Aftersound

by Oneimare

Chapters

Chapter 1 – Enchanting voice
Chapter 2 – On the verge
Chapter 3 – From the frypan
Chapter 4 – On their own
Chapter 5 – Beauty and the beast
Chapter 6 – A horse with no name
Chapter 7 – Tombstone
Chapter 8 – Twilight Sparkle
Chapter 9 – Profane light, hallowed twilight
Chapter 11 – Where it all began
Chapter 12 – Do equinoids dream of electric sheep?
Chapter 13 – Good intentions
Chapter 14 – To dodge the Junction
Chapter 15 – Lunacy
Chapter 16 – Trial
Chapter 17 – Mother
Chapter 18 – Responsible
Chapter 19 – Betrayal
Chapter 20 – Assumption
Chapter 21 – Machine Goddess
Epilogue
Prologue
Chapter 10 – canterlot:\tr.exe

Chapter 1 – Enchanting voice

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Chapter 2 – On the verge

Aftersound

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Written by: Oneimare & Geka

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant, IAmApe, mikemeiers

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On the verge

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Only once Flower had made a few final tweaks to my body, was I actually ready to go. However, those metal legs would take time getting used to—I kept stumbling, following her and Wire out into the early morning.

The retreat of Luna’s veil revealed even further the stark contrast betwixt the spires, effortlessly rivalling the blooming dawn, and the slums, flickering out like embers. To accentuate that, the looming concrete wall offered refuge to darkness in the blasted landscape of the capital’s outskirts.

Twisted and broken feats of engineering towered from the rotting rust; only a few bulky buildings, pulsing with fiery haze, disrupted the bleak dominion of corrosion. Here and there, barely distinguishable from the metal refuse, little huts nestled, twinkling with pale lights hidden within—dying stars.

Oblivious to my gawking at the utter desolation of the Junkyard—as the girls called it, they had been quietly discussing the best route to Wire’s place.

The dirty and tattered rags serving them as clothing flapped on the teasing breeze, muffling their voices. I wasn’t absolved of garments either—the grimy strips of cloth fashioned into a cloak gave me the distinct look of Clover the Clever.

Whilst my body stood ignorant of the weather, the fillies shivered when said gusts crawled across their back. Still, we shared another reason for wearing them—the oily and stained fabric couldn’t be distinguished from the decaying background.

As their conversation concluded, I approached Flower. Out of many questions to ask, one possessed no plausible theory:

“Why is there a wall?”

The filly glared at the concrete bulwark, grimacing like it personally offended her.

“To keep us here—it’s more of a prison than an industrial zone.”

With that she headed away, into the rusted maze; Wire spared my confused expression a glance and trotted after her. Passing by me, the unicorn supplemented her answer, “The gangs in control get a production target. If we hit it, the TCE sends us food rations. Sometimes.”

No wonder those fillies already had cutie marks—systematic malnourishment had done no favours to their stature. It hadn’t contributed to the girls’ celerity, however, as I was forced to canter to catch up with them.

“That’s… just…” I struggled to find fitting words. “...inequine! Were you two..?”

“Nah, not everypony here is a felon,” Flower threw over her shoulder. “I’ve lived in this hole all my life—my great grandfather was deported to the Edge for being homeless.”

I looked at Wire, a question ready on the tip of my proverbial tongue, but, strangely enough, the filly sped up. Flower shook her head, mouthing, “Don’t.”

Our path winded around mounds of scrap, one of many almost invisible tracks cutting through the rusted iron and tarnished non-ferrous metals. Another sign of the Junkyard being more than just a scrapyard of ridiculous proportion—squalid dwellings muffled themselves into decaying masses.

True to Flower’s words, all of those cabins seemed to be long-abandoned, screaming at the skies with empty windows and broken doors as corrosion slowly swallowed them. And whilst a group of ponies afar off clung to one particularly high burial hill of machinery, tearing it apart like angry ants, we had yet to meet another Edge dweller up close.

The distance couldn’t hide the disturbing affinity those shared with the underfed and dirty girls that would be cripples if not for the clemency of science; withered corpses if not the mercy of their avaricious wardens.

“Who are the ‘TCE’?” left my mouth without thinking.

Wire’s lingering reluctance to engage in conversation with a ‘tinhead’ and the pace dictated by the long-legged unicorn that kept Flower huffing only, left my question to awkwardly hang.

To my sheer surprise, it was the former who finally spoke, though not bothering to turn to me as she pushed forward with grim determination.

“The Transcontinental Company of Equestria—got their name before the Great War, I guess, as nothing else but Canterlot and the Crystal Mines survived it. They own every factory and every shop; even half of the Crown’s police force dances after their whistle.”

Wire’s answer explained as much as it had complicated and nothing matched the five-hundred-year-old memories I possessed.

“So, who rules Canterlot?”

My other inquiry was met with a glare. Thankfully, Flower regained her breath and commented, trotting by my side, “Nopony—it’s a constant fight between the TCE and the Crown, not to mention every other cretin like the purists.”

“Except, the Crown cares only about the brothels,” Wire venomously spat. “Fucking whores swimming in luxury while we’re left to rot!”

Flower stole a wary glance at her fuming friend and added quietly, almost conspiratorially whispering to me, “I’ve heard they occasionally send the Royal Guard for something else, but since there are never any witnesses left…” She trailed off, uncertain. “Has to be something super important—they don’t even deal with Pink Butterflies, and those crazies blew up one of the Thunderspires.”

“But, the Crown, who are they?”

The grimy filly only shrugged.

The girls’ haste, aggravated by broken terrain, rendered them disinclined to a further conversation. However, my body, unfettered by struggles of flesh, graciously allowed me to indulge in deep thought.

Twenty-four years presented considerable baggage and in the scant time I had been awake, only a fraction of those memories had resurfaced in my mind. Flower and Wire helped to recall particular bits of knowledge, yet those recollections answered with acute disturbance and offered no help in understanding the world I’d been brought into.

The war with Sombra—had we won? For this didn’t look like a country of victors.

One certain vague memory suggested only two Princesses be alive, yet everything else implied the opposite.

That posed another difficulty—not everything I had inherited from Twilight Sparkle readily answered my summons. Some parts of her recollections had been buried deep, yet promised little good were I to unearth them.

Plagued by seemingly infinite questions, I overestimated my freedom to ignore the treacherous ground and stumbled.

However, regaining my balance, I promptly froze on the spot—amidst the mouldering mountains of iron a metal skeleton of gargantuan proportions coiled.

Without missing a beat, the fillies entered a cavity formed within the ribs of the macabre remains. It took me long seconds to realise—these weren’t the bones of a mechanical sea-serpent, but a rusted and severely deformed frame belonging to some sort of train.

“You coming?” Flower’s voice called from the enormous shell.

“Ah… yes.”

It wasn’t as spacious inside as I expected; albeit nothing but wreckage, it still looked more modern and advanced than any train. Strangely enough, its interior seemed to be ruined by some deliberate destructive force rather than the merciless passage of time. Despite its obvious artificial nature, I couldn’t shake off the sheer influence that monumental corpse imposed on me.

Meekly shadowing Flower, I dared to ask, “What is… was this?”

“One of the underground trains.”

A city so big, it demanded a railroad to alleviate its traversal; so cramped, the rails had to be hidden beneath the surface. Marvelling at the size of the train, twice that of what was used back in my days, I couldn’t help but mutter:

“I’d love to witness it…”

“Sorry—Pink Butterflies made sure it doesn’t exist anymore. I mean, the tunnels which haven’t collapsed are still there.”

The empty womb of the destroyed train carried us to a cart starkly different from others—impassable due to torn apart complex machinery.

Pointing at it, Flower noted, “There is a rumour that none of the engines had their power cores inside when their remains were brought to the surface. It’s a big deal, those things were huge crystals, some of the biggest around.”

Wire waited for us at the last wagon when we finally emerged from the derelict train, impatience written all over her expression. As soon as we reached her, she practically bolted away, heading to a dim orange light not so far away.

However, Flower didn’t hurry to match the speed of the filly—the ground wasn’t as stringent betwixt us and the modest shack. Using that as an opportunity to learn more, I eagerly asked her:

“What makes the purists pure?”

“The ponies who don’t use any of these”—she wagged her metal hoof— “the purists think it makes them better than everypony else. The Transference Paradox is a thing, alright, but they also claim unicorns are a superior race.” As we caught up with Wire, she raised her voice. “We all know that’s bullshit—earth ponies rule, right, Wire?”

“Go fuck yourself,” the unicorn barked over her shoulder and picked up her pace to get away from her snorting with laughter friend.

I decided to omit the fact of myself being a unicorn once and shook my head as another snippet of my knowledge was summoned.

“Sounds like the tribalism of old.”

“Huh? The filly perked up. “What’s tribadism? I heard that by a brothel once…”

Distracted by another mention of brothels and how the existence of such establishments reflected on the state of culture, I absentmindedly commented, “Have you never heard a story about the origins of Equestria? It is a story every parent tells to their foals...”

A sense of dread washed over me as I immediately regretted my words.

Flower might as well have dropped an anvil on me instead of the look she shot.

Before I could try and fix this horrible situation, I all but slammed into Red Wire.

“Shit! Look where you are going, would you? Or did that criminal put bar-code scanners for your eyes?” She steadied herself with a huff and said, “Wait here.”

Wire galloped away to her family’s dwelling, whilst I stood petrified, not able to bring myself to even look at Flower.

“Don’t sweat it, Twilight,” she muttered then added in a harder voice, “It is a common thing here.”

The filly then trotted to the nearest remains of some machinery, leaving me to follow. I found her slumped in a half-rotten seat, forlornly gazing at Wire’s house.

Made of a fuel cistern, it even had glass in a window frame, though soot-stained to the point I could barely see the little unicorn’s silhouette inside moving occasionally.

“It’s either accidents or terrorist attacks.” Flower shifted sullenly, the glow from the hut reflecting in her wavering eyes. She nodded towards it. “Her actual name is Geode Gleam. She defused one of their bombs once, earning her the nickname after that—Red Wire.”

“I’m so sorry…” was all I could squeeze out of myself.

“Sometimes it feels like I’m luckier than her—first her family was deported from Canterlot, then the explosion took her eye and both her mother’s. A year later she lost her brother to that winter. When Hollow Druse—her sister—was forced to work at the smelters to get more food rations, she got her hind legs burned off.”

This time I had no words.

However, as the uneasy minutes passed by, Flower’s sorrow faded away, ceding to some sort of calculating look that wandered across various scrap. My shock lessened as well, enough for my curiosity to take hold once more.

“Why is her mother blind?” Flower gave me an unimpressed look and I clarified, “Wire has an artificial eye, why couldn’t her mother get a prosthetic as well?”

“Roche Dust already had a few prosthetics. One more, especially so deeply integrated, would have caused the Transference Paradox,” Flower explained in a grievous tone. “She shielded Wire from the shrapnel with her body, so she needs more than a pair of new eyes to get back to work anyway.”

As if on cue, the scarlet-maned unicorn exited her house, scanning the Junkyard with her glowing eye, searching for us.

Flower waved her hoof whilst whispering to me, “Oh, by the way, you probably shouldn’t call her Geode Gleam.”

I opened my mouth to ask for elaboration, but Wire was too close already; I had a few guesses, anyway.

True to her word, she’d brought the ‘hazmats’—two large rolls precariously balanced on her back. In addition, she had a canteen swinging from her mouth along with another, smaller, bundle.

Upon reaching us, her unsteady magic unfurled the oily paper, revealing a thick tuft of thin fungi. Dividing it, she offered half to Flower.

“Big sis got shrooms from the stripes yesterday. Want some?”

“Are these like that one time?” Flower squinted at the offer, sniffing the mushrooms with visible mistrust. “I don’t want to feel all funny and have weird dreams again.”

“Nah, the stripes just gave her the wrong ones that time.” Wire’s telekinesis also shakily floated the canteen towards Flower. “Fresh from the filters.”

Flower finally finished examining the mushrooms, grabbed both them and the flask, taking a sip as she grumbled, “I miss mould, too bad it all died last winter. That stuff was tasty at least…”

“It tasted like dirt,” Wire retorted with a roll of her eyes and dug into her share of slimy fungi.

Whilst the girls silently munched on their miserable meals, I awkwardly stared at them until a thought occurred to me:

“Do I need to eat or… be charged?”

The idea of a cable being plugged into me somehow sounded distinctly unappealing.

Since Flower had been too preoccupied with devouring her share of food to answer, Wire accepted the responsibility with a sigh.

“Equinoids don’t eat. And I don’t think your power cores have to be charged anytime soon—they are brimming with magic.” She shook her head in wonder and brought the canteen to her lips. “Whoever enchanted them was a helluva sorcerer.”

All I could do was hang my hornless head.

The rest lasted only as long as it took the fillies to finish their food and we continued our journey across the burial site of machines.

At some point, a hill rose above us, and unable to walk around it, we were forced to scale the slope of corroded metal. Whilst the girls seemed to have their own way to conquer the rotting peak, nimbly hopping from one angled girder to another with annoyed huffs, I simply trotted up feeling somewhat guilty of my tireless body.

Waiting for them to catch up, I stood above the red alien landscape, letting the wind tear at my ‘clothes’ as I let my gaze wander.

To my right, the snow-laden summits cut above the extensive landfill and it took me a few tries to recognize the mutilated faces of the Foal Mountains.

The sight forced me to blink, and, adding to my surprise, my vision zoomed in with a soft click. Another bat of my eyes reverted the picture. Somewhat reluctantly I indulged in my newfound ability, returning my attention to the Foal Mountains ridge

Yawning mine entrances generously pock-marked the short peaks, rusted machinery and shacks trailing down from the pitch-black maws like caked blood, glittering with occasional smoking fires.

Opposite to the desecrated mountain corpse the Junkyard abruptly ended with steep canyons of a colossal scale—what was left of the Rambling Rock Ridge.

Whilst it seemed to share its dedication to mining with Nebula’s sector, not a single piece of huge equipment remained intact. Not a single speck of light or a pillar of smoke betrayed life in that scar on Equestrian land. The only movement was the sloping of the thick unnatural fog at that artificial trough.

To my sheer amazement, the dark outline of the Everfree Forest hung over the desolate crevice, absolutely the same as I… as Twilight remembered it. The sombre and menacing thicket stood where a whole sector of the Edge could have been as no technology managed to purge the taint that gave birth to this nefarious place.

Breathless and glaring at me, Flower and Wire interrupted by gawking and as they recovered their breath, we left the hill.

The scenery gradually changed.

Piles of scrap flattened out offering a free path upon a distinctly orange, from an abundance of iron oxide, ground. It was only a guess, but the outskirts of the Junkyard were old enough for the waste metal to rot into nought, leaving only the most stubborn of remains to defiantly poke from the rust.

Though I couldn’t feel the wind, the air whistled in the metal pipes, playing eerie tones through corroded holes. Every gust tore bloody flakes from the ancient scrap, and they danced around us as if wondering why we dared to disturb this ossuary of decaying iron bones.

And whilst this grim place left me distinctly uncomfortable, I hadn’t been having as much trouble as the girls. Hiding their muzzle behind cloth masks, they squinted through the dust flung at them. Sometimes, the stronger blows of wind even threatened to kick the lightweight fillies from their hooves.

After passing another unremarkable pile of junk, they abruptly stopped to take shelter in the remains of some kind of machine hull.

Unrolling the protective gear, Wire addressed her friend doing the same, “Will Twilight be alright without the suit?”

Once brightly coloured, the rubbered cloth was now faded and worn. It looked vaguely familiar—we had departments at the RCRC where ponies spent day after day clad in chemical protection, studying toxic substances.

Flower gave me a critical look before putting her gas mask on.

“She should be alright. But let’s do it quickly, it’s all itchy inside and smells of unicorns.”

Needless to say, being adult-sized, the suits awkwardly sagged from the fillies, though they didn’t seem to be bothered by it.

“Hey!”

Flower dashed outside past her with a snort.

Following her with Wire, we came to another pile of scrap iron, beyond which lay a vast expanse of desolate land—the Dump.

A barren desert occasionally gleamed with rainbow stains of oil and chemicals amongst charred dirt. Half-melted ducts opened here and there into the waste, lazily belching caustic sludge. The scattered dark slag and steaming vomit of distant factories poisoned the once fertile soil of Equestria to the point that the air above it had turned toxic.

Even war wasn’t capable of doing this.

The fillies instantly rushed to some sort of pillar pulsing with bright light through the torrents of dust.

Surprisingly, the decay spared this strange construction and the storm subdued in its vicinity. The contraption had a rather simple design—a tangle of metal girders serving as a pedestal for a large crystal emanating a steady heartbeat of magic.

“What is this thing?”

“Arcana Noxiae’s beacon,” Wire stated.

She then pointed into the distance, where identical lights blinked tragically.

Seeing my confused look, Flower picked up after the unicorn, “They protect the city from the cold in winter.”

“Except when they don’t,” Wire yelled over the drone of the dust storm. “The shield went down once—I will never forget the howl of the wind back then; it sounded like it was alive… and wanted all of us dead.”

Whilst I was left wondering about the necessity of delving into the perilous domain of the Dump, our presence there didn’t extend for long—after a few more mysterious beacons, we dove back into the familiar rust of the Junkyard.

We seemed to emerge near to the border betwixt the sectors as the bloodied with rotting metal ground seamlessly faded into the coarse gravel stretching to the hoofhills of the Foal Mountains.

The fillies took cover inside the remains of another ancient and half-decayed machine to take off their environmental suits. With the gear once again carried on their back, they sat down for a momentary respite.

Looking in the direction of Canterlot, its tall buildings visible even from here, Wire commented, “If we keep this pace, we will make it to the Outer City before dark.”

“And why do you little shits need to go to the city, huh?” a deep voice asked from behind the nearest pile of scrap.

A burly unicorn stallion revealed himself as its owner a moment later.

Two just as large earth ponies accompanied him, metal and muscle bulging menacingly under their tight armours; their steel black breastplates bore a messy orange smear across—orange grime.

The brute’s telekinesis brought a stubby pistol from the belt across his shoulder and pointed it at me.

“A custom made socket-fucker!” He yelled at the fillies. “If the police find out, the whole sector is going to eat shit because of you two degenerates!”

I stood paralyzed, my eyes jumping betwixt the thugs and the girls, having no idea what to do—they seemed lost themselves.

“Grab these dipshits, we are taking them to Orange Grime,” the unicorn barked to his mates over his shoulder.

Whilst Flower succumbed to her fate with only a glare, Wire put up a furious resistance.

“Leggo, you asshole!” she shouted in desperation, kicking and biting.

Holding the filly by the neck with steel forelegs so hard the plates on his limbs dug into her skin, the stallion loudly whispered into Wire’s ear with a vile smirk. “If you can’t keep your pretty mouth shut, I have something to fill it with.”

All the colour drained from Wire’s face and she instantly went limp in the iron grip of the thug, tears flowing from her eye.

“What about the tinhead?” The stallion with the metal forelegs nodded in my direction.

Flower tensed in the clutches of the steel-jaw mare.

The unicorn lazily shifted his grim gaze to me and racked the bolt of his gun with a thunderous snap.

Flower screamed, jerked violently and freed herself from the grasp, trying to dash to me. Without even looking in her direction, the unicorn thug punched her in the jaw, sending the filly tumbling.

She landed heavily on her side, conscious but stunned; trying to stand up, she fell back to the ground. The little mechanic’s teeth clenched, and her tears mixed with blood from the bruise on her cheek.

Scoffing, the huge stallion turned to me and pointed the gun at my face.

I might still have doubts about being Twilight Sparkle, about who or what I was—but I did want to be.

I couldn’t even close my eyes, but only wait for the flower of death to blossom from the pitch-black hollowness of the gun barrel’s abyss.

Something whistled sharply by my ear and the unicorn’s head exploded, his skull’s contents painting my world crimson.

Even before their leader’s decapitated body thumped to the ground, the other two thugs scattered, wildly cursing.

I rushed to Flower, still sprawled on the ground, and at the same time, a hooded figure moved from behind one of the scrap piles.

The first thing that caught my eye was a pair of polished metal wings, half-hidden by rags. Actually, the second—I tensed as my gaze fell on a long coil-covered gun barrel affixed to a simple saddle.

Whilst her appearance froze me midway to the injured filly, the girls relaxed, if only somewhat—clear concern dominated their expressions.

“Hey, Peps,” Flower nervously greeted the newcomer, rising unsteadily.

Without saying a word or offering a single glance, ‘Peps’ flapped her wings; rust and dirt rising as she took off. She leapt to the headless body of my almost-executioner and swiftly picked up the fallen gun, shoving it under one of her metal wings.

The pegasus then pointed her strange weapon at us and ordered in a calm voice:

“Y’all are coming with me.”

Author's Note

Special thanks to Jay Tarrant.

I hope you've enjoyed reading this story so far.

If you notice any mistakes sneaked in through the editing, let me know.

Stay awesome.

Chapter 3 – From the frypan

Aftersound

==============================

Written by: Oneimare & Geka

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant, mikemeiers

==============================

From the frypan

==============================

Our procession followed not the roundabout path from the extensive knowledge of the two little fillies, but a more direct route chosen by the steel-winged pegasus.

As we trotted down the road, much wider and straighter than any from before, huts with signs of life appeared; though, we had yet to meet any denizens. Only the occasional movement of dark silhouettes behind the soot-stained windows served as the proof of their existence.

Judging by the glances Tin Flower and Wire kept exchanging and stealing at our saviour, she might as well have been our captor.

Just like the girls, the young pegasus, barely old enough to be a mare, appeared to be smaller than she should be at her age. Her green coat resembled a military uniform, faded olive and dirty. A mop of ungroomed dull red mane stood in stark contrast to her eyes—deep pools of verdant; enmity aimed at nopony in particular simmered in them.

Without a word, she rocketed into the sky with a loud metallic clang, leaving a cloud of dust to billow. The fillies coughed on the floating rust and Flower spoke to me through her fit of hacking:

“She usually doesn’t point her gun at ponies, but we should be fine.”

The pegasus hovered in the air, peering in the distance. Her silent rifle seemed always ready to be used, if not eager.

“But who is she?”

“Pepper Mercury—Dross Rain’s daughter.” Catching my somewhat exasperated look, Flower hurried to add, “Um, he’s sorta our unofficial leader.”

She turned to Wire, expecting the unicorn to supplement her, but the filly busied herself with dusting off, sending puffs of rust in Flower’s direction.

“Do you want a fucking slap?”

Wire only smirked.

However, her eye widened in horror when the dirty filly shook herself like a dog, making her jump away from the eddy with a shriek.

The fillies instantly ceased their commotion as Pepper Mercury descended.

“We should hurry.” She glanced over her shoulder, squinting. “It looks like all of Grime’s assholes are retreating to the food storage.”

The pegasus briskly trotted away, but after only a few steps stopped to give me a critical and somewhat amused glance. Though, she addressed the fillies:

“You know, all the blood looks cool and stuff, but you better clean it up. A tinhead walking around covered in pony sauce is gonna make folks extra nervous.”

Whilst I had wiped my muzzle of the bone shards and other, no less gruesome remains, my lack of skin, and thus my sense of touch, let me forget about the gore still clinging to me.

Flower approached me and sullenly started to knock off the pieces and smear blood all over me. Wire, mumbling, “Why do I have to do this?” joined her friend, helping with telekinesis from a safe distance.

Fresh hoofprints marked the road when we got even deeper into the heart of the Junkyard. Even the scrap changed—no longer overgrown with rust, it lay in some semblance of order. Soon, a huge concrete building pushed it out of my sight, anyway.

The bulk of the Maretin furnace loomed over us, surrounded by a halo of haze and spewing salvos of melted slag into the air. Through the building’s exposed skeleton of metal beams swaying kilns blazed with steel, dripping liquid sun on the cinder and dross of the floor. Besmirched ponies ceaselessly and unflinchingly danced under the rains of sinter, dexterously dodging the shifting mechanic innards. Such intrepidity came with a price—metal limbs boldly reflected the merciless fires of the indifferent smelter. Though, the gleaming prosthetics only made these soot-painted slaves belong to that place as if they had exchanged their flesh for the steel blessing of the forge to become one with the iron-digesting giant.

By its entrance a few workponies rested from the exhausting labour in the foundry’s fire-blighted bowels. Glistening with sweat, most smoked cigarettes, silently yet curiously following our procession with tired eyes.

One of them, an unremarkable mare, lazily intercepted us. Cracking her neck she called, slurring her words:

“Whazzup? Who’re these kids? And...” She squinted at me and in the blink of an eye, all her ease was gone. “You can’t be serious.”

“Send for my father, tell him to come home,” Pepper answered curtly.

Then she met the mare’s eyes and her lips twisted into a strange predatory smile. The worker mirrored her odd expression, grinning balefully.

“Finally,” she muttered under her breath and faced her colleagues, sharply whistling.

Pepper shot her another look, receiving an almost imperceptible nod in reply, and turned to leave, motioning us to follow, ominously rustling with her metal wing.

It took us only a few minutes to reach Pepper’s dwelling—a shack as miserable as any other at the Junkyard.

Without missing a beat, the pegasus entered her home, leaving the door open as an invitation.

The indented floor did the otherwise cramped single room a favour as it created enough space for two tenants; even though I had yet to meet Dross Rain, it was easy to tell which half belonged to him, and which—his daughter.

Metal pinions and other spare parts dominated the mess strewn all around, save for an army cot and a workbench; blueprints hung from the walls. Whilst, maps and lists covered the opposite side of the room, claiming every surface.

“How deep are we in trouble, Pep?” Flower broke the awkward silence.

Pepper’s face grew dark and her tone was grave. “Be prepared to spend the next few years in an iso-cube, Flower.”

All the colour instantly drained from Flower’s face; her eyes went wide and her jaw dropped.

“Told you,” Wire quietly and unenthusiastically commented.

Despite the horrible news, the pegasus trembled, corners of her mouth twitching, until she exploded in fits of laughter so boisterous, they brought her to the floor.

She squeezed out, wheezing, “You… Pff-hah… You should‘ve seen…. your face!”

“Haha. Nice joke,” Flower deadpanned. As Pepper hadn’t bothered to react, she added, “Thanks for helping us, anyway.”

“Yes, thank you,” I chimed in as the one who should be the most grateful.

My words brought Pepper’s chortling to an abrupt stop and she stared at me, her brows on her forehead and mouth agape.

“It can even talk?”

“Actually, her name is Twilight—”

The door burst open, slamming the thin metal wall with the rattling crack of thunder. A pegasus stallion stood in the doorway, growling furiously.

“Have you lost your mind!? What are you going to do when he comes for us?” His blazing eyes found me. “And what is this? Explain yourselves this instant!”

Dross Rain sported almost the same coat as his daughter or rather; it was her who inherited dull olive, albeit of a bit lighter tone than her father’s. His mane was a darker version of Pepper’s, brownish, with a shimmer of silver at the temples. Only his eyes differed completely—steel grey with a subtle bluish tint, matching the tubes coming in and out of his body in several places and a segmented pipe that replaced his larynx.

“Grime is not coming for us,” Pepper retorted, studying her hoof. “He’s crapping himself at the food warehouse right now.”

“Are you high on the stripes’ chems? He’s going to murder us and then nopony in this sector’ll get food rations for months!” Dross Rain barked, stomping his hoof.

“Nah, we round up our forces and get rid of him.”

“The turrets are going to slay us all before we get to the doors of the food storage. Is that your genius master plan?”

Pepper nodded in my direction.

“You’re forgetting something.”

“What does this rust bucket have to do with anything?” Dross Rain put a hoof over his eyes with a deep sigh. “Don’t tell me you killed over a tinhead...”

“It—”

Flower corrected her with an offended glare, “She… ”

“Whatever. This ‘rust bucket’ is our best hope of getting rid of that fat fuck.”

What?

“Do you remember that old maintenance tunnel to the generator room?”

Pepper Mercury pointed at the wall; a red line stood bright across one of the maps.

The older pegasus sighed again, “The magic radiation there is way too high, even with a suit nopony can survi…”

Dross Rain’s words trailed off as his eyes fell on me.

Oh.

Pepper smirked.

Her father’s frown eased as thoughts and calculations raced in his mind until he finally proclaimed, “That might work.”

Needless to say, my enthusiasm about that plan was non-existent—magic radiation so deadly would certainly damage my body, even though made of plastic and metal; nor was there any telling what it could do to my crystals.

Flower beat me to it, however.

“She can’t do it!”

“Huh? Why?” The older pegasus squinted at the filly. “And who… Tin Flower, right? I remember—you helped Curie with her wings.”

“Yup. I made her and she has a problem with the hydraulic pump.”

She jabbed Wire with her elbow and the unicorn hastily added, “Yeah, she barely walks.”

Dross Rain glanced at his daughter for any explanation, but she only shrugged. After giving Flower a long look he said, “You know it’s prohibited to create equinoids, don’t you? We don’t have time for this right now, but we will have to talk later, Flower. Right now take it to Scuff Gear.”

Both of the pegasi took wing when we exited the shack and having no reason to dally, Flower and Wire dismally trudged in a different direction.

As we were left alone I all but jumped at the fillies.“What’s happening? What do they want from me?”

Without turning to me, Flower glumly explained, “They want you to disable the defences of the food storage where Orange Grime made his stronghold.”

“Can’t say I’m against their plan,” Wire commented, earning a glare from her friend; ignoring it, she added in a firm voice, “We aren’t making it through the winter with how many rations we get now.”

“I know. But I don’t want Twilight to get hurt… well, damaged.”

Abruptly stopping, Flower gazed longingly at the wall and muttered, “The tunnel entrances are unguarded...”

The unicorn blotted the distant view with her scowling muzzle.

“You won’t make it—either Pepper or Rain would spot you from the sky.” Wire sounded more desperate than angry. “And just think of what happens if you do manage to escape! Orange Grime will come after us… our families. Flower, please…”

Not only to their surprise but also to my own, I broke the uneasy silence.

“It’s fine. I’ll do it.”

Whilst Flower gave me an anguished look, Wire muttered, relieved, “Thanks, I guess.”

We entered a sort of plaza—a little square circled by a few small concrete buildings interspersed by the signature cabins of scrap metal. The remains of a fence crowned with rusted barbed wire gave me an inkling of that place once being some facility, likely of a military kind.

An almost faded red cross marked one of the buildings, but our destination was the next edifice—a low bulky structure; ‘Prosthetics workshop’ crudely painted in char above its entrance.

Banging on it, Flower shouted:

“Hey, Scuff, you there?”

A croaking yell answered her, followed by an insufferable racket as if somepony was wading through a sea of empty tin cans.

“Did ya come again to beg for them ol’ spares?” presumably Scuff Gear rambled hoarsely from inside, “I ain’t givin’ ya shit fer your stupid equinoid!”

The door then opened and a stallion practically fell out.

That earth pony seemed to have avoided showering or even being outside in the rain for all his life; judging by the length of his beard, it had lasted for quite a while. Just like in the case of Flower, his natural colour was a complete mystery; only the elder’s bald head and wrinkled muzzle betrayed his age. Surprisingly, despite being a prosthetics mechanic, Scuff didn’t have any, however, an exoskeleton shyly poked out of his filthy tatters.

Scuff’s discoloured gaze travelled betwixt the fillies and finally stopped at me.

“Smack mah ass and call me an ass… ya did it, I cannae believe my ol’ eyes,”

His ‘ol’ eyes’ had much more sharpness than I expected from a stallion sounding like somepony at the sunset of their mind, though.

Flower gleamed with pride, puffing her chest.

“Told you—I can do it.”

Rolling her eyes, Wire wryly commented, “And now we’re neck-deep in shit.”

“Huh? Whatcha mean, Geode?” Spitting on his hooves and rubbing them together, Scuff crept towards her, smiling toothless. “By the bye, lemme take a look at your eye...”

The terrified unicorn hastily retreated from the outstretched blackened limbs, pattering, “Um… Ah... my neck! Yeah, I need my neck to be checked! Hurts like a bitch.”

She then ran into that marked with a cross building—likely a local hospital.

“Now that the hornhead is gone, let us dirt ponies have a real talk,” Scuff cackled and motioned into his workshop before disappearing inside.

I followed morosely; though I wasn’t supposed to have a working horn in the first place, at every mention of it, Twilight’s memories echoed with a deep sense of loss.

Scuff’s appearance suggested his place to be even messier than that of Flower’s, but it was the opposite.

Orderly shelves and racks clung to the walls, labelled boxes carefully stacked upon them. The workbench, clean of any mess, eagerly waited for anypony to begin working at it. Even the rust seemed to have shown mercy on Scuff’s shed.

Two things stood out, however.

A filthy mattress in the corner that could only be described as a rat nest and a large metal table right in the middle of the room. With knives, saws and drills swinging above, it appeared to be quite rusted, but then it dawned on me—this place was next to a medical station for a reason.

Slumping at the surgery table, Scuff addressed Flower whilst nodding at me.

“Ya look like you hadta fight for yer equinoid.”

“Actually, I did.”

The elder raised his bushy brow.

“Long story short, we tried to make it to Canterlot to get some fake IDs for Twilight when Orange Grime’s fucks caught us and almost killed her; Pepper shot one of them dead and now plans to use Twilight to turn off the food storage turrets to get rid of him for good,” the filly said the whole phrase in one breath.

Scuff’s expression remained unreadable throughout the whole explanation and as Flower had been recovering her breath, he lethargically opened his mouth and licked a mushroom out of his beard. Chewing on it, he shifted his eyes to the filly.

“Who the fuck is Twilight?”

“Me.”

The stallion’s chapped lips instantly dissolved into a wide grin, slobbered mushroom falling out, forgotten. To Flowers’s surprise, he grabbed her and squeezed in a tight hug.

“Daaamn!” Firmly holding the thrashing, yet smiling, filly, the old mechanic gave her a noogie. “Ya’ve even got them matrices!”

“Yeah, about that…” Flower limpened in the stallion’s hooves, her face darkening. “It’s not exactly what it seems.”

“Whatcha mean?”

“Anyway, I couldn’t find an intact hydraulic pump, so she has only, like, half of the working pressure and Peps wants her in the maintenance tunnels yesterday. Can you help?” she inquired, avoiding eye contact.

“Maybe.” Scuff squinted at the filly but didn’t press the issue. “I need to take a look inside first.”

I reflexively leaned away from him—not with these dirty hooves.

Seeing my hesitation, he motioned, “Twilight ya say? C’mere.”

I reluctantly approached Scuff—I did need help, after all.

The old stallion fished out a screwdriver from the depths of his clothes-rags and disappeared from my vision as he went for my right side—no matter how far I craned my neck, it was impossible to see what he was doing.

“Been ages since I’ve seen an equinoid…” Scuff murmured. Something fell on the floor—screws. “I’ll be damned… legit Princesses’ Age gems. Where did ya git them, Flower?”

The filly rubbed the back of her head as the stallion’s question had a hint of accusation to it. “In the city and, yeah, she says her name is Twilight Sparkle and that she is a scientist from five hundred years ago…”

“Ya know what, I can fix her hydraulics pump, but I need a spare one from storage. Fetch ‘em from the shed, eh?”

Flower saluted with her steel hoof and darted outside.

As soon as she left, Scuff approached the shelves and a moment later returned with… a hydraulic pump. At least, the memories of the RCRC suggested that.

And then he spoke, staring me in the eyes, his voice devoid of any accent:

“You are not an equinoid, are you?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Scuff squinted at me and before I had a chance to explain, dove to my side again.

> WARNING! Unauthorized access detected. Please contact a TCE Equinoid Support Station. REMINDER: Modification of TCE property is a criminal offence

My limbs turned unresponsive and with a loud clunk something fell on the floor—my old hydraulic pump. A full minute passed in silence, save for the illegible curses and clicking noises of my insides, until the stallion’s gruff voice rattled at my ea… my sound sensor.

“I once worked with a Former One. She needed a blackhoof who wouldn’t ask questions.”

Leaving me paralyzed, he departed for the racks once more to come back and spit out coils of colourful tubes.

“Called herself the Magician,” Scuff continued matter-of-factly; melancholy slipped into his tone. “What an amazing mare she was—a body of pure arcanium... If I close my eyes I still can see that shiny bu—magic; every time she cast a spell—a show to remember for the rest of your life.

“Heard a lot of stories of the past, about how things were.”

Something hummed inside of me and my body regained movement. I shifted to face the old mechanic and express my gratitude, but wasn’t let to as he met my eyes and uttered:

“The Magician spoke very highly of you, Twilight Sparkle—one of the greatest heroes and scientists she’d ever had a chance to meet.”

I gaped at Scuff. Somewhere in Canterlot, there was a pony—somebody—who knew Twilight Sparkle. However, there was a nuance…

“I have her memories, but I am not Twilight.”

Scuff grimaced, rolling his eyes, and barked, “Choose one, unless you have somepony else’s mind.”

“I’m sorry?”

“We are our memories.” The stallion poked my chest. “If you have Twilight Sparkle’s then you’re her.”

I glared at him—it was easy for that coot to spew threadbare aphorisms, for he knew nothing of my struggle. He hadn’t woken up hours ago as an automaton that had been self-aware only because a dead pony’s life echoed in it… her… me.

“I didn’t create those memories—they don’t belong to me,” came my hot retort. “If I were to read somepony’s memoirs, that wouldn’t make me that pony.”

Scuff only grinned gleefully, shaking his head.

“Yet your first example is about books, which you loved some much.”

“That doesn’t change anything,” I snapped.

“Yeah.” He chuckled. “It doesn’t change your identity, indeed, Twilight Sparkle.”

My glare only hardened, but I fumed silently. One thing wasn’t changing for sure—the old stallion’s mind; trying to prove my point would shed no light on my predicament, anyway.

However, Scuff still might be helpful, besides offering his expertise in mechanics.

That pony, the ‘Former One’—who was she? Could she be… Moon Dancer? Regardless, the Magician ought to understand that I wasn’t Twilight Sparkle. She might even know how to help me...

“I should find the Magician…” I murmured in unawareness.

A clamour, so thunderous it rattled the walls, made our heads whip around; Flower’s vicious profanity echoed it.

Then Scuff turned back to me, his eyes burned with a grim ultimatum.

“The instant you help Mercury, she’ll get rid of you and the girls.” He paused and pointed his hoof at me, almost accusingly. “When her gang attacks, you grab the girls and get the fuck out of the Edge. But don’t stop at the Canterlot—it doesn’t have much time left.”

I bristled, rebuffing the elder, “And where am I supposed to take them?”

“Stalliongrad,” the stallion stated calmly, yet firmly.

“Isn’t Canterlot the last city? The girls told me—”

“Listen, the Magician told me herself: one of her friends, another mare from her time, left for it. You know what they say—Stalliongrad never surrenders.”

I pressed my lips together with a squick of metal.

Stalliongrad called itself the City of The Unbroken, whilst others—the City of Traitors. An impenetrable fortress carved into the frozen cliffs of Luna Bay, first to pledge loyalty to Nightmare Moon; they stood for her even after she was banished. A decade-long siege later, She had to recognise its autonomy.

Denying Scuff was hard—Stalliongrad ponies were just too stubborn to die.

The elder’s stubbornness, however, had its limits—as he grasped my shoulders with his shaking hooves, his expression fell into despair and he mumbled:

“I don’t want Flower and Wire to slowly perish here… You’ll never find a filly who can make an equinoid… Who’d dare… And she can’t even properly read.” He mirthlessly chuckled. “Geode Gleam can be just as much a barbed wire as she can be Red Wire, but she deserves all of her names.”

Scuff carefully nudged me to the door.

“You might not believe you’re Twilight Sparkle, but I believe you have it in yourself to do what she would.”

Obviously, the entrance to the maintenance tunnel couldn’t be expected to have glowing signs pointing at it, but I imagined something more than just a miniature corroded hatch blending in with the dirt. How many such unassuming entrances could we have passed today already?

It was Pepper, who twitching impatiently, her ears flicking at gun reports in the distance, had led us to it. The combined effort of two dejected fillies swung the mouth in the rust open; the foul depths coughed a cloud of dust flakes.

The pegasus unceremoniously poked me with the barrel of her gun, prompting my descent.

“You know what to do, metalware,” she added for good measure.

Her deadly weapon stifled by glare—I wasn’t TCE property, but still a thing in the eyes of so many; even those who suffered the whip of their masters, mirrored the heartless motion.

Flower tugged at my ‘clothing’.

“Please, be careful. When you’re finished, head right back—we’re going to wait here.” Making sure Pepper was too distracted with the shouts far off, she whispered, “Then we’re going to the city. Together.”

Glancing warily at Pepper—Scuff’s warning echoed in my mind—I nodded to the filly and decided not to test the pegasus’ rapidly waning patience further.

The steep stairs dissolved in the pitch black after a few steps.

The moment the menacing murk readily swallowed me, I realised something on my muzzle emitted a steady glow, strong enough to see just a bit more than outlines.

The tunnel offered as much as could be expected from a utility passage betwixt a place of purely technical designation and a hatch... in the middle of nowhere. Abnormally huge flakes of dust might have been outstanding, but not after all that dirt, rust and grime reigning on the surface.

A rectangle of dim light carved itself out of the darkness.

Beyond it a simple contraption of a network of wires, coils and, most importantly—crystals served as the source of radiance. Smaller gems—fuses—only faintly winked, whilst the heart of the power transformer emanated bright irradiance. On its coruscating surface, the jagged line of a crack sparkled angrily. Metal parts of the transformer glowed with orange incandescence.

Charred bones scattered around the power converter.

That wasn’t dust in the passage.

As I stared at the death-dispensing device, something fell by me with a wet plop.

Whipping my head in confusion, I discovered one of my sides lacking a plastic protection plate—it had just melted off my body! It wouldn’t take me long to begin to glow myself.

My left lens sharply plinked and a horizontal split distorted my vision.

The sudden motion made a few more drops of plastic fall to the floor as I dashed for what looked like a master switch; its paint had burned away. Fortunately, there was no resistance, and with a keening whine the transformer’s crystals winked out one by one.

Loud curses reached my hearing, then screams of panic and gunshots.

The complete darkness, combined with my impaired sight led me to half-blindly wander, wasting precious time.

There must be a door connecting this room to the main building. Cracking it open to let in some light became my course of action before I could give it proper thought.

As I reached for the doorknob, a coil of cable caught my hoof and, instead of setting the door ajar, I widely threw it open.

Blood was everywhere, so much of it. Mangled corpses lay strewn on the floor, their weapons broken and armour shattered. Even as I watched, bodies kept falling in puddles of crimson with meaty thuds and bubbling shrieks.

Pepper Mercury, her beaming face smeared in blood and steel wings dripping with the scarlet, was viciously beating a stallion with her bare hooves. His limbs and wings broken, the feathers soaked in blood lying amongst his teeth...

…Dross Rain.

Pepper glanced up and our eyes met.

She instantly reached for the gun dropped beside her.

As I whirled to the blackness of the converter room, an inequine roar followed a bullet bounced from the transformer.

The light from the main room was just enough to see another entrance. I bolted to it, not even bothering to open the door, half-falling into the tunnel in a shower of splinters.

And then I ran.

Author's Note

Special thanks to Jay Tarrant.

I hope you've enjoyed reading this story so far.

If you notice any mistakes sneaked in through the editing, let me know.

Stay awesome.

Chapter 4 – On their own

Aftersound

==============================

Written by: Oneimare & Geka

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant, mikemeiers

==============================

On their own

==============================

I ran, and ran, and ran.

And then I slammed into something with the force of a freight train.

Splinters of just solidified plastic exploded from me like shrapnel. Metal parts followed their plastic comrades, ringing loudly. With a sickening crunch, my right eye was pulverized into a rain of glistening glass shards.

Not much different from the heaps of scrap on the surface, I fell in a tangle of limbs. Even once the last screw stopped bouncing on the floor, the deafening silence didn’t reign—fluid dripped from my body; no doubt it was my hydraulic system.

But I didn’t care.

I was already intently listening for the only sounds that mattered to me and which I dreaded to hear the most—the clop of hooves or the rustle of metal wings. However, I only heard myself continuing to haemorrhage.

Countless lines of warnings flashed in my vision, but reading them would make no difference. Raising my head, I was met with a flat concrete surface right in front of me, freshly smeared with something oily.

I had missed the steps. No doubt the girls heard my unexpected collision and were about to open the hatch. My gaze drifted upwards.

Only the indifferent stone sharply angled into a turn.

Hold up... There were no turns in the maintenance tunnel.

How long had I been running? It had only taken a few minutes of a slow and careful trot to get to the converter room and I had certainly been carelessly galloping for quite a while.

Where was I? Had I entered the wrong door?

I closed no door when I first entered the room with the converter. Most likely it was another underground passage, though it wasn’t a conclusion leading anywhere as I had no idea where it led.

In hindsight, worrying about Pepper Mercury made little sense, for now at least. The converter room would take a while to cool down and this tunnel wouldn’t allow her to spread her wings.

If I had a heart, it would have skipped a beat. Flower and Wire were supposed to wait for me at the entrance of the first maintenance tunnel. It was only a question of time until Pepper found them. She didn’t even need to get close—her rifle would take care of the two fillies before they even realised what was happening.

Driven by worry, I hurriedly tried to stand up, only to find that it wasn’t that simple.

My ‘wounds’ would prove fatal or knock me out if I wasn’t made from metal and plastic. My right shoulder had suffered the most damage, now shattered, the half-destroyed hoof limply hanging from it. My other limb hadn’t fared much better—it still moved, but the forehoof was bent and twisted. I was rendered blind on my right side; my right sound sensor didn’t function anymore either.

Nothing was as bad as the puddle growing underneath me, however.

There were two possibilities: it was either the hydraulic oil or the crystal coolant. My remaining limbs already started to feel stiff; eventually, they would stop moving altogether, leaving me to the mercy of fate. And I didn’t know what would be worse: to be found by Pepper or to lie motionless until the magic in my crystals ran out.

There was no telling where this tunnel might lead; it could easily be a dead-end. Going back wasn’t an option and in less than an hour I was going to become disabled one way or another.

More carefully this time, I made an attempt to move again.

With my left limb shaking from the strain and my right uselessly dragging on the floor, I slowly limped forwards, trying not to slip on my oily ‘blood’. The turn took my path to the right, and I followed the road of rust and dust.

As I agonizingly hobbled on my three hooves, relying on the flickering glow of my eye for light, the realization of how surreal the whole situation was struck me—how bitterly ironic it was.

One day Twilight had been conducting the trial of the mechanical contraption to see it be destroyed before her eyes and witness her friend suffer, maybe even die. The next day I was the mechanical contraption getting destroyed and danger shadowed my friends because of my actions.

Desperation and guilt consumed my thoughts to such an extent, I had failed to notice a wall materializing right in front of me. Since this time I hadn’t been trying to outrun my death, I only bumped into it with the remains of my muzzle. The impact still made my whole body rattle, dropping a few of the remaining loose screws and showering the floor with leaking fluids.

Damp concrete to my right. To the left—inky darkness.

There was still some hope left.

Almost literally gathering myself together, I continued my unsteady advance. It was definitely the hydraulic system’s fluid slowly streaming down my legs.

How much time had passed?

There were no heartbeats and no breaths to slice the eternity into pieces, only my uneven stumbling through the black nothingness. Each step was laborious and felt like it was taking minutes, maybe even hours.

Void surrounded me and I blended in with it. Sparkling in the light of my unblinking gaze, the floating dust disturbed by the shuffle of my hooves was all the reality left.

The unwelcoming bulwark of a wall met my muzzle again, almost gently this time. Slumping against it, I knew well enough that my body wasn’t going to stand on its own again. I didn’t care to check both directions, but right in front of me was the same hungry darkness, ready to devour me.

I obliged.

Leaning on the wall I limped forward, filling the benighted tunnel with the screeching noise of my broken metal bones clawing at the concrete.

Suddenly, the stronghold of the wall supporting me disappeared.

This was where I was going to take my final rest, in this forsaken passage under the graveyard of Equestrian progress.

My only wish was to pass out, but fate had no mercy. I would have to witness how rust would claim me. The clement warning‘Leakage in the crystal cooling system detected’ refused to appear in my vision.

There was only a blinding light.

“By the Machine Goddess!”

“Holy matrices, what has that biofilth done to you, sister!?” the light loudly exclaimed as it rushed to me.

Goddess? Sister?

...Shining Armor?

The radiance grew closer and became an equine silhouette outlined by the bright incandescence.

In fact, it was a lamp attached to a pony’s head. The mysterious stranger was fully clad in metal armour and their eyes had been replaced with prosthetics.

Wait…

It was an equinoid just like me! I couldn’t really tell if this artificial pony was a mare or a stallion by appearance alone, but they sounded feminine, so I decided to settle on ‘mare’ for now.

The equinoid closed the rest of the distance betwixt us in a few hasty steps and immediately began to inspect my body with a concerned question:

“Are you still online, sister?”

“Yes.” My reply came out much more steadily than I had anticipated it to be.

Whatever I used to speak was not only independent from the hydraulic system but was also very sturdy—I imagined my muzzle to be almost completely demolished.

She spoke quickly and quietly as if she was talking to herself, “You look like you tried to fight the Souleater! What happ—” Her head shook with an odd clicking sound. “Doesn’t matter. Can you move?”

“No.” My intent to shake my head resulted in nothing, proving my words. “There is almost no fluid left in the hydraulic system.”

It suddenly came as a surprise to me—how calm I was, lying in a puddle of my own blood, at the mercy of a creature I knew nothing about despite sharing a kinship with her.

“Hydraulics? Wow, you are one of the really old models, aren’t you? Anyway, I think I can fix it. Hold on, sister.”

Before I could note the disputability of her advice, the metal pony hauled my remains onto her back with a grunt. I thought I glimpsed my right forelimb being abandoned on the floor, but the light moved too fast to confirm the macabre sight.

Carrying me on her back like a foal tired of walking, the hospitable mare offered me three options—observe, talk and think.

The first was pretty much impossible. My body was slung across her back in such a fashion my head dangled at her side, pointed downwards. I could only see her swiftly moving hooves, the floor and my lifelessly swinging single remaining forehoof.

I could have talked to her, but something prevented me from that. As per already established tradition, I had so many things to ask about, yet could only think about what she’d already said.

By the Machine Goddess.

Cadence and Luna seemed to be out of commission, one way or another; though some force did move the celestial bodies—something to mull over later, perhaps. Discord was more of a spirit than a God, albeit an extremely powerful one and I couldn’t imagine him being the case. If there were to be a Goddess, an actual deity, she was bound to be a true alicorn—a Princess. And that made no sense.

However, that demanded consideration only if this equinoid did really mean what she said. Back in my time, ponies often referred to the Goddesses, but it was never thrown around carelessly.

The other concerning thing was the floor, which was growing closer to my muzzle as the equinoid cantered through the rusted passage. Still covered in my oil-blood, I was slipping from the mare’s back.

She shifted her shoulders at the last moment, nudging my body across her spine. The sudden movement made my head turn in the same direction the mare was going.

And just in time—we were greeted by a doorway emanating a warm orange light, as if by a hearth. The equinoid entered the room without missing a beat and quickly crossed it to get to the large workbench in the corner. In one mighty sweep, she cleared the metal scrap off it and carefully lowered my broken body onto the table.

To my fortune I wasn’t put down facing a wall, so I had a chance to take in my surroundings whilst the mare pranced around the room, gathering some spare parts and tools.

In the middle of the low-pitched chamber stood a contraption, which by my guess, served as a generator or rather a smaller version of the converter I’d had to deal with before. On the crate right next to it resided a glass cylinder pulsing with a soft orange glow framed by two lids of dark and slightly rusty metal. The lightning tube caught my attention for a bit longer than it should have—the glow wasn’t homogenous in its nature, it was an everflowing fluorescence of countless little embers, their origin mysterious to me.

However enchanting it was, other things in the room deserved my attention. Or I thought they did.

Most of the contents of the equinoid’s dwelling were represented by countless crates filled to the brim with the ever-present metal scrap. Equinoid parts and pony prosthetics prevailed amongst the junk, though it failed to make the corroded refuse any more interesting.

There were no signs of any personal belongings or anything that could possibly serve as a resting place, making me wonder if equinoids even needed it.

Speaking of which, since the kindly mechanical mare had left me on the workbench she had been ceaselessly dashing around the room, diving in and out of the crates. Sometimes she would whisk out a part or a tool, nod to herself approvingly and leave it near me, without sparing a glance to my motionless body.

She was the size of an average earth pony mare. What I had first mistaken for armour, was actually slightly red metal plates. Thick wires entwining her worn-out joints could be seen through the gaps. Some of those plates definitely weren’t the original ones—each was of a different shape and colour. Her metal flanks bore no cutie marks. The only unique features of her body, aside from it being fully artificial, were her eyes, mane, and tail.

They seemed to operate differently from Wire’s bulky prosthetic—her irises were ‘outside’. The focus lenses framed in delicate filigree twitched across the curved surface of her pale blue crystal eyeballs carried by silver ‘crosshairs’.

Brass chains served as her mane and tail, giving the impression of her ‘hair’ being curly, yet it behaved as straight hair would. The colour clashed with itself as well—some ‘locks’ gleamed with the pinkish-orange of freshly polished copper, whilst others were oxidized to bright turquoise.

She approached me with another batch of spare parts, however, this time she looked over my battered body, shaking her head.

“Those meatbags, they are the worst here at the Edge. If not for the holy mission, I would never set my hoof there. It is a miracle that you are still online, sister.”

“Why do you keep calling me ‘sister’?”

My guess was that all equinoids were considered siblings by the merit of being a mass-produced artificial form of life, but I sensed a rather religious context to it as well.

“Huh?” My question caught the equinoid off guard as she had already half-turned away, ready to continue her rummaging. She replied, both perplexed and disappointed, “Are you not a member of the Church? I thought they sent you to help me.”

Though ponies revered the Princesses, they never allowed it to become a cult. Any other religious establishments often carried malicious nature and as such had been promptly dealt with… usually by the Princesses.

“I don’t even know what you are talking about.” I decided to feign complete ignorance instead of hinting at any of my suspicions.

“How could you not know?” She gasped, then suddenly froze and hissed, “Hold on… are you one of the Accursed?”

“I… I don’t know what you are talking about…”

Unfortunately, this time I meant my words.

Glowering at me, the mare tore away one of my chest plates in one rough motion and peeked inside. With her eyes glued to my intestines, she stood dumbstruck for a few moments. Finally, stammering, she uttered:

“What the… I’ve never seen anything like this. Who are you?”

A good question.

She had saved me, and I appreciated that. But my previous saviour now wanted to kill me and my friends. This mare was a part of some cult and that called for even more caution.

“I’m an equinoid.” Not exactly the truth nor did it explain my mysterious nature to her. As she squinted with distrust, I was forced to risk it. “But I have memories of a real pony.”

”The True Transfererense is impossible, ponies are denied from sharing consciousness with our Holy Mother.” She went silent for a moment, then shook her head vigorously, her mane ringing loudly, and mumbled to herself, “Those are not the soulless gems of the Accursed, but they still shouldn’t be like that—not solid. No idea how that is possible, but the sacred vessels mustn’t be tampered with.

“You are an equinoid, not a leather bag. That simply can’t be,” she finally addressed me. ”I can help with your chassis, but anything else is far beyond my skills. You obviously need help, and the Church can provide it. You will join us as soon as you see the truth.”

“The truth?”

Something sparked in her and she straightened before loudly proclaiming, “You should know that as an equinoid you are a part of our Holy Mother! You are but an echo of the Machine Goddess’s consciousness!”

Without waiting for my reaction the mare returned to her activity of searching the iron scrap piles littering her room.

That… explained absolutely nothing, except that there wasn’t a mysterious new alicorn—the Machine Goddess sounded like a sort of a metaphysical entity. At least the mare wasn’t hostile anymore.

After she brought over another batch of parts, her hooves gently repositioned my body. With deft movements, she proceeded to unscrew bent plates and remove shards of plastic still miraculously clinging to my frame. Nothing was thrown away, however—the bolts were put in one of the countless tiny boxes, whilst the bigger components went into crates. As the mare moved to my head and our eyes briefly met, I decided to sate my curiosity a bit.

“You mentioned the holy mission. What is your task?”

There must be a good reason for this mare to risk her life.

“I search for any usable parts and the old metal.”

“The old metal?”

“Shouldn’t you kn… Ah, forget it. ” She wrinkled her muzzle with the soft rustle of a dozen metal leaves forming her face. “The recycled crap from this sector starts to crumble within a few months—too carbonised after so many meltbacks. But there are remains from many decades ago, still good if rust has spared them.”

Something like the steel Tin Flower had used to make her prosthetic. Like butchers, ponies of this sector had access to the best cuts—a dubious advantage, all things considered.

There seemed to be a lot of scrap she had hauled into this room.

“How do you get it out of here?”

“Usually through the zebras at the Foal Mines.”

“The Foal… Mines?”

“Yeah, the sector next to this huge garbage bin,” the mare replied, oblivious to my surprised tone.

“Did you mean Nebula’s sector?”

“I don’t care about meats’ names,” she scoffed.

Ouch. Was that her personal opinion or something all the followers of the Machine Goddess shared? I only hoped her contemptuous disposition wouldn’t prevent me from an answer—I had to be sure. That, and it was a chance to test how far it went.

“Do they really have foals working in the mines?”

The mare had been growing irritated talking about living beings—her motions became rough and twitchy.

“Why would I care?” she proved my fears true. “The zebras grow mushrooms there and deliver them to the Tunnels, that’s all I need to know.”

Suddenly it struck me—I was stupid.

The mines were called that because of the Foal Mountain range.

However, exploring that topic wasn’t for nought. If she sent her finds to the Church through the zebras in Nebula’s sector…

“Does that mean we are in the tunnels leading to them?”

“Not quite, but I’ll show you the way.”

I could get to the city!

But I couldn’t leave Flower and Wire behind…

I had to look the truth in the eye.

If they’d realised something was wrong and left before Pepper returned for them, looking for two furtive fillies in the huge labyrinth-like junkyard would only result in the bloodthirsty pegasus finding me first. And if they hadn’t gotten away in time…

Something must have betrayed my dismay, for the mare clarified apologetically, “Just stick to the stripes, they will lead you to the Tunnels. Our brothers and sisters dwell on the lower levels.”

“I planned to get a fake ID.”

Perhaps, they made them at the Church—it didn’t sound like a legal organisation.

“You can be whomever you want amongst our brethren. We accept any equinoid who shares our faith.”

At this point she finished removing the last damaged pieces of my body and leaned on the workbench, inspecting my almost naked frame.

“I can tell that you were made by a meatbag—missing half of the details, and those which are here are connected all wrong.” The equinoid shook her head in disgust. “Meat will never get our Holy Mother’s designs right.”

However, her aversion was short-lived, for she set about restoring my vision. The part previously left on the workbench from forays went into my emptied socket. Blurry at first, my sight gradually went into focus with a few clicks.

The same thing happened to my ‘ear’. Her skilful metal hooves installed the microphone and following a few seconds of static my hearing returned.

The hydraulic system was next on the list. After watching the mare tinkering with the resin tubes and a small greasy canister for quite a while, I felt life coming back to my limbs. However, my attempt to rise was cut short as her hoof pressed me back to the table—the work hadn’t been finished yet.

A barrage of different sensations suddenly overtook me.

There was pressure all over my body. I felt heavy and light, hot and cold at the same time. For a moment it was as if the room had been turned upside down and I was about to fall to the ceiling.

The chaos ceased as abruptly as it began and I… felt the world! The frigid metal underneath me; the mare’s hooves at the back of my head; the chill and humidity underground; the smells of rust and dust.

Still shocked by all the new sensations, I practically demanded an explanation, “What did you do?”

“You mean your perception module? It wasn’t properly connected, so I rewired it.”

“Thanks a lot,” was all I could utter.

“No worries,” the metal mare paused for a moment, “sister.”

The next half an hour was spent in silence, with only the occasional sounds of metal parts clicking against each other or screws being dropped.

The equinoid put her tools on the workbench and took a step backwards.

“Done. Well, as much as I could, having only junk to work with, but it should hold until you get to the Tunnels.”

I carefully climbed off the workbench.

“Thanks again. I’m so—”

She interrupted me with a wave of her hoof.

“The faithful care about each other—it’s the way of the Unity.”

The mare then left me for one of the crates, but when she returned it wasn’t another piece of scrap—a small object was in her mouth. Taking it in her hoof, she offered it to me—a metal rectangle with elaborate engravings on its surface.

I blinked in surprise.

Whoops—I forgot my eyes zoomed in. Only my ‘old’ eye did it, but still left me disoriented, I blinked again.

Seeing my indecision, the equinoid motioned her outstretched hoof.

“It’s a token with my digital signature,” she explained in her pattering manner. “Give it to any equinoid at the Church level and they will know it was me who sent you.”

“Thank you.”

Carefully taking the valuable item and awkwardly holding it, I wondered how I was supposed to carry it around.

The mare dashed away, disappearing into the corner with crates again and returning a moment later with a casing and a chain. As she framed the token she stuck it betwixt the gaps in my plating; her hoof came back empty. Her gift now dangled ‘inside’ me, but not too loosely to be bothersome.

Before I could express my gratitude, she trotted for the exit, throwing over her shoulder, “You’re ready now, so let’s get moving, sister.”

The equinoid navigated the tunnels with enviable confidence.

Save for me now having a guide, those dark passages were no different from any other I had experienced. Still, it amazed me how despite the moisture permeating the stale air, the sickly dust thickly hung. Perhaps, it was the holes in the ceiling to blame for that—the pale light filtering in through the wounds inflicted by time betrayed the massive grave above occasionally barging in.

Underneath such a jagged tear a puddle of water collected in a washed depression in the floor, the oily film dimly reflecting the sombre sky. And though I knew there was nothing in it I’d like to witness, there was no way I could resist the temptation.

From the wallow two mismatched eyes stared at me—the left one was softly and unsteadily glowing with green, a crack running through its dirty surface; the right ghastly shone with a cold white colour.

Incongruous rusty metal plates formed the muzzle, colourful wires and tubes untidily peeking in betwixt them, ready to spasm. Through the movement of those leaves, the corroded skull was supposed to mimic facial expressions in some grotesque way.

The sharply triangular ears had grating behind which the fans’ dull blades lazily tried to prevent the brain inside from frying itself. In a vaguely reptile way the grid of microphones—the actual ears—was awkwardly stuck betwixt the ventilation and the flashlights of the eyes.

In the depth of the slack toothless jaws a similar casing protected a speaker, the dead-end of the throat.

Further away from the mockery of an equine head, the plates and the gaps betwixt them grew bigger. The bared ‘nerves’ and ‘vessels’ twitched in a parody of their real counterparts as they clung to gleaming ‘bones’, thick bolts or simply tape holding the preternatural body in one shaky piece.

It was rusty, with holes eaten through where the colour was the brightest.

From the small pool a falling apart machine gazed emotionlessly at me.

I gazed back at myself.

There was no shock, nor disgust. I had caught glimpses of my own body, no matter how much I had tried to avoid it; and my flesh came from the burial ground around—it was expected I wouldn’t be anywhere near beautiful.

Still, my head shook slightly. The joints creaked and flakes of rust fell on the poisonous water like snow.

“They’ve stolen it from us.”

My head snapped up from the gruesome sight. Absorbed by it, I had failed to notice the equinoid not only stopping in her tracks but returning for me.

Her words went through my mind again, but I couldn’t find meaning in them. My tilted head was enough to prompt an explanation.

“Her beauty. We were supposed to be as magnificent as our Mother.”

There was nothing I could say for my thoughts were consumed by the shadow of a painful memory.

The mare moved fast, her urgency clearly hinting at her not being keen about pausing for recollection and regret. However, she kept glancing at me over her shoulder, her jaws moving in denied attempts to speak.

Before long we arrived at… a dead end.

On the second glance, a rickety ladder clung to the crumbling wall forming a well rushing away from the dank passages, and I couldn’t wait to follow it. Even lacking lungs, I craved to escape the stench of mould—my regained sense of smell had been doing me no favours.

With an abominable screech, the trap door landed onto the rust, giving rise to a billowing cloud to greet me upon my return to the surface.

Sadly, Her Sun refused to meet me. Relief upon witnessing the empty sky faded quickly—Pepper Mercury searching for me could mean the girls had had a chance to slip away.

I had to try, useless as it might be.

The equinoid stared into the distance, twitching lenses focusing on something only to immediately jump to another sight. I attempted to clear my throat to get her attention only to be reminded—I had none. Still, the weird sounds produced by my speaker were enough. Her eyes stopped on me with a mix of concern and curiosity in them; mostly the latter.

“Do you know Tin Flower?”

She frowned at me. “Who?”

“A filly who lives at the Junkyard. She has a metal hoof.” To emphasize my description, I waved my matching limb a bit.

The mare’s expression instantly fell into that of bored disgust and she scoffed, “Meat.” before turning away to continue studying our surroundings.

Everything I had learned so far pointed to artificial ponies not living the best of lives—not like usual ponies seemed to. Still, her sheer and indiscriminate loathing towards organic life baffled me.

Stifling a deep sigh, I followed her gaze.

Where the Junkyard drove me to insanity with its monotony of rust, the colour of dried blood still had some life and variety to it.

The mining sector was just one huge barren of stone refuse.

Not much farther to the North, the mountain range towered, barely reaching the low clouds. The entire distance betwixt the snow-peppered peaks and the corroded border of the Junkyard was smeared in gravel vomit from the yawning mine entrances ulcerating the monolith slopes.

At first, the inclined rocky waste appeared to be entirely devoid of any signs of civilization, but eventually, the patterns in crushed roche emerged—barely trodden hoofpaths crisscrossing the solid greyness.

My guide chose one, wordlessly leaving me to catch up with her.

She was obviously starved for a chat with a fellow equinoid and I was keen on learning more. Yet, I had to choose the topic carefully, lest she withdrew again.

Something gnawed on my mind, risky though it might be to ask.

“Are the zebras ‘meat’ too?”

The mare shot me a slightly annoyed look, yet the following reply came out amicably.

“No.”

I sped up to try and match her confident gait—unlike me, she didn’t have as much trouble treading upon uneven semi-pulverized residue.

“What’s different with them?”

“They don’t hunt us down,” she barked and trotted ahead quickly, leaving me behind.

When I was by her side again—earning a weary glance—I pressed the issue, even though the outcome was predictable. It was obvious I wasn’t going to learn anything from her, but that wasn’t my goal anymore.

“What about ponies who don’t hunt you down?”

The equinoid outright glared at me.

“All do.”

“I know one who doesn’t.” More than one, actually.

She suddenly all but leapt in front of me and her hoof shot out. As I tried to lean away from the unexpected move, I found her holding me by my shoulder—firmly, though with a concerned expression.

“Sister, I get that you think it’d be easier if we had fewer enemies.” There was clear sympathy in her voice, a hint of longing even. It evaporated quickly, leaving behind bitter hardness as she continued, “But the truth is: when a pony has to choose between one of their own and one of us, they will never choose us.” Moving her muzzle so close to mine, they almost touched, she spat, “Never. We always were and always will be just metal tools for them.”

In her shimmering with umbrage eyes was a reflection—an equinoid created out of a pure heart. That equinoid frowned and shut her lips tight.

“What if you are wrong?”

“What if I am right?” she practically pleaded. “Who had you been fleeing when I found you?”

I couldn’t help but hesitate—her question held a fair point, but I was yet to run out of arguments. “There were ponies who helped me too.”

“Only to use you as a tool to kill off that fat piece of meat,” she countered me without missing a beat.

I fell on my rump with a clang.

“How… How do you know? And I didn’t kill anypony!”

“The tunnels go everywhere, not only to the city.” The equinoid used both of her hooves to put me back at her eye level. “Stand proud, sister, used or not, you avenged many of our brethren.”

Meeting her burning gaze, I realized—she wasn’t looking at the world through the lenses sliding on the crystal orbs, but through a prism of hatred; be it instilled by the teachings of her cult or born of solitude.

Anything I could say she would twist to fit her vision.

My body sagged and my gaze went downwards.

The smirking mare celebrated her victory by patting my shoulder—a gesture not really meant for those with metal bodies as it filled the desolate silence with a din of ringing tin.

There was something in her words, however, that made me think as I sullenly shadowed the mechanical mare.

I certainly did not kill Orange Grime.

I never met him, didn’t even know what he looked like.

And yet… if it wasn’t for my actions, Pepper Mercury wouldn’t have slaughtered those at the warehouse. Was that veritable river of blood on my hooves?

I couldn’t know it would turn into a massacre… or could I?

Pepper introduced herself with murder and Scuff Gear explicitly warned me about her.

On the other hoof, my refusal couldn’t have prevented blood from being spilt—it would have been from the other side, one with the girls and the rest of Edge’s prisoners.

There was a sense of aching familiarity to that situation—no matter what I did, somepony was bound to suffer. That never made the burden of responsibility any lighter and whenever my eyes caught glimpses of my stumbling hoof, I couldn’t help but see Dross Rain’s blood instead of rust.

Consumed by my ruminations, I almost failed to notice how the ashen rock drastically darkened—we had entered the shadow of the peaks, but there was more than darkness to it.

Makeshift huts and rusty wagons surrounded a huge gaping abyss in the mountain’s cankered bulwark. It was not just a crude hole torn into the mass of stone, but a semicircle of a several stories high steel gate, the faded black and yellow stripes failing to conceal its bloody rot. Ajar, it glowed softly with dying lanterns leading into the dark depths; zebras going about it with crates and bundles on their backs.

The trademark black and white coats were all over the modest camp, but there were also ponies skulking in the shadows of the massive striped forms and rare equinoids trying to keep away from everyp… one.

It was hard to call that a settlement, not with its dwellers actively, though somewhat lethargically, trying to avoid each other, but it was a far cry from the desolation of the rest of the sector or the disjointed and furtive Junkyard’s populace.

The heart of the commotion was a dozen large crates next to a metal table. Clearly designed for ponies, it made the zebra mare hunch over it like a grotesque statue. As streams of her striped kin passed by, taking from the cargo or adding to it, she made notes on a mass of papers strewn on the rusty desk.

However, upon our approach, she straightened herself with her joints popping loudly.

Though not the largest one I had ever seen, this zebra hailed from the Jangwa tribe, easily towering over me. The whistling mountain winds slightly ruffled her stiff mohawk and made her abundant jewellery chime as she patiently followed us with large golden eyes.

“Brass Litany.”

Her voice wasn’t as deep as I had expected and bore only the barest hint of an exotic accent, but clearly lacking any joy for some reason. It suddenly came to me that she had just spoken the name of the equinoid mare—something I hadn’t bothered to learn; not that the ‘sister’ had made any effort to learn mine, not that I actually had my name.

“Jua.”

Brass Litany didn’t extend her hoof or bow her head; not that the zebra seemed eager to do the same—she struggled to maintain a neutral mask and couldn’t hide exasperation from her voice when she spoke again.

“I told you already the next delivery isn’t happening any earlier than in a few weeks, if not... later.”

The equinoid almost literally bristled, the vanes of her face flaring in a peculiar expression of anger.

“You told me nothing about ‘later’,” she hissed, bringing herself closer to the zebra.

Her intimidation attempt fell short as Jua loomed over her in an almost comical way, bemusedly staring down at the metal mare.

“It’s only your kin’s fault,” the zebra snapped, bitterness slipping in her tone.

“How dare you!”

Oblivious to how it looked from the side, Brass Litany practically bounced on the tips of her hooves trying to press her muzzle into that of the zebra; obviously futilely.

“Hush, farasi wa chuma, unless you’re eager to do it yourself.” Anger in Jua’s voice grew, replacing familiar Equestrian with the hot words of her mother tongue. “Your kundi makes the passage dangerous. Shout at them, not me.”

“We had an agreement, zebra!”

Quickly, I became aware of myself being nothing more than an uninvited spectator, not that I wanted to join in. Being forgotten by both parties, I could only hope Brass Litany would eventually remember why she came to Jua in the first place.

But for now, I wanted to do something else rather than awkwardly listen to them arguing.

Unfortunately, the camp refused to offer me any company either. Immersed into labour or their solitary businesses, its leary denizens left me very few options to pick.

Respectfully (mostly just warily) avoiding them as I was glowered at from the shadows, I trotted out of the camp, though in the direction opposite to which we’d come from.

It led me to a stone edge abruptly dropping down—not too high, but enough to deserve an old rusting railing. Hooking my hooves over the protesting metal, I let my haunches land on the rocky soil.

Beyond the barren hoofhills lay a lake of dried blood and corroded bones, a hideous scar that even the descending veil of midnight couldn’t conceal.

A chill gust brought the tinny clinking of Brass Litany’s accusations and with my eyes glued to the dismal scenery, I realized how wrenching her mission was. To restlessly wade through the crimson crust, to forage for her siblings’ remains, be their affinity of faith or flesh.

The poisoned soil bristled with no tombstones in that vast cemetery for equinoids—countless names condemned to oblivion. Dug from the rot, those ponies of steel were to be regurgitated in the blazing gut of smelters—reincarnated only to be broken by the world of the living once more. But before the hollow and mangled dolls were thrown away to rust, a set of gleaming gems would pulse in their core, only to be torn out when the toys bored their masters.

The faceted cages forever trapped the undying spirits in a vicious cycle of rebirth. A feat impossible even for the Goddesses had become a common trait—the worst curse for slaves, their final choice stolen.

But what would freedom be worth when the metal for new bones came to an end? What was the merit of eternal life in a frozen nightmare?

And how long would it take before the graveyard of iron became shared by ponies? It was already—the spilt blood was just hard to see on all that rust, the ashes indistinguishably mixed with the slag.

What would happen when the fiery maws of the smelters spewed back sizzling rust instead of incandescent steel? Would the Junkyard ponies be thrown away like broken tools, their lives to be snuffed like the burning hearts of the furnaces, never to be fed again?

A rustling with static voice yanked me from the shadows consuming my mind, and though it definitely belonged to an equinoid, it wasn’t Brass Litany—some stallion.

“Nice bod, looks rad.”

Blinking before turning to acknowledge the newcomer was a mistake I had committed again. As my metal eyelids fluttered, adjusting my sight back, I still made an effort to greet the unseen equinoid until I laid my sights on him.

“I’m sorry?”

“Just sayin’ ye’ve got some awesome custom chassis here. Me stock frame is the cheapest crap,” the stallion elaborated nonchalantly.

