“Okay, hold it.”

The changeling sitting at the small, outdoors table rolled his eyes over to the yellow pegasus sitting across from him, dipping his quill pen into his ink well and peering over his wide-rimmed glasses. “Alright, what is it now?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can do this last lesson,” the pegasus replied.

The changeling rolled his eyes. “Tingy, you are not having trouble grasping the lesson, you’re just using your ignorance as an excuse to keep from trying so you can spare your fragile ego the possibility of failure!”

The little yellow pony’s mouth opened, then shut, then he bit his lip. “No,” he said quietly. “N-not this time…”

“Oh, really?” Crossing his forelegs, the changeling cocked an eyebrow at his dining partner. “And what about the fact that you’ve been calling me over every five minutes to ‘check on what you’ve written’?”

The pony sighed and leaned back, hooves crossed over his barrel. “Look, I have confidence issues in my writing, I know that, but that’s why I have you!”

“I am your editor and pre-reader,” the changeling growled. “Not your psychological crutch.”

The pony sighed again, suddenly becoming interested in preening his feathers. It had been a few weeks since the changeling forcibly quartered in his apartment had found the notebooks of half-finished story ideas and partially-constructed plotlines squirreled away in his basement, and since then, the changeling had made it his mission to improve the pony’s writing ability. Not that the pony didn’t appreciate it, but sometimes dealing with the changeling was an uphill battle all its own. At times, the changeling seemed to get hung up on the smallest details in the writing, berating the pony for his ‘engfish’ and his ‘crap language.’ Even just the last night, the changeling had spent a solid five minutes beating the pony over the head with his own notebook while screaming “Surveying the vicinity!? Surveying the vicinity!? Who the buck uses vicinity in a natural sentence!?”

Yet these bouts of howling, screaming, barely-coherent anger were always ended with “You’re a better writer than that, I know you are.” And so, the pony allowed the relationship to continue. Kinda like a battered wife allowing the drunk husband to return to their home because he bought flowers. Still, dealing with the changeling on a normal basis, even in a public setting like this, brought struggles all its own.

Especially when he called bullshit on the half-baked excuses the pony came up with for not writing.

“Look, I get it, it’s scary,” the changeling said, trying his very best to sound encouraging, and failing. “Having something you’ve devoted so much work to, so much love to, so much effort to, just put on display for everyone…”

Both shared a quick shiver of their spines. “It’s scarier than rolling over after a night of drunken debauchery and discovering that the heavy, six-foot-long body pillow you’re lying next to is actually a mare that looks large enough to eat Sunbutt herself.”

The pony’s muzzle wrinkled as he blew a few strands of black mane from his face.

“But you cannot let that deter you from the craft,” the changeling nodded as if to confirm his own words before taking his quill pen up in his magic and picking up his writing where he had left off. “Imagine if Marek Twain had given up for fear of what others would say, or Trotsky, or Drakespeare of the dragons!”

“Alright, alright, I get it, you can stop now,” the pony groaned.

“Tingey, look at me,” the changeling insisted. The pony did as told, and to his surprise, saw the changeling had removed his glasses and was now looking at him. He smiled thinly. “You have an absolutely off the wall, near-insane style of writing that usually borders on incoherency, and I love that about you. People love your shit, I love your shit, you make some good shit! You just…have to get your head up and realize that sometimes, all you gotta do is put pen to paper!”

The pony arched an eyebrow. “Was that really your best attempt at an inspirational speech?”

“Yeah, sorry,” the changeling snorted, replacing his glasses. “I was kinda wingin’ it, never did have a mind for any of that gretting card bullshit.”

“It’s fine, I appreciate the effort,” the pony smiled and nodded. “But I really am having problems with the latest exercise.”

“Well, what problems are you having?”

“Just the excerpt you gave me,” the pony pushed a wad of papers across the desk, which the changeling spared a quick glance.

“Aw yeah, that chunk from The Drawing of the Three,” the changeling nodded. “A bit wordy, but Gryphen King isn’t known for sparing words. I honestly think his strategy is to inundate the reader with detail.”

“And what if he’s using too much?”

“That’s the point,” the changeling tapped the papers, then scooched them back across to the pony. “If your problem with your writing is too much vagueness and lack of detail, it’s best to read from authors who have the exact opposite problem. Odds are, you’ll wind up meeting in the middle somewhere.”

“But still, it can be too much! I mean, look at this!” The pony shuffled through the papers, then set them down again, his hoof thrusting into one specific part.

