Hector Silvermane felt the hand of death upon his shoulder.

As a soldier and a commander, it was part of his job to prepare for death on any given day. But reality was a different matter, and never before had Silvermane felt the grim specter loom so close as to brush its bony hoof upon his cheek. It sent shivers along every synapse in his brain, and threatened to paralyze his young muscles with rheumatoid fear.

With his back against a picket fence, he gasped for whatever air a moment’s respite could provide. He was a rat in a maze, constantly on the move for fear that the cat would find him before the cheese. His pursuer was but a youth, but exhausted and injured as he was, the chance of standing up to anypony who could bend the rules like the great killer Pinkamena was that of a tiny matchstick flame in the quiet frozen nightmare that lay all around.

Beside Silvermane was the strangest of bedfellows. Days prior he might have dismissed Cadabra Smile as another pompous zealot in a foppish cape, but the head of Little Hoofington’s local Church of the Night had proven that the purity of her faith. In the snow she sat, her mane disheveled, her cape torn; her body bruised and bloody. Fear rocked her delicate features, but she kept working to squeeze out whatever magical energy she had left in her body. Her horn crackled thricely, and she slumped in frustration against the white pickets to her back.

“...we are prolonging the inevitable,” she stated woefully. “We are nothing but sport for him now. When he tires of Pinkamena’s game, we will have naught but to pray that death comes before dismemberment.”

Silvermane croaked through pants. “...we can’t stop for long. We have to keep moving. Keep him guessing.”

“He may not even be out there,” Cadabra scoffed. “He knows we are his. We saw plainly how he ignored us to mutilate his latest kill. He can come for us at his leisure.”

Silvermane stared at the slowly clearing sky, wincing under the pain from the rent in his side. “Do you have any magic?”

“No,” Cadabra said simply. “And we cannot fight him on his own terms.”

“Then there’s only one choice,” Silvermane reasoned. He nodded down a wide street, flanked on either side by cold, quiet cottages. “Out in the open we’re sitting ducks, and in any of these buildings, without our magic, we’re just gift wrapping ourselves for him. We have to get out of here.”

“Out of town?” Cadabra replied incredulously. “The drifts will not have subsided yet. Without our magic, it would take hours to punch through.”

“Then we’ll do it by hoof,” Silvermane concluded. “I’d rather take our chances digging our way to freedom and die trying, than just wait here to have my cutie mark harvested by that monster.”

Cadabra glanced down at her hooves. They were the hooves of a poet, not a laborer, and she had already suffered more than one crack to her keratin. “...we do not think we will be of much use in that.”

“Then you keep watch while I dig. It’s the only chance we’ve got.”

A silent moment passed, until Cadabra’s stomach finally broke it up with a high-pitched growl. Silvermane’s responded in baritone, and the doomed pair allowed themselves a moment’s levity.

“It is as if we have not eaten in days,” Cadabra explained. “Be grateful that it did not come out as compliments to the chef!”

Hector managed a halting laugh. “My wife kicks me so hard whenever I deal one in bed that I nearly fall out. I think she’s training me through osmosis. Hoof to the rump.”

“Lora once passed an embarrassing moment in the middle of services,” Cadabra reminisced. “It is the most she ever said to me.”

The joke on the deceased mute was in poor taste, but the pair devoured ravenously what little energy the ghoulish humor could provide.

“We...shall never see her again,” Cadabra said softly. “She was...our only friend. Most ponies see us as enigmatic, or merely insufferable.”

“You might see her sooner than you think,” Silvermane said grimly.

Silence repeated itself. Cadabra felt its chill caress her, and was possessed by the need to break it up.

“Is your spouse a good pony?”

Silvermane considered the unexpected question. “The stars don’t make them any better. She’s been by my side since the day we met, and I’m lucky to have her. I don’t think I’d ever have made it out of the trenches without her support.” He sighed. “...maybe things would have turned out differently if I had her here with me now, but I guess I’m never going to see her again.”

“We had a romantic encounter once.”

“Yeah?”

“Indeed,” Cadabra confirmed. “We were too young, and he was a historian who gave talks on the life and times of the royal house. He instilled in us a love of the sun and the moon, and was the signpost for our road to this life.”

“That’s sweet,” Silvermane encouraged. “What happened?”

Cadabra shook her head, meekly allowing a portion of her matted mane to cover half her face. “...he rejected me. He was a devotee before I was, and when I didn’t take to the church fast enough, he decided I wasn’t devoted enough to him, either.”

Silvermane didn’t realize he was staring until Cadabra cleared her throat. “I...I’m sorry but, I’m not used to hearing you talk that way…”

“You mean like Princess Luna before her banishment?” Cadabra quipped. She huddled into herself, wrapping as much of her body in her cape as she could drape over it. “It’s a part of the faith. It’s not required of parishioners, but those with any rank are expected to sound like her.”

