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                    Fire, Fly, or Fall                     
                      -by MistChance-                      
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                      Wedding Crashed                      
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Wedding Crashed
Spitfire hadn’t prayed in years, but she asked silently for mercy.
The one she prayed to lay splayed and helpless on the marble tiles of a capacious ballroom, on the opposite side of a crowd stunned to silence. The chamber was filled with vile creature's gloating laughter as it addressed its victims.
“Shining Armor’s love for you was stronger than I thought.
Consuming it has made me even more powerful than Celestia!”
Spitfire’s hooves were glued to the floor. Her composure was solid, but she felt the specter of fear crawling into her gut. She turned to the blue stallion next to her, keeping her eyes fixed on the front of the room.
“The Princess can’t save us.” She softly said to herself. Then louder, so those nearby could hear.
The ponies around Spitfire swallowed their own whispers and looked to her. She kept her face impassive, her voice hard, and pushed aside the dread she felt at seeing Celestia defeated. Lying on the ballroom floor. Her horn scorched and smoldering, but still moving. Alive.
She could see Soarin's uncertainty. He was trying to collect himself, but was obviously fearful and absent. He loosened the tie of his dress uniform with one hoof and avoided her gaze. They were the only two Wonderbolts in the city, and Soarin would flounder without her. He had skill and speed, but lacked the discipline of a career Guard flier.
Spitfire breathed slow and deeply to summon as much calm as she could. Discipline. The subtle shaking of her legs stilled and her ears slowed their twitching. She could not let her emotions show. She had to be a leader.
"Soarin, I need you to help get everypony out of here.” She stepped close to the stallion and spoke so only he could hear. Soarin finally looked up at her, and she could see the beginnings of tears above a hard set jaw. He was desperately trying to rein himself in, but she couldn't wait. There was no plan but to run. If this new green-eyed monster could brush the Goddess of the Sun aside, the innocent wedding guests stood no chance.
"Look, these are Changelings, right? They feed on emotions, Soar. They're trying to make us afraid." The male slowly nodded.
"I got it, Spit--Captain." He glanced back at the front of the chamber. "They seem to be ignoring the guests. It's obvious they've infiltrated the city, but as long as the city shield holds, they can't reinforce."
Spitfire nodded, allowing him to center himself and focus on the situation.
Soarin's gaze moved to a unicorn in golden plate barding that stood guard near a side door out of the ballroom. The watchpony was looking uncertainly from the creature that had defeated their princess to the two Wonderbolts and back. Soarin carefully moved through the crowd of nervous ponies to the guard, and whispered in his ear. The unicorn's horn began to glow pale blue even as Soarin was still speaking to him, and the door behind them silently opened under the guard pony's urging. His spear softly clinked on the tile, and he began gently leading wedding guests out of the ballroom.
The creature that had a moment ago been Princess Cadence’s doppelganger was berating a small group of ponies near the dias for foolishly underestimating her. Its attention was still not on their side of the room.
Two more doors to servant and guardrooms opened as the two pegasi were joined by a handful of guards and volunteers to lead small groups of civilians away from the palace. Spitfire tried to ignore the creature’s monologue, but couldn't stop anger from creeping into her thoughts as she heard it carrying on. Chrysalis, it called itself, and a Queen. Queen of what? Presumably Equestria, since it had struck down their nation's monarch. This wouldn't stand, the Guard would push these invaders out of the city before the day was out. They had to. But the lives that would be lost...
Spitfire's mind reeled as she helped other guards usher nobles and servants out of the ballroom. The armored royal guard kept as quiet as possible while trying to stave off a stampede of frightened civilians. The delay tore at her, and she felt her tenuous calm fading. The Wonderbolts were supposed to be trained and briefed just like any other guard reserve unit but their performance schedule had them skipping alot. Too much, really, and Spitfire was kicking herself now for that now. She racked her brain for anything she could remember about Changelings, but there wasn't much. They were bogeyponies from what she knew. They'd hardly been for years, and only the top brass gave the Hive any thought. Why Canterlot? Why now?
