Reshackledby Kelvin ShadewingChaptersChapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 1Reshackled DISCLAIMER: This is a non-profit work of fan fiction. My Little Pony © Hasbro. -=Chapter 1=- Drip. Drip.. Drip... Small drops of cold water slid along the stone ceiling of a dark, damp dungeon that had not been used in years. Rats, insects and the forces of nature had taken their toll on the long forgotten dungeon. That part of its status had recently changed, however, when it was charged with the detention of its first prisoner since its abandonment. The sole captive stirred ever so slightly, noticing first the cold hard surface he was laid out on, followed by the smell of earth and mold. Groaning softly, he shifted around and put a hand on his forehead. Something felt wrong, very wrong. He realized he didn't know where he was or how he got there, and there was barely enough light to see the wall next to the window where faint beams of moon light flowed in. But the thing that alarmed him the most was how his body felt when he touched his head; his head felt hard and bald, and he could only feel it with his palm, not his fingers. He rolled his hand against his cheek, only to find it wasn't a hand at all. All he found was a stump. The prisoner's heart raced as questions filled his mind. Where am I? Why don't I have fingers? What's going on?! His mind tried to pull up the events of the night before, but he drew a blank. What did I do? Wait... What's... what's my name? Why can't I remember my name?! He tried to stand up, only to fall backwards. Something was wrong with his legs too. And there was a new pain on his back, like he landed on something that shouldn't be there. Panicking, he crawled towards the lit wall on his belly, which made a light scraping noise. The chains attached to his legs scraped and clinked on the ground behind him. He raised his arm to the light, then retreated when he saw a black shaft filled with holes rise in front of him. What was that?! Tentatively, he raised his arm again, and saw the porous stick return. He tried to bend his wrist, and the hoof-like appendage he saw obeyed his neural command. What the... "What the fuck happened to my arm?!" He put both on the wall, and found that apart from the formation of the pores, they were identical. Black chitin took the place of hair and skin. He felt around his naked body and saw the carapace extended all over him. What was worse, his body no longer had a humanoid shape. He turned around and stood up with his back to the wall and observed his body in the light. Black carapace, a blue shell on his back, tattered insectoid wings, and a short gray horse tail. He looked like a cross between a small horse, a hyena, and some kind of insect. He slowly raised his shaking hooves to his face and felt it. Tattered ears, round head with enormous eyes, a horn on his forehead, and a muzzle tipped with sharp bat fangs. He closed his eyes and hit the back of his head against the wall, trying to wake himself up, and was rewarded only with very real pain. Slowly sinking to the ground, the prisoner buried his face in his forelegs and fought the urge to sob. "This can't be real. It can't be. This is impossible. This. Is. Impossible!" He shouted the last word to no one in particular. He slapped himself in the face. Get a grip! There has to be an explanation to all this. Now let's see. I'm in a dungeon, my body is misshapen and mangled, and I don't hear anyone around. It's not a dream, because I never feel pain when I get hurt in a dream. I could be hallucinating. Maybe I was drugged, and that's why my body feels weird. That might explain why I can't remember my name, too. Then the hallucinations might be making my body look the way it feels. He looked down at himself again. And I look like something a dog chewed up and hacked on the floor. He got down on his hooves, finding it easier to stand on all fours. He tried to walk, and fell forward, smashing his face on the floor. "FUCK!" he screamed, grabbing his bleeding nose. He groaned and held it tight until the bleeding stopped, and then stood up and tried to walk again, managing not to injure himself once more. He clenched his eyes shut and winced. "Who am I? Who am I?" He continued to ask himself this question over and over, but an answer never came. But he didn't have time to think about that. Wherever he was, he was going to die one way or another if he didn't find a way out soon. He started to search his cell, inspecting the bars. They were rusted pretty badly, clearly a place that was seldom, if ever, used. But if he managed to get out, then what? He didn't know the layout of the place he was in; he could easily get lost or wander into a trap or an ambush. The insectoid turned and looked up at the window. He jumped and scrambled at the wall, trying to get up. An instinct took hold, and his hooves became sticky enough to grip the wall. He didn't allow himself time to contemplate these strange instincts, and climbed up so he was eye level with the small window. Outside looked like the side of a ravine with a river flowing through the bottom. Maybe he could escape through there. He put his forehoof on the bar and tried to figure out how to grip it. His sticky hooves didn't work well on the slick metal, so instead he wrapped his wrists around the bar and gave it a solid tug. The metal didn't budge. He tried another bar, and got the same result. The prisoner dropped to the ground and sat on his haunches. He sighed and looked around. The situation seemed hopeless. Shoot the lock, he thought to himself, then cocked his head. "Shoot the lock? Did I just think that?" He staggered over to the iron bars and looked at the rusted padlock on them. It looked extremely old, the kind that could easily be picked open with a paper clip or a hairpin, if he had fingers. "OK," he said to himself, "I can't shoot the lock if I have nothing to shoot it with. Oh, what the hell am I even talking about? I don't have fucking fingers!" He sighed and walked in a circle. "OK, ignoring my crazy voice thing, I'm going to calm down, and just do the rational thing anyone would do in this situation..." He promptly ran headfirst into the iron door and slammed into it as hard as he could. "LET ME OUT YOU FUCKERS! YOU CAN'T KEEP ME HERE FOR NO DAMN REASON! I KNOW MY RIGHTS!" He banged on the door several times and then fell backwards again, holding his sore head between his forelegs. Growling with feral rage, he stood up again and charged the door once again, but this time, instead of bouncing back, his body erupted into a green flame that pulled him forward and burned clean through the door. He then smacked against the stone wall and stuck to it for a moment before sliding off onto the ground. "OK," he wheezed, "What the hell did I just do?" The prisoner looked at the cell door. The tips of the bars where he'd burned through were still glowing red hot with little wisps of smoke rising off of them. He smirked to himself. "Well, beats shooting it." He got up and shook himself, then rolled his joints to loosen up and get a feel of his new body. It was hard to say if breaking out of the cell itself was the easy part or the hard part. Compared to figuring out a way to become human again, it was most likely the easy part. The hardest part was a near draw between finding someone who could cure his, as far as he could tell, mutation, and finding someone who would trust what looked like, from what he could make out in the dark, a bug monster. Carefully trotting down the dark, abandoned corridor, he navigated the maze of twists and turns until at long last, he found an exit. This door was wooden and moldy; it splintered easily against a single shoulder bash. Stepping out into the cool night air, he took a deep breath and looked around. The castle, if it could be called that, was just as ruined and worn down as the dungeon he woke up in, more so in some places. Entire sections of the walls had crumbled into rubble, and a hallway with shattered stained glass windows stood exposed to the elements where shredded curtains and tapestries waved slowly in the wind. One