It had once been music, filling the hole in his head.
The constant drone of the Hive comprised of a million billion voices whispering supplications to Mother and bowing to her commands had given him purpose. It gave him life. It gave him reason. It lulled him to sleep and roused him in the morning, gave him sweet caresses when he was uncertain and courage when he was afraid. He hadn't just felt the touch of the Swarm, he was the Swarm. He'd been the finger of a giant, the eye of a dragon.
But that was before the invasion, before the failure and the fall. Before Mother was cast down and the Hive scattered. In earlier times the thought of defeat was inconceivable. He remembered when Mother had first explained the plan to the Hive. How happy she had been that glorious day, and by extension all her Children! How excited had they all been at the thought of exerting their great power, which had been on a steady rise since Chrysalis took her rightful throne from the unworthy Other. They'd felt the burning, righteous anticipation of bringing pain and ruin to the Ponies, to suck the love from their timid, soft bodies and feed bountifully for generations! They'd gathered an unbreakable horde, ready for a swift victory, ready to gorge on the green land of Equestria, to consume!
But then they failed. And the love of the Ponies, their promised feast, had become their doom.
And now the music was gone. Mother was achingly silent. The Hive was scattered, divided, leaderless. And he was separate! Cut off! The very thought was anathema. The hole in his head contained only his own thoughts now, aimless and tiny. They echoed within the caverns of his own mind, barely enough to even make him feel alive. How pathetic it was to think only for himself. So hideously private. So dark and small. So lonesome.
It hurt.
He wandered without purpose or direction, skulking through a dank system of caves. The tight spaces and moist rock gave him a modicum of comfort, reminding him of home... but fresh heartache came when he realized these halls that looked so much like the Hive were not the Hive at all. He'd come here after wandering in a forest he didn't remember as anything but a dark haze. The direction he'd come from was meaningless. Where he was going was He wasn't bothered by the local wildlife; they hadn't seen a changeling here before, and didn't know what to make of him. But he didn't notice nor care that he'd been given that small mercy. He couldn't let his mind wander, to hear the awful tinny echo of his own small thoughts within the borderless expanse the Swarm once filled. He needed only to think of the Hive. To focus all of his thoughts upon them, to pour out the love he felt for them and the desolate howling need to be one with them again. Perhaps, if he felt sorrowful enough, his tiny echo of emotion might reach one of his wayward brothers or sisters, and they could begin to reunite.
Mother, take me home.
Every step he took he repeated the plea, casting out his small net of feelings into the vast sea of the unknown. Only a changeling would sense him, would even have a chance of finding him. And this strange new land was so very big, and there were only so many changelings.
Mother, bring me back.
Mother, I am lost, find me.
Mother, I do not want to be me, I want to be one with you.
Hungry. So hungry.
Take me home.
Skybright crested the rise outside of Dockota and stopped to take in the view. Hyacinth Hill was a well known landmark sitting just outside the Western Mountains, and it provided an excellent view of his little town, as well as the cream white unicorn stallion behind him struggling beneath a pile of surveying equipment. Skybright let the grin on his face shine and reveled in the huffy glare the unicorn sent his way.
"Say it," he said.
The unicorn blew some of his pale-green mane out of his eye. He continued to huff and puff and started to walk past Skybright, who kept pace, grinning like a loon.
"Say it."
"No."
"Say it!"
"Skybright!"
"Chalk Tip!"
"Ugh! Fine! Maybe it was a little too far for all this junk I've got with me. The least you can do is help out!"
Skybright laughed and grabbed one of Chalk Tip's saddlebags, adding it to his own considerable burden. As a pegasus he didn't like having lots of uneven weight on his back, but he didn't feel the pressing need to fly. That could come later, when they were ready to start their survey. The mountains just outside Dockota were supposedly brimming with new caches of gems, and the local Master of Mineralogy had decided to see if the stories of crazy prospectors had any credibility.
Skybright loved surveying. It was like being paid to have fun. He loved the outdoors, and he loved the solitude the job often provided. It was a job that wasn't likely to drop in demand, either: Dockota was on the northwestern fringe of the country, and many places remained unexplored. When ponies expanded, they did it slowly and cautiously, enjoying the control that knowing all the variables gave them. So went the need for the surveyors. Skybright liked to think there was an aura of mystery and daring do about ponies like him, who went into uncharted territory and plumbed its depths to better all of ponykind. He hadn't bumped into any adoring fans yet, though. Just Chalk Tip.
"How far to the drop site?" Skybright asked.
Chalk Tip levitated out the map and looked it over. "Looks like another couple hours of walking. There should be a ravine near here we can skirt around to get deeper into the foothills... then you'll have to fly the sounders up to the top of this here ridge and along the ravine. I'll take the bottom and line the base of this area here."
"Right, right," Skybright nodded dismissively. "Take it slow, take it easy, and take it safe."
"You have been paying attention," Chalk Tip said, rolling up the map again and giving his friend a bop on the head with it. "I could've sworn you were asleep at, oh, every single briefing we've ever had."
"It's talent, my friend," Skybright replied, rotating his ears in all directions. "It's talent."
