Chaos Redacted

by daOtterGuy

Rating: teen
Tags: Science Fiction, Horror, Discord, Anthology, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 14200

Discord knows about the Malformants. He wants them gone.

Discord knows about the Malformants. They bring Chaos, but not the kind of Chaos Discord likes.

They need to go. By any means necessary.

Chapters to be posted everyday until complete. One chapter for every day in October.

Content Warnings will be noted at the start of all chapters. All Content is mild with no graphic depictions. Gore is tagged more to cover bases.

Edited by EileenSaysHi

Preread by The Sleepless Beholder and Dewdrops on the Grass

Published 2024-10-01 12:30:00 UTC
Last updated 2024-10-09 12:16:27 UTC

Clean and Pristine

Author's Note

Content Warnings: Narcotics

Clean and Pristine

White-tiled ceilings. White-tiled floors. Long corridors. Mirrored walls. Pristine cleanliness marred by stains of purple blood.

It shrieked at her. The animal. For that was all she could possibly see it as (she had to). Flailing tentacles bound to an open carcass of teeth and leaking sludge. Holes that she presumed were its eyes bored into her with malice and resentment.

Slurred words came from its too-large mouth in an approximation she could understand. She heard it clearly, despite the interference. Profanity and threats that held no water in the Palace.

Earth ponies in full hazmat suits raced to pin down the Malformant’s many limbs. Unicorns in lab coats used their magic to empower the mirror it had escaped from, recasting the magic that sealed it inside. Nearby, there was, well, most likely a corpse splattered against the wall. Red mixed with purple that was once a pony.

Misdosage of the anesthetic. Rounded the wrong number then moved the decimal one too far left since ‘the number couldn’t possibly be that high!’

Death felt far too extreme a consequence for a new employee’s lack of experience with these creatures, but no matter what policies they implemented, what mentors they assigned, the Palace (and most likely the other facilities) could never retain a large workforce due to pony error.

Introversion gulped, the sound muffled by the heavy scarves wrapped around her mouth. Grabbing a syringe from the inside of her lab coat with her magic, she loaded it with the chemical stored in another inside pocket of her jacket.

“...Not tested,” she muttered under her breath. “...Have to do.”

She waited for her moment.

The Earth ponies struggled. They managed to pin down the Malformant’s limbs.

Introversion took the shot.

With a burst of magic, the syringe flew through the air and embedded itself into the monster’s flesh. Another burst pushed the plunger injected the Malformant with the chemical.

Grasping For Love, the name of this Malformant, screeched, reaching out toward her. Tentacles yearned to grab her. To hurt her. Her workers wouldn’t let it. It screamed at her. A single sentence that pierced into her soul.

For the benefit of her own insanity, she tried to discard it from her thoughts.

Its flesh bubbled and popped around the injection site. It struggled for a moment more before falling limp.

“...Samples taken?” Introversion muttered.

A nearby unicorn’s ear flicked.

“Yes, Director,” they answered.

“...Lab,” she mumbled.

She left the staff to handle the aftermath.

Colourless fumes permeated the air, filtered through the scarves wrapped around her. Her personal laboratory was as white and pristine as her own fur and mane, broken only by the occasional off-colour piece of equipment or cabinets of various fluids and materials. This was her research lab, the place where most of the chemicals and substances used by Redacted were discovered.

Her focus was on a vat of purple ooze procured from Grasping For Love. Initial readings showed the substance to be a powerful aphrodisiac. Better than similar components Introversion held within her own cabinets.

“...Promising,” Introversion muttered.

She turned away from her experiment and to her desk. Just as sterile as the rest of her room, there were various papers spread across it. Most were personal requests. High level employees and Agents in need of a particular drug only they developed. Primarily Smile!, a substance that had been highly requested since its initial inception.

One stood out from the stack. Blue stationary with little snowflakes around the edges. Grim.

Dear Director Introversion,

The test was a success. I would like to request ten more vials at your earliest convenience.

Regards, Grimhoof

The empowerment serum worked! That was great news. It would help turn the tide against the Malformants if they could get the potion to their unicorn Agents. It had worked… perfectly? Introversion didn’t quite understand why there were no details.

Were there really no side effects? Introversion looked over the letter again. Nothing else noted but the brief message requesting more. A few spells confirmed there were no hidden messages. Had things just worked out with no issues?

Or was Grim not telling her?

She needed to know. Pharmaceuticals were rarely fine on their first trial run. They needed testing. However, Grim hadn’t told her that there were problems, just that it was a success. Though, weary of doing so, she would, of course, make more for Grim to use. She protected Introversion, and it was in her best interest to keep that protection. From everyone else.

Not that she really needed it. Introversion had done nothing wrong, but it never hurt to have that protection in case things went south. Especially if—

No, she wasn’t doing anything wrong.

She wasn’t doing anything wrong.

Her breathing became ragged. The scarves choked her. She ripped them off. The reflective floor revealed her wretched scars, the mouth prosthetic that attempted to cover it up. It had hurt so much then. It could hurt so much again.

No one really knew where the drugs came from outside of the Palace. That she was using the Malformants. An open secret. They put forth no effort to cover it up… but no one asked or considered the consequences.

They were using—

They weren’t. The Malformants were like… plants or animal byproducts. They weren’t like ponies. They didn’t talk. They didn’t feel. They—

I just wanted to be loved! Why are you doing this to me?!

She vomited. Splashes of green and yellow staining the floors in a gross painting of her own guilt.

No one could know.

No one could know.

If they knew they weren’t just animals— what she did to them— That not all the Malformants were like the others—

It had hurt so much the first time.

She could never go through that pain again.

“Director?”

Introversion didn’t look. She knew who it was. She couldn’t stand to look at her biggest regret while feeling so vulnerable.

“Pearl,” Introversion said. “...need …sanitize.”

“Of course, Director.”

An arm moved past her. Translucent pale skin. Bone and nerves glowing in a multitude of colours underneath. If she looked close enough, she could just make out the pattern of scales along the surface.

Sun, why had she done this to her?

Scarves were wrapped around her once more.

“It’s important to stay bundled up due to your… needs,” Pearl said.

Introversion clutched at herself, desperate for comfort. Pink flame burned away the stains on the floor. Everything was once more clean and pristine. Unlike herself.

“What are your plans for the day, Director?” Pearl asked.

“...Empower serum,” Introversion said. “...Request.”

“I will prepare your work station.”

Pearl set off to perform her tasks on behalf of a monster.

What she did was wrong. No amount of reframing or rewording was going to change that. These— no, they were animals. Materials for the advancement of ponies and their allies. That was all they were. They had to be. For her own sake.

She picked herself off the ground, her resolve once more affirmed.

Introversion had work to do.

Chaos Reigns

It was a beautiful night. Full moon, a field of flowers in bloom, and long grass swayed in a gentle breeze. Stars twinkled above as a nightscape of sound brought a serene sense of harmony and peace to one’s ears. Harmony in its purest form.

Discord hated it. It was awful.

Luna’s touch was so obviously imprinted onto everything about the scene, from the brightness of the night’s celestial bodies to the chords that every animal crooned in the dark of the night. The natural chaos of the land brought to heel. It was painful to watch. What he wouldn’t give to twist it even just a little.

Add an off-putting bassoon to the mix, blaring disjointed and grating notes. Have a few of the stars be a puke green or sickly yellow instead of the current oh-so-perfect white. Maybe cause the breeze to pick up speed, scatter the orderly-arranged flower petals of the field into the air to chaotically blow around in a tornado-like pattern.

There was true beauty in the chaotic happenstance of nature. Something scenic and wonderful that no pony could possibly conceive of in their little control-freak-wired brains.

Alas, Discord was reformed. He had, ugh, self control and didn’t do things so randomly… in public. Not unless he was certain no one would be hurt in any conceivable way. A downside to this whole ‘being a good draconequus’ schtick that he was doing recently. He was loath to admit it, but he enjoyed the switch, if only because it came with the best possible benefit, which was having friends. That said, it also came with the. Worst. Possible. Thing. And unlike that diva, he meant it.

Having friends.

Discord was immortal. Entropy and chaos would have to be reduced to absolute Order before he died. Sure, there were some short-term mistakes he could make that would at least decrease his power in some capacity, but so long as a single leaf somewhere fell in a random way or somepony wanted to try their hoof at a card game, he would exist in some form. Ponies, in stark contrast, were not.

There were alicorns, but… well, while Twilight Sparkle could provide some good company occasionally, lovebutt, sunbutt, and moonbutt were insufferable and too far gone to course correct. They were proponents of Order until it utterly failed them in every way, and then they still stuck to those principles when the obvious solution was to turn to disOrder. It was why he hoped the youngest found her own path, if only so she wouldn’t become so obnoxiously boring.

Other spirits also resided somewhere within Equestria, beyond, and beyond. Dimensional constraints were optional to him and he never liked willingly taking on any form of chains. However, most fell somewhere on the spectrum of boring, not interested, actually evil, and not worth associating with. Of the few that he could stand to be with, that required a jump from the reality of Equestria and… he couldn’t leave.

There were several reasons, but a major one was because he considered himself to have three close friends and an abundance of acquaintances, most of which he could not bother to name. What was important were the prior which was populated solely by Fluttershy, Big MacIntosh, and Spike.

