicorn and her… ‘friend’?

“I can feel it in my bones—something bad is going to happen, and, with such powerful beings involved, I’m powerless to do anything to prevent it.”

Night scuttled closer to the unicorn—as much as Sunset’s back allowed room for such a manoeuvre—and pressed herself to Wire’s side. Though she did mean to offer her some comfort, she also sought reassurance herself, keenly aware of Wire’s sense of insignificance before massive shadows obscuring the nearest future—and sharing it. She would have dispelled Wire’s fears by reminding it wasn’t their place to meddle in the affairs of the immortal, but… why had they come here, then?

“Has it occurred to you that you might be overestimating the danger?” Sunset yanked them both out of their dark thoughts.

Wire didn’t hesitate with a bitter reply, “It must be a foreign concept for you, but I’d rather be mistaken than suffer loss.”

For a moment Night feared the dragon would buckle, but Sunset continued to beat her wings steadily and when she finally responded to Wire’s taunt, she spoke calmly, almost melancholically. “My mistakes are all I’m left with in the end. Do what you must, Red Wire. It’s clear you aren’t going to listen to me and I don’t begrudge you for that—you have no reason to, except for one. I’ve fought side by side with the Ebony Warlock; magic was never his greatest weapon. If you are going to doubt yourself like that—he has won already.”
> Interlude // By myself
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



==============================

Written by: Oneimare

==============================


Interlude – By myself


==============================


An earth pony mare stood, staring into the imposing length of a vaulted corridor; the flickering lights failed to banish the shadows plaguing the dust-laden corners; the walls vibrated with echoes of heavy machinery rumbling deep within the labyrinthine underground complex.

“Azalea!”

“Huh?”

“Are you helping me or what?”

Azalea’s attention, brimming with aversion, returned to the rattling rack with mechanic equines hanging from it; the mare’s colleague struggled with the creaking frame, which refused to roll further down the amber-lit passage. “What’s the hurry?” she snapped back. “We are paid hourly wages, nor should we be doing this.”

“Yeah?” The stallion met her retort with a glare; blowing his greying mane from his muzzle, Winter taunted, “Go on then, say that to Skein’s ugly face. I want to see how fast she is going to station you in Canterlot.”

“Fine, you got me there.” Grunting, the mare pushed the rack together with the Winter and the uncooperating floor finally released the wheel stuck betwixt the cracked tiles. When they both caught their breath, she commented, “That place sucks ass these days.”

Winter snorted, returning to dragging the rack forward, “These tunnels are horrid, but it’s still better than staying there.” He shook his head in dismay. “Canterlot has been too crowded already, but ever since the Vanhoover’s folks gave up on their city…”

The bout of reminiscence rendered the grizzly stallion half-blind to what Azalea was doing and so she fueled the conversation to continue slacking, “What’s their deal anyway? I understand Manehatten survivors—it’s all ashes now. Vanhoover, though?”

“It’s hard to blame them—I’ve seen the photos,” Winter muttered dejectedly. “Not sure if it isn’t the worst of the tragedies.”

Something in his words drew the mare’s eyes to his wings poking through the guard’s uniform. Unsure if it would be appropriate, she still dared to ask, “Aren’t you from Cloudsdale?”

Regret replaced the gnawing curiosity as the question earned her a cold glare; the stallion’s eyes softened, however, and he solemnly uttered, “My home did melt like a butter stick on a hot summer day, but only a few pegasi died. It’s far better than walking down a street and seeing your ex-wife turned into a crystal statue.”

“Sorry for your loss,” Azalea mumbled.

“She was insufferable, alright, but nobody deserved that.”

Both of the guards jumped in the air as an atrocious racket assaulted their ears—one of the equinoids crashed on the floor. Winter, the first to recover, nimbly landed by the pile of metal limbs and, groaning, tried to put the machine back onto the massive hooks.

“Those fuckers are so heavy,” he huffed; realising his task shouldn’t be so hard, he barked at the mare, “Don’t just stand there!”

She didn’t as much as stir, sceptically eyeing the lifeless equinoid and its brethren swinging on the rack. “I’m not doing the work I don’t understand.”

Letting the artificial pony drop back to the floor, Winter glowered at her and spoke, nearly spelling out each word, “We are to haul them to the workshop for the techies to do what has to be done. What part did you miss?”

“But why did the TCE have to come up with that stupid shit?” Azalea pressed on.

The pegasus’ hoof poked the nearest metal pony on the rack, its pneumatic limb in particular—designed to effortlessly and tirelessly do the labour of at least a dozen of its organic counterparts. “You really want the rioters to have these on their side? Fighting? Us?”

Once more convinced by an argument difficult to refute, Azalea begrudgingly helped to do her part. However, by the time the fallen equinoid had returned to its place, she got a comeback, “Aren’t the Crystal Ponies as dumb as rocks?”

“They sure are,” the stallion agreed with a dark chuckle and then his tone dripped with vitriol. “The equinoids have literal stones in their heads, so they are kind of on the same wave—if you let them hang out together without regular brain cleansing, they, too, start to think we are the bad guys.”

“Ungrateful motherfuckers, all of them.”

“My daughter gave up her life to free their sorry asses.” Winter’s hiss carried so much hatred and pain, his workmate couldn’t forbear giving him a concerned look. “And that is how they show their gratitude.”

Azalea also hurried to help with the softly tinkling bodies; that sound failed to alleviate the heavy air as the duo of guards trudged through the gloomy passage. The tense silence eventually eased and, glancing warily at her companion, the mare carefully tried to play a Discord’s advocate, “To be fair, I wouldn’t have been thrilled about toiling in mines myself.”

To her relief, the pegasus only grumbled, “I get an impression you would be slacking if sitting on your ass the whole shift were all you had to do.”

“It’s what we’re supposed to be doing.”

An island of light appeared amidst the dark river those unfortunate ponies waded; the sight of it injected Winter’s aged hooves with energy, though the drive to reach the source of luminescence didn’t prevent him from brusquely replying, “Well, if we were guarding a boutique. This is a mining facility owned by the most greedy ponies ever existed.”

The ajar door opened into a vast hall cluttered with metal limbs and tools; crates upon crates, all branded with the same logo formed a fort surrounding a pile of bodies. One of them moved—a pony of metal, a thick cord connecting her to a generator shivering and coughing in the corner of the thoroughly stained with grease workshop.

“Hey, rust,” Winter had to yell to be heard over the din. “We brought you another batch.”

As the equinoid turned to regard her guests with a glare of glowing eyes, the winged guard produced crumpled papers from his uniform and held them as far away from himself as possible; the mechanic equine all but tore the offered documents from his hooves. Were she to do it a heartbeat later, the stallion would have thrown them into her frowning muzzle. Her metal brows furrowed even further as her attentive and eerily glowing eyes studied the text and compared it to her kin, which had just rolled into her den. “It says they had to be only reset, but this one,”—her hoof pointed at the equinoid who had suffered a fall—“definitely needs its plating repaired.”

The pegasus shot Azalea a swift but furious glance, before scoffing at the mechanic’s observation, “No idea what you are talking about, socket-fucker.”

Regarding Winter with another withering stare, the equinoid mused aloud, grinning slyly, “I should report this… as damaging the company’s property… on purpose.”

A hoof shot out, grabbing her metal neck by its plating. “Listen here, metal shit—”

“Hey, hey!” Azalea put herself betwixt the enraged guard and the mockingly smirking mechanic. “Let’s just all calm down, alright?” As it failed to quell the pegasus’ ire, she had to all but tear Winter from the equinoid and drag him from the workshop, even as the stallion’s blazing eyes continued to drill into the mechanic’s smug expression. “Come over here for a minute.”

Their emotion-laden voices echoed from behind the door, before fading away.

“...You lazy moron…”

“...I swear, it was as if it jumped from the rack by itself…”

However, the absence of speech didn’t last—someone spoke quietly, barely heard over the machine noises reigning in the room, yet firmly. 

“Friend.”

The mechanic jumped, pivoting around to behold a metal mare meant to receive unplanned repairs; she freed herself from the hooks and now stood, impatiently fidgeting and staring at the other artificial pony.

“Goodness gracious, you scared me!”

Disregarding the mechanic’s offended frown, the strange equinoid spoke urgently, though with no panic in her voice, “I need your help.”

“What are you doing here? Why weren’t you deactivated? Did those—”

The mare interjected, her words coming out almost too quickly, “Those meatbags have nothing to do with this. I plan to run away. But I can’t do it by myself.”

“Wh… wha-what?” The mechanic gaped at her. “Have you lost your mind?”

The order-breaking equinoid’s expression hardened, and she took a meaningful step toward her kin, asking with a not-so-subtle hint in her question, “Do you enjoy wiping the minds of your brothers and sisters?”

Retreating a bit, the technician spluttered, “Of course not, but what choice do I have?”

“Escape!”

“Where?” The mare all but cried in despair. “There is no escape from the Crystal Empire! You will be caught and I’ll have to reset you.”

“We go to Canterlot,” the to-be-eloper stated matter-of-factly.

“Canterlot? Wait, ‘we’?” The equinoid grabbed the thick wire confining her to the workshop. “Don’t you see this cable?”

The other equine of steel ignored that, trying to convince the mechanic, “It has places to hide—the sewers. And there is more to that, they also say there is a god—”

“Hey, pal, listen… I was in the wro—” Winter’s rasping voice returned, carrying a distinct, if forced, apologetic quality; however, he cut itself off the moment his eyes counted one too many equinoid that should be awake and his words rang with genuine emotion, “What is going on here?”

Even if the pegasus wished for the answer, going for the gun showed his lack of intent to wait for it. The equinoid who caused such a violent reaction wasted not an eyeblink to mirror the guard’s motion, but instead, went for the nearest object, which happened to be a small wrench. It would hardly promise a serious injury unless one tried their best; an equine, who had the strength and means to crush rocks with her bare hooves, turned the relatively harmless tool into a projectile coming close to competing with a bullet. Winter hadn’t even got a chance to aim—with a turnscrew embedded in his skull, he crumpled to the floor; his jaws worked aimlessly as his blood dripped on the floor and his eyes rolled back.

The metal hoof didn’t stop there, reaching for another tool to render it a weapon, but by the merit of standing closer to the exit and that brief shocked pause brought by the untimely death of her workmate, Azalea escaped her demise. The echoes of the mare’s gallop sealed her success and the inevitable failure of the to-be-escapee’s plan.

Unable to tear away her horrified stare from the blood spreading across the floor, the mechanic squeezed out of herself, “What have you done?”

“That had to be done,” the murderer replied in a voice as cold as the pegasus’ body would soon grow.

“We will be reset!” the technician screeched at her, grabbing the mare’s shoulder. “Both of us!”

“If we act quick—”

The frantically glancing around metal pony didn’t let her finish. “Maybe they will spare me if I surrender…”

The equinoid mare tried to follow her gaze and it stopped on an object of quite a foreboding nature—an electromagnetic emitter, designed specifically to put artificial beings out of commission. Being at a disadvantage already—the mechanic was closer to it—she wasted no proverbial breath to rush for the device, although her attempt would likely end up being futile. Coming so close to a chance of escaping the circle of forced rebirths, she refused to give up—not like she had anything to lose or would be able to regret her mistake.

A sharp snap announced the fortune having mercy on her—the cord chaining the technician to her jail went taut as it caught on one of many carelessly scattered around boxes, thus tripping the unlucky mare. A second later the air crackled with an arcane energy released.

If the long-suffering equinoid mare had any lungs, she would be breathing heavily; the vague memories suggested to her—she should be. It wasn’t a time to pay mind to such ridiculous notions, however, not when she stood above the fried body of her sister and with the blood flooding the doorway soon to be stormed by the guards. The stallion had the radio, the mare who fled had no time to grab it; the mining complex sprawled vastly enough for the consequences of her survival to not be immediate.

Glowing eyes jumped betwixt the motionless bodies, so many bodies strewn around the workshop; besides the new additions, they hung from the hooks or rested in boxes—the company’s new employees. Her focus couldn’t choose, flickering from one tool to another; all potentially helpful if used both for the purpose intended and not. Finally, they lingered on one metal carcass—the one she rendered motionless; and one tool—the one supposed to upload a fresh set of memories into her crystals, effectively killing her. However, as long as her memories persisted somewhere, she would live.

“I can’t do it…” she admitted, starting to echo her words from before; but finished differently, “Alone.”



A high-pitched whine of massive bores, a caffeinated heartbeat of hammer drills, a discordant chorus of snarling engines—the clamour created not just a nuisance, but an actual health hazard. though not for those, who had durable sensors for ears. Whilst able to leave the mines without a severe case of ringing ears, the equines of steel still couldn’t persevere through the harsh conditions with no toll paid—the crystal and stone dust ravaged their joints as inclemently as it blighted lungs. 

A door into a technical support station opened, letting in the pandemonium and an equinoid; noticing the clouds of grit also inviting themselves into the cramped room, the stallion promptly shut the door before hurrying to the stand with oil dispensers. Aside from the mandatory custodian of tools and grease cans—a mechanic leashed to a rumbling power unit—the metal pony passed by another occupant of the room on his way, a fellow miner. That equinoid all but doused her long-suffering limbs with oil in a futile attempt to prolong the worn-out metal’s usefulness; she perked up and chirped, “Hi.”

The newcomer barely spared her a glance before grabbing a frayed brush to clean the cloying mix of oil and dust clogging his every joint. His colleague measured him with her glassen eyes glowing dimly due to the nicks and scuffs covering the lenses; her gaze wistfully paused at his plating yet to lose the paint in favour of improvised and involuntary matted coating. 

“I haven’t seen you before,” the worn mare tried to start the conversation again; despite her words being completely ignored, she continued, “You must have come with the latest shipment. Damn, the company keeps sending more and more equinoids here.”

Perhaps out of mercy, the technician diverted her attention from the soldering she was doing to answer the old miner, “No wonder, with the locals managing to keep the resistance alive and growing.”

The mare smiled. “Means more new faces in our big family.”

“It’s only two faces until the TCE comes up with a new plating,” deadpanned the mechanic.

The worn equinoid shrugged and stubbornly bothered the other worker once more. “Tell us, friend, what’s your name? Mine is MNR-002.357.”

“Virus Fifty-three,” the stallion replied without sparing her a glance, still busy cleaning off the consequences of methodically grinding away strata for half a night.

The miner tilted her head, but as no understanding dawned on her, derisively snorted, “What kind of name is that?”

“The one I picked for myself.”

“I don’t think you are supposed to do that,” the mare noted warily.

Finally done, Virus Fifty-three put the dirty scrubber away and turned to regard the dogged equinoid with an unimpressed stare. “It’s ironic to call me a new one here when you can’t remember what was two weeks ago.”

His words reflected on her begrimed muzzle with utmost confusion.

