It was strange, just how many of the sounds reached them, especially when Twilight had to try and hear them over the pounding of her own heart.

The changelings: in terms of combatants involved, that had been their biggest fight. (She couldn't really count the buffalo, not when the pies had been created in an attempt to show just how stupid a real battle would be, waging a mock war with the silliest weapon possible.) And with changelings... in terms of sapience, she still wasn't sure just how much was there. Chrysalis could think, even if her imagination seemed to be somewhat lacking. But when it came to the smaller ones... the change-created confusion attempts had been weak, their tactics poor, and outstrategizing them had mostly been a matter of having any strategy at all. Find a way to deal with their sheer numbers and victory was almost assured.

But this was going to be ponies.

It's not that far off. Individuals can think. But some of them will move as a herd. The more we can scare the ones who don't have any real experience, the better the chance that they'll start to react as a herd. We might be able to make the weakest-willed break for the exit just by showing that we can take them down. Knock a few out...

Not that it was easy to render a pony unconscious, certainly not as easy as stories liked to pretend it was. And trying to send somepony into the lesser level of shadow might end in a plummet into the dark.

But survival, in a very real way, was selfishness. Fluttershy had said something very much like that once, when Twilight had asked her about how the caretaker dealt with the needs of her carnivores. Knowing what some of those animals had done before coming to the cottage.

"...all they understand is that they want to live. They know what they have to do... to keep living. They don't know how to choose, they don't understand what choice is, and so all they can do is choose themselves. You have to think before you choose someone, somepony else over yourself. You have to know what that choice means. And... when you understand choice... you start to feel afraid of making the wrong ones." She'd paused, a much longer hesitation than usual. "...I think... that's the first thought, when something can have a real one. A rabbit doesn't think about getting caught when it steals food: it just knows the food is tasty, it wants that food, and if its pony is frustrated with it, it might even be sorry -- but it'll still steal food again, because it tastes too good. Real thinking... starts with thinking about consequences."

Twilight had already thought about them, and continued to do so as the group listened, waiting for their chance.

"What happened?" somepony gasped. "What happened to the door?" The sound of the fear arrived a few seconds ahead of the growing scent. "Did... did the dragon do this?"

"Let me out!" That from the pony with the orange field, the one trapped under Twilight's dome. (She needed to be careful about that. There were only so many shield spells she could maintain at once, so many workings she could keep going, and she was still protecting Rainbow's manuscript. If the fight became intensive, she would have to start choosing which ones to release.) "They're loose, the Bearers are loose!"

There was a strange sound then, one which just barely registered in Twilight's ears. There was relief in that gasp, along with something else.

"Chief?" somepony yelped. "They got Chief Copper --"

"-- no names!" another pony abruptly shouted.

The muscles along Twilight's ribs went tight. Law enforcement. Name plus a lock enchantment which he could automatically bypass. You called it, Rarity. We weren't really thinking about trying to get help from the local police before this and we're sure not doing it now.

"They didn't go past me!" the imprisoned officer yelled. "They may still be down here! Get more restraints, chains, ropes --"

You're not getting the chance.

She glanced back at the others, found Rainbow's wingbeats already starting to accelerate. Led the charge.

Hooves pounded against stone. Claws skittered for a moment, and then Spike was on Rarity's back. And Twilight knew the other ponies could hear them, they'd just destroyed any chance at an ambush, but she'd already picked up on the fear. She wanted to make that worse. She wanted them to know that whatever had happened to that door might be on the verge of happening to them.

The Bearers and their Protector went around the corner, Rainbow already beginning to pass over Twilight's head, going too far in front of the others, they'd never had anything even faintly resembling a battlecry and the closest equivalent was usually 'Rainbow, wait!'...

She had a split-second to survey just what they were charging down, and instantly decided there were far too many unicorns. But she'd expected that, and it told her exactly where to start.

If it's them or us, I choose us.

The opposing group (at least fourteen ponies, and she wasn't sure she hadn't overlooked a few at the back), some of whom were already feeling the fear, trying not to let it saturate their senses to the point where it took control, saw a smaller force coming at them. Six mares and a very young dragon, outnumbered by a minimum of two to one.

Horns ignited. Workings of all kinds were projected towards them, a full palette of pain --

-- Twilight's corona ignited, went to the full single and a little beyond, pinkish flares of negation moving forward as she countered every effort she could intercept. Which, for the first volley, turned out to be all of them.