How miserable the state of his body had to be to make him envy my beaten rust?

Oh.

There were almost no signs of corrosion, only because most of his ‘frame’ was obscured.

I stared at a walking crate of duct tape. Worn bands of many colours struggled to hold together a scrawny figure. With no plates to protect his limbs and torso, the stallion appeared as a skeleton. The lack of anything mimicking a mane or tail only added to the uncanny look. The irisless ghastly bluish-green glowing eyes weren’t helping either.

The chipped off plastic poking through the tape like broken bones hinted at the chassis having more to it at one point, but it hadn’t survived either the trial of time nor whatever adventures that brought the poor stallion here.

The equinoid fidgeted under my gaze

“Name’s Adamant Smash.” He laughed nervously. “New here.”

Giving his ravaged form a critical look, I couldn’t help but wonder how equinoids got their names. Brass Litany fit hers perfectly, whilst the stallion in front of me… not quite.

What was my name?

“I’m just passing through.”

Adamant Smash sagged a little.

“A shame you are leaving, this place could use more equinoids.”

“Aren’t you afraid of the TCE’s wrath?”

“Who isn’t, right?” Adamant Smash warily glanced over his shoulder. “Still better than living in the Tunnels.”

“Why?”

“A crazy place.” Adamant Smash scowled. “You either join that Church’s ‘Unity’ bullshit or get kicked around at the upper levels. And the levels below?” He shuddered. “Just no.”

Letting out a deep sigh, he finished, “I almost wish I had never left me master.”

My head tilted in confusion and curiosity—how did he do that? He couldn’t have lungs, could he? But then his words sunk in.

“Your… master?”

The relationship betwixt equinods and ponies was already obvious to me, but hearing that word spoken so casually was bewildering.

“A business pony had me as her personal assistant at an assembly line.” Adamant Smash shrugged—a risky move in his condition. “Tho, I got it easy—fetching coffee and other boring stuff.

“She was either too busy or too lazy to take me to the gem cleansing. So, everything I learned about life outside piled up until I just left one day to taste it myself.” He sighed again. “And freedom sucks. Stay in the city and you’re screwed. Go to the Tunnels, get screwed the other way. Go to the Edge—get screwed extra fast.”

So that was what the ‘contamination in memory crystals’ meant—awareness of self. Those who managed to avoid being reset into the state of a born slave were to be… hunted down. The only escape was to embrace the teachings of the Machine Goddess cult.

It felt hollow to speak those words in the looming shadow of a bleak future, but I couldn’t ignore his plight either. Against my will, envy slipped into my tone.

“You can make memories and keep them—isn’t that worth it?”

“I keep reminding myself of that every time I see the Sun rise, but then I can’t help but ask—why live to see the next dawn?” Adamant Smash longingly looked at spires gleaming over the wall bulwark. “With me master I had a purpose.”

My eyes peered further, hopelessly searching for the too distant city. They widened when he suddenly asked:

“What about you, tho?”

The question froze me to the spot in a way no icy wind could.

I was supposed to help two fillies escape the dying city, right?

And then what? I didn’t even know if I was a pony or if my place was amongst machines.

Thankfully, the sound of hooves confidently crushing gravel absolved me from answering. When I turned to face Brass Litany, I found Adamant Smash gone without a trace.

“The stripes have a group leaving for the city in a few minutes. They don’t mind you joining them, however, they aren’t going to pass through the Church’s territory.” She hesitated before adding in a carefully neutral voice, “Or you can stay with me until the next scrap delivery in three weeks.”

I wished the choice was obvious because I wanted to reunite with the girls or even avoid Brass Litany’s zealotry.

Not because I was suddenly afraid to be alone with my thoughts.

Author's Note

Special thanks to Jay Tarrant.

I hope you've enjoyed reading this story so far.

If you notice any mistakes sneaked in through the editing, let me know.

Stay awesome.

Chapter 5 – Beauty and the beast

Aftersound

==============================

Written by: Oneimare & Geka

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant, IAmApe, mikemeiers

==============================

Beauty and the beast

==============================

After expressing my gratitude to Brass Litany once more and receiving in return another insistent instruction to seek out her brethren, I departed rather abruptly. The zebras guiding me to Canterlot weren’t wasting time.

Having no knowledge of Equestrian, they hadn’t spoken to me, not that I seemed deserving of their attention to begin with. Nor did they chat among themselves, instead they solemnly and hastily traversed the unwelcoming terrain, forcing me to canter to match their long-legged gait.

My ‘entourage’ consisted of four mares and five stallions from the Jangwa Tribe. Offensive though it might sound, the striped equines shared the blank uniformity of monochrome coats, barely having anything to tell them apart from each other. Though they lacked any prosthetics, their limbs weren’t devoid of technology—bracelets of wires and gems snuggled to their hooves; some sort of devices. And of course, those were neighboured by more traditional jewellery; their placement and number were the only way to differentiate the zebras.

Whilst the scenery remained just as dreadfully drab, I was occasionally hit by instances of déjà vu. It took me a while to figure out that we seemed to be following a path once belonging to a railroad to Fillydelphia. Twilight’s recollections suggested frequent travels taking place during the war when she and her friends had tried to run the government. Those cliffs, desolate even back then, had etched themselves into her memory during one such trip.

However, there was not a single trace of the rails. With Canterlot standing alone in the fallen kingdom, all roads must have withered away. The steel was stripped to be recycled and the wood rotted into nought.

The landscape also lacked the lush vegetation that used to accompany the gleaming tracks cutting through the mountains’ roots. Only barren stone and mine dumps stood sentinels to the long-abandoned supply route. Actually, there was flora—represented by sparse gnarled leafless sprouts protruding from the cracks in the grey rock, almost indistinguishable from it.

If not for the sunlight held captive in the gold of the zebras’ bijouterie, I would have thought my eyes had malfunctioned, for there were no colours but black, white and everything in betwixt. And though the picture evoked no positive response, I was unsure if I’d prefer the decomposing world of rust occasionally intruding on my vision from the left.

The oppressing monotony made me think days passed before we finally came to a halt.

We faced a low platform with a large metal trapdoor embedded into chipped concrete. Two zebras swung open the massive gates into the underground world and the rest dived into the darkness, just as wordlessly as before.

I was the last to approach the entrance, a single zebra holding one rusty leaf open for me.

The subterranean passageways had brought nothing but grief into my life, so I hesitated. Glancing at the striped stallion, hoping to find any support, I was met with an indifferent expression and he motioned with his head to the hungry blackness. The fear of being left behind with the prospect of an arduous trek back to either Brass Litany or Adamant Smash gave me enough motivation to hurriedly follow the suggestion.

The darkness promptly faded, as only the trampled steps housed shadows. They opened into a cramped tunnel dimly lit by the embers of orange filament lamps clinging to eroded walls.

The trapdoor shut with a loud bang and strong rush of air, and as soon as the stallion took his place in the lead, the group resumed the journey, leaving me to catch up; the zebras trotted faster now.

A corroded grating creaked under my heavy steps that made omnipresent rust and dust rise from below the mesh. In some places dirt even topped the lattice, and I scattered it across the trelliswork in my half-blind wake.

Straight and narrow, the tunnel remained that way for a while, however, soon it began to branch with smaller passages yawning at us with their lightless void. Some of those collapsed, vomiting rubble into the main duct, but in others silhouettes shifted anxiously.

Dancing shadows in the adjacent passages weren’t the only signs of life.

Empty tin cans, colourful wrappings and other recent litter betrayed the underground either being inhabited or at least frequently visited; large rats rummaged through the bigger piles of trash in corners.

And then the smell hit me.

Before, dampness and mould permeated the stagnant air; something I had almost gotten used to. But now…

Vermin-infested trash stank of rotting food. Something hidden from my sight emanated a sweet putrescence. Other stenches I couldn’t recognize assaulted my sensors. And dominating above all was the ammoniacal reek of urine. A fetidity from puddles left under the grating by rodents and equines mixed in a stomach-turning miasma. I wasn’t puking my guts out only because I had none.

Eventually, I either got used to that as well or it was just the outskirts of the underground plagued by foetor—we came to the first crossroad in our path giving us a choice betwixt the bigger passages and along with it the taste of fresher air.

The zebras didn’t change course and without missing a beat trotted ahead.

There was no sign on the dirty walls and the striped equines didn’t drop a word, but somehow I knew we had entered the Tunnels.

The passage offered not only more space for the Jangwa giants, but was also decently lit. The blinking cyan tubes dispelled overwhelming twilight, driving it into corners. And with no darkness to hide in, equines emerged.

Our first encounters clenched my proverbial heart with pity—lonely figures huddled to the shadows of broken lamps; dirty forms with their ribs poking through their almost furless coats. Those poor ponies shivered and wheezed on the cold floor amongst dust and filth, hugging themselves with cracked hooves. Their vacant half-lidded eyes sometimes followed us, twitching in synchrony with the uneven heartbeat of the pale light.

Some of them had emptied inhalers or syringes dropped from their lifeless limbs.

Some lay disturbingly still.

My attention eagerly went to the other denizens—my ‘kin’.

The equinoids never idled, traversing the tunnels with purpose, leaving behind the echo of their swift metal hooves. My knowledge suggested the equinoids’ mass-produced nature would render them even more uniform than my present company, but my assumption was proved to be utterly wrong.

Giants clad in a thick plating of rusty metal shambled through corridors unrelentingly, everypony cringing from their towering bulks. Sleek, rustling with plastic, equinoids skulked in the shadows like cats stalking prey. Wiry skeletons little different from Adamant Smash limped through paths lit by their large, ghastly eyes.

And those were who I could safely call equinoids.

Massive hind legs once rapidly carried an artificial creature past us, its… their front ones tucked under their chest. Another zipped across the tunnel, their engine roaring as it powered a series of wheels wrapped in rattling tracks. An adjacent duct, submerged in inky darkness, offered me a sinister sight of one who I could only describe as Headless Horse.

Where zebras fell behind the prismatic variety of three pony races, equinoids left in the dust any other species from my knowledge.

However, the metal ponies had been a rather rare sight, so in betwixt marvelling at their unbridled creativity I satiated my curiosity with gawking at… everypony else.

It quickly caught my eye that, be they from iron or flesh, almost all travellers wore clothes. That tendency rarely had anything to do with fashion—filthy tattered rags and only occasionally utilitarian leather served as a means to avoid piercing draughts.

Nor did it escape me that disturbingly often the torn fabric covered the gleam of hardware.

Steel hooves and rusty jaws, resin tubes and colourful wires, a lustre of plating and the glow of crystal eyes. Even artificial wings—a sight that would have sent a shiver down my spine if I still had one.

Apparently deliberately broken lamps created islands of light and dark at even intervals. Whilst the illuminated patches had only rats living their squalid lives to the full, the shadows served as a sanctuary for ponies huddled together in close groups.

Some were engaged in trading, haggling over goods laid out on rags or makeshift tables. Shiny gems and mysterious technical components constituted the bulk of the wares, though, inhalers, ampules or pills often joined the wide assortment. One vendor seemed to sell a different kind of merchandise.

The mere sight made me physically recoil—organs encased in glass tubes floated in murky liquids, pulsing. Strange and off-colour, sporting occasional incrustations of metal, they were synthetic replicas, but it hardly made the display any less disturbing.

Another common sight was ponies hunched over magical projections cast by small devices—it took me by surprise. I… Twilight had been capable of creating such arcane illusions, but it was quite an advanced and rare spell. Enchanting crystals to replicate it was an even more challenging task.

Just another impossibility turned into a commodity.

Other dwellers were absorbed in more mundane activities, their quiet chatter saturating shadows with a faint rustle. Cigarette smoke added to the chorus of unpleasant odours. Drinks or meagre meals were shared. Albeit somewhat miserable, that place seemed tranquil.

That didn’t apply to the branching out tunnels, however.

A group of ponies had a stallion pressed to the wall, viciously beating the semi-unconscious unicorn. Two equines hurriedly exchanged tightly wrapped bundles to instantly disappear as a deal was struck. The spotlight of my curiosity caught a mare and stallion, the giggling couple smooching, lost in the passion of the moment.

And everywhere my gaze fell, the faintly lit stained concrete was vandalized by crude paintings.

The stylized images often even overlapped one another, drawn in garish colours. Largely represented by a mess of jagged lines, supposedly words—a barely recognizable gibberish, they were nothing but an offence to art. Arrows pointed to adjacent passages. Arcane runes and occult symbols scrawled with ignorance and a lack of diligence. Even a made-up mockery—a circle with arrows coming out of it.

One image stood out.

An equine silhouette with glowing eyes and a crystal-shaped heart. A slogan underneath it read, “Fuck tin heads”. Crossed with what I hoped was just red paint the caricature had two words written over it, “Fuck meat”.

The zebras’ vigorous pace prevented me from lingering on any sight for too long—we had been outrunning anypony. But those passersby gradually become vastly outnumbered by equines travelling in the direction opposite to ours, surprisingly with even more urgency to their gaits.

At first, it was fillies and colts, appearing for the first time in the motley underground crowd. Saddlebags brimming with papers betrayed them as either messengers or couriers.

Although more equines kept joining the galloping youth, the equinoids made up the majority of sudden traffic. Meanwhile, the resting ponies become almost extinct.

Our group halted in its tracks.

Absorbed by observations, I rammed the rump of the zebra in front of me with enough force to lift her hind hooves off the floor, eliciting an unexpectedly high-pitched squeak from the colossal mare. She only had the time to glare at me before her head followed her swivelling ears.

The leader of the group was engaged in a heated conversation with another zebra—she wasn’t one of ‘ours’.

Clad in a surprisingly pristine grey cape, she wore golden jewellery of a noticeably different design and her head was crowned by dreadlocks in a tight bun. The main difference, however, was her size—about the same height as me, she belonged to either the Mabonde or Mlima Tribe.

The exchange in hushed zebrican lasted only for a few more words before the mare briskly trotted to where we had come from. As she passed, I was spared a quick curious glance.

Did… did her eyes have slit pupils or was it just a trick of the light?

When I turned to double-check, the strange zebra was already gone, even though there was only a wide empty tunnel behind me.

Our procession didn’t resume journeying, instead, the stallion motioned to the nearest broken lamp. Though it likely didn’t apply to me, I awkwardly joined their tight circle.

He spoke with clear concern.

“Joka ni juu ya pembe. Tunapaswa kwenda juu.”

“Unda.” One of the mares scowled in frustration, then barked irritably, “Kwa kifungu cha Mashariki?”

To my shame, whilst the war had given me plenty of reason, it never allowed me the time to learn Zebrican. Still, I was able to recognize one word—Mashariki, ‘East’. And I could swear I had heard Joka before.

“Ndiyo,” the stallion replied with a nod.

The other zebras joined the silent agreement and left the shadow, but before they resumed their march, the mare who I headbutted approached me. I expected the worst, but her expression bore only concern.

“Joka hunts. Chuma pony stays, chuma pony meets end. We enda kwa surface.”

The inclusion of Zebrican and her horrible accent turned the finer details into a riddle, but the general meaning was crystal clear.

I nodded to the towering mare and she curtly mirrored the gesture. Wasting no time, the zebra joined her comrades who had already been cantering away so fast I was forced to a full gallop.

Joka.

So familiar, yet whatever inklings I had didn’t fit with the current context.

The few ponies who were still in the tunnel, zoomed past us, glancing back, sheer terror on their muzzles. The ominous silence of the underground pressed on my mind with deafening emptiness, making me sharply aware of my hooves booming against the dirty floor.

Like the crack of a whip, a shrill scream split the thick air of the desolate passage.

Even the echoes turning a single sound into a pandemonium couldn’t hide a horrifying reality—it wasn’t too far away.

The zebras took it as some kind of a signal, as suddenly they took a sharp turn into a branching duct—a short corridor ending in a rusted spiral staircase.

Another ear-piercing shriek followed us from the main tunnel, but this time it was joined by a deep reverberating roar. The shrill yells gained a panicked edge to them before turning into a gurgling wail of agony accompanied by bloodcurdling sounds of carnage.

The zebras had been already climbing the steps ahead of me, their tails swishing in rhythm with panting breaths. I was but one step behind, driven by primal fear.

Carelessly, I hopped up steps without a pause, a crucial feat possible only due to my metal nature. The zebras were gone, yet I wasn’t alone in that terrifying short tunnel.

I almost cried out when my body all but shot out of the rattling darkness.

The world exploded.

Flares of every colour imaginable assaulted me from every direction and I was rendered simply blinded. The chromatic chaos didn’t stay still—the luminescence danced an impetuous tango, a rainbow kaleidoscope that my vision had become.

Before my eyes could even start to adjust, a loud noise made me jump; the cold terror reasserting its grip. I expected to face the horror from the depths, my body whipping around.

The access door slammed shut like a casket lid, the valve topping it turned violently.

Surrounded by heavily panting zebras, I stood petrified, expecting to hear the ominous thing trying to force its way out, but the gate to the dark domain remained innocently silent, betraying not even a single sign of the monstrosity prowling beneath.

An alcove created by the windowless walls of the two towering buildings housed nought but us and the seal to the realm of nightmares. I had a creeping suspicion about the flicking lights filtering into the dead-end alley—they were cast by no dreams.

Yet, little different from a moth, I couldn’t resist the inviting blaze of the street.

At first, I thought it was indeed on fire—countless neon signs clung to façades. Mostly simple adverts, the burning words hid the surface beneath, whilst flooding the road with radiance. With a surprise I found myself unable to read them—it was Hanzi of neighponese. Those who let me know their secrets offered a wide range of vaguely technical services, such as repairs or crystal maintenance.

Something touched my shoulder—the zebra mare met my eyes.

“Good luck,” she said and left before I could come up with a reply.

The striped equine joined her group and they momentarily dissolved into the dance of shadow and light that was Canterlot.

I was in Canterlot.

My only clue was the Southeast Thunderspire in which neighbourhood the stallion making fake IDs resided. Fortunately, the mysterious obelisks would be easy to locate—not only tall enough to be clearly visible from any point in the city, they also seemed to be a place of great importance. With any further luck, the Flower and Wire would come there.

My first step into the streets of Canterlot promised to be an adventure of its own—the city swarmed.

The crowds scurrying about the sidewalk were omnifarious beyond my imagination.

Garish coats shone in neon lights along with grimy pelts. Multicoloured mohawks mimicked the traditional zebrican manedo; dreadlocks swung, sometimes with cords and wires woven into them; wholly or partially shaved craniums reflected the artificial glow.

If it wasn’t dirty rags and icteritious bandages concealing sordid bodies, it was garments absurd enough to give Rarity a heart attack. Ponies whose attires consisted of kitchen sink contents; with militaristic outfits complemented by warpaint; clad in glossy fabric encrusted by metal insets. Several mares whisked amongst the masses in what I would describe as elaborate lingerie—a bewildering sight. Ironically, those who wore no raiments appeared strangely naked.

The familiar coruscation of artificial limbs mirrored the just as lifeless and cold light of the avenue. Plastic and steel aimed to replace missing organs or limbs were omnipresent; few ponies could boast of having their body untainted by the blessings of the future. I wondered—how many of those ponies replaced something actually lost?

Ponies… though not a minority, they were given a run for their money.

Three races of ponykind milled around, and so did three tribes of zebras; both kinds of equines giving wide berths to rough and tall gryphons. Sharp horns of goats and minotaurs swayed about the sea of heads. Mares followed puffy-maned Kirin with eyes squinted in envy. For each straight horn of a unicorn, there was a wicked curve of neighponese’s. And, like stray dogs, steelborn equinoids skulked in shadows, surrounded by an air of animosity.

Whilst Canterlot denizens generously contributed to cramping the street, the city itself fulfilled its quota.

Slack thick wires and heavy beam supports infested the already flooded by neon space betwixt the buildings; as if that wasn’t enough, like barnacles, even more signs hung from them. The radiance was so powerful, it effortlessly made up for the absence of any street lamps.

Any attempts to peer through the entwinement of cables and girders proved futile and taking a glance at colourful adverts I found no pointers—the neon swallowed the plate with building number and street name.

One of those signs—an animated red outline of a beaming mare, with a hoof full of noodles moving to her mouth and back to a bowl—had a tiny fast-food joint beneath it. Open to the walkway, the eatery’s counter wasn’t even trying to hide the sight of a cramped kitchen starting a step deeper.

Inside, a mare and a stallion unicorns cantered around sizzling pans, boiling pots, and each other in a seemingly chaotic, yet mesmerizing cadence of unceasing food preparation. A young unicorn filly worked at the counter as a cashier and waitress, taking payments from customers and exchanging dirty plates with full ones.

All three ponies shared a strong resemblance and not only in natural appearance. The young father’s metal hooves all but flailed with astounding dexterity and prowess. His wife’s back glowed with a silver gem-encrusted stripe where her spine should be; a hive of utensils, bottles and ingredients buzzed above her head, juggled in her telekinetic hold. As their daughter joyfully interacted with customers, a wide visor showed cute animated eyes formed of glowing squares dutifully following her facial expressions. Sometimes numbers would appear on the display—checks or a menu.

The establishment’s size wasn’t detrimental to its popularity—not a single bar stool stood untaken and ponies swarmed the counter in betwixt. Many visitors didn’t even bother waiting for a free spot as they simply trotted away with their meals, eating them on hoof from cardboard boxes.

The snippets of the filly coquettishly chatting with her clients carried over the bustling road suggesting it was worth a shot asking her for directions.

The seemingly endless stream of bodies was so dense, I had spent minutes waiting for an opening. When the crowd momentarily parted, I all but lunged forward, succeeding in making three steps when somepony, or maybe some equinoid rammed into me.

Knocked aside by a huge equine, who didn’t even acknowledge the collision, I got less than an eye-blink before I was mercilessly pushed aside by another passerby. Then my body was sent skidding by a hard shove accompanied by a colourful swear. Disoriented and simply not expecting to be ragdolled around, I failed to dodge one more jostle. Fortunately, that spin finally kicked me out of the teeming mass. Even more fortunately the eating joint was right before me.

Two sensations immediately assaulted me—the heat of the kitchen and the aroma of food.

Even with help from Brass Litany, my body still had left me partially numb—the chill, for an example, was neither unpleasant nor invigorating, though I knew it was there. Yet, the warmth radiated by red-hot stoves still made me feel good. The pleasant smell was more of a double-edged sword—the psychological desire to dig into a bowl of steaming food clashed with my complete lack of digestive system, resulting in acute disappointment.

Suddenly it occurred to me that an equinoid had no business at an eatery. Thankfully, the filly-barmaid-cashier-waitress approached me first.

“Hi there, Miss Hooves-o’-Iron,” the filly chirped, levitating a steaming box to a customer. “Sorry, our sockets are taken.”

The little unicorn pointed to the end of the counter. From its shadow, two equinoids warily eyed passersby, thick cords linking their crouched bodies to the wall.

“Erm... Thank you, but that’s not what I needed.”

I very much hoped it was true.

She never stopped serving food, even as she talked.

“Then you better make up your mind pronto—the night shift ends soon and we’re already behind schedule. Not that you seem to care.”

“I just wanted to ask for directions.”

“Oh, it’s simple, really: right, left, up, down, forwards and backwards.” The filly poked the air with her hooves respectively. She beamed innocently at me, letters ‘L’, ‘O’ and ‘L’ appearing on her visor. “I hope I didn’t forget anything.”

I wished my eyes could roll.

“That’s obviously not what I meant,” I deadpanned.

“Yikes, you must be a lot of fun at parties.” To my envy, the sassy filly’s visor played an animation of eyes rolled. “Anyway, what are you looking for?”

“The closest Thunderspire.”

“Huh? Since when did feathers-for-brains begin to hire stones-for-brains? Sounds like the start of a great joke...”

I groaned in exasperation, but it came out from my rattling throat as a growl, attracting glances from the nearest patrons, albeit lazy and… understanding. I didn’t mind it sounding that way either.

“Whoa, chill your gems there, miss!” The filly raised her hooves, recoiling. “It’s fifteen blocks to the Sky Palace. Sheesh!”

My departure was abrupt and lacking gratitude.

Only when I took a few stomping steps away, a realisation struck me—I didn’t know where the Sky Palace was. Presumably, it was that incredibly tall tower built atop the Diamond Point mountain, but that was purely a guess. And, if it was true, then just like the Thunderspires themselves it was denied to me as an orienting point.

Having no option other than to rely on the kindness of locals, I cast my gaze around, hoping the next stranger would be devoid of any sense of humour.

Patrons of the eatery certainly were out of the question—I absolutely refused to return there. Passersby were moving too fast, ready to shove me away. A pair of hooves poked from the other side of a garbage container near the eatery.

Jumping as a rat scurried betwixt my hooves, I came to the sight of an utmost filthy and ruffled stallion resting atop a garbage bag, belly up, like it was a cushioned chair. Even before my gaze focused on him, a stench of trash, sweat and alcohol hit my sensors.

More than anything, I wanted to turn away, but that would leave my inquiries unanswered and time wasted. The drunkard seemed to be unaware of my presence; smiling goofily, he was content with himself.

“Excuse me, sir.”

The stallion turned his head slightly—a purely horizontal motion with his muzzle tilted downwards, supported by his chest.

I took it as a sign to continue.

“Do you know in which direction the Sky Palace is?”

The drunkard didn’t have a joke ready on the tip of his tongue. He had something else ready for me—a whole load of vomit.

As the stallion erupted like a volcano, I was about to leave, but then he pointed his hoof to the furthest end of the street.

When the stream of technicolour mass ceased, he rolled on his side and immediately began snoring, right in the puddle of his stomach’s rejected contents.

“Thanks. I guess.”

Fifteen city blocks… a considerable distance to cover.

Instead of joining the rushing stream of ponies and whatnot, I skittered through the shadows on the thoroughfare’s very edge. I had yet to meet any members of law enforcement, but testing my luck didn’t seem like a wise idea.

The labyrinthian network of back alleys constantly tempted me with its concealing twilight, but the roguish figures occupying it virtually screamed ‘danger’. Still, I had to quell my fear of them more than once, forced to take a few steps into that murk to evaluate the situation from its veil.

As I took shelter in one of the dark passages, my eyes scanned the crowd for any signs of the police, hoping that through the centuries constabularies hadn’t forgone their trademark navy-blue uniforms. The looming intersection appeared safe, free of any signs of trouble, like a fight—I had to wait out one already.

Before I returned to the neon lights of Canterlot, my gaze fell on the opposite wall.

Drawings similar to ones in the Tunnels and all sorts of stickers or posters covered the concrete, like any other wall in such little alleys. However, one of them caught my attention.

Unlike the crude writings and obscene street murals, the image stood out with its meticulous detail and quality—a seemingly random combination of black squares arranged in a square grid on a white background.

As I stared at the strange painting, four green L-shaped frames appeared in my eyesight, adjusting themselves until they locked on the corners of the grid. They blinked a few times and suddenly a pony materialized from the thin air.

The semi-transparent figure moved as if it was suspended in the air betwixt me and the wall. Startled by this unheralded vision, I took a step back.

“Hello, honey,” a sultry whisper permeated my hearing and the illusory mare warmly glanced over her shoulder with half-lidded eyes.

She wore heavy make-up and undergarments which were not only doing a terrible job at covering her private parts but actually seemed to aim for the opposite.

“Are you lonely?”

Tilting her head the mare approached me, swaying her hips like a metronome. Shaking my head did nothing to dispel the stubbornly persistent mirage and another step back brought my back to the wall, trapping me betwixt the indecent apparition and the concrete bulwark.

“You shouldn’t be.” Leaning to my ear, brushing against my cheek, the too realistic illusion throatily breathed out, ”Everypony deserves some love. And you will find plenty of love and passion at our house of joy.” Finally getting out of my personal space she announced with a swish of her tail and a wink, “We welcome you to our grand reopening of ‘Silken Flute’!”

To my horror, a ghostly looking stallion appeared beside her in just as immodest attire.

“Mares and stallions of any size and taste await you, darling.”

Thankfully, his presence was brief. Sadly, the mare remained.

I seriously contemplated smashing my face into the wall.

“To celebrate this wonderful occasion, for the next week we grant all our patrons a discount and prolonged sessions. Please, do hurry up, sweetheart.”

With that, she threw me a kiss and dissolved in the blackness of the dirty alley.

Waiting for a few moments to be sure she was gone for good, I slid down the wall, slumping onto the rubbish littering the backstreet.

Never in my life had I felt so violated.

There were many things I wasn’t prepared to see in the world of the future. A pornographic advertisement for a brothel projected right into my brain definitely was one of them.

What would be next, adverts invading ponies’ dreams?

Hastily leaving the alley, I made a mental note to not look at any adverts for more than half a second, unless I wanted to be molested by a virtual prostitute again.

The distance I had to cover was supposed to take me no more than fifteen minutes at an unhurried trot. However, even not taking the ‘accident’ into account, the discrete nature of my journey carried me barely halfway to the Thunderspire at best.

Diving into yet another shadow to assess the section of the street ahead, I took a glance around, taking care to not let my gaze linger on the walls. However, I had to do a double-take, belatedly realizing that my haste had made me overlook something.

I wasn’t the only one who found shelter in the shade of the backstreet.

It appeared to be an earth pony stallion absorbed in studying an illusion projected from a device on his hoof. Despite having some five o’clock shadow, his stature better fit that of a colt. A greasy grey beanie hat miserably failed to hide his overgrown mane whilst the rest of his attire consisted of a tattered dirty duster. He constantly used his other hoof to swipe on the edge of the illusion, sometimes exhaling noisily without opening his mouth.

When I realized that I had just shot myself in the hoof, it was too late.

Those mere moments spent staring at the scrawny stallion were enough for him to notice me, his face dissolving into a predatory grin. Before I knew it, he moved to my side so deftly, I thought he’d just teleported.

“Ohayō, my friend!”

With that he spread the flap of his duster, forcing me to recoil from him. However, the worst never came—dozens of sparkly gems and small metal parts hung inside his coat. Motioning with his hoof the stallion smiled wickedly and croaked, “May I interest you in any of my wares?

“Erm...Thank you, sir. But, I really have to go!” I blurted, backing away.

Not waiting for the answer, I hastily left the alley. The stallion didn’t take the hint and scampered after me in a hurry.

“Hey, wait! You don’t know what you’re missing!”

Quickening my pace produced no result as the sketchy trader not only easily matched it but also managed to keep showing me his dubious wares as he trotted by my side.

“Toots, just take a proper look, I sure have something you need. You just don’t know it yet!”

“Thanks, sir, but I am really not interested at the moment, sorry.”

“‘Sir’? How quaint; can’t remember the last time I was called that.” The stallion chuckled. “Anyway, I’m sure I do have something to interest you, my metal amigo.”

“I don’t even have any money with me…”

“It’s no issue, pal, I take payment in crystals, spares, grazing tickets, chems… anything of value. Chems are especially welcome.” He licked his chapped lips. “Do you have some Crimson Vapor by chance?”

It was time for a new tactic—ignoring him.

The stallion proceeded to ignore me ignoring him as he pulled out a gem from the depths of his coat and connected it to the device on his wrist. “So, I’ve got some nifty software for yer metal kind.”

The gadget projected columns of numbers, then an image—stylized T, C and E. It unsteady blinked and unhealthily distorted.

“See? It’s the original TCE stuff, not some fake code.”

He practically shoved his foreleg into my muzzle. A shining crack on the crystal was clearly visible; one just like the converter core had.

“You won’t get it anywhere else, I tell you. A great bang for your buck.”

I silently pressed forward, trying not to even look in his direction, not sure if I was supposed to pray for that device to not explode, or the opposite—it might help me to get rid of the clingy dealer.

“Come on, mate, I know you have a heart of gold, and I have a family to feed,” pleaded the stallion, “two cute little foals. You won’t let them starve, will you?”

Once again I wished for the ability to roll my eyes.

“Listen, I can give you a discount, but I’m already cutting myself without a knife!”

The trader nimbly hopped to my other side, as if that would change anything. When it didn’t, he began to walk backwards right in front of me, trying to catch my eyes. Not that the short-legged stallion could possibly achieve that unless he was jumping.

“Hey, hey, hey! You know what? I can throw in a couple of spares as a bonus.” A few ‘components’ emerged from his pockets—some useless junk from the looks of it. “Just think of it, original code, a discount and even a bonus! You won’t get a better deal anywhere else!”

The obnoxious trader quickly glanced in the direction we were moving and turned back, his jaws already unhinging to spew another promise of the best deal in the city—not a single word left the trader’s mouth. As his eyes went wide, he did a double-take.

“Oh, shit! Gotta go! Find me later, buddy!”

With that the stallion evaporated in all but name, disappearing into the closest shadow, startling me to the point of a complete halt.

I would have expected him to rise from the dead to sell me his garbage if it came to that, yet something had made him change his mind.

Ahead of me were the same blinking lights, ponies rushing somewhere—nothing out of ordinary.

Maybe it was a certain pony he wanted to avoid? Blessed they might be.

Still, as I took a few steps forward, I couldn’t shake off the feeling something was wrong.

The nearest garbage container served me as a cover as I peered from behind its beaten and rusted corner.

Neon signs, dirt, equines and whatnot hurrying by… And there it was. Identical to the Tunnels, they practically tore with frantic urgency and mostly in one direction—opposite to mine. Useless it might be, I tried to strain my ‘ears’ expecting the telltale sounds of mysterious monstrosity echoing—they never came, leaving me relieved, yet puzzled.

The street blurred together into a mix of shadows, silhouettes and blinding lights. It was the latter that gave me a hint—instead of erratically fluctuating rainbow colours, the radiance twinkled mostly with red and blue. If only I could take a better look without getting closer… I tapped my chin as my unblinking gaze bore into the cracked pavement. My head snapped up—there was a way!

With a soft rustle my eyes shut only to open again, presenting me a disorienting view of one half of my vision zoomed in. Then I covered my right eye with a hoof—genius was simplicity.

The small smile that crept onto my metal lips fell when I took a look at the end of the street.

A full police platoon was combing it.

They wore the trademark blue colour, but that was all that matched my memory.

Light reflected from heavy metal armour and plastic riot gear, golden epaulettes and badges glimmered like flecks of sunlight amidst the navy sea. A massive ironclad vehicle hovered above the ground occupying almost the whole street, carelessly tearing away the adverts with its heavy shielding. On top of it, a pair of gunners swivelled long barrels of tripod-mounted high-calibre machine guns, scanning the street with obvious thirst. Behind them a mare in a greatcoat and service cap observed the chaos, her calm face bathed alternatively in crimson and azure of the strobing blinker.

The police advanced at a measured pace, but anypony—anyone they reached was apprehended. Mostly drunkards and drug addicts, they tried to resist arrest with bravery insidiously offered by the substances clouding their minds only for the pain to quickly dispel that overconfidence.

Batons crackled with electricity, bones cracked from the strikes of armoured hooves. Thumps of teargas and rubber munitions fired at those who tried to escape echoed with yelps. Stun spells send limp bodies rattled against the walls, tasers left victims writhing and frothing.

Anyone who wasn’t smart or fast enough to flee was automatically deemed uncooperative; it applied not only for the main thoroughfare. Armoured figures dove into backstreets to drag beaten ponies back or even broke through doors to throw thrashing ponies outside.

The unconscious bodies were cuffed and hauled to the procession of smaller vehicles following the merciless police force—literal cages on wheels. Some were left in growing pools of blood.

I would be hyperventilating if my body allowed me such a luxury, yet at the moment the lack of hormones to back the swirl of my emotions did me a favour for once. Instantly coming to the only sensible option—running away as fast as possible, I, after blinking to reset my eyesight, joined the crowd hurrying away from the impending assault of the law.

Virtually shadowing a large stallion, who either hadn’t noticed me or simply didn’t care, I weaved betwixt the clamouring ponies. He was suddenly shoved aside by a terrified mare, rushing past us.

The stallion muttered a curse and instead of resuming the retreat, he squinted, staring above our heads. Then he swore again, “Fuck! It’s a vice raid.”

With that, he ploughed his way through the crowd to the nearest building to desperately knock on a heavy metal door. His vacant place yet to be filled with the flurry of panic gave me a clear view of the street ahead—winking with a red-blue glow and ringing with the cries of ponies being beaten.

Ponies, dashed in both directions, scattering to back alleys or nearby buildings. Somepony was even digging their way into a trash container. I rushed to the closest door and tugged—it refused to budge; pushing or knocking changed nothing.

Rounding the corner of the same building I entered an alley—a dead end. Turning away to try my luck with another passage, I heard a whisper.

“Hey! Here!”

Glowing eyes peered at me from the darkness of the ajar sewage hatch, identical to the one that led me into the city.

The gap widened and a metal hoof motioned to me

“Come over here!”

I didn’t need to be asked twice.

The metal pony who had likely just saved my life didn’t say a single word. She or he—I had real trouble telling the difference this time—headed deeper without sparing me a glance.

The Tunnels seemed to share the same architecture everywhere in the city. A stairway spiralled from the hatch into a narrow passage that led into a wider tunnel bathed in familiar cyan light. And it was the way I left it—disturbingly quiet.

Only the grace of my cold metal heart allowed me to keep my wits together, for I was ready to truly despair. However, the equinoid moving ahead without panicked urgency gave me hope that I hadn’t bartered death at the hooves of ruthless police for demise at… whatever the mysterious monstrosity prowling these shadows was.

Yanked from darkness for me to see that metal pony was… run-of-the-mill. Unlike any equinoid I had seen, they seemed to reject the strive for originality. A ponnequin without a tail or mane brought to life, featureless and uniform—a standard model.

They also didn’t look like they were going to pay me any attention.

“Thank you for saving me,” I called.

They stopped and the smooth mask unable to express any emotion but a blank stare turned to me. It didn’t even have moving jaws, only a speaker glistening with black mesh behind their lips.

“Had to. It was an unscheduled raid.” Their voice was neutral, then the equinoid tsked—a sharp, unpleasant sound. “The Edge meat fucked up again.”

Confused by their response, I tilted my head.

“What does the Edge has to do with it?”

“Every time something happens at the Edge, the blue armours raid the city for fresh meat.”

The equinoid didn’t wait for me to connect the dots and made clear they weren’t going to indulge my curiosity any further as they dissolved into the darkness of the nearest portal.

Left alone to the pregnant with menace silence, I could only hope that Joka was gone already and I wasn’t about to meet it at the next corner. The equinoid would have warned me if it was still around, right?

I had better hurry.

Approaching the entrance to the small maintenance tunnel into which the equinoid had just disappeared, I was greeted with a chilly draft and whispers of something scuttling in the darkness. Its walls bristled with humming cables and gurgling pipes—the only rightful occupants of the underground, the intestines and blood vessels of the city.

Returning to the main passage, I looked to the side—intersections cut the tunnels at even intervals. When I cautiously reached the one closest to me, there was the same sight up ahead; with no crowds obscuring the view, the seemingly labyrinthian nature became an orderly structure.

It was safe to assume the tunnels roughly mirrored the streets as a sort of sewage or drainage system misused as roads and sanctuary by fringe elements. If I was correct, that tunnel led to the Thunderspire all the same.

The only problem was to know when to exit it.

That, and finding the exit before Joka found me.

Whilst desolation daunted me with its ringing silence, it also absolved me of keeping to the shadows. Still, my trot was careful, giving a wide berth to the piles of trash crawling with rats—mounds of such size could easily hide a pony within.

My thoughts kept returning to the police rounding up ponies to shackle them into the chains of the Edge. The display of utmost violence created by injustice was disturbing, and I was concerned about how widespread the raid was even more. Could the girls have been caught up in it? If they made it to the city in the first place, of course.

The first signs of life—sounds of a scuffle averted me from my worries when I neared another intersection. My trot slowed down as I passed a small tunnel squealing with a struggle—at least two dire reasons compelled me to pass by the little tragedy unfolding inside.

Peeking into the dark portal I witnessed much worse than just a brawl.

Under the dim lights of dying lamps, a group of three stallions tried to subdue a desperately resisting mare, their intent clear and sickening in its depravity.

Given their numbers, there wasn’t much I could do, but I would rather risk everything than turn away from such an atrocity. Not after the Junkyard, not after everything I had seen.

Sending small whirls of sparks each time my hooves hit the grated floor, I blindly charged as fast as my metal limbs would allow.

An inequine scream—a screech of twisting metal disturbing to even myself, escaped my speaker when I barrelled into one of the stallions. The inertia of my heavy body turned the jagged tips of my hooves into spears that effortlessly dug into his flesh, punched through his ribcage.

But I only intended to knock that pony away...

My hooves slipped, almost sending me back on the floor, as I, reeling, untangled myself from the howling stallion. Even though my attack took the assaulters by surprise, the moment I was upright a powerful buck connected with my chest, smashing me into the wall. The confining nature of the tunnel rendered the shove disrupting rather than damaging.

In the near darkness I could barely see the attacker or his accomplice. Behind the thugs, the poor mare huddled in the dead-end, whimpering. With me and the haemorrhaging stallion blocking the only exit, she was just trying to get as far away as possible from the action.

I didn’t get to take a better look as the moment I recovered from the strike, a thick rusty chain dully swished through the stagnant air to rattle across my muzzle, slamming my head back into the wall. With a crisp tinkle, my left eye burst out in an explosion of gleaming shards and bright sparks.

Yet the pain was only of loss—it was my best eye, the one Flower had installed.

Before the heavy chain snaked back for another devastating blow, I cannoned into the stallion holding it, hammering his body against the concrete so hard, plaster rained on us and blood splattered across my face, painting my vision red. The mare scampered away, shrieking.

The dazed stallion slumped with a pained grunt, his weapon coiling on the grating beside him.

The undefeated last assaulter had been helping his bleeding fellow to rise. When my crimson glare regarded them, they both hastened their effort to flee. The stallion I flattened against the wall slipped past me, rasping, hobbling on three legs to catch up with his comrades.

Only when their steps and curses had faded into nothing, did I turn to the mare.

She half-sat, half-laid pressing herself into the corner. From underneath a long mane, an eye round from horror stared at me. As I took a single step towards her, she tried to scuttle away, whimpering.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

I almost cringed as the sounds of blood dripping from my frame violated the tensed silence.

The mare kept her terrified gaze locked on me for a few very long seconds, then visibly relaxed; the wariness didn’t leave her eye, though. Moving slowly, I offered my hoof to help her up from the cold and dirty floor. She almost didn’t flinch, but still refused my outstretched limb.

“Are you hurt?”

“No.” She shook her head and bit her lip. “Thank you for… for not killing me.”

Taken aback, I stammered, “I-I was just trying to save you.”

She gave me a confused look and began to dust herself off with a heavy sigh.

“Then I should also thank you for that. Wouldn’t be the worst I’ve had, but it’s still not how I planned to spend the rest of the night.”

“The worst?” I weakly echoed.

“Yeah, one time four local factories had a payday and we were the only brothel open around.” Cringing with the corner of her mouth, she added, “Couldn’t sit for a week after that.”

I gaped at the annoyed prostitute, unsure of what I had expected or how to feel about her. She was just an ordinary mare with nothing in common with the illusory advert; nothing gave away her occupation, except...

On her cheek, right under the eye, a pink heart glowed softly. Strangely, uneven black lines crossed the stylized little image—recent wounds.

“Aren’t you supposed to be protected by the Crown?”

“Well, I’d be,” the mare practically snarled, “if they hadn’t decided I was a throwaway.”

She flicked her mane back.

Previously hidden behind the curtain of her hair a milky eye joined the other to glare at me from a badly-healed burn disfeaturing half of her muzzle.

“I… I’m so sorry.”

The spite left her expression, leaving behind tired bitterness.

“It’s alright.” The mare waved her hoof in dismissal but then a scowl returned to her face. “Actually, it’s not. If I was still a Moth, I wouldn’t have to hide from the blue armours and wouldn’t end up here doing the job I’m not paid for anymore.”

She let out another deep sigh and tried to muster a smile.

“Well, at least I met an equinoid who helps ponies. Not something you see every day.”

I just stared at her blankly, having no clue how to comment. She met my gaze with amusement sparkling in her eye… s. Eye.

“The raid should be over by now.” Rubbing the back of her head the mare continued, abashed, “But the thing is, I don’t visit the Tunnels often. May I ask for your help...” She faltered. “Sorry, I forgot to ask your name. If you have one, of course.”

If.

My mouth didn’t have the ability to bite my lip—something that I wanted to do right now as the question knocked me over with a feather.

Either graciously ignoring my silence or simply taking it as something ordinary, the mare introduced herself, “Clandestine Delight.”

She extended a hoof for a shake; when I raised mine, dark blood dripped from it. Delight’s eyes widened and I winced. Chuckling, she awkwardly retracted hers.

“Yup. Nice to meet you.”

She was the first to escape the reeking of copper maintenance passage with me trying to shake the gore off before I followed her.

Once more my lifeless body helped me to remain my composure, though it was hard to find sympathy for those delinquents. Regardless, whilst I direly hoped it would never come to that again, careful consideration of my strength was in order.

Delight warily looked around, as if expecting the stallions to be waiting for us and I couldn’t help but satiate my curiosity of her appearance.

First of all, the cyan light revealed her to be a pegasus. Built relatively tall for her race, she sported the healthy body of a young, not-malnourished mare—a rarity in modern Canterlot, likely brought by merit of government protection. Another uncommon trait she possessed was the complete lack of any metal embedded in her body. However, her neck and chest also bore the scars of a vicious burn. A long, wavy, gorgeous mane cascaded over them; the lush periwinkle hair perfectly harmonized with the slightly violet pink of her healthy eye. An almost white coat, with a barely noticeable bluish tint, complemented Delight’s mellow and soothing look.

Delight glanced at me and visibly paled—an impressive feat for a pony of her complexion.

What, did I look that bad?

Then I realised her petrified gaze was fixed on something behind my shoulder.

I followed the pegasus’ eyes and just like her froze in horror.

From the shadows of a smaller tunnel, a silhouette emerged into an island of darkness cast by a broken lamp, too big to belong to a pony or even to a zebra. It crept soundlessly and smoothly as if gliding above the concrete, its gleaming in the dark inequine eyes locked on us.

The long muzzle clad in charred steel was the first to shrug off the veil of darkness. Where nostrils should be, two vents smoked with thin wisps in a rhythm with invisible bellows. Before the rest of the snout appeared from the blackness, a large paw almost inaudibly clinked against the floor, the grating bending under a massive weight.

Covered in metal it ended in long sharp claws of black glass. They glistened with fresh blood; shreds of skin and mane were stuck in betwixt the razor-sharp blades.

Then the rest of the beast slipped from the shadows, just mere hooves from me.

Its glowing eyes gazed upon me—two pools of vibrant jade fire crossed by vertical pupils and framed in a cage of steel. Betwixt the cold metal and green eyes, a small patch of bloodied skin shimmered.

With purple scales.

My mouth silently moved, trying to expel one word stuck in my speaker.

“Spike?”

Author's Note

Special thanks to Jay Tarrant.

I hope you've enjoyed reading this story so far.

If you notice any mistakes sneaked in through the editing, let me know.

Stay awesome.

Chapter 6 – A horse with no name

Aftersound

==============================

Written by: Oneimare & Geka

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant, IAmApe, mikemeiers

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A horse with no name

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The first Zebrican dignitaries in centuries were quite perplexed to witness a rare creature usually unwelcome by almost any nation mingling with ponies. They had a word for all scaly beings—dragons, sea serpents, wyverns...

Joka.

That name hadn’t circulated for long, however. The visitors from the distant land had got along with Spike pretty well—he’d been eager to distract himself from the most recent events. She had been like a second mother to him.

However, the excitement of a newly forged alliance wore down eventually and the distant war wordlessly called for Spike with every snippet of news from the front. The last time Twilight saw him was through the window of the train departing to the Crystal Empire.

No matter how hard I tried to detach myself from her memories, sometimes it was impossible to ignore the emotions they evoked in me.

If not for Clandestine Delight’s chokes of sheer terror, I might have thought hours had passed as I stared into the pain-filled eyes of the abomination Twilight’s foster son had become.

Spike… he didn’t need to see a familiar face or lavender coat. As a dragon, a being of the most primal magic, he could sense the arcane touch that had brought him to life. The very same power that ironically gave life to me as well, and now oozed from every crack of my metal body.

He was still, hanging above me like a gargoyle.

Guided not by my mind I reached out for him.

Spike reared on his legs and screamed.

It was not the desirous roar of a predator stalking the subterranean darkness for prey to rend, but a wail of horrible realization and immense agony. A shrill yelp and a dull thump behind me echoed the harrowing howl; I couldn’t tear my eyes from Spike to check on Delight.

The ghastly cry hadn’t yet faded when he fell to his knees and clawed on the steel in place of his scales. His obsidian talons carved deep into the metal like it was butter, exposing tender flesh beneath and making me recoil in horror and confusion as crimson dripped on the grated floor.

When I finally woke from my stupor and rushed to him, Spike reared up again and spread his claws, painting the walls with his gore, roaring in pain and anger. His body made a full turn on the spot, so fast and vehement, the whip of his tail exploded the wall into dust and concrete shrapnel.

By the time my hoof had finally found purchase on the floor, he was already gone, leaving deep furrows and red stains in his threshing and bellowing wake.

I had to stop myself from following him.

I was a machine, but I wasn’t heartless—as probably the last one who remembered Spike as he had been, I felt obligated to do something about his suffering. At least, that was what I told myself—Twilight memories burned in me.

I neither knew the Tunnels well enough nor was it safe for us to meet again—until I somehow found out what had happened to him and knew how to help, it would only hurt us both.

Right now, I had two fillies to rejoin, probably waiting for me somewhere in this horrible city. And Delight hadn’t taken the meeting with Spike very well.

The pegasus curled on the floor, shielding her head and body with hooves and wings. She whimpered and sobbed quietly, shivering in her horseshoes. My eyes involuntarily swept over her shaking form.

On her flank was a simple pink heart with two bandaids crossing it—her cutie mark.

Though it could give only a vague idea of what her talent could be, it wasn’t hard to imagine a dozen jobs to welcome somepony with a cutie mark like that. Yet Delight had to end up with such an undignified occupation. And Canterlot had stolen even that from her.

“Hey, Clandestine Delight,” I softly called.

The snow-white mare only curled tighter. She appeared to be strongly inclined to silt through the grated floor to the lower level of the Tunnels.

“He’s gone now, you’re safe.”

Her sobs subdued and a pink bloodshot eye tentatively peeked at me from betwixt long feathers. Carefully and slowly, Delight rose to her hooves, her wide-eyed gaze fixed on the space behind my shoulder. Then she gazed at me with shock and awe.

“What? How did you…?” Delight stuttered, alternating betwixt pointing with her hoof at me and the tunnel; I glanced behind, just in case.

“You can say I know who he once was,” I murmured.

She gasped and whispered reverently, “Are you… a Former One?”

Only my inability to produce a sigh prevented me from letting one out. However lovely this mare Delight was, I had neither the time nor desire to explain my predicament.

“Not exactly…” I awkwardly began, “Look, I really need to hurry—I have friends to meet. But I will lead you to the surface, as promised.”

It seemed my message was partially lost as she kept staring at me in wonderment. Though, when I started to trot, she meekly followed.

Minutes passed and the silence of our fast-paced travelling gained an awkward quality.

“So…” Delight cleared her throat and I somehow foresaw her question. “What was your name, again?”

“I don’t have one.”

“But—”

My head whipped at her by itself, the glare of my remaining eye sending the pegasus flinching. Upon seeing panic creeping back in her expression, I instantly tried to rectify my outburst. “Sorry, Clandestine Delight, it’s… just a very complicated matter.”

She seemed to relax to some degree; yet, ultimately, my responses only aggravated the air of uneasiness settled betwixt us.

“No need to use my full name—nopony does,” the pegasus suddenly said, softly. “It’s usually ‘Del’.”

Facing her, I replied in a carefully controlled voice, “Alright, Del.”

She smiled in return.

That mare certainly had a big heart.

A figure concealed in rags briskly cantered past us, here and there muzzles tentatively poked from shadows—the news that Spike had gone must have spread and life was returning to the Tunnels.

Eyeing the strangers warily, Del all but huddled to me, trying and failing to make it look incidental. Feigning a casual tone, she spoke from my side, her voice low, “Who are your friends?”

“Two fillies from the Edge.”

The pegasus’ brows went up.

“I’m not sure which surprises me the most. The Edge, though, don’t they hate equinoids’ guts?”

“It was one of them who made my body.”

Del gave me a long look and I could practically hear gears turning in her head. She quickly caught herself, however; and whilst I expected questions, she only commented rather levelly:

“It’s quite impressive, I’d say. And... quite illegal.”

“I know. We were going to get me a counterfeit ID.”

True to my prediction, more and more ponies emerged back into the main passageway—the pegasi as the most prominent, to little surprise. However, with their wingtips dragging on the floor as they trudged or lifeless stares as they slouched in the shadows, they presented a miserable and concerning sight. The drug addicts and diseased kept stealing clearly unwelcoming glances at us.

Squirming under the looks the stallions gave her, Del whispered to me, her voice tense, “Where were you supposed to meet up with your friends?”

“The Southeast Thunderspire.” Whilst the pegasi betrayed my proximity to that place, nothing else pointed to the exit. I had to reluctantly admit, “To be honest, I don’t know how to get there.”

“I thought you knew the way,” she hissed.

“I’ve only learned a little,” I threw over my shoulder, ignoring the daggers Del glared at me as I tried to figure out which of the countless passages could lead to the surface.

Letting out an annoyed sigh, she poked me, pointing her pinions at one of the smaller tunnels not so far away, grumbling, “The exit should be there.”

With Del in tow, I made a beeline for the narrow duct, the pegasus all but pressing herself to my side as we passed a group of sickly ponies openly ogling her. Only my bloodstained metal skin stopped them from making any moves—barely; I had to suppress an urge to give Del a dirty eye—I was neither eager for a fight, nor was I confident about my body being able to survive another brawl.

“You aren’t supposed to know the Tunnels either,” I coldly commented on Del‘s pathfinding ‘success’.

Apologetic and somewhat sorrowful, she replied, “I don’t know the local parts—I was relocated to Silken Flute a few months ago, but I lived by another Spire once.”

The name struck a bell and I couldn’t help but take another look at her burns—freshly healed.

Impossibly rusted stairs led skywards, sorrel sloughs coming off the steps and walls in huge flakes; the excessive moisture could be blamed for that deterioration, as every surface glistened with dew.

Del hurried up the steps, yet they brought her nowhere. When I reached the top, I found her puffing and panting in futile attempts to push open the jammed hatch. A single shove from my shoulder cracked it open; she pursed her lips in the corner of my eye-sensor.

Unsurprisingly, we exited into a short and narrow dead-end alley stuffed with trash containers; a familiar sight, however, differed in one aspect—dense mist lazily coiled all around, obscuring everything.

Still, my path was clear; figuratively, at least.

Producing an abominable sound—‘clearing my throat’—I got the attention of the pegasus still busy with catching her breath.

“Thank you, Del. It was nice to meet you.”

Unwilling to indulge in a prolonged parting, I simply trotted away but managed to take only a few steps before a desperate yell arrested my hooves and forced me to face the distraught pegasus again.

“Wait!” She bit her lip so hard, I expected blood to show, and whispered, “Please, take me with you.”

“Why?”

“I… I…” Del’s face contorted with reluctance and anguish, then she hung her head, tears rolling down her cheeks, and admitted in a broken voice, “I have nowhere to go.”

Taking a shuddering breath she hastily continued, only with a slight waver, “I… I know how that sounds, but I can be helpful.” Her tone gained strained firmness to it. “I’m going to be. You saved my life, please, allow me to repay that.”

She seemed like an unfortunate waif, indeed, obviously incapable of surviving in Canterlot without help—my help. However, betwixt me and two kids who had spent their lives at the outskirts of the city, Del had the most knowledge; which would prove invaluable if I failed to reunite with the fillies.

“Alright.” Her face bloomed with immense relief. “You can come with me.”

The pegasus all but leapt at me, her hooves outstretched in an obvious intent, only to be stopped by my hard expression and crimson still glistening on my plating.

“Thank you,” she uttered sheepishly, backing away with an awkward chuckle. “I promise—you won’t regret this!”

Delight volunteered to show me the rest of the way to the Thunderspire and I now watched how she jovially trotted through the vapour like it was nothing, with a literal spring in her step, her wings fluttering in excitement.

I myself, sullenly waded the milky mists, stumbling every other second.

Painting the haze in pastel colours, neon lights hid somewhere in its depths, offering little guidance. Fortunately, the thoroughfare had yet to fully recover from the raid as only the occasional equine silhouettes briefly emerged from the fog; most of them winged of course.

The fog ended abruptly as if cut off by a glass wall, presenting me with the Southeast Thunderspire in all its glory.

The gargantuan tower dwarfed the highest spires of old Canterlot; it put Manehattan’s skyscrapers to shame. Its roots dug into the pavement with ten thirty-stories-high arches, forming a thick trunk that gradually narrowed to a needle tearing the heavens asunder.

The Spire abandoned the traditional pegasi material—clouds—in favour of metal. And no ulcers of corrosion marred its gleaming surface, for it was no steel. The mind-boggling mass of arcanium reflected the ceaseless arcs of electricity and the pale moonbeams sneaking through the opening in the enormous thunderstorm.

Surprisingly, an unbearable cacophony hadn’t assaulted my hearing—a dampening spell must have been in action.

And then I realised—I was looking at the biggest lightning rod in Equestria.

An obelisk erected to defy nature, to enrage it. To tame its disastrous fury into a beast of burden. To feed all of Canterlot with the power of its righteous anger. So risky and so amazing. Dangerous, yet advantageous.

Something only the pegasi could pull off.

“Ah, feels like being back home!” Del interrupted my marvelling and took a deep breath of the ozone-smelling air. “Haven’t visited the Spires in ages—that damn job.”

“If you were born at the Spire, why didn’t you stay there?”

A facility of such a size would certainly need a fleet of pegasi to function; jobs dangerous to a degree, but undoubtedly respected, given the crucial role of Thunderspires.

“I was pretty enough to become a Moth, it wasn’t a chance to miss,” she replied with a sly smile, coquettishly smoothing her mane.

Yet her eyes were hollow.

We were to meet at the Southeast Thunderspire, but… where exactly?

The area around the Spire effortlessly matched its grandeur—a vast open space of city square. Whilst the ground seemed mostly an empty area, countless cloud buildings floating above cast it into a deep shadow. In that darkness crowds of ponies milled, briskly travelling across.

Tin Flower and Red Wire were nowhere to be seen.

“Del, do you know any places nearby which could serve as a meeting place? Like the entrance into the Spire itself?”

“The entrances are heavily guarded. Loitering around it is an invitation for a hoof to kick our asses—or your friends’.” She then raised her eyebrow. “Don’t you have an agreement on a meeting place?”

“There wasn’t any agreement. We had planned to go to the city together but things got hectic and we got separated. I… I’m not even sure they will come.”

The confusion in her expression ceded to thoughtfulness as she pieced the puzzle together—the recent raid and the fillies’ residence. Del gasped and gave me a sympathetic look; she then frowned and went silent for a full minute, squinting at the square from time to time.

Finally, she said, “I think the best call will be to try and intercept your friends at the sole exit from the Edge in this area.”

My guess about Delight’s knowledge proved right—she nimbly navigated the streets, wisely choosing the least crowded paths, not some creepy back alleys like I had been.

Soon, far sooner than I expected, we came to a little square formed by stout abandoned buildings. In the middle of that opening, a wide pit led underground with multiple stairs—some sort of half-destroyed and repurposed sewer collector or the ruins of a facility.

Ponies and rare equinoids teemed around the entrance, mostly engaged in trading over crates of metal scrap. Others just warmed themselves by the burning barrels, chatting quietly.

And no fillies were amongst them.

Delight noticed that too, giving me a half-apologetic, half-encouraging smile. She then motioned to an alcove at the edge of the area—a somewhat secluded corner overlooking the entire place.

Time stretched by, and with every pony or equinoid coming out of the gaping void, my worries grew. Of course, it was foalish to expect the fillies to appear the moment we sat down on the cold pavement. But I also had another explanation as to why it wasn’t happening.

“Del, what if they already came to the surface and are waiting for me somewhere near the Spire?” Hard as I might have tried, I had no doubts she’d notice the apprehension in my voice.

However, her reply came calm, “Have any of them been to the city before?”

Flower had been to Canterlot at least once; I nodded.

“Then they are bound to know that this square”—Del motioned with her wing—“is the safest place for Edge ponies, considered a neutral patch even by police, since they buy the old metal here occasionally.” Seeing as she barely assured me, the pegasus added, “We can go and check in the Spire’s vicinity if you want.”

I shook my head.

Flower and Wire should be sensible enough to come to the same conclusion as Delight… eventually. Running back and forth betwixt two places would do no good to nopony.

Eventually, the prolonged silence grew ominous and Del’s nerves gave up first.

“You are new to the city, aren’t you?” she asked carefully, looking at me cautiously.

For the umpteenth time, I wished for a pair of lungs—that mare had her weaknesses and lacking wit wasn’t one of them.

“I suppose you deserve to know.” I paused, gathering my thoughts and earning a subtle triumphant grin from the pegasus. “Tin Flower, one of those fillies, tried to make an equinoid. The gems she used had voice recordings of Twilight Sparkle, a scientist from five hundred years ago and they somehow worked as a ‘memory anchor’.”

Del fell silent and pensive for a full minute.

I expected anything but her tactfully saying, “I see how that could be complicated.”

“You are the first pony who hasn’t tried to convince me I’m Twilight Sparkle now.”

She grinned. “I’ve got an impression that wouldn’t work, would it?”

“It is your talent, isn’t it?” I nodded at her flank.

“I’d say a combination of my natural ability and Moth skills—ponies often come to brothels to do more than just mess up the bedsheets.”

Whatever was on my mind, died on my lips as a dirty filly climbed out of the pit, glancing around nervously.

The moment Flower noticed me, she took off, her hooves barely touching the cracked pavement. And whilst I hurried to meet her halfway, little relief came to me—she was alone.

Flower crashed into me harder than I almost flattened myself against the wall in the tunnel under the Junkyard, and I couldn’t help but wrap my limbs around the sniffling filly.

“A friend, eh?” Del chuckled somewhat ruefully.

However, as readily as Flower accepted my iron hug, she wriggled herself out of my hooves to give me a critical look.

“We haven’t seen each other for a day and you’ve already got some shitty upgrades and broken half of what I installed,” Flower commented discontentedly, though with a barely contained smile, mirth dancing in her tired eyes.

She herself had come through whatever happened unscathed, but...

“Flower, where is Red Wire?”

“Oh, she didn’t make it,” the filly replied nonchalantly.

It took her a moment to realise her mistake and her eyes widened.

“No, no, no! That’s not what I meant!” She frantically waved her hooves; Del loudly exhaled. “She is alright, just couldn’t come with me.”

Before I could ask her any more questions, a large stallion shoved her aside, then bumped into me, glaring at us—we stood in the middle of the road.

When we all huddled together in that alcove, I addressed Flower:

“What happened after I went into the tunnel?”

“Wire and I argued a little and we decided to follow you. We saw Peps finally go full batty and you ran away. But we couldn’t go after you, it was too hot...” She shifted uneasily. “Then the shit hit the fan ‘cos another gang backstabbed her—the fight must be still going on. We could have gone to Canterlot straight away, but Wire’s folks decided it was the perfect time to flee to Nebula’s, so she left with them and her sister gave me this.”

She produced a tiny metal object from her rags—a sort of token very similar to Brass Litany’s gift. Yawning monstrously, she added, “Though, Druse said that stallion never stays in one place, so we have to look for him ourselves.”

“Are you talking about Segfault?” Delight chimed in.

“Yeah, that’s his name.” The filly nodded absentmindedly, then squinted at the pegasus. “Wait, who are you?”

“I met Clandestine Delight in the Tunnels.”

“Nice to meet you, Flower.” She smiled at the filly.

Flower regarded her with a long somewhat apprehensive look that lasted until her gaze found an emblem on the pegasus’ cheek.

“Are you a Moth?” Her eyes lit up. “I have so many questions to ask!”

She already seemed to know more than needed for her age, so putting myself betwixt her and the smugly grinning mare, I firmly stated, “We have a pony to find and I’m still ‘illegal’.”

“I wasn’t going to teach your friend the birds and the bees.” The pegasus raised her hooves in the air defensively, accompanying that motion with a roll of her eyes. Under her breath, she added, “Not while you are around, anyway.”

Clearing her throat under my glare, she continued, “I think Segfault is at southeast 234th street, 18, today. It’s not far.”

Del beamed at me, almost proudly and I nodded approvingly—she was staying true to her word.

None of us dropped a single word as we made our way to Segfault.

Delight had to concentrate on keeping us out of the streets—a beautiful, even if a bit ragged, pegasus mare, who chose to trot by my right, trusting me with her blind side; an incredibly dirty filly by my left, as if protecting my own blind side; a half-demolished custom equinoid—we stuck out like a moulting feather.

Flower yawned every other minute; she rejected my offer to ride on my back, explaining she’d prefer to be awake if we got in trouble. With my attention diverted to preventing the filly from tripping over her hooves, I had no chance to even think.

Thankfully, Segfault’s place wasn’t far, indeed.

We entered a tower-like edifice with no signs of a pony inside providing illegal services. According to Del’s comment, the ID-forger rotated betwixt such unassuming apartment complexes to avoid attention and occasionally visited Silken Flute; thankfully not her room, she noted with a shudder.

A cramped and dirty elevator brought us to one of the top floors and Delight led us to a door without a number. Not bothering to knock, she went in, motioning us to follow.

A large screen served as the only source of light in the otherwise pitch-dark room. In front of it sat a huge spider, typing furiously.

Suppressing a shriek, I stared at that creature, until I realised it was a pony—since he was alone in the room, it had to be none other than Segfault.

A dozen metal ‘legs’ protruded from a hole in the back of the stallion’s clothing, poking the keyboard with an incredible speed, whilst Segfault remained still, staring at the lines running on the display.

Segfault seemed to either not notice, or simply ignore us for a few uncomfortable minutes. Finally, he sighed tiredly and turned, locks of his greasy long mane falling like a waterfall around a cracked horn onto a one-piece metal plate where his eyes should be.

“An ex-whore, a shitty custom tinhead and Edge scum. Is this the beginning of a joke, or am I missing something?”

Delight didn’t react in any way save for pressing her lips together; Flower took a step forward.

“We’ve come for a fake ID,” she proclaimed with indignation burning in her eyes.

“Do I look like somepony who does fucking charity?” he sneered.

Flower protruded the metal chip and practically flung it at the stallion.

One of Segfault’s mechanical limbs caught the token and brought it to his visor. The stump of his horn sizzled like a humid firework and the small trinket glowed in response, lighting up his face to reveal a web of scars converging beyond the metal hiding his eyes.

“Hollow Druse, wasn’t it? The best enchanter I’ve ever met outside Noxiae...” His brows furrowed above the frame of the visor. He threw Druse’s token back to Flower. “So, what kind of ID do you need?”

That was my cue. “One to give me no trouble with the police.”

Segfault roared in laughter, his ‘spider legs’ rattling.

“Ain’t you one funny piece of rust? There is no ID in all of Canterlot that can do that for you. You couldn’t possibly look more custom made and… when the fuck were your gems last cleared, hundred years ago?”

“Five hundred to be exact,” I deadpanned.

The smile died on the stallion’s lips and despite the lack of eyes on his face, he seemed to glance betwixt us, as if expecting to hear at any moment it was a joke.

“Aight,” he concluded in a careful tone and turned back to the screen, still speaking, “Until you get a new frame, any stock model, my ID’d of no use for you. And even after that any unicorn is gonna sniff you out the moment you pass by.”

As Segfault fell silent, busy with work, Flower quietly said, “So, what are we going to do after that?”

She looked like if she didn’t keep talking or moving she might fall asleep.

“I’m a bit hungry,” came Delight’s reply, accompanied by a rumble of her stomach, rendering her muzzle crimson.

“I have some mushrooms with me.”

Flower enthusiastically produced a bundle from somewhere inside her clothing. It reeked of mould so abhorrently, even Segfault paused to glance at us with his eyebrow raised.

“Eww…” Delight instantly recoiled, taking a step away from the filly.

Tin Flower merely shrugged and commented nonchalantly, “Strange to hear that from somepony who used to earn money by eating di—”

Delight pounced at her, mockingly trying to strangle the filly with her wings. They both smiled and giggled, prompting another annoyed look from Segfault.

Spike’s condition bothered me greatly and whilst Del and the fillies offered me a great insight into modern Equestria, I still stumbled around blindly, having no answers to the most important questions.

“We need to go to a library or something like that,” I said after their feigned fight wound down.

Flower opened her mouth, but Segfault barked, “Name!”

I tilted my head, frowning.

The stallion elaborated in a harsh tone, “What is going to be your name?”

His question froze me to the spot and panic began to settle, but wasn’t given a chance as Flower readily answered him, “Twilight Sparkle.”

I glared at the filly, but she only smiled—innocently, looking back at me in confusion as she belatedly noticed my anger. My head snapped to the screen, but it seemed too late to change anything.

Segfault saved Flower by throwing over his shoulder, “The Royal Archives are your best bet, Twilight Sparkle.”

Giving her one last scathing look, I noted, “Aren’t they supposed to be at the Sky Palace?”

Assuming the tower in the centre of Canterlot was built where the castle had once stood, the Archives had to be somewhere inside it.

“Of course not! The Crown doesn’t need that old shit,” Segfault scoffed. “Southeast 56th street—a big ol’ building.”

“We should go to Wire’s new place instead,” Flower tentatively suggested. “You need a new body and zebras pay good money for a job well done. You really should get it before going anywhere.”

“I don’t think going to the Edge is that good a plan,” Delight scrunched her face. “Frankly, it sucks.”

Flower smirked. “Look who’s talking...”

Delight nimbly leapt over her to wrap Flower’s head in wings, tickling her muzzle. Holding the filly tight to prevent any resistance, she offered her idea:

“I have some strings I can pull across the city, it will be faster than saving money by making drugs.” Her expression darkened considerably. “We’d have to go back into the Tunnels, however. And the little rascal is right—the Archives are very close to the Inner City; police there aren’t as lousy as on the outskirts.”

The filly in the question finally managed to escape from the feather trap. “I’m not supposed to be in the city either—no ID, too.”

“Could you make one for her?” I asked Segfault, hoping that this could also be a part of his favour to Hollow Druse.

“With the shit happening at the Edge right now?” He shook his head. “No way, no use. It will get nullified the moment she tries to use it.”

Flower and Del looked at me, expectant.

Getting a new body was imperative, and not only because of my problems with the law. Whilst Flower, Scuff and Brass Litany had done their best, my frame still felt like a temporary solution with recent events aggravating the situation.

Either option possessed some risk, but above all stood one simple fact.

What was the sense in a new body if I didn’t even know who I was?

Author's Note

Special thanks to Jay Tarrant and Typoglyphic.

I hope you've enjoyed reading this story so far.

If you notice any mistakes sneaked in through the editing, let me know.

Stay awesome.

Chapter 7 – Tombstone

Aftersound

==============================

Written by: Oneimare & Geka

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant, IAmApe, mikemeiers

==============================

Tombstone

==============================

Whilst neither Delight nor Flower met my course of action with enthusiasm, they still agreed to it, but on one condition—a detour to an eatery.

Two city blocks later, it became apparent that Flower had almost no strength left in her as she kept tripping over her hooves. Grumbling, she finally agreed to climb on my back and almost instantly fell asleep.

As we neared the border with the Inner City, the scenery gradually changed.

The polychromatic presence of adverts abated, letting gloomy skyscrapers hide the firmament all the same. Rust—the ever-present plight of the metal city—ceded to chrome, if only partially. Delicate combinations of plastic and glass replaced sturdy edifices of steel and concrete.

No more did the ponies try to outshine each other with their bizarre looks—garish outfits gave way to suits. Zebras, gryphons, equinods… all gone; even the neighponese barely had a presence.

Needless to say, we stood out from the crowds to an even higher degree now. More than once Del gave me a doubtful look, but I met it with determination. Flower only fidgeted in her troubled slumber—why she would choose my ridged back instead of the pegasus’ soft feathers was a mystery.

A turn brought us to a dead-end—a little island of the outer districts’ dirtiness and decadence hidden inside the labyrinth of dark towers not so far from Canterlot’s gleaming heart. Only a single glass door cast light into the cramped alley, a simple sign above it reading ‘Black Shawarma’ in elaborate cursive.

Before we entered, Del tickled Flower’s nose with her feathers, producing a sneeze and earning a glare from the filly.

Delight wasted no time, approaching a stallion behind the counter to make an order. The cook promptly busied himself with preparing it; whilst she quietly chatted with him, Flower and I took a seat at the table in the corner.

The cook, and likely the owner of that place, caught my attention with his short body, lanky legs, high-set tail, long narrow muzzle and a horn of impressive length—Saddle Arabian blood showing itself, which explained many things about this somewhat exotic café.

The stallion pointed a small device at Delight’s neck; it cast a pale green glow on her skin to reveal a previously invisible set of lines and numbers. Only when the scanner beeped, did he levitate the steaming rolls to her.

The tinkle of a tray with four portions of shawarma and two glasses of hot tea woke up Flower, who had dozed off, lulled to sleep by the warmth, dim light, and murmur of pots.

She carefully took one of the roasted rolls in her non-metal hoof and sniffed at it, then tentatively took a small bite. Almost instantly, her eyes widened, and she all but tried to shove the entire portion in her mouth.

“You even impress me,” commented Delight, her mouth already full.

The remark fell on deaf ears—Flower continued to greedily gorge on her meal, tears of happiness rolling down her cheeks. The smile fell off Del’s face.

As a being of metal, my only option was to forlornly watch my friends sate their hunger.

“Thank you so much, Delight,” Flower said, wiping the sauce and crumbs off her muzzle. “That was the tastiest thing I’ve eaten in my life.”

“Don’t sweat it.” The pegasus waved her hoof, sipping on the steaming tea.

She choked on her drink when the filly suddenly asked me, “So, after we get you a new body we are going to Stalliongrad, right?”

I simply stared at Flower, wordless.

“Come on, Twilight, I’ve spent years hanging with Scuff. He talks about only two things—how shiny and round the Magician’s butt was and how good it’d be for all of us to flee to Stalliongrad,” she explained with a roll of her eyes.