As long as it was distracted by Celestia and the others near the dias, some ponies may still escape. Spitfire spared a moment to look out the tall windows lining the ballroom to watch the pink magic-tinged sky. At least the shield was still holding.
A heavy, thudding creak rippled through the ground and stone. Iridescent cracks were forming in the sky. Through the palace windows, a speckled fog hovered beyond the city’s magical barrier. Creatures, thousands of them, scratching away at the shield like locusts.
“Changelings.” Spitfire said the word as though it tasted filthy.
Soarin came up behind her, and opened his mouth to speak before he followed her gaze. "How did... There's an army of them." He shook his head, and put a hoof on Spitfire's shoulder to get her attention.
"Cap, we almost have the ballroom clear. Some of the guards want to stay, but we should keep the civilians organized."
"Yes... yes, you're right. They recognize us. They'll follow us." Spitfire was already moving.
She spoke as she moved to the remaining ponies to stay calm and help one another, but didn't watch their response. The mare sprinted out the ballroom door, shouldering her way through the press of ponies toward the guards that worked feverishly to lead people out of the palace to somewhere safe. They moved through a kitchen, a larder, and a few narrow stone hallways before leaving another serving door into a vaulted mezzanine near the main entrance to the palace.
A horrible thought was entering Spitfire's mind. If the shield was breaking, they were just leading these poor ponies into the streets where they could be picked off by the small flying beasts that were waiting to enter. They had to get the guests under cover where the changeling fliers wouldn't have an advantage.
She tried to shout to the guards at bottom of the staircases, but her voice was lost in the clamor of the crowd. She took to her wings and flew to the ground floor, but didn't have time to speak. A thundering, screeching wave of sound and scintillating wild magic swept over them as the protections around the capitol city shattered. Endless swarms of changelings darkened the sky as they entered the city from every direction.
“Get them indoors! We’ll try to give you more time!” Spitfire galloped past the guards as she yelled to them with Soarin close behind.
Spitfire cursed her choice of a civilian gown rather than her class-A’s for the occasion. She could fly in just about any garment other than the voluminous concoction wrapped around her. Trying to maneuver in it would be like flying strapped to a tent. She kicked at her dress, and tried to mouth open the clasps around her neck before turning back to Soarin, exasperated.
“Quick, yank this thing off me!”
Soarin’s eyes slowly widened, and his mouth opened and closed wordlessly.
“Sweet Celestia, Soarin, try to focus!”
The blue stallion shook his head roughly to clear the embarrassed heat from his cheeks before grabbing the mare’s garment in his teeth and starting to clear it from her.
He’d barely begun to tug when Spitfire pulled away from him without so much as a glance backward, tearing the dress mostly off. Her eyes were already locked on the changelings buzzing overhead. Spitfire's hooves met Canterlot’s cobblestones for half a gallop before a firm pull of her wings bore her airborne.
Spitfire heard a few sharp hoofbeats behind her, and was pleased to see Soarin quickly gain on her and assume their partial formation. They fell into a lopsided V with Soarin slightly behind and to the side. The rest of the 'bolts were still in Cloudsdale, and Spitfire could feel their absence in the air.
The pair sped mere feet above the stone roadway. She couldn't help but be glad that Soarin had agreed to come to the wedding with her. Especially now, she was happy to have at least one of her team. And happy it was Soarin. He was as ungainly as a half-grown colt on the ground, but in the air he was pure grace and confidence. A smile snuck past her stony facade and she signaled ascent with a forehoof.
“Let’s try to get their attention!”
Her legs tucked in close, and her wings climbed the air above the city with practiced, powerful ease. High towers thrust toward the sky, forming a forest of cliffs through which Spitfire wove effortlessly. Her body was a barely a burden to the wings she had spent most of her life using, strengthening, and loving. The air moved with her like family, supporting and guiding her like a second sense of touch.