still intact window depicted a vicious-looking black alicorn clad in blue armor. Fragments of other images showed large-eyed equines in various styles, and crumbled statues lay in the shapes of different horse-like body parts. The prisoner snorted. "Whoever built this place really had a horse motif going on." He found more equine artwork around the ruins, even parts of a horse-shaped suit of tin armor. Curious, he picked up the parts and reassembled them. The completed suit wasn't big enough for a full-sized horse, and the proportions matched that of the ones in the pictures. It looked to be more the size of a mini pony, but with thicker legs and a much blunter face. "Am I even on Earth anymore?" the insectoid asked himself, "This just seems too... alien." He decided to accept the idea that this was all real, knowing that if it was, he couldn't afford to just sit and wait for whatever dream it may be to pass; he needed to prepare himself for whatever came if he wanted to survive. That meant trying to learn about his body, what he needed, and what the locals were like. He also needed to think up a name for himself, should he encounter anyone. While he probably looked frightening, it might be easier to communicate with others if he could at least give them a name and show he wasn't some mindless beast. Trotting around the dilapidated castle, he came to a fountain that still held clean water in it. The spout came from the wall and poured into a shallow pool on the floor, probably using a nearby river as a source. He stepped up to the water and looked at himself. His face was as black as the rest of his body, but his eyes were solid, icy blue without any whites or pupils in them. He squinted and flexed his eyelids, finding they still worked like they did before. His vision was normal too, so they weren't compound eyes, just solid and unreadable. He couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of him. It was shocking at first, but soon the idea of a black-suited Spiderman popped into his head, and the idea was too funny for him to just ignore. "Hmm," he pondered, "Venom? No, that would definitely scare people. What about just Dave? 'Hi, I'm a bug pony named Dave.' Yeah, freaking retarded." He sighed and took a drink, still going over name ideas. "Beetle Juice? Heh, heh, not likely." He looked at his legs. "Uh, Swiss Cheese? No, shouldn't do that. These legs could probably have some kind of condition." He tried to think back as far as he could. He could remember only bits and pieces of the human world he left behind, barely anything personal. The first moments he spent in this world, if it really wasn't Earth, were in an old dungeon, bound and imprisoned. Even though nobody was around to keep him prisoner, that was how he started. Chained, barred, shackled. The last word clicked in his head. Shackled? Another idea came to mind, and he said it aloud. "Shacklebolt." A grin slowly formed on his face. It sounded cool, it wasn't too scary, and it fit the situation. Having decided on an identity, Shacklebolt resumed his exploration. Now he was searching for food; he was starting to feel hungry, and wanted to make sure he had something on hand, or hoof, to eat. The warm air indicated it was still summer time, the same season it was his last night as a human, or so it felt. The events of that night were unclear, growing more and more fragmented towards the end. Shacklebolt silently prayed his amnesia was only temporary. The insectoid found a tree with very sweet-looking nectarines growing on it. A nectarine tree in the middle of a dark forest like this? It hardly seemed a suitable area for such fruit to thrive, but they did somehow. It just seemed so out of place near the crumbled walls of the castle. Shacklebolt decided to pick one of the succulent fruits and try one. It was as tender and juicy as he expected it, but something about it felt off. He swallowed, and he felt full, but he didn't feel satisfied. Finishing the entire thing, he still felt just as hungry as before, only now, he was a bit heavier. Fruit obviously wasn't his body's intended diet, so what was? "I can't stay here any longer," he told himself, "I need to find someone. Oh, God, I hope I don't have to drink blood." Shacklebolt wiped the juice off his face and threw the pit into the castle shrubbery. He looked at his wings and tried to feel them. They fluttered a bit on command, but upon trying to lift off, he accidentally shot himself forward and crashed into a wall. Deciding that was a stupid idea, he opted to practice running instead. He stumbled and fell a few times, but managed to get the hang of it without killing himself. "OK, status report," he said to himself as he ran, "My body has been mutated into a weird bug thing, I'm in a place that apparently worships horses, and I can't seem to stop being hungry after eating. In conclusion, I have no idea what the fuck is going on." Soon, he came to a ravine with a rickety wood and rope bridge connecting either side. The set up didn't look very good. On one hoof, he could trust the bridge and cross it, and on the other, he could trust his wings and fly over. Experience told him he shouldn't try to fly again until he was in a safe place, and ravines usually didn't prove to be very safe for practicing anything, except dying. He chose the bridge. Carefully placing a hoof on the first plank, Shacklebolt made sure his footing was sound before proceeding. The plank held, and he heaved a sigh of relief before continuing on. Shacklebolt didn't notice the worn-down rope at the end, and as soon as he reached the middle, the bridge snapped. The wood fell out from under his legs, and in his panic, he wasn't able to get his wings going again. Shacklebolt braced for impact, closing his eyes so he didn't have to see the rushing water racing up to meet him. Chapter 2-=Chapter 2=- Shacklebolt awoke with a start, jolting upright. He held his chest with a hoof and gasped, panting heavily. The insectoid had blacked out on impact, and didn't remember anything afterwards. Now, he was on a small bank with not but his own tracks beside him, indicating that he'd somehow dragged himself out of the water. "H-how did I get here?" Shacklebolt blinked and looked around. It was still dark out, and he was still in the forest. He couldn't see the castle anymore, only a foggy river surrounded by endless trees. He looked up at the clear night sky filled with twinkling stars marred only by a thin streaking cloud. "Wait a second..." He squinted and looked harder at the cloud. It was moving in an odd way. "That's no cloud. That's smoke!" He got up onto his hooves and shook himself dry. "And where there's smoke, there's fire. And where there's fire, there may be people!" With renewed hope, Shacklebolt began his trek towards the base of the flowing pillar. Several minutes later, Shacklebolt spotted a campfire in a small, bare glen. Around the fire were several tents and, seated on the dirt ground, were four short ponies that resembled the statues in the castle perfectly. Two of them were, as far as Shacklebolt was able to tell, normal ponies. Another one had a pair of wings on its back, and the last one had a spiral horn on its forehead. The four ponies were wearing clothing as well. Shacklebolt ducked behind a nearby tree for a better look. The two normal ponies and the pegasus were eating bowls of savory-smelling stew while the unicorn read a book and mumbled to himself. Upon closer inspection, the ponies' clothing appeared to be leather armor. The insectoid hid back under the foliage. "Those guys look like hunters. But that's stupid; why would ponies hunt? Maybe they're adventurers?" He looked back at the group and steeled his nerves. "It's talk to them, or keep wandering in these stupid woods." Taking a gulp and ignoring the weight of fear in his chest trying to hold him back, Shacklebolt stepped through the brush and addressed the ponies. "Um, excuse me, sirs? Y-you are sirs, right?" The four ponies' heads snapped up at the appearance of their new visitor. Their faces bore expressions of surprise at first before turning to heated aggression. Shacklebolt