BREAKING MY SUBJECTS

My parents. Was I wrong to bring them here? They must be terrified right now, for me and for the entire city. I can reassure them, at the very least, that I have everything completely under control. I do my best to pull myself together. I’m not the little filly that needs their approval anymore.

Chrysalis is watching me, amused, as I pace back and forth off to the side of the throne. “You know, I forget sometimes that you grew up here. Had I realized how much trouble you would be I would have taken them hostage,” she says by way of making conversation. “I just got so used to monitoring you in Ponyville it slipped my mind.”

That gets my attention. “You were monitoring me in Ponyville? For how long?”

“You and your friends, for months. How did you think I knew to have changelings coordinate the attack on the train they were riding? You should be flattered, Twilight. Half the timing for this invasion was trying to find a time when you, your friends, and your damnable brother and his wife would all be separated from one another.”

“Well it was all for nothing, you still failed,” I point out.

“Only because you cheated with that time spell you were babbling on about earlier. At least I know you suffered for it.”

I open my mouth to reply to her when the door to the throne room opens and two changelings bring my mother and father inside. The changelings have dropped their disguises; resistance inside the palace itself must have been squelched by now.

“Twilight!” My mother calls out. I’m incredibly touched when she does. Even though I look like I do now, somehow a mother just knows her daughter when she sees her. What more proof could I need that underneath all this I’m still the pony I’ve always been? My mother pulls away from the changeling that brought her here and begins running into the room.

She’s not running towards me, though. She’s running towards the base of my throne. Where Chrysalis is chained and wearing my face. Chrysalis realizes it at the same time as I do, and for just an instant our eyes meet. I see something I don’t like at all in hers.

“Mommy!” she cries out, stretching a hoof towards her.

There’s no time to shout a warning, and no time to guess what Chrysalis has planned. I just leap between the two of them, turn to my mother, and roar. My bellowing does the trick; Mom skids to a stop and cowers in front of me. I quickly revert to the shape of the daughter she’s familiar with, but the damage is done. When she looks up at me again I can tell she still sees a monster. Dad trots up behind her and lays a hoof on her shoulder, glaring at me.

“I’m the real Twilight, I promise. I know I looked different, but I am. I write you a letter every other week but my last one was two days late because the post office flooded. I wouldn’t go to sleep without making you check my closet for monsters until I was seven. I got Dad some awful, awful cufflinks for Father’s Day two years ago.”

The two of them stare at me, but then my Dad starts to smile. “They weren’t that terrible,” he says and I exhale a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“Oh, gag me,” says Chrysalis with a roll of her eyes. It’s a tempting proposition.

“Mom, Dad, I know she doesn’t look like it but that’s Chrysalis. Remember? From Shining’s wedding?” I say.

“Trust me dear, we haven’t forgotten,” says Mom.

“You know, I never did thank you properly for hosting our rehearsal dinner,” says Chrysalis, “would you like to hear about what I did to your son when we got home that night?”

My mother looks up at her wearing an unreadable mask of an expression. Calmly she pushes past me and walks up to Chrysalis, then belts her in the face with a right hook. The force of the blow snaps her head to the side until the tension of her chain and collar brings her to an abrupt halt. Chrysalis collapses to the floor and holds a hoof up to her windpipe, hacking and coughing. Go Mom.

“Walk with me?” I say and turn to leave without waiting for a response. I hear hoofsteps behind me as my parents trot along behind me. We walk through the hallways that are now filled with changelings, no longer bothering with disguises. We own this city now. Mom and Dad huddle closer together.

“Twilight, sweetie, what’s going on?” asks my mother, pressing up against my father as a drone flies past a bit closer than she’s comfortable with.

“I know this is a lot to take in all at once but things are going to be different now. Better. I have everything under control,” I say. I can’t quite keep the pride out of my voice. I haven’t really taken a chance yet to revel in just how much I’ve accomplished, but at this point I’m probably the greatest and most important pony who has ever or will ever exist. This world will either bend to my will, or it’ll break. No time to dwell on that right now, though. “I’m the new queen of the changelings.”

“That’s impossible,” says my father. I barely suppress a scoff at how narrow-minded that statement is. Impossible is nothing.

