To the Gods

by MagLocal

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Thriller, Drama, Original Character, Spike, Violence, Power Ponies
Length: 68357

The Power Ponies, having arrived in Spike's world, quest with him to Manehattan to figure out who brought them into this reality and why—as dark purposes are afoot.

The Power Ponies popped out of a super-early-edition enchanted comic Spike got and into the real world as he knew it. However, it was not the happy meeting he expected. Secret documents revealed that the comic the superheroes came out of was enchanted illegally, painting an ominous shadow over the comic's enchanters themselves and rocking the mares' world for the foreseeable future.

With mystery looming over the Power Ponies' very existence, the comic's heroes team up with Spike on a Manehattan-bound trip to Clockwisely HQ—the comic company behind the Power Ponies—to discover who brought them into this reality and why, all while their own world needs saving as it burns in chaos.

As they dig into the case, however, they soon realize that dark purposes are afoot.

+ Chapters published on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays (GMT+8).
+ As Flies, are We is required reading.
+ Thanks to Venerable Ro for brainstorming and pre-reading.

Published 2020-11-18 13:40:01 UTC
Last updated 2020-12-18 16:18:09 UTC

Words to Mend

Spike writes and sticks a letter onto the front door of his bedroom: a notice for Starlight that he’ll be away, explaining his absence via urgent meet-up with his Clockwisely contact and friend. It is technically the truth, so he tells himself as he gears up with a backpack for the trip.

After that: the castle’s guest wardrobe, a full-on suite of spare clothes for Twilight, her friends, and anyone who asks nicely.

“Ugh, I know tailoring isn’t your strong suit, Radiance, but that’s way too many gems! How am I going to get my lasso out without damaging something?”

“But imagine the looks you’ll get!” Radiance’s magic field tacks on more gems onto Mare-velous’s new set of clothes. “Besides, there is such a thing as refuge in audacity!”

The befuddled Mistress mumbles in protest. “There’s got to be a limit. Some low-life will mug me for the dress alone.”

A gray-green trail of dust runs up and Fili-Second appears with a simple trench coat and fedora.“What about this? It’s all noir around here!”

Mare-velous removes the gem-full dress to don on Fili-Second’s suggestions. “See? I should be wearing something like this. I’ll be hidden in plain sight.”

“I know that, but a little flair won’t hurt,” insists Radiance. “Say, what if I garnish my constructs with gems?”

Mare-velous’s groan aside, Zapp takes up a fancy tuxedo furnished with a rose. She tosses it away for a plain purple dress. A comb through her full mane, and her style’s enough to land her on a fashion magazine.

A passing Rager stops at Zapp’s muted apparel. “That’s very… generic.”

“Blending in with the crowd, that’s what I say. Can’t have ponies see our true coat colors, now, can we? Though I dig your simplicity: a pair of shades and a baseball hat will get you anywhere!” She hovers to Spike who is passing the time by reading a couple comics. “This place does have baseball, right?”

The dragon looks up from the colorful pages. “Buckball and hoofball’s more our thing here in Equestria.”

A couple wing flaps signal the arrival of shades- and hats-wearing Rager. “Equestria, you say? Is that the name of the country or the world we’re in?”

“Kingdom, actually.” He clears his throat to turn on lecture mode, a quirk to thank Twilight for. “The world is called Equus which is different from your world, Caballus. Equestria is on the world of Equus the same way your Equidia is on the world of Caballus.”

Zapp brushes the finishing touches on her mane. “Is it a den of thieves or a haven for good guys and girls?”

“Neither? It’s just full of ponies. Well, Equestria is. The other kingdoms have their creatures: Griffonstone with griffons, Yakyakistan with yaks—“

“Just like Gryphoneicia and Yakgolia,” quips Matter-Horn in a one-fabric dress held together by ribbons. The lack of signature goggles disorients Spike at first. “Different names. I bet their histories are different too.” She turns to face the rest of her world-saving bunch. “Hey, make sure your flanks are covered up! Can’t have anyone seeing our cutie marks! Detection by even a casual fan could doom this mission.”

Mare-velous sighs: Fili-Second’s trench coat isn’t full-length, so her cutie mark—a lasso catching precious gems—is still out in the open. “Guess I need a redo.”

“Then we better hurry. We must take advantage of night’s cover while it lasts. Speaking of covers, get your cover names drilled into your heads, ladies!”

Action winds up around Spike as the Power Ponies complete their disguises and repeat fake names to themselves. While Matter-Horn oversees them, Spike takes the lull in conversation and pokes her on the shoulder. “Do you think I should put on a disguise?”

The running motif of looking down at the short creature isn’t lost on Matter-Horn. “That’s up to you. Are there many baby dragons like you roaming the land?”

“Not in Equestria, no.”

“Hmm. I take it that you’re very famous around here?”

“In some places, yeah. Just being a non-pony alone gets me looks, but Manehattan’s a mover-shaker city: creatures from across the world visit, so a baby dragon won’t make ‘em bat their eyes. If anyone recognizes me though, I’ll just say I’m hanging out with six new friends!”

Her narrowed brows translate to, Don’t be too loud; I’m thinking real hard here. “How believable would that be?”

“Believable enough. Everyone there wears casual, semi-formal—nothing too fancy. I’m sure you’ll fit right in.”

“Good, that’s what I was thinking.” She paces to the wall, her mind’s gears churning and turning. “If Manehattan’s anything like Maretropolis, wearing these clothes would throw off any heat on us.” Two ponies finish up their wardrobe time, closing cabinets and regrouping with Matter-Horn. “Any special events we should watch out for? Holidays, conventions, parades? As for parades... well, we could blend in pretty well and escape detection entirely by going through the crowd, but who puts up a parade when it’s almost time for—”

His eyes recoil into pinpricks. “Oh, no! It’s this week!”

“What’s this week?” Rager asks, trotting to his side with her shades. “You have a parade? Would it be somehow related to plants? It is getting close to autumn and—”

“Exactly!”

“That’s a weird thing to be worried about,” Radiance remarks, arriving in a casual pink dress and an I LOVE MNTN hat bobbing with her mane.

“No, not for botanists or flowers or whatever! H-how could I forget?” Claws clutch his head, and he can feel the sweat on his scales. “There’s a Power Pony convention today!”

Fili-Second speeds past her surprised companions and stops at Spike. “Wouldn’t be that bad, really! It’s a comic convention, yeah?”

“That’s the point! I-if they spot you—“

“We won’t, you dingus! If we go in, we have disguises. They don’t have any comic-to-film adaptations here, right? Just what I thought: they won’t know what we sound like anyway. Isn’t that right, Radie?” (“Don’t call me that!”) “She could be a movie star, you know; with so many accents up her sleeve, you’d think she’s a secret agent!”

While Radiance gripes over silly nicknames, the truth hits Spike on the head. Some comic’s visual guide or book of lore can provide descriptions of their voices, and he’s read as many as he could, but nothing compares to hearing them speak. Then another truth hits him in the gut: he’s the only fan in the entire world who has heard the Power Ponies speak.

“They’ll say we’re just good cosplayers!” Rager adds. “Is there a Saddle Rager costume contest there? With my luck, I might get second place and have rabid aficionados say my costume needs more work!”

“Saving a couple families from day-old lava pools does necessitate costume work, though.”

“That’s true, Fili-Second. However, even with—“

“Enough talking.” Mare-velous steps into view, her pants-and-polo get-up finished. “We don’t even know the railroad’s schedule, so let’s get going and catch that train!”

And the adventurous Mare-velous rears with a whinny and charges out the door.

The rest lag behind the eager Earth pony and bolt out the room, checking hallways left and right. Blood pumps fast and Spike breathes quick, hopes the charging pony hasn’t woken up Starlight at all.

They find Mare-velous frozen before an intersection of corridors. The lasso pony turns around with a sheepish expression. “Alright, uh, Mister Dragon?“

“It’s Spike.”

“Uh, yeah, Spike.” Her gulp is loud enough to echo across the cavernous halls. “Could you lead us out of here… please? I have no idea where the exit is.”

Quiet laughs fill the air, and the dragon leads the way.

The number of lights still on can be counted with Spike’s dragon digits.

The Power Ponies breeze around buildings; they trot under the cool blanket of a night so late, it’s a moonlit morning with sunrise still several hours away. Thatched cottages catch the superheroes off guard: from an ostentatious crystal castle to a medieval-looking village. No time to ask about this world’s technological levels; the train won’t wait on their convenience.

But Mare-velous believes there’s time for one short question. “If we need to fight a burglar, we can still do it, right?”

“Gotta make it quick and quiet though.” That’s Zapp, her purple dress complementing her gray flapping wings. “We could be in grave danger if he got away and blathers about us Power Ponies.”

“Or they could just dismiss him as insane. I’m sure there’re asylums here. Is that right, Spike?”

The dragon nods, breathing the cool evening breeze. “They’re a thing, but only like one or two. We’re kinda’ used to craziness, and this town’s full of crazy ponies anyway. Not my words.”

“Are you saying this is an asylum village?” The horror in Radiance’s voice almost breaks Spike’s ears.

“Metaphorically speaking.”

“Shh!” Fili-Second ducks. “Incoming!” and dashes behind a couple of barrels, and everyone else follows suit.

A second later, someone hops out of a building: Sugarcube Corner, Spike realizes. Under soft moonlight, a pink pony bounces on the ground, talking to herself about asking Fluttershy this late if she could taste-test her late-night hybrid cake-pie experiments.

“You know this mare, Spike?” Fili-Second asks.

“Everyone does!” Pinkie disappears behind another building. “She’s one of the Elements of Harmony, the saviors of Equestria.”

“Elements of Harmony?” A single mention of magic artifacts perks up Matter-Horn’s ears. “For something that sounds so fundamental to the state of the world, she sure doesn’t look the part.”

“Most heroes here don’t wear costumes.”

Notes are scribbled courtesy of Fili-Second. “I see. Okay, she’s now well outta’ range. Let’s get a move on!”

With Fili-Second scouting ahead, whisking from point to point and giving her friends the all-clear signal, Spike and the Power Ponies follow along. They tip-hoof under snoring bedroom windows. Snores: a nuisance for some, a joyful sign of dream land for others.

If only this were just a dream. If only Princess Luna would snap him awake. A fever dream: he’d find himself in the morning, and Twilight would wake him up and gently scold him for drooling on his carefully-washed pillow. But Princess Luna doesn’t snap him awake. She never arrives.

With a disappointed sigh, Spike continues behind them past the empty market. In a few minutes, they’re out of Ponyville proper, trotting on the dirt road to the station.

When they reach the train station, they see it’s a deserted wooden place. Deserted save for one unlucky stallion staffing the ticket office in his graveyard shift. “Didn’t know you girls have a world-saving adventure at eleven in the evening.”

“Not really, Nightshade!” Spike jerks a thumb at his troupe of gussied-out mares. “I’m just going to Manehattan with a couple of friends to… uh, the Power Ponies convention!”

The stallion eyes the wall calendar under the harsh light of his workspace. “Lucky you! Going to the first big-time 24/7 con in history, though I expected only you to go, little buddy, not the whole seven! Didn’t know the Elements of Harmony were big fans.“

“That’s because we’re not the Elements of Harmony,” clarifies Matter-Horn, stepping forward in her disguise’s dress. “We’ve been mistaken for them a couple of times before, so I can see where you’re coming from. Do we really look a lot like them?”

“Heh, a little. If you’re not Twilight Sparkle and company though, who are you?”

“Over Hill.” She breaks no sweat as her fake name leaves her muzzle. “Me and my friends visited Ponyville to see Princess Twilight Sparkle and her friends in person. You could say we’ve overstayed our welcome; it’s super late, after all.“

Nightshade shrugs. “Sorry for the boring nightlife. Ponyville’s not the nocturnal type.” A careful eye scrutinizes the schedules. “As for your train to the con, you’re double lucky. The Manehattan one’ll be here right about—“

A screaming whistle catches everyone unprepared. Spike almost falls over the platform, but Matter-Horn’s magic saves him from the fall.

“—now.”

After several throbbing headaches, the ponies and their dragon companion stare down the tracks. Metal rail and grass blades reflect the headlight’s burning glow. Rolling wheels carry the carriages along, decelerating as the vehicle quiets itself into a gentle stop.

“They’re a lot more primitive than I remember,” Zapp remarks.

A scoff from Nightshade makes everyone look. “You’re city folk, then. Apologies for staying behind the times, but these Equestrian heartlands move at their own pace.”

The train finally stops at the station under the shroud of night: The Friendship Express, an engine long familiar to the baby dragon. Mostly pink, heart shapes adorn every facet of the vehicle from the lights at the front to many of its windows.

“It’s a gingerbread train,” Rager says, already heading past the open doors. “And we’ve already seen a gingerbread house too from that Pinkie pony.”

“Glad we’re lucky, eh?” Spike says to the stallion. “Planning to go to the convention soon?”

“First thing I’ll do when I wake up at sunset.” He yawns despite the scent of freshly-brewed coffee. “It’ll be Saturday in an hour. Once I’m done here, I’m done.”

“Come on, Spike, let’s get in!”

With an impatient Matter-Horn at the back of the pack, Spike waves goodbye to the nocturnal stallion and hurries to join the mares. Nobody else enters and nobody leaves, so the train doors close immediately. The wheels turn, and the power of coal and steam gift speeding life to the train once more.

Matter-Horn leads them away from the engine, going through each carriage until they reach the final carriage. They encounter the occasional midnight traveler glancing their way only to return to their own business of intimate chats, early newspapers, and intermittent naps.

“Oh, good!” Mare-velous’s beaming grin is unmatched. “This last one’s empty!”

The last carriage before the caboose is, as the Mistress has affirmed, empty. They alone are the seven passengers with an embarrassment of seats. Bright lights above blaze against the dark’s ever-shifting landscapes outside. Rumbling in the background plays the rhythm of heaving wheels and a timely train whistle.

They drop to their seats with gasps of relief and hopes for relaxation. Sleep and rest lie heavy on their minds. Outside, a copse of trees blocks out the stars for a pitch black night.

A village vanishes in a blink. In a post-midnight daze, Spike can only tell it’s a village thanks to the few streetlights it has. Acres of wheat fields crop up afterwards, bending under a frigid gust.

Fed up with watching the endless landscape parade, he turns to his fellow passengers. Saddle Rager speaks with Mare-velous, telling the Earth pony to calm down and put the worries about her home, friends, and family on hold: they’ll get answers and save their world soon. Radiance joins Zapp in adoring silent sceneries through the windows, enamored by Equestria’s vast countryside. Restlessness resonates with Fili-Second as she taps her hoof on the window to an imagined drum beat, finding sceneries alone too boring for entertainment.

Matter-Horn stares at her own forehooves. Now, at the ceiling lights blessing the carriage with warm glows. To talk to her: now may not be the best time. Her mind is an enigma. She may be open to questions; she may also be extremely stressed beneath the surface. Spike doesn’t know which is true.

But draconic impulsiveness lets him blurt out, “Do you need anything?”

Matter-Horn turns to face him. A little smile magically appears. “Thank you, Spike, but not now. I really don’t know what to do other than wait the ride out.” A heavy sigh escapes her lips. “I believe each of us just need time to think this through for our own selves. We usually talk a lot on long trips, but with this huge truth out there… it’s not exactly small talk.”

And there is nothing to say.

A while passes. The both of them look at the ceiling together: soft lights aglow.

“I guess… this world isn’t what you expected it to be.” The dragon scratches the back of his head, searching for an ice-breaking topic. “You said something about non-Eweclidean geometry. I’ve been around a librarian long enough to know what that means.”

It’s Matter-Horn’s turn to sigh. “I apologize for treating your world like a twisted bedlam, home to an invaded meta-realm of the concepts and frameworks behind reality.”

“Because you thought anything above you is something incomprehensible, right?

“Or reality’s backstage.” They cross a bridge. The river shines with milky glitters from the moon. “No matter how bright our scientists are and how advanced our machines and spells can get, we couldn’t determine much in this reality beyond faint outlines. It’s like seeing smoke from a distant ship across the horizon: you know it’s there, but you don’t know what it is.”

Spike gives Princess Celestia future thanks for letting a wisehead filly raise him. “I bet you didn’t expect this to be so similar to your world. To be… not so different.”

“Exactly. I didn’t know it’d be so mundane. This is what I’d expect from visiting a parallel universe, not a higher reality.”

On another seat, Radiance tucks Zapp in to sleep, levitating a blanket over her. The snoring pegasus mumbles something about riding on a horse made out of lightning and clouds.

“Tell me the basics of your world. I know the land is Equestria and that the Elements of Harmony are heroes—the book’s told me that much and then some. Yet I wonder what exactly is your world. Is it really just ours but with different parameters, different settings?”

A long answer must be had: hopefully, Matter-Horn will enjoy the lecture. A deep breath, and he notices the others’ faces: can see Zapp and now Mare-velous asleep. Radiance still looks out the window, Fili-Second’s gone on to speed-read a book for the umpteenth time, and Rager matches Spike’s look. “Oh don’t mind me, Spike. I was just curious. I’d like to know more about this world and the wicked warlocks who made our world possible.”

“I guess they were warlocks,” as he taps his chin. “But are you sure you want me to talk about my world and yours? It’s not that different from Equidia. No artificial satellites or anything like that here.”

“It could get Fili-Second fast asleep if it’s boring enough.”

To Rager’s words, the mare in question clucks her tongue fast enough that they’re the taps of hooves blindly striking a typewriter.

But Spike can’t help but smirk. It’s lecture time.

So the dragon explains Equestria and Equus to Matter-Horn and Saddle Rager: a flat world (not round unlike the Power Ponies’ Caballus) and a still-unexplored domain (also unlike Caballus) for many lands remain beyond known knowledge. Smack in the middle is Equestria, a prosperous and peaceful land where ponies and other creatures live together in harmony, living with other kingdoms too like Griffonstone, Yakyakistan, the Changeling Hive—all in different names and with vastly different cultures compared to their Caballus counterparts. Then there’s the sun and moon rising and falling thanks to two alicorns, not due to hyper-complex mathematics and physics.

Matter-Horn laughs: in tears or jest, Spike does not know. “I can’t believe it! Those Flat Caballus conspiracy theorists would have a field day if they get wind of this!”

“And again, no gravitational forces but just two super powerful ponies controlling the sun and moon?” asks Rager, incredulity dripping from her tone. “That’s something Ma would read me in a fairy tale!”

“Come on, girls! They teach this in schools everywhere! It’s been scientifically proven a hundred times over!”

A thick silence hangs over the two mares. Finally, they fall over in laughter, shaking their heads as shocked tears flow like rivers.

Spike can only blush: his world, propped up by what the Power Ponies consider to be superstition and pseudo-science. Some fans on the fringe classify the franchise as science fiction, but they aren’t wholly wrong when full-fledged scientists are part of the heroic party.

“I remember you talking about the Elements of Harmony being saviors and heroes and all that—am I reading that clearly?” asks Fili-Second. She joined the conversation by standing inches away from his nose. “Are they the Power Ponies of this world?”

One unspoken request for personal space later, Spike gathers his thoughts. “They’re six best friends who live in Ponyville, and they’re the best mares I’ve ever met. They saved the world from the forces of evil more than a few times. And, not to toot my own horn again, but I saved an entire empire once—“

“Do you go out in capes or costumes?” inquires Rager, wings taking up notepad and pencil. Her scribbling fills the compartment: a noise to unwind to in the night. “Do you have special abilities other than breathing fire? Either way, I’d like to add you to the National Hero Registry. With your permission, of course.”

Sweat pops up all over Spike’s face. “Oh, I don’t think that’d be necessary. Said ‘empire’ is like, uh, five kilometers long.“

“Around the size of Singapace, then?” asks Matter-Horn. “Economically significant but small enough to cross on hoof in an hour?”

“Yeah, something like that. Like, yes, Singapace.” Like a place he doesn’t remember reading about in the comics or in any of the expanded universe material.

“Saving an empire is commendable,” says Rager with a sage look, “no matter the size. Do you do this regularly?”

“Not really.” He leans back on the chair, looking out the window and seeing the canopy of stars above. “Heroics aren’t my thing. I’m a live-and-let-live dragon. I’m the assistant to Princess of Friendship Twilight Sparkle, but we grew up together like brother and sister.”

“Lives in the same town as the Elements of Harmony and also assists the Princess of Friendship? That’s some fancy company, kid!” Rager stops scribbling, head held high. “By the way, what does the Princess of Friendship do, anyway? Make friends royally?”

He attributes Fili-Second’s flippancy to mere attitude. “The world’s run on harmony and friendship—“ takes a moment to see the unbelieving smiles growing on the mares’ faces “—so Twilight helps out by spreading friendship all over Equestria and beyond. She and her friends write friendship lessons too. We’ve now got a journal of friendship and a school of friendship to boot!”

“At least that’s another clear difference between our worlds,” Matter-Horn points out while Rager jots the details down. “As for us, let’s say we’re more decentralized on harmony and friendship; we usually leave it to parents or an ethics class at school. Speaking of ethics: how rampant are the bad guys out here?”

“Not… much?” A shrug is what they get next. The Power Ponies are no strangers to world-ending villains like a grandstanding owl god from a secret cloud city, a rogue artificial intelligence taking the form of a pony, or even that one alien minotaur desiring the destruction of an entire planet because he thought it took up too much space in the solar system. “We’ve had the occasional conqueror and the rare world-ruler wannabe, but nothing on the scale of your baddies.”

“I see.” says Fili-Second, blinking her eyes away with a defiant yawn. “It’s been more than interesting to know this place some more! Oh, I can tell you’re wondering about me: I’m taking this okay. Wasn’t like that a while ago, but I had to do all the mental and emotional gymnastics, so I’ve reconciled with the reality of things (mostly), and now that I’ve all that and more swimming in my head, good night!

She drops to the floor, snoring and drooling. Asleep like a log.

Like somepony gawking at a corpse, Spike stares at Fili-Second’s dozing body. “She’ll be fine, right?”

Rager wordlessly picks her up and checks her neck’s pulse. “She should be up any time she wants to. Must be one of those cat naps, for a given definition of cat nap. That’s the ups and downs of extreme metabolism for you.” The pegasus then whisks her off to a seat by the corner, producing pillow and blanket before lying by the window for forty winks.

This leaves Spike alone with Matter-Horn.

Snores multiply from the sleeping ponies. The few stops the Friendship Express hadn’t roused them from their seats-as-beds. Nopony ambled into the final carriage; asking the conductor beforehoof to make it private in exchange for a couple gems has paid off.

“Your comic expertise means you know much about us, correct?”

Radiance’s words hang in the air as Spike catches another river in the nightscape. He blinks and recalls the dazzling mare’s question. “I think so, yeah.”

“I believe you,” says Matter-Horn. “But if I may, would you mind giving us a summary on who we are? I’d like to see how much the average nerd knows about us. Say, are we the type to have big compendiums and universe bibles?”

Spike’s geekdom soars through the roof, almost leaving behind a hole that needs fixing. A blink from Radiance, shimmering like Rarity for a moment, captures his heart and lets loose his forked tongue.

“Radiance, you were born to an architect and a baker trying to make ends meet in Oakfield. Your father instilled a work-hard attitude while your mother taught you the beauty and value of each and every pastry. The combination molded you into a gadgeteering genius, crafting and selling niche gizmos and doodads to help the family get by. That was until, one day, outer space crystals fell to the ground and you turned them into nice jewelry, hoping to sell bracelets that were literally out of this world… but it turns out they’ve been imbued with the power of magic energy constructs! Instead of selling them at a great fortune as bracelets, you put them to greater use by showing off beautiful holograms of whatever sculptures your mind thought of, cementing yourself as a hologram artist. In your debut exhibit, things went wrong when Olympios crashed the party to steal your crystals so he can reshape Caballus into his insane dystopia. You fought the monster with the limited self-defense training you had, unconsciously using the crystals to conjure attack constructs against him! In the end, you saved both your exhibition and the city. It was at that moment when you realized you could do this for a real living, more than anything selling gadgets or having holograms alone could ever do. Long story short, the Masked Matter-Horn came around, having heard of your exploits under your secret identity Radiant Glow, and hired you on the spot! And we all know what happened next.”

The two Power Ponies are slack-jacked, trading surprised looks. The train passes by another bridge and the tracks creak a little, adding to their shock.

“You do know my history!” Her jubilant smile gives way to neutrality. “I can’t say there’s anything wrong with it, although...”

Something is terribly wrong. Could the comics have lied to him? “What do you mean? Were there inaccuracies?”

“No! No lies or anything like that!” She rests her chin on a hoof. “There’s just one question: is that all?”

Claws rub against each other. “Ah! There was the whole origins arc about you during your solo days. After the exhibition, you went on adventures across the western coast of the continent—“

“Did this origins arc name the museum?”

It arrests Spike speechless. “Uh, come to think of it, it didn’t say. All it said was that it’s in Oakfield.”

A sly smirk paints itself on Matter-Horn’s muzzle. “I may not be an expert on comics per se, but if that’s all the comics gave you, then they have huge gaps of knowledge.”

“So you know the name of the museum?” Spike asks before mentally slapping himself. “I mean, yeah, I suppose it had to have a name. What museum doesn’t have a name? I just… never thought about it.”

“The Oakfield City Museum of the Neomodern Arts,” Radiance replies, having hauled in lots of air to say that. “Mayor Washed Ton was pompous with his names for public facilities. Still, however it came about, that’s the name, and I will forever remember it because of what transpired there. That’s not all, actually, if you could believe it…”

The gem-studded unicorn takes stock of her saddlebags glistening in a color matching her dress and hat. In the pink nimbus of her magic, several masks hover for Spike’s perusal, most of them looking like raccoons’.

“Long before I became a superhero or a gizmo-maker, I made masks like these. Beautiful masks. It came out of necessity: we weren’t exactly a rich family of ponies, and I wasn’t old enough to know how gears and magic can work together, so any stream of revenue was welcome. It was a fun and profitable hobby: turning my ideas into reality was very fulfilling. I had to shelve mask-making after I took on gadgeteering full-time, but masks are a superhero staple, so when I became a hero on my own, I resurrected my mask-making skills and made… hmm, about thirteen or fourteen prototypes and versions before the one I sport these days.”

Radiance chuckles at Spike’s voiceless wonder. “Perhaps your pencilers were a little lazy early on, drawing my mask inconsistently… or hey, maybe they just couldn’t keep up with all the styles I’ve fancied over the years. Anyhow, even if we were all written up by some writers and artists, that’s not the way I see it. The way I see it, I wasn’t satisfied with one mask for long. It settled into a pattern, yes, but never into one exact shape.”

Hems and haws reveal his continued wonder. “B-but… what?! I didn’t know that! I didn’t think they’d go that far to write those details down!“

“And you might’ve thought we were just some superheroes by-and-by, just superheroing everywhere?” says Matter-Horn with a tilt of the head. “We’re famous for being superheroes, but saving ponies isn’t the only thing we do.”

At that, Spike plops down on his seat, switching his view between the two unicorns. An army of stories, arcs, character tics, background information, and paragraphs of lore—these he summons into his mind. Twilight once said that he’s just as smart as her if in “a different field of research:” it showed in his regular wins at Power Ponies trivia contests. To think he had them all figured out...

“I… I didn’t know.” His claws twaddle. “I’m… I’m sorry if I….”

A gentle hoof touches down on his shoulder: Matter-Horn’s hoof. For a second, he swears she looks so much like Twilight.

“It’s okay, Spike. We’ll be fumbling around a lot in this world while we sort this reality mumbo jumbo out. At least we’re doing our best to take it in stride and—“ an amused snort out of her nose “—you are a big fan, right? How does it feel to see us, flesh and blood and all?”

The question is honey to his lips. “I can’t lie. It’s one of the most amazing moments in my life! Apart from, you know, the whole existential crisis and all.”

The three share a laugh, releasing their fears and tension.

A couple towns lay by the hills in the slowly changing terrain. They serve as warnings: a mountain’s up next, with uphill chill to be expected as they gain altitude.

“How are you taking things so far?” Spike says after star- and landgazing for a quarter of an hour. “With the comic thing and all that?”

The sigh expels frozen mist. He chalks it up to the colder climate, but maybe Matter-Horn’s freeze-ray powers manifest in more than simple ice beams.

“It’s tough. Knowing that we’re illegal... as if we were illegitimate foals or skeletons in the closet. That won’t hold well for long. It makes me think, makes me wonder, if there’s some safety feature in us: if we’re harboring a ticking time bomb if we do the wrong thing, step outside our programming or whatever it’s called.”

In issues past, that same pose and that same expression emerged on the Masked Matter-Horn: thoughtful, sometimes too analytical for her own good. Her more impulsive and instinctual friends, especially Mare-velous and Zapp, balance her personality with theirs, but disquietude is a fickle thing. Matter-Horn’s neurotic frown disappears into a small smile. “But we’re the Power Ponies. We swore to protect Maretropolis and the world, to serve the ponies we protect, to let them live the lives they desire to live in peace and freedom.

“Which means they’re real too!”

In an instant of an angry face lit up by ice blue magic, a heresy is banished: the idea of the ponies they keep safe and free being nothing but fiction. Righteous indignation wells up for the poor and helpless citizens wallowing in Verumarendi’s terrors back in Maretropolis. The city, the terror, the citizens, the world, the everything: real.

She calms down with a quick sigh. Her horn’s glow dies down. “Did I scare you?”

His eyes glimmer in concern. “A little, I think… b-but it’s okay. Are you alright?”

“For the most part, yes.” Another sigh. Watches the rolling nightscape: many hills and mountains in the distance, ghosts of home calling to her. “I’m just… the way I’ve lived my life—the way we’ve lived all our lives—I wouldn’t know that what I was doing or that the world I lived in existed thanks to some comic writer trying to create something cool. As far as I know, I’m real and the ponies we help are real too. Even if we’re not, we won’t drop our duty to protect them because they’re still real to us.”

A shudder breaks out. Radiance now sits across the aisle. Politeness, perhaps: a very personal moment between the two shouldn’t be interrupted, yet she glances back once in a while.

“I’m real and so are my friends. You see us, you can touch us; you talk to us and we talk back. We have our own free will and self-agency. I may doubt whether I’m real just because I got enlivened by some cursed enchanter, but the fact since I’m thinking about that—then I must be. And I am. It follows, then, that I’m real. The comic book angle still makes me wonder, though…”

Ice spreads over a window corner. The unicorn pushes the ice crystals away, lets them wet and dry on her suit. Her eyes rest on that part of her costume, feeling the freeze through two layers of clothes.

“Wonder about what?” asks Spike, breaking the silence.

“I wonder—and tell me this—if I already know the answer but simply need someone else to say it: to confirm it. To confirm if we’re meant to be just comic superheroes, and the ponies we help protect may not be given more than, say, fifty fleshed-out character bios because… as you can imagine, I won’t believe that for a single second.“

She raises her hooves to her eyes. Every inch of those hooves, she can feel: the frog, the hair, the heel. Beyond any shadow of a doubt, she is real and she knows it. Yet the question remains:

“Spike, do we matter?”

A thunderclap in his head; a meaningless noise. The thought is blasphemy: they are words uptight anti-geeks would hammer his head with, especially some of the older dragons from the Dragon Lands when they discovered his Power Ponies obsession. Does that even matter? They’re just fancy superheroes prancing around and saving fake ponies. You should be hanging with us and hoarding real gems!

Residue of that lingering rage seeps in. “Of course, you matter, Matter-Horn! Who could tell you that you don’t matter?”

“You?”

His heart’s at the seams, confidence broken like a feeble twig. “I… why would I do that?”

“Maybe not you exactly—the enchanters would have more of a say on that.” She straightens up on her seat, sitting as still as a sturdier stick. “See, Hum Drum’s obsession with comics has rubbed off on me so I know a thing or two. One of those things is that writers don’t fully flesh out each and every background character if at all. As far as you know, we’re the stars of the show and no one else could ever take it from us unless there are spin-offs.”

“Hum Drum does have a budding spin-off series.”

“Huh. He has been on a recent spate of solo adventures.”

Matter-Horn shakes her head again. Resolve flows in her veins. “That only proves my point: I’ve never seen his adventures as a sign that someone’s writing stories about him. I see it as a sign that he’s maturing as a pony and nothing more. But still, how he beats up the bad guys, how he grew up as an orphan, how we all face our own struggles, how Maretropolis had the worst crime rate in history before we moved there—not that I’d want to keep crime afloat just so we could keep doing our jobs…

“Spike, it’s the consistency of it, how it’s so routine. Evil lurks 24/7 as I’m sure it does in your world, but now we also have the dilemma of extra-real writers who need evil in their stories—and so villains must appear. The writers could’ve also given Hum Drum the best childhood in the world, but no, it had to be with parents who were never there for him. Of course, I came in just in time to make sure he wouldn’t be dragged off for slavery halfway across the world. To say bad ponies have it their way not just because they can but also because comic writers need conflict…”

A mixed bag: her determined resolve warring with uncertainty and doubt. “Tell me, Spike. Tell me again how often villains come around your town. You’re very close to the Elements of Harmony, the closest thing to this world’s protagonists if they’re in a comic book too. How often do they face villains and monsters?”

“Regularly.” Blurted out if only to assure Matter-Horn she’s not alone, that good defends also the innocent of this world. “Maybe not literally every week, but Ponyville ponies get antsy if a month goes by without a hitch.”

The sigh he hears is a sigh of dead ends. “There’s probably a pattern, but it’s not much to get on with.”

A rise catches her eye: the landscape’s slanted. The train’s climbing an uphill stretch, approaching the Applelachian Mountains famous for their high-altitude apple tree farms. The tour guide in Spike wants to gab about the place and regale them with more knowledge and see them smile, but the thoughtful look on her features says, Don’t interrupt me. I don’t need to know about apples right now.

“I bet those ponies would protect Equestria and even the world with all their lives, Spike. Because it matters, yes? That they’re not fighting against some writer hoofing them conflict just to spice things up?”

The dragon nods. The mare turns her gaze to the rising mountains outside. “Right. I hope it’s as easy as telling them to stop writing about us so there’ll be fewer villains to fight. The ponies of Maretropolis don’t need any more suffering. You might say it’d make for a boring or unprofitable story because ponies wouldn’t read a tale devoid of conflict. Maybe we’ll matter to fewer ponies in this world, but you can’t say that fighting villains this way is wrong, can you?”

Spike doesn’t nod. A bridge over a canyon they go, but none pay attention to the picturesque vista. “I can see that that’s a good thing, but to see less of you…”

Her solemn features are set in stone. “It’s a hard pill to swallow. I wouldn’t know how a passionate fan like you will take it. In spite of that, you understand that we are the Power Ponies. If it means stopping the writers and the artists from making conflict so no one has to die… then that will be good for all of us, wouldn’t it? For the world.”

To see less of them. To have less of them. For Clockwisely to announce the degradation of their star franchise then its outright cancellation. Optimistically, a grand finale would come decades or centuries too early. Fewer conventions and fellow fans too. They can latch onto other comics, but it will be unheard of for such a big and powerful juggernaut in the industry to sputter and die out of nowhere.

But it’ll all be for her world.

“If that would even work,” she hypothesizes. “In the end, it’s only a running theory. The enchanters remain a mysterious factor. On top of that, since we’re outside our reality looking in, and since the storytellers must already have more arcs for us in store—there’s more to this than meets the eye.”

“So we could still have more comics?” asks Spike, rushing the words out of his mouth.

Matter-Horn sympathizes with his nerdy enthusiasm. “Perhaps. Though I must ask: you treat us like we’re high art.” She paws her hoof on the seat idly. “If I may, what got you into liking the Power Ponies in the first place?”

Spike brings up a smile. Slow and deliberate, cooking his jumbled-up thoughts over, “Cool action, that’s one; I came for the high-octane adventures. But adventure and action didn’t make me stay. It was the inspiration: the good lessons, the lengths you went to so somepony could be saved—how heroic you are. Plus, you helped me learn a lesson or two about heroism… and how, no matter how I feel about being small and not mattering to anyone even within my own circle of best friends, I do matter and I can contribute. I’m sure you’ve taught that same lesson to many others in this world, or else why would there be several conventions all over Equestria in your honor?”

Seconds pass in musing. Matter-Horn taps her chin. She lets forth a melodious hum. A cold breath rides out as mere mist, not as harbinger of frost. Across the aisle, a newspaper falls onto a catnapping Radiance.

As if on cue, Matter-Horn yawns long. “Then let it be. At least we can have that… though I’m firm in my conviction that the citizens of Maretropolis are not mere fodder but real ponies who have lives and histories your comic books might’ve never told.”

She rests in her own silence, staring out the window in mental lamentation. Those many faces, those of background ponies in countless panels: not a name for a single one of them unless they appeared time and time again. The comics, the compendiums, the reference guides: none cared about Background Fodder Number 3357 who appeared in Issue 79 at some hotel patio. In Matter-Horn’s life, ponies care about him because he is not a number but a real pony: born to a mother and a father with a foalhood to remember, laden with life experience and a personality of his own—likes, dislikes, motivations, goals. He didn’t need to be a superhero to matter.

Another yawn from Matter-Horn, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. “Who’s awake?”

“I am!” says Fili-Second, exploding from her seat and zipping to her friend’s side. “Wanna pillow and blanket too?”

“They won’t be necessary, but would you keep watch while I sleep? I’m sure the others will be awake later on, but… I don’t want to bother them, not with multiple worlds in play.”

The fast pony salutes her. “Don’t you worry, ma’am! I’ll keep this area safe under my careful watch. You won’t have to—“

The unicorn falls asleep.

Fili-Second sighs. “Now that’s fast.” She chuckles, turning to Spike. “She’s always been a fast sleeper. Her experiments on weapons and costumes keep her up at night, so it’s no surprise... uh, Spike?”

Spike was fast asleep too. If the fate of one world is at stake, may as well catch some z’s with a backpack as his pillow.

No nightmares pursue him. Yet no dreams soothe him either.

A Bow Which is Bent and Drawn

“Psst! Hey! Wake up!”

He swats the intruding pokes away. More pokes invade. He holds on tight to an imaginary pillow. It’s only the seat’s cushion.

“Psst! Spike! Wakey wakey!”

Shuts his eyes tighter and rolls onto his back. “Ten more minutes, Twilight…”

“Can this Twilight princess pony shoot lightning at your face?”

Spike wakes up with a yell, face to face with Zapp herself. A decent dress on her, the lightning pendant disguised as jewelry among other pendants in the shape of diamonds.

He looks around wildly, realizing where he is (in a train) and who he is with (the Power Ponies). Mistress Mare-velous and Radiance are playing a game of I spy with the outside world. On a seat closer to his, Saddle Rager and the Masked Matter-Horn write down and compare notes about this world along with more specific plans on what to do in Clockwisely. A cup of coffee and several more accompany Fili-Second.

A distracting hoof blocks his sight. “Yoo-hoo, eyes over here!” That’s none other than Zapp hovering over him with authority and sass.

Spike rubs his eyes free from rheum. “Uh, yeah. Sorry about that, Zapp. I just—“

“Can’t get the buzz off that we’re the Power Ponies, huh?” She lands on the seat beside him. “We’re gonna need you to stop ogling us like we’re just the Power Ponies. If things go south, being frozen in awe won’t do us any good. Oh, and the conductor announced that we’re less than half an hour from Manehattan, so yeah. In case you were wondering why I got you up.”

“Why didn’t you wake me when we’re five minutes away?” A hint of irritation, and then instant regret for telling offZapp the Power Pony.

“Because that’d be cutting it too close.” She puts a hoof on her hip. “Let’s face it: none of us know exactly what we’re up against. You’re our point pony… er, point dragon in town, so we need you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

Spike straightens his tail in reply. Outside, things have gone downhill after the Applelachian Mountains, train wheels spinning faster as they speed out of Fillydelphia.

“Yeah, you got a pretty cool night sky.” Zapp’s head is upward toward the horizon. “Quite something when you’ve got a princess literally moving the moon around.”

By then, the rest have approached the now-awake dragon. He’s showered with greetings of a good morning and, with Fili-Second in particular, an invitation for more caffeine via coffee.

“What do you think about it?”

After some minutes of seeing cities fly by them, Spike’s question hits Zapp unaware. Confusion scratches her face before a knowing smile appears. “I don’t think about it too much.”

It’s a brow-raiser for Spike. “Or it might bother you…?”

Zapp hoof-combs her excessive mane.“I overheard that conversation you’ve had with the captain. Reality, some philosophy stuff here and there…”

More concern wells up in the dragon’s heart. Close to the feeling of being caught, and that’s without talk about other realities. And yet, “So what do you think about it?”

Zapp crosses her forelegs. “There’s some good in it, but if you ask me? I’d say it’s hogwash.”

It leaves Spike with a gaping mouth garnished with a dropped jaw. “Wow. Um. Uh. Woah. That’s—“

“Blunt, I know,” sharing a half-serious glare with Matter-Horn. “She’ll beat me over the head for it, but that’s how I see everything. I don’t need mental gymnastics to tell me I matter. I already matter to myself and my friends. Getting here is even better; that means I matter to two worlds! Now that’s a bargain!”

“...what about you being a comic book character and all?”

“That’s hog’s backwash coming up your mouth, sir drake! I thought talking to Miss Matter here proved that much. Did you think we wailed over metaphysics crossed with comics and whatever?” She pumps her chest with resounding thuds. “We live our lives as free ponies, and we do our own thing!”

“But what about the writers—?“

“Writers, schmriters—so what? I’d say you just shut up, but you’ve heard of my catchphrase, haven’t you?”

“Zip it or zap it!” yell dragon and pony in unison.

Pride puffs up in her heart. “I didn’t pay some writer to make that up for me. I thought about it myself because I wanted it my way. Zap that or else!” Enumerating with her hooves, “It’s catchy, irresistible, and a motto for life: if I can’t zip my way through my problems, I’ll just find a way to zap them! From makin’ it rain to making goons’ bodies rain from the sky, I gotcha’ covered!”

“That reminds me!” Another zip and Fili-Second’s by Zapp’s side. “Remember that one time when we were on a stakeout for Lady Arsonne?!”

Spike blinks with confusion. “Lady Arsonne? Who’s that?”

“Gotcha’ slipping!” Mare-velous trots forward to take the seat ahead of Spike. “The comics have nothing about Lady Arsonne? Not even a one-issue story?”

Spike shakes his head. “No. I don’t think they mentioned her a single time. Not even in fan fiction!”

“Oh, well.” She brushes the wrist of her suit, preparing herself for a story. “Lady Arsonne was some criminal syndicate’s small-time boss back when the Power Ponies were just starting up. Arsonne did her homework and was expecting Radiance and Zapp to check her clique out, so she didn’t expect an Earth pony to waltz into her secret den. Lasso’s pretty good for snatching incriminating evidence, taking pictures, and putting them back in their places! Had to stay with them for a few days to get all the info we needed. Their initiation was grueling, but it was enough to get their guards down when the police came knocking.“

“Yeah, but you forgot that we’re the stakeout!” Fili-Second slides a notepad onto her hoof, ready with pen. “Say, sir Spike the Dragon, would you like to hear the tale of the Donut Marathon?”

