Kildeez and Sifty's Shameless Self-Insert Adventures in Equestria!

by kildeez

First published 27th of August, 2014

Kildeez: mid-twenties, love of ponies, and with enough issues to write a book on. Sifty: former brony, makes Kildeez look like a picture of mental stability. Drop them in Equestria, sure, why the hell not?

Kildeez and Sifty: in our world, they are two men with far too much time on their hands, a creepy fascination with colorful talking horses (well, one of them, at least), and enough anger issues between the two of them to give Freud palpitations. But in Equestria...well, they're pretty much that, but they have guns! And knives! And one of them's the Dovahkiin! And the other is what happens when Chrysalis finds a weird monkey wondering around her lands and is drunk enough to tap dat (I'm not proud)! Now, with a disillusioned Dovahkiin and a horny half-changeling wandering around, surely Equestria stands a chance against the Nightmares roaming their lands!

Or they could just make things worse. It's honestly kinda fifty-fifty at this point.

Critics are raving! Because of the LSD we slipped into their drinks! But still, they're raving, and that one taking a dump in the corner says he can't wait for the next chapter! So what're you waiting for!?

In case you haven't figured it out, this story is not to be taken seriously. Just something I hack away at if I hit a stumbling block with my other stories. For funniez. If, for some reason, you find yourself craving more of this idiocy, go ahead and check out my deviantart or Sifty at his Deviantart page.

Entry I: The Champion's End, by Sifty

I leave this as a declaration of intent.

My use in this world has bled out. The Nightmares have moved on, to terrorize some other world- which, I don't quite know, nor do I quite care. The girls have moved on, as well. Twi's status as a princess means her magic is powerful enough to obliterate whatever threatens her friends or her town. The Elements of Harmony have their power boosted; not even Nightmares could effect them, if the bastards were still around. Rarity, Applejack and Pinkie Pie have recently been booming with business. Since Twilight still lives in Ponyville, there are a lot more visitors to town from all over, and the tourists are all over the businesses. Last I've seen, Rarity was literally rolling in coin.

Rainbow Dash has been at the Academy almost every day. Her work on the weather crew is barely necessary, as she's quickly escalating the ranks, and getting her own squads to command. Fluttershy's unique ability to talk to animals was recognized by the Ponyville veterinarian, and- with Rainbow's encouragement- Fluttershy was hired on to work with him. They've been so busy and so happy, and with no more attacks on town... They didn't need me anymore.

I am done in this world- For a time. Celestia has answered a request I personally put in recently- to let me go through the tear in the dimensional veil south of Equestria, near the very "bottom edge" of the Known World. From what Celestia tells me, the world on the other side is called "Thedas"- And it needs a hero.

I know of Thedas. It was currently in year nine-hundred-thirty. The Dragon Age. Celestia tried to explain what the world was and why I would be sent there, but she couldn't get a word in- I knew more than she did. The official story is that, once I cross the Breach, what I do from then on is entirely my choice- And I choose to become a Grey Warden, one of the guardians of Thedas against a disgusting horde of monstrosities known as the Darkspawn. I haven't enough room on this paper to fully explain, for I must finish what I have to say. I am to fight in Thedas until Celestia needs me again- and I am positive that she will not. The girls and I have not talked for two months, and on the many occasions that I have tried to contact them, I was ignored, time and time again.

They don't care enough to say goodbye. They may have forgotten me. Better for them- I was a bloody smear in this world. The most violent creature alive. It would be best that my legacy is not carried on, for when they have their own children, they needn't hear of the exploits of one Lone Wanderer.

I have gathered the equipment I will need once I cross the breach. A selection of weapons and tools, food, a few pieces of clothing that I treasure, etc etc. Celestia has shrouded my home in a "time loop," so that in the unlikely event of my return, nothing in my home will have changed.

I wish the girls a happy life.

I'm done here.

And, as the Grey Warden motto says...

In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice.

~Almir "Sifty" Neslanovic

AKA

The Champion of Equestria

I left the note taped to my front door, in case anybody got curious- which was unlikely. My equipment clinked and shifted in my pack as I made my way towards Celestia, who waited to transport me to the dimensional tear. When we got there, she stayed momentarily to see me off. Before I left, I hugged her. Tightly. She seemed to have expected it. This alicorn had given me so much. A home. Friends.

Family.

When I let go and looked back up at her, it was obvious that she had been crying slightly.

"Thank you, Champion. For all you've done for my lands." She cooed, tenderly.

"It was my pleasure."

"Goodbye."

"Yeah... Until you need me again. Just give me a ring, heh..."

And, with that, I set off into the Veil.

Author's Notes:

Well, kind of a downer way to start this off, I know. But still! We're just getting started, here!

Entry II: Champion's Return (that was fast), by Sifty

It's been a few days since I came to Thedas.

The portal spewed me out right into the midst of a battlefield- and right on top of an Ogre that was trying to crush a Grey Warden. Naturally, I didn't take kindly to this- I was never one to be shaken up by the rigors of entering a new world, and my cryptozoological research into Darkspawn had served me well in quickly dispatching the blighted ape. As I sunk my blade into it's skull, I didn't dick about with niceties- The war was still going on, after all. After a healthy whirlwind of steel glancing off steel, I stood atop a small mountain of corpses, covered in Darkspawn blood- and feeling weary. I knew what it was- I had contracted the Taint.

Of course, the Grey Warden I spared from being smashed realized my combative talents. His name, he wouldn't say, and while I sensed that he was curious about my sudden entry into the fray, he didn't ask about it- nor did he ask about my fighting style, clothing, or anything else. The Warden's only concern at that time was my potential as a Warden recruit- when he gave the offer, it's obvious that I accepted. The Taint felt horrible, and it's long known that I've wanted to become a Warden.

Myself, and five other recruits, went through the Joining, where we imbibe Darkspawn blood. I knew what it was- it was a mixture of things. Lyrium, a mineral in this world that holds a lot of magical properties, Darkspawn blood, and the blood of the Darkspawn's "leader," the Archdemon. Those that survive the Joining become Grey Wardens.

Note, "those that survive."

The Joining ritual... it's basically drinking poison. If you survive, you become a Grey Warden, able to sense the Darkspawn, and immune to the Taint. Well, not totally immune- but it slows down the process. Grey Wardens suffer shortened lifespans- but it's the sacrifice we make.

Three recruits died. The other one, before me, passed out. When it came to me, I knew that it was now or never- and I took that drink. I held my ground as the whispers broke into my mind, and tried to stay conscious- but, in the end, I couldn't last- and I fell over, completely out of it.

When I awoke, the Warden informed me that I was now a Grey Warden. He asked if I had any questions- and was surprised by all that I already knew. As it turns out, the Fifth Blight, the thing that I had arrived here to stop, was long over- and the man I was talking to, who I came to find out was the Warden Commander of Ferelden, was the one who slew the Archdemon, Urthemiel, and stopped the Blight. The battle I assisted in was simply a skirmish during the Thaw, where the Wardens hunt down the Darkspawn who haven't yet retreated into the Deep Roads.

I was free to act on whatever I needed to. My choices were many, but it broke down into two- go into towns and look for more potential recruits, or take a trip into the Blightlands and try my hand at slaughtering some more Darkspawn for the Commander.

So, I enjoyed myself for a day or two. Hung out with the Commander at the local tavern with his friends, slaughtered the Darkspawn by his side, even went into the Deep Roads and found a dwarven recruit. I was present at her Joining, and she, thankfully, survived. Didn't care to find out her name, and I didn't listen well when the Commander offered her the chalice.

However, one thing troubled me.

I received a letter about an hour ago. Sealed. Stationary was pink, somewhat frilly. There was an orange sun stamped on the signature line.

"Champion,
As you may be aware, time between dimensions moves differently. You've spent a week in Thedas, by the time my letter will reach you- but seven months will have passed here. You must find a way back. A great evil has been unleashed; when I left the Breach, my magical teleportation must have torn a hole in the Veil. Something leaked out. It's...
I have no time for analogies or figures of speech. Just know that you are needed. I truly hope your abilities as a Grey Warden will aid you. What has been unleashed, it is similar to those Blights you told me of so long ago. So many horrors have been unleashed upon the land. Creatures from countless dimensions scour the towns and cities, kidnapping civilians, killing them, killing each other, mutating others...

Please. Come home, Sifty.

We need you.

Equestria needs you."

I showed the letter to my Commander. The Commander and I, we were far too much alike- and if it wasn't for the fact that his last name was different than mine, I would say he and I were the same person. Sifty Cousland was his name. At least, that's what he was telling me. He wouldn't reveal much else about his real name- other than that it started with an "A." He sure as shit wasn't messing with me- I told him, and every other Warden, to simply call me "The Wanderer." I didn't slip my real name, nor my code.

He understood what I had to do. No questions asked, he assembled a group of mages, and they cast me through the tear from which I came.

The world I entered was not the world I left. The skies were red; the ground itself had rotted. Far in the distance, dragons battled in the sky. Farther still, dark red clouds closed onward, towards the ocean. Unsheathing my blade and raising the large, round, Grey Warden-heralded shield that I had been issued, I looked towards the horizon to the north- where I could still see Canterlot's shining light.

I'm coming, Celestia.

I'll save us.

One last time.

Entry III: Back in Action! By Sifty

I traversed the wastes slowly.

My care for these ponies was no longer friendly- there was no longer any love. It was professional, nothing more. Though most had forgotten me due to my inactivity, my role as Champion was inscribed in the memories, and as long as I lived, I was bound to answer it's call. This was my job, and with the Commander's blessing, I would get it done. Hell, if I finish this job within a year, barely two weeks will have passed back in Thedas- I won't miss a damn thing.

As my care was no longer very urgent, I favored tactical ability ADDED to my combative ability. If I rushed to get to Canterlot, I would likely die quickly. There were many kinds of creatures roaming the land, and a Blight seemed to have started near the Cursed Salt Plains, and led by several Disciples, no doubt. No Archdemon could be in The Known World without alerting the Wardens. Canterlot was in the mountains; it could be seen easily from hundreds of miles away. I was at least two hundred miles away, give or take, in the Broken Leylands.

The blightclouds were stretching towards the east, towards Canterlot, from what I could see atop my hillside hike. No matter my speed, I was confident that I would be able to arrive in Canterlot and mobilize some sort of defensive position before the Blight arrived there- Darkspawn took great joy in ravaging smaller villages. While I would like to save them, I am but a single unit- Grey Warden though I am, facing the very brunt of a Blight, alone, is suicide by anybody's standards. Facing it with an entire army can prove futile. My benefit upon reaching Canterlot is twofold- Being a Grey Warden, I could sense the Darkspawn coming and know exactly when to spring ambushes, or when to unleash the full force of my mobilization.

Several thunderous blasts greeted my arrival as I crossed over the top of a hill on the barren, burnt waste that I have been traversing. I caught movement far in front of me. Single target, beating back several others. From the blasts, I assumed the target that was backing up was using a shotgun. Pump action, it looked. And they looked to be having trouble. An ally could be handy in this situation; whether they were useful, or just fodder.

Raising my shield in a manner fit for charging, I unsheathed my sabre machete and reared it back, then began my assault. As I neared, I noticed that the creature this man was fighting were Death Adders. Haven't seen those nasty buggers in a while. Seemed that the guy was out of ammo- and, fearful for his life, was fumbling with the shells, making it difficult to reload.

As one of the Adders raised back it's blade to end the poor fool, I let out a war cry and smashed my shield hard into the Adder's side, crushing it's fragile ribcage and killing it. Standing in front of the man- a goatee-bearing adult with thinning, dark hair- I took a "juggernaut" stance, raising my shield to protect most of my body and lowering my center of gravity. Head peering over my portable bulwark, my sword glaring off the bare desert sunlight, I must have looked a sight.

Death Adders- they were mostly cowards. They would flee a fight if a target was intimidating enough. However, I didn't seem to be so.

The first Adder charged forward, raising it's blades and hissing. As it approached, I launched forward, bashing it in the lower body with my shield. Sliding the shield up and over, I skinned the Adder's stomach with the rough, sword-beaten edge of my shield, which hurt the bastard- but not as much as the follow up sword-skewer through it's abdomen.

The Adder fell dead, but not before it's brother slipped forward and- in a move completely unobserved in these beasts- managed to twist it's blades around and under my shield arm, tearing away my weapon. Still, it was holding my shield- which meant it lacked the ability to properly defend itself. So, as it reveled in it's five-second victory, I span clockwise and brought my blade around, hacking off the Adder's head.

Turning to the final Adder, it and I squared off. In a final act, I slid my hand along my blade, wiping off the blood. Looking the Adder square in the "face," I brought my bloodied hand to my face and smeared it's brother's blood across the bridge of my nose and a little further along my cheek. Glaring at it, the plastic of my sword hilt creaking as I tightened my hand, I let out a war cry.

Giving one final hiss, the Adder slithered off.

Scoffing, I sheathed my blade and picked my shield up. Turning back to the gentleman I had saved, I noticed something a little off- his eyes seemed to glow a harsh green when he faced away from the light. He turned to me and gave a warm smile.

"Thanks for the save. Those damn Adders are a pain in the ass in my homeland."

I said nothing. It was not the Wardens who turned me into what I was now- it was the five months of isolation making me realize that, at heart, I'm still a rock.

"Silent type, eh? Can I at least know my savior's name?"

"My name matters not. I am a Grey Warden. Refer to me as such. You are?"

"Grey Warden?"

"I won't explain." I snarled.

"Wow, bit of a dick, ain't we... Whatever. My name's Kildeez. K to my friends. There are reason for you saving my ass?"

"Always nice to have a new ally. What are you doing in the Leylands?"

"I was sent as an ambassador for the Ch- Wait... You don't have anything against Changelings, do you?"

"Used to. When my job was just protecting magical talking horses, I killed everything that was a threat to them. Changelings were just another number. Ambassador for the Changelings. Go on."

"R-right. I was sent to Canterlot, but then these portals started opening up, and I had to bail out. Used up all my energy to get away, and could barely last much longer here. My shotgun isn't exactly the best toy, since I had to scrap the damn thing together. Changelings don't exactly have gunpowder."

"You build that? Impressive." I replied, lowering my guard somewhat. This gent seemed an alright sort- but something was still off. What in Andraste's dimpled ass was this guy doing with the Changelings? Unless... That glow...

"...I'm just going out on a limb, here. Are you a Changeling?" I accused.

"What? No! Well, not completely- look- I'm not currently changed, okay? This is me. Au-natural me. I'm- Agh... The story is a little odd. I'd rather not tell it. I'm half-changeling."

"...Not bad."

This "Kildeez" and I talked for a while longer. It was around fifteen minutes before I snapped back into my old self and told him of what my mission was. Considering we were on the same path, and going for the same objective, it would be in the black for both of us to travel together. He had a large amount of shells on a belt around his waist, so he could provide me some ranged support- and, if I gathered his story correctly, he can shapeshift. Always nice to have a giant spider or a Griffon along. For that matter...

"No, Warden." Kildeez groaned, "I am not going to change into a mountable Griffon for you."

"Dammit!"

Author's Notes:

Finally, we reach the most important part: me!

Entry IV: The Changeling-Born, by Kildeez

It’s official. All hell has broken loose, and it’s doing it right in the middle of a kingdom of magical, talking ponies. God can be a funny bastard like that, eh? Then again, I doubt God has very much to do with the shimmering portals spewing forth nightmares and monstrosities all over Canterlot castle, but if he does, he’s got a lot of explaining to do when I inevitably meet him. Though, based on the tentacle-covered monstrosities slithering up the stained glass windows and the winged horrors currently hacking the pegasi corps to bits and the ugly-assed slug things trailing acidic mucous as they schlepp through the streets far below, that might be a whole helluva lot sooner than I thought it would be.

“This way, sir!” The guardspony at my side screeches, their little metal slippers clanking on the tile. “Please try to keep up!”

“You callin’ me fat!?” I howl, still fiddling with the object in my black, chitin-covered hand, the cat-like pupils dominating my eyes pulsing with anger.

“No, I’m just saying you should drop that walking stick already!” The pony barks back, armor clanking as they slide to a stop to whip their head around and face me. “Whatever you’re doing with it, I don’t think it can help us!”

I finish twisting the curved handle off and slide it into a secret hole built into the “walking stick’s” side, working it back and forth once. A loud “cha-chunk” sounds, and I watch one of my shotgun shells slide past the lever and into the chamber with a satisfying, metallic click. A grin crosses my face as a little, green light pops up in my eyes, my fangs sliding into view out of simple satisfaction. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“DUCK!” The guardspony screams, and I look up just in time to watch one of the black tentacles crash through a stained glass window, followed by a loud hiss from whatever it’s attached to. I shiver. I can’t be certain: I mean, I’ve always prided myself on my mental fortitude, but I’m pretty sure that if I saw whatever that tentacle was attached to, it’d drive me nuts.

The weapon in my black, chitin-covered claws clatters as I shake, as if it too is terrified of the apocalypse breaking loose all around us. “Shh, it’s alright, girl,” I hiss, stroking the weapon’s barrel like a frightened cat. “I’m scared too.”

“KILDEEZ!” The guardspony’s screams make me jolt upright. Oh yeah, there’s a tentacle beast trying to kill us all. Almost forgot about that.

The guardspony twists, a spear in their hooves, the sunlight glittering off their golden helmet. The tentacle swats both pony and weapon away like a fly, sending the guard flying against a wall. Oh, now doesn’t that just piss you off? Like, really! How low do you have to be to pick on a pretty little pony!? You know, besides us changelings, of course. “’EY! Nobody messes with da ponies but us changelings!” I yell, my voice booming off the walls. The distraction works, the tentacle immediately turning away from the semi-conscious pony and slithering towards me, some mucous-like crap hissing off its form from between its fluorescent green suckers.

“Black and green. Hmm, must be a popular color scheme,” I mutter as I easily side-step the flailing mass and drop to a knee, allowing it to shoot right by me like a dumbass. I wrap my finger around the trigger and squeeze, and instantly a big chunk of meat goes flying away from the center of the black, writhing mass with a thunderous crack. The creature lets out a shriek like a cross between Justin Bieber taking a sledgehammer to the crotch and a rake being drawn across a chalkboard, confirming my belief that whatever it is probably won’t be on the cover of Victoria’s Secret anytime soon.

The tentacle slithers away, apparently deciding to go after prey that might be easier and less kill-tastic. Smart choice, if you ask me. In the brief respite, I sprint to the fallen guardspony, toss them over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry, and leg it into the nearest storage closet, kicking the door shut behind us and flicking on the light. I lean the pony against a shelf loaded with a couple hundred boxes of powdered detergent (my God, why would a pony princess need this much detergent!? Just what does she get up to when nopony’s looking!?) and gracelessly seat myself on the floor. The shotgun’s still clenched in my fingers, thank God. I thump my chest a few times to keep my heart beating and tame the effects of the adrenaline pounding through my bloodstream.

“So, you’re the rushing shadow of the Everfree, huh?” A voice next to me asks. Apparently, my guard has decided death ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. Good for them. “The changelings’ fist? The son of Chrysalis?”

“GENETIC son,” I reply sourly, working an extra shotgun shell out of a hidden pocket in my dress pants. “She wasn’t exactly the type to change diapees and hire a hobo to play Santa Clause on Christmas morning. I was raised on Earth: only found out about my changeling heritage about a year ago.”

The guardspony turns to me, eyebrows raised. “That…must have been quite a shock.”

“Yeah, she probably could’ve done it better than popping in my room one night all like ‘oh, hey son, I’m your real mom, you’re only half human, and magical talking ponies are totally real, except you’re part of a shape-shifting, emotion-feeding species that feeds off them.’ Kind of a bombshell to drop on a guy’s head on his 21st birthday, if you ask me.”

Those eyebrows rise until they disappear beneath the guardspony’s helmet. “She dropped all this on you during your birthday!?”

“Yeah, I know. You’d think she’d have let me sober up first.”

The pony stares blankly at me, then sighs, staring dejectedly at the opposite wall, probably accepting that if I’m their best hope for getting out of this in one piece, they’re probably gonna die. Horribly.

Welp, acceptance is the final step in coming to terms with something. Again, good for them.

“Ehh, y’know what? This shit just figures.” I grumble, working the lever-action to chamber a fresh round in my weapon.

“What’s that?” The guardspony asks.

“This was supposed to be the one job that couldn’t go wrong,” I sigh. Hey, we’re probably gonna die in a storage closet surrounded by a disproportionate amount of detergent. Might as well lay all my cards on the table while we’re here. “The one thing my ma gave me to do that couldn’t possibly end with me having to face down an army Lovecraftian horrors, or a bunch of pissed off mercs, or a rogue hive filled with deranged serial killers, or whatever-the-fuck. Just a simple diplomatic mission. Get in, chat with a pony princess over wine, secure a channel for future relations between the species, and head home in time to waste a few hours scaring the piss out of myself with a Creepypasta narration or two. The biggest danger I was supposed to face here should’ve been finding out that all those ‘Molestia’ rumors were true and subsequently waking up cuffed to a bed with a six-foot purple dildo in my ass.”

The guard stares at me for a little while, and then cracks a grin. “All things considered, this is probably a bit better than that, eh?”

I return the grin. My madness must be contagious. “Yep. But seriously, I am not dressed for this. I mean, look at this!” I shout, raising my feet to show off my black leather dress shoes. Yes, the kind you can polish until you see a little, upside-down version of yourself in them, do you even have to ask?

“Do these look like my kick-ass shoes? No, these are my ‘dressed for success’ shoes. These are my ‘it’s time to handle business-shit’ shoes. These are most decidedly NOT my ‘handle an invasion from a universe full of Eldritch horrors’ shoes!”

“Yes, the destruction of my nation must be so hard on you,” the guard says flatly.

“Thank you for your concern!” I say, tousling the pony’s mane. “Finally, someone gets it!”

The guard just shakes their head. “So, what’s the plan?”

“I was hoping you’d know, because honestly, I’m running low on ideas over here,” I grumble, fingering the weapon in my grasp. “Shelly here’s got one helluva bite, but that only works if I’ve got ammo. Thing is, I’ve got maybe a dozen shells on me right now, and I don’t have the time to make more, which leaves us stuck in a closet and waiting to make our final stand.”

“Shelly?” The guard asks with a weird, sideways glance.

“Shelly the shotgun.”

“Of course,” the guardspony sighs, casting a forlorn glance at the door. Right now, nothing’s trying to claw at it or anything, but if and when those things outside figure out something’s breathing in here, they’ll tear through it like so much crepe paper. “So, last words?”

“I was thinking something along the lines of ‘Vidi, vici, veni’.”

"What?”

“It’s a twist on a saying from the great Roman general-emperor, Julius Caesar,” I reply, a lecherous smile crossing my face and splitting my goatee. “I was hoping to do it while balls-deep in someone, of course. It means ‘I saw, I conquered, I ca-‘”

Before I can finish what must be my fifth dirty joke in as many minutes, a low hum begins to build in the air. I cut myself off and bolt to my feet, smoothly transitioning from sitting on my rear to crouching on one knee in front of the pony, the shotgun raised. I hold a finger up for them to remain quiet, hoping they’ll get the picture and not try something stupid. All joking aside, I was well-versed in actual combat, having acquired skills after months of missions direct from my ‘mother.’ As well-trained as the Canterlot guards might be, they were still pretty outclassed by anything we might be facing here. I was probably the only one in the entire city with actual experience (And no, I don’t count the five minutes these guys spent stuck in changeling goop during the Canterlot wedding as experience). Besides, if I’m going out, it might as well be doing something remotely badass, right? You don’t get much more badass than using yourself as a living shield for an innocent. Unless you’re on fire while you’re doing it. Oh piss, y’know what? I wonder if all that powdered detergent is flammable at all…

Before I can turn myself into a walking Molotov cocktail for funnies, a trace of golden powder materialize in the air in front of my face. As I watch, weapon still raised, the powder turns into a little sparkling ball, which promptly traces out a rectangle in front of my face. The air inside the rectangle starts to go translucent with indistinct shapes and rushing colors, slowly forming into a rainbow-colored mane, complete with golden regalia, vermillion eyes, and a smile I find sexy KIND AND KNOWING! I AM NOT A CLOPPER!

“Princess!” My pony escort gasps and kneels. I smile easily and lower my shotgun to give a little bow: just a small bend at the waist, nothing much. She may not be my princess, but she was still a being deserving of my utmost respect.

“My dearest subject,” the Princess smiles as the pony crawls around me, still trying to remain in a kneeling position. It’s kind of funny, in a pathetic sort of way, I guess. I mean, the way these guys act, you’d think they all expected to be banished to the moon any moment. She did that, like, once! A thousand years ago! To save the world from eternal night! Dudes, sensitive much? “I’m so happy to see you are alright.”

“The changeling-man saved me,” the pony replies, pointing a hoof at me. “One of those tentacle things was going to kill me, but he fought it off with his stick.”

“Did he now?” Celestia regards me, an eyebrow arched coldly. “With just a regular, old, walking stick?”

“Well,” I shrug and smile sheepishly. “Perhaps I made a few modifications to it that I forgot to mention.”

“Hmm,” suddenly, a warm smile breaks out on her face. “Very creative. I knew I was right to place my trust in you, Kildeez of the changelings. You have proven to be quite the champion.”

“Aww, jeez,” I mutter, shrugging and avoiding eye contact. Cripes, I might as well throw in an ‘aww shucks’ while I’m at it, maybe rub my hand against the back of my head with a little blush added for good measure. I don’t take praise all that well. Or insults, for that matter. Really, any sort of interpersonal interaction beyond caveman-like grunts kinda tosses me for a loop. And yet I can make a shotgun that looks like a walking cane out of some wood and scavenged parts. Go figure.

“So, what’s our next move?” I ask, desperate to change the subject. “And I hope it ain’t ‘fight until everything’s dead’. Usually, I’d be right there with ya, but I know enough about Japanese culture to know fighting something with tentacles that big is just gonna fuck us up in the end. Literally.”

“I’ve already sent a distress signal,” Celestia replies, her tone and expression switching to business-mode in the same amount of time most ponies would take to blink an eye. “Help will be on its way soon. In the meantime, I plan on teleporting you out of the city.”

"Wait, what!?” I yell, waving the shotgun around for emphasis. “Do y’think this is just for decoration!? I’m sorry, Princess, but I’m not going to let a country I’m supposed to be making my ally burn while I hightail it out of town! That’s just not my thing!”

“As I’m well aware,” she replies, closing her eyes patiently. “Your job will be to escort help when it arrives back to the city, providing any aid you can in navigating the demonic hordes. In the meantime, I will shield the castle and protect any inhabitants I can. We should be able to hold out until you arrive.”

“Hmm,” I tap my chin thoughtfully. “Alright, definitely the best plan we’ve got so far. Then again, the only plan me and Guardy here…”

“My name is Morning Dew,” the pony grumbles.

“…me and Morning Dew here could come up with was dying in a blaze of glory, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid style. So yeah, we’ll go with your idea.”

“Excellent,” Celestia beams with the intensity of her day, a dainty little smile I find quite attractive (for a pony, of course, FOR A PONY) warming her face.

“So, what kinda help are we talking about here? A battalion of tanks? A horde of griffons? A platoon of Spehss Mahreens?”

Her smile flickers for an instant as she shakes her head, that one visible eye regarding me with an indescribable intellect. “A man known as Sifty.”

Morning Dew gasps, eyes widening. “The Champion…” the pony whispers under its breath, as if saying the name any more loudly might make this ‘Sifty’ character appear out of thin air to roundhouse kick us all into oblivion. Morning takes a few steps back before bowing their head in reverence.

Arching an eyebrow at the odd display of respect, I turn back to the Princess. “Okay, and what’s this Sifty guy bringing with him? Like, does he lead some band of mercenaries somewhere? Does he have laser eyes? Maybe a hotline to God for bringing down some good ol’ fashioned Old-Testament-flavored pain?”

“As far as I know, all Sifty has ever needed is his skills, his courage, and his blades.”

I nod. “Right, right, annnndddd…his private army of AK-wielding ostrich-riders?”

“No. His courage and his blades. That is all.”

I smile and nod at the princess’s little joke, knowing that sooner or later, she’s going to crack a smile and tell me that this was all her attempt at humor, and that Sifty is really a top-secret Equestrian anti-Nightmare cannon, or some shit. Because surely, someone with a few thousand years’ worth of wisdom couldn’t expect me to believe that she is about to pin the well-being of the entire planet on one man. Surely she couldn’t possibly…

“It is no joke,” she assures me, stating it as a simple fact. “Sifty is all we should require.”

I keep up my smile for a few extra moments, fully expecting her to break down into an adorable little giggling fit at some point. Yep. Any moment now.

Any moment.

She keeps those light, intelligent eyes on me. My smile fades.

“ARE YOU INSANE!?” I shriek, nearly knocking over one of the couple hundred boxes of detergent on the shelf behind me with an exaggerated gesture. “Princess, with all due respect, are you feeling alright!? Because I fail to see how one dude with a knife is supposed to fix the clusterfuck out there!”

The pony at my side suddenly turns to me, their eyes blazing with rage. The little thing growls – straight-up growls! – at me. “Sifty is not just ‘some dude’, and you should speak of him with the respect he…”

“Calm yourself, Morning,” the Princess assures. Like an obedient guard dog, Morning sits their little flank on the floor, glaring at me from under the helmet that found its way back on their head while I wasn’t looking. Celestia returns her attention to me. “Morning is right in one respect, Kildeez: Sifty is not just ‘some dude.’ He is a legendary warrior who has defended Equestria a thousand times before, battling the same creatures now besieging the city in dozens of encounters. Each time, he has emerged the victor utilizing only his blades, his skills, and his wits. If any man can turn the tide of this war, it is him.”

I sigh, realizing she is absolutely not going to give on this. “Okay, fine, whatever. I’ll find your mythical warrior and do my best to get him here in one piece,” I snarl. “But if I can’t find him or if he doesn’t measure up, I’m running to Acapulcolt for a few last hurrahs before the Nightmares kill us all, y’hear!?”

“But of course,” Celestia smiles knowingly. “But you should know that Acapulcolt has almost certainly been cut-off and overrun by now.”

“PISS!” I scream. There goes Plan B: dying surrounded by babes and booze. Pony babes, yes, but I’ll take what I can get. “Okay, whatever, let’s get this over with.”

“A few things,” she holds up her hooves. “For one, you might want to appear human before you meet him, and not just in body structure. It would be best if he couldn’t confuse you for the very things you’re fighting, though I’m sure he’ll accept your heritage if it comes up.”

“So no fangs, plain ol’ hair, normal eyes,” I reply, my old, human skin reappearing over my chitin and my fangs vanishing behind my gumline. My sight flickers in and out as my pupils return to a pair of simple, rounded holes, but I flash a thumbs-up to let everypony know I’m okay. “Gotcha. Anything else?”

“Yes, it would be best if he didn’t know you’re under my orders to escort him here. He’s fiercely independent, and might not take too kindly to having a ‘babysitter’, as I’m sure he’d call you.”

"Cool. So to recap: if it ain’t white, it ain’t right, and this conversation didn’t happen. Anything else?”

“Yes,” Morning Dew this time. The pony trots up to me and looks in my eyes, tail swishing in the air behind them. Morning removes the helmet and reveals a pair of deep, gorgeous blue eyes. Her extended eyelashes blink saucily as she bites her lip, and for the first time, I can see the mare hiding beneath all that golden armor. “Be careful, Kildeez, for me?”

Suddenly, she lunges up and plants a kiss on my lips. I resist at first, but fall into the kiss, my arms wrapping around her midsection in an embrace, the warmth of our bodies pressing together. I stare back at her, shocked. “Um…”

“Well, I certainly hope you can get it up with a pony someday,” she coos, cuddling into my chest.

“I…uh…” I stammer. Should I…should I be enjoying this!? Should I be pushing her away, or inviting Celestia to join in, or what? What is protocol here!?

“Seriously though, you need to get up.”

“Um, I dunno…we just met…”

“You need to get up. Get up,” she repeats, the saucy smile fading under robotic repetition. “Get up. Get up. Get up…”

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

“Get up. Hey, K, get your ass up!”

"Gwwwaaaahhhh, I'm not a clopper! It was just a kiss! She snuck up on me! It meant nothing!"

Sifty frowns at me, his eyebrows hunching. “What?”

I stare blankly back up at him. “What?”

“I…nevermind. Look, it’s sunrise.”