“Just very difficult, actually,” I say. “Weren’t you two the ones who always told me I could do anything I set my mind to?”

“This wasn’t exactly what we meant.”

I wheel around to glare at the two of them, and they stop short. “Look. The two of you can either be my allies in this or my enemies. Which is it going to be?”

“Don’t talk to your mother and me like that, Twilight. We don’t appreciate you issuing ultimatums to us.”

“I don’t think the two of you get it,” I say, “I’m in charge now. I earned it when I saved all of your lives, again, and I’m getting really sick of nopony appreciating it. I never want to hear ‘you can’t’ ever again, do you understand me? Not from you, not from the Princess, not even from the damned Elements of Harmony themselves.” I stop myself when I realize that my parents are staring at me. Not with love and pride in their eyes, but fear. I take a calming breath before I go on. “Look, I can’t do this by myself. I need ponies I can trust to help me run the city. I was hoping you two would be a part of my new government.”

That catches them by surprise, but I’ve thought this through. I may have absolute control of the changelings, but the ponies of Canterlot are another story. I’ll need a regime to keep them under control, especially during the initial transition period. “I... I suppose we could try,” says Mom.

“Great!” I say, and wrap them up in a big family hug. I try to ignore the way they twitch when I touch them. They just have to get used to the new me, that’s all. “First order of business, once the damage to the city is fixed up and ponies are ready to get back to work I want all places of business to employ at least one changeling.”

“Employ changelings? Why?” asks Mom.

“Simple, I want ponies to get used to the idea of working side by side with them as quickly as possible.”

My father ponders that for a moment. “I suppose that’s reasonable...”

“Besides, that way I’ll have eyes and ears all over the city and I can look in on them any time I want to,” I continue. There will be no secrets in Canterlot Hive. Not from me.

“Twilight, you can’t-” my father stops himself as I raise an eyebrow at his choice of words. “...I mean you should consider that ponies might see that as an invasion of privacy.”

“If they aren’t doing or saying anything they shouldn’t be, they don’t have anything to be afraid of. Just start drawing it up. In the meantime, Mom, I want you to be in charge of completely overhauling the education curriculum we’ll be using when the schools start up again.”

“That kind of thing is usually up to the individual teachers to decide,” says Mom.

“Not anymore it isn’t. From now on, I want to make sure that they’re teaching foals that changelings are their friends, as well as that Luna and I are the legitimate rulers of Equestria.”

“That’s an... interesting perspective, dear. I don’t know how many teachers will be comfortable telling foals that sort of thing.”

“Then they can find new jobs,” I say. Mom doesn’t say anything, but the concern on her face is clear. “Look, I’m not asking anypony to lie, I just want to make sure they’re telling the truth the right way. Whether they like it or not this new government is going to be legitimate, and I don’t need them poisoning a bunch of young minds against me.”

I begin to state my third new policy idea, but I find that I’m growing woozy, and that words are hard to get out. What’s going on? I drop my disguise and revert to the shape of the changeling queen which helps a little, but I still don’t feel so great. “Twilight, are you feeling alright?” asks my mother. Even though she’s standing right next to me, it sounds like her voice is coming from impossibly far away. This is the first time I’ve been a changeling for more than a few hours, much less a changeling queen. Are there side effects to it that I never knew about?

“I’m fine, you two just... go do that other stuff,” I say. I start to head back towards the throne room and they move to follow me. “Leave me alone.”

They stop in the middle of the hallway and I slam the door to the throne room behind me. My head is pounding and I have these stabbing pains radiating through my abdomen. I slump down on the throne itself for the first time. It turns out it isn’t a very comfortable place to sit.

“Not feeling so well, my queen?” asks Chrysalis from the floor, wearing the grin that says she already knows the answer.

“What’s happening to me?” I ask. “I don’t understand. I fed, and I don’t think I’ve been injured.”

“I was wondering when this would happen. Let me guess, you’ve been taking command of every single changeling in the city all on your own, haven’t you?”

She’s right. Buzzing in the back of my head ever since my transformation have been the thoughts and actions of each drone in the swarm, as natural and subconscious as my breathing or my heartbeat. I haven’t been actively commanding every single action or anything, but clearly it’s been taking a toll nonetheless. “I thought that was how it works,” I moan.

