Vinyl Scratch hated libraries.

She let out a heavy sigh. Well, she didn't hate them, but she’d always been a learn-on-the-job kind of mare. The floating silver tower of Egrimm Horstmann possessed a bountiful library, but now she was getting into work she was truly unfamiliar with: classical music, and literature thereof, which only made things even more of a headache.

It was all gonna be worth it, though. Her band, and Octavia’s orchestra were coming together for the End Times tour, and while Vinyl had her album completed and practiced with the band, Octavia needed help with her Magnum Opus. With the apocalypse on its way, Vinyl would be damned if she wasn’t going to help her.

She found a table to herself, away from the eggheads and further embarrassment of being seen there. She pored over the classics over the course of weeks, using magic to make music sheets play right off the page, up to and including Jeremiah Bickenstadt’s The Life of Skarsnik, warlord of Karak Eight Peaks. Who knew humans could make a middling little goblin sound like such a larger than life character?

Her neck felt sore, and when she finally looked up it made a painful pop. She felt stiff as a board, her mouth parched, and stomach growling. How long had she been sitting there?

Something warm started massaging her shoulders, and a voice hummed in familiar tones as they worked out the tense knots.

“Mmm… Hey, Tavi,” Vinyl mumbled appreciatively.

“No Tavi here,” a feminine voice chirped back.

Vinyl sighed, seeing that the tentacle on her shoulder was striped orange and black, and pushed it off. “Alright, whoever you are. What do you waaah…”

The section of the library was silent, save for the swish-swish of a liquorice tail happily wagging against the floor. Vinyl looked up at a mare twice her size made of peppermint, liquorice, and swirling lollipop disks for eyes. It slurped its long tongue back in, and a bright rock candy-filled smile graced its features.

“Hey there!"

“Pinks!” Vinyl turned, then leapt happily from her chair and hugged Pinkie Pie, who returned the gesture with a mirthful giggle. “Where’ve you been all this time?"

“Oh my gosh, you have no idea. First my friends and I tried to use the Elements of Harmony to cure the chaos guys of all their crazy, but they didn’t work for some reason. Then I got cut up and put back together by Gustave le Grande and Donut Joe, well, that was the second time it happened. I dunno what they did but now it feels so good to just be alive! Were you there at Archaon’s coronation?”

Vinyl’s smile vanished. “Wait, sh-shit… when was that?”

“Like four days ago?" She gasped. "Oh no, you missed it?”

“Vinyl buried her face in Pinkie’s chest to muffle her shout, “That was once in a lifetime-aaaAAAAGH! I need somewhere to curl up and fucking die!”

A deep, bubbling groan answered back from Pinkie’s stomach, making her grunt in pain. As Pinkie hugged vinyl tighter, the unicorn could felt that rumble rock Pinkie to her core, and she smiled as Pinkie licked her lips with a widening grin.

“There’s that greedy gut I remember,” Vinyl said happily. “Just let me put a ward on-woah! Already happening!”

it took just a few heartbeats. Pinkie's barrel opened into an impossibly large maw, lined with candy corn teeth, and exposing the inside of her massive stomach. The unicorn offered no resistance while she was shoved in, and sealed away with a single chomp. The teeth locked together under Pinkie’s striped fur, hiding the direct entrance to her monstrous gut.

Vinyl peeled her face off the taffy walls and spat out a glob of foreign stomach fluid. "Hey, let me put a ward up first, would you?” She wasted no time as the acids were already fizzling at her hide, and applied the protective magic barrier to herself in a flash of blue magic.

PInkie purred like an oversize cat as Vinyl wriggled and settled in. “Sorry. It’s just that being empty’s been hurting a lot more lately.” She shivered in pleasure at Vinyl’s natural flavors, and her body’s embrace of its meal. “Ooh it really missed you.”

Pinkie’s hollow interior was as Vinyl remembered it: warm, soft walls, a small space, but not tight. It easily stretched to accommodate meals, or guests, of any size, the difference depending on if they could protect themselves. She let herself sink into the folds, tentacles eagerly curling and licking at every inch of her body, and digestive churning rubbing syrup-enzymes into her fur. “It’s no big, this time at least. I just don’t wanna end up as padding on your flank.”

“Got it.” Pinkie didn’t really know what happened to all that she ate. Stuff went in, nothing ever came out or added weight to her figure. She started glancing over the stacks of books and music sheets. “Whatcha been working on here?”

