Ever wanted to play an RPG so realistic, you felt like you were actually there? Guess what? Your lucky day.
Gaming is one brilliant hobby. You can take on the character of anyone you wish, and play through their lives. Many game genres are out there, but it was one game, one in particular, that caught the attention of the world. And like all games, it had it die-hards. Playing the game, beating the competition, and owning the field were their goals! Until they won, and received their grand prize...
This story is cancelled. It may be rewritten in the future, but the chances of that happening are extremely slim.
The events that transpired following the debacle at the royal wedding of Captain Shining Armour and Princess Mi Amore Cadenza in Canterlot had repercussions far beyond just the banishment of the changeling horde.
The scattered remnants of the chitinous armies found themselves lost and leaderless in the chaotic lands beyond the harmonious borders of the Kingdoms, flung far from the chains of command they were so perfectly bred to follow. The creatures lashed out in fear and confusion, cracking the fragile balance of peace in the outer nations, the unstable neighbors of Ponydom. Streams of refugees found their way into Equestria, fleeing the devious yet undirected creatures that found themselves trying to survive in the often fruitless outlands. The changelings found themselves facing ever more hostile and unwilling benefactors. But the fleeing refugees found a reception barely warmer.
The ponies of Equestria, their fragile concept of world peace shaken, were skeptical, and in some places outright hostile to the influx of foreign, eclectic cultures. The houses of the government and the royal family of the Princesses did little to sway this trend: in fact, they closed the borders to trade and travel, becoming isolationist as they tended the internal damage dealt by the massive compromise in security.
Celestia covered up the ruse the Changelings had pulled off, merely brushing it aside and maintaining her precious peace. Luna, though, perhaps to compensate for her helplessness during the invasion, personally set her guard to protecting the borders more and more thoroughly, enforcing the happy peace within.
And all the while, Changelings ran amok in the wilds and outlands.
The few drones that returned to their home were broken, their minds lost in their race for sustenance and survival. But there was a far worse problem.
The ones that never tried to return at all.
*****
“I’m running out of time.”
The creature hidden in the shadows muttered to herself as she gazed at the night sky, watching the stars twinkle. “They’re learning, while I grow weaker.”
She began to pace around the concealed terrace, mumbling and thinking to herself, processing plans as to how she was going to solve her problem.
“None of the Kinds would help me, knowing what we are.”
The creature halted her agitated pacing as a thought struck her.
“But what of something that doesn’t?”
Her pacing resumed as she went over the possible races who might help.
“Griffons? No, they remember us. It wasn't too long ago that they found us trying to steal love from some of their smaller towns. The minotaurs? No, they are too brutish and noticeable to help with this matter. This requires more...finesse.”
Her pacing once again stopped as she thought of something that would, at first glance, seem impossible. If anyone else had heard what she was thinking, they would have thought she was insane.
“What about something not of this world? Something that does not know about us or our ways. Something that would not fear us and would help us willingly.”
Her head turned and looked out at the stars, contemplative. “Something powerful...”
With a flutter of iridescent wings, the creature turned back to the shadows with a toothy grin. “I think I may have a solution...”
*****
In a faraway land, so far it didn’t even count as the same plane of existence, two people from completely different nations and backgrounds both leaned over completely different checkout counters, grasping eagerly at the small plastic covers and hoisting them into the air. At volumes way louder than their situations warranted, exclaimed loudly in tandem, “Fucking game of the year, meet the gamer of the century! FUCK YEAH!”
Even the name sounded like it should be violating copyright law, but somehow the developers managed to pull it off. And if you thought the name sounded like a rip-off, you’d be surprised by the game itself: It was a rip-off, too. Only, it did it well. Very well. Better than any of the originals, in fact.
The vast improvement was due to not its originality, but the combination of stolen ideas: Do you like big open RPG maps? There’s a whole sphere for that. Want fantasy- and magic-based combat and dueling modes? There’s a series of mods for that, too. In fact, there are so many game modes and modification options, you can literally completely remodel your own character and weapons, if you have the time. The character designer is a 20 dollar expansion pack.
You can create 3D models with this simple software, and can even modify effects such as fire, frost and lightning, or even make your own effects. As long as you’ve earned the skill, you can wrap it in any package you could possibly think to design. Wonderful, isn’t it?
Except, of course, for the fact that the online game world is full of hundreds upon thousands of absolute idiots.
*****
“Well, that was slightly disappointing.” FireStorm stood, the animation cycling through an action of his character wiping his blade off on the slain enemy. Unfortunately, the massive ducktail the poor dead schmuck had added to his now-destroyed model ruined the moment. He strode up alongside Quicksear, his partner in game-clown genocide. They both stood at the gate to the next fight arena, having beaten the previous duo easily.
“Can you believe those tools back there?” Quicksear’s owner said over the voice chat. “Who animates monsters like that?!” Indeed, giant rainbow wigs or dildo swords didn’t cast the opposition in the greatest of lights.
FireStorm moved forward, rather than looking back at the terribly ameteur models fading away in the dirt behind them. “Honestly, this whole game has been rather disappointing. I mean, we can make our own weapon and character models and these guys made clowns? What the hell, man?”
FireStorm’s owner was shouting from his higher ground: He had taken much more care make himself look badass. Wearing a heavy hood that obscured his face, even thicker armour crafted from dense cloth and leather, and a large rucksack on his back and various weapon hilts protruding from under his attire’s various hidden pockets. A sword sheath graced his one side, distinctly katana-inspired, and his other side was enveloped in the glow of a charged spell in the palm of his hand. All in all, medieval and fucking awesome.
Quicksear’s character was hardly any less involved, though in a completely different style: Extraordinarily heavy-looking golden armour set upon glaringly white underclothes gave the tall model a noble air. Too bad the giant blood-covered bastard of a weapon he carried ruined the image slightly. The combined poleaxe and magical bolter should have been one of the wonders in the game, save for the fact that it looked like shit tied together with elastic bands.
Either way, as two of the best players ever to grace the game, it was clear that both had a style perfectly suited to their needs.
Which is why it made sense that they teamed up for the Duel Battle Challenge.
Quicksear ignored any further talk and abruptly stepped forward to the stone portcullis, his overtly long polearm passing through the wall above them.
FireStorm ran a shrug animation before following his partner into the colosseum-like structure of the Challenge Field.
“I wish they would fix that glitch.” FireStorm said as he glanced back at where the weapon passed through into the field before looking around. The large space was well-lit and filled with randomly placed obstacles and cover spaces. One section of the field took the form of a low dip, filled with water. Another had a high hill with a snowy peak. at the other end stood a fiery pit, while to their immediate left stood a tesla coil.
Good, FireStorm’s owner thought, enough elements to work with for spells. Now for a plan...
Suddenly a loud deep voice called out over the round field, “BATTLE TIME!”
They both froze as the game ran through the fight initiation cutscene.
“Welcome to the finale of of the team-battle game mode!” Called out the announcer from locations unknown, “In the southern court, we have the Knights of the Order of Saint John, the most experienced and successful guild warriors ever to come from the gameworld of Sky Realm!” The camera panned across the terrain and focused on two tall figures at the far end, both dressed in matching red cloaks over heavy chainmail. The two guild knights ran through a matching animation of swinging their weapons in a peculiar twirl before bowing and resuming their ready stances.
“Oh, god, not these jokers...” Muttered Quicksear’s owner over the epic music.
As if hearing him, the announcer exclaimed again, cutting him off, “And in the other court, we have the two mysterious rising stars, FireStorm...” The camera zoomed in on the heavily cloaked figure as he drew his sword, “and Quicksear!” The brightly armoured model held his horribly built bastard-axe out to the side and spun it in a few circles before stabbing it into the ground and leaning there nonchalantly.
FireStorm’s owner looked at the screen as his counterpart completed his animation. “Dude, that animation still looks like shit.”
“At least I bothered making one, you lazy git.” Quicksear shot back before the announcer took over yet again.
“To all the spectators...er, spectator, welcome to the final team battle! Let the duel commence!”
At the cry of an incongruous air raid siren, the characters all instantly scurried into battle.
