Three days ago...

While Taruke voluntarily served as my body double in the negotiations with the royal pain known as Victor Divinci, I sat on an economy seat on a commercial jet bound for Houston. No need to be anything other than one member of the faceless masses that fly this way every day. While Taruke could and would be flamboyant and intentionally annoying with his impersonation of me, I took his very real human identity of Clark Oswin to the extremes of mundanity. No one would ever suspect the relaxed, middle-aged, Caucasian man in drab clothes of anything, not that I planned on doing anything. I was merely an observer who didn't want to be observed, and I would use humanity's normal behavior to accomplish it with minimal magic.

My reasoning was simple: if I was going to the base-of-operations for a sorcerer like Victor, then he would have unknown defenses against foreign magic, though the range was limited to the strength of his defenses, defenses that he had to power himself. Yet, he cannot ward against humans, as that was his entire workforce. And humans are flawed as a security system, a fact I knew and had exploited well, though never in a situation as serious as this. But really, who was going to see Mr. Generic, who had no criminal record, worked as a stockbroker, and was flying to Houston, and think 'changeling,' or even 'spy?' Humans are too trusting as a whole; a great adaptation for social cavemen, but horrible for corporate espionage - for the ones being spied upon, that is.

The city was still beyond the horizon when I felt Victor's influence humming against the backdrop of human emotions. Less than twenty minutes later, as we were still more than sixty miles away, I felt myself pass through a detection ward. I refused to give any indication that I had noticed, but I knew that my presence in his territory would be known now. Still, I would press on.

Really, without ley lines or a magical population, his building's wards may as well have been a spotlight in a sea of candles. The stench of them, even from here in the airplane, greatly lowered my opinion of the city as a place to live.

Emotions are contagious, magical ones even more so. Passing through customs after disembarking my late afternoon flight, I couldn't help but notice the maisima of undirected negative emotions. This wasn't a happy place. There was a strange accent to the emotions, as if the negative ones were highlighted. It wasn’t natural, I noticed.

As I walked, I shut off my passive emotional intake. Instantly, I was blind to the emotions of those around me - very disconcerting considering my profession - but I was not lost. Who needs a beacon when you have an address, among many other things? Ah, the internet, it's disturbing how much you can find if you know where to look.

One short taxi ride later, I was standing a couple blocks away from the SpyreShade Tower. I could tell that it was recently renovated, and it matched Victor to a tee, polished and prideful looking.

'It's as shiny as... the diamond,' I thought, though the analogy quickly killed my mood. As painful as it was, I tried to shove the thoughts of my Sally-Anne aside for now - keyword: tried. Trying not to think about my girlfriend’s words earlier today only made it worse, and trying not to think of love at all only reminded me of how hungry I was due to the love rationing. My stomach rumbled. 'Stupid humans. Why do you die so easily? Why can't you be like the ponies and regrow your energy?'

I shook my head to clear it, took a step forward, and then opened my senses to the emotion. Unfortunately, I had the poor timing to open it while mid-step, for I stumbled upon the sudden onslaught of unfocused negative emotion. It was almost as strong as my entrance in Canterlot, though without being aimed at me, it was not nearly as painful.

As I regained my balance, I looked towards the source of the stench assaulting my sixth-sense, the SpyreShade Tower itself. A dark, cloudy miasma hung around and emanated from the building, as if the building was living, intelligent, and angry. It confused me as to how that could be, but it clicked the moment I saw the faint shimmer around the building in the corner of my eye. "Oh you clever bastard," I muttered, then once more shut down my sixth-sense.

[Hey, Chryssie, let me talk to one of your ward breakers.] A faint smile crossed my lips; Chrysalis's hive reinvented the discipline of ward breaking after the loss of that knowledge during the Discordian era. It was her closely guarded secret, and so controlled that every trained and registered ward breaker in Equestria was a changeling. And it just so happens that I have been receiving training in that subject, mostly for the miniature branch of my hive that lives in Equestria.

[Why would...? Ah, I understand,] the Queen replied.

While I waited for her to contact an unoccupied breaker, I sat down on the sidewalk across the street, leaned back against the building, and pretended to doze. It only took Chrysalis a few moments to return, and when she did, her tone of thought had changed, becoming more masculine. Of course, if her tone was not enough of a giveaway that it was not her talking, then her words were obvious. [<I-I-I'm S-S-Shattershield. H-h-how can I help you, Sir Rex?>]

I snorted in amusement, though I did not let the skittish changeling hear that; it was the first time I had heard a changeling stutter while thinking. [Hello, Shattershield. I need a second opinion on a warding matter. First, if there were no lay lines to draw from, would a ward have to draw from the caster? Secondly, if I wanted to do a deep analysis of a warded structure without setting the wards off, would I use the Clover Method or the Satin Starlight Method? Third, to hijack the wards, again without alerting the controller, that's the Clone-Line technique, right?].