Vinyl filled her in on Octavia’s last piece for the grand tour of the Old World. Pinkie Pie failed to grasp the song, scanning over what looked like a mess of bars and notes at impossible pitches. She gave her belly a firm squeeze while flipping through some of the books, not bothering to read but letting the thousands of pages flutter by in waterfalls of words, words, words.

“Hey,” said Vinyl, “do you have anywhere to be soon?”

“Eh, Sigvald had some of my mane cut off so he could sample it, then he told me to go away ‘cus now my mane’s ruined, so Donut Joe has to make some more liquorice locks for me and that’s gonna take all day… so no, I’m free-ahh-hehehe! Ticklish!”

Vinyl had scrambled up and smushed her face against the stomach walls. Pinkie saw the imprint of Vinyl’s face pushed out under her chest. “You think you can check out these books for me and sniff out Octavia? I’ve gotta show her what I came up with so far.”

Pinkie’s stomach groaned at the mention of a second course. She winced. “S-sure.”

As Pinkie gathered everything on the table into Vinyl’s saddlebags, she started humming what she remembered from skimming the music sheet and moved hastily for the exit. Anything to distract from this gnawing hunger.

“I can’t wait to hear what this sounds like when it’s done.”

A call went out soon after Archaon’s coronation, summoning all the legions of Chaos to his banner. The Incursion had begun. The message was sent by raven, vulture, horseman; and one new, recently acquired method—dragon-fire.

The armies of the North came to him one at a time. Egil Styrbjorn brought the Skaeling from Norsca’s west. The Varg, Aesling, and Baersonlings came soon after. They actually seemed more tame and ‘civilized’ than the denizens in the Wastes, living in towns and villages over nomadic camps, the likes of the Hung and Kurgan. The horde swelled with their number, and with time, they resembled a mobile city of floating sorcerers’ towers, jarls’ palaces, and the soul-powered hell forges of the Dawi Zharr, their arrangement changing with time and the terrain.

Archaon’s command nexus was the Varanspire, a palace cast in the shape of a horned blade stabbing up from the very ground. It hovered on a cushion of seething warpfire, leaving the ground glassy and ash-covered in its wake. Bulges along its towering height denoted its levels. Slave holds, armories, and second from the top, a strategies hub.

Over two dozen warlords form across the Old World were in attendance, and even a few who weren’t physically present, their images being projected across the vast distance of the world by sorcerous means. The largest figure of all was Valkia, the bride of Khorne. Her broadcast image was a haze of blood mist, shifting in an unfelt breeze, and quietly hissing with scalding heat.

Twilight Sparkle was last to enter, behind Wulfrik the Wanderer. She found a place next to Spike. “A lot of competition to keep up with,” she whispered.

Spike hummed in agreeance, and wiped his sleepy eyes.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah. I just didn’t sleep well.”

“There’s a spell for that.”

“Somnium Panacea. I know.”

Twilight nodded. “Let me know if you have trouble again.”

Horstmann looked to Archaon, who sat atop his throne raised above the mob. Taking his signal with the Everchosen’s nod in satisfaction to the assembly, Horstmann planted his staff vertically on the floor. The bejeweled head beamed out a projection of the Old World over the central dais. Arrow-snakes ran along its geography, denoting invasion vectors and who would lead them. The flow converged on two places—Altdorf, and Middenheim.

“It is good that so many of you were able to attend.” he said, making idle conversations around the room die off. “I’ll not keep you longer than necessary,” He raised a hand to the map. “Here is what the Everchosen and his closest council have devised for our crusade. The power of Nurgh’leth still waxes since the Storm of Chaos, and so by his power the Empire will be weakened.”

The path from the Longship Graveyard to Marienburg glowed a little brighter. “Here, the Glott brothers, Valnir, and Wulfrik will march on the capital and keep the southern provinces cut off from the north.”

Valnir, unreadable behind a grille-faced mask, nodded.

“Heh, never killed me an emperor before,” Wulfrik smirked, scratching his ginger beard and eyeing Altdorf. “His skull would make a nice addition to my collection.”

Otto Glott, obese with bodily decay, gargled out a mirthful chuckle, with his head riddled with age-old bullet holes. “The river Reik will be poisoned by us. It branches and spreads like veins through the Empire’s heartland.”