I sit up from my sleeping bag, noting the sun starting to peek out over the treetops. “Ah, so it is,” I say, standing up to brush some of the dirt off my jeans and pull my weapon out of the makeshift holster we’d stitched together for it. Nothing fancy, just a flap made out of tanned deerskin. I thank God that Celestia thought to teleport me in my regular, non-business clothes and sneakers. They may not be my ass-kicking shoes, but they’re a whole lot better than those leather things I was wearing before she ‘ported me out of Canterlot.

Sifty nods stoically, then turns his attention downhill to the forest around us. "If we keep moving the rest of the day, we should be back at my place in Ponyville sometime in the evening."

I nod, cracking my neck and straightening up, I stretch a few muscles and work a last few yawns out of my system. Finally, I shoulder the shotgun and expend a tiny amount of changeling magic to turn my right hand into a gnarled, clawed thing straight out of a horror movie. Sifty nods to me as he draws his blade. I nod back, then a goofy grin spreads across my face.

“Ladies first,” I offer, motioning towards the town like a true English gentleman.

He delivers a roundhouse boot to my hip that sends me rolling downhill. I grin like a maniac the entire way.

Author's Notes:

And even more important stuff! About me!

Entry V: Skyrim? Skyrim. By Siftstone.

Kildeez didn't know much about this portal crisis. Me, I had no internet in my house. I spent my days reading books from Twi- and a few were on the subject of portals in Equestria. So, I told him exactly what might happen. At any given time, we could be swallowed up by a ley portal and thrust into a sub-dimension of Equestria, an entirely new world. Depending on our reactions, the time before we got spat back out would vary.

"So, you're telling me that we could end up in a world filled completely with nude, humanized ponies?" Kildeez quizzed, with a somewhat suggestive tone in his voice.

"Don't get your hopes up." I coldly stated.

"Hey, lighten up, man. You're killing my boner, here."

The glare I gave after that comment stayed his tongue for a while.

After some time spent walking, Kildeez and I came upon a small crossroad. A bare patch of dirt road, untouched by the devouring space that was the Broken Leylands. Kildeez didn't seem like he wanted to take lead, so naturally, I stepped forward. The Wardens, along with a few military books that I brought over from Earth, had taught me plenty about leading a fireteam or a whole squad, and my natural tactical prowess could even help me lead an army- something that Celestia would better damn well have had ready by the time I got to her city.

The ground in this area was bare, and looked like fetid meat. This was an indicator; Darkspawn had ravaged this part of the country already. It mattered little. Along with the ground, there was an intense smell of rotten flesh in the air- and that wasn't something that the Darkspawn were able to leave.
Unless it was a major battle, of course. Even then, there would have been corpses.

This was something else.

In that instant, a heart-tearing roar shredded through the dusty air. The beating of enormous wings heralded the arrival of what I could only assume was a dragon. My assumptions were clarified when my terribly-written ass finally decided to actually look up instead of take position with my shield.

"Oh, fuck all kinds of duck." I swore.

"Relax, man." Kildeez assured, "Equestria's dragons won't mess around with you unless you piss them off."

"The problem is thus, Changeling: THAT'S NOT A FUCKING EQUESTRIAN DRAGON!"

The dragon crashed to the sand, blasting a massive roar of fire about itself. Lowering my stance as Kildeez pulled out his shotgun, we readied ourselves for a fight. However, the dragon laughed at us. A deep, throaty, lizardy laugh that could only come from a Dovah.

"Arrogant mortals! Hi yin juriik moro?!"

"What did he say?" Kildeez inquired. "Assuming you understand?"

"I know a bit of Dovahzul, yeah. This fucker said 'You dare challenge my glory."

"Well versed in Dov as you may be, you are nothing but worms to be crushed beneath my might!"

Before Kildeez and I could respond, the dragon inhaled deeply, and spat another three words at us.

Words I began to dread the moment I could comprehend them.

"Hud-TIID LEIN!"

As the massive, inescapable shockwave tore into us, I felt myself black out.

"Hey, man, wake up!" I heard, as several slaps graced my face.

"I swear, I will pee in your mouth if you don't wake up, man! I'm... I'm actually kind of scared right now!"

"Piss in my mouth when I'm dead and I'll rise from the grave to feed you your own testicles." I growled, flexing my stomach and pulling myself to a sitting position. A heavy groan escaped my lungs as my hand met my face. Standing back up, I examined myself, to make sure I still had all of my gear. I was good to go. It wasn't until I looked up that I felt like falling over again.

Far in the distance, several dragons circled a massive mountain. A war raged even further, a small battle with the clashing and slashing of steel echoing through the valley and to us. Men and women in blue-toned armor against men dressed like roman legionnaires. I knew exactly where we were.

"Skyrim...?"

"Dude, you okay?"

"I'm... fine. Just experiencing a toTAL MINDFUCK!"

"What did that dragon do to us?"

"That blast was a Thu'um. A shout. A powerful magic only dragons- and certain, chosen-by-fate individuals possess. The words that dragon used were 'Distance, Time, World.' It displaced us into a different reality."

"You mean... we're in his world?"

"Not exactly."

I explained to Kildeez that dragons were immensely powerful and cunning beings. What that dragon had just done, it had shouted us into a sub-dimension of it's own universe. We were cursed, in a way, to stay here and mull about until we could get coughed back out into our own. We had a varied amount of time- either we'd be displaced a mere hour, or a whole year, depending on how much ire that dragon held for us.

"NIPPLEPENIS! That... So, what? We've failed our mission?"

"No. We can get back. We've just gotta... gotta... Oh, for fuck's sake."

Before K and I could figure out a plan, another dragon flew overhead, roaring. However, the last dragon we fought was colored and decorated like a Legendary Dragon- therefore, it had much more powerful shouts. This dragon, here, was nothing more than a normal, green-scaled Dovah- we could take this bastard. Drawing our weapons, we were loosely prepared for the battle that was about to transpire.

This dragon wasn't as cocky as that last bastard. Immediately after landing, he engaged us, not bothering with talk. A wave of flame blasted by the both of us, causing Kildeez to dive out of the way and land in the mud. I, however, simply raised my shield and ducked low, blocking most of the heat. Within an instant, I was standing to my feet and shield-charging the dragon, machete in-hand. The dragon, not expecting this reaction from a mere mortal, wasn't ready to react- and suffered a heavy shield bash, followed by a spinning strike from my blade.

The dragon roared as I came down again with my machete and caught it on the nose, and as I span back around to swing again, the dragon took a breath. Backing up and raising my shield, I felt the shield tear it's way from my grip and fly across the field of battle, several feet away, as the dragon blasted a wave of energy at me.

"Zun-HAL VIIK!"

Fucking Disarm shout.

This, however, didn't stop me, as I simply dashed forward with a vile wind, gouging the dragon across the cheeks with my blade. Kildeez was shooting at it's wings with his shotgun, which explained why the bugger didn't simply take off after I began kicking it's ass. The dragon reared back it's head, as if it was going to bite me, which caused me to side step it and slash upward, along it's neck- this caused it to toss it's head to the side.

Moving quick, I leapt on top of the dragon's head and began to knee and punch it in the face. As I raised my blade, the dragon seemed to realize something.

"Dovahkiin?! NIID!"

The words nearly stopped me. As my blade crashed through the dragon's skull, the beast fell flat on the earth, the life rolling out of it's eyes. Pulling out my blade and stepping back, I watched in awe as the dragon's flesh began to burn away, and an aura of blue, orange and white energy gushed forth around me. I felt empowered- like a thousand thoughts were rushing into my head, like that dragon's very heart was bursting into my soul.

And it was, in a way.

Falling to my knees at what I had just revealed, I dropped my weapon and looked down at my hands. Tears began to flow- tears of what, I couldn't tell, for my emotions were mixing too much for me to comprehend. There was a knowledge, deep in my mind, that began to rush forth. Fus Ro Dah. Force. Balance. Push.

I fucking played Skyrim, you know.

Kildeez quickly ran over, almost as amazed as I was- more at the fact that I had just slain a dragon than what I was realizing. "Holy shit, man! That was BADASS! Hey... you okay, Warden?"

"N-no... Yes? Fuck... I don't... I don't know."

"What was all that glowy shit?"

"I... I absorbed it's soul."

"...You didn't take a bump to the head, did you?"

"Kildeez. I'm Dragonborn."

Going through the long, arduous process of explaining more quantum and portal physics, along with Dragonborn and Skyrim lore, Kildeez finally came around. My theory was this- since I was in a sub-dimension of Skyrim, a Dragonborn may not have been bestowed power or even born into this world. As dragons were raging across the land, Akatosh had to give someone the power- and since our signatures were new on this plane of Nirn due to the Legendary Dragon's shout, it was one of us. Why it chose me, I don't know. Perhaps it needed a moreover human soul to work?

Whatever the case was, I was Dragonborn. I was a walking divine intervention. This sub-dimension of Skyrim was not important- It's an alternate world where a different fate awaits. If a Dragonborn had not been revealed at this point, then there was no reason for one to fight here- these powers were a gift from the gods of Mundus to the lowly victim blasted into a world where he should not be.

"So, if you have powers, what kind of stuff are you able to do?"

"I can absorb the soul of a slain dragon, and if I'm right, they can be one from Skyrim or a dragon from Equestria. Once I do that, I can use it to 'unlock' the knowledge of a Word of Power. I've played Skyrim- I know all the words that there can be. What I lack is the comprehension to use them, and for that, I need souls. However, one shout was granted to me immediately."

"What was that?"

"You'll see."

After a while of wandering the hills, we felt reality begin to shit itself. We blacked out again, only to awaken in the same field that the Legendary Dragon had banished us from. The loud roar as we awoke let us know that he was still around. I was excited- I was really in the mood to get this bastard back for that little show. Although he did give me power- albeit accidentally- he also gave us a lower chance of getting to Canterlot on time. Time was a commodity. Standing back up quickly, I helped Kildeez to his feet and readied my weapons.

The dragon, roaring by above, began to scorch the land towards us. As it's breath of flame neared us, I took a breath, looked up high, and shouted with intent.

"Fus-RO DAH!"

A blastwave of kinetic energy rushed out ahead of me, screaming forth towards the dragon. As the blast hit, the dragon lost all sense of coordination and flight, and quickly faceplanted into the ground near us, skidding across the earth for a few hundred feet. Running after it, my entire body coursing with zeal, I hurled my machete into the dragon's neck from a short distance, then dropped my shield, launched myself into the air, and brought a massive bronco kick down on the dragon's face, stunning it even further. Pulling my secondary machete from my belt, I cranked open the dragon's mouth and skewered it's lower jaw, propping open it's mouth.

The dragon's eye glared at me as the beast struggled to snap my blade, failing to snap the enhanced steel. Reaching into the bastard's throat, I took hold of the soft muscle that held it's tongue into it's body...

...And tore it clean out.

The dragon flailed briefly before shock set in, and the beast fell over, dying. Pulling out my blades, I waited patiently as the dragon's soul transferred to me. Looking back and collecting my shield, I noticed Kildeez looking on with a face of pure disbelief.

"Holy shit."

Author's Notes:

SKKKYYYYYYYYYYRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIMMMMMMMMMMM...is the property of Bethesda. I don't own Skyrim. I don't own MLP. Man, I don't own jack shit.

Entry VI: Holy S#!ts All Around, by Sifty

Kay and I decided to settle down and make a camp for the night. We ran through a horde of slime creatures, and were both feeling... rather unsanitary. We found an oasis in the leylands, and I bucket. After punching some holes in the bucket and hanging it in the tree, I built a small wall around the tree for privacy, made out of sticks and logs, and next to the oasis waters so that a steady supply of water was available. Sure, showering might not be the most badass thing- but we weren't trying to be badass. We were trying to live to see the next sunrise.

And being covered in digestive slime was not exactly good.

I let Kay go first, as I warned him that I spend a lot of time in the shower. It was an addiction. I pretty much spent my time meditating on words of power while I waited for Kay- Particularly the ones that aren't as... epic as the others. Simple ones, like Dismay, Disarm and Clear Skies. You never know when you might need them.

After Kay got out, I went right on in. Now, I won't explain the scrubbing. You pervy bastards know what a shower is.

As I went along, I looked over the barrier to see what Kay was doing. He was writing something into his journal, it seemed. Now, I noticed something in the distance- five tall, humanoid shapes, approaching our camp. Likely attracted by the light of our campfire.

"Kildeez. Heads up, we've got company. Handle it."

"On it."

Kildeez got up and approached the bandits, but left his shotgun behind, next to the small hole in the sand we dug for sleep. Not a wise move, but he was a shapeshifter. As the apparent humans came closer, they pulled out weaponry- nothing major, mostly knives and blunt objects, but one guy had a handgun. Kay began to move to go for his weapon, it seemed, but stopped.

"What are you two queers doin' out here, all alone, eh?" Cackled one douche, who seemed to be the leader.

"Your mother, fuckwad." Kildeez bit back, a light growl in the back of his throat. "Girl doesn't even want to take turns, we both go at once, every time."

The douche seemed upset by this utmost truth. Pulling his gun up and aligning it with Kay's face, the guy spat out some incomprehensible gibberish in, what I could only assume, was Hungarian. Before the guy could say anymore, a green aura briefly surrounded Kay, and then the douche's arm was hacked off at the elbow by a long, broad, and painfully familiar blade.

Standing in what was once Kay's place was a Hive Guardian, beating it's six hooves against the ground repeatedly and huffing steamy air out of it's gills. As the douche stumbled backward, he suffered a broad, forward slam from Kay's head, which knocked him on his ass. The douche, tearful over the sudden ass-beating, commanded his group to attack.

Another green aura blasted over the Hive Guardian, and the howl of a wolf pierced the air. Eight feet of a massive, bulked-up werewolf unsheathed it's shining claws, and pounced one of the douche's cronies to the floor, tearing out his throat and rending pieces of flesh and clothing away. The other bandits were unnerved by what was going on, and couldn't seem to bring themselves to strike. Kildeez, finished with his victim, quickly turned and pounced high against another bandit, burying his werewolf claws into the bandit's face and dragging him to the floor. However, the moment Kildeez hit the dirt, he had already shifted again.

I recognized this motherfucker.

Standing a healthy twenty feet in height, fur dyed an icy, light blue, with gigantic, three-foot long claws, and a single, massive, glowing eye, was a Deerclops. Suffice to say, the bandits were, as we in the science community like to say, "completely fucked."

"Oh, fuck this! You're on your own, boss!" Shrieked one of the bandits, as he turned and fled, while leaving a trail of fear-urine in his tracks. The other one, falling to his knees in shock, had a look of sheer terror on his face. Kildeez swung one of his arms low, and flung the bandit far into the distance, beyond the point of the waning sunlight.

The leader, still screaming over the loss of his arm, was silenced by a massive, clawed stomp. Grinding his foot into the dirt, Kildeez gave a roar of victory before turning back into his human form. Straightening his collar, he checked the corpses, and retrieved for himself a few items.

"Hey, Warden!"

"Y-yeah? Holy shit..."

"You want a gun?"

"Nah, man, I'm... I'm fine. Just... Holy shit, dude."

That night at camp was filled with tales of Kay's adventures, and the many creatures he could shift into. Upon the rising of the next morning's light, we set out once again, moving ever-onward to Equestria's boundaries. Even if we managed to get there on time, however, we still had a LOT of work to do- the Crystal Kingdom in the plains, Ponyville itself... Whatever went on in the smaller towns, we would have to handle. It's what we do.

But for now, we walk.

Author's Notes:

Evidently, being Chryssy's son has its perks.

Entry VII: The Chapter Where The Main Antagonist Shows Up, by Kildeez

We dart across a barren field and slam against the first building in our sights: a squat, warehouse-sized thing that must have been an inn or a tavern or something else a bunch of backwoods ponies would want as far from the town center as possible. We'd been spying on this little village for hours now, spent the whole night camped up on a hill overlooking this little place. Now, Sifty takes point, kneeling in the grass with one hand pressed against the brickwork and the other gripping his sword. His shield is strapped to his back, yet doesn’t make a sound as he leans out to peer around the corner at the village proper, shifting his weight ever-so-slightly from one foot to the next. Gotta hand it to him, I really shouldn’t have doubted his abilities. Then again, I probably should have figured that out after watching him tear a dragon’s heart out and absorb its soul for its power. I can be slow like that.

I thumb the crude safety catch on my shotgun and return my grip on it, my finger resting on the trigger guard rather than the trigger itself to keep from letting off a shot. The last thing we need is a big bang to signal anything that might be waiting for us to blunder into its waiting jaws. My knee complains from the extra bandolier of shells hidden beneath my jeans, but it’s a pain I’ll accept to avoid running out of ammo in the middle of a fight. Sift turns to me, and I raise an eyebrow and gesture to the main part of town. Universal sign for Anything out there? He shakes his head but raises a finger to his lips. I nod. You don’t have to be the world charades champion to know what that means.

I wonder if that’s a thing: a world charades champion. I mean, that would have to be up there with that guy with the world’s longest ear hair or that other guy who can shoot milk out his eye and hit a glass thirteen feet away. Why would people take the time to develop these “talents?” There’s no way they could possibly think they’re gonna get laid with…oh, damn, we’re moving.

My focus immediately returns to the here and now. There is a time and a place for jokes and daydreaming, and this is neither. We slink around the building, hugging the brickwork as close as we can. I get my first sight of the village proper as we round the corner: one dirt avenue with a dozen squat, single-story cabins lining it, with one building at the end that has an open-air porch and a few rocking chairs up front that look like they needed replacing back when Celestia first attained royal status. Probably the general store, which could be a good sign, so long as the good stuff hasn’t been looted yet.

My eyes dart up and to the side, then immediately shoot back to the supposedly empty town. “Doyle’s Tavern” is inscribed in faded red lettering across the building’s front, right over the saloon-style doors. So I was right about the “tavern” part. Here’s hoping I’m also right in guessing that this town is too small for the Nightmare hordes to even bother with.

We start with the tavern, which has a second story and indoor plumbing, judging from the exposed piping out back: rich wonders we had yet to see anywhere else in town. Of course, Sifty takes point again, raising his shield and standing with his sword poised. I stand off to the side, just outside the doorframe and, when he nods, I deliver a powerful donkey kick just below the doorknob. He charges in, a rushing shadow silently disappearing into the dim light within. I’m right behind him, a somewhat audible bison sort of popping up wherever I damn well feel like.

My changeling eyes adjust from the bright sunlight outside almost immediately, and the room begins to take shape. I spy a couple dozen round tables that might have been polished sometime in the last century, each with candles that had burnt down to their wicks by now, sitting atop a floor that had probably never known the touch of a mop. Along one wall, I spot the only entertainment readily available: a dartboard, with a picture of Queen Chrysalis serving as the bullseye. I cringe ever-so-slightly. My relationship with my genetic mother might not be all hugs and giggles, but she was still my dispatcher: the one who sent me off to single-handedly improve relations between the species, hoping against hope that I might have what it takes to save the changelings as a whole. Shit like this is just a reminder of how much work there is left to be done.

I sweep the shotgun across the room, the light through the front windows more than enough to see everything I need to see, even the bar in the back corner. Sunlight glints off empty shelves where all sorts of pony booze had once stood, the only hint that anything had ever been there being the shattered remnants of a bottle in a corner. I sigh in disappointment. Ah well, pony booze doesn’t really get the job done for us humans anyway, and even less so with changelings, which leaves me double-screwed. Now, changeling booze!? Hot damn, that will knock you on your ass in an instant!

My eyes lock on a semi-darkened hallway leading behind the bar, probably towards the main quarters where the family who owned this place would have stayed. To the left, there’s a set of stairs leading up to the rooms for rent, an oak banister lining what is almost certainly the creakiest staircase in the world.

I glance over at Sifty and shrug, never once lowering my weapon. He nods, then gestures to himself, then towards the staircase. I return the nod and level my gaze on the rear hallway, noting the ratty linen curtain blocking out the sun from the window at the end, just barely providing enough light for me to make out the outline of a door set in one wall. I creep across the floor, stepping lightly to avoid making the wood creak. I don’t need to look over or hear him move to know Sifty is probably halfway up the stairs already. I let out a few, slow breaths and creep towards the window, moving the curtain aside in the hopes of getting a bit of light to work with.

Of course, no sooner do I so much as touch the curtain when it falls to rotten pieces beneath my touch, the seams tearing audibly and the rod popping off its mounting to thud against the hardwood floor. I let my breath out in a long, slow sigh. Of course, because why would this go perfectly right? I grumble to myself.

I slam my body against the wall and twist the knob with one hand. Thankfully, this door creaks open, no need for another donkey kick. I slide through and sweep the room with my weapon, finding myself in the caretaker’s quarters, as I’d guessed. We’ve got another window in here, some oil lamps that have long burnt through their fuel, a table all set for a nice, quiet family meal that would never happen, and an absolutely pristine metal washbasin set to the side, with a couch and throw rug against the other wall to serve as a living area. A few doors lead off this main room, probably the bathroom and bedrooms. Seeing nothing of interest here (or in the cupboards hanging open, bastards that came through here must have picked the place clean) I figure the master bedroom would have to be my next safest bet.

I lunge across the room in a semi-quiet stride, stopping just short of the bedroom door. Turning the handle, I slowly creep inside, shotgun poised against the door to automatically sweep the room as the hinges slowly squeak with my movements. Once again, we’ve got a room with conditions I can only describe as Spartan: a bed with plaid-patterned cotton sheets, a nightstand that has seen better days, a chest against the foot of the bed for clothes, and a bookcase against one wall. That draws my attention immediately. I stride right over to it, drawn in like a Jersey Shore cast member to a drinking contest taking place inside a tanning salon. Though the other rooms have yet to be cleared, I can’t help myself, keeping the shotgun in one hand while the other thumbs over the selection of titles. It really doesn’t surprise me that the shelf is relatively untouched, I doubt looters have much of an interest in reading. Then again, it could be these ponies’ choices in reading material: paperback romance novels you can pick up at drugstores, coffee-table dreck people only buy to look impressive, mystery novels, the whole works. I roll my eyes. What’s wrong with a few Stephen King novels!? Or some fantasy and sci-fi? Why can’t you ever find those in anyone’s personal collections except for weird teenagers? Hell, at this point I’d settle for a paperback Dean Koontz!

I skim over a shelf packed full of paperbacks with the pony version of Fabio on their covers, feeling up some random mares. Dude even has long, golden locks drifting in some unknown breeze. Spare me. Eventually, my eye falls upon a picture of what must have been the family that lived here: a mommy pony, a daddy pony, and a baby pony, all wearing adorable little smiles. A little grin cracks my face. They might not have had the best reading choices, or the most luxurious lifestyle, but these ponies had a life. A life now certainly uprooted, if not ended altogether by…

Hold on…

Something’s wrong.

I scoop the picture up in my free hand and frown at it. Something about it is setting off a tiny alarm at the back of my head, as if I’m forgetting something really important, but of course I can’t put a finger on what that might be. Do the smiles look fake? Maybe a little, but these are ponies posing for a picture, what else would they look like? How about the eyes? Are the eyes wrong? No, that’s just my own paranoia. Okay, maybe it’s not something wrong with the picture, maybe it’s something missing…

Yeah! Okay, I’ve almost got it, what could be missing from this picture? I’ve got three ponies here, pasting on big, shit-eating grins for the camera. I’ve got a background that was obviously bought on the cheap from whatever studio took this. I’ve got condensation from the hot, steaming breath drifting over my shoulder...

…

PISS.

I whirl around, finger wrapping around the trigger, the photo shattering on the ground by my feet. A Dreamwalker fills my vision, sharpened tentacles poised, rotten breath drifting from between its fangs and blasting my face, its loose, tawdry skin practically hanging off its skeleton. The monster lunges for my throat, one of the pointed tentacles it has substituting for arms flying through the air with a little swish, like a throwing knife tossed by an expert. I barely manage to duck under the swing, feeling the wind ripple just over my head. With a flick of my wrist, I bring the shotgun up to bear in one hand (no need to worry about accuracy this close) and unleash a single shot that sends the creature falling backwards, turning half its previously-exposed ribcage into a red mist. The creature cocks its head back and opens its mouth wide enough to swallow a watermelon, a pair of ridiculously oversized fangs working up and down, as if it were trying to scream, only to discover this impossible with a large chunk of its lungs gone. The bastard settles back and coils into itself, its snake-like body shivering in its death throes.

A few stomps from outside tell me this bastard wasn’t the only thing waiting for me. I grimace and take a few deep breaths, working the lever action on my weapon to chamber a fresh round before charging out the door. A half-dozen zomponies are waiting for me, the air filled with their slavering cries and the ground hissing with their acidic drool. I let loose with another shot, and one of the bastards hits the floor with his skull from the jawline up gone, the once pristine washbasin behind him now oozing with the putrid remnants of its gray matter. My ears are starting to ring from the shotgun blasts, but I don’t let it show. Instead, I let loose a scream from somewhere deep inside myself, unleashing a battlecry to make a barbarian chieftain proud as I lash out in a swipe from my gnarled, changed hand, tearing out a chunk of another zompony’s throat. As that monster falls back, clutching futilely at the torrents of rotten, stinking blood pouring out its neck, I raise my shotgun in time to fend off a bite from one of its freakish buddies, blocking it right at the throat with the stock of the weapon. It takes a few bites of air, snarling at me, another zompony coming up behind it, lunging for my legs. With a quick twist of my body (I always considered myself an undeniably flexible bastard) I toss my first assailant aside and sidestep the second’s charge, bringing the butt of the shotgun down against the back of its skull as hard as I can. The thing’s head explodes like a large beetle getting run over by an 18-wheeler, giving off a surprisingly satisfying squish.

I grin. I’m almost completely deaf now, partially from the shotgun blasts and partially from my own pulse pounding in my ears, but it doesn’t matter anymore. My adrenaline is going wild. I’ve got three of these fuckers to take down now, and I even know just how to do it. Mr. Teeth is coming at me with another charge that I find unbelievably predictable. His two buddies still in the world of the semi-living are just standing on the other side of the table; totally stunned by the way I’ve just blitzkrieged through half their friends. It’s child’s play for me to dodge Mr. Teeth (crap, if that’s my name for him now, does that mean I’m getting attached already?) and follow up with a buttstroke against the back of his head, slamming him so hard his own momentum carries him right onto the table. Reacting fast, I chamber a fresh round and flip the table on its side, four crashes sounding as the place settings shatter against the floor. Mr. Teeth howls in confusion before I bring the shotgun to bear and unleash a final blast right through the wood, blood spewing out behind it. With a final battlecry, I slam my foot against the splintering remnants, sending the table sliding across the floor to hit the opposite wall and crushing the other two zomponies in the process.

That’s really it for the battle. Mr. Teeth is just a rotten-smelling stain on the wall now, and the other two are too stunned from being slammed against the wall and winged by the flying splinters to do much of anything. I take my time with them, strolling right up to their bodies as they struggle to free themselves from the splinters and scrap wood, then finishing each with a few stomps to the back of the head. With the adrenaline starting to peter off, I can take my time and look over the bodies.

These ponies look like regular raiders, all kitted out in scraps of whatever they could loot from abandoned villages. Not exactly innocents, and thankfully no foals among them to mess with my conscience, but still, one helluva way to go. They didn’t deserve this shit, to be taken and transformed into tools for the Nightmare hordes, their minds blasted away and their bodies used as expendable resources to further some demon fucker’s plans. They’d just been a roving band trying to survive in the post-apocalyptic wasteland this paradise had become. “Requiescat in pace,” I mutter, crossing myself. “May you at last find peace.”

I stride back out the door, pulling some fresh shells off the bandolier around my leg for good measure. Once I’m loaded up and ready, I dash outside. “Sift!?” I call. “I think we’ve got a small problem!”

No sooner do my sneakers touch the ground when I hear a crash from above. I turn just in time to see one of the upper-floor windows shatter outwards, spraying glass everywhere. Right in the heart of the spreading glass cloud, is my new best friend Sifty, riding a Hive Guardian while screaming like a maniac. A part of me is disappointed that he doesn’t have doves shooting out behind him in mid-air.

“FIVE-OH AIN’T GOT SHIT ON ME!” He screams, the monster roaring in reply, only to fall silent once Sifty lands on its throat. Still surfing the bastard’s body like the world’s meatiest tidal wave, he decapitates the creature with a single swing of his sword then tucks and rolls off a shoulder, landing right next to me to glare from a face covered in brackish, rotten-smelling blood.

“A small problem?” He huffs, still breathing heavily, still glaring.

I shrug. “I dunno, you seemed to have it locked down pretty tight. So I figured this was on the spectrum of concerns somewhere between ‘rabid dog in Ponyville’ and ‘hangnail on right index finger’.”

No sooner do these words escape my mouth when an ungodly cry rises from the outskirts of the village. We turn just in time to watch a veritable tidal wave of Nightmares, a horde that must be dozens strong and composed of Black Gorgers, Dream Walkers, Zomponies, and a whole host of shit I’m not even sure has gotten named yet. The horde descends upon us with the same kind of ravenous glee I’m sure a starving lion enjoys when it notices the slowest, fattest member of the zebra pack breaking its leg and falling into a pond of barbecue sauce.

“Okay,” I mutter, working the lever action of my shotgun. “Warden, remind me to keep my big, fat mouth shut in the future, wouldja?”

“I’ll remind you with a couple fat lips, half-breed,” he grumbles.

“Thanks pal, I knew I could count on ya,” I hiss, exposing my fangs in a sarcastic smile.

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

A half-hour of battle and quoting one-liners later, and the last of the Nightmares lies dead at our feet, the blood of their brethren caked on our clothes and shoes. Yep, looks like tonight is going to be a shower night. Great. Just when I was working up a really decent man-stench too.

“That the last of ‘em?” I yell, trying not to huff or show just how totally out-of-breath I am.

“Hold on,” Sift brings the edge of his shield down on the neck of a fallen zompony. It cringes and lets out a cry to let us know it had been faking death before breathing its last. “Okay, yeah, that should be it.”

“Great,” I grumble, beginning the search for my shotgun. The shells had run out about halfway through the battle, and I’d lost my grip on the poor little dear sometime after that. Not really sure how or when. I think it was before I tore the last of the Hive Guardians’ eyes out with my bare, clawed hands and attempted to show them to its vacant eye sockets, but after Sift had scaled one of the houses with a cry of “POGO PARKOUR,” flipped off the roof, and came down with his full weight behind his sword's edge to slice one of the Black Gorgers perfectly right down the middle. Again, I’m not one-hundred percent sure.

I manage to find my beloved weapon under a pile of zomponies, that loose bit clattering in my claws as I scoop it up again. “Shh, there there, girl,” I whisper, stroking the weapon’s barrel again. “Daddy’s here. Daddy made sure all the bad monsters went buh-bye.”

“I better not catch you with your dick in that thing,” Sift yells, his voice totally flat and emotionless. “I might just be apt to go for the trigger.”

I turn on him, all ready to give him a taste of a good ol’ demon face, but instead of his usual, stoic deadpan, he’s wearing this big, shit-eating grin. It knocks me back a pace or two: I didn’t even know he remembered how to smile. Then I return the grin and shoulder the weapon. “Perish the thought,” I reply. “I’d never do that to Shelly! Now, Lefty here…”

I hold up my hand, still grinning, partially tempted to try and emulate Princess Celestia’s almighty solar woman-parts but deciding that’d be too far, even for me. “…Lefty here’s another story.”

Sift just shakes his head, still smiling, surprisingly. “You’re a sick man, K, y’know that?”

“And proud of it!” I announce, pausing to take a quick scan of the piles of dead bodies all around us. “Say, should we do something about these? It’ll stink to high-hell if we just leave everything as it is. Might fuck up the crops, too, but I’m no expert on what happens to rotting Nightmares.”

“Naaahhhhhh, don’t worry about it,” Sifty cocks his head up to the sky. “Sun’ll take care of ‘em. Dead Nightmare bodies don’t last too long in the stuff.”

“Oh, cool,” but then a thought occurs to me. I turn back to the inn. “What about the ones in there?”

“Ehh…dammit, we should probably take care of those, huh?”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “But hey, when it’s all said and done, at least we’ll have actual beds to sleep in tonight, yeah? Maybe an actual bathtub or two?”

“No,” Sifty frowns, urging me along through the piles of dead Nightmares already beginning to disintegrate in the rays of sunlight left. “We’ve got a ton more ground to cover tonight.”

“Aww, c’mon, Warden!” I say, cracking something to relieve some of the ache building in my neck. “We’re talking actual beds! Some basic creature comforts to…”

Something flares in his emotional spectrum. It’s tiny, and gone almost as fast as it appears, but my changeling senses detect it instantly. A small, flare of anger, accompanied with something else, some nasty little taste that reminds me of many a school night spent locked in my room, hunched over a textbook with visions of F-minuses dancing in my head. Anxiety? Woah, Sifty feels anxiety!? Something’s up. There is a definite glitch in the matrix here.

