At the edges of Equestria, the land cracks and falls away. Ravines rend apart the earth, open wounds upon a landscape long ago lost to the kingdoms of Celestia. If these ravines do indeed end, then no pony has ever had the misfortune of seeing the bottom. It’s said that they are where all the unknown terrors may be found, where the sun does not reach. Though no pony has yet come back to confirm the stories.
And where the earth does not fall away, it rises into the sky. Mountains that pierce the heavens, and taint them with the corrupted lands they lay upon. Within them, caves with a darkness no light can dispel, and a dread that drives away all that wish to explore there. In some places, volcanoes bubble and boil, spewing hot magma upon what little flatland there is. Lakes of lava fill the space between peaks. It is there the dragons make their home.
This is the Edgelands, the home of the monsters, and great beasts. The manticores and timberwolves that terrorize the Everfree are but helpless prey among the ravines. The ground itself shakes and ruptures, swallowing helpless creatures into the earth, or at least what remains of the prey once the massive worms and dragons come upon them. Beasts of the air blot out the sun above before snatching their quarry away, taking those caught to the peaks to be devoured. The Edgelands, where it is truly survival of the fittest.
This is how the one society of the Edgelands clung to life. Creatures of deception, of swiftness, of cunning. In the deepest cave of the tallest peak they hid, awaiting the time where they would have their chance to return to Equestria, and rule as they'd always deserved.
Each was blessed with four hooves so that they could march, then so they could run. Two gossamer wings for when they could inevitably run no more. A perforation of holes along their legs so that the air would not slow them. Jagged horns atop their heads, and sharpened fangs within their maws. The magic of a hundred united so no foe would stand to them, and the tools to tear apart the fools who did. Ears tuned to hear hoofsteps across any expanse, muzzles sharp enough to smell their foes on the softest breeze. And finally, cold, soulless eyes to capture the world.
Behind those eyes, and deep in those caves, lay their twin homes. The physical place, the labyrinth of tunnels in the darkest of places, and the shared mind and memories of each and every brother and sister. The hive of the changelings. The mind of the changelings. Together, the one true home of the changelings.
They were perhaps the closest thing to a truly equal society in Equestria, save of course their beloved queen. It was among the first things all changelings knew by heart. "All changelings love the queen, and likewise, the queen loves all changelings. She loves you all as one and the same, for you are all her children, and she will always nourish you, and protect you, as her children. She is your queen, Chrysalis, the beautiful, the mastermind, the warleader, the caretaker. Always will she be there for you, and always must you be there for her."
All changelings believed this and knew it to be true. For centuries Chrysalis had been one of the few immortal beings in Equestria, along with the sisters of the sun and the moon, and the god of Chaos. And while the others all wielded much greater power, the changelings knew that under her guidance, Chrysalis would make them greater than anything that came before. They would be her shining light of justice, her warriors of the night, her chaotic fury in battle, and in the end, they would all rule. As one mind, and one people.
Though, there was one changeling who did not consider himself like all the others. His heart more than any other beat furiously for his queen, his mind thought only of her, and his soul knew what must be right. He knew he would be the greatest for her, a warrior for her, an absolutely lovestruck fool for her. This is what he believed, and though he was, perhaps, a hopeless romantic, he would prove valiant. He would prove brave. And though he was only a drone, with the same hooves, ears, fangs, eyes, and memories as every other around him, he would one day become known as the Jester of the Queen. Though, that comes later.
For now, we introduce him as Metamorph, formerly a forward scout of the former changeling army, now a gatherer of resources needed for survival. It was true, most any changeling had the speed and subtlety required for the task, but he had been the first to volunteer, and so he was chosen. Meta, as most called him simply for the practicality of a shorter name, never wished to be the first into battle, deep behind the enemy lines praying his disguise should not fail. Nor was it, as with most changelings, simply because the queen required volunteers. It was because Chrysalis had wanted volunteers, so by hell or high water he would be the greatest scout in the army, or now, the greatest gatherer in the hive.
One day that is what he would be, but for now we greet him on a relatively standard gathering mission out by the ravines. Meta had led the run successfully enough times, and though they were to grab one or two extra things this time, it seemed to all be going as planned. His usual partner, Mirror, was low to the ground, searching for anything edible to tide over those back the hive. Changelings had always preferred to sustain on love, but unfortunately the Edgelands were in rather short supply. Three more drones were scattered near the edges of the ravine, Void, Shift, and Omega, each peering over the edge of the abyss to see if anything could be found on the cliff face.
Then, the earth began to shake, the ground quaking beneath their hooves. Shift lost his balance, flapping wildly as he teetered over the edge before settling into a shaky hover. Something seemed to rupture the earth as it moved, making a rapid path towards the group of drones. Each one took flight in panic, attempting to distance themselves from the ground, bringing themselves to a point where they felt safe. It moved, faster. It came below them. It stopped.
For a moment, they were calm. Then, rumbles, again. No longer moving along the ground, not going toeards them, but rumbling, still, growing fainter and fainter. The changelings breathed a collective sigh of relief, save Void. The others started to drift back towards their task, but Void remained dead silent. He swung his hoof across the air, signalling for absolute silence. The rumbling wasn’t fading away anymore. It was getting louder, rapidly. The shaking of the earth was intensifying, the rumbling becoming a deafening roar, as if it was moving straight towards them. Realization hit.