“R-right, of course, just--”

Cadabra nodded at the image of the full moon with a cloud floating before it on her flank. “My real name is Lorem Ipsum. I got my cutie mark just from sleeping under the stars one night as a filly. It’s not a common thing to do in Manehattan, but it’s not a hobby or even a notable act, so I graduated from school having no idea who or what I was. When I met him, he...gave me purpose. I accepted the church and excelled, but nothing I ever did was enough for him. I played his fool - absorbing myself with the desire to please him until I realized he was merely using the faith as a front to obtain personal adoration and status. I hadn’t received much in the way of affection growing up, and thus I never questioned his ‘greater knowledge’ as a historian.”

Silvermane knew it wasn’t the time for confessions, but his body ached, and he wasn’t convinced there was any escape even with the new plan. He indulged her.

“But you devoted yourself to the church anyway.”

“At first the very idea of remaining in the faith disgusted me, but yes, I did it anyway. I would not have admitted it at the time, but despite his behavior I wanted him back - or another stallion like him, to step into his place. Surely you know the routine. The way we ponies sometimes cannot rid ourselves of the same relationships over and over.”

“...yeah.”

“But that did not happen. I absorbed myself with my role in the faith, and gained parishioners whom I felt genuine affection for. Eventually I found that I genuinely wanted to devote myself to gaining acceptance for the Church of the Night in society, for so many ponies still believe we are some sort of Nightmare Moon obsessed cult bent on promoting her return. Also I was...good at it. My special talent, I suppose. In a few years’ time I handed the parish over to another and left that place. Officially my departure was a mission to spread the faith to another community, but...really I just wanted to bury old memories.”

Silvermane didn’t know what to say. “Lorem is a nice name. Has a good ring to it.”

Cadabra smiled somberly but shook her head. “Lorem Ipsum is gone now. I have lived the life of Cadabra Smile, and that is who I’d rather finish the race as. But...thank you.”

Silvermane glanced awkwardly at the sky again. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry I couldn’t save anypony. And I’m sorry for the innocent mare I killed, though there’s no amount of apology that can make up for that.”

“What will you do, if we survive?”

“Turn myself in,” Silvermane said resolutely. “I’m not sure I can even go about my regular duties like nothing happened here. I need to slow down. Either suspension or jail might be good for that.”

“...we have killed as well,” Cadabra said, sinking back into her vocal routine. “We will stand with you. If any are to judge us, it is a comfort to know Princess Luna will likely be among them.”

Silvermane shook his head, rattling his senses about in his brain, and rose to his hooves. Helmetless and with his armor soaked in ichor, he was less a hero and more a killer in his own right.

“Come on,” he said. “There’s nopony left here to save besides ourselves. If we don’t get word of this back to Canterlot, this entire region will become a headquarters for the changeling hive in our own lands. We can’t lay down and die now, even if we want to.”

Cadabra pushed the saccharine moment aside and rose up on her own, ignoring the pain from the gash in her shoulder that she had bound up with a scrap of her own cape. She refused Silvermane’s offered hoof and fell in with him. Together they took the main street to the entrance of Little Hoofington.

* * * * *

Little Hoofington’s perimeter wall was the only structure in town that seemed none the worse for wear in the absence of upkeep. It was tall, thick, and sturdy enough to be the pride of the mining community. From the day of its completion, nopony could have known the deathtrap it would become.

The drifts at the main gates were beyond even Silvermane’s fears. The snow was a dental filling across the gap to freedom, and just as solid to the touch. Cadabra threw sharp glances in every direction, grateful for her trained eye in the approaching dark.

“...what are we to do now?”

Had the pair been fresh Silvermane might have suggested they try floating themselves over the walls, but in their weakened state he doubted either of them could manage such a complex spell. He set his horn aglow and aimed at the snow bank, but thought the better of it and instead began to dig with his hooves.

“We may need every spell to defend ourselves. All we can do now is dig.”

Cadabra shifted uncomfortably. He knew she wouldn’t admit to any sort of weakness, and he smiled wanly.

“I’ve got it. Watch my back.”

With that, Hector went about the tedious task of digging his way to freedom. The work went like a watched pot that never boils, but adrenaline was still coursing through his veins and he kept at it.

“What will we do when we get out?” Cadabra mused. “We suspect the snow shall be just as bad without, and there is nowhere to go but the train station. It would be fortuitous indeed if we just happen to catch a train, assuming they are running at all in this weather.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Silvermane replied through grunts. “When we had a base of operations it might have been different, but now we either take a chance with the snow or end up six feet under it. Assuming there’s anything left to bury.”

Cadabra couldn’t argue. She puffed her chest and stood at attention, her eye on the street that plunged into a darkened village. Even she could only see so far into its depths, and it was the first time since she had found her faith that she could remember being afraid of the dark. Nerves soon took her.

“Wh-why has he not come for us yet? Why does he not finish his work? Did he chose to finish off the changeling menace first?”

“I doubt that,” Silvermane replied. “If he’s obsessed with being Pinkamena, then he kills primarily to obtain cutie marks for his cloak. They have none to give him, and if there’s only one left, he’s probably not all that concerned about her.”

“Perhaps we ought to have gone back to Kitty’s establishment...perhaps we could have forged some manner of alliance? At the very least, her ample provisions would be available to us…”

“Do you really think she was telling the truth about that?”