“Precisely,” Horstmann grinned. “The first major strike for their enlightenment, is to expose their false faith, and topple those that claim some divine right to rule. The Eternal Flame in Middenheim is said to be the living heart of Ulric himself. Archaon will extinguish the flame, and with it, we will kill a god.”

Twilight’s ear twitched towards the door, hearing heavy bootsteps. Within seconds, frantic knocking pounded at the door, and someone shouted ‘Imposter! I am Wulfrik!’ on the other side. The instant a menial unlocked the door, a second Wulfrik kicked it open. Stark naked, his wrists were raw and bloody, and he clutched a similarly blood-stained length of rope in one hand.

Two clones of the warrior stared each other down from across the room. One beside Otto, laughing in amusement, the second in the doorway, seething.

“What is this, T’char?” Wulfrik number One said, continuing to lock gazes as he moved closer. “Surely this meddlesome agent of the Changer of Ways can ply his tricks at a more appropriate time—”

Wulfrik number two roared and launched himself at One. His brawn easily overpowered his surprised counterpart, and within seconds he was smashing his clone's head into the steel floor. Several skull-splitting blows were landed before the congregation could separate them, but by then, the damage was done.

Wulfrik One was barely conscious, his skin charring, then burning away in green flame. The creature being held down was no longer human, but a pony-sized insect of black chitin and drooling mandibles.

Twilight's eyes widened. She and Spike shared a quick glance between one another.

“Get off me!” Wulfrik growled and squirmed against five attendants holding him down. “Can’t you see I’m the real one? Look at that thing!”

Archaon strode down from the throne. “Release him. And what is this?”

“Plug its ears,” Spike snapped, then moved to do it himself as no one else knew why. They caught it already, didn’t they? It wasn’t going anywhere.

“Dragon, do you know this thing?” Valkia growled.

Twilight spoke softly, even with its Spike’s claws on its ears. “It’s a Changeling. They’re spies, infiltrators. Good ones that can hide in plain sight for years.” She quickly glanced over its features, unable to identify the strain. Was it new, or did the her research after the Canterlot attack miss something?

“Tzeentch created more than one?” Horstmann asked.

“No, no. These are out of Equestria, and there were tens of thousands of them. They telepathically relay what they see and hear to others of their kind. It just heard the plan for Altdorf and Middenheim.” Spike scanned around at the many faces in the room. “And anyone else in here could be another one.”

Chrysalis was an observer outside her own body, the brightest of a collective of souls, speaking to one another across the hive, and the world. The Hivemind, the congress of the Changeling race, where every creature from worker drone to gene-forged guard was an equal speck and voice in the body.

Chrysalis’ mind drifted through some priority areas. In Warren 49, Tuva was in the middle of ending the life of a Skaven burrow-scout. She could hear the rat-thing’s squeal for dear life just before the drone snapped its neck. In Albion, Suitable ground was already being molded into a new underground hive, under the very feet of the giants and indigenous peoples of the region. All around her dormant body, the Darkstone Thorne was nearing completion, a throne of glassy depleted warpstone in the shape of a tremendous spiked crown.

The throne itself was a magic-killer, calming the ambient Winds to a standstill, and only the innate power of Changeling magic could work around it. She could almost picture a potential Skaven assault, their war machines, doom flayers, ratling guns, sputtering to a halt for miles around the hive, helpless.

High above her was an eerie chandelier of a dozen luminescent cocoons, the gently twisting silhouettes of the Empire’s condemned convicts suspended in an amniotic, sleeping prison. Hundreds more of them were in other warrens, and those in the chandelier were the queen’s personal selection. More would be needed though, if the hive was to feed properly, to grow, to prosper. Perhaps it was time to renegotiate with the Imperials and offer to take all their criminals who were declared never to return to daylight.

Her corporeal face twitched, a reflexive smile at her kingdom being reborn. Among the light and warmth of her people’s presence, she felt one of their lives dim briefly.

“My queen,” came its weak voice. Chrysalis recognized it.

“Gaan. Where are you?” Chrysalis felt as Gaan did, saw as he did. She only saw boots, and only heard muffled talking.

“The Chaos Man camp. I got into one of their meetings, but I’ve been found.”

“I fear I do not have long.”

The entire information transfer lasted a handful of heartbeats, the kinds of beasts and weapons, routes to be taken, names and appearances of leaders. It ended with Gaan being forced up to his hooves to look into the burning eyes of the Everchosen. The detailed etchings and runes in his brass helm glowed in anger, and his words came deep as an avalanche.