[<Oh, um... Ok, first: partially. You c-c-could use a K-Kinetic-Energy-Conversion Spell to fuel it, b-but to be effective at warding a building, it would have to be made so strong that ice would rapidly form around it as it stole the heat from the air.>] Now that Shattershield was in the groove and talking about something he enjoyed, his confidence had increased to the point that he no longer stammered. [<If you could find another source, such as the occupants of the building, if there were enough at all times, then that could work. But given what we know about, Earth, that seems impractical at best.>]

[And the equivalent of tactical suicide, considering the sheer size of the wards I'm looking at. You'd kill everyone inside with that kind of drain.] I did not mention that I felt that I believed Selene, with her absolutely massive reserves, even by pony standards, could probably support these wards with only mild difficulty; there was no need to freak out the skittish ward breaker with the knowledge that the semi-mortal dark duo apparently had god-tier reserves of magic.

The thought made me hungrier. I grit my teeth and wished that Taruke had managed to seduce Victor further than he had.

Shattershield, oblivious to my inner turmoil, excitedly asked, [<Wait, you're there with the wards made by him? Let me see!>] I gladly sent over the memories of what I could perceive regarding SpyreShade. [<Whoa, that's a tall building. Hmmm... Satin Starlight Method, definitely. You might also consider firing off one of your World-Capture Spells to get a map; you'd want to find the wards' anchor point. Remember, It'll be along one of the three central axis, usually the vertical one if it is traditionally constructed,>] he said through Chrysalis's link with me.

[Ah, thanks for reminding me. Now, to take control?] I asked.

[<Yes, the Clone-Line will do the job.>] He paused. [<Actually, now that I think about it, without lay lines to power the wards, the wards might be especially vulnerable to that little trick since the power has to be directed through the control band.>] He paused again, but this time his confidence melted away. [<Y-y-you a-aren't going t-to do this, a-a-are you?>]

[No, not today at least. I need more information before I do anything. Even then, I'll be sure to consult a professional before I attempt taking control. Remember, I at least have the Absolute Mimicry on my side. Thank you for your help, Shattershield, and thank you, Chrysalis, for letting me borrow him.]

Chrysalis's voice replaced Shattershield. [You are welcome, Rex.]
With that, I pushed our link back into the unconscious portion of my mind. As I started planning out the fine details on how to examine the building, a hand tapped me on the shoulder, pulling me out of the trance-like state that I had fallen into while I was conversing with Chrysalis and Shattershield. I was slightly startled that she had been able to catch me unaware, but then realized that I had my passive emotion absorption shut down, and as such could not detect the person as easily.

I opened my eyes and turned my head. My eyes fell upon the hand on my shoulder, which was connected to a woman wearing a red and gray bandanna. El Diablo Muerte. One look in her eyes told me everything I needed to know. "That's awfully kind of you to tell me to scram."

"Sí, amigo," she replied, nodding. Her face was adorned with a stern, grim expression, the face of one who knows that she is about to kill. I nodded back and stood up. As her gang members called her back, I started walking in the same general direction. A quick look around revealed significantly fewer pedestrians on the street, and those that were there were moving at no less than a brisk jog.

For appearances sake, I picked up the pace before darting around a side street. Seeing even fewer pedestrians than before, I clambered onto a nearby dumpster, turned, and jumped. My hands, aided by a drop of changeling magic for grip, clasped around the lower rungs of the retracted fire-escape ladder on the building's side. Seconds later, I was quickly spiraling my way to the building's roof.

From my new vantage point, I gazed down upon the members of the most notorious gang on the North American continent. They were loitering around the entrance to SpyreShade Tower and, from what I could tell, were waiting around for someone. But, though I was interested in seeing what would happen, and maybe the idea of blood spraying from bullet wounds inflicted by El Diablo Muerte members was making me a tad hungry, what I was really interested in was the fact that, according to my reactivated sixth sense, they, ordinary humans, were inside the ward boundaries. 'So humans can enter the ward without repercussion; it envelops the surrounding sidewalk, too. It probably excludes all magical entities beyond what he allows in, and since all of us known magicals are either on my side, or created by his magic, it would be easiest for him to say, "deflect all but me." I wonder...'

