Thursday, September 3rd, 909 AB (the next morning)
Breakfast

“Good morning, your majesty, highness, milady!” Mint enthusiastically greets as she dances into the dining room from the servant’s entrance. “And what a beautiful morning it is, too! The sunrise seemed extra marvelous today, princess!”

“Thank you, Cool Mint,” she graciously replies. “Lady Minerva joined Serpentus and I this morning on the balcony and, I must confess, I took the opportunity to put on a bit of a show. I do hope I did not overdo it too much.”

“Perish the thought, your majesty!” she instantly declines, nodding a thanks to Cure when he levitates the drinks in front of everypony. “It was absolutely gorgeous!” she insists, getting a pleased smile from the ancient mare. She ducks into a shallow bow and makes her way back out the servant’s door as she assures them, “I’ll be right back with your breakfasts, including the special order for his highness!”

“Special order?” he echoes questioningly. Turning from the departed mare to the princess, he asks, “What special order?”

“Worry not, Serpentus,” she calmly assures him. Though well hidden from her features, Cure picks up a hint of amusement in her scent. “Surely the kitchen staff have prepared something unique for you, likely in preparation for this evening. Something of a final meal for the condemned, perhaps,” she airily postulates.

“But… they don’t even know about this unless somepony said something.” He looks across the table to his mom and asks, “You didn’t say anything, did you?”

“Ta who?” she indignantly retorts. Brushing the suggestion aside with her right forehoof, she shakes her head no as she denies, “I ain’t told nopony nothin, colt. Ya ought’a know better’n ta even ask.”

He flinches from the scolding and nods in acceptance. “Sorry ma, just checking.”

“I have not told anypony that would tell anypony else,” Celestia gently assures him when he turns her way. “The only related missive I have sent is to the castle warders. I asked that a room be prepared for a demonstration, but did not give any details.”

“Prepared?”

“Of course. It is only prudent that the wards be double, or even triple checked. I will inspect them myself before our bout to be absolutely sure, but the ponies responsible for maintaining everything should have the situation well in hoof.”

“That’s probably a good idea. Are there any particular rules you wanna stick to for this whole thing?”

“None come to mind, though if I may make a suggestion?” Cure grunts an affirmative. “If you can do so effectively, I would ask that you use one of your puppeted bodies. The very notion of attacking a foal, even during an educational spar, does not appeal to me in the slightest. I would also prefer very much not to cause your parents undue concern in regards to your visits here.”

“I planned on it. Dam would be a tad miffed if I got hurt, even if I could heal it in an instant.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“I’m kinda surprised you don’t have some kind of… oh, I dunno,” he rolls his forehoof in thought, “simulator or safety teleport system or something along those lines.”

“We do. That is, in fact, something that we will be deploying for some of the squad exercises. While effective, the system is far from infallible, especially when encountering more esoteric forms of magic. Any exercises in which it is deployed will have rules limiting what types of attacks and what spells are permissible. Special talents which do not manifest in an easily quantifiable attack, such as your own, cannot be accurately simulated, for example.”

“Really? That’s friggin awesome! Why don’t they use something like that at junior guard training? Is it expensive and hard to set up?”

“It is,” she confirms. “Not only that, but it also takes a dedicated team to maintain it to the highest standards. It is not, after all, something you would want to fail you when in use.”

“Makes sense,” he easily agrees.

“There is another issue as well. For guards and, particularly, youths, it is unwise to train them in such a setting. Studies have determined that ponies trained with it tend to underestimate exactly how much force to use, thus inflicting more grievous injuries than intended afterwards.”

“Practice how you perform, huh?”

“Indeed.”

“So if I’m using a puppet I take it you’re not gonna just instantly do something to cut off my portal or whatever, then, right? That’s not something anypony else would even know to do, after all.”

Celestia inclines her head in thought before dismissing the idea with a shake of her head. “I… am unsure how I would do so if one is inside of your body. Truthfully, if I were to face an opponent with such capabilities in real combat, I would simply annihilate their other bodies, assuming I knew them not to be separate entities. Your approach is so unique that I have never encountered anything remotely similar. It makes me wonder how attacks that target the mind or have other indirect effects would work.”

“It probably depends on how the spell or ability is targeting the brain. And whether it can transfer through inorganic compounds.”

“Hmm. Something perhaps we should explore at some point,” she suggests.

“Maybe when he’s older,” Amethyst interrupts. “Like ya said, don’t wanna hafta tell his dam that somethin went wrong.”

“Of course,” the princess easily agrees.

“Cool. I’m down for sorting that out. Anything else I should do to get ready?”

She shrugs indifferently and shakes her head no. “Prepare however you see fit.” A small smile tugs at the corners of the princess’s muzzle as she adds, “The purpose is to demonstrate why you should avoid a confrontation with a significantly more powerful opponent. While I do not wish to shake your confidence, it is important that you understand the gulf between yourself as you are now and somepony who has had centuries of experience.”

“Uh huh,” he disbelievingly nods. “Centuries of experience sittin around on yer cushy throne, ya mean. That’s alright, after all,” his voice changes to a higher pitched, more nasal imitation of her own and he leans side to side mockingly, “my purpose is to demonstrate why you should avoid underestimating a significantly less magically powerful opponent, especially when you haven’t fought a real battle since forever ago.”

The scowl she aims in his direction lacks any real heat, likely due at least in part to Amethyst’s quiet chuckling on her right. “I do not sound like that.”

“Close enough.”

The elder mare huffs and crosses her forelegs over her chest, turning to face the brat’s mother instead. “I honestly do not know how you put up with him. I have taught tens of thousands of foals over the centuries and I cannot recall a single one that was quite so… vexing.” She catches him sticking his tongue out at her from the corner of her eye.

“It’s real simple, princess. Ya just gotta sic his dam on ‘em. Her ‘n his sire are ‘bout tha only two he’ll behave fer.”

“That’s not true!” he vehemently denies, stamping a hoof on his pillow. “I listen to you, Title, and Lemon almost all’a tha time, too!”

Amethyst holds her hooves up placatingly and gives in with an acknowledging nod. “I suppose ya do, mostly. A right lot more’n most foals would, seein how we ain’t been family long at all.”

“I see how it is,” Celestia despondently sulks, which looks horribly out of place on the enormous mare, “I am the only authority figure who you so blatantly challenge.”

Playing up the wounded foal act as much as he can, Cure hangs his head and sags down into his cushion. Ears drooping and bottom lip quivering, he looks up at the mare through watery eyes and softly mumbles, “That’s just ‘cause I treat you more like a friend than a parent, Tia. You’re the only one I have who really knows me.”

The shot flies true, blasting through any defenses the ancient alicorn could have erected and piercing directly through her heart. Celestia melodramatically clutches at her chest and falls off her cushion to the side, gasping for air to the colt’s right. “Mercy! I beg of thee!” she cries, writhing pitifully on the floor, much to everypony’s amusement.

“Shoulda saved that one fer later, colt. Reckon that’s tha most you’ll hurt ‘er all day.”

“Please,” he scoffs, turning off the dour look like a flipped switch, “she’s totally goin down later. Y’all are underestimatin me ‘cause I’m a foal, but none of ya have any clue what I can really do.”

The service door opens up and the staff begin spilling out, pausing when they find the princess sprawled out on her side and the two other ponies in the room conversing as if nothing is amiss. Celestia sits back up in a rush, demonstrating far less grace than her typical motions. Though outwardly resuming her placid, indifferent mien, Cure can still detect amusement in her scent as she coughs to clear her throat and gives the servants a nod to proceed.

