Chapter 1: The Rebellion (Zecora)
Zecora stepped into her private quarters. Each step caused a searing pain to shoot through her thigh. She remembered exactly how the battle transpired as she sat down on the makeshift cot. The screams; the bloodshed; the begging for mercy as the tyrant queen dragged unfortunate soldiers away, most likely to be executed or tortured for information; but most of all, the rage. The battlefield teemed with it. The anger the rebels felt towards the changeling leader was thick, and it lingered in the air like smoke. These changelings claimed to be after love, but the evidence for such motives was all but incriminating. This was nothing to love. It was a massacre. This whole war.
Zecora’s flashbacks were interrupted by another shoot of pain lancing through her thigh. With a wince, she reached for a medical kit under the bed and pulled it out. Opening it up, she pulled out different herbs and oils that would aid quickly in the healing process. Using a pair of pliers, she removed the bullet from her leg and quickly wrapped it in a bandage soaked with healing oils. Once she laid her leg to rest on the bed, she took a moment to inspect the bullet. It was the shape of a typical bullet, but it was black, and full of holes. Just like the changelings who manufactured these things. The point was sharp, like a needle, and there were severed chitin cords on the shell. These bullets acted as a parasite, slowly taking control of and transforming the flesh and bone of the victim until only a changeling shell remained. By this point, a cure was impossible. The victim either had to sacrifice their life to save the rebellion, or be captured by the queen for Celestia knows what awful torture the changelings subjected their victims to. But at this early in development, the parasitic effects could be reversed. Thankfully, it had only been an hour since the bullet entered Zecora’s flesh.
She gave a sigh. “Despite all we try to do, freedom for Equestria seems all but true.” She put away her medical kit and stood up, making sure to keep weight off of her injured leg. She limped over to her mirror and take a look at herself.
The substance lathered on her body to let others know that she was not changeling had long since hardened, though it provided no physical protection. It was a muddy color, with bits of green and grey. Each rebel member had a different way they had applied the substance. Sometimes to signify rank, or simply as an expression of their personality. Zecora’s, however, was very simple: bands of the stuff around her wrists, biceps, neck, forehead, and midsection. Zecora’s outfit had been torn terribly from the previous battle, so she removed it to change into a fresh one. The foliage wrappings fell away, exposing her amazon body. The white in her zebra coat had faded to a greenish-brown color, and the black stripes were stained a dark green. As she admired her curves briefly, she refrained from touching herself. It was forbidden to take part in any sexual actions, for the changelings could sense the love that was radiated, and the rebel base’s location would be compromised.
Zecora walked over to a small closet and open it, showing many more outfits exactly like the one she was just wearing, only untouched and unworn. She selected one and slipped it on. The outfit pressed against her curves, firmly but comfortably keeping them from hindering movement. Her salvaged rifle sat in the corner of the room, covered in mud and plant matter. While it was standard military procedure to clean the weapon after every mission, the rebellion was no military. There was often little time for such procedural tasks. The inner workings of the firearms were, however, heavily enforced to be cleaned, to keep the guns from jamming in a hostile situation. Zecora picked up her gun and looked it over. She had killed many changelings with it, a good few of which were close friends who had been captured. She closed her eyes to reflect and mourn for her lost friends. But it didn’t last long.
“Captain?” a voice said from beyond the door. Zecora opened her eyes and turned around.
“Enter,” Zecora said. The door slid open, and Fluttershy walked inside.
“I, um,” Fluttershy stuttered. “I wanted to make sure you were OK.”
“Not to worry, my friend,” Zecora assured. “Not yet, have I reached my end.”
Fluttershy let out a sigh of relif. “I’m very happy to hear that.”
Zecora’s face went serious. “But that was not the reason you came here. Something much more important to say, I fear.”
Fluttershy solemnly nodded. “I think you need to see for yourself. I can’t bear to say it.” Zecora simply nodded, and slung her rifle across her back before following Fluttershy out. Fluttershy wore the same outfit as Zecora, though with a few more leafy flaps for better modesty. Though even then, that was limited. Fluttershy carried knives rather than guns, with good reason. While a first impression would reveal her to be terribly shy, yet kind, she harbored a deep and fiery hatred for changelings after they took her best friend, Rainbow Dash, from her. She preferred to kill them up close and as violently as possible, casting vengeance upon her friend’s murderers. As Zecora walked with Fluttershy through the base, she looked around at the other rebels. They were patching up their own wounds, or mourning the dead. This war was taking its toll on the rebels, and it showed. Fluttershy stopped at a small hut.