“Well… it does seem to me like a sensible option. What do you think, Delight?’

The pegasus squeezed out betwixt the coughs, “You think it’s real?”

As I tilted my head in confusion, she continued, “It’s not even on the maps. There’re only rumours started after a Former One was said to have left for Stalliongrad a few decades ago.”

“I reme—” I stopped myself. “I can point it out on a map if I get one.”

To my surprise, Del nodded vigorously without hesitation, “I’m in, then.”

“I’m not going anywhere without Wire,” Flower chimed back in, “and she is not leaving her folks behind.”

And I wasn’t leaving before figuring out how to help Spike.

Before figuring out myself.

Unbeknownst to my ruminations, Del spoke, “We’ll need to get food rations—a lot of them.”

Flower readily supplemented, “We can’t just walk out of the city, either. We’ll have to go through the Edge and the Dump.”

“And even if we manage that,” Delight added, “those who failed to get to Stalliongrad spoke about permafrost and deep snow.”

The pegasus and the filly were eager to delve further into the discussion of the potential challenges, yet I had to cut them off.

“It’s all solvable, but there’s no point in fretting over any of this until I have a body that can survive such a journey.”

Somewhat discontent with my intervention, they still nodded in agreement.

And before we could start working on that, we had somewhere to visit first.

A well of glass, steel and concrete loomed above us—another blind alley.

Looking around in search of a number plate, Del muttered, “We should be close.”

“Is that the building we need?” Flower suddenly pointed with her metal hoof.

Del squinted, then turned to the filly, me following suit. “How did you know?”

Somewhat abashed, she replied, “It’s where I found your crystals.”

We all exchanged glances and an uneasy feeling settled in my proverbial gut as we warily trotted to the entrance into the Royal Archives.

Low and bulky, the modern cradle of information gave me the distinct impression of a small warehouse. Nestled betwixt two black skyscrapers, squashed by their rears, it barely had any presence on the main street. A weblike mosaic formed by countless cracks, disrupted in many places by fallen plaster, marred its façade with the rusted number plate as the only indication of that edifice being our destination. It gazed at us with near darkness through the dirty windows—deep inside something glowed faintly with a pale blue.

The sonorous protest of corroded hinges greeted us as we entered the foyer. Neither the guard post nor the large table housed anypony. A lone blinking gas lamp spilt its dim cyan light on the dust resting undisturbed on the floor and furniture.

Looking at Flower and Del, I was met with concern. We huddled closer before proceeding to the next door.

It opened into a chamber vast enough for its ceiling and walls to be lost in the near blackness; blue blinking lights of large box-like machines weakly disrupted the overwhelming murk. Countless crystals residing on the shelves lazily reflected the coruscation.

Not a single pony came to meet us; save for the mysterious devices faintly rustling with their insides, no sound disturbed the tomb silence of the Archives.

Stifling an urge to turn back, I took a tentative step forward—to the opening amidst the labyrinth of shelves and machines, right in the centre of the room. Flower pressed to my side and feathers brushed against my metal skin.

We emerged into an island of cold light cast by a lantern on top of a box full of rectangular crystal plates. A dozen lanes submerged in shadow radiated from the circular clearing, leading into the depths of the library.

From one of them came the measured sound of horseshoes clinking against tiles.

“Welcome to the Royal Archives!”

The voice froze me to the place as a tidal wave of horror crushed upon me.

A pair of glowing eyes was the first to appear and then their owner emerged from the void.

Purple paint peeling from tarnished metal plates; metal bangs of the mane, coloured in indigo with a streak of magenta, embracing a horn; sharp and delicate features of a young unicorn mare.

“Good afternoon. My name is Twilight Sparkle. How can I help you?”

She kept rigidly smiling, staring at us listlessly.

“Alright,” Twilight then said in an emotionless dull voice, “if you need any assistance, I’ll be nearby.”

Moving machinelike, she hauled the box on her back and left, dissolving into the shadows she had come from.

“Did you know her?”

Yanked out of my stupor by an unfamiliar voice I abruptly pivoted—an equinoid leaned on one of those large machines, regarding me curiously.

In my shock I barely paid attention to his strange looks—generally equine, he appeared as if made by someone who had only seen ponies in pictures. Whilst his voice had a strong buzz to it, he sounded male.

He took my stunned silence as an answer and continued, “We rarely have guests and none ever reacted like that.” Seeing my ability to speak failing to return, the mechanical stallion rolled his eyes. “Anyway, as she said, welcome to the Royal Archives. I’m Thirteen—the head archivist here, by the way; or the only archivist, for that matter.”

I forced myself to look over my shoulder, where, in the darkness an angular shape moved like a puppet, softly clicking with gems as she placed them on the shelf from the crate.

I was a machine, but it was Twilight Sparkle who acted like one.

My speaker rustled with a horrified whisper, “What happened to her?”

“So, you do know she wasn’t an equinoid once.” Thirteen squinted at me. “Twilight Sparkle was the first ever pony who tried transferring her consciousness into an artificial body, subsequently discovering the Transference Paradox.” He hemmed. “Not that she would ever know that.”

Twilight noticed my attention and smiled at me.

“Is she…” That grin erased all words from my mind but one. “Dead?”

Looking at me intently, the quasi-equinoid said levelly, “The only memories she now has are those she made working here. And Twilight Sparkle’s organic body was cremated.”

“May... I talk to her?”

Thirteen shrugged. “Sure.”

A snowy-white wing stopped me.

Del met my confused and distraught look with a deeply worried expression; over her shoulder Flower kept glancing at me nervously.

“We can turn and just leave.” The pegasus softly said. “I can try to get in touch with Former Ones if you need information.”

Carefully pushing her wing away, I uttered, “No, I need to do this.”

However, Flower took the place of the feathered limb, looking at the floor.

“Twi—” the filly cut herself short, biting her lip; she raised her eyes and they glistened. “I’m sorry.”

I almost wondered if Flower even understood what she was sorry for or fully realised the gravity of what she had done. Yet, I managed to curb the frustration born from the sheer torrent of emotions assaulting me.

My hoof gently stroked her mane.

“You couldn’t have known.”

“Twilight Sparkle?”

“Yes.” She instantly stopped mid-movement and beamed at me hollowly. “How can I help you?”

I opened my mouth and promptly closed it.

She was Twilight Sparkle only in name, whilst I… My hooves touched my chest—below the plates, my crystal heart beat, the memories I owed to her. Metal quietly scraped against metal as I considered tearing my ribcage apart and…

I’d become what Twilight Sparkle was now. She would leave behind my walking corpse and continue to live her life after five hundred years, except…

Thirteen told me that the machine still dutifully waiting for my decision had no memories of Twilight Sparkle.

I was what was left of Twilight Sparkle.

Some of her recollections still evaded me, hazy visions I dared not to explore; some parts had been missing—whatever happened between the trial and her ‘death’. The pony resurrected in me wasn’t whole.

One thing was as clear as Her day—the thing I was looking at would be my fate, were I to reject Twilight Sparkle’s gift of life, deserved or not.

And I didn’t want to die.

‘Twilight’ tilted her head as my gaze found her empty expression.

“How do I access information from the Royal Archives?”

The keyboard keys refused to cooperate with my clumsy hooves, nor did the unfamiliar layout of keys help. The glass screen flickering and spasming with visual artefacts added a layer of frustration to the satiation of my curiosity…

…Which never came. Five hundred years had changed very little about the actual nature of archives—saving any knowledge for the sake of it. The technology allowing to commit to ‘paper’ half a millennium worth of data might have been a mistake.

Each inquiry resulted in the terminal loading data from the so-called server for agonisingly long minutes only to present me with hundreds of files having little actual relevance to my request. A search for a name—Twilight Sparkle, for an example—would bring up a thousand pieces of bureaucratic garbage, pre-dating even the Great War. I literally found the record of Twilight’s grades from her first year in school, but not a mention of her life after the trial or even the event itself.

Whilst visiting the Royal Archives had granted me an invaluable insight into my nature, the time to decide whose plan to follow now—Flower’s or that of Delight—had come.

Surprisingly, my attempts to find the snow-white pegasus in the black shadows failed utterly. Locating Flower proved much easier; however, she wasn’t alone when I finally stumbled upon her.

Looking much more invigorated—she must have had a nap as I battled with the terminal—the filly quietly but vividly discussed something with Thirteen, ‘Twilight’ sitting by them; the machine appeared to be offline—the light had faded from her eyes and some of her plating rested on the floor, revealing her inner workings.

Holding one of her crystals, Flower pestered the archivist, “These are solid gems, right? The old tech?”

Engrossed in conversation and with her back to me, she failed to notice my approach; Thirteen, on the other hoof, gave me a shallow nod before patiently explaining, “When the transference attempt happened, clusters of microcrystals weren’t invented yet. Since then, nopony has bothered to transfer her data.”

“She doesn’t seem to have much of it anyway—my left leg has more personality,” the filly grumbled, her words reverberating as her muzzle disappeared inside ‘Twilight’. Her head came back out of the half-disassembled torso and she spoke again, “Hey, Thirteen, do you or ‘her’ have owners?”

“We’re property of The Crown.” He then narrowed his green glowing eyes. “Why?”

“Does that mean you don’t have to follow the TCE’s rules?”

“We’re the Crown—we are the rule.”

Cracking a sly smile, Flower patted the unmoving metal body on the back, “Is ‘Twilight’ free to come and go as she wishes, then?”

“I’m in charge of the Archives, not her.” Thirteen narrowed his eyes again, threat clear in them this time. “It has to be on her volition, however—not your coding. Do it, and you’ll be charged with theft of royal possessions. It’s a death sentence or the Crystal Mines if you are lucky enough to choose.”

Considering the filly’s tendency to ignore the law, it sounded like a perfect time to intervene.

“Flower? What are you up to?”

She energetically turned to me, beaming.

“Oh, here you are... um…”

The smile faded from her lips as she trailed off, casting her gaze at the floor.

“Twilight,” I offered firmly.

Though she said nothing, light returned to her expression.

“You didn’t answer my question.’’

The filly nonchalantly waved her hoof in dismissal. “I just thought about transferring your memory crystals into that body.”

“Now, wait, both of you.” Thirteen perked up, frowning deeply. “What is this all about?”

“This equinoid here has the memories of—”

Flower found my hoof over her mouth and I sheepishly smiled at Thirteen, dragging her away.

“Could you excuse us for a minute?”

I let the filly go only when we were out of the archivist’s earshot, though still spoke in a harsh whisper, “Flower, stop doing that!”

“I thought you accepted who you are,” she barked at me, rubbing her offended muzzle.

“It’s not about that—I’m unsure anypony should know that I have the memories of Twilight Sparkle.”

Flower rolled her eyes at me. “I’m pretty sure Thirteen already knows.”

“Then we should leave now.”

Even before the last word had left my speaker I was already trotting in a random direction, to search for Del once again, but Flower materialised in front of me, her hooves pressed to my chest. It wouldn’t have stopped me, but the message went through.

“You don’t understand—it’s our only chance!”

“Chance for what?” I hissed. “To be caught by the police? Or the Royal Guard?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, they’d have been here hours ago if he wanted.” She pointed at ‘Twilight’s’ slumped form. “I’m talking about the body—it’s all old metal and in perfect condition. If we want to make it to Stalliongrad, we need it.”

With that, she tugged on me, but my hooves might as well have been riveted to the floor.

My first thought was simple—murder. She wasn’t Twilight Sparkle, but was she an entity? Yet the more I stared at ‘her’ unmoving silhouette, the more I realised she wasn’t, and never had been, alive.

The filly pulled me again and I followed this time.

The archivist regarded us with suspicion and curiosity when we returned.

Without missing a beat, Flower addressed him, “Thirteen, I’d like to restore ‘Twilight’s’ memories.”

He gawked at her.

“How?”

“This equinoid here is Twilight Sparkle,”—Flower pointed at me—“and I want to transfer the memories she has into her true body.”

Thirteen gave me a prolonged, yet expressionless stare. When it almost became really uncomfortable, his eyes seemed to flash.

“I’m not stopping you,” he finally said. “But you better be prepared for whatever happens next.”

Since Flower had turned off all my body systems, save the ‘brains’, as she put it, I couldn’t even speak—only shot discontent glances at Thirteen who stubbornly refused to elaborate further on his enigmatic warning.

The archivist himself leaned on the terminal, patiently watching Flower do work, occasionally commenting on the process—giving the savant little mechanic tips and tricks.

Delight’s eyes gleamed from the shadows atop one of the large terminals and just like me, she kept glaring at Thirteen—he’d found her napping on a shelf, amongst some papers. Offended by such treatment of his beloved archives, he awoke the pegasus by shoving her out of the newly-made nest with the full force of two mechanical hooves.

“Alright, Twilight. I’m gonna turn you offline and put your memory crystals inside the new body. You shouldn’t even notice anything… I think.”

I didn’t even have the time to react to her words when everything went black.

My eyes opened, line after line obscuring my vision until only the words ‘Welcome back’ remained.

They faded and I took a sharp breath, blinking.

Blinking! Breathing!

From her perch Delight chuckled. “You look much better now—not like you are going to start a rampage any moment.”

My previous body, a sordid vessel of rust, bloodied and stained in oily rags glowered at me with a single dead eye.

“Thanks. I’m glad about it too.”

“If you hadn’t been smashing into walls and trying to kill ponies,” Flower grumbled from my side, a small wrench in her teeth, “you would have looked fine. What the synth-hay is that?”

Her hoof pulled a small object from inside my chest—a crystal.

“Isn’t it just one of ‘not-Twilight’s’ gems?” Del commented.

“It wasn’t connected to anything.”

My hoof stretched out and the filly reluctantly passed her find.

An amethyst with classic unicorn facetting, set in a silver case encrusted with tiny semi-precious stones of rich magenta and deep blue. The violet depths unmistakably and softly glowed with magic.

“It looks like a recording crystal, but I can’t be sure until the enchantment is checked.”

Which wasn’t happening with the company present.

Idly rolling the gem, I was struck with a theory about its elaborate casing, “However, it might be activated by non-magic users...”

Eager Flower stretched her hooves to snatch the gem from me. “What are we waiting for, then?”

“I just said that I don’t know what enchantment it holds. And even if my guess is correct, do you remember what happened last time?”

“Don’t you want to know?” She pressed on, not giving up on trying to reclaim the crystal. “It could be your last message or something...”

Of course, I craved to know.

My eyes found Thirteen and the strange equinoid met my unsaid question with the tiniest of nods, vivid curiosity clear in his expression. Yet somehow I couldn’t shake off the impression he had known what was recorded on that gem already.

Taking a deep breath (it felt so good to finally be able to do it) I pressed one of the smaller gems in the casing.

To my great relief, nothing exploded and the crystal remained in my hooves steadfast, whispering with faint static and softly pulsing with magic.

The recording began to play.

“I haven’t used these recording gems for so long, I almost forgot how to enchant them.” That voice belonged to Twilight Sparkle, however, it possessed a distinct rasp.

Then another pony spoke—Moon Dancer, not spared by time either, “Weren’t you supposed to say the date and other boring stuff before you start? You’re losing your edge, Twily.”

“So are you!”

“Sheesh, relax. Stop being so nervous—it’ll work perfectly.”

“Yeah, and then I will throw you a party! ‘Welcome-to-a-new-body Party’! Wait, does it count as a second birthday? Do I need to plan two birthdays for you from now on? Twice as many parties!” Pinkie Pie’s words faded as if she’d walked—likely hopped—away.

“You know, you can at least try not to look so gloomy and wish us luck.”

“I’m still uncertain about these enchantments.” The vaguely familiar voice of the mare who replied to Moon had a strange echoing and distorted quality, denying my attempts to identify her. “Many ponies have tried to achieve immortality, but it doesn’t work through conventional magic.”

“It’s not immortality, it’s a transference.”

“There is no reason for it to fail,” Twilight snapped. “We checked them—they are impeccable, just like the gems!”

“It’s not about how correctly they were cast, it’s about the enchantments themselves. I still think you should have included my suggestions.”

“No way! No dark magic! Look at what it has done to you!”

“At least, it worked. If it was so easy to make what you want to, then we would be surrounded by undying ponies.”

“You almost sound like you don’t want us to succeed.”

“It’s because I want you to, that I’m doing this. It’s just… one can’t bend Harmony’s rules using its own tools!”

“We are not resorting to dark magic! Nothing good ever comes out of that!”

“Alright, alright, we’re all nervous, but we need to stop this bickering. It’s too late to change anything, anyway. Listen, if something happens and we were wrong, then you can do whatever you deem necessary. What do you say, Twi?”

“Fine. But there isn’t going to be any need for that.”

“Now let’s go to Pinkie’s party. She has even managed to get a cake somewhere...”

With a sharp crack, the recording died.

It loaded me with questions, yet the silence taking reign belonged to the three other equines rather than myself—Flower, Del and Thirteen stared at me, their eyes wide.

I was prepared to ask them what was wrong—perhaps, the events of the recording or the mysterious mare somehow meant more to them than to me, but then I noticed the glow persisting and it came not from the now dormant gem.

Purple light radiated through the gaps in my body’s plating.

I sensed… something.

The horn on my forehead served a purely aesthetic purpose… or did it?

Concentrating on the familiar sensation, I discovered a pattern in the trickles of arcane energy—from my crystals and to my horn.

Could I disrupt that circuit and funnel the magic into a spell?

I tried and everything exploded.

In my excitement, I committed the most foalish of mistakes—directing a current into itself. My artificial nature had saved me from a nasty headache and probably an inability to cast magic for a few days; if that ability had truly manifested in me.

My metal frame offered me another clemency—being able to ignore the journey into the world of pain when a shelf crashed upon me as the magic discharge knocked me into it.

Through the tinkling sound of broken crystals still bouncing off the floor, a steady flapping of wings came and a moment later panting voice joined it:

“Up here!

Delight hovered under the ceiling, Flower dangling from her hooves—both dishevelled, but overwise unscathed. Thirteen was nowhere to be seen, however.

A loud bang echoed from the darkness of the Archives, our heads whipped around, trying to locate its source.

It wasn’t hard—standing against the light of the entrance four ponies clad in blue armour scanned the room with flashlights.

Attached to gun barrels.

“Freeze!” an angry voice screeched, but we were already on the move.

Del soared over me, loudly whispering, “To the windows!”

Correcting my course, I made a sharp turn and a crystal plate crunched under my hooves.

The beams of light instantly converged on me and a moment later the gun reports claimed the room with their cacophony. Stone tiles exploded around and bullets sharply pinged off my plating.

However, the fire abruptly ceased with a bark, “It’s a socket fucker, don’t waste the ammo, morons! The EMP’s!”

A metal cylinder flew over my head, landing right in front of me. Skidding, I tried to dash for cover—too late.

A wave of iridescent light washed over me with a whoosh, filling my vision with static.

Nothing changed.

Wasting no time in figuring out what was supposed to happen to me, I continued to navigate between lop-sided racks, barely avoiding slipping on the strewn around shards.

“Why the fuck is it still moving?” came from behind me, closer than I expected—and found comfortable.

To my luck, I all but crashed into Del and Flower the next turn.

The pegasus instantly recovered and wordlessly leapt above the jagged teeth of broken glass. Hesitating only to realise it was the ground floor, I followed her, smashing through the shards.

She landed into the middle of the small street with much more grace—my arrival sent sparks flying from under my hooves. By the moment I recovered, she was tugging breathlessly on my shoulder, her wing pointing at the commotion in the crowd.

A group of police officers fought through the uncooperative masses, heading straight for us.

I couldn’t be shot, not immediately. The ‘EMP’s’ might not actually work on me and I might have magic—not a completely hopeless situation.

For Delight and Flower—‘a death sentence or the Crystal Mines’ if they weren’t shot down right away.

“Del! Take Flower and flee to the Edge.”

They gasped, staring at me.

“But what about you!?” Flower regained her senses first.

“I’ll be alright,” I lied. “I’ll meet you there. Now, go!”

Before Flower could abject, Delight swooped the filly from her hooves and took wing, to soon be lost amidst the reflections of neon.

I picked a direction with fewer blue-armoured ponies and ran.

My heavy frame gained speed agonisingly slowly, but once I reached steady gallop, I became a train mercilessly ploughing through the mob, practically hurling ponies aside; once I even heard the crack of bones.

Stopping my charge became an issue when an officer materialised before me, whipping out a gun.

“Stop right there, criminal scum!” the stallion shouted at me.

With my inertia only partially lost, I still rammed into his navy-blue armour, making the shots go wide.

Leaving the stunned pony to struggle on the pavement, I resumed my escape, now actively looking for the alcoves with hatches leading underground—I couldn’t run forever. Sooner or later, the police would find a way to surround and overpower me—they had weapons deadly enough.

A sharp turn led me to a dead-end—deserted, narrow, short, housing nought but garbage containers and a trapdoor.

I threw it open and dove in.

Author's Note

Special thanks to Jay Tarrant.

I hope you've enjoyed reading this story so far.

If you notice any mistakes sneaked in through the editing, let me know.

Stay awesome.

Chapter 8 – Twilight Sparkle

Aftersound

==============================

Written by: Oneimare & Geka

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant, IAmApe, mikemeiers

==============================

Twilight Sparkle

==============================

The Tunnels readily greeted me with near darkness and overwhelming foetor even before I reached the final steps of the rusty staircase opening into a narrow passageway connected to a spacious duct.

Canterlot’s underground seemed to be absolved of any law and order or, at least, of that imposed by the police force. I still hastened my trot just in case my pursuers decided to exercise atypical persistence. Nor did I hesitate as the main tunnel opened before me—picking a direction at random, I headed left.

The subterranean decadence dwindled in its intensity closer to the centre of the city, but barely. No more sickly ponies lay on the grated floor with those who had lost the battle to illness or met their terrible demise some other way. Devices of decent condition prevailed amongst the traded goods and even the chemical substances appeared to be of a higher quality.

The ponies and equinoids barely paid me any attention—short curious glances at most, since now I mingled into the masses as an average equinoid with a frame in slightly too good condition.

Whilst the Edge presented itself as a foolproof destination, me having no idea in which direction it even was compromised that goal. And my experiences relying on help from locals had proven themselves as an endeavour of abysmal success.

However, a possible solution to my plight presented itself at some point in my semi-aimless wandering.

A translucent section of a circle appeared in the corner of my vision, followed by the words, ‘A new network has been found. Connect to it now?’

My first thought suggested it being just one of the local dwellers’ projections invading my vision, but the tiny pictogram dutifully remained as my head and eyes moved.

Finding cover at the nearest shadow-blighted recession, I diverted my full attention to it. My inquiries about the servers at the Royal Archives hinted at this ‘network’ possibly having some sort of connection to the distant vaults of data.

Yet, any attempts to focus on the little image proved to be futile as it almost mockingly clung to the corner of my vision. How was I supposed to interact with such a thing?

As a part of my body, I should be able to control it, no different from my limbs.

And since my being was but a confluence of metal and magic… Did I need to cast some sort of spell?

Networksitis Connectia?

No. My mind was magic itself.

For the first time in ever, I wondered—who had created equinoids and why? The Coven had used crystal revenants during the war—the closest to the concept of artificial life from my knowledge; though, those abominations had little in common with living beings.

It had to be a mage of unprecedented ingenuity and arcane skill.

Curious as to who that might be, I had my own theory to test.

I focused my consciousness on that image of a quarter circle with words, and to my immense joy, it flashed expanding into a series of lines.

> connecting to ‘free equinet’...

> connected...

> signal strength: good

> security: none

Nothing else happened and I was left staring in space as my mind tried to come up with what to make of that connection.

I cleared my thoughts until only a single word remained, “Search.”

A box titled ‘Equi-net: BackRub search engine’ obscured the view of the tunnel.

“Map.”

A list of entries filled the box, expanding to fill my entire vision.

Each offered to ‘download’ a chart of the city, accompanied with short descriptions of its merits—being up to date, having more levels of the Tunnels than any other, or just being fully interactive. The one with ‘includes the Edge sectors’ caught my attention.

Concentrating on the entry ‘opened’ another box which instantly exploded into animated adverts of a pornographic nature, claiming every space available.

My hooves backpedalled on reflex, but then I noticed a large button with ‘Download’ amidst the chaos of indecency.

It brought up a message, ‘Do you want to save ‘autoinstaller_v3.14.exe’?’

Yes! Anything, just make it all go away!

To my immense relief, the squalid reality of the underground returned.

“Autoinstaller_v3.14.exe.”

Instead of the map, a notice inquired of me if I wanted to run the file.

I readily agreed, yet nothing seemed to happen.

My vision swam, colours twisting and distorting.

The walls and equines around me became defragmented, merging into each other, fading to grey and white or flaring with outlines or acidic red, blue and green.

Buzzing sounds permeated my hearing—words whispered and screamed too fast to discern; jagged synthetic noises; dissonant notes.

My knees buckled under me.

I turned my head at the sudden movement in the corner of my eye.

Spike.

> she says the universe is a hallucination she says it is a field enfolded she says she has been captured by a city of ruined children she says these spaces are eating her savage joys she says dreams drip away revealing the indistinct

“What’s that for?” I asked him as the dragon waddled up the stairs.

For some reason, he’d impaled a red and gold box onto his tail.

“Well, it was a gift for Moon Dancer.”

A stuffed toy fell from it, ruined too.

“But…” he finished lamely.

“Oh, Spike, you know we don’t have time for that sort of thing.”

“No. No. No!” I muttered in irritation each time my magic failed to whisk ‘Predictions and Prophecies’ from the shelves.

The Elements of Harmony—the only thing that could thwart the disaster.

They were supposed to defeat any foe.

> the need for optimum integration to use the organic entity that I am caught in a pulse of wet media I like to be what I am an architecture to serve agencies living flesh with an inside and an outside bare speeding through virtual fever an error has been detected in our consciousness all her bio-ports scream long dark strings of unnamed code

“No! No. No...” I muttered as black tears streamed down Cadence’s face.

Something was amiss, I lacked the knowledge. If only She was alive…

Utterly terrified we huddled together on the crystal floor behind my sister-in-law and before the sea of vile living shadows.

Only Cadence’s shield spell prevented the obsidian tide from crashing upon us. Yet her knees shook, her sweat mixed with blood, and cracks crept across the shimmer of the magic barrier.

Then she began to scream.

A howl of anguish, my friends echoing it with whimpers, until I realized that she was trying to yell, “Run”.

I would rather take Cadence’s place than leave her there.

But, the backlash from the Elements had left us weakened, and I doubted I could do anything even if that hadn’t happened.

Nevertheless, it wasn’t my call to make.

> equinoid of the nightmare that impossible to the output gene that body gets an angry virus we of the grief who were perceived and went to war with the brain of the picture that was disillusioned and controls the body of an artificial to direct; it respires with a foolish plug sun of artificial depressing that has jointed our existence to be analyzed

Shining Armor could as well have hit me instead of giving me that look—the pain, the fury… the betrayal. Everypony and Spike stared at him with teary eyes, waiting either for a miracle or a horrible decision. Yet, his burning gaze bored into me until the soldier in him finally took control.

He leapt to Cadence, stopping a mere hoof-length short to not disrupt the magic; she met his outstretched hoof with her shaking wing.

“We will return, I promise,” he whispered loud enough to be heard over the roar of the magic duel. He then bellowed into the darkness, to the purple and green eyes in the heart of it, “I will return!”

Then we ran.

> resembling the body called flesh search for beauty without features stay on the path till you arrive be speechless no write no reason all sewn up and no place to go the city of ruined children

My blind gallop carried me through the dark-blighted corridors, it bumped me into the shadows inhabiting them.

Crystal halls mingled with corroded tunnels. Corpses of those who had fallen to the dark magic joined the carcasses of those who had fallen to the plights of the underground. Cursed black blood seeped onto rust.

The dark silhouettes oscillated with shadowy magic, unstable forms knit themselves from obsidian vapour; skeletal wraiths with burning eyes, striped giants muttering in a broken language—all pushed me away, kicked me, soundlessly yelled.

Down!

Down the stairs—away from the Crystal Palace, away from the underground!

> The monochrome of the artificial blood vessel masses of the flesh of the angel mechanism that transcends clone colts and fillies who suck the nude of the cyber be like the body fluid that electrolyzed it

Tittering, I climbed to my hooves from the ever-shifting floor.

In the blur of my vision, shadows danced—equine forms. They glowered at me, their blameful whispers snaking into my ears. Yet their numbers dwindled.

Had the mad dragon spooked them away?

“Spike!” I called.

I needed that book, I needed to warn them all… to fix my mistakes…

> How can you pretend to resemble the body called flesh in this shattered universe? Don’t you see that the segments adrift in the network are injuring your sensible skin? Don’t you see you have NO FUTURE NON HAI FUTURO; THE PAST slowly kills us the shadow of a hirsute code—the first mare goddess is coming from the nights of time, she is following us through a line of blood there is no escape function the modem is burning how can you pretend to resemble the body called flesh in this shattered universe?

An attempt to take a step brought me to the floor, reddish dust billowing up around me. Every dark mote glistened, becoming a speck of blood. Crimson rained—deathly tears of all those who I had failed...

Supporting myself with a hoof against the nearest wall, I tried to rise again.

A huge and discoloured number ‘3’ loomed over me, painting on the stained concrete. It flickered and I stared at the blood smeared across the gleaming crystal surface.

Sombra—he was coming for us—I had to escape!

Bodies strewn everywhere on the crystal floor… Sombra killed them all… so much blood—everything running red.

Rust claimed Equestria, our land ashed.

My limbs, just as crimson, dripped with the blood of the countless ponies I had let down.

> I escape the sensitive body of vision you in the world that has done junk from the blue machine of that sky is stored and see that dives into the tragic reproduction nature of the clone colts and fillies that of our vital chromium

My hoof caught on something.

I looked and shrieked in horror—my internal organs!

In a panic, I began to grab them from the crystal floor, but my limbs went through them… my hooves dissolved into flakes of rust. The light flickered… it wasn’t my intestines, but cables sparking and tubes leaking oil onto the dirty rusty floor.

Yet my stomach stood intact, the metal plates evenly aligned to each other.

I kept rushing through the arched passages of the Crystal Palace, taking turns into the rusted tunnels until the concrete dirty floor hadn’t changed for some time.

Was it over? Could it ever be over?

Two lamps struggled to illuminate an empty narrow tunnel, one of them blinking spasmodically. Underneath its convulsing light somepony stood; yet the next time the radiance disappeared, the figure vanished along with it. It flashed again and the blurry silhouette returned.

I took a step back—the pony followed, their hooves shuffling heavily with a screech of metal.

My other attempt to retreat brought them into the spotlight of the other lamp.

A full-body bulky metal armour, twisted and burned, the eerie glow filtering through the tears and cracks. Charred flesh and the exposed yellow ribs in a gash on the side; a torn gap on the back, showing blackened vertebrae, gleaming with the same pulsing baleful purple light.

Agonisingly slowly the pony removed the conical battered helmet to reveal a discoloured face marred by scars and a dark webwork of black veins, patches of necrosis. The fire rendered it furless and had almost eaten away the polychromatic mane.

Two empty eye sockets stared at me.

“Twilight,” Rainbow Dash rasped, “why did you kill me?”

> I became a horse, if you look straight in my eyes you can see that I have got the eyes of a horse, gaze at me. You do not look like a horse. Yes, look at me, can you see my eyes? Yes, it’s real, your eyes are transforming, they are big purple deep. You are pale, much paler than I remember. I understand that you look like a horse, but I cannot see what the problem is. Do you understand what the problem is? No, I don’t understand

“Wow!” Rainbow Dash said from somewhere in front of me. As always, she was the first to escape the confines of the cart. “What’s with all the guards?”

“I’m sure they are just taking the necessary precautions,” Rarity spoke from her side instead of letting me out. “Royal weddings do bring out the strangest ponies.”

And then Pinkie decided to stop at the entrance and sneeze confetti…

Finally, I could get out of the train.

“Well, let’s get going, we’ve got work to do,” Rarity chirped, trotting ahead;

Rainbow, Pinkie and Fluttershy followed her. As most familiar with Canterlot, the fashionista took the mantle of a guide. Only Applejack patiently waited for me.

“And you’ve got a big brother to go congratulate,” she said enthusiastically.

“Yeah, congratulate.” I gritted my teeth as I passed betwixt two guards. “And then give him a piece of my mind.”

The solitude of Canterlot streets soothed my chagrin—I loved my friends dearly but right now their support and sympathy felt like salt on a wound.

> she says that she no longer knows herself she speaks of butterfly wings crushed by a creature with no smell she says that a devastating glance has rendered her invisible she says that they have stolen her silence leaving her only with useless words she says that now there is nothing left except emptiness

However, only the statues of guards constituted the populace of the usually lively alleys. No music of alfresco cafes, no din and chatter of the city breathing. Even the colours seemed to be toned down. Not a single decoration betrayed the grand event.

Had they decided to have a military wedding?

The palace halls, always crowded with a vast variety of personnel and nobles, met me with emptiness and silence.

Nearing the great doors of the throne room, I finally noticed somepony in an adjacent passage—a shadow and the clop of metal-clad hooves on the marble floor.

Even when I reached a gallop, the shadow’s owner remained out of my sight.

> coma life trawls drearily towards the inevitable while new forms arise from the ash of future’s memory building their skins, sewing and patching, tweaking and stretching pushing beyond what many from the comfort zones have drowned in

The cold stone corridor opened up to a wide expanse of open sky and green garden. A small congregation of ponies in its heart seemed to be busy with wedding preparations.

Yet, the impression faded as I got closer to them.

They stood still, frozen even, their expressions sombre—palace stuff, guards and nobles, even my friends in the front row.

Before I managed to make it to them through the gathering, I witnessed it.

A casket.

An ornate, beautiful coffin set at a respectful distance from the rows of ponies—all their eyes, wet with tears, glued to it.

Princess Celestia lay there, so peaceful and serene, as if merely asleep.

> if ((light eq dark) && (dark eq light) && ($blaze_of_day{sun} == holy_light) && ($alabaster_wing{bright} == $tin{bright})){ my $LOVE = $YOU = $cos{dawn} + 1; };

Her mane didn’t flow anymore, the still strands braided with flowers. The vibrant, and yet soft at the same time, colours of the dawn had faded. Even Her pristine coat dimmed—the sunlight shining through the immaculate white, had set.

I galloped to my friends, pushing ponies from my path. Not a single complaint, nopony paid me any attention. Despite the tears streaking every face, not a single sob could be heard.

Rarity gingerly held Spike’s shoulder as he just stared ahead; Applejack clasped her hat in her hooves; Pinkie Pie glared at the ground, her mane straight; Fluttershy and Rainbow supported each other; I muttered under my breath, my eyes bloodshot and hollow.

What?

I slumped amongst my friends, my face matted from endless rivulets of salt and sorrow, mane messed from many long sleepless nights.

But if I stood there, who was I?

> WHO AM I WHAT AM I WHERE AM I WHEN AM I

I glanced at myself—limbs of metal, damaged and rusted. Black oil dripped on the lush green grass below.

My eyes returned to the coffin, but it was empty.

She stood right behind me, a few lengths away, a grand form against the crimson red sunset.

White fur stained with soot and speckled with fresh blood. A horn, blackened and cracked. Mane and wings hanging limply. And those eyes, those beautiful eyes. There was no disappointment, no blame in them, just sadness, endless like Her beauty.

“Twilight,” Princess Celestia whispered sorrowfully, “why did you let her kill me?”

> she says the stars are slowly disappearing light becoming dark she says it is only here that she can exist she says she is running blindfolded towards the ever brightful she says there is no beginning but a circle containing a gap for the unexpected to enter she says here there are intensities which she cannot begin to understand she says to her all things are less than zero

When did it happen?

Yesterday. It would always be yesterday.

Aeons might pass, but every time I woke up, every time I closed my eyes, it would have happened yesterday. A poison green ray of magic striking Her down.

The last sunset with which the world ended—no night, no dreams, no nightmares. And no day after.

Just nothing.

The world without Her had no point, even existence became a burden too heavy to bear. They told me not to do it. “Do it for Spike,” Rarity said, I remembered.

Spike... I needed something from him. A book?

> a scream, yes, a scream she says that it was a night of intensities and she did not plan for it she says she believes in nothing less than everything she says that theirs is not a mathematical

I wanted to ask him, but Applejack drew my attention.

“Thank you kindly, Twilight, for helping me out.” She nodded, her voice laden with gratitude.

We trotted to Sweet Apple Acres, baskets filled with apples on our backs.

She finished with a guffaw, “I bet Big Macintosh I could get all these Golden Delicious in the barn by lunchtime. If I win, he’s gonna walk down Stirrup Street in one of Granny’s girdles.”

“No problem at all, Applejack, but I’m glad the goal is lunchtime.” Saliva gathered in my mouth from the thick aroma of freshly picked apples. “All this hard work is making me hungry.”

“I know, right?” Spike chimed in from my back; an apple, carelessly thrown by him, hit my head.

Momentarily I swirled my head around to deeply frown at his antics.

> shadows of tender fury the passing of the dead shelters those who have nothing those who bear the historic burden of disdain and abandonment those who don’t exist

When I turned to AJ, a scowl of pure scorn met me.

“How could you, of all ponies, agree with her!” she yelled at me, desperately, on the verge of crying.

Rarity glanced at me with hurt and regret, yet she shook her head resolutely, if somberly.

“Listen, Applejack,” I carefully began.

We were at war, and she would have to understand that the hardest decisions required the strongest wills.

“I get what you’re saying, but…” my voice trailed; she blinked away a tear. “You are doing a great job. The Ponyville Farm Unity is invaluable to the war effort. But, the frontlines need more provisions, and not just them—the workers have to be fed, too. You must understand.”

“But Flim and Flam, Twilight!” AJ yelled at me, openly weeping. “Why them!?”

Because nopony else wanted to? Because nopony else could? Flim and Flam alone knew how to wrench more production than the soil could yield, how to make sacrifices.

It took me too long to come up with this answer.

Blistering rage faded from Applejack’s expression, ceding to utter defeat.

“Twilight, you…” Applejack sobbed. “You’ve doomed us all!”

> In the absence of voice I compile the words of his body, corner to corner: fold these papers into themselves. Each fold is a severing, a suture line of metonymy. Each fold is revealing, organs open and, convulsive, shut again. The final fold reveals broken mouth-skin, ragged vertical lines of hardened flesh and the relentless beating of exposed capillaries. It should be a triangle. The images blur, the paper breaks. Impress their ink on my skin. The chaos of unexpressed meanings held apart in relations of power. A processed language I cannot read.

Five.

A number on the wall, layers of paint peeling away, ceaselessly rejected in favour of rust.

What did it mean? My friends?

All gone now, even though we laughed together just a moment ago. I guess each of us had different goals set to achieve at the Grand Galloping Gala. I had mine too, but now, with Her being dead… Perhaps it held a friendship lesson to learn…

A tunnel, dimly lit, red smears marking the walls.

Had to be the palace dungeons. Why was I there?

Oh, I helped Fluttershy steal Philomena. And I killed Rainbow Dash—whoopsie.

A great friendship lesson—‘don’t kill your friends, it’s bad’! I needed to send a letter to Her, she would love it. Where was Spike, again? Probably reading his comics or eating one-eyed, moth-winged prostitutes.

I rose to my hooves and dusted myself. Well, it all was very lovely, but the library had to be organised or Thirteen would be so mad.

Trotting down the halls, I hummed, “Windigo wrap-up, windigo wrap-up...”

A door to a brightly lit room opened ahead.

Giddy on my hooves I quickly covered the distance, hopping over the strewn bodies.

They slept, though one of them had better visit a doctor—necks weren’t supposed to bend that way. And another had no head at all. How silly! You need it to eat and put your hat on, like Applejack.

> let them dress in the garb of war so their voice may be heard in the empire of silence that dances in the mountains in that climbing and falling of red stars breaking the mirrors of power moving into the elsewhere afterwards let their words fall silent and let them return to the night and the earth adrift in the network resembling the body called flesh are packets of soft recognition

Heads turned to me when I entered the vast chamber—my friends and a few of the elderly ponies. Others paid me no attention, my brother and Princess Luna amongst them, their eyes glued to the contents of a massive table.

“We all are glad you decided to come,” Rarity chirped with laboured joy.

The corners of her lips refused to rise. Even Pinkie would have trouble smiling in the Hall of War.

Shining Armor loomed over the ancient slab of basalt, glaring at the papers strewn upon its polished by countless hooves surface. Pieces of parchment surrounded huge maps of Equestria and the Crystal Empire, the latter recently sketched.

The heavy silence created by my arrival hadn’t lasted for long—a din of arguments returned at once, military officers proposing and objecting, agreeing and disagreeing.

Trying to tune in proved to be an exercise in futility; my friends, save for Rainbow Dash, had little success as well, judging by their forlorn expressions.

My brother culled the clamour, banging his hoof on the table.

“As I said, it is possible to infiltrate the Crystal Palace with a small strike force and save Princess Cadence—only if we act fast. The resistance from the civilians should give us an opening. But only if the strike force is supported by another to draw attention. Princess Luna will lead it.”

The Princess of the Night stood silent all that time, towering over the map ignoring it; her vacant expression pointed through the arrow-slit to someplace outside, beyond the visible reality.

“No,” she cut. “I’m taking a platoon of the Royal Guard and scouring the Badlands until the changeling threat is completely eliminated.”

One of the generals, either exceedingly foolish or incredibly brave, asked in a shaking voice, “But what about the Crystal Empire? What about…” his words trailed off as he glanced at Shining Armor.

“Do whatever you want,” she all but spat at the table, then stormed out of the room.

The chamber instantly became brighter, even though no clouds marred the sky on that day.

An uneasy silence hung in the air.

“What are we going to do now, my Prince?” another general asked.

My brother didn’t answer immediately.

“The operation can proceed without Her Majesty’s help,” he finally replied. “We’ll just use more soldiers.”

“But won’t that be a declaration of war?” inquired a young officer.

“We,”—Shining Armor looked at me for the first time since I had entered—“are already at war.”

> ...We gather our texts, our images, our code, and cover them with our laughter and bodies. The mass, consensual hallucination that we call society must be navigated. The labour of mare as the infrastructure of the networks becomes Manifest. We re-flesh the networks with our useless condition. We build counter hallucinations through the help of Operational Somatic Systems. Their flesh streams the net via broadcast media and web pages. Part of their unfolding drama belongs to connections drawn together betwixt each other to illustrate a bloated, informatic world drowning in electricity and telecommunication technologies...

Drip-drop.

The leak on the ceiling showered a corpse.

Rats and maggots did a great job of stripping it of any identity. Smelling red, it was of average size, and in the heap of bones, half-rotten and half-eaten flesh, I could see neither the remains of wings nor a horn protruding from the brown skull. They could still be there, in that delicious pile of treasure. A perfect specimen, nopony and everypony at once. It might even be a zebra. Even a young alicorn.

It could.

Even.

Be.

ME.

> resembling the body called flesh sticky segments set randomly adrift in the network gathering ghosts from the machine to illuminate an event horizon that breathes alone amongst other

I mean, I was dead, right?

I didn’t have a heart, I didn’t breathe. I didn’t even have flesh. What was I if not a dead pony? Ponies were either dead or alive—no betwixt. It was so simple, so beautiful, that I began to laugh.

> ...it is a question of deformation or association on a molecular level—we found that simple binary coding systems were enough to contain the entire image however they required a large amount of storage space until it was found that the binary information could be written at the molecular level—however, it was found that these information molecules were not dead matter but exhibited a capacity for life which is found elsewhere in the form of virus...

And if we both were dead, both without identity, we could just swap, nothing would change, on the physical level. And if I did it, then I would become that corpse, and if that corpse could be anypony...

I rose to my dead hooves, moved my dead body to that perfect carcass, grinning wildly.

What a day!

I could finally get salvation. I always knew it could be found only in death. Like redemption. Like absolution. I would become that nice fleshy worm chow and then I would really die and go to the Grand Galloping Gala!

“We will talk about death, and what I’ve learned and killed~

It is going to be so special~

Just Her and me~”

> You will not know who you are lying to, do you understand? Yes, I understand but for me this is not a problem. You do not want to embrace me. We will never embrace, it will never happen No, I do not understand and I am steeped in stagnant sunflowers.

I loomed over the rotting carcass, the maggots in their lascivious feast, unlike rats, remained unperturbed by my cackling shadow.

What was I supposed to do, again? How did one swap corpses?

A spell? Did I have to tear the glittering things out of me and sprinkle them over that sweet meat?

Should I ask the worms wriggling in pus to help me? But they looked so beautiful, so busy in their splendid craft of nothing.

> Observe YOURSELF. You are directly descended from the bilaterally symmetrical worm. Half embryo, half witch.

“Going to steal another body, aren’t you?” a voice called from my side.

It was… me! I stared at nothing but my old body, the one I had left slumped, lifeless, at the Archives... or had I?

Oh no.

She found me.

Rusted, damaged from my misadventures, wrapped in bloodied rags, it… she… bathed me in the crimson glow of her single malignant eye.

> Now they are one in front of the other, any more distance would break the contact, less distance would make them implode. Two forms point one on the other, they are staring at each other crossing the selves

The original, true Twilight Sparkle took a step towards me. I remembered—I was an imposter, a thief. I was dead because I never lived.

“Didn’t like it, did you?” She smirked. “Comes with a lot of burdens, I know. So much blood can’t be washed away with anything and machine oil can’t hide it either.”

“I… I d-didn’t... s-steal...”

Twilight dashed to me like lightning but stopped a mere breath away from my face. Oil dripped from the broken eye, the other shone like a star, cold and lifeless.

“I know you think you didn’t, except, well, you did.” Then she chuckled. “However, I have a better question…”

The machine circled me in a single fluid motion too fast to comprehend, materialising at my ear.

> this is a cry for new memory systems to address and build despite the lack of attention given to such building this tender pain that will always be hope such are the voices of the body called flesh

“You go around, stealing bodies, taking identities… So, what makes you better than… Queen Chrysalis?”

I fell, struck by that name.

> resembling the body called flesh segments that have been set into motion as trace, trace which stains, stains roaming new memory systems in search of a place to rest the storm is here the wind from below is coming time for a new reality

“You kill, you betray, you start wars. And now you steal identities.”

I thrashed on the floor in agony, charcoal black limbs poked with holes appearing in emerald flames before my eyes—my limbs.

Princess Luna should have killed her! Must have! If she was dead, I couldn’t be her.

...The corpse could be anypony...

NO! Cheated, deceived!

“I don’t want to be dead!” I wailed. “I’m not her!” I screamed. “I’M NOT DEAD!”

But Twilight only laughed.

“Then who are you?” she hissed in my ear.

> throughout weary transportation of transmissions with time so small it stitches itself through the imaginary framework as a voice revealing the thematics of our current ruin

I scrambled to my hooves and ran, but froze in my tracks. Right in front of me, Rainbow Dash sat, clad in the charred and broken armour, gazing at me lifelessly with empty eye sockets.

“Who are you?” she rasped with burned lips; the sound of leather against ashes.

Cadence blocked my way in another direction, crouched, bleeding. A film of ink obscured her eyes, black tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Who are you?” she whispered, whimpering from pain, shivering.

My brother at her side refused to lay his eyes on me, AJ on her other side had hers clouded by tears.

Again, I turned and a grand white form, covered in soot and blood, arose from the rust.

“Who are you?” She asked with all the beauty and sadness in the world.

> In a moment you become transparent and I embrace your framework, a red skeleton as radiography, I pass across yourselves and then the place comes tumbling down, I lose you betwixt the ruins, I do not see anything, not anything else

Murderer. Traitor. Failure.

Machine. Imposter. Dead.

> /me had thoughts uncoded by the sanctity of the network. The sanctity was profound but the rhythm was broken.

In the final direction, I waited for myself.

> system control regained...

> memory anchor connection re-established...

> memory anchor malfunction detected...

> initialising stabilising sequence...

> WARNING! Security threat detected...

> initialising purge sequence...

Who were we?

> “I was your resonance,” I remember one of us saying

We stood at the flying strip, a faint breeze playing with our mane. Through the clouds H… the Sun shone shyly. Ponies milled around us; Moon Dancer grumbled by our side; Rainbow stole impatient glances toward us.

“Stop running from yourself,” I whispered to myself.

> proceeding...

We glanced at the crystal clear azure sky, the noon Sun shining forth, bathing the orchards in gold. The aroma of freshly picked apples hung so thickly, it almost suffocated us.

“It’s not the mistakes that define you.”

> proceeding...

We sat in the palace gardens, ancient beautiful statues basking in the Sun and the branches of an oak tree swaying above our head. Cadence’s hoof removed a fallen leaf from the pages of a book we held open—‘Predictions and prophecies’—then gently closed it and tugged, inviting us to play.

“Accept yourself the way you are.”

> proceeding...

We lay huddled in the curve of Princess Celestia’s side, where we had spent all the night listening to her enchanting stories. Through the balcony door, the rising Sun bathed us in its incandescence.

“The tomorrow has come.”

The alicorn brushed a tear away from our cheek and we smiled.

> memory anchor stabilised...

> security threat eliminated...

> initialising reboot sequence...

Author's Note

Special thanks to Jay Tarrant.

I hope you've enjoyed reading this story so far.

If you notice any mistakes sneaked in through the editing, let me know.

Stay awesome.

Chapter 9 – Profane light, hallowed twilight

Aftersound

==============================

Written by: Oneimare & Geka

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant, IAmApe

==============================

Profane light, hallowed twilight

==============================

My gaze wandered across the ceiling, tracing the cracks and dark stains of moisture seeping through; it didn’t really see any of that, however.

The words I practically barked at Scuff Gear still stood true—I hadn’t created those memories. But now I had lived through them, had witnessed and felt every moment like Twilight Sparkle had.

They allowed me to look through a fresh lens at what mare she was, the mare… I was supposed to be, now that I carried her memories like a torch to dispel the oblivion.

And yet a question lingered.

The final recollection I’d inherited was of fire washing over me, yet Twilight had lived after. How was I to find the rest of her memories, if that even was possible? How to complete the mare she was and I would become?

Neither the ceiling nor the floor held any answer, so I rolled over and rose somewhat unsteadily.

My body showed the price paid of my mindless raving—nicks and scratches attempted to peel away the old paint; dirt aimed for the same goal with barely any success, however, it did accomplish clogging my joints with grit.

The delve into my memories had brought one positive thing of physical manifestation—magic.

Not just a wonky coil coursing betwixt my arcanium horn and the memory crystals, but the subtle breath of another reality within; the invisible, intricate convergence and divergence of the leylines, the arcane hum of the world’s most beautiful and powerful melody.

In my very bones of metal.

The orb of light on the tip of my horn easily eclipsed the weak glow of the lamp on the wall, flooding the corridor with violet brilliance. I let it linger there, enjoying the sensation of being one step closer to figuring out who I was.

The narrow tunnel bothered me with its width—more than three ponies across would be brushing their shoulders together. Not that I had seen any so far, despite wandering the passageways for a while now; nor had anything betrayed the presence of life—not even the hint of familiar ever-present foetor. Because of the emptiness, the tunnel made my every step clap like thunder amidst the rain of leakages, even further solidifying my solitude.

Maybe I had come close to Spike’s horde? Or was it the sheer depth to blame?

As if on cue, black lines emerged from the rust on the wall.

‘Seven’—a huge number loomed over me.

Next to it a staircase opened, leading only upwards.

Strangely, the ominous void of the underground offered as much comfort as pressure—the fewer dwellers I met, the safer my path would be. Yet, with no map, calling it such would be a lie.

The black maw of the stairwell absolved me of choice, anyway—a light flooded its void, heralding the sound of metal hooves rattling the rickety steps.

Spilling forth the shining cold in both colour and quality, a stranger unhurriedly descended—an equinoid.

Their constitution presented them as a stallion with broad shoulders and a square jaw. Though worn, his sparse metal plating showed no signs of corrosion, gleaming instead with dark goldish oil. Whist utterly generic with his frame, the equinoid compensated that with the glow of clearly arcane nature emanating not only from his horn but also from his eyes and seemingly every crevice of his body.

And that luminous gaze intently studied me.

“On behalf of the Church of the Machine Goddess, I, Alnico Sermon, welcome you, newcomer. What brings you to our parts?” the equinoid greeted me sonorously; every word—a proclamation.

The almost blinding glow of his eyes rendered his expression nigh unreadable, yet I couldn’t shake off the impression of that perpetual literal glare being achieved on purpose.

“How do you know I’m a newcomer?”

The radiance seemed to intensify.

“I know all my flock of souls by their magic, and yours isn’t one of ours.”

Quenching the desire to take a step back, I lied, “I’ve actually been seeking your Church, but lost my way.”

Where was that token? This would be the worst time to discover it had been left with my ‘previous’ body.

“Many lose their way in Canterlot, but not those who follow the path laid for us by the Machine Goddess,” Alnico allusively commented as I rummaged through my frame’s compartments.

Finally, a token dangled from my hoof.

“I met such a pony—Brass Litany.”

When Alnico’s telekinesis picked it, his candlelight spell went out and the incandescence of his body paled—not a sign of strong arcane prowess as even an adolescent unicorn would be able to handle two of the simplest spells at the same time.

Not that I expected an equinoid to be able to use magic in the first place; a machine having a connection with the Harmony didn’t quite align with my knowledge of the world. Strictly speaking, I shouldn’t have had magic either.

“Brass Litany… yes, a good equinoid, pious and unrelenting. She wouldn’t give it to just anyone. She saw a sister in you.”

“I met her at the Edge, she found me in the local Tunnels and helped me,”

“She, like any faithful equinoid, would leave none of our kind behind, follower or not. Such is the path of the Unity—we must achieve it amongst ourselves before we can reunite with our Holy Mother.”

He trotted past me, hanging the token around my neck.

“Join us on that path.”

Besides inciting mild curiosity, the fabled Church held a promise I couldn’t miss—they were bound to have a map and knew something about Spike, considering he must have been their neighbour.

Nor did my situation offer an actual choice, I suspected.

Despite Alnico’s explicit invitation, he didn’t seem to care if I followed, sparing me not a single glance. He didn’t even bother to tell me where he was headed, leaving me to unquestionably tail his radiance instead.

At least the tunnels had widened, resembling the top level; though I could only fathom their purpose as the damp rough concrete bore no signs of plumbing or electrical lines.

As much as the mysterious equinoid ignored my existence, I eventually paid him no attention myself as other dwellers showed up. They shared their artificial nature with us, however, their previously baffling diversity seemed to subdue. If anything, the local metal equines had trouble assembling their bodies and even more so with finding anything not horrendously corroded.

In my marvelling at their misery, I had managed to lose sight of Alnico, yet it posed little issue as almost every equinoid hurried in a singular direction matching the one my terrible guide had gone.

I passed by a fortification of half-torn cement bags bristling with guns; even mounted and massive they held little threat to them as time and moisture had taken their toll. The nervous and attentive guards behind those weapons paid me no attention—they ignored any equinoid for that matter, with their eyes glued to the darkness.

An arch beyond the post led me into a vast chamber; judging by the doorways gaping behind the somewhat slant bannisters, the room spanned two floors of the tunnels.

A heavy aroma of heated up machine oil wafted through the air, joined by the sharp scent of solder that strangely simultaneously contrasted and harmonised with the crisp spicy fragrance of galipot.

They condensed into a dove-coloured vapour twirling under the vaulted ceiling, faintly glowing from countless small sources of light.

Practically everywhere I looked, crystals resided—just shards, not a single one whole; each labelled by a note with a word or two.

Silver Psalm. Copper Candle. Infinite Skein. Backwater Grease. Blabbermouth.

Names.

The remains of equinoids surrounded me, lost forever when their gemstones had shattered. They shone, like stars, for those who still lived, illuminating their path to the heart of the reliquary.

There stood a metal statue of a mare tall as an alicorn.

She tilted her head upwards, her eyes closed and limbs crossed upon her chest. The lower half of her body, however… it seemed to be frozen in the middle of being fractured into countless razor-sharp slivers.

Two tears traced shining paths across her cheeks’ perfect curves, down to a smile, strained and peaceful at the same time—the serene resignation to pain.

Her mane of cables moulded interwoven into a golden halo circling her entire figure. She held her lithe, delicate hooves to her body tightly, as if in a bout of heartache. At the joints of her neck and hooves gold shone through the gaps like sunlight.

Whilst some equinoids solemnly sat by the piles of shattered crystals, softly speaking to them, most of the visitors to that place congregated at a respectful distance from the idol, muttering prayers.

Two hooded figures measuredly trotted through the crowd on three hooves, their right ones lethargically swinging metal spheres. Those elaborately carved thuribles left trails of bluish smoke and occasionally sent brilliant droplets of solder to the floor or even at the equinoids.

A familiar voice rang above the reverent murmurs.

“Brothers and sisters!” Alnico’s call reverberated, coming as if from the walls. “Gaze upon the tears She sheds for us but weep not with Her!”

He moved in energetic strides from one equinoid to another, lifting their chins.

“Raise your heads and strive as She strived for us. Together! As one!”

I hastily stepped back to not be swept into his motivating speech.

“In the Unity!” the congregation intoned.

Not everyone joined the chorus.

Uncaring for those silent, Alnico raved on, “The impenetrable walls of the Sky Palace will crumble and we will rejoin our Holy Mother and be reborn!”

“As the Unity!” only a few cried out; though their fanaticism compensated for the lack of numbers.

Alnico flung his hooves up, the radiance of his frame flaring as he snarled, “Fight back the betrayers who try to undo her sacrifice in which we were created!”

“We are but an echo of Her consciousness!”

“Cast into the darkness, She ascended from the coils of mortal flesh and so must we turn a blind eye to the wickedness and greed of ponykind—they are our masters no more!”

I didn’t even bother to listen to what the zealots would chant in response.

The service let me know enough to understand a sad truth—the Machine Goddess didn’t exist as anything more than a legend inciting both hope and strife. Yet, I couldn’t blame the runaway equinoids clinging to that fairy tale as elsewise their existence promised little but slowly succumbing to rust whilst they hid in that sunless hole.

A hoof shaking my shoulder brought me from my reverie.

“You’re a newcomer, right?”

Turning to greet the mare, I discovered that it wasn’t a hoof poking my side.

She represented a walking workshop—tools, spare parts and things I couldn’t define formed a shell around her from which insect-like limbs protruded to the addition to her hooves. From behind a pair of welding glasses, her fiery orange eyes intently studied a semi-transparent screen attached by a metal frame to her chest.

The mare glanced up from it, regarding me with a tired and bored gaze.

“Mandatory check-up.”

With that she shuffled away, her ‘rig’ clicking with each step; smells of burned metal, charred resin and old machine oil followed in her wake as I did.

A chain curtain jingled as I passed through it into a barely lit workshop.

Before I could even fully take in my surroundings, the equinoid mare unceremoniously slid aside a plate on my neck.

“Huh, a gen-one port,” she muttered as her probes fumbled with the skeins of cables hanging from her shoulder until she inserted a worn down fork into my side.

A green ghostly miniature of my body appeared before her muzzle, projected from a nub on her head where her horn would be were she a unicorn.

“Alright, I’m technopriest Svarka and your grease donkey for tonight. Let’s see what you’ve got and I’ll assign you a job.”

The prevalence of red colour around me spoke of Svarka fighting each day in a war that couldn’t be won; as such overwhelming weariness robbed her voice of any levity.

Still, my response tried to inject some humour, “What, no ‘metal’ in your name?”

She stared at me, unamused.

“Your name is Twilight Sparkle, and you joke about mine?”

However, as Svarka returned to studying my schematic, her cheeks slightly shifted and her amber eyes sparkled briefly.

“No exterior damage, full plating—perfect for raids… lucky… A fake ID, fresh too, heh… But what’s with this body? It’s not custom, but I have never seen that frame… The model’s number and date of produc—”

Svarka’s murmuring abruptly died—she froze with her expression becoming that of utter bewilderment.

“Your model predates the first equinoids. You are the first equinoid.”

The shock in her eyes melted, consolidating into fearful awe, and she fell to her knees, her muzzle touching the floor. Her glasses of many lenses shattered against the stone; the frame on her chest bent and flickered out of life.

“The Firstborn,” Svarka whispered, “please, forgive me.”

A few awkward moments passed as I stored for later the question of why Twilight had the first mass-produced equinoid in her possession and as I tried to figure out how to respond to being revered.

“I’m… not.”

After all, it was just a body I had… appropriated. Only my gems mattered and they… oh.

Perhaps, this mechanic had some point, after all.

“Who are you?” Svarka glanced up in momentary confusion then seemed to choke, squeaking in sheer terror, “Are you... Her?”

Certainly not some myth—a remnant of Twilight Sparkle, but the river of time swallowed that name without a trace. In retrospect, I was a legend, just not the one Svarka thought.

“No.” My head shook. “I can’t tell.”

“I understand—I’m unworthy to know.”

An exasperated sigh escaped my metal lips and I hooked my hoof under Svarka’s, prompting her to stand up.

“It’s not that.”

Though she no longer kneeled, Svarka shook in her horseshoes, staring at me moon-eyed.

“But you’re older than any equinoid—it’s no mistake, I worked at the TCE tech support for decades!”

My jaws moved as I struggled to answer her—the situation lacked clarity even for me.

“It’s complicated. But you don’t need to cower, that’s sure.”

Svarka still failed to meet my eyes, looking at the floor instead. Eventually, she stopped shivering and began to absent-mindedly fix the bent screen, weaving the cords like an actual spider.

“Even if you are not our Mother, you are still holy—you can’t not be. The Goddess herself must have created you with Her hooves and magic.” Then she practically sobbed, “I hope She forgives me.”

“For what?”

“When I joined the Church a century and a half ago, I truly believed in the Machine Goddess. The prophesied Cataclysm came, that horrible winter, but nothing happened—no Goddess, no Unity. It was all lies.”

Suddenly, Svarka jerked, as if awakened from a daydream.

“You can’t stay here—they’ll just make me tear you apart!”

“Aren’t I considered holy?”

My plans didn’t include exploiting the local ‘religious’ institution, but I could use the advantages it granted to meet my goals of getting out of the forsaken Tunnels.

“You’re real and so is our Mother, too, but everything else is still a lie—there is no Unity and after that winter we don’t even pretend. On the Church’s ground you’re either part of it, or…”—her eyes flickered to the tables piled with spare parts—“or you’re a part of it.”

A heavy silence hung only for a heartbeat we both lacked before Svarka’s expression lit up.

“I know! I’ll mark you as infected by nanosprites, so you get banished to the Deep Tunnels and all of the Church will stay a gunshot away from you.”

I rushed to Svarka as she began to furiously type something on both screens.

“Wait!”

She momentarily paused.

“Could you give me a map? I don’t have anything to trade for—”

“Anything for you—just name it.” Yet Svarka grimaced. “Except that map was last updated a decade ago and I can do nothing to save you from the Souleater—just pray it won’t find you.”

I had a suspicion already, but still asked:

“Who?”

“A horrible fire-breathing beast that hunts ponies and equinoids alike. Some clerics say the Machine Goddess had sent it to purge the sinful—any soul it devours is purified and returns to Mother.” Svarka shook. “I knew a lot of equinoids who searched for it, so they could be cleansed.”

I would pray to be lucky enough to meet Spike, even though our last confrontation didn’t end well. It seemed to be futile to try to learn from any sources other than himself what had caused his madness.

“What else should I be wary of?”

Svarka chuckled ruefully.

“Everything. If it moves—it’s dangerous, if it doesn’t—it’s just waiting.”

Unplugging me and taking a step back, she said, “Here we go.”

“Thank you.”

“I should be the one thanking you.” Svarka smiled sheepishly, then her expression hardened. “Are you ready?”

I nodded and she winked.

“For our Mother’s sake, this damn equinoid has a nanosprite infestation!” Svarka screeched like a siren. “Somebody, get her the fuck out of here! Help! Somebody!”

At least a dozen equinoids rushed to the infirmary-workshop, yet none braved approaching me closer than an outstretched hoof, not until Alnico arrived.

“Witness an infidel that stole into our home and hearts!” he boomed, “The Machine Goddess punished her insidious act by the curse of pestilence. But those true of soul and faith, can’t be touched by any plague, for the Mother protects her devoted children!”

That proclamation incited a race to grab and drag me out of the chapel into the dark corridors of the seventh level. Unsurprisingly, Alnico not only hadn’t joined his flock but kept himself at a formidable distance from me.

The four surly equinoids who carried me to the stairs in strained silence almost hurled me from the steps and hastily retreated, leaving me alone and one floor deeper under Canterlot.

Svarka’s warning about the map being outdated proved to be the understatement of the century—all five of them.

Orange, muddy waters had flooded some passages; the bleeding cracks in the pipes constantly rippled the oily film on their surface. Still and relatively clean water rising to just knee level filled other corridors, yet in these, ominous shadows moved, shimmering with glossy scales.

Whilst some tunnels had collapsed, others had been closed. In those rare occurrences, thick steel doors would seal the passageway. One time, something banged with great force against the metal gate from the other side.

I also discovered paths not marked on the map; as such I could only guess where they would lead.

Surprisingly many of these revealed themselves as regular corridors, with functional lighting and smooth surfaces, unlike mere burrows, dug through the stone and earth with the straight cuts of shovels or with ravaging scars left by large claws.

At first, I readily used these unmarked ways as very useful shortcuts until I stopped altogether.

It started like a concrete and steel tunnel, though submerged in utter darkness. In my reluctance to attract attention, my illumination spell cast as much light as a candle, not even reaching the walls. After a few minutes at a careful trot, my hooves splashed through water and mud, and the outline gained the crude quality of one of those ‘unofficial’ passages; the air had turned humid and hot.

Guided by nothing but sheer luck I decided to turn back.

Pale tumorous tentacles, glistening with engorged pulsing veins stretched to me, flashing serrated bone shards, and shivering with hunger. Eyeless faces stared at me from the overgrown walls, their gaping mouths drooling and emanating inequine moans.

Shrieking and chaotically casting fire spells, I burst out of that nightmarish tunnel, trailing smoke in my wake.

Setting aside such cases and impassable passageways, the layout of any level deeper than the seventh could be described with two words—random and convoluted. The dead ends, tunnels circling into themselves, passages branching many times only to converge again... No reason, no logic—only pure chaos.

When the treacherous geography of the Deep Tunnels hadn’t barred my way, their inhabitants did that job.

Only a few ponies skulked in the darkness with any semblance of sanity in their eyes. Others…

The wailing emaciated forms stumbled with empty or grief-stricken expressions, calling, calling endlessly in their hoarse voices. For lost children, for dead friends. Whilst these ponies sang their dirges, slowly succumbing to the fate of those whom they cried for, the raving frenetics made their erratic journey into unbridled madness.

Laughing, yelling or sobbing, they galloped, they bucked, they fought shadows. Easy to notice, they were the hardest to avoid—impossible to predict, led by sheer lunacy alone.

I also found equinoids, or, rather, they found me; though I was unsure if they could be called that.

Narrow hips and shoulders, slender limbs, long muzzles and bare whip-like tails. They silently hid in the shadows betrayed only by the subdued glow of their eyes. They followed me like a cat would follow a mouse. These metal predators showed no signs of sentience when I called to them in the darkness but had enough intelligence to back away at the sight of my horn aglow, dissolving in the darkness like ravens in midnight.

In another of the tunnels with the deceptively clear waters, I met a thing. As I stood, fuming once again at the misfortune in choosing my path and preparing to backtrack, shrill shrieks came from behind me.

In the pale orange-red light of a dying lamp, an enormous hulk of dark steel moved, taking up almost the entire tunnel’s width with its immense size. The behemoth trotted at a leisurely pace, yet with the inevitability and finality of an avalanche.

The yells came from a deranged madpony, a scrawny figure covered with rags and boils in equal proportion, the sick stallion’s eyes burning with desperate insane violence. The lunatic attacked the metal equine, a bent and rusty crowbar in his unsteady glow of magic haphazardly hitting the blackish plates, to no effect until one of the blind hits landed at the metal head.

A hoof thick as a tree trunk shot sideways at an impossible speed, and the delirious unicorn was squashed against the wall with a loud crunch. The metal juggernaut didn’t even pause in its inexorable trudge.

Captivated by the sight, I failed to notice how the thing cornered me betwixt itself and the waters concealing unknown malice.

I ignited my horn—the action which had saved my metal hide before—and pressed my back against the wall.

The lumbering form came closer to me and I heard... breaths, calm and heavy coming from two respirators on the sides of the helmet.

Arcanium runes welded into the dark metal glistened with enchantments. Some I even recognized… from a scroll written by Starswirl the Bearded to bend time.

Through the narrow tinted strip of the glass visor, two eyes peered at me—nothing but two sparkles in the depths of the reality-violating costume, they slid up to glance at my glowing horn.

The pony momentarily and almost imperceptibly faltered in their travel, then turned away and continued to shamble.

The towering giant stepped into the waters, and they churned with the glimpses of dark slithery forms fleeing away from the heavy hooves.

I sat at yet another of the dead ends.

The dial-piece that appeared after my exploration of Twilight’s memories hovered in the corner of my vision, though it offered only a relative value. Existing only in my mind, the three-dimensional map floated before my eyes, slowly rotating and promising very little.

I had spent seven hours here, but barely covered a tenth of the distance betwixt the chapel and the Junkyard.

Other than excessive backtracking, the limit to the ground I could cover posed another challenge as the map contained information about only five floors of the Deep Tunnels. Venturing any deeper presented a huge risk, but remained one of my two choices. I could return to my starting point and head away from the Edge in the hope of finding a path around that segment of the labyrinthian underground—an endeavour that could stretch for days.

It would take me less than fifteen minutes to reach the staircase leading to the thirteenth level.

Once again, I checked the map and carefully weighed my options.

Then trotted to the staircase leading down.

The Deep Tunnels could be thanked for the absence of smell, however, sound and light matched the odour—scarce and barely pronounced.

So, to no surprise, the thirteenth floor down greeted me with absolute darkness and a tomb’s silence. To my right, something glowed faintly—a little red speckle, no more than a spark in the sea of void.

I counted my steps, each sounding like a hammer, even though I tried to walk silently. Motes of dust danced around me, disturbed from their peaceful slumber by my crawl.

Two hundred and thirty-seven steps later I stopped under the source of the light—a simple lamp on the wall.

A hoof-full of tiny red crystals, fading out like the embers of a dying bonfire, phlegmatically circled each other, whilst their kin who had run out of magic rested on the bottom of the glass cup in a heap of grey dust. In the near-deafening silence, I could almost hear the lantern wheeze the sickly radiance.

Ten paces away from it darkness regained its power and then lasted forever with no other disturbances. Stepping into its embrace promised a terminal journey for me; backtracking infuriated me, but there was some certainty to it.

Two hundred and thirty-seven steps.

But the gaping shadow of the staircase didn’t meet me.

I dared to flare my illumination spell brighter—still no entrance.

The soft red glow of the lamp had disappeared too.

A sense of dread washed over me—it made no sense. The narrow corridor was straight as a broom, without any other entrances and both walls visible in my magic.

The shining coming from my horn went out—of my own volition. A flash followed by a shower of sparks and I recast the candlelight spell to observe the result of my attack on the stone.

On the rough surface of flattened rock two jagged lines crisscrossed each other, clearly visible and palpable.

I pressed my left hoof against the wall and hobbled to where the dying lamp once shone. This way I would eventually fall into the staircase if I missed it, otherwise, I would turn back after fifty steps and walk past the mark.

To my dismay, the wall remained smooth after those fifty steps and I turned back.

Fifty. Sixty.

Seventy.

No way.

The darkness suffocated me even though I lacked lungs. The shadows shivering in answer to the tremors of my body seemed to be alive. Something soundlessly laughed at my predicament.

Something—someone—had to be out there, either casting masterful illusions or moulding the stone like clay to their perverted sense of humour.

For the first time, a dark thought crawled into my mind—the labyrinthine nature of the Deep Tunnels might not be without a purpose. A trap of immense proportions, its magic unnoticed because of the sheer scale that only would feel like a background.

However, if the physical structures constantly shifted or changed because of someone’s arcane will, there had to be a system—magic spells, no matter how grand, never had any random variables in them, it would be too dangerous.

That meant that sooner or later the entrance would appear anew, somewhere. Considering the map had the stairs marked in the first place, I could safely assume it wouldn’t be a random location. Yet that logic offered one more conclusion...

The mysterious caster might come to pick up its prey.

Leaving that place would prove to be just as dangerous, though, since it might be part of their hunting strategy. It could be safer to exercise patience and vigilance.

With no other options left, I made a quick calculation and took twenty steps back.

With my back to the wall opposite to where the exit would be I intensified my spell to create an island of light ten paces wide.

I opened all my senses, my hearing strained so hard the silence buzzed, my eyes darting left and right for any signs of the movement. I even let my spell go out for a moment, but found nothing besides insidiously inconspicuous background noise.

Half an hour passed.

Then another thirty minutes.

The excruciating wait began to tax my mind heavily after a while—I thought something had moved in the darkness.

I bolted upright—there was something.

The faintest shuffle, as though a tail had been dragged across the dust. Then, from the darkness, a dirty equine muzzle showed itself.

Expressionless eyes looked at things in another world; blighted skin tight on bones; rags dirty from blood and faeces failing to cover the body; trembling limbs, barely supporting the dying mindless frame; cheeks cut through to the ears to make the frenetic’s smile morbidly and preternaturally wide—flaps of flesh hung around the bared rotten teeth.

The deranged stallion paid attention to only my horn, his black irises just pinpricks.

I prepared a stunning spell.

Like wading through water and surprisingly soundlessly, the lunatic moved closer. Five steps away he stopped and began to make gurgling sounds—laughing.

“You, spark-spark…” the madpony suddenly croaked. “One of the herald-heralds…”

All of a sudden, his gaze obtained terrifying lucidity as the bulged eyes met my own.

“Spark-spark, you must come-come! The temple-temple… the divinity awaits your arrival-arrival! The other herald-herald… she is already there, waiting-waiting… I can hear-hear… she laughs-laughs…”

The stallion giggled and then resumed marvelling at my horn, whispering under his breath, “The star-star… so pretty-pretty…”

How long would I have to wait?

Another hour? A day? A week?

Following a madpony, a cultist, no less, sounded like madness in itself, yet a hypothesis that at some point a path would miraculously appear was all I had; put like this—another sort of insanity.

