A New Ending

The job is complete. Ponyville is in flames, I’ve destroyed everything my enemies ever cherished. And I’m dealing with a baby dragon throwing a tantrum.

“Let go of me!” Spike screams, pounding and clawing away at my armored sides. Completely without any regard for what Twilight told him to do, mind you. Obviously, Twilight never taught him discipline, so on top of a failed princess, she’s also a failed mother figure. Excellent.

“Put me down!” He continues. “Gimme back my Twily!”

Finally, I chance a look over my shoulder and make sure no little caged ponies are still in view. Scowling, I scoop Spike up and shift my grip until my hands are locked around his barrel, holding him up until he’s at eye level. Immediately, all the furious bravado in the little drake fades away. He avoids my eyes, and I feel a shiver race up his spine beneath my fingertips.

“J-just…” he shivers, swallows. “Just let us go. Please.”

I shake my head. “You’re too young to understand the crimes of your adopted family, kid,” I rasp. “Just know that I realize how drastically your life is gonna change, and that I am sorry for it. You did nothing to feed into the bigotry that plagued this town, I know you didn’t, and yet here you are, watching something this awful.”

He just shrinks under my grasp. “Y-you don’t have to do this, mister,” he whimpers.

“That’s the thing, Spike: I do. And someday, I hope you understand that.” I set him down, where a couple of my changelings are at his side in an instant. His little shoulders sag. It’s obvious he isn’t going anywhere. “Take him to the others,” I command. “Make sure he’s cared for.”

The changelings salute and lead him off, gently, as if they were his guardians rather than his bondsmen. I nod my approval after them. Tonight has gone exactly how I wanted it to go. Well, not exactly, the Elements’ reactions weren’t what I’d thought they’d be, except maybe Twilight or Rainbow Dash.

Maybe that’s why I feel so empty right now? Even after the culmination of two years of dreaming? Even after all the planning and suffering and strife has finally paid off?

Whatever, it’s time for a few closing words to wrap this thing up. I return to the town square with a few of my guards. My changelings are already gathering there. They all stare up at me. I can see the faraway glance in their eyes, the lack of conviction in the salutes thrown my way as I retake my position on the pedestal before them, the forlorn glances tossed at the burning buildings. I understand.

“A lot of you probably have mixed emotions about tonight,” I start. I don’t even have to pause to let them quiet down, the place was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. “Yes, tonight was not a triumphant battle, it was an attack against a defenseless enemy. An enemy is still an enemy, but make no mistake: there is no honor in what we have done here.”

A few nods in the crowd follow my words. I smile easily. “But also realize, though they were defenseless, they were the key to a system of oppression and bigotry.”

I spread my hands out. “They maintained the façade of innocence, but they are no innocents! The evidence of that is before you, my changelings! And it has been all around you: in the eyes of a starving nymph begging for love we don’t have, in the groans of the hungry of our hives, trying to sleep despite aching stomachs!”

A little bit of the old gusto I’ve spent years building up in my army flashes back. A couple rounds of “here-here!” follow.

“Yes, to see a civilian’s home up in flames is a tragedy, but does anyone here honestly believe a single pony from this town would have lifted a hoof if it were their own nests in flames? If their own families were begging for help from some burning ruin, does anyone here think a single pony would step forward!?"

“No!” The entire front row thunders, their muzzles twisted in disgust and anger.

“Of course not! We are not like them, my changelings! We are not part of their oh-so-perfect world! To them, we are meant to remain in the darkness forever! To remain happy with our places in life, even if that place involves laying in a cave, starving to death while they enjoy warm, hot meals with the comfort and love of their families!” My fists rise, clenched before me. “Is that fair!?”

“NO!” Now the entire crowd is in on it.

“Is that just!?”

“NO!”

“Then leave here, knowing that this is not revenge, this is not some punishment ladled out for no reason!” I scream, my throat beginning to constrict from the combination of screaming and smoke from the smoldering facades around us. “This is justice! This is the triumph of righteousness! This is the fall of evil!”

My changelings roar their approval, and I grin. I toss my head back and inhale, breathing in that smell of justice, listening to the crackle that is my righteous punishment being delivered, and hoping that will finally fill the gaping hole in the pit of my stomach.