The cult, no longer working with the benefit of surprise... didn't know how to react, not in the first second. They were unicorns, for the most part, because it was Trotter's Falls and so of course they were mostly unicorns. Their first thought in a fight was magic: how to use it, how to stop it from being used against them, the best way to get that crucial blow in against an opponent's lit horn. So their first assault had been with their fields, because that was how most unicorns started any fight where they had distance.

Workings which had just been shut down by a single mare.

And the moment when the herd truly realized that marked the instant when the true fear began.

"I'm on defense!" Twilight called out. "Everypony -- make them hurt!"

She had just enough time to say it before Rainbow went into the enemy front line, forehooves slamming onto the first lit horn which could be reached, pushed her hind hooves off the same pony's face. But there was very little room to fly in the corridors, she didn't have the space to turn and line up the second attack, she'd just given everypony among their enemies something to focus on --

-- which had been part of the plan. When you fought by Rainbow's side (or, given how things usually worked out, from several body lengths behind her) long enough, you started to factor in the inevitable.

A few among the enemy started to turn their attention towards the pegasus. And Rarity, who had been waiting for the misdirection to take hold, lit damp stone with the glow of soft blue.

"Thank you for the catering tonight," she stated. "However, your 'special spice' has been rejected."

Two empty, glowing feedbags flew forward, pulled themselves over pony heads. And that was simple enough to remove with a little effort, but the attempts were creating more disruption as temporarily blinded ponies lurched off-course, went into their fellows, and that was when the rats (still with some voles) came in, the squeaking wave moving just ahead of Rarity's second salvo, with little bits of cell detritus pummeling into vulnerable spots while fragments of cloth mostly aimed themselves to go over eyes or, when possible, wound up jammed into nostrils. It was pain and distraction and not knowing what was happening, it let Rainbow move back and prepare the next assault as Twilight negated two more castings --

-- watch for silver, Sun and Moon, look for silver and do anything to stop it --

-- and Applejack, who'd used the moment for her own charge, went right into the other front line. Or, given earth pony strength and a very angry mare, through.

It wasn't an attack. For those in the cult, it was a nightmare escaped into reality. The way a unicorn fought an earth pony was at a distance: as far away as you possibly could be and still clearly see the target. You didn't let them get close enough for that superior strength to matter. And now there was an earth pony among them, to ignite their horns at this range would be to beg for backlash, they would need crucial seconds to get their heads and hooves in line for a physical assault (as much as some could think about that at all, with rats starting to climb their legs), she was an exceptionally powerful specimen and she had something of a grudge.

Applejack twisted her body into a jump, cleared space with lashing tail and rotating torso, found enough room to land, plant her forehooves, and hind legs which could break young trees lashed out. A unicorn slammed into the wall, slid down, and did no more than twitch.

"Keep going!" Twilight shouted, her field tearing somepony's working apart just before a secondary effort yanked a weapon away, with the point chipping into stone -- and then spotted something. "Rainbow, on your left!"

The weather coordinator spun at the speed of instinct, saw the pegasus whose legs were frantically weaving the dampness of the underground into a cloud...

The next part was inevitable, and took much less than ten seconds.

Rarity had switched her focus to another pegasus: flight feathers were being yanked out one by one, with every scream ignored. (Twilight negated an attempt to do the same to Rainbow.) One opposing pony managed to get free from the scrum, started to cross the distance towards them with head lowered and horn angled to hurt --

-- yellow hooves moved into a four-point landing, directly in the center of his back, and the unicorn ended his charge in a long robe-shredding skid across the floor.

"...sorry," Fluttershy softly said. "I'm a little stronger than I look..." And Spike shot a precisely-aimed burst of flame past her, opened up room for Applejack's next move...

Still too many, we can't give them time to think, we have to keep them reacting, we need --

-- chaos.

It hadn't been any part of the plan. It was a sudden, wild thought, and Twilight gave it free passage to lungs and air.

"Pinkie!" she called out. "Do you see these ponies? They're guests! That means the party is still going! And it's dull down here! Why don't you liven it up?"