Just as I was finishing that thought, there was a change in the emotions of the gangsters. Vague hostility became focused, excitement and anticipation increased, and, among the male members, a perverse lust appeared. 'Rapists,' I mused, having recently met a rapist before, who had a similar reaction to seeing me. I had fun that night. Him, not so much; I doubt he was into being the submissive in hardcore vorarephilia.

I smiled gently and, while drinking in as much of the positive emotion as I could extract from the gang, looked at the figure that they were targeting. She was a plain looking woman, with blond hair and cream-colored skin. For a moment, I suffered from a bout of hunger-inspired envy, but then I took a closer look. I blinked. 'I know her.'

Amelia Ludwig, sister of Leonardo "Leo" Ludwig, one of the richest men in the black markets of the southeastern United States. Neither would have made it onto Forbes top 500 richest people in the country, but that's only if you count legitimate, legally earned wealth. Leo ran one of my best venom and mineral distribution networks, was a big investor in some of my business acquisitions, and had recently bought his way into the hive for a measly $26 million. I couldn't let his "precious little sister" get hurt, even if she did have at least some business with SpyreShade. Well, for now, at least.

Mind made up, I checked my surroundings and, deciding that it was worth the cost and that I was sufficiently far enough from the wards, I applied a low-powered Notice-Me-Not to myself. Then I partially released my transformation, exposing my tattered, gossamer wings. For the rest of me, I changed my chitin to match the color of the evening sky, darker on one side than the other so that I would blend in regardless of which direction I was looked at from.

Satisfied, I turned and followed Amelia as she walked, tailed by the El Diablo Muerte members. Every time I came to the edge of a roof, I launched myself off and buzzed quietly over to the next one, my own wings masked by the sound of the road below.

Amelia knew she was being tailed. As she walked, she did everything in her power to stay in the most visible areas. I could see that she was near panicking, but she was trying to remain calm and collected. But her tails were getting impatient, and I could tell by the occasional gangster that popped up on random street corners here and there that they were herding her, but she just did not know it yet.

But all good things must come to an end, and eventually, Amelia was cornered. The gang members crowded around her and started saying something to her. Though from my position on the roof, I could not hear what was spoken, but I could read the intent. It was a threat, probably a genuine death threat, and she believed it. 'Time to act,' I decided.

As I scaled the wall down to street level, my claws flashed four times. Each light carried one of four doses of my venom directly to the hearts of the four thugs. 'Fifteen seconds,' I thought. Feeling that I was close enough to the ground, I flipped off, shifted to generic face #42, and landed with magically induced silence. With my face established, I dropped the Notice-Me-Not and tapped one of the thugs on the shoulder. "Disculpe, creo que es más allá de su hora de acostarse. Dormir ahora." The moment the words left my mouth, my venom reached their brains and they collapsed to the ground, awake but quite intoxicated.

Their lust and love production skyrocketed in seconds, and I took the opportunity to start draining them dry, even as I moved to comfort the confused and distressed woman. "I suggest not spending time in the company of those sorts; it's not good on the heart."

"What... What the hell just happened?"

I smiled. "Oh, didn't you know? Bad little children get sent to bed early without any dinner."

"Wait, you did that?" Amelia asked, shocked.

I nodded, then faked confusion. "Yeah, hang on a sec... Amelia? Amelia Ludwig?"

She blinked, then became suspicious. "I don't think we've met. Who are you? How do you know me?"

Cooly, I replied, "Oh, I work with your brother over in Atlanta. I saw your picture once a while back; I'm good with names and faces like that. How could I forget a pretty face like yours? Call me Eric." Short for generic. The female counterpart for this alias was named Erica, for the same reason.

Distracted by my compliment and vaguely plausible response, and the fact that I had probably just saved her from being raped and-or killed, she did not notice that I was outright lying to her face about everything. I love distractions.

"Ah, nice to meet you, Eric. Thank you so much for saving me! Though maybe we should..." She gestured down to the paralysed bodies on the ground.

"Ah, yes," I replied, "let's go. I'll walk with you."

As we turned and walked away together, she asked, "Are they... dead?"

"No. Merely asleep."

"Ah, good. Well, I can't thank you enough for saving me. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't shown up!" she exclaimed.

I merely chuckled. We rounded a corner, so Amelia never saw the hands reaching out from hammerspace and dragging the bodies in, all at my orders. I brushed my hand against hers and leaned in a tiny bit closer. "Well, if you want to thank me, will you let me buy you dinner? It is getting late, after all, and I'm a bit peckish."