The trip to the ravine was a short one, between Skybright's chatting and Chalk Tip's inveterate ability to zone out and ignore Skybright for long periods of time. Skybright never saw himself as annoying or impolite; it was just his way of making new friends. He could stand to be on his own for a good long while, but that didn't mean he didn't enjoy the company of other ponies. When he was up in the clouds, letting the sun warm his back and the wind comb his mane, he had plenty of time to think. It was like the words built up inside of him, stocked and prepared to be launched at the first opportunity. He liked to think his spyglass cutie mark wasn't just about having the ability to see well in general: it helped him spy unsuspecting ponies who just didn't know they needed a good conversation to brighten up their day.
Sometimes, though, just sometimes he suspected that he laid it on a little thick, and on those days he was glad to have a friend like Chalk Tip, who was about as longsuffering as it was possible for a pony to get.
They perched atop the edge of a rise and looked down at the ravine the prospector had claimed to find the nest of geodes and gems in, Skybright talking and preparing for his flight while Chalk Tip calmly fastened the sounders to his harnesses. The pegasus enjoyed the way his voice echoed off the rocks and boulders that surrounded them. This area was barren of plant life save for moss, and utterly desolate compared to the lush forest that ran right up to these foothills.
"... So then I tell her, 'I must've flown so high I found Elysium, because you definitely look like an angel.'"
"Uh huh," Chalk Tip droned, tightening all the straps at once with a yank of magic.
"She didn't really take it the way I thought she would though."
"You don't say."
"Does it count as a reaction if they throw a cloud at your face?"
"Straps are set."
"At least I got her name. Diamond Beach... that's a pretty name, isn't it?"
"You remember the guidelines for spacing, right?"
"Sure, sure. Plant one at every hundred foot interval... no further up than halfway up the strata, and continue on to that ridge."
"Right. I'll be right here keeping watch. I send up a flare, you know what to do."
"Of course! Come on Chalk, I wouldn't leave ya hanging. Oh, uh... those Guard reports are recent, right?"
"Just a few hours old. It's been a week since the changelings attacked Canterlot, and things haven't gotten any worse out here as far as monsters are concerned. Biggest thing they spotted was a bear, and that was miles north."
"They haven't gotten better either."
"Then let's get this over with. We still have that flat area in B26 and the ridge to the north to do."
They gave each other a hoof-bump, and Skybright took to the air and dipped down into the large ravine cut between the rocks. It was a wide, rubble-filled place, dropping thirty feet down and fifty across with just a small trickle of water running through it. Earlier in the year spring run-off turned that bubbling stream into a gushing river that covered most of the bottom. That inexorable erosion had supposedly helped the solo prospectors find their haul of loot. Skybright reached over his shoulder and pulled out a sounder from the bundle attached to him, jabbing it into the rock halfway down the side. They were simple mechanisms made of brass, forged into the shape of a giant pin. The needle he jabbed into the earth, made easier by an enchantment that made the tip incredibly hot and incredibly sharp upon contact. Then through means beyond his understanding and above his pay grade, magical sensors inside cast intangible feelers into the rock, recording everything a pony needed to know about its composition. The bulbous head was where the majority of the fine-tuned instruments resided, and they had the ability to cast out a signal when a deposit had been found, which unicorns then used to help with their reports.
Chalk Tip often described receiving the signals as having somepony 'talk into your horn,' which was unicorn-speak for 'I have no idea how to explain it except in weird metaphors even I don’t understand.' Whatever kind of signal this thing gave off, it was comprehensible to the unicorns and invaluable for the transfer of information about potential dig sites.
Skybright didn't even want to know the details. He just knew it was much easier to stab the pointy thing into the rock and move on, letting the big know-it-alls handle it from there.
One after the other, the probes slid into the rock. It was monotonous work, but Skybright knew how important it was. He'd been keeping an eye on the rocks around here on the way in; some of them just looked like they were perfect to start cracking into. Most of the rocks around here were volcanic, making them prime candidates, and somehow the ponies were the first to pick up on its potential value. He was surprised Diamond Dogs or even Dragons hadn't already moved in here. Maybe it had something to do with the remote location, or its proximity to ponies. At least the old volcanoes were long extinct... according to some of the local folklore, it had been a Dragon breeding ground in ages past, when the lava still flowed hot and thick.
When he finished with the strata survey, he dropped to the ground and started plunging more sounders in, taking his time as he walked along the bottom of the ravine, enjoying the crunch and crackle of rocks underhoof. It was times like this he could enjoy the peace of the great outdoors, listen to the bubbling of the stream, the distant call of birds. Just for kicks he yelled up into the ravine to hear his echo.
"Celestia's got a giant flank!"
He giggled to himself as he planted another sounder, and when he looked up again for another shout, he saw Chalk Tip looking over the edge.
"What'd you say?!"
"Oh, uh, nothing!" Skybright called back, sheepishly going back to work. Maybe if he stared hard enough at the ground he could convince Chalk Tip he hadn't been yelling nonsense at the top of his lungs.
"Well hurry it up! We don't have all day here, pal! I'd like to eat lunch at a reasonable hour!"
Skybright grumbled as he flew to the next interval, jabbing the sounder in with a bit too much force.
"Yeah, and I'd like to be the Duke. Like that'll ever..."
