Xenophobia

Chapter 14

*The Battle of Canterlot; Intermission*

“Lieutenant! We’ve got incoming!”

“Hold the line! Hold the line, dammit!”

Colored flame lanced back and forth, searing sky and eye and flesh. The swarm was coming, and what was left of the Royal Guard had its hooves full.

Sergeant Sun Flare galloped away from his squad on the front line, singed wing hanging limp at his side, and burst into the small tent thrown together under the Canterlot Memorial Hospital. “One of their scouts got away! The swarm will be here any minute!”

Commanding Officer of the Night Guard, Daemon Moonfire—a horned thestral spawned under the full moon by a unicorn and serpent—rose to his hooves. With the capture of Captain Armor, “Luna’s Favored Daemon” was the only officer qualified to lead the scattered Canterlot Guard. Yellow, slitted eyes flickered open, and the Captain simply stared, tufted ears twitching. Sgt. Flare sat, breathing heavily just inside the flap, waiting.

Softly, like a light breeze under the moonlight, the Captain spoke:

“You are injured, Sergeant.”

Flare blinked, frowning. “Just… Just a flesh wound, Sir.”

The Daemon’s nostrils flared. “I can smell it.”

The burnt pegasus shuddered and took a step back, ignoring the stinging pain in his wing. “What are your orders, Sir?” Moonfire stood, midnight-blue aura flaring in the darkened tent, and a blackened, jagged sickle erupted from the ether, floating at the officer’s side.

“Pull back to the hospital,” the thestral lilted, inserting a pair of special darkened lenses over his ultra-sensitive eyes. “The civilians must be protected at all costs. Set traps on the main doors and windows, and station ponies—”

Buzzing filled the air, cutting the Daemon off mid sentence, and the two soldiers quickly rushed out into the daylight. Another Changeling patrol had spotted the small operations tent, and a mass of over ten drones quickly descended upon the two Equestrians.

“Let none escape.”

Magic flared, and Moonfire’s sickle lopped one of the charging bugs in half, top half writhing madly in the air before landing with a wet crunch. The sergeant leapt into the fray alongside his superior, bucking and slashing with the short-sword in his muzzle whenever he got the chance… until they changed.

Flashes of green mana erupted all around, and suddenly he was fighting himself; and the Daemon; and himself. Copies fought all around as one mass, some still flitting through the air above on perfect replicas of Flare’s injured wing.

He was so concentrated on picking out his own clones to kill that he didn’t notice the unnatural roaring, and only realized they had company when the first of the flying clones exploded in a shower of feathers and green fluid.

Clones left and right shrieked and chattered in the changeling language as a monstrosity of metal and clattering explosions topped the hill to the east, speeding into the fray between the farmer’s market and Luna’s wing of the hospital. Streaks of light and sound flew in an endless fountain from what appeared to be a small cannon on its back manned by two stallions—one deep green; the other, cheerful yellow—peppering the soldiers above and stealing limbs, wings and heads in a shower of changeling blood.

The machine skid to a halt not five yards away, and two tall—impossibly tall—creatures emerged from the vehicle’s sides, extra metal appendages blazing. Dodging a flash of changeling balefire from a copy of his commanding officer, Sgt. Flare remembered the briefing he and his squad received two days ago.

“… creatures are considered extremely dangerous. Neither threaten them, nor stand in their way, for the sake of yourselves and the Elements of Harmony, whom the ‘humans’ are tasked to protect…”

Flare bucked the Daemon copy in the face, stabbing his sword into the creature’s heaving chest, when he felt something nip him in the flank; fiery pain lanced down his left hind-leg and it took everything he had to keep from collapsing.

“Red,” rumbled a new voice—the taller human stood above him, now.

“Green!” shouted another, raspier voice, and Flare heard a changeling shriek in agony several yards away.

Flaming hail pinged against a charging Sun Flare, spraying blood but doing little to slow it down. “Green,” the tall human—still standing over the Flare as he struggled to pull out his sword—grumbled, and another gout of weapon’s fire ripped the changeling apart.

“Green.”

“Green!”

“Red!”

“Green.”

And then there was silence…

“What’re you at?” shouted the further human as it stooped down to lift up Moonfire—the real one from the looks of him—who seemed to have succumbed to the humans’ weaponry in much the same way Flare had.

