Canterlot was on fire. Burning buildings collapsed into themselves as hungry flames tore through them, the screams and cries of the occupants inside echoing over the roaring of the fires. Gray-clad changeling soldiers stormed through the streets, waving the flag of Changelingia and singing songs of victory and conquest. They felt invincible—they believed the war was almost over and the dreams of a Greater Changeling nation were almost in hoof.
Lorum chuckled. They were idiots.
He lifted his canteen to his lips and took a heavy swig of its foul contents, grimacing as the liquid burned his throat. Nothing was ever easy. They may have taken Canterlot, but the princesses had fled long ago, along with the heads of the Equestrian government. The only “officials” left in the city were paper-pushers and tax collectors. Not exactly critical personnel.
Lorum sighed and looked around him, regarding the destruction coldly. The sight of fresh corpses scattered through the streets, the rolling stench of black smoke carried from burning homes and workplaces, and the screams of civilians had become commonplace, dare he say “normal.” Ever since his first assignment, everything had been a simple checklist.
Infiltrate. Garner a good position. Sabotage their defenses. Wreak havoc on the promised day.
It was simple, it was routine, and it worked like a charm.
Lorum glanced at the body of a mare lying slumped against the hood of the truck he sat on and patted her head, ruffling the crimson-stained brown mane, something that would have earned him a bat in the shoulder, had the frontlines not been pushed to Canterlot. A sigh came through his lips as he looked into her frozen confusion-filled eyes. A remnant of her last moments of life before he pulled the trigger.
She had been a nice if rather nervous mare. Self-conscious, skittish, she would rarely make eye contact, unless she was talking about animals. She loved them and the topic always excited her to no end, she would ramble on and on about her dream to open a veterinary clinic while he listened quietly with a encouraging smile fixed on his face. It was a wonder how a mare so shy could be so resolute in her desire to serve her country. “I don’t want us to live under the hoof of those monsters. I want my family to be safe,” she had explained. “I want us to be able to sit under the stars and not be scared of a bomber sweeping down and destroying all we’ve built.”
She was a Canterlot local. He remembered finding that out when she had offered to let him stay at her house once she learned he was living out of the barracks. He turned her down, to her disappointment. With all the time he had spent with the mare, she had developed a crush on him. Not the first time it happened, but it wasn’t advantageous in the slightest, so he mostly ignored it.
He scoffed. Changelings couldn’t love. It was a shame she had to learn that the hard way.
Lorum took another sip of the alcohol swishing around his canteen. He had never been a drinker, but on his third assignment his “friends” had gone out for drinks and dragged him along. The entire trip was a horrible experience—he hated every single drop of the wretched drink and yet he couldn’t get enough. It made him feel like he was alive for once so he just kept drinking.
Unfortunately, he had gotten a little too drunk and shifted in the middle of the party. That trip ended with him gunning down every patron and setting the bar on fire to destroy any trace of evidence. Thirteen kills that day.
To think he had broken down into tears after killing his best friend three years prior.
He grimaced; that wasn’t something he wanted to think about at the moment.
Killing was the outcome of war. It was unavoidable, holding a soldier accountable for killing their enemy was a pointless endeavor, but he wasn’t a soldier. He was a murderer and had long since accepted that fact. The ‘lings in the Heer could cover their asses by saying they only shot “enemy combatants,” but not Lorum. No, not him.
His first “murders” were because of his own mistakes; he would do something that risked his assignment and had to cover it up. He had killed soldiers, civilians and even foals. But after he learned from his mistakes, ponies would just end up disappearing when it advantaged him. If some stallion was standing in the way of his promotion, that stallion would wind up in an accident when the brakes to his personal automobile failed. Perhaps a foolish officer was poking his nose where it didn’t belong and a tragic house fire started while he and his family were all asleep.
He glanced at the dead mare again. It was always strange looking at the body of someone you knew. Despite all the death that he had caused, something about it always unnerved him. Maybe it was the lifeless eyes, the frozen expression, or maybe it was just the stillness. Living creatures moved, bodies did not. Either way, it made his chitin crawl.
