Episode 226: Fragile Yet Vital

For a few moments Rarity was gripped by the necessity of absolute focus, drawing her attention from the fight at large to the immediate space around her. A good chunk of Somnambula’s Sinner gang had abandoned using the inner Theater’s box seating as cover and had opted to try and bump rush her with numbers. Likely they thought that her power to conjure weapons and barriers of crimson crystal was Rarity’s own Sinner power, optimized for ranged fighting, and hence they could overwhelm her up close.

They came leaping from the walls, some crawling along the ceiling to drop at her from above, all froth mouthed with laughter or bellowing blood cries of battlelust. Violence was a way of existence for these people, as much as any other sin, and with immortal bodies ever in pain of thirst and hunger they found other ways to satiate themselves. Rarity could see it in their wild, desperation stained eyes. Need, grasping and clawing. In some ways all Cozy Glow’s intrusion and raid did was transfer the Sinner’s need from watching a performance to enacting it themselves.

Rarity obliged their desire for violence.

The first was a woman with tangled green hair and blue skin, stitched with pins of bone across her flesh like decorative piercings. Her hands had grown gnarled claws of blackened bone that trailed heat embers, and Rarity felt the air sizzle as the woman raked at her head with a howl on her lips. Rarity ducked low, bending under the blow, whipping her sword arm left to right. Her rapier transmuted mid-slice into a curving scimitar that opened the woman’s stomach as her body flopped past Rarity, still snarling and clawing. Rarity had to wheel aside to avoid those claws as the woman’s body collided with a stone bench with a loud crack.

A man with a bald, bronze head raised meaty, chain clad fists. The chains spun around his hand until they became akin to drills and he flexed bulging muscles as he sent one, two, three hammer blows at Rarity that broke the air with pressure cones of force. Deftly slipping backwards, gently twisting her body in rhythm to the strikes, Rarity flicked her left wrist to create elegant discs of crystal that redirected each blow with a sound like a gong being struck with a sledgehammer. Then, when another man charged in behind her with a spear of bones like a sharpened spine, she flipped over him and kicked out to connect her right heel with the man’s head, sending him stumbling right into the chained fist of his companion. This bent the spearman like a human pretzel and catapulted him away, while the burly bald fellow was left growling in frustration just before Rarity swiped her blade down in a gesture that conjured a barrage of identical whirling red scimitars that danced in a crimson series of arcs around the man. He split apart into chunks an instant later.

More came, six, a dozen, twenty, Rarity was not entirely clear on the number, only that as soon as she cut one down she was dealing with another. And good as she was, these Sinners weren’t novices, and it didn’t take them long to begin pressing her. Especially when, taking advantage of their immortality, one woman literally threw herself on Rarity’s blade, intentionally impaling herself to momentarily trap the weapon. Blood spilling from her smiling face, the woman grabbed the sword to keep it locked in her, shouting past red stained lips, “I got her sword, clobber her!”

It was embarrassing, but Rarity did need a split moment to let go of the one blade and form another, although she also was calling forth a hailstorm of other flying weapons she’d produced. This still gave one man twirling bladed chains to slash at her at the same time another carrying a huge, solid, spiked length of stone came from behind with an overhand swing. The swing connected, Rarity forming a half shield to block that still left her arm snapping back like a twig. Her newly conjured blade deflected one of the chain knives, only for the other to stick deep in her side. The pain was oddly... less than she expected. There, certainly, but it was as if, already being in pain, the fresh wounds were just drops on top of the bucket that had been filing up since she got to Hell.

Still, it made her more than a little miffed. Ignoring the way her broken left arm flopped, she spun, and blood and red crystal liquid spilled from around her, from her dress, and the whirlpool that had suddenly appeared at her side. Spikes of shining ruby spread out in multitudes from her, like the extending body of some angry red sea urchin. The spikes moved faster than any of the nearby Sinner’s could respond to, and over a dozen were impaled in the bat of an eyelash, all the way to the walls of the Theater.

Rarity felt a spark of something hot and greedily hungry inside her, and felt energy surge into her body. To her surprise, and a sensation of mild horror, she realized that when she’d conjured the constructs of spikes, her Hell chains had been instinctively embedded in each spike of crystal, becoming lodged in the Sinners she impaled. The chains drained spirit energy from the Sinners, making them moan in despair as their bodies grew lax and sallow, like balloons being emptied of air.

With a willful cry, Rarity removed the spikes and chains immediately, letting the bodies fall to the floor as she took a few shuddering breaths. She could feel the strength of the Sinners she’d just drained pulsing in her flesh, and looked at her hands. A faint gleam of bright, almost white hellfire flickered over her fingers. The wound in her side mended, and her broken arm knitted back to fullness.

Even her knights had gained a slight aura of eerie pale white about them. The seven constructs she had with her were all fighting as a unit, having established a firm, protective wall in front of Blueblood. Sinners had damaged them, leaving chips in their armor, one with a missing arm, another with a broken helm, but there was a pile of writhing, hacked up bodies at the knights’ feet and Blueblood himself was unscathed. Rarity saw him, first concentrating on directing the glass blades of his Zanpaktou, but now catching her gaze. He saw the flicker of flames about her, and the glint of her chains clinking around her body. She saw no judgment in his eyes, only a deep waver of worry as he gave her an affirming nod.

Rarity nodded back, breathing deep, and taking hold of her nerves. Her actions had stunned the Sinners into brief retreat, giving her a moment to assess, especially what had become of Cozy Glow and Somnambula themselves. She did spot Sunburst still in the air, all but holding off half of Somnambula’s gang on the right flank with his intense flames alone. It was clear to see why he was Cozy Glow’s second in command. Without him, Rarity and Blueblood would have had twice as many foes to deal with. As for Cozy Glow...

Rarity had not fully grasped why Cozy Glow had wished to attack the Theater in this ironically theatrical raid. Sowing terror, or just leaving an impression to subdue attacks her Legion gang would face in her absence only really made sense if violence was something Sinners feared. Most evidence was to the contrary, that the majority of Sinners reveled in engaging in one of the only activities readily available to alleviate the forces of ennui seeking to break down their souls.

Watching Cozy Glow fight, however, provided a moment of enlightenment.

She did not simply cut down the Sinners that came at her. No, she picked them apart like a troubled child might delight in taking the limbs off insects. She was brutality in the form of a burnt little girl, as if the child's exterior was a thin flesh coated upon a nest of visceral, violent chains that wanted nothing more than to exact agony on those around her. Yet even in the bloody flailing of those chains there was a tremor of something deeper, a wildly thrashing agony of her own that Cozy Glow used to shred and rip and cut as she laughed in a hoarse voice that almost seemed on the verge of tears.