“The Donut Marathon?” and Spike salivates at the prospect of tasty donuts and unknown lore.

Fili-Second throws her hat up in the air, revealing her lightning-shaped mane. “See, we were waiting on the rooftop by Horseshoe Street. The hideout’s across the road, disguised as a laundromat because all the bad stuff was done underground. The rest of us had to be sure Mare-velous wouldn’t get into any trouble—“ pats on the mare’s shoulders so fast that the mistress winces “—so we had to stay up and watch every angle of approach. ‘Course, with stakeouts, you had to stay there and watch the place for hours and hoursand it gets boring. You, little smart reader, would know how I get bored with long stretches of time, so guess what I did.”

Spike eyes spin at Fili-Second’s ludicrous rambling speed. “You got on the Donut Marathon, right?”

“Right’o, buckaroo.” A slap on his back, but she yells, “Ow! Scales are pretty hard for a baby dragon! Eh, it’ll heal.

“Anyway, we’re getting hungry so Radiance told me to get some grub. I went around and got a donut from each donut shop in town—put it all in one big box I’d prepared for the occasion. When I was done, I got up to the rooftop and said, ‘Hey, it’s a box of glazed donuts, but each donut’s from a different donut shop! Wanna guess which one’s from which? It’s from every donut place in town, so it’s the ultimate donut test!’ So that’s how we got a keen eye on the laundromat front and another eye on the donut… and then our mouths in another donut!”

“And, as usual, I won.” Matter-Horn the donut genius: Spike drops his jaw at that. “Having a mental photograph of the entire city gave me the edge to win. Even made up a couple tables and charts to determine the best routes to and from anywhere at anytime too.”

Spike’s raised claw halts her train of thought. “Let me guess. You memorized the average traffic density for each day of the week per district? Something like that?”

“Why, yes! Some said I was going overboard with it.“

“Aye,” and Rager raises her hoof to her friends’ giggles.

“But you must know it proved imperative in stopping the Simoon Fez,” Matter-Horn continues, and Spike leans his head forward for another unknown tale. “He fabricated blackmail material on us, and every time we tried to intervene, he could just spin it off as criminals trying to keep their secrets secret. We narrowed him down to a certain car and planned out his most likely route. We orchestrated roadblocks here and there under a false flag operation, and we let his short temper do the rest.”

“And could you imagine him trying to kiss me?” bolts out Radiance. “My taste for beauty, brains, and the perfect stallion is well-known, but posing as an ex-lover of mine was a new low.”

Rager lets loose an evil grin. “Doesn’t stop you from crushing on Kart Cent, eh?”

Radiance’s eyes shine in glittery dreaminess. “Nothing does!”

“Aren’t we over that already?” asks Zapp, her forelegs crossed over the back of her head.

“It’s not over! You’ll see it as bright as day when we wed under the rising sun, and we both say our vows, and then—“

“But he’s still my brother,” Mare-velous cuts in. “I like big romances from time to time, and I’ve borrowed some of your sappy romance books, but well…“

“Wait, you have a brother?!” Spike shouts, jaw unable to drop any lower.

Mare-velous does a double-take. “That’s an awful lot they’re not telling you, huh?”

“But they never foreshadowed anything about a brother!”

“Maybe they left some room open for interpretation. Though that’s lots of room if we’re talking about somepony as important as my brother.”

“Your origin story never mentioned a sibling!”

“But that’s it. I do have a sibling, and he’s Kart Cent, my brother. Swell guy. Used to superhero with me, but he found the calling too hectic, so he settled down in Los Angus to do stand-up comedy. We still write each other once in a while, and we meet every Thanksmaking Day.”

A blink is the only thing he does. “Wow, I… I guess I didn’t realize how much I… didn’t know about you.”

As the words come out of his mouth, something swirls. Details from the compendiums, the lore, the books, the issues, the conventions, even the special interviews he listened to in the conventions. With all these, much is still lacking.

“Yeah, creatures are complex like that,” Rager cuts in. “But on the bright side, we could share some more about ourselves, to tell you stuff you never knew about us. I think that will interest you a lot.”

He spaces out of the conversation, staring long upon each Power Pony—no costume, just the clothes of everyday mares. No caricatures or well-written characters: just simple ponies. An offer to see the Power Ponies as only ponies.

“Let’s give this Spike dragon some of his own voice, eh?” chirps up Zapp. “We haven’t read comic books about you, but you said the princess you live with is a hero. That’s gotta be worth a ton ‘round the campfire.” She puts on an I’m-seriously-paying-attention face and fixes her mane once more. “You don’t mind wowing us with your exploits, do you?”

All pay attention to him, leaving the stars above unnoticed. “Don’t worry!” says a Matter-Horn sitting on her haunches. “If you want to keep it a secret, it’s fine. We’re just trying to let off some steam. We’ve got our plates full as is.”

After everyone shares a hearty laugh, Spike opens his mouth and begins recounting the tale of his friends’ adventures, starting with the fateful day Twilight Sparkle left Canterlot on a mission to handle the Summer Sun Celebration in Ponyville…

By the time Spike finishes up the ultimate battle between good and evil, ending with the petrification of Equestria’s three most-wanted villains (with Radiance concerned for a very evil schoolfilly) something flashes in the distance.

A glance out the window uncovers horseshoe arches rising tall on a bridge. Not too far from said bridge lies a huge copper statue of a robed mare lifting a torch to the sky, garnering crowds of visitors from far and wide. A vast river lies around the statue and the busy isle, illuminating a too-early moon-lit morning with a sea of mirrored city lights.

Manehattan. The grand metropolis is never dull in the eyes of a village-dweller like Spike. Duties quell his excitement though: the convention, Clockwisely HQ, whatever answers they may get about a matter far greater than the city that’s always awake.

“Looks alright,” says Fili-Second casually. “Smaller than I thought, though. How big is this place?”

Spike raises a claw and opens his mouth to realize he doesn’t know the answer.

“It looks at least ten percent smaller than Maretropolis,” notes Matter-Horn, taking out a calculator and magic-tapping the buttons. “It’s a rough estimate.”

“With ten percent fewer donut shops too, hopefully,” suggests Mare-velous.

“You take that back!” and Fili-Second rumbles with a growl. “‘Would you like it if they had no jute shops here?”

Radiance rubs the power bracelets under her disguise. “I’m content to be in a city where jewelry would be in stock. The non-superhero kind, obviously. Perhaps this world has gemstones our world doesn’t possess!”

“You girls actually have more, far as I know.” He counts one digit on his claw. “For example, adamantiniumite is just a legend here. In your world, it’s a very rare natural mineral, as you know.”

The train crawls to a halt. Shadows pass over them before a tunnel becomes the shadow to all shadows. Bricks surround them followed by the terminal proper which is half-full of ponies waiting in line for their rides.

They exit their carriage, skimming past the passengers. Some look and wonder if the Elements of Harmony are stupid enough to disguise themselves but leave Spike unclothed like a sore thumb. Sloppy but they shrug it off: no weird monsters have shown up in the city, so no thirty-minute disaster to tackle tonight.

Down the steps and off the station: out extends the cityscape of Manehattan from the inside. High-rise structures, squished-up row houses, tree-laden sidewalks, and roads brimming with carriages of which a third are taxis. Traveling hooves pound the asphalt as they pull carriages of ponies or strike the concrete as crowds of pedestrians still roam the streets this early in the unborn day—all to the soundtrack of screeching wheels, very fast words, and brewing coffee cups.

“It’s just like home!” Matter-Horn proclaims. “Just without the cars.”

“Isn’t that a letdown?” Fili-Second rests her figure on the wall, observing Equestria’s sorry state of vehicle technology. “At least I have the advantage over any chasers. Wonder if there are any—“

“No donuts,” and Spike wags a finger to the mare’s slight sorrow. Armed with a map and filled with butterflies at the thought of leading the Power Ponies around, “Now that that’s clear, I’ll bring you girls to Clockwisely. It’s down south, close to the financial area.”

The city’s sights vanish in their haste: the Bridleway Theater District with its world-famous theater where only the cream of the crop perform, the Stonefaller ice-skating rink with everyone from pathetic newbies to professional prodigies ripping up the ice in fashionable grace, and the grand Manehattan Park smack in the center of the city with open spaces of grass for relaxation and roaming around. The heroes’ wowed faces reveal their fascination and their desire to check them out in full. Maretropolis’s alternate names arrive in his mind with the Broadpath Film District, the Boulderdrop Hockey Rink, and Middle Park inconveniently placed on the eastern edge of the city.

“Hey, what’s that line for?”

Rager’s question and her pointed hoof lead Spike to the line in question: a crowd of ponies standing on the sidewalk, rounding the corner. Enthusiastic ponies in their line, it turns out: they have some notepads, tons of cash, and decked-out costumes.

Zapp’s pointed wing singles out a mare with a stretched-out paper-mache wig painted green everywhere. “That one looks like the Mane-iac!”

Spike freezes in place. Trepidation snakes up his throat. A loud gulp later, “I… I think I know where this line leads.”

He tells them to stay put and runs ahead. He crosses the whole block to reach the start of the line, and his fears—mixed with fanboy elation—surge to the heavens. The ponies in line hold comics and wear costumes too reminiscent of recent events. A dash ahead of the line takes him to the building of the hour: the Manehattan Convention Center.

The location of Power Ponypalooza.

“Hey, Spike! Is that you?”

Having met Spike in some Daring Do convention (thanks to Rainbow stringing Twilight stringing Spike along), Quibble Pants is unperturbed by his presence. Daring Do isn’t the only thing he geeks about, although the Power Ponies are a distant second in his rankings. The ultimate test of his nerdiness, then, is if he is nerdy enough to see through the Power Ponies’ disguises from a block away.

“Uh, yeah, I am!” Spike politely shakes the stallion’s hoof. “Nice to see you, Quibble! I was just wondering what this line’s for. I thought it’s 24/7?”

“Amateur.” An off-hoof whicker of superiority. “This has got to be your first time in an all-day all-night convention. This line isn’t for the entrance. This is the line for the autographs.”

With the amount of floor space the convention covers, the proper reaction is a few seconds of silence. “That long?”

“Yup, that long—hold on, you brought Rainbow along?”

A turn of his head, and there’re the ponies standing on the other side; Quibble counts the six of them.

“Not really,” Spike replies behind a good-enough smile. “They’re a couple of new friends I’ve made along the way. They came to Ponyville to visit the princess, and we just struck a chord.”

“Are they fans of the Power Ponies?”

“Sort of. I introduced them to it!”

The line moves and Quibble takes several steps forward, Spike following him in lockstep. “If you want to catch Ratter Fjord’s autograph, hop on in! We can argue about Zapp for days. In fact, we could start with calling out your friends here.” Before Spike can stop him, he shouts, “Hey, you! Friends of Spike! I want to talk to you!“

What are you doing?! is what Spike wishes to say to him, but the damage is done: the Power Ponies come forward and answer the loud pony’s call.

Quibble takes a little bow at the six of them when they arrive. “Spike’s new friends, right? You’re not the Twilight Sparkle and company I expected, but six of you, so at least I got the number right! And you must be…?”

“Over Hill,” says the Masked Matter-Horn, cordially putting a hoof to her chest. “Here are my friends: Return Stroke, Alane Mooring, Fivepoint Tulip, Poppy Sizzle, and Soda Light—“ introducing Zapp, Mistress Mare-velous, Saddle Rager, Fili-Second, and Radiance respectively. “And yes, we’ve met Princess Twilight Sparkle and her friends. It was an enlightening experience, to say the least.”

“Enlightening is quite the understatement.” A chortle trails his words. “Let me tell you, being friends with the Rainbow Dash beats just meeting her, and it beats it right out of the water! But enough about me. You’re going to the con?”

Matter-Horn opens up with a smile. “Why, yes.”

Spike grabs the sides of his head. “What?!But I thought… I thought you—“

Careful with her words, “I talked about it with the girls. With how you went on about the Power Ponies these past few hours, we wanted to see the real thing for ourselves, get the absolute fan experience up close and personal.”

“B-but—“

The unicorn leans close to his ear. “We’ve done undercover missions before. Just trust us and relax. Also, I’m curious!”

Their cover getting blown, ponies recognizing them, a slip on a banana peel tearing their disguise off and proclaiming their true identities to the world: these race through Spike’s careful mind. But this far deep, with an excited Quibble there with his stupidly big geeky smile—

Spike gives in and nods. In his best fake totally-not-surprised-at-all accent, “Yeah, sure.”

“But you can’t just go inside without some good financial planning!” Quibble asks, eyeing the six fully-clothed ponies versus his meager apparel of baseball cap and polo shirt. “You seven have to drop serious bits to nab all the goods. You could get the entry-level tickets, but you’ll miss out big time.”

“Don’t you worry.” A clawful of shiny gems come out of his backpack.

“Heh! Isn’t that smart of you?”

Spike nibbles on a ruby. “I always lug some gems around in case of emergencies. Never know when I need the money. They also double as food in a pinch.”

Following small talk and tiny pleasantries, Spike and the Power Ponies bid him farewell. With a close call averted, they go around the line and to the entrance of the convention center: a multi-purpose edifice of glass; chock-full of stalls, booths, merchandise, and ponies milling around with the joy of hanging out with fellow fans. A huge poster shows off big names in the industry attending the event: comic artists, story writers, theater actors, the occasional business executive, and one musician famous for—

“The Power Pony Jamboree: The Musical?!” Rager looks up from the brochure a guard gave her. “And there’s half a dozen other events going on right now, and it’s not even sunrise!”

“Are you absolutely sure about this?” asks Spike. “Like, all of you? I don’t think you’ll find answers to your reality here.“

“I know, Spike.” She slows her wings down. “I only wanted… to see this for myself.”

“Besides, you did say we matter to this world,” adds Matter-Horn. “I think it’s fair we give this con a shot. It’s our stop at the gas station—refuel ourselves for the journey ahead, so to speak.”

After remembering the concept of “fictional” gas stations from Caballus, Spike lets out a shrug and loosens up with a giddy grin. “I mean, I’ve been wanting to go anyway, so...”

None of Spike’s close friends, at least those in Ponyville, have been huge enough fans to go to a Power Ponies convention. Shining Armor—the one who introduced the whole thing to him while growing up with Twilight—used to be an avid devotee, but now he isn’t thanks to Crystal Empire duties (though the thought of Flurry Heart enjoying the Power Ponies intrigues him: an opportunity to pass on his legacy). There is Scootaloo too, but she’s only a casual fan, loving the action only because it reminds her of Rainbow Dash—and of course, Zapp is her favorite character. Beyond those two outliers, Spike and his comics have stood alone in Ponyville. So to get to a convention with Shining before moving to Ponyville was a real treat: seeing hundreds of fans united in a common fandom. The merch he got was a jackpot: so many plushies, a couple first-edition comics, and several autographs too. It was an experience to never forget.

The experience hasn’t dulled since. Hundreds of fans here and there, interacting with books, figurines, plushies, comics, each other—already a hall or two with events going on: a panel with writers and illustrators, a cosplay contest for the best costumers out there, and a simple Q&A interview with news reporters. The best of all: the Power Ponies themselves are with him, enjoying the convention with Spike as they drink in the scene.

They quickly go their separate ways, still never too far for Spike to see from a distance. Closest to him are Mare-velous and Radiance just a few meters away.

“Now look at that!” quips the mare, examining a booth replete with landscapes and portraits of high-quality fan art. “And you made all of this?”

The artist chuckles at her and Radiance, unaware of their true identities behind the disguises. “Your first time in a convention, huh?”

Radiance takes over with, “Yes, though we’ve assumed some things here and there going in. To think you could do art like that and—“ she looks at the artist’s cap “—you seem to like her a lot, don’t you?”

The artist tips her hat to her, the cap bearing Radiance’s cutie mark. “I’m a big fan of her, but Mistress Mare-velous is a close second.”

Radiance can’t help but blush. “The attack-construct unicorn strikes me the most. Now I’d like to buy some art of her. What do you say to a quick sketch of Radiance?”

“Oh, sure! That would be five bits! Just give me a moment...”

“…and here we go, Miss Tulip! A sketch of Saddle Rager for you.”

And Rager herself receives the sketch of her real self. Cheerily with flapping wings, “Why, thank you!”

“My pleasure, ma’am!”

With that, the pegasus hovers to a hall across the room, enamored by how somepony could be so familiar with somepony else from another universe.

She gets closer to the front of the hall. A contest is going on. “And finally,” a microphoned voice booms through the room, “the winner of the One-Hour Early Morning Cosplay Contest is…!”

The name is announced, and applause erupt for the winner. Rager flies close to the ceiling with a few other pegasi to get a good vantage point of the champion: a mare cosplaying as Rager, complete with the brown mane, the gray coat, and all the costume’s little details. Even got the petals right.

Fili-Second finds it hard to hide her voice’s speed. The pony before her and everyone else here is Just. Too. Slow.

Especially when it comes to rare and expensive editions.

“Come on!” Fili-Second taps her hoof on the desk. “Can you at least tell me what’s special about the Collector’s Deluxe First Edition here?”

“I would,” the salespony begins, “if you stopped interrupting me like—“

“What do you put in there, anyway? I’m sure it’s not just free ballpens. Or it’s a cereal thing where you put toys in the box… though given the target market for comics these days, I’m sure that wouldn’t fit well with the ‘periphery’ demographic.”

“…like that.”

“Argh. Do you at least have signatures?”

The stressed-out seller rubs his eyes. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, Missy.”

“Then why didn’t you say so?!”

And the stallion bangs his head on the table. “Guests these days...”

“And your point is?” says a pony wearing a Mare-velous mask.

“That Zapp is a very complex pony,” says “Return Stroke” Zapp. “Sure, she’s hot-headed some of the time, but you gotta know there’s much more depth to her than her moniker of The Heartland’s Daughter of Thunder.”

“Oh come on! She just shouts catchphrases all the time while zapping ponies left and right.”

“Look, buddy, do you even read the comics?”

The mare’s ears falter. “Why, y-yes… and I write some fan fiction on the side.”

“Can I read some of it? Especially if they feature Zapp. I’ll be more than happy to help you understand her character.”

She complies with a gulp, taking out a long scroll from her saddle bag. “Why are you so willing to defend Zapp anyway?”

“Well, she is my favorite character.”

“Figures.”

Away from Radiance, Mare-velous takes a gander at the jewelry and necklaces spruced up with logos, symbols, and cutie marks from her world. The exorbitant prices ward her off from any serious consideration to purchase.

“Oh, hey there!”

When Mare-velous turns around to see who said that, she sees a few ponies approaching her, big smiles on their faces as they’re all decked out in merchandise. She swallows a lump in her throat, fear of detection on her mind. “Uh, hey! What’s going on?”

“Could you take a photo of us?” asks one of them, taking off her thin glasses for the picture and hoofing a camera to Mare-velous.

“Um, sure.” And so she does, taking photos of posing fans under the camera’s white flashes.

They study the resulting photos, laughing at their funny faces. “We’re definitely having these as keepsakes! Wait until every pony back in Vanhoover sees this! Thanks, uh, what’s your name?”

“It’s Ma—uh, Mooring! Alane Mooring.”

“That’s nice!” The fan nervously tugs at her own ponytailed mane. “Hey, wanna hang out with us for a bit? We’re waiting for the interview panel to start in Hall C, but we paid premium for reserved front seats, so we’re just walking around to pass the time.”

Mare-velous answers with a smile. “For a few minutes, sure.”

Her new group of buddies cheer at that, already making their way to said hall. “Yeah! So, for starters, how’d you get into the Power Ponies in the first place?”

Mare-velous first stops herself from telling her life’s tale. A few seconds of a cover story later, “So you know how it involves heroes: hero comics and wanting to be like them or at least be a pony on the good side, you know? One day, a friend told me about it and...”

Matter-Horn, in her magic curiosity, checks out everything there is to see in this huge building: attending panels and interviews of the comic’s own creators and staff, window-shopping all sorts of merch there, eyeing the numerous comics of her and the best friends she met over the years in her team of supers.

Then there’re the ponies present in this place. They laugh at each other’s jokes as they lounge by a pair of vending machines, eating and chatting in the cafeteria area about everyday life—meeting up for the first time and being overjoyed at seeing somepony with the same likes and interests and hobbies as them.

And then’re the occasional hugs. Even the chanting of Power Ponies forever! like she herself said so many times to rally everypony together for a fight to the end. To see all these ponies here, united: a whole community of—

“And I wanna be like you, Miss Matter-Horn!”

She halfway jumps out of her spot, but instead glances slightly to the side. There, a filly shouts and points at some pony dressed up as Matter-Horn. The filly’s parents let her hug the mare standing stupid, the dressed-up pony unprepared for something as cute as this.

The Matter-Horn cosplayer lets the hug continue. She rubs the filly’s mane while the foal’s parents tear up at the heartwarming display.

The real Matter-Horn looks on. Mutters, “Good on you, kid.”

The sight of colts dressed up as Hum Drum, stringing their moms and dads along, sends Spike into a gleeful fit, as if Power Ponies everything hasn’t been enough to jack up his joy levels. But the mission burns at the back of his mind even as he sees plushies to maybe buy.

Nearby, a pony without any serious cosplay but a simple Power Ponies cap. Although the cap covers part of her mane, the blue-fuschia tail and her three-candy cutie mark are too familiar to brush off.

The mare can’t help but look at the only baby dragon in the building. “Spike? Oh, uh, wow! I didn’t know you were here too!”

“I didn’t know you were here!” he yells back. “What are you doing here?! I didn’t know you like the Power Ponies! You… you don’t seem the type.”

“Eh, it’s not my idea.” In the background, a green unicorn hoards precious merch in bursting saddle bags, jumping from stall to stall and taking pictures with her camera every few steps. “It’s Lyra’s. The mare’s crazy, I swear. Pesters me to go when we still have three more days to catch the con.”

“Ah. Tagging along because you’ve got no choice?”

She breathes a sigh of relief. “You could say that, but Lyra’s a good friend. I wouldn’t miss this for the world if my friend’s coming. Takes sacrifice to do what must be done, don’t you know?”

Spike blinks at the weird wording, but he excuses it away when the mare takes a big yawn.

“I’m gonna get some wake-up juice.” She turns to a nearby coffee dispenser. “Catch you later?”

“Catch you later!” and he waves at her until she’s out of sight.

With that over, he checks the time at a nearby clock. Fifteen minutes already past: enough time down the drain, so he rushes to regroup with the Power Ponies.

After several more minutes in the convention, they trot their way toward Clockwisely Comics HQ.

Silence simmers around them. None of them speak a word as they pass by spacious avenues, see the skyscraping billboards on the humongous walls, and smell delicious coffee and tea from bars and cafés—wakes them up from post-convention hangover.

A dragon’s cough breaks the ice between them. “So, uh, how was it?”

Matter-Horn lets her tongue roll behind her cheeks. “An eye-opener, that’s for sure.”

“Are you sure it’s just that?”

“It was quite the treat to see how we’re portrayed in this world,” Radiance chimes in. “It was refreshing, to say the least.”

“Yeah, I would know.” All eyes now to the rope-handling Mare-velous. “Being at the frontier, fending for my life, fighting bandits while protecting sacred treasures—do enough of that, and ponies’ll get around you. The con’s like that and everyone there’s got our back, rooting for us. Though they clearly don’t know who they’re talking to.”

Spike chuckles. “That’s one mission accomplished! No one caught any of you or something like that?”

“None,” Matter-Horn is glad to report. “I think we’re safe for now… although in hindsight, I didn’t see your contact there. Isn’t he an employee of the compa—uh, Spike, where’re you going?”

The fast-running Spike turns his head back. “How could I forget Beat Space?! I even wrote a note about him, argh!”

“Is he in trouble now?” Zapp asks.

Spike stops. Leans down and pants, takes a breather. “I don’t know, but he’s the one who sent me the comic in the first place. Maybe he knows something everyone else doesn’t: something we could use to our advantage coming into Clockwisely. Don’t worry about directions or maps: I’ve been to his apartment—yeah, there! It’s at the end of this block. We get in, check in on him, maybe he tags along with us, and we’re on our way to the HQ—“

“Did you expect the police to be there too?” asks Fili-Second.

“If they knew, that’s too many ponies in the know. Why’re you asking that?”

“’Cause the police are there.”

A look forward serves Fili-Second right. An apartment block curves around the corner of two narrow streets, and police carriages now surround the entrance. Yellow tape and blue uniforms set the outside scene as cops report to each other and interview apartment residents with other civilians.

Spike sprints to the nearest officer, the Power Ponies hot on his heels. “Ma’am, what’s going on here?!”

The officer turns around, baffled. “Spike? As in Spike the Dragon? And I see you’ve brought the Elements. So you know Beat Space, then?”

“I know Space Beat—a friend of mine—but that’s not the Elements. Just some friends, new friends, and—“

“Good thing you know him.” She looks behind her: another carriage screeches to a halt to spew out another batch of officers. “But yeah. Hope you weren’t planning on visiting him tonight. He’s dead.”

“What?!”

One Gross Crime

The bedroom, a ransacked mess. The bed, cut across like the stuffed toy of a whiny brat. The floor, splattered with drops of blood. Plastic bags contain potential evidence to be processed by the forensics department within the next two hours.

Lying limp at the far end of the room, the cold blue body of a unicorn. Above him, a message written in his own blood: Thus to Traitors.

“We received a report of inexplicable loud noises ten minutes ago,” speaks Knocks Forte, the officer who spoke to Spike outside. “We arrived at the scene while everything was still hot, but by then, the murderers had gotten away. Almost no eyewitnesses: no one within ten blocks could report anyone resembling… hmm, three robed unicorns. Our witness didn’t see the horns, but she said that it oughta’ be a unicorn ‘cause they were performing spells when they disappeared. No hoofprints or other signs of escape, coupled with the signature magic residue recorded here, means they teleported out of the scene.”

“Do you have any suspects?” asks Zapp in disguise, glancing at the corpse. “Anyone that matches the profile, or—?”

“It’s the robes, ma’am. They cover up everything. Cutie mark, tail, mane—she couldn’t even get a single coat color. All she knows is that they weren’t dwarfs or giants, and that all three were unicorns.”

“Any reason why somepony might kill him in the first place?” That’s Spike, his eyes never leaving his pen pal. Meeting him at a convention once in a while, writing letters back and forth and sometimes getting old Power Ponies stuff from back in the day: now he’s gone.

“It must be a personal grudge if traitors is of any indication.Space Beat’s got no criminal record, and as far as the neighbors told me, he was a pretty decent stallion.” Meanwhile, other officers write notes and collect evidence in hoof gloves and sterilized magic fields. “Wouldn’t be long until we tell his friends and family the terrible news.

“Now unless you need his body or something, I’m afraid you can’t do anything here.” She scribbles a few lines on her clipboard. “This is fresh so we’ve got no smoking cannons for the case yet.”

Spike’s shoulders fall limp. “I see. Sorry about that.”

A cute smile graces Knocks’ face. “I don’t know what history you’ve got with Space Beat, but I can tell you knew each other well enough. If you want, we can keep in touch, and I’ll let you know.”

The revelation is enough to get Spike jogging out of the apartment once they’ve exited the room. Not running—that’ll attract too much attention—but it’s not walking.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Spike huffs in between puffs, strafing around one or two passers-by. “I have a bad feeling about all of this!”

“And what say you about all of this?” asks Matter-Horn who keeps good pace with Spike.

“His death, the letter, the leak to me, the official notice I showed you back in the castle?! The—“

“It could be them!” whispers a running Fili-Second that isn’t moving at the speed of light. “The enchanters, the—“

“If they’re stooping so low as to kill,” says a flying Rager, “then… wait, what if they know we’re out on the loose? To think the murder happened while we’re in the same city as them! We were in a convention of all places!”

“They may still be in the city.” Radiance lights up her horn, producing a pair of binoculars and scanning for any sign of robed unicorns. “Our disguises may tip the scales in our favor, but clothes do nothing in a no-holds-barred beatdown.”

Another carriage whizzes by. It rings ear-piercing bells ordering everyone to get out of the way. Onlookers never get a close look at its passengers past their tinted windows.

“That murder must’ve been quite serious,” Spike says, hesitating a bit and almost wobbling. “Rarity said they only pull out the regional police if it’s a big case. Chiefs and honchos and the mares in dark suits… maybe even a direct line to the Royal Sisters if things get real bad.”

“That spells nothing good,” Radiance adds. “For all we know, we might be up against a conspiratorial cabal. Who knows what they want to do with us?”

Matter-Horn breathes a sigh. “Nothing we can do but keep moving. Spike, keep leading the way.”

So Spike does, passing by more towering skyscrapers. As the trip goes on, high-rising buildings grow taller still. Apartments and row houses give way to lofty hotels, and cheap offices unfold into spiraling headquarters. Traffic speeds up in these commerce-busy sectors, carrying late-night shifters home, bringing graveyard shifters to work, and stringing along day larks early to set up shop way ahead of schedule. Not to mention the 24/7 convenience stores found everywhere in Manehattan, fitting for the city that bills itself as The City That’s Always Awake.

One more corner to round, and there: soaring over their visitors of destiny is a lone brick building. It’s antique compared to its modern steel-glass neighbors, and its twenty floors can’t hold a candle to their hundred-floor statures, but the big letters above the main door don’t care and they proclaim: Clockwisely Comics!

Mare-velous reads a nearby streetlight clock. “It’s only two in the morning. Are you sure anypony’s home?”

Spike takes a cautious step toward the door. “Only one way to find out.”

The ponies follow suit, entering the headquarters’ reception hall. Sitting on sofas and waiting seats are the few ponies with late-night business here. Portraits of important comic contributors hang on yellow walls while finely-made cutouts of franchise characters usher guests onto sacred ground, the control center of multiple fictions.

“Oh, hello! What can I do for you?” inquires a happy receptionist despite the early hour.

The unicorn levitates a stool to Spike so he can stand over the desk. “Is the president here? I’d like to speak to him pronto.”

A frown snaps into place. “President Excelsus, you mean? He’s here, but he’s not to be disturbed past his normal business hours.”

Sweat drops onto his claws. He taps on the counter nervously. “What we’ve got here is very urgent. He’ll understand.”

“I’ve heard that excuse many times from desperate clients. Unless you have a meeting scheduled with him at two-thirty A.M., which is highly unlikely since those are outside his business hours, I cannot let you in.”

A faint light comes on with Matter-Horn’s magic. A photocopied notice floats from her coat pocket to the counter for the receptionist to read. “Spike has managed to obtain this correspondence thanks to a contact here. He would like to follow up the matter with President Excelsus.”

The receptionist gets the note and reads it. Her eyes fly wide open. “Beat Space? But he just died!”

“News sure moves fast around here!” says Spike in dread and wonder.

Ignoring his outburst, “Are you private investigators?”

“You can say that,” Fili-Second replies. “We’re under serious pressure along with maybe a brutal time limit, so we need to meet with the president right away.”

“Alright, alright! Just hold on.” They watch her scanning eyes, flickering left and right as she re-reads the notice and takes everything in. “Oh. Oh, no!” She wrests herself away from the notice, all bug-eyed at her latest customers. “H-how do you know? I don’t think I’m supposed to know this!”

“Need-to-know basis, and this need-to-know basis tells us that a meeting with your president is required ASAP. We can help because we’re investigators with the necessary skills to track them down. Got that? We’re going for the president himself because we figured shooting way up and going top-down is better than going bottom-up. Now can you buzz us in?”

The receptionist stands still for a moment. “Wow. You talk fast.”

“We’re just tired and emotional,” says Rager, holding up a hoof to check a watch she doesn’t have. “It’s the early hour.”

The receptionist slowly nods. A press of a buzzer and she leans her head toward a microphone. “Mister President? There’re some guests who want to see you.”

A wall of static. Then in a haggard accent: “Who’re they? Can’t they see I’m up late?”

“They have knowledge about Beat Space’s… situation.”

“So it’s the police? Okay, let them in.”

“They’re not the police.”

“Private eyes?”

“Yes. They also know about some enchanter problem. I’m guessing it’s an internal affairs issue in the Enchanting Division. Could be related to Beat Space’s death.”

The other line goes silent.

Said silence is cut by Spike. “Hope we didn’t lose—“

“Get them up here. Now.”

A shudder comes on. She leans again into the microphone. “Will do, Mister President. They’ll be up lickety-split.” A press of a button to turn off the microphone. “Looks like you know something even he doesn’t. Sounds way above my league. I haven’t heard Excelsus this agitated in years. Whatever the problem is, I hope it’ll turn out alright.”

She beckons them to follow her. Hallways line the path with ground-floor offices behind closed doors, sometimes occupied by an overtime clerk. At the far end of the building resides a roomy elevator, and they go in.

Spike clutches the railing inside, careful not to scratch it with his claws. The lonely receptionist allows a dour face on her muzzle. The Power Ponies wear neutral expressions, cool as cucumbers, about to meet one of their makers.

Ding!

Elevator doors part. The receptionist and her entourage walk on sleek vinyl floors flanked by dinky little potted plants. Pinned beside fancier doors to fancier offices are plaques for VP, CEOs, CFOs, and other serious combinations of letters while air-conditioning produces the hallway’s chill.

The final door is the least gaudy of them all: a simple wooden door. Its plaque is the only symbol of the owner’s stature: PRESIDENT EXCELSUS OF CLOCKWISELY COMICS.

The receptionist comes up to the buzzer above the plaque and presses the button. “Mister President? They’re here now.”

A chortle of static later, “Good. Thank you kindly, Happy Trails. Door’s unlocked so let them in.”

“Oh… uh, yes, I will.” To her visitors, “But you already heard that, didn’t you?”

After good-hearted farewells for the receptionist, Happy Trails makes her way to the elevator, leaving the Power Ponies and Spike to their fate.

Matter-Horn puts her hoof on the door’s handle. “Here goes nothing.”

She opens it and they step in.

The room is big, but grandiose it is not. More portraits line the walls, but they are not of past presidents nor of other famous ponies in the comic industry’s history. They are of comic characters from across the years, painted in oil like a long-dead artist would’ve done for Princess Celestia. Below those paintings hang photos of delighted fans and staff in a convention or some open grass field.

Bookshelves, drawers, and one plastic work desk make for an unremarkable workspace. The pony sitting behind that desk is only presentable enough to look like he works here: a polo shirt and no pants, topped with shiny wax in his mane. The jowls in his cheeks show, hiding his once-youthful vigor as he reads a couple hastily-written letters and papers.

Excelsus looks up from his reports and acknowledges the visitors. He quickly stands up and shakes their hooves before speaking. “Good to be seeing you. Detectives like you have been on the case, but not in a group of six. Or seven, but I don’t think you, Spike, are a detective.”

Idly, “You could say that.”

“But you’re here with them; must be a good reason why they need you!” To Radiance in the group, “Say, I didn’t expect you to be here, Rarity. Your boutique here does not open this early from what I recall. In fact, I’m surprised any of you Element-bearers are here… much less you lying to me about being detectives, but you must be very desperate.” He takes a little bow before them. “I am honored to be in your presence.”

Matter-Horn bites her tongue. “Uh, sir? We’re not exactly—“

“So I take it this is a friendship problem, then?” he asks after standing up. “I mean, Spike here with six ponies? Nice disguises, by the way! Onto a friendship problem, eh? Although the language does not begin to describe what has happened. Friendship problem is a pretty euphemism for cold-blooded murder.”

“Mister President? May I please—“

“As you know by now, Beat Space worked for us. Joined the company when he was just twenty, fetching coffee for the higher-ups. His last job was co-writing the noir series The Inquiry. Have any of you read it? It’s one of my favorites over the last five years or—“

“Excelsus!”

That shuts his mouth, a dumbfounded expression on his face. “Oh, I’m sorry about that. That’s me rambling again, isn’t it? Alright, I’ll tell it to you straight, ma’ams and sir: Beat Space was only the tip of the iceberg for this whole Enchanting Division debacle. I take it you are doing your best to find the AWOL enchanters, yes? We’ve contacted their friends, family, and neighbors for some time, but we’ve got nothing. As for me—” he points a hoof at his desk’s paper towers “—I’ve swamped myself with reports and sightings: everything under the sun, but they’re all false leads.”

Matter-Horn draws out one long breath. Her partners in crime-fighting receive her frown. They nod to her in reply.

“Mister Excelsus, we’re not the Element-bearers.”

His eyes bulged open, his mouth grateful that it had no water to spit at his guests in surprise. “Wait, you’re not?”

Nervously shaking her head, “I… well, we’re not just not the Element-bearers.”

A glow from Matter-Horn’s horn envelops all six ponies. In a blue flash, their disguises vanish. Costumes all too familiar to him dress up their coats, their manes and tails and coats’ true colors shown off to the bewildered old stallion. And the weapons and accessories they bear: goggles, lasso, amulet...

Excelsus chokes on a gasp, reduced to hacking and coughing. Falls onto his chair. His heart pounds furiously.

Fili-Second quickly rushes to his side and checks his pulse. “A bit high for somepony your age, but you’ll be fine!” In the meantime, Rager and Zapp fly to the windows to shut up the panes and draw the curtains.

“You’re… you’re not going to hurt me, right?” he rasps, losing all casual informality.

Matter-Horn shakes her head, holding up a warm smile. “No, we won’t. It wouldn’t do to hurt what may be our founder in this world.”

Excelsus gulps. “B-but… y-you’re… the Power Ponies? The one from that rogue breakaway of enchanters?”

With a frown, “Yes, but we’re here thanks to Spike,“ and the baby dragon takes it as a cue to come forward, shaking with both excitement and worry. “We’re here looking for answers. Information about our world, on the enchanters, on who Verumarendi may be: anything to save our reality from falling apart.“

Excelsus chokes at that. “The… Verumarendi, you say?”

The Power Ponies stand back and gasp. “She’s real and she’s here?!” shouts Zapp.

“No, she’s not. At least so far as I know. Though it’s quite possible that they’re open to making her real in this world and...”

The president waves further gasps off, leafing through the papers on the desk. “But let’s settle this quickly. You came here for information, then? About your world… your real-as-anything-else world?” A nod of seven heads. “I have to say, I wish I could be happy for you. Happy I could finally meet all of you right here, to tell you that you are a force for good in more ways than one. That’s all true—”

“Yeah, can you get to the point?” asks Fili-Second to the annoyed glares of others.

The president stares at the interfering mare. “Yes, yes, I’ll get there.”

He returns to his chair, holding his forehooves together. Rests his head on them, staring at the wooden surface of his desk. Seconds of silent breathing, silent contemplation, silent reeling from meeting real-life masked superheroes.

Excelsus lifts his head. “Did Spike tell you about me and this company? I know Spike to some degree: writes letters to us every once in a while. You do know, then? Okay, I’ll spare you most of the details, but stop me if I sound like a broken record.

“As you know, Clockwisely Comics began some forty years ago. In this world, comics had about the same longevity as they’ve had in your world. When they got popular about sixty years ago, it was all quite simple: simple hero stories and adventures, fighting the baddies and always winning. Idealistic but not much else. That disappeared over the years as ponies wanted more complex stuff, but then things got too dark. The truth about ponies is that they shy away from excessive gloom and doom. They want to see heroes. They want to relate to ponies who face familiar obstacles andwin.

“After a few failed start-ups, my own comic company nailed a good concept. We scoured ancient legends and myths, and… well, we came across those old stories about the Pillars of Equestria—then, of course, Twilight Sparkle and her friends showed up, the six of them just like the Pillars, so that must’ve been why I mistook you for the Element-bearers myself. Now you know why there’s six of you and not five or seven or some other number: the Power Ponies, six special ponies with completely different personalities and abilities, united by a common duty to serve and protect the city of Maretropolis from nefarious entities. That was a breath of fresh air for many ponies in the market, ‘cause let’s be honest: would you buy some apple juice advertised by Mistress Mare-velous or The Judge-Jury-Executioner Emperor?”

“That’s not a hero, right?” asks Rager.

“Eh... the less you know about J.J.E., the better. Edgy black-and-red alicorn antihero galore. Bombed itself a decade ago, and we’ll leave it at that.

“Speaking of a decade ago: imagine the HQ ten years back, a bastion in the comic industry. Ponies chose us and love us. I’ve read the letters: how we helped them through rough times, how we were able to show them more to life than just existing—by seeing heroes like the Power Ponies struggle and conquer foes without and within. However, we didn’t want to stagnate. We wanted to innovate, find something new readers could benefit from and enjoy. One day, we had an idea: enchanted comics!”

A wince flickers into existence. “Alright, they had an idea. I got on board later on, but I had suspicions at first. It’s foolish to experiment on the go, to say nothing of their fully working prototype in the earliest stages of negotiations—or rather, they had no fully working prototype. No matter how much they promised about fulfilling readers’ fantasies of immersing themselves in Maretropolis, I remained a stubborn dinosaur to the very end for ethical reasons. One wrong misstep and we’d be in a moral quandary! I wouldn’t want to explain to some foal’s parents why he’s filled with scars and bruises from turning a page. Or, just as bad, having strangers materialize out of nowhere, wondering about the nature of their existence.”

He stands up to pace around the office. His gaze lingers upon the strangers who materialized in Spike’s bedroom, wondering about the nature of their existence. “They convinced me when I finally went through the spells. For an Earth pony like me, that’d be a nightmare, but I understood them well enough: The characters they’d enliven would be sentient, not sapient—on the level of a worm or otherwise a highly complex spell, living but unable to think for itself, only life-like after you feed it enough reactions and actions and conditions. Life-like but never alive: that was their pitch. I finally gave them the green light, believing that there’ll be no harm done under our watch. Next thing I knew, they’re printing them in droves, and though production cost a neat penny due to enchantment expenses, enough fans bought our enchanted editions and lived their dreams of helping out the hero… or better yet, being the hero!”

His merry smile washes away. “But…”

“The rogue enchanters kicked off their plans, didn’t they?” asks Matter-Horn.

“Yes.” His head hangs for a while, barely masking his shame. “It’d been going on for a few months before everything exploded. Some absences scattered here and there across the Enchantment Division, ranging from sicknesses to deaths in the family. That’s what they told us, and back then, that’s what we knew. But when they did go to work, something was off: suspiciously glad to work overtime, and super eager to complete their workload. All and good, but just what happened? Were they trying to work off the stress? Did they have really good therapy? Just what?”

A weary groan creases his voice. “Then somepony got careless and left evidence of their true work: several comic books yet to be published, enchanted beyond reason. I heard one got sent out to an unknown pony—“

Spike blushes with a lifted claw. “That unknown ‘pony’ was me.”

That stops the president’s pacing. “Really? Well, I take it that you didn’t ask for illegal enchantments in your comic, did you? Then now I know for certain how these Power Ponies came to be. It is fortunate that they fell into the hooves—er, claws—of a fan. If they went to the wrong hooves…” He shivers and not from the air conditioning.