And then, something new drifts on the wind. A cry for help.

A filly’s cry.

Oh, you little idiots.

In a flash, I’m off down the street, running as fast as my boots can carry me. My guards are at my side, galloping to keep up without even being asked, all forgetting about the frightened ponies being herded into the woods and the angry and confused changelings rallied up behind us.

“Captain!” I bark. “I thought you said you scoured every building before you lit the torches!”

“W-we did, sir!” Hictus gasps at my side, struggling to keep up. Even as he speaks, the cry repeats itself. “Some foal must have gone back into their house after we swept it!”

Damn, that sounds just stupid enough for a pony to do. “We’ll talk about this later,” I growl. Right now, I need to keep from becoming a child-killing monster. I may be willing to destroy a nation for what’s happened to me, but I’ve got enough blood on my hands from my long journey through the Badlands and beyond. I have no intention of adding some kid’s blood to that.

We are rushing shadows in the night, our way lit by the flickers of flame from the city, my boots clacking in time with my soldiers’ hooves. My ears are perked, but for the most part, I let my guards take the lead. Their changeling ears might have missed the cries in the first place, but now that they know what to listen for, they’re far more tuned than a human’s ears ever could be. When the lead changeling darts to the right, we follow without a word. Somehow, despite the smoke stinging their lungs and summoning coughing fits, the changelings never waver. I’ve trained them well.

Finally, the leader stops in the middle of the street, head turning, scanning a row of houses engulfed in flames. We pause behind him, trying to catch our breaths. After a few minutes, I pass around my mask, letting my guard regain their strength through the rebreather. Once the mask does its rounds, the lead changeling points to a single house with flames curling out the front door.

“Shifting in the upper levels,” he says. “Could be the wood beams in the heat, or…”

“Could be a dumbass filly that went back for her dollies,” I growl, strapping the mask on tight and striding up to the door, giving it a good kick. It amazes me that just a couple years ago, my foot probably would have just bounced right off the door and shattered a weakened, malnourished ankle. Now though, my boot splinters the door with ease, which only unleashes a torrent of smoke that has my guard stepping back and coughing.

“You all stay here,” I order, waving them back.

“What!? But sire, we…”

“That’s an order, goddammit!” I repeat, then thinking better, I twist and point to one of the spear-wielders. “You! Gather some changelings up with blankets and buckets of water. If I’m not back in five minutes, have them attempt a rescue!”

“Yes sir!” He announces, running off into the night.

Nodding after him, I turn to the next changeling in line. “And you can get some medics! Even if I get out without a scratch, I doubt whoever’s in there is gonna be in the best of shape!”

“Of course, sir!” He salutes before galloping off. Gotta love the career soldiers.

With that settled, I turn back to the door, where at least most of the smoke has drained from the room. I can just thank Christ almighty I didn’t trigger a backdraft with my first adventure into firefighting. It would’ve been a pretty shitty way to end my struggle here, on the doorstep of some dumbass ponies who didn’t know to avoid burning buildings, but I guess it’d be sort of fitting that a pony would get me killed at some point.

As it is, the heat rolling out the door is enough to suck the air right out of my lungs. “My Emperor,” Hictus again. I turn to him, glaring through my lenses. He meets my gaze: stoic, confident, everything I ever wanted in a soldier and more. He takes a few breaths, head turned away from the roiling flames of course, and continues. “Perhaps this is folly. You are surely more valuable to us than one little foal. And besides, are they not part of this town? She or he or whoever is in there surely holds some of the values for which this town has been destroyed. Is that really worth risking you, the leader who has taken us from the Badlands to here?”

I turn back to the doorway, my fists clenching and unclenching, eyebrows hunched in thought. Those are good points. The changelings need their leader now more than ever, especially at this juncture. The Crystal Empire has an army camped literally on our doorstep, and my death could be all they need to send the changelings flying back to their homes, but this time with a vengeful populace on their backs.

