Alternate Verse

Karmic Convergence

This is it: The Final Showdown.

The sky around me is apocalyptic orange; the land far below aflame. The bastard responsible hovers before me with his tryhard scythe, dumb red cape, and that punchable smirk. I stand firm, sword primed, ready for whatever this psychotic weirdo will throw at me. And more than antsy to strike him back for the years of strife and death he's sown. Show him how much pain his precious “conflict” can induce.

But his smirk drops suddenly as he tenses up, eyes darting around. Distracted.

“That can't…? No, there's no way.”

As I'm about to ask what he's muttering about, I feel it as well. Slight, but distinct. Something else has shown up.

I spot the chunk of masonry soaring toward Not-Charon, who smacks it into rubble with a quick bap of his scythe. Then he holds up the blade end to catch the roundish brown object dive bombing him. There's the sight and sound of steel on electricity before the attacker is shoved forcefully away.

Four-eyes lowers back onto the dais while the brown thing somersaults down into a crouch behind me off to the side. The brown I discover is some kind of cloak made of a coarse fabric, one arm of it held out, a black-gloved hand holding something grayish silver. But what's really caught my eye is the length of humming green light sticking out of it. Like a bar of pure neon, or plasma. Explains the sparks but… a sword of energy? How?

“Looks like I caught you at a bad time.”

In a wsshk the light sinks back into what has to be some portable emitter (like a flashlight, maybe?) and gets pocketed before he (definitely sounds like a “him”) rises to his full height… of just under my chest level. His head is covered by a thick hood; the only thing I can make out within are two big, glowing yellow eyes. A line of script appears midair along with music.

Reunion -Theme of Hero 55-

“Not such a good feeling, is it?” Brushes his hood, throws down his hand and strikes a commanding pose as the music spikes.

It's

SQUISHY!!

“The freak are you doing here??” reaper man demands, annoyance replacing his sinister cool.

“I could ask you the same thing, ‘Master’,” answers the little guy as he steps up closer to me but keeping those eyes fixed squarely on his “master”. “You leave us hanging in limbo for over a decade, just to mess with these guys instead? You must be really scared of us.”

“I'm not afraid of you, you twerp: I made you! And haven't you forgotten the last time you interfered? I literally flattened your runty behind!”

“Yeah, because it was for fun.” Little man folds his arms. “But this is something very important to you, that you don't want to have interrupted in any way. Kinda like how we don't like being bothered by you or some version of you, but it still happens anyway.”

“Only here I can do away with interruptions instantly, so all you've accomplished was waste my time.”

“Neh, more than that.”

The blatant author self-insert is about to deprecate, only to have an immediate freak-out upon realizing what's been lost. Spike is also unsettled by the perspective shift.

“My omniscience!” the bald baddie whines. “What did you do??”

“Just leveling the playing field,” our good Jawa responds. “It's not fair for us mortals if you have all the powers. And we always have to have our narrator for these scuffles.”

I deeply appreciate that, Squishy. It's great being back at the helm! But oh boy, is our host fuming.

“You, you literal rat bastard!!”

“Hey, you didn't get censored. Hmmm…. Damn. Ah, neat!” The Jawa nods happily before refocusing. “Anyway, you're only half right: I know exactly who my dad is. And while it's not the best relationship, we still keep in touch.”

“I know: I loosely based it on mine. And I can just as easily saddle you up with the same emotional baggage.”

“Okay I have no idea what the frack is going on.”

Squishy unfolds his arms and looks up to the vexed drake. “Didn't mean to ignore you there, Spike. I wanna say thanks for helping deal with Gilgamesh. Really saved our bacons.”

“W-who? When??” Spike comically shakes his head. “Who even are you, and how do you know him?”

“Sorry, sorry. I'll keep it simple.” Squishy points. “He's a god from another universe who likes messing with people. Usually calls himself Contractor.” Points to himself. “I'm one of his oldest creations, here to help get him out of your guys’ hair, er, so to speak. And I'm Squishy, by the way.”

“Uhh, okay. Hi?”