Nobody but Somnambula was able to stand up to her. All of Somnambula’s gangers, the dancers and band players or audience members that had tried to rush Cozy Glow, were on the ground in various pieces. The arena stage was a carpet of guts, limbs, and moaning torn apart bodies slowly trying to pull themselves back together. Even as she watched in fascination, disturbed awe, Rarity saw one such Sinner’s body sag, eyes dull, as if unwilling to pull himself back together any longer, and he seemed to fade into a gray and red sludge that sank into the ground like mud. Was that... how a Sinner fell deeper into Hell, how a soul here looked as it broke down?

Rarity had misunderstood the circumstances of Sinners. Their ‘undying’ bodies were only another form of punishment, and they feared death as much or more as the living, for every death they experienced brought them closer to the final despair. Even in this city they had built for themselves, Tartarus, there was no escape from Hell’s eventual grasp. They were simply doing the work of the Kushanada for them. The jailers of Hell did not come to Tatarus not because of the thick mountain of stone that encased the city, but because there was simply no need. The Sinners punished each other thoroughly enough.

Cozy Glow was just administering a reminder, so that all would fear her enough to leave her Legion alone for a time. She was as terrible and frightening as an army of Kushanada.

With Somnambula alone standing before her, Cozy Glow moved like an elegant puppet on her own blood soaked chains, grinning and taunting the fiercely enraged woman, “Geeze, Sommy, your goons went down faster than usual. But that’s why I don’t come to the Theater too often, I think all this wannabe drama club shit makes you guys soft. What’s with that catchphrase ‘Discard Hope - Gain Freedom’? What bullshit. You guys haven’t given up hope, you still cling to it like a rotting rope.”

“We have tossed aside hope, you dull witted brat. The Theater is the acknowledgment we’ll never leave Hell, and in that is the freedom to enjoy what we can create in its depths. A one-note little psycho like you won’t ever understand,” Somnambula said, and from her twin shotel blades a thick substance dripped forth, black as tar and just as viscous as she struck forth at Cozy Glow with incredible speed and poise.

Having not had a chance before this point to really look, Rarity was taken with the woman’s motions. Cozy Glow, for all her ability, had to clearly focus and put strain on herself as she flew away on her chains to try and evade Somnanbula’s flowing strikes. Chains rushed in their multitudes like a nest of iron snakes, and the air filled with the constant sting of singing metal. Somambula had near perfect balance, spinning with the fluidity of oil as her shotel’s cut carving arcs at faster and faster angles. Chains were deflected in white hot flashes, and Rarity saw that every parry left some of Cozy Glow’s chains coated in the tar pouring from Somnambula’s blades.

In each such instance, the coated chain grew heavy and fell, planted and held fast to the ground as if the tar was alive and dragged it down, coiling and wrapping around the chains. In this way, Somnambula pressed Cozy Glow, chased her across the stage, every arc of her swords precise and controlled, leaping from attack to defense with such swift alacrity it was almost instantaneous.

That level of skill... I’ve never seen it before, Rarity realized. Even Blueblood, a Captain and a proper challenge to her when they fought, had not been as swift of blade or graceful in poise. Hoity Toity had certainly been more powerful, but relied so much on his Schrift he’d not demonstrated this kind of skill. In sparring with her friends, Rarity could acknowledge how good Sunset had gotten with a blade, but much like Rarity they were both only young women who’d been training and fighting for a few months and relied heavily on their powers.

Somnambula wasn’t as fast as Cozy Glow, and likely wasn’t as strong. The tar from her blades was interesting, but even as it stuck many of Cozy’s chains to the ground or walls, Cozy seemed to have an infinite amount to keep extending forth. It was Somnambula’s skill that drew Rarity in, watching with fascination, even as Cozy Glow clearly got fed up with the chase. When one of Somnambula’s strikes actually hit Cozy, drawing a gout of blood from the girl’s scalp, Cozy Glow’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.

“Okay, yeah, no.”

It was as if a solid wall of screaming chains formed in front of her, so fast and overwhelming no amount of sword skill or binding tar might overcome it. Somnambula let out a frustrated cry as the wall of spinning, razor sharp chains tore through the stage and half the opera house chamber, slamming into Somnambula like a typhoon made out of blurring metal.

The woman was sent spinning into the edge of the stage with a resounding crash, and the wall of chains parted like water as Cozy strode forward, face covered in blood even as the injury on her scalp began to close up, “Been a gas, Som, but gonna just flay you now, because this shit isn’t fun anymore.”

“Go ahead... brat,” Somnambula said, struggling to her feet amid the rubble of the stage, her eyes swimming with defiance, “It will take a lot more than your tantrums to break my soul down. Like I said, I’ve given up hope, so what’s left to really hurt me?”

“I’ll get creative,” Cozy Glow replied, chains rattling with eager anticipation, only to pause as suddenly Rarity was standing between her and Somnambula, holding up a pale hand. Cozy’s face grew dangerously still, “Hey, princess, you’re in my way.”

Rarity put on her most winning smile, letting her swirling pool of blood hover over her playful hand, “You just said so yourself that you’re not having fun anymore, Cozy Glow. You’ve proven your strength and I’m certain put a current of fear through your rivals. But you didn’t bring me along just to watch and play with a few lackeys, did you? Why not let me have a moment with Somnambula?”

She could see the shrewd calculation in Cozy Glow’s look, her one good eye flicking back and forth between Rarity and Somnambula. “Rather finish putting her in her place myself, but what’s got your interest piqued, I wonder? Thought you weren’t into our way of doing things, yet? Or are you thinking of testing out your chains on her? Hehehe, that’d be something to see.”

Rarity held out her right hand to the side, the faint clink of her own chains filling the air as they briefly appeared. Somnambula was scowling, but also eyeing her people with barely hidden concern, especially the group that Rarity had drained, for none of them had managed to recover or regenerate like the others had. Now standing on somewhat unsteady feet, Somnambula barred her blades and sucked in a breath, “I don’t care which of you wants to fight. Just get this shitshow over with, Cozy Glow, so you can get the hell out of my Theater, and take your posse of rejects with you. Wasn’t planning on attacking the Legion any time soon anyway, so your little raid was a waste of time.”

“Oh, Sommy, you’re just not cut out for this, are you? I know you weren’t going to pull anything, but folk from every gang use your Theater. This gets the message across to everyone for a while what’ll happen if anyone screws with the Legion,” Cozy Glow said, playing with her chains, running her hands along them as they moved like pleased eels. She cast a hard look at Rarity, lips pursed, “Not sure what you’re up to, princess, but you want a go at Som, feel free. I’m done here, and you can take care of yourself and blue boy.”

Abruptly she turned, hopping off the stage and striding away, “Sunburst, we’re peaceing out!”

Sunburst made a face, landing next to her, but casting uneasy looks at Rarity and Blueblood, “Shouldn’t we stay and wait until this is over and make sure we all get back in one piece?”