felt something intangible hit his face like a wave of heat passing just under his skin. A tingling, prickling sensation permeated his front, causing him to flinch in confusion. "It's a changeling!" the closer of the ponies said, "Grab him!" Shacklebolt stepped back. "A what? Wait, what are you--" Before he could react, the other normal pony was on his hooves and lunging forward. Without even thinking about it, Shacklebolt dodged his tackle. The pegasus was right after him, and tried to throw a punch with his forehoof. The insectoid blocked it with a flawless wax-off and countered with a reversal punch to the chest. Jumping back, Shacklebolt's logical side of his mind realized what just happened. "H-hey! Why did you just attack me? And..." He caught the second pony mid-buck and flipped him sideways. "...HOW THE FUCK DID I DO THAT?!" Another prickling sense in the back of his head warned him of a rear attack, and he bucked, striking the first pony in the face. He was about to turn around for a follow-up attack when his body froze in place, surrounded by a pale blue glow. "Can't you idiots even handle one little bug?" the unicorn scolded. His horn glowed with the same pale blue light as the one now holding Shacklebolt in place. Is this... magic? Shacklebolt rose into the air under the command of the unicorn's spell. "I have him," the unicorn said, "Get the ropes and tie him up good." One of the ponies chuckled darkly. "Hey, boys. Check out the hoof irons. I bet he broke out of some prison." The pony grinned sadistically. "This bug'll fetch us a nice bounty once we take him in." Shacklebolt gasped and squirmed, but could not free himself of the magic binding him. "Well, where'd you escape from?" the unicorn asked, "Tell us and we'll make this hurt as little as possible." Shacklebolt gulped and looked fearfully at his captors. He felt a strange warmth welling in his horn. "A-a castle, way over--" "Did he just say a castle?!" the pegasus yelped, "Guys, we just hit the jackpot!" "Hey!" the unicorn suddenly snapped at Shacklebolt, "What do you think you're doing?!" The so-called changeling was gritting his teeth and grunting as more energy collected in his horn. Suddenly, the blue aura around him turned green and moved all at once towards his head like a sheet being yanked off of him. It collected into a shining sphere that burned the tip of his horn. Unable to bear it any longer, Shacklebolt begged the burning to go away, and it complied immediately. The sphere stretched into a beam that struck the unicorn dead on and sent him reeling back. Shacklebolt dropped to the ground and grabbed his head. Get up. Run. The changeling obeyed and scrambled to his hooves, then turned tail and ran, the other ponies hot on his trail. He ducked and weaved between trees and under branches, running as haphazardly as he could to lose his persuers. When the sound of hoof falls behind him died down, he allowed himself a moment to rest, leaning back against a thick oak. For a few precious seconds, the only sound he heard was himself gasping for air after the hard run. He swallowed to wet his throat, and tried to calm himself down, but the adrenaline coursing through him left him shaking. A familiar prickling sensation ran up his back, and before he could react to it, a heavy weight fell on him from behind and pinned him down. A hoof pressed on each of his legs, and he felt the warm underbelly of a large mammal on his back holding him down. The pegasus from before panted and licked his lips. "Heh, you put up a good fight, you did," he said between breaths, "And here I thought your kind were supposed to be impossible to sneak up on." Shacklebolt tried to struggle, but could barely move. The pegasus noticed this and laughed. "Aww, what's the matter? Getting tired? Or maybe you're hungry." He leaned down and whispered into Shacklebolt's ear. "Why don't you just be a cute little mare for me, and I'll feed you some good love?" Shacklebolt gasped silently and tensed up when he felt something brushing his flanks. He wasn't going to wait to find out what it was. Mustering all his strength, he slipped his hind legs forward and lurched his back up, then got on all four hooves and threw the violating stallion off himself. He heard a rustle and a thud as the pegasus landed nearby, followed by a blood-curdling scream. "NOOOOO!" the pegasus screamed, "Get it off! Get it off me! HELP!" The winged equine flailed madly in the undergrowth and scrambled to get away from the blue flowers he was rolling in. Shacklebolt turned and climbed up the tree, then hid in its branches as he watched his enemy from above. The bandit leapt out from the flower patch and ran, screaming bloody murder. Shacklebolt looked at the flowers, and felt a sickness in him like he'd swallowed a stone. "Did I..." He bit his lip. "Did I just... kill him?" He sank down and clung to the branch he was on. "He wouldn't have screamed like that if those flowers weren't toxic. I... I can't believe I just did that..." It was you or him. "No. I could have just... I could have..." Shacklebolt couldn't think of an alternative. As much as he wanted to think there was a better way, he couldn't deny that his actions were in self defense. He'd have just caught you again if you didn't stop him. Shacklebolt lowered his head and sighed. "Yeah..." He looked up at the stars, which showed no sign of movement all night. "That felt longer than it was. I need to get out of these woods." Cllimbing higher to get a better look, Shacklebolt surveyed the top of the forest. The trees surrounding him seemed to go on forever. Turning around, he saw a cluster of large shapes with small, yellow-orange lights dotting them. A town. Shacklebolt dropped from his branch, facing the signs of civilization he saw. His adrenaline began to die down, and rational thought caught up with him. He reflected on his earlier encounter with the ponies, and noticed something off about it. "Where did I learn to fight like that?" He looked at his chitin-coated hoof. "Am I a soldier? Maybe CIA?" He shook his head. Now was not the time for those questions. Looking back once more for any signs of followers, he didn't pick up on anything. Sighing, he began his run forward, occassionally looking up at the angle of the stars to make sure he kept his heading. His mode of navigation was soon taken from him as clouds began to roll over the sky. Lightning flashed overhead, followed by deep, rolling thunder. In moments, it began to rain. "Well, shit," the changeling said to himself, "If it isn't starvation or insane ponies, it's the fucking cold that's gonna kill me." Reaching the edge of the forest, Shacklebolt stopped dead in his tracks. He looked at the small village and fear grasped his stomach. If this place was filled with ponies too, and the ponies saw him as a monster if his previous encounter was any indication, then by going in there, he would either be captured, or run out, or even killed. And you think the wilderness will be any more hospitable? The insectoid shivered and shook the rain off himself, only to be immediately soaked again by the continuing downpour. Fear still gripped him, and he wanted to turn back and run to the castle he started in. Biting his lip, he came to a comprimise. "I'll just try to talk to someone. Maybe I can convince them I'm not an evil... what did that guy call me? Changeling? If they attack, I'll run back to the castle and try to survive on my own. If not, maybe they can help me." He looked at himself, then back at the town. "Someone's gotta believe I'm not a monster... I hope." Fatigue was bearing down on him now. He had to find shelter before the cold got to him as well. Running along the outskirts of town, Shacklebolt tried to decide which would be the best place to ask for help. If he was attacked, he preferred to be somewhere he could easily escape from, and go back into the forest. A small farm house near the edge of town came into view. Again, the fear came full force, making him step back as he approached the door. A creature such as him appearing in the middle of a stormy night would not be taken well, but he