Spike he was unconcerned with. He would live a long time and, if the magical entanglement between him and Twilight was to be believed, he was going nowhere anytime soon. They would be playing tabletop for centuries together… even if Discord had to drag him out of a hole to play with him (He could recognize the growing dread and loneliness in the drake and hoped to be able to help him weather that loss. He was also surprised he cared enough to, ugh, plan for it).

That left Big Mac and Fluttershy. Both were mortals. Both had an expiration date, and, against his better judgement, Discord kept checking the clock. It was the only situation in which Discord desperately wished he could just make the entropy go away (he could, but the consequences and pain to them would be too much).

With friends came empathy and a desire to keep them close, a curse he now bore and wished he could remove.

But the memories would always be there. Along with the regret and grief and pain and—

This wasn’t a useful train of thought. He had only one entity to blame these dreadful introspections upon. The one stealing time from Fluttershy’s clock and taking away what little he had to enjoy with his friend. His first friend.

“I don’t like you,” Discord declared.

Monarch of Ripples looked at him in the skin of his friend, Fluttershy. She had the same features. Pink mane, Yellow fur, and a butterfly Cutie Mark. However, up close, everything became a bit twisted. The mane became butterflies, the glint of light in her eyes looked more insectoid then pony and the fur was the wrong texture, granular and sharp instead of the usual softness.

“You have noted this on multiple occasions.” Monarch tilted her head to one side. Double-lidded eyes blinked. “We are surprised you have not acted on your Hatred.”

It spoke quieter than Fluttershy, the barest wisp of sound lost in the wind. It was annoying.

“No capital, thank you.” He hissed the last two words, displeasure clear on his face. “It is bog standard hatred. I am nothing like you things.”

“Are you not from another place? A world far away from this one?”

A sharp laugh. Discord’s teeth turned to knives and clashed together, errant sparks shooting off the point of collision. “Despite what my form suggests, my species happens to be native to this world… if not numerous. Unlike you, I am not an invader to this plane.”

“But are you not an invader to others?”

“Visitor.” Discord conjured a pair of novelty sunglasses onto his face. “Even when unwanted, I do not interfere to the same degree as you Malformants. Certainly, I spread some inherent chaos even by mere existence, but nowhere near on the same scale that you lot choose to do.”

“I would think you would enjoy the chaos.”

He snarled, sunglasses melting off his face. “No. Not this kind of chaos.”

Before Monarch could reply, Discord shoved a sock into her mouth.

“Let my stance be crystal clear.” His skin turned to faceted gemstone, a multicoloured mess of quartz. “I change others’ forms. I torture them for my amusement. I change reality itself to bend to my whimsical sensibilities. But never have I killed. Not even indirectly.”

She spat out the sock. “Why?”

“Chaos is the definition of life. If there is none, how can there be chaos?” Discord glared down at the monster. “I am not in the business of self harm. I love myself far too much for that.”

Monarch nodded. “I can understand the sentiment. A surprising amount of logic from an entity known for disorder.”

“Logic can be just as nonsensical as randomness. It all depends on perspective and individual circumstance. Regardless, I will once more demand that you step out of my friend’s body so I may blast you into ash.” He conjured a bazooka from the ether, placing it over one shoulder and readying to fire.

“You know as well as I do that my continued survival is no choice of mine,” Monarch replied.

“You don’t have to listen to her.”

“Neither do you.”

“…I despise your kind.” Discord crossed his arms and pouted.

“Not going to—”

“You’re all so gross.” Discord waved a hand dismissively. “Simply awful. The worst possible things imaginable.”

“I see we have moved on,” Monarch remarked. “And I agree. We are certainly not a natural occurrence of this world.”

“You are not, and you should leave before you assist The Dealer any more than you already have.”

“The Dealer?”

“You received some form of guidance toward a portal in your world, did you not?” Monarch nodded. “That was The Dealer. Title, both capitalized. It's important you remember that. They draw-in gullible saps from other worlds and toss them into this place to run amok.”

“Why?”

“To achieve the grossest, most disturbing, most awful possible thing.”

“…Which is?”

“Order. Perfect Order.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Nor should you. Just know that Equestria is caught in the crossfire amongst a spat between jerkish losers.” Discord blew raspberries. Literally. “The Dealer just has the upper hand… for now.”

“And what have you done to combat it?” Monarch asked.

“What do you mean?” Discord narrowed his eyes. “My mere existence plays against their plan. I’m literally chaos. Redacted was even partially my idea… even if it's run by a being of Order.”

“Well…” Monarch made a big show of thinking “Why not interfere directly?”

A bark of laughter. “Are you mad? Me? Interfering?” He laughed again, his head rolling along his arms. “This is a spat on a cosmic level. Such interference would allow untold consequences by granting free reign to multiple entities vying for a slice of the forthcoming pie.”

“Is the—”

“Watch your capitals,” Discord interrupted. He conjured a drinkbox and shoved a straw into it.

“You’re right. Apologies. The Dealer is a cosmic entity like yourself right?”

“Yes.” He slurped loudly from the straw.

“And his portal creation is direct intervention on their part, right?”

“Of course.” Another slurp.

“Does that not mean that you, as a cosmic entity and natural resident to Equestria, have the right to be The Dealer’s consequences?”

Discord spat out his drink.

“You. Are. So. Right!” Discord squeed, a portion of the sky breaking into glass pieces and shattering into dust on the ground below. “I could interfere plenty with how much The Dealer has overstepped. A wonderful suggestion, you awful abomination!” He swung an arm with a wink.

“You already knew you could do that, didn’t you?”

“Obviously.” Discord rolled a pair of eyes in one clawed hand. “I’m just hesitant to do so since that would give them justification to overreach into Ponyville.”

“Can’t the Element Bearers not handle it themselves?”

“Of course, but—” A frown “—They are mortal.”

“So your inaction is drawn from fear toward the loss of your friends?”

“Essentially.”

“…Let’s look at this from a different angle. How bad will it get if you continue to protect them and ignore what’s happening around you?”

Silence. It was heavy and painful. Burdens that Discord never wanted, but was tricked into carrying. For once, the lack of words managed to convey more than he ever possibly could.

“…A few changes,” Discord relented. “Just to tip the scales ever-so-slightly into our favour. The only question is the scale of them.”

“Have you considered the butterfly effect?”

“Small changes create bigger consequences?”

“Yes. Just little things. Enough to provide a benefit without drawing the ire of The Dealer. A small few can make a massive difference.”

“…An unlatched door for the twins to escape.” Discord snapped his fingers. “A bubble to assist a detective looking for her friend.” Snap. “Perhaps a blazing spark to make a drastic change.” Snap. “A misplaced item to save someone dear to the one holding everything together.” Snap. “A rusted lock to ensure the escape of an eventual asset to the cause.” Snap. “A letter to bring an important pony home.” Snap.

A moment of silence. Discord thought about his last idea. It was… a lot. Something that would allow no more room for him to operate without giving more lead to The Dealer and any number of others who may wish to interfere. This single moment could either change everything for the better… or make it so much worse.

“…A favour for the Sparkle siblings.”

Discord snapped his fingers.

Reality screeched. It stretched to accommodate the change. A monumental shift that would cause cascading changes that would echo across time and the world itself.

“…Will this save them?” Monarch asked.

A sharp bark of laughter. “Oh, you sweet abomination.

“No amount of Chaos could possibly save them now.”

New Blood

The Evening Watch. Known publicly as a strangely themed café on the edge of Canterlot’s wealthy district, but secretly one of the biggest Redacted Corporation branches in Equestria, built underneath the café and in the depths of the Canterhorn mountain.

Inside were hallways lined with forest green paneling and wood accents leading to the crowded offices of archivists and data collectors. It was the informational heart of Redacted, where the most important documents about Malformants were kept to keep Agents alive. That, however, was second to its primary goal of containing Feast Sin Malformants.

These were in a central hub room filled up primarily by interconnected unicorn enchanted glass tubing. The Feast Malformants were held inside, forced together by gales conjured by Pegasus magic and the constrictive size of the space. They devoured each other. An endless cycle of eating and being eaten. They died, they reformed, then repeated. A deadly dance of vulgarity and beauty.

Vapour Trail was fascinated by it.

“Alright!” Two wings clapped together. It drew her attention. “Listen up, recruits! We’ll be heading to the orientation room. Stay close, or I can’t guarantee your safety here.”

Their instructor, a large brown Pegasus with a blue mohawk and cocksure grin, cantered into the nearby hallways. She had to forcibly wrench her gaze from the Malformants’ containment unit to follow after alongside the other recruits.

She was unsure of her compatriots, unable to decide how she should act around them. One was a massive red stallion with a stern demeanor. Another was a curious Pegasus with a ghostly complexion. A third was a neon blue unicorn in punk apparel. Finally, there was—

“Can’t wait to take over this place.”

Vapour regarded her best friend Sky Stinger with skepticism.

“It’s our first day here, Sky,” Vapour said. “I don’t know if—”

“My ability will speak for itself.” He puffed up his dark blue chest, off-green lightning bolt mane pointing up as if to show his self asserted standing. “No one will be able to deny that I have talent.”

“Y-yeah.” She bit her lip, feeling guilt gnaw at her.

“Come on, Vapour.” He put a wing on her back, urging her forward. “I want to get there first!”

They galloped ahead.

“So how much do you all know about Redacted?”

