The gleaming castle stood atop the mountain, framed in the sunset as it's shadow expanded greedily over the tiny, sleepy village below. The castle had stood for nearly a millennium atop the mountain, and was built of nearly unbreakable marble slabs carved from a quarry a country over, and held together by well-forged steel.

In its millennium of existence, it had weathered many an assault upon its walls, and those it guarded and who guarded it in return were some of the hardiest warriors the planet had ever seen. Not once had an enemy siege upon it been successful, and like scar tissue, it had only hardened and become tougher over the centuries. Today, its walls were nigh unbreakable.

Such was not to be.

The first ring of doom rang when a lone town guard, patrolling the streets of the sleepy hamlet below the castle, heard a noise. Something rattling in an alley.

"Hello?" He asked, poking his head around the corner. "Is anyone there?"

The noise paused, as if whatever had made it was startled, and then resumed.

The guard decided some poor pony likely had a bit too much to drink at the pub, and ventured into the alley. "Sir? Or Madam, whichever it is, are you alright? I'm a guard, I can help if something's wrong."

He followed the noise to a dumpster, where the lid was rattling--therefore creating the noise. "I'm going to lift the lid now. Please don't do anything rash."

He put a hoof under the lid, and pulled it up. Then he screamed, loudly and shrilly, at what he saw--a Changeling had been inside the dumpster the entire time, buzzing its wings to rattle the dumpster. When the guard finally ran out of breath and his scream tapered off, the Changeling smirked, and said one word.

"Gotcha."

Quick as a flash, the Changeling sprung out of the dumpster like a jack-in-the-box, wrapping his teeth around the guard's throat and digging his fangs into his jugular, before squeezing and crushing his neck like a tin can. With a strangled sound, the guard found he couldn't move his body anymore, and slumped into the changeling's grip. Before the poor pony's blood had even hit the ground, he had been bodily and wholly yanked into the dumpster, where the lid shut on them both.

Outside the alley, another guard, this one Sergeant, heard the scream, and bolted into the space. The buildings on either side were built of red brick, and so was the path between, as well as filled with dumpsters. When the source of the scream could not be found, he rubbed his head. He could've sworn...

"Sir? Is that you?"

He turned back around to find a junior guard trotting down the alley towards him. "Private Salmon? Was that you screaming?"

The private nodded. "Yes sir. Sorry sir. Thought I saw a rat, one of the big, plague-ridden ones from Zebrica, behind a dumpster. Turned out to be a shadow."

The Sergeant sighed. "Salmon, that's the third time this month. One more and I'll have to write you up for repeated public disturbances."

"Sorry, sir. Promise it won't happen again, sir."

Turning back around, the Sergeant motioned down the street. "Make sure of it. Now, if there aren't any more rats, our shift's over. You try and get some sleep, you look like you need it."

"Why's that, sir?"

"Your eyes are all sunken, and you're pale. Come on."

* * *

From there, they returned to the guard station, a two-story building where the top floor was a barracks, and went inside. Not long after, the Sergeant found himself with a pen sticking out out of his liver. He lived only long enough to witness Private Smoked Salmon turning into a changeling, before a second pen buried itself in his brain, by way of the eye.

From there, the infiltrator moved like a shadow, stashing the body under a desk and going after the secretary. Her last thought was "Stars, this coffee sucks," before a pot of it smashed the back of her skull in.

Another Private in the bathroom was drowned in a toilet--never let it be said that the infiltrator did not enjoy his job. Taking his shape (and making the complexion thereof much less blue,) he entered the barracks full of sleeping guards, and went to work. Within fifteen minutes, all twelve of the small hamlet's guards were dead or dying, and he signaled the rest of the swarm to attack.

And attack they did. The small swarm, nearly fifty in number and led by the King... Er, Queen, moved quickly and silently into the hamlet. Going from house to house, they invaded as cats, as mice, as birds, as flies, whatever could get into the houses, and took prisoner all ponies they found inside, save the ones who fought and were quickly killed.

The hive was mostly infiltrators, shape shifters by nature, but it did contain small subforces of Worker castes, Soldier castes, and Assassin castes. All were different, not only physically, but also in the roles the served within the hive.