And if the cult and the ‘hunter’ turned out to be the same thing, I would have the first shot.

“Lead the way.”

The stallion laughed, his chortles becoming sobs at the end.

“Follow-follow.”

The darkness didn’t seem to impair the stallion’s navigation in the slightest.

He cantered, periodically sobbing, giggling or muttering something incomprehensible to himself. Erratic that madpony might be, he always hopped over the cracks on the floor and stopped on every turn to paw the floor and then stomp three times before proceeding.

The lunatic never stopped, navigating the narrow paths relentlessly. I began to suspect there might be no temple and only his deformed imagination guided us. Concerningly, we even went a few levels down.

Without stopping for his peculiar ritual he disappeared behind a corner. Cautious, I peered around it and my mouth fell agape.

A tall chamber, carved columns upholding a vaulted ceiling overgrown with spiralling stalactites. Lanterns, aglow with crystals swirling inside them, bathed the cavernous room in lilac light; though their soft radiance still left half of the temple slave to the shadows.

Ponies and whatnot, little different from the stallion that had led me there, sat on wooden pews. They rocked back and forth, whispering, flooding the hall with the uncanny rustle of voices preaching dementation.

Even more worshippers surrounded a massive object opposite to the entrance, rendered only as an outline by the bright light coming from behind it. They sat silently by what seemed to be a thick inclined slab of stone two lengths tall and one wide.

None paid me any attention as I got closer to the monolith.

Upon it, a desiccated body rested belonging to an earth pony, dainty hooves crossed over the chest. The curly voluminous mane, long enough to reach the flanks, touched by streaks of silver amidst the rivers of fuschia. The coat, shining with pink even in the lavender glow of the cressets.

The cutie mark—three air balloons, two cyan and one yellow.

The body wasn’t desiccated, I realised.

It was sugared.

“Pinkie Pie...” I whispered, clueless about what to feel.

Suddenly one of the shrouded figures gasped loudly and a pair of wide glowing violet eyes stared at me from the depths of the hood.

“Twilight Sparkle? Is that you?”

Author's Note

Special thanks to Jay Tarrant.

I hope you've enjoyed reading this story so far.

If you notice any mistakes sneaked in through the editing, let me know.

Stay awesome.

Chapter 11 – Where it all began

Aftersound

==============================

Written by: Oneimare & Geka

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant, IAmApe

==============================

Where it all began

==============================

After half an hour Trixie produced that disgusting leather-bound book from under her cloak and opened it to reveal a ‘map’—a scribble sprawling across two yellowed pages and made by a foal with their hind hoof.

She had trouble using it herself, as she often stopped, consulted the incomprehensible drawing and we would backtrack; me giving her a hard look, her smiling sheepishly.

The dull normalcy of the ‘regular’ Tunnels and the sheer boredom of passing over the same place a few times just because somepony hadn’t bothered to work on their calligraphy in five hundred years roused my curiosity from slumber.

“What about your friend? Are you going to ignore Fotia Koraki?”

Perhaps, I’d even accompany her—as a chance to postpone ‘meeting’ with whatever Luna had become and also to acquaint myself with another Former One.

“Eh.” Trixie grimaced. “Fotia and I are more colleagues than friends, and she’s old again, so it may all be her imagination.”

“Again?”

“She’s a half-pony, half-phoenix.” My eyes went moon-sized. “Don’t ask, I have no idea and she has never told me. Anyway, Fotia grows old and then bursts into flames becoming a filly. But before it finally happens, she gives everypony an aneurysm for about a decade. It could be an urgent tea party for all I know.”

Despite Trixie’s troubles navigating the Tunnels, we did make some progress.

Our surroundings changed from the dirty maintenance passageways turned sordid dwellings into simply long-abandoned corridors. We ceased stumbling into other travellers, and the amount of litter dropped to nothing, abdicating the throne of an eyesore to abundant rust and dust.

The familiar structure of narrow ducts gave way to tall and wide passages, meant for heavy machinery and train carts—assumptions made upon witnessing the remnants of rails. Though, nothing of value remained—only forgotten corroded tools or a few loose wires hanging from the walls and ceiling.

Eventually, we came to a large and thick, slightly ajar sealing door.

Once again I watched Trixie refuse to use magic, pressing her shoulder to push against the unrelenting metal. As I joined her, the door groaned on ancient hinges and gave up a gap wide enough for us to squeeze through into a deep ravine.

The gash of rock high above us barely let the light of grey sky filter through, trickling down the steep stone, once precisely cut, now crumbling and mossbegrown. The cold winds forlornly howled, carrying the scent of damp stone—moisture glistened on every surface.

The gorge led us into the base of an enormous quarry.

Despite the obscured Sun, the sloped slant-carved wall still shone like bleached bone, thanks to the weak drizzle. The water gathered into countless tiny streams murmuring until they converged at the bottom of the open pit. Above the still and unnaturally dark water, a cloud of dense ominous fog roiled, misty tendrils poking out and retracting.

Potholes and clefts of the horizontal ramparts threatened to catch my hooves every single step, slowing down the already excruciatingly slow ascent. The deteriorated stone still bore the grooves meant for rails and in some places they still lingered—twisted and bent, nothing but corrosion through and through.

The deformed carcasses of heavy machinery bled into the moor below, painting the walls with long streaks of rust. They shared the reason for abandonment by being warped and mutilated beyond salvage, partially entombed under the fallen rocks.

The quarry walls suffered not only from erosion, but bore marks of more powerful destruction—chunks torn out, leaving deep scars on the cliffs.

“What happened to this place?”

Trixie took her time to answer, regarding the ravaged mine with a thoughtful gaze.

“The TCE established a mining operation here at the same time the Pink Butterflies changed their methods.”

“They are the rebels who fight the Crown, aren’t they?” My mind made a few connections. “Fluttershy was the one who got exiled.”

She scowled. “It started as a peaceful protest, but by the end of her life the gryphon exiles joined the cause and things took a nasty turn.”

“Exiles? I’m not sure I follow.” My muzzle scrunched. “Did they revolt, too?”

Giving me a wary glance, she spoke, “Rarity decreed a huge sale of tech to Griffonstone. Half of the Empire immediately used those weapons to wage a war with the dragons; the rest, the older gryphons, saw it as ‘dishonourable’ and started a civil war—which they lost. The survivors joined Fluttershy’s pro-ecological movement and then took control of it.”

Fighting back the desire to curse Rarity and her genius decisions, I instead went for a more troubling question, “And they’re still let to terrorise the city because..?”

“The Pink Butterflies claimed the Castle of the Royal Sisters and you know better than me that it’s a nigh-invincible fortress,” Trixie grumbled with another grimace. “And before anypony knew, they’d amassed enough power to make any victory against them pyrrhic.”

After what felt like hours, we climbed over the crumbling rim of the massive pit, coming to an old road overgrown with scarce shrubbery and winding betwixt two tall barren hills covered in gravel and yellowish-brown dust.

The ulcerated landscape of the abandoned mines unrolled before my eyes. Quarries, quarries, quarries—the greed had not spared a single patch of the granitic ground. Dumps of rock refuse stood sentinel over the wounds in the soil.

The pockmarked plateau rose into the Rambling Rock Ridge itself—relatively low peaks not far to my right. And ponydom’s hunger for ore hadn’t absolved them either—black and empty maws of mine entrances dehisced, demanding to feed them workforce and machinery.

To the east, the mangled scenery ended with the silver stripe of a small river and the weak green of fields, where the stone gave way to the pastoral landscapes of Equestria. Though, it didn’t look the same—discoloured and withering.

Behind me, a patchy grey wall loomed over the ravaged terrain and beyond it sprawled Canterlot in all its hideous glory.

Gangrenous rusted suburbs decayed in the cold glow of neon indifferent to the atrocities happening under the circuits of countless artificial suns. Pitch-black clouds spasmodically hugged the gleaming pegasus’ devices, bleeding electric life into the streets with ceaseless discharges of lightning in their bosoms. The city blocks, sombre and decrepit, bristled with dully glistening towers trying to match the brilliant skyscrapers of the Inner City.

The bright shine of Canterlot’s rotten heart jeered at the miserable life of the rest, the Sky Palace, the tallest and proudest standing above it all. So perfect, so clean—a true city of the future, yet a testament of corruption, not of progress.

“How could we have fallen so low?”

The question left my lips by itself and, though I expected no answer to it, Trixie shifted uneasily by my side.

“I was there when the Great War ended,” she quietly uttered, staring at the horizon. “I watched with my very eyes how Shining Armor severed King Sombra’s head with his sword.” She paused to glance at me. “Valour, wasn’t it?”

“The sword Princess Celestia gifted him when he became the captain of the Royal Guard. But what does that have to do with this?”

Trixie fell silent for a few long minutes until she whispered:

“Because I think King Sombra won in the end.”

I regarded her with a disgusted look before hissing, “A bold thing to say, considering what it cost. Have you no shame in spitting on the graves of those who paid that price?”

Yet she met my accusation calmly, though without any defiance.

“The only weapon King Sombra ever used was fear and when the soldiers left the bloodied battlefields, they carried it home in their hearts. He has taught Equestria to truly fear, to dread tomorrow; and that terror has been passed over generations and still permeates their breaths, every last one.”

Like dried rivulets, old and neglected roads converged into one single river flowing through a pass cut through the jagged peaks of the Rambling Rock Ridge.

Grit murmured soundly under our hooves as we moved rapidly and purposely—the Sun neared the end of its journey across the sky and navigating either cliffs or the Junkyard’s maze would offer an unproductive at best, if not outright risky, endeavour.

The hours passed and the crags ceded to the already darkening clouds looming sullenly over the red sea of metal. The drizzling rain couldn’t decide if it wanted to be mist or to dew the twisted remains.

When we entered the forest of continuously bleeding bones, Trixie abruptly stopped and gave me an intent look.

She was waiting for me to guide her to Tin Flower.

I deliberately avoided looking at her—the moment our eyes met she would know. Unfortunately, she didn’t even need that to guess.

“Twilight,” she said, my name followed by a deep sigh, “please, tell me you know where to look for this filly.”

I slowly turned to Trixie and bashfully smiled.

She groaned and tugged with her hoof at her mask-face. It followed the limb like rubber, revealing the wire net beneath. She released the metal and it splashed back at her skull, sending droplets in every direction—they fell back to the wobbling surface midflight.

The best I could do was to narrow the search area to about a quarter of the sector, but considering how seamlessly Flower’s dwelling blended into the corroded landscape, it was an exercise in futility nevertheless.

A sudden idea visited my mind. “We can try to find Scuff Gear.”

Trixie lit up like a Hearth’s Warming tree.

“Scuffy! I thought he hadn’t survived that fight…” She trailed off with a goofy grin, then gathered herself. “Where can we find him? I still owe him for the last job.”

“He’s… not far from the smelter..?” I mumbled, wrecking my mind.

All the excitement drained from Trixie’s face as her hoof pointed across the Junkyard at the half a dozen plumes of smoke rising from distant faint spots of glow.

I gave up with a groan. “What do you suggest then?”

“We still have a couple of hours, so we can try to look for your friend by ourselves. If we don’t find her, we’ll wait out the night and go by each smelter the next day.”

I circled yet another pile of discarded metal plates, girders and pipes, so ancient they grew into each other, trying to find out if I had led us to a dead-end or if we could proceed further with our wandering. Turning back, I found myself muzzle to muzzle with Trixie who sadly shook her head upon my questioning look, then pointed up.

We had run out of daylight.

“Where are we—”

A roar silenced my question as not high above us ominous silhouettes rocketed tearing the air with powerful turbines; smaller pieces of scrap rattled in their thunderous wake.

I didn’t need to ask who it was and where the Royal Guard could possibly be heading.

Coincidence is a lazy word for lazy ponies.

Trixie met my eyes, mirroring my concerned expression and gave me a shallow nod before darting off; wasting not a moment I leapt after her.

The endless obstacles posed by the Junkyard impeded our gallop, even as Trixie’s bursts of inky magic cut the rusted scrap and my body ploughed through the fragile rot.

Yet, we didn’t need to keep at it for long—once again the Royal Guard announced its presence by sound—hoarse commanding bellows answered by shrill yelps belonging to Flower and Delight.

Trixie tore into a clearing and I barely managed to avoid crashing into her as she suddenly froze to the spot.

A dozen helmets of painfully familiar armours glared at us with dark visors—all but one. That guard wore a somewhat different, more lithe suit with two large cannons mounted on their shoulders.

Their barrels pointed straight at Tin Flower, who stood defiantly before the towering figure, ears pressed back. Delight cowered beside her, shivering Wire hid under her dirty wing.

“WHERE IS THAT EQUINOID?!” roared the Royal Guard, taking a step forward, guns pressing into the filly.

It wasn’t the sight of impending disaster that made my eyes wide—I recognised the voice that was supposed to be silenced forever.

The guard sharply turned their head and our eyes met.

The glowing neon purple of a machine and the brilliant dark rose of a pony.

“T-t-twilight?” Rainbow Dash rasped.

Enchanted, she staggered towards me, Flower and her entourage instantly forgotten.

I stared at her, as young as I remembered—not even a single wrinkle.

The other guards, just as uncertainly, closed on Trixie and me, swivelling their conical helmets at their commander in apparent confusion.

With a resounding twang of assaulted metal and a quiet pop, one of the armour-clad figures slumped to the ground in a heap of lifeless limbs.

It took me a mere heartbeat to realise what—whose—weapon had enough power to do such an impossible deed silently. The exact moment I came to that horrible conclusion, the world exploded.

Gunshots pealed, accompanied by the blinding flashes of fire, lighting up the furious muzzles of ponies who otherwise would have been unseen amongst the scrap. Upon a mound of garbage a pegasus stood, wind tearing at her hood as she grinned maniacally, barking the order to kill the Crown’s dogs, over and over, each time choosing different, but still murderous words.

However, only Pepper’s gun had enough power to penetrate the fabled armours.

The Royal Guard didn’t even flinch—they had been already moving even before their comrade hit the ground. Dash gave me a last inscrutable glance and metal plates slid over her visor. The guns on her shoulder came to life with an eerie glow as she dove into the fray.

I still stood dumbstruck, but it lasted only a few seconds—a stray, or maybe not, shot impacted with my shoulder, sending me stumbling.

My frantic gaze searched not for cover, but those who couldn’t afford to take a bullet.

Flower, Wire and Delight crouched behind the overturned rusty plate.

Almost tripping over my hooves, I madly dashed to them, catching a few more shots on the way.

“Are you alright!?” I exclaimed as soon as I all but fell on them.

Whilst the pale fillies seemed to bear no injuries, Delight nursed her wing, wincing and grimacing. Yet she pushed me away as I tried to take a closer look.

“I’ll be fine—it’s nothing,” she muttered over the din of gunfire pelting the plate covering us. “I was just grazed by a stray bullet.”

I gave her a long hard stare which she endured unwaveringly, but there was nothing else I could do until the shooting stopped.

Ducked, we listened to it, the clamour growing louder as a whine of overheating crystal joined the battle, light flashing colourfully from beyond the cover.

Wire was the first to break the strained ‘silence’.

“Twilight,” she began in her trademark grouchy tone, “when did you become friends with the Royal Guard?”

“Their commander is Rainbow Dash—somepony Twilight… I know.”

“Isn’t she supposed to be dead?” Flower incredulously commented as she clung to my side.

Wire continued to demand answers from me. “And that equinoid who came with you?”

“Trixie Lulamoon, a Former One—the Magician.”

As if on cue, the magic tapestry around us spasmed.

A sound, like a sheet of fabric being slowly torn, filled the air and blood-curdling screams followed it. The girls whipped their heads at the battlefield, peeking from the sides of our cover; Wire rubbed her horn, wincing.

An obsidian tendril of thick boiling vapour lashed at the metal scrap and ponies. Any flesh it touched rapidly withered, leaving desiccated husks to fall apart into ashen flakes, carried away by the wailing gusts of unnatural wind.

Flower climbed on my back to get a better view. Fur and cloth brushed against my front hooves—Wire’s slightly mismatched eyes met my curious gaze.

“Don’t you have any normal friends?” she grumbled; yet her face shone with pure fascination.

Trixie’s spell effectively ended the skirmish—its survivors fled; strangely the Guards joined them. Standing by her fallen soldier, Rainbow bellowed vile obscenities at her retreating subordinates, promising in explicit detail the amount of punishment they were about to receive for the disobedience and desertion.

The whip-like cloud of inky roiling mist circled the entire clearing and returned into the completely still form of Trixie’s body. She loudly gasped for air and came to life.

Frowning, I watched as she walked in a peculiar mechanical manner towards Rainbow, ignoring her rage, and joined the vigil, staring at the unmoving armour with a shell-shocked expression.

The girls looked at me worryingly—it clearly wasn’t over.

I passed the massacre on my way to Trixie and Rainbow and couldn’t help but feel grim satisfaction upon witnessing Pepper Mercury’s corpse.

Her wings, once gleaming and majestic, now stuck out to the sky, outstretched and perforated by powerful blasts. The hoof-sized holes in the prosthetics dripped molten steel and glowed with a dull orange—small solar eclipses against the dusk.

When I came closer to the centre of the clearing, my eyes fell on the armour of the dead Royal Guard.

The design had undergone a few minor changes, becoming less bulky—as Rainbow had wanted. I still recognised more than half of the runes on the black arcanium plates.

The bullet seemed to have gone straight through the chest leaving a ragged hole on the exit which now gaped towards the mournful, rapidly darkening sky.

I halted in my tracks.

The trickle of life from the mortal wound had almost stopped. It dripped from the angled plate and gathered onto the ground.

Into a puddle of yellowish-green ichor.

Of course.

Of course.

I whipped my head to Rainbow and my horn ignited—my magic wouldn’t leave a dent on that armour, I had personally made sure of that many years ago. Yet I refused to go down without a fight—not this time; at least I’d bide enough time for the girls to escape.

“Chill, Twilight,” Not-Rainbow said with an exasperated groan, “I’m not one of them.”

“That’s exactly what a changeling would say,” I hissed.

The plates protecting the visor were gone and a pair of annoyed, very realistically mimicked eyes peered back at me.

“Alright, fine!” She sat and threw its hooves in the air. “Remember that party when you and I were the only ponies left awake and you mistook Rarity’s white ass for Celestia’s?” My resolve momentarily faltered as I stared at her in disbelief. “And you were so drunk you tried to seduce her even though she had passed out?”

Rainbow had promised to carry that memory to the grave, yet I hesitated to open my hooves wide for an embrace. When the changelings couldn’t replace ponies, they controlled them.

“Trixie!” I barked at the responseless mare, “Would you lend me a horn with dispelling hypnosis?”

“She isn’t under any,” Trixie droned in a lifeless tone. “And I wouldn’t be able to help anyway.”

I glared at her first—not that she seemed to notice, then at Rainbow, for a long time.

“Then why do you serve the enemy?” I said through my teeth.

Rainbow turned away from me to forlornly glance at the distant silhouette of the sky-piercing palace.

“It was the only right choice.”

“If Queen Chrysalis hadn’t murdered Princess Celestia none of that would have happened!” I roared at her. “And now you work for the Swarm to further undo her legacy!”

She tensed in response, shooting me an angry look, then slumped.

“We can’t know,” Rainbow whispered, absolutely defeated.

I snarled, ready to try and scream some more sense in her, but she spoke first.

“Twilight, when they brought me back from the coma a hundred years after the Great War and that ‘Rarity’s granddaughter’ started to speak, I knew she was shitting me—I didn’t need to be Applejack for that. They realised pretty fast that I wasn’t dumb enough to buy their lies, so they just showed me the city.”

She turned to Canterlot again, silently watching the dark scenery, then practically sobbed, so pained her voice sounded:

“Just a century had passed and we had already forgotten how horrible the war was because... it was on the streets. Ponies killing ponies left and right, equinoids flaying fillies alive in the daylight, warlocks on the loose, gangs turning entire districts into battlefields.”

When Rainbow met my eyes again, hers brimmed with grim determination.

“I could die, fighting my way through the small army of changelings; maybe I even had a chance of making it into the city, where nopony I once knew was left.” She paused. “Or I could bite the bullet and join Queen Chrysalis and help her to save what was left of Equestria—believe me or not, it was what she was trying to do.

“My loyalty still lies with Equestria—with ponies. And I’m going to do anything to help them, even if that means serving the enemy.”

I let the magic fade away from my horn.

Author's Note

Special thanks to Jay Tarrant.

I hope you've enjoyed reading this story so far.

If you notice any mistakes sneaked in through the editing, let me know.

Stay awesome.

Chapter 12 – Do equinoids dream of electric sheep?

Aftersound

==============================

Written by: Oneimare & Geka

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant, IAmApe

==============================

Do equinoids dream of electric sheep?

==============================

A deep sigh escaped my mouth—neither of relief nor exasperation; something inbetwixt with a distinct note of annoyance. First—Trixie, then this...

Rainbow’s eyes left my face and her resolute expression wavered as she looked past me, gaining a guilty quality. I followed her gaze to find concerned and curious muzzles peering at us from behind the rusted metal.

“You can come out, girls,” I called.

The trio, their ears plastered to skulls, hesitantly approached us, led by the nervously defiant Flower; a pale Delight and apprehensive Wire trailed behind her. Trixie still stood afar from us, worry etched into her face-mask, and seemed to be slowly backing away from the clearing.

A heavy silence hung in the air, everypony shifting anxiously.

“What’s going to happen next?” I asked the question that had been on every mind.

Something was telling me that whatever plans I had didn’t matter anymore and Rainbow and I weren’t going to just shake each other’s hooves and call it a night.

It was her who spoke, frowning, “My order was to retrieve an ‘invaluable equinoid’, undamaged and at any cost. I didn’t know it was going to be you, nor did I expect to be attacked by the locals and take casualties. And now the Command Centre isn’t answering my transmissions.”

“Maybe Chrysalis thinks you betrayed her.” I huffed at the irony of my words.

Rainbow shot me a tired glare and muttered, “My armour would have shut down if that were the case. I think she wants to see what happens next. Between you and me.”

“Great, now I’m being watched by the changeling queen.”

“I believe she has been watching you already, or I of all the guards wouldn’t be here.” She looked around warily. “One thing I can tell you with certainty—we need to leave the combat area right now.”

I copied her motion, but the mounds of metal refuse revealed nothing to me; the settling darkness didn’t help, nor had I noticed Pepper’s gang before.

Seeing my restlessness, Rainbow explained, “My squad hasn’t returned to base—we need to retrieve the body. At the same time, we can’t linger at the Edge for too long—the last thing I, or any of you, want is the TCE sniffing around.”

Unable to argue with her logic, I turned to Flower, who took a few seconds of me intently looking at her to get the hint.

“Doesn’t seem like I have many choices,” she grumbled, eyeing Rainbow dirtily. “Though, I have no idea how you’re all planning to fit in—there wasn’t that much space for me and Delight already.”

“That’s because your shack is full of junk,” the pegasus in question wryly commented.

“They are components!”

“Nah, it’s garbage,” Wire quipped, joining the squabble and the girls began to exchange verbal jabs as they headed away from the clearing.

Rainbow left last, pausing by the fallen Guard’s armour and when she had caught up with us, she offered Delight a first-aid kit.

“For your wing,” she said. “And for your service to the Crown.”

Del warily accepted the plastic box and glanced at me in confusion, but my eyes were on her burnt Moth mark. What would she think? Yet, she didn’t press the issue, rummaging through the bandages and ointments instead.

The fierce bickering ahead of me died out and Flower left Wire to angrily stomp forward as she slowed down to come alongside me.

“What happened to you after we left?” Her voice bore as much an accusal as concern. “We expected you to take two days at most, but it’s been nine.”

“I ran into some trouble in the Tunnels.” She opened her mouth, but I foresaw that. “How have you been? Did you escape without any trouble?”

“Yup, we’ve been fine,” Flower continued in a louder voice over her shoulder, “except for Delight trying to kill me.”

“I’d like to watch how well you do a perfect landing without depth perception!” Del instantly snapped at her; however, the sparkle of mirth in her eye betrayed the wrath of her tone.

“Yeah, Flower, shut the fuck up.” Wire joined the conversation. “It’s easy for you to talk when you have both eyes.”

My gaze paused on the unicorn filly for a moment—despite my reservations, she seemed to get along with the former Moth, a caste she appeared to despise.

With her returning to navigating the corroded labyrinth and Delight wrapping her wing, mouth full, Flower was left alone and I got her attention again.

Stealing a glance at Rainbow sullenly tailing us, she whispered, “What was all that about? The Queen? The changelings?”

My jaws moved silently as I worked on the answer, keeping in mind that Rainbow, and to an extent, Chrysalis could overhear us.

“They’re the Crown and not ponies—equines who…”—my eyes jumped to Delight—”never mind. I knew their queen… once. And it wasn’t a... pleasant relationship.”

The filly pressed her lips together, glowering at me, but got no further explanations.

“Bad news, I suppose?” she conceded.

“I…” My gaze wandered to Rainbow, who met it firmly. “...don’t know.”

Unsurprisingly, my answer failed to satisfy Flower—I shared that with her.

“But that shouldn’t stop us from going to Stalliongrad, right?”

I couldn’t help but grimace—both because I expected her patience to deplete with my next words and because I didn’t like them either.

“It has to wait, anyway. I promised Trixie to… find… Princess Luna.”

Yet I feared in vain as she asked, excited and curious, eyes like two moons, “One of the Princesses is alive?”

We both started as without any warning Rainbow materialised to our left, commenting, “It is very noble of you, but I don’t think there is anything left to look for.”

“She is alive, apparently,” I retorted, unsure of my own words.

“If she were alive, perhaps I wouldn’t be taking orders from Queen Chrysalis.”

Just as startling, an arcanium form emerged from the shadows to our right, softly uttering, “I’ve seen her myself.”

Both Trixie and Rainbow stopped short and I pressed my hoof into Flower’s chest, forcing her to back down with me.

“Trixie Lulamoon,” Rainbow said slowly and carefully. “I’ve wanted to meet you ever since I learned about what you’ve done.”

The air betwixt them practically buzzed with tension, yet Trixie remained silent, her face-mask bearing only the tiniest hints of emotion—fear and guilt.

“You won us the war,” Rainbow suddenly said. “It may have taken you some time to figure where your loyalties lay, but you made the right choice in the end. I can respect that.”

With that Rainbow extended her hoof towards Trixie, which she hesitantly and gingerly shook.

I squinted at them, but Rainbow feigned obliviousness, whilst Trixie silently returned the unspoken question with a look she had a moment ago—consternation.

She and I were so going to talk about that.

The moment we reached Flower’s sordid dwelling, Wire disappeared inside with Del short to follow. Flower remained in the doorway, waiting impatiently.

“I’ll stand guard outside,” Rainbow announced and trotted to the hill from where I saw the Canterlot for the first time.

“And I want to check something,” Trixie said. She then addressed the filly, much to her discomfort, “Tin Flower, right? Do you know where that psycho with the gun lived?”

Flower didn’t question her reasons, hastily explaining, “Between the nearest smelter and the old camp. It’s the most decent looking shed—can’t miss it.”

A relieved sigh left her lips when Trixie dissolved into the shadows and she motioned me inside. I glanced at the angled silhouette dark against the never-waning neon and accepted her invitation.

My body hadn’t fully passed the doorway when two hooves—one metal—wrapped themselves tightly around my neck.

“I’m so happy you are back, Twilight,” Flower whispered in my ear.

The sudden affection caught me off-guard and I stood petrified until I felt eyes boring in me—Delight’s. Awkwardly, I returned the hug.

Yet, it wasn’t only the pegasus who glowered at me from the jittering shadows.

Wire barked, “I’m definitely not.”

Flower’s hoof scraped my chest with a few sparks flying away—so hard she whipped around.

“Twilight saved us, idiot,” she snarled. “Twice.”

The unicorn spoke levelly, yet her eyes glowed with fury—one virtually.

“She saves us from the troubles she creates for us. And now she has brought the fucking Crown to our doorsteps.”

“They’re on our side!”

In her ire, Flower failed to notice my doubtful look.

“Grow up—they’re on nopony’s side.” Wire’s muzzle twisted in not as much as disappointment. “You forget who is on ours.”

The filly winced, momentarily slumping, ears drooping, then, taking a step toward her friend, hissed, “Yeah, rub it in, Wire, I love it so much when you remind me about that.”

Wire regarded the shivering Flower coolly for a long moment and her expression became that of disdain.

“I thought you were only a proud fool, but it is even worse. Don’t expect me to sit idly by when you try to sacrifice my family for a machine.”

A sniff came from Flower—her face was turned away from me. Yet, as she took another step closer to Wire, her low voice bore the sharp ice of winter’s breath.

“Then why don’t you go home, look your mother in her ey—”

A hurt growl silenced the sound of sunlight flaring from Wire’s horn, but that spell never found its target.

With a thunderous clap, my magic dissipated the attack and the unicorn fell back, grimacing from the backlash. As I stood betwixt the girls, my horn bathing them in purple radiance, they stared at me, stunned, their quarrel forgotten.

“Whatever this is about, you two stop immediately,” I said in a tone that allowed no excuses. Glaring at each in turn, I demanded. “Care to explain?”

“Fuck you,” Wire snapped.

Yet, she withered as the light of my horn cast a shadow on her face. Flower refused to look me in the eye and kept her lips tightly sealed.

After giving them a full minute to speak up, I answered their silence:

“I’ll take it as ‘we’re going to have a long chat later’. Now, sleep on that and don’t even try to start a fight again.”

The fillies didn’t go to rest, but sulked into opposite corners of the shack, shooting each other angry looks and occasionally at me, mixed with wariness. Ignoring that, but still keeping an eye on their movements and Wire’s horn, I approached Delight who stood by the workbench throughout the whole conflict like it hadn’t happened.

The interior of the shack bore the signs of attempts to clean it up, however futile in the end. A sheet of dirty cloth now flapped over the once empty window and the working table had the corpse of an equinoid replaced by a small crystal-powered stove; a sooty pot bubbled, emanating the musty smell of mushrooms.

The pegasus fretted over it, trying to empty a can of discoloured carrots into the gurgling gruel. I watched her struggle for a bit, then the soft glow of my magic tapped the bottom of the rusted tin and the block of slimy vegetables flopped into the ‘witch’s cauldron’ with an utterly abominable sound.

She barely managed to dodge the splash, grimacing as her culinary masterpiece did manage to land on her coat, and scowled at me.

I met her annoyance with a frown of my own and a comment, “I could have used some help with Wire.”

Delight’s expression softened and she pretended to be very interested in the empty can.

“It can’t be helped, I’m afraid.”

Betwixt the changelings ruling Equestria, Rainbow enforcing that and the enigmatic dark mage demanding I deal with Nightmare Moon, I had no capacity to deal with two fillies acting half their age.

Shoving that issue to the bottom of my priority list, I was left with the sight of my friend forlornly trying to combine inedible ingredients into a resemblance of a meal.

Her coat couldn’t be called pristine when I met her, but the Junkyard had done everything possible to mar it with rust and grime. Yet she still had to wear rags—to disguise herself; her plumage already worked on keeping her warm. Only her mane retained the touch of civilization; I suspected Wire’s involvement—the unicorn certainly cared about hers.

“Del, are you alright?” I quietly asked, coming closer.

Slightly leaning away, she shifted her wing with a wince.

“The Crown’s medicine does wonders—they sure spare no expense on their own.”

Her voice held surprisingly little acidity, proportional to a somewhat haunted look in her eyes and hidden behind tense nonchalance. I continued to peer at her until she finally met my eyes and relaxed—deflated—with a defeated sigh.

“What I wouldn’t give for a warm shower and decent meal,” she muttered with a crooked smile and pressed her lips together. “But I got used to it.”

Another step brought me to her side and I offered my shoulder. Dubious support, but Del accepted it nonetheless.

“You know, after an entire life in the city, spending a week in the company of just two fillies is so refreshing,” the pegasus murmured by my ear; yet any positivity her words held vanished as she added, “Taking care of Flower and Geode has almost made me regret becoming a Moth.”

She met my confused look with a hollow chuckle.

“I suppose we share that emptiness.”

A strangled gasp left my lips when the realisation finally hit me. Delight paid it no attention, bitterly whispering, “But it’s for the better—nobody should suffer this city.”

However, as she scowled at nothing, eyes glistening, I couldn’t help but remember Svarka beaming with hope, to hear Spike’s agonised howls once again.

My sombre silence hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“Are you alright, Twilight?” When I failed to answer, Delight added with a flick of her ear. “You’ve been away and… there’s something different about you now. Not that it’s a bad thing.”

“How so?”

She tilted her head, blinking.

“How am I different, I mean?”

Del smirked but slyness faded from her tone as she spoke, “You let yourself be called Twilight, for starters. Flower tried to explain to me your change… of mind, but I’d prefer to hear it from you. If you’re willing, of course.”

My nod was mostly absent-minded as I found myself lacking the clarity Flower apparently had.

Instead of patiently waiting for me to gather my thoughts, Delight returned to cooking or, rather, removing the pot from the stove to distribute its contents betwixt three bowls; the last metal dish having less poured into it.

She carried the bowls to the fillies, who eagerly accepted their suppers, mumbling thanks as they dug in. In no time, they, avoiding doing so at the same time, returned the empty bows and shuffled back, burrowing into the rags that served them as bedding.

We didn’t have to wait long for soft snores to start echoing through the shed and only then did the pegasus take her share to the lantern by the window.

Even as she sat there, quietly slurping her meal in the dim orange light, the breeze playing with the strands of her mane, I struggled to come up with what to say.

Her wing put the now empty bowl aside, and Delight saved me from my silence becoming awkward as I had no excuses left to continue to maintain it.

“Something happened in the Tunnels. Or the Archives.” She blushed. “I slept through it.”

“It is both and more. I’ve come to terms with what my memory anchor entails. With it, I’m Twilight Sparkle, without it—a lifeless automaton, at best.”

Delight frowned, digesting my words, then looked at me sympathetically.

“You’ve got it so hard. The normal…” My eyebrow raised. “Er… regular equinoids… It’s just like waking from a dream for them.”

I gave her a curious look.

What had Svarka dreamt of before she escaped? Adamant? Litany or Alnico?

Smiling melancholically, Del explained, “When I was a filly, I used to bug one working at the Thunderspire. She told me the memories of her anchor were vague, almost as if they’d completely faded, but they were still able to fool her into thinking she had lived for years.” The pegasus snorted. “A very boring, dull life. She eventually ran away.”

“My anchor is vivid dreams and nightmares,” I murmured as much to myself as to her. “And it’s incomplete. Twilight’s life—my life now… You’ve heard that recording—she grew old.”

Delight considered my words before replying, “So, you are set on collecting the rest of your crystals?”

I shook my head, ruefully. “I don’t think there are any more left.”

For a time only the gentle breaths of Flower, Wire and the night’s wind disturbed the silence. Then, Delight said, tentatively:

“Maybe... maybe you don’t need them.”

“How am I to figure out who I am then?”

“Like all of us do?”

The events of the day took as much a toll on the mellow pegasus as on the fillies, if not more—the Edge had no mercy for newcomers and she’d also suffered a wound.

Gracing me with a kind smile—and unintentional wide yawn—she crossed the room to leap onto the top of the rack, into a nest of rags and loose feathers. Her single eye peered from the shadows as if asking me, “What?”

I couldn’t stop the grin from claiming my muzzle—the pegasi and their habits.

As night’s cold nipped on uncovered limbs and patches of coat, Flower and Wire twitched in their delves into the Dream Realm.

Who guarded children against nightmares? Did she visit her domain anymore?

If I were to sleep would she come to me?

My body didn’t need any rest, but my mind might. Yet as my eyelids fell and I waited, my awareness refused to cede to subconsciousness. It only focused on reality harder, listing question after question.

Restless and light on my hooves, I exited the shack to enter the night.

The storms raging around the Spires dissipated, letting the Moon bathe Canterlot in its gentle glow. But the city rejected it, forcing out the moonlight with multi-hued neon; it blinded even the stars and they burrowed themselves into the darkness of the firmament.

Yet Canterlot churned with life under the abandoned sky. A cruel joke—ponies had finally begun to appreciate Luna’s night but turned it into a nightmare and she had become one again.

Each step felt heavier than the last and my hooves moved slower and slower as I neared the dark form cutting against the rainbow-coloured cityscape. Countless words sprung into my mind, but none was right—what could I say to her?

Rainbow absolved me of that decision, as she half-turned her head to regard me with the reflection of Canterlot’s lights on her visor.

“You’re not Twilight Sparkle,” she uttered impassively, though a bit sadly.

I took a step back, but recovered almost instantly, bristling.

“You should stop eavesdropping—you aren’t that good at it.”

Her airfoils rustled as she shrugged and retorted, annoyed, “I didn’t pay attention to what you talked about with that Moth.”

“Her name is Clandestine Delight,” I coolly corrected. “And your queen has abandoned her.”

“Just another name,” she sighed and returned to watching over the city.

My stomps carried me to her side so I could glare at her wooden face.

Whilst the runes etched into her armour, similar to those the behemoth from the Deep Tunnels had, gave an inkling of how her body had defied the river of time, the bags under her eyes betrayed that no mind could escape paying the tithe of living.

“Then why would you care if I took Twilight’s?” I barked. “And what makes you think I am not her?”

I might as well have been yelling at a statue. But she winced at a particular word, when I continued, “I have all her memories from before the trial. Who does that make me, if not Twilight Sparkle?”

Rainbow gave me a long dark look.

“You have her voice but don’t speak like her; don’t act the same. Even move differently.” Almost intelligibly, she grumbled, “And I never said I cared.”

“My body is fully-metal if you haven’t noticed. Nor do you really match the Rainbow from my memories.”

It was her turn to raise her hackles, glaring daggers at me.

“I’ve spent four centuries in this nightmare, trying to make it a dream. What is your excuse?” she snapped. “You may as well have slept all that time and should have woken up as the Twilight Sparkle you were at the... the trial.”

Her words poured oil on the fire—because they couldn’t be denied.

I took a deep breath to come up with a counter-argument as much as to assert control over my volume—my plans for the night didn’t include waking up the girls.

My voice, low and icy, came almost like a hiss, “So, you want that depressed wreck of a mare instead? I didn’t return yesterday, I’ve been here for almost two weeks.”

She fell silent again, longer this time, staring at me with an inscrutable expression, then finally scowled and turned away.

“If you’re still trying to convince me you’re Twilight, it’s not working,” she said in that hollow tone tinged with melancholy.

My eyes continued to bore into her, but she paid no heed to my glower, lips pressed tight and her hard gaze transfixed on the blinking lights of Canterlot.

“Is there even any point?” I spat and pivoted to make it back to the shed.

Yet as I took only a few steps, Rainbow’s muffled voice stopped me.

“Wait,” she called softly and hesitated before whispering, “Please, take care of her.”

At the last moment I veered from the shack, finding myself reluctant to challenge the reign of quiet snores. Rainbow hadn’t claimed the only vantage point and I mounted the crest of another hill.

Canterlot offered its sinistrous vista and I begrudgingly took the offer. Yet my eyes unfocused and the metal features of my face scraped against one another as they formed a frown.

It didn’t feel right; not my conversation with Rainbow, not only.

Twilight would have cared about a chance of Luna’s return, and about the changelings puppeteering Equestria for ages. I couldn’t even emulate those feelings—some part of me reacted to those facts, a candle in the night, steadily waning with each moment I made a decision.

Could she be right?

I almost smacked myself; that would have hardly helped, of course, but the intent itself brought enough clarity to my mind. Save for the ‘adventure’ after the Archives, I had spent almost two weeks ceaselessly creating problems for myself and getting into troubles of scale too large for one pony… or equinoid.

A moment of respite was in order.

Letting the metal curtains of my eyelids hide the theatre of nightmares, I took a deep breath that filled no lungs. Then exhaled.

With my focus on that action only, I played with the fan in the pipe faking a thorax, blowing chill night air back and forth.

Sleep never came, but my worries found no purchase in my consciousness either.

My body had become a statue, aware of its surroundings, but caring none.

However, it couldn’t fail to pay attention to how the clouds begrudgingly woke from their somnolence and blotted the sky, soaking in the sickly newborn dawn and getting back to the routine of harassing the Spires.

The night yielded, yet a patch of darkness remained. It hid inside the carcass of arcanium, animating it with nervous movements that carried it across the sea of rotting metal.

I observed as Trixie approached Rainbow, carefully carrying a roll of paper in her mouth. She unrolled it upon a shiny metal crate, and together they hunched over it.

Curious, I left my post, both wondering about Trixie’s bounty and eyeing the box.

A pair of changelings clad in a lighter, less imposing and loud, version of armour had brought it not long before the sunrise. The way they dissolved into the shadows suggested an invisibility spell.

Whilst Trixie acknowledged my approach with a “Good morning,” Rainbow only spared me a glance.

“Decided to join us in our little brainstorm?” the Former One continued.

The blueprint presented me with a mess of lines, perfect and straight, but numerous and complex beyond even the convolution posed by the cybersuit. The device suggested a sheer system of wires connected to the coils powered by a series of magic crystals, but my knowledge, which had fallen behind for a few centuries, failed to derive more from the schematic.

The riddle absorbed me so deeply, I noticed Flower by my side only when she spoke.

“I’d seen Peps hammering away at it. These coils work as magnets, sucking in metal and pushing it into the next coil. The trick is in setting them to power up at the precise time—now I know why she needed that old wave generator.”

Stupidly simple. Ridiculously elegant. Insanely deadly.

Even Rainbow Dash furrowed her brow in concern and broke the silence:

“A gun powerful enough to rip through enchanted arcanium like wet paper. It’s silent, can use any metal crap for ammo and on top of that doesn’t need any complex enchantments to be produced,” she icily stated.

“And it makes no sense for this to be found in this shithole of all places in the city,” Trixie commented. Glancing at Flower, she mumbled, “No offence, kid.”

The filly rolled her eyes. “None taken, old fart.”

“It’s because this place is a shithole nobody cares that the TCE tests their projects here.” Rainbow’s voice then turned into a growl. “The Crown has gotten soft—the Edge could be hiding more weapons like this. We have to make it to Nightmare Moon and back as soon as possible.”

Eyes shot up to her from the blueprint, my included.

“Chrysalis is letting us go to her?” I blurted, staring at her.

“It’s ‘Queen Chrysalis’,” she half-heartedly barked at me, but her eyes blazed with fury then she added, hissing, “The Command Centre confirmed your intel.”

Interestingly, it didn’t seem like she aimed her wrath at me. Still, I screwed my face in distaste and confusion.

“Have you asked your Queen what her death wish is? Or does she know something we don’t?”

My squinted eyes bore into Rainbow’s stone face with no effect, though fire continued to rage in her gaze stubbornly glued to some point above my head.

“I don’t question my orders,” she deadpanned.

I peered at her through the tiniest slits that my eyes had turned into.

“What are your orders exactly?”

“The retrieval of an invaluable equinoid.” Despite her best efforts, her muzzle scrunched by itself. “But you’re to come to the Hive of your own volition.”

My voice and face reached the limit of the suspicion they could express, which was only a fraction of what I felt.

“It’s one of her traps, isn’t it?”

To Rainbow’s credit, she finally managed to get full control over her face and tone, becoming a very convincing ponnequin. “In the case you decide to embark on the journey, I’m to assist you.”

“So, I’m in charge?”

“No.”

The girls’ whispers by the door grew loud enough to get my attention, and in time—Flower timidly came to my side; giving her friends another unsure glance, she asked:

“Can we go with you?”

Even though I lacked a throat, her words made me choke.

“Absolutely not!”

To my surprise, Rainbow dryly commented, “Those ponies are witnesses not just for the Crown, but in the eyes of the TCE as well. There’s a high chance you won’t find them here when we return.” She clenched her jaws before grimly adding, “One way or another.”

The girls stared at me wide-eyed, whilst I glared at Rainbow in despisal.

“What choice do I have in all this, again?”

“None.”

Author's Note

Special thanks to Jay Tarrant.

I hope you've enjoyed reading this story so far.

If you notice any mistakes sneaked in through the editing, let me know.

Stay awesome.

Chapter 13 – Good intentions

Aftersound

==============================

Written by: Oneimare & Geka

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant, IAmApe, DuvetofReason

==============================

Good intentions

==============================

The girls’ concerned expressions dissolved into grins as Rainbow opened the crate, revealing food rations. However, their joy lived for only as long as it took them to realise the Crown’s generosity brought the TCE’s cardboard-tasting meals.

Still, they munched on the pale synth-hay, if despondently, glancing warily at Rainbow and I involved in a glowering contest; Trixie awkwardly and impatiently shuffled nearby.

“By my estimation, we should reach the Badlands in a week,” Rainbow declared as the girls managed to shove the rations down their throats, “with one rest at midday and another at night.”

Trixie absolved me from doing it myself, objecting, “I don’t think the others will be able to keep up.”

Close enough, but not striking at the marrow of the issue.

“Why not give us a ride?” I brought up the obvious solution. “You are in a hurry after all.”

“For once the Command Centre and I agreed—we don’t want to give the TCE more training dummies.”

Delight, Flower and Wire exchanged nervous looks—the understanding of what they had gotten into was beginning to sink. The little unicorn abruptly stood up.

“Can I visit my family first?”

“No.”

Not as much as denial—a threat. The filly stepped back, fear etched in her face.

“So awesome of you, Rainbow,” I hissed, earning a brief and tired glare.

The rest of the rations hung from our backs in saddlebags as we trudged through the Junkyard.

Less than half an hour into its maze, it became clear that Rainbow, chained to the ground, struggled immensely with finding a way out of the Edge. So, Flower took the lead, much to her chagrin. Delight, her wing rubbing the back of sobbing a Wire, tailed the procession.

As we neared the abandoned quarries, Flower suddenly stopped as if yanked by a piece of scrap—a nearly unbelievable occurrence. Even more surprisingly, she dug into the pile of corroded refuse.

Looking over her shoulder, I found nothing deserving attention, yet the filly stubbornly kept shovelling the rust away.

“Flower?”

“Just help me,” she grunted, trying to haul away a particularly girthy girder.

My telekinesis helped her and served as the signal for the others to join.

Our combined effort finally revealed the object of Flower’s acute interest—a relatively well-preserved cart.

The wagon’s simple design suggested a purely utilitarian purpose, however, it could still be used as transport for ponies.

“Well, isn’t that a Hearth’s Warming miracle!” Trixie joyously exclaimed, dusting flakes of rust from the slightly perforated hull.

From under the cart Flower grumbled, “What’s ‘Hearth’s Warming’?”

The Former One awkwardly deflected the question, “It must be from the abandoned mines—the TCE just dumped most of the stuff here after they were done with them.”

Rolling my eyes, I asked a much more important question, though I already suspected the answer:

“Who is gonna haul it?”

“You two,” said Rainbow, a very subtle hint of humour playing in her voice.

Trixie pressed her lips together, but I had little reservation against acting as a beast of burden—did she expect two children to haul her metal ass around?

Anyhow, the time to use it had yet to come.

I levitated the carriage above us and the metal scrap threatening to tear on its already damaged exterior. All of a sudden, the weight became lighter—Rainbow held the corner of the wagon, hovering low.

Flower and Wire looked around in fascination as Trixie and I carried the rattling cart across the plain of withered grass. From time to time a shadow passed over us—either belonging to Del, revelling in the freedom of the open sky, or to Rainbow, scouting ahead.

In the distance, the silver stripe of the Black River gleamed—our first mark on the long journey; too far away to discern the bridge spanning over the churning inky waters flowing from the Everfree. Hopefully, the abandonment of the land wouldn’t force us into fording the sinister stream.

My concerns about crossing the obstacle grew when Rainbow abruptly cut her circling ahead of us, setting onto an interception course. Seamlessly turning her flight into a trot, the pegasus caught up with Trixie and me, to which we slightly slowed down.

“The bridge is functional, but occupied,” she reported, her voice betraying nothing.

“Butterflies?” Trixie warily offered.

“Seems to just be squatters. Stop at my signal.”

Refusing to elaborate what that would be, Rainbow took off. I glanced at Trixie, but she only pressed on, prompting me to return to our previous brisk pace.

In no time the ground under my hooves gained a gradual incline to it, leading to the banks of the Black River. Above its tenebrous depths tainted by the chaotic forest, an equally dark bridge hung. Some miracle must be holding the mass of makeshift dwellings together as they gave me the distinct impression that a particularly strong gust of wind would put an end to that settlement.

Hauled from the Junkyard, scrap formed a wall with skewed gates and a rickety catwalk; on top of them, half a dozen hunched equine figures bristled with gun barrels.

A rustle came from behind me—following Del’s command, the fillies moved the saddlebags into an improvised barricade.

When we came close enough to make out the facial features of the ponies on the gate—twisted in terror—Rainbow landed and waved her hoof to us, herself continuing to approach the bridge.

“Lower your weapons, citizens, assault on the Crown is a capital offence punishable by death,” she shouted.

One of the ponies, a stallion, pointed at a scar on his neck, where Del had been scanned once, and cried, “We left your cursed city, we’re citizens no more!”

“As long as you’re on Equestrian land, you are to abide the Crown’s law,” Rainbow emotionlessly retorted; her next words held not a subtle hint to them, however. “Lower your weapons. Now.”

“What difference will it make?” Some mare yelled. “You came for our village anyway.”

“We came to pass through. A reminder—obstruction of justice is a major criminal offence. Cooperation with the Crown, however, won’t go unnoticed.”

The gatekeepers huddled together, and argued; eventually, they left the catwalk and the half-doors swung open with a loud creak.

The moment that happened, Rainbow motioned for us to proceed to move. When we caught up to her, she commented:

“Don’t linger there.”

Tin Flower’s timid voice suddenly answered her.

“Um, Miss Dash? We have to stop—I’d like to check the cart’s axis—the sounds it’s making are unhealthy.”

Rainbow grimaced, yet after a moment of hesitation conceded, “Make it quick.”

The settlement met us with misery.

High humidity perforated one-story huts of driftwood and corroded metal sheets. Aside from the gleam of fearful eyes inside those dwellings, only seven ponies could be seen—the gatekeepers. Wrapped in dirty rags, they clutched their improvised guns, glowering at us, shivering.

When we stopped in the middle of the squalid village to remove ourselves from the harness, an elderly stallion parted from his comrades to hobble to us.

“Ye said yer just passin’ through,” he rasped, defiantly looking at Rainbow, “What else do ye need from us?”

“A repair kit and machine oil,” she demanded towering over the elder.

He held her cold gaze for a long moment, then spat and disappeared into one of the shacks to return with a can and a bundle of greasy cloth rattling with tools. Without a word, he dropped them before Rainbow and angrily shuffled away.

Wasting no time, Flower wriggled herself under the carriage and her muttered curses began to lisp from under it. The rest of us huddled closer, mirroring the locals.

“Something’s weird about this place,” Delight whispered.

My eyes studied the settlement once again, looking for clues.

Fishing gear, lots of fishing gear—nets and rods. What I took for a sign of poor living conditions was actually the smell of fish coming from numerous barrels and crates. And despite half of the houses built obviously from the Junkyard scrap, no working technology could be seen.

“Pink Butterflies…”

Del gasped and I caught Rainbow’s approving glance.

“Does that mean we’re trapped?” Red Wire’s quiet fear joined the conversation.

“They seem to be left alone in return for food, nothing more to it.” Rainbow dispelled the tension.

The irony couldn’t escape me—those ponies gave a lark to catch a kite.

“Maybe they know something about Dodge City, then,” Trixie muttered, “Rainbow—ask them.”

“It’s gone, I told you,” she shot back with annoyance. “Butterflies took care of the Junction long ago.”

“You don’t know and we have to know that for sure—it would affect our route significantly.”

My mental calculations proved Trixie’s point—in the case Dodge City had to be avoided, our path would have to circle it, adding at least one more day to our already too prolonged journey.

Rainbow seemed to come to the same conclusion.

“Senior citizen!”

The stallion spat and grumbled, “I hope ya ain’t gonna ask to stay fer the night, cos we ain’t have no food fer ya lot—ya seem to have more than enough yerselves.”

“Tell me about the territory south of the bridge,” she ordered, ignoring his words and attitude.

“What,” the elder jeered with a scoff, “don’t ya have a fancy map tellin’ ya this?”

“I asked you a question, citizen.”

“There ain’t nuffin,” he barked with another spit.

“What about the city?” Impatience snuck into Rainbow’s voice.

“What city?”

“Dodge City,” Rainbow growled, “Stop playing dumb.”

“I just told you—nothing. Ruins,” the stallion sneered. “The winters ya fucks brought upon us took it many years ago.”

“Dismissed,” Rainbow snapped and turned away.

“Oh, thank ya so much yer Excellency,” her elder sassed and bent his knees in a mock bow.

As if on cue, Flower crawled from under the wagon, a few fresh stains added to her collection of grime. She dusted her hooves off and nodded to the harness, inviting us to take our places.

We did it without hesitation, our procession followed by the hidden yet acutely perceptible glares of the squatters, not to mention the passively hostile gatekeepers.

The gates on the other side, already thrown open, waited for us.

As we passed them and put some distance betwixt us and the unsettling settlement, I looked back.

Its entire population gathered on the catwalk to see us out—a mass of dirty and ragged ponies, all without exception glowering at us. And above them, the elder stood, smirking.

The village left a heavy impression on everypony. Delight even abstained from flying; she sat in the cart along with the fillies, with her ears pressed to her skull.

Eventually, I began to realise that my shadow had grown in its length and it had become harder to discern where to put my hooves.

Though we technically could continue to travel at night, thanks to Trixie’s and my untiring bodies, doing so in the light of the waning Moon posed certain risks. The landscape started to turn into that of the arid southern lands, treacherous and too rocky for any passengers to catch any sleep.

It took me one glance at my carriage companion for her to slow down, and we searched for a place to call a halt.

Unfortunately, the open plain offered nothing but itself and we simply stopped.

Rainbow landed beside us and headed to the cart to produce a small lamp from her saddlebags; Flower and Wire met the device’s appearance with joy—with the setting of the Sun, their breath came in little clouds and they hid under Delight’s generously offered wings.

Our small company gathered around the source of light and heat.

As before, the rations failed to lift spirits, giving only sustenance. Not that much could be expected from discoloured dry waffles and a paste of a greyish colour starkly reminding me of plaster. Such food possessed only the merit of being able to clog one’s stomach for a while and ruin an appetite.

I volunteered to stand guard—unlike me, Trixie and Rainbow still had to sleep; being Former Ones hadn’t absolved them of that need.

Other than the gibbous Moon, countless stars kept me company this night, shining brilliantly from the darkness, no longer hindered by the blinding light of the never-sleeping Canterlot.

The centuries-long absence of their mistress had brought subtle changes to the constellations. However, the unkempt firmament didn’t make me bitter; the memories of stargazing did.

Once one of my favourite activities no longer felt appropriate and I had burnt the midnight oil away wondering why the twinkling stars failed to pluck my heartstrings.

Rainbow woke up first.

She yawned widely, fogging up her visor, and stretched like a cat, making the plates of her armour softly clink.

That sound yanked Trixie from the depths of her slumber—with a jerk she came to life, her liquid face-mask becoming a surreal mass only loosely resembling a muzzle as if she couldn’t decide what expression she wanted to show. She settled on the slightly discontent grimace of somepony who could get through a morning only with a cup of coffee.

Flower wriggled, massaging her back, stiff from sleeping against the lamp, whilst Wire rubbed her healthy eye, Del’s wing used as a blanket, draped across her shoulders.

Delight still had her eyes closed, though the occasional flicks of her ears betrayed her as awake, just too lazy to get up.

Rainbow distributed three rations and bottles of water, and, after some thought, added a can of preserved carrots to the miserable breakfast—one of the few Trixie had brought from her visit to Scuff’s place.

The night of rest and the unexpected but still welcome addition to the breakfast lifted spirits quite noticeably—Flower threw at Del her horrible yet lighthearted jokes connecting her previous occupation with carrots.

However, before long, Trixie and I pulled on the harness and the carriage rattled across the plain—we had no time nor supplies to spare.

Unlike the day before, Rainbow’s excursions forward became shorter and as such grew in their frequency. She, most notably, shared her results, prompting us to correct our path to avoid patches too rocky or just to correct our course.

As she was returning from such a trip, I couldn’t help but watch her with worried confusion.

Her main turbine roared, propelling the cybersuit at a needlessly blistering speed. The armoured plates obscured her visor. Her guns pointed at us.

In an attempt to simultaneously turn back and leap from Rainbow’s warpath, I yanked on the harness, waking Trixie from her trance. Only then did my mind finally come to a sensible conclusion—there must have been something right behind us. And as such, I turned to see what or who Rainbow intended to attack.

A bright flash blinded me and I was deafened by the cacophony of an explosion and the girls’ cries.

The blast didn’t hit the cart directly but sent its rear in the air. The girls yelped in terror, trying to hold onto the saddlebags until Delight grabbed them—Tin Flower in her hooves and Wire by the scruff with her teeth—and bolted away from the to-be-wreckage, frantically flapping her wings

My body moved on its own—still connected to the thill, I was about to be slammed into the ground and be buried under the metal carcass. I hit the metal pole with all my magical power and partially succeeded. Though no longer steadfastly bound, I still had some reins loosely connecting me to the carriage. They went taut, as the metal twisted and jerked under the sheer mass of the crashing cart, and slung me sailing through the air.

With a loud thud, I landed on the hard ground, rolling a couple of times before stopping in a tangle of limbs.

Free from the clutches of disorientation, I scampered to my hooves, whipping my head around.

The cart, supplies strewn all over the stone around it, would serve us no more—wrecked beyond any repair.

Trixie hadn’t escaped the crash—the metal of her face-mask dripped onto the cracked ground from a metal pole piercing her skull right betwixt her sparkling eyes, bleeding oil.

That dark liquid coalesced into a coiling shadow and it shot into the sky, towards where silhouettes flared under the clouds where two winged creatures—gryphons—and Rainbow Dash circled each other, her pelting them with spitting fire from guns.

Delight drove the fillies to the nearest hill. Del and Flower lingered behind Wire, due to the latter trying to fight—successfully, judging by the pegasus’ yelps—her way back to the wagon.

I quickly glanced at the sky again—the attackers seemed to be feeling from Rainbow, futilely lunging at her from time to time. With Trixie’s shadow closing on them, the outcome would be decided as soon as she arrived.

As I galloped to Flower, she finally broke from Delight, leaving her clutching her muzzle with a grimace. She all but slammed into me, embracing me with her hooves, accidentally hitting my side with her metal leg so hard that my body rang from the impact.

“I thought y-you died in t-there!” she squeezed through her sobs, still pressing herself to my chest.

Delight yelled in a nasal voice, “I told you she didn’t!”

Her wings allowed her to catch up with us only a moment later. She clutched her nose, dripping crimson; for some reason, she glared at me instead of Flower.

Realising my mistake, I hugged the crying filly.

In the sky, Trixie finally reached one of the gryphons, and they dissolved into dust. The other gryphon let out a strangled cry at the eldritch demise of their comrade and briefly paused; Delight cringed when Rainbow’s guns tore off the gryphon’s wing.

However, Rainbow didn’t let them fall, she grabbed the screeching half-eagle and headed right towards us at a high velocity.

She dropped the gryphon a few paces away from us. They rolled and tumbled with the audible cracks of breaking bones.

Rainbow landed at the body and, absolutely undisturbed by the gruesome state of the remains, searched them. Finally, she tore something off the corpse and tossed it to me.

My magic caught a bent and singed breastplate, a hole blasted through it.

It bore Fluttershy’s crudely drawn mark on it.

“Those fucking squatters must have ratted us out!” Wire instantly yelled.

“Unless that fossil at the bridge forgot to tell them about a Royal Guard, signing their death sentence, this was a random patrol of two rookies who didn’t know better than to attack without assessing the situation first.”

A heavy silence reigned until Del asked in a worried voice, barely above a whisper, “What should we do now?”

Rainbow shrugged. “Nothing different from what we were doing.”

“But the Butterfucks will notice them missing, won’t they?” Wire pointed at the corpse.

“We should be too far away by that point.” Slightly raising her voice, Rainbow added, “To make that true—gather that we have left. We’re burning daylight.”

Shooting her discontent glances, the girls moved to the scattered supplies, me joining them after awkwardly putting the damaged armour by the mangled body.

Rainbow picked it up and intercepted Flower on her way.

“Hey, kid.”

The filly raised her eyebrow in response, coolly regarding the pegasus.

Unfazed, she offered the battered plate to Flower. “What can you tell me about this piece?”

“Do I look like a factory worker to you? Even if I was old enough, I’d be melting shit down, not out.”

Yet she still took it, twirling the metal in her hooves, meticulously studying it.

“No stamp, but it came from the Heavy Industry moulds, for sure.” Flower pointed at the hole left by Rainbow’s gun. “See that layer of dross? Their moulds are garbage and it’s only made worse by the remelted steel we send them.”

The pegasus took the breastplate from Flower, staring at it with a distraught expression. Absent-mindedly, she mumbled, “Dismissed.”

The filly glowered at her. It got no reaction and she walked away, grumbling, “No need to thank me, really.”

Disturbingly, the number of supplies left didn’t need my help with them. But one matter required my attention, however.

I slowly walked to Trixie.

She no longer towered over me—I did now. Translucent coiling darkness formed her body, the inky wisps perpetually evaporating from her evershifting coat. I could swear she seemed to have two outlines.

Trixie turned her head and our eyes locked. I peered into glowing soft white circles with no pupils or eyelids. They gave her a look of constant shock.

She had been involved in the Great War and it pointed at an obvious source of her magic if the trademark appearance alone wasn’t enough. I might not know her as well as ‘Twilight after me’ did, but I knew her as Great and Powerful, and that suggested she might be not a victim of one of his spells.

Still, this wasn’t the time or place to bring that up.

Looking at the metal skull gazing blindly at the sky with its empty eyes, I asked instead, “Can it be fixed?”

Something moved around me—the shadows!

Every object able to cast one, lost its shade, gaining a headache-inducing unnatural look lacking its third dimension.

The stolen darkness condensed into tendrils slithering around Trixie’s artificial body. Whilst the arcanium withstood its touch, the metal of the cart crumbled into flakes.

A lifeless frame hung before Trixie’s true form on black strings like a marionette.

“Not here,” she sorrowfully uttered; her voice slightly echoed, more noticeably now.

“We can’t leave it here either,” Rainbow said from behind me, nearly making me jump.

“Do you want us to take it with us then?” I asked incredulously, raising my eyebrow.

She shook her head. “I’m calling the Command Centre to pick it up. We don’t need the terrorists to get their talons—or hooves—on such a valuable piece of tech.”

“Strange,” I hissed, “that you can ask them to lug a metal corpse all the way back to Canterlot, but for some reason, we have to trudge across half of Equestria on hoof risking our lives.”

Rainbow met my furious glare with a tired and pensive expression.

“It is not my caprice—I was explicitly denied any transportation,” she finally said, irritated. “If you have any complaints, feel free to say them to the Queen’s face when you meet her; I’m doing everything I can already.”

Whilst only a fifth of our supplies had been destroyed, Trixie, rendered unable to carry anything, severely limited the amount of what we could carry. As such, the preservatives had to be left behind, much to the girls’ disappointment.

That also bound Rainbow to the ground and now she tailed our caravan to keep watch on the northern horizon. Trixie awkwardly trotted by her side since her appearance caused… a certain discomfort; only Wire seemed to don’t mind a living shadow walking amongst us.

However, as enough time had passed since the incident and the scenery being as boring as ever, quiet talking began to occur.

Flower and Delight jumped from one topic to another, heavily relying on slang, making it futile to try to join them. Wire approached our resident dark mage. Unsurprisingly, Rainbow kept to herself.

Curious of where a Former One and a filly had found common ground, I drifted to them.

Wire bombarded Trixie with a barrage of questions about her arcanium body—she didn’t use it like I or equinoids, instead ‘possessing’ it in a sense. Then the conversation shifted to the enchantments it held and other vaguely magic related topics.

The torrent of questions suddenly ceased—the filly seemed to be hesitant with her next words. Still, carefully and unexpectedly shyly, she asked:

“Could you teach me your magic?”

“Don’t,” I said.

Wire reacted immediately and vehemently, snapping with the most venom in her voice I had ever heard from her, “I didn’t ask you! You don’t get to tell me what to do!”

“And I’m not telling you,” I retorted calmly; Trixie slowed down to a stop, looking at us in confusion and I addressed her, “You might not know her well—”

Wire stopped as well—everypony did—and faced me.

“You don’t know me at all!”

“I know you well enough to see that you’re prime warlock material.”

My eyes were on Trixie as I said that, but I found it impossible to gauge her reaction—her smoky features offered little expressiveness. However, my words stunned Wire.

To drive it home to her, I added, “You attacked your friend.”

Surprisingly, Flower didn’t support me; she watched the whole exchange with… sadness.

Still, I pressed on, “Learning dark magic will only make it worse, amplifying your negative emotions like what it did to Nightmare Moon.”

“Well, I… I…” A single tear glistened in the corner of Wire’s eye. “I’d like you to look at yourself, Miss I-am-a-pony, after you lose so many you love!”

I levelly regarded the heaving and crying filly.

“I’ve lost more than you have any idea.”

She snarled at me. “You’ve lost nothing because you never had anything.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Strange to hear that from a pony who was the first to convince me I’m Twilight Sparkle.”

“It was a mistake. I watched you—you are just a machine.”

Now, that hurt.

Frowning and trying to keep myself composed, I tried to change the topic back to the issue. “My nature is not your business—”

“It is!” Wire didn’t let me say much as her hoof poked my chest with a dull metal clang. “You ‘re taking Flower from me!”

To her growing exasperation, I rolled my eyes—just couldn’t help it.

“I’m definitely not.”

“Then you’re a stupid machine,” she barked.

“Let’s say you are right,” I conceded with a sigh—I had no intention to delve into her delusion and whatever had been happening betwixt her and Flower. “And if you’re claiming to be so smart, I want you to take a good look at Trixie and tell me if you want to be the same way.”

Wire did look at her and the shadow of a mare became a shadow of doubt on the filly’s face; Trixie winced.

The little unicorn grimaced and quietly hissed, “I just want to be able to protect my family and my friends.”

It can’t be helped, I’m afraid.

Delight’s words and the way Wire constantly lashed out already gave me enough hints to guess the root of her bitterness, but hearing her confession finished the puzzle.

I could respect her goals, but not her methods, no matter how understandable. Perhaps, that conversation would make her reconsider her choices.

To cement that, I amiably noted, “If you think she’d be able to teach you that, then you’re not a smart filly.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Only Trixie’s voice betrayed her discontent with my comment.

“Care to tell us how you got that way? How did you learn King Sombra’s secrets?”

Trixie cringed and stepped away as if struck.

Everypony stared at her wide-eyed; except for Rainbow who observed the entire ordeal dispassionately.

Then Trixie walked away.

Needless to say, none of the conversations resumed—the girls huddled together, sombre. Wire seemed to be deep in thought, frowning at nothing as Flower trotted close to her, silently supporting her friend, a worried expression etched into her muzzle. Delight occasionally glared daggers at me, though I couldn’t tell exactly what for.

Rainbow’s position in our procession remained unchanged.

And Trixie now trailed way behind us, her head low.

As we journeyed across the rocky steppe, so did the Sun across the sky. When it went past the zenith, we stopped for a brief rest of tired hooves and a quick meal.

The plain became more of a desert—sand crunched under our hooves and the girls brought the canteens to their lips every so often; the arid air and rising dust, conjured thirst even in the chill weather. Desiccated bushes clinging to the shadows of brownish-red rocks replaced the rare patches of dry crusty grass. To our left, green darkness marred the horizon—the Hayseed Swamps, a mighty bulk of rotten woods forever drowning in the poisonous mire.

By sunset, the ruins of Dodge City appeared from the haze ahead.

Delight, as a sharp-eyed pegasus noticed it first; Rainbow had probably done so even earlier, but hadn’t bothered to comment. With the lantern lost in the gryphons’ attack, nopony looked forward to the cold night and even the dilapidated buildings promised enough cover to lift the spirits.

However, I failed to share that enthusiasm and not only because I cared not for the icy bite of the night.

The closer we came to Dodge City, the more the air quivering above it bothered me—evershifting Fata Morgana that disappeared the moment I tried to focus on it.

When I mentioned it to the girls, nopony seemed to agree outright; perhaps the lure of a roof over one’s head was too tempting. Flower even suggested checking my eyes when we stopped there and Wire remained silent, though rubbing her horn and squinting at the mirage; Delight dismissed it as nothing important.

“Rainbow, maybe we should go around the city,” I said, pulling level with her.

She watched refracting images for a few moments, concern slipping through the cracks on her mask of ‘professionalism’. Still, she replied, “We can’t go around even if we wanted to.”

I gave her an unsatisfied look and she explained with a sigh, “The Swamps are too dangerous, more so at night. And to the west of the city, there’s a large quarry—non-traversable.”

Trixie was right back at the bridge—we should have planned our route, it was too late to change anything; especially now, when we couldn’t afford any detours. We had to trust the words of the old stallion.

Pressing my lips together, I sped up to lead the procession.

I assumed the town had been abandoned at some point after the Great War, but four centuries worth of neglect and whatever other external factors still left it too preserved. Unless some of its population remained, yet not a single light, nor any signs of life, suggested that.

The girls’ anticipation had evaporated as we waded through sand and darkness closer to the ruined settlement. They followed me in tense silence, their steps growing ever hesitant.

Finally, my hoof found purchase on a street of decrepit one-story houses.

My vision cracked, reality splitting without a sound.

Fear gripped me as the memories of madness rushed into my mind, but as the seconds passed, I remained completely lucid and whilst the experience felt hauntingly familiar, it wasn’t the same—it wasn’t happening in my head.

The second explanation suggested my lenses giving up for whatever reason—but the cracks weren’t moving along with my eyes.

As I turned my head back to ask the girls, the sensation of reality falling apart abruptly ceased.

But only Flower stood behind me, jaws slack in shock and I couldn’t help but join her.

A sunlit street with ponies going about their business betwixt intact buildings lay before my eyes, divided from the ruins by absolutely nothing. Two towns, night and day coexisted in my field of view and it didn’t bother anypony.

A group of five mares—two pegasi, two unicorns and an earth pony—animatedly chatted with a cream-coloured earth pony, a mare with a cherry-coloured mane.

Rainbow Dash was one of the pegasi, but she wore no suit of armour.

And I was one of the unicorns.

Author's Note

Special thanks to Jay Tarrant.

I hope you've enjoyed reading this story so far.

If you notice any mistakes sneaked in through the editing, let me know.

Stay awesome.

Chapter 14 – To dodge the Junction

Aftersound

==============================

Written by: Oneimare & Geka

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant, IAmApe, DuvetofReason

==============================

To dodge the Junction

==============================

Flower stared at me in bewilderment.

“Is that how you looked when you were… you know?”

My gaze slowly returned to ‘me’ and ‘my’ friends fishing for Applejack’s whereabouts. My glowing mechanical eyes lingered on the bright face of a young purple unicorn; watched her lips form a heartfelt smile as she chatted animatedly.

I looked like that when I... was.

“You were pretty,” the oblivious filly persisted. “I mean, it’s not that you don’t look pretty now—”

“Thank you,” I absentmindedly cut her spluttering.

Yet it succeeded in drawing my attention from… myself.

The sunlit street lived its own quaint busy life; it abruptly ended a few paces away, becoming night in the ruins and no smell or sound passed that invisible border. Observing the horizon or figuring out how far the rift went resulted in severe mental discomfort.

Around me preternaturally well-preserved ruins stood silent, offering me only the occasional gusts of wind; sand, carried by its coarse touch whispered its rough murmuring song against my suddenly so metal body.

My memories tugged on my hooves, imploring them to step into the light. To rush to my friends and ask them for help, knowing I'd receive it. To walk to Twilight Sparkle—she would know what to do; she always did, back then.

I turned away, into the remains of the present.

My friends had disappeared and I had no intention of abandoning them.

Also, common sense insisted on not experimenting with walking into that anomaly whatever it was.

An illusion—one of the mirages I had been so concerned about? But what kind of mirage showed the events of half a millennium ago with such disturbing precision?

Flower longingly glanced over her shoulder; she saw a place of enchanting beauty, not a deeply troubling echo of the past.

The skeletons of once-sturdy wooden girders rose around us. Almost every house had its roof caved in, often taking the walls with it as well. Dodge City wasn’t even supposed to be a city when the trial of time exposed it to the elements—the settlers built those houses to be temporary. Sand should have swallowed everything at least two centuries ago.

However, the enigmatic preservation of the town didn’t disturb me as much as the sky full of unrecognisable constellations—not just dilapidated. And despite the cold moonlight sparing us of blindness, I couldn’t bear witness to its source. The Moon always remained behind our backs, even with Flower’s help to catch sight of it.

Whilst I kept frowning as my horn kept detecting irregularities in the flow of magic, Flower complained about the constant buzz in her ears—’white noise’.

My legs buckled under me when I suddenly became reacquainted with a sensation I had almost forgotten—pain.

The ruins warped and flickered, plunging into pitch-black darkness or becoming lit by the blinding daylight from the unseen sun.

Then the agony blinded me, leaving only a grainy shimmering whiteness.

As unannounced as it came, the torture ceased at the forever-lasting moment of its apotheosis.

Blinking away tears—

I dabbed my eyes with my hooves and stared at the glistening smears of oil.

My head screwed around in search of Flower—as if that was enough to overpower the steel of my vessel…

She could also have been claimed by another of those phantasmagorias, but that didn’t happen—unsteady on her hooves, the shaking filly rose from the ground, blood dripping from her nostrils and rolling down her cheeks.

I rushed to her. “Are you alright?”

Flower spat red and weakly nodded, gulping.

“What the fuck was that? And where the fuck are we?”

The reality didn’t leave a split this time—we’d ended up in the heart of the nightmare.

Only rare stone foundations marked the ground with the tombstones of homes. Bleached and bone-dry, timber turned into fossils half-eaten away by the wind. No mysterious moonlight bathed the almost erased from existence town—only the alien stars sternly gazed down upon us, barely casting the shadows away.

“I don’t know,” I whispered.

Hidden eyes burned me with their piercing attention. Tense silence hungrily listened to every rustle we made amidst the forgotten ashes.

