Aftersound

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Written by: Oneimare & Geka

Preread and edited by: Jay Tarrant, IAmApe

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Betrayal

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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.