Quicksear simply ran off in a random direction, vanishing into the haze as the entire field became animated with wind and vibrations. FireStorm barely gave his fellow gamer’s actions any consideration, being well used to his senseless logic. Instead, he made immediately for the icey hill ahead of him. Maybe I can use that new Ice Bolt Spell, he thought with malicious glee.
The Knights of the Guild were hardly inactive during this time, however: Knight#1 made an immediate dash for the marsh pit. The other one, knight#2, dashed immediately to the fiery hole that dominated their court of play. In the first ten seconds, both teams positioned themselves according to the they had planned to beforehand.
The knights had held a long and in-depth planning session to make sure they had the greatest chance of victory.
FireStorm and Quicksear hadn’t even bothered with a team name, let alone strategy.
The two methods of planning were showing respective results. The Knights had set up a simple yet brilliant arch of overlapping and eclectic defense wards, effectively closing their court and all the magical resources therein.
FireStorm stood and stared as the fire ward of Knight#2 swept over his hill, quickly breaking down the ice. He slowly panned his field of view just in time to catch the knight in question run a teabagging animation.
“Real mature, jackass...” he mumbled into his mic as he quickly began thinking of a plan B.
One didn’t have time to form. Knight#1 seemed to have built up enough confidence to blast his way out of the low marshy area, bringing with him two water atronachs. The pair of gliding water-monsters locked onto FireStorm after a voice-order from the knight who spawned them, and spiralled through the air in a defensive attack.
FireStorm couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “Time to test spell number eighty-one, motherfuckers,” he called into the voice chat, mashing the button to which he had bound the new spell in question. A quick text popped up on the screen. FormFreeze lvl22 zapped out in a poorly animated cloud and halted the high-level atronachs in the air. Being water-based, they fell to the ground and shattered.
The knight, though, was far from finished. He drew his sword with a rudimentarily animated flourish, and charged and with the blade swinging. FireStorm saw the level text on the blade: thirty one. Oh shit...
FireStorm’s profile was distinctly magical in orientation. Although he had a decent sword level of twenty four and many enchantments empowering the blade, he preferred to fall back on magic. Now, though, as he mashed the keys with wild abandon in the hope of striking down his oncoming foe, he failed to notice his completely drained mana bar.
Rare was the moment when he felt as if he was actually in danger in this brilliant joke of a game, but this was as appropriate a time as any. Luckily, he was quite well prepared. In a fine display of key sequencing, he managed to consume two potions of Increased Stamina and one of Double Speed. His sword was still in it’s sheath, though, and no potion could draw it any faster. Therefore, plan B took its usual form: FireStorm sprinted the fuck out of there. There were few options, but of course he somehow would have had to pick the worst one. He sprinted straight for the glowing mass of fire wards ahead of him.
Nothing much to do here... FireStorm’s owner piloted his character in an arc away from the wall of flame. Unfortunately, he found himself sandwiched between two sets of wards and an angry-looking douchy character waving a sword at his face.
FireStorm spun away from the sword and ran yet again. This response was losing it’s charm, though, and he quickly turned up his game. In less than ten seconds, he had found his last teleportation spell, marked the location he desired, and beamed himself, at the expense of his remaining energy, to the starting court at the edge of the map.
Too bad he went to the wrong one. He found himself standing directly behind a certain Knight#2. First reaction: run. Second reaction upon finding his escape path blocked by flames and knight#1: run Knight#2 through. Simple. A mega-takedown animation played, and FireStorm buried his sword in the ememy’s back, foisting him into the air, before getting a hold of the flailing body and using it as a shield against the hail of swordstrokes aimed firmly at his own head.
“Quicksear, what the fuck are you doing?!” FireStorm’s owner shouted into his mic, hoping for bloody miracle.
It came, appropriately bloody, accompanied by a mounting pressure wave and huge flash of light from the far side of the map. In barely any time at all, Knights #1 and #2 were utterly obliterated by a bolt of beamed light shooting out from the bastard-axe-come-beam-gun held in by the barely visible figure under the tesla coil.
“Level 58 uber-cannon, motherfuckers.” Quicksear deadpanned, before his character’s body started smoking and promptly collapsed, to the complete disinterest of his teammate.
“Dude, you nearly killed me! Friendly fire’s on, bitch! You singed my fucking cloak! Anyway,” FireStorm turned and faced the sky, “Mod, we won, let us back out onto the free-roam map, you giant omnipresent dick!”
It took a second for the Host to reply. “Did you guys plan on channeling the tesla coil through that bolter the whole time?”
Quicksear’s owner replied, proving that his character was not at all dead. “Uh, no, it just gave me the option when I ran into it. I wanted to see what it did...”
“Well...you did read the rules? We put no projectile weapons. A beam cannon is a projectile weapon.”
Quicksear’s voice was positively pleading. “But...Axe...its an axe, too..?”
The host seemed to take a moment to look into this strange claim, before coming to a sure conclusion. “No, thats a beam cannon on that axe, and you two are dicks. You’re kicked,”
And in no time at all, the pair found themselves banned for the day.
“Well that’s just fucking brilliant!” said FireStorm’s owner, a gangly, tall and slightly chubby guy called (unimaginatively) John. He slamming his hands into his desk. “Quicksear, you still there?”
The little chat bubble fluctuated as a voice came over the line, “I think the mod didn’t like us too much after we killed his character last week. Now what am I gonna blow up today?”
“Whatever, dude, see you when we are allowed to kick ass again.” John droned, closing the game page and standing up for the first time in hours. He turned away from the screen and stretched, planning on scrounging for some soda, but the continued glow of the screen drew his attention.
“What? I told you to turn off, you dumbass co-”
Screens are great for watching stuff on. Ever better for playing games on. One thing they are certainly not meant to do is explode like fucking flashbangs in their owner’s faces. Of course, FireStorm wasn’t sure about cheap knock-off brands, but they were NOT meant to blow up.
It took a few seconds for him to register the strange reversal of gravity and the sudden, almost malicious hardness of the rock his head decided to meet. After the rock attacked his head with extreme prejudice, resulting one dazed gamer, John opened his eyes again, squinting at the blazing sun far in the sky.
“Where the hell’d my roof go?. Where the hell is my SODA?!” He jerked into a sitting position, glancing around his now much expanded room. He didn’t exactly approve of the new decor either: a dead, rocky valley bottom was not an improvement.
A high screaming reached John’s ears. Not high-pitched; It was coming from somewhere really high above him. He looked up in time to see a ragdoll figure come crashing down a few meters away from him. As the new arrival rolled over, John chuckled dully. “Heheh...lag.”
“Fuck you, too, whoever you are..” The new person said, in a relatively distinctive Welsh accent. He sat up himself, looking around before his eyes settled on the only other living thing in sight, a burly scrub-haired chap wearing a safari shirt and hawaiian shorts of all things, lying in the dirt beside him
John couldn’t help but smirk at the smaller, scraggly guy next to him. The rough beard and broken pair of glasses added nothing worth mentioning, and neither did his faded green shirt and black cargo pants. Not worth noting at all. Why did he note it then? Because anything was more interesting the dirt and rocks around them.
John rolled and smirked. “You can’t remember my voice from five minutes ago? C’mon Quicksear, wake the fuck up.”
“ My name’s Lister, dumbass...Oh, god.” Quicksear groaned, realization dawning. “Please tell me this is a drunk hallucination, please let this be the vodka...”
“Nope. That fall hurt like a bitch, so I’m saying this is more than your bad night.” John snarked, trying to roll to his feet. The failure was spectacular, and the faceplant worth months of teasing, but ‘Lister’ didn’t take the opportunity. More than anything, that told John that shit was up.
“Uh, dude, what’s goin’ on?” He asked, but he never got a reply, instead, he found himself hoisted to his feet, by, of all things, sets of holey appendages, amid the buzzing akin to numerous dozens of cicadas. Mutant cicadas from Chernobyl. Quicksear got much the same treatment from the glossy-black, strangely shaped insectoid figures that flew them through the air on transparent wings to the base of the cliff at the head of the valley, to a high seat set into the rock.
And seated there, surrounded by her emerging servants and warriors, was the grandest bug-thing of them all, a tall, stately creature of terrifying proportion. Her voice rocked the valley they found themselves in, suddenly surrounded on all sides by her minions. “Welcome, great warriors! Your achievements have drawn my attention to you, and so, I request your services.”
