Kildeez and Sifty's Shameless Self-Insert Adventures in Equestria!

Chapters

Entry I: The Champion's End, by Sifty
Entry II: Champion's Return (that was fast), by Sifty
Entry III: Back in Action! By Sifty
Entry IV: The Changeling-Born, by Kildeez
Entry V: Skyrim? Skyrim. By Siftstone.
Entry VI: Holy S#!ts All Around, by Sifty
Entry VII: The Chapter Where The Main Antagonist Shows Up, by Kildeez
Entry VIII: More Monstrosities, by Sifty
Entry IX: If You Don't Know What The Tigger Song Is, You Lived A Deprived Childhood, by Kildeez
Entry X: The Champion's Fall, by Siftstone
Entry XI: The AoT Theme Really Does Go With Everything, by Kildeez
Entry XII: Old Friends, by Siftstone
Entry XIII: Many Happy Returns, by Siftstone
Entry XIV: The Angel and The Magician, by Siftstone
Entry XV: Two Weeks Earlier, by Kildeez
Entry XVI: Ranting and Exposition, by Kildeez
Entry XVII: The Boys Are Back In Town, by Kildeez
Entry XVIII: The Badass And The Fuzzy Hellspawn, by Siftstone
Entry XIX: Country Livin' Is The Best Kinda Livin', by Siftstone
Entry XX: Sexposition by Kildeez
Entry XXI: Leave It To Cypher, Part I by Kildeez
Entry XXII: Leave It To Cypher, Part II by Kildeez
Entry XXIII: The Camps, by Siftstone
Entry XXIV: Freakin' Spiders, Man by Kildeez
Entry XXV: Rescue, and A New Mission! Against Turrurists! By Kildeez
Entry XXVI: The Cave, by Kildeez

Entry I: The Champion's End, by Sifty

I leave this as a declaration of intent.

My use in this world has bled out. The Nightmares have moved on, to terrorize some other world- which, I don't quite know, nor do I quite care. The girls have moved on, as well. Twi's status as a princess means her magic is powerful enough to obliterate whatever threatens her friends or her town. The Elements of Harmony have their power boosted; not even Nightmares could effect them, if the bastards were still around. Rarity, Applejack and Pinkie Pie have recently been booming with business. Since Twilight still lives in Ponyville, there are a lot more visitors to town from all over, and the tourists are all over the businesses. Last I've seen, Rarity was literally rolling in coin.

Rainbow Dash has been at the Academy almost every day. Her work on the weather crew is barely necessary, as she's quickly escalating the ranks, and getting her own squads to command. Fluttershy's unique ability to talk to animals was recognized by the Ponyville veterinarian, and- with Rainbow's encouragement- Fluttershy was hired on to work with him. They've been so busy and so happy, and with no more attacks on town... They didn't need me anymore.

I am done in this world- For a time. Celestia has answered a request I personally put in recently- to let me go through the tear in the dimensional veil south of Equestria, near the very "bottom edge" of the Known World. From what Celestia tells me, the world on the other side is called "Thedas"- And it needs a hero.

I know of Thedas. It was currently in year nine-hundred-thirty. The Dragon Age. Celestia tried to explain what the world was and why I would be sent there, but she couldn't get a word in- I knew more than she did. The official story is that, once I cross the Breach, what I do from then on is entirely my choice- And I choose to become a Grey Warden, one of the guardians of Thedas against a disgusting horde of monstrosities known as the Darkspawn. I haven't enough room on this paper to fully explain, for I must finish what I have to say. I am to fight in Thedas until Celestia needs me again- and I am positive that she will not. The girls and I have not talked for two months, and on the many occasions that I have tried to contact them, I was ignored, time and time again.

They don't care enough to say goodbye. They may have forgotten me. Better for them- I was a bloody smear in this world. The most violent creature alive. It would be best that my legacy is not carried on, for when they have their own children, they needn't hear of the exploits of one Lone Wanderer.

I have gathered the equipment I will need once I cross the breach. A selection of weapons and tools, food, a few pieces of clothing that I treasure, etc etc. Celestia has shrouded my home in a "time loop," so that in the unlikely event of my return, nothing in my home will have changed.

I wish the girls a happy life.

I'm done here.

And, as the Grey Warden motto says...

In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice.

~Almir "Sifty" Neslanovic

AKA

The Champion of Equestria

I left the note taped to my front door, in case anybody got curious- which was unlikely. My equipment clinked and shifted in my pack as I made my way towards Celestia, who waited to transport me to the dimensional tear. When we got there, she stayed momentarily to see me off. Before I left, I hugged her. Tightly. She seemed to have expected it. This alicorn had given me so much. A home. Friends.

Family.

When I let go and looked back up at her, it was obvious that she had been crying slightly.

"Thank you, Champion. For all you've done for my lands." She cooed, tenderly.

"It was my pleasure."

"Goodbye."

"Yeah... Until you need me again. Just give me a ring, heh..."

And, with that, I set off into the Veil.

Author's Note

Well, kind of a downer way to start this off, I know. But still! We're just getting started, here!

Entry II: Champion's Return (that was fast), by Sifty

It's been a few days since I came to Thedas.

The portal spewed me out right into the midst of a battlefield- and right on top of an Ogre that was trying to crush a Grey Warden. Naturally, I didn't take kindly to this- I was never one to be shaken up by the rigors of entering a new world, and my cryptozoological research into Darkspawn had served me well in quickly dispatching the blighted ape. As I sunk my blade into it's skull, I didn't dick about with niceties- The war was still going on, after all. After a healthy whirlwind of steel glancing off steel, I stood atop a small mountain of corpses, covered in Darkspawn blood- and feeling weary. I knew what it was- I had contracted the Taint.

Of course, the Grey Warden I spared from being smashed realized my combative talents. His name, he wouldn't say, and while I sensed that he was curious about my sudden entry into the fray, he didn't ask about it- nor did he ask about my fighting style, clothing, or anything else. The Warden's only concern at that time was my potential as a Warden recruit- when he gave the offer, it's obvious that I accepted. The Taint felt horrible, and it's long known that I've wanted to become a Warden.

Myself, and five other recruits, went through the Joining, where we imbibe Darkspawn blood. I knew what it was- it was a mixture of things. Lyrium, a mineral in this world that holds a lot of magical properties, Darkspawn blood, and the blood of the Darkspawn's "leader," the Archdemon. Those that survive the Joining become Grey Wardens.

Note, "those that survive."

The Joining ritual... it's basically drinking poison. If you survive, you become a Grey Warden, able to sense the Darkspawn, and immune to the Taint. Well, not totally immune- but it slows down the process. Grey Wardens suffer shortened lifespans- but it's the sacrifice we make.

Three recruits died. The other one, before me, passed out. When it came to me, I knew that it was now or never- and I took that drink. I held my ground as the whispers broke into my mind, and tried to stay conscious- but, in the end, I couldn't last- and I fell over, completely out of it.

When I awoke, the Warden informed me that I was now a Grey Warden. He asked if I had any questions- and was surprised by all that I already knew. As it turns out, the Fifth Blight, the thing that I had arrived here to stop, was long over- and the man I was talking to, who I came to find out was the Warden Commander of Ferelden, was the one who slew the Archdemon, Urthemiel, and stopped the Blight. The battle I assisted in was simply a skirmish during the Thaw, where the Wardens hunt down the Darkspawn who haven't yet retreated into the Deep Roads.

I was free to act on whatever I needed to. My choices were many, but it broke down into two- go into towns and look for more potential recruits, or take a trip into the Blightlands and try my hand at slaughtering some more Darkspawn for the Commander.

So, I enjoyed myself for a day or two. Hung out with the Commander at the local tavern with his friends, slaughtered the Darkspawn by his side, even went into the Deep Roads and found a dwarven recruit. I was present at her Joining, and she, thankfully, survived. Didn't care to find out her name, and I didn't listen well when the Commander offered her the chalice.

However, one thing troubled me.

I received a letter about an hour ago. Sealed. Stationary was pink, somewhat frilly. There was an orange sun stamped on the signature line.

"Champion,
As you may be aware, time between dimensions moves differently. You've spent a week in Thedas, by the time my letter will reach you- but seven months will have passed here. You must find a way back. A great evil has been unleashed; when I left the Breach, my magical teleportation must have torn a hole in the Veil. Something leaked out. It's...
I have no time for analogies or figures of speech. Just know that you are needed. I truly hope your abilities as a Grey Warden will aid you. What has been unleashed, it is similar to those Blights you told me of so long ago. So many horrors have been unleashed upon the land. Creatures from countless dimensions scour the towns and cities, kidnapping civilians, killing them, killing each other, mutating others...

Please. Come home, Sifty.

We need you.

Equestria needs you."

I showed the letter to my Commander. The Commander and I, we were far too much alike- and if it wasn't for the fact that his last name was different than mine, I would say he and I were the same person. Sifty Cousland was his name. At least, that's what he was telling me. He wouldn't reveal much else about his real name- other than that it started with an "A." He sure as shit wasn't messing with me- I told him, and every other Warden, to simply call me "The Wanderer." I didn't slip my real name, nor my code.

He understood what I had to do. No questions asked, he assembled a group of mages, and they cast me through the tear from which I came.

The world I entered was not the world I left. The skies were red; the ground itself had rotted. Far in the distance, dragons battled in the sky. Farther still, dark red clouds closed onward, towards the ocean. Unsheathing my blade and raising the large, round, Grey Warden-heralded shield that I had been issued, I looked towards the horizon to the north- where I could still see Canterlot's shining light.

I'm coming, Celestia.

I'll save us.

One last time.

Entry III: Back in Action! By Sifty

I traversed the wastes slowly.

My care for these ponies was no longer friendly- there was no longer any love. It was professional, nothing more. Though most had forgotten me due to my inactivity, my role as Champion was inscribed in the memories, and as long as I lived, I was bound to answer it's call. This was my job, and with the Commander's blessing, I would get it done. Hell, if I finish this job within a year, barely two weeks will have passed back in Thedas- I won't miss a damn thing.

As my care was no longer very urgent, I favored tactical ability ADDED to my combative ability. If I rushed to get to Canterlot, I would likely die quickly. There were many kinds of creatures roaming the land, and a Blight seemed to have started near the Cursed Salt Plains, and led by several Disciples, no doubt. No Archdemon could be in The Known World without alerting the Wardens. Canterlot was in the mountains; it could be seen easily from hundreds of miles away. I was at least two hundred miles away, give or take, in the Broken Leylands.

The blightclouds were stretching towards the east, towards Canterlot, from what I could see atop my hillside hike. No matter my speed, I was confident that I would be able to arrive in Canterlot and mobilize some sort of defensive position before the Blight arrived there- Darkspawn took great joy in ravaging smaller villages. While I would like to save them, I am but a single unit- Grey Warden though I am, facing the very brunt of a Blight, alone, is suicide by anybody's standards. Facing it with an entire army can prove futile. My benefit upon reaching Canterlot is twofold- Being a Grey Warden, I could sense the Darkspawn coming and know exactly when to spring ambushes, or when to unleash the full force of my mobilization.

Several thunderous blasts greeted my arrival as I crossed over the top of a hill on the barren, burnt waste that I have been traversing. I caught movement far in front of me. Single target, beating back several others. From the blasts, I assumed the target that was backing up was using a shotgun. Pump action, it looked. And they looked to be having trouble. An ally could be handy in this situation; whether they were useful, or just fodder.

Raising my shield in a manner fit for charging, I unsheathed my sabre machete and reared it back, then began my assault. As I neared, I noticed that the creature this man was fighting were Death Adders. Haven't seen those nasty buggers in a while. Seemed that the guy was out of ammo- and, fearful for his life, was fumbling with the shells, making it difficult to reload.

As one of the Adders raised back it's blade to end the poor fool, I let out a war cry and smashed my shield hard into the Adder's side, crushing it's fragile ribcage and killing it. Standing in front of the man- a goatee-bearing adult with thinning, dark hair- I took a "juggernaut" stance, raising my shield to protect most of my body and lowering my center of gravity. Head peering over my portable bulwark, my sword glaring off the bare desert sunlight, I must have looked a sight.

Death Adders- they were mostly cowards. They would flee a fight if a target was intimidating enough. However, I didn't seem to be so.

The first Adder charged forward, raising it's blades and hissing. As it approached, I launched forward, bashing it in the lower body with my shield. Sliding the shield up and over, I skinned the Adder's stomach with the rough, sword-beaten edge of my shield, which hurt the bastard- but not as much as the follow up sword-skewer through it's abdomen.

The Adder fell dead, but not before it's brother slipped forward and- in a move completely unobserved in these beasts- managed to twist it's blades around and under my shield arm, tearing away my weapon. Still, it was holding my shield- which meant it lacked the ability to properly defend itself. So, as it reveled in it's five-second victory, I span clockwise and brought my blade around, hacking off the Adder's head.

Turning to the final Adder, it and I squared off. In a final act, I slid my hand along my blade, wiping off the blood. Looking the Adder square in the "face," I brought my bloodied hand to my face and smeared it's brother's blood across the bridge of my nose and a little further along my cheek. Glaring at it, the plastic of my sword hilt creaking as I tightened my hand, I let out a war cry.

Giving one final hiss, the Adder slithered off.

Scoffing, I sheathed my blade and picked my shield up. Turning back to the gentleman I had saved, I noticed something a little off- his eyes seemed to glow a harsh green when he faced away from the light. He turned to me and gave a warm smile.

"Thanks for the save. Those damn Adders are a pain in the ass in my homeland."

I said nothing. It was not the Wardens who turned me into what I was now- it was the five months of isolation making me realize that, at heart, I'm still a rock.

"Silent type, eh? Can I at least know my savior's name?"

"My name matters not. I am a Grey Warden. Refer to me as such. You are?"

"Grey Warden?"

"I won't explain." I snarled.

"Wow, bit of a dick, ain't we... Whatever. My name's Kildeez. K to my friends. There are reason for you saving my ass?"

"Always nice to have a new ally. What are you doing in the Leylands?"

"I was sent as an ambassador for the Ch- Wait... You don't have anything against Changelings, do you?"

"Used to. When my job was just protecting magical talking horses, I killed everything that was a threat to them. Changelings were just another number. Ambassador for the Changelings. Go on."

"R-right. I was sent to Canterlot, but then these portals started opening up, and I had to bail out. Used up all my energy to get away, and could barely last much longer here. My shotgun isn't exactly the best toy, since I had to scrap the damn thing together. Changelings don't exactly have gunpowder."

"You build that? Impressive." I replied, lowering my guard somewhat. This gent seemed an alright sort- but something was still off. What in Andraste's dimpled ass was this guy doing with the Changelings? Unless... That glow...

"...I'm just going out on a limb, here. Are you a Changeling?" I accused.

"What? No! Well, not completely- look- I'm not currently changed, okay? This is me. Au-natural me. I'm- Agh... The story is a little odd. I'd rather not tell it. I'm half-changeling."

"...Not bad."

This "Kildeez" and I talked for a while longer. It was around fifteen minutes before I snapped back into my old self and told him of what my mission was. Considering we were on the same path, and going for the same objective, it would be in the black for both of us to travel together. He had a large amount of shells on a belt around his waist, so he could provide me some ranged support- and, if I gathered his story correctly, he can shapeshift. Always nice to have a giant spider or a Griffon along. For that matter...

"No, Warden." Kildeez groaned, "I am not going to change into a mountable Griffon for you."

"Dammit!"

Author's Note

Finally, we reach the most important part: me!

Entry IV: The Changeling-Born, by Kildeez

It’s official. All hell has broken loose, and it’s doing it right in the middle of a kingdom of magical, talking ponies. God can be a funny bastard like that, eh? Then again, I doubt God has very much to do with the shimmering portals spewing forth nightmares and monstrosities all over Canterlot castle, but if he does, he’s got a lot of explaining to do when I inevitably meet him. Though, based on the tentacle-covered monstrosities slithering up the stained glass windows and the winged horrors currently hacking the pegasi corps to bits and the ugly-assed slug things trailing acidic mucous as they schlepp through the streets far below, that might be a whole helluva lot sooner than I thought it would be.

“This way, sir!” The guardspony at my side screeches, their little metal slippers clanking on the tile. “Please try to keep up!”

“You callin’ me fat!?” I howl, still fiddling with the object in my black, chitin-covered hand, the cat-like pupils dominating my eyes pulsing with anger.

“No, I’m just saying you should drop that walking stick already!” The pony barks back, armor clanking as they slide to a stop to whip their head around and face me. “Whatever you’re doing with it, I don’t think it can help us!”

I finish twisting the curved handle off and slide it into a secret hole built into the “walking stick’s” side, working it back and forth once. A loud “cha-chunk” sounds, and I watch one of my shotgun shells slide past the lever and into the chamber with a satisfying, metallic click. A grin crosses my face as a little, green light pops up in my eyes, my fangs sliding into view out of simple satisfaction. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“DUCK!” The guardspony screams, and I look up just in time to watch one of the black tentacles crash through a stained glass window, followed by a loud hiss from whatever it’s attached to. I shiver. I can’t be certain: I mean, I’ve always prided myself on my mental fortitude, but I’m pretty sure that if I saw whatever that tentacle was attached to, it’d drive me nuts.

The weapon in my black, chitin-covered claws clatters as I shake, as if it too is terrified of the apocalypse breaking loose all around us. “Shh, it’s alright, girl,” I hiss, stroking the weapon’s barrel like a frightened cat. “I’m scared too.”

“KILDEEZ!” The guardspony’s screams make me jolt upright. Oh yeah, there’s a tentacle beast trying to kill us all. Almost forgot about that.

The guardspony twists, a spear in their hooves, the sunlight glittering off their golden helmet. The tentacle swats both pony and weapon away like a fly, sending the guard flying against a wall. Oh, now doesn’t that just piss you off? Like, really! How low do you have to be to pick on a pretty little pony!? You know, besides us changelings, of course. “’EY! Nobody messes with da ponies but us changelings!” I yell, my voice booming off the walls. The distraction works, the tentacle immediately turning away from the semi-conscious pony and slithering towards me, some mucous-like crap hissing off its form from between its fluorescent green suckers.

“Black and green. Hmm, must be a popular color scheme,” I mutter as I easily side-step the flailing mass and drop to a knee, allowing it to shoot right by me like a dumbass. I wrap my finger around the trigger and squeeze, and instantly a big chunk of meat goes flying away from the center of the black, writhing mass with a thunderous crack. The creature lets out a shriek like a cross between Justin Bieber taking a sledgehammer to the crotch and a rake being drawn across a chalkboard, confirming my belief that whatever it is probably won’t be on the cover of Victoria’s Secret anytime soon.

The tentacle slithers away, apparently deciding to go after prey that might be easier and less kill-tastic. Smart choice, if you ask me. In the brief respite, I sprint to the fallen guardspony, toss them over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry, and leg it into the nearest storage closet, kicking the door shut behind us and flicking on the light. I lean the pony against a shelf loaded with a couple hundred boxes of powdered detergent (my God, why would a pony princess need this much detergent!? Just what does she get up to when nopony’s looking!?) and gracelessly seat myself on the floor. The shotgun’s still clenched in my fingers, thank God. I thump my chest a few times to keep my heart beating and tame the effects of the adrenaline pounding through my bloodstream.

“So, you’re the rushing shadow of the Everfree, huh?” A voice next to me asks. Apparently, my guard has decided death ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. Good for them. “The changelings’ fist? The son of Chrysalis?”

“GENETIC son,” I reply sourly, working an extra shotgun shell out of a hidden pocket in my dress pants. “She wasn’t exactly the type to change diapees and hire a hobo to play Santa Clause on Christmas morning. I was raised on Earth: only found out about my changeling heritage about a year ago.”

The guardspony turns to me, eyebrows raised. “That…must have been quite a shock.”

“Yeah, she probably could’ve done it better than popping in my room one night all like ‘oh, hey son, I’m your real mom, you’re only half human, and magical talking ponies are totally real, except you’re part of a shape-shifting, emotion-feeding species that feeds off them.’ Kind of a bombshell to drop on a guy’s head on his 21st birthday, if you ask me.”

Those eyebrows rise until they disappear beneath the guardspony’s helmet. “She dropped all this on you during your birthday!?”

“Yeah, I know. You’d think she’d have let me sober up first.”

The pony stares blankly at me, then sighs, staring dejectedly at the opposite wall, probably accepting that if I’m their best hope for getting out of this in one piece, they’re probably gonna die. Horribly.

Welp, acceptance is the final step in coming to terms with something. Again, good for them.

“Ehh, y’know what? This shit just figures.” I grumble, working the lever-action to chamber a fresh round in my weapon.

“What’s that?” The guardspony asks.

“This was supposed to be the one job that couldn’t go wrong,” I sigh. Hey, we’re probably gonna die in a storage closet surrounded by a disproportionate amount of detergent. Might as well lay all my cards on the table while we’re here. “The one thing my ma gave me to do that couldn’t possibly end with me having to face down an army Lovecraftian horrors, or a bunch of pissed off mercs, or a rogue hive filled with deranged serial killers, or whatever-the-fuck. Just a simple diplomatic mission. Get in, chat with a pony princess over wine, secure a channel for future relations between the species, and head home in time to waste a few hours scaring the piss out of myself with a Creepypasta narration or two. The biggest danger I was supposed to face here should’ve been finding out that all those ‘Molestia’ rumors were true and subsequently waking up cuffed to a bed with a six-foot purple dildo in my ass.”

The guard stares at me for a little while, and then cracks a grin. “All things considered, this is probably a bit better than that, eh?”

I return the grin. My madness must be contagious. “Yep. But seriously, I am not dressed for this. I mean, look at this!” I shout, raising my feet to show off my black leather dress shoes. Yes, the kind you can polish until you see a little, upside-down version of yourself in them, do you even have to ask?

“Do these look like my kick-ass shoes? No, these are my ‘dressed for success’ shoes. These are my ‘it’s time to handle business-shit’ shoes. These are most decidedly NOT my ‘handle an invasion from a universe full of Eldritch horrors’ shoes!”

“Yes, the destruction of my nation must be so hard on you,” the guard says flatly.

“Thank you for your concern!” I say, tousling the pony’s mane. “Finally, someone gets it!”

The guard just shakes their head. “So, what’s the plan?”

“I was hoping you’d know, because honestly, I’m running low on ideas over here,” I grumble, fingering the weapon in my grasp. “Shelly here’s got one helluva bite, but that only works if I’ve got ammo. Thing is, I’ve got maybe a dozen shells on me right now, and I don’t have the time to make more, which leaves us stuck in a closet and waiting to make our final stand.”

“Shelly?” The guard asks with a weird, sideways glance.

“Shelly the shotgun.”

“Of course,” the guardspony sighs, casting a forlorn glance at the door. Right now, nothing’s trying to claw at it or anything, but if and when those things outside figure out something’s breathing in here, they’ll tear through it like so much crepe paper. “So, last words?”

“I was thinking something along the lines of ‘Vidi, vici, veni’.”

"What?”

“It’s a twist on a saying from the great Roman general-emperor, Julius Caesar,” I reply, a lecherous smile crossing my face and splitting my goatee. “I was hoping to do it while balls-deep in someone, of course. It means ‘I saw, I conquered, I ca-‘”

Before I can finish what must be my fifth dirty joke in as many minutes, a low hum begins to build in the air. I cut myself off and bolt to my feet, smoothly transitioning from sitting on my rear to crouching on one knee in front of the pony, the shotgun raised. I hold a finger up for them to remain quiet, hoping they’ll get the picture and not try something stupid. All joking aside, I was well-versed in actual combat, having acquired skills after months of missions direct from my ‘mother.’ As well-trained as the Canterlot guards might be, they were still pretty outclassed by anything we might be facing here. I was probably the only one in the entire city with actual experience (And no, I don’t count the five minutes these guys spent stuck in changeling goop during the Canterlot wedding as experience). Besides, if I’m going out, it might as well be doing something remotely badass, right? You don’t get much more badass than using yourself as a living shield for an innocent. Unless you’re on fire while you’re doing it. Oh piss, y’know what? I wonder if all that powdered detergent is flammable at all…

Before I can turn myself into a walking Molotov cocktail for funnies, a trace of golden powder materialize in the air in front of my face. As I watch, weapon still raised, the powder turns into a little sparkling ball, which promptly traces out a rectangle in front of my face. The air inside the rectangle starts to go translucent with indistinct shapes and rushing colors, slowly forming into a rainbow-colored mane, complete with golden regalia, vermillion eyes, and a smile I find ~~sexy~~ KIND AND KNOWING! I AM NOT A CLOPPER!

“Princess!” My pony escort gasps and kneels. I smile easily and lower my shotgun to give a little bow: just a small bend at the waist, nothing much. She may not be my princess, but she was still a being deserving of my utmost respect.

“My dearest subject,” the Princess smiles as the pony crawls around me, still trying to remain in a kneeling position. It’s kind of funny, in a pathetic sort of way, I guess. I mean, the way these guys act, you’d think they all expected to be banished to the moon any moment. She did that, like, once! A thousand years ago! To save the world from eternal night! Dudes, sensitive much? “I’m so happy to see you are alright.”

“The changeling-man saved me,” the pony replies, pointing a hoof at me. “One of those tentacle things was going to kill me, but he fought it off with his stick.”

“Did he now?” Celestia regards me, an eyebrow arched coldly. “With just a regular, old, walking stick?”

“Well,” I shrug and smile sheepishly. “Perhaps I made a few modifications to it that I forgot to mention.”

“Hmm,” suddenly, a warm smile breaks out on her face. “Very creative. I knew I was right to place my trust in you, Kildeez of the changelings. You have proven to be quite the champion.”

“Aww, jeez,” I mutter, shrugging and avoiding eye contact. Cripes, I might as well throw in an ‘aww shucks’ while I’m at it, maybe rub my hand against the back of my head with a little blush added for good measure. I don’t take praise all that well. Or insults, for that matter. Really, any sort of interpersonal interaction beyond caveman-like grunts kinda tosses me for a loop. And yet I can make a shotgun that looks like a walking cane out of some wood and scavenged parts. Go figure.

“So, what’s our next move?” I ask, desperate to change the subject. “And I hope it ain’t ‘fight until everything’s dead’. Usually, I’d be right there with ya, but I know enough about Japanese culture to know fighting something with tentacles that big is just gonna fuck us up in the end. Literally.”

“I’ve already sent a distress signal,” Celestia replies, her tone and expression switching to business-mode in the same amount of time most ponies would take to blink an eye. “Help will be on its way soon. In the meantime, I plan on teleporting you out of the city.”

"Wait, what!?” I yell, waving the shotgun around for emphasis. “Do y’think this is just for decoration!? I’m sorry, Princess, but I’m not going to let a country I’m supposed to be making my ally burn while I hightail it out of town! That’s just not my thing!”

“As I’m well aware,” she replies, closing her eyes patiently. “Your job will be to escort help when it arrives back to the city, providing any aid you can in navigating the demonic hordes. In the meantime, I will shield the castle and protect any inhabitants I can. We should be able to hold out until you arrive.”

“Hmm,” I tap my chin thoughtfully. “Alright, definitely the best plan we’ve got so far. Then again, the only plan me and Guardy here…”

“My name is Morning Dew,” the pony grumbles.

“…me and Morning Dew here could come up with was dying in a blaze of glory, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid style. So yeah, we’ll go with your idea.”

“Excellent,” Celestia beams with the intensity of her day, a dainty little smile I find quite attractive (for a pony, of course, FOR A PONY) warming her face.

“So, what kinda help are we talking about here? A battalion of tanks? A horde of griffons? A platoon of Spehss Mahreens?”

Her smile flickers for an instant as she shakes her head, that one visible eye regarding me with an indescribable intellect. “A man known as Sifty.”

Morning Dew gasps, eyes widening. “The Champion…” the pony whispers under its breath, as if saying the name any more loudly might make this ‘Sifty’ character appear out of thin air to roundhouse kick us all into oblivion. Morning takes a few steps back before bowing their head in reverence.

Arching an eyebrow at the odd display of respect, I turn back to the Princess. “Okay, and what’s this Sifty guy bringing with him? Like, does he lead some band of mercenaries somewhere? Does he have laser eyes? Maybe a hotline to God for bringing down some good ol’ fashioned Old-Testament-flavored pain?”

“As far as I know, all Sifty has ever needed is his skills, his courage, and his blades.”

I nod. “Right, right, annnndddd…his private army of AK-wielding ostrich-riders?”

“No. His courage and his blades. That is all.”

I smile and nod at the princess’s little joke, knowing that sooner or later, she’s going to crack a smile and tell me that this was all her attempt at humor, and that Sifty is really a top-secret Equestrian anti-Nightmare cannon, or some shit. Because surely, someone with a few thousand years’ worth of wisdom couldn’t expect me to believe that she is about to pin the well-being of the entire planet on one man. Surely she couldn’t possibly…

“It is no joke,” she assures me, stating it as a simple fact. “Sifty is all we should require.”

I keep up my smile for a few extra moments, fully expecting her to break down into an adorable little giggling fit at some point. Yep. Any moment now.

Any moment.

She keeps those light, intelligent eyes on me. My smile fades.

“ARE YOU INSANE!?” I shriek, nearly knocking over one of the couple hundred boxes of detergent on the shelf behind me with an exaggerated gesture. “Princess, with all due respect, are you feeling alright!? Because I fail to see how one dude with a knife is supposed to fix the clusterfuck out there!”

The pony at my side suddenly turns to me, their eyes blazing with rage. The little thing growls – straight-up growls! – at me. “Sifty is not just ‘some dude’, and you should speak of him with the respect he…”

“Calm yourself, Morning,” the Princess assures. Like an obedient guard dog, Morning sits their little flank on the floor, glaring at me from under the helmet that found its way back on their head while I wasn’t looking. Celestia returns her attention to me. “Morning is right in one respect, Kildeez: Sifty is not just ‘some dude.’ He is a legendary warrior who has defended Equestria a thousand times before, battling the same creatures now besieging the city in dozens of encounters. Each time, he has emerged the victor utilizing only his blades, his skills, and his wits. If any man can turn the tide of this war, it is him.”

I sigh, realizing she is absolutely not going to give on this. “Okay, fine, whatever. I’ll find your mythical warrior and do my best to get him here in one piece,” I snarl. “But if I can’t find him or if he doesn’t measure up, I’m running to Acapulcolt for a few last hurrahs before the Nightmares kill us all, y’hear!?”

“But of course,” Celestia smiles knowingly. “But you should know that Acapulcolt has almost certainly been cut-off and overrun by now.”

“PISS!” I scream. There goes Plan B: dying surrounded by babes and booze. Pony babes, yes, but I’ll take what I can get. “Okay, whatever, let’s get this over with.”

“A few things,” she holds up her hooves. “For one, you might want to appear human before you meet him, and not just in body structure. It would be best if he couldn’t confuse you for the very things you’re fighting, though I’m sure he’ll accept your heritage if it comes up.”

“So no fangs, plain ol’ hair, normal eyes,” I reply, my old, human skin reappearing over my chitin and my fangs vanishing behind my gumline. My sight flickers in and out as my pupils return to a pair of simple, rounded holes, but I flash a thumbs-up to let everypony know I’m okay. “Gotcha. Anything else?”

“Yes, it would be best if he didn’t know you’re under my orders to escort him here. He’s fiercely independent, and might not take too kindly to having a ‘babysitter’, as I’m sure he’d call you.”

"Cool. So to recap: if it ain’t white, it ain’t right, and this conversation didn’t happen. Anything else?”

“Yes,” Morning Dew this time. The pony trots up to me and looks in my eyes, tail swishing in the air behind them. Morning removes the helmet and reveals a pair of deep, gorgeous blue eyes. Her extended eyelashes blink saucily as she bites her lip, and for the first time, I can see the mare hiding beneath all that golden armor. “Be careful, Kildeez, for me?”

Suddenly, she lunges up and plants a kiss on my lips. I resist at first, but fall into the kiss, my arms wrapping around her midsection in an embrace, the warmth of our bodies pressing together. I stare back at her, shocked. “Um…”

“Well, I certainly hope you can get it up with a pony someday,” she coos, cuddling into my chest.

“I…uh…” I stammer. Should I…should I be enjoying this!? Should I be pushing her away, or inviting Celestia to join in, or what? What is protocol here!?

“Seriously though, you need to get up.”

“Um, I dunno…we just met…”

“You need to get up. Get up,” she repeats, the saucy smile fading under robotic repetition. “Get up. Get up. Get up…”

“Get up. Hey, K, get your ass up!”

"Gwwwaaaahhhh, I'm not a clopper! It was just a kiss! She snuck up on me! It meant nothing!"

Sifty frowns at me, his eyebrows hunching. “What?”

I stare blankly back up at him. “What?”

“I…nevermind. Look, it’s sunrise.”

I sit up from my sleeping bag, noting the sun starting to peek out over the treetops. “Ah, so it is,” I say, standing up to brush some of the dirt off my jeans and pull my weapon out of the makeshift holster we’d stitched together for it. Nothing fancy, just a flap made out of tanned deerskin. I thank God that Celestia thought to teleport me in my regular, non-business clothes and sneakers. They may not be my ass-kicking shoes, but they’re a whole lot better than those leather things I was wearing before she ‘ported me out of Canterlot.

Sifty nods stoically, then turns his attention downhill to the forest around us. "If we keep moving the rest of the day, we should be back at my place in Ponyville sometime in the evening."

I nod, cracking my neck and straightening up, I stretch a few muscles and work a last few yawns out of my system. Finally, I shoulder the shotgun and expend a tiny amount of changeling magic to turn my right hand into a gnarled, clawed thing straight out of a horror movie. Sifty nods to me as he draws his blade. I nod back, then a goofy grin spreads across my face.

“Ladies first,” I offer, motioning towards the town like a true English gentleman.

He delivers a roundhouse boot to my hip that sends me rolling downhill. I grin like a maniac the entire way.

Author's Note

And even more important stuff! About me!

Entry V: Skyrim? Skyrim. By Siftstone.

Kildeez didn't know much about this portal crisis. Me, I had no internet in my house. I spent my days reading books from Twi- and a few were on the subject of portals in Equestria. So, I told him exactly what might happen. At any given time, we could be swallowed up by a ley portal and thrust into a sub-dimension of Equestria, an entirely new world. Depending on our reactions, the time before we got spat back out would vary.

"So, you're telling me that we could end up in a world filled completely with nude, humanized ponies?" Kildeez quizzed, with a somewhat suggestive tone in his voice.

"Don't get your hopes up." I coldly stated.

"Hey, lighten up, man. You're killing my boner, here."

The glare I gave after that comment stayed his tongue for a while.

After some time spent walking, Kildeez and I came upon a small crossroad. A bare patch of dirt road, untouched by the devouring space that was the Broken Leylands. Kildeez didn't seem like he wanted to take lead, so naturally, I stepped forward. The Wardens, along with a few military books that I brought over from Earth, had taught me plenty about leading a fireteam or a whole squad, and my natural tactical prowess could even help me lead an army- something that Celestia would better damn well have had ready by the time I got to her city.

The ground in this area was bare, and looked like fetid meat. This was an indicator; Darkspawn had ravaged this part of the country already. It mattered little. Along with the ground, there was an intense smell of rotten flesh in the air- and that wasn't something that the Darkspawn were able to leave.
Unless it was a major battle, of course. Even then, there would have been corpses.

This was something else.

In that instant, a heart-tearing roar shredded through the dusty air. The beating of enormous wings heralded the arrival of what I could only assume was a dragon. My assumptions were clarified when my terribly-written ass finally decided to actually look up instead of take position with my shield.

"Oh, fuck all kinds of duck." I swore.

"Relax, man." Kildeez assured, "Equestria's dragons won't mess around with you unless you piss them off."

"The problem is thus, Changeling: THAT'S NOT A FUCKING EQUESTRIAN DRAGON!"

The dragon crashed to the sand, blasting a massive roar of fire about itself. Lowering my stance as Kildeez pulled out his shotgun, we readied ourselves for a fight. However, the dragon laughed at us. A deep, throaty, lizardy laugh that could only come from a Dovah.

"Arrogant mortals! Hi yin juriik moro?!"

"What did he say?" Kildeez inquired. "Assuming you understand?"

"I know a bit of Dovahzul, yeah. This fucker said 'You dare challenge my glory."

"Well versed in Dov as you may be, you are nothing but worms to be crushed beneath my might!"

Before Kildeez and I could respond, the dragon inhaled deeply, and spat another three words at us.

Words I began to dread the moment I could comprehend them.

"Hud-TIID LEIN!"

As the massive, inescapable shockwave tore into us, I felt myself black out.

"Hey, man, wake up!" I heard, as several slaps graced my face.

"I swear, I will pee in your mouth if you don't wake up, man! I'm... I'm actually kind of scared right now!"

"Piss in my mouth when I'm dead and I'll rise from the grave to feed you your own testicles." I growled, flexing my stomach and pulling myself to a sitting position. A heavy groan escaped my lungs as my hand met my face. Standing back up, I examined myself, to make sure I still had all of my gear. I was good to go. It wasn't until I looked up that I felt like falling over again.

Far in the distance, several dragons circled a massive mountain. A war raged even further, a small battle with the clashing and slashing of steel echoing through the valley and to us. Men and women in blue-toned armor against men dressed like roman legionnaires. I knew exactly where we were.

"Skyrim...?"

"Dude, you okay?"

"I'm... fine. Just experiencing a toTAL MINDFUCK!"

"What did that dragon do to us?"

"That blast was a Thu'um. A shout. A powerful magic only dragons- and certain, chosen-by-fate individuals possess. The words that dragon used were 'Distance, Time, World.' It displaced us into a different reality."

"You mean... we're in his world?"

"Not exactly."

I explained to Kildeez that dragons were immensely powerful and cunning beings. What that dragon had just done, it had shouted us into a sub-dimension of it's own universe. We were cursed, in a way, to stay here and mull about until we could get coughed back out into our own. We had a varied amount of time- either we'd be displaced a mere hour, or a whole year, depending on how much ire that dragon held for us.

"NIPPLEPENIS! That... So, what? We've failed our mission?"

"No. We can get back. We've just gotta... gotta... Oh, for fuck's sake."

Before K and I could figure out a plan, another dragon flew overhead, roaring. However, the last dragon we fought was colored and decorated like a Legendary Dragon- therefore, it had much more powerful shouts. This dragon, here, was nothing more than a normal, green-scaled Dovah- we could take this bastard. Drawing our weapons, we were loosely prepared for the battle that was about to transpire.

This dragon wasn't as cocky as that last bastard. Immediately after landing, he engaged us, not bothering with talk. A wave of flame blasted by the both of us, causing Kildeez to dive out of the way and land in the mud. I, however, simply raised my shield and ducked low, blocking most of the heat. Within an instant, I was standing to my feet and shield-charging the dragon, machete in-hand. The dragon, not expecting this reaction from a mere mortal, wasn't ready to react- and suffered a heavy shield bash, followed by a spinning strike from my blade.

The dragon roared as I came down again with my machete and caught it on the nose, and as I span back around to swing again, the dragon took a breath. Backing up and raising my shield, I felt the shield tear it's way from my grip and fly across the field of battle, several feet away, as the dragon blasted a wave of energy at me.

"Zun-HAL VIIK!"

Fucking Disarm shout.

This, however, didn't stop me, as I simply dashed forward with a vile wind, gouging the dragon across the cheeks with my blade. Kildeez was shooting at it's wings with his shotgun, which explained why the bugger didn't simply take off after I began kicking it's ass. The dragon reared back it's head, as if it was going to bite me, which caused me to side step it and slash upward, along it's neck- this caused it to toss it's head to the side.

Moving quick, I leapt on top of the dragon's head and began to knee and punch it in the face. As I raised my blade, the dragon seemed to realize something.

"Dovahkiin?! NIID!"

The words nearly stopped me. As my blade crashed through the dragon's skull, the beast fell flat on the earth, the life rolling out of it's eyes. Pulling out my blade and stepping back, I watched in awe as the dragon's flesh began to burn away, and an aura of blue, orange and white energy gushed forth around me. I felt empowered- like a thousand thoughts were rushing into my head, like that dragon's very heart was bursting into my soul.

And it was, in a way.

Falling to my knees at what I had just revealed, I dropped my weapon and looked down at my hands. Tears began to flow- tears of what, I couldn't tell, for my emotions were mixing too much for me to comprehend. There was a knowledge, deep in my mind, that began to rush forth. Fus Ro Dah. Force. Balance. Push.

I fucking played Skyrim, you know.

Kildeez quickly ran over, almost as amazed as I was- more at the fact that I had just slain a dragon than what I was realizing. "Holy shit, man! That was BADASS! Hey... you okay, Warden?"

"N-no... Yes? Fuck... I don't... I don't know."

"What was all that glowy shit?"

"I... I absorbed it's soul."

"...You didn't take a bump to the head, did you?"

"Kildeez. I'm Dragonborn."

Going through the long, arduous process of explaining more quantum and portal physics, along with Dragonborn and Skyrim lore, Kildeez finally came around. My theory was this- since I was in a sub-dimension of Skyrim, a Dragonborn may not have been bestowed power or even born into this world. As dragons were raging across the land, Akatosh had to give someone the power- and since our signatures were new on this plane of Nirn due to the Legendary Dragon's shout, it was one of us. Why it chose me, I don't know. Perhaps it needed a moreover human soul to work?

Whatever the case was, I was Dragonborn. I was a walking divine intervention. This sub-dimension of Skyrim was not important- It's an alternate world where a different fate awaits. If a Dragonborn had not been revealed at this point, then there was no reason for one to fight here- these powers were a gift from the gods of Mundus to the lowly victim blasted into a world where he should not be.

"So, if you have powers, what kind of stuff are you able to do?"

"I can absorb the soul of a slain dragon, and if I'm right, they can be one from Skyrim or a dragon from Equestria. Once I do that, I can use it to 'unlock' the knowledge of a Word of Power. I've played Skyrim- I know all the words that there can be. What I lack is the comprehension to use them, and for that, I need souls. However, one shout was granted to me immediately."

"What was that?"

"You'll see."

After a while of wandering the hills, we felt reality begin to shit itself. We blacked out again, only to awaken in the same field that the Legendary Dragon had banished us from. The loud roar as we awoke let us know that he was still around. I was excited- I was really in the mood to get this bastard back for that little show. Although he did give me power- albeit accidentally- he also gave us a lower chance of getting to Canterlot on time. Time was a commodity. Standing back up quickly, I helped Kildeez to his feet and readied my weapons.

The dragon, roaring by above, began to scorch the land towards us. As it's breath of flame neared us, I took a breath, looked up high, and shouted with intent.

"Fus-RO DAH!"

A blastwave of kinetic energy rushed out ahead of me, screaming forth towards the dragon. As the blast hit, the dragon lost all sense of coordination and flight, and quickly faceplanted into the ground near us, skidding across the earth for a few hundred feet. Running after it, my entire body coursing with zeal, I hurled my machete into the dragon's neck from a short distance, then dropped my shield, launched myself into the air, and brought a massive bronco kick down on the dragon's face, stunning it even further. Pulling my secondary machete from my belt, I cranked open the dragon's mouth and skewered it's lower jaw, propping open it's mouth.

The dragon's eye glared at me as the beast struggled to snap my blade, failing to snap the enhanced steel. Reaching into the bastard's throat, I took hold of the soft muscle that held it's tongue into it's body...

...And tore it clean out.

The dragon flailed briefly before shock set in, and the beast fell over, dying. Pulling out my blades, I waited patiently as the dragon's soul transferred to me. Looking back and collecting my shield, I noticed Kildeez looking on with a face of pure disbelief.

"Holy shit."

Author's Note

SKKKYYYYYYYYYYRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIMMMMMMMMMMM...is the property of Bethesda. I don't own Skyrim. I don't own MLP. Man, I don't own jack shit.

Entry VI: Holy S#!ts All Around, by Sifty

Kay and I decided to settle down and make a camp for the night. We ran through a horde of slime creatures, and were both feeling... rather unsanitary. We found an oasis in the leylands, and I bucket. After punching some holes in the bucket and hanging it in the tree, I built a small wall around the tree for privacy, made out of sticks and logs, and next to the oasis waters so that a steady supply of water was available. Sure, showering might not be the most badass thing- but we weren't trying to be badass. We were trying to live to see the next sunrise.

And being covered in digestive slime was not exactly good.

I let Kay go first, as I warned him that I spend a lot of time in the shower. It was an addiction. I pretty much spent my time meditating on words of power while I waited for Kay- Particularly the ones that aren't as... epic as the others. Simple ones, like Dismay, Disarm and Clear Skies. You never know when you might need them.

After Kay got out, I went right on in. Now, I won't explain the scrubbing. You pervy bastards know what a shower is.

As I went along, I looked over the barrier to see what Kay was doing. He was writing something into his journal, it seemed. Now, I noticed something in the distance- five tall, humanoid shapes, approaching our camp. Likely attracted by the light of our campfire.

"Kildeez. Heads up, we've got company. Handle it."

"On it."

Kildeez got up and approached the bandits, but left his shotgun behind, next to the small hole in the sand we dug for sleep. Not a wise move, but he was a shapeshifter. As the apparent humans came closer, they pulled out weaponry- nothing major, mostly knives and blunt objects, but one guy had a handgun. Kay began to move to go for his weapon, it seemed, but stopped.

"What are you two queers doin' out here, all alone, eh?" Cackled one douche, who seemed to be the leader.

"Your mother, fuckwad." Kildeez bit back, a light growl in the back of his throat. "Girl doesn't even want to take turns, we both go at once, every time."

The douche seemed upset by this utmost truth. Pulling his gun up and aligning it with Kay's face, the guy spat out some incomprehensible gibberish in, what I could only assume, was Hungarian. Before the guy could say anymore, a green aura briefly surrounded Kay, and then the douche's arm was hacked off at the elbow by a long, broad, and painfully familiar blade.

Standing in what was once Kay's place was a Hive Guardian, beating it's six hooves against the ground repeatedly and huffing steamy air out of it's gills. As the douche stumbled backward, he suffered a broad, forward slam from Kay's head, which knocked him on his ass. The douche, tearful over the sudden ass-beating, commanded his group to attack.

Another green aura blasted over the Hive Guardian, and the howl of a wolf pierced the air. Eight feet of a massive, bulked-up werewolf unsheathed it's shining claws, and pounced one of the douche's cronies to the floor, tearing out his throat and rending pieces of flesh and clothing away. The other bandits were unnerved by what was going on, and couldn't seem to bring themselves to strike. Kildeez, finished with his victim, quickly turned and pounced high against another bandit, burying his werewolf claws into the bandit's face and dragging him to the floor. However, the moment Kildeez hit the dirt, he had already shifted again.

I recognized this motherfucker.

Standing a healthy twenty feet in height, fur dyed an icy, light blue, with gigantic, three-foot long claws, and a single, massive, glowing eye, was a Deerclops. Suffice to say, the bandits were, as we in the science community like to say, "completely fucked."

"Oh, fuck this! You're on your own, boss!" Shrieked one of the bandits, as he turned and fled, while leaving a trail of fear-urine in his tracks. The other one, falling to his knees in shock, had a look of sheer terror on his face. Kildeez swung one of his arms low, and flung the bandit far into the distance, beyond the point of the waning sunlight.

The leader, still screaming over the loss of his arm, was silenced by a massive, clawed stomp. Grinding his foot into the dirt, Kildeez gave a roar of victory before turning back into his human form. Straightening his collar, he checked the corpses, and retrieved for himself a few items.

"Hey, Warden!"

"Y-yeah? Holy shit..."

"You want a gun?"

"Nah, man, I'm... I'm fine. Just... Holy shit, dude."

That night at camp was filled with tales of Kay's adventures, and the many creatures he could shift into. Upon the rising of the next morning's light, we set out once again, moving ever-onward to Equestria's boundaries. Even if we managed to get there on time, however, we still had a LOT of work to do- the Crystal Kingdom in the plains, Ponyville itself... Whatever went on in the smaller towns, we would have to handle. It's what we do.

But for now, we walk.

Author's Note

Evidently, being Chryssy's son has its perks.

Entry VII: The Chapter Where The Main Antagonist Shows Up, by Kildeez

We dart across a barren field and slam against the first building in our sights: a squat, warehouse-sized thing that must have been an inn or a tavern or something else a bunch of backwoods ponies would want as far from the town center as possible. We'd been spying on this little village for hours now, spent the whole night camped up on a hill overlooking this little place. Now, Sifty takes point, kneeling in the grass with one hand pressed against the brickwork and the other gripping his sword. His shield is strapped to his back, yet doesn’t make a sound as he leans out to peer around the corner at the village proper, shifting his weight ever-so-slightly from one foot to the next. Gotta hand it to him, I really shouldn’t have doubted his abilities. Then again, I probably should have figured that out after watching him tear a dragon’s heart out and absorb its soul for its power. I can be slow like that.

I thumb the crude safety catch on my shotgun and return my grip on it, my finger resting on the trigger guard rather than the trigger itself to keep from letting off a shot. The last thing we need is a big bang to signal anything that might be waiting for us to blunder into its waiting jaws. My knee complains from the extra bandolier of shells hidden beneath my jeans, but it’s a pain I’ll accept to avoid running out of ammo in the middle of a fight. Sift turns to me, and I raise an eyebrow and gesture to the main part of town. Universal sign for Anything out there? He shakes his head but raises a finger to his lips. I nod. You don’t have to be the world charades champion to know what that means.

I wonder if that’s a thing: a world charades champion. I mean, that would have to be up there with that guy with the world’s longest ear hair or that other guy who can shoot milk out his eye and hit a glass thirteen feet away. Why would people take the time to develop these “talents?” There’s no way they could possibly think they’re gonna get laid with…oh, damn, we’re moving.

My focus immediately returns to the here and now. There is a time and a place for jokes and daydreaming, and this is neither. We slink around the building, hugging the brickwork as close as we can. I get my first sight of the village proper as we round the corner: one dirt avenue with a dozen squat, single-story cabins lining it, with one building at the end that has an open-air porch and a few rocking chairs up front that look like they needed replacing back when Celestia first attained royal status. Probably the general store, which could be a good sign, so long as the good stuff hasn’t been looted yet.

My eyes dart up and to the side, then immediately shoot back to the supposedly empty town. “Doyle’s Tavern” is inscribed in faded red lettering across the building’s front, right over the saloon-style doors. So I was right about the “tavern” part. Here’s hoping I’m also right in guessing that this town is too small for the Nightmare hordes to even bother with.

We start with the tavern, which has a second story and indoor plumbing, judging from the exposed piping out back: rich wonders we had yet to see anywhere else in town. Of course, Sifty takes point again, raising his shield and standing with his sword poised. I stand off to the side, just outside the doorframe and, when he nods, I deliver a powerful donkey kick just below the doorknob. He charges in, a rushing shadow silently disappearing into the dim light within. I’m right behind him, a somewhat audible bison sort of popping up wherever I damn well feel like.

My changeling eyes adjust from the bright sunlight outside almost immediately, and the room begins to take shape. I spy a couple dozen round tables that might have been polished sometime in the last century, each with candles that had burnt down to their wicks by now, sitting atop a floor that had probably never known the touch of a mop. Along one wall, I spot the only entertainment readily available: a dartboard, with a picture of Queen Chrysalis serving as the bullseye. I cringe ever-so-slightly. My relationship with my genetic mother might not be all hugs and giggles, but she was still my dispatcher: the one who sent me off to single-handedly improve relations between the species, hoping against hope that I might have what it takes to save the changelings as a whole. Shit like this is just a reminder of how much work there is left to be done.

I sweep the shotgun across the room, the light through the front windows more than enough to see everything I need to see, even the bar in the back corner. Sunlight glints off empty shelves where all sorts of pony booze had once stood, the only hint that anything had ever been there being the shattered remnants of a bottle in a corner. I sigh in disappointment. Ah well, pony booze doesn’t really get the job done for us humans anyway, and even less so with changelings, which leaves me double-screwed. Now, changeling booze!? Hot damn, that will knock you on your ass in an instant!

My eyes lock on a semi-darkened hallway leading behind the bar, probably towards the main quarters where the family who owned this place would have stayed. To the left, there’s a set of stairs leading up to the rooms for rent, an oak banister lining what is almost certainly the creakiest staircase in the world.

I glance over at Sifty and shrug, never once lowering my weapon. He nods, then gestures to himself, then towards the staircase. I return the nod and level my gaze on the rear hallway, noting the ratty linen curtain blocking out the sun from the window at the end, just barely providing enough light for me to make out the outline of a door set in one wall. I creep across the floor, stepping lightly to avoid making the wood creak. I don’t need to look over or hear him move to know Sifty is probably halfway up the stairs already. I let out a few, slow breaths and creep towards the window, moving the curtain aside in the hopes of getting a bit of light to work with.

Of course, no sooner do I so much as touch the curtain when it falls to rotten pieces beneath my touch, the seams tearing audibly and the rod popping off its mounting to thud against the hardwood floor. I let my breath out in a long, slow sigh. Of course, because why would this go perfectly right? I grumble to myself.

I slam my body against the wall and twist the knob with one hand. Thankfully, this door creaks open, no need for another donkey kick. I slide through and sweep the room with my weapon, finding myself in the caretaker’s quarters, as I’d guessed. We’ve got another window in here, some oil lamps that have long burnt through their fuel, a table all set for a nice, quiet family meal that would never happen, and an absolutely pristine metal washbasin set to the side, with a couch and throw rug against the other wall to serve as a living area. A few doors lead off this main room, probably the bathroom and bedrooms. Seeing nothing of interest here (or in the cupboards hanging open, bastards that came through here must have picked the place clean) I figure the master bedroom would have to be my next safest bet.

I lunge across the room in a semi-quiet stride, stopping just short of the bedroom door. Turning the handle, I slowly creep inside, shotgun poised against the door to automatically sweep the room as the hinges slowly squeak with my movements. Once again, we’ve got a room with conditions I can only describe as Spartan: a bed with plaid-patterned cotton sheets, a nightstand that has seen better days, a chest against the foot of the bed for clothes, and a bookcase against one wall. That draws my attention immediately. I stride right over to it, drawn in like a Jersey Shore cast member to a drinking contest taking place inside a tanning salon. Though the other rooms have yet to be cleared, I can’t help myself, keeping the shotgun in one hand while the other thumbs over the selection of titles. It really doesn’t surprise me that the shelf is relatively untouched, I doubt looters have much of an interest in reading. Then again, it could be these ponies’ choices in reading material: paperback romance novels you can pick up at drugstores, coffee-table dreck people only buy to look impressive, mystery novels, the whole works. I roll my eyes. What’s wrong with a few Stephen King novels!? Or some fantasy and sci-fi? Why can’t you ever find those in anyone’s personal collections except for weird teenagers? Hell, at this point I’d settle for a paperback Dean Koontz!

I skim over a shelf packed full of paperbacks with the pony version of Fabio on their covers, feeling up some random mares. Dude even has long, golden locks drifting in some unknown breeze. Spare me. Eventually, my eye falls upon a picture of what must have been the family that lived here: a mommy pony, a daddy pony, and a baby pony, all wearing adorable little smiles. A little grin cracks my face. They might not have had the best reading choices, or the most luxurious lifestyle, but these ponies had a life. A life now certainly uprooted, if not ended altogether by…

Hold on…

Something’s wrong.

I scoop the picture up in my free hand and frown at it. Something about it is setting off a tiny alarm at the back of my head, as if I’m forgetting something really important, but of course I can’t put a finger on what that might be. Do the smiles look fake? Maybe a little, but these are ponies posing for a picture, what else would they look like? How about the eyes? Are the eyes wrong? No, that’s just my own paranoia. Okay, maybe it’s not something wrong with the picture, maybe it’s something missing…

Yeah! Okay, I’ve almost got it, what could be missing from this picture? I’ve got three ponies here, pasting on big, shit-eating grins for the camera. I’ve got a background that was obviously bought on the cheap from whatever studio took this. I’ve got condensation from the hot, steaming breath drifting over my shoulder...

…

PISS.

I whirl around, finger wrapping around the trigger, the photo shattering on the ground by my feet. A Dreamwalker fills my vision, sharpened tentacles poised, rotten breath drifting from between its fangs and blasting my face, its loose, tawdry skin practically hanging off its skeleton. The monster lunges for my throat, one of the pointed tentacles it has substituting for arms flying through the air with a little swish, like a throwing knife tossed by an expert. I barely manage to duck under the swing, feeling the wind ripple just over my head. With a flick of my wrist, I bring the shotgun up to bear in one hand (no need to worry about accuracy this close) and unleash a single shot that sends the creature falling backwards, turning half its previously-exposed ribcage into a red mist. The creature cocks its head back and opens its mouth wide enough to swallow a watermelon, a pair of ridiculously oversized fangs working up and down, as if it were trying to scream, only to discover this impossible with a large chunk of its lungs gone. The bastard settles back and coils into itself, its snake-like body shivering in its death throes.

A few stomps from outside tell me this bastard wasn’t the only thing waiting for me. I grimace and take a few deep breaths, working the lever action on my weapon to chamber a fresh round before charging out the door. A half-dozen zomponies are waiting for me, the air filled with their slavering cries and the ground hissing with their acidic drool. I let loose with another shot, and one of the bastards hits the floor with his skull from the jawline up gone, the once pristine washbasin behind him now oozing with the putrid remnants of its gray matter. My ears are starting to ring from the shotgun blasts, but I don’t let it show. Instead, I let loose a scream from somewhere deep inside myself, unleashing a battlecry to make a barbarian chieftain proud as I lash out in a swipe from my gnarled, changed hand, tearing out a chunk of another zompony’s throat. As that monster falls back, clutching futilely at the torrents of rotten, stinking blood pouring out its neck, I raise my shotgun in time to fend off a bite from one of its freakish buddies, blocking it right at the throat with the stock of the weapon. It takes a few bites of air, snarling at me, another zompony coming up behind it, lunging for my legs. With a quick twist of my body (I always considered myself an undeniably flexible bastard) I toss my first assailant aside and sidestep the second’s charge, bringing the butt of the shotgun down against the back of its skull as hard as I can. The thing’s head explodes like a large beetle getting run over by an 18-wheeler, giving off a surprisingly satisfying squish.

I grin. I’m almost completely deaf now, partially from the shotgun blasts and partially from my own pulse pounding in my ears, but it doesn’t matter anymore. My adrenaline is going wild. I’ve got three of these fuckers to take down now, and I even know just how to do it. Mr. Teeth is coming at me with another charge that I find unbelievably predictable. His two buddies still in the world of the semi-living are just standing on the other side of the table; totally stunned by the way I’ve just blitzkrieged through half their friends. It’s child’s play for me to dodge Mr. Teeth (crap, if that’s my name for him now, does that mean I’m getting attached already?) and follow up with a buttstroke against the back of his head, slamming him so hard his own momentum carries him right onto the table. Reacting fast, I chamber a fresh round and flip the table on its side, four crashes sounding as the place settings shatter against the floor. Mr. Teeth howls in confusion before I bring the shotgun to bear and unleash a final blast right through the wood, blood spewing out behind it. With a final battlecry, I slam my foot against the splintering remnants, sending the table sliding across the floor to hit the opposite wall and crushing the other two zomponies in the process.

That’s really it for the battle. Mr. Teeth is just a rotten-smelling stain on the wall now, and the other two are too stunned from being slammed against the wall and winged by the flying splinters to do much of anything. I take my time with them, strolling right up to their bodies as they struggle to free themselves from the splinters and scrap wood, then finishing each with a few stomps to the back of the head. With the adrenaline starting to peter off, I can take my time and look over the bodies.

These ponies look like regular raiders, all kitted out in scraps of whatever they could loot from abandoned villages. Not exactly innocents, and thankfully no foals among them to mess with my conscience, but still, one helluva way to go. They didn’t deserve this shit, to be taken and transformed into tools for the Nightmare hordes, their minds blasted away and their bodies used as expendable resources to further some demon fucker’s plans. They’d just been a roving band trying to survive in the post-apocalyptic wasteland this paradise had become. “Requiescat in pace,” I mutter, crossing myself. “May you at last find peace.”

I stride back out the door, pulling some fresh shells off the bandolier around my leg for good measure. Once I’m loaded up and ready, I dash outside. “Sift!?” I call. “I think we’ve got a small problem!”

No sooner do my sneakers touch the ground when I hear a crash from above. I turn just in time to see one of the upper-floor windows shatter outwards, spraying glass everywhere. Right in the heart of the spreading glass cloud, is my new best friend Sifty, riding a Hive Guardian while screaming like a maniac. A part of me is disappointed that he doesn’t have doves shooting out behind him in mid-air.

“FIVE-OH AIN’T GOT SHIT ON ME!” He screams, the monster roaring in reply, only to fall silent once Sifty lands on its throat. Still surfing the bastard’s body like the world’s meatiest tidal wave, he decapitates the creature with a single swing of his sword then tucks and rolls off a shoulder, landing right next to me to glare from a face covered in brackish, rotten-smelling blood.

“A small problem?” He huffs, still breathing heavily, still glaring.

I shrug. “I dunno, you seemed to have it locked down pretty tight. So I figured this was on the spectrum of concerns somewhere between ‘rabid dog in Ponyville’ and ‘hangnail on right index finger’.”

No sooner do these words escape my mouth when an ungodly cry rises from the outskirts of the village. We turn just in time to watch a veritable tidal wave of Nightmares, a horde that must be dozens strong and composed of Black Gorgers, Dream Walkers, Zomponies, and a whole host of shit I’m not even sure has gotten named yet. The horde descends upon us with the same kind of ravenous glee I’m sure a starving lion enjoys when it notices the slowest, fattest member of the zebra pack breaking its leg and falling into a pond of barbecue sauce.