The sight of a large crack in the face of the ravine wall. It was roughly triangular and jagged; clearly a fissure caused by the rock shifting over millenia, as opposed to water erosion.
He looked up at the lip of the ravine. Chalk Tip had gone, probably scouting out the rest of the area. He looked back at the fissure. It was big enough for a pony to fit inside. Maybe, if he could squeeze through the entrance, he could get a sounder nice and deep into the rock. A nice deep sounding would provide information far more conclusive than a simple surface scan, which went deep enough, but even he knew that this job was just the first of several steps in making a decision.
But it could be dangerous... something could live in there. A young quarray eel, maybe. It was deep down and far enough back a lazy Guard patrol wouldn't even spot it, let alone swoop down to investigate. He should at least let his partner know.
"Hey Chalk! Chalk Tip!" he shouted up. "I got a little cave thingy here!"
A few moments later, Chalk Tip poked his head over the lip of the ravine again.
"Say what? A cave?"
"Yeah! I'm gonna check it out!"
"Skybright, we don't have time for that!"
"But I could get a really deep sounding! We could cut the work in this sector in half!"
"Key word is could, Skybright! Leave it alone! You remember what happened the last time we lost a sounder?"
Skybright huffed. That landslide had been in an utterly remote area. The only casualty had been the sounder! But that hadn't stopped the boss from chewing him out over it.
"Look, it'll just take a second," he shouted back. "Five minutes! Then we can break for lunch."
"Skybright! Skybright, that's not in line with the regulations! Sky!!!"
The pegasus ignored his friend and squeezed into the fissure, jiggling his flanks to what few sounders he had left in order. He didn't want them scraping along the walls; there was barely enough room for two ponies to walk abreast in here.
He reached back into his saddlebag and pulled out a flashlight, fastening it to his shoulder. With a quick flick of his hoof it poured light down into the tunnel. It was slanted and uncomfortable, but as long and high as it was he could move somewhat freely. Not enough to open his wings to their full span, but...
The cave went further back than he thought. He kept walking, keeping the light straight forward, though it didn't go too far into the utter blackness. Could this be some kind of access point to another system further in? He turned and judged the distance; maybe fifty feet in by how small the fissure looked now. He didn't dare go in too far; he might get lost if he started taking any bends and turns. He decided he'd gone far enough and planted his sounder, sticking it firmly in the rock.
Then he heard the skittering, unmistakably loud and clear, less than ten feet away. He jumped back with a gasp and twisted awkwardly when he couldn't open his wings for all the bags and harnesses on him. Fear boiled up angrily inside, unstoppable and instinctive. Night terrors that once crawled in the back corners of his mind sprang to the forefront, menacing him with sharp teeth and grasping claws. He didn't care if he was panicking, he knew he heard something, and that something was in the cave in front of him.
He tumbled back and cried out as his bundle of sounders caught on a wall, sending him flopping onto his back. He opened his wings but that made things worse; they brushed on the sides of the cave wall and couldn't get any lift, and he felt the weight of all his equipment holding him down, keeping him from flying. A pegasus who couldn't fly, stuck in a tunnel. The very thought sparked an hysterical fire that made him lose control over his own body. He kicked his legs and cried out in unbridled terror, hysterical nonsense words competing with the clatter of falling instruments. The flashlight pointed uselessly at the ceiling.
Finally he got his legs under him and kicked out, but as luck had it a sounder got caught cross-wise across the tunnel as he pushed forward with his legs, sending him back onto the hard earth. His teeth clicked as his chin collided painfully with the ground.
Something scrabbled noisily on the rocks behind him. He heard a hiss.
"Get away, get away!" he screamed uselessly, kicking his hooves in a desperate attempt to defend himself. "Chalk! CHALK!"
Something hard and heavy hit him on the back of the head. He didn't feel much pain, just a sharp burst and then a spreading numbness from the back of his skull. The world went dark and dull, the distant noise of the stream outside muted. His own hysterical breathing sounded hollow in his ears.
His limbs went slack. Everything suddenly felt so hard to move. His own head felt ten times heavier when he tried to move it.
The last thing he felt was something take hold of his bags and begin to drag him deeper into the tunnel, over the cold, uncaring rock.
The changeling watched as the Wing-Pony stirred in his bonds, mumbling incoherently. The changeling had taken him further into the tunnels, away from the brightness where his friend might have found both of them. He'd struck the Wing-Pony with just the right amount of force: enough to incapacitate, but not cause lasting harm. That was the idea, at least. He'd just have to see if the Wing-Pony's brains weren't scrambled when he woke up. If not, fine. If so, still fine. He could figure something out.
It'd been an unexpected event. Not necessarily a windfall. Not really a bad change to the monotonous wandering, either. But it was something. The changeling had seen a chance and took it, and now he was stuck with the consequences, come what may. He hadn't meant to encounter any Ponies, just noted that there was an exit to the caves, and he might as well take it. Outside he might be able to travel faster, even if he wouldn't be safely confined anymore. He'd been reduced to solid food the last few days, hunting rats and other small, insignificant things. The meat only went so far. The blood wasn't Pony blood. It didn't slake the real hunger inside, the need to devour the energy that flowed from feeling and emotion. They were his true food source. Feelings connected him to the Hive. They gave a changeling focus and were the medium through which Mother gave her orders. Without them, he'd felt his mind slipping, one hoof after the other, into oblivion. He could only stand the endless echo of his own thoughts for so long.