John was dropped unceremoniously to the ground before her, unable to process what he was seeing. In lieu of this higher brain function, he simply stopped caring.
Lister deadpan-stared at the mega-bug, but she continued regardless. “I offer you a role under my service, all amenities supplied, for a task simple to soldiers as veteran as yourselves. Guards! The attire of our allies-to-be.”
A few of the amassing midi-bugs from around them broke from formation and buzzed in to drop various items before them. Lister saw a sparkling white silken shirt wrapped around heavy-looking bronze armour.
John noticed a heavy leather cloak and hood folded on top of a backpack. He leaned over to his fellow human and whispered, “Dude, those are our model’s clothes.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“She thinks we are great warriors, not lazy gamers.”
“But look at that awesome gear!”
“We’re dead.”
The mega-bug overrode them, annoyance in her voice, “Yes, you shall recieve gear analogue to your own, and in return, you shall help me with a few...enterprises. IF you complete your missions, You shall be free to return home.”
Lister grinned as the armor was hoisted up for his inspection on the wings of changelings.
John freaked out. “Ooooh no, oh no oh no oh no, listen up bugs, you guys got the wrong-” He stopped suddenly when a hand clamped over his mouth.
Lister shushed his compatriot. “Shut up, dude, don’t mess this up!”
John jumped away and glared at Lister, muttering, “Well, what the fuck do we do? that uber cockroach is sending us to war!”
“Go with it.” Lister said reasonably.
Deadpan. “Wut...”
Lister sighed and continued in a far-too-logical way: “If they think we’re awesome warriors, they let us take armor and weapons and go out into the world...whichever world it is...but if they know that we’re really idiots? How long do you think we’ll last?”
John blinked. “You just made sense. Stop making sense.”
Lister just raised an eyebrow.
John sighed. “Fine, I see your point, but...how are we going to...an when they...or we...fuck!!”
Lister turned back to the grandest bug-thing, who perked up now that the humans were back to the world. “Ah, Warriors. Have you come to a decision?”
“We have a fucking choice...?” John muttered. Lister elbowed him in the ribs with a hiss, giving his recalcitrant friend some ‘moral support’. John jerked forward, into the spotlight. “Uh...” He looked about. Deer in headlights. His eyes finally settled on the big bug, to whom he bowed. “We have decided to hear you...Queen?...But first, are introductions not in order?”
The Queen sat up tall and proud as she exclaimed, “Indeed it is, bold one. I am Queen Chrysalis, ruler of the changelings! We rule these vast territories about you in safety and honest toil. I would hear you, but I fear I well know you already, FireStorm.”
“Ah, my Queen, you may think so, but allow me to introduce myself personally; I am John Thompson, and my compatriot here is...uh, Lister, if you will...?’
“Name’s Lister Reedeclythe, how ya doin’?”
John, Chrysalis, and a few dozen changelings deadpanned stared at Lister. He looked about him, “What?”
“Seriously?” John hissed, but he clammed up as the Queen overrode further jibing.
“It is well to meet you, proud Lister. I must ask again, will you take my...commission?”
Lister’s “Meh, sure.” was swept under John’s far louder, and saner, comment. Still playing the strange court game, he inquired, “Perhaps if you would set out the objectives, conditions and profits of these missions you’ve mentioned, we could better decide?”
Chrysalis’s lips twisted in an impatient sneer, but she hid it well. “Of course. It is simple really, I want you two to be my personal Changeling Hunters.”
*****
“So...So wait,” John exclaimed, halfway through Chrysalis’s long-winded and very boring speech, “I get you wanting us to go rescue captured ‘changelings’ who were lost during some battle, okay, but lets get one thing straight...You were fighting ponies?”
“Do not be fooled!” Chrysalis intoned, “Their bright colours and happy visages are reserved only for their own kind: were they to see you, they would undoubtedly kill you!” She stood and began pacing to the edge of her dias, staring off into the distance dramatically.
As she took a deep breath to speak, Lister could be heard muttering “...end cutscene, end cutscene, for god’s sake it’s worse than CoD…”
The Queen continued regardless, “You see, it was many years ago when our kinds first met. We offered the ponies comfort in the world, and all we asked for in return, was love.”
“Aww, you scarey bugs just wanted to be loved? thats so sweet.” John quietly snided. Not quietly enough, though.
“Yes, sure. That’s what happened,” Chrysalis muttered hotly, “but they denied us, cast us out. We attempted to return to them in peace a few years ago, but...they decimated us in spiteful war. Now, all I wish is for my subjects to return to peace here at home. This, you can help me with. Every one of my people you return to me will be a step closer to you returning home.”
“But why would you need us, though?” John inquired, “I mean, surely you could have used your own followers who, you know, actually belong here.”
The tall bug-queen smirked. “That’s exactly why I needed you two. How will any pony react to something they’ve never seen?”
“...Probably badly…”
“So do you accept the commission?” Chrysalis asked, her impatience barely hidden now.
John hummed and hawed, trying to drag out the conversation.
But Lister was there, and he was a curious idiot with little to do. Fiddling hoy. “Hey, what’s this weird thing?” He pulled a large, obsidian bracelet with a large green gem set into it and began to inspect it, unknown to his present company.
“Ohhh, shiny!” He put on the bracelet. He waved it about, admiring the lowering sun glinting off the cold reflective surface. Then he frowned, stopping. The surface kept moving.
“Ah, fuck, gettitoff gettitoff!”
The strange object began to stretch and change shape, slowly consuming his arm and crawling up his limb. John cried a stream of profanities as he stared at the strange phenomenon. When it stopped, the dark sharp-edged device encased Lister’s entire forearm. John looked between his fellow human and now-clearly crazy bug Queen. “Um, Queen Chrysalis, I would just like to ask you what the actual FUCK is happening?”
The queen changeling rose tall, grinning. “So you’ve accepted then! You have taken the Shadow Brace, our gift to you, Lister, to help you in case of pony attack!”
“In case of...pony...attack…” John deadpanned incredulously.
“And John, your gift, to help save yourselves the pain of battle,” She levitated a strange glowing crystal at John’s face. To say he was surprised would be a vast understatement, but trying to swat the offending blue glowing thing away failed spectacularly. It was stuck to his hand.
He stared at it for a moment, then gave the weird queen a withering glare. “Okay, explain please, so I know what I’m freaking the fuck out about.”
Chrysalis was slowly losing her pose, but she held it a while longer. “A healing crystal, to revitalize and bolster your bodies in times of need. With these artifacts of Changeling Magic, you shall be well protected for your first, simple mission. Are you ready to go?”
John stood beside Lister, trying to pry the icy blue gem from his palm and trying to figure out why crazy shit was happening to them. Only the Queen wasn’t answering straight. “Wait, what does Lister’s do…?”
“Ahhhhh-!” Lister waved his arm around and ran in circles a bright fireball blazing on his arm like a demented Olympic torch.
Chrysalis’ visage dropped into a snarl as her horn glowed, “Does magic. Now go!”
John blinked. “Wha-”
And with a flash, they were gone.
*****
For the second time in as many hours, John found his face meeting the ground at rapid pace. He collapsed and rolled to the side, holding his assaulted nose. “God damnit!”
“At least the ground thinks you’re attractive.” Lister sneered from an equally high-impact area nearby. Both guys rolled raggedly to their feet, taking in their surroundings. Around them, beyond the fading flickering green embers of eldritch fires, rose soaring golden cliffs lit by the sinking sun, while ahead of them was a vast, sparse plain, and behind, a long winding valley.
Lister took it in in all it’s glory, and verbalized it in one succinct comment: “Dafuq are we?” He looked to John beside him, and pointed, “Dafuq is that?!” Then he looked down at himself, “DAFUQ IS THIS?!”
Lister also stood in shock, noticing the same thing his much louder compatriot did; they were wearing their armour. He looked John over critically, in his heavy dark leather and chainmail coat and armour, and couldn’t help but snark, “You look like a steampunk-goth reject, mate.”
John was well aware of this, but Lister was not immune himself. John pointed at the tight leather leggings the other human wore, “And what’re you, part of Robin Hood’s band of merry men?”