“Anyway, like I’ve said before, we contacted their loved ones and their neighbors to see what’s going on. The police became curious and got involved only to find the suspects’ houses empty and abandoned; combing through their friends’ and neighbors’ homes turned nothing out too. It’s been three days now, and the only thing we’ve got to show are houses beginning to rot and much of the Enchantment Division’s inventory and equipment missing. That’s where we stand now, with the enchanters on the loose, and I don’t like the look of it.”

Silence holds between the creatures in the office. The Power Ponies look here and there, sometimes at Excelsus, sometimes at Spike. Spike himself looks confused. They couldn’t be found, and they could be anywhere.

“That’s the dreadful thing about it. They’re out there, armed with trade secrets and more knowledge about enchantment than the average cum laude from Celestia’s Gifted School. It’s no mean feat to get you into this world, so it’s entirely possible that you’re a test run to them, a prototype to something far more sinister. I’m sorry that it’s this way, but...”

Excelsus takes one long look at them. A wooden ocean, his desk, lies between the two of them.

He slowly trots around the grand ocean, eyes ever on the Power Ponies. The air around him cools. Cold sweat pops up on his lined forehead. There’s something on Matter-Horn’s face. Something wrong.

He holds her by the withers. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry this had to happen to you… to your city.” A pause to take in a mountain of guilt. “To your world….”

She stares out. Sees nothing but curtained windows shielding her from the world outside. No thought to the rogue enchanters or the existential crisis: only here, only a pony to comfort.

She hugs him back, closes her eyes and imagines. The warmth in her embrace: a smile, a gift to melt his heart. To be hugged by his own creation.

“Don’t you worry,” she says, feeling the others pile in on him with their own reassuring hugs and pats on the back. “You didn’t mean it. You didn’t mean any of it. You didn’t know. It wasn’t your fault; it’s theirs. They were the ones who made all of this happen, who—”

Opens her eyes.

The rain pitter-patters on the window. It’s raining outside complete with thunder in the air and lightning reflected by the glass skyscraper across the street.

“Wait, why’re the curtains open?” asks Zapp. “It’s not like the wind could’ve flapped them up. I thought the windows were closed!”

From his angle, Spike can see the open window. On that glass skyscraper, a window-washing platform sways in the sudden gale. His eyes squint to see more than just a platform, a figure—

“We’ve got company!”

Ponies teleport into the room, wearing cloaks, robes, and masks—horns, wings, without. Gemstones hang around their necks; nothing else can be seen apart from the colors of their eyes.

Matter-Horn paws the ground, and a hot snort leaves her nose. “Team up, every pony! They’re aiming for Excelsus!”

The strangers fire magic lightning bolts blazing toward the startled president—

Fili-Second yanks him to the far side of the room, and the bolts hit empty air.

Matter-Horn freezes patches of the floor and watches ponies slide and stumble on thin ice. More strangers charge her way, their numbers falling as her freeze beams chill them stone cold. She’s too distracted to detect the ambush springing up on her from behind, but Zapp kicks them with lightning and thunder.

Others beeline to Excelsus, but their juicy target is yanked away by a lasso from Mare-velous. With Fili-Second free, the insanely fast mare dodges jabs and projectiles, annoying the enemy with her barrage of one-liners. Against the cloaked pegasi’s heavy wind gusts, Radiance conjures up energy shields, soaking the damage before turning those shields into blades for hacking and slashing. At the corner lies Saddle Rager, her eyes an irate red as bulking transformation rips her suit. It all leaves Spike alone by the wall, the Power Ponies doing their thing.

“Alright, fellas!” and Mare-velous cracks her hind legs. “Get a load of this!”

She bucks a pony charging at her, sending him to the floor. Only he rolls over and gets back up to charge at her again. A couple other ponies join in the charge, and she parries each jab and kick before bucking them down in quick succession.

Above Mare-velous, Zapp strings the cloaked pegasi along with clouds and lightning, zapping them constantly but to little avail as they keep racing after her. She resorts to punches, kicks, and wing wrestling to throw them off her trail. Right under her, Radiance’s attack-construct shield protects Matter-Horn ice-beaming incoming foes, but said beams bounce off their coats, and the enemies’ own beam attacks stress and crack said shield even as the grunts keep going down just to keep getting up.

Even with Fili-Second blurring past them, whirling ponies around until they get dizzy—until they aren’t and they keep swarming her. Even with Saddle Rager and her hulking size and power: she growls at constantly flicking ponies away like ants and flies that just happen to be immortal. They won’t stop.

Mare-velous gallops around and bucks another pony in the face, having him careen to the wall, but he hops right back onto the floor and charges at her again. Readying her hooferangs and lasso, “Girls! There’s something suspicious about these mooks!”

A gray-green blur catches up to knock the stallion down for a second and halts right in front of the Earth pony. “Yeah! They should be exhausted by now. I mean, these are normal ponies, right?”

Zapp electrocutes another pony to little effect. “Those freaks are wearing strange clothes and weird jewelry. These are not normal ponies.

A semblance of a fight rages on, but Spike turns away from the battle. His eyes go straight at Excelsus: a few ponies galloping to him as one combined force, rushing past their comrades distracting the Power Ponies from the true prize.

No one sees Spike.

It gives him an idea.

Spike blindly grabs something from the shelf at his back: a camera. A devious smirk takes over.

“Hey, birdbrains! Get this!”

Cloaked ponies turn to see the foul-mouthed dragon only to be dazed by a camera flash. Though it doesn’t stop others from charging straight at the dragon. “No one must see us!” shouts a strained voice.

Spike rolls away, letting ponies crash into the naked wall. The nimble fire-breather runs around, riling up more invaders to run after the photobomber.

Magic surrounds him and levitates the dragon away from the floor. An invisible rope constricts his neck and turns him upside down. Before him is the face of the unicorn responsible for his current misery. “You little jerk! Who do you think you are, interfering with our calling? When we’re done with our little game here, we’ll show you how we deal with meddlers like you!”

His lungs working too much: the choke gets tighter, squeezing the life out of him. Another pony steals the picture and camera from his claws. “Any last words, you little shrimp?”

Despite the lack of air, Spike displays a fanged smile. “Good luck?”

“Wha—?“

“Raaaagh!”

Amid flashes of lightning and roaring thunder, a huge shadow looms over them. Saddle Rager, in her muscular and terrifying heights, overlooks the puny ponies beneath her.

The cloaked ponies pelt the titanic mare with punches and kicks and winds and spells and even blunt and sharp weapons, but they are pebbles against a mountain that swats them away like flies.

With the attackers over-occupied, Mare-velous rushes in to Radiance’s side and lassos her friend at the distracted mooks. Radiance reacts with screams and fast reflexes to surround herself with a shield, turning into a bowling ball to strike down pony-shaped ten-pins. On the other side of the room, Zapp and Fili-Second team up: the latter rides on the former’s lightning, faking an attack with the bolts before going in for a Fili-Second knuckle sandwich of a dozen punches per second.

Spike dodges a swipe from a pony, getting a second good look of the giant Rager. On her head stands Matter-Horn, the wizard sniper for her angry pony vehicle, mowing down the trespassers with the deadly precision of her highest-powered beams, shouting, “How do you like them apples?!” One magic bolt after another downing each and every enemy in her path. “Are you with them?! Are you the ones who caused the chaos in our world? What are your plans?!”

She teleports to one of the unicorns, cutting his escape short. The unicorn flies a hoof at her, but she twists it and breaks a bone. A blood-curdling cry later, he charges his horn, but she kicks at his knees. The stallion crumples, descending into agonizing moans. Dead silence overtakes the room while the Power Ponies’ leader stares.

“Tell me!” Her breath, ragged. Most of the invaders are unconscious or otherwise without strength to do anything. Much less the stallion lying limp before her. “Who are you? What have you done to us? What do you want?!”

The stallion only laughs. Looks up with bloodshot eyes. “Nothing much in the grand scheme of things, masked mare.” A voice as smooth a butter, deep and booming enough to send chills down the mare’s spine. “You’re only a stepping stone, another brick in the building of our grand plan. You will know when you see us again!”

A press of the gemstone wrapped around his neck: he disappears. Flashes overcome Matter-Horn and everyone else: every stranger disappears.

It is quiet. Shock writes itself on the Power Ponies’ faces. It writes itself on Spike too, but it is erased when he sees Excelsus: hiding under his desk, dropped there by Fili-Second at the last minute.

The room is ransacked, blotched with evidence of a superheroic battle with the damages to prove it. A battle between the Power Ponies and their foes.

Spike bites his lips. Their foes are now his foes, and he’s painted a target on his head.

To Mar What's Well

“I just can’t believe it,” mumbles Excelsus as fresh bandages ease the president’s pain. Rager dabs medicine on more wounds then patches them up while Radiance levitates a few more medicine bottles and several potions to light, some of which Spike recognizes from the Power Ponies’ armory in Issue #74. “I’ve been mugged a few times, held hostage once in this city… it’s peanuts compared toactual supervillain underlings!”

As for the Power Ponies themselves, they’ve donned their disguises again, cleaning up the mess with the help of alerted security guards and on-demand construction workers ready to fix the ransacked office.

“What happened again?” says one of the guards who’s just come in. Thunder punctuates his question; the relentless rain doesn’t let up.

“Ponies teleported in from out of nowhere,” Excelsus sputters. A bandage is gently placed on his leg. “Spike and his new friends here kept them busy before those loons bailed.”

“And they might strike again,” says Rager posing as Fivepoint Tulip. “Do you have a safer place to go to?”

“The basement’s always a good answer.” His out-of-this-world guests fancy a look. “As far as I know, it’s not easy to teleport into the basement. No windows to teleport through, I can assure you.”

“It’s our best shot,” adds another guard, armed with some concealed blades. “Wanna let the press know about the situation?”

“Not until this situation is clear!” shouts Excelsus, still raspy. “I’m more than convinced that this is all related to the whole enchantment fiasco. They may be the very same ponies who went AWOL on us!”

Zapp tells him to calm down, patting him on the withers. “You might get a nerve popped with that attitude.”

Minutes of inspection and cleaning pass by. More workers and guards come up to help, securing the perimeter and relaying information to the right ponies. They see a bruised but bandaged Excelsus before checking out Spike and his six totally-not-the-multiple-time-saviors-of-Equestria pony companions.

“Is it true you were able to fend them off?” one of them asks.

“Pretty much,” Mare-velous replies. “It’s a thing to remember for life, that’s for sure. At least we made it out in one piece. Guess that’s what it feels like to be one of them… whatcha’ call it?”

“Elements of Harmony?”

“Something like that.”

They soon get Excelsus trotting to the hall, leaving the office for repairs. An escort of guards surrounds him, scrutinizing every nook and cranny while silently chanting their mantra of taking no chances.

“So what do you think?” he says to his visitors. “Obviously, they’re up to no good. What exactly are they up to?”

Matter-Horn sighs, walking right beside him. “It’s unclear. He said something about us being the stepping stone to their grand plan, but that’s all. As much as I’d like to have hypotheses here and there, idle theories won’t do us any good.”

“Which means the only ticket we have out of this slump is some proper sleuthing,” adds Fili-Second. “Just one problem: we have no idea what Manehattan is like. The train station gave us maps, but they’re huge.”

Excelsus permits himself a laugh. “Not that I’ve ever needed them. I was born and raised in this impossible maze of a city. You can ask me for directions, though.”

“Maybe not now. We need to assess the building across us.”

“The Easy Keeper Insurance Head Office? We aren’t even in the same industry! Why would they have anything to do with this?”

“I don’t think they do, but hey, security’s only as strong as its weakest link. Leaving behind window-cleaning platforms in the open is a big mistake. A unicorn skilled enough to teleport or any stealthy pegasus can get up there and break in.”

They stop at the elevator. A guard presses the button for the ground floor. Words get trapped in Excelsus’s throat. “You’re….”

She makes eye contact with him, a little forlorn. “Yes, we’re leaving.”

The light turns on above the elevator, the number falling every second. Spike feels the frown on the stallion’s face, a weight heavy on his limber withers.

“I know you would’ve liked to talk to us, Mister President. We could’ve gotten to know each other more, maybe even share a drink. But we have villains on the loose, and your wizards are in on it. Every second we dilly-dally is a second we’ll not forgive ourselves for. I’d hate to say it, but with the power I’ve seen, they could endanger the world… or even worlds.”

Halfway down the building, ground closing in fast. The president taps on the fancy floor with his hoof. He parts his lips for one more smile. “An honor. Yes, it’s an honor to meet such brave… detectives, yes. You’re very heroic detectives, I say. I hope I shall meet you again when this is over—oh, and we can give you anything you need to aid you in your search. With our help, I’m sure you won’t go down without a fight.”

Ping!

“I assure you, Excelsus, justice will be won. We will not go down.”

Pouring rain splashes against the ponies’ thick clothes despite Zapp’s emergency umbrellas. Radiance whines about not using her attack constructs to form a free umbrella out of thin air, but her friends talk some sense into her. As for Spike, his scales make it difficult for him to be truly wet.

Across the narrow road rises the insurance building: a solid rectangle of glass and concrete, a smattering of lights splotched on the surface. Barely past the curtain of rain, a suspended scaffold hangs low enough to level with the comic building’s top floor.

“With enough magic, a unicorn would have no problem teleporting to that platform and teleporting everyone else into the room.” Matter-Horn scratches her chin. “A conspicuous place to be in at night, but the storm provides sufficient cover from ground-level onlookers.”

“Yeah, about that storm.” Zapp follows suit and scratches her head. “That storm was awfully convenient; it came in right before they did! We’ve had clear open skies the whole time. A storm doesn’t just come up behind your back!”

“That is something,” Spike comments, attempting to butt in. “Could it be...?”

“Do you know the weather schedule for Manehattan?” Rager asks the dragon. “They usually don’t publish it on Maretropolis. Weather companies keep it a surprise, you know.“

“Uh, I don’t. That’s… something I didn’t know.”

Mare-velous rolls her eyes. “Yeah, don’t expect us to dispense trivia if that’s gonna keep you up at night.” She inspects the suspended scaffolding from afar. “All I know is either that unicorn has great range or he was there the whole time.”

“Let’s not forget that about the eleven other ponies teleported in as well,” Radiance reminds them. “He couldn’t be the only one there.“

“So they could be in the windows?”

“Most likely,” Fili-Second replies. “The surrounding windows are dark. Add rain to it and that’s zero visibility.”

“What about the rooftop?” Zapp asks, and before anyone answers, she zips up the building. She goes back down after a second. “Eh, got no trace. I thought pegasi could’ve carried the ponies up on the top and waited for the unicorn’s signal, but nah.”

Matter-Horn holds up a hoof, shutting everyone up. “This is a very big maybe, butmaybewe’re on the wrong track here.”

All eyes bore into her. Spike himself leans in, straining his ears to listen to one of Matter-Horn’s eureka moments.

“Bear with me here, everyone. What if they want us to try to figure out how the attack happened in the first place so we’d be distracted from looking for them?”

“That’s too paranoid,” Mare-velous chimes in immediately. “We case this building, ask the ponies here, and we could get clues about what they did.”

“True, but let’s not forget that we can take some steps back, even way before the battle, and try to see what started it all—what made them go AWOL in the first place.”

“And what makes you think that’s going to be a leg up over what we’ve got now?” challenges Zapp.

Matter-Horn taps on the wet sidewalk in thought. “We’re pressured for time. Maretropolis is descending into chaos as we speak. As much as I want to investigate everything, we may not have that luxury.”

She clears her throat. “I don’t think the scuffle to end Excelsus’s life is that important in their grand plan. Why would they off him anyway? Surely, taking over Clockwisely isn’t their end goal; any old hack could do that with enough time and effort. However, taking out one past-his-prime pony with twelve highly trained fighters? It’s overkill. With the security they have, they should’ve waited until he was at his most vulnerable, but they didn’t wait, either because they wanted to rush things or because they knew we were here. Either way, Clockwisely wasn’t the end but the means to an end, and what would that end be? Enchantments? Maybe, but didn’t Excelsus say much of the Enchantment Division’s stuff went missing too?

“Which means... girls?” A hardy look befalls her. “We’ve got to put our investigator caps on. It’s the only way we’re getting to the bottom of this.”

Spike lets slip a joyful squee. His heart beats in excitement: here’s where the real fun begins in the comics.

The other ponies gather around her into a huddle. Seeing Spike again, Matter-Horn steps to the side to let him into the secret circle.

Matter-Horn flashes a no-nonsense look at Zapp. “You do whatever it legally takes to check out Manehattan’s weather schedule. See if they planned for a freak storm at two-thirty and ask if they’ve noticed any anomalous activity around that time.”

“Gotcha!”

The unicorn turns to Rager and Radiance. “You’ll go as a pair; try to stay in each other’s range as much as possible. You’ll figure out if there’s been any recent transactions involving dangerous magic items, the kind a black market would love on its hooves without the mass of paperwork needed to obtain them. Rager, that means you go check the magic breweries, the herbalists—all the shops that stack potions, magic plants, and so on. Radiance, go to the jewelry and gemstone retails, see if they had anything resembling the gems on the enchanters’ cloaks. Got it? Got it.

“Mare-velous, two things: check museums and any possible archaeological sites in the city, and explore the city’s underground from subways to sewer tunnels. I trust in your experience with ancient hidden temples and subterranean complexes. Sounds alright?”

“As long as the subway here’s not a doozy like in Maretropolis!”

“Okay. Fili-Second—“

“Yes?!”

“Interview ponies whenever appropriate starting with Clockwisely. Scrounge for as many details as you can. This place has libraries: go check those too especially if they have forbidden sections, see if anypony’s borrowed from there over the past few months. In short, you’re covering everything the others aren’t covering, so get reports, transactions, rumors—anything.”

“Got it, ma’am Horn!”

“And as for me, I’m going to be searching up each enchanter’s house thanks to the list they’ve given us.” She holds up said list, having received it from Excelsus before leaving the building. “It’s very possible that the police have searched them, but it’s also possible that they’ve missed some things. Spike?”

And Spike lights up at that, called out in the sacred huddle. “Y-yes? Anything I can do to help?”

“Yes, there is. You’re coming with me. An extra set of hooves… or a pair of claws, in this case, can prove quite handy. You haven’t garnered us much attention despite your fame across the land, and when you do, no one gets suspicious of you. That’s pretty helpful for when we’re breaking and entering.”

Spike’s eyes glow in wonder. “I’m j-joining you? In a mission? For real?!”

Matter-Horn cannot stifle a cute giggle. “Don’t forget that this isn’t stroking egos or fulfilling fantasies. I believe you can contribute a lot to this mission. We landed in your bedroom and you’ve helped us all the way. With your knowledge and experience in this world, you’re indispensable.”

“Wow, I-I’m just… wow! I-I can’t believe this is actually happening!”

“Sure you can!” and Zapp flies over him in excitement. “Let’s just cut the chit-chat for later though. Villains on the run, remember?” Turning to Matter-Horn, “So where do we regroup? We need a place close enough to Clockwisely so we can be there on short notice.”

Matter-Horn hums and shoots a glance at a pizzeria. “The Pizza Pull?”

Spike pulls out a spare gem from his backpack. “If you wanna chow down, I got you covered.” They reply with laughter. “What? I bet you’re all going to be tired after all this sleuthing. And, well, the inevitable moment when one of you is going to get caught in a snag, gets late, and we all worry that the bad guys got to her—“

“Hey!” Mare-velous stares him down. “Just because your comic books may look predictable doesn’t mean we’re predictable!”

Spike puts his claws up in the air. “Okay, okay! Uh, bad timing?”

Rager massages the Mistress’s tense withers. “What she’s trying to say is we’re not exactly comic book characters bound to some pre-determined storyline. We get unlucky from time to time, but that doesn’t stop us from fighting on.”

Blushes manifest on his scaly cheeks. “Alright, fair enough. But I could still be correct because I’m genre savvy, right?”

“Let’s hope not,” says Fili-Second, “but I know where you’re coming from.” She throws a spare donut into the air and chomps it.

The other Power Ponies look each other in the eye before converging on a determined Matter-Horn. “So are we all set?”

A chorus of yes’s later, the ponies put hooves on top of one another, forming a dripping circle of hooves under the rain. Matter-Horn smirks at Spike, nudging him to put his claw on the hoof pile.

“Alright, girls? Let’s go! Power Ponies forever!”

Under the deafening rain, they reply, “Power Ponies forever!”

Fili-Second dries her clothes by spinning around on the carpet before galloping farther into Clockwisely HQ. She’s fast enough—but not too fast—to catch the president being escorted somewhere. “Hey, uh, Mister President!”

“Oh, um, Fi—Poppy Sizzle!” He stops and so do his guards. “Didn’t know you’d be back so soon! Where’re the others?”

“Doing what we private investigators do,” she says with a suave nod. “Now, where’s the Enchantment Division?”

“It’s up on the third floor. You want to interview some of my employees there? Or what remains of it? I think there’s two working right now. Very early birds, they are. Used to have so many early birds until most of them flew away, you see.”

“That’d be enough. Thanks!”

She races up the stairs and swings through several hallways. Wall signs then lead her to the Enchantment Division.

The division is a laboratory swept by a hurricane with almost everything gone and stolen. Boxes still upturned, shelves and drawers running dry, and spaces formerly full of magic materials and machinery lay empty.

She trots up to the two enchanters there, unicorns fixing up the herculean mess, and takes out a notepad and pencil.

“You two.” They turn around and see the covert hero. “The name’s Poppy Sizzle. I’m investigating this enchantment problem your company’s having. Can you tell me what went wrong?”

The stallion gulps. “Are you sure about this? Lots of this is forbidden info with clearance levels—“

“I know about the rogue Enchantment Division enchanters who may’ve been fired for doing unethical things to Power Ponies comics. If you don’t know that, you’re either born yesterday or it’s something I don’t want to think about.”

The mare hums in denial. “They could be rumors—“

“They enlivened characters from the Power Ponies comics. That’s as forbidden as it gets.”

That clams them up.

“Well, then.” Fili-Second sticks a pencil into her mouth. “Left geth tho cha trooth!”

“What?”

Disappointed, she removes her pencil, spitting away the taste of eraser. “Let’s get to the truth.”

The Manehattan Weather Station lies at the island city’s far west side in the Broncyln region. Its mascot of a huge rooster weather vane easily marks it as the city’s premier weather facility.

Frenzied pegasi fill the lobby, comparing charts and maps while arguing over newfound meteorological reports.

“What’s going on?” asks Zapp, following the coattails of a random weather pony whose plain looks disqualify her from appearing as a Maretropolis newscaster.

The flustered weather worker turns around. “Sorry, ma’am, but I’m on the move. Somepony’s deviated from the early-morning schedule, and they’re gonna pay!”

“Really? If that’s so, can I get some details on that original schedule?”

The worker tries to politely shake off the stranger’s trail. “You’re one of them reporter mares, huh? Early bird, eh? You sound like you flew to the storm zone yourself. How’s the damage there?”

“No damage. Certainly put a damper on ponies, that’s for sure. Not a single umbrella in sight!”

She bites her tongue. “Good thing it’s still too early in the morning. On the other hoof, we’ve lost built-up moisture for tomorrow’s storm.”

“You’ve got a sea and all—“

“Not from here, then? Strange you’d report on a little freak storm outside your area.”

“Oh, I have some experience with freak storms.” She takes a mental note not to show off her lightning bolt pendant. Just in case. Stupid comic fame.

“Okay, okay. Is that all or—“

“Gimmie as big of a scoop as you can. Maybe even some off-the-record stuff for good measure.”

She sucks in one huge breath before almost hitting the wall a few seconds later. The two stop at the corner of a busy hallway, pegasi and reports flying around them.

The weathermare groans as she recovers from her near crash. “You reporters can’t take a break, can you?”

Fortunately for Saddle Rager, a store for sorcerous herbs lay beside a shop for magic gemstones and other geological wizardry. According to a local she asked, the neighborhood of Little Canterlot is famous for its wide variety of thaumaturgical shops from the supermarket variant to the one-mage proprietorship hawking expensive customs for the seriously interested and invested.

Inside, everything smacks of earthy green. Terran smells take Rager home to her greenhouse laboratory where she grows and experiments on exotic magic plants in the pursuit of knowledge and progress.

The shopkeeper wakes up from her snoring nap. “Argh! Sorry for leaving you out in the cold, lassie! Welcome to Keter’s Terrific Kits! We’ve got everything from your bog-standard kindergartner's chemical flowers all the way to the rarest botanical samples that’d make Mage Meadowbrook cry uncle!”

“Really?” Sensing no one else in the shop, she wonders if Keter needed some time for herself to brew a cup of coffee. But first things first. “Anyway, I’d be interested to buy some of your goods.”

”Oh, really!” Keter claps her forehooves in glee. “What can I get you?”

Rager leans a hoof on the wooden counter. “What’s the most dangerous stuff you’ve got here?”

The store owner scrunches up her muzzle. “We’ve got some nasty dagger flowers and hybrid fear ferns, that’s for sure! Why do you ask?”

The hero in disguise makes a sideways glance at more produce. “I’m investigating a case in which certain ponies may be looking for such items.”

“Ah, I see what you mean.” The jeweller/engraver/not-so-amateur mage at the glass counter gives Radiance a knowing expression. Her resting hoof lies over a display of polished gemstones, descriptions of their magic properties written underneath.

More displays of gems, crystals, and even preserved dirt from Earth-pony-magic-imbued rock farm soils—these surround Crazy Cryztal’s lonely customer in this early hour.

Cryztal jangles a ring of keys in her magic field. “I don’t know much. All I did was sell the gems to the pony I told you about. She’s got deep pockets, I tell you.Very deep pockets.”

“If I told you that it may have a connection to unscrupulous enchanters in Clockwisely Comics, would you change your mind?”

Cryztal arches a brow. Her horn glows and the front door locks itself from the inside out. “Miss Soda Light, I’m not so sure about your intentions. You could be an undercover cop pulling a fast one over these ponies, or you could be just one of them.”

Radiance leans over the counter. “Let’s put it this way: if your store faces, say, a ten-percent downturn in sales, then that means I’ve blabbed whatever confidential information you have to the press or your rivals. You’re free to sue me afterwards, but the damage will’ve been done.”

It takes a good half minute for Cryztal to decide. “You seem dreadfully serious about this. Alright, then.”

She floats the key to the backdoor.

“Come. I’ll show you the relevant receipts, what gems they bought… maybe you’ll be able to piece some things together. Of course, I’ve also got a lie-detecting topaz there, so if you say so much as a peep of a lie, I’m calling the cops on you, and I’m not afraid to zap you to pieces.”

Right where I want her. “I’m fully confident in my assertions anyway. Besides, to be honest with you, I am invested in this case myself.”

“Hmm. Personal matter?”

“You could say that.”

Manehattan’s all-day-all-night subways are a real treat for tourists. The trains run like clockwork, running on time all the time. At least not when scores of commuters jam themselves like sardines in cans for seafood-hungry hippogriffs.

But before scouring the subway, Mare-velous may have to contend with the authorities. She lacks any authorization or permission to wander around in those tunnels, and it’ll be difficult to evade the authorities without giving her real identity away. Not to mention that a train may just slam her dead on the tracks.

After fruitless casings of subway stations, she finds herself with the more exciting prospect to look for crime scenes in: the sewers.

When nopony’s looking topside, she dives down a maintenance hole and lands with a dirty splash. Muddy waters defile her clothes and hooves, but the stench is a familiar fragrance. Tunnels in primeval catacombs had worse stinks.

She maneuvers herself through the brick tunnels. A map of Manehattan is her friend, tracking her progress and giving her a heads-up on what lay ahead. Doors and the occasional pump welcome her, but they provide nothing groundbreaking. At times, there are lights; at other times, no lights, which is when she shines her flashlight to navigate the dark tunnels.

Half an hour of dirty trotting later, she tires of the murky water below her. With no maintenance area in sight, she leans on the circular wall of bricks for a five-minute snooze.

Feels something move.

A slip and she’s dirtier still. Nothing a good laundry session can’t fix, though. Still, she turns to the part of the tunnel that’s made her fall.

“Something loose, hm?” and her eyes land on the offending brick. It’s tactically placed: a bit too high for any ordinary pony to just sit down and take a rest there. She jumps and bumps the brick with her head, gripping it with her powerful mouth and her strapping jaws, pulling the brick out inch by inch.

It pops away and more bricks come loose. Another brick falls onto the floor with a splash. A whip of her head lets her inspect it: a normal brick. She picks it up to examine it in closer detail. Jutting out from the brick’s edges: cut wires.

“Huh. Like those movies with a secret bookshelf passage if you pull just the right book, just with bricks instead. Lucky me.”

She takes down more loose bricks.

Despite Fili-Second’s limited experience in Manehattan, the similarities between this city and Maretropolis help her blend in with the fast-moving locals. Fast-moving may not be the right word to describe them for Fili-Second herself: the taxi she rides in torments her with its leisurely pace. She can beat its top speed in a jiffy! She however restrains herself and stays in character with her fake persona.

The next stop is the library. Not the public library like Matter-Horn expected but a private one. From its experience with rampaging city-destroyers, Maretropolis split up their archives between private libraries, sending each one huge sums of money to stay mum about it. If her hunch is correct, Manehattan may have a similar system that the crooks must’ve exploited.

A meager tip to the driver, and she hurries to an out-of-the-way bookstore. She asks the librarian about any suspicious purchase recently. A flash of an official-looking badge is enough to get the proprietor talking. “Within the last few weeks, Miss Poppy Sizzle? Yeah, there were these ponies in coats. Researchers, they said. Most of them unicorns. It’s from three shelves far out in the backroom with half a dozen security cameras—“

“Just get to the point. Any idea what they bought?”

He tells her, and with some note-jotting and assurance to him that the ponies in question may be suspects, she exits the library.

In an alley, a faint flash.

“Hey! Who’s that?” She jumps across the road, gliding over it and dodging taxi traffic—then, the other side.

The mystery pony gallops down the alleys. Hops over fences, drops down stairs, jumps over garbage dumpsters, climbs up ladders. Fili-Second follows close, gaining on him as they run on rooftops and leap across buildings. You’re lucky I’m not using a quarter of my powers, you dingus!

A wall too tall for him to jump over. No ladders or stairs to save him: a dead end. He plants his back against the wall, fumbling around with the gemstone on his neck.

Fili-Second wastes no time using her super-speed, becoming a colorful blur. Now, inches away from his face.

The runner gasps, his eyes shrinking into needles. “I-I knew it! Y-you were… and the others too! They were just so familiar, I—“

She shoots a hoof past his ear, denting the wall. “Spill the beans, mister!” Fili-Second throws down her hat, freeing her signature mane. “You’re spying on us, huh? Mister Meat Shield acting as recon for his cowardly masters, huh?”

He clasps his gemstone, horn’s glow fluctuating. “L-look! I-I… I’m sorry, I—“

A flash. A teleport away.

Spots fly in her blinded vision. Rubs her eyes to find herself alone: a plain rooftop with some air-conditioning vents, the backside of a billboard, and a wooden water tower.

Fili-Second taps on her hooves, taking in the view of Manehattan traffic down below. “Being watched. At least I’m being watched. The others, you said, mister? Watching all of us, hm? That’s… that’s no good. No good at all.”

Without further thought, she zooms down the building and back into the alley.

Glass break sensors only work if somepony breaks the glass.

Geared with a map-and-list-toting dragon, Matter-Horn teleports past the window and into the house, taking advantage of the rain to mask her entry from the locals.

“Anything out of the ordinary?” Spike asks, acting as her point dragon. He outsources the mental drudgery to her; the rooms looks decent enough for him: furniture, shelves, and appliances like microwaves and a food processor.

Matter-Horn scans the room with a spell permeating the vicinity. “Nada. Although I have to ask: are radios and TVs not a thing in your world?”

“Not really.” A shrug accompanies the answer. “Radios are hit and miss, and television… closest thing we got are those massive billboards in Bridleway.”

“But you have microwaves.”

“They’re more of a city thing.”

She sticks her tongue out at Equestria’s technological schizophrenia. “The Power Ponies are science fiction in this world, right?”

“Yup, and—“

Her head goes up; ears swivel like a radar, and her horn continues to glow. Searching mode. As for Spike, small places become his specialty, getting into cabinets to forage for evidence or clues. Findings are fake food cans hiding emergency money and valuable knick-knacks like action figures.

“Cautious if ascetic.” A can levitates in her magic. A shake reveals a couple gemstones; Spike licks his lips at that. “Police weren’t thorough enough. This shows he’s thinking ahead: the police see this, and they’llcharge him for theft at worst. Get them to think he only has a small part in the scheme, and that’d be the end of it.”

“But that’s not all, right?”

Matter-Horn trots in a circle, almost carving a groove in the wooden floor. “Not unless this is the only suspicious thing here. Hidden in plain sight and a distraction: that’s what the food cans are. I’m sure you’ve heard of these before.”

“Um, the concept of hiding in plain sight, yes. Using food cans to hide in plain sight? I don’t think so.”

A couple carriages pass by outside, paying no heed to ponies and dragons they cannot see. “They’re actually Mare-velous’s idea. Perhaps someone else did it before her, but she’s down to earth. Unlike me and Radiance, she can’t rely on raw unicorn power for an invisibility spell, so she thought outside the box: recycle some soda cans into emergency money containers, share them to her neighbors, and next thing you know—“

Creak!

All eyes lock onto the floor. Where the sofa used to be, pushed by Matter-Horn to check for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing last time, but she swears she’s felt the floor sink: a wooden board. She presses it. Feels out the surrounding area with both hoof and magic. “Doesn’t feel hollow to be a trap door or an underground passage. Unless…”

“Unless what?” Spike asks.

A hum leaves her lips. “Unless we chip away at it. It’s worth a shot.”

She taps the floorboard. Keeps tapping it. The spooky creak loses its dread with each tap, changing pitch slightly. It grates at Spike’s ears, but he doesn’t question Matter-Horn’s decisions. She’s made enough decisions in the comics to display her weird side: playing the accordion, sleepwalking every other night, and having an irrational hatred for soup unless it’s ramen.

Then the floorboard doesn’t creak. It rumbles.

Surrounding boards shuffle. The rumbles grow into a minor earthquake, threaten to throw the home invaders off. She activates the glow of her horn and Spike steps back, ready to shoot fire at any living thing that moves.

The boards return to their normal positions.

Spike just sits down. “Well, that was something.”

“And that’s more than enough,” says the unicorn flowing with nervous energy. “No one has floorboards shifting like gears from a clockpunk novel. Genius, aren’t they? It’s a brilliant way of digging an underground passage both hidden and accessible especially in a city where all nearby grasslands are public parks where you can’t have anything like this at all.”

Spike inspects the boring floor. He sees nothing. “So what is it?”

Matter-Horn taps the floorboard once more. It rings hollow. “A password of sorts. No sane pony is expected to move the sofa just to tap on the same creaky floorboard over a hundred times. The only way to find this out is to be in the know or to be insane.”

Her magic pries open the floorboard. Both pony and dragon see the trap door underneath.

The two journey down the stairwell. If anyone comes sneaking back in, they have a short head start to think of an escape plan.

It isn’t long until they reach a crude hatch. They tear it apart to get through, fixing it up once they’re on the other side.

She lights up her horn. It fizzles out before coming back as a blue lantern. “Alright, where are we?”

The answer sends Spike’s jaw off its hinges.

Boxes, mostly empty, litter the floor; their rare left-behind contents include ripped blanked pages, empty flasks with dried puddles of liquid, and traces of crushed gemstones. Food cans lie around, not fresh but not rotten. Weapons hang on the wall: spears, lances, and something else—black and gray, small and portable.

Spike picks it up, treating it with reverent fear, careful to not touch the trigger. “A… a gun?! B-but how?!”

“Guns aren’t a thing in your world too?” asks Matter-Horn. “Then again, they’re in the diffusion phase from where we came from, and it’s a fortune to obtain—“

Spike hastily puts it back on the rack. “Y-yes. It’s a… another one of them sci-fi weapons or the ones set in the future. Sometimes they shoot these things called bullets, other times it’s lasers. Looks like the bullet kind, and, oh boy, oh no.“

Their glances meet: one terrified, one concerned. The same idea passes through their minds. “It couldn’t be, could it?” says the unicorn, dripping fear.

The cool damp air nudges Spike to sit down on the hard floor. “I… I’d really want to believe we’re just dealing with some R&D ponies on the loose. But the enchanters’ list, you coming to life—”

“And you conclude that they might’ve enchanted either one of our comics or another… to get a gun.”

He throws a claw toward the whole room. “For all we know, this is the staging ground for their experiments! At least until they abandoned it, I think.“

“Then why am I still here?” a new voice asks.

Both pony and dragon turn to the stranger among them.

Another light illuminates the room: another unicorn. No cloak to cover him; the gemstone around his neck shines under his magic light. His cutie mark, that of a magic field controlling air. His golden eyes, studying the visitors from afar.

“Hey!” Spike stands up and points a claw at him. “I recognize you!”

“Yes, I was there. No need for the blame game.” He rubs his gemstone: it glows. The discriminating look on Matter-Horn, hard to bear. “Yes, I fought you. Fighting the Power Ponies: it’s a great privilege to say that, isn’t it?”

Matter-Horn doesn’t remove her disguise out of instinct. “Let’s cut to the chase, Lumen Airs. Care to tell us what’s going on?”

He keeps a close eye on his glowing gemstone, his pulse quickening. “I wish I could give you some definite answers. As it is, a-anything I say will be used against me.”

Her ears flatten. A cool breeze rushes past them. “Whatever it is, we won’t punish you as badly as whatever your bosses do to traitors.”

“But loopholes... y-yes, there’s a loophole. I’m t-technically helping him out.”

The two visitors raise their brows at him. “Help who out?” Spike asks.

A rag wipes the sweat on his broad forehead. He throws it off to the weapons rack to stare at them with sunken eyes. “Space B-Beat.”

Lumen’s ears perk at their surprised looks. “H-he was never much a part of us. But he had connections to the Enchantment Division. With everyone. One of the glue guys keeping us together. Socialite. S-social charmer… u-until he sent something out and spilled the beans on us.”

With crossed claws, “That’s the Space Beat I used to know.” Space Beat charming a mare with his looks and his chamber of knowledge—a display of his romantic prowess which Spike could observe, only to be turned away by the mare. A goofy charmer, somepony who didn’t ask much. Now he has no breath with which to ask anything.

“You know him?” He rolls his head, breathing faster and faster with the gemstone’s pulse. “Wh-whatever it is, he sent it out somewhere. An early copy… a prototype of our grand plan, but he doesn’t know. I should know; I was the one who threw it out into the garbage bin, destined for shredding or worse. I didn’t know that fox would pick it up! C-cut me some slack, buddy: I wasn’t in the company half a year; I wouldn’t know Space Beat too well—”

Matter-Horn vibrates with quiet rage. “What made you join the company?”

Fearful, he steps back. “I j-joined for more than the comics. More than the magic and the thrill. I-I wouldn’t have thought of Clockwisely, really… but there was a promise. An offer of something eternal if only I did this, did that. B-but you know, I messed up. I fessed under pressure. I’m on borrowed time.”

A weary laugh turns to a coughing fit. His legs buckle, force him to the floor, spilling some of his blonde mane to the ground.

“Are you alright?!” shouts Spike, getting onto his knees.

Matter-Horn shoots ahead of him, checking for the stallion’s pulse. Faster, faster: a carriage can only go so fast before the wheels fly off.

His blinks, too rapid. “Welcome to my humble abode… both of you. I wish I—“

Blood blasts out of his cough. Matter-Horn wipes it off her clothes before they stain.

“It still knows. They’ve… they really know how to tie up loopholes in this thing.” The gemstone, clutched too hard; it never breaks. “No one else’s died… I’d know. I-I’m… the first to be killed… for them. The grand plan.” Another cough. Another splatter of blood on the concrete floor. “Ma’, I wish… I wish I didn’t listen to th-them… ‘cause now I can’t listen to anyone anymore!”

Spike rushes up to the convulsing pony, terror’s adrenaline numbing his claws. “Wh-what’s happening to you?!”

Lumen looks up, struggling just to keep his eyes open. Blood flows out of his lips and nose: a bloodied blue muzzle. “I… well… i-it’s this th-thing a-around my n-ne—“

A crack. He falls. Falls limp to the side. Gemstone stops glowing. And it’s dark.

Nothing. Matter-Horn checks his neck, checks his hoof, checks his chest. No pulse.

“He’s gone.”

White eyes stare at a dragon’s soul. Blank, lifeless. Noble in his regret, in his death. Then forbidden help, borrowed time. His words a weapon against him.

Thus to Traitors.

“Matter-Horn! Didn’t expect to see you here—wait, you killed him?!”

They turn to Mare-velous who comes in from a now-toppled pile of boxes by the wall. Gunk defiles her clothes, and Spike closes his nose at her putrid stink. “What happened to you?!”

“Sewers.” She points at the wall she entered from. “Saw something suspicious with the tunnel bricks. Turns out there’re shortcuts. It’s a whole other network if you want to move through the walls; they can get to malls and other places in a Maretropolis minute. Underground was my best bet, so I took it first; didn’t hit the museums yet.”

Matter-Horn already pulls up a map of Manehattan from Spike’s backpack, revelation shimmering in her eyes. “Mare-velous, do me a favor. Could you see if the sewer shortcuts cut clear paths to the rest of the enchanters’ homes?”

Mare-velous lights up in understanding. “An underground network for the enchanters so they could do their thing where no one else can see them? And this… this looks like the main meeting place right here. Or looked like it. Yes… yes, I can do that. Will take some time, but if you’re right about this, it shouldn’t take long to get to the pizza place when it’s all over.”

“And be sure to cover up your tracks.” She turns to her dragon assistant. “Spike, are you ready for a couple teleports and some more underground trips?”

As long as the teleport magic won’t burn me in the end. “I’ve been through much worse, so no problem. But that Lumen Airs guy—“ a gulp at the sight of him once again, repulsed “—his corpse...”

“We’ll only call the police when everything’s solved. Having the authorities piled on top of us will only complicate things. On top of that, the enchanters may even have a mole in the force.” To allay Spike’s concerns, however, she casts a spell upon the body, encasing it in ice, radiating cool air. “That should hold him for twenty-four hours. Hopefully we’ll solve things fast enough so we can get him fresh to a morgue.”

Mare-velous knits her brows, taking a step back from the dead stallion. “Uh, what happened to him exactly?”

“I have a hunch, but I need everyone telling me what they know at the pizzeria before I can confirm it.”

Spike stops taking notes. “Have a working hypothesis already?”

Matter-Horn begins walking to the path upstairs. “We aren’t dealing with your average magic school graduate—this I know. However, if we have a good idea on what exactly we’re up against, things won’t get pretty any time soon.”

With no further word, she and Spike go up to investigate the rest of the houses for subterranean passages and bases. This leaves Mare-velous to sleuth through the rest of the underground shortcuts, scurrying back to the rancid sewers.

Fortune...

“How would you like your pizza, ma’am?”