“Nah, screw it. Rarity is a big girl, and if she gets butchered by Somnambula, then hey, she gets to pop her death cherry. Gonna happen eventually, one way or another. As for her boy toy, he can sink or swim on his own,” Cozy Glow stated, passing by Blueblood with a playful wave, “Try not to die now.”

Blueblood cast back a steady gaze, which only lasted about as long as it took for Cozy Glow to pass by, upon which he let out a sigh and gathered the glinting and translucent daggers of his Shikai about him. Sunburst nodded as he passed, whispering, “I’ll wait for you two outside, and make sure no reinforcements rush in.”

“You have my thanks,” Blueblood said, although for the moment it looked like most of Somnambula’s gang had lost their nerve and were waiting to see what their leader would do. As Cozy Glow and Sunburst left, only Rarity and Somnambula themselves remained on the stage. Somnambula was frowning deeply, adjusting the torn remains of her black wrappings as she slowly walked around Rarity, who turned to keep herself face to face with the other woman.

“I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, but I have no compunctions about carving you into pieces, child,” said Somnambula, twirling one of her shotels, “Then perhaps I’ll vent some very long held frustrations on that fop in a Captain’s haori behind you.”

“Indeed, I can tell you hold some very deep rooted grudge against your former comrades,” Rarity said, slowly forming a new rapier in her hand, whilst letting a series of other blades of crystal shape from her whirlpool. Her squad of knights began to stir in her direction, but she gave them a mental command to step back. Somnambula noticed this, her head tilting quizzically.

“Those knights aren’t your Sinner power. That’s the chains you used to steal power from my people. I don’t recognize power like yours, girl. Since you’re so chatty, what are you, exactly?”

“It would not be a short tale to tell, I’m afraid,” replied Rarity, giving off a weak chuckle, “Even the short version of it might take awhile.”

“Hmm,” Somnambula shrugged, “So be it. You’d best bring those knights to your side, if you plan to last more than a minute against me.”

“Oh, I could. Them, and many more besides. An army, in fact. But I don’t wish to in this case,” Rarity said, to which Somnambula looked at her with proud incredulity.

“Someone is about to regret being overconfident.”

“Yes, if my goal was to defeat you, then fighting without using the full breadth of my powers would be most foolish indeed,” Rarity said plainly, still holding her rapier at the ready, “But defeating you isn’t my intention. Not in the traditional sense. Rather, I want to duel you. Sword to sword.”

This gave Somnambula a brief moment of hesitation, if only because curiosity flashed over her otherwise sharply steeled eyes, “Why? You saw me fight Cozy Glow. While the damn brat is stronger than me, it's only because of all that innate power she has over her chains. In terms of skill, I’m superior to her. And you.”

“Precisely,” Rarity replied, “I must confess to being very intrigued by your swordsmanship. Blueblood, you can confirm this, yes? Somnambula’s skill is unusual, even for a Soul Reaper?”

Blueblood cleared his throat loudly, his sweat stained face still reddening with a bit of self-conscious embarrassment, “What little of it I could follow was... admittedly superb. If you were to twist my arm to force a comparison, her skills are on par with our better Captains; Cheese Sandwich, Celestia, Hurricane, or Sweet Cider to cite examples.”

This caused a faint stir from Somnambula, a dry rasp of a laugh, “It’s been so long I don’t even recognize those names... hah, I really have lost track of how long I’ve been consigned to this prison. Does Scorpan still lead?”

Rarity had last seen Scorpan at the Coalition summit, and did not know the result of his confrontation with the Zero Division’s leader, Glory. “Last that I knew. A lot has happened. You, apparently, have been here a very long time. And all this time, you have held a grudge?”

There was a hard, violent shake of Somnambula’s head as she glared at Rarity, “Yes, but what does that matter? You wish a duel of blades? Admire my sword skills? I will happily give you a personal lesson, then. One that will end with me placing your severed head on my mantle for however long it takes you to regrow your body.”

She did not give Rarity a moment to reply. Somnambula moved, shotels weaving a river of steel. Rarity’s heart pounded, all of her focus needed in that moment to simply keep that river of cutting metal from finding her flesh. To onlookers it would have appeared as if the two women had become nothing more than a furious storm of clashing sparks and blurred motions, bodies invisible amid the speed of motions. For Rarity, it was as if the fight was made of snippets of still images, her own body having to move as much on her reflexes as conscious thought.

Somnambula’s footwork was immaculate. She never overextended. Never misgudged the reach of her swords or the position of her feet. It had been so easy to forget the importance of balance and precise position in the crazed heat of many of the battles Rarity had faced, but this point-to-point blade work tested every instinct she’d garnered since striking down her first Hollow.

Two cuts high, shotels sweeping from the left. Rarity swept up her left arm, forming a short bladed main-gauche of crimson crystal to pick off one while stepping back on the ball of her left foot and turning on the right to let the higher stroke pass her hair in a flicker of loose purple strands. She riposted, instantly shaping her rapier into a longer blade, trying to catch Somnambula off guard as she struck at the woman’s heart. No such luck. Somnambula, having judged the counterstroke accurately, side stepped and crossed back with another side swipe, now aiming lower at Rarity’s hip. Crossing her weapons and jamming them low, Rarity caught the shotels, but as she expected the black tar sprang forth, wrapping Rarity’s blades. Anticipating this, she let go and leaped back, instantly forming another weapon in a wash of blood, this time a longspear with a leaf shaped blade.

From around Somnambula, other weapons of Rarity’s flew, ruby red daggers, swords, axes, and spears all striking like a swarm of hornets. Rarity was not overly shocked to see Somnambula twirl and bend like a natural dancer, shotels spinning in dark arcs that picked off Rarity’s flying weapons like one might swat down flies. Rarity was not simply watching, however, and with the full speed she could muster she flickered about, planting spears as fast as she could form them into the stage. Finally, in the next instant it took Somnambula to cut apart the last of her flying weapons, Rarity had shaped a fresh pair of swords into her hands; both curved sabers. She flew in at Somnambula from behind, slicing high with her right hand and low with her left.

Somnambula turned with near perfect timing, countering the swings with precise parries, forcing Rarity’s blades high. She smiled with satisfaction, swinging her shotels down in a cross pattern that would bi-sect Rarity, but just as she did so the stage burst apart in multiple points. Spearheads, growing from crystal formations from each of the spears Rarity had planted a moment earlier, now erupted up from the stage to try and skewer Somnambula from all angles. There was no hesitation in Somnambula’s movements as she turned her bisecting cross cut into a defensive spin, one that still partially struck Rarity’s stomach and cut a painful gouge even as Somnambula cut a harsh circle around herself to sever the spear heads trying to impale her.