“Okay, Warden,” I say quietly, keeping my eyes locked ahead. I follow him into the inn, then immediately lock the door behind us. We both walk into the shadows in some far corner, ducking down low. “Okay, why aren’t we really staying here? And don’t pull any punches, I wanna know.”

He doesn’t sigh, or run his hands through his hair, or any of that other bullshit. He just keeps his eyes locked on me and his tone dead and flat. I kind of admire that, in a way, but there’s a fine line between emotional control and emotional repression. As a creature that feeds off emotions, I know that better than anybody. Luckily for us, Sifty seems capable of dancing that line with the grace of a ballerina. A raging, battle-fuelled ballerina with abnormally large amounts of destructive capabilities and the ability to eat dragon souls. “We’re being followed,” he tells me, still with all the intonation and expression of the announcer at a bingo parlor.

What little remains of my smile fades from my face. “How long, and how many are they?”

“Don’t know,” he says. “Spotted a few things out in the woods yesterday: trampled underbrush in the shape of a boot, birds suddenly flying away, little shit like that. They’ve probably been on us for longer, though. Could just be the one, but again, I don’t know. Could be that one of them’s just not that good at keeping their trail covered. Either way…”

“Piss,” and I do run my hands through my hair. That’s probably the one good thing about hair for guys, now that I think about it. Having something soft to run your hands through can be somewhat calming. It doesn’t help here, though. “Okay, so we do what we came in here to do. We ditch the bodies, clean up a little, and leave like nothing’s…”

I pause. Why? Because I am an idiot. A blind, stupid, fucking idiot. “Goddammit,” I hiss under my breath.

“What?” Sift asks, and I feel a mild spike of concern. Jeez, Sifty having multiple emotional spikes in one day? Must be a sign of the apocalypse.

“You’re not the only one who’s seen signs,” I whisper, marching to the door to the manager’s quarters. “Only I was too blind to see ‘em.”

I don’t even break my stride tearing through the kitchen and back into the master bedroom, shattered glass and splinters crunching under my sneakers. I nearly kick the door off its hinges, still unwilling to break my stride as I throw the fallen Nightmare out of the way, all using my stupid, retard strength. My stupid, idiotic, retarded moron strength. I had been so blind.

Sifty’s right behind me. I scoop up the remnants of the picture frame from where it’s fallen; holding what little is left of the intact wooden frame in the palm of my hand. I gently leave the picture resting on one of the shelves and sigh. “Warden, tell me: how many people do you know keep family photos on their bookshelf?”

“Uh…” he hunches his eyebrows in another rare expression of emotion, this one mild confusion. “A few that I can think of, maybe.”

“Right, but if a family had just one photo for some reason, like say, if they were a bunch of poor-as-dirt innkeepers in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere, they wouldn’t keep it there, would they? So far from the bed, I mean,” I continue, my behind sinking into the hay mattress as I take a seat on the bed. My eyes drift to the side. “They’d want it close to where they sleep.”

“The nightstand, yeah,” Sifty says. “Kildeez, where is this going?”

I don’t answer for a second. My eyes just scour the squat piece of furniture, scanning with my enhanced changeling vision. It doesn’t take too long to find what I’m looking for: a narrow slot in the dust, a little piece of wood darker and more polished than the rest of the wood, why? Because it had been protected while the rest of the wood had been exposed to the light. I hold up one of the more intact pieces of the frame and lay it gently in the slot. Perfect fit.

“Of course,” I grumble. “I was so, so blind.”

“Kildeez? You’re kinda pissing me off now,” Sifty says, though the gentle spike in his anxiety says otherwise.

“I’m pissing myself off, Warden,” I announce, standing up from the bed. I face him directly, my eyebrows hunching as my mind focuses on what I’d looked right at without seeing. “Earlier, when I threw that table over, there were four crashes. Why four crashes? Because there had been four places set for a nice, pony dinner. Four plates set for four diners. A fact that I should’ve picked up on much sooner.”

“Alright, so?” Sifty shrugs.

“So,” I point to the picture quivering on the bookshelf. Relenting, I cross over and press a book facedown over it to keep it covered, not even bothering to look at the title. “There are three ponies in this picture.”

Sifty’s eyes widen in instant realization. “An extra place.”

“For an extra guest,” I hiss, even more clues coming to mind. “Just like the fact that every single candle and oil well had been left to burn out in this place, and I’ll bet if we checked the rest of the village, we’d find the same true of every candle and every lamp.”

“Even though the Nightmare attack hit in the middle of the day,” Sifty’s eyebrows rise so high they practically disappear into the mop of dirty, black curls he calls hair. “If the ponies were all running for their lives and it was the middle of the day, why would they leave their candles burning?”

“Because they didn’t,” I growl, seeing the full extent of what we’re up against. “Because something came in after them and played a few pranks: set an extra place at the table, lit a few candles and let them burn down, moved pictures to places where I would find them, all tiny details they knew I would pick up on eventually, just like they knew you would see the trampled underbrush and scattered birds in the forest. Tiny clues for us to know of their presence, each tailored for our specific brand of talents.”

“God damn,” he mutters. “Not only are they tracking us, they’re predicting where we’re going! They know what we can do, and they’re using that to fuck with us!”

“They want us to know they’re following us,” I grumble. “And worse yet, they’re doing this to make sure one point gets across…”

“…that there isn’t a goddamn thing we can do about it.” Sifty growls angrily.

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

A short distance away, a tiny camera whirs into action, sliding out of its hiding place beneath a fake stone and focusing on the little inn. After scanning around for a little while, the camera spies its preprogrammed target. A small window fades into its viewfinder as tiny gears whir into place. The camera finishes its scan and settles, spying two men standing near the window, one sitting on a cheap bed with his hands running through his hair, the other leaning against the wall, peering outside with a stoic grimace on his face, but not even his keen eyes could possibly spot the tiny lens as it focused on them.

Eventually, the man on the bed looks up, the sunlight catching his eye with a strange, emerald glimmer. The camera whirs and zooms in, immediately running facial recognition software over the face. A green light snaps on in the dark little hole behind its body.

Somewhere a much greater distance away, something pauses in its step, a jaunty little tune it had been whistling to itself cutting off mid-melody. The forest falls silent, not even the birds in the trees above its head whistle. A dark grin spreads over the creature’s face like a malignant tumor, and it drops to one knee and pulls a small device out of its pack.

Pressing a few buttons, a screen flickers to life on the device, immediately displaying real-time footage of the changeling-hybrid in the window, going over some new, clever, but ultimately futile plan with the man at his side. The grin widens.

“Took you long enough to see me,” the creature hisses, its voice oozing out of its mouth like pus from an infected wound. “I’ve been watching you for a long time, after all. And now, I finally have you where I want you.”

It slides a claw over the screen, and the view shifts to the man next to the hybrid. The grin wavers ever-so-slightly, but quickly recovers. “Even if you’ve found another playmate. Don’t worry, though, I’ve had a long time to plan this. He won’t interfere.”

The creature continues to grin as it reaches into its pack again and pulls out a bottle of Jack Daniels, taking a few great, big gulps without hesitation. It raises the bottle to the air, the horrid grin never leaving its face. “And now: a toast, for the game can finally begin,” it whispers. “I’ve been looking forward to playing with you, half-breed. You have no idea how much I’ve been chomping at the bit for this. For you”

A small cackle builds in the back of the thing’s throat, continuing on for the rest of the night it spent camped there, the bottle in one hand, the screen frozen on Kildeez’s face in the other.

Author's Notes:

DUN-DUN-DUNNNNNN!

Entry VIII: More Monstrosities, by Sifty

After some time spent in this shitty little alcove after the battle, I let out a short growl. Though Kildeez was a hell of a companion, we hadn't really discussed our plans for the future.

"Kay..." I grunt, to get his attention. Apathetic as to whether he was really listening or not, I went on anyway. "After we get to the castle and fight off the Darkspawn, we're going to part ways."

"I getcha." Kay replied, understandingly. "I'd imagine that tagging along with a Changeling would be bad for your image, Sifty."

"Two things. One, you're tagging along with me. Remember who's in charge." I growled. "Two? How in the fuck did you figure out my name? I distinctly remember telling you that my title is 'Warden,' nothing more, nothing less."

Kay's expression went sour. He nervously looked away in a manner suggesting that he was hiding something. As he stammered to come up with something, I stepped forward and kneed him in the chin, knocking him off of the bed he was laying down on. Picking him up by his shirt collar, I stuck one of the pistols I had recovered up to his chin and gazed into his eyes with the glowing wrath of the Dragonblood and the Taint, two great tastes that taste great together.

"Spill your guts before I spill 'em for ya."

Before he could give a confession or an excuse, a blood-curdling screech echoed through the ghost town. Unlike the other monstrosities that we fought, I actually had a bit of trouble identifying this one- and I was a damn experienced crypto-xenobiologist. Growling in agitation, I turned to the direction of the scream.

"HOLD YOUR DICK, ASSMAGGOT! I'LL GET TO YOU IN A MOMENT!" I barked, the rage nearly shaking the foundation of the building we were in. The voice of the Dragonborn leaked out quite a bit. As if to say "unhand that suave gentlesack," the roof of the building collapsed, and in the wake of the dust and splintered wood was some sort of glowing monstrosity. Four eyes, an unnaturally wide mouth, and a scream that would wet the greaves of any would-be adventurer.

Except for myself, of course. Fear is a reflex.

AS IS VIOLENCE.

As I had dropped Kildeez when the creature came through, I didn't give the bastard the welcome it likely expected. With the stunt it just pulled, it probably assumed that it's victims would be shocked, or unable to fight, and would get an easy meal. Rather, it tasted the bony knuckles of an experienced Warden, as I crashed my fist through it's cheek with tight right hook. Crouching slightly, I jumped upward with the follow-through uppercut, which caused the creature to sever it's own tongue.

Stepping forward, I crashed my forehead into what could only be assumed as the bastard's nose, which sent it scrambling up against the wall behind it. Locking it tight in a half-clinch, I tenderized it's ribcage with a barrage of heavy shovel-hooks, before locking up a full clinch and rocketing my knee into the fucker's crotch. Turning and throwing my weight into the bugger, I grabbed it by the back of the head with both arms and hurled it over my shoulder, leaving it on it's ass with it's head in just the right position.

Snap.

With a professionally rearranged cervical vertebrae, the creature fell to the ground. The blood rage, now purging itself from my system, allowed me to actually analyze the beast a bit and come out with an assumption of what breed it was. Cannibal, a Reaper-class creature from the Mass Effect universe. Always got freaked out by their oversized mouths and their eating habits.

Not like it mattered. Bitch be' dead.

Not wanting to waste any more time, I kicked Kay's backpack into his face with a grunt of agitation. We've done enough in this backwoods little county.

"I'll tear answers out of you later. We've spent enough time playing with our milk-sticks. We've got Darkspawn to catch up to. I believe we owe them a kick in the daddy bags."

Ignoring whatever it was that Kildeez mumbled, I began to leave- but not before dipping my finger into the Cannibal's pooling blood, smearing the cyan fluid across my face to symbolize the fact that even converted Reaper drones should fear me.

Not to be egotistical, but a pissed off Dragonborn-Warden on a mission with the power of a nation in his hands is not exactly something that should be fucked with lightly. I may have pissed off my only companion just now, but he's been with me long enough to know- Don't fuck with The Warden.

Kildeez, understandably, stayed farther behind from me as we marched. He was both tired, and likely either shameful or angry about our confrontation. To be honest, I couldn't care less. He's got his own problems to worry about. If he doesn't like me because I'm a rightfully paranoid butt-stabber, that's all well and good. Not going to stop me from doing my job, and if his job is really as important as mine, then I would drag his ass from Hell itself so that he could complete it.

Nobody gets left behind. No matter how much I distrust them.

Our jobs were too important for petty things to stand in the way. After all, it's why I left Equestria in the first place.

As well as why I came back.

As the dust of the dead lands kicked up again, I began to chant Rusted Root's "Send Me On My Way" to keep the mood going. Was somewhat gratifying when Kildeez started playing the guitar along with the lyrics.

I'm quite sure he had a subtle fear that I would feed him that guitar.

Entry IX: If You Don't Know What The Tigger Song Is, You Lived A Deprived Childhood, by Kildeez

Here's something you might not have gotten from my last couple entries: I am an angry person. What can I say? Everybody has their flaws, and I'm man enough to admit mine, and I can tell you that I have a temper. Take right now, for instance. Right now, Sifty is fighting off some big bastard, trying like hell to keep us both alive, and all I can think about is how he would look if I stuck my shotgun up his ass and just kept working the trigger until it clicked dry.

Yeah, I know, I don't even have shells to try, tell that to a man who's just been clocked in the jaw by a guy he was supposed to be fighting alongside. Later, I'll probably be a bit more clearheaded to see things from his perspective. I'll probably realize how justified he is in his suspicions, and how right he is to be so damned suspicious of everybody and everything, with our line of work being what it is. In fact, he'd be foolish not to have developed such paranoia about his surroundings, and I might even applaud him for detecting my little slip-up.

But none of that has anything to do with right now. Right now, between my aching jaw and the adrenaline still pumping through my body, a part of me is tempted to clock him in the back of the head just to see the look of surprise on his face in the split second before the big bastard in front of us vaporizes our asses.

Speaking of, what the shit is that thing!? Doesn't look like any Nightmare I've seen: sure, the big, misshapen, muscular body bulging like a diseased hot dog from the bottom of some street vendor's cart and the ungodly shrieking it keeps letting loose all fit, but what's with the circuitry running just beneath the vein-covered, pulsing skin? And it's arm! One of its arms looks it was pulled off a robot and given some sorta futuristic laser weapon, complete with bigass, skin-shredding claws.

Despite the thing's appearance, Sifty charges it, his voice booming something incoherent with the power of the Dragonborn behind it. The very ground rumbles with the sheer force of his shout. I would be impressed, if I wasn't so hung up on the idea of changing my arms into scythes and hooking a serrated blade into the side of his neck, twisting only slightly so I can watch his blood dribble from around my blade, his eyes locked on me as they slowly glaze over as I've seen them do a thousand times, each time with the gratitude and release of...

"No," I gasp quietly. "No, that's not me. That's not me. That's not me..."

I mumble it over and over again, eventually regaining just a modicum of control, at least until the "intrusive" thoughts quiet down, as they usually do. I repeat the phrase over and over again, just like my therapist told me, bless her little heart. She might have just saved both our lives here.

Just as I'm feeling like myself again, my own backpack smashes into my face. I look up to see Sifty standing over me, glaring hatefully. "I'll tear answers out of you later," he grumbles. "We've spent enough time playing with our milk-sticks. We've got Darkspawn to catch up to. I believe we owe them a kick in the daddy bags."

As fun as that sounds, I make sure to continue repeating my therapist's phrase to myself over and over again, because there's no denying that dark twinge in my heart upon seeing the look in his eyes. Teach him, that twinge says. Educate him. Show him why you are the changelings' fist, educate all of them and MAKE them see...

"Not me. Not who I am. Not me," I keep reminding myself as I join Sifty out the door. He doesn't ask what I'm mumbling. Which is good. I'm not sure what would have happened if he had.

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

We walk in silence, which is for the best really. If I'd opened my mouth, Sift would have eventually asked that question again, and when I refused to answer, things might have gotten a little heated. And when two men with tempers go at it, there's no telling where things could end up. A hospital if nobody upstairs is paying attention. A morgue if they are and decide they're finally sick of our bullshit.

A few hours of listening to birdsong pass uneventfully, the relaxing and charming qualities of the great forest around us ruined by the possibility that we are being followed, and that whoever is on our tail is also just chomping at the bit for a chance to hit us again. Of course, we're not total pessimists. Maybe we did totally wipe out the local Nightmare population in the last battle, and maybe any survivors are terrified at us for shortening the length of their Christmas card lists. Maybe. Always better to err on the side of caution though, right? Still, a few hours of brooding silence can weigh on you. Doesn't matter how serene the forest may appear, or how much the crunch of fallen leaves under your boots reminds you of home, sooner or later the boredom and frustration just gets to you.

It takes me a while, but I eventually concede defeat to my own lousy attention span (thank you, years of web-surfing) and pull a small bass guitar out of my pack. I strum a few notes, getting myself warmed up. I picked up playing during my first few days with the changelings. Grabbed this little plywood beauty during one of my excursions into Equestria, hiding out as a pegasus mare named Starsong (yes, I said mare, don't judge me) in a little, middle-of-nowhere village. Well, okay, it was less an excursion and more a mission to hunt down a local beastie with a taste for chitin and the blood of a half-dozen ponies and infiltrators on its talons, but you catch my drift.

After a while, I start to feel the familiar hum of inspiration passing through my mind. You writers out there know what I'm talking about. You artists too, probably. That strange wave of pure bliss and relaxation that hits you when you're in the zone, and your own mind and sense of self disappears, leaving only you and your art to create something beautiful. Or beautiful to you, at the very least, and usually that's enough.

With that beautiful hum still buzzing through my head, my fingers start working the strings. An epic song of my people enters my thoughts, begging me to breathe into it life. I obey, helpless against the whisper of inspiration, finally granting existence to words and chords that have stood since time immemorial, standing as tall as the ancient epics of Homer or the teachings of Sun Tzu.

"She was a fast machine,

She kept the motor clean,

She was the best damn woman that I'd...ever seen!"

"AC/DC, half-breed?" Sift asks, breaking me out of my trance.

I pause, falling silent for just a moment. Those were the first words he's spoken to me in hours. Plus, they were tinged with an insult, but the light tone in his voice suggests that I'm getting through to him, so I keep right on playing.

"Thank God you recognized them," I say, actually relieved. "Most younger people these days couldn't tell Mick Jagger from Paul Simon."

"Really?" He says, his tone lightening considerably. "Jeez, the Stones were only the first rock group ever."

My playing halts again. Did I hear that right? Did he just express knowledge as to who Mick Jagger was? With a quivering voice, hardly daring to hope we might also go this far, I ask: "Wha-wha-what about the Beatles?"

"Eh, they did a lot for rock, sure, but they didn't have that edge yet. Naw, the Stones were the ones who made that last crossing to pure rock."

If he had been a woman, I would have dropped to one knee and proposed on the spot. Then again, if I ever did meet a woman like Sifty, I'd have to hook the two of them up just to see what kind of baby would pop out. Knowing Sift, that kid would probably spinning kick the doctor right in the face as it popped out of its mother's womb, then it would slice through its own umbilical cord with the knife it had clenched in its gums and head out to cleanse the universe of evil, one bullet at a time.

Motherfucker, I definitely should've been a writer. That's a goddamned summer blockbuster right there! I'm about to ask Sift what he thinks about his theoretical God-child when he stops. His hand rises and clenches. I fall silent in a heartbeat, dropping to a knee. Slowly sliding the guitar back in its place on my back, I bring my shotgun up to bear again.

Sift pulls his blades out and I motion to him, looking around with an eyebrow arched. Where?

He points to a stand of trees, then moves his arm forward. Through there.

I splay my hands out at him. What're we dealing with?

He shrugs. I don't need to translate that for you, now, do I?

Sighing, I raise my shotgun, letting him know I've got him covered. He nods, then disappears into the cluster. I hear a little bit of rustling, and then he’s gone, even the bushes he's disturbed quickly bobbing to a halt. It's freakin' amazing, honestly. How does a guy stay so quiet that even the birds aren’t disturbed?

After a few minutes, the rustling returns. I raise the shotgun and stare down the gunsights, but I keep my finger off the trigger. Sifty emerges, staring down the barrel passively, the blades still clenched in his hand. I lower my weapon.

"What're we lookin' at?" I whisper.

"Another village," he replies. "Looks quiet."

"So did the last one."

"Yep."

After that, no words are needed. We disappear together into the stand of trees, me remaining just a few steps behind him. I'm not as quiet as he is, but I do my best and nothing horrible pops out to rip our faces off, so that must mean something. We emerge on a hillside overlooking another village, this one bigger than the last. It has a town hall and a schoolhouse! Lawdy lawdy, all this newfangled city stuff is almost overwhelmin’ for simple country folk like us!

A few Nightmares trundle through the streets. One of them, a lumbering mass of muscle waddling along on two stubby legs and keeping itself upright on its knuckles like a big, meaty gorilla, casts its attention in our general direction. My breath catches in my throat on impulse, but then the thing gazes back down at the road with its rows of bloodshot eyes, its massive, pinkish feet thudding along as it passes by.

“Piss yourself, half-breed?” Sifty asks smartly.

I just grin as I reply, “You wish, Warden. Honestly, I was concerned for you. Need a change of underroos after de big, scawy Nightmare gave us a passing glance?”

He doesn’t reply. I look over at him, and instantly recognize the dark glare entering his eyes. He’s already piecing together a plan of assault, something that will take the village with minimal risk and maximum casualties. I keep my lips shut. I know better than to interrupt him when he’s in this state.

“That street,” he says, gesturing towards a small alley just on the edge of town. “One way in, maybe two or three yards wide, give or take?”

“Sounds about right.”

“It’s perfect for defense. That big bastard right there,” he says, pointing to our old pal, big, meaty, and gorilla-like (but without the good looks and charm). “He couldn’t even stand up straight in there. It’s about the width of his shoulders, so rearing back for a good attack and dodging go right out the window. And with him down, the others are just so much cannon fodder.”

“Fuckin’ hell, Warden,” I say, shaking my head. “Watching you plan out a battle is like watchin’ Da Vinci paint, or Michelangelo sculpt.”

“Dinner and a movie first, half-breed. I don’t just hop into bed with anybody.”

I almost pause. Did Sifty just make a light-hearted, homoerotic crack? Dear God. I must be contagious. I grin in reply. “So, we’ve got a killzone just waiting for them, how do we lure the big fucker into it?”

“Bait,” he replies simply, and this time, the tiny smile just barely tugging at the corners of his lips takes on a devious quality as he turns it on me.

“Of course,” I sigh, cracking my neck and popping a few joints in my knuckles back into place. “Of course.”

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

Here’s something you probably HAVE gathered from my previous log entries: I’m not the most well-balanced critter you’ll meet in the land of talking ponies. Yep, I can be pretty crazy, and not just in a “dang, check out that guy on the dance floor, he’s CRAZY!” way. No, when I say crazy, I mean it in more of a “somebody call a fucking SWAT team on this nutbar before he kills himself and everyone around him!” way.

That might be why the moment Sift assigned me to create a distraction in this little town, my thoughts immediately rushed to only one possible way of doing this.

I approach the town, shotgun holstered. I’m just walking right down the middle of Main Street, my ragged tennis shoes clopping on the cobblestones, my middle fingers raised in the air as high as they can go. A couple zomponies stop and just gape at me. Or, I think they’re gaping at me. It could just be that the muscles they use to hold their jaws shut have rotted away. It’s honestly hard to tell with them.

A Hive Guardian approaches as I near the middle of town, its scythe-like appendages raised. I direct both my middle fingers towards it, earning a few growls from somewhere back in its throat. Still, it allows me to approach, standing at bay until a few dozen more of its buddies can come near. That’s done it. I’ve managed to attract the attention of at least most of the fucked-up, monstrous population of this town. Now, I need to make sure I can hold it.

So with a flicker of transformation magic, I disappear and a long-tailed, orange, black-striped creature takes my place. I place a fuzzy hand on my chest, clear my throat, then belt out another epic of my people:

”OOOHHHHHHHH…
A wonderful thing is a Tigger;
A Tigger's a wonderful thing!
Their tops are made out of rubber…
Their bottoms are made out of spring!”

One of the Nightmares finally regains its senses enough to take a stab at me. I dodge easily, springing into the air and landing ass-first on the back of its head, driving its face into the concrete.

”They're bouncy, bouncy, bouncy, bouncy,
fun, fun, fun, fun, fun!
The most wonderful thing about Tiggers is:
I'm the only one!
Oh, IIII’MMMMM…the only one!”

As if the song had been holding them all in a trance, the remaining Nightmares spring into action once I stop singing, rushing me with fangs, teeth, and claws bared.

“Hoo-hoo-hoo-hooooo!”

I sprint for the alleyway Sift pointed out, a straight-up army of Nightmares nipping at my heels. My legs pump with every scrap of might I can pour into them, and I’m suddenly thanking Christ for every minute I’ve ever spent on the treadmill. Looks like I’m putting them to use now, as my orange, stripey ass does its best not to get torn to shreds.

I pass small candy stores, drugstores, and kitschy tourist traps with the Nightmare army right behind me, the whole lot of us shooting along the mossy, cobblestone streets like the worst, most violent parade in history. After breaking a mile-run record or three, I spy the alleyway up ahead and duck inside.

Sifty is nowhere to be seen.

“And again: Fuck. My. Life.” I grumble. I don’t ask for much. A warm bed, a little time to write or strum a few notes on my guitar, the safety and security needed to guarantee that when I close my eyes next, it won’t be for the last time. Shit, that last one’s the really important one. So why is it usually the hardest to find in my line of work?

You know, besides the fact that my line of work involves facing down the worst society and nature itself has to offer, usually all by my lonesome.

I whirl around to face my attackers, my own claws extending, the shotgun practically flying into my hands. That knocks the horde off-balance: I’m no longer the fuzzy wuzzy comedy relief I was a few minutes ago. Now I actually pose a potential threat. For a few milliseconds, the Nightmares heading up their little mob trip over their own feet, skidding for just a moment on the cobblestone. To them, I may not look like the most intimidating bastard they’ve seen all day, but I’ve gone from weird, cuddly-looking orange thing to armed and dangerous in a span of time most people take to blink, and that throws them, makes them hesitate, which is just what I need.

I drop two of the monsters with well-placed headshots, their eyes still wide in shock at my sudden transformation. The blasts are enough to wake up the rest of the horde, and they all descend upon me. It doesn’t take more than an instant for me to work the math out in my head: seven shells left in my weapon, times one or two Nightmares I might be able to drop with each, plus the four or five I could take on unarmed at a time, all subtracted from the fifty or so ugly-ass mutants descending upon me equals…

“I’m pretty fucked,” I grumble, blasting away with the shotgun. Fun fact, by the way: in real life, the hero DOES run out of ammo. Movies lie to you all the time. It doesn’t take long for that to happen to me, and now the shotgun is basically a baseball bat in my hands. A rather effective baseball bat, it’s easy to note from the way I splatter some zompony’s gray matter all over the brickwork, but still not as nice as a shotgun.

My adrenaline has just started pumping when a roar forces me to twist in place. Raising my shotgun threateningly, my gaze wonders upwards…and upwards…and upwards…finally meeting the cold, yellow eyes of that gorilla-ish bastard me and Sift spotted earlier. My jaw drops. He’s even bigger up close, his fangs dribbling with saliva that splashes on the ground by my feet. I raise my shotgun threateningly, glowering as I grip the barrel. The monster roars, fists the size of Mini Coopers raised over its head, more slobber dribbling from the baggy jowls on its dog-like face. I hold my breath, preparing to transform into something that could at least survive an assault from this thing, but just then the beast pauses.

My teeth transform into a few dozen razor-sharp fangs, which I bare at the monster. It just looks down at me, its fists lowering as its head lolls stupidly to one side, the hate-filled gaze it once held now melting away to something blank and stupid. I roar with vocal cords transformed into a cross between a lion and a wild grizzly, my voice booming off the walls.

“Calm your shit, half-breed, you’re roaring at a corpse,” the monster says, a couple rivers of blood spontaneously dribbling down the sides of its neck.

“Bwuh?” I ask, so stunned that it’s all I can think of. Some of my eloquence fades when I’m surprised, I’ve noticed.

At that, the monster hits the cobblestone with a deep thud that rumbles through the ground, its face forming a crater just a few inches from my feet. I back up in surprise, looking up at Sifty perched on the thing’s back, wrenching his sword out of its neck with a sickening squelch.

I sigh in relief, not sure if I should be thanking the guy for saving my ass, or pounding him in the face for taking his dear, sweet time about it. I settle for keeping my voice at a somewhat-quieter roar and whispering: “Where the hell were you!? Powdering your nose!?”

“Just seeing how you reacted when your back was against the wall,” he replies, wiping some of the Nightmare’s blood off on his shirt. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, half-breed.”

My fangs grit together. That "half-breed" shit is really starting to grit on my nerves. But before I can say anything, a massive squeal fills the air. We both twist, facing the alleyway, weapons raised. With a thought, my arms become the massive, muscle-bound claws of a horrid beast. I bare my fangs into the street while Sift assumes his combat stance; his eyes narrowed threateningly, his shield raised.

Then the squeals become a song. I realize what we’re listening to almost immediately: it’s a speaker system! Setup somewhere near the heart of town, by the sounds of it. What’s more, I even recognize the tune that’s playing.

I met a devil woman
She took my heart away
She said, I've had it comin' to me
But I wanted it that way…

“BTO,” I mutter.

“What the hell…” Sift adds.

“Oh, BTO is the band. They were really big way-back-when for this and…”

“I fucking know, half-breed, I mean why the hell’s THAT song playing in this town?”

I want to feel insulted for his use of that term again, but dammit, he’s got a good point there. Why is a seventies super-band playing in the middle of a Nightmare-infested town here in the land of magical, talking ponies? I hate to say this, but I know there’s only one way to find out.

“Ladies first, Warden,” I say, motioning for him to lead on.

“Good point,” he replies, then knees me in the crotch and tosses me out onto the street.

Okay, I will admit: as badly as that last one hurt and as pissed off as I am now, that was funny as hell right there.

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

We approach a squat storefront with equal parts caution and growing apprehension. Everything about this screams “death trap.” Quiet store front, completely normal-looking toys and whatnot in the front window, a sign dangling from a chain saying “Sorry, We’re Closed.” It’s all way too normal. I could imagine an older stallion coming up front to switch the sign for another day of business, probably waving at us as he pops the door open to let in a fresh morning breeze.

Me and Sift eye each other, eyebrows cocked. We’re both thinking the same thing: booby trap. Some funny little surprise left by whatever the hell’s been stalking us on this journey. At the same time, we know we can’t just walk away. Something this obvious has to lead to some important clues for what we’re up against. Besides, I get the feeling that if this thing just wanted us dead, it would’ve made a move already, one way more devastating than the basic Nightmare rushes we’ve been experiencing. There’s no question in our minds. We have to go in.

Sift nods to me as I lean my shotgun up against a fence, positioning a barrel in front of it. There’s simply no time to make new shells, my claws and regular changeling abilities will just have to do. We both brace ourselves just off the front porch, our legs tensing as we hover a few steps away from the rotting, splintered wood. Sift keeps a blade levelled on the doorway while I keep my claws raised. I can feel the tension rising in his emotions, his muscles turning into coiled springs, ready to propel him over the porch and into the face of whatever’s on the other side of that door.

Then the song gets caught in a loop:

You ain’t seen nothin’ yet…

Buh-buh-buh-baby you just ain’t seen nuh-nuh-nothin’ yet!

…you ain’t seen nothin’ yet…

Buh-buh-buh-baby you just ain’t seen nuh-nuh-nothin’ yet!

We eye each other. What are the odds that the song just happened to get caught in a loop right at those words? Not good, if you ask me, and Sifty’s thinking the same.

He nods once, and then springs at the door, vaulting the porch with one leap and plowing through the wood with a single, powerful kick. I’m right behind him, claws raised, sweeping every corner, every possible avenue of attack. None comes. There’s just the front counter, and aisle upon aisle of groceries lit only by the morning sun, the magical candles that would normally keep this place lit having long burnt out…

Hold on.

Burnt-out candles...oh, that crafty sonofabitch…

I motion to Sift and point at one of the candles. He takes one look and immediately sees what I’m seeing, letting out a tiny grunt of displeasure. A sneer fills his face. It’s just like in the last village, every candle burnt low. I bet we’ll find shit like this all over if we look hard enough: little “jokes” placed by whatever’s stalking us. Extra place settings at dinner tables, pictures moved to where they wouldn’t naturally be, maybe some funny little words carved into wood here and there.

We both pick an aisle and stalk to the back room, where the music is still pumping out into the village. I can see the doorknob vibrate with the beat, even from the other side of the store. Still, we’re patient, making our way slowly past piles of diapers, boxes of cereal, and tubes of…horn polish? Really? That’s a thing? Okay, anyway, the only sound here is the occasional creak of wood beneath our shoes. I have to struggle and focus on my breathing to keep it regular, trying to keep from hyperventilating. With another flicker of changeling magic my arms slowly tense out, flames dancing occasionally over them as they expand. By the time we reach the rickety, old door leading to the back room, my arms are long, thick meat whips terminating in razor-sharp claws. A bit freaky, but not bad weapons if I do say so myself.

