Unexpected chancesby I had no ideaChaptersChapter one: The Inquisitor and her championChapter two: A Sword with a sword named BatChapter three: The nearly CommanderPrologue: The machineChapter one: The Inquisitor and her championBam. Ugh. Darkness. Darkness and something... smelling like the earth. Not going to open her eyes, though. No, sir. First, she's going to assess the situation. Downside: it hurt up until a minute ago. Upside: now she knows what is it like to be pierced by a sword. Fascinating. A few more, and she can open a scar theatre. Seriously, though, the last thing she remembers is she and her champion dying... so why is she currently inhaling grass? It just doesn't fit with the cathedral's architecture...or maybe a lot of time passed? Maybe they resurrected her, and now someone's going to come here and say 'Oh, hey, Sally, there was a bit of a mix-up, and we kinda forgot to revive you for a few hundred years. On the bright side, you probably achieved your diet goal, since you're technically bones right now.' Yes, that would be believeable, sadly. One little, itty-bitty contradiction, though. If she would have been raised as an undead abomination, her stomach surely wouldn't rumble like this. Also, her legs (whose numbers are a little bit unclear at this point), should probably not feel like jelly. No matter, let's stay positive. Positive! She may or may not be dead, undead, or living. Really, there are no other choices. It is time she stopped analyzing the nothing, and got to the end of things! Or on her feet, actually. She opens her eyes, and somehow manages to stand up. It feels weird, as if she has double the amount of legs she usually possesses, and she can't move her arms. Still, she forgets all about that, when she sees what is lying before her. A wast sea of grass, only broken by the occassional tree. The sun shines brightly, and it is quite unlike how she remembers the monastery. Birds chirping, insects making small noises, a cheerfully colored city in the distance... and a body laying right in front of her. "Mograine?!" The one in question groans, but refuses to open his eyes. Sally carefully inspects him. By any means, the one lying in front of her is a horse, yet it bears a striking resemblance to Mograine. That beard, that hair—MANEstyle, all fit. Except for the whole, you know, being red thing. As she recalls, the last time red ponies were mentioned, was when she was five, or so. Maybe it's covered in paint? Abbendis coming up with a new design again? The last time was bad enough, it turned out red mirrors are not practical in any way. Still, maybe this time it actually worked: styling the steeds after their riders, perhaps? "Moooograaiiiineeee!" she cooes. "...What," he finally responds. "Make it brief, my head hurts like the Nether." "I must ask you if you are aware of the fact that you have been turned into a horse?" "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!" To her great surprise, he shoots up faster than any horse she'd seen in her life. He falls back on his face faster than any of them, though. He tries a second time, and actually succeeds. He seems a little bit groggy, but awake and ready, nonetheless. She notices that he gives her the strange eye. "Oh, don't worry, Mograine, I think you can still be useful to the Crusade! Why, I could ride you into battle! Technically, it would be a promotion, since you get to carry me into battle, instead of common soldiers." she reassures him. "..." "It cannot be that bad! I know you cannot spread the holy word of the Light, but you could always, I don't know, help differentiate plagued grain from normal, or something?" "... You're a horse, too." She finally takes a look at herself. Indeed, she became a horse, too. The red hooves are proof of that. Oh well. "Why aren't you surprised?" the stallion demands. "Because if I turned into an animal, it just means that it's Friday night, and I'm currently sleeping. Same old dream, same old dream. Galford said it's the side effect of being too long inside four walls, bless his heart. I usually transform into something that actually exists, though. " He shakes his head. "You look... somehow different." "Really? Now I'm curious. I wish there was a mirror here." "Here you go." a new voice joins, pushing a large mirror in front of her. "Why thank you!" Sally says, checking herself out in the mirror. Her red coat stands in clear contrast to her white... mane, her eyes unusually large and round, but at least the proper shade of brown. Something about her gown is off though... What could it—Oh, of course! The horn. Well, it fits quite nicely with her image, so no worries there. Still, it seems like she has became some sort of hell-horse? What was it called again... unicorn? Wait just a Light-forsaken moment! Who is this that brought the mirror? She cautiosly looks behind the mirror, only to be greeted by the biggest grin she's ever seen in her life. A weird, poofy pink pony stands before her; another horsified person, perhaps? Well, if so, who could it be? Let's see... Pink mane, pink coat, aura of love and happiness, scent of sugar, pink coat, eyes radiating trust and curiosity, again, pink coat... "... Sylvanas?" she asks hesitantly. The pink pony cocks her head. "What is a 'Sill-one-us'? Is it tasty? I bet it's tasty!" The strange horse gasps. "Oooh, I'm sure I can make it! Would you like to come with me? I live in a bakery, so I'm sure we can make some! Or cakes! I love cakes! And Cakes, too, of course. Do you like cakes? I mean, cake cakes, not Cake Cakes. Well, you can like Cake Cakes as well, but I think we haven't met yet, so it's hard to like them because you don't know them. They make Cake cakes! I wonder what this mirror is doing here, though? Hey! I just realised! You can like the Cakes, since I just told you about them! That would be really nice, I think, and they would be so—" Sally, a bit still dazzled from the flood of words, notices their sudden absence. Looking up, she sees the pony in deep thought upon examining Whitemane's flank. "Great." she thinks. "Five minutes, and I'm getting hit on already. Still, better than just being 'hit'." "Where is your cutie mark?" the strange horse finally speaks. "...? A person called Mark that is very handsome?" The pink mare giggles. "No, silly! Your cutie mark! You know! The mark that show's your special talent!" She turns sideways, letting Sally take a good look on her flank, which is adorned with three... goblin zeppelins? Maybe her talent is suicide flying? Still, that is an important piece of information. She looks at her own flank, and sees it is devoid of any 'cutie marks'. Mograine seems to be missing it, too. At least he finally stood up. "My name is Pinkie Pie! What's yours?" "Um, I'm Whitemane, and this is Mograine." She points to her companion. Pinkie tilts her head in confusion. "Migraine? Poor fella!" Mograine slaps himself across the face not unlike a human does with their palms. Sally smiles on him. "Good thinking, Mograine! Mimic their gestures!" That line seems to double the speed at which he slaps himself. "So, why is your name Migraine?" the pink pony asks. "Other ponies always hit you in the head and it hurt? Oooh, wait, don't help, it's metaphissical! Your name is Migraine, but it's actually supposed to represent pudding pops? Amiclose? Maybe you're good at mind games? Or head games! Like beach ball! Or maybe, your special talent is getting a headache? Waaaaaiiit! Something's appeared!" Mograine, slightly irritated, glances upon his rear and, to see a small image of a pony holding it's head in it's hooves. Mograine becomes significantly irritated. "OH COME ON!" "Congratulations! This calls for a party! A super-duper I-got-a-cutie-mark-and-it-s-important-even-though-I-don-t-like-it party! Cheer up, grumpy goose!" The stallion sighs. He is about to send this pony to warmer regions, when he notices Sally is not paying any attention to him, but plays with the mirror instead. When she manages to reflect sunlight into Mograine's eyes, the pink pony gasps again. "Oooooh! You got your cutie mark, too! This calls for a double party! I hope my party cannon can handle the heat!" This seems to pique the curiosity of Whitemane. "Party cannon? You shoot a whole party out of it?" Absent-mindedly, she examines her flank, on which a mirror reflecting sunshine appeared. Pinkie giggles. "No, silly, it shoots decorations! And confetti! And cake, sometimes! And... well, ants, but that was only one time because I forgot to clean it. Come on! I'm sure you'd feel awesometastic! Pretty please?" She looks at them with pleading puppy-dog eyes. "Um, just a second, we need to consider this." "Okie-dokie-Thorie! I mean, Lokie!" Sally pulls the still grumbling stallion closer. "So? What's your take on this?" "I honestly can not believe all this. What are we supposed to do? How could we battle the unholy like this?" "Mograine, the only thing unholy here is your moustache. Seriously, you might want to shave that off. Besides, I doubt there would be undead here. This is a talking horse, for Light's sake! Have you noticed the fact that it's in fact not undead, crippled, maimed, mauled, hurt or even generally unhappy with the weather? Would you be this happy with problems like ours? Renault, I don't think we're in Azeroth anymore." "..." The stallion closes his eyes. "Then what? Should we just follow her whereever she leads us and... party?" "I honestly think we should. I mean, I can't exactly get ourselves back to Azeroth, and even if I could, we would be still horses; if we marched into one of our camps like that... well, that camp would have something for dinner, let's just