When her wings were spread, she could feel every eddy of air around her. Warmth, movement, moisture, all mixed to produce a million different flavors and qualities. She could tell instantly how her weight would feel on any type of air, and how she had to move to stay in control. She knew how it would behave when she cut through it, or when it blew against these towers. Wind that hit the buildings was thrust upward in a rising column that was pressurized by the flow, and would act like a spring as she neared one. She dipped one wing into the vertical gust. The wind urged one of her wings up, and she accepted. Rolling away from the tower, momentum turned her onto her back before spilling her right-side-up into the calm air away from the building's sun-warmed face.
Soarin followed closely, watching every twitch of Spitfire’s wings and body so that he could precisely copy her movements. He fell into her rhythm with the well-worn comfort of long training. They left spare inches between their wingtips and the buildings around them. Spitfire entered the shadow of the palace tower, and they dropped like stones in the cold air. Soarin watched her turn the plummet into a hard, steep, rapid dive below a jutting archway between two spires.
The melee below them droned and crashed as ponies screamed, fled, and fought. Now that Spitfire could see the changeling soldiers, she was almost unimpressed. They were on the small side, the size of a young-adult pony, and quite thin. They were covered in a thick insect-like chitin and had green multifaceted eyes. The eyes, and wings were their weak points, then. Maybe a powerful buck could break their chitin, though. Guard pegasi learned some tricks that could cave in a steel peytral and the chest beneath it. Spitfire knew she was rusty, but there was only one way to find out exactly how much. As they banked wide around a few skirmishes, she saw that several dark creatures had noticed them and broken off from the ground. Green bolts of bile-green magic slashed at the sky around them as the changelings took up pursuit.
There was no time to plan his own movements. Any hesitation or misstep would send him full-speed into a building or the ground. He barely had time to feel his stomach drop when they peaked in a climb, or the blood rush to his hooves when they banked hard and tight with their backs toward the ponymade cliff beside them. He could only fall in the denser air like she did, and watch for the slight control movements he needed to copy to stay with her at the careening speed she had set.
Bent wingtips toward the tertail. Secondaries lifting. Match her angle at the mirror. Extend again.
No words, no feeling, no time, just flight. His wings were her wings, just as they had practiced. There was no other way to fly this close this fast, and the changelings pursuing them were feeling it. The beasts’ dark magic was fired wide, and they fell behind as they missed.
Soarin saw one of the creatures appear high on their flank, trying to outmaneuver them in the towers. Spitfire reacted before he could shout to her about it, and he followed her maneuver. The ponies banked rapidly up and around a high stone steeple, cutting off the lone diving changeling as they looped the steeple's base. The thing couldn't bleed off the desperate speed it had built up in its plummet, and crunched into the tower. Clay tile rained onto the streets below, and Soarin saw the changeling fall limply off the steep roof before it passed out of sight.
He cursed when he looked back at their pursuers. The other changelings had used their evasion to gain distance. The creatures didn't react to one of their own dying, and they flew like it was all part of some larger plan. The Wonderbolts had worked their entire lives to gain the coordination and teamwork that made the team famous, but these changelings flew with as much synchronization as Soarin had ever seen.
Spitfire searched the ground and the air for some clue. There must be some safe place to direct survivors. There had to be a hole in the changeling assault, but she could find none. Their pattern of attack looked perfect. They came from every direction right after creating a distraction right in the center of the city's strength. Why were they attacking openly when they could change their shape and appearance? It had to be about the palace, somehow, but they couldn't help there. Not when Celestia couldn't stand up to this threat. The ponies below them were embroiled in crushing melee. Guards tried desperately to rally groups of fleeing and panicked ponies away from attackers that changed their appearance to that of the innocent guards and citizens around them. It was chaos, and the real guards were disorganized and outnumbered.
