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.