The changeling looked down at the section his pony friend had found. “Oh, the mana-store robbery,” he nodded. “Where the Magic-user takes control of the serial killer Jack Trot in order to navigate the world of Manehattan, eventually incapacitating two cops and a mana-store owner in order to procure more badly-needed mana in his quest for The Tower.”

The pony blinked. “That was a surprisingly detailed summary.”

“I’m a fan of the series, wanted to make sure we were looking at the same thing here,” the changeling shrugged, then rolled his hoof for the pony to proceed.

“Right…” he said, his eyes widening. The changeling hadn’t touched the series in years, how in the hell had he remembered such a superfluous detail!? Pushing the question aside, the pony tapped the papers again. “Well, I’m looking right here, when the Magic-user talks to the cops.”

“Uh huh.” If the pony hadn’t known any better, he might have mistaken that half-hearted response with inattention. He knew much, much better than that now.

“It’s just…do we really need to know everyone’s stories here? I mean, we learn everything about them: how one will have a heart attack in a few years when he sees The Termaneator in theaters and realizes Arnold Schwarzeneighger sounds just like Jack Trot does here, how this random convenience store owner only got into the job because his father wanted him to take on the family business, and his since spent every day regretting not going to college instead. Do we really need to know all this?”

The pony had been expecting a retort, some sort of backlash on that one, maybe even a rant about the virtues of world-building. Instead, what he got was the changeling giving the page of his newspaper a little flip and crossing his legs again. “Nah.”

“Er…what?”

“I said nah. We don’t really need to know the stories of the two cops. Believe me, I know, we’re never gonna see them again, just like we’re never gonna see the drug store owner later on. We learn his story too, and all he gets is half a chapter! Yet by the end of that chapter, we know about his nervous disorder, his eating problem, and on and on.”

“And he tells us this…why?”

“Because Gryphen King loved this story,” at that, the changeling folded up his newspaper and looked the pony directly in the eyes. “He loved the world of the Dark Tower with a passion, and he loved Eddie and Oy and Suzannah and Jake and everyone in the story. In a way, you can look at the Dark Tower as a collection of stories set in that world, all part of a single over-arching plot.”

The changeling paused to allow a quick snicker to pass between them at the mention of plot, then continued: “Hell, looking at it another way, everything Gryphen King has written could be seen as part of the world of the Dark Tower. Walter, the demon who hounds the Magic-user, is also ‘The Trottin’ Dude,’ who unleashes the super-virus that sets up the plot for ‘The Stand.’ He’s also Flagg, the evil magician in ‘The Eyes of the Drake.’ Father Stallihan, the preacher from ‘Salem’s Lot,’ pops up again in Volume Five of the Dark Tower canon, ‘Timberwolves of the Stallah.’ King wrote that chapter with the drugstore owner and the other chapter with the cops because he wanted to learn their stories, because he was so deeply in love with this story he wanted to expand on it, even if all he added was a nobody pharmacist from lower Manehattan.”

“Wow,” the pony looked down at the papers again, eyes widening. Whether it was with new respect for the author or new fear for his craft was anyone’s guess. He looked up again after a few minutes and frowned. “Didn’t Gryphen King write, like, a hundred books?”

“Over fifty so far, and that’s not even counting the short stories and scripts,” the changeling replied, returning to his newspaper.

“And you’re saying they all contain some reference to The Dark Tower?”

“The novels do. Not every short story does, but some.”

The pony let out a long, impressed whistle. “Sounds less like love and more like obsession.”

“There is a fine line, yeah,” the changeling snorted, rustling his paper. “Just ask the Trakkies.”

“You’re not into that show?”

“You sound surprised. I guess I just couldn’t get into it, y’know?”

“Shatner too much for ya?”

The changeling looked up from his paper, which made twice in the same conversation. Good Celestia above, the pony half-wondered if it was his birthday. “That series is over fifty years old,” the changeling growled. “How old do you think I am?”

“What? It has modern fans.”

The changeling just snickered and shook his head, and the pony took the opportunity to snicker along and sink back into his thoughts. For a while, they remained that way, the pony engrossed in his reading while the changeling sipped at his coffee and occasionally whipped out his pencil to scrawl a few notes in the margin. After some time, the pony looked up with a half-giggling snort and a massive grin.

“Well, I guess it’s not so bad for those cops and that drugstore owner.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah!” The pony’s grin widened. “Because at the end of it all, at least they got some plot!”