But this Wing-Pony had been so full of life and vitality. The fear he'd felt as the changeling ran him down was like a heady drug, sharp and tangy and oh so rich. The base needs and emotions of animals were drops of water to a parched throat. A full-grown Pony was a feast.
The changeling felt a rush of excitement as he looked the Wing-Pony over, covered in bags and silly, pointy things. What was he trying to accomplish here, jabbing that giant needle into the ground? Had such silly Ponies really defeated Mother? Trapped in the sticky webbing the changeling secreted the Wing-Pony looked so small. So helpless. So weak. Something like... what was this feeling? A sense of righteousness. Like what he'd felt when Mother made her grand speech about enslaving the Ponies and casting down Equestria. He wasn't sure what it was yet, but somehow seeing this Pony helpless and in pain made him feel better about his own situation. It empowered him, seeing a hated enemy feel just as helpless as he'd felt.
Unable to drown out the howling silence due to the Wing-Pony's unconsciousness, the changeling felt his own thoughts return to him. And somehow they made a weird kind of sense, even if they weren't the emotions of the Queen, of Mother. Why should he be the only one to suffer like this? Before, it'd been a matter of food and sustenance. Nothing personal. But he'd been alone and miserable for so long, for no other reason than he'd fallen somewhere and his brethren somewhere else. And this Pony was so happy for no reason at all.
He was glad to devour those feelings.
The Wing-Pony started, twisting his head around. The changeling watched and waited, not caring how much noise he made. They were far, far back in the tunnels and warrens under the rocky hills. He'd picked up the scent of Diamond Dogs once or twice, but they were old and held signs that they'd only passed through. Larger animals didn't come here either. It was remote. He let the Wing-Pony wake up in silence.
He sat impassively as he felt the waves of relief at being alive, then the fear at the Pony's immobility, roll off the Wing-Pony and wash into him, steadying his mind and solidifying his thoughts. It wasn't love he sought or needed right now; he'd take anything he could get. Love was a reward, a carrot at the end of a stick. Reserved for the skilled changelings who could steal another Pony's place and take the love of their family and friends. No, he wouldn't get pure love from this particular Pony. But maybe he could learn enough of his mannerisms and life that he could steal the Wing-Pony's place in Equestria. Maybe gather enough strength to strike out again and finish his journey home, or wherever the Hive had moved on to.
"What... what's going on?" the Wing-Pony asked.
The changeling stared. He watched the Wing-Pony's eyes roll in their sockets, trying to pierce the gloom. The changeling sent a surge of magic through his horn. It was precious energy he couldn’t waste, but he couldn't see well either in this utter pitch black. Both the changeling's horn and the Wing-Pony's bindings glowed, making him gasp in fright.
His darting eyes fell on the changeling.
"Ahh! Ahhhh!" the Wing-Pony yelled. "Ahhh! What are you! Where am I! What's going on? Let me go!"
"Quiet," the changeling snapped. It felt strange to hear his own voice. Not just because he'd been silent for so long on his own, but because it wasn't backed up by the thrumming noise of a thousand other voices. It sounded sibilant and spiteful. Weak. Too weak.
"Quiet," he said again. "You can't move." He hated having to speak for himself. It was a step further than thinking and feeling for himself. His disconnect from the Swarm became that much more acute.
"You are my prisoner. You are not getting away."
"Why did you do this? Are you a changeling? I saw the reports! You're a changeling, aren't you?"
"Yes!" the changeling hissed. His wings fluttered and buzzed irritably. "I am a changeling! And you are my captive! Now be quiet!"
The Wing-Pony went quiet. Uncomfortable silence reigned for some time, how long, the changeling didn't know or care. He had to watch this pony. Observe him. Get his little tics and inflections down pat. This was his one ticket out of here.
"Are... are you gonna..." the Wing-Pony began again, and trailed off, stifling a sniffle. "You know...? I, I heard about the attack on Canterlot. I thought you were all beaten."
"We were," the changeling growled. "But we will return! We are stronger than you!"
The Wing-Pony shuffled his rear hooves on the ground. "My, my name is Skybright."
The changeling said nothing.
Skybright's mind tumbled on, heedless of the fear and the ache in his head. His stomach felt like it was turning over, and he was certain if he'd had lunch he'd be throwing it up by now. He was scared witless and in pain and alone, and he didn't know if he was going to die or not. He did the only thing he could do: talk. It distracted him from the throbbing in his head and the tears building in the corners of his eyes.
"I don't know what you want with me. I've heard stories, so I guess... you're gonna try to suck out my emotions or something. Take my place. Well it won't work! It definitely won't. My friends know who I am. You're not getting away with this. We beat you at Canterlot and you're not gonna beat us here!"
"Be quiet!" the changeling yelled, chittering angrily. "You are a Pony! I will talk and you will listen!"
Skybright clamped his mouth shut, but he could already feel the words bubbling up behind his teeth. He couldn't help it. Nervousness and fear were taking their toll. He still didn't quite grasp the enormity of his situation, he was just saying things, and this changeling was really the most terrifying thing he'd ever seen apart from the burned pastries Chalk Tip tried baking once-
"Stop that!" the changeling barked, beginning to pace. "Stop doing that!"