“That’s what I was about to do you moronic midget!” sputters the malding malefactor. “Everything was about to be resolved all neat and tidy, but you're here looking to muck it up like a meddling pissant!”

“Things were going to get resolved the way you wanted it to, and that's not how it should go.” Squishy boldly steps forward. “You’re getting the punishment you deserve for terrorizing these good horse people. And whether we succeed or fall…” In a masterful motion the stout savior whips out, activates and points his lightsaber in challenge. “You Will Know Our Names!!”

“That's gotta be the lamest song transition ever, Jesus. But you wanna ball? Fine, we'll ball. And it's going to be hella messy!!” The Contractor braces his scythe, accepting the challenge. Squishy also flourishes his weapon as he looks to his unwitting charge.

“Come on, Spike: the sooner we beat him down, the sooner we can get all this fixed!”

Spike is still confused over these proceedings, but regardless he raises his blade and fixes his stance. Deep down, he understands that no matter how bizarre the circumstances, the only way forward is to

FIGHT!!

Squishy immediately pops off like a missile, engaging his creator in a flurry of slashes. As light and steel clash in bursts of sparks, Spike charges for Contractor's blind spot, but the demigod spots him. His scythe blocks the oncoming sword slash following a lightsaber deflection, then he side flips away to avoid getting ganged up on.

Spike pursues and makes a wide slash that the wily manipulator unfortunately pivots away from before spinning back to execute a retaliatory slash of his own. Our lizard lancer bends back to avoid getting harvested, which consequently grants an opening for Squishy to come in with a flying kick.

It connects with the would-be reaper's ribs and forces him to stumble, but he recovers enough to bat the Jawa away when he attempts a follow-up. That wicked shaft is put to further use deflecting the swipes from Spike's sword, getting spun left and right unnecessarily to catch every blow before being shoved against the besuited drake. With some breathing room afforded, Contractor grabs the hem of his cape and wraps it around himself to pull off a literal disappearing act, vanishing in a ruffle.

Squishy and Spike pause and look warily around for their foe to reappear, neither noticing him sneakily slipping out from behind a pillar a ways to their back right.

“Oh come on! You're part of me; you're supposed to be on my side!”

Sorry, but I need to be impartial and detail events as they happen, such as how Squishy springs on the sneaky schemer in an instant, bringing his lightsaber down on the absurdly durable scythe. Contractor gets pinned, falling to a knee, and after a moment of consternation, he looks to the side before grabbing his glasses and flinging them off in Spike's direction. He instinctively catches the flying specs, only for its owner to apparate within and deliver a devastating headbutt. This sends the young dragon reeling, but it's not a total success.

“Fack that wasn't smart. Aagh my head!”

Contractor winces and rubs his brow, Squishy charging in the meantime. Unfortunately his creator notices and punts him away like a football, yet it doesn't stop him from Force Pushing his way back for a second go. It's hardly any better as he manages a brief exchange of counter blows before Contractor grabs his shabby robe and dunks him hard off the ground. But retaliation comes swiftly in the form of a maniac adorned in combat fatigues coming in with a dive kick.

Contractor raises his scythe to block, but the impact is enough to throw his arms open, allowing the attacker to rapidly fire off blaster shots into his exposed torso while pulling off a sweet aerial backflip. The shooter lands on his scarlet stilettos a ways back, his wild red facial hair aglow from the backdrop.

“The hell are you doing here?!” Contractor snarls, butt-hurt at getting ganked.

“I always wanted to deal grievous harm to my creator, and now seemed as good a time,” General Chris replies, holstering his piece. “Welp, my cameo assist is up. See you back in our universe, dipwad.” He gives a Falcon salute before rising offscreen via mouse cursor.

Spike and Squishy come rushing at the stricken demigod, but being fed up with ground combat, Contractor forsakes gravity and yeets himself into the air. Hovering out of harm's way, the floaty felon ignites his hand and tosses a flurry of fireballs down at the heroes. Squishy scampers, using his lightsaber and the Force to raise rubble to take the heat, while Spike dances expertly around the flames, coating his sword with hand blood to return his own fire. Once properly dampened he draws back the blade, but pauses as Squishy perches himself upon the bloody edge.