still couldn't stay out here. Grunting and berating himself for his cowardice, he turned and left, going instead to the large barn next to them. At least this way, he was guarenteed shelter for the night; they could chase him out in the morning, if they so chose. The changeling crawled into the corner and built himself a nest of hay, then curled up in it and layed his head on his forelegs. Sleep came swiftly for him as even the sounds of the storm were drowned out by the void. Chapter 3-=Chapter 3=- A rooster crowed loudly, signaling the beginning of the sun's voyage across the sky. The smell of dew-soaked apples permeated the old wooden walls and mixed in with the scent of dried hay as small shafts of light flowed in through the tiny cracks in the roof. Shacklebolt groaned and rolled over, scratching his belly. "Ugh, shut up, stupid rooster." His eyes shot open. "Rooster?" He jumped up and got to his hooves, his gaze darting around the barn he'd slept in, and then over his body. He sighed and hung his head. "Fuck, it wasn't a dream after all." He gripped his stomach, which was now hurting with hunger. Looking around, he was ready to try eating anything at this point, and started by grabbing a mouthful of hay and chomping down on it. What are you doing? That's not food. "Oh, you're back," the changeling said to himself, "What do you know about food?" The voice remained silent. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't even discern what the voice really sounded like. He could only describe it as the voice one would hear in their head when reading a book; his own voice, yet hit had the annoying undertone of a backseat driver. Shacklebolt ignored it and kept chewing the hay. It tasted dry and grassy, and he had a hard time getting himself to swallow it. The feeling it left him with was the same as before, full of... something, but nothing satisfying. Frowning, he sat down and tried to think. His memories only went back as far as when he woke up in that castle, yet images of his own world remained, yet unlinked to any past experience. He remembered getting acquainted with his new body, tall into the river, and his unfortunate first encounter with this world's inhabitants: the bug-eyed ponies. "If they reacted that way to me, then how would commoners react?" Shacklebolt wondered, "And that unicorn, ugh, I can't believe I'm calling someone that... but, he used magic. I thought magic wasn't real!" He held his head and pressed into his temples, fighting back the headache that was forming. "And how the hell did I use magic back?" He was torn from his thoughts by a voice from outside. "The hammer's in here, AJ. Ah'll git it fer ya." Shacklebolt gasped and ducked behind the hay stack, watching cautiously as the barn door slowly creaked open. His chest heaved as panicked breaths pumped through his lungs. Open your mouth. The changeling found this to be an odd command from his inner voice, but complied nonetheless; it had been right before. As he did, he found the whooshing noise of air going through his mouth was quieter than before. As the door opened enough to admit the newcomer, a shadow stretched across the floor of the barn. The morning light made the owner of this shadow seem much taller than they really were; the pony that opened the door was just a tiny filly with a large bow in her hair. Damn it, Shacklebolt thought, I was right. More ponies. He ducked back a bit further, making sure he couldn't be seen. His black chitin blended in well with the darker area in back of the barn, but he didn't want to risk his solid eyes casting a glimmer. The small foal paced around the barn for a moment, then climbed up onto a bucket and grabbed a hammer that was hanging up, holding it in her mouth. She stepped down, nodded to herself, and then scampered out, kicking the door shut as she went. Shacklebolt heaved a sigh of relief. "That was close. Too close. I need to get out of here." His belly growled, demanding something other than hay to fill it. The changeling licked his fangs and felt the tips of them. "I really, really hope I don't have to drink blood." He waited for a minute to make sure the coast was clear, then climbed out and looked up. There was a loft above him, and if he was lucky, the window up top would allow him to escape in a direction where the ponies wouldn't see him, at least not in time to catch him. The changeling coiled his legs and jumped, trying to use his wings to gain height. He still hadn't figured out how to control them, and ended up faceplanting backwards. He growled and stood up, shook himself off, and tried to jump again. This time, he managed to grab the edge of the loft and started to pull himself up. He grunted and used his sticky hooves to keep a grip on the wooden planks, slowly but surely winning the fight against gravity. That was, until the door started to open. "See ya this afternoon, Applejack!" the foal from before said as she stepped into the barn. Shacklebolt froze and looked down at the filly who hadn't yet noticed him. He reached forward to grab further up, but his hoof landed on a patch of straw, and when he tried to pull, he lost his grip and went tumbling down. The changeling landed with a loud crash, knocking over hanging equipment as he fell. The small pony jumped back with a yelp, then grabbed her hammer and held it between her forehooves, standing on her hind legs. "Who's there? Ah got a hammer, an' Ah know how t' use it!" Shacklebolt groaned and got up to his hooves, then gasped and jumped back. "W-whoa! Hold up! Put that down!" The foal squeaked and reeled back. "A changeling! Stay away!" The changeling winced as a new sensation hit him, coming with a sharp and unpleasant smell. I'm starting to hate that word. "Hold on, now. I'm not gonna--SHIT!" He dodged the hammer spinning through the air towards his head, only to crash into a support beam. The force of the impact sent a rippling shock up the beam, causing bits of wood and dust to fall from the roof, followed by a low creaking noise that steadily increased in volume. Shacklebolt rubbed his head then gasped and looked up, realizing what that sound meant. "Get down!" He lunged forward and pinned the small filly, covering her with his body as the beam buckled and the roof began to collapse. "Stay under me!" Shacklebolt tried to yell over the sound of the structure collapsing around them, weathering chunks of wood and debris falling diwn on him from above and glancing off his hardened chitin. He grunted and struggled to keep himself up as larger chunks fell down on top of him, soon burying him and the foal underneath. "See ya this afternoon, Applejack!" Applebloom called to her sister. Applejack looked back at the little foal and smiled. "See ya later, AB! Don't stay out crusadin' fer too long!" She watched her sister trot towards the barn to return the hammer she'd used to repair the apple cart minutes before. She turned pull her full cart towards town when her ear flicked back at the sound of a loud cracking noise. Applejack turned her head around towards the barn and looked on for a moment. "It's probably noth--" She stopped as she saw the roof of the barn suddenly begin to cave in, followed by the walls. She gaped and stood frozen, unable to believe what she was seeing. Snapping out of her stupor, she kicked the harness off her back and broke into a full gallop. "Big Maaaac! Git out here, quick!" The red stallion was already drawn out by the noise, and was by his sister's side in seconds. Both ponies began sifting through the wreckage, shouting for Applebloom. "AJ?" a small, scared voice said under the rubble. "Mac! Over here!" The ponies focused their efforts where they heard their sister. Both of them stopped and gasped when they found her in a small pocket under some planks where something was still holding up part of the weight. "Applebloom!" Applejack wrapped her forelegs around her sister and held onto her for dear life. "What happened!" The trembling filly didn't say anything; she just pointed her hoof into the ruined barn. Big Macintosh curiously lifted some of the wood, then stepped back. All three ponies stared wordlessly at the unconscious changeling.