Lister built a scathing comment, but it died on his tongue as a polite cough sounded behind him. He turned to see a single prim-looking changeling standing beside a pile of odd goods. John raised an eyebrow, pointing at the assortment of items on the ground, “Dafuq are those?”
“That’s what I said!” Lister cried.
The changeling ignored him and nosed over a pair of scrolls. John grabbed one and unrolled it. “A map?”
The changeling nodded before nosing over a hinged case. Lister grabbed it and flicked it open. “A compass…” he muttered. The changeling nodded again. John got the message and began sorting through the gathered bundles and opened a few. Some were food, a few were fabric, blankets and the like. There was a medical kit, and also two heavy duty backpacks, roughly made but strong.
John didn’t notice the changeling shuffling away. He stood and called out, “Hey! Is this all we get? Where’s the magic phones an’ shit? We just go out and find more bug-things and bring them here, with this?!”
The changeling nodded.
“Can you little guys even talk?” Lister asked dully.
The changeling shot him a glance. “Yes.”
Both guys did a rapid double-take, but even as they did, the changeling was wrapped in green fire. When it dissipated, the creature was gone.
Lister looked at John. “I thought he was gonna come with us?”
John quirked a brow. “And I thought you’d blown him up. But either way, if we gotta do this, we gotta do it, right? Lets just...pack and get on with it, I wanna get back home before the next E3.”
As they both grumblingly set to packing, neither noticed a set of blue eyes observing them from a clifftop. The changeling slapped a forehoof to his forehead and sighed, “Queen Chrysalis’s ideas get crazier by the day…” He turned away from the hapless monkeys on the valley floor and flew his way back to the normality of the hive.
*****
“Are we there yet?”
“No.”
“How about now?’
“No…”
“And now?”
“Do you even know where we are going?!”
“...No. But are we there yet?”
John facepalmed. “No, Lister, we are not. Let’s just sit down and look at the map again.”
The two men dropped their heavy backpacks and John unrolled the map once again, along with the other scroll. The second page was the key to the numbered map. Hundreds of detailed references to the scattered settlements and features of the badlands they traveled were scattered across the page. Any part of the map could be cross-checked with its number for an in depth blurb on the zone. Every area except an ominously blank section at the top left-hand corner, labeled ‘Everfree’.
“Well, we should definitely avoid that.” John muttered.
“Yeah,” Lister droned, “Bug-Queenie had a serious ‘thar be monsters’ moment about that place. So...we goin’ where, exactly?’
John poked a finger at the map. “This town-place over here. And here,” He pulled out another sheet of paper containing a description of their mission, “is the pony - I’m never gonna get used to that - we are looking for, an...earth pony? Isn’t that kinda redundant? Anyway, cream coat, blue and pink hair or something like that. It should be two day’s travel that way.” He pointed to the west vaguely.
Lister followed the gesture and looked at the horizon. “So then…that smoke over there has nothing to with the town, right?”
“The...fuck…?” John glared at the smoke, daring it to contradict his awesome map reading skills. When it failed to dematerialize, he sighed. “Looks like we’re in the deep end-”
“Thats what she said.”
John gritted his teeth and forced on, “-so lets just...we’ll sleep the night, and get this over with tomorrow.” John slowly lowered himself to the ground. His leather clothing gave a terrible, unearthly squeak.
“This is NOT how I imagined getting sweaty in leather…” He grumbled.
“That’s what she sai-OW!” Lister’s face met with a boot. He rubbed his head as he glared at John, who was busy digging into his backpack. The irate idiot shuffled out his jeans and sneakers, abandoning his leggings as quickly as possible and pulling on his comfortable pants. With a sigh, he pulled off the heavy bronze shoulder plates of his armour, stripping down to just his shirt before collapsing into the dry grass.
“Thanks for the show…” Lister muttered from within his comfortably padded leather and chain coat.
“You’re disgusting.” John growled.
Lister chuckled lightly as he lay down in the drawing night. “I know dude, I know.”
Together, the two strange, oblivious and incredibly overwhelmed humans fell asleep, with probably the least climactic close to their first day in an alien world either could ever imagine.
Lister grumbled and curled even deeper into his not-so-warm blanket, trying to pretend for just a moment longer that he wasn’t sleeping on the ground, in the open, in the middle of nowhere. No luck.
He blinked. Dew seeped into his clothing as he shifted. The cold water intruding upon his warmth left Lister wide awake and very pissed off; “Why am I awake the sun isn’t even up dude get me coffee I will end you whai…”
John glanced at Lister. “You might want to wake up and see your first alien sunrise. This is already something amazing.”
“Unless it beats the Unreal Engine graphics, I don’t give a fu-whoa!” Lister found himself hauled up by the scruff of his neck, his face brought right in line with the rising sun. The glare was incredible.
Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to hate it. He sat next to John, his eyes wide in amazement as the pair watched the sun paint the sky in rich, brilliant hues neither of them had ever chanced to witness before.
Because neither had ever bothered to wake up at sunrise before, perhaps.
For nearly ten minutes they sat taking it in, orange and scarlet tints vying for their attention across a sky, textured with scudding clouds pushed along on breezes neither here nor there. Even the brightest sky either human had ever seen could never compare to the almost luminescent grandeur of their first Equestrian sunrise.
The moment was marred slightly by a certain something else up there among the clouds. Lister noticed it first, John too busy being introspective and trying to find meaning in life to spare attention to his very first sighting of a pony.
“Hey, is that a bird or some shit?” Lister squinted at the distant winged silhouette darting amongst the strangely gathering clouds. Darting in their direction.
John finally emerged from his funk to to look up at the spiraling and physically impossible creature above their heads. “Huh...Well ain’t that something…Time to pack and GTFO, dude!” John was on his feet and running in less time than it took Lister to roll his eyes.
While the creature in the sky was still far distant, both men found shelter beneath a small stand of trees amidst the empty plains. Lister scowled at his compatriot, “So, wanna tell me why we had to run away so fast? There’s no way that thing could see us! I was gonna make coffee, maybe eat a poptart…”
John scowled right back, “Oh yeah, sure, interdimensional poptarts are a thing now. Listen, That was a pony, yeah? Two things I know from biology and experience: Things that fly have crazy-good eyesight, and horses shit a tonne. Ever had a bird shit on your car? Imagine a HORSE dropping the bomb from forty feet, and what do you get? A terrible-smelling concussion, that’s what.” He leaned out and scanned the sky, trying to find the flying horse in question.
Half a second later, the pony found him.
With an almighty crash, the thin treeline collapsed in under the weight of a tan-winged meteor. Luckily, the pony’s fall was broken by the soft landing zone of John’s neck. One very pained inarticulate and yet somehow obscene cry later, John found himself punched face-deep into the ground with a PONY on his back.
“Woah!, What in the Badlands are you?!”
Lister would have laughed harder if he’d had the air left to do so. As it was, he wheezed mirthfully, “You might get a better look if you weren’t sitting on him...?”
John though, was terrified. Not only was a large multi-limbed mammalian sitting on his head, but the second that the creature had hit him, he’d felt a jolt of electricity sharper than the time he’d tried to lick a power cable. And that had been bad. This was worse. Much worse. In a flash, he remembered Chrysalis’ warning against ponies, their magic, and their deceitful natures. And at once, being under one such pony seemed like the worst possible place to be.
“Arrgh gettitoff gettitoff HEEELP!!” John squealed manfully, scrambling out from under the confused pegasus. Said pegasus didn’t seem to mind all that much. In fact, it rather reasonably stepped off the flailing human, looking about curiously.
“Uhh...What…?”
“Could you be any more adorable!” Lister queried, raising an eyebrow. “Seriously, you look fluffy as all living fu-”
He was quite suddenly cut off by a hoof. A literal hoof in the mouth. The pegasus before him glowered up at the human, only a head taller, and quietly said, “I think you’d stop right there, partner, and start explainin’ what you two...uh, things. are doin’ in Withervale territory?”
Why does the adorable miniature flying horse have it's foot in my mouth? Lister dully thought, before spitting out the limb and fumbling for an answer, “Oh, you know...uh...seeing the sights?”