say that." She makes a concerned expression. "Aaand... Well, this is hard, but after we died, I got resurrected once more in the cathedral. The news I heard... were unsettling. It turned out most of the Crusade was controlled by dreadlords. Balnazzar and Mal'Ganis. They twisted us to their purposes until we've run out of usefulness... After that... Well, the crusaders in Stratholme did not survive. And considering that I am here... the monastery likely fell, too." "Accursed beasts! Is there nothing for us to do?" "I doubt it. I think we only ended up here because our role has ended back home. On the bright side, maybe we will find someone with the same plight as us. Also Mograine, think about it: cake! When was the last time we ate cake? Practically forever!... Why are you hitting your own head?" "...Fine, I don't care anymore. Let's go." "It is settled then." She waves to the pink pony, who patiently bounced around in circles around them up until now. "Lead the way, Pinkie! I am quite curious of this cake you mentioned!" The sound of their hooves and chatter quickly fade away, and a soft 'fwang' can be heard, signalling the barrier between worlds is penetrated again. Somepony is going to have an interesting night. Chapter two: A Sword with a sword named BatCrashing through the roof is a memorable, if a tad bit painful way to make an entrance. Still, the pony plummeting across the night sky doesn't think about it much. Mostly because they just came to in this world, unaware of their surroundings. Slowly though, they begin to analyse what they can perceive. A small cart in the middle of the large, open field. Chances of actually hitting it are slim. Density of ground and speed of fall are unknown. Air breathable. Strange sensation. Slight hint of... hunger? Plummeting. Body feels weird. Hard to move. Could also be air pressure. Ground closing in. Estimation about cart is about to be proven untrue. "Heh, heh, what's that? You say I'm the greatest? Eh heh he..." The mumbling unicorn is fast asleep, blisfully unaware of the ballistic trouble heading for her. She had a long day, so she decided to rest when night fell. The surroundings seemed nice, if a bit deserted. And now she is jolted awake by something on the scale of an earthquake. She frantically searches for any sign of hostility, or change. Strangely enough, her usually cozy trailer now has a pony-sized hole in its roof. On the floor, a white figure sits up from the rubble. Trixie is not a pony to take risks. She only did it twice in her life, and it backfired on her both times. "Who are you, hooligan?! Be warned, the Great and Powerful Trixie could turn you into dust in a heartbeat!" The white bat pony emotionlessly stares at her. "I see. Be assured, I am of no harm to you, Commander Trixie. I merely ended up here by chance... even if it is a very strange chance. I would ever be grateful if you didn't turn me to dust. One time was enough for me." "Oh well, consider yourself spared," Trixie says nonchalantly. Her brain kicks in a moment later. "Wait, Commander Trixie?" "My apologies. I only assumed you are the commander of a group because of your immense power. I shall refer to you properly, Queen." "Um, no, queen is a bit..." "Then how shall I refer to you, my liege?" "Well, 'princess' would be nice..." Trixie ponders, "Wait, wait, wait. When did I become your liege?" "I am sorry, Princess. I have only recently came to this world, so I wanted to serve the strongest. I am quite a capable fighter, I can assure you." "Well, bat ponies are known for their nimbleness... What is your name?" The white bat pony bows a little, moonlight reflecting on their black mane. "My name is Ulquiorra Cifer, Princess, Fourth of the Espada, Death Aspect of Nihilism. I am looking forward to serving you." Trixie holds up a hoof. "Hold on for a moment." The showmare steps to her poorly endowed bookcase, picking a seemingly random book. She opens it, and skims through the pages as fast as an eagle, until something catches her eye. "Let's see... Educación, El gringo, Emaciado... ah! Espada! 'Sword'... Hm..." She looks at the bat pony absent-mindedly. "So, you recently came to this world, and you were a sword before." "Not exactly, Princess. 'Espada' was our chosen name, just something to mark the strongest. I was not a sword, but a living... well, spirit being before, for a lack of a better word." Trixie looks at Ulquiorra with an expression that could be described as dumb if we want to be tactful and honest. "So you just popped here after—and I'm guessing here—you jumped into some kind of portal that mysteriously appeared from nowhere?" She tries to make a bemused face, but the fact that she has a serious case of bed hair kind of prevents it. Ulquiorra responds with a headshake. "Actually, I'm inclined to believe that I died." Trixie is thrown off-track, eyeing the white bat pony suspiciously. "If you died, then how are you here now?" The question posed is indeed a valid one; one that Ulquiorra pondered about, too. The bat pony is quick to share the most reliable guess they have. "I believe either my enormous regenerative capabilities revived me here, or Lord Aizen had rewarded me with a second chance for my services." "...Well, let me just ask a few questions then." Trixie snorted. The bat pony's expression does not change as they give their answer. "Of course, Princess. What is it you wish to know?" "First, what was the extent of your regenerative powers?" "I was able to regrow any lost limb, or other organs, like eyes, as long as they weren't strictly needed for me to function." "Uh huh. Then explain this for me: why do you still have a small cut on your face?" Ulquiorra instinctively reaches up to a spot that suddenly beckons for attention. It is as the showmare says; a small cut is indeed present there. The implications of this are clear: no more regeneration. "Curious. Then I believe we can safely assume that the second option is true," the bat pony concludes. Trixie, on the other hoof, still looks skeptical. "Yeah, no. Who exactly is this 'Aizen' guy?" "He is... was the leader of us arrancar, and us Espada wowed to him. Even though he was a soul reaper, he did not know fear. For hollows, who are born from fears, this could amount him to a god, if we use a comparison fit for more primitive cultures." Trixie snorts even harder, causing the bat pony to raise an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, have I said something offending?" "First of all, you just called us ponies primitive. Second, no leader lets their subordinates die, just to bring them back in an another world. This Aizen sounds like a bad boss to me. Does he mean to use you even after he worked you to death? Or until death, the very least." Ulquiorra's expression darkens, taking an aggressive pose. "I'd rather if you didn't mock him, Princess." Trixie holds her head in her hooves. "Jeez, stop with the freaking princess already! I was just joking! Also, if your boss is so great, where is everypony else from your group?" "..." Ulquiorra is at a loss of words. "How did you know that others died, too?" Trixie shrugs. "I took a wild guess. Also, you said you were creatures of fear and despair, right? If so, that makes you the bad guys. Princess Celestia would never allow him to do as he pleases here, so guess again. I don't know who this 'Aizen' is, but he can go buck himself for all I care." Ulquiorra comes to a conclusion. Despite the initial good impressions, this individual is loudmouthed, and condescending towards Aizen-Sama. She needs to be punished. Eyes half-closed, Ulquiorra prepares to hand out righteous punishment... but the familiar feeling never comes. Come to think of it, not even once in this world did Ulquiorra feel the spirit pressure of others. Meanwhile, Trixie looks at the bat pony with interest. "You're constipated, or something? I think I have some pills somewhere for that," she offers thoughtfully. "No!" Ulquiorra groans with rising anger. "It was meant to evaporate you in a blast of energy!" Trixie taps her own sides with exaggerated movements. "Nope, no evaporation here. Seems like I'm completely unevaporated." She looks at Ulquiorra with a clearly superior expression. "Besides, you are a bat pony. Exhibiting magical prowess as a bat pony is bloody impossible." "... I see." Ulquiorra nods. Every moment brings a piece of clarity. "So the dominant species here are the ones that can cast 'magic', such as yourself, correct?" Trixie looks a bit flabberghasted. "Dominant species? Sure, it's very convenient to use magic to solve our everyday problems, but—" "Does any other race posess 'magic' other than yours?" Ulquiorra interrupts her. The anxiousness is gone, and the want to learn replaces it. Trixie hesitates. "Well... The changelings have a natural affinity to change their appearance... but other than that, not really. I think ponies are the only ones capable of performing advanced magic." "Then it is simple," Ulquiorra says, "I am a bat pony, and you, as a pony posess capabilities—" "Whoa, whoa, whoa. We are both ponies, you and I. You're a pegasus, I'm a unicorn, but we're ponies!" The former Espada pauses, confused. "I seem to have lost track. I was under the expression that a pony is different from a bat pony. Could you enlighten me about races and their attributes in this world?" Trixie shrugs. "It's simple, really. There are three types of ponies: pegasus, unicorn, earth pony, and bat pony. There are four types of ponies: pegasus, unicorn, earth pony, bat pony, and crystal pony. There are FIVE types of ponies: pegasus, unicorn, earth pony, bat pony, crystal pony. And alicorns. Oh, bugger!" Ulquiorra