Except…

No, absolutely not. I refuse to have a kid’s blood on my hands. That would validate everything every frantic, shrill-voiced little bitch in this town screamed at me every time they went for the garbage and rocks. “Coordinate with the others, Hictus,” I grumble as I step forward. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

I tromp through a kitchen blanketed in smoke, and I’m ashamed to say I take some satisfaction in looking at the blackened paint peeling off the walls and the once-pristine tablecloth now flaming at its edges. I like to imagine that the ponies who lived here were at the head of at least one of the rock-throwing sessions that chased me out of town. Of course, I can’t help but avert my eyes from the fridge covered in crayon drawings. Sorry you had to pay for your parents being hate-filled little cockbites, kid. But you won’t be paying with your life. Not if I have anything to say about it.

Past the kitchen, in the hall, the heat becomes almost unbearable. My cotton armor saves my ass again, keeping my skin from being scorched, but that doesn’t keep my lungs from searing, hitting me with a tingling sort of pain that ripples through my chest with every breath I have to drag through the respirator. Dammit. This…this is actually pretty stupid. I could seriously die in here. Kid, you better grow up to be a saint or something.

The hall is roiling with heat, the air shimmering, smoke funneling along the ceiling. I tromp up the stairs with flames licking at my heels. Better hurry: a wooden staircase like this is practically dry tinder. Could burn while I’m up there, and then me and the foal are both in trouble.

“Fuckin’…A…” I grumble, stumbling through the upstairs hallway. The smoke and heat are almost unbearable up here, to the point where it stings my eyes even through the mask. Flames rip from the ceiling, peeking down at me through knotholes as little jets that break through the smoke. Seriously kid, you better find the cure for cancer or something for what I’m going through to save your ass.

“Hey! Hey kid!” I call, punctuating myself with a few jagged coughs. Damn. Really can’t breathe or focus in here. Gotta hurry. “Kid! Where’re ya!?”

For just long enough for me to wonder if the cry that lured me up here was part of some elaborate assassination scheme, the only sound is the roar of the flames all around me and the crackle of buckling wood. Then, the cry repeats itself, and I grimace behind my mask as I realize it’s coming from behind the most stout-looking door on the upper floor. Dark oak. Powerful enough to serve as an outer door. Fuckin-A, because it can’t be easy, can it?

“Don’t move!” I scream, mustering up all my strength for one kick to the doorknob. It gives just a bit, nudging in the frame with the squeak of wood pressed against wood. Shit, okay, kick number two, which earns me a little jagged splinter near the doorknob. Okay, so about number three…four?

Four did it, thank Christ. The door flies open with the knob warped and twisted into a misshapen lump of brass, bouncing into the flames in the corner of the room. I see the foal almost the instant I step inside: a small, earth pony colt with a tan coat and blonde mane. No cutie mark yet. So, odds are he was probably tortured by that Diamond Tiara cunt, oh nice.

That reminds me, I gotta pay a special visit to her house. Even if she was following the example set by the intolerant fuckheaded adults around her, that doesn’t excuse her behavior in the show. Besides, a rich, spoiled little princess with an oblivious, dolt-headed father deserves to see everything she’s got go up in flames.

I scoop up the colt in one arm and toss him over my shoulder, pushing thoughts of Miss Tiara’s house in flames away. That will come later. Right now, I need to focus on survival. Tromping back towards the door, I pause for just a second. My heart drops into my boots.

“Aww, shit,” I mutter, eyes widening behind the mask. The staircase is just gone. In its place is a roaring inferno, the narrow hall acting like a chimney with me and the kid standing right in its path. Now, I may not be an expert, but that probably means we’ve got about five minutes until I’m turned into a pile of ash. All over a stupid pony born from a stupid, bigoted shithole excuse of a town, who was too stupid to not run into a burning building.

Have I mentioned yet that I am a brand-new level of retarded? Because I am a brand-new level of retarded.

Booting the door shut, I take a deep breath, then set my eyes on scanning the room. Through the caked-on soot and billowing smoke, I can make out a small bed, too heavy to use, and a bookcase. I immediately turn towards the window, then back at the squat bookcase.

Okay, yeah, that’ll do.

Laying the foal out on the bed, I muster whatever strength the heat hasn’t robbed from me and tilt the case forward, spilling all manner of cheapo, drugstore paperbacks out on the floor. Then, I heave the whole thing over my shoulder and give it a good, two-handed toss, right through the window. The glass shatters immediately, and fresh air rips into the room. I breathe easy, feeling some strength return as I squat out the window, shouldering the colt again.