“Tell your queen to relay this to the Empire, insect. Tell them ruin has come to their world, death, despair and red war. Tell them their hopes and pride have come to nothing. Tell them their empty whispers fall upon deaf ears and their gods are dead, for the true masters of this world will not be denied. Tell them the End Times have come, tell them nothing can save them now. Do you hear me, Chrysalis?”

The queen’s face curled sourly. Gaan responded by attempting to spit in Archaon’s face, but the Slayer of Kings was faster. Chrysalis winced, sensing the blade pierce his neck. Already, the infiltrator’s soul was detaching from his body as it died, but something kept him from drifting closer to the queen. Noticing his trouble, Chrysalis reached for him, but the same something yanked Gaan away.

Chrysalis only saw it for a moment, a shadow in the light of thousands of souls. Dark tendrils gripped Gaan’s mind, letting a bodiless, fanged maw bite and pierce his soul.

Chrysalis shouted for him, and Gaan shouted in pain. Nearly every spark of life in the Hivemind noticed the psychic shriek, and light of his mind flickering out as a blown candle. Like that, the nest was stirred. The shadow reeled as the lights drew near, expelling its darkness. Gaan’s soul shattered in its teeth with a echoing cry, and the being shot toward Chrysalis, its eyes burning with rage, its maw alight with flame, and roaring with depthless fury.

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

Chrysalis stood suddenly, making the throne workers stare. She didn’t look at them, but sensed they’d paused.

“Keep working,” she said, stretching her four arms to the ceiling. Her eyes burned with pain from the after-image of the creature.

A hole bored itself into the far wall of the throne room, and Ditto entered. He’d been recalled since the Emperor apparently didn’t feel comfortable with a shapeshifting agent of an inhuman queen in his palace, and Cadence hadn't exactly been around to voice any objections due to her returning from her state visit. Chrysalis had presented the Triumvirate with the scarabs since, capable of projecting one’s image and voice from one to another.

Ditto's tone was short and respectful, but betrayed a haunted tremble. “My queen, I—”

Chrysalis put up a hand, silencing him. “Bring me a scarab, and I can bring this to the Triumvirate. Make haste.”

Ditto nodded, and ran off with the hole closing behind him.

She returned to the throne, her expression was a storm cloud of grief. Gaan had been one of her best infiltrators. It was the stuff of miracles to gain access to the Everchosen's own war council.

They'd underestimated that human, Wulfrik. If the man could come back alive from insulting the king of a Dwarf hold by comparing his beard to the hair on a troll's arse, mere rope and a stunning spell couldn't hope to hold him for long.

Chrysalis dipped her consciousness into the hive. Her people were scared. The queen's spirit shone like a beacon amidst the flickering souls, a soothing balm to her stricken changelings after the loss of their brother.

She did not allow herself to dwell on the thought of the Everchosen's looming visage for long. As soon as Ditto returned, she'd be paying Franz and the Princesses a very prompt visit.

The changelings were finally on the upswing, and the world was already ending. She chuckled darkly. Were her people cursed in some other way now? Was the universe actively trying to destroy them? If so, she relished the thought of her resistance to such fate. Make whatever force wanted Changelings extinct have to work for it.

Her horn glowed a sickly green, and the chandelier shook as the prisoners thrashed. Several threw their jaws open in sleeping silent screams, only letting bubbles out in the milky suspension. Ruby red mist streamed down out of each cocoon, and Chrysalis opened her mouth wide and inhaled the energy. The power of love tickled every nerve in her ten foot tall body, and eased the headache of crashing back to consciousness.

Why can’t we have nice things? she thought.

She shifted in the Darkstone Throne. Well, that was one.

The war plans had gone ahead unchanged. Putting faith in that the Gods were behind them, the Nurglites of the army were detached and sent across Norsca to the Longship Graveyard. The name made Applejack question its soundness, launching a naval assault from such a place. The settlement itself was largely locked down, most of it cordoned off by the locals to stop the nurglites from spreading their diseases.

“Now don’t be talkin' to any strangers,” she’d told Apple Bloom, warily scanning over the people who chose to watch from the barricades. Some onlookers gave gifts of tribal fetishes and words of encouragement and luck to the warriors. Valnir accepted a pendant made from the bones of some small animal.