“SCATTER!”
"Notgoodnotgoodnotgoodnotgoodnotgood!" Indeed, at the moment, things were not going too greatly for Meta. Everything had been going so well, until it wasn't. Chrysalis had told them that additional materials were required to reinforce some of the weaker tunnels in the hive, unfortunately most commonly found near the cliffs where the worms were known to live. At this time of day, they should've been asleep.
The breaking of the earth and the massive, slimy, deep violet worm shooting into the air however signaled that at least one of them was most certainly awake. It was easily the size of the entire scouting party combined and multiplied many times over, and thus large enough to easily swallow any of them whole. It’s maw opened up like a deadly blossom, four petals lined with row after row of fangs, each one the size of a changeling’s head. It reached the apex of it’s leap, it’s jaws barely missing Void as his focus finally shifted from listening to flying for his life. The worm’s entrance sent clouds of dirt and massive stones flying into the air, forcing the group to frantically dodge the debris.
"Damn it Meta! Stop panicking and tell us what to do!" Mirror, one of the more experienced scouts, yelled at Meta as she quickly dodged a shard of earth, snapping him out of his state of panic. Yes, the worm should have been asleep, but apparently he wanted a midnight snack. Which was, as he'd succinctly informed everyone, not good. Now to think of an actual plan.
"Well, what do you think we do! Fly! Flee! Faster!" A good a plan as any. He aggressively gestured in the general direction they had came from as the worm took another leap, and Meta snapped a leg upwards to keep it from the beast’s jaws. "We should have enough minerals anyhow! I can distract the worm!"
"But-" He had already delivered a swift and entirely ineffective kick to the worm, annoying the beast enough to bring it after him as he flew towards the cliff. Making for the hive was no option, he had to lose it or risk leading it home "...Bloody idiot," Mirror lamented before flying up in a quick spiral, taking a place above the rest of the party. "You all heard the numbskull! Full retreat!”
Looking back, Metamorph was greeted by the pleasant sight of his party following their orders and fleeing to safety, as well as the very unpleasant sight of a large open gullet frequently breaking the earth and seeming to be gaining on him rapidly. Levelling his horn to the worm, Meta let loose a blast of magical energy, the bright flash of green harmlessly dissipating against the creature’s hide. If he could only make it to the cliffs edge, he might be safe... The crevasse was far too wide to leap, and the time to go under it would leave ample room for escape. He only had to outrun it a little while longer.
*SNAP*
The worm's maw closed again, a spray of slime and spittle coming off it, close enough for Meta to feel the ooze running off his exoskeleton. Panic overtook Meta as certain death got closer and closer. His wings began to burn with every stroke as he went further, moving faster and flying harder than he ever had before. The feeling quickly spread throughout the drones body, lungs leaving for every breath, heart beating so hard he could feel it ringing through his skull. The cliffs edge only a few dozen yards off, so close...
*SNAP*
The worm was faster than him, clearly, much faster, and what little lead Meta gained from the earlier kick had quickly run out. Every muscle strained to work just a bit harder, propel a little faster to safety, so tantalizingly close. He swore he felt something close around his leg this time, before quickly losing grip. More spittle coated his legs and wings, though the beast only got it's lips on him. Next time it'd be the teeth. A few more flaps and he'd be free.
*RRRAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH*
Meta was deafened by a mighty roar, the beast rearing up and opening it's maw wide to scream in frustration as the changeling made it to relative safety. He'd definitely need a good shower later, but on the bright side, relative safety. Lazily, he hovered over the middle of the crevasse while he caught his breath, knowing that he was all but unreachable there. Meta took the time to appraise his situation. The worm should no longer be a threat so long as he didn’t take too long getting back home, and he was far enough over the crevasse that it was unlikely to reach him. Hopefully his team was already most of the way there as per his order to flee, though he wouldn’t count out Drift trying something stupid. There wasn’t anything Meta could do about that now though, so he took his time beginning to float to the other side of the gorge.
The burning feeling that had spread over his entire body intensified to a point of absolute searing pain. What he had thought was only strain in his muscles was escalating, quickly, to the point where he could barely stand it. His wings felt weaker, the beats barely seeming to keep him aloft. Meta looked back at his formerly beautiful appendages, and discovered that they almost seemed to be melting away, holes forming like moths eating at cloth, more and more air passing through them. He beat faster, harder, desperately attempting to make the other side of the gorge, but too much damage had been done.
From that day forward, scouts were forewarned of the great worm's acidic spit. It was not strong enough to burn through a changelings tough exoskeleton, but it could eat through one's more delicate wings in under a minute, If one were to be caught too high up after being coated, say, above a particularly deep crevasse, oneself could quickly find themselves plummeting towards the earth, mouth agape in an unheard scream as they let out their last breath.
Meta fought for every beat of his deteriorating wings, almost blacking out at the intense pain coursing through him. The edges of his vision blurred and faded away as consciousness started to drift away, every moment making the safety of the far edge seem further, hazier. The adrenaline pumping through him felt so weak, his muscles were like jelly. Aloud, he continually intoned to himself.
“Have to… I have to make it… have to make it… serve… keep serving… have to…” His words faded away with his last shred of consciousness, and Metamorph dropped into the abyss.
-End of Chapter 1