“Sir!” I look up to see one of my soldiers hovering in between little flickering spurts of flame engulfing the shingles. Without a word, he takes the foal from my shoulder and bears him down to the ground, immediately offering the kid up to the medics I ordered. I sigh and scramble out onto the roof, finally breathing easily. A few shingles give under my weight, but a couple more of my changelings are at my side in a flash, helping me down until I’m safely on terra firma again.

I collapse, ripping off my mask and greedily sucking down fresh air. “Fucking…A-“ I stammer.

“Sir?” One of the medic-lings has broken off and turns to me, giving me a quick once-over with a concerned little frown. “Sir, are you alright?”

I just wheeze and point to the foal, now being handled and fawned over by the best medical experience in my Empire. “That kid…better grow up…and cure AIDS.”

“Sir?”

“Nothing, nothing,” I wave her off. “I’m fine. Just get him to where he belongs. Try and track down his parents once you’re there.”

“Of course, sir,” the medic nods and flitters off with a buzz of her wings, adding herself to the growing mob around the colt. I sigh and roll over onto my back, drinking in the soft, cool grass and whatever night air can make it through the columns of smoke. That…I will admit, that could’ve been nasty. But I think I handled it well.

I turn to my side, still wheezing and gasping as I put myself in the recovery position: arm extended out under my head as a pillow, other arm crossed over myself with my hand propping my chin up, legs bent a little to keep me from rolling over. I don’t pass out, but it’s good to have in case I do.

I rest there for a few minutes, gathering up my strength, and also gathering up a crowd. A pack of changelings deflect from their objectives temporarily, crowding around me with faces filled with concern.

“S-sir?” One changeling asks, his spear aimed skyward with the shaft resting on the ground. “A-are you…”

“M’okay,” I mumble, pressing myself to my knees (and nearly reeling with the dizziness just sitting up triggers). “The heat got to me, is all.”

“S-sir…” that changeling pauses, then glares and stands at parade rest, his chest thrust out, a look of determination in his eyes. “Permission to speak freely, sir!”

I cock an eyebrow at him. “Granted,” I reply through puffs and gasps.

“That was one of the bravest things this changeling has ever seen anyone do for anyone else, and he wishes for you to know it, sir!”

On the inside, I chuckle a bit. But outside, I keep my face rock solid, totally neutral. Finally, I shrug. “Shouldn’t have been necessary,” I grumble. “Blame the idiot parents that let their kids run around a disaster area, fuckin’ morons.”

“Would you like us to track them down, sir?”

“Could you, please?” I reply, finally sitting up. “I have a feeling I’ll need to scream at something later on.”

“Yes, sir. And…how did your…demonstration go?” The changeling motions over his shoulder at the caravan fading away amidst the flames.

I reflect back. All in all, I got crocodile tears of apology from most of them, except one. One little pony had refused to break. I can’t help the smile that rises to my face, however, as it just so happens that I have a secret weapon for that specific pony.

“Pretty well,” I reply. “But one last thing: could you have the royal guard prepare themselves for a prisoner transport back in Canterlot?”

“Umm…yes sir,” the changeling cocks an eyebrow at me, then looks over his shoulder at the fading caravan, and back to me. I can already see the million-dollar question forming in his eyes before he voices it: “and who will we be transporting, sir?”

My grin turns positively evil at that. “I did say ‘royal,’ didn’t I?”

The changeling’s eyes widen. “Y-yes sir, of course, her.”

“Yes, her,” I reply, stepping away and striding on down the path, my legs still shaking from the heat and exhaustion, and my breath still coming in mild coughs, but still desperate to put on the show of a victorious general. Appearances are everything, after all.

“One last issue, sir,” the changeling says, striding after me.

“Go on,” I reply, my head still held high.

“I heard a rumor that the Everfree camp was still short-staffed,” he replied, fidgeting with his spear. “If your majesty wishes it…”

“Feel like alleviating your conscience there, private?” I ask, still not even looking the changeling’s way.

The guardstallion nearly trips over his own spear, recovers nicely, and resumes his stride alongside me, albeit with somewhat less gusto and with his head hung low, so that his helmet covers his eyes.

“No need to hide it, private,” I chuckle. The changeling doesn’t say anything in return, just starts to veer away.