“Okay,” I mutter, working the lever action of my shotgun. “Warden, remind me to keep my big, fat mouth shut in the future, wouldja?”

“I’ll remind you with a couple fat lips, half-breed,” he grumbles.

“Thanks pal, I knew I could count on ya,” I hiss, exposing my fangs in a sarcastic smile.

A half-hour of battle and quoting one-liners later, and the last of the Nightmares lies dead at our feet, the blood of their brethren caked on our clothes and shoes. Yep, looks like tonight is going to be a shower night. Great. Just when I was working up a really decent man-stench too.

“That the last of ‘em?” I yell, trying not to huff or show just how totally out-of-breath I am.

“Hold on,” Sift brings the edge of his shield down on the neck of a fallen zompony. It cringes and lets out a cry to let us know it had been faking death before breathing its last. “Okay, yeah, that should be it.”

“Great,” I grumble, beginning the search for my shotgun. The shells had run out about halfway through the battle, and I’d lost my grip on the poor little dear sometime after that. Not really sure how or when. I think it was before I tore the last of the Hive Guardians’ eyes out with my bare, clawed hands and attempted to show them to its vacant eye sockets, but after Sift had scaled one of the houses with a cry of “POGO PARKOUR,” flipped off the roof, and came down with his full weight behind his sword's edge to slice one of the Black Gorgers perfectly right down the middle. Again, I’m not one-hundred percent sure.

I manage to find my beloved weapon under a pile of zomponies, that loose bit clattering in my claws as I scoop it up again. “Shh, there there, girl,” I whisper, stroking the weapon’s barrel again. “Daddy’s here. Daddy made sure all the bad monsters went buh-bye.”

“I better not catch you with your dick in that thing,” Sift yells, his voice totally flat and emotionless. “I might just be apt to go for the trigger.”

I turn on him, all ready to give him a taste of a good ol’ demon face, but instead of his usual, stoic deadpan, he’s wearing this big, shit-eating grin. It knocks me back a pace or two: I didn’t even know he remembered how to smile. Then I return the grin and shoulder the weapon. “Perish the thought,” I reply. “I’d never do that to Shelly! Now, Lefty here…”

I hold up my hand, still grinning, partially tempted to try and emulate Princess Celestia’s almighty solar woman-parts but deciding that’d be too far, even for me. “…Lefty here’s another story.”

Sift just shakes his head, still smiling, surprisingly. “You’re a sick man, K, y’know that?”

“And proud of it!” I announce, pausing to take a quick scan of the piles of dead bodies all around us. “Say, should we do something about these? It’ll stink to high-hell if we just leave everything as it is. Might fuck up the crops, too, but I’m no expert on what happens to rotting Nightmares.”

“Naaahhhhhh, don’t worry about it,” Sifty cocks his head up to the sky. “Sun’ll take care of ‘em. Dead Nightmare bodies don’t last too long in the stuff.”

“Oh, cool,” but then a thought occurs to me. I turn back to the inn. “What about the ones in there?”

“Ehh…dammit, we should probably take care of those, huh?”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “But hey, when it’s all said and done, at least we’ll have actual beds to sleep in tonight, yeah? Maybe an actual bathtub or two?”

“No,” Sifty frowns, urging me along through the piles of dead Nightmares already beginning to disintegrate in the rays of sunlight left. “We’ve got a ton more ground to cover tonight.”

“Aww, c’mon, Warden!” I say, cracking something to relieve some of the ache building in my neck. “We’re talking actual beds! Some basic creature comforts to…”

Something flares in his emotional spectrum. It’s tiny, and gone almost as fast as it appears, but my changeling senses detect it instantly. A small, flare of anger, accompanied with something else, some nasty little taste that reminds me of many a school night spent locked in my room, hunched over a textbook with visions of F-minuses dancing in my head. Anxiety? Woah, Sifty feels anxiety!? Something’s up. There is a definite glitch in the matrix here.

“Okay, Warden,” I say quietly, keeping my eyes locked ahead. I follow him into the inn, then immediately lock the door behind us. We both walk into the shadows in some far corner, ducking down low. “Okay, why aren’t we really staying here? And don’t pull any punches, I wanna know.”

He doesn’t sigh, or run his hands through his hair, or any of that other bullshit. He just keeps his eyes locked on me and his tone dead and flat. I kind of admire that, in a way, but there’s a fine line between emotional control and emotional repression. As a creature that feeds off emotions, I know that better than anybody. Luckily for us, Sifty seems capable of dancing that line with the grace of a ballerina. A raging, battle-fuelled ballerina with abnormally large amounts of destructive capabilities and the ability to eat dragon souls. “We’re being followed,” he tells me, still with all the intonation and expression of the announcer at a bingo parlor.

What little remains of my smile fades from my face. “How long, and how many are they?”

“Don’t know,” he says. “Spotted a few things out in the woods yesterday: trampled underbrush in the shape of a boot, birds suddenly flying away, little shit like that. They’ve probably been on us for longer, though. Could just be the one, but again, I don’t know. Could be that one of them’s just not that good at keeping their trail covered. Either way…”

“Piss,” and I do run my hands through my hair. That’s probably the one good thing about hair for guys, now that I think about it. Having something soft to run your hands through can be somewhat calming. It doesn’t help here, though. “Okay, so we do what we came in here to do. We ditch the bodies, clean up a little, and leave like nothing’s…”

I pause. Why? Because I am an idiot. A blind, stupid, fucking idiot. “Goddammit,” I hiss under my breath.

“What?” Sift asks, and I feel a mild spike of concern. Jeez, Sifty having multiple emotional spikes in one day? Must be a sign of the apocalypse.

“You’re not the only one who’s seen signs,” I whisper, marching to the door to the manager’s quarters. “Only I was too blind to see ‘em.”

I don’t even break my stride tearing through the kitchen and back into the master bedroom, shattered glass and splinters crunching under my sneakers. I nearly kick the door off its hinges, still unwilling to break my stride as I throw the fallen Nightmare out of the way, all using my stupid, retard strength. My stupid, idiotic, retarded moron strength. I had been so blind.

Sifty’s right behind me. I scoop up the remnants of the picture frame from where it’s fallen; holding what little is left of the intact wooden frame in the palm of my hand. I gently leave the picture resting on one of the shelves and sigh. “Warden, tell me: how many people do you know keep family photos on their bookshelf?”

“Uh…” he hunches his eyebrows in another rare expression of emotion, this one mild confusion. “A few that I can think of, maybe.”

“Right, but if a family had just one photo for some reason, like say, if they were a bunch of poor-as-dirt innkeepers in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere, they wouldn’t keep it there, would they? So far from the bed, I mean,” I continue, my behind sinking into the hay mattress as I take a seat on the bed. My eyes drift to the side. “They’d want it close to where they sleep.”

“The nightstand, yeah,” Sifty says. “Kildeez, where is this going?”

I don’t answer for a second. My eyes just scour the squat piece of furniture, scanning with my enhanced changeling vision. It doesn’t take too long to find what I’m looking for: a narrow slot in the dust, a little piece of wood darker and more polished than the rest of the wood, why? Because it had been protected while the rest of the wood had been exposed to the light. I hold up one of the more intact pieces of the frame and lay it gently in the slot. Perfect fit.

“Of course,” I grumble. “I was so, so blind.”

“Kildeez? You’re kinda pissing me off now,” Sifty says, though the gentle spike in his anxiety says otherwise.

“I’m pissing myself off, Warden,” I announce, standing up from the bed. I face him directly, my eyebrows hunching as my mind focuses on what I’d looked right at without seeing. “Earlier, when I threw that table over, there were four crashes. Why four crashes? Because there had been four places set for a nice, pony dinner. Four plates set for four diners. A fact that I should’ve picked up on much sooner.”

“Alright, so?” Sifty shrugs.

“So,” I point to the picture quivering on the bookshelf. Relenting, I cross over and press a book facedown over it to keep it covered, not even bothering to look at the title. “There are three ponies in this picture.”

Sifty’s eyes widen in instant realization. “An extra place.”

“For an extra guest,” I hiss, even more clues coming to mind. “Just like the fact that every single candle and oil well had been left to burn out in this place, and I’ll bet if we checked the rest of the village, we’d find the same true of every candle and every lamp.”

“Even though the Nightmare attack hit in the middle of the day,” Sifty’s eyebrows rise so high they practically disappear into the mop of dirty, black curls he calls hair. “If the ponies were all running for their lives and it was the middle of the day, why would they leave their candles burning?”

“Because they didn’t,” I growl, seeing the full extent of what we’re up against. “Because something came in after them and played a few pranks: set an extra place at the table, lit a few candles and let them burn down, moved pictures to places where I would find them, all tiny details they knew I would pick up on eventually, just like they knew you would see the trampled underbrush and scattered birds in the forest. Tiny clues for us to know of their presence, each tailored for our specific brand of talents.”

“God damn,” he mutters. “Not only are they tracking us, they’re predicting where we’re going! They know what we can do, and they’re using that to fuck with us!”

“They want us to know they’re following us,” I grumble. “And worse yet, they’re doing this to make sure one point gets across…”

“…that there isn’t a goddamn thing we can do about it.” Sifty growls angrily.

A short distance away, a tiny camera whirs into action, sliding out of its hiding place beneath a fake stone and focusing on the little inn. After scanning around for a little while, the camera spies its preprogrammed target. A small window fades into its viewfinder as tiny gears whir into place. The camera finishes its scan and settles, spying two men standing near the window, one sitting on a cheap bed with his hands running through his hair, the other leaning against the wall, peering outside with a stoic grimace on his face, but not even his keen eyes could possibly spot the tiny lens as it focused on them.

Eventually, the man on the bed looks up, the sunlight catching his eye with a strange, emerald glimmer. The camera whirs and zooms in, immediately running facial recognition software over the face. A green light snaps on in the dark little hole behind its body.

Somewhere a much greater distance away, something pauses in its step, a jaunty little tune it had been whistling to itself cutting off mid-melody. The forest falls silent, not even the birds in the trees above its head whistle. A dark grin spreads over the creature’s face like a malignant tumor, and it drops to one knee and pulls a small device out of its pack.

Pressing a few buttons, a screen flickers to life on the device, immediately displaying real-time footage of the changeling-hybrid in the window, going over some new, clever, but ultimately futile plan with the man at his side. The grin widens.

“Took you long enough to see me,” the creature hisses, its voice oozing out of its mouth like pus from an infected wound. “I’ve been watching you for a long time, after all. And now, I finally have you where I want you.”

It slides a claw over the screen, and the view shifts to the man next to the hybrid. The grin wavers ever-so-slightly, but quickly recovers. “Even if you’ve found another playmate. Don’t worry, though, I’ve had a long time to plan this. He won’t interfere.”

The creature continues to grin as it reaches into its pack again and pulls out a bottle of Jack Daniels, taking a few great, big gulps without hesitation. It raises the bottle to the air, the horrid grin never leaving its face. “And now: a toast, for the game can finally begin,” it whispers. “I’ve been looking forward to playing with you, half-breed. You have no idea how much I’ve been chomping at the bit for this. For you”

A small cackle builds in the back of the thing’s throat, continuing on for the rest of the night it spent camped there, the bottle in one hand, the screen frozen on Kildeez’s face in the other.

Author's Note

DUN-DUN-DUNNNNNN!

Entry VIII: More Monstrosities, by Sifty

After some time spent in this shitty little alcove after the battle, I let out a short growl. Though Kildeez was a hell of a companion, we hadn't really discussed our plans for the future.

"Kay..." I grunt, to get his attention. Apathetic as to whether he was really listening or not, I went on anyway. "After we get to the castle and fight off the Darkspawn, we're going to part ways."

"I getcha." Kay replied, understandingly. "I'd imagine that tagging along with a Changeling would be bad for your image, Sifty."

"Two things. One, you're tagging along with me. Remember who's in charge." I growled. "Two? How in the fuck did you figure out my name? I distinctly remember telling you that my title is 'Warden,' nothing more, nothing less."

Kay's expression went sour. He nervously looked away in a manner suggesting that he was hiding something. As he stammered to come up with something, I stepped forward and kneed him in the chin, knocking him off of the bed he was laying down on. Picking him up by his shirt collar, I stuck one of the pistols I had recovered up to his chin and gazed into his eyes with the glowing wrath of the Dragonblood and the Taint, two great tastes that taste great together.

"Spill your guts before I spill 'em for ya."

Before he could give a confession or an excuse, a blood-curdling screech echoed through the ghost town. Unlike the other monstrosities that we fought, I actually had a bit of trouble identifying this one- and I was a damn experienced crypto-xenobiologist. Growling in agitation, I turned to the direction of the scream.

"HOLD YOUR DICK, ASSMAGGOT! I'LL GET TO YOU IN A MOMENT!" I barked, the rage nearly shaking the foundation of the building we were in. The voice of the Dragonborn leaked out quite a bit. As if to say "unhand that suave gentlesack," the roof of the building collapsed, and in the wake of the dust and splintered wood was some sort of glowing monstrosity. Four eyes, an unnaturally wide mouth, and a scream that would wet the greaves of any would-be adventurer.

Except for myself, of course. Fear is a reflex.

AS IS VIOLENCE.

As I had dropped Kildeez when the creature came through, I didn't give the bastard the welcome it likely expected. With the stunt it just pulled, it probably assumed that it's victims would be shocked, or unable to fight, and would get an easy meal. Rather, it tasted the bony knuckles of an experienced Warden, as I crashed my fist through it's cheek with tight right hook. Crouching slightly, I jumped upward with the follow-through uppercut, which caused the creature to sever it's own tongue.

Stepping forward, I crashed my forehead into what could only be assumed as the bastard's nose, which sent it scrambling up against the wall behind it. Locking it tight in a half-clinch, I tenderized it's ribcage with a barrage of heavy shovel-hooks, before locking up a full clinch and rocketing my knee into the fucker's crotch. Turning and throwing my weight into the bugger, I grabbed it by the back of the head with both arms and hurled it over my shoulder, leaving it on it's ass with it's head in just the right position.

Snap.

With a professionally rearranged cervical vertebrae, the creature fell to the ground. The blood rage, now purging itself from my system, allowed me to actually analyze the beast a bit and come out with an assumption of what breed it was. Cannibal, a Reaper-class creature from the Mass Effect universe. Always got freaked out by their oversized mouths and their eating habits.

Not like it mattered. Bitch be' dead.

Not wanting to waste any more time, I kicked Kay's backpack into his face with a grunt of agitation. We've done enough in this backwoods little county.

"I'll tear answers out of you later. We've spent enough time playing with our milk-sticks. We've got Darkspawn to catch up to. I believe we owe them a kick in the daddy bags."

Ignoring whatever it was that Kildeez mumbled, I began to leave- but not before dipping my finger into the Cannibal's pooling blood, smearing the cyan fluid across my face to symbolize the fact that even converted Reaper drones should fear me.

Not to be egotistical, but a pissed off Dragonborn-Warden on a mission with the power of a nation in his hands is not exactly something that should be fucked with lightly. I may have pissed off my only companion just now, but he's been with me long enough to know- Don't fuck with The Warden.

Kildeez, understandably, stayed farther behind from me as we marched. He was both tired, and likely either shameful or angry about our confrontation. To be honest, I couldn't care less. He's got his own problems to worry about. If he doesn't like me because I'm a rightfully paranoid butt-stabber, that's all well and good. Not going to stop me from doing my job, and if his job is really as important as mine, then I would drag his ass from Hell itself so that he could complete it.

Nobody gets left behind. No matter how much I distrust them.

Our jobs were too important for petty things to stand in the way. After all, it's why I left Equestria in the first place.

As well as why I came back.

As the dust of the dead lands kicked up again, I began to chant Rusted Root's "Send Me On My Way" to keep the mood going. Was somewhat gratifying when Kildeez started playing the guitar along with the lyrics.

I'm quite sure he had a subtle fear that I would feed him that guitar.

Entry IX: If You Don't Know What The Tigger Song Is, You Lived A Deprived Childhood, by Kildeez

Here's something you might not have gotten from my last couple entries: I am an angry person. What can I say? Everybody has their flaws, and I'm man enough to admit mine, and I can tell you that I have a temper. Take right now, for instance. Right now, Sifty is fighting off some big bastard, trying like hell to keep us both alive, and all I can think about is how he would look if I stuck my shotgun up his ass and just kept working the trigger until it clicked dry.

Yeah, I know, I don't even have shells to try, tell that to a man who's just been clocked in the jaw by a guy he was supposed to be fighting alongside. Later, I'll probably be a bit more clearheaded to see things from his perspective. I'll probably realize how justified he is in his suspicions, and how right he is to be so damned suspicious of everybody and everything, with our line of work being what it is. In fact, he'd be foolish not to have developed such paranoia about his surroundings, and I might even applaud him for detecting my little slip-up.

But none of that has anything to do with right now. Right now, between my aching jaw and the adrenaline still pumping through my body, a part of me is tempted to clock him in the back of the head just to see the look of surprise on his face in the split second before the big bastard in front of us vaporizes our asses.

Speaking of, what the shit is that thing!? Doesn't look like any Nightmare I've seen: sure, the big, misshapen, muscular body bulging like a diseased hot dog from the bottom of some street vendor's cart and the ungodly shrieking it keeps letting loose all fit, but what's with the circuitry running just beneath the vein-covered, pulsing skin? And it's arm! One of its arms looks it was pulled off a robot and given some sorta futuristic laser weapon, complete with bigass, skin-shredding claws.

Despite the thing's appearance, Sifty charges it, his voice booming something incoherent with the power of the Dragonborn behind it. The very ground rumbles with the sheer force of his shout. I would be impressed, if I wasn't so hung up on the idea of changing my arms into scythes and hooking a serrated blade into the side of his neck, twisting only slightly so I can watch his blood dribble from around my blade, his eyes locked on me as they slowly glaze over as I've seen them do a thousand times, each time with the gratitude and release of...

"No," I gasp quietly. "No, that's not me. That's not me. That's not me..."

I mumble it over and over again, eventually regaining just a modicum of control, at least until the "intrusive" thoughts quiet down, as they usually do. I repeat the phrase over and over again, just like my therapist told me, bless her little heart. She might have just saved both our lives here.

Just as I'm feeling like myself again, my own backpack smashes into my face. I look up to see Sifty standing over me, glaring hatefully. "I'll tear answers out of you later," he grumbles. "We've spent enough time playing with our milk-sticks. We've got Darkspawn to catch up to. I believe we owe them a kick in the daddy bags."

As fun as that sounds, I make sure to continue repeating my therapist's phrase to myself over and over again, because there's no denying that dark twinge in my heart upon seeing the look in his eyes. Teach him, that twinge says. Educate him. Show him why you are the changelings' fist, educate all of them and MAKE them see...

"Not me. Not who I am. Not me," I keep reminding myself as I join Sifty out the door. He doesn't ask what I'm mumbling. Which is good. I'm not sure what would have happened if he had.

We walk in silence, which is for the best really. If I'd opened my mouth, Sift would have eventually asked that question again, and when I refused to answer, things might have gotten a little heated. And when two men with tempers go at it, there's no telling where things could end up. A hospital if nobody upstairs is paying attention. A morgue if they are and decide they're finally sick of our bullshit.

A few hours of listening to birdsong pass uneventfully, the relaxing and charming qualities of the great forest around us ruined by the possibility that we are being followed, and that whoever is on our tail is also just chomping at the bit for a chance to hit us again. Of course, we're not total pessimists. Maybe we did totally wipe out the local Nightmare population in the last battle, and maybe any survivors are terrified at us for shortening the length of their Christmas card lists. Maybe. Always better to err on the side of caution though, right? Still, a few hours of brooding silence can weigh on you. Doesn't matter how serene the forest may appear, or how much the crunch of fallen leaves under your boots reminds you of home, sooner or later the boredom and frustration just gets to you.

It takes me a while, but I eventually concede defeat to my own lousy attention span (thank you, years of web-surfing) and pull a small bass guitar out of my pack. I strum a few notes, getting myself warmed up. I picked up playing during my first few days with the changelings. Grabbed this little plywood beauty during one of my excursions into Equestria, hiding out as a pegasus mare named Starsong (yes, I said mare, don't judge me) in a little, middle-of-nowhere village. Well, okay, it was less an excursion and more a mission to hunt down a local beastie with a taste for chitin and the blood of a half-dozen ponies and infiltrators on its talons, but you catch my drift.

After a while, I start to feel the familiar hum of inspiration passing through my mind. You writers out there know what I'm talking about. You artists too, probably. That strange wave of pure bliss and relaxation that hits you when you're in the zone, and your own mind and sense of self disappears, leaving only you and your art to create something beautiful. Or beautiful to you, at the very least, and usually that's enough.

With that beautiful hum still buzzing through my head, my fingers start working the strings. An epic song of my people enters my thoughts, begging me to breathe into it life. I obey, helpless against the whisper of inspiration, finally granting existence to words and chords that have stood since time immemorial, standing as tall as the ancient epics of Homer or the teachings of Sun Tzu.

"She was a fast machine,

She kept the motor clean,

She was the best damn woman that I'd...ever seen!"

"AC/DC, half-breed?" Sift asks, breaking me out of my trance.

I pause, falling silent for just a moment. Those were the first words he's spoken to me in hours. Plus, they were tinged with an insult, but the light tone in his voice suggests that I'm getting through to him, so I keep right on playing.

"Thank God you recognized them," I say, actually relieved. "Most younger people these days couldn't tell Mick Jagger from Paul Simon."

"Really?" He says, his tone lightening considerably. "Jeez, the Stones were only the first rock group ever."

My playing halts again. Did I hear that right? Did he just express knowledge as to who Mick Jagger was? With a quivering voice, hardly daring to hope we might also go this far, I ask: "Wha-wha-what about the Beatles?"

"Eh, they did a lot for rock, sure, but they didn't have that edge yet. Naw, the Stones were the ones who made that last crossing to pure rock."

If he had been a woman, I would have dropped to one knee and proposed on the spot. Then again, if I ever did meet a woman like Sifty, I'd have to hook the two of them up just to see what kind of baby would pop out. Knowing Sift, that kid would probably spinning kick the doctor right in the face as it popped out of its mother's womb, then it would slice through its own umbilical cord with the knife it had clenched in its gums and head out to cleanse the universe of evil, one bullet at a time.

Motherfucker, I definitely should've been a writer. That's a goddamned summer blockbuster right there! I'm about to ask Sift what he thinks about his theoretical God-child when he stops. His hand rises and clenches. I fall silent in a heartbeat, dropping to a knee. Slowly sliding the guitar back in its place on my back, I bring my shotgun up to bear again.

Sift pulls his blades out and I motion to him, looking around with an eyebrow arched. Where?

He points to a stand of trees, then moves his arm forward. Through there.

I splay my hands out at him. What're we dealing with?

He shrugs. I don't need to translate that for you, now, do I?

Sighing, I raise my shotgun, letting him know I've got him covered. He nods, then disappears into the cluster. I hear a little bit of rustling, and then he’s gone, even the bushes he's disturbed quickly bobbing to a halt. It's freakin' amazing, honestly. How does a guy stay so quiet that even the birds aren’t disturbed?

After a few minutes, the rustling returns. I raise the shotgun and stare down the gunsights, but I keep my finger off the trigger. Sifty emerges, staring down the barrel passively, the blades still clenched in his hand. I lower my weapon.

"What're we lookin' at?" I whisper.

"Another village," he replies. "Looks quiet."

"So did the last one."

"Yep."

After that, no words are needed. We disappear together into the stand of trees, me remaining just a few steps behind him. I'm not as quiet as he is, but I do my best and nothing horrible pops out to rip our faces off, so that must mean something. We emerge on a hillside overlooking another village, this one bigger than the last. It has a town hall and a schoolhouse! Lawdy lawdy, all this newfangled city stuff is almost overwhelmin’ for simple country folk like us!

A few Nightmares trundle through the streets. One of them, a lumbering mass of muscle waddling along on two stubby legs and keeping itself upright on its knuckles like a big, meaty gorilla, casts its attention in our general direction. My breath catches in my throat on impulse, but then the thing gazes back down at the road with its rows of bloodshot eyes, its massive, pinkish feet thudding along as it passes by.

“Piss yourself, half-breed?” Sifty asks smartly.

I just grin as I reply, “You wish, Warden. Honestly, I was concerned for you. Need a change of underroos after de big, scawy Nightmare gave us a passing glance?”

He doesn’t reply. I look over at him, and instantly recognize the dark glare entering his eyes. He’s already piecing together a plan of assault, something that will take the village with minimal risk and maximum casualties. I keep my lips shut. I know better than to interrupt him when he’s in this state.

“That street,” he says, gesturing towards a small alley just on the edge of town. “One way in, maybe two or three yards wide, give or take?”

“Sounds about right.”

“It’s perfect for defense. That big bastard right there,” he says, pointing to our old pal, big, meaty, and gorilla-like (but without the good looks and charm). “He couldn’t even stand up straight in there. It’s about the width of his shoulders, so rearing back for a good attack and dodging go right out the window. And with him down, the others are just so much cannon fodder.”

“Fuckin’ hell, Warden,” I say, shaking my head. “Watching you plan out a battle is like watchin’ Da Vinci paint, or Michelangelo sculpt.”

“Dinner and a movie first, half-breed. I don’t just hop into bed with anybody.”

I almost pause. Did Sifty just make a light-hearted, homoerotic crack? Dear God. I must be contagious. I grin in reply. “So, we’ve got a killzone just waiting for them, how do we lure the big fucker into it?”

“Bait,” he replies simply, and this time, the tiny smile just barely tugging at the corners of his lips takes on a devious quality as he turns it on me.

“Of course,” I sigh, cracking my neck and popping a few joints in my knuckles back into place. “Of course.”

Here’s something you probably HAVE gathered from my previous log entries: I’m not the most well-balanced critter you’ll meet in the land of talking ponies. Yep, I can be pretty crazy, and not just in a “dang, check out that guy on the dance floor, he’s CRAZY!” way. No, when I say crazy, I mean it in more of a “somebody call a fucking SWAT team on this nutbar before he kills himself and everyone around him!” way.

That might be why the moment Sift assigned me to create a distraction in this little town, my thoughts immediately rushed to only one possible way of doing this.

I approach the town, shotgun holstered. I’m just walking right down the middle of Main Street, my ragged tennis shoes clopping on the cobblestones, my middle fingers raised in the air as high as they can go. A couple zomponies stop and just gape at me. Or, I think they’re gaping at me. It could just be that the muscles they use to hold their jaws shut have rotted away. It’s honestly hard to tell with them.

A Hive Guardian approaches as I near the middle of town, its scythe-like appendages raised. I direct both my middle fingers towards it, earning a few growls from somewhere back in its throat. Still, it allows me to approach, standing at bay until a few dozen more of its buddies can come near. That’s done it. I’ve managed to attract the attention of at least most of the fucked-up, monstrous population of this town. Now, I need to make sure I can hold it.

So with a flicker of transformation magic, I disappear and a long-tailed, orange, black-striped creature takes my place. I place a fuzzy hand on my chest, clear my throat, then belt out another epic of my people:

”OOOHHHHHHHH…
A wonderful thing is a Tigger;
A Tigger's a wonderful thing!
Their tops are made out of rubber…
Their bottoms are made out of spring!”

One of the Nightmares finally regains its senses enough to take a stab at me. I dodge easily, springing into the air and landing ass-first on the back of its head, driving its face into the concrete.

”They're bouncy, bouncy, bouncy, bouncy,
fun, fun, fun, fun, fun!
The most wonderful thing about Tiggers is:
I'm the only one!
Oh, IIII’MMMMM…the only one!”

As if the song had been holding them all in a trance, the remaining Nightmares spring into action once I stop singing, rushing me with fangs, teeth, and claws bared.

“Hoo-hoo-hoo-hooooo!”

I sprint for the alleyway Sift pointed out, a straight-up army of Nightmares nipping at my heels. My legs pump with every scrap of might I can pour into them, and I’m suddenly thanking Christ for every minute I’ve ever spent on the treadmill. Looks like I’m putting them to use now, as my orange, stripey ass does its best not to get torn to shreds.

I pass small candy stores, drugstores, and kitschy tourist traps with the Nightmare army right behind me, the whole lot of us shooting along the mossy, cobblestone streets like the worst, most violent parade in history. After breaking a mile-run record or three, I spy the alleyway up ahead and duck inside.

Sifty is nowhere to be seen.

“And again: Fuck. My. Life.” I grumble. I don’t ask for much. A warm bed, a little time to write or strum a few notes on my guitar, the safety and security needed to guarantee that when I close my eyes next, it won’t be for the last time. Shit, that last one’s the really important one. So why is it usually the hardest to find in my line of work?

You know, besides the fact that my line of work involves facing down the worst society and nature itself has to offer, usually all by my lonesome.

I whirl around to face my attackers, my own claws extending, the shotgun practically flying into my hands. That knocks the horde off-balance: I’m no longer the fuzzy wuzzy comedy relief I was a few minutes ago. Now I actually pose a potential threat. For a few milliseconds, the Nightmares heading up their little mob trip over their own feet, skidding for just a moment on the cobblestone. To them, I may not look like the most intimidating bastard they’ve seen all day, but I’ve gone from weird, cuddly-looking orange thing to armed and dangerous in a span of time most people take to blink, and that throws them, makes them hesitate, which is just what I need.

I drop two of the monsters with well-placed headshots, their eyes still wide in shock at my sudden transformation. The blasts are enough to wake up the rest of the horde, and they all descend upon me. It doesn’t take more than an instant for me to work the math out in my head: seven shells left in my weapon, times one or two Nightmares I might be able to drop with each, plus the four or five I could take on unarmed at a time, all subtracted from the fifty or so ugly-ass mutants descending upon me equals…

“I’m pretty fucked,” I grumble, blasting away with the shotgun. Fun fact, by the way: in real life, the hero DOES run out of ammo. Movies lie to you all the time. It doesn’t take long for that to happen to me, and now the shotgun is basically a baseball bat in my hands. A rather effective baseball bat, it’s easy to note from the way I splatter some zompony’s gray matter all over the brickwork, but still not as nice as a shotgun.

My adrenaline has just started pumping when a roar forces me to twist in place. Raising my shotgun threateningly, my gaze wonders upwards…and upwards…and upwards…finally meeting the cold, yellow eyes of that gorilla-ish bastard me and Sift spotted earlier. My jaw drops. He’s even bigger up close, his fangs dribbling with saliva that splashes on the ground by my feet. I raise my shotgun threateningly, glowering as I grip the barrel. The monster roars, fists the size of Mini Coopers raised over its head, more slobber dribbling from the baggy jowls on its dog-like face. I hold my breath, preparing to transform into something that could at least survive an assault from this thing, but just then the beast pauses.

My teeth transform into a few dozen razor-sharp fangs, which I bare at the monster. It just looks down at me, its fists lowering as its head lolls stupidly to one side, the hate-filled gaze it once held now melting away to something blank and stupid. I roar with vocal cords transformed into a cross between a lion and a wild grizzly, my voice booming off the walls.

“Calm your shit, half-breed, you’re roaring at a corpse,” the monster says, a couple rivers of blood spontaneously dribbling down the sides of its neck.

“Bwuh?” I ask, so stunned that it’s all I can think of. Some of my eloquence fades when I’m surprised, I’ve noticed.

At that, the monster hits the cobblestone with a deep thud that rumbles through the ground, its face forming a crater just a few inches from my feet. I back up in surprise, looking up at Sifty perched on the thing’s back, wrenching his sword out of its neck with a sickening squelch.

I sigh in relief, not sure if I should be thanking the guy for saving my ass, or pounding him in the face for taking his dear, sweet time about it. I settle for keeping my voice at a somewhat-quieter roar and whispering: “Where the hell were you!? Powdering your nose!?”

“Just seeing how you reacted when your back was against the wall,” he replies, wiping some of the Nightmare’s blood off on his shirt. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, half-breed.”

My fangs grit together. That "half-breed" shit is really starting to grit on my nerves. But before I can say anything, a massive squeal fills the air. We both twist, facing the alleyway, weapons raised. With a thought, my arms become the massive, muscle-bound claws of a horrid beast. I bare my fangs into the street while Sift assumes his combat stance; his eyes narrowed threateningly, his shield raised.

Then the squeals become a song. I realize what we’re listening to almost immediately: it’s a speaker system! Setup somewhere near the heart of town, by the sounds of it. What’s more, I even recognize the tune that’s playing.

I met a devil woman
She took my heart away
She said, I've had it comin' to me
But I wanted it that way…

“BTO,” I mutter.

“What the hell…” Sift adds.

“Oh, BTO is the band. They were really big way-back-when for this and…”

“I fucking know, half-breed, I mean why the hell’s THAT song playing in this town?”

I want to feel insulted for his use of that term again, but dammit, he’s got a good point there. Why is a seventies super-band playing in the middle of a Nightmare-infested town here in the land of magical, talking ponies? I hate to say this, but I know there’s only one way to find out.

“Ladies first, Warden,” I say, motioning for him to lead on.

“Good point,” he replies, then knees me in the crotch and tosses me out onto the street.

Okay, I will admit: as badly as that last one hurt and as pissed off as I am now, that was funny as hell right there.

We approach a squat storefront with equal parts caution and growing apprehension. Everything about this screams “death trap.” Quiet store front, completely normal-looking toys and whatnot in the front window, a sign dangling from a chain saying “Sorry, We’re Closed.” It’s all way too normal. I could imagine an older stallion coming up front to switch the sign for another day of business, probably waving at us as he pops the door open to let in a fresh morning breeze.

Me and Sift eye each other, eyebrows cocked. We’re both thinking the same thing: booby trap. Some funny little surprise left by whatever the hell’s been stalking us on this journey. At the same time, we know we can’t just walk away. Something this obvious has to lead to some important clues for what we’re up against. Besides, I get the feeling that if this thing just wanted us dead, it would’ve made a move already, one way more devastating than the basic Nightmare rushes we’ve been experiencing. There’s no question in our minds. We have to go in.

Sift nods to me as I lean my shotgun up against a fence, positioning a barrel in front of it. There’s simply no time to make new shells, my claws and regular changeling abilities will just have to do. We both brace ourselves just off the front porch, our legs tensing as we hover a few steps away from the rotting, splintered wood. Sift keeps a blade levelled on the doorway while I keep my claws raised. I can feel the tension rising in his emotions, his muscles turning into coiled springs, ready to propel him over the porch and into the face of whatever’s on the other side of that door.

Then the song gets caught in a loop:

You ain’t seen nothin’ yet…

Buh-buh-buh-baby you just ain’t seen nuh-nuh-nothin’ yet!

…you ain’t seen nothin’ yet…

Buh-buh-buh-baby you just ain’t seen nuh-nuh-nothin’ yet!

We eye each other. What are the odds that the song just happened to get caught in a loop right at those words? Not good, if you ask me, and Sifty’s thinking the same.

He nods once, and then springs at the door, vaulting the porch with one leap and plowing through the wood with a single, powerful kick. I’m right behind him, claws raised, sweeping every corner, every possible avenue of attack. None comes. There’s just the front counter, and aisle upon aisle of groceries lit only by the morning sun, the magical candles that would normally keep this place lit having long burnt out…

Hold on.

Burnt-out candles...oh, that crafty sonofabitch…

I motion to Sift and point at one of the candles. He takes one look and immediately sees what I’m seeing, letting out a tiny grunt of displeasure. A sneer fills his face. It’s just like in the last village, every candle burnt low. I bet we’ll find shit like this all over if we look hard enough: little “jokes” placed by whatever’s stalking us. Extra place settings at dinner tables, pictures moved to where they wouldn’t naturally be, maybe some funny little words carved into wood here and there.

We both pick an aisle and stalk to the back room, where the music is still pumping out into the village. I can see the doorknob vibrate with the beat, even from the other side of the store. Still, we’re patient, making our way slowly past piles of diapers, boxes of cereal, and tubes of…horn polish? Really? That’s a thing? Okay, anyway, the only sound here is the occasional creak of wood beneath our shoes. I have to struggle and focus on my breathing to keep it regular, trying to keep from hyperventilating. With another flicker of changeling magic my arms slowly tense out, flames dancing occasionally over them as they expand. By the time we reach the rickety, old door leading to the back room, my arms are long, thick meat whips terminating in razor-sharp claws. A bit freaky, but not bad weapons if I do say so myself.

We’re at the door. This is it. Whatever this fucker has waiting for us is just on the other side of this wood. Sift reaches out and turns the knob. There’s a couple small clicks, and instantly the music stops. Our eyes widen. Sifty rears back and hammers his boot against the wood in a powerful donkey kick that turns the door into splinters. I take point this time, busting through into the back stockroom.

It only takes us a couple minutes to scan the entire room: just a broom closet, except where there should be cleaning supplies and extra stock for the shelves up front, there’s yards of cabling and a sound system to make a Best Buy “Geek Squad” member cream his tasteful, business-casual khakis. Along the back wall is a computer monitor with the phrase “SCANNING FOR SHITHEADS…SHITHEADS FOUND” blinking over and over again.

Me and Sift eye each other, and he sits down in front of the computer monitor as I start following the wires around. “Eh, shit,” I mutter as I look over the proximity sensors wired to the doorframe and the simple contact lever-switch rigged to the knob. All components I recognize from my old job back home, which I doubt is a coincidence. Whoever this is, they are good. They are really, really good. Not just with wiring, but at knowing how to fuck with our heads.

“K, get over here,” Sift says. “Something’s happenin’.”

I peer over Sift’s shoulder as a video feed takes up the main screen. It’s fuzzy and out of focus, like an old analog TV tuned to a channel that isn’t quite there, but I can make out a dark man-like shape amidst the static. The sound is a bit garbled too, but it’s more than clear enough for us to make out.

“Your orders, sir? The targets are right there.” One garbled, but obviously mechanical (an automaton?) voice says. Based on the movements of the figure on the screen, I guess this is its voice.

“Hold back until the signal is given,” another voice says, this one softer and obviously natural, but still deep and threatening. This figure is still off-camera, perhaps even the cameraman, though it’s obvious who it’s talking about.

“Aye, and what are we to do with ‘em once we got ‘em?” The screen pans to another figure, this one bulkier than the first, nearly dominating the entire monitor.

The tiny computer speakers emanate a soft chuckle, one absolutely devoid of any mirth or compassion. A chill runs up my spine. It might just be the worst sound I’ve ever heard. Well, almost, not quite as bad as the time I disguised myself as private security to knee Justin Bieber in the groin. NOT as fun as it sounds, especially when he screams.

“Bind them, then do what you will,” the voice says, the chuckle still playing along its edges. “Rape, torture, vasectomy without anesthetic, I don’t care, just make sure they can see each other while you’re doing it.”

The figure chuckles, which is still a pretty dark chuckle, but a shower of rainbows in…well…in the motherfucking land of magical talking ponies…compared to the cameraman’s laugh. “Alright, we’re gonna have some fun!”

At that, the screen blacks out, the video stream replaced with a single dialog box: “HAD ENOUGH YET? Y/N,” followed by a blinking cursor for user input.

I’m about to comment when we hear a poof, and the tell-tale fizzle of rocket fire. We both practically stumble over each other scrambling out the doorway, sprinting back through the store, me not even bothering with the door and just crashing through the front plate-glass window.

Sift doesn’t even bother to ask why I didn’t just wait an extra second for the damn door and instead exploded out here in a shower of broken glass. God knows he doesn’t have to, and besides, we’re both preoccupied with the fizzling sounds coming from above our heads. We crane our necks, spying the telltale contrails of signal flares launching into the skies from points all over the city, at least a dozen in all, adding an eerie red glow to the early morning light.

A thousand battle cries sound from the woods surrounding the village. I grimace and raise my tendrils. Sift nods to me and readies his blades. Whatever this thing stalking us has planned, we’ve just stumbled right into the next part of it. I can only pray we’ll survive to see what else is waiting for us out there.

Author's Note

You really did.

Anyway, that'll be all for a while. The ball's in Sifty's court now, and I'm looking forward to what he's got planned!

Entry X: The Champion's Fall, by Siftstone

"YOU WANT SOME OF US, YOU COCKSUCKERS?!" I howled at the top of my lungs, the voice of the Dragonborn rattling the trees, as Kildeez and I readied ourselves for the coming battle. Silhouettes in the treeline began to take shape, and with them, the echo of gunfire. Bullets picked apart the building behind us, spraying concrete and glass all about. One bullet bit into my unarmored shoulder.

And I absolutely lost it.

With nary a recoil from the force of a bullet, my mind and body were flooded with a sudden, absolute fury. With a sharp inhale, I returned the casual gesture of our attackers with a shout. The blue wave of energy that spread outward from my Thu'um carried with it all the wrath that was bundled in my form, the energy released pushing aside and toppling trees, and after a moment, the screams and curses of the dying echoed out of the forest.

Kildeez was about to mutter something, but it was silenced by another raging cry bellowing out of my throat. With no forethought, I raised my shield and charged into the brush, bullets ricocheting off the thick metal. Some more rounds caught me in my exposed thigh and upper arms, but I barely felt more than a prick due to the adrenaline coursing through my veins. The drums of battle beat as I crashed into the first meaty target- and I recognized it as a unicorn, holding a pistol up with it's magic. Well, it was, before I broke it's neck with the force of my shield charge.

A voice. Male. Behind me. Unfamiliar. Without even thinking, I whirled around and brought my saber machete high, slicing through the meaty neck of a human. Humans and ponies, heavily armed, working together- to what end? Our annihilation? Control of the world?

Who the fuck cares. These bodies are all meat, now.

The sound of whipping tendrils and shotgun blasts echoed behind me, and I only assumed that the half-breed had gotten to work on his own victims, as I stopped forward heavily and flung my shield into the neck of a stallion, crushing his windpipe. As he fell over, I took note of how different he was from the one who I charged into. Less modern clothing. Ragged, torn- and I noticed that he had a sword in his teeth. Like a barbarian.

Twirling around, I parried the downward blow of what I could only assume was a roman gladiator. His spear snapped to the side and stuck in the dirt, as my blade came up and cleaved his chin in half. Before his corpse could fall, I snatched the gladius off his belt and brandished it against my machete. With a primal yell, I turned to the rest of the army assembling around me in the woods. I felt lasers line up against my body, could feel eyes of burning wrath on every part of me.

A roar ripped through the forest- and it wasn't my own. The lasers on my form whipped upward, and I saw it, then. Huge, hulking- covered in green fire. A goddamned minotaur. Kildeez changed into the very face of power, and began to whip aside the army, moving towards me. He pulled a tree from the ground, and let loose a bellow. I took advantage of the army's stunned state, whipping my gladius into the head of a Nazi soldier, immediately sweeping forward to scoop his MP-40 out of the air.

With one arm, I sprayed in a wide circle, wounding or outright killing several men and stallions. As the chamber clicked with the hollow echo of an emptied weapon, I hurled the gun into the target on my immediate left, brought my blade around on the right to decapitate a techno-barbarian, and barely managed to dodge what I assumed to be a Chaos space marine's chainsword.

Wait, Chaos space marine?

No, no no no, wait-

CHAINSWORD?

Oh, FUCK YES.

The marine scoffed, but it was a short lived noise- I hurled my spare machete at his head, and his superhuman reflexes managed to bounce the blade off of his heavily armored forearm. As his hand came back down to regard me, I was already letting loose my shout.

"Fus Ro DAH!"

The marine flew back, dropping his chainsword and crashing through the men and stallions behind him, most certainly killing a number of them with the sheer weight of his armor. Swooping forward, I picked the sword up and gave it an experimental rev. The scream that ushered out of the engine, the spinning of a hundred razor-sharp, armor-ripping blades- I was in love. Blood seeping out of my wounds, I turned towards an approaching cyborg- and I grinned evilly.

There was no fleeing from my wrath, it was almost certain. Anybody with a ranged weapon could barely line the sights up before I was cleaving their arm off. Steel shields and plasma armor met with the edge of my frisked blade, but they all failed against the constant, every-burning screech of spinning death that I let loose upon them. However, it seemed that, no matter how many of these fucks that I killed, there would always be more of them, trouncing in from the bleak.

I was no superhuman. There was wear. The chainsword was becoming a burden to swing. But regardless, I fought on, for there was not much to do. Any break in the slaughter, and I would find myself on the receiving end of a sword or few. The bullets in me were already starting to make their presence very, very known.

And just like that, I found my end. A stallion had found himself a Lancer assault rifle, and was using his magic to perform a chainsaw duel- chainsaw bayonet against chainsaw sword. Sparks flew outwards in all directions, my eyes locked on the stallion, who's magic was indeed very powerful to perform a duel for such an extended period. As I finally broke through, sawing his weapon in half, and with it his face, a piece of gleaming steel appeared in my gut.

All the air left my lungs. I collapsed to my knees, feeling my slayer put his boot on the back of my head, and roughly push me off his blade. With blood beginning to pool around me and warm the deadened earth, I stared off into the side as dozens of footsteps, both human and equine, stampeded towards the building K and I came out of.

"Oh, fuck it, then!"

The half-breed's voice was distinct over the clamor of hoofbeats and footsteps. Backed by an almost demonic tang due to his current form, I tried to turn to see what he was planning, but couldn't. There was no energy left in me. The will to live was the only thing keeping me conscious, but my body refused to do anything. I lay in that pool for what seemed like an eternity, but must have been barely twenty seconds, before a massive, blue hole tore itself in the sky. Another rip in the veil.

Because of this, portals begin to tear through at the ground level. The army that had come to stop us ended up getting sucked into a few of them, losing limbs as the portals closed as suddenly as they appeared. I silently wished the same fate would befall me, death gnawing on my mind, but I quickly dismissed the fact. Choking down on the grip of my chainsword, I let out a grunt. A deep breath. The dying sensitivity made me very aware that I had lost my watch. Was such a nice watch...

There was a vacuum of air. I felt my legs begin to drag backwards without any grabbing. No. No, no, no!

And thus was my end. A nearby portal pulled me in. All I could remember, falling through that black void, is wishing for a swift death.

Swirling nightmares. A hero, constantly blasting and slashing his way into the darkness of the abyss, only to be slain by the monster at the end. But again, he tries. Nothing more to do in this world but fight, die, repeat. His armor shines through it all, a personal light in his sea of darkness. A blade, gleaming with the power of old, strikes down any demon or ghoul in his way. No matter how many times the hero is struck down, he would get up again. Finally, he catches the monster off guard, sinking his blade deep into it's heart, splitting it's soul. The darkness begins to shine, almost blindingly.

Christ, that is really fucking bright!

I woke with a heavy jolt, breath catching in my throat, causing me to cough roughly. Memories flooded in, and I immediately felt for my arms and legs, one hand flailing about my exposed chest. It occurred to me that my wounds were no longer present. Scars, most certainly, but...

"Ah, you're finally awake!"

Voice, female. Rocking my head over to the direction of it, I took in the shape of a woman in the dark. As she walked forward into the dim candlelight, I noticed a head of red hair, tied back in a bun. Pale skin, with a long, ornate robe, a staff tucked into her back.

"Listen, I know you're probably confused, but I'm sure we can fill the gaps."

The woman- who's name I learned to be Triss- was out adventuring with her significant other, when they came upon me, dying in the forest. They dragged me back to their home base- a fortress, called Kaer Morhen- where I have been staying, healing. According to Triss, I've been here for a month, having healing magic applied to my injuries. Her companion noticed my armor, wounds, and weapons, and immediately recognized me as a swordsman.

I've been in this world for almost six months. Her companion, a white-maned man named Geralt, trained me to fight like he did. His sword style was incredible. Fast, brutal, acrobatic, adaptive. It was unlike anything the Wardens could do. The only thing he wanted was for me to share some of my own skills, which I did gladly. I debated getting back to The Known World, but I figured that the portals would claim me in time. I kept hoping, but as time passed, I stopped.

Geralt revealed to me that he was part of a whole group of swordsmen like himself, called Witchers. Professional monster slayers. I knew how to work a sword, and this impressed them. Witchers were often the last hope of whatever part of the world they found themselves in, their skills unparalleled by normal men. Geralt, and all of his kin, invited me to become one of them. Through grueling rituals and consumption of a dozen different kinds of potions, I found myself changing. My eyes took on a yellow glow, and my scars became more prominent. I learned a sense of ethereal creatures that rivaled the Wardens' sense for the Taint.

I was a Witcher. And it felt amazing.

Two swords rested on my back. One of silver, one of steel. Another was resting on my shoulder, my chainsword, still fully powered thanks to it's nuclear battery. My hair had grown to my shoulders, uncut. I expanded on my armor, adding steel to my shins, knees, elbows and forearms. Ornately laced cloth hung from my back and off of my unarmored left shoulder. Though heavily armored, the strength of a Warden and the skills of a Witcher kept me fast and agile in the field.

I was on the road for a while now. Lost count. There were many small towns being assailed by ghouls, or that had a stray bruxa eating their youth. I had no true goal in mind; simply wandered the land, slaying monsters, accepting payment, honing my skills. It had been a whole eight months since I was spilled out into this dimension, and I had given up hope of ever returning home. Even if I did, who's to say the Darkspawn haven't already conquered the world? Slain my old companion?

I thought of the old half-breed. He was a good sort. Hopefully he managed to get out of that whole debacle alive-

The birds stopped their song. The breeze no longer whipped through the forest leaves. The silence was somehow deafening. It was then that the sound of ripping caught my ear; not a rip, like paper or cloth, but an almost organic, fleshy sort of ripping. I felt it more than I heard it, if that would make sense- and remembered that only one thing causes that feeling.

A tear in reality.

Focusing my hearing, I took off in the direction of a faint vacuum noise. Hurdling over logs and using my sword to catch myself around trees to change directions, I tore through the forest, until a distinct blue light, contrasting the green and brown of the forest, became brighter and brighter. In the middle of a clearing, an almost familiar spot of forest, was a portal, a tear in reality. It hit me, then, why I felt that distinct tear throughout my being. This portal had an ethereal connection to me.

Without a breath of hesitation, I dove right in.

I awoke in a field. The sky was overcast, but not dark. The forest around me was dying, but not dead. There were corpses all around me, and a small building in the distance. From the damage to some of the rotting flesh and a few of the limbs laying about them, I recognized these as my previous victims, so long ago. But a corpse would have rotted away if that much time had truly passed.

Something caught the glow of my yellow eyes, laying down in the grass. Rolling to my feet, I quickly ran over to investigate, and found my old watch that had fallen off in the midst of my killing spree. Scanning over the surface, I rotated it around, until the display came on, leeching power from the dim sunlight that could pierce the cloud cover. Tough device. The date had changed, two weeks forward from last I had checked it. This watch was incredibly powerful, so there was no lying from it.

Two weeks. A relatively small amount of time compared to how long I spent on the other side, but considering the war boiling in Equestria, who knows what could have happened?

And what of my companion, the Half-Breed? Kildeez? Where the hell was he?

Looking up and into the distance, Canterlot Castle still shimmered, untouched by the Blight. Perhaps I still had time?

Without further ado, I hefted my chainsword onto my shoulder and began my march into the forest.

Author's Note

I bet y'all thought this was dead, didntcha?

Entry XI: The AoT Theme Really Does Go With Everything, by Kildeez

…

Did…

Did that just happen?

Did Siftstone, the entire reason I was currently running around a post-apocalyptic hellscape and not snuggled up with a book and a bit of hot cocoa to ride everything out in my personal bunker, just disappear into a giant space-vagina I myself created?

…

Well, shit.

In hindsight, I should’ve seen it coming. Divide and conquer: shoot Sifty off to some other world full of nasties and leave me alone so that this thing, whatever it was, could fuck with me all by my lonesome. Of course, the bastard didn’t have to use me. He could’ve just as easily keyed a portal to Sift’s biometric signature and left it in that back room we first busted into to spring his little trap. He didn’t have to use a small army of fuckheads and monsters from the darkest corners of the galaxy to make me use his/her/its portal trap.

The fact was they did it because they could. That was the point. To show he could throw all this shit around, the small armies and the portal production, all of it, just to make sure it was my finger that pressed the button.

Fat load of good figuring this all out does me now. It’s just me and a ruined town. The rest of the army is gone. Just a man alone with his thoughts.

Fuck, this blows.

“Goddammit, goddammit, goddammit,” I mutter, making sure to transform my arm back to my normal, humanoid form before turning my head while I facepalm (going the other way hurts like hell, as I have learned through experience). I let my regular, black changeling skin through now. No need to hide it anymore. In my rage, I start knocking shit around, my massive strength powering my arms around. “How could I have been so fucking stupid!?” I scream, finding the closest wall I can and pounding against it until it collapses, inadvertently crushing the group of Nightmares that had been cowering behind it. I didn’t even pay any attention, not even noticing when a Nightmare leapt from the darkness, tentacles surrounding a razor-lined maw. Without even thinking, I snatch it out of the air and use it as a boxing glove in my epic fist fight with the ground.

“HOW! COULD! I! BE! SO! FUCKING! STUPID!” I scream, punctuating every word with another punch to the cobblestone. By the time I’m done, the Nightmare is a black stain of coiled gore around my fist. Doesn’t matter. I shake it off, just throwing myself to the ground on my back and making like a spoiled-ass kid in a grocery store.

“FUCK!” I finally announce, turning over. Okay, I will admit, I’m getting pretty angsty now. Like, “MCR meets Linkin Park at a convention for teenage poets” angst. But I’ve just fucked up the only reason I had for moving forward every day, okay!? I now have to go back to a city full of adorable talking ponies and tell them Santa-Sifty isn’t coming to town with a sack full of death to give to all the bad little ghouls and boils. Not looking forward to that feeling of hopelessness, the way those wide, hopeful eyes will almost certainly grow in size with my arrival, only to shrink again with the news that I lost track of their last hope for ever returning to their old lives.

Still, I gave my word. I will complete this mission and seal the deal for changeling-pony cooperation. And who knows, I might live long enough for everyone to establish something of a safe zone, just a tiny sliver of territory where changelings and ponies can live at peace, albeit within massive walls that surround them, defending themselves with a rapidly-dwindling army of…

What was that sound?

That deep, earthy rumble I just felt bouncing around my skull? The fuck was that?

I open my eyes at last, only to stare up at twenty meters of pure pony, its massive eyes looking around dumbly. Finally, it spies me, and its stupid smile turns into a slobber-filled grin, spittle rolling out its mouth and trickling down next to my head.

….

“Seid ihr das Essen!? Nein, wir sind der Jäger!”

The pony raises a hoof the size of a VW Beetle over my body, but I easily roll away, coming up again with my shotgun already at my shoulder.

“Dah-do-dah-do-dah-dah-dah-DAAAH!” I reply as I let loose with a shotgun blast against the thing’s muzzle. The titony roars as a molar the size of my head sailed out of its mouth, replying with a forehoof stomp. Another dodge, only this time I grab hold of its fur and hang on for dear life as the thing tries to shake me off, swaying back and forth with its hoof, still grinning that damn smile. I scramble up the side of its leg, careful to avoid its attempts at brushing me off while keeping it busy with shots at the eyes and mouth. The fucker’s almost blind and I’m almost out of shells by the time I clamber up the side of its muzzle and wrap an arm around a humongous ear. I grin. I’ve made it. If there’s one thing anime and presidential assassinations have taught me, it’s that a shot to the back of the head is a sure-fire way to take something big down.

I stand triumphantly, work the lever action on my shotgun, and level it one-armed against the back of the damn things head, pressing it through a coat of matted fur. Alright, so here is the part where the action hero says something amazing and smart to tie the whole moment together. Here’s where I cement myself in the pantheon of heroes!

…

“Hasta la vista, pony.” BLAM!

Oh fuck, I’m so sorry. That was bad.

I grimace in pain at my own bad one-liner as I ride the giant pony’s ass back to the ground, sighing as I step back onto the cobblestone and start picking up spent casings to remake into functioning shells. Gives me a good amount of time to think, to reflect, and drink in the sheer carnage that Sifty and I unleashed.

The bodies are everywhere, some sliced to ribbons, some riddled with bullets, others just ripped in half. Holy shit. I nudge a big dude in leather armor over onto his stomach, revealing the hole his lungs fell out of so I can salvage a few shells. Holy fucking shit. This…Jesus, if this thing hits me like this again, without Sift or some last minute save, I’m screwed.

And it knows this.

It fucking knows this.

I peer around before shouldering my shotgun and heading down the street, salvaging what I can from the general store before making for the outskirts of town. I spend that night in the woods, with the white trim on some of the buildings still in view, wondering what might be watching me through the bushes, or listening to my breathing on hidden microphones. Still, I’m too exhausted, way too many transformations today to stay awake, and after an hour of clutching my shotgun while I rest on my back like a meth head militia wannabe back home (sans tinfoil “anti-government spy satellite” helmet), I finally drift off to sleep.

The morning is uneventful. I wake up to the sounds of birds and a stream of dew from a leaf overhead dribbling onto my face, gently nudging me awake…

Waitaminute…

That’s not fucking dew.

“AWW, SHIT AND PISS!” I scream accurately, leaping to my feet and blasting at the giant vulture that chose the wrong motherfucking branch to use the bathroom on. Somehow, it manages to avoid an ass full of buckshot and swoops away, shooting over the horizon. I swear, it’s laughing at me the entire way, the way it’s cawing.

Fucking birds. Fuck ‘em, man, fuck ‘em.

With two more shots echoing into the distance, I grumble as I head to the nearest stream, hoping it’s not filled with tetanus or Hep C or something else to make a shitty day even shittier. Fortunately, it looks clear enough to wash my face off with, and I even manage to build a small fire just beyond its banks to boil some in. Can never have too much water, especially once that midday sun hits and you start sweating like Frosty the Snowman doing Pilates in Hell.

I take the time while my water’s boiling to really lean back and listen to the tune of nature. Even after the titanic battle yesterday, I can still make out that glorious tune of birds tweeting somewhere far away from me, giving away their positions so that I might avoid and/or hunt them at my choosing, because they are little feathered assholes. Literally. Just an asshole with wings.

I know I’m ripping on birds a lot, but one just shit in my face. Fuck ‘em right now, y’know? Just fuck ‘em.

Ah, nature.

Leaves rustling, birds tweeting, crickets chirping, the roar of some gigantic horror just narrowly masking a cry for – OH COME THE FUCK ON! JUST ONE DAY, HUH!? JUST ONE FUCKING DAY!

“Fuck this, fuck my life, fuck my job, fuck Celestia in her strangely-toned yet surprisingly pliable ass…” I grumble as I crawl to my feet. The little aches and pops in pretty much every joint from my neck on down inform me what a shit idea this is, and the stab of pain from an overstressed muscle in my shoulder screams it. But I’m here for a job, and a Kildeez doesn’t fuck around when it comes to the job.

Shifting back into my less-threatening, soft-and-squishy-pink human form, I run along the riverbank, shotgun in hand. I’m pretty tired, but if shit gets tight I’m fairly certain I can manage a claw or two. Maybe. God willing, Shelly will be able to handle anything that happens. Coming up on a hillside, I drop to my stomach and army-crawl up to peer over the crest of the hill. I don’t like what I see. A pretty little mare, galloping on her pretty little hooves as fast as they’ll carry her. Too bad the tusked/horned Nightmare-infused freak with veins and muscles popping out everywhere looks dead-set against her continued life. What’s more, it’s chasing her right into a graveyard, which besides being a natural hotbed for Nightmare activity, is nestled in a horseshoe-shaped valley. Real picturesque for those extended burial ceremonies where you want those nice, long shadows and a quick sunset for your last goodbyes. Not so much if you’re trying to escape something that looks like a jackrabbit fucked Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson and raised the result on a diet of paint thinner and steroids.

And…now she sees it too, if the panicked way in which she pauses and looks around is any indication. Alright, alright, alright, this is the part I kinda like. She’s gonna turn around, eyes wide. She’s going to back up, her flank bumping against a tombstone, eliciting a quiet, fear-filled squeak. Then, she’ll turn back to the slobbering monstrosity, shivering, helpless, praying silently for some help…

Any moment now, she’s gonna…turn back and look at the Nightmare with a predatory look? What? And what’s that green tint in her eyes? And that confident little smile?

All at once, a deep rumble echoes through the graveyard, the mounds and tombstones shaking. I clench my shotgun instinctively, knowing damn well that a zombie apocalypse is well within the realm of possibility here. The dozens of graves all around the mare fall over; the grass roiling and bursting like a teenager’s face on prom night. Rotting hooves pound their way into freedom, jaws connected by barely a length of skin and rotted patches of flesh clacking in the shadows cast by the gravestones. The crypt at the height of the hill lets out a terrible grinding sound as its doorway crashes to the ground and skids into the valley, followed quickly by the dead-eyed remains of the rich ponies entombed there, stumbling along on shreds of leather and silk.

After a while, a low, wicked laugh fills the air, the zombie horde descending upon the Nightmare as it struggles, fighting with all its might against the never-ending sea of rotting fists and gnashing teeth stained with the clay of the grave. This isn’t just necromancy; this is a display of raw power unlike any I’ve seen before. It’s hard to tell who to root for, the Nightmare with the quickly-widening eyes being dragged to a massive hole being dug for it by a couple scattered zomponies, or the pretty little pony laughing like a maniac and glowing an eerie green through it all.