“Toss me!”

“Err, sure.”

Spike swings and launches the Jawa like a sling straight into Contractor's face, who then proceeds to bap and clamber all over his bald head.

“Let go of my head you fucking bush baby!!”

Contractor futilely grasps at the midget assailing him, dipping a couple feet in his distraction. This grants Spike the opportunity to run up, grab the lower hem of the cape tightly, and slam the deity back to the ground with a mighty yank. Then he slams him the other way, then back again, then tosses him into some masonry like a bag of trash.

Looking over, he finds Squishy lying dazed on the ground, having been knocked loose by the first impact.

“Oh. Sorry bout that.”

“Itssh cool,” the Jawa woozily assures.

Spike senses something and makes a split-second glance before twisting away from a flying scythe, only to get tackled to the ground by a raging Contractor, losing hold of his sword. The mastermind appears to have reverted back to monke, as he’s trying to bash in the drake’s snoot with a rock. Spike shifts his head away from the blows before grabbing Contractor's shoulders, bending his legs and kicking the mad god off with his footsies.

Contractor bounces off the back of his neck but reorients upright and lands in a backsliding crouch. After stopping and straightening himself, he glares at the impudent dragon boy and recalls his scythe back into his hand. But Squishy has hitched a ride and spin kicks the surprised composer back off his feet. Spike rejoins the desert-dweller by this point, and Squishy Force Tosses back his sword in welcome.

“Let’s lay into this clown!”

Spike nods firmly, and after igniting his sword into an Emerald Lancer the swordsmen of space and fantasy charge. Contractor manages to get up on a knee before he’s bum-rushed as the music crescendos, the warriors laying down slashes of flame and energy in rhythm to the guitar. Their creator suffers a relentless barrage of cuts from all directions before it culminates with Spike knocking him skyward with an upward slash, then Squishy bouncing up from the dragon's shoulders to saber slam the god back into the ground like a volleyball.

Spike shudders as though coming to his senses, looking at his claws while switching off the heat. “What exactly just happened?”

“A Jam Attack,” Squishy answers after landing. “It's pretty cool stuff.”

“I wasn't even thinking. It was all automatic.”

Before the nature of that coordinated phenomenon could be further discussed, an exploding mound of rubble announces Contractor's return, wobbling himself erect and only slightly worse for wear.

“How is he still in one piece after that??”

Spike's disbelief is compounded further as Contractor shakes his head and tosses his scythe away in frustration. “Right, that's more than enough Financer-style. Let's give the rest of the ensemble a fighting chance!”

As he says that, he digs into his britches and whips out two energy pistols, posturing before a bolt of captions.

COMPENDIUM

SHUFFLE

The godly gunman levels his pieces and starts popping off energy rounds, forcing our heroes to hustle out of the way while he circle-strafes at a casual pace. Gold coins pop out from the deity's shoulders, and these he shoots to trip up the duo with homing ricochet nonsense. This trick shootery is made even more absurd when Contractor intermittently twirls and fires his shots into the ground and surrounding fixtures to either bounce off toward the heroes or into the airborne coins.

Spike and Squishy quickly find themselves in a growing constellation of money and gunfire that pauses momentarily when Contractor pulls out two honkin’ railguns and fires! The bolts zip and zing amid the myriad coins, and Spike manages to register that they’re converging on him before Squishy leaps in with lightsaber raised. The saber catches the bolt, and the world pauses for one hard second before the railshot redirects upward and Squishy’s weapon bursts into deactivation.

The Jawa falls to the ground stunned, and is booted aside by Contractor as he rushes Spike brandishing two sleek daggers. Spike cling-clangs the onslaught of slashes with his blade and rallies back with his own swipes. Contractor throws one dagger past the drake’s shoulder, then relocates to it to attack from behind, then throws another one to appear off to the side, and keeps up the peekaboo routine in rapid succession (I never played Final Fantasy 15, but those tele-knives are so heckin’ cool). Barely is Spike able to twist around and defend, but winds up stumbling off-balance. Contractor raises up one hand to strike, only for the knife to fly out into the hand of Squishy who runs back into the fray!