Rarity felt her body seize up and a hot burning pain form in her gut. Glancing down she saw black tar from where the shotel had struck her now sticking to her midriff, trying to claw at her crystalline dress armor. She could feel Somnambula’s spirit energy, boiling, angry, almost dirty with helpless rage in that tar. It was a terrible feeling, one that scoured at Rarity’s mind like it was trying to extinguish her will to fight. Rarity fought back fiercely, casting the thought aside and ripped that part of her battle dress off, letting the tar take it as she reformed the garment from a wash of blood. Her wound would take time to close, even with Hell’s natural regenerative properties, but the pain was something Rarity could block out.

By now she’d gained a measure of Somnambula’s range and speed. The woman was better than Rarity, by a strong margin. In terms of skill there was practically no comparison. Yet Rarity could tell she held some distinct advantages. Range, for one. Even as she’d dealt with the tar, her focus had not left Somnambula and her whirlpool of blood had been disgorging a continuous stream of weapons to soar in with scarlet glints of sharp assault, blade after blade spinning down upon Somnambula’s position. Although she deflected each such attack, Somnambula was stuck in place for a moment, unable to risk shifting position.

Rarity took that advantage and played it into her next card she held; her weapons were not set in shape, granting her versatility Somnambula’s shotels lacked. She joined her array of flying weapons on the assault, creating a pair of scimitars once more. Only this time, when Somnambula turned hard eyes on Rarity and moved to parry, Rarity changed the scimitars into a large rose shield in her left hand and a heavy, vine embossed broadsword in her right, a bit of a cheeky rendition of Sunset Shimmer’s Shikai. She caught Somnambula’s shotels on the shield, and brought the red rose on it to life, crystal vines and thorns growing in an instant to try and wrap the blades the same way the tar from the shotels sought to engulf the shield. But this meant the broadsword was free to cut, and Rarity brought it down hard.

Somnambula surprised her, leaning into the strike, letting the broadsword take her shoulder in a welter of blood, but at the same time Somnambula body checked Rarity and dragged her shotels low under the shield and cut hard to the right. Rarity felt the stab of pain as a gout of blood surged from twin gouges in her right thigh and she nearly lost her footing as she stumbled back.

She lost her grip on the broadsword, which remained lodged in Somnambula’s shoulder. The woman, showing remarkable capacity to ignore pain, left the sword in her body as she advanced with no loss of speed or poise. Her shotels carved a furious pattern at Rarity. She abandoned the shield, which was coated in tar that was tying it to the ground anyway, and instead held her hands out and formed a pair of tri-bladed katar in her fists, coating her arms in an extra layer of red crystal armor. She stepped back one painful movement at a time as Somnambula drove her across the stage, katars sparking off the shotels. Blood flowed down Rarity’s leg wounds, leaving a crimson trail in her wake. Rarity did not fail to miss the significance of this, and wondered if Somnambula noticed.

Somanbula’s focus was a great strength, but it was also a weakness that could be exploited. Rarity also realized Somnambula had made another mistake, leaving Rarity’s previously created broadsword in her body.

Rarity lost her katars one after the other to the tar on Somnambula’s shotels, but formed new blades each time, different for each new set of parries. This forced Somnambula to kept adjusting her timing and footwork, keeping her ever so slightly off balance and her full, laser focus on Rarity, who in turn began to extend her spirit energy out to prepare for her final strike. But that would take a moment, and she needed to buy time, and get Somnambula more off kilter. As a calculated risk, Rarity diverted some of her own attention to talking.

“You’re so skilled, I would think you were a Captain yourself, yes?”

One shotel nearly caught her neck, barely parried by a gladius in her left hand. Somnambula sneered, spinning the parried blade back into a lower cut that turned into a feint, forcing Rarity to redirect the longsword now in her right hand.

“No, I was not. You care entirely too much about my past, for one of Cozy Glow’s cronies.”

Rarity circled right, almost limping on her right leg, but she was intentionally overselling her limp to make Somnambula target her right side more, which the woman gladly side, hammering both shotels in a high to low vertical cut that allowed Rarity to block by turning her longsword into a spike studded tower shield.

“I’m not one of her Legion, but rather an associate for the sake of mutual convenience. I mean to escape Hell, and she’s aiding in that goal. Now, if you were not a Captain, then a Lieutenant? Yet you’re much stronger than any Lieutenant I’ve faced.”

From the agitation writ across Somnambula’s face, the idle chit-chat was indeed getting to her. Good. It was distracting from the small pulses of Rarity’s reiatsu that was flowing from her body, using the blood from her leg wound as a channel. Somnambula pulled back from Rarity’s shield, using the tar from her shotels to rip it free and launch it away, instantly coming back in with a blinding array of alternating cuts that had Rarity reeling back, parrying as fast as she could with now twin rapiers in hand.

“Then the Gotei 13 have gotten weaker since its founding. I was the First Division’s first Lieutenant. I served directly under Scorpan, and by virtue had to set an example for others to follow,” Somnambula said, voice as bitter as it was nostalgic, “My Zanpaktou was not very powerful, anyway. I had to compensate with skill.”

They’d almost made a full circuit of the stage, Somnambula on the offensive the entire time, forcing Rarity to keep retreating. Or at least that is what it may have looked like to any observers. If one looked more closely, they may have noticed Rarity’s line of retreat was not random, but directed into allowing the blood flow from her leg to double up and cross upon itself, forming a pattern that Somnambula was being led along.

Once at the center of that pattern of slick blood, Rarity made her gambit. She recklessly reversed course, biting back a pained cry as the gash in her leg spat blood and lashed her with agony from her suddenly lunging forward instead of limping back. She launched her rapiers into a needle storm of glinting red thrusts, at a glance a desperation move of a wounded foe to try and force Somnambula back. As Rarity had hoped for, the attack drew Somnambula in as the woman expertly spun her shotels in a woven wall of steel that turned aside Rarity’s thrusts like waves breaking upon a shoreline cliff. The final, harsh parries would leave Rarity off balance on a wounded leg, her chest unguarded as her weapons were thrown wide.

The predatory glint of a victor spawned in Somnambula’s eyes as she twirled her curved, twin blades around to cleave into Rarity, only to find her own balance halted in place and pain lashing her own body! Rarity’s own blood, which Somnambula had been stepping through trails of, and now stood upon a large central pool, rose up like liquid red glass, a needling tomb of rest crystals that flowed up Somnambula’s legs, then her hips, and entwined her arms. What was more, the sword left in her shoulder that she had ignored now bloomed like a crystal rose, ruby petals opening as Rarity bored the red crystal into Somnambula’s chest and arms.

“Got you,” Rarity said, merging her rapiers in a fluid motion of liquid crystal to form one larger, ornate blade that she aimed for Somnambula’s heart, striking with a swift thrust. She hit home, and Rarity felt a lance of unease. She’d killed Hoity Toity out of necessity, and that had been a flying blade that had struck him. She hadn’t felt the resistance of parting flesh through the hilt in her palm. But that wasn’t what made her uneasy. It was the look of confidence and victory that hadn’t left Somnambula’s eyes, even as blood escaped her lips.