The Nightmare claws and roars the entire way down, grabbing futilely at the earth, which comes loose in its jagged talons. Every now and again, it manages to wriggle free of the undead hordes long enough to take a swipe at them, but any undead that wind up mangled beyond usability are quickly replaced. When the whole nightmarish group reaches the bottom of the pit, the first hooffuls of dirt start raining down on them. The Nightmare spits and coughs, trying to keep its muzzle clear for as long as possible. In its last despairing moments, it finally spies me on the hill and lets out a choked-off roar, perhaps a desperate cry for help? Nope, sorry pal. Odds are you’ve done a ton in your past to deserve this. Besides, I ain’t fuckin’ wit dat noise.

Once the Nightmare is under a humongous mound of dirt, the bodies all return to their respective graves, crawling back down to their eternal rest. The final cherry on top arrives when a skeleton in the pointed hat and tassels I’d usually associate with the Germans (probably from a land called Germaneigh here, because talking horses and their damned puns) takes a final look over his shoulder, catches my eye, and tips his helmet in a quick salute in my direction. I can’t help but return with one of my own. He nods and pulls the stone slab back into place with a final thud.

The pony sinks to her stomach in the sand beside the river, breathing heavily. I finally return to my senses long enough to start easing my way down the side of the rocky canyon towards her, figuring a quiet approach might be more advisable here. As I grow closer, I watch as the pony suddenly disappears in a flash of green fire I only find too familiar. Sure enough, the pony’s coat is replaced with black chitin, her wings with insect-like translucent wings, and a pointy spire of a horn materializes in her forehead.

Huh. Necromancer/changeling. Nice plot twist. But wait, it doesn’t stop there. Once I get close enough, I can spy the shimmering bands of royalty across her back, running horizontally with her wings, announcing her princesshood to the world. So, I’ve just stumbled across a pony who turned out to be a necromancer/changeling princess.

Jesus, did I just step into a Shyamalan movie, or what?

I’m about to say something, introduce myself, probably nerdgasm over how fucking awesome what she just did was and ask if she wanted to join me on my quest to possibly stop the Nightmare invasion ~~and maybe have sexy times~~, but then the fucking ground starts rumbling.

“You gotta be shitting me!” I shout, which of course attracts the changeling’s attention. I can’t spend any time on that though, as I swiftly turn just in time to catch the big, charging bastard tearing ass down the hill: a warthog with fleshy growths of bone stretching all down the middle of its face and over its head. I raise my shotgun, working a fresh shell into the chamber, but the changeling is already at my side.

“Hey, I got this!” I yell.

“What, you and your walking stick?” She mumbles, barely staying on her hooves. Her horn fizzles up with power, but I can tell it won’t be enough. That little flicker she’s managing right now is nothing compared to the healthy green glow she had on earlier, and she’s gonna need a lot more than that if she things she’s gonna stop the towering monstrosity getting ready to bash us to the ground.

Sighing in exasperation, I step up beside my new changeling friend and fire a single round at the bit of exposed sinew near the thing’s black maw. It’s shaggy head bucks back as it roars in pain, revealing a crocodile-like maw trailing stringy, black hair. I decide I’d like to feed it after all. Nothing much, just a solid twelve-gauge slug. Directly down its throat. At 1100 fps. Think that’ll satisfy it?

My next shot slams into the thing’s lower jaw, shattering it and careening out the back of its neck. It drops like a sack of potatoes, its face little more than so much blood and gore dribbling down its neck.

I grin and turn to my new companion. She frowns up at me.

“I…had it…” she pants.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“I…coulda…could…” she pauses, and then collapses entirely. I roll my eyes, then look around, grabbing a couple of branches and some twine out of my backpack for a makeshift cot. My mama (my human one, I mean) taught me that a true gentleman makes sure a lady is safe if she ever swoons at his feet. Not sure if collapsing due to magical exhaustion after summoning an army of undead to destroy a monster that looked like Bugs Bunny after a few hundred years in hell counts as swooning, but it’s the end of days, I’ll take what I can get.

It takes an hour of dragging before she finally comes to. Let me tell ya, it was love at first sight, her looking up at the back of my head as I walked, straining with the ropes that carried her, hopefully feeling safe in the few moments it took for her to gather her marbles and rocket up to buck me upside the head with a magically-enhanced attack.

“Who are you and why shouldn’t I rip your head off and turn you into one of my undead minions?” She hisses into my ear as she stands on my back, horn primed.

Tale as old as time…song as old as rhyme…

“First of all, that’s really how you’re gonna introduce yourself, toots? By threatening the man who just saved your life?” I ask.

There are a few more moments of pressure, and then she steps aside, allowing me to lift my face out of the dirt. While I clean my mouth of all the sand and shit, she maintains her narrow-eyed stare. I shake my head. “Look, if I wanted you dead I could’ve just let that charging motherfucker mow your ass down.”

“Oh please, I could’ve handled that in my sleep,” she scoffs.

“Oh good, based on how you looked facing that thing down, that’s exactly what you would’ve had to fucking do.”

She doesn’t let the glare down. I just remain where I am, flat on my belly.

“Just because you don’t want me dead doesn’t mean you don’t want something from me,” she says, still glaring suspiciously.

“Bitch, I just met you, what the hell could I want from you?”

Still glaring. Great. We’re already off to a wonderful start. I roll my eyes. “Look, there’s a very good reason you should trust me.”

“And what’s that?”

“For one thing, I’m the one holding the gun,” I reply, and she looks over, bringing herself face to face with Shelly’s barrel, just barely poking out of the sand from where my arm is buried. I grin and stand up, still holding the shotgun. She just glares at me until I shoulder it. “Pulled it out on my way down. Nothing personal, just reflex.”

Her eyes still narrow at me, but the glow in her horn finally subsides. “And?” She asks.

“And what?”

“You said ‘for one thing,’ that usually means there’s something else.”

I facepalm. “Oh, yeah! Damn, I’m stupid.” Finally, I let my disguise fall, my skin covering with my natural chitin, my pupils narrowing to cat-like slits, and my fangs expanding until they poke between my lips. The changeling’s eyes widen.

“Oh my sweet flank, it’s you,” she whispers.

“Um…it’s me?” I ask. “You know who I am?”

She nods, awestruck. “Chrysalis’s fist: part weird monkey monster, part changeling. Kildeez of the Northern Hives.”

I scratch my chin in thought. “Of the Northern Hives? Haven’t heard that one before. Sounds epic, like some medieval ass-kicker. I like it.”

“You-it’s really you! I didn’t think you really existed!”

“Well…uh…” I spread my arms out. “Ta-da!”

“So you’re really…”

“Yep, son of Chrysalis and a monkey-monster from an alternative dimension.”

“And…”

“Yep, I’ve survived all this time,” I grin, my pride inflating exponentially. “So tell me, little princess, am I everything you thought I’d be?”

She looks me up and down and puts a hoof to her chin. “Meh…not as ugly as I thought you’d be, but I also thought you’d be taller.”

I grimace as my ego comes crashing back down. “Yeah, well…” I clear my throat, coughing awkwardly. “Wh-who the hell are you, anyway? And what’re you doing out here?”

“Oh, well, I’m Princess Chittery!” She exclaims with an ever so adorable flail of her hooves. “I’m from Chrysalide hive, in the East, here on a love-gathering mission!”

“Love-gathering?” I arch an eyebrow. “A princess? Shouldn’t that be something a lower-level drone handles? Especially with demons and shit running around?”

“Well,” now it’s her turn to cough awkwardly. “Me and my sister don’t really see eye-to-eye on some things, and she’s the queen, so…”

“Ah,” I nod. Changelings are infamous for their Game of Thrones-style political moves. I wouldn’t be surprised if this little changeling had already survived a half-dozen attempts on her life undertaken by her own family. Hell, after a few weeks with her, I was shocked that Chrysalis sent a transport to pick me up instead of a hit-squad, until I figured out my human blood made me ineligible for the throne. I wasn’t a threat to her power, and that is honestly the only reason she wasn’t waiting with a couple dozen crossbowmen for when I arrived in her palace.

One big, happy family, I know.

“So, what was it you disagreed on?” I ask.

“Oh…she didn’t like the fact that I was so…promiscuous…” she whispers as she walks along, and it’s only then that I notice the way her hips have started swaying while she walks.

“ Umm…” I mumble, trying my best to focus. “P-promiscuous how? Like, did you flub up a few missions or something?”

“Nooo…” she coos, running a hoof along her side and slowly trailing it around to her flank. “See, every time I went out, something always seemed to happen.”

“Wh-what was that?” I ask, repeating the words Not a clopper not a clopper… over and over again in my head.

She grins and twists to look at me over her shoulder with a little wink. “Some stallion or mare wound up having the night of their lives.”

“Oh…” I murmur, a lightbulb finally dawning behind my eyes. “Hold on, I think I remember hearing about you!”

“Oh, so my reputation does precede me,” she sighs. “I suppose it was only a matter of time before you figured it out.”

“Y-yeah,” I gasp. “Jeez mare, yes, I’ve heard of you. Princess Chittery, the ultimate seductress!”

She looks at me again, this time offering a little wink. “Worked hard for that title, champ. Don’t go throwing it around.”

“O-okay…” I say, trailing off.

“So, one last question for you, big boy.”

“What’s that?”

“You want a ride on your new pony?”

There are many ways to react to a little black succubus asking you for a good, hard dicking. Running away, screaming “NOT A CLOPPER” at the top of your lungs like a little girl so she can dive into instant hot pursuit is not one of the better ones.

“So,” Chittery asks, having securely duct-taped my hand to her behind. “What’s a guy like you doing around here?”

“Oh, I had a job to do,” I sigh, consciously not moving my hand to avoid contact with dat smooth, round flank. “It’s just that….well…things kinda got all…fucky, you know?”

“Oh, totally,” she agrees. “I mean, once you roll around in the hay with your partner, it does add a whole new level of awkward to everything. Believe me, I know.”

“Yeah…wait, no – goddammit!” I grumble. “Do you just have a one-track mind when you’re not pissed at someone!?”

“Sex isn’t all I think about,” she gasps defensively, as if I just insulted her mother. “There’s also Kegel exercises to focus on. This booty isn’t just genetics, you know!”

“Of course,” I roll my eyes, trying to look anywhere but at the changeling secured ass-first to me, and contemplating how much love it would take to grow a new hand if I just blew mine off at the wrist.

“But really, what happened?” She asks, fluttering her eyelashes up at me. “C’moonnnn, you can tell a fellow changeling!”

I groan. “I guess it doesn’t matter, now that everything’s gone to hell,” I trail off, gathering my thoughts. “Okay, so you know how Canterlot’s pretty much the last safe-haven against the Nightmares in Equestria?”

“Duh, where did you think I was heading?” She rolls her eyes. “Hard to get love from an empty village and a bunch of fang-covered freaks.”

“Yeah, well, it ain’t gonna be that way much longer,” I sigh, looking around and trying not to think about what a full-on Nightmare occupation would do to the overcrowded castle at Canterlot. “They had this last-ditch, plan though. Well – not a plan so much as a call for help.”

“So…who’d they call?” She snorted. “Faust? Solar Flare? Did they commune with the spirits through sunbutt’s blazing tramp stamp?”

Snorting back a laugh, I reply: “Have you ever heard of a man named Sifty?”

After a brief pause, she suddenly jerks up, trying to flip herself over to face me. Of course, since she’s secured to my hand, all she manages to do is to throw my balance off and make me face-plant in the gravel. “The Champion!?”

“Oh good, you’ve heard of him,” I reply, spitting up a mouthful of gravel.

“Fuck yeah I’ve heard of him! Why do you think Chrysalide hive is only now reestablishing infiltrators in Equestria!?” She gasps. “I thought my sis was being paranoid, but even I figured we’d have to give Ponyville a way wider berth as long as he was there!”

“Seriously?”

“Eh, no big loss,” she shrugs. “That town is a magnet for all sorts of weirdness. Anyone crazy enough to live there probably had some funky-tasting love to go with the madness.”

“I getcha there,” I snicker.

“So, didja find him?”

“Yep.”

“Holy – really!? What’s he look like!?”

I actually pause at that, hmming and hawing for a second. “Well…he had this curly, wild brown hair…muscles pretty much coming out everywhere…”

Chittery’s pupil-less eyes went half-lidded, then she shot a green bolt right into my face. Didn’t hurt, like the magical equivalent of a smack, but still took me by surprise. “Damn woman!” I shout, jolting back. “The hell was that for!?”

“Doofus, you’re a changeling, remember? Show, don’t tell!” She exclaims.

I gawp down at her for a second, doing my best goldfish impression, then I give myself a physical smack in the face. “Right,” I sigh, and a split-second later, there’s a green flash which zaps away my black skin and fangs. Sifty’s curly hair replaces the changeling fins on my head, my skin darkening to that Balkans look, adding on top of that slightly-Asian tilt to his eyes. Finally, muscles bulge out of my everywhere. I mean, everywhere. What do you want from me? Dude was a Gray Warden/Dovahkiin/Whatever-the-fuck-the-pony-equivalent-of-Rambo-is. Obviously, you gotta be built like a brick shithouse for even one of those titles.

Chittery’s eyes widen. “So, that’s him?”

“Eyup,” I say, proud of muh mad changeling skillz.

“Thought he’d be taller too,” she snorts. “And not a pink, spongey bulgey monkey.”

I grimace at that. “Not monkey, human,” I grumble as I resume my natural form. “So, I was sent to pick him up…”

“And judging by the fact he’s not around, things didn’t go too well,” she says.

“Give the lady a cigar!” I enthuse. “But no, things didn’t go too well.”

“What happened?”

I sigh, shaking my head. “I fucked up. There was this battle, a big one, back there somewhere,” I cock my head in the direction of the village I just left. “Even went full minotaur on their asses, which helped, but not enough.”

“Wow, you went full-minotaur!?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Impressive,” she whistles, which shoots my pride up maybe one or two points.

“Yeah,” I moan, realizing how stupid I’d been. “Look, princess, this army we were facing had to be just one of many. We’re fighting this…thing. Don’t know what it is, but it’s been stalking us for a while. Now that Sift’s gone, I don’t think…”

“You can shut up right there,” she says, bending that flexible little spine so she can glare right up into my eyes. I’m too stunned by the sheer flexibility it’s taking for her to keep her back bent up like that to even try to insist. “Don’t you dare try to pull that ‘helpless maiden’ bullcrap on me. I knew the risks when I walked into Equestria, and you saw what I did to that Nightmare back there. Yes, I’m a princess, but I’m no namby-pamby little horsey princess, I had to fight just to survive my childhood, always being prepared in case my sister brought a razor-filled balloon to my birthday party or had an assassin try to shoot me in the neck with cockatrice poison while my back was turned. So you can take your chauvinist, ultra-masculine bullcrap and shove it up your ass, because I’m seeing this shit through whether you like it or not.”

I blink down at her, actually pausing in my step from that one. “I’d clap, but I’m worried I’d give you a concussion.”

She smiles back at me. “That’s okay, dearie. I can clop for you.”

I bite my lip. “I said clap.”

“You surrrrreeee?” She asks, blinking prettily.

Desperate to change the subject, I rest my arm and pick up the pace. “S-so, did you have any more questions?”

After a few minutes of silence, she pipes up. “Actually, I did have one more.”

“What’s that?”

“Why couldn’t this have been an invasion from one of those dimensions filled with tentacle-rape monsters?”

I pause, take a very, very deep breath, and lift my hand up so she’s eye-to-eye with me. “You have trouble talking to other people about anything but sex, dontcha?”

She gasps sarcastically, hooves going to her cheeks in mock surprise. “How did you know!?”

And miles away, a dark creature watched the pair on a small screen clenched in its fist. Its grip tightened on the little Plexiglas screen, the view turning white under its fingertips from the pressure.

“Goddamn you, half-breed,” it snarled. This was not supposed to happen. The rabbit and the boar should have been enough to handle the princess. He should’ve done more research on the area, should’ve seen the graveyard and made the connection to the princess’s necromancy. Now they were together, and the half-breed had a new companion just the day after losing the old one.

Now the creature would have to get creative. He did not like getting creative. At least, when it wasn’t on his own terms; not flying along by the seat of his pants, having to adjust to a changing battlefield. He controlled the battleground, he wrote the rules, that was the whole fucking point. He didn’t adjust to changing vectors when the vectors all bent before him.

His hands ached from clenching the screen. He loosened his grip, sinking to his knees while cursing under his breath. “Enjoy your victory while you can, mutt,” he snarled at the picture of Kildeez before him. “It will not last long.”

Author's Note

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bnLgndWTBI0

Special thanks to Changeling_38 for letting me use his character, Princess Chittery!

Entry XII: Old Friends, by Siftstone

The icy air stung at my lungs as I hefted my chainsword onto one shoulder. I'd been moving towards that goddamned castle for a couple of days now, and I haven't encountered a single baddy to let out my aggression. My war boner was aching, but there was nothing to put stuff into. My Witcher's endurance allowed me to keep moving without stopping or eating.

...Fuck, now I'm hungry. Just had to start sizing up the situation, didn't I?

With a roll of my eyes, I groped at my belt and pulled a small vial off of it, filled with a bubbling white substance. A potion to suppress my body's hungers for a good few hours. Hunting during this time of war was a pain in the ass, what with the Darkspawn already having slaughtered most of the natural wildlife, and anything left over being little more than ghouls and Nightmares. Popping the cork and downing the decoction, I whinced, the heavy taste of alcohol burning my throat on the way down. Taking a knee, I slammed my chainsword into the ground to steady myself as the potion worked it's literal magic. After a second's pass, I was growling back to my feet.

I needed to find my partner. Who the hell knows what that halfbreed is getting up to, now? Probably rolling about the fields in the form of a shoggoth, tentacle-touching everything that moves.

Nah, probably not that powerful.

Probably.

Up ahead, the forest began to noticeably thin out, and I realized I was entering into a field, still unravaged by the Darkspawn's incursion. As I stepped through the foliage and into the corrupted sunlight, my foot hit a rock and I tripped, rolling down...

And down...

...Into what seemed to be a small valley. After checking my equipment and cursing my own idiocy and lack of sure footing, I scanned the area in which I was sitting in. I seemed to be in what was once a graveyard, in the shape of a horseshoe. There were skeletal remains every which way, and every tombstone seemed haphazardly pulled back into place. As if someone cruelly ripped those restful souls from the earth to fight a battle. There was what seemed to be a long-collapsed sinkhole, hastily dug by several personalities.

Crutching myself back to my feet with my chainsword, I scanned the immediate area, and noticed a set of footsteps in the soft earth- I recognized the soles within as the same tacky brand of shoes that my partner wore. Of all the things that son of a bitch could wear on his feet, it had to be Jordans? Who the hell fights wearing Jordans?!

A low groan pierces the silence of the former resting place, and I quickly swing my blade onto my shoulder with a two-handed grip, adrenaline beginning to surge. Cresting the hill was a familiar face- one I haven't seen for half a year. Six hooved legs, piercing, glowing, green eyes, blades as long as I am tall flailing about on it's back- a Hive Guardian. Galloping towards me, bellowing like an enraged whale. It's empty eyes still bore a hatred for the prime enemy of it's race, yours truly.

With a wicked grin, I began a heavy charge, rivaling the ferocity of the beast I faced. Despite the roaring of my nuclear blade, the Guardian didn't halt it's charge, merely lowering it's head even more and hitting the dry ground hard enough to leave cracking hoofprints. Just before we collided in a flurry of blades and sparks, I stopped to a halt, that same shit-eating grin plastered to my face, and thrust out my hand- a wave of force suddenly jutting outward and slapping the Guardian square in the face, causing it to trip over it's own extra legs and slam face-first into the earth, sliding the rest of the way towards me.

I simply moved out of the way and took stance with my sword several feet away while the Nightmare got back to it's feet, hot air hissing out of the gills in it's neck. There was so much hate in it's eyes, a fury borne from the hive mind, knowledge of how many of it's kind have fallen to my mighty boot. Rearing back like a true horse and letting out another grim wail, it charged forward again- I responded, of course, by thrusting my hand out, a surge of fire erupting from my palm and bathing the Guardian in magical pain.

The beast took a step back, shaking it's head before locking eyes again, an almost uncertain look about it. I knew what it was thinking. It knew I was simply showing off. I had changed so much since it's kind had last seen me. The human, unremarkable save for his combat skill, now capable of mastering force and flame. Either that, or it was wondering why I tried to set a fireproof beast on fire. Hive Guardians sweat a certain slime that makes them virtually immune to fire; a must for any Guardian trying to pull it's brethren from a burning hive.

The Guardian, slowing it's ferocity, clashed it's backblades together and scraped a hoof through the dirt like a bull ready to charge. I hefted my chainsword onto my back once more, supporting it with one hand while my free fingers formed the letter "Q" in sign language. With another misty exhale of heated air from it's neck ports, the beast charged, aiming both of it's backblades square for my face. Before it could make mincemeat of my gorgeous visage, I cast my hand upward, bathing myself in a blue light, which immediately absorbed the force of the Guardian's attack and tossed the creature's arms back with enough force to throw the Guardian off it's feet again.

Putting my sword back in stance and staring evilly into the eyes of the Guardian, still collapsed on the ground, I took a step forward.

For once, the beast flinched.

A low growl poured from my throat, but before anything could happen, the Guardian scrambled to it's feet- and galloped off in the direction it came from. It had abandoned it's purpose in life. It was no longer a sentinel, a guardian of the Nightmare homes- now it was little more than a six-legged warning. It was going to tell it's brethren that the Champion was still alive, and that the very same young man who tore through their ranks for so long was back with a whole sleeve of tricks.

"Consider that a demo, ya' bastard!"

Now, to find that fucking Changeling friend of mine. As I calmed down from the heat of that little sparring match, I sat down on an above-ground tomb, my equipment clinking gently in the breeze of the valley. I began to take note of a more aggressive metallic noise. Looking down slightly, I realized the noise was my medallion. The adrenaline from the fight kept me from feeling the gentle tug on it's chain around my neck. Sighing, I hefted my chainsword into the oversized sheath on my back, nestling in snuggly between my Witcher's silver sword and my steel longsword. I brought a hand low to the tomb, and my medallion tugged harder.

There was magic left over in this tomb. Perhaps one of the corpses who fought here had something left to say?

Hefting the heavy stone lid off of the tomb, I revealed to myself the skeletal remains of a pony; stallion or mare, I couldn't say. As soon as the blotted sunlight touched it's hollow eyes, the skull turned to look at me, and I swear the eyeholes seemed to develop an... angry look.

"Oi! I'm trying to catch some shut-eye, here, jerk!"

"Great, wonderful. That information moistens the cockles of my pingas. Do me a favor, real quick, pal, then I'll let ya' go."

"Go stuff yourself, human!"

"Listen, I just want you to tell me if you saw a fleshy person like myself around here recently."

"Eat me! Or, better yet, let me eat you!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, I don't have time for this!" Sweeping my hand in front of the skeleton's face, I made the letters "A", "X" and "I" in sign language, very quickly. A light briefly flashed and faded in the skeleton's eyes, and it seemed mildly stunned. Then, it spoke again.

"...Changeling princess raised us from the dead to fight some freak, human-changeling with a fancy musket came and helped her. They both marched off towards Canterlot a couple of weeks back. Head straight for the mountains, last I saw."

With an indignant sniff, I closed the tomb's heavy lid back on the skeleton, my hex serving it's purpose. At least Kildeez kept to the mission, even if he found himself something to rub his fleshparts on. Does he even have natural fleshparts? Or does he just morph his willy to what he feels best? Can he even morph his dick? Why am I considering any of this?

With a shake of my head, I kept my march forward, starting to sing to myself.

"Wolves asleep amidst the trees,
Bats all a-swayin' in the breeze,
But one soul lies anxious, wide awake,
Fearing all manner of ghouls, hags, and wraiths..."

The sun was low, and my stamina was running out. Even a Witcher needs sleep. Unbuckling my gear, I chose a tree deep in the forest, and rested my swords and knapsack against it. I drew several hourglass shapes around the tree where I would be sleeping, simply dragging them into the dirt with my fingers. Each shape glowed with a dim white light extremely briefly as soon as I finished them, and I carved one shape into the tree itself.

Always handy.

Flipping my hood upward and tucking my hands into my coat pockets, I got into a relatively comfortable position against the tree. Humming a tune in my head, I lulled myself to sleep.

Clink clink clink clink

Odd. Usually I don't dream about spoons.

Clink clink clink clink

Or forks, for that matter.

Clink clink clink clink

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Drifting awake, I shot a hand to my chest, stopping my medallion from tugging on it's chain. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I groggily got into a seated position, my glowing eyes taking in the blackness of the forest. Taking a stance, I pulled my silver sword from its sheath, gripping its black-leather handle tight. There was a twinkle in the distance, between the brush. The twinkle was a light violet in color, almost seeming to concentrate into a point. Then, it shot forth in a blast of energy.

"Fuck."

With barely enough time to do so, I dropped my sword and crossed my wrists in front of my face, the blast of magic hitting me hard a moment later. Though my Sign absorbed most of the energy, there was still enough power to toss me back, and I rolled backwards on landing, grinding to a stop and pulling my skinning knife off my belt, keeping a low stance. Another twinkle- before the blast wave was emitted, I rolled left, covering behind the tree I was resting against, and as I did so, the blast passed by and collided with another tree, splintering it.

"Whatever's there, you better not come closer! I know magic, and I'm not afraid to use it!"

I recognized that voice.

Before I could react, another magical blast flew by, collapsing another tree to my left. Steadying my breath and tightening the grip on my knife, I tucked up against the tree. I just barely stuck my knife out from my cover, enough to catch the light being emitted from my assailant. She was coming closer.

"I must have scared it off... It must have been looking at this gear. I wonder whose swords these are? I can detect magic in this bag..."

Oh, you idiot. Don't get any closer, you curious little-

Before anything else could happen, there was a loud zap, and one of my Yrden traps went off, shocking the everlasting piss out of my investigator. There was a comical stuttering noise as she flew back, and the sound of wings fluttering before a loud thud. I stepped from behind cover, casting a shielding sign just in case my investigator decided to try blasting my balls off again. In the darkness of the forest, the little purple mare's horn was still glowing brightly, illuminating her path- and her eventual landing on her face, after getting a little too close to one of my Signs.

Lifting her face from the ground, crossed eyes jumbling cartoonishly in her head, ruffled wings beating slightly, was Twilight Sparkle. Her purple eyes locked onto me after a second, and a look of fear, confusion and shock immediately overtook her. Scrambling to her hooves, horn charging up, her confusion was immediately taken over by defensive anger.

"W-what are you? Don't come any closer!"

"That's no way to treat the man who saved your sorry little ass more times than you can probably count."

"That... that voice..."

Twilight's horn lost it's defensive charge, and her wings folded against her back. She stared at me in equal parts concern and confusion. "That voice is so... familiar..."

"You silly fucking horse. Still having trouble thinking up the name that kept you and your friends alive for such a long time. That's just goddamned disrespectful."

With a sigh, I dismissed the pony, turning my back to her and sheathing my knife. Brushing the dirt off my shoulder and reequipping my armor and weapons, I stretched. As I turned around to regard the pony, I found that she had taken a few steps forward, her confusion fully giving way to intrigue.

"Sifty...?"

"Aye, took you long enough."

"Sifty!" She squealed, pouncing forward and burying her face in my stomach. There was moisture sinking through my chainmail. Before she could snot up my gear, she pulled back. "Where have you been?! You just outright disappeared and Celestia simply refused to tell me anything!"

"I didn't 'disappear', girl. I left. You didn't need me anymore. Nobody in this sorry world did. I didn't want to stagnate, unused, unseen, apparently unworthy of the attentions of those I once called friends. I was abandoned, and I moved on. Two months. Two fucking months, not one of you even came by to say hello!"

"But-"

"No buts. It's just... whatever. I'm not mad. Nice to see you again, but I have to go. Duty calls."

As I pushed the pony away and began on my path, there was a light sob. It halted me in my tracks.

"I'm sorry."

"...What was that?"

"I'M SORRY!" The mare half-sobbed, half-screamed. Turning once again, I found Twilight with her head buried in her forelegs, pathetically crying to herself. "We should have payed attention! But so much had changed! There were so many things to do, so many ponies that wanted attention! We were all worked to the bone, forgetful, and we lost track of the things that were most important to us! This is all our fault! We did this!"

"Christ. Relax." I knelt down beside the horse, putting a hand on her head. She didn't pull away. "Yeah, you were all a gaggle of fucking idiots for forgetting about someone who thought you were his family, but none of this crazy bullshit could possibly have been predicted. I screwed the pooch by leaving, Celestia drilled it further by causing a goddamn tear in the veil, and everything collapsed from there on out."

I stood back up, unsheathing my Witcher's sword. "Bury it, girly. It's in the past, now. Look at me." I raised my sword, and it reflected the moonlight. "Yes, the current situation is quite a fancy kind of FUBAR. But there's hope, still. Look upon my blade, and you will see three feet of gleaming silver. But this sword, it's more than that. It's more than shiny metal and steel and cowhide. This sword represents... hope. The fact that there is still someone to hold this blade, to raise it high, it means this war is not over. There's still a chance for the good to come back to this world, a chance for things to be alright again. There's still a chance for everybody to be happy."

Sheathing the blade, I looked down at the pony, and smiled.

"Champion's back, horsie. And I'm gonna make sure every single baddie on this planet knows why I earned that title. Now quit your crying."

"So... you're... you're not upset?" Twilight sniffled, stepping back to her feet.

"No, dumbass. I forgive you. Now, tell me. What are you doing in these woods?"

Apparently, the Elements of Harmony were all given different tasks to carry out. Ponyville was still a major priority, and had no time to evacuate when the shit hit the fan. The lack of a Champion left it open to attack, and the Nightmares came back in full force- and they packed a weapon. A special kind of Nightmare was bred. Symbols carved into their flesh negated all forms of unicorn magic retaliation. Twilight was incapable of protecting the town- but Zecora, the zebra, was. In the darkest hour, the zebra used a special alchemical mixture to cast an odor barrier, a scent that normals couldn't pick up, but Nightmares were absolutely repelled by. But Zecora needed herbs to keep this barrier up, and she had to remain in town to mix the pot. So, Twilight, having both powerful magic and wings, was sent into the Everfree Forest daily to gather the necessary ingredients.

Impressive.

However, this constant duty meant that Twilight never had time to catch up with the rest of the Elements, and she didn't know their whereabouts.

"Well, that's all I can really tell you, Sifty. I'm... I'm so glad you're back. We can finally fight back, instead of just cowering in our homes night after night, hoping the Nightmares don't adapt... But, Sifty? What in Celestia's name happened to you? I'm detecting so much magic coming off of you, your eyes, my magic doesn't even detect that you're human anymore..."

Oh, god, this is going to be a long story. I hope I can find that son-of-a-bitching halfbreed soon...

Entry XIII: Many Happy Returns, by Siftstone

I was mostly silent as I traveled through the Everfree Forest with the pony. She had a bit of a motor mouth; blathering on and on about how many things I've missed. She finally allowed me a moment to speak, and I told her of my transformation. From the tainted blood that runs through my veins, to the dragon soul that fuels my form, to the Witcher's body that I now possess. As I finished, I asked one simple question.

"Tell me, girly." I sighed, "Have you seen another human around? Maybe came through here, dragging a Changeling along with him?"

"Why would a human be with a changeling?! No, I've not seen anything like that!"

"...Shit."

Finally, as we cleared the last bit of brush, we came to the edge of Ponyville, near Twi's library. Twilight flew ahead. "I have to go check on Spike! I'm sure he'll be delighted to see you again!" With that, the pony took off, into her home. The earth beneath my feet felt... familiar. Homely. It brought upon me the realization that my own home was still in a time loop. It's been so long that I've forgotten all the things I left within it.

As I stepped forward, I took in the sight of something in front of Twilight's library. A bulletin board. As I got closer, I began to realize it was a bounty board. Above all the pictures of missing ponies and posters begging for the destruction of certain monsters, I saw the words "Help urgently needed". Well, there's only one person that can possibly do anything about any of these contracts. Even if it was only an ego boost for me, I scratched out the word "help" with my knife, and replaced it with my profession.

"Witcher Urgently Needed!

Missing: An Old Rival Bounty: Anti-Magic Hive Guardian, 5,000 bits

Bounty: Black Gorger, 11,000 bits Bounty: Horde of Mannequins, please save my boutique!

Missing: Cutie Mark Crusaders, SOS! Missing: ~~Bushel of ballistic cabbages~~

Bounty: "Gladiator", 30,000 bits Bounty: Alpha Nightmare, negotiable!

Bounty: Something Ghostly Bounty: The Tall Horse

Missing: Precious little angel!"

"Sifty! Hey, man!" Came the familiar voice of Spike. He quickly ran over, and I knelt down to give the little dragon a quick fist-pound. "Dude! I haven't seen you in ages! What happened?"

"Long story. Tell me real quick, little man; how often does this board get changed up?"

"Never! We get a lot of bounties, but most of them are just the same old thing. 'Nightmare in my farm' or something. There're so many Nightmares around, now, that we don't even bother posting their bounties on the board. Not like anybody's taken any of them. Ponies are just too scared... And what's a 'Witcher?"

"Go talk to Twilight. She'll fill you in more. In the meantime, I'm gonna get to work. This is the Champion's duty."

I stepped up to the bounty board and snatched up the Missing Pony report for the CMC.

"To anypony that might be reading this,
The three of us are extremely concerned for three little fillies that mean the world to us. So adventurous, always wanting to help, it's no surprise that they got lost somewhere in the forest, and with all the Nightmares about, we can only assume the worst. Please, please, find our little sisters! Their names are Scootaloo, Apple Bloom, and Sweetie Bell! Scootaloo is an orange pegasus pony with a violet mane. Apple Bloom is a yellow earth pony with a red mane, usually with a big bow in it! Sweetie Bell is a white unicorn, her mane splits into purple and pink. They all share a blank flank. They were last seen in their clubhouse.
Signed,
Rainbow Dash, Applejack, and Rarity."

The contract was signed hardly four days ago.

The CMC's hideout was on the other side of town, so I checked my swords and began my trek over. Some ponies shot looks my way- at first, looks of fear, looks of surprise, until they realized who I was. As if a great weight had been lifted from them, those that recognized my face immediately shot up, clapping their hooves together. Some gossiped, and others ran off, as if to tell someone the news. As I made my way through town, occasionally waving to a friendly face, more and more ponies got up and brightened. As I neared the edge of the town, barely a ten minute walk, the whole atmosphere of the town was changing.

It was less grey, less depressing. No, there was hope, now. Ponies spoke of a savior, an end to their troubles. "The Champion is back! We're saved!"

News was spreading quickly. But I had a job to do; I couldn't waste time with a welcome-back party. When I reached the CMC's hideout, I found it in tatters. There were blade marks all over the door and stairs, but thankfully, not a spot of blood.

Still, there were signs of a struggle. There was a rattling on the inside of the building, so I drew my silver blade, Aerondight. Cautiously stepping forward, I pushed the door open with the tip of my blade, peering inside. As soon as the door was open, my senses were telling me to shoot my blade upward, and so I did; with good timing, as I had barely stopped the blades of a Nightmare Unicorn. Without a second's hesitation, I was headbutting the blue-eyed creature in the face and pushing it backwards.

As it tumbled to the floor, I stuck the blade of my sword at it's throat, and a foot on it's stomach. With no leverage to swing it's blades, it's arms twitched like an insect's legs. It peered up at me, and I could swear I saw the creature gulp.

"CHAMPION?"

"Aye, slime. I'm on the clock, mate. Don't dilly-dally. Tell me why it is you're here and I might not decorate this shack with your skin."

"SEARCHING FOR CLUES." The Nightmare squeaked out, it's voice a flanging of multiple others. Clues? How interesting.

"What sort of clues?"

"ENEMY OF OUR ENEMY. ALPHA SAID OUR KIND DOES NOT ABDUCT THE UNRIPENED. SOMETHING ELSE TOOK THEM. I WAS SENT TO INVESTIGATE."

"Why the hell do you bastards care about what happens to these ponies?"

"PERHAPS OUR MOTIVES ARE MORE COMPLEX THAN YOU BELIEVE."

"Your motives being?"

"I... I AM NOT AWARE."

"Newborn. No wonder you're being sent here, when your hive is well aware of my arrival. You're expendable."

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THAT WORD?"

"Easily given up. Capable of being lost. You're little more than a unit to be disposed of, the knowledge in your corpse the only valuable part of your being. How sad."

The Nightmare did not respond. Instead, it looked to the right, and I felt it's body go slack. It stopped struggling. For the first time in my war against these beings, I found myself finding a Nightmare looking... helpless. Vulnerable. Emotionally damaged. Deep in thought, as if truly realizing it's purpose.

"HOW CAN YOU BE CERTAIN, CHAMPION?"

I released my boot from the Nightmare and sheathed my blade. "Because I've been fighting your race long before you were born. I know what you are. More than likely, they'll know about what I just told you, too. They'll want you dead so you don't betray them."

"I AM NOT A COMBAT FORM. WHAT CAN I DO? IF I CANNOT RETURN TO THE HIVE, THEN WHERE CAN I GO? CHAMPION, I DO NOT WISH TO PERISH."

Eyeing the Nightmare, I thought for a moment. Nightmare Unicorns were a wet clay, easy to mold if caught early, such as this one. They are susceptible to suggestion by those they view as superior, and nearly killing it very quickly earned my authority over the creature. Asskicking equals respect, they say.

"...I can take you in, beastie."

"DO YOU NOT WISH TO SLAY ME? ALPHA TOLD US ALL THAT YOUR SOLE PURPOSE WAS TO SEE OUR END."

"The 'Alpha' lied to you, mate. All I wanted to do was keep this world safe, but your kind just wouldn't have that. But I need allies. I need assistance. I can't fight a war by myself. Join me and you'll discover a world in a whole new light. One of happiness, one of love. Perhaps one day, you can pursue your own path."

I stood up, holding out my gloved hand to the Nightmare. The Nightmare eyed me up and down, and after a moment's hesitation, placed a blade in my hand, and thus we performed a handshake of alliance. My eyes glowed briefly, reflecting off of something shining on the far side of the shack. Stepping closer, I found it to be a large, heavy bone-blade, rammed deep into the wood. The skin still clinging to the blade was black as char, and I knew immediately what it could have belonged to- a Black Reaper.

"Oi, beastie? I think I might know what we're looking for, here."

"THAT SWORD-LIMB HOLDS A SIMILARITY TO MY OWN. IT SEEMS MUCH STURDIER, HOWEVER. THE JOINTS SEEM MISALIGNED, AS WELL."

"This is the limb of a Black Reaper. I fought a few of them back in my older days. Come on, let's find out what those lanky fucks have to do with this."

As we began to exit the shack, the Nightmare collapsed on a single knee. Despite being on the axis of it's race for so long, I felt a connection to my newfound ally, and rushed over to see what the problem could possibly have been.

"Beastie? You alright, mate?"

"I FEEL WEARY. MY THOUGHTS SWIM. LIKE A LINE TO MY LIFE HAS BEEN CUT."

"Shit, I think you may have gotten your connection to the Hive severed. We need to get you somewhere that can mend that. I think I know a pony, but she'll need a lot of convincing."

"Who could possibly be so powerful?"

In that instant, the Nightmare and I looked at each other. Gone was the distinct flanging of it's voice, the multi-tone echo. In it's place was a decidedly feminine voice, with the barest of an english tone. Perhaps the remainder of the mare the creature once was? An interesting effect, and I voiced my thoughts to the beast. Even more interesting was the fact that this little beastie was quite possibly a girl.

"I cannot walk on my own, Champion. We cannot move from here-"

The creature let out a small yelp as I hefted her over my shoulder, opposite my swords. She wrapped one of her back limbs around my neck to steady herself, and craned her neck to see ahead of us. It was honestly cute, the way back- the Nightmare was testing out her new voice, making different kinds of vocalizations, and even mimicking any sounds she heard on the way there. That childlike innocence was what convinced me, long ago, that Nightmare Unicorns deserve the benefit of the doubt.

I took the long way to Twilight's library, as not to attract too much attention from the townsfolk. Using my Quen sign, I kept the Nightmare safe from that odor shield that repelled the rest of it's kind. I knocked on the door with my knee, and Spike was the one to answer it. He was as optimistic to see me again as the first time, but when he saw what I had slung over my shoulder, he let out a cry of fear- before I silenced it with my boot on his snout. Gently.

"Ssssshhh. I can explain. Where's Twi?"

"I'm right here, Sifty! Spike, what were you screaming abou-"

With that, the alicorn began screeching, tossing herself about her library to find something to cover herself beneath. In the meantime, I had placed my new friend on the ground and began to chase Twilight about, until I finally managed to catch her by slapping her with a low-power Aard sign. She collapsed in some branches, and I quickly ran up to her to shush her screaming with a hand over her mouth. Before I could explain, I took note of my new friend's voice. She had struck up a conversation with Spike.

"-Truly? Your kind must be a sight to behold when you age. The Alpha never told me of dragons."

"Oh, yeah, we're awesome!"

"Warmed up quite nicely, you two." I interjected, releasing my grip on Twilight, who had grown transfixed on the sight.

"Dude! Where did you find this one? Why doesn't she sound like the rest of them?" Spike quizzed.

"I'll tell you both in just a moment."

I explained to both Spike and Twilight that Nightmare Unicorns can be changed before they fully succumb to the morals of the Hive, and that the one I had rescued had her bonds cut from the hive mind. As she was so new, she posed no threat, and I had earned her respect with my prowess, and my legend. Then I asked Twilight to help with my new friend's weakness.

"What? Sifty, I understand what you said, but how can we trust a Nightmare?"

"Are you saying you don't trust me, Twilight? Do you honestly believe I would be stupid enough to endanger the both of you by bringing a live Nightmare here, one incapable of being reasoned with?"

"Well, no, but-"

"But nothing, Princess. Now, you help this girl out. I am not going to ask again."

"Okay, okay! I'll do it... If you'll give me just... One thing."

"Being?"

With that, Twilight dashed forward and slammed into me at a speed even my Witcher's reflexes couldn't track. She wrapped her forelegs tightly around me, hugging me. It was wordless what the girl wanted. She didn't want some make-up hug in the forest, some sob story about failure or loss. What she wanted was to feel the warmth of one of her old friends. To truly feel that the man who once loved and protected her still felt that warmth, that emotion.

As I pondered this, I felt something tug at my icy, cold heart. A tug I had not felt in the long time that I have been gone. A longing, a desire for something more than the swing of my blade and the blood of my enemy. A desire for warmth.

For friendship.

I hugged that pony. I hugged her and I squeezed her and only my Witcher's emotional whipping kept me from sobbing out the blackness of my life into her silky mane. My medallion even had the decency to move on it's own accord, to avoid stabbing the pony in the head with itself. Twilight was openly crying, but there was a smile on her face. There was one on mine. It felt like we sat in that embrace forever, but when we released, my new friend was looking at us with a smile, likely having finished with her conversation with Spike some minutes ago.

"Something on your mind, beastie?"

"Though I am but a newborn, my race has always had implanted instincts and knowledge. I knew very well that we are naturally repulsed by emotion as powerful as what you just expressed, whereas ordinary beings in this world radiated it when in the company of good kind. I have not felt that revulsion to your expression. In fact, I believe I may have felt some of the very same energy in my own being. I cannot explain it. All I know is that it makes me feel something that I never before have."

"Empathy." I rumbled, my voice deep and hearty.

Suppressing a quiver, I looked up. "I have to go. I need to find the Cutie Mark Crusaders. I've wasted enough time. Twilight, we will speak more of this later, but until then, please, please, PLEASE do all you can to repair my friend's shattered mind."

I turned to my Nightmare. "You, this building is filled with information. Once Twilight finishes, she can teach you about this world in a way your race never could. I will return."

"Champion." Rumbled my friend, "You each have a title. My race never had such a concept. The dragon is Spike. You are Sifty. The Princess is Twilight. What am I?"

"Hm. You do need a name. I can't just call you 'beastie' all the time."

"There is a sound, deep in my memory. The sounds of the forest, of laughter. I cannot pinpoint a specific voice or word, but there is one sound that echoes louder than the rest. I believe it may have been my proper title. Bear... Berry... Beryl! Royal Beryl!"

"Beryl... pretty. Okay, Beryl. You and Twilight play nice. I must go."

"Good luck, Sifty!" Came spike, soon followed by Twilight. "Please, come back safe."

"Thank you, Champion. Your mercy has granted me a new life. I will assist you as soon as I am well enough."

With that, I was off again, uncorking one of my Cat potions. I took some residue I snatched off that Black Reaper's arm, and added it to the potion. The mixture sizzled and glowed a hateful, aggressive red, and then settled. With that, I chugged it down, and in that instant, the whole world grew grey again. However, there were spots of red in the distance. Echoes of where my prey once was. Following the red could lead me to my contracts.

Once again, I drew my silver blade, and set off into the forest.

I stalked through the forest like a ghost. My potion would last a good few hours, so unless my prey took off on a bloody day trip, it couldn't escape my gaze. It left it's mark in the grass and trees; long, humanoid footsteps, parted as if walking. But only one set glowed red. There were at least five Reapers in the group, and the one I was following must have been either a grunt or the Omega, because a trail of blood accompanied a smaller set of footprints alongside the rest.

The footsteps went a good few miles into the forest. At the edge of a cliff face, they made their way into a discreet cave, unnoticeable due to the amount of foliage almost purposely grown in front of it. With a twirl of my blade, I brought it down in front, and pulled a small bottle of hissing, angry, red fluid onto the gleaming silver of my weapon. Capsaican oil, gently mixed with poison sumac and nightshade, with a hint of fire salts, to create a poison that would burn a wound for a great span of time, regardless of the severity of the wound, before causing a seizure in the victim as the neurons in the brain are obliterated by the true toxins mixed in.

Black Reapers were fast and tough, especially in the dark. To a Witcher, there's no such thing as "overkill". This amount of pain was a needed measure. Holding my silver blade aside, I pulled my trusty, rusted bush machete off my belt and sliced clean through the bushes blocking my path. Sheathing my old blade, I tightened my grip on my silver blade and made my way into the cave. My Cat potion had the added effect of lighting up the dark to a much handier degree than my natural night vision could.

The cave was not immense. Little more than five hundred yards in, I came upon the fallen Omega of the Black Reapers. It's scythe arm was completely severed, and it had thousands of scars along it's back and chest. It must have had a difficult life, being mistreated by it's Alpha whenever a display of power was necessary. Judging by the lack of identifiable blood at the scene, it brought me to the assumption that the Omega tried to kill the fillies, which would disrupt the Alpha's plans, whatever they were. Perhaps that is why the Reaper lost it's arm.

The cave came to a dead end there. With a sharp inhale, I held my breath. Silence. Nothing more than the corpse of one Reaper. But there were multiple sets of footprints around it, and they were fresh. I cocked back my silver blade in the darkness, and I moved it around, until the gleaming, mirror-finished blade was facing the roof of the cave. At first, all I saw were my own, glowing, yellow eyes- but as I shifted the blade around, four pairs of green eyes were looking down at me. My blade caught the gleam of their green glow reflecting on something, something falling down rapidly.

Exhaling, I dive-rolled forward, rolling hard on the cave floor and whirling around in the nick of time to face a Black Reaper, which had just sprained it's bicep on the failed dropkill it had attempted on me. It's arm flailed loosely behind it and it shielded itself with it's weaker left arm, as it's comrades fell down from the ceiling. One of which had some sort of cage contraption affixed to it's shoulder, which contained my contracts; Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo.

"Hey! Watch it, mister!" Shrieked Apple Bloom, a quiver in her voice. Through the dark, I could see all of the fillies clinging to one another, fur on end, shaking endlessly.

"Sweet Celestia, do you jerks always have to be so rough?! We're just kids!" Came Scootaloo, more annoyed than afraid.

"Human." Followed the voice of, what I assumed, was the Alpha Reaper. I didn't hear it, so much as perceive it mentally. Reapers had no vocal chords, communicating solely through the act of telepathy. "You have moved very quickly."

Though I could bark back a reply by merely thinking it, I wanted to get those little girls to stop shaking. With a smirk, I growled back to the Reaper in the most commanding voice I could manage. "Watch your tone, vermin. You address the Champion of Celestia."

"The Champion?!" Came the voices of the three fillies, in unison. Their eyes instantly brightened, and they looked towards the source of my voice.

"We assumed your death had occurred many months ago, human. Your title means little. You interrupt our rest. We were just about ready to begin our feast. We will allow you time to leave."

There was a slight pain in my leg. I chose to ignore it.

It was true that I was lucky. The Reapers wanted to draw out their walk to their lair, to frighten the girls as much as possible. Having intermingled with Nightmare mutation somewhere in their past, these fiends found frightened food to taste a lot better.

"You have no further warnings, human. Leave, or become our next meal."

Another wicked grin stretched across my face. With hardly a breath, I cast forth low-power Aard sign, staggering the four Reapers, and giving me my moment to strike. Within an instant, my silver blade was slashing through the shoulder of the cage-keeper, knocking free the little fillies. Though it was cruel, they were a priority, and before the cage hit the ground, I knocked it- and the girls- towards the exit of the cave with a rough shove of my shoulder. A rough ride, but they'd live.

The cage-keeper fell to the ground, clutching it's dismemberment and shrieking telepathically, before it's voice faded, and it's body locked up. Using the momentum from my first strike, I immediately whirled around and slashed the previously-wounded Reaper across the face, finishing it off. The next Reaper came in with a low swing, one which I parried to the left, just before flicking the heavy, solid pommel of my sword upward, striking the Reaper in it's jaw. Before it could recover, I swung my sword low and struck it in the thigh, which brought it to a knee- and then my knee met it's chin. Another telepathic shriek echoed in my mind, before falling silent, my victim locking up as I squared off with the Alpha.

"So the legends speak true, human. You are indeed formidable."

"Quit with the mind invasion and raise your arm. I'm on the clock."

"You may have bested my subordinates, but you have never faced the true power of a Black Reaper Alpha!" The Alpha shrieked, before charging forward, it's blade dragging behind it, sparking against stray stones in the dirt. An Alpha was far more muscled and much, much faster than a standard, making it so that a parry against it's blade would be virtually suicidal. I had no doubt that it could break through my sword and cut me asunder, so before we crossed blades, I dove to the side of the Reaper, which caused it to miss it's blow. As I recovered from my roll, I immediately snatched a throwing knife off of my shoulder armor and hurled it into the Reaper's calf.

It barely even flinched as it effortlessly pulled the blade out of it's leg, turned, and flicked it right back at me with expert precision. My reflexes kicked in, and I swiped the knife out of the air, barely having enough time to perform a backroll to dodge the Reaper's retaliation. As I recovered, the Reaper was bringing it's blade straight down, aiming to split my skull like a tulip. There was no time to think, and I quickly unleashed a shout; a skill I had almost forgotten I had.

"Fus!"

The energy blast that tore from my lungs had just enough force to stop the Reaper's downward blow, which gave me ample opportunity to roll under it's arm and bring my silver blade clean through the tendons in the Reaper's knee. This was enough to bring the Reaper to the earth, it's heavy blade falling forward to crutch the creature, keeping it from falling on it's face. I didn't hesitate- before the beast could recover, I cast a full-power Aard sign, knocking the creature forward. It's arm had stuck in the dirt, and due to the forward momentum, the Reaper dislocated it's own shoulder. A howl of pain ushered out in my mind, but the Alpha was far more resilient than it's fellows; my poison was not enough to kill it.

Taking a short sprint, I switched my sword to a reverse grip and leaped high in the cave, crashing down into the back of the Reaper's neck, impaling it with overwhelming force. My blade split it's spine and decapitated the creature, in all technicality. The screaming instantly stopped. Pulling my sword free from the Reaper's blackened flesh, I wiped the silver to gleaming on the bandages wrapping my left arm. Sheathing my blade, I left the corpses where they lie.

There was a very distinct pain in my leg, now. Greater than a sprain. However, I had no time to waste. I had to get the fillies back to Ponyville. I found the cage close to the edge of the cave, and the fillies within were less than pleased with my handling of their binding. Regardless, they near-instantly abandoned that anger with the realization that they had a savior; not just for themselves, but for the entirety of their world.

"Sifty!" Apple Bloom squealed, as soon as her bindings were loose. She pounced forward, clinging to my face. Scootaloo was not far behind, and Sweetie Belle had already begun wiping her tears against my thigh. "Oh, Sifty, I'm so glad you're back! You have no idea how bad Applejack had gotten without ya'!"

"Rainbow Dash wouldn't even let me over to her place anymore because she was afraid I'd see her cry!"

"Big sis was an absolute wreck, Sifty!"

"I know, I know. Twilight gave me the brief." I sighed, pulling the fillies off me one at a time. "And, Sifty? What's with the new look? Your hair, your eyes?"

Not this shit again-

"And what about that cut in your leg?"

Oh, son of a bitch. Finally back in the light, I could much easier see the cause for my pain- though I had narrowly avoided getting a corpus colosscopy with my dodge-roll from that falling Reaper, the bastard still managed to nick my calf, splitting a good five inches of flesh apart. My Witcher's pain tolerance and adrenaline were the only things keeping me from noticing it until the fight was over. Surely, not an issue. I would just need to get a healing potion off of my be-

My White Rafford's Decoction bottle was empty. I had forgotten to refill it. Oh, son of a whore!

Regardless of the situation, I had my charges. The fillies were safe, if shaken up. I'm not calling the waaaaaambulance just yet; I've gotta get them home. Without another word, I scooped the girls onto my shoulders, and began my painful- if determined- trek back to Ponyville.

Pain. Blood. Pain. Blood.

That was all I could think of on my way back to the town. The girls rambled on about their adventures after my departure, about how their sisters could hardly stand to function for weeks on end without my aid. Indeed, I felt the guilt, the sadness for having left the way I did, but even so, the pain took over that emotion. I may be a mutant, I may be a custom-made killing machine bent on the destruction of anything ghastly, but I was still inherently human.

As we passed the mark of the last stretch towards the town- where the trees begin to thin, and you can hear the birds begin to chirp again- a wail ripped through the treeline. A very familiar wail. Instantly, my mind was filled with a blur of pink and yellow, the pain and blood ignored. My breath began to pick up, and I changed course towards the shriek. Something in my body was pulling all the stops. Almost an instinct, a virtual drive to protect something incredibly dear to me ingrained into the very fiber of my being. Another wail, this one far more desperate. One word overrode all other thoughts in my head; KILL.

The fillies hung on for dear life as my legs fired into overdrive. Blood oozed out of my wound and pooled in my boot, but I ignored it completely in favor of hurdling over fallen trees and underbrush. Finally, I pierced the brush, and fell into a clearing. The sight within brought my very piss to a boil.

There was a mare. A familiar one. The mere sight of her could soothe the pains of a thousand battles- and it often did. A silky, pink mane, gently curled and out of place due to the sheer fright of the one who wore it. A gentle, lemony-yellow coat of fur, shining with sweat and fear. A black bandanna- my old one, from ages past, worn around her neck. Her wings, gently preened by the creatures of the forest, standing high and rigid, their owner incapable of escaping her situation, absolute fear anchoring her mud-stained hooves to the earth.

A Hive Guardian. Several Nightmares. All encroaching, slowly, drinking in the fear of one of their most hated adversaries. The mare did nothing wrong, herself, but the level of kindness, the amount of good will the girl bore, was enough to make her the enemy of the Nightmare race. There was too much purity, too much wealth. She was a cancer to them, keeping all their hatred and fear from spreading to the populace of the forest. She needed to die, in their eyes.

I understood the true meaning of hatred, in that moment. My body was filled with little more than the desire to watch these beings suffer. Old emotions, old love, it all poured into my icy, mutant heart, mixing with my hatred. Mixing with my bloodlust. Nothing hurts that pony.

Absolutely.

Fucking.

Nothing.

The soul of an ancient being spoke, then.

A dragon I had slain, during my initiate days, before I took the mutations to become a full Witcher. I had absorbed it's soul then, but knew not what to do with it. Words echoed through the forest, the ancient tongue of dragons tearing the very fabric of reality apart. The earth rumbled, the birds flew from their trees.

"KRII- LUN AUS!"

Kill. Leech. Suffer. The ancient shout of the Dovah, used to wither away armor and rot away life, a shout of rotten origin, used for rotten gains. The blast wave of magical power, a sickening purple in hue, tore into the Hive Guardian and it's charges. The effect was almost instantaneous. The Nightmares that couldn't resist the shout immediately began to rot, their teeth falling free and their blades yellowing. Others managed to barely keep from giving in to the Voice of the Dragonborn.

But I was going to mend that very quickly.

As soon as I had let that shout loose, the fillies let go of my shoulders and dropped, scurrying over and hiding beneath the pony. With a singular goal in mind, I had drawn the heavy chainsword from my back, it's thousand teeth thirsty for blood, it's engine roaring to life. The Nightmares had hardly finished staggering before I was leaping into the fray, my weapon screaming as it sawed through a Nightmare's spine in little more than a second. The body hadn't time to drop before I was launching a hate-fueled kick into the mouth of another, nearly snapping it's neck with the force of my blow. It's weakened state caused it to lose it's balance and drop, only to finish with a pus-splattering stomp of my mighty boot.

My heavy charge splattered mud up my pantlegs, my blade coughing and ejecting bits of bone and gore, as I locked blades with a Hive Guardian. My sword screamed, sparks flew, but ultimately, bone failed against blade. I tore through the Guardian's blades, tore through it's neck, tore through the rest of it and just kept going, blood going every which way, until I came upon the realization that I had fully bisected my opponent. The uneven halves of the Guardian fell to the earth, the scent of iron thick in the air.

The remaining two Nightmares, the only ones unaffected by my shout, began to flee. Choking down on my sword, I began to give chase-

But instead, I merely fell to the mud. My leg had finally given in. In my hate-fueled rampage, I had completely disregarded the injury, and it had grown damaged and torn as I laid down the utmost fucksmack upon my enemy. I couldn't pursue them. But I would see them again. I knew it.

I shifted my gaze to the pony. She was huddled against a tree limb, shielding her eyes and the eyes of the fillies, as I had dished out my punishment. Tears stained her cheeks, and the fillies were quivering. All but Scootaloo. She had a smile on her lips and a blush on her cheeks. She was the first to open her eyes.

"Sweet mother of Celestia, Sifty! You are a beast! And here I thought Rainbow Dash was just speaking out of her tail when she was talking about how scary you get! That was AWESOME!"

"Heh, so it was-"

"Sifty?" Came a sweet, angelic voice. Truly, like an angel's harp in that moment. The pony had finally opened her eyes, locking shyly to mine. The tears stopped flowing, as she realized who exactly her savior was. It was not some beast, come to claim her in the place of the Nightmares. No, she knew, then. Realization filled her eyes, and the tremble in her body stopped. She stood to all fours, as I barely crutched myself against my motorblade.

The fillies looked on as the pony ran over to me, immediately launching herself into the most powerful hug a Witcher can possibly experience without his medallion knocking him in the teeth through the sheer power of the magic in it. The rain was cold in my armor, but this pony managed to warm me up in an instant. Despite my mutations, despite my scars and my changes, despite the amount of time that passed, this pony still remembered her hero. She still remembered the face of her savior, the voice of the one who protected her.

She still remembered who carried her torch in the darkness.

With my task complete, I decided to finally rest. The pony gasped gently as the arm holding my chainblade gave out, and I lapsed into a gentle sleep, the loss of blood firming it's grip on my consciousness. I fell with but a single word on my lips.

"Fluttershy."

Entry XIV: The Angel and The Magician, by Siftstone

There was a chill in the air as I drifted into a state of awareness. The world shifted from a dull grey to bright, pastel color, as my mutant eyes adjusted to the environment. The thing I was laying on was irresistibly soft, and brought a sense of longing from a time long past. I was in a home, surrounded by woodland creatures, all peacefully asleep. Though the sun was eternally blotted by the unnatural clouds brought upon by the crisis, I could tell that it was night. An idle shiver made me realize that I was stripped of my equipment. My gloves, jacket and assorted armor pieces lay neatly folded on a table across from me, my weapons all arranged by size along the far wall.

The gash in my leg was barely noticeable as I shifted off the couch. Pulling up my pantleg from a seated position, I took note of the heavy bandaging around my leg. Standing fully, there was no pain. I stretched, and the cracking of my bones must have roused something in the home, as I saw something quickly dart across the floor and up a set of stairs in the dark. Taking in my surroundings in full, it hit me, then; I was in Fluttershy's cottage, at the edge of town. Focusing my vision, I noticed three distinct little shapes in the darkness, wrapped up to one-another. The fillies.

Fluttershy did have strong wings when she wanted to. The girl has saved my life by dragging my ass out of the forest before. Some things never change... Girl was my personal field medic. There was nary an injury she couldn't help me fix. Oh, that girl was far too good to me-

Shaking my head, I focused on putting my equipment back on. Just as I had finished sliding my silver blade into it's sheathe, a brightness in my peripheral made me whirl around. Coming down the steps, with a lantern clutched in her mouth, was Fluttershy. She looked into the darkness for a moment, and I briefly willed my eyes to flash a yellow glow. Fluttershy squeaked, startled, and dropped her lantern. With a chuckle, I stepped forward, into the light.

"Sifty...?"

"Aye, Flutters."

Hardly a moment passed before the pony was rushing to slam a hug into me. My reflexes kicked in and I spaced my feet, bracing myself, so as not to get knocked over. I returned the girl's embrace, gingerly. The scent in her mane was familiar. Soothing. Calming. Even as rough as she was from who-knows-what, she still retained that innocence that drew my caring for her in the first place. Lowering myself to a knee, I looked the pony in her sweet, aqua eyes, idly moving a lock of her mane from her face.