But that unnerving feeling was oh-so useful as well. He had gotten out of a number of binds by embracing the feeling. It was a lot more convincing that you weren’t responsible for somepony’s death if you seemed just as disturbed as the pony investigating.
It was safe to say he was very disturbed.
Lorum swished around his quickly draining canteen, feeling the liquor shift through the empty tin. He believed that this was his twenty-second assignment to date and the third time he had used his first persona: Golden Hoof. Golden mane and tail, snow-white fur, and bright yellow eyes. A totally plain-looking stallion and his worst disguise to date. Even worse than the gruff sergeant caricature he used on his fifth assignment. If the ponies were a little less trusting they would have arrested him on the spot.
And yet, he felt like using him again. He didn’t know what it was, but it just felt right for the assignment, and just like last time he had to kill his best friend.
Maybe that was too much. He had learned from his mistakes, and didn’t get as attached to Soft Heart. Sure, he liked the mare and maybe in a different world they could have been real friends, but he had to do what was necessary for his nation. It was different with…
…Bright! Bright Smiles! That was her name. Yes, it was different with her. He had gotten too attached and for a while he actually saw her as his friend. There were days when he didn’t take advantage of her kind and trusting nature. Her gentle heart. Her sweet smile…
Lorum shook his head to bring his wandering thoughts back in line. Even years later, the strings of his attachment still pulled at him. That was unacceptable in his line of work. In all honesty, it was a miracle that he was even capable of pulling the trigger…
His rifle cracked, bucking against his shaking hooves. Warm tears ran down his face, matting his fur. There had been screaming and shouts of alarm as the advance arrived, but he could barely remember that, all he remembered was watching her slump down onto the ground. The bubbly, kind-hearted dentist laid still in a pool of her own blood. Her eyes stared blankly into the sky, her lips pulled into a soft “o”. He had run over to her and held her body in his hooves, whispering apologies to a mare who wasn’t there anymore, run his hoof through her mane, watching in horror as crimson seeped through to stain her brown mane. Her medical satchel, for all the supplies it had, mundane and magical, couldn’t save her and no amount of bandaging would revive the dead.
That was his first kill.
Lorum drained the last of the canteen. Savoring the burning in his throat and the distraction it brought. He wasn’t that Lorum anymore. That Lorum had to die too. Left behind to rot in that ditch with the body of his “best friend.”
He was reborn. He was different.
Lorum was dead.
He was dead.
Dead.
“...Buck,” he cursed. Wiping away the tears that trailed down his face. He was changed. He was different. Old Lorum was dead, he wasn’t coming back.
“Buck!” His canteen clanged against the concrete street as it hit the pavement, bouncing twice before skidding to a stop. Lorum sucked in a breath as he tried to calm his nerves. He grit his teeth as the tears came, the disobedient ducts refusing his demands to stop. It wouldn’t stop. Damn it, he couldn’t stop. He wasn’t an emotional little nymph anymore, he was a machine, his only purpose was to kill for his Queen and yet he couldn’t bucking stop.
He had killed so many…so, so many. He didn’t cry for them. So why in Tartarus did he always cry for her. She was nothing to him. He was a changeling infiltrator, she was a pony soldier. Just because she was nice didn’t mean shit!
He slid off the hood of the truck, stumbling onto his hooves. He walked away from the wreckage, leaving Soft Heart and the rest of his squad lying where he killed them. He walked, not caring where he was going, that didn’t matter. He just wanted the pain in his chest to stop.
She had to die. What else could he have done? Revealed himself to her? Did he think that she would have just accepted him for what he was? He was an enemy, she would have shot him on the spot.
Maybe that would have been better.
Maybe he should have revealed himself and let her kill him. Then she’d learned what it took to live and she’d be alive and he’d have died innocent.
He laughed. His heart felt like a rock in his chest.
He stumbled, slamming his shoulder into the side of a house. Luckily for him, it wasn’t on fire, so he didn’t die then and there.
He should have died long ago.
