The last real war in Equestria happened around a thousand or so years ago, when the rebellious Nightmare Moon clashed with her former sister, Princess Celestia. Pony legends rattle on about an epic struggle of wills, dramatic speeches, and finally using the Elements of Harmony to banish evil to the moon. But do you really think that when two forces collide, it is just a leader versus leader confrontation?
Of course not.
The legends and fables turn a blind eye to the thousands, hundreds of thousands that fought alongside their goddesses. They were simple mares and colts, like me or you. Unicorns, Pegasus, even Earth Ponies took up arms to defend that which they believed in. They did it for honor, for love, for passion or freedom. It was a real war, with sacrifice, betrayal and heroism.
Nothing like this ‘war’.
Do you remember when the changelings first invaded Canterlot? You were just a foal then, but I can bet my good eye that you heard stories about that day. Again, a single pair of ponies vanquished the entire invading force. And where were all the guards? Fighting on the street, like all the others did. But the stories don’t speak of that, oh no. That would be boring, right? Why care about ordinary soldiers?
Thirty years later, we are here, writing yet another fable. Will this be our last one?
* * *
Know yourself to defeat your enemy. This old saying has great power, especially against such a foe.
The changelings are equipped to be perfect predators. Fast, agile, strong, sporting both wings and a horn…and that’s not even the scariest part. The thing that makes each soldier soil his army-issued uniform is how the enemy fights. They drain the emotions from you.
They grip you by the heart. Sometimes, literally. They take away your spirit, leave you with the darker shades of emotion – fear, despair, sloth, apathy. Ponies that fought and got even so much as grazed by the emerald green of the changeling magic had their reserves of courage sapped away in a single heart-beat. A terrifying fate, right?
How to fight something that takes away your will to resist? How can you become a hero, an avatar and inspiration to your people, when the very foundations of your soul are being ripped apart, fed upon and used against you with a blood-chilling scream?
The answer turned out to be simple. You raise ponies like me.
* * *
I hate talking about myself. Only by the will of the Princess do you have the opportunity to write down my words. It was all her idea after all. You are but a lackey, are you not? You’re making sure the batch doesn’t go bad due to a single rotten apple, huh? Well, there’s no need to worry. I’m bad to the very core.
I was taken away from my parents as soon as I no longer required milk. I can’t remember those years of my life, obviously…but I know they were cold. Just like the foalhood that I had. Cramped with others in a barrack-orphanage facility. There were barely any guardians there, and those that tended to us did it with utmost disgust. Celestia would be proud, I assure you.
Why this shocked look on your face? Have you come unprepared? Don’t you know who I am? I am a soldier. Even less than a soldier. I’m not trained, I’m not equipped, I have to scavenge to survive each day. I am exactly the mare for the job. Only I, and others like me, can fight off the changelings.
* * *
It didn’t take long for the monsters to overrun Equestria. There were no glorious bursts of magical love, no Elements of Harmony. The enemy had a brain, and made great use of it. All across Equestria, ponies shifted into their changeling forms, cutting all communication and striking where it hurt. Despair was spreading like wild-fire, just as they have planned it. It was less than half a year before the name Equestria was erased, replaced by a gigantic feeding ground for the black creatures.
Sure, every now and then somepony would create some resistance. It looked like it was a great pastime for the changelings to infiltrate such a group, suck out its life, sow disarray and harvest what little remained.
It took some years, but eventually Princess Celestia conjured a plan on how to battle the enemy. Yeah, I know you want to finally hear about that. What makes me special? Why am I the only hope? The answers are dead simple – I am not special, nor am I your salvation. I am a festering wound that will bite you in the flank sooner or later, if I ever survive to come back from the front lines. I promise your name will be one of the first ones on a bloody long list.
Fine, so you want to know how am I better than a regular soldier. With no training and supplies, I am just a defenseless little pony, right? Think again.
I’ve been through hell. Not just any hell. Some ponies have more or less fortunate lives. My life was carefully engineered. From start to finish, I was kept in the spot where insanity shakes hands with death. You won’t believe how many ways of suicide I’ve learned over the years. All of them, obviously, countered. The guardians might have looked like cruel bastards, but they were very sharp and quick to react. They had to push us, break us many times over, but not erase us. They tempered us in the void of space. Strong enough not to shatter, cold enough to snap-freeze anything we touch. That is who I am. That is who we are.
What, don’t you get it? Are you really a scientist? They admit such thick ponies now? Alright, let me state the obvious, okay? Maybe something will click in that empty head of yours….
Changelings feed on emotions, correct? They savor love, passion, friendship, honor, all that is like hot chocolate for their twisted little tongues, or whatever they use to eat our innards with.
So, if they can’t feed on that, they are powerless, right? A bit stronger, with the ability to fly, but their magic is useless. But how to stop them from feeding? Spells don’t seem to do the trick. Engineering failed. So why not go about this the other way? Why not take that which makes the pony and change it? Take away the warm feelings, leave a husk? Give a shell a weapon and send it on its merry way?
‘Yes, great idea!’ Celestia probably cried. ‘Let’s gather some kids, make their lives miserable, devoid of any positive feelings, and then dump them to survive! Float or sink!’
Yes, that is who I am. I am a floating piece of feces, a poisoned sausage thrown to the changeling dog. I am the dark side crawling under your skin, rattling with chains pretty much like the ones I’m restrained with. I bring anger to the table, I thrive on rage, I cry in the corner and turn to insanity to cradle me to sleep. I am the one who slits throats, drinks blood, eats innards and then vomits it all, unable to live like this anymore. I wish myself to die, yet carry on. That is who I have been made.
You can pray to Celestia I and others like me die by the day this ‘war’ is over. For us, it doesn’t make much of a difference who we spew our pain and suffering on. I can see you’re still trying to get that bile out of your mane. Keep it that way, it may enhance your research! Feel like I did for all my life. Close your eyes and indulge.
Heh, as if you can. You haven’t got the slightest clue what it means to have half of you literally missing.
* * *
In the end, this war will probably end like they all do. The soldiers will die, throwing themselves at the enemy. A pony or few will do something heroic on the scattered remains, earning himself a fable and a statue in a garden. The barrack-orphanages, the guardians, me and the other…we will all get swept under a rug and jumped upon until there will be nothing but the smoothness of history. Because that is how everything works, right?
I hope you understand that what you are doing now will be destroyed as well? That your work, your knowledge, what you have seen, it will all be a burden after it all ends? Pray for the war to last long, pony. Or wish for a swift death.
I have nothing more to say. Come on, whack me on the head and throw me back to the streets. I am cold, and I need to warm myself. I will set the world ablaze, just for a smidgen of warmth.
This material has been recovered using four dimensional prognosis magic. Each and every word may be false, inaccurate or warped. This text is around two thousand years old, most likely written down two years before the end of the changeling war. By order of Princess Celestia and Princess Luna, this recovered document is to be destroyed, and the specified moment of time that it was written in is to be barred from all manner of time-travelling spells.