"It's been a long time, little one."

"Too long, Sifty!" The pony tearfully eked out, before tucking her head into the crook of my neck. She began to sob. "First you left, then everything went wrong, and just so recently, I lost Angel Bunny, and, and..." With a sigh, I brought a hand up and gently soaked her silky, pink mane, running the knots out between my fingers, taking care not to jab the pony with the bear claws jutting out of my knuckles. My other hand pressed her close, and I took note of just how tense the girl was. As she sobbed into my shoulder, I carefully shifted my legs until I was sitting with my legs crossed, lowering the pony down gradually the entire time, until her head was resting in my lap.

"Wolves asleep, amidst the trees..." My voice came out. Soft, soothing. On the road for as long as I was, I learned to sing a number of songs. Fluttershy, tears still flowing, perked up her ears. I could hear animals all around the cottage shift in their sleep.

"Bats all a-swayin', in the breeze...
But one soul lies anxious, wide awake...
Fearin' all manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths...
For my darling pony, sleep has flown,
Don't dare I let her tremble alone,
For the Witcher, heartless, cold,
Paid in coin of gold...
He comes, he'll go, leave naught behind,
But corpses and blows...
Deep, deep blows..."

It was at this point, Fluttershy had stopped sobbing. Her crying had diminished to little more than an occasional sniffle, but she had clamped her eyes closed. She nuzzled her face into my stomach, pulling herself up a little bit more. The fillies were awake, as well, staring at me from the side, silently. All the animals in the cottage were fully awake, now, and eyed me with a mixture of intrigue and drowsiness. I continued my lullaby.

"Birds all silent for the night,
Cows turned in as daylight dies,
But one soul lies anxious, wide awake...
Fearin' all manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths...
Now my darling pony, shut your eyes,
Lie still, lie silent, utter no cries,
For the Witcher, brave and bold,
Paid in coin of gold...
He'll chop, and slice, and cut, and dice,
Keep safe your world..."

The whole time I was singing to her, I was stroking Fluttershy's head, occasionally brushing my bear claws through her mane like a comb. She had stopped crying, and finally looked up at me, her mane restored to it's springy, healthy glory. "Sifty..."

"Ssshh. It's okay, now, little pony. I'm not planning on going anywhere."

"I missed you."

"I know. I realize that I've missed you too. But don't bring yourself to tears again, sweetheart."

Fluttershy and I talked for a long time. The fillies took the opportunity to listen to me explain myself; my mutations, my adventures as a Grey Warden, as a Witcher, and my newfound shouting powers that they witnessed in the forest. Then I told them about Kildeez, my partner, and how we were separated. There was more at work here than simple Nightmares and portals, but whatever it was, it had not followed me to Ponyville.

"Now, Flutters. Tell me why it is that you're such a mess? Your mane was so knotted, you're covered in dirt... this isn't just from one trip to the forest, love. It's as if you've not had a chance to yourself in ages."

"Ohh... Twilight told me to save as many creatures from the forest as I could. I've been so busy saving little ones, I simply haven't had time to wash up..."

"I'll help when I can. I thank you for patching me up, sweet thing. However, I need to get going. There are still things I need to take care of-" I said, while standing and moving towards the door.

"Wait! Don't go outside!"

"Why not?"

"My cottage is at the very rim of town, so Zecora's shield against the Nightmares isn't as strong. They can't get inside my home, but I've seen them, waiting outside, just past the treeline. Night after night, waiting for me to make a mistake."

I smiled, gently. "There is no longer a Nightmare alive that can best the Champion of Equestria, my dear." I announced, proudly. "...But for your sake, I'll spend the night. I have to take the fillies back into town, anyway." Trotting back over to Fluttershy, I barely hesitated in picking her up and pulling her over my shoulder, to which she squeaked in response.

"Eep! Sifty! What are you doing?"

"Fluttershy, you're a mess. You fixed me after I performed my usual stupidity while saving you, so, please, sweetheart, allow me to repay you in full."

I worked through the night, cleaning Fluttershy up. Her face was a constant, beet red, but by the time I was done, her coat had her distinct shine back in it. The animals helped me keep her wings preened, and the fillies helped me comb and brush her mane and tail in a better way than what I did with my claws. By the time the team was done, Fluttershy was restored to the level of immaculate beauty that would make Photo Finish explode. Light was shining through the windows, and Fluttershy let out a long yawn.

"I think I should get some rest, Sifty... I don't think It'll be so hard to save the animals, now that the Nightmares know you're back."

"Aye, pretty. Get some sleep. We'll see each other again soon."

With that, I was off again. I locked Fluttershy's cottage behind me, with the fillies passed out on my shoulders and head. Just before I left, I swiped a few trap signs into the dirt near Fluttershy's cottage, in case I didn't come back before night- give those stalking Nightmares a bit of a shock. Bastards.

I traveled the road into town, keeping pace with the rising sun's bare amount of light, punching through the gloom. Though the sun would not shine on Ponyville until this war was over, there would still be a light for these ponies to look for in the morning. I was a knighted champion of the goddamned sun goddess, for fuck's sake! These Nightmares might fear the sun, but soon, oh soon, will they never wish my glowing eyes to be closer. Twin suns, spelling doom for their race, and all they have wrought.

The whole of Ponyville was still down and under, in the thralls of sleep. I passed Zecora's mixing pot, and thus knew I was in the middle of town. My first stop was at Carousel Boutique, where I gently pushed the unlocked door open, ignoring the "closed indefinitely" sign on the door. There, unconscious on the chaise, was Lady Rarity, surrounded by tissues and notes. Notes from Sweetie Belle, marked ages ago. The girl was going insane without her little sister. I kept my face neutral to avoid letting any emotions of a fonder period of time pull me from my goal. Gently, to avoid rousing her, I took the sleeping Sweetie Belle off my shoulder and nestled her under Rarity's leg. Rarity seemed to pull her closer to herself, on instinct.

Before I left, I noticed that the entirety of the staircase to the upstairs room was boarded up. The scent of iron hit me then, and as I got closer to investigate, my medallion began to tug on it's chain, causing me to step away. This must be what that other contract on the board mentioned. As it seemed, my targets were contained. I had other priorities. Leaving the boutique in the same ghostly silence I entered, I made my way towards Sweet Apple Acres.

Despite everything, the Apples had kept their apple trees healthy. Bright, ruby-red apples grew high and well, despite the cold and near-constant lack of true sunlight. A set of mare's hoofprints in the mud led me to the barn, where Applejack was out cold atop a hay pile, her hat solemnly pulled down over her eyes. Again, with exceeding gentleness, I lifted Apple Bloom off my other shoulder, gently placing her on Applejack's exposed stomach, before pulling AJ's hat off and placing it on Apple Bloom's head.

Scootaloo was still on my head, and she and I began our journey to Rainbow's cloud home. It was a long walk. I idly wondered how I would be able to slip Scootaloo into Rainbow's hooves before she woke up. As we made out way through town and across the pink orchard, I found that the question had answered itself with the brightening sky. Scootaloo drifted awake from a rare beam of sunlight striking her face, and when she saw Rainbow's cloud home, she was immediately fully awake.

"Hey, Champ... I'm not just having a dream, here, am I?"

"Nah, kid. Go up there and see your hero. Don't let her know I'm back, and try not to wake her up."

"Alright, I won't! Scout's honor!" Scoots began, before launching off my head and darting into Rainbow's house. With a deep sigh, remembering the adventures I had with the rainbow pegasus that was so close, I turned and began my march back to the bounty board. There was no time for happiness. Not now. Not yet. There were lives that needed saving. Things that needed doing. Proper returns need a big entrance, goddammit!

I snatched the "Missing" bounty off the board. There was a picture of a mare- couldn't tell the colors, but my memories served me well. I remember her; blue coat, a toothpaste mane, and that fucking wizard's hat she always wore. Bit of an arrogant bitch, she was, but she calmed down a long time ago. She helped me slay my first Nightbeast. My eyes scanned over the contract.

"I formally request that anypony able-bodied and capable locate and confirm the survival of my old rival, Beatrix Lulamoon- otherwise known as Trixie, the magician. I am well aware that most ponies in this town will find this request to be bothersome, that one should not waste time and talents on a pony that griefed this town twice over, but she is a changed mare. She is also one of my good friends. With the crisis, we need to stick together, not draw apart over pettiness that is best left buried in the past! Trixie knows this better than anypony. She was heard of near the Clock Tower, where she was performing a show before the last portal storm caused her to flee. She has not reported in, and I worry for her.

Signed,
Princess Twilight Sparkle"

With a huff, I rolled up the contract and tucked it into one of the loops on the front of my journal. Drawing my steel blade, Stormbringer, from my back, I observed it briefly. A heavy bastard sword, with a leather wrap around the blade, just above the rain guard. The blade itself was unremarkable, save for the three glowing runes etched length-ways onto the blade. All three runes brought the blade it's name; one halves it's weight in inclement weather, another causes lightning to occasionally strike where I swing, and the third- well, I still didn't know. The swordsman who gifted me the blade said that I would know when the time was right.

Sheathing my blade, I began my march towards the clock tower. The clock tower and a few pony homes were positioned in a small nook of the forest, away from the main part of the town, and the road there straddled the river Fluttershy lived across from. A check of my watch told me that it was around eight-thirty, and I had just enough light to function. Some ponies were already out and about, cleaning up Ponyville as best they could. They seemed to have some buzz in their movements, though. As they caught sight of me down the road, they immediately dropped what they were doing.

"Champion!" I heard from one, in the distance. "The Champion of Equestria! He really is back!"

"Haven't you heard? He found those three missing fillies!"

"I heard he shouted so loudly, he turned a bunch of Nightmares into butter! He saved the Element of Kindness!"

"Aye, good ponyfolk, I'm back. Perhaps you can lend your old hero a hand- err... hoof?" I replied to them, with a smile. A stallion with an hourglass mark trotted up to me. "What assistance can I offer you, champion?"

"Beatrix Lulamoon. Trixie, as you might know her. I heard she was performing here to brighten the mood before a portal storm knocked everybody out of order. You wouldn't happen to have seen where she went?"

"Oh, her? I was attending to my own business, near that call box across the way, but when the storm appeared overhead, I had to plug my ears because of this unnatural scream. When I finally stopped cringing, she was gone."

"Thanks, uh..."

"Doctor."

"Doctor who?"

"Just... just call me the Doctor. Doesn't really matter who."

"If you say so, boss man. Thanks for the help." I nodded to the stallion, and scribbled a note in my journal. Black Gorger? Nightmare Changeling? No, Nightmares couldn't get close to town, and Gorgers didn't like crowds... what the bloody hell else could possibly scream so loudly?

When I approached the stage, I noticed that there were hoofprints all over the front, as is natural if someone were giving a show. There were sunk into the mud, from the crowd. As I examined them, another pony showed up from behind. Her voice caught me off guard.

"Sifty?"

"...Octavia. Hello."

"It has been a long time. You look... different."

"Aye. It's a long story. I'm sure I'll get the chance to tell everyone, at some point. Were you here when Trixie disappeared?"

"Yes, I was. I was waiting for Trixie to perform her show, and I would have taken the stage to play my bass. I've been doing it since the troubles started; Vinyl hooked up amplifiers, so that all of my music could reach the town and soothe everypony."

"Smart. Tell me, girly; you see anything before Trixie went ka-poof?"

"As she was readying herself to perform one of her dazzling fireworks, a portal storm tore open above us. The Princess told us that these would come and go, but we should head for cover when they do. But, as you know, I'm no pegasus or unicorn; and this bass is heavy for just myself. I struggled to move, and then I heard this ear-piercing scream. As I plugged my ears and looked about, I could see several ponies onstage, dragging miss Lulamoon into the forest. The thing is, they all looked... wrong. Their heads were upside down."

"What the everlasting fu-"

"Language!"

"...Buck. Alright, that's worth noting. Thanks, Octy."

"It is my sincere pleasure. Now, if you will excuse me, I must return to my preparations. Do you think you will be able to come and see my show?"

"If this doesn't take up too much of my time. No promises, love."

"So be it."

What in the name of all things shit?! Ponies with upside-down faces? In all my day fighting in this land, I haven't fought a damn thing by that description, and nothing in my notes even scratches the surface of what it could possibly be...

With a leap, I hopped onto the stage, and almost immediately, my medallion began to tug. Looking around, I noticed a set of drag marks in the wood, leading off the stage and into the forest beyond. The drag marks themselves, however, were not the cause for my medallion to act up- it was instead Trixie's hat, laying on the wood. I put it on my head, for now. Drawing my silver blade, I made my way into the forest. The drag marks went on for a good mile or so, and stopped, abruptly, underneath a tree limb.

There was a rope tied around the limb, and a dark shape resting atop it. Before I could investigate further, a shriek hit me, knocking my senses out. I barely held my ground, wrenching my grip on my sword, as I looked around in a daze. The shape atop the limb seemed to startle awake, and cling to the tree limb for dear life. My ears were still ringing, my vision was blurred, but I could tell a number of shapes approaching from the forest itself.

Sheathing my sword and plugging my ears, I took note of my aggressors. They were like ponies, but they were incredibly fucking wrong- and I could see why Octy took note of their upside-down faces.

Their spines were pulled forward, and their heads hung loosely down. Each of them had a rope strung around their neck, some of them rotted, but every shape- at least ten, in total- had a rope, tied in the hangman's knot. I drew my silver blade, but as I did, another shriek hit me- and I lost the strength in that arm. The creatures got closer, and I began to take in their scent. They were most certainly dead. Zomponies, I thought. Possible remains of those few ponies outside Ponyville that just couldn't live anymore.

Crooked Carcasses.

I tried once more to grab my blade, but failed as another shriek hit me. Perhaps a Sign? Before I could cast my shielding magic, I was struck again, which threw me off balance and to my knees. The creatures got closer and closer. Blast it all, I wish I could move faster! Draw my blade and strike before they could let out that goddamn scream! Fucking hell, I need to invest in some earplugs...

Air.

A word echoed. I understood it as "air", but I didn't hear it as such. I heard "Su"- which caught me strangely. Even stranger than wondering about air in the middle of possible death. Air... wind was fast. "Run like the wind," I used to scream to Rainbow Dash, back in the day. Wind was fast. Rainbow was fast. I needed to be fast.

Battle.

Another word echoed, but it did not echo in my mind. Nay, I felt the word within my being. Battles were fast, strong and hectic- and I have personally been in many battles. There's nothing slow about a skirmish. Why does that strike me, now? Why do these thoughts choose to echo, at this very moment? There, again- the word I heard was not "battle", but "Grah", as it sounded.

Grace.

Grace, finesse. Witchers are trained to hit hard and fast, and thus, our natural reflexes and speed went beyond that of a regular warrior. We were taught to fight with an inhuman grace, to use our blades like they were part of us. Another word, hitting me. Another meaning. Another language. "Dun".

Air. Battle. Grace.

Su. Grah. Dun.

Su! Grah! Dun!

"Su-GRAH DUN!" I found myself shouting, a blastwave echoing out from around me, rivaling the screams of the carcasses surrounding me. My arms felt... lighter. Adrenaline flowed almost unnaturally. There were waves of white, flowing up and around my arms, as if magically giving me a boost to my speed. I could hear it, then- the carcasses were taking a breath, getting ready to scream-

But I didn't let them. With unnatural speed, I snatched the silver sword off of my back and spun in a wicked circle, my blade singing as it sliced through air and flesh alike. Hell, Aerondight's blade even seemed to glow from the heat generated by such an incredibly fast swing. My breath let out from me, standing in a squatted position, with my blade out to my side, still dripping with fresh blood, steaming with heat, white air twisting around the blade and back up my arm. Then, the blood came. The wounds my furious wind inflicted on the carcasses seemed to unzip, their heads falling one by one, counterclockwise, like my spin. They all dropped, and they could scream no more.

"My, my, has the Champion learned a bit of magic in his time away from us?"

That voice. Somewhat snooty, but trying not to be. Said with a smugness only attained over a long life of con artistry, but almost restrained with hopes of a gentler future. I turned to face Miss Lulamoon, still clinging to the tree branch she was earlier. She had a rope around her neck, the same one that was tied to the branch.

"Trixie. I'm glad you're alive. I actually had a contract out to find you-"

"Of course I'm alive! The Great and Apologetic Trixie would never let a bunch of filthy undead do her in! But, uh... I'm... quite tired, Champion."

"I can hear it. Mind telling me exactly what happened?"

"How much do you know?"

I told her of my investigation, and she explained that she had been getting stalked by these beings the whole time she was in Ponyville, as if she was a very specified target. When they dragged her into the forest, still conscious but unable to fight back, they strung a rope around her neck and tried to lynch her, while also pulling on her legs. She had just enough strength to kick them off, and used her magic to hoist herself onto the tree. The creatures continued to torment her, almost always denying her sleep so that she would eventually pass out and hang herself as she fell from her branch, always screaming so she could never focus her magic enough to pull the rope free.

"By the moon. Alright, girly, you can sleep easy, now."

"Tell me about it. Do you have any idea how relieved I am to see your face? I won't have to keep watch at my back anymore..."

"Nobody will."

"...And give me my hat back!"

My shout's enhancement had died down long ago, and I cut the rope from Trixie's neck before pulling her onto my shoulder. She swiftly fell asleep as I marched out of the forest, finding myself back in town after a brief walk. I kept my walks to the back roads- I tried to avoid attention from my old friends as much as I could. They would see me again, soon. Each of them. All of them. But there was work to be done, lives to be saved.

An idle hand squeezed my medallion, and memories flowed in.

Happiness would simply have to wait.

Entry XV: Two Weeks Earlier, by Kildeez

I gotta say, for a guy who just failed on a courier mission and now has a horny changeling princess trying to jump in his pants every second she can, all in a land of talking ponies being overrun by abominations from beyond our world, I think I’m doing alright.

But honestly, just surviving at this point qualifies as “doing alright.”

“Hey, doofus! Get that big head out of the clouds and help me out down here!”

I blink, crashing back into reality. Chittery and her undead horde have just breached the outer defenses of a small Nightmare Hive: this waxy, slime-covered thing sticking up out of the Everfree like a sore thumb, shaped like an upside-down ice cream cone. A Death Adder lies twitching on the ground, green, rotting blood oozing out of its stumps where its bladed arms had once been. Next to it lays a Hive Guardian, its six eyes poked out, a mass of blood and gore where its throat should have been. And beyond that, a battle rages between Chittery’s undead ponies and the Nightmare-tainted undead.

“Er…right…” I quickly amend, jogging into the darkness of the cave, heading towards the fray. A wisp of shadow trails overhead, and I duck as a sudden rush of air passes just over me. Acting solely on instinct, I hit the ground, roll over onto my back, and blast a single shot into the darkness of the cavern’s roof. A few heartbeats later, a twisted pile of meat drops down next to my head, the only thing recognizable being a long, thin tendril with a blade attached.

I blink, then dart back to my feet, shotgun rising as I rack up another shell and fire indiscriminately into the Nightmare horde. Another Guardian falls while a Death Adder lowers a bleeding stump, staring incredulously at where a blade had once been. He looks up at me, and I am the last thing he ever sees as I send my next round through his skull.

“Keep pushing!” Chittery screeches. “Don’t let up for even a second! Keep pushing them back!”

“Oh, good thing you mentioned it, ‘cause I was thinking now would be a great time to put my feet up, handle some bills, call mom and dad, see how they’re doing…” I mutter as I reload a few extra shells. She wallops me upside the back of the head with a quick burst of green magic, like a slap. I wince and grin down at her.

“C’mon Doofus,” she says with a little sideways grin. “We’re falling behind.”

“You sure about this, Princess?” I ask.

“This is the last place our final patrol in Equestria reported from, it can’t be a coincidence we stumbled over a Nightmare Hive in the exact same area.”

“I hear you, but we’re adding way too much time to our trip and risking way too much on a Hive that, frankly, don’t look that important,” I eye her, noticing the waning glow off her horn. “You’re already pushing yourself pretty damn far.”

“I can…manage…” she grunts, blinks, and lets her gaze drift a little. Her beady, blue eyes glaze over for a second before newfound energy roars into them from some untapped well deep inside her. “If there’s even a chance to save just one of those changelings, I’m not giving up until I see bodies.”

I would’ve clapped were it not for the blade-covered monstrosities skittering our way. I raise Shelly again as Chittery stands as straight as possible. Without a single word between us, I know it’s down to me to keep her toned, shapely ass safe while she focuses on her undead horde. Another burst of changeling magic, and my free hand, the one not currently wrapped around the stock of my shotgun, transforms into an elongated, muscle-bound spear, pulsing with strength.

In hindsight, this exact size, shape, and form was a very poor choice in the presence of a nympho changeling princess.

The rustle of leathery wings overhead forces me to my knees, blasting away at a quick little blur of a shape: a Nightmare Bat. Small, all-too-tiny, but possessing a head that’s all teeth, with a couple of earholes on the side for echolocation. I curse the damned thing. The big guys are bad enough, but the little ones are ever-so-good at drawing attention to themselves, probably because they like to go for the jugular with those razor-sharp fangs. Hence why I don’t notice the Hive Guardians lunging until they’re practically on top of us.

Still cursing, I parry the first blow, my spear/hand/totally-not-a-dildo-you-sick-fucks shooting to the side. Moving with the momentum of my side-slashing spear, I raise my free hand, practically pressing my shotgun’s muzzle against the Guardian’s forehead.

We may never know how a Nightmare thinks, or what sick, twisted line of thought makes them the way they are, or even if they’re capable of thought at all. However, I know in this case, I can tell you exactly what happened in this Nightmare’s skull, exactly what went through this specific Nightmare’s head when I pulled the trigger: twenty lead ball bearings moving at a little over a thousand feet per second.

And if the Nobel Committee is reading this, I’ll be expecting my prize for the advancement of science the next time I’m on Earth. Small bills only.

Carrying on the momentum from the Nightmare’s parry, I bring my spear/not-dildo around in a low arc, smashing through the second Guardian’s defenses for a wallop against the side of its throat, even slicing one of the blades right off one of its tendrils. My spear’s blade draws a long, thin line of rotten-smelling blood across its cheek, the Nightmare issuing a cry like a hundred pre-teen girls discovering that Harry Stiles is stopping by their town to find a costar for the next High School Musical. I follow up with a front kick against its chest, then thrust my shotgun into the ground hard enough to keep it standing straight, wobbling there, as I duck, scoop the decapitated blade off the ground, and come up again in a forward slash, catching the Nightmare on its muzzle.

Before it can scream, I pull it in close with the flat of my spear and go to fucking town on its neck with its own blade, stabbing again and again into the fleshy parts of its throat. It’s only after the first ten rapid, in-and-out stabs that I realize I’m screaming from somewhere deep in the back of my throat.

Snarling, I boot the stinking creature in the chest again, blood squirting onto my sneaker as it falls back, choking on its own juices. Finally, all is still. I hear nothing but my own breath. Even the sounds of battle have stopped, the clashing forces all turning to gape at me. Or, I think they’re gaping at me. It’s hard to tell. There’s a reason some universes refer to zombies as “slackjaws.”

Rustle of leathery wings overhead. More prey. In my adrenaline-heightened state, and without the clashing of fleshblades against rusting swords to cover it up, I place it instantly. Reacting, I reach up and pluck the bat right out of the air, eliciting a squeak. Holding it up before me for everyone to see, I pump the tiniest amount of magic into my fingers, transforming my nails into inch-long claws

Show them.

The bat squeaks in pain as my claws pierce the soft, tender flesh of its belly. Not enough. I rake my claws through the flesh, ripping it open as if I’m peeling an orange. Fetid, orange blood oozes out. I raise my hand, letting the blood dribble onto my head, cascading onto the chitin of my bare scalp, soaking the waterproof sleeve of my coat.

I grin at the clashing parties, still staring awestruck, through the haze of Nightmare blood over my eyes.

“Nope,” a voice pipes up from the back. A few moments later, the ranks of both sides part to allow a young Nightmare Unicorn pass through, his eyes glowing in the dark, his appendages still shaking with the underdeveloped strength of the newly-corrupted. “Nuh-uh, nope. Fuck that.”

“Get back in line!” A deep-throated growl rumbles from the Death Adder standing next to him.

“N-nope,” the pony swallows, turning on its superior. “L-look, w-we don’t have to stay here, r-right? I think we should just l-leave, let these two get what they came for, i-is it really worth it?”

“We have our orders, little trash-maggot,” the Adder scowls, tromping towards the smaller Nightmare. “We are to slow the half-breed and the whore down, if not terminate them entirely. You know what the punishment for failure will be.”

“I-I don’t care!” The pony snarls. “It doesn’t matter! What’s the point of going on if it’s like this!?”

“The point is…” the Adder starts, raising a hoof for a blow, then pauses. It opens its hideous mouth once, closes it, opens it again, like a fish gasping for air. At last, on the third try, I notice the small glint in the back of its throat. The Adder turns, revealing Chittery perched on its shoulders, her horn buried in the back of its neck, the point now sticking out its throat.

“Something to point out,” she hisses, glaring at the back of the Adder’s neck. “This whore just ripped you a new one.” Then she shoots a dark-green bolt of lightning out of her horn, pounding right up through the roof of the Adder’s mouth and ripping out the top of its skull to leave a scorch mark on the cave ceiling.

As if tearing a Nightmare a new asshole in its forehead broke a spell on her troops, the undead turn on their Nightmarish counterparts and spring on them before they can get their bearings, slicing through their unprotected ranks in moments. The few that manage to survive the initial onslaught are either picked off within minutes, or run out of the cave entirely, screeching the whole way. I lay back against the wall, my head pounding.

It’s not over, you fool, it’s never over, and it won’t be until you stand up and show these fuckers that messing with you is death, that messing with anything you enjoy means a torturously slow end, you have to MAKE them see what…

“Kildeez?”

“Hmm?” I gaze up to meet Chittery’s eyes, looking at me in concern.

She offers a warm smile, made cool by the foul-smelling blood dripping along her carapace. “You did really good.”

I cough, blink, and finally nod. “Thanks. You too. Feeling alright?”

“Well, I found one of the team sent in…” her smile fades. So does mine.

“Was it bad?”

“He was halfway converted,” she whispers. “Luckily, had some love still gathered for me to regain my strength.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” her smile returns, a warm gaze sliding up my body. “I’m just grateful you’re here.” She maintains that warm gaze for a moment longer, then her eyes trail to the side. Cocking an eyebrow, I follow her gaze to my arm-spear, that long, pulsating, spear-tipped thing thrusting up into the air like…oh, goddammit!

“No,” I hiss, transforming it back into my normal little hand.

“Aww, c’mon! Just for a little while? I promise I’ll be quick!” She begs.

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. No.”

Her lip quivering, she stomps a hoof like a filly being told to go to bed five minutes before her normal bedtime. “You’re no fun!”

A loud crash echoes through the cave. We both look up to find the Nightmare unicorn on the ground, struggling against a zombie mare with a single, oily eyeball, clad in the tattered remnants of a wedding dress, kneeling on one of the young Nightmare’s bladed tendrils. The other blade is pinned by an older stallion, his wrinkled skin practically sloughing off his bones, the remnants of a ball of yarn that was once a tie looped around his neck.

“Hold it steady!” A skeleton in a gray uniform barks, a rusting rapier in his hoof. “For Celestia’s sake, hold it steady! We want to make this a clean hit!”

“LET GO OF ME!” The Nightmare screams. “PLEASE LET GO-“

“Hold it!” Chittery’s voice booms through the cave, carrying in that way all practiced orators have mastered. Everything stops, even the Nightmare stops its struggling, all turning to look at her, gaping. She stomps over to the small group, looking over the Nightmare, her eyes narrowed. It whimpers and shrinks under her gaze. Finally, she turns to her undead servants.

“Bind him, then you may return to your rest. Thank you, you’ve all done well.” She says curtly.

The jaws of the zomponies around her hit the floor, both metaphorically and, in one case, literally. “Bu-but madam! We can’t…”

“Do it.” She barks, and that voice is so authoritative, so compelling, that I actually have to stop myself from climbing to my feet and helping out. In short fashion, a few zomponies gallop out, returning with a length of vine pulled from the canopy. The remaining undead wrap the bladed tendrils around the unicorns barrel, securing them in place with the vine before tying his forehooves together, adding a few loops around his neck. Only the hind hooves remain free, both his forehooves and his tendrils now wrapped in a tight ball close to his neck.

Nodding her approval, Chittery waves the zomponies off, who all nod and begin the long trek back to the graveyard they came from. She trots over to the Nightmare, wobbling only slightly with magical exhaustion. I dart to my feet and jog up alongside her, scooping up my shotgun as I go. The creature’s blank eyes gaze up at us and widen, looking down at the weapon in my hands.

“I-if you’re just g-gonna kill me, p-please do it quick,” it says in its quiet, yet still deep and rumbling, voice. Its head bows, ears folding down.

Chittery glares and stomps next to its head, earning a frightened squeak. Then she grabs the Nightmare’s shoulder and turns him over with the care of an axe murderer going at the door between himself and Stupid Blonde Teenaged Extra #2. He trembles with fright, looking up at us and straining at the vine holding his hooves. “How and when you die isn’t up to you to decide, monster! It’s up to us!”

Catching on, I add my two cents in: “Aww, please boss? Please can I take this ‘un back to the fun room?” I look the Nightmare over and lick my lips. “He’s got such a purty mouth, I think I could go a whole week ‘fore I get tired a’ him!”

The Nightmare’s eyes widen and he thrashes back, trying to scoot away on his free hind legs. Chittery keeps a firm hoof on his shoulder though, and he goes nowhere. “Husshhhh,” she hisses, her muzzle snarling up. “It’s your choice, creature: you can either satisfy me, or I’ll leave you to satisfy him.”

His wide, fear-filled eyes look to her, then over at me. I lick one finger and run a little circle over my nipple, maintaining eye contact the entire time. “I’LL TALK! I’LL TALK!” The Nightmare screams, reaching a high-pitch despite the gravelly throat-speak all Nightmares have.

“Very good,” she whispers. “Now, a couple months ago, before the main invasion hit, a small squad of changelings arrived in this area. Creatures like me. Do you understand?”

The creature nods enthusiastically, visibly straining to keep his eyes on her and off me.

“What happened to them, do you know?”

“I…” the creature’s eyes close. “No. I only remember back about a m-month, th-they would’ve been g-gone by then.”

Chittery looks down at him passively. “Deezy?” She asks.

Nodding, I unzip my fly.

“WAIT!” It begs. “Please, that’s all I know, I swear! I-it’s all I know, cross my heart, hope t’die, stick a cupcake in my eye!”

Chittery’s eyes widen. Her jaw drops. I lean over her shoulder, looking the creature over as it cowers beneath my gaze. “What’s up?” I ask her.

“There are only a few specific ponies in the world who say that phrase,” she whispers, looking up at me. “One group of friends in Ponyville, and another group around me.”

My eyes widen, looking over the Nightmare with a new light. “You don’t think…”

“Wh-what?” The Nightmare squeaks. “What’re y-you all looking at?”

Without another word, Chittery straddles the captured Nightmare, pinning him with all four of her hooves. He struggles for only a second, but gives up almost as quickly as he starts, allowing her to bow her head towards him, her horn flaring. The Nightmare’s mouth drops open, ready to release a scream, but it’s choked off as her horn touches his forehead. A split-second later, he vanishes in a flash of green fire, consuming his form before flaring out in a heatless rush. The Nightmare unicorn is gone, and in his place lays a Nightmare changeling, patchy fur replaced with scuffed chitin, the spiral-shaped horn replaced with the sharpened spire, and the lower jaw now just beginning to show the first signs of elongation.

The Nightmare looks down at itself and screams. “What have you done to me!?”

“No way…” I whisper as Chittery maintains her grip.

“Calm down!” She screams.

“What have you done to me!?” He continues screeching, bucking wildly with his hind legs. Finally fed up, Chittery cracks a hoof against the side of his head. He reels, his head lolling to the side, tongue hanging out. Rolling her eyes, the Princess plants a nice long kiss on his cheek. When she pulls back, her lipmark remains as a glowing imprint for a second before fading. The Nightmare pops right back into consciousness.

“Are we ready to act like big boys now?” She hisses indifferently. The Nightmare nods, ears bobbing up and down adorably. “Good. Now, you’re not a pony, and never have been. You were a changeling before you became this, part of the crew we were sent here to find.”

The changemare’s eyes (naw, that’s not a good name, makes it sound like he’s a mare) widen even further. “Holy crap…”

“Yeah, that’s one way of dealing with finding out you’re not even the species you thought you were,” I smirk.

The Princess glares at me, but quickly turns back to her captive. “You were sent here as part of an experiment to determine the effectiveness of a new masking spell meant to keep us hidden from some upper-level detection spells the Equestrians were working on,” she smiles thinly, a small giggle building in the back of her throat. “Looks like they worked. Even the Nightmares didn’t know what you were!”

“In this case, it probably saved him,” I put in. “The Nightmares would have assumed he was a pony and used spells specific to ponies to corrupt him. If they’d figured it out and used changeling spells, he’d almost certainly be a full-fledged Nightmare-ling by now.” Hmm…still not quite it…

The Nightling (okay, that’s their name now, definitely going with that) tries to get up, but only manages to trip over his own hooves and the rope binding them. He shakes his head, looks a bit woozy, then shakes himself again.

“It’s okay, we’ve dealt with displacement before,” she says soothingly, running a hoof along his cheek in a way just a bit too sensual to be plain concern. “Of course, usually that’s just changelings who get too deep into a part and need to remind themselves who they are. You, on the other hoof…”

He looks up at her, then over at me. “The Nightmare corruption erases most memories of who the victims were before they were changed,” I explain. “Only basic instincts and some muscle memory remains. Maybe some fuzzy leftover flashes of stuff from before, and even that goes after a couple months.”

“O-oh…” the chitin on his forehead crinkles up in thought, then his eyes bug open.

“Wait a second, i-is that what would’ve happened to me!?” He exclaims, motioning with his bound hooves to the decapitated Guardian lying a few feet away. “I w-would’ve become like those brainless j-jerks!?”

“Based on their treatment of you, I’d say they were well on their way towards brainwashing what remained of your old, changeling nature right out of your head,” I look him up and down and nod. “Another few months, and you’d have been one of them, happy to obey every order passed down from the Nightmare Collective.”

“Oh wow…” he says, looking up dumbly, then suddenly shivering.

“What was that?” Chittery asks, looking him over.

“I-I don’t know…” the Nightmare says, his voice now decidedly less deep and gravelly. “It feels like something just…pulled back…”

“Aw shit,” I grumble, running a hand down my face. “They already severed him.”

“Th-they what?” He asks, his voice tinier and more helpless than ever before.

“Severed,” Chittery grumbles unhappily. “The Collective has cut off your connection to them.”

“Oh…” he stammers, looking around with wide, confused eyes. “B-but that’s a good thing, right?”

“Well, that means they can’t continue brainwashing you, yes,” I sigh, running my fingers over the chitin on my scalp. “Unfortunately, since that link was the only thing maintaining your internal organs since the conversion literally ripped your heart out…”

At that, his chitin goes very pale. He looks down at himself, as if he can actually see his internal organs crashing within him. He shivers. “Oh no…”

“Don’t worry, sweets, we’ve got time,” Chittery says, her horn glowing. “I can build up a decent feedback loop which’ll keep you going for another week, hopefully in that time we can get you to a more powerful magician to make the spell more permanent.”

“H-ho-hopefully?”

For the first time since we busted down the doors to this place, Chittery’s calm façade wavers. Her eyes mist up as she lowers her head, giving me a rare glimpse at the mare under the badass. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

He shivers, biting his lip (no small feat since his lower lip is now a few inches further down thanks to the Corruption), then all of a sudden his eyes harden, tears starting to waver in them. “Don’t be,” he says, his voice still sounding like Christian Bale trying to channel Batman after a few hits to the groin.

We blink down at him. “Dude, we just almost gotcha killed,” I point out. “For all we know, the feedback loop will collapse with your next breath and you’ll keel over instantly.

His breath catches as if I just prophesied how he was going to die, but then it comes out in a long and steady wheeze as he glares back up at us. “I-it doesn’t matter, it’d be better t-to die like this, with s-some of my old life still r-remembered, than to go out like one of them.” To drive his point home, he hocks a massive loogie and spits it in the direction of one of the Adder’s bodies, where it fizzles and pops against the rock.

I can’t help but grin. “Well Princess, guess you were right,” I say with a nonchalant little shrug. “There was something worth saving down here after all.”

She turns back to me, and already the badass/horny changeling princess is back in action. “Damn straight there was something worth saving!” She announces, wrapping her hooves around the Nightling. “Cyphy!”

“Wut.” He asks.

“Wut.” I reply intelligently.

“Cypher!” She announces, nodding proudly. “That’s your name. I’d know that cute little stutter anywhere, colt. It’s you in there, under all that…Nightmare…weirdness.”

“Well said,” I say dryly.

“Thank you.”

“Cypher…” the Nightling repeats the name under his breath, trying it out with his humongous jaw. “Yeah…yeah, Cypher! That’s it! Has to be!” He beams up at us.

Chittery claps her hooves together like a gleeful filly. “Oh, there’s so much I want to talk to you about!”

“R-really? Were we c-close?”

“Oh, okay, I lied,” she giggles, a predatory glint entering her eye, the same one she wears every time I turn over in the night only to bump my nose against her grinning muzzle. “Actually, there’s only one thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

Uh-oh…

“Wh-what’s that?” He asks, suddenly growing aware that her hooves are still locked firmly on his shoulders.

“Did you enjoy the show?” She asks with a wink. “The one I put on in the showers back in the Hive, when I knew you were peeping on me. I mean, I don’t masturbate in front of just any stallion.”

“Wh-wh-wh-wh-wh…” he gulps, shivering. “I-I would like to be untied now, please…”

“Your mouth says that, but another part of you wishes to disagree,” she coos, caressing a hoof over his rising stallionhood.

He looks at her, eyes wide, mouth gaping and blubbering. If stallions had computer monitors, this one would be reading Error! Cypher.exe has encountered a fatal error and had to close, running Boner.exe as a system backup…

“Oh for Christ’s sake, princess!” I scream. “He just found out he’s a changeling! Could you give him a minute before trying to ride his dick!?”

Based on the saucy smile she shoots my way as she plunges her flank against his waist, I take the answer to be a rather forceful “no.”

That night, I try to tell myself that the heavy gasps and screams of pleasure coming from their tent is from him giving her a very enthusiastic massage. It doesn’t work.

I sit up in my little spot and shake my head, my coat still spread over my legs. My head winds up resting in a chitin-covered hand. Now that I’ve been lying here awhile, I’ve had some time to think. This is rarely a good thing.

I am far from the picture of mental stability, as one might gather. I’ve got something inside me, this other part that honestly scares the piss out of the rest of me. Been there almost as long as I can remember. Usually, it’s pretty easy to control. Not that the job helps at all, but that’s what the therapy sessions are for. Thing is, it’s never had a voice whispering to me before. I hardly noticed it, but it’s been there, taunting me, begging for release, pushing me to go berserk on everyone and everything around me. Until I came to this world, it’d always just been fuzzy concepts and images, intrusive thoughts, sudden visions of murders and shootings that fade as quick as they come. Now though…now it fucking spoke!?

I hiss and toss in my makeshift bed. Where was that voice coming from? Was the stress of the job finally getting to me? It has been exceptionally crazy lately, and I’m, like, a month and a half late for my last appointment with the doc. Or maybe it’s something worse? Aww shit, what if it’s the Nightmare? What if I’m being corrupted somehow? Chrysalis gave me enough runes and spells to keep Satan himself from hopping into my meatsack and revving me up like a Harley, but who’s to say they actually work as well as we all think? What if they wear off, or if the magic keeping them up is wearing down from the current crisis, or if my human side is keeping them from working right?

I toss over onto my other side. Man, I really hate not being able to sleep.

“K-Kildeez?”

I turn to the voice, my sphincter clenching reflexively. Fortunately, it’s Cypher standing there. “Hey kid, the princess finally letcha go?” I rasp, my voice still scratchy from the lack of sleep.

He nods. “Uh-huh, sh-she finally fell asleep.”

“How many rounds did that take?”

“Fifteen, with…u-um…’self-pleasuring sessions’ in between to give me a break.”

I whistle, shaking my head. “She earned her reputation, sure as shit.”

“Y-yeah,” he swallows. “Listen, uh, I-I didn’t get a good chance to…thank you…for what you’ve…”

I raise a hand to stop him. “Cypher, the fact that you’re still breathing is thanks enough for me. I’ve made my fair share of mistakes in the past, some big, some small. Today, things happened to work out for the better, but you know that’s mostly luck, right? I mean, if you’d been at the front door when we launched our attack on the Hive…”

“I-I know that, but still,” he sighs, one of his hooves caressing the skinny muscle connecting his back to one of his blades. “Even that would’ve b-been better than wh-what the Nightmares were g-gonna do to me. It’s because of y-your bravery that none of that’s gonna happen. E-even if the feedback loop collapses and I d-d-die right now, I want you to know th-that’s still better, and it w-was all thanks to you two.”

I take a few minutes to absorb his words, and then I nod. “Alright, welcome.”

He nods back, one hoof now running over the other as his gaze breaks away from mine. “Th-there’s one other thing…”

“You’re too scared to fall asleep next to the princess because you’re afraid if you do, you’ll wake up chained to a bed in a secret pleasure dungeon with a dildo rammed down your throat.”

His eyes widen as he slowly nods.

“Yeah, why do you think I sleep with my ass facing a rock?” I grumble, patting the solid sheet of rock firmly planted on my rear. “Alright, get down here boyo, there’s plenty room for two.”

“Th-thanks…” he says, trotting in beside me and curling up under my jacket. “N-night.”

“Night.”

A few minutes of silence pass in the darkness. We face away, butt-to-butt, making sure to keep eyes on every corner. He pipes up again: “Kildeez?”

“Hmm?”

“Y-you’re not, um…you know…’into’ other…uh…”

“I’m not gay.”

“I mean, it’s okay if you are! I-I didn’t want to assume, and i-it’s not like I’d be afraid you’ll try to…um…’take’ me in the middle of the night, b-but I just wanted to make sure th-this wasn’t…wasn’t…”

“I’m not gay.”

“O-okay…good…” then, as if realizing what he’s implying, he sits up in bed, waving his hooves around. “I-I-I mean not good! I mean, uh…it’s okay if you are! Wh-why, some of my best friends are gay! I-it really doesn’t matter to…”

“Cypher?”

“Y-yeah?”

“I spent most of the last week dodging Nightmares, ripping Hives apart with my bare hands, and blocking the sexual advances of a creature that makes Pamela Anderson look like Mother Teresa. Please just shut up and go to sleep.”

A few more minutes, and I hear a quiet: “O-okay.” Then silence.

Author's Note

Also, special thanks to Changeling_38 for his character, Cypher!

Entry XVI: Ranting and Exposition, by Kildeez

“Shoot.”

“O-okay…” Cypher considers for a second, biting his lip. Finally, he nods to himself and turns on me. “Wh-what’s Earth like?”

“What’s Equestria like?” I ask, rolling my eyes.

“H-hey! You said it was my turn t-to ask a question!”

“I know, and I was answering with a question of my own,” I pause in the middle of the dirt road and eye him. “Cypher, imagine a complete alien, someone who’d never been here before, popped into existence right in front of us and asked you to answer that question. Could you? Without a long, rambling, hour-long lecture?”

He stops next to me, his forehead wrinkling in thought. A few seconds pass, and he looks up at me again. “I’d still try anyway, i-if he asked nice enough.”

I grin at him. “Well said.”

“Th-thanks.”

I take a long, deep breath, trying to gather up my thoughts. “Earth…is…very different,” I start, picking up my walking pace again. “For one thing, humans are the only sapient species.”

“S-sapi…”

“It means we’re the only ones capable of most logic and reasoning, and definitely the only ones to found a society,” I wave a hand dismissively. “There are some social structures in animals like gorillas, but that’s really it. You don’t have birds listening to reason over there.”

“O-oh!” He beams. “That must mean th-things are a lot easier!”

“Not even close,” I mutter. “We’re omnivores, remember? It’s possible for a human to go without meat if they balance out their nuts and starches, but in the end, if we want the protein we need to build muscle, we have to go hunting.”

Out the corner of my eye, I watch his chitin get very pale. “H-hunting?”

“It’s not so bad, since our animals aren’t sapient,” I shrug.

“O-oh yeah,” a little bit of color returns to his chitin, though not much. “S-still, with just the one species, you guys probably got along okay, right?”

Legends will be written about the laughter which burst forth from my lungs on this day. It rolled over the hills far and wide, echoing deep into the darkest corners of the planet. My snickers bounced through the deepest, darkest tunnels and stirred things better left unwoken. My giggles resounded in the ears of creatures so far from the light that it was interpreted as a possible attack by an enemy tribe, and so triggered at least one unknown war in a forbidden corner of the planet. As it died down, my chortles boomed across the plains and helped the blind see, the deaf hear, and caused at least one rogue changeling serial killer to commit seppuku.

When it finally ended, I sat up with an aching stomach, wiped a tear from my eye, and thanked God I didn’t wet myself.

“As if,” I scream, trying my best to keep another round of laughter from breaking loose. “Humans go to war because they’re bored, or to pass the time, or because some pompous asshole in a suit snubbed another pompous asshole in a slightly less expensive suit. We talk about how awful and inhumane one side or another is, well, I’m here to tell ya it’s fucking war that’s awful and inhumane. I mean, back home, people turn on the TV and act all shocked about the images of kids with legs blown off, babies clutching at the dead bodies of their mothers, nurses wheeling in guys with shrapnel lodged in their faces. And they act surprised. As if that’s something new. As if that shit hadn’t been going on for centuries, as if there’s some clearly defined ‘bad guys’ in black uniforms and scowling faces that we can just fly over and shoot the shit out of, then fly back in time for dinner with the family while the newly-liberated natives hoist up American flags. As if war is just that, and not those motherless babies and those kids who’ll never make it to soccer stardom because of their new stumps and those young boys wondering if they’ll live to see another sunrise. As if that only happens because of some ‘bad’ guys in the offending side, while their country’s hands are clean because they went over there to ‘help’ people. I mean, can you believe that!? Jesus fucking Christ, how godlessly stupid can you get!? How fucking stupid can you be to go to war without expecting armless babies and kids with their teeth blown out by stray bullets!?”

“I-I…wh-why would…”

“Ohhh, people tried to blame all sorts of shit, y’know? Like religion, or the Ay-rabs hoarding the oil, or the white people fucking over the Third World, but in the end, it was pretty much just motherfuckers grabbing up shit that they wanted, and not caring about stomping in some babies’ skulls along the way.”

He opens his mouth to get a word in, but I’m on a roll. “’Absolute power corrupts absolutely,’ the great French conqueror Napoleon Bonaparte said that, and believe me, he knew. So many men set out to make the world better, only to wind up becoming everything they once stood against. Either that, or they never really stood against them in the first place and were only saying they did to make more people step in line behind them, and it fucking happened over and over again and again. And you wanna know the price? You wanna know the cost of not learning…of refusing to learn…these lessons? In World War Two, do you know how many fucking people died?”

Stunned speechless, he shakes his head.

“Seventy. Million. Seventy million lives stomped out, ancient cities filled with priceless works reduced to rubble…Rome…Berlin…Tokyo…London…all for what? Because a little man with an awful mustache thought the world would be better without a big chunk of people in it. Ooh, ooh, and I’m just getting started!”

I turn on him. His eyes are still wide and his legs are quaking from my tirade, or maybe it’s the sheer numbers I’m quoting at him, who knows? Who cares? “In the end, World War Two was just settling accounts for World War One, so you can add another seventeen-million bodies on top of the first seventy. The Spanish Civil War was used as a training ground for the new equipment the Axis powers wanted to shove down the Allies’ throats. Thanks to them, what should’ve been a quick flare-up that was crushed quickly turned into a protracted cock-up that killed a half-million people. And I’m not even going to talk about the long and protracted Cold War between the so-called ‘victors,’ which wound up being a dick-waving match that burned through the poorest places on the planet. Korea: one and a half million dead there. Vietnam: we can’t even tell, we think it’s around two or four million, and that’s just while we were involved. The French got their asses kicked before that, which was another half-million, and I could go on about all the little shitbuckets kicking asses after the Westerners got out. Then you’ve got the Suez Canal incident, the FARC insurgencies in Columbia, the Pinochet coup in Chile, the Shining Path insurrection in Peru, the Iranian revolution, the failed Bay of Pigs invasion, the Ethiopian wars against Somalia and Eritrea, I could go on for hours just naming the fucking things, never mind counting the dead. And that’s just one century.”

I finally pause, taking a breath. My shoulders are heaving. I look down at my hands. At some point, my claws had extended. I sheathe them again. Cypher just looks at me through a hole in his leg, hiding behind it like a kid hoping that covering his eyes will protect him from the monsters in his closet. “So no, Cypher,” I whisper. “Earth is not a peaceful place. In fact, it’s the least peaceful place I know.”

I turn and start down the road again. He follows, but with his head lowered and his ears folded down. He doesn’t talk for a while, which lets me calm down a bit and realize I’ve snapped at him for no good reason.

“Hey, listen,” I start. “Sorry for snapping like that, I didn’t…”

“No, I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have made you dig up all that stuff.”

“I’ve always felt kinda passionate about this shit, but there’s no way you could’ve known that.”

He sighs. “Well, at least now I understand how you can do the things you do. You’d have to be tough to survive where you came from.”

I turn to him, my mouth dropping open as I realize my mistake. I just made his very first impression of Earth, and it was of a war-torn hellhole. A completely alien species, and that’s how I establish contact. Great Deez, epic diplomacy skillz right there. How did I manage to not start a war during my tenure as Chrysalis’s diplomat in Canterlot?

Snickering at my own stupidity, I shake my head. “No, you really don’t. Especially not where I came from.”

“B-but you said…”

“I know what I said, and it was true, every word. But one thing I’ve noticed: the darker the shadows, the brighter the light has to shine against them.”

He looks up, forehead crinkling again, and I roll my eyes. “If all that shit I talked about was all there was to Earth, do you think I’d be fighting against the Nightmare?”

“U-um…you could be fighting against it t-to keep Equestria from sharing the fate of your planet?”

I give him a good, hard swat against the back of his head. “H-hey!” He shouts, rubbing at the sore spot.

“Where’d ya get that from, an anime?” I snicker. “Naw man, I’m fighting the Nightmare because it’s what’s right; you think I’d even have a concept of right and wrong if Earth was just one, big, free-for-all warzone?”

“U-um…”

“Cypher, what was ‘right’ to you during the month you were part of the Nightmare Collective?”

His forehead crinkles deeply. He should really stop doing that: dude’s gonna have the forehead of a ninety year-old man if he keeps it up. Finally, his eyes widen. I smile. He’s got it. “S-serving them,” he whispers, his jaw dropping its full impressive length. “There were things that didn’t feel right, b-but I went with them because…um…because…”

“Because it was all you knew,” I nod. “Kindness begets kindness, just like violence begets violence.”

“B-but…in a world of so much war…”

“There’s plenty opportunity for astounding kindness,” I whisper, pausing in my step. “During the September 11th terrorist attacks, I remember one survivor recounting a security guard who stayed on an upper floor stairway, directing people out before the building could collapse. This guy probably had no training and likely wasn’t allowed to carry a gun, making seven bucks an hour, and he died saving a bunch of people that had probably been turning their noses up at him for years as they walked by to their desks. During the Egyptian Revolution, Muslims and Christians formed lines around each other’s prayer ceremonies, protecting absolute strangers from extremists on both sides. Back in the Battle of Okinawa, during dubya-dubya-two, a man earned a Congressional Medal of Honor without firing a shot by dragging his entire group to safety after they were hit by heavy enemy fire, saving a group of men he’d probably met that morning. Yes, war is shitty, but you know what? It’s in the shittiest situations where the very best in people can come out. And dude, what comes out then is so beyond beautiful that words can’t describe it. Poets and writers and artists have been trying for centuries, and nothing quite gets it right.

“So whenever that shit gets me down, I just remember the words of a wise man: ‘The reason I don’t worry about society is, nineteen people knocked down two buildings and killed thousands. Hundreds of people ran into those buildings to save them. I’ll take those odds every fucking day.’ Yeah, humans fuck up; I’ll be the first to admit that. But there’s beauty on Earth, Cypher, and there are millions fighting for it every single day.”

Another awkward silence. This is starting to become a tradition with us. Cypher’s mouth keeps opening and closing, like a goldfish gaping out of its bowl, but nothing quite seems able to make it past his lips. Finally, he turns to me, and his eyes widen. “A-are you crying!?”

“Hmm?” I run a finger along under one of my eyes and arch an eyebrow at the moisture hanging off my finger. “Huh. Look at that.”

The awkward silence that follows this stretches on a while longer. Mostly because there’s no way to respond to a guy crying that isn’t awkward. Fortunately, Cypher’s a lot better at breaking the ice than I am.

“Wh-who said that? That quote about the b-buildings?” He asks.

I grin. “A comedian who does really funny jokes about current events.”

Without even looking, I knew Cypher was staring at me with his head cocked, trying to decide if he should raise his tendril-blades defensively or not.

“You can’t decide if I’m insane or not, can you?” I ask.

“No, I c-can’t.”

“Don’t expect that to improve, man. In fact, it’s probably going to get less clear over time,” I smirk, giving a half-cocked grin out the corner of my mouth, flashing a friendly fang his way.

It works. The familiar expression of changeling loyalty calms some of his shivering, and his breathing evens out. “S-so it’s your turn,” he says, noticeably avoiding eye contact.

“Hmm?”

“I asked a question, n-now it’s your turn.”

“Oh yeah, uh…” I tap my chin for a second, and then grin wickedly. “You remember yet?”

Groaning, he pushes past me and muscles on down the road. “For the last time, no! I don’t remember what Chittery looked like when she masturbated!”

“Not even a flash of something? I just wanna know if she used her hoof or if she got creative with a loofah.”

Stammering, he turns away and starts muttering to himself. I can see a light-green blush creeping up the chitin on the back of his neck. I grin and kneel beside him, giving him a quick pat on the shoulder. He flinches under my fingers. “Hey look, I’m just messing with…”

“Oh my sweetest and almighty flank, will you two just kiss and make out already!?” A tree shrieks from the side of the path.

Rolling my eyes, I deliver a healthy boot to the pink-hued trunk, and a whole bundle of horny changeling princess drops into my outstretched arms. I grimace as she smiles up at me. “For your information, it’s ‘kiss and make up’, not ‘make out’.”

Her smile fades and she cocks her head. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Hm. Well, mine’s better.”

“I’m sure you think so,” I grumble as I set her on all fours. “So, what’s the deal?”

“I think we got a straight shot to Canterlot,” she says, smiling up at me. “Of course, I couldn’t see much besides a bunch of tree tops, but I don’t think we’ll have much trouble on our way.”

“That’s good…” I mumble thoughtfully, shifting back to my human form. “We might as well start looking friendlier.”

“Not just yet,” Chittery holds up a hoof. “Because Canterlot itself is swamped with Nightmares. I can’t even begin to tell you how many: they looked like just one, big mass, and really it kinda…hurt just to look at them all.”

“Whatever’s over there is some straight-up Lovecraft shit,” I grimace. Anything that looks bad enough to cause a mind like Chittery’s to double back and twist around just to look at them has to be some next level shit. “Dammit, no way we can take something like that.”

“Then how do we get in?” Cypher asks.

“Good question,” I shake my head, my thumb running little circles against my temple. “Ugh, Sifty would probably be able to handle this…or he’d know how…”

“Couldn’t you just go full minotaur again?” Chittery asks. Cypher gawps at her. Apparently, I’d forgotten to mention that little detail.

“Against Cthuhlu’s angrier cousin?” I grimace. “Naw Princess, even a minotaur would get torn limb from limb against that.”

“Then what do we do?”

“We keep moving,” I sigh and start down the path again, glancing back at them as I pull a branch out of the way. “Try to figure it out when we get there.”

“Wh-what!?” Cypher looks around, head trying to whip over everything at once, which doesn’t do much for him except maybe grant a minor case of whiplash. “Y-you two can’t be serious!”

“We are,” I sigh.

“Cyphy, I’m sorry, I know this is a lot to absorb,” Chittery says with a smile so small it only exposes one fang. “We just don’t know enough about what’s happening in Canterlot to really do anything until we get close enough.”

“B-but…the Nightmare! You said there w-was something really bad around Canterlot!”

“Yeah,” I shrug. “So? We can’t do anything about it until we get closer.”

“If we get t-too close though, th-they’ll eat us!”

“We know,” Chittery runs a hoof along in the dirt, drawing a small line with the tip. “Look, Cyphy, you don’t have to come with us. I’m sure you could make it back to the Hive by yourself.”

He looks at her as if she just proposed he eat his own head. “Wh-what?!”

“It’s dangerous out here, and you’re just a scout…” she says, humming a bit, then quickly amending: “…were just a scout. You’re not meant for straight-up war and confrontation. Besides, if you get back to the Hive, they can study you, study the Nightmare, maybe even figure out how to reverse it, not just in you, but in everyone infected by it.”

He still looks at her as if there was another, tinier version of herself budding out her shoulder, like a spore off a mushroom. “Y-you’re serious?”

“Of course,” she offers with a little ‘shooing’ motion of her hoof.

He looks over at me, eyes still wide, and I shrug. “Do what’s best.” I offer.

He turns away at last, a slightly-thoughtful look finally overcoming those shocked, disturbed eyes, and finally he turns back to us. “I-if I wasn’t infected by the Nightmare, wh-what do you think I’d choose?”

We both blink at him. “Umm…that’s kinda hard to say, dude,” I mutter.

“That’s really only something you might have known yourself,” Chittery insists, rocking forward on her hooves, as if begging him to understand. “Your loyalty to the Hive might have taken precedence, but whether that meant loyalty to me or to the Hive as a whole would have been up to you. Just depends on what kind of stallion you were.”

“Yeah,” his eyebrows hunch, and suddenly he strides between us, trotting in the direction of Canterlot under my outstretched arm. “W-well, I like to think I’m the kind of stallion who’d stay.”

Chittery beams and darts to his side, pressing her lips to his cheek. I roll my eyes as his face flushes a dark fuchsia. “Really?” I grunt, shaking my head. “Fifteen rolls in the hay, and you still blush at a peck on the cheek!?”

He shrinks under Chittery’s foreleg as she giggles. “Oh yeah, if there was any doubt you were Cypher, it’s gone now,” she says, using a hoof to stifle any further laughter. I can’t help but smile. What can I say? Love is a beautiful thing, and besides, now something else is occupying Chittery’s eye besides yours tru…

“Just one more thing, K?”

I blink, startled out of my thoughts. “Yeah?”

She grins back at me and winks. “It was the showerhead. I ‘got creative’ with the showerhead.”

I stop right there, my eyes going wide. She winks again and flutters off with Cypher gaping and stammering alongside, which gives me plenty of time to block out the thought of Chittery in the shower, steam billowing off her chitin, the muscles in her back tensing as the stream of water from the showerhead runs lower and lower until finally GODDAMMIT FUCK SHIT FUCK SHIT NO! BAD BRAIN! BAD!

“For Christ’s… would you two get moving already!? My arm’s getting tired!” I bark, still holding the branch up.

Chittery smiles and ushers Cypher along, only to pause mid-step. Instead of hurrying on past the branch I’m so graciously holding for them, Chittery and Cypher gawp with widening eyes. Arching an eyebrow, I turn back to the branch, only to wind up staring down a large, gaping pink hole.

…

That was not a good image I conjured for myself there.

I really need to get away from this changeling hooker-princess. Her horniness is spreading.

There’s an explosion punctuating that thought, and my ankles are itchy. Once upon a time in southwest Saskatchewan, even eagles cry, because you can lead a gift-horse to her mouth but you can’t make her suck butter. So THAT is why you should eat wall candy and drink Jesus juice, Uncle Kracker! S’good for yaaaaaa...

“K…EE…”

My eyelids are pretty.

“KIL…Z…”

You can’t handle the Zima!

“KILDEEZ!”

“Buh!?” I start, shaking the stars from my eyes. I’m sitting up, my legs splayed out in front of me, my vision woozy. The shotgun is in both hands now, finger on the trigger, free hand midway through working the lever action. I pull my trigger hand free while my vision clears. Now, I can feel the pressure on the shotgun, and see Chittery’s hooves wrapped around the barrel, pushing it aside while she gazes up at me in concern. The scent of spent gunpowder fills my nostrils, and I can feel the beginnings of heat starting to travel up the barrel and through the handle. Have I been…shooting? Oh, wait. Shit.

“I almost blasted somepony, didn’t I?”

“Yep,” Chittery sighs, rolling her eyes, all concern melting away in an instant. “Great reflexes there, by the way. Take a little cannon to the face and immediately start shooting.”

“I was dazed!”

“And your reaction to this was to start blasting away like a redneck with more alcohol than brain cells in him!?”

“…damn. Okay, my bad.”

Nodding in satisfaction that my balls have been ripped off just that tiniest bit more, Chittery finally turns, watching Cypher struggle with something so violently pink it could only possibly belong to a cartoon for little girls. The two roll around in the dirt, his tendrils wrapped around the pink thing’s waist while the whatever-it-is let’s off a few high-pitched noises and flails violently. It takes me awhile, but I manage to trace out the shape of four hooves and a muzzle, as well as a mark that could only belong to one character in this insane, pony-filled world.