The previously-stated infiltrators moved in first, entering the houses and opening doors to allow the other castes inside. They were slightly taller than the average pony, and were free to shape shift into whatever form they could imagine, with their innate magic "holding" spare mass they didn't use. They were normally thin, with hole-less legs and glossy carapaces, lacking wings unless they wished them.

Backing them up and protecting them from foolhardy ponies were the Assassin caste, who were mea-looking, bad-tempered, and overwhelmingly sharp changelings the size of large dogs. If they were ordered, they could use bone claws extending from their legs to brutally hack apart whatever was within reach. Whatever they couldn't, they would use their again-sharp wings to leap into the air, and come down atop--and shortly after, inside--their targets.

After the blood had settled into the carpet, the workers entered. They stood about the same height as any average pony, and were nearly as plain as well. Evolved for construction, their chitin was thin, and their legs full of holes for secreting and manipulating resin. They could only shape shift into ponies, and even then, only in case of emergency. They would fortify each building into a nursery, suitable for protecting and hatching coming members of the swarm.

Finally, the Queen arrived. She was a tall beautiful Changeling, like a Worker had been stretched, and with all of its abilities--plus a few more. They would meet the captured ponies, and separate them into three groups; mares, stallions, and foals.

Stallions would be sucked dry to fertilize the queen, and assuming they survived the process, placed into pods to generate love for the hive. Mares would... Mares would...

* * *

"Hey, are you alright?"

"Y...yeah... I'm fine."

"You don't look fine. We can skip this part if you like. I already know it by heart."

"No.. Honestly, I'm fine... And it's how this bit goes."

"If you're sure."

"..."

"Hey... If it's any consolation, you're doing great."

"...Thank you. Ahem."

* * *

...Mares, shortly afterward, would be put to use by the Queen as incubators for the eggs, until they were ready to hatch and the eggs were laid. One particularly (un)lucky mare would have the honour of receiving a royal egg, which was instead inserted into the stomach for protection. This egg would contain a nymphal Queen, as a backup plan in case the present Queen died soon. Unfortunately, the Nymphal Queen's hatching would kill the host.

Foals of either gender would be put into pods, where their development was changed and sped up as they were converted into pre-grown Changeling Nymphs. Their minds were wiped in the process, to prevent rebellion.

* * *

"There we go. All finished now."

"...yeah... Can we... Skip that flavor text next time?"

"Sure, I think we should only have to read it once, to refresh ourselves. Ready to move on? Or do you need a moment?"

"No, I can move on. Refresh my memory, what comes next?"

"Roll that die there to see how long it takes the castle to notice."

"...Three! So, uh... Oh. Three days for my guys to realize something's wrong."

* * *

Three days passed before the King of the castle noticed that supply caravans had ceased from the hamlet. In that time, it had been essentially wiped out, with the houses oozing thick resin from between thatching and leaking slime from the windows. A pink haze covered the town, a byproduct of the farmed love leaking slightly into the atmosphere.

The king immediately sent out a scouting party to check on the town, but they were easily intercepted by the final Changeling caste--and now that they were being bred in bulk, the most numerous.

Soldier Changelings were taller, albeit slightly, than a full-bodied stallion, and it was all muscle and steel-strong chitin. They wore armour and helmets made of blue-tinted strengthened resin, and their fangs were short but sharp, and their wings could let them fly for a full day straight if need be.

And twelve of them were about to intercept the scouting party. Roll for initiative, with a plus four bonus.

"Ooh, ten!"

The scouting party never even saw the Changelings approach. Three Soldiers dropped from the sky on all four sides, and said, in unison, "We are the swarm. Resistance is futile." Then descended upon the still-shocked ponies in a flurry of blood, ichor, and claws.

When the dust settled and the blood dried, the Changeling Soldiers were the only survivors--and therefore the victors--while having lost only four of their number. The remaining Changelings took up the form of the scouting party, and returned to the castle.