“I’ll return to my rounds,” he whispers quickly, veering off our path.

“Okay, but where are you going?” I reply, pointing in the direction towards which the ponies had all been stampeded. “The Everfree camp is that way.”

The changeling stops mid-step, then turns to me, his blank eyes meeting mine as a smile sprouts up on his face.

“Oh, go on!” I wave him off. “No need to be shooting me the puppy-dog eyes! I was planning on rotating most of the soldiers here through the Everfree camp at some point or another, anyway.”

“I…thank you, sir!” He gasps, a hoof rising in shaky salute. “I-I’ll do my very best, you won’t regret it!”

“Sure private, sure,” I wave him off. “Just get going, those guys are gonna have their hooves full tonight.”

Nodding enthusiastically, the changeling lifts off into the sky, wings buzzing, his spear trembling so hard I can see it as a wavering stick off to his side even as he becomes a black speck in the distance. I smile as he flies off. It’s a good thing he’s off to go do, and he could use it.

After all, it’s not just the ponies that need to be reminded we’re not all monsters.

Spike wasn’t in Canterlot, and so he could hardly believe it when news came down that the city had been attacked by changelings. “Again?” He had gasped. He’d been dining out at a little outdoor café called Peanut’s Delights, which had recently started importing gems from the Crystal Empire just for him. He didn’t usually dine out when Twilight was around, she had a surprisingly frugal streak that made it nearly impossible to go out more than once a week. But hey, what was wrong with splurging a little when she wasn’t around?

It had been such a perfect day: the sun was out, the ponies were happily trotting throughout the square, Mr. Peanut had just brought him a gem the size of his fist, and Twilight and her friends were in Canterlot celebrating Discord, in a surprise twist. To think, one of their worst enemies was now receiving a lifetime friendship achievement award! If anything stood as a testament to friendship and harmony, this was it. Everything had just been so perfect as he took that first bite into his gemstone that it made it all the more jarring when the first guardstallions arrived with announcements proclaiming the attack on Canterlot.

Things had happened so darn quickly after that. Militia had been mustered, shivering ponies wearing pots as helmets and holding gardening equipment as weapons to bolster the few real guardstallions in town. Then, just when he’d found a pillow to use as a shield (which hadn’t been an easy task, as Twilight always bought good pillows that he might miss, not those stupid, scratchy, decorative ones like Rarity had all over her Boutique), another few, scattered stallions proclaimed that the fighting was over, and Equestria had lost.

That news had been a blow to the gut. Deep down, Spike had believed that the girls would handle Chrysalis again. Deep down, he hadn’t really thought the small, ragtag band of barely-armed civilians could really win against a changeling attack, but he’d also figured it wouldn’t matter, because Twilight and the other Elements were in Canterlot, and they would handle things just as they had last time. Now with this announcement came new horrors. Were the princesses okay? Would anypony on the outside come to help? Was Twilight okay!? And after a while, as the ponies all silently discarded their makeshift weapons and shuffled back to their homes, a new question appeared on the top of the pile:

Who in the heck was Emperor Jason Wright?

“Well, at least I know now,” he mumbled to himself as the changelings bundled him out of the burning village. He had hidden when they’d first arrived, cowering in the Palace of Friendship’s many corners and peeking out on the front lawn only occasionally. For some reason, the changelings hadn’t spent too long searching the palace, seeming more set on chasing ponies out of their homes. Now he could see why: the changelings had come to destroy the buildings, not the ponies. All except the Palace, of course. Probably too big, and crystal didn’t burn as easily as wood and shingles. Spike had figured from that point it would be best to hunker down and wait for the changelings to leave, then see if anypony was left, hopefully attempt a rescue for the others…

Then the caravan of cages had parked itself on the Palace front lawn.

Seeing Twilight like that…the mare who raised him, shaped who he was, and introduced him to everything he knew and loved and cherished in this world, shivering in a cage, along with the five other mares he cared for more deeply than his own life…all that was too much. He’d gone to the door, figuring it couldn’t be real, that couldn’t be the mare who raised him from an egg shivering outside like a caged animal!

Then he’d seen the ponies he idolized looking despondently around.

He’d seen the smoldering pile of scrolls on the lawn.