has a premonition. A premonition that if one wishes to learn about the 'heart', and humans, one might as well start with ponies. Nevertheless, the bat pony takes a neutral stance, eagerly awaiting any tidbit of information. Meanwhile, Trixie overcame her short mental block, and tries to explain more. "What I wanted to say was: every type has a sort of inborn ability with them. Pegasi can fly, and manipulate the weather, unicorns can cast spells, and earth ponies can cultivate the soil, and have heightened endurance. Alicorns sorta combine the three, although I've never seen them plow or raise crops. Crystal ponies can emit a kind of love weapon thingy, and bat ponies can... bat? I don't really know about the last two." Trixie stops to think, and starts musing to herself. She does not realise that before Ulquiorra's attentive ears, even mumbling is as clear as a shout in an empty room. "Come to think of it, it might be best if I took you to the Princesses. You just popped into existence, but probably originate from another world, so they must be interested in you." Her eyes lit up. "Maybe I would get some kind of reward from introducing you! Yes, yes, a private stage, ladled with gold, and ornaments of...." Ulquiorra pays no attention to the delusional showmare, and instead ponders about the correct course of action. The highest authority seems to be the so-called Princess here, so consulting with them would be highly desireable. The bat pony glances at the absorbed showmare. This individual, however has not yet shown true value, despite claiming high arcane versatility. There is one method however, to test her usefulness... "What is a heart?" The sudden question throws Trixie off-track, yanking her out of her dream-world. "You mean like the organ that is responsible for pumping blood through your body?" she asks cautiously. She's met with a headshake, with Ulquiorra being visibly disappointed. Perhaps it was too much to expect so much from her, the pegasus thinks gloomily, Perhaps it is a question that— "If you're talking about the metaphorical sense, however," Trixie continues, "it is something that can show compassion; not closing yourself off from others' problems, helping ponies out occassionally, and..." Trixie clearly shows hesitation. "I guess forgiving past misdeeds even though the one who did it was a complete jerk to you and your friends and later returned to enslave your city but was defeated by teamwork and thrown into prison for what she's done but you rather choose to give her another chance at redemption just because you believe her guilt about what happened is real which is true but you have absolutely no way of knowing it just have faith in her—HAAAAAH!" Trixie starts panting, a little out of breath from her rambling. She offers Ulquiorra a weak smile. "That didn't make much sense to you, did it?" A long silence looms before the bat pony answers. "No, it did not make sense to me. I intend to rectify that, though." Trixie furrows her brow. "I am not letting you touch my butt!" The two stare at each other for a minute before Ulquiorra speaks. "I meant it in the 'remedy the situation' sense." The showmare's relief is both visible and audible. "Thank Luna, I thought it was about your special talent." "Special talent?" Ulquiorra asks confused. "Yeah, you know the one that your cutie mark—oh, right, you don't know. Listen, the only thing the five – SIX – pony races have in common apart from their general appearance is the cutie mark. It represents a pony's special talent, that they have exceptional affinity for. For instance," she says, pointing to her own, "my cutie mark signifies I am good with stage entertainment, and magic. I didn't recognise yours before, because it was so dark that I thought that it was just a pattern in your fur." She points to Ulquiorra's flank, and true to her words, a black patch of fur is indeed there. Upon closer inspection, it looks like an ellipsis with another inside. Ulquiorra can't place it for a minute, but then the connection becomes clear. The cutie mark is very reminiscent of a hollow's hole in their chest. What would it's meaning be, though? "Hey, if your talent is holes, can you take a look at where you crashed through my roof?" Ulquiorra shrugs, unconsciously flapping up to the hole. "What exactly do you expect me to do? Just touch it and make it all go aw—" While speaking, the bat pony motions towards the hole, accidentally colliding with it's edge. To both ponies' surprise, the hole moves a little. Being a very pragmatical person, Ulquiorra tries again, and this time the hole moves all the way to a corner, then slips on a wall when the bat pony applies more pressure. "... This is completely ridiculous." Trixie glances at the ceiling where the hole was. It is just like it was yesterday, not even the smallest sign to point to that it was in many pieces a second ago. She also notices that the rubble has disappeared from the floor. She shrugs. Then an idea strikes her. "Say, can you shrink it?" Ulquiorra positions the hole between the still unfamiliar hooves, and tries to push the edges toward each other. To no small surprise of either of them, it works. The pegasus doesn't stop until the hole is less than an inch long. "So that wasn't magic?" Ulquiorra asks, unconsciously discovering sarcasm. Trixie shrugs again. "Hey, I don't make the rules, I just blindly obey them. Bes—aaaagh!" Her words are strifled with a large yawn. "Look, can we continue this conversation in the morning? I'm tired, you only came to existence recently, so what do you say we go into that niiiice looking bed and sleep until ten?" A past conversation between fellow arrancars flashes in Ulquiorra's mind. "Wouldn't sleeping in the same bed be...immoral?" Trixie looks genuinely surprised. "Why? Just two mares sleeping together after an eventful night! Wait, that didn't sound right..." Ulquiorra experiences a new emotion again. Panic. "Two WHAT?!" Even though it sounds ridiculous, the sentiment wasn't just a biologically inexperienced guess, but the truth. Ulquiorra sees the problem now: when crashing through the roof, she deliberately ignored her body's warnings, because of the pain she felt. Now that the pain has gone away, something else has also gone away. Not that she had any problem with being female, but it still upset her. Must be hormones, with the new living body and whatnot. Regardless, she knows what the proper action is there to take. Might as well proceed with it. "WHAT THE FLYING—?!" Chapter three: The nearly CommanderMany accuse Lyra of being carefree, slacking of most of the time, or spending time in public doing absolutely nothing work-related. In fact, some suspect she didn't even have a proper job, and Golden Harvest swears she didn't see the slightest hint of an instrument while visiting her house. Except, in her words, if she "left it out in the toilet, though that would make her music stink." In reality, she is simply incredibly bored with the simple life of a musician. Even though every performance is paid for generously, she refuses nearly every request, only accepting a few ones that she deems interesting, or necessary. This has already earned her an unwanted reputation of an eccentric genius; her contractors simply chose to interpret her lack of motivation as them not having sufficient social or political power. Thus, her every appearance was lauded as brilliant so far, some even claiming she is on par with the more famous Orchestra members. Needless to say, that didn't bring her much popularity with them—not that she cares about it much. Today, however, she decided to go on a walk. Trotting through the pleasant scenery of Whitetail Woods, she briefly passes a small clearing overshadowed by a tall oak tree. Then she backtracks when she sees a blue stallion with a red mane laying on his back, eyes closed, breathing heavily. Somehow, even though nothing would suggest it, there's a small dirt crater around him, nearly perfectly circular. No bruise wounds, however, no broken branches, no scorched surroundings. In other words, a mystery. Lyra grins. Her day is about to get interesting. She approaches the stranger without a hint of fear. "Wassssssssaaaaaaap?" she intones, deliberately elongating the vowels and consonants. The stranger looks at her, unimpressed. "From my position, you're up," he snorts. With a groan, he rolls over and rises to his hooves—only to pause, and observe his limbs with disbelief. Then he takes another look at Lyra, his expression becoming manic. "What happened to me? What are you? Did you do it?" he asks in rapid succession. Lyra waves her hoof dismissively. "What do you mean what am I? I'm a pony, duh. As for what happened to you, I guess you crashed into the earth, or something? And for the record, no, it didn't have anything to do with me." "Then how do you explain the lack of hands, huh?" the stallion asks triumphantly. Lyra shrugs. "Basic pony anatomy? Seriously, did you hit your head, or something? Why would you find a lack of hands surprising?" "Because I used to have two!" the stallion yells. "I'm not a pony, I'm a human you menthol monstrosity! I deserve to be treated better than an average animal—" The stallion stops, noticing that the mint unicorn doesn't really pay attention to him. "Lyra, the Menthol Monstrosity!" the mare muses. "Makes me mighty mad, mind ya." "...Please don't alliterate me." "Why? What's wrong with wordplay, weasely wimp?" "I warn you, if you continue to annoy me..." he began in a threatening voice, but Lyra cut him off. "Then what? Buck my face in? Real civilised, buddy. If you're gonna behave like that, I'm just gonna leave you here, alone." "But