Cadbra fell silent. Silvermane went about his work for ten more excruciating minutes, until the cultist caught a flicker of movement from further in the darkness than any normal pony could have seen. She squinted, her hackles rising, and the image of a wisp of a pony in a heavy cloak standing by a lonely building came to her.

“...L-Lora…?”

The specter had blood running down her legs and appeared listless from its loss. It swayed on its hooves, and Cadabra thought she saw a glimpse of tears upon its shadowed cheeks. The pony stumbled into the open and stood perfectly still for an ageless moment. It then collapsed in the street; a large, propeller like blade protruding from the back of its cloak.

“Lora!!” Cadabra shouted.

“What?” Silvermane poked his head out from the small crevice he had created in the snow, only to find his companion kicking up her heels in the direction of the collapsed pony. “Cadabra! No! It’s a trap!”

“Do not be ridiculous!” Cadabra shouted as she galloped away. “She is wounded by the blade of our assailant! We must go to her!”

Silvermane cursed and fought to free himself from his work. He hit the pavement stones running, expecting the fallen bundle in the street to rise up and attack them at any moment. It never moved, and Cadabra was soon standing over it. The unicorn’s worn emotions had turned her into a shadow of her once haughty self, and she could but blubber out shaky words.

“Lora...we thought you deceased…”

Silvermane slowed to a trot, approaching warily. “Cadabra get away from her...Lora’s dead...that can’t be her…”

“Didst thou confirm that when she fell at the church?” Cadabra reasoned, her eyes fixated on the bundle. “Did any of us?”

Silvermane thought back. “...no…”

“And see here,” Cadabra pointed at the protuberance, “she has been attacked by the colt himself. This is our Lora, we are certain of--”

With impossible speed, the cloaked pony whirled to its hooves, yanked the blade out from a false pocket in its back and spun it in a deadly arc. Before Cadabra could finish her sentence, her left foreleg lay severed upon a patch of virgin snow.

“...nngggggaAAAHHHHHhhhhhhh!!”

‘Lora’ sprang forward to finish the job, but Silvermane tackled the damaged body of his friend, hurling her out of her attacker’s path. He thrust his hind leg into the assailant’s stomach and monkey-flipped her in an arc over his head.

‘Lora’ flexed his wings and came down with catlike grace on all four hooves. He cast the outer cloak aside to reveal the patchwork flesh of Pinkamena’s signature garment, and from beneath the discarded hood emerged the coloring-book mask of Pinkie Pie. Chocolate Waffle’s maniacal yet patient eyes showed through. He curled the huge, heavy blades in his hooves; crossing them before his body like plastic toys.

Silvermane felt fear, for the monster was now between the surviving ponies and the main gates.

“Cadabra!” Silvermane called without daring to take his eyes off of the colt. “Are you still with me?”

Cadabra was choking on her own tears. Out of the corner of his eye Silvermane caught a glimpse of her rolling around in a pool of her own blood, her shoulder spurting up more with every passing moment. “...ah...ah...i-it h-hurts...m-make i-it...sss-sstop...nnnghghhhh…!”

Silvermane wanted to go to her, but the iron presence of Little Hoofington’s slayer promised the move to be fatal. The colt hadn’t budged a step, but he was poised to strike, and the guard captain was already privy to his preternatural speed. Regretfully pushing his friend’s cries from his mind, Silvermane examined his attacker for any opening in the boy’s guard.

The eyes that stared back at the captain were clouded by madness but sharp as stakes. Chocolate Waffle was at the tail end of adolescence, essentially an adult in body. His wiry sinews were lithe and dextrous, and he was fresh. Silvermane could tell that the Waffle boy had used the time after destroying the changeling queen to rest and refresh himself, rather than finish off the final bug creature that infested the town. Hector and his charge had thus exhausted themselves fleeing from terrors borne only of their own minds.

“Your reputation does most of your work for you,” Silvermane challenged. “What do you think you’re going to gain from all of this? What happens when we’re all dead, and you’re alone in this icy Tartarus?”

For the first time, Chocolate Waffle spoke. His voice was raspy, as though he hadn’t used it in a long time, but his pitch was purposefully high, as though trying to mimic that of a mare.

“...I will be pretty...I will be beautiful…”

Madness. In the words and the eyes, Silvermane found nothing but the depths of criminal insanity. He wondered when the boy’s mind had broken, and how he had managed to keep it from his fellow citizens and family for so long. But whatever unique personality the boy was born with was gone now, and Silvermane knew reasoning would get him nowhere.

It was indeed kill or be killed.

Author's Note

There were no new deaths in this chapter.

Captain Hector Silvermane
Constable Dusky Rose (Veteran)
Deputy Beat Trotter (Jailer)
Whatzit (Changeling Queen)
Cadabra Smile
Lora Lore (Gumshoe)
Stringbean (Mule)
Kitty Contessa
Whim (Partypony)
Maple Waffle (Changeling Drone)
Buttermilk Waffle (Nurse)
Chocolate Waffle
Strawberry Waffle (Changeling Forger)
Scoops (Reporter)
Specs (Watchpony)
Caveat (Bodyguard)
Beanie