And most of all, he’d seen Twilight reaching out to him through the bars, screaming his name.

Everything after that turned into a blur. He remembered seeing the monkey-creature before him, and somehow knowing that its name was Jason Wright, and that he was responsible for everything around them. He remembered wanting to hurt Jason Wright, more than Discord, more than Chrysalis…maybe not more than Tirek, but he was a close second. He remembered picking up the closest thing at hand, he didn’t even remember what it was. Not that it mattered. It had been about as effective as an overcooked noodle against the human, who’d scooped him up as easily as an adult with a child throwing a tantrum.

And those eyes…those eyes when he’d looked into them…

Spike shivered against his captors’ grasps. Those eyes would haunt his memories deep into the night, keeping him awake as he shifted in his sleep, though he didn’t know it now. Right now, he tried to keep himself focused despite the panic rising from his belly. He had to keep looking at the bright side: the girls were okay. That was the important thing. Everything else might be in flames, but the girls were okay. Now, he needed to focus on keeping himself okay. Easier thought than done. The changelings kept him moving at almost a running pace, holding his claws tight. It was here that Spike realized that despite his claws and despite his fangs and despite the crazy, over-the-top adventures he’d had and the monsters and demons he’d fought, despite all that, if these changelings decided to run him through with their spears and leave his body on the outskirts of town for the creatures of the Everfree to snack on, there was nothing he could do to stop them.

Around then he also had to tell himself that the tears running down his face were from the smoke and the panting, choking, out-of-breath way his breathing came from running so hard. He couldn’t even focus on coming up with an escape plan, he could only hurry with the spear-wielding changelings as they dragged him along, and the burning hellscape around him quickly turned into the darkened coves and leafy confines of the Everfree. On the outskirts of town, he spied a small lump of rags by the smoldering ruins of what had been Sugarcube Corner and, on a whim, he scooped it up. He glanced down at it as the changelings hurried him along. Professor Floofington, the Cake twins’ favorite plush toy, looked up at him from a cake of mud and charred fur. The tears flowed more freely.

His stubby legs stumbled over divots in the path, which it took a few minutes for him to recognize as hoofmarks stomped into the dirt. His breath caught in his throat as the tears welled up anew. If this was going to be the end, at least he’d be in good company. The optimistic part of his mind still begged and pleaded, screaming that this couldn’t be it, that he’d been through too much! Tirek, Sombra, the Crystal Games, Nightmare Moon, all things he’d survived, it couldn’t end here!

But you had Twilight during all those times, a small voice in the back of his head that had been growing stronger over the years was quick to point out.

Shut up. He replied as he blinked back more tears. Soon, somewhere amidst the darkness and chittering screeches of the creatures in the night, he heard voices, noticed flickering lights. His breath caught in his throat. This was it…whatever it was Jason Wright had planned for Ponyville, it was right here…a creature with so much hate, so much venom, and the power to burn an entire nation on top of that; Spike’s imagination ran wild with possibilities.

So imagine his surprise when he emerged into a well-lit gathering of tents, where ponies milled about, usually cringing under the sharp gaze of the occasional changeling guard. Spike’s jaw hit his chest. Around him, a few somber tones emerged from an unseen cello player. The air was filled with stilted conversation, interspersed with the occasional hushed whisper or the squeal of a foal preceding tiny, galloping hooves. Down the way, he noticed a bear he recognized from Fluttershy’s home, wreaking havoc with the changelings trying to replace the dressing on its paw while a few more familiar critters cowered in a corner. Across a narrow dirt pathway, the Cakes all gathered around a small fire in front of a large tent, Mr. Cake mimicking a horse’s whinny as he mimed one galloping with a small, wooden figurine, the twins squealing in delight.

“Mr. Cake! Mrs. Cake!” Spike gasped, forgetting his guards and rushing into the firelight.

“Spike!” Mrs. Cake immediately dropped the small baking pan she’d been holding over the fire and rushed to embrace the dragon. “Oh, thank heavens! Where have you been!?”