Cool Mint steps forward to speak as the other servants start distributing the food. A platter of breakfast confections is set in the middle of the table along with serving glasses full of various jellies, jams, and other condiments.

“For her majesty and Lady Minerva we have prepared a delicious and invigorating breakfast salad,” Mint begins, nodding as the dishes are placed in front of the pair. Cure salivates at the plate of halved hard boiled eggs, cut fried potatoes, tomatoes, croutons, diced onions, and sliced cucumbers all laid on a bed of spinach with a sweet, fruity smelling vinegar sauce drizzled overtop it.

The servant carrying his meal in a covered dish approaches him from the right, sliding it into place as he waits on with poorly concealed excitement.

“For his highness, at her majesty’s request,” she strongly emphasizes, earning a small pout from the elder and a quirked brow from the younger alicorn, “a quadruple serving of waffles and colored, hard boiled eggs.”

The lid on his platter is lifted revealing the meal to everypony in the room. Laid atop a rectangular, deep green dish are four waffles spread one to each corner, each one with a yellow, shell-removed hard boiled egg sat beside them. It takes a moment before realization dawns, at which point his head whips up to meet the princess’s mirth-filled eyes with a look of complete betrayal.

“You need not dance for our amusement, Serpentus. Feel free to start with eggs; while they lack the texture of the real thing they are far more tasty, I suspect.”

“You… how… grrr!” he growls, shattering her resolve and sending both her and his mother into a fit of laughter. “How did you even hear about that?!” he demands.

“Yer serious?!” his mom exclaims, mid-laugh. “Every other mare that came up ta me last night was talkin ‘bout it, either ‘cause they or somepony they knew was there. Everypony in Canterlot’s heard’a it by now.”

“I would dearly love to have seen your performance,” Celestia insists around giggles.

The colt growls menacingly as he impales an egg on his fork. His horn lights up, levitating the salt, pepper, several pats of butter, and a carafe of syrup over, grumbling under his breath the whole time. “Just jealous ‘cause you couldn’t ‘a pulled it off. I’ll show ya, alright. I’ll show ya a performance you’ll never forget!”

“I am quaking in my golden shoes,” she teasingly mocks. “I suppose we will find out this evening.”

That afternoon.

A rush of wind slides over Warrior’s camouflaged scales as he launches himself on an arc, silently gliding from one tree to the next. Bounding across the treetops as stealthily as he can, he closes in on the familiar scent, giddy at the opportunity to study the physiology of an animal he hadn’t expected to encounter for years to come. It isn’t difficult to follow the acidic stench of cat urine carried on the air, and what would normally be the suffocating dark of the Everfree’s canopy isn’t the slightest hindrance to the puppet’s sight.

The only true challenge is that Warrior is fast approaching the very edge of the ring system’s feasible range, yet the scent of his prey itself still eludes him. That’s not a huge problem, however. After all, if he can’t reach his prey then the only thing left to do is to lure the beast closer to him.

The only question is, what kind of bait will be the most effective? The opportunity to feast, fight, or fuck will ensnare most animals, but without ever having scanned a female the last one is right out. The same can be said for “fight” since the most effective bait would be another male’s scent in the target’s territory. Then again, maybe any old piss will do as long as it’s close enough, and between the big cats from the zoo and the scent on the wind Cure should be able to whip up a pretty good substitute.

As the colt muses on the fact he’s using his talent to mix up artificial pee, he extrudes a few kilogram chunk of bloody meat from the Warrior’s chest. It’s by no means a full meal for a predator of any size, but free food is free food, and even a few kilograms of unspoiled meat would be a boon to a hungry carnivore.

A small clearing just ahead will work well enough, and a few modified mosquitoes take off in various directions, dripping a trail of blood to more quickly spread the scent. Dozens more settle on the western edge of the clearing, oozing a viscous spray of concentrated male lion urine.

Warrior settles in to wait as the next set of patients march their way towards Cure’s office, a pair of pegasi with light colored coats. His focus back on his body, he hops down off his couch to greet the couple who, judging from their scent, heightened adrenaline, and overall demeanor, seem none-too-pleased to be here.

“Colonel Flint,” he begins with a respectful nod and an outstretched hoof, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. You’re in from Fort Palomino, if I’m not mistaken, correct?”

The faded yellow pegasus looks down her snout at the colt and begrudgingly reaches out to return the greeting. “You know I am, sir, and if we can get this done I would very much like to get back to it.”

Cure’s eyes flick to her wife, a more petite, light gray mare, to gauge her reaction and, unfortunately, he finds an equally unimpressed and annoyed expression on her face. “Very well,” he accepts, having already scanned them to confirm they are indeed ponies. He ignites his horn to push his door shut behind the two, an act that startles them and puts them both on edge.

“Easy, colonel. I’m just trying to respect your privacy.” He sits on his haunches to hopefully put them more at ease. “I understand nopony wants to go to the doctor, but I’m not one, and there’s a few hundred thousand ponies that would love to have five minutes of my time, so what’s with the hostility?”

She sighs, relaxing slightly as she assures him, “It’s not that, your highness. I know why we’re really here.” Cure’s attention is drawn to the gray mare who huffs and shoots the colonel a brief glare. The motion is caught by Flint who assures him, “I haven’t told her. I can’t tell her yet, and she knows that.”

“Even if it is annoying,” her wife complains.

“Either way, getting dragged halfway across the nation for this,” she waves to the office with a foreleg, “is a waste of my time. It’s two days each direction on trains for, as you said, a five minute appointment. Being trapped on those small cars all day was awful.”

Cure bobs his head and shrugs, arguing, “As with any security measure, it’s a waste of time until all of the sudden it isn’t. If you know why you’re here then you certainly understand the risk, and I’m sure there’s many things you’ll not be able to discuss at home. That’s just part of the job.”

“As you say, sir.”

“Keep in mind that I’m here, too. My family and friends are all back in Baltimare, but I’m here spending the last couple weeks of my summer before their school restarts for the same reason. How many hours a week did you work at my age, Colonel Flint?”

Her aggressive posture fully evaporates as she confesses, “I… didn’t. Work, that is. Not until I was thirteen, and I’m guessing you’re not even ten, sir.”

Cure grimaces and slowly nods, mumbling, “... my height kind of gives it away, doesn’t it?”

The mare gives him a small nod and points out, “If alicorns grow like earth ponies you’d be noticeably taller since your coronation, sir.”

“Kinda overlooked that,” he grouses with a cringe. “Well either way, if you’re in a hurry to get back…?” he trails off in question.

“We’re flying straight to Detrot after this to catch the evening train to Las Pegasus tonight, sir.”

“Then let’s get you taken care of.” With a casual wave of his forehoof, he motions to the officer. “Your scans didn’t show anything significant, mostly the typical stuff anypony your age would have wrong with them. Your hearing has degraded some, of course, and even if you haven’t noticed, so has your sense of smell.

“I could smooth over that scar on your foreleg,” he motions to a cut just above her fetlock, “if you want, or just leave it. Either way. Other than that, you have a few joints with arthritis setting in. Your left hip, in particular, likely due to whatever injury you had at some point.”

“My hip?” she echoes with a scrunched up snout. “I fractured that in Basic twenty-three years ago. It’s fine, sir.”

“And it’s long since healed,” he agrees understandingly. “But if it doesn’t already, I bet within the next few years you’ll start noticing it when it rains. Or when you’re quickly changing altitude, I suspect.” The mare grimaces and gives a nearly imperceptible nod in acknowledgement.