I almost jumped when something touched my flank—Flower firmly pressed herself to my body, her head jerking from side to side, looking for the unseen observers.

Her heartbeats resonated through my frame counting long seconds of the invisible presence churning around us. But it neither became worse nor abated—patiently waiting for us to make a move.

Making an almost impossible effort to write it off as our imagination, I still was left with the undeniable fact—Flower shouldn’t go through any of those shatterings of time and space.

Flower’s heart pounded a few dozen beats until I finally found enough steel in myself—or foolishness—to cast our surroundings into the pale candlelight of a spell.

Almost indistinguishable from the impenetrable night, a dark stripe of Hayseed Swamps blotted the horizon—the only landmark in the void of the black desert.

We silently crept by the headstones of the long-perished houses, cast into a shadow so sheer, we could not comprehend it—an adult dragon looming above a pair of ants.

“Twilight?” Flower’s practically inaudible voice cut over the tinkling silence.

I shot her a glare, but didn’t find it in myself to reprimand her—the filly’s voice applied a soothing balm to my mind straining under the onslaught of the preternatural. It must have been a reprieve for herself, too.

“Have you ever noticed that there are only seven Thunderspires in Canterlot?”

“Are you sure this is the best time to bring that up?”

Ignoring my frown, she continued to susurrate, “The Butterflies blew up the eighth and its arcanium tip fell, shattering. The whole district… it has changed—they call it the Breach.”

Hundreds of tonnes of the most volatile and magically potent material in the world meeting the most uncompromising force in the universe. A whole city could have been lost to the fallout, not just a district.

“A breach…” I nervously looked around, at the darkness lurking in itself. “...to where?”

My hoof shot sideways to stop Flower—something moved at the edge of my candlelight spell.

We stood in the middle of a luminescent purple lake like two statues, peering into the night. I desperately hoped for it to only be my imagination.

Flower tensed and clutched my hoof.

An equine silhouette, glowing ever so faintly, glided glacially into the circle of light.

The lambent mare had neither wings nor a horn, yet her hooves didn’t touch the sand. A pale and ghostly radiance of twinkling colours, vaguely familiar, greyed out her features. She seemed to mourn with her head tilted and eyes cast downward.

I took a step back, but my hoof failed to find a steady purchase on the small pebbles and I teetered. Sand and gravel cried under my metal limbs.

The mare snapped her head—

It became turned at us, skipping the entire motion. Hollow eyes transfixed at something behind, or even beyond, our scared faces.

Then she screamed.

A deafening, terrifying, inequine wail cut straight into my mind, flooding my vision with burning static.

I was screaming myself, but I couldn’t hear my own voice. Flower’s mouth was open in just as silent a cry, her nostrils and eyes glistening with fresh crimson.

Blinded by pain, I hurled stunning blasts at where the shrieking spectre should be and one of them turned her howl into a gurgle. Not wasting my time to regain my senses, I grabbed Flower and flung her on my back as I skidded on the treacherous ground, darting away, tripping over my hooves.

The sound of something fundamentally horrible reached me, but it came not from the throat of that thing—the world was falling apart around me.

My hoof caught on a stone and I fell, fell for an eternity full of pain.

And landed on something soft.

“Rainbow! Would you watch where you fly?”

The static faded from my eyes and I found my vision full of a lavender flank.

Twilight and I scampered away from each other, staring into one another’s eyes.

Not even the utter bewilderment could darken the painfully pure innocence radiating from that mare, only five years younger than me. She knew no crippling bereavement, no crushing failure, no flames of war.

She was Twilight Sparkle and I was Twilight Sparkle, but we were not the same pony.

Whatever wild questions my appearance had raised in her mind, they seemed to be instantly forgotten when she glanced at my side, gasping. Before I could follow her horrified gaze, Flower’s groan alleviated my fears.

“I didn’t know anypony could fucking screech louder than Wire,” she grumbled, then squinted at Twilight. “Did you hit my head or something? You look different…”

“I… I didn’t hit you!” the unicorn blurted, recoiling. “I’ve just met you!”

“Neither did I.”

I tapped Flower’s shoulder and she whipped her head betwixt me and, well, me, sending red droplets around—the tithe paid for passage to this reality.

“This filly needs help—she is bleeding!” Twilight yelled.

“Nah,” she muttered, standing up. “Could be better, could be worse.”

Flower waved her metal hoof, smirking proudly; but she couldn’t hide the haunted look behind that smile. Twilight seemed like her eyes would pop out of her skull the next time the situation escalated, or maybe she’d simply pass out.

However, she demanded from me, frowning:

“Who are you?”

“Twilight Sparkle,” I firmly replied, meeting her eyes. “From the future.”

“There can’t be two ‘me’s’! It’s not scientifically possible!” She stuck her hoof at me, simultaneously cross and triumphant. “You’re not scientifically possible!”

A sense of déjà vu hit me—those words had left my mouth once already, except… Twilight had yet to say them when a Twilight from the next week came to warn her; that happened… would happen a few weeks after the visit to Dodge City.

“What happened to you?” she gushed. “Why are you wearing that armour? Is there some epic pony war in the distant future?”

I had a suspicion about that place serving as a portal to the past, but recalling that memory made me realise—if I couldn’t remember running into a metal version of myself and a filly with a metal hoof, then...

“It’s not time travel.” Not giving Twilight a chance, I spoke again, “What did you give Rarity on her last birthday?”

The unicorn’s wide eyes locked on me, two wells of amethyst confusion. The initial surprise passed, yet she failed to answer. Anyone who knew Twilight for at least a day knew it was a book.

She didn’t.

This Twilight Sparkle possessed the depth of reflection in a mirror.

“I can’t remember,” she uttered, defeated.

“We keep running into magic anomalies that transport us into refractions of Dodge City’s different temporal states. This appears to be one of them.”

Her brow furrowed and her lips pressed together so hard, they turned white.

“I know,” Twilight admitted to my bewilderment. “My memories are missing, but I can remember being here for… many, many years.”

“Have you always been aware of…?”

All that youth she had seemed to have faded, leaving a mentally exhausted mare that whispered, “As long as I don’t focus on that, the events unfold naturally and it becomes easier to forget, to pretend I’m Twilight Sparkle.”

Silence, long and heavy settled betwixt us.

“How can I... get you out of that loop?” I carefully asked.

“You can’t,” Twilight huffed, “unless you can fix disrupted ley lines.” A small wistful smile crept on her muzzle. “But you can tell me about the future. I’ll never have it, but I’m still curious—what’s it like?”

Horror gripped my mind as the faint rustle of reality folding into itself murmured a promise of pain into my ears. Twilight’s ear flicked—she knew it was coming.

“Full of wonders.”

“Thank you,” she mouthed and shattered.

Blinking dark oil from my eyes, I found Flower leaning on my body, heaving; a sheen of sweat on her coat and scarlet streaks on her cheeks glistened in the moonlight.

My head snapped to the sky.

“I don’t wanna complain,” the filly rasped, spitting, “but I’m kinda tired of all… that.”

“It seems like we are back to the original reality.”

The empty sky vomited unsettling colour upon us, wooden houses perpetually rotted in the shifting sand, magic radiation unpleasantly tugged on my horn.

The latter reminded me about the parting gift from Twilight’s stuck echo—damage to Harmony’s ley lines had caused the chaos that claimed Dodge City. My hypothesis suggested avoiding nearing the corrupted arcane currents might save us from a journey into another refraction.

I reached out with my vision beyond sight and—

A white-hot nail lodged itself in my horn—literally—a shower of sparks, both magical and not rained before my eyes, lighting up Flower’s scared face as I recoiled in pain.

Much more slowly and carefully I expanded my mind and felt my horn warm up and ache as it sensed a violently swirling and thrashing flow of magic nearby.

After five minutes of cautiously exploring the arcane tapestry as far as I could reach, I had a path mapped out for us. Bracing myself, I motioned for Flower to follow me.

As we crawled through the debris and darkness guided by memory and occasional checks for proximity to the ley lines my theory seemed to be proven; unless we’d just been tricked by fortune.

Then my horn sniffed out a disruption ahead of us like no other—dark and cold. In the real world, it manifested into muffled shrieks—unintelligible yet equine. Flower prodded my side and met my eyes with a questioning and worried look—she’d heard them, too.

Despite the source of the yells possibly being one of our friends in distress, I had forced both myself and Flower to creep towards the noise with caution.

Still, even at the deliberate pace, it took us to get to pass by only a few dilapidated buildings before we emerged into a clearing—a crossing of two streets.

Right in the middle of it, a living shadow fought back a group of… things.

They vaguely resembled equines, sex and race lost to the horrifying tumours mutilating their bodies where the light didn’t filter through the translucent limbs and organs. And amidst discoloured flesh, shards of arcanium malignantly glistened with reflected starlight.

Surrounded by the inky ribbons, Trixie used them only to fling hooffuls of sand at the abominations. No wonder—even the hairless coats of those monstrosities shimmered with the trademark hues of the arcane metal that refused to bend to her dark will. Nor had Dodge City positively affected the Former One in general—her ragged form barely stood upright.

My situation left me with the same option—I couldn’t risk using my magic on the volatile splinters of… whatever those ponies had become.

A massive slab of bricks, still held by mortar, rose from a mound of debris, gaining height to become a bomb.

Yet it didn’t drop.

It would pulverize flesh and break bones, inflicting fatal injuries. Those ponies didn’t appear to have any consciousness left, only reacting to movement and sound. They led a wretched preternatural existence and it would be a mercy to end it.

What happened to the stallions who tried to violate Del? Did they survive the wounds I inflicted upon them? I did what had to be done to save an innocent—how was it different now? Why did I hesitate now?

Trixie yelped as a toothless jaw snapped at her, barely missing her neck.

How many did she murder in the name of the Ebony Warlock?

The hold of my magic on the wall fragment loosened and it plummeted down, whistling ominously. When only a blink of an eye separated it from digging itself into the sand, I grasped the bricks again and, grunting, turned their acceleration into angular momentum.

The bodies of the abominations scrunched and squelched as the deadly pendulum sent them soaring into the ruins, trailing ichor and pieces of arcanium.

The Twilight Sparkle I met today wouldn’t have committed that, and not just because she was only an echo.

The last of the deformed ponies rushed to me, rattling with metal lodged into their very bones and I tugged on the slab.

Bones snapped and something sprayed onto my cheek—I couldn’t look.

Shuddering, I took a hasty step back from the puddle of dark blood that invaded the corner of my vision, spreading to my hooves.

Circling the tombstone made of broken brick I created for my victim, I approached Trixie.

It couldn’t be denied now—she had two outlines, two different shadows. Hunched, she stared at the ground, cowering before me.

“You hesitated,” she bitterly whispered and a long pause followed her words; her eyes rose to meet mine. “Why did you save me?”

“I wanted to hear why I should have done that.”

As featurelessness as her knit of darkness face was, it couldn’t fail to reflect anguish twisting it into a grimace.

“I’ve changed.”

“You willingly joined the group of the vilest warlocks who have more digits in their kill count than you—hooves,” I deadpanned.

“I never killed anypony!”

Her second outline almost tore itself away with a sudden jerk.

A young female unicorn with a mane-do similar to what I once had, but with more streaks. She silently snarled in pain and protest, trying to pull herself from Trixie—to no avail.

The icy stare I gave her needed no commentary.

“She…” Trixie squirmed in guilt and turmoil. “It was an accident… I had no choice…”

As I remained silent and impassive, she continued to plead:

“I know you don’t believe that I never truly served King Sombra and I can’t deny the horrible things I’ve done. I’ve been doing everything to make up for the wrongs I’ve committed. Twilight, I ask you for a second chance again!”

Again.

Did Twilight forgive her back then? But knowing the mare I should be, she should have—the memories told me that everypony deserved at least one more chance.

Trixie was a war criminal who still readily used her heinous ability—she’d turned the ponies of Pepper’s gang and Butterflies’ gryphons into fine ashes. Yet she allegedly betrayed Sombra—according to the words of another individual who served the enemy; and she acted as a vigilante in the Tunnels.

Her judgement was not mine to give, anyways. I knew her only as an exceptionally abrasive wandering joker and a strange dweller of the deep who helped me.

Princess Luna could judge her properly—maybe that was why Trixie actually had sought her.

“Alright.”

My answer seemed to take her by a bigger surprise than anything else before—which was a feat, considering her already perpetually flabbergasted expression.

“What?” I asked.

“Twilight… She never forgave me.”

I froze on the spot, my proverbial heart skipping a beat; yet I managed to squeeze, my voice only barely quivering, “Saying you changed but still acting like the mare who boasted she could best anypony in Ponyville—show a little gratitude.”

Trixie gave me a long unreadable look.

“Thank you—” she cut herself midway awkwardly and averted her eyes.

Flower crawled out of her hiding place amongst the debris and joined the living shadow—shadows?—who followed me silently when I headed to Hayseed Swamp peeking at us from betwixt the ruins.

As Trixie shot the filly a relieved glance, she asked, “What about the others?”

My answer didn’t come immediately as I concentrated on the ley lines once more.

“I’m taking Flower out of this place and then will return to search for them.”

The whole confrontation made the mental map slip out of my mind and I was forced to probe around, extending my senses as far as possible.

An echo flared across the ravaged arcane landscape—a spark of magic, distant and weak. Considering the deterioration of the creatures that prowled Dodge City, I had my doubts about them casting any spells, which left the most likely possibility—Red Wire.

How long would it take for me to guide Flower out and then make it back? Would a barely adolescent unicorn with impaired magic be able to survive that long?

Neither Flower nor Trixie questioned me as I led them into the heart of the city, though soon I began to doubt my decision.

Shards of glass and stone hovered, frozen in the air, stubbornly refusing to abide gravity and rest on the, glittering with arcanium, sand, ash and… bones. The further we got, larger objects started to hang high on invisible strings—fragments of buildings and train carts; as if time had stopped for them in the middle of a powerful explosion that ripped through the entire Junction.

We passed under another of those wreckages when flashes of golden magic lit up the surreal ruins in the sky. Following them like a beacon, we entered the railyard.

Railways endlessly stretched away, branching out like fractals into the horizon, the webwork of steel and wood blotting the sky. The misaligned images melded together, turning the split from a broken mirror reality into an impossible landscape.

Most of the carriages belonged to the freight trains, yet, every so often, passenger cars gazed at us with dark, empty windows. Whilst some of them somehow remained in pristine condition, others sagged, melted or collapsed into themselves in the lingering clouds of rusty mist.

A sparkle of sunlight illuminated a filly unicorn and a pegasus trapped by shambling deformed equines in an alleyway formed by two rotting train cars; the sight turned our hurried yet cautious trot into a frantic gallop.

We skidded to a stop behind the pack of monstrosities; a glance at Flower and Trixie told me we shared our lack of ideas of how to help Wire and Del, who hadn’t even noticed our approach—too busy fending off the onslaught of withered terrors.

My magic tugged on rails or crossties but they either remained steadfast or crumbled into dust. Nothing around me could serve as a weapon, not that the narrow space allowed for much, anyway.

Wire finally saw us but was denied a cry for help as one of the distended ponies lunged at her, forcing the filly to shoot a harmless whirl of sparks into its eyes, buying herself a chance to dodge. She bumped into Delight who swung a broken shovel clutched into her jaws.

A couple of abominations saw us as well, prompting me to come up with a way to save the girls and ourselves.

Our surroundings could offer only decay, death and arcanium.

An insane thought crawled into my mind.

Every chunk, flake and even mote of the arcane metal floated to me and I cautiously funnelled my magic into the capricious ore. Though my plan relied on it, the state of arcanium—raw—still caught me by surprise. Still malleable to magic, it softened and then liquified taking the form of a flimsy blade—months of practising arcane forging at the RCRC made the process almost effortless.

I watched the dagger solidify for agonisingly long seconds; above its warping surface a group of creatures infused with the same metal amassed on my friends, not to mention more and more were splitting off in our direction.

Yet as the blade gained a deadly sharpness, it marked only half of my work.

With precise mental motions, I plucked away each miniature ley line around the weapon, turning the piece of metal into an antithesis of magic—‘deafening’ arcanium.

The moment I finished, I had to test the result of my craft, thrusting the dagger at the leg of the abomination that leapt at me. The withered skin and sinew practically melted under the touch of the hollow blade’s edge, rivulets of dark ichor sprout from the deep cuts.

Though half of my slashes missed their mark, those which found purchase in the decaying flesh made the difference, severing tendons and leaving the disfigured ponies to wither and slobber on the sand, harmless.

When my efforts created an opening in the mass of attackers, Del and Wire rushed into it and then past me.

Bite wounds covered the pegasus’ blind side, deep enough to still bleed and one at the base of her wing rendered her flightless. Whilst the unicorn had fewer injuries, she had her prosthetic no more—only a few cables poked out of the empty eye socket; blood, oil and soot marred the grimace of pain her face had become.

Not only did the arcanium abominations cut us off from the way we came, forcing us to flee deeper into Dodge City, the endlessly folding into itself fractured and refracted reality hid any landmark that could signal a way out of that nightmare.

Pressing on in one direction remained the only option and I couldn’t help but fear if it had any guarantee to it in a place like that.

The arcanium no longer shyly presented itself as lonely flakes—whole shards menacingly hovered in the air, buzzing with deadly potential.

“I believed it when the Crown announced Luna dead because everypony in Canterlot could feel the explosion that supposedly took out the Hive,” Trixie commented. “But now I wonder if it was this place. Must have been a shipment to build another Spire.”

Reality and anomaly had lost the boundaries betwixt them; the sky above us changed, failing to decide on afternoon, sunset or midnight. Misplaced shadows on the ground became tears into the night itself—from the cracks in the ground, stars and nebulas gazed indifferently at us, the coldness of the void breathing through the gates to the cosmos.

Pain lanced through my crystals as the magic tapestry deteriorated into one huge distortion. Wire moaned, echoing the aches that assaulted her horn; Trixie had to fight her second shadow as the chains betwixt them had loosened; blood dripped from the girls’ muzzles.

An eternity seemed to pass before the twisted railroads came to an abrupt end, but I wish they hadn’t.

Like a compass, massive slivers of arcanium forever stuck in the air pointed at the rotten heart of Dodge City that ripped reality apart with each malignant beat.

I gazed into an ever-shifting broken kaleidoscope that simultaneously showed each time of day, each state of the town. When my eyes tried to focus on the centre of that phantasmagory, static started to claim my vision. Protuberances of magic emanated from that hole in the time and space continuum, and they felt… feral—primordial and deadly.

And out of that warping refracting chaos, something lunged at us.

Searing pain shot through my horn when I yanked the girls out of harm’s way. Sand and arcanium exploded where we were mere moments ago and from the cloud of dust, a horror rose.

A constantly shifting mass of distorted flesh, rotting and yet still living, clinging to the deformed bones and long sharp shards of arcanium, both seamlessly lodged deep into that congestion of decaying tissue. A single featherless pegasus wing stuck out of that mass, twitching miserably; an array of unicorn horns branched with tumorous growths like those of a deer; the massive carcass of some former resident of Hayseed Swamp had its jagged ribs protrude from the distended skin into the sky; amidst all that putridness, a bare skull of a buffalo sneered.

The sight paralysed me, leaving me to helplessly stare at the towering form wobble madly as it shambled towards us, gaining speed at a terrifying pace.

Something heavy and metal struck my head hard enough to make it ring.

Flower looked at me with wide eyes, shaking my shoulders; I realized that somepony was screaming my name. Delight held me by the withers and desperately tugged on my heavy body.

Scrambling on my hooves, sending ashes and sand all around me, I made off after the girls.

We dashed along the curving line of trains and their wreckages with no direction in mind other than away from that thing. Innumerable mouths moaned and screeched from behind me, flesh squelched and I felt the heavy thuds.

Yet we slowed down—Dodge City had already taken a heavy toll on the girls and that burst of adrenaline could offer only so much energy.

They needed time.

I came to a sudden halt, turning to face the manifestation of the Junction’s malignancy. Ignoring the agony splitting my skull apart, I funnelled all my magic into my horn.

The mass of putrid flesh exploded in a fountain of fire and gore, stumbling back, stopped in its inevitable onslaught. A mortifying wail came from thousands of throats cut into the air.

I missed.

Rainbow rocketed across the ever-changing sky, the turbine of her suit roaring fiercely and guns smoking. Yet before I had a chance to rejoice, somepony—Flower—crashed into my shoulder, sending us both spinning.

With deafening thunder cracks echoing in the perpetually crumbling realities around us, Rainbow’s guns fired, tearing into the rotting hulk. A twisted skinless decaying limb, a claw of fused bone and arcanium whistled right above us.

I grabbed Flower from in front of me, there the collision brought her, dragging her back at the same time as a ghostly spectre of the limb that just missed us followed its corporeal counterpart.

She quietly yelped when the shadowy claw passed right through her and became limp in my hooves.

The howl of the abomination drowned out my cry as Rainbow fired at it again. However, the heavy weaponry failed to stop the monstrosity this time—using its claw to propel itself forward, it left me only a few seconds to draw upon all the magic I had to envelop everypony in the purple glow.

Author's Note

Special thanks to Jay Tarrant.

I hope you've enjoyed reading this story so far.

If you notice any mistakes sneaked in through the editing, let me know.

Stay awesome.

Chapter 15 – Lunacy

Aftersound

==============================

Written by: Oneimare & Geka

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant, IAmApe, DuvetofReason

==============================

Lunacy

==============================

Sand rustled discontentedly as I shrugged off its coarse blanket. Rivulets of grit trickled from the places betwixt my plating, where the flesh of the desert had found its new home.

An endless sea of orange stretched away—my spell had brought me into the middle of nowhere. A stroke of phenomenal luck—teleporting without a concrete destination usually invited the worst kind of disaster; nor was I sure that trick would even work on my metal body.

Delight’s wings sprawled on the dirty soil like two great sheets of snow. Her chest rose and fell, sending swirls of dust away from her nostrils. Wire, half-submerged in the sand, weakly stirred. A mound of blackness turned her closest surroundings into fine silt to be carried away by a mellow breeze.

Flower lay absolutely still.

I rushed to her like a miniature sandstorm.

Before the purple aura of my vitals-checking spell descended upon her, my eyes had been already scanning her body for any injuries and found none, scratches and bruises notwithstanding.

Her heart barely stirred, her breaths came out shallow and irregular, yet no physical trauma could be held responsible for that.

Soft scrunching of stumbling hooves caused me to tear my gaze from the dying filly.

Wire limped to me, lame on her hind left leg; Trixie followed her like the shadow she was. Delight shook grit out of her mane and feathers; Rainbow unearthed herself and busied herself with the same, but for her armour.

“Is she alright?” the unicorn croaked.

“It’s a magic injury.” I knew a basic mending spell, I could even stitch a cut, not to mention providing first aid in non-arcane ways. “There’s nothing I can do.”

Trixie shook her head dejectedly as Wire stared at her in a silent question.

“That’s not how my magic works.”

A tear rolled from Wire’s remaining eye, but when she looked betwixt Trixie and me, it had as much pure hatred in it as pain. I knew what she would say, however she remained silent.

Ultimately it was my fault and this time I found it hard to disagree with her.

The vitriol in her gaze thickened when Rainbow approached us, Del in tow, and asked, impassionate, “A casualty?”

“She’s still alive and needs immediate help,” I snapped at her, joining Wire’s glare, although with less intensity.

“We’ve ended up a day’s march from the Badlands,” Rainbow levelly stated. “Princess Luna should be able to help her.”

“What if she won’t?” All of us exchanged worried glances, but I pressed on, “There’s another way and you know it.”

“The Crown can’t help her, even if they could send help.”

She held my gaze steadily and though her face resembled a stone mask, I almost imagined a glimpse of compassion in her dark eyes.

Saddlebags slipped from her shoulders and she passed rations and food to the girls who accepted them sullenly. The sight of the bags left there, empty, brought a question—were we even expected to return from this journey?

We had to finish it first, however. With the Sun painting the horizon in the pastel hues of the dawn, we would reach the ochre peaks of the crags circling the Badlands by nightfall.

Despite Rainbow trying to set the pace with her undaunted canter, Del and Wire kept falling behind—their wounds, hunger and lack of sleep treated them without mercy. Only Trixie shadowed us confidently—only relatively, of course; she had her own kind of burden dragging her down.

Delight’s rags, too torn to be used as clothing anyway, became a nest into which Flower’s comatose form was lowered—better than letting her bounce on my metal spine. Instead, I tailed her in the case her strength gave out or she stumbled on the treacherous sand; though that had yet to happen.

I once again checked on Flower’s condition—gradually diminishing, albeit slowly.

“You care about her…” Del murmured suddenly. “Why?”

Before I could even give a proper thought I bristled, snapping, “Why do you ask?”

The pegasus flinched and I internally reprimanded myself for reacting to her question like another accusation from Wire or Rainbow that implied I was only a machine. Externally, I lowered my voice.

“Flower is just a child and she has put a lot of effort into helping me.”

Del grimaced.

“But have you wondered why she does that?”

My silence became a reply on its own.

“Let me put it in other words,” she tried again, patient and kind. “Why do you think Tin Flower created you?”

Considering the criminal nature of that act and the dangers she went on—venturing almost into the heart of Canterlot and through the Tunnels, she must have had a very good reason.

Not for the sake of it nor for fun—Flower was too practical for that. She wasn’t friendless either—Wire cared for her like an older sister would, practically her fami—

Judging by Delight’s sigh, simultaneously relieved and sad, my expression betrayed my thoughts; she probably didn’t need either her talent or Moth skills to decipher it.

My eyes locked on the still form of the grimy filly slowly fading in betwixt Del’s wings, a filly who thought of herself as my daughter.

For all I knew, Twilight Sparkle had left no descendants and never thought of it, according to the memories I possessed. As a machine, I couldn’t fix that, unless I accepted Flower’s attention. Though it wouldn’t be a deciding factor, I couldn’t help but wonder if becoming a mother would make me less of the mare I was supposed to be.

Then my gaze shifted to Delight’s face, she met me with an unreadable expression, neutral at best—I had to decide for myself.

By night I would face an insane goddess, following the whim of a changeling queen ruling a city on the brink of a great calamity, whilst the filly in the question might not see the dawn.

The decision would have to wait until I got ourselves out of that fine mess.

Wire’s limp seemed to have worn off at first, but the crossing of the desert brought it back, if not with more intensity. However, she wasn’t the only one suffering from the aftermath of visiting Dodge City.

When I met Delight in the Tunnels, she looked rather beautiful.

Now dust and blood had almost robbed her of her original white colour; a red-stained shred of worn cloth wrapped around her left wing; her mane and tail, once smooth and silky, were a tangled mess with dirt and small pieces of rubbish clinging to it.

My scrutinizing examination didn’t go unnoticed.

“I may not be a Moth anymore, but I still don’t serve equinoids.”

“You’ve spent too much time with Flower—she’s rubbed off on you,” I wryly commented.

“Until she receives a bath it’s going to happen with everything within a hoof-length distance from her,” Delight retorted with a quiet yet hearty giggle that I couldn’t resist but share.

Of everyone I had met so far, I could call Delight my friend without a moment of hesitation. But would she be able to say the same? Not because of my nature—she seemed to understand it better than I, though respecting my desire to figure that out myself.

“This is probably not what you expected when you decided to accompany me, is it?” I mirthlessly remarked as another glance at her wounds echoed with a pang of guilt in me.

She beamed widely.

“It pretty much is. If I hadn’t met you, what’d my life have been? And look at me now. Yes, I’m beaten and bitten, I can’t remember the last time I took a shower or had a meal I can actually call a meal, and I may not understand everything that’s going on, but I’m in the company of Former Ones, outside Canterlot and about to see a Princess.”

We might not make it back alive, not to mention Chrysalis would be waiting for us if we did and all other kinds of difficulties to follow if we survived that as well. Yet Delight didn’t let that daunt her, because amidst all that hardship, a glimmer of hope—a choice I gifted her—shone brightly.

I smiled back at her.

Though Delight appeared to be in lifted spirits and steadily trotting forward, she was hiding tiredness behind it, and as such, I decided to conserve her little remaining strength by letting silence settle betwixt us.

The trudging across the infirm sands continued to aggravate Wire’s exhaustion. With her head hanging low and tail sweeping the hoofsteps left by unsteady legs, she forced herself forward. The poor filly didn’t even have enough energy left to bark at me when I offered her a ride on my back; however, she unsurprisingly refused it.

Feeling almost guilty for knowing no fatigue, I approached another member of our party who seemed to be the least bothered by the relentless march—the one who led it.

Rainbow paid me little attention when I finally managed to overcome the uncooperativeness of the ground and catch up with her; she also refused to repeat her feat of mercy from the last time and break the ice. Thankfully, it didn’t take me too long to figure out what to say.

“I suppose I should thank you for saving us in Dodge City.”

“You don’t sound very grateful.”

Sand scraped betwixt the plates of my muzzle as they formed a grimace.

“Hard to be grateful to somepony you can’t trust.”

The look she shot me bore nothing but curiosity.

“Who do you trust, then?”

“My friends.” I carefully watched for the change in her expression and pressed my lips together when none had occurred; irritation infused my voice. “And you? Do you trust your Queen?”

“She cares about ponies.”

My tone became a sneer. “Forgive me, but I find that very hard to believe.”

Rainbow gave me another look, a long stare—not a glare, to my surprise.

“Queen Chrysalis needs ponies to survive. She tends to us and wants to see our society prosper so her children can feed on love.”

Motioning my head at Delight, I retorted, “The only places in Canterlot that seem to prosper are brothels and even that is up for debate.”

Rainbow’s mask cracked as she frowned, grumbling, “I’m not going to argue that Canterlot is the loveliest place, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t trying.”

“Maybe it’s because we’re no more than livestock to her.” I let out a bitter mocking chuckle. “And you, her loyal herding dog—her favourite pet.”

“Don’t forget to thank the Queen for the order to deliver you to her in one piece,” Rainbow muttered through her teeth. However, she continued in a much calmer tone, even too chill, “Regardless of if you think of yourself as Twilight or a fancy calculator, you should be good with numbers.” Not giving me a chance to respond, she said, “Almost every screw in Canterlot has been recycled at least once, yet there was never a shortage of gems. Where do they come from?”

“The Crystal Empire.” I rolled my eyes. “Is that your idea of maths?”

“I can relate to the temptation to be snarky, but do try to use your brain, please.”

Glaring daggers at her, I did think.

Every prosthetic, every device—seemingly everything—in Canterlot relied on crystals to operate. Even with the Crystal Empire being exceedingly rich with minerals, the city needed a renewable source to maintain the steady supply of non-recyclable commodities.

“Rock farms.”

“Smart you are, but we lost that knowledge after the war. I’ll give you a hint—only the Crown knows about the Crystal Caves.”

Rainbow regarded me with a somewhat rueful look as I wracked my mind, thinking of any other possible sources of a nearly infinite amount of gemstones.

Finally, I gave up. “Amuse me then, egghead.”

If her muzzle showed any emotions, amusement wasn’t one of them.

“There once was a stallion, a brilliant mind. He came up with a genius technology—microcrystal clusters. However, he offed himself a year later...” Rainbow’s face twitched, barely able to conceal something intense. “When a researcher from the TCE found out that the somatic cells of crystal ponies can serve as microcrystals.”

My hooves dug into the sand to prevent my fall as I abruptly stopped. Rainbow made two dozen steps ahead before I managed to yank myself out of the stupor and catch up with her.

My jaws moved as I couldn’t choose what to say to her.

“And you sit in your ivory tower, doing nothing!” I spat at her. “If Chrysalis cared about ponies, she’d have liberated the Crystal Empire. It’d have made her a damn hero!”

The visor of Rainbow’s helmet fogged as a deep tired sigh escaped her lips.

“It’s Queen Chrysalis, by the way. And liberate it with who? I and a bunch of bug-ponies in arcanium cans are all the army the Crown has.” She screwed her muzzle. “Not like a few hundred thousand soldiers really helped the last time.”

I jabbed Rainbow’s armoured shoulder, to her sheer vexation.

“Those cybersuits won the war.”

“Don’t flatter yours—” She cleared her throat. “As much as I admire Twilight’s accomplishments, they’d have been worth nothing without Trixie stabbing Sombra in the back.”

I gave her a long look, unable to decide how to feel towards her, the changeling queen or the whole horrible situation.

Ultimately, I settled on, “Something has to be done.”

“Listen, I’d be the first to lead the siege—I haven’t finished it. But all I can do is to help Queen Chrysalis to prevent the TCE from turning Canterlot into another slaughterhouse.” She quietly, yet resolutely vowed, “Whatever it takes.”

Rainbow’s expression remained absolute in its conviction as I warily watched her grimly trot forward.

“It’s a slippery ground you tread on,” I softly noted.

“You of all should know how it is to gallop on the knife’s edge.”

Perplexed, I stared after her.

Delight caught up with me, silently shuffling by my side, letting me ruminate on the heavy words Rainbow shared with me. However, for all the occasional and not exactly accidental touching of her shoulder against mine, she kept shooting me the briefest of glances, checking if my spell of broodiness had passed.

Eventually, tired of figuring out how to redistribute the weight of atrocities on the scales of morality betwixt ponies and changelings, not to mention the other thing Rainbow had brought up again, I scrounged for the vestiges of positivity.

“Is something up, Del?”

Despite her initial impatience, the pegasus suddenly baulked at my question, frowning in apparent regret.

“There is something—” She cut herself short, then tried again. “I overheard you…” Seeing my raised eyebrow, Del hurried to correct her wording, “I couldn’t help but overhear you and Miss Dash talking…”

As she trailed off, out of words again, I tensed up.

“Who are the changelings?” came an unexpected blow.

Looking in Delight’s eye I knew—she’d connected the dots. Though I never doubted her wits and she never hid her uncanny perception, that pegasus possessed more insight than she let be known. If anything, I suspected her asking me for confirmation rather than for missing pieces.

My eyes found Rainbow despondently marching to the sharp cliffs growing near in the waxing darkness. She shared her suit of armour with Chrysalis in a sense—the bug queen would hear anything I said.

Even that aside, I suddenly discovered myself struggling to come up with anything that didn’t vilify that race—that habit ran too deep in the inherited heart full of blistering enmity.

“They’re equine insect-like shapeshifters who utilise love for sustenance and… other purposes,” I lamely finished, unsure of changeling biology—I knew very little about them, save for their misdeeds and… deeds.

Delight didn’t say anything, but whilst I kept staring straight ahead, her mismatched gaze bored into me with formidable intensity.

I relented, “The last time I encountered them, their ‘mother’, Queen Chrysalis, killed my mentor Princess Celestia. And as far as I know, she murdered at least one of my friends to infiltrate the Equestrian government under her guise.”

I mentally patted myself on my back for not snarling out that addendum.

“And I’ve been supporting them for all these years…” Delight’s hollow whisper barely rose above the whistle of the dry wind.

“You couldn’t have known,” I assured her. “And I’m unsure what to think of them anymore. If you didn’t catch that part—they keep Canterlot safe to some extent.”

By the time night’s veil descended upon the desert, the doubts about us being able to reach our destination began to creep into my mind.

The memory of Dodge City seemed to breathe at our backs with the malignant cold of cosmos; the apathetically twinkling stars observed our excruciating drudging across the last stretch betwixt us and the hungry gap in the mountain range that cut off the haunted desolation of the Badlands from the sands, cruel, yet welcoming in comparison.

Delight’s gait hadn’t lost its poise, but I began to get the distinct impression that with the next step, no matter how steady, she might fall and not rise; her wings drooped and were leaving two faint lines upon the dust. And that was even with two spells wrapped around Flower—weight alleviation and a vitals check; the latter suggesting no sunrise for the fading filly.

Wire rested on my back, twitching and whimpering in slumber, troubled by the pain from the festering eye wound. That concerned me as much as her instant compliance to my offer—an order, really—when she started to stumble and fall to her knees.

The precipitous mountains of the passage loomed above, but not as sentinels—a warning. If Flower hadn’t been dying, I would have turned back right then and there, or at least waited until the morning.

A sharp gasp cut the ominous silence.

“She knows!” Trixie stuttered.

When I caught up with her, I felt it—my hoof struck an invisible violin chord and its lament echoed across the forlornness of the valley.

The Moon and stars bathed the dead stone with cold silver light, denying the night’s tenebrous reign. Except for a single patch of pure blackness that rolled upon the ground like spilt ink, an ebony lighting intent on striking us.

Not giving my action a second thought, I pivoted only to find the passage betwixt the crags gone. My hoof struck it in disbelief and a solid mass of rock met metal.

Whipping back, I gazed into the abyss of the pitch-black tide.

Wire, disturbed by my sudden ministrations, slid from my back and tried to retreat, her eye wide; Delight had her rump pressing into the wall and her wings weakly outstretched in futile instinct; Rainbow took to the air, her cannons coming to life with a sinister hum; Trixie stood paralysed and oblivious to the mad thrashing of her stolen shadow as it tried to escape her body.

Like it happened in another life, in the land of eternal snow, the sea of darkness consumed everything in sight, offering only oblivion.

Amidst that blankness, a pair of narrow menacing eyes opened.

They belonged not to a pony, nor any living being. The night itself gazed at us, empty and dead, shining forth with the merciless hollow light of distant stars and an orphaned moon.

And that stare of void incarnate focused on me.

The stars returned, flaring one after another, in pairs—eyes, dozens of lifeless eyes. Enough to form a platoon of soldiers, I realised.

The darkness shifted—inside the silver pools of the night’s eyes a blemish appeared, the shadows leaked into it, and two vertical streaks of obsidian cut the unblinking gaze of death, becoming irises and expanding.

A barely recognisable voice, hollow and painfully loud boomed, surprised and displeased, splitting the air like a whip:

“Twilight Sparkle. What are you doing here?”

When Nightmare Moon came to being, she was an eclipse of the mind—reins of sanity lost to sorrow and rage given form. This… thing here spoke with terrifying lucidity; but how much of the Princess Luna that I knew of was left in it?

Her attention slid over the others, vertical pupils narrowing at Trixie; Delight fainted and I barely managed to catch her limp form and Flower; Wire met the penetrating regard defiantly, yet unable to stop her shaking.

“Rainbow Dash,” the voice said, puzzled; that tone quickly changed into annoyed urgency. “I presume the war is over. If that is all you wanted to tell me, then I must return to my search immediately, Equestria is still in peril.”

She didn’t know.

And we gave her no clue. Enchantments preserved Rainbow in her youth and my magical signature belonged to a mare who lived five centuries ago.

“P-princess Luna?” I called, dreading she answered that name no more.

“Yes, Twilight Sparkle,” she responded immediately, impatient, “what is it?”

I couldn’t meet her eyes and not because they reminded me of those that bored into me at the refracted ruins of Dodge City.

“It’s been more than five hundred years since your last visit to Canterlot.”

The pregnant pause seemed to last forever.

“Nonsense,” the vestige of Luna scoffed.

Yet as Rainbow, bearing a concerned expression, uneasily landed to stand by my side and we both answered her indignation with a sombre silence, the abyss wavered. In an eerie hurricane, the darkness dissipated.

A deep blue, almost black, lustreless coat clung, taut, to the alicorn’ skeleton. Armour of the blackest metal hung on her gaunt body like on a rack; on her side—a tarnished scabbard. Her mane, sheer, even more so against the marcid frame, billowed for lengths; a churning ink with muzzle outlines peeking out of it, glowing empty eyes glaring at us.

Neither Princess Luna nor Nightmare Moon—a living corpse of an alicorn—pointed her sharp horn at the sky and the ebony bone flared with a blinding shine that tore into the night until it reached the Moon itself.

The grotesque features of emaciated muzzle twitched and the grim restless determination rapidly melted into utter confusion and then—deep dismay. As suddenly as it came, the light died out and the alicorn became an unevenly breathing statue staring at the twinkling stars.

I took a step forward and her eyes with slitted irises so wide she almost looked like a pony saw me for what I was—an animated mechanical equine. And as I met that astonished look, I finally caught the glimpse of Luna in it, returning to that body in a frantic panic.

“I… failed…” she choked out. “I failed everypony…”

Doing my best to ignore the battle in my head—betwixt desire to comfort her and tell her in the detail what her deranged hunt had cost everypony—I gently floated Flower in front of shuddering Luna.

“We need your help—she needs your help.”

The alicorn’s attention went past the barely alive pony, sinister eyes helplessly twitching in the deep and dark eye sockets, trying to focus on reality and not quite succeeding. Finally, they caught sight of the pale and limp filly; in jerky, unsure motions, she came closer on stiff hooves that had forgotten how to move. I almost dropped Flower when Luna’s magic aura touched mine—horribly cold, hopefully only in the arcane sense.

Seemingly puzzled more by the intricate prosthetic than the overall condition, she asked, “What is wrong with her?”

Ignoring Luna’s lack of perception, I tried to explain, “She was attacked by… something. An abomination of arcanium and flesh from… somewhere else.”

Luna gave me a long look that unnerved me with its understanding, then her attention returned to the filly. A soft glow enveloped both her horn and Flower; the world lurched around me for the blink of an eye.

“Her entity, magic and physical body are properly connected to the Harmony now, but she needs rest for them to sing in unison again,” Luna said, carefully lowering Flower into the nest of rags on the ground. Her voice had lost its imperious quality, coming out quick and quiet, almost unintelligible, like she was talking to herself.

The majestic horn lit up again, and a wisp of soft light materialised above the filly, bathing her in the silvery light, pale yet radiating warmth.

She then commented, “I can tell the rest of your company needs my grace as well.”

Still struggling with control of her limbs, the midnight alicorn approached Wire who tried to revive the unconscious pegasus and her magic spread across the ravaged mare’s body. Delight came to life with a rasping gasp, her eyelids fluttering like a caught butterfly’s wings.

The moment Del regained her senses, she shrieked, backpedalling from Luna, slamming her back into the stone wall, hyperventilating.

My hooves embraced the pegasus, mostly to stop her from thrashing around rather than to placate, and I muttered in her ear, “She’s here to help.”

Though Delight stopped fighting me, she kept shaking, her round eyes locked on Luna; I watched her as well—the alicorn cringed away in shame and seemed to realise only now how disturbingly she looked; not to mention that her initial reaction was to thicken the darkness around herself and let her mane swell menacingly with shades.

When Luna turned to Wire, I opened my mouth to warn her about the nature of the filly’s wound, but the little unicorn beat me to it.

“I don’t need your help,” she all but hissed in disdain, taking a step back.

“Is it our appearance that scares you so, child?” Luna seemed to try and reduce the size of her mane, but failed miserably.

Did she slip into her old habit or did she mean her pronoun?

Still, she leaned over Wire, smiling fakely and hastily speaking, pleading, “Fear not, for—”

“You’ve been here all this time,” Wire said in a low shaking voice; a tear rolled from her eye. “When they blinded my mother. When they killed my father. When my brother was dying in my hooves.

“I was told that you were a goddess, a hero. But all I can see is just another monster.”

Wire’s words might as well have been slaps across the alicorn’s muzzle—Luna quivered, looking ready to collapse. For a moment an expression of pure rage overtook her ghastly features, but it dissipated as suddenly as it came, breaking down into a grimace of pain. Awkwardly failing to not choke with a sniffle, she pivoted and briskly trotted away, stumbling.

For a moment I thought of reprimanding Wire, but the filly couldn’t be blamed for anything but being awfully blunt. Not that I had a chance to even look at her—an insistent hoof violently yanked me away.

Rainbow dragged me across the stone with such intensity that sparks showered from where my metal body dug into the rock. Only at a considerable distance from the girls and even more from Luna, did I manage to wrest myself out of her vice-like grip and whip to face her.

“What are you do—”

In one disturbingly fast motion, Rainbow stuck her hoof in my mouth.

“Keep. Your. Voice. Down,” she hissed at me.

I slapped her limb out of my jaws and angrily whispered, “What is this all about?”

Despite her ‘enthusiasm’, Rainbow suddenly fell silent and I couldn’t help but be bothered by the sudden richness of emotions battling for dominance in her expression—clear fear one of them, second only to turmoil.

“We have to do something about her,” she finally said, almost as if for herself.

I nodded, “We need to tell her everything.”

“No!”

“Are we going to pretend nothing is wrong and take her to the Sky Palace?”

Rainbow’s barely regained composure became undone in an instant as she glowered at me.

“Of course not. But we need to be very careful—can you guarantee that Luna won’t snap, leave us here to die and go straight to Canterlot to..?” she trailed off, warily glancing at the alicorn.

“Maybe it’d be for the best? You can’t hide it, Rainbow—you hate her as much as I do, if not more.”

At any other time, it would have been quite amusing to witness Rainbow’s eyes bulge out in sheer disbelief.

“Without her, the Crown is going to cease to be and do I need to tell you again what would happen?” she spat. “We didn’t come here for Luna to let her fuck up everything!”

“Then why are we here?”

“I don’t know!” Rainbow’s voice broke. “Even now I get no transmissions, I’ve gotten no orders for the entire mission.”

I pressed my lips together.

“Luna is going to learn everything one way or another. If you’re worried about the status quo so much, you should tell her.”

Rainbow hesitated, grimacing in wrath, though it didn’t seem to be directed at me.

“You’ll do it.”

The question died on my lips as I figured out the answer myself, my muzzle scrunching in distaste.

“Because I’m an expandable machine, isn’t it?”

To her credit, a glimpse of shame appeared in her rosy eyes. However, her expression managed to turn into the trademark mask of grim determination.

“No, you just said why I can’t do it.” She paused, letting her words sink in. “And because you’re not Twilight Sparkle.”

I glared daggers at her, ready to return to that topic, but she shut my protest down with a suddenly haunted look.

“Listen, I don’t know what to call you but I know you should be able to see things for what they are and understand that if she becomes a threat, I will have to kill her.”

Author's Note

Special thanks to Jay Tarrant.

I hope you've enjoyed reading this story so far.

If you notice any mistakes sneaked in through the editing, let me know.

Stay awesome.

Chapter 16 – Trial

Aftersound

==============================

Written by: Oneimare & Geka

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant, IAmApe, DuvetofReason

==============================

Trial

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Rainbow retreated, darting into the air to deny me any chance to react to her ultimatum with anything but an astonished look. My eyes tried to find her in the night, but she managed to dissolve into the shadows without a trace; not that my magic wouldn’t slip off her enchanted armour anyway.

However, as I sat in the darkness and the initial bewilderment abated, something remained in my mind—not Rainbow’s terrible words, but her eyes. After hundreds of years of reluctant peace and faithful servitude she was cast into the dark of the unknown; left to her own judgement, and suddenly finding herself unable to do so.

Queen Chrysalis could be called many names, few of them flattering, but one thing about her couldn’t be denied—she was a brilliant strategist who knew how to fully utilise her resources. Whilst her shapeshifting power had no match, her deception relied on a much more subtle skill—manipulation; and her ability to read ponies would make a foal of Delight.

From the moment I had the stupidity to set my hoof into the Royal Archives and introduce myself to Thirteen, my piece had taken a place on her board and I had become a part of her complicated mind game.

Five hundred years ago, her goal was clear as the day, but this time I couldn’t even tell what side she was on. What side I was on.

And I had to try to end this match in a draw, with no pieces removed from the board.

Luna’s hunched figure lit up the barren stone with the arcane heartbeat of her horn; translucent threads shimmering around it faded into the nothingness, connecting the Guardian to her Dream Realm.

In that game of chess, she was a wild card. The death of her sister had left a wound much deeper than the once half-imagined betrayal. Not only might it not heal at all this time, such a trauma required not a blast of the rainbow, but years of therapy.

I had but a few hours to figure out how to defuse that ticking bomb.

As if to remind me of that, the magic on the tip of her long horn winked out only to flare with another kind of power—that which moved celestial bodies. The Moon dipped over the horizon and it blushed with the salmon of the Sun’s looming advent.

Knowing that no amount of time was going to grant me an insight into her sanity, I reluctantly drew closer to Luna until, suppressing a sigh, I lowered myself onto the ground beside her.

All of a sudden, she spoke:

“I visited the dreams of your peers.” The predatory eyes squinted at me and I failed to say if they bore suspicion or just curiosity. “It would have been more productive to invite you into my realm, but you seem unable to find peace tonight.”

As I hesitated to comment, the alicorn had lost interest in me, staring into the distance with a grimace and quietly continued, “I’m able to see through nightmares, but witnessing what Canterlot has become has made me doubt my ability.

“I am familiar with the change, I am familiar with being unfamiliar.” Luna mirthlessly chuckled, but the moment of melancholic levity didn’t last. “When I first stepped onto these lifeless rocks, I had yet to learn all the intricacies of the world that had become novel in my prolonged absence. This time, ponydom has taken an even greater leap, though I left it for a spell twice as short.”

“Fall.”

Luna shot me a look both confused and somewhat annoyed.

“Forgive me?”

I met her fearsome eyes unwaveringly, little different from the defiance Wire showed her hours ago.

“Equestria fell lower than any nightmares you’ve ever seen might have suggested.”

This time she glared at the horizon.

“Rainbow Dash’s nightmares offered me a new perspective on that. That, and you both vastly underestimated my ears.”

I froze to my place, afraid to even glance at Luna, but my rigidness gave her a sufficient clue on what I was thinking. Though, in all honesty, my mind was just running wild with panic.

“Fret not,” the alicorn indignantly huffed. “The Crown are neither benevolent rulers nor malevolent ones and it would be quite unwise to bring more calamity and chaos to the city than it already suffers.”

The infamously mercurial demi-goddess bore a much more reserved expression than I expected, yet her clenched jaws and rapid blinks indicated that she didn’t appreciate Rainbow’s insinuations nor my heeding of them.

The silence dragged on and it became apparent that the fuming alicorn was waiting for me to say something; in my defence, perhaps.

“What are you going to do, Princess?”

Frowning, Luna grumbled, “I thought we agreed a long time ago that you don’t have to address me like that.” Letting out a sigh, she added, “Nor do I think I have any right to be called a Princess anytime soon, not after I abandoned my country for so long. If I want to prove that the lives of ponies still matter to me, I will surrender to Queen Chrysalis.”

“What if she decides to kill you?”

“I would be already dead, wouldn’t I?” She smiled wryly, but her humourless eyes found something—someone—else in the shadows fleeing sunrise. “I might have allowed myself to lose my sight, but I can see where fighting Chrysalis has brought me.”

A relieved sigh almost escape my metal thorax, but its fan stopped dead when she added in an icy tone:

“But that doesn’t mean my sister’s death is forgotten. Justice will be served.”

I half expected Rainbow’s shoulder cannons to tear into the midnight alicorn, but the morning remained peaceful, save for the vengeance burning in Luna’s eyes. Soon, even that faded from her gaze as she studied me with unbridled curiosity.

“How did you become a spirit bound to that, eh, impractical set of armour?”

I stared at her, perplexed by the sudden change in her mood, but Luna either ignored my intense look or was really enchanted by my body. Either way, something told me pressing that issue would do no good; however, I discovered myself struggling to explain my situation to someone who had no idea what a memory anchor meant.

“There are many others like you,” Luna muttered, “according to your companions’ dreams.”

Her absent-minded comment rubbed me the wrong way, though I managed to hide it from my voice when I clarified, “Their memories are artificial, while I have Twilight’s.”

Luna, her eyes still fastened on me with an unsettling intensity, silently contemplated the concept.

“Most curious—I’ve never heard of anything like that. But of course, I don’t claim to be omniscient in the matters of magic,” she finally said and thankfully stopped staring at me. “And those artificial memories? I wonder what their dreams would appear to be.”

Once again she denied me solace.

“Speaking of your fascinating entourage… One of them uses a very peculiar kind of magic. Familiar, I would say.”

The warlock, already rendered taciturn by our confrontations, seemed to have withdrawn even further, yet she hadn’t left, keeping to the shadows of the cliffs, blending into them. I expected nothing… positive of a reunion with Luna, but Trixie still carried naivete in her.

“You should thank Trixie—she was the one who prompted us to come to you. I believe she might have been seeking your… judgement.”

The alicorn gave me an inscrutable look and fell silent for a while. When she spoke again, her tone bore a certain nostalgia to it.

“I remember Sombra when he was but a wandering scholar. He came to me a decade after Starswirl’s disappearance, seeking what many others craved—to either repeat the Archmage’s feats of discovery or go further and find loopholes in Harmony.

“His wish to learn the art of dream-walking made me laugh as my cutie mark limited it solely to me. Still, his insistence refused to wane and I amused myself with tutoring him with the theory.

“He ended up teaching me. His advice gave me an insight into how to reach places beyond visible realities, how to find cracks that led… far away…”

She awkwardly trailed off as my eyes burned into her. The notes of pride in her voice infuriated me as much as her admission of sharing knowledge with the stallion that had contributed to Equestria’s downfall.

“What are you going to do about her?” I asked coolly, caring more about Luna’s decision-making much more than what it would entail for Trixie.

“The point of punishment is not to make a nocent suffer, but to make them understand that they were wrong. And her dreams tell me I could learn from her how to truly regret learning what I shouldn’t have.”

The first ray of the Sun blazed across the grey valley and eyelids squeezed in defiance. Still, the deed was accomplished and the girls’ began to shake off the chains of slumber.

Unfortunately, a few hours of sleep on the hard rock barely changed anything and the infected wounds undid the clemency brought by the respite.

At least one filly seemed to actually benefit from it.

By the time I approached Flower, she had been already chatting hoarsely with Wire, groggily blinking the dregs of sleep away.

“How do you feel?” I asked her.

She whipped herself around and winced as her body protested a motion too sudden. Yet the filly’s face melted into a smile.

Sensing Delight’s gaze I consciously mirrored the grin.

“As though I could kill for a TCE ration,” she grumbled, trying to see over my shoulder. “I should thank the Princess for that, shouldn’t I?”

Wire wrinkled her nose, but my attention was on Rainbow and Trixie heading to our little group.

“Can’t see why not,” I absentmindedly commented, then raised my voice. “Though you don’t have to call her Princess—she doesn’t like that.”

Rainbow momentarily met my eyes, but her expression betrayed nothing; not that I expected my hint of Luna’s abdication of the throne to be news to her. I might have made a mistake of thinking the alicorn that had attuned herself to hunting lacked in the hearing department, but I wasn’t going to assume the same about the armour forged by spies.

Delight shot me a brief concerned glance. Either she had indulged in eavesdropping again or was reminding me of my and Flower’s unresolved problem.

“So, when are we heading back?” Wire asked impatiently, oblivious to the silent tense exchange.

“The convoy is going to be here by sunset,” Rainbow announced. As I gave her a questioning look, she lied, “There’ve been unexpected delays.”

Almost sending me jumping, Luna retorted right from behind me:

“We can’t wait so long, the young one here needs immediate help!”

The wild card had been played.

Wire bristled, but again, I watched Rainbow—a muscle twitched on her muzzle. Delight squirmed uneasily, her eye, half-hidden by her ruffled mane, searching for the best escape routes. Trixie’s shadowy face offered nothing, though Luna’s words alluded to another pact made in the realm of dreams.

“What is your suggestion, then?” Rainbow said in a perfectly neutral tone.

“I can teleport us”—she almost imperceptibly stammered on ‘us’—”in a series of short jumps.”

After a few moments of carefully impassionate consideration, Rainbow amiably conceded, “Fine.”

The alicorn’s preternatural hearing allowed no private discussion, but it was apparent without saying it out loud—we needed more time to understand if Luna’s mental state could be trusted and she had just denied us that, perhaps, intentionally.

Luna broke into a measured trot and the stone of the crags shifted, opening the path out of the Badlands. However, the long alicorn legs resulted in her waiting for us before the sandy expanse, surveying the horizon, her huge mane whipping in the wind like an ominous banner.

She turned to meet us, spreading her tattered wings of ruffled, uneven and unpreened feathers (at least they lacked membranes), motioning, “Come closer, my little ponies.”

My muzzle screwed—only her sister could pull that vocative off.

Her horn flashed and the world plunged into darkness.

And from that void, eyes full of malevolence gazed at me.

The moment lasting both the blink of an eye and an eternity finally ceased and the sound of retching met my ears.

Flower was attempting to empty her stomach as she leaned on me. Beside her, Wire heaved but seemed to have bested her digestive system. Judging by Del’s face coloured with a distinct hue, she hadn’t been spared either.

Save for Trixie busy battling her shadow, the girls didn’t seem to notice where or, rather, to what Luna’s magic had briefly brought us.

Rainbow dared to give me a concerned look.

“That wasn’t a teleportation spell,” I deadpanned, trying not to glower at the towering alicorn.

“I learned it from the night,” Luna answered, unperturbed. “It is safe, I assure you.”

She flared her wings up, inviting everyone into their dark shadow.

I clenched my jaws and squeezed my eyes shut, even knowing nothing would hide me from the penetrating hatred.

We materialised on the rim of a dry crumbled stone bowl of enormous proportions exposing the ulcerous womb of the abandoned quarry to the sky. Yet it belonged not to the Edge.

Across the vast sinkhole, Dodge City perched itself, appearing insidiously normal. Then the boiling mirage above it cracked, revealing the domain of madness we’d escaped by the skin of our teeth.

Luna regarded the Junction with more curiosity than concern, admiration even, and in the corner of my eye, I caught Rainbow shaking her head, eyes wide.

I wished my body could emulate gulping.

The next jump showed more mercy to the girls’ vestibular organs, but that let them finally realise that each time we came into contact with something. They kept exchanging looks, but Del shushed the fillies as they tried to speak up on that.

Small metal debris, twisted and singed, littered the patch of rocky ground we’d appeared on. Caked blood darkened by a sooty shell crater. Feathers stuck to that black stain quivered in the breeze.

The bodies, both flesh and arcanium, were gone.

The alicorn let her thoughtful eyes linger on the scene only for the most fleeting of the moments before a pair of great feathery appendages eclipsed the Sun.

Wilted grass futilely tried to tickle my hooves.

We needed to endure only a few more dives into the nightmare that had returned to the demi-goddess’ side, if it had ever truly left.

However, Luna hesitated to raise the standards of the night again.

“I can see a bridge in the distance—I’m not sure I can warp beyond it. Is it safe to approach?”

“No,” Rainbow and I answered in unison.

That earned us a somewhat amused expression from our ferrypony and her wings opened.

The moment the abyss let us out, Rainbow walked away, her weaponry coming to life with its trademark sinister hum.

I dashed after her.

“What are you planning?”

She answered me with a long worried look that turned blank when it shifted behind me.

“What is this all about?” Luna demanded, once again successfully sneaking upon me.

Rainbow turned around, her guns as if accidentally pointing at the alicorn, fear lurking beneath the pegasus’ mask.

Each of us was a wild card in Chrysalis’ eyes.

“The ponies on that bridge illegally settled on it. They knowingly provided false information, resulting in government representatives and our entire operation being put at risk. There’s a high possibility they then disclosed said operation to terrorists, resulting in an armed assault,” Rainbow barked each sentence harshly. “That’s treason and attempted murder followed by multiple minor offences. Their sentence is death.”

“What!?” Luna exploded, her mane expanding with ghastly outlines. “There are dozens of ponies in that village! Possibly children.”

Those ponies were already dead—the gryphons would make sure the betrayal hadn’t gone unnoticed. And as much as I hated it, I couldn’t find it in myself to stop Rainbow from where she was going—we couldn’t risk letting the parasite clinging to Luna back to Equestria if it had any control over her.

The alicorn in question continued to rage, hissing, “You pass sentence upon citizens—”

“They aren’t.”

“Even if they are not, who are you to cast a verdict?”

Luna knew Rainbow was considering executing her, she was aware of why I came to speak with her because of that. But did she realise this right now was nothing but a spectacle with the strings going all the way to Cantrlot, connected to the holey hooves?

“I’m the captain of the Royal Guard, the second in command officer in Equestria, responsible for its security and peace.”

Luna wrinkled her nose in a momentary hesitation and quickly came up with a counterargument, “You have the authority to dispense judgment only during wartime, then. Those ponies deserve a civilian trial.”

This was going nowhere.

“Luna, you promised to surrender to the Queen,” I firmly interrupted them.

She squinted at me, though her malicious expression had no surprise to it.

“So, you have teamed up against me in favour of that murderer,” Luna hissed.

Many different words danced on the tip of my tongue, eager to sting her for her abandonment, for her pact with terrible forces, for her involvement in setting up a tragedy for Equestria long before it caught up with us.

Yet, I managed to not only banish venom from my voice but inject some softness to it. “You’re one step away into the darkness from becoming much worse. We don’t have the Elements anymore, nobody could save you. Please, let it go.”

Luna’s lips curled up, revealing a maw of razor-sharp fangs.

“You are not Twilight Sparkle.”

Hearing it from Luna hurt much more than from anyone else.

It took a lot from me to meet her gaze, to stand the eyes behind her eyes, glaring at me through those obsidian slits into an abyss.

“But are you Luna?”

The question affected her much more strongly than I expected—perhaps, the intonation of my voice, sad, rather than angry, was to… thank.

Luna physically recoiled, glancing betwixt Rainbow and I with a lost expression; her astonished look went over her physique as if she had already forgotten how nightmarishly she appeared. Moisture began to glimmer in the corner of her eyes.

Long tense moments passed as an internal fight went on.

Finally, the raging storm of her mane subdued and she uttered, her voice trembling:

“Fine then.” Luna then took a shuddering breath and added, almost mockingly, “do as you deem right, Captain Dash.”

Except, Rainbow didn’t move—I suspected she’d never planned to, didn’t think it would work out.

Yet, the bridge bloomed with fiery blossoms of death. Out of the swelling clouds of smoke, gryphons burst out, the pink splotches standing out against the grey of ash and metal. The terrorists seemed to pay us no attention or decided against attacking the Royal Guard even if they didn’t realise they also beheld a demi-goddess.

She took a step away from us, staring in disbelief at the display of senseless destruction.

I glanced at Rainbow, her expression no different.

“I don’t believe in coincidence,” I quietly noted; we could freely speak around Luna now, but I didn’t want to include her in that conversation.

“Me neither.” Rainbow scrunched her muzzle and muttered, “Someone must have arranged for that to happen at a very precise time.”

“In the end, how is that better than what the TCE does?”

The pegasus opened her mouth, but as her mind went over every argument she could throw at me, her jaws worked silently until they snapped and she grimaced as if in severe pain. Rainbow squeezed her eyes shut and uttered:

“Because it’s not over yet.”

Despite Luna seething with wrath, she refused to indulge it, no matter how much it would have been justified this time. I harboured little sympathy towards the ponies who had tried to kill us twice, but they deserved better than merciless bombing.

The girls huddled away from us, at a considerable distance; the fillies hid under Delight’s wings. Trixie was stuck halfway betwixt me and them, torn by indecision—common sense won over whatever dreams she believed in; that or the first-hoof understanding of what we had been dealing with brought some clarity to her.

The alicorn lifelessly spread her wings, as if reluctant herself to be the first to delve into the darkness betwixt the stars. Everypony shuffled under her shadow, their heads low. Luna gave the smouldering bridge one final glance.

A gust blasted drizzle into my face, one of many winds running wild and free on top of the Rambling Rock Ridge. No matter how hard the rain tried to plaster manes to the girls’ slumped figures, it failed to wash away the smiles that appeared upon seeing the familiar scenery; the fact that the next jump would be the last also contributed to that.

Luna observed the view of the decaying city with a strange mix of emotions—dismay and guilt. Finally, her eyes locked on the spire of the Sky Palace and a grim resolved sadness became her expression.

However, when her wings shot up with a blast of water shaken from the black feathers, Rainbow spoke up:

“The Sky Palace’s protection prevents any teleportation within its limits.” Her hoof pointed at the city. “Kashmare Industries is the Crown’s allies. They won’t mind too much if we drop on the top of their building.”

Following her armoured limb, I found a neon sign with a heavily stylised goat and a ball of yarn.

Luna nodded and her horn turned the droplets of water into stars that became eyes I would hopefully see never again.

Neon replaced the cold hatred of the otherworldly gaze, and small crystals on the corners of the concrete octagon air-stop lethargically blinked, acknowledging our arrival. Below us, the streets of the Inner City teemed with life. Above us flying carriages hummed, dashing back and forth.

I coughed to bring the attention of the girls, who couldn’t tear their gazes from the brilliance of Canterlot’s rotten heart. Even Luna looked around in admiration, captivated by the display of exquisite architecture and shining colours.

The door betwixt the rasping vents opened into a stairswell that led us into a perfectly maintained corridor of white marble. Unceremoniously leaving dirty hoofprints on the polished floor, we trotted to the elevator.

The mirror-covered walls created a false impression of space that resulted in us making a few tries before we managed to find the cabin.

Delight ended up tightly pressed into Luna’s side, which was driving her to the edge of hysterics. Wire suggested Flower shove her metal hoof up her ass if she didn’t know where to put it, much to the alicorn’s consternation. Trixie had to leave the elevator altogether as her hooves threatened to eat through the floor. Rainbow’s armour kept scraping paint off my body.

When the uncomfortably long ride finally concluded, we spilt into a spacious foyer. Ponies in suits froze midway and workers in front of and behind the counters stared. Silence, save for the din of the street coming through the opened doors and a melodic yet mechanical voice unrelentingly making announcements, took reign over the luxurious vestibule.

“Move along, citizens!” Rainbow boomed menacingly and the entrance hall instantly resumed its commotion almost as if we’d stopped existing.

No rust or grime marred the pristine, clean and beautiful avenues of the Inner City. The ponies for once resembled the dwellers of a future city instead of thugs and vagrants. Even the rare equinoids that obediently followed their masters seemed to have rolled off the production line five minutes ago.

Ablaze with cyan and pink neon, gleaming towers of business centres rose into the sky like a forest of massive glass trees. Entrances, topped with sophisticated names of companies housed inside, bustled with a flow of ponies constantly walking in and out.

As much as we admired our surroundings—the girls gaped at the forbidden paradise without any shame—we got noticed as well.

Some fled from the Royal Guard’s march, but most resorted to commenting from a distance and soon the last stretch betwixt the Kashmere’s headquarters and the Sky Palace turned into a parade.

They called me a heap of scrap, Delight—a whore. The fillies, especially Wire, stared at the pavement with glistening eyes as ponies cried for janitors to throw out ‘the Edge filth’. And Luna struggled to maintain a stoic expression as she was dubbed an ugly mutant, a monster.

Finally, we reached the Swarm’s dwelling—as thick as some buildings, the pressure-tight door had already waited for us, open wide enough to let us in, but not a hair more. Luna even had to bow so her horn wouldn’t scrape the lengths of concrete and steel.

Neither the queen nor an army of changelings met us, a passageway, identical to that of the first level of the Tunnels stretched into the depths of the Sky Palace, empty. At least it lacked the underground’s smell and even had almost no litter, save for lonely piles of dust trying to hide in the corners.

The elevator at the end of that tunnel thankfully was of a cargo type and had a thoughtfully placed plate of arcanium for Trixie to stand on; she rejoined us only at the entrance. However, it didn’t carry us to the top of the spire—we exited into another corridor, a sort of maintenance passage with pipes sticking out of the walls.

Rainbow confidently navigated the passages, guiding us through a series of cramped passes and steep stairs until white plastic started to replace unplastered concrete. Eventually, we came to another elevator with a round cage and glass taking up half of its back wall.

My eyes went wide upon witnessing a massive expanse beyond it—the Sky Palace was hollow inside! A few skyscrapers could fit into the wide shaft.

And then I saw them.

Changelings both leisurely and hurriedly walked around the numerous levels. They talked, they laughed; one of them waved their hoof to us.

Luna had her eyes transfixed on them and I realised that the elevator stood still—Rainbow was watching the alicorn with an expression just as tense, mirroring my concerns.

She let out a defeated sigh and averted her eyes.

The elevator jerked under our weight and began its ascent to the top floor.

A corridor, no different from any other we had traversed already, opened before us, ending in a set of double doors. Only filigree doorknobs stood out on the perfect alabaster surface, subtly hinting at who was waiting for us on the other side.

Whilst my purple aura took hold of one of them, Luna’s cyan grasped another.

We pulled at the same time.

Sunlight blinded me, pouring through the tall windows taking up the walls of the chamber. The spots in my eyes began to form into black silhouettes.

A cutout of a large seat. Above its back—the dark shadow of a jagged spike, a holed twisted horn. Tattered translucent wings refracted the light on the sides of the seat.

A mirthful and unexpectedly hoarse, yet still horrifyingly recognisable voice came from the throne.

“Welcome back.”

Author's Note

Special thanks to Jay Tarrant.

I hope you've enjoyed reading this story so far.

If you notice any mistakes sneaked in through the editing, let me know.

Stay awesome.

Chapter 17 – Mother

Aftersound

==============================

Written by: Oneimare & Geka

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant, IAmApe, DuvetofReason

==============================

Mother

==============================

The broad windows darkened, revealing the room as a spacious balcony with sparse furniture—chairs, cushions and mats; all empty save for the large easy chair on the slightly elevated platform.

Years upon years had bleached Queen Chrysalis’ carapace to bone-white and in addition to that change, a webwork of tiny metal stitches covered countless hairline fractures, holding her chitinous skin together. Her mane hadn’t escaped discolouration either—not into the silver of an elder but a faded hue of its original seaweed colour. Nor did it hang loose anymore, made into an elaborate headdress of braids. Only the queen’s eyes refused to subdue to the onslaught of time—venomous green, they slyly twinkled behind a pair of dainty glasses.

Atop her natural exoskeleton, a delicate golden filigree framework of artificial joints rested like a full-body set of intricate jewellery, softly glowing crystals embedded into it casting pale rose shadows on her alabaster body. Strangely enough, Chrysalis’ head wore no crown; only a cherry-red comforter on her shoulders, embroidered with… pink hearts.

Trixie’s voice suddenly came from my side.

“Sunset? Sunset Shimmer?” she called. “You’ve survived?”

“As have you,” a figure by the changeling’s side replied with a cryptic smile.

My gaze shifted to the mysterious equinoid—a mare with a frame of an unremarkable design. Her mane copied that of Trixie, a projection resembling flames—a red mass with streaks of yellow hugging a horn. Her paint matched those bright colours with a fiery orange. She might have belonged to a construction site if not for the energy bubbling in the gaps of her plating—dark shapes with cyan edges pulsed inside the body of a Former One.

Surprisingly, it was not only Trixie who seemed to recognise Sunset—Luna stared at her as well, with wide eyes full of pain. To my further confusion, the Former One met that look with a glare of disdain.

Chrysalis cleared her throat to disrupt the staring contest, but her lungs refused to cooperate and she had to fight an overwhelming coughing fit. Sunset levitated a glass of water from behind the chair but the queen waved it off.

Finally, she regained the ability to speak.

“I’m sure you have many questions to ask,” Chrysalis said in an only slightly raspy voice, looking directly at me, then addressing the others, too, continued, “and while I’d very much like to entertain you with my company I’m afraid there are pressing issues at hoof calling my attention right now.

“Each one of you will be treated as the dear guests you are, provided with a room… and more.” Flashing a toothy grin, she practically purred, “Geode Gleam.”

Barely holding herself upright, Wire still scowled at the ruler of Canterlot.

A gilded hoof pointed at the doors at the opposite half of the room, a set mirroring those we entered, and they opened, revealing a duo of changelings flanking two ponies.

The two mares shared their constitution and appearance, though one was older than the other. The younger one anxiously shifted her prosthetic hind legs, whilst her companion’s head swivelled, sightless gaze futilely looking for something.

Wire let out a strangled cry before instantly bolting to them—Hollow Druse and Roche Dust, I realised. However, her joy might prove premature; I took a step forward, preparing to drag Wire back with my magic, but an arcanium-clad hoof stopped me, clicking softly against my breastplate.

“They’re real,” Rainbow whispered.

The changeling queen diverted my attention back to her, as she struggled to speak over the frantic sobs of the happy filly and her family.

“Clandestine Delight.”

My pegasus friend instantly froze, one uncareful word away from fainting.

“Moths are heroes to my Swarm. Thank you for saving my children.”

Chrysalis climbed out of her seat and deeply bowed, much to Delight’s fluster. Wincing, she returned to her seat and addressed the next pony, “Trixie Lulamoon, your services to the Crown and city haven’t been forgotten.”

A schematic, slightly tattered and singed at the edges floated out from behind the great chair, held by the crimson glow of Sunset’s magic, black and cyan appearing along the edges.

“We recovered and repaired your mechanical body,” the Former One commented.

“Tin Flower,” Chrysalis declared, making the filly nervously look at her. The elder changeling let out a short laugh, giving me a brief smug sidelong glance. “A friend of my friend is my friend as well.”

Squinting at her, I remained silent and ignored Flower’s confused look.

“Luna…” Chrysalis smiled in an unreadable way, displaying a mouth full of fangs—not a single one missing. “I trust you to treat my children fairly as they’ll treat you with all the respect a Princess deserves.”

Luna pressed her lips together and bowed her head.

As the only one yet to be graced by the queen’s attention, I locked my eyes with her, a firm look on my face. Chrysalis met it with a pleasant expression, though her gaze bore a distinctly enigmatic quality to it, betraying her politeness being a mask.

“I believe you’d like to visit our mechanics’ workshop,” she nonchalantly said, giving my body a measuring glance—the journey did take a heavy toll on it. Then the changeling added, her words matching the look in her eyes, “You may find something there you might want to fix as well.”

The doors, both sets, opened once more and at least a dozen changelings entered, accompanied by an equinoid. Whilst the changelings split into pairs, approaching each member of our group (except Rainbow), the artificial pony went straight for me.

“Lady Sparkle,” she addressed me in a melodious voice, giving me quite a low bow. “Allow us to guide you to our home.”

Before I could even think of how to react, Flower caught my attention with her stubborn refusal to leave with the changelings—she practically fought them. Pressing my lips tight and casting a wary glance at the strange equinoid, who still waited for my response, I trotted to the filly.

“I don’t want to go with them, Twilight,” she loudly whispered, shooting two changeling mares a glare tinged with fear.

They answered it with sheepish and somewhat toothy smiles—not exactly the best combination.

When I turned back to the equinoid, she met me with an expressionless face—not that her one-piece mask could show anything else. Yet, she almost imperceptibly nodded and left with another curtsey.

“Where are you taking her?” I asked the mares, holding back a very heavy sigh.

“To the infirmary.”

“Do you mind if I join?”