The feeblest excuse in history lit the Pegasus’ eyes up like fireflies, “Well, lookit that! Even more travellers to li’l ol’ Withervale! We rightly could use the business, been hard times lately I tell ya! Can’t say I’ve rightly seen your type ‘round here before though, Mister…?’
“Um, my name is Lister and that guy’s name,” He pointed at the trembling mess that was John, “Is Johnine Reedy...or something, I dunno. He’ll be okay. But going to wherever food is sounds good. And coffee. Don’t think you guys got Mountain Dew.”
The pegasus’ eyes got even wider. “M-Mountain D-Dew? How’d you know my name?!”
Even John stopped rocking back and forth long enough to deadpan stare at the madness that was this situation. “Seriously? You're named after soda? What the hell?”
“Soda…? No, Ah’m a frontier pony, what are ya’ll go on about?” By now, small fuses in the pony’s brain were visibly frying as he tried to figure out exactly what level of idiocy he had crashed into. To solve the crossed wires, he fell back to his most basic instinct:
“Here, have some cookies!”
Lister’s eyes unfocused for a cookie bounced off his forehead. John stared at the snack in front of him, waiting for it to turn into a giant carnivorous lizard covered in metal spikes of poisoned doom and fury. When said demon failed to climb out of the cookie, he shrugged, picked it up, and began to nibble at it. “Hot damn, chocolate chip…!”
“Heh, yeah…” Mountain Dew chuckled nervously, backing slightly away from the the two strange, hairless creatures camped in the wood. “Real Equestrian goodness, those cookies. Family-made last week.”
Both humans froze.
“This is Equestria?” Lister stuttered.
“You’re an Equestrian?” John just about growled.
“Uh,” Mountain Dew chuckled, rubbing a hoof to the back of his neck, “This ain’t Equestria proper, sure, but we like to think o’ it as a little slice o’ the Equestrian pie, and as fer me, I’da thought that would be a given. Ah’m a pony after all?”
Lister unsubtly ignored his counterpart, saying rather, “So MD, gonna introduce us to the homestead?”
Mountain Dew looked a little flustered. His second thoughts were written so plainly on his face they could be read in five languages, Braille and dolphin-speak.
John meanwhile dove to intervene, right into Lister’s face, “Lister,” He whispered, hoarse, “We were told two things. Two things as certainties. One, don’t touch any blue flowers, and two, NO DEALING WITH PONIES. NONE. What the fuck dude?”
Lister raised half his cookie in response, saying, “If these were poisoned, we’re dead anyway. We need to get into the town, right? You think us two stand even the smallest chance of sneaking in? Here’s a chance to actually get it right! I mean, come on, he isn't scary. Plus, this way comes with coffee.”
Coffee. That did it. John sucked in a breath and turned back the pony still dallying between being polite and flying very far away, very fast. John duly took Mountain Dew’s misgivings into account as he quickly formulated his words, “Sorry, Mountain Dew – snrk – but understand we come from a very distant country, and we’re a little lost, in more ways than one. You could say that this is first contact?”
“Yeah,” Lister sniggered, “First contact to the back of your head.”
John ground forward, “Don’t worry about him, he’s just stupid. We aren’t threatening.”
Mountain weighed it up for a moment, looking over the two tall patchily coated and heavily armoured creatures standing before him. He shrugged, “Well, ya sure don’t look too threatenin’. Sure, c’mon down and we’ll get ya sorted. Bit o’ payment’ll get ya far in these parts.” He turned back to the plains and began pacing away.
John made to follow, only to find that he wasn’t being followed by his errant cloud of annoyance. He turned back to Lister, who was staring at his own heavy armoured coat, horror-struck.
“What, Lister?” John growled.
“...N-not...” the other man replied, “Not threatening?”
“Okay, seriously, we have bigger problems.” John turned and dragged the miserable Lister along with him, “We’re about to meet the ponies.”
*****
The pony town was very...underwhelming.
Eighteen timber houses were dotted along a main thoroughfare which led to a town hall-type building, with one springwell feeding all the houses with a fresh supply of water via a weird aqueduct thing, and also refilling the troughs outside the two saloons. The streets...street was filled with happily trotting, gaily coloured and endlessly oblivious ponies. Too many for the houses to handle, for sure. In the distance, a puff of smoke announced the reason for this; Lister spotted the train, the houses and the ponies in Stetsons, and groaned, “Great, we’re in the equine Wild West...”
John just couldn’t help but look at the troughs in the streets. “Hang on, those are water troughs, like, for cowboy’s horses. But here, the cowboys ARE the horses...Logic, I fare thee well.” A nearby pony gasped at his words, and trotted off in a huff.
Luckily, Mountain Dew was too busy flying up to ponies and shouting “Howdy” to hear them. The two humans on the edge of town were gathering quite the attention. Luckily, neither of them were embarrassing themselves too much.
“Look, ye ponies,” Lister cried, “Behold the glory of thumbs!”
Okay, so one of them was...
“Holy crap,” John looked about, “PONIES wearing SPURS. How the fuck does that make any sense?!”
...Yeah, embarrassment was part of the territory.
Mountain Dew returned just in time to stop one mare from ripping off Listers left index finger, and stop another stallion from showing John just what spurs were for. The Pegasus grabbed the Earth Pony’s raised foreleg and pulled it down, shouting in a strained voice, “Now simmer down folks, these two is just travellers here for a spot o’ trade, don’t mind ‘em none. If they’re causin’ trouble, hit them with a pastry, it distracts ‘em!”
Some ponies chuckled at that, and some went home to check their stock of pies. Either way, the crowd dispersed slowly, leaving John and Lister the centre of nothing more than awkward ogling from a few tables outside the saloons. John, though, was still spur-centric; "Pony brass knuckles? Really?"
“Sooo, uhh...” Mountain Dew started, using a well practiced ignoring technique, “Ya’ll will be wantin’ a spot ta eat and drink, I s’pose? Head on over to the saloon over there, they’ll sort ya out. So uh, I’ll be goin’ then.” And with that, he raised his wings and took off. He also made a great show of ignoring the humans’ surprised calls behind him.
“Well that’s just great!” John snarked, kicking a rock. He resettled his backpack and walked down the street, head low to avoid the glances of curious ponies on all sides. Lister waved and grinned like a madman at every pony they passed. Unsurprisingly, not a single pony followed them.
The two reached the saloon, already sore and travel-weary. A half-hour’s walk and a mild savaging by ponies had really done them in. Lister lowered his backpack with a muted sigh and looked about for a chair to rest his weary body.
There was none.
Plenty of tables.
Not a single chair.
He looked about in confusion before he spotted a lime-green pony sitting on her hindquarters on a cushion a few feet away. She returned the stare with open curiosity. Lister sighed and looked down, “Right. Ponies. Ponies don’t need chairs. Ponies don’t...”
“We have chairs.”
"What?" Lister’s head shot up. He looked at the green pony, still looking at him curiously.
“I said we do have chairs. Just, we don’t really need them out here, I guess.”
John looked up from his pack and raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. Lister blinked, looking at the pony in wonder. Or, more correctly, and the cup randomly floating next to her head.
“How is that happening?” He asked quietly.
John, too, was enchanted. Ignoring the pony’s increasingly uncomfortable demeanour, he said, “Mate, in my universe, it isn’t. But in this universe...I have no fucking clue.”
The pony finally caught on to what they were looking at. She glanced at her cup and slowly moved it about, gauging the human’s reactions. Their eyes traced its path like a dog after a bone. She giggled, a hoof to her mouth as she put the cup down, before saying, “I take it you don’t have magic where you’re from.”
“Oh, great!” John threw his hands into the air, “Reality is broken. Why? MAGIC! The answer to everything!”
“Well, no,” The green mare frowned a little, “But it sure makes holding a cup a lot easier.”
Lister thunked John a shot on the head and walked over to the pony’s table. After a bit of shuffling, he kneeled next to the table, at eye level with the mare. With only mild grumbles, John joined him. “So, uhh, hi...”
“Yeah, hi,” She smirked.