There was always Rainbow Dash and her friends. They were at the wedding, but hadn't fled with the other civilians. They may have a plan, but Spitfire couldn't imagine them fighting anything that had defeated Celestia so quickly. So much was unprepared. The kingdom's greatest weapon was in the hands of a group of untrained civilians, and spies had undermined their security at every level. She half-glanced back at Soarin, trying to keep him from noticing the uncertainty she felt. He looked ready, and confident. They would give the guard time to rally, and maybe Dash and that bookworm friend of hers would be able to survive what was happening at the palace long enough to respond. Until then, they had work to do.
Attacking the changelings on the ground was likely to get the two pegasi stuck in and flanked, but there were plenty of invaders in the air.
Ahead, a group of small specks were moving toward them at full speed. Changelings that hadn’t yet reached the mayhem below. Between them, a sprawling stick-built manor burned like a beacon fire, sending upward a vast column of hot air. Perfect.
Spitfire’s wings canted downward, and she pushed herself into a shallow dive aimed far below her targets. The black specks grew rapidly larger as they wheeled to intercept her, moving with the strange unconscious synergy of a swarm. Together their speed brought the changelings nearly on top of the pegasi.
She braced herself. Closer, ash and grime from the fire rushed around her bringing water to her eyes. She faced the hot wind, smiling. Half a second now. The changelings steepened their dive, eager to catch the ponies from above. They wouldn’t see her coming. Spitfire folded her wings abruptly and shot at them like an arrow.
She couldn’t tell if the joyous cry she loosed was only in her head. The wind was too loud to tell, but she didn’t care. Her wings clutched tight and she made herself into a spring as she neared the changelings, then bucked hard with her hindlegs forward as momentum carried her crashing into their midst. Two, three bodies glanced, crunched, and pelted at her before she had soared through the mob like a projectile.
Spitfire unfurled her wings again and gave the air brutal, twisting flaps to regain her speed and move up from the changelings that were surely on her tail. Her powerful body was built for this, and she climbed in a tight spiral along the remnants of the fire-fueled updraft.
It had worked! Now she could harass the changelings from behind, maybe distract them from the city below. She spared a glance for Soarin, and saw only the changelings pursuing her. Nothing.
A flash of blue mane against the cityscape caught her eye, and she released the strained breath she’d been holding. An edge of panic returned when she saw him limping on a wing. He flew with his body twisted painfully to one side to compensate for uneven lift. Soarin was injured, but still managed to slowly climb away from the changelings. Some of the creatures had already turned to pursue their newly weakened quarry.
The bright yellow Pegasus gritted her teeth and steeled herself against hyperventilating. Guilt, shame, and wrenching bile-tinged fear were pushed down again as Spitfire banked toward Soarin. This wasn’t her fault. Why couldn’t he keep up? There were just too many changelings. I have to reach him. The wounded Pegasus was working with all his might to get away, but he couldn’t land. Ponies were being rounded up everywhere on the ground.
Spitfire caught up to the stallion quickly, but had to slow down to stay with him. Changelings were coming from every angle. They needed a new plan.
“Soarin, take my hoof. We have to climb!”
“Cloud… Cloudsdale. Somepony has to warn them.” His eyes were narrowed in exertion. She couldn’t tell if the lather on his face was sweat or tears. No time.
She inverted at his side as she neared him, and fell past him until she could catch his forehoofs in the crooks of her own. They angled themselves so that she could help him lift. They gained altitude, harder, faster than she had ever pulled another pony before. Her fear for Soarin was worse than the burning in her muscles. There was no way she could rest, not until they’d found help.
The air cooled. The panting breath of the two ponies misted and disappeared in the cloudless wind around them. Higher.
Spreading bruises and cuts darkened Soarin’s coat. His eyes had been closed for long moments before she realized he was no longer helping her flap. Spitfire held him tight, and pressed his muzzle to her ear. She could barely hear his wheezing breath, and his chest moved raggedly. She had to get him out of this, she was supposed to be the leader, the veteran. They had to be above the changelings now.