Chapter 1Reshackled DISCLAIMER: This is a non-profit work of fan fiction. My Little Pony © Hasbro. -=Chapter 1=- Drip. Drip.. Drip... Small drops of cold water slid along the stone ceiling of a dark, damp dungeon that had not been used in years. Rats, insects and the forces of nature had taken their toll on the long forgotten dungeon. That part of its status had recently changed, however, when it was charged with the detention of its first prisoner since its abandonment. The sole captive stirred ever so slightly, noticing first the cold hard surface he was laid out on, followed by the smell of earth and mold. Groaning softly, he shifted around and put a hand on his forehead. Something felt wrong, very wrong. He realized he didn't know where he was or how he got there, and there was barely enough light to see the wall next to the window where faint beams of moon light flowed in. But the thing that alarmed him the most was how his body felt when he touched his head; his head felt hard and bald, and he could only feel it with his palm, not his fingers. He rolled his hand against his cheek, only to find it wasn't a hand at all. All he found was a stump. The prisoner's heart raced as questions filled his mind. Where am I? Why don't I have fingers? What's going on?! His mind tried to pull up the events of the night before, but he drew a blank. What did I do? Wait... What's... what's my name? Why can't I remember my name?! He tried to stand up, only to fall backwards. Something was wrong with his legs too. And there was a new pain on his back, like he landed on something that shouldn't be there. Panicking, he crawled towards the lit wall on his belly, which made a light scraping noise. The chains attached to his legs scraped and clinked on the ground behind him. He raised his arm to the light, then retreated when he saw a black shaft filled with holes rise in front of him. What was that?! Tentatively, he raised his arm again, and saw the porous stick return. He tried to bend his wrist, and the hoof-like appendage he saw obeyed his neural command. What the... "What the fuck happened to my arm?!" He put both on the wall, and found that apart from the formation of the pores, they were identical. Black chitin took the place of hair and skin. He felt around his naked body and saw the carapace extended all over him. What was worse, his body no longer had a humanoid shape. He turned around and stood up with his back to the wall and observed his body in the light. Black carapace, a blue shell on his back, tattered insectoid wings, and a short gray horse tail. He looked like a cross between a small horse, a hyena, and some kind of insect. He slowly raised his shaking hooves to his face and felt it. Tattered ears, round head with enormous eyes, a horn on his forehead, and a muzzle tipped with sharp bat fangs. He closed his eyes and hit the back of his head against the wall, trying to wake himself up, and was rewarded only with very real pain. Slowly sinking to the ground, the prisoner buried his face in his forelegs and fought the urge to sob. "This can't be real. It can't be. This is impossible. This. Is. Impossible!" He shouted the last word to no one in particular. He slapped himself in the face. Get a grip! There has to be an explanation to all this. Now let's see. I'm in a dungeon, my body is misshapen and mangled, and I don't hear anyone around. It's not a dream, because I never feel pain when I get hurt in a dream. I could be hallucinating. Maybe I was drugged, and that's why my body feels weird. That might explain why I can't remember my name, too. Then the hallucinations might be making my body look the way it feels. He looked down at himself again. And I look like something a dog chewed up and hacked on the floor. He got down on his hooves, finding it easier to stand on all fours. He tried to walk, and fell forward, smashing his face on the floor. "FUCK!" he screamed, grabbing his bleeding nose. He groaned and held it tight until the bleeding stopped, and then stood up and tried to walk again, managing not to injure himself once more. He clenched his eyes shut and winced. "Who am I? Who am I?" He continued to ask himself this question over and over, but an answer never came. But he didn't have time to think about that. Wherever he was, he was going to die one way or another if he didn't find a way out soon. He started to search his cell, inspecting the bars. They were rusted pretty badly, clearly a place that was seldom, if ever, used. But if he managed to get out, then what? He didn't know the layout of the place he was in; he could easily get lost or wander into a trap or an ambush. The insectoid turned and looked up at the window. He jumped and scrambled at the wall, trying to get up. An instinct took hold, and his hooves became sticky enough to grip the wall. He didn't allow himself time to contemplate these strange instincts, and climbed up so he was eye level with the small window. Outside looked like the side of a ravine with a river flowing through the bottom. Maybe he could escape through there. He put his forehoof on the bar and tried to figure out how to grip it. His sticky hooves didn't work well on the slick metal, so instead he wrapped his wrists around the bar and gave it a solid tug. The metal didn't budge. He tried another bar, and got the same result. The prisoner dropped to the ground and sat on his haunches. He sighed and looked around. The situation seemed hopeless. Shoot the lock, he thought to himself, then cocked his head. "Shoot the lock? Did I just think that?" He staggered over to the iron bars and looked at the rusted padlock on them. It looked extremely old, the kind that could easily be picked open with a paper clip or a hairpin, if he had fingers. "OK," he said to himself, "I can't shoot the lock if I have nothing to shoot it with. Oh, what the hell am I even talking about? I don't have fucking fingers!" He sighed and walked in a circle. "OK, ignoring my crazy voice thing, I'm going to calm down, and just do the rational thing anyone would do in this situation..." He promptly ran headfirst into the iron door and slammed into it as hard as he could. "LET ME OUT YOU FUCKERS! YOU CAN'T KEEP ME HERE FOR NO DAMN REASON! I KNOW MY RIGHTS!" He banged on the door several times and then fell backwards again, holding his sore head between his forelegs. Growling with feral rage, he stood up again and charged the door once again, but this time, instead of bouncing back, his body erupted into a green flame that pulled him forward and burned clean through the door. He then smacked against the stone wall and stuck to it for a moment before sliding off onto the ground. "OK," he wheezed, "What the hell did I just do?" The prisoner looked at the cell door. The tips of the bars where he'd burned through were still glowing red hot with little wisps of smoke rising off of them. He smirked to himself. "Well, beats shooting it." He got up and shook himself, then rolled his joints to loosen up and get a feel of his new body. It was hard to say if breaking out of the cell itself was the easy part or the hard part. Compared to figuring out a way to become human again, it was most likely the easy part. The hardest part was a near draw between finding someone who could cure his, as far as he could tell, mutation, and finding someone who would trust what looked like, from what he could make out in the dark, a bug monster. Carefully trotting down the dark, abandoned corridor, he navigated the maze of twists and turns until at long last, he found an exit. This door was wooden and moldy; it splintered easily against a single shoulder bash. Stepping out into the cool night air, he took a deep breath and looked around. The castle, if it could be called that, was just as ruined and worn down as the dungeon he woke up in, more so in some places. Entire sections of the walls had crumbled into rubble, and a hallway with shattered stained glass windows stood exposed to the elements where shredded curtains and tapestries waved slowly in the wind. One still intact window depicted a vicious-looking