"No thank you. I already ate. But if you're buying, there's a little coffee shop near here that I like."

I smiled. "Lead the way."

"So, you work at SpyreShade, right? What do you do?" I asked. I took a sip of my coffee - flavorless, as usual - and pushed a trace amount of hypnotic magic through my eyes and into her thankfully not crystal eyes. I exhaled at the same time, blowing my coffee-and-pheromone scented breath vaguely in her direction.

We had already been talking for a while now. The sun had set, and Amelia had been subjected to my subtle influence for a while now. She had a rosy blush to her cheeks and a faint green tinge to the whites of her eyes. The woman before me was under the impression that she was getting a late snack with an acquaintance and it had turned slightly romantic, and that she was infatuated with 'Eric'.

What I saw instead was an interrogation. First, I set up the mood with a few innocent comments here, a few flirty lines there, and she was putty in my hands. Exhibit A: "Oh, yes, I do. I work in the department of human resources. I'm the secretary that helps regulate private militias stationed around the world. I'm not in charge, per say, but I do keep the whole thing running. Paychecks, equipment orders, funds, travel expenses, assassination orders... you know, the usual," she replied freely and honestly.

I brushed my fingers against her wrist and smiled. "Ah, I love it when you talk; your voice is so beautiful."

She giggled. "Ah, thanks. You're so sweet."

"Now, I was curious, is your brother in any way involved with your work?"

Again, without thinking about the confidential nature of my question or her response, she spoke, "Yes, actually..." And thus the conversation went long into the night. At one point, I had to bring Ginny Skinner to me through hammerspace to help distract some of the nosier customers around us so I could set up an illusion to distort our conversation, so that none of them knew that Amelia had given away company secrets; to them, we were just making light conversation.

And as she became more and more infatuated with me due to my flirting, I pulled more and more energy from her. The amount was low enough that she would not be strongly visibly affected, but I guessed that by the end of our little chat, she had lost almost fifteen years of her life.

I, on the other hand, had gained plenty of information from her about Victor's company. Carefully worded questions ensured that I got answers from her experiences, rather than any misinformation she may have been fed. I then went looking for misinformation too, to know what lies were told to her. Unfortunately, of the information she had, she knew mostly about the front little about the organised crime, and next to nothing about the security of the building. What she did know was that a retina scan and a password were required for entry, and that she had to go through a "strange metal detector" every day, and that no non-employees could leave the ground floor, period. Useful information, but not enough.

"Thank you for this," she said as we stood to leave. "It was fun. I hope we can meet up again the next time we are in town."

I handed her her purse. "Oh, sure. No problem."

"Walk me home, would you? It's darker than I expected, and..." She trailed off, leaving the implications unspoken.

I nodded and gave a cheerful, reassuring smile. "Sure." She never noticed me slip her phone into hammerspace.

I sighed lightly as the two of us walked. Amelia had been involved in some shady dealings with the gangs, and it had gone south according to the thugs I had captured. There was a hit on her head, and because I had saved her from it, the next attempt would not be so subtle. In short, witnesses did not matter. The same applied to those who might be caught in the crossfire. In fact, the thugs had hinted that it might be a slaughter if she did not die now. And if I took her and made her one of us, a gang war could break out. ‘Sorry about your employee, Victor.’

As we turned the corner, I started slowing my pace. Amelia kept on talking, unaware that I had fallen back from my place at her side. Slowly, my footfalls started matching the rhythm of hers, and eventually the intensity too. It was a slow change, taking two blocks to accomplish fully. I still answered when she talked, but stuck to short responses followed by a complex question that required a lengthy answer. Having been conditioning her all night with praises for her voice and intent listening on my part, Amelia readily obliged. In fact, so focused on herself was she that she failed to notice my footsteps stopping altogether.

She failed to notice me vanish altogether.

She did notice the four figures round the corner, the same thugs that had assaulted her earlier that evening.

She failed to notice that their eyes had the slightly glowing green sclera of hypnosis.

She did, however, notice the guns they carried.

She failed to notice the bullet that was fired. At that moment, Amelia Ludwig, former dead-girl-walking, collapsed on the street, assassinated by El Diablo Muerte, as was their original plan. The thugs were then silently dragged back into the hidden world, ready to be cocooned for feeding.

And, at the same moment, "Eric" burst into flames, replaced by a stone-faced “Clark Oswin”’ A lone voice echoed across the silent street, "What a waste."