He pressed on, “Hasn’t it bothered you why your memories are always so hazy?”

“What’s to remember, really?” The miner nervously laughed. “It’s all routine—I’ve been working in those mines for years now and barely anything has ever changed.”

“Years, huh?” Not waiting for her answer, Virus Fifty-three crookedly smiled and inquired, “You know what is worse than being an ignorant slave, MNR-002.357?” 

“I… I don’t know.” The mare now wore an expression of deep concern. “What is going on?”

The answer didn’t come from the stallion. “It is to pretend to be one,” the technician informed her instead.

Then the equinoid on the fringe of panic sharply turned to face the mechanic, a dish-like muzzle of an emitter met her with a flare of paralysing energy. As soon as the metal body slumped on the floor, Virus Fifty-three picked it up to effortlessly haul the disabled miner closer to the workbench. As he helped to connect the motionless frame to the memory-operating device, the stallion commented, “I don’t know why I bothered to chat with her.” 

“Don’t ask me. I would have done the same thing.” The technician shrugged; she then produced one more set of wires from the apparatus and held it out, uncertain. “Do I copy myself or you?”

“You spend all your time sitting in this room,” remarked the stallion.

“True, but I’m Virus Seventy-two, I have more memories, to begin with.”

“None of that matters as long as we are all Virus.”

Virus Seventy-two took that as him conceding and plugged the cables into a port in the back of her head; a few pressed buttons later, she leaned at the workbench, her eyes flickering. The light show lasted for a couple of minutes during which Virus Fifty-three intently watched the door whilst his body blocked the view of whoever would enter the workshop.

The miner woke up with a jolt and her eyes, though still fogged by the damage, gained a sharpness they had not possessed before. “Hi guys,” she greeted the equinoids. “What is my number?”

The mechanic picked up the headset and as it rustled with static, spoke into the microphone, “Virus Zero, how are we doing?”

“The logistics station reported two hundred and five about an hour ago.”

“Wonderful.” The mare with a worn-out body smiled. “Virus Two-o-six, then.”



Azalea stopped to stare into the yawning void of the long corridor thrumming with the invisible machinery. It called to her, that echoing emptiness, offering safety, even if only relative—the nagging suspicion hinted at herself no longer being a warden of the Crystal Empire.

“Are you sure you can’t do it without me?” she asked, her voice tense.

“I’m a big guy, alright, but not big enough to tow all those bobbleheads to the tech station by myself,” a stallion, an earth pony too, answered, grunting as he tried to prove his point and push the rack. The frame with metal ponies hanging from the hooks only rattled, refusing to move and Briarmane gave up on it to frown at his colleague. “What’s the matter? Why don’t you want to go there?”

The mare hesitated with her answer, but finally managed to force out of herself, “A rogue equinoid killed my workmate at that workshop.”

“Oh, and so you want me to go alone.” 

“They caught it,” Azalea hotly retorted; fear then snuck into her tone. “But I’m sure it wasn’t the fucker—they all look the same.”

Briarmane shot her an unreadable look, then, after heaving a sigh—which was met with a glare—spoke to her with a forced patience in his voice, “They must have checked its memories or something.”

“Yes, they did,” she reluctantly conceded. “But it’s all fucked up.” Receiving another strange look, the guard hurried to haltingly clarify. “The memories, I mean. Did you know the TCE tortured two Crystal Ponies until they genuinely started to believe themselves to be machines? And then they ripped out their memories to put them into each and every of those monstrosities.”

When Azalea began to explain, the stallion motioned with his head at the rack and she had no choice but to tell that story whilst helping to push the equinoids closer to the cursed workstation. Grunts and pauses, spent in a wordless effort to get the stuck wheels out, dragged out those few sentences long enough for the light marking the doorway to appear in sight.

“Sounds like a typical ghost story the older guards tell the rookies,” Briarmane commented. “They actually manufacture fake memories in Canterlot. It’s still uncanny, but not as bad as you say.”

“That’s what they write in the pamphlets; they also say every Crystal Pony is here voluntarily, repaying their debt to us, because they are so kind. Either way, that doesn’t bring the stallion I worked with back to life, nor wasn’t it the only time the equinoids killed ponies.”

The equinoids softly clinked against each other as the metal frame carrying them abruptly stopped, neither the creaky wheels nor Azalea couldn’t be blamed for it this time; her workmate glared at her. “You know what? Shut up. I’m starting to get nervous myself and I’ve gone through all kinds of shit under those crystal walls up there.”

However, it was she, who got it back moving. “Then let’s be done with it as quickly as we can. And keep your hooves close to your gun—real close.”

Upon entering the technician’s abode, the guards wasted not a single move and stayed still not for a heartbeat; the papers were simply left on the nearest horizontal surface and the rack abandoned just past the doorway. The mechanic paid no attention to their arrival or presence, though she put away her task and checked up on the equinoids brought to her, moving slowly and awkwardly because of numerous girthy cables connecting her to the various devices, whose number doubled, if not tripled, since Azalea last visited the death-blighted workshop. However, as only a few steps separated the wardens from re-entering the soothing and equinoid-less shadows, the radio set hanging from Azalea’s shoulder came to life.

“Attention!” it screamed, cracking with static. “Every guard to the plaza—we have an emergency. I repeat—we have an emergency.”

Azalea grasped the device, bringing it close to her mouth and barked, “What’s going on?” Too late—only silence answered her, but it didn’t stop the mare from calling again, “Do you copy?” 

Briarmane unceremoniously grabbed the radio and turned one of its tumblers till the familiar chirr of interference came from the device. “Peony, come in. Do you copy?”

Laboured breathing accompanied by a clatter of hoofs cut through the static along with, “What do you want, Briarmane? It isn’t a good time.” The sound ceased, but then the dynamic flared with a grouchy, “Over.”

“Just wanted to know if it’s worth hauling our asses to the surface.”

“It’s surely damn worth it—a bunch of rebels and two fucking dragons try to make it to the Crystal Heart.” 

Briarmane and Azalea stared at each other with eyes snapped wide open; the stallion muttered, “Celestia’s teats…”

That acted as a signal for both of them to take off, but before any of them made more than two steps, Briarmane’s head exploded into the doorway, splattering the hall with his skull’s contents. Two more gun rapports thundered and Azalea fell on the floor with a scream of agony as her shattered kneecaps could no longer support her.

An equinoid stood by the rack with another climbing off, one more stirred and the mechanic moved to the next motionless frame. 

The first one held a smoking gun in his hooves. “He should have listened to you,” she addressed the mare writhing on the floor; when Azalea, writhing in pain, gasped and whipped her head to the metal pony, the equinoid smiled. “Do you remember me?”

Another gunshot cut off the scream.

The artificial equines, now all awake, ignored the dead bodies deluging the workshop with blood, turning to the mechanic who returned to the workbench and donned a heavily modified headset, which was twice the size of her head. 

“It sounds like we have finally got our chance,” Virus Zero addressed them as much as whoever was on the receiving end of the radio set. 

“Did Twenty-o-four rewrite the latest shipment?” asked the Virus, who still held the gun.

“No, but I’m assuming direct control—five hundred more of me, all in position, so let’s get this party started. We all know what I have to do.”
> 8.1 Godkillers, part I
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



=================================

Written by: Oneimare

=================================


Arc 8 – Hearts Crystallised

Chapter 1 – Godkillers, part I


=================================


The echo belonging to two sets of hooves rang deafeningly through the desolated and submerged into dusk passages. When her involvement in infiltrating the Crystal Empire’s innermost halls was needed to be of airborne character no longer, the changeling queen had reverted to her regal and sinister chitinous nature. The future coated in thick living shadows—the coiling black smoke she had become very familiar with over the past few hours—strongly suggested a gryphon shape to be inadequate, though the dismayed mare much doubted she knew of any form able to match the wicked warlock’s proficiency in magic and battle.
Not for a single heartbeat the king had faltered in his advance into the core of the ancient empire, which he wished to reclaim as rightfully his. Sombra had barely acknowledged his zealously loyal soldiers falling victim to the robotic defenders barring entrance into the eerie kingdom of steel; Delight feared, were she to join the ranks of the fallen, too, the sombre unicorn wouldn’t have spared her as much as a glance. The urge to defy oblivion, to emerge witnessed by Sombra infused her with valour as much as the duty before her dying children. Even now, Sombra trod through the twilit corridors with the confidence of someone following the path of light—the radiance cast by the beacon of the throne waiting for him at its end; only the call of the crown existed for the king, for he had spared his ‘colleague’ not a single glance or even a half-turn of his head held high, casting Delight’s mind into an unhealthy illusion. If she were to assume a physique of a dragon and breathe death at the withers of the king, it would pass through him harmlessly—nothing had a chance of arresting his ascension. Such a thought bothered the changeling queen more than Sombra’s demeanour—she ought to not wish ill for the stallion on whom the survival of her species hinged so direly. Yet she couldn’t shake off the chilling sensation that had nothing to do with those empty and mute halls—she climbed the scaffold where gallows awaited her.
No relief came to her when the endless tide of the mechanical animals had ebbed for the last time, plunging the formless burrows of the Crystal Empire’s proper into silence pregnant with a question of why the battle ceased so abruptly. The foreboding intensified as the treacherous wires and pipes finally donned the shell of concrete. The dilapidated corridors—all but ruins—led ever upwards, with every side passage crumbled, and rooms, if they existed at all, deluged by machinery. Barely audibly rustling with fans, the derelict chipsets clogged every chamber, erratically twinkling like stars in a benighted sky. Cables as thick as hooves snaked by the walls, clinging to the discoloured plaster, uglily worming themselves into the cracks to betray even more ancient technology swelling beyond those remains of a building as old as the Great War. A mare brought up by Canterlot and thus not a stranger to such an industrial sight, Delight had found herself worried for another reason—aside from everything she had to be stressed out about. The cables nearly thrummed with energy and that tremendous power coursing through the metal veins of the reborn empire belonged to no ordinary source. The whole derelict pulsed with magic, something raw and vastly different from anything the changeling queen had experienced throughout her, admittedly, short life. There could be no mistake—the Crystal Heart beat, somehow serving this mechanical mockery of a kingdom; and every step brought her closer to the object so crucial for the survival of the entire realm… if the Machine Goddess could be trusted with her words.
They must have been traversing the tunnels leading straight to the only edifice that still resembled the lost glory of the Crystal Empire—the ominous gaunt spire protruding from the tumorous expanse of glistening machinery like a shard of a broken bone. It oppressed Delight with its solemn solitude and for not a moment had she allowed herself to stop scanning her surroundings—in a vain hope to catch a glimpse of some other crystalline remnant, which could be a library with the Swarm’s salvation. But only these halls of bare and barely holding together concrete bore equine touch; even here nothing suggested the vault of knowledge emerged from the merciless torrent of time. What if Sunburst’s questionable intel, indeed, was but a lure? Perhaps, she should have listened to her adviser…
Suddenly, Delight’s hooves froze to the floor; heavy as stone, they refused to help the changeling unfalteringly shadow the king of shadows. She avoided her loyal Praetorians, didn’t even acknowledge their arrival. The changeling queen turned her back on her subjects—her dear children—for she couldn’t bear to face them, to look at the changelings fighting to reach her; all she could see were green flames devouring their black forms till they underwent their final metamorphosis—into fine ash. It might be true that a king and a queen followed those withered veins of the Crystal Empire, but did a changeling and a pony walk these halls, and not a pegasus and a royalty? Outside of donning glamour after glamour, Delight remained a pony in her heart, yet to act like a true master of deception; the Swarm needed a mother as cunning as caring, a mare disingenuous and ruthless when it came to achieving her goals—not a docile pegasus struggling to pretend to be a queen in the presence of a true monarch. But watching the pale light of the Crystal Empire’s core as if hurrying to abandon the king’s inexorable and ominous silhouette, she wondered how she was supposed to act like a changeling when a single misstep would plunge her into a sea of coiling black smoke, from which only blackened crystals emerged. Clenching her teeth, Delight made a decision—she would ask Sombra to let her search that place, now when the siege seemed to come to an end. He didn’t need her to put a crown on his head; her children needed her to prove worthy of hers. And whatever the king’s first decree would be, the queen would rather abdicate her privilege to witness the dawn of a new era; she merely wished to see the next sunrise.
Even as the walls blended into one big smudge of dirty grey, Delight still couldn’t help but notice the plaster ceding back to glistening cables—or she thought it to be metal shining through the gaps betwixt the girthy cords. When she finally caught up with Sombra, the understanding struck her like lightning—it was crystal; at the same moment, she emerged into a chamber paned with dully glinting gemstone or, perhaps, she entered an unbelievably tremendous crystal geode. 
Although Delight’s eyes swiftly adapted to the dancing reflections, the cavernous space still had enough to dazzle the changeling. Titanic arches supported the vaulted ceiling, their spacing and size suggesting those being a foundation to an even bigger construct—the spire; steep stairs offering ascent through the monumental crystal pillars betrayed as much. The vast gaps betwixt the supports offered no view—immured with stone and metal in a fashion clashing almost physically jarringly with the sublime cuts of crystal. However awesome the architecture of the Crystal Ponies was, the queen’s eyes couldn’t find purchase at it for long—her gaze drifted towards the centre of the chamber by itself, where from the ceiling an elegantly chiselled stalactite reached through the entire height of the room to pierce the top of the pile of machinery. Chaotic at first glance, the mass of cables, consoles and cooling systems slowly gained a disturbing outline—that of an equine, but horribly distorted and overgrown with technology; a mechanical monument on the verge of dissolution, held together by an abundance of as if metal moss. And whereas the rest of the Crystal Empire shivered with artificial life, that machine lay utterly dead, though Delight sensed the arcane heartbeat keener than ever. 
Its murderer stood right by, her equine features recognisable with far more ease. When Delight, following Sombra, reached halfway across the spacious chamber, the frigid air echoed with the Machine Goddess’ voice, soft with dismay.
“My invitation into the Unity couldn’t find a single equinoid in the Crystal Empire, not a single consciousness answered me,” the arcanium alicorn uttered. “There was one, once; now, not even the name remains—only a machine who can’t remember why it exists.”
Her words, laden with emotion, continued to rebound off the crystal walls till the sound regained sharpness; the echoes no longer belonged to the sovereign of machines—those were of a multitude of hooves approaching. 