The baker, who had been just about to start her own charge, turned her bright pink head just enough for that blue gaze to stare at Twilight, eyes widening --

-- the charge turned into a pronk. A trio of four-legged hops, with the last sending her extra-high --

-- it happened.

She didn't just see the results. It happened in a moment when Pinkie had come through her fear of rejection, with nothing left to hide. It also took place in an instant where Twilight had accepted what her friend truly was, and perhaps that was why she finally felt it happen.

The baker landed, grinning as the curly tail came up, lashed up and over her back as head and mane lowered, and a spray of high-speed, multicolored, fully-blinding confetti went into the half of the battle which Applejack and Rainbow weren't occupying.

Sure, the librarian thought to herself as she countered another enemy effort, now doing so in a state of light daze, if you just ask 'How is an earth pony doing this?', then it doesn't make any sense. But when you start thinking about her as a sort of unicorn in an earth pony's body, who's casting through a chaos-polished scatter-lens...

Where does she get her party supplies?

Where does the hat come from?

It's all the same place. It's always been the same answer. A field of sorts, working without a horn, added to a touch of something Other.

Pinkie could conjure.

They probably don't last that long. It might take energy to maintain them, and even Pinkie's only got so much. The hat comes out when she feels it's appropriate, but it doesn't stay. She could potentially keep a few things going for a while, but the more there is in total mass, the less time each might have --

(A distant part of Twilight realized that she had the makings of the single greatest journal article submission to the Thaumaturgy Review ever seen, one which would probably never be written down because (among so many other reasons) the author would clearly be rejected as a madmare.)

-- and that was when she saw him.

It surprised her later, that she'd seen him at all. But he had come to look for her, desperately needing to find her, and so it created a moment where he could be seen. She hadn't initially overlooked him due to that horrible talent: he was just smaller than everypony else, had been towards the back of the group, and was thus nearly lost behind the increasingly-panicked mass.

She saw him, and he saw her.

She didn't smile. She imagined that a character in a story would have had an exceptionally thin specimen playing on her lips, just long enough to see -- and the sight would have then been lost in the blinding light of a corona on the excessively-heavy attack. But this was reality, and Twilight didn't have a smile in her. Not for this.

Quiet.

It was, at most, a single second where they had a line of sight to each other. A second during which Twilight, still countering every unicorn she could, was unable to cast. A moment where she saw his face, and rejected half of the mixed expression she saw there, for she would not accept his relief.

However, she was perfectly willing to work with the fear.

"They're still in the castle!" Twilight yelled. "Quiet's at the back! Rainbow, go for --"

But she'd already lost the sight line, and Rainbow was slightly busy with not getting kicked out of the air. And there were pounding hooves now, more than four of them, some of the attackers were starting to break as the fear overwhelmed their senses, they were running and the fact that reinforcements seemed to be coming down just gave them more to trample on the way out.

I can't teleport there: there's too many other ponies and even if I don't get recoiled, it'll be a second when I can't block. He's going to get away --

The slender jaw set.

-- no. He's not.

"KEEP FIGHTING!" she screamed. "WE CAN BREAK THROUGH!" And, because nopony could be Rarity's friend without picking up just a touch of theatrics, "WE CAN BREAK THEM!"

There were more ponies coming down, and they would eventually learn that some of them represented the ironic (and, admittedly, rather overdue) arrival of the remainder of their intended guards. It meant they were still outnumbered. It was all of those ponies against six mares and one dragon. Seven total sapients.

An opposing force which wasn't supposed to kill them, which couldn't rely on surprise, struggling to keep their focus within the miasma of pony fear, against seven very angry sapients.

The results, as seen from the view of the cult, were turning out to be something less than ideal.

(He should have run.)

Coordinator had heard the cry being sounded in the halls: that somepony was trying to kill the Bearers. Not had killed: was trying. It meant something had gone wrong, perhaps critically so, and it couldn't be his fault, for his plan had been perfect. Those he'd chosen to both kill and die had to have done something wrong. Ponies whom he'd spoken to directly, ponies who were meant to carry both his visage and any suspicions they'd had regarding it into the shadowlands.

The attempt had been discovered, and those who had made it might still be alive...

...they could tell the others about me --

Some of the mares could have survived.

-- they could tell them about me...