Rather than use a hotel for a bed, I spent the night camped out on a cloud above the Houston skyline. Unfortunately, it was somewhat cold that high up. Fortunately, the cloud was comfier than any mattress in the world, so I could not really complain, and without renting a hotel room, I could not be traced financially or caught physically. But that was not why I was so glad that I slept up there. No, the reason was simple; I found the control band for the wards, shimmering gently in the light of dawn.

The band emerged from the massive lightning rod spire, mounted atop a rune-covered stone, that adorned the top of the building. Since all wards anchored with a ward stone - pretty much all building wards - form an ovoid shape with the stone at a focal point, I could not gain access to the stone. It protected itself. But the control band, that, by necessity, was vulnerable simply because Victor was not in the tower itself.

I pushed my cloud closer to the building. Gathering up my magic, I unleashed the entire volley of nearly six hundred spells that composed the Satin Starlight Ward Analysis Method. Every spell either told me something else about the nature of the building's defenses, or made it easier for the next spell to work. There were hundreds, no, thousands of spells intertwined into this system. I did not even know what some of this stuff did; it was beyond me, and even beyond Shattershield. To quote Shattershield when I showed him the results, "Yeaouch... That'll leave a mark."

The first few layers were alert wards and traps; they let the shadow prince know when someone enters the building, and if he does not approve, they then cannot find their way out. Those outer wards included a anti-teleportation spell, much to my chagrin. But deeper than that were wards specifically against changelings, which strip disguises and blast them with hatred, which explained why the building stank to the high heavens. It was a wonder that the humans could even manage to work there without going crazy.

There were other spells here, tapped into the same array. I did not know for sure what they did seeing as this was only the first stages of a true, deep ward examination, but I could guess. It did not matter what they were; Victor had chosen a power-maximizing array to tie them all together in one system. Now, such a system would definitely be ideal for defending or influencing a large-scale area the size of, say, the south-eastern quarter of Texas. I would chose that as my ward scheme if there were ley-lines to draw from. Therein lies the achilles heel of the system when implemented on Earth. A single user was is the only one able to power and control the ward scheme to any degree, and arcane physics dictated that any magic user can only maintain one connection to a spell or else the natural fluctuations in their magic start interfering with control and efficiency. Thus, one control band was all that could exist for the entire system, regardless of what obscure spells were used.

All in all though, it left me with a catch twenty-two regarding entry. The two most straightforward options were either walk in, but get exposed and then brutally murdered, or strip the wards away and face the wrath of a man who can chuck nuclear bombs at will. I shuddered at the thought.

'Well, my yin and yang bomb spells will be comparable to his nukes when they are finished,' I mused, 'and I'm sure he didn't think of those in his defenses.'

Of course, that whole situation depended upon me wanting to get in the normal way. I just wanted to lay the groundwork right now, so to speak, by placing vulnerabilities in his defenses. Paid-off employees, hijacked ward control, interrogating employees, replacing the politicians and law enforcement so as to cause him trouble, assassinations, and the usual, if I wanted to go all out. And of course, I had the fourth dimension at my disposal, which would circumnavigate most of the more common spells and all of the physical defenses. 'Thank you, Flatland,' I thought with a smile.

Of all the spells that I had to use today for my analysis of the building, this last spell combination posed the most risk for me in that It would be visible to everyone in the building. The World-Capture spell. A thought struck me, 'Unless...' I first cast the memory components on myself. Then, gathering my magic, I forced a change upon it. The green aura turned yellow, orange, and then red before seemingly fading out of existence because I had tuned it to infrared. Every magic user could do this, but it trashed their control and efficiency to change their magic color, as their magic seemed to fight back, destroying their focus. I spent nearly an hour forcing my petulant magic into the proper spell form while maintaining the proper invisible color before finally releasing it.

As the spell flew, I collapsed back onto my cloud, exhausted. Though I could feel the mental map forming, I, in my distracted state, could only focus on the sky, which seemingly had not changed at all. It took me a minute, longer than it should have, for me to realize that the sky had changed; I had started working at sunrise and now it was sunset. Realizing that I had not eaten all day, I jumped off the cloud to look for something or someone tasty.

My third day in Houston started out differently. I spent the day eavesdropping on the conversations of people to find leads for my Silencers to follow. A single name spoken, when coupled with the power of the internet, could reveal huge amounts of information. For instance, seven of my still-human contacts had connections to puppet companies under Victor's control, and while on the surface El Diablo Muerte, SpyreShade, several smaller gangs, and the police seemed to be in a multi-sided prelude-to-war, Victor had his talons in every single one of them.