Cure regards the wife and continues, “Ma’am. As with your wife, you have all the typical age related stuff going on. I could go into detail if you’d like,” he offers. The mare pauses in thought for a moment and silently shakes her head no. “Fair enough. You also have slightly elevated blood pressure, which I’m not seeing a direct cause of, making me suspect it’s genetic.”

The mare bobs her head and softly says, “My dam has that too. She takes medicine.”

“Then I would recommend you have her come visit me at some point. The sooner the better. I understand some of those medicines have side effects. Oh, and maybe tell any siblings to get checked also. As far as I know, only I can cure the underlying problem instead of just treating it. Come on,” he turns, waving to his patient couch, “I can patch you up faster by hooking you up to my plant, and I’ll even give ya a little boost for your flight to Detrot.”

Attention split, Cure doesn’t register the manticore approaching his Warrior until he has the colonel hooked into his plant. Though he can’t get a good look at the animal, he immediately notices that it’s not as absolutely massive as he’d anticipated from the show. From what little he can see, it’s only about the size of a typical lion which, while not insignificant, is far from the depiction of Manny who was twenty or more times the mass of the girls when they encountered him while chasing after Nightmare Moon.

As with many members of the military, even the higher echelons, the mare does not have an excessive amount of fat from which to steal mass away. There would be enough, but even shifting a half of a kilogram on an already trim pegasus tends to stand out, and the last thing he wants to do is give her any reason to complain, especially a reason such as altering her appearance without permission which he would deem completely valid.

Ultimately, she is a subordinate and there’s little she could actually do, but even with somepony that isn’t really a “customer” per se, there’s no reason not to deliver good customer service.

The Warrior sits still, hiding in the treetops overlooking the clearing as the manticore warily surveys the area. The animal doesn’t appear to be intelligent, but still possesses the same cunning and instinct that any other hunter species would, sticking to the shadows where Warrior can barely catch a glimpse of it. Almost as if sensing the trap, the beast retreats back into the thicket to circle to the southeast, positioning himself to be more directly downwind from the morsel of bloody meat thrown into the clearing.

Unwilling to let the animal escape, Warrior spreads his wings and lunges in that direction. The manticore reacts to the motion almost instantly, turning away to make its escape. A fling of its tail as it turns launches four barbed quills hurling in Warrior’s direction, but the haste with which the attack was made means that only one of them is on target. Warrior’s hand lashes out, catching the projectile before it can puncture his wing, the force of the impact insignificant compared to his own mass, even lightened for flight.

While the manticore accelerates at an impressive rate, he isn’t able to fully escape the radius of the Warrior’s horn. It ignites to capture a scan and, in an instant, the full physique of the animal flashes across Cure’s mind.

Unlike what the show portrayed, which was little more than a lion with wings and a scorpion tail, this monster has significantly more scorpion and draconic bits than Cure had anticipated. While most of the features of its face, head, and neck are distinctly feline, its dark brown fur gives way to a layer of even darker scales on the top of its back.

A segmented and quilled chitinous carapace provides a strip of additional armor and defense down its back until it merges into the nearly black tail which is tipped in a spiked, morningstar-like appendage. The tail itself is nearly prehensile like a dragon’s or a snake’s body rather than segmented like a scorpion’s tail would be.

Its wings are undersized for its frame, and, while having an overall draconic shape to them, also have two small, grasping claws at the elbow like some Ed had occasionally seen in drawings of wyverns. Each of its four legs are tipped with retractable curved, grasping claws like a cat. From its behavior and appearance, Cure can only assume it is an ambush predator.

It appears to use a couple of different venoms as well. Two distinct types are secreted from its body; one on its claws and a few frontal teeth and a different one on its tail and the defensive quills on its back. Though it will take time to analyze each one, a quick comparison to his catalog of spider and snake venoms has him suspecting the former to be a paralytic and the latter as being something much deadlier.

With his scan complete, Warrior breaks off from the fleeing animal and allows it to escape. As awesome of a bar story wrestling with a manticore may make, there’s no reason to cause the monster any undue stress.

The last thing Cure would want to do is to force the animal out of its territory and, perhaps, inadvertently push it closer to either Forest Heights, some twenty kilometers to the east, or Ponyville, which is about fifteen kilometers to the northwest. Both are close enough that he’s slightly concerned, but he figures he can check with Celestia and either hunt the beast down easily enough, or let the agents of S.M.I.L.E. earn their keep if need be.

As the afternoon comes to a close Cure notes the sudden straightening of the guards outside his door. It’s not at all difficult to discern why; Celestia is like a shining second sun when not holding back the radiance that naturally emanates from her being. The mare, along with his disguised mother and three more Royal Guards, are making their way to his clinic from the castle’s entrance. Having finished with his patients for the day and due to the recent transition to the castle guard’s second shift, only the colt and his guards remain in his clinic.

Leaving his latest creation behind, Cure trots out into the office to greet the pair upon their arrival. “Ma, princess, I got somethin to show ya if you have a moment,” he says, half turned in his office doorway with his right wing pointing inside.

“Oh? Another of your creations?” the elder alicorn inquires.

“Yep. Had a little afternoon inspiration and finally knocked out a project I’ve thought about a few different times but never got around to. Come check it out!” he chirps, skipping back into his room. The mares regard each other with a shrug and follow along the eager colt’s steps.

Both freeze at the doorway when their eyes land on the animal resting upon his southernmost couch. Celestia instinctively readies for battle. Knees bent, wings half raised, and horn alight with power, the mare regards the sleeping form of a large, male manticore for only a moment before calming. Amethyst does not fare quite as well; lacking the privilege of ever encountering a truly dangerous beast, the mare goes stock still and wide-eyed, her breath frozen in her chest.

“It ain’t real, ma. Relax,” the little jerk insists, hopping up on the couch to prod at the monster’s insensate body. “I did, however, find a real one about twenty klicks south of the mountain, though,” he adds, looking up to meet the princess’s eyes, “so I don’t know if you need to… ya know… do anything or tell anypony or whatever. If you want, I could send Warrior out to catch or kill it if it’s a danger to any of the nearby towns.”

Amethyst at least begins to breathe and calm herself down. Curiosity piqued, Celestia moves fully in the room to more closely analyze the ferocious looking beast. “It is a magnificent specimen, Cure. Can you show me where you spotted it? Perhaps with an illusory map?”

“Sure. You bet, boss,” he agrees, projecting a top-down view of the forest to the south of the Canterhorn with indicators for Warrior’s path, the monster’s approximate entrance and exit routes, and a number of noteworthy landmarks such as rocks, streams, or unusual and distinctive flora. “Based on the thing’s scent, this is the far upper end of its territory and, unfortunately, that was also about as far as I could venture out with the rings I had available.

“I moved Warrior east and west,” he continues, highlighting the routes the puppet took, “to try to triangulate approximately where the center of its territory might be, but all I was able to figure out is that it’s somewhere to the south and, based on trees and rocks it marked, more to the west than the east. I don’t know how far these things range, unfortunately.”

“Not very far at this time of year,” Celestia explains, “but that is likely to change with the transition to fall in the coming month. It may expand its hunts in order to bulk up before colder weather sets in. Even though the Everfree never reaches freezing, the average temperatures do fall to the point where game is likely to become more scarce.”

“The Everfree doesn’t freeze?”