“Not all the time. You’d go mad having so many thoughts in your head all the time. You need to learn to delegate,” she says.

“Delegate? How?”

Chrysalis sighs. “Reach out to the swarm. There are changelings that serve as lieutenants, capable of a degree of independent thought and initiative. They can command small groups on their own, without your attention. You can still assume direct control over them, of course, but use them well and you should be able to get a little relief.”

I do as she suggests, and reach out with my mind. It looks like the changelings returning with my friends will be a few days, seeing as how they were well over a hundred miles from Canterlot and are bringing back wounded and prisoners with them which is slowing them down. Turning my focus closer I search among the changelings scattered throughout the city. Most of their minds are simple little bundles of instincts and reactions, but sure enough a few seem to be capable of somewhat more. I let my instincts take over and transfer control over to them. My mind feels a little less cluttered as I do so, like I’ve just sorted a bunch of loose papers into a folder. I know I can find them again when I need them, but they aren’t spread out all over my working surface. I quickly run out of eligible minds, and my head is still fuzzier than I’d like. Plus the cramps have gotten worse.

“It’s not enough,” I say.

Chrysalis frowns. “I don’t have the same connection I used to, how many minds were you able to find?”

I do a quick mental tally. “Eight.”

“That’s far too few. There should be more than twice that many. No wonder your body is acting up, especially with this many potential hosts around.”

“What do you mean? How do I make more?” I need to make more. I’ve never wanted anything so badly. Anything to relieve this pressure in my head. “Can I, what’s the right word, upgrade or evolve one of the drones?”

Chrysalis shakes her head. “No, a changeling has to be born with the potential.”

“Then how?”

Chrysalis tells me. At first I’m horrified, but just the way she describes it sends spasms of excitement through my gut and my loins.

“...Fine.” I say eventually. I turn to one of the drones waiting silently in the corner for commands. “Bring me a pony.”

--------------------------

The drone returns about a half hour later hauling an earth pony prisoner whose legs are bound up in a ball of thick green slime. It drops him unceremoniously in front of me. I’ve been busy in the meantime. Chrysalis has been sent away, still in chains. I don’t need to hear her snide little comments right now. I’ve also been experimenting with some... new hardware.

“I understand you killed several changeling drones,” I say to the stallion. That’s why I selected him. It makes what’s coming almost like justice.

“You mean the bugs that broke into my house and scared my family half to death? Yeah, I did. That’s what it means to protect the ponies you care about,” he says. I don’t know his name and I don’t plan to ask for it. It’s irrelevant.

“They only wanted you to surrender. Just because we’re taking over doesn’t mean we want you to die. Our two races can work together to-”

“Save me the sermon, bitch. Just do what you’re going to do and get it over with.”

A not-inconsiderable part of me screams to do just that. To leap on top of him and just plunge right in, but I fight it. I’m not a monster like Chrysalis is. I’m sure if I explain what I need from him I’ll get his consent, it’s just a question of phrasing the request the right way.”

“Er, well, yes,” I say, suddenly nervous, “the thing is, you see, well it’s kind of a funny story.”

“Spit it out!”

“Right, sorry. Well you see I need this one special kind of changeling, and unlike most drones reproduction via parthenogenesis simply doesn’t allow adequate development. It’s actually fascinating, the alleles triplicate instead of duplicating during mitosis which allows for a huge number of phenotypes to be... and you don’t care about any of this do you?” I ask. I might be babbling just a bit.

“No, I don’t,” says the stallion.

“I’ll cut to the chase. I need a host for my young, and you’re it.” I shift on the throne, spreading my hind legs. The stallion gawks at what’s there: a long, phallic ovipositor that’s emerged like a stinger from the slit at the base of my belly. It stirs as the cooler air blows around it, and the sudden shift in temperature nearly drives the self control from my mind.

“Absolutely not. Go fuck yourself,” says the stallion.

“No, I said parthenogenesis wouldn’t work,” I reply.

“You might not have noticed, but I’m not a mare. How would I even...”

“Well, we aren’t mammals. A womb isn’t really necessary.”