I also found out the results of Victor’s little temper-tantrum in the shadowrelm over the Gulf of Mexico. A minor earthquake, a storm, and some delicate patients in hospitals as far north as mine in Atlanta suffering from sudden medical complications. I wished I knew more about the shadow realm. Even Chrysalis’s knowledge was second-hand; for reasons we do not know, all changelings were barred from accessing the inhabitants of that portion of reality. It was obvious though that Sombra had spent significant time studying the Darkness - hence his proficiency in dark magic.

Somehow, during my analysis of the building yesterday, I had completely missed Victor passing through the city. I kicked myself for being so un-observant. Still, while I was in his territory, nothing I had done violated any of the verbal or written components of our treaty. I was simply reading what magic he was putting out; literally any magic user, with training, could have done what I did, and the Shadow King is no worse for wear.

But all interesting things must come to an end. I stood from my seat in the coffee shop where I had interviewed Amelia the day before and, after a quick detour to the restrooms to change my face to a different generic one, I headed towards the tower. It took a quick climb to reach the control band, but once there, I had to wait for the right moment. Taruke would sigal me once Victor and Rosaline were ensnared by the Memory-Blocking spell, which would be the best opportunity to seize control.

Meanwhile, I activated Absolute Mimicry. This was an ability that, for the longest time, Chrysalis thought she was the only changeling who possessed it; even other royals never expressed this ability. Until me, that is. Simply, it allowed the two of us to sample the magical signature and the genetic material of a target, both of which never change without fundamentally altering the owner, and mimic it absolutely and without flaw, hence the name. In fact, it changed us on such a deep level, that Chrysalis swears that there is some violation of the fundamental rules of magic.

It was not a flawless technique, even if the final product was. It could not mimic a goddess, nor a spirit. If activated, it could not be deactivated for a week. But worst of all, it is the only transformation where our flames are as hot as they look. "RRRRAAAAAAGGGHHH!" I roared as my flames oh-so-slowly crawled their way up my arm. It was only once the emerald fires had passed my elbow that I realized something was wrong. The limb that should have been forming was nothing but dark black smoke. Panicking, I tried to halt the transformation, but the flames kept on climbing. My arm vanished, then my shoulder, parts of my neck and chest, and finally my jaw were burned to smoke by the flames before I finally halted the transformation.

With the pain cleared, my panic subsided as I realized that I could still feel the incorporeal parts. Fear turned to confusion which turned to joy as I found that, even partially transformed, I had a simulation Victor's magic coursing through my veins. I was thankful that my feet, still those of a changeling, had kept me airborne on the cloud despite the changing magic. In retrospect, I should have done this on the ground.

As I waited for the ready signal, I played around with my new, vaporus limb. It was an odd feeling having my one chitinous limb pass through my smokey one, not really a sensation that I could put in words. I also found that I could grow or shrink the limb on command, and if I compressed it enough, it would automatically start to solidify and recolor into a perfect match of the dark king's arm.

The problem was that his parts were disproportionate to mine, as his seven foot stature did not match my eight and a half feet. My arms were mismatched, my left lung felt constricted, my upper and lower teeth did not align, and my neck's resting position left my head tilted at an odd angle. And to think that I would be stuck, unable to transform those parts for a week. I rolled my eyes and shrank the parts that I could; I would be unable to drop this transformation for the duration of the week if I wanted to have a functional, proportional body. 'What a pain,' I grumbled.

<<Now.>> When Taruke's signal finally came, I lept into action. First, I entwined the control band with my simulation of Victor's magic, pinning it in place at two points so that it did not move. Then, I shifted my other hand to create the ward breaker's swiss-army knife: a curved T-shaped object composed entirely of the same magically conductive material as changeling fangs, but completely disconnected from the nervous and magical systems of my body. I touched the two short ends to the ribbon of magic in my grasp, allowing it to flow freely through it. Then, I injected my simulated magic through the long end and entangled it with Victor's. Satisfied that it was secure, I pulled on the foreign magic and slid my tool down the length of magical cable. As it moved, I created a cable of my own that emerged from the tool at the same time. One foot later, I repeated the entanglement and removed my tool. Now the control band had a ribbon of my magic tied to it.