you're just an animal!" he protested weakly. "You're an animal too!" Lyra retorted. "I told you, I'm a human!" "Is that a type of plant?" "What? No!" "Mushroom, perhaps?" "No!" "Then, by process of elimination, you are an animal! Geez! You don't have many friends, do you?" The question strikes deep into the stallion's heart. He remembers his final moments... moments of betrayal, and a stern reminder of the difference between him, and... the original. At the end of the day, the difference was clear; the original was a hero, with people following him, and believing in him, while he was just a puppet of a xenophobic group, whose advocate betrayed him the instant things got hot. Seeing the brooding stallion, Lyra got a sudden moment of clarity. "Uh.. I... struck a nerve there, didn't I? Sorry. Hey, let's just start over. My name is Lyra. What's yours?" A strange urge takes hold of the stallion, genes transcending experience, and cloning. "I am Commander Shepard, and this is my favourite store on the Citadel!" Lyra carefully peers rightwards. The lack of a citadel was astounding. She shifts her gaze left. Not even a rotund in sight. Finally, she looks back at the beaming stallion. The picture is completely dominated by a lack of a castle. Before she could voice her concerns, the stallion laughs a little. "Oh, I've always wanted to say that! Never got the chance, though. I guess you can call me Shepard, like everybody did. I mean, that's what everyone called my original." "Your original?" Lyra asks with confusion. "It's a... long story. I've been cloned from the famous Commander Shepard... so, other than Clone Shepard, I didn't really get named anything in conversations. Makes me want to rename myself to something else, actually." "Well, what's holding you?" She waits patiently for a few minutes, but finally, she gets tired of it. "So?" The stallion paws at the ground, dejected. "I got nothing." "What's cloning, anyway?" "It's a method in which tissue from a person..." The clone goes into a lengthy explanation about cloning; both the technical, and ethical side. Not surprising, considering he spent a copious amount of time cramming all knowledge about the technology into his brain, in an attempt to justify his existence. Needless to say, it didn't work. It left him with a wide range of knowledge in biology—most of which probably can't be applied to his current predicatement. Nevertheless, Lyra listens intently, and when he finishes, she scratches her head. "Okay, so I didn't understand half of the words you just said. Despite that, I think I've gotten the general idea about the whole 'cloning' stuff. But the half I did recognise should not be possible with our technology! Where do you come from? Manechester? I heard they studied some pretty weird stuff there." The stallion frowned. "You mean Manchester." "Don't be ridiculous, that doesn't make sense! It's as if your totally oblivious to everything in Equestria!" She pauses, realising something. "You're not really a pony, are you?" "Gee, you think?" he asks sarcastically. "What gave it away, my constant mention of me being a human, for God's sake?!" He huffs indignantly, mumbling something about 'ignorant extraterrestrials'. "Relax, don't get your pants in a bunch!" she chides him. "I don't wear pants!" the stallion retorts. He pauses briefly, then bursts out louder, with panic. "I don't wear pants! I'm standing inside enemy territory completely naked!" Lyra muses on her options. She could just leave this weird pony here... but then she would probably miss out on a lot of fun stuff. "Say, are you hungry?" The question initially goes over his head, but after he gets tired of panicking, the meaning finally hits him. He ponders his options carefully. "That depends. Do you have salarian sklomp steak?" "What's a 'sklomp'?" "Tartar beefsteak?" "Yuck, no." "Bacon?" "Are you intent on eating somepony?" "I take that as a no, then. Omelette du fromage?" "Foreign languages ain't fair!" "There were many problems with that sentence, but have it your way. Scrambled eggs with cheese on top?" "Oh, I can do that." "Really?" the stallion asks with suspicion. "You milk cows?" "Yeah, sure, I mean, they didn't object. At least I think they don't." She pauses, running through the sentence again in her head. "And now I have images of cows faintly whispering objections against milking. Thanks." "You are weird," Shepard notes. Lyra raises one of her eybrows. "I'm weird? You just had mood swings the size of a smaller dragon, for Pete's sake!" Shepard furrows his brow. "Wait, what did you just say?" "I said you have mood swings—" The stallion shakes his head. "No, not that one. What do you mean, for Pete's sake?" "Um, it's supposed to represent exasperation with—" "No, I mean, why Pete?" Lyra ponders this for a while. "I don't know. Is it important?" "Peter is a very common name on Earth," Shepard says. "Pete is just another form of it." "Huh. I guess that is kind of unusual. So, Clone She – nah, this won't do. You need a proper name." Shepard looks hurt. "Hey, it's a proper name!" "So is Pen Issuer, but that doesn't mean it's any good!" The stallion is confused. "Why would you sue p – oh." He scratches his head. "I see, kind of like Dick Head, right?" Lyra blushes. "You pervert!" "What? I just said a name like you did!" he says quickly. "That wasn't a name! That didn't sound anything like a name!" "All right, what do you suggest, then?" he says with a snort. Still red, Lyra taps her chin. "How about... Wait, what is your cutie mark again?" "My what?" the stallion asks. "What in the blazes is a—" "Shut up and show me your butt." "Oh, so when you do it it's not sexual harassment?!" She tries to forcefully turn him around, but to her great surprise, he did a sudden movement, and in a moment, she was on the ground, with him holding her front hooves down. Slowly but surely, red creeps onto her face. "Would you please get off me?" "Only if you admit that you simply – Oof!" The last part is only said because Lyra simply chose to end the conversation with a well-placed kick. The stallion rolls off her, unintentionally squeezing the air from her lungs in the process. For a few moments, they lay there, panting for their own reasons. "You need to be put into a mental institute! Or put down!" the stallion says, not even trying to bother getting up. Lyra glances at him sheepishly. "Sorry, I-I panicked. The situation was exactly like on the self-defense course. Without the actual assault, of course. Are you in pain?" "I was once stabbed in the arm with an omni-tool, but that can't hold a candle to your surgical precision," the stallion replies. He was still on the ground, now kicking at leaves of grass. "Seriously, I had commando training, and still..." "Aw, can it, will you?" Lyra at last has a good view of the stallion's cutie mark. It looks like a white star within a circle, with the lower half of the circle slightly thicker than the rest. Try as she may, she can't really find a proper explanation for this pony's talent. "Happy?" the stallion asks. Lyra turns back to face him. "I was just trying to make sense of your special talent. You see, our cutie marks represent what our strongest points are." The clone squints his eyes as he tries to see his own cutie mark. Then he checks out Lyra's lyre. "I don't really see you playing a harp right now," he observes. "And I don't see you acting like a 'commando' besides going commando," Lyra says in return. "We were talking about names, so... Star? Starcircle? Starhyperglobe?" A word forms in the stallion's head. "Stargazer?" he suggests. Lyra runs this by herself a few times, then nods. "That's all right. In fact, it's a little cool, too. Hello, Stargazer." The newly christened Stargazer unconsciously stands at attention. Lyra suppresses a smile. "Now come on, I promised you some food, didn't I?" she says. The stallion hesitates. "Am I not imposing upon you?" Lyra briefly considers this. "Well, my landlord Bon Bon would probably go into a rabid rage upon seeing me bring home one more dinner guest. So no, not at all." "I think I'll try my luck with this bush here," the stallion says, ponting to a nearby bush laden with ripe berries. Lyra shrugs. "Well, if you like Ribes Rubrum, knock yourself out. Just don't come crying to me later." Stargazer hangs his head in defeat. "You win." Lyra lits up. "Great! Come on, don't be so gloomy! It'll be fun!" she says with a smile. The stallion sighs. "That's exactly what I'm afraid of." Prologue: The machineCelestia eyes the machine with suspicion. "Well, yes, but what does it actually do?" she says. The machine takes up most of the room it's in, colourful lights running on its surface randomly. Strangely enough, despite its size, it doesn't make any noise. That alone should warrant caution. So should the fact that it was made by Discord. "I told you, Celestia, it gives people a second chance!" Discord says. "That's quite broad of a definiton," Celestia says. "What exactly does that mean?" Discord rolls his eyes. "It gives them a second chance! Just what it is!" He notices Celestia's expression. "Okay, okay, fine! Since you're such a spoilsport, I am willing to tell you this: nopony is going to get hurt in any way from this. Happy?" "You still haven't told me—" "Celestia, please. I agreed to help you, and use my powers for good, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to be chaotic and mysterious and stone-cold... handsome." The princess taps her hoof on the floor a few times. "Very well. I am willing to give this a try. But be warned Discord – I'm watching you." After she leaves, Discord lets go of his face muscles, a grin slowly creeping on his face. "Oh, but it won't be me you should be looking at, my dear Celestia."