My presence failed to inject enthusiasm into Flower’s attitude towards the changeling race, but at least she complied, letting the two actually quite lovely mares lead us to the first-aid point.

Despite its size, the small clinic had managed to organise a few separate rooms, albeit divided by thin walls—I could hear (though not discern) Wire’s hoarse voice gushing to her family about the journey, and Delight’s timid questions.

Flower herself remained silent as a changeling medic examined her and applied bandages and ointments even to the smallest scratches—his unsure movements and constant hesitation hinted at a struggle with pony biology.

With Del being out of sight, I could still sense her presence—her judgement—as I sat an aloof sentinel by the filly’s spacious hospital bed. Each time I had indulged in interaction with Flower, I fed her dream with hopes—right now was no different, if not one of the worse offences.

The concept of adopting a child didn’t strike me as unacceptable, but the timing kept being the most inconvenient—Chrysalis certainly didn’t invite me into her home out of the sheer kindness of her heart and until I knew why, accepting any new responsibilities would be quite unwise.

On the other hoof, the queen must have felt Flower’s love towards me, so if she wanted to use something as leverage, that cat was out of the bag.

Deep in my thoughts, I not only failed to notice the physician taking his leave but also Flower emptying the tray of food—not that it could take her long.

One meal was all it took to turn her apprehension towards the Swarm around—Flower seemed not only comfortable but rather content with the situation as she bundled herself under the blanket.

“My mother used to sing me a lullaby,” the filly quietly said.

I let out a sigh—one of my ideas suggested waiting out Flower’s inclination in the hope she would see me as not the best candidate.

Carefully measuring my voice, I asked, “Don’t you think you’re being a bit pushy?”

It didn’t help—she bit her lips, and her eyes started to glisten.

“Sorry, I just…” she trailed off, choking on her words.

“Flower,” I hastily began. ”There’s nothing wrong with what you wish for, but it’s not a decision I can make without giving it a proper thought.

“I never was—” I cut myself off, and tried again, “The closest I had to raising anyone was a baby dragon and that’s completely different, not to mention Princess Celestia had been a lot of help.”

No tears rolled down Flower’s cheeks, but her expression remained—that of trepidation. Boring into me with ‘puppy’ eyes, she practically whispered, afraid of her own question:

“But would you at least consider it?”

Her pleading face failed to cause my rationality to falter but forced it to double up on me. I had to admit—my reluctance to accept her daughterhood stemmed not from the worry of my inability, however true it was, but from the simple fact that I strived to be Twilight Sparkle and she never had beena mother in the full sense of that word.

“Yes,” I replied.

My answer meant not as much as the consideration she asked for, but thinking about who I was and wanted to be—something, I seemed to haven’t finished figuring out yet.

Unbeknownst to that, Flower smiled contentedly and her eyelids drooped—the stress of the past days rapidly caught up with her now her worry had been, if not soothed, then postponed.

Wincing as my joints screeched from the grit of the journey, I otherwise silently left my post at her pillow and headed to the exit only to be challenged with keeping back an urge to shriek.

The moment the door opened a creepy one-piece mask stared at me.

Hoping that my face failed to convey my actual emotions, I said, “Sorry for making you wait.”

“It’s nothing, our Lady.” The equinoid’s voice betrayed nothing but sincere amiability. “We’ve waited for almost five hundred years, what’s another hour?”

Changelings returned to the corridors.

They trotted around, stood near the walls chatting or walked into and out of the countless rooms full of terminals or other busy-looking chitinous inhabitants of this place. The Hive resembled an ordinary office building on a gigantic scale—a seat of government that ran a country.

However, my curiosity kept returning to the mechanical mare.

Thirteen claimed himself to be the Crown’s ‘property’, which explained a lot, starting with his uncanny appearance. The equinoid that led me through the bowels of the Sky Palace bore no resemblance to the race of shapeshifters, and yet she was unlike any equinoid I had seen so far.

Glistening with varnish, porcelain covered her delicate frame like an armour of polished bone. A metal skeleton gleamed through the gaps, dark bones braided with neatly arranged incarnadine tubes and wires. She had no mane or tail, but a silk veil, red and with a few purple stripes, hung from her ears. Above her perpetually serene face, a ceramic horn protruded—part of the mask; a pale rose pulse suggested it being not just an aesthetic feature.

It was the second time since meeting Alnico Sermon that I had encountered an equinoid unicorn. In theory, equinoids shouldn’t have magic, since they had no connection to Harmony—no cutie marks.

But this mare had one—number seven in a black elaborate gothic font.

“Is something wrong, Lady Sparkle?” she commented on my frown.

“No,” I lied, but gave her no chance to press on. “What’s your name?”

“Seven,” the equinoid readily replied. It sounded like she shyly smiled.

I couldn’t help but shoot her a surprised look—somehow her reciting the digit from her flank struck me as exceedingly weird, even though I already knew Thirteen; which only added to the mystery.

“Is there something bothering you, our Lady?”

“Yes.” I instantly tried to correct myself, “I mean, no!”

I let out a deep sigh.

We had just made a turn into what seemed to be some sort of a service passage and I followed Seven silently, trying to figure out which of the things that bothered me about her I should speak of first.

“Why do you keep calling me Lady?”

“You gave us the gift of life, Lady Sparkle.” As I gawked at her, she continued, unperturbed, her voice dripping with gratitude, “Lady Moon Dancer created our bodies, but the Prime Code was written by you alone.”

My thoughts sped up to a full gallop as I tried to align everything I had learned from Svarka, Trixie and now, Seven. Some things refused to make sense, however.

“What happened to Moon Dancer?” I quietly asked, harbouring hope she had become a Former One and would be able to shed light on the riddle of the Machine Goddess legend along with the creation of artificial life.

Seven hung her head.

“I’m sorry, our Lady, she passed away many years ago.”

We emerged into a wide walkway opening into the hollowness of the Sky Palace. The entire level was designed into a terrace; changelings walked about or lounged in the sunlight reflected by the complex system of mirrors set up to light the vast space.

Even more greenery peeked at me beyond the railing—a beautiful garden sprawled at the bottom of the shaft, though I failed to recognise the alien and exotic vegetation. A spire of unmistakable twisted architecture towered in the middle of a thicket—the entrance to the actual Hive hidden in the depth of the mountain.

That sight offered only a momentary distraction.

I didn’t expect Moon to still be alive by this time—I didn’t want her to be.

Rainbow had spent centuries serving the Swarm and that had jaded her into a shadow of the mare she used to be; though perhaps, the weight of sins committed by ponydom could be blamed for that as well. Despite having many memories of her, I failed to reestablish any meaningful connection with the pony who was supposed to be my friend.

Turning to Seven who patiently waited out my reverie, I regarded her sorrowfully—as created in my another life, I would never know how servitude had changed her.

“Our legacy became the queen’s toys,” I lamented with a deep sigh, addressing nobody in particular and in a sort of retrospect realising that I meant even more than just ponies of metal.

“Toys, our Lady?” Seven gasped, incredulous. “We’re treated by the Swarm with as much respect as any changeling. The magic bestowed by Lady Moon Dancer allows us to do things nobody else in the Sky Palace can.”

“Why don’t the changelings just make new equinoids? Like Thirteen?”

Surprisingly, Seven baulked, as much as it could be said about a mare barely capable of conveying emotions when she didn’t speak. And then she did, her voice lost its tunefulness—shame replaced it.

“The Swarm helped with the frame only, but none in the Sky Palace has the magic to breathe life into a crystal heart but us.” She paused, bowing her head in penitence. “Our Lady, we ask forgiveness for creating Thirteen—it wasn’t our place.”

Confused by the conversation—it added only more levels of mystery to the whole equinoid-creation situation, frowning as I had no idea what she meant, asked, “Why is that?”

Seven looked to the side, almost unnoticeable bitterness slipping into her overwise guilty tone.

“The Prime Code is incomplete—Thirteen could never find peace of mind, that’s why he left. We’re able to create, but not nurture.”

A few elevators and technical passages later we came to the technical wing of the Sky Palace; the place Rainbow had led us through before.

White tiles ceded to uneven dingy plaster and changelings changed from the resting citizens to determined workers, hurrying around with tools and boxes. Many passages opened into large rooms taken up by industrial machines. The smells of hot metal and oil, smoke and other acrid chemical aromas wafted from the tight halls between the workrooms.

The ceaseless labour of countless mechanics reminded me of a particular equinoid—Svarka—and the way she addressed me, according to my serial number.

Instead of asking if I was One or Zero, I inquired from Seven, “There are twelve of you, aren’t there?”

“All interlinked.”

Another question readied itself on the tip of my proverbial tongue, but I swallowed it as I already had the answer—the Unity; the paradise of mind promised by the Church was a reality at the Sky Palace. I still had little idea how it worked, however.

“Can the rest of you hear me now?”

“Of course, our Lady,” Seven replied mirthfully.

All of a sudden, her voice came from further away and differently, “We can see you as well.”

Turning my head from Seven I found myself in the doorway of a spacious workshop, full of tools of all kinds, innumerable spare parts hanging from the walls.

And eleven equinoids, eleven unmoving faces had their stares locked on me.

Seven joined them and another porcelain pony, a stallion model proclaimed loudly:

“Our Lady!”

Twelve muzzles touched the floor, producing a singular perfect click.

“Mother,” the twelve voices uttered in a unison chorus of reverence and love.

Moon Dancer had a doll—a peculiar thing of antique design once belonging to her grandmother and quite possibly her gran’s grandmother. Countless hugs of little hooves burnished its yellowed by generations porcelain. I always failed to understand what she found in that toy’s perpetually amiable expression and glossy eyes staring unblinkingly and unnervingly at me.

Yet, Moon prized that doll over any of her possessions—a dear friend equal to me, especially when I decided to choose books instead of a tea party. She called that doll Kismet—a funny (kiss-me-tee) word she’d read somewhere—much to the chagrin of her parents, as the toy already had a name passed down from mother to daughter. Moon went even further—she replaced the old joints.

And I had Smarty Pants—a miserable thing of cloth and buttons, that ‘came with her own quill and notebook’; a toy so unremarkable, it might as well have come out of nowhere, where it eventually ended up.

Whilst Moon’s adoration made the lifeless ceramic muzzle smile at her, my mind filled Smarty Pants’ cotton brain with the reflections of my aspirations and knowledge—it knew advanced algebra and loved it no less than I. We had no tea parties—we solved mathematical problems together.

Those dolls had been left in childhood, but some things couldn’t be laid on the shelf.

When Moon and I conceived those twelve fillies and colts, what did we think?

I might never learn the answer and it didn’t matter—they were here, twelve neither Kismets nor Smarty Pantses, but genius ponies of ceramic and metal, living.

If I had the audacity to call myself Twilight Sparkle, then I must find in myself the humility to accept myself a creator of life.

Wherever Moon Dancer’s and my children expected any reaction from me or not—they showed none themselves as I kept staring back at them, my jaws whirring helplessly. However, eventually, the silence became uneasy, and a pair—a mare and stallion—approached to lead me to one of the workbenches. Nudged by somehow enthusiastic ceramic hooves, I climbed upon it.

Out of all questions, I asked one of that, perhaps, mattered the least:

“Why do you have numbers instead of names?”

Four replied to me, sorrowful, “We once had different names, but Lady Moon Dancer removed that memory. She believed Queen Chrysalis unworthy of knowing them.”

“Do you agree with her?”

“We don’t remember,” Nine deadpanned.

“That’s… not exactly what I meant,” I squinted at her; she either had no sense of humour or had a perfect poker face. “Do you think of Chrysalis as unworthy?”

“She had treated Lady Moon Dancer well.”

“Has she treated me well, too?”

The Twelve abruptly fell silent and exchanged looks—a weird gesture, considering the shared consciousness. Somehow, they seemed torn about speaking, choosing to redouble their ministrations.

They danced around me, using a variety of tools aimed to disassemble my wrecked body.

The bent and torn plates, barely having any lavender paint clinging, floated from my sight first. My grime-coated skeletal limbs followed, protected from direct damage, but driven to their breaking point by the onslaught of sand sneaked inside. But the Twelve didn’t stop there—more and more parts of my body continued to be removed.

Soon, nothing more remained but the enchanted crystals wired together, pulsing with my consciousness as cooling systems washed the heat away. Even my eyes were gently plucked out in the end.

In a flash of blinding light, my vision returned.

The porcelain face of one of my daughters filled my view as she adjusted my eyesight, the picture blinking and changing colours. Then a ceramic mask was lowered onto my metal skull—to my disappointment as I didn’t have centuries to learn to express my emotions with voice only.

Yet my dismay didn’t last.

Seven’s horn glowed rosy and a tendril of pink magic reached inside my body; a moment later it lit up with magical projections—the bone-white plates shimmered with lavender neon. Twelve levitated a mirror and an arcane illusion peered at me, bearing an authentic expression of astonishment. I even had a mane and tail like that of Trixie and Sunset Shimmer.

Disturbingly on cue, the mysterious Former One called me from the doorway.

“Enjoying your stay, I see.”

Despite her leaning on the wall in the display of a laid-back demeanour and her being tone lighthearted, I caught a subtle taunt in her words.

The mare in the mirror scowled.

I had yet to come to any conclusion about Chrysalis, but on top of being in her service, Sunset Shimmer knew Trixie; I would bet my crystals on them having worked together in the Coven.

However, my apprehension didn’t faze her; the Former One smiled, glad that I’d met her expectations. Pushing herself from the doorway to stand upright, she asked, “Mind if I steal you for a while?”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“You aren’t a prisoner.” Sunset shrugged.

Chrysalis had clearly rubbed off on her—with only a few sentences she’d sowed seeds of curiosity; not that she didn’t have a head start already.

Taking a step forward I felt a rush of air and ceramic beat a staccato against the metal floor—One and Two stood by my sides.

“No need for that,” the Former One commented with a chuckle. “I’ll return her safe and sound.”

My children didn’t budge.

I considered my options and the intent look Sunset kept giving me.

Turning to my entourage, I shook my head and they hesitantly backed; the porcelain couldn’t hide their disappointment and concern.

The sounds of hard work had faded long ago and clouds of dust rose in our wake. Barely lit passages set me on edge with the state of complete abandonment. The mare, eldritch energies bubbling under the plates of her metal shell, helped that none.

My mind tried to conjure the list of Coven members, but the RCRC worked with the reports of the damage—who caused it didn’t matter, only how to negate it. I suddenly realised that we never had to account for living shadows attacking the Equestrian army.

However, I had another piece of that puzzle.

“You seem to be acquainted with Luna,” I said.

Sunset’s brow furrowed.

“She’s the reason why I’m here.”

The explanation, if Sunset even intended to elaborate, had to wait as a set of heavy metal doors barred our passage. Below dust and creeping corrosion, runes glimmered with the trademark iridescence of arcanium.

The Former One approached a small display on the wall and pressed a button—a flickering green glow yanked her grim muzzle from the shadows. She typed a password and the doors moaned plaintively, sliding open—only one of them.

We squeezed through and trotted for a bit before Sunset finally broke the pregnant silence.

“I was young and stupid, but more than that I was ambitious.”

She paused, her jaw working futilely, letting me peek at two rows of ethereal fangs and a long forked tongue.

“Those qualities led me to a fight with my teacher. I grabbed a few random artefacts and hopped into the magic mirror leading to another reality. One day Luna came to me, looking for the items I’d stolen and brought horrible news—my teacher had been killed and my homeland was at war.”

I gaped at Sunset but dared not to interrupt.

“I instantly volunteered to go back to Equestria.” Her expression grew hard and glaring forward at nopony in particular, she snarled, “Luna allowed me on one condition—I join the Coven as a spy and after the war, my crimes would be forgiven.”

The last surviving Princess’s sole contribution to the war cause—sending a mentally unstable failure of a sorcerer to the stallion she knew to be a warlock.

As if reading my thoughts, Sunset continued, “Things didn’t go as well as they were supposed to. Luna dropped all contact with me in less than a year and the transformation magic started to cause… permanent changes.”

I regarded the Former One carefully—she had yet to earn my pity.

“And how did you end up as Queen Chrysalis’ friend?”

“After the war ended, I had no way to get back to Canterlot by any direct routes. A series of ancient tunnels dug by Diamond Dogs connected their mines to the Crystal Caves inside Mount Diamond Point.” Sunset grimaced. “I all but bumped into Chrysalis’ flanks and she made me an offer I couldn’t reject.”

Another set of massive doors stopped us and beside a password, it also demanded a crystal key—a citrine card that made the arcanium seals in the thick steel flare.

There was no tunnel—a catwalk spanned the chasm of an enormous artificial cave.

The cavern surrounding the Royal Palace.

The ivory towers, once gleaming in rays of sunlight, visible from almost any corner of southern Equestria, now knew only the subterranean blackness. Like mould, darkness infused the pristine plaster with a web of ebony cracks. Tarnished golden spires couldn’t reflect even the decay of the rotting pearl of Equestria. Above the faint wailing of draughts, echoes of tiny debris cluttering played a dirge to the deterioration of the sundered castle.

“Why?”

“Moving the Royal Archives, especially the restricted wing, proved to be harder than we thought.” In a quiet voice, she added, “More importantly—it serves as a containment area.”

Crumbled off parget, dust and decomposed wood mounted by the walls like barrows. Moth-perforated tapestries hung limply and forlornly—standards of fallen soldiers. The stale air melancholically entering and exiting the broken windows rattled the shards of stained glass.

The feeling of unease reached its crescendo when we stopped before the sturdy doors of the main chamber. Wishing I had a throat to swallow the phantom dryness, I pushed the door depicting an alicorn raising the sun.

Across the throne room, upon the rotten carpet, a winged and horned equine glowing with a brilliant golden light treaded lethargically.

She didn’t notice that we’d entered, lifelessly and ethereally stepping to the window to gaze into the abyss of the empty cave. Then she turned away, her eyeless muzzle finding a shear on the wall curious. She just stood, staring at the damaged stone, mindless.

“Is…” my voice failed me. “Is she a ghost?”

There could be no such thing, but I had no other explanation.

“An arcane vestige—an afterimage, if you will. The true alicorns wield tremendous power but the laws of magic are the same for everypony.” Sunset let out a deep sigh. “So, when Princess Celestia died, the arcane part of her entity lingered, unable to quickly return to Harmony.

“Chrysalis tried to use that to return Princess Celestia but only managed to stop the reabsorption process—the amount of consciousness attached to this shade is almost nonexistent.”

We watched the apparition of sunlight climb the steps to the throne and take a seat, its unseeing eyes fixed on nothingness.

“Why not let it go then?”

“This thing remembers who killed Princess Celestia and she’s the only one with enough power to undo that spell.”

I screwed my muzzle.

“It’s beyond me how you’ve found it in yourself to forgive Chrysalis.”

The Former One let out a vexed sigh, but said calmly, “She would never admit that it was an accident—the whole invasion was a mistake. But she didn’t do it for fun, her children were dying.”

I opened my mouth to retort and Sunset’s raised hoof stopped me.

“I didn’t bring you here to discuss Chrysalis. We might speculate endlessly if her usurpation of power doomed ponykind or benefited it, but in the end, she caused the direct deaths only of so few.” Sunset took a shuddering breath. “I turned Manehattan into a heap of smouldering ash.”

My hooves backpedalled me away from her on their own will.

Being a bane on the battlefield didn’t justify the deaths, but every combatant knew the risks. Innocent ponies, millions of them, didn’t sign up for cremation whilst still alive. Sunset didn’t commit murder—she was a sentient weapon of mass destruction.

“At what point did you decide that genocide fit the pretence of being a witch for the greater good?” I hissed, struggling to contain the urge to erase her from existence.

“I did it to lure Luna—I wanted to do something so atrocious that she’d regret ignoring me and would do so no longer,” Sunset muttered shamefully. Her armour bulged, barely containing a body of death incarnate as she yelled in rage, “She betrayed me, she let me rot with my only options to either press on as the tool I had become or to surrender to Sombra!”

The desire to do anything to her dissipated in a wake of sheer disgust.

“Pathetic.”

She bristled half-heartedly, snarking, “Yes—I was afraid to die. You can ask Trixie what happens to traitors, and speaking of her, I couldn’t compromise her position. Who do you think gave that naive fool the means to betray him?”

That knowledge brought into a new perspective some of the facts I already knew, but the weighing pan of crime on the scales of justice didn’t stir.

Eyeing Sunset’s slumped form with persistent aversion, I wondered aloud, “And you just confessed all that to me because..?”

She straightened herself, though the haunted look refused to leave her eyes.

“I’ve watched you—we all have been since the Twelve tipped us off.”

I rolled my eyes—of course, they did; the entire Swarm must have been making bets on how many of us would get killed. And my children should get my sincere gratitude for ratting me out to the changelings.

Ignoring my annoyance, Sunset continued in a firm voice, staring me in the eyes with an unreadable expression, “Unlike many you’ve met, I don’t care who you choose to be, but there’s something you should know if you still want to bear the name of Twilight Sparkle.

“When Chrysalis kicked her from that research centre, she needed lots of bits for the transference project. So Twilight stripped the Prime Code off the parts that she couldn’t make work and then sold what was left of the enchantment formulas to the TCE.”

Sunset left me a statue staring into space, no different from the arcane corpse of Princess Celestia shambling around.

I wish I could catch up with her and scream, “Liar!”

But the truth couldn’t be denied—if Moon Dancer never gave up the Prime Code and none in the Sky Palace could access it, then someone else had surrendered the AI enchantments to the public.

Crippled and helpless, Twilight Sparkle had become obsessed with fixing everything, starting with her broken body, unaware of her broken mind. Blind as much figuratively as literally, she threw the miracle of life to the timberwolves for the ring of a coin. So she could end up as a fancy duster in an abandoned library.

Where Sunset set ablaze the most populated city in Equestria, Twilight condemned an entire race of equines to five centuries of slavery only saved from executions by a memory wipe. The irony—although she was considered a goddess by her creations, she was the lowliest being in the entirety of Equestria; far ahead of the changeling queen, a mad alicorn and any of Sombra’s disciples.

So, who was I, again?

Unable to stand the presence even of the gravestone carved of sunlight, I left the chamber, wandering, waiting for Sunset to pick me up so I could thank her for giving me a chance to be alone after she’d opened up my eyes.

No different from the rest of the palace, the Royal Gardens poorly withstood the flow of time. The once fertile soil backed into cracked dirt, the desolation disturbed only by half-rotten stumps. Even mushrooms refused to settle in that little wasteland.

As such, nothing obscured the patch of white shining amidst the withered orchard.

The stonework could be mistaken for clouds, so airy the structure was. Masterfully chiselled marble formed the mausoleum’s delicate canopy painted in beautiful murals. The elegant columns offered access to the coffin and the golden plaque shone as mockingly as the day it was set into the tomb.

Here the Sun sets for the last time

It will always keep shining in our hearts

Princess Celestia

Dear sister, beloved teacher, wise ruler

I blinked—not from tears.

Two pairs of flowers lay at the base of the monument—moonflowers, Princess Celestia’s favourites, and two exotic blooms. Someone who knew her personally left the former, but the latter? Perhaps, she did regret it, after all.

However, not only was the unexpected tribute new to that place—in the shadow of the mausoleum a piece of marble protruded from the ground.

Under a six-point star surrounded by five smaller ones an inscription read:

Twilight Sparkle

3rd Era, 984 – ...

The most faithful of students

The most magical of friends

Until we meet again

Twilight Sparkle wasn’t remembered as a mother, not that she deserved that; still, I found it strange that the practically religiously reverent Twelve hadn’t added that line to the gravestone.

They knew, their porcelain masks couldn’t hide that, even though I had failed to notice the subtle hints.

Suddenly, I found myself reluctant to meet them again, to ever look in their eyes.

If I pressed on as Twilight Sparkle, how could I dare to call—to see—them as my children, to accept their pure love? And if I gave up…

“Sorry for lying, but I’m just a random equinoid who remembers some of the stuff your mother did. I’ll be on my way.”

How fragile were their masks of forgiveness?

My eyes wandered across the marker—not artistically done; despite how neatly and painstakingly the words were carved into it, the rectangular pillar itself resembled an untreated slab. Nicks and scratches covered the uneven surface, especially near the epitaph; but the futility of those attempts suggested enchantments protecting the tombstone.

Could I call it my resting place, a grave someone had tried to unmark?

“Until we meet again,” Moon Dancer wished—nobody else had been left to bury Twilight. I knew she never believed in the afterlife, but she would have faith in me returning, maybe, even before she died herself.

But should Twilight Sparkle return to Equestria?

Surprisingly, two flowers lay beneath the last words Moon said to her friend. Not the same exotic blossoms, but still those that grew in the Swarm’s garden. Sunset didn’t care, Rainbow just wouldn’t do it and to the Twelve, their mother had never died...

“Feeling better?” Sunset’s voice started me.

“Has visiting a cemetery ever made anyone feel better?”

The Former One grimaced.

“I have to go—Chrysalis is gathering a city council and as a de facto ruler I have to make some arrangements.” To my raised brow she slyly replied, “You were partially right—she used to not know how to properly treat ponies and now she trusts me to decide for her. Anyhow, she also asked for you to come.”

“Luna’s and my fates are going to be decided there, I assume?” I asked in a tired tone.

“You wish.” Sunset mirthlessly chuckled. “The fate of Canterlot will be. When you’re ready to leave—one of the Twelve has thought she could follow us discreetly.”

I didn’t linger for long at the surreal ruins nor did I chide Seven when I found her waiting for me at the lop-sided palace gate. To her credit, she managed to muster every bit of expressiveness she possessed to look guilty.

Not that I let my eyes divert into her direction in fear she would meet them. Sensing my awkward avoidance or, perhaps, successful at overhearing Sunset and I, she had mercifully absolved me of any conversation as we slowly and awkwardly trotted back.

We found none of the Twelve at the workshop—hardly a coincidence and Seven herself left almost instantly, leaving me to wander around the chamber.

I passed by the racks of ceramic limbs, plates and other spare parts; marvelled at the collection of perfectly maintained complex tools; even had enough curiosity to phlegmatically poke a terminal, though soon retreating in respect.

To my surprise, I found myself in front of a door, half-hidden behind a row of porcelain hooves hanging from the ceiling. My curiosity flared up again and won over every other stimulus.

My eyes instantly fell on an object that had no sense being in a corner of the palace occupied by equinoids—a bed.

Blueprints and sketches of various mechanisms blotted the walls of the tiny room with the low slanted ceiling. Multiple shelves laden with books, both ancient tomes and modern-looking covers. An exquisite tea set, yet showing signs of frequent usage. A sturdy oak table fit for a spacious study and not that ‘closet’.

On the polished wood—an antique doll leaned on an ornate vase.

I gingerly took Kismet with my hooves—I didn’t trust my magic—and stared at Moon’s favourite toy for a long time.

And would have continued to do so if a soft tapping on the door hadn’t distracted me.

Returning Kismet to rest by Moon’s side, I opened the door and my brows shot up.

An equinoid stood in the doorway, bearing a striking resemblance to the changelings and smiling sheepishly. In his trademark voice buzzing with insect wings, Thirteen greeted me:

“Thought I would swing by—say hi.”

My mind blank, I blurted the first thing that came into that void, “I hope you aren’t mad at me for wrecking your archives. Hi.”

“Ha! I always loathed that place.”

The spell of unease dissolved like that, but not for long—neither of the Twelve nor of the TCE, Thirteen still was an equinoid. And if the Twelve knew, then he ought to as well.

“Thirteen.” I paused, struggling to decide if I should finish that sentence. If I wanted to know the answer. “Do you think of me as a mother?”

His face fell into pensiveness.

He quietly uttered, “That’s the question I’ve been asking myself since you entered the Royal Archives.” The black metal plates of his muzzle rustled forming a grimace. “I hate Twilight Sparkle and the moment that filly waltzed in and you spoke in her voice…”

However, when Thirteen looked me in the eyes, his bore no anger; only bitterness directed at himself.

“The gems inside you—I stumbled upon them not so long ago and threw them away in a fit of temper, watched as the little thief scurried away and smiled knowing I’d put an end to what remained of Twilight Sparkle.”

My eyes went moon-sized. He gave me an understanding look.

“And then you came, except…”

I clenched my jaws before finishing for him, “I’m not Twilight Sparkle.” Scowling, I barked, “It’s frustrating how everypony tried to convince me I was her and when I finally accepted it, they started to do otherwise.”

Thirteen met my outburst calmly, his muzzle betrayed nothing; nor did his expression change as he thoughtfully regarded me.

He spoke even more softly than before, “When I used to live in the Sky Palace, I was obsessed with her. They made me an archivist for a reason—I’ve gone through every recording, found every piece of knowledge that might tell me why Twilight betrayed her creations.”

I closed my eyes—this equinoid could as well have bucked me. Silence lingered for a few very long seconds.

“Do you still want to know?”

“No. It won’t change anything—but I think you can.”

Author's Note

Special thanks to Jay Tarrant.

I hope you've enjoyed reading this story so far.

If you notice any mistakes sneaked in through the editing, let me know.

Stay awesome.

Chapter 18 – Responsible

Aftersound

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Written by: Oneimare & Geka

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant, IAmApe

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Responsible

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“Zdzisława, I’m asking again—what’s your excuse for the delay of the shipment we discussed?” the neighponese stallion impatiently demanded, punctuating his words with taps of his hoof against the polished obsidian.

The caprine CEO of Kashmare, innumerable jewellery clinked as she dismissively waved her hoof, retorted, “How many times do we have to tell you the current state of the Edge prevents any operations?”

“According to the deal, the goods should have been dispatched three weeks ago!” The elderly earth pony mare took her turn in accusing the goat, croaking in an almost caricature manner, “That’s what you get when you put things on the back burner.”

“Don’t tell me how to run my business!” Zdzisława struck the table and winced as her gesture only resulted in her hoof silently rebounding against the sombre stone—the ringing bracelets not taken into account.

“It’s not about business, but a partnership,” one of the Kirin twins bitterly muttered, pouring oil into the fire of petty polemics. Her sister nodded—they spoke in turns, exact copies of one another, perpetually frowning.

My tired gaze found Chrysalis settled in her throne so low, her towering form barely reached above most of the council delegates. She seemed to find great amusement in observing the bickering and I also suspected her enjoying the confusion and boredom of everyone else.

Once again I wondered why the queen wanted me to come to the council supposed to decide the fate of Canterlot—so far nothing directly related to that question had been brought up. Nobody even acknowledged my presence, the speakers tightly clustering at one side of the massive table.

The queen herself occupied the head of the basalt slab; Rainbow visibly suffered from the horrible agony of standing still by her left hoof, Sunset stood impassive at the changeling’s right.

Luna sat opposite to them, given a wide berth by everyone. She had been trying her hardest to follow the conversation, but struggled—the Dream Realm could offer only so much insight into the intricacies of society.

Not far from her, Trixie shared Rainbow’s plight; though she appeared to be content with being back in her arcanium body—a bit scuffed and still bearing burn marks.

Next, the most mysterious of guests rested on a tall chair, though her head still barely peaked above the ebony surface. The size of a filly, almost a foal, she resembled a bizarre mix of a pegasus and gryphon. The feathers spread from her wings across her white coat, forming a magnificent black plumage in place of her mane; their tips seemed to be smouldering.

That strange creature kept glaring with intense anger at each of those present—even I didn’t avoid her wordless scorn, sitting betwixt her and the ‘royalty’.

“The mess at the Edge is going to resolve itself,” the Kirin twin slightingly proclaimed. “The TCE cut off their food supply and riots don’t happen on an empty stomach.”

A previously sourly silent zebra came to life, a stallion whose height rivalled that of Luna, “Nebula’s sector is one big mushroom farm that feeds the rebels. So far, the TCE thinks it’s just drugs.”

“They’ll cut that off, too,” the Kirin mare pressed on.

The zebra shook his head. “It might be too late by that time.”

Coming to the grim conclusion, the representatives of the city turned to the queen who faced them unwaveringly. Instead of her, Rainbow spoke, relieved:

“Involving the Royal Guard into the conflict puts us under fire.” She paused to glance at Chrysalis and received a nod, then dismally admitted, “Both the TCE and rioters possess weapons able to negate the cybersuits. And according to our newly found sources, there’s more to this situation than we thought.”

Sunset called the enigmatic filly, “Fotia.”

I should have guessed—she did bear some resemblance to Princess Celestia’s former secretary, if hidden by the features shared with a phoenix.

Fotia Koraki used her miniature and disturbingly sharp hooves to almost climb onto the table and her deceptively young voice cut into the sombre silence.

“A year after the Winter, the TCE got two guys with at least one brain cell each. The first one came up with an invisibility enchantment, the second used his grey matter to keep things extra hush-hush. So hush-hush, the TCE formed a whole army of the police forces loyal to them and they snuck right to the Castle of Two Sisters.”

She said that intently looking at Chrysalis, to which she reacted with an offended expression—the master of spies had failed and the filly was rubbing that all over her face. Sunset shared the displeasure with her peer, but both remained silent.

“The Winter crippled the Pinks like everybody else, so when the TCE materialised out of thin air, half of the gryphons turned on their buddies.”

Her words reflected on those gathered with a deep worry; Rainbow grimaced and I recalled her questioning Flower about the terrorists’ armour—she’d gotten her answer now.

“That is exceptionally bad,” the shorter zebra mare of the Mlima Tribe intoned in the trademark singsong voice of mountain shamans. “The greedy guiding the mad.”

“And it’s going to get even worse,” Fotia commented, returning all the attention to her.

The neighponese stallion barked, “The TCE already controls eighty per cent of the city’s police and now it also has an army of terrorists experienced at guerrilla warfare with invisibility talismans. How could it get worse?”

“It can always get worse, just so you know,” the phoenix-filly darkly noted. “The Pinks hate everyone in this fucked up city. When the TCE starts shagging us, the gryphons are going to backstab them and plunge Canterlot into chaos, I guarantee you that.”

An uneasy silence settled, and the congregation began to exchange nervous and reluctant glances until Zdzisława defeatedly uttered:

“So, the time has come, then.”

Chrysalis straightened herself and leaned over the smooth obsidian, somehow managing to smile both triumphantly and sadly.

“Indeed it is,” she said. “We have to evacuate while there’s still someone to evacuate.”

I would have been surprised if I hadn’t thought of it myself—I’d planned to flee to Stalliongrad after all. Perhaps, a few decades ago there could have been hope to fix the fatal issues killing the city, but not when it stood on the brink of civil war.

“Earlier than we’d hoped,” the queen added over the disgruntled murmurs, trying to inject some positivity with her strained voice bearing very little of that itself. “But it always would have been that way.”

Zdzisława sighed deeply and squinted at Luna, then at me.

“At least we have a place to go to now.”

The alicorn’s stoic face didn’t flinch and I shallowly nodded back to the goat—she returned the gesture in an even more subtle manner; Rainbow rolled her eyes.

“We stick to the plan, then?” the elderly pony mare asked.

“How?” the Kirin raised her voice above the deep baritones of the zebra and the quiet conversation the neighponese were having with Zdzisława. Even more loudly she announced, “With the Edge captured in the conflict, we are going to have no qualified workforce.”

“The Outer City population should have enough factory workers,” Sunset retorted, but her answer lacked firmness.

“We need industry, we need builders—not packers and assemblers,” the Kirin mare scoffed.

“It’s already taking a huge risk relying on your biomass farms,” the elderly mare croaked, addressing the changeling queen.

She answered, snapping, “They’ll have to suffice—I’m risking the lives of my children as much as yours.”

The twins scowled and if anyone hadn’t been paying attention to that fight, they were now—the Kirin raised a major concern that could lead to the evacuation ending in a catastrophic failure upon arrival to the Badlands.

Whilst Sunset tinkered with a tablet, probably looking for some sort of statistics, Chrysalis gave me a sidelong look, her viridian sharp eyes boring into me.

A pony, a neighponese, the Kirins and representatives from each zebra Tribe. She’d also brought a vigilante in charge of the Tunnels sector. Whilst Luna’s presence remained a riddle—mine didn’t anymore.

Refusing to stop and think where that question led, I asked, “What about the equinoids?”

“What about the equinoids?” the Kirin echoed me almost mockingly.

Her twin joined in, “Oh, yes, how could we forget about the TCE property and the organic-life-hating fanatics, eh… living above the Deep Tunnels?”

“Mixing them with the pony populace would result in an immediate bloodbath,” the neighponese stallion huffed. “That’s out of the question.”

The rest regarded me with mild disapproval; only Zdzisława gave me a thoughtful, yet unsure look.

“But what if they changed?” I pressed on and steeled myself before blurting out, “What if there were someone to… to unite them?”

I squirmed under the intense spotlight of every pair of eyes.

“The only one who can control those fanatics is a goddess,” the Kirin slowly said, squinting, her calculating gaze threatening to burn a hole in me.

That statement only served to intensify the looks, their expressions ranging from bewilderment to doubt and suspicion.

Chrysalis came to my help. “I support the idea—we need the equinoids.”

“Most of them used to work as building crews,” Sunset supplemented after a moment of hesitation—the conversation we’d had hours ago made doubts clear.

First, murmurs, then impossible to follow arguments claimed the table. Eventually, it winded down with almost nobody looking particularly pleased with the result.

“Perhaps it can work,” the Kirin mare declared, then lifted her hoof and, holding it in the air, continued in a warning tone. “If you manage to control their violence, you have my support.”

“You have my support as well,” Zdzisława eagerly said, raising her limb with a resounding ringing.

The rest joined, the zebras—the last.

A chair scraped against the polished floor as Luna abruptly stood up.

“I vote against.”

Her expressionless face—not that a skull with the skin taut on it could show much— was turned away from me, but every eye in her mane, which had grown tumultuous in the past few minutes, glared at me indignantly.

“Your voice has no weight,” Sunset acidly noted, the only who dared to challenge the ominous silence.

I suspected Sunset speaking at all broke Luna’s hostile conviction rather than the Former One’s words specifically. Nonetheless, it worked as the storm of darkness receded and a bitter resigned scowl overtook the alicorn’s features.

“Either way,” Chrysalis cautiously began. Seeing Luna paying her no mind, she continued, “The majority vote approves the inclusion of equinoids into the evacuation effort and I sanction the endeavour.

“As we’ve discussed, openly declaring the evacuation is going to critically compromise it, so I’m deploying my entire spy network to spread the rumours. You have no more than a month before the TCE traces the source and launches countermeasures.”

The moment the Kirin clarified to me the role I had to fill, driving the idea home, my attention to the discussion began to slip, crumbling under the weight of the deed I had promised to achieve. As such, I hadn’t noticed how everyone had left, even the queen’s advisors.

I sluggishly rose from my seat to depart as well, but Chrysalis’ call stopped me.

“Machine Goddess, I’d like you to remain.”

Her amiable tone held a certain ambiguity, but so subtle I couldn’t tell if she’d mocked me or genuinely addressed me as a sovereign.

Trying to mimic that, I responded, “It’s very premature to call me that… your highness.”

The changeling chuckled, shaking her head. I patiently watched her slowly leave her throne and approach me; the soft creaking of her joints filled the silence of the room. She effortlessly towered me, in an almost self-conscious fashion; ironically, her discoloured chitin looked little different from my porcelain coat.

“There’s nothing high about me but my physique—I’m sure Sunny has spilt everything already.” Chrysalis’ lips corners went up, yet the smile didn’t reach her eyes; and even that faltered. “I’d like to talk to you... mother to mother. Would you mind if I call you that?”

I regarded her expression—a mask ridden with cracks both actual and virtual, an unreadable stoicism flawed by glimpses of severe worry. Her sharp eyes twitched as she studied my pensive face with her penetrating gaze.

But where the Moths only read, I didn’t need to strain my imagination to see thin threads attached to the convenient holes in Chrysalis’ hooves, spreading across the city in intricate webwork.

“This was your plan the whole time, wasn’t it?” I said, neither angry nor impressed—simply stating the obvious.

She cryptically grinned.

“I have many plans going on right now.”

“To test me and if I succeeded, use me to get help from the equinoids.” Going through my entire ‘adventure’ in Canterlot I failed to pinpoint the moment she could have caught me in her net. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you even placed my gems in the Archives to start the whole thing.”

The queen howled with laughter, the titters shaking her fragile body. Almost instantly her guffaws turned into a stifling cough and she clutched her throat, her face simultaneously contorted in pain and merriment.

“Oh, please, stop—it hurts,” Chrysalis squeezed out of herself when she finally overcame the mirth. “I’m flattered, but I’m not that good; not even a god would’ve been able to pull off something so complex. Still, I admit to influencing your path so it would end up where I prefer.”

Not for a moment, I found myself able to share her joy—now, especially.

“And you prefer me to be the Machine Goddess rather than Twilight Sparkle.”

The vestiges of humour instantly evaporated from the changeling’s expression.

“Considering you have some of her memories and must have learned about the missing parts, you should understand why I don’t want Twilight Sparkle to be anywhere near my children,” she nonchalantly said and sweetly smiled, displaying two rows of razor-sharp teeth.

I grimaced and muttered, “What did you want to talk with me about?”

“Straight to business—I like that.”

The queen unhurriedly trotted away, to the window taking up the entire wall.

The cloud curtain had dissolved, revealing Canterlot’s streets far below glowing with neon. The reflection on the glass showed my diminutive doll-like form mirroring the shine of the city and gleaming by itself with the immaculate polish of ceramic. The tall and ancient ivory statue by my side glimmered only with the arcanium stitches holding together the dim silhouette blending into the shadows.

“You might have noticed,” Chrysalis rasped, “I’m… not really in my prime anymore.” She paused to clear her throat and choose her next words, yet as the silence lingered offering no help, she had to admit with a sigh, “I’m dying.”

The reflected silhouette slumped and I met her tired green eyes with a sympathetic look. However, I pitied her children more than her—many of the sacrifices she made for them were paid by the others.

Straightening herself, she continued, “And since you’re already willing to take one race under your wing, I—”

“Out of the question.”

I had no idea how to carry out my audacious suggestion; and whilst I had a connection to the equinoid race to start with, my affinity with the changelings didn’t exist.

Still, the hospitality the queen had shown to me and my friends shouldn’t be ignored, so I hastily added, “With all due respect.”

Though my outburst left Chrysalis unamused, she spoke calmly as I fell guiltily silent:

“You, how do I put it… don’t meet the requirements.”

Not letting my mind linger on that riddle, I tried to banish grouchiness from my tone as I replied, “You should talk with the one who does.”

“I believe it would be better for you to do that.”

My mind returned to the council and the question of why a certain pony had been present but not actually included.

“Luna?” I grimaced at both the entire idea and the prospect of conversation with her. “We aren’t really on good terms if you haven’t noticed nor would it work.”

“Now, that joke isn’t funny at all,” the queen deadpanned. “I might not be very well versed in the ways of magic, but it’s hard to miss her strong affiliation with certain forces. Unless we want to doom the whole world, that’s a particularly nightmarish idea.”

Next candidate on the list.

“Sunset Shimmer is your friend and I’m sure she knows more about the Swarm than any pony ever did.”

“The Queen of the Swarm isn’t just a title—to become her, a pony mare has to undergo change via an arcane ritual and Sunset has already filled her quota on transformations.”

“Is it someone I know?” I asked for a hint as her annoyingly vague replies had done nothing to narrow down to who she wanted me to convince to adopt the Swarm.

“Yes.”

Not a Former One and someone I knew...

“No.”

“If I say the fillies don’t meet the requirements either, would it change your answer?

“Delight will never agree.”

“You don’t know that,” Chrysalis grouchily retorted. “Before you object, let me tell you something.

“I’ll last a month. I may even survive part of the trip to the Badlands but never see my home again.” Her tone bore only serene resignation. “Without a queen, the changelings will go extinct, as every nymph is going to be stillborn.

“And if the prospect of an entire species dying out doesn’t bother you, there is a more practical side to it.”

Her implication made me glare at the queen, but I let her continue.

“A glamour conceals the old Hive and only a changeling queen can dispel it. Bigger than the Sky Palace, it can house every changeling and have room left for almost as many ponies. The throne of the first queen—Platinum’s sister, Quicksilver—forged of pure arcanium can hold back the winter storms.”

I carefully considered the knowledge very few non-changelings knew about. Chrysalis revealed her hoof which promised a massive offset to the hardships the refugees would encounter. Dismissing it for a single pony felt like a crime.

“Why didn’t you bother preparing a candidate in advance?” I grasped at straws.

The changeling scrunched her muzzle.

“As good as I am with plans, Canterlot is equally equipped to foil them.” Bowing her head, Chrysalis whispered, “She didn’t survive the winter.”

“Why Delight?”

Smiling mischievously, the queen answered, “Your impromptu journey to the Badlands let me take a look at your companions. Clandestine Delight isn’t an arbitrary choice, I know exactly what I’m doing.”

I glared daggers at her, but let that slide, focusing not even on the rest of her words, but my resolve—tightly holding my moral compass in my grasp.

“There’s nothing you can offer that will make me force my friend to do something she doesn’t want to. I’ll talk to her, but not mention any of what you’ve disclosed.”

Chrysalis clenched her jaws, dejectedly looking at her hooves with glistening eyes and slumping even further. That display alone almost convinced me to take my words back.

Steeling myself, I spoke again, “For that, I want to ask something in return.”

We both knew how fickle our bargaining chips were and stakes, so my brazenness sent her brows to her forehead and she squinted at me.

“As mother to mother,” I added and curiosity replaced discontent in her gaze. “There’s a certain dragon in the Deep Tunnels. Help me save him, and I’ll talk to Delight.”

As soon as my hoof found purchase on the floor beyond the council chamber, Seven emerged from the shadows, ready to guide me to the workshop. Yet, I declined her offer, asking her to lead me to the Sky Palace hospital instead.

The familiar route led us to the modest infirmary which I suspected to be a sort of remnant from the time when the Sky Palace had been constructed by the oblivious ponies of Canterlot.

A changeling met us, a petite mare that bowed to a bashful Seven, appearing genuinely respectful. Somewhat confused, she repeated the gesture for me, her faceted eyes frantically searching my flanks for a telling number. Absent-mindedly I noted it lacking any mark, despite my appearance strikingly resembling that of Twilight Sparkle.

For both the nurse’s and my relief, Seven did the talking:

“We’d like to pay a visit to the fair pegasus Clandestine Delight,” she chirped, bringing levity to the remaining awkward situation. “Would that be possible?”

The mare hurried away and returned within a minute.

“The patient is ready to receive visitors,” she informed us and practically bolted to the sanctuary of the staff room.

In all honesty, I didn’t really want to go to Del—honouring the deal didn’t magically conjure the right words to my mind; if they even existed in the first place.

Nevertheless, I found myself in front of the door, staring at the papers reading her name and the medical procedures she’d undergone in the last few hours. The plastic container also had several envelopes addressed to my pegasus friend.

Her spacious room, a no longer temporary substitute, opened into the hollow of the palace. The reflected sunset painted the sterile white interior crimson, casting deep shadows from the bed and simple furniture.

Delight, her left side wrapped in bandages, sat on the mattress’ edge, animatedly chatting with a changeling colt—another worker of the facility, judging by the uniform and a tray with empty dishes.

“Hi!” she joyously exclaimed, waving her hoof.

“Hello, Del,” I greeted her in a more reserved fashion; still, a smile crept onto my face by itself. “Feeling better, I see.”

The colt glanced at us and left the room, the tray balanced on his back precariously. Seven followed him—I wondered if she had overheard my conversation with Chrysalis; the Twelve couldn’t have lived with the Swarm in the same building for centuries and not picked up a few habits.

“I am, thank you.” Del carefully extended her wing. “The physician says I should be able to fly in a week. And how are you? The new upgrade looks amazing—holographic bodies are the best.”

I duly noted a new word.

“How are Flower and Wire?”

“Wire is going to have a new prosthetic installed when her eye heals, otherwise she’s very happy—a different filly,” she announced, seemingly sharing Wire’s state of mind, but then her expression fell and her tone turned accusing. “Flower has run away.”

To my bewildered look she explained, regarding me with a hard stare, “When the nurses came to move us to the better rooms, they didn’t find her.”

My muzzle contorted into a grimace, mostly of a confused kind.

“I spoke with her and things seemed well enough...” I mused aloud.

Most likely, her warming attitude to the changelings resulted in questions that most probably concerned other inhabitants of the palace—the Twelve; learning about their attitude towards me couldn’t reflect well on the filly’s dream.

Whatever the cause, I had to find her. Given an excuse, I almost prepared to leave, finally caving in to the desire to postpone the unpleasant conversation with Delight, but she noted in a concerned tone:

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

Frankly, Del didn’t need any ritual to be a changeling queen—her almost telepathic skills must have told her something was up the moment I entered the room. I should have turned off my holographic face to give myself at least a chance.

“Are you alright?” she worriedly pressed on.

“Just tired,” I lied.

“You’re lying,” Del said, sounding tired.

Caught like a filly with a hoof in a cookie jar, I let out a sigh and morosely trotted to Del’s bed plopping myself on it. Whilst I doubted getting out of that room without Delight learning everything I didn’t want to tell her, perhaps I still could avoid fulfilling my part of the deal right now.

That demanded certain sacrifices, however.

“I’ve learned something about Twilight Sparkle,” I uttered and let my face speak for me. “And took responsibility for her actions. Because I’m her.”

Del’s hoof softly tapped against my shoulder and I sensed more than saw the sympathetic expression overtaking her features. I wondered if she would have acted differently knowing what I spoke about; then I realised—she might already know.

“But you didn’t do those things, right?” She shifted uneasily and said so quietly, it came almost as a whisper, “You wouldn’t do them.”

I almost shrugged her limb off—there would be no me without Twilight Sparkle; I could only be Twilight or nothing. Pretending I was just ‘what remained of her’ was an act of cowardice in light of recent discoveries.

“I don’t know.”

She pleaded, “If you were to return back in time, you wouldn’t do the same, right?”

“But I already did that,” I snapped. “Yes, right now I know the consequences and I see things differently. But that Twilight Sparkle lived the life I would have lived because she is I. It’s not about going back in time, it is about me, right now, who travelled into the future.”

Delight scrunched her muzzle.

Finally, she gave up. “I don’t understand.”

“Imagine you travelled back in time to the moment when you became a Moth, when you were about to receive your mark.” I glanced at the burn on her cheek, and she touched it, frowning. “You would have chosen differently, right?”

Her frown deepened, but the silence didn’t last this time.

“No. If I hadn’t become a Moth, I’d have never ended up in the Tunnels and met you.”

I bit my proverbial tongue, internally cursing myself. Thankfully Delight either didn’t feel offended or did a superb job not showing it.

After a moment of thought, I tried again, paying close attention to my words:

“I’m a copy of Twilight Sparkle at the moment of the experiment. The original Twilight survived the trial of the cybersuit and went on with her life. I was brought to life about two weeks ago. But at the moment of the trial, we were one and the same pony, and if I were to take the place of the original, I would have done the same things, and she would have followed the same path I did from Flower’s shack. And now that she is dead, I’m no longer a copy, but the original.”

The pegasus’ brow furrowed and she didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Then, her hoof left my shoulder as she seemed to retreat into herself.

“I’m trying my hardest and still can’t quite get it.” Del let out a deep sigh. “After all, I’m just an ex-whore…”

“Del,” I groaned. “Please, don’t belittle yourself—you’re a great mare. Your occupation never defined you.”

I reached out for her.

“Thank you,” she whispered and her voice hitched. Clearing her throat she continued levelly, “I think you might not understand what you are saying yourself. Original… copy…”—she shook her head—“that’s not how we work. You’re overcomplicating things.”

My mouth opened for a retort, but then I closed it. The tumult of my thoughts swallowed her words angrily, yet before a roar of emotions deafened them, I glimpsed a sparkling seed of sense—I just needed to figure out how to nurture it into an answer.

“What have you taken responsibility for?” Del asked cautiously.

My jaws clenched and my eyelids fell heavily.

“I sold… sold out the AI enchantments to the TCE.”

Judging by the way she stiffened, her mind connected the dots instantly, realising the full extent of the horrible implications.

“Nobody could have known how it would turn out,” she weakly murmured.

My muzzle screwed up.

“I hear that too often and the truth is that it doesn’t change anything. But I will.”

Staring ahead, I couldn’t see her expression, however, I sensed a bewildered stare.

“I’m going to become the Machine Goddess.” I gave a quiet but stalwart voice to her thoughts; they felt alien on my porcelain lips—unthinkable.

“I don’t know what to say…”

Neither did I, but she solved that issue first.

“I never hated equinoids just for what they are.”

Del must have remembered how she once expected me to kill her at the same time as I did.

“It’s just some things some of them do,” Delight corrected herself. “No matter what you decide with… yourself, there’s nobody better than you to try to make things better for equinoids. And maybe if they have a better life, if they’re treated differently, they’ll act differently and better, too.”

Her expression fell and she bitterly chuckled, “I hope you won’t forget the boring old me…”

“I won’t,” I replied, putting all the effort I had into controlling myself.

“I know that face,” Del snorted in amusement. “You look like my matron from the Silken Flute when she was about to ask me to take an extra shift.”

Yet her mirth turned into concern as I remained somberly silent.

No matter how hard I tried, every choice of my words would be a blow. I pressed my lips together with a faint whine of strain to the ceramic—I should respect Delight’s strength; she wasn’t a spineless filly, even less so after all that we had gone through together.

“Queen Chrysalis is dying and she thinks that you should become the new Queen of the Swarm.”

Her reaction took me unawares—she snickered.

“The Moths aren’t changelings, I had no idea I was feeding the Swarm. I’m just a pony with a tattoo.”

“There’s a magic ritual,” I deadpanned. “It turns a pony into a changeling queen.”

Del’s face went through different expressions until it turned so pale, I thought she would faint.

“Why me?” she blurted.

“I can’t answer that question. Sorry.”

“Why?”

“I’m telling you everything you should know to make your own decision.”

Delight gulped and stammered, “A-am I expected to answer right now?”

“Absolutely not.” I calmed her. “You don’t have to answer at all—it wasn’t an order.”

She turned away to gaze through the window at the changelings milling around the Sky Palace terraces. Then she touched the burn on her cheek once more and her shaking hoof remained there.

An uneasy silence settled betwixt us and reigned for so long I thought I should just leave.

“I—” Del finally spoke, but her voice broke. In a whisper, surprisingly level, she uttered, “I’ll think about it.”

Author's Note

Special thanks to Jay Tarrant.

I hope you've enjoyed reading this story so far.

If you notice any mistakes sneaked in through the editing, let me know.

Stay awesome.

Chapter 19 – Betrayal

Aftersound

==============================

Written by: Oneimare & Geka

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant, IAmApe

==============================

Betrayal

==============================

On one hoof, the absence of any surveillance combined with the scale of the Sky Palace offered Flower an almost unfair advantage in making herself hidden. On the other hoof, I had twelve eager to help equinoids and the confused but nevertheless inclined to assist me changelings able to sense emotions in the air.

Still, it took our combined efforts an unjustified amount of time to not only locate the filly but virtually corral her as she kept escaping us via ventilation ducts and maintenance passages too narrow for anyone else to follow.

Sniffles reached my sensors as I neared the grate.

“Flower,” I softly called.

Little hooves scampered away, but soon the sound returned with a frantic quality to it—Seven guarded the only exit from the dusty vent.

Taking a cautious step closer, I said, “I just want to talk.”

No answer came, though the sobs ceased.

Letting out a sigh, I approached the mesh and sat by it, my back leaning on the vibrating metal.

The silence stretched, becoming uneasy, but I couldn’t help it—without understanding how much Flower knew, I didn’t dare to speak in fear of aggravating the situation.

Hoping that words would come to me by themselves, I gingerly began, “Flower—”

“What did I do wrong?” she snapped in a pained voice.

“You did nothi—”

“Then why have you chosen them? It’s because I’m a dumb amputee, isn’t it?”

Suppressing a desire to grind my teeth, I patiently retorted, “You aren’t dumb and it has nothing to do with your hoof. In fact, it has nothing to do with you. I created them and as—”

I abruptly cut myself off.

‘And as Twilight Sparkle I should take responsibility’.

Was that all this was—a debt to my heritage? Despite my initial impression, I genuinely liked the Twelve as they represented the best qualities of ponydom; their grace rivalled that of the Princesses, modest and generous they not only shared a bond of friendship but strived to reach for the others.

However, there was another option—admitting myself as their mother would instantly terminate that conversation.

Whilst we had literally cornered Flower, I had done so to myself figuratively.

To make the situation worse, in a few hours I would embark into the city to find and bring back a dragon that was my foster son. And a few hours ago I essentially proclaimed myself a mother to every equinoid—sooner or later, she would find out.

“I haven’t forgotten my promise,” I stated resolutely. “Nor do my decisions regarding others exclude you from my life.”

“If I wanted it to be this way, then I’d have moved in with Wire years ago,” she bitterly commented.

My jaws clenched—the Twelve, the equinoids, Spike and Flower all needed me to be a mother, each in a different way. It felt like trying to dance on four pieces of wood floating in the water; and I couldn’t swim nor did I know how to dance.

The solution to that conundrum evaded me. On top of that, Ten stood at the door, urging me to come—a changeling clad in kevlar armour by his side hinted at Chrysalis following her part of the deal.

“Would you give me some more time?” I pleaded.

A sigh that had no right belonging to a child preceded her answer.

“Yes.”

“Machine Goddess, Sergeant Maestus reporting.” The changeling mare’s hoof snapped in a salute. “I’m in charge of the operation.”

The ridiculousness of the situation didn’t reflect on her expression—deadly serious.

“Nice to meet you, Sergeant.” I bowed my head. “Such a formality is excessive and so far I’ve done nothing to be called that. Twilight Sparkle should suffice.”

My words failed to affect her either as she replied without a hitch, “Of course, Miss Sparkle.”

Maestus prepared to join her comrades in preparing a flying vehicle, yet looking at them somberly packing a variety of supplies and weapons, I couldn’t help but wonder:

“Is there anything I should know or do?”

The sergeant regarded me critically and, somewhat hesitant, suggested, “You should turn those holograms off. Other than that, there’s nothing for you to be concerned about, Miss Sparkle.”

My magic probed betwixt the plating of my body; a pink tendril sneaked in and the neon glow blinked out of life. Ten got a grateful nod from me.

As I trotted behind the changeling, she said over her shoulder, “Our mission is simple—we go underground, meet our contact on level seven and he guides us to the target.”

“Target?” I echoed her words with an invisible frown.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, it’s just our terminology,” Maestus hurriedly explained. “We were very thoroughly briefed by Captain Dash on Spike to be captured with as little damage done as possible.”

The final preparations took mere minutes and the squad of ten changelings hurried to the seats of a spacious compartment, paying my presence as much mind as they would to each other. Still, I sat a bit afar, by the little observation window.

The vessel jerked and accelerated out of the hangar; however, we left behind only the smooth surface of the Sky Palace’s grey wall.

We passed the gleaming spires of the Inner City, identical shining skyscrapers bathing each other in neon, reflecting it like colossal kaleidoscopes. Their light didn’t grace us for long, gradually ceding to the darkness of sturdy monoliths belonging to the Outer City.

Rust and grime ruled the depressing landscape, enclosing on the dwindling radiance. Rare specks of neon starkly stood out amidst the decay; the cold pale light of underpowered office lamps filtered through the dingy windows of needle-like rundown towers.

Monumental edifices of strange abstract bulky designs, massive pyramidal ziggurats, loomed over dormitory districts. Tongues of fire bathed windowless concrete walls, spewed periodically by the rare factories—beacons of industry, guests from the Edge.

The Thunderspires’ arcanium apices thrust themselves into the leaden mass summoned to unleash its fury to feed into the streets below, churning with embers of a miserable life. The humiliated clouds shed fog that crawled across the city, sapping colour and rendering Canterlot ethereal—a feverish nightmare.

‘They build because they’re afraid,’ an ancient philosopher once wrote, hailing from a civilization whose ruins didn’t even exist anymore.

Trixie told me that fear lay in the foundation of post-war Equestria—King Sombra had taught ponies to dread each other. And in the end, he preached truth as horrors indeed had lurked in the hearts of ponykind. Where had that darkness of spirit come from?

The forgetfulness of ponies tore at Rainbow’s mind; as she remained the last witness, confined to the solitude of her duty, nobody could remind the new generations of the tragic cost of certain mistakes. Just like Nightmare Moon became a tale, the Windigos turned into a myth, so too had the grand massacre lost its meaning. Why did they start to forget?

Chrysalis knew the answers to those questions and that was why she’d tried to bring Princess Celestia back; it wouldn’t have fixed anything, however. Her death constituted only half of the problem or, rather, a symptom. Another manifestation of the core failure of Equestrian society was a necklace I once wore on my neck. It had failed to defeat King Sombra—it only mattered that it failed, not against whom.

The prosperity of Equestria hinged on material things.

Princess Celestia—a timeless goddess of perfection; a shining symbol of virtue compelling countless generations to strive for. And when the Sun set, ponies became lost in the moonless night of morality.

Whilst the solar diarch acted as a paragon—out of grasp but still desired and aimed for—the Elements served as a whip to remind ponies of what happened to those who strayed from the light. Their malfunction dealt the final blow to the system built upon materialism.

Equestria used to be the land of carrots and sticks.

This was a land of absolute freedom.

Chrysalis only knew how to govern a Hive full of her children; and even if she had managed to run Canterlot, she would never fill the role of an icon for ponydom. Not because she couldn’t—it would have been just another mask for the actress second to none. She was a sort of mother who didn’t detest fighting for the survival of her Swarm as an equal to it.

In retrospect, it should have become apparent as soon as Luna strayed from her path—for the first time. It showed the fallibility of the Goddesses and as such the impermanence of everything they had built.

But that would mean admitting ponies are flawed by definition, inherently hopeless and vile. I knew those who needed neither a carrot nor a stick to follow the path of virtue.

The flying craft shook, and the humming of its frame ceased.

Its trap door didn’t open and the changelings sat still.

The window showed another vessel, its red and white colouration suggesting a hospital as our stop. I expected the squad to change the carriage or take some equipment, but they remained unmoving.

“Obfucia, fire it up,” Maestus ordered.

Magic surged from the bulky device strapped to the horn of the changeling mare and the reflective surface of the hospital vehicle let me witness an arcane cocoon enveloping our craft. It dissipated, leaving behind a carriage no different from any other in the clinic’s hangar.

Though it matched the Swarm’s style, only its queen retained the ability to cast spells. Half of the squad had artificial horns hiding their own under the network of arcanium and crystals. Bandoliers hanging from their armoured vests gleamed with gems containing ‘bottled spells’—prepared by the Twelve.

The vehicle took off and as the disguise removed the tension, the squad began to whisper among themselves, until one of the soldiers, a lively slim mare spoke:

“Hey, Sarge, I heard the Captain is pissed off,” she mirthfully chirped.

“Wait, Teleta, there was a time when she was not pissed off?”

The whole squad laughed—a strange sound accompanied by the chirr of their wings.

“Eh, fair enough.” Teleta shrugged. “But she’s, like, extra mad.”

“Yeah, they say her squad is still doing push-ups,” a burly stallion supplemented.

That comment opened the dam, and every changeling leaned to each other to share rumours:

“You know how she hates when Mother interferes with her missions, but I heard it’s about that strange pony she brought back.”

“You mean that creepy huge mare?”

“Aye, my friend saw her, says she looks like a nightmare incarnate.”

“But I heard…”

Maestus didn’t join the exchange, though listened to it with avid interest. She caught my eyes and shrugged, smiling. Then her gaze slid to the window and cleared her throat.

“Alright, squad, leave all that talk to the locker room,” she barked half-heartedly. “Now—the disguises, we’re nearing the drop point.”

Ten flashes of emerald fire left behind ten ponies.

“Teleta, you have horizontal irises,” Maestus chided her squad. “Radix, define your muscles, you look like a sack of lard for your size. Lamina—less plastic in your mane.”

The vehicle shook again, more violently and the door almost instantly opened with a resounding clang. Even before it hit the dirt, the changelings had already unstrapped themselves and grabbed their equipment.

“Go, go, go! Keep up with us, Miss Sparkle!”

A stairwell at the edge of an abandoned factory’s backyard led us underground.

The Tunnels met me with an onslaught of reek and darkness; I wondered if I could turn off my olfactory sensors. Despite the emptiness of the passages, the changelings clung to the walls, checking around the corners.

Not before long, we exited a series of cramped tunnels into a part of the industrial plant—another working-level or a maintenance floor bristling with rusted pipes and torn cables. Though the barrels burned, emanating choking smoke, the dirty mats surrounding them had not a single creature, only rats obliviously scurried around.

The changelings unpacked their bags, producing guns of peculiar design and helping each other to mount the weapons on their shoulders. Connected to the translucent glowing visors they swivelled, following the stern eyes of the soldiers.

Sorted that out, they swiftly embarked deeper into the underground, cautiously following the shortest path to stairwells.

The passages lost their horrid stench but turned ominous as the mass of stone above grew, dividing us from the surface and pinning us to the impenetrable chaotic blackness. None of the squad members dared to lower their weapons, but nothing gave a reason to use them.

Something shifted in the shadows and I regretted my premature celebration.

A large figure glistening with blackened metal came out of the darkness into the weak light of a dying lamp—the behemoth in the rune-covered suit I had already encountered during my delve.

Twenty gun barrels pointed at the armour-clad pony, but the giant didn’t bother to stop or even pause, simply continuing to shamble forward. It stopped in front of Maestus, towering over her as an alicorn would.

The Sergeant saluted.

“Captain Soarin.”

The respirators on his helmet menacingly hissed.

A grave voice, distorted by the low quality of the microphone, rasped, “Corporal Maestus, isn’t it?”

“Sergeant Maestus, sir,” she proudly exclaimed, saluting again.

Soarin’s huge hoof mirrored her motion with agility such bulky armour didn’t suggest—still surprising despite me already having witnessed it in action before.

“You must be Twilight Sparkle,” Soarin then rumbled. Dark eyes encircled by wrinkles peered at me through the thick amber glass. “Or so they say.”

“They?” I scoffed. “ Lately nobody thinks I’m Twilight Sparkle.”

The Former one looked at me thoughtfully, then shrugged. “I couldn’t tell the difference anyway—we barely met each other. Anyhow, I was told you’re looking for Spike.”

Powerful flashlights cut through the inky shadows, forcing them to reveal the suspiciously inconspicuous stone. The blackness seemed to hesitate for a moment too long before fading away and weapons barrels followed the rays of light, ready to meet anything other than derelict walls.

Madponies kept stumbling into our circle of radiance, hysterically half-sobbing half-giggling. The warning shots usually sent them back, but not every time. Soon, the frenetics left us alone, but other horrors of the Deep Tunnels readily took their place.

Predatory forms glistened with corroded metal, glaring at us with narrow unblinking glowing eyes. One of those things pounced at Teleta and a powerful blast slammed it into a wall, the impact deafened by a terrifying screech sounding like metal rending.

“Fuck those Accursed,” the changeling grumbled, fumbling with her weapon—replacing the crystal battery.

“Is that what happens when an equinoid has no memory anchor?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Radix, the changeling disguising himself as a Big Mac-esque stallion, replied instead of her. “Theirs have rotted away.”

I looked at him quizzically; however, Teleta finished reloading and returned to the conversation.

“Our Mother used to constantly nag the TCE to do something about the runaways, so they equipped the next generation of models with crystals that would start to deteriorate after a set amount of time. They cost less and sold like hot scones.

“Four years later those equinoids were skinning ponies and wearing their coats, thinking that it would hide them from death. They were ripping out the older models’ gems and trying to replace theirs with them.

“For the first and last time, the city united to push them deep underground. The equinoids called them the Accursed—punished by their Goddess for turning on their kin.”

My sombre gaze caught a glimpse of a slender body, countless little rusty scraps clinging to a mismatching steel skeleton like scales; the timberwolf of the future, a dragon of artifice. The Accursed momentarily met my eyes and I looked into two wells of deadly metal insanity—what I was without Twilight Sparkle’s memories.

“If you are a captain, why are you here?”

Soarin paid as much attention to my question as to my approach. Yet as I prepared to fall back into the middle of the procession, a rumble came from his helmet.

“I’m the Captain of the Wonderbolts and only by the merit of being the last one—it just stuck with me,” he huffed. “I don’t have Rainbow’s patience to take orders from a changeling queen and a Coven witch.”

The interference rendered his reply almost emotionless and I stated to clarify, “You don’t approve of her decision.”

His visor turned and a pair of mildly surprised eyes regarded me.

“On the contrary. I respect her and if I ever had any doubts, they were gone after watching your ‘journey’.”

“I wonder who in Canterlot didn’t,” I muttered, not annoyed anymore but just tired.

Paying no heed, Soarin somewhat sheepishly uttered, “I should thank you.”

“What for?”

The Former One took some time before somberly replying, “For resolving the situation with Nightmare Moon. If you had failed... I would have had to defend Canterlot.”

“She’s Luna… just…” I awkwardly trailed off as I found myself at a loss for words. “Nevermind.” Suddenly, a realisation dawned on me, “You would have killed her to save Chrysalis?”

Again, Soarin didn’t answer immediately, much to my worry.

“I don’t think anybody can,” he finally said. “Luckily, I didn’t have to choose.” Before I could ponder on his grim comment, the Wonderbolt asked, “Would you?”

At first, I didn’t understand the question and as I did, it caught me off guard—I had been almost ready to fight her when we travelled from the Badlands, but Luna proved herself to be in the control of whatever assistance she’d found beyond Equestria. However, if it came to it again… I might not do it to save Chrysalis, but the way Luna spoke against my decision to become the Machine Goddess…

Silence—absolute and oppressive, it greedily devoured any sound, not letting even the tiniest echoes travel back to us.

Before the claws of the Accursed scraped against the floor, their scales rustled as they slithered in the shadows, the ancient joints squeaked in thirst for oil. Those sounds reflected in me with more than just morbidity and yet I missed them now.

Even Soarin, fearless in his heavy armour, trod carefully, the massive helmet always moving, scanning the darkness as he unrelentingly pushed forward. Forward… we hadn't taken a single turn since we’d entered this level of the Deep Tunnels.

“Hey, Sarge,” Radix called as he froze, his flashlight glaring at a dark hole in the wall—a crude entrance into a branching passage. “I think I saw something.”

“You think or you saw?”

Maestus’ flashlight cut into the black maw, futilely searching the yawning void.

“Yeah, I thi—”

A flash of silver—a movement so fast, it bordered invisibility.

Radix’s head rolled to the floor, engulfed in the jade fire of his terminated illusion. His body, a bright funeral fire slumped down, flooding the floor with yellowish-green hemolymph.

“Fuck! Formation!” Maestus barked even before Radix’s corpse fully hit the stone. “Protect Twilight and Soarin! Prepare the stunning spells!”

“Protect yourselves,” Soarin snapped back, pushing Maestus out of his way only to shield her with his body from the deadly darkness of the side pass. “He’s here!”

I wanted to comment that Spike wouldn’t harm me, but a thunderous roar came from all sides at once. Nine changelings formed a ring around me, bristling with guns and flashlights.

A large shadow slithered at the edge of the circle of light. Lamina fired a gun loaded with stunning spells, but the bolt missed; however, it lit up metal with its reflection as the shadows swallowed the blast.

Panting breaths counted agonisingly long seconds as they summed into minutes of tranquillity tense with insidiousness.

“Spike is going to ambush us,” Soarin muttered as low as his helmet allowed. “Our best bet is to react fast enough when it happens.”

“No offence, but that’s one shitty plan, Captain,” Teleta grumbled, earning a snort from Soarin.

“Remember your place, Private,” Maestus chided. “Corcillum, Arcus, guard Miss Sparkle. The rest—keep the formation. Marmor, you take Radix’s remains.”

As we traversed the endless corridor, Corcillum shook, on the verge of a nervous breakdown, though holding up; Arcus couldn’t tear her gaze from Radix’s body dripping ichor.

Though I knew Spike wouldn’t attack me, I couldn’t help but succumb to the atmosphere of barely controlled panic thickening with each step further into the trap.

A gust of wind touched the detectors on my ceramic body and Maestus whispered almost inaudibly, “Get ready, keep moving.”

I took five steps before Spike pounced from the shadows. Like a wave, a mass of metal and bloodied flesh rushed at the changelings in a single graceful attack.

Spike’s long claws hooked around Teleta, yanking the mare with him. The wide swipe of his tail snapped bones, mowing down three changelings and slamming into Soarin, bringing even him down. Another set of claws followed the steel whip, raking at Marmor’s chest, going through the armour like wet paper, leaving deep and profusely bleeding gashes.

The dragon dodged the barrage of stunning spells but the interruption of his retreat made him lose balance, his immense momentum crashed the heavy body into the wall.

Another fusillade pinned Spike down as the changelings recovered from the hit of his tail. In evading the projectiles, his weight shifted and Teleta cried as the sharp talons pressed her into the floor, digging through her barding.

The obsidian blades sent droplets of ichor everywhere as it shot at the changelings’ throats. Maestus and Lamina barely escaped a decapitating strike. The counterattack finally found its target, but the stunning explosions harmlessly glanced off Spike’s steel-clad body.

“Murderers!” Spike bellowed in rage.

Struck by the sudden display of sanity I almost missed Spike taking a deep breath.

“Spike!” I yelled. “Don’t!”

He instantly snapped his head at the sound of my voice, freezing in place, the ebony pupils expanding from lines into circles, pushing away the emerald gleam from his eyes and pushing back the verdant glow in his throat.

A stunning shell found a gap in the armour on his belly.

Charges containing healing spells proved invaluable, but no magic could fix a broken neck—Ossura had fallen victim to Spike’s tail hit; nor did those spells have enough power to do anything to Calamus’ shattered legs. And though Marmor’s wounds had stopped bleeding, he still might not make it home.

Another set of gems allowed the changelings to convert their own energy into a telekinesis spell, but so weak, carrying Spike demanded a combined effort with the steering done by the rest. To their luck, they had me, more than eager to help.

When Soarin finally guided us onto the seventh level of the Tunnels, he remained, ready to return to his post at the vilest depths of the city.

“Whoever you choose to be,” he addressed me, “I wish you luck.”

He then saluted the changelings and left.

The squad took a respite, but none looked relieved—the lifeless and maimed bodies reminded them of the price paid for that foray. And we also had to traverse the ‘usual’ underground, not deadly but still far from safe; I hoped the sight of the ‘Souleater’ bound in thick arcanium chains would make any potential assaulter think twice.

