Douglas 2: The Douggenning

-KLAUS POV

I was free, but I was still incomplete. I should have foreseen my mistake. Chrysalis manipulated Douglas’s feelings, unlocking his love for the pink one, binding my power to him. Love is simple nourishment for the changelings, but it is far more to me. Though it may sustain me, it is the very antithesis of my being, and absorbing too much disrupts my equilibrium. My peons still served me, and I put my plan into motion. I would send some out to feed on love, while others would help my own feeding. A single changeling meekly accompanied me to the hidden recesses of the hive, through living rock only I knew how to traverse. For the first time in five thousand years, I entered my long sealed chambers. I turned to my lone entourage. It looked up at me full of adoration, as if it were a puppy looking at its long-lost master. I knelt, put a hand on its head, letting it experience affection for only a moment before I devoured it. My hunger conquered my senses, and I took the luxury of nostalgia. My mind wandered farther than it had in eons, back to when I was less…savage. To when I still had a family.

I’d always been a good foal. I had a strong father, a gentle mother, and little brother. Each day was blissful in its simplicity. I would wake up to the train bells each morning, rouse my brother, and help with breakfast before leaving for school. We lived in the castle. My father was a guardsman, and my mother was the royal librarian. I was always torn between which of them I wanted to be when I grew up. The time I spent with my father was spent training. I learned magic from him, as well as the importance of strength, duty, and patience. When I was with my mother, she would read to me, and as her voice rendered the words from the pages, I would practically inhale them. The gifts my parents gave me shaped who I would become. I wanted the all-encompassing knowledge of my mother, and the imposing strength and discipline held by my father. I wanted the wisdom of the Canterlot archivist, and the power of a Canterlot sentinel. I learned, and I trained. At the end of the day, when I played with my brother, he liked to challenge me. He called his games “contests.” He make me race him through the gardens, asking me questions he couldn’t possibly know the answer to, and having me perform feats of magic he couldn’t possibly have done himself. When I had completed these trials, I’d help him practice levitation as I explained one of the subjects he’d asked about. Day in and day out, my prowess and intellect grew. But I still lacked a cutie mark, as did my brother. My classmates would tease me, but I was able to put up with it so long as I was the subject. When another guardspony came to mother and I one day, things became different. My brother had been hospitalized. He had stood up to a group of ponies who were taunting him. They beat him until he couldn’t move, then they dropped him off a balcony. Later, the doctor told us that his body would recover, but he’d suffered permanent brain damage. When my brother was released, nothing seemed amiss. He could function, and his memory was intact. He even accomplished his ritual of refusing to eat broccoli, for which he was chastised by mother. We only learned what was wrong when he bit her. That night, I asked him for the names of the ponies that had done this. Before long, Canterlot was abuzz with the news about the group of limbless foals who’d been drowned in a fountain. I got my cutie mark the day after. The bottom half was an anchor, and the top half was an axe, and together, both halves formed the image of a wicked smiling face. As I grew, I became cold. I entered the royal guard at a young age, and became a member of Celestia’s personal guard a few years later. I was charged with not only protecting Equestria’s leader, but also with providing counsel to whomever sought it from a colt of my status. But my passion for knowledge and power had died with my brother’s tormentors. One of my duties was to deal with enemies of the throne, ponies who posed a threat to the princess. “Exiled” was the term others used to describe the ones I captured. The term I used was “games”. I spent most of my time in the dungeons with ponies I’d captured. I’d open them up, or burn them, or mutilate them, or cut them deep and let them die slowly, but drowning them was always my favorite pastime. It was my secret passion, my special talent, and my giddy laughter was the only evidence I left. I’d come home, and nothing would be wrong, until the day my father was discharged. He was nothing but anger, and while he kept his peace in front of me, he told mother everything. He’d mistaken an innocent filly for a trespasser. Father said he’d called out to the filly, and when she refused to turn back, he was ordered to execute her. Celestia acted with grace, punishing him merely with honorable discharge for obeying an order to kill an innocent pony. I overheard everything he told mother. He ranted about the injustice, and he said he should’ve killed Celestia instead of that filly.

Well, that was more than enough for me to make a call.