“It does not,” she confirms. “Even when the entire canopy is blanketed in snow the temperatures underneath remain relatively mild, rarely falling much below twelve degrees during the day and five at night. It is a phenomenon that ponykind has struggled to explain for over a millennium; one we merely ascribe to the forest’s chaotic nature.”

“Huh,” he grunts in thought. “I should make a greenhouse for dam’s garden this winter. I bet she would like that.”

Celestia graces him with a beaming smile and a nod. “I am certain such a fine present would be most welcome, Cure. In regards to the manticore, I presume that the specimen you encountered was a male as well?”

“Sure was. The big pussy ran away as soon as I had Warrior lunge at it.”

“That is not surprising, though I very much doubt it retreated very far. In all likelihood it fled the immediate encounter, only to circle back in an attempt to stalk and ambush its would-be attacker. If your Warrior had remained inside its territory, the monster would not have completely abandoned the area, only waited for a better opportunity to catch you unaware.”

“Ah,” he mumbles, nodding in understanding. “I thought it seemed a little too easy. Oh well, like I said, I couldn’t go deeper in, so once I scouted the area a bit I Teleported back to town. Is this thing going to be a problem?”

“Unlikely,” she responds, shaking her head no. “I will advise the nearby town guards of the presence of a male and, possibly, a pride nearby. As I am certain you ascertained, the manticore’s venoms are their greatest danger. Is that box,” she turns to look at the desk he had set up for attending physicians to occupy, nodding to the modified Life Support Collar setup sitting on top of it, “something you devised to neutralize the threat?”

“It is!” he confirms, nodding his head eagerly. “Observe,” he calls, hopping and flapping his wings once to float over to the desk. He sits beside the box and turns to face the mare, pausing when he notes his mother still standing at the doorway. “Mom? The manticore ain’t gonna come ta life and eat ya, you know? It’s just another puppet, see?”

Activating a ring, he establishes a connection to the prone puppet’s form. Celestia placidly watches on as the monster stirs to wakefulness. Amethyst doesn’t flee, but Cure is certain that the only reason she is still rooted in place is because of the presence of the two alicorns between her and it.

Cure has the puppet sit up and turn to regard the now-white mare. Claws retracted, it taps its chest with a forepaw and, in a deep, gravely voice, says, “You know, you still have that gland I gave you, mom. Without its venoms you would probably beat the crap out of this thing in a straight-up fight. It doesn’t have earth pony bullshit super-strength or any of the protections I’ve given you.”

The new voice in the room prompts his sergeant to glance inside the room around his still unmoving mother. The scent of panic and gasp of alarm fills the room upon seeing his princess within striking distance of such a dangerous animal. “At ease, Sergeant Whiplash,” Celestia calmly commands. “This is not a real manticore; only a facsimile created by your charge. None of us are in any danger at all.”

“Ma’am!” he barks out with a firm nod before resuming his default guard posture.

Cure notices the other guards stealing glances inside the room as Celestia takes in the manticore’s features. “Amazing,” she breathily murmurs. “I have encountered their kind before, but to be able to see a specimen in such a controlled setting is truly remarkable.”

The puppet rolls to its haunches on the couch, sitting up in front of the princess. Even on the raised platform the mare towers over the fearsome beast. He offers a paw up for her inspection, extending its claws, then retracting them back. Amethyst finally forces herself in the room as the puppet turns to show its back and unfurls its draconic, grasping wings.

“This one doesn’t have any venom at all right now,” Cure, through the puppet, explains, “but you don’t want to touch its back normally. Those quills are dulled, but the real ones are as sharp as a needle and laced with a really nasty neurotoxin, the same as what’s on its tail,” he continues, slowly raising the barbed weapon to show off its spines.

“I am aware, unfortunately,” Celestia admits with a grimace. “Anypony hit with such an attack will succumb within minutes, sadly. We were occasionally forced to confront these beasts during the early years at our castle in the Everfree. They eventually learned to keep their distance, but dozens of guards perished before that lesson was fully conveyed.”

“Ugh… I wish I could say that I’m surprised. As I’m sure you learned, these things on their tail aren’t affixed; they’re basically just sitting inside slots in its tail with a small muscle holding each one in place. It actually launched four of them at Warrior with a flick of its tail when it retreated. They weren’t very accurate, but I guess you don’t need to be when even grazing somepony is fatal.”

“Indeed not. Presumably, then, your newest creation is some form of anti-venom device?”

“Yep!” he chirps from his real body. “It’s like the Life Support Collar, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. The main difference is that this thing hooks in to more than just the patient’s carotids.” Cure ignites his horn, levitating the box that is nearly as large as his barrel in the air.

“You’ll notice that the display panel is on a side instead of the ‘top’ of the unit, and instead of one collar,” he says, using his horn to extend five collars instead, “this one has one for each limb and another for the neck. All five should be unnecessary, but if somepony somehow got hit in more than one limb I wanted to have everything covered just to be safe. The ‘top’ of the box will actually stick right on the patient’s chest, back, or side.”

Turning around to face away, he floats the box onto his back to demonstrate. Once it registers his body, it latches on with its innate telekinesis field, adhering in place. The five vine-like collars are wrapped around each leg and the thickest loops around his neck. “It hooks into the carotids, of course, to ensure nothing is attacking the brain, but also ties into both femorals on the hind legs and the median artery and the cephalic vein on the forelegs, filtering toxins all throughout the body while administering an antivenom and, with the push of a button, a weak steroid mixture to prevent an allergic reaction.”

He turns back around to show how its looped around his legs just below his pits, completely aware and slightly uncomfortable with the fact that the collars wrapped around his hind legs also unfortunately draw attention to his junk now surrounded by fleshy vines on both sides. Pushing the human thoughts aside, he continues his spiel as unbothered as he can manage. “The nice thing is that it can use the same docks that the other unit does, so no new equipment needs added once they all go into distribution.

“The controls are all touch-based and the information panel is essentially the same. I’ve been meaning to do something like this for a while, but seeing that guy,” he waves to the manticore who sets a paw on his chest and takes a small bow, “I figured I should go ahead and do so.”

“And you did this in an afternoon?” she questions. “While treating other patients?”

The colt shrugs and bobs his head, an action that is mirrored on his puppet. “The basic design of the system was already done months ago. I really just added a few additional plug-ins and an antivenom synthesizer. This isn’t a replacement for the other one,” he rushes to add. “It will run out of energy much faster.

“Its energy stores are far smaller to accommodate the antivenom extruder, which takes up a fair amount of space in the unit. It’ll get them over that hump, though, and if need be they can be swapped to another unit easily enough. The only real problem would be with venoms like the manticore’s since it’ll probably kill somepony before they can even get to the machine, which is why I made these,” he says, igniting his horn.

A three ring binder flashes into existence in his aura. He opens it to the first page, showing two flat envelopes, each labeled with a picture of a black widow spider. “These are single use packets designed to be applied directly to the wound.” He flips to the next pages displaying a brown recluse, then a copperhead snake, then several varieties of hornets. “Just peel off the wax paper and slap the patch on. For some-”

“Like me,” the manticore interrupts.

“- there’ll be a single-use injection as well.” He closes the book and sets it aside. “I’ll make a hundred or so books before I leave and, as they get used, maybe send me a list to the hospital or something.”

“Fantastic, Cure!” she cheers, wings aflutter. He happily leans into her warmth when she leans down to nuzzle his mane. “You can present this, along with any other products, to Director Storm at our meeting tomorrow afternoon. As for your other creation,” she speculatively eyes the manticore, “I would not recommend presenting him to the good director. I expect she would react poorly to a talking manticore.”