black alicorn clad in blue armor. Fragments of other images showed large-eyed equines in various styles, and crumbled statues lay in the shapes of different horse-like body parts. The prisoner snorted. "Whoever built this place really had a horse motif going on." He found more equine artwork around the ruins, even parts of a horse-shaped suit of tin armor. Curious, he picked up the parts and reassembled them. The completed suit wasn't big enough for a full-sized horse, and the proportions matched that of the ones in the pictures. It looked to be more the size of a mini pony, but with thicker legs and a much blunter face. "Am I even on Earth anymore?" the insectoid asked himself, "This just seems too... alien." He decided to accept the idea that this was all real, knowing that if it was, he couldn't afford to just sit and wait for whatever dream it may be to pass; he needed to prepare himself for whatever came if he wanted to survive. That meant trying to learn about his body, what he needed, and what the locals were like. He also needed to think up a name for himself, should he encounter anyone. While he probably looked frightening, it might be easier to communicate with others if he could at least give them a name and show he wasn't some mindless beast. Trotting around the dilapidated castle, he came to a fountain that still held clean water in it. The spout came from the wall and poured into a shallow pool on the floor, probably using a nearby river as a source. He stepped up to the water and looked at himself. His face was as black as the rest of his body, but his eyes were solid, icy blue without any whites or pupils in them. He squinted and flexed his eyelids, finding they still worked like they did before. His vision was normal too, so they weren't compound eyes, just solid and unreadable. He couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of him. It was shocking at first, but soon the idea of a black-suited Spiderman popped into his head, and the idea was too funny for him to just ignore. "Hmm," he pondered, "Venom? No, that would definitely scare people. What about just Dave? 'Hi, I'm a bug pony named Dave.' Yeah, freaking retarded." He sighed and took a drink, still going over name ideas. "Beetle Juice? Heh, heh, not likely." He looked at his legs. "Uh, Swiss Cheese? No, shouldn't do that. These legs could probably have some kind of condition." He tried to think back as far as he could. He could remember only bits and pieces of the human world he left behind, barely anything personal. The first moments he spent in this world, if it really wasn't Earth, were in an old dungeon, bound and imprisoned. Even though nobody was around to keep him prisoner, that was how he started. Chained, barred, shackled. The last word clicked in his head. Shackled? Another idea came to mind, and he said it aloud. "Shacklebolt." A grin slowly formed on his face. It sounded cool, it wasn't too scary, and it fit the situation. Having decided on an identity, Shacklebolt resumed his exploration. Now he was searching for food; he was starting to feel hungry, and wanted to make sure he had something on hand, or hoof, to eat. The warm air indicated it was still summer time, the same season it was his last night as a human, or so it felt. The events of that night were unclear, growing more and more fragmented towards the end. Shacklebolt silently prayed his amnesia was only temporary. The insectoid found a tree with very sweet-looking nectarines growing on it. A nectarine tree in the middle of a dark forest like this? It hardly seemed a suitable area for such fruit to thrive, but they did somehow. It just seemed so out of place near the crumbled walls of the castle. Shacklebolt decided to pick one of the succulent fruits and try one. It was as tender and juicy as he expected it, but something about it felt off. He swallowed, and he felt full, but he didn't feel satisfied. Finishing the entire thing, he still felt just as hungry as before, only now, he was a bit heavier. Fruit obviously wasn't his body's intended diet, so what was? "I can't stay here any longer," he told himself, "I need to find someone. Oh, God, I hope I don't have to drink blood." Shacklebolt wiped the juice off his face and threw the pit into the castle shrubbery. He looked at his wings and tried to feel them. They fluttered a bit on command, but upon trying to lift off, he accidentally shot himself forward and crashed into a wall. Deciding that was a stupid idea, he opted to practice running instead. He stumbled and fell a few times, but managed to get the hang of it without killing himself. "OK, status report," he said to himself as he ran, "My body has been mutated into a weird bug thing, I'm in a place that apparently worships horses, and I can't seem to stop being hungry after eating. In conclusion, I have no idea what the fuck is going on." Soon, he came to a ravine with a rickety wood and rope bridge connecting either side. The set up didn't look very good. On one hoof, he could trust the bridge and cross it, and on the other, he could trust his wings and fly over. Experience told him he shouldn't try to fly again until he was in a safe place, and ravines usually didn't prove to be very safe for practicing anything, except dying. He chose the bridge. Carefully placing a hoof on the first plank, Shacklebolt made sure his footing was sound before proceeding. The plank held, and he heaved a sigh of relief before continuing on. Shacklebolt didn't notice the worn-down rope at the end, and as soon as he reached the middle, the bridge snapped. The wood fell out from under his legs, and in his panic, he wasn't able to get his wings going again. Shacklebolt braced for impact, closing his eyes so he didn't have to see the rushing water racing up to meet him.
Chapter 2-=Chapter 2=- Shacklebolt awoke with a start, jolting upright. He held his chest with a hoof and gasped, panting heavily. The insectoid had blacked out on impact, and didn't remember anything afterwards. Now, he was on a small bank with not but his own tracks beside him, indicating that he'd somehow dragged himself out of the water. "H-how did I get here?" Shacklebolt blinked and looked around. It was still dark out, and he was still in the forest. He couldn't see the castle anymore, only a foggy river surrounded by endless trees. He looked up at the clear night sky filled with twinkling stars marred only by a thin streaking cloud. "Wait a second..." He squinted and looked harder at the cloud. It was moving in an odd way. "That's no cloud. That's smoke!" He got up onto his hooves and shook himself dry. "And where there's smoke, there's fire. And where there's fire, there may be people!" With renewed hope, Shacklebolt began his trek towards the base of the flowing pillar. Several minutes later, Shacklebolt spotted a campfire in a small, bare glen. Around the fire were several tents and, seated on the dirt ground, were four short ponies that resembled the statues in the castle perfectly. Two of them were, as far as Shacklebolt was able to tell, normal ponies. Another one had a pair of wings on its back, and the last one had a spiral horn on its forehead. The four ponies were wearing clothing as well. Shacklebolt ducked behind a nearby tree for a better look. The two normal ponies and the pegasus were eating bowls of savory-smelling stew while the unicorn read a book and mumbled to himself. Upon closer inspection, the ponies' clothing appeared to be leather armor. The insectoid hid back under the foliage. "Those guys look like hunters. But that's stupid; why would ponies hunt? Maybe they're adventurers?" He looked back at the group and steeled his nerves. "It's talk to them, or keep wandering in these stupid woods." Taking a gulp and ignoring the weight of fear in his chest trying to hold him back, Shacklebolt stepped through the brush and addressed the ponies. "Um, excuse me, sirs? Y-you are sirs, right?" The four ponies' heads snapped up at the appearance of their new visitor. Their faces bore expressions of surprise at first before turning to heated aggression. Shacklebolt felt something intangible hit his