I walked down the steps to the dungeon, giddy with anticipation. My father yelled and hollered from his cell, but he was too deep to be heard from beyond the door which I possessed the only key to. I walked into the cell. To me delight, he was happy to see me. I thought I was going to free him. I was silent, letting my smile do all the talking. It didn’t take him long to realize that there was no sympathy on my lips. My mouth had formed one wide crescent of pure malice. Hope abandoned him as I showed him my tools. I selected one fairly small knife, and hurled it past his head. He screamed as it soared passed his head and stuck in the stone wall. I began to snicker, and threw another. He screamed again. I lifted a third, and he shut his eyes. I frowned at his attempt to deny me my fun. I launched the third knife, and it stuck into his muzzle. He cried out in pain, and I quickly twisted the knife, hearing the distinct sound of a bone splitting. The smile jumped right back onto my face as I started to laugh. I abandoned my tools and my magic, doing the rest with my bare hooves. I bit at his abdomen, exposing his ribs with my teeth. He begged to me, pleaded for his son to stop. I placed a hoof on one of his ribs when he told me he wanted to help me. He told me he loved me. I stopped. The room was silent, save for our panting. He tried his best to remain composed, but a single sob escaped him. I pulled up sharply on the rib. I hate crying. The bone snapped off easily, and he began to wail again. I laughed, admiring my work before I jammed the bone into my father’s neck and began to saw his throat open. Midway through, he became silent. I reached for the hole I’d made, pulling enough to see his still heart. I sighed, tossing the rib behind me, turning. I froze. I must have left the door unlocked, because a tiny princess Luna was standing before me. My mind was assaulted by a single word.

Kill.

She flew on her diminutive wings to the stairs, out of reach of my magic. I gave chase. I followed her through most of the castle as she tried to lose me in the hallways and corridors, but having personally hunted down many of the ponies I played with, I was an expert tracker. It wasn’t long before she made the mistake of looking back, and flew into a wall. I cast a sleeping spell immediately and brought her back to her room. To all the guards who passed me, I looked as if I was tending to the young princess who’d tired herself out. It was all I could do not to giggle at their mistake. I locked her chambers, and set her on her bed. I petrified her horn, rendering her helpless. I sat on the other side of the room, waiting for her to awaken with the patience of a hunter. I knew what I needed to do. As much as I wanted to murder her, I knew better. A dead princess would incite too many questions. No, I had to keep her silent, but alive. Her eyes opened slowly, blinking as she took in her surroundings. She gave a soft yawn before she noticed me. I put a hoof over her mouth as she tried to call for help, and I shook my head, drawing a line across my neck for good measure. She squeezed her eyes shut as she tried her magic. She gave me a look of fear when her powers failed her. I freed her mouth, and she obediently stayed quiet. I brought my cock to her lips, and rammed myself in. I played around with her mouth for a while, but there simply wasn’t enough room in the tiny orifice. I instead brought myself to her other lips, before realizing I would likely encounter the same problem. That left me with only one more option. I aimed slightly lower, prodding at the tailhole. Luna’s eyes widened in terror as I pushed slowly, and though the tears from her eyes conveyed the pain she was in, she did her best to keep silent. I continued. Her ass was extraordinarily tight, and it crushed my dick as I pumped in and out. Each push required considerable effort, but the sweet tenderness of her young insides was all the incentive I needed. Soft squeaks escaped her as I continued my work. I would have silenced her, but those sounds made me get even bigger inside of her and I kept thrusting. The fun I was having brought a grin to my face, and I filed the idea of rape away in my mind for future use. Yes…raping ponies was fun! My glee brought me over the edge as I finished inside Luna. The suction produced an audible smack as I withdrew from her. My ecstasy leaked from the diminutive princess, and I knew she feared me now.

Her sister did not.

The room became hot as the sunlight intensified. The door burst open, and the sun goddess entered. I was lifted into the air, held in place before Celestia. She never uttered. A sunbeam struck me, and I was ripped apart molecule by molecule. As my entire body was wracked with agony, I found it ironic that my own death was to be more painful than any of the ones I’d caused. I cackled as my form dissolved.

Even then, I could not have imagined my fate.

As I laughed, something happened. I began to eat Celestia’s magic, sending it away in each of the pieces she ripped from my body. They traveled along the sunbeam, falling deep into the earth. There, they grew. Celestia’s magic is fueled not only by the sun, but by her emotions. The bloodlust she felt when she killed me had bound to the same bloodlust in my soul. That magic changed my fragments, and each one grew into a changeling. The new changelings were like me: merciless, powerful, intelligent, and hungry. They hungered for the love which I lacked. They conquered a nearby village, and fed. My essence was in each of them, and as they reproduced, that essence grew stronger. Occasionally, enough of my soul would coalesce to form a unique changeling, a queen. These queens could harvest my essence, and they did so. It took hundreds of years, but my soul regenerated within one of the changelings.

I was finally born.