Chapter one: The Inquisitor and her championBam. Ugh. Darkness. Darkness and something... smelling like the earth. Not going to open her eyes, though. No, sir. First, she's going to assess the situation. Downside: it hurt up until a minute ago. Upside: now she knows what is it like to be pierced by a sword. Fascinating. A few more, and she can open a scar theatre. Seriously, though, the last thing she remembers is she and her champion dying... so why is she currently inhaling grass? It just doesn't fit with the cathedral's architecture...or maybe a lot of time passed? Maybe they resurrected her, and now someone's going to come here and say 'Oh, hey, Sally, there was a bit of a mix-up, and we kinda forgot to revive you for a few hundred years. On the bright side, you probably achieved your diet goal, since you're technically bones right now.' Yes, that would be believeable, sadly. One little, itty-bitty contradiction, though. If she would have been raised as an undead abomination, her stomach surely wouldn't rumble like this. Also, her legs (whose numbers are a little bit unclear at this point), should probably not feel like jelly. No matter, let's stay positive. Positive! She may or may not be dead, undead, or living. Really, there are no other choices. It is time she stopped analyzing the nothing, and got to the end of things! Or on her feet, actually. She opens her eyes, and somehow manages to stand up. It feels weird, as if she has double the amount of legs she usually possesses, and she can't move her arms. Still, she forgets all about that, when she sees what is lying before her. A wast sea of grass, only broken by the occassional tree. The sun shines brightly, and it is quite unlike how she remembers the monastery. Birds chirping, insects making small noises, a cheerfully colored city in the distance... and a body laying right in front of her. "Mograine?!" The one in question groans, but refuses to open his eyes. Sally carefully inspects him. By any means, the one lying in front of her is a horse, yet it bears a striking resemblance to Mograine. That beard, that hair—MANEstyle, all fit. Except for the whole, you know, being red thing. As she recalls, the last time red ponies were mentioned, was when she was five, or so. Maybe it's covered in paint? Abbendis coming up with a new design again? The last time was bad enough, it turned out red mirrors are not practical in any way. Still, maybe this time it actually worked: styling the steeds after their riders, perhaps? "Moooograaiiiineeee!" she cooes. "...What," he finally responds. "Make it brief, my head hurts like the Nether." "I must ask you if you are aware of the fact that you have been turned into a horse?" "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!" To her great surprise, he shoots up faster than any horse she'd seen in her life. He falls back on his face faster than any of them, though. He tries a second time, and actually succeeds. He seems a little bit groggy, but awake and ready, nonetheless. She notices that he gives her the strange eye. "Oh, don't worry, Mograine, I think you can still be useful to the Crusade! Why, I could ride you into battle! Technically, it would be a promotion, since you get to carry me into battle, instead of common soldiers." she reassures him. "..." "It cannot be that bad! I know you cannot spread the holy word of the Light, but you could always, I don't know, help differentiate plagued grain from normal, or something?" "... You're a horse, too." She finally takes a look at herself. Indeed, she became a horse, too. The red hooves are proof of that. Oh well. "Why aren't you surprised?" the stallion demands. "Because if I turned into an animal, it just means that it's Friday night, and I'm currently sleeping. Same old dream, same old dream. Galford said it's the side effect of being too long inside four walls, bless his heart. I usually transform into something that actually exists, though. " He shakes his head. "You look... somehow different." "Really? Now I'm curious. I wish there was a mirror here." "Here you go." a new voice joins, pushing a large mirror in front of her. "Why thank you!" Sally says, checking herself out in the mirror. Her red coat stands in clear contrast to her white... mane, her eyes unusually large and round, but at least the proper shade of brown. Something about her gown is off though... What could it—Oh, of course! The horn. Well, it fits quite nicely with her image, so no worries there. Still, it seems like she has became some sort of hell-horse? What was it called again... unicorn? Wait just a Light-forsaken moment! Who is this that brought the mirror? She cautiosly looks behind the mirror, only to be greeted by the biggest grin she's ever seen in her life. A weird, poofy pink pony stands before her; another horsified person, perhaps? Well, if so, who could it be? Let's see... Pink mane, pink coat, aura of love and happiness, scent of sugar, pink coat, eyes radiating trust and curiosity, again, pink coat... "... Sylvanas?" she asks hesitantly. The pink pony cocks her head. "What is a 'Sill-one-us'? Is it tasty? I bet it's tasty!" The strange horse gasps. "Oooh, I'm sure I can make it! Would you like to come with me? I live in a bakery, so I'm sure we can make some! Or cakes! I love cakes! And Cakes, too, of course. Do you like cakes? I mean, cake cakes, not Cake Cakes. Well, you can like Cake Cakes as well, but I think we haven't met yet, so it's hard to like them because you don't know them. They make Cake cakes! I wonder what this mirror is doing here, though? Hey! I just realised! You can like the Cakes, since I just told you about them! That would be really nice, I think, and they would be so—" Sally, a bit still dazzled from the flood of words, notices their sudden absence. Looking up, she sees the pony in deep thought upon examining Whitemane's flank. "Great." she thinks. "Five minutes, and I'm getting hit on already. Still, better than just being 'hit'." "Where is your cutie mark?" the strange horse finally speaks. "...? A person called Mark that is very handsome?" The pink mare giggles. "No, silly! Your cutie mark! You know! The mark that show's your special talent!" She turns sideways, letting Sally take a good look on her flank, which is adorned with three... goblin zeppelins? Maybe her talent is suicide flying? Still, that is an important piece of information. She looks at her own flank, and sees it is devoid of any 'cutie marks'. Mograine seems to be missing it, too. At least he finally stood up. "My name is Pinkie Pie! What's yours?" "Um, I'm Whitemane, and this is Mograine." She points to her companion. Pinkie tilts her head in confusion. "Migraine? Poor fella!" Mograine slaps himself across the face not unlike a human does with their palms. Sally smiles on him. "Good thinking, Mograine! Mimic their gestures!" That line seems to double the speed at which he slaps himself. "So, why is your name Migraine?" the pink pony asks. "Other ponies always hit you in the head and it hurt? Oooh, wait, don't help, it's metaphissical! Your name is Migraine, but it's actually supposed to represent pudding pops? Amiclose? Maybe you're good at mind games? Or head games! Like beach ball! Or maybe, your special talent is getting a headache? Waaaaaiiit! Something's appeared!" Mograine, slightly irritated, glances upon his rear and, to see a small image of a pony holding it's head in it's hooves. Mograine becomes significantly irritated. "OH COME ON!" "Congratulations! This calls for a party! A super-duper I-got-a-cutie-mark-and-it-s-important-even-though-I-don-t-like-it party! Cheer up, grumpy goose!" The stallion sighs. He is about to send this pony to warmer regions, when he notices Sally is not paying any attention to him, but plays with the mirror instead. When she manages to reflect sunlight into Mograine's eyes, the pink pony gasps again. "Oooooh! You got your cutie mark, too! This calls for a double party! I hope my party cannon can handle the heat!" This seems to pique the curiosity of Whitemane. "Party cannon? You shoot a whole party out of it?" Absent-mindedly, she examines her flank, on which a mirror reflecting sunshine appeared. Pinkie giggles. "No, silly, it shoots decorations! And confetti! And cake, sometimes! And... well, ants, but that was only one time because I forgot to clean it. Come on! I'm sure you'd feel awesometastic! Pretty please?" She looks at them with pleading puppy-dog eyes. "Um, just a second, we need to consider this." "Okie-dokie-Thorie! I mean, Lokie!" Sally pulls the still grumbling stallion closer. "So? What's your take on this?" "I honestly can not believe all this. What are we supposed to do? How could we battle the unholy like this?" "Mograine, the only thing unholy here is your moustache. Seriously, you might want to shave that off. Besides, I doubt there would be undead here. This is a talking horse, for Light's sake! Have you noticed the fact that it's in fact not undead, crippled, maimed, mauled, hurt or even generally unhappy with the weather? Would you be this happy with problems like ours? Renault, I don't think we're in Azeroth anymore." "..." The stallion closes his eyes. "Then what? Should we just follow her whereever she leads us and... party?" "I honestly think we should. I mean, I can't exactly get ourselves back to Azeroth, and even if I could, we would be still horses; if we marched into one of our camps like that... well, that camp would have something for dinner, let's just say that." She makes a concerned expression. "Aaand... Well, this is hard, but after we died, I got resurrected once more in the cathedral. The news I heard... were unsettling. It turned out most of the Crusade was controlled by dreadlords. Balnazzar and Mal'Ganis. They twisted us to their purposes until we've run out of usefulness... After that... Well, the crusaders in Stratholme did not survive. And considering that I am here... the monastery likely fell, too." "Accursed beasts! Is there nothing for us to do?" "I doubt it. I think we only ended up here because our role has ended back home. On the bright side, maybe we will find someone with the same plight as us. Also Mograine, think about it: cake! When was the last time we ate cake? Practically forever!... Why are you hitting your own head?" "...Fine, I don't care anymore. Let's go." "It is settled then." She waves to the pink pony, who patiently bounced around in circles around them up until now. "Lead the way, Pinkie! I am quite curious of this cake you mentioned!" The sound of their hooves and chatter quickly fade away, and a soft 'fwang' can be heard, signalling the barrier between worlds is penetrated again. Somepony is going to have an interesting night.