A tremendous amount of patience is required by Fili-Second to let others order before her. Her super-speed powers demand that she go first in line and blather the entire order out. However, she gives plant-loving Rager and fried-loving Radiance their time in the spotlight just like ordinary non-superhero ponies with ordinary non-superhero friends.

First in line, Radiance says to the cashier, “I would like to have one all-cheese pizza, one hay strips pizza, one pineapple and daisies pizza, and the Maredison Square Garden special please—all your biggest size. And top it all off with six orange sodas (large) and one hot cup of coffee (also large) for the pegasus here.”

The cashier smacks the cash register with a flurry of taps, eyes baggy from the graveyard shift. “That’d be a hundred and twenty bits, inclusive of the twenty-bits fee for the private room.”

Radiance scratches her head through her hat. “No loyalty card?”

“Ma’am, this is your first time here.”

She ruffles her saddle bags for bits. “Fine. We were hoping our more moneyed friends would catch up right now, but this will do. Did you know one of our friends has gems? He’ll pay for the rest of the bill.”

“We accept gems here.” The cashier counts the bits and hoofs the customers a key. “Here. Your room’s number three. Just give us a description of your friends and we’ll direct them to your room.”

Everyone is at table thirty minutes later, five minutes before four. Matter-Horn, Mare-velous, and Spike come in at the same time, smelling of fresh perfume to mask Mare-velous’s hideous sewer stench. Zapp is last to arrive, coming in with bulging pockets of notes.

A few minutes later, a waiter delivers plates of huge appetizing pizzas along with big cups of softdrinks and a lone glass of hot coffee. “Ah, you are all here! Now, about that—”

“I’ll pick up the tab. “Spike raises his backpack to the air.

The waiter takes a step back. “If it isn’t Spike the Dragon himself! I take it that you’ll pay us handsomely for a meal with your friends and the princess herself?”

“They’re new friends, so a bunch of new ponies to treat!” And old friends too, now that I think about it. “Name me the price.” She names the price, and he flicks three rubies at her. “Keep the change.”

“Well, well! I hope you enjoy your meal!” The impressed waiter beams at the dragon and his companions as she leaves their table.

Breakfast begins with the Power Ponies chowing down their pizzas. Drips of mozzarella cheese string apart and moans of deliciousness come about, cut short by good gulps of fizzy drinks.

Zapp leans back on her chair, slamming her cup of soda onto the table. “That hits the spot! We should do this reality-hopping thing again. Baby dragons can give us free meals for every trip!”

“I wouldn’t reality-hop again if it’s like this,” Radiance says, floating a messy slice of hay-strips pizza. “The enchanters in this reality are disturbing enough.”

“Alright, alright.” Matter-Horn clears the air and waves her forelegs to grab everyone’s attention, leaving her pizza half-finished. “I don’t want to ruin the good food on the table, but you know why we’re here.” The others nod in acknowledgment. “Let’s see: Who wants to share their findings first?”

Zapp slides her notes onto the table. “I’ll go first.”

As Matter-Horn levitates the notes for perusal, the pegasus launches into her story: “Manehattan’s Office of Weather hasn’t scheduled a storm for two-thirty. Everypony there was busy trying to figure out who started the storm and why. I asked them if they’d identified any suspects, see if we could land any descriptions of the troublemakers. All they got were pegasi, obviously, but they were pegasi with ‘concealing clothes.’ I asked if they were cloaks, what district they were headed to when they were spotted, and their answers line up. The rogues had pegasi mess with the weather beforehoof to cushion the office assault.”

Matter-Horn puts down those notes. “Manehattan is very bright with these city lights. They would’ve been very conspicuous flying around with cloaks.”

“But it’ll be hard to identify you either way, especially if no one’s looking for suspicious cloaked pegasi so early in the morning.”

Matter-Horn mentally concedes the point. “Right, right. This… yes, it does make sense.” She turns to Radiance and Rager. “Any items of interest you two’ve found?”

Rager takes a relaxing sip of tea. “They took magic plants alright, and only the rare ones like Sarsafernilla, Ivory Leek, even Heart’s Desire. I also noticed that they got their plants from everywhere: they’d buy death flowers from one store, Ivy Leeks from another, and cursed cinnamon from yet another. It throws heat off of their tail. Quite smart, I confess.”

Matter-Horn takes in Rager’s notes and skims them. “Can you tell me if the shop owners’ descriptions of the ponies they saw were consistent?”

“Sort of. Sometimes, they wore official researcher clothes. Other times, it’s just casual shirts or plain naked. They also came in different numbers and at different times: one was in droves during lunchtime, another was a solitary trip right before closing time.”

“Any names that repeat?”

“Yup. They’re in one of the lists with you now, and they all have matches in Clockwisely’s Enchanted Division.”

“Good.” To Radiance, “Something like Rager on your end?”

“Certainly.” The unicorn licks the crumbs and toppings from her lips. Another batch of notes comes Matter-Horn’s way. “The timing of their gem purchases is hectic but sensible just like what they did for the plants. They made sure to never appear more than once in the same store and to not buy too many items at any one time or place. It’s decentralized grocery shopping. It also helps that most of them were new customers, so the shop owners never knew what to expect from them.“

“The locations were also all over the place,” Rager adds. “They rarely touched any retails within the same block. They made their case very air-tight.”

Matter-Horn puts down the latest papers on the floor, running out of space on the table. “Any noteworthy gemstones?”

Radiance brings forward a sketch of a stone. “Yes. We now know what gems they were wearing.”

Any trace of idle eating stops dead. Matter-Horn gently floats a pizza slice back to her plate. “I’m listening.”

One slow breath leaves the tinkerer. “I had a feeling it was one of them… one of those bloodenstones—“

“True bloodenstones or just enchanted bloodstones? If it’s the latter, they’re either mostly for show or—”

“They’re true.” She gives no mind to her peers’ astonished looks. “I’m not talking about the bloodstones you’ll find in any old quarry. We’re talking about crystals with blood inside, the kind you’d read about in the grim original versions of your happy-schnappy bedtime stories.”

She scarfs some soda, burps loudly. “Simply put, it’s a blood contract. All the contract’s parties participate in the bloodening. They recite incantations to sum up the contract, and they spill their blood over the bloodenstone which they then enchant to solidify the blood surrounding it like a super-thick eggshell. More potent versions allow for a stronger party to alter the contract without the others’ knowledge—“

“Are we dealing with the stronger version?” asks Mare-velous.

“Yes.” She does not take tasty solace in her pizza. Talk of blood destroys their appetites. “It gets worse. It connects to a source of magic so they could use it remotely. Like alternating currents but with much larger distances. Or perhaps a radio: get the magic frequency right, punch in enough juice, and you can make use of even more juice on the other end.“

Matter-Horn looks up from her own note-taking. “You’re saying they’re magically enhanced because they’re attached to a powerful source of magic?”

“Correct, although I suspect some of them may simply be that gifted. Yet, borrowed power explains how they kept up with us apart from sheer numbers. Take down that power source, and we depower the enchanters to their true power levels.”

The constant pen-scribbling ends. “Anything else to note about their gemstones?”

“Their connection to the… unsavory arts.” She treads close to vomiting but swallows it back. “The same applies to the plants: hexes, necromancy, animation and reanimation—one or two of them even had some relation to portals and other worlds.”

A freezing sensation crawls up Matter-Horn’s back. “So their shopping list confirms their search for what’s illegal and forbidden. But how did they know what exactly to get? How did they know what they were doing? You can’t just buy every single item in the black market unless you’re foolish.”

“Unless they got a look at the libraries!” Fili-Second declares, throwing notes and papers and photos en masse at the masked mare.

She catches them all without getting hit, capturing everything in her magic field. “So they got access to the forbidden sections too?”

“As many libraries as possible,” Fili-Second starts. “It’s hard to coax the librarians about the specific titles, but there're things like 101 Ways to Cheat Death, The Annals of Pillu the Never-Has-Been-Until-Now, and The Summonicom. None of them sound like coffee shop novels, that’s for sure.”

Matter-Horn scans the list of books taken and the map of libraries visited. “It’s even worse than I thought. They aren’t a gang of punks chasing a power grab while sounding like a cult. They planned this seriously. They’ve been planning this for months.”

“And then there’re the interviews with what’s left of the Enchantment Division: the good guys and good gals. Didn’t know much; must’ve been clamped ironclad unless they were new and excited about things. They’re the ones who didn’t buy into the hullabaloo about grand plans and bad voodoo. The sane ones thought it’s all just hot wind over a new IP. A smart thing too, in hindsight: they arrest you, they’ll think you’re just so excited over your pet project that you bought blacklisted materials.”

Matter-Horn blinks at that. “That’d be a doozy. Apart from that, anything about their current locations? Where they might’ve gone?”

Her stomach grumbles and Fili-Second pleases it with another pizza slice. “Occasional meetings. They stopped early on, moving on to venues outside of HQ. Secret dark-magic plans don’t go so well when your boss might overhear it.” The Earth pony takes a big swig of soda and wipes her mouth clean with tissue. “Say, Maskie, you went to the houses yourself. You saw anything there that’d make them come together for a Maretropolis minute before scramming by next week?”

“Actually, I do—‘ and nudges the pony beside her “—though I’ll let Mare-velous spill the beans.”

All eyes on the former spelunker now, and Mistress Mare-velous takes the floor. “I struck out with the subways, so down the sewers I went. After a while… wouldn’t you know? A couple loose bricks revealed secret passages: shortcuts to museums, malls, stations—”

“How’d you know they weren’t just made by some other criminal group years ago? Might even be an inside joke for engineers?” The rest stare at Zapp for her questions. “What? Sewers also collect rainfall. Sewers fall under my domain some of the time.”

“Most of them are old and carved up by the engineers, most probably. That’s not the point. The point is some shortcuts cut straight through the basements of otherwise insignificant homes, and it looks like those are new.”

“And all of them have been occupied by our suspects,” Matter-Horn concludes, “permanently or otherwise.”

The room cools down in stunned quiet. “Underground networks,” Radiance mutters in a lull. “They’ve been a literal underground operation. No wonder no one caught onto them until they went AWOL.”

“But why did they go AWOL?” Rager points out. “Underground networks with little chance for detection? That’s a good environment for anything shady. With enough security, you can go undetected for years.”

“But no one is perfect,” Matter-Horn answers. “Imagine working under the world’s busiest city with hundreds of thousands of souls right above you. Staying there is dangerous in the long run especially if executing their plan will take months at least. That’s without bringing to mind the equine element. Someone will slip, either on accident or otherwise. Word gets out, and they execute Plan B, whatever that is.”

Fili-Second stops chewing on her pizza. The morsel dissolves in her mouth. Her wide unblinking eyes catch Matter-Horn’s attention. “Something you’d like to add?”

The Earth pony gulps and swallows. Her eyes stare a thousand yards forward. “Someone’s watched us.”

Gasps arise, even from Spike. “Wait, us?!”

“Should’ve crossed my mindmuch earlier, but better late than never.” She shrugs. “Anyway, I chased the watcher until he got nowhere to run. Asked him why he’s watching me. Told me he’s seen me and ‘the others.’ No denying that’s the rest of us. Same gemstone from the fight too. Same cloak, but he got his hood removed before he teleported out.”

“Description?” asks Mare-velous. “We might’ve seen this guy in one of the basements.”

“Basement, eh?” She rubs her chin thoughtfully. “Blond mane, light blue coat, gold eyes—“

Matter-Horn sits up straight like a statue. “He’s dead.”

“What?!”

“Did you kill him?!” Zapp whispers, flapping above her seat.

“No! Please, everypony calm down!” She waits half a minute for every pony and one dragon to chill out. “I didn’t kill him. Given what Radiance said, however, the signs point to the gemstone doing him in.” She then recaps the journey to Lumen Air’s secret underground passage and basement, her confrontation with the stallion, and the death of the rogues’ traitor.

“And that’s what I mean with no one being perfect,” Matter-Horn continues past her summary. “I admit, the timeline still doesn’t add up perfectly: if they’ve had their cover blown, why aggravate things by going for the president? Maybe they tried to fast-track the plan and decide it’s better to attack and take over the company now than later. Whatever it is, Lumen’s caused a blunder by not disposing one of their experiments properly. That experiment, fortunately, ended up in Spike’s claws. Hence everyone’s closing up shop in Manehattan.”

“While staying faithful to the cause,” adds Radiance. “That unicorn in the end did say we’d see something when their grand plan is complete.”

“Either they have an underground section we haven’t found yet or they’ve got a meet-up place somewhere else. Fili-Second, did any of your interviews suggest something like this?”

“The pony who now lives in the house by Manehattan Park. You went there, right?”

“One of those with somepony new already moved in. Almost caused a ruckus with that one.”

“Oh, so that was you?” The Earth pony smirks while sipping on more soda through a straw. “Single Pen heard noises near his couch.”

“Yeah, that’s me and Spike, waiting for the both of you to get out. You took too long so we resorted to the sewers. Any idea where he’s—“

“Numnahvut, that’s what he said.” Fili-Second finishes her slices of pizza, ignoring the confounded looks of her friends. “Was from there, he said. Said original owner just wanted out. In fact, Pen’s been in Manehattan for just a day.”

“Original owner being Whorlick,” Matter-Horn says, recollecting the missing enchanters’ addresses. “Spike, do you know where and what Numnahvut is?”

“Um, we’d be going past Mount Everhoof, for one.”

“And where would that be?”

The irony of this very smart mare not knowing such a basic fact in this world provides little amusement for the dragon. “That would beway upnorth. As in hours to get there by train ride.”

“Looks like that may be on our itinerary. You know the way there?”

Spike shrugs and shakes his head. “Never been there, but I can always ask at the train station’s info center.”

“Okay, any faster way to get there like airship rides? You have the gems to cover us and then some.”

“Airships aren’t that big here.” Others gasp and raise their ears at this. “Most of the airship services in this world are tour rides.”

“I see.” The Masked Matter-Horn passes the time by mulling over their options. “At least we have a probable hideout to go to. We just need confirmation on whether we should go there or not. For all we know, they could still be hiding here. What Single Pen said might be mere misinformation from Whorlick to throw the police off his trail, and—“

Mare-velous’s ears flick up and wobble. Stops all eating and talking.

Her mouth moves without speaking. Eavesdropper. By the door.

Every eye on the door. No window to see the silhouette through.

If this is Lumen betraying us and somehow getting out of that ice prison... Matter-Horn coughs and wears a very fake smile. “Well, that is all we have for now! I just forgot we still have some breakfast to take care of, so let’s get back to our meal, shall we?”

An ambiance of pretended chatter about everyday things, backgrounded by munches and slurps. Amid the feel-good atmosphere, Matter-Horn tip-hooves to the door.

It opens before her magic reaches the handle.

Black suit with a pair of shades over her eyes. The mystery guest portends an anonymous air.

Her coat and mane, however, give her identity away to a surprised Spike. “B-Bon Bon?! Wh-what are you doing here dressed up like a special agent?”

The dapper mare closes the door behind her. “Thank you for your time.” Her chipper Valley Mare voice, nowhere to be found. Only a professional deadpan.

Zapp fluffs up her wings. “Hey, isn’t this a private room? I demand a full refund!”

The guest signals the pegasus to stand down. “You don’t have to. We’ll repay you in full. It’s all we could do for the information you’ve given us.”

“Information?” Matter-Horn flares her horn up, browsing through dozens of offensive and defensive spells. “You’ve eavesdropped on us, haven’t you?”

She just nods. “You can trust us. We’re on your side.”

“And who’s we?” and Fili-Second stands up from her chair. “You part of The Enlightened Horses clique or something?”

“Secret Monster Intelligence League of Equestria.” A pause for everyone to take the name in. “S.M.I.L.E. for short.”

Spike slaps himself on the head, secretly wishing this is just a stupid prank with her crazy old friend Lyra behind it all. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Bonnie.”

Bon Bon takes off her shades, revealing her familiar blue eyes. “Spike, I’ve tried my best to make sure I’d talk to the Power Ponies without you… precisely to avoid this extremely awkward moment. You didn’t even go out for a bathroom break!” Her shoulders sag and she whistles to herself. “But time’s of the essence and someone might be watching the watchers.”

The no-longer-secret agent brings out a beeping antennaed device and points it at the far wall. A second later, the wall folds itself up into a narrow corridor.

She does not wait for everyone’s surprise to wear off. “Before you ask, the passage moves around too. Anypony tries to break the wall without our control, they’ll just hit bricks.” Puts the device back into her suit. “Now leave your food here. We’ll re-heat them for you when we’re done.”

The cramped little tunnel has no end in sight. Spike marches forward, stuck with little breathing room. Every pony marches in single file, Bon Bon leading the downward change.

They reach the end of the tunnel: a control room. Deep underground, ponies hustle to and fro with papers and orders. Monitors expel pages of data and security camera feeds are the purview of several dark-suit ponies, witnessing the pizzeria’s operations—including its private rooms.

An overcoated pony with a darker pair of shades trots up to the Ponyville mare. “Alright, Agent, don’t laud yourself for getting this one in the bag. This relied too much on luck for any one pony to get credit for.”

“I was going to haul them here anyway,” she claims, telling half the truth. “But yes. You’ve heard everything, Agent Furlong?”

“Enough to put the lid on the case.” To the Power Ponies and one stunned Spike, she turns and her overcoat spins with her. “Oh, right. I’m Agent Furlong, the mare holding down this League. We’re on the same team and we’re also on the same case, just from different angles. We’ve had operatives case the houses and we’ve surveyed some of the stores you’ve hit, but until you came in, we were stuck in a blind alley.”

“That seems incompetent of you,” Radiance say, sour taste on her tongue, “given how sophisticated you seem and how large your workforce is.”

Furlong nags a hoof around. Doesn’t help that a couple ponies in the background have almost spilled a stack of papers. “I didn’t say we were omnipotent. We appear strong to the enemy and that’s enough to ward off more than a few threats, but it’s a perennial problem of resource management. We didn’t think this was a high priority so we put it on the back-burner. That is until Bon Bon here discovered the untimely demise of Space Beat.”

“B-but… Bon Bon!” Spike jumps a few steps forward to her. “I just saw you and Lyra in the con!”

“I was also on the lookout,” she replies, bearing none of her usual Ponyville cheer. “That’s the real reason for our Manehattan late night trip. They sensed suspicious activity at Space Beat’s room: an unusual uptick of visitors. All we knew was that Clockwisely was housingsomething, soI and Lyra went undercover here to see what could be done.” Her features loosen at the thought of her best friend. “The convention wasn’t part of the plan. Lyra really wanted to go there and buy some merch. That it was sort of related to the case was a happy coincidence.”

“So… you were on a secret agent mission… a-and Lyra’s in on it too?”

“Hi there, Spike!” yells Lyra as she hops along with papers in her magic grip. She falters at the sight of the serious faces on Spike, Bon Bon, Furlong, and the superheroes themselves still in disguise. “Oh, uh… yeah. Um, sorry about this whole dragging-you-around-in-the-agency-until-your-face-is-blue thing. Doesn’t happen too often, so yeah, good thing! Hey, Bon Bon, don’t give them the amnesia pen flash thing, ‘kay?”

“I won’t, Lyra!” Back to that sweet Valley Mare accent Spike heard often enough back home. “The Power Ponies are good ponies, I’m sure, and we’ll return them home. Let them blab about us; we don’t exist there anyway. And, Spike—” she sighs, still rocking the Ponyville voice “—I’m sorry for… all of this. Still, know that, sometimes, I wished you’d be in the know too. From here on out, I know you’ll see me and Lyra as secret agent ponies and you can’t say anything about it. Okay?”

And Spike sighs, fiddling with his claws. “Weren’t we friends?”

She gives a wry smile. “We are. Honestly not as close as, say, Twilight and company, but it’s all real.” Her village voice shifts into deadpan: “Still, for the sake of Equestrian security, if this goes public, whatever’s out there will know who we are and prepare for us. Promise to keep it a secret?”

Not too bad. It isn’t too bad, so his heart speaks. Bon Bon was an alright pony in the crazy town of Ponyville, not to mention the much crazier Lyra with her lyre obsession and her worldbuilding musings of hoomains.

He bumps Bon Bon’s hoof with a fist. “Yup. My lips are sealed. Pinkie Promise. And hey, when this is all over, let’s cool down over sandwiches?”

A burning sensation twitches her ears. “Oh, boy, why do I have a feeling Pinkie heard your promise from thousands of miles away?”

Meanwhile, in Ponyville, a sleeping Pinkie sits up in bed with burning ears. “Huh! I swear I felt a Pinkie Promise going on!”

But she closes her eyes and goes back to sleep, hugging her blanket tight. She mumbles, “Have a good one, Spike, whatever you’re doing.”

“It’s nothing,” Furlong reassures. “With that out of the way: Can we get to where we come in and help you Power Ponies?”

Matter-Horn gives the green light with a nod. “However, you should know that we’d rather not have outside interference. Considering the nature of our dilemma, this is very personal to us, and it can stir up… things.”

Bon Bon steps aside and Lyra moves on with her papers. The concert of typewriters and reports drone on as Furlong continues: “We’re aware of that. However, you seem to be missing a key piece of information that’ll complete the picture. My foals collect comics like hot cakes, and in all their incoherent babbling, not once do I hear of you having eyes and ears across the kingdom.”

“That is correct.”

Furlong points at her army of monitors and papers across the room. “We have such a network. It doesn’t get into everyone’s homes, but it stretches from coast to coast, from Appleloosa down south all the way to Numnahvut up north.”

Furlong relishes in the looks on their faces. “Around the time of the attack on Clockwisely HQ—yes, we noticed that too, and you should thank Agents Bon Bon and Lyra for their interrogations there after you left—we’ve received an anomalous magic signal from Numnahvut. A report came in from our northernmost branch: turns out the signal’s been building for days but no one’s noticed until now because it came in blips no ordinary unicorn or measurement instruments would detect. We try to be hooves-off, let the town settle its own problems, but if that’s not your lead to settle the case, I don’t know what is.”

“So wait, where exactly did they teleport to again?” asks Mare-velous.

“Numnahvut’s your likeliest option. Other anomalous signals have come from other places, but we have our own unrelated cases in there—“

“For your perusal, ma’am,” says an agent. She shoves papers onto Furlong’s face. “Causation isn’t correlation, but take a look.”

No caustic backlash against the rude worker. Her eyes read the lines, the charts. A minute later, “Power Ponies, tell me one thing: did they teleport out of the office one by one or at the same time?”

“We were blinded by a flash when they got out,” Matter-Horn recalls, “but that implies simultaneity. If it was one by one, it must’ve been very fast.”

“At the same time, then.” She hoofs the report to the curious Matter-Horn. “This is clearer data of a Numnahvut magic signal, the loudest yet. Timestamped at around two-thirty P.M., same time as the battle.”

While the superhero reads, Furlong whistles and bulky stallions stamp up to her side, armed to the teeth with armor and weapons. “We’ll be escorting you express to Numnahvut. These bad boys pack enough stopping power to negotiate a peace treaty with dragons in wartime. We’re dealing with potential reality-benders, so if things go off the charts—“

“No.”

The tiny interruption snaps the agency’s president out of her spiel. “Excuse me?”

“It’s pretty clear you haven’t read us. We can handle this just fine. Not that we dislike you—we don’t—but we don’t want you meddling further in our business.”

“It’s our business too,” answers Furlong, almost muzzle-to-muzzle, “and the security of Equestria depends on it. We can’t have another Chrysalis-Tirek-Cozy Glow triumvirate on our hooves.”

Matter-Horn plants a hoof firmly on the floor. “This is our business. Your special forces will also tick off any enemy scout, but that’s neither here nor there.” She narrows her eyes until they become white slits. “We want these scoundrels to personally and truly understand what they’ve done to our world and to the ponies we’ve sworn to defend. You can at least understand that sentiment.”

Furlong stares out over her office. She beholds the work of her hooves and many others: the agency, a beehive of agents on eternal watch.

The queen bee relents with an exasperated wave. “Alright, you win. We’ll be hooves-off except for express trips.”

Matter-Horn curves a sharp brow. “No catches. I don’t want bodyguards hiding under the carriages.”

“I’ll swear, just as the sun and the moon rise and fall each day.” Furlong puts a hoof on her chest, although frustration lurks in her tone. “No surprises, no shenanigans, no catches. You have my word. But just one more thing, and I’ll let you go.” Her hoof goes down and skeptical expressions go up. “Reality-benders. Have you dealt with them in your adventures?”

“Issue #55 where they tackle Surgeon Maretropolis!” blurts out Spike. “He’s a self-proclaimed doctor who tried to take over the city by bending the fabric of reality so everyone will have been slaves to her since forever, but she ended up turning herself into a ghost!”

The bug-eyed Power Ponies don’t deny the account. Furlong stares nonplussed at the dragon’s database of comic knowledge. Every other agent’s spared a moment to hear the dragon ramble about a ghost surgeon villain.

“And that was just the start of it,” Spike finishes, shrinking away at his nerdy outburst.

Furlong rubs her eyes and groans. “Fine. You have enough experience, so I suppose… but I beseech you to watch out. Portals and alternate realities are huge red flags for this operation.”

“I know you want us to reconsider,” says Matter-Horn, glancing at the faithful mares around her. “I still say no.”

Furlong throws a hoof up. “Fine. Have it your way, but you won’t get us out of this. If we don’t hear anything from you by mid-morning, we’ll be headed there no matter what you say. We are not letting this get out of hoof.”

She leaves with a scripted and heartless farewell. Bon Bon is left behind, looking at the blank spot her boss occupied.

“I apologize,” she begins, turning to her extradimensional visitors and one curious Spike. A sympathetic frown mars her face. “Her job isn’t stress-free. With what she deals on a daily basis, it’s a miracle she doesn’t have any gray hairs and leftover pizza filling up her fridge.”

Her astute eyes pinpoint the crumbs on her guests. “Speaking of pizza, I’ll escort you back to your room. Finish your food: you’ll need all the energy you can get.”

...Turn Your Wheel

The interrupted pizza breakfast is a tremendous success though Bon Bon declined to join their feasting.

Going outside, they see the sky still pitch black with stars all over. Over the Celestial Sea, the stars twinkle, glistening on outlines of boats and ships.

A quick taxi ride to the train station. Bon Bon pays for their express tickets and the luxury of a private carriage all for themselves. The express train arrives a couple of minutes later: a sleek and modern locomotive machine. The Power Ponies pass by sleepy arrivals on their way to or from work.

Spike feels something off. He turns around and sees Bon Bon sitting down, not joining them in the private carriage. Just as planned. Coming closer to whisper, “So see you when this is all over? Back in Ponyville?”

“Yup. When it’s all over… and thanks for keeping it secret. I know you’ll keep it that way. Best you see us as me and Lyra, nothing more.”

Afterwards, Spike leaves Bon Bon and puts her out of his mind. There’s more than secret agent stuff to worry about now.

The stop at Mitts Burr leaves Bon Bon behind and the Power Ponies to the rest of their trip.

Several hours later, they witness an early sunrise: the Power Ponies taste the rays of a sun moving not of its own accord but of the will and power of two alicorns. The more scientific among them scoff at fantasy become reality while the rest nod in appreciation of its fairy-tale-like beauty. The sun reflects off the winding rivers, reworking their waters into shiny liquid diamonds.

Quiet fills the room like a fog as the sun ascends the sky. Playing lengthy I-spy games, gazing upon endless grass and flower fields, napping on pillowless seats. A snake oil merchant on the road, his unwitting customer nodding along to his sales pitch. A dozen farms in a row, growing wheat and rye. Farther along, a repair-mare stopping by another stranger’s broken cart.

Rager’s face squishes against the window. “For a dimension supposedly filled with terrible horrors, everything’s very ordinary. As ordinary as a flat geocentric planet can be.”

“I sure hope Ma and Pa’s okay,” Fili-Second cuts in, slower than usual. They pass by several sheds and an inn for long-distance wagon haulers. “They still live in Roamers’ Field, but Verumarendi’s corruption is a festering wound. We might win here but not make it back in time… if that’s how it works at all.”

“But it is going to work, right?” chirps Spike. “We go there, we take them down… hey, we could write a good ending and erase all the baddies from your history!”

“Not a good idea.” Mare-velous sits up straighter. “As much as we want to stop crime wherever it goes, erasing all the world’s pain in one stroke is unnatural and negates the meaning of sacrifice and good.” In a whisper, “Between you and me, I think we should just not deal with any magic reality stuff ourselves.”

“True, but you never know. If the enchanters have this dark magic there and you get that same dark magic, you could try turning it into, uh, light magic, and…”

He throws his claw down. “And what if I just didn’t open up that comic in the first place?”

Ears rise up. He wrangles his thumbs. Catches their attention.

He continues, “Because you wouldn’t have to be here. Verumarendi wouldn’t be a thing… a-and you wouldn’t have to go through this existential crisis, thinking about reality, bringing you far away from home and all.” His own ears wilt. “You’re going to fight... the fight of your lives where you may die…”

He fiddles with his thumb.

Dying. Or turning back into fictional characters doing nothing but following the fixed railroad of events, repeating words written in advance. Verumarendi can bend reality: maybe even morality, brainwashing the Power Ponies to do evil as a last resort, writing them as villains complete with in-universe reasons. Their peers will be none the wiser.

Focus, Spike, focus! Stay strong for them. You’ve come this far with these ponies… with your heroes. Do something good. Or at least say something good…

A shadow blocks the light. A look up: Matter-Horn, bent down to his level. Her eyes plead. They beg.

Then a slow puff of a sigh. “You know, I don’t know if any of us noticed… but, you remind me a lot of Hum Drum.

A pause to let it sink in for a confused Spike. “I think you know who he is: the heart of the Power Ponies, keeping us going despite his lack of any obvious superpower. You have the upper hoof with your flame breath, but that only makes Hum Drum’s determination all the more special.”

Matter-Horn sets herself straight on her seat. “We may not know what exactly we’re facing. We may very well die, but that’s been true for all our previous encounters with evil. We’ve always faced the risk gladly, but things sometimes do go haywire. We’re equine. Sapient. We get bogged down. We make mistakes.

“So to see the heart of the Power Ponies like this… for me, it’s like the sun going out.”

Another city’s urban landscape becomes a blur. The weather outside cools with a flurry of snow and ice on the way. Yet the warmth of her words fills his heart.

“It’s mutual, you know. He needs help from us too. I think you need help as well, as much as you’ve helped us this far.”

A sigh of leaden guilt from the dragon. “If I hadn’t opened the comic book, you wouldn’t have experienced all of… this.”

“If you hadn’t,” cuts in Fili-Second, “maybe nopony would be on these bad guys’ trail.” The others chime in their agreement. “So yeah, it’s not that nice, but I like living, she likes living, you like living, we all like living. Life’s life, and being alive’s good because you can try to set things right. If not for you, then for someone else.”

“And I’ll be honest,” and Zapp flaps overhead, “that convention was pretty cool. Appreciation from two worlds isn’t something you hear about every day.”

Matter-Horn nods in agreement, beholding a Spike victorious with the others scooting a few inches closer in support. “As you can see we may have lots on our mind, but though we doubt, we strive to fight for our world in the end. So I ask of you to not give up on hope. Your so-called ‘blunder’ has been all for the better.”

Finally, a smile at the message in their words, in their smiles: Your mistake led to something greater.

But the weather still gets colder.

Attuned to lava and fire, Spike is the first to detect the sharp drop in temperature. The sun’s dominance wanes in these frosty territories.

“Do you think we should’ve brought our clothes?” asks Mare-velous. Having grown up in a dry desert town bestowed her no tolerance for the cold.

“If we’re not in too much of a hurry, we could buy winter suits at Numnahvut,” Rager suggests.

“Or not.” Fili-Second taps her hoof fast, resisting the urge to run the rest of the trip herself. “Big and heavy clothes weigh you down. That’s what our custom-made suits are for: speed and agility.”

“You’re one to talk, Miss Costume Consultant,” says Radiance in half-jest.

Fili-Second shrugs. “Hey, buddy, I’ve got three words for you, and you better pay attention: practicality, practicality, and practicality.” Her counting hoof stops at an error. “Hmm, that’s four words.”

Laughter spreads around the huddle, to all except Spike. A common sense question: who made the superhero suits? But Spike never asked it, never wrote a letter to the staff about it. They bothered more about the storylines themselves than the little nitpicky details. Maybe they’ll change their mind if they meet the Power Ponies themselves.

He then laughs at the idea to stifle it. A day ago, he’d deride himself for such childish thoughts, but today is different, and if they’re here and he can hold a conversation with them...

“Uh, so you have any hobbies?”

In the sea of looks and glances, Rager is the first to speak. “I thought you have whole books dedicated to detailing our universe.”

To mimic Rarity, “Pshaw! With you around, they’re just second-claw sources. I’d like to hear it straight from your mouths.”

They gather around as best they can on limited, cramped seats. Rager again takes initiative: “I cook.”

Spike rolls his eyes. “Uh, I think that’d be a thing. You alternate cooking roles between the six of you, right?”

“Seven,” pops in Matter-Horn, “if you count Hum Drum helping me when it’s my turn.” Another piece of equinity beyond mere trivia: something in between comic panels.

As it turns out, Saddle Rager has her culinary talent: a botanist cook, she experiments with ingredients in her endless pursuit to create the perfect meal. Radiance has her timekeeping obsession displayed in collecting clocks and watches, even making and selling a few from time to time. Fili-Second relays the tale of how her friends once found her passed out in the back of a coffee shop, high on caffeine scoops, before they helped her through caffeine rehab. Mare-velous used to be a flying disc player (which became the inspiration for her hooferangs) though she still competes in a local rec league—a far cry from her rumble-tumble days as an Earth pony Daring Do. Zapp rocks on in karaoke bars and is a frequent customer there, entertaining sold-out crowds with her singing abilities. As for Matter-Horn, she happily tells stories of her time in the mages’ circle up in the mountains like the one time she tried learning the art of meditation but ended up snoring instead.

Last but not the least, the only Power Pony native to Maretropolis: Hum Drum, a latch-key foal whose parents were one day caught up in a freak storm and never to be heard from again. Such a gritty upbringing led to his enrollment in the school of rocks and hard knocks: bullies who aspire to little more than free lunch money alternate with armed and dangerous thugs running organized crime. When Matter-Horn encountered him, he was busy evading henchponies thanks to his cunning and lack of size. A get-to-know-each-other encounter later, Hum Drum began his great tenure as her loyal sidekick and, even greater, as the hero he’d always dreamed of becoming in his comic-reading days.

Eventually, Spike stopped asking questions. They speak freely. Funny incidents, lessons of failure, triumphant successes. Favorite ice cream flavors, stories about other friends, fellow superhero co-workers. The rare vacation they could afford themselves for to be vigilant is to never let their guards down.

Not just lore. It is life. These ponies have lived and are living.

The train slows down.

It’s cold outside.

The Very Verge of Nature

Numnahvut is no different from other northern towns: no farms, lots of tundra. It’s a hub for ponies delivering supplies and cargo within the region, billing itself as The Town of the World’s Greatest Wagons. Fitting. A dotted and haphazard line of wagons and carts courses through the village.

The ongoing blizzard obscures the town in breakneck white and gray. Against this, the Power Ponies march against the biting cold and its gusty wind.

They soon arrive in the town proper. The heavier-clothed citizens take a few moments to gawk at their new visitors before returning to their business. The inclement weather doesn’t bother them much: not many establishments are closed, and there’s a couple talking to each other over cups of coffee while their scarves flap in the wind.

“Apologies for the surprise snowstorm!” That’s a tour guide touching down to greet them minutes after they take shelter in a diner, doors and windows glass-reinforced to resist the harsh elements. The guider herself is decked in heavy jackets and a pair of thick goggles. “Name’s Avalanche Slab, and I swear we didn’t plan this at all. Things started going cuckoo hours ago and it hasn’t let up since, but don’t you worry! Our best weather ponies are on it!”

“When exactly did this all go cuckoo?” asks Matter-Horn, her crew and the guide present at their table.

“Around, uh, three-and-a-half this morning. That’s what the clock said when the winds woke me up.” She examines each of her visitors in turn. “Sucks for you to visit right now, honestly.”

“That’s okay,” says Spike with a wave of his claw. “At least we’re here. Nothing’s stopping us from coming here again some other time.”

The native guide blinks in wonder. “Not even the horrible weather?”

“Speaking of,” Zapp interrupts, “we could try pinpointing the source of your mysterious weather problem.”

Avalanche notes the little sideways bulges on two of her tourists: signs of wings, signs of pegasi. “It’s a privilege to have random tourists fix our problems, but— not that I’m declining the help—but why?”

“Because we’re looking for answers,“ and Fili-Second slams a notepad and a pencil onto the table. “Was there any transfer of property in Numnahvut within the past week? Anyone moving away, moving in, maybe even sideways?”

“Uh, what does this have to do with the weather?”

“A lot if we’re lucky, ma’am.”

The howling outside world turns grayer. The snowstorm rages on. “Okay, there was a fisherpony I know called Snow Bright. Wasn’t much for friends. He was down on his luck, living in a tiny cabin by the bay. Now, he’s not here anymore. Left last month, but he wrote to me yesterday saying he only just got his place in Manehattan—many forms to fill out, I believe. While he was waiting for his new house to get through, though, our new guy came in almost immediately.”

“Unicorn?” Fili-second suggests.

“Exactly.” Avalanche gulps and takes a quick sip of hot coffee. “Are you saying we have a fugitive in town?”

“Possibly. Got any more word on him? What did he do here?”

The guide turns the question over. “We didn’t know him that well. I tried giving him a welcome tour, but he said he already knew the place. Turns out he used to visit Snow Bright once in a while over the past few months until Snow sold his shed and left. After that, the newbie and his friends deconstructed the shed. They didn’t stop ‘till late last night. When I went to see what the shed looked like now that the construction noises stopped, it wasn’t there. It’s gone. No trace of it at all. Nada.”

Rager blinks, puzzled. “Gone? Just like that?”

“Yeah. Criminal or not, that’s got to be a stupid move. You buy a tiny cabin and then tear it down so it looked no one lived there. Couldn’t just be for the cheap price ‘cause he’d simply live there if that’s the case.”

“So he sleeps under the stars?”

The guide shakes her head. “No. Haven’t seen him nor his friends since yesterday.”

An unlucky pegasus slams into the window, sticking his tongue out before he slides to the ground in the blizzard outside.

Avalanche’s head shakes again, this time at the wintry disarray outside. “Well, I hope I was helpful. Can’t believe we might have snowstorm-toting criminals on our hooves. I thought it was just teenage punks playing with lightning.”

Spike perks up, almost standing up on his chair. “Don’t you worry, ma’am! We’ll do our best to find out what happened. If anything, at least you’ll have some peace of mind over the shed.”

Avalanche releases a long breath which looks like smoke in the severe cold. “But you have two pegasi! What about helping our weather team stop this thing?”

“Yeah, but this is very serious, with the criminals and all,” says Zapp. “But given what he’s done, I’m not surprised if he could cause this bad baby of a storm. We take him down and you tell us if anything changes on the surface—“

“So I’m coming with you? Do I have to bring in the local guards?”

“Just point us to the cabin. We’ll handle the rest.”

She half-stands up from her seat. “In this weather? That’s crazy talk!”

Spike dusts off his shoulders. “Don’t sweat it. We can handle this. We made it this far with the bad weather. What’s a few more minutes of walking?”

Avalanche rolls her eyes. “Hmm. I suppose you’re right.”

What remains of the cabin lies far from the town center, and the Power Ponies travel there nearly blind. The wind, ever against them, sets the stage for the uphill journey. At its tail end, the altitude flattens to a plain of snow, snow, and more snow, visibility at an all-time low.

“Here!” yells Avalanche and she stops.

Everyone else stops with her. Before them lies an unassuming patch of plain snow looking like every other patch of snow in the blizzard-struck field.

Matter-Horn looks down at the white nothing below her. Squints to make out any detail within the snowstorm. “I say it’s a start.”

“What do you mean it’s a start? They’ve literally moved everything away! The snowstorm must’ve removed any hoofprints too!”

“We’re here, though, and you said the shed was fully deconstructed late last night. There has to be something buried in the snow: artifacts, papers, construction tools. Perhaps some incriminating evidence.”

In the cold gray violence lashing around them, the guide still sees nothing. “If you say so. Now… now I’d like to stay here, but I’ve got to help my coltfriend back in town, so thanks for coming. See you soon, hopefully not as dead bodies.”

They exchange farewells, and the tour guide departs alone against the horrible weather.

Rager keeps her eyes on her as she vanishes into the raging gray around them. “At least she’ll be mighty safe and warm when she gets back.”

Zapp cracks her forelegs. “Less talking, more searching! Let’s see what this place has to offer!”

For several minutes, she and the rest of the Power Ponies (and Spike) explore the site. They dig down with their hooves and spells, heaving up mounds of dirt and snow, but dirty hooves and tired horns reveal nothing even with the pegasi shielding everyone from the storm as good as they can.

“Did she say anything about a basement?” asks Mare-velous. When nobody replies, “Won’t hurt to try. Find some knickknacks underground and we get ourselves a lead. For all we know, the shed hoopla could be a smoke screen for their real base of operations somewhere else.”

Earth ponies and Spike dig with the strength and speed of shovels despite only having bare hooves and claws. Pegasi operate with a pair of wings as mini-shovels during dips in the storm. Unicorns levitate globs of dirt out of the way, and Radiance soon conjures up several attack-construct shovels to ease up everyone’s workload.

A sizable hole manifests in the ground. Fili-Second stands topside, there to keep watch of potential ponies passing by and to whip up plausible explanations for their presence if spotted.

Then hooves and shovels crack.

Hard rock.

“That’s the last of it.” Zapp wipes the sweat off of her brow, feeling a drop freezing on her forehead. “Thought we’d get something, but it’s just rocks and filthy common gems.”

Spike chews on a dug-up sapphire. “I think it’s worth it just for the snacks! Nice to find them this high up.”

Zapp bangs her head on the rock, feeling little pain. “Yeah, hooray for you and your mineral pick-me-ups.”

Mare-velous turns to Spike, sitting at the slope of the underground dirt hill like everyone else. “He’s got a point. Big hard rocks like that aren’t supposed to appear this high up.”

They stand half a dozen pony lengths from ground level. It’s enough for a good foundation but still too shallow for anything close to bedrock. “Could just be different ground,” counters Zapp. “Lock Ham’s Razor, you know. ‘The right answer is the simplest one.’”

“If we went by Lock Ham’s Razor every single time,” Fili-Second chimes in, “we might have thought this was just a fever dream.”

“So you’re saying that they might’ve been manually placed up here?” asks Matter-Horn. “That’s a huge feat of Earth pony magic if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

“No harm done in powering through it, Maskie. I bet if they didn’t buy this shed, this place would’ve been condemned anyway.”

So they start tearing rocks apart. Punches and kicks and bucks grind the stone to powder. Deeper and deeper they go: the pegasi forcing bullets of wind into the stones’ weak points, Radiance supplying the attack-construct axes, and Matter-Horn firing magic lasers at the bouldered obstacles like a rapid-fire cannon.