One of the guards at the gate had been waiting for his brother to return from scouting, and had chosen to greet him at the gatehouse. As the party meandered back into sight, he waved to his little brother. "Hill! How'd it go?"

When his brother failed to respond, he came closer. "Hill? Yoo-hoo, Arcadia to Hill, this is your brother Dale speaking... Hill?"

Finally, this caught the younger pony's attention. "Huh?"

"How did it go? What's going on down there?" Hill waved a hoof in front of Dale's muzzle.

Dale shook his head. "Uh... Nothing going on down there. Just a normal day in... Normal... Ville... Yeah."

With a tilt of his head, Hill trotted closer and put a hoof on Dale's shoulder, who jumped away from the contact. "Dale, are you feeling alright?"

His eyes darted around as he responded. "Yeah! I'm fine! But now I gotta go see the guy about the thing at the place. Be back in a min!"

“...Do you mean the lieutenant?”

“Yes. Him.”

“Her.”

“Right.” Putting on an exceptionally-fake looking grin, Dale trotted past the guards, followed by the rest of his squad. This was also odd. After all, why was a private leading two Sergeants instead of vice versa?

Now unimpeded, Dale continued onwards to the Lieutenant’s quarters. Opening the door, he entered, and the Lieutenant glared at him. “Where’s Captain Dobson?”

“...Uh…”

In a blur of motion, they both moved. The changeling’s cover was blown, and he shifted back into a Soldier—while the Lieutenant drew her sunnarium pistol and lined up a shot.

* * *

“Roll for initiative.”

“Eight?”

“Good enough.”

* * *

She never got to pull the trigger, what with the Soldier bucking her desk—and her with it—into the wall with a crunch. Around the castle, the other Soldiers began wreaking whatever havoc they could, whether shifting back into a changeling and murdering somepony in front of a dozen others, or quietly sabotaging the hangars. From the sky descended the rest of the swarm, a hundred times stronger after taking the small hamlet below, simply to make up the losses from anti-aerial cannon fire before those were knocked out.

The castle’s defences fell quickly.

Semi-automatic prismatic fire and the stomping of power-armoured boots filled the halls of the ancient castle. The warfare quickly advanced towards the throne room, and the command centre of Admiral Stirling… as did the king… Queen of the hive, Queen Alabaster.

The throne room doors flew open, revealing the Queen in all her dark glory, and a dozen sniper dots centred on her forehead. Their sources were scattered around the room, from rafters to balconies to even one just behind the throne of the Commander-Monarch of the Arcadian Armada, Admiral Stirling. Next to him hung two mares, with into enough wiring and machinery to control a battle-cruiser leading into their skull wire-ports… Which may have been what they actually doing. Electronic eyes swept to the door, and the mares stopped in their frenetic typing amongst a half-dozen typeboards hovering around them.

Behind them sat Admiral Stirling himself. He was a giant of a stallion, though the fact that he was permanently sealed in his silver armour only aided this illusion. Standing up, he was quite possibly as tall as two full-grown stallions, were one to stand on the other’s back. His armour plating was thicker than most hover-tanks, and all of it together weighed as much as a full-grown Oliphant. Only the machinery of the armour, especially with the golden inlays decorating it, allowed the Admiral to even move.

And, perhaps most tellingly, the Admiral was not standing. He simply lounged, fully clad in his armour, across the ancient iron throne. He seemed unconcerned with the fact that the Changelings had infested the Hamlet below, nor that they were steadily conquering his own base of operations. His eyes weren’t even open, until a full minute after Queen Alabaster had smashed the doors to throne room into splinters.

When they did, it was only a singular eye. The other remained closed, while the one closest to the door lazily flicked open, evaluated the Queen as she stood, and then closed again.

Queen Alabaster blinked. “...Well?”

“Well what?” The Admiral didn’t even open his eyes.

Stomping her chitinous hoof, the Queen snarled. “Will you stand and fight, or shall I kill you in your chair?”

“You’ll do neither.” Replied the Admiral.

“...What?”

The Admiral sighed, as though about to explain something to a very thick foal. “You’ve just lost. How much of your army is in view of the sky right now?”

“...Most… of it…?”