Spitfire’s eyes scanned quickly, turning in the air as she held Soarin tightly with her forelegs. A flash of movement winked across the sun’s distant face. She nearly laughed in relief as she imagined a guard Pegasus, or anypony else who could help them escape, until the shape resolved into three black buglike changelings already above them. They'd been outmaneuvered. These creatures knew her moves as soon as she did them, and the hive responded all at once, from everywhere. Her tears froze in the thin air.
Altitude was her last play. Long-honed conditioning was her last weapon. She kept working through the exhaustion, and threw a buck at the vile creatures as they slammed bodily into the pair. She shrugged off burning magic and blows, until one of the changelings caught her with a hard diving tackle, sending Soarin tumbling out of her reach.
It scrambled and beat at her. It was all she could do to keep her wings desperately moving as her hooves crept between her body and the changeling’s limbs to push the creature’s toothy snout upward and away. Her hooves slipped past the changeling’s face, allowing it to readjust past her shoulder onto her side, where Spitfire could no longer turn to struggle against her attacker.
A single green eye, hateful and frenzied, filled her vision as the changeling clamped itself closer to her and bit deep, its horn releasing waves of sickly magic as the creature crawled its way onto her chest. The dark thing’s hind legs wrapped around her flanks to avoid her frantically thrown bucks. Her forelegs were twisted up against her shoulders and pinned by the changelings own forelimbs, useless.
The athletic strength she normally commanded left her. Despair wormed its way into the flesh of her muscles like a sludge. Everything that left Spitfire made the changeling's grip tighten as she felt her fear, anger, and pain drain out of her. Cold panic and changeling magic seeping from the creature’s horn made her mind feel slow and muddy. Enough consciousness remained for her to feel the sinking grip of earth overcome them.The air stilled for a moment before they began to fall.
Their melee broke into a spin, out of control, but she saw Soarin dropping below them. She couldn't see his face, just that cobalt blue mane, fluttering as he fell. Sometimes Soarin infuriated her, and sometimes he made her happy. Mostly, though, when they were flying together, her mind was clear and calm. She felt her breath again, and the sensation in her hooves and wings started to return.
He needed her. She didn’t have the luxury of giving up.
The changeling squealed in surprise as it's meal of fear dried up. The creature squealed again when Spitfire’s hoof was crammed into its mouth, forcing open its vice-like jaws, and turning it's snout away from the mare’s neck.
“You think you can come into my sky?” The pony growled the words, uncertain and uncaring if the changeling understood her. She was barely aware of the creature. Instead, a spark had begun to form in the center of her chest as though the air and the sunlight were warming her from within.
Green eyes widened as the fear and doubt the changeling had been hungrily feasting upon evaporated. Spitfire’s hoof pushed harder as she extended her wings behind them straight out, stabilizing their spin.
The creature grabbed Spitfire’s forehooves, desperately trying to pry her hoof out of its mouth. She felt blood seeping from her fetlock and leg as the changeling struggled and bit at her hoof, but only pressed harder on the thing's face. Her wings begin to work again, accelerating them steeply downward.
She felt every twitch of her feathers. She could feel the air buoying her against the sinking grip of the earth, and she merely needed to release it to accelerate. Her wings moved vast clouds of air, and thrust the changeling downward with her. She kept the creature close and in front of her. She knew she would need the padding.
“You think you got what it takes to be an elite flier?” Her voice was clearer now, and calm. It rang through the rushing air perfectly, and the changeling understood. It began to screech in mindless terror.
The wind rushed with them, pushed them faster as though the wind flew with them. Her wings felt weightless. She felt weightless. The burning soreness was gone, and all she could feel was fast.
“Let me be the first to tell you… You don’t!”