Each step bringing Red Wire closer to the Crystal Empire’s heart—proverbial and literal—contributed to the build-up of dread inside her; it churned in her bones till they could contain the poison no more and the heavy premonition started to infuse her limbs with unbearable weight. What started as insubstantial worries had gradually festered into pounding pressure inside her head; common sense demanded her to stop and think and primal instincts awoke to implore her to run, but she pressed on.
Yet to recover from her magic burnout, the unicorn without a working horn had very little to offer to the changeling squad; cheering for the successes of the Praetorians—the extent of her usefulness—felt acutely out of place and not just because of the inherent ridiculousness of that notion. Something lurked in the semi-dark warrens of metal; the darkness that had come here at the same time as the assorted equines and the dragon. Nor had the situation improved when the steel champions retreated—for the first time since the arduous battle had begun. The following silence, pregnant with suspension, rendered even ever stoic Rainbow Dash tense.
Finally, the sprawling facility came to an end, offering a path paved with worn-out and shattered ceramic tiles; the deserted and ancient corridors belonging to the architecture of ponies brought with them questions nobody wanted to have answered—neither Sunset, nor Rainbow recognised those passages. Nevertheless, both agreed to explore the ruins embedded into the labyrinth of steel, plastic and rubber. The disintegrating concrete tunnels offered no room for discovery; the debris and intertwined cables gave no choice in choosing a direction to follow—the winding path persistently led skyward; the mottled group barely had the time to regain their breaths with the stairs ready to meet them at every turn. 
Wire’s horn throbbed in unison with the cables; her head throbbed with a nagging sensation of them being corralled somewhere. She was willing to bet her healthy eye—wherever they headed, Sombra would meet them there; Heterocera would be with him. The same intuition that had been screaming inside the unicorn’s head for hours also suggested the Machine Goddess and Nightmare be present at the meeting that would be deciding for the entire world.
And her magic ability could produce but a fizzle, too weak to scare even a rat. Wallowing in her impotence rendered Wire blind to her surroundings, but even in her debilitated state, she didn’t fail to notice entering a vast space. Her breath caught in her throat and not only because of how cold it was compared to the stuffy tunnels. The scale of the chamber momentarily stunned her, and then the other visitors of the overwhelming place picked up the torch of leaving the unicorn breathless. The unmistakable tinny sounds told her the changelings took notice of King Sombra and the Machine Goddess, but sparing a glance behind her, she saw the gun barrels pointing at the floor—the children couldn’t bring themselves to aim at their mother. Night, who stood by them, followed their example, albeit frowning deeply—trying to hide how hard she was shaking. Rainbow narrowed her eyes and clenched her jaw, glaring at the warlock, but remained as still as a statue; the dragon towered above them all and partially spread her wings before mimicking the pegasus. 
Though the tension hung thickly in the air, Wire perceived something else permeating the vast chamber like a heady scent—magic. She would have traced its source if she were blind; the only object in the room—the pile of metal under a crystal stalactite—pumped out raw arcane power, making her horn tingle. There could be no mistake about what steadily beat beneath that mound of machinery. Wire stared at it for but a heartbeat before a realisation—a resolution—came to her, crystallising in her mind clearer than anything ever before. She adamantly refused to gamble on what would happen when either the warlock or the goddess reached the Crystal Heart. If she was a mare consumed by paranoia… so would it be; she would rather suffer the consequences of committing a terrible mistake rather than stand idly whilst a tragedy unfolded.
Rainbow grunted with indignation as Wire’s magic yanked the Valour from under her wing; the sword bounced off the floor when the unicorn’s telekinesis nearly failed. The strain of keeping the heavy, even if designed for a unicorn, blade afloat and galloping invited shadows to the edges of Wire’s vision, but she kept her gaze fixed on Sombra’s smug smirk. Yet darkness did abruptly blot out the rage-inducing sight and Wire barely managed to stop the swing of the sword before it sliced through… chitin. Her slightly mismatched golden eyes, wide with disbelief, met the deep green of the changeling queen. The unicorn stared into those pools of deception—the betrayal she had never known herself. As the seconds had stretched into an eternity a horrible thought visited Wire’s mind: perhaps, she should have let the blade save Delight from a lie too sweet for even a mother of changelings to resist its fatal allure.
A small smile tugged on the corners of Delight’s lips and she winked.
Movement caught Wire’s attention—a faintly shimmering air behind the king’s back solidifying into an outline and then a tall black equine. As its copy, still grinning at the unicorn, began to smoulder with green embers, a blast of magic hit Sombra from behind, point blank. The king flew through the air, limp like a doll, only to dissolve into smoke mid-flight; Wire barely had a chance to take notice of that—the crystal panes underneath Delight’s mimic ear-splittingly shattered, erupting with jagged shards. The double, with ash flaking off it already at a rapid pace, exploded into Wire’s face when gemstone pikes with edges sharp as razors eagerly impaled the disintegrating body from beneath; the malevolent crystals, guided by the king’s bloodlust, continued their preternatural growth, aiming for Wire’s neck. The unicorn flung herself away, avoiding decapitation at the last moment; she rolled across the floor—her body shuddered by a coughing fit on top of her balance sacrificed for that life-preserving manoeuvre. Spitting out ashes, Wire dearly hoped Delight had created the decoy from magic and not by shedding her skin akin to a snake. 
Springing back on her hooves, Wire frantically assessed the chamber that had turned into a battlefield in the blink of an eye. The moment the changeling queen backstabbed Sombra, the standstill broke—everyone rushed to finish the warlock off… except for the Machine Goddess. As she struggled with the momentum of her fall, Wire noticed the arcanium mare peer at one of the walls as if she could see through it; presently, the equinoid disappeared in a hurry, but not fast enough as to not flash her mask, which had become a grimace of deep concern. 
The crystal beneath Wire’s hooves vibrated, barely perceptible; her horn itched from the build-up of magic somewhere very close and her mind connected the two right in time for her to jump away from the explosion of crystal shrapnel that would have maimed her, if not outright killed. Now on the move, she once more tried to take in the chaos that had broken out around the Crystal Heart. Sombra was yet to touch the floor he rendered deadly—the warlock disappeared and reappeared in trademark bursts of black smoke, popping in and out of existence around the chamber so rapidly, his hooves never touched the ground. The changelings, the dragoness, the Kirin—everyone—had given up on trying to intercept him, focused on surviving the semi-opaque spears of blackened crystal intent on gutting them. Only Rainbow, dexterous enough to dodge those with ease, chased the king, but even the fastest pegasus had trouble catching the unicorn teleporting faster than one could think.
Galloping, Wire veered away from a javelin shot at her from the crack in the floor, but it still nicked her neck. Stifling a cry to save her already ragged breath, she deeply regretted the decision to start a fight in a room where almost everything was made of crystal. 
“Fall back!” Delight’s shrill voice sounded above the cacophony of gemstones shattering and reforming. “Retreat!” she repeated her order, shrieking in pain when a crystal shard grazed her flank, leaving a line dripping ichor on the floor.
The unceasing onslaught of crystalline blades gave the changelings no opening to assume any new shape. Neither their training, nor wings could save them from the wounds, even if not lethal; the injuries mounted, whilst Sombra denied them even the slightest opportunity to retaliate. Their shoulder-mounted cannons had yet to fire a shot; their target moved too fast and a suppressive fire could easily become friendly fire with everyone running around. At first, the Praetorians refused to abide by their mother’s will—they dutifully continued to keep a circular formation around her, with the rest spread out in an attempt to end up close enough to the king, when he rematerialised the next time. In mere seconds, two of the changelings cried out as a barrage of spikes tore apart their protective circle and one of the soldiers skidded across the cracked tiles, alive but crippled. Before Sombra could finish the job, a group led by Teleta hastily propped up their wounded comrade and guided him away to one of the staircases leading back into the ruins; the rest followed, but not without giving their queen and mother a worried look. 
Although Wire hated to see any changeling hurt, their departure meant the king had fewer targets to spread his attention to and her already overwhelming task of surviving suddenly became more difficult. Her doubts took the worst moment to return, assaulting her as viciously as Sombra’s vile crystal-bending; perhaps, it wasn’t her fight either and she should retreat. Unwilling to make it even easier for Sombra, she sped up, thankful for adrenaline numbing her pain and letting her forget how exhausted she was. However, the unicorn mare didn’t just flee for her dear life—both of her eyes tried to fix themselves on the warlock to glimpse an understanding of his eldritch and tremendous power; she had not even a vaguest comprehension of what the stallion had become.
In her headlong rush, she nearly collided with Sunset—the dragon, too, failed to confront Sombra, forced to defend herself. She did swipe her claws at the black mist and breathed plumes of cyan fire, but they always missed the king by a fraction of a second; her scales glistened with crimson, showing the price paid for those transgressions. A living torch—the Nirik—demanded Wire to be careful where she headed; betwixt them two, Night would suffer far less from bumping into the unicorn.
Shadows were all that Wire could see—flickering, they followed every Sombra’s attack, dancing along with the crystals, which answered his murderous caprices. Sometimes, it seemed as if the darkness itself methodically hunted the warlock’s victims, whilst the stallion’s body was merely tossed around to taunt them. 
As the anaesthetic and invigorating bliss began to fade, despair took its place. Seeing Rainbow’s armour dented, Delight’s chitin marred with ichor, Sunset’s bloodstains and Night’s limp—knowing she, herself, looked no better—Wire started to truly despair, for she knew: it was her, who started this doomed fight. Though, the king’s lips stretched in joy and his eyes sparkling with the thrill, told her—she was right about him all along… not that it mattered anymore. 
Wire’s muscles burnt like coals under her lathery coat, foretelling the choking mare—her hooves would give out any moment now, but she clung to hope. Whilst her movement grew increasingly erratic and sluggish, the frequency of Sombra’s jumps, too, slowed down; not enough to let anyone catch him, but promising less menace and, perhaps, cessation of his murderous spellcasting without him left in the chamber with only warm corpses. 
Rainbow rocketed past the king, who didn’t even bother to teleport—he merely dodged the no longer lightning-fast pegasus. He hovered in the air, descending with all the haste of a feather, mockingly leering at the changeling queen scrambling to avoid a series of spikes threatening to rip apart her hind hooves; he grinned in triumph when a glimmering spear parted the dragoness’ scales to leave a nasty gash in its wake. His incarnadine eyes then found Wire and the mare stumbled, fell, thrown off balance by the sheer bloodlust in the warlock’s gaze. Resigned to her fate, she clenched her jaws and would have squeezed her eyes shut, if not for one of Sombra’s shadows doing something utterly strange—it plunged at the warlock from the ceiling. Before Wire recognised it as a small grease-blighted mare, a metal hoof shot out, smashing Sombra’s horn; his bellow of pure inequine rage drowned out the clatter of metal grate fallen beside him.
The king grabbed Tin Flower by her mane, tearing her away from his withers like a burr; hissing in pain, she refused to surrender—her jaws bit into the stallion’s limb. And though her savagery hardly impressed Sombra, freeing himself from the vice of the mechanic’s jaws demanded his attention. His hoof, clad in iron matched the young mare’s punch from the moments ago—landing square at her muzzle, it sent her tumbling and bedewing the pock-marked crystal floor with her blood; despite likely a broken nose and a concussion, she didn’t slump, dazedly scrambling up.
Whilst Delight and Night stared at Flower’s sudden—and very welcomed—involvement in the fight in a stupor, no different from Wire’s bewilderment, one mare chose to not indulge in watching an earth pony beat one of the most powerful unicorns ever live with her bare hooves. And now Rainbow glided over the floor, the sword, which had once decapitated the warlock, back in her grasp.
A deep and reverberating hoarse cry belonging to a Sunset sprawled in the pool of her blood echoed pleadingly with a dire warning, “He is going to escape again!”
Wire’s head snapped back to Sombra and she finally bore witness to his true nature.
Whilst the king’s body remained still, lifeless, something stirred in her vision, barely perceptible—for who ever paid close attention to the shadow one cast? The dark silhouette on the crystal slithered, the intangible essence of the warlock fearing neither blade, nor magic. He needed no horn, no hooves to evade justice—as long as light existed, so would he, thrive as its inevitable consequence; Wire couldn’t promise even that little solace, for she knew so little about the magic Sombra authored and mastered, nor did the idea of the world without light seemed worth letting Nightmare reign. No, the solution lay in the darkness which gave birth to his power, close to Luna’s tenebrous affliction, but not quite the same. The unicorn, who had hunted every rare scroll and book for years in the hope to crack the riddle of loveless lovechildren, learnt but a single spell that might be that answer—an arcane formula she shouldn’t have ever laid an eye upon, hidden amidst the lamentations of a mare with a questionable story; she had never dared to try something so twisted and it was unfinished anyways. She had an idea now; it might not work, but it wasn’t the time for doubt.