Creator and createe have a short crossing of blades before Spike joins in with his much longer one, at which point Contractor further escalates by conjuring himself a spear. He pokes, baps and twirls his lengthy armament around, and when Squishy tries to cut out his feet, Contractor hops up onto a sudden floating spear and smacks away the ankle-biter. So now Spike is left dealing with a dude surfing on a polearm and whirling midair in a frame of spears like his name is Pucci, but Squishy’s lightsaber has reactivated so he's back on his A game!

The little Republic defender rushes ahead and strikes away his creator's platform, and as the wannabe Machia-villain flees up a staircase of spears, Squishy tosses his lightsaber to knock them away. Contractor falls back to the ground and draws an absurdly massive cleaver to catch and hold a sword strike from Spike. Spike grits and pushes his foe backward in an effort to squash the meddling prick through sheer force of will, which happens to allow Squishy to hop over his back to get behind the red-cladded rapscallion and deliver a searing slash.

Contractor cries at the sting, but allows himself to fall, roll off the Jawa's head and spring himself to freedom. Airborne and pursued yet again, the floaty fiend summons an array of cylindrical objects with an arcing wave of a hand, and rains them down with a commanding thrust. To Spike's surprise and disgust the incoming missiles are dildos of various shapes and colors, but that doesn't prevent him and Squishy from dodging and slashing away the barrage. Squishy mixes in some sick flips with his parries, but gets beaned by a slab of iron passing for a sword. Spike meanwhile has his sword arm snared by a whip held by the nasty ne'er-do-well.

“Gotcha!” Contractor says, then yelps as he's yanked from the air. Having pulled in his “captor”, Spike wraps his snagged arm around Contractor's and lays in several punches with his free claw. After taking a solid half dozen fists to the face, the ganked grappler gets spun around and judo thrown onto the ground, bouncing off into a clumsy heap. He takes a moment to straighten his face in time to see Spike gunning for him.

Rather than make an attempt to flee, Mr. Fivehead quickly but calmly raises a pristine conductor's baton and flings the pointy end right between the charging dragon's eyes. Spike is momentarily blinded by acute pain, reeling and stumbling while Contractor pulls out a sweet-ass guitar to shred.

“Look out, Spike!”

Squishy leaps in with his own guitar and engages Contractor in a dueling duet, their instruments firing beams of face-melting musical intensity that collide in seizure-inducing radiance. The two rise and hover in place, their fingers going wild and their concentration steeled as they concentrate solely on breaking the other through sheer rockitude. Contractor is so engrossed in laying out the sick riffs he doesn't catch Spike running to a spot below his back, nor does he register the drake warrior driving his flaming sword into the ground to fire off a Malachite Piston.

When he does sense something amiss, it's the instant before a rocket-fueled kick collides with his head, the impact sounding off like a bunker buster bomb and exerting enough kinetic force to crack the dummy deity's glasses before launching him up into the sky. Eventually he comes back down and, wop, back into an embarrassing mangled heap of failure and ownage.

“Alright I get it you're biased, just lay off!” he grumble groans as he wrangles his arms back into functionality. And though I shall relent, the same can't be said of Spike and Squishy, who touch down a few steps away.

“Looks like that wore him down good,” Squishy assesses.

“Then let's end it,” Spike says while raising his blade, but Squishy halts him with a raised hand.

“Just one more thing.” Squishy takes a few steps toward the fallen god, who has managed to get on his elbows and knees.

“You… fuckin’... shit,” Contractor seethes through gritted teeth.

“I say you're about done, chief, so let’s wrap it up.”

Holding out his hands, the Jawa calls forth several flat digital pages that circle him in a sparkly ring, the sight of which grabs the loopy lamenter's attention. “That’s—!”

“Yeah, you remember them. In exchange for helping me out, they wanted me to bring them along for some payback.”