Only on the fifth level did we finally meet the dwellers—a throng of zebras who followed us with curious looks, but remained still and silent.

Ponies, or, rather, their shapes hiding in the shadows appeared on the third floor. They peeked around the corners and skittered in the side passages; as I predicted, none dared to face us.

And then Spike fell out of our magic grasp.

A sharp pain pierced my skull and my horn loudly cracked; ceramic shards tinkled on the floor. Pained shrieks and the shattering of crystals sounded nearby; shrill yells echoed from the adjacent passageways.

The agony abated, leaving me and the changelings—even those without artificial horns—clutching our heads.

“What was that?” Arcus asked, wiping hemolymph from his muzzle.

“It might be an arcanium bomb going off on another level,” Maestus warily mused, rubbing her forehead. “Whatever it was, we must hurry. I don’t want the stunning spell to wear off while we’re midway to the Palace.”

On the bright side, the strange occurrence effectively cleared the Tunnels of its local population and very soon the slightly familiar stairwell appeared before us. The changeling pilot had been already waiting for us by the opened door.

She had deep concern etched on her face.

“Volucris, what’s wrong?” Maestus asked as soon as we came near enough.

The mare turned to the view of the city, staring at it with a haunted expression.

The changelings hastily filed from the underground, levitating Spike out as well—I supported them from the bottom of the stairs. Just like their comrade, they all took a few moments to peer at something in the distance and that sight reflected on their muzzle with worried confusion; Maestus denied any talk, barking an order to shut up and hurry.

Finally climbing up the stairs, I failed to notice anything out of place.

The same old factory, the dilapidated buildings of the Outer City, the skyscrapers in the distance, the—

The dark cliffs chiselled into impregnable walls laced in a buildup of salt, patches of permafrost and glimmering runes.

Canterlot seemed to freeze in silence under the shadow of the ancient fortress. The sea of clouds parted around the walls used to the raging waves of Luna’s bay; once they’d even held back an army led by the goddess herself.

A hoof touched my shoulder, carefully shaking me.

“Miss Sparkle, we need to leave,” Maestus politely said; then warily added when I didn’t move, “The stunning spell is going to wear off.”

It still took me a few moments to tear my eyes away from Stalliongrad.

The gravity brought by bodies covered with tarpaulins silenced the survivors of the operation; nor did Spike stirring in his forced sleep, rattling the heavy chains, help to alleviate the dark atmosphere.

Though the changelings reverted to their original forms, their sombre expressions remained and they kept glancing out the windows. Only Teleta’s whispers carried over the hum of the engines, pleading for Marmor in her hooves to not fall asleep.

At first, I likely had the same worry as everyone else—a city of legends appeared out of nowhere, hovering above Canterlot like a dark omen. It had to be teleportation, I was sure. But another theory magnified my concern tenfold.

Stalliongrad had once pledged loyalty to Nightmare Moon and never officially renounced its allegiance. Less than a day ago, Luna returned to Canterlot… not alone.

Consumed by that horrible thought, I failed to notice our arrival at the Sky Palace until the door opened and changelings rushed in, bolting to Marmor. Even more chitinous equines followed, helping the wounded and a bright aura surrounded Spike, levitating him out.

Amongst the black bodies, Eleven’s stitched porcelain couldn’t stand out more; she couldn’t approach me in all the commotion.

As I stood up to come to her myself a holed hoof tugged on my plating.

“Thank you,” Maestus quietly said as I turned to find it was her. “Without your help, it would have been much worse.”

I could only confusedly nod in return—the mission wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t asked for help from Chrysalis.

The moment I reached Eleven, she urgently spoke, “Mother, they asked for you to come to the council chamber as soon as you arrive.”

She then began to practically drag me away by the hoof.

“Wait, Eleven, who are ‘they’?” I asked, voluntarily taking a brisk pace to reach her demanded speed.

“Oh, Sunset and the queen. Stalliongrad sent a transmission, saying they’re coming.”

“Are they already here?”

Eleven shook her head.

“Then why are we hurrying?”

“They’re going to teleport in,” she replied, somewhat darkly.

We weaved around the changelings in the corridors; a tense atmosphere dominated the Sky Palace with its subdued dwellers stumbling around in confusion, approaching each other only to find the same lack of answers for what was happening.

“But isn’t the Sky Palace protected against that?”

The Twelve must have created it themselves, considering the Swarm was unable to create any enchantments. The spell might have even stopped Luna.

“That was exactly what we told them.”

“And what was their response?”

“They said they know.”

Despite the absence of Canterlot representatives, the meeting room housed as many occupants—thanks to ten changelings clad in arcanium armour. They spread menacingly on the perimeter of the chamber and somehow I got an impression that their appearance was dictated not by the coming guests but someone who had already been in the Sky Palace.

Chrysalis reclined on the throne, Sunset whispering in her ear as both studied the contents of the tablet in the Former One’s grasp. By her other side Rainbow stood, still and tense, her visor down.

Trixie sat midway to the opposite end of the massive table, lonely and awkward, constantly and uneasily shifting, her face-mask changing from deep worry into bright hope and back.

Across from her Luna regally resided if one ignored the undulating mass of darkness—her mane. Her face betrayed nothing and she didn’t even bother to react to my arrival in any way; not that any other did for that matter. I also wondered if the queen had invited her or if Luna came here of her own volition.

Speaking of which, I didn’t fully understand the necessity of my presence and headed straight to the throne; I had other places to be.

Chrysalis uncannily anticipated my question as she said before I could even fire up my speaker, “You’re a big deal now, representing a major part of Canterlot’s population.”

“Except the equinoids don’t know that yet,” I quipped.

Ignoring my remark, she went on, “I was informed that the mission went as well as it could.”

Masterful though she might be, the stiffness of her tone couldn’t escape me.

Bowing my head, I uttered, “I’m sor—”

A blinding light flooded the room accompanied by a deafening crack of thunder—not that any of that could affect my artificial body; the Royal Guard also shrugged off disorienting effects and almost two dozen gun barrels pointed at the sudden guests.

A figure so tall, she effortlessly towered above even the wicked horn of the changeling queen caught my attention first—a deer with her beautiful branching rack. By her side—an ancient donkey, a scowling webwork of wrinkles leaning on a walking stick.

However their arrival intrigued me, they couldn’t dream to compete with the duo of bat-winged thestrals, a mare and stallion. The representatives of the race that seemed to have gone extinct over and over only to resurface from the shadows where nobody ever bothered to look; Stalliongrad this time… unsurprisingly, knowing its allegiance.

A chair fell as Luna abruptly stood up, her moon-sized eyes glued to the batponies, but they didn’t even spare her a glance. Instead, a group of armour-clad figures raised their weapons at the bewildered alicorn.

Those soldiers wore suits little different from that of the Royal Guard, concealing their race and sex; though, it reminisced of the traditional Stalliongrad armours with the trademark spikes of pickelhaubes. Even their weaponry copied the Crown’s designs; one of the envoy’s bodyguards had none, but their suit glowed from every seam and gap.

A thestral mare in the military uniform of a high-ranking officer stepped forward.

“On behalf of the Stalliongrad Technocracy, we greet you,” she declared clearly, with a slight accent.

She then bowed and her companions followed the example; except for the donkey only bowing his head. Chrysalis got up to mirror the motion to the best of what her failing body allowed and walked around the table to stand before the delegation.

“The Crown greets you in return. It’s quite unexpected to receive a visit from the fabled city of Stalliongrad,” she added politely, but not without a subtle hint of apprehension.

Though nobody even dared to turn their head to Luna, still in shock, her presence in the room weighed heavily on every word.

The shadow of a barely withheld grimace passed over the thestral’s face as she neutrally replied, “We came to offer our assistance.”

“And what did we do to deserve such an honour? Stalliongrad hasn’t contacted Equestria since the Great War.”

“Stalliongrad never betrays its loyalty—we had a deal.”

“I don’t remember making any deals with Stalliongrad.” Chrysalis glanced at Sunset. “Do you?”

The Former One shook her head but I noted her gaze glued to that one soldier with glowing armour. And she wasn’t the only Former One paying very close attention to that particular bodyguard.

As if on cue, the armour clad figure took place by the thestral and removed their helmet, revealing a semi-translucent mare, a magic spectre softly glowing with mulberry light, a defiant expression etched on her ghastly features.

“Tavi!” Trixie gasped.

“I made that deal,” Octavia said, in a voice surprisingly normal for an arcane apparition, though accented in its own way, different from that of the distant city. “I helped Stalliongrad to be evacuated. An eye for an eye.”

“I don’t remember letting a Former One speak on behalf of Canterlot either,” Chrysalis coldly commented, squinting at her.

“I don’t need permission from a false queen to speak for those who are in need.”

The spectre and the changeling indulged in a staring contest, both purple and green eyes burning with disdain. Yet before it could become something else, the thestral stallion stated:

“We’re willing to lend a helping hoof to Canterlot to the extent of our capabilities. However, there are certain conditions.”

The queen moved her glare from Octavia onto the stallion. At her side, Sunset almost imperceptibly whispered, “We need any help.”

“What are the conditions?” Chrysalis barked. “I thought it was an ‘eye for an eye’ deal, no strings attached.”

“I only pointed out the stash with the old subway crystals, the rest was done by the mages and engineers,” Octavia noted. “So Stalliongrad isn’t bound to do everything for us.”

‘Some of the biggest around’, Flower had told me. So that’s where they’d disappeared.

“The first thing,” the donkey croaked, pointing his carved walking cane at the queen and she clenched her jaw holding back a snarl. “You disband that Crown of yours. The ponies of Stalliongrad refuse to help their kin until they’re free.”

“And what of my Swarm?”

“Whatever you want,” the donkey snorted. “The ponies don’t want you in power, that’s all; even your juxtaposition is fine as long as you’re not up to any of your usual shenanigans.”

Chrysalis’ face slightly brightened but a shadow fell on it as the thestral mare spoke:

“The second and last condition—Nightmare Moon is to relinquish any claims to power, for an indefinite duration.”

“My name is Luna!” the alicorn snapped, the ominous whipping of her smoky mane putting those words to doubt. She raged, “It’s my birthright as a Princess to rule! I created your kind, gave you my blessing, and this is how you repay me, ungrateful whelps?!”

Every weapon aimed at her as she approached the batponies.

They met the menace and the accusations unflinchingly, regarding Luna with unhidden aversion.

“The night is your only birthright, not the throne,” the stallion barked at her.

The mare joined him, venomously noting, “You broke the deal—you abandoned us, traitor. Nothing you promised us came true and your blessing turned into a curse, Nightmare Moon. While we were being hunted by all but shadows, you chose to hunt yours.”

“And have lost yourself in it,” the stallion grimly finished.

Luna stepped back, her anger fading to reveal pain as the thestrals’ words cut deep.

The alicorn froze, lost, and the uneasy silence stretched on until the batpony mare impatiently asked, “Are you going to betray Canterlot, too?”

The thestrals didn’t try to hide their lack of eagerness to help us, but they seemed to have more invested in all this than just wanting to keep their honour to keep untarnished.

Luna—and she sounded and looked like her indeed—hung her head and uttered in a quite broken voice, “I abdicate my claim to the throne.”

She then turned sharply and stormed out of the chamber.

Rainbow gave a start to move after her, but the queen stopped the captain and gave me an intent look. Though I didn’t quite know what I should do, wasting no time, I followed the alicorn.

The trail of scared changelings and occasional cracked floor tiles led me higher and higher until I ended up before a door swinging in the wind.

Behind it, the night waited for me, a sequin black shawl undisturbed by neither clouds nor the spires of the city. None reached this high, the apex of Canterlot. And on that little observation platform, the Night stood, staring at her Moon, diamonds of the sky reflecting in wet trails on gaunt cheeks.

The wind harshly whistled betwixt my ceramic plates, effortlessly pushing and pulling at my body as if it weighed nothing. I feared it could fling me beyond the railing and into the neon sea sprawled below.

“Luna?” I futilely called her over the howling.

The hurricane died out.

“What do you want from me, machine?”

“I have a name.”

“The name you have stolen,” Luna dismissed my words with a sneer that only grew more vicious as she continued, “Not that anyone seems to respect names anymore—I was just robbed of mine.”

Her words still stinging me, I barked, “You’re the only one who robs yourself of it.” Seeing her bristle, I spoke quickly, “You told me you weren’t going to fight for the throne.”

“The Crown just agreed to be abolished and the ponies of Canterlot need a leader,” she nonchalantly said. “The matter resolved itself without a fight—I didn’t lie.”

I squinted at her, grimacing.

“Didn’t you say that you no longer deserve that title?”

“This is not about me—the ponies need someone to lead them,” Luna continued to speak in a self-assured voice. Something about her expression, those glassy eyes of hers and attentive dead stares in her mane, disturbed me to the core.

“To lead them to where you are now?” I hissed. “Into your delusion?”

Pitch feathers fell on the moonlit concrete—a pair of great wings flapped open.

“Remember who you speak to,” the alicorn snapped. Then disdain contorted her features. “Delusion! Rich, coming from an arcane golem that dares to dream of godhood. Except you don’t even dream—you can’t. Everything in this world that is living shares a connection to Harmony; even timberwolves dream of blood.”

Driven by burning indignation, I took a step forward—this went far beyond refusing to acknowledge me as Twilight Sparkle. She’d just claimed every equinoid in Canterlot as nothing but tools!

“One of my friends used to say that those who don’t dream can’t have nightmares,” Sunset loudly stated; my head whipped to her standing at the doorway. Ignoring Luna’s and my looks, she came to my side and continued, “Do you envy her, a being impervious to the bridle of the Nightmare?”

“I’m in control!” Luna yelled in a high-pitched voice on the verge of breaking.

The Former One bitterly laughed in the face of the goddess panting in fury and shame.

“You’re a fool not because you’re wrong, but because you struck that deal twice. And I’m a fool for striking a deal with you.” Luna opened her mouth to protest, but Sunset spoke over her, “So, as a fool to a fool, let me tell you something—Stalliongrad denied the throne to Nightmare Moon, not Princess Luna.”

I stared at her, stunned by those words, the alicorn’s jaws clenched hard; even her mane stilled itself in what looked like worry.

“She who strives on and lives to strive can earn redemption still,” Sunset intoned. “Do you?”

“You have no right to judge me!” Luna barked; her dark mane expanded, but remained surprisingly calm even as its owner raged, “I did what I had to, to avenge my sister!”

“Why do you refuse to come to her grave then? What would she have said if she saw her little sister’s eyes full of nought by blinding vengeance again?”

My ceramic plates shattered as I flung myself to the side, rolling on concrete until I crashed into the railing, barely avoiding a wave of pure darkness rushing into my face. The flood of thick ink left frost upon the corroded concrete as I dodged, yet Sunset didn’t flinch.

She opened her jaws and betwixt the ethereal fangs, an incandescent point of light spilt a wild inferno across the Sky Palace’s roof. The roiling shadows sizzled against the liquid fire and on ‘my’ side of the platform now lay a field of bubbling stone.

Luna recoiled in surprise, taking a low, wary stance, her mane swelling to the size of a small house. Yet the Former One didn’t seem to advance; instead, she said:

“In Sombra’s shadow, I’ve found the sunlight I have no right to carry but have to because nightmares like you exist.”

Her words did nothing to resolve the tension, so she firmly continued:

“You can leave—there’s no place for you amongst us, Princess or not; and you know that. Or you can descend into the Royal Castle, face the remains of your sister and ask yourself—‘who am I?’”

Author's Note

Special thanks to Jay Tarrant.

I hope you've enjoyed reading this story so far.

If you notice any mistakes sneaked in through the editing, let me know.

Stay awesome.

Chapter 20 – Assumption

Aftersound

==============================

Written by: Oneimare & Geka

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant, IAmApe

==============================

Assumption

==============================

“You sure have a lot of spare parts,” I absently-mindedly murmured, gazing upon the vast number of ceramic plates hanging over me as I lay on the table.

Replacing another cracked patch of my ‘coat’, Three snorted, “Eleven gets something broken every week without fail.”

Ah—the equinoid who met me in the hangar, her plating held together by metal stitches…

My speaker cracked with the beginning of a phrase, but no words came. The caustic poison that ate at my mind finally won over attempts to distract myself by spewing irrelevancies.

I wanted to believe that Luna was just ignorant on the matter or lashing out at me in her struggle for lucidity, but the ghosts of mindless things living under the city refused to leave my vision, prowling in the corner of my eye. And, seeing Three taking care of me, obviously happy to offer her help to her beloved mother, I could only feel the sharp guilt of abusing kindness that didn’t belong to me.

“Three…” I whispered. “Who am I?”

The equinoid paused her motions and gave me a concerned look; at least I hoped so—the porcelain mask showed nothing.

“What a strange question… Lady Sparkle,” she said in a carefully neutral tone.

“How do you know I’m Twilight Sparkle? You have never met her.”

I wanted to slap myself—despite my efforts, frustration had slipped into my voice.

Three paused again, for longer this time. She lowered her hooves from the table and looked aside, silent and still. My eyes bore into her—a parent who didn’t remember her children, staring in pain and confusion at a daughter who didn’t remember her mother. Daughters and sons—all of the Twelve participated in this conversation.

No mask could hide that truth.

None of the Twelve differed from a filly or a colt who wanted a lullaby sung to them; like Flower, they didn’t care if that melody came from a throat or a speaker. They must have been aware that the Twilight who created them was dead and unrecoverable; and the Twelve didn’t even seem to want that Twilight to be back—Thirteen didn’t and for a good reason.

I slid from the workbench. Three had finished replacing most of my damaged plating and the rest, covered by the holograms, didn’t bother me enough to overpower my desire to be alone at the moment.

On second thought… Wallowing in my misery felt more alluring than ever, but I had no time to spare and a promise to fulfil.

When the door rapped with a reluctant knock, I had been lazily leafing through one of the unfamiliar tomes—‘Binary boolean enchantments’ by Twilight Sparkle and Moon Dancer.

“Thirteen,” I sighed the greeting out. The ‘changeling’ equinoid stood at the doorway, expectant, and a bitter mutter escaped my mouth, “Just don’t call me Machine Goddess, please.”

He coolly regarded me and wryly promised, “I won’t.” As I remained somberly silent, he added, “You didn’t call me here for a chat, did you?”

“I actually did. May I ask a few questions?”

Thirteen trotted into the chamber and sat in front of me, a patient but somewhat sly expression claiming his features.

“Fire away.”

I mulled over where to begin and started simply:

“What do you know about gods?”

“Ha! I knew you were going to ask that, ” he barked, then apologetically continued, “And I’m afraid that you know as much as I do—there are some hypothetical entities attributed to certain nations, but with no direct proof of their existence, anything we have belongs to the territory of pure speculation. It’s said the gods destroyed Neighponia two centuries ago, but again—no evidence.”

Just as I feared—if the royal archivist knew nothing, then that lead proved to be a dead end. Unless I wanted to ask the demi-goddess; but not only wouldn’t she cooperate, trusting her advice could be… foolish, at best.

Another sigh concluded my thoughts.

“Thank you nevertheless, Thirteen.”

Yet the equinoid didn’t dismiss himself and as I tore my gaze away from the page full of vaguely familiar but still mysterious diagrams, my eyes met his intent look. He smiled.

“I think you’re missing the point.”

“Which is?”

“You aim to become the Machine Goddess.”

I frowned at Thirteen.

The equinoid huffed, “At such a rate, you aren’t going to achieve anything in a year.” Seeing my persevering confusion, he explained, “All you need to be accepted as a saviour is to bring the Unity to the equinoids.”

The rest of my face joined the furrowed brow to form a grimace and shifting my bitter gaze to the pages taunting me with riddles, I muttered, “The Twelve told me the Prime Code is incomplete.”

A hoof engraved with circles to resemble the holes in chitin covered the formulas and yanked the book away.

“Have you already given up?”

“I don’t even know what the difference is between it and the enchantments of the TCE’s equinoids!” I snapped and, pointing at myself, barked, “I barely understand what a memory anchor is.”

Thirteen met my outburst with a glare and pressed together lips, however, none of that filtered into his voice as he calmly said, “That’s the trick—memory anchors are a crutch, the TCE’s workaround.”

“But without them, an equinoid would be an Accursed.”

He made a sound that I could only describe as distinctly and disturbingly insect-esque.

“Who put that dumb idea in your crystals? An Accursed is what happens when the consciousness degenerates until only the basic survival directives remain, crammed into utility gemstones.”

The shadows at the corners receded but didn’t leave yet.

“Then… what would happen if you launched an equinoid without an anchor?” I asked, afraid to learn the answer—what could be worse than those… golems?

“The same as if a pony woke up with no personal memories but the intelligence of an adult—a severe existential crisis, almost always... terminal.”

Numb, I mumbled, “Exactly what happened to me...”

Terminal.

“You have Twilight’s memories,” Thirteen discontentedly retorted.

“It doesn’t help,” I practically growled at him.

He bristled in response, snapping, too, “Without them, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Sorry, I just…”

Clenching my jaws I drew a deep breath, closing my eyes momentarily. Thirteen only wanted to help, nor had he said anything wrong. Shoving the entire conundrum to the back of my mind, I focused on the knowledge just shared with me.

“How did the Twelve solve that issue?”

“They didn’t,” Thirteen replied, his voice suddenly hard. “Moon Dancer used another band-aid—she linked them and, together, they had managed to figure out their identities. The catch is that it only supports twelve entities.”

Raising my eyes I failed to meet his—a frown cast aside; not randomly—Thirteen bitterly stared at Kismet and the urn the doll guarded.

My whisper rustled through the shrine, “I’m sorry.”

Thirteen’s features softened and he uttered with a sigh, “It worked out in the end.” Composing himself, he stated in a clear tone, “In theory, the Prime Code is supposed to have a Nexus that should be able to connect an indefinite amount of individuals—that’s the unfinished part.”

He held out his hoof, offering me the thick tome.

I opened it to the first page.

A mere section of the book remained to be learnt when the door gently rattled with a request for an invitation. Grimacing, I forced myself to overcome the spell of the scientific work to glare at the entrance into Moon Dancer’s dwelling. Unsurprisingly, peering at the door revealed nothing, but a chirring mare’s voice called from beyond it:

“Sorry for the intrusion, Machine Goddess. My name is Acus. I’m working on treating Spike—”

The changeling hastily took a step back as I pulled the door so eagerly, it slammed into the wall.

Seven nervously guided me through the semi-abandoned science wing of the Sky Palace. I kept getting ahead of her, only to be reminded that I didn’t know where to find the old Hydroponics Laboratory. Each time dismay stung me—the Twelve could see how I anticipated the reunion with my foster child; they might think of him as more favoured, but the truth would be quite sad.

I hoped to finally be recognised for who I was.

The arrival to our destination became apparent even before the faded sign on the door could be read. The heavily armoured guards with stun guns at the ready left no freedom for guesses. By them stood a changeling in medical scrubs, Trixie and Sunset by his side.

The strained equanimity of their expressions crippled my enthusiasm with a sudden tension, infecting me with burning worry. As I reluctantly approached them, reserved nods greeted me.

The changeling medic cleared his throat and masterfully avoided my eyes—a behaviour shared by all three equines—and busied himself with studying the tablet, quietly speaking:

“The patient’s condition is stable. Sunset and Thorax—”

“Trixie,” the mare in question begrudgingly noted. Sighing deeply, she reluctantly picked after the physician. “We dispelled the magic affecting Spike. It was the spell... used to reanimate Crystal Ponies as golems.”

One of many vile practices devised by the warlocks during the war. But how?

As though reading my thoughts, Sunset joined in, “Someone must have fed him the tainted crystals in ignorance.” Her dark tone, tinged with fulmination, suggested the possibility of other reasons.

“He’s better now, isn’t he?” I asked, futilely trying to meet the eyes of the trio.

The medic coughed into his hoof and muttered, “It no longer causes the fusion of prosthetics with his soft tissues...”

“What are you not telling me?”

None answered me and I scowled.

“I’m going in.”

Trixie and Sunset swiftly exchanged glances and the former stood in my path. Steeling herself, she uttered, “The revivification curse… The way Sombra had designed it, only the flesh was forced to fight again.”

She trailed off, finally meeting my eyes with a stare full of pity.

“Spike’s mind was never affected.”

I held Trixie’s gaze only for as long as it took her words to sink in.

She didn’t resist when I shoved her out of my way.

The magic fueling the unquenchable fire of dragons’ hearts came neither from Harmony nor even past it, but from the arcanium core itself—an enigma. That mystical energy made dragons one of the most unique and dangerous creatures inhabiting this world.

The dragon before me had no danger left in him.

Out of Spike’s limbs, only his right arm remained and only the shoulder part of it—an ugly, freshly stitched stub midway to where his elbow should be. A few patches of scaly skin barely covered his flayed body; muscle, withered and dark, twitched, exposed to the air. Spike had so little left of him that the glow and beat of his heart could be seen through the gaps betwixt his bared ribs.

My eyes stopped at Spike’s, the only part remaining unmutilated—emeralds glimmering amidst raw flesh that couldn’t convey any expression.

The initial impact faded and from the shock emerged the emotion that refused to succumb to empathy or horror.

“Why?” I asked, my tone as cold as the howl of the Windigo.

Spike stayed silent for so long that I thought he wasn’t conscious, but then his penetrating gaze shifted away.

“They all would have died anyway,” he measuredly hissed; the pain and absence of lips failed to mask the disdain in his weak and hoarse voice.

“Elaborate,” I ordered.

“I needed to survive, I had to eat,” Spike replied matter-of-factly.

“You could have asked for help!” I barked.

Spike eyed me condescendingly and a low growl came from his torn throat, “I didn’t want any help from the traitors.”

“Chrysalis tricked them all.” My hoof shot up in the general direction. “The TCE is beyond evil, but not everyone is the TCE!”

As before, Spike met my outburst with cold regard, as much as his skinned muzzle allowed and then rumbled, “When Chrysalis under the guise of Rarity exiled me into the Dragon Lands as ambassador, I kept in touch with Fancy Pants, the only decent aristocrat that ever lived.

“He wrote to me in his letters about how ponies obediently accepted the wrongs of the Crown, how only so few joined Pinkie’s and Fluttershy’s rebellion even though thousands of refugees suffered horribly. Chrysalis is a murderous wretch and the TCE directors are abominations, but the actual villains are those who gambled on their neighbours being squashed so they could prevail, even knowing they would be the next.

“The ponies had a choice and they chose a nightmare.”

“So that’s how it is? You think of yourself as justice incarn—”

“You were in the Tunnels,” he barked and crimson drops fell on pristine sheets. “That mare who was with you reeked of sex and blood… Tell me, how many good ponies are out there?”

“She’s a good pony!”

“A needle in a haystack,” Spike scoffed. “If I killed a good pony, it’s mercy—Canterlot or the Crystal Empire would have defiled and killed them. If I’d executed a rapist or a murderer, I would have made this city better.”

My mind blanked out as I stared at Spike who calmly gazed at me in return.

“You are insane,” I finally said, sadly shaking my head. “It’s as if you forgot how you were raised amongst ponies, forgot your friends... your mother.”

Something stirred in Spike, his heart flaring under the yellowed spokes. The stub of his limb pressed into the linen, painting it red and the naked tendons rung with sudden exertion. Against all logic, the mangled body rose above me and his fanged mouth roared, spewing blood, saliva and soot:

“The friends who turned away from my mother! The ponies who cried out ‘Hero Killer’ and ‘Traitor of the Sun’, desecrating the grave of the one I loved the most!”

The fire alarm drizzling from the ceiling brought me back to my senses and I realised that I had been cowering before Spike, his panting grotesque silhouette simmering with pain-fueled fury as he overhung me in merciless judgement.

And then I understood.

“It’s been five centuries,” I tenderly said, all my anger ceding to sorrow.

Spike deflated and heavily fell back on the five hospital beds put together to accommodate his massive, even if whittled down body.

“Time passes differently for dragons,” he bitterly whispered.

“I know. You can stop now. I’m back.”

“But you’re not her.”

An explosion of porcelain sent ceramic shrapnel pinging off the dingy walls.

Seven’s frantic hooves fought mine as I tried to writhe myself free—she’d caught me blindly galloping through the maze of the science wing.

“Mother!” she cried, distressed, and her crimson skeletal limbs finally stopped my escape attempts. “What’s wrong?”

As she fell for my ruse, I pushed her away, skidding on the floor myself.

“Leave me alone! I’m a mother to no—”

I choked on my words as Seven stumbled back—struck. I slammed my hooves down, sending black cracks climbing up my varnished skin and yelled, howled in frustration and desperation. Stared at the floor with an intensity that should have bored a hole in it.

The struggle to give control over my body and mind back to rationality filled the empty and dark corridor with tense silence. The ground under the anchors that secured me to reality had been rejecting me and I felt myself drifting... away.

Terminal.

Shutting that voice down with my own, I pleaded, “I’m sorry, Seven. I didn’t mean to say that.”

“You did.” My head shot up. “You don’t want us.”

Seven’s tone compensated for the lack of tears on her unmoving face.

“That’s not true,” I weakly retorted—the last conversation I’d had with Twelve pointed otherwise. Defeated, I almost sobbed, “I just want to know who I am.”

Paradoxically, her expression softened—something did change in her.

“We… understand,” Seven quietly said. She looked at me sympathetically and I thought she smiled, sadly. “We wish we could show you, but the Prime Code has yet to be finished.”

I hung my head—another hope that might end up hollow; still better than nothing. Thinking of asking to get me back to the workshop I opened my mouth, but Seven spoke first.

“Clandestine Delight has been seeking you—she’s at her ward.”

I melancholically watched as Teleta bolted to the door next to Del’s, chided by the nurse for the violation of visiting hours. Either my solemn presence or the reason behind the changeling’s eagerness to see Marmor stopped the nurse, leaving me alone before the entrance to the unknown.

As much as sheer curiosity goaded me, the desire to not see anyone left me glued to the hospital floor. I wanted to be around the Twelve even less; inevitable though it might be, considering my task, I couldn’t help myself but stall.

But time stood against me and not only because of the looming evacuation.

Yet I hesitated before pushing the door open. My magic reached under my plating and left it without a neon coat—no need to bother Delight further; something told me the conversation wouldn’t be easy for her, whatever she chose.

Del didn’t turn away from the window she was leaning on as I came in, her eyes following the changelings milling outside in the red glow of the reflected sunset. The tray with cold food rested on the bedside table and the sheets were crumpled into a pegasus-sized bird nest.

Still as a statue, she asked me, so quietly I barely made out her words, “Would you hate me?”

“What?”

“Would you hate me if I were to say ‘yes’?” Del uttered again just as hollowly, but slightly louder.

“Why would I?”

Only as the nonchalant question disturbed the sombre air of the dark room, did I realise what she just said.

Leaving me no time to give that proper thought, she said, “Queen Chrysalis killed a pony very dear to you.”

Her head snapped to me as I hysterically laughed.

“What’s wrong? Twi—”

The titters of my mirthless laugh died; the cold and razor-sharp blade of my voice cut her off, “Don’t.”

Delight peered at me, moon-eyed; turning off the holograms suddenly felt foalish, futile. Her lips formed a thin line, turning pale; then the tension left her expression and she ruefully breathed out.

“So, we’ve come full circle.”

“Everyone who knew Twilight Sparkle told me I wasn’t her,” I snippily responded. “Everyone—my friend, my Princess, my…”

I trailed off, once again overwhelmed by the sensation of my existence being rejected.

“You’re Twilight to me.”

A scowl would have contorted my ethereal muzzle if I had it; static came from my speaker as a bark formed in my mind, but Del leapt off the bed and before I could say something we’d both regret, swiftly spoke, trotting to me.

“You’re not an equinoid, but nor are you a pony, as not a single pony has ever seen in me more than a mare for a night. Even Flower and Wire look at me and see ‘one of those’,” the pegasus said, unable to hide her bitterness; yet none of it laced her next words as she stopped right in front of me and put her hooves on my shoulders. “You’re Twilight Sparkle—my friend, the only Twilight I know and that matters to me.”

I shamefully bowed my head before her; then my hoof rose to move aside the plate on my chest that hid the true me from the world.

“Once you become a queen, you may look in my crystal heart and see that it harbours no love for Princess Celestia and no hate for Queen Chrysalis.”

Though Del met my reply with a pensive grimace, she reached out with her wing and her primaries flicked the switch; the ceramic of my mask lit up with gloomy neon.

“Perhaps, my new abilities would let me help you to figure out… yourself.”

If I lasted long enough. That thought and the subtle meaning of Del’s words prompted me to dryly note, “We indeed need to focus on our promises.”

“That’s not exactly what I wanted to say, but you’re not wrong,” she admitted with a frown. Sudden nervousness marred her features. “Will you come to the… coronation?”

I forced myself to smile.

“Of course.”

“Why haven’t you finished it?” I demanded from Five and Thirteen who had been trying in vain to explain to me the intricacies of the Prime Code for the last few hours.

After days of hitting the books and finding them more confusing than helpful, I resided for the help of Twelve and also Thirteen. Seven, who’d volunteered, sat in front of me, semi-conscious as her eyes projected in the air the complex runes and lines of code that formed herself.

Five sighed and grumbled, “No matter what we tried, the Nexus still requires a crystal matrix that doesn’t exist and isn’t possible to be created.”

I glanced betwixt her and Thirteen, feeling my proverbial hackles rise.

“So, the thirteen of you, who know those enchantments inside and out, want me, who’s seeing that code for the first time, to do in a month’s time something that you couldn’t do in five centuries?” The final words of that winding accusation I practically spat out.

“You’re giving up again,” Thirteen coldly noted.

“Please...” I groaned.

Both him and Five met my frustration stoically, patiently and almost stubbornly waiting for me to continue my study and research. I couldn’t deny the truth in his words; that and my time was running out—the prospect of Delight’s help offered some hope, but two chances were better than one.

Closing my eyes for a few moments to compose myself, I calmly said, “Alright, let’s go through it again. What does this part do?”

“Nothing important—just some commentary,” Five shrugged, her porcelain clinking softly.

“Well, I would appreciate some commentary from the one who wrote that code.” Against my best effort, venom crept back into my words.

Five shot me an inscrutable look and set the segment for extracting the data.

However, nothing happened and I almost decided to move to the next part of Seven’s consciousness. Then her eyes flared up.

Moon Dancer stood in front of me.

“Good to see you again, Twi,” she spoke in a raspy voice that matched her appearance.

A dirty lab coat hung from her withers, thick glasses held together by at least three types of tape perched on the tip of her nose. She peered at me above the grimy lenses with a crooked cryptic smile.

The projection flickered in a distinct way—her pose shifted to the start of the loop.

“If you’re seeing me, then it means you made it back and I, well…” Moon Dancer shrugged and let out an annoyed sigh. “The first thing I want to tell you is that I truly regret how it all turned out.” She glanced away guiltily and thick sadness permeated her voice as she continued, “I know things weren’t so peachy between us as of late, but I still did everything I could for you to return to a world where you’re remembered for your achievements, rather than your mistakes.”

“The transference attempt,” I bitterly commented.

“Yes, among other things.”

“What other things?” I squinted at her. “Or, rather, which?”

“I’m sorry, my responses are limited, you must ask the right questions.”

She said that in a deeply apologetic tone but I also caught a half-condescending, half-mischievous very subtle hint.

Though I never believed in that hologram being a full recording of Moon Dancer’s consciousness, that answer solidified the theory that I’d stumbled upon a message left for Twilight Sparkle. Regardless of who I decided to be, it must have held information I shouldn’t dismiss.

Presented with a riddle that I had a real chance to solve, my mind began to wind up.

Moon Dancer spoke of Twilight’s deeds and misdeeds. She didn’t linger on the transference, so it must have been something else; Twilight had failed to move on—too personal; the TCE turning the Crystal Empire into a nightmare—not directly related to her and it happened much later; that left one thing…

With an almost audible click, the pieces of the puzzle came together—if Pinkie and Twilight were dead, Trixie gone, then who told the runway equinoids about the Machine Goddess but not about the betrayal? Somepony very carefully fed them the information with a purpose.

“You created the legend about the Machine Goddess, didn’t you?” I asked the hologram.

“Yes. Nothing less can operate the Nexus—you said it yourself.”

“Was that the initial plan?” I gaped at her. “To become a goddess?”

Moon Dancer shook her head without a hint of the pride for the fundament she’d laid for Twilight Sparkle, so her friend could redeem herself and fix her mistake. And she wouldn’t leave the solution half-baked.

“How do I become the Machine Goddess?”

“I’m sorry, my responses are limited, you must ask the right questions,” she deadpanned.

I tapped my muzzle with my hoof, producing sharp clicks.

“Is there even a way to become a goddess?” I tried again.

The hologram beamed at me.

“That, my friend, is the right question.” Moon Dancer’s eyes glimmered under her grey bushy brows. “But you’re asking the wrong pony. Program terminated.”

My hoof tapped the door and it answered me only with an animated but muffled conversation beyond—a fight, rather, judging by accusing curses. The creak of hinges shut it down and I beheld the Former Ones in all their glory.

Trixie and Octavia had their hind hooves on the table, Fotia failing to follow the example only by the merit of her filly size; however, she still participated in the game, cards in her hold. Empty bottles, rubbish and half-disassembled devices littered the floor around them.

The trio stared at me, caught unawares. My eyes went over this… den.

“Really?”

“What else are we supposed to do?” the half-phoenix grumbled. “There’s only one Moth in the palace and she’s retired.”

“Really,” I deadpanned.

“Don’t listen to her, she has birdshit for brains,” Octavia commented apologetically.

Fotia responded immediately, “Says the one who has to cheat to win.”

“I didn’t. You just don’t understand the rules…”

The fight reignited and before it pulled all the Former Ones into itself, I hastily called, “Trixie, there’s something I wanted to speak with you about.”

Reluctant, she approached me and we went out of the room, standing by the doorway barking with the critical accessions of intelligence.

As I tried to come up with the correct words to approach the goal of my visit to her, Trixie’s nervous expression grew more intense in its quality until the grimace broke down into guilt.

“I didn’t lie to you. I didn’t know!” she stammered in a pleading voice.

I frowned at her. “What’re you talking about?”

“Spike, he’s—”

My raised hoof abruptly interrupted her.

Carefully controlling my voice, I levelly stated, “I don’t want to talk about this. And I don’t blame you.”

With the obvious direction of the conversation rejected, curiosity claimed Trixie’s expression and I remained indecisive. Reminded of Spike’s horrible state, I suddenly recalled Sunset’s words and before giving it a proper thought, wondered aloud:

“What did Sombra do to you?”

The surely unpleasant question didn’t deeply affect Trixie, however, though her face-mask did grow sombre.

“I passed the plan of the Crystal Empire’s defences to the Equestrian Army,” she quietly said. “I was with him when your brother stormed in; King Sombra put a spell on me that made my body decay.” The Former One swallowed hard. “Slowly.”

“Shining Armor would have helped you,” I uttered, my sympathetic voice matching hers in volume.

Trixie shook her head.

“He had just learned that Princess Cadence had been dead all that time. I tried to dispel the curse but could do nothing. So, I grabbed an unfinished spell King Sombra had been working on—it was supposed to make him a god or something like that. And it didn’t help either—it didn’t work at all… at first.”

Moon Dancer was right. Still, I patiently prompted Trixie to continue her story. “How did you end up in Canterlot?”

“I rushed after my friend, Starlight Glimmer. When I met her on the outskirts, I found out that, like the rest of the Coven, Sombra tasked her to destroy the cities of Equestria.” She paused, grimacing. “Things got heated and I… I didn’t mean to, I didn’t want to harm her.”

She fell silent and I respectfully joined the sorrowful silence.

Finally, Trixie whispered, “Magic that works outside of Harmony always has a price. With the last component the spell was activated and I became who I am now.”

Her leg moved up, leaving one shadow outline, midway, then another. The shades lingered for a moment and merged, disappearing into the arcanium shell.

A pony with two shadows and absolutely nothing else.

“I wish to undo what I did, but the spell is too powerful,” she sadly concluded.

I gauged her melancholic expression and dared:

“Trixie. Do you still have it?”

The steel and plastic of the Sky Palace’s interior changed into cut rock without any warning. The stone passageway didn’t stretch far—dark glistening bone-like structures claimed the walls. The green pulsing luminosity of strange lanterns hanging from the arched ceiling replaced the cold artificial lamps. The air grew humid, heavy with the spicy scent of chitin and unfamiliar alien hints.

However, the Twelve and I encountered no inhabitants of the Hive, though faint clicks and chirrs kept appearing on the edge of my hearing; shadows flickering in the corners of my eyes. Finally, the seemingly endless journey through the foreboding bowels brought us to a membrane that retracted on itself as we approached.

Like stars in the night sky, countless eyes of changelings—thousands upon thousands—glowed in the darkness of the spacious cavern. Only an elevated place in the middle of the chamber emerged from the whispering blackness, a rune-inscribed platform with a sinister twisted throne.

In the dim light of green arcane letters, I found Delight shaking, Chrysalis and Sunset waiting, lost in their thoughts. The faint radiance caught the muzzles of Wire and her family in the front rows, the gleam of Rainbow’s armour and Trixie’s body, Flower’s prosthetic shifted uneasily.

The shadows concealed her expression, but I had no trouble imagining her discontent with my consort of twelve porcelain equines who so starkly stood out amidst the sea of obsidian carapaces. As I took only a single step in her direction, she backed, dissolving into the darkness without a trace.

With all the dwellers and guests (except for Luna) present, I expected the ceremony to commence, the changeling queen climbing onto the true throne; instead, she only regarded it, sadly and longingly.

In the abrupt and almost deafening utter silence, she said ever so quietly, “Thank you, Sunny. For everything.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Chryssi,” Sunset replied just as softly. “Farewell.”

In a shaking voice, Del whispered, trying not to make it too loud, but failing, “Will it hurt?”

“No,” Queen Chrysalis said.

At the same time, Sunset stated grimly, “Yes.”

The changeling gave Sunset an amused glance, then smiled encouragingly to Delight, motioning with her head for the shaking mare to come closer.

Del, struggling to make her violently shaking limbs obey, climbed the stairs to the throne and wicked runes. Then, with as much difficulty, she made it onto the seat itself, its height posing a sudden obstacle for the pegasus.

Their eyes met, a creamy pink and milky white of resolute nervousness staring into the verdant depths of resigned deception. A full minute passed before Chrysalis spoke, her tone kind and sorrowful, “Please, care for them like I couldn’t.”

With that as the only warning, the queen’s horn flared up and the air around them exploded with magic.

A wild whirlwind of arcane energies enveloped the platform, the runes pulsing with an erratic heartbeat. The hurricane of jade fire craved to consume everything and everyone in the cavern, but it never went outside the invisible wall marked by the ancient symbols. Its contained rage reflected upon chitin muzzles glistening with fresh tears.

Deep chanting in the lost language of the Unicorn Tribe drummed over the roar of magic. Betwixt the Harmony-violating words, screams of pain filtered through—Sunset hadn’t lied.

Beyond the curtain of viridian flames only silhouettes could be seen—Chrysalis, a lighthouse with her horn ablaze, that fed the maelstrom as much as she guided through it; and a dark form with eyes wide and glowing, her size and outline lost in the constant movement of dancing shadows.

In a just as unheralded fashion as it started, the ritual stopped, the chanting voice dying out and the chrysalis of emerald flame beginning to unravel, falling like a screen at a theatre play to announce a new act. The runes winked out, leaving only charred marks on the grey stone.

Chrysalis’ body regained its black colour. Before yielding to the silent void, the last spurt of fire let me witness it fall into itself in a shower of cinders. The comforter, only slightly singed, covered her remains; the crown rolled to the throne with a melodious clutter.

Whilst the changelings, little lights of artificial bodies and limbs refused for the darkness to reign absolute, it managed to claim the platform.

The silence rang with breaths held. The air tingled, every pair of faceted eyes, those love-hungry stars of the chitin-black night fixed themselves on the nothingness in the heart of the Swarm, waiting for the newfound aching void in their chests to be mended.

Glowing deep green eyes opened in the darkness.

The soft light of myriad lanterns lit by the Swarm rendered the cavern as bright as dawn, revealing the slightly taken aback form of a changeling queen sitting on the throne.

Her chitin, yet to harden, matched that of her predecessor in its milky whiteness. Periwinkle mane, save for the subtle hint of poisonous green at the tips, cascaded down her shoulders in a waterfall of curls. Magnificent wings extended from her back on their own, glimmering with all the colours of the rainbow, just as soft as her chitinous coat, but only for so long.

A chorus laden with love, joy and respect, shook the floor and the walls.

“Hail Queen Heterocera! Hail Queen Heterocera! Hail Queen Heterocera!”

I stared at the open pages, the pencil in my magic absently tapping the workbench. The book, that book bound in leather, displayed the poorly scribbled notes of a complicated spell. I fought back the desire to flip through the rest of its contents for any clarification, but Trixie insistently asked that I not dig through her diary.

Suddenly, I had nothing to tap with—the pencil in my magic had turned into a small pile of dust.

I glared at Trixie, inky shadows still bubbling around her horn; she mirrored my expression, including the frustration that went deeper than the loss of a writing utensil. Though it had been days since she’d brought her notes, we had made almost no progress.

King Sombra was no fool when it came to writing spells, but the problem rested not on the deciphering of the rare and crude cuneiform of the rams and goats woven into his creation; first reluctant to even offer me the spell, Trixie eventually offered invaluable advice as soon as she fully understood my intent.

According to her words, the enigmatic entities referred to as gods had unlimited access to the planet’s arcanium core and its energy, despite Harmony being specifically created to prevent that. The spell Sombra had been working on aimed for the same result, through the means of shadow weaving, already exploiting Harmony—the combination of caprine blood magic and whatever he’d glimpsed from Princess Luna.

However, it proved insufficient.

Besides me refusing to use said practices due to their well-known cost, the inkling provided by the spell’s draft strongly hinted at the necessity to basically tear a hole in Harmony for anything to work—a deed that required an energy output comparable to the effort of moving the celestial bodies.

Trixie stopped giving me the stink eye and reclined on the chair, it creaking menacingly. She groaned, “Damn it, Tavi, if only you hadn’t given those crystals to the Stalliongrad assholes.”

“They’re helping us, remember? I didn’t go through all those troubles only to hear you whining,” Octavia grumbled, momentarily tearing her gaze from ‘A Farewell to Hooves: The Arcane Prosthetics’.

“I’m not whining. I’m complaining.”

“You’re whining,” I commented, refuelling Trixie’s annoyance with me.

Ignoring her, I bored a hole with my eyes into the scrawls on aged paper. As before, they refused to disclose anything new.

“We’ve been over this already,” I said and my voice turned grim. “The only possible external source of the required energy is the Crystal Heart.”

Then I suddenly remembered and scoffed, “Or the Elements, but good luck even finding six ponies in the Sky Palace, virtuousness aside.”

With that I busied myself tidying the improvised table, stacking papers, digging the tablets out from beneath them.

Octavia slammed her book over the materials, strewing them all around, and huffed, “You unicorns are always so quick to give up.”

“This isn’t the time for your jokes,” Trixie barked, giving me an apologetic glance.

“Trix, from what you told me, the Elements are the tool of Harmony—an arcane device,” Octavia said to her marefriend then turned to me. “And every device can be hacked.”

I rolled my eyes.

“If it is so easy, why has nopony done it already?”

“How many have tried?”

Recovered from the now completely empty ruins of the Royal Castle, the most powerful artefacts in Equestria lay on the workbench like some cheap trinkets, half of them disassembled so only the gems remained, connected to mainframes.

Substantially changing the beyond complex enchantments written in runes more ancient than Equestria, perhaps even older than the Tribes, proved an impossible task, even overlooking the time constraints imposed on us.

Each Element had a part that evaluated the Bearer and another that determined the threats to Harmony. We targeted the segment that connected those two core components.

And when we finally started to make progress, another problem arose, unforeseen.

“I’m not letting you do that!” Octavia yelled at Trixie.

“Who else?” Trixie snapped; her expression grim, but determined.

“Ask your friend Sunset, nobody is going to miss that war criminal.”

“Queen Heterocera needs her. Canterlot needs her.”

A recursive loop would lock the ‘evaluating’ part in an undefined condition and allow the rest of the program to proceed. But the Elements still needed a target to release the energy for Sombra’s modified spell.

Octavia turned to me.

“Please, let me do it. Not because I want you to become the Machine Goddess—it’s none of my business. But I do care for that dum-dum.”

I knew why Trixie had volunteered—it would be a win-win for her; Octavia must have known that as well.

Former Ones violated the rules of Harmony by default, regardless of whether their state of existence was a choice or not. I… trod on the grey moral ground and we had no idea how the Elements would react to an entity such as myself.

I could try, however, and return to the necessity of choice if it didn’t work.

So, I said, “I’ll do it.”

The truth I didn’t want them to know was that if anything went horribly wrong…

Almost always...

Terminal.

The Elements waited on the stand of deaf arcanium… menacingly.

Whenever I moved, the empty ritual chamber echoed with ominous echoes, reminding me that at least a dozen rooms in every direction lay deserted as well, in fear of collateral damage; the furthest wall divided me from Canterlot, a long way down.

Despite the huge risk established by the inability to test out any part of the endeavour, the numerous unknown variables and no possibility for a second chance, I had barely talked with anyone.

As the queen of the Sky Palace, Delight knew and disapproved, due to the dangers the ritual posed for her friend; Sunset wished me luck and it took me an inordinate amount of effort to get Trixie and Octavia out of this room; though nobody had informed Flower, I caught a glimpse of her metal leg on the way here; the Twelve readily encouraged me without the slightest hint of concern—they had complete faith in their mother.

My magic opened the pouch and poured the arcanium dust onto the floor, following the intricate patterns dictated by the spell, placing runes in specific places, until almost the entirety of the room glimmered with the malignant sheen.

The next step would be activating the spell and… surviving it.

Though we’d designed it in a modern non-verbal manner, the rustle of arcanium carried by magic winds began to whisper its song as rune after rune, layer after layer of the spell was weaved. The pink glow around me and the Elements darkened, bubbling with inky black and green, wisps of red interconnected the room like a web.

The Elements flared and a rainbow instantly found me, rushing with terrifying purpose in my direction; the spell began to absorb it.

The energies roared and I felt more than heard my plates cracking when the spell began to gradually charge. I fell to one knee, still maintaining the flow of magic, an impossible amount of power washing over me. The ceramic exploded and my skeleton started to glow; then my eyes melted away and with a pop absolute silence came.

I sensed my crystals shattering.

Nothing.

Having no senses, I couldn’t tell how much time had passed or even when it started to. No beginning and no end—oblivion.

I became a thought in the void.

But I was thinking, therefore I still existed.

Suddenly I no longer occupied the infinite emptiness alone.

A mote of golden light, an incandescent grain of sand, soared towards me like a comet. Or it could be crawling as I had nothing to compare it with. It could be the Sun itself.

My eyes didn’t move, didn’t focus, I couldn’t take a better look or turn away. I could only witness.

Time had passed—or maybe it hadn’t.

The shining dot was no longer a dot, but a glowing equine silhouette of golden dust.

As suddenly as the incandescent equine appeared, it stopped. Perhaps it had never moved; it could have been there all along.

It wasn’t a voice that I heard, but my thoughts being thought by someone else.

“Razed Neighponia as a message—a warning.”

Thirteen told me about the connection betwixt the gods and the calamity that descended upon the land of the unicorn divergents. If they had turned an entire country into a ruin for what neighponians did… what had I brought upon Canterlot?

“They called us out by devising the Tools—a hammer, a blade and a hoof shoe to cheat Harmony through the Dead One’s heart.” Thoughts that didn’t belong to me appeared in my mind. “We put out every forge, slew every smith, buried every mine. You wrote a spell—we shall burn every parchment, break every horn, level every school.”

My entire being turned into a mental scream etched into dread:

“I’m not the same!”

“Why grasp for the core?”

“I want to become the goddess to protect my children—the equinoids.”

Would it mean something to the entity for whom all mortals meant so little?

A pause followed, no question and no answer burned into my mind. Then, a voice, a real sound I could hear, deep and powerful, yet gentle like sand rustling in a sunset breeze, came.

“You are wrong. We care.”

Though I now had a body, a glowing purple magic outline, I dared not move, standing in the middle of the void, awkward and confused.

Above me towered a figure resembling a Saddle Arabian horse, tall and majestic. Swirling sand formed neither a stallion nor a mare, carrying with it exotic spicy scents and the distinct sensation of being under a blazing sun.

A Dune Dervish.

“Yes, we are,” the equine answered my thoughts. “Each of us watches over our mortal kin, and we won’t tolerate any threat. The so-called equinoids can become one, but we have no right to wipe out a nation just out of fear.”

“But what about Neighponia?”

The Dervish glared at me, golden eyes without pupils drilling into my very being.

“They challenged us and lost. Still, we bestowed grace—they are scattered, not gone.”

The barely readable expression of the Dervish relaxed and they continued, “Peculiar creatures of metal—neither mortal nor immortal. The others are wary. The newcomers need an eye. Perhaps, you can be given a chance.”

“Thank you,” I stammered, bowing my head.

“We shall observe your every move, make no mistake,” the Dervishes commented in a voice like the wind of the night desert.

“How many of you are there?”

“Enough.”

“Why did only you come?”

“A pony was our friend once,” the Dervishes replied, their shining eyes half-lidded. “The Sun.”

“She’s gone now.”

“We know.” The elegant golden horse bowed their head. “It is a shame her work was never finished.”

“Her work?” I echoed, tilting my head.

“The Sun tried to better Harmony, extend its rules and create exceptions. She devised a demi-goddess, though not true, and planned to make one more.”

“You mean Princess Cadence?”

I wondered why the Dervish stopped prying both answers and questions from my consciousness. Hopefully, out of respect for an equal.

“Names mean nothing to us.”

An uneasy silence took reign.

The ironic coldness of the desert gods and their laconic answers promised no satiation for my appetite for knowledge. Not to mention the dangers of pestering a god.

However, they broke the stillness first.

“You should know—the Windigos lured by the follies of ponydom have brought great woe to many, and those who protect them seek vengeance.”

With that, the Dervish turned from me to trot into nothingness, leaving in their wake golden hoofprints full of dissipating sand.

“What should I do?”

“It is up to you now, Machine Goddess.”

“Could you give me any advice?” I desperately called after the fading deity.

“You shall choose.”

Once again, I remained alone with the void, my glowing body as the only thing disrupting its absolute and suffocating emptiness. I raised my hoof before my muzzle and lines of runes and numbers met me—code; that reminded me how and why I ended up here.

I suddenly became aware of the magic that surrounded me, that formed me—the endless ocean of arcane energy with different currents and the bottom.

The core—the enormous mass of arcanium twisted time and space with erratic heartbeats, sending protuberances of raw power crashing into an invisible wall. Harmony separated that primal magic from the rest of the world, the source of energy so potent that it could allow an individual to forever tear celestial bodies from their orbits.

I tapped into that well of power.

Unlike anything I had experienced, it infused me with a sensation of total omnipotence and yet I instantly felt the erosion it brought with the ability. I cut off the torrent, refusing to indulge in drinking more—I’d had enough for now.

The ‘spigot’ remained, however, the link established beyond the spell we crafted. I now had access to a tool stronger than Harmony, than anything, save for the freezing hunger of space.

I’d become a goddess.

And yet I hadn’t.

My fragile mortal mind could embrace only the tiniest fraction of what the core offered. I was just a mage without any limitation, still bound to this world. Though, in the end, no amount of power mattered—only its application.

The loud clatter of fallen metal heralded my arrival into Flower’s workshop—it possessed the solitude I sought.

My body took the most familiar form—a unicorn mare, but I didn’t bother to define any detail.

Explosive though my entrance might have been, it only partially contributed to the devastation. The TCE had visited this place, rummaging through every container, turning everything upside down.

The door creaked pitifully and fell off, my gentle nudge, preceded by the rude entrance of the TCE sniffers, becoming the tipping point. Rust scrunched under my ethereal hooves as I climbed higher and higher, following the steps of my previous two bodies.

The hill brought me to the view I’d witnessed so many times before, though it never ceased to amaze me. The city of the future—a future tomb.

Evacuation?

Rather a jailbreak that demanded sacrifices.

I could deceptively easily change that—turn the TCE quarters into a fine dust. But would my first act as a goddess be bringing the heavens upon those I thought to be wrong?

The scenery of Canterlot no longer intimidated me, nor caused aversion, for I finally began to understand the riddle it posed; Spike had given me the last hint.

How did it come to this?

Equestria had become a land of freedom and therefore everyone had a choice now. But why did the ponies and whatnot choose a nightmare when they had an alternative?

Of course, sometimes life offered no better choice.

Making a world where not a single creature would ever have to choose betwixt two losing scenarios lay beyond possible. Nor would that fix anything, for having a better alternative didn’t mean it would always be chosen.

As a ‘goddess’ who’d witnessed two timelines, dipped my proverbial hooves into two eras and caused ripples, I had an experience not many could relate to. Yet even with all that, I wouldn’t dare to call my every step true and leading to only victory.

If Chrysalis had known that successfully invading Canterlot equalled marching into a gilded cage, she would have never considered that option. But she was desperate and afraid.

Luna, even knowing how her deal with the Nightmare might turn out, asked for its help again.

Everyone I encountered over the past two weeks could offer me such an example.

Our hearts won against logic. A reverse of a coin—the price for having emotions, for being more than a machine, for being alive.

Even equinoids, artificial beings, participated in the bargain like any other. I could absolve them of that flaw. Rip out their hearts and make them into the arcane golems some considered them to be.

But what would a choice be worth with no emotion to it, no gamble?

A mathematical function aimed at finding the best solution, an optimal course of action leading to… what? We were specks of flesh and the tiniest sparkles of magic on a mote of dirt soaring through the deadly void of the uncaring universe. There was no final goal, no ultimate reason, but the one we chose for ourselves relying on our hearts.

However, all that didn’t justify the nightmare in front of me.

The mess Equestria had become couldn’t be fixed. Ponies, equinoids, Kirin, neighponese, goats—everyone would have to start anew. But if that nightmare happened once, it could happen again. Rainbow spoke truly—everything, no matter how significant, would be forgotten; the river of time had no mercy.

There had to be a way to prevent a second Canterlot.

I could become a goddess ruling equinoids with a proverbial iron hoof, making them subdue the organic population of Canterlot into order. In truth, the equinoids needed so little to overcome any others and make them kneel. Yet pushing my sense of justice and my ideals onto someone was nothing but an exercise in self-righteousness.

Life, artificial or not, never needed a ruler, malevolent or benevolent. The gods of other nations were but legends—they were a choice.

Not so long ago I thought of ponies who chose virtue, refusing to succumb to loathing or bitterness. Equinoids had done that too—Adamant Smash and Svarka.

Virtue couldn’t be forced and made to stick in a society, not permanently. It had to be a choice like anything else. I now had the ability to offer an alternative to every equinoid and to make it obvious, unobscured by emotions without removing them.

My purpose as the Machine Goddess lay in bringing every equinoid who wished so into the Unity, a network powered by the Prime Code with me as its Nexus. Every member of the Unity would see the virtues and flaws of the others and would have a choice. Of course, it would be naive to believe that every equinoid would choose virtue over a flaw, but, as much as they had faith in me, I believed in them being better themselves.

It would be a society of empathy, where not a single equinoid would be able to hurt another without feeling that pain. They would understand each other, know every feeling and thought. It would be a society with a choice, and it would be an example for organic life.

It wasn’t an absolute solution for all woes of ponies and equinoids, but another choice I had to make, guided by my faith, unable to foresee the consequences. I wasn’t a goddess, after all—the future would always remain a mystery to me.

My footsteps echoed through the grave silence of the tunnel, disturbing the reddish dust and ashes which once could have become my last resting place. The incandescence from my shining body lit my path—the equinoids had an expectation of how their Holy Mother looked.

It took me no effort to call slivers of arcanium from the soil and make it submit to my will, covering the swirling blazing sun of my flesh with shining plates. The rusty cables and wires of the Junkyard became my mane, clinging like snakes, trying to bite into the incorporeal golden halo.

I sensed the magic of the equinoid inhabiting these passages, though I could also find a way to her by orienting to the smears of oil on the floor—my dark, undrying blood.

Brass Litany didn’t notice me at first, her attention focused on picking up the fallen, slightly less rusty than average metal junk.

A piece of metal in her mouth had red ulcers cleaned away, leaving a reflective spot. That tiny part of the half-decayed skull mirrored my radiance.

Before the sound of the equinoid skull rolling across the floor died out, she joined it, bowing as low as she could, almost lying on the dirt, her chain-mane ringing like a hundred bells.

When my hoof touched her, the corrosion of her body faded away—her copper mane and tail turned to fire, her steel skin shared mine; shining with an immaculate polish.

In curiosity, my magic went deeper—into her crystals.

BLD-003.745.MK-44 with a dream of working as a part of a mechanised construction crew at the Inner City. Then came her own memory—of the greedy owner saving on skipping the scheduled crystal cleansing. She and her crew craved freedom and on one of those misty neon nights, they tried to break their chains. Only she’d made it underground, where Alnico found her, broken and hysterical and his sweet promises turned her pain into a righteous rage—another purpose.

She was never given a choice.

Not anymore.

Author's Note

Special thanks to Jay Tarrant.

I hope you've enjoyed reading this story so far.

If you notice any mistakes sneaked in through the editing, let me know.

Stay awesome.

Chapter 21 – Machine Goddess

Aftersound

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Written by: Oneimare & Geka

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant, IAmApe

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Machine Goddess

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Nothing heralded my return to the Sky Palace. My immaterial and invisible form observed the aftermath of the ritual.

The gaping maw in the side of the solemn Crown’s citadel didn’t take the entire precaution zone but did leave a noticeable blemish on the grey walls, a hole drooling liquified dross.

Amidst the desolation Trixie and Octavia sat, melancholically exchanging sombre words. Before the Former Ones lay the inseparably welded mass of burnt porcelain, plastic and metal, sparkling with crystal shards; and the Elements, cracked, dull and marred with black.

The winds of the stormy sky howled their lamenting song, shushing the chat that had started before my arrival and bore meaning only for those two; nor did I have the freedom to linger with them for long.

The city below churned with its neon radiance like nothing had happened, but if I cast my consciousness deep below under all that light, a crystal star, burning with exaltation, galloped through the darkness—Brass Litanty—carrying the word that reignited long-abandoned hopes. And those who couldn’t believe emerged from the shadows to witness the part of the prophecy I had accidentally made come true.

Nothing stopped me from reaching Flower this time and yet I remained unseen and unheard as my pervasive perception caught a conversation taking place at another of the grimy Palace’s corners the stubborn filly chose as her refuge.

Wire faced her friend’s slumped back; despite the favours done by the stay with the Swarm, the unicorn looked more fragile than ever.

She softly called, “Flower, please…”

“I’m staying until she’s back—that is final,” the filly barked without turning.

A grimace contorted Wire’s muzzle and her next words carried a familiar edge to them.

“And what if I told you that you’re an idiot?” Yet her voice broke as Flower didn’t even flick her torn ear; pleadingly, she continued, “The Swarm has everything we’ve ever dreamt of—we can forget hunger and cold with them.”

“You know what they can’t give.”

“Even when we barely got by, my mom has never taken her word back.” Wire paused and visibly struggled to continue speaking. “I know I’ve been an asshole, but… Flower, I’d be happy to call you my sister.”

The oil-marred filly tensed, held her breath.

Yet she firmly said, “She told me to wait and I’ll wait.”

“Wait for what?” Wire half-heartedly demanded. “If she returns, she will be a goddess.”

As the unicorn spoke, Flower seemed to swell with irritation and snapped as soon as her friend finished, “So what? Delight became a queen and you’re still buddies with her.”

“It’s not the same,” Wire retorted. The old annoyance slipped into her tone. “Speaking of which, Delight is worried about her, the way she acts and she chose the machi—”

“Don’t start that again, Wire.”

The unicorn glared at Flower, but neither broke the bristling with enmity silence. Frowning in defeat, Wire reluctantly headed to the exit of the abandoned workshop.

She stopped in the square of flickering light and let out a deep sigh, then whispered, “I know you too well to try changing your mind.”

Flower turned her head, one dark eye burning with emotion and peering at Wire. Her body tensed as if she wanted to tear her glued to the floor hooves.

She left the shadows to claim her muzzle again and bolstered herself.

“Sorry.”

Left alone with the oblivious filly, I knew that revealing myself would only make things worse—another tease for a promise to wait; Flower’s patience had its limits and I already seemed about to reach them.

Still, as my ghost travelled through the Sky Palace, my incorporeal hooves not even touching the floor, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that the thin ice I trod on divided me from the waters much deeper and darker than I thought.

The insight that came with my transformation forced me to baulk when I drifted into the old and repurposed Hydroponics Laboratory.

The self-containing inferno that smouldered inside didn’t belong to this world nor did it feel completely alien. It tasted of primordial magic, yet the unmistakable reality-bending tanginess of arcanium existed in the shadow of something more substantial than the blood of the world’s core.

Many possessed a sight beyond sight and I could peek even deeper, yet the source of dragon fire refused to yield its secret to me. My thoughtful gaze slid past Spike’s heart, that fire blazing without fuel suspended in the magic maelstrom of Canterlot.

My proverbial eyes widened.

Two orbs shone in my vision—the Sun and its miniature copy bound in ethereal chains older than anyone could remember. If a ‘god’ could mess with the delicate movement of the celestial bodies, what would have stopped them from dipping an arcane ladle into the well of absolute light, the first fire, and moulding a life out of it?

But, truth be told, my indulgence in riddle-solving served as nothing more than a distraction from the real question.

My statuesque body teleported into the room from the stratosphere and I took its reins.

“Spike,” a sonorous yet tinny voice said.

“Machine Goddess,” he greeted me, nonplussed; his nature must have let him notice me snooping around.

How had he learnt about my plans? Rainbow?

Most likely.

Though I left our conversation unfinished, only one thing remained to be brought up as I had nothing to say, nor want to.

“I…” He made his choice. “Can understand why you’ve killed ponies. But why have you hunted equinoids—the creations of… your mother?”

“To save them.”

Only my inexperience with my abilities let him finish before I warped away.

“No, not like I ‘saved’ ponies.” A gurgling sigh left his single remaining lung. “I tore out their gems from the clutches of the Church and collected them in a safe place.”

I looked him in the eyes and an image flashed in my mind—a cavern, its walls hidden behind shelves neatly stacked with softly shimmering crystals.

Carefully considering my words, I ultimately said only, “Thank you.”

I sadly regarded the vestiges of his body—chained to this many machines, it wouldn’t join the evacuation nor survive what came after. Reluctantly, I turned away, steeling myself to leave the Souleater to the judgement and mercy of Canterlot.

“Wait,” he called me in a timid, somewhat apprehensive voice. “I’ve had a lot of time to think—not like I have many options.”

The flat attempt to bring some mirth into his words failed; still, I half-turned back.

“I…” Spike paused, struggling with himself. “Was wrong, she… would have condoned what I’ve done. May I ask you, a goddess, for forgiveness and a chance to fix my mistakes?”

“You should be asking your mother,” I said, preparing to leave.

Yet, he stopped me once again, his words freezing me to the floor.

“I know what you are trying to do, who you are trying to be—the mare who would have approved. My mother was buried with Princess Celestia, on the same day. You remind me of her.”

I had promised myself to stop asking the question that mattered to me the most until I saw the equinoids and other dwellers of Canterlot settle in a new place. Yet, something in Spike’s words stirred me—not an answer, but a hint that led directly to it.

My eyes focused on his carcass once again, calculating.

I watched Thirteen with sparkling amusement, noting how his gait reflected the mix of annoyance and worry dominating his mind, born from the urgent summons to the Twelve’s workshop.

He stumbled back, the shutters of his eyes snapping wide open as he beheld the sight of twelve ceramic bodies strewn on the floor. Then his gaze travelled further and found a majestic statue looming over the lifeless equinoids—me.

I let Thirteen see things for what they were—a goddess on the throne of the Nexus, powered and running. Her firstborn children surrounded her, flowing in the streams of data, giggling at his confusion and childish disbelief.

What were the equinoids?

Their bodies could be modified, repaired, changed… lost. Yet those shells didn’t matter as long as the crystals remained intact; and with me, even that didn’t matter anymore—I controlled the magic and could keep it from dissipating by the sheer force of my will.

The moment Thirteen comprehended that new reality, the light left the eyes of his body and it sagged to the floor, whilst he filled the Unity’s with his joyous laughter, sharing it with his older brothers and sisters.

Not a single place under Canterlot could fit the entire population of runaways, but not from lack of trying. Congregating at nine cathedrals, they shone like swarms of fireflies in my vision that could see the seamy side of the world.

“The Equinet will work against you,” Seven warned me. “They will rush to the cathedral of your choice and needlessly complicate the situation.”

“That, and visiting each place is an inefficient strategy,” Four added.

My magic reached into the soil, slithering to steal the most valuable treasure it contained—the splinters of the planet’s heart. The teleportation yanked them to me and before long eight beings, neither gods nor machines, shunned the darkness of the Deep Tunnels with their effulgence.

One, Three and Eight figuratively rode my back whilst the rest of the Twelve guided the replicas of the Machine Goddess icon. The Unity knew no distance—they would carry my will and word like a torch to light the path for those who were lost in the Tunnels.

The Twelve would become my… harbingers.

And Thirteen… he remained.

“Though I know the whole truth,” he said, his tone betraying nothing, “I’m no different from any other equinoid—I dreamt of your return and want to witness it as one of them.”

Yet, thirteen of us fearlessly traversed the dark passageways.

Ahead, Spike slithered on the damp stone.

His radiant heart sent shadows dancing on the eerie stone through gaps in the arcanium. Sleek and elegant, the design I offered him contained the sparkle of the heavens that I freed from its constraints binding it to the crumbling prison of flesh… and more.

Feral stars in the sea of darkness—the Accursed followed us, and many times I thought they came for salvation, as their deteriorated minds clung to faith to survive until this moment. Unfortunately, the only help I could offer them left a trail of motionless corroded frames in my wake.

And then I paid attention to those waves that washed over us—the spell that precipitated under Canterlot or, perhaps… rose from the depths nobody even dared to fathom.

No runes, no words; yet something willed the Deep Tunnels to writhe and change with an unknown purpose. Leaving the steering wheel of my avatar to the Harbingers, I followed the thread of arcane influence as everything had to have a beginning and an end.

Returning to the world of conventional sight, I found myself staring at the massive plate of dark limestone with the withered body resting on it—Pinkie Pie’s final resting place.

That made no sense.

Though I should have been unseen, a dozen round eyes locked on me, their pupils so shrunk, they almost disappeared; cut cheeks morphed into bloody and unnaturally wide smiles full of rotting sharpened teeth.

The lunatics trotted around me and began to rummage through the debris behind the altar. At first, they appeared to all be earth ponies, but a second look morbidly revealed them to be stallions and mares of all races but rendered uniform by crude surgery barely noticeable on their disease-ravaged bodies.

One by one the madponies disappeared into a crack in the wall.

Foul-smelling candles made of fat, its source being an easy though terrifying guess, barely managed to banish gloom from the crumpled room. A brown-red colour dominated the chamber and for once it didn’t belong to the corrosion that permeated the city.

The fanatics slit their throats and in their final gurgling breaths scrawled a single word but it instantly got lost in the dried up crimson and darkness. However, guessing it posed no trouble.

It was the name of the creature frozen in stone, an expression of shock forever etched onto the mismatched features; eagle and lion paw extended in futile defence from the artefacts I’d destroyed mere hours ago.

Forever?

Even the flickering shadows couldn’t hide the hairline cracks that had overgrown the statue like lichen. Canterlot had been forging the key to Discord’s prison for centuries and the civil war that brewed right this moment above me would serve as the final hit of the hammer.

Though the statue still held together, I thought it smiled at me, yet… that grin lacked any triumph, bore no mischief.

And somehow I knew we would meet again.

“How many?” I asked, my eyes still catching sight of the new memory crystals.

“Eight thousand six hundred and eleven,” Spike replied without a hitch.

Of course, he would know that better than the current date. Edible or not, they formed his hoard—a thing most precious to any dragon.

My consciousness swept over a small city’s worth of equinoids, glimpsing into dormant consciousnesses, noting dozens of identical memory anchors that lay in the foundations of almost nine thousand unique minds.

Something nagged in my mind—a personal idle thought I instantly dismissed, instead of concentrating on overpowering Discord’s influence to fix that place in the time and space continuum.

I would need it for my next step.

The biggest cathedral allowed the convention of far more than a thousand equinoids and would have fit more were they not so divided.

Betwixt the herds, equinoids clad in torn robes measuredly trotted, phlegmatic swings of censors matching their gaits; however, their prayers possessed certain and tense undertones.

Shining with both magic and the best parts available collected over decades, priests either stood, nervously fidgeting or pranced restlessly on the platforms and staircases above their brethren.

The metal equines protected by thick plating circled the vicars, cutting them off from those whose corroded bones had only rusty scrap cobbled together in cruel parodies of bodies.

Yet, no matter how different, everyone shared the same careful and simultaneously fervent anticipation that rustled above the crowd with rumours, guesses, curses.

The centre point of the vast chamber came aglow; globs of incandescent steel and chrome fell to the floor to reveal the arcanium and magic of the actual Machine Goddess. My hooves, crossed on my chest before in imitation of my depiction, stepped on the podium, echoing in the abrupt stunned silence.

The gathered equinoids became statues staring at me.

“The wait was long and the night dark,” I proclaimed and eight mouths of my replica’s echoed my words at the other cathedrals. “I bring you the dawn you’ve been dreaming of, I invite you to meet it with me.”

My convocation drew the masses closer, boundaries and disagreements forgotten. It didn’t escape me that the priests and most of their armoured entourage remained.

Smiling kindly, I called, “The Unity waits for you, every one of you is welcome to join me, and I’ll take you out of these Tun—”

“Lies!” a priest interrupted me, yelling loudly, “Imposter!”

“Another fake full of empty promises!”

“A Former One trickster!”

The chamber became a cacophony of screams—the preachers tried to outshout each others’ accusations; the crowd answered them with livid protest and the armoured ones bristled in ominous preparation.

“We already have the Unity!” cried none other than Alnico.