Concentrating on the new ribbon, I molded it into a nearly perfect copy of the original with all the same functions, but just mediated by me. I nodded, happy with my work. Then, I shifted my tooth-like tool into a changeling blade. Unlike normal, the pommel was open, rather than connected to me. When I cut into the original, Victor's magic burst out of the end of the dagger, dissipating into the air. One more cut later, and the control band looked almost exactly as it had before, and would continue to function just as it had before. Only if he looked at exactly the right spot, a one foot long, inch thick area that was perpetually moving and was currently over a dozen feet over the highest point of his tower, would Victor notice anything amiss, especially since my modifications would sit inactive for a good while.

Before I commanded Taruke to release Victor and Rosaline, I cast one last spell of Chrysalis's own creation. Common wisdom among the ponies was that "curses aren't real." That was most definitely a lie. Of all the magics I knew, this spell was one of the most insidious in my arsenal. Using his own wards to target him all the way in Las Vegas, I ensared him with the Killer Fantasy.

Only usable against one person at a time, the person Chrysalis or I were Absolutely Mimicking at the time, the illusion magic of Killer Fantasy would burrow its way into the magic of its victim. Then, once there in its dormant state, any use of magic by the victim just lets it burrow in deeper. Once activated, the illusion would use its victim's magic to fuel it, rather than the caster's. And the longer it is active, the more vivid the illusion becomes and the more magic it drains until the victim drops dead of magical exhaustion.

A thousand years ago, Celestia and Luna together could not defeat Sombra, who was raving mad at the time from dark magic corruption. Victor is a much saner magician, but with the same raw power as his counterpart. If this alliance goes well, I may never need to activate Killer Fantasy. If it does not, and since guns will not work on him...

<<Taruke, I'm finished. Release them,>> I order over the hive link. After receiving his confirmation, I jump off my cloud perch and prepare to flutter down to street level. As I was descending, A thought occurred to me, so I stopped and hovered in place. As I prepared to twist into my false world, I saw movement in the corner of my eye. There, in one of the windows of SpyreShade Tower, was a man looking out directly at me. He frowned, raised the object in his hand and -

*BANG-CRASH*

Flashback

I was distracted as I finished organizing my stuff before my trip. Logically considering the situation, it would have been the mass of shadow Taruke and I were planning on meeting this afternoon that was rattling my nerves. But no, the largest stressor for the morning was none other than my sweet Sally-Anne. She had just been angrily glaring at me for the past hour. If I tried to talk to her, I would get only silence in reply. It was maddening to the point where I was tempted to read her mind just to find out what was bothering her. Of course, I would not do that to her again.

“What is it, Sal? Talk to me, please!” I begged.

I was contemplating getting on my hands and knees to beg harder, and was half way there when she finally replied. “Twenty one.”

“What?”

“You’re not even twenty one yet!” She yelled. “How come you never told me you were so young?”

“Is that what this is about?” I asked, flabbergasted. My fingers coiled protectively around a small box in my pocket, as if it could be lost in the coming storm. “My age? Does it really matter how old I am, especially when I can change age at will?” To prove my point, I morphed into a decrepit old man, well into his nineties. Softly, I added, “I never asked your age, either.”

“Thirty-two, thank you very much!” Sal snapped. I was shocked; I could not remember her being having ever been mad at me in the nearly three years I had known her. “And yes, it matters! It matters because you never told it to me! It matters because you never tell me anything about yourself from your life before you became a changeling! I don’t even know your birth name, or where you’re from, or who your family is! Do you even love me? Do you even know what love actually is?”

“I…”

Sally-Anne screeched, “You’re just this enigma that walked into my life and twisted it beyond recognition! You’ve twisted my mind too! Were you ever human? Or have you always been a monster in human skin? You know, your soul sure doesn't look human. How could possibly I forget? You crippled me just by existing!”

That stung. That stung far more than I would ever let her know. Guilt crushed down upon my soul. “Sal, I-”

“Do I even love you?”

The dam broke. Tears, hot and salty, as real as they came, streamed down my face. I could not stand to see her that way. “Sal, I love you, and I would never willingly hurt you. I know what love is; I’ve felt it for myself. I was born a human and I loved as a human. I had a mother, a father, a brother, a loving girlfriend, and a best friend. I know love. And I know that what I feel for you is love.” I reached out to stroke her cheek, but she pulled away from my touch. “Sal, please, it’s me.”

“How do I know?” She asked, whispering so softly that I could barely hear her.

“What? Ask me, I’ll tell you anything you want!” I begged softly.

“How do I know that this is real?" she screamed. "I know you’ve messed with minds before, mine included. Every word you spout could be a lie for all I know. Every throb of my heart, yearning for you, could be a lie of your own creation. Even my own limbs, my own lungs, are under your control. How-” I interrupted her with lips, mine against hers. I kissed her, my long tongue brushing against hers, coaxing her to take the lead. But it never came. Sally-Anne pushed her hands against my chest and we parted.