“What!? I gave you those; I'm the one that helped you, not them!!”

“That attitude's probably why they don’t like you so much. And that whole thing was technically your doing, so neh-neh to that.”

Contractor slams a fist on the ground. “Ingrateful, pipsqueak—!”

“Too bad Sylvia isn’t here to join in, but they should be enough. Have at him, fellas!”

Raising his arms, Squishy sends the .txt files skyward to begin the Spectacular Finale.

One file lingers and pops, and a Latino punk in a hoodie drops onto the scene. Flashing a grin, he sprints for the downed creator, kicks him upright and whacks him with a rusty length of rebar. Drawing a pistol he fires some rounds into Contractor's chest before booting him into the grip of a snarling one-armed Lycan.

“You let that codger take my arm!”

“Because you got cocky.”

“Then take my cock in your mouth!!”

The wolf-man slams Contractor into the tiles, then uses magic to form a stone hammer arm to smack him off to the side, where he lands before a two-tailed anthro fox boy in a yukata (not Tails). The kitsune delivers a flip kick that knocks him toward a haughty tanuki girl.

“The cunning Konata Kuronami hates being made a fool of!”

In a puff of wrath she transforms into a roaring bear and uses her massive paws to pick up Contractor, body slam him, then suplex him off the ground and into the air. A creepy floating child in an officer's uniform telekinetically catches him, stretches him all out, dribbles him and fires him upward, where he gets ping-ponged between two opposing starfighters before being blasted out of the sky by laser fire.

Down below, a bad dude in black winds up a baseball bat wrapped in Christmas lights and smacks Contractor several yards into a heap. The interloper wobbles to his feet, only to see a nasty fellow in a garish rain slicker approach him.

“Hey hold up—”

Contractor gets slashed across the face with a set of razor-tipped fingers, and as he stumbles away from the sting the bruiser from before bats him in the gut. He goes back and forth between the two, getting punched, slapped, bludgeoned, slashed, until a bat to the face brings him to the feet of a nervous teenage lad.

“Oh uh um, I'm not sure how to go about this.”

“It's real straightforward, kid.” Out of nowhere, that gruff General Chris steps in to show alternate Chris how it's done. “First you get them by the collar or shoulders, hit em with a headbutt to daze them. Then a punch to the gut to knock the wind out. Maybe throw in a stomp to the toes, and then slap em around to assert dominance. Now.” He spins around the sorry sod. “Go ahead and kick him in the jewels.”

After a brief hesitation, the young man sends his foot into the baldy baddy's groin, making him choke out a whine.

“That's the spirit!” Big Chris praises before tossing Contractor overhead backwards, into the waiting jaws of a two-headed yellow dragon.

“Aaah Aahh AAAAHHH!!”

Using both arms and legs he locks himself in place to keep the pair of chompers from lunching on him, but that just allows them to slam him into the ground before spitting him out. Tumbling and stumbling upright once more, Contractor gets whammed in the face by the portable shield of a bronze-toned and wily “tradesman”.

“Now over to my ‘clients’!”

Horribly concussed and wobbling about, Contractor fails to notice the brown cobra slithering up his leg and torso, his attention caught only after she sinks her fangs into the base of his neck.

“Oh come on!” he slurs from venom injection as he fumbles to grab at the slippery cobra. While she evades his mitts she shouts out, “Be ready, mon cher!”

“Certainly, mon chou.” A Frenchman standing off to the side holds up and closely inspects a finely carved bed post, nodding his approval. “Yes, this should do nicely.” He pulls back and swings the post right as Contractor gets close, hitting his noggin and making him spin away.

The demigod barely has time to appreciate this latest discombobulation before a black and white Border Collie who in no way looks similar to Winona scampers up and clamps her teeth on a calf.

“H-hey! Get, get off, Get!!”

As he’s wrangling two feisty female beasts, another odd couple step up from the side.

“Let’s do this, Mike!” shouts the lady standing on the man's palm.

“Up you go!” the man says before yeeting his pocket-sized wife upward, then pulling out an ornate wooden mallet he hurriedly recites, “Grow Bigger, Grow Bigger, Grow Bigger, Grow Bigger!”