We’re at the door. This is it. Whatever this fucker has waiting for us is just on the other side of this wood. Sift reaches out and turns the knob. There’s a couple small clicks, and instantly the music stops. Our eyes widen. Sifty rears back and hammers his boot against the wood in a powerful donkey kick that turns the door into splinters. I take point this time, busting through into the back stockroom.

It only takes us a couple minutes to scan the entire room: just a broom closet, except where there should be cleaning supplies and extra stock for the shelves up front, there’s yards of cabling and a sound system to make a Best Buy “Geek Squad” member cream his tasteful, business-casual khakis. Along the back wall is a computer monitor with the phrase “SCANNING FOR SHITHEADS…SHITHEADS FOUND” blinking over and over again.

Me and Sift eye each other, and he sits down in front of the computer monitor as I start following the wires around. “Eh, shit,” I mutter as I look over the proximity sensors wired to the doorframe and the simple contact lever-switch rigged to the knob. All components I recognize from my old job back home, which I doubt is a coincidence. Whoever this is, they are good. They are really, really good. Not just with wiring, but at knowing how to fuck with our heads.

“K, get over here,” Sift says. “Something’s happenin’.”

I peer over Sift’s shoulder as a video feed takes up the main screen. It’s fuzzy and out of focus, like an old analog TV tuned to a channel that isn’t quite there, but I can make out a dark man-like shape amidst the static. The sound is a bit garbled too, but it’s more than clear enough for us to make out.

“Your orders, sir? The targets are right there.” One garbled, but obviously mechanical (an automaton?) voice says. Based on the movements of the figure on the screen, I guess this is its voice.

“Hold back until the signal is given,” another voice says, this one softer and obviously natural, but still deep and threatening. This figure is still off-camera, perhaps even the cameraman, though it’s obvious who it’s talking about.

“Aye, and what are we to do with ‘em once we got ‘em?” The screen pans to another figure, this one bulkier than the first, nearly dominating the entire monitor.

The tiny computer speakers emanate a soft chuckle, one absolutely devoid of any mirth or compassion. A chill runs up my spine. It might just be the worst sound I’ve ever heard. Well, almost, not quite as bad as the time I disguised myself as private security to knee Justin Bieber in the groin. NOT as fun as it sounds, especially when he screams.

“Bind them, then do what you will,” the voice says, the chuckle still playing along its edges. “Rape, torture, vasectomy without anesthetic, I don’t care, just make sure they can see each other while you’re doing it.”

The figure chuckles, which is still a pretty dark chuckle, but a shower of rainbows in…well…in the motherfucking land of magical talking ponies…compared to the cameraman’s laugh. “Alright, we’re gonna have some fun!”

At that, the screen blacks out, the video stream replaced with a single dialog box: “HAD ENOUGH YET? Y/N,” followed by a blinking cursor for user input.

I’m about to comment when we hear a poof, and the tell-tale fizzle of rocket fire. We both practically stumble over each other scrambling out the doorway, sprinting back through the store, me not even bothering with the door and just crashing through the front plate-glass window.

Sift doesn’t even bother to ask why I didn’t just wait an extra second for the damn door and instead exploded out here in a shower of broken glass. God knows he doesn’t have to, and besides, we’re both preoccupied with the fizzling sounds coming from above our heads. We crane our necks, spying the telltale contrails of signal flares launching into the skies from points all over the city, at least a dozen in all, adding an eerie red glow to the early morning light.

A thousand battle cries sound from the woods surrounding the village. I grimace and raise my tendrils. Sift nods to me and readies his blades. Whatever this thing stalking us has planned, we’ve just stumbled right into the next part of it. I can only pray we’ll survive to see what else is waiting for us out there.

Author's Notes:

You really did.

Anyway, that'll be all for a while. The ball's in Sifty's court now, and I'm looking forward to what he's got planned!

Entry X: The Champion's Fall, by Siftstone

"YOU WANT SOME OF US, YOU COCKSUCKERS?!" I howled at the top of my lungs, the voice of the Dragonborn rattling the trees, as Kildeez and I readied ourselves for the coming battle. Silhouettes in the treeline began to take shape, and with them, the echo of gunfire. Bullets picked apart the building behind us, spraying concrete and glass all about. One bullet bit into my unarmored shoulder.

And I absolutely lost it.

With nary a recoil from the force of a bullet, my mind and body were flooded with a sudden, absolute fury. With a sharp inhale, I returned the casual gesture of our attackers with a shout. The blue wave of energy that spread outward from my Thu'um carried with it all the wrath that was bundled in my form, the energy released pushing aside and toppling trees, and after a moment, the screams and curses of the dying echoed out of the forest.

Kildeez was about to mutter something, but it was silenced by another raging cry bellowing out of my throat. With no forethought, I raised my shield and charged into the brush, bullets ricocheting off the thick metal. Some more rounds caught me in my exposed thigh and upper arms, but I barely felt more than a prick due to the adrenaline coursing through my veins. The drums of battle beat as I crashed into the first meaty target- and I recognized it as a unicorn, holding a pistol up with it's magic. Well, it was, before I broke it's neck with the force of my shield charge.

A voice. Male. Behind me. Unfamiliar. Without even thinking, I whirled around and brought my saber machete high, slicing through the meaty neck of a human. Humans and ponies, heavily armed, working together- to what end? Our annihilation? Control of the world?

Who the fuck cares. These bodies are all meat, now.

The sound of whipping tendrils and shotgun blasts echoed behind me, and I only assumed that the half-breed had gotten to work on his own victims, as I stopped forward heavily and flung my shield into the neck of a stallion, crushing his windpipe. As he fell over, I took note of how different he was from the one who I charged into. Less modern clothing. Ragged, torn- and I noticed that he had a sword in his teeth. Like a barbarian.

Twirling around, I parried the downward blow of what I could only assume was a roman gladiator. His spear snapped to the side and stuck in the dirt, as my blade came up and cleaved his chin in half. Before his corpse could fall, I snatched the gladius off his belt and brandished it against my machete. With a primal yell, I turned to the rest of the army assembling around me in the woods. I felt lasers line up against my body, could feel eyes of burning wrath on every part of me.

A roar ripped through the forest- and it wasn't my own. The lasers on my form whipped upward, and I saw it, then. Huge, hulking- covered in green fire. A goddamned minotaur. Kildeez changed into the very face of power, and began to whip aside the army, moving towards me. He pulled a tree from the ground, and let loose a bellow. I took advantage of the army's stunned state, whipping my gladius into the head of a Nazi soldier, immediately sweeping forward to scoop his MP-40 out of the air.

With one arm, I sprayed in a wide circle, wounding or outright killing several men and stallions. As the chamber clicked with the hollow echo of an emptied weapon, I hurled the gun into the target on my immediate left, brought my blade around on the right to decapitate a techno-barbarian, and barely managed to dodge what I assumed to be a Chaos space marine's chainsword.

Wait, Chaos space marine?

No, no no no, wait-

CHAINSWORD?

Oh, FUCK YES.

The marine scoffed, but it was a short lived noise- I hurled my spare machete at his head, and his superhuman reflexes managed to bounce the blade off of his heavily armored forearm. As his hand came back down to regard me, I was already letting loose my shout.

"Fus Ro DAH!"

The marine flew back, dropping his chainsword and crashing through the men and stallions behind him, most certainly killing a number of them with the sheer weight of his armor. Swooping forward, I picked the sword up and gave it an experimental rev. The scream that ushered out of the engine, the spinning of a hundred razor-sharp, armor-ripping blades- I was in love. Blood seeping out of my wounds, I turned towards an approaching cyborg- and I grinned evilly.

There was no fleeing from my wrath, it was almost certain. Anybody with a ranged weapon could barely line the sights up before I was cleaving their arm off. Steel shields and plasma armor met with the edge of my frisked blade, but they all failed against the constant, every-burning screech of spinning death that I let loose upon them. However, it seemed that, no matter how many of these fucks that I killed, there would always be more of them, trouncing in from the bleak.

I was no superhuman. There was wear. The chainsword was becoming a burden to swing. But regardless, I fought on, for there was not much to do. Any break in the slaughter, and I would find myself on the receiving end of a sword or few. The bullets in me were already starting to make their presence very, very known.

And just like that, I found my end. A stallion had found himself a Lancer assault rifle, and was using his magic to perform a chainsaw duel- chainsaw bayonet against chainsaw sword. Sparks flew outwards in all directions, my eyes locked on the stallion, who's magic was indeed very powerful to perform a duel for such an extended period. As I finally broke through, sawing his weapon in half, and with it his face, a piece of gleaming steel appeared in my gut.

All the air left my lungs. I collapsed to my knees, feeling my slayer put his boot on the back of my head, and roughly push me off his blade. With blood beginning to pool around me and warm the deadened earth, I stared off into the side as dozens of footsteps, both human and equine, stampeded towards the building K and I came out of.

"Oh, fuck it, then!"

The half-breed's voice was distinct over the clamor of hoofbeats and footsteps. Backed by an almost demonic tang due to his current form, I tried to turn to see what he was planning, but couldn't. There was no energy left in me. The will to live was the only thing keeping me conscious, but my body refused to do anything. I lay in that pool for what seemed like an eternity, but must have been barely twenty seconds, before a massive, blue hole tore itself in the sky. Another rip in the veil.

Because of this, portals begin to tear through at the ground level. The army that had come to stop us ended up getting sucked into a few of them, losing limbs as the portals closed as suddenly as they appeared. I silently wished the same fate would befall me, death gnawing on my mind, but I quickly dismissed the fact. Choking down on the grip of my chainsword, I let out a grunt. A deep breath. The dying sensitivity made me very aware that I had lost my watch. Was such a nice watch...

There was a vacuum of air. I felt my legs begin to drag backwards without any grabbing. No. No, no, no!

And thus was my end. A nearby portal pulled me in. All I could remember, falling through that black void, is wishing for a swift death.

Swirling nightmares. A hero, constantly blasting and slashing his way into the darkness of the abyss, only to be slain by the monster at the end. But again, he tries. Nothing more to do in this world but fight, die, repeat. His armor shines through it all, a personal light in his sea of darkness. A blade, gleaming with the power of old, strikes down any demon or ghoul in his way. No matter how many times the hero is struck down, he would get up again. Finally, he catches the monster off guard, sinking his blade deep into it's heart, splitting it's soul. The darkness begins to shine, almost blindingly.

Christ, that is really fucking bright!

--

I woke with a heavy jolt, breath catching in my throat, causing me to cough roughly. Memories flooded in, and I immediately felt for my arms and legs, one hand flailing about my exposed chest. It occurred to me that my wounds were no longer present. Scars, most certainly, but...

"Ah, you're finally awake!"

Voice, female. Rocking my head over to the direction of it, I took in the shape of a woman in the dark. As she walked forward into the dim candlelight, I noticed a head of red hair, tied back in a bun. Pale skin, with a long, ornate robe, a staff tucked into her back.

"Listen, I know you're probably confused, but I'm sure we can fill the gaps."

The woman- who's name I learned to be Triss- was out adventuring with her significant other, when they came upon me, dying in the forest. They dragged me back to their home base- a fortress, called Kaer Morhen- where I have been staying, healing. According to Triss, I've been here for a month, having healing magic applied to my injuries. Her companion noticed my armor, wounds, and weapons, and immediately recognized me as a swordsman.

I've been in this world for almost six months. Her companion, a white-maned man named Geralt, trained me to fight like he did. His sword style was incredible. Fast, brutal, acrobatic, adaptive. It was unlike anything the Wardens could do. The only thing he wanted was for me to share some of my own skills, which I did gladly. I debated getting back to The Known World, but I figured that the portals would claim me in time. I kept hoping, but as time passed, I stopped.

Geralt revealed to me that he was part of a whole group of swordsmen like himself, called Witchers. Professional monster slayers. I knew how to work a sword, and this impressed them. Witchers were often the last hope of whatever part of the world they found themselves in, their skills unparalleled by normal men. Geralt, and all of his kin, invited me to become one of them. Through grueling rituals and consumption of a dozen different kinds of potions, I found myself changing. My eyes took on a yellow glow, and my scars became more prominent. I learned a sense of ethereal creatures that rivaled the Wardens' sense for the Taint.

I was a Witcher. And it felt amazing.

--

Two swords rested on my back. One of silver, one of steel. Another was resting on my shoulder, my chainsword, still fully powered thanks to it's nuclear battery. My hair had grown to my shoulders, uncut. I expanded on my armor, adding steel to my shins, knees, elbows and forearms. Ornately laced cloth hung from my back and off of my unarmored left shoulder. Though heavily armored, the strength of a Warden and the skills of a Witcher kept me fast and agile in the field.

I was on the road for a while now. Lost count. There were many small towns being assailed by ghouls, or that had a stray bruxa eating their youth. I had no true goal in mind; simply wandered the land, slaying monsters, accepting payment, honing my skills. It had been a whole eight months since I was spilled out into this dimension, and I had given up hope of ever returning home. Even if I did, who's to say the Darkspawn haven't already conquered the world? Slain my old companion?

I thought of the old half-breed. He was a good sort. Hopefully he managed to get out of that whole debacle alive-

The birds stopped their song. The breeze no longer whipped through the forest leaves. The silence was somehow deafening. It was then that the sound of ripping caught my ear; not a rip, like paper or cloth, but an almost organic, fleshy sort of ripping. I felt it more than I heard it, if that would make sense- and remembered that only one thing causes that feeling.

A tear in reality.

Focusing my hearing, I took off in the direction of a faint vacuum noise. Hurdling over logs and using my sword to catch myself around trees to change directions, I tore through the forest, until a distinct blue light, contrasting the green and brown of the forest, became brighter and brighter. In the middle of a clearing, an almost familiar spot of forest, was a portal, a tear in reality. It hit me, then, why I felt that distinct tear throughout my being. This portal had an ethereal connection to me.

Without a breath of hesitation, I dove right in.

--

I awoke in a field. The sky was overcast, but not dark. The forest around me was dying, but not dead. There were corpses all around me, and a small building in the distance. From the damage to some of the rotting flesh and a few of the limbs laying about them, I recognized these as my previous victims, so long ago. But a corpse would have rotted away if that much time had truly passed.

Something caught the glow of my yellow eyes, laying down in the grass. Rolling to my feet, I quickly ran over to investigate, and found my old watch that had fallen off in the midst of my killing spree. Scanning over the surface, I rotated it around, until the display came on, leeching power from the dim sunlight that could pierce the cloud cover. Tough device. The date had changed, two weeks forward from last I had checked it. This watch was incredibly powerful, so there was no lying from it.

Two weeks. A relatively small amount of time compared to how long I spent on the other side, but considering the war boiling in Equestria, who knows what could have happened?

And what of my companion, the Half-Breed? Kildeez? Where the hell was he?

Looking up and into the distance, Canterlot Castle still shimmered, untouched by the Blight. Perhaps I still had time?

Without further ado, I hefted my chainsword onto my shoulder and began my march into the forest.

Author's Notes:

I bet y'all thought this was dead, didntcha?

Entry XI: The AoT Theme Really Does Go With Everything, by Kildeez

…

Did…

Did that just happen?

Did Siftstone, the entire reason I was currently running around a post-apocalyptic hellscape and not snuggled up with a book and a bit of hot cocoa to ride everything out in my personal bunker, just disappear into a giant space-vagina I myself created?

…

Well, shit.

In hindsight, I should’ve seen it coming. Divide and conquer: shoot Sifty off to some other world full of nasties and leave me alone so that this thing, whatever it was, could fuck with me all by my lonesome. Of course, the bastard didn’t have to use me. He could’ve just as easily keyed a portal to Sift’s biometric signature and left it in that back room we first busted into to spring his little trap. He didn’t have to use a small army of fuckheads and monsters from the darkest corners of the galaxy to make me use his/her/its portal trap.

The fact was they did it because they could. That was the point. To show he could throw all this shit around, the small armies and the portal production, all of it, just to make sure it was my finger that pressed the button.

Fat load of good figuring this all out does me now. It’s just me and a ruined town. The rest of the army is gone. Just a man alone with his thoughts.

Fuck, this blows.

“Goddammit, goddammit, goddammit,” I mutter, making sure to transform my arm back to my normal, humanoid form before turning my head while I facepalm (going the other way hurts like hell, as I have learned through experience). I let my regular, black changeling skin through now. No need to hide it anymore. In my rage, I start knocking shit around, my massive strength powering my arms around. “How could I have been so fucking stupid!?” I scream, finding the closest wall I can and pounding against it until it collapses, inadvertently crushing the group of Nightmares that had been cowering behind it. I didn’t even pay any attention, not even noticing when a Nightmare leapt from the darkness, tentacles surrounding a razor-lined maw. Without even thinking, I snatch it out of the air and use it as a boxing glove in my epic fist fight with the ground.

“HOW! COULD! I! BE! SO! FUCKING! STUPID!” I scream, punctuating every word with another punch to the cobblestone. By the time I’m done, the Nightmare is a black stain of coiled gore around my fist. Doesn’t matter. I shake it off, just throwing myself to the ground on my back and making like a spoiled-ass kid in a grocery store.

“FUCK!” I finally announce, turning over. Okay, I will admit, I’m getting pretty angsty now. Like, “MCR meets Linkin Park at a convention for teenage poets” angst. But I’ve just fucked up the only reason I had for moving forward every day, okay!? I now have to go back to a city full of adorable talking ponies and tell them Santa-Sifty isn’t coming to town with a sack full of death to give to all the bad little ghouls and boils. Not looking forward to that feeling of hopelessness, the way those wide, hopeful eyes will almost certainly grow in size with my arrival, only to shrink again with the news that I lost track of their last hope for ever returning to their old lives.

Still, I gave my word. I will complete this mission and seal the deal for changeling-pony cooperation. And who knows, I might live long enough for everyone to establish something of a safe zone, just a tiny sliver of territory where changelings and ponies can live at peace, albeit within massive walls that surround them, defending themselves with a rapidly-dwindling army of…

What was that sound?

That deep, earthy rumble I just felt bouncing around my skull? The fuck was that?

I open my eyes at last, only to stare up at twenty meters of pure pony, its massive eyes looking around dumbly. Finally, it spies me, and its stupid smile turns into a slobber-filled grin, spittle rolling out its mouth and trickling down next to my head.

….

“Seid ihr das Essen!? Nein, wir sind der Jäger!”

The pony raises a hoof the size of a VW Beetle over my body, but I easily roll away, coming up again with my shotgun already at my shoulder.

“Dah-do-dah-do-dah-dah-dah-DAAAH!” I reply as I let loose with a shotgun blast against the thing’s muzzle. The titony roars as a molar the size of my head sailed out of its mouth, replying with a forehoof stomp. Another dodge, only this time I grab hold of its fur and hang on for dear life as the thing tries to shake me off, swaying back and forth with its hoof, still grinning that damn smile. I scramble up the side of its leg, careful to avoid its attempts at brushing me off while keeping it busy with shots at the eyes and mouth. The fucker’s almost blind and I’m almost out of shells by the time I clamber up the side of its muzzle and wrap an arm around a humongous ear. I grin. I’ve made it. If there’s one thing anime and presidential assassinations have taught me, it’s that a shot to the back of the head is a sure-fire way to take something big down.

I stand triumphantly, work the lever action on my shotgun, and level it one-armed against the back of the damn things head, pressing it through a coat of matted fur. Alright, so here is the part where the action hero says something amazing and smart to tie the whole moment together. Here’s where I cement myself in the pantheon of heroes!

…

“Hasta la vista, pony.” BLAM!

Oh fuck, I’m so sorry. That was bad.

I grimace in pain at my own bad one-liner as I ride the giant pony’s ass back to the ground, sighing as I step back onto the cobblestone and start picking up spent casings to remake into functioning shells. Gives me a good amount of time to think, to reflect, and drink in the sheer carnage that Sifty and I unleashed.

The bodies are everywhere, some sliced to ribbons, some riddled with bullets, others just ripped in half. Holy shit. I nudge a big dude in leather armor over onto his stomach, revealing the hole his lungs fell out of so I can salvage a few shells. Holy fucking shit. This…Jesus, if this thing hits me like this again, without Sift or some last minute save, I’m screwed.

And it knows this.

It fucking knows this.

I peer around before shouldering my shotgun and heading down the street, salvaging what I can from the general store before making for the outskirts of town. I spend that night in the woods, with the white trim on some of the buildings still in view, wondering what might be watching me through the bushes, or listening to my breathing on hidden microphones. Still, I’m too exhausted, way too many transformations today to stay awake, and after an hour of clutching my shotgun while I rest on my back like a meth head militia wannabe back home (sans tinfoil “anti-government spy satellite” helmet), I finally drift off to sleep.

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

The morning is uneventful. I wake up to the sounds of birds and a stream of dew from a leaf overhead dribbling onto my face, gently nudging me awake…

Waitaminute…

That’s not fucking dew.

“AWW, SHIT AND PISS!” I scream accurately, leaping to my feet and blasting at the giant vulture that chose the wrong motherfucking branch to use the bathroom on. Somehow, it manages to avoid an ass full of buckshot and swoops away, shooting over the horizon. I swear, it’s laughing at me the entire way, the way it’s cawing.

Fucking birds. Fuck ‘em, man, fuck ‘em.

With two more shots echoing into the distance, I grumble as I head to the nearest stream, hoping it’s not filled with tetanus or Hep C or something else to make a shitty day even shittier. Fortunately, it looks clear enough to wash my face off with, and I even manage to build a small fire just beyond its banks to boil some in. Can never have too much water, especially once that midday sun hits and you start sweating like Frosty the Snowman doing Pilates in Hell.

I take the time while my water’s boiling to really lean back and listen to the tune of nature. Even after the titanic battle yesterday, I can still make out that glorious tune of birds tweeting somewhere far away from me, giving away their positions so that I might avoid and/or hunt them at my choosing, because they are little feathered assholes. Literally. Just an asshole with wings.

I know I’m ripping on birds a lot, but one just shit in my face. Fuck ‘em right now, y’know? Just fuck ‘em.

Ah, nature.

Leaves rustling, birds tweeting, crickets chirping, the roar of some gigantic horror just narrowly masking a cry for – OH COME THE FUCK ON! JUST ONE DAY, HUH!? JUST ONE FUCKING DAY!

“Fuck this, fuck my life, fuck my job, fuck Celestia in her strangely-toned yet surprisingly pliable ass…” I grumble as I crawl to my feet. The little aches and pops in pretty much every joint from my neck on down inform me what a shit idea this is, and the stab of pain from an overstressed muscle in my shoulder screams it. But I’m here for a job, and a Kildeez doesn’t fuck around when it comes to the job.

Shifting back into my less-threatening, soft-and-squishy-pink human form, I run along the riverbank, shotgun in hand. I’m pretty tired, but if shit gets tight I’m fairly certain I can manage a claw or two. Maybe. God willing, Shelly will be able to handle anything that happens. Coming up on a hillside, I drop to my stomach and army-crawl up to peer over the crest of the hill. I don’t like what I see. A pretty little mare, galloping on her pretty little hooves as fast as they’ll carry her. Too bad the tusked/horned Nightmare-infused freak with veins and muscles popping out everywhere looks dead-set against her continued life. What’s more, it’s chasing her right into a graveyard, which besides being a natural hotbed for Nightmare activity, is nestled in a horseshoe-shaped valley. Real picturesque for those extended burial ceremonies where you want those nice, long shadows and a quick sunset for your last goodbyes. Not so much if you’re trying to escape something that looks like a jackrabbit fucked Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson and raised the result on a diet of paint thinner and steroids.

And…now she sees it too, if the panicked way in which she pauses and looks around is any indication. Alright, alright, alright, this is the part I kinda like. She’s gonna turn around, eyes wide. She’s going to back up, her flank bumping against a tombstone, eliciting a quiet, fear-filled squeak. Then, she’ll turn back to the slobbering monstrosity, shivering, helpless, praying silently for some help…

Any moment now, she’s gonna…turn back and look at the Nightmare with a predatory look? What? And what’s that green tint in her eyes? And that confident little smile?

All at once, a deep rumble echoes through the graveyard, the mounds and tombstones shaking. I clench my shotgun instinctively, knowing damn well that a zombie apocalypse is well within the realm of possibility here. The dozens of graves all around the mare fall over; the grass roiling and bursting like a teenager’s face on prom night. Rotting hooves pound their way into freedom, jaws connected by barely a length of skin and rotted patches of flesh clacking in the shadows cast by the gravestones. The crypt at the height of the hill lets out a terrible grinding sound as its doorway crashes to the ground and skids into the valley, followed quickly by the dead-eyed remains of the rich ponies entombed there, stumbling along on shreds of leather and silk.

After a while, a low, wicked laugh fills the air, the zombie horde descending upon the Nightmare as it struggles, fighting with all its might against the never-ending sea of rotting fists and gnashing teeth stained with the clay of the grave. This isn’t just necromancy; this is a display of raw power unlike any I’ve seen before. It’s hard to tell who to root for, the Nightmare with the quickly-widening eyes being dragged to a massive hole being dug for it by a couple scattered zomponies, or the pretty little pony laughing like a maniac and glowing an eerie green through it all.

The Nightmare claws and roars the entire way down, grabbing futilely at the earth, which comes loose in its jagged talons. Every now and again, it manages to wriggle free of the undead hordes long enough to take a swipe at them, but any undead that wind up mangled beyond usability are quickly replaced. When the whole nightmarish group reaches the bottom of the pit, the first hooffuls of dirt start raining down on them. The Nightmare spits and coughs, trying to keep its muzzle clear for as long as possible. In its last despairing moments, it finally spies me on the hill and lets out a choked-off roar, perhaps a desperate cry for help? Nope, sorry pal. Odds are you’ve done a ton in your past to deserve this. Besides, I ain’t fuckin’ wit dat noise.

Once the Nightmare is under a humongous mound of dirt, the bodies all return to their respective graves, crawling back down to their eternal rest. The final cherry on top arrives when a skeleton in the pointed hat and tassels I’d usually associate with the Germans (probably from a land called Germaneigh here, because talking horses and their damned puns) takes a final look over his shoulder, catches my eye, and tips his helmet in a quick salute in my direction. I can’t help but return with one of my own. He nods and pulls the stone slab back into place with a final thud.

The pony sinks to her stomach in the sand beside the river, breathing heavily. I finally return to my senses long enough to start easing my way down the side of the rocky canyon towards her, figuring a quiet approach might be more advisable here. As I grow closer, I watch as the pony suddenly disappears in a flash of green fire I only find too familiar. Sure enough, the pony’s coat is replaced with black chitin, her wings with insect-like translucent wings, and a pointy spire of a horn materializes in her forehead.

Huh. Necromancer/changeling. Nice plot twist. But wait, it doesn’t stop there. Once I get close enough, I can spy the shimmering bands of royalty across her back, running horizontally with her wings, announcing her princesshood to the world. So, I’ve just stumbled across a pony who turned out to be a necromancer/changeling princess.

Jesus, did I just step into a Shyamalan movie, or what?

I’m about to say something, introduce myself, probably nerdgasm over how fucking awesome what she just did was and ask if she wanted to join me on my quest to possibly stop the Nightmare invasion and maybe have sexy times, but then the fucking ground starts rumbling.

“You gotta be shitting me!” I shout, which of course attracts the changeling’s attention. I can’t spend any time on that though, as I swiftly turn just in time to catch the big, charging bastard tearing ass down the hill: a warthog with fleshy growths of bone stretching all down the middle of its face and over its head. I raise my shotgun, working a fresh shell into the chamber, but the changeling is already at my side.

“Hey, I got this!” I yell.

“What, you and your walking stick?” She mumbles, barely staying on her hooves. Her horn fizzles up with power, but I can tell it won’t be enough. That little flicker she’s managing right now is nothing compared to the healthy green glow she had on earlier, and she’s gonna need a lot more than that if she things she’s gonna stop the towering monstrosity getting ready to bash us to the ground.

Sighing in exasperation, I step up beside my new changeling friend and fire a single round at the bit of exposed sinew near the thing’s black maw. It’s shaggy head bucks back as it roars in pain, revealing a crocodile-like maw trailing stringy, black hair. I decide I’d like to feed it after all. Nothing much, just a solid twelve-gauge slug. Directly down its throat. At 1100 fps. Think that’ll satisfy it?

My next shot slams into the thing’s lower jaw, shattering it and careening out the back of its neck. It drops like a sack of potatoes, its face little more than so much blood and gore dribbling down its neck.

I grin and turn to my new companion. She frowns up at me.

“I…had it…” she pants.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“I…coulda…could…” she pauses, and then collapses entirely. I roll my eyes, then look around, grabbing a couple of branches and some twine out of my backpack for a makeshift cot. My mama (my human one, I mean) taught me that a true gentleman makes sure a lady is safe if she ever swoons at his feet. Not sure if collapsing due to magical exhaustion after summoning an army of undead to destroy a monster that looked like Bugs Bunny after a few hundred years in hell counts as swooning, but it’s the end of days, I’ll take what I can get.

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

It takes an hour of dragging before she finally comes to. Let me tell ya, it was love at first sight, her looking up at the back of my head as I walked, straining with the ropes that carried her, hopefully feeling safe in the few moments it took for her to gather her marbles and rocket up to buck me upside the head with a magically-enhanced attack.

“Who are you and why shouldn’t I rip your head off and turn you into one of my undead minions?” She hisses into my ear as she stands on my back, horn primed.

Tale as old as time…song as old as rhyme…

“First of all, that’s really how you’re gonna introduce yourself, toots? By threatening the man who just saved your life?” I ask.

There are a few more moments of pressure, and then she steps aside, allowing me to lift my face out of the dirt. While I clean my mouth of all the sand and shit, she maintains her narrow-eyed stare. I shake my head. “Look, if I wanted you dead I could’ve just let that charging motherfucker mow your ass down.”

“Oh please, I could’ve handled that in my sleep,” she scoffs.

“Oh good, based on how you looked facing that thing down, that’s exactly what you would’ve had to fucking do.”

She doesn’t let the glare down. I just remain where I am, flat on my belly.

“Just because you don’t want me dead doesn’t mean you don’t want something from me,” she says, still glaring suspiciously.

“Bitch, I just met you, what the hell could I want from you?”

Still glaring. Great. We’re already off to a wonderful start. I roll my eyes. “Look, there’s a very good reason you should trust me.”

“And what’s that?”

“For one thing, I’m the one holding the gun,” I reply, and she looks over, bringing herself face to face with Shelly’s barrel, just barely poking out of the sand from where my arm is buried. I grin and stand up, still holding the shotgun. She just glares at me until I shoulder it. “Pulled it out on my way down. Nothing personal, just reflex.”

Her eyes still narrow at me, but the glow in her horn finally subsides. “And?” She asks.

“And what?”

“You said ‘for one thing,’ that usually means there’s something else.”

I facepalm. “Oh, yeah! Damn, I’m stupid.” Finally, I let my disguise fall, my skin covering with my natural chitin, my pupils narrowing to cat-like slits, and my fangs expanding until they poke between my lips. The changeling’s eyes widen.

“Oh my sweet flank, it’s you,” she whispers.

“Um…it’s me?” I ask. “You know who I am?”

She nods, awestruck. “Chrysalis’s fist: part weird monkey monster, part changeling. Kildeez of the Northern Hives.”

I scratch my chin in thought. “Of the Northern Hives? Haven’t heard that one before. Sounds epic, like some medieval ass-kicker. I like it.”

“You-it’s really you! I didn’t think you really existed!”

“Well…uh…” I spread my arms out. “Ta-da!”

“So you’re really…”

“Yep, son of Chrysalis and a monkey-monster from an alternative dimension.”

“And…”

“Yep, I’ve survived all this time,” I grin, my pride inflating exponentially. “So tell me, little princess, am I everything you thought I’d be?”

She looks me up and down and puts a hoof to her chin. “Meh…not as ugly as I thought you’d be, but I also thought you’d be taller.”

I grimace as my ego comes crashing back down. “Yeah, well…” I clear my throat, coughing awkwardly. “Wh-who the hell are you, anyway? And what’re you doing out here?”

“Oh, well, I’m Princess Chittery!” She exclaims with an ever so adorable flail of her hooves. “I’m from Chrysalide hive, in the East, here on a love-gathering mission!”

“Love-gathering?” I arch an eyebrow. “A princess? Shouldn’t that be something a lower-level drone handles? Especially with demons and shit running around?”