“Got you, as well.”

Tar boiled from her body, seeming to flow over and coat the crystal encasement Rarity had made of Somnambula’s body. The tar, like a living thing, a living body, moved Somnambula as if she were a puppet, but no less fast, graceful, or deadly for it. Shotels cut in perfect arcs, shining yet dark as their metal edges became coated in Rarity’s blood.

There was a surreal moment when Rarity saw her own arm flying free like a twig caught in the wind, and a strange shift of gravity as her body fell one way, yet her legs went another, all spraying sheets of crimson.

“Well... drat...” was all she managed to say.

That was how Rarity experienced her first death in Hell.

Pulling herself back together was an entirely unpleasant sensation. Rarity did not wish to repeat it and silently vowed to avoid any further costly mistakes that might leave her in pieces, laying amid thick pools of her own blood, while her body... morphed in a most distasteful manner.

She hadn’t really paid it much attention, but when a Sinner ‘died’ in Hel, the regeneration process was not clean. Severed pieces all but melted into a molten wax, and wounds bubbled and boiled in this manner, the frothing substance wetly stretching to form or reattach new limbs. Rarity felt the burning pain as if every open piece of her was exposed to hot coals. The prickling of her regenerating muscles mixed with the nauseating pressure and nerve-pain of organs growing new tissue. It was an ugly, undignified mess of an experience, and Rarity’s only real consolation was that no sooner had Somnambula bisected and dismembered her, had the woman also toppled over and vomited a gout of blood from the fact that Rarity’s own sword had firmly lodged itself in her heart.

Blueblood was at her side with commendable speed, eyes wide, face aghast and even more pale than usual, “My lady! Are you...?”

“Alright?” Rarity asked as she made a twisted face, watching one of her legs attached to some portion of her sheared off hips slowly reconnect to her bloody, intestine strewn torso in a slowly oozing stretch of tissue, like some horrid red taffy, “No. No I’m not. Feeling rather queasy, in fact. But I suppose it could be worse.”

He seemed to have trouble looking at the overall mess, instead focusing on her eyes as he gulped with dry, cracked lips, “I am glad your humor remains intact, if other parts are... less so. It was reckless to challenge her to such a duel.”

“But educational,” Rarity commented, grimacing as the ooze of her reconnecting parts started to slowly get her back into one piece. For modesty’s sake she expended some energy to gradually recraft her battle dress, which had also gone to pieces when Somnambula had... not bisected her, but trisected her? Quinsected? She wasn’t clear just how many pieces she’d been cut into in that last exchange. Looking over at Somnambula, Rarity saw the woman had flopped onto her back and was now slowly pulling Rarity’s swords out of her body, first the large rapier, then the previously impaled broadsword. The crystal weapons were tossed aside with loud clatters, and Rarity saw Somnambula breathing hard and trying to speak past coughing blood as her wounds tarred up and boiled with regenerative tissue.

“Hahah...hah...ugh... you’re the glib one, for having lost.”

Rarity, unable to ignore the absurdity of it all, laughed as well, even as doing so made pain tear through her, “Hah! Ah, I think I can make an... oogh... an argument for a draw.”

Somnambula spat more blood and rolled over, propping her arms under her and slowly rising with shining eyes locked on Rarity, filled with amusement and a growing hint of respect, “Hell rules are the first one to get back on their feet wins, and you’re still regrowing legs, girl.” She stood, moaning as the holes in her body gradually filled in, and the tar of her Sinner power gradually reabsorbed into her body. Even her shotels shifted, becoming black cloth that wrapped around her arms. Somnambula stretched, looking down at Rarity and Blueblood. “There, see? My win. That being said, I’m not a sore winner. That was a clever move you pulled at the end, and if we weren’t Sinners, you would have had me. So I suppose I’ll spare your head the stint as my mantle piece.”

“Very gracious of you,” Rarity said, her own body now almost fully back in one piece. With a careful helping hand from Blueblood, she was back on her feet as well, if still feeling a bit woozy from the sensation of internal organs and muscles still shifting about inside her body, “Oh my, but this feels most... disconcerting. Is it always so unpleasant?”

“Every single time,” Somnambula replied, “I take it that was your first? I almost feel honored to be the first one to give you a taste of it. For many, it is a constant threat, a constant fear, an ever looming reality. We die, here in Hell, over and over, until eventually, we just can’t take it anymore.. and stop pulling ourselves back together.”

Blueblood looked upon the blood covered stage, and almost equally blood splattered floor and walls of the opera house, “And yet you make a revelry of it all.”

Somnambula’s smile was biting, “Better that, than to wallow in despair. That is the meaning of my Theater. Abandon hope, for it is dead here. But in embracing the reality that the dissolution of our souls is inevitable, we gain a measure of freedom to enjoy ourselves before the end.”

By now those of Somnambula’s gang who were still capable of movement, who weren’t still trying to pull the severed pieces of their bodies back together after the bloodbath, were slowly crowding around the edges of the stage. Wary, like a pack of jackals unsure if they should approach a larger predator. One of them, one of the previously playing band, cleared her throat loudly, “Somnambula, you want us to take these two?”

Blueblood had not placed his Zanpaktou back to its sealed state, and so there was a whisper of invisible glass daggers that wafted through the air as he turned a sharp look at the Sinners, remaining protectively close to Rarity. However, Somnambula raised a hand and shook her head at her subordinates, her voice pitched to carry its weight across the vast theater hall.

“No, the moment of blood has passed, the curtains drawn on this performance. See to our wounded, especially the ones drained by her chains,” she nodded at Rarity, who felt a need to cross her arms defensively and stare back. While she hadn’t consciously intended to use her Sinner powers to drain those gangers, she wasn’t about to apologize for defending herself. Somnambula didn’t seem to be overtly bothered, still speaking to her people, “Put those that can’t move in the lower sepulchers for now. And tell Zeb, if he’s still intact out front, to close up the entrance for today.”

As the Sinners moved to carry out their orders, gathering up the groaning remains of those unable to quickly regenerate, Rarity frowned and watched. Those drained by her power were largely intact, but in a fashion seemed worse off than some of their comrades who’d been dismembered during the fight. They were like sunken skeletons of sagged flesh, not quite able to fill back out. Somnambula followed Rarity’s gaze and placed a hand on her hips, “I had heard the rumors about you already, but didn’t realize just how fresh you were. You don’t have any control over your power as a Sinner yet.” It was not a question, and Rarity didn’t deny it.

“An issue I mean to correct, among others,” she said, “Perhaps with your assistance.”