“Aww,” he foalishly whines, “but I wanted a fantastic animal for a pet too! You have a phoenix, why can’t I have a manticore?”

“Philomena does not eat ponies, for one,” she patiently points out.

“That you know of,” he huffs, sitting on his rump to cross his forelegs. “You don’t know what she gets up to when she’s off doing whatever.”

The mare has the audacity to roll her eyes at him. “I am exceedingly confident that her activities do not include devouring my little -” she freezes when an eager grin flashes across his face.

“Say it,” he snickers, Teleporting a pair of bottles into his outstretched hooves. “You know you want to, Tia. Dooo eeeeeit!” he brazenly taunts.

“I refuse,” she grumbles, causing the colt to sag in disappointment. “Regardless, I am not going to give you permission to travel about with what, by all appearances, is a monster, not even if it is fake and lacks venom.”

Cure chews on his lips as he stares up at the mare. His eyes briefly flick to Amethyst who responds with a hard stare and a slow head shake no.

“Fine!” he grumps, igniting his horn.

The manticore flops on his back, grasping melodramatically at his chest as he pathetically kicks his hind paws in the air. “Doomed!” he cries, writhing on his back, “This is the end! I can feel the icy grasp of death on my neck! Goodbye, cruel world! Goodbye!” he croaks, kicking his hind leg one more time before going limp with his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.

Celestia sighs, turning from the manticore back to the placidly watching colt to give him an unimpressed look. “What?” he innocently asks. “Yer the one that made me do it. Ya murderer.”

“A Squire Butterfield you are not,” she snarks, turning with a beckoning wave of her wing. “Now come along, it is time for your education.”

“Uh huh,” he grunts, rolling his eyes, “more like your face’s education.”

“Weak,” Amethyst snorts, turning to follow the mare.

“Nopony asked you,” he huffs. He hops and spreads his wings, catching up to his mom and quietly asks, “Who the eff is Squire Butterfield?”

The mare shrugs and shakes her head, indicating she has no idea.

From ahead of the pair Celestia clicks her tongue in disappointment. “Squire Butterfield was a famed Bitish comedic actor born…” she cocks her head to the side in thought, “oh, about two hundred and fifty years ago, I suppose.” She takes a deep breath as the procession heads out the clinic doors and blows out a long sigh. “I went to a few of his shows while visiting my dear friend, Duchess Victory, before he retired to a more managerial role.”

A giggle escapes the mare and she looks over her withers, “He was quite the wolf back in his younger days with that handsome mustache of his.” Cure and Amethyst woodenly turn and almost simultaneously raise a brow at each other, silently following along. “Upon hearing of my visit, he insisted his troupe put on a rendition of Sun’s Sweetheart in which he played a supposed lover of mine who I was forced to banish as a result of a scheme devised by the House of Nobles. You can imagine they were somewhat unamused upon hearing of it.”

The mare looks back ahead and lets out a wistful sigh. “I had to veto many a tariff increase aimed at needling Victory and her ponies for her role, insignificant as it was, in ‘tarnishing the House’s dignity,’” she complains in a mocking tone. “The oversensitive fops were wound entirely too tightly for their own good.”

“So… a wolf?” Cure asks. “That’s some old pony term for a mares stallion, huh?”

“Oh yes,” she answers with a warm chuckle. “That he was, indeed. I always had a soft spot for thespians, I suppose. Something about the ability to paint over the world with their imagination, drawing those around them into the fantasy. It is a wonderful feeling, being able to explore something so new and novel. An fleeting experience that eludes one as the centuries seemingly soar by.”

The colt and his mother once again trade mirroring looks, this time of sympathy for the mare’s, and now his, plight. The three draw a few curious looks as they make their way to the guards’ barracks, past the ponies standing guard outside it, and into the lobby.

Cure had, based on everypony calling the building “the barracks,” expected to find little more than living quarters. It occurs to him that this is also where Ferric and Heavy went just after his ascension, so it was likely a little foolish to make such an assumption.

The lobby area is small for the size of the building; barely over a hundred square meters total. A short desk mared by a single earth pony lines the right wall with notice boards on either side of her. The left one appears to be the “official” board and is littered with everything from upcoming events around town, opportunities for education or special classes, and even notices of creatures wanted for questioning. From the yellowing of the pages and differences in layouts on some, Cure suspects the subject of several of them may be long dead.

“Ma’am!” the mare calls out in greeting, belatedly adding, “And sir!” when she notices the colt. “Training Room B4 has been prepared for you, your majesty! Would you like an escort?”

“Thank you, Sergeant Long, but that is unnecessary,” she returns with a grateful smile. She regards the six guards following behind herself and Cure for a moment before coming to a decision. “I believe we will be adequately protected while inside the facility. You are dismissed for the evening. And sergeant?”

“Ma’am?”

“Please tell Sergeant Frost not to be alarmed if we are late returning. I have much to teach our young prince.”

The stallion’s eyes flick down to the colt with a look of curiosity for the briefest moment before he snaps off a salute. “Yes, ma’am!”

Celestia returns it with a shallow nod, then motions for Amethyst and Cure to follow with a wave of her right wing as she turns to walk forwards. As she leads them further into the building towards a stairwell, she begins explaining, “The rooms for sparring or practice with more… volatile spells are located underground.

“There are caves underneath the castle composed of crystal substance that is highly resistant to spells utilizing fire, electricity, and arcane power. Fortunately they are capable of being altered and grown with the appropriate geomancy spells. Between the wards and the material’s resilience, it would take a significant effort to cause any damage.”

A pall of silence descends on the pair as they trail behind the princess, carefully descending the winding stairs that she casually takes two at a time; the only sound the soft clacking of their hooves on the stones. Contrary to the colt’s expectations, they are not led into anything remotely dungeonesque, and instead follow the elder mare down the fully illuminated stairwell to a large, stone hall with tall, wide corridors splitting off in three directions; north, south, and east.

Several squads of guards apparently either going on patrol or coming off of it, presumed based upon how fresh they look, halt on the spot and straighten up, coming to attention to salute the two royals. “At ease, everypony,” the princess calls. “Prince Serpentus and I are simply headed to one of the training rooms. Do not let us hold you up from your duties.” Not waiting for a response, she turns to her right and begins walking to the south.

The whole time Cure is following along all he can think about is how badly he wants to explore the area. Due to his busy schedule when visiting, he hadn’t spent any significant time just sneaking around in the castle, but now that he knows there is an entire underground complex he fully intends to send a puppet down to scurry about, perhaps disguised as a wayward squirrel or bat.

He can only assume there are tunnels leading to the palace as well; a few split off to the west that, based on their width alone, likely continue for a fair distance, and there isn’t much else in that direction.

They are only walking down the south corridor for a moment before coming to a wide opened doorway on their left. A bored looking sentry is sat ahead of them behind another service window. The earth pony stallion sits up straighter when the princess walks in, nodding to his right towards a door as he says, “B4 is all set up, your majesty. The technicians checked everything over and recharged the wards for you this morning.” His eyes flick down to the colt betraying a measure of confusion. “Did… you need safety equipment for today, ma’am? The request I received did not indicate…”

She shakes her head to the negative and replies, “That will not be necessary today. Thank you, private,” then lights up her horn to pull the door to the left of the stallion open. As with every other feature of the castle’s grounds, the size of the door and revealed stone corridor is more than large enough to accommodate the princess’s greater stature. They pass several doors before turning right, then only walk another fifty meters before coming to the end of the hall where a door labeled “B4” is to their left.