“Well,” now it’s her turn to cough awkwardly. “Me and my sister don’t really see eye-to-eye on some things, and she’s the queen, so…”

“Ah,” I nod. Changelings are infamous for their Game of Thrones-style political moves. I wouldn’t be surprised if this little changeling had already survived a half-dozen attempts on her life undertaken by her own family. Hell, after a few weeks with her, I was shocked that Chrysalis sent a transport to pick me up instead of a hit-squad, until I figured out my human blood made me ineligible for the throne. I wasn’t a threat to her power, and that is honestly the only reason she wasn’t waiting with a couple dozen crossbowmen for when I arrived in her palace.

One big, happy family, I know.

“So, what was it you disagreed on?” I ask.

“Oh…she didn’t like the fact that I was so…promiscuous…” she whispers as she walks along, and it’s only then that I notice the way her hips have started swaying while she walks.

“ Umm…” I mumble, trying my best to focus. “P-promiscuous how? Like, did you flub up a few missions or something?”

“Nooo…” she coos, running a hoof along her side and slowly trailing it around to her flank. “See, every time I went out, something always seemed to happen.”

“Wh-what was that?” I ask, repeating the words Not a clopper not a clopper… over and over again in my head.

She grins and twists to look at me over her shoulder with a little wink. “Some stallion or mare wound up having the night of their lives.”

“Oh…” I murmur, a lightbulb finally dawning behind my eyes. “Hold on, I think I remember hearing about you!”

“Oh, so my reputation does precede me,” she sighs. “I suppose it was only a matter of time before you figured it out.”

“Y-yeah,” I gasp. “Jeez mare, yes, I’ve heard of you. Princess Chittery, the ultimate seductress!”

She looks at me again, this time offering a little wink. “Worked hard for that title, champ. Don’t go throwing it around.”

“O-okay…” I say, trailing off.

“So, one last question for you, big boy.”

“What’s that?”

“You want a ride on your new pony?”

There are many ways to react to a little black succubus asking you for a good, hard dicking. Running away, screaming “NOT A CLOPPER” at the top of your lungs like a little girl so she can dive into instant hot pursuit is not one of the better ones.

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

“So,” Chittery asks, having securely duct-taped my hand to her behind. “What’s a guy like you doing around here?”

“Oh, I had a job to do,” I sigh, consciously not moving my hand to avoid contact with dat smooth, round flank. “It’s just that….well…things kinda got all…fucky, you know?”

“Oh, totally,” she agrees. “I mean, once you roll around in the hay with your partner, it does add a whole new level of awkward to everything. Believe me, I know.”

“Yeah…wait, no – goddammit!” I grumble. “Do you just have a one-track mind when you’re not pissed at someone!?”

“Sex isn’t all I think about,” she gasps defensively, as if I just insulted her mother. “There’s also Kegel exercises to focus on. This booty isn’t just genetics, you know!”

“Of course,” I roll my eyes, trying to look anywhere but at the changeling secured ass-first to me, and contemplating how much love it would take to grow a new hand if I just blew mine off at the wrist.

“But really, what happened?” She asks, fluttering her eyelashes up at me. “C’moonnnn, you can tell a fellow changeling!”

I groan. “I guess it doesn’t matter, now that everything’s gone to hell,” I trail off, gathering my thoughts. “Okay, so you know how Canterlot’s pretty much the last safe-haven against the Nightmares in Equestria?”

“Duh, where did you think I was heading?” She rolls her eyes. “Hard to get love from an empty village and a bunch of fang-covered freaks.”

“Yeah, well, it ain’t gonna be that way much longer,” I sigh, looking around and trying not to think about what a full-on Nightmare occupation would do to the overcrowded castle at Canterlot. “They had this last-ditch, plan though. Well – not a plan so much as a call for help.”

“So…who’d they call?” She snorted. “Faust? Solar Flare? Did they commune with the spirits through sunbutt’s blazing tramp stamp?”

Snorting back a laugh, I reply: “Have you ever heard of a man named Sifty?”

After a brief pause, she suddenly jerks up, trying to flip herself over to face me. Of course, since she’s secured to my hand, all she manages to do is to throw my balance off and make me face-plant in the gravel. “The Champion!?”

“Oh good, you’ve heard of him,” I reply, spitting up a mouthful of gravel.

“Fuck yeah I’ve heard of him! Why do you think Chrysalide hive is only now reestablishing infiltrators in Equestria!?” She gasps. “I thought my sis was being paranoid, but even I figured we’d have to give Ponyville a way wider berth as long as he was there!”

“Seriously?”

“Eh, no big loss,” she shrugs. “That town is a magnet for all sorts of weirdness. Anyone crazy enough to live there probably had some funky-tasting love to go with the madness.”

“I getcha there,” I snicker.

“So, didja find him?”

“Yep.”

“Holy – really!? What’s he look like!?”

I actually pause at that, hmming and hawing for a second. “Well…he had this curly, wild brown hair…muscles pretty much coming out everywhere…”

Chittery’s pupil-less eyes went half-lidded, then she shot a green bolt right into my face. Didn’t hurt, like the magical equivalent of a smack, but still took me by surprise. “Damn woman!” I shout, jolting back. “The hell was that for!?”

“Doofus, you’re a changeling, remember? Show, don’t tell!” She exclaims.

I gawp down at her for a second, doing my best goldfish impression, then I give myself a physical smack in the face. “Right,” I sigh, and a split-second later, there’s a green flash which zaps away my black skin and fangs. Sifty’s curly hair replaces the changeling fins on my head, my skin darkening to that Balkans look, adding on top of that slightly-Asian tilt to his eyes. Finally, muscles bulge out of my everywhere. I mean, everywhere. What do you want from me? Dude was a Gray Warden/Dovahkiin/Whatever-the-fuck-the-pony-equivalent-of-Rambo-is. Obviously, you gotta be built like a brick shithouse for even one of those titles.

Chittery’s eyes widen. “So, that’s him?”

“Eyup,” I say, proud of muh mad changeling skillz.

“Thought he’d be taller too,” she snorts. “And not a pink, spongey bulgey monkey.”

I grimace at that. “Not monkey, human,” I grumble as I resume my natural form. “So, I was sent to pick him up…”

“And judging by the fact he’s not around, things didn’t go too well,” she says.

“Give the lady a cigar!” I enthuse. “But no, things didn’t go too well.”

“What happened?”

I sigh, shaking my head. “I fucked up. There was this battle, a big one, back there somewhere,” I cock my head in the direction of the village I just left. “Even went full minotaur on their asses, which helped, but not enough.”

“Wow, you went full-minotaur!?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Impressive,” she whistles, which shoots my pride up maybe one or two points.

“Yeah,” I moan, realizing how stupid I’d been. “Look, princess, this army we were facing had to be just one of many. We’re fighting this…thing. Don’t know what it is, but it’s been stalking us for a while. Now that Sift’s gone, I don’t think…”

“You can shut up right there,” she says, bending that flexible little spine so she can glare right up into my eyes. I’m too stunned by the sheer flexibility it’s taking for her to keep her back bent up like that to even try to insist. “Don’t you dare try to pull that ‘helpless maiden’ bullcrap on me. I knew the risks when I walked into Equestria, and you saw what I did to that Nightmare back there. Yes, I’m a princess, but I’m no namby-pamby little horsey princess, I had to fight just to survive my childhood, always being prepared in case my sister brought a razor-filled balloon to my birthday party or had an assassin try to shoot me in the neck with cockatrice poison while my back was turned. So you can take your chauvinist, ultra-masculine bullcrap and shove it up your ass, because I’m seeing this shit through whether you like it or not.”

I blink down at her, actually pausing in my step from that one. “I’d clap, but I’m worried I’d give you a concussion.”

She smiles back at me. “That’s okay, dearie. I can clop for you.”

I bite my lip. “I said clap.”

“You surrrrreeee?” She asks, blinking prettily.

Desperate to change the subject, I rest my arm and pick up the pace. “S-so, did you have any more questions?”

After a few minutes of silence, she pipes up. “Actually, I did have one more.”

“What’s that?”

“Why couldn’t this have been an invasion from one of those dimensions filled with tentacle-rape monsters?”

I pause, take a very, very deep breath, and lift my hand up so she’s eye-to-eye with me. “You have trouble talking to other people about anything but sex, dontcha?”

She gasps sarcastically, hooves going to her cheeks in mock surprise. “How did you know!?”

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

And miles away, a dark creature watched the pair on a small screen clenched in its fist. Its grip tightened on the little Plexiglas screen, the view turning white under its fingertips from the pressure.

“Goddamn you, half-breed,” it snarled. This was not supposed to happen. The rabbit and the boar should have been enough to handle the princess. He should’ve done more research on the area, should’ve seen the graveyard and made the connection to the princess’s necromancy. Now they were together, and the half-breed had a new companion just the day after losing the old one.

Now the creature would have to get creative. He did not like getting creative. At least, when it wasn’t on his own terms; not flying along by the seat of his pants, having to adjust to a changing battlefield. He controlled the battleground, he wrote the rules, that was the whole fucking point. He didn’t adjust to changing vectors when the vectors all bent before him.

His hands ached from clenching the screen. He loosened his grip, sinking to his knees while cursing under his breath. “Enjoy your victory while you can, mutt,” he snarled at the picture of Kildeez before him. “It will not last long.”

Author's Notes:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bnLgndWTBI0

Special thanks to Changeling_38 for letting me use his character, Princess Chittery!

Entry XII: Old Friends, by Siftstone

The icy air stung at my lungs as I hefted my chainsword onto one shoulder. I'd been moving towards that goddamned castle for a couple of days now, and I haven't encountered a single baddy to let out my aggression. My war boner was aching, but there was nothing to put stuff into. My Witcher's endurance allowed me to keep moving without stopping or eating.

...Fuck, now I'm hungry. Just had to start sizing up the situation, didn't I?

With a roll of my eyes, I groped at my belt and pulled a small vial off of it, filled with a bubbling white substance. A potion to suppress my body's hungers for a good few hours. Hunting during this time of war was a pain in the ass, what with the Darkspawn already having slaughtered most of the natural wildlife, and anything left over being little more than ghouls and Nightmares. Popping the cork and downing the decoction, I whinced, the heavy taste of alcohol burning my throat on the way down. Taking a knee, I slammed my chainsword into the ground to steady myself as the potion worked it's literal magic. After a second's pass, I was growling back to my feet.

I needed to find my partner. Who the hell knows what that halfbreed is getting up to, now? Probably rolling about the fields in the form of a shoggoth, tentacle-touching everything that moves.

Nah, probably not that powerful.

Probably.

Up ahead, the forest began to noticeably thin out, and I realized I was entering into a field, still unravaged by the Darkspawn's incursion. As I stepped through the foliage and into the corrupted sunlight, my foot hit a rock and I tripped, rolling down...

And down...

And down...

...Into what seemed to be a small valley. After checking my equipment and cursing my own idiocy and lack of sure footing, I scanned the area in which I was sitting in. I seemed to be in what was once a graveyard, in the shape of a horseshoe. There were skeletal remains every which way, and every tombstone seemed haphazardly pulled back into place. As if someone cruelly ripped those restful souls from the earth to fight a battle. There was what seemed to be a long-collapsed sinkhole, hastily dug by several personalities.

Crutching myself back to my feet with my chainsword, I scanned the immediate area, and noticed a set of footsteps in the soft earth- I recognized the soles within as the same tacky brand of shoes that my partner wore. Of all the things that son of a bitch could wear on his feet, it had to be Jordans? Who the hell fights wearing Jordans?!

A low groan pierces the silence of the former resting place, and I quickly swing my blade onto my shoulder with a two-handed grip, adrenaline beginning to surge. Cresting the hill was a familiar face- one I haven't seen for half a year. Six hooved legs, piercing, glowing, green eyes, blades as long as I am tall flailing about on it's back- a Hive Guardian. Galloping towards me, bellowing like an enraged whale. It's empty eyes still bore a hatred for the prime enemy of it's race, yours truly.

With a wicked grin, I began a heavy charge, rivaling the ferocity of the beast I faced. Despite the roaring of my nuclear blade, the Guardian didn't halt it's charge, merely lowering it's head even more and hitting the dry ground hard enough to leave cracking hoofprints. Just before we collided in a flurry of blades and sparks, I stopped to a halt, that same shit-eating grin plastered to my face, and thrust out my hand- a wave of force suddenly jutting outward and slapping the Guardian square in the face, causing it to trip over it's own extra legs and slam face-first into the earth, sliding the rest of the way towards me.

I simply moved out of the way and took stance with my sword several feet away while the Nightmare got back to it's feet, hot air hissing out of the gills in it's neck. There was so much hate in it's eyes, a fury borne from the hive mind, knowledge of how many of it's kind have fallen to my mighty boot. Rearing back like a true horse and letting out another grim wail, it charged forward again- I responded, of course, by thrusting my hand out, a surge of fire erupting from my palm and bathing the Guardian in magical pain.

The beast took a step back, shaking it's head before locking eyes again, an almost uncertain look about it. I knew what it was thinking. It knew I was simply showing off. I had changed so much since it's kind had last seen me. The human, unremarkable save for his combat skill, now capable of mastering force and flame. Either that, or it was wondering why I tried to set a fireproof beast on fire. Hive Guardians sweat a certain slime that makes them virtually immune to fire; a must for any Guardian trying to pull it's brethren from a burning hive.

The Guardian, slowing it's ferocity, clashed it's backblades together and scraped a hoof through the dirt like a bull ready to charge. I hefted my chainsword onto my back once more, supporting it with one hand while my free fingers formed the letter "Q" in sign language. With another misty exhale of heated air from it's neck ports, the beast charged, aiming both of it's backblades square for my face. Before it could make mincemeat of my gorgeous visage, I cast my hand upward, bathing myself in a blue light, which immediately absorbed the force of the Guardian's attack and tossed the creature's arms back with enough force to throw the Guardian off it's feet again.

Putting my sword back in stance and staring evilly into the eyes of the Guardian, still collapsed on the ground, I took a step forward.

For once, the beast flinched.

A low growl poured from my throat, but before anything could happen, the Guardian scrambled to it's feet- and galloped off in the direction it came from. It had abandoned it's purpose in life. It was no longer a sentinel, a guardian of the Nightmare homes- now it was little more than a six-legged warning. It was going to tell it's brethren that the Champion was still alive, and that the very same young man who tore through their ranks for so long was back with a whole sleeve of tricks.

"Consider that a demo, ya' bastard!"

Now, to find that fucking Changeling friend of mine. As I calmed down from the heat of that little sparring match, I sat down on an above-ground tomb, my equipment clinking gently in the breeze of the valley. I began to take note of a more aggressive metallic noise. Looking down slightly, I realized the noise was my medallion. The adrenaline from the fight kept me from feeling the gentle tug on it's chain around my neck. Sighing, I hefted my chainsword into the oversized sheath on my back, nestling in snuggly between my Witcher's silver sword and my steel longsword. I brought a hand low to the tomb, and my medallion tugged harder.

There was magic left over in this tomb. Perhaps one of the corpses who fought here had something left to say?

Hefting the heavy stone lid off of the tomb, I revealed to myself the skeletal remains of a pony; stallion or mare, I couldn't say. As soon as the blotted sunlight touched it's hollow eyes, the skull turned to look at me, and I swear the eyeholes seemed to develop an... angry look.

"Oi! I'm trying to catch some shut-eye, here, jerk!"

"Great, wonderful. That information moistens the cockles of my pingas. Do me a favor, real quick, pal, then I'll let ya' go."

"Go stuff yourself, human!"

"Listen, I just want you to tell me if you saw a fleshy person like myself around here recently."

"Eat me! Or, better yet, let me eat you!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, I don't have time for this!" Sweeping my hand in front of the skeleton's face, I made the letters "A", "X" and "I" in sign language, very quickly. A light briefly flashed and faded in the skeleton's eyes, and it seemed mildly stunned. Then, it spoke again.

"...Changeling princess raised us from the dead to fight some freak, human-changeling with a fancy musket came and helped her. They both marched off towards Canterlot a couple of weeks back. Head straight for the mountains, last I saw."

With an indignant sniff, I closed the tomb's heavy lid back on the skeleton, my hex serving it's purpose. At least Kildeez kept to the mission, even if he found himself something to rub his fleshparts on. Does he even have natural fleshparts? Or does he just morph his willy to what he feels best? Can he even morph his dick? Why am I considering any of this?

With a shake of my head, I kept my march forward, starting to sing to myself.

"Wolves asleep amidst the trees,
Bats all a-swayin' in the breeze,
But one soul lies anxious, wide awake,
Fearing all manner of ghouls, hags, and wraiths..."

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

The sun was low, and my stamina was running out. Even a Witcher needs sleep. Unbuckling my gear, I chose a tree deep in the forest, and rested my swords and knapsack against it. I drew several hourglass shapes around the tree where I would be sleeping, simply dragging them into the dirt with my fingers. Each shape glowed with a dim white light extremely briefly as soon as I finished them, and I carved one shape into the tree itself.

Always handy.

Flipping my hood upward and tucking my hands into my coat pockets, I got into a relatively comfortable position against the tree. Humming a tune in my head, I lulled myself to sleep.

--

Clink clink clink clink

Odd. Usually I don't dream about spoons.

Clink clink clink clink

Or forks, for that matter.

Clink clink clink clink

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Drifting awake, I shot a hand to my chest, stopping my medallion from tugging on it's chain. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I groggily got into a seated position, my glowing eyes taking in the blackness of the forest. Taking a stance, I pulled my silver sword from its sheath, gripping its black-leather handle tight. There was a twinkle in the distance, between the brush. The twinkle was a light violet in color, almost seeming to concentrate into a point. Then, it shot forth in a blast of energy.

"Fuck."

With barely enough time to do so, I dropped my sword and crossed my wrists in front of my face, the blast of magic hitting me hard a moment later. Though my Sign absorbed most of the energy, there was still enough power to toss me back, and I rolled backwards on landing, grinding to a stop and pulling my skinning knife off my belt, keeping a low stance. Another twinkle- before the blast wave was emitted, I rolled left, covering behind the tree I was resting against, and as I did so, the blast passed by and collided with another tree, splintering it.

"Whatever's there, you better not come closer! I know magic, and I'm not afraid to use it!"

I recognized that voice.

Before I could react, another magical blast flew by, collapsing another tree to my left. Steadying my breath and tightening the grip on my knife, I tucked up against the tree. I just barely stuck my knife out from my cover, enough to catch the light being emitted from my assailant. She was coming closer.

"I must have scared it off... It must have been looking at this gear. I wonder whose swords these are? I can detect magic in this bag..."

Oh, you idiot. Don't get any closer, you curious little-

Before anything else could happen, there was a loud zap, and one of my Yrden traps went off, shocking the everlasting piss out of my investigator. There was a comical stuttering noise as she flew back, and the sound of wings fluttering before a loud thud. I stepped from behind cover, casting a shielding sign just in case my investigator decided to try blasting my balls off again. In the darkness of the forest, the little purple mare's horn was still glowing brightly, illuminating her path- and her eventual landing on her face, after getting a little too close to one of my Signs.

Lifting her face from the ground, crossed eyes jumbling cartoonishly in her head, ruffled wings beating slightly, was Twilight Sparkle. Her purple eyes locked onto me after a second, and a look of fear, confusion and shock immediately overtook her. Scrambling to her hooves, horn charging up, her confusion was immediately taken over by defensive anger.

"W-what are you? Don't come any closer!"

"That's no way to treat the man who saved your sorry little ass more times than you can probably count."

"That... that voice..."

Twilight's horn lost it's defensive charge, and her wings folded against her back. She stared at me in equal parts concern and confusion. "That voice is so... familiar..."

"You silly fucking horse. Still having trouble thinking up the name that kept you and your friends alive for such a long time. That's just goddamned disrespectful."

With a sigh, I dismissed the pony, turning my back to her and sheathing my knife. Brushing the dirt off my shoulder and reequipping my armor and weapons, I stretched. As I turned around to regard the pony, I found that she had taken a few steps forward, her confusion fully giving way to intrigue.

"Sifty...?"

"Aye, took you long enough."

"Sifty!" She squealed, pouncing forward and burying her face in my stomach. There was moisture sinking through my chainmail. Before she could snot up my gear, she pulled back. "Where have you been?! You just outright disappeared and Celestia simply refused to tell me anything!"

"I didn't 'disappear', girl. I left. You didn't need me anymore. Nobody in this sorry world did. I didn't want to stagnate, unused, unseen, apparently unworthy of the attentions of those I once called friends. I was abandoned, and I moved on. Two months. Two fucking months, not one of you even came by to say hello!"

"But-"

"No buts. It's just... whatever. I'm not mad. Nice to see you again, but I have to go. Duty calls."

As I pushed the pony away and began on my path, there was a light sob. It halted me in my tracks.

"I'm sorry."

"...What was that?"

"I'M SORRY!" The mare half-sobbed, half-screamed. Turning once again, I found Twilight with her head buried in her forelegs, pathetically crying to herself. "We should have payed attention! But so much had changed! There were so many things to do, so many ponies that wanted attention! We were all worked to the bone, forgetful, and we lost track of the things that were most important to us! This is all our fault! We did this!"

"Christ. Relax." I knelt down beside the horse, putting a hand on her head. She didn't pull away. "Yeah, you were all a gaggle of fucking idiots for forgetting about someone who thought you were his family, but none of this crazy bullshit could possibly have been predicted. I screwed the pooch by leaving, Celestia drilled it further by causing a goddamn tear in the veil, and everything collapsed from there on out."

I stood back up, unsheathing my Witcher's sword. "Bury it, girly. It's in the past, now. Look at me." I raised my sword, and it reflected the moonlight. "Yes, the current situation is quite a fancy kind of FUBAR. But there's hope, still. Look upon my blade, and you will see three feet of gleaming silver. But this sword, it's more than that. It's more than shiny metal and steel and cowhide. This sword represents... hope. The fact that there is still someone to hold this blade, to raise it high, it means this war is not over. There's still a chance for the good to come back to this world, a chance for things to be alright again. There's still a chance for everybody to be happy."

Sheathing the blade, I looked down at the pony, and smiled.

"Champion's back, horsie. And I'm gonna make sure every single baddie on this planet knows why I earned that title. Now quit your crying."

"So... you're... you're not upset?" Twilight sniffled, stepping back to her feet.

"No, dumbass. I forgive you. Now, tell me. What are you doing in these woods?"

Apparently, the Elements of Harmony were all given different tasks to carry out. Ponyville was still a major priority, and had no time to evacuate when the shit hit the fan. The lack of a Champion left it open to attack, and the Nightmares came back in full force- and they packed a weapon. A special kind of Nightmare was bred. Symbols carved into their flesh negated all forms of unicorn magic retaliation. Twilight was incapable of protecting the town- but Zecora, the zebra, was. In the darkest hour, the zebra used a special alchemical mixture to cast an odor barrier, a scent that normals couldn't pick up, but Nightmares were absolutely repelled by. But Zecora needed herbs to keep this barrier up, and she had to remain in town to mix the pot. So, Twilight, having both powerful magic and wings, was sent into the Everfree Forest daily to gather the necessary ingredients.

Impressive.

However, this constant duty meant that Twilight never had time to catch up with the rest of the Elements, and she didn't know their whereabouts.

"Well, that's all I can really tell you, Sifty. I'm... I'm so glad you're back. We can finally fight back, instead of just cowering in our homes night after night, hoping the Nightmares don't adapt... But, Sifty? What in Celestia's name happened to you? I'm detecting so much magic coming off of you, your eyes, my magic doesn't even detect that you're human anymore..."

Oh, god, this is going to be a long story. I hope I can find that son-of-a-bitching halfbreed soon...

Entry XIII: Many Happy Returns, by Siftstone

I was mostly silent as I traveled through the Everfree Forest with the pony. She had a bit of a motor mouth; blathering on and on about how many things I've missed. She finally allowed me a moment to speak, and I told her of my transformation. From the tainted blood that runs through my veins, to the dragon soul that fuels my form, to the Witcher's body that I now possess. As I finished, I asked one simple question.

"Tell me, girly." I sighed, "Have you seen another human around? Maybe came through here, dragging a Changeling along with him?"

"Why would a human be with a changeling?! No, I've not seen anything like that!"

"...Shit."

Finally, as we cleared the last bit of brush, we came to the edge of Ponyville, near Twi's library. Twilight flew ahead. "I have to go check on Spike! I'm sure he'll be delighted to see you again!" With that, the pony took off, into her home. The earth beneath my feet felt... familiar. Homely. It brought upon me the realization that my own home was still in a time loop. It's been so long that I've forgotten all the things I left within it.

As I stepped forward, I took in the sight of something in front of Twilight's library. A bulletin board. As I got closer, I began to realize it was a bounty board. Above all the pictures of missing ponies and posters begging for the destruction of certain monsters, I saw the words "Help urgently needed". Well, there's only one person that can possibly do anything about any of these contracts. Even if it was only an ego boost for me, I scratched out the word "help" with my knife, and replaced it with my profession.

"Witcher Urgently Needed!

Missing: An Old Rival Bounty: Anti-Magic Hive Guardian, 5,000 bits

Bounty: Black Gorger, 11,000 bits Bounty: Horde of Mannequins, please save my boutique!

Missing: Cutie Mark Crusaders, SOS! Missing: Bushel of ballistic cabbages

Bounty: "Gladiator", 30,000 bits Bounty: Alpha Nightmare, negotiable!

Bounty: Something Ghostly Bounty: The Tall Horse

Missing: Precious little angel!"

"Sifty! Hey, man!" Came the familiar voice of Spike. He quickly ran over, and I knelt down to give the little dragon a quick fist-pound. "Dude! I haven't seen you in ages! What happened?"

"Long story. Tell me real quick, little man; how often does this board get changed up?"

"Never! We get a lot of bounties, but most of them are just the same old thing. 'Nightmare in my farm' or something. There're so many Nightmares around, now, that we don't even bother posting their bounties on the board. Not like anybody's taken any of them. Ponies are just too scared... And what's a 'Witcher?"

"Go talk to Twilight. She'll fill you in more. In the meantime, I'm gonna get to work. This is the Champion's duty."

I stepped up to the bounty board and snatched up the Missing Pony report for the CMC.

"To anypony that might be reading this,
The three of us are extremely concerned for three little fillies that mean the world to us. So adventurous, always wanting to help, it's no surprise that they got lost somewhere in the forest, and with all the Nightmares about, we can only assume the worst. Please, please, find our little sisters! Their names are Scootaloo, Apple Bloom, and Sweetie Bell! Scootaloo is an orange pegasus pony with a violet mane. Apple Bloom is a yellow earth pony with a red mane, usually with a big bow in it! Sweetie Bell is a white unicorn, her mane splits into purple and pink. They all share a blank flank. They were last seen in their clubhouse.
Signed,
Rainbow Dash, Applejack, and Rarity."

The contract was signed hardly four days ago.

The CMC's hideout was on the other side of town, so I checked my swords and began my trek over. Some ponies shot looks my way- at first, looks of fear, looks of surprise, until they realized who I was. As if a great weight had been lifted from them, those that recognized my face immediately shot up, clapping their hooves together. Some gossiped, and others ran off, as if to tell someone the news. As I made my way through town, occasionally waving to a friendly face, more and more ponies got up and brightened. As I neared the edge of the town, barely a ten minute walk, the whole atmosphere of the town was changing.

It was less grey, less depressing. No, there was hope, now. Ponies spoke of a savior, an end to their troubles. "The Champion is back! We're saved!"

News was spreading quickly. But I had a job to do; I couldn't waste time with a welcome-back party. When I reached the CMC's hideout, I found it in tatters. There were blade marks all over the door and stairs, but thankfully, not a spot of blood.

Still, there were signs of a struggle. There was a rattling on the inside of the building, so I drew my silver blade, Aerondight. Cautiously stepping forward, I pushed the door open with the tip of my blade, peering inside. As soon as the door was open, my senses were telling me to shoot my blade upward, and so I did; with good timing, as I had barely stopped the blades of a Nightmare Unicorn. Without a second's hesitation, I was headbutting the blue-eyed creature in the face and pushing it backwards.

As it tumbled to the floor, I stuck the blade of my sword at it's throat, and a foot on it's stomach. With no leverage to swing it's blades, it's arms twitched like an insect's legs. It peered up at me, and I could swear I saw the creature gulp.

"CHAMPION?"

"Aye, slime. I'm on the clock, mate. Don't dilly-dally. Tell me why it is you're here and I might not decorate this shack with your skin."

"SEARCHING FOR CLUES." The Nightmare squeaked out, it's voice a flanging of multiple others. Clues? How interesting.

"What sort of clues?"

"ENEMY OF OUR ENEMY. ALPHA SAID OUR KIND DOES NOT ABDUCT THE UNRIPENED. SOMETHING ELSE TOOK THEM. I WAS SENT TO INVESTIGATE."

"Why the hell do you bastards care about what happens to these ponies?"

"PERHAPS OUR MOTIVES ARE MORE COMPLEX THAN YOU BELIEVE."

"Your motives being?"

"I... I AM NOT AWARE."

"Newborn. No wonder you're being sent here, when your hive is well aware of my arrival. You're expendable."

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THAT WORD?"

"Easily given up. Capable of being lost. You're little more than a unit to be disposed of, the knowledge in your corpse the only valuable part of your being. How sad."

The Nightmare did not respond. Instead, it looked to the right, and I felt it's body go slack. It stopped struggling. For the first time in my war against these beings, I found myself finding a Nightmare looking... helpless. Vulnerable. Emotionally damaged. Deep in thought, as if truly realizing it's purpose.

"HOW CAN YOU BE CERTAIN, CHAMPION?"

I released my boot from the Nightmare and sheathed my blade. "Because I've been fighting your race long before you were born. I know what you are. More than likely, they'll know about what I just told you, too. They'll want you dead so you don't betray them."

"I AM NOT A COMBAT FORM. WHAT CAN I DO? IF I CANNOT RETURN TO THE HIVE, THEN WHERE CAN I GO? CHAMPION, I DO NOT WISH TO PERISH."

Eyeing the Nightmare, I thought for a moment. Nightmare Unicorns were a wet clay, easy to mold if caught early, such as this one. They are susceptible to suggestion by those they view as superior, and nearly killing it very quickly earned my authority over the creature. Asskicking equals respect, they say.

"...I can take you in, beastie."

"DO YOU NOT WISH TO SLAY ME? ALPHA TOLD US ALL THAT YOUR SOLE PURPOSE WAS TO SEE OUR END."

"The 'Alpha' lied to you, mate. All I wanted to do was keep this world safe, but your kind just wouldn't have that. But I need allies. I need assistance. I can't fight a war by myself. Join me and you'll discover a world in a whole new light. One of happiness, one of love. Perhaps one day, you can pursue your own path."

I stood up, holding out my gloved hand to the Nightmare. The Nightmare eyed me up and down, and after a moment's hesitation, placed a blade in my hand, and thus we performed a handshake of alliance. My eyes glowed briefly, reflecting off of something shining on the far side of the shack. Stepping closer, I found it to be a large, heavy bone-blade, rammed deep into the wood. The skin still clinging to the blade was black as char, and I knew immediately what it could have belonged to- a Black Reaper.

"Oi, beastie? I think I might know what we're looking for, here."

"THAT SWORD-LIMB HOLDS A SIMILARITY TO MY OWN. IT SEEMS MUCH STURDIER, HOWEVER. THE JOINTS SEEM MISALIGNED, AS WELL."

"This is the limb of a Black Reaper. I fought a few of them back in my older days. Come on, let's find out what those lanky fucks have to do with this."

As we began to exit the shack, the Nightmare collapsed on a single knee. Despite being on the axis of it's race for so long, I felt a connection to my newfound ally, and rushed over to see what the problem could possibly have been.

"Beastie? You alright, mate?"

"I FEEL WEARY. MY THOUGHTS SWIM. LIKE A LINE TO MY LIFE HAS BEEN CUT."

"Shit, I think you may have gotten your connection to the Hive severed. We need to get you somewhere that can mend that. I think I know a pony, but she'll need a lot of convincing."

"Who could possibly be so powerful?"

In that instant, the Nightmare and I looked at each other. Gone was the distinct flanging of it's voice, the multi-tone echo. In it's place was a decidedly feminine voice, with the barest of an english tone. Perhaps the remainder of the mare the creature once was? An interesting effect, and I voiced my thoughts to the beast. Even more interesting was the fact that this little beastie was quite possibly a girl.