face like a wave of heat passing just under his skin. A tingling, prickling sensation permeated his front, causing him to flinch in confusion. "It's a changeling!" the closer of the ponies said, "Grab him!" Shacklebolt stepped back. "A what? Wait, what are you--" Before he could react, the other normal pony was on his hooves and lunging forward. Without even thinking about it, Shacklebolt dodged his tackle. The pegasus was right after him, and tried to throw a punch with his forehoof. The insectoid blocked it with a flawless wax-off and countered with a reversal punch to the chest. Jumping back, Shacklebolt's logical side of his mind realized what just happened. "H-hey! Why did you just attack me? And..." He caught the second pony mid-buck and flipped him sideways. "...HOW THE FUCK DID I DO THAT?!" Another prickling sense in the back of his head warned him of a rear attack, and he bucked, striking the first pony in the face. He was about to turn around for a follow-up attack when his body froze in place, surrounded by a pale blue glow. "Can't you idiots even handle one little bug?" the unicorn scolded. His horn glowed with the same pale blue light as the one now holding Shacklebolt in place. Is this... magic? Shacklebolt rose into the air under the command of the unicorn's spell. "I have him," the unicorn said, "Get the ropes and tie him up good." One of the ponies chuckled darkly. "Hey, boys. Check out the hoof irons. I bet he broke out of some prison." The pony grinned sadistically. "This bug'll fetch us a nice bounty once we take him in." Shacklebolt gasped and squirmed, but could not free himself of the magic binding him. "Well, where'd you escape from?" the unicorn asked, "Tell us and we'll make this hurt as little as possible." Shacklebolt gulped and looked fearfully at his captors. He felt a strange warmth welling in his horn. "A-a castle, way over--" "Did he just say a castle?!" the pegasus yelped, "Guys, we just hit the jackpot!" "Hey!" the unicorn suddenly snapped at Shacklebolt, "What do you think you're doing?!" The so-called changeling was gritting his teeth and grunting as more energy collected in his horn. Suddenly, the blue aura around him turned green and moved all at once towards his head like a sheet being yanked off of him. It collected into a shining sphere that burned the tip of his horn. Unable to bear it any longer, Shacklebolt begged the burning to go away, and it complied immediately. The sphere stretched into a beam that struck the unicorn dead on and sent him reeling back. Shacklebolt dropped to the ground and grabbed his head. Get up. Run. The changeling obeyed and scrambled to his hooves, then turned tail and ran, the other ponies hot on his trail. He ducked and weaved between trees and under branches, running as haphazardly as he could to lose his persuers. When the sound of hoof falls behind him died down, he allowed himself a moment to rest, leaning back against a thick oak. For a few precious seconds, the only sound he heard was himself gasping for air after the hard run. He swallowed to wet his throat, and tried to calm himself down, but the adrenaline coursing through him left him shaking. A familiar prickling sensation ran up his back, and before he could react to it, a heavy weight fell on him from behind and pinned him down. A hoof pressed on each of his legs, and he felt the warm underbelly of a large mammal on his back holding him down. The pegasus from before panted and licked his lips. "Heh, you put up a good fight, you did," he said between breaths, "And here I thought your kind were supposed to be impossible to sneak up on." Shacklebolt tried to struggle, but could barely move. The pegasus noticed this and laughed. "Aww, what's the matter? Getting tired? Or maybe you're hungry." He leaned down and whispered into Shacklebolt's ear. "Why don't you just be a cute little mare for me, and I'll feed you some good love?" Shacklebolt gasped silently and tensed up when he felt something brushing his flanks. He wasn't going to wait to find out what it was. Mustering all his strength, he slipped his hind legs forward and lurched his back up, then got on all four hooves and threw the violating stallion off himself. He heard a rustle and a thud as the pegasus landed nearby, followed by a blood-curdling scream. "NOOOOO!" the pegasus screamed, "Get it off! Get it off me! HELP!" The winged equine flailed madly in the undergrowth and scrambled to get away from the blue flowers he was rolling in. Shacklebolt turned and climbed up the tree, then hid in its branches as he watched his enemy from above. The bandit leapt out from the flower patch and ran, screaming bloody murder. Shacklebolt looked at the flowers, and felt a sickness in him like he'd swallowed a stone. "Did I..." He bit his lip. "Did I just... kill him?" He sank down and clung to the branch he was on. "He wouldn't have screamed like that if those flowers weren't toxic. I... I can't believe I just did that..." It was you or him. "No. I could have just... I could have..." Shacklebolt couldn't think of an alternative. As much as he wanted to think there was a better way, he couldn't deny that his actions were in self defense. He'd have just caught you again if you didn't stop him. Shacklebolt lowered his head and sighed. "Yeah..." He looked up at the stars, which showed no sign of movement all night. "That felt longer than it was. I need to get out of these woods." Cllimbing higher to get a better look, Shacklebolt surveyed the top of the forest. The trees surrounding him seemed to go on forever. Turning around, he saw a cluster of large shapes with small, yellow-orange lights dotting them. A town. Shacklebolt dropped from his branch, facing the signs of civilization he saw. His adrenaline began to die down, and rational thought caught up with him. He reflected on his earlier encounter with the ponies, and noticed something off about it. "Where did I learn to fight like that?" He looked at his chitin-coated hoof. "Am I a soldier? Maybe CIA?" He shook his head. Now was not the time for those questions. Looking back once more for any signs of followers, he didn't pick up on anything. Sighing, he began his run forward, occassionally looking up at the angle of the stars to make sure he kept his heading. His mode of navigation was soon taken from him as clouds began to roll over the sky. Lightning flashed overhead, followed by deep, rolling thunder. In moments, it began to rain. "Well, shit," the changeling said to himself, "If it isn't starvation or insane ponies, it's the fucking cold that's gonna kill me." Reaching the edge of the forest, Shacklebolt stopped dead in his tracks. He looked at the small village and fear grasped his stomach. If this place was filled with ponies too, and the ponies saw him as a monster if his previous encounter was any indication, then by going in there, he would either be captured, or run out, or even killed. And you think the wilderness will be any more hospitable? The insectoid shivered and shook the rain off himself, only to be immediately soaked again by the continuing downpour. Fear still gripped him, and he wanted to turn back and run to the castle he started in. Biting his lip, he came to a comprimise. "I'll just try to talk to someone. Maybe I can convince them I'm not an evil... what did that guy call me? Changeling? If they attack, I'll run back to the castle and try to survive on my own. If not, maybe they can help me." He looked at himself, then back at the town. "Someone's gotta believe I'm not a monster... I hope." Fatigue was bearing down on him now. He had to find shelter before the cold got to him as well. Running along the outskirts of town, Shacklebolt tried to decide which would be the best place to ask for help. If he was attacked, he preferred to be somewhere he could easily escape from, and go back into the forest. A small farm house near the edge of town came into view. Again, the fear came full force, making him step back as he approached the door. A creature such as him appearing in the middle of a stormy night would not be taken well, but he still couldn't stay out here. Grunting and berating himself for his cowardice, he turned and left, going instead to the large barn next to them. At least this way, he was guarenteed shelter for the night; they could chase him out in the morning, if they so chose. The changeling crawled into the corner and built himself a nest of hay, then curled up in it and layed his head on his forelegs. Sleep came swiftly for him as even the sounds of the storm were drowned out by the void.