The room they enter isn’t for sparring; instead it is furnished like an observation room, overlooking a vast cavern opposite the hallway. Thick panels of glass separate the rooms and cushions are sat out for anypony watching. A control panel-like surface sits in the middle, but nothing on it is lit up.

While the observation room is slightly darkened, the sparring room is as bright and well lit as the outside courtyard, despite the ominous, dark red crystalline rock that make up its walls, floor, and ceiling. Arrays of lit up crystals run in a half dozen rows sat up in the ceiling, filling the room with a sterile white that is shaded red upon reflecting off of the crimson surfaces.

“This room feels a little murdery, boss. Like… if somepony was gonna start cuttin folks up, I could see them goin for this exact same decor.”

“That may be,” she reluctantly agrees, “but nopony has died in any of these rooms thus far. That is not to say there have not been any close calls, but the safety equipment and systems normally used minimize the risk. Mrs. Blossom?”

“Princess?”

“You may watch safely from within this room. Worry not for your safety; this room is well secured. Cure? I assume you have spent the better part of the week preparing some manner of horror with which to challenge me?”

The colt holds up a wobbly hoof in the air. “Not exactly.”

A look of genuine shock crosses the mare’s face. “Truly? I had anticipated some kind of unnatural beast prepared specifically to counter me.”

“Sorta,” he admits, ducking his head in a single nod. “I kinda have a base platform prepared that’s scalable with some specialized variants depending on the expected challenge. Based on the size of this room, for example,” he says, waving towards the sparring chamber, “I wouldn’t bother with wings.”

Amethyst looks down into the room to get a feel for approximately how large it is. “Looks like it’s ‘bout thirty, thirty-five meters tall ‘n around fifty to a side, colt. Yer never gonna be able ta lay a hoof on ‘er if ya can’t fly.”

Cure gives her a goofy smile and shrugs in response.

Celestia eyes the room in consideration before finally coming to a decision. “Before you unleash whatever creation you have come up with, perhaps we should have a spar with you as you are.”

“Uhh… thought you didn’t want to be blastin away at a colt.”

“Then use a puppet shaped like ya, ya dummy,” his mother snarks.

“Oh. Duh.” He rears up to look down in the room, concentrating for a moment before igniting his horn. An unclothed duplicate of himself flashes into existence a couple hooves off the ground, wings spread for a gentle landing at the southern end of the room. Celestia nods in acceptance, sets her crown and regalia aside, removes her golden shoes, then Teleports herself onto the room’s northern half.

The combatants eye each other up, opposite the center of the room and nearly twenty meters apart. Unbidden, any number of inappropriate jokes about the two of them finally being naked in a private room together briefly flit through his mind, but thoughts of taunting the mare are pushed aside as he considers the utter spanking he is likely about to receive.

“You may begin when ready,” Celestia permits. “If the opportunity for you to affect me with your talent arises then we will consider you the victor.”

“Umm… I can do that whenever,” he points out in a questioning tone.

Rather than respond verbally, the ancient mare merely smirks. A flood of power swells in the room, pushing back his horn’s aura and creating a wall through which his sense is completely blocked. A single challenging brow raises on the elder alicorn’s overly smug face.

“Well… shit.”

A soft chuckle escapes her. “You are not the first creature I have encountered with an ability that can cause harm to anypony within a certain radius. As you are aware, unicorns, and alicorns, for that matter, rely on feedback received from an aura emitted from our horns.”

“Right,” he nods understandingly.

“When facing a being of sufficient power, or one with adequate experience, that ability can be countered or mitigated. You have witnessed me doing something similar before, however at the time I was demonstrating another function of this ability.”

“So… it’s the same thing as when you ‘flex’ your magical muscles?”

“In a sense. Rather than reaching out to cow or crush an opponent, it is possible to wield your power like a shield, thus indirectly protecting yourself or any nearby allies. Very few unicorns have the magical capacity to do such a thing, and I have only encountered a few other beings with the fortitude and strength required.”

“I assume the asshole is one?”

A snorted laugh escapes her. “I assume so, but I cannot be certain. It is possible that his chaotic nature somehow protects him or simply redirects any such attack. Regardless of his method, I would not rely on your talent having any effect on him at all. No, the others were Lord Tirek once he was sufficiently empowered, Dragonlord Torch, and an ibex that called himself Maldor the Malevolent.”

“Maldor the Malevolent?” the colt asks with a chuckle. “He sounds like a real badass.”

“Oh, do not let the name deceive you. The visions granted to me painted him as a truly formidable warlock. If I had not previously encountered Sombra, Maldor could have been a significant threat. Fortunately, the would-be king served as an adequate introduction to the darker aspects of magic that I knew not to dismiss Maldor as some weakling pretender.

“When word first arrived from traders that Maldor had begun encroaching upon the griffon lands, we did not sit by and wait. With the pain inflicted by Sombra still fresh in our minds we immediately dispatched an expeditionary force. While Luna initially protested remaining behind to rule, the argument that my domain is a direct counter to his abilities won out.

“Upon ascertaining the breadth of scope of his dark powers, I chose to remove the threat directly. His defenses withstood several attacks with ease, and his counters forced me to focus on defending my soldiers, lest the battle turn into a bloodbath. I can only assume he felt victory was within his grasp upon seeing my lack of progress throughout the night. He made the mistake of not retreating as sunrise approached. When the opportunity came I unleashed the full might of the sun against him. The only reason history has largely forgotten his existence is because we pulled his threat out, root and stem, before he could further spread his dark influence.

“I only wish I had been better versed in the realm of politics at the time,” she sighs, hanging her head in shame. “While the commoners amongst the griffons were largely appreciative, Queen Falchion and her court were humiliated at the apparent ease with which Maldor was dismissed.”

The mare’s snout crinkles in distaste as she explains, “Rather than showing the gratitude that was expected, she allowed rumors to circulate that Maldor was merely some puppet; a false threat meant to allow Equestria a reason to expand its influence to their continent.

“Rather than take steps to disprove it, we gathered our forces and simply left, unaware of the distrust and fear left to fester behind us. The griffons even coined a term for our ‘falsely’ placing the blame for the attacks at Maldor’s hooves rather than admitting our supposed part in his atrocities. He was, quite literally, the very first ever scapegoat.”

The puppet’s ears sag and gives the princess a look of disappointment. “You’re freaking messing with me right now, aren’t you?”

She shakes her head no. “I only wish it were so. Relations between griffons and ponies continued to decline for decades after our intervention.” The princess shifts slightly on her hooves, looking off into the far distance as if reliving a small piece of that history. Cure waits patiently for her to return to the present, at which point she regains her focus on the puppet before her. “Apologies for the ramblings of an old mare. You did not come here for a history lesson. Would you prefer to make an attempt to bypass my defenses or would you rather concede victory and move on to the main event?”

The puppet scoffs and shakes its head no. “Yer not gettin off that easy, lady.” He bends his knees and spreads his wings, readying himself to move in all directions. “I know you think you’re ready to fight somepony like me, but yer about to find out how wrong you are.”

“Very well,” she accepts with an uncaring shrug. “Begin when ready.”