The instructor scanned the small board room. A long table with six chairs arranged around it. A chalkboard was hung next to the instructor who fiddled idly with a piece of chalk in one wing.

One of the recruits raised their hoof.

“Yes, Big Mac?”

“Redacted exists to contain Malformants since we can’t kill’em and ensure they don’t escape,” the giant red stallion answered.

“Correct!” Their instructor pointed at Big Mac with the piece of chalk in their wing, a big grin on his face. “That is the core of why Redacted exists. A great segway into our first topic: the different main branches of Redacted.”

The instructor wrote down several words onto the board. Canterlot Castle Gardens, Evening Watch, Palace of Mirrors, The Tomb, Salt Lick Quarry, The Mires, Vain Galleria, and Vinyl Vibe Records.

“These are the 8 main branches of Redacted, excluding any foreign facilities or supplementary facilities such as the Lucky Bit Association in Stalliongrad. Each facility has a secondary function—”

“Like how the Evening Watch keeps records of all the other facilities?” The ghostly pegasus interrupted.

“Never interrupt me.” The instructor glared at the Pegasus, and they withered under his gaze. He held it for a seemingly endless span of time before he was back to his usual smile. “But yes! Every facility serves another purpose besides Malformant containment and helps to facilitate the continued operations of the corporation.

“Evening Watch is indeed for record keeping, but also agent training. Canterlot Castle Gardens is central command, Mirror Palace is for drug development, The Tomb is reconnaissance and censorship, Salt Lick Quarry makes our weapons, The Mires is for on-field strategy, Vain Galleria is storage and research, and, finally, Records is communication and public image.

“Even as Agents, one of these facilities will be made your home base and you’ll be tasked with assisting them in their day-to-day operations when you aren’t in the field.”

“Can we choose where we work?” the unicorn asked.

“Yes!” The instructor replied cheerfully.

“Which do you recommend we go for, then?”

“None of them.”

The instructor had answered in the same upbeat cheerfulness, and it took a second for the recruits to process his response. When they did, they all awkwardly stared at their instructor, not knowing how to respond.

“But if you had to—” he circled several facilities on the board “—these are the ones you can choose from.”

Vapour noted the locations. The Evening Watch, Mirror Palace, The Mires, and Vain Galleria were highlighted.

“Why those places?” The ghostly pegasus asked. “What if we wanted to work at Vinyl Vibe Records?”

“Zebra-only facility with some exceptions,” the instructor replied. “Their containment method requires their unique magic to function.”

Sky snorted.

“Do you have a problem with that?” the instructor asked.

“Zebras don’t have magic,” Sky said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Not like ponies.”

The instructor stared at Sky for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face.

“You’re right. They aren’t like ponies.” He smiled again, tapping the board with his marker. “The other locations are also species-locked to some degree. Salt Lick Quarry only takes Earth Ponies and Diamond Dogs, Canterlot Castle Gardens only takes a very select few Earth Ponies, and The Tomb is just off-limits to the majority of Redacted employees. It’s handled by ponies in the Badlands, and they don’t like meddlesome recruits poking their noses around in there.”

“Why’s that?” Big Mac asked.

“Why’s what?” The instructor responded.

“The Badlands facility inaccessible to most personnel?”

The instructor shrugged. “Some agreement with Director Inkwell, which, speaking of—” He pointed his piece of chalk at the group “—did you read about the Directors of Redacted in your orientation packet?”

Everyone looked askance, except Vapour. She knew the answer, but was too afraid to speak up. Sky noticed and jabbed her with a wing. He jerked his head toward the front of the room with a nod of encouragement.

“…Castle Gardens is run by Director Inkwell, who also is the Head of the Organization barring Princess Celestia,” Vapour began. “Director Riot runs the Quarry, Director Introversion runs the Palace, Director Watch runs the Mires, Director Pie runs the Evening Watch, Director Picturesque runs the Galleria, Director Johari runs Vinyl Vibe Records, and, um—” Vapour bit her lip “—Director Monolith runs the Tomb?”

“All correct. Well done, Recruit Trail.” The instructor beamed at her. “I’m glad to see someone read the booklet.”

Vapour allowed herself a small bit of pride.

“Now, what do you do if you come across a Director?” The instructor asked. He raked his eyes across the room. “Anyone?”

“…Salute?” The unicorn provided.

“Get out of their way and do your job,” the instructor answered. “Barring Princess Celestia in a public setting, you should never interact directly with a Director unless they address you. If you have business with them, you should be going through their assistants, like myself in the case of the evening Watch or whichever dragon has been assigned to them.

“The Directors have been granted numerous abilities and privileges that allow them to readily handle any situation that arises in regards to the Malformants they preside over. Getting in their way for even a second can equate to the loss of hundreds if not thousands of lives.”

He leaned forward, pressing his hooves into the table. He affixed a stern expression on his face as he appeared to tower over them. Vapour felt pinned to her seat, unable to move.

“Always remember that the Malformant threat is dangerous,” the instructor continued. “Hesitation or mistakes could cost lives, including yours. Bear that responsibility in mind going forward.”

The recruits stood up a bit straighter, attempting to take on the invisible burden that had just been given to them. Vapour felt its crushing weight as she desperately hoped to be able to carry it.

“Well, that’s all for now. Before you head back to the dorms, let’s do some introductions. State your name, a bit about yourself and any special abilities you might have.” He gestured to himself with a wing. “Name’s Assistant Director Spearhead and I’ll be your trainer. I work closely with Director Pie and primarily run the café upstairs as my office. You next,” he gestured toward the unicorn.

“Disco Tech. Aspiring researcher for the Galleria. In terms of abilities, uh, I guess I’m really good at finding rhythms?” He shrugged.

“Not those kinds of abilities,” Spearhead said. “Continue.”

“Skylark,” the ghostly pegasus said. “Aiming for a high position to give those Malformants a good wallop to the head. In terms of abilities, not really sure what you mean.”

“He means this,” Big Mac said.

Wooden branches erupted from the floor, growing along the walls and embedding themselves in the floors.

“Big MacIntosh Apple. From Ponyville. My Granny was an Agent and passed on her Trauma to me, Ancestral Tree.”

Creaks and groans echoed in the room as the branches moved. Vapour presumed it was some form of greeting.

Skylark and Disco Tech had jumped out of their seats and gotten into fighting stances, the prior with their wings flared, and the latter with their horn aglow. Sky and Vapour stayed in their seats.

“Sir!” Skylark called out. “We have to—”

“Relax. It’s not a Malformant, it’s a Trauma. Different things,” Spearhead said. “Malformants are invaders, Traumas are formed from ponies themselves. You can return to your seats.”

Skylark and Disco reluctantly sat back down.

“Now, does anyone else have a Trauma to show off?” Spearhead offered.

“Yeah, I got one,” Sky Stinger declared. “Name’s Sky Stinger and my Trauma is Flux.”

Purple electricity crackled off of Sky, scorching the table and the shag carpeting. Acrid smoke smelling of Burnt wood and fibers filled the room.

“Interesting. We’ll test it out more later then. You?”

Spearhead nodded at Vapour.

She wasn’t ready. Her concentration was focused on something else.

“Vapour Trail,” Spearhead said. There was a coldness to his voice.

Startled, Vapour quickly answered, “Vapour Trail. I-I’m a friend of Sky and here to support him.”

There was a reply. She nodded, hoping that was the correct response as she could barely hear anything through her intense focus. That seemed to be the right response. She couldn’t hear it over the roar of her Trauma, Flux.

The one Sky pretended to have.

One Day You'll Be Royal

Mirrors were interesting. When there wasn’t one nearby, you could trick yourself into thinking that you look like your most ideal self. That you could be incredibly attractive or regal or any number of things. Then, with a single look on its reflective surface, the falsehood falls away and you’re left with the grim truth. Your actual self. This destruction of ego was fascinating. Because of that, however—

Cozy Glow hated mirrors.

The particular standing specimen by her bedside was cracked. This was due to the recent blunt trauma that had been applied to it. It had it coming, though. She’d looked into the glass surface to invalidate the opinions of those pesky losers from her class and found them far too accurate for her taste. Then, she’d decided that she no longer required a mirror. At least, not an intact one.

Shattered, jagged pieces littered the floor, reflecting her opulent bedroom of pastel pinks and blues. Most of the mirror was, unfortunately, still together and had multiplied her horrible truth exponentially, and at different angles to really hammer in her displeasure.

Curly blue locks and big amber eyes in a round foalish face with, and this was truly the nail in the coffin, freckles. She was the epitome of foalish good looks and that was the problem.

Certainly, she’d used this appearance to her advantage before. Gotten out of some of her failed schemes to pin it on the ‘mean-looking colt’ and suckered many an adult out of valuables and information. However, Cozy was a conqueror. A strategist. A thinker. No one wanted to take the poster filly for foalhood innocence as their new dictator.

Modifications to her appearance could go a long way. Unfortunately, makeup was at best a salve (which she happened to be terrible at using) and, though surgery was forever, no doctor would allow that while she was still a foal. Again, cuteness wasn’t the worst thing to have, but adaptiveness was the most important trait anyone could have and, being a one-trick pony with said trick having an eventual expiration date was non-ideal.

Of course, her mark granted contingencies. Alternate routes in which looks and smarts failed to prevail. The most obvious being friends. The greatest weapon of all.