The grand white sky disappears from view a few minutes in, surviving as a little light behind the digging ponies. Magic from unicorn horns illuminate the underground path as they resort to magic-made axes and shovels. Meanwhile, Spike enjoys the gemstone snacks along the way, munching on their sweet and savory flavors.

They hit something hollow.

Spike knocks on it. Big rocks this far down, cobbled-up together. Other rocks ring solid, but this one rock at this one spot—

They break it open.

The rock crumbles into a corridor, much to their bewilderment. Though the walls are jagged with irregular rock formations, the floor is flat, extending into a shadowed path.

Zapp rubs her hooves in delight. “Alright, now we’re officially entering evil territory.”

“Another secret passageway,” remarks Matter-Horn, poking her head down the corridor and lighting up the path with her magic. “A way in, but they didn’t build this one in a day. She said they’ve been visiting the shed for months. You don’t take time for smooth floors like this if you’re short on time.”

“Or it could’ve been just a few days and we’re going to have the final showdown in a cramped apartment,” suggests Rager with a giggle. “An anti-climax. Hope there’s enough flying space for me and Zapp.”

Right away, Matter-Horn and Radiance combine their magics, emitting a scanning field across the entire path.

“Nothing,” Radiance reports. “That was disappointing. You’d think they’d put more security here. Alarms, tripwires, cameras: the whole nine yards”

“I guess they were betting that no one would find it,” says Matter-Horn. “That would be their security measure, given that discovering the corridor alone was no cakewalk. Woe betide any lone mare trying to figure this one out.”

Now, few steps into the corridor, hooffalls echoing across artificial walls embedded in cavernous nature. Companions follow right behind her in the narrow, tight, cramped path. Lights her horn to send a flare of magic down the rest of the way.

“One final security entrance at the end.”

Everyone looks that way. Sure enough, a sealed hatch rests at the other side of the earthen hall. A faint shiny outline indicates a magic shield encasing the only way in.

Zapp crosses her forelegs in flight. “Are we going to spend hours decoding this thing?”

Matter-Horn intensifies the glow of her horn. “I’ve lock-picked magic shields in record time before and I can do it again, and if they’re just borrowing magic from a foreign source thanks to the bloodenstones, they probably created this out of brute force, not true skill. Just because they have power doesn’t mean they understand how to use it.”

And she takes one more step forward.

A twitch of the ear. Mare-velous shouts, “Wait, no, don’t—!”

The world rumbles. Look up: the ground closing in from the top, snow and dirt collapsing.

“It’s caving in!”

Race through the stairs, stumble down, have Spike and the rest slide to the end, grapple with the hatch’s magic locks. Fili-Second swivels around snow and rocks to hurl them back outside, buying them time. Pegasi hold back the breakdown with opposing winds through their wings. Mare-velous bucks the hatch, sturdy hind legs weakening the magic shield’s.

The rumbling tremors into an earthquake.

Shield shatters. Mare-velous turns the gears and handles, yanks it open. “Inside now!”

Rush through the hatch. Spike feels the falling cold sinking in, snaking in to freeze his spirit and still his breath.

But warmth abounds.

Slam!

Spike pants for air. Hatch is closed. Loud crash rings against the hatch. A dent, then nothing.

Inhale. Both unicorns, exhausted. Rips and tears in every pony’s disguises. With another flash from the masked mare’s horn, the disguises disappear, replaced with their superheroing get-ups. Signature goggles adorn her eyes: a welcome sight.

Long corridors. Abandoned passageways. Lights flicker ahead. Wires emit sparks strong enough to electrocute and stun. Hooves rap the metal floor, echoing across the steel path.

“This looks nothing like a normal pony’s basement,” observes Matter-Horn.

A monumental metal vault lay at the end, utilitarian in style. Wouldn’t be out of place in a warehouse. Or an emergency shelter, what with its size and its sharp red paint.

The drake gulps at the door’s looming bulk. “I… I-I guess this is the place.”

“It has to be.” Matter-Horn goes to the door, feeling it out with her hoof. “Made on the fly over months or even years. Maybe older still, abandoned by an unrelated third party and then repurposed for darker designs. The magic signal, the blizzard over the town, the shed’s purchase—all the evidence points here.”

“But how would anyone come down here in the first place?” Spike asks.

“Bloodenstone-powered teleportation. I suppose, with a strong enough magic source, you can get anywhere. Better yet, it takes less effort to teleport back to that source. Easier to pull someone toward you than to push them away.”

She leaves out unspoken doubts: they could be wrong. This could just be a derelict underground science laboratory and the crooks had gone somewhere else. However, the anomalous reading from Numnahvut—

The truth lies nowhere but onward.

The blast door opens with no resistance, lifted up by the group’s Earth ponies. The hatch, coupled with its concealment and obscure location, seemed enough to prevent anyone from even knowing of its existence, let alone what it hid.

For the moment, everything could still pass for an abandoned research facility. Too much spending might have played a part in its desertion, considering the deep tunnels and the carts on tracks within. In the empty caverns, the carts lack rust: must be new. Down the tracks the party travels, inspecting natural rock formations on the walls, enamored by the occasional stalagmite. And something shinier comes through, attached to one of the stony icicles:

“Surveillance cameras!”

And Fili-Second jumps straight to the camera, hanging on to the stalagmite. She puts her hoof and ear on it. “It’s broken. Deactivated too.” She takes the lens out of the camera and the camera falls to the ground, busted into pieces. A gulp of shame echoes across the tunnel. “Uh, on the bright side, they won’t see us coming!”

“But what happened to the camera exactly?” asks Rager.

Her question multiplies and takes on new forms with each encounter of broken electronics. Electricity panels, light bulbs, more security cameras: malfunctioning or dead. An overturned cart thrown off its tracks changes the question some more—no rust and little dust: recently used but with a forsaken air.

Yet another door stands between them and answers. No magic shield, but the faintest of magic residue can be detected. The unicorns form a hypothesis: there used to be a magic shield until it fizzled off on its own or by external factors.

The door gives way to completely artificial corridors. Farewell to rocks, hello to steel. Enough steel to shield them against a glutton of over-ground bombs.

Past more halls and corridors, here lies a proper room. Haphazardly-placed chairs live with noticeboards: schedules, shipments, cooking shifts, suspected ponies who could be hot on their heels.

Radiance floats a list in her pink magic. It zips over to a nearby table where everyone gathers to read. Recognition colors their faces: names and cutie marks lined up neatly with a smattering of profile photos. Most of them unicorns, but a hoofful of pegasi and Earth ponies signed up for the project too. Lumen Airs is here, furnished with a photo of the stallion smiling awkwardly for the camera though a line strikes through his name along with several others.

All the names, crossed out or not, bear one thing in common: Clockwisely’s Enchantment Division.

“This is definitely their hideout,” Mare-velous says after analyzing the evidence. “And yet nopony’s home.”

“Or hiding deeper in the facility,” proposes Fili-Second. “It’s a false sense of security right here in these empty halls. Couldn’t beat us out in enemy territory, so they wait for us here where they control everything.”

“Who’d break their own stuff just to set up an ambush?” says Zapp, combing her mane in front of a shiny wall. “It’s a waste of resources. This looks more like a scorched-earth move. Either they’re trying to escape or—”

Her ears perk up.

All ears perk up. Swivel to the door.

Then a knock.

Matter-horn shushes the others. With the silent language of hoof gestures, she directs Radiance to the door. Attack-construct carpets stream before her hooves to muffle her hoofsteps.

The unicorn puts an ear to the door’s surface. One, she mouths to her teammates. Pony. Prone. Out.

“What are we waiting for?” Fili-Second whispers, her fidgeting legs impatient.

Mare-velous, without the fidgeting: “Yeah, let’s get this over with. If it’s just one pony, we can straight-up interrogate him, see what’s truly going on down here.”

Matter-horn nods and the ponies get into combat positions. She turns to Spike hanging out at the back. “Um, are you… do you want to fight?”

Spike almost jumps for joy, but with a potential enemy nearby, he thinks better of it. “As much as I can!”

“Are you sure?” Rager asks, scanning him up and down. “No offense, but with how small you are, and you being a baby dragon and all—“

“Didn’t you see me back in the HQ? I was on fire out there!”

“Yes, I know,” and she eases Spike with a nod. “I just wanted to be sure you’re okay with this. We’re in their turf now. We don’t know what spells or other surprises they have up in their sleeves here. I certainly don’t want to be responsible for your death here if it comes to that.”

He shrugs and brushes more dust off his shoulders. “I’ve been through worse. It’s not that much different from adventuring with my friends. And saving the Crystal Empire, but enough about myself, heh-heh. Heh.”

“We’ve taken your word for it,” says Matter-Horn. To the others, quieter now with a hoof on his scaly head, “If you’re still getting used to Spike in combat, remember that he’ll be our Hum Drum for this mission.” On the side, the Hum Drum-wannabe cannot stifle a gleeful giggle.

So they face the door. Horns glow, wings flap, and everyone readies their weapons.

“Power Ponies, go!”

They charge at the door, break it down, smash the whole thing open.

To find a pony lying on the floor, cloak half-burned to a crisp. Scars and burns mark his face and body, a roasted smell rising from him. In spite of his pain, the unicorn locks eyes with the Power Ponies.

That face. A name therein that grinds Matter-Horn’s teeth: the head honcho of this conspiracy. The one who spat on her, the one who dismissed them as mere stepping stones.

But she only has surprise. “Wh-what happened to you, Whorlick?”

He coughs, staring with an evil grin and a missing tooth. “It… it has succeeded. The grand plan is complete. No, it has exceeded completion! We… we may not live, but they will… no, she will—“

The list comes to her magic grip. Pages flip, fall apart. The pupils in her mad eyes, tinier than needles. “Who is she?!”

His laugh cuts through the room, cuts through her focus. Blood drips from his muzzle, blood from his ears. The ponies gag at the horror, but his eyes bear no terror. A happy dead stallion walking.

“You don’t get it, mortal, do you? She was above your world when she appeared. And to think that defeating you and taking over the comics of our old company to reap all the power we need was the best plan we had… no, this defies even that, for she is above us! And haven’t you thought that she could go higher?” Lifts his head toward the ceiling. Blood falls into his throat. “That’s… because you never thought to ascend further She’ll pierce the veil of this world, rise with your power and the power of so many more. May she save us, remember us, deliver us to reign with her—“

Hooves slam on the floor. An inch closer, might’ve broken his skull. “Who is it?! Who is she?!”

A smile. Moments before death, a word uttered in glory and blood.

“V-Verumarendi!”

His head drops to the floor.

Blind eyes stare above his ecstatic lifeless grin.

Terrors of the Earth

The grandmaster has died.

With the little respect they have for him, the Power Ponies close his eyes and wrap him in his cloak as a temporary body bag. A temporary peace to rest in before six hooves of dirt cover him up.

The name rings in their heads. Verumarendi: real, somewhere down here with them, ready to cause havoc in this world too. A comic arc with a reality-breaking villain would be somewhat suspect, but when one operates without the “restraints” of ethics and morality, of what should and should not be done, only focusing on what one could do…

In Spike’s mental cinema, a movie plays: Manehattan burns, skyscrapers vanish into nothing, and ponies fade from this reality. The same in other places: Las Pegasus plummeting to destruction, the cloud city crumbling to the ground—shove away any notion of how cool or epic it’d be. Canterlot suffers with the death of the Royal Sisters themselves, the mountain metropolis sliding the slopes to death. Ponyville will not be spared: Twilight and everyone else disappears. All in the name of controlling the world above, whatever that is: a true eldritch dimension, the control room to reality itself.

And the bodies. The most powerful unicorn of the secret sect, their ringleader, barely survived. No energy left to open the door. A couple more minutes of crawling past the door should’ve been his ticket to safety, but his mortal coil failed him.

Someone must’ve dealt him the fatal blow.

Stockrooms, small kitchen, and makeshift cafeteria. Canned foods make their home there, though many are broken with raw contents spilled onto the ground. More rooms: food stockpiles, water stockpiles, water purifiers. Bunk bedrooms of cheap wooden beds hastily made to accommodate the cult’s believers. One may mistake this for an underground motel in place of the evil lair it truly is.

“I don’t know about you,” Mare-velous starts, “but all this feels very new. I don’t see any sign of decay here. Only damage I see is fighting damage or something magical.“

At the end of the room, a stairway stands in their path. At the bottom lies limp a pony on the floor. Fili-Second leans down to poke her head. “Uh, you there? Hmm. Nah, she’s dead.”

Another unicorn down on the checklist, matching his physical description to the Matter-Horn’s list: hailing from Bronclyn and a co-leader of sorts before his death, a former student at Princess Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns, was likely a shoo-in for the magic-intensive Enchantment Division. But Radiance can only recoil at the random death. “Two members down, both high-ranking. How much more of this can we take?”

“At this rate, every pony may be toast,” says Fili-Second standing up from frisking the dead pony’s lab coats. “Mister President and Mister Veep could only get this far out.” A sparkle from the jewelry catches her sight. “The bloodenstones seemed useless too.”

“Maybe Verumarendi got hold of the bloodenstore’s magic source,” Zapp suggests before heading deeper.

Medicine supplies and storage rooms dominate the next floor. Tiny farms of magic spices and flasked potions line the shelves, some broken with glass pieces scattered on the floor. Someone went here to get help, but they must’ve been very hurt, hurt enough to never get a decent grip. A theory that plausibly explains the corpse at the other side of the room.

The bedrooms reek of death. Under a bunk bed, one more cadaver. Not a unicorn this time but a pegasus. Athletic with a huge wingspan and a cutie mark of lightning and barbells.

Each new body displays a new injury, bruise, or other agony: broken bones, failing hearts, damaged brains. Graduates with good degrees, talented workers with lengthy resumes, comic artisans with esteemed tenures in the Enchanted Division, battle-ready horses with their latest scuffle in the penthouse office: drained dead. Moments of dread and concern, of hesitation, flicker on the superheroes’ faces as they trot through a silent massacre.

Another hatch opens. No magic shield: just turn the wheel and apply delicate unicorn magic or homegrown Earth pony strength.

Lying beyond, another style of hallway: darker shades of yellow and brown. The rooms inside, barred off by stronger hatches, to be opened by magic of arcane complexity or the most brute of forces. Labels name the rooms: M-713, M-581, Z-091, or some other letter-number combination.

Curiosity leads Radiance to put her ear up against one of the hatches. “Strange. No one’s alive, but I could feel somepony’s magic signature.”

Matter-Horn speaks up, looking past a shivering Spike: “Any idea on their identity?”

Radiance puts her ear away. “Not sure. What I can say is that I’ve felt this one before though it’s fading quickly. Recent death, I believe. Couldn’t have been more than a few hours ago.”

At that, the other ponies stand by the hatch. Another reinforced hunk of security to break apart. Spike stands back, avoiding any future collateral damage.

Earth pony magic shakes the locks loose, pegasus winds wind up and break the gears, and unicorn magic completes the deal. The door quivers, the locks let go, the whole apparatus falls to the floor under the howling of wingpowered wind.

Zapp reveals a sheepish grin. “Uh, whoops? Sorry about that! That was overkill.”

After the embarrassment, they look inside: nothing in the pitch dark. Matter-Horn’s scanning spell spots a light switch and she remotely flips it on.

Their mouths hang open mute. Spike lets loose a scream.

Issue #057, among the first issues to be enchanted and the story closest to the dragon’s heart: submerged into the Power Ponies’ world for the first time with his pony friends coming along. An important lesson was learned there: that he mattered. Beyond that, there was the Mane-iac herself: in canon, the insane Maretropolis mane-care big shot, leading her own group of organized criminals on the side to stronghoof small hair salons to do her bidding. Her evil machinations one day pushed her off the deep end and into a vat of malevolent magic potion, scrambling her mind into the mane-obsessed hysterical villain she’s known for today. Defeated, she was turned over to a maximum-security prison, never to be seen again.

Surrounded by dead henchponies in their austere cloaks, the mane-crazy mare lay lifeless. By her side, a comic book ripped to shreds. Her darkened coat under her burned clothes, her mane and tail of great lengths littering the floor. Nothing to see here but the deceased.

Spike fails to find words. Then, “I-is she…?”

Fili-Second checks out the mane tyrant’s pulse. “Nope. She’s also dead. Kaput. Capiche. Out of the zone.”

“B-but that can’t be right!” blubbers a confused Mare-velous. “We went to the prison yesterday to see if the villains were let out in the chaos, and Mane-iac was still there! I saw her with my two eyes, and my two ears heard all that endless laughing!”

While Fili-Second and Mare-velous argue, Rager lifts the chopped-up comic. A skim later: “This may be a different Mane-iac. Another Mane-iac from another version of our world.”

“Wait, what? Wait, gimmie me that!“

Matter-Horn encases the comic in her magic. Closes her eyes and casts a perlustration spell over the item. Something falls past her, something of immense worth, something grand.

Too grand. Too out of this world. Like the magic in the portal machine to take them to this world, of something new, of something horrifying—

“Get away from me!”

Flings the comic at the supervillain. Dead; no reaction but a thud. The book adorns Mane-iac’s head like a tattered crown.

“What is it?” Mare-velous asks the unnerved unicorn, wary of the dead villain. “Is it another one of those existential crises?”

Takes seconds to clear her head, to cool. “Maybe not for us. I… I have to check her DNA… or at least her hoofprint. Rager has the right stuff, but I have to make sure, have to…”

Once Matter-Horn keeps going, she can’t be stopped. The frantic leader puts her hoof up to indicate silence—concentration time—and she focuses her magic into a formidable corona, slowly raising the Mane-iac’s leg.

Her blank eyes flash white. Nothing else as she remains dead. Her leg drops stiff. Left alone, dead on her chair.

Throbs and aches attack Matter-Horn’s head, but she stands firm. “It’s her. Just not quite her. This isn’t the Mane-iac we fought all those years ago.”

The enchanted comic book. Now another enchanted comic book. Another world so similar, maybe ninety-nine percent similar, but not a full match.

Unspoken questions about parallel universes only fuel the fire.

Thus they leave the room.

The great delusion persists in the other hatch-protected rooms. Corpses populate the spaces with antagonists front and center. They are the usual suspects, the ones Spike and even casual fans can name on the fly. At times, it reaches beyond the comics: Ahuizotl is part of the gallery of dead rogues, though Matter-Horn and the other ponies disbelieve the Tenochtitlan guardian’s real-life existence.

“Magic’s getting stronger the deeper we go. We could be catching Verumarendi’s signature soon. If we confront her right away, it’ll be a quick sprint to the finish.” She pauses to inspect Ahuizotl’s rigid body one more time. “Still, is… is this what their grand plan is all about? Experiments on animating fictional villains? These ‘scientists...’ they have no idea what they’ve unleashed!”

“So we’re not the first ones?” asks Mare-velous as they leave the final room and head to another descending staircase. More cloaked ponies lie strewn about, united in death. “I could imagine that, but still…”

You’re only a stepping stone, another brick in the building of our grand plan.

“Deep in thought, Spike?” asks Matter-Horn.

A wince comes up. You’re too perceptive. He’s turned his back to one of the hatches. His frown betrays him. “Oh, I was. I was just…”

“Scared, aren’t you?”

Adrenaline rushes through his veins. The baby dragon nods, head down low.

“Scared of Verumarendi? That even though we’re the best of the best, you’d still be no match for her?”

Spike lets slip a nod. Touches the tips of his claws. “Sums it up, yeah.”

Rager bites her lip, pawing idly at the floor. “We’re afraid too, little guy. We’re not a hundred percent sure how to defeat her even with all we’ve learned tonight. But we have a vague impression of her which is better than nothing.”

“What you get when you’re dealing with a self-styled alicorn,” Matter-Horn says with a cheeky smirk. She raises a brow upon seeing Spike’s confusion.“Well, the enchanted issue you had didn’t dive into the tiny details of our communication with her. In the letters she wrote to us—or death threats, really— she described herself with wings as long as rivers and a horn as tall as a spear, bearing muscles and height on high enough of a level to disgrace an olympian. Yeah, Spike, laugh it up. At least she’s arrogant.” Taps her chin as she trots. “Though we’re not sure if she’d be a pony anyway. Maybe her alicorn form is just what we can extrapolate, a representation of her in our world. It’d be like drawing a 3D cube on a 2D piece of paper.”

“So Verumarendi might not be a mare at all?!”

“Likely. The writers must’ve had a pony in mind as a template. I assume most Clockwisely writers are ponies. On that note, perhaps that’s why her magic signature is way stronger than expected: consuming the magic of these ponies from other worlds to gain enough power in this one to ascend. Who knows what atrocities she’ll commit if she gets that far?”

Extra-dimensional creatures are no stranger to Spike thanks to the occasional sci-fi comic with weird aliens driving weird spaceships and speaking weird languages. Verumarendi as an alien? Then she’s a wild card: a nightmare to analytical and rational minds.

Fili-Second pats the imaginative Spike on the head so many times, it’s a thousand ping pong balls bouncing on his skull. “You gotta stay strong, buckaroo. We all have to stay strong. And hey, if we lose, we lose together, and if I die—heh, that’s one way of cutting down on my caffeine fix, am I right?”

It’s enough to elicit laughter across the group especially from the highly-strung dragon. “Thanks for that. Heh. I think you really needed that, huh?”

“We all do. Can’t go out without a bang, you know.”

The next floor provides more hatch-hidden horrors in equal-opportunity bunches: heroes joined villains in death and random characters also dead whether they be a one-time street pedestrian or a background astronaut from an artificial satellite. A diversity of comic books, from fantasy to science fiction, rest in the corner as used-up ingredients to these fatal experiments. Neither the animated characters nor the defictionalizing enchanters survived whatever onslaught befell them.

Wind howls from still another hatch: a cacophony of ferocious gusts. The run-down door hanging on a hinge flaps against the rolling gale. Deadly breezes twist in and out of the place at the same time, whistling surreal and ear-killing notes.

At the far end of the room, rifts in spacetime spin and swirl.

A rub of the eyes later, and Spike gets a sharper look of the experiments inside: an uncontrollable sandstorm desert in one portal, an empty space through some sci-fi windows in another, and an emptied city not unlike Maretropolis in still another.

Nobody’s out there. Nopony’s home.

“Portals,” Rager identifies. “These... these are portals to other worlds. Comic worlds. Novel worlds. To be here… only to be made low.”

Through the third portal, she sees a decaying high-rise buckle under its knees. It crashes onto the streets below, turning into metal dust.

A magic beam is fired into its urban world: a scanning spell. The beam boomerangs back to Matter-Horn who receives it with glassy eyes. Seconds later, a shake of the head, and then, “Deprived. They’re... deprived. Closed off from the rest of the world. These have been quarantined… closed spaces… and I don’t know what they did to these places, but it’s gone. All of it. These places have the blood sucked out of them, and they’ve become husks of their former selves.” To Spike, “Do you know any of these worlds, by chance?”

A second of hesitation gives way to Spike naming the franchises these worlds, these places, appeared in: a holy temple to a pantheon of alicorn gods fighting a world-breaking war, a once-mighty spaceship from which space rangers guarded the final frontier, and the city hideout to a bunch of scrappy misfit heroes from the resistance. “And they all have magic there! Even the space one has a background magic field. Are you telling me that—?“

“Yes, I’m telling you that. The magic in there was either born wrong due to faulty animation… or they stole the rich pockets of magic from these places.”

The others gasp, closing in on the walls. In Radiance’s terror, “So you’re saying these are the magic sources for the bloodenstones? If that’s so, they’ve been running on the fumes of fictional worlds they’ve messed with! Well, not in my backyard, they won’t!”

“It’s a working hypothesis,” clarifies Matter-Horn, calming everyone else down, “but it’s the most reliable one so far. It’s not just that, though. The bad guys, the good guys, anyone else from these other worlds: it’s possible the enchanters sucked the power and magic from them too. I wouldn’t expect any of them to be alive now, and I don’t want to know what happens to these worlds without their heroes. Or even villains.”

“What about magic artifacts?” Mare-velous adds. “I’m sure these worlds have their own… what do you call them, mackerel muffins?”

“MacGuffins,” Matter-Horn corrects. “It’s crass to call things such as Spike’s Elements of Harmony MacGuffins, but it’s a good catch-all term for powerful and valuable items for which ponies will do anything to protect or destroy. It’s not a big stretch to assume they’ve also stolen some of these worlds’ important artifacts.”

“But if all the main characters are dead,” Spike says on the tips of his toes, “then that means Verumarendi has the power of dozens of superheroes and supervillains just like that!”

A tired sigh leaves Matter-Horn’s muzzle. “We worry about her when we get there.”

Their journey unveils more portals in other rooms. Portals to nothing, portals to desolate places, portals to the rest of the room since no one activated them yet. No lives there for their corpses take their place, and so the death toll rises even in these near inter-dimensional rooms.

Zapp slows down to a hover, ears standing up. “Um, what’s that?”

“What’s what?” Radiance asks.

“That slithering sound.”

Everyone strains their ears. Something slimy and hissing: slithering. Steps on the floor, echoing down the hallways.

Mare-velous’s ears flick up. “It’s big. It’s… it’s not it. There’s several of them. Tons of them.”

Matter-Horn lights up her horn. “Hostile?”

Zapp takes a defensive stance in the air. “Gotta be hostile. Verumarendi, is that you, you jerkface?!”

“It could be from one of the other worlds,” Rager adds. “Who knows how long the portals have been left on.”

Fili-Second leans back on the wall, tapping her hoof. “At least it isn’t the devil-mare herself. Some bum-rushing army from another world will be diddly-squat. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Alien hydras!”

Mare-velous’s war cry brings all eyeballs to the other side of the hallway. Shadows make way for the five-headed spider creatures: eight legs, a dozen eyes on each of their teeth-rearing heads. They crawl on the floors, the walls, the ceiling: they leave no surface untouched.

The nerd in Spike cannot resist. “The Clashoff Hydras from the Light Rammers! They invaded the ESS Verne, leaving the captain as the last survivor. They’re the remnants of an evil empire that used to span the entire galaxy—“

“Save the bedtime story for later!” Rager shoves Spike aside while her eyes flare an angry red anger. “We’re in the middle of something!”

A lasso trips a hydra over, but it doesn’t stop a head from shooting a stream of fire at Mare-velous.

Commands and calls to move or attack are shouted frantic over hydra screeches. Rager dodges hydras’ swipes and avoids many-headed bites before she bulks up again. Tight spaces limit the angry mare, but it doesn’t stop her boosted muscle tissue from soaking up damage.

Laser beams, hooferangs, attack-construct shields, their own martial arts prowess: these make little progress against the endless horde of alien hydras slithering their way on all four sides of the hallways.

“When will this stop?!” Radiance yells, slashing hydras with attack-construct weapons everywhere. “Don’t tell me they have an infinite population!”

A bead of sweat drops down Spike’s forehead right after blasting his own stream of fire at a hydra. “If I recall correctly, the pods they sent to the spaceship were self-sustaining. Heh-heh…?”

A couple magic beams take two hydras down before they dissolve to dust, courtesy of Matter-Horn. “Then we destroy their only entry point here. Spike, you’re small.” (Spike doesn’t mind the statement.) “Do you think you can dodge the incoming hydras and disable the portal? We’ll do our best to keep them occupied.”

His eyes bore into the abyss of crawling and hopping and shrieking hydras. An explosion sends a corpse flying overhead. The challenge taunts him, beckoning him to come and die in an impossible task.

He salutes Matter-Horn. “Yes, ma’am!”

And Spike charges through the alien cavalry, dodging hydras distracted by the juicy prey of dangerous ponies. A slide through a right turn then a drift through another turn thanks to his hard scales. He fires bolts of flame every which way, hitting hydras everywhere while sprinting for dear life.

“Aagh!” A scratch and a scar, his hardy lavaproof scales not immune to the ripping of hydra claws.

The scar drips blood.

A hydra pounces.

Fighting against the desire to protect his scar no matter what, he rolls on the floor. A sword of pain shoots up his arm and he bites his tongue to keep from screaming, but the dodge roll saves him from further trouble. The pouncing alien misses its mark and smashes into his comrades, slowing the stampede. An exasperated bolt of dragon fire then sprinkles enough chaos to slow everyone down.

Spike keeps running, keeps dodging hydras, keeps charging into the portal room while holding on to his scarred arm. The one in the middle, the portal with the sci-fi world: numerous hydras shoot out of it like water out of a broken dam. A steady stream of fire against the portal singes the hydras but bounces off the portal. Any clog-up of dead hydras is pushed away by more living hydras swarming in.

Searching, searching: a control panel! Scrambles to it, and he grabs hold of the lever, ready to pull it out of its sockets.

Doubts arrive: What if this lever activates another portal and usher in more threats? Or maybe it’s not a lever but a button that does the trick. Or maybe it’s all broken and the lever might just attract the hydras somehow. No easy-to-read manuals here.

Too late for second-guessing. A draconic growl sees the lever slammed home

The correct portal closes, deactivating and becoming see-through. The remaining hydras he burns with his breath, chasing them while still dodging their swipes and bites and fires.

The portal reactivates. Almost falls into it before fear yields to recognition: an endless ocean with an endless gray canopy of clouds above. Turbulent waters wave mightily, strong enough to sink anyone in their wake.

He stands before the portal, puts a claw to his mouth, and whistles loud enough for the hydras to stop running and to turn to their new prey: himself.

“Yeah, that’s me, you numbnuts! Come and get it!”

The hydras stand still, analyzing him: prey, predator, trap, or other. They smell the shivering fear in his voice, and they bare their fangs.

“That’s right! I’m talking to you! What, you’re afraid of a puny little dragon?” But what if I fall? What if they tackle me anyway and I fall into that portal? That’s… that’s ocean over there! That thing’s gonna kill me!

Hydras leap after their spicy meal, never thinking he’ll duck and jump out of the way. Shrieks pile up behind him, then—splash!

A dash to pull down another lever—they can jump high, even in an ocean void—and the portal closes, ridding him of hydra screams and the big blue sea.

The thumping from his heart. The journey to this place somehow. The cold crawl of metal on the lever, half-freezing his claw.

“Spike, you did it!”

The Power Ponies rush in, taking a look at a tired and exhausted Spike. The mares: enough for him to slump on the floor and take a breather. They see the unmistakable smile growing on his face.

“I… a-are you alright, g-girls?”

“Yeah, we are.” Matter-Horn dusts off her mane from dead hydra dust. “They were starting to overwhelm us, actually. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many mooks in the span of five minutes. We might’ve pulled it off in the end, but we were running out of stamina.”

“You’re alive, and that’s what matters,” Spike jabbers, cozying up to her just like he would to Twilight deep into a late study night back in the old treehouse.

“And we’ve also indirectly saved the town and the rest of your kingdom,” Mare-velous smugly adds. “If we didn’t stop them, they could’ve gone up.”

“Or they could’ve just gone straight to Verumarendi and finished the job for us, right?” is Fili-Second’s suggestion. Her idea is shot down by more level heads. “Seriously though, shouldn’t we close all the portals here? We’d do better without any more inter-dimensional threats coming in. They’d also do better without the threat of Verumarendi ruining their lives again.”

After fiddling with control panels, Spike and the Power Ponies close down all the portals. An act of mercy, cutting off broken sights of familiar worlds: a chance to rest in peace or even recover without the desecration that is Verumarendi.

The next floor grants them peaceful laboratories, a welcome respite from the strenuous battle. Alchemy ingredients and sorcery apparatuses crop up in boxes. Over a hundred comic books lie dispersed across the floor, mingled with lab-coated corpses. An additional pile of corpses lay at the entrance like a twisted sacrifice, shutting up the mouths of the living whose eyes witness an utter disregard for equine decency.

“Looks like they were trying to escape but the hatch door didn’t open,” poses Rager after a minute of processing what she’s seen and crossing off so many names from the list of members. “There are two possibilities: the hatch systems failed, or Verumarendi used her magic to make them fail.”

“Which means she went up at some point.” Matter-Horn then detects a fading signature: that cursed mare’s signature, intensifying with each step forward.

“But why go up only to go back down?” Zapp asks.

“To make sure no one gets out of here alive. Get magic from everyone before she goes back down. Why she’s down here… well, we’re close to finding out.”

The Power Ponies spread out to scavenge for useful stuff. Fridges of canned food with the kitchen nearby mean a quick snack which Spike heats up with his fire: some processed flavored hay with wordy chemicals on the label.

“Hey, check this out,” and Fili-Second throws something right at Spike’s face.

The dragon catches it swiftly: a comic book, specifically the Mane-iac issue of the Power Ponies. He recoils from it thanks to memories of the last time he’d seen the same issue, but he keeps his focus up. With a quick look at the small text on the front, he confirms his suspicion: it’s the enchanted edition.

Fili-Second nudges him on the shoulder. “Open it.”

The idea alone makes Spike shiver. “I don’t want to get sucked into your world when you’ve already been sucked into mine.”

“You’re gonna be fine. There’s a note in there and a lot of other things there too. That’s your spoiler for the day, kiddo!”

Fili-Second then checks out more comic books as the rest discuss their findings and fighting strategies for Verumarendi by a small dining table: dealing with wall-hung noticeboards, forbidden tomes, and occasional doodads from the pockets of a deceased horse.

Opening the comic uncovers familiar sights: the panels, the dialogue, the characters standing and talking and breathing before him. Save for the intrusive sticky notes and mystical margin scribblings. The chaotic writing prompts him to loudly wonder, “Formulas?”

“I believe so.” Matter-Horn steps into view, having read a little behind him. “References to formulas, ingredient lists, hypotheses, experiment log notes, interviews... this was pretty much a science institute! One without the ethics, sadly.”

“’S-381 died on the spot after exposure to unknown green matter from W-913,’” Radiance reads from an experiment log on a clipboard, accompanied by curious friends. “As Matter-horn was saying: yes, it’s an outpost for hyper-pragmatic magiscience complete with lethally unsafe tests.”

“But for what?” Spike ponders. “What’s the animation, re-animation, and all this other stuff for? It’s just about getting more power, isn’t it?”

“Power alone’s tricky since so many ponies lived here.” Matter-Horn brings up a partial several-paged list of resident researchers. “You’d need an iron grip on everyone to maintain power, and who’s to say that they won’t devolve into infighting after they win? At best, I can imagine a cult of personality with Whorlick at the top, though if he’s offering power to any worthy pony, backstabs aren’t too far behind.”

They start their way toward the next descending flight of stairs. “But what about Verumarendi? Anything the logs say about her?”

“Nothing much but some reference about a last-minute thing. Test went wrong. Or they were about to start it but then things went wrong. Anyone found any logs?”

“Found it!” and Zapp lands in style to bring her findings straight to Matter-Horn’s horn, stabbing it there like the pale metal blade a waiter stacks orders on. Despite the pages’ newborn hole, she stares cross-eyed at the paper hanging off her horn plucking it out to read it properly.

These professionals must be dead serious, Spike thinks as the ponies read the document. Dead wrong and dead evil, but dead serious.

The document in question is Experiment Log 001, though the date is too recent: a few hours ago with a work-in-progress stamp in a red shade close to blood.The premise: to enchant a modified version of the upcoming Verumarendi arc of the Power Ponies franchise.

The first few trials lacked success. Spells needed re-tuning and conditions were adjusted with reckless abandon. It didn’t take long for better results to turn up: an emission of green smoke from the pages, mysterious voices from this or that panel. Said comic panels threw up random possessions before returning them via vortex. The pages then sucked in a test subject but the mages could not retrieve him—a misfire. A postscript indicates unusual enchantment difficulty with this particular issue.

Then nothing. The last sentence wasn’t meant to be the last. Attempt 17: Testing conditions viable enough for main character extraction. Extreme security is advised to persuade Verumarendi by force if necessary. Blank whitespace fills up the rest of the log.

Matter-Horn returns the papers to the lab coat Zapp found them on: dead stallion’s clothes, shredded to pieces. Stiffened ears tell her something’s off with the clothes. An analysis spell later, her eyes glisten and her hooves go cold.

“Well. That’s a thing.”

“What’s a thing?” Mare-velous asks, befuddled like everyone else.

The clothes float in the masked mare’s magic. “Radiance, check these clothes out. Get the magic signature and tell me your thoughts.”

An analysis spell of her own comes into play, softer and weaker but more than competent to discern magic signatures. “It’s… it’s not quite a perfect match from the fragments I could gather. But it’s close to a perfect match for Verumarendi even from before the jump to this reality. It’s still relatively weaker though.”

“Alright. Fili-second, what do you think of that?”

The caffeinated pony scratches her chin. “So she comes in here in less than full strength? Hey, signatures can decay after a while just like hoofprints. Wait, why’re you shaking your head? Is she…?” A slow blink of the eyes: epiphany. “Oh. So almost the same. And the decay levels don’t match up with her power level?”

“Sneaky, isn’t she?” says Rager. “They thought this last test wasn’t successful, but the truth is she came in before that test. Somehow.” She takes the document with her wings “If these latest traces aren’t exactly like Verumarendi’s but are quite close to it, then that brings up the possibility of her taking on a disguise, which is small potatoes for a reality warper.”

“Heh! She doesn’t come in with a bang but with a whisper. But then she bangs up everypony anyway when the mask’s off. But hey, decaying hoofprints.”

“A hypothesis, but my analysis spell hasn’t failed me so far,” Matter-Horn says. “What’s more, the signature still seems to be coming from farther downstairs. Once we reach rock bottom, we’ll certainly get concrete answers.”

“Could be a trap.” The possibility comes from Mare-velous’s extensive experience with death pits of quicksand in her lone ranger days. “Then again, that could just be paranoid old me. I mean, we’ve never even seen the mare herself!”

Ponies shudder among themselves, and Spike feels them too, yet he steels himself up, forcing one foot forward. In a voice that charges on despite dripping fear, “A-at least we’re going to try and... and go on, right?”

“Without a doubt.” Nothing but resolution in their leader’s words. “And hey, good job, Hum Drum.”

For a short while, he has nothing but the buzz of praise, from one of his (formerly) fictional idols! She even winked at him!

But no resting on his laurels tonight. They go down the stairs’ cold steel steps—no corpses to add to the body count, fortunately—and open up one more hatch.

Her Horrible Pleasure

A floor of dead ponies and fallen debris leaves its visitors speechless. Despite the omnipresent bodies showered by sharp emergency lights, a pulse rocks the air as a bass from an electronic song.

Only slower like a monster’s unwieldy footsteps.

“What?”

“Yes, Spike, that’s one appropriate reaction,” Matter-Horn rasps out, stunned by the inconceivable concept of whatever or whoever caused the carnage.

Flanked by panels of buttons and levers and keys and indicators, a blast door lies ahead, strengthened by magic-enforced steel and an army of locks, bolts, and gears. By its side are blast panels, covering up windows in case something inside either gets too bright to see or threatens to wreak havoc.

A pyramid of corpses captures their attention, steals the speech from them for a good minute. Blood, scars, blank white eyes.

No heartbeat.

Hear the sirens, the alarms, of a test gone wrong.

The Power Ponies, reduced to whispers for each other. Beholding death.

They wade through debris and bodies, the unicorns gently levitating the corpses to one side. Everyone else takes the mental note to stitch them up and find body bags for them.

“Even the worst baddies back home like Mister Sour Grape hid the bodies well,” Zapp observes, voice almost choking. “This one? There’s… there’s no regard for equine life. Not… not at all.”

“Mister Sour Grape?” Spike asks.

“You don’t want to know.”

It shuts him up.

“In other news—” Matter-Horn gestures her horn towards the blast door “—the signal’s very strong, coming from right past this door. From the looks of it, it’s a much more fortified experiment room; most likely this is where they experimented unknowingly on Verumarendi before things went south.”

As the others speculate and formulate plans, anticipation grabs Spike. The wait is almost over but it almost kills him. A part of him wishes for Verumarendi to appear out of thin air: get it over with and fight already.

Creaks pierce his ears. The ponies push buttons and pull levers, solving the puzzle of unlocking the door. Two locks for two keys? They find the fallen keys after searching the cratered floor and the corpses’ clothes.

They twist the keys together.

Something clicks.

Gears and bolts budge, carrying the heavy door.

They close their eyes: a great light comes forth. Adjust to the sudden brightness, and after getting rid of the moving shiny butterflies in their vision, they peer inside.

Machines and computers powered by magic and electricity cluster in the huge chamber. Much of it is shattered: wires spark, buzzing machinery sitting torn in burned pieces. A hum saturates the massacred mechanical assembly.

Mare-velous plants a hoof on her hip. “Nopony here. I expected something more exciting.”

“At least she’s not here for now,” but Zapp sighs and looks back. “Boy, I hope she’s not upstairs or something. We checked every single room! What if she’s moving to the outside world as we speak?”

Snap!

Blast door closes. Lights flicker.

The Power Ponies turn their heads everywhere, scan everywhere. Gasps here and there. No screams but silent dreadful gawking. Magic shields up, rope and hooferangs ready, lightning amulet on, red eyes activated, pink horn aglow, fast dancing hooves on standby.

A mist. It moves like ether, thicker than smoke and visible under malfunctioning ceiling lights. At the center of the room lies a pedestal, and the mist hovers above it like a newborn cloud. Its wisps coalesce into something thicker, something more visible, taking hold of the pedestal.

Then all behold the silhouette in the cloud.

“Who are you?!” Matter-Horn yells, stepping forward: seeing the mare within.

The mist parts to provide a speedy answer: an Earth pony in a lab coat. Her blue coat meshes with the cool lights above. Her eyes bear no pupils: only ghost-white scleras, blank as her blue flank. Behind her soar three stones ebbing and flowing in their mystic glow.

Matter-Horn stomps a hoof to the metal floor, letting it ring across the hollow chamber. “Identify yourself! Don’t make this any harder for the both of us! Just explain what’s going on, Miss Researcher, and we won’t hurt you!”

Nothing said. She stands there. A scowl creeps up her muzzle. Past her short mane, her teeth carry a hiss.

Her harsh voice.

“Oh, you lot! I think you know me too well... Power Ponies!”

The amulets spin around her faster, faster, faster until they become bright orbs, cursed shooting stars spinning too fast—

The blast sends the Power Ponies to the floor and little Spike flying to the other side of the room, tumbling onto a heap of gears. They rub their groggy heads, recovering to see the beast: a floating alicorn, wingspan that of five princesses combined, horn as tall and sharp as a lancet, muscles reminiscent of Earth pony magic and steroids. A necklace of glowing bloodenstones adorn her neck, pulsating with the amulets spinning over her head like a halo. The hum of raw power emanates from her unnatural form.

“Oh, you should have known!” the mare booms; her speech like a demon’s. “You behold one magnificent pony! You behold someone who shall evade your pathetic attempts at bringing her down! I have brought death and destruction upon your land, your city, and you had nothing to show for it! What makes you think you can stop me now, weaklings?”