The changeling snorted, a half-smile on his face. The pair readied themselves for another minutes-long giggling fit, but then, in yet another moment that would have inflamed Bait and Twilight’s paranoid fantasies about demonic gods waiting for comedically-timed moments to destroy mortals’ lives had they seen it, Princess Luna came crashing out of the sky, landing flank-first against the side of the pony’s face and sent him flying through the little bistro he and the changeling had been enjoying their tutoring session in front of.

The changeling watched, wide-eyed, as the Princess slowly picked herself up, glaring hatefully up at the sky. She spat a tiny glob of blood out the corner of her mouth. Above, General Chickit grinned, the air around his body shimmering with power as his wings buzzed to keep him hovering in place. His forelegs crossed nonchalantly over his barrel as he gazed down at the Princess. Luna snorted in frustration, and stomped a hoof, charging forward again. As she took off to resume the battle, it occurred to the changeling still seated that it had been very rude of him to not at least offer one of his napkins to her for the blood on her cheek. Pony or not, she was still royalty after all.

His attentions turned back to his little pony friend. Setting the newspaper aside, the changeling dropped to all fours and made his way into the little café, keeping an eye out for exposed rebar and broken glass. He certainly did hope the pony was alright. He’d invested a lot of time and effort into improving his writing skills…

And then it occurred to him: the pony’s last words before taking Luna’s royal ass in the face were “At least they got some plot.”

Okay, he was definitely checking up on the pony. Right after his giggle fit.

Luna twisted, just a hair too late to spare the pony reading in the cafe her royal tush. Gasping out a quick apology, she flipped over his head and landed on her hooves, skidding along the crystal cobblestone, wings fanning to slow herself to meet the General charging headlong into her.

He roared, a bestial sound that rose from his throat as they crashed through the front of the cafe, punching and jabbing and blocking amidst a storm of flying glass. A high-pitched scream sounded from a waitress, and Luna didn’t even have time to glance up before she had to shield from a green bolt aimed at her throat.

The General wasn’t a heavy-hitter, obviously, but he was fast, and quick to take advantage of even the slightest hint of an opening. Luna had to tap into every single blood-soaked moment from her time before her banishment to counter each blow, and even still, at most she would say they were a match for eachother.

Bucking back to gain a bit of room, her horn flared with wild magic. The General raised a shield, blue lightning clashing with green energy. He absorbed it at first, then his ear twitched, and he spared a quick glance to confirm the presence of a small mare by the counter. He grinned, angling his shield, and Luna’s next hit was deflected instead of simply being absorbed, singeing the top of the mare’s aquamarine mane. She whimpered, and Luna immediately halted her attack. Thinking fast, she dodged back out the window, hoping for the General to lunge at her again and bring their fight back out into the open.

To her dismay, he seized the small mare in his magic, lifting her whimpering, shivering form just a few inches off the ground. Her waitress’s apron fell from her shivering body. “All that power, and you’re restrained by a wish to keep your little ponies safe,” he rasped with a multi-layered voice filled with venom. A tiny bolt zapped against the mare’s flank, earning a whimper. “Pathetic.”

“Compassion for others is no weakness, creature!” Luna bellowed, stepping back into the shop, glaring evenly as her horn ignited.

The General drew the mare in closer, grinning evilly as his magic wrapped around a fetlock and started to pull.

“Assaulting the weak, however, is!” She added, nostrils flaring, eyes locked on his.

At that, the General growled, casting the mare aside. “I’ll show you weakness!” He roared, his magic focusing on her now, pressing against her, trying to crush her. In a flash, she countered, pressing back against his raw strength with her own. He grit his teeth. His muzzle clenched. His remaining fangs bared. Had he any sweat glands, a few beads would have surely gathered on his forehead. Finally, Luna pressed her hooves against the shield, adding her muscular strength to her magical. There was a spectacular burst of light, dazzling in its display, and perfect to give her an opening for her own charge.

She lunged, wings fanning to boost her speed as she slammed into him, sending them tumbling. Luna earned a few magically-imbued jabs before he could even reply. They slammed through a brick wall together, back out in the open, dizzy, but still searching for the other to land a few more precious hits. Finally without fear of collateral damage, her hooves lashed out again, earning a few feet. This time though, he didn’t follow. This time, he snarled, lowered his head, and a deep green glow shimmered over his horn’s length.