The cobra and dog disengage and flee right before a titanic foot slams down onto Contractor with the force of a piston press. When it lifts away, the be-redded bastard raises his head and discovers a six-year-old girl standing before him.

“The UFO wants a word with you, Mr. Bad Man.”

Contractor makes a bemused face, but looking up further he lets out a panicked scream as a purple flying saucer impacts him in a loud, fiery explosion. When the smoke and flames clear, we see him drag himself out of the resulting crater, filthy, his clothes in tatters, and with practically no fight left him, laid low by his myriad creations.

“I just wanted… to make an awesome ending,” he whimpers. “Is that really too much to ask?”

“Well you're about to get one!” proclaims Squishy as he takes a stance by his scaley ward's right side. “Time for the ultimate finisher, Spike!”

In a blinding plume of radiance the diminutive and grubby Jawa glows up into the tall, broad, brilliant, and imposing form of the Crimson Waltz (which is like Black Waltz No. 3 from FF9 but red and shiny. It's a very long story). From waist high to nearly a head above Spike's—barring the steeple hat—the avatar of passion holds out his left hand and conjures a staff into it, then turns his stoic gaze over to Spike. The young drake nods in understanding, then standing shoulder-to-shoulder the two raise their weapon arms as one and lower them in Contractor's direction and fire up.

Flames of green and red erupt and dance around their very beings, coursing and winding their way along their arms, over sword and staff, then intersecting into a growing, roiling, raging ball of brown (honestly disappointing that that’s what red and green make. Eh, work with what you got). More and more the ignition warriors feed it, making it grow bigger and bigger and more furious, and right when it appears on the verge of going critical—

“AUBURN ANNIHILATOR!!!!”

All that built-up energy is released in a volcanic beam of plasma that melts and glasses the very ground it covers, which in under three seconds covers the distance and hits a surprised Contractor head-on, instantly engulfing him in fierce volatile immolation that almost instantaneously detonates into a sight and sound clearing explosion. Finally putting a close to the battle… for good.

…Though that's not the end.

In a space faraway, outside of time, two fractals sit on a cliff edge overlooking a deep, pristine valley, gazing upon a vast vista rendered orange and mauve by a sun just set.

“You feeling a little better now, Steve?” asks the little one.

“Yeah, a little,” the tall one answers. “Not like it was going to fulfill me for long. But that funk I had been in has long passed, so it’s no biggie.”

“Just another bit of unfinished business that you won't have to worry about, then.”

“Yep, though much still remains. But, weirdly enough… that doesn't bother me so much now.”

“Really?”

“Yeah: other things have been keeping my spirits up.”

“Right. You're finally taking therapy. And those new friends of yours.”

“Exactly: Jade, Trini, Sol, derg, Mu, and many others besides. They’ve brightened things up considerably since I came back. Made my outlook on the present and future… more positive.”

“I'm guessing they have something to do with the collar as well.”

The host fingers the blue dog collar around his neck. “Yeah. Just trying out some alternate fashion. New things.”

“It's good you found something else to keep you going.”

“Yeah. They really are a wonderful bunch.”

“I bet.” A moment of silence as the two look out at the all-encompassing scenery. “So… does this mean you won't be writing anymore?”

A shrug. “I don't know. It's just not a prerogative at this time. Perhaps at a much later date I may be compelled to write something. Or it could be within a month. I'm fickle like that.”

“You sure are. But you might want to wrap up things here properly, first.”

“Yes. It's not the neatest conclusion as is, I'll admit. They deserve more.”

“It was still fun, though.”

“That it was.” A look back upon the vista, a deep breath. “Welp. Back to it.”

With the raising of an arm, this tranquil aside ceases with a singular snap.

Another fine, gorgeous day. Just like every other one this past week. The kind of day perfect for a group photo.

I step out the door of Sugarcube Corner, fluffing out my shirt and jacket to get any crumbs I might've missed. It's not the usual black: tan, almost velvet-like, a real varsity sort. A bit too preppy for my liking if I'm honest, but you gotta look good for these occasions.