“Pfah!” Somnambula let out a gust of a laugh, as if the laughter was almost a shock to her, or that Rarity’s words were so confounding that they literally gut punched the laugh from her core, “Just because you amused me enough that I’m not making an ornament out of you doesn’t mean I want to help you. You work with Cozy Glow, whom I hate. You made a mess of my Theater, which I am just a tad annoyed by. You brought a filthy, traitorous Soul Reaper into my home, which doesn’t do anything extra to endear you to me, either. And you want my help?”

“That’s right,” Rarity stated with a firm nod, not quite smiling like a dazzling diamond but certainly with more polish than a woman who’d just regenerated from several bloody pieces had any right to, “And I think, perhaps, you will.”

“Do you? I would love to know where you find the confidence to say that, or at least the audacity,” Somnambula replied, eyes wide with either rage, further amusement, or perhaps a heady mixture of both. For his part, Blueblood cleared his throat quietly and leaned close to Rarity to whisper.

“So would I, actually. Um, my lady, is this perhaps the best time to push things with the hellish swordswoman who just, er...” he made a vague gesture at all of Rarity’s blood coating the stage.

Rarity realized she was walking a razor thin line between suitable risk versus dangerous recklessness, but the fact of the matter was that she considered it worth the potential benefits. Cozy Glow was not a trustworthy ally by any stretch of the imagination, and while Sunburst seemed a decent fellow, he also seemed loyal to the child, which meant he couldn’t necessarily be counted on if things with Cozy Glow turned sour down the road. Furthermore, Rarity had little reason to trust the other companions that would be accompanying her into the lower layers of Hell. Aggh was an unknown quantity, who while seeming to have some vague sense of personal honor, also struck her as someone with a very mercenary mindset. In any conflict, he might just side with whomever he thought was going to come out on top. Then there was Sebastian, an admitted famous serial killer. Gentlemanly demeanor aside, his very eagerness to join in on the expedition made Rarity nervous.

She could use someone to shake up the dynamic and put Cozy Glow off balance. Not to aggravate the child, but to ensure that if Cozy Glow was thinking of this endeavor as some kind of game of chess, there was another piece on the board that might distract her attention enough for Rarity to make her own moves. And there were other reasons she wanted to keep Somnambula’s company.

“Call it forward, bold, or even audacious of me if you will, but the simple fact is that I think we have valuable things to offer one another,” Rarity said, “Getting a hold on my Sinner powers aside, I would dearly love to learn more of the art of the blade from someone with your level of skill. Yes, I could have called forth my army of knights, or even tried using my Sinner’s chains upon you, and perhaps that may have tipped the battle in my favor, but I mean to perfect the use of every weapon at my disposal.” She flourished her hand to briefly create another crimson rapier in hand, “That means learning to use these far better than I have been.”

She stepped closer to Somnambula, tilting her head towards Blueblood, “Furthermore, your scathing hate of Soul Society intrigues me. I’d like to know your story, and just why the first Lieutenant of the First Division ended up in Glory’s prison.”

It was a calculated risk to mention Glory’s name, as Rarity wasn’t sure how much Somnambula knew about the Zero Division, but if she was the very first Lieutenant that had served under Scorpan, then surely there’d be a response. Oh, there was... Somnambula’s hands clenched so hard blood seeped between her fingers, eyes turning red rimmed in fury.

“Glory! That murderous, treasonous snake. What do you know of her!?”

There was no mistaking the murderous rage as anything other than the thirsty need for vengeance, and Rarity fully sympathized. She had her own score to settle, after all. “I know that if she committed a horrible betrayal of you in the past, then she has not changed in the present, for it was by the hand of one of her allies that I was trapped here. And I know that this prison, this Hell, is of her design and exists for no justifiable purpose, but rather to complete her own selfish plans. I know I aim to break free of Hell by any means possible, to ruin Glory’s plans... and I am quite willing to bring along those that help me do just that.”

She could see the hunger in Somnambula’s eyes, even as it dulled and fought against the strong pull of cynicism that wormed its way across her features, “So you’re a victim as well... just like Stygian was... hah, well, join the club. There is no escape from Hell. I’ve tried. For centuries. There is just no way out. None at all. You’ll be struggling in vain. Hoping... in vain.”

Stygian? A name worth asking about later, perhaps. Rarity could see the way Somnambula’s anger deflated into a gray mood of long suffering. It was the look of a woman who had struggled for entirely too many years to never find what she sought, who held on to hope until that very hope had turned to dust in her palm. Yet even now, Rarity believed she saw the barest flicker of it remaining; if not hope, something that still burned deep in the dark pits of Somnambula’s eyes.

She stepped closer, voice a cool edge of empathy, “Are you certain of that? You claim your Theater gives you a measure of enjoyment, at the cost of surrendering your hope. Yet I think the mere fact that you still seek to give any kind of joy to anyone, even if it comes in the form of this bloody, visceral spectacle of a Theater, shows that hope doesn’t die quite as thoroughly as you claim. Perhaps it's wounded, bled to near death, and crawling somewhere in the pit of you, Somnambula, but I think you still hope.”

Rarity extended a hand, “So let me carry it. Let me carry your hope. To the depths of Hell... then beyond it.”

Somnambula stared at Rarity’s hand, and her shoulders shook without laughter, “You’re... insane.”

“Yes, very likely at this point,” Rarity admitted, “But one must be mad to hold onto hope in Hell, yes?”

This time Somnambula’s laughter was not silent, but loud and just a tad mad itself as she clasped Rarity’s hand.

Hope had fled Chrysalis’ heart, if there had been much of any there at all to begin with. Alone in the cold gloom of her cell, she could not muster the strength of will to even question where, precisely, her life had gone so utterly wrong. Not that an answer to that question would have mattered at this point. Fear threaded through her every heartbeat like a frozen flame pulsing with deathly certainty. She knew her counterpart was coming. Whatever efforts her foolish offspring and the naïve ponies were attempting to conceal or protect themselves... it wouldn’t work. Of this, Chrysalis was sure, perhaps the only thing she had left that she was sure of.

Which meant all she could do was count the dreadful seconds until her cell door would be torn down, and that terrifying, vile creature strode through to deliver the end. Chrysalis hoped it would be quick, but she was nowhere near dumb enough to believe it would be. It was going to be slow, as agonizingly drawn out as her monstrous counterpart could make it.

And there was a tiny voice in the depths of Chrysalis’ less than well-listened-to heart that said it was an end she’d more than earned for herself.

Even now, some stubborn, reflexive part of her brain recoiled, denying she had any fault to be ashamed of! Had she not led her people with cunning and strength for centuries! Had she not kept her children well fed over their long and treacherous journey from inception until the moment of Thorax’s betrayal!? Why, they had been on the very cusp of achieving true greatness when that traitorous moron and his cadre of Equestrian allies, including that smug Starlight Glimmer, ruined it all! If that had simply not happened... if they hadn’t turned on her... wouldn’t everything have been better?