“So, pure magic against magic, eh?” She said, lowering her head and matching his stance, horn glowing in a similar manner. “Fine.”

Arcane energy flickered between them, blue and green lightning flitting and cracking against one another in a quick dance. The cobblestone beneath them crumbled as ponies and changelings alike ran screaming for their lives. Rocks rose from the fresh craters beneath them, the light between their horns dwarfing the sun in their eyes.

Then, he stole a quick glance with his eye again. She grinned, thinking his concentration broken, but then he angled his head just slightly. Sucking in a breath, Luna glanced to where he’d looked, only to have her worst fears confirmed. The General’s horn was now aimed dead-on at the form of a tiny filly, huddled next to a few loose bricks, her crystalline coat slowly growing green with the approaching blast of magic, her eyes widening with her impending doom.

Luna dove for her on instinct, magic dispelled in an instant, wings fanning to cover her. She gathered the filly in her hooves, hoping to simply grab her and swoop out of the way, knowing from the growing roar it was already too late. She managed to focus a half-hearted shield in the milliseconds before the arcane ball slammed into her back, steamrolling her defenses with ease. She screamed in pain as magic burnt along her body, blue coat burning to black in places. It was like drowning in fire, every nerve lit up with the pain of what was happening. The filly whimpered as they crashed into the ground ungracefully, Luna releasing her, already turning to stand again, already readying to keep up the fight, already knowing it had just been decided. That last hit had been dead on: her head spun, her every joint howled in pain, her shoulders had gone numb. Still, she turned, huffing and glaring as the General advanced.

“I’ll give you this much, a lesser creature would have been incinerated.” The General scoffed. Luna fired a wild shot at him. He deflected easily. “You would have stood a chance, Princess, but your compassion led you to failure.”

“Compassion. Is not--” she tried to step towards him, swooned, barely managed to catch herself. “N-not...”

His black, taloned hoof grabbed her around the throat, raising her in the air and slamming her back down, only to pick her up again and slam her down again. And again. And again. The street had been transformed into a pockmarked battleground by her body slamming into it. And still, she clung to consciousness. Still, she lashed out to fight on.

“You could have been so much more.” He sighed gazing down at her as she glared at him, her head at the bottom of its own crater. “A pity. So much potential, wasted.”

She only growled, scrabbling at his hoof, even as dark fuzz crept into her vision and filled her head like smoke. She aimed a blow at his wrists, but even those weakpoints were like hitting concrete. She tried to growl again, but she didn’t even have the air for that, and that realization made her lungs scream, first with warmth, then blazing to hot, screaming pain within what felt like seconds.

The General just kept staring down at her piteously, no longer even gloating, just watching her eyes bulge as her lungs betrayed her growing need for breath. Still, her hooves lashed out with the trained expertise of millenia, aimed for his crotch, the hinges in his knees, his gut, anything! But the magic boosted his chitin’s strength to steel. With her own spent, she was helpless against it.

He leaned down, obviously intent on savoring her last moments, even through the scratches and cuts on his face. A desperate, growling thing reared up within her. She was not going to let this be the last thing she saw on this planet! She was not going to let this madstallion win! She was a princess! He was a villain! She couldn’t permit this to end this way! Even as her hooves grew weak as babies’. Even as her eyes shut on their own accord. Even as the sounds around her grew further and further away…

Tired.

She was so tired.

Colonel Thrace was not having a good day. The tiny, ragtag collection of ponies and traitors had proven a near-even match for his forces, and while the majority of his forces were still intact, he didn’t know how much longer that would last. Especially now that one of the traitors had turned himself into a massive, razor-toothed monster and the other had become something from those Neighponese comic books that made him irrationally angry to see around the barracks.

“Colonel, sir?” Chickit’s third-in-command, Lieutenant Plexus, sighed from his place at the Colonel’s flank. “The battle is taking too long. I recommend we use Contigency-Delta.”

Thrace’s teeth gritted. “We’ve used subterfuge this entire time, that’ll bring it out in the open.”

“Everyone’ll learn later on today anyway,” Plexus shrugged. “What’s a few hours?”

Thrace glowered. He had so wanted to end this himself, show his commander that once again, he was a worthy Second, especially now, on the eve of the Praetorian’s ascension. But now a loss was a possibility, he was pragmatic enough to know it, and having to call in a planned-for contingency would look better than losing a battle to a bunch of traitors and young-adult mares.

“Carry out Contingency-Delta, go ahead.” He said simply.