“Later, Spike!” Pound calls out from behind.

“Yeah; I'll see you guys later.”

“You better!”

“Yeah yeah, Pumpkin!”

That extra exchange adds a smile to my face as I let the door close. The Cakes had offered me brunch yesterday as a sort of micro-celebration for the restoration work being done. Not that I did that much work, but I always enjoy hanging with the twins (and who can turn down free sweets?).

It was a good family get-together kind of deal: real simple and casual. Now I'm kinda imagining how it'd look if Gummy was around. Funny, I haven't thought about him in a while; he hasn't been seen or heard of since leaving that day. Hopefully he's off living his best, most zen life, passing off wisdom or something like that. I wonder if he stuck around if he'd end up being my new sparring partner. More for meditation purposes, or perhaps to improve my wrestling skills.

Man I'm having weird thoughts outta nowhere. But luckily there's a delightful sight heading my way to redirect my focus.

“Spike!”

Sweetie Belle comes cantering giddily over, looking extra radiant. Maybe in part due to the pregnancy, but either way, it's something to further bolster my smile.

“Hey, baby girl.” I brush the side of her face when she gets to me, then trail my claw down her neck and side to caress her toned tummy (still way too early to be showing). “And baby baby.”

“Don't you think about being frisky while we're out here,” she says in that sweet faux serious tone.

“Nothing wrong with saying hi to our little one.” I raise the caress up to sensual. “And showing their momma some loving attention.”

“Spike, darling!”

Oh, here comes Rarity. Better reel it in. Sweetie is giving me a cheeky smirk (yeah, deserved).

“Hiya Rares.” Turns out, Rarity did the good kind of flip at hearing about Sweetie’s pregnancy. The prospect of being a doting aunt can do marvels for an older mare’s heart, I suppose.

“A good afternoon to you as well, dear. What luck to bump into you on the way over to town hall.”

“Not so much luck as my feeling that he would be around here.”

“Indeed, Sweetie Belle. Quite the intuition you have for your partner.” Rarity eyes me up. “Is the jacket still comfortable? No hindrances?”

“Oh, not at all. Like there's nothing there.” I give a flap of my wings to show their unrestricted state. “Bang up job as always.”

My extra appendages definitely surprised everyone else when I showed them off (couldn't exactly hide them, and why should I?), but they got over it and accepted it just as quickly as I did. Took some adjusting, mainly when it came to sleeping comfortably, but they're quite stylin’, and the extra subtle sensations of touch and movement have been a good kind of weird. Haven't had a chance to see if they're flightworthy, though. Maybe tomorrow.

“That is delightful to hear, although nothing so brutish as ‘banging’ went into its assemblage, I assure you.” An eye roll from her sister. “I say, Spike, are those crumbs that I spy?”

I look down over my shirt and jacket. “I had a muffin and cinnamon roll earlier, but I don’t think any got on me.”

“Nonsense: it’s as clear as day. Let me get that for you.”

Rarity's horn lights up just before I feel my clothes stretch and get fluffed out for a second time.

“Come on, sis, it wouldn't even show in the photo.”

“Now now, Sweetie dear, one always has to look picture perfect for any occasion. It's in the phrase: picture perfect. And Spike deserves to be captured looking his best, for all he's done.”

“I appreciate it, though—”

“Let me inspect that shoulder seam real quickly.”

I'm yanked into bending down to Rarity's level, my arm held rigid and her horn rather close to my neck. Perfect whispering distance.

“While it's nice knowing you still retain amorous feelings toward my precious baby sister, I find it worth reminding what an awful tragedy it would be should her heart ever be broken.”

Perfectly even tone. Level as a straight edge. “Y-yeah. Unthinkable.”

“Happy you think so.” I'm freed from her thaumic grip and she resumes regular volume. “All in perfect pristine order!”

“Great. Can we head over now?” Sweetie insists.

“Of course, dear. Let us be off!” Rarity trots on over to her sister, carefree and without an ounce of tension. I keep forgetting how scary the old girl can be. Nice to have these “reminders”, I think as I join the two.