He doesn’t hesitate for an instant, sprinting diagonally to the right. His left wing raises just enough to reveal a row of six crystals as blasts of Flame Dart begin firing away. A single flap of the mare’s wings restores their distance. The blasts splash harmlessly against her shield and she returns fire with a yellow beam aimed directly at his barrel. The fire from his wing cuts off and, with a hop and a flap, the colt avoids the shot, launching himself in the air.

He continues running forward, ducking and dodging the following shots, all while attempting to close the distance. Celestia, unwilling to let him approach, dives towards the south to circle around the colt’s left side. Her horn flashes a different pattern, sending a dozen glowing blue bolts in his direction. Expecting a blast of relatively harmless Magic Missiles, the colt is completely unprepared when each hits with the force of a speeding train.

It only takes a pair of impacts to annihilate his shield, leaving another ten soaring in his direction. His left wing flashes out, flinging a volley of dragonbone spurs to intercept the rest, but only succeeds in detonating half of them. With five projectiles remaining on target, he activates his Teleport crystal and flashes halfway across the room, materializing on the midpoint line just in time to catch a blast from the princess’s horn that sends him sailing.

With a sickening squelch the colt’s puppet slides down the far north wall near the eastern corner, thankfully out of Amethyst’s line of sight. That doesn’t completely spare the mare from seeing the effects; a trail of fur and blood mark the path that the puppet took when Celestia caught him with the beam, though they are not easy to discern thanks to the dark red color of the floor. The remaining five bolts detonating on his crumpled form only add insult to injury, blasting chunks of viscera further into the corner of the room.

“Fuck,” his real body growls sitting beside his mom.

“She whooped yer ass, colt,” she unhelpfully taunts. “Is yer ring okay?”

“Yeah, I’m already patching the puppet up, but… yeah, there’s no way I can touch her like this. She’s not even trying.”

“Are you okay, Cure?” she calls out from the floor, looking to the observation room windows. “It looks like your puppet is reassembling itself. I have to say… that is a rather disturbing sight.”

“Just peachy,” the puppet calls out, snapping its legs back into place. Once it is capable of walking, he moves it back towards the place where he was initially hit, extending tendrils to reabsorb the blood, hair, fur, and miscellaneous pieces of himself left behind. Fully reassembled, the puppet marches back to the center of the north side of the room. “One more time, boss, then we’ll switch it up.”

The mare shrugs in acceptance and bobs her head, strolling to the center of the south half of the room. “You may begin when ready.”

Both wings flare out and eyelids on the puppet’s chest open up at once. Twenty Fire Bolts fire off in a volley as the colt’s neck swells and a bulge begins forming. Unable to see past the deluge of fire headed in her direction, Celestia lowers her head and blasts out a wall of force. The Bolts impact to little effect, but Cure continues firing round after round to obscure her vision. Package prepared, his head leans back before snapping forward, launching a fleshy projectile into the air.

Celestia’s eyes widen when the ball impacts the ceiling traveling much faster than the Fire Bolts he continues to unleash. She dives to her right and spreads her wings, lighting her horn to fire on the unknown threat while dodging the deluge of fire. The puppet’s body begins to charge, continuously firing everything it has as the fleshy sac sprouts dragonfly wings, zipping around the princess’s blast.

Seeing the colt’s plan to box her in, Celestia ignites her horn to teleport to the north side of the room and escape. She no more materializes near the north wall when an impact rocks her flanks. Confused by the wetness she feels through her coat and the peal of laughter originating from the observation room, she turns her neck to find another wet sac stuck just above the cutie mark on her left side. She follows the trajectory back to the colt’s puppet and, to her horror, finds his posterior aimed in her direction with his tail flagged off to the side.

“You… did… NOT!” she shouts in disgust, earning another round of laughter from the room above.

“No!” his true body quickly yells overtop his mother’s uncontrollable laugh. “It’s just a puppet, Celestia! That end of it is just as clean as the front, I swear! Why would I give the thing a real GI tract if it doesn’t have to eat?”

Her wings slowly lower and horn depowers as the moment of rage subsides. “I assume this,” she motions to the pink bubble still affixed to her flank, ”has one of your rings inside it?”

“It does,” the puppet confirms, turning to face her. “Even if my talent can’t affect you like this, which I haven’t tried -”

“It almost certainly can. Go ahead.”

He nods in acceptance and reaches through the ring, finding that he can, with approximately the same difficulty as a dragon would give him, feel the princess’s anatomy. Her heart rate is up and adrenaline spiked, making him feel relieved that she hadn’t lashed out when she thought he blasted her with his puppet’s poop chute.

“I felt that,” she calls out, sighing in defeat. “It would seem you are the victor of this round.”

“Yeah, looks like it. Anyhow, even if I hadn’t been able to, there’s nothing stopping that from pumping you full of drugs or something worse, so… yeah, I touch you, I win, basically.”

“I suppose that is the case,” she concedes, walking to approach the puppet. “Now I would ask that you remove this from my flanks, please,” she requests in a clipped tone. The sac vanishes in a flash, much to her relief, as does the one he had originally fired upon her, then the puppet itself.

“Ready for the real fight, boss? It’s one to one, so this is for all the marbles, ya know?”

The princess spends a moment mouthing the unfamiliar idiom before dismissing it with a shake of her head. “By all means, let us see what you have prepared for me.”

“Okay. Just don’t… ya know… blast it right off the bat or whatever. It’s gonna look pretty weird.”

Celestia waves a hoof to go ahead. A flash fills the room and she blinks to clear her eyes, finding the colt’s description of “pretty weird” to be wholly inadequate. It is difficult to truly get a feel for its looks, however, as its entire form is blacker than anything she has ever seen.

“I… cannot even tell what it truly looks like,” she admits. “Would you mind altering its colors temporarily?”

“Sure thing, boss,” the colt calls back from the observation room.

Black fades to a mix of grays as the being becomes more visible. At first glance, Celestia’s mind immediately compares it to some kind of mix between a spider and a dragon, however that description ignores several key facts. First off, there are no wings, nor is there a discernible face, or even a significant abdomen beyond a central mass that seems to be little more than a connection point for the creature’s dozen limbs.

Eight long, thick legs with multiple joints will no doubt assure the thing a degree of mobility that would make it nearly impossible to evade. Unlike a real spider, the entire creature is lined in scales and its legs end in three-clawed grasping feet. Two additional spear-like limbs are on both the top and bottom of its abdomen as well, each tipped in a single sharpened horn.

Though it stands only chest level with herself, she suspects it to outmass her at least a few times over. Every section of each limb is thick with corded muscle, and the plates of armor built into it have to carry significant weight as well.

“All set, boss?” Cure questions from the observation room.

“I… suppose,” she responds, though she suspects she may not be. Knees bent, wings half spread, the princess prepares for a battle she is not sure she can win.

“Go when ready,” Cure calls, granting her the first move. Her opponent’s form fades back into the black silhouette from which it first began, making discerning individual joints a near impossibility.

Celestia’s first move is to retreat back to the south wall of the room, gaining as much distance from the creature as possible. Her wings take her into the air as she attempts to seize the advantage they afford. A beam of force lances out in the direction of the creature, missing entirely when it takes off like a fired bolt.

A flurry of black limbs faintly visible against the dark red surface sprint in her direction and the now familiar glow of crystals reveals itself on the creature’s back. Truthfully, the Fire Bolts are a welcome attack, as they provide the princess with the best means of tracking her foe; even her horn’s aura struggles to pick out its form, making it impossible to simply grab it and slam it against a wall.