Valnir had taken some getting used to. He’d given up using her as a riding animal, not out of her stubbornness, but that he didn’t like being on a ‘high horse’, like he was above the others. To him, all were filth, or were going to be. All was doomed to rot, and fall, to die. He couldn’t communicate in mere words the despair that Nurgle had shown him, and so opted to show her as best he could while she still had some, as he said, ‘misplaced shred of hope.’

He’d removed his helmet to Applejack, and the truth burned in his very eye sockets. Valnir was but a bloody skeleton, smeared and tangled with scraps of meat and flesh under all his armor. More than a zombie, he was animated by Nurgle’s own power. His empty eye sockets glowed with emerald witchlight, weeping yellow ooze that boiled away before even hitting the ground.

Through he was but a surrogate, Applejack saw enough. The end of all things, that’s what Nurgle was about. The calmness and solidarity with others once she accepted that inevitability took so much off her mind. Apple Bloom, Braeburn, herself, preserved effigies of life, in a limbo between life and death.

A family approached Valnir with a wretchedly sick relative, barely able to stand and his flesh chicken-poxed with blisters. Valnir insisted there was nothing wrong with them.

“He has chosen me among a few as his heralds, the reapers, to spread the truth of hopeless oblivion to all the realms of men. Do you feel the maggots coursing through your flesh? Do your lungs burn with every aching breath? Then rejoice. Truly, you are blessed.”

“Moody bastard!” Otto Glott shouted from atop the monstrously warped shoulders of one of his brothers.

Ethrac Glott, an emaciated thing in tattered red robes, shied away from remarking. He took a fire poker from the large brazier mounted over his back, and without looking, stoked the smouldering embers of a pair of blackened corpses. The both of them rode atop Ghurek, a massive creature, easily taller than a troll, and a walking slab of rotting meat and jutting bone. His arms were a toothy tentacle and lamprey’s maw. The only sounds he seemed to be able to make was gurgling grunting and moaning. Somehow, Otto understood him.

“All in good fun,” he laughed.

The shipyard was slippery with bodily fluids that leaked from the sheer multitude of walking wounded warriors. Trickling in overflow into the bay, the water became ill with dead fish. The armada was in the same shape, algae-encrusted warships, held together with rusting rivets and caked-on slime for sealing wax. To keep the docks themselves from rotting away under the warriors, gangways were set up straight from the yard to the ships.

The call went out to embark, and Applejack held Apple Bloom close in the press of bodies at the closest ship’s gangway.

“What the hay are you doin'?”

Apple Bloom paused in the midst of trying to crawl into a hole in Applejack’s abdomen.

“It’s somethin' Braeburn lemme do. Nurglings would get carried by some of the soldiers in their guts," she explained.

Applejack snorted at that. “Well, you ain’t a nurgling and I’m not Braebur—”

Crunch. An absent-minded warrior passed them by, his elephantitis-filled boot crushing one of Apple Bloom’s legs.

The filly glanced down, pouting at the inconvenience. “You see? I’m gonna get squashed down here!”

That might as well be true. Apple Bloom was a tiny thing compared to the rest of these obese fighters. She lifted Apple Bloom to sit on her back, and the filly actually had a good view of the fleet and army.

“Hmm, “Applejack cracked a sly smile. “If you’re tellin' me you’re too small to be walking ‘round here, then you sure as horse apples ain’t goin' to the front neither.”

Apple Bloom blew a raspberry. “Yeah, yeah...”

Applejack knew that tone, that ‘I’ll slip off at the first chance’ tone. “Don’t you use that voice with me. I swear, I’ll nail you to the keel of a ship if it’ll stop you from throwing yourself away.”

Sorting went along on the main deck, where heavier warriors were diverted to mass-transport ships further out. It was here that Applejack saw the full extent of the fleet. At least two hundred ships, many with stylized sails depicting Nurgle’s mark, or rotting skulls. They were everything from dragonboat raiders to mighty plague ships with battering rams and catapults. The ship Applejack was on had sails of leatherized human skin, warped faces and all.

“Lord of Dragonbone, on deck!” someone cried.

Applejack had heard of who would be leading the armada. Gutrot Spume, Lord of Tentacles. Waddling up from the stern’s depths, Spume’s entire left side was dominated by squirming, slimy appendages, several of them ending in a lamprey’s maw. His three-holed metal mask was strapped to his face, and a large spike jutted up from the forehead.