Lister continued, “Well, we’re kinda new in town, and I was wondering if – “
“Argh!” John dropped his head into the table. At the pony;s surprised squeak, he raised a hand in apology, but not his face, “Sorry, sorry, it’s just...Unicorn. No. I call bullshit.”
“What..?” The unicorn gasped
“Dude!” Lister pulled John back up, “Don’t be rude! Be polite to the lady.”
“What..?” The unicorn blushed.
“Right, terribly sorry, I’ve just had my reality torn down and beaten is all,” John waved a hand airily.
“What.” The unicorn deadpanned.
“SO!” Lister interjected, “My name is Lister, and this is John. We’ve had a rough day. Like, rougher than we ever thought possible. This is the first time we’ve ever seen ponies, you see... Well, ponies like you guys. So we’re a little surprised. Magic is...actually real. We did not know that.”
John merely took a sip from the cup and nodded.
“Okay...” The unicorn flat ignored John drinking her beverage, “Well, my name is Lyra. Nice to meet you, I guess. Just, what are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“We are many things” John smiled, “Mostly, we are lost. And hungry, and I need some coffee. We could talk over breakfast?”
“Woot for coffee!” Lister crowed.
Lyra giggled a little more, “You two are funny. I’m just waiting for my marefriend, then we can talk! I’m sure Bon Bon won’t mind.”
“Wait, Marefr-“ Lister started. Silence returned with one swift punch from John.
“Oh, there she is! Bonny! Over here!” Lyra stood up almost straight and waved a hoof animatedly in the direction of the saloon. Both Lister and John turned to the swinging door, and the cream coated earth pony walking towards them.
“Oh shit....” John breathed. Lister watched curiously as John pulled out one of the sheets of paper. “...Earth Pony, blue mane, pink streak...Dude, that’s our changeling.”
Suddenly, the situation became incredibly awkward. The mare in question walked over with a terse smile and looked the humans up and down, “Oh...hello. Who are you two?”
John sat and grinned, trying, and failing, to look easy. His mind raced a million miles an hour, trying to come up with a plan. This was their pony, but she had company? That made things a lot more complicated...
Lister's thoughts, though, were simpler. He looked behind him, down the street, to his left, at the saloon, and over Lyra’s shoulder, at the town hall. All clear. He put his plan into action:
“GRAB THEM!”
He lunged forward and crash tackled the earth pony into the ground with a cry. John and Lyra sat stunned for a moment before John shrugged and tackled the unicorn with relative levels of prejudice. Lyra screamed at a pitch that John could scarce believe, and suddenly, every eye in the town was on them. John held the struggling unicorn down while he looked the rushing townsponies, and then at Lister. “Well, what now, smartass?”
Lister, though, couldn’t stop to answer. Bon Bon was strong. Very. Strong enough stand with the heavy human bearing down on her shoulders, but not enough to buck him off herself. “Lyra, help!” She cried out, squirming under Lister’s bear hug.
John didn’t see it happening until too late. Lyra may have been pinned, but her horn has free. She levelled it at Lister chest and, with a grunt, fired a beam of light straight at his chest.
As it struck, many things happened at once. Lister flew off of Bon Bon’s back, hitting a table behind him. John scrambled to cover Lyra’s horn, but too late. Bon Bon, now freed, galloped to her friend’s side and aimed a brutal buck at John’s head. Seeing his face about to be crushed like a melon, John raised both arms to protect himself.
The blue gem Chrysalis had given him was still wrapped to his hand.
The Earth Pony’s hoof touched the gem, and a flash of light filled the entire street. Ponies stood shellshocked as all eyes were drawn to the scene at the saloon. There, where the two aliens stared dumbly at each other, and a lone unicorn mare cried out in anguish at the sight of her lover, stripped away.
There, on the ground at John’s feet, lay a changeling.
Not a soul moved.
“Okay mate,” Lister whispered, “Time to leave.”
Lister grabbed his backpack and the changeling, while John shouldered his own bag. He looked down at the catatonic Lyra, then back at Lister, who was waving him on. John bent and lifted the unicorn as well, and then, in proud human fashion, they legged it.
Behind them, in the street, dozens of ponies watched them go, but not one moved to stop them.
Mountain Dew stood, wings half spread, eyes on Lister's charge. “They’re here,” He whispered, “The changelings are ...”
John and Lister heard no further as they ran. John pointed breathlessly towards the small stand of trees they’d spent half the morning in. “Mate...cover...now...”
Lister looked at the distant treeline, then lowered his head and gritted out, “All before my morning fucking coffee...”
(if you've been reading this story since before October 2, you should REALLY check out the Author's Notes before reading this, otherwise you'll be really confused and probably hate me) Plz don't hate me...
Chapter 3
Mountain Dew coasted towards Withervale for an unsteady landing along the main street of the border town. He shut out the expectant stares of the townsponies, their faces upturned curiously, perhaps a little fearfully, to one of their finest frontier colts returning from the Badlands. They hoped he had finally brought them news. They were to be yet again disappointed.
Mountain Dew took a few fumbling steps before leaning against one of the hitching posts in the street. For half a second, he wondered why on earth they even had hitching posts if there was nothing that needed hitching.
Ugh, them crazy alien fellas have gotten ta me, He thought with a snort. He shook the cold feeling in the pit of his stomach away and turned to the town sheriff, standing amidst the dry dust and ponies gathering.
“Did’ja see anythin’, boy?” The older Earth Pony asked, not unkindly.
Mountain may have been young, but he was respected. He was one of the best long distance flyers and the keenest eye in Withervale. A hard worker and a steadfast friend. Nopony would doubt his word. Nopony would suspect him of lying.
He blinked once, then rasped, “Ah didn’t see hair nor hide of them apes, nor the...changelin’, or the mare they took. Sorry Sheriff, me and the boys did our best.”
All around the town centre, other ranging pegasi were landing, all tired and feather-sore from the hot morning’s search. Every one of them had a shifty look in their usually bright eyes, every one bound by the same choice as their leader.
Withervale would have nothing to do with Changelings.
The sheriff sighed and held his hat to his chest, “Ah feel for that young unicorn they took with ‘em. But we did our best. You boys go and get a good rest now. Ah think...Ah think it’s time Withervale closed borders. We’ll need ya all for the town watch.”
Mountain Dew nodded and slunk off down an alley, too dejected to walk through the crowd, many his friends and neighbours, and none he wished to share words with.
Only, he was no more alone in the shadows than the street.
A height crashed into his side from the darkness, blasting him across the alley and into the opposite wall. Mountain Dew was not a small pony, but that impact left him gasping in pain.
The creature responsible stood over him and sneered. Dressed in a dense grey canvas cloak, the distinguishable form of a pony hid beneath the terrifying vented mask of cold, ashen steel and dull iron. Its breath whistled through the grated facepiece and chilled Mountain Dew to the bone.
“Wha-What do ya want?!” He nickered, scurrying back.
The figure rushed him with a speed belied by its side. The next thing Mountain Dew knew, he heard a raspy voice worming into his ear; “Where is the Changeling?”
“What changelin’?” He gibbered, frozen in place with fear, “I don’t know no changelin’s - hurk!!”
A wire wrapped his throat, and cold eyes of flint and ice drilled into his own. “Cut the denials and get to the confessions, and you might live. Now!”
Mountain Dew saw the crescent moon hammered into the breastplate an inch from his nose. He spilled everything like an barrel of fish.
*****
“Ah! Just…start…Owch! I ain’t gonna - OOF!”
Lister landed flat on his back, clutching his belly and whining. He rolled over and scuttled past a stunned John, away from his very capable opponent. Lister tapped his compatriot’s leg on the way past; “Tag, you’re it.”
You’d think the two humans would be having trouble containing one shocked and scared unicorn, fighting her abductors. Or even fighting against the feral Changeling they had been tasked to retrieve. But no, both of these individuals were trussed up quite securely a short distance away at opposite ends of the low hollow amidst the brown plains, and had even stopped studiously ignoring each other long enough to stare disbelievingly at the humans’ sudden catastrophic defeat at the hands of a stick.
John took a deep breath, and dove in; he grabbed one end of the twig and rubbed it violently against the barely scratched piece of log destined to be their campfire in the lowering evening. Despite his gyrations, gesticulations and colourful language, though, he was to be disappointed yet again.