At first, he remained in the birthing room: he needed a few more seconds to think. And thoughts had come... but they didn't seem to really go anywhere. He was the sort of pony who thought in advancing steps: first you do this, then you do the next thing, and then somepony else was trapped into doing everything else for you. He had to think of what to do next, and for several seconds, seconds which united against him into a force of blocking minutes, all his thoughts did was go around in a circle. It was as if his very mind had been encased in Twilight's horrible field, with the pressure keeping everything inside.

He needed to plan. He had to find a way to come through this with his comfortable life intact, with control maintained. But he...

...he couldn't think. Not about the lesser options of escape and existence as a powerless fugitive. He needed to find a way to come out on top, and all he could think about was the chance of survivors. Ponies who would be able to talk, mares who might listen.

There were ponies going down to the cells, and they were heading there to save the Bearers. Obeying the orders of fools. And if they even partially succeeded...

The stink of fear reached him, saturated his senses without bothering to notify the spiraling mind of what had occupied it. Most of that was rising from his own skin.

When he was under stress, his field would wink out. It was among the greatest secrets of his life, one of the reasons he made sure that all of the stress was felt by others. And now, in the moment when he needed to plan more than ever, his thoughts were doing the same --

-- pounding hooves went by in the hallway, and the desperate shout blasted into his ears.

"They're breaking out! Get ponies down to the cells! The Bearers are out!"

He never truly thought about how it might have happened, not beyond deciding it had to be the fault of others. He simply took that information in, added it to the newest of churning storms and watched as something very much like lightning (or a vicious projection of field, to keep the comparison away from the feather dusters) launched forth. Because those words had been the last thing he needed, the information which finally allowed him to realize what he had to do.

Coordinator left the birthing room, and did so on the gallop.

(He should have run.)

He was moving, and doing so in what he saw as the only possible direction.

And where would the supposed Lord have put the freak?

He knew Quiet, because he believed himself to know everything about everypony. The 'most devoted' (with the quotes intended to contain the nausea), instructed to give the living taint somewhere it could pass the time, would have put her in the library. The public one, with all the books which could ever fail to take her mind off her status for so much as a single heartbeat. He knew exactly where the sin had been contained, and it meant that was where he had to go.

There were other ponies moving through the halls, of course, and some of them saw him. It didn't matter, nor did any questions they might have had as to why he was racing in opposition to the flow. He had his destination, and they had theirs. He was the only one who was moving the right way.

He had been inside that pinkish field bubble, had felt Twilight's hideous strength, a power level which should have been his (which could still be his), and he knew he couldn't counter it. He could have gone to the triple corona, dedicated everything he had until the moment of collapse to the effort, and the main question would have been whether the mare would even notice. Socially, he had known he was capable of outmaneuvering her, at least until the moment he'd realized he was up against somepony who was too insane to care about the real. Given enough time, there might have even been a way around that. But he didn't have time, and he needed power. There was a chance the Bearers might get to the upper portions of the castle, especially when they were up against ponies too stupid to simply kill them. It would potentially leave him facing down a Princess: a direct fight he couldn't hope to win.

Except that he had a plan.

He'd been told so much about her. At first because he was part of the 'Great Work,' and then because he'd been managing a portion of the search. He'd had to know some of what she was capable of, what the midwife had seen during the failed ascension attempt. And then she'd come back, she'd spoken to the parent who should have killed her at birth about what had happened in the wild zone and Coordinator, who had to arrange the conference... well, there was certain knowledge he just had to have, wasn't there?

That she had to be kept as calm as possible.
That she didn't have full control.
That things happened when she was scared.

She's a freak. But she's a freak who has the raw strength of an alicorn.

And the best counter to a Princess...

It was, as plans went, extremely simple, and perhaps that was best. He even had the single most essential part of it with him. And so that was what he thought about as he galloped towards the library, moving as fast as he could (which, for a pony who spent most of his life in an office, wasn't very fast at all). He thought about his new plan, and how it would succeed, for he would be there to see it happen. He didn't think about what had happened in the past, about how other ponies might regard their own memories, or any possibility of failure. In some ways, he simply couldn't.

He moved against the current, and it eventually brought him to where no other ponies were moving at all. To the door. (He didn't think about whether she might have been moved. She had to be there, and so she would be.) And because everything would soon be under control (or Control, the strongest Element of all), his horn ignited, dull grey field moving in two directions at once: one portion heading for the door's lever, the other darting towards his garment.