"I cannot walk on my own, Champion. We cannot move from here-"

The creature let out a small yelp as I hefted her over my shoulder, opposite my swords. She wrapped one of her back limbs around my neck to steady herself, and craned her neck to see ahead of us. It was honestly cute, the way back- the Nightmare was testing out her new voice, making different kinds of vocalizations, and even mimicking any sounds she heard on the way there. That childlike innocence was what convinced me, long ago, that Nightmare Unicorns deserve the benefit of the doubt.

I took the long way to Twilight's library, as not to attract too much attention from the townsfolk. Using my Quen sign, I kept the Nightmare safe from that odor shield that repelled the rest of it's kind. I knocked on the door with my knee, and Spike was the one to answer it. He was as optimistic to see me again as the first time, but when he saw what I had slung over my shoulder, he let out a cry of fear- before I silenced it with my boot on his snout. Gently.

"Ssssshhh. I can explain. Where's Twi?"

"I'm right here, Sifty! Spike, what were you screaming abou-"

With that, the alicorn began screeching, tossing herself about her library to find something to cover herself beneath. In the meantime, I had placed my new friend on the ground and began to chase Twilight about, until I finally managed to catch her by slapping her with a low-power Aard sign. She collapsed in some branches, and I quickly ran up to her to shush her screaming with a hand over her mouth. Before I could explain, I took note of my new friend's voice. She had struck up a conversation with Spike.

"-Truly? Your kind must be a sight to behold when you age. The Alpha never told me of dragons."

"Oh, yeah, we're awesome!"

"Warmed up quite nicely, you two." I interjected, releasing my grip on Twilight, who had grown transfixed on the sight.

"Dude! Where did you find this one? Why doesn't she sound like the rest of them?" Spike quizzed.

"I'll tell you both in just a moment."

I explained to both Spike and Twilight that Nightmare Unicorns can be changed before they fully succumb to the morals of the Hive, and that the one I had rescued had her bonds cut from the hive mind. As she was so new, she posed no threat, and I had earned her respect with my prowess, and my legend. Then I asked Twilight to help with my new friend's weakness.

"What? Sifty, I understand what you said, but how can we trust a Nightmare?"

"Are you saying you don't trust me, Twilight? Do you honestly believe I would be stupid enough to endanger the both of you by bringing a live Nightmare here, one incapable of being reasoned with?"

"Well, no, but-"

"But nothing, Princess. Now, you help this girl out. I am not going to ask again."

"Okay, okay! I'll do it... If you'll give me just... One thing."

"Being?"

With that, Twilight dashed forward and slammed into me at a speed even my Witcher's reflexes couldn't track. She wrapped her forelegs tightly around me, hugging me. It was wordless what the girl wanted. She didn't want some make-up hug in the forest, some sob story about failure or loss. What she wanted was to feel the warmth of one of her old friends. To truly feel that the man who once loved and protected her still felt that warmth, that emotion.

As I pondered this, I felt something tug at my icy, cold heart. A tug I had not felt in the long time that I have been gone. A longing, a desire for something more than the swing of my blade and the blood of my enemy. A desire for warmth.

For friendship.

I hugged that pony. I hugged her and I squeezed her and only my Witcher's emotional whipping kept me from sobbing out the blackness of my life into her silky mane. My medallion even had the decency to move on it's own accord, to avoid stabbing the pony in the head with itself. Twilight was openly crying, but there was a smile on her face. There was one on mine. It felt like we sat in that embrace forever, but when we released, my new friend was looking at us with a smile, likely having finished with her conversation with Spike some minutes ago.

"Something on your mind, beastie?"

"Though I am but a newborn, my race has always had implanted instincts and knowledge. I knew very well that we are naturally repulsed by emotion as powerful as what you just expressed, whereas ordinary beings in this world radiated it when in the company of good kind. I have not felt that revulsion to your expression. In fact, I believe I may have felt some of the very same energy in my own being. I cannot explain it. All I know is that it makes me feel something that I never before have."

"Empathy." I rumbled, my voice deep and hearty.

Suppressing a quiver, I looked up. "I have to go. I need to find the Cutie Mark Crusaders. I've wasted enough time. Twilight, we will speak more of this later, but until then, please, please, PLEASE do all you can to repair my friend's shattered mind."

I turned to my Nightmare. "You, this building is filled with information. Once Twilight finishes, she can teach you about this world in a way your race never could. I will return."

"Champion." Rumbled my friend, "You each have a title. My race never had such a concept. The dragon is Spike. You are Sifty. The Princess is Twilight. What am I?"

"Hm. You do need a name. I can't just call you 'beastie' all the time."

"There is a sound, deep in my memory. The sounds of the forest, of laughter. I cannot pinpoint a specific voice or word, but there is one sound that echoes louder than the rest. I believe it may have been my proper title. Bear... Berry... Beryl! Royal Beryl!"

"Beryl... pretty. Okay, Beryl. You and Twilight play nice. I must go."

"Good luck, Sifty!" Came spike, soon followed by Twilight. "Please, come back safe."

"Thank you, Champion. Your mercy has granted me a new life. I will assist you as soon as I am well enough."

With that, I was off again, uncorking one of my Cat potions. I took some residue I snatched off that Black Reaper's arm, and added it to the potion. The mixture sizzled and glowed a hateful, aggressive red, and then settled. With that, I chugged it down, and in that instant, the whole world grew grey again. However, there were spots of red in the distance. Echoes of where my prey once was. Following the red could lead me to my contracts.

Once again, I drew my silver blade, and set off into the forest.

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I stalked through the forest like a ghost. My potion would last a good few hours, so unless my prey took off on a bloody day trip, it couldn't escape my gaze. It left it's mark in the grass and trees; long, humanoid footsteps, parted as if walking. But only one set glowed red. There were at least five Reapers in the group, and the one I was following must have been either a grunt or the Omega, because a trail of blood accompanied a smaller set of footprints alongside the rest.

The footsteps went a good few miles into the forest. At the edge of a cliff face, they made their way into a discreet cave, unnoticeable due to the amount of foliage almost purposely grown in front of it. With a twirl of my blade, I brought it down in front, and pulled a small bottle of hissing, angry, red fluid onto the gleaming silver of my weapon. Capsaican oil, gently mixed with poison sumac and nightshade, with a hint of fire salts, to create a poison that would burn a wound for a great span of time, regardless of the severity of the wound, before causing a seizure in the victim as the neurons in the brain are obliterated by the true toxins mixed in.

Black Reapers were fast and tough, especially in the dark. To a Witcher, there's no such thing as "overkill". This amount of pain was a needed measure. Holding my silver blade aside, I pulled my trusty, rusted bush machete off my belt and sliced clean through the bushes blocking my path. Sheathing my old blade, I tightened my grip on my silver blade and made my way into the cave. My Cat potion had the added effect of lighting up the dark to a much handier degree than my natural night vision could.

The cave was not immense. Little more than five hundred yards in, I came upon the fallen Omega of the Black Reapers. It's scythe arm was completely severed, and it had thousands of scars along it's back and chest. It must have had a difficult life, being mistreated by it's Alpha whenever a display of power was necessary. Judging by the lack of identifiable blood at the scene, it brought me to the assumption that the Omega tried to kill the fillies, which would disrupt the Alpha's plans, whatever they were. Perhaps that is why the Reaper lost it's arm.

The cave came to a dead end there. With a sharp inhale, I held my breath. Silence. Nothing more than the corpse of one Reaper. But there were multiple sets of footprints around it, and they were fresh. I cocked back my silver blade in the darkness, and I moved it around, until the gleaming, mirror-finished blade was facing the roof of the cave. At first, all I saw were my own, glowing, yellow eyes- but as I shifted the blade around, four pairs of green eyes were looking down at me. My blade caught the gleam of their green glow reflecting on something, something falling down rapidly.

Exhaling, I dive-rolled forward, rolling hard on the cave floor and whirling around in the nick of time to face a Black Reaper, which had just sprained it's bicep on the failed dropkill it had attempted on me. It's arm flailed loosely behind it and it shielded itself with it's weaker left arm, as it's comrades fell down from the ceiling. One of which had some sort of cage contraption affixed to it's shoulder, which contained my contracts; Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo.

"Hey! Watch it, mister!" Shrieked Apple Bloom, a quiver in her voice. Through the dark, I could see all of the fillies clinging to one another, fur on end, shaking endlessly.

"Sweet Celestia, do you jerks always have to be so rough?! We're just kids!" Came Scootaloo, more annoyed than afraid.

"Human." Followed the voice of, what I assumed, was the Alpha Reaper. I didn't hear it, so much as perceive it mentally. Reapers had no vocal chords, communicating solely through the act of telepathy. "You have moved very quickly."

Though I could bark back a reply by merely thinking it, I wanted to get those little girls to stop shaking. With a smirk, I growled back to the Reaper in the most commanding voice I could manage. "Watch your tone, vermin. You address the Champion of Celestia."

"The Champion?!" Came the voices of the three fillies, in unison. Their eyes instantly brightened, and they looked towards the source of my voice.

"We assumed your death had occurred many months ago, human. Your title means little. You interrupt our rest. We were just about ready to begin our feast. We will allow you time to leave."

There was a slight pain in my leg. I chose to ignore it.

It was true that I was lucky. The Reapers wanted to draw out their walk to their lair, to frighten the girls as much as possible. Having intermingled with Nightmare mutation somewhere in their past, these fiends found frightened food to taste a lot better.

"You have no further warnings, human. Leave, or become our next meal."

Another wicked grin stretched across my face. With hardly a breath, I cast forth low-power Aard sign, staggering the four Reapers, and giving me my moment to strike. Within an instant, my silver blade was slashing through the shoulder of the cage-keeper, knocking free the little fillies. Though it was cruel, they were a priority, and before the cage hit the ground, I knocked it- and the girls- towards the exit of the cave with a rough shove of my shoulder. A rough ride, but they'd live.

The cage-keeper fell to the ground, clutching it's dismemberment and shrieking telepathically, before it's voice faded, and it's body locked up. Using the momentum from my first strike, I immediately whirled around and slashed the previously-wounded Reaper across the face, finishing it off. The next Reaper came in with a low swing, one which I parried to the left, just before flicking the heavy, solid pommel of my sword upward, striking the Reaper in it's jaw. Before it could recover, I swung my sword low and struck it in the thigh, which brought it to a knee- and then my knee met it's chin. Another telepathic shriek echoed in my mind, before falling silent, my victim locking up as I squared off with the Alpha.

"So the legends speak true, human. You are indeed formidable."

"Quit with the mind invasion and raise your arm. I'm on the clock."

"You may have bested my subordinates, but you have never faced the true power of a Black Reaper Alpha!" The Alpha shrieked, before charging forward, it's blade dragging behind it, sparking against stray stones in the dirt. An Alpha was far more muscled and much, much faster than a standard, making it so that a parry against it's blade would be virtually suicidal. I had no doubt that it could break through my sword and cut me asunder, so before we crossed blades, I dove to the side of the Reaper, which caused it to miss it's blow. As I recovered from my roll, I immediately snatched a throwing knife off of my shoulder armor and hurled it into the Reaper's calf.

It barely even flinched as it effortlessly pulled the blade out of it's leg, turned, and flicked it right back at me with expert precision. My reflexes kicked in, and I swiped the knife out of the air, barely having enough time to perform a backroll to dodge the Reaper's retaliation. As I recovered, the Reaper was bringing it's blade straight down, aiming to split my skull like a tulip. There was no time to think, and I quickly unleashed a shout; a skill I had almost forgotten I had.

"Fus!"

The energy blast that tore from my lungs had just enough force to stop the Reaper's downward blow, which gave me ample opportunity to roll under it's arm and bring my silver blade clean through the tendons in the Reaper's knee. This was enough to bring the Reaper to the earth, it's heavy blade falling forward to crutch the creature, keeping it from falling on it's face. I didn't hesitate- before the beast could recover, I cast a full-power Aard sign, knocking the creature forward. It's arm had stuck in the dirt, and due to the forward momentum, the Reaper dislocated it's own shoulder. A howl of pain ushered out in my mind, but the Alpha was far more resilient than it's fellows; my poison was not enough to kill it.

Taking a short sprint, I switched my sword to a reverse grip and leaped high in the cave, crashing down into the back of the Reaper's neck, impaling it with overwhelming force. My blade split it's spine and decapitated the creature, in all technicality. The screaming instantly stopped. Pulling my sword free from the Reaper's blackened flesh, I wiped the silver to gleaming on the bandages wrapping my left arm. Sheathing my blade, I left the corpses where they lie.

There was a very distinct pain in my leg, now. Greater than a sprain. However, I had no time to waste. I had to get the fillies back to Ponyville. I found the cage close to the edge of the cave, and the fillies within were less than pleased with my handling of their binding. Regardless, they near-instantly abandoned that anger with the realization that they had a savior; not just for themselves, but for the entirety of their world.

"Sifty!" Apple Bloom squealed, as soon as her bindings were loose. She pounced forward, clinging to my face. Scootaloo was not far behind, and Sweetie Belle had already begun wiping her tears against my thigh. "Oh, Sifty, I'm so glad you're back! You have no idea how bad Applejack had gotten without ya'!"

"Rainbow Dash wouldn't even let me over to her place anymore because she was afraid I'd see her cry!"

"Big sis was an absolute wreck, Sifty!"

"I know, I know. Twilight gave me the brief." I sighed, pulling the fillies off me one at a time. "And, Sifty? What's with the new look? Your hair, your eyes?"

Not this shit again-

"And what about that cut in your leg?"

Oh, son of a bitch. Finally back in the light, I could much easier see the cause for my pain- though I had narrowly avoided getting a corpus colosscopy with my dodge-roll from that falling Reaper, the bastard still managed to nick my calf, splitting a good five inches of flesh apart. My Witcher's pain tolerance and adrenaline were the only things keeping me from noticing it until the fight was over. Surely, not an issue. I would just need to get a healing potion off of my be-

My White Rafford's Decoction bottle was empty. I had forgotten to refill it. Oh, son of a whore!

Regardless of the situation, I had my charges. The fillies were safe, if shaken up. I'm not calling the waaaaaambulance just yet; I've gotta get them home. Without another word, I scooped the girls onto my shoulders, and began my painful- if determined- trek back to Ponyville.

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Pain. Blood. Pain. Blood.

That was all I could think of on my way back to the town. The girls rambled on about their adventures after my departure, about how their sisters could hardly stand to function for weeks on end without my aid. Indeed, I felt the guilt, the sadness for having left the way I did, but even so, the pain took over that emotion. I may be a mutant, I may be a custom-made killing machine bent on the destruction of anything ghastly, but I was still inherently human.

As we passed the mark of the last stretch towards the town- where the trees begin to thin, and you can hear the birds begin to chirp again- a wail ripped through the treeline. A very familiar wail. Instantly, my mind was filled with a blur of pink and yellow, the pain and blood ignored. My breath began to pick up, and I changed course towards the shriek. Something in my body was pulling all the stops. Almost an instinct, a virtual drive to protect something incredibly dear to me ingrained into the very fiber of my being. Another wail, this one far more desperate. One word overrode all other thoughts in my head; KILL.

The fillies hung on for dear life as my legs fired into overdrive. Blood oozed out of my wound and pooled in my boot, but I ignored it completely in favor of hurdling over fallen trees and underbrush. Finally, I pierced the brush, and fell into a clearing. The sight within brought my very piss to a boil.

There was a mare. A familiar one. The mere sight of her could soothe the pains of a thousand battles- and it often did. A silky, pink mane, gently curled and out of place due to the sheer fright of the one who wore it. A gentle, lemony-yellow coat of fur, shining with sweat and fear. A black bandanna- my old one, from ages past, worn around her neck. Her wings, gently preened by the creatures of the forest, standing high and rigid, their owner incapable of escaping her situation, absolute fear anchoring her mud-stained hooves to the earth.

A Hive Guardian. Several Nightmares. All encroaching, slowly, drinking in the fear of one of their most hated adversaries. The mare did nothing wrong, herself, but the level of kindness, the amount of good will the girl bore, was enough to make her the enemy of the Nightmare race. There was too much purity, too much wealth. She was a cancer to them, keeping all their hatred and fear from spreading to the populace of the forest. She needed to die, in their eyes.

I understood the true meaning of hatred, in that moment. My body was filled with little more than the desire to watch these beings suffer. Old emotions, old love, it all poured into my icy, mutant heart, mixing with my hatred. Mixing with my bloodlust. Nothing hurts that pony.

Absolutely.

Fucking.

Nothing.

The soul of an ancient being spoke, then.

A dragon I had slain, during my initiate days, before I took the mutations to become a full Witcher. I had absorbed it's soul then, but knew not what to do with it. Words echoed through the forest, the ancient tongue of dragons tearing the very fabric of reality apart. The earth rumbled, the birds flew from their trees.

"KRII- LUN AUS!"

Kill. Leech. Suffer. The ancient shout of the Dovah, used to wither away armor and rot away life, a shout of rotten origin, used for rotten gains. The blast wave of magical power, a sickening purple in hue, tore into the Hive Guardian and it's charges. The effect was almost instantaneous. The Nightmares that couldn't resist the shout immediately began to rot, their teeth falling free and their blades yellowing. Others managed to barely keep from giving in to the Voice of the Dragonborn.

But I was going to mend that very quickly.

As soon as I had let that shout loose, the fillies let go of my shoulders and dropped, scurrying over and hiding beneath the pony. With a singular goal in mind, I had drawn the heavy chainsword from my back, it's thousand teeth thirsty for blood, it's engine roaring to life. The Nightmares had hardly finished staggering before I was leaping into the fray, my weapon screaming as it sawed through a Nightmare's spine in little more than a second. The body hadn't time to drop before I was launching a hate-fueled kick into the mouth of another, nearly snapping it's neck with the force of my blow. It's weakened state caused it to lose it's balance and drop, only to finish with a pus-splattering stomp of my mighty boot.

My heavy charge splattered mud up my pantlegs, my blade coughing and ejecting bits of bone and gore, as I locked blades with a Hive Guardian. My sword screamed, sparks flew, but ultimately, bone failed against blade. I tore through the Guardian's blades, tore through it's neck, tore through the rest of it and just kept going, blood going every which way, until I came upon the realization that I had fully bisected my opponent. The uneven halves of the Guardian fell to the earth, the scent of iron thick in the air.

The remaining two Nightmares, the only ones unaffected by my shout, began to flee. Choking down on my sword, I began to give chase-

But instead, I merely fell to the mud. My leg had finally given in. In my hate-fueled rampage, I had completely disregarded the injury, and it had grown damaged and torn as I laid down the utmost fucksmack upon my enemy. I couldn't pursue them. But I would see them again. I knew it.

I shifted my gaze to the pony. She was huddled against a tree limb, shielding her eyes and the eyes of the fillies, as I had dished out my punishment. Tears stained her cheeks, and the fillies were quivering. All but Scootaloo. She had a smile on her lips and a blush on her cheeks. She was the first to open her eyes.

"Sweet mother of Celestia, Sifty! You are a beast! And here I thought Rainbow Dash was just speaking out of her tail when she was talking about how scary you get! That was AWESOME!"

"Heh, so it was-"

"Sifty?" Came a sweet, angelic voice. Truly, like an angel's harp in that moment. The pony had finally opened her eyes, locking shyly to mine. The tears stopped flowing, as she realized who exactly her savior was. It was not some beast, come to claim her in the place of the Nightmares. No, she knew, then. Realization filled her eyes, and the tremble in her body stopped. She stood to all fours, as I barely crutched myself against my motorblade.

The fillies looked on as the pony ran over to me, immediately launching herself into the most powerful hug a Witcher can possibly experience without his medallion knocking him in the teeth through the sheer power of the magic in it. The rain was cold in my armor, but this pony managed to warm me up in an instant. Despite my mutations, despite my scars and my changes, despite the amount of time that passed, this pony still remembered her hero. She still remembered the face of her savior, the voice of the one who protected her.

She still remembered who carried her torch in the darkness.

With my task complete, I decided to finally rest. The pony gasped gently as the arm holding my chainblade gave out, and I lapsed into a gentle sleep, the loss of blood firming it's grip on my consciousness. I fell with but a single word on my lips.

"Fluttershy."

Entry XIV: The Angel and The Magician, by Siftstone

There was a chill in the air as I drifted into a state of awareness. The world shifted from a dull grey to bright, pastel color, as my mutant eyes adjusted to the environment. The thing I was laying on was irresistibly soft, and brought a sense of longing from a time long past. I was in a home, surrounded by woodland creatures, all peacefully asleep. Though the sun was eternally blotted by the unnatural clouds brought upon by the crisis, I could tell that it was night. An idle shiver made me realize that I was stripped of my equipment. My gloves, jacket and assorted armor pieces lay neatly folded on a table across from me, my weapons all arranged by size along the far wall.

The gash in my leg was barely noticeable as I shifted off the couch. Pulling up my pantleg from a seated position, I took note of the heavy bandaging around my leg. Standing fully, there was no pain. I stretched, and the cracking of my bones must have roused something in the home, as I saw something quickly dart across the floor and up a set of stairs in the dark. Taking in my surroundings in full, it hit me, then; I was in Fluttershy's cottage, at the edge of town. Focusing my vision, I noticed three distinct little shapes in the darkness, wrapped up to one-another. The fillies.

Fluttershy did have strong wings when she wanted to. The girl has saved my life by dragging my ass out of the forest before. Some things never change... Girl was my personal field medic. There was nary an injury she couldn't help me fix. Oh, that girl was far too good to me-

Shaking my head, I focused on putting my equipment back on. Just as I had finished sliding my silver blade into it's sheathe, a brightness in my peripheral made me whirl around. Coming down the steps, with a lantern clutched in her mouth, was Fluttershy. She looked into the darkness for a moment, and I briefly willed my eyes to flash a yellow glow. Fluttershy squeaked, startled, and dropped her lantern. With a chuckle, I stepped forward, into the light.

"Sifty...?"

"Aye, Flutters."

Hardly a moment passed before the pony was rushing to slam a hug into me. My reflexes kicked in and I spaced my feet, bracing myself, so as not to get knocked over. I returned the girl's embrace, gingerly. The scent in her mane was familiar. Soothing. Calming. Even as rough as she was from who-knows-what, she still retained that innocence that drew my caring for her in the first place. Lowering myself to a knee, I looked the pony in her sweet, aqua eyes, idly moving a lock of her mane from her face.

"It's been a long time, little one."

"Too long, Sifty!" The pony tearfully eked out, before tucking her head into the crook of my neck. She began to sob. "First you left, then everything went wrong, and just so recently, I lost Angel Bunny, and, and..." With a sigh, I brought a hand up and gently soaked her silky, pink mane, running the knots out between my fingers, taking care not to jab the pony with the bear claws jutting out of my knuckles. My other hand pressed her close, and I took note of just how tense the girl was. As she sobbed into my shoulder, I carefully shifted my legs until I was sitting with my legs crossed, lowering the pony down gradually the entire time, until her head was resting in my lap.

"Wolves asleep, amidst the trees..." My voice came out. Soft, soothing. On the road for as long as I was, I learned to sing a number of songs. Fluttershy, tears still flowing, perked up her ears. I could hear animals all around the cottage shift in their sleep.

"Bats all a-swayin', in the breeze...
But one soul lies anxious, wide awake...
Fearin' all manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths...
For my darling pony, sleep has flown,
Don't dare I let her tremble alone,
For the Witcher, heartless, cold,
Paid in coin of gold...
He comes, he'll go, leave naught behind,
But corpses and blows...
Deep, deep blows..."

It was at this point, Fluttershy had stopped sobbing. Her crying had diminished to little more than an occasional sniffle, but she had clamped her eyes closed. She nuzzled her face into my stomach, pulling herself up a little bit more. The fillies were awake, as well, staring at me from the side, silently. All the animals in the cottage were fully awake, now, and eyed me with a mixture of intrigue and drowsiness. I continued my lullaby.

"Birds all silent for the night,
Cows turned in as daylight dies,
But one soul lies anxious, wide awake...
Fearin' all manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths...
Now my darling pony, shut your eyes,
Lie still, lie silent, utter no cries,
For the Witcher, brave and bold,
Paid in coin of gold...
He'll chop, and slice, and cut, and dice,
Keep safe your world..."

The whole time I was singing to her, I was stroking Fluttershy's head, occasionally brushing my bear claws through her mane like a comb. She had stopped crying, and finally looked up at me, her mane restored to it's springy, healthy glory. "Sifty..."

"Ssshh. It's okay, now, little pony. I'm not planning on going anywhere."

"I missed you."

"I know. I realize that I've missed you too. But don't bring yourself to tears again, sweetheart."

Fluttershy and I talked for a long time. The fillies took the opportunity to listen to me explain myself; my mutations, my adventures as a Grey Warden, as a Witcher, and my newfound shouting powers that they witnessed in the forest. Then I told them about Kildeez, my partner, and how we were separated. There was more at work here than simple Nightmares and portals, but whatever it was, it had not followed me to Ponyville.

"Now, Flutters. Tell me why it is that you're such a mess? Your mane was so knotted, you're covered in dirt... this isn't just from one trip to the forest, love. It's as if you've not had a chance to yourself in ages."

"Ohh... Twilight told me to save as many creatures from the forest as I could. I've been so busy saving little ones, I simply haven't had time to wash up..."

"I'll help when I can. I thank you for patching me up, sweet thing. However, I need to get going. There are still things I need to take care of-" I said, while standing and moving towards the door.

"Wait! Don't go outside!"

"Why not?"

"My cottage is at the very rim of town, so Zecora's shield against the Nightmares isn't as strong. They can't get inside my home, but I've seen them, waiting outside, just past the treeline. Night after night, waiting for me to make a mistake."

I smiled, gently. "There is no longer a Nightmare alive that can best the Champion of Equestria, my dear." I announced, proudly. "...But for your sake, I'll spend the night. I have to take the fillies back into town, anyway." Trotting back over to Fluttershy, I barely hesitated in picking her up and pulling her over my shoulder, to which she squeaked in response.

"Eep! Sifty! What are you doing?"

"Fluttershy, you're a mess. You fixed me after I performed my usual stupidity while saving you, so, please, sweetheart, allow me to repay you in full."

I worked through the night, cleaning Fluttershy up. Her face was a constant, beet red, but by the time I was done, her coat had her distinct shine back in it. The animals helped me keep her wings preened, and the fillies helped me comb and brush her mane and tail in a better way than what I did with my claws. By the time the team was done, Fluttershy was restored to the level of immaculate beauty that would make Photo Finish explode. Light was shining through the windows, and Fluttershy let out a long yawn.

"I think I should get some rest, Sifty... I don't think It'll be so hard to save the animals, now that the Nightmares know you're back."

"Aye, pretty. Get some sleep. We'll see each other again soon."

With that, I was off again. I locked Fluttershy's cottage behind me, with the fillies passed out on my shoulders and head. Just before I left, I swiped a few trap signs into the dirt near Fluttershy's cottage, in case I didn't come back before night- give those stalking Nightmares a bit of a shock. Bastards.

I traveled the road into town, keeping pace with the rising sun's bare amount of light, punching through the gloom. Though the sun would not shine on Ponyville until this war was over, there would still be a light for these ponies to look for in the morning. I was a knighted champion of the goddamned sun goddess, for fuck's sake! These Nightmares might fear the sun, but soon, oh soon, will they never wish my glowing eyes to be closer. Twin suns, spelling doom for their race, and all they have wrought.

The whole of Ponyville was still down and under, in the thralls of sleep. I passed Zecora's mixing pot, and thus knew I was in the middle of town. My first stop was at Carousel Boutique, where I gently pushed the unlocked door open, ignoring the "closed indefinitely" sign on the door. There, unconscious on the chaise, was Lady Rarity, surrounded by tissues and notes. Notes from Sweetie Belle, marked ages ago. The girl was going insane without her little sister. I kept my face neutral to avoid letting any emotions of a fonder period of time pull me from my goal. Gently, to avoid rousing her, I took the sleeping Sweetie Belle off my shoulder and nestled her under Rarity's leg. Rarity seemed to pull her closer to herself, on instinct.

Before I left, I noticed that the entirety of the staircase to the upstairs room was boarded up. The scent of iron hit me then, and as I got closer to investigate, my medallion began to tug on it's chain, causing me to step away. This must be what that other contract on the board mentioned. As it seemed, my targets were contained. I had other priorities. Leaving the boutique in the same ghostly silence I entered, I made my way towards Sweet Apple Acres.

Despite everything, the Apples had kept their apple trees healthy. Bright, ruby-red apples grew high and well, despite the cold and near-constant lack of true sunlight. A set of mare's hoofprints in the mud led me to the barn, where Applejack was out cold atop a hay pile, her hat solemnly pulled down over her eyes. Again, with exceeding gentleness, I lifted Apple Bloom off my other shoulder, gently placing her on Applejack's exposed stomach, before pulling AJ's hat off and placing it on Apple Bloom's head.

Scootaloo was still on my head, and she and I began our journey to Rainbow's cloud home. It was a long walk. I idly wondered how I would be able to slip Scootaloo into Rainbow's hooves before she woke up. As we made out way through town and across the pink orchard, I found that the question had answered itself with the brightening sky. Scootaloo drifted awake from a rare beam of sunlight striking her face, and when she saw Rainbow's cloud home, she was immediately fully awake.

"Hey, Champ... I'm not just having a dream, here, am I?"

"Nah, kid. Go up there and see your hero. Don't let her know I'm back, and try not to wake her up."

"Alright, I won't! Scout's honor!" Scoots began, before launching off my head and darting into Rainbow's house. With a deep sigh, remembering the adventures I had with the rainbow pegasus that was so close, I turned and began my march back to the bounty board. There was no time for happiness. Not now. Not yet. There were lives that needed saving. Things that needed doing. Proper returns need a big entrance, goddammit!

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

I snatched the "Missing" bounty off the board. There was a picture of a mare- couldn't tell the colors, but my memories served me well. I remember her; blue coat, a toothpaste mane, and that fucking wizard's hat she always wore. Bit of an arrogant bitch, she was, but she calmed down a long time ago. She helped me slay my first Nightbeast. My eyes scanned over the contract.

"I formally request that anypony able-bodied and capable locate and confirm the survival of my old rival, Beatrix Lulamoon- otherwise known as Trixie, the magician. I am well aware that most ponies in this town will find this request to be bothersome, that one should not waste time and talents on a pony that griefed this town twice over, but she is a changed mare. She is also one of my good friends. With the crisis, we need to stick together, not draw apart over pettiness that is best left buried in the past! Trixie knows this better than anypony. She was heard of near the Clock Tower, where she was performing a show before the last portal storm caused her to flee. She has not reported in, and I worry for her.

Signed,
Princess Twilight Sparkle"

With a huff, I rolled up the contract and tucked it into one of the loops on the front of my journal. Drawing my steel blade, Stormbringer, from my back, I observed it briefly. A heavy bastard sword, with a leather wrap around the blade, just above the rain guard. The blade itself was unremarkable, save for the three glowing runes etched length-ways onto the blade. All three runes brought the blade it's name; one halves it's weight in inclement weather, another causes lightning to occasionally strike where I swing, and the third- well, I still didn't know. The swordsman who gifted me the blade said that I would know when the time was right.

Sheathing my blade, I began my march towards the clock tower. The clock tower and a few pony homes were positioned in a small nook of the forest, away from the main part of the town, and the road there straddled the river Fluttershy lived across from. A check of my watch told me that it was around eight-thirty, and I had just enough light to function. Some ponies were already out and about, cleaning up Ponyville as best they could. They seemed to have some buzz in their movements, though. As they caught sight of me down the road, they immediately dropped what they were doing.

"Champion!" I heard from one, in the distance. "The Champion of Equestria! He really is back!"

"Haven't you heard? He found those three missing fillies!"

"I heard he shouted so loudly, he turned a bunch of Nightmares into butter! He saved the Element of Kindness!"

"Aye, good ponyfolk, I'm back. Perhaps you can lend your old hero a hand- err... hoof?" I replied to them, with a smile. A stallion with an hourglass mark trotted up to me. "What assistance can I offer you, champion?"

"Beatrix Lulamoon. Trixie, as you might know her. I heard she was performing here to brighten the mood before a portal storm knocked everybody out of order. You wouldn't happen to have seen where she went?"

"Oh, her? I was attending to my own business, near that call box across the way, but when the storm appeared overhead, I had to plug my ears because of this unnatural scream. When I finally stopped cringing, she was gone."

"Thanks, uh..."

"Doctor."

"Doctor who?"

"Just... just call me the Doctor. Doesn't really matter who."

"If you say so, boss man. Thanks for the help." I nodded to the stallion, and scribbled a note in my journal. Black Gorger? Nightmare Changeling? No, Nightmares couldn't get close to town, and Gorgers didn't like crowds... what the bloody hell else could possibly scream so loudly?