Stepping aside, he let a blue-skinned woman look on the embarking forces. Her exterior was that of shimmering scales, uncharacteristically clean for one having been in a plague ship, particularly her long scarlet ponytail that whipped wildly in the seaborne wind. An eyepatch covered one eye, the other was predatory, yellow and slitted.

Spume pointed to the legions of the plague god. His voice bubbled like sea slime. “I know you have one eye, but even you can see this, clear as day. This invasion marks the beginning of the end of this world, and revenge for both of us. I will bring them a slow, painful demise, and the beginning is at Marienburg. Your sea will feast on the dead we will cast into the waters. The whole of the Imperial Navy will be prowling for my fleet; I need your might under me if we’re to make the landing.”

The merwoman sneered with a mouth full of shark’s teeth, flaring webbed fins at the sides of her head. She looked the warriors up and down, and made eye contact with Applejack. The zombie mare instinctively moved to nod a hat that wasn’t there. It was somewhat substituted by the lipless grin she always displayed. She didn’t notice Apple Bloom who simply waved to the fish-lady. The creature walked slowly to the side of the ship, and stood on the very edge.

“Think about it,” said Spume.

She looked back for a moment, then donned her jagged-mouthed helmet. Stepping over the edge, the only sound that confirmed she still existed was a splash.

“She looked weird,” Apple Bloom remarked. “You think she can swim with all that armor on?”

“She better, if she throws herself overboard like that.”

“You, blonde mare,” Spume called out. He was looking straight at Applejack. “Are you Applejack? Valnir’s girl?”

Applejack raised a brow at him. “Yessir, born ‘n raised.”

Spume pointed into the forest of masts and sails.“Go across the planks, two more ships down. There’s a Braeburn and Macintosh waiting for you.”

Panic had gripped the Empire overnight as Morrsleib appeared in the starry sky. Its presence usually heralded some incoming disaster, like a chaos invasion or mass gathering of the undead to attack the living. This night, the eerie green moon was bigger and brighter than ever, rivalling Mannslieb in size.

Across the nation, fanatical flagellants howled their dirges that the End Times had come, and all must fight for salvation. Chaos Cults, hiding along the underbelly of Imperial society activated sleeper cells across the Empire, sabotaging rail lines, burning food silos, and stealing away people caught outside. State troops suppressed riots and cult uprisings, and, all told, more than two hundred citizens lost their lives in the first night.

The Auric Bastion was manned, Nordland mobilized its coastal defenses, state levies were called out, and years of building industrial might was awoken. With the new rail systems connecting the provinces, reinforcements could be sent anywhere they were needed. The Empire was ready for anything.

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

The Emperor’s court was always filled with nobility from across the Empire, and was a hotbed of political intrigue, social manoeuvring, and hedonistic frivolity. Foremost on the political side was the Council of State, a group formed from the noble families of the most ancient lineage. It wasn’t too uncommon for those looking for favors to claim lineage to someone close to the Heldenhammer himself. Though the Council had no constitutional authority, it advised the Emperor on all matters of state. Today, however, the gates were closed to all but those directly called on by the Triumvirate themselves.

The Grand Theogonist and his Arch-Lectors had come first. Volkmar the Grim, the Empire’s spiritual heart, had never been a man of political intrigue, but a man of faith, of action. Even as his hair grew white with age, he took to fields of battle across the Empire, calling down Sigmar’s blessings and wrath on friend and foe. He only stayed briefly in Altdorf, offering Sigmar’s protection and strength for the coming crisis, and set off to deal with the internal threats himself.

The Electors then trickled in over the next few days. Boris Todbringer, Emmanuelle von Liebwitz, Valmir von Raukov, and more.

Chrysalis, again wearing the form of an Inquisitorial agent, led the debrief on the captured plans. Afterwards, she watched the Imperial state bicker and debate how to deal with it. She didn’t understand the continued politicking and trying to get things from one another.

Still, a cohesive plan was forming. The Auric Bastion would be the bulwark against the invasion, apparently leaving Kislev to its fate. Steam tank production had entered full swing, and Nuln was able to get an engine out the door every day. The expense of such machines, and the limited expertise of the city’s engineers would have demanded monopolistic prices, but Emmanuelle offered to enact severe price controls, but still turn a profit.

“If Westerland wants our protection, they must return to compliance,” said Todbringer, his fiery-colored beard lending a feral look to his already present anger. “Look where their foolishness has gotten them. If they think just strapping cannons to their merchant-marine is enough to throw back the largest Norscan armada in the world, then their leaders are clearly unfit. The directorate should lose such autonomy, and the Republic of Westerland rightfully be ceded to Middenland. Their people are of Teutogen blood, after all.”