Friends filled in gaps. Friends covered weaknesses. Friends were always loyal because devotion was a core tenant of being that in the first place. It was the one thing Princess Sparkle Butt had right. Cozy respected and hated her in equal measure because how dare she attain it before her.

Regardless, it wasn’t the time for self pity. Her plans had folded and now she needed a new plan of attack. A new avenue of power.

She couldn’t get a puppet on the student council, since said puppet decided to throw her under the proverbial cart, but she could try elsewhere. The junior cheer squad was popular. Intelligence had a keen edge and could be honed in a few study groups. Why, she could even—

I don’t need you, Cozy. You’re like, bad and stuff. I can run the student body by myself. Besides, don’t you hear what they say in class? I should rule because unlike you I look like a Princess and you’re a spoiled foal—

Cozy grabbed the mirror and threw it to the ground with a howl of rage.

“Ah, yes. The first tantrum due to failure. I remember it well~”

She whipped her head toward the source of the voice. She found nothing.

“Who’s there?!” She stamped a hoof. “Show yourself!”

“Well, if you insist~”

A shadow stretched across the room from behind her. She whirled around to face… she didn’t know.

It was bipedal like a minotaur, but much more thin. An hourglass shape in silhouette, with a head in the shape of a spout of water constantly spewing upward. It wore a one piece dress that hugged the creature’s form and dragged behind like a red carpet. It was difficult to look at since the patterned fabric kept changing and twisting, cycling through the most obnoxious colours and motifs.

In its presence, Cozy felt… small. Smaller than she’d ever felt. It was so domineering, exuding the air of regality and fear in equal measure. It demanded respect. Fealty. Acknowledgement. It was— it was—

“How do I become you?” Cozy asked.

The entity cackled. It was a high-pitched sound lined with razors.

“All in due time, sweetness~”

“Golly gee, miss, how utterly useless,” Cozy replied in a mocking tone. “I asked a pretty clear question.”

“And I gave a clear answer. It’s not my fault you don’t recognize the partnership~”

“Partnership?” Cozy grinned, all teeth. “Like a friend?”

“Friend? Well, I suppose that is one interpretation.” The entity fanned themselves with a hand. “I prefer ‘partner’ or ‘minion’, but I suppose I can allow the change in title just this once~”

“Oh, thanks, friend.” Cozy giggled. It was a sound like piranhas clacking their teeth together. “Now, as a friend, what do you want?”

“I saw the results of the student council elections~”

Mocking laughter. Betrayal. Taking power that was rightfully hers.

“You saw that, huh?”

“Yes. It was a stroke of devilish genius to put a puppet in the chair while you controlled things from behind the scenes. Unfortunate that your puppet grew a spine~”

“She was supposed to be a friend, but clearly I need to choose better,” Cozy growled. “I wonder if you can do better?”

“Easily, and happily.”

“Golly gee! Well, if you say so, lady!” Cozy rubbed her hoof into one cheek, eyes wide open in feigned innocence. “Yeah, right.” She blew a raspberry. “What even are you?”

“Unsure, but unnecessary.” The entity glided around her, waving a hand idly. “You have potential, and I have a history of making that potential shine. Though, also irrelevant, I’m from another world~”

“Another world? You expect me to believe that?”

“How else do you explain this?” The entity gestured at themself.

“Fine, I’ll give you that one, but what makes you so useful?”

“Because where I was from—” The entity leaned down, enveloping Cozy in its shadow “—I was a Queen.”

“Queen?” Cozy’s eyes got wide and bright. “Like a Princess?”

“Similar, yes~”

“You ruled over people?”

The entity laughed. A deranged high pitched sound. “Obviously! What’s the point of being Queen if you can’t keep insignificant losers under your six-inch heel~”

“And you can teach me that?”

“Teach you? No, I’ll remake you.” The entity’s arms hovered around Cozy, caging her in. “You’re perfect for a little scheme I have brewing up.”

“Weeeell, I’m not so sure—”

“I want to make you Empress of the Crystal Empire.”

Cozy stopped. Never had she ever felt her brain screech to a halt, but, in that moment, she struggled to find words to say.

“The Crystal Empire?” The entity nodded. “Ruled by the Princess of Love?” Another nod. “That Crystal Empire?”

“Yes, that exactly~” The entity poked the air with a finger to punctuate her point.

“How exactly do you plan to achieve that?”

“Lots of effort, some manipulation, and bringing over a— what’s the word you used? Oh yes, friend~”

Empress Cozy Glow. There was a nice ring to it that resonated with her. Ruling over an entire empire with all her little friends doing whatever she told them to. Certainly, this weird thing was strange, but if it could give her the crown, then who was she to question it?

“What do we do first?” Cozy asked.

“We need to get a new friend.” The entity pulled out a strange metallic square, flipping it open to reveal a strange monitor. “Someone to help us get started. As well as one other teenist tiny thing~” The entity asked with a sickly sweet voice. Cozy recognized it, as she used it often herself.

“What do you want?”

“An anchor,” the entity answered. “Or a partnership, if you prefer. I need someone to keep me rooted to this world, and you’re the best-suited~”

“When I get results, I’ll agree to your teensy tiny thing.”

“Good enough~” The entity tapped at several little squares below the glass on her flip brick.

“Oh, one more question before we move forward, though,” Cozy said.

“And what’s that?”

“What do I call you?”

“Oh! How rude of me. I never told you.” The entity framed their face with one hand. “I went by a different name back in my home world, but I’ve decided to embrace my new one provided to me~

“Call me Prom Queen~”

Cultivate the Fields

Author's Note

Content Warnings: Holes, Cults, Gardening

Cultivate the Fields

Timber Spruce spread seeds amongst the tilled field rows. He ensured that each was firmly packed into the soil. The extra effort was excessive, but that little bit of care ensured a better yield in the long run.

Sun filtered through the thick foliage of the Everfree Forest overhead. He felt content, between the slow morning and honest labour. The first in what felt like—

“No! Please! No!”

He ignored the helpless pleas of another unwilling body being dragged along the ground. A wayward traveler that had drifted into the Everfree and made the mistake of not leaving right away. In the past, he might have felt some measure of guilt and shame, but now he only had unhappy resignation.

“Rejoice!” The congregation member said as they dragged the victim toward their doom. “You have been chosen as a Repository! There is no greater honour!”

Sobs were the poor sod’s response.

Eventually he would be called on, but the fields still needed tending and the longer he could put it off the happier he would be. No need to ruin his good mood immediately.

Continuing in his momentary ignorant bliss, Timber looked over the saplings from his previous cultivation in the next field over. It brought a smile to his lips to see the tiny sprouts poking through the soil. Soon they would—

A growl interrupted his train of thought.

Looking up, he came face-to-face with a timberwolf. It glared at him, teeth bared and body tensed.

“...Fine,” Timber said. “Tell my sister I’ll be there soon.”

It skulked back into the shadows.

Despite not wanting to attend, Timber got onto his hooves and ambled his way toward the main compound.

“Welcome, my little saplings! We have brought you here today to sow the seeds of our future!” Gloriosa announced.

She stood on a raised platform, bright pink against a wall made of tree trunks. She was standing on her hind legs, forelimbs raised in jubilation.

A resounding cheer. Timber Spruce didn’t join. He was instead focused on the poor sop bound to the floor by ropes, with their mane pulled up and neck laid bare to his sister. Tears rolled down their face. He just barely heard them begging to be released over the rowdiness of the crowd.

Another glance around the room. The timberwolves were close, peering through windows with glowing green eyes. There would be no escape for them.

“Tonight, we shall reap what has been sown, then spread anew.” She gestured toward one of the members of the congregation. “Come forth, Bitter Root. Ready yourself for the reaping!”

The aforementioned pony approached, a warm smile on their face. Once close enough to the stage, they turned to have their back facing Gloriosa.

There were holes in their back, filled with plump green sprouts ready to burst from their fleshy prison. They were so full that he could see the red rawness of the skin near the edges. It made him want to scratch the similar holes along his own back.

“Now, welcome our benefactor with a warm greeting, Mother!” Gloriosa continued.

“Mother!” The congregation cried, raising their hooves up to the leafy ceiling above.

It appeared, called down by its flock. A bark-textured head attached to a membrane-like vine thrice the size of himself ringed by a massive crown of dark green leaves. Long ‘arms’ of vines and leaves descended with it. The ‘head’ opened. A singular eyeball with eyelashes of jagged teeth. It clacked its eyelids together in some sort of sick greeting.

The new victim’s cries turned to profanity.

“Reap!” Gloriosa shouted.

“Reap!” The congregation echoed.

‘Mother’, or ‘Abomination’ as Timber preferred to call it, grasped the seeds embedded in Bitter Root’s back. Bitter stayed perfectly still and quiet as the monster yanked the seeds out.

As it did a muzzle formed from the leaf folds, followed by a head and tiny body. The newly born timberwolf began to croon.

“Another successful harvest!” Gloriosa declared. Her face was flush, eyes unfocused. “Now, for the sowing!”

Seeds were plucked from the Abomination’s gross eye. Like teardrops off a normal face. It moved them toward the exposed pony’s back, readying to bury them into their new soil.

Contact. Screams. Timber walked away. He couldn’t watch.

“Glory. This needs to stop.”