“Twelve,” growled the taller human, moving away toward the metal vehicle where the two stallions from before stood waiting.

“Bullshit! You’re counting Chuckle’s kills!”

“I’m really, very uncomfortable with this!” the yellow stallion shouted back from the vehicle. “Cymbal’s the one who pulls the trigger; not me!”

“Y'know, for a comedian you're one hell of a downer, Chucks.” Suddenly, a pair of slate, grey eyes appeared in front of him, and Flare flinched back. “S’yer name soldier?”

“S-Sergeant Sun Flare, Sir.”

“Don’t ‘Sir’ me, asshole,” the human chuckled, sitting back on his heels and giving the sergeant an appraising look. He had a very narrow jaw-line, and what little fur he had was singed and melted in patches across is skull… and—was that an ear?—one of its ears was half torn off. “I need you to do me a favor.”

Flare nodded, glancing toward the other human, who appeared to be lifting small fillies and colts of all shapes, sizes and colors out from under a tarp in the back of their vehicle. The green stallion, using magic, pulled a purple earth mare out as well, draping her over his back.

“Take the children inside the hospital—I’m assuming that’s your refugee center, right?” The sergeant nodded again. “Good. Take tem inside and keep ‘em safe.” The human slipped a glass and metal tablet from his jacket, and Flare heard a soft beeping. “Just out of curiosity, what’s that huge building overlooking the entertainment district that’away?” he asked, pointing east.

“The Armory,” lilted Moonfire. The Daemon had limped over without either of them noticing, and was seated right behind the human. “That is where you will find the mares you seek.”

“The Elements are secondary,” the human said, turning to the Daemon. “You in charge around here?”

“Yes. I am Moonfire, Daemon of the Night Guard.”

“Fine, whatever. I’m gonna need you to take this.” He pulled a small, boxy object from his suit-jacket and handed it to Moonfire. “If you see the Elements, push the red button and call for us. Push to talk, release to listen, got it?”

“And where do you plan to go?” the Daemon asked, tucking the communication device into his chest-plate. “The swarm will arrive here any minute, and the remainder of the guard will be routed. This gift will be of little use when we’re all dead.”

The human smiled cruelly, turning to his companion who was still busy escorting the foals into the hospital. “I fucking told you they would come this way!” Turning back to the Daemon, he spoke again, snorting. “Don’t worry about that. They’ll be too busy chasing after us to worry about you guys.”

“And what makes you so sure of that?” Flare asked, incredulous.

“Because my name’s Jer,” the human chuckled, standing. He raised his weapon to the sky, resting it on his shoulder, “And I’m the mother-fucking ‘Love Machine’."

Tranquility.

Quietude.

How Discord hated it.

The impatient draconequus watched his reflection change—flickering and wobbling like a withdrawn druggie in need of a fix—in the sparkling Canterlot waterfall. His whole body itched; burned to release something—anything!—chaotic. It was killing him, it was, and the faint sounds of pain and death above did little to lighten his mood.

Canterlot had fallen, and that was good. The Changeling Queen must have taken Discord’s advice and ordered her soldiers in the old ways of shape-shifting kind—how he made them… but that didn’t help the damned itching. Not in the slightest.

“Ordersss, My Lord?” rasped a changeling—a lieutenant, apparently—as it waited at the edge of the Canterlot catacombs for its new master to move; blink; make a sign that he was still alive.

Discord raised an arm, snapping his claws and turning the waterfall into a stream of semi-liquid stone, shattering the relative silence with the sound of crashing rock and grinding mineral. The itching didn’t stop.

“Come ON, Dizzy! Nopony will find you beneath the castle like this! Just let loose a little bit…”

No. The seeds must be sown. Only then could chaos be reaped.

“Hehe…” Discord smiled wonkily to himself, “Agriculture metaphors are the best…”

Changelings—an entire platoon, as Chrysalis promised him—buzzed agitatedly from the darkness behind him, and Discord snorted. He certainly had plenty of witnesses that to testify against him should Celestia catch wind of any extra chaos around the city… too bad none would ever get the chance to do so.

Snapping his claws once more and appearing right next to the changeling lieutenant, Discord wrapped his lion’s paw around it in a big, companionable hug. “Do you see that wonderfully wild forest down there?” He felt the changeling nod. “Hide at its fringes and wait until nightfall. We’ve got harvesting to do.”