Spike rubs his head from the pain of impact. Stands up with the Power Ponies, stands to behold the cackling and laughing malefactor hanging in cold dead air.

Rocks and debris levitate in her gray magic. Her mad grin releases laugh after maniacal laugh. “You do not know what you’re dealing with, you second-rate-reality ponies, if I could even call you that! And yet, I have escaped the gaps, the fictional confines of what those inane ponies in white coats talked about. And are they better than me? No! I have ascended them! I’m beyond their wildest dreams, for they could never dream of what I have dreamed! To shoot straight up these layers of reality—“

“And what will it take for you to do just that?” Matter-Horn says with a smudge of a smug smile on her muzzle.

Verumarendi only chuckles, putting a hoof to her lip. “As if you cannot bear the truth of your inability to defeat a transcended creature! I should’ve finished you back then, but those writers held me back! I should’ve written the ending myself where all of you would’ve been stillborn! Dead, dead, dead!”

The amulets vibrate in unbridled wrath. The bloodenstone bracelet quakes in her grip. “These things: they said they are harvested from the fossilized blood of this world’s mightiest warriors. They may be native to this Equestria I’m in, but no matter! They are mine and mine alone! I shall be amplified and magnified until my ascension is infinite, to dimensions unknown! I shall reshape the world in my image. I shall inflict eternal despair upon you, and you shall face sweet torment forever as your prize for going against me! Now wail and grovel before me, for I shall—“

A kick in the face shuts her mouth.

Staggers in the air, but her voice rings in renewed fury. “How dare you! You’re… you weren’t supposed to do that! You were supposed to listen to me, you comic philistines!”

Her eyes land on Fili-Second, the self-satisfied kicker. “News flash, bonehead: We’re a lot smarter than you think! What makes you believe we’re just gonna listen to your whole villain monologue, huh? Guess they enchanted you real bad: stereotypes, clichés, warts and all. Hey mare, I miss the old Verumarendi already. Could you just suck it up, new gal? You’re just brand new hot trash.”

And she’s smashed to the ground face-first. Looks up quick: the cold incomplete eyes of Verumarendi before intense pain crushes Fili-Second’s brain—a psychic attack spreading brain freeze all over her head, and its victim can only scream. “You are supposed to play by the rules! I win, you lose! I am a whole world ahead of you! When I rule all reality, you will regret your pettiness!”

Others rush in and let loose their weapons: ropes, energy shields, an angry leap across the room, and magic spells galore.

Yet the offensive plants a smile on her face. “You underestimate the power I hold! Do you think you are fighting any old pony?!”

With a whip of her mane, a ball of energy shoots to the end of the room and explodes—before reversing itself and imploding into a portal: a wormhole to a different world. The Power Ponies take a millisecond to glance.

They hear whispers, howls of untold horrors.

“I shall bid the unbidden, welcome the unwelcome, bring the wolves to the fold! Behold what the enchanters could never dream of! Oh, they trusted me to bring them glory, but they did not learn to take it to the next level. My children: arise!”

The portal becomes two and the two become four and the four become eight. Spike yelps in terrible recognition: the screech of alien hydras, the shout of astronaut raiders, the cry of worms from sand and dust, the stomps of pony mook swarms and evil alicorn leaders, the droning of robots and their killing machines. This ring of death surrounds the superheroes, covers them on all sides, the sheen of their weapons and the noise of their being: overflows the test chamber with the portent of danger.

“My friends, behold: the power of weaponized reality! There is nothing for you but pain and suffering if you oppose me! Surrender now and I might grant you mercy and let you live… or perhaps letting you die is a mercy. I can send you down a dimension of my own creation where your agony will never end, for you will be immortal and you will never die! Ha-ha-ha! Go, my children! My sweet children, go get them!”

Worlds’ worth of brainwashed villains fall upon the Power Ponies with their incoherent war cry. The six equines and lone dragon trade punches and shots with dodges and chases, surviving by the skin of their teeth. Distract, bang! Tire a couple out, then trip!

Mare-velous works double time with her lasso: tying down machine animals with her special rope and throwing in other lassos into the mix, immobilizing them for an easy stab. Rager smashes many hydras into pounded corpses of dust to be thrown back into their world, soaking up ineffective blades and explosives before tossing them back at her foes. Radiance conjures up shields to ward off projectiles and deflect them at the enemy, copies enemy weapons into her own attack-construct versions and returns fire. Fili-Second runs in circles around a motley of pony mooks, confusing and scaring them as she spins their eyes and make them bonk each other’s heads before she rams the full force of her speeding body against them to barrel ponies through the portal and other worlds then speeds back to the chamber. Zapp summons lightning to electrocute machines and the undead, whips up fog to blind her them with, foments heat and chill waves to disorient them, and hurls homemade hail at unsuspecting targets to knock them out. The Masked Matter-Horn herself spams teleports so she’s never a sitting duck, freezing ponies and firing energy blasts left and right and up and down and even sideways, decommissioning portals with a well-placed magic disruption ray to force Verumarendi into wasting her energy creating more portals for Matter-Horn to fire at moments later.

The explosive anarchy leaves Spike with no time to watch and overthink. Aware of his lack of superpowers, he has only nimble speed, small stature, and fire breath.

So he runs.

A machine pony gallops after him and grabs his tail. It primes its laser weapon right for the dragon’s face, but he spits fire and overheats the machine. In its confusion, Spike escapes its soulless grip and runs to the Power Ponies for a breather. Standing by himself, he lets out another breath of fire, burning mooks and more monsters, lightening the load of his heroes.

A Rager-thrown body flies across the room, and Spike follows it to its crash in a pile of comic books. Dodging enemies too focused on the Power Ponies themselves, he speed-reads the titles: all of them the wolds of these enemies.

A sinister idea comes to fruition. He raises one of the comics above his head and screams, “Hey! Hey, Verumarendi! Yes you, fat face! Bet you didn’t even see me, huh?!”

It catches her notice. She stops her magic laser attack, teleports to Spike’s side. “What did you say?! Hmm. You came out… different. A dragonified Hum Drum.” She shakes her head and lets out another chuckle. “No matter. You are with the Power Ponies and, therefore, in my way. Prepare to die!—what are you doing?!

The comic book is popped open for her to see. Two sharp claws clench on its pages. Wavering yet firm, “Either you stop this madness or I’ll start disarming you world by world.”

To prove his point, he forms a little rip in the pages. A few centimeters long, but it’s still a rip. Dozens of bits go down the drain at a potential auction in Canterlot, but he pushes the idea out of his mind straight away.

“You can’t be serious!” Verumarendi yells in shock, but a cough resets her tone. “But are you willing to destroy so many worlds just for the sake of saving one?”

An audible gulp. Sweat down to his cheek.

The mare’s vicious smile only gets wider. “Yes, Spike. You haven’t thought of that, have you, little dragon?”

The Power Ponies fight in the background, the noise of do-or-die war the messy ambiance of this chamber. Fighting for their lives, and yet, if Verumarendi is right…

“Those worlds have their own heroes. Those heroes fight their own villains. I am merely loaning their antagonists, and I do wish to return those who remain. Too bad the Power Ponies are quite stubborn. Besides, what makes them worth saving over the rest? You’re willing to tear apart worlds just because you have some preference for the Power Ponies that my great intellect cannot understand!”

It’s a surefire way to finally pin Verumarendi down. However, to destroy other worlds in doing so—the moniker of murderer, of slaughterer: names to rock the baby dragon to his core.

And only sees at the last moment Verumarendi creating an energy ball with his name on it.

Spike jumps away but it hits too close. Another short flight across the room, skidding to the hard cold floor as his backpack flies a few hooves farther, spilling its contents to the ground and exposing them to warring spirits.

Hoofsteps later, the forelegs of Verumarendi block his path. “Too bad! You were going to destroy so many societies and civilizations for just one world! How pathetic. Under my rule, I shall provide equal opportunities for everyone—to suffer equally! But you… you’re much more selfish than I thought.”

Her self-assured expression, her floating figure, her amulet-powered magic—

“Are you to accept your fate, little one? You would be great as a hostage… no, you’re not a dragon Hum Drum, are you? You’re the young one, yes? I could use you as ransom in this world: this Equestria is quite kind to its young, after all. A hegemonic takeover is what I have in mind, though I do not mind using the last resort of kings and queens: calling up more multiversal horrors to wage war with Equestria, hm? Face it, Hum Drum—no, Spike—you are—”

A shot of fire ignites her muzzle and she screams.

But the mare levitates another hot shot away, blindly directing it to an alien hydra who howls in pain and stampedes as it burns, trampling its allies. Unaware of the ensuing chaos behind her, “Hah! You are short-sighted. You are a dragon, so of course, you can breathe fire, and you’ll try to breathe fire at me! I had to watch out for you and watch out I did!”

Another energy ball of pain explodes on Spike, sweeping him to the wall. The explosion inhales, turning into an imploding vortex which collapses into another portal. No enemy comes forth: only screams.

Her hoof strikes across his vision.

“You see, I come from a comic that has recently left the clutches of those so-called enchanters. It is out of their purview and is on the loose… but I am still here, which means the comic book is still out there somehow, somewhere. I know my roots—I can always come back to it without the comic—but why go back? Even if you grab a hold of it, you would be defeating the Power Ponies too by tearing it apart… but if you want to defeat me, that’s how you must do it. For the greater good, yes?

“Now, you Power Pony—no, Power Dragon from a world so low I must’ve forgotten when I enlivened these comics… or Spike or whoever you are—take a look.”

Away from the raving lunatic, Spike takes a look into the abyss.

Maretropolis wallows in the abyss and its chaos. Pegasi in the sky fighting against monsters ripping reality to shreds. Other superheroes come in, trying to save the day, but with random abominations everywhere, local villainous groups taking advantage of the anarchy, and ponies vanishing into nothing: helpless civilians are left at the mercy of disarray. An evil Discord would be proud.

“What would you do if I sent you there and closed this portal, forever trapped in a world that is not your own? It is a mercy to let you squander in your home world, whatever it is, but this punishment is more fitting. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Only mayhem in the world of his dreams. They can eke out a living if they’re lucky enough to not die alone, to hunker down in some remote corner of the planet and survive somehow. At the very least, he can go down battling evil to his last breath, to protect ponies he doesn’t know.

But his dead body would be a world away from his friends.

“The look on your face says it all.” Verumarendi’s chuckles become her commas and periods. “But I must speedily lead you to your fate. Say goodbye to your life, Hum—!”

A smack in the face. The flaming alien hydra catches up to her in its pain, and she falls to the floor, slapping her own amulets out of her orbit and onto the ground.

An opportunity: Spike yanks the closest amulet.

“No! That is mine! My source of power!”

Magic grips him, pegging him down to the floor with both his feet, though he clutches the prized gem as hard as possible. One amulet out of three: not bad.

Her head rises ominous above him. “You shall suffer for that, you little brat! Who shall save you now?!”

“We will! Power Ponies forever!”

Verumarendi turns to the war-crying Matter-Horn and her Power Ponies. She becomes a witness to the unicorn disabling the portals one by one, her other friends holding off the madling mare even as she puts up more and more portals.

With every mook down, Fili-Second speeds up to serve more knuckle sandwiches and knock yet more mooks out. Verumarendi blocks her with a magic shield but the fast pony recovers with a bounce and uses the momentum to jump-kick the alicorn’s snout. In her topsy-turvy state, Verumarendi blindly fires energy balls, hoping a lucky shot will do them in, but all she gets are close-quarters fireworks.

One detonates near Spike, almost burning the backpack he picked up. He feels lost weight in his claw: the amulet is lost. It flies from the blast, shooting up in the air.

Verumarendi: distracted by the Power Ponies, so Spike aims himself toward the amulet. So many games of catch with Twilight when her parents tried to give her some physical education: only here, there are no newspapers to throw around, Twilight is instead a power-hungry maniac, and failing to catch the amulet can mean the end of the world.

He bounds for the amulet, arms outstretched and aching at their extended reach. Looking out for the falling jewel: time slows down as his claws come just in time below the amulet and above the portal, unable to stop his trajectory—

Verumarendi is too busy with the Power Ponies to see the first amulet’s flight. Her storm of energy balls and endless portals tires them out if a little. Dizzying circles of the fastest pony alive nauseate her, the ropes restrain her and the hooferangs scar her, energy constructs render her attacks futile, bulked-up pegasus sponges up the attacks that do get through, terrible weather throws her off, and magic personified assaults her unceasingly.

The Power Ponies gasp and pant, losing their groove, and so does Verumarendi.

In a lull, Matter-Horn fires a concentrated magic beam at their antagonist, sticking her to the wall. A brief moment to regroup and check the room. “Is everypony alright?”

Though the others nod and verbalize their agreement, a rancid feeling slides down her stomach. Stabs her like a knife to the back.

“Where’s Spike?”

They look. By their side, a fallen comic. Spike’s comic. The enchanted comic book: their universe, their world.

Then a hum. They raise their heads toward the source of the hum.

They’ve missed a spot: the last portal standing. A portal to Maretropolis in chaos, in ruins. Their Maretropolis.

The portal shuts on a blood-curdling scream. Behind it, Verumarendi floats in the air, looking down on them as a foal would upon ants in her backyard.

“One down!” she cries. “Say goodbye to your little dragon! Spike, is it? Not Hum Drum? Oh, that’s why he looks familiar: I’ve now gotten one of Equestria’s heroes! Ah, to lure the Elements of Harmony themselves to save a creature who no longer exists in this world! And it’s not like I’m going to send you into oblivion too. I shall not give you the satisfaction of coming home!”

She fires another energy ball right at them.

“No time to be distracted!” yells Matter-Horn to the team, and she zaps the ball into smithereens. “We have to take her down first. We’ll get Spike right after!”

Though as the others charge after her, she hesitates. Her teeth grit, and her heart stops for an instant.

Spike, I hope you get out of there in one piece. Please.

A Brave Night

Air gallops around him. Tall buildings watch his descent. The floor had been only a couple hooves away, but there are now hundreds of meters to go. The sight only heightens his scream as he flails his arms like there’s no tomorrow, clutching the amulet for dear life. Falling and falling fast, he closes his eyes, braces for impact, hopes his sturdy scales can cushion the crash.

Soft. Still hurts, but not as hard as a faceplant to concrete. Opens his eyes and sees white. Fluffy white. Fluffy white clouds. Clouds. Am I dead? That was quick.

“Good thing you’re alive there, mister! Cloud trampoline still does the trick!”

Another scream and another look up brings him face to face with his guardian angel: a colt. But the legends didn’t mention mask- and cape-wearing angels with voices oozing young radical attitude.

The clearly-not-an-angel pulls him out of the cloud and onto solid ground. “Didn’t expect a portal to drop a small dragon around here, but things don’t make much sense these days, eh?”

Rubs his still aching back and puts the amulet back in his bag, but there: the explosions, the noises everywhere. The fights going on around the city, the memorable skyscrapers, the civilians galloping off to safety thanks to ponies in funny clothes. It cannot be. It must not be. May be another dream, but pinching his arm says otherwise.

Maretropolis. Not the simulated immersion he’d visited with Twilight and the others. The real thing. The pseudo angel before him becomes too familiar, and now his adrenaline speeds up to mammoth levels.

Words dribble out of the awestruck dragon. “H-Hum Drum?”

The sidekick hero pumps his chest and poses in style. “Yup! Hey, that means you’re from around here, right? Some ponies get teleportaled here from everywhere. Never met you before, though. Your name and story?”

Stands right back up. “I’m Spike. Spike the Dragon. I’m not actually from around here. See, I’m from—“

An explosion pulls them back to reality: monsters demolish an apartment block into atoms, whacking at buildings or each other with street lights as their clubs. Criminals rob banks in broad daylight while citizens still out in the open flee the most dangerous zones only to stumble into lesser dangers such as disappearing buildings and a lack of gravity. They aren’t wholly lost, however, for costumed superheroes lead them through reality-allergic perils and into designated shelters. With most of the masses evacuated, the city’s left as a battleground between the ponies of the hour and monsters from other realms along with devious criminals and familiar villains.

“No time to dally around!” and the colt yanks the dragon’s arm and runs.

Ahead, a street of fallen buildings and suddenly vacant lots. “We’ll get to cover soon! Oh… uh, can you really breathe fire? Never met a dragon ‘till now. Was expecting someone much older and taller, actually.”

“Yeah, I can breathe fire!” and a squirt of fire seals the deal for Hum Drum.

A chorus of roars sing on, a roadblock of barriers falls before their path, and out of the alleyway slide stallions toting mohawks and punk faux-leather outfits.

“You’re not getting away from us this time!” The white-maned leader fixes his eyes upon the colt, singling him out with a blade-studded hoof. “You might’ve bested us twice, but the Mane-iac’s Children will never forget those who wronged her!”

Hum Drum rolls into position, watching their every move. “Then keep trying!”

The stallions push forward to pile on him, firing bottles of freezing hairspray. They coat the road in slippery ice, but Hum Drum dodges the chilly particles with ease. A well-timed punch here and there, and several spray cans fall.

Randomly exploding walls bring Hum Drum down thanks to a stray exploding arrow from a flying archer bandit passing by. The stallions take the chance and corner him, surrounding him with no path for escape.

“Gotcha’!” With his magic, the leader picks up the defeated colt. “Can’t believe the sky has to literally fall down for you to get sloppy. And some good luck, apparently—“ turning his head up to see where the archer has gone “—but that doesn’t count! You’re ours now! Any last words before you go bye-bye, little one?”

“Not on my watch!”

The Mane-iac’s Children aim their hairspray cans at the meddling dragon. A mook warns, “One step closer, kid, and you’re gonna pay!”

If he learned anything from Guys’ Nights with Discord, it’s that leaning on the wall makes you look cool. Even intimidating. So he leans on the wall, looking cool and, hopefully, intimidating. “What do you think I was gonna do, fellas’? Just stand down like a damsel in distress?”

“Which means you’re going to take a step forward. You’re telegraphing yourself! Hah! You’re such a laugh!”

Spike breathes fire and they do not laugh. Shots of hairspray go off, only for Spike’s flame to turn them into blowtorches. A can is dropped amid squeamish squeals, and Spike picks it up: his very own canned flamethrower! Ponies find themselves on the business end of his improvised weapon, and they scatter with fire eating at their shiny coats and handsome manes.

That leaves the mook leader at canpoint, fire ready in the wielder’s stomach. “Let him go or I’ll make you!”

He opens his jacket to expose the armor underneath. “I’ve got fire protection precisely for this situation! What’re you gonna do now?”

“Nothing!”

“Nothing?”

“Yeah, nothing!”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“For real?”

“Yes! Nothing!”

“You’re kidding me. Literally nothing?”

“Now!”

The last mook squeals like a filly, his leg bitten by an unseen Hum Drum. A fire spray and a restraining lasso later sees him trapped and shrieking at the top of his lungs.

“I’ll notify the others,” says Hum Drum, glaring down at the confined criminal, “see if they can carry you back to jail where you belong!”

They exit the vicinity, leaving the stallion tied to his own roadblock while he curses Hum Drum, screaming that he’ll forever regret this day.

As they enter another alleyway, Spike wipes sweat off of his face. “Is he going to be alright?”

“He will. I’ve got a PDA.” Out of his costume comes a big red button which he presses and talks code speech into before putting it away. “There. Nearest superhero now knows where he’s tied at. Can’t exactly bring him to jail because, you know, city on fire and police is super busy, but he’ll be brought over to the authorities.”

A jump across a fence and a hop down outdoor stairs. “You… you can just do that? I didn’t know you had that! I thought I’ve read everything about you!”

The compliment almost makes Hum Drum stumble on a stray brick. “Read everything about me? That’s rich! Am I already a part of the BitTune 500?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll explain when we get to… uh, where’re you taking me?”

He gestures his head forward. “Power Ponies HQ. Lot of citizens and others are holding down there until it gets safer outside.”

“W-wait… W-we’re going to—“

“Yup!” He flashes a smile at the dragon as they jump over some kicked-down trash cans. “One of the modern world’s seven wonders! Many creatures travel the world to visit our headquarters. It’s a beacon of light and good against crime!”

More alleyways to gallop through and more fences to jump over. They cross roads and dodge abandoned cars and fleeing ponies, fending off against mooks trying to chase them down but Spike’s bursts of fire teach them to stay away. Overhead, buildings fall over or rise to the sky or change color or disappear or wave around: signs of reality flaking apart.

“Alright, nearly there, Spike!”

This close, though the urban jungle clutters his view, he can see it and stare in wonder: a great tower reaches to the sky, higher than every other building in the megacity. A sleek monochrome edifice seemingly stolen from the future, edges and curves blending together in aesthetic union. A giant P comes into view: the logo of the Power Ponies emblazoned on glass. It reflects the morning sun’s nostalgic yellow as other heroes surround it, the headquarter’s souped-up defense against the forces of evil laying siege on it.

“Are you sure it’s still safe with that huge attack, Hum Drum?!”

“I guarantee it! We just have to—woah!”

The road sinks to reveal a sea of lava. An upward ramp of asphalt rises before them but not without a stretch of magma separating them between safety and death.

“Oh, come on! Can’t believe I left my glider back at HQ! Spike, I know another route! We’ll just have to… Spike? Spike?! Where are you?”

“Up here!”

Hanging over the lava pool, the flying Spike waves his claw at him.

“Spike!” His voice reaches a fever pitch in surprise. “You have wings?!”

Beating his chest, “I’m a dragon! Didn’t notice? Wings are part of the package! Now jump up and I’ll get you a ride outta’ here!”

The colt gets up, catching Spike’s claws only to drag him down towards the ground, much to Spike’s distressed yelps. “Hey! I didn’t know you’d be so heavy!”

“I stress-eat pizza and the past few days have been hard, okay?” The ridiculousness causes both of them to laugh. “Can you still make it?”

A missile of lava shoots past them, singing a strand of the colt’s mane, but Spike powers on. “Let’s say I guarantee it!”

And the dragon weaves through the salvo of shooting lava, banking in all directions to avoid more magma missiles. With his muzzle and mouth, Hum Drum holds on to his freezing hairspray and shoots it at lava geysers to freeze them cold. Each tiny movement shifted Spike’s weight, tugs him to the other side and sometimes brought him close to crashing into a building sinking into another lava pool.

They traverse the fiery river and the duo collapse ontosolid road. Their run continues, darting through crumbling buildings, warzone parks, and rooftops necessitating parkour—all to shake off a new batch of bandits from their tails and clamp them down long enough for other superheroes to swoop in.

A potion-laden mare jumps out a window and onto the end of the rooftop. The stallion by her side shoots arrows from his bow, tranquilizing the remaining villains galloping after the two children.

The potion pony bends her knees to meet their eye levels. “Now they’re taking in dragons? The chaos must be getting stronger if they’re flinging dragons here. Now to—”

Explosion rocks the rooftop. Cybernetic witches in jet fuel-propelled brooms pin the group down. The heroes prep up for another fight: potions thrown to instantly rust brooms and the witches’ machine body parts, arrows to tear apart their vehicles and to cut off their robot limbs completely. The two youngsters run as bait, hanging on to a broom and disorienting Queen Clip’s semi-androids on their moving turfs, only for the ranks of evil to be augmented by ninjas from the east and necromancers summoning the dead. A crossover of multiple arcs rolled into one, with heroes from multiple franchises doing it together!

But reason comes knocking when he sees them aiming for his head and wanting him dead. With Hum Drum hopping from broom to broom and using the machines against them, Spike lets loose streams of fire, singing many and scaring away the rest.

The potion pony shrugs before lobbing a potion behind her to petrify someone sneaking up on her. Smirking at Spike, “Not bad for your first time here! You a hero in the Dragon Holds?”

Spike shakes his head. “No. I’m a hero from lands farther than that. Just trying to get back home, really.”

“If that’s the case, you should get inside now. Can’t risk getting swept up by the bad guys out here in the open.”

One dragon-flying flight down the building later with colt in claw, Spike fast follows Hum Drum to the skyscraper, realizing that they fought just across from their destination.

They hit the entrance, passing by hundreds of citizens in the giant neo-modern lobby as police and volunteers and other heroes protect and feed them.

An abundance of eyes gape at the two visitors, but Hum Drum remains unfazed. “I’m taking you to the floors for Dragon Hold dragons to stay safe in until further notice. I heard you said you weren’t from there, but I have to keep things organized when we start shipping everybody out here.”

Spike keeps walking, gulping along the way. “Uh, n-no, I can’t stay there!“

The trip to the elevator doesn’t stop, Hum Drum giving the dragon a curious look. “You wanna be with me? Yeah, I get it. I wanna be with you too. You’re a pretty cool guy for someone who just fell from the sky! But orders are orders. Someone getting lost in this chock-full place could cause a lot of trouble.”

Inside the elevator, Hum Drum takes the stool and presses the buttons on there. He hops to the floor and they wait.

But Spike doesn’t want to wait. “I… I think I have to tell you something.” Fidgets with his claws. “Something important, Hum Drum.”

The colt taps his jittery hoof. “What is it? And sorry, but please make it quick. I have to get back outside and rescue other innocent creatures outside. Who knows how many more creatures like you will fall from the sky? I need to help them out too.”

“That’s the thing. I fell from the sky, right?”

He replies with a nod. “Yeah. So you wanna go home, right?” Then the dragon’s turn to nod. “Like are we talking about the other side of the world? Oh, you’re thinking with portals, aren’t you? Quick way home?”

“Heh.Something like that, but it’s much farther.”

“Uh, any step farther than the other side of the world is a step closer to us. Global physics, you know.”

Spike resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m still farther off than that.”

That earns a double-take from the colt. “Wait, are you from outer space?!

Spike’s next urge to resist is that of slapping himself on the head. Instead, his reptilian eyes plead with Hum Drum. “I need you to take me to the portal machine. The same portal machine that brought the Power Ponies up to another reality in the first place. I should—my backpack! Yes, I’ll show you!”

He reaches for his backpack. Fumbling for a comic, the comic…

Doesn’t find it. The other comics are there, though. A gulp races down his throat. “Did I leave it behind… there?”

The colt cocks his head. “What do you mean ‘there?’”

Matter-Horn crashes into a wall, sliding down and toppling another pile of comics with a mighty clatter.

While Verumarendi laughs at the others still fighting her, still ignorant of the fallen unicorn, Matter-Horn gets up only to slip on yet another comic. Her horn slams into the floor: a burst of hot searing pain stabs through her head, and she screams.

Despite her condition, Matter-Horn glances at the comic that caused her fall: in it, a twinge of familiarity; déjà vu. A risky look away from the madmare reveals the cover of the comic that started it all.

“Give me that!”

Verumarendi swaggers across the room but Matter-Horn avoids her punches. Levitating the comic, their ticket back home, she looks at the other Power Ponies by her side. “Hot potato this, girls! Make sure she doesn’t get this at any cost!”

With comics of the Power Ponies in claw, “Okay, Hum Drum: What if I told you I’m from another world, and that world is where Verumarendi is right now, and the Power Ponies are busy fighting her, but she made a portal back to your world and I fell into it,butI have one of the amulets that empower her and—yes! You have scientists and wizards! I need your researchers to experiment on it ASAP so we can find out how to defeat her and save this world!”

Hum Drum’s answer is a wide-eyed stare. “Are you sick in the head, buddy?”

“I’m not sick in the head! I’m totally serious! The comics here prove it! I… well, you have to take me to the portal machine or at least somewhere close, somewhere private. Because I can’t just talk about the comics like—“

“Show me the amulet.”

And Spike pulls it out for Hum Drum to inspect. It glows, pulsating with powerful magic. Goosebumps fall on the colt, his heart racing faster at the raw power radiating from the artifact.

“I’ve spent enough time with Matter-Horn to know this is no ordinary magic charm.” Hum Drum grips Spike’s shoulder hard. “Tell me the entire story and what this amulet does. Leave out no detail. This could be a game-changer!”

So Spike explains everything to him, a true elevator pitch thanks to the skyscraper’s enormous height. Through it all, the expression on the colt’s face rides a roller-coaster of emotions: from intrigue to dismay, from delight to determination—learning of the nature of his world, discovering Verumarendi’s ultimate plan, and hearing what the Power Ponies are doing in the world above.

Elevator doors open and Spike’s jaw drops yet again: a laboratory to surpass all other laboratories. Rows of tables-on-wheels and irregularly-shaped cubicles house labcoated ponies and other creatures, consulting and working with heroes to concoct new weapons and suits to combat reality’s ongoing collapse.

No time to waste: hurry to the machine. At the other side of the room, there it is in its own sealed cubicle: a great ring, floating there by magic, and ponies tinkering with it to keep it stable and not have it spit out unheard-of horrors. The colt introduces Spike to the science crew, asking them to bring the portal up and transport Spike to the world where he belongs.

“There are dragons in the upper world?” quips an engineer, confounded at the cute dragon. “You are very stable for someone from out there.”

“Uh, I’m just a baby dragon. Nothing like Verumarendi, I’m telling ya’.”

Banal normality in a forbidden dimension eludes the well-read scientist. “Whatever you say, Mister Dragon! As long as you’re with the Power Ponies, we’ll make it so! We’ve stored up enough excess magic from their previous jump to give the machine a second jolt, but it needs ten minutes or so to charge. If you’ll be so kind as to wait…”

The gathering of geniuses hook wires and plugs to the machine. Watching the spectacle are Spike and Hum Drum at a bench far away from anyone’s earshot. Nothing to do but be patient: to sit down and watch the portal charge up. Hum Drum swings his hind legs off the bench, observing and passing the time.

“Oh, uh, hello?!” shouts Spike to a nearby geologist working on his own crystals. He runs after the bearded and goggled stallion. “Could you check this thing? If you wanna know, it’s from the world the Power Ponies went to. I think it holds the key to Verumarendi’s defeat.”

Curiosity and a chance at yet more heroism draws the geologist’s attention and enthusiasm. “Oh, wow! It’s very magi-radioactive! Now boy, it shouldn’t take me too long! I’ll get back to you when I’m done.”

The researcher left to his goggles and devices, Spike hops back to Hum Drum. The colt suits himself up with additional weapons and a fresh new cape to replace the burn marks from his lava escape. The soundscape of fiddled machinery and tampered magic sets the backdrop to their time on the bench.

Hum Drum looks at him from top to bottom. “So you’re all set?” and he straps the hairspray can on his belt. “Ready to get back there and give Verumarendi the finishing blow?”

“Yup!” but his grin fades into fear. “I just hope the amulets actually have a weakness… and hope I actually get back up there.”

The wait drags on. Spike pony-watches while Hum Drum checks his suit and weapons. The portal lights up but in flashes, not unlike a decrepit engine hacking up dust and smoke before starting.

“What do you think of her after all this time?”

That seizes Hum Drum unprepared. “You mean my mom?”

Spike blushes. Hum Drum a technical orphan, still a sensitive subject, especially when his mother and father remain missing and have been presumed dead for years. “Uh, I meant the Masked Matter-Horn!”

The awkward moment goes away after one slow and labored exhale. “She’s been pretty good. I take it that you met her, saw what she was like. Reading her adventures in a comic book and then you meet her in person. Heh, I wish that would happen with my comics, but enough about me.” He brushes the brown puff of mane on his head, working in some style. “Hey, I bet you all thought it was just an impossible dream ‘til now, huh?”

Spike holds his head high, facing the portal—starting up with sparks all over the place. Back to the battle. Back to home. Back to them.

“Is she doing fine up there? Taking things well?” There’s a nod. Fond memories evoke a smile. “And… she’s… she’s been pretty good to me. Ma’ and Pa’ were awesome from what I could remember, but—“ and Hum Drum turns away, washing tears down with a quick gulp of water “—but Matter-horn’s the closest thing I have… to someone who was there for me all the way.”

Spike almost clutches at his heart, but Hum Drum isn’t finished. “She’s a cool sister, sometimes even a mother. We played games especially back when it was just the two of us, before we fully assembled the Power Ponies. During those times, she… she did her best to train me and… and raise me. She may be smart, but she had to get used to the tough city life out here just to figure out what food was good for me. Didn’t stop her from spurring me to be better: found me part-time jobs so I could have a salary and not an allowance, buy my own stuff. Also didn’t stop her from dragging me into her world of research and study like when she tried to help me solve some of those unsolvable computer problems so we could get the million-bits cash prize.”

A sole laugh pokes the room. “She’s lovely like that, Spike. She’s not like that with her own sister, even.“

“Wait, she has a sister?!”

Hum Drum’s face goes blank for a second. “Uh yes, she does! Adde Hocke visits from time to time. She lives across the river in New Jockey’s. Adde’s contacts in the superhero world made the search for possible Power Ponies easier for us. Bet the comics didn’t mention any of that, did they?

“Speaking of…” An uneasy whistle forces itself out of his mouth. “This whole comic reality business with you reading about our world and seeing our thoughts and deepest darkest secrets: whatcha’ make of it?”

Spike holds an asking look for Hum Drum. “Fili-Second called me out for knowing about her love for caffeine before even meeting her. Though I know the comics don’t tell everything; I didn’t even know about her intervention in the factory until she told me herself.”

Hum Drum nods to the click of the grappling hook on his back. “Yeah, exactly. As for me, I’m fine. Oh yeah, you’re surprised, but look at me.” A gesture to his cool and radical raccoon-mask face. “I’m not gonna wallow or sulk in misery. That’s not what heroes do. Besides… hey, you know what I think’s more believable?”

Hum Drum being a competent theorist of many worlds doesn’t strike Spike as plausible, but with how much he learned of the Power Ponies over the past twelve hours, he takes the bait: “You have another idea?”

The colt hero shows off an excited smile. “Simple, really: we weren’t made when a comic book happened. Everyone lived this life as if it’s been made from scratch from the very beginning, not as if some comic committee came over with their stats and graphs and outlines what not, but because it’s true. We’ve had a beginning, as in the real one they’ve got in the history books here. Your comic guys didn’t make us: they discovered us! Crazy, right? Or so we thought. We’ve already gone to a few alternate worlds here and there, and some of the whitecoats here believe in the infinite worlds theory. So really we’re just the lucky ones who get a comic book in your world, get to be famous in another universe. And that portal? It’s not a portal to realities above or below us: it’s just a portal between worlds!”

It’s Spike’s turn to be caught off guard. “Wow. I… okay, we’ve discovered alternate worlds out there too. Two of them through a mirror, though Starl—er, a friend told me more mirrors were made but then got destroyed or lost.”

“Then we’re certainly not ups and downs, above or below other realities! We’re parallel universes!” He rubs his forehooves in absolute glee. “Hey, do you mind me calling you a brother from another mother? No, a brother from another universe! How cool would that be?”

And Spike lets slip a little smile. “Yup. At least I wish that were true, considering the enchanters—“

“Nah, they probably didn’t know what they’re doing!” He swings his cape around, standing proudly on the bench. “All I know is I’m not gonna let them tread on me! I’ve read enough sci-fi to know we’re on the same plane!”

“Mister Spike!”

The geologist rushes to the dragon, levitating the cursed amulet, goggles still on his eyes. His magic drops it onto Spike’s claw. “I’ve seen this kind of stone before, Mister Spike!”

“You… you have?”

He tugs at his coat, sweaty from the discovery. “Have you heard of the proximas?”

Hum Drum looks at Spike for an answer, and the dragon’s ready with one: “Yeah, actually. Knew someone named Twilight and she mentioned it in her studies. I don’t know exactly what it is, though.”

The geologist takes off his goggles to reveal a pair of red yet cautious eyes. “It’s a stone of vast power that grants the caster its entire storage of raw dark magic: lures the caster in, and before she knows it, she wants nothing more than power!However, as the name implies, proximity matters. Get it far away from the caster and she’ll no longer have access to the magic.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” He holds out his arms to stop the geologist from going further. “Aren’t we far away? We’re a whole universe away from the caster!”

“That stumped me too, until I realized—“ a pointed hoof toward the portal machine. “Stones are pretty smart. We’re still detecting portals in the sky; too high for most pegasi to reach, but they’re still detectable. The barrier between this world and your world, thanks to her shenanigans, is liquid enough for the magic to get to her as if she were in this city herself. I’m not surprised if she’s already realized this. It’s her opening the portals, after all, and nothing’s stopping her from entering this world and tracking you down.”

“Then how far does Spike need to take it?” asks Hum Drum, steeling his voice with determination.

“Far out. Destroying the stone won’t do, although it will destroy its compulsive alluring powers. In fact, I advise against destroying the proximas: it’s harder to carry powder away from the caster than whole stones. I urge you to send it as far away from Verumarendi as possible. What forms of transportation do you have there?”

Spike scratches his head, seeing the pickle the Power Ponies are in. “Uh, trains, airships… but the nearest train station is like a long walk away, and who knows if we could get that far without her gaining ground on us?”

The geologist sighs in frustration. “Teleportation! Teleport the amulets out of there!”

“Matter-Horn can’t just teleport it randomly,” Hum Drum points out. “It could latch on to a new pony and she might get corrupted!”

“Okay, what about—“

“Portal’s ready!”

Heads turn to the magitech spectacle: the portal glimmers with colorful lights and magic, wheels and cogs rotating in perfect sync, powered by steady electricity and thaumaturgical energy. “When you’re ready, Spike!” one of the portal operators calls out.

And there’s the way back. Just a dozen steps and he’s back. Back into the fray, back into the battle, back with the Power Ponies—

No giant leap forward yet. One thing he doesn’t forget: a proper send-off for Hum Drum. Spike turns to the colt who looks back at him with a tinge of regret, with the face of Are you leaving so soon?—but then again, villains and chaos rage and quake outside, destroying the city and the world he serves.

Hesitation at first. Then, extends a claw to shake. “Thank you, Hum Drum… for saving me and, well, being who you are. And for inspiring me. Helping me learn something.”

“Duly welcome, Spike!” Hoof and claw shake, rise and fall, in unison. “And thank you too for coming by! Your story about that Twilight Sparkle pony though… gotta say, she sounds a lot like Matter-Horn! Guess we have a lot more in common than we both thought! Maybe we can meet again some sunny day, eh?”

“Yeah. At least one more time… and hopefully without either of our worlds on the brink of destruction—“

Lightning zaps out of the portal, tearing down a light fixture. Ponies scream and yelp at the noise, and engineers already hurry to put it back on the ceiling.

“We’re detecting instabilities!” the operator cries out, receiving error messages spewing out of the computers. His head swivels to the once-relaxed Spike. “You have to cross the portal before it destabilizes!”

And Spike gulps: Starlight told him of the world in between worlds, of indescribable limbos and purgatories in that mirror portal thing—the fear of getting stuck there and the deadly unknown. “But wh-what if I get stuck in the gaps—“

“Might as well try or you might get trapped here forever!” and to Spike’s surprise, it’s Hum Drum who speaks the words.

“Have you lost your mind?!” That’s the geologist, putting on his goggles to shield his eyes against the portal’s light. “Spike might get stuck in an unknown dimension due to wandering coordinates at best! At worst, he’d—“

Frantic feet attack the floor.

Every pony turns to Spike jumping into the portal, screaming a battle cry, proximas in claw.

All the operator can say is “Mister Spike, you brave fool!” before the portal winks out into nothing.

The Worst is Not

Hot air shoots around him. Falling, rising, being stretched apart.

An all too familiar feeling. The first trip to that weird Earth with its Canterlot High was a crash course in being stretched to the extreme in a psychedelic tunnel. He didn’t close his eyes for that trip. His eyes are still closed here. Is this what the Power Ponies felt coming to this world through the machine?

A cold rush surrounds him when he lands flat onto the floor. A familiar coolness: the underground facility was cold. Something heavy in his claw: the proximas. The sharp edges stress his scales, but he grips it tighter. Never let it go.

Verumarendi there and the Power Ponies looking at him, their battle interrupted—and the enchanted issue in the alicorn’s magic grasp.

“You!” Verumarendi screams, shaking the comic in the air. “How did you escape the clutches of that world?! That was to be your eternal prison!”

Zapp yells, “Then too bad!” before landing a lightning bolt on her face, but Verumarendi fights back with a new lightning bolt right at Zapp’s own face, picking her off the air.

The other Power Ponies restart the fight, throwing more weapons and punches and kicks and jabs against the trashing Verumarendi.

In the chaos, Matter-Horn finds time and space to regroup with the lost dragon. “Spike!” Then a motherly nuzzle against his head. “Are you… are you okay? You’re not too hurt, are you?”

Spike answers her nuzzle with his own. “I’m fine. Should’ve gone to one of those lava pools on the street.”

“Uh, streets aren’t supposed to have lava pools.”

“Yeah. I think that’s Verumarendi’s chaos messing up your world.”

Tension builds up in her face. “Not good news at all. She’s vulnerable and ultimately ponish, but we’ve been fighting for a long time. I don’t think we could last thirty minutes of more fighting. She may be biding her time, waiting for a simple mistake, and—“

She falls to the ground, struck by a beam of magic. Or would’ve been struck by a beam of magic if it weren’t for Spike jumping in front of her, taking the brunt of the beam—all muscles, aching; all bones, brittle; all scales, as if falling apart; all his two eyes, as if blinded and his brain is torture.

A scream: Zapp falls down again, her spinning body clipping Rager’s wings and knocking her to the ground. A thrown rope frozen and turned back against Mare-velous ties her down, doubling as a tripwire for Fili-Second to trip on and smack her head at a dozen G-forces against the wall. Radiance, left alone to fight Verumarendi, but the unicorn is finished in quick fashion and her weary body lays sprawled at the madmare’s hooves.

Spike closes his eyes, having felt each body’s—each friend’s—impact. Eyes open: the bodies are realer now. They’re still focused on her, still gritting their teeth, moving slightly but failing—pain subsiding though it pierces still.

Verumarendi floats slowly to Spike. An aura cold as the grave emanates from her glorious alicorn form. “You’ve proven much more difficult to deal with than I expected!” A rub of her hooves: her blank eyes glow like supercharged light bulbs. “Now you and your friends have run out of luck.”

Her eyes catch the gleaming amulet. “Give it to me. It is useless to hold on to it.”

Fire numbs the pain. Spike growls and shoots a weak shot of flame at her. “No!”

Verumarendi dodges and smiles all the more, displaying all her fanged teeth ready to rip skin to shreds. Down to his eyes, she levitates the enchanted comic book. Clutch as tightly as he can, Spike feels the strength slip from his claws: the amulet slips from his claws, now firmly under Verumarendi’s magic control.

“You are so lucky to meet your heroes! The way you talk with them, the way you look at them! Do you want reality, then? I am reality! I am Verumarendi! What else is there above me?” A vain evil laugh pierces the air like that of a dying coyote. “Heh. I really thought you were Hum Drum. At least he’s a Power Pony and you’re not. Say what you will about your nepotism with the Elements of Harmony, especially that prissy landlord princess of yours! You’re not one of them, so I fear nothing. Oh, would you try calling for help? Like that’s an option here.”

Do you even know who I am?! Spike screams mentally, willing his agony out. Wishes to let loose that primal scream. You have no idea who Spike the Dragon is! I saved the Crystal Empire, you nitwit!