Gloriosa paused. She had just entered the back room that was reserved only for her and him. It was heavily laden with various herbs that made the air thick with a noxious sweet scent.

“What do you mean?” Gloriosa tilted her head to one side. “We’re thriving thanks to the blessings of Mother.”

“That thing is—”

“Mother,” Gloriosa corrected.

“I don’t care! This has been going on for too long.”

“Too long? That implies there is a stopping point.” She graced him with a too-wide smile. “We must grow more timberwolves to ensure our longevity. That is the path Mother has paved for us.”

“By sacrificing innocent ponies!”

“...Why is that wrong?”

Timber stared at Gloriosa in disbelief.

“They are offered to Mother to continue her progeny. Each new repository strengthens Mother’s grasp on the Everfree and, by extension, our place here.”

“Glory, where has your sense gone? Where’s my sister who just worried about our campsite in White Tail Woods? Who wouldn’t have fallen for this cult-like cra—”

She was right in front of him. Her head, despite being shorter, was right in his space and her smile too far stretched across her face. Her eyes bored into him, a mad glint in them.

“Be careful, Timber. I can only allow so much slander toward Mother, before you being my younger brother becomes irrelevant,” she said. “Watch your words.”

Cold dread caused Timber to shake. He never would have imagined being afraid of his own sister, but… things were different from before. She was taken by this utter insanity and changed accordingly.

She heaved a sigh. “Look. Take some time for yourself. Tend to the crop gardens you love so much. Get your head on straight then you’ll find all of this is fine. Good even! I would hate to lose you, Timber.”

Gloriosa hugged him. He hugged her back. After a while, she pulled back.

“Now, I have things to tend to. You’ll be fine on your own?”

Timber nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“Good. Do what I suggested. You’ll soon see that this is the right way of things.”

Then she left.

Timber stayed still, taking in deep breaths of the putrid air. It was a lot to take in, but he knew that none of this was his sister’s fault. It was that thing’s fault.

He needed to get her away from it. Far away. Reasoning with her was clearly impossible. That left plan B.

Some matches will go a long way toward ensuring their escape.

Ballad of Sky and Song

Higher! Higher! Higher!

This freedom. These open skies. It was all Abigail Windsock had wanted.

Back in her home amongst the cliffs of Wails, she’d looked out at the highest point by the sea, closed her eyes, and imagined what it would feel like to fly through clouds and endless blue. Now, she no longer needed to imagine it.

Away from her boorish family and their expectations. Away from marriage proposals and men who saw her as just a pretty doll to put on a shelf. Away from the heartbreak of watching her childhood friends lose their childish whimsy and turn into cold, uncaring adults.

All of it was the fault of the accursed matching ordinance. Run by people who believed the ‘right’ people should be matched together. Who dictated that she must take the most boring person imaginable as husband and be forced into a life of unending tedium. It was wrong to think about her lovely childhood friend Maggie as something more than a friend or to yearn for the touch of the quick-witted Damien who had too dark a skin for him to be a ‘proper’ match.

But none of that mattered anymore. The strange magician had been right. A new world! Somewhere she could fly as high and as far as she wanted to.

Of course, the changes to her body were… non-ideal. Her reflection in the clear ocean had shown that she had been transformed into some kind of elongated, translucent fish with long, sail-like tendrils serving as her wings. She would have preferred a more feathery form if she had to change, but this still gave her the freedom of flight she yearned for. Even if she could do without the constant feeling of being bloated like a circus balloon.

Higher! Higher! High—!

“—er! Go higher Yearny!”

The childish giggles of the two foals she carried on her back startled her out of her revelry. The two rapscallions had happened upon her during her initial coastal flight along the white cliffs that were so similar to her home and begged her for a ride through the skies. She was loath to deny them the opportunity so agreed to take them.

Now, eager as well to ascend through further toward the clouds, she consented with a huff of air-like chimes from her throat and climbed ever-upward.

Ocean and sky stretched toward the horizon as the sun dipped, bathing everything in its orange hue. The water shimmered in the light as if in welcome to her arrival to this new world that was apparently inhabited by small horses. It was beautiful. She was… happy.

Higher! Higher! Higher!

She ignored the voice in her head. A strange neutral tone fuzzy with static. It had started right after she’d arrived. An annoying cacophony that demanded her attention at all times.

Higher! Higher! Higher!

Abigail denied the voice. She didn’t trust it. Furthermore, there were foals on her back. Any higher and they would struggle to breathe.

No, better to stay where she was.

Higher! Higher! Higher!

Humming. That would drown out. She whistled a tune from her childhood. A jaunty shanty from the harbour. It came out as different toned wind chimes from her fish mouth. The children joined in with ‘la la las’ and ‘do do dos’.

It served to keep the voice at bay.

Drop them.

She startled, nearly doing as the voice commanded by accident, but righted herself before that could happen.

“Yearny?” One of the foals asked, a tremor of concern in their voice.

Using her sail-like tendrils, she patted the foal on the head. They were soon back to smiling and singing as they glided through the air. That was… too close for her comfort.

Remove all ties. Drop them. Higher.

It was so loud in her mind. Screaming and shrieking at her to do as it compelled her. It was wrong. But what was worse… was that a part of her agreed with it.

These foals kept her from going higher. They kept her from ascending further into the sky. She was Bound, forced to stay low so as not to bring harm to them. She wanted to fly freely, not with arbitrary restrictions like safety and sense.

Drop them. Freedom. Higher.

Yes. That was the correct course of action. Fish or no, no one would tell Abigail what to do or where to go. She was a free woman. Free of the shackles of her world. Free of those awful people who tried to bind her. Free—

She glided gently down toward the area she had first encountered the foals. She didn’t know where these thoughts were coming from, but it had become clear to her that they had an amount of influence on her that could endanger the younglings. That was unacceptable to her.

Besides, their families were probably wondering where they’d gone off to.

“Awww, but I don’t wanna stop,” One of the foals complained.

“Yearny!” The other begged.

Abigail gently rolled them off of herself and dropped them on top of the cliffs. There were tearful goodbyes, promises to visit again, then they were off. Back to their families and warm homes.

Higher! Higher! Higher!

“M A Y I S P E A K W I T H Y O U?”

She felt her attention immediately focused on the source of the voice. She hadn’t seen nor heard her approach. She looked like those high-class aristocrats from her home, but horse. All poofy blue hair and heavy makeup. She was dressed in a black suit and purple tie with a matching little dapper hat on her head that seemed odd compared to the lack of clothing on the foals.

Higher! Higher! Higher!

The voice was urgent, panicked. There was something off about the mare, but her amber eyes drew Abigail’s attention. It kept her rooted in place despite her desperate desire to fly far, far away from the stranger.

“Thank you. So glad you decided to not run away.” The mare put a hoof to her chest, a big gleaming smile on her face. “I am Sapphire Shores, pop sensation. What’s yours?”

Abigail Windsock, she tried to tell Sapphire. Instead, her name came out as wind chime tones.

“Ah, you can’t speak Equish. Unfortunate. Well, no matter. For whatever reason, a name usually comes to mind after a few moments.” Sapphire tilted her head to one side. She smiled. “Yearning For Flight. How lovely. A poetic name for a Wallowing.”

Wallowing? What was that? Also, that name. The foals had called her a shortened version of that. Was it a quirk of this world? A side effect of coming here?

Well, it was rather poetic and pretty. Abigail didn’t mind it too much.

“Now, I saw you playing with the foals earlier. How delightful!” Sapphire clapped her hooves together lightly in celebration. “Most Malformants of your kind usually display problematic behaviours right away, but you appear a bit different from the usual rabble.”

Malformant. Abigail wasn’t sure what that word meant, but she hazarded to guess that was what she had been transformed into by the portal.

Higher! Higher! Higher!

She ignored the voice. There was an undercurrent of fear that originated from the mare, but she seemed to know more about what was happening with her body and, well, she was a visitor. It would do well to be courteous.

Abigail let herself lower to the ground, resting upon her sails that acted as a sort of stand for her. Sapphire looked surprised.

“Well, you are quite different for a Malformant. Perhaps, you are curious as to what I have to say? Well, who wouldn’t be about someone as fabulous as moi.” Sapphire tossed her mane back with a wide grin. “Who am I to deny my adoring audience? I’ll do it! Now, settle down and L I S T E N.”

Her attention narrowed to just Sapphire. Her voice, her eyes. The voice screaming in her mind quieted. A frankly welcome thing after a day of that annoying static. She happily allowed herself to focus on the mare before her, to watch the subtle movements of her face and cadence of her voice.

Sapphire began to speak.

“My parents were not fond of me. I know. That seems unbelievable, but, well, they wanted a colt and, as you can see, I’m not. Très Tragique, but that is the pain of being born as a pony as stunning as myself. I craved their attention, did everything I could to garner what little affection I could muster, but it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t the foal they wanted, and never would be. What was one to do?”

It was tragic. Horribly unfair. To be denied a parent’s love for being born different from expectations was unnecessary cruelty. She felt for Sapphire, and emphasized with her plight that was not so dissimilar to her own.

“Around the end of primary school, I made a new friend who lived in my closet. A single hand and a disembodied voice. It was strange, I knew it was, but it offered me something I couldn’t refuse. Familial affection. She was named Childless Mother and offered me everything I had wanted from my own parents. Small gifts, doting affection, comfort when I needed it. It meant the world to me. Alas, despite my efforts to coax her out, she could not leave my closet, for she needed to S T A Y I N P L A C E.”