Theodoric Gausser tsk’ed. “Only after the Teutons butchered the Jutones. The land historically goes to Nordland.”

“Bah!” barked Aldebrad Ludenhof, holding up his necklace at Gausser, shaking Hochland’s white cross. “Some other territory to sate your ambition? Looking to invade Hochland was too obvious, eh? You don’t want Balthasar turning your treasury to lead again, so you look for prey elsewhere?”

Balthasar Gelt stood at Karl Franz’s right hand, resting on the Staff of Volans. Many of the electors’ eyes were on him, and his demeanor was unreadable behind his stoic golden mask. “I simply did my duty to ensure the stability of the Empire. Civil war is undesirable.”

Gausser simmered, drumming his fingers on the table. “And the province’s economy has not since recovered, even with the rock farming incentives. Taxing Marienburg’s trade routes would more than make up for it.”

Dressed in her most expensive white Nuln dress, Emmanuelle von Liebwitz leaned to Luna, who was nursing a headache from the presence of the chaos moon.

“Men,” Emmanuelle whispered condescendingly.

“Two-thousand years of this,” Luna replied, pointing to herself.

“I’m so sorry.”

Chrysalis dragged a hand down the side of her face, trying to hide her involuntarily grinding teeth. This disunity, so many conflicting interests. Right on the cusp of the largest Chaos invasion the Empire had seen in over a decade, no less. Well, at least they could get it over with now, rather than get bogged down in debate when push came to shove. She hoped, anyway.

Why a confederation? Chrysalis thought. What was the point of an Emperor if he could be ignored in this free-for-all? At least all the changelings could be pointed in one direction.

Franz, why aren’t you doing anything? Get them to focus. Say something!

Karl Franz was in conversation with Celestia. Chrysalis couldn’t hear them, but finally, Franz smartly rapped his fist on the oaken table. The few bickering Electors quickly silenced themselves, glancing over as Franz spoke.

“Westerland’s secession reveals that the Directorate cares only about lining their pockets. They betrayed Sigmar’s trust, and his vision of a united Empire. For this, the Directorate must be removed from power. Gorssel and the east bank will go to Nordland, and Marienburg will go to Middenheim. Let this settle it.”

Gausser and Todbringer stared each other down a moment, a silent passing of will between them before nodding.

Wolfram Hertwig of Ostermark demanded Stirland’s armies to help defend the southern section of the Bastion, to which Alberich Haupt-Anderssen refused, emphasizing the need to keep tabs on the vampires in Sylvania. Helmut Feuerbach offered two of Talabecland’s steam tanks to Stirland as a supplement to the Sylvanian border garrisons, provided they send some reinforcement to Ostermark. Matthias Grundwald took up Hertwig’s request.

No one liked Grundwald, a competitor to the late count Marius Leitdorf, who left Averland without an heir to the throne. He spoke in the dead count's stead, clearly looking to prove himself on the national stage, but the regent lacked the Mad Count’s vision and insight. Even if it was derived from talking to his horse much of the time.

Through it all, Shining Armor and Kurt Helborg provided the bigger picture, nationwide instead of the local and province-to-province issues. Where the Electors were concerned with battles, the Reikmarshals were concerned with fronts, supply and evacuation routes, centers of industry and bastions of defense.

Valmir von Raukov leaned forward, looking across the table to Chrysalis. “How, dare I ask, did you come across these plans? You would have to have infiltrators in the highest levels of Norscan leadership.”

Chrysalis tipped her tricorne hat to him, doing the very best to hide her smirk. “My deepest respect, lord Raukov, but you are not sanctioned.”

Valmir removed his fur-lined hat and tensely ran a hand through his cropped black hair. “No, of course I’m not. Why would the Elector Count of Ostland ever need to know anything about how the nation’s intelligence is being gathered?”

The changeling queen pursed her lips. “I believe that what matters is that the information is reliable, that Marienburg, Altdorf, and Middenheim were their prime targets, and we know what many of their leaders look like. I’d draw up a map of their attack vectors, but since they know they’ve been compromised, they might change their plans.”

“Still, we should send out messages to Marienburg,” said Gausser. “If the enemy want to land a massive army, they’ll need a large port. Where better for the largest plague fleet in the world than one of the largest port cities in the world?”