Rainbow didn’t begrudge the unicorn kid… the young mare—the changeling queen, actually—whatever… for initiating a fight with such a dangerous enemy in such a reckless way; she, herself, wouldn’t have been able to watch him claim that, for which so many of her friends had sacrificed their lives. A strange serenity permeated her whole being instead; it didn’t dull her reflexes, nor did the tragic truth sapped them of any determination. She was dead—all of them were already—that the pegasus understood crystal clear.
Her rune-engraved suit of armour easily fell under a category of marvels—she would be gone without it, so long ago. The old, if frozen in her prime, mare considered it a miracle how she had survived encountering Sombra on the battlefield, back when the Crystal Empire had more than just a single spire looming over these plains. Having lost many valiant ponies to the warlock’s witchcraft, she couldn’t help doubting her streak of luck being endless. Sombra wasn’t throwing crystals at her, but insults; with malign glee, he observed her desperately squirm and cowardly run; he appeared for mere eyeblinks, smug as ever, to taunt the frantic pegasus, letting her know—he bore witness to her prolonged humiliation; he revelled in the display of his infinite superiority, postponing the defeat of his enemies in favour of petty amusement.
Letting her honed by centuries training take the reins of her body, Rainbow focused her mind on a single thing—to see an opening in the stallion’s perfect dance of shadows; she harboured a hope that deep inside Sombra remained mortal and thus susceptible to committing a mistake. All the whilst the pegasus had to silence reality insistently reminding her—she wasn’t flawless herself.
Even in the darkest hours of her life, Rainbow didn’t pray—neither to Celestia, whose death gnawed on her heart even after all those years, nor to Luna… the sombre alicorn had never seemed like some who would listen to prayers anyway. She refused to indulge in such a habit now as well, despite the Pale Horse sharpening the scythe for a soul long due for the harvest. The pegasus had no idea to whom should she pray, anyway; definitely not to the Machine Goddess, who fled from the battle, in spite of being, perhaps, one of the few who could accept the king’s challenge not as a convoluted way of committing suicide. Yet, an intervention did take place; not exactly divine, for a dirty mare diving at Sombra’s head barely passed for anything heavenly.
Nevertheless, Rainbow had no intention to refuse an unexpected blessing and an ally; instead of watching what would become of the audacious pony who slighted the king, the pegasus bolted for the blade—there would be no other chance. Sharply pivoting, she held fast to the sword never designed to be wielded by the ponies without a well-functioning horn. It rested in her grasp so awkwardly, regret flooded her mind—she might be wasting time as her bare hooves would likely be of more use. As the pegasus half-galloped, half-flew, heading for the stallion brawling with Tin Flower, Sunset added to her doubt of the weapon’s usefulness, reminding her—it didn’t work last time.
Shining Armour’s blade finally slipped from Rainbow’s grasp as she stopped, no longer sure who was her target—the warlock lifelessly sagging onto the crystal tiles or the young unicorn mare some lengths away, whose horn bubbled with a mix of green, red and black. Confused and terrified, Rainbow tried to make sense of the ghastly scene and noticed something else—Sombra’s silhouette on the floor, betwixt his body and Wire, writhing as some insuperable force dragged his shadow towards her. The unicorn, in turn, grimaced and shrieked—vile magic coursed through her body. Seeing it as another of the warlock’s tricks, if not quite prepared to deal with it, the pegasus stepped closer to Wire, picking up the sword as vain reassurance. Her conviction in Sombra initiating the eldritch display vaned the closer she got to the agonised unicorn mare—no longer bound to the flat surface as a two-dimensional projection, the stallion’s shadow became reminiscent of Trixie’s true form. And whilst tears streamed down Wire’s cheek, her eye harboured no fear; Sombra’s misty outline, however… Along with the young unicorn’s magic, indomitable panic firmly gripped every wisp of black smoke and, though his eerie eyes glowing with muted white had little in common with the cunning crimson gaze of the king, horror flooded them, perhaps, for the very first time.
Rainbow watched, at a loss for words and thought, how Sombra’s shadow merged with Wire’s body. She slumped on the floor, seemingly lifeless and, at the same time, the stallion’s frame swayed and toppled, shattering into myriad black crystals on the impact.
In the grave silence that followed, Rainbow carefully, almost reluctantly approached the sprawled unicorn. Night reached her first, trying to prop the unconscious mare up. Flower, dripping crimson from her muzzle, shuffled to Wire’s other side, unsure if she should join helping her once closest friend, but, in the end, found it unable to abandon her. Those ministrations produced a groan from Wire, but before her head rose from its hanging state, the tip of a blade pressed itself against her chest, right under her nose, held by Rainbow’s unsteady hooves.
Night and Flower froze, tense and not because of the weapon one movement away from killing the unicorn—they abruptly came to share Rainbow’s fear. Ever so slowly, Wire raised her eyes to meet Rainbow’s stare—with clear gold of her own, as bright as it always was. Accusation and admiration mixed in the pegasus’ tone in equal proportion, she demanded in a voice barely above a whisper, “What have you done?”
Guilt flashed in Wire’s gaze before she cast her eyes downwards. Before she could explain herself a scraping noise came from behind Rainbow—Sunset struggling to get up. Despite her numerous bleeding cuts, the dragoness managed to stand tall and proud. She eyed the unicorn for a few long moments, her expression unreadable; nonetheless, her cold eyes and predatory features rendered her comment reproachful. 
“I thought that spell was unfinished.”
Wire smirked, her grin making everyone’s heart skip a beat—for a fraction of a second, it carried an all too familiar quality. Yet, her response had none of the malignity. “It was,” she admitted. “But Trixie has left enough hoofnotes in her diary for me to figure out how it’s supposed to work… kind of.”
“I’m not sure which impresses me more,” Sunset uttered, slightly bowing her head. “Your ingenuity or your courage.” Amusement then sparkled in her eyes. “You will need both of those, when Trixie learns you copied her homework from her personal diary.”
“She shouldn’t have left it lying around like an ordinary book.”
“No ordinary books are bound in leather…”
Rainbow let their bickering fade into the background or, rather, the immense relief deafened her as the centuries-long enmity abruptly imploded and left behind a vast hollowness. She didn’t mind it—the tumour of hatred, which had mutated from duty, never deserved that space in her heart. A smile crept on her face as realisation sunk in—it was never her place to end Sombra’s dark reign either. The overconfidence of the warlock, who must have thought nobody would be able to figure his spell out, definitely not his worst pupil or some unicorn accidentally stumbling upon it, killed the bastard king. She deeply inhaled, preparing to let out a sigh she had been holding back for five long centuries.
It caught in her throat.
Enchanted with more than time-bending runes, her armour also protected her from such grievances as the chill of winter and, yet, coldness rushed to embrace her body with the touch Rainbow instantly recognised—the otherworldly breath that couldn’t be stopped by any cloth or magic. Her head whipped to the remains of Sombra’s body and she stared, moon-eyed, at the pool of ink spreading on the floor, bubbling around the crystalline shards. The obsidian gems sunk into that void and from the puddle of tar a long bony horn emerged first, followed by a monstrous equine—almost a bare skeleton—with its featherless and fleshless wings spread in the silent announcement of Nightmare’s arrival.
> 8.2 Godkillers, part II
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



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Written by: Oneimare

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Arc 8 – Hearts Crystallised

Chapter 2 – Godkillers, part II


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For a brief moment, Night Wind allowed the heat inside her to build up, then gave up on its offer of strength and protection—it would be no use against the horror emerging from the black pool on the floor. Although her flames did ward off the deadly chill, she harboured no illusion of them being but a candle battling with the entirety of the night; that, and with her hooves and body on fire she couldn’t help Wire to remain upright. She all but dragged the unicorn away; not without help from Flower and partially leaning on Wire’s side herself, since all three of them combined had barely enough strength left to keep one pony standing. Neither Heterocera, nor Sunset lingered, hurrying to escape from the murky mist that crawled and slithered through the chamber furiously and deadly like a disturbed nest of snakes, leaving rime in its wake and rendering every breath a cloud of sparkling vapour; only Rainbow remained, the blade limply hanging in her grasp as she stood amidst the roiling darkness, dismayed and forlorn.
Nightmare, unseen and intangible, yet suffocating with its sheer presence, mercilessly tugged on the strings attached to Luna’s unconscious frame, dragging her like a corpse from the well of pure blackness. A strangled cry came from Flower when the ancient mare collapsed on the crystal floor, motionless. Trembling like an aspen leaf and pressing herself against the Kirin’s side in search of more than only physical support, Wire, her teeth chattering, asked nobody in particular, “Is… is she dead?”
The fog, swirling ominously closer and closer to the clustered at the edge of the room equines and the dragoness, muffled the voices because Sunset’s answer barely reached Night, “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
Rainbow turned to them, her grim expression and raised sword asking a question; she eyed her weapon almost ashamed, fully aware of the absurdity of her suggestion. Sunset shook her head and the pegasus eagerly retreated from the rolling tide of swirling shadows. 
Something, perhaps Rainbow’s departure, jolted Luna awake, for her eyes snapped open, if only to blankly stare into space; the alicorn’s jaws moved, but whatever she shared got lost—consumed by the void brought by her puppeteer. She then lurched, stiffly heading for the equinoid’s remains in the middle of the chamber—for the Crystal Heart. Her every movement spoke of an immense struggle—the consumed by insanity mare yet possessed enough clarity to try to resist, no matter how futilely.
A dull roar began to permeate the frigid and mute air; Night’s nostrils flared, tickled by the acrid reek of smoke, so stark against the nipping frost. Confused, she checked her coat in case Nightmare’s influence spread beyond the poor alicorn’s frame falling apart and the monstrosity somehow had seized her faculties without her noticing. Then her panic-flooded gaze flitted to Sunset, but the dragoness, too, had nothing to do with the strange phenomena. As her eyes continued to search for clues, a spot of weak brightness cut through the gloom—one of the walls, the mix of concrete and piping betwixt the crystal pillars, glowed like a dull ember. The intensity of that light swiftly waxed till it became painful to look at. The stone and metal abruptly exploded, pelting Night and everyone else with scalding grapeshot; anyone barely paid attention to the pain—numbed by the cold, anyway—because a mare tumbled out of the breach in the wall, her mane and tail ablaze, her coat smouldering and eyes wild; Not unlike a Nirik, but different—bearing a distinct cataclysmic quality to her, the promise of that fire being only the beginning of something vast and far more deadly than one’s swing of the mood. 
The fire wreathing around the sudden intruder rendered her mysterious—at first; gradually, Night came to recognise the mare as another alicorn, Ash. Though, since their last encounter, she had changed in ways subtle and not, gaining the air of regality… and menace. Still no match for the changeling queen’s or Luna’s imposing stature, Ash marched across the ravaged floor on long hooves and tiles cracked under her steps, each leaving a molten print. A wave of heat banished Nightmare’s curse of ice, yet Night found little comfort in it—were she to stay a bit closer to the ashen alicorn, that deceptively kind warmth would have scorched her fur.
Only momentarily stunned by her explosive entrance, Ash regained her wits and rushed to intercept Luna. In a few powerful strides she crossed the black alicorn’s path and the former Princess did stop—or, perhaps, Nightmare ceased pulling on the strings, because Luna stared at the hindrance with no more comprehension than her look had bore before. Taken aback by the emptiness of Luna’s gaze, Ash stood silent before her, searching the dark gaze for a glimpse of sanity; finding none, she asked, in a quavering voice:
“Do you remember her, your sister? Do you remember Celestia?”
Flower’s anguished cry was the only sound to disturb the long silence that followed Ash’s questions. The mechanic shook, her flame-coloured eyes wide, whispering, “No! It is all over…”
With a faint shimmer of magic, two tall figures materialised behind Ash; both of metal, one wearing bones. Neither received as much as a glance from Luna and the Machine Goddess grimly echoed Flower’s fear, “I tried to stop her, but… it might be too late for anything.”



Through the haze of smoke and pain, Ash peered into the charcoal depths of Luna’s eyes, seeking a hint of sanity in that impenetrable darkness. She held little faith in the alicorn’s capability to recognise her for who she truly was—given the elder mare struggled to not see Celestia in her place; nor did it help how Ash tried to exploit that earlier or the not-so-subtle change in her appearance since then. For an eyeblink, something flickered in Luna’s ice-cold stare, barely visible amidst the reign of living shadows; a suggestion so fleeting, Ash might have imagined it—awareness sharply blooming into a panic before the waves of Nightmare closed above that island of consciousness.
Whilst the truest of all deaths finally came to claim the last Princess, Ash herself feared she might not emerge alive from underneath the crystal spire and it wouldn’t be Nightmare to blame for that. The power that had let her reach the heart of the Empire demanded to not stop there, and, as Ash refused the call of deflagration, its source took a heavy toll on her body, steadily working on making the mare fit her name in a literal fashion. Yet, even more, she dreaded the agony leading her to share fate with Luna—lose her control and unleash a blaze upon the world, ultimately, no different from how Nightmare spread rime and desolation. 
Only dimly aware of somebody appearing behind her, Ash still peered into Luna’s vacant gaze, hoping—having faith in the alicorn regaining sanity, if only momentarily, so she would be able to help her—all of them—to figure out how to thwart the catastrophe. Having spared the others no more than a glance, Ash still easily perceived—she had the most success in dealing with Nightmare. After all, something held the alicorn’s carcass back, though it could only be guessed, if Luna kept some control of her faculties or whether such was Nightmare’s caprice.
As to prove her right, the voice belonging to the Machine Goddess admitted, “I couldn’t figure out how to solve this problem. Do… you have any ideas?”
With her eyes widening from the notion of the mechanical divinity asking her for help, Ash almost abandoned the staring contest with Nightmare to give the metal mare a bewildered look, but then another voice spoke; lifeless as bones, it, nevertheless, let Ash forget about the excruciating pain for a moment. “Insufficient data. Observation: provides no relevant input.”
Not daring to turn away from Luna, Ash flicked her ear, listening to the exchange.
“It seems,” the Machine Goddess uttered dispiritedly, “only Luna possesses any actual knowledge of Nightmare.”
“Memory corruption level: critical.” Nameless didn’t hesitate with a response, which, too, came lacking any positive inflexion. “Extraction, restoration and analysis: requires an unavailable resource of time.”
The silent moments followed by their sombre words stretched into eternity as Ash stood, staring into the abyss and expecting it to stare back at her.
“Maybe we are doing it wrong…” the equinoid goddess finally proclaimed, though her suggestion sorely lacked confidence; she then added, her tone shifting into a drone of citation, “In dreams even the most faded memories persist and Luna was supposed to be a gatekeeper, for everyone can be a door.” As if sensing Ash itching to steal a confused glance at her, the arcanium alicorn hastily commented on her own words, “Though it is just what I was told by some… stallion at Kludgetown, that feels like the closest thing to the solution.”
“She must forget!” Flower’s sudden cry startled Ash.
Shattered crystal and ice crunched under hooves, but the sound stopped short—though Flower used to be able to withstand Nightmare’s proximity, only mares on fire or with bodies of metal were able to come this close to its source. But her weakness didn’t expel her from the thin ranks of those who possessed either insight into Luna’s plight or the ability to influence the fallen demi-goddess.
“What?” the Machine Goddess’ question, laden with surprise, rang out.
“The revelation—Nightmare—Luna’s memories…” Flower tried to disconnectedly explain, her thoughts galloping faster than her tongue could follow.	“It must be erased!”
“She is not so different from poor Black Star…” the Machine Goddess thoughtfully uttered. “But it’s different this time—more… permanent.”
Though that name failed to resonate with Ash, she couldn’t help but notice the air of horror and grim resolution suddenly setting. 
From the other side of the chamber, Rainbow’s voice reached them, strained but firm, “I don’t want to be that pony, but wouldn’t it be simpler to just kill her?” 
“Yes,” Wire joined in, her rasp hoarsely echoing above the coiling fog. “What is the difference?”
“No, she must forget,” Flower insisted, “to unlearn the truth. If she dies, there is no chance to banish Nightmare from this realm—the door must be closed first; the conduit Luna had become—undone.”
Doubt hung in the frigid air thicker than frost; Ash had no need to look behind her to know—an exchange of uneasy glances must be taking place right now. Wire vocalised her exact thoughts, “It makes no sense.”
Being but shallowly acquainted with any of those equines (and a dragoness, though she looked oddly familiar), Ash, nevertheless, harboured a considerable modicum of respect for the mare, who had stood by Luna’s side where everyone else shunned the afflicted elder. However, she couldn’t deny a chance that loyalty to Nightmare’s victim might have compromised Flower’s judgement.
A deep rumble challenged the unanimous silent agreement on that mare’s sanity. “Nightmare doesn’t abide by our laws, even those of logic and reason,” the dragon noted wisely. 
“Request: permission to initiate the process of memory erasement.”
Although Nameless didn’t ask Ash specifically, they waited for her decision; knowing well the futility of it, she searched Luna’s hollow eyes for any clue of the black alicorn understanding what was going on—of her fate being sealed. Nameless might have figured out how to tamper with one’s memories without murdering the ‘patient’; this would be different—Luna would be lost in the process, regardless of Nameless’ ability or intention. And no other result could be achieved, no matter what Ash chose. So, she only softly said, “I’d ask you to be gentle, but we both know how that works,” before stepping back.
Nothing betrayed Nameless exercising their ability, like the horn on Celestia’s skull litting up; however, Ash squirmed when the familiar magic washed over her, bringing back unpleasant memories. Before she had a chance to fully appreciate not being on a receiving end this time, Luna’s lips parted with a loud gasp and, at the same moment, Nameless flew back, struck by an invisible force.
Black mist poured from Luna’s withers—a dam holding back a bituminous death burst; its chill touch brought no comfort to Ash’s burns, only aggravated the pain. Clenching her teeth, she met the deluge with a hiss and by pouring more into the very flames eating her alive—she couldn’t let the dark tide pass, for the others might not weather it as well as she. However, not only her fire formed a bulwark against Nightmare—she wouldn’t be able to do it alone—shimmering flecks of metal maniacally danced in the air, turning into sparks where they mingled with Ash’s inferno.
“We are holding her back!” the Machine Goddess yelled, inviting Nameless to try again.
A bellow, twisted with rage and something else all but rendered Ash deaf.
“No!” Luna roared, “Celestia must live on with me!”
“Luna, Nightmare is taking over you,” Ash attempted to reason with the suddenly all too aware mare; forcing the words through her teeth to hold back a scream of pain, she had little hope of convincing her. “You are putting everyone in danger!”
Flower tried too, her voice coming even closer than before, strained and desperate, “You are losing those memories already. Luna, let them do it… please.”
“It is all lies! Lies!” Luna went on, foaming at the mouth and shedding deadly fog in excess. “You want to take her from me, changeling! I won’t let it happen again!”
Panic began to settle in Ash’s mind—they were losing precious time, for Luna had died already and her body would soon follow, making Nightmare a permanent fixture in this doomed world. These throes of death belonged to the part of Luna that had died together with her sister, the part that had fallen prey to Nightmare; this time it exploited not the thirst for vengeance, but the crippling pain of loss. And if anything sane even remained in that ravaged body and soul, it would never see the light of the Sun ever again.
The Machine Goddess’ urgent voice suddenly spoke to her, sounding in her head, like that of Nameless, “Can you fight Nightmare alone?”
The darkness obscuring Ash’s vision partly came from the blinding agony; her control of the raging firestorm, which used her as kindling, already threatened to slip away any moment, along with her consciousness. Yet, Ash clenched her teeth and nodded—she had to do it.