“That’s what I thought.” The Admiral lackadaisically pressed a button on his armour’s collar, turning his personal transmitter to all frequencies. “All Arcadian forces, seal free energy shielding. Radio silence. We are engaging the Orbital Sunnarium cannon.”

* * *

“...How on Arcadia did you afford an Orbital Sunnarium Cannon?”

“How much fighting did you do, precisely?”

“So, wait… you got the bare minimum of troops required, and sold everything you could… Just so you could use it all at the very last minute to buy a weapon meant for continent-spanning games?”

“I told you I was good at Hyperspace Hyperwars.”

* * *

Queen Alabaster gaped at the Admiral for a moment, before howling, “NO!” and lunging at him. She got within eight metres before slamming into the air itself, which radiated outwards in a rainbow of colours, tracing the domed outline of the throne’s new energy shield.

The Admiral simply smirked at her, before tilting his head towards one of the mechano-mares at her console. “Fire Sunnarium Cannon at 47.5667 North, 10.700 East.”

The mechano-mare nodded. “Affirmative. Firing at Kehle, former Gryphonia, in thirty seconds.”

“NO!” Undeterred by the impenetrability of the energy shielding, Queen Alabaster opted simply to beat on it with her hooves, simply to get through and stop the firing sequence. It didn’t work.

Still smirking at her, the Admiral shifted slightly in his throne, putting his hooves behind his head as make-shift cushions. “You know, Queen, if you fly as fast and as far as you can… You might get just far enough for the psionic backlash to hit you before the free energy wave.”

The Queen slumped against the shield as the Mechano-mare manning the orbital platform’s controls droned out, “Firing in five… four… three… two… one. Have a nice day.”

Far above the planet, a metal sphere was fired from a free-floating platform. This metal sphere fell through the atmosphere, until it reached a predetermined height, and then detonated.

Massive waves of free energy propagated throughout the atmosphere above the hamlet and the ancient castle. In the small town, every living thing (for by now, they had all been converted by, and into, changelings) simply began bleeding from every orifice at once, before collapsing and dying on the ground in droves. In the castle, swarms of changelings dropped like flies around the power-armoured soldiers, who simply watched and laughed as blood soaked into the carpet, and their armour’s free energy detectors clicked like angry chipmunks.

In the throne room, Queen Alabaster had it the worst. The entirety of her hivemind died, all at the same time, and she was left hearing their dying screams—and then silence, just before the merciful free energy took her, and she vomited green blood across the surface of the shield. It vaporised on contact, and the twitching corpse flopped onto the carpet.

Still sitting in his throne, Admiral Stirling checked his own free energy detector. Nothing. He turned to the machano-mare who had not been operating the orbital cannon, and opened his helmet to speak. “Inform the fleet to bring free energy scrubbers and cleanup weapons. Check to make sure nothing of the hive survived.” His nose turned up at the still-bleeding corpse of Queen Alabaster. “And somepony clean that up.”

* * *

“Wow.” Shining sat back against the couch heavily, staring at Queen Chrysalis—apparently master tactician in the art of fighting dirty—in a new light. “How did you learn how to play Hyperspace Hyperwars that well… and that dirty?”

Ambassador Chrysalis shrugged. “We played a lot of it back in the hive during my training. Teaching me strategy, or so they said.” She began to pick up the pieces, starting with her own Arcadian Armada forces. “Since they were teaching me Changeling tactics using the pieces, they usually got to use them. And because we only had the one set, I always played the Arcadians. So I got really good at beating my instructors with them, just to annoy them.”

Shining chuckled. “Well, then I’m gonna have to dig out my old gaming notes. I think I’ve still got a couple more strategies written down somewhere that beat my friends.”

Chrysalis smiled as she closed the lid. “Yes… I think I would enjoy that. But for now… Should we return to unpacking your trunk?”

Turning back to the trunk in question, Shining grimaced. “...Maybe one more quick game?”

Author's Note

Dedicated to The Weaver of Derpibooru, because I actually started planning out and revising a fictional tabletop strategy game inside a fictional universe of a fictional universe.

For Context!