Lister groaned from the fringes, “...I think I have a hernia…”
John studiously ignored him. He also ignored the rather impatient changeling chittering to itself, before it raised its head sharply and hissed, “Please just let Lyra start the fire! This is too embarrassing to watch!”
John stopped swearing at the sticks in front of him and raised an eyebrow. Lister stopped pitying himself and looked curiously at the changeling. He pushed himself up and inspected the chitinous creature. “So you guys really do talk!”
The Changeling gave him a hard glare, though it was quite hard to tell with its pupil-less eyes, even if you weren’t as oblivious as Lister. It of course went right over his head. “You have no idea how many questions I have! Like how do you become a pony, exactly?” He asked, looking inappropriately thoughtful, “I mean, your voice is even kinda the same as the pony you were earlier, but of course you look totally different. Its so…weird.”
The changeling shuffled uncomfortably and glanced across the clearing at Lyra before coughing and replying in a much deeper, buzzing voice, “Ahem, yes…it’s hard to stop using a voice you’ve used for so long…”
“How long?”
John flinched as Lyra’s voice cut the air. He’d seen this coming…
Lister turned and looked at her, surprised. During the entire day they’d been dog-trotting through the plains, avoiding Pegasus patrols and hiding in streambeds, she hadn’t said a word. Now, Lyra was curled in on herself, coiled like a spring in her bindings, head lowered, her horn held threateningly towards the changeling now shrinking back from her. Useless, since John had found another useful feature of his gift from Chrysalis: place the blue gem against the horn of any magical creature, and their magic is void. Lyra flinched as the gem clacked painfully against her horn from where it was tied, but spat out regardless, “How long, Changeling? How long have you been Bon Bon? And-“ She choked slightly, “-and what…what did you do to her?”
The changeling regarded her for a moment before replying carefully, remorsefully; “Since just after the wedding. I…I took her place when you told her everything, about the wedding, when Bon Bon went to the kitchen for a drink of water for you. Then.” The changeling lowered its head to the ground, “You were already weak...Easier to control, maybe…I don’t know, things looked so different then.”
John didn’t really know what was going on. The changeling had replaced Bon Bon? Chrysalis’s little pep-talk had only touched on the Changelings ability to, well, change. He hadn’t really considered the repercussions of that ability. Now that they were in front of him, it seemed so obvious. So were most things in hindsight, though. Like this whole plan, in fact. John looked across at Lister, who’s own face was uncharacteristically calm as he said, “So you killed Bon Bon then?”
The Changeling failed to reply. John sighed and rubbed a palm to his forehead. They hadn’t signed up to retrieve murders! He nearly forgot that they hadn’t actually signed up at all.
Lyra’s face locked into a stony grimace, her body frozen still. “And this ‘holiday’? Get me out of town, some country air to clear my head? Do you – Did Bon Bon even have any family out here?” Again, the changeling did not respond. Lyra quickly stared at the ground under her, blinking heavily, “I thought so…”
John stood up and glared at the changeling. He took a step towards it and growled, low, “Think you owe her an apology much?”
“Would it matter?” Lister shrugged, standing too and avoiding John’s angry hiss, “This bug took the most important thing it could away from Lyra. Nothing can fix that, certainly not us.” He looked around, as if trying to find something as a distraction. He found one; “But we do need a campfire tonight. I aint sleeping out in the cold again. So, uhh…” He looked at Lyra cautiously, “You aiight?”
Lyra didn’t even move. Her face expressionless, her body motionless. “Yes. I am fine.”
John had a bad feeling about this. Lister had that look in his eye again, that look that meant he had a plan he really liked. Therefore, a terrible one. Lister loped over to Lyra and touched the gem bound to her horn. She shivered at the contact as the gem’s interruption of her magic was tampered with. Lister carefully undid the piece of string halfway up Lyra's horn and withdrew the gem. Lyra was free. She still had her head down, crouching with her legs tied together, hobbled. Slowly though, with her magic returning to her, she raised her head, stony eyes locking onto those of the human standing above her with a comforting smile and no idea how out of his depth he was. Lyra blinking once.
The Changeling chirped quietly in fear.
John saw the emerald aura gather through the air. He saw Lyra’s eyes harden as the magic condensed into a single beam of force between her and the man above her. She released the impulse spell and left it to its work as she shot her horn down to magically sever the bindings around her legs and leaping to her hooves.
Meanwhile, strange occurrences were occurring. Lister was being shot with a beam of green light, the same green beam Lyra had used before, and the same force that should have sent him reeling back across the dry ground to a sudden painful stop. Instead, he was staring at his arm, wrapped in a green cyclone.
Chrysalis’s gift to him was finally being useful.
Lyra had fired her spell with enough delay for him to flinch. Naturally, he’d gone to block himself with his arms. One of his arms was of course wrapped in onyx and obsidian up to the elbow, and this strange gauntlet was currently absorbing to blast of energy that should have hurt him. Again. The spiraling green flash imploded after mere seconds, and suddenly Lister was faced with a surprised but still very pissed off unicorn, already trying to charge another spell. Things were not going to plan.
John jumped towards the two locked combatants over the meant-to-be campfire, grabbed the gem from the dirt where Lister had dropped it in shock and he raised it, throwing it at Lyra’s horn, barely feet away. The impact alone screwed up the unicorn’s spell and left her reeling, dizzy. No magic though, didn’t mean she was powerless. Acting on instinct, she swung away from John, who started forward to catch the pony before she tried to run away.
Only, she wasn’t running. She might not have been an earth pony, but her buck was still quite…stiff.
John’s unexercised soda-belly found itself fully occupied by a pair of hooves, and his stomach very much tried to evict his breakfast over the territory conflict. Luckily, the hooves withdrew just as quickly, suddenly leaving him feeling felling rather empty of strength, will and air. Lyra kept turning as she brought all four hooves back under her, facing back much the same direction she had begun in, towards the other side of the camp, where one Changeling was attempting fruitlessly to become one with the rocks. Lyra’s condensed, pure, coiled bundle of hurt, loss and rage burst forth into one violent leap forward that would have won her the Kentucky Derby.
Only to have Lister punch her. It wasn’t a particularly hard punch, thrown as poorly as it was, but it was uncannily well-aimed. His fist struck her just below her collar bone and weakened her left front leg beyond being able to carry her. She crashed into the ground and loosed a desperate spell from her shell-shocked horn, utterly failing to aim with the bit her snout was plowing up into her eyes. Her horn sparked, flared a tongue of flame, and fizzled out.
The campfire, though, finally caught.
“Woo hoo!” Lister cried as he pranced towards the flames, “Everything went better than expected.”
There was a moment of confusion for John. A moment no doubt shared by any creature with even half a brain. He crouched there, gripping his stomach, his eyes darting between Lyra lying motionless where she’d fallen and Lister with his back to her. “Dude shouldn’t we tie –“
“Shh,” Lister whispered slowly, looking at Lyra over his shoulder. “She’s spent, mate.”
And just like that, Lyra started sobbing into the earth.
John’s heart did a few none-buck-related flips at the sight. He wasn’t sure how to react, but he couldn’t do nothing. Gathering a blanket from his bag, he made for the stricken unicorn. In passing he asked Lister, “Dude, what did you do to her…?”
Lister, too, was showing signs of remorse, but he was too busy scratching at his arm – the one sheathed in the so-called Shadow Brace – to put too much effort into it. He glanced up and stated, “I grew up on a farm, kinda, so I learned how to deal with an angry horse.”
Lyra’s head shot up, tears cutting runnels through the dust on her cheeks, red with fury. “Don’t call me that!” She hissed, “How could you? Is it because I was with another mare? You bigoted idiotic fu-“
“Whoa!” Lister recoiled, before rapidly trying to placate the irate mare. In the commotion, the Changeling suddenly found itself forgotten. “I don’t get it, where we’re from ponies are just small horses, okay?”
John shrugged as he neared the pony, holding out the blanket like a matador’s cape, “I grew up in the city; to us, horse and pony were synonymous.”
Lyra looked near catatonic before subsiding suddenly, “Ugh.” She looked away, unable to keep the anger rolling through her grief, “No wonder you apes had no problem foalnapping me…”
“Kidnap you mean? Oh, right,” Lister backpedaled, “Pony-isms, gotcha.”