"Doing what?" Skybright asked. His mind raced as he went through a myriad of feelings, ranging from anger to excitement to fear and back around again. He couldn't process what was happening and-
"I said stop it!" the changeling almost screeched, holding his head in his hooves. "Stop stop stop! Stop talking! Stop thinking! I... I can't handle it all!"
Skybright blinked as his thoughts came to a screeching halt.
"You... can you read my mind?"
The changeling clacked his jaws together.
"I... feel it," he growled. "I taste everything in that stupid Pony head of yours. You feel so many things at once. It's repulsive! I will eat your feelings, yes," he said. "I will eat and grow strong and you will die! And then I will go among you Ponies and continue to eat until I can find my way home!"
Skybright, for whatever reason, felt his ears perk at the mention of home more than anything else. This changeling had diabolical plans, yes, but... maybe if he kept him talking, kept him distracted with, well, feeling, then he might be able to figure a way out of this. He swallowed the icy dagger of fear that had been creeping up his throat and spoke again instead.
"You... you're lost?" he wondered.
The changeling hissed. "No more talking, Wing-Pony! You will shut up now! I will take you further into the caves until I can stash you somewhere safe. Then we will talk. You will tell me everything. And I will take your life as well as your feelings."
He went over to Skybright's side and opened his jaws. Those big fangs made him want to shy away, but the changeling's sharp teeth were used on the gooey bindings that had so far kept him trapped against the stone wall of the cave. They carved through the bindings like bread. Skybright watched the chunks disappear back down the changeling's throat and struggled not to retch. Before he could think to make a break for it, more flowed out from between the changeling's teeth, fastening his wings and forelegs securely against his sides. He fell away from the wall still firmly tied together, and then the changeling pushed his head under Skybright and heaved the pegasus onto his back. The changeling's skin was dark and chitinous and disturbingly cool, having none of the pleasing warmth of another pony.
"We go," the changeling intoned, and Skybright was left to whimper as he was pulled further into the shadows, away from everything he'd ever known.
The Wing-Pony lasted about ten minutes before he started babbling again.
"Do you have a name?" he asked.
The changeling frowned. "No."
"Why not?"
"I don't need one."
"Why?"
The changeling felt a disgusting undertone of pity along with the Wing-Pony's fear that left a copper aftertaste in the back of his mind. "Shut up."
That gave the changeling another five minutes of blessed quiet as they wandered the halls. There was a larger grotto further on, much further on, full of luminous mushrooms that the changeling had stumbled upon a day ago. It was fed by a small stream that ran along the cave floor. There he could stash the Wing-Pony and glean whatever morsels he could.
So far the Wing-Pony hadn't given him much, his mind running through a menagerie of emotions so quickly it was like trying to snatch a bite of fish from a rushing river. He couldn't tell if it was a defense mechanism or the Wing-Pony had been struck harder than he thought and was just confused.
"You can call me Skybright."
"You already said your name."
"Well why don't you use it?"
"I use it for your friends when I am fooling them!"
"I don't much appreciate being called 'Wing-Pony' all the time. We're pegasi. That's plural for pegasus. Didn't you ever get that memo?"
"You are supposed to be quiet!"
"Well, I can't really do anything else, can I?" the Wing-Pony—apparently the Pegasus—muttered. The changeling had never been on an infiltration mission before, as he'd been low on the social ladder, so he made a note to remember all the 'proper' Pony types.
The changeling considered spitting some of the binding mucous onto the Wing-Pony's mouth, but he didn't want to risk suffocating his captive. He also considered beating up the talkative creature, but he might let his emotions get the better of him and seriously hurt his one chance for survival. He needed to feed off the Pony, not fly off the handle. It was so easy to lose control away from the Hive, one reason he'd been so proud to take the Pegasus alive, and another to be proud of concocting a scheme to keep himself alive. Lower ranking changelings could lose their initiative and drop into a stupor in the late stages of starvation... but he'd beaten the odds and kept his mind together so far.
Even still, if he hadn't stumbled on this Pony he might have starved to the point of madness, becoming nothing more than a truly empty husk, no better than the animals he'd hunted. This pony was annoying and strange and he couldn't focus on easy, mellow feelings, but without him... the changeling knew he would've died.
In a very strange, disconcerting way, this Pegasus' bubbling vitality had fed his own. That didn't make him feel pity or even kinship with the Pony, but it certainly put a strange feeling in his gut. He hadn't thought of devouring feelings in terms of need before. He'd never believed a changeling or the Hive in general actually needed sentient creatures, in much the same way a bird of prey didn't think it needed the animals it feasted on. They only saw food and ate it because they were hungry. The changeling had believed things would be much simpler than this. No plans. No weighing of risks and benefits. Just food. But the Pegasus was no longer just food. It had become a necessity, for now, at least until he got his strength back to the point where he could maintain his cover for a long period of time.
The changeling shook himself and walked on, refusing to let these strange and alien thoughts invade his head. He had to concentrate. He needed the newfound energy given to him from the Pony to cast out more of his emotional net, casting out his thoughts.
As always, no answer came.
"Where are we going?" the Pegasus asked after another long pause.