Chapter two: A Sword with a sword named BatCrashing through the roof is a memorable, if a tad bit painful way to make an entrance. Still, the pony plummeting across the night sky doesn't think about it much. Mostly because they just came to in this world, unaware of their surroundings. Slowly though, they begin to analyse what they can perceive. A small cart in the middle of the large, open field. Chances of actually hitting it are slim. Density of ground and speed of fall are unknown. Air breathable. Strange sensation. Slight hint of... hunger? Plummeting. Body feels weird. Hard to move. Could also be air pressure. Ground closing in. Estimation about cart is about to be proven untrue. "Heh, heh, what's that? You say I'm the greatest? Eh heh he..." The mumbling unicorn is fast asleep, blisfully unaware of the ballistic trouble heading for her. She had a long day, so she decided to rest when night fell. The surroundings seemed nice, if a bit deserted. And now she is jolted awake by something on the scale of an earthquake. She frantically searches for any sign of hostility, or change. Strangely enough, her usually cozy trailer now has a pony-sized hole in its roof. On the floor, a white figure sits up from the rubble. Trixie is not a pony to take risks. She only did it twice in her life, and it backfired on her both times. "Who are you, hooligan?! Be warned, the Great and Powerful Trixie could turn you into dust in a heartbeat!" The white bat pony emotionlessly stares at her. "I see. Be assured, I am of no harm to you, Commander Trixie. I merely ended up here by chance... even if it is a very strange chance. I would ever be grateful if you didn't turn me to dust. One time was enough for me." "Oh well, consider yourself spared," Trixie says nonchalantly. Her brain kicks in a moment later. "Wait, Commander Trixie?" "My apologies. I only assumed you are the commander of a group because of your immense power. I shall refer to you properly, Queen." "Um, no, queen is a bit..." "Then how shall I refer to you, my liege?" "Well, 'princess' would be nice..." Trixie ponders, "Wait, wait, wait. When did I become your liege?" "I am sorry, Princess. I have only recently came to this world, so I wanted to serve the strongest. I am quite a capable fighter, I can assure you." "Well, bat ponies are known for their nimbleness... What is your name?" The white bat pony bows a little, moonlight reflecting on their black mane. "My name is Ulquiorra Cifer, Princess, Fourth of the Espada, Death Aspect of Nihilism. I am looking forward to serving you." Trixie holds up a hoof. "Hold on for a moment." The showmare steps to her poorly endowed bookcase, picking a seemingly random book. She opens it, and skims through the pages as fast as an eagle, until something catches her eye. "Let's see... Educación, El gringo, Emaciado... ah! Espada! 'Sword'... Hm..." She looks at the bat pony absent-mindedly. "So, you recently came to this world, and you were a sword before." "Not exactly, Princess. 'Espada' was our chosen name, just something to mark the strongest. I was not a sword, but a living... well, spirit being before, for a lack of a better word." Trixie looks at Ulquiorra with an expression that could be described as dumb if we want to be tactful and honest. "So you just popped here after—and I'm guessing here—you jumped into some kind of portal that mysteriously appeared from nowhere?" She tries to make a bemused face, but the fact that she has a serious case of bed hair kind of prevents it. Ulquiorra responds with a headshake. "Actually, I'm inclined to believe that I died." Trixie is thrown off-track, eyeing the white bat pony suspiciously. "If you died, then how are you here now?" The question posed is indeed a valid one; one that Ulquiorra pondered about, too. The bat pony is quick to share the most reliable guess they have. "I believe either my enormous regenerative capabilities revived me here, or Lord Aizen had rewarded me with a second chance for my services." "...Well, let me just ask a few questions then." Trixie snorted. The bat pony's expression does not change as they give their answer. "Of course, Princess. What is it you wish to know?" "First, what was the extent of your regenerative powers?" "I was able to regrow any lost limb, or other organs, like eyes, as long as they weren't strictly needed for me to function." "Uh huh. Then explain this for me: why do you still have a small cut on your face?" Ulquiorra instinctively reaches up to a spot that suddenly beckons for attention. It is as the showmare says; a small cut is indeed present there. The implications of this are clear: no more regeneration. "Curious. Then I believe we can safely assume that the second option is true," the bat pony concludes. Trixie, on the other hoof, still looks skeptical. "Yeah, no. Who exactly is this 'Aizen' guy?" "He is... was the leader of us arrancar, and us Espada wowed to him. Even though he was a soul reaper, he did not know fear. For hollows, who are born from fears, this could amount him to a god, if we use a comparison fit for more primitive cultures." Trixie snorts even harder, causing the bat pony to raise an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, have I said something offending?" "First of all, you just called us ponies primitive. Second, no leader lets their subordinates die, just to bring them back in an another world. This Aizen sounds like a bad boss to me. Does he mean to use you even after he worked you to death? Or until death, the very least." Ulquiorra's expression darkens, taking an aggressive pose. "I'd rather if you didn't mock him, Princess." Trixie holds her head in her hooves. "Jeez, stop with the freaking princess already! I was just joking! Also, if your boss is so great, where is everypony else from your group?" "..." Ulquiorra is at a loss of words. "How did you know that others died, too?" Trixie shrugs. "I took a wild guess. Also, you said you were creatures of fear and despair, right? If so, that makes you the bad guys. Princess Celestia would never allow him to do as he pleases here, so guess again. I don't know who this 'Aizen' is, but he can go buck himself for all I care." Ulquiorra comes to a conclusion. Despite the initial good impressions, this individual is loudmouthed, and condescending towards Aizen-Sama. She needs to be punished. Eyes half-closed, Ulquiorra prepares to hand out righteous punishment... but the familiar feeling never comes. Come to think of it, not even once in this world did Ulquiorra feel the spirit pressure of others. Meanwhile, Trixie looks at the bat pony with interest. "You're constipated, or something? I think I have some pills somewhere for that," she offers thoughtfully. "No!" Ulquiorra groans with rising anger. "It was meant to evaporate you in a blast of energy!" Trixie taps her own sides with exaggerated movements. "Nope, no evaporation here. Seems like I'm completely unevaporated." She looks at Ulquiorra with a clearly superior expression. "Besides, you are a bat pony. Exhibiting magical prowess as a bat pony is bloody impossible." "... I see." Ulquiorra nods. Every moment brings a piece of clarity. "So the dominant species here are the ones that can cast 'magic', such as yourself, correct?" Trixie looks a bit flabberghasted. "Dominant species? Sure, it's very convenient to use magic to solve our everyday problems, but—" "Does any other race posess 'magic' other than yours?" Ulquiorra interrupts her. The anxiousness is gone, and the want to learn replaces it. Trixie hesitates. "Well... The changelings have a natural affinity to change their appearance... but other than that, not really. I think ponies are the only ones capable of performing advanced magic." "Then it is simple," Ulquiorra says, "I am a bat pony, and you, as a pony posess capabilities—" "Whoa, whoa, whoa. We are both ponies, you and I. You're a pegasus, I'm a unicorn, but we're ponies!" The former Espada pauses, confused. "I seem to have lost track. I was under the expression that a pony is different from a bat pony. Could you enlighten me about races and their attributes in this world?" Trixie shrugs. "It's simple, really. There are three types of ponies: pegasus, unicorn, earth pony, and bat pony. There are four types of ponies: pegasus, unicorn, earth pony, bat pony, and crystal pony. There are FIVE types of ponies: pegasus, unicorn, earth pony, bat pony, crystal pony. And alicorns. Oh, bugger!" Ulquiorra has a premonition. A premonition that if one wishes to learn about the 'heart', and humans, one