“Aheh…sorry,” he said, eagerly returning the embrace while fighting back tears. “I’ve kinda been hunkered down in the palace this entire time. Once word got out that Canterlot had surrendered, I kinda…kinda…”

“Husshhh…” Mrs. Cake wiped away the tears Spike still refused to acknowledge. “It’s okay, pumpkin, it’s gonna be fine. You had a lot of ponies worried for a while there, y’know.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he sniffled, then looked around. “What’s all this, though?”

“Don’t know. A little bit into the woods, after the changelings finished driving us out of town, a whole bunch of ‘em popped out again and forced us all in here. Gave us a bunch of apples, too,” she waved a hoof in the direction of a massive barrel, stamped ‘Sweet Apple Acres.’ “Looks like they made the Apples gather up some stock for the town.”

“This was the plan all along,” Spike whispered.

“Well darn, but it confuses the heck out of me!” Mrs. Cake replied as she ushered him closer to the fire.

“Yeah, me too…” Spike mused. He trailed off, his eyes misting over again as he looked at the barrel. “They burned everything. Wouldn’t surprise me if those apples are all that’s left.”

“Well, there’s plenty of ‘em!” Mrs. Cake said, her face beaming for a moment until Spike turned his downcast expression on her.

“They burnt everything. Carousel Boutique, Fluttershy’s treehome, Town Hall…” he sniffled loudly. “…Sugarcube Corner…”

“Husshhh…sweetie…” Mrs. Cake pulled him into another embrace as Mr. Cake perked his head up.

“Twi would be proud of you, Spike,” he said between highly-embellished horse noises and squealing toddler delight. “I saw her in the cages, so she’s still kickin’, just so you know.”

“I know, I saw her too…” Spike paused and frowned. “It was on the front lawn of the Palace, that…thing was there.”

“Jason Wright,” Mr. Cake snorted. “He took everything.”

“Yeah, so why give us this in return?” Spike fanned a claw out over the camp. “Why even bother? Why not turn us out in the cold?”

Mrs. Cake frowned. “Now, why would he do that, dear?”

“You should have seen the hate in his eyes: believe me, if you saw, you’d be wondering too.” He replied, a shiver tracing down from between his shoulder spikes and along his tail. “Why would he burn Ponyville, only to renege like this? He should have left us…just let us run into the woods, instead he built this camp…was it all for show?”

“A show for who, dear?”

Spike was about to correct her grammar, when it all clicked. The despondent way the ponies had looked out from their cages, the horror in Twilight’s face…it was all for them!? Jason’s hate had a target, and it was those six ponies!? How could one creature hate them so much!? It didn’t make any sense, what did they ever…

“Spike?” Mrs. Cake’s voice dragged him back into reality. He shook his head and met her worried gaze. He was about to tell her something, air his thoughts a little, but then it occurred to him that talking about the way Jason Wright was trying to break the ponies they cared most for in the world might not be the best conversation topic for the same night that they’d lost their homes.

“It’s…nothing…” he replied, offering a winning smile even as his heart twisted in worry for Twilight, realizing she was in the grip of a creature that had A) Conquered all of Equestria, and B) Apparently wanted her to suffer for some reason. “Hey, just so you know: I scooped up Professor Floofington on my way in.”

“Why, thank you Spike!” Mrs. Cake gushed, retrieving the stuffed toy from his claws with the sort of glee usually reserved for wives embracing their husbands returning from tours with the military. “That is such a nice gesture!”

Spike nodded and smiled as he turned to look over the camp. His smile slowly shrank as he looked over the shivering, frightened ponies, transforming into an expression that looked far too old for his chubby cheeks and bright, childish eyes. For a moment, his gaze fell on a changeling guard. The changeling glared. He glared back. After a few minutes, Spike blinked, and the changeling looked away with a smirk. Snorting angrily, Spike leaned back as the smell of baking apples wafted under his nose: the Cakes were almost done with dinner apparently. Soon, he would eat in silence, watching the sunrise peer through the heavy canopy above as he tried to make sense of this new life. Like it or not, his life, and the lives of everypony around him, was now an exercise in barely-controlled chaos, teetering over the brink and just waiting for something to come along and give it that little nudge...

And as that thought dissipated in his mind, a certain chunk of statuary, discarded on the lawn beneath Canterlot’s highest spire, gave another wiggle. A faint crack now appeared along its face which started expanding rapidly, inching its way along the stone facade.