But whether she’ll care about threatening the Elements of Harmony themselves—all he sees is Verumarendi gloating above worn-out bodies, hovering as a scepter of death.

“Vulnerable. Vincible. Your efforts, vain. I will start spreading the news to Maretropolis: you have all been defeated! There is nothing that can save you now, nothing that shall save them from me. Nothing! Absolutely nothing! Why bother trying to get up? Why bother going after such a futile prospect—hah!”

Fires an energy ball at Spike: one more explosion throwing him across the room for a renewed spear of pain at the end. Scales and muscles ache, skull and chest ache, everything doubly aches, and he can only moan and whimper and see the psychopath float into view in bleary tunnel vision.

And something cold on his head. Spit. Her spit.

“As it should be. The only good dragon is a dead dragon.”

She fast turns to the Power Ponies, her audience by default. “Where was I? Oh, that’s right! See, your world… what is it but just a work of fiction? There was nothing to begin with, and now it will be reduced to the nothing it came from for greater worlds will be mine! Reality will be to me what an ant is to a pony! All the ten dimensions will be under my control, and my true power shall be asserted: worlds made in my image!”

The ranting carries on behind Spike. In the pain, in the whimpering, everything in his body howls at him to not move a single muscle.

With his throbbing mouth, he forces one little happy grin.

All according to plan.

“This room is sealed!” the alicorn continues, gesturing wildly with her forehooves. “Ninety-nine percent air-tight! I know what you’re thinking of: taking the fight outside, where pesky guards and police and soldiers and princesses abound—but no. This room is coated with magic dampeners, so goodbye to teleporting out of here, numbnuts! Will anyone even look for you? It won’t be easy even if they try so hard. Just bask in my glory and know that your fate is either the sweet release of death or the agony of being my puppets!”

His claws burn in aching pain, but Spike limps on, past broken machines. Starting and stopping behind cover: a machine, then a deep groove in the floor.

To the closest pony there. Happier to see it’s one of the two unicorns. Happier still upon seeing her signature goggles.

“No weaknesses to see here! Try taking these stones off me: I will take them back easily! This necklace is bound to my soul, powered by the spirits and the magic of all those dead ponies you’ve seen on the way here, and these amulets above me orbit me as their master! Yes, I was the mass murderer, I was the one who brought low all things! Opened the portals and wiped the slate clean too! When those enchanters returned from their battle with you, I thought: how pathetic! Let me show my true self and I’ll show them how easily those misfits will fall! Too bad they thought I was a danger when I did reveal myself so I had to kill them. Too bad that they won’t be witnesses to yourdoom!”

Weak claws grab a hold of Matter-Horn. She weakly opens her eyes, rubble hiding much of her body. Whispers are exchanged. A claw points to one of the amulets as if giving an order.

Her horn touches his head. A beep of magic and then: relief. A great deal of the pain, vanished. For Spike, flexes his claws—almost as good as new.

”That should get you all healed up for what you’re about to do… but a-are you sure about this plan, Spike?”

“I… I’m absolutely sure. It has to work.” A glance above: Verumarendi still distracted. “Just tell me: can you say there’s a clear path from here to the surface?”

Fatigue makes a chore out of thought, so she powers through her intellect. “Could be. The vault may be pony-proof but I can imagine that germs could get through. Ordinary smoke signals, most likely not, but we’re dealing with something quite out of the ordinary. You think your method could work with that?”

“Is it the best vault door you’ve ever seen?”

“No. Certainly not as air-tight as she makes it out to be. Ah! There’s ventilation! There must be ventilation. Otherwise, they’d have suffocated in their sleep a long time ago.”

“Then that’s enough for me. Shoot it my way, jump out of the rubble like brand new, and leave the rest to me.”

With Matter-Horn nodding, Spike limps back to his place, starting and stopping again but faster, more nimble, grateful for Verumarendi’s bloated self-blinding ego.

“It is destined, prophesied, from the very beginning, is it not? That one must have all the power in the universe! Many call it the Supreme Being; others determine a pantheon of deities and demigods. But it is all in the past: they did not look to the future, that one shall gather all the power in her lap, and that very one has finally arrived!”

Her horn electrifies with unheard-of magic, her wings spread like wildfire, and thunder booms across the chamber. “You shall bow before me and behold my hideous strength! Tonight, none shall survive! You will all be witnesses to me, the great, the grand, the one and only Veru—“

Thunk!

A tinge of power leaves her.

The proximas amulet falls.

She steps back and her eyes grow into saucers. “Who’s responsible for this?!”

She gets her answer right away: a huffing and puffing Matter-Horn, her horn glowing and flickering while sweat drips off of her face.

“Oh, isn’t that cute?” Verumarendi hovers to her snout, squishes muzzles with the unicorn hero. “Trying to play games with me! How stupid could you get?! Do you not know when you’ve been outmatched? Will you not listen to the victor speaking here?”

She blows hot air at the alicorn’s mane. “I know how to listen to victors alright! I talk to myself some of the time!”

An alicorn stomp ripples shockwaves across the floor to again cast Matter-Horn down. “What an outrage you are! This is an outrage! Why are you not following what I say?! Why, why, why?!”

Matter-Horn can’t help but snicker. “It’s funny, how big of a baby you are. Then again, being born with all of that power must’ve made you pretty immature! At least the pony you possess didn’t start out that way and had to live a full life to get where she was… before you took over, that is.”

“Stop playing games with me!”

And Verumarendi charges straight at Matter-Horn, blank eyes across the deranged mare. “Show me what’s going on with you! Why are you still resisting?! It is futile to resist, and I mean it! I have won! I have everything! You think you can just shoot the amulet and get away with it?”

At that, Matter-Horn’s ears droop. She turns away in final fear. “No…”

Verumarendi relaxes with a growling sigh. “Good. You’ve finally learned your place in my empire and—”

“…but Spike can.”

And the madmare turns around to see Spike happily waving the amulet at her.

She narrows her eyes in fury, charges her wings and horn with untold amounts of magic. “You!”

“Spike, do it now!”

Verumarendi flings herself at him. Catches him, tackles the dragon to the ground, frothing at the muzzle.

“So you think you can get away with stealing what I rightfully deserve?!” she roars, saliva pouring onto Spike’s disgusted face. “That is intense madness! The amulet will do you no good anyway! Give it back to the pony who can actually use it!”

Spike nods with a pasted-on smile. “Yeah, sure! It’s gone thatta’ way!”

Following the pointed claw, she looks just in time to see a smoking green flame snake through the minuscule air gap under the door.

“That is a mere flame! Pathetic! A mere cry for help! Smoke signals even!’

“It’s a magic flame.”

“Whatever! You are only delaying the inevitable. Why must you mock me so when I do not deserve mocking?”

“Because you don’t realize how stupid you are?” Spike posits, channeling some of Twilight’s sarcasm. “You don’t know what I just did even though you’re way up on your high horse!”

“Then tell me!” she howls, choking his throat and jangling his head. “Tell me where the amulet is! Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

The damage done to his body doesn’t stop him from asking, “Uh, you tell me where you think it is.”

“Well, it must be with you!” She turns him around in her magic, shaking him like a near-empty bag. “Where? Where, where, where?! Or maybe you ate it!” She strikes his stomach, sending a missile of pain and squeezing fire from his belly to the throat. “Perhaps you’ve eaten it! Think your acid could burn everything—“

“It’s actually a fire sac in my stomach,” he manages to say in between wheezes. “Seriously, I know ponies don’t know much about dragons, but girl, you need some education—“

“Silence!”

That shuts his mouth. Not that he can say anything while a jabbing hoof makes its home on his stomach. Fire rolling up in his belly, with nowhere to go but up his throat in great strength.

Flames burn her face, warranting a scream at the surprise sear. She rolls on the ground, dousing the flame with lack of oxygen. Done with her stop-drop-and-roll routine, few words remain on her tongue. “You dare to make a fool of me?! You will pay! You will—“

“Power Ponies, now!”

They fall on her. She brings up shields too weak for the brute force of Mistress Mare-velous and the crisp speed of Fili-Second. Tries to fly away but the weather of Zapp stops her and the whopping size of Saddle Rager is its own roadblock. The attack constructs of Radiance drain the alicorn’s strength, and Matter-Horn’s sheer magic ability dogs her to the end with spell after spell.

Another punch to the face by Radiance now floating on an attack-construct platform with Mare-velous on board, linking punching combos and hooferangs until her lasso immobilizes the villainess to the ground.

Matter-Horn shouts, “Grab it! Grab it quick!’

Straight at Verumarendi Spike jumps, swiping one out of two amulets orbiting her head.

She feels it: another tiny tinge of power draining from her. “No! You can’t just do that! You can’t just best me like that!”

But she can hear it: the plume of fire cutting through the air. Doesn’t see the amulet, what he’s done with it, but two and two are put together.

When her power-shot mind connects the dots, a high-pitched screech is released. She pins Spike down on the floor: “Where are you taking it?!”

It hurts Spike, but he shrugs it off: nothing too painful now. In between torturous grunts, “I’m taking it as far off as I can! Not too far though! If she gets it… oh, when she gets it,she’ll send her forces on you. Might even come here herself!”

“What do you mean by she?! Who in the world are you referring to?!”

“I’m the one who mails Twilight’s letters! Guess where they go to!”

Her eyes shrink at the answer. “P-Princess… Celestia?!”

Despite her tight magic hold on him, Spike carries on: “What’s the hold-up? If you think you’re so strong, what’s stopping you from toppling Celestia over like a house of cards?! You’re an alicorn! You’re on equal hoofing with her!”

“I am!” but fear seeps into her voice. “I just did not expect you to call for back-up… so soon, you weaklings! Are you calling for mama already, wittle baby boy?”

“As if the amulets weren’t your mama!”

On the side, Mare-velous freezes for a second. “Did he just say what I think he just said?”

But she shrugs the thought away as they launch their final attack on a wrathful Verumarendi. A rope to the snout restrains her further while attack-constructs dig into the mare’s coat. Fili-Second goes round and round before landing punches and kicks as fast as milliseconds. Clouds of lightning block out any escape routes from the rope, and a bulked-up Rager stands ready to stop her if she tries to push the clouds anyway.

Matter-Horn shoots the amulet away in the madmare’s moment of weakness. “Go, Spike, go!”

And the dragon runs and leaps to the fallen amulet.

No cold feet.

Grabs the proximas amulet and bathes it in his special fire. Turns the stone into mist carrying out of the chamber by flame.

“No, no, no!” and Verumarendi trashes her hooves, throwing Fili-Second off her back. She latches onto Spike with her magic and slams him onto the floor’s cold steel. “You monster! You little brat! You won’t be getting away from me!”

Only for Matter-horn to teleport to his side. “No, you won’t be getting away from me, miss!”

“You dare call me miss?!” Verumarendi bellows. “I am not just a mere miss! I am the queen over all reality, your overlord! I am Your Majesty! You are mistaken to call me the title of mortals! You are all mere mortals! I will return you to the dust from which you came!”

“Yeah, keep talking!”

She fires freeze rays at the alicorn, sticking her hooves to the floor: wings and horn chilled to no use too.

His special flames are snails compared to Rainbow Dash, but they’re still fast. The distance, however, is formidable. Canterlot’s still far off, and nearby Mount Everhoof is not a stone’s throw away. Only way to win is to buy time, give it time—

The alicorn struggles and the ice breaks, but Matter-Horn refreezes her body with each attempt. The rest of the crew pile onto the mare, holding Verumarendi down as Matter-Horn exhausts herself until all but the villain’s face is frozen.

The dreadful seconds turn into agonizing minutes. The alicorn still struggles, still throwing off and bucking away a pony or two. Final fatigue catches up to the Power Ponies, with Matter-Horn’s magic heating up out of overuse.

An opportunity Verumarendi doesn’t waste: “It is useless! I… I have the power of the prxoimas on my side! They are more powerful than you think! You will lose this war of attrition and I will imprison you for your crimes! This atrocity will not stand, for I must stand as your ruler, your queen, your deity! Reality will bend to me, and it will be—“

She chokes. A thousand-yard stare in her glazed eyes.

A scream to birth nightmares.

Verumarendi crumples to the ground: no more glow of power. Agonizing pangs ripple across her torso and head: wings recede into her body, horn sinks into her skull like a drill. Her stature diminishes: strengthened muscles fade to normality. The shrinking mare howls, foreign lives stripped away from her soul.

In the end, it’s only her standing alone. A simple, ordinary Earth pony is all that remains. Blue coat, dulled by wounds and bruises old and new. Laid bare to the confusion of the Power Ponies.

She can only look up, her vision blocked by the imposing figure of Matter-Horn. On the unicorn’s face isn’t scorn. In its place cuts morbid curiosity on her features

She has one question for the Earth pony. “Who are you?”

And the mare swallows a heavy lump in her throat. “I’m… uh, I’m…” She looks down: shame. Her voice, quiet mewling. “I… I th-think y-you’ve… scattered around… a-and found it a-already…”

“Perhaps.” Matter-Horn brings up a list, checks it against the mare’s appearance and her broken spanner cutie mark. “Your name is Monakeras Wrench. Monk Wrench, for short. It’s good that the spell hides your mark. Would’ve been too easy to tell who you are...”

She levitates reports and test logs into view. A lecture might’ve been nice, but she puts it off. “Tell us your side of the story. Considering the portals, the extra-dimensional visitors, and the other signs of dark magic in this place—”

Wrench gulps. Still hasn’t looked up yet. Her eyes, blue eyes, naked without a long mane to hide behind: the windows to her blackened soul.

“The evidence we’ve gathered point to something more than an experiment gone wrong. We’ve seen Verumarendi herself back in Maretropolis, and I don’t think you could’ve possibly been her or have been possessed by her. Your foalish attitude threw us off from the cold and calculated abomination we’ve met.” She shakes her head, pawing the floor. “It’s sad, isn’t it? You call us mere comic heroes, but even the dumbest villains we’ve faced were less cliched and immature than you.”

“That’s not fair!” A defeated whimper compared to the alicorn’s booming voice. “You’re just picking on me! I’ve lost, okay? Why can’t you just accept that?”

“You tampered with numerous worlds. You tampered with living, breathing worlds full of history and life. Yet you’ve treated life as nothing more than equine resources.”

The mare cowers. Lowers her head, raises her hooves for mercy.

Matter-Horn allows a sigh. “Yes. You want me to be kind to you. To make us believe that the spirit of Verumarendi possessed you and that we should judge you as an unwilling vessel. The words of your leader didn’t imply anything to the contrary.”

She affords a look up. “Whorlick’s still alive?”

“Recently deceased. He told us about Verumarendi rising to help everypony ascend. With the reports we’ve scoured, I first thought it was Verumarendi taking over somepony in the crew, biding her time until the right moment to strike. But Monk Wrench…” Puts the list away. “I saw your name among the other test subjects for that experiment. Tell me: what happened?”

And the mare bleats, striking her chest with her thin and aching hooves. She looks up, eyes red and close to bleeding. “Y-yes, something bad happened! S-something t-terrible happened, and I… I was caught up in the fiasco and… th-that’s it!”

Matter-Horn bends down to her drawn-back body. “Would that really be all there is to it? Or is there something more?”

“Are you… are you… are… you—” scampers backward to the wall, everyone else following her. “P-please don’t kill me!”

By her side, Matter-Horn sits down. A cold breath crosses out of her mouth. “We won’t. Fortunately, killing off one Mane-iac doesn’t mean killing all possible versions of her, but the crime remains. You did kill your fellow ponies in this world too.”

The others soon give the downed mare water and food from outside. The door’s already opened thanks to the lack of cursed alicorn magic controlling it. Cool refreshing water clears her throat even as excess energy and magic leave her bit by bit.

“Now what made you do this?” asks Matter-horn, scooting closer to her. Interrogative yet reasonable.

A great weight weighs down on Wrench’s withers. “I-I… I-I just wanted to… t-take over…”

Matter-Horn leans in for more words. When she doesn’t get any more, she clams up. “That’s… that’s all?”

Wrench growls at her despite a tender throat. “What did you expect? A sappy backstory?” A sneering evil smile. “You’re quite comical even for a comic book hero.”

“At least we gave you the benefit of the doubt. But… just power?”

Wrench nods, tired but with renewed resolve. “When Whorlick started making the rounds, somepony told me of a secret plan to obtain a few magical artifacts and unlock magic powers no one’s discovered in history. I resigned from my job as engineer and took up a role in Clockwisely. Wasn’t a unicorn, so I couldn’t join the Enchantment Division. Just went around as a clerk and coffee gopher. Turns out that was perfect ‘cause I could do errands for them: deliver things, scan stores, spy on colleagues. No one noticed because I was ‘just’ a gophering clerk.”

“I was vital to the project ‘cause they told me to go AWOL last night and use the bloodenstone I was given. I… wasn’t there for the fight. I was one of the few who stayed behind to watch out for any suspicious civilians—sitting behind the window cleaning thing and looking at the streets to see if the battle was too loud, see if ponies down there noticed. They teleported me away with them and introduced me to this place where they enliven fictions into realities!”

An avaricious light in her eyes. “I... I realized what they were doing over there. It wasn’t just magic artifacts or forbidden spells. They desired to ascend, to become gods. They could become rulers over all reality, the new princesses and princes of Equestria and beyond... but all they did was just make special editions for comics!” A spit at the floor sums up her contempt.

Her half-lidded eyes, fuzzy from life force spent. “They’re right that this power must be controlled properly to bring about a new order. That didn’t matter. They were in my grasp. So close. The moment they opened up test subject slots for the Verumarendi experiment, I took it. No one else did. They were too afraid.

“So I came and I saw. Saw her. Her. I was so scared and happy… I knew I could die, but if I did things right… but they didn’t do things right. Enchantment didn’t go perfectly. Verumarendi came up wrong: just a shell of herself. They caught me in the crossfire, and guess what? I gained her powers! Now why enslave Verumarendi under my will when I can be the next Verumarendi? So... I drained everyone’s magic that way, opened up all the portals and consumed the magic in their places too… and that’s how it came to be. Could’ve led an army, ruled the world with it, but with my powers, I could do it all alone.”

A ghost of a chuckle beneath high-pitched coughs. “I was never close to greatness. Ran for mayor of Manehattan a few years ago, but that was the closest to it. And here you see… ponies fiddling with make-believe stories? Whatmadness is that?! I… I could do great things with such power, show the world what I can do without all that make-believe gunk, but… heh. You took that chance away from the poor desperate mare, hm?”

“You’ve already shown us what you can do with so much power,” and Matter-Horn stands up. “The first thing you did was kill your colleagues in a fit of supremacy, then you willingly used up the resources of other universes for your gain alone. If that’s your first instinct, it’s best the world doesn’t see what you’re capable of.”

A choke. Holding her throat. “You’re…?”

Collapses to the floor. Can’t sit anymore. Can only lie down on the cold heartless floor, shock overtaking her entire body. “You’re… g-going to send me to jail, aren’t you?”

Matter-Horn shoots a cursory glance at Spike, silently asking if he sees it right too. “A decades-long sentence would be the most lenient way to protect society from the likes of you. Not the laser-focused reformation Spike told me about: chances are, they could imprison you in stone. But rehabilitation is an option.”

Wrench fires deadpan eyes at her. “You must be joking.”

“I am not.”

“Then so be it.”

She screams and leaps at her, breaking the ice in her limbs—

A smack to the head. Wrench falls to the ground as a fly to the swatter. The last of her strength, drained. Her ears twitch a second after her crash.

Nothing.

Nothing more comes from her. The becomer of death, the destroyer of worlds, the would-be harbinger of doom: defeated by a whack. They may have laughed if they haven’t recalled the dead bodies and the dead worlds.

Fili-Second checks her pulse: alive, unconscious. Awkward silence.

The Power Ponies exchange glances. The fallen “Verumarendi,” somepony to take care of in the meantime. The destruction around them: dead villains to dispose of somehow.

Spike: the savior at the eleventh hour.

They sit down on the floor. Contemplate. Few words are said, asking if one or another is okay, only to hear a bland affirmative. Sitting there, catching their breath, churning their minds.

The places of other worlds left burned, wasted, pillaged in her wake. Other universes tainted by the experimentation of those who saw everything else as fiction, as play toys and mere materials. But in Hum Drum’s vision, it’s all equal: only a portal to connect to other universes. Many worlds, many different versions of said worlds: with their own lives, their own histories, their own dreams and futures.

Their own friends to make.

“No matter what, the deed is done.” One long-lasting gaze upon Matter-Horn’s fellow partners in crimefighting. A reward for persevering to the end. “It’s over, girls. We’ve won.“

Full silence devours Spike; mind stirring, churning, whirling. Then, “What about Maretropolis?”

“Give me your comic. Good thing some of their spells are easy to decipher.”

She takes out one such spell from her bag. Reading the equations out and fusing the resulting magic with the comic: a great light explodes and strikes the wall.

From the blast, a portal appears. Swirling, spinning until the static clears.

Buildings reappear. Billboards return as well as the trees. From the ether, vanished ponies reunite with their loved ones. Rampaging villains, reined back into custody. Parties, celebrations on the street: balloons and streamers already climb the sky. The heroes left there are the most surprised, having expected to fight the chaos for a little longer: they can now rest.

Smiles pop up on the Power Ponies’ faces. Liquid pride fills their eyes: tears wipe the suffering away. Staring long into a city saved, into a world saved. Lives saved.

They cheer long after the portal closes.

Matter-Horn fights a sniffle. She loses, her tears finally breaking the barrier of her eyes. “Then that’s all and good.”

But her stomach rumbles, shutting everyone up.

And she laughs at herself for that. “Though as much as we’d all like to go back right away… I’m famished. Spike, let’s sort out a second breakfast, shall we?”

The Wonder Is...

The land of Abyssinia lies behind the diplomats and their escort. The local cats wave back at them though they pay little attention to the mineral canine among them. However, it’s a start: the first step to a long and bountiful friendship between Abyssinians and Diamond Dogs.

The homeward journey is long and takes a few days to complete. It doesn’t help that wings are out of the question when a unicorn and a Diamond Dog are in tow. Spike can’t carry them in flight for days on end even with the buff muscles he’s grown over the years. The train isn’t an option either: who needs rails when creatures have traveled cart-churned paths and trade routes for centuries and millennia? That mentality flies against the new and progressive face on the Equestrian throne, Princess Twilight Sparkle herself. Still, there’s joy to be found in taking it slow, treading the worn way, and spending precious time with his buddies.

They rest up in an inn at night. The innkeeper, desiring to curry favor by granting them deluxe bedrooms and free dinner, is dumbfounded when his generosity is denied. They’re just doing their job, they say, and they’ll pay like the others and have regular rooms, please. Their hearty dinner is an exhibition to the lucky dwellers there: the dragon Friendship Ambassador of Equestria, the unicorn Prince of the Crystal Empire, and the diamond dog Diamondian Diplomat to Abyssinia—all three breaking bread with each other over small talk, big laughs, and average-sized mugs of cider.

They retire to their bedroom hours later. By then, the diamond dog diplomat is fast asleep, his tongue wagging at dreams of uncovering caches of gems galore. Shining Armor, rocking a mature stubble for a rugged veteran’s look, sleeps too.

But sitting at a wooden desk by candlelight, Spike stays awake.

Before long, the flame’s burning light is enough to get Shining up. The loud turning of a page doesn’t help his sleep. With enough army experience to perform covert operations single-hoofedly, he casts his blanket away and sneaks up on Spike.

He announces his presence by poking his head into view.

“Oh, uh, hi, Shining,” says the muscular dragon, sheepish. “Too noisy?”

Shining shrugs. “It’s fine. You’ve been lugging those around for a long time, though.”

“You mean this?” A shiny new comic holds up well under the candlelight. “Not this specific one. The local shop is up-to-date with every major series, and the Power Ponies just had a new release. I couldn’t resist!”

The ex-Captain of the Guard shakes his weary head. “Some things never change.”

Spike flashes a handsome smile. “Growing up, I’ve learned to stop doing childish things… like being afraid of childish things. It’s certainly better than drinking your heart away,” and a wink seals the deal.

“But you’re already bulkier than Bulk Biceps!” jabs Shining, poking Spike on a beefy shoulder. “You’re already macho!”

The two share a laugh at that. “You still have those Brutus Force comics, you know! You’re just saying that because you know you can never be more muscular than me!”

“Uh, actually—” taps his forehooves, eyes avoiding Spike’s “—I was planning to auction them off. You know, adding funds to the Crystal Treasury.”

Spike calls his bluff with a deadpan stare.

“Yeah, you got me. The funds are for more comics and O&O stuff… and some trading card games I’ve missed out on during my Royal Guard years.” He rests his head on the desk. “And free time just creeps in with Flurry Heart growing up so fast. We won’t be prince and princess for long ‘cause everyone’s helping her with her future Crystal Princess duties, so I’ve got much more free time now. I can get back in the military academy as a teacher, but I’d still have lots of hours for pastime.

“Though I gotta say, you’ve really stuck with the Power Ponies all the way. Doesn’t seem like you read them every day, but it’s really true: you bring them over on every ambassadorial trip.”

“It calms my nerves.” A glance at the steady candle. “You know how stressful diplomacy can get. I may not be a cape-wearing superhero, but seeing the Power Ponies cut through adversity means I could do it too.”

Shining Armor ruffles his head only to realize Spike’s too tall for that, and ruffling scales isn’t as easy as ruffling manes. “Good for you, but—“

He searches the dragon suspiciously. After checking the sleeping dog one more time—he snores peacefully—“Let me guess: it’s that meeting you have with… them, right?”

Spike holds the comic up against the candlelight. A smile glimmers by the flame. “Yup.”

Shining shakes his big-grinned head. “It’s one thing to hear it from Twily, but it’s another to hear it straight from you! I’m still amazed at how that happened. Ah, I’d wish that’d happen to Brutus Force, but I don’t think I’d survive planets without any oxygen at all. Now, if you’ll excuse me—“ a long stretch-filled yawn “—I’m gonna go back to sleep now, and I think you should too. Don’t want to have a grumpy dragon vomiting fire in the middle of the inn.”

After another good laugh to share, Shining goes back to bed. He returns to snoring in less than a minute, leaving Spike to his comics.

The trip back home flies by fast. It isn’t long before they reach the closest train station, and then it’s a dozen hours of sitting there and taking the diamond dog diplomat back home. Deep in the heartlands of Equestria, they stop by Ponyville where Pinkie Pie showers them with pastries as appreciation for their hard work. Fifteen minutes later, they enter Canterlot where Spike hops off, leaving Shining strapped in for his northern trip back home to his Crystal Empire family.

It’s sunset, the perfect time for him to bump into Twilight. She reports a slow day today while they trot through castle halls: a few laws passed, a new planned wing to the School of Friendship, deciding which noble’s social function to attend over the week. “And whatever you do, Spike, it’s best you rest up early for tomorrow. It’s gonna be one manic day traveling to Griffonstone with Gallus and the griffon Royal Guard.”

“Another friendship meeting, then?”

“That and finally renovating the statues too. It’s amazing to see how far they’ve gone. From dilapidated dumpster fire to a second Golden Age!”

While Spike hears Twilight’s news of the day, a whisper nags at the back of his mind: It pays to be punctual, after all. Especially when we meet every two months these days instead of every two weeks.

Twilight stops her trot, giving Spike the once-over past her grand flowing mane. “You keep looking at the ceiling. Something on your mind? Sure things went well with the Diamond Dogs and the Abyssinians?”

His shoulders droop a little as practiced. “Definitely not. Trying again one more time next month… and Luster Dawn graduating too, right?”

“In about a month yes.” She tilts her head, seeing Spike’s giddy smile. “Having something tonight?”

His cheeks flareup. He nudges her on the shoulder. “Oh, you know!”

“It is the second Saturday of an even-numbered month, after all.” A giggle cuts away any remaining tension. “Promise you won’t take long?”

“I’lltake long, Twilight! It’s Sunday tomorrow!”

She rolls her eyes with a jesting groan. “Have it your way then, but that means you’ll have a jam-packed Monday! Thorax still has to deal with that satellite state on one of those islands off the Fillypine Sea pronto.”

The big bulky dragon jumps in his place. “Thank you, Twi!”

The alicorn princess rolls her eyes again. “You’re still such a kid from the good old days,” she mutters out of hearing range.

After saying goodbye to Twilight who’ll soon start Night Court, Spike heads to his quarters. They are decently well-furnished: the walls aren’t made of dragon edibles, for one, since bricks aren’t as tasty as crystals. A good bed, a big fridge, and a little hoard of gemstones all on his own in a vault: modern dragon hoards in this modern day and age.

A glance at the clock: six-twenty eight. Cutting it close.

A Do Not Disturb sign hangs on his door which he then locks. Into his wardrobe room, he opens up a cabinet where several Rarity-tailored suits hang. He sticks out a claw deep into a cabinet, pushes through a swamp of more clothes. Blindly, he turns the lock at the very end, staying there for a good three or four minutes to hash out the right combination. A click confirms the safe’s opening, and blindly again, he pulls something out of it.

Out of the wardrobe’s suffocating darkness and into clear light, a thin and colorful thing: a comic. A Power Ponies comic. The issue with Verumarendi and all. Verumarendi’s Game Over!

He puts it down for a moment to have on some proper clothes: a jacket and a hat reminiscent of the Guys’ Nights he still does with Big Mac and Discord. Not too formal, but formal enough to be dapper, snappy, and cool.

Spike checks himself out in the mirror and laughs. “Still as giddy as ever, eh, Mister the Dragon?”

But he has enough with his own looks. He picks up his comic and speeds to the last page, the one with those tiny familiar words.

After reading the words out loud—remembering last-minute to lock the wardrobe room—a portal opens up: that amazing swirling rift in spacetime he’s seen so many times before, made quiet and still as to not leave a trace behind.

He steps in.

The crossover to other dimensions leaves Spike with a dizzy head no matter how much practice he’s had over the years. With much experience, however, he has his dizziness subsiding in mere seconds these days.

Though he staggers from the recoil, someone props him up. “Woah! Steady there, Spike! You need something? Need a glass of orange juice?”

Spike looks and sees the stallion helping him up. Grown-up, sure, but though his costume grew with him, it never really changed. The raccoon mask around his eyes are still as prominent as ever, and the cape too.

“Nah, I don’t need any of that,” Spike says with a clawbump to Hum Drum’s hoof. “I just need someone to modify that portal machine or whatever so it won’t hammer my head.”

As the dragon nurses the remnants of his headache, Hum Drum walks him through the lab. Scientists mind their own business, busying themselves with more important projects than greeting Spike, though a few take the courtesy to wave or nod at him.

“Alright, they’re up the next floor, Spike! In the main room!”

Up the stairs, then Spike sees it: the meeting room of the Power Ponies, a small little round table that doubles as their dining area and a table for board games. In truth, a table of friendship and good times between Maretropolis’s greatest defenders.

Best of all, the Power Ponies are there. Rager and Radiance chat about fashionable greenhouses and how to breed plants super-packed with nutrients so orphans and other needy ponies around the world can easily grow their own food for the day. On the side, Fili-Second chugs on a jug of coffee, the rich brown beverage trickling down her chin—it’s decaf, Hum Drum assures him.

“Is that Spike?!”

The dragon turns around to see two teenage ponies galloping up to him, wearing their own good-guy get-ups. The colt carries a rope and a pair of nunchucks while the mare sports a tornado-shaped amulet and several glass bottles of lightning.

Spike looks down at the little ponies before him. “I guess you’re the apprentices they’ve been talking about, right?”

“Sure are,” coos a raspy voice.

Spike looks up to see Zapp coming in with Mare-velous: their faces much more creased since the first time he saw them more than a decade ago. As Mare-velous once said after Spike commented on it a few visits ago, We’re both the oldest of the bunch, anyway. Kind of funny, really, how Matter-horn’s the youngest of us. Looks like she’s never gotten older! Being trained on the mountaintops really does wonders for your health, eh?

Spike kneels down to the apprentices’ level, getting all of their attention. “And, uh, who are you two again?”

“I’m Three-Strand Coil!” says the stallion, whipping his half dozen of ropes about.

“And I’m Forked Light!” declares the mare, conjuring up mini tornadoes around her head.

A smirk creeps up his mouth. “Wanna show me what you got?”

So the apprentices show off for their inter-universal visitor. Coil throws his ropes into the air and they split off into mini-ropes grasping objects with their tight grip and lassoing them right onto his back. Meanwhile, Forked unleashes a tornado along with her jars of lightning, combining them into a storm-powered twister sucking up and electrifying dummy targets Zapp brought into the room.

When the dust clears, Spike stands stunned and still. “Wow, that’s incredible!”

“Spike!”

His heart stops. No need to turn around to know who this new pony is.

He scoops her up in a great hug, almost suffocating but she doesn’t mind. It lasts for a while before he puts her down gently. Kindly, still with spring in her step, though eye bags and a fading scar are reminders that even she too must set things up for the next generation.

“How’s things?” he asks Matter-Horn.

Matter-Horn takes off her goggles to take a more relaxed air: a sign of close friendship. “Other than fending off a bunch of dolphin-controlling brainwashers? It’s all good! Also, did you know the Maretropolis Centennial Celebration is coming up? It commemorates one hundred years of the city since its founding! That’s a week from now, but we’re all helping them set the festivities up starting tomorrow.”

“Funny you should say that! Tomorrow, I’ve got some big shoes to fill too!”

And Matter-horn chuckles and slaps Spike on the shoulder. “We’ve got a lot more in common than we think!”

The other Power Ponies gather around the big table. For Hum Drum, he joins the duo of Spike and Matter-horn as they sit by a smaller table on the far end of the room.

The sight of the mare’s tired eyes turns Spike’s gears. “So I’ve been thinking. I haven’t really asked this before… but what are your retirement plans?”

“About time you’ve popped the question, huh?” cuts in Hum Drum.

But Matter-Horn’s smile is as warm as ever, peering at her friends of over twenty years—just having a fun time chatting though flesh and strength may fail.

A soft sigh leaves her muzzle. “Mare-velous has been making her transition a gradual one: short stints as a museum tour guide, helping out with archaeology sites close to the city. Zapp’s already working her way through the ranks of the city’s weather factory—she wants to end up leading the whole region some day. Fili-Second is a wandering spirit: not even sure she’ll stay put to have a family, so I think she’ll see the world on her own terms without anything hindering her from stopping by and hanging out with us once in a while. Radiance plans to return to gadgeteering full-time, and she’s more than willing to pass on the art of attack constructs to a worthy successor. Rager’s afraid she might pass her bulk-up genetics onto her foals, but you’ve already heard of her engagement to Spruce Manners; she’s not letting it stop her… and with less things to protest for in the environment, she may retire to a life of housemaking.”

As she talks, Spike takes a good look at the Power Ponies there. All laughing, all striking up conversation with the two apprentices and each other over salad and orange juice. Someone may call the heroes and they’ll be up in seconds to fight crime and save the day, but here, they are simple ponies. Real, living, breathing ponies with a past to learn from, a future to prepare for, and a present to make the best out of.

Matter-Horn puts a hoof to her chest. “As for me—“

“Wait, you didn’t tell him yet?” says Hum Drum, a little surprised.

Matter-Horn tilts her head quizzically. “I’d rather he gets the news while you’re here too!”

“Get what news?” Spike asks.

And Matter-horn raises her head. Rubs her chin which doesn’t feel as strong and sturdy as a decade ago. “You know that I’ll be the last one to move on. You see how Mare-velous and Zapp have their own apprentices already. The other three are still on the lookout for the right ones, and we’ll know in time who’ll fill their horseshoes. When they do come, I’ll be the last one left: the veteran of the new-age Power Ponies, there to guide them. Wouldn’t be for long since I’d be pushing into my fifties by then, and their leadership needs fresh blood. So when I move on to become a full-time scientist, guess who’ll be in my stead?”

It’s a head scratcher for the dragon. “Your future son or something, right?”

“Oh, you don’t know?” she blurts out. “I’m infertile!”

That hits Spike like a train to the chest. “You… are?

Eyes lock on to Hum Drum. “Uh, don’t look at me! You told me it was a sensitive subject.”

“But Spike’s a good friend,” Matter-Horn says. “I’m sure he would’ve taken it with grace.”

Shock still all over him, Spike steps back. “Yeah, other than that I’mstill learning new things about you after all these years.” An eyebrow raised. “Although you seem okay with being infertile. Eerily okay.”

“That’s because I’ve learned how to move on from it,” she says, glancing away for a moment. “It wasn’t an easy ride—had lots of tears and crying over it, especially since most of us wanted to have our own families too. But then… well, I didn’t just stop moping around. I was crazy about looking for alternatives, A-K-A the adoption centers.”

Her smile broke out into a tearful grin. “However, as legitimate and loving that option was, I realized I was already a mother. I had to be a good motherespecially when his real father and mother have been long dead. And while modesty keeps me from saying it, I think—“ wipes a tear from her eye “—I truly believe my progeny would stand up and declare me as the best mother in the world.”

She puts a hoof on Hum Drum, nuzzling him on the head. “So you’re right, Spike. When I finally step down from my role in the Power Ponies, myofficially adopted son will take his place in my steed.”

And Spike’s heart swells to the stars. Raising a muscular claw to the air, “Alright, Hum Drum, bro!”

“Yeah, bro!” and they bump appendages, hugging each other in congratulations.

A quick blur comes up: Fili-Second and the other Power Ponies follow behind, the speedy mare holding up a map with some restaurants encircled. “I’m not sure if I’m interrupting any sappy soap opera talk, but yes, Spikey boy, they’ve got The Alteration Agency up on Broadpath Theater: a conspiracy thriller! And coffee donuts, my treat!”

The others laugh in good-hearted fun, and Spike gives Fili-Second a thumbs up. “Yeah, I’m down for that!”

So he and the Power Ponies with their apprentices venture down from HQ and into Maretropolis proper.

There, the skyscrapers rise, and it’s much like Manehattan but two or three decades into the future: more buildings rising to the sky than ever, more cars rolling about under high-tech trains and above subway rails. The sun has long set, and in the middle of a long twilight, nightlife bustles with lights and colors aplenty.

The ponies there too, many he never saw in the background of a comic panel. One selling flowers, another dressed like a secret agent, some other selling pear and orange pastries in a mom-and-pop’s: none of this stops him even as he comes close to bumping into a streetlight—so distracted by these real-life “background ponies.”

As they step into the Broadpath Film District, there it is in typical adventure-thriller form: a poster showing off a couple young actors and actresses in action poses with an exploding building behind them.

“You ever get the feeling these actors just keep getting younger?” Spike asks Matter-Horn.

The unicorn rolls her eyes and keeps on smiling. “Why should I care? We’ll just buy popcorn and watch to our heart’s content. Let’s see where the night takes us.”

And Spike smiles too: about to hang out with the Power Ponies, about to watch a film with them. Not as superheroes but as ponies with a present, the now, to make the best of and enjoy.

So Spike and the Power Ponies enjoy themselves, letting the night whisk them away to greater joys.

Future Strife

Spike crosses dark crystal hallways. Bannered windows decorate the shiny walls. He’s fortunate for the soft carpets muffling his footsteps. Won’t have Starlight teleporting to any suspicious noise to fight imaginary intruders stupid enough to rob the castle.

Though he is housing intruders.

The talk with the Masked Matter-Horn didn’t go too well though it was the Power Pony herself: a dream come true!She was real and right there in front of him, with the suit and the costume and the voice—all better than any cosplayer can pull off. Yet Space Beat’s note and notice turned the dream into a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. And that was before the other Power Ponies woke up.

It was a delicate moment for the crying Matter-Horn. Looked pathetic as she hid under the bed while Spike distracted one awoken Starlight wondering what caused that heart-breaking wail. Before and after that, he hugged his hero who’d been reduced to tears and mewling, to calls for Mom and Dad to save her.

But when Matter-Horn turned to wake up the others, two things came to his mind: first, they’d need the privacy, some alone time to get used to this world. The sight of some random baby dragon from out of nowhere in this supposedly hostile dimension would only alarm them. If he was away though, Matter-Horn could introduce him to her friends in a positive light and start everything off on the right foot.

Second, he had guests, and guests needed hospitality.

He opens the door to the kitchen. Turns the lights on and judges the empty room before putting on apron and hat. He neatly lays out some salt, sugar, flour, eggs, baking powder, and a couple other ingredients on the table before placing a stirring bowl on the table along with a pan and spatula on the stove.

The sweet scent of too-early breakfast makes him lick his lips at his culinary creation. “Hope these pancakes will cheer you up, girls. I really hope they do.”

But everyone must awake first.

A big yawn accompanies the smacking of lips. Her eyes open. Forelegs stretch to kick the crinkles out of her bones crunching like crispy potato chips.

“Fili-Second?” Matter-Horn dips her head into the sleeper’s vision. “I… I know this might shock you, but—“

“Why am I in bed?” From her pillow, Fili-Second scans everything in the room with bouncing eyes. “Alright, alright, I need to know pronto: Why in the world are we sleepin’ here? It’d be fun to catch some Z’s before we take down that Verumarendi mare, but—“

A cough from Matter-horn stops the fast talker. “I have to tell you something very important—“

Fili-Second’s out in a blink. Blanket and pillow are thrown into the air, caught in the unicorn’s ice blue magic field. The super-fast gray-green mare races through the room, speed blurring her suit of arrows and painted-on watches while her narrow amber mane and tail angle themselves like lightning bolts.

She screeches to a halt right before Matter-Horn sputtering, “Wh-what was that for?”

“Scouting. Or as the Prench would have it, reconnaissance.” Eyes jump up and down to take in the room again. “Seems okay. Not what I thought I’d see from an unknown evil dimension. Walls made of crystal? Pretty sturdy. Looks like we’re in some royal’s bedroom though those comics were pretty hefty. Even made a lot of comics about us! I know we’re cool and all, but that’s obsession at this point—and I guess this is the part where you want me to stop analyzing now, huh?”

Matter-Horn sighs and nods. “Yes. Now, before we get any further, there’s a secret I must tell you and the rest of the girls. But first, we have to wake everyone else up.“

Fili-Second looks at her fellow Power Ponies still sleeping in their beds, one of them snoring as loud as a train whistle. “Why not just get it over with and wake ‘em up at the same time?”

“To be fair, we were expecting something much worse than a fancy bedroom.” The unicorn catches a glimmer of light reflected off a facet of the crystal wall. “If we wake them up together, there may not be enough time to tell them that the coast is clear and that there are no enemies in this place. It’s to slowly ease them in, don’t you see?”

Fili-Second wipes her zigzagged mane. “Good point.”

They get to the next pony to wake up while she sleeps beside Fili-Second’s empty bed: Saddle Rager. A gray pegasus, flowing brown mane adorning her head as fresh flowers adorn her suit.

A poke later, she rises with fluttering eyelids, sluggishly acclimating to the foreign environment. A moan comes in: not calm but groggy. “G-girls? Where… are we? Did we make it?”