The door opened, and there was a moment when he saw exactly what he wanted to see.

The mare's head was already coming up, startled by the sounds of approaching hoofsteps and opening door: she might have even registered some of the more distant cries from the halls. That part didn't matter. She was there, she was looking up, and her mouth was just starting to open. She was likely on the verge of asking a question, something where she would be far too stupid to understand any answer, and keeping those idiot words inside was a pleasant side effect of the plan.

He knew what his opening line had to be, and had mentally practiced it on the gallop. It was enough to remove nearly all of the bile.

"I'm with the Great Work," he told her. "I'm your friend. And the Great Work needs you to drink this."

His field opened the bottle, sent it towards her mouth, tilted her head back to make the liquid rush down her throat.

It was all about power. About knowing that power would be there when you needed it. For there were three ways to increase field strength, and only two of them worked. The Amulet... rumors which he'd never been able to fully track. But field boosters -- if you could find the right ponies, those were available. And so he'd always kept one close to hoof, for the moment when another kind of power would become necessary. A drug whose effects manifested as a percentage increase on the user's original strength.

A booster he'd just given to a freak with the raw power of an alicorn.

It was a simple plan. Bring her strength up to the point where nothing could counter it. Tell her just the right things about what was happening below. That the Bearers were trying to kill her father (the pony who should have killed her), that should do the trick. Get her down to where the fight was. And then, if it came down to it, if she was somehow still reluctant... he just had to scare her.

Perhaps he would even be lucky enough to have the so-called Lord and midwife present at the battle. He might wind up wiping out the current leadership of the Great Work in one uncontrolled shot. And yes, it was possible for whatever happened to remove some of his resources, too (although not him, as he would be safely behind her), but it would leave him in charge of the rest and the freak, with nopony to turn to...

She swallowed. It was an automatic reaction: liquid was being poured down her throat, and it was swallow or choke. And with that, he'd won. He had seen exactly what he'd needed to see.

And in what should have been that moment of triumph, he finally saw what was.

Drops of excess liquid staining into a deep purple coat. Shocked blue eyes. No horn.

He'd just given a unicorn field booster drug to an earth pony.

She harshly coughed, the final open expression of a rib cage spasm. Spat the bottle out, and his field just barely remained intact around it, kept the remaining contents from spilling. Stared at him.

"You," the broken voice choked out. "I. Know you. You. Called me. A clod..."

The freak began to move, powerful leg muscles pushing her body off the plush bench. Getting ready to approach him. A huge mare, a near-match for the Lunar Princess in size, with the base (useless) strength of an earth pony (the least of ponies) magnified by sheer mass...

He blamed the midwife. He blamed the failure which had created the cycle of change. He blamed everything except the tunnel vision which had not allowed him to see anything other than his own dream. And he fought against the rising fear, fought to keep control and for one of the very few times in his life, the last time, he actually won. The bottle dipped, swayed -- but it did not drop out of the bubble. His field remained intact. And he did the only thing he could do, the last option he had left.

But even in the face of possible death, he had his standards. And so at the moment before he downed the remaining contents, he wiped the bottleneck against his jacket.

It was just about instantaneous: it was designed to be. Fire moved down his throat, blazed into his nerves, replaced blood with lightning. Power flowed through him. A level of strength he'd never known, something which made him feel as if he could do anything, that the staggering mare was nothing more than a strictly temporary annoyance, and he barely noticed as the side effect started to hit him. Every field booster had a visible side effect: weaker versions were known to change the whites of the eyes to black. All things considered, he could trade the loss of his mane and tail hair for his life, and so the first strands to fall away (a process which would only accelerate) were unimportant.

...she was staggering. It wasn't just the pain, the agony she deserved (and he saw a muscle spasm beneath her skin). She looked... dizzy.

"What..." She took a step forward, listed heavily to the right, nearly went down. "What did you..."

Both foreknees bent, collapsed. Her head went down as her throat contorted. And then the vomiting began.

He watched it for a few seconds, basking in her pain. Considered that he really should have expected such: he'd known that nopony could use a field booster meant for another race, and that meant an adverse reaction made sense. Perhaps there was even a chance for it to be fatal, and he would be the one to remove taint from the world. But at the moment, that taint couldn't come after him. It couldn't even stand up, and hooves slipped repeatedly as it made the attempt. Some of that was pain, and a little more was from stepping in the spreading liquid. Very expensive liquid, and he normally would have focused on the sheer waste before finding some way to take the price out of her hide -- but in this case, the chance of her death was sufficient compensation.