John lowered himself next to Lyra and draped the blanket over her shoulders. She flinched at the touch. “Hey, uh…” He started, “I know you’re probably gonna hate us forever and stuff, but hey, at least you can be happy to know that you’ll never see another pair like us, right?”
“You know, since we’re probably the only humans in this…whatever of reality.” Lister finished.
Lyra looked up at that, “Th-the only ones?”
“Yeah,” john sighed, “We got brought here to find Changelings. The more changelings we find, the sooner we go home. I think I speak for both of us-“
“As usual.” Lister snided.
“-when I say we really are sorry for what happened to you. This…this wasn’t the kind of collateral I was expecting. And really, whatever your, uh, sexual orientation, no difference to us, right? We don’t mind if you like mares. Sorry we offended you.”
“…Actually I’m male.”
In the wake of the quiet chittering remark, all that could be heard in the clearing was the quiet sound of a Changeling kicking himself.
“Oh, I’m sure my parents would be so proud to know I’ve been secretly straight all these months.” Lyra sneered viciously, “I’m sure the species thing wouldn’t bother them at all.”
“The sarcasm is strong with this one.” Lister drawled sagely.
John decided to nip this in the bud. And satisfy his curiosity as well. “Changeling, you do need to explain what the hell you thought you were doing replacing a pony like that. Start talking. A name would be good.”
Both Lyra and said Changeling gave him a look that just screamed oh-my-god-are-you-brain-dead, and John shifted uncomfortably in the silence until the Changeling spoke up; “Uh, okay, I’ll start basic for you. My name doesn’t matter and my number is too long to remember. In other words, just a low-level errand-runner between cells. Cells of the ‘hive’ as ponies say. It’s not all in one place of course, that’s preposterous. Now clearly you don’t actually know what a changeling does: replacing ponies is the current regime’s preferred method of gathering Love Energy, so yeah, we replace ponies. Just how it is. Or…was, I should say…”
“Yeah, cuz you got caught.” Lister deadpanned.
“No,” The Changeling hissed, but his anger fizzled in the word. “No, I…after Canterlot, things started changing…say changing for the Changeling and I swear…we saw things differently. Like, clearly for the first time…you wouldn’t understand. I’d already…replaced Bon Bon by then, and I’m not smart enough to sneak across Equestria in my natural form. I…” His focus shifted to the unicorn, pleading with every word, “I had to stay with you. I had to, no matter how bitter the energy you gave me every day became, how low I had to go. You think I had that many headaches? Lyra I…I just spent five months at your side. You think I could just stay distant with how much you loved me? Well Bon Bon…and I guess you do. Because that’s what Changeling’s do, after all…”
“And to think earlier today I wondered if you guys could talk at all…” Lister mumbled.
John didn’t even have to try and ignore him anymore. “So why drag Lyra all the way out here in the first place? Trying to get back to the ‘hive’?” He asked flatly.
The Changeling shook his head, but he kept his eyes on the silent Lyra, “No. I don’t want the hive. I don’t want my queen. I want a new life, and I heard there was a chance for me out here.”
Lister suddenly froze. He turned looked into the slowly building fire, a hint of thought in his features. “Too bad then; you queen’s the one who sent us.”
In the silence that followed, a word hissed free from the Changeling in a choke to faint to hear fully; “Chrysalis.”
“Yup,” John nodded, “And I’m beginning to wonder what else she failed to tell us. Not like we have any choice, though. Help her or never see home again. A real serious problem.”
Lister, though, had had enough; “I don’t do serious…” He muttered, “Over the last two days I’ve seen the completely, insanely, obscenely absurd. If I was serious about it, my brain would literally be vacationing through my ears right now, and I wouldn’t be able to begrudge it. And now my arm wont stop itching. Thanks Lyra.”
“Yeah,” John nodded from his seat, still beside the miserable mint unicorn, “Though actually, if you think about it, the strangest thing in between the fey magicks, polymorph bug aliens and weird eldritch artifacts, has to be the inclusion of Technicolor horses-“
THWAP.
Hoof to cheek.
John reeled away from the offending limb, enough expletives to curdle steel flying thick and fast. The only intelligible thing he gasped was, “Holy shit, Lyra, what the hell was that for?!”
“I told you to stop calling me that.” She replied coolly, much to Lister’s amusement, “Plus, it was just a slap, you big baby.”
“Hooves!” John cried, rolling back and glaring teary venom, “You have freaking hooves! To you everything’s a punch!”
“I think,” Lister said, standing, “that we all need to get some sleep. We don’t have a lot further to go, so lets just relax now, okay?”
Lyra looked at him. Then she stood up. She planted her hooves foursquare and stated, “If you work for the Changeling Queen Chrysalis, I’ll be leaving, one way or another, tonight. You don’t know what she did to me.”
John and Lister exchanged a look over the crackling fire. Both shrugged, and John said, “You’re actually free to go, just so long as you don’t kill our Changeling or us. We’ve caused you enough pain. You could share the fire, though, maybe a story or two? We’ll part in the morning. We do all need the sleep.”
Surprise, relief and fatigue crossed Lyra’s face. She dropped back to the ground. “Yeah,” She grunted, “In the morning…”
*****
That morning on the plains was a violent affair.
John was happily curled in his clothing...again...when Lister, a few feet away, rolled over, farted, sneezed and loosed a vibrant green bolt of pure energy sizzling up straight into the sky. With a testosterone-banishing squeak of terror, he flailed out of his leather cloak and screamed at the glassy gauntlet around his arm, “What the the fuck is this thing doing?!”
John had to agree. He leapt to his feet and growled, “For god’s sake don’t point that thing at me!”
A soft chuckle broke the morning air like dewfall. Both humans, breathing as if they had been, and perhaps still were, being drowned, turned to face the unicorn sitting up on the hill. Lyra looked down on them with a sad gleam to her eye in the morning light.
Lister looked up at her from where he lay. he swallowed quietly, then said, “God damn, you really are adorable.”
Lyra shot him a look. “At least I know where my tazer spell went." She nodded across the long-dead campfire then, at the motionless Changeling there, “Before you guys get angry he isn’t dead. He just wouldn’t shut up last night.” She looked back at the two humans, who raised their eyebrows in response. “...I can’t say it was a pleasure meeting you two,” She stood up and began moving down the hill, “But...you did help me. So...thank you for not killing me, I guess.”
John and Lister shared a look, then jumped up. Together they looked down at the green unicorn. John forced a smile, “Well Lyra, good to see you looking so peachy this morning.”
“I dunno,” Lister muttered, “More kinda lemony.”
John elbowed his friend in the armour, which was a little counter-productive. He winced as he said, “We ain’t stopping you. Where you gonna go, though?”
Lyra shrugged, “I don’t know. Can’t go to Ponyville because of the memories, or Canterlot for the same. Can’t go to my parents anymore...But anywhere in Equestria beats the Badlands. I’m not the one who needs the help, though: You two go within a mile of anypony ever again and they’ll probably chase you down.” She looked thoughtful for a moment, “Just listening to the two of you would drive them crazy.”
John growled and Lister chuckled. The latter crouched down to the pony’s level and asked casually, “Well, as the only pony we know who isn’t probably trying to kill us: any advice?”
Lyra tapped a hoof to her chin contemplatively, than perked up, “Yeah, there’s one thing.”
John leaned forward, “What?”
Lyra leaned up and booped him on the nose, “Stop calling everypony you meet a whorse.”
John looked at Lister. Lister blinked stupidly. “..I don’t get it.”
Lyra sighed and shook her head. “You two must be the luckiest creatures in all the world, just to be alive.” She turned and trotted back up the hill. She paused at the peak and called back, “Bye aliens! I hope the Changelings don’t stab you in the back.”
And with that, she was gone.
Lister looked up at where the unicorn had disappeared into the morning air, and scratched head, “Mate...Ponies are weird as fuck.”
John nodded, but turned and looked at the Changeling lying in the dust, with a large hoof-shaped dent in in his carapace.
“Yeah, “ he muttered, “But she might not be far wrong.”