“Zecora,” Fluttershy hesitated. “You may not like what you see in here.” She opened the hut’s door, and walked inside, holding the door open for Zecora, who stepped inside shortly after. When her eyes adjusted to the dim light, Zecora’s hand shot to her mouth. Sitting in front of her was a small changeling, but it had formerly been the filly Applebloom, made apparent by the pink bow she always wore. Applebloom was trembling, obviously terrified and frightened. A rebel fighter was trying to calm her down, but to little success.
Applebloom noticed Zecora and Fluttershy. “Zecora,” she stammered. “What’ssss happenin’ to me? I’m sssscared” Some of the rebels in the room raised their weapons at the hissing, but Zecora motioned for them to stand down.
Fluttershy came up to Applebloom and knelt down. “I’m so sorry. This shouldn’t have happened to somepony so young.”
“What’ssss gonna happen to me?” Applebloom cried. She was borderline panicking from the ordeal.
Zecora had turned around, facing the wall. “Only one option can I see now,” Zecora muttered under her breath. “Access to the base, I’m afraid we cannot allow.”
“Captain?” a rebel asked. Zecora walked up to him and whispered in his ear.
“Up to the sniper’s nest, you must go,” she said. “Inform the posted there of what he must know. Not allowed to live, the little one can be. Give that word to the one in the tree.” The rebel’s eyes narrowed with shock.
“Captain, we can’t!” he quietly cried. “She’s just a kid!”
“Do not argue with my authority,” Zecora muttered through gritted teeth. “If we don’t remove this threat, the queen will gain superiority.” The rebel gave a heavy sigh.
“Yes ma’am,” he reluctantly said. He left the hut.
“Zecora, you’ve gotta help me!” Applebloom cried. Zecora reached out her hand to Applebloom.
“Come with me child,” she said. “I will help you become reconciled.” Applebloom took Zecora’s hand with her new shelled one. The chitin felt hard and cold in Zecora’s hand; something she hoped to never feel. But this had to be done. She helped Applebloom up and walked with her out of the hut.
“Where’re we goin’?” Applebloom asked through tears.
“We must run a special task,” Zecora lied. “I dropped something I need your help to find: an important mask. It will help you become well, and break this hard outer shell.”
Applebloom gave a sniffle. “Alright.” Zecora walked with her to a clearing just outside the camp.
“Issss it OK if I go on ahead, Zecora?” Applebloom asked.
“Of course,” Zecora said. “See if you can find the mask’s source.” Applebloom let go of Zecora’s hand and walked ahead of her.
Zecora stopped where she was, just inside the base limits, and her smile disappeared, replaced with a cold demeanor. This was a terrible, but necessary task. Showing emotion would only cloud her judgment. Applebloom continued to walk, remaining blissfully unaware of what fate had in store for her. She took one step, then two, then three. The air stood still. Zecora watched Applebloom; unblinking and unemotional. She turned around and walked back towards the base.
“Zecora, where did you ssssay it wassss?” Applebloom asked. But she got no response. As she turned around, her mildly comforted expression disappeared completely, replaced with pure fear and betrayal. She balled her hands into fists as tears streamed down her face. The last thing Applebloom heard was the sound of a sniper rifle, and then nothing. Every muscle and nerve in her body fell limp as she collapsed to the dirt, never to breathe again. This was the changeling resistance, and it was imperative that their location remained a secret.
Chapter 2: The Hive (Chrysalis)
The entirety of the former Canterlot Castle was caked in black chitin. What was once a luxurious castle, was now a nightmarish maze. The halls of the hive were deformed and rotten, hardened with age. Many of the rooms had become breeding chambers for more changelings to fight in Chrysalis’s army. The throne room was just like every other room in the hive: black and hard, but Chrysalis had given the room her own sadistic touch. From the ceiling hung glowing green cocoons, encasing Chrysalis’s trophies. These trophies were enemies she had personally defeated in battle, and brainwashed to her will. Her most prized trophy hung directly above her throne: the former Princess Celestia. Like all of Chrysalis’s trophies, Celestia hung upside-down within the cocoon, floating in the encased fluids. She was stripped naked, and her tongue hung from her mouth with a pleasured smile. Her eyes were glowing with a distorted green and black spiral as two glowing green tentacles groped and pulsed within her insides. She hung weightless in the cocoon’s fluids, being constantly brainwashed by the hypnotic juices mixed with the cocoon’s fluids. She was experiencing every sexual desire she harbored in her subconscious, multiplied tenfold. She had practically been drained of every other thought in her brain, replaced only with horny sexual needs. Meanwhile, her conscience was being linked to the changeling hive mind, allowing Chrysalis direct control over her body.