He nearly laughed, watching her struggle. He did smile.

"I don't need you," he stated, as thaums rushed through him. (His back legs felt a little odd. He supposed they just weren't used to supporting so much strength.) "I don't need anypony! With this in me, I can take her on myself!"

(His heartbeat seemed uneven. Then again, it had never been asked to pump sheer magic before.)

"This," he told her, because he had once been asked to educate a clod and even the stupidest could potentially benefit from a final lesson, "is power. This is control."

(There was a pounding in his ears. It was oddly difficult to isolate the source.)

"This is the only thing that matters --"

-- and sparkling silver glow slammed into place around his body, flung him to the side, sent him crashing into a table with enough force to crack one of the legs, along with three of his ribs.

"-- what did he do?" Gentle Arrival demanded as he raced into the room, heading directly for the taint. "Tell me what he did! You're sick, he made you sick --"

"-- the... bottle..." the taint choked out, just managing to tilt her head in the relevant direction. The silver field seized it.

Coordinator stared. Looked at the blatant theft, the taking of what was his. And he tried to get up, but his legs seemed to be working rather oddly. They weren't moving as he was telling them to. They need to be punished, but that was something which could wait for later. Right now, he had power, the midwife was in his sights, his field went directly for the older stallion's throat --

-- and a simple flare of silver took the grey apart.

Gentle Arrival brought the bottle up to his nostrils. Sniffed. Looked at Coordinator, using a little more time to do so, witnessed tail hairs falling away. And the warm orange eyes turned cold.

"A fifty-percent mix, isn't it?" he decided. "I don't have personal experience with these, but I've heard about some of the side effects, and I can't imagine you using anything less than the maximum strength available -- with very little concern as to the quality. The most potent ones are supposed to be the hardest to get right. But this would have to be your first use, yes? And of course, you would be the kind of pony who would feel that the worst of anything is something which only happens to others..."

A slow head shake.

"Fifty extra percent of your original strength," the older stallion observed. "If I was more of a mathematician, I'm sure this would provide the answer to a fascinating question. Exactly what is one hundred and fifty percent of zero?" Turned to the freak, trotted up to her, dropped down and nuzzled against the liquid-stained face.

"A field booster..." she just barely managed. "He gave. Me a...?"

He nodded. "You vomited. That's the most important thing. So you should just feel sick for a while." And sighed. "But I can't give you any painkillers now, because I don't know how they'll interact with any portion which actually managed to get into your body."

"I. Understand..."

The midwife straightened. Looked at Coordinator, who had magic in his veins (something which now seemed to be evaporating the blood) and power in his soul (which was carving out a hollow) and still couldn't get past the most basic of counters.

"Do you know where the extra strength comes from, when you take a booster?" the older stallion quietly asked. "It's cannibalized from the rest of the body. And when the drug wears off, or even before that, if you're not particularly strong... you drop. The higher the boost, the longer the fall. And I could ask why you gave my daughter that drug. I have many questions, and very little time."

A portion of Coordinator's mane drifted across his left eye, fell to the floor.

"But I suspect," the midwife softly continued, "that you only have the latter. Because there is chaos in the halls, and somepony thought to tell me about it. A messenger sent by my most devoted. So I came to where I had to be, because I heard what was happening. That while they were under my protection, knowing what I had said would happen..."

He trotted closer. Knelt down, maintaining the clamp of silver field around Coordinator's jaw.

"I have a little time, I think," he decided. "The chaos remains below, and I know where the passages are, when the Bearers do not. I know there's an entrance close by. And I hear no hoofsteps or wingbeats approaching. So, while we both still have time... there are things I'd like you to think about, because there are ponies who say it's never too late to learn. You should learn, at the last."

The living taint, just visible past mauve fur, was struggling to her hooves again.

"I know you choose more for blackmail than caring," the older stallion stated. "I imagine that you have files ready to be mailed out if you don't actively stop their sending at least once per moon, correct? Then I see this as a rather convenient way of cleansing the ranks. We will lose some resources... but those who remain will be eager to recruit. They will give of their own free will, until the Great Work is complete, for they have witnessed miracle, and when others hear... they will want to give."