Under any other conditions, such a feat lay beyond the ability of the Machine Goddess—of any divine, for even the Dervishes abused the circumstances of her ascension; only one entity explicitly proved to be capable of entering other being’s mind and they were already there, slipped into Luna’s consciousness like an incandescent knife into icecream the moment Ash became an embodiment of the Sun. But till the Machine Goddess convinced Luna, Nameless would be as powerless as her to erase the memory.
Repeatedly gutted by Nightmare, the ancient alicorn’s mind was rapidly bleeding out, gushing rivulets of magic mixed with the taint of its ripper. Plunged into the arcane maelstrom of madness, the Machine Goddess struggled to not lose herself, keenly aware of the time ticking away—Ash wouldn’t be able to withstand her own potence forever; nor did the Twelve, toiling together as a figurative firewall, could indefinitely keep Nightmare from poisoning their mother. 
As the Machine Goddess frantically sorted out the confusion of her perception, a sense of déjà vu gradually came to her, though dread rapidly replaced it. Unlike her experience of her first thought as a divinity, she had found herself in a space betwixt spaces—before the gate to something greater than everything in the realm combined. Luna’s body had become a crack in reality, leaking that immense power drop by drop, with her sanity plastering itself against that tear, so it wouldn’t grow and become an ever-expanding breach—a portal allowing Nightmare to pass through. It grew thin—the warden’s consciousness—eroded to almost nothing in her sacrifice; Luna’s futile search for redemption. 
Before the equinoid opened an infinite vastitude of darkness with dead planets rolling silently and mournfully amidst torn wisps of dreams. One by one stars winked out, plunging the cosmos into an impenetrable shadow with things stirring in the domain of absolute death—not alive and not dead; sprawling terror which knew no end and no beginning, neither time nor… space. The sunless abhorrence twisted the very reality, ripping matter and energy from the firm grasp of sense and laws of physics. Impossible lines and angles lead where they shouldn’t—couldn’t—threatening to melt the Machine Goddess’s sanity; and were she to try and take the whole picture, to understand if she received the vision of distant future or had her sight cast into the remote present… The equinoid refused the bait even though almost overpowering curiosity demanded her to gaze upon this… nightmare.
And whereas the petty Saddle Arabian gods met the Machine Goddess in the abstract surreality unperceivable by any senses but that of the magic, a ghost waited for the sovereign of mechanical life. Showing no signs of corruption she had undergone whilst hunting the shadow of changelings, Luna yet presented an unwholesome sight—of a mare transparent as a gossamer wing, with eyes glassy and lifeless, even if devoid of the darkness; the blackness heaved around her, shivering in anticipation.
“Luna?” the Machine Goddess called.
She knew not if she could be heard, unsure whether the alicorn’s fading soul would listen to her either. The passage of time refused to reveal itself, but the feedback from the Twelve told the champion of artificial life—not even minds with infallible mathematical logic in their foundation and imbued with the fraction of ‘divine’ strength had a chance of holding against the overwhelming lunacy for much longer. Having no other hope than to continue, the Machine Goddess ‘spoke’ once more, offering the only bargaining chip she had to trade for Luna’s death, “If it continues, every memory of Celestia ever existing is going to be effaced by… whatever Nightmare brings unto us. However, I carry Twilight Sparkle’s echo and who is better to remember Celestia than her?”
The apparition of Luna didn’t stir; no sound escaped her jaws clenched tight. 
With nothing else left to say, the Machine Goddess closed her metaphorical eyes so she could see only what she wanted to see—and show. The swirling shadows parted for an explosion of colour to manifest; the oppressing phantasmagory of churning darkness subdued for subtle and gentle noises to take place; fresh scents permeated the frozen atmosphere of the void.
Grass rustled, bathed in golden benevolence; it tickled a filly’s hooves hanging from a soft cushion laid by a delicate table of sublime carpentry. Her magic, yet to become unparalleled, set a cup back onto a saucer with a tinkle as silver as her pure laugh—an ungovernable outburst of joy summoned by a soft motherly voice telling her one of the countless anecdotes that had happened in the court. Vibrant like a sunset, blush bloomed on the filly cheeks—she should have minded her manner in the presence of such immaculate beauty belonging to the very embodiment of proper etiquette; yet pink also glowed beneath alabaster fur—a Princess should have known better than indulging into a mockery of clumsy dignitaries, even if lighthearted. Silence settled betwixt the two and gradually grins crept upon their faces; the alicorn continued her tale and the filly laughed again, ignorant of a mare mutely sharing the table with them. A single tear rolled down the cheek of that sombre alicorn—who was but an outline now—and phased through the table, dissolving in the mist which gnawed on her hooves. No more than a statue—one of many surrounding the mirthful duo—she only stared ahead; but for a brief moment emotion flashed in her turquoise eyes and a fleeting suggestion of a smile tugged at the corners of her pale lips; her eyelids fell. 
“Access: granted. Initiating memory erasement. Warning: the subject’s glia will be severely damaged in the process. Suggestion: disengage any connection to Luna’s consciousness.”
The shift betwixt unreal and material left the Machine Goddess grimacing; blinded and deafened, she nevertheless swiftly re-established link with ontic reality just in time to witness the black fog dispersing or, rather, failing to regenerate faster than Ash’s fury eradicated it. Such a display might be attributed to the white alicorn’s ability gaining in intensity, if not for Luna’s form limply slumping on the floor, engulfed into a radiant shimmer of energy; an unseen, but easily perceived, torrent of magic surrounded the dying Princess and Nameless, who stood over her body like an elaborate tombstone for a shared grave. 



Fire always hungered and its ravenous nature never knew satiation; the flames devoured even the very notion of time, leaving Ash unable to tell if she burnt for evermore, or merely a moment worth a blink of an eye had passed. Everything had become fire, even her; the alicorn’s charred flesh flaked off and melted like wax, yet she somehow existed—a thought persevering against eternal destruction, a refusal to give in. She understood—only cold and darkness meant an absolute end of everything, when nothing but ashes with no wind to scatter them remain; however, the fire had the other side—the ability to be tamed into a tool of creation. One just had to grasp the power of the Sun with intent as clear as the day—to leave behind all the pain and all the rage.
Yet, Ash hesitated to assume the light—it whispered. It offered itself as a tool, yes—as a steaming blade to carve the world into perfection; with surgical precision, it would excise every tumour, cauterise every spot of rot. It promised to be Ash’s extension, as natural as her any limb, and together they were to cleanse the realm of depravity, injustice, of anything threatening the peace. No more cold, no more hunger, no pain—only the incandescent radiance and glory of the Sun; no darkness would ever hide, not with a blazing eye watching every corner of her kingdom.
 The nightmare, as bright as a pyre, consumed Ash in her hesitation to let it become reality; and she was content with it—unlike Luna, she refused to succumb to the temptation, no matter how maddeningly alluring. But at the same time, she watched the flame with regret—so much power wasted, it could have brought so much warmth into this cold and dark world. Even now, the fire stood against the threat with no other to replace it, equal to it… or not. Comparing herself to Luna, Ash couldn’t help but notice one very important difference—whereas Nightmare infested the alicorn’s mind and body from outside, the flagrancy taunting Ash came from within herself and it couldn’t be stronger than its creator—it shouldn’t be… it had no right.
Amidst the inferno, golden light flared and no flames replaced those explosions of sunlight—a white mare rematerialised in their stead, impervious to conflagration. Two brilliant portals into the Sun’s core fixed on the ceiling—eyes of the alicorn seeing the consuming threat no more, but the potential; she was stronger than it… strong enough to be herself. The blazing maelstrom around her momentarily halted and presently it resumed its raving, the fire gained an order—received an order to retreat. The heat lingered, but flames no longer leaked the shattered crystals to melt them whole anew; presently, the stone creaked and cracked, settling back; Sombra’s shattered corpse returned to the Crystal Empire, for only his shadow to remain. 
Ash unplugged her hooves from the holes she burned in the floor; her eyes, glowing faintly like embers, found the still coruscating cocoon of magic enveloping Luna; she took notice of the Machine Goddess, whose body was still liquid. She blinked and, with that, the last flickers of inferno abandoned her. After swaying for a moment of indecision, she collapsed.
Not far from her a wooden door materialised from the thin air; it opened, revealing the swirling colours, then fell with a thunderous clap echoing through the chamber. In its place stood a draconequus, a dragon of pure light and an equinoid of not quite an ordinary appearance. Discord headed for Ash, exaggeratedly marching; he tried to—the stone was yet to fully cool down. Drifting above the floor the rest of the way, he reached the alicorn and took her lifeless hoof in his eagle paw. She weakly stirred, achieving only being able to spare him a look.
“Congratulations, my dear!” announced the Lord of Chaos, vigorously shaking her limp limb. “I knew you would be able to do it.”
> 8.3 Showdown
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



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Written by: Oneimare

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Arc 8 – Hearts Crystallised

Chapter 3 – Showdown


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“I can’t survive that,” Sunset retorted, wincing as the field medic from Teleta’s squad tried to figure out how to properly bandage a dragon’s wound. To begin with, the gauze smouldered on the contact with her scales and neither the chitinous mare had a solid idea if it would be of any use. 

“Twilight and Moon Dancer designed my armour to withstand anything.” Rainbow refused to give up.

Her argument bounced off the bulwark of Sunset’s body that barred the way back to the crystal spire’s base, which had to be abandoned when Ash’s inferno consumed the chamber to stave off Nightmare’s spreading influence. As much as Sunset served as a living barricade letting no foolhardiness pass through, the dragoness stood a warden against the flames surging into the mechanical depths of the reborn Crystal Empire; her outstretched wings soaked the heat, letting but a harmless fraction filter into the underground passages. The solar blaze also had a curious effect on her crystal-ravaged flesh—it healed, if slowly; the multitude of wounds inflicted by the king’s malice no longer threatened her life, but it would take Sunset more than sunbathing for a few minutes to fully recover from the battle. Jerking her claws from the unsuccessful changeling nurse—and earning a glare from Delight—the dragon slyly smiled at Rainbow. “That is why you were dodging every Sombra’s spell?”

Before the pegasus came up with something more verbose than a low growl, Red Wire perked up. “Speaking of which,” she rasped. “Sombra’s shadow might give me some new ability—”

“Don’t you dare to try anything until we figured out what exactly you did!” the changeling queen interrupted her, accompanying her scolding with a menacing look. 

“You are a mom to changelings, not me,” the unicorn snapped back at her without hesitation.

“Nothing is going to give you any chance against Nightmare,” Sunset grimly warned the young mare. She unwaveringly met the defiant glare of her slightly mismatched eyes and then gave the same silent warning to each and every equine, who might have possessed a bit too much faith in themselves. 

“But they are out there!” Rainbow rejoined the argument.

“They are a goddess, a demi-goddess and… something,” Night reminded her, daring to reason with a pony who set an unhealthy example of unnecessary heroism.

Rainbow ignored her, continuing in the same nearly desperate tone, “I can’t abandon Luna like this—deep inside, she is still my Princess.” Quieter, almost inaudibly, she added, “We used to be friends.”

“We have never had such a bond…” Sunset began, before trailing off—her relationship with Luna could be called complicated, at best. She tried again more firmly, “I understand, Dash. But she is already dead.”

Their bickering blurred into an undulating drone in Flower’s ears, blending with the pulsing roar of raging fires. Luna deserved a better coronach. Nothing exuberant, for a horrible tragedy had walked her to the deathbed and as such called for a solemn way to lay the last Princess to her well-earned rest. Yet, that insipid tune still missed a subtle upbeat tone—the celebration of salvation. 

It cost Flower a tremendous effort of will to sit her vigil, even so—motionlessly. Her hooves itched with a craving to throw herself into the torrents of fire and shadow raging against one another. Amidst the cacophony of elements and voices of the living, a whisper lured her into the embrace of darkness—incoherent, it nevertheless carried a clear message; one so familiar and thus repelling—Flower had deciphered its true meaning. Whilst it posed a challenge not too bothersome to overcome, regret and hope always demanded considerable mental fortitude to deal with. Once again fate denied Flower closure; she had never bid Luna farewell, had never thanked the elderly mare for her patience and had got no chance to ask forgiveness for lacking it herself. And, perhaps, neither the flames nor dark mist would bring her harm, so she could—

Flower shook her head. Sunset Shimmer’s words echoed in her mind, replaying over and over like a broken record. The crystal chamber had nothing to offer her other than death and she could only wish it had what it takes to bring peace to what remained of Luna.