Chrysalis’s wings buzzed briefly as she thought about the pleasure she had experienced when she took over Canterlot 7 years ago. The citizens of Equestria who were in Canterlot at the time never stood a chance. They were imprisoned, brainwashed, and were either used as a food source for changeling larvae or carriers for the larvae. Even the stallions had their uses, impregnating the mares with changeling eggs for reproducing the lost changelings in the hive. She chuckled to herself and stood up, then took flight up to Celestia’s cocoon. Her wings hummed as they held her suspended in the air.
“After long last, you were finally mine,” Chrysalis softly murmured, in a sultry tone. She stroked the cocoon where Celestia’s breasts floated. The cocoon opened at her touch, and the fluids inside fell to the floor with a rather disgusting sounding splat. Two more tentacles wrapped themselves around Celestia’s waist and ankles, lowering her down to Chrysalis’s eye level. Celestia’s arms went slack, falling below her head as she hung upside down. Her naked body was covered in patches of excess cocoon fluid. Chrysalis stroked her prize’s large breasts. A pink mist started to flow from Celestia’s open mouth, and Chrysalis absorbed the love Celestia emitted.
“So dirty, Celestia,” Chrysalis chuckled. “It amazes me what thoughts you had buried in your horny little mind. It’s quite delicious.” The door to the throne room morphed open. Chrysalis sent Celestia back into her cocoon and closed it, the cocoon now continuing to literally fuck her mind. Chrysalis flew back down to the floor as a changeling officer walked through the door. The officer was a female, wearing blue chitin armor that was very revealing. Her curves had been expanded rather significantly, and her eyes were glowing with the same green and black spiral Celestia’s were. The officer practically looked ready to be stripped down for sex.
“Your majesty,” the officer saluted, speaking in a near-monotone voice. Chrysalis walked up to the officer, standing almost twice as tall as her.
“Officer Unit 796705, report,” she ordered.
“My queen, we managed to create a new servant in the field, but it was silenced.”
“We lose units every day,” Chrysalis muttered. “This news is not new to me.”
“But your majesty,” the officer continued. “This one was much younger than most. Only a foal.”
“So what?”
“The Rebellion doesn’t send children into battle. Their morals prevent it.”
“Their morals are a weakness we continue to exploit, Unit 796705,” Chrysalis said. “We cannot take note of moral weaknesses within the Rebellion when we must focus on finding their secret location.”
“This signal came from an area we have not searched yet,” the officer reasoned. “A foal had been turned, and not five minutes later, the signal was silenced. I believe the Rebels have been going to extremes to protect their staging area. This instance…”
“...has proved to be a fatal error on the Rebels’ part,” Chrysalis finished, with a sinister chuckle. “The Rebels have made a grave mistake. For once, I almost feel that they should have spared this filly, whom was so obviously executed in cold blood. It could have saved them. Fortunately for us, the Rebels’ overcautious actions have proven to be their downfall.”
“What is your command, then, my mistress?”
“Send out three strike teams to the last known location of the executed foal immediately. I will join them. Order a retrieval team to salvage the bodies when the task has been completed. They will prove to be excellent test subjects.”
“Yes, my queen,” the officer said. She saluted, then left the throne room. Chrysalis walked to her personal armory in the throne room and selected a green chitin chestplate and leg armor. They snapped onto her body, her hard natural shell holding it in place. She pressed a piece of her leg armor, and it slid open, a black .50 caliber handgun with glowing green highlights snapped onto the inside. Chrysalis drew the gun and checked the ammo. It was full, with 12 parasitic bullets loaded. She spun the barrel and put the gun back, then left the throne room.
“This will be the day the Rebellion ends,” she said to herself. “Zecora will see the enslavement of her friends, and I will make her beg for mercy. And she will receive none.”
Chrysalis made her way through the hive. As she passed the feeding chambers, muffled moans of pleasure could be heard. Chrysalis would pay these chambers a visit later. She enjoyed watching the changeling broodmares feel such ecstasy at the expense of their free will. They had all been broken when they were captured, and now they served as braindead broodmares, mindlessly serving the changeling reproduction process. Chrysalis soon reached the front gates. The strike teams were waiting for her. Their armor was not as revealing as the officer’s. Rather, their armor covered them from head to toe, only showing their spiraling green eyes. They carried heavy machine guns and hypnotic gas bombs. These strike teams specialized in killing or wounding masses quickly and effectively, the ones left alive dragged back to the hive for their enslavement. The strike teams saluted as Chrysalis graced their presence.
“Strike teams Scarab, Roach, and Fire Ant, reporting as ordered, your majesty,” the leader of Scarab said.
“Come with me,” Chrysalis instructed. “It is time for the Rebellion to meet its end.” The strike teams said nothing more, only following Chrysalis out of the gates and taking flight to the location of the Rebel base.