"Wherever I choose," the changeling grumbled.
"Well that's not very helpful," the Pegasus muttered. "I mean, if you're gonna drop me off to die in a cave somewhere, you could at least try to be nice about it. Sugarcoat it maybe. It's what I'd do if I was rampaging maniac like you."
The changeling felt the sarcasm as much as he heard it, and it just annoyed him further. Every feeling was food, but not all tasted good or even nourished him very much. This Pegasus' berating was hard to sift through to find good, honest emotion.
"You will be very annoying to mimic, Wing-Pony," he spat.
"Hey, I gave you my name you little jerk!" the Pegasus snapped back. "And that's more than you've given me!"
"You didn't have to give your name."
"Exactly! I didn't have to. But even if you kidnapped me and you're probably going to kill me, I still did anyway! So chew on that for a while!"
The changeling felt another wave of sorrow and fear roll off the Pegasus. Their close proximity just made it stronger. But the changeling felt other things too while skimming the surface of the Pony's emotions: an undercurrent of concern, not just for himself, but for friends and family. Love. He tried to snatch at it, greedily, but he wasn't nearly strong enough to pluck it from the Pony's mind. He'd have to make do with surface emotions for now... he could figure out the details later.
"Why must you have my name?" the changeling asked, genuinely curious.
"Because everypony needs one," the Pegasus sullenly replied.
"Why?" the changeling asked. "I have never needed a name. You do not need a name."
"Don't be stupid. Everypony needs a name! It's what you're called! It defines who you are!"
"A word? No. We describe ourselves with feelings."
"Okay..." The Pegasus rolled his eyes. "So how do you feel about yourself?"
“I...”
The changeling lost focus on walking, slowing down to a crawl. His eyes danced in their sockets, searching the walls around them. He’d never once even given thought to that. And when he tried to find the answer, when he looked deep down and tried to find himself... he couldn’t. It was like waving his hoof in a giant dark room without any walls, just a big gaping blackness like the emptiness of his own mind.
“I...”
I don’t know.
That bothered him. It bothered him that it bothered him. He decided not to answer directly and thrust away the discomfort with a savage shake of his head. "Why do you talk so much?"
"Because I'm going to die and I'd rather not do it in silence like some worthless animal!"
The outburst was so sudden the changeling flinched. He stopped walking again, his limbs rigid as he listened to the pony's voice fading into the tunnels of the cave system. He'd felt something other than fear and anger in that spike of emotion. He'd felt a twinge of pride, even righteousness; the kind of anger that only came from a creature that knew its place in the world and wouldn't be budged from it.
The Pony clearly thought he was worth something, even if he'd just been food to the changeling. But it wasn't like the Pony had outlined an argument and spelled out reasons why he should be considered the changeling's equal. The changeling felt it, deep down in his very bones. The mimicry that he depended on for survival had given him a passing, fleeting empathy with that single burst of emotion. The changeling felt the Pony's self-worth... and it seemed the changeling had felt it like it was his own, too.
He decided he didn't like it very much at all. He was supposed to imitate the pony, not feel for it, or like it. He wasn't skilled in the ways of subterfuge and true mimicry. Was this what the scouts and spies felt? Did Mother feel this way when she had been attempting to steal the place of the Pony Princess?
No. He couldn't think too much. His own thoughts were echoing too much, coming back to him, making him think of things that didn't make sense outside of the Swarm. He couldn't have that. He shut himself down and kept walking.
Skybright muttered and mumbled to himself as the changeling walked at a steady pace, taking twist after turn after double back. What was with this guy? He didn't seem to get tired or anything. Was this how all changelings worked?
All things considered, he'd thought he'd be dead now instead of later. He'd thought about his inevitable fate, and decided that it was probably best if he just didn't think about it at all. He didn't like the idea of dying slowly in a cave while a doppelganger took over his life, and as a rule bad things of that magnitude didn't enter his mind too often. He usually thought of himself as a cheerful kind of pegasus. He'd figure a way out of this, for sure. Or his friends would rescue him. Sooner or later Chalk Tip would realize something was up and grab the Guard, and they'd come swooping in...
Until then, he had to figure out how to keep himself alive, and the changeling close so an opportunity to escape could prevent itself. To look on the bright side, he reminded himself that at least he was being carried, even if the changeling's back was hard and rough and some pointy bit kept poking his ribs. It was sure to be rubbed raw by the time they stopped.
"Hey," he said. "Hey, changeling. You never told me how you... uh, feel about yourself."
It'd been an hour at least since he'd last spoken, the dank atmosphere and claustrophobic walls dampening even his talkative spirit. Surely the changeling would answer?
No, he would not. Skybright was curious though. What did a changeling think? Obviously this one didn't think much of itself, but he'd never really known what changelings were. They weren't exactly a plague on Equestria... nothing was ever since the Princesses took charge. And here was a real live changeling, probably fresh from the attack at Canterlot. And he was being kidnapped by one.
In a bizarre way, it was a very interesting twist of fate.
He squirmed on the changeling's back.
"Hey. Changeling. Hey you. Hey. Tell me. Come on. Tell me? Please? Please? Can you just—"
He was interrupted by the changeling abruptly craning his neck and spitting on Skybright's mouth. The pegasus instantly felt a rubbery, sticky mucous slap over his lips, binding most of them together. It didn't get full coverage, but he could only make weird noises out of the side of his mouth as he struggled in renewed terror and indignation.