Abigail felt something tighten around her, holding her place. She could hear the voice shriek in the back of her mind, but paid it no mind. She was bound in place, drawn to the eyes of Sapphire.

More eyes appeared along her body. Beady little things that bore into her soul. They saw everything, demanded that she not stop paying attention.

She obliged them.

“One day, I happened to notice that my parents had not moved much in a little over a week. When I checked on them, they had become haggard with sunken eyes. I instinctively knew it was due to Childless Mother. When I saw her, she had uncovered some more of her body from the closet. It was equine, and vaguely like that of both my parents. She told me that she was going to save me from neglect. That she would become my parent and love me in lieu of them. I admit, it appealed to me. To have the one that cared about me instead of the ones that had hated me from my own birth. But they were still my parents. I had to act.”

Sapphire drew close. Abigail’s world shrunk to that of only Sapphire’s eyes. The beady eyes spread, crawling along Abigail’s body. A horrid slithering sensation under her scales.

“That was when I manifested my Trauma Attention. I demanded the scrutiny of Childless Mother and made it focus upon me. The pain was excruciating as the withering effect took hold. Mother begged me to stop, genuine tears in their eyes forming as her shape began to coalesce into an older version of myself. She had truly cared about me. What a twist in the narrative! She hadn’t been pretending at all.”

Silence. Dread filled it, a build up to a horror that Abigail knew was coming, but feared all the same.

“Then Redacted appeared. They quickly contained the Malformant, then saved both me and my parents. Of course, what little affection my parents had for me was immediately gone. They never met Mother, but decided it was my fault for what happened to them. I would never tell them how true that accusation was. Thankfully, Redacted offered me a place to live and trained me as an Agent, granting me my career as a popstar in the process. A happy ending to this little fairytale. But, now I ask, what do you believe is the lesson we can glean from this tale?”

Abigail didn’t know. She was genuinely lost, unsure of where Sapphire was going with this. This Malformant sounded bad, but at the same time… it had genuinely cared for Sapphire. Did the mare hate the Malformant? Love it?

She couldn’t tell.

“...I have been tasked to contain you,” Sapphire announced. “As per regulations as a Wallowing Sin Malformant, you will be brought to the Mires, tied up and drowned.”

Her blood froze. She was to be imprisoned for merely how she looked? For not being content with her prior world and moving to this one?

What sense did that make? She’d done nothing wrong!

“You are probably confused,” Sapphire continued. “It is a burden most foul to be upon you, but you need to hear it. You need to L I S T E N T O Y O U R S E L F.”

KILL THEM! BIND THEM! THROW THEM TO SEA!

The voice screamed, rattling her very being. It shrieked and growled and cussed as it climbed to a painful pitch. It consumed her mind. The static cleared. It sounded more feminine. Familiar.

NO ONE CAN HAVE US! WE WILL NOT BE BOUND! WE WILL NOT BE CAUGHT!

It was distinct now. All consuming. The familiarity grew until she realized where she’d heard it from. Her own mouth. It was her voice. She was the one telling her to do this, to fly higher and away from this. To remove all the obstacles between her and her freedom.

IT'S MY LIFE! I WILL DO WHAT I PLEASE! YOU CAN’T BIND ME! NOT AGAIN! NEVER AGAIN!

“All Malformants harbour ugly feelings that manifest as these new forms you take,” Sapphire explained. “It bubbles to the surface and consumes you. Driving you to do things that you may not normally do unless pushed. Show me, Yearn. Show me who you are.”

It was grief. It was pain. It was misery. It was a swamp that threatened to clog her throat. It was the undercurrent that wanted to drown her beneath its waves. It was… it was freedom.

Freedom to not care. Freedom to take what she wanted. Freedom away from the restrictions of her life.

All that bottled up desperate need for her to be released from her chains.

NO MORE! NO MORE! NO MORE!

It would be so easy to embrace it. To take this new power and use it to ensure that she would never hurt, never feel bound in place. But that wasn’t the kind of freedom she wanted. She wanted freedom to have her own life, to fly in the sky, to be able to just… live. To make connections she wanted to make, not dictated by a heartless system.

Those connections she would make would be their own kind of chains.

But she would willingly put them on for the sake of more than just ‘freedom’.

Sapphire scrutinized her with intensity. The eyes drilled through flesh and bone to her very essence. They poked and prodded at her soul, judging its substance. The invisible ropes tied around her tightened.

Then it all went away.

FLY! FLY TO FREEDOM!

Abigail stayed in place. She had made her choice. What her grief wanted for her wasn’t the kind of freedom she sought.

“...I will be back,” Sapphire declared. “I will need Director assistance to support me in this endeavor before Grim can realize what has happened. Fly into the sky Yearn, and stay there. If another Agent comes, don’t approach them. They will not be as kind as I. In the meantime, I desperately hope for you to do one thing.

“Don’t be like the others.”

She walked away with a flick of her mane.

Abigail watched until Sapphire Shores had disappeared. When she was in the clear, she flew into the sky, a weight she hadn’t known she carried lifted from her heart.

The voices were easier to ignore this time.

Jackpot

Author's Note

Content Warnings: Gambling

Jackpot

CASINO was always enjoyable to see, but a nightmare to stay in.

A glitzy slot and card joint with red and gold geometric shape theming. It covered everything and made the place difficult to navigate… for someone unfamiliar with the terrain.

Lucky Strike grabbed a drink from one of the server’s platters, a skeletal upper torso attached to a wheel dressed in a tux. It zoomed off after he grabbed the drink. He chugged the too-sweet wine in one gulp, then put the glass on the edge of the machine he was playing at.

Pulling the lever, triple seven appeared once more, racking up points on the card he had slotted into it. Another cool mill acquired.

His mark ached. A red seven surrounded by cartoonish impact lines.

He got up and moved to another part of the CASINO. The light glistened off his golden fur and neatly combed white-blonde mane, a perfect complement to the glamorous interior of the CASINO. He took another drink from a nearby server, not even bothering to pause as he chugged the whole thing and put the emptied glass back on the tray.

Lucky was so close. The quota for his shift was just in reach. A little more and he would be done for the day. A few more pulls of the lever and he’d reach the requirements to satisfy this accursed Malformant for another day… but there were no more opportunities, no lucky streaks to take advantage of. The alicorn of providence didn’t smile kindly in his moment, and he had a decision to make.

Leaving was possible. Nothing truly bound him here but his duty and love of his home city. Both of which caused him to immediately disregard that option. He could wait it out, hope that his replacement came early enough to help him finish off his shift, but that would just mean there would be two ponies unable to meet their quotas in the dead of night when Redacted would have a harder time reacting to any consequences from a breach.

The patrons were looking at him. He’d been standing around too long. He tried not to focus on them normally, but having humanoid skeletons with flimsy skin stretched tightly over their bones boring into him was difficult to ignore. Time was running out, and he had a decision to make.

There was only one real option. Lucky would have to press his luck. He would be damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. Better to at least try.

His selection thus whittled down to two viable options: poker or slots. The prior was mostly skill, but extremely difficult because he would have to directly confront The House. The latter was the easiest, but was based solely on luck… something he was in short supply of. Unfortunately, he would have to do with the latter. Lucky was ever good at Poker, and breaches caused by losses at that game tended to be worse than others.

He glanced at all the slot machines on the floor. His mark ached. He looked for the one that made it ache the least and trotted toward it. Taking a seat on the uncomfortable stool, he focused on the display blasting bright colours and promises of fortune at him.

Hoof on the lever.

Do or die.

He pulled.

“It’s a bad day,” Lucky Strike remarked.

“Don’t say that!” Coal laughed. Smoky fur, thick build and pitch black mane. Eyes full of mirth. “You haven’t even started!”

Lucky stared at the CASINO. The abominable place still looked out-of-sync with the rocky crags around it. Glam amongst dark coal. Rocky crevices intersecting the strange slice of reality that shouldn’t have been there to begin with.

His mark ached. There was no luck to be found there.

“...I know my luck, Coal,” Lucky muttered.

Coal’s laugh petered off. “…Lucky? What do you mean?”

“You have to keep your promise, Coal,” Lucky said. “Keep it all safe.”

A hard line. An expression of resignation and incoming grief. A face too used to loss and pain and suffering. Too compassionate for his own good. It made him the worst pony for the job… and the best.

“What if we bring in Poker Face? Streak? Snake Eyes?” Coal suggested.

Lucky shook his head.

“We can ignore it then. Keep you—”

“You know the breach is so much worse if we don’t try versus when we do,” Luck interrupted. “We need to win enough in the CASINO to buy time… expensive bit-hogging leeches,” he muttered the last part under his breath.

“...I’ll make sure Director Introversion is ready.” Coal looked askance. “I’ll also put in the call to headquarters to get some Agents here ahead of time to handle the aftermath.”

“Do that… but, hey! This is just precautionary, you know?” Lucky laughed. He didn’t feel it. “I could still win big!”

“Y-yeah! Definitely!” Coal laughed as well. A raspy sound that meant Coal wasn’t feeling it either.

Neither Lucky nor Coal expected to see each other again.