“PINKIEEE!” Chittery cries suddenly, throwing her hooves up in joy.

The pink thing pauses and perks up, a pair of baby-blues the size of dinner plates locking on us. “How do you know my…” she manages before Cypher tackles her with a high-pitched shriek and wrestles her to the ground, pinning her hooves with his own. Pinkie continues struggling under him for just long enough to conjure a whole host of uncomfortable images, while I continue to gawp. Meanwhile, Chittery decides to act like her usual cool, collected, infiltrator self and seize her in a hug around Cypher’s body, turning him into the meat of a two-mare sandwich.

Dammit, how is a guy that can’t go two sentences without a stutter have such a better love life than me?

“PINKIE! It’s been so long! How’s things!? Did you tell your parents about that one-night stand you had with…” Chittery babbles.

“Umm…wh-who are you?” Pinkie asks.

At that, Chittery’s eyes bug out (pun absolutely intended) and she releases her grip in a rush. “Oh…oh no…” she whispers, backing away.

“H-have you been spying on me?” Pinkie asks.

“Uhhh…yeah!” Chittery says with all the skill and conviction of a middle-schooler insisting he wasn’t sniffing whiteout, unaware of the little white ring around one nostril. “We…changelings have had you Element-Bearers under surveillance for months!”

Pinkie’s eyes narrow, glaring at Chittery with all the glare she can summon in her little, pink horsey body. Chittery grins, flashing her fangs as little drops of turquoise sweat gather on her chitin. Finally, Pinkie grins. “Wowee! You must’ve been hiding super-duper good!”

“Heheh…yeah…” Chittery snickers while my gawping continues.

“Okay, glad we got that sorted out,” Pinkie smiles, then tilts her head back. Her jaw drops to unleash a scream to rival a Black Gorger, nearly bringing me to my knees with its pitch and volume. “HAAAALLLPPP! THEY’RE GONNA FEED ME TO THEIR MONKEY-MONSTER!”

Alright kids, gather ‘round for another story from good ol’ Uncle Kildeez. Timmy, get offa my lap, I’m not that kinda uncle.

See, being perhaps the only changeling-human hybrid in existence has its drawbacks, especially once you prove you can kick ass with the best of them. Then, not only are you a weirdo, you’re a dangerous weirdo. For all you young’uns what can’t put two an’ two together, that makes it really hard to make friends. Or even casual acquaintances. Or just people who won’t spit at your feet and force you to edumicate them on why pissing you off is such a horrible idea. That, of course, means that once you’re an established ass-kicker, the fuckheads will make it so you can’t walk through the Hive without a certain “M” word whispered at your back instead of trying to beat you up. That leads to you having a certain amount of hatred reserved for said word.

All that being said, we can get back to the story at hand, where I’m up in a little pink pony’s face and screaming: “HEY! FUCK YOU, BITCH!”

She rolls her eyes around to gawp at me, jaw down by her chest as I point a still-clawed finger against her pretty-pink muzzle. “You look here, I’ve taken enough shit from changelings and Nightmares alike, don’t need any from you! So next time you feel like saying some BS about somebody for lookin’ a little different, maybe you should think about whether or not they’ll like what you’re sayin’, and more importantly, whether or not they’re capable of wiping the floor with your pretty, pink ass!”

I expect her to bawl, or break into a hasty apology, or act astounded at the “monkey-monster’s” ability for speech. Instead, she just rolls her eyes. “Duh, I knew that!” She says with a quick giggle-snort.

“Uh…what?”

“I knew all that stuff! What, do ya think you’re the first human to wander through these parts?”

“Then…” Cypher says, finally speaking up. “Th-then why’d you call him a monster if you knew what he was?”

“Well, I wanted to get him ranting and raving for one,” she replies, pointing at me. “I was watchin’ for a while, and he hits me as the kind to go off on a rant if somepony gives him the right trigger.”

“Understatement of the year,” Cypher grumbles under his breath, and I level a hot glare his way.

“But…why’d you want me ranting and raving?” I ask, eyebrows hunching in confusion.

At this, Pinkie throws her hooves up in the air with a gleeful smile. “Why, to distract you, silly! I’m the distraction!”

All three sets of eyes watching her widen. “Oh, shi-“ Chittery starts, but doesn’t have time to finish as a rushing blur of rainbows dives out of the canopy, aiming at my chest. Thanks to my reflexes and Pinkie’s inadvertent forewarning, I’m barely able to dodge, still earning a glancing blow against my side that whips me around a full hundred and eighty degrees. I yank the shotgun up, also on reflex, but quickly cross it defensively against my chest. Shelly’s loaded with solid bore rounds, and odds are I’m facing one of Pinkie’s friends. I have to remember my original mission: to improve relations between Equestria and the changelings. I doubt blasting an Element of Harmony’s face off would help with that.

“C’mere!” The violent rainbow shrieks as it twists around for another pass. At the same time, a dazzling display of light shimmers off a bush to my left. I don’t even glance at it, though judging from Chittery’s battlecry, I’m guessing it’s already being handled. I can focus entirely on the pegasus trying to mow my ass down.

Grimacing, I flick the shotgun at the very last moment at just the right angle to catch my attacker across the forehead. Reacting just as quickly, Rainbow pulls up, managing to bounce hooves-first off my weapon’s stock and backflip gracefully to the ground, wings flared.

“Not bad,” I point out.

“Thanks, you’re not bad yourself,” she spits before diving at me again. This time, I’m ready. My right hand springs open and the shotgun’s stock arcs out like the jaws of a trap. She sees it too late, her eyes widening as she tries to angle out of reach. I use the shotgun as a quick hook, catching the back of her neck with the stock and forcing her into my arms, where I grasp her in a bear hug.

Rainbow struggles for a second, her forelegs and wings trapped under my arms. I feel one of her hind legs pull back, readying for a buck to a very sensitive place.

“Do it, and I’ll break your spine,” I hiss, fangs baring.

I must have said it with enough conviction, because she quickly goes limp, albeit while shooting a death glare right into my eyes. Satisfied that I’m not gonna have to worry about my two favorite little soldiers any more than I already do, I turn to face the others. “Chittery!? You okay!?”

“Never better!” She announces from the bush. A second later, she pops out with a little, white unicorn hovering behind her, a huge glob of mucous-colored goo stuck around her horn.

“Ew, ew!” The struggling unicorn moans, running a hoof over her horn. “This best not get into my mane, you brute!”

“It won’t if you guys stop struggling!” Chittery barks. “It’s over! Stop it!”

There’s another buck from the pegasus in my grip, but then Miss Dash goes limp. The unicorn follows suit. Cypher is even able to stand, Pinkie in his grip. All three ponies bow their heads.

“Okay, what the fuck was that!?” I bark. “Somepony better start talkin’ before I get real pissed!”

“We’re here to protect our town from you meanies!” Pinkie replies, her head rising for a second, only to fall back again. “We’re…not really doing a good job of it.”

“Probably be doin’ a better job if Rares could hit a target to save her life…” Rainbow mutters in my arms.

“Ah! Rainbow!” The white unicorn gasps. “How can you…”

“Girls!” Chittery screeches, which surprisingly silences the ponies. The changeling glares at all three of them in turn. “I can’t believe you! Here we are, totally exposed out in the open, and you’re all arguing like a bunch of fillies!”

All three pony faces bow again, ears flopping against heads. Rainbow gets a queer look in her eye and opens her mouth to speak, but Chittery is relentless: “We are standing in the middle of the greatest crisis to face either of our species, and you three are gonna stand around, debating battle tactics in the middle of the woods!?”

“Waitasec,” Dash says, peering over my shoulder and holding up a hoof. “Both our species?”

Chittery rolls her eyes. “Nightmares don’t have a lot of love to give,” she says. “We lose ponies, we starve to death. Besides, the ugly buggers don’t seem to differentiate between changeling and pony, we’re all the same to them.”

“Ironic, isn’t it?” I laugh, maintaining a tight grip around Rainbow’s waist. “The only creatures to respect changelings and ponies as equals are a bunch of murderous, rampaging assholes!”

“Hey!” Rainbow yells from my arms, damn near deafening me in one ear. “Changelings could be equals if they’d just stop trying to enslave us all and make peace!”

“That’s actually what I’m here for,” I reply, turning her over in my arms and freeing one of her forehooves, which I extend my hand to. “Ambassador Kildeez, son of the Queen, ‘Chrysalis’s Fist’, occasional Minotaur, how y’all doin’?”

Three sets of eyes widen and three jaws drop. “Hold on, you’re him!?” Rainbow gasps.

“Yeppers!”

“You’re the one that takes out the rogue hives single-handed!?” Rarity puts in.

“Eyup.”

“You’re the terror of the Everfree frontiers!?” Pinkie adds.

“You got it!” I reply, feeling confident enough to set Rainbow down and spread my hands out. “So girls, whaddya think? Am I everything you thought I was?”

All three ponies remain quiet for an uncomfortably long amount of time. Long enough for my eyes, once pridefully closed, to creep open. “Um…girls?”

“No offense, dearie, but we thought you’d be taller.” The white unicorn puts in.

“Yeah, and have more muscles,” Rainbow says.

“Still pretty cute, though,” Pinkie whispers, earning a glare from Chittery.

My arms flop to my side and I grumble. “Well…look who beat who just now.”

All three sets of ears flop down again. Yeah, I know it was a hit below the belt, but I’m getting pretty tired of self-esteem-crushing insults in between attempts to get in my pants. I have Chittery for that.

“Yeah? We-well, if you’re on our side, then what’s that?” Rainbow scoffs, levelling both a hoof and an angry glare Cypher’s way. As per usual, Cypher recoils into a shaky mass of chitin.

“That’s just Cypher,” I grumble, rolling my eyes. “He knew the princess back in the days before the Portal Crisis, and was captured by a Nightmare Hive during a research mission into Equestria. We pulled him out of there before they totally converted him, though.”

“Oh, really?” Dash sneers, stomping up to him with a look on her face as if she fully expected his head to be under her hooves in a few seconds. Cypher, for his part, just cringed back as she scanned him with a half-slitted little glare.

“What’s your name!?” She barks.

“Ah! Cypher!” He screams, his voice getting high-pitched.

“Whaddya want with us!?” She screams back.

“I-I dunno! We’ve only just met you!”

“What are ya, a spy!? Are you here to spy on us, Nightmare!?”

“P-please don’t hurt meeeee-heee-heeeeee!” He whimpers, bladed tendrils wrapping protectively over his head.

I just sigh and roll my eyes over to Chittery. “Pride of the Hive you’ve got there,” I grumble.

“Oh, hush! He’s one of the best medics we’ve ever had!”

“If he’s a medic, why the hell was he picked to…”

I’m interrupted by Rainbow stomping back to us, glaring up at me. I glare right back. “Alright, you’re telling the truth,” she says. “No way a totally-converted Nightmare would be this wishy-washy.”

“H-hey!” Cypher yells after her.

“Oh, hush! Your wishy-washiness is the whole reason I can tell you from any other Nightmare,” Rainbow said, shooting a quick glare over her shoulder before focusing back on us. “So you guys look like you’re on the up and up.”

“Thank you,” I sigh with relief. “Glad to have that out of the way.”

“What are you doing out here, anyway?” Rarity says, her eyes still narrowed suspiciously. “You three are a very long way from the Badlands.”

“Technically, Chrysalide Hive is in the Everfree,” Chittery points out, motioning to herself and Cypher. “That’s where we’re from. And as I said, Cyphy was captured right at the start of the crisis, and for myself, I was sent off by my sister in a desperate attempt to find love.”

“And I was in Canterlot when the whole shebang started, but you probably knew that from the papers,” I shrug. “I was sent out to find some hero guy…a man named Siftstone? Maybe y’all heard of him?”

The ponies grow quiet. I notice Pinkie’s mane deflate a little, her curls straightening out oddly. “Ummm…did I say somethin’?” I ask, looking around as the ponies deflate like a Mylar lawn-decoration Santa the day after Christmas.

“Yeah,” Rainbow whispers, her voice strangely quiet. “We…we know ‘im.”

“I-is he…okay?” Pinkie asks, enough tears gathering in her eyes to make my heart wrench.

“We – uh, we don’t know,” I say, choosing my words carefully. Apparently, I’ve stumbled on a pretty decent can of emotional worms here, and not just opened it, but slammed it against a wall and hammered it with a baseball bat until it split open. “There was an…incident. He got sucked down one of the portals.”

“Oh.” Rarity says, and I can see tears gathering in her eyes as Rainbow Dash turns away suddenly, a few small droplets whipping off the tip of her muzzle as she does so. “So he could be anywhere…”

“You knew him,” Chittery says in surprise. “Oh my gosh, you knew him.”

Rainbow nods. “Yeah. And then we drove him away,” she sniffles, still facing away from us even though we can all see the tears dribbling into the foliage at her hooves.

“We didn’t –“ Pinkie starts.

“We knew how much he loved us, how much we meant to him, and still when things got a bit busy we ignored him. As if he were some toy we could put upon a shelf to play with later,” Rarity says, shooting Pinkie an angry glare through her tears. “Make no mistakes, Pinkie. We are the reason he left. I don’t care how many ponies want to blame the ease of the Nightmare Crisis forcing him to move on. It was all us.”

“Don’t…” Rainbow gasps, her voice shaking. “Please, not right now, Rares.”

“Hey, hey,” I say easily, strapping my shotgun to my back and kneeling at Pinkie’s side. I run my fingers along her back, hoping I can at least distract her from the tears. “It happens, alright?”

“Not to us,” Rarity says, her perfectly-coiffured mane bouncing as she bows her head. “We’re the Elements of Harmony. We are meant to be representatives of everything that friendship represents. But when life got a little bit difficult, we threw that all aside and chose our own petty desires over friendship.”

Rainbow let’s out a choked sob, and immediately Chittery embraces her. I give a wan smile. It’s the first time I’ve seen her embrace someone else in a way that isn’t overtly sexual. She nods at me and I nod back, continuing to run my fingers over Pinkie’s side.

“An-and now, we might never see him again,” Pinkie choked, her chest hitching under my hand. “That portal coulda dropped him a bazillion miles away for all we know…”

“Hussshhh,” I whisper. “Look, in my time with him, I watched Sifty do things no other man could’ve done, acquire powers no other man could’ve held, and survive shit that would’ve wiped out entire armies of lesser men. He’s gotten even stronger since you saw him. Wherever he is, I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Yeah,” Rainbow says, still nuzzling in Chittery’s embrace. “We know he’s tough, but if we hadn’t…”

“But you did,” I say gently, as if trying to break the death of a relative to a child. “The simple fact is you did. We can’t change that now, but it’s alright, you’re trying to make things right and do him proud. You’re doing good by him.”

“But we-“ Rarity tries to put in, but is cut off when Cypher tugs her into an embrace.

“-are doing your best,” Chittery finishes, still holding Rainbow in her embrace. “What’s done is done. Everyone makes mistakes, everyone let’s stupid stuff get in the way of what should be important in their lives, what matters is how you come back from that, and that you try to make things right. Judging by the way you’re protecting your town, you girls are doing okay there.” There’s a prideful quiver in Chittery’s voice, as if she wants to say something else and has to physically stop herself from letting it out. I don’t mention it, though I do make a mental note of it.

“Thank you,” Pinkie whispers. I smile and nod, only cringing a little when she grabs my hand up in her hooves and blows a snot-filled honk into my palm. “Really, thank you.”

“Let’s get them back to town,” Chittery says. “I didn’t see any Nightmares when I scouted out Canterlot, so they should be good for a break from patrols, if only for a little while.”

Cypher and I nod, releasing our respective charges as Chittery holds them up in her magic, letting the trio embrace as we tromp along through the woods in the direction of Ponyville.

A few minutes in, I make sure the three are out of earshot, then turn to Chittery. “Had the Element-Bearers under surveillance for months, eh?” I ask, slowing us down to a relaxed trot. She just sighs as I shake my head. “And here, I thought changelings were supposed to be good at lying. I’ve seen better performances in Elementary school plays!”

“We have been watching them, though,” she says weakly, her voice strangely quiet. Not quite to Cypher-levels, but not too far away from them.

“But that’s not why you recognized her. Nobody reacts to seeing someone they’ve been spying on like you did: like running into a long-lost cousin on the street,” I reply. She still hasn’t looked up at me. “Okay, what’s really going on with you and the pink supernova? How’d you know all that crap about her?”

“Later,” she insists, her eyes closing. I don’t have to watch her breathing get heavier or sense her emotional aura with my changeling abilities to see the rising pain in her expression. “Just…later, please? Now’s not really a good time to get into it.”

I look over at her, my face holding at neutral. “Princess, with all due respect, it sounds like there is no good time to talk about this.”

She doesn’t reply. I don’t make an effort to speak up. “Later,” she insists after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

I nod. I’ve had enough big, emotional moments for one day, anyway. I think we could all use a quick break.

Entry XVII: The Boys Are Back In Town, by Kildeez

The streets of Ponyville are quiet. I’d say they’re too quiet, but I’m not in the business of sticking a huge bullseye over my ass and daring God to take his best shot.

As our weird little trio walks along with the ponies in tow, I hear doors slamming and windows shuttering, as well as the hurried galloping of hooves. “Sounds like they’re taking cover from something,” I whisper to Chittery.

“And what do you suppose that something could be?” She whispers back.

“I dunno…maybe they got word of a Nightmare army heading this way?”

“Doofus, that was a rhetorical question,” she scoffs. “C’mon! What do you think they’re hiding from!?”

“Uhhhhh…based from what I’ve heard about this village…a stampede of bunnies?”

She rolls her eyes. “How about the trio of changelings, one of whom is obviously infused with a touch of the Nightmare, walking through town with three of their greatest heroes in tow?”

“Oh,” I reply, frowning. “OH! Yeah, this probably looks bad.”

“Nooooo, y’think!?” She rolls her eyes. “Gods above, how can someone so obviously smart act so damned stupid all the time!?”

“Hey! I don’t act stupid all the time!” I yell, whirling on her to meet her eye-to-eye. Of course, in doing so, I misjudge how far to come down and wind up bumping foreheads with her, painful enough with another human, but with Chittery and her big, sharp, knife-like horn, leaves me on the dirt road, clenching at my face with a big, ugly scrape running all down my forehead.

She just sighs and shakes her head sadly. “And the worst part? I still wanna crawl into those jeans, even now.”

“Ugh, whatever sister…God damn, I think you almost broke skin.”

A smile rises unbidden on her face, and I hear her stifle a chortle as she walks around me, towards the balloon-covered building in the center of town. I figure nopony’s home, but then I notice the rustle of curtains and a quick, racing shape darting away from the window. A light-blue shape. I smile and shake my head.

“Ponies really suck at keeping a low profile,” Chittery mutters, that little smile still on her face.

“Hey, you try and stay unnoticed when you’re the color of a rainbow as seen by a meth-head coming down from a three-day high,” I say, rapping gently on the door. There’s no answer.

“Oh, Mister and Missus Caaa-aaaake~!” Chittery calls, raising a hoof to her mouth to amplify her voice. “We have something for youuuu~!”

“G-go away!” The frightened ponies gasp inside. “W-we don’t want anything from you, changelings!”

“God, they sound worse than Cypher on a caffeine binge,” I grumble, stretching out my neck. I rear back and stand to the door’s side. “C’mon now, my little ponies, you can either open the door or I can bust it down. At least with one of those options, you still have an intact hearth and home. So, what’s it gonna be?”

Another few moments of pregnant silence, and then the door squeaks gently open a few inches. I bow and motion for Chittery to step through, offering my hand with my head low. She returns by pressing her hoof to her chest and tilting her head with a fake gasp of delight. “A gentleman!” She exclaims, laying her hoof in my hand and striding through with the ponies and Cypher in tow. Nodding back, I ease the door shut behind her, then in a flash, whip Shelly off my back, rack a fresh shell into the chamber, and blast her into the sky, the cacophonous boom echoing throughout the town. A few shutters quiver in the houses around me, but I just smile, nod, raise a salute, and strut into Sugarcube Corner.

Inside, Cypher has already nudged a few of the tables together while Chittery lays her prestigious pack of ponies across them, gathering up sugar packets to use as pillows. “Deezy? Could you look around for something we could use as a blanket?” She asks.

Nodding, I do a few quick rounds through the dining area, then check behind the counter before I realize we’re seriously lacking in bakers up front. I inhale, and then exhale slowly. “Hey, princess? I’m gonna see about settling in here, just in case. Gonna find us some proprietors we can cozy up to.”

“See if they’re open to a threesome!” She yells, keeping her voice low to avoid disturbing the ponies cuddled up on the table.

“Not that cozy!” I reply, striding past the front desk and towards the upstairs area, first making sure to reassume my human form. I tap the banister as I clomp up the stairs, making sure my presence is known. I even manage to gloss over a few pictures of the pretty pony family living here: a skinny-as-hell tan unicorn in an apron and the sort of paper hat you’d see on most street vendors back on Earth (sans yellowing grease stains, thankfully), a somewhat larger mare wearing a pink frilly apron and a hairdo straight out of an episode of Leave It To Beaver, a couple of foals, unicorn filly with a pegasus colt, and of course, the pink, sapient embodiment of hydrogen atoms herself, holding them all in her hooves with the biggest smile possible stretching her muzzle.

“Cute bunch,” I whisper, hoping that I won’t find any empty cradles or dust-covered books in my explorations, but then my eye catches the next photo over. My jaw drops. This photo is a lot like the one next to it, with one important addition: Sifty. He’s standing there next to the group, arms crossed over his chest, a sword hilt poking over his shoulder, with Pinkie leaning over just enough to wrap a hoof around his leg. And that’s not all: he’s got this big, cheesy smile on his face. Like an honest-to-god, “HI MOM LOOKIT ALL THE FUN I’M HAVING,” I-shit-you-not smile. I had seen many expressions on that face during our brief time together: surprise, shock, stoic glaring, battle-ecstasy, and of course, white-hot fury. But I’d never seen him look so…happy. Holy hell, he’s happy in this photo.

I recall what Rarity had mentioned in the woods, the way the ponies had sort of brushed ol’ Sifty off and set him aside. How did Rares put it? Like a toy they’d gotten tired of? “Oh, you poor bastard,” I mutter. “No wonder you’re always so angry.”

And still he came back. Either these ponies have him twisted around their little hooves, or he’s just that devoted. Judging by the way the three mares sleeping together downstairs acted, I’m going to guess that it’s the latter. And thanks to me, he’s currently spinning around in some void somewhere, possibly somewhere that’s never seen a pony or a human.

I run my fingers through my air. “You idiot,” I grumble to myself. “You impossible idiot.”

“Deez?” Chittery appears at the bottom of the steps, noticing my minor emotional breakdown. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just,” I moan, slumping against the wall. “I’m sorry, I just need a moment.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I’ve made some mistakes is all,” I sigh, my eyes never leaving the picture of something I thought I’d never see: a genuinely happy Sift. “This was a big one, though.”

“Look, it’ll be okay, alright?” She says, holding a hoof up at me. “I’m sorry, we can deal with this later, but…”

“I know, I know,” sliding back up the wall, I take to my feet and begin crawling up the stairs again.

Behind me, Chittery smiles wanly, setting her hoof back down. “I am sorry,” she whispers.

“I know,” I whisper back, tromping past the landing and through the upper-floor hallway. Once I’m out of sight, I slap myself a few times. There’s a time and a place for namby-pamby feels, and this is neither. I just signaled an entire town to the existence of a trio of changelings. Well, one Halfling, a princess, and a weird Nightmare hybrid, but still a big no-no as far as changeling culture goes. I need my shit together for what’s about to come.

I tiptoe along the hallway, a hand cupped around an ear stem as I pause in front of each closed door. Room One: Empty. Room Two: Empty. Room Three: constant shivering coupled with whispered demands to be quiet and hushed whimpers.

I take in a nice, long breath, then let it out slowly, closing my eyes and shaking my head. Seriously, ponies can’t be low-key even when they’re trying.

I quietly ease the door open and poke my head in, then immediately poke it back out again to dodge the rattle flying at my face. “D-don’t come any closer!” A shaky, unconvincing voice cries from inside. “I-I mean it! There’s a plenty more wh-where that came from!”

“Really? Well shoot, throw in a few diapers and a milk bottle, and I can start me up a family just right!” I roll my eyes despite knowing they won’t see it. “Look, we’ve been travelling a long time and I’m already sick of having to convince ponies I mean no harm, so why don’t you come on out and help us with Pinkie? She got a little bit tired and is downstairs with someone who’s liable to do unspeakable things to her unconscious body if we leave them alone for too long.”

A few more minutes of silence follow, which I occupy by counting grooves in the wood door. Finally, Mr. Cake comes out, his head and ears lowered. “D-don’t hurt her,” he says.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say gently, leading him back down the stairs and into the main dining area. The three mares are still curled up on the table, with Chittery watching them, her chin in her hooves as she lays on her stomach. It’s funny though, the way she’s watching them. I remember my dad standing in the doorway with that same look on his face during the few times I was still awake and just pretending to sleep when he got back from work. Motherly, watching Pinkie in a way that said: “If anything ever hurt this mare, I would spend the rest of my life hunting it down and making it pay.” It’s a nice look for her, the way she has her head cocked and the silly little smile on her fangs.

Cypher, for his part, is currently raiding the area behind the counter, grabbing up cupcakes on the flats of his tendril-blades and shoving them down his throat as if he’d just been poisoned and the only cure was a ridiculous amount of sugar. I rub the bridge of my nose as Mr. Cake watches our Nightling pack down the carbs with a mixture of awe and horror.

“I-I’ve never seen anypony except Pinkie eat that many in one sitting,” he whispers.

“Yeah, sorry about him, he’s kinda new to a lot of stuff,” I grumble, still rubbing the bridge of my nose. “Listen, we’ll pay for what he eats as long as you let us start a tab here. Would that be possible?”

He nods, his jaw still hanging agape, until his gaze slides over the three mares on the table. His eyes widen. “D-don’t eat them!” He cries, galloping to the table and throwing his hooves protectively over the mares. “Th-they’re all we have left, please!”

Chittery stares dumbfounded, as if snapped out of a spell, while my nose-bridge rubbing intensifies. “We aren’t…this isn’t…ugh! We just wanted someplace to let them rest while they sorted some emotional shit out!”

“E-emotional…stuff?” He asks tentatively.

Chittery shakes her head and nods, fully awoken now. “It was about some guy, a ‘Siftstone’?”

At that, Mr. Cake’s shivering lessens considerably. “Ohhh, I see,” he sighs, crawling down off the table, but leaving a hoof up there against Pinkie’s mane. “Oh, Pinkie, when are you going to stop blaming yourself?”

“I take it this isn’t the first time she’s gotten a little emotional about Sifty?” I ask.

Mr. Cake just shakes his head as he nudges Pinkie’s shoulder. “Pinkie,” he whispers.

“Ngh…five mo’ minutes, mama,” she whispers back, batting at his hoof like a cat.

“Pinkie, you and your friends fell asleep on the tables again,” Mr. Cake whispers gently.

“Wh-wha?” Pinkie sits up at that, looking around bleary-eyed. Finally, her eyes fall on me. “Oh, hi Mr. Deez.”

She yawns, rubbing at one of her eyes while looking around at the tables.

“Yeah, sorry,” Chittery smiles. “We didn’t know where else to put you.”

“It’s okay, my room’s upstairs,” she says, her voice still low, still rubbing at her eye. She nudges the other mares beside her. “Girls, c’mon.”

Rarity and Rainbow stir, but Rarity is the only one who actually sits up. “I slept on a table?” She groans. “My mane…”

Pinkie snorts as she looks down at Dash, the pegasus’s hooves dancing in the air like a dog chasing a squirrel in a dream. “Dashie always is the heaviest sleeper,” she whispers as she drops to all fours, her attention focusing on Rarity. “C’mon, let’s check on Mrs. Cake and the twins.”

“Right behind you,” Rarity sings breathlessly, only a trace of sleepiness remaining in her voice. She promptly steps in line behind Pinkie, and the pair trot up the stairs, the tips of their tails whishing out of sight with a little flourish. We all stand there quietly, until Mr. Cake lets out a deep sigh.

“She always gets like this when someone even mentions Sifty,” he whispers, head bowing. “The missus and I have to be careful to avoid things that might even remind her of him.”

I nod. “I get it, man. Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be, you did the right thing bringing her back here.”

Another few moments of awkward silence follows, then Chittery speaks up. “Didja see the way Rares woke up? All graceful like that?” She huffs, fanning herself with a hoof. “No wonder that little dragon’s been trying so long to tap that! Whoo, took all my self-control not to make a go at her myself!”

Bridge of nose, meet hand. Oh, I see you’re already acquainted! “So not the time or the place, princess.”

“There’s always a time and a place for sexy times!”

“S-so,” Mr. Cake says, thankfully as eager as I am to change the subject to literally anything else. “H-how did Siftstone come up, anyway?”

I look up to the heavens, begging anybody listening to give me strength. “Long story.”

“I have time.”

I raise an eyebrow and look to the window, noting the clear blue skies. “And apparently, so do we,” I mutter, turning back to the yellow unicorn sitting at one of the tables in the dining area. I ease myself into the seat directly across from him, and at the same time Chittery sits down beside me. Even Cypher looks up from his sugar-fueled cupcake holocaust to pay attention. It takes me fifteen minutes to catch Mr. Cake up to where we are now, even counting in the obligatory “Thought you’d be taller” I’ve grown so used to at this point.

“So that brings us up to now,” I whisper. “Locked out of Canterlot with no way in except to find a way to sneak through without getting ripped apart by Nightmares so bad even thinking about them can drive a man insane. And even that’s moot because if we don’t find our friend, the one behind your counter over there, a super-powerful mage, he wouldn’t even survive long enough to see the castle.”

“I can see your problem,” Mr. Cake nods. “While it does sound like an awful mess you’re all in, I’m afraid I can’t do much except offer you a few hot meals and a warm place to stay for a little.”

I raise my hand. “That’s all we’re looking for,” I reply.

“Believe us, Mr. Cake, we didn’t come here expecting anything from you,” Chittery says. “We just didn’t want to leave those three off in the middle of the woods while they sorted out whatever emotional shit they need to work through, not with Canterlot and whatever those things are around it so close.”

“And…sorry for assuming you all meant harm just because you were changelings,” Mr. Cake grins sheepishly.

“That’s alright, I’ve gotten used to it,” I shrug, reaching up to pop a crick in my neck. I chance another look at the window, and still see clear-blue skies. I frown. “Although, if you’re really sorry, maybe you could tell us a little bit about Siftstone and the Elements. I take it from some of your pictures they were close?”

He appears to shrink a little, folding up in his chair. He lets out a long sigh. “First, let me get a little hot chocolate,” he mumbles, pushing away from the table and whipping up a small mug with whipped cream, sprinkles, and chocolate shavings.

“Must be pretty bad if he’s going for the sprinkles,” Chittery mutters. I quickly shush her.

He sits down again, letting out a few breaths as he sips from his mug. When he’s ready, his eyes open again, only now they look way older. I can swear there are wrinkles that weren’t there before, and a certain glint has most definitely faded away. It’s as if just the effort of making that one mug of hot cocoa had added ten years to his life. “Ponyville was always the sort of place where you left your doors unlocked at night,” he sighs, adjusting his hat. “That changed after Nightmare Moon, though.”

“Oh yeah, when mooncheeks lost her shit and decided the world would be better as a cold, eternally-dark wasteland,” Chittery mumbles. I elbow her in the ribs.

He glances in our direction, but doesn’t make any other indication he heard her in any way. “Nightmare Moon was just the beginning. Things kept happening around here: the parasprite invasion, Discord, Cerberus poking his heads in, even that one time all those apples became sapient and enslaved us all.”

That one catches my ear. “I’m sorry, did you just say…”

“Don’t question it,” Chittery says, raising a hoof. “Trust me, you’ll be better off.”

I blink, run a finger along the barrel of my weapon. “Ugh, fine. You were sayin’?”

Mr. Cake nods, folding his hooves neatly on the table again. “That was all crazy enough, and certainly dangerous in its own way, but still those were…worldly, I guess is the word? It doesn’t sound right, but…”

“No, I think I get it,” I reply. Those things all made sense in the context of Equestria, crazy as it sounds. “Those things all fit the tone, every threat you faced seemed of your world.”

“And then the Nightmare came along,” Chittery says, completing the thought as she leans forward in her chair.

Mr. Cake nods. “The Nightmare Infection was so wildly different from everything we’d ever seen before. The way it corrupted everything it touched, twisting it into things that were so barbaric, so cruel, almost as if their sole purpose in life was to destroy harmony, either by converting it, or by k-k-...killing it,” he finishes, only completing the word with some difficulty.

“Everything else at least held some respect for Harmony: you wouldn’t see Discord tearing families limb from limb, or stalking ponies at night just to r-rip them apart,” he whispers, shivering under his apron. “Changelings at least want ponies for food, even they aren’t that savage.”

“Uh…” I add.

“Oh, no offense to you or your kind, sir!” Mr. Cake adds nervously.

“None taken,” Chittery speaks up for me. “Those queen bitches be cray.”

He looks at her for a second: same kind of look you’d give a sentient talking apple screaming for global domination I’m guessing, then he continues. “For a while, things were desperate. The Nightmare wouldn’t be stomped out, was immune to almost all our spells, and every attempt to confront them just fed it more soldiers to be absorbed and indoctrinated. For the first months, it seemed the only thing to do was hang back and pray for a miracle.”

“And a miracle happened,” I grin.

Mr. Cake smiles, though not nearly as strongly as I do, and takes a few big gulps from the steaming mug in his hooves. “We thought he was one of the Nightmare at first. We’d seen Nightmares walking on two legs before. Even if he didn’t look as threatening as the rest of them, that didn’t mean he didn’t have his own danger. Turns out, he did, just not to us.

“Sifty was easily the greatest warrior in Equestria, perhaps ever. It didn’t matter what came his way: a pony hit squad from a noblestallion he’d snubbed, or an entire Nightmare army, or even the guardian of some ancient cursed treasure. We’d all just keep our heads down, and when we looked up again, Siftstone would be the only one left standing.”

I lean forward in my seat, keeping my elbows on the table. “He also got close to the Element Bearers.” A statement, not a question.

Mr. Cake nods. “Closer than friends. If they’d been the same species, I’d say there’d have been a chance for romance, even.”

“Not that interspecies relationships are anything to be wary of,” Chittery quickly puts in. I glare at her.

Mr. Cake blinks, his train of thought derailing so hard I could almost hear the twisting rail and exploding railcars from where I sat. “I-I suppose not, I mean, I’ve heard about that mare from Trottingham hitting it off with that Gryphon diplomat…”

I clear my throat, and he blinks again, shakes his head, and takes a few more sips at his mug. “Right, sorry,” he says with a sheepish grin. “You get what I’m saying, though: they were close. Miss Fluttershy especially, but they all had their place at his side. Twilight…sorry, Princess Twilight kept ‘im patched up, Rainbow Dash kept ‘im in shape, Applejack gave ‘im a close-knit family and honest work, Rares kept ‘im dressed for the few times he needed to put on an impression in Canterlot, Pinkie kept him fed and probably got the most genuine laughs I ever heard outta him, and most of all, Fluttershy taught him to love.”

“That close, huh?”

“If it weren’t for the species thing, I’m sure we’d be hearing wedding bells by now.”

“So, what happened?” I ask, finally throwing out the million-dollar question.

“Life,” Mr. Cake shrugged with another gulp out of his mug. “Twilight ascended and became a princess, Pinkie was needed more here when we started distributing to Manehattan and Canterlot, Applejack had to expand the farm to keep up with the demand for her cider, Rarity opened up another boutique in Canterlot, Rainbow started flyin’ full-time for the Wonderbolts, and Fluttershy got totally occupied with rehabbing the animals displaced by the Nightmare.”

“But the Nightmares…” Chittery put in. “Sifty must’ve still been needed!”

“He sorta was, but we didn’t know it at the time,” Mr. Cake sighed. “Right around the time the girls all started gettin’ busy with their own lives, the Nightmare attacks trickled t’nothing. Sift was lucky to get called out once or twice a week. We just didn’t need ‘im anymore, and without the girls supportin’ him, he just pulled himself up into this shell…”

“Yeah,” I match Mr. Cake’s sigh. “I know that shell pretty well.”

“Too bad we didn’t know the Nightmare wasn’t defeated, just waiting,” Mr. Cake snorts. “Just poolin’ its resources for one, big hit. I wouldn’t be surprised if they weren’t waiting for Sift to move on, ‘cause the attacks started up again not even two weeks after Sifty left for…wherever it was he went.”

“And that’s where you guys have been,” Chittery says. “Right back where it all started.”

Mr. Cake nods sadly as he finishes off the rest of his hot cocoa. “Just keeping our heads down and praying for another miracle, which apparently you were supposed to deliver.”

There’s no accusation in his voice, so I just nod sadly. “Yeah, yeah I was…”

“I’m sorry how things happened,” Mr. Cake adds quickly.

“Not as sorry as I am.”

“I-I’m sorry, I meant…”

“What’s that in the sky?” Chittery asks, interrupting the most Canadian conversation I’ve ever had.

I glance over to the window, and bolt upright at the tiny silhouette I catch in the corner of the sun’s light. “Typical,” I grumble. “Fuckin’ took her long enough!”

The pony, changeling, and nightmareling all look at me curiously. “Who?” Mr. Cake asks.

His question is answered when the window crashes in with a purple blur. In a flash, Twilight Sparkle herself is rearing up on the table next to us, horn glowing. “Let my friends go now, or face…” she starts, then notices Mr. Cake sitting across from me with a small mug in his hands.

Instead of freaking out like most business owners, Mr. Cake just shakes his head slowly. “It’s okay, Twilight, that’s why we have a ‘Rainbow Crash’ fund.”

The pretty purple pony princess looks around. She sees me sitting across from Mr. Cake, leaning back in my seat nonchalantly. She sees Cypher, an obvious Nightmare, waving cheerfully from behind the counter with cupcake batter dripping off his hooves. She turns just in time to catch Chittery drooling over her flank, then look dreamily into her eyes and ask if she was doing anything that night. Finally, she turns back to me and voices the only way anyone could possibly react to everything and anything around her:

“Wut?”

I grumble and faceplant on the table. “Somebody wanna explain it to her? This is the third time in twenty-four hours and I’m gettin’ real fuckin’ tired of it already.”

Twenty minutes and a few mugs of hot cocoa later, we’re all sitting around with one alicorn princess now just grateful to be in the loop.

Twilight eyes me as she takes a sip of her cocoa. “I must say, sir, you’re not what I envisioned when Celestia described some of your past exploits to me,” she says.

“Let me guess,” I moan, crossing my legs as I sip my mug, getting a dot of whipped cream on my nose (but no chocolate shavings or sprinkles, because I’m baller like that). “You thought I would be taller, right?”

“Actually, I thought you’d be more the typical soldier-type. Big, meaty, probably a few scars,” she continues studying me with those wide, lavender eyes. “You strike me as a bit more intelligent than all that.”

I blink, sitting upright in my chair. Without warning, I close the distance between us and wrap my arms around her, earning a frightened squeak as I squeeze like she’s a little plush. “Thank you,” I whisper before sitting back down in my chair and grinning over at Chittery. “See that? That’s how you treat a hero.”

“Really? Well, when one shows up, you let me know, okay?”

“Cold, bitch. Cold.”

“Anyway,” Twilight coughs uncomfortably, shifting in her seat. “I’m just glad to know Sifty returned…even if…well…”

I see her eyes begin to mist up and figure three emotionally-broken ponies are enough for one day. “Look, wherever he’s at, he’s gonna be fine. I know that much. He’s probably tearing apart the fabric of space-time itself with his bare hands just trying to get back here. We just hafta hold on a little bit in the meantime.”

“Y-yeah,” Twilight nods unconvincingly, wiping at her eyes with the tips of her wings. Her tears clear, and she smiles at the three of us. “Fortunately, it looks like we have help.”

“H-heck yeah!” Cypher announces, rearing up on his rear hooves on the cashier’s counter, only to fall back when his tendril-blades throw his balance off, sending him crashing into the pots and pans displayed behind the register. Her eyes going half-lidded, Twilight turns to me and Chittery.

“Hey, he’s a real nice lay once you get to know him,” Chittery says defensively.

“Er…don’t you mean a real nice ‘ling’?” Twilight asks.

“No,” I grumble, rubbing at my temple with the tips of my fingers. “No, she doesn’t.”

“O-kay…” Twilight shrugs, her wings rustling with the motion. “Anyway, coming up with a spell to preserve Cypher’s heartbeat will take some time, but it’s certainly doable. Less certain is the teleportation you need to reach Canterlot.”

“What!?” I moan. “But Sifty said you teleport all the time!”

“That was before our current crisis, when portals weren’t popping up everywhere and anywhere,” polishing off the rest of her hot chocolate, she sets to preening her wings. “Each portal continuously alters the magical topography of the region it’s around, making it difficult to teleport anywhere since the rules which govern the calculations required are changing all the time.”

I nod, sitting back and scratching at my chin as my eyes narrow in thought. “Wut?”

“Think of each portal as a volcanic eruption, only taking place on the magical plane, not the physical,” she explains, her wings settling as she launches into full-lecture mode. “As it ‘erupts’ it throws off errant bits of matter, in this case stray chunks of magic in place of molten rock. It alters the geography of the region around it as it carries on, spewing magic and forming a large crater that can completely change the layout of the land. So before, teleporting was like traveling through a well-known forest. Now, though, the forest is covered with ash and new mountain ranges that completely change the map.”

I nod along, my head spinning. She takes this as a cue to continue. “Usually, the portals aren’t such a big problem since a portal is a small ‘eruption’ compared to the sheer vastness of the magical plane. But…”

“…but if you throw in the hundreds of portals popping up around Canterlot every hour, those little eruptions add up,” Chittery finishes with a grimace, her fangs bared in frustration.

“Exactly,” Twilight nods. “The portals around Canterlot have turned the entire city into a magical minefield. Even a basic bit of teleportation, like hopping a few hundred feet down the street, could take hours of calculations to ensure the subject isn’t catapulted into space. And considering the distance we’ll have to be from the castle to perform the spell without being interrupted by a Nightmare attack…”

“Shit,” I grumble, scratching at my chin in earnest. “How long?”

“A few days at least. I’m sorry, but it’s the best I can do.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I add, leaning back with my arms crossed over my chest. “Canterlot can wait a few days for us to deliver the news that their badass savior is gonna wind up being a nympho changeling and a heavily-repressed amnesiac.”

“Hey!” Chittery shouts, levelling an accusatory hoof my way. “That’s nympho changeling princess to you, pal!”

“Alright, my mistake.”

“I-in the meantime…” Twilight quickly interrupts. “You three can stay in Siftstone’s place. It’s his house from Earth, so it should be familiar, Kildeez.”

“Cool,” I smile and nod. “Might be nice to get a taste of Earth before we head off to face whatever the Nightmare has for us.”

“One thing, though,” Twilight holds up a hoof. “One of the locals, a stallion by the name of Peanut Brittle, went in there a few days ago to see if there was anything Sifty might have left behind we could use in the Nightmare attack. He hasn’t been back since.”

I bite my lip. “So it’s not exactly home sweet home?”

“We just don’t know, anypony powerful enough to check is too valuable to take off the front lines, so nopony’s been able to head in there,” she regards us over her mug with a worried expression. “Please understand, it’s not that you’re considered expendable, it’s just…”

“We hear you, princess,” Chittery quickly interrupts. “And thanks, really. For everything.”

“I…um…I didn’t really…”

“Just sitting here and listening is more than anypony has ever done for us changelings before,” a warm smile appears on Chittery’s face. “I think this bodes well for your future tenure, from one princess to another.”

Blushing, Twilight returns the warm smile. “Thank you, princess, that means a lot to me.”

“And hey, if you ever want to get to know each other better…” Chittery arches an eyebrow and cocks her head seductively, sidling up close to the young alicorn.

“Welp, we’ve got things to see, people to do, so…” I quickly interrupt, taking Twilight by the hoof and ushering her out the door with the urgency of a man guarding a young mare’s innocence.

“Th-thanks for everything!” Twilight manages to squeak out before I slam the door between us and the outside, ignoring the flickering lights outside which look suspiciously like a torch-bearing mob.

I still manage a sigh of relief before I turn to glare at the changeling princess. “Really? I mean, seriously? You couldn’t turn it down for a fellow royal?”

“You’re talking like ‘it’ can be turned down,” she scoffs, crossing her forehooves over her chest and turning away haughtily. “Another few minutes and I could’ve been walking her upstairs, getting ready to show her the night of her life.”

“Is sex seriously all you think about!?”

“Yes. Have we not established that?”

I grumble, plop against the door, and run my hand down my face. At the rate we’re going, this mare was either going to drive me into the nuthouse, or a wedding proposal. I’m honestly kinda fifty-fifty at that point. But then Cypher speaks up: “Look, a-are we going to ignore the fact that we just got volunteered for a stupid mission obviously m-meant to kill us all!?”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Chittery scoffs, waving a hoof at him.

“Don’t be so…it’s obvious! Sh-she just told us one of their own vanished in the exact same place she’s sending us to!”

“All the more reason to head in there,” I reply, sitting cross-legged in front of the door. “It’s a Search and Rescue for a local pony. We pull him out, it can only earn us Brownie points with the locals. Which, in case you haven’t noticed, we kinda need.”

“I-it’s not that bad…”

“Oh, really?” I dart to my feet, turn, and twist the door open, revealing the large mob of angry, torch-bearing ponies gathered just beyond the doorstep. Cypher’s jaw drops, literally hitting the floor. A pitchfork sails through the gaping portal, burying itself tongs-first in the wood and wobbling there like a tuning fork. If there had been a basement, I’m sure Cypher’s jaw would have found a way into it.

“By all means, go right ahead and explain to the nice ponies we mean no harm,” I smirk before Chittery forces the door shut with her magic.

“Quit it,” she says warningly, striding right up to me. “He’s freaked out enough.”

“He should be,” I grumble, unholstering the shotgun and working the lever action. I pop the door open and head out, meeting the dozens of angry stares and growling ponies with a shotgun in my hands, which is probably the only way to deal with a torch-bearing mob.

Speaking of, what’s with the torches? It’s midday.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kildeez!” Twilight says, galloping to the head of the crowd, her face twisted into the deepest, most concerned furrow I’ve ever seen on anyone, pony or human. Seriously, girl should be worried about wrinkles. “They wouldn’t listen to me!”

“Because they obviously have her under some sort of changeling spell!” Some random pony yells in the back, and the crowd roars in agreement. The angry yelling continues, though I notice nopony running forward to make the first hit. I grumble as I try to think.

There are people who think that the proper action here is a bit more passive. That to walk away is a true measure of strength, even as the pitchforks rise and the crowd closes in. That the path of pacifism here is the true mark of goodness and love, and that not reacting, even to the point of self-harm, is the way to go. And then there are people who think that shit is retarded and that if somebody wishes them harm, they better be prepared to lose a few teeth. Guess which group I’m a part of?

Grumbling to myself, I roll my eyes, then drop the shotgun to my side and unleash a deafening blast into the dirt. The boom echoes off into the distance, just as it had when I felt like summoning Twilight, as the shell digs a nice little grave for itself in the earth next to my feet. In a flash, I twirl the shotgun back up into my hands and rack up a fresh shell, sending the spent casing clattering to the ground, where it dings against a rock in the absolute silence.

I grin. That sound is threatening as all hell, no matter who or what is hearing it.

“Afternoon,” I call out to the crowd, the shotgun going to my shoulder. “The name’s Kildeez, and this is my crew, Cypher and Chittery of Chrysalide Hive. Maybe you’ve heard of me, and maybe you haven’t.”

Whispers pass through the crowd. Some of the torches and pitchforks lower, as if they were simply forgotten. One voice from the crowd speaks up, and I will wager money it’s mister voice-from-the-back from earlier: “Whatcha are is a Celestia-cursed changeling, working with the Nightmare to kill us all!”

The whispers start turning angry. A few of the pitchforks pick up again. I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Alright, so what if I am?”

That gets the crowd to shut up. Ponies look around, confused, wondering just what the hell I might be talking about. But I mean it. “I mean it,” see? “So what if I am? Have you any plans to stop me?”

The ponies all look nervously at one another. The torches and pitchforks are noticeably lower now. Some in the back take a few tentative steps away. I continue surveying the lot. “Listen: the point is, we’re not. If we were, the whole lot of you would be dead by now. All we want to do is head on over to a Mister Siftstone’s house and poke around. For all of you paying attention, this is the same house someone named nut tiddle...”

“Peanut Brittle,” Twilight hurriedly corrects.

“…Peanut Brittle vanished in just a few short days ago. Now I’m not making any promises, but I swear to you, we are gonna do what we can to get him back. Then we’re gonna crash there for a few days while we wait for a portal to Canterlot. I promise this all, and swear by it on my honor as both a human and a changeling, and if anypony thinks I’m lying, y’all can speak up now.”

Silence. For a little bit, at least, until I hear a loud “NO!” from behind me. Surprised, I turn to find an average-sized earth pony stallion with a tan coat and a little tuft of fur on his chin that might someday be a beard. I arch an eyebrow at him. He glares at me with all that old, stupid hatred I’ve grown only too used to in my brief time as a changeling ambassador.

“No!” He insists again with a stomp of his hooves. “For too long, we have languished here, waiting for somepony else to fix our problems! For too long, we have remained in one place, wishing and hoping! It’s about time we fought, especially against those who once sought to enslave us! Especially against these dark, wretched bugs that once tried to take our lands! Well, let me tell ya one thing, buddy, you can take our lands, but you’ll never take our FRAYDO-”

My shotgun stock glances off his jaw before he can trigger a copyright infringement suit, sending his head twisting to the side and causing him to rear up on his hind hooves for a glorious moment before he crashes back down to the earth, his jaw hanging loosely, obviously broken. The pony looks up with wide, dazed, and confused eyes, as I follow through the last of the golf swing I used to take him out.

“FORE!” I holler, and the ponies cringe back. I just shoulder my shotgun and smile sweetly. “Anyone else?”

Silence.

“Good,” I step off the stoop, the ponies in front of me clearing a way ever-so-politely. Cypher, looking around timidly and apologetically, steps off after me. Chittery trails after in a huff.

“You didn’t have to be so rough,” she hisses after me.

“Usually, I’d agree with you, princess,” I reply, holstering the shotgun back over my shoulders. “But right now, I’m in the middle of a shitstorm without a shred of blue sky anywhere. I’m tired. I’m hungry. I’m feeling weighed down by guilt. And the only safe harbor we know about is, knowing our luck, almost certainly filled with some strange and exotic nightmare we are woefully unprepared to face. And we haven’t even gotten to Canterlot yet. Pardon me for not wanting to waste even more time repeating my story to yet another crowd of angry ponies.”

After a few more minutes, I hear a sigh over on her end. “You make it supremely difficult to make me want to rip your clothes off, you know that?”

“Pardon me if I don’t lose much sleep over that, toots.”

And a few miles away, in a small clearing of trees, pure evil himself smacked the side of his face as a short, cold bark of laughter escaped his lips.

“’Woefully unprepared to face’!” He cried, hammering his fist into the dead leaves as another bark burst from his chest. “Oh you fool. You poor, innocent, hopeless fool. If you only knew how right you were.”

Author's Note

SPREAD THE WORD AROUND! Guess who's back in town again...

Entry XVIII: The Badass And The Fuzzy Hellspawn, by Siftstone

TWO WEEKS LATER

Leaves crunched underfoot as I crept through the forest. My silver blade felt heavy in my hand, my armor clinking gently with every raindrop that met the chainmail. My mutant eyes could see perfectly in the dark and gloom of the forest; hell, they were made to. My ears pick up movement in the far distance. My stance lowers, and I press forward with a thicker veil of silence. Movement, again; to my left, extremely close. My oiled blade catches a gleam of white on it's shining steel, and I stop.

With that, I suddenly blast outward with a weak telekinetic blast from the palm of my hand. My sign catches my prey off-guard, throwing it back and causing it to land in a pile of leaves. With lightning speed, I sheathe my blade and leap forward with an airless grace, rolling hard and collapsing onto my stomach, my gloved hands launching into the leaf pile and groping for my victim. My fingers meet with its soft, white ears, and I tighten my grip, pulling my prey from the leaf pile.

"Still up to your old fuckery, I see, you little bastard."

Angel Bunny just crossed his little rabbit arms and glared at me. An unblinking gaze right back into his beady little eyes made him go slack. Whether from fear, submission, or both, there was no denying it- no creature could resist a Witcher's gaze.

Angel Bunny squeaked and attempted to make any noise louder than a high-pitched chitter, but my cage was made of sturdy steel. Pony metalsmiths have a bit of talent, they do. Angel panicked and bounced around in his little prison, so high above the ground, making just enough noise for my purposes. In truth, I could have attracted my target with an entirely different approach- my shouts are loud as all hell, after all- but after the stunt Angel pulled just because Fluttershy wouldn't give him any attention warranted a bit of terrorizing on my part.

The weight in my hand felt natural after so many months, sitting in this position over dozens of hunts. A small glass bottle, filled with good old sulfur juice from vents across the badlands. Not the most flashy of bombs, but a Witcher is built to adapt, and adapt I did.

Finally, after an eternity's wait in the shadow of the brush, my target came into view. A black shadow of a body, seeming to melt up from the ground into a round, bulbous head. Two tentacles flanked it's sides, flailing loosely as the beast oozed so gracefully, yet wrongly, through the underbrush. The only distinguishable features on the shadow's head was a flower of seven small tendrils, each topped with a green, luminescent eye. The eye stalks seemed to narrow as they got closer to the caged rabbit, the heart of the lapine within seeming to beat out of it's chest.

Smash.

The shadow beast reared back, it's tentacles flailing blindly in every direction. With only a flick of my wrist, I had sent a glass of sulfuric acid sailing through the air, and crashing squarely into it's face. The eyes were so close together at the time that they all suffered the brunt of the glass, and the liquid within had already begun to damage and eat away at them, blinding the creatures. The thin stalks rotted to nothing, it's only distinguishing feature falling away, as I, once again, drew my silver blade.

Charging across the grassy forest floor from my position in the greenery, all it took to end the life of my contracted Black Gorger was a single, heavy slash through the midsection, bisecting the beast evenly in two. It's lower half seemed to disperse into the shadows around me as the top half flailed on the ground, the last bastions of it's life ebbing away with every shadowy heartbeat. The movement stopped. The Gorger lay dead, the acid still eating through it.

I pulled a rope from my belt, and along with it, a large, rusted, steel meat hook. With a secure knot of the rope around the hook, I cruelly sunk the sharpened steel through the head of the Gorger. I looped the rope around my wrist, and gave it a quick shoulder heft, to test the weight and attachment of my hook. Ensured that it wouldn't disengage from my contract, I drew the machete off my side and gave the rope above Angel's cage a solid wack, severing it. The bunny shrieked, falling to the ground- but I caught it with my roped hand, right around the handle atop the cage.

"Remember, rodent," I started, deeply, my voice no more a whisper than it was a low, deep tone, "My job ain't pet rescue. The next time I have to do this, you'll be sitting cozy over a spit roast."

Fluttershy was still resting from earlier this morning, and as such, I didn't bother waking her up to tell her that her contract has been fulfilled. Nor did I release Angel from his cage. Thankfully enough, my words earlier seemed to put the fear of truth into him. Hard to distrust the word of a stone cold killer who's eyes flinch not. Leaving the cage on Fluttershy's couch, I left in sullen silence, collecting my Gorger's remaining half from the tree limb I hung it from, flies clinging to the corpse immediately buzzing away with my arrival.

I dragged the body to the town hall. Some ponies that recognized me waved, happily, to which I responded with a nod. Others gasped and seemed revolted by my charge. There was no surprise, there- ponies knew well of death, of pain, of blood, but their inherent innocence always made them forget about it. Every time they saw death was the first, for them. It was why I loved this world, and was so willing to take it back. My old world was grey and dead and hateful. This world wasn't quite dead, yet, and hate could never exist with so much love in the air, even in the black. The ponies kept it that way.

The mayor of the town kept everything in order, with the help of Zecora and the Elements. She was a good leader. She stood at her podium, at the top of a stage in front of the town hall. Mayor Mare looked almost asleep, her head in her hooves, eyes flickering between this waking nightmare and restful dreams. As she idly scanned over the town in front of her, her cobalt eyes finally fell upon me. She had no reaction at first, merely blinking. Then, she pulled herself up, eyes still blinking, to see if she wasn't hallucinating. In a snap, she was awake.

"Champion! So, the rumors are true!"

"Aye, Mayor. There's a long story to be told; but that can wait for later. I've got a lot of work to catch up on."

"Indeed, you do. That old bounty board has only been adding up... So, what've you got, there?"

With a heave, I wrenched the Gorger's carcass forward, its shadowy body flapping about and causing dust to fly up. The Mayor took a step back, a light shriek of fear emitting from her, before settling to look closer. Indeed, it would be difficult to recognize the body, with it's mutilation. Gorgers were just solid shadow and glowing eyes; no eyes meant it was just a big black sack of goop. The mayor looked over the carcass for several seconds, before it clicked.

"Oh! It's one of those Gastronomists!"

"Gastro-whatnow?"

"Gastronomist. Princess Twilight found these beasts in a bestiary in her library. They've been around since the reign of Discord; so few of them exist. Pure shadow, manifest only to eat and hunt. You know them as Black Gorgers, of course, because you were the first one to rediscover the beasts and live to tell the tale!"

"I see. Well, I answered the bounty on this one."

"Quite a hefty lot of bits for this one-"

"Keep your coin, Mayor. I don't want the money. All I want is for you to get some hefty stallions, find a flagpole, and hang this fucker up for me, wouldya please?"

"Excuse me?"

"All I want is for ponies to know that the Champion really, truly, without-a-doubt, has returned. They'll trust my actions more than your words. So hang this body up on a nice, big pole, for everything within range to see it, and to take heed."

"Take heed of what, exactly?" The mare quizzed, almost concerned.

"Take heed of the threat within. Take heed of the defender of this village. To take heed of the silver blade aiming for the dotted line along their necks."

With that, I undid my trophy hook from the beast's carcass, shaking loose the shadowy gore. Nary another word, I was off in the direction of the forest, once more. There was a lot to do.

The pistol on my thigh was beginning to feel heavy. This target was much slipperier than the others. Shadowy, moving with an impossible silence, leaving no true physical trace. Even my senses couldn't track it. The only thing that defined it's movement was the slowly dying flowers in it's wake. Never fought one of these before, but the old cryptozoology book Twilight lent me many moons ago described a creature such as this. It had very little in the way of available information, for the name was the only sure thing about it.

"Whisper."

It had to be a ghost. I've rarely had to bring out my other weapons. The beasts that assailed this land, almost all of them could be felled with mundane steel; but there's a certain aspect to silver that causes beasts of the supernatural to lose all of their resilience. They lose their armor, their stamina. They turn into literal butter against the might of a Witcher's silver blade; especially a blade as powerful as Aerondight. This beast, however, was special. Something told me that silver itself lacked the proper kick to end it's ghastly existence.

My medallion began to pull on its chain. There was a light flapping of wings, and I let myself at ease, sheathing Aerondight in it's cozy, leather sheathe on my back. With a smile, I turned to regard the purple alicorn princess, Twilight Sparkle. She landed with a huff, and walked towards me with her wings spread proudly before she tucked them in and smiled back. "Good afternoon, Sifty."

"'Afternoon, Twi. Something you need? I'm in the middle of tracking something."

"I know. I was watching you from above. You seem to be having trouble, so I figured I would come to help."

"All assistance is appreciated, but I can tell that's not the only reason. No pony has the stones to follow me just out of curiosity; not even you. Spill the beans, girly."

"...I admit that I missed adventuring at your side. Among other things."

"Thought so. Well, girly, if you wanna help, show me how. Watching plants bite the brown dust isn't the best way to track my target."

With that, I grinned at the alicorn. Drawing my silver blade once again, I tussled the Princess' mane with my free hand, and pointed ahead with an open palm. "Lead the way."

She and I walked forward in what began as a sullen silence. The girl kept eyeing my blade, occasionally shooting looks to the other weapons I carried. I knew that she recognized the small, black, one-handed crossbow that sat on my lower back, attached to the sheathing of my chainsword; she helped me find and assemble the bloody thing, after all. But I'm sure the chainsword itself, along with my pistol, astounded her. Ponies had some tech, sure, but not tech like this.

"That blade..." She began, her horn glowing with an intriguing spark, "I sense a lot of magic within it. More than any other piece of equipment you've ever pulled in from your adventures, Sifty. What is it?"

I smiled, a bit too proudly, I admit. I span Aerondight in a few heavy, reaping circles around me, causing the pony to step to the side a bit, fearful of getting sliced by my dextrous blade mastery. With a solid grip, I stopped the blade upright just in time to catch a rare beam of sunlight, which lit up the shining silver of my sword in such a way that the whole blade looked to be made of pure sunlight, for the briefest of moments.

"This is Aerondight, the Sword of Destiny. Light, sharp as a razor, fits the hand neatly. It gets it's name from the legend surrounding it; it is said that the blade has an agenda all its own, and whatever that hidden destiny is, only time will tell. This beauty is exceptionally effective against almost anything ghastly. As for where I got it, well... That's a bit of a story all it's own."