When I approached the stage, I noticed that there were hoofprints all over the front, as is natural if someone were giving a show. There were sunk into the mud, from the crowd. As I examined them, another pony showed up from behind. Her voice caught me off guard.

"Sifty?"

"...Octavia. Hello."

"It has been a long time. You look... different."

"Aye. It's a long story. I'm sure I'll get the chance to tell everyone, at some point. Were you here when Trixie disappeared?"

"Yes, I was. I was waiting for Trixie to perform her show, and I would have taken the stage to play my bass. I've been doing it since the troubles started; Vinyl hooked up amplifiers, so that all of my music could reach the town and soothe everypony."

"Smart. Tell me, girly; you see anything before Trixie went ka-poof?"

"As she was readying herself to perform one of her dazzling fireworks, a portal storm tore open above us. The Princess told us that these would come and go, but we should head for cover when they do. But, as you know, I'm no pegasus or unicorn; and this bass is heavy for just myself. I struggled to move, and then I heard this ear-piercing scream. As I plugged my ears and looked about, I could see several ponies onstage, dragging miss Lulamoon into the forest. The thing is, they all looked... wrong. Their heads were upside down."

"What the everlasting fu-"

"Language!"

"...Buck. Alright, that's worth noting. Thanks, Octy."

"It is my sincere pleasure. Now, if you will excuse me, I must return to my preparations. Do you think you will be able to come and see my show?"

"If this doesn't take up too much of my time. No promises, love."

"So be it."

What in the name of all things shit?! Ponies with upside-down faces? In all my day fighting in this land, I haven't fought a damn thing by that description, and nothing in my notes even scratches the surface of what it could possibly be...

With a leap, I hopped onto the stage, and almost immediately, my medallion began to tug. Looking around, I noticed a set of drag marks in the wood, leading off the stage and into the forest beyond. The drag marks themselves, however, were not the cause for my medallion to act up- it was instead Trixie's hat, laying on the wood. I put it on my head, for now. Drawing my silver blade, I made my way into the forest. The drag marks went on for a good mile or so, and stopped, abruptly, underneath a tree limb.

There was a rope tied around the limb, and a dark shape resting atop it. Before I could investigate further, a shriek hit me, knocking my senses out. I barely held my ground, wrenching my grip on my sword, as I looked around in a daze. The shape atop the limb seemed to startle awake, and cling to the tree limb for dear life. My ears were still ringing, my vision was blurred, but I could tell a number of shapes approaching from the forest itself.

Sheathing my sword and plugging my ears, I took note of my aggressors. They were like ponies, but they were incredibly fucking wrong- and I could see why Octy took note of their upside-down faces.

Their spines were pulled forward, and their heads hung loosely down. Each of them had a rope strung around their neck, some of them rotted, but every shape- at least ten, in total- had a rope, tied in the hangman's knot. I drew my silver blade, but as I did, another shriek hit me- and I lost the strength in that arm. The creatures got closer, and I began to take in their scent. They were most certainly dead. Zomponies, I thought. Possible remains of those few ponies outside Ponyville that just couldn't live anymore.

Crooked Carcasses.

I tried once more to grab my blade, but failed as another shriek hit me. Perhaps a Sign? Before I could cast my shielding magic, I was struck again, which threw me off balance and to my knees. The creatures got closer and closer. Blast it all, I wish I could move faster! Draw my blade and strike before they could let out that goddamn scream! Fucking hell, I need to invest in some earplugs...

Air.

A word echoed. I understood it as "air", but I didn't hear it as such. I heard "Su"- which caught me strangely. Even stranger than wondering about air in the middle of possible death. Air... wind was fast. "Run like the wind," I used to scream to Rainbow Dash, back in the day. Wind was fast. Rainbow was fast. I needed to be fast.

Battle.

Another word echoed, but it did not echo in my mind. Nay, I felt the word within my being. Battles were fast, strong and hectic- and I have personally been in many battles. There's nothing slow about a skirmish. Why does that strike me, now? Why do these thoughts choose to echo, at this very moment? There, again- the word I heard was not "battle", but "Grah", as it sounded.

Grace.

Grace, finesse. Witchers are trained to hit hard and fast, and thus, our natural reflexes and speed went beyond that of a regular warrior. We were taught to fight with an inhuman grace, to use our blades like they were part of us. Another word, hitting me. Another meaning. Another language. "Dun".

Air. Battle. Grace.

Su. Grah. Dun.

Su! Grah! Dun!

"Su-GRAH DUN!" I found myself shouting, a blastwave echoing out from around me, rivaling the screams of the carcasses surrounding me. My arms felt... lighter. Adrenaline flowed almost unnaturally. There were waves of white, flowing up and around my arms, as if magically giving me a boost to my speed. I could hear it, then- the carcasses were taking a breath, getting ready to scream-

But I didn't let them. With unnatural speed, I snatched the silver sword off of my back and spun in a wicked circle, my blade singing as it sliced through air and flesh alike. Hell, Aerondight's blade even seemed to glow from the heat generated by such an incredibly fast swing. My breath let out from me, standing in a squatted position, with my blade out to my side, still dripping with fresh blood, steaming with heat, white air twisting around the blade and back up my arm. Then, the blood came. The wounds my furious wind inflicted on the carcasses seemed to unzip, their heads falling one by one, counterclockwise, like my spin. They all dropped, and they could scream no more.

"My, my, has the Champion learned a bit of magic in his time away from us?"

That voice. Somewhat snooty, but trying not to be. Said with a smugness only attained over a long life of con artistry, but almost restrained with hopes of a gentler future. I turned to face Miss Lulamoon, still clinging to the tree branch she was earlier. She had a rope around her neck, the same one that was tied to the branch.

"Trixie. I'm glad you're alive. I actually had a contract out to find you-"

"Of course I'm alive! The Great and Apologetic Trixie would never let a bunch of filthy undead do her in! But, uh... I'm... quite tired, Champion."

"I can hear it. Mind telling me exactly what happened?"

"How much do you know?"

I told her of my investigation, and she explained that she had been getting stalked by these beings the whole time she was in Ponyville, as if she was a very specified target. When they dragged her into the forest, still conscious but unable to fight back, they strung a rope around her neck and tried to lynch her, while also pulling on her legs. She had just enough strength to kick them off, and used her magic to hoist herself onto the tree. The creatures continued to torment her, almost always denying her sleep so that she would eventually pass out and hang herself as she fell from her branch, always screaming so she could never focus her magic enough to pull the rope free.

"By the moon. Alright, girly, you can sleep easy, now."

"Tell me about it. Do you have any idea how relieved I am to see your face? I won't have to keep watch at my back anymore..."

"Nobody will."

"...And give me my hat back!"

My shout's enhancement had died down long ago, and I cut the rope from Trixie's neck before pulling her onto my shoulder. She swiftly fell asleep as I marched out of the forest, finding myself back in town after a brief walk. I kept my walks to the back roads- I tried to avoid attention from my old friends as much as I could. They would see me again, soon. Each of them. All of them. But there was work to be done, lives to be saved.

An idle hand squeezed my medallion, and memories flowed in.

Happiness would simply have to wait.

Entry XV: Two Weeks Earlier, by Kildeez

I gotta say, for a guy who just failed on a courier mission and now has a horny changeling princess trying to jump in his pants every second she can, all in a land of talking ponies being overrun by abominations from beyond our world, I think I’m doing alright.

But honestly, just surviving at this point qualifies as “doing alright.”

“Hey, doofus! Get that big head out of the clouds and help me out down here!”

I blink, crashing back into reality. Chittery and her undead horde have just breached the outer defenses of a small Nightmare Hive: this waxy, slime-covered thing sticking up out of the Everfree like a sore thumb, shaped like an upside-down ice cream cone. A Death Adder lies twitching on the ground, green, rotting blood oozing out of its stumps where its bladed arms had once been. Next to it lays a Hive Guardian, its six eyes poked out, a mass of blood and gore where its throat should have been. And beyond that, a battle rages between Chittery’s undead ponies and the Nightmare-tainted undead.

“Er…right…” I quickly amend, jogging into the darkness of the cave, heading towards the fray. A wisp of shadow trails overhead, and I duck as a sudden rush of air passes just over me. Acting solely on instinct, I hit the ground, roll over onto my back, and blast a single shot into the darkness of the cavern’s roof. A few heartbeats later, a twisted pile of meat drops down next to my head, the only thing recognizable being a long, thin tendril with a blade attached.

I blink, then dart back to my feet, shotgun rising as I rack up another shell and fire indiscriminately into the Nightmare horde. Another Guardian falls while a Death Adder lowers a bleeding stump, staring incredulously at where a blade had once been. He looks up at me, and I am the last thing he ever sees as I send my next round through his skull.

“Keep pushing!” Chittery screeches. “Don’t let up for even a second! Keep pushing them back!”

“Oh, good thing you mentioned it, ‘cause I was thinking now would be a great time to put my feet up, handle some bills, call mom and dad, see how they’re doing…” I mutter as I reload a few extra shells. She wallops me upside the back of the head with a quick burst of green magic, like a slap. I wince and grin down at her.

“C’mon Doofus,” she says with a little sideways grin. “We’re falling behind.”

“You sure about this, Princess?” I ask.

“This is the last place our final patrol in Equestria reported from, it can’t be a coincidence we stumbled over a Nightmare Hive in the exact same area.”

“I hear you, but we’re adding way too much time to our trip and risking way too much on a Hive that, frankly, don’t look that important,” I eye her, noticing the waning glow off her horn. “You’re already pushing yourself pretty damn far.”

“I can…manage…” she grunts, blinks, and lets her gaze drift a little. Her beady, blue eyes glaze over for a second before newfound energy roars into them from some untapped well deep inside her. “If there’s even a chance to save just one of those changelings, I’m not giving up until I see bodies.”

I would’ve clapped were it not for the blade-covered monstrosities skittering our way. I raise Shelly again as Chittery stands as straight as possible. Without a single word between us, I know it’s down to me to keep her toned, shapely ass safe while she focuses on her undead horde. Another burst of changeling magic, and my free hand, the one not currently wrapped around the stock of my shotgun, transforms into an elongated, muscle-bound spear, pulsing with strength.

In hindsight, this exact size, shape, and form was a very poor choice in the presence of a nympho changeling princess.

The rustle of leathery wings overhead forces me to my knees, blasting away at a quick little blur of a shape: a Nightmare Bat. Small, all-too-tiny, but possessing a head that’s all teeth, with a couple of earholes on the side for echolocation. I curse the damned thing. The big guys are bad enough, but the little ones are ever-so-good at drawing attention to themselves, probably because they like to go for the jugular with those razor-sharp fangs. Hence why I don’t notice the Hive Guardians lunging until they’re practically on top of us.

Still cursing, I parry the first blow, my spear/hand/totally-not-a-dildo-you-sick-fucks shooting to the side. Moving with the momentum of my side-slashing spear, I raise my free hand, practically pressing my shotgun’s muzzle against the Guardian’s forehead.

We may never know how a Nightmare thinks, or what sick, twisted line of thought makes them the way they are, or even if they’re capable of thought at all. However, I know in this case, I can tell you exactly what happened in this Nightmare’s skull, exactly what went through this specific Nightmare’s head when I pulled the trigger: twenty lead ball bearings moving at a little over a thousand feet per second.

And if the Nobel Committee is reading this, I’ll be expecting my prize for the advancement of science the next time I’m on Earth. Small bills only.

Carrying on the momentum from the Nightmare’s parry, I bring my spear/not-dildo around in a low arc, smashing through the second Guardian’s defenses for a wallop against the side of its throat, even slicing one of the blades right off one of its tendrils. My spear’s blade draws a long, thin line of rotten-smelling blood across its cheek, the Nightmare issuing a cry like a hundred pre-teen girls discovering that Harry Stiles is stopping by their town to find a costar for the next High School Musical. I follow up with a front kick against its chest, then thrust my shotgun into the ground hard enough to keep it standing straight, wobbling there, as I duck, scoop the decapitated blade off the ground, and come up again in a forward slash, catching the Nightmare on its muzzle.

Before it can scream, I pull it in close with the flat of my spear and go to fucking town on its neck with its own blade, stabbing again and again into the fleshy parts of its throat. It’s only after the first ten rapid, in-and-out stabs that I realize I’m screaming from somewhere deep in the back of my throat.

Snarling, I boot the stinking creature in the chest again, blood squirting onto my sneaker as it falls back, choking on its own juices. Finally, all is still. I hear nothing but my own breath. Even the sounds of battle have stopped, the clashing forces all turning to gape at me. Or, I think they’re gaping at me. It’s hard to tell. There’s a reason some universes refer to zombies as “slackjaws.”

Rustle of leathery wings overhead. More prey. In my adrenaline-heightened state, and without the clashing of fleshblades against rusting swords to cover it up, I place it instantly. Reacting, I reach up and pluck the bat right out of the air, eliciting a squeak. Holding it up before me for everyone to see, I pump the tiniest amount of magic into my fingers, transforming my nails into inch-long claws

Show them.

The bat squeaks in pain as my claws pierce the soft, tender flesh of its belly. Not enough. I rake my claws through the flesh, ripping it open as if I’m peeling an orange. Fetid, orange blood oozes out. I raise my hand, letting the blood dribble onto my head, cascading onto the chitin of my bare scalp, soaking the waterproof sleeve of my coat.

I grin at the clashing parties, still staring awestruck, through the haze of Nightmare blood over my eyes.

“Nope,” a voice pipes up from the back. A few moments later, the ranks of both sides part to allow a young Nightmare Unicorn pass through, his eyes glowing in the dark, his appendages still shaking with the underdeveloped strength of the newly-corrupted. “Nuh-uh, nope. Fuck that.”

“Get back in line!” A deep-throated growl rumbles from the Death Adder standing next to him.

“N-nope,” the pony swallows, turning on its superior. “L-look, w-we don’t have to stay here, r-right? I think we should just l-leave, let these two get what they came for, i-is it really worth it?”

“We have our orders, little trash-maggot,” the Adder scowls, tromping towards the smaller Nightmare. “We are to slow the half-breed and the whore down, if not terminate them entirely. You know what the punishment for failure will be.”

“I-I don’t care!” The pony snarls. “It doesn’t matter! What’s the point of going on if it’s like this!?”

“The point is…” the Adder starts, raising a hoof for a blow, then pauses. It opens its hideous mouth once, closes it, opens it again, like a fish gasping for air. At last, on the third try, I notice the small glint in the back of its throat. The Adder turns, revealing Chittery perched on its shoulders, her horn buried in the back of its neck, the point now sticking out its throat.

“Something to point out,” she hisses, glaring at the back of the Adder’s neck. “This whore just ripped you a new one.” Then she shoots a dark-green bolt of lightning out of her horn, pounding right up through the roof of the Adder’s mouth and ripping out the top of its skull to leave a scorch mark on the cave ceiling.

As if tearing a Nightmare a new asshole in its forehead broke a spell on her troops, the undead turn on their Nightmarish counterparts and spring on them before they can get their bearings, slicing through their unprotected ranks in moments. The few that manage to survive the initial onslaught are either picked off within minutes, or run out of the cave entirely, screeching the whole way. I lay back against the wall, my head pounding.

It’s not over, you fool, it’s never over, and it won’t be until you stand up and show these fuckers that messing with you is death, that messing with anything you enjoy means a torturously slow end, you have to MAKE them see what…

“Kildeez?”

“Hmm?” I gaze up to meet Chittery’s eyes, looking at me in concern.

She offers a warm smile, made cool by the foul-smelling blood dripping along her carapace. “You did really good.”

I cough, blink, and finally nod. “Thanks. You too. Feeling alright?”

“Well, I found one of the team sent in…” her smile fades. So does mine.

“Was it bad?”

“He was halfway converted,” she whispers. “Luckily, had some love still gathered for me to regain my strength.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” her smile returns, a warm gaze sliding up my body. “I’m just grateful you’re here.” She maintains that warm gaze for a moment longer, then her eyes trail to the side. Cocking an eyebrow, I follow her gaze to my arm-spear, that long, pulsating, spear-tipped thing thrusting up into the air like…oh, goddammit!

“No,” I hiss, transforming it back into my normal little hand.

“Aww, c’mon! Just for a little while? I promise I’ll be quick!” She begs.

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. No.”

Her lip quivering, she stomps a hoof like a filly being told to go to bed five minutes before her normal bedtime. “You’re no fun!”

A loud crash echoes through the cave. We both look up to find the Nightmare unicorn on the ground, struggling against a zombie mare with a single, oily eyeball, clad in the tattered remnants of a wedding dress, kneeling on one of the young Nightmare’s bladed tendrils. The other blade is pinned by an older stallion, his wrinkled skin practically sloughing off his bones, the remnants of a ball of yarn that was once a tie looped around his neck.

“Hold it steady!” A skeleton in a gray uniform barks, a rusting rapier in his hoof. “For Celestia’s sake, hold it steady! We want to make this a clean hit!”

“LET GO OF ME!” The Nightmare screams. “PLEASE LET GO-“

“Hold it!” Chittery’s voice booms through the cave, carrying in that way all practiced orators have mastered. Everything stops, even the Nightmare stops its struggling, all turning to look at her, gaping. She stomps over to the small group, looking over the Nightmare, her eyes narrowed. It whimpers and shrinks under her gaze. Finally, she turns to her undead servants.

“Bind him, then you may return to your rest. Thank you, you’ve all done well.” She says curtly.

The jaws of the zomponies around her hit the floor, both metaphorically and, in one case, literally. “Bu-but madam! We can’t…”

“Do it.” She barks, and that voice is so authoritative, so compelling, that I actually have to stop myself from climbing to my feet and helping out. In short fashion, a few zomponies gallop out, returning with a length of vine pulled from the canopy. The remaining undead wrap the bladed tendrils around the unicorns barrel, securing them in place with the vine before tying his forehooves together, adding a few loops around his neck. Only the hind hooves remain free, both his forehooves and his tendrils now wrapped in a tight ball close to his neck.

Nodding her approval, Chittery waves the zomponies off, who all nod and begin the long trek back to the graveyard they came from. She trots over to the Nightmare, wobbling only slightly with magical exhaustion. I dart to my feet and jog up alongside her, scooping up my shotgun as I go. The creature’s blank eyes gaze up at us and widen, looking down at the weapon in my hands.

“I-if you’re just g-gonna kill me, p-please do it quick,” it says in its quiet, yet still deep and rumbling, voice. Its head bows, ears folding down.

Chittery glares and stomps next to its head, earning a frightened squeak. Then she grabs the Nightmare’s shoulder and turns him over with the care of an axe murderer going at the door between himself and Stupid Blonde Teenaged Extra #2. He trembles with fright, looking up at us and straining at the vine holding his hooves. “How and when you die isn’t up to you to decide, monster! It’s up to us!”

Catching on, I add my two cents in: “Aww, please boss? Please can I take this ‘un back to the fun room?” I look the Nightmare over and lick my lips. “He’s got such a purty mouth, I think I could go a whole week ‘fore I get tired a’ him!”

The Nightmare’s eyes widen and he thrashes back, trying to scoot away on his free hind legs. Chittery keeps a firm hoof on his shoulder though, and he goes nowhere. “Husshhhh,” she hisses, her muzzle snarling up. “It’s your choice, creature: you can either satisfy me, or I’ll leave you to satisfy him.”

His wide, fear-filled eyes look to her, then over at me. I lick one finger and run a little circle over my nipple, maintaining eye contact the entire time. “I’LL TALK! I’LL TALK!” The Nightmare screams, reaching a high-pitch despite the gravelly throat-speak all Nightmares have.

“Very good,” she whispers. “Now, a couple months ago, before the main invasion hit, a small squad of changelings arrived in this area. Creatures like me. Do you understand?”

The creature nods enthusiastically, visibly straining to keep his eyes on her and off me.

“What happened to them, do you know?”

“I…” the creature’s eyes close. “No. I only remember back about a m-month, th-they would’ve been g-gone by then.”

Chittery looks down at him passively. “Deezy?” She asks.

Nodding, I unzip my fly.

“WAIT!” It begs. “Please, that’s all I know, I swear! I-it’s all I know, cross my heart, hope t’die, stick a cupcake in my eye!”

Chittery’s eyes widen. Her jaw drops. I lean over her shoulder, looking the creature over as it cowers beneath my gaze. “What’s up?” I ask her.

“There are only a few specific ponies in the world who say that phrase,” she whispers, looking up at me. “One group of friends in Ponyville, and another group around me.”

My eyes widen, looking over the Nightmare with a new light. “You don’t think…”

“Wh-what?” The Nightmare squeaks. “What’re y-you all looking at?”

Without another word, Chittery straddles the captured Nightmare, pinning him with all four of her hooves. He struggles for only a second, but gives up almost as quickly as he starts, allowing her to bow her head towards him, her horn flaring. The Nightmare’s mouth drops open, ready to release a scream, but it’s choked off as her horn touches his forehead. A split-second later, he vanishes in a flash of green fire, consuming his form before flaring out in a heatless rush. The Nightmare unicorn is gone, and in his place lays a Nightmare changeling, patchy fur replaced with scuffed chitin, the spiral-shaped horn replaced with the sharpened spire, and the lower jaw now just beginning to show the first signs of elongation.

The Nightmare looks down at itself and screams. “What have you done to me!?”

“No way…” I whisper as Chittery maintains her grip.

“Calm down!” She screams.

“What have you done to me!?” He continues screeching, bucking wildly with his hind legs. Finally fed up, Chittery cracks a hoof against the side of his head. He reels, his head lolling to the side, tongue hanging out. Rolling her eyes, the Princess plants a nice long kiss on his cheek. When she pulls back, her lipmark remains as a glowing imprint for a second before fading. The Nightmare pops right back into consciousness.

“Are we ready to act like big boys now?” She hisses indifferently. The Nightmare nods, ears bobbing up and down adorably. “Good. Now, you’re not a pony, and never have been. You were a changeling before you became this, part of the crew we were sent here to find.”

The changemare’s eyes (naw, that’s not a good name, makes it sound like he’s a mare) widen even further. “Holy crap…”

“Yeah, that’s one way of dealing with finding out you’re not even the species you thought you were,” I smirk.

The Princess glares at me, but quickly turns back to her captive. “You were sent here as part of an experiment to determine the effectiveness of a new masking spell meant to keep us hidden from some upper-level detection spells the Equestrians were working on,” she smiles thinly, a small giggle building in the back of her throat. “Looks like they worked. Even the Nightmares didn’t know what you were!”

“In this case, it probably saved him,” I put in. “The Nightmares would have assumed he was a pony and used spells specific to ponies to corrupt him. If they’d figured it out and used changeling spells, he’d almost certainly be a full-fledged Nightmare-ling by now.” Hmm…still not quite it…

The Nightling (okay, that’s their name now, definitely going with that) tries to get up, but only manages to trip over his own hooves and the rope binding them. He shakes his head, looks a bit woozy, then shakes himself again.

“It’s okay, we’ve dealt with displacement before,” she says soothingly, running a hoof along his cheek in a way just a bit too sensual to be plain concern. “Of course, usually that’s just changelings who get too deep into a part and need to remind themselves who they are. You, on the other hoof…”

He looks up at her, then over at me. “The Nightmare corruption erases most memories of who the victims were before they were changed,” I explain. “Only basic instincts and some muscle memory remains. Maybe some fuzzy leftover flashes of stuff from before, and even that goes after a couple months.”

“O-oh…” the chitin on his forehead crinkles up in thought, then his eyes bug open.

“Wait a second, i-is that what would’ve happened to me!?” He exclaims, motioning with his bound hooves to the decapitated Guardian lying a few feet away. “I w-would’ve become like those brainless j-jerks!?”

“Based on their treatment of you, I’d say they were well on their way towards brainwashing what remained of your old, changeling nature right out of your head,” I look him up and down and nod. “Another few months, and you’d have been one of them, happy to obey every order passed down from the Nightmare Collective.”

“Oh wow…” he says, looking up dumbly, then suddenly shivering.

“What was that?” Chittery asks, looking him over.

“I-I don’t know…” the Nightmare says, his voice now decidedly less deep and gravelly. “It feels like something just…pulled back…”

“Aw shit,” I grumble, running a hand down my face. “They already severed him.”

“Th-they what?” He asks, his voice tinier and more helpless than ever before.

“Severed,” Chittery grumbles unhappily. “The Collective has cut off your connection to them.”

“Oh…” he stammers, looking around with wide, confused eyes. “B-but that’s a good thing, right?”

“Well, that means they can’t continue brainwashing you, yes,” I sigh, running my fingers over the chitin on my scalp. “Unfortunately, since that link was the only thing maintaining your internal organs since the conversion literally ripped your heart out…”

At that, his chitin goes very pale. He looks down at himself, as if he can actually see his internal organs crashing within him. He shivers. “Oh no…”

“Don’t worry, sweets, we’ve got time,” Chittery says, her horn glowing. “I can build up a decent feedback loop which’ll keep you going for another week, hopefully in that time we can get you to a more powerful magician to make the spell more permanent.”

“H-ho-hopefully?”

For the first time since we busted down the doors to this place, Chittery’s calm façade wavers. Her eyes mist up as she lowers her head, giving me a rare glimpse at the mare under the badass. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

He shivers, biting his lip (no small feat since his lower lip is now a few inches further down thanks to the Corruption), then all of a sudden his eyes harden, tears starting to waver in them. “Don’t be,” he says, his voice still sounding like Christian Bale trying to channel Batman after a few hits to the groin.

We blink down at him. “Dude, we just almost gotcha killed,” I point out. “For all we know, the feedback loop will collapse with your next breath and you’ll keel over instantly.

His breath catches as if I just prophesied how he was going to die, but then it comes out in a long and steady wheeze as he glares back up at us. “I-it doesn’t matter, it’d be better t-to die like this, with s-some of my old life still r-remembered, than to go out like one of them.” To drive his point home, he hocks a massive loogie and spits it in the direction of one of the Adder’s bodies, where it fizzles and pops against the rock.

I can’t help but grin. “Well Princess, guess you were right,” I say with a nonchalant little shrug. “There was something worth saving down here after all.”

She turns back to me, and already the badass/horny changeling princess is back in action. “Damn straight there was something worth saving!” She announces, wrapping her hooves around the Nightling. “Cyphy!”

“Wut.” He asks.

“Wut.” I reply intelligently.

“Cypher!” She announces, nodding proudly. “That’s your name. I’d know that cute little stutter anywhere, colt. It’s you in there, under all that…Nightmare…weirdness.”

“Well said,” I say dryly.

“Thank you.”

“Cypher…” the Nightling repeats the name under his breath, trying it out with his humongous jaw. “Yeah…yeah, Cypher! That’s it! Has to be!” He beams up at us.

Chittery claps her hooves together like a gleeful filly. “Oh, there’s so much I want to talk to you about!”

“R-really? Were we c-close?”

“Oh, okay, I lied,” she giggles, a predatory glint entering her eye, the same one she wears every time I turn over in the night only to bump my nose against her grinning muzzle. “Actually, there’s only one thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

Uh-oh…

“Wh-what’s that?” He asks, suddenly growing aware that her hooves are still locked firmly on his shoulders.

“Did you enjoy the show?” She asks with a wink. “The one I put on in the showers back in the Hive, when I knew you were peeping on me. I mean, I don’t masturbate in front of just any stallion.”

“Wh-wh-wh-wh-wh…” he gulps, shivering. “I-I would like to be untied now, please…”

“Your mouth says that, but another part of you wishes to disagree,” she coos, caressing a hoof over his rising stallionhood.

He looks at her, eyes wide, mouth gaping and blubbering. If stallions had computer monitors, this one would be reading Error! Cypher.exe has encountered a fatal error and had to close, running Boner.exe as a system backup…

“Oh for Christ’s sake, princess!” I scream. “He just found out he’s a changeling! Could you give him a minute before trying to ride his dick!?”

Based on the saucy smile she shoots my way as she plunges her flank against his waist, I take the answer to be a rather forceful “no.”

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

That night, I try to tell myself that the heavy gasps and screams of pleasure coming from their tent is from him giving her a very enthusiastic massage. It doesn’t work.

I sit up in my little spot and shake my head, my coat still spread over my legs. My head winds up resting in a chitin-covered hand. Now that I’ve been lying here awhile, I’ve had some time to think. This is rarely a good thing.

I am far from the picture of mental stability, as one might gather. I’ve got something inside me, this other part that honestly scares the piss out of the rest of me. Been there almost as long as I can remember. Usually, it’s pretty easy to control. Not that the job helps at all, but that’s what the therapy sessions are for. Thing is, it’s never had a voice whispering to me before. I hardly noticed it, but it’s been there, taunting me, begging for release, pushing me to go berserk on everyone and everything around me. Until I came to this world, it’d always just been fuzzy concepts and images, intrusive thoughts, sudden visions of murders and shootings that fade as quick as they come. Now though…now it fucking spoke!?

I hiss and toss in my makeshift bed. Where was that voice coming from? Was the stress of the job finally getting to me? It has been exceptionally crazy lately, and I’m, like, a month and a half late for my last appointment with the doc. Or maybe it’s something worse? Aww shit, what if it’s the Nightmare? What if I’m being corrupted somehow? Chrysalis gave me enough runes and spells to keep Satan himself from hopping into my meatsack and revving me up like a Harley, but who’s to say they actually work as well as we all think? What if they wear off, or if the magic keeping them up is wearing down from the current crisis, or if my human side is keeping them from working right?

I toss over onto my other side. Man, I really hate not being able to sleep.

“K-Kildeez?”

I turn to the voice, my sphincter clenching reflexively. Fortunately, it’s Cypher standing there. “Hey kid, the princess finally letcha go?” I rasp, my voice still scratchy from the lack of sleep.

He nods. “Uh-huh, sh-she finally fell asleep.”

“How many rounds did that take?”

“Fifteen, with…u-um…’self-pleasuring sessions’ in between to give me a break.”

I whistle, shaking my head. “She earned her reputation, sure as shit.”

“Y-yeah,” he swallows. “Listen, uh, I-I didn’t get a good chance to…thank you…for what you’ve…”

I raise a hand to stop him. “Cypher, the fact that you’re still breathing is thanks enough for me. I’ve made my fair share of mistakes in the past, some big, some small. Today, things happened to work out for the better, but you know that’s mostly luck, right? I mean, if you’d been at the front door when we launched our attack on the Hive…”

“I-I know that, but still,” he sighs, one of his hooves caressing the skinny muscle connecting his back to one of his blades. “Even that would’ve b-been better than wh-what the Nightmares were g-gonna do to me. It’s because of y-your bravery that none of that’s gonna happen. E-even if the feedback loop collapses and I d-d-die right now, I want you to know th-that’s still better, and it w-was all thanks to you two.”

I take a few minutes to absorb his words, and then I nod. “Alright, welcome.”

He nods back, one hoof now running over the other as his gaze breaks away from mine. “Th-there’s one other thing…”

“You’re too scared to fall asleep next to the princess because you’re afraid if you do, you’ll wake up chained to a bed in a secret pleasure dungeon with a dildo rammed down your throat.”

His eyes widen as he slowly nods.

“Yeah, why do you think I sleep with my ass facing a rock?” I grumble, patting the solid sheet of rock firmly planted on my rear. “Alright, get down here boyo, there’s plenty room for two.”

“Th-thanks…” he says, trotting in beside me and curling up under my jacket. “N-night.”

“Night.”

A few minutes of silence pass in the darkness. We face away, butt-to-butt, making sure to keep eyes on every corner. He pipes up again: “Kildeez?”

“Hmm?”

“Y-you’re not, um…you know…’into’ other…uh…”

“I’m not gay.”

“I mean, it’s okay if you are! I-I didn’t want to assume, and i-it’s not like I’d be afraid you’ll try to…um…’take’ me in the middle of the night, b-but I just wanted to make sure th-this wasn’t…wasn’t…”

“I’m not gay.”

“O-okay…good…” then, as if realizing what he’s implying, he sits up in bed, waving his hooves around. “I-I-I mean not good! I mean, uh…it’s okay if you are! Wh-why, some of my best friends are gay! I-it really doesn’t matter to…”

“Cypher?”

“Y-yeah?”

“I spent most of the last week dodging Nightmares, ripping Hives apart with my bare hands, and blocking the sexual advances of a creature that makes Pamela Anderson look like Mother Teresa. Please just shut up and go to sleep.”

A few more minutes, and I hear a quiet: “O-okay.” Then silence.

Author's Notes:

Also, special thanks to Changeling_38 for his character, Cypher!