He walked forward, sliding himself along the wall. He didn’t feel like he could support himself anymore. He felt weak, and what else could he be? The Equestrian Terror was crying over some stupid pony he killed three years ago.
He was a hero. That’s what they said in the news reports. A brave infiltrator who spent his time behind enemy lines clearing the way for the sons and daughters of the Hives.
It was a lie.
He wasn’t a hero. He was a filthy monster. He made ponies trust him, made them care for him, made them love him. Then when they let their guard down and opened themselves to him he would sink his teeth into their necks.
He wasn’t a hero. He was a monster.
Lorum was abruptly knocked to the ground as a solid something slammed into his back, his mouth opened in a silent cry as the wind was knocked from his lungs.
“Stupid bucking bug!” someone shouted above him, the voice harsh but feminine.
“Lower your voice!” Another voice corrected in a loud whisper. “We don’t want to draw any attention.”
“The main body is off in the residential district, we’re fine.”
Lorum rolled over, ignoring the pain in his back to face his attackers. Two ponies, one standing over him holding a metal pipe in her magical grasp while the other stood back, most of her body concealed beneath a cloak. He took note of the pistol holstered on the one-with-a-pipe’s side.
“We don’t have time for this.” The cloaked one insisted, drawing the gaze of the one standing over him. “He might be a scout, the rest of his team might be behind him.”
“I don’t think so, you saw how he was stumbling around, the bastard is drunk. Probably was off celebrating before taking off for a piss.” She glanced down at him with a fire behind her eyes. A fire behind her…deep blue eyes. “Not to mention he’s wearing one of our uniforms and I want to know how the roach got it.” She poked his nose with the pipe. “Hear that roach? Get to talking.”
He didn’t hear her. He was too busy staring into her eyes. Bright had blue eyes. Pretty blue eyes that sparkled like gemstones when she smiled, and, as embarrassing as it was to admit, he had spent more than one occasion sneaking glances into her eyes when he could get away with it, admiring their beautiful sapphire color. Sometimes she caught him and she’d give him a little wink. She was silly like that.
So silly.
Crack! Lorum yelped as the pipe slammed into his cheek.
“Listen to me when I’m talking to you!”
“Holly, he probably can’t understand you. We don’t have time for this!”
“We have time.”
Lorum felt something warm dribble from his burning nose and run down his cheek. Blood; she must have broken his nose. “Wh-who’re you?” his words slurred slightly as he forced them out.
The mare with the pipe snorted and turned to her compatriot. “What were you saying about him not understanding? Bastard can speak Equestrian pretty well!”
“Damn it, Holly! We need to get going, I don’t want us to be caught by a group of them!”
“Fine, fine!” The mare responded, throwing the pipe into an alleyway. For a moment, Lorum thought he was going to get out of this relatively unharmed, it wouldn’t have been the first time he escaped with his life by the skin of his teeth, and a few bruises and a broken nose were nothing compared to some of the injuries he received throughout his service.
He thought he was free.
Until she unholstered the pistol and pressed it against his forehead. The mare smiled as his eyes widened. “How’s it feel to be on the other end of one, roach? Feels good? I bet you’ve done something like this before, how else would you get that uniform?”
Lorum stared up at the pistol, a cold, foreboding feeling stirred in his chest. Was this how his victims felt in their last moments?
Terrified? Helpless?
Did he deserve this?
Probably.
…No.
Definitely.
He did deserve this. He was a liar, a thief, and a murderer. His victims were innocent. So many ponies had faced down the barrel of his gun. Their faces twisted in horror and shock as their best friend, comrade or even lover ended their lives.
Lorum closed his eyes. His muscles relaxed on the cold concrete.
His time had come.
But what happened after?
Would he see his victims in the afterlife?
Would he see Bright again?
The happy, joyful mare that he once knew an eternity ago?
Would she forgive him for his fall? For the things he’d done?
Maybe she’d still have her deck of cards and they could play again.
He promised he’d play fair this time.
No more cheating.
Bang.
Author's Note
Okay! Hi! Still alive. Sorry for the long wait for something new. I hope you enjoy! 
2023 Edit: Fixed! Am still alive too! 