"You have a lot of tales."

"Tell you what, Twilight..." I purred, "How about we head home for now, yeah? Take ourselves a little bit of a break. I've been up and about since Fluttershy pulled me out of the forest. I think I need the chance to let my brain cool down from all the violence."

She looked at me, warmly. There was a sparkle in her eyes, a look of good will, almost as if she was hoping that I would respond to her presence this way. It was true, however; as badly as I wanted to get my job done, I was still capable of burning out. Couldn't track something this reticent on a blurry mind. A growl from down low made Twilight's ears wiggle and twitch, and she giggled; as did I. The important parts of my duty were done. The bounties were little more than cleanup duty. The lives that needed saving have been saved.

Besides, I still had priorities. After lunch and some meditation, it would be good to pay Rarity a visit, clear out the mannequins in her boutique. Girl needed to make money, somehow. Before anything else, however, I felt I needed to ask a question.

"Princess..." I began, my voice deep, almost a growl with its solemnity.

"Sifty? You know you can just call me Twi..."

"Listen. Answer me this; have you ever seen a living being die?"

"No, Sifty, I... I can't say I have. I know about the Nightmares, what they want. I know about everything else that poses a danger to us, but... Well, the only death I've ever honestly seen has always been the results of your protection."

"Good. I want to keep it that way." I breathed, relieved. "You and your friends- no, you and everything in this world, you all hold a sense of... innocence. A sense of right. A brightness that can't be tainted by any sort of shadow. But death, it can change that. It can alter the mind. I don't want that happening to you girls. Hell, after the way I've been thinking for the last day or so, I can't imagine what brought me so low to want to leave that innocence. To want to leave everything you ponies gave me."

"Almir..."

"We- We don't use that name, Twilight. Listen, just... if you and I find ourselves in a scuffle, I want you to promise to do something for me. I'm gonna make sure everypony, every one of your friends- our friends- makes this promise to me."

"Anything."

"You close your eyes and tuck in your ears. Whatever happens, whatever you see, I want you to hustle down and shield yourself, and don't you dare look into the fire. Promise me. Promise me that you will only EVER let me see the horrors that come with battle. That you'll only ever let me bear the burden of a life claimed. You're a strong girl, Twilight. You've always been a strong girl. But there are things that you just shouldn't ever, ever see. Promise me you won't look."

"I won't look, Sifty. I promise."

"Good. Now, let's head home, you and I."

"Whose home?"

Shit, that's right. In all this time I've been working, I've forgotten to go and check on my own house. If I remember correctly, the time loop Celestia placed on my humble abode while I was away would dissipate when my presence re-entered this plane of existence. The feel of my bed, the scent of my home... it gave me a sense of nostalgia, and that sense of longing returned. With my blank expression of thought melting away into a nostalgic grin, I looked Twilight in her gentle, violet eyes.

"Mine."

There it was. My home; my fortress. So many additions to my parent's old house had turned it from a regular one-story abode into what could technically be considered a modern military base. Sandbag walls, all ten feet wide and four feet tall, formed small amounts of cover every fifty feet, serving as the first padding to my defenses.

A chain-link fence, nearly twelve feet high, ran around the length of my property, topped with barbed, rusted twists of the chains and coiled razor wire. A rolling gate, locked by a dozen chains and padlocks, gave entry to about one-hundred feet of free space between defenses, overgrown with grass and weeds. A small trail of dirt, hardly five feet wide, ran the middle of this space, still noticeable through the overgrowth. With a brief tap of my equipment, I snatched up my old keyring, and began to undo the locks on the gate. Twilight didn't wait for me, merely flying over the barbs and onto the other side.

After I finished unlocking, the old, rusted gate squealed as I pulled it open, the loose chains clattering to the dust. Twilight walked slightly in front of me over the distance and passed the next defense, which sat in the middle of the space between the fence and the iron gates. Here, I had walls of punji stakes, matching the distances of the sandbags accordingly. Behind the punji stakes, another fifty feet or so, was a ten foot tall iron fence, the tops of each cast-iron bar topped with a cutie mark. Twilight's star, Fluttershy's butterfly, Applejack's apple, and so on down the line, forming another line of defense around my perimeter.

The gate had but a simple lock, so Twilight didn't simply buzz over the fence. As the lock fell free, the gate pulled to the side on a pair of rusty wheels, similar to the first fence, and lead onto the final stretch of space to my house, about fifty feet. There was a small street running the space around my house; a cobblestone road I put down with the help of the cowgirl pony friend of mine. Every thirty feet was a magically powered lamp, providing solid illumination in the twilight hours. The road all culminated into one concrete path, from my house, through the gates, and out the first line of defense.

Going up the bush-lined driveway to my humble abode, I stopped and stared at my old home. The garage door was unmarked, a cool beige across it, fitting well with the accented bricks of the home, which was primarily weight with a blackened roof. The home was flanked on the sides by a wooden picket fence, six feet high- redundant, at this point, but it was one of the few things I did with my father when I was young, so I felt no desire to remove it. Spinning my keys with a finger in the keyring, I caught them on the front door lock.

Twilight waited patiently as I stepped into my home for the first time in so long. The scent hit me immediately. Cucumber-melon. A mix I made myself with ingredients from my garden. A sweet, tangy scent that filled the entire house, a scent that I loved. I felt relaxed for the first time in ages; even moreso than when I was cleaning up my little Fluttershy. In that instant, I just felt... tired. So tired. Of everything. My gear felt incredibly heavy on my back, and I fell to my knees.

Twilight let out a low gasp from behind me, and quickly met my side. "Sifty! Are you okay?"

With no reply, I merely reached over and snatched the pony up in a colossal hug. She didn't resist, merely returning the gesture. "Yeah, pony. I'm okay. Just... glad to be back."

An idle hand undid the clips and belts on my equipment, and my weapons and armor pieces tumbled to the floor while Twilight and I embraced. Softy, gently, I leaned down and fell to the floor, still clutching Twilight. "Twi... you don't mind if I catch a quick nap with you, do I? I'm tired."

"Sifty, I would like that more than anything." Twilight gently cooed, with a smile. She nestled her face into my chest, laying atop me, and for once in a great while, I drifted off into a gentle, unwounded, desirable slumber.

Entry XIX: Country Livin' Is The Best Kinda Livin', by Siftstone

I woke with a jolt- rather, I woke to the sound of Twilight screaming at me, shaking me, and slapping me with the fish she found in my refrigerator. "SIFTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY" she howled, "HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALP-"

Moving quick, I grabbed the fish from her magical grip and slapped her with it. This seemed to calm her down. "What's going on?!" I growled, fumbling to put my gear on. "While you were asleep, a colossal portal tore open over your house! I need your help to close it!"

"Ah, Christ!"

The pony and I bailed outside, and when I looked up, my heart skipped a beat. It was the same kind of portal that dragged me into the witcher's realm. But something was different- it wasn't dragging me along with it. As I stepped forward to look into the portal, something broke inside me. I lost all my breath, went winded, and fell to my knees. "Sifty!" I heard Twily scream once again. Struggling to look up, difficulty catching my breath, I realized why Twilight screamed.

A massive wave of blue, white and orange energy was escaping my body and being pulled into the portal. The dragon's soul that I bore, it was being sucked clean out by this massive tear in reality. I could feel it- the ancient knowledge of every shout I learned, being pulled from me and escaping into the ether. I couldn't even bring to mind their names. Their words.

Just then, it stopped. It was over- the portal had reclaimed my new soul. Panting, I looked ahead- and realized my chainsword had also slipped from my back, and was slowly dragging along the floor. Struggling, I flopped towards it, crawling on hands and knees to grab at the weapon- but alas, it slowly flew out of my reach, it too being reclaimed by the portal. The thought hit me then- it was not taking my witchering blades!

But it didn't seem to want them. The portal closed up, an almost cartoonish zipping sound tearing across the land as it did. The world went black.

"Sifty... wake up, please..."

Don't wanna go down to Blighttown.

"Um... Blighttown? Sifty? Please wake up..."

Don't wanna go down to Blighttown.

"Sifty!"

Don't wanna go down to Blighttown.

"WAAAAAAAAKE UUUUUUUUUUUUP!"

"DON'T WANNA GO DOWN TO THAT POISON TOWN-AaAAAaGH. Fucking Christ, my everything hurts..." I whined, looking about and staring into the eyes of Fluttershy. "Sorry... too loud?"

I didn't reply to the little pony, merely tussling her mane a bit before standing up out of bed, a hand to my head. "Fffuuuuuck... How long was I out?"

"A couple of hours." Came Twilight's voice, as she trotted downstairs. "The portal did something to you, but neither I nor Fluttershy can figure out exactly what. We're just glad you're okay!"

"I know what it did..." I whispered. "When I started coming back, I gained the power to use the voice of old. A dragon's soul had intermingled with mine and granted me the ability to use shouts, a kind of magic used by dragons. I guess the universe I got the skill from wanted it's Mary Sue powers back."

"But what about that loud sword you had?" Twilight replied, "Surely enough you didn't get that from the same universe!"

"Apply enough phlebotinum to the story and it might make sense." I replied, reaching into my coat pocket and pulling out a small potion vial filled with a misty, blue fluid. As Twilight questioned me about the good old TVtropes term, I swallowed it- the world went white for a moment, and I felt better almost instantly. I snapped my fingers, summoning a brief gout of flame, which snapped Twilight out of her pondering and startled Fluttershy.

"I need to stop waking up in your house, Flutters." I stroked the pony's mane, standing up and checking my equipment, "Someone might get the wrong idea. I would love to stay and chat, little ponies, but there's much work to be done."

Before they could voice any more replies, I was quickly out the door.

The Hive Guardian I was hunting was completely and totally resistant to all of my Signs- if only because I couldn't seem to cast any in its presence. Clearly, the runes carved into its flesh were creating some sort of air of silence. Be that as it may, the pommel of my sword seemed to do the job of putting the bastard down well enough. Though I had no time for games, I could at least prove to these bastards that their resistances, mutations, conversions- it was all for naught. Regardless of any adaptions they take, there is nothing more powerful than a witcher's blade.

I pressed my boot into the Guardian's head, pressing its face down into the mud. The ire in its body was easily detectable in a ten mile radius, but there was nothing it could do. Both of its blades severed, all of the tendons in its limbs cut loose, it could only struggle to flop its thick neck to protect itself. With a scoff, I raised my silver blade. "Nighty night."

SHINKT

The green, baleful light faded from the Nightmare's eyes, and I unthinkingly stuck my trophy hook through them. Another corpse for the cart. Another job off the board. But, alas, there was still much to do. I needn't collect the bits on these bounties- it was pointless. The only things I needed to spend money on were ingredients for my potions, oils and explosives, but ponies were all too eager to help, and Everfree was still rich in resources.

I simply trudged into town, staked my trophy on a pike in the town square, and declared another job finished. Before the next hunt, I would sit, polish my blades, sharpen them, and finally apply an oil suitable to the hunt.

Sitting on the steps of the town hall, ponies giving me appreciative nods as they passed, I pulled my baldric off and placed both of my swords next to me. Pulling a rag and a small jar of pink matter from the pack on my lower back, I unsheathed the steel sword I had brought from home. A gift from long past, long before my first experiences in this land, it was a large german bastard sword, a gorgeous piece of work. I had chosen to name it Strunfiik- Storm's Reflection, in the language of dragons. I polished the blade to a mirror finish, and moved on to my silver blade. When all was said and done, I unwrapped the small scroll that held another contract.

"To all able-bodied ponies,
My name is Lady Rarity. You may know me as the local fashion designer and owner of the Carousel Boutique. Indeed, most know of me from the awe my designs inspire- however, the brightness that was once my boutique has been extinguished by a horde of monsters I know all too well. They are called Mannequins, and they have been a plague upon my work ever since I was but a little filly. Beasts made manifest from fear, latching onto the most familiar and conveniently hollow forms they could find- a clothing store mannequin. They were once little more than a nuisance. However, ever since the loss of the Cham"

The writing cut off, there. The contract itself seemed to have been stained by tears. At the bottom of the page, it was written in much less elegant form.

"please help me"

Mannequins were classed as Specters. Oil made from a boiled fat and the essential essence of the Arenaria Montana flower would surround my blade in a coating capable of lingering within the spectral bodies of creatures that were not meant to be on this side of this mortal coil. Thankfully, I always had an oil on hand. With my silver blade ready to go, I began my march to carousel boutique.

Just as I arrived, I realized that Rarity would likely flip her shit if she saw me out of the blue, especially if I only came just now, and only to cover a contract. Regardless, I needed this job done. With a few brief knocks, I heard Rarity's voice announcing that she was on her way. When the pony opened her door, she looked a sight- as if she had stopped taking care of herself. Eyes were low and melancholy. She stared straight ahead, as if to meet another pony's eyes. However, as she drifted up and met my scarred face, her eyes exploded to life.

"Sifty!"

With that, she slammed into me, squeezing around my waist so much I was sure to have an imprint of chainmail in my skin. "Darling! Where have you been?! They said..."

"...Who said?"

"...Nothing, nothing! Oh, my dear, sweet Sifty! You simply can't fathom how bad it's been without you!" The pony squealed, finally loosing her hug and stepping back, the makeup trailing down her cheeks.

"Oh, trust me. I've got the message." I coughed. "Listen, sweetheart, it's great to see you again. I would love to catch up, but I'm dreadfully busy as it is."

"I... I would figure as much. I'm guessing you're here about my mannequin problem?"

"Correct."

"...Follow me, please."

Once again, I found myself facing the massive barricade at the bottom of the stairs to the upper floor of Rarity's boutique. "One showed up, following the usual trend. I could take care of one- simply rolling up a newspaper and slapping it about was enough to drive it off. But others kept coming. They would show up in pairs, and eventually entire groups would come. It was maddening to stay inside the boutique.

"Even so, I kept trying to fight them off. But, it was all for not. They found me, wherever I slept, to the point where it was impossible to sleep and I was just about to collapse. None of us were capable of handling so many of them at once- it's as if they've got a little bit of Nightmare in each of them!

"Finally, I simply waited at the top floor, and triggered an avalanche of furniture as soon as I was sure that all of them were in the top floor, waiting for me to try and sleep in my own bed. I escaped just as the last couch fell, sealing them all within. Twilight and the others helped board up the windows from outside. Nobody's been able to help, since. I took the only solace I could in at least being able to sleep in my own home, but my business has suffered dreadfully."

I nodded along to Rarity's explanation, taking mental notes of what was occurring. I observed the barricade- certainly sturdy enough for a possessed mannequin-thing to have difficulty clearing, but loose enough for a single one of my Aard signs to clear. With a nod, I looked down to Rarity. "Fluttershy and Twilight know that I've returned. Rainbow, Pinkie and Applejack don't, though I wouldn't be surprised if word has spread. Go to Fluttershy's cottage, wait there while I sort this out.

"Please, don't be too long, Sifty. You should be ashamed of yourself, you know. Making a lady wait..." She sighed, a light smile on her lips- a rare thing to see, I would assume, after the last few months. "Oh, and Sifty? Thank you for bringing back my little sister. She refused to tell me who helped her..." With that, she quickly gathered a few of her things, and swiftly left the boutique, the door echoing as it slammed shut.

Cracking my knuckles, I pulled free my silver blade, and pulled a very small bottle of murky, bluish-black fluid off of my shoulder. With a heavy exhalation, I stuck the bottle in my mouth, tore the cork out, spat it away, and guzzled down the contents of the bottle. Color turned grey as black veins criss-crossed my vision, and I could feel my sinuses roaring alight in pain and pressure. Half a second later, and it was done. The potion had its desired effect. As I wiped an errant drop of blood from my nose and flicked it away, I could hear it sizzle.

Taking a sharp breath, I braced myself, and thrust my hand outward, loosing a heavy telekinetic blast that smashed away all the furniture and blockage of the stairs. As the dust settled, I pulled a flare from my pack, struck it, and hurled it into the upper floor, filling the blackened room with a baleful, crimson glow. My mirrored sword almost seemed to be aflame as the flare's fire gleamed off the polished silver, and I could feel nonexistent eyes locking onto me.

I waited. No motion. No action. I could see them all in the red, posing as if they were nothing more than ordinary mannequins. But there were heartbeats. Ghostly life pulsing into each of them. My ears twitched and my neurons fired, begging me to take action and cut them down. But still, I waited. Finally, a rustle- barely audible amidst the hiss of the burning flare. One second. Two seconds...

Now!

With a hearty grunt, I grapevined my legs and gracefully stepped around the lunge of a mannequin, a lunge it didn't anticipate to miss, and it landed face-first into another, causing them both to stumble. The sheer volume of bodies in the room, the distance between them all, caused every mannequin to fall out of its pose and trip, flail and fall, bringing down their illusion like a paraplegic giraffe. With a smirk, I brought my sword up.

Whirling forward, I span and brought my blade around the room, each step fueling my swirling momentum and cleaving through specter after specter, each creature helpless on the ground after being so unpredictably stunned by a single slip. Mannequins were absolutely worthless if they lost their only advantage, and as such, they were little more than small animals, lambs for the slaughter, bodies for the cart. As my whirl came to an end, I stood motionless in the center of the room, spectral blood dripping off my blade and fading into the ether as the invasive souls I cut down returned across the veil.

Sheathing my blade, I began to make an exit. Just as I reached the stairs, I was slammed into from behind, and pinned down by, what I assumed, was a mannequin that hid under the corpses of its fallen allies. With a ghostly wail, it sunk its hidden teeth into my neck, only for me to elbow it in the neck before it could tear through any further. Stumbling back on the ground, I swiped the handgun off my thigh and aimed, as the mannequin chuckled quietly to itself.

"Foolish human. You cannot kill all of us. So long as one of us remains, there will always be another left to torment that worthless pony."

"You stupid motherfucker." I all but giggled, pressing a hand to my neck. "Good night."

The mannequin stared at me, wondering what I could possibly have meant. It clearly seemed to have claimed the advantage. Another laugh left my lungs as the mannequin looked down at its hooves, now beginning to turn grey as black veins creeped across its lightly blooded, white form. As soon as it noticed, heavy, hacking coughs left it, and soon enough, it had keeled over, spasming in pain. Such is the toll of the Black Blood potion, making sure that the witcher who drinks it always gets the last laugh.

I holstered my pistol, reaching into my side pack and frisking a flask full of swirling, lightly glowing white liquid. A quick guzzle of said fluid, and my wounds closed up just about instantly, though the toxic shock of the potion made my vision blur. Wiping my hands, I began to clear the stiffened mannequin corpses out of the boutique, only to light them up on a mass pyre.

Not wasting time, I idly rubbed the healed-over wound on my neck, and moved on to my next contract, while there was still light out.

"Hey! Applejack, here!
Been a lot of creepy things happening at the apple farm, lately. My sis' says she's been seeing Nightmares all around the apple orchard. I didn't wanna believe her, at first, but then I saw the biggest Nightmare I've ever laid eyes on, even bigger than the one that Sif The Champion saved me from a long ways back. I watched it for a while, and I reckon that it's some kind of pack leader, an alpha. I'm willing to give a hefty lotta bits if someone can get it away from my farm!"

Girl can't even bring herself to write my name down. That, or she doesn't want to upset anyone that knew me close enough to know that was my name. Though I believed what Applejack wrote on her contract- she was the Element of Honesty, after all- I had to make very sure that I was hunting an Alpha. Nightmare Alphas, I had very little information on them, myself. If I wanted to prepare for this hunt properly, I would need to talk to someone.

Think she would enjoy the visit.

Twilight was still at Fluttershy's, or was out doing errands, because I didn't feel her presence anywhere near her library. But that was of no importance, because my intended contact was still sitting cozy in her little bed in Twilight's room. My reconverted Nightmare friend smiled as her gorgeous blue eyes realized who was approaching her, and she stood up, adorably stretching all her limbs, almost like a cat. "Hello, Champion!"

"Good afternoon, Beryl. Was wondering if you could help me with something."

"Of course!" She chirped, trotting over and gazing proudly up at me. "I'm guessing it has to do with my former allegiances?"

"Aye. When we first met, you told me a bunch of shit your Alpha had fed you."

"Indeed, lies to a lower ranking Nightmare in order to convince my freshly redeveloped brain that I was actually doing something. Why do you ask?"

"Where was this Alpha stationed? I've got a contract for him."

Beryl thought it over for a moment, rubbing her blades together idly and flicking her tail before she suddenly popped up in realization. "Ah, yes, if my memory serves me correctly, the Alpha should still be in the orchard near that orange pony. How much do you know about him?"

"Next to nothing."

With this, Beryl smiled once more, and used her magic to grab onto my hand. She led me to a table, pulled out a chair, and sat me down, as she took a seat across from me. She explained to me exactly what a Nightmare Alpha was. Alphas were mountains of meat- standing almost as high as a Nightbeast. They were encased in impenetrable armor, and their backblades had the strength to split trees with almost no effort. They were heavy and huge, preferring to flatten opponents in an all-out charge. However, they had their vulnerabilities- primarily, only their fronts were armored. Their backsides, and the joints along their limbs, were completely vulnerable. Furthermore, the armor mutations attached to them were metallic- if I could set an Alpha alight, I could theoretically cook its skull in its own armor.

I thanked the little Nightmare, and with a hug, I left for Sweet Apple Acres.

As I moved forward, the intense cloudiness began to rumble. Icy water hit my cheeks as it began to pour down rain. This was perfectly fine- I always felt like rain helped me rejuvenate. Besides, it was hot in this bloody armor I wore. For that matter, I needed to get a new set- I had been wearing this barely modified set for ages. Something my mentor pulled out of the armory back at the fort where I underwent mutation. It was handy, but variety is the spice of life.

I passed under the arch that marked the start of apple property, and made my way towards the house. A spot of orange in the distance was struggling to move a cart of hay out of the mud, slipping over the reigns she grabbed with her teeth and shoulders, falling in the mud. She seemed ludicrously tuckered out. Moving out of the way of the cart, she sat under the roof of the barn, wiping at her eyes with her hat. Dammit, Aj...

Rushing over, I slammed my weight into the back of the cart, my speed jostling the cart out of the puddle it was stuck in. I continued pushing, eventually moving the cart into the safety of the barn. Applejack had just finished straining out her hat when she came to see where the cart had gone. "Ah, horseapples, Macintosh! I told ya' that I didn't need yer help!" she puffed, before looking into the barn proper. "W-wait just a minute, here... My mind ain't playin' tricks on me, is it?"

"Nope."

With that, the pony turned into a blur of orange and slammed into me with such force that she managed to throw me onto my back. Tearful, but hesitant to show it, the little pony muffled a sob in my shoulder as I closed a hand over her back. "Sifty..."

"Aye, Applejack, it's me. Surprised you recognized me so fast, what with the-"

"Glowin' eyes, long hair, fancy armor? Come now, partner! Ain't no mistakin' that voice!"

Girl had a point. She stepped off, and I rose to my feet, brushing mud off my sleeve. "I heard the rumors, but I didn't wanna make any assumptions. Got hopeful before, only led to disappointment..."

"Well, I'm back, cowgirl. I've been saying this to pretty much everybody I've reacquainted with at this point, but-"

"Yeah, I know. Yer' here on account of the contract I put up. Tell me, first, though- who else knows yer' back?"

I accounted for those that knew of my return, truly and fully. Applejack accepted this, and sighed. "Figured as much. Well, anythin' ya' need to know?"

"No, Aj. I've just gotta build a few bombs... Actually, do you still have your cider distillery?"

"Yeah, why?"

I spent a while taking the excess moonshine that resulted from the hard cider Applejack brewed, filling up my explosive pouches to precise amounts and testing the resulting proof of the alcohol within. After I was satisfied with the possible result of lighting the moonshine up, I stuck a fuse into the mouth of each pouch and placed each bomb in a sash around my waist. Indeed, the proof was high enough that the flame could burn, even in this rainy dimension. That's what a Dancing Star was all about. Glorified goddamn molotov.

With that, I went into the apple acres. The ponies were quite fortunate not to have been direct victims of these senseless assholes- then again, they probably haven't gone out to work the orchard for a good, long time. The trail was immediately obvious- mostly due to the fact that the Nightmares were relatively close by already, and due to the fact that the rain had muddied the earth. Drawing my silver sword once again, I took off after the trail.

Half a mile into the orchard, lulling myself to sleep due to the peace of the rain and the inaction of my quarry, I decided to take a brief knee and catch some respite. As I stuck my sword in the earth and began to drift into a half-meditative state, I heard something a few trees over. Curious, I stood up, and stealthily made my way over to the source of the noise. There, I saw several Nightmares seemingly doing battle with a creature I remember from a hunt ever-so-long ago, and something I was tracking late yesterday, before Twilight interrupted me.

A Whisper. A ghostly being I had next to no information on. An atrophied body, constantly dripping with fog and smoke, came to a sharp, mouthless, head, with a pair of short, bladed arms leading the front. The Nightmares galloped to and fro, clashed blades with the ghostly mits of the Whisper before it simply phased through them, almost seeming to rob them of their essence- the Nightmare in question crumbling to little more than a black skeleton after the deed was done. The Nightmare Alpha was there, too- but it had much better luck against the Whisper. I had an advantage, here- two birds with one stone.

Or, rather, three stones.

I swiped a small glass orb of bluish liquid off my belt. Inside it, thousands of tiny, silver flakes sloshed about. Moon Dust- this would scatter a field of silver throughout a great radius of space, making anything caught within lose its otherworldly powers. In my other hand, I held a tightly wrapped ball of cloth- this was a Dragon's Dream, which would release a cloud of explosively flammable gas. Lighting the Dream with an brief flick of my fingers, I tossed both bombs into the fray, just as another Nightmare fell to the Whisper.

Neither quarry knew how to react as both bombs went off. The Whisper lost its ability to seemingly steal life, and the Alpha became extremely defensive instead of the roaring offensiveness it had borne a scant few seconds ago. I finished this triple-threat with a single one of the Dancing Star bombs I had prepared- and quickly ducked behind cover.

BOOM

The Whisper, it was unaffected by the flames, but the lesser Nightmares that were still functional were crispy as soon as the gas from the previous bomb had caught. The Alpha struggled to stay away, shaking its head around, ineffectively trying to extinguish the flames on its head. It's roars of superiority had whittled down to nothing more than pathetic screams; the last breaths of a dying animal. Finally, with an earth-shaking collapse, the Alpha fell to the earth.

The Whisper turned, and I could feel its eyes on me- even behind cover. Either it saw me, the direction the bombs came from, or it had some sort of life-seeking abilities. It had to be the former, because the Moon Dust made the creature wholly incapable of using any supernatural abilities. Stepping out, Aerondight's blade dripping with rainwater, I took my stance across from the Whisper. With not a sound, it effortlessly floated towards me, rearing back its frontal claws.

As the beast was floating, I quickly dashed forward, only to slide underneath it, dragging my blade along its exposed gut. It recoiled, swiftly flailing to the side, as I rolled to my feet, ready to strike again- and I did. Before the Whisper could float away as it did before, I took a heavy step forward and launched my body into a pirouette, bringing the spinning gleam of my blade almost cleanly through the creature's face. Several Nightmares lay dead, the Whisper I was tracking about to be a headless corpse, the Nightmare Alpha charging at me with intent to kill-

Wait, shit.

Entry XX: Sexposition by Kildeez

TWO WEEKS EARLIER

I have to say, for the opening to a horror movie, Sifty’s digs wouldn’t do too bad. Not even a cheesy one like you’d see on the SyFy channel alongside classics such as “Sharknado 3” and “Sharktopus vs. Whalewolf.” I’m talking “The Conjuring” or “Insidious” level shit here.

Opening shot: fade in on a creaking, old house, the eaves wrinkling with age, paint chipped and in desperate need of a new coat, windows covered in dust, lawn yellowing and unkempt. Until a group of sexy young coeds decides that the place would be the perfect spot for a kegger, despite the rumors that Old Man MacCready’s ghost still roams the halls fifty years after he murdered those orphans…

Nah, bored with the idea already.

“Welp, no time like the present,” I enthuse, grasping the picket fence and lunging over it. As I come back down, I wince and look at my hand. A splinter stands up out of the palm. Yeah, this place has definitely seen better days.

“Th-this is the place?” Cypher whispers.

“Yeppers!” I reply cheerfully, offering a hand up to help both him and the princess over after I yank the splinter out of my flesh. Still smiling, I whip out Shelly and check the chamber to make sure a fresh shell is loaded. “And who knows what the hell is waiting for us in there! Isn’t it exciting!?”

“No…” he whimpers.

“My marehood is already quivering in anticipation,” Chittery replies smartly.

“That’s the spirit, you filthy pervert!” I cry, bounding across the field like a gazelle spotting a lion on the African savannah. Whooping, I stop just as one sneakered foot lands on the creaking wooden porch, allowing a final, contented sigh before I clench the shotgun close to my chest, the metal creaking in my grip.

The front door squeals a complaint as I step through, shotgun levelled, sweeping tactically from side-to-side. A few steps in, I wave to Chittery and Cypher, who follow close behind with horns glowing, ready to cast a shield or a quick stun spell if needed. Unsurprisingly enough, Sift’s old digs are totally Spartan, the bareness on the walls only periodically interrupted with a weapon bolted in place or a porcelain cat on a shelf or a Nightmare’s head on a trophy plate.

“How homey,” Chittery muses, scanning the walls as she steps in behind me. “We sure this guy wasn’t just a serial killer?”

“Oi! Show some respect,” I grumble, sweeping Shelly past the next open doorways. My eyes dart everywhere at once, trying to absorb everything at the same time without growing new eyeballs. Yes, I have tried it before. No, it’s not as useful as it sounds. The human brain is hardwired for one point of view: a narrow cone of vision directly in front of us. Sure 360° vision sounds awesome, but try and walk and orient yourself within that cone, and you just wind up tripping over shit and almost blasting your mom in the face with a ton of birdshot.

Aww, don’t give me that look, Chryssie would’ve been fine! Maybe looked like she’d gone into a paintball match wearing nothing but a sundress and a bullseye over her face, but fine!

“Clear so far!” Chittery chimes from the room next to me.

“Okay, I say we keep our guards up until the whole place is clear,” I shout. “We do that, then bed in the living room for tonight, clear?”

“Clear!” The changelings shout behind me. I smile. You gotta love working with military.

I nod to them both. The three of us take our own tour of Sifty’s house, room by room, each floor at a time. Cypher’s at my side while Chittery watches our backs, because of course she does. Any excuse for catching some flank/ass. Whatever, at least I know she’s good at it. We don’t see anything during our tour de force through Sifty’s old digs, but of course where the Nightmare’s concerned, that doesn’t mean a damn thing.

“Alright,” I announce, strapping Shelly to my back while gazing around the concrete walls of Sifty’s basement. “That’s everywhere.”

Cypher lets out a long sigh of relief as the glow off his horn fades. “So we can relax.”

“Not quite,” Chittery points out. “We still haven’t found Mr. Nut Diddle, nor have we found any sign of what happened to him. Which means we still need to be on the lookout for whatever might have taken him.”

Cypher bites his lip. “I-isn’t that pony’s name ‘Peanut Brittle’?”

“Is it?” She grins lecherously and licks her lips. “My mistake.”

“Fer Chrissakes, woman,” I growl as I head up the stairs, towards the light. “Just five minutes without an attempt at either of our dicks, please? That would be…”

Something rushes past the open door. Something black, a total blur that I can’t even make out, but definitely there. In a flash, the shotgun is in my hands again, and I stomp up the stairs, raising it even as I elbow my way out into the light, shotgun levelled. “Fucking come out!” I scream. “I know you’re there! Don’t think you can fuck with me! I’ll rip your goddamned head off!”

“Kildeez!” I turn to the side, and there’s Chittery, horn aglow, eyes peering behind me. Watching my back again, it just brings a smile to my face. “What was it!? What did you see!?”

“I-uh…” there was the million-dollar question. Just what did I see? A rushing shadow in the dark? A…

…a monster, a thing bent on killing you and your friends. Act now. Destroy everything now, before they get to you, before they make you like the mare in the Black Mamba, you remember that one K? You remember how…

Shut the fuck up. “Nothing,” I reply, holstering my shotgun again. “Nothing at all. Trick of the light, had to be.”

Chittery eyes me for a second, then stands down, her horn extinguishing. Cypher pokes his head up after us, his reactions apparently a tad behind both of ours. “What the h-hell was that!?” He stammers fearfully.

“Nothing, Cyphy,” Chittery says, eyeing me suspiciously. “K got spooked by his own shadow, is all.”

“O-oh,” by the look on his face, I can tell he’s not exactly convinced either. “O-okay, should we-we setup camp?”

I finally note the elongating shadows in the hallway and the rosy hue from the windows. It’s been a long day, lot longer than I thought. “Alright. Be nice to have a roof over us tonight.”

Cypher grins at us both. Chittery and I return the grin for him, though mine is a little more pasted on, since the whole time I have to ignore the sensation of dark, feral eyes on the back of my neck, all while repeating to myself: not me, I’m fine, I’m okay, that’s not who I am…

Chittery takes the couch, of course. Cypher and I busy ourselves gathering up pillows, blankets, and anything else we can salvage to make the floor cozy. Still, the entire time we work making the plain linoleum comfortable, I can’t help but smile. This will be the first time I’ve slept with a roof over my head in weeks. And with cool weather to boot, no need to even switch on the AC, we just crack one of the windows looking out on the dying lawn.

“What’re you looking at?”

I turn to see Chittery all cuddled up in a little blanket on the couch, peering at me expectedly. With her soft, massive eyes peering just over the cover, I’d say she looks cute. Adorable, even. I smile easily at her.

“Just thinkin’ Sift is gonna need some serious fertilizer when he makes it back,” I reply, my smile fading. “If he makes it back.”

Noting my plummeting mood, Chittery’s quick to react: “What was he like?” She asks suddenly.

I arch an eyebrow and take a seat on the floor, using a pillow as my cushion. “I already toldja, remember? Showed you when we first met?”

“No, you only showed what he looked like,” she shoots back. “But who was he? Sifty the human, I mean.”

“I hear ya,” I reply, finally catching her drift. My eyes slide closed as I review everything I have stored up on Siftstone, trying to summarize what I see, piece together a few constants. Problem is, I keep coming up with some blanks. “Honestly, even now it’s hard to say. He was really good at keeping himself walled-up, y’know? I think the ponies managed to break through that wall once, but once they got too busy and started ignoring him…”

“The walls went right back up, stronger than ever,” she nods sagely.

“You got it,” I smile and lean back, my eyes rolling up to the ceiling in a way I hope looks coy and thoughtful, but probably looks like I’m begging God to let me know why my partnership in this apocalypse needed to go from a stone-cold badass warrior-swordsman to a warped changeling scared of its own shadow and a nymphomaniac royal. “Still, every now and again I would catch a glimpse of something.”

“Oh? Like what?” She asks, giggling at my attempt to look all wizened and shit.

I pause, my eyes drifting down to her. Her giggling stops as her eyes lock with mine. “Strength,” I state, my smile shrinking but still there. “You probably already figured that out, but yeah, he had that old Balkans strength in him.”

“Balkans strength?”

“It’s this area back on Earth filled with dozens of ethnic groups that all hate each other, squeezed together by centuries of invasion, retreat, genocide, and colonization. The Balkans are the best way into Europe from Asia, you see: two massive continents where the Balkans are the only land bridge that isn’t underwater or ball-shrinkingly cold. It’s the best route for trade, and for invaders from either the European or Asian side. So, for example, the Turks come in, slashing and burning to get at their prize in central Europe, and the Serbs run like hell to get away, which leaves the land empty for the Albanians to spread from the hills and introduce themselves as yet another faction in a region already filled with Croats, Bosniaks, Russians, and what have you.” I give a derisive snort. “Lather, rinse, repeat for the better part of a thousand years, and you got a melting pot where everyone has been throwing the better part of their courage and ingenuity in finding new and exciting ways to rip each other to pieces for centuries.”

“Th-this is one of those wars you were telling me a-about, isn’t it?” Cypher asks, his hooves propping his chin up like a schoolboy receiving his lesson.

“You gotcha,” I cock my head in his direction and flash a winning smile. Someone’s been listening. “Now, Sift wasn’t born in the Balkans, but he did have a lot of blood there, and the way he acted, you’d think he must have gone through some of the worst wars that region’s had to offer these past few years. I figure some of that has to do with those walls he had around himself, and the raw strength keeping ‘em up.”

“But if he wasn’t over in that area…” Chittery frowns, “…what happened to him that made him put those walls up in the first place?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, hot stuff,” I shrug, splaying my hands. “He was always real guarded around me, and once I let slip that I knew who he was without him telling me, the walls only got higher. But that strength was always there, even when you’d think it shouldn’t have been, like when he was sleeping, or when we stopped in one of the towns left empty.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Everywhere we went, he would treat the things left behind by the ponies with the utmost respect. He’d handle them like they were relics from an ancient civilization. And still, I’d look over and that old hardness would be in his eyes. He’d be looking over a photo of some lost pony family, and his body language would say: ‘I’d be giving these ponies hugs and belly rubs if they were here,’ only his eyes would still say: ‘and if a Nightmare showed its ugly mug I’d sacrifice everything I had to put it down and keep them safe, all for them.’ Do you understand?”

Chittery looks me over, those wide eyes shimmering with something I can’t quite place, but does look familiar on her face. “Yeah, I think I do,” she whispers.

Reflecting back on her time looking over Pinkie Pie while she slept, I figure Chittery might be talking about herself. But those eyes…no, those eyes are locked with mine, as if she’d been gazing into them all along and I’m only now noticing.

A tiny smile curls at the corners of her lips. I smile back. She leans forward on her hooves. Surprisingly, I find myself mirroring her, drawing in. She closes her eyes with a pleasant smile. I close mine. We draw in, the woody, oaken smell of the room being replaced with sweat, chitin, and a rather nice undertone of saliva and…

Cupcakes?

I open my eyes. Cypher looks up at me as if I were a bear, his body suspended in the light glow of Chittery's magic. “S-sorry,” he insists. “She said she’d never sleep with me again if I didn’t do it.”

“Aww, what the fuuuucckkkkk!?” I scream, throwing myself back and wiping at my mouth while Chittery rolls on the couch, laughing her little black ass off.

“The look on your face!” She shrieks, hooves wrapping around her stomach to ease the laughter. “Totally worth it, you clopper freak! Totally!”

I grimace down at her, my fury building. But no. I will not give in like that. I’ll come up with something a whole helluva lot better, and something that came to mind during our little conversation might help me do just that. “Alright, little miss smart-flank, your turn!”

“Ooh!” She coos, fluttering her eyelashes prettily. “I get to smooch Cypher, too?”

“No,” I grin, a wicked one this time. “I had my storytime, so now it’s yours: what’s with you and the little pink ball of hyperactivity?”

At that, her laughter stops dead. She sits up, cringing under my gaze. “Now’s not…”

“Don’t give me that,” I growl mercilessly. “Now’s the perfect time, and you damn well know it.”

She sighs, sitting up with her hooves propping her against a pillow. “Fair enough,” she says, shaking her head. “I kinda had this coming, didn’t I?”

“’Kinda’ nothing, girly,” I sit back down, folding my arms over my chest and smirking triumphantly.

“Fine, fine,” she waves a hoof as she sits up on the couch. “I guess it’s only fair. You guys should probably know, anyway.”

Cypher and I stay silent. Whatever it is the Princess is talking about, we’re not going to interrupt it. She’s obviously got a lot to unload.

“Back when I was still a teenager, my sister banished me from the Hive for a while,” she sighs, rubbing a hoof against her temple. Obviously, this story requires her to go to a very painful spot in her past. My smile fades. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea…

“Oh right!” Cypher pipes up suddenly. “I r-remember that day!”

“I should hope so! It was the day after you caught me with the showerhead!” She grins with a little wink, earning another one of Cypher’s obligatory blushes. Her smile doesn’t last long, though. “I was young and inexperienced. Honestly, if it hadn’t been for a tiny stroke of very good luck, I probably would’ve died of starvation within the first month.”

“And that bit of luck was…” I motion for her to carry on.

Her gaze breaks away from me, drifting over to the window. “Crumble Pie, an elderly mare living on the bounds of the Everfree,” she replies, not looking at either of us.

Cypher and I sit there, dumbfounded for a second, when the pieces come together in my head. “Hold on, Crumble and Pinkie!?”

She nods. “Not bad, Doofus, not bad at all,” she faces us again, her chin quivering, her eyes shimmering in the fading light. “Crumble Pie was Pinkie’s grandmother. Of course, I didn’t know that at the time, and nopony knew that Pinkie was gonna grow up to be a damned national hero, but Crumble was a kind mare, and even with me looking like my normal, sexy, but young and freaky changeling self, she recognized a kid in need and took me in.”

“Wow,” Cypher whispers. “She must’ve been a saint.”

“She was,” Chittery whispers. “I would disguise myself as a visiting friend when the Pies came over with Pinkie and her sisters, and she treated those mares with more love and care than you’ve ever seen a pony treat anyone. She did all the grandma things with both them and me: baked cookies, taught us how to sew…”

“You keep using her in the past tense,” I point out, now sitting up. “What happened to her?”

Chittery droops immediately. Her chin sinks to her chest, her gaze drifting to the pillow directly in front of her. “Like I said,” she whispers. “I was young and inexperienced. Do you guys know about the risks of a changeling that overfeeds on its targets?”

I frown. I do remember Chryssie telling me a thing or two about overfeeding on love. The creature I chose could suffer a whole host of nasty effects over time. Even passive feeding: plucking the love right out of the aura around a loving creature, could have its side effects, especially if I ever did it around any elderly, because their weak hearts made them especially vulnerable to…complications…

“Oh no,” I whisper, my fingers trailing over my face.

“Y-you didn’t…you couldn’t!” Cypher gasps, apparently realizing what I just had.

“I did,” Chittery whispers, her chin still on her chest. “It happened so fast. Just a normal night, us reading by the fireplace, I was sort of sampling on her love like it was a fuckin’ bag of potato chips, and suddenly she just…dropped.”

At that, Chittery looks up, the words spilling out of her mouth almost as fast as the tears from her eyes. “I looked up from my book, and she was on the ground by her old rocker. I tried to bring her back but I was only barely starting to learn how to control magic and I only knew a little CPR and I beat on her chest until…until I felt her ribs break. It didn’t do any good.”

We’re all silent for a while. It’s just us, the creaking of the house settling, and the occasional bird that wanders into our little pocket dimension. My mind goes blank; it’s Cypher who finally breaks the silence: “So wh-what happened then?”

“Well, Pinkie still needed her Grammy-Pie, and I still needed to eat,” Chittery smiles thinly at us and looks up at last, wiping tears from her eyes. “Win-win, you know?”

Another few moments of awkward silence, then without thinking, I dart to my feet and close the distance between us, wrapping my arms around the changeling. Cypher joins me in a second, cuddling us both close with his tendrils, minding his blades so he doesn’t accidentally slice us. “You were a kid,” I whisper. “You couldn’t have known.”

“She saved my life,” she whispers back, her tears soaking the front of my undershirt. “She saved me at my lowest point, and I murdered her and took her place.”

“Y-you were a kid,” Cypher offers up a gentle hoof, and sometimes, that’s all you really need. Chittery sniffles a little bit more, but the worst of the crying is behind us now. She pulls back, wiping at her nostrils with the back of her leg, any stray mucus getting caught up.

“Thanks, guys,” she whispers, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, you two are the first ones I’ve ever been able to tell about this.”

“No kiddin’?” I ask. “Huh. That’s pretty awesome.”

“Wh-what happened later?” Cypher asks. “How’d you survive the rest of y-your time in Equestria?”

“Simple, I became Crumble Pie,” Chittery shrugs, as though it were obvious. “I was the granny Pinkie still needed. I did all the loving things Crumble had done with me: I coddled Pinkie by the fireplace and read to her on cold nights, I told her she could do anything when she would come to me in tears because life on the rock farm just wasn’t working the way it should’ve been…”

At this, she giggles a little through her tears. “…I even taught her a few tricks to beat back the worst of estrus when it started happening to her, and as a teenaged mare myself, lemme tell you, sometimes it was hard not to rip off my disguise and run into the village to throw myself at the first cock I saw.”

“Is everything about sex with you?” I laugh gently.

“Yes,” she replies with a tiny giggle. “Have we not established that?”

We all embrace just a little too long to be considered just friendly. But really, I’m already starting to think of these two as a bit more than friends. I’ve fought with them both, and they’ve proven themselves to be capable. What’s more, we’ve bared things to one another that mere acquaintances could never learn. I can’t help but smile contentedly to myself. Yeah, a couple of good friends sounds nice to me right now. There’s only one thing to spoil it.

“Chittery, please take your hoof off my ass,” I insist.

“Sorry, can’t blame a mare for trying.”

“Actually, I can, so if you please…”

“Ugh…fine…” she grumbles, giving me a final squeeze and a pat before sending me off on my jolly way. We all sit there awhile, just glad to have sympathetic ears for our troubles and trusted eyes for our backs.

Although not for our backsides. I’ve already moved my ass as close to the wall as I can, and Cypher has followed suit. Guard your black cherries, people.

“Hey,” Chittery points out. “So that’s massive, revelatory dialogue for me and you, but what about the new guy?”

I blink, and then my eyes light up. “Oh yeah! Cypher!”

The Nightling looks around, eyes wide as though he were a deer caught in headlights. “Wait, me?”

“You see any other blade-wielding sex machines around here, hot stuff?” Chittery purrs as I roll my eyes.

“Yeah man, you,” I point at him, my elbows propped up on the floor. “C’mon, what’s your story? You know something about the Nightmare we all don’t?”

“N-no I…” he frowns. “Y-you guys, I don’t have a-anything like that. I’m sorry. It was pretty much just: ‘rrr…train up your fighting skills or the ponies will get you,’ or ‘rrr…train up your powers or we’ll feed you to the veterans.’ J-just training and training from the moment I crawled out of my transfiguration sac. There’s not much more to it, and everything from before the transformation is still fuzzy and blurred.”

“Wow,” Chittery grumbles. “Sounds boring.”

Cypher pauses, and looks out the window at the setting sun for a second. “Y-you know what? It was!” He chuckles and shakes his head. “It really was. But I didn’t have anything else t-to relate it to without my memories, s-so it didn’t occur t-to me how boring things really were. The only th-thing I had to look forward to was my first field r-raid.”

“Oh yeah?” I sit up in my spot, eyeing him.

“Y-yeah,” he replies. “After a couple months, n-new converts got to go out in the field on a r-raid, with supervision from some of the m-more fully-converted.”

“Give you guys a taste of blood with proper supervision to make sure you only saw what you were supposed to see and felt what you were supposed to feel,” Chittery says, her muzzle wrinkling with disgust.

“How effective,” I grimace. “You see it all the time with tyrants and warlords back home. They do it at a young age: makes sure the next generation will have even more loyalty to the state. I gotta say, that’s damn smart. Hideous and cruel, but damn smart of the Nightmare Collective.”

“Y-yeah, i-it was pretty much just e-eat, sleep, and fight to t-train ourselves. N-never even occurred to most of us that there could be…” he blushes and turns to Chittery. “Could be…”

“More?” She offers.

Still blushing, he smiles and nods, only for the smile to fade almost as quickly as it appears. “W-wait, I almost forgot.”

“Forgot?” I sit up straight, watching him carefully. “Forgot what?”

“Th-there was some time to m-myself,” he shrugged. “D-during the first few weeks, after we were allowed t-to rest, I’d sometimes sneak up to one of the higher parts of the n-nest and just…sit there. There was a tunnel leading outside, and I-I’d just sit in the alcove and…listen.”

“To the birds?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Not a lot of those l-left, but…there was wind…and sun, I remember how warm the sun felt.” His lips curved up into a massive smile. “So warm. Made my pony fur feel like I was covered in a blanket, but after a few weeks the o-others found out, and th-they beat me and locked me in a cave for a couple days with no food or water, a-and told me they’d do worse i-if I did it again.”

“That must’ve been when the Hive’s link to your mind was strengthening,” Chittery points out. “At that point, you wouldn’t have been able to hide anything from them.”

“I-I guess,” he sighs. “I l-listened to them, and within a couple days, I actually s-started forgetting how nice the sun felt a-and how good the wind was in my ears, which I guess, looking back, was p-probably the Collective making me forget.”

I nod again. “Almost certainly. The purity of nature as it exists would’ve acted as a connection to your past, which the Nightmare couldn’t allow if they were going to make you into another mindless husk to do their bidding. The Nightmare wanted you to worship their own, corrupted version of nature, not the pure kind you could see outside your nest.”

“Y-yeah…I think I g-get that now,” Cypher looks out the window again, just as the sun slips out of view. He sits like that for a while, watching the last remnants of sun turn into purples and yellows and reds, the blackness of Luna’s night revealing the stars above. Even more than back home, what with the lack of light pollution. I can see galaxies spinning above us, comets shooting overhead, probably light-years away. I can see red giants and white dwarves together, intermingling in an eternal ballet, spinning such an impossibly vast distance away that to even comprehend the distance can drive a man insane.

Most of all, I see a sky like my own, in a world worth protecting, from one to another.

“G-guys?” Cypher asks suddenly, his voice even tinier than usual.

“Hmm? What is it, Cyphy?” Chittery asks, propping herself up on her couch.

“Th-thanks for saving me,” he whispers, one of his bladed tendrils delicately wiping a tear from the side of his face. “Thank you so much.”

Chittery and I say nothing. We just sit there in silence, watching the sky outside the window, trying to see what Cypher must see, trying to understand what it must be like to almost lose that beauty forever, to almost forget it in favor of becoming a mindless puppet.

I’m not sure when we drifted off to sleep. I imagine it must have been some time after that, though.

And in the dead of night, something with yellow eyes, razor-sharp teeth, and five spindly legs crawled from one of the upper corners of the room and descended on a single, silvery strand of webbing. The creature might have looked like a spider were it not for its perfectly-round body and lacking number of legs. As it was, it simply skittered across the floor, coming to a stop at the couch where Chittery slept. It waved a spindly leg before her face. She didn’t even stir, her breathing continuing steady and even. The creature smiled to itself, giving it an appearance not too unlike a child’s attempt at a spider for a Halloween decoration, if not for the red, shimmering eyes and crooked, uneven fangs. The sleeping spell had worked perfectly, just like it had been promised. Now it was time to feed.

“Let’s see what we can find here…” it hissed, it’s voice more like a whispering draft on the air than actual speech. It wafted a spindly leg, and the changeling’s mouth dropped open, a white mist oozing from her mouth and into the creature’s. After a moment or two, she tossed and turned on the couch, readjusting herself in her sleep, albeit with a quiet whimper and a look of distress on her face.

“Hmmm…pony domination, both as a fear and a fantasy, fear of rejection…meh…” the thing sighed and turned away. Sure, it was a good start, but he’d been hoping for something different from a royal. Ah well, the males on the floor looked promising.

The stallion was…interesting, even if his fears had turned out completely banal. His stream had come out a tinted gray, but that was the only thing notable about it. Fire, torture, pain, though underneath it all, a sense of duty that overrode all that. Still, hardly anything to build a real fantasy on. Next.

Now here was something interesting: stood on two feet, yet colored like a changeling. Same claws, strange weaponry unlike anything else it had seen in this world, but let’s see what it had to offer.

Upon opening its mouth, a rainbow-colored stream poured out, cascading past its fangs. The creature nearly fell back, the things streaming into its mind…the memories…the alien worlds…the concepts…the things this man had done! The creature’s brain hurt just trying to drink it all in!

Oh.

Oh, and there was this.

In the darkness, the creature rubbed its legs together. It now had material to work off of for months to come! Part of it wanted to wake this thing up just to thank it! But that would be going against the will of the hive: the Collective was very clear that everything was to be done to keep this trio from ever reaching Canterlot, and that any Nightmare caught aiding them would be cut-off (though that raised some questions about the changeling/Nightmare mix and how it was still alive). Still, at any rate this would prove to be a most interesting night.

The creature raised its legs and searched for the right words, waiting until they came on their own. It grinned in the darkness. It liked this phrase, and it loved the creation that followed. “Leave it to Beaver…” it whispered to itself, legs shaking in anticipation.

Yes…

Oh, this nightmare was going to be so much fun!

Entry XXI: Leave It To Cypher, Part I by Kildeez

Gosh-golly gee, what a wonderful day!

I sit up in bed and stretch with a yawn and a contented sigh, much to the laughter and applause of the studio audience. I give my customary wave, stand up, puff my chest out, and take in a few deep breaths. “Such a wonderful day!” I announce, swinging my arms gaily as I head to the bathroom. I brush my teeth vigorously, and of course, floss. After a refreshing shower, I pull on a pleated vest and dress shirt with slacks, tying on my shoes with a big grin.

“Welp, time to see what the Missus has for us this morning!” I chortle along with the canned laughter, swinging my arms as I head down to the kitchen, the delicious smell of pancakes wafting towards me.

“Honey, I’m up!” I announce, poking my head in through the door.

My lovely wife stands there in her pink-frilled, “KISS THE CHEF” apron, smiling over at me. “Well, it’s about time, you!” She proclaims, putting her hooves on her hips as the audience laughs and applauds. “The pancakes were getting lonely without a stomach to put them in!”

“Always with the wisecracks, dear,” I chuckle as I dig into my pancakes and coffee, shoveling the food down with little ceremony.

After washing everything down with a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice, I give Chittery a kiss on the cheek and grab my briefcase. “Off to work, dear! Don’t stress yourself too much!”

“Oh you,” she scoffs, waving a hoof goodbye. “How could I be stressed when I have everything I need…right…here…not like a woman could…hold a job…”

Her eyebrows furrow, as if the words were being coerced out of her mouth, as if she’d said them on autopilot…something…something is…

I look down at the briefcase in my hand. What is…going on? This isn’t what’s…

“Well, howdy neighbors!”

I grin, instantly looking up at the friendly old face at the window, an aging man with an excellent handlebar mustache grinning back at me. “Well, hey there, Mr. Wilkins! How’s Barbara doing?”

“Oh, just fine, just fine, the arthritis is acting up, but it’s nothing a little work in the garden can’t solve!” He replies, handing a large basket of tomatoes through the door. “Speaking of, she’s picked some extra tomatoes for you!”

“Well, isn’t that just thoughtful!” Chittery enthuses, scooping up the basket in her fangs and carrying it back to the kitchen. “These will definitely come in handy when I make dinner!”

“My stomach is already rumbling in anticipation, dear!” I shout, patting my belly.

“Oh, you!”

Just then, a horn honks in the street. I peer over Wilkins’ shoulder, and sure enough, there’s my carpool in the street behind him. “Welp, that’s my ride! Bye, dear!” I call over my shoulder, waving as I stride down the path, past the immaculately-kept lawn and through the white picket gate. Around me, the birds are tweeting, the sun is shining, and the paperboy is doing his rounds.

“Hiya, Mr. Kildeez!” He waves as he shoots by on his bicycle. “Jeepers, you look ready to take on the day!”

“Thanks, Timmy! I feel like I could!” I raise my hand, catching the paper he throws like a baseball and tucking it into my suitcoat. “See ya around!”

He waves as he shoots off, and I finally climb into the passenger seat, where my long time coworker and friend is waiting with one hoof on the clutch and the other on the steering wheel. “Cypher, old boy! How are you this fine day?”

He looks to me and flashes a fang-filled grin from beneath his dapper fedora, a cigar protruding from his mouth, waiting to be lit. “Just fine, Deezy, just fine. You wouldn’t happen t’have a light on you, wouldja? Can’t get the lighter in here goin’.”

I smile and pull out a paper matchbook, striking a match and holding the flame to the end of his cigar. “Sure thing, pal!”

“That’s awful swell of ya!” He smiles and puffs, filling the car with that sweet, sweet secondhand smoke.

“Still, that might be a sign the old girl’s goin’,” I smile as I wave the match out. “Thinkin’ you should trade ‘er in? I hear the new Chryslers can get almost ten miles to the gallon!”

“Ten miles, eh?” Cypher smiles around his cigar. “Maybe, but I figure I can get a few more years out of the ol’ girl before then.”

“Just a thought, old chum,” I roll down the window to toss the match in the gutter, where a sudden breeze blasts us both full in the face. I…

I turn to him, my heart rising into my throat. Cypher looks around in a panic. “Wh-what is this?” He asks timidly. “Where are we!?”

“I don’t…know…” I grimace. Something’s not right. Something’s wrong. What is it what is it what is it…

“Howdy-doo, fellers!” A familiar voice calls behind me.

I grin, turning in my seat to face a deep, bushy mustache and a familiar blue uniform. “Why, Officer Friendly! What a surprise! We aren’t getting pulled over before we even get goin’, are we?” I ask, earning another round of canned laughter.

“Oh no, of course not! Just wondering if two of my favorite citizens had time for a chocolate malted at the soda shop,” the cop hooks a thumb over his shoulder at the small café down the road.

Cypher grins and starts up the aging car, which bellows a cough of lead-filled smoke. “Sounds peachie-keen, Jim!” He smiles.

“Splendid, wonderful!” Friendly insists. “I’ll meetcha there!” He turns to walk away, and for a second, the sun catches his eyes and I see…I see…

Hate.

He is a creature of hate. A creature of the Nightmare Collective. He has you now and if you so much as flinch in his presence he’ll gouge out your eyeballs and gnaw your penis off just to hear your screams, and that’s just…

The car starts moving, and my thoughts are jarred again as Cypher drives us on down to Schmitty’s Ice Cream Parlor. I smile, my mind switching to steady anticipation for the chocolate malted that will soon be cooling my throat. Cypher pulls into a spot right by the curb and we head inside, me holding the door for him and Friendly. Schmitty himself looks up as the bells over the door jingle, and he smiles…it is thin and pale…that is not a smile, not by any definition of a smile…

“Well, hey there gang!” Schmitty enthuses. “Didn’t expect to see y’all in here so soon!”

“What can we say? Hard to stay away from your chocolate malted for long,” Cypher replies as he slides into a stool at the countertop.

“That it is, that it is!” Schmitty smiles contentedly and turns away to start up the machine. “How’ve you boys been doing, anyhow? Still living the bachelor life, Cyph?”

“You know it!” Cypher grins. “Don’t worry though, haven’t totally given up on finding a pretty little thing to hand a ring to!”

“Or guy, amirite Cyph?” I chortle, swatting him on the side.

Instead of laughing me off, his eyes widen, his massive jaw dropping. “I…uh…sure…sure…” he whispers.

My smile fades. I blink once or twice. I look up to see Officer Friendly grinning back…no…not grinning, he’s gritting his teeth. He’s gritting his teeth so hard little purple cords are standing out on his neck. Jesus, I might have just killed a puppy in front of him with that look.

“How’s the missus, Deez?”

I turn, a smile that’s starting to feel far too fake for its own good now stretching my lips. “Just fine, just fine, cooked me the most wonderful breakfast you could ever imagine!”

“Well, goodness, we should all be so lucky!” Schmitty laughs. “What’d you do to get that?”

“Oh, nothing, just something she likes to do for me, y’know?” I wave my hand dismissively. “Just a treat for every now and again.”

“Every now and again?” Friendly gasps. “A man who works like you do deserves a meal like that every day, dontcha think?”

My smile strains under the weight I place it under. “I…I guess I might deserve to see it more often…but…it’s up to her to…”

“Bah, leaving it up to the woman!” Schmitty chortles as he grabs a couple paper cups from the stack by his machine. “That’s just askin’ for trouble! Gotta make sure she knows who wears the pants in the family, dontcha?”

My smile is long gone now, my eyebrows hunched in confusion. “Never…never thought of it that way…isn’t marriage…supposed to be…an equal…equal partnersh…”

“Well, if those are the ideas she’s fillin’ your head with, maybe it’s about time you assert yourself,” Friendly circles around to look me right in the eye, that grin now so large it looks like something the Joker would wear after a dose of his own gas. “After all, a man’s house is his castle, innit? Ain’t you the king of your castle, Deezy?”

“A lazy wife ain’t no good to any man, I say!” Schmitty says, having finished filling one of the cups and expertly switching to the next with hardly an interruption in the stream from the machine. “Won’t say she’d be as bad as those negras down the way, but won’t say she’d be a whole lot better!”

“Oh, now Schmitty, don’t go insulting Deezy’s wife like that!” Friendly chortles, but I’m lost in thought, swaying on my feet. “She might just need a good wallop or two, dontcha think? Hardly as bad as the niggers.”

I can barely stand. This isn’t right. I stumble to the side, my hand flying out to find something to keep my balance. It lands on Cypher’s shoulder, only for it to give under my weight and send us both tumbling to the checker-tiled floor.

“Woah there, now!” Friendly says, kneeling beside us.

“You two alright?” Schmitty puts in. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

It sounds like he said it from a mile away. I’m lost in my thoughts, in how wrong this felt, all the words being said, about wives and niggers and love and hate and about that look in Friendly’s eyes when I said something he didn’t like and that look on Chittery’s face this morning and how stupid that fedora looks on Cypher and…

“This is wrong,” Cypher whispers beside me. “All of it.”

You got that right, buddy.

“Need a hand, there?” Friendly asks, offering his. I take it, and that’s when it all hits me. The cold artificiality of his skin, the way it moves under my hand like a squirming pulsing thing, like grappling with the tail end of a giant fly larva. I almost let go in shock as he hoists me to my feet, and even then I still sway, still rock back and forth, still drinking in the sheer wrongness and listening to all the sirens and warning bells screaming in my head and…and…

“Alright now, Deezy?” Schmitty asks, a malted in each hand.