"I do not feel," the changeling said plainly. Skybright stopped struggling. "Not about myself. I never had to. But then you Ponies ruined everything. You destroyed Mother and scattered her Swarm, her children. Me. I do not want to be me. I want to be one with them again. I will not stop until I am. I am tired of thinking of myself as 'I.' It is silly and selfish. I have only survived because I want to be useful to the Hive again."
He didn't seem to be speaking to Skybright. His words were flat and rote, as if they were being read from a script that hovered in front of his face. Skybright didn't know why, but he swore he could feel sadness in those words. He wasn't surprised. How could a creature not feel about themselves? Wasn't that how you discovered your own self-worth? Giving yourself a base-line of self-importance to judge the rest of the world's treatment of you?
Was a changeling really that empty inside?
And why did this mucous gunk taste like cherries?
The entire time the changeling walked Skybright mulled over the changeling's words, and what they could mean to his fate. This changeling didn't seem to feel any special malice towards him in particular. He hadn't even called him by name. He was just lumping Skybright in with the rest of the 'evil Ponies.' And he hadn't beaten Skybright or done anything particularly nasty to him. Well... except threatening to kill him. But there didn't seem to be genuine spite behind the act. There didn't seem to be anything inside the changeling. He'd clearly never met a pony in his life, didn't even know what a pegasus was, and he was judging Skybright based on... what? Whatever this thing called the Hive told him? His eyes were a bright solid sheen of blue, betraying no emotions and reflecting perfectly the world around him. His carapace was similarly blank and mirror-like. There was something deeply symbolic about that, but Skybright didn't dwell on it.
This changeling was going to try and replace him in his life, and use that as a means to an end. Did he really care about ponies and what they'd done to his kind? Skybright didn't even know what ponies had done to deserve this enmity from a single changeling. He resolved to find out. Maybe the changeling would tell him. Skybright needed to talk to give him information, right? And the changeling couldn't get anything out of Skybright apart from his appearance if he kept quiet about himself.
He might just get out of this after all.
It was a while before they reached the place where the changeling said he'd drop off Skybright. It was truly a beautiful place, large and cool with gems sticking out of the walls and luminous mushrooms giving everything a strange purple sheen. Skybright took note of the gems. If he wasn't in a battle for survival, he might have taken the time to feel vindicated; at least he'd die knowing his survey hadn't been in vain! The changeling deposited Skybright against a stalagmite and backed off.
They stared at each other. Skybright shifted uncomfortably after the first ten minutes, but the changeling just continued to stare at him, long and hard.
And then something amazing happened.
It started with a glowing green light at the end of the changeling's horn, which spread all the way down his body. Wherever the light traveled, the changeling vanished, to be replaced by a perfect copy of Skybright's own body. If his lips weren't fastened together, his jaw would've dropped straight to the ground.
"What do you know of it?" Skybright's copy asked him slowly. "About us? Nothing. I felt your feelings on the way here, Pony. Guilt and questions and hope. You don't know the first thing about me. I can feel your defiant anger, saying I am wrong, that I should think. Well I will not, Pony. This mind is not yours and isn't mine! It is the Queen's! And what she says is right. You are a Pony. You are wrong!"
Skybright tried to speak, which only made the changeling roll his eyes at the muffled indignation pouring out of Skybright’s mouth.
“I am going to scout the area,” he declared. “When I return, you had better be asleep, Wing-Pony.”
Skybright huffed and shook his head, wagging his mucous covered mouth. The changeling considered him for a long moment.
“… Fine,” he said, and with another zap of magic the gunk was gone. Skybright took a deep breath and coughed. When he looked up again the changeling had already left him.
He curled up on the floor and cried, finally free to release his feelings.
The changeling waited until he’d rounded a corner before he collapsed against a wall and let the illusion fade. He’d gotten just enough nourishment to use his mimicry magic for those few seconds to shock the pony and convince him the changeling was truly capable of taking his place. But it had taken an incredible amount of concentration and energy. Panting, he pressed his head against the cool stone and let his muscles go slack.
He saw a large cave mushroom glowing nearby and gobbled it down without thinking. The illusion had been costly, and now he felt dizzy and unfocused. The meat of the mushroom would fill his stomach and give strength to his limbs, but he wouldn’t truly feel energized nor full until he’d eaten good, honest emotion. He needed the pony to be calm now, and thoughtful. He needed to wait until he started thinking of home and friends.
For now, he had to rest. All over again he was stuck in the unenviable position of having no real food, yet he needed energy to accomplish anything. Curse ponies and their endless well of feelings.
The changeling felt the Pony’s feelings blossom like a tentative flower once they both had time to collect themselves. He felt the sharp, bitter taste of sorrow and gushing, savory nostalgia, and over it all was the wonderful, warm, satisfying sensation of love. The changeling showered in it like scraps falling from a table, but if he went back inside now the Pegasus would bury it under fear and mistrust. The changeling couldn’t risk that. He had to come back later. He resolved to do as he said and scout the area.