might as well start with ponies. Nevertheless, the bat pony takes a neutral stance, eagerly awaiting any tidbit of information. Meanwhile, Trixie overcame her short mental block, and tries to explain more. "What I wanted to say was: every type has a sort of inborn ability with them. Pegasi can fly, and manipulate the weather, unicorns can cast spells, and earth ponies can cultivate the soil, and have heightened endurance. Alicorns sorta combine the three, although I've never seen them plow or raise crops. Crystal ponies can emit a kind of love weapon thingy, and bat ponies can... bat? I don't really know about the last two." Trixie stops to think, and starts musing to herself. She does not realise that before Ulquiorra's attentive ears, even mumbling is as clear as a shout in an empty room. "Come to think of it, it might be best if I took you to the Princesses. You just popped into existence, but probably originate from another world, so they must be interested in you." Her eyes lit up. "Maybe I would get some kind of reward from introducing you! Yes, yes, a private stage, ladled with gold, and ornaments of...." Ulquiorra pays no attention to the delusional showmare, and instead ponders about the correct course of action. The highest authority seems to be the so-called Princess here, so consulting with them would be highly desireable. The bat pony glances at the absorbed showmare. This individual, however has not yet shown true value, despite claiming high arcane versatility. There is one method however, to test her usefulness... "What is a heart?" The sudden question throws Trixie off-track, yanking her out of her dream-world. "You mean like the organ that is responsible for pumping blood through your body?" she asks cautiously. She's met with a headshake, with Ulquiorra being visibly disappointed. Perhaps it was too much to expect so much from her, the pegasus thinks gloomily, Perhaps it is a question that— "If you're talking about the metaphorical sense, however," Trixie continues, "it is something that can show compassion; not closing yourself off from others' problems, helping ponies out occassionally, and..." Trixie clearly shows hesitation. "I guess forgiving past misdeeds even though the one who did it was a complete jerk to you and your friends and later returned to enslave your city but was defeated by teamwork and thrown into prison for what she's done but you rather choose to give her another chance at redemption just because you believe her guilt about what happened is real which is true but you have absolutely no way of knowing it just have faith in her—HAAAAAH!" Trixie starts panting, a little out of breath from her rambling. She offers Ulquiorra a weak smile. "That didn't make much sense to you, did it?" A long silence looms before the bat pony answers. "No, it did not make sense to me. I intend to rectify that, though." Trixie furrows her brow. "I am not letting you touch my butt!" The two stare at each other for a minute before Ulquiorra speaks. "I meant it in the 'remedy the situation' sense." The showmare's relief is both visible and audible. "Thank Luna, I thought it was about your special talent." "Special talent?" Ulquiorra asks confused. "Yeah, you know the one that your cutie mark—oh, right, you don't know. Listen, the only thing the five – SIX – pony races have in common apart from their general appearance is the cutie mark. It represents a pony's special talent, that they have exceptional affinity for. For instance," she says, pointing to her own, "my cutie mark signifies I am good with stage entertainment, and magic. I didn't recognise yours before, because it was so dark that I thought that it was just a pattern in your fur." She points to Ulquiorra's flank, and true to her words, a black patch of fur is indeed there. Upon closer inspection, it looks like an ellipsis with another inside. Ulquiorra can't place it for a minute, but then the connection becomes clear. The cutie mark is very reminiscent of a hollow's hole in their chest. What would it's meaning be, though? "Hey, if your talent is holes, can you take a look at where you crashed through my roof?" Ulquiorra shrugs, unconsciously flapping up to the hole. "What exactly do you expect me to do? Just touch it and make it all go aw—" While speaking, the bat pony motions towards the hole, accidentally colliding with it's edge. To both ponies' surprise, the hole moves a little. Being a very pragmatical person, Ulquiorra tries again, and this time the hole moves all the way to a corner, then slips on a wall when the bat pony applies more pressure. "... This is completely ridiculous." Trixie glances at the ceiling where the hole was. It is just like it was yesterday, not even the smallest sign to point to that it was in many pieces a second ago. She also notices that the rubble has disappeared from the floor. She shrugs. Then an idea strikes her. "Say, can you shrink it?" Ulquiorra positions the hole between the still unfamiliar hooves, and tries to push the edges toward each other. To no small surprise of either of them, it works. The pegasus doesn't stop until the hole is less than an inch long. "So that wasn't magic?" Ulquiorra asks, unconsciously discovering sarcasm. Trixie shrugs again. "Hey, I don't make the rules, I just blindly obey them. Bes—aaaagh!" Her words are strifled with a large yawn. "Look, can we continue this conversation in the morning? I'm tired, you only came to existence recently, so what do you say we go into that niiiice looking bed and sleep until ten?" A past conversation between fellow arrancars flashes in Ulquiorra's mind. "Wouldn't sleeping in the same bed be...immoral?" Trixie looks genuinely surprised. "Why? Just two mares sleeping together after an eventful night! Wait, that didn't sound right..." Ulquiorra experiences a new emotion again. Panic. "Two WHAT?!" Even though it sounds ridiculous, the sentiment wasn't just a biologically inexperienced guess, but the truth. Ulquiorra sees the problem now: when crashing through the roof, she deliberately ignored her body's warnings, because of the pain she felt. Now that the pain has gone away, something else has also gone away. Not that she had any problem with being female, but it still upset her. Must be hormones, with the new living body and whatnot. Regardless, she knows what the proper action is there to take. Might as well proceed with it. "WHAT THE FLYING—?!"
Chapter three: The nearly CommanderMany accuse Lyra of being carefree, slacking of most of the time, or spending time in public doing absolutely nothing work-related. In fact, some suspect she didn't even have a proper job, and Golden Harvest swears she didn't see the slightest hint of an instrument while visiting her house. Except, in her words, if she "left it out in the toilet, though that would make her music stink." In reality, she is simply incredibly bored with the simple life of a musician. Even though every performance is paid for generously, she refuses nearly every request, only accepting a few ones that she deems interesting, or necessary. This has already earned her an unwanted reputation of an eccentric genius; her contractors simply chose to interpret her lack of motivation as them not having sufficient social or political power. Thus, her every appearance was lauded as brilliant so far, some even claiming she is on par with the more famous Orchestra members. Needless to say, that didn't bring her much popularity with them—not that she cares about it much. Today, however, she decided to go on a walk. Trotting through the pleasant scenery of Whitetail Woods, she briefly passes a small clearing overshadowed by a tall oak tree. Then she backtracks when she sees a blue stallion with a red mane laying on his back, eyes closed, breathing heavily. Somehow, even though nothing would suggest it, there's a small dirt crater around him, nearly perfectly circular. No bruise wounds, however, no broken branches, no scorched surroundings. In other words, a mystery. Lyra grins. Her day is about to get interesting. She approaches the stranger without a hint of fear. "Wassssssssaaaaaaap?" she intones, deliberately elongating the vowels and consonants. The stranger looks at her, unimpressed. "From my position, you're up," he snorts. With a groan, he rolls over and rises to his hooves—only to pause, and observe his limbs with disbelief. Then he takes another look at Lyra, his expression becoming manic. "What happened to me? What are you? Did you do it?" he asks in rapid succession. Lyra waves her hoof dismissively. "What do you mean what am I? I'm a pony, duh. As for what happened to you, I guess you crashed into the earth, or something? And for the record, no, it didn't have anything to do with me." "Then how do you explain the lack of hands, huh?" the stallion asks triumphantly. Lyra shrugs. "Basic pony anatomy? Seriously, did you hit your head, or something? Why would you find a lack of hands surprising?" "Because I used to have two!" the stallion yells. "I'm not a pony, I'm a human you menthol monstrosity! I deserve to be treated better than an average animal—" The stallion stops, noticing that the mint unicorn doesn't really pay attention to him. "Lyra, the Menthol Monstrosity!" the mare muses. "Makes me mighty mad, mind ya." "...Please don't alliterate me." "Why? What's wrong with wordplay, weasely wimp?" "I warn you, if you continue to annoy me..." he began in a threatening voice, but Lyra cut him off. "Then what? Buck my face in? Real civilised, buddy. If you're gonna behave like that, I'm just gonna leave you here, alone." "But you're just an animal!" he protested weakly. "You're an animal too!" Lyra retorted. "I