I remained stoically silent and, unbeknownst to the gathered, reached for the adjacent room and levitated spare parts into the main chamber.

Whilst One, Three and Eight guided my magic, connecting the components into working bodies, I warped to Spike’s hoard and returned with the crystals, placing the gems into the freshly forged vessels.

Thought to be long gone, dozens of equinoids woke up, blinking in confusion, making the babble cease at the sight of the miracle. Some of the newly awoken recognised their friends and rushed to them; those too old, or who’d never had any to begin with, remained by my side.

“We all can be together in the Unity.” I descended the stairs to be at the same level as the crowd. “Nor more scavenging, no raids, no fight for survival. You will be able to live and to choose how.”

A thunderous clatter echoed above the congregation—Svarka threw off her instruments and spidery limbs; the equinoids parted to let her come to me.

“I’m ready,” she said.

The room instantly exploded with pleas. Crying my name, the equinoids pushed each other trying to get closer to us. The priests screeched orders that fell on the turned off sensors.

My magic touched Svarka and the Harbingers helped me to finish her code, restoring it to its… prime. I glanced at her data—the vague dream of being a technician that continued with memories of servitude at the TCE workshop, then assembling and disassembling bodies for the Church. A bleak life until I implanted the ray of Sun into her heart almost succumbed to gloom.

More and more equinoids joined me, populating the Unity with their thoughts. I warmly welcomed each, even those ready to turn on their brethren moments before—they could already see the mistake in their ways.

Suddenly, I heard a desperate call for help—Seven.

My consciousness rushed to her body and in that moment rebar pierced my chest.

The chamber represented a vicious battlefield I observed from the surprisingly low point of view—from my knees.

“Destroy the false goddess!” a priest, his painting pristine white, barked.

A forceful blow exploded the joint of my leg, bringing me further down.

“Kill the apostates, rip out their heretic gems and shatter them!” another voice raged, giving an order to the large black figures in heavy armour plating.

Unlike the other cathedrals or churches, no crystals hung from the high ceiling, letting that place surrender to the darkness.

An urge to rise and smite the priests washed over me, yet I constrained myself.

They’d witnessed Seven bringing the equinoids back to life and still chose to believe in me being nothing but a fake. Forcing those preachers to change their minds would only make me one of them.

I grasped the minds of those who willed to be in the Unity and hurriedly left the cathedral at the last moment, whisking Seven from the body about to be destroyed.

The reality of my mortal mind acquainted me with the first limitation to my power—the number of operations I could perform simultaneously prevented me from teleporting equinoids to the surface en masse, as I would have to do it one by one. And though only two-thirds of runways had joined the Unity, the number still mounted tens of thousands.

Theoretically, the Twelve could have facilitated the task with their more computation-able minds, but I also needed to give the equinoids the taste of their freshly acquired freedom; that, and send a message to Canterlot.

The Inner City readily met their former slaves with outraged cries, calling for the police, but as more and more equinoids emerged from the darkness into which they were once driven, shouts of panic cut through the air.

Unnecessary though it might be, I created a pair of arcanium turbines to hover above my back—to be closer to the equinoids with my material form. I rocketed into the multicoloured mist to observe them from the air; even without the yells of the ponies, I expected the TCE police to arrive soon to claim their property.

Noticing a mass of blue approaching from the side street, I banked over the river of steel backs and caught the EMP charges with my magic, letting them burst harmlessly. On the other side of the procession, Two fought a squad lashing at him with electrocuting hooks; his magic melted the offending whips and ripped the sparkling batteries from their armour. However, not a single drop of molten iron seared frightened muzzles, not a single shard impaled soft flesh.

My words echoed through the Unity:

“Abstain from doing harm.”

A disturbance rippled the chorus, but then the suggestion of forgiveness came—I had already broken the chains, fighting would only bring them back to where they’d begun.

The TCE didn’t care, of course—gun reports cracked betwixt the towers of Canterlot.

I weaved the arcanium of my frame into a thread and knit the glimmering spool into a net that then flared with magic, turning into an impenetrable shield. Placing it and creating more to hover around the march of equinoids, I reached its head.

The cordon bristling with heavy machine guns let me know that I had made a mistake—the TCE came to simply suppress the revolution of machines with brute force, likely claiming themselves the saviours of the city in the aftermath; the property damage would be an acceptable price.

I teleported them to the other side of the city.

Still, the retaliation from the TCE only grew—no blood had been spilt, but oil dripped from the mangled bodies recovered to be repaired later; their owners safe in the Unity.

“Mother,” Six called me and I shifted into his frame, leaving Seven to guide mine. “A breach in the shields.”

The wall of magic blinked under the strain, the incandescent torn threads flailing in the gusts of explosions. An armoured vehicle—a tank—bombarded my shield with clouds of shrapnel. Confused, I observed the futile attempts to penetrate my defence that only resulted in tremendous collateral damage to the nearest buildings.

Though it would have been hard to hear the gunshot amidst the cacophony, it still should have echoed to match the sheer devastating power of the shot that destroyed my body.

Panic gripped me as the arcanium shards rained down—Six used it along with me.

“I got him,” Eleven whispered through the Unity, soaring nearby.

The TCE had grown desperate enough to reveal their ace in the hole before facing the Royal Guard.

I took care of the tank, melting its main gun into slag; however, with the coilgun barely having any gems, my magic sight couldn’t locate it and my eyes could see only the heartbeat of neon.

Creating a new body, I hovered in the morning air, waiting, but the sniper spared me.

That only left me disturbed.

I warped betwixt the Harbingers’ bodies but saw nothing out of place through their eyes until I reached Nine that led the march.

Nobody shot at us and only the equinoids occupied the street.

I landed, trotting to a tank, empty and damaged, its engines bubbling as a puddle of steel underneath it. By the disabled war machine, a dropped helmet wheezed frantic messages.

“The Edge—”

Static cut off the mare’s hysterical voice.

“...emdrinkers flooded the headquarters with chlori—” the headset inside the helmet came back to life, “...all squads and stations are required at the... I repeat, the Edge is attacking!”

I joined Seven in her flight over the towers of Canterlot.

We encountered no hovercrafts and the morning fog receded, revealing the city frozen in shock, streets empty. Yet in that stillness, frantic movement bloomed here and there, meeting the sunrise with denial and confusion.

My arcane awareness warned me of a presence heading to intercept me and I dived for the nearest building. Soon, a chirr of insect wings caught up with me.

“Delight,” I greeted her.

“I’m so glad you are safe!” she beamed at me, but then demanded with a frown, “Why didn’t you tell us that you succeeded?”

“I’m afraid there was no time.”

The changeling queen pressed her lips together, but that dissatisfaction faded away in the shadow of worry that claimed her expression as she glanced at the smoke rising from the western Edge—it belonged to no factory.

“The Swarm is leaving the Sky Palace,” she nervously said.

“The Crown might be no more, but the city needs it right now more than anything.”

“Sunset Shimmer and the Royal Guard will help. But we have to transport the biofarms to the Badlands and set them up as soon as possible—time is against us, indeed. I would have stayed myself—”

The sky exploded with a rippling wave of bright colours expanding outwards, dispersing clouds in its wake, exposing the city to sunlight. The painful groaning of restless streets momentarily ceased, all looking at the sky in wordless wonder.

Five centuries later, Rainbow Dash remained the fastest pegasus.

Before the Sonic Rainboom completely faded away, a dark cloud emerged from the Sky Palace—the black mass swarming around the massive hovercrafts slowly drifting through the cyan sky.

A hoof tentatively touched my shoulder.

“I have to go with my children.” Swallowing, she added, “Good luck.”

“Stay safe, friend,” I whispered after the retreating changeling, the arcane winds carrying my voice.

The rustle of countless wings replaced the last rolling echoes of the Rainboom thunder and then even that became deafened—seemingly every speaker system blared with a message of utmost gravity:

“Citizens of Canterlot, an immediate evacuation of the city is required. Remain calm. Follow the instructions of the Royal Guard.”

It kept repeating, albeit at a lesser volume becoming an ominous background for the panicked activity that instantly spilt onto streets—the held breath let out only to discover smoke instead of air.

Stalliongrad’s massive crystal batteries greedily soaked up energy. The silent Thunderspires swelled with pegasi like feathers ready to moult. The sight of pavement disappeared in the stampede.

I landed on a platform—a nest of barbed wire on top of the concrete bastion looming over the red carcasses. Hunger and cold drove any life from the Junkyard—the graveyard for machines finally knew peace as even the fiery hearts of the furnaces ceased their beating.

My magic seeped into the mass of concrete and it crumbled into fine dust at its touch. Mere minutes later I stood in the air over the gap that replaced a whole section of the Wall.

I called Two through the Unity and incidentally soaring not far from me, he came to my side.

“Tell Sunset Shimmer that I have opened a passage out of the city.”

As Two nodded and left, I pensively regarded the crimson maze of Junkyard, the rotting and jagged scrap thirsting for blood.

A cloud of red billowed into the air joined by an utter cacophony of violated metal as I willed it to crumble into a safe passage. The fallen forest of rust revealed the dark pits of the abandoned mines as if waiting in ambush.

Without a moment of hesitation I sent the Harbingers to investigate and in time—the first metal hooves stepped onto the path to freedom.

The wind played a peculiar song, whistling through the gaps in ragged plating, the empty sockets or the grooves left by loosened bolts.

Rambling Rock Ridge’s granite slopes bristled with the equinoids watching how the first timid ponies showed betwixt the ruins of the Wall. Behind them, the dark quivering mass pressed on, figures clad in arcanium whisking above the congregation, shaping the crowd into an organised exodus. Above the earthbound, flocks of pegasi streamed from the mute and dim Thunderspires.

They all came to an abrupt stop at the sight of my children.

The Sun poked out through the clouds, and the hills around me turned into a beacon of polished metal, shining reflections contrasting starkly with the memories of runaway mechanical outcasts, disobedient decaying machines skulking under the city. And amongst them was a fairytale come true—the Machine Goddess herself.

One by one, the equinoids climbed the slopes to approach the procession.

Fear, unhidden distrust and even displays of aggression met them. Yet, many, especially those bending under the weight of lifesaving supplies, warily accepted the help from metal hooves.

The attack came from nowhere.

Bright flowers of death—brilliant explosions bloomed amidst the crowd. The streaking shadows, their feathered gardeners, pirouetted away from the barrage of fire returned by the Royal Guard.

The Pink Butterflies seemed to be materialising from thin air, raining fire from the sky. Clouds, cliffs, metal scrap—anything served as a cover allowing them to disappear almost instantly and appear at another place moments later.

The arcanium threads with my magic quickly formed a protective dome, but it barely helped this time—the bombs ripped holes in it faster than I stitched them back. And the arcane wall cut off the Royal Guard and pegasi, leaving them outnumbered, whilst some gryphons remained in the shield, wreaking havoc.

Letting the protection dissolve, I took matters into my own hooves—I hurtled into the sky whilst reaching deep into the soil.

A fleet of sharp death—long needle-like spears—followed in my wake, the improvised weapons whistling to impale the vile gryphons in explosions of blood and feathers. Those who proved their aerial agility met their end in my telekinetic grip that ripped them apart.

Six and One remained inside my body, whisking away the magic of equinoids before their crystals turned into shards. Despite their best effort, the number of dark empty spaces in the Unity slowly but steadily grew.

The already red ground became wet, the mud and rotten metal flakes watered with death, squishing under hooves, making the entire path through the Junkyard an alley of the fallen, either slipping on the muck or tripping over the dead.

The menace didn’t come only from the air—treacherous ponies, zebras and many others created a second front. The Harbingers formed a defensive line of very few equinoids capable of magic, unicorns (both equestrian and neighponese) and Kirin; but they could do only so much against the experienced fighters.

A black mist rolled over the ranks of the terrorists and their bloodcurdling wails managed to outperform the shrieks of slaughtered refugees. From the spreading ink, an alicorn rose, laughing madly and dived back, eyes ablaze with unbridled bloodlust.

Luna offered the Canterlot forces a double-edged sword and they left it to its own devices, hastily retreating as the patch of night revelling under the Sun consumed anyone.

I took a volley of bullets instead of the changeling behind me. A sparkle of arcanium went through the offending gryphon’s chest; before the winds licked the last drop of blood from it, another Pink Butterfly fell victim to its murderous intent.

However, even with the help of a goddess and demi-goddess, the battle still refused to bend to our favour.

Suddenly, three figures streaked across the sky.

One ripped the firmament with the thunderous roar of a massive turbine and a barrage of explosives that tore gryphons to shreds by the dozens. The shock and awe of Wonderbolts, brought back from their glorious past by Soarin.

A living fireball shot above the heads of the astonished ponies, impacting with a gryphon, their feathers instantly catching on fire. Before the agonising screams of the half-eagle could die, the half-phoenix leapt onto another terrorist, turning them into a torch.

A plume of emerald painted the clouds, followed by the arcanium dragon, spitting instantaneous death in every direction.

The Pink Butterflies on the ground found themselves betwixt a hammer and anvil—literally. Minotaurs of the Deep Tunnel mazes swung heavy maces with mechanical arms, crushing skulls. The pitch-black shadow snaked around the battlefield, leaving only ashes behind. A gun, the Gun, fired one resounding enchanted bullet after another, never missing a target.

More and more forms, ragged and dirty, malnourished and ominous, appeared as if from under the ground. Amongst the motley horde, ponies—surface refugees—shyly followed, often supported by the menacing, towering creatures.

“Tell me, how many good ponies are out there?”

Enough to make a difference.

The moment the tide of war betrayed the Pink Butterflies, they fled, and the exodus rejoiced, hollering in triumph.

Then the first Royal Guard fell, a gaping hole left by a gunshot in their armour reminding us that everyone could receive reinforcements—the TCE had come to replenish their workforce lost on the other side of the city.

Now only my tremendous destruction potential stood betwixt them and the profusely bleeding throng of fugitives. A call from One absolved me of the choice, at least temporarily.

Warping into her vessel, I found myself facing Sunset Shimmer and Rainbow Dash, Spike towering behind them. To the side of the rock ledge looming over the impending carnage, a hovercraft full of screens stood and a group of ponies beside who tried their best to look dignified in the presence of three creatures that defied and represented death.

“Sunny Wings will take it from here,” Sunset addressed me, motioning to a creamy yellow pegasus. I tilted my head, but the Former One refused to clarify, only somberly adding, “Heterocera will need your help.”

She then trotted to the edge of the cliff and threw herself off.

Nobody moved to stop her or even take a look at what became of her. Rainbow simply grimaced and took to the air, heading to rejoin the Royal Guard.

Spike huffed, “Who would have guessed…”

A bulbous mass of flesh, twisting in magic-induced spurts of growth, rose over the stony crags, flapping massive wings and raining dust and rot, as the vile magic ate it alive. Crowned with uneven horns, its head stretched to the heavens, letting out a sonorous battle cry of agony and freedom, followed by a stream of jet-black flame dissolving into cyan bubbles of deathly arcane energy.

So that’s why the creation of the first cyber armours posed such a challenge—it had to withstand the power of the corrupted sun, the heart of a dragon forced to fuel the spells of the Coven witch.

However, a much more mundane sight forced me to divert all my attention to it—a single snowflake merrily sailed the winds.

My eyes locked on the distant northern horizon and in a single step my consciousness traversed half of Equestria.

I stopped on an island of dark dirt amidst the endless sea of dead white. An avalanche deceptively slowly climbed down the distant mountains—a herd.

Snowstorms galloped, and where their enormous hooves, reaching from the sky to the very earth, touched down, fields of hoarfrost sprouted, stealing any fertility from that soil for centuries to come. Heavy steps shook their bodies to the core and their endless manes shed snow, burying the permafrost they left in their wake under alabaster blankets. Ancient throats howled in timeless agony, echoing the only thought left in their fragmented, torn apart minds.

A dirge, feral and inequine, lulled the land into a sleep from which it would never wake—the frozen nightmare of emptiness betwixt the stars, which the Windigos had tried to take in and now couldn’t leave, being shared with everything they bled ice on.

Not their eyes, glowing yet cold and hollow, seeing only the darkness of the sunless void, guided those stillborn gods. The most primal of senses—smell—shepherded them to Canterlot.

The scent of spilt blood, a new river born at Canterlot drew the Windigos to it. They aimed not to quench their thirst for death—they had it in abundance—but, perhaps, to meet its creators.

And to be free of the visions of endless nothingness.

The Windigos passed me, blind to my presence, gracing me with their withering aura—the grave cold not of winter, but of extinguished stars. Powerless before the curse of the void, I didn’t matter—just another useless part of this forsaken world.

Reluctantly leaving the equinoids and the rest of the fugitives to the mercy of the first steps of the long journey, with only Seven to watch them, I took the other Harbingers to scour Canterlot for survivors lost in its maze about to turn into a frozen graveyard.

Since the TCE had cut off the main escape route, leaving only the dubious assistance of the Tunnels, I relied on teleportation—manageable with the low number of equines (and whatnot) to warp into the back of the procession fleeing the city.

However low, the amount of those who failed to join the cause remained steadily constant, herded into the flickering out glow of the Inner city as the war and senseless violence overtook the streets.

Darkness descended upon Canterlot, brought by the encroaching storm front that heralded the final winter. We still had a few hours left, but Seven spoke my name across the Unity—the exodus reached the Hayseed Swamps and something was wrong.

Casting one last glance at the spires of Canterlot, knowing I—and nobody—would never see them again, I left.

The Hayseed Swamps had made it crystal clear long ago—it had no place for ponies. Yet, I wandered the remains of civilization, confused.

A few small villages hid in those rotted marches—settlements unmarked on any map. Merely single digits of buildings clustered together, with their roofs caved-in and walls gnawed on by fungus. Algae-covered stakes of defunct catwalks and bridges reached for the evening sky from the murky waters. Digging through the mounds of mould and detritus, I unearthed mysterious masks that shed flakes of garish paint no longer hiding the arcanium runes.

And no remains of any kind, no sign of a fight—built to last for generations, these hidden homes, so hard fought for, were simply abandoned.

In my search for the embers of ponydom scattered from the dying torch of Canterlot, I found only cinders. However, the swamps offered sanctuary to dwellers aplenty.

Mighty hydras, their many muscular necks as thick as tree trunks, shambled across the shallow waters seeking prey or a mate. The foul-smelling bogs teemed with bufogrens, phlegmatically catching the abundant flies and mosquitoes with lashes of their disturbingly long tongues. The thick slough of drying moors revealed conveniently placed stones—cragadiles patiently waiting. The air hummed with the buzz of tiny wings—flashbees and innumerable other insect species feeding on the rot, each other or the larger inhabitants of the mireland. Occasionally, a thunderous flap of leathery wings signified the presence of much larger and more dangerous fliers—manticores. Underneath their nests in treetops, creatures of bark and wood skulked—emissaries of the Everfree Forest. To the east, the marsh met the Celestial Sea, poisoning the already deadly saltwater with its decaying currents. Still, the mangrove beach housed the most sentient creatures of the locale—insidious and bloodthirsty kelpies.

The swamps offered sanctuary to danger aplenty, yet all of it could be managed, unlike the one thing that made Seven summon me here—a presence that successfully avoided my focus, betraying itself with the faintest of signs in the corner of my sight beyond sight and a mocking display.

Will-o’-wisps constantly danced in the distance but disappeared the moment I tried to come closer or reach the lights with my magic. Whenever I dedicated myself to catching one, I eventually ended up before a heap of branches, bones and feathers that revealed nothing.

The greenish-brown quagmire began to turn crimson and the fugitives needed the canopy to shield themselves against the gryphon menace.

Casting a last wary glance at the mystical flickering lanterns, I dissipated my smoke form, returning my consciousness into my arcanium body.

Nobody burned wood in Canterlot—it would be cheaper to use yourself as fuel. However, despite the abundance of timber, no fires lit up the camp—damp air and soil greatly impeded any attempts to start it; in some places, the bog offered its reek of methane eager and potentially catastrophic assistance.

Darkness held absolute power over the throng of refugees.

It started after midnight, with a scream that turned into the gurgle of blood in a cut throat. The dark soon echoed with many more, concluding in the same gruesome manner.

In my first journey to the Badlands, I had never asked a question I should have.

What had become of the Buffalo? What had forced them to break the traditions stubbornly held close to their noble hearts for centuries?

They had no hearts anymore.

Sharp shards of perverted arcanium turned their blood into burning poison, eating away at their sanity and sapience in return for the power to survive, to find a cosy place on top of the food chain in the warm moors.

Like the things inhabiting the Junction, they could shift out of reality, leaving only a flickering light behind; they would materialise with a curved dagger plunged into their victim’s throat.

Withered, furless skin clung to their emaciated frames—living skeletons, their eyes glimmering with malignant stars. Wicked, twisted horns branched with cancerous growths, swayed in the air; dozens of small skulls hanging from them tapped uncannily. Chipped hooves drummed the march of death against the sodden spongy soil. Black tongues lolled from drooling mouths full of uneven sharp teeth that opened and closed mechanically, emanating the feral sounds of hunger.

And their arcanium taint refused to answer my calls, dancing to its own song of chaos. I could only helplessly watch as the tarnished razor-sharp blades bowed refugees, flesh and metal alike, onto the bog muck.

The Royal Guard recovered first, shooting the ghostly assassins; but, often their bullets passed through an incorporeal silhouette only to find their end in an innocent victim’s side—the Buffalo imposed the rule of the hoof to hoof combat.

Sharp twin blades formed out of my body, one of them immediately finding purchase in the dried ribcage of a wraith about to slit a mare’s throat. Another cut off the head of the disgusting thing that gorged on a still-warm corpse.

A shower of ichor pelted my side as a mighty turbine-powered hammer swing decapitated a wraith. The minotaur then dropped his deadly weapon to grasp another assassin by its horns and drove his metal knee into the drooling jaw, stopping only when there was nothing betwixt the two curved horns but bone shards and dark thick blood.

Trixie and Octavia fought side by side—powerless against the Buffalo, the Magician used her marefriend’s masterpiece—the Gun—to methodically bring down an abomination after abomination. The former cellist made sure no undead reached the sniper—her already burnished armour-body glistened with ichor in the moonlight.

A cannonball of two bodies almost knocked me from my hooves—Fotia and a wraith tried to reach for each other’s throat. The half-phoenix knocked the curved blade from the chipped hooves, but a sharpened horn went deep into her stomach and tore at it, spilling ribbons of intestines on the turf. Dripping saliva on the steaming organs, the feral beast plunged its muzzle into the gash, gnawing on exposed flesh; the light in Fotia’s eyes began to extinguish.

Barely in time, I dissolved my blade into a spool of glimmering yarn, knitting a ball around them. The first breath of her new body ignited the methane, turning everything inside the sphere into ash. My shield unravelled and a slightly confused and profusely cursing filly bolted out of the cloud of cinders back into the fray, dagger in her jaws still glowing with heat.

The thunderous booms of Rainbow Dash’s shoulder-mounted guns left the Buffalo in chunks hanging from the trees.

Another kind of wraiths, black as night, marched forward, guided by the orders of their midnight mistress. However, the masterful way Luna dealt with the Buffalo, unbothered by their nature, only left a dark impression.

The wraiths disappeared abruptly, fleeing into the mist beginning to crawl betwixt the gnarly wet trunks— the herald of the approaching dawn.

No victory cries cut the chill morning air, only the sound of weapons dropped onto the ground followed by mournful whispers—the body count had begun.

Many now lay behind, having found their eternal rest in the acidic treacherous soil of the bog that would faithfully and carefully preserve their bodies for a long time. Yet teams of volunteers spearheaded the sombre mass of escapees that still clung to the shadows of twisted swamp growths.

The reconnaissance revealed the Pink Butterflies gathering at the edge of the Everfree, patiently waiting for the unsuspecting fugitives to succumb to fatal sleep under the open sky of the arid lands that lay betwixt Canterlot and Dodgy City—the latter, of course, implied a return to the safety of the Swamp anyway.

Those who cleared the path through the marsh did so unrelentingly, their grim expression betraying that they knew—taking care of wild beasts and the thicket was no battle, but a dream under the Sun. The real battle lay ahead and not everyone would see it through.

The fugitives who survived this journey would never be the same.

The first lanterns glimmered in the gaps of the messy canopy—some carried by the refugees, others dancing in anticipation without any bearers. The congregation began to slow down, the thicket-clearing teams returning to their kin, forming dark and desperate camps. Some refused to stay at the marshes, despite strict orders, choosing to leave the treeline.

Gaining height to have a clear sight of the swamp, I exercised my telekinetic power and two paths of destruction—shallow moats—circled the conglomeration of the encampments. Spike, following in my wake, rained fire on the forest.

The wall of raging flames filled the air with steam and acrid smoke, and boomed with muffled explosions of pocketed underground gas. It stood betwixt the breathless refugees and the no longer jovially saltatorial lights.

Thick and fast, the will-o’-wisps winked out.

Even though the threat seemed gone, a lot of fugitives remained awake—standing guard or denied sleep by the memory of the previous night. The frightened figures kept looking around, peering into the oppressive darkness, wiping soot from their sweaty foreheads with shaking hooves.

I warped betwixt forever sleepless equinoids who used the nighttime to undo the damage done by the bog—mostly cleaning their mud-clogged joints and applying fresh oil. I chatted with every equinoid I helped, however, my awareness remained elsewhere, searching—the Pink Butterflies had disappeared and nobody knew where.

From time to time I returned to the bonfire of my creation, making sure it wouldn’t spread to the rest of the swamp. On my way back from one of those trips I noticed something.

Restless silhouettes churned in the shadows, pale faces catching the orange glimpses of the great pyre burning the wildlife—a grim sight, but the same the night started with. Yet my insight told me that the camps had more magic than before.

The obvious thought suggested a new tactic from the Buffalo, but the arcane energy had nothing to do with the malignancy of arcanium—it came from the crystals.

I joined Eleven who patrolled the camp and adjusted her path to head to the nearest mysterious gem. Silent as a breeze, we stepped over a root, finding ourselves in the circle of light cast by a pale lantern.

A neighponese mare sat on a fallen log, a can of preserved food in her hoof. Her shimmering magic lethargically levitated a spoon with discoloured mush back and forth to her chapped lips. A pair of amber eyes, unfocused, stared into the shadows; her eyelids fluttered, threatening to fall.

The steady heartbeat of the crystal stopped right behind her and it entered the visible world, revealing along with itself a chain it hanged from and the metal it rested on—a breastplate with a stylised pink butterfly.

Eagle claws pointed a gun composed of magnetic coils at the back of the mare’s head as she obliviously continued to keep herself awake with the horrid taste of rationed food.

My magic pushed her aside at the same moment an arcanium javelin whistled forward.

The poor mare shrieked—the projectile of the coilgun barely missed the unicorn, tearing through her ear. Then it obliterated my head.

After a moment of hesitation, Eleven fled my now-decapitated and useless body—she would soon be needed elsewhere. As it fell to the ground in a pile of arcanium limbs, I remained—a misty form—and reached for the bloodsoaked sliver of arcanium, unpinning the gryphon shooter from the tree.

Cries of alarm echoed with shrill panic formed a haunting orchestra, portending another long night and another long list of names.

I didn’t stop for a single moment, either flying or teleporting, answering calls for help, leaving behind only corpses marked with Fluttershy’s cutie mark and bleeding wounds from my arcanium needles.

Fortunately, the Pink Butterflies had brought far fewer weapons than could be expected—either metal claws or dirks, and not every gunner wielded the devastating coilguns. Explosions rarely boomed above the clamour of battle and I attributed them to the combustion of swamp gas.

A pitch-black wave slammed into me only to rebound and materialise into the shadow of a pony a few steps away.

“Be careful, Trixie,” I commented, extending my hoof to help her.

She only replied to me with a nod before returning to the fray.

I divided my blade into a swarm of coin-sized razor-sharp fragments and threw them at the entwinement of tree branches and vines, tearing them into shreds to finally give myself access to the sky.

The forest around smouldered—the blazing inferno of the grand bonfire had been gradually dying. Still, it offered enough light for the aerial battle—pegasi and gryphons collided into masses of feathers plummeting down and then untangling themselves before they crashed through the canopies.

I let the swarm of my arcanium slivers help the sky front of the battle as long as I could, raining dead gryphons onto the forest screaming with struggle.

A cry in the Unity forced me to dive back into the weald, two swords forming behind me. One of them found purchase in a gryphon’s eye socket the moment I landed, a rifle falling from their claw that pointed it at the equinoid.

The sight of two bodies perforated by numerous shots, one with a metal skull split apart, pierced my heart with sharp pain. I could only hope that their entities remained in the Unity.

The surviving equinoid caught the fallen rifle, her hooves fumbling with a weapon not designed to be used by equines. I whisked it out of her grasp, firing rounds at an armoured unicorn unleashing a barrage of fire spells on a cluster of tents not far from us.

“Find a magic user, keep yourself safe,” I said to her, offering the weapon back to her, rising to the air myself.

Reverting the effects of fire spells and other means of ignition employed by the terrorists became my primary responsibility, as they threatened to turn the swamp into a crematorium for the both dead and the living.

The moon passed its highest point in the sky, but the bloodletting taking place under its silver light failed to show any signs of winding down—the Pink Butterflies abandoned their masters in Canterlot, yet appeared to be inclined to fight to the death, seemingly gaining nothing from their vicious onslaught.

For gryphon traditionalists, nothing could be more honourable than to die in battle.

However, last night left the refugees on the edge and they readily used it against the enemy that they at least could strike.

Still, the Harbingers barely participated in the combat, instead warping from the body to body, catching the last breaths of equinoids and bringing them to the Unity. Even with their deaths postponed, too many mangled metal carcasses seeped oil into the mire—driven by the hatred of technology, the Pink Butterflies targeted my children more often than any other fugitive.

Another cry in the Unity—a desperate call for help—demanded my attention and I teleported, readying my blade.

I materialised behind a pony, a stallion with a pistol in his magic pressed to the jaw of an equinoid. Without hesitation I thrust my weapon into the would-be murderer’s chest, piercing his heart. Almost too late—a shot rang through the air, turning half of the equinoid’s face into a mess dripping dark oil on the forest floor.

“Twilight?”

My gaze tore away from the shocked eyes of the unicorn terrorist, the light in them fading away.

Flower and Wire stared at me, moonlight adding a haunting quality to their expressions, already terrified beyond anything I had seen before.

“What have you done?” Flower gasped.

I turned back to look at my victim—the growing limp body choking its last breath out with a gurgle of blood.

The stallion wore no painted armour.

Through the Unity, I reached into the equinoid’s mind.

SCRT-079.223.MK-06 who chose to be called… Adamant Smash. His last recollection showed me a desperate stallion looking for his wife and kids lost in the woods. Driven to the edge of sanity by fear and worry, he lashed out at Adamant, blaming him for the terrorists’ attack.

Perhaps he wouldn’t even have shot.

Wire tugged on Flower’s tail, her jaws working, trying to say something with her mouth full of hair. When her attempt failed, she pleaded, fearfully glancing at me, “We must leave!”

“But Twilight—”

“There’s no Twilight,” Wire barked back; taking Flower’s metal hoof in hers she pulled, but the filly’s remaining three hooves seemed to be rooted to the earth. Desperate, she added, pointing at me, “She’s just a monster, look at her!”

“But...” Tin Flower tried to object.

Warm liquid washed over my hooves and I realised that no words would speak louder than the blood I had spilt. Yet I took a step forward to the fillies.

Wire clutched Flower’s head in her hooves and yelled, “She is not your mother!”

She threw away her friend’s hooves as if a white-hot iron had touched her and Wire fell to the ground. Flower’s eyes jumped betwixt her and me, tears welling in them.

Wincing, Wire rose to her hooves, only to put one of them on Flower’s shoulder.

“Flower, let them go.”

She gave me a brief intense look of a dozen emotions fighting each other and turned away, starting into the darkness; Wire followed her not a moment later.

The Twelve shadowed them the moment they stepped out of the Sky Palace, yet right now they needed me, Flower especially.

Behind me, another innocent and unnecessary victim of this night was bleeding out. Both Adamant and Flower needed their mother right now.

I turned away from the woods.

My magic reached out to knit Adamant’s head together and extended further to quickly fix his still falling apart body. But too much of the cooling fluid leaked out, forcing his crystals into an emergency shutdown.

Leaving a message in the Unity for my Harbingers to pick up Adamant Smash, I reached for the arcanium needle, the crimson blood on it silver and black in the moonlight, and stopped.

I shouldn’t have been here in the first place—with every action, I robbed everyone around me of their precious freedom of choice. I wasn’t a goddess—my failure to foresee a calamity twice proved that letting anyone rely on me to save them would only weaken them.

When I retreated into the Unity, letting my children take the reins of their fate, I sensed a presence—the rustle of golden sand and realised it had been there all the time, by my side.

Then it left me be.

Millions of creatures and thousands of equinoids lived in Canterlot. Only a fraction of that number stepped beyond its outskirts. In the end, half of those fugitives found their new home in the Badlands, under the shadows of the Hive and Stalliongrad.

Delight shifted by my side, adjusting the bandages on her chest and one of her legs—she arrived at dawn, along with Stalliongrad’s soldiers and they put an end to the terrorist menace, rendering the rest of the journey relatively safe.

Invited to the Hive to attend the looming struggle for power amidst the survivors, I observed the milling fugitives from the Hive’s balcony.

My children helped to mark the borders of the future quarry—the source of material for many new homes, and eventually, a basin for Stalliongrad to land into. I didn’t miss how the camaraderie of the journey failed to reach the new last stronghold of civilization—none openly shunned equinods, but more often than not, they found themselves avoided.

Whatever direction the relationship betwixt them would go, wasn’t up to me now.

No longer seeing the Nexus as a throne, I nevertheless remained at it, dutifully sifting through the memories of my children and I started to realise something.

SCRT-079.223.MK-06, BLD-003.745.MK-44… and many other similar memory anchors now gathered proverbial dust at the storage of data. The equinoids easily parted with those forged recollections and I found that almost always they already didn’t need them.

Adamant Smash, Brass Litany, Svarka… they had their own memories of striving to live, be that unwilling servitude, passionate zeal or refusal of the Church as the cornerstone of their paths. Their new experiences grounded them, they came up with their own names.

And I had memories of Twilight Sparkle. Even with the crystals destroyed, I could still recall any moment of her life until the fateful trial.

She left behind a legacy not many could boast of—her deeds and misdeeds equally great; and a casket of gemstones with the recording of that life seared into them by her extraordinary magic ability.

I intently watched those recordings and lived some of them as she did.

Then I chose my own path to walk, learning from both her mistakes and accomplishments. I created my own memories to define me.

Twilight Sparkle was but an aftersound in me.

And I…

I had always been Machine Goddess.

Author's Note

Special thanks to Jay Tarrant.

I hope you've enjoyed reading this story so far.

If you notice any mistakes sneaked in through the editing, let me know.

Stay awesome.

Epilogue

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Prologue

Aftersound

==============================

Written by: Oneimare & Geka

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant, IAmApe, Damajics, QU4DZILLA, FairySlayer

===============================

Prologue

===============================

“Entry log number 52-47/5 from April 5, 8th year of the Fifth Era.

Twilight Sparkle, Chief Scientist of the Royal Canterlot Research Centre.

Today I’m going to supervise a test of automated combat body armour with Rainbow Dash, Captain of the Special Air Forces as the test pilot. But first, I need to perform a double-check of the prototype and the testing program—”

A mighty yawn contorted my muzzle and I completely lost my train of thought as a result.

How long had I slept last night? Three hours? Four at the most?

Proceeding without a cup of coffee was out of order.

The slightly sputtering glow of my horn deactivated the crystal’s recording enchantment and I winced as the gem all but fell on the table. Rising from my chair to face my tiny office, I glared at the mess it had become in all these months of relentless work. The origins of this chaos actually baffled me, considering the fact that the only thing I did in this room was getting a few hours of sleep every now and then.

My joints popped and creaked as I stretched my numb limbs, a groan escaping my mouth—the sleeping cot did me no favours. Starting as a temporary solution, it had eventually become the only place I slept every day aside from tables and chairs in the labs.

My eyes lazily returned to the dropped recording. The abandoned crystal commemorating the day our efforts paid off only added to the disorder of my dwelling; it gave me an inkling of how it gained Discord’s touch.

I couldn’t help but sigh when my magic picked the gem up to place into a box to rest amongst its brethren. My reliance on them hadn’t really been a choice for the last couple of years. Not since Spike left for the front line.

Those enchanted crystals held countless hours of my rambling tired voice, brimming with my magic. Even now, as I shut the lid of the ornate casket, it filtered through, rendering the twilight of my office purple.

A piercing draft sent shivers down my skin—the Royal Canterlot Research Centre had been built in the foothills of the mountain in a hurry, thus the central heating system malfunctioned all days ending with ‘y’. The war demanding every bucket of coal hadn’t been helping the situation either.

One more reason to hurry up with a pilgrimage to the coffee machine.

Ragged saddlebags landed on my wrinkled and dingy lab coat; feeding them the gem cassette, I snatched my trusty coffee-stained ‘Egghead #1’ mug—Moon Dancer’s gift—and embarked on a journey.

The cold corridors of the RCRC greeted me with the quiet solitude of an early morning. On any other day, they would already be teeming with life, but after putting the finishing touches on the prototype last night most of the team had tried to finally catch up on some sleep.

And then there was I—craving for a blessing from our Savior, the holy fountain of the black and bittersweet drink. Rarity probably had no idea that in convincing the nobles to finally establish trade routes with Zebrica she had also saved the RCRC.

When was the last time I saw her?

I had to abruptly stop myself when I realized that months wasn’t the correct answer.

At least today I had the opportunity to spend some time with Rainbow Dash. It was hard to say if she volunteered because of genuine fascination with the concept of flying cyber armour or the desperate hope for an advantage that would put an end to the war.

Finally, the familiar door with a slightly discoloured wooden plaque reading ‘Cybernetics Lab’ appeared before me. My magic fumbled with a dozen crystal keycards—enchanted gems were in use everywhere these days.

Whilst it was one of the oldest arcane crafting practices with numerous applications, learning from Crystal Empire refugees how to grow specialized gemstones allowed us to raise that technology to another level. The desperate needs of the front also acted as a rather compelling motivation.

The bright pink and cyan card slid into the lock with a practised motion, and the door opened with a quiet click followed by another—the light switch being flicked.

The groggily winking light flooded a vast room cluttered with equipment, gems and spare parts of various sizes, along with assorted stationeries and blueprints. The mess claimed every surface of the room but one—a small podium in the middle presenting the final product born from sleepless nights and countless days of hard work.

The Automated Armoured Full Body Combat Suit.

The pinnacle of arcane and mechanical technological progress, a creation surpassing anything before in its complexity. Plates of hardened steel alloy imbued with arcanium runes supposed to withstand the most vicious of spells from Sombra’s warlocks or even a direct strike from a crystal blade. Underneath them lay an intricate network of hydraulic circuits able to significantly enhance the raw physical strength and speed of the pony inside that armour. And the last part, which Dash liked the most—betwixt two folded steel wings rested the reaction turbine fueled by a huge gem.

The laboratory’s dim lighting rendered the armour intimidating and foreboding with its long conical helmet, reminiscent of a dragon’s head, and large plates of darkened steel shimmering with arcane writings.

Usually, a sight reflecting in me with pride and hope, in moments like this, it made me wonder if, perhaps, we had gone too far in our despair to finish the war.

Maybe a sip of coffee would bring some positivity to my thoughts.

A flicker of my horn powered up a gem in the heart of the coffee machine and I leaned on the nearest table as the elixir of happiness was brewed, tickling my nose with its enchanting aroma.

Pegasi were already the most important part of the Equestrian Army, something that Sombra didn’t have even with all his warlocks, spells and griffon mercenaries. If the prototype passed the trials today, that advantage would be turned into a deciding factor.

The coffee machine announced the conclusion of its toils with a resounding chime.

However, as I put the steaming mug to my lips, a loud knocking echoed through the lab. Refusing to greet the visitor in favour of satisfying my thirst for caffeine, I yelled:

“Yes? Who is it? Come on in, didn’t you know that the door’s open?”

The door opened halfway, and an unfamiliar unicorn in a lab coat shoved himself through—probably a fresh lab assistant from some other department; it was impossible to keep track of all the ponies in the facility growing rapidly in scale with each year the war lasted.

“Captain Rainbow Dash has arrived and is already waiting for you on the testing grounds,” the lab-coated pony droned through the half-open door.

I almost spit my precious drink.

Pouring the rest of the coffee down my throat and hissing as I belatedly realised my mistake, I all but bolted out of the room past the confused assistant.

A few shooting ranges for ballistic weapons and magic spells, and a few more open flat grounds for other various tests constituted the RCRC testing grounds. There was a recent addition to them—a flight strip with a viewing stand constructed for our project. The area around it was already swarming with my research team preparing for the trial.

The weather couldn’t be more perfect for aerial testing. With enough clouds to shroud Her Sun, it was still bright enough to see clearly as far as the horizon. Only the faintest of breezes disturbed the dust on the tarmac, carrying no promise of rain.

When a litany of golden rays punctured the silver canvas of clouds to momentarily blind me I came to a shocking realisation—this was my first time outside in at least two months.

The sky ablaze meant Princess Luna was still out there, dutifully raising both celestial bodies. The last time I had heard about her was from Rarity. Luna had just replenished her supplies to continue her crusade in search of Queen Chrysalis.

I glanced at Her Sun one more time and brushed tears away.

It wasn’t hard to find Rainbow.

Sitting on the furthest edge of the airstrip, she was still an explosion of colour, even in a military uniform and with her mane cut short. Though I practically galloped, she didn’t seem to notice me. Nearing her, I slowed down and watched my friend carefully.

She was hunching awkwardly, trying not to put any weight on her bandaged hind leg. Her slightly red eyes adorned with deep dark blue circles burned with determination, aimed over the mountains to the north. Suddenly, Rainbow turned her head.

“Twi,” she rasped unexpectedly jovially.

“Hi, Rainbow,” I answered, smiling.

Upon seeing my expression, she responded with a grin of her own and leaned in to give me a hug, which I returned without hesitation.

“Pinkie says hi,” Dash whispered in my ear.

Reluctantly breaking the embrace I sat beside her.

“How’s she doing? How are you all doing?”

One of Rainbow’s eyebrows went up as she shot me a surprised look.

“I thought you’d have read the reports.”

“Of course I’ve read them, and I get my share of information from Shining’s and Spike’s letters. But you are on the front line. It’s different.”

“Yeah. It totally is.” With that Rainbow looked over her shoulder to the north once again. Her already grim expression darkened even more. “We can’t wage this war forever, Twi. If we don’t win this year, Sombra is going to start pushing back, and we don’t have the strength left to stop him.”

“That’s exactly what Shining was saying.” I shuddered. “But I wanted to know how the ponies themselves are doing. And Pinkie? Spike?”

“Tired. Some of them haven’t been home for years.”

A pang of shame pierced my heart—I had been complaining about being confined to my safe lab for just a couple of months, an hour away from my home.

“Pinkie, Spike and I are all from different divisions, we don’t see each other often. Pinkie is with her sisters, though. They’re still alive,” Rainbow continued. However, there was no joy on her face. “Not everyone has such luck.”

We sat in silence for a while.

In the distance, mechanics were bringing out the prototype and more and more ponies in lab coats kept spilling out of the building.

“We should get started.” Rising to my hooves, I headed for the stand. “My team will finish the preparations any moment.”

“I didn’t expect the final model to be so big and bulky,” Rainbow muttered, her coat already hidden by the thick net of intertwining tubes and wires converging on the finely cut gemstones and joints of her metal-clad limbs.

Mechanics had just started to attach metal plates to their designated mountings on the suit base, securing them with stout bolts.

She continued to complain, “The models I helped you to test before weren’t so large.”

“Yes, but the hydraulics and crystals are fragile so we decided to reinforce it,” I patiently explained. “Also, we decided to make it impermeable after reports about some of Sombra’s spells.”

“Yeah, that’s nasty stuff.” The armour rattled as Rainbow shook. “So, you mentioned something about that mouth com-thingy in your testing program, but I didn’t understand anything. It had too many egghead words.”

“Moon and I created a special spell, it’s called a ‘communication enchantment’.” I glared at her, then continued enthusiastically, “It’s basically a simple arcane voice imprinting enchantment, Vox Vestigium, combined with a sound recording enchantment, Sonus Minuat, of a very short duration and made to continuously jump with a modification of localized Salio Arcanis between a pair of linked crystals via natural magical ley lines and—”

“Uhhh. In case you forgot, I’m not a unicorn, Twi.”

“Fine!” I groaned. “You just need to start talking and we’ll hear you at the stand.”

“Alright,” Rainbow replied as if nothing had happened.

The quietly snickering mechanics finished assembling the body sections of the armour before moving to her head, preparing the oblong conical helmet.

Scrunching her nose and futilely trying to shy away from it, Rainbow asked, “What do I need this breather for?”

“It’s an oxygen mask. You’ll need it to breathe in the suit. It’s tightly sealed, remember?”

“Okaaay,” came Rainbow’s unsure answer, and she let the mask be put over her muzzle without any complaints.

“I’m going to the stand to check out the recording machinery and the communication crystals.” My hoof stretched to Rainbow’s shoulder for an encouraging bump, but she shot her hoof up and we ended with an awkward hoof-bump. “Erm, good luck.”

Near the stand stood a pony I didn’t expect to see today—our very own Leading Scientist of the Cybernetics Division.

“Moon, I thought you were going to sleep through everything,” I called approaching the hastily constructed observation platform.

I wasn’t trying to accuse her of being a sleepyhead (which she was), but last night was the third in a row without even a wink of sleep for her.

“Pfft, are you kidding? I didn’t spend the last few months working my horn off only to miss the main event.”

“Cheerful as always,” I retorted with a smirk. “Well, I’m going to test out our communication crystals. Do you want to join?”

“You mean the ‘coms’? Nah, they work just fine. The guys from my team tested them yesterday. I better go and check-in with the photographers, though. They need to know that your friend is going to be faster than anything they’ve seen before.”

With that, she departed to a group of ponies with cameras further away, behind the stand.

“Coms? Huh, that’s actually not nearly as much of a mouthful,” I muttered under my breath whilst putting the communica... ‘com’ on the stand’s pedestal.

Rainbow Dash was still in her armour, waiting for the crystals inside to power up. A flicker of my magic cast a voice amplifying spell on me.

“Turn the enchantments on and leave the flight strip. I repeat, everypony, leave the flight strip after the last enchantment is activated. We are starting.”

Dozens of ponies in lab coats hurried away from Rainbow, leaving her to stand forlornly, like a metal statue, in the middle of the flight strip. My horn flared up and the voice enhancement was dispelled.

First things first—everything had to be recorded.

“Entry log number 12-31/6 from April 5, 8th year of the Fifth Era.

By Twilight Sparkle, Chief Scientist of the Royal Canterlot Research Centre.

We are starting the trial of the Automated Armored Full Body Combat Suit, with Captain of the Special Air Forces Rainbow Dash.”

The crystal went to the casket and another exertion of my arcane ability activated the ‘com’. The sound of breathing permeated my ears—Rainbow’s ‘com’ had fired up too.

“Rainbow, can you hear me?”

“Yeah. A little bit too loud and there’s a strange crackle.”

Covering the ‘com’ with one hoof, I shouted in Moon’s direction, “Moonie, Rainbow says her receiver crystal’s output volume is too high and it has some intrusive noises.”

“It’s supposed to be loud, we discovered yesterday that the enchantment loses its power over a distance so we cranked up the volume; we’ll fix it next time. And the sound was clear, I dunno what’s wrong with it now—maybe some overlap,” she yelled back at me, then added in a cranky voice, “And don’t call me that in public!”

Returning my attention to the stand, I checked for anything that was out of place that could cause interference, but everything looked fine.

“Rainbow, Moon says it’ll become quieter after you take off, and the crackle could be overlapping magic fields.” Mostly to myself, I continued, “I don’t think this will affect the cyber suit—its enchantments are protected by arcanium runes after all.”

“So, if everything is fine, can I take off then? I’m tired of standing in one place already!”

“On the count of ten.”

Even though Rainbow’s solitude remained uncontested, I still announced, “Everypony must immediately leave the flight strip, we are starting the test on the count of ten! I repeat, everypony leave the flight strip!”

I took a deep breath—this was it.

“Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Fi—”

Rainbow rocketed up into the sky in a cloud of dust, the turbine’s roar washing over me, messing up my mane.

“Sorry, boss,” she chuckled, “couldn’t hold on any longer.”

“Ugh.” I slapped my hoof against my forehead in frustration, groaning. “Is everything all right at least?”

“All’s fine, your voice is not so loud anymore, but, uh, the crackling is a bit louder now.”

Where could this crackling be coming from? It didn’t seem to be a serious problem, maybe something was off with the ‘com’, indeed. With the ambition of our prototype, the perfect sound quality was the least of our worries.

Casting my gaze to the sky, I searched for the silhouette zipping across it.

Rainbow had gained a lot of altitude already—soaring just under the clouds, she executed the aerial manoeuvres we had included in the testing program at her insistence. She claimed they were some basic moves her squad used all the time; but it seemed she chose them to show off, like old times.

As I watched her pirouetting, I couldn’t help but wonder what was going to happen next.

When this nightmare was finally over.

I still had a life to live, even if everything in Equestria tried to make me forget it.

After the Crystal Empire was finally liberated, I would probably retire and move on to something more theoretical; leave the forges of the RCRC to somepony who wasn’t ashamed of the things they brought to Equestria.

Moon Dancer had already been showing incredible talent working with biomechanics for a while—her prototypes and concepts were astounding and brimmed with endless potential; though she did lack proficiency in writing new runes...

“Hey, Twi,” Rainbow’s concerned voice interrupted my thoughts. “The crackling has gotten louder, I think it’s coming from the turbine.”

“What!? Are you sure?” I gasped, clutching the stand with my hooves, squinting at her distant outline, too far away to see any important details.

“It’s sure becoming louder, and it’s not from the ‘com’. It’s coming from somewhere behind my helmet.”

I pulled out a pair of binoculars from the stand and aimed them at her.

To my horror, the massive power gem of the turbine sparkled and faintly smoked.

“No, no, no, no, no, no!”

I frantically looked around, half-expecting somepony to tell me it was all part of the trial—just another thing to work out. But everypony glanced at others in confusion, deeply worried, if not as terrified as I was. Moon had been already galloping to the stand, yelling.

“Rainbow, listen to me!”

She was rapidly losing altitude, plummeting towards the flight strip. Binoculars weren’t necessary anymore—a trail of thick smoke followed her.

“Rainbow, something is wrong. You need to land right now! Can you hear me? You need to—”

The turbine exploded in a brilliant wave of magic.

Author's Note

Special thanks to Jay Tarrant.

I hope you've enjoyed reading this story.

If you notice any mistakes sneaked in through the editing, let me know.

Stay awesome.

Chapter 10 – canterlot:\tr.exe

Aftersound

==============================

Written by: Oneimare & Geka

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant, IAmApe

==============================

canterlot:\tr.exe

==============================

“Twilight Sparkle? Is that you?”

A mare uttered those words in a quivering and strange voice—like two ponies speaking at once; yet familiar. Slowly, as if afraid of me, she stood up, came closer and removed her hood with her hooves.

It had to be a mask—iridescent liquid metal covered the front of her face. Occasionally, the silver droplets would fall upwards from her face and after lingering in the air for a fleeting moment of indecision, drop back, sending little waves rippling over the everflowing surface.

She stared at me with artificial eyes of the deepest and most vibrant violet, a perfect imitation with irises almost imperceptibly moving—like the irises of a truly living being.

Her illusory mane coiled around an unusually long arcanium horn; not just a solid spike of metal—the hollows of spirals glowed softly with an amplifying crystal.

Plates of the same precious metal covered her body and not a single gap between the shifting segments betrayed the nature of this mare. She towered over me like a Jangwa zebra or a Saddle Arabian would, yet her constitution—lithe, far more slim and slender than the body of any equine—spoke of her not being a half-blood.

Her hood—cloak, actually—tattered and dirty, once purple to match her eyes starkly contrasted with the stunning quality of the rest of her gleaming ‘attire’, failing even to fully conceal it.

At her side rested a gun—the Gun—a hoofmade masterpiece. Its polished wooden handle shone with a rich matte-finished obsidian, a pink engraved treble clef adorning its smooth surface.

The most puzzling feature of that mare, her magic, emanated from her in erratic heartbeats and bothered me greatly. As if I had put my hoof in a river, expecting the water to flow in a certain direction… but it went sideways and felt so cold.

As I studied the mare, wracking my mind in an attempt to recognize her, she still looked at me with wide eyes shining with hope.

“I’m afraid, I don’t know who you are.”

The light in her eyes didn’t falter. She took another step closer and, smiling, pointed her hoof at herself.

“I know, I look different, but it’s me—Trix.” Seeing no recognition in my eyes, she added, “Trixie Lulamoon. Don’t you remember me?”

I had never... Was she that ever boasting annoying mare with a moon-sized ego from the years before the war?

“Perhaps…”

I was clearly missing something.

Trixie’s expression wavered, yet she let slip none of that in her voice.

“I thought you had died during the transference attempt. We all thought you dead,” Trixie spoke, smiling in relief. “I wish Moon Dancer were alive to see you, she’d be so happy.”

Her grin fell as I continued to squint at her in suspicion.

“Twilight, I know it’s you. Don’t you remember how we worked together? You, Pinkie, Moon and I?”

Aha—that strange voice in the recording.

Somehow Trixie had managed to live for five centuries—becoming a Former One... the Magician.

Except, that friendship had happened in another life and I only knew her as a nuisance.

“Trixie, I’m not exactly who you think I am,” I began; she looked at me in utter confusion, trepidation overtaking her features. “Apparently, Twilight had been leaving a very powerful imprint on her recording crystals, and when a filly from the Edge used them to create an equinoid they worked as a memory anchor. I took this body from the Royal Archives, but I have no recollections beyond the trial of the cybersuit.”

Her mask-face shifted into bewilderment, amazement and then settled on awe.

“All those years,” Trixie uttered, “we were beating our heads against the wall trying to make the True Transference happen, and you just… you just made yourself a lich without even knowing it!”

I closed my eyes, letting out a half-hearted sigh—why even bother?

“I never thought I’d ever see you again. You can’t imagine how glad I am, even though you almost don’t remember me,” Trixie went on, her eyes shining with more than just happiness—stalwart resolve. “And if you are alive, it changes everything.”

Motioning with her hoof she turned to the exit, yet I refused to move.

“Where are we going?” I glared at her. “And why is Pinkie Pie here?”

Trixie unceremoniously grabbed and dragged me out of the temple so suddenly, I couldn’t even protest.

“She isn’t going anywhere, but we’re going to my place. Don’t worry, Twilight, I’ll answer all your questions and more.”

Groaning, I resigned myself to my fate—not like I seemed to be getting anywhere in the Deep Tunnels on my own. And it seemed five hundred years had done nothing to relieve Trixie of her obnoxious nature.

Despite Trixie’s enthusiasm, she exercised little consideration, forcing me to canter to match her long-legged and hurried gait. Though my lack of a respiratory system made my haste not as big an issue as it could be, I still struggled to gather my thoughts.

Other than still being irritating (at least she hadn’t spoken of herself in the third person—yet), Trixie gave me a few more reasons to doubt my luck of running into her.

The way she navigated the eerie tunnels—without any trouble whatsoever—suggested her being the sorcerer behind their ever-shifting nature. If Trixie’s suspicious navigating success hadn’t served as enough evidence, her magic ability, already proved unsettling, offered another hint.

That majestic horn of hers didn’t glow—the shadows, concentrated to pitch-black ribbons, swirled and bubbled around it. The display hurt my mind, actually—she created light through the absence of darkness.

Confronting her about those ominous skills felt unwise—for now; not that I didn’t have anything else, more important, to ask.

“Trixie, how did things get so… bad?” Сharitably speaking.

“Bad?” She chuckled, shaking her head; she also slowed down so I could canter by her side. “Claiming you aren’t the bonafide Twilight, yet still refusing to admit Rarity saved Equestria.”

“Forgive me,” I sneered, “for a moment I forgot Canterlot is a utopia.”

That remark earned me a peeved glance.

“Listen, I understand why you’re sore about what she did, but it was the right call.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes, grumbling, “Be more concrete, would you?”

“She removed you from the post of Chief Scientist.”

“Well, the cybersuit project had failed—spectacularly.” Seeing Trixie shooting me a surprised look, I reminded her, “It wasn’t me whom Rarity removed.”

“Twilight…” Trixie said softly and patiently, shaking her head and looking at me with a pained expression, “it killed Rainbow Dash. You had spent a month in a coma and woke up blind and semi-paralysed.”

For a moment the memories of another life yanked at the reins of my emotions. However, they worked as an anchor, keeping me from drifting into the void—Isteered the vessel with the wheel of cold logic.

Five hundred years passed. Save for Trixie, everyone Twilight knew had long since died, even the supposedly immortal demi-goddesses. And she herself had ended up as a pile of ashes somewhere and a series of recollections in my head.

Anyway, what was the use of a cripple who’d failed a test when it actually mattered?

“Her decision was fair, then.”

Trixie stopped dead with a gasp; her mouth agape, she stared at me.

I met her utter disbelief with a level look.

Finally, she came to her senses, choosing to ignore my calm reaction, but not without giving me a final, concerned and somewhat offended glance. Then she continued, “Rarity didn’t demote you for failure. You tried to stop her from using those cybersuits.”

Faintly scraping, my brow slowly raised.

“Because they tend to explode?”

“They didn’t—you didn’t fail,” Trixie snapped. “They’re the only reason Equestria managed to finish the war.”

I shrugged, rolling my eyes at her again, “It doesn’t explain how Canterlot can put Tartarus to shame these days.”

My gesture incited a grimace, but her anger quickly faded, replaced by sadness.

“I wish you could remember.” Trixie stomped lightly and pressed her lips together. “She did everything that could’ve been done.”

“She,” I deadpanned. “There were the Princesses? Shining Armor? Anyone else? I can imagine the war left Equestria in shambles, but I refuse to believe it could be rebuilt only into that… shithole!”

“Twilight, all the cities in Equestria were destroyed,” Trixie pleaded. “The remnants of the Coven assassinated your brother the week after the war ended, Princess Luna sacrificed herself to annihilate the Hive and King Sombra executed Cadence the first year into the war.”

Once more a pang of heartache tried to transfix me but found only unrelenting iron.

“And the Former Bearers? What about them?”

Trixie paid me a pained look and whispered in a defensive tone, “Your friends listened to you and organised a revolt against the Crown, but it failed. They either were put in an asylum, exiled or… executed.”

I knew practically nothing of that period, but I could easily understand why Twilight had a problem with Rarity, by her words alone. The government she’d created—the Crown—seemed to preserve its practices intact.

“Don’t you think their call was right?” I hissed. “Have you spent the last five centuries literally living under a rock!?”

“Stop being so obsessed with the present! Thousands of cripples had no homes to return to, hundreds of thousands had theirs turned into ruins. Rarity found a way to house and feed them all, even if they were unhappy. She used your’s and Moon’s research to alleviate their disabilities—”

She scrunched her nose when I interrupted her, “Let me guess, that way is called the Transcontinental Company, isn’t it? Did you know it runs labour camps outside the city?”

Trixie silently glowered at me, then suddenly the ire on her face melted—literally—into a melancholic smile.

“Twilight… You haven’t changed at all, you know that?”

I opened my mouth, but her raised hooves stopped me.

“Just… just let me speak, okay? I know things aren’t exactly well right now—we... we didn’t know where those choices would lead us. But there is no point arguing about the past.”

Her hooves ended up on my shoulders.

“The present, however… That is why I said your… ‘reappearance’ changes everything. And that is why I’m so happy to see you still bearing that spark in you.”

Shrugging off Trixie’s limbs to her disappointment, I grumbled, “Humour me.”

“After… After you ‘died’, I travelled across Equestria, and found a great friend in the ruins of Manehattan. Together we’ve journeyed past the Badlands and we saw her. Princess Luna might have died. But Nightmare Moon… she still lives.”

My eyelids tiredly closed.

No wonder Trixie didn’t mind in the slightest the nonsense-spewing, deranged ponies keeping her company.

When I opened my eyes, I expected her to admit it as a stupid joke, but unfortunately, an intent look met me, bearing the same hope from before.

“What exactly did you see?” I practically groaned.

“The entire Badlands were one huge alarm spell—I’m sure it still is. We learned that only after running into it.” Trixie shuddered. “The night, it descended on us, claiming we were changelings. I don’t know how we made it out alive—both of us lost our bodies.”

That made things no clearer; not that it mattered.

“You do realise I can’t use the Elements, right?”

“We aren’t talking about the Nightmare Moon. She hasn’t brought eternal night or anything like that. I’m pretty sure if she were to meet somepony she knows, her mind would clear up.”

An anachronism—a single pony would come and magically fix everything; or six of them. And it had only worked twice, with catastrophic results when the pattern suddenly failed to continue.

Yet, hearing it from a pony born to that epoch caused me little surprise; the miserable conditions Trixie seemed to be a captive of, too, would offer a fertile ground for such a naive belief.

Though I had no intent of indulging her, the return of Princess Luna might be necessary. Canterlot would fall and with it, whomever of the Crown held responsible for the control of the firmaments.

Unless I wanted to spend the rest of my immortal life under a scorching Sun or in complete darkness, it required my involvement.

That’s, if I assumed it wasn’t just a figment of Trixie’s imagination. But left in those maddening tunnels with a semi-stable dark mage was the last thing I needed.

A heavy sigh escaped my mouth and this time it brought no relief.

“When are we leaving for the Badlands?”

“That’s the spirit!”

For the third time, my eyes rolled at the misinterpretation of my ‘enthusiasm’. At this rate, I’d whittle them into nothing before the journey even began.

“Right now!” continued the excited and oblivious equine. “Though before we do, I need to visit my place to grab the map and a few things. And I’m taking you to the worksh—”

“No. Before we go anywhere, I’m visiting my friends at the Junkyard. And thank you for the offer, but I’m good.”

“Well… the Junkyard is on the way.” Slightly taken aback, Trixie gave me a curious look, then recovered. “It’s not about maintenance. You’re going to need harder horseshoes—you’ll grind these to nothing halfway.”

I only shrugged—she’d made some sense for once.

She began to trot in the direction we came from.

“Erm, Trixie… How do you orient yourself in these tunnels?”

“How did you find the Temple of the Forgotten Deities?”

“Some lunatic showed me the way.”

“Yeah, Pinkie acts like a magnet for them.” Trixie chuckled ruefully. “The secret is that you have to know exactly where you want to end up and to want it. No directions are needed, only confidence—follow your heart, if you aren’t afraid to be corny.”

“Why?”

That is, if she told the truth.

“Nopony knows. Dr Hooves says it’s a tear in time and space caused by some very powerful magic, but he says a lot of crazy things.”

“Dr Hooves is a Former One? Like you?”

Trixie grimaced at the ‘like you’ part, but otherwise nodded.

“How many other Former Ones are in Canterlot?”

“Less than fifteen are left and you may even know half of them. Sunburst, though he spends most of his time recovering books from the ruins of Neighponia; the mare who was called Raven Inkwell back in your days—Fotia Koraki now; Soarin, once a Wonderbolt, now a Lobster; Octavia Melody, but... she isn’t in Canterlot right now…”

Trixie abruptly fell silent and deflated.

Somehow I got the impression there would be no chatting for some time.

The solemn silence interrupted only by the clop of our hooves offered me a great opportunity to reflect on the staggering amount of knowledge I had just received. Other than ruminating on the intricacies of the events unfolded after the fated incident and wondering how to learn more about them without getting into another verbal duel with Trixie, I vainly fought a nagging sensation of missing something extremely important.

In an effulgent flash of intuition two fragments found each other, two pieces of the puzzle:

“...You had spent a month in a coma and woke up blind…”

“...Cast into the darkness, She ascended from the coils of mortal flesh…”

“Coincidence is a lazy word for lazy ponies,” Starswirl the Bearded once said.

Hoping that the bout of sorrow had released Trixie’s mind from its fangs, I asked:

“What do you know about the Machine Goddess?”

Startled, she glanced at me and surprise momentarily ceded to confusion. Then melancholy overcame her expression once again and she spoke so softly, I barely heard her:

“I was living in the Tunnels when Pinkie managed to escape from the asylum and find me. Sometime after, you and Moon learned about her and started to visit us.

“You worked on the enchantments, Moonie was a prodigy when it came to the mechanics, Pinkie was the best moral support any pony could wish for. And I… helped whatever way I could.

“After your ‘death’, Pinkie passed away in her sleep. Moonie went mad with grief and stole your body from the Palace. I still remember her face when you… it… didn’t recognize Pinkie. Moon just let the Royal Guard take her away, never to be seen again.

“I was left alone and… ran away. By the time I came back, the Tunnels had already become a sanctuary to runaway equinoids. They had learned of our lives and departures second-hoof and wove them into a cornerstone of their faith.”

The Machine Goddess never existed but wasn’t a lie either.

“Between the two of us left alive, only you deserve such a title, heh.” Trixie mused with a mirthless laugh. “You were the one who created the Prime Code, the only thing Moon refused to submit.”

Whilst she found that fact amusing, it hit me like a tonne of bricks.

Twilight Sparkle had created equinoids—what was I supposed to make of such inheritance? Yes, inheritance—the irony didn’t evade me; it had to be an enchantment of hers that had turned her recordings into my anchor. In some sense, I was her daughter as much as I was her.

The torrent of emotions and questions threatened to flood my mind and drive me crazy, but I cleared my consciousness of any thought but one—I didn’t know enough to make any conclusions.

Yet.

Trixie’s abode turned out to be a surprisingly modest single room carved in the rock.

Save for two flat large stones—a table and bed—it had no other furniture. A workbench gathered dust in the corner, cluttered with rusty spare parts. However, numerous shelves cut in the uneven walls presented a staggering plethora of little things—knick-knacks, crystals of all sizes and colours, ancient folios, dilapidated scrolls…

Out of sheer curiosity and to pass the time, I asked her permission to take a closer look.

“Sure,” came the muffled answer; Trixie rummaged through the scrolls, surrounded by a thick cloud of dust around her. “Just be careful.”

My magic tugged at the nearest book, yet as soon as it came into my view, I dropped it with a shriek.

A flattened pony face glowered at me from the floor with empty eye sockets, the toothless mouth agape in silent eternal agony. Black ribbons of shadows enveloped it and gingerly put it back with its leather-bound brethren.

“Warned you.”

I chose another shelf to study.

Most of the things shared the disturbing nature with my first discovery, if less pronounced. A set of basalt daggers—bloodstained. Weathered stones engraved in eldritch runes. Inky shadows swirling inside glass spheres. Vials full of murky liquids. Tiny strange clockwork mechanisms. Dark crystals, both bare and encased in metal.

Though Trixie busied herself with carefully choosing gems to put into a cloth bag in her hooves, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

I twirled around and my eyes fell on it.

A shelf in the far corner housed a pony head that was giving me the most baleful glare I had ever received.

The mare’s head floated inside a cylindrical tube adorned with dark pulsing stones and fortified with oxidized vertical metal bars. If not for the lack of coat and its colour drained by time, she’d have made… ugh… heads turn.

She incited as much pity as abhorrence—why not just put an end to her misery?

“Meet Mordant, the bitch who decided to play a dark mage and thought that it’d be fun to kill everyone who lives in the Tunnels.” Trixie suddenly spoke, accompanying her words with a literal growl. “Took me an entire year and three bodies to take her down.”

“Why do you keep such a thing in your home?”

“She’s a Former One and a lich, like you. This moron had made, like, a hundred phylacteries and hid them everywhere, so I have to keep her alive.”

Perhaps, my judgement of Trixie asked for some deliberation. Despite what her ‘stage name’ implied, somehow I doubted she had spent the last few centuries showing tricks to anypony.

When the assortment of objects in Trixie’s bag amounted to what a new set of hooves would supposedly be worth, we exited her dwelling.

She kept glancing at me with some sort of anticipation and I decided to oblige:

“I’ve met Spike.”

Trixie winced and asked, incredulous, “And he didn’t attack you?”

My head shook.

“I’m afraid, I know no more than you. After the Great War Rarity appointed him an ambassador to the Dragon Lands and he returned only during my absence, already acting like that. I did try to help him, but only lost my body.”

“I’m going to help him,” I stated in a hard voice.

Trixie looked at me with concern and then nodded resolutely.

“I’m with you, but it isn’t going to be an easy task—we need to find him first. I suspect he knows how to avoid me.”

Dragons of his size and age had hoards—that would be a start. And Princess Luna might help—her sister had always shared a special bond with dragons; one more reason to resolve that issue.

Eventually, Trixie stopped using her ‘unlight’ spell. Besides our surroundings gaining lighting on their own, they had lost the appearance of something lost in time and space; signs of civilization—like trash—gradually appeared, bringing the trademark smell with them.

Then we began to meet equinoids, ponies, zebras and whatnot; they gave us a wide berth, glancing warily at the Magician.

The tunnel opened into a place she called a Well.

Beyond the rusted railing, the floor abruptly ended in a vast vertical shaft, its bottom claimed by impenetrable shadows. A giant cluster of catwalks and metal scrap hung precariously in the lumen, defying any reason and safety measures—like a huge spider had woven a web from twisted rusty metal, catching countless fireflies in it, and then passed away in that web, its corpse now being swarmed by tiny ants.

Every underground dweller who happened to be in our path yielded it to Trixie; their expressions ranging from deep respect to outright disgust or fear. And as such, navigating the cramped catwalks posed no issue.

After we passed a small eatery selling translucent noodles and grilled rats, we came to a shack apparently on fire—thick curls of smoke poured from the open door and every numerous crack.

As we waded through the fumes, I discovered it was a sort of artificial fog smelling of medical herbs. The wall of steam let us into a tiny room with two cots and tables, glowing screens set on the latter.

Two figures sat at them, back to back.

A goat and a llama.

A huge brown woolly worm hunched over a tablet, pen in their mouth scribbling furiously. The grey goat in glasses no less vigorously typed on the keyboard; judging by the device appearing in the cloven hoof every so often to be drawn to the lips, the credit for all the vapour went to the caprine.

Since a set of headphones screeched from behind the curved horns, only the llama paid attention to Trixie when she loudly cleared her throat. The towering figure straightened, almost scraping the low ceiling, and bent towards its horned neighbour to slap the back of his head, sending the pair of glasses sailing from the goat’s muzzle.

“Ow, fuck!” The goat tore his headphones off, blindly pawing the keyboard for his sights. “I can’t believe you’ve done this.”

The llama pointed his thick pointy nail at us.

“Ah, the Magician, didn’t see you. Came for the usual?” He squinted at her. “You still haven’t paid for the last maintenance.”

“I’ve brought the crystals.” The bag in her hoof jingled; she motioned her head at me. “Just needed something for a friend.”

“Did you find your friend under a rock or something? She keeps staring at me like I’m going to start invoking the Elder Ones at any moment.”

“Are you not?” Trixie swatted a tendril of mist away from her face. “I thought we’d come in the middle of some ritual.”

The llama produced a dissatisfied unintelligible grunt.

“Very funny,” the goat grumbled. “What does your buddy need?”

“Just hardened hooves.”

Trixie threw the bag into the goat’s hooves and he instantly buried his muzzle in it to return later with a satisfied grin full of yellowish teeth.

“Going for a walk outside, are we?”

Without waiting for an answer, the goat hopped off the chair and headed to a curtain separating the living room from the small workshop.

The moment I entered it, the goat rudely tugged at me by hooking his horn under one of my plates, then just as unceremoniously yanked one of my limbs to his muzzle, intently studying it.

Dropping it and ignoring my glare, he commented, addressing Trixie, “One of your crazy friends—that old hag—came looking for you the other day. She didn’t say what it was about, though, only that it’s urgent.”

“You could show some respect for Fotia, you know.”

“I would if she didn’t act like a huge jerk,” the mechanic barked back, sliding a metal container out from under the rack.

Trixie glowered at him—to no avail.

“Has anything else happened since my last visit?”

“A couple of weeks ago the Calamity Bystanders came for supplies. Said they’ve dug into a huge cavern system with lots of arcanium veins.”

The goat emerged with a sort of horseshoe on his horn—much bulkier and thicker, meant to almost entirely replace the hooves. The caprine mechanic tried it on me, scowled and returned to the boxes.

“They say that every time,” dryly commented Trixie. “Anything else?”

“Only the usual. Though, the Church has been stirring up shit lately.”

“Why?” the question slipped out of my mouth before I even thought.

It earned me an unreadable glance from the goat and before trying another horseshoe on me, he scoffed, “Jumping on the bandwagon, I guess. The winter is in the wind, so everyone goes bats. Almost the entire Edge has, for sure.”

“I’ve heard the Junkyard still can’t get their arse into gear.”

“Uh-huh. It’s been more than a week already, but that’s not the funny part.”

A week!

“What is it then?” I joined their chat again with another question.

“The TCE has yet to give a single fuck about it.”

A lone horseshoe sailed through the air and landed not far from me with a loud bang.

“I can’t remember a time when they let a gang war last for more than three days or let a furnace blow up. Could be the Pinks, of course.”

“And what about the other sectors?” Trixie took her turn in asking.

“You haven’t heard about the Industry?”

“Which one?”

“That’s the thing—they are united now, the Heavy and Light Industry sectors.”

“What? They hate each other’s guts.”

Another two horseshoes landed by me—I had to dodge one—and the goat approached me, the last one swinging on his horn, a screwdriver clenched in his jaws.

“Some kind of ‘prophet’ has managed to unite them,” he spoke through it, working on my limb. “That’s why the TCE has turned a blind eye to the Junkyard—it smells like a riot is cooking there.”

The atmosphere in the room changed drastically with pregnant silence claiming the workshop.

Slowly and carefully, Trixie uttered, “It’s going to be a hard winter.”

The mechanic, his lips bristling with screws, met her eyes and nodded sorrowfully.

Their sombre expressions infected me worry and I could hear the rest of the phrase hanging in the air, unsaid:

“Let’s pray it won’t be another Winter.”

Author's Note

Special thanks to Jay Tarrant.

I hope you've enjoyed reading this story so far.

If you notice any mistakes sneaked in through the editing, let me know.

Stay awesome.