Buffeting, rippling rushes of air blasted at them in rapidfire succession, but she continued to push. The moment was alive, the ground far below. Changelings appeared to float still around her, watching, disbelieving, and left in an instant in her wake. The changeling that tackled her squirmed and kicked at the strength of his former meal, finally feeling the very same desperate fear it fed upon.
Changelings could not do what she did. They were merely intruders in the sky. The air was her blood, she could feel it coursing within her propelled by hammering heartbeats of transonic turbulence.
A final crunching wave broke against the changeling as she released it. The creature's maw scraped against her leg as it was brushed away from her in the torrent of air rushing around them, and Spitfire felt the full force of her velocity. The ground hurtled toward her, appearing to compress itself into a ball in the center of her vision as she opened her wings and viciously strained to pull their leading edges upward. She felt painful pressure in her legs as blood pooled there. For a moment, her vision began to speckle and fade until her training took over. Harsh stacatto bursts of breath filled her lungs with pressurized air. She tensed and released her leg muscles, and skirted the edge of consciousness. Her wings cracked against the atmosphere, and every muscle strained to level her out, until she found herself speeding parallel to the ground once again toward her goal.
Soarin involuntarily grunts as he is caught.
Nurses and orderlies had made short work of her small cuts and bruises, but still insisted on staying near her and Soarin. Every time she brushed them off, two more seemed to crop up to fawn over her. Normally she didn't mind fans, but she didn't want to feel like a show-pony. Not with Soarin still unconscious, and not in a tent-hospital in what was a sports field a few hours ago.
The remnants of Spitfire's gown were stubbornly refusing to tear off neatly since some pieces had been burned or melted into her matted coat by fire or magic. To add insult to her injuries, the changelings spat a green goo that quickly congealed in air, and it had effectively cemented the last of the dress to her, not to mention plugging up one of hear ears completely. She'd managed to find a pair of blunt-nosed but sharp bandage scissors and some clean water when Soarin stirred.
Purple light scintillating around the sky-blue stallion faded as the young unicorn next to him released her healing magic. Spitfire forgot everything other than maintaining her composure as Soarin's turquoise eyes turned to her, still bleary from shock and concussion.
“The changelings? Captain, where…” The stallion starts to get to his hooves, stopping himself out of soreness as a concerned orderly rushes over.
“It’s alright Soar, the city’s been cleared. The princesses are safe, all of them." She paused to look at the darkening sky beyond a flap of the infirmary tent.
"The changeling queen was the only one in the city before the shield went down, apparently. She'd replaced the lesser princess that was marrying Shining Armor. All to take down the shield, and catch us off-guard."
Soarin didn't speak at first, but instead looked at the skyline with her. "So, how long was I out? It's already night."
"Half the day." Spitfire's voice quivered for only a moment. She hurried on and walked closer to the bed, hoping that Soarin hadn't noticed. "It's been mostly a mop-up operation. The princess that got replaced showed up to crash the wedding, that's what started this whole thing. It could've been much worse. We'll have to talk to the guard about improving their intelligence on this Queen Chrysallis. From what I heard, she was allowed to escape unharmed."
She was nearly losing it. Soarin had almost died, on her watch. Pegasi are durable, but a fall from that distance, just due to her recklessness, could have easily killed her teammate. Now that the fighting was over and her adrenaline had faded, she'd been struggling with her mental state. The moment Soarin woke, everything hit her with full force.
But she would never forget her military training again. When emotions ambush, you have to advance.
"I think it was some kind of weaponized magic that routed the changelings. Probably Rainbow Dash and those other fillies."
She carefully adopted her parade ground poker-face. "The guards that were there told me that some kind of love explosion defeated the invaders."
Soarin started up a smile, and chuckled. She joined his laughter, and risked putting a supportive hoof up on the cot. She was met with silence.
The mare looked down, a shadow of concern on her face.
She began an apology for her recklessness, but saw the stallion already stretched out and sleeping, and let him be.