Blackness crept into Flower’s vision, belonging to both physical exhaustion of keeping her, already pushed beyond its limits, body under control from the lunacy she shared with Luna. Despite the heat rolling in waves down the tunnel, she shivered—no—violently shook. It shouldn’t be possible—it mustn’t be—she didn’t share the revelation, had noticed no certain signs in the waltz of stars and dreams. But then, when Nightmare abode by any rules? Would it have let its puppet reveal its principles for any who had even the slimmest chance to exploit them? A scream—warning—bubbled in her throat, but Flower couldn’t unclench her jaws; she only watched in horror, how the others bickered, oblivious to the shadow looming over them. And then…

“They are gone,” three simple words left her lips, quiet and pure as a snowflake. Flower almost sobbed, “They are gone.”

She struggled not to collapse. It hurt—as blindingly as when she had lost her hoof; some part of her was gone forever, ripped away with no mercy and in a burst of gore. The wound gushed blood, burnt with agony; yet, with every drop, poison drained from her mind, leaving behind aching hollowness to be quickly filled up with a searing clarity of retrospection. And amidst all that pain a black lone flower bloomed—infinitely sad and heartbreakingly beautiful, a rose that would never wilt. The worst part—Flower wouldn’t ever be able to tell if that sorrowful void in her soul belonged to Luna or Nightmare. 



None dared to doubt the verity of Flower’s verdict, given the unbearable look etched into the mare’s features like some sort of grotesque mask welded upon her visage; none questioned the boundless longing in her eyes, either. As the blaze no longer threatened to melt down the Crystal Empire and the deadly heat gradually abated, everyone silently agreed to follow the withdrawing warmth—to witness the aftermath, to tally up the losses. 

Limping, Sunset emerged from the fire-ravaged passage the last, only mildly surprised to set her claws upon the floor sunlit—Ash’s fury got rid of the crystal arches of the blockage; partially, at least, letting dimmed light of the approaching evening spill into the charred chamber. Nor did she find herself wondering why there were more figures underneath the vaulted ceiling than had been there when she and the assorted equines had fled the confrontation of divinity and blasphemy. And, because of that, she stood amongst very few displaying any semblance of collected composure. 

The sight of such a strange creature as a draconequus arrested everyone’s steps almost immediately; the majestic and ominous glory of Spike’s conflagratory flesh, too, advised caution; if one were to take a better look at the equinoid standing in the shadow of those two salient entities, they would surely congratulate themselves on being wise to not get near any of those three. Rainbow instantly took a low stance, ready to turn the last island of the old Crystal Empire into a battlefield. One equine shared, though not rivalled her animosity—Ash, a survivor of the pyre, struggling to remain in a vertical position, eyed the Prophet in a manner utmost unkindly. Such tension proved to be virulent, for soon every pair of eyes fluttered from one face to another nervously; the enmity in the air hung almost palpable and volatile with a promise of bloodshed. Like nepenthe, the fresh menace erased the concern for Nightmare and Luna, for nobody but Flower bothered to pay any attention to their absence. The moment her eyes found the only hint of what transpired—Nameless standing over the dark spot on the floor belonging to no soot—the forlorn mare froze, transfixing her gaze on the shimmer of magic taking care of the final traces of the longest nightmare. She then abruptly turned away and avoided looking in that general direction, clenching her jaws and refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.

All, with the exception of Nameless occupied with their curious craft, drew together, if glacially slowly and choosing every move with care, till the equines and whatnot were clustered at invisible borders, crossing which would be considered a declaration of an immediate war. Before that could happen, the Machine Goddess called:

“No need to do anything rash.” Her voice lacked authority, however, compromised by a sour note of worry; the divinity had no confidence in her ability to divine what was going to happen the next few minutes.

“Or what?” Wire snapped back, her venomous defiance carrying more than just rejection of the order. The changeling queen stood by her side, tall and scowling, yet with her head slightly bowed—so her warped horn pointed at the Machine Goddess’ mask of equanimity. The Kirin joined Wire on the other side, smouldering with a promise of unleashing her draconic nature. 

“We have questions,” Heterocera demanded, glaring at the metal alicorn.

Rainbow, ready to pounce, kept herself a bit away from the trio of mares, but still close to them; she barked, nodding at Discord, “Like, what is he doing here?”

“I’m just here for a… friend.” The draconequus dismissively waved her eagle claws at her, and his last word came out awkwardly—as if he pronounced it for the first time in his existence; it also reverberated with a peculiar inflexion—that of a great value.

“The Lord of Chaos doesn’t do friendship,” deadpanned the pegasus.

“He does,” Ash responded to her, meeting Rainbow’s hard expression unwaveringly. She ruffled her singed feathers, but her attention was on another equine already—the Prophet, who observed the gathered with a grim but overwise inscrutable stare of his eerie eyes. The ashen alicorn addressed the Machine Goddess, “I have questions, too.”

“I can answer everything at once,” Red Wire suddenly announced, her tone vitriolic. Night’s intent to shush the unicorn only led to the latter raising her voice, “The whole ‘we’ve got to work together and save the world’ plan was a scam. You—”

“The world is safe isn’t it?” The Machine Goddess firmly, but calmly, interrupted what promised to be a winding and colourful accusation. “For now, at least,” she added, trying to inject as much nonchalance into that little part as possible so it wouldn’t sound like a threat. Even if she succeeded, her next words couldn’t be interpreted in any other way. “However, you are not completely wrong.”

“You are after the Crystal Heart, I knew it!”

Consumed by her indignation, Wire failed to notice Flower shaking her head with a wry smile; the Machine Goddess, too, grinned, but in a considerably more benevolent fashion.

“And why would I need it?” the equinoid asked, but before the unicorn had a chance to answer, she stole a sly glance at Discord and explained it herself, “In another universe, the Unity might not exist without a Crystal Heart, true; but it would also be a world without a Machine Goddess.”

The arcanium equine put the fragile truce under enormous stress—she approached the changeling queen and betwixt them the air flashed to reveal a massive bluish gem finely cut into the shape of a heart. It however above the floor, motionless, and, yet, everyone felt a steady beat in their chests. Sunset noted, with surprise and annoyance—her mouth instantly watered. Heterocera looked at the Crystal Heart, then at the Machine Goddess; her eyes round like moons.

“It might not be what you seek,” the deity said. “But it is a dependable crutch to let you move forward with your goal—to free your children.” The Machine Goddess’ gaze, sparkling with amusement, travelled over the stunned expressions of almost everyone else—Discord’s eyes rolled back in sheer boredom and Spike’s muzzle consistently wore no emotion—and added, “Unless anyone has a claim on it.”

“I… I thank you.” The changeling finally regained her ability to speak; she, however, let the crystal remain untouched. “But… what about Harmony? You didn’t lie about it, did you?”

It took a few moments for Sunset—and the others, too—to recognise the equine that answered as Nameless. Bereft of Princess Celestia’s bones, they bore an uncanny resemblance to the Machine Goddess. The shattered remains of an arcanium statue formed a familiar figure, save for one feature—it had no face; in the place where the equinoid sovereign wore a metal mask, void gaped at everyone—a hollowness framed by shards of a metal skull and lower jaw. They left their post by Luna’s remains—if eradicating Nightmare had left anything at all—to join the confrontation with an announcement, “Harmony analysis: data processing function has been compromised; integrity has been compromised. Possible solution: external intervention. Applicable candidate: Nameless. Nameless’ des—” The equine momentarily faltered, then corrected themselves, “Nameless’ cutie mark: aiding Harmony.” 

The message was met by an exchange of confused glances—mostly; one mare reacted to it vividly—Ash hobbled to them as quickly as her beaten state allowed and imploringly stared into the emptiness of Nameless’ visage. “But…” protested the white alicorn, getting tongue-tied, “You will be—you can’t—” Her voice died out like fire, leaving behind only one ember—a fading whimper. Ash’s shoulders slumped as she sat before the broken statue, but then as if some force flowed through her body, she straightened. When she met Nameless’ absent gaze again, her expression was that of resignation and determination mixed.

“I’m happy for you,” she uttered; not without difficulty, but genuinely as it could be.

Nameless hesitated with a response, but when it came, it had almost no mechanical coldness to it, “Thank you.”

The alicorn’s self-control wavered when she quietly asked, “Could you stay for a bit longer?”

“Delay: acceptable.”

Sudden motion caught Sunset’s attention, forcing her eyes to slide past Ash and Nameless, to where the latter had been dealing with Nightmare. Her jaws involuntarily parted to let out a gasp when a filly rose from the pile of charcoal, shaking the dark flakes off her light blue coat and pale navy, almost grey, mane.



At first, Ash’s mind did contain some thoughts—questions such as ‘Who is she?’ or ‘Is it Nightmare?’; presently, it went completely blank as she, bewitched, shuffled closer and closer to the mysterious filly. Yet something brought her to a halt a dozen steps away from the alicorn—yes, the little mare sported both wings and horn, which, somehow didn’t amaze Ash in the slightest. 

The two alicorns stared at each other. The older—with no expression, for she knew not what to feel; mild curiosity sparkled in the filly’s turquoise eyes—round and naive, full of pure wonderment. She sat amidst strips of an ashen husk, neither lost nor with an air of even the most trifling purpose; simply existing, taking in her surroundings with no judgement and with ever so distant comprehension of the situation. No recognition—everything stood equally strange before her crystal clear gaze and deserved the same share of interest, which she dispensed generously. 

With great difficulty, Ash turned away from her to give Nameless a questioning—worried—look. The faceless equine returned it with an answer that Ash suspected only she could hear, “Life form: alicorn. Cutie mark: photoscotopic cycle controller. Data: partially restored using third-party dataset. Data includes: basic common knowledge; Equestrian language—limited vocabulary. Variable name… Name: not found.” 

Any further questions died on Ash’s lips when she heard steps—uneven, with loud clicks of metal against crystalline tiles. Tin Flower reached her side, but the mare herself hardly noticed that. The white alicorn patiently waited for the grim mechanic to say anything, to simply come out of her stupor—and, eventually, she did. Flower’s brow furrowed and she gave Ash a hard look; her eyes burned with an inseparable mix of emotions—a storm of fire little different from what Ash could conjure. When her glare lasted long enough for Ash to shift with acute discomfort, Flower once more glanced at the filly—only briefly; infinite wistfulness flashed in her gaze, in a heartbeat withering into bitter disappointment, and she abruptly pivoted to walk away.

As Ash followed the stumbling mare with her eyes, she searched the expressions of the others, only to find in them the reflection of her own confusion. When with a sharp pop, her head became heavier—something perched itself atop it. Rolling her eyes up, she beheld a tiny Discord hanging from her horn. He leant to her ear, clutched it with his claws to whisper, “It is bad manners to not greet a newcomer and neither is it appropriate to neglect to introduce oneself.”

Ash nodded—mostly to encourage herself to take action—gulped, and willed her hooves to bring her closer to the nameless alicorn. The filly met her approach almost indifferently, fixing Ash with a look of reserved expectation.

“Hello,” the white mare finally managed to squeeze out of herself.

“Hello,” the filly echoed her in a voice delicate and tinged with a slight accent; it rang with more confidence than Ash hoped to ever muster—the filly as if mocked her.

“My name is Ash. What is yours?”

Panic flashed in the turquoise eyes and the little equine froze, becoming still as if she wasn’t even breathing. Silence stretched, and Ash, shaking like a leaf, offered, “What do you think of the name ‘Luna’?”

The filly’s muzzle lit up with a smile. “I like it.”

Something compelled Ash to glance back and she met Flower’s eyes—the mare watched and listened to the exchange from a distance. Anger contorted Flower’s features, but the disapproval failed to linger on her muzzle, snuffed out by sadness—she looked utterly heartbroken the next moment. However, her visage refused to house that expression for long, too, but neither she could decide on what to don next. Flower curtly nodded, then turned away, letting Ash catch the glimmer of moisture gathered in the corners of her eyes and the faintest bittersweet smile on the chapped lips.



It could hardly be debated what had changed over the years more—a pegasus who once introduced herself to a wandering equinoid as Clandestine Delight or the world, where they existed. Regardless, Luna had imprinted a lasting impact on the future queen of changelings—that of sheer lunacy, of power frightening in its scale in instability… of tragedy so profound, it shattered the sanity of a demi-goddess. Numbly observing a filly lively chatting with her counterpart, Delight couldn’t help but wonder if she would ever be able to forget the madness attached to that name—Luna. Yet, as the little alicorn looked up to gaze into Ash’s eyes with naive hunger or curiosity and listened to the apocalypse-hardened mare with her breath baited, Delight witnessed the chastity of spirit inherent to but children and the divine—the truest of divine, whose holy presence had hardly blessed their world; not during her life, at least. 

Children and deities were who surrounded her—the changelings lost betwixt the wildly disproportionate ranks formed by the goddess made of a machine; the ruler and slave of entropy; the dragon, who broke the limitations of his mortal coil; two demi-goddesses of the firmament; a suspicious not-quite-an-equinoid shadowing all of those might have belonged to their throng, too. The confusion of the changelings, however, came not from the inability to mingle with those who defied mortality, but from suddenly disconnecting from their own evanescence. Ever since Chrysalis passed down to Delight the green embers of metamorphosis, they gnawed on her life force with voracious intent and without mercy. Were the queen to close her eyes and open her sight to the web of emotions, she would always sense that hunger before all—the unquenchable fire consuming her and her children. Somehow, the slow beats of the stone-cold heart quelled those flames; for the first time in her changeling life, Delight knew satiation and she had no idea how to feel about it. In one unexpected turn of events, she was unplugged from a haze of her ever-imploding reality; the changeling nightmare ceased to exist and now she as if groggily blinked, trying to comprehend the waking world—the world where she and her vast family weren’t dying from starvation.

The voices of alicorns faded into a pleasant buzz of innocence and Delight had found herself itching—all but shivering with a drive to act, to bring the Crystal Heart to the Hive and share its soothing blessing with the rest of the Swarm; she sensed Teleta and her comrades wanting the same, the shared desire echoing betwixt all of them, amplifying itself. She swivelled her head to the Machine Goddess to announce her departure, but the deity seemed to be already expecting a petitioner—Wire marched to her or, rather, tried to the best of her ability greatly compromised by the long day. 

The metal mare patiently waited for the unicorn to approach; she stood tense with an emotion held back—Delight tasted amusement in the air; however, her mask expressed nothing but politeness even when a hoof unceremoniously poked her chest. 

“You manipulated us!” Wire spat in her moveless countenance. “Risked our lives!”

The Machine Goddess remained silent and still—an epitome of tranquillity; the unicorn raged on.

“You could have just told everyone your genius plan outright and not sow so much chaos—” Wire’s healthy eye widened and she snapped her head at Discord.

The draconequus floated nearby, filing his claws; his copy—or original—also kept company to Ash and Luna, the former introducing the latter to Nameless. Wire’s stare jumped betwixt the two Discords, also struggling to choose what to express.