I look at Officer Friendly, and the sheer wrongness in what I see: the way those cords on his neck look more like worms draped over his shoulders and the way that moustache looks glued on and the way his eyes dart over me like a couple cameras on a robot in a cheap sci-fi movie, it all screams for me to do something.

So I uppercut him in the face.

“Get fucked, niggggggaaaaaaaaaa!” I scream, and let it be noted that as a half-changeling, I myself am black in my natural state, and therefore have every right to that word.

Friendly goes down, his head bucking back unnaturally. He crashes to the floor like a mannequin, all stiff with his legs splaying out, his heels bucking into the air for a second before slamming to the floor.

“Holy shit…” Cypher gasps, and barely has time to raise his hooves in defense as Schmitty leaps over the counter, the ice cream in his hands hitting the floor and spilling all over the spotless tile. Cypher dodges enough to have the bastard bounce off his shoulder, and Schmitty tucks and rolls like an Olympic athlete, but can’t quite keep himself from crashing into one of the tables against the far wall. In a flash, he’s back on his feet, wrenching the table up in his hands and swinging it over his head in a way too strong and too natural to ever be pulled off by a semi-retired ice cream man. He hoists it up in his old, wrinkly hands and brings it down in an arc aimed for Cypher’s face. But I’ve already reacted, scooping up one of the chairs and bringing it around wide and low with everything I got, smashing it into Schmitty’s face. He slams face-first into the growing puddle of ice cream on the ground and lies still.

“Deezy?” Cypher asks tentatively, swallowing as he shivers in place. “Wh-wh-what…what…”

I turn, look around at the retro diner and the gas-guzzling 50’s cars still bellowing lead fumes outside and the unconscious cop-thing on the ground and the butt-ugly slacks with two-tone socks I’m wearing and I finish his question: “What in the sam-hill goddamn shit piss fuck cocksucking cinnamon-flavored assholes is going on!?”

He shrinks back. “Y-yeah…yeah, that…”

I look down at him, glaring, my muscles tensing as my shoulders rise and fall with each breath. “Jesus Cypher, take that hat off, wouldja? You look like something a fanartist cooked up trying to make a really bad noir comic.”

He looks up and takes the fedora off, setting it gently on the floor. “Okay…okay…Deezy? W-where are we?”

I look around. “The 1950s, apparently, or someone’s idea of it after a marathon of Leave it to Beaver,” I shrug. “I dunno, either way, I look ridiculous, you look ridiculous, and apparently our knowing this is a big no-no if the ice cream-asshole’s reactions are anything to go off of.”

“O-okay…what do we do?”

“Well, if this is some simulation, .hack//sign, forced dream bullshit we’re going through, then I say we should probably start running before everyone in this town realizes we’re awake and comes here to rip our arms off.”

He nods shakily. “I-I say that sounds like a good idea.”

Nodding to each other, we take off for the door, dancing around the semiconscious man-things on the floor before I elbow my way through into fresh air and sunshine. Already, I can see we’re too late to avoid notice. The street is filling with people: housewives in tasteful sundresses and men wearing old-timey casual suits, some still carrying briefcases, marching out of their homes alongside kids in propeller hats and jean overalls, most of them unbuttoned. I even spot a baby among the marchers, keeping step with mechanical precision despite looking too young to hold his head upright, much less take off the onesie he’s wearing all by himself. As they near the street, each person falls into a line like a damned army on the march, five abreast, standing shoulder to shoulder as they glare at us, thundering our way with the sort of goose-stepping precision that would make Hitler shed a tear from inside that shithole the Russkies threw him in.

“Cypher, get in the car,” I whisper, the sound of leather shoes, tennies, and high heels hitting the pavement in perfect time nearly drowning me out.

“Y-yeah…” he closes the last few feet to the car, wrenches the driver’s side door open, and dives right over the driver’s seat and into the passenger’s. I’m right behind, yanking the door shut behind me as I settle in behind the wheel and twist the ignition.

I turn to put her into drive, when I realize something: I can’t tell what half the symbols on the gearshift are for. Hell, some of that shit looks Greek.

Waitaminute…

This has to all be from my head. It’s the only way this all makes sense, it’s not like Equestria had a time when father came home to smoke a pipe and read up on the Commies’ latest plans to destroy mom, dad, and apple pie. And I don’t know how to drive stick. Which means, of course, that neither does the simulation. Cypher could only do it because that was his role here. And now, we’re playing outside our roles, meaning no weird nightmare magic juice letting us do the things we were allowed to do when we were happily filling our roles.

“Aww, fuck,” I grumble.

“Deeezzyyyy…” Cypher whimpers. “Th-they’re getting closerrrr…”

“Just…hang on, okay!?” I yell, fumbling with the misshapen wooden handle in my grip. Okay…okayokayokay…this is all from my head, right? Everything here came from my memories. All fucked-up and twisted around and based on stupid stereotypes I’ll admit I had, but still, all me. So, does that mean even if I can’t drive stick, I can make up how?

I close my eyes and tighten my hold on the gearshift. The wood moves, stiff at first, then clunks to the side in my hand, followed by a slide back with a grinding of gears. The engine grinds, makes a few complaints, but then I feel the car inch forward.

“Haha!” I scream. “In your face, 1950s technology! In your ugly, over-industrialized face!”

A low thud shakes the car from the rear. I whip around in my seat to find a pretty little blonde mother in a tasteful plaid dress, her hands braced against the rear window. Suddenly, she snaps her head back and rams it into the glass with another low thud, gaining a few cracks and an ugly, purple bruise right in the middle of her forehead.

“Aww, shit,” I manage just as a few more thuds sound to my side. Cypher looks past me, jaw dropping to its usual low, eyes widening in utter terror. I don’t need to look to know that behind me, a man in a fedora and casual business wear or a kid in a propeller cap has their hands braced against my window, just like the woman’s, and is skull-bashing the fucker for all its worth.

“Deeezzzzzyyyyy…”

“I know, Cypher! I know!” I slam my foot on the accelerator, pressing the pedal to the floor as hard as I can. Still, I only get a few inches forward, followed by a leisurely coast that might be able to outrun my grandpa back home: the one who has a few pins in his hip courtesy of a Japanese hand grenade, and who was certainly old enough to actually be one of these men in their non-descript business suits at one point. Needless to say, the mob keeps pace with us, and another thud booms to my side.

“Shitshitshitshit…” I mutter, fumbling with the gear shift again. Only in first gear, gotta shift up, gotta figure that out. I close my eyes again, figuring basic traffic safety is kind of a moot point once you have a mob of nondescript white people making like you just set fire to an orphanage and then pissed on an American flag. The gearshift stiffens against me, still fighting me, I have to put a bit more muscle into it now. I bite my lip with the effort, but with a triumphant grinding from the gearbox, I manage a bit more motion. The car picks up speed.

“Victory!” I cry, slamming the accelerator again. Something scratches against the glass by my head, and I turn just in time to see a hand twisted into a gnarled claw, scrabbling at the glass as it trails away. A couple more assholes up front are quick to realize what’s happening, one tall and lanky and moving like the wind as we gain on them, the other so fat he has to waddle, but nonetheless keeping pace with us. Tubs goes for a sideways dive that gets him clear of the car just as we outrun the mob. The Slenderman wannabe at his side isn’t so lucky, and his legs don’t quite make it clear. There’s a couple quick thumps as he goes down. I catch him rolling into the gutter in the sideview mirror, his knees bent in opposite directions.

“Jesus,” I grumble, shaking my head. “We’re in the shit now, Cyph.”

“No kidding,” he slumps back in his seat, breathing more easily now. “Do you mind telling me where we are? A-and why we were acting like that just now?”

“Forced dream, Cypher,” I grimace, the memories of falling asleep in Sift’s living room coming back to me. “Odds are this is exactly what happened to that pony we were sent to track down. Now we’re all stuck in this mess together.”

“A…d-dream?” He looks around, taking in the identical green lawns and ranch-style cookie-cutter houses drifting by, with the occasional gas station and mom & pop shop. “What kinda dream?”

“Mine,” I reply. “This is taken from my memories of 1950’s America. Or, what I always imagined it was like. Everything, even the stupid clothes, matches up pretty good.”

“O-okay,” he scrunches up his eyebrows. “S-so how do we get out?”

“Still working on that part,” I grumble, eyes scanning side-to-side. On occasion, a kid on the lawn will drop his toys to try and chase down the car, or an old man will suddenly spring from his rocker and sprint after us like he’s trying to beat the 100-yard dash, but other than that, looks like we left the majority of these…dream…things behind us. “Cypher? Can you transform?”

“Umm…hold on…” he sits back and closes his eyes. A few sparks trail from his horn, but that’s all. After a few minutes, he opens his eyes again, looks himself over, and shakes his head. “N-nope…”

“Let me,” I grumble, focusing, trying to tug at that old fire first shown to me by Chrysalis just a few years ago. I grimace, keeping an eye on my hands over the steering wheel at the bottom of my vision. After a few seconds, I realize it’s not gonna happen. I don’t even get a spark of changeling magic.

“Great, just perfect,” I moan as Cypher slumps in his seat. “We’ve got jack shit.”

“Oh…oh gosh,” Cypher whimpers.

I look over at him, seeing how his ears fold down and his tentacles droop. I paste on a little, cocky grin and reach over to pat his head. “No worries, Cyph, we just gotta get creative.”

“O-okay,” he says, though he still looks uncertain, his brow furrowing up. “H-hey, D-Deezy?”

“Yeah?”

“Wh-what about Chittery?”

…

“SHIT!” I scream, slamming on the brakes and forcing us into a complete one-eighty that takes us up on two wheels for a second. When we’re pointed the right way, I slam on the gas again, the engine roaring and the gearbox squealing with pain, but the car leaps ahead, back towards the cul-de-sac we just left.

“O-oh…” Cypher slumps in his seat. “Oh…n-no…”

“You fucking know it,” I growl, pressing the cigarette lighter in as a thought occurs to me. “Look around and see if you can find anything we might be able to use as a weapon. Anything sharp or heavy should do the trick.”

He nods, sliding out of the seat to rummage around in the back. I thumb the cigarette lighter again. God willing, it won’t come to that. If we’re desperate enough to be using a damned cigarette lighter as a weapon, that means we’re really and officially deep in it. “Cypher! You find anything?”

“Umm…a map filled with weird squiggly lines…some blue stuff…oh, oh that seems really insensitive.” He holds up a magazine advertising soap on the back cover, the brand name only a faint pile of distorted squiggles. In the picture, some little white kid is holding a bar of soap while a little racist caricature of a baboon that might represent a little black kid sits in a tub of suds, bawling its eyes out. A word balloon over the white kid announces: “Gee whiz ma, I tried scrubbin’ all I could but I couldn’t get the dirt off!”

I grimace. “The good ol’ days, indeed,” I snarl, snatching up the magazine and rolling it into a tube in one hand while the other stays on the steering wheel. If nothing else, the stuff isn’t that plastic laminate they make magazines out of back in the U-S-of-A of my time, it’s that cheap paper mulch they used to print them on, meaning it’d make great kindling. But for what?

“Cypher, hand me that blue stuff,” I say, holding my hand out behind me. He obliges by sliding the bottle into my grip. I pull it out and hold the plastic jug in front of me, reading the label in quick glances from off the road. Antifreeze. “Fuck.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Was hoping for something more blowy-uppy,” I sigh, dropping the bottle in the passenger’s leg area. We can’t take on a horde of middle-class Americans turned Waffen SS like this! I droop back into my seat, figuring we might just be heading into a suicide charge. Then, we pass by a gas station, the old kind that need a trained operator just to handle.

Grinning, I spin the wheel, charging right over the curb and bouncing into the parking lot. Cypher goes jumping all around in the back. “Kildeez!” He cries. “What’re you doing!?”

“Making a quick pit stop,” I reply. I slam the car into park just as the gas station attendant, a portly man that looks barely old enough to have a mid-life crisis (and why not, he’s middle-aged and working at a gas station), comes rumbling out of the convenience store, his pressed white shirt dangling out over his gut, his hand grasping a box cutter. “Welp, looks like we found one of the last gas stations in America where the clerks ain’t packin’, good for us.”

I nab the bottle of washer fluid before climbing out, circling around the car, my chest thrust out and a mean glare in my eye. The clerk pauses in place, maybe three-quarters of the way across the parking lot. Obviously, he wasn’t expecting someone willing to fight back, which might just mean these things aren’t all networked together, since Officer Friendly back in the cul-de-sac would probably have been more than happy to enlighten him.

Taking the moment, I reach back into the car for the cigarette lighter, why not? “Alright, big guy,” I growl, holding a match in one hand and the open bottle of antifreeze in the other. “Let’s work off some of that beer belly.”

Snarling, a bit of spittle bursting out of the corner of his mouth, the attendant circles the car, again moving way faster than an overweight, middle-aged dude who works at a gas station has any right to be. Growling right back, I easily side-step his first attack, darting just out of reach as the box cutter comes around in a rapid arc from side to side. My foot comes up in a kick, hoping to knock the weapon out of the clerk’s hand, but he manages to divert, arching his grip back away in time to make a downward slash at my leg. I push off, my extended foot pressing against the bulk of the thing’s belly while my hand comes up with the antifreeze. A gush of the stuff splashes across its face, and it darts back, howling as if it’s been burnt, a hand reaching for its forehead. I grin. Probably got a good gush of the stuff in its eye. Seizing my chance, I dart forward, trying to jam the cigarette lighter into the knife hand. Nothing happens, no sizzling of skin or telltale smell of burning flesh. I finally remember Cypher telling me the lighter was fucked up, hence why he needed my matches for his morning cigar.

Fuck.

Howling, I whip the useless lighter at the thing’s head, which amazingly earns me enough of a distraction to yank his arm into a hold and wrench the box cutter free. His arm still in my hold, I start hacking away at it, the thing screaming and jabbering like a demon while landing some ineffective punches on my back in a desperate attempt to get free. I whip around and go to fucking town on the clerk, hacking and slashing at its arms and neck, getting every good hit in that I can. Instead of blood, each of my slashes earns a line of grey goo that sticks in place like syrup or rubber cement. In the end, I practically have to hack the arm off to get the clerk to stop howling and lay still. When it’s all said and done, my body aches and my breath comes in quick pants, not to mention the goo now coating my sweater vest and slacks.

A loud thump takes me by surprise, and I turn, the box cutter raised, only to find Cypher collapsed on the pavement, his tendrils tangled up in the seatbelt. “Oh,” I say, pocketing the knife. “Was wondering where you were.”

“S-sorry,” he smiles sheepishly up at me. “C-couldn’t fine the catch to open the door, and when I did, I-I got stuck in this…uh…thing.”

“Seatbelt,” I correct him, kneeling to gently untangle his tendrils. He flops to the ground and looks up at me, smiling gratefully. I smile back, then point to the convenience store. “Let’s find every sharp and pointy thing we can and stick it all together. With duct tape. Lots of duct tape.”

His brow arches in confusion, but he nods, and we boot our way through the front doors and into the store, pushing through aisles that reek of motor oil and gasoline. Immediately, I grab a few thick road almanacs off the front counter and wrap one around my arm, making sure it fits all the way around. Curious, I crack one open and start reading:

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Donec ut est mi. Phasellus mattis mollis efficitur. Vestibulum efficitur tincidunt ullamcorper…

Eh, guess I should’ve figured.

“Deez! I-I think I found that ‘duck-tape’ you wanted!” Cypher exclaims from a back aisle, triumphantly holding up a silver-gray roll.

I grin. “Awesome, toss that good stuff over here!”

He does, and I catch it and tear off the wrapping, ripping off a strip in my teeth and wrapping it around one of the almanacs, which I hold in place around my arm. As far as armor goes, it doesn’t get more ghetto-tech than this, but it’s better than nothing. Besides, saved Ben Affleck in World War Z.

Read the book, don’t see the movie, kids.

“Cyph, while you’re at it, see how many wine bottles and cheapo t-shirts you can scrounge up,” I shout. Might as well put my matches to use.

“O-okay,” he shivers. “Wh-what for?”

“A little something the Russkies cooked up back in World War Two, I toldja about that one, didn’t I?” I ask, setting to work on literary armor for my legs.

“Y-yeah.”

“Well see, in that war, things didn’t get much more desperate than they did on the Eastern Front,” I reply, wrapping tape in multiple bands around my legs while I stuff a few more almanacs down my shirt. “The Axis were better trained and way better equipped. The Russians had numbers, but they just didn’t have enough grenades or ammo to go around. Hell, during the winter counteroffensive, their leader ordered a massive, front-wide counteroffensive even though some of their units only got one artillery shell a day! Can you imagine that? Rushing forward into battle against armored giants and men screaming and blasting with superior weapons, with just one round in your main weapon?”

“Uhhh…I-I don’t think I can, no,” he says, looking visibly more confused by the moment.

“Nobody these days really can imagine that kind of desperation, but throughout history, desperation has bred one thing: ingenuity.” Without another word, a few wine bottles hover up to the counter in Cypher’s magic. Nodding my thanks, I uncork one, take a sniff, and grimace. “Ahh, 1999. A vintage year.”

“Hmm?”

“Nothing,” I reply, finding a drain beneath the counter and upending a couple bottles down it. When I stand up, a couple shirts have joined the bottles on the counter. I nod again and start tearing them into strips.

“Okay, fine, desperation breeds ingenuity,” Cypher says, watching me as I round the counter and start making him some armor-nac. Almanarmor? Yeah, almanarmor’s a good name. “What’s that got to do with bottles and strips of cloth?”

I only smile at him, which earns me an eye roll. He’s learning what this smile means only too well, and he can’t help but sigh with exasperation, even as I wrap more books around his legs and barrel. With that done, I pull out my belt, run it through the middle of the duct tape roll, and reclip the whole shebang together. Can never have too much duct tape.

Smiling at my handiwork, I grab the bottles in one hand and start looking around, thankfully finding a crow bar right near the front of the store, between a row of spark plugs the size of my fist and bottles of oil that looks so unrefined it might have been pulled right out of the ground. I scoop a bar up, pulling off the price tag and taking a few practice swings. “Alright good,” I say, turning towards the storefront. “Cyph, you grab one too. Looks like it’s the best we got.”

As I look up, I catch my reflection in the plate glass. I see myself, a man with a deep brown goatee and short cropped hair, wearing thick-framed glasses, holding up a crowbar. I cock my head. Something about this seems familiar…

Shaking my head, I motion towards the door. “Alright, time to get going.”

“Roger,” Cypher says stoically, appearing around a corner with a gray stocking cap pulled down tight over his head-fin.

I hunch my eyebrows at him. “What’s that hat for?”

“Oh, this?” He asks, prodding the cap with the tip of one tendril. “I-I just thought it felt…r-right, y’know?”

“O-kay,” I reply, making for the door, grabbing the bottles and strips of cloth off the counter. “I’m gonna finish up our special cocktails.”

“Wait! I’ll come with you!” He announces, chasing after me as we head across the parking lot.

I make a quick stop at the gas pumps, filling up the wine bottles and upending them to soak the rags through, coating everything in gasoline. Cypher looks at me like I’ve just shit in his hoof and called it a salad. I just wink and give that smile again. I can only guess at the hatred he now holds for that smile.

Gathering up the bottles and piling them into the backseat, I can only hope we’re not too late to save Chittery from a fate worse than death. Be it an eternity in this weird alternate-fifties hell or a marathon of Uwe Boll movies, I pray we will never find out what this thing has in store for us.

Once again, I slide into the driver’s seat and start the engine. Cypher slides in next to me. He nods. I nod. I drop her into gear and coast along down the street, slowly picking up speed. We’re not too far from the cul-de-sac, I can almost feel the thumping of those feet in unison rattling the car’s frame. My teeth clench, I shift into a higher gear. Alright princess, for better or worse, we're coming.

Entry XXII: Leave It To Cypher, Part II by Kildeez

“Cypher, before we do this, there’s something you should know,” I growl, my fingers clenching the steering wheel, eyes boring holes through the windshield.

“Y-yeah? What is that?”

“Every time you hid from Chittery, she came to me for your hiding spot, and I gave it up. Every single time.”

He bolts upright in his seat. “What th-the hell!?”

I flinch and give him a sheepish smile. “Yeah…I’m not proud.”

“Kildeez! Sh-she called it ‘Hide and Go Molest’! I just needed a b-break!”

“I’m sorry! She’s scary as hell when she wants to be, dude, you know that!”

“Seriously, what the hell!?”

“I said I was…” we round a corner, and suddenly the goose-stepping fifties white neighborhood is practically on top of us. At the head of the line is a portly man in wide-rimmed glasses that looks like Mr. Wilson from the original black-and-white Dennis the Menace series. Cypher’s jaw drops to its usual impressive length and he sinks into his seat, his outrage forgotten. I just grimace and feel along my sleeve with one hand, ensuring my makeshift armor is still in place. I aim the car right for the center of the crowd and floor it. They spy us and glare in unison, bowing their heads as their goose-stepping turns into a raging charge.

“Dinner’s ready, kids!” I scream. “It’s a nice steamin’ plate of whoop-ass! Don’t worry, there’s enough for everybody!”

Cypher screams as ol’ Mr. Wilson goes under the car tires, those thick-framed glasses flying off his face. Soon, the entire crowd is following suit, legions of the damned things being drawn beneath our tires, snarling, their fingers clawing at the frame in the split second before the car’s massive weight bears them down. At least this is an advantage with the old fifties cars: pure steel framing and wooden paneling, which is just added weight that murders gas mileage, but turns this thing into a medieval battering ram.

I grin as the car bumps over more bodies, my hands clenching the steering wheel until the knuckles turn white, my thoughts already turning to what we would do when we made it through to the house as if we were already there. And then a VW Beetle appears in the windshield, materializing out of the crowd.

Cypher screams. Wordlessly, I turn the wheel, trying to dodge, my mouth forming into a little “oh” of surprise and terror. It’s nowhere near enough: the VW follows us, the driver none other than ol’ Mr. Schmitty, his mouth formed into a victorious grin as the grilles of our cars draw closer.

There’s a second where I see the genius of the trap: they picked a car small enough to be hidden by the sheer mass of bodies, but still heavy enough to do some damage. It’s freakin’ perfect. Then, we meet in the middle. The hoods crumple up. Glass shatters. Cypher and I jerk in our seats, the shoulder straps biting into us. My head smacks the side window, cracks racing out through the glass, blood adding to them while I cogwiggany the Doofenschmirtz, my pasta is the best of mom’s spaghetti. Vomit on my sweater already. Arms are leady.

“K…EE…”

I am the egg man, kneel before me you muffin-based animal product whores!

“KIL…Z!”

Celestia’s butt is so hot.

“KILD…Z!”

Zeeka is the key to piracy!

“KILDEEZ!”

“Ahh! What, Cypher, what!? Can’t a man have a concussion in peace!?” I scream right back.

He flinches and starts to shrink back in his seat, but takes one look at the glass shards poking up out of the leather and thinks better of it. “S-sorry…”

I grimace as I straighten up and a lance of pain shoots through my ribcage. Oh, good, so we can feel pain in dreams. Nice to know. “N-no, you did the right thing gettin’ me up, thanks,” I grimace, trying to peer through the blood and cracks in the side window. The crowd is fanning out, surrounding the car, joining shoulder to shoulder to create an impenetrable wall of humanity. Just behind them, I can make out the totaled outline of the VW, its body a crinkled mess of warped steel and shattered glass. Mr. Schmitty is sitting up in the driver’s seat, glaring at us with one good eye as he slowly maneuvers the other eye back into his eye socket. It pops back in place, and he reaches down to readjust his nose, his other arm setting to work on the twisted-up door.

As nice as it is to know we did damage to that motherfucker, it doesn’t make what I see next sit any better. For all the hurt we put on him, the VW left its mark on our car. One wheel well looks totally collapsed, the tire just a mass of shredded rubber and bent steel. Steam pours from the engine on that side. I don’t even try turning the key: even if the engine still runs by some miracle of fifties technology, the ruined tire almost certainly means the front axle will shatter the next time we move, if it hasn’t already. The car is toast.

Letting out a hiss of pain, I turn and press the door open, grateful when it glides away at my touch. I stand, pulling the crowbar out with me. The crowd doesn’t move, glaring hatefully. At their head, a tiny group parts to allow none other than Officer Friendly through. He’s still wearing that damned grin under that stupid mustache as he strides towards us, his leather-soled shoes clacking on the pavement. “Well boys, you’ve certainly given us a good runaround,” he announces. “But that’s over now, y’all ready to behave?”

In response, I pull out my Bic lighter and check in the back. A few molotovs lay shattered, the reek of gasoline filling the car. I grimace. The couple we’ve got left will have to do. “Cypher, pass one of those up.” I growl.

He hands (or is it ‘hooves?’) one of the cocktails up to me with a shaking grip. I tuck it in my belt and hide it the best I can under my shirt. Without another word, I stand up and out of the car, hands raised, the matchbook tucked safely into my shirt’s front pocket. Officer Friendly gives me a wide, predatory grin, the kind that shows off all his teeth. “You boys armed?”

“Naw,” I shout, turning around to show my backside. Of course, there’s nothing there, and I’m surprised he hasn’t pointed out the bulge up front. Maybe he thinks I’ve put on a few pounds in the short time we’ve been in here? “I ain’t got shit but this!” I pull the matches out for emphasis.

Friendly grins and steps forward, the rest of the crowd following suit. I grin right back as I reach into my waistband and come back around with the Molotov in one hand, the matches in the other. “Oh, and this, did I forget to mention this?”

The All-American White Pride Army stops in its tracks, dozens of tasteful slacks and plain sundresses gliding to a halt. Still, Friendly’s grin doesn’t waver. “Only got a few of those, I’ll bet, and I’ll also bet the crash took out a few more!” He chortles. “Can’t take us all out!”

“Nope,” I reply, setting the match on fire with a flick of my thumb. “But I bet I can take a bunch of ya.”

Friendly’s smile fades as I bring the little, flickering flame to the cloth wick. It catches instantly. Screaming, I do my best Ash Ketchum impression and pitch the fucker right at Friendly’s smug little face. His eyes widen and he dives to the asphalt, letting the Rod Serling lookalike in the cheap business suit behind him take the cocktail to the chest. The “man” lets out an earsplitting shriek of pain as its body is instantly engulfed in flame, the nice little housewife and wonderful little blonde-haired boy in coveralls at his side diving away, hair and arms on fire. The Serling-thing sinks to its knees, letting out a cry like bubble wrap being flattened by a Prius, then finally falls over on its back.

I stand up, my arms raised in a couple of middle fingers. Friendly looks up, eyes wide, eyebrows arching high over his sunglasses. I grin down at him. “Witness me!” I announce. “Witness your own destruction!”

I turn in place, middle fingers still raised. Friendly’s slack-jawed gaze is matched by everyone around me, drinking in my awesomeness. Hell yeah, bitches, there’s one thing you don’t back into a corner, and it’s right here. What!? What now punks, what now!?

Hey, is it getting hot in here or is it just me?

That’s when it hits me: I stored gasoline in a bunch of containers that were far from Federally-approved, probably splashing it on myself and everything around me in doing so. And if that weren’t enough, immediately after that I suffered a car accident that shattered what containers I did have. All of this on top of my armor made out of paper mulch and duct tape.

I look up. A couple of flaming smoke stacks topped with every angry driver’s answer to a guy cutting him off greets me. I look back down again. I smile, trembling. One of the fifties-people things smiles back.

“Ummm…” Friendly says.

“FIRE SLEEEEEVVVVVEEEESSS!” I scream in a high pitch, stretching my arms out as I run for the edge of the crowd. “Fire goddamned sleeves!”

The crowd backs off, apparently obeying that Frankensteinian rule of being afraid of fire. Cool. I just grin, running at them, waving my flaming arms around like a chicken learning how to fly. “FIRE! SLEEVES!” I pound the nearest guy across the back of the head, twisting in time to block a blow from a baseball bat, which I twist out of its owner’s hands to bring around in a low, hard arc against his face. I hear glass shattering and the fwoosh of rising flames off to my right, and I turn in time to see Cypher charging the circle, a gap cleared by a gout of flame from another one of the Molotovs, his bladed tendrils swinging wildly as he screams like a little girl. I grin before turning back to the battle, bringing my knee up in a rising blow right to another motherfucker’s crotch, and based on the high-pitched cry that gets me, I figure these things are still sensitive downstairs.

Within moments, I’ve made a screaming, partially-flaming hole in the circle around us. Cypher and I break through it, my arms still stretched out and flames baking our asses.

“AAAHH FIRE SLEEVES!” I scream as we bound across the front lawn of my house, back where it all started. I slam into the grass, rolling around frantically, struggling with the duct tape. The magazine covers are blackening and falling away, the flames flickering against my bare skin, but Cypher just grabs the “cuffs” and yanks them off, throwing them back in the crowd’s direction.

“F-f-f…” I moan, falling back on the porch. “Fire…fire…sl-sleeves…”

We’re left gasping and puffing in this momentary lapse, panting on the porch, me leaning against the beam that supports the little overhang, him straight up flat on his back, wheezing like he just ran a marathon. The gray gunk the people in this weird little hellhole bleed is clinging to his shell, oozing off the edges of his blade-tendrils. I sigh, run my fingers through my hair, and look up.

Officer Friendly is standing at the head of his army, just twenty yards off the curb.

“Fucking-A, can we get a moment here!?” I pant. “I know we make this shit look easy, but it’s actually pretty heavy on the cardio, y’know?!”

“I will admit, that was awful unexpected,” Friendly replies, ignoring me, that smug smile back on his face. “But now it’s over, and all you’ve done is left me no choice but t’play my trump card.”

“Well first, I wanna lay a monster face-down in defense mode, so you sure you wanna do that just yet?”

Again ignoring me, he points to the house. “Your pretty little friend is in there with the Wilkins from just down the road, has been since ya left,” he says, that smug little smirk intensifying and growing more punchable. “Nice folks, them Wilkins. Only thing is you don’t wanna get ‘em mad. Barb Wilkins might be a little slow since the arthritis set in, but you should see the things she can do with those hedge trimmers of hers. Art’s the only word for it. Fucking. Art.”

My teeth clench, my hands balling into fists. Cypher sits up, still panting, his eyes widening and his ears folding back. “P-Princess…”

“So unless you want your little bug-horse-girl to wind up splattered all over those nice couch cushions you know she likes so much, you two’ll learn to shut up and do what you’re…”

That’s as far as he gets before the front bay window explodes in a shower of glass. Out fly two elderly people, one with a busted-up set of gardening shears in her beaten hands, the other with what I can only assume is a flaming oven mitt rammed up his ass. Both hit the lawn and skid until they nail the curb, bouncing right off and rolling to Friendly’s feet. The cop stares down at them, mouth working in shock. “B-Barb? Buddy?”

Out of the smoke now pouring from the house stands our favorite bug-horse-princess, glaring evilly, smoke drifting off her body, her apron now reading: “~~KISS~~FUCK THE CHEF” courtesy of some really obvious black sharpie. She strides out of the house, following along the dirt tracks left by her latest victims, her body heaving with each breath, her eyes wide and twitching. A cold pang of fear grips my heart just looking at her.

“Ch-Chittery?” I ask tentatively.

Without looking back at me, she levels a hoof on Friendly, then fans it out to the entire crowd. “You!” She screams. “All of you! I’m gonna rip out your throats, resurrect you, fuck your assholes, and make you do the same to everybody you’ve ever loved before I kill you again!”

Dead silence, everyone staring at her, which I interrupt with a quick: “Jesus, princess, you wanna tone it down a bit? Maybe go for something a little less Silence of the Lambs?”

She turns that glare on me, and suddenly I feel like a mouse when an owl-shaped shadow drifts over it, or how every man feels when he learns of a 20%-off sale at Kohl’s the same day he promised to take his girlfriend shopping. “They wanted me to put on clothes. Ass-covering clothes that kept this beautiful work of art from the world!” She turned and smacked a flank with her hoof, eliciting a few nice ripples that sets her whole body shaking. “You expect me to be calm about that!? Do you know how many squats it took to get this the way it is!? Only to cover it up!?”

More silence. I raise a single, quivering hand. “A-a-lot?”

“Yes. A lot.” She hisses angrily before turning back to the crowd, fangs bared. “So who invited this bunch? And may I compliment them on their choice of blondes?”

Friendly’s shocked expression morphs back to that old righteous fury. “So you all broke free of the spell, so what!?” He barks. “It’s still just the three of you against the lot of us!”

At that, I raise my fists, my teeth gritting. In a flash, Cypher and Chittery are at my sides, pressing in close.

“A-anymore ideas, anyone?” Cypher whispers out the corner of his mouth.

“Workin’ on it,” I growl in reply, pulling out the crowbar. Chittery and Cypher hiss, baring their fangs and setting their horns aglow. Thing is, Friendly’s right. We can probably take on a good dozen of these bastards at a time, more if any of us had our respective necromancy or transformative powers back, but as it is we’ve used up most of our weapons and fifty shitheads are still standing. I’ll even lay a bet this ain’t all of them: there’s gotta be more throughout this weird dream land. We can’t fight them all.

Wait a second…dream land…

“This is a dream…” I mutter. Shit, we’ve been looking at this all wrong, approaching it like another battle to fight.

Cypher looks up to me, curious. “Y-yes?”

“We’re fighting for no reason!” I realize. “We’ve been distracted trying to fight these things, don’t you get it!?”

Both changelings look up at me, eyebrows arched. No, no they don’t get it.

“Why are we fighting these things!? What’s the point!?” I shout. “We don’t need to escape them! We need to escape the dream itself!”

Cypher’s and Chittery’s eyes bug out. It’s hit them too. “Holy…” Chittery starts, but then a rock sails right by her head.

“Get ‘em!” Friendly screeches, his voice panicked. I grin. He knows we’ve pieced it together, but my grin doesn’t last long as a veritable tide of humanity pours over the lawn, aiming straight at us. I haven’t seen this many angry white people since the last Republican National Convention, and they’re coming in quick.

“Okay, s-so we gotta w-wake up,” Cypher whimpers, shrinking back with his tendrils raised as the mob approaches. “How?”

“Okay…okayokayokay…” my brow hunches, and I mull the options over in my mind as I assume my fighting stance. We’re just asleep, none of this is real, but we gotta wake up somehow. But how? Pain doesn’t do it, or else we would’ve woken up after taking a Volkswagen to the face. Everything else seems real. Just like…a simulation. What was that I’d said earlier…this was a simulation, .hack//sign style? Okay, so let’s look at it like that: this is a program, with set parameters and specific situations to deal with.

I grin as I think back to my old job, back on Earth, programming industrial systems and bringing them online. What’s the first thing we had to do when we implemented a change? Cook up a situation the program wasn’t meant to deal with and see if something breaks.

Still grinning, I stride across the lawn, heading right for Officer Friendly at the head of his army. “What the hell are you doing!?” Cypher gasps, but I can see Chittery pull him back, eyes on me. She knows when somebody’s got an idea, and right now I have the air of a doozy. The army balks, the mob slowing as I continue towards them with my big, happy, nearly-oblivious strides, seemingly unaware of the malevolent glares aiming my way. Friendly looks at me with an eyebrow arching up over his darkened sunglasses, then he grins and walks to meet me halfway.

“Come t’your senses, boy?” He asks. “Realize you ain’t gonna win?”

I look up at him, grinning like the Cheshire cat. His smile remains, then slowly fades away, his mustache quivering in the failing light. “Say somethin’, boy, you’ve got yourself a captive audience now.”

Still grinning, I suddenly close the distance between us, wrap his arms around his shoulders, and close my lips over his. It’s beautiful, our mustaches tingling against each other as my tongue darts over his, running over his jagged teeth, tasting the plain, drab meat inside his mouth, trying very hard not to wrench away in disgust. He’s so shocked, his flabby arms only hang at his sides, his legs going weak as the kiss continues on and on, my lips only releasing him when my last breath leaves my lungs.

“Notice me, senpaiiiii~,” I whisper, gazing deep into his hollow, black eyes.

He twitches in my grasp, then suddenly falls over, throwing himself back like a dog having a seizure, his whole body twitching in its uniform. “Wh-what did you do!?” He shrieks.

My pleasant, homoerotically-aroused smile turns into a dark grin. “Introducing a new patch to the program, but whoopsies, looks like it’s not compatible with the environment. Goshdarnit.”

Taking the hint, Chittery taps a hoof on the ground. Immediately, a pole ascends in a gout of green flame and the cries of the souls of the damned. With a little wink, she promptly unties the apron she’s wearing and tosses it into the crowd, where it lands over some dead-eyed dude in a business suit and drapes itself over his fedora. She promptly wraps her hooves around the pole and slides around it, opening a strip tease.

Friendly stares slack-jawed as Chittery treats the pole like many a desperate art major before her. She winds around the steel, rocking her hips, twisting around until finally, her hind legs locked around the pole, she arches her back far enough where her horn is able to scrape the outer folds of her butt cheeks. Shit, any more flexible and I’d think she was the offspring of Stretch Armstrong and Plastic Man. Everyone watches, awestruck, but none more than the men. And some of the ladies. Yes, the fifties had those too, boys and girls, they were just hiding to keep from getting lynched.

Suddenly, a horde of men breaks from the crowd, stomping forward all stiff-legged as if they’d just broken from their graves.

“What are you doing!?” Friendly cries. “Get back in line!”

“W-we can’t help it,” one of the suit-clad men drones back, his hand darting into his jacket. “It’s so perfect…it…makes me wanna…”

“Make it rain!” I whoop, and as if on cue, dollar bills come cascading down from the sky, thrown by the horde of entranced men. They land all around Cypher, who sits on the lawn, utterly enraptured, his jaw hanging down as Chittery’s impressive cheeks flex, her hoof giving a little smack that gets them shaking, the sunlight bouncing off her ass-chitin like sun off a pond in the middle of summer…

I tear my eyes away, shaking my head. “Not a clopper…not a clopper…Jesus, it’s like looking at a hot lava lamp,” I moan, looking up and grinning at what I see. Above me, the sky is fluctuating, cracks racing across it. The clouds fade between an old sepia tone, then black and white, then color, and ultimately gravitating towards a loud buzz of static. Friendly follows my gaze and looks up, his jaw dropping.

“No…” he gasps, fists clenching. “NO! It’s not fair! You can’t do this! This is my realm, not yours! Who the hell do you think you are!?”

I gaze deep into his eyes, a cocky grin covering my face. “I’m torn between making a Gurren Lagann reference, or a Guardians of the Galaxy one,” I reply. “So let’s go with neither.”

My fist rockets up in a devastating uppercut that cracks against the shelf of his jaw. His teeth slam together with a loud click that I can see visibly cracking a couple incisors. His head whips back, his back arching as the force of the punch carries him right off the ground and forces him into an impression of Free Willy. All the while, my voice fills the entire world, echoing through the streets and bouncing off the hills:

“I’m Rick James, BITCH!”

Author's Note

Something of a late Christmas present for a bud :)

Enjoy!

Entry XXIII: The Camps, by Siftstone

TWO WEEKS LATER

I whirled around as fast as I could, but the alpha was already crashing skull-first into my chest, sending my sword flying. I tried to brake my fall, but failed to gain ground on the mud, and only fell to my face again. The beast came downwards with a dual-bladed downward blow, which I could only avoid by log-rolling to my side. Another strike was coming quickly- I had no time to draw my steel and defend myself, nor cast a sign. Instead, I reached down to my leg and unsheathed my gladius in a reverse grip, managing to block the monster's titanic bone sword.

However, I was still dazed from the initial impact, and all I could do was block blow after blow, my dizzy mind fogging more and more as the blows became harder, faster, stronger. I couldn't retaliate in any way from the ground, and my blade was beginning to show damage. Finally, my trusty gladius blocked its last blow- the boneblade of my opponent smashing my arm hard and away, the force sending my arm crashing to the earth and my gladius into the air. I braced myself for the second blade to crash down and end my life-

But it never came. Instead, I was socked in the head with a bony hoof.

When I came to, I was in a cheaply-constructed wooden cell. My swords and armor were stripped, leaving me with nothing by my pants and some of the gear within. Even in my daze, I could tell what was going on- for one reason or another, the Alpha chose to imprison me rather than kill me. I took a minute to collect myself; deep breaths, silent comforts, until I could fully implement my range of senses.

It was dark, now, but still storming. Focusing my glowing eyes, I could see between the bars of my suspended cage, gazing upon the hundreds of other cages similar to my own, each containing a colorful, pastel shape. My own cage was not much different- in fact, it was seemingly designed specifically for a smaller creature, as I took up most of the space by myself. The cage was cubical, five feet in length, width and height. The top and bottom were constructed of hardwood planks while the bars were made of bamboo, and surrounded all sides. My cage, similar to the others, was suspended by coiled rope above the ground, fastened to an apple tree.

My ear twitched. There was... speech.

"...AND WHAT TO DO WITH THE CHAMPION'S EQUIPMENT? WE CAN BARELY STAND THE SIGHT OF MOST OF IT." The voice of a Nightmare Unicorn, it seemed. A growling was its reply. "...AS THE SWARM COMMANDS."

Steps. Splashing in the puddles. Thunder clashed, and I witnessed a Nightmare reluctantly placing my armor and equipment on a crude wooden table- several hundred meters away. As it left the area, darkness settled in again. Nothing but the sound of the wind rustling the leaves, rain splattering onto the foliage.

Suddenly broken by an ear-piercing howl. Looking out again, I realized a half-dozen Nightmares had begun prowling this prison ground. Lights out, it seemed.

The bars were easily shattered. I could quickly break out, rush over to my equipment and start slaughtering, but there were way too many nightmares in the way for me to handle with my bare hands and my signs in open combat- not to mention the ponies in the cages around me. Nightmares were twisted bastards- if I started trouble, they could start executing civilians in order to punish me for it.

Thunder clashed again, and a flash of silver below my cage caught my eye. Focusing my eyes in the dark, I realized that the silver below me was actually a large kukri knife- Still being clutched in the near-mummified hand of what appeared to be a Ghurka. The training of the Viper School of witchers immediately came to mind- stealth fighters as long as they weren't sighted, but absolute devils, trickers, and dirty bastards when they were. Unlike the other witcher schools, swords were secondary for Vipers- daggers and short blades were the primary choice, due to their stealthy assault nature.

So be it.

Waiting until the Nightmares were looking in any other direction but my own, I gripped two bars of my cage and swiftly snapped them apart. The noise was subtle- nothing more than the breaking of a twig. Nothing noticeable. My suntanned skin was harder to see in the dark than a pastel pony's coat, so even if the Nightmares did happen to look in my direction, they wouldn't notice immediately. Moving like a ghost, I dropped to the muddy earth, snatching up the kukri and covering in a convenient bush. I took a moment to examine the blade in the dark; decent size and weight to the leaf-shaped blade, and it was clearly well-cared for by its previous owner. The handle was of a greyish wood, held together by polished brass and a steel nail in the flattened bottom. A very quality weapon.

The foliage scratched lightly at my bare chest as I tightened my grip on my blade and sighted the nearest Nightmare.

As it passed by, I shook the bush lightly, which triggered the Nightmare's attention. It raised its blades, stepping forward to get a closer look.

I was bursting from the bush and sinking my blade clean through its skull with the beat of a heart. The beast went limp immediately, and I dragged it into the bush to deal a second and third stab to vital areas, just to be safe. Making sure my path was clear and the body well hidden, I quickly moved out of the bush and behind a tree several feet ahead. My eyes scanned around for possible threats, and my ear picked up a step close by. It was lighter than a normal Nightmare. Perhaps that unicorn that was speaking earlier?

Glancing upward to make sure there was no pony on this tree to give me away, I pounded my fist on the bark, aggressively shaking the tree. The steps stopped- and began coming closer. And closer. And closer...

Until I was cupping a hand over the Unicorn's mouth, stifling any noise, and putting my blade to its throat as I dragged it behind the tree and out of sight.

"You're going to tell me exactly what's going on here, and what you were planning on doing with me."

"I... I CANNOT. THE HIVE WILL KILL ME."

"If you don't talk, I'll kill you."

I felt the lump moving down the unicorn's throat. "THIS... THIS WAS A HOLDING CAMP. OUR ALPHA FOUND THAT PONIES WERE MUCH EASIER TO ASSIMILATE IF THEY WERE MALNOURISHED AND MISTREATED, THEIR SPIRITS BROKEN."

"Were you planning the same fate for me?"

"HUMANS HAVE BEEN IMPOSSIBLE TO BREAK, WHAT FEW WE HAVE CAUGHT. DIE TOO SOON. YOU ARE STRONG. WORTH THE TEST."

"Good answers."

With that, I slammed the bottom of my hilt across the back of the unicorn's head, taking its consciousness. I left it behind the tree as I quickly climbed up the closest, freest branches, to get a new viewpoint. As I moved silently across a branch, I took note of my position to my equipment, and the Nightmares remaining. One passed down below me- whereupon I dropped from my branch, landing neatly with my knee in the nightmare's back and my kukri sinking through the top of its skull.

I dragged this body behind the tree and dove into another adjacent bush. Nightmares were used to being the hunters, not the hunted. Humans have natural instincts, when both being the predator and the prey. Nightmares lacked the feeling of being prey animals- why would they need it? No creature wants to eat them, no animal is foolish enough to try and attack them. They didn't have the natural feeling of being watched, the paranoia of what could be lurking in the shadows at the edge of the firelight.

There were fewer of them, now. My gear was getting closer, but there were still a half-dozen or so nightmares lurking between here and there, and not enough foliage or cover to allow me to stealth towards it.

I would need a distraction.

Moving to a bush I passed previously, near an imprisoned pony, I focused my magical energy and cast my Axii hex over the poor soul. I whispered across the void between us as I noticed a small light flash in his swollen and sad eyes.

"Scream."

In that instant, the stallion began shrieking at the top of his lungs, rattling his cage, trying everything he could to make as much noise as possible. Waiting in the bush, feeling somewhat guilty for using the poor bastard in such a way, I held fast as the entire force of jailer nightmares swooped in to investigate the noise. Seeing my opportunity, I rolled silently out of the bush and made my way across the open ground in a half-crouching run, doing my level best to avoid making any noise.

It seemed that I failed, as mere inches from my equipment, something smashed into me from behind and slammed me into the table. The table collapsed and I fell with my bare chest on a good haul of other equipment that was beneath the table, presumably collected from other humans these bastards had caught. I lost the grip on my kukri trying to steady myself, so as I whirled around and tried to retaliate against that which had stunned me, the first thing I was able to clasp my hand around was a very familiar grip- my gladius.

There was nothing behind me.

Standing up, blade at the ready, I looked about in hyperalertness.

Movement.

I whirled around again, swinging my blade around, only to slightly slash at the chest of a cyan-colored pony. She reacted with proper timing, and looped around in the air to land several feet away, clutching the tiny little booboo that I had inflicted. Fury in her violet eyes, she looked ready to shriek some curse or insult at me, before comprehension overcame her rainbow-maned little head.

"Sifty?!" Sighed miss Rainbow Dash, gritting through the searing sting of my inflicted wound. She began to make a movement to approach me, but something stopped her. "Look out!"

Her voice cleared the fog that was building from the surprise, and I dashed forward in a combat roll, narrowly dodging a jailer nightmare's downward swiping blade. Dashing forward, I caught him in the nose with a thrust of my blade while he recovered from his attack, and put the boot to his chin as a follow-up. Shaking his head to recover, another blade was launched- which I quickly parried to the side, opening his neck to a swift decapitation.

There were sounds of fighting, hooves smashing into flesh, and I turned to see Rainbow Dash unleashing an inner demon on a Nightmare's face, smashing it so hard and fast it couldn't draw its blade up to fight back. As a punch launched it towards me, I slid down and cleaved my blade low and hard, slashing through the Nightmare's legs and killing it. I turned as I got up to cover our flanks, and felt my back press up against a pair of wings.

"Ain't the first time we've been here before, eh, girly?" I chuckled, holding my gladius to the side.

"Ya got that right, big guy!" Shouted Rainbow, taking some ponified karate stance. The rest of the jailers came at us, and we executed them with impunity. Those I didn't kill immediately, I was able to catch off-guard after Rainbow gave them a right trouncing and opened them up for an execution. Only problem... there were only three. Two dead already, with three freshly killed... where's the last one?

Scrawny little prick ran off to get his boss. These fears were confirmed by an ungodly roar knocking me and Rainbow off our feet. As I stumbled to a rising position, I was swept off the ground and slammed into a tree by our massive Alpha Nightmare friend.

"I HAD HOPED YOU WOULD START TROUBLE. NOT TO BE OUTDONE, YOU EVEN LURED THE LIBERATOR INTO A TRAP FOR US. WORTHLESS HUMAN."

Grunting hard as I got to my feet, I raised my damaged gladius. "Shut your trap... and fight!"

The alpha ordered one grunt to come forward. Clutched with blades to her neck and one already thrust through her side, Rainbow was at the mercy of the Nightmares. This only served to piss me off, and the grip of my gladius creaked in response to my tightening grip. Another grunt from the alpha sent a heavy load of soldiers upon me- and I was not having it. My blade clattered and clashed, cleaving through bones and sinew, but with each fallen Nightmare, it seemed another was in its place.

As I closed in on the Nightmare holding Rainbow, hatred and fury clouding all sense of strategic might, the Alpha launched an attack. Out of instinct I went to block it with my sword- only for the previously-damaged blade to shatter as the bone blade crashed into it. The force knocked me down, and a Nightmare immediately pinned me to the earth with a blade through my shoulder. I didn't feel the pain- I was too fucking angry, still clutching the broken remnants of my sword.

"YOUR FURY IS YOUR UNDOING. I LONG TO WATCH YOU SUFFER. KILL HER. SLOWLY."

With that, the Nightmare holding Rainbow began to slowly, painfully grind its blades across her skin, drawing blood across her cyan fur.

Something primal broke inside me. My left hand curled into a fist, and I unthinkingly slammed it into the earth, ushering a massive blast of air and ice, blowing away my captor. Taking deep breaths through gritted teeth, a death grip on my broken blade, I hurled myself onto my feet and moved with insane speed, smashing my elbow next to Rainbow's head and into the face of her torturer. Nary a second passed before I was slashing what was left of my blade through his gut, using his standing position to my advantage.

His grip lost on Rainbow, the wounded pony stumbled away from my fury as I slammed my blade through the torturer's forelimb, cruelly snapping the limb with a rough joint mannipulation. Pulling the blade free, I slammed it into his shoulder, forced it through his flesh, and pulled it out at an angle sufficient enough to rip through his jugular, killing him slowly as I tossed him aside.

Air in my heightened senses caused me to roll towards its source, taking me between the legs of the Alpha, who had just buried his massive blade into the dirt. A series of stabs went upwards and into the Alpha's unarmored stomach, gauging massive holes with the broken steel. The other sword on its back, far too muscled for fine manipulation, flailed uselessly in an effort to stab underneath itself, and any movement from the legs would topple the creature.

As the beast finally got its blade free, I rolled behind it and slashed my blade through its exposed back leg, almost taking the leg off with the force of my attack. Stumbling and dazed at all the damage it had received in such a brief instant, the Alpha dropped to its knees for the smallest of moments.

I launched myself on top of it, an idle Aard sign into the middle of its spine forcing it into the earth so hard that the spine snapped in twain, effectively neutralizing the Nightmare's attempts at using its blades. The Alpha shrieked curses in that ungodly voice, but nothing moved past my ears. Seeing white in my everlasting hatred, I slammed my blade underneath the Nightmare's armored cap, and cruelly began to pry it off. Screaming and howling, I chose to end the creature's suffering, once and for all- curling my thumb and forefinger, a jet of hot flame poured out of my hands, engulfing the metallic head of the beast and cooking its brain in full display of vengeful execution.

Stumbling off the most definitely fucking dead now Alpha Nightmare, I approached Rainbow Dash, who had taken the initiative to begin mending her wounds with some of the bandaging she found in my equipment, which I remembered still needed to be recovered. On approach, she smiled, despite herself.

"Even with the hair, the eyes, all the new scars, one thing is still the same about you, soldier-boy." She playfully dipped, "You're still a monster in a fight."

"You can only get better at it. You alright? No permanent injuries?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine, but you? You just got impaled. I'll be fine, we need to fix you."

"Don't worry about that," I jabbed, reaching into my pack and pulling free a small, white bottle. Uncorking it and swallowing the awful, awful elixir within, a sense of numbness flooded my body. The wound in my shoulder began to quickly and softly knit together. Rolling my injured shoulder, I picked my broken blade out of the dirt, hilt and broken tip. I turned to see Rainbow staring with a dumbstruck look.

"...That's new. Sorry about your blade, though, Sifty... I would have been fine, you know. He cuts like a girl!"

"Eh, it was bound to happen, eventually... I think I'll keep this old thing, though. Honestly, I feel like there's something to what's left of it. Like a demon was born inside it the moment it broke."

A thought struck me.

"Say, that big bastard called you 'The Liberator.' What did he mean?"

Rainbow Dash puffed out her bandaged chest. "Well, since you've been gone, I've been using the skies to my advantage to bust ponies out of camps like this. I've saved a lot of lives, but whenever I get seen, the camps always seem to move by the time the coast is clear."

I laughed, proudly. "Hot damn. Well, that's not going to be happening anymore. If the Vipers taught me anything, its that rain and fog make you a ghost with a pointy object. Let me gear up real quick, and we'll free these ponies. How many camps are there?"

"A few. You ready for another shot of the old times, Champ?"

I smiled, warmly. "You know it."

Entry XXIV: Freakin' Spiders, Man by Kildeez

There is one thing worse than waking up with a changeling princess’s butt in your face, as it turns out; and that is waking up wrapped in spider webs. Doesn’t matter how tough you think you are, that shit’s enough to awaken the arachnophobe in all of us.

Yes, my immediate reaction has been to scream like a girl, do you even have to ask?

“Naaaaaaaahhhhh!” I cry effeminately, immediately bucking to the side. The webs tear around me, my arms struggling to free themselves from the tight bindings holding them crossed over my chest.

“I-Impossible!” Something small, hissy, and sounding like a bag full of nails being dropped down a fire escape shouts. I turn, spying the four-legged spider-thing gaping at me with wide eyes, looking for all intents and purposes like a kindergartner’s attempt at a Halloween decoration. Its mouth drips venom as it snarls at my writhing form. “Nopony can escape my dream realm!”

Usually, this would be where I’d pull a smart little one-liner out of my ass, but considering said ass is currently blanketed in spider webs, I’m having a bit of trouble pulling anything out, so all I can do is keep writhing and screaming.

“Impossible! Simply impossible!” The thing hisses at me again, skittering towards me with every ounce of ‘nope’ in its tiny form. Which was quite a lot, given that it skittered.

“RAAAAHHHHHHH!” I reply intelligently, tearing an arm free and swatting at its hissing form. It returns by baring its fangs, skittering just out of reach. I rear back for a killing blow, just as a few strands of web dangle down into the corners of my mouth.

“NNNAAAAAAHHHHHH!” I cry in revulsion, spitting and hacking as a cocoon of web lands at my side.

Cypher’s big, blue eyes gaze up at me from inside the web, then his ears tear free, followed by the rest of his head, his fanged muzzle emerging like a facehugger from Alien. And of course, he decides to join in on the conversation with his own intellectual input: “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH…”

“NNNNYYYYYYOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO…” I put in.

The spider-thing clamps a couple legs into a pair of holes on the sides of its body, which I’m guessing are its ears. “Would you two quit all that racket!?”

“RAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” I refuse.

“WWWAAAGGGGHHHHHH!” Cypher gags.

“AH! AH! AH!” I add, making a few more futile sweeps at the skittering abomination.

“Ugh, this day can’t get any…” the spider-thing starts, but before it can even complete the cliché its body is engulfed in flames. Hissing, it retreats into the webbing, racing away.

Chittery lands between us, zapping the thing again and again, but accomplishing nothing but more magical tears at the webbing. The skittering in the maze of webs fade away, leaving us there with nothing but a whole lot of nasty in an old, abandoned closet. Seeing this, Chittery turns to us, a bit of webbing still caught in her ear and her wings buzzing rapidly. Her jaw drops and she lets out her own high-pitched investment into the conversation: “YYYYAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!”

“AAAHHHHHHH!” I reply, holding up a bit of webbing between my fingers.

“NNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Cypher puts in, pointing at said webbing.

The conversation rises and escalates at the sheer horror of the webbing around us, finally reaching a fever pitch as we fully process the fact that we’re locked in a closet filled with a fuckton of spider webs, clawing our way free, ripping away at the stuff until finally, piling out the door. This, of course, is a point of further discussion among us:

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH…”

“Okay, so we’re all in agreement? That was one of the nastiest things we’ve ever had to endure and we should never talk about it again.” I ask, shivering in my boxers. I Slav-squat over a smoldering fire, tending to the ashes that were once my clothes. Like hell I was wearing that shit again.

“A-a-agreed.” Cypher mutters, his trademarked stammer in high form since waking up.

“Fuck yes,” Chittery enthuses, pulling another pot of boiling water from off the stove and dumping it over her body. “At least we know what the Nightmare sent to fuck with this place and anyone in it.”

“Exactly,” I stand, dusting off my bare knees. “Now it’s just a matter of finding Nut Diddle, and avoiding another nap.” I grimace, shaking my head. I’ve been a bit fuzzy since waking up, for some reason feeling a bit more…masculine? Was that the word for what I felt? Maybe. Either way, I pulled on my trench coat, grateful that I’d taken it off the night before and so spared it being draped in nastiness.

“I say we go after that Nightmare thing next,” Chittery growls. “Nobody ties me up like that. Not without my consent, at least.”

“It’s a little nightmare critter the size of a rat in a house this big, we could spend weeks looking for it. If it’s still in the house,” I reply thrusting my chest out and hammering a fist it. “Besides, there’s still an innocent that needs to be saved!”

She giggles at that. “An innocent to be saved? Fucking…seriously?”

I pause, then grimace. “Yeah, I don’t even know where that came from.”

All at once, we hear a scream from the other corner of the house. Cypher’s scream. Gasping, I scoop up Shelly and lope into the next room, Chittery right beside me. Loading a few extra shells, I bound towards the living room, shotgun levelled, ready to take a Nightmare turrurrist’s head off. “Cypher!” I bellow, my finger wrapping around the trigger. “What’s wrong, brother!?”

We find the Nightling wrapped up in a blanket, thrashing around, until his head pokes out the top. He looks around, sees us, then flashes a sheepish grin. “S-sorry,” he stammers. “I-I was just straightening out the blankets from last night, a-and I think my horn got caught in them, and I panicked a little because i-it reminded me of the spider webs, a-and…” he trails off.

I lower my shotgun. “Fucking seriously?” I ask.

“S-sorry,” he lowers his head, ears folding down, and I let out a long sigh.

“S’alright, Cypher,” I reply, emptying Shelly’s chamber. “Just try and keep that shit under wraps next time, okay?”

“I-I will, sorry…”

“Don’t be…uh, Chittery?”

“Hmmm?” She asks, looking out the window with hardly a speck of interest on her face.

“What are you doing?”

“What’s…” she starts, but then pauses as she looks down to find her hoof wrapped tightly around my free hand, quickly guiding the fingers up between her hind legs and towards her happy hole. She blinks once.

“Umm…fucking…” She replies.

“…seriously!?” I shout, leaping back as hard and as fast as I can, shoving her hoof away. “Dammit girl, put a lid on it already!”

“I-I’m sorry!” She gasps, gazing down at the offending, hole-filled hoof as if it were a stranger’s. “I don’t know what I was doing! Although if…”

“No,” I reply quickly.

“…right, of course,” she sighs and shakes her head. “Sorry.”

I work my fingers into my temple. “Look guys, obviously what just happened is messing with all our heads.”

“Could be…” Chittery frowns. “Maybe we should keep an eye on each other.”

“Yeah, I think that’d be good,” I grimace, heading over to our knapsack, still in the corner of the room. I pull out a spare T-shirt and pair of jeans, along with a package of oatmeal. “Let’s just get some breakfast in us and go from there, maybe a little food will help get our heads on straight again.”

“Y-yeah,” Cypher nods quickly and scampers to my side, pressing a little close for comfort.

“Uhhh…Cyphy?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow down at him. “I did tell you I wasn’t gay, right?”

“Er…right,” he says quickly. “I-I just didn’t feel comfortable being off by myself.”

“What, on the other side of the room?” I smirk. “Cypher, why don’t you just man up like me and grow a pair already?”

At that, he turns to me, his extended jaw nearly hitting the floor.

“Kildeez!” Chittery gasps, striding towards me with a hateful glare in her eye. “How the hell could you say something like that?”

Her asking hits me like a cold slap, smacking the cocky smirk off my face. “Oh shit…Cypher! Jesus Christ man,” I reach towards him, momentarily forgetting the knapsack as I try to hold his hoof. “I’m so sorry! I don’t know what made me say something so damn awful…”

“Th-the web…the-the-the webs,” he starts, unable to complete the thought. He shrinks away from my hand as if it was covered in blood from an Ebola victim, combined with spit straight from Kim Kardashian’s mouth. “L-like you said, it’s what happened that’s messing with us. L-let’s just eat and h-hope we can pull ourselves t-together.”

“Right man, right,” I mutter quickly pulling the knapsack towards myself and rummaging through for our breakfast supplies. After a while, he trots over to sit by me, and for the damnedest reason, I find it hard to keep from slapping him away. Of course, we both find it hard to ignore Chittery as she scoops up a couch cushion and starts using it like a two-bit whore, but we manage that as well.

