Nervously wringing his claws, Spike makes his way down the dimly lit corridors of the palace. It’s in the evening, the sun having set a couple of hours ago, and only a few ponies are still present. They pay the little dragon no mind as they pass him. He doesn’t really mind though, as he has bigger things weighing on his mind.

For the past few weeks now, strange things have been happening to the poor dragon. It all started that early morning when Twilight woke him up to test out a spell. He distinctly remembers her cutting him, then over charging the spell, and, most horrifically, he remembers his head exploding. However, his next memory was waking up again as though nothing had ever happened. A few seconds later, Twilight had pranced into the room calling his name, wanting to test out a new spell.

The same spell as before.

Upon trying to explain to her what had happened, Twilight had just scoffed and told him that it had been a bad dream. Even when he showed her the torn out page from the spellbook, she didn’t believe him. Instead she grounded him from having gems for two weeks for intentionally damaging a book. Which was totally unfair.

It wasn’t his fault the page had been torn out.

If that had been the only strange thing that happened, Spike would have chalked it up to a dream. However, a few days after the weird event, something else happened. Something horrible.

A shiver ran down Spike’s spine as he remembered the horrible pain in his chest from a group of heartworms, all because Twilight wouldn’t get a refill on his medication. The pain, the blood, the inability to breath. Spike remembers them all. He remembers the room slowly fading as darkness took him…

...and then he remembers waking up the morning before the event. The first thing he did was freak out. The next was to run to the palace nurse and get some more medication (putting a tab on Twilight’s account of course). The third thing was to find that spellbook and try to figure out what was going on. Unfortunately, after days of searching, he was unable to find anything to explain what was happening to him.

So, here he was. Heading to the one pony that might be able to help him.

Turning down a vacant hallway, he makes his way towards a large door with a motif of a shining sun on it: Princess Celestia’s personal chambers.

Princess Celestia let out a low groan as she removed her golden peytral. It was not a happy groan or a relieved groan, but the groan of someone who is in a good deal of discomfort. Tossing the chest piece off to the side where it joined the rest of her regalia, she collapsed unceremoniously upon her plush bed.

“Oh dear me,” she groans again as she rolls onto her back. Rubbing her slightly-bloated stomach with a hoof, she winces as an un-princess-like gurgle emanates forth. The pressure grows.

“A pox upon the griffon king,” she moans. Whenever the griffon visited for diplomatic meetings, it was customary to include a few dishes from the visiting dignitary’s homeland. For the griffons, this included meat. It was also customary to partake in the foreign dishes. Normally that’s not a problem, as Celestia can somewhat stomach a little meat from time to time. However, there is one particular dish that her stomach just can’t stand.

Another gurgle, louder and bubblier than the first, reverberates through Celestia’s abdomen.

“Ugh, why?” Celestia laments. “Why? Why did it have to be shellfish? Anything else would have been better. Steak, pork chops, veal; I would have been fine with veal. But no, it had to be shellfish. Ugh!” She curled up into a ball as her stomach gave another twinge of discomfort. “Even the curry from Saddle Arabia doesn’t hurt as much as this does!” As she bemoans her luck, a third gurgle sounds, and with it comes a horrible pain that causes Celestia to double over. Her eyes widen in alarm as the pressure in her gut grows suddenly.

Her tailhole puckers as it realizes what is coming.

Reacting quickly, Celestia lights up her horn, years of experience allowing her to react instinctively instead of plan. She casts two spells in quick succession. The first one washes over the room, turning everything within it temporarily fireproof to the point where not even the sun would burn it. The second spell puts a dampening charm around the room, allowing no sound to escape to the outside world.

Both spells are completed within a second of each other, just in time for Celestia’s sphincter to fail. Up from the depths of her bowels rumbles a demon that no mortal being hath seen before. A demon that one whispers of in the dead of night when all are asleep, for fear of earning its wraith.

Gritting her teeth, Celestia flicks her tail to the side and prepares to relieve herself of the horrible, gut-churning pressure. With her entire room fireproofed and no one able to hear what happens, she doesn’t have to worry about any collateral. As such, her eyes are squeezed shut tight as she pushes, and thus she does not see the door to her bedroom begin to swing open.

Spike debates to himself whether he should knock or not. Normally there are guards on either side of her door to announce visitors, but they are absent at the moment. Glancing down the hall and seeing no one, Spike slowly lifts a claw and knocks upon the door. At first there was no answer, but then Spike’s ears picked up the faintest of groans from the other side.

“P-Princess?” he called out. “Princess Celestia?” Placing his ear to the door, he heard another muffled groan. “Princess?” Receiving no answer, Spike did what any sensible creature would do in such a situation.

Standing on tipclaw, he grasps the doorknob and gives it a turn. With a click the door begins to swing open.

“Princess Celestia?” Spike says as he peers through the doorway. “Do you have a moment to talk? It’s important—”

And thus, Spike’s dragon eyes beheld a sight that no moral pony had seen in centuries, and which no pony would see for centuries to come. Too young to truly understand the gift he had before him, Spike could only start at the winking ponut in confusion before, without warning, the muscles rippled and a gout of plasma-like fire erupted from it accompanied by what sounded like a foghorn. The baby dragon was engulfed.

With his scales still soft and not yet fully developed, Spike was burnt to a crisp in seconds. Much like the mice he practiced his fire on in his free time.

After a good solid thirty seconds, the flames died out. Celestia breathed a sigh of relief, only to yelp when a soft thud came from the door. Glancing over, her eyes widen upon seeing the charred remains of the dragon.

“O-oh… oh no!” she gasps before scrambling quickly to her hooves. Racing over, she stares down at the burnt crisp in horror, only to collapse on her rump a second later. “Oh, oh mercy me! Spike! Oh no, no no nonononono! Oh, this is horrible!” There was a pause as she drags her hooves down her face. “Who’s going to clean the library now?” She pauses again, only for her pupils to shrink. “Wait, even worse! I’ve killed Twilight’s note taker!” Getting to her hooves, Celestia dances in place in a panic.

“Ooooh, she’s going to be so upset,” she whines. “I can hear it now. ‘Please slow down, Princess. I’m trying to keep up with you, but I can’t take notes as fast as Spike… who you killed.’ Ugh, she’s gonna be a nightmare to live with after this.” Grumbling to herself, Celestia’s gaze returns to Spike’s burnt form. Slowly, her ears perk.

Lighting up her horn, she snaps off one of Spike’s charred fingers and, bringing it to her nose, gives it a tentative sniff. Her face scrunches up and she snorts, trying to clear her nose of the smell. Giving the scrap of flesh a disgusted look, she then turns and holds it aloft in her magic. “Philomena! Here, girl. I’ve got a treat for you. Your favorite: dragon jerky!”

Author's Note

In case you hadn't realized yet, most of these chapters are created under the influence of booze. I am destroying my liver for you entertainment.

You're welcome.