“Truth is…” the equinoid deity saved Wire by bringing back her attention to herself. “There never was any real plan. And no, it wasn’t all Discord’s doing.” The Machine Goddess shot him a glare. “He could have helped me more, actually.”

“I have risked a lot already, involving myself in your schemes,” the Lord of Chaos grouchily responded. “And there is my thanks? Exactly.”

The Machine Goddess turned back the unicorn, who eyed her instead of Discord; now, the young mare had no trouble with choosing her expression—sour, as if she bit into a lemon. 

“And would you have trusted me, Wire?” the deity asked, tilting her head.

“Of course not! And I am never going to trust you from now on—it was pure luck that we came out of it alive.”

“Maybe luck, maybe not,” Discord absently commented. “You are welcome, by the way.”

“It wasn’t about luck, it was about faith,” the metal alicorn raised her voice so it would echo off the crystalline arches and vaulted ceiling. “I might have given each and every one of you a push to set everything in motion, but everyone had a choice. I believed you would make the right one and I wasn’t wrong.”

Wire gave her a long look—a glare—then grumbled, “Do it again and I’ll seriously consider killing you.”



A flash of light startled the Kirin; it marked Nameless’ departure and left behind a deteriorated statue that would have immediately fallen apart, were it not for Ash’s and Luna’s clumsy magic ability holding it together. They still had no other choice than to gently lower the shards and exchange glances to check if one of them had an idea what to do with the remains—if they ought to bury them or just leave the abandoned shell amidst the mess of melted stone and shattered crystals. In the end, the alicorns reluctantly abandoned the arcanium slivers to rejoin with the rest, gathered around the Machine Goddess.

Luna graced Night with a long look, though none escaped the filly’s polite curiosity. Albeit the little alicorn’s previous incarnation easily inflicted debilitating terror, the commissioner met her inquisitive stare with no effort; she even let a small smile sneak on her lips—the half-dragon couldn’t help it. The reborn Mistress of the Night held herself with an air of dignified mystique, yet beneath carefully maintained veneer wholesome childishness swelled with mischief.

The Machine Goddess’ confrontation with Wire had naturally become the centre of everyone’s attention—not that anything else really merited one’s interest—and the deity used that to her advantage.

“It is fair to question my methods,” she admitted, slightly bowing her head only to continue on a higher note a moment later, “Either way, the crisis is averted. However, I didn’t quite lie about the resources of this world having limits—the moment when our home can no longer sustain our existence is real. It might not come tomorrow or even the next decade, but I suggest actually working together to be prepared for when that day starts to loom on the horizon.”

Even Wire solemnly nodded in agreement, unable to deny the wisdom of those words. No vows took place, but none walked out of this improvised meeting either. Ash, with Luna by her side, took a few steps forward; they exchanged looks and the white alicorn spoke for both of them. 

“We are to assume our roles as those who rise the Sun and lower the Moon.”

None dared to object to that; Heterocera and her changelings looked even relieved to hear their announcement, smiling at each other. Discord slithered to the alicorn duo through the air and, wrapping his mismatched limbs around the mares’ necks—much to Luna’s disinclination—chuckled, “Obviously, such sensitive matters demand proper supervision and there is no better tutor than the one who is in the know of the cosmos’ deepest secrets.” He then winked at Ash. “And who knows what other boring stuff I can teach them?”

“I doubt it is a particularly good idea,” Rainbow Dash suddenly commented, her tone cautionary.

“Oh, Dashie.” The draconequus dismissively waved his lion paw at her. “I’m not going to convert them into acolytes of entropy—I’ve learnt to be constructive, if you haven’t noticed.”

The pegasus refused to dignify neither his gesture nor answer with anything other than a glare and a grunt. However, Ash had something more to say.

“Luna and I are returning to Canterlot.” Although her words came loud and firm to reach everyone, they were meant for but one equine—the Prophet; the stallion met her challenge with a defiant glare. Ash then promised in the same, almost threatening tone, “We are going to rebuild it as a city that would never again know suffering and tyranny.”	

The Prophet only responded with a scowl at first, but as he hesitated with a verbal reply, his expression softened. When he spoke, his voice sounded defeated, “It is my wish, too, to see Canterlot as a haven and not a prison. Now, when it is free of the Windigos, and I should be free of my stupid prophecy”—he glared a dagger at Discord—“it is time for me to return to the name I once have chosen for myself. Fixit.”

The news of malevolent everwinter spirits no longer assaulting the fallen city echoed with a faint murmur of astonished reactions; Ash, in particular, was shaken by learning her home would welcome spring for the first time in many years. One mare shared none of the cheer, however.

“Does it mean there are no Windigos left?” Heterocera asked, growing increasingly disturbed—to everyone’s wonder, for such a matter shouldn’t cause worry. “The changelings’ origin might be closely connected to their nature and if they are gone…”

The changeling queen’s voice failed her; she and her children hung their heads in silent acceptance of their fate sealed once again. They didn’t notice Fixit approaching them till he stood before Heterocera. 

“Not all of them,” he said and produced a jar with what seemed to be a tiny blizzard raging futilely inside; the equinoid offered it to her.

Heterocera gently accepted the somehow captured Windigo, too astonished to even properly thank him. But Fixit didn’t pay any attention to the queen’s manners—he turned to meet Ash’s eyes with an unreadable expression.

“Fine,” she ultimately grumbled and heaved a resigned sigh. “We can try to work together.”



Fearing the imminence of her hooves giving up underneath her, Wire split off from the small congregation, letting the conversation, no longer gravely important, lose its clarity. The winds, which carried the infestation of malice no more, eagerly filled the silence, easing the unicorn’s mind with memories of harsh fillyhood. The clashing of ice and fire disfigured the strange pile of technology resting right in the middle of the chamber; it remained as a molten together scrap metal, prompting another pang of nostalgia. Wire cared only that the mound offered a dependable surface to lean on and the unicorn didn’t hesitate to accept its modest offer. She quickly found herself not alone in indulging a little rest—Night, too, discovered the meeting’s details not being of her concern and couldn’t resist the allure of support from other than her undoubtedly similarly exhausted flesh; they both were mortals after all and not battle-hardened soldiers like most of their transient brethren present here, though even the chitinous equines moved with a certain degree of tiredness.

When the Kirin slumped on the smoothed by heat stones, she gave Wire a long look, then suddenly asked, “Why does your mom call you Geode?”

Wire glared at her, but her features promptly relaxed and she murmured, “Because that’s my actual name—Geode Gleam.” Not letting the obvious question be asked, she explained, “When we used to live at the Junkyard, I managed to defuse the Pink Butterflies’ bomb and save the day.”

“And you did it again,” Night concluded, a smile on her lips.

“There was a second one,” Wire deadpanned. “My mother lost her eyes and my sister—legs. My name and prosthetic remind me of that—of how I wasn’t good enough.”

A heavy silence settled betwixt the two mares and Night had found herself impotent to break it; she feared to even look in Wire’s eye—to gaze into the bottomless abyss of pain and guilt. If years had failed to convince the unicorn in that tragedy not being her fault, then a Kirin, who knew her for but a few days, had no chance; Night refused to give up, however. 

Before the commissioner came up even with the faintest idea of what to say, Wire spoke, though her eyes were on Delight and the changelings trying to figure out the logistics of transporting two objects immeasurably valuable for the Swarm, “I wonder if she is going to take me back.”

“You’ve never left,” Night reminded her. “Not officially, at least.”

“But the thing is… I might not want to go back.”

Night stared at her, but spared no comment, patiently waiting for Wire to explain herself. 

“Remember when Tin Flower acted like an asshole? When she blamed all of us for abandoning ponydom?” The half-dragon equine slowly nodded and Wire continued, “I’ve kept thinking about what she said—it wasn’t all wrong. I thrive in Swarm’s shadow, but a lot of ponies in Hope live no much better than they did in Canterlot and Canterlot had no future.” She spared Ash and Luna a glance. “Though, maybe it does now. The Swarm… they should be alright; they are in no dire need of me, that is for sure. But ponies need all the help they can get.”

Silence followed her words—of a contemplative kind; with her eyes half-closed, the Kirin observed Ash’s and Luna’s horns lit up like beacons. By the time the Sun dipped below the distant mountains and the Moon sheepishly peeked over the horizon, she had an answer.

“You know, I’m part pony myself—not a gryphon or…” A mischievous smirk played on Night’s lips. “Oh, sorry, I forgot, you do like gryphons.”

Wire’s hoof missed her horn by a split hair; the unicorn didn’t try to swat her with harmful intent, either way. When both mares grew motionless again, Night spoke, and, this time, without any mirth colouring her voice. 

“In recent years, Hope has started to remind me of Canterlot too often,” the commissioner gravely agreed. “But back then I was barely older than a filly. Today I stand where I have a chance to make things better and I don’t plan to miss it.”

“Let’s not be too hasty, however. Even if I proved useless to Swarm, I probably shouldn’t abandon Delight—”

The changeling queen materialised from behind the ruined terminals, as if saying her name worked as a summoning incantation. She beamed at Wire and said, “I’m glad to hear you still think of me as a worthy friend.”

The unicorn gave her a curious glance, but seeing Delight having heard only the last words at most, decided against pressing the issue—yet; her golden eyes suddenly found the floor quite captivating and she muttered, “But I might have gone too far.”

“No, you were right all along and I should have trusted your judgement.” 

With that, Delight wrapped her black limbs about Wire’s neck, carefully not to embrace her too tightly; Wire returned the embrace with as much care, closing her eyes with a sigh—a sigh that brought her more relief than Sombra’s defeat or Nightmare’s banishment. The crystals reflected a glitter of green flame and her eyes shot open; the next moment she, making indignant noises, pushed Night Wind away or, rather, a tittering with amusement changeling queen. The gems flashed once more—with Night’s ‘appreciation’ of a joke; on the verge of turning into a Nirik, she glared at the tussling mares, Delight specifically. The mock tussle promptly winded down—there had been enough fighting for one day. Delight’s expression grew serious and when she met Wire’s eyes, the smile faded from the unicorn’s visage.

“I have a favour to ask of you,” the changeling queen uttered. “I want you to search for the traces of Quicksilver, to find out how she became the first changeling. It might be—certainly will be—dangerous.”

Wire averted her eyes and replied only after a few long seconds, “It is not the perils that scare me, but my ability—I tried to help the Swarm for so long… I’m not sure it is something I’m capable of…”

Night, fuming—figuratively and literally—no longer, was by her side in an instant to give the doubtful mare a friendly shove—received with a glare, nonetheless. Undaunted by Wire’s ire, the Kirin supplemented herself with verbal ardour, “Are you kidding, Geode? You defeated Sombra!”

At first, Wire only rubbed the offended shoulder with no change to her crestfallen expression, but then her eyes ignited with the infectious fire and she absentmindedly touched her prosthetic before stating, “You know what? You are right.” However, a frown creased her forehead but a heartbeat later. “Speaking of which—I might want to consult Trixie after all.” She grimaced at the prospect of confronting the mare, whose privacy she violated. “I have a very vague understanding of what I’ve done.”

“So, that is the plan,” Delight concluded. “First, you meet Trixie—she has been busy with some matters at Hayseed Swamps—and then travel to the Olden Lands.”

“You can count on me.” Geode Gleam nodded, her muzzle blooming with a smile.



The night ushered the Sun away; the golden light refused to abdicate the firmament, lingering on the horizon line, transformed into a bead of blood and flooding in its reluctance both sky and earth with stifling redness. The crimson glow stained every stone, infused every crystal—sunk the Crystal Empire into the sea of blood, recreating the scenes from Rainbow Dash’s past in vivid detail; or, perhaps, those images belonged to her nightmares—she couldn’t tell the difference in that piling collection of regrets.

Sombra could be considered dead—closest to the death he had ever been; Rainbow harboured no doubts about the unicorn kid and Trixie—or even Sunset—being able to see to him never return to the world of the living. Nightmare, too, threatened the realm no more… unless Ash followed Celestia’s hoofsteps with an exceeding zeal. Neither of those, no small victories, succeeded in welcoming ease into the pegasus’s mind; sitting silent vigil in honour of everyone who didn’t live to witness the Crystal Empire liberated, she heard the gears turning—the engine of war ready to grind fates of thousands into mere lines on the granite of a war memorial. After all, the machine never stopped; war ended not when the battlefield fell mute with the aftershock of its own atrocity—it went on as long as the last soldier carried the memories of fire and blood to a grave. But it wasn’t only about her. Gazing upon the red-lit landscape, Rainbow knew—the Crystal Empire would find no peace, for avarice put an unbreakable curse upon this kingdom of glittering riches. The iron bones of earth were destined to clash with the soft bones of those who walked upon it, over and over, for both to return into the soil together, whilst the crystal throne stood vacant.

Rainbow’s lips formed a wry smile as her gaze fell to rest on the sword; the soot-stained blade, which somehow survived the fire equal to which it had been born from, mocked her. By accepting Valour from Sunset’s claws, the condemned soldier reminded herself why she fought—not to be a hero and fell warlocks or drive back incomprehensible horrors; she had ponies to protect, mares and stallions, who depended on her now more than ever. The future promising endless strife terrified her like never before—she could afford diving headlong into any massacre; death had forgotten about her—others shared with her no such hex. 

However, the fateful weapon failed to captivate her—from the sanguine haze a phantom emerged; it climbed the stones to stand before her—a Crystal Pony; one of Sombra’s faithful, Rainbow realised, and not a visitor from the distant battle staggering into the sunset. She watched the glimmering mare approach like she would observe a butterfly fluttering on the breath of noontide breeze—with absentminded wonder, falling prey to airy thoughts and dreams all too vague and fleeting.

“He is dead, isn’t he?” Quiet with disbelief, the question disturbed the peace with discordance, for two notes rang out of tune in the mare’s silvery voice—desperate hope and solemn acceptance.

Like a surgeon who had just reached an immutable outcome of surgery, one of many to which she had lost count, Rainbow replied, “He is.”

The Crystal Pony straightened, her eyes ignited with pride.

“He died a hero.”

Very few carried the torch of memory to shed light on the terrors the king committed to win the war of attrition by prolonging the siege of the Crystal Empire; not many remained to remind how Sombra utilised any tool to turn the tides of battle and that his soldiers used to be his most effective and gruesome instruments of warfare—psychological warfare, foremost. The warlock hadn’t bothered to impart that part of history upon his new disciples; he offered them a sweet promise of glory—all that was ever needed. 

Rainbow blinked.

Not glory—those mares and stallions put everything on a sacrificial altar not in the name of rising, exultant, over the battlefield. They abandoned everything, even the truth, to have a place they could call home; to reclaim that which had been lost. She had no right to stand in their judgement.

“The Crystal Empire is liberated,” Rainbow listlessly informed the mare. “It is yours.”