Dark purple fur rippled: a combination of pain, transformation, and shudder.

"I also imagine," Gentle Arrival went on, "that we will be seeing rather more of what remains. As I've known you were skimming for some time. In those moons when only a few donations arrive, and I know the ponies who are giving, it's easy to learn where the total falls short. And knowing that you were the cause, I just chose to see those bits as having been -- put aside for an emergency."

He leaned a little closer.

"I can't work out what your story for the Bearers' deaths was supposed to be," he said. "I'm vaguely interested, if not enough to let you speak. But I'm sure you consider it perfect enough to repeat for your contacts in the press." A brief pause. "It makes so much sense, seeing you with the drug. Thinking about how you confronted the Princess directly, gave her a pony to face down instead of an intangible force which couldn't be fought. It's always been about power for you, hasn't it? The feel of it. You wanted the rush of conquering a Princess, and so you went to her, believing you would win. And when you lost... you decided that if you couldn't have your toy, you would break it, just like an angry colt. You decided to kill her, and them, and now I find you having given a field booster drug to my daughter..."

One last head shake, and the older stallion straightened.

"Follow me," he told the freak. "As best you can."

"The -- Bearers?"

(There was a flare of anger, on hearing concern in her voice. It faded quickly, and he wondered why. He was still angry, he knew that, but... there didn't seem to be enough strength to maintain an open fire.)

"Are, from all indications, alive," the midwife stated. "As several of those who fled from the conflict have gaspingly attested. The entire group is intact, and so Harmony goes on. But eventually, that Harmony may wind up coming for us. So it is just about time to go."

"...the -- supplies..."

A small smile, followed by a tiny head shake. "Ultimately, there are only two things which cannot be replaced. I came from packing the less important to fetch the most. We should have enough time to finish the secondary process, especially with your helping me."

"...and -- Coordinator?"

(Of course she remembered his name. He was important.)

Cold eyes glanced at the brown-and-white speckled fur. The bald spots on the head.

"What about him?"

The freak's words emerged as a plea. "He's dying. I don't know. What he. Was trying to do. But he's -- dying..."

"I chose to risk," the midwife told her, "only those who volunteered for it. That only you, I, and Quiet would run. In confronting the Princess directly, he made the decision to risk himself. He saw the chance as his: it failed. And there is also the chance that he can come through the drug. Perhaps he can find the strength within himself. But I have... certain doubts. And should he fail again... then let him perceive the consequences the same way: as his. I told everypony what would happen if the Bearers were hurt while under my protection. He was in the room, as you were."

"But you could... if there's anything --"

"-- he," the older stallion stated, "did this to himself. I have no responsibility towards him."

"We --"

"Stop." Another statement. An observation of what was going to happen.

Her mouth closed.

Gentle Arrival looked directly at Coordinator, as the ice in those eyes began to spread into the younger stallion's failing limbs.

"You," he stated, "are no longer necessary." And trotted away, the limping gait very nearly steady.

The freak looked at Coordinator. Glanced towards the parent she never should have had. A little liquid fell from her jaw, a bit more from her eyes. And then she followed.

He lay there, with the pain from his ribs starting to fade (because his nerves were no longer capable of carrying it). And he attempted to seize control, control over his body. It was his. It had to obey him. It had no choice. He would force it to stay alive. He just had to make a single leg move in the way he wanted, and then the rest would come. He needed to consider how to do that.

"will reconsider their final choice among the grasses of the shadowlands"

No. Life is control. Control is power. I have power. The shadowlands...

(There were ponies who had chosen to escape his control through going to the shadowlands. Ponies who would be waiting for him within the grass.)

I can go to Murdocks. Speak to him directly, after I'm given enough. I can tell the Corps everything about the midwife, then make it worse. Make myself into the hero, have the Diarchy hunting the clod with intent to kill...

He had control. He would always have control. Closing his eyes (they were open, fully open and he didn't realize it, he just couldn't see any more) only allowed him to focus on everything else. Control was the most important Element --

-- a Bearer dies and Harmony breaks.

It didn't matter. Harmony wasn't important.

(He just had to move one leg.)

(He just had to find one leg.)

When control breaks...

(He should have run.)