told you, I'm a human!" "Is that a type of plant?" "What? No!" "Mushroom, perhaps?" "No!" "Then, by process of elimination, you are an animal! Geez! You don't have many friends, do you?" The question strikes deep into the stallion's heart. He remembers his final moments... moments of betrayal, and a stern reminder of the difference between him, and... the original. At the end of the day, the difference was clear; the original was a hero, with people following him, and believing in him, while he was just a puppet of a xenophobic group, whose advocate betrayed him the instant things got hot. Seeing the brooding stallion, Lyra got a sudden moment of clarity. "Uh.. I... struck a nerve there, didn't I? Sorry. Hey, let's just start over. My name is Lyra. What's yours?" A strange urge takes hold of the stallion, genes transcending experience, and cloning. "I am Commander Shepard, and this is my favourite store on the Citadel!" Lyra carefully peers rightwards. The lack of a citadel was astounding. She shifts her gaze left. Not even a rotund in sight. Finally, she looks back at the beaming stallion. The picture is completely dominated by a lack of a castle. Before she could voice her concerns, the stallion laughs a little. "Oh, I've always wanted to say that! Never got the chance, though. I guess you can call me Shepard, like everybody did. I mean, that's what everyone called my original." "Your original?" Lyra asks with confusion. "It's a... long story. I've been cloned from the famous Commander Shepard... so, other than Clone Shepard, I didn't really get named anything in conversations. Makes me want to rename myself to something else, actually." "Well, what's holding you?" She waits patiently for a few minutes, but finally, she gets tired of it. "So?" The stallion paws at the ground, dejected. "I got nothing." "What's cloning, anyway?" "It's a method in which tissue from a person..." The clone goes into a lengthy explanation about cloning; both the technical, and ethical side. Not surprising, considering he spent a copious amount of time cramming all knowledge about the technology into his brain, in an attempt to justify his existence. Needless to say, it didn't work. It left him with a wide range of knowledge in biology—most of which probably can't be applied to his current predicatement. Nevertheless, Lyra listens intently, and when he finishes, she scratches her head. "Okay, so I didn't understand half of the words you just said. Despite that, I think I've gotten the general idea about the whole 'cloning' stuff. But the half I did recognise should not be possible with our technology! Where do you come from? Manechester? I heard they studied some pretty weird stuff there." The stallion frowned. "You mean Manchester." "Don't be ridiculous, that doesn't make sense! It's as if your totally oblivious to everything in Equestria!" She pauses, realising something. "You're not really a pony, are you?" "Gee, you think?" he asks sarcastically. "What gave it away, my constant mention of me being a human, for God's sake?!" He huffs indignantly, mumbling something about 'ignorant extraterrestrials'. "Relax, don't get your pants in a bunch!" she chides him. "I don't wear pants!" the stallion retorts. He pauses briefly, then bursts out louder, with panic. "I don't wear pants! I'm standing inside enemy territory completely naked!" Lyra muses on her options. She could just leave this weird pony here... but then she would probably miss out on a lot of fun stuff. "Say, are you hungry?" The question initially goes over his head, but after he gets tired of panicking, the meaning finally hits him. He ponders his options carefully. "That depends. Do you have salarian sklomp steak?" "What's a 'sklomp'?" "Tartar beefsteak?" "Yuck, no." "Bacon?" "Are you intent on eating somepony?" "I take that as a no, then. Omelette du fromage?" "Foreign languages ain't fair!" "There were many problems with that sentence, but have it your way. Scrambled eggs with cheese on top?" "Oh, I can do that." "Really?" the stallion asks with suspicion. "You milk cows?" "Yeah, sure, I mean, they didn't object. At least I think they don't." She pauses, running through the sentence again in her head. "And now I have images of cows faintly whispering objections against milking. Thanks." "You are weird," Shepard notes. Lyra raises one of her eybrows. "I'm weird? You just had mood swings the size of a smaller dragon, for Pete's sake!" Shepard furrows his brow. "Wait, what did you just say?" "I said you have mood swings—" The stallion shakes his head. "No, not that one. What do you mean, for Pete's sake?" "Um, it's supposed to represent exasperation with—" "No, I mean, why Pete?" Lyra ponders this for a while. "I don't know. Is it important?" "Peter is a very common name on Earth," Shepard says. "Pete is just another form of it." "Huh. I guess that is kind of unusual. So, Clone She – nah, this won't do. You need a proper name." Shepard looks hurt. "Hey, it's a proper name!" "So is Pen Issuer, but that doesn't mean it's any good!" The stallion is confused. "Why would you sue p – oh." He scratches his head. "I see, kind of like Dick Head, right?" Lyra blushes. "You pervert!" "What? I just said a name like you did!" he says quickly. "That wasn't a name! That didn't sound anything like a name!" "All right, what do you suggest, then?" he says with a snort. Still red, Lyra taps her chin. "How about... Wait, what is your cutie mark again?" "My what?" the stallion asks. "What in the blazes is a—" "Shut up and show me your butt." "Oh, so when you do it it's not sexual harassment?!" She tries to forcefully turn him around, but to her great surprise, he did a sudden movement, and in a moment, she was on the ground, with him holding her front hooves down. Slowly but surely, red creeps onto her face. "Would you please get off me?" "Only if you admit that you simply – Oof!" The last part is only said because Lyra simply chose to end the conversation with a well-placed kick. The stallion rolls off her, unintentionally squeezing the air from her lungs in the process. For a few moments, they lay there, panting for their own reasons. "You need to be put into a mental institute! Or put down!" the stallion says, not even trying to bother getting up. Lyra glances at him sheepishly. "Sorry, I-I panicked. The situation was exactly like on the self-defense course. Without the actual assault, of course. Are you in pain?" "I was once stabbed in the arm with an omni-tool, but that can't hold a candle to your surgical precision," the stallion replies. He was still on the ground, now kicking at leaves of grass. "Seriously, I had commando training, and still..." "Aw, can it, will you?" Lyra at last has a good view of the stallion's cutie mark. It looks like a white star within a circle, with the lower half of the circle slightly thicker than the rest. Try as she may, she can't really find a proper explanation for this pony's talent. "Happy?" the stallion asks. Lyra turns back to face him. "I was just trying to make sense of your special talent. You see, our cutie marks represent what our strongest points are." The clone squints his eyes as he tries to see his own cutie mark. Then he checks out Lyra's lyre. "I don't really see you playing a harp right now," he observes. "And I don't see you acting like a 'commando' besides going commando," Lyra says in return. "We were talking about names, so... Star? Starcircle? Starhyperglobe?" A word forms in the stallion's head. "Stargazer?" he suggests. Lyra runs this by herself a few times, then nods. "That's all right. In fact, it's a little cool, too. Hello, Stargazer." The newly christened Stargazer unconsciously stands at attention. Lyra suppresses a smile. "Now come on, I promised you some food, didn't I?" she says. The stallion hesitates. "Am I not imposing upon you?" Lyra briefly considers this. "Well, my landlord Bon Bon would probably go into a rabid rage upon seeing me bring home one more dinner guest. So no, not at all." "I think I'll try my luck with this bush here," the stallion says, ponting to a nearby bush laden with ripe berries. Lyra shrugs. "Well, if you like Ribes Rubrum, knock yourself out. Just don't come crying to me later." Stargazer hangs his head in defeat. "You win." Lyra lits up. "Great! Come on, don't be so gloomy! It'll be fun!" she says with a smile. The stallion sighs. "That's exactly what I'm afraid of."
Prologue: The machineCelestia eyes the machine with suspicion. "Well, yes, but what does it actually do?" she says. The machine takes up most of the room it's in, colourful lights running on its surface randomly. Strangely enough, despite its size, it doesn't make any noise. That alone should warrant caution. So should the fact that it was made by Discord. "I told you, Celestia, it gives people a second chance!" Discord says. "That's quite broad of a definiton," Celestia says. "What exactly does that mean?" Discord rolls his eyes. "It gives them a second chance! Just what it is!" He notices Celestia's expression. "Okay, okay, fine! Since you're such a spoilsport, I am willing to tell you this: nopony is going to get hurt in any way from this. Happy?" "You still haven't told me—" "Celestia, please. I agreed to help you, and use my powers for good, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to be chaotic and mysterious and stone-cold... handsome." The princess taps her hoof on the floor a few times. "Very well. I am willing to give this a try. But be warned Discord – I'm watching you." After she leaves, Discord lets go of his face muscles, a grin slowly creeping on his face. "Oh, but it won't be me you should be looking at, my dear Celestia."