Chapter 3-=Chapter 3=- A rooster crowed loudly, signaling the beginning of the sun's voyage across the sky. The smell of dew-soaked apples permeated the old wooden walls and mixed in with the scent of dried hay as small shafts of light flowed in through the tiny cracks in the roof. Shacklebolt groaned and rolled over, scratching his belly. "Ugh, shut up, stupid rooster." His eyes shot open. "Rooster?" He jumped up and got to his hooves, his gaze darting around the barn he'd slept in, and then over his body. He sighed and hung his head. "Fuck, it wasn't a dream after all." He gripped his stomach, which was now hurting with hunger. Looking around, he was ready to try eating anything at this point, and started by grabbing a mouthful of hay and chomping down on it. What are you doing? That's not food. "Oh, you're back," the changeling said to himself, "What do you know about food?" The voice remained silent. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't even discern what the voice really sounded like. He could only describe it as the voice one would hear in their head when reading a book; his own voice, yet hit had the annoying undertone of a backseat driver. Shacklebolt ignored it and kept chewing the hay. It tasted dry and grassy, and he had a hard time getting himself to swallow it. The feeling it left him with was the same as before, full of... something, but nothing satisfying. Frowning, he sat down and tried to think. His memories only went back as far as when he woke up in that castle, yet images of his own world remained, yet unlinked to any past experience. He remembered getting acquainted with his new body, tall into the river, and his unfortunate first encounter with this world's inhabitants: the bug-eyed ponies. "If they reacted that way to me, then how would commoners react?" Shacklebolt wondered, "And that unicorn, ugh, I can't believe I'm calling someone that... but, he used magic. I thought magic wasn't real!" He held his head and pressed into his temples, fighting back the headache that was forming. "And how the hell did I use magic back?" He was torn from his thoughts by a voice from outside. "The hammer's in here, AJ. Ah'll git it fer ya." Shacklebolt gasped and ducked behind the hay stack, watching cautiously as the barn door slowly creaked open. His chest heaved as panicked breaths pumped through his lungs. Open your mouth. The changeling found this to be an odd command from his inner voice, but complied nonetheless; it had been right before. As he did, he found the whooshing noise of air going through his mouth was quieter than before. As the door opened enough to admit the newcomer, a shadow stretched across the floor of the barn. The morning light made the owner of this shadow seem much taller than they really were; the pony that opened the door was just a tiny filly with a large bow in her hair. Damn it, Shacklebolt thought, I was right. More ponies. He ducked back a bit further, making sure he couldn't be seen. His black chitin blended in well with the darker area in back of the barn, but he didn't want to risk his solid eyes casting a glimmer. The small foal paced around the barn for a moment, then climbed up onto a bucket and grabbed a hammer that was hanging up, holding it in her mouth. She stepped down, nodded to herself, and then scampered out, kicking the door shut as she went. Shacklebolt heaved a sigh of relief. "That was close. Too close. I need to get out of here." His belly growled, demanding something other than hay to fill it. The changeling licked his fangs and felt the tips of them. "I really, really hope I don't have to drink blood." He waited for a minute to make sure the coast was clear, then climbed out and looked up. There was a loft above him, and if he was lucky, the window up top would allow him to escape in a direction where the ponies wouldn't see him, at least not in time to catch him. The changeling coiled his legs and jumped, trying to use his wings to gain height. He still hadn't figured out how to control them, and ended up faceplanting backwards. He growled and stood up, shook himself off, and tried to jump again. This time, he managed to grab the edge of the loft and started to pull himself up. He grunted and used his sticky hooves to keep a grip on the wooden planks, slowly but surely winning the fight against gravity. That was, until the door started to open. "See ya this afternoon, Applejack!" the foal from before said as she stepped into the barn. Shacklebolt froze and looked down at the filly who hadn't yet noticed him. He reached forward to grab further up, but his hoof landed on a patch of straw, and when he tried to pull, he lost his grip and went tumbling down. The changeling landed with a loud crash, knocking over hanging equipment as he fell. The small pony jumped back with a yelp, then grabbed her hammer and held it between her forehooves, standing on her hind legs. "Who's there? Ah got a hammer, an' Ah know how t' use it!" Shacklebolt groaned and got up to his hooves, then gasped and jumped back. "W-whoa! Hold up! Put that down!" The foal squeaked and reeled back. "A changeling! Stay away!" The changeling winced as a new sensation hit him, coming with a sharp and unpleasant smell. I'm starting to hate that word. "Hold on, now. I'm not gonna--SHIT!" He dodged the hammer spinning through the air towards his head, only to crash into a support beam. The force of the impact sent a rippling shock up the beam, causing bits of wood and dust to fall from the roof, followed by a low creaking noise that steadily increased in volume. Shacklebolt rubbed his head then gasped and looked up, realizing what that sound meant. "Get down!" He lunged forward and pinned the small filly, covering her with his body as the beam buckled and the roof began to collapse. "Stay under me!" Shacklebolt tried to yell over the sound of the structure collapsing around them, weathering chunks of wood and debris falling diwn on him from above and glancing off his hardened chitin. He grunted and struggled to keep himself up as larger chunks fell down on top of him, soon burying him and the foal underneath. "See ya this afternoon, Applejack!" Applebloom called to her sister. Applejack looked back at the little foal and smiled. "See ya later, AB! Don't stay out crusadin' fer too long!" She watched her sister trot towards the barn to return the hammer she'd used to repair the apple cart minutes before. She turned pull her full cart towards town when her ear flicked back at the sound of a loud cracking noise. Applejack turned her head around towards the barn and looked on for a moment. "It's probably noth--" She stopped as she saw the roof of the barn suddenly begin to cave in, followed by the walls. She gaped and stood frozen, unable to believe what she was seeing. Snapping out of her stupor, she kicked the harness off her back and broke into a full gallop. "Big Maaaac! Git out here, quick!" The red stallion was already drawn out by the noise, and was by his sister's side in seconds. Both ponies began sifting through the wreckage, shouting for Applebloom. "AJ?" a small, scared voice said under the rubble. "Mac! Over here!" The ponies focused their efforts where they heard their sister. Both of them stopped and gasped when they found her in a small pocket under some planks where something was still holding up part of the weight. "Applebloom!" Applejack wrapped her forelegs around her sister and held onto her for dear life. "What happened!" The trembling filly didn't say anything; she just pointed her hoof into the ruined barn. Big Macintosh curiously lifted some of the wood, then stepped back. All three ponies stared wordlessly at the unconscious changeling.