“So in a month or so, a changeling bursts out of my chest? This is something you thought I would agree to?”

“That isn’t how it would work at all. The emergence isn’t painful. In fact after the implantation you won’t even feel it,” I say. He’s still skeptical. “I’m not a tyrant. You’re free to say no.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Very well,” I say and turn to the drone. “Return him to his home, and bring me his wife and daughter.”

“What? No, wait, what are you doing?” he asks, struggling as the drone lifts him up and begins to carry him away. His limbs twist and bend in the confining goop, futile struggles against his bindings.

“Well if you don’t want to do this, I’ll need another pony,” I say. “I hope they’re more agreeable than you are. If I they say no I might not be able to control myself. How old is your daughter again?”

The stallion glares at me with more hate than I’ve ever seen in a pony’s face before. Like I’m the bad guy. At least I’m trying to be reasonable with him. “She just got her cutie mark last week.”

“Ah. That should be sufficiently developed for my purposes. Goodbye.” I turn my head and absently examine the holes on one of my forelegs while the stallion is dragged away.

“I’ll do it!” shouts the pony. My drones stop in an instant. “I’ll... I’ll do what you want, but only on the condition that you let my family and me go afterwards.”

How disappointing. I think his family would really be happy here once Canterlot Hive is the utopia I plan for it to become, but I won’t force them to stay. “I won’t do anything to prevent you from leaving after the hatchling is born.” I nod to the drones, who bring him back over. See? I said I would get his consent. Now what’s about to happen is OK, ethically speaking. The drones lap at the goop around the stallion’s hooves until it dissolves away, staining the red carpet a puke-green hue. I make a mental note that we’ll need to begin redecorating around the palace soon. Something with a more organic feel.

The stallion wipes the last of it off of himself and looks up at me on the throne. “So... what happens now?” he asks.

I smile. I’ve so been looking forward to this part. “It needs some stimulation to get ready. Use your mouth.”

“I don’t really swing that way, your majesty.”

“I didn’t order you to enjoy it, I ordered you to do it,” I snap. The anticipation is wearing at my patience. The stinger gives a little twitch of agreement. The stallion takes a few hesitant steps and I slide forward further on the throne, my breathing getting heavier. He stops an inch from the tip, close enough that I can feel his breath flow along its length. He examines it, taking in the way it curves upward from the point where it’s emerging from my body horizontally, running about eight inches long until it comes to a very sharp point at the other end, currently pointing straight up to the ceiling. A few dribbles of fluid have already started to leak out the tip. The stallion seems to be having second thoughts, but I glance over to one of the drones, which moves in behind him and roughly takes him by the mane and slowly but inexorably pushes his head closer to my thighs. The stallion has no choice but to open up his mouth or get it jabbed into his eye.

I moan as I feel the heat and wetness of his mouth on the smooth surface of the stinger. It’s not quite as good as the time Luna taught me all the different ways to suck on a unicorn horn, but it’s exactly what I needed. The stallion freezes up, staring straight ahead with his lips halfway down my length. “The better you do, the sooner this will be over,” I say. I’m not looking to draw this out, at least not this time. This time I just need release, fast and hard. He closes his eyes and screws up his willpower before slowly sliding forward again, this time without the drone forcing him. He builds up a slow and hesitant rhythm, and a few seconds later tries to go a bit further but he miscalculates. The tip of the stinger jabs into the roof of his mouth, breaking the skin and drawing a thin trickle of blood. The sudden pain makes him bite down reflexively and I give a yelp of pain.

“Watch the teeth!” I hiss at him. It’s good that the damn thing is armored rather than just uncovered flesh or that could have done some serious damage.

“‘Orry,” he says. As if to make it up to me, he remembers that he has a tongue and begins lapping away at the stinger’s underside. A shame he’s straight; he could have had a very satisfied coltfriend if things had worked out a little differently.