The spider thing hissed to itself as it limped along. Fire! The changeling bitch set him on fire! Oh, she would pay for that, how she would pay. When this was done, he was going to feed on her for weeks. She would be little more than a dried-up husk, oh yes, then he’d feed her to the Gorgers…or maybe the Guardians would like to have some fun with her, he knew one of them that was particularly skilled with the blade, yes, he’d teach her for assaulting a soldier of the Collective!

Bah, whatever, the damage was done. It’d take a little longer for the effects to totally consume them, but the Nightmare was nothing if not patient. The plan attested to that: years spent waiting in the abyss to strike out against Equestria, then when the Champion arrived, months spent planning, gathering forces, finding new allies, and waiting for the lack of action to take its toll. Finally, they were closer than ever before, the Nightmare could wait just a little while longer to fully break the back of these stupid little ponies.

Finally, the creature twisted around and skittered through the front hallway, right out the mail slot, ducking onto the front lawn as the trio argued and debated in the front room. Yes, this was good, good! The venom was taking effect. It quieted itself despite the urge to cackle evilly, zipping along the front sidewalk in utter silence before it was stopped by something new: a pair of ratty sneakers.

“Sir!” The creature gasped, bowing before the newcomer and splaying its legs.

“Quiet, you fool!” The newcomer scowled. “Unless you think the two of us can take on the Champion’s friend, his posse, and this entire town!”

“O-of course sir, my infinite apologies,” the spider-thing did not lift its head, so the newcomer did not see the fanged scowl it now wore. “I was just…excited from having completed my task.”

At that, the newcomer’s grin flashed in the darkness of the early-morning, visible even from where the spider-thing knelt. “Good, good,” he said, his voice oozing with pride. “You’ve done well. When can we expect to see some of the effects?”

“Right now, if you wish,” the spider replied, a grin of pride replacing the scowl.

“Good, good, and how long until it finishes them off?”

The spider shifted uncomfortably on the walk. “It shouldn’t take more than a week, Lord.”

“A week?” The ratty sneakers ground into the pavement, and the spider could almost hear the other creature’s scowl in his voice. “A bit different from the three to five days you promised us.”

“Yes, well, I thought I would have longer to feed.”

A long silence filled the air, interrupted only by the occasional tweet from a bird and hiss from a far off, distorted creature in the wilderness. “Oh, just as well,” the newcomer waved a hand dismissively. “Any longer and we would have risked exposing ourselves to the town, and I’m not quite ready for that.”

“Y-yes sir,” the spider-thing said with a minor sigh of relief.

“Though I am disappointed that my plans must change with new circumstances, rather than the other way around,” that disappointed tone reappeared, oozing venom all over again. “You don’t want to disappoint me again, do you?”

In its short life, the spider had heard tales of the newcomer: the man before it. Of Nightmares cast into the Abyss between worlds for all time, where the first Nightmare corruption had been spawned, and where creatures like the Nightmare were no longer the top of the food chain, but the bottom. He had heard stories of these creatures sent to die a thousand deaths, each more agonizing than the last, with a level of creativity behind them that Satan himself would have been jealous of, all because they had disappointed the same creature now standing before it. No, no it did not want to disappoint this creature. “No sir, of course not.”

“Good,” a gloved hand landed at the spider’s side. It was quick to skitter into the palm, ignoring the pain in its side from the burn to reach the hand as quickly as possible. It knew what hesitation could cost: it still missed its fifth leg. “So, if all is still well, we should be expecting them as guests soon, hmm? I mean, it’s only fair, they’ve spent so long playing host to us, it’s we simply must reciprocate.”

“Yes sir,” the spider said, allowing another chuckle to pass through its fangs.

“Well then,” the newcomer’s grin returned, flashing white in the darkness. “Let’s go make preparations for them, hmm?”

Entry XXV: Rescue, and A New Mission! Against Turrurists! By Kildeez

It has been thirty American minutes since we broke from a fine, hearty breakfast to continue our search for the lost innocent. Fortunately, it takes far more than a small wait to make this red-blooded American turn around with…

“Kildeez?”

“Yeah, Cypher?”

“Y-you’re doing it again.”

I blink, then rub my eyes with my free hand, cradling Shelly in the crook of my arm. “Shit, really? I was fuckin’ narrating myself again?”

“Uh-huh.”

“How much of that didja hear?”

“Everything after ‘thirty American minutes’.”

“Jesus H…” I grumble, slapping myself. “Okay, let’s just find this little pony and get the hell out of here, alright? I don’t wanna spend another night in this creepy-ass place.” And in fact, I was debating burning it down just to get at that spider-thing. Yes, we still needed to earn Brownie points with the locals, and yes, even if we find our victim, burning down their champion’s house would still look pretty bad, but man fuck that spider shit.

“I-I can totally understand that,” he replies, peeking around a corner and slinking back. He bites his lip, a shiver racing up and down his spine.

“What we got?” I ask, my eyes narrowing. “Some good-fer-nothin’ turrurists?”

“N-no…” he manages to squeak.

I drop to one knee, bringing the shotgun to my shoulder as something skitters around the corner. My finger tenses on the trigger. A breath leaves my body. Somewhere off-screen, the music reaches a frantic tempo. Finally, I can take no more. There is only one way to settle this.

“Eat shit and die, you goat-fucking pig-shitters!” I scream, rounding the corner and blasting away, working the lever action and trigger over and over again, pounding rounds into the far wall and the opposite window. Finally, I pause, having spent a mere five shells on determining that I was blasting buckshot into an empty hallway, but only defeated the window. Ah well, odds were that window had communist leanings anyway.

You laugh now, but don’t come crying to me when you start finding Che Guevera t-shirts stuffed into your breakfast nooks!

Cypher cries out behind me. I turn for a moment, gazing at him, surveilling him for any signs of terrorist Nightmare corruption.

He looks back at me, poking his head around the corner. “S-sorry,” he whimpers. “After you stopped shooting, I realized I was alone back here.”

Rolling my eyes, I turn back to the task at hand, sweeping the shotgun throughout the corridor. Once again, something skitters in one of the rooms. Hardening my chin to sufficient pretty-boy qualities, I charge the door, blast the handle, and kick it down.

Inside I find nothing but a cheap dresser, a twin bed covered in linens that might have been in style sometime around the Reagan era, and a large scorch mark that might once have been a tasteful desktop lamp. Something ruffles the bedspread.

“Th-there…” Cypher whimpers from the door.

“Acknowledged,” I reply, then immediately empty the two remaining shells into the spread. “Die you Nazi-loving tea-worshipper!”

The linens ruffle, then settle, ugly black scorch marks covering them now. I watch as, without any fanfare, a small mouse skitters out, looks up at me, squeaks, and then peals for the door, which of course earns a shriek from Cypher.

“Dude, seriously?” I ask, eyeing him as I start filling my weapon with more shells from my pockets.

“D-don’t let it hurt me!” Cypher cries, covering his face with his hooves as the mouse hops by.

“Dude, the hell is with you today!?” I shout, completely without any mind to anything that might be listening. “You’ve been acting like more of a pussy than usual!”

He looks up at me, ears folding back. “I-I know,” he whimpers. “I-I don’t know what’s…”

Realizing what I’ve said, I backtrack. “Shit Cyph, I didn’t mean…”

“What’s going on in here!?” Chittery shrieks, bounding around the corner after us, her horn already glowing with a prepared spell.

Forgetting my apology, I smirk and wave over to Cypher. “This idiot got me riled up over a mouse.”

Cypher manages to cower even lower as Chittery looks over at me, her horn extinguishing itself. “That’s all? What were those gunshots for, then?”

“Uhhh…” I stand there, dumbfounded as I realize I just blew seven rounds on a wild goose chase. “Shit, that was me too…”

“Wow, what?” She shakes her head. “What’s gotten into you two?”

Me and Cypher exchange looks. “I’d really like to know that myself, princess,” I reply, finally taking note of her. More specifically, of the cord running up her hind leg. “Uhhh…princess? What is that?”

“Hmm?” She looks back at herself, her ears perking up at the sight of the cord trailing into her, then looks back to me slyly. “Oh, I found the most wonderful machine in the other room, something called an ‘X-360?’ Anyway, it included these two wonderful devices that had just the perfect vibrating sequence when I turned it on, so naturally…”

“…Naturally, you found a device that you never saw before and had no idea about its function and proper use, so you stuck it up your happy hole?” I ask, an eyebrow rising.

She blinks at that, then just smiles. “Well, when you put it like that, it does sound strange. But it’s just too much fun,” she coos, giving her rear end a nice shake as a blush rises on Cypher’s face.

“Dude, seriously? You too?”

“Don’t act like you don’t like to watch,” she hisses, shaking her head as her body stretches out. “Let’s just say they don’t call me ‘buzz’ because of my wings.” Her eyes roll, accompanied by a faint buzzing sound from her hindquarters.

“Gross.” I grumble, shaking my head. We desperately need to get out of this house; something’s still messing with our heads, but I’ll be damned if we do it before we pull that little pony out of whatever hell has gotten hold of him. “Okay, besides a new and perverted way to question everything I thought I knew about my sexuality, didja find anything?”

“Hmm…no, after I found this, everything else sort of…seemed less important,” Chittery muses.

“Seemed less…young missy, there ain’t nothing more important than pulling an innocent out of dire straits, you keep that in mind!” I boom, rearing over her. She hardly even notices.

“Umm…g-guys?” Cypher puts in. “Wh-what was that sound?”

Everything comes to a crashing halt. The small hallway falls silent save for the buzzing of Chittery’s lady parts. All three sets of ears perk up and we whirl at the sound of hooves on wood.

“How in the hell did we miss that?” I wonder aloud. “Besides, you know, the fact that I was blasting our eardrums out with repeated shotgun blasts.”

“It’s this way!” Chittery announces, taking a moment to remove the Xbox controller, which I promptly note to have dipped in boiling bleach at some point. We take off down the hallway, down the stairs, towards the basement, with me and Chittery up front and Cypher shivering in the rear.

“I got the lights!” He starts, but I yank him down into the darkness under the house.

“No time!” I announce, storming forward, my chest thrust out, my weapon in hand. “Face me now, you Commie-terrorist-immigrant-British witch!”

The only answer is a shifting from the pile of rubbish in the corner. Our breaths all catch in our throats as we step towards the pile, more shifting coming from the empty soup cans at its base. I tense, raising the shotgun to my shoulder, finger curling around the trigger.

“Okay,” Chittery says. “Deezy, you take point, Cyphy and I’ll…”

“I am a bad motherfucker!” I scream, throwing myself at the pile. “Live long and well thanks to suckers!”

Something shuffles. I wrap my arms around it and pound it in the face. It responds by letting loose its battle cry. I snarl and hit it with a couple roundhouses, followed by a choker hold. It comes back with an aggressive attempt at playing dead. Naturally, my only recourse is a kick to the ribs, followed by…

“Kildeez! Really!?” Chittery shrieks.

I pause in my righteous beatdown of the freedom-hating turrurist commie Nazi to turn to her. “Chittery, can’t you see I’m a little busy handling this enemy of freedom-loving people everywhere?”

“Try the guy we came in here to save, fool,” she replies, pointing to my quarry. I finally gaze down at my massive, muscle-bound hands, seeing a quivering pony in my grasp.

“Homygosh!” I scream, snapping back to my senses as I stand the little pony up, dusting him off. He stands there, quivering, his muzzle scrunched up in obvious disgust, and possibly from the swollen lip I just gave him.

I sigh. “Hey man, you uh…you alright?”

“No I am not alright!” The little pony screeches, his long, sandy mane curling over his eyes. “You’ve just ruined my model!”

“Your…what?”

“My model!” He screams, desperately rushing back to the junk pile. I crane my neck over it, realizing that there is sort of a pattern to the crap I just pulled the little pony out of. If I squint, I can sorta see the soup cans as tables with little mothball chairs arranged by them. At the head is a crushed cereal box on its side with a few strips of scotch tape on its front. Next to it all is a big cocoon of webbing, recently busted. So that’s where he was being held, dang. “See, you’ve crushed the counter! Just when I was so close to finding a new arrangement for the lineup that would’ve revolutionized deli counters everywhere!”

“Uh-huh…” I reply intelligently, taking note of the pony’s scruffy mane, growing stubble, and of a couple ribs poking out of his side. “And…how long have you been down here working on that?”

“Started the second night I got here,” he replies, still focused on smoothing out the creases in his cereal box counter.

Our jaws all hit the floor, literally in Cypher’s case. “But…that was three days ago!” Chittery squeaks.

“Is it now?” The pony looks up, his eyebrow quirked, but then he shrugs and bends back over his model deli. “Well, I did take a nap for awhile, but now I need to make up for lost time!”

“Uh-huh, a nap, that’s why you woke up in a damned cocoon. I’m sure ponies weave cocoons all the time,” I shake my head, my voice rising to a scream. “Why the hell is this so important!? Have you had anything to drink or eat in that time!?”

“Who has time to get water when this still needs work!?” He shouts right back, teasing up the edges of the cereal box. “The reason my business has succeeded is because I have paid attention to detail! I have labored over menus, which tourist group would like what, which customer would prefer the window seat based on complexion! Giving up now, I might as well give up on life!”

We all blink at him. “Okay, that was way too much crazy in one sentence,” I grumble, hauling the little pony up by the scruff of his neck.

“No! Put me down!” He hollers, flailing uselessly against my grip.

“If you want, I can calm him down real fast,” Chittery coos.

“Ugh, Cypher!” I call, scanning the dankness around me for a certain nightling. “Dammit, help me with this guy, will ya!? Can’t you tie him up in changeling goo or…”

“I can! I can!” Chittery enthuses, bounding towards me.

“Aww, hell no!” I scream, holding the pony out of her reach as I finally spy my favorite nightling cowering at the bottom of the stairs. “Cypher!”

“I-I would, b-but…he might…might…” he gulps.

“Might what!?” I bellow. Okay, this yellow-bellied Benedict Arnold was really starting to get under my skin.

He just shivers and tucks away, curling his tendrils around himself while shaking his head. I can only roll my eyes and clomp up the stairs, barreling towards the light with a frown on my face and grim determination set on my brow.

We stride through the streets of Equestria with our heads held high and our chests thrust out. At least, I do, Cypher’s too busy hiding behind me every time a pony so much as glances our way, and Chittery’s spending all her time hitting up every one of those said ponies for an invitation to drinks in between barely-masked gasps of heated anticipation and obvious attempts to show her pussy.

Ah well, at least someone in this group knows how to act the hero!

I blink and shake my head. Wait, hero? Seriously? Not a bad idea, but hardly…hardly…what? Hardly something I should…think? My head’s all…

“Oh my goodness, you found him!”

My thoughts screech to a halt as a purple pony princess drifts into view, beaming ear to ear at the little pony in my grasp. “Where did you find him!?”

“Oh, basement.” I shrug.

“O-oh…all this time, he was just in the basement?”

“Guess so.”

“Uh-huh…” she stammers, then turns to the pony as I set him on the ground. “W-well, you sure gave us a start, sir!”

At that, the pony looks up, as if he only just realized there were other ponies around him. “Wh-where—” he starts.

“You’re safe, Mr. Brittle, don’t worry,” she smiles calmly and evenly, and I just roll my eyes. Why’s she bothering with all the tip-toeing? He’s out and safe, isn’t he? “I sent a few friends to save you from that house after you failed to report for a few—”

“N-no, no!” He moans, looking around in a panic. “I almost had it, I was gonna…gonna…”

“M-Mr. Brittle?” Twilight eyes him uneasily. “A-are you okay?”

He looks around, still with that frantic toss of his head, then his eyes lock on Twilight. “For buck’s sake, this was your doing!?” He screams, his glare turning into hate. “I should’ve known you would just have to meddle!”

“S-sir?” She takes a few steps back. “Sir, I’m not sure you quite understand what’s happened to you.”

“Oh, I understand it quite well!” He takes a few steps towards her. “You took me away from my studies and my thinking! Just when I was on the verge of changing everything! Do you have any idea what you’ve just ruined!?”

“S-sir, y-your friends were w-worried—”

“My friends can hang for all I care!” He screams, which is practically blasphemy to pony ears. He lifts a hoof, rearing back as if to strike. “It’s all gone thanks to—”

I’ve seen enough. I grab him in a quick choker hold, locking my elbow around his throat and wrapping my arm around until my hand can grip my opposite shoulder, my other hand gripping behind his head to finish the hold. Finally, my legs lock around his waist, turning me into a pretzel literally wrapped around him while leaving no part of myself exposed to his flailing, panicking hooves.

“He’s been like this since we got ‘im,” I explain as the pounding at my arm and desperate gasps get weaker and fewer between. “Dude’s totally wrapped around finding some new deli counter design or something else retarded like that.”

“I…what?” Twilight asks as Nutter-Butter’s struggles renew under me. Oops, guess I shouldn’t have bad-mouthed his life’s work like that. Eh, he’ll get over it.

“Yeah…he’s uh…been totally obsessed with it,” Chittery replies, looking us over while biting her lip, a green-tinted blush crawling over her face. “Hey, uh – Deezy, couldja do me a favor and…hold him around the waist, y’know?”

“Sorry, gotta keep his head under control,” I reply.

“Yeah, but…I’d really like it…if you could,” she swallows, shaking on her hooves as she watches Brittle-Back weaken in my grip. I don’t really pay attention, tuning her out even as Twilight turns to her with an arched eyebrow.

“Princess, are you feeling alright?” She asks. “You seem…different. You didn’t injure your head while you were in there, did you?”

“Oh, I’ve never been better,” Chittery enthuses, taking a swooping step towards Twilight with her own eyebrow cocked, her eyes half-lidded dreamily. “Although I think we need to focus more on you, perhaps over coffee? At your palace? With the shades drawn?”

Twilight’s jaw drops. “What!?”

“Or leave ‘em open, let the whole world see. I don’t mind.”

Twilight appears to crash for a second, freezing in position with her mouth hanging wide and her wings flared out. After a few seconds, she shakes her head, snapping out of it before anypony can sneak around behind her and grope her flanks, much to Chittery’s chagrin.

“I…guys, really now, is there something wrong with you!?”

I shrug. “Never been better.”

“Wh-where is your other friend, then!? Cypher!?”

Oh right, him. I amble around in a half-circle and scan the street with the interest and investment of a cheerleader at a Lord of the Rings cosplay contest, eventually spying the shivering mass of black chitin in a hedge twenty yards back. “There, see?” I point.

“I...yes, guys! Really! What is happening to you all!?”

“What’re you talking about?” I ask, turning back around just in time to grab Chittery by the tail before she can try her flanking maneuver again. “I’ve always been the one to rush out in danger, Chittery’s always been the horndog, and Cypher’s always been a pussy.”

“Yes…wait no, I…” she snorts in frustration. “Chittery wasn’t so totally unrestrained that she kept trying to feel up everypony she met! And Cypher could at least function out in daylight! And you, Mr. Kildeez, knew a little something about tact when you first showed up!”

I pause and think about that for a second, but realize there’s more important shit to handle than whatever a pony princess is getting herself worked up about. “Eh, look princess, you asked us to rescue a pony, we did that, it’s done. Now, I ain’t blasted a Nightmare in the face in, like, a day, which is way too damn long. You got anything else that needs doin’ around here?”

She blinks once or twice and then sighs in defeat. “Well, a few days ago I did get a request from a local candymaker. Her friend's been missing for the past few days. I sent Rainbow out yesterday after she woke up, which I'd say was around ten at night,” she bites her lip. “I haven't heard a word from any of them.”

“Got it,” I shrug, turning away with my shotgun slung over my shoulders and Chittery wrapped around my leg, humping vigorously. “We’ll get both li'l ponies back, princess, dontcha worry your pretty li’l head.”

Behind me, Twilight let’s out a frustrated wicker, and in a sudden burst of pink light she’s teleported in front of me. “Pretty little head!?” She screeches. “Honestly Kildeez, what is wrong with you!?”

My eyes widen at her. I shake my head, one chitin-covered hand rubbing into my temple. “Oh God…Princess…I’m sorry, I…I dunno…”

Her wings fold in against her back again, and this time she offers up a hoof. “Here, how about instead you rest for a few days in my palace? That way you can be sure you’re in peak condition for dropping into Canterlot, and you’ll need that much to take on the things around there.”

My fingers rub into my temple as a sharp pain stabs there. Maybe she’s right. God knows that big-ass squid thing wrapped around the castle looked like it could rip a bus apart while driving me insane with a glance. Maybe that’s a sign that I should…should…should...

Pussy out? Without even having killed a Nightmare? Shit, Sift would be so glad to know Equestria’s in good hands.

“Naahhh,” I smile and shoo her off. “Thanks but no thanks, princess. We’ll be fine.”

She looks me over with those concerned eyes, then relents with a bow of her head. “Okay…fine. Go do the hero thing. Just…are you sure you’re alright?”

I flash my best grin at her, my chest rising at that term: hero. “’Course I am, princess!” I snort. C’mon, how can she even ask that? I mean, I’m the hero, and the hero doesn’t get sick or duped or anything like that.

Everybody knows that.

I repeat that mantra as our little trio makes its way to the edge of town, leaving the scared widdle ponies behind. The Everfree forest looms over us like some monster out of an old story. I reach down, pull up a few blades of grass, and scatter them with a breeze. Then I blink: the hell am I doing? I don’t know how to track!

Who cares if you don’t know? As long as you’re leading, everything will work out! That’s what the hero does, right?

I blink and scoff at my temporary stupidity. Of course things will work out! Things always work out for the hero! I rise to my feet and march forward, ready to lead the charge. “This way, comrades! Quickly!” I bellow, striding ahead. “Them turrurist Nightmares must know American justice!”

I pause after a few steps in. Why haven’t my troops rallied behind me? I turn in place, finding Chittery wondering around one of the back alleys of Ponyville, lurking in the shadows just above an unsuspecting little mare. Hunching my eyebrows in confusion, I spot Cypher standing just on the outskirts of Ponyville, prancing on his hooves, looking like he’s torn between following me and running back into town with his tail tucked between his legs. I roll my eyes and start towards them, but then stop. Hold up, this is my chance to get rid of some unwanted luggage! The annoying comedic relief can be out of the way for the hero to shine, right here and now!

Smirking, I just turn and head into the woods. With those annoyances gone, I’m finally free to carry out the total destruction of the Nightmare the way it was meant to be done did: with enough ammunition and one-liners to satisfy Michael Bay for a month. Look out, you Nightmarish freaks, here I come!

“Get ready to get fucked, you commie-loving goat-fuckers!” I scream as I charge into the Everfree. I tromp along all nice and loud to send a simple message: that a true, red-blooded American is coming, and every freedom-hating sumbitch that has the misfortune of being on the same plane of existence as me has a few minutes to make peace with whatever heathen god they believe in before the stars and stripes came to shove a steel-toed boot up their asses.

‘Cause I’m the hero.

And that’s how this story is meant to play out.

A long, dark cave engulfed the spider-creature as it skittered along, dodging shallow puddles of water and dripping stalactites as it continued. The light from the outdoors was far behind, but the cries from the many cages setup deeper within the cave still reached the spider without any problem. It cackled, buoyed along by the despair and shack wafting up to it even as its body trembled in anxious anticipation.

The man from the night before stood at a wide control panel, surrounded by screens, each displaying a different head in profile: some normal, some wider than could possibly be natural, others looking like a misshapen mass that had been worked over with baseball bats. One thing they had in common was the utter, rapt attention they paid to the man sitting at the console.

“So it’s settled, then,” he hissed. “Warlord Stroggoth will continue his raids on the outskirts and smaller villages while everyone else readies up for the main push into Canterlot.”

“My men will lay waste to everything from here to the Frozen North!” One of the figures bellowed, followed by the thump of a fist smacking against a meaty chest.

“Excellent,” the man cackled. “That just leaves our gift from Earth.”

“Our negotiations with the North Koreans have improved significantly,” whispered one of the misshapen creatures in a voice like a fist being pounded into a jar of jelly. “Thanks in no small part, I’m sure, to your aid.”

“It was nothing,” the man replied with a nonchalant twirl of his fingers. “A few well-placed and well-timed bombs, and you can convince anyone that you’re capable of anything. I’m just glad we didn’t have to escalate to wiping out the Premier’s family.”

To the spider, he sounded more disappointed than glad, but to say so would be contradicting the man. Nightmares who wanted to live long, productive lives not being torn apart by unspeakable abominations from the Abyss between worlds did not contradict this man. So instead, the spider waited patiently as the man concluded his meeting, shutting off the screens one-by-one before turning to regard it.

“So?” The man-creature in the chair asked, his cold, passionless eyes regarding the spider like a shark spying an injured seal trailing blood in the water.

“All set, lord,” the spider said with a small bow. “Our forces are gathered here en masse. In his current state, The Champion’s little friend will never be able to resist. He’ll blunder right into us and slam headfirst into the concrete wall of our defenses.”

“Good, good,” the man hissed. “And so, by the time he reaches this cave, he will be on his knees, right?”

“Yes, my liege: I expect by this time tomorrow you can collar him and call him your pet if you so wish.”

The man’s eyes practically glowed in the dim light cast by the computer screens. “Goood…I will be holding you to that promise, little one.”

The spider’s guts gave a fearful clench. “Of course, sir.”

“Now go,” the man flipped a few switches, and instantly a set of cages appeared on the screens, most of them darkened, though the faint outlines of ponies, griffons, and even one or two humans huddled within could be made out, the stillness only interrupted by the occasional patrolling Nightmare, who would periodically rattle a cage with a bladed tendril and laugh hysterically at the reaction. “Make sure you put on a good show, now. I will be watching.”

The spider nodded and turned, skittering back towards the entrance of the cave, never knowing it could feel so relieved to be returning to the sunlight. The man, meanwhile, turned back to his console and flicked a series of switches, eventually pulling up a certain changeling hybrid as he tromped through the woods, noisily stomping through every branch and tree that got in his way.

“It’s almost a shame that our little game must end so soon, half-breed,” the creature chuckled. “But you have proven capable, and I just can’t let you interfere with our plans here. Besides, I’m really looking forward to seeing you break.”

With that, the thing that looked like a man eased back into his lounge chair, put his feet up on the console with his hands laced behind his head, and watched as the Champion’s Understudy blundered right into the jaws of the trap.

Entry XXVI: The Cave, by Kildeez

A few hours and several kicked asses later, I’m still going strong.

My massive, muscular minotaur hands wrap around the Hive Guardian’s tendrils and bend them around, putting its blades in my control. “Wait, STO-“ is all it manages to get out in its messed-up, hissing language before I ram its own blades up its ass, thoroughly skewering the creature’s anal cavity.

“America: 23, Nightmare Turrurists: jack shit!” I announce, tossing the desecrated remains to the side and strolling along down the path. I’m still not 100% this is the right path, but there were plenty of Nightmare asses to kick, so who really cares?

Wait…

Hold up, what? I would care, thank you very much! I’m supposed to be saving lives in Sifty’s stead! That’s the point! I can’t just run around, killing Nightmares with no goal in mind! Even if I did, I couldn’t do it as a minotaur, I'm sucking up way too much from my love reserves! At this rate, I won’t even be able to hold my own head up within a couple hours! The hell am I thinking!?

…

I’m thinking I’m giving too much of an internal monologue when there are commie terrorist Imperial British Nazi asses to kick in Uncle Sam’s name, that’s what!

Snickering, I continue along the path, stomping down one or two Nightmare-tainted ponies with my gigantic hooves as I continue along the way. The call of freedom and duty rings in my ears as I boom along. For America! For the hero I know I am!

With a final cry, I burst into an open clearing, and finally find the source of the Nightmares in this area: a Hive built out of a cave, now writhing with giant maggots and Nightmare ponies and Guardians and heavily-armored Alphas and, overlooking it all, a gigantic spider the size of a Mack Truck: a Hive Queen.

I grin and crack my knuckles. Now things were getting interesting.

The spider-bitch raises a hairy spindle of a leg and levels it at me, letting out an ear-splitting screech, its mouth dropping open to reveal fangs dripping with venom. The small army roars in response and slams across the field, barreling towards me with feral eagerness. I grin and, as the head of the army approaches, whip a gigantic fist around against the temple of an Alpha, sending it to the ground with a sickening crack. I bring a hoof down on its neck as a bladed tendril whips by, slicing a thin red line into my bicep. I grit through the pain and bring my fist up into an uppercut that cracks against a Nightmare Pony’s jaw, but a couple more Alphas appear to take its place.

For a moment, I consider retreating. For an instant, a part of me thinks a tactical retreat to figure out a better plan than “run in there and punch everything” might be prudent. Then the pussified moment passes and I barrel into the crowd, a roar booming at the top of my lungs and echoing throughout the forest.

I twist, a Nightmare pony goes flying. I roll, coming up to stomp in the skull of an Alpha. Both fists lash out, sending a couple Hive Guardians flying, only to have a Nightmare changeling latch onto a forearm with its elongated mouth and clamp down hard with its massive fangs. I roar again, slamming it into the ground hard enough to send dirt clods flying. Another Guardian latches onto the back of my neck, its blades stabbing into my back again and again and again. Still roaring, I throw myself back, crushing the Guardian but allowing the Alphas to dogpile me, stabbing at me with boneblades, razor-sharp fangs gnashing, the air filled with screams and hisses.

I throw one off, then another, more rush to replace them. I lash out with my fists, my hands, and are they all getting bigger?

No.

No, I’m getting smaller.

It’s only now that I notice the pit of fire blazing in my stomach, slowly fading. The feeling of my love reserves burning up, only now dwindling to nothing. The world starts to go dark as the gnashing teeth and whipping blades are replaced with stomping hooves and whipping clubs, against my head, my back, my chest, my legs. I fall, my Minotaur form melting away in a pathetic little burst of green embers as my body collapses, beaten, bloody, and bruised beneath the onslaught. Darkness fills my vision. I…wait, isn’t the hero supposed to triumph? Isn’t this where I complete my rise?

“Hero?” A tiny, hissing voice asks. I lift my head, see something small skittering towards me. “Whatever gave you that idea?” It cackle-hisses. The beatings stop, but I still can’t muster the strength to stand again.

I feel something latch to my face, the skittering thing. My vision fills with green mist. I try to reach for it, but something heavy pins my arms to the ground. I tug a few times, then stop.

Tired.

So tired.

What was I doing again?

“Sleep fool, rest,” the voice hisses.

Tired, so tired…I close my eyes, and the darkness takes me.

“You want to use magic on him, you stupid piece of shit!?”

I stir, my vision fading in and out. Focus, damn you! The call of freedom can’t have a blind champion! Eyes! I demand you focus right now!

“W-well sir, i-it was just a suggestion…”

“What good is breaking him with magic!? I didn’t want to just cast a spell that finished him! I wanted him actually broken! I wanted to see him, begging me on his hands and knees, with nothing but open honesty in his eyes! I wanted him to know on every level who his superior was! What good is breaking down a drooling zombie that wears his face, you stuttering moron!?”

“I-I’m sorry sir, I just thought…”

Damn you, eyes! You have failed me. Arms, can you do any better?

…

You too, arms!? Damn you all, my body has failed. Arms, what good are you if you can’t break us out of a bit of glowing green gunk!?

“No, you did not think!” Shouted the first voice, coming from something tall and bipedal and practically begging to get its face stomped in, from the sound of that awful voice. “I told you I wanted to break him! I told you I wanted him in tears, begging me to stop the pain! And now you’re telling me he’s too damned moose-headed to do either!? Now you’re telling me I could kill his family and burn his hometown down in front of him, and he’d still try and crack a one-liner!?”

“E-everyone has a different reaction to the Draining, sir…” the second voice speaks, this time from something much tinier: a dot that wobbles just a bit off the ground at my feet. “I-I thought his logical side might take over, perhaps leave him heartless and more susceptible to our influence, but i-it appears he’s even more irrational than before.”

“You idiot!” The first figure steps forward and I see a leg lash out in a Superbowl-worthy punt, sending the wobbling dot flying to crash against something in the haze my traitorous eyes won’t lift. “Nincompoop! Moron! You’ve ruined everything!”

“Sir, wait! Please, I…”

I see something flicker by the first creature’s side, a tendril rising with a flicker of white, then a loud thunk followed by a choked-off cry, a hiss of pain, then silence. A green mist rips through the air, enveloping me in a shimmering cloud, and when it fades, I realize something terrible:

I’ve been a complete jackass for this entire day!

“Ohhhh what the fuck!?” I scream, falling back against my restraints. “What the hell was I thinking!? Oh God, what…”

“Well, look who’s back from the land of the blind,” that voice, the first one, intones. I turn, craning my head around, but my vision is still all blurry, something fucking with my eyes. Something cold presses to my throat, and I shrink back. I swallow around the narrow band of steel. I don’t need 20/20 vision to know that a knife is being pressed against my throat, and is a flick of the wrist away from slicing me up and leaving me to bleed out in seconds.

“Don’t speak, you’ve done enough of that.” The cold voice rasps. “Can you understand me? Nod if you can.”

I nod slowly.

“Good. I’m guessing you’re back to your old self, that’s good. I want you to understand the sheer weight of the situation you’re in,” the voice carries on as my eyes trace the arm-tendril back into the dark…only it’s not a tendril, it’s an arm, a solid arm. And in the corner of my vision, what I thought was a white blob focuses into skin. A hand? A human?

“Right now,” the voice continues. “You are totally drained of love. I doubt you could even change the color of your pinkie finger if you wanted to. You completely exhausted your reserves out there. Nod again if you understand.”

I nod again. I remember the battle outside, and recognize the telltale burning at the pit of my stomach from going through my love much faster than I should have. Stupid. So stupid.

“Good. You and your friends were under the influence of one of my servants, so don’t feel too bad about your loss.” The blade at my throat eases up a millimeter, allowing me to swallow without fear of slicing my carotid open. “You’re spent, alone, and deep behind enemy lines. Even worse, this isn’t just any Nightmare Hive, but it’s my Nightmare Hive. Trust me, as bad as you think the others are, I’m a whole helluva lot worse.”

I nod again. Don’t want to interrupt the nice trend we have going.

“This all can stop,” the voice says. “I’m going to untie you now. We are not alone in this cavern. I have enough Alphas crammed in here to take on the Royal Guard by myself. If you try anything, they’ll cut you down before you can even take two steps. Nod.”

I nod.

“Good.” In a flash, the bindings around my arms vanish and I fall to the ground. Only now that I have to support my own weight do I feel my own exhaustion, the sheer emptiness where my love stores should have been. I collapse to my knees, heaving, and then I feel a heavy boot press down on the back of my neck.

“Good boy,” the voice hisses. “Now, there’s one last thing I want from you. Just one tiny thing, and this all can be over. No more headgames. No more battles. No more struggling. That sound good?”

I nod, even as my jaw clenches until my fangs start to dig into the inside of my cheeks. My ass this was gonna be one tiny thing.

“Bow to me,” the voice announces. “Swear to me with tears in your eyes that I am now and forevermore your superior. And make me believe you. Then, as your first loyal duty, run home. Leave this place and go back to Earth and tell your mommy and daddy what a pussy you are. Tell them how totally you failed here. Do that, and I’ll leave you alone forever.”

I blink. “Y-you’re serious?” I stammer.

“As a heart attack.”

I can’t hear that little gem over my own laughter. Despite the boot pressing down on the back of my neck, despite the shuffling of dozens of Nightmare-spawn around me, despite being cornered deep behind enemy lines with no plan, no resources, and no backup, I can’t help myself. “Motherfucker, you gotta be out of your damn mind,” I chortled, my high-pitched, hissing peals of laughter still echoing throughout the caves. “You think I’d take you up on that offer in a million years? I’d rather have barbed wire shoved in my urethra!”

A snarl fills the cavern, followed by the hissing of the various abominations surrounding me. “Thanks for the idea,” the voice growls.

Aww shit, I’ve really gotta learn when to shut my damn mouth.

“I-I meant to say…I’d rather get a BJ…from…Princess Celestia!” I screamed in a panic, only realizing what I said as I was hauled up by a dozen tendril-covered hooves. “Shit, wait! I meant…uh…I’m not a clopper!”

“You know, I might just grant you your wish,” the human-thing says. I look over at him, curious, still trying to make out his face in the darkness without any luck. “In your last hours, you can see how low I bring the princess when I bring her over to suck you off. Hope you don’t mind if a few pieces are missing by that time, though.”

My eyes narrow in the blurry darkness as more hooves press down on me, my chest nearly too constricted to breathe. “Too far, shitbag.”

“I think you’ll find that, as far as I am concerned, nothing is too far.” A pair of boots enter my vision, clomping over the ground. “Make sure he’s secured, then take him to the pods and attempt the changeling corruption with him.”

“But sir!” An unseen Alpha hisses in the dark. “His human side will fight the corruption! Even if we get his changeling side, the results will be useless!”

“That is the point,” the human hisses, and then the crunch of boots, and a patchy, half-full beard filled out with a wide, shiny grin fills my vision. “I’m gonna turn you into an abomination. Something not even the Nightmares will be able to look at. By this time next week, you won’t be able to take a breath without knowing pain.”

“Oh, so it’ll be like when my ma used to turn on TLC back at the ol’ house,” I groaned, quickly adding: “The Learning Channel my ass.”

At that, the mouth turns up into a quick peal of laughter as its owner rises out of view. “Let me know when it’s done!” It calls as it turns, walking away and leaving me with a bunch of Nightmares and shitheads pressing me to the ground.

I grimace as I’m picked up again, swept up off my feet before I can even stand. “Jesus guys, at least take me to dinner first.”

“Silence, human!” A Hive Guardian shrieks, pressing a drool-filled mandible to my cheek and growling in my ear.

“Oh, boo, you’re no fun. Bring in that first guy again, he knew a little bit about witty banter.”

“How about this for witty banter,” a hoof presses into the back of my skull. “I’m gonna squish your head like a grape, and then it’s your dead ass I’ll ra—”

Before he can finish his surprisingly creative (y’know, for a Nightmare-spawn) limerick, there’s the familiar hum of pony magic, followed by a purple shimmer that flashes in the room for just a second. At last, the whole world is filled with green. I go flying, blasted up from my stomach to be sent spinning end over end, finally stopped by the cave wall. Despite my weakened state, I’m quick to twist around to see the source of this insanity.

Cypher and Chittery stand in the middle of the cavern, a hole having been cleared in the middle of the Nightmare horde, illuminated by the green glow off their horns. “If anypony’s shoving anything up any assholes, it’s gonna be me,” Chittery growls.

“G-get away from our friend, y-you meanies!” Cypher squeaks.

I cringe. “Good try, Cyphy, we’ll work on that later.”

“Get them, you stupid jackasses!” The guy what had a knife to my throat shouts.

The Nightmares close ranks, completing the circle, howling and spitting. I barely manage to tuck and roll in time, twisting and raising my fists in a way that I can only hope looks intimidating and disguises the fact that I can barely stand. “So, you two just popped in thanks to Twi,” I shouted, switching my stance as quickly as possible to face as many directions as I can. “Did you have a plan beyond that?”

“N-not really?” Cypher hisses sheepishly.

“Great,” I mumble as the circle tightens, the air filling with the whipping of tendrils and the gnashing of bone blades against rock.

Chittery says nothing. Instead, she focuses on the ground, pressing her muzzle to the rocky earth, breathing over it. Finally, she stands up and grins, a grim light igniting in her eye. “Don’t worry about any plans, Deezy,” she cackles, her horn igniting. “Not when the odds are pretty much even.”

Apparently, the asshole in the dark knows what’s going to happen, and doesn’t like it one bit. “Kill her already, you fucking idiots! She’s gonna…”

He’s cut off when a rotting hoof bursts through the ground, a bit of flesh trailing from the leg, followed by another, and another, and another. A whole undead horde explodes from the earth, the ground roiling and heaving beneath us with its mass. The Nightmares are thrown around, tossed aside like so many bowling pins as the horde rips its way up into the air and rotting teeth and limbs clamp around every exposed body part.

“Hell yeah! Nightmare of the Living Dead, bitch!” I scream, thrown off my feet as a particularly large stallion bucks his way into the light, his teeth clamped in rage, his one intact eye glaring from deep inside its socket.

I could care less. I’m grinning like a moron, even as I hit the ground with the grace of a sack of hammers, at least until I look up and see the Nightmare-asshole-dick-guy standing at the mouth of a cavern, just over the heads of a few Alphas, his face still cloaked in shadow.

Snarling, I leap to my feet and throw myself after him, more stumbling than running along the cave floor. A line of Alphas flanked by Guardians rushes to meet me, only to be tossed aside when an entire mass of undead bursts from the ground in the middle of their line like pus from an overripe pimple. I twist, see Chittery, her horn glowing, teeth clenched in concentration. I give her a thumbs up and vault over the ranks of fallen Nightmare, narrowly dodging gnashing fangs and whirling blades.

The sonofabitch who made the mistake of waking me up turns and runs off down the cavern, his boots scraping against the floor. “Oh no you don’t, fucker!” I scream, pouring what little energy I have left into the chase. But before I can get two steps into the cave, he pauses, whips around, and holds up a little box with an antenna on top, his thumb primed over a big, red, shiny button. I stop, my shoes skidding against the granite as I throw myself back: I know a remote detonator when I see one. Not even a second after rocketing back, a series of powerful explosions blast out of the cave’s mouth, sending rock and dust flying into our cavern and sending me, a collection of Nightmares, and an assortment of undead flying ass-first into the middle of the floor.

We all skid to a halt, tumbling out of control, my ears ringing from the explosions. My eyes swim in their sockets, totally dazed. When I snap back to reality, the princess is standing over me, her mouth open as a stream of love pours into my gaping maw.

I sit up with a grunt, grateful for the little strength her meager donation gives me. “Easy, big guy,” Chittery hisses, easing me up in her hooves. “I have plenty, but that’s all we have time for now.”

“You got plenty? Where did you…oh,” I grimace, rubbing the back of my head where I landed. A fuzzy memory surfaces from before I launched this one-man suicide mission, striding into this forest like an idiot, of Chittery prepping to give all of Ponyville the wildest day of their little pony lives. “Jesus girl, I didn’t pull you from anything, did I?”

“Not really,” she shrugs, nudging me to my feet. “I was in Twilight’s castle anyway, so it wasn’t too much to ask her to grab me and Cypher and drop us right on top of you.”

“What were you doing at Twilight’s castle in the middle of a total cavalcade of pony lovin’ crazine--“ I trailed off. “OH! Oh wow, I didn’t think Twilight swung that way.”

“She doesn’t, but not for lack of effort on my part,” Chittery replies with a wink. “Believe me.”

“Umm…g-guys?” Cypher brings us out of our conversation, and we both take stock of our surroundings. The absolute insane clashing of limbs and writhing, random masses of undead colliding against Nightmare have all died down. In the absence of chaos, the Undead and Nightmare-spawn have formed battle lines, with Nightmares backed up against the entrance to the cave and Undead standing between us and them, like a protective barrier. Both sides stand on rocks stinking with black, clotted blood, disembodied bone-blades, shattered chitin, and rotting pelts of their fallen. The stench floods the cavern, filling our nostrils with the putrid smell of rot and infection.

On the Nightmare side, a particularly-large Alpha strides forward, armored chest puffed out and head raised. It rears back, the spikes at the ends of its hooves slicing into the air as a deep howl builds from its throat and echoes throughout the cavern. The other Spawn take up the rallying call, a battle cry filled with gibbering screeches and deep howls from what can only be an unholy group of abominations in the night. I clamp my hands over my ears as a few Gorgers even materialize from the shadows, their screams almost paralyzing me.

The Undead take a step back. They each look at one another, rotting eyeballs and hollow sockets somehow expressing a sudden pang of fear. Evidently, the Nightmare’s cry is able to even stir fear in hearts that haven’t beat in years. The Undead outnumber the Nightmare, but they are weakening bones and rotting skin, whereas the Nightmare are all armor plating and blades made from bone. Even with numbers, the odds are still stacked against us.

Finally nutting up, I grimace, crack my knuckles, and bound into their midst. I find the tallest Undead I can, some massive stallion whose ratty blonde mane and Red Delicious-colored pelt tells me he might be a distant relative of the Apple Family, and I climb on his back. The stallion starts under me, craning its neck around to look at me with an eyeball dangling out of its socket. I grin at him. He grins back with teeth partially exposed by rotting lips. Then, I lean back, rearing him up on his hind hooves and letting loose with a howl from a voice modulated by changeling magic.

My howl echoes throughout the cavern, booming in the ears of Undead and Nightmare alike. Suddenly, the fear and hesitation that overtook the Undead lines not a few moments before is gone, the ponies all straightening on rotten hooves and half-skeletal legs, joining in with a nightmarish cry of their own. After a couple seconds, a familiar pair of hisses join in, and I turn to find Chittery and Cypher at my sides, baring their fangs at the horde.

Now, it’s the Nightmare’s turn to look unsure, to take a step back, to have second thoughts. Then, a pulse from the Collective mind robs them of such pesky things as “willpower” and “free will,” and the entire line falls back to their hooves and spindly legs, lowering heads, baring fangs, snarling like animals. I raise a fist. The lead Alpha rears back and slams its hooves back down. The Earth rumbles, and the Nightmares charge. I lower my fist, and the Undead barrel down to meet them, pressing ahead. I cling to the tattered remnants of my stallion’s mane. Surely, this will be a battle to be remembered! Surely, this will be an epic clash that will forever echo in everyone’s minds! The sort of epic that is super hard to put into any media properly, much less write about!

So I’m not even gonna try.

Picture if you will: the mightiest of caverns. The sort of thing you read about dwarves mining in Tolkien. Picture a high ceiling with stalactites clinging for purchase, holding on despite centuries spent gaining weight, pulling themselves inexorably downward, finally reaching towards their brethren rising from the floor. Now picture row after row of cages filling this space, crowded with all manner of creatures. Pony, griffon, manticore, even the desiccated remains of a human every so often. However, despite that variety, every creature has one thing in common: a sense of despair. These creatures have been broken, all hope of escape or rescue broken by the Nightmare ponies patrolling occasionally, only stopping every so often to rattle the cage bars and laugh at the way the occupants flinch back, save for a few. One of these is a certain light blue pegasus with a rainbow mane and…

Oh Jesus, it’s Rainbow Dash. You know it. I know it. No need to beat around the bush with this mysterious prose bullshit. You’re reading an MLP fanfic, the only characters “rainbow mane” could describe would be Dashie or a shitty alicorn OC, and considering we’re avoiding those like the plague, let’s just carry on, shall we?

Rainbow glares through the bars of her prison at the Nightmare pegasus as it rattles the flat of its spear against her bars. She doesn’t flinch back. She just grits her teeth and meets its empty gaze with a death glare.

Finally, the Nightmare backs off, its empty red eyes rolling down to her. “Why you still resist, pony?” It hisses, that nails-on-a-chalkboard tone from its voice forcing her ears to lay flat against her skull. “You know it useless. You no have friends. You no have family. Nopony know where are. Nopony care. No hope. No chance to be free again, but for be Nightmare.”

“And you no have grammar,” Rainbow growled. “Seriously, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but pick up a danged book once in a while. If Twilight was here, she’d be having conniptions from the way you’re butchering the Equish language.”

The Nightmare frowned, then its grin lit up, flashing her a jagged smile of mismatched, but razor-sharp teeth. “If Twi-pony here, she say she agree. She smart. She know I right.”

Rainbow flared her nostrils and reared up on her hind hooves as far as the cage’s low, rusty roof would allow. “You watch what you say about my friends, pal!” She bellowed. “Once they find me, they’ll tear this place apart, and then I’m gonna kick your flank so hard you’ll be coughing my hoof shavings up for weeks!”

The Nightmare just smiled and shook its head, turning away with a little smirk. “You down here almost whole day now, pony, why friends no find? They even care?”

“Wha-of course they care!”

“Then where?”

Rainbow Dash bit her lip. “O-obviously they’re rallying their forces, making a rescue, you’ll see! Pretty soon, they’re gonna come to the edge of this cavern, and you’ll be sorry then! You’ll be the sorriest excuse for a Nightmare there ever was then!”

The Nightmare just smirked and turned away, trotting along down the line of cages and running its spear along the bars. It chortled as the ponies inside flinched back from each clang of the spear, still snickering to itself as it rounded a corner and disappeared from sight, its presence only known by the fading, chittering snickers and clang of metal on metal.

“Miss Dash?” Rainbow turned to the source of the voice, finding a shivering mint-green unicorn next to her. “What he said isn’t true, right? Your friends are searching for us right now, right?”

Rainbow pasted on a grin, and then her trademarked, self-assured smile. “Of course I’m sure!” She scoffed, poking a wing through the bars for the other pony to nuzzle. “Look Lyra, I know you’re not 100% familiar with how the Elements of Harmony roll, but loyalty is kind of a part of who we are. They’re not gonna forget us. They’re gonna do everything in their power to get us back.”

“B-but…you’re loyalty…” Lyra blubbered, her massive golden eyes growing even more massive. “And right now you’re the one separated from everypony else!”

Rainbow flinched at that. “It doesn’t work like that, Lyra,” her eyes darted away, then she frowned, turned, and met the unicorn’s gaze, pointing towards the rise overlooking the tiny valley, at the summit of which a Nightmare Alpha stood, keeping watch over all of the cages. “Besides, that doesn’t matter! Pretty soon, they’re gonna come barreling over that hill, kicking butt the entire way, you’ll see! Just sit back and wait for the show to start, we’ll be free in no time!”

“O-okay…if you say so…” Lyra whimpered, still unable to meet Rainbow’s gaze.

“Just you wait…” Rainbow said, though now she was talking more to herself than to Lyra. “Gonna come over that hill on a sea of rainbows…just you…wait…”

When she imagined her rescue, Rainbow envisioned power. She envisioned magic of the finest purity. She envisioned a colorful kaleidoscope of magic descending over the hills as a shining beacon of hope to all around her. She did not envision an ice cream truck blaring a metal version of "Pop Goes the Weasel" with the decapitated head of Nightmare Alpha embedded in the grille to ramp off the ridge like a Hot Wheels toy, slam back down on its side, and come to a skidding halt with a titanic rending of twisted metal just short of the first line of cages.

She also did not expect the part monkey-monster, part changeling she’d met the day before to come ripping out through the serving window amidst an avalanche of condoms, then burst to his feet, twist, and blow a Nightmare’s head off with his signature weapon. Nor did she expect his changeling friends to come barreling out at his side, the partially-corrupted stallion wearing a tutu and the promiscuous mare now sporting chitin dyed a lime green.

“Heilige scheiße, das warn verrückter mist!” The stallion screamed.

“WOOH!” The monkey-monster added, coughing up a party streamer as he worked the action on his weapon. “Y’all are not gonna believe the shit we just went through to get here!”

My head swivels on my shoulders. I reel on my feet, hardly able to keep myself standing. I’m covered in party streamers, Nightmare blood, and some other shit I probably don’t even wanna name. And still, I can’t keep the grin off my face.

“That was a fuckin’ ride!” I scream, collapsing to my knees. “Jesus Christ, Cypher, was that you who passed gas back during the Cylon assault?”

“Nein.”

“That was me,” Chittery replies. “And I’ll have you know it was after the Cylons showed up, right before we had to solve the Riddle of the Doors, remember?”

“Aww yeah,” I choke, coughing up a noisemaker. “But before I lost the Mandate of Heaven we got from that African elephant god…shit…I had to punch an elephant down and everything for that.”

“That was actually really impressive, even for you.”

“Got me a fist bump from the Punchmaster.”

“Seid ihr das essen? Nein, wir sind die jaeger!”

“Okay!” I shout, rising to my feet. “We’re back in Equestria at least, so we figure out if we landed in the right time period this time, and after that, we can figure out how to get Cypher to stop speaking Nazi.”

“Wir müssen die verbündeten Hund aus der Castle Wolfenstein schieben!”

“Yes, I get that you needed it to earn the favor of the Aryan spirit and get him to hand us the Oracle of Power, but some hot kraut probably wasn’t worth usin' long-dead Forerunner technology to mess around with your language centers!”

“Ahem.”

We all turn to look at the Nightmare spawn standing with us at the bottom of the ridge. Its bladearms are folded against its body as its empty, hellish eyes look up at us impatiently.

“Oh my goodness gracious,” I gasp. “Just where are my manners!? Terribly sorry, we’ve had one helluva day.”

“Eh, it’s alr…” the Nightmare starts before its head is pulped by a single twelve-gauge, solid bore round. The shot echoes throughout the cavern, and in a flash we hear the skittering and stomping of dozens of hooves.

“Move!” Chittery screams, rearing up and blasting a massive bolt of green magic from her horn that catches a Nightmare in the face as it rounds a corner. With a screech, I drop to all fours, my repowered changeling magic fueling another transformation. A seven-foot-tall timberwolf rises in a flash of green fire where I stood, bounding through the narrow alleyways between cages, sticky sap drooling from razor-sharp twigs shaped like fangs. The next couple spawn have time for a single, choked-off cry before I flying-tackle them down and maul them, ripping flesh, tearing bone, and generally making a rotten-smelling meal of them. They don’t even have time to cry out.

I look up with beady, glowing eyes. A Nightmare Spawn stands in place, staring. I stand up straight, licking off the black blood coating my muzzle. Something pungent dribbles down the Nightmare’s hind leg, then it turns and bolts, running at top speed through the maze of corridors.

Despite my longer legs, the creature makes good time through the cages, being smaller and more agile. It takes all my strength just to keep up through the long, twisting aisles. Finally, it hits me: why am I going through the halls on the ground like a pleb?

Grinning widely, I bound straight up a wall of cages, my claws clinging to the bars, careful to avoid the hooves, talons, and hands of curious onlookers. One particular little filly darts back with a frightened squeak as I shoot by, and I pause long enough to shoot her a wink before mounting the top of the cages, glaring down into the hallway at my prey.

The Nightmare looks up, having followed my progress (I wasn’t exactly able to keep quiet while mounting a wall of metal cages, cut me some slack) and again, another stream of pungent stuff dribbles down a leg, hitting my newly-sensitive nostrils.

“Shit man, you eat a lot of asparagus?” I ask with a toothy, sap-filled grin, my voice a cross between a breeze through some tree branches and a feral growl.

The Nightmare backs up against a cage, its hindquarters bouncing against the bars. In a flash, it turns, sees the cell’s contents, and grins so wide I can even see it where I’m sitting. Uh oh.

I bound down the side of the cages, landing on all fours, but I’m still not fast enough, and now I can see what put a smile on the abomination’s face: Rainbow Dash, glaring defiantly back at us all, even with a tendril wrapped around her midriff and neck, ending with a long blade pressed up against her throat.

“B-back off!” The Nightmare hisses. “I’ll slice her open! I swear!”

“Let her go, and your death will be quick and painless,” I growl in reply, my voice now akin to a howl. “I promise you won’t have to find out what your own scrotum tastes like.”

Meanwhile, Dash just looks between us, confused. “Wait, I’m supposed to be your hostage?” She asks with a cocked eyebrow.

The Nightmare looks back at her with a growl, bearing his mismatched fangs. She just cocks that trademarked smile again. “Of everypony you could have grabbed for a hostage here, you picked me?” The prismatic pegasus asks with a smirk. “Buddy, you’re either the dumbest Nightmare spawn that ever lived, or the unluckiest.”

“You can shut up or I’ll…”

That’s all he manages to get out before she takes off. Seems he didn’t make sure his tendrils secured her wings. Huge mistake. She bolts right over my head as a rainbow blur, forcing me to duck with a frightened yip. I whip around, watching the blur run circles in the air high over the cages, trailing something black and streaming more foul urine.

My nose wrinkles in distaste, trying to dodge the worst of the Nightmare terror-piss while listening to the gibbering cries of the terrified spawn. “Dude, seriously! I’d get checked for kidney disease if I were you!” I roar at the cavern.

At long last, the rainbow blur starts to slow down, and a black speck falls ungracefully from its side, landing on the rock with all the pomp and class of a brick hurled through a living room window. Snickering at myself, I stand and trot casually out of the cages, reveling in the terrified cries and explosions from Cypher and Chittery moving methodically amongst the Nightmare.

I find a large, purplish blotch on the ground, with a trail leading away. I follow the trail for only a few yards to find the Nightmare spawn, dragging itself along with a partially-frayed tendril, all four of its legs now a broken mass of flesh beneath its body. I sigh and shake my head as it turns and lets out a frightened squeak at the mere sight of me.

“This is just pathetic.” I sigh. “Almost makes me wanna forget about you pressing a blade to my friend’s neck and trying to hold her hostage, however ineffective that might have proven.”

With a growl, I spring onto its chest, pinning the bladed tendril to the ground hard enough to crack it. The Nightmare whimpers in pain as I lower myself against it, growling while sap drips from my fangs and onto its body. “Almost.

“Now, what is this place!?” I roar, low and dangerous. “Tell me, and maybe you’ll die with your eyes still in your skull.”

“It’s…a camp…anh! It’s a camp! Please…” the Nightmare mewls pathetically.

“A camp. Yeah, I’ll buy that. I’m sure the arts and crafts tent is in one of these cages, right?” My lips curl back, revealing two rows of long, even fangs made out of sharpened twigs. “What’s this camp for? Why are you holding all these creatures?”

“N-new idea from the Collective!” The Nightmare wheezes. “Th-this was after it found some information…f-from another world…Earth! It was called Earth!”

I swallow my surprise. The Nightmare is on Earth? Shit. Hopefully, that doesn’t mean I have to worry about the family back home. Still, I have no trouble figuring out where they got the idea for a “camp” consisting of cages and malnutrition. Bastards probably found a World War Two documentary somewhere. Of course, the Nightmare would be fucked-up enough to draw inspiration rather than revulsion from a documentary on Auschwitz. “Still haven’t answered my question, scum.”

“Ah! Please!” Tears gather in its eyes as even more urine leaks out, wetting my wooden hide. “It’s to break their will! Ponies are more susceptible to the Corruption if their spirits are broken beforehand! W-we have a couple chambers out back where the process is carried out!”

Jesus Christ, it’s a factory. Mass-produced corruption. I doubt these guys are union though, otherwise they’d have dental and some jerk in an orange hard hat would be screaming at me for getting in his workers’ way.

Joking aside, the Nightmare’s getting smarter.

This is bad. This is really, really bad.

“One last question, then I’ll release you,” I growl, digging my thistle-covered claws into the fraying tendril, threatening to snap it off. “I saw humans in those cages. Why have you taken them? How many did you take? And why were they dead?”

“Oh…oh dear sweet…” the creature’s eyes roll up, preparing to swoon, but it manages to regain itself and focus. Having a claw pressed into your throat until it breaks skin will do that. “We were hoping to expand to Earth too, bu-but humans are too resistant to the change, most of them just die. We haven’t m-made any significant gains there. I-I don’t know how many we took, I just know that even if we break ‘em first, humans still just die when we try to corrupt them, usually.”

“But you guys are still taking them.”

“M-might as well…” the Nightmare grins, showing off rows of jagged teeth. I scowl back. The grin doesn’t last long. “P-please…y-you said you’d let me go if I answered that last one, a-and I did…”

“Wrong,” I reply. “I said I’d release you. And I will. I’ll release you from your mortal coil.”

“Wh-wha…” before it can finish, my claws slash across its throat, slicing through the neck in one swift motion. Muzzle wrinkling in distaste, I crawl off the twitching body as blood steams in the air.

Chittery, Cypher, and Rainbow all gawk at me. I sigh, and flash back to my human form, standing before them in my birthday suit. I make sure to cover myself as I begin the hunt for my clothes.

“Dude,” Rainbow gasps. “That was…”

I sigh, shaking my head as I track down my boxers and tug them on. “I’m sorry you had to see that, I didn’t mean for…”

“…totally awesome!” She cries, wings fanning out, hooves going to her cheeks. I turn to her, stunned as she swoops to land by my feet, emphasizing her words with swipes of her hooves. “He was all cocky just a few minutes ago, then you showed up and wham! And then bang! Instantly downed! Jeez, I take back, like, three-quarters of the things I said about you!”

“Umm…thanks?” I blink at her, my feet brushing against my jeans. I pull them on.

She just grins and levels a hoof at me. “You. Awesome.”

I continue blinking at her before she takes off out of the cave. “Catch you guys back in Ponyville!” She calls over her shoulder as she vanishes over the ridge.

I still keep blinking. “Did Dash just call me awesome?”

“That h-has to be the highest compliment she’s ever p-paid anypony,” Cypher points out.

I sigh and look back. A group of ponies, griffons, and changelings are walking, stumbling, and hobbling out of the lines of cages, all trying to get away from their prisons. I smile. This is the part I was looking forward to all along. If Dashie could show some damn gratitude, maybe this time, I…

“Was that Rainbow Dash?”

“It was! Rainbow Dash saved us!”

“Awesome! She’s awesome!”

“I knew it’d be her! Once I saw ‘em dragging her down here, I knew it was all part of a plan!”

I bite my lip, trying to think of something to say, but then look back at my little group. Two changelings, one of whom was obviously corrupted by the Nightmare, all just sitting and watching this group as they made their way out the cave. Yeah, maybe it was better if we went unnoticed.

As of right now, the group of ponies, changelings and griffons kept their backs to us, walking out of the cave, all forgetting about old race wars and rivalries among them to make their way out. I just keep my focus on Chittery and Cypher and grin. They grin back. “C’mon, gang. Let’s get back to town.”