A drop of liquid gold fell onto him. It burned. A gold-plated claw rested on his shoulder, holding him firmly in place. He wouldn’t get away. A pig face leaned over top of him, upside down from his perspective. Its other faces were rotated away for the moment, different expressions for different occasions. He got the creepy smiley one… a frown from his position relative to the Malformant, which might be worse.

“You’re bankrupt,” The House stated.

Lucky stared at the big fat ‘NO FUNDS’ in red block letters on the slot machine’s display. It flashed on and off, hammering in his failure. Red light put both him and the monster in sharp relief, extenuating the worst of both of them. The monster’s glee and his resignation.

“You will be required to pay back the debt in full,” The House continued.

He gulped. He’d been arrogant when he first took on this post. Told everyone he’d never be in this position. But here he was. Not a decade later and reaching the end of the rope that had come to make him hang.

Though, if he was being honest, the noose had been around his neck since the beginning, he’d just never realized that he’d put it on himself.

The House Always Wins tilted its head, sizing him up.

“Valued player—” Lucky was surprised to hear the words “—you have done well thus far and we are gladdened by your patronage, but you forgot one of the most important things.” Another clawed hand came onto Lucky’s other shoulder. It dug into his flesh and drew blood. Lucky didn’t flinch. “The House Always Wins.”

More liquid gold dripped onto him. It burned through fur and flesh. It hurt. It hurt so much. But Lucky refused to give it the satisfaction. He stared resolutely forward. Though he would die here, at least he did his best.

Coal better be ready.

“Warning. Warning. CASINO breach in progress. All residents are required to stay in their homes. Warning. Warning. CASINO—”

The announcement was cut off, the magic disrupted by the Malformant’s advance.

It started as a rumble.

Then it was a quake.

Gold filled with blood. Figures of strange and abominable shapes. They stalked out of the CASINO’s gilded entryway. The Blood Debts.

They were there to collect.

Screeches. Shrieks. The wail of the damnable monsters.

Coal stood resolute on the frontlines, ready to take on the monsters. They would repel them… or they would lose the city.

The Abominations charged.

Detective Harpischord

A Manehattan apartment. Clean and impeccably furnished. In every aspect of the decor, Lyra could tell an artist’s eye for detail was used. Just as it was used for making the blood splatters that stained the walls and floors of the abode.

She could also smell something rotten coming from the work studio, and prayed to whatever Princess that was listening that she would not need to find the source.

The prior occupant had been Coco Pommel. A serial killer that Redacted believed (and Lyra knew) to be connected to a Malformant. The killings had all the hallmarks of a pony under the thrall of one; it was only a matter which. Unfortunately, that question would remain unanswered for the time being, as she had escaped from the Field Agents sent to capture her. Lyra, as one of their best Investigative Agents Harpsichord, was there to find out where she’d gone.

It was important work. Ponies could die. Ponies had already died. With no leads, she was the only one capable of finding a trace of her. At least before more victims appeared.

But she was distracted.

Moondancer was out there. Taken by some unknown fiend. Her friend was in danger and she was—

“How are we going to track her?”

Lyra snapped back to the present. Bon Bon, or rather Agent Sweetie Drops, looked back at her with a stoic expression, work mode already engaged. Someone who didn’t know her would think that she was aloof and disengaged.

As her marefriend, Lyra could see the subtle furrow of her brow that told her Bon Bon was worried about her.

“We’re going to trace her echo,” Lyra said.

“Echo?” Bon Bon scrunched her face. “I presume it has to do with that?”

“The Chorus,” Lyra provided.

“Right, that.”

Bon Bon was not fond of Lyra’s Trauma, or occupation. The conversation had been difficult, and would have been more so if Lyra hadn’t been able to leverage Bon Bon hiding her past as well. Even if it would have been hypocritical, Lyra had still not wanted Bon Bon to know.

However, Director Grim and Director Monolith wouldn’t help her. The prior didn’t like Moondancer, while the latter didn’t like her. Having both of Redacted’s core information hubs unwilling to grant ‘superfluous’ resources meant that she had to find alternate assets to assist her in her investigation of Moondancer’s ponynapping.

Thankfully, her marefriend was both an Agent of the biggest non-Redacted information bureau in Equestria and good friends with the pony she was searching for. Redacted had allowed Bon Bon to be onboarded to the team, but they couldn’t focus on Moondancer until the case regarding Coco was resolved.

All of which was taking far too much time. Lyra should be out looking for Moondancer. Not stuck—

A hoof laid on her shoulder.

“Focus, Lyra.” Bon Bon nuzzled her cheek. “Sooner you do this, sooner we can get to finding Moondancer.”

“Right.” A deep breath. “Let’s get to it, then.”

She turned inwards, calling out to her inner self. The sound reverberated within the depths of her very being before it was answered, manifesting into the real world.

Bon Bon tensed. “I know it's just an aspect of you, but I don’t think I can ever get comfortable with this.”

Faces propagated in one place fighting for limited space. They melded and mixed together into horrific visages. It was pale and semi-translucent, humming a melody that couldn’t be placed. It rotated through an expanse of different expressions. Bliss and pain. Sorrow and rage.

“Aw, don’t say that. It’s friendly.” To prove her point, Lyra gently patted The Chorus. It hummed in appreciation. “See? Friendly.”

Bon Bon’s face expressed her disagreement.

“Spoilsport. Let’s get this investigation started,” Lyra declared.

She released a burst of magic from her horn. The Chorus got louder. Reality rippled. Pale images formed. Impressions of the sounds that come before. Echoes of noise becoming real by the force of her Trauma. A faint outline of Coco singing on her way to her studio. A partially formed hoof over top a creaky floorboard.

Bon Bon approached two distinct face silhouettes in the open front door. One Coco, the other a large stallion. A snap showed the impact of where Coco had hit him.

“This is where the altercation happened,” Bon Bon stated.

“A headbutt to the face, right?” Lyra asked.

“Yes.” Bon Bon looked down the hall where other impacts were found. “She fought her way out. Any doubling back?”

Lyra scanned the echoes. “Not by the looks of it. She didn’t return.”

“So, she ran off.” Bon Bon nodded. “Let’s follow her out.”

The path was easy to follow. Coco had made no effort to be quiet in her escape, which meant there were plenty of echoes to find along the way. She had managed to escape into an adjoining mall then into one of the back alleys after she lost the Agents tracking her, where—

“Are you kidding me?!” Bon Bon stomped a hoof. She snorted in frustration. “What kind of insane luck is that?!”

“...Well, that’s pretty much a deadend, then.” Lyra sighed.

Coco had been traveling along the alley, presumably to blend into the crowd, when a loud bang had drawn her attention and a part of the alley wall had slid open to reveal an illegal escort den. A bucking illegal escort den. What kind of odds even were that?!

They had made their way past the blown lock and into the dimly lit room. The echoes showed that Coco had managed to reach the preset teleportation circle, modified it by unknown means (presumably with the help of the Malformant), and teleported to places unknown.

The thaumic charge was depleted. There was no trace for Lyra to latch onto with her magic, which meant that this whole endeavor was a bust. A pointless waste of time. She tried anyways, lighting up her horn and searching for a trace of anything to gauge her endpoint. She got nothing.

She’d been in Manehattan in for more than a day. Moondancer had been missing for a whole moon before they decided to tell her about it. She could be hurt. She could be trapped. She could be de—

“Calm down, Harpsichord,” Bon Bon said.

She whipped her head toward Bon Bon. “I—”

“Don’t tell me you are because you clearly aren’t. Look, we need to finish the job. Search the room for anything that might have been left behind and ensure that there is no reason for us to stay.” Bon Bon gave a hard glare. “If you lose your cool and do a sloppy job, they won’t give you permission to leave.”

Bonnie was right. She was always right. No matter how frustrated Lyra might be, she needed to focus on the current situation, not resent the circumstances of what had brought her there.

“Okay, Bon- Sweetie Drops,” Lyra relented. “I’ll do a sweep with The Chorus and see if I pick up anything. Could you—”

“On it.” Bon Bon started to search the room.

Lyra returned her focus to the echoes.

A few past ones of the organization that had set up the circle. A no-name smuggling operation that Lyra would report to the proper authorities when able. The discharge that had opened the door, origin seemingly random and impossible to discern. Could be a magic overcharge, but not worth thinking about for too long. A few whispered plans for smuggling through illegal drugs from the operatives again. Coco muttered something before she stepped onto the circle.

She listened in.

“...Delphia,” the echo of Coco said.

Likely her final stop. They would have to—

“I was told to tell you—”

Lyra’s eyes widened.

“Harpsichord?” Bon Bon asked. “What’s—”

“We need to go,” Lyra declared.

“But what about—”

“Buck the investigation. I have a lead,” Lyra said.

“For what?”

“Moodancer,” Lyra declared.

“She’s in Fillydelphia.”

Interview With Desire

Author's Note

Content Warnings: Body Horror

Interview With Desire

RECORDING OF ‘PLEASE TOUCH ME’
INTERVIEWER: Director Johari
TAPE #03-W-C-897
TRANSCRIBED BY: Agent Thimba
XX/XX/XX

BEGIN TRANSCRIPT

[JOHARI TURNS ON TAPE RECORDER]

JOHARI (J): Hello, Please Touch Me. Welcome to Vinyl Vibe Records. Here we capture desire by performing interviews.