“Was that real?” I asked, hoping she would not say-

“I don’t know.”

I sighed. My knees gave out below me; I flopped limply to the floor, only catching myself with my hand at the last second to keep my head from hitting the tile. The free hand that was not supporting my weight slid to my pocket, feeling that the box was still there. “Then, if I were to show you what was fake, would you believe what is real?”

“I’m listening.”

“Sal… Sally-Anne Jones, I was born William Ross. On my bedroom book case, top shelf, there is a set of composition notebooks, each titled The Book of the Monster. Go read an entry, any entry.” As I lifted myself up, I noticed that Sal had already left for my room.

I followed her in and saw her grab one of the early volumes from the shelf. She flipped open the notebook, scanned the page, and read aloud, “August fifteen, twenty-twenty-nine: Amanda Snyder. Caucasian female, five-foot-seven, blond hair, brown eyes, and had a birthmark on forehead. Wore Yale t-shirt and yoga pants. Lured into alleyway using ‘hurt runaway’ gambit. Fed quickly and called ambulance; ran as it was pulling up. Amanda died of cardiac arrest four days later in hospital. Funeral to be held tomorrow…. Rex, what is this?”

“My dirty secrets, my penance. Sal, every person I’ve ever interacted with is logged into this book. Every changeling I’ve created, every hatchling that has been born, every human I have fed on and their condition at the end… every human I’ve personally killed. I’ve recorded it all. I’ve even recorded when I modified minds. Journals one, two, three, seventy six, and eighty three are Marcus, Taruke, Katie Sanders, you, my seven Praetorians, and Klika. That’s the full list. The first three were a full reprogramming and only ever done once. You, the Praetorians, and Klika were heart freezings only.”

I grabbed volume eighty one and tossed it to Sally-Anne, who was shocked by my confessions. She caught the book and opened it to the page I instructed. “Sal, John Smith was a serial killer on death row. I kidnapped him from the jail and experimented on him. Sal, I ripped out his soul and used it to animate a robot! I used my powers to animate his dead body and turn it into a changeling! Where do you think Ψ came from? Then I swallowed it, Sal, I swallowed his soul! That’s not supposed to be possible for normal creatures!” I collapsed once more to the floor. “Sal, I checked the archives. The only other soul eater known to the ponies was the Nightmare! You were right; I am a monster, and you shouldn’t trust me…”

Silence reigned. It was an agonizing sort of silence, one that carves into the very soul. Sally-Anne ever so slowly turned away, until I could just make out the corner of her right eye. Her hands lit up with magic. She touched her glowing limbs to the corners of each eye, and I knew she was casting the Soul-Sight. I scrambled backwards and dove behind the bed, desperate to put something solid between us so that she was not harmed again by looking at me. But she never turned back, never looked at me. Instead, she looked towards herself, and to the piece of my soul embedded within her own. Finally, her magic died away and I felt it safe to come out again, though I barely moved.

“Can I read through these?” She asked, holding up one of my notebooks. I meekly gave my approval. “Thanks.” She gathered up the several volumes and slipped them into her portion of hammerspace. As she walked to my room door, she did not even glance my way. Yet, she paused in the doorway. “I think you do love me. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have jumped. But do I really love you? Can I love you, monster and all? I… I need time.”

With that, I was alone. I slowly crawled up and slowly slunk into my bed. I slid my hand into my pocket and pulled out the black velvet box. Holding it up to eye level, I examined the hinge carefully, yet I could not bring myself to open it. “Maybe next time, Sal. Maybe next time.”

The ground rushed to meet me. My last thought was of the woman I wished to spend my life with.

Author's Notes:

*Ding* Have a chapter.

This chapter takes place during the same time as "A House of Cards." Due to the slow pace at which I was tag-team writing with InfiniteBrony, I actually had this chapter done long before either part of the previous chapters. Thus, this chapter, which references events of the preceding chapters, had to be vague enough to not cause conflict.

And the secret technique of Absolute Mimicry? Yeah, it's so secret that most changelings won't even recognize what's happening to Rex. And yes, I did just shoot him in the back. If only he had made a clean getaway. I'm sure Victor will be mad, but then again, he always is...

---

In other news, for all of you who are writing canon side-stories, I promise you that the time to start posting is coming. And for those of you who are writing/wanting to write non-canon spin-offs, go ahead. I want to read them.