“That’s good. Oh that’s very good,” I say to him. I lower my own hoof to the back of his head and rest it there, gently encouraging and directing him with the pressure. I feel a warmth start to rise up from my depths and I know it won’t be long now. I idly wish that I’d asked the stallion what his name was. Too late for that now, though. “Thank you for being so- mmph!- so understanding about this,” I say, although the building climax is making it difficult to complete sentences. “These changelings have enhanced cah, ah, cognitive functions due to accelerated synaptoooooooh yeeeeeessssynaptogenesis. They don’t develop properly unless their formative days are spent in an environment with there! Right there! An environment with an abundance of astrocytes and neuroglia for them to feed on.”

The stallion looks up in confusion and, unforgivably, stops what he’s doing. It doesn’t matter now, though. I’m well past the point of no return. I wrap one of my rear legs around his back to hold him steady.

“In layman’s terms, I’m about to lay my egg in your brain.”

The stallion furrows his brow, but an instant later comprehension dawns. It isn’t soon enough to save him. With a cry of ecstasy and one last thrust of my hips I drive the stinger as hard as I can, piercing the roof of his mouth and the base of his skull beyond. His eyes roll back and his body begins to seize as blood pours from the sides of his mouth. The blood surging against the stinger in time with his pounding heart finally pushes me over the top. The stinger throbs and pumps load after load of nutrient-rich fluid into the soft tissue, and displaced cerebrospinal fluid mixes with the blood trickling out of his mouth. I groan as a thick, heavy mass forces its way up the stinger until with one last shudder it bursts out lodging the egg deep inside the center of the collection of grey mush that used to be a pony’s brain.

Panting with satisfaction I fall back onto the throne, the still-rigid stinger dragging the corpse onto me like a fishhook. His body ends up slumped on his two back knees, forelegs hanging at his side and face buried lewdly in my lap. It’s just like I promised him before we started. Now that the implantation is done, he won’t feel a thing.

I take a minute to compose myself, then shift my hips to extricate myself from him. My stinger slides out of his mouth covered in a mixture of blood, spit, and clumps of brain tissue as well as it’s own cocktail of injected fluids. I take a small dish towel I’ve left nearby and rub it clean, taking a few more strokes than are strictly necessary when I discover that it’s still quite sensitive. I motion one of the drones over. “Take this down to the kitchens. We’ll begin converting one of the pantries into a hatchery,” I command. A little shove sends the corpse toppling to the floor. It stirs a few final times, and then lies still for good as a new life begins to take root inside of it. “Then send in the next one.”

----------------------------------

By the time I’m finished the new hatchery has filled the first pantry and the considerable overflow moved into a second. It’s late at night but the pain in my abdomen is finally, gloriously satisfied. The infernal buzzing in my head is still there, threatening to drive me mad. I’ve sent as many changelings as I can spare into dormant states, but it will still be a long few days until the eggs I just deposited begin to hatch. Just have to hold out a bit longer.

I glance out the window at the night sky, and something occurs to me. Who raised the moon? Celestia is gone. I saw her body myself and wrapped it up in a cocoon for storage. When I have a spare hour or two conducting a dissection could advance my understanding of alicorn biology immeasurably. I certainly didn’t, I’m not sure if I even can at this stage. But that would only leave...

I reach out with my mind to check on the guards I left at Luna’s door. They aren’t there. I jump up from my throne and with a burst of magic I teleport to her room. No sign of my guards. I push open the door, and the room is still cloaked in the unnatural darkness Luna sleeps in during the day. I step inside, trying to light the room with my horn. I feel my magic respond as it should but I can’t see any of the light it casts. I’m truly blind.

I’m wondering if changelings have any sort of echolocation ability I can use when two metal-clad hooves slam into me from the side, a heavy mass following them in a flying tackle that slams me into the wall. Spots of false light dance in front of my eyes as the hoof follows up the tackle with an uppercut that catches me in the underbelly. I turn my head hoping to dart in and bite my attacker to bring a quick end to the fight, but the hoof slams into the front of my face. I spit out something sharp and hard, and new tastes invade my mouth. There’s the familiar coppery taste of blood, and a dribble of something bitter as well. I run my tongue along the front of my teeth and feel a new gap. One of my fangs is gone, and the venom is leaking into my mouth.

“Your trick will not work upon me twice,” says the pony assaulting me.

I know that voice. “Luna, stop! It’s Twilight!”

The punches cease for a moment, but then I feel her horn pierce the membrane at the base of my left wing and tear upwards, shredding it and leaving it useless. I scream.