“Yes sir,” was the only reply he got, followed by the fluttering of elytra.

The Colonel’s frown didn’t last long after that. He may have had to call on resources he didn’t want to, but after all, this battle wouldn’t be lasting much longer. And he was really looking forward to the looks on those traitors’ faces when they realized they’d just lost everything.

“Baity! How’re you doing this!?” Pinkie giggled as the robot cartwheeled.

“You need not believe in yourself, pink one!” The smaller changeling shrieked back. “You need not even believe in me! Only believe in the pink that believes in you!”

Pinkie’s jaw dropped, her eyes widening as if she just saw the Maker as a blush rose on her cheeks. “Oh wow...” she whispered, then reached out a hoof to guide a swing from the wildly-spinning robot arm into a cluster of bad guys. Between them, the other girls, and whatever the hay Switch had turned into, the battle had suddenly taken a turn, and now they were practically running up to the front Throne room.

Except for Chickit, of course...where’d he gotten to?

“Pinkie! You seem troubled!?” Bait announced beside her, pressed against her as the robot performed a graceful pirouette that annihilated yet another row of troopers.

“Hmm? Oh, it’s nothing.” she glared out of her small viewing slat. “Thought I saw something out there. But I’m not sure...”

“Don’t be distracted by the what-ifs, should-haves, and if-onlys. The one thing that you choose for yourself – that is the truth of your universe.” He replied sagely.

Her mind reeled again. “Gosh, you’re speakin’ my language but good!” She giggled, the blush deepening.

Suddenly, there was a loud thud, and Pinkie looked up in time to see the massive doors to the throne room slam shut, followed by the realization that all the important-looking changelings on the steps were now gone.

“Cowards!” She shouted, shaking a hoof formed into a fist. “Yellow-bellies!”

At that, the robot finally came to a standstill, and Bait snarled, sliding down the back of one leg with his fangs flashing. “When a man strays from the right path, a kind man needs the courage to raise his fist and correct him!” He announced, galloping up to the massive doors and thudding a balled-up hoof against them. “So come out here and let me correct you, you cowards! Who the hell do you think I am!?”

“Uhh...” Bait leaned down beside Pinkie’s ear, his voice still a massive rumble. “Is he...is he okay?”

“More than okay,” Pinkie giggled, wrapping a hug around Bait’s waist as he continued to pound on the door. Behind them, Rarity set to work freeing the few stallions that hadn’t been dragged to the throne room yet. They all gazed up at the doors in concern.

“Ugh, can’t believe this,” Dash added, swooping in beside the others as the rest of the mares gathered around. “They locked themselves up in their like a buncha babies!?”

“Yeah, I can’t believe this myself,” Twilight said, her horn flaring against the doors’ crystalline structure. “Though I have to wonder if it was really out of cowardice.” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as her magic began to flit along the doors, testing them for weakness and of course, finding none.

As Rarity trotted to join them, the pile of downed changelings heaped to one side of the hall shifted. She started to raise her hooves defensively, but sighed in relief as a familiar face emerged. “Miss Rarity!” Stu announced, appearing from under the pile, hoof already raised in a salute.

“Ah, Stuart,” Rarity said as she trotted to her friends, a pleasant smile rising on her face. “How are you and your little friends?”

Blushing, he lowered his hoof. “I’m fine, and the barkeep’s here,” he said as a maretini practically materialized in his hoof from deeper in the pile. “But most of us got captured and dragged in there.” He pointed a free hoof to the massive doors.

“Ah, those rapscallions. No problem Stuart, we will fix it up right as rain.” She sighed, her muzzle slightly wrinkled as she turned to continue down the hall, taking her place beside her friends. “Check the rest of the palace and make sure we don’t have more changelings coming, will you?”

With a nod, the stallion darted away down the hall as she joined the group forming up around the throneroom entrance. After a moment, one of them spoke up:

“...So is nopony gonna bring up the tall-ass changeling in the room? F’real?” Applejack finally asked, a hoof waving out to the suddenly-large ‘ling.

“Actually, I was starting to wonder about that,” Fluttershy whispered, finally piping up from beneath his bulk. “Switch? How didja get so big?”

“And on that note, Bait,” AJ turned to the smaller changeling, still pounding away at the door. “How come yer lookin’ like those mango characters m’little sister’s always goin’ on about?”

At that, the smaller changeling chuckled, finally pausing in his assault on the door. “Bah, why look back on such things?” He murmured. “God gave us eyes on the front of our heads so we can look forward to our future!” And with that, he resumed beating on the door.