Better for her, perhaps. Perhaps only for her. But was that not the point!? She was their Queen! None of them would have lived past that first harsh year of existence had she not been there to lead, to learn, to teach, to guide, to rule. At what point had that gone from the proper, natural, and correct course to... something else entirely? When had their needs, wants, and dreams diverged from her own? Had they ever been the same? Did it matter?

Too late. Far, far too late to ask those questions now.

If doubt could have provided a glimmer of hope, it probably died the day she slapped aside Starlight Glimmer’s offered hoof. Every day since then was just an inevitable fall in slow motion. Had the human Starlight Glimmer never come to Equestria, nor brought that horrific counterpart with Chrysalis’ face, the sad truth was that Chrysalis herself doubted things would have turned out any better for herself. Knowing the pattern, she’d likely had just enacted another scheme that would have eventually fallen apart. Failure, it seemed, was the one thing Chrysalis could manage with consistency.

So, it seemed, the end was unavoidable. Wallowing had a certain catharsis to it, but for some reason Chrysalis could not wholly take solace in giving up. There was a very annoying twinge in her chest, something irritatingly akin to care, that her death was going to be accompanied by the death of her Hive, her offspring, including that precocious and altogether aggravating child, Ocellus. Not to mention Platinum, who for reasons Chrysalis had yet to fathom still seemed to think of themselves as a friend.

Regret was an unfamiliar and entirely unpalatable emotion, and Chrysalis wanted to spit it out like a foul brew. She settled for just making a face and groaning.

“Um, are you alright in there?”

Chrysalis nearly jumped at the sudden voice, which had come from just outside the thin, green membrane of hard resin enclosing her cell. Standing up on numb legs, she tried to make out the shadow looming outside, although by the voice she knew who this likely was; unless someone was disguising themselves. Her voice was weaker and more hoarse than she would have liked, from an amount of crying she would not have admitted to under threat of torture. After an aborted first attempt to speak, she cleared her throat and managed some regal scorn, which she sincerely hoped managed to cover up the faint spark of relief she felt.

“What are you doing here, child? Are you not better off huddling up with your family as doom descends on the Hive?”

Ocellus nervously shuffled outside, hooves scrapping the floor. It was hard to tell, but Chrysalis thought the young changeling was alone, “Oh, I was. Mom and dad were practically smothering me between being relieved I was okay and scolding me for wandering off into such a dangerous place. Everyone is scared, but also doing their parts to set up the defenses. Mom and dad, too. They’re part of the guard force. They told me to stay in my room, and be ready to evacuate with the other children if it comes to that. I, uh, kinda didn’t want to stay holed up, and... wanted to talk to you.”

“And the guards just let you in?” Chrysalis said with disbelief, but Ocellus gave off a light, uneasy chuckle.

“Not exactly. But they’re so distracted with everything going on, that transforming into a little ladybug and scurrying past wasn’t too hard. I mean, I’m a kid, but I still remember a few of the old infiltration lessons from before the change.”

Chrysalis didn’t know whether to take a bit of pride from that fact, or feel disappointed in the guards’ lax attention spans. Beyond that, however, she felt an irrational spurt of anger, “The Hive is about to face almost certain destruction, and you waste your time coming to me to talk? Child, you should be fleeing already. Anybug with an iota of sense in their skulls should be scattering from this place to preserve their lives! It’s as if all the lessons I tried to teach concerning the importance of self-preservation has vanished! You. Are. Going. To. Die! If you have the slightest care for anything I have to say, take that to heart, convince your boneheaded parents of it, and run away.”

Ocellus was silent for a long moment, while Chrysalis trembled in place, unsure of the source of her anger. Why should she even care if any of these ingrates lived or not? Thorax had made it clear that he and the whole Hive were through with her. Yet anger still swelled inside her, its origin unfamiliar and frightening.

“We can’t,” Ocellus finally said, “This is our home. We built it first for you, because you ordered us to, but we’ve made it so much more since then. I don’t think any changeling here will abandon it while there’s even a small hope we can defend it.”

“And if there isn’t a ‘small’ hope? What if there’s none!? None whatsoever!? Child, you have no comprehension of the monster that’s coming-”

“I know, you’ve shouted this before,” Ocellus said, making Chrysalis gnash her teeth in frustration, “I believe you, you know?”

“You... do?”

“Yes. I’ve... I’ve always been scared of you, Queen Chrysalis. Even before the change, when I thought my life was going to be spent serving you and the Hive as an infiltrator, I was still terrified to death of you. Your regal glares, your icy voice, the cruel way you looked at everything in the world, including us. I was so much more scared of you than I was of anything else I might run into in the outside world,” Ocellus’ voice trembled as if with the memory of her old fears, but even then there was a new warmth that grew into her words, like sunlight melting away ice, “But it’s funny, it didn’t take that much for me to stop being scared of you. The world is full of scary things, but the more everyone worked together to make our home feel special, the more my fear just sort of began to fade away, like shadows when the sun rises. I saw that you were just as scared as any of us, too. Maybe a long time ago you let all that fear harden you into ice. Maybe now, its scary to let the ice melt, so you try to keep yourself cold. I just wanted to tell you that’s I think its going to be okay. Something scary is coming. I believe you, there. But...”

A tiny hole opened in the middle of the cell’s resin wall, a response to a little changeling magic from Ocellus. Just enough so the young changeling could peer inside with her shining jewel eyes that held Chrysalis’ gaze like a moth staring into a lamp.

“But I think you’re underestimating us. Maybe we can face the scary things without becoming scary ourselves. If we do, if we win, I’ll come back and talk to you more, okay?”

It was incomprehensible to Chrysalis that this child held such optimism that any of them would even be alive in the near future to continue having conversations, let alone that Ocellus had any continued desire to keep speaking to her. The young changeling’s words were like consecutive slaps to the face, yet delivered with such well meaning intent, and worse than that... Chrysalis, being who and what she was, had perhaps the keenest sense among her kind for the scent of love. It came in many delicious flavors, and she’d become acquainted with devouring many types over her long life. The minty refreshing taste of a young love shared between newlyweds. The ripe and juicy fullness of a parent’s love for their offspring. The sour yet sweet love of quarrelsome friends who despite always fighting would also never abandon one another. The rich, deeply satisfying savory taste of true, uncompromising romance, or the sharp tart of immediate short-term lust. She’d tasted it all, the full rainbow spectrum.

It was how she knew the scent she tasted from Ocellus wasn’t some lie or trickery. It was faint, yet distinct, and almost like a hint of citrus. Compassion, unfiltered by other demands or desires. It wasn’t the richest or most textured form of love, but it was pure, like a taste of clean spring water. Deprived as she was, it made Chrysalis’ mouth water, but more than that, it left her dumbfounded because the feeling was directed at her.