The cave hadn’t changed much from when he’d last been here. There were still strange, sightless fish in little rivulets of water carved through the rock, transparent insects skittering along the walls, and the cool, pleasantly humid air of the cavern. He wandered a few back passages until he thought the Pegasus had calmed down, though he didn’t really know what a Pony did in order to calm down. He’d never needed to calm down himself. The Queen told him to get angry, and he was furious. The Queen told him to heel and be quiet, and he shut down. The Queen told him to devour the weak and feed the strong, and he helped purify the Hive of all those who second-guessed her. Why did Ponies need time to feel, to process what their minds told them? Why bother thinking when acting was so much more convenient?
The changeling thought on these things for a while, going back and forth with himself. The Ponies had feelings so much more keen than his own. He couldn’t deny now that they fed on Ponies because they had the strongest feelings in the world; look at what two Ponies in love had done to their all-powerful Queen, even after she’d proven stronger than the Sun Pony! Did the fact that Ponies have so much more time and space for their emotions mean they were stronger, in the end? No, surely changelings could be that strong too. Changelings would always be better, because the changelings were the predators and the Ponies were food. But food that was so strong…
He hadn’t considered the merits of introspection before, not when he had time and space to himself. It was like the changeling was a stranger to himself and was just as big a mystery as the Pony in that cavern. The changeling almost liked it. At the very least, hiding in his own mind gave him solace from the pounding, throbbing agony of separation. He didn’t think of himself as apart from the Hive, but at least he didn’t have to dwell on the fact that he was alone.
He found that he hadn’t really been paying attention to his surroundings when he noticed that he had gone down a passage he’d never seen before, and inside were clues to something that filled him with a deep, instinctive fear. The passage was like all the others: dark, musty and cool, but he had senses more attuned with the ebb and flow of life than a Pony, and he knew that there was danger here. The dark shadows loomed instead of settling on the rocks, and the tunnel seemed more closed in than the others. It was just like when the Hive felt a disturbance in their tunnels: a feathery, fluttery feeling of disturbance passing over them all, as if the Hive had feelers and they were its nervous system. His pointed ears tingled and his fangs itched. His wings buzzed and his eyes narrowed.
Something was in the tunnel with him.
He hissed loudly and made a mock charge forward, determined to frighten the intruder away. But nothing came forward to challenge him, and nothing backed off either.
He hissed again, remembering the times he had faced down larger beasts in the woods and forced them to flee with a show of force. But he didn’t feel any base emotion here, no thundering bang of an animal’s fight-or-flight instincts taking hold. It was more of a buzz, a single, discordant noise that made him dizzy and nauseous. This was wasn’t a cave bear or a manticore. It was something else.
He took one last step forward, flaring his wings and buzzing angrily.
Deep down in the darkness ahead, he heard the sound of carapace skittering over stone.
The changeling turned and ran for his life.
He took flight to avoid stumbling over stones, using his keen night vision as he hurtled back to the gem-filled cavern, cursing his inattentiveness. He’d gotten lost in his own thoughts again, like some common stupid Pony! Curse them! Curse them all! Feelings would be the death of him if they weren’t his food!
He heard the Pegasus screaming for help and cursed them all again as he exploded into the chamber, hissing and buzzing for all he was worth.
The Pegasus was scrambling over the ground, trying to overcome the sticky mucous binding his forelegs that also clutched the stone beneath him, screaming as he kicked his back legs. Just ten feet away from him and approaching fast was an eight-legged monstrosity that outmatched the biggest Ponies and changelings, all spiny chitin and dripping mandibles. Two shovel-like claws raised up, ready to strike and tear and rend.
The changeling didn’t think this time. He just acted.
With all the strength he’d managed to scrape off the Pegasus’ emotions he streaked right into the face of the beast. He lowered his horn and pulled up sharply at the last moment as the six eye stalks above the fang-filled mouth came into view; there was a small tug on the changeling’s horn and one of the creature's eyes was torn free, impaled on the tip of the changeling's horn and dripping fluids. The creature scrambled backwards, covering its face with its front claws and raising a deadly stinger on its abdomen over its head to ward off more attacks. A wound like that would make it cautious, but the changeling wasn’t strong enough to kill it.
He buzzed straight backwards and snatched the screaming Pegasus up by the mucous around his middle. The Pegasus just kicked his legs helplessly and kept screaming, much to his annoyance, as he chose a random tunnel and flew as long and hard as he could before he had to stop.
Breathing hard, he dropped the Pegasus onto the ground and looked back, then forward, found nothing but darkness and gloom, where every shadow could hide another menace. For the moment they were alone, but the Diggers were tenacious. It sometimes took the concerted effort of an entire Hive to drive them back.
The Pegasus finally found his voice after he was done weeping in terror, which the changeling found strangely satisfying. He’d never tasted that level of pure, animal fright from a Pony before. It was energizing, but hardly appetizing.
“What… what was that?!” the Pegasus gasped, curling up on the floor and trying to chew through his bonds.
The changeling did it for him, and the Pegasus lay on the ground, surprised to find himself suddenly free. The changeling loomed over him.
“That,” he said, “was a Bore Spider. And very soon, Pegasus, more of them will be coming.”
The Pegasus shuddered. “It was looking for-”
“Food,” answered the changeling. “Us.”