A feeling of disorientation begins assaulting the mare as she attempts to fly to the north along the far eastern wall. By the time she reaches the room’s midpoint the whole world is spinning uncontrollably. She tumbles in the air, landing in a heap, and immediately feels the weight of a single limb on her side. Five seconds. That is all she was able to accomplish against a foal not even a decade old.

“Want me to fix ya up?” is called from up above.

“Urgh,” is the only response she can muster aside from a faint nod. The feeling of Cure’s magic reaching into her soothes away the dizziness, allowing her to open her eyes without feeling as if she is going to be sick. “What was that? Poison in the air?”

“Nope,” he answers from the deck. “That was a sonic attack. That thing has… well… not mouths exactly, but something like them. Infrasonic and ultrasonic waves blasting away at your inner ear both above and below the levels you can actually hear them. The tugging one way or another jacks up your balance and, well, you saw the result.”

The weight of the limb upon her disappears. She rolls to her barrel, finding that the creature had silently moved almost to the opposite side of the room in the time it took for her to get back to her hooves.

“I do not believe I would be capable of defeating that… thing… in an environment such as this one. Not without bringing my full capabilities to bear.”

“Go for it, boss. Just don’t blow us all to pieces, if you can manage it.”

“I… think I’ll go wait in the lobby,” Amethyst hesitantly remarks.

“Worry not, Mrs. Blossom,” Celestia assures her. “I have far more control than that. You are perfectly safe where you are.”

Despite her initial worry, his mom settles in to watch the next bout.

Celestia strolls back to the center of the south side of the room. She takes a deep breath and centers herself as her mane and tail begin to still. All at once, both ignite in a blistering bout of flame, burning away the blue, green, and purple to replace the pastel colors with jets of electric blue, yellow, orange, and red. Flames of yellow and red erupt from the tips of her primaries, and her horn ignites in a spiral of screaming white.

“Begin,” echoes across the chamber, the single command reverberating off of the crystalline walls.

Cure doesn’t hesitate, sending his puppet scrambling towards the wall on the princess’s right, hoping that the challenge of tracking its darkened form prevents her from landing an attack. A hoof thick beam of white lances out from her horn, scything across the wall from which the puppet sprung to dodge. A leg shoots out, grasping onto the ceiling at the apex of its jump, redirecting its body away from another beam and back towards the same wall and likely saving the creature from being rendered to dust.

The third shot flies true, catching the back two legs on the puppet’s right side. They pass through its scales with minimal resistance, cleanly severing the limbs despite the thick plates of armor. With only a few seconds passed, Cure decides to change tactics, opting to dodge the princess rather than approach. A horn on the bottom ignites, pulling the limbs back in place as it tumbles and rolls to the west, its unnatural and bizarre locomotion and darkened camouflage making it difficult for the princess to land another hit.

A fog begins spilling forth from the creature’s legs and body; a sickly, green miasma that Celestia dares not approach. Checking to ensure the area is clear, she ignites her horn and teleports to the northeast corner of the room, immediately lashing out with a wall of force and flame to prevent a repeat of their second match. A dark shape arcs off of the creature’s body in an odd trajectory, spinning like a top as it curves around her wall. Several more begin firing from the creature’s barrel, forcing her to teleport to the southeast corner of the room lest she be hit.

The barrage of curved black projectiles only intensifies, endlessly firing off of the creature’s barrel from its four limbs one after another. Oddly, they seem to gain in speed as they move through the miasma, lending credence to her assumption that it is not some simple fog. Seeing no way to continue dodging both the odd weapons and the creeping mist, Celestia ignites her horn and fires off a broad, overwhelming beam seeking to clear the field entirely.

Rather than disperse the fog, her beam scatters and refracts on contact, pushing the cloud back as if sinking into some kind of gel. With one side pushed back, the other surges forward, giving her only one last option.

Power. Raw, overwhelming, unyielding power.

Heat unlike any Cure has ever experienced bathes the entire room, blasting off the princess and incinerating everything inside. The thick soup of dragonscale spores succumbs first, igniting like gasoline-soaked confetti in the air. The envenomed dragonscale boomerangs are flung aside and scoured clean by the heat, blasting against the chamber’s walls. The puppet, nearly halfway across the chamber, grabs onto the floor and flings itself away. The attempt to escape is futile; like an oven turned up to a thousand, the immersive heat chars and burns everything inside the room.

Cure worriedly looks at the glass separating the combatants and his real body, more concerned for his mom than himself. It seems to be weathering the hellstorm easily, though, showing no signs of melting and not even heating up significantly according to his own thermal senses.

His puppet fares far worse; even with its limbs wrapping protectively around itself, the blistering heat is inescapable. Celestia sedately walks across the chamber’s floor, visible waves of plasma blasting off of her and washing across his puppet’s form. The mare looks over her work, finding the charred remains of her opponent pushed into a corner and unmoving. Seeing the match is won, her flames recede and the ethereal white glow of her coat dims back to its normal color.

“That was rather more challenging than I expected,” she muses contemplatively, her voice sounding softer than normal. “I am unsure if I would be victorious had your puppet not been trapped in such a small room with me. In an environment where I could not risk acting as a conduit for my sun, I am unsure how I would defeat it given the difficulty of landing a clean hit.”

“I’m teleporting it out, boss. I don’t want my ring to melt and it’s getting pretty hot even under the surface.”

“Very well,” she agrees with a nod. “Take care where you send it; I would not recommend immediately submerging it in water. That would likely result in a rather violent explosion of steam.”

Cure was already aware of that. Instead, he teleports the charred lump onto a rock on the south side of the mountain with no nearby vegetation.

“As for myself,” she ponders, looking at her outstretched wing in consideration. “I believe I should go for a flight to cool off. Pardon me for a moment.” Her horn flashes, altering her form to that of Sunny Skies. Another flash has her disappear, leaving only the two behind.

Amethyst takes the break in the action to comment, “That wasn’t how I expected it ta go. Figured she’d use some fancy spell or whatnot and mop tha floor with ya.”

“Ehh… there’s not as many good attack spells as you’re thinking, ma. At least, there’s not any that she probably has ready to go at any given time and is sure she won’t miscast in an intense fight. That’s why she was mainly just blasting away. It’s faster and, as a result, safer and easier, even if it’s less effective. Besides, she didn’t really need to do anything fancy. It was basically her fight to lose no matter what I did. That said, I held back a few surprises for the next time.”

“Ah. Gonna be a recurrin thing between ya, huh?”

“You bet, momma. She’s slacked off for nine hundred years. I’m gonna spend the next ninety whippin her back in shape, one way or another.”

Author's Note

Alrighty, so first off, the closest image I could find to what Cure's creature would look like (without spending too much time on it, that is) is this picture here: https://www.enworld.org/media/spider-dragon-1-jpg.113237/full
That is not my picture and, from the description I gave, isn't really that accurate, but if you're a visual person then that's an okay reference for a starting point. That picture has wings and a visible head, neither of which would be necessary for the purposes of this spar. The wings would be better in an open environment, but in a smallish enclosed room? Meh.

So Cure obviously caught the princess with an attack or two that she wasn't prepared for. The bottom line is that if she pulls out the stops there really isn't anything he can do to her. He simply does not have the power to contest the princess on that level, and they all know it. Really, if she can prevent his talent from latching on to her, she is not a very good opponent for him. Once she goes super-Celestia there's not much he can do to her.

Also, as Cure says at the end there, this won't be the last match the two have, and the intensity will only rise as he gains in power and she re-hones her skills.

As always, thanks for reading, rating, and, especially, commenting. Enjoy!