She shook her head and pounded a hoof against the cell membrane harder than even she knew she was capable of, creating a boom of noise that made Ocellus leap back with a yelp. Chrysalis couldn’t control the guttural heat in her voice, almost a snarl, the composure she liked to pride herself on stripped, “If you have that feeling to waste on me, then you’re ten times the fool I already thought you were! That optimism of yours will lead you to your doom, child, and then what will it matter who or what you’re scared of!? Real monsters don’t care if you’re scared of them! They’ll tear you apart regardless! That’s what’s coming! That’s why you should be running, instead of wasting words on me!”

“Hey, what’s with all the noise back here?” spoke the distinct tone of a male changeling, one of the guards finally catching wind of the conversation. Ocellus made a small ‘eep’ noise and quickly closed up the whole she made in the cell resin wall, then in a wash of green flame turned into a ladybug once more, flitting up to the ceiling. The guard, entering the circular chamber in which the various cell doors were arranged, poked a head in with a glare at Chrysalis’ cell door.

“Keep your trap shut, Ex-Queen, otherwise King Thorax has given us instructions to gag you. You’re lucky he even gave orders to loosen your bindings enough to move, but if you keep making a racket, it’s back to being hog-tied.”

Chrysalis stared at him with sullen silence, utterly amazed that the guard was so dim witted it didn’t even occur to him to check for anyone in the chamber who might be transformed. With a sigh, she said with a tone drenched with sarcasm, “Oh no, don’t come in here and tie me up again. Whatever will I do without the ability to pace around in a five foot circle? Oh, woe is me, the disgraced, defeated, captured Queen!”

She heard the guard groan as he muttered, “Can’t wait until the Equestrians toss your tail into Tartarus.” She then heard him trot away. After another moment, there was a faint buzz as Ocellus descended from the ceiling and transformed back into a changeling.

Chrysalis thought the child might be mustering up something else to say, likely another vapid attempt at bonding, but Chrysalis just let herself lay down like a dropped sack of vegetables and said under her breath, “Just go, child. If you’re too stupid to flee, then at least spare me the further speeches.”

When she heard the flicker of flames from Ocellus transforming once more into a ladybug to stealthily fly away from the cell, Chrysalis laid her head down on the stone of her cell floor, silently hating the fact that a part of her had actually wanted the child to stay.

But there was no more time. Deep down, she knew it in her soul. And if the Hive was going to be attacked soon, it was best that the child was nowhere near where Chrysalis was when it happened.

“How’d it go?” asked Spinneret with a keen interest glittering in her eyes. Ocellus had changed back to her natural form, once she was away from the cell corridors and met back up with her two friends. Spinneret and Fuller had agreed to play distraction to keep the guards’ attention while Ocellus had gone to check on Chrysalis. Like Ocellus, their parents were so focused on preparations for the Hive’s defense, that the young changelings had little trouble sneaking away. The whole Hive was filled with a buzzing tension, almost every abled bodied adult working on reinforcing Hive walls with fresh resin and pumping it full of changeling magic to make it even stronger. Others were digging escape tunnels, just in case.

“About what I expected,” Ocellus admitted with a sigh, “I don’t know. Is it weird that I wanted to make her feel better?”

“Super weird,” Fuller said, his wings fluttering in a nervous twitch as he looked back and forth down the corridor, “Also, not sure this was the best time. We really oughta be at an evacuation point.”

“Don’t soil your chitin, bro,” said Spinneret, “We don’t even know if an attack is gonna happen. I just think its cute Ocellus is trying to make nice with the big bad Queen. Did she actually save your life during an epic fight at the bottom of that crazy maze?”

“Yes, even if she won’t admit it, but that’s not even why I’m trying to reach her,” Ocellus replied, to which Fuller just stared at her like she had a plant growing out of her head.

“Then why are you?”

That was the big question, wasn’t it? Like she had just told Chrysalis, Ocellus had spent much of her life living in dread of the Queen. She couldn’t count the nightmares she’d once had of incurring Chrysalis’ wrath, or the fear that one day she might return and take over the Hive under her tyranny once more. By all logical reasoning, she ought to be thrilled Chrysalis was in that cell, to be shipped off to face justice in Equestria as soon as it could be confirmed the Hive was safe. In truth, Ocellus wasn’t trying to do anything that would interfere with that. She just wanted to... get Chrysalis to understand. Not even necessarily change the Queen, because that seemed so far beyond anything Ocellus could hope to achieve, but at the very least she thought she could get Chrysalis to see the Hive, and her people, in a different light.

Having lived her whole life with fear as a regular companion, she had recognized it so clearly inside Chrysalis. Maybe Ocellus just didn’t want anyone to have to live with that kind of fear forever. Even if the best future was for Chrysalis to spend the rest of her life locked up in Tartarus, Ocellus thought it right to show her that she didn’t have to spend that life filled up with cold fear and hate.

And despite the constant protesting and snarling rebuttals, Ocellus had seen enough to think it was possible.

But how to explain that to her friends, exactly? She stared back at Fuller and Spinneret, at a loss for words to communicate her feelings. “I can’t really explain it well. It just feels right.”

“Lay off, Fuller,” said Spinneret, throwing a hoof around Ocellus’ shoulders as she hovered next to her with swift beating wings, “Ocellus is a softie, simple as that. Now me? I’d be happy to give the old Queen a little of this, and a little of that!” she jabbed the air a few times with her other hoof, “Even if I thought she was kinda cool back in the day, nobody messes with my friends, right? Buuut, since Chrysalis did apparently keep Ocellus from getting splatted, I’ll cut her some slack and spare her my wrath.”

“I suppose we’ve got bigger things to worry about,” Fuller admitted, still fidgeting about with constant back and forth looks, “We really should be getting back to our homes until an evaluation is called, or-”

The ground shook, a distinct whump of a solid vibration that could not really be mistaken for much else than either an explosion or impact from somewhere not so far away. Fuller jumped, and Ocellus felt her blood run cold.

“Was that inside or outside the Hive?” Spinneret asked, “I couldn’t tell.”

Ocellus felt the ground, her ears keenly listening as she canted her head to one side. She heard a few echoing shouts that wafted distantly from down the corridors. Then, about twenty seconds after the first impact, she heard and felt the dull but potent boom and vibration of another explosion. Having been listening for it, she heard it better this time around, as had her friends.

“That was outside,” Fuller said, “Has to be.”

Ocellus and Spinneret both nodded agreement, the pair looking at each other, all mirth and concern on other matters drained from their faces. The time for questions seemed to be over. The Hive was under attack.

Author's Note

Hope everyone had a great holiday season, and have a happy New Year. As the last chapter of this year, its a simple enough one with Rarity doing her thing of making acquaintances via the fine art of the blade, while in Equestria the Hive is likely about to have a rough night.

As always thank you all for reading, and please feel free to leave any and all comments, questions, or critiques you like, I appreciate all of them. 'Till next time, in 2025.