“Yeah, we did,” replies Fili-second, gesturing her foreleg around, “and it’s some sophisticated crystal bedroom. We’ve been out for some time except for lucky Maskie here—“ nudging a tense Matter-Horn on the shoulder “—but now we gotta wake the others up, you dig?”

“Yes, I dig,” and Rager flutters out of bed to land on the ground and see the rest of the bedroom. Her jaw dropping, “Wow, this is grand! Are we in a castle?”

“A crystal castle, yes,” Matter-Horn chimes in. “Rager, know that we’re safe here, and that I must tell all of you—”

“A crystal castle?” chorus Fili-Second and Rager.

Matter-Horn nods again. “Yes. This castle is made of crystal.”

“And how do you know this?” asks Rager. “Did you check outside?”

“The outside world is... well, I’ll tell you when everyone’s up. Now let’s get them up, shall we?”

As they trot to Radiance’s bed, a question pops into the head of the hovering pegasus: “Wait, why one at a time?”

“Because Professor Amber Stone is too good at exaggerations.” A weary shake of the head is Matter-Horn’s cross-dimensional send-off to the scientist. “We all thought this place would teem with paradoxes, impossible shapes, non-Eweclidean geometry, and Heartcraftian monsters. Instead, we get the private quarters of a baby dragon.”

Fili-Second checks out the entire bedroom a second time before slowing down to a casual trot. “Wait, a baby dragon?”

Rager stops. “Baby dragon? Are we in a dragon’s castle? Heh-heh! Now that would be a twist! Verumarendi is actually a dragon!”

Fili-Second laughs at that but shuts her mouth upon Matter-Horn gently poking Radiance with her hoof. “Oh wait, Maskie, you’re, uh—“

The sleeping beauty in bed crashes her train of thought as she rolls out of the bed with a loud thud! She belches out one final obnoxious snore then, realizing she is trapped inside a ball of her blanket, she screams.

Matter-Horn’s teeth clatter as the other two Power Ponies shoot out of their beds.

“What’s going on here?” Mare-velous takes out her hooferangs and readies her lasso. “Radiance, is that you?!””

“Good thing she woke up!” and Zapp points at the screaming blanket ball. “I would’ve slept through the monster... attack... invasion... um, where’s the action? Uh, why are we in a hotel? I don’t remember booking a trip to the Bahamares.” She deactivates her lightning amulet and the storm clouds forming around her dissipate. “Did we win a vacation or something?”

“I’m up, I’m up!” Radiance’s magic hurls her blanket away, revealing her gem-encrusted costume and a frazzled jewel-topped bed mane. “Oh, you’re all in one piece! Did we save the world yet?”

Fili-Second taps on her costume’s painted-on watch. “You’ve managed to wake up more ponies in the past seven seconds than Matter-Horn did in the past few minutes. Is that a good thing?”

Ignorant of Matter-Horn’s eye roll, Radiance’s pupils shrink into pinpricks. “Did I miss something? Did you defeat that abomination while I was asleep?”

“Not yet,” answers Matter-Horn. “I’m not even sure if that’s the least of our concerns now.” Turning to the other two ponies awake: “Mare-velous, Zapp... how are you both?”

While the head unicorn speaks, the crystal walls and ceiling steal Radiance’s attention. “Well, well,well!I didn’t know Verumarendi had extremely opulent tastes!”

Mare-velous and Zapp look at the walls and ceiling with each other, scratching their heads and manes. From Zapp to Matter-Horn: “I think I’m fine. I think Mare-velous is fine too—“ jabbing a hoof at the Earth pony “—but seriously, what happened while we were out?”

“That’s true,” Mare-velous pipes up. “Where’s Verumarendi? Unless she’s the one who placed us here and now we have to solve twisted riddles like what happened with the Interrogator last month.”

“At least we bonked him on the head when we got to him,” adds Zapp, self-satisfied smile on her muzzle. “I’m sure Verumarendi’s a lot harder. Like, two bonks.”

Matter-Horn can’t help but smile, almost chuckling alongside Mare-velous.

A call to the others later, and she gathers them together, forming a small circle of ponies in the middle of the bedroom.

A deep breath from the unicorn. All eyes on her now.

“Girls, promise me that you will not attack anyone. Or scream. We’re in someone else’s property and we’ve already narrowly escaped detection from an occupant here who we will assume is friendly until proven otherwise. Sill, we do not want to take any chances; if too many creatures in this dimension know why we’re here, it will spell disaster on our world.”

“How come that occupant hasn’t heard us yet?” Saddle Rager points out.

“This castle’s very large and the bedrooms are few and far between, but better safe than sorry. Do you understand?”

The silent huddle nod their heads together.

Now, gazes upon Matter-Horn, patient and waiting. She can already hear questions passed around in whispers: about the castle, about the occupant, about who owns it, what monsters are out there and what’s it like in the terrible world outside.

She sighs. Time to get it over with.

Her magic encapsulates a Power Ponies comic book and floats it into view: that cursed and enchanted issue.

“Alright, girls. What if I told you that we arrived here through this comic?”

Spike pushes the cart of pancakes across dark hallways. Slathered with maple syrup, sprinkled with freshly-cut strawberries and blueberries, topped with lots of whipped cream: these pancakes make him drool and unaware that said drool has just marred one of those soft and expensive carpets.

Judging by the kitchen timer he had on, it would’ve been at least twenty minutes since he started cooking, then there’s the few minutes he’d spent going to the kitchen in the first place. Twenty-five minutes, estimated, of Matter-Horn waking up her friends, telling them the truth. If the strongest among them broke down like a defenseless foal, the others would turn into sobbing messes: of this he is sure. Being told that they’re here and alive thanks to dark magic...

He gulps as he rounds the final turn before his room. At least pancakes are fun to eat no matter what universe they’re in. His guests can chill and relax with his cooking, though it already excites him: serving pancakes to the Power Ponies!

Another breath: one big breath. Counts the number of pancakes yet another time—twenty-four, four for each pony. Counts the syrup container and the pitcher of orange juice with its glasses, stainless steel utensils and silk napkins on the side. All the ponies’ needs, taken care of.

One more breath. Inhale, exhale.

He opens the door, charging in with his cart. “I’m sorry to interrupt this very important and solemn moment, but I’ve brought some food and—“

“Food? Finally!”

Fili-Second speeds the cart ahead, without any spills, to the Power Ponies’ huddle at Spike’s desk which they’d moved to the middle of the room.

And Spike blinks, amazed. He stares at the Power Ponies themselves, taking each and every detail of them: Fili-Second passes plates around on the desk, rambling about how there’s no coffee around but the orange juice will do. Saddle Rager verbally admires the fruits’ textures and flavors, chatting with Radiance who levitates her own plate while scarfing four pancakes in quick succession. Mare-velous says that the pancakes were like home as her lasso and hooferangs lay on the table, and Zapp flies around on a cloud while eating whipped cream first, saying sorry as she spills juice onto Matter-Horn who laughs it all off with a spell to remove her suit’s orange stain.

That’s when Matter-Horn turns her head toward Spike. “Oh, I almost forgot you!”

The little dragon stares stupidly at all of them, fighting both the utter confusion and the utter joy of seeing the Power Ponies themselves in the flesh and doing alive things before him. “Uh, what just happened?”

Mare-velous shrugs. “What do you mean, comic boy? We’re planning our next step: going to Manehattan to find answers.”

“What she said,” says Zapp from an overhead cloud, munching on her pancake afterwards. “Hey, didn’t know you had princesses instead of a president! Gotta say, you’re pretty backwards for an ‘eldritch world.’”

“Zapp!” and Rager shuts the pegasus up before shaking her head. “I do apologize for that, Spike. Zapp can be a bit brash. They do call her the Daughter of Thunder for a good reason, though.”

“It’s a cool nickname and you know it!” yells Zapp, much to Rager’s eye rolling.

“And would you care to eat some of your own grub?” Radiance offers, unaware that her plate is empty so she has no pancakes to offer. “I’ve never heard of a dragon flipping pancakes. The cuisine is so spicy back in the Dragon Holds.”

“Not to mention that—“ Fili-Second points a fork at Spike “—you’re going with us right?”

And Spike can only say confused syllables. Then, “Yes... uh, yes, I am. But... I was, um, expecting something else.”

“Like what?” Mare-velous asks, chewing on a strawberry.

He scratches the back of his scaly head. “Um... tears? Hugging each other at what Matter-Horn told you. She did tell you, right?”

The dragon’s quizzed look gets Fili-Second’s attention. “I’ve seen that look before in graveyards, kiddo. Some call me the worst ever griever at funerals. When you live a step ahead of the rest, the average pony just can’t keep up with you. Emotionally, even.” She shrugs it away. “But hey, it’s not just me. Rager here—poor thing—she cried for ten minutes straight. We all had to hug her in the end. But look at her now: all nice and tidy!”

True enough, Rager’s eyes carry a slight red tint. “Don’t worry, Spike,” she says, politely shooing him away from closer inspection of her face. “I’m better now. I have to be strong. No, we all have to be strong for our world.”

Matter-Horn’s nod catches Spike’s attention. “Yes, Spike, I did tell them, and it’s true that there were some tears and a dash of anger here and there... but if it involves a mystery so dangerous that it’s tearing apart our world, we can’t let despair overtake us.” She gestures a hoof to the table with scribbled-on papers. “Hence the planning.” She levitates a book into Spike’s claws. “Good thing we found this Introduction to Equestria: A Visitor’s Guide lying around in your study. A bit short and bare-bones, but it’s something. I presume you have this around as an aid to ambassadorial duties you have in connection with the princess you live with?”

Stammering is what Spike can do for a moment. “Uh, she just gave me lots of books. I didn’t even think about this one for months.”

“Still, it is timely given that it’s afforded us some information about your world especially since you were out cooking pancakes for us. Which was very sweet... and thank you for it!”

His cheeks blush. “Aww, you’re welcome! It’s the least I could do!”

Her easy smile soon gives way to a more serious disposition. “Speaking of worlds—” her gaze rakes in everyone else’s attention “—look, girls. I know this isn’t small beans. I can tell without a doubt this is a higher reality and not some elaborate prank; the magic signatures are truly of a different kind. However, we can still interact with them just fine like we’re in a slightly different version of Equidia.

“I believe she may not be real,” Matter-Horn continues, “or if she is, she may be one of these scoundrel enchanters. Flowery for a real pony’s name, but code names aren’t out of the picture.”

“So all we gotta do is find whoever did that, do ‘em in, and then we’re home?” Zapp asks.

“Not exactly. There’s still the matter of our reality’s nature. Since we don’t have much to go on other than the enchanters’ tenures at Clockwisely, we’ll start there for answers.”

“But then what exactly is Verumarendi”—Mare-velous stands idle, fiddling with the lasso between her forehooves—“if she turns out to be one of those enchanters? Is she just the avatar for an egotistic magician on the loose?”

“Might be a fourth-wall breaking thing!”

The fast-speaking dragon nets weird looks from most of his idols. All Zapp can manage is, “The fourth… wall? Your room has more than four walls, buddy!”

“It’s a literary term,” begins Matter-Horn. “The fourth wall is derived from the theatrical world where on-stage sets had three walls. Obviously, a standard room would at least have four walls, but if they built four walls on the stage, the audience wouldn’t see the actors at all, so they cut out the fourth wall and trusted that the audience and the actors will make up an imaginary fourth wall which the characters could not see through. The fourth wall, then, is the barrier between the actors/characters on stage and the audience. A character talking to the audience would be considered breaking the fourth wall.”

The Mistress cocks her head in confusion. “So what you’re saying is that Verumarendi can be one of the enchanters getting power from our world… by breaking the fourth wall?”

“Sort of.” It is a matter worthy of massaging her head. “However, we cannot discover more details about her by staying here like sitting ducks. For all we know, she may not be the ultimate reason why Maretropolis is crumbling into pieces.”

“Speaking of”—here comes Fili-Second’s raised hoof—“what about we just take on her anyway? Or catch the enchanters and force them to fix our world? That oughta’ tie up loose ends.”

“I don’t know. This whole higher-reality phenomenon is new to me. It may not work and we might aggravate the damage back home But like I said, we can’t do anything if we stay here and speculate. So no if’s or but’s: we’re off to Clockwisely Comics in Manehattan to get something. At bare minimum, they’ll offer us tidbits of relevant information. Material help is likely if they believe us. We’ll be most fortunate if we get enough details on the enchanters to conduct a proper investigation on the matter. So, all with me?”

And all are with her, voicing their determination to find answers, to be certain again—to save their world. As for Spike, his claws tremble like in a sugar rush: he is mere minutes away from real Power Ponies action.

“Alright! Spike, do the trains run to Manehattan around this hour?”

The anticipation for said action can kill him, but the dragon keeps a level head for Matter-Horn. “Yes, they do! They’re sparse in the wee hours, but if we’re lucky, we’ll get one the moment we arrive at the station.”

“All well and good.” There’s a long look upon her partners in virtue, not crime. “Spike here will come along with us; he knows us very well. With his contact in and relations to the company, he could be our in to Clockwisely.”

Pure recommendation does little under the scrutinizing eyes of the other Power Ponies. “Are you sure you can handle this, Spike?” asks Radiance. “Your knowledge may be useful, but we could be dealing with nefarious forces beyond your control.”

A puffed-up chest is his answer. Also to hold off any thoughts of mistaking Radiance for Rarity. “I can hold my own. I did say I got into a few adventures before. I even cemented my reputation as the savior of the Crystal Empire in one of them!”

Mare-velous picks up one of his little arms. “I don’t know. You lack some brawn.”

“Hey, I bet none of you can breathe fire!”

“And let’s not do that right here,” and Fili-Second stops between Spike and Mare-velous, pointing at the comic books by the wall and the wooden beds on the floor and the books on the shelves too. “Tell me, Mister Dragon: How do they let you live with so many flammable objects?”

“I don’t set them on fire! Plus, crystals are fire-resistant. These walls hold me down if things get spicy.”

The others chuckle over Spike’s smugness before Matter-Horn coughs and gets their attention once more. “So we are all agreed that he is joining us in our quest. With that said, this meeting is adjourned—no more objections, alright? Spike will lead the way to Manehattan and we’ll leave the rest up to our future selves.

“But first, disguises. Spike, does this castle have guest wardrobes?”

Some Dear Cause

They traverse the facility unscathed. Physically, at least. The ghastly sight of out-in-the-open corpses urges the living to wrap them up in improvised body bags.

A floor up, back to the kitchen. Thanks to partly-broken electronics, old-fashioned propane cooking, and Spike-flamed canned food, they get their breakfast: flavored hay stew, fried potatoes, sunny-side up eggs, and hash.

They relax over breakfast, keeping leftovers ready in case Monk Wrench, the still-unconscious Verumarendi wannabe they’ve carried here, wakes up. The others patrol the hallways to watch out for surprise intruders, to look for anything to salvage, to search for any more evidence of crimes here.

In the middle of the meal, Spike cuts in: “I’ve been wondering… what about a compromise?” For during the trip upstairs and the cooking and even partway through breakfast, the Power Ponies have debated on what to do with the facility, the ponies there, and Monk Wrench herself. Those on Rager’s side supported leaving the facility as is, covertly escorting only Wrench out for S.M.I.L.E. to take care of the rest. Others like Mare-velous wish to publicize the ordeal: let the village and the world see what transpired so none may do it again. Fili-Second suggested the procurement of all evidence and informing only S.M.I.L.E. and the local authorities, leaving the case’s burden on them.

Now Spike takes the opportunity to put his two bits in. “I want to think about a compromise: what about we get some of the evidence and then let everyone in town know what happened. Maybe it’s the cause of the unexpected snowstorm. We still won’t know until we get outside, but if it is, ponies would start asking questions. We’ll tip off the police about the place and bring them down here. Give them our side of the story… without revealing who you really are, of course. That leaves Wrench to Bon Bon and her crew: we’ll say we’re bringing her over to the proper authorities. Does that sound good?”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Matter-Horn replies, having a sisterly hoof on his scaly back. “Some ponies may question our power levels, but given that six ordinary ponies are some of Equestria’s greatest heroes, I don’t think they’d dwell on it too much. As for the authorities, it’s a reasonable arrangement. Doesn’t tax us with much to do, and they’ll investigate the matter independently.”

With a compromise agreed on, the ponies and the dragon continue their breakfast, sometimes checking up on the knocked-out Wrench to make sure she’s doing well.

Fili-Second works through a plate of eggs and salted hash. “So Mister Dragon, you’ve finally visited our fair city! How was it?”

Spike matches her bite with a bigger swallow of eggs and hash. “Awesome! Or, uh… as awesome as a chaotic city battlefield could get.”

“How many of our associates did you meet?” Zapp asks eagerly—“Nah, don’t tell me! I’m sure you’ve met enough to blow your mind, huh?”

“At least it’s all over,” Rager says, looking over her stressed hooves and worn-out legs. “Let’s be happy about that, right?”

Spike reclines on his chair, puts his feet on the table. “Yeah. I’m happy, you’re happy, we’re all happy. Didn’t meet too many heroes. Also didn’t stop to smell the roses and check out all the details of your world. I was busy following Hum Drum to your HQ—”

Matter-Horn leans over the table and floats her plate aside. “Hum Drum? You’ve met him, then?” A hoof on her back, scratches the back of her mane. “I-is he… is he safe? Is he doing alright?”

A second for Spike to gather his thoughts. “He’s… he’s a very cool colt. Especially now that I really got to know him. I actually helped him get out of a pickle with those Mane-iac survivalists… and, well…”

“Wait a minute.” Radiance furrows her brows, an impressive feat given her mask. “How did you get back to this world anyway? The portal machine, I presume?”

“Yeah. It’s also why my strategy with whisking the amulets away worked in the first place. A researcher there told me about the amulet. It was… proximas.”

Matter-Horn does a double take and almost plants her face in a bowl of stew. “Proximas! B-but I thought it was a myth!”

It makes Radiance snort. “Scientists have been reading the latest journal issues, and what did you insist on doing? Get stuck reading every single issue since the journals’ inceptions.”

“Hey, every concept has foundations! I can only understand the present if I leave out all uncertainty of the past!”

In the end, the argument fades to giggles, leaving Spike to chortle at the affair. “Yeah, he never said anything about myths at all. It’s like… sort of common knowledge?”

“For my due diligence in amassing a fully comprehensive and exhaustive knowledge on the sciences, this is what happens!” Matter-Horn smacks her head on the table, to much laughter. “Should’ve focused much more on practical magic if this is the thanks I get!”

Everyone calms down and Spike takes a swig of warm orange juice. “At least things are back to normal in your world. But you know… with these other worlds and all that… y-you’re... you still okay?”

The others nod at him. “We can say we’ve saved two worlds now!” cheers Fili-Second.

“But, uh… what about the whole fiction thing?”

“What about it?” asks Matter-Horn almost as a challenge.

“Because… well, I told Hum Drum about it—“ the unicorn’s ears fall flat “—and… I don’t think he agreed with how I explained reality.”

Ears went back up. “Oh? What did he say?”

He stretches his arms out. “That maybe I got it all wrong. Thinks the enchanters were wrong too. It’s not enlivening fiction, he said: they’re just making portals to other worlds lucky enough to have comics here.”

“Lucky enough… by coincidence?”

“Guess so.”

The suggestion sinks into everyone else’s minds. For Matter-Horn, it makes her smile. “I have to hoof it to him. He’s well-versed in science fiction. Hum Drum’s wiser than he looks, you know?” A wistful sensation crosses her muzzle. “Lots of hope bundled up in that colt, that’s for sure. It may be less likely than enlivening fiction, but it does make sense. The portal spells had coordinates and all… but I digress. What matters is that we’re here, we’re alive, and that we matter to each other regardless of how the Power Ponies fare in this world. So, I’d say we should—“

“Watch for intruders!”

The hiss from Mare-velous pulls everyone down a hallway, ears standing tall and eyes glancing through every possible path, ready to strike down one more wave of enemies.

It makes Spike jumpy, hopping out of his chair and away from breakfast. “Who in the world is after us now?!”

“Could be back-up!” says Rager. “Facility could’ve fired an emergency signal. Nothing’s certain. Prepare for the worst.”

And so Spike builds up the flames in his belly once more, resigned to burn anyone who’ll stand between them and freedom.

Knocks on the hatch door. The mechanism unravels slowly in rusty creaks. Muffled voices speak of detecting unknown entities on this floor. The Power Ponies ready their weapons and bodies, and Spike raises a pair of swipe-ready claws along with his fire breath ready to sear.

The hatch clicks open.

Spike drops his war face. “Wait… Bon Bon?”

The Earth pony secret agent looks nonplussed at the ponies before her. More agents pop up from behind, and the Power Ponies stand down in confusion.

Bon Bon holsters her amnesia pen. “Okie-dokie, then. ‘Least we found you safe and sound. Didn’t know you’d be done already. Gotta say, you’re surprisingly lethal. That’s a huge death toll we just got through up there.”

“They were already dead when we arrived,” says Zapp, floating close to Bon Bon’s face. “We also found the culprit—” to the cue of Matter-Horn teleporting a sleeping Monk Wrench to the floor.

Bon Bon looks at the blue body, gesturing at her co-agents to inspect the rest of the floor and identify the bodies there. Lyra proclaims she’s found a can of mushroom soup which Bon Bon responds with a look that shouts Not now! Calmly, back to the Power Ponies, “Alright. I trust you and the agency trusts you. That being said, we must know your side of the story.” She clicks a ballpen, notepad in hoof. “Leave no detail unturned.”

So they tell the story from the moment they parted ways through the visit in Numnahvut, the underground exploration, to the battles with other-worldly evils and “Verumarendi'' herself, including Spike’s foray into Maretropolis proper. Bon Bon scribbles everything on her notes with an intense focus. She assures them that the notes will be kept in a secret vault no one can find or reach.

“Hold on: How did you get here so fast?” asks Matter-Horn. “Were you following us the whole time?”

“Only by radio signals and sparse stations here and there. We lost track of you fifty miles from Numnahvut. And it’s not following you: it’s preparing for any untoward possibility, especially when another anomalous signal went out from this place a few hours ago. Do you expect us to waste precious time waiting for a signal from you when you could’ve been in grave danger?”

“Anomalous signal? That must’ve been when we finally defeated Monk Wrench.” Her eyes narrowed into daggers. “But why still come here?”

“Argh, I sympathize with you. If it were up to me, I would’ve waited a little longer if only out of respect and honor, but you know Furlong.” The cucumber-cool agent breaks a sweat. “But even then, your word has to step aside when royalty demands we get here by last week.”

It hits Spike like a train to the head. “Princess Celestia!”

“Bingo.” She puts the notepad and ballpen away. “Cutting the long story short: the Solar Princess received three magic artifacts out of thin air through fire, and she knows the only creature in Equestria that could possibly send them in fire. We were already on the way by then, but she contacted the agency and gave us orders to retrieve to Spike pronto—see, she keeps tabs on us, and she knows you, Spike, are on some important adventure under our jurisdiction. Told us it was real bad stuff: did you know proximas was used by some power-hungry count not content with his small island, so he tried to rule the whole world with them? Great bedtime story to scare your foals to sleep with. Anyway, we had to reach you immediately, even had our mages do mass teleports to sate the princess’s order—boy did it hurt. But knowing what you were getting yourself into… let’s just say I’m very disappointed that you’ve left us with almost nothing to fix.”

A smile pops up on her face. “But you saved the world, so kudos to you.”

While the others congratulate themselves with warm smiles, Bon Bon hides a grimace as she turns off the tape recorder. “Should’ve been faster, but you held your own. What’s done is done.”

A slumbering Monk Wrench is released into S.M.I.L.E.’s custody: testify everything before court then go behind bars—with an option for rehab in hope for a better life and a better mare.

Meanwhile, real and official body bags cover the corpses as agents gather the gluttony of evidence in the facility: enchantment spells secured in anti-magic containers, heavy machinery and portals riding on carts and wagons, papers stuffed inside air-tight briefcases.

“We won’t cover this up completely, but we can control the narrative,” continues Bon Bon while she supervises the moving of a huge portal machine. “We could source the place to ateam ofethical scientists and wizards. Shame to see this rot if we can’t convince anyone.”

She hears some tapping from the Power Ponies waiting on her. “Oh! Do you want to go already?”

The leader of the Power Ponies raises her head. “Yes. To Manehattan if you weren’t going there already. We’d like to visit Excelsus one more time, at least, then we’ll be on our way home.”

“Alrighty. I’ll arrange a train to get you there fast. You don’t need to meet with us again: we’ve got our case, you’ve got yours, and they’re both settled. The rest… hm, that’s up to you.”

The trip through a sunny Numnahvut wows the impressionable Spike. A few broken walls was the worst of the snowstorm’s damage: a relatively benign blizzard. For all the tour guide knows, the snowstorm’s gone thanks to the investigators solving a serial murder and getting rid of a malevolent weather antenna: the official story S.M.I.L.E. is running with.

“…so the whole underground murder ring explains the fancy suits stopping by?”

“It’s a bit much,” says Matter-Horn as totally-an-ordinary-pony-and-not-a-superhero-at-all Over Hill, “but better safe than sorry. You know how the Royal Guard are with digging their hooves into big cases like this. Nothing out of the ordinary, I suppose.” As far as the guide will know, nothing will be out of the ordinary. Just an overblown crime scene. She’ll get the courage to ask one of those fancy suits, but all she’ll get is, “Crown business, ma’am.”

Quiet is the Power Ponies’ train ride home. Conversation springs up, shoring up memories and hopes of home: What shall we do now?

Spike listens in, partaking in their homeward joy.

Joy and anticipation give way to sleep. Though mature enough to handle college-grade books and a sometimes-neurotic librarian, the growing baby dragon still needs lots of z’s. Thus, dream world calls, bringing forth spasmodic visions of Power Ponies fights and coffee breaks like they’ve been old pals for so long.

He’s poked awake as the train slows down. The infinite snow fields have been replaced by Manehattan’s steel-glass towers. The doors open at the station and the ponies trot free in the open city. The residents don’t mind, not even with Spike the Dragon in tow, since everyone’s too busy going somewhere in the city. A Crystal pony gives Spike the time of day with a jolly wave and Spike waves back, but he has the decency to not shout Spike the Brave and Glorious! in a crowd of stuffy corporates and passion-driven entrepreneurs.

They get to Clockwisely whose lobby brims with ambitious artists and easy-going investors. It’s official business hours.

Guards stop the six ponies and their dragon tagalong from going past the reception desks. In a deep baritone whisper, “You seven. President Excelsus wanted to meet you if you were to return. Follow us.”

Without a word, they follow the guards. Instead of going up, they navigate a maze of halls into the basement levels. No polished office doors here: only bare concrete under presentable paint.

They pass by storage rooms. Canceled comic books, construction materials for the future, electricity panels and water pipes, and ventilation systems.

A dead end. The guards move a couple shelves and some defunct vending machines out of the way to reveal a secret passageway. They lead the way with flashlights through dark halls. A minute of Spike’s whistling later, they reach the end of the tunnel: one more door to open.

A grand table and a blast of cool conditioned air. The room’s sole light hangs right above the table. It shines harshly on the president’s ragged face thanks to several hours’ worth of stressful anticipation.

The sight of guards doesn’t stir Excelsus, but surprised delight takes him once the Power Ponies come into view. “Y-you… you made it.”

And Matter-horn nods, taking a seat with the rest of her crew. “Yes, and all in one piece. The good news is that we found your rogue enchanters…”

Excelsus raises a worried brow. “And the bad news?”

“...bad news is that only one survived. She will be put in a private trial of sorts. After that, they’ll most likely give her a life sentence. Hopefully with a chance to reintegrate, but it’s looking grim.”

“She?”

“Monokeras Wrench. Ring any bells?”

The president clutches his chest. “Monk Wrench? She’s that clerk we hired last Wednesday! Going AWOL after a week should’ve been extra suspicious, but everyone left at the same time so we had no idea…”

His forelegs rest on the table, thinning through his olden years. “Well, I should tell you… I am… I am sorry for putting you through this—all of you. It’s… I know you told me to stop apologizing, but to see you six mares like this… we’ve always treated you as more than just pictures and speech bubbles and sketches, but if only we knew what we were really doing…”

Matter-Horn tilts her head, reaching a hoof out to him. “You know better than that, Mister Excelsus. You didn’t know. You know that. None of this was intentional. The blame is on the rogue enchanters alone.”

But he shakes the hoof off. “Yes, yes, but you know it’s one thing toknow it and another to feel it. You’ve seen the effects of your comics on this world: a beautiful inspiration! The profits are there too, but they’ve become mere signs that we’ve struck a chord with ponies everywhere. Still, we’ve done things in storytelling every sane pony would abhor doing in real life: changing destinies, setting up conflicts, and so on. Heh… not bad for somepony pushing seventy.”

“Hm, you look fifty.” A bout of shared laughter to lighten the mood. “But seriously, I’ll say it upfront: you don’t need our permission. Just keep going with the Power Ponies franchise for as long as you want.”

Excelsus rears his head. “What?! But I can’t do that! Dictating every single aspect of your life? No, I don’t want that!”

“Not like that,” she says. Her ears stand in full attention, and she half-stands on the table, her forehooves on the surface. “Our discoveries there pushed us to a brighter idea: that you didn’t write us. You discovered us! On accident and with extreme luck, sure, and the comics can end up as material to extra-dimensional portals if you’re smart and crazy enough, but that’s that. There’s no inter-universal hierarchy here: we are parallel universes. We can’t rewrite your world and you can’t rewrite ours.”

The revelation leaves him with an open speechless mouth.

“Or maybe you still think we’re fictions turned real. I’ll have you know, Mister Excelsus, that we never felt forced to say other ponies’ words when you add in speech bubbles nor felt that our childhoods were fake. We just lived. Maybe somepony put words in my mouth, but I also made them up on my own: neither of these are mutually exclusive. But now that we’ve made contact with this universe, it’s a Schromarenger’s Cat scenario: we observe each other, and now we’re bumped off your comics’ canon, and we’ll go forever on our own path. Either idea you accept, it doesn’t really matter: I’m not going to grovel because of this whole comic thing. Nothing will stop us from protecting and serving Maretropolis and the world, not even the existence of other universes and realities.”

And quiet sinks in. Everyone stares, silent-lipped.

A few minutes pass. The hum of air conditioning fills the air. No guards in the room anymore; must’ve left, now guarding from the outside. The face of Excelsus, staring a thousand yards.

A knock on the door gets him up. The president excuses himself and goes to the door. A peek and he turns around. “A couple writers and illustrators from the Power Ponies team. Yes, I… I can see the look on your faces. For all that I might’ve put you through even indirectly, consider this my gift. I wanted to give them the chance of meeting you, and so… here they are in the flesh. To be safe, I didn’t tell them about you outright—just told them to come down to my underground office. But yes, sirs and ma’ams, you may come in…”

Before he can fully see the arriving writers, something jams into Spike’s mind. A little prick in his heart. Invading somepony’s privacy—

With an excuse—and everyone there’s okay if confused with his absence—Spike leaves to wait at the lobby. It’s all too much for one night.

No adventures or world-shattering truths are had in the lobby. It’s business as usual: timely meetings to schedule, late employees to berate, and food-carrying gophers here to deliver. Already time for an early lunch.

Around Spike sit ponies in waiting: a stallion reads a newspaper; a family’s colt reads his comics in the lounge; a bunch of mares gossip about Spike for a few seconds before they discard any idea of taking a picture with him. The magazines bore him whether they be of horse races or nouveau-riche celebrities. A big bottle of soda and some popcorn take his mind off everything: time to chow down first.

A couple hoofsteps come up: six ponies, and not just any group of six ponies.

“So how was it?” Spike asks as he finishes his popcorn.

“It was… enlightening,” Matter-Horn says in a hush. He could see a pair or two of tear-stained eyes among them. “They amazed us, we amazed them. It was very… very nice to see all the love and appreciation in their words. I… I couldn’t believe it at first! Did our stories save lives in this world?”

“Pretty much what I’ve been telling you, yeah! As for those guys: I’ve written them a couple letters myself, actually.” But as he says this, he denies the tearful choke in his voice while they leave the building.

The next train ride is Ponyville-bound. No secret agent interference, no evil-force intervention: only pristine landscapes and the rattle of wheels against the track. Postcards, hats, and one t-shirt is their souvenir haul from Manehattan, and they disguise themselves further with it: Don’t mind me! I’m just a tourist going home! There was talk about going to the convention once again, but homesickness overrides everything.

No need for private carriages. They sit in public, and ponies pay them no mind usually. The presence of Spike and the mere six-ness of the ponies lead one or two to ask if they’re the Elements of Harmony in disguise. They say no. A silly question to ask: no one says yes to that if they’re really on a covert mission.

Small talk, looking out there: the landscape rolls by. Others read newspapers, talk to their friends, or sleep the ride away.

Matter-Horn watches a sleeping Spike. She laughs: despite the soda and the popcorn, he still sleeps. Still a baby dragon after all. So much like Hum Drum. So much like the colt who believes in an optimistic universe: parallel universes where everyone forges their own path. Perhaps she should do more research on that just to be sure.

“I think… therefore, I am,” she mutters. Satisfaction rolls out of her words. “I already am. Always have been, always will be.”

Something shines through the window. A few blinks, some rubs of the eyes, and a couple of long outstretched yawns later, they see, in the distance, the sharp light of the shiny crystal Castle of Friendship.

A few minutes later, they’re off the train station. Ponyville: home sweet home, as idyllic as it’s been since earlier in the late-night morning. Flowers and foods exchange hooves in the market, pegasi fix up clouds to prepare for an overcast afternoon, and mail gets delivered—he swears that’s Rarity’s working silhouette by the boutique window.

A quick scan: none of the Elements out in the open. Rarity’s inside her boutique, Pinkie’s a wild card, and the rest aren’t in sight.

They make their way through town, drawing little attention from everyone else. For these city-dwellers, the sunlit sight of a slow-paced rural country village in the middle of the kingdom serves as good rest. A calm before the storm: the heroes’ welcome back home will be lively.

Along the way, Spike sees Bon Bon selling candies in the marketplace while Lyra helps out, accidentally sprinkling too much sugar on the sweet drops. The duo give them a wave and Spike waves back.

“Alright,” the dragon begins as they approach the castle, “either Starlight or Twilight’s here by now. Or both. If we meet any of them, we’ll have to tell the truth. Just remember that they’re our friends, alright? They know how to keep a secret.”

“Uh, what’s that?” Mare-velous asks, pointing at the front door.

Flapping in the wind and pinned on the great heart-decorated doors hangs a note. They walk up to it and Spike takes the little piece of paper off to read.

Spike, I’ll be off for headmare duties at the school. Twilight’s still not here. Sent me a letter saying she’s got last-minute work. She should be home around dinner time. I put some security spells so it’s just you and your friends (in case you bring Big Mac and Discord along for a surprise O&O session, but don’t tell Twilight that!) Hope you’re home safe and sound.

—Starlight

A loud sigh of relief. “That makes our job a lot easier. Too bad you might not meet them at all. But your home’s calling.”

So they enter. Still as shiny and as crystally as they left.

A trot through the hallways and more silence comes their way. Remembrances of dark confusions in the night, lifted away by the lingering scent of breakfast pancakes: a treat for coming home and not dying on the way, with the Power Ponies sticking with him to the end.

He stops. They could’ve asked to just portal their way home from the moment Verumarendi faltered. Matter-Horn already whipped up a portal to their world home just fine: could’ve come back and be done with it. Could’ve done it after debriefing with Bon Bon or after meeting with Excelsus or after seeing Ponyville one more time. Dropping off at some random town on the way to Ponyville and jumping through the portal that way would’ve afforded them the secrecy of disappearing somewhere else.

But they haven’t asked Spike at all. They still follow him.

They enter his room: tidied up too. The comic books are there, all in order just like before. He locks the door behind him. No intruders or emergencies to trespass a sacred farewell.

As the Power Ponies stand in silence, Spike takes something out of his bag: the enchanted comic book, handled more as a relic from a Daring Do novel than simply a rare edition of an upcoming issue.

Spike draws out a long sigh. Flips through the pages slowly, thumbing through each one. The pages show characters who stand before him in reality. His reality, his world. They did away with the disguises, so they stand in their full costumed superhero glory.

The last page, that same blank page with its tiny text there bragging about immersive adventures. Their ticket home.

“So this is it. It’s been a wild ride while you’ve been here. I’m glad I’ve been with you, helped you around.” Puts his claws behind his back. Eyes dart around before they settle on the ponies one last time. “It’s been great knowing you. As in really knowing you, not just reading about you.”

And Mare-velous raises a hoof in good cheer. “Don’t mention it!”

“You were pretty good there too, Spike!”

“We’ll always remember you!”

“Oh yes, we will! We don’t see baby dragons every day!”

“Let’s not mention how you’re quite the interesting character yourself, eh? Would be great to meet you again!”

The buzz of acceptance and joy, but a long sigh and a droop of the shoulders for Spike. Already, something missing in his heart. “That… that would be great you know.”

“What would?” Matter-Horn inquires. By the way she trots closer to him, she knows the answer.

Spike gestures a claw upon them all. “Meeting you all again. Not for some epic adventure or to praise you. Just to chill with you, hang out with you. Catch up with you.”

He shakes his head, a thoughtful claw on his cheek. Bares his teeth in one more smile. “Well, what’s done is done. Don’t let me keep you waiting any longer. I’m more than happy just being with you right here, right now, and through the past few hours… actually, the better part of two days!”

Matter-Horn looks upon the book. She hums, scratches her chin. One last thing to do. The way home.

Her horn glows and she zaps the comic with her rich magic. Too powerful, too hot for even the dragon to hold: drops it like a hot potato, clunks to the ground with a sizzle.

When the magic clears, they look upon it, smoke coming out of the comic book—and Spike yelping before seeing that none of it isn’t singed. Flips through the pages and the cover, both front and back. Nothing scorched, nothing damaged.

Something on the last page. Something different. The text has changed. A careful look into it. Careful! Don’t say it out loud! Holds up a magnifying glass to read without saying anything out loud:

Wouldn’t it be nice to come over once in a while?

He almost drops his magnifying glass. “Are you… Matter-Horn? What did you do?”

Despite her pink hair, a blush manifests on her smile. “Actually, under the right circumstances, it would be good to call in reinforcements from this world if things get really dire on our end. Or if you need help, you could give us a call. Of course, news of us being a real thing would spread like crazy in this world, but risk analysis says it will serve the both of us well if the worse comes to worst.

“However, it’s primarily for one thing: to meet up again. You can hang out with us in our world. We can explain your presence to the others there. Maybe you can bring your friends too if we can get that far and obtain their trust. But for now, it’d be just you going to us… and with advance notice, we can go to your world too.”

Something happy and yellow bubbles within. The page graces his vision. The words it reads again, then back at the Power Ponies with a stupid but genuine grin on stretching his cheeks. “Really?!”

“Really! You could’ve said we did the heavy work, but we couldn’t have done it without your help, Hum Dr—Spike! Spike, I mean.” Another embarrassing blush, but Spike smiles at the name: the Hum Drum of this world. And on the side, Twilight Sparkle, the Masked Matter-Horn of this world.

“Sometime two Saturdays from now?” Spike says, chomping at the bit for next time. “I think I can clear my schedule by then. That’s probably enough time for you to rebuild everything as well.”

“Yeah! We’ll send letters. It can be like that fire delivery thing you did with the amulets.”

“Sure! Want me to test it out?”

With their approval, Spike grabs a scroll with ink and quill on the side, writes a couple words, and gives it to Matter-Horn to send to their world. A spell later, and by the power of the dragon’s comic, a portal opens up. They see scientists in the lab—stumped by the portal’s appearance, saying something but the words are muffled.

Spike hurls the letter into the portal. After a few seconds, it pops up on the other side and bonks a stallion in the head. They decipher the extra-dimensional words, write something in reply, and the scroll’s thrown back to his world. Unfurled, the new scroll reads: Message received, Power Ponies! Thank you for saving the world once again!

A couple of cheers are had. A couple of farewells, some final hugs here and there. One more hug: a group hug. Tears wet their faces. Tears wet his face: a waterfall of letting go. Doesn’t want to let go. Doesn’t want it to end.

“This isn’t a farewell,” he hears. It’s Matter-Horn, voice hushed and tender. “More like a see you next time. See you soon. Until we meet again, Spike…”

And, in a blur, trying to hold on, forces himself to let go—

The Power Ponies jump back into the portal together.

A delay. The portal lingers for a little while longer. He sees the Power Ponies return home. The return floors them all—these returning saviors! Cheers, applause, praise, more hugs, more tears.

In the excitement, she looks back. Unnoticed by everyone else, Matter-Horn faces the portal with a smile. A smile meant for Spike.

One parting gift sent, the portal closes and the comic snaps shut.

The pancakes taste great.

Spike helps himself to a breakfast of reheated pancakes: a new recipe from Starlight in which she used lemons and pineapple for flavor on top of whipped cream and chocolate syrup drizzles. The result is a tangy but sweet delight.

By his side stands a stack of Power Ponies comics along with Ogres & Oubliettes material. Big Mac said he’d be free for the afternoon since a couple Apple relatives have come over to help with the farm. As for Discord, he’s always been an unknown, but he has a better track record with impromptu sessions than with scheduled meetings.

The fork slips from his claw, and his slice falls back to the plate. Time slows down: something rises from his stomach. Turns away from the pancake, opens his mouth wide.

He burps out fire turning into a letter. The scroll neatly falls to his claws. Has the royal seal, the royal hoofprint of Princess Celestia herself. Trepidation: his claws tremble as he carefully opens the letter.

As expected, it begins with thanks for transporting the dangerous amulets to a safer place (her study room, it turns out). The agents explained their side of the story, but she now wants to hear about the incident from the dragon’s perspective.

He writes back, detailing the story as succinctly as possible before sending it over with a puff of fire.

That done, he returns to his Starlight-made pancakes. Sooner or later, she’ll come back: tell Starlight or not to tell Starlight. At least he has his alibi—visiting his pony friend in Manehattan—but with a curious and inquisitive mare like the student counselor herself, she may see through the facade. Not to mention that the Manehattan press will report on the death of Space Beat eventually.

He bites his lip. Ponyville may be a nice clean town, but thieves can still break in. If they get their grubby hooves on that comic…

He scribbles on another note and tacks it on the kitchen door before heading outside with a pouch teeming with expensive gems. First stop is Sweet Apple Acres to tell Big Mac that he’ll play another time.

Next stop: heavy-duty shopping in Canterlot.

When Starlight returns at sunset, she encounters the kitchen door note. She doesn’t have time to groan since Spike returns moments later with his haul in tow.

A few minutes later Twilight comes home with bags in her eyes and gladness in her heart upon seeing Spike. The princess’s dragon and student then decide to cook dinner together: dinnertime pancakes and waffles, a once-in-a-blue-moon pleasure.

Over dinner, while Spike is away, one of the things they talk about is Spike’s note and his new purchase:

Out to buy a safe. Can’t have anyone steal my rare editions! Yes, I know how to use my money! I’m old enough to know that.

— Spike