“Actually, I was wondering about that,” Switch admitted. “But it helped turn the tides back there, so I figured it was best not to question it.”

AJ paused, opened her mouth, then chuckled. “Ayuh, that sounds pretty standard...you boys’ll fit right on in back home.” She muttered.

At that, the pounding abruptly stopped. Bait turned to face her, the strange glint gone from his eyes. Switch joined him in looking. “H-home? As in...with you all?” Switch asked in a voice that was growing noticeably higher in pitch, approaching normalcy even as he spoke, only to earn a gentle prod to his shoulder.

“Ummm...Switch, sweetie?” Fluttershy asked, a warm smile on her face. “The um...the princess? Luna likely needs our help.”

“Oh, yeah,” he replied, voice deepening again. “After the fight, after the fight...”

The mares all shared a look and giggled, all turning to the gaping, shattered window, just as a green flash filled the hallway. “Umm...what was that?” Twilight asked as the flash dissipated in the distance.

The stallions paled, black ears folding down. “Oh...oh no...oh nononono...” Switch gasped.

Even Bait’s seemingly-animated smile suddenly paled. “I can’t even rest in peace, can I?” He asked as the pair galloped to the window.

“What’s going on!?” Twilight screamed, scrambling to keep up.

“They didn’t, they wouldn’t do that, they’re Praetorians, they’d see it as cowardice!” Switch gasped as he skidded to a stop at the window’s edge. He paused, his jaw dropping.

“You gonna explain what in the hay’s goin’ on!?” AJ shrieked back.

“We can hardly help if we don’t know what’s...” Rarity paused, looked out the window, and her jaw dropped as well. Below them, the streets had become an endless, mulling, black tide of changelings, rushing towards the palace. Every changeling in the city now took flight, lifting off the streets to flit towards the palace, bearing down on them as one seething, wave not seen since the first days of the occupation; roaring, snarling, baring fangs as they tore for the throne room and, by extension, the small group of rebels.

“In the event of the Queen being endangered, a beacon spell is setup behind her throne to ensure she can call for help,” Switch rasped, watching the rising tide descend upon them. “Every changeling who receives this alert is instructed to drop whatever they’re doing, no matter how important it may be otherwise, and rush to her aid!”

In a flash, battle lines reformed, changelings pouring in from the windows, up the stairs, down from the roof, along the ceilings, covering the grand support columns with their black bodies, all eyes locked on the group, all baring down on them, all glaring as the ponies cowered back from the sheer numbers.

“Miss Rarityyyyy!” Stu screamed, barging up the stairs towards them, hooves waving desperately as he flung himself on the ground at their hooves. “The changelings are attacking! All of them!”

“Yes Stuart, I can see that. Thank you, darling,” she hissed.

As the swarm settled and a few thousand beady eyes glared down at the group, the doors swung open and the Praetorians strutted out again. One in especially-flashy armor leveled a hoof on them all. “Soldiers!” He shouted. “These traitors have used forbidden magic to twist their bodies and ally with the enemy! They have assaulted your queen and your fellow guards!”

“Setting us up again!?” Pinkie gasped, waving her hooves around. “That’s such a...a...”

“Bitch-ass move!” Switch roared.

“Now...to your duties!” The Praetorian roared.

“”Protect the Queen!” The Swarm thundered with one voice.

Switch cringed at that. “Ew...that is creepy from the other side.”

“Protect the Queen!” And the Swarm descended, a black flood cascading down the support columns and walls and funneling towards the group.

“Oh gosh...that’s a lotta changelings...” Rainbow gasped.

“Okay,” Twilight said, “We can do this, girls, we just gotta...”

“We, brawlers, are sustained by willpower even when mocked as reckless and crazy!" Bait suddenly screamed, galloping to meet the horde.

“Did he just--” Rarity started, but was interrupted as the Party Cannon Mk.II roared back to life, inexplicably sprinting under its own power, scooping up Pinkie as it went, who ducked back into the cockpit with a determined glare on her face.

“Hey, I’ve heard worse battlecries,” Dash added as she swooped over their heads and into the fray.

Sighing, Rarity glanced to her sides, watching as the black tide fell upon them. “Well, I can’t argue with that,” she muttered, then tensed as the first wave of changelings crashed into them.

Author's Notes:

Special thanks to TheNextGamer, for volunteering to be shoehorned into this mess!