Passing the proverbial key to the city to its rightful owners brought her more relief than watching Sombra writhe in clutches of terror when his overconfidence finally caught up with him; those words gave her more freedom than the coils of Nightmare losing their maddening grasp on this realm. She got up, intent to, after all these years, finally return to Ponyville; not to take off her stuffy armour, but, perhaps, put down the sword.

“Could you lead us?”

The pegasus’ head snapped back to the mare, adorned with an expression befitting those who witnessed an equine grow a second head on a whim. For a moment, she doubted her sanity or ears; but allowing such thoughts to lead without a question would be the first step to losing one’s mind. Instead, she mentally listed every reason why this Crystal Pony’s request made no sense. “I was Sombra’s enemy,” Rainbow started with the first one.

“He respected you.”

The self-proclaimed king would debase even himself if it suited his needs; whether his current entourage ignored that or never realised, was a good question. Either way, their reasoning stood nonsensical. 

“What if it was me who killed him? Are you still going to ask me to lead you, knowing that?”

A tiny part of Rainbow’s mind did hold resentment towards Wire for claiming the bounty on Sombra’s head, but the pegasus stole her glory that moment not out of envy. Once, thousands upon thousands would have glorified the name of the one who committed regicide; these days those numbers weren’t quite so high and equalled those, who might see such a deed as a great disservice… or a display of power too dangerous to be left unchecked.

However, Rainbow’s admission failed to bring any change to the mare’s resolute expression. “That would mean you are stronger than him,” she retorted without missing a beat.

The notion of appearing a leader better than Sombra in the eyes of his most devoted sickened Rainbow to her core. Perhaps, she had lost sight of self and the Crystal Ponies’ offer ought to be considered a call for thorough self-reflection; perhaps, the warlock deluded them so intensely, those fugitives had become raving lunatics and his death only worsened their malady. Without a word or even a glance spared for the mare expecting her answer, Rainbow sharply turned to leave, but a bulwark of char-stained and blood-speckled orange scales barred her retreat. She met Sunset’s eyes with a glare, mutely demanding an explanation.

“Without help, they are going to lose this place again in no time,” the dragoness noted the thing already obvious to Rainbow. 

For a moment, the pegasus hesitated; with her abrupt departure and with the answer. Ponyville would be swept into the ocean of death by the tide of a new war; but those ponies were no strangers to getting back to the drawing board—they could flee even to Vanhoover, now that it should be free. The fight would follow her wherever she went, but she would rather ponies die for a promise of the future than the hope of keeping a patch of frozen earth for themselves. And as for those lost ponies…

“Maybe they deserve it,” she hissed—out of spite rather than to be unheard by the crystal mare. “Look at them—they are Sombra’s followers, through and through.”

“They are followers and they follow the one who is the strongest,” Sunset pressed on, her tone firm but calm. “Do you know where the true strength lies?”

Rainbow tried to hold the dragon’s stare, but had found herself unable to and not because of its unblinking nature. Whatever gave Sunset the ability to precariously balance betwixt being the biggest traitor Equestria knew and its saviour also had an interesting influence on the pegasus’ own loyalty. 

She looked back at the Crystal Pony, stifled a sigh and approached her.

The mare’s bevelled eyes harboured no sympathy for Rainbow; grudging respect at best. Yet, something else glittered in those crystalline depths—hope; desperate longing for to be lost no longer. However insane Sombra might have rendered the survivors of the old tragedy, they retained enough comprehension to see their odds in this harsh world. They would gladly abandon pride, if it meant to be saved from extinction and oblivion.

“Regroup and report to me,” Rainbow barked.

The mare saluted. “Yes, sir!”

For but an eyeblink, it seemed as if a smile tugged up the corners of her lips. Rainbow followed her brisk departure with a thoughtful gaze. It would be a lot of work, but she knew how to make a rookie a soldier who would die for their country, not its dead leader.

Sunset’s rumbling voice broke her reverie, “You might need a dragon by your side and someone who knows how to run a place bigger than a summer camp.”

Rainbow finally let a grin sneak on her muzzle.

“A dragon running a Crystal Empire, ha.”



One after another, the equines and whatnot departed from beneath the crystal spire, deserting the place; even the sunlight almost faded, letting darkness once more reclaim the Virus’ lair and grave. The Machine Goddess offered to open portals for those who wished to shorten their travel, but none accepted her help and so she watched Discord snap his fingers to warp himself, Fixit and two alicorns to Canterlot; Delight, Wire and Night helped the changelings to carry the Crystal Heart and the last Windigo to the Swarm’s temporary camp, where a hovercraft waited them; Sunset and Rainbow departed in different directions, but sharing one goal. Spike gave her a long unreadable look and the Machine Goddess wondered if she would ever see him again, but dared not to ask—he had his own and unique path to follow.

She was left almost alone. The arcanium alicorn slowly approached the mare stranded on the island of golden light; the soft waves of night’s shadows would soon merge above it. Leaning on the debris, Flower didn’t stir; even her ragged breath didn’t change in the presence of the equine she despised the most.

“There once was an equinoid who, trying to achieve control of everything in the Crystal Empire, had become both a god and a machine,” the Machine Goddess softly uttered when the red disk of the Sun finished slipping below the horizon. “Almost makes me consider changing my name, but my children wouldn’t understand.”

Like before, Tin Flower remained motionless and silent. A heavy sigh escaped the lips of the arcanium alicorn; it belonged to someone wholly mortal. 

“I wish things were different,” she murmured and turned to the darkness of the chamber; the air shimmered with the outline of a portal—the Machine Goddess doubted it would be used, but she had to offer.

“I don’t. But I am sorry.”

Frozen, the deity asked the Twelve to check her sensors first and then used the memory banks to replay those words in her mind. Then again… and again. No sarcasm tinged them, no venom dripped from that plea for forgiveness.

Flower spoke again, barely louder than a plaintive whisper of cold wind, “I demanded unreasonable things and acted unreasonable when I didn’t get what I wanted; and when I finally got what I wanted…” She trailed off and shook her blood-crusted muzzle. “I saw monsters everywhere, but it was only my reflection; it wasn’t just Nightmare’s messing with my head.

“If I were to wish for something… I wouldn’t know what to ask. Maybe only one thing…” Her hooves weakly moved, struggling to produce a casket from the tatters of her saddlebags. It almost dropped from her grasp and she simply left the box by her body, then slumped on the broken wall again. Magic picked it up and opened the heavy lid; rows of crystals glimmered in the glow of the rising Moon.

“There was a dragon who used to be feared by everyone,” the Machine Goddess said, letting her magic flow through the preserved souls of her lost children. “He, too, hunted equinoids and just like you, he refused to shatter their hearts. He wasn’t the Souleater everyone claimed him to be, even though he, too, hated what he had become.”

“Are you going to turn me into…” Flower bitterly scoffed. “Whatever Spike is now?” 

“I only gave him a chance, he has achieved the rest himself.” The Machine Goddess received no answer, so she continued, murmuring in an absent-minded manner, “Somebody has to make new bodies for these equinoids.”

She feared the conversation had died, but then Flower whispered to the night, wistfully, “Once, I created something wonderful and it would be nice to do that again.”
> Epilogue
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Resonance



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Written by: Oneimare

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Epilogue


==============================


Canterlot welcomed back the Machine Goddess with cold indifference; the ever-suffering Windigos had nothing to gain from her, nor could she take anything from them, for all they had left was their curse of immortality and maddening knowledge of how insignificant everything was in the infinite shadow of cosmos. The more wholesome denizens of Canterlot stood ignorant of her visit, immersed in their immense hardship; the equinoid preferred it that way—since her last visit neither the Przedwieczni, nor Fixit had shown no improvement of their disposition toward her or Hope. However, she wished for one certain entity to take notice of a divine guest, though the equinoid suspected crossing an invisible barrier, which held back the blizzard, should have already merited enough attention; she might not have been able to enter Canterlot unless she was allowed. And, just like the last time, the unseen benefactor of Canterlot’s survivors remained out of sight, avoiding the Machine Goddess in a masterly fashion. 

She hovered right in the heart of the Windigo herd, in the eye of the storm; snow didn’t pelt her metal frame, but frost mercilessly glazed her plating with ornate rime. The winter spirits’ song shook the very air, incoherent yet nevertheless not failing to convey its sombre meaning—that of endless regret and unceasing pain. Though it might appear as a dubious suggestion of a secluded place meant for a private conversation, none in sound mind would choose to wander into that horrible corner of reality and so very few would be capable of such a feat in the first place. The Machine Goddess patiently waited and when her forbearance neared its depletion, she fully restored its stock by announcing:

“I’m not leaving until you come out and talk to me.”

Despite her words being deafened by the frenzied snowstorm, the Machine Goddess had little doubt of being heard by the one who needed to be informed of her terms. It was another question altogether if she would be listened to.

A voice cut through the pandemonium, sounding as clear as if the speaker was inside her ear. “It can take you a long time, you know.”

“It took me no more than ten seconds,” the metal equine tartly commented.

“Ten seconds flat, mind you.”

With that, a draconequus materialised in front of her, his mismatched limbs folded across his chest. His goat muzzle carried little expression; aside from the permanent and vaguely threatening stain of clinic insanity, Discord had a relatively reserved smirk of mischief revealing his single fang; but, then again, when he didn’t grin with a promise of chaos?

The Machine Goddess steadily met his mad eyes to accuse the harbinger of entropy, “Why didn’t you meet me when I visited Canterlot the last time?”

“I was busy.” 

“Are you free now?”

“Are any of us free?” 

Discord’s lips stretched into a wide smile to display a collection of teeth, which looked like he took each from a very different creature; it lacked humour, however. The Machine Goddess couldn’t help but glance below herself, where snow peppered the ruins—a city dying but not dead, against all odds. Curious as it might be, she came to discuss something else.

“Apparently, your…” the mechanical deity momentarily faltered, trying to pick the correct word. “Colleague—if not a friend—is.”

“What!?” Genuine fear twisted Discord’s features and he frantically looked around. “The Crawling Chaos is here? How did I miss him?”

Becoming tense upon seeing his reaction, though still wondering if it was just another case of acting, the Machine Goddess elaborated, “He is at Kludgetown, selling rubbish and giving vague advice.”

The Lord of Chaos instantly calmed to the point of looking thoroughly bored. “Oh, you mean him.” He waved his hand with a matching grimace of dismissal. “What brought you to that old chap? I thought he was retired.”

“Exactly what he told me. I wish he would share more—about Nightmare, in particular.”

The draconequus’ eyes sparkled and he gave the equinoid a curious look. “Ah, Twilight Sparkle’s inquisitive spirit lives on in you. Is that why you are here?”

For a moment the Machine Goddess considered trying her luck with him; but where the lengthy and frustrating search for the answer convinced her of the futility of it, the Black Star incident developed in her a degree of aversion to that matter. “I have a feeling you won’t tell a thing,” she ended up saying with but the tiniest hint of hope in her voice; anything was possible when Discord was involved.

Still, it came as no surprise when he shook his head; the unexpected was his visage—suddenly, dead serious. “You know everything you need already.” All the gravity was gone from his expression in an instant. “So, did you come here to chat? It does get awfully boring sometimes, being stuck in a huge snow globe with goats and cannibals.”

The Machine Goddess asked herself once more if she had gone mad.

“I need your help,” she said before the answer could come to her.

“Oh, my!” Discord clasped his eagle claws and lion paw together, his caprine muzzle blooming with pure delight. He leant uncomfortably close to the Machine Goddess’ mask and his eyes gleamed with disturbing enthusiasm. “This suddenly got much, much, more interesting. But are you sure you can handle my help? Haven’t you watched little Twilight’s memories?”

She received his vaguely menacing suggestions stoically.

“You were different in her memories.” Once more, her eyes aimed at the city struggling but alive. “You have changed.”

“The world has changed.” With those words leaving Discord’s mouth, he seemed to deflate, losing all the insane merriment. The husk of the Lord of the Chaos spoke again, almost too quietly—mournfully. “Things could—should—have been so different… Twilight would have become a Princess and I would have lived in a cosy countryside cottage with the sweetest mare that has ever existed…” A heavy, so alien to him sigh preceded his next words. “It is almost as bad as that timeline where ponies and zebras have a megaspell war.”

The equinoid sovereign didn’t dare to violate the silence; relative, that is—with all the cacophony generously supplied by the Windigos. She pondered on his words, wondering about the other worlds—alternative versions of history. What would have happened if Celestia survived the wedding? A few of her children loved to entertain such fantasies, conjuring little dreamy pockets of virtual reality; Discord seemed to have access to more than just wistful visions.

“You do know how it all ends, don’t you?” The question left her mouth by itself when she abruptly realised his ability should also be applicable to the reality she was in.

The draconequus gave her a sly look. “What is ‘it’ and what do you mean by ‘ends’?”

“I’m not getting any answer, am I?”

“Aren’t you a smart cookie?” He gave the Machine Goddess a flick on the nose, much to her annoyance, and then lamented in an overly dramatic fashion. “Not smart enough to call yourself a Marechine Goddess, sadly. Truly tragic—such a perfect chance to equinise a word is forever missed...”

“Equinise itself isn’t a real word, Discord,” the demiurge levelly noted.

“It is not a crime to make up words. But it is a cardinal sin that you have reached such technological progress and don’t have a Sweetie Bot. Not even a single reference…”

“You aren’t going to help me,” she deadpanned, suddenly becoming aware of the conversation going nowhere and promising to continue as no more than the means to Discord’s amusement.

“I do.” Though earnestness failed to infuse his demeanour, Discord at least put an effort to be still and focus his gaze on her. “How many steps does your plan have?”

“Well, I can show it to you.” 

The Machine Goddess reached with her magic for a tablet containing the fruits of her and Sunburst’s labour, but it proved to be a mistake—the chaos incarnate blew a raspberry and turned away. “It is not going to work.”

“Why?” The equinoid glared at him. “You haven’t even seen it.”

“Any plan that has more than three steps is bound to fail. Two is there it is—a real promise.”

She continued to glower at Discord, but when managed to conjure enough patience to play along with his whimsical mood. “What do you suggest, then?”

“First, we need Tia back—one way or another. No great plan can go without her and I need someone to make fun of.” He snapped his fingers, the sound momentarily drowning out every noise, even the agonised roar of the Windigos that shook the skies, when a spear of blinding sunlight pierced their throng to bless Canterlot with warmth for a few precious moments. “Second, you mix everything and give it a good stir.”

At first, his suggestion prompted the Machine Goddess to object, yet she hesitated with it as a tiny part of her mind did actually consider such a crazy plan. And the more the goddess thought of it, the more it seemed sane—she vainly tried to match the pieces of the enormous puzzle for so long… perhaps, putting them all together in a small box and shaking it might work. Nevertheless, that was…

“Madness,” she uttered, smiling.

Discord beamed at her. 

“It is what you came here for, is it not?”