It's not even a minute before we're in sight of town hall, and as expected there's a crowd gathered. Local volunteers, heads of the community, some griffon representatives including one of the king’s guard (Gibson; pretty chill guy out of uniform), and of course…

“There he is!”

“Heya, Twi,” I say as everyone’s favorite (living) princess canters over to me for a quick hug. Even though she’s been her old self for years, it still warms me seeing her this open. “Hope I’m not holding things up.”

“You were beginning to, but I don’t think anyone really minds.”

“I don’t see why they should: this is marvelous weather for chatting,” Rarity comments as she goes up to Twi for her own fashionable hug. “You are positively radiant today, darling.”

“Oh, I hardly did anything with myself. You’re still the expert in good looks.”

“Yes, which is how you know I’m not spouting false praises.”

“Heehee, okay. Let’s head over.” We nod and the four of us go over to the rest of the group. “We’re all accounted for, Ms. Mare.”

“Very good, Your Highn—I mean, Twilight,” responds Mayor Mare. Gods, so many years and she barely looks any older. Her voice certainly hasn’t lost that gentle yet authoritative edge, either, as she speaks to the crowd. “Alright everyone, it’s time for the photo! Just group in tightly in front of the entrance, and soon we’ll have lunch!”

That gets everyone moving as they take places before the building. As they’re shuffling and lining up, the ol’ mayor looks over to me. “I hope you don’t mind standing near the back? Being as tall as you are, though it’s not the most glamorous of places.”

“It’s no problem at all, ma’am,” I assure her before bending down and giving Sweetie and head rub. “Let’s make it pop, babe.”

“More like knock ‘em dead,” she says, refreshing my toothy grin as I step on over to the back of the group. I scootch past two griffons and sidle up close to a familiar red earth stallion.

“Afternoon, Spike,” he cordially drawls as I take my spot, looking hella respectable with the hat and scarf (ascot?).

“Hey, Mac,” I say as I shift into a more photogenic stance. “Got those famous fixings lined up?”

“Eeyup. AJ even helped some.”

“Awesome. It’ll be fun guessing which.”

He grins as the shifting begins petering out. Before us, a camera has been set up on its tripod (or it might’ve already been there), with Featherweight making final checks and adjustments.

“Alright, I’m about ready. Get nice and still.”

Standing, waiting for the cue, I find myself taking stock of the moment. Twilight, Sweetie, Rarity up front, looking happy and at ease. Surrounded by acquaintances old and new. An unbelievably gorgeous, life-affirming day. Community, warmth. Serenity.

It hits me: These are the results. The hardship, the weirdness, the devastation. Somehow, it has led to this. The fruits of my labors. And not one trace of darkness to besmirch the vast open path beyond.

“Okay, hold it steady. Say ‘Cheeeeese’!!”

Pony, griffon, dragon, we all say it as one. My smile is wide, even, genuine… then sideways as a divekick from a certain pink psychopath collides with my face a moment before the shutter clicks.

Like Rarity said: Picture Perfect.

END

Author's Note

Took me over three months to finally finish this one, but here it is: Done, over. And just in time for Christmas. Happy Holidays everyone! I'm dealing with a cold as I'm typing this, so I hope your celebrations are going more smoothly than mine, heheh.

Sorry for the long delay. I had been preoccupied by work and some art projects. Plus, as I mentioned, I'm not feeling as compelled to write these days. Before that'd stress me out, that I had fizzled away, but no. I've come to accept that there is more to validating one's existence than needing to pump out stories. It's about having a positive mindset, and good company really helps. I still get my off days, my anxieties, but I'm not dealing with it alone now. And I hope you all have your own little support groups to help you along.

Anyway, that's it for Dragon's Descent. A bit sloppy there at the end, but honestly I never envisioned how the final scene would play out before I started writing it (though I knew it'd end with that final paragraph, huhu). Now let us celebrate and appreciate one another, and snuggle up as we await the new year.

As always, all the best, friends :)