“I’ll draw it up and present it as soon as possible, lords,” Chrysalis said.

“Did the Elves not say they brought a substantial force last year?” spoke Helmut Feuerbach. "It’s a stretch, but they know how dire the situation will be. It would be wise that they come to our aid.”

“Cadence, maybe,” said Shining Armor. A wan smile flickered on his face, but quickly faded. “But she’s long since gone back to Ulthuan by now. The Elven leadership themselves might leave us on our own.”

"In a situation like this, Ulthuan might be more likely to look to their own defence. Most of them view us in… a dim light," Franz conceded.

“If they accepted Cadence and the crystal ponies, something must have changed their minds,” Celestia said.

“Still, we must prepare for the worst,” said Luna dourly. “Assume the Asur aren’t coming for us. Their enemy has always been Chaos, but the Empire stands as more of an ally of convenience. A means to an end."

A round of uneasy grumbles arose from the assembled leaders.

"I'll bet you anything they already know about this, and just haven't told us yet."

"Teclis might know. But his first loyalty is to Ulthuan, and they traditionally keep to themselves."

"We're getting afield here, lords, ladies," Franz remarked. "I will arrange messengers as soon as possible, to King Finubar, and to Thorgrim Grudgebearer of the Dwarfs as well. We will not be alone." He said the last slowly and pointedly, looking over the faces of each Elector in attendance.

"Each of you stands as a recognized representative of your respective provinces, and their peoples. Approach them with these revelations as you will, but remember, panic serves only the enemy."

The scarab in Chrysalis' pocket began to thrum, rattling its wings. “Speak of the devil. The princess Cadenza calls,” she said smoothly.

Celestia smiled beatifically. “Good. Let us hear her.”

Chrysalis withdrew the onyx scarab, set it on the table and, with a firm press on a tiny green jewel in its wing hinges, snapped its flaps open. Luminescent magic seeped up and coalesced into the watery image of Cadence on her throne. Less focused figures of the crystalline guards framed the picture.

Immediately, Chrysalis knew something was off. Cadence didn’t try to hide that she was anxious, and her tone spoke of impatience, with a tinge of anger.

“Greetings, all,” she said. “I apologize for my silence these past weeks, but some unexpected events beyond my control stole my time, attention, and delayed my departure.”

Shining Armor sighed in relief. A more compassionate voice was still in the Old World.

Franz waved a hand dismissively. “You can be brought up to speed in due time. I wonder, though, what did keep you?”

Cadence glanced between Celestia and Luna, and swallowed. “The king Sombra lives, and leads a breakaway kingdom of the Druchii around the Norscan colonies. He persuasively offered a non-aggression pact between his faction and the Asur.”

Franz leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers on the table before him. He released his breath in a long, measured sigh, but said nothing. Celestia and Luna stared dumbly, unblinking. Shining Armor mimicked a fish in a search for words.

"He…" Celestia paused to pick up her jaw. "I… see. So…"

"He survived," Luna muttered. She glanced down, pressing a hoof to her head. "It seems we are to be hounded by ghosts even to this day."

Todbringer, frowning in distaste, clicked his tongue. “So they have a new leader, this side of the pond. Who is this 'Sombra'?”

Chrysalis exploded in sudden laughter that made several at the table jump.

“You blew him up!” she cackled. “Shattered, scattered in the wind! Can nothing kill him?!”

Chrysalis quickly lost her breath, wheezing, then choking on a wave of panic.

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

A familiar darkness creeped across her vision, suffocating, and bottomless in hunger to devour the light. Memories came crashing back to the surface, memories of a hive under siege, and legions of slaves under his command. Cold, green eyes glowed from every soulless mask, staring emptily, every mind belonging to one heart that bore no love, only hatred and a desire to be master over the will of all others.

She didn’t remember how exactly she managed to defeat him, but her final moments of consciousness in that fight were clear. Sombra's eyes were like frozen orbs of blood, fiery in intensity, yet piercing cold, without fear or mercy. His head was crowned by smoke and fire, and he casually cut down her drones.

She’d charged him as he reached her very throne room, and he burst into a smoky dark as she tackled him. She drowned in that darkness, blasting with magic, tearing at anything that felt solid. She did this until she couldn’t feel anything but fury and terror. The world turned red with her wrath, full of the screaming of slaves and tearing of meat, fueled by perfect fear of her imminent annihilation.

That was the first time she’d died.