PLEASE TOUCH ME (PTM): AN INTERVIEW? DELIGHTFUL! I ADORE INTERVIEWS. ASK ME ANYTHING YOU LIKE.

J: Thank you. Now, I heard from our Agents that you were quite difficult to capture.

PTM: I TRY. YOU KNOW IF YOU COME OVER HERE I CAN SHOW WHY.

J: A demonstration is unneeded. I am well aware of your abilities. Classified as a Sin of Desire, Subcategory W with a C Power Rating. Of course, this does not tell me everything we need to know. Can you go into details?

PTM: I LOVE DETAILS ESPECIALLY WHEN THEY ARE ABOUT MYSELF.

[RECORDING 2%]

J: That is much appreciated. Now, you do appear to follow the standard traits of a Desire Malformant. Propagation of multiple limbs, single-minded purpose, and, based on those splotches on your skin—

[J INSPECTS NOTED TRAIT]

J: You are centered around touch, specifically on—

PTM: MY BODY.

[PTM TOUCHES ITSELF WITH ITS MANY, MANY HANDS. TRANSCRIBER WOULD LIKE TO NOTE THAT IT IS DISGUSTING TO WATCH]

[Management at Vinyl Vibe Records reminds Transcriber Thimba that they are only to transcribe events as they happen, not their opinions. However, Management does agree that it is disgusting to watch]

[RECORDING 7%]

J: Yes, that. Let’s go over your process. Your first step is to lure ponies in with promises of pleasure?

PTM: THE PLEASURE OF TOUCHING ME, A PERFECT SPECIMEN OF CREATION. TO WORSHIP—

J: How do you manage to lure them in? Is it by scent, touch, or—

PTM: TASTE. I AM AS SWEET AS THE FIRST RASPBERRY OF THE SEASON AND SAVOURY AS A COOKED ROAST. MY SCENT ALSO DOES SOME OF THE HEAVY LIFTING WHICH YOU WOULD KNOW IF YOU TOOK OFF THAT HEAVY SUIT.

J: I will keep it on. To refocus, this confirms that your sweat is the source of your control over other ponies. You bring them in with your scent, get them to have a taste, and then they become hooked on it.

PTM: YES, YES! A SINGLE TASTE AND THEY KNOW TRUE PLEASURE. TO SERVE ONE MOST STUNNING AS I. THEY ALWAYS COME BACK FOR MORE. IF THAT PIQUES YOUR INTEREST, KNOW THAT I DO NOT DISCRIMINATE. I WOULD WELCOME YOU INTO MY BOSOM WITH OPEN ARMS.

[PTM OPENS THEIR MANY ARMS TOWARD J]

[RECORDING 16%]

J: Thank you for the offer, but I’m not interested. Once they’ve had a taste, is there a way to break a pony out of withdrawal?

PTM: THERE IS NO COMING BACK. THEY SHALL CRAVE ME UNTIL THE END OF THEIR DAYS.

J: Then I’ll need to have Director Inversion start to create an antidote using the sample of sweat we took from you earlier. Give me one moment.

[J LEAVES ROOM TEMPORARILY. J RETURNS A SHORT TIME LATER.]

PTM: A WASTE OF TIME. I AM TOO AWE-INSPIRING TO BE BROKEN BY MERE MEDICINALS.

J: Still worth a try. Moving on. Victims hooked on your sweat exhibit symptoms similar to being overly caffeinated. After several hours, if they haven’t gotten another hit off of you, they start to self harm and show signs of clinical depression. Is that correct?

PTM: HORRIBLE, HORRIBLE! TO DEPRIVE THEM OF ONE SUCH AS I IS TOO GRUESOME TO CONSIDER. ALLOW ME A SHORT RELEASE TO TEND TO MY WORSHIPERS.

J: That won’t—

PTM: BUT THE LONGER WE WAIT THE MORE THEY SUFFER! OH, I SIMPLY CAN’T—

J: What do you do with those that refuse?

PTM: PARDON? OH! WELL, I DELIVER UNTO THEM A PUNISHMENT DESERVING OF ONE WHO SPURNS ONE SUCH AS I. SINCE THESE PONIES ARE MADE FOR ME.

J: You kill them. Using your hands.

PTM: SQUISH. SPLAT. CRUSH. SNAP. SO MANY DIFFERENT WAYS TO USE THESE HANDS FOR DIRTY DEEDS. IT IS A PITY TO A LOSE POTENTIAL WORSHIPER, BUT FOR ONE MADE IN ORDER TO PLEASE ME, TO NOT FULFILL THEIR DUTY IS A CRIME I’M UNABLE TO OVERLOOK.

[RECORDING 33%]

J: So, there are two kinds of ponies to you. Those who spurn your good graces and those who accept your offer. What do you have them do?

PTM: WORSHIP, OF COURSE.

J: How?

PTM: SEVERAL DIFFERENT MEANS. LICK ME. CARESS ME. RAVISH ME. ANYTHING SO LONG AS THEY FULFILL MY NEED TO BE TOUCHED. IT IS WHAT I DESERVE.

[RECORDING 45%]

J: Why?

PTM: WHAT?

J: Why do you deserve it?

PTM: BECAUSE I AM OWED IT. IT GOES WITHOUT SAYING.

J: You are owed simply because you jumped through a random portal, made a punch of addicts and then forced them to please you? Why would that deserve worship?

PTM: BECAUSE I’M ME. BECAUSE YOU PONIES ONLY EXIST FOR ME.

[RECORDING 56%]

J: Oh? Our only purpose is to serve? What makes you different from all the others that hop through a portal to our world?

PTM: THE OTHERS ARE WORTHLESS.

J: Yet they are still here. You have a rather egocentric outlook. Didn’t get enough attention from your homeworld so decided to get the pretty little pastel ponies to give it to you instead?

PTM: HOW DARE YOU. I WAS GIVEN THE ATTENTION OF MILLIONS.

J: Are you sure? Your actions and motivation don't seem to match your claims. If you had so much attention back home, why do you need ponies that were ‘made for you’ to give it?

PTM: THEY GAVE ME PLENTY! I WAS BELOVED! THEY SIMPLY LOST ALL REASON WHEN THEY CAST ME OUT OF PUBLIC FAVOUR—

[RECORDING 68%]

[PTM HAS STOPPED RESPONDING.]

J: What were you?

PTM: EXCUSE ME?

J: Were you a celebrity? A sex worker? A singer? Falling out of favour implies some form of standing to fall from.

PTM: AN ACTRESS. A BELOVED ONE AT THAT. I WAS FAMOUS FOR DECADES.

J: Ah, then you got old and fell out of favour.

PTM: EXCUSE YOU?!

[RECORDING 87%]

J: Despite the changes done to you by the portal, your skin looks like it belongs to someone well along in age. Your desire appears to stem from recapturing the adoration of your heyday, leading me to believe that the reason for that was due to getting past your prime and an inability to recapture the glory days.

PTM: HOW DARE—

J: Of course, there is also the fact that some form of scandal occurred to further your decline.

PTM: NO YOU—

J: Based on your designation, Sin, and general disposition the scandal was sexual in nature. Slept your way to the top?

PTM: LISTEN—

J: Or perhaps just slept around? Including in places you shouldn’t have? There is of course no shame in—

[PTM SLAMS HANDS ON TABLE. PTM MAKES LOUD SCREECHING SOUNDS.]

PTM: YOU VILE LITTLE WORM! I WAS A STAR! THE GREATEST OF A GENERATION! A DARLING TO ALL! SO WHAT IF I ENJOYED THE ODD ENCOUNTER BEHIND CLOSED CURTAINS?! I MAY HAVE LEFT A TRAIL OF BROKEN HEARTS BUT HOW COULD ONE ASK ME TO DEPRIVE THE GREATER WORLD OF MY BEING?! TO TURN DOWN A TOUCH?!

[PTM IS BECOMING INCREASINGLY AGGRAVATED. THEY APPEAR TO BE ENTERING A BREAKDOWN STATE]

[RECORDING 100%]

PTM: I NEED IT. I NEED THE ADORATION! THE RAVISHMENT! THE DESIRE! I WANT THEIR HANDS ON ME, EAGER FOR EVERY PIECE OF ME THEY CAN MANAGE! MAYBE I HAVE SLEPT WITH FAR TOO MANY, LEVERAGED THAT ADORATION FOR MY OWN GAIN, BUT SO WHAT?! EVERYONE ELSE DOES IT! WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME USING MY BODY TO GET WHAT I WANT? IF IT MEANS I CAN BE TOUCHED! IF IT MEANS I CAN BE WORSHIPED! IF— IF— WHAT IS THIS?!

[PTM APPEARS TO HAVE NOTICED THE CONTAINMENT PROCESS]

PTM: WHAT IS—? STOP IT! I DEMAND YOU STOP THIS!

J: Once recording is complete, there is no stopping the containment process. Even if I could, I wouldn’t. I warned you. Our company does one thing: ‘capture desire’.

PTM: NO, NO! I WILL NOT BE DENIED. YOU EXIST TO WORSHIP ME! TO GIVE ME WHAT THOSE FAKE FANS WOULDN’T. TOUCH ME! FEEL ME! I EXIST! I—AhHhHHhhhHHHHHHHH—

[PTM HAS BEEN RECORDED]

J: All Desire has been accounted for. Please have the archivists file the record away in vault 5.

XX:XX:XX
END TRANSCRIPT