“I am aware of what you are.”

I fight. What choice do I have? It’s clear she’s not holding back. In the darkness I’m at a disadvantage, but Luna seems completely comfortable in it which I suppose makes sense. The slashes of magic I make against her go wide, and when I lift a nearby armoire and try to slam it into her I only manage to destroy a nightstand. My only saving grace is that her magic is still suffering the lingering effects of my paralytic. It’s as strong as it usually is, but sluggish and easily avoided. Still, it isn’t the edge that I’m going to need.

Feelings are rising up in me. All the darkness that comes with the mantle of the queen of the changelings, the darkness that I’ve refused to give into so far because I’m a good pony who’s going to use this power for good causes. The suggestive whispers get louder with every blow I take until they’re screams.

I can't fight the noises inside of me and the Princess attacking me at the same time, so instead I just let it swallow me up.

Everything is suddenly much clearer. The little currents of moving air paint a picture of the darkened room that couldn’t possibly be any clearer. Plus the screaming finally stopped.

In slow motion, I sense exactly what Luna’s moving to do. In twenty-three hundredths of a second she’s going to smash a hoof into the shield I’ve thrown up, then follow that up with a flurry of lighter kicks to break it before she steps in to attack me directly. Couldn’t be clearer. It’s a decent gambit, but she doesn’t get the chance to execute it.

An instant before her first blow would have landed, I drop my shield entirely. Expecting to strike something that isn’t there, Luna’s momentum overbalances her and throws her off rhythm, just enough for it to matter. It’s trivial to reach out and wrap the limb up in my forelegs, and then twist.

I would have settled for dislocating her leg, but Luna makes a mistake when she tries to follow the rotation. She lands on the floor face down. In an instant I’m mounted on top of her, sitting on her back keeping her rear legs splayed on the floor while my forehooves rest between her wings.

My turn.

First is her wing. I run a hoof all along its length, appreciating how beautiful it really is. It trembles under my touch as I brush each feather with a light, teasing stroke. I get a hold on its tip and put a hoof right over the joint halfway up. There are a lot of ways wings aren’t supposed to bend. I run through a few of the most painful possibilities until I’ve settled on one I like. With a single jerk, Luna’s wing snaps.

Luna screams. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything scream like that before. Somehow with that single awful, wonderful sound she manages to communicate fear, helplessness, and the absolute depths of total agony. I sit back and run a hoof along her to admire the effects of my handiwork. The wing hangs limply at her side, the jagged end of a broken bone sticking out through her torn skin. “Now we’re even,” I say as I try to flex my own tattered wing. With enough love it should be better in a day or two. Luna won’t be nearly so lucky.

I lift my weight off of her and turn her onto her back. She doesn’t try to make a break for it, so she must be coming to accept that we were meant to be together this way. I lie down on her, belly to belly, and stroke her face in the darkness. There are tears of happiness running down her cheeks. She must be as excited by that sort of rough foreplay as I am. She must like it. After all, only a terrible pony would intentionally hurt the one they love unless the other enjoyed it. Luna and I are both wonderful ponies who are so happy together. Therefore Luna likes what I’m doing to her, Q.E.D.

Luna’s horn lights up and casts away the magical darkness. In the glow of her magic I get a good look at her for the first time since I came in. She’s looking up at me with what is unmistakably fear and disgust. Why is she making this so hard for me? “Stop looking at me like that,” I say. She doesn’t. “I said stop looking at me like that!” I purse my lips and shift my cheeks to mix some saliva in with the blood and venom leaking from the roof of my mouth, then spew the whole mess into her face. She has to stop looking at me and squeeze her eyes shut to keep the fluid from irritating them. She whimpers as the few speckles that did get into them begin to burn.

I lean down and nuzzle her face, which makes her stiffen up. With long, slow licks I clean the spit and poison off her, leaving long and bloody streaks across the surface of her eyelids. Now that she’s awake and I know what kind of things both of us like, I can spend the whole night finding out all sorts of new ways to make her scream. I reach over and put a little pressure on her broken wing, making her cry out again. “Ooh, Luna,” I whisper in her ear, “was it good for you too?”