Entry XVI: Ranting and Exposition, by Kildeez

“Shoot.”

“O-okay…” Cypher considers for a second, biting his lip. Finally, he nods to himself and turns on me. “Wh-what’s Earth like?”

“What’s Equestria like?” I ask, rolling my eyes.

“H-hey! You said it was my turn t-to ask a question!”

“I know, and I was answering with a question of my own,” I pause in the middle of the dirt road and eye him. “Cypher, imagine a complete alien, someone who’d never been here before, popped into existence right in front of us and asked you to answer that question. Could you? Without a long, rambling, hour-long lecture?”

He stops next to me, his forehead wrinkling in thought. A few seconds pass, and he looks up at me again. “I’d still try anyway, i-if he asked nice enough.”

I grin at him. “Well said.”

“Th-thanks.”

I take a long, deep breath, trying to gather up my thoughts. “Earth…is…very different,” I start, picking up my walking pace again. “For one thing, humans are the only sapient species.”

“S-sapi…”

“It means we’re the only ones capable of most logic and reasoning, and definitely the only ones to found a society,” I wave a hand dismissively. “There are some social structures in animals like gorillas, but that’s really it. You don’t have birds listening to reason over there.”

“O-oh!” He beams. “That must mean th-things are a lot easier!”

“Not even close,” I mutter. “We’re omnivores, remember? It’s possible for a human to go without meat if they balance out their nuts and starches, but in the end, if we want the protein we need to build muscle, we have to go hunting.”

Out the corner of my eye, I watch his chitin get very pale. “H-hunting?”

“It’s not so bad, since our animals aren’t sapient,” I shrug.

“O-oh yeah,” a little bit of color returns to his chitin, though not much. “S-still, with just the one species, you guys probably got along okay, right?”

Legends will be written about the laughter which burst forth from my lungs on this day. It rolled over the hills far and wide, echoing deep into the darkest corners of the planet. My snickers bounced through the deepest, darkest tunnels and stirred things better left unwoken. My giggles resounded in the ears of creatures so far from the light that it was interpreted as a possible attack by an enemy tribe, and so triggered at least one unknown war in a forbidden corner of the planet. As it died down, my chortles boomed across the plains and helped the blind see, the deaf hear, and caused at least one rogue changeling serial killer to commit seppuku.

When it finally ended, I sat up with an aching stomach, wiped a tear from my eye, and thanked God I didn’t wet myself.

“As if,” I scream, trying my best to keep another round of laughter from breaking loose. “Humans go to war because they’re bored, or to pass the time, or because some pompous asshole in a suit snubbed another pompous asshole in a slightly less expensive suit. We talk about how awful and inhumane one side or another is, well, I’m here to tell ya it’s fucking war that’s awful and inhumane. I mean, back home, people turn on the TV and act all shocked about the images of kids with legs blown off, babies clutching at the dead bodies of their mothers, nurses wheeling in guys with shrapnel lodged in their faces. And they act surprised. As if that’s something new. As if that shit hadn’t been going on for centuries, as if there’s some clearly defined ‘bad guys’ in black uniforms and scowling faces that we can just fly over and shoot the shit out of, then fly back in time for dinner with the family while the newly-liberated natives hoist up American flags. As if war is just that, and not those motherless babies and those kids who’ll never make it to soccer stardom because of their new stumps and those young boys wondering if they’ll live to see another sunrise. As if that only happens because of some ‘bad’ guys in the offending side, while their country’s hands are clean because they went over there to ‘help’ people. I mean, can you believe that!? Jesus fucking Christ, how godlessly stupid can you get!? How fucking stupid can you be to go to war without expecting armless babies and kids with their teeth blown out by stray bullets!?”

“I-I…wh-why would…”

“Ohhh, people tried to blame all sorts of shit, y’know? Like religion, or the Ay-rabs hoarding the oil, or the white people fucking over the Third World, but in the end, it was pretty much just motherfuckers grabbing up shit that they wanted, and not caring about stomping in some babies’ skulls along the way.”

He opens his mouth to get a word in, but I’m on a roll. “’Absolute power corrupts absolutely,’ the great French conqueror Napoleon Bonaparte said that, and believe me, he knew. So many men set out to make the world better, only to wind up becoming everything they once stood against. Either that, or they never really stood against them in the first place and were only saying they did to make more people step in line behind them, and it fucking happened over and over again and again. And you wanna know the price? You wanna know the cost of not learning…of refusing to learn…these lessons? In World War Two, do you know how many fucking people died?”

Stunned speechless, he shakes his head.

“Seventy. Million. Seventy million lives stomped out, ancient cities filled with priceless works reduced to rubble…Rome…Berlin…Tokyo…London…all for what? Because a little man with an awful mustache thought the world would be better without a big chunk of people in it. Ooh, ooh, and I’m just getting started!”

I turn on him. His eyes are still wide and his legs are quaking from my tirade, or maybe it’s the sheer numbers I’m quoting at him, who knows? Who cares? “In the end, World War Two was just settling accounts for World War One, so you can add another seventeen-million bodies on top of the first seventy. The Spanish Civil War was used as a training ground for the new equipment the Axis powers wanted to shove down the Allies’ throats. Thanks to them, what should’ve been a quick flare-up that was crushed quickly turned into a protracted cock-up that killed a half-million people. And I’m not even going to talk about the long and protracted Cold War between the so-called ‘victors,’ which wound up being a dick-waving match that burned through the poorest places on the planet. Korea: one and a half million dead there. Vietnam: we can’t even tell, we think it’s around two or four million, and that’s just while we were involved. The French got their asses kicked before that, which was another half-million, and I could go on about all the little shitbuckets kicking asses after the Westerners got out. Then you’ve got the Suez Canal incident, the FARC insurgencies in Columbia, the Pinochet coup in Chile, the Shining Path insurrection in Peru, the Iranian revolution, the failed Bay of Pigs invasion, the Ethiopian wars against Somalia and Eritrea, I could go on for hours just naming the fucking things, never mind counting the dead. And that’s just one century.”

I finally pause, taking a breath. My shoulders are heaving. I look down at my hands. At some point, my claws had extended. I sheathe them again. Cypher just looks at me through a hole in his leg, hiding behind it like a kid hoping that covering his eyes will protect him from the monsters in his closet. “So no, Cypher,” I whisper. “Earth is not a peaceful place. In fact, it’s the least peaceful place I know.”

I turn and start down the road again. He follows, but with his head lowered and his ears folded down. He doesn’t talk for a while, which lets me calm down a bit and realize I’ve snapped at him for no good reason.

“Hey, listen,” I start. “Sorry for snapping like that, I didn’t…”

“No, I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have made you dig up all that stuff.”

“I’ve always felt kinda passionate about this shit, but there’s no way you could’ve known that.”

He sighs. “Well, at least now I understand how you can do the things you do. You’d have to be tough to survive where you came from.”

I turn to him, my mouth dropping open as I realize my mistake. I just made his very first impression of Earth, and it was of a war-torn hellhole. A completely alien species, and that’s how I establish contact. Great Deez, epic diplomacy skillz right there. How did I manage to not start a war during my tenure as Chrysalis’s diplomat in Canterlot?

Snickering at my own stupidity, I shake my head. “No, you really don’t. Especially not where I came from.”

“B-but you said…”

“I know what I said, and it was true, every word. But one thing I’ve noticed: the darker the shadows, the brighter the light has to shine against them.”

He looks up, forehead crinkling again, and I roll my eyes. “If all that shit I talked about was all there was to Earth, do you think I’d be fighting against the Nightmare?”

“U-um…you could be fighting against it t-to keep Equestria from sharing the fate of your planet?”

I give him a good, hard swat against the back of his head. “H-hey!” He shouts, rubbing at the sore spot.

“Where’d ya get that from, an anime?” I snicker. “Naw man, I’m fighting the Nightmare because it’s what’s right; you think I’d even have a concept of right and wrong if Earth was just one, big, free-for-all warzone?”

“U-um…”

“Cypher, what was ‘right’ to you during the month you were part of the Nightmare Collective?”

His forehead crinkles deeply. He should really stop doing that: dude’s gonna have the forehead of a ninety year-old man if he keeps it up. Finally, his eyes widen. I smile. He’s got it. “S-serving them,” he whispers, his jaw dropping its full impressive length. “There were things that didn’t feel right, b-but I went with them because…um…because…”

“Because it was all you knew,” I nod. “Kindness begets kindness, just like violence begets violence.”

“B-but…in a world of so much war…”

“There’s plenty opportunity for astounding kindness,” I whisper, pausing in my step. “During the September 11th terrorist attacks, I remember one survivor recounting a security guard who stayed on an upper floor stairway, directing people out before the building could collapse. This guy probably had no training and likely wasn’t allowed to carry a gun, making seven bucks an hour, and he died saving a bunch of people that had probably been turning their noses up at him for years as they walked by to their desks. During the Egyptian Revolution, Muslims and Christians formed lines around each other’s prayer ceremonies, protecting absolute strangers from extremists on both sides. Back in the Battle of Okinawa, during dubya-dubya-two, a man earned a Congressional Medal of Honor without firing a shot by dragging his entire group to safety after they were hit by heavy enemy fire, saving a group of men he’d probably met that morning. Yes, war is shitty, but you know what? It’s in the shittiest situations where the very best in people can come out. And dude, what comes out then is so beyond beautiful that words can’t describe it. Poets and writers and artists have been trying for centuries, and nothing quite gets it right.

“So whenever that shit gets me down, I just remember the words of a wise man: ‘The reason I don’t worry about society is, nineteen people knocked down two buildings and killed thousands. Hundreds of people ran into those buildings to save them. I’ll take those odds every fucking day.’ Yeah, humans fuck up; I’ll be the first to admit that. But there’s beauty on Earth, Cypher, and there are millions fighting for it every single day.”

Another awkward silence. This is starting to become a tradition with us. Cypher’s mouth keeps opening and closing, like a goldfish gaping out of its bowl, but nothing quite seems able to make it past his lips. Finally, he turns to me, and his eyes widen. “A-are you crying!?”

“Hmm?” I run a finger along under one of my eyes and arch an eyebrow at the moisture hanging off my finger. “Huh. Look at that.”

The awkward silence that follows this stretches on a while longer. Mostly because there’s no way to respond to a guy crying that isn’t awkward. Fortunately, Cypher’s a lot better at breaking the ice than I am.

“Wh-who said that? That quote about the b-buildings?” He asks.

I grin. “A comedian who does really funny jokes about current events.”

Without even looking, I knew Cypher was staring at me with his head cocked, trying to decide if he should raise his tendril-blades defensively or not.

“You can’t decide if I’m insane or not, can you?” I ask.

“No, I c-can’t.”

“Don’t expect that to improve, man. In fact, it’s probably going to get less clear over time,” I smirk, giving a half-cocked grin out the corner of my mouth, flashing a friendly fang his way.

It works. The familiar expression of changeling loyalty calms some of his shivering, and his breathing evens out. “S-so it’s your turn,” he says, noticeably avoiding eye contact.

“Hmm?”

“I asked a question, n-now it’s your turn.”

“Oh yeah, uh…” I tap my chin for a second, and then grin wickedly. “You remember yet?”

Groaning, he pushes past me and muscles on down the road. “For the last time, no! I don’t remember what Chittery looked like when she masturbated!”

“Not even a flash of something? I just wanna know if she used her hoof or if she got creative with a loofah.”

Stammering, he turns away and starts muttering to himself. I can see a light-green blush creeping up the chitin on the back of his neck. I grin and kneel beside him, giving him a quick pat on the shoulder. He flinches under my fingers. “Hey look, I’m just messing with…”

“Oh my sweetest and almighty flank, will you two just kiss and make out already!?” A tree shrieks from the side of the path.

Rolling my eyes, I deliver a healthy boot to the pink-hued trunk, and a whole bundle of horny changeling princess drops into my outstretched arms. I grimace as she smiles up at me. “For your information, it’s ‘kiss and make up’, not ‘make out’.”

Her smile fades and she cocks her head. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Hm. Well, mine’s better.”

“I’m sure you think so,” I grumble as I set her on all fours. “So, what’s the deal?”

“I think we got a straight shot to Canterlot,” she says, smiling up at me. “Of course, I couldn’t see much besides a bunch of tree tops, but I don’t think we’ll have much trouble on our way.”

“That’s good…” I mumble thoughtfully, shifting back to my human form. “We might as well start looking friendlier.”

“Not just yet,” Chittery holds up a hoof. “Because Canterlot itself is swamped with Nightmares. I can’t even begin to tell you how many: they looked like just one, big mass, and really it kinda…hurt just to look at them all.”

“Whatever’s over there is some straight-up Lovecraft shit,” I grimace. Anything that looks bad enough to cause a mind like Chittery’s to double back and twist around just to look at them has to be some next level shit. “Dammit, no way we can take something like that.”

“Then how do we get in?” Cypher asks.

“Good question,” I shake my head, my thumb running little circles against my temple. “Ugh, Sifty would probably be able to handle this…or he’d know how…”

“Couldn’t you just go full minotaur again?” Chittery asks. Cypher gawps at her. Apparently, I’d forgotten to mention that little detail.

“Against Cthuhlu’s angrier cousin?” I grimace. “Naw Princess, even a minotaur would get torn limb from limb against that.”

“Then what do we do?”

“We keep moving,” I sigh and start down the path again, glancing back at them as I pull a branch out of the way. “Try to figure it out when we get there.”

“Wh-what!?” Cypher looks around, head trying to whip over everything at once, which doesn’t do much for him except maybe grant a minor case of whiplash. “Y-you two can’t be serious!”

“We are,” I sigh.

“Cyphy, I’m sorry, I know this is a lot to absorb,” Chittery says with a smile so small it only exposes one fang. “We just don’t know enough about what’s happening in Canterlot to really do anything until we get close enough.”

“B-but…the Nightmare! You said there w-was something really bad around Canterlot!”

“Yeah,” I shrug. “So? We can’t do anything about it until we get closer.”

“If we get t-too close though, th-they’ll eat us!”

“We know,” Chittery runs a hoof along in the dirt, drawing a small line with the tip. “Look, Cyphy, you don’t have to come with us. I’m sure you could make it back to the Hive by yourself.”

He looks at her as if she just proposed he eat his own head. “Wh-what?!”

“It’s dangerous out here, and you’re just a scout…” she says, humming a bit, then quickly amending: “…were just a scout. You’re not meant for straight-up war and confrontation. Besides, if you get back to the Hive, they can study you, study the Nightmare, maybe even figure out how to reverse it, not just in you, but in everyone infected by it.”

He still looks at her as if there was another, tinier version of herself budding out her shoulder, like a spore off a mushroom. “Y-you’re serious?”

“Of course,” she offers with a little ‘shooing’ motion of her hoof.

He looks over at me, eyes still wide, and I shrug. “Do what’s best.” I offer.

He turns away at last, a slightly-thoughtful look finally overcoming those shocked, disturbed eyes, and finally he turns back to us. “I-if I wasn’t infected by the Nightmare, wh-what do you think I’d choose?”

We both blink at him. “Umm…that’s kinda hard to say, dude,” I mutter.

“That’s really only something you might have known yourself,” Chittery insists, rocking forward on her hooves, as if begging him to understand. “Your loyalty to the Hive might have taken precedence, but whether that meant loyalty to me or to the Hive as a whole would have been up to you. Just depends on what kind of stallion you were.”

“Yeah,” his eyebrows hunch, and suddenly he strides between us, trotting in the direction of Canterlot under my outstretched arm. “W-well, I like to think I’m the kind of stallion who’d stay.”

Chittery beams and darts to his side, pressing her lips to his cheek. I roll my eyes as his face flushes a dark fuchsia. “Really?” I grunt, shaking my head. “Fifteen rolls in the hay, and you still blush at a peck on the cheek!?”

He shrinks under Chittery’s foreleg as she giggles. “Oh yeah, if there was any doubt you were Cypher, it’s gone now,” she says, using a hoof to stifle any further laughter. I can’t help but smile. What can I say? Love is a beautiful thing, and besides, now something else is occupying Chittery’s eye besides yours tru…

“Just one more thing, K?”

I blink, startled out of my thoughts. “Yeah?”

She grins back at me and winks. “It was the showerhead. I ‘got creative’ with the showerhead.”

I stop right there, my eyes going wide. She winks again and flutters off with Cypher gaping and stammering alongside, which gives me plenty of time to block out the thought of Chittery in the shower, steam billowing off her chitin, the muscles in her back tensing as the stream of water from the showerhead runs lower and lower until finally GODDAMMIT FUCK SHIT FUCK SHIT NO! BAD BRAIN! BAD!

“For Christ’s… would you two get moving already!? My arm’s getting tired!” I bark, still holding the branch up.

Chittery smiles and ushers Cypher along, only to pause mid-step. Instead of hurrying on past the branch I’m so graciously holding for them, Chittery and Cypher gawp with widening eyes. Arching an eyebrow, I turn back to the branch, only to wind up staring down a large, gaping pink hole.

…

That was not a good image I conjured for myself there.

I really need to get away from this changeling hooker-princess. Her horniness is spreading.

There’s an explosion punctuating that thought, and my ankles are itchy. Once upon a time in southwest Saskatchewan, even eagles cry, because you can lead a gift-horse to her mouth but you can’t make her suck butter. So THAT is why you should eat wall candy and drink Jesus juice, Uncle Kracker! S’good for yaaaaaa...

“K…EE…”

My eyelids are pretty.

“KIL…Z…”

You can’t handle the Zima!

“KILDEEZ!”

“Buh!?” I start, shaking the stars from my eyes. I’m sitting up, my legs splayed out in front of me, my vision woozy. The shotgun is in both hands now, finger on the trigger, free hand midway through working the lever action. I pull my trigger hand free while my vision clears. Now, I can feel the pressure on the shotgun, and see Chittery’s hooves wrapped around the barrel, pushing it aside while she gazes up at me in concern. The scent of spent gunpowder fills my nostrils, and I can feel the beginnings of heat starting to travel up the barrel and through the handle. Have I been…shooting? Oh, wait. Shit.

“I almost blasted somepony, didn’t I?”

“Yep,” Chittery sighs, rolling her eyes, all concern melting away in an instant. “Great reflexes there, by the way. Take a little cannon to the face and immediately start shooting.”

“I was dazed!”

“And your reaction to this was to start blasting away like a redneck with more alcohol than brain cells in him!?”

“…damn. Okay, my bad.”

Nodding in satisfaction that my balls have been ripped off just that tiniest bit more, Chittery finally turns, watching Cypher struggle with something so violently pink it could only possibly belong to a cartoon for little girls. The two roll around in the dirt, his tendrils wrapped around the pink thing’s waist while the whatever-it-is let’s off a few high-pitched noises and flails violently. It takes me awhile, but I manage to trace out the shape of four hooves and a muzzle, as well as a mark that could only belong to one character in this insane, pony-filled world.

“PINKIEEE!” Chittery cries suddenly, throwing her hooves up in joy.

The pink thing pauses and perks up, a pair of baby-blues the size of dinner plates locking on us. “How do you know my…” she manages before Cypher tackles her with a high-pitched shriek and wrestles her to the ground, pinning her hooves with his own. Pinkie continues struggling under him for just long enough to conjure a whole host of uncomfortable images, while I continue to gawp. Meanwhile, Chittery decides to act like her usual cool, collected, infiltrator self and seize her in a hug around Cypher’s body, turning him into the meat of a two-mare sandwich.

Dammit, how is a guy that can’t go two sentences without a stutter have such a better love life than me?

“PINKIE! It’s been so long! How’s things!? Did you tell your parents about that one-night stand you had with…” Chittery babbles.

“Umm…wh-who are you?” Pinkie asks.

At that, Chittery’s eyes bug out (pun absolutely intended) and she releases her grip in a rush. “Oh…oh no…” she whispers, backing away.

“H-have you been spying on me?” Pinkie asks.

“Uhhh…yeah!” Chittery says with all the skill and conviction of a middle-schooler insisting he wasn’t sniffing whiteout, unaware of the little white ring around one nostril. “We…changelings have had you Element-Bearers under surveillance for months!”

Pinkie’s eyes narrow, glaring at Chittery with all the glare she can summon in her little, pink horsey body. Chittery grins, flashing her fangs as little drops of turquoise sweat gather on her chitin. Finally, Pinkie grins. “Wowee! You must’ve been hiding super-duper good!”

“Heheh…yeah…” Chittery snickers while my gawping continues.

“Okay, glad we got that sorted out,” Pinkie smiles, then tilts her head back. Her jaw drops to unleash a scream to rival a Black Gorger, nearly bringing me to my knees with its pitch and volume. “HAAAALLLPPP! THEY’RE GONNA FEED ME TO THEIR MONKEY-MONSTER!”

Alright kids, gather ‘round for another story from good ol’ Uncle Kildeez. Timmy, get offa my lap, I’m not that kinda uncle.

See, being perhaps the only changeling-human hybrid in existence has its drawbacks, especially once you prove you can kick ass with the best of them. Then, not only are you a weirdo, you’re a dangerous weirdo. For all you young’uns what can’t put two an’ two together, that makes it really hard to make friends. Or even casual acquaintances. Or just people who won’t spit at your feet and force you to edumicate them on why pissing you off is such a horrible idea. That, of course, means that once you’re an established ass-kicker, the fuckheads will make it so you can’t walk through the Hive without a certain “M” word whispered at your back instead of trying to beat you up. That leads to you having a certain amount of hatred reserved for said word.

All that being said, we can get back to the story at hand, where I’m up in a little pink pony’s face and screaming: “HEY! FUCK YOU, BITCH!”

She rolls her eyes around to gawp at me, jaw down by her chest as I point a still-clawed finger against her pretty-pink muzzle. “You look here, I’ve taken enough shit from changelings and Nightmares alike, don’t need any from you! So next time you feel like saying some BS about somebody for lookin’ a little different, maybe you should think about whether or not they’ll like what you’re sayin’, and more importantly, whether or not they’re capable of wiping the floor with your pretty, pink ass!”

I expect her to bawl, or break into a hasty apology, or act astounded at the “monkey-monster’s” ability for speech. Instead, she just rolls her eyes. “Duh, I knew that!” She says with a quick giggle-snort.

“Uh…what?”

“I knew all that stuff! What, do ya think you’re the first human to wander through these parts?”

“Then…” Cypher says, finally speaking up. “Th-then why’d you call him a monster if you knew what he was?”

“Well, I wanted to get him ranting and raving for one,” she replies, pointing at me. “I was watchin’ for a while, and he hits me as the kind to go off on a rant if somepony gives him the right trigger.”

“Understatement of the year,” Cypher grumbles under his breath, and I level a hot glare his way.

“But…why’d you want me ranting and raving?” I ask, eyebrows hunching in confusion.

At this, Pinkie throws her hooves up in the air with a gleeful smile. “Why, to distract you, silly! I’m the distraction!”

All three sets of eyes watching her widen. “Oh, shi-“ Chittery starts, but doesn’t have time to finish as a rushing blur of rainbows dives out of the canopy, aiming at my chest. Thanks to my reflexes and Pinkie’s inadvertent forewarning, I’m barely able to dodge, still earning a glancing blow against my side that whips me around a full hundred and eighty degrees. I yank the shotgun up, also on reflex, but quickly cross it defensively against my chest. Shelly’s loaded with solid bore rounds, and odds are I’m facing one of Pinkie’s friends. I have to remember my original mission: to improve relations between Equestria and the changelings. I doubt blasting an Element of Harmony’s face off would help with that.

“C’mere!” The violent rainbow shrieks as it twists around for another pass. At the same time, a dazzling display of light shimmers off a bush to my left. I don’t even glance at it, though judging from Chittery’s battlecry, I’m guessing it’s already being handled. I can focus entirely on the pegasus trying to mow my ass down.

Grimacing, I flick the shotgun at the very last moment at just the right angle to catch my attacker across the forehead. Reacting just as quickly, Rainbow pulls up, managing to bounce hooves-first off my weapon’s stock and backflip gracefully to the ground, wings flared.

“Not bad,” I point out.

“Thanks, you’re not bad yourself,” she spits before diving at me again. This time, I’m ready. My right hand springs open and the shotgun’s stock arcs out like the jaws of a trap. She sees it too late, her eyes widening as she tries to angle out of reach. I use the shotgun as a quick hook, catching the back of her neck with the stock and forcing her into my arms, where I grasp her in a bear hug.

Rainbow struggles for a second, her forelegs and wings trapped under my arms. I feel one of her hind legs pull back, readying for a buck to a very sensitive place.

“Do it, and I’ll break your spine,” I hiss, fangs baring.

I must have said it with enough conviction, because she quickly goes limp, albeit while shooting a death glare right into my eyes. Satisfied that I’m not gonna have to worry about my two favorite little soldiers any more than I already do, I turn to face the others. “Chittery!? You okay!?”

“Never better!” She announces from the bush. A second later, she pops out with a little, white unicorn hovering behind her, a huge glob of mucous-colored goo stuck around her horn.

“Ew, ew!” The struggling unicorn moans, running a hoof over her horn. “This best not get into my mane, you brute!”

“It won’t if you guys stop struggling!” Chittery barks. “It’s over! Stop it!”

There’s another buck from the pegasus in my grip, but then Miss Dash goes limp. The unicorn follows suit. Cypher is even able to stand, Pinkie in his grip. All three ponies bow their heads.

“Okay, what the fuck was that!?” I bark. “Somepony better start talkin’ before I get real pissed!”

“We’re here to protect our town from you meanies!” Pinkie replies, her head rising for a second, only to fall back again. “We’re…not really doing a good job of it.”

“Probably be doin’ a better job if Rares could hit a target to save her life…” Rainbow mutters in my arms.

“Ah! Rainbow!” The white unicorn gasps. “How can you…”

“Girls!” Chittery screeches, which surprisingly silences the ponies. The changeling glares at all three of them in turn. “I can’t believe you! Here we are, totally exposed out in the open, and you’re all arguing like a bunch of fillies!”

All three pony faces bow again, ears flopping against heads. Rainbow gets a queer look in her eye and opens her mouth to speak, but Chittery is relentless: “We are standing in the middle of the greatest crisis to face either of our species, and you three are gonna stand around, debating battle tactics in the middle of the woods!?”

“Waitasec,” Dash says, peering over my shoulder and holding up a hoof. “Both our species?”

Chittery rolls her eyes. “Nightmares don’t have a lot of love to give,” she says. “We lose ponies, we starve to death. Besides, the ugly buggers don’t seem to differentiate between changeling and pony, we’re all the same to them.”

“Ironic, isn’t it?” I laugh, maintaining a tight grip around Rainbow’s waist. “The only creatures to respect changelings and ponies as equals are a bunch of murderous, rampaging assholes!”

“Hey!” Rainbow yells from my arms, damn near deafening me in one ear. “Changelings could be equals if they’d just stop trying to enslave us all and make peace!”

“That’s actually what I’m here for,” I reply, turning her over in my arms and freeing one of her forehooves, which I extend my hand to. “Ambassador Kildeez, son of the Queen, ‘Chrysalis’s Fist’, occasional Minotaur, how y’all doin’?”

Three sets of eyes widen and three jaws drop. “Hold on, you’re him!?” Rainbow gasps.

“Yeppers!”

“You’re the one that takes out the rogue hives single-handed!?” Rarity puts in.

“Eyup.”

“You’re the terror of the Everfree frontiers!?” Pinkie adds.

“You got it!” I reply, feeling confident enough to set Rainbow down and spread my hands out. “So girls, whaddya think? Am I everything you thought I was?”

All three ponies remain quiet for an uncomfortably long amount of time. Long enough for my eyes, once pridefully closed, to creep open. “Um…girls?”

“No offense, dearie, but we thought you’d be taller.” The white unicorn puts in.

“Yeah, and have more muscles,” Rainbow says.

“Still pretty cute, though,” Pinkie whispers, earning a glare from Chittery.

My arms flop to my side and I grumble. “Well…look who beat who just now.”

All three sets of ears flop down again. Yeah, I know it was a hit below the belt, but I’m getting pretty tired of self-esteem-crushing insults in between attempts to get in my pants. I have Chittery for that.

“Yeah? We-well, if you’re on our side, then what’s that?” Rainbow scoffs, levelling both a hoof and an angry glare Cypher’s way. As per usual, Cypher recoils into a shaky mass of chitin.

“That’s just Cypher,” I grumble, rolling my eyes. “He knew the princess back in the days before the Portal Crisis, and was captured by a Nightmare Hive during a research mission into Equestria. We pulled him out of there before they totally converted him, though.”

“Oh, really?” Dash sneers, stomping up to him with a look on her face as if she fully expected his head to be under her hooves in a few seconds. Cypher, for his part, just cringed back as she scanned him with a half-slitted little glare.

“What’s your name!?” She barks.

“Ah! Cypher!” He screams, his voice getting high-pitched.

“Whaddya want with us!?” She screams back.

“I-I dunno! We’ve only just met you!”

“What are ya, a spy!? Are you here to spy on us, Nightmare!?”

“P-please don’t hurt meeeee-heee-heeeeee!” He whimpers, bladed tendrils wrapping protectively over his head.

I just sigh and roll my eyes over to Chittery. “Pride of the Hive you’ve got there,” I grumble.

“Oh, hush! He’s one of the best medics we’ve ever had!”

“If he’s a medic, why the hell was he picked to…”

I’m interrupted by Rainbow stomping back to us, glaring up at me. I glare right back. “Alright, you’re telling the truth,” she says. “No way a totally-converted Nightmare would be this wishy-washy.”

“H-hey!” Cypher yells after her.

“Oh, hush! Your wishy-washiness is the whole reason I can tell you from any other Nightmare,” Rainbow said, shooting a quick glare over her shoulder before focusing back on us. “So you guys look like you’re on the up and up.”

“Thank you,” I sigh with relief. “Glad to have that out of the way.”

“What are you doing out here, anyway?” Rarity says, her eyes still narrowed suspiciously. “You three are a very long way from the Badlands.”

“Technically, Chrysalide Hive is in the Everfree,” Chittery points out, motioning to herself and Cypher. “That’s where we’re from. And as I said, Cyphy was captured right at the start of the crisis, and for myself, I was sent off by my sister in a desperate attempt to find love.”

“And I was in Canterlot when the whole shebang started, but you probably knew that from the papers,” I shrug. “I was sent out to find some hero guy…a man named Siftstone? Maybe y’all heard of him?”

The ponies grow quiet. I notice Pinkie’s mane deflate a little, her curls straightening out oddly. “Ummm…did I say somethin’?” I ask, looking around as the ponies deflate like a Mylar lawn-decoration Santa the day after Christmas.

“Yeah,” Rainbow whispers, her voice strangely quiet. “We…we know ‘im.”

“I-is he…okay?” Pinkie asks, enough tears gathering in her eyes to make my heart wrench.

“We – uh, we don’t know,” I say, choosing my words carefully. Apparently, I’ve stumbled on a pretty decent can of emotional worms here, and not just opened it, but slammed it against a wall and hammered it with a baseball bat until it split open. “There was an…incident. He got sucked down one of the portals.”

“Oh.” Rarity says, and I can see tears gathering in her eyes as Rainbow Dash turns away suddenly, a few small droplets whipping off the tip of her muzzle as she does so. “So he could be anywhere…”

“You knew him,” Chittery says in surprise. “Oh my gosh, you knew him.”

Rainbow nods. “Yeah. And then we drove him away,” she sniffles, still facing away from us even though we can all see the tears dribbling into the foliage at her hooves.

“We didn’t –“ Pinkie starts.

“We knew how much he loved us, how much we meant to him, and still when things got a bit busy we ignored him. As if he were some toy we could put upon a shelf to play with later,” Rarity says, shooting Pinkie an angry glare through her tears. “Make no mistakes, Pinkie. We are the reason he left. I don’t care how many ponies want to blame the ease of the Nightmare Crisis forcing him to move on. It was all us.”

“Don’t…” Rainbow gasps, her voice shaking. “Please, not right now, Rares.”

“Hey, hey,” I say easily, strapping my shotgun to my back and kneeling at Pinkie’s side. I run my fingers along her back, hoping I can at least distract her from the tears. “It happens, alright?”

“Not to us,” Rarity says, her perfectly-coiffured mane bouncing as she bows her head. “We’re the Elements of Harmony. We are meant to be representatives of everything that friendship represents. But when life got a little bit difficult, we threw that all aside and chose our own petty desires over friendship.”

Rainbow let’s out a choked sob, and immediately Chittery embraces her. I give a wan smile. It’s the first time I’ve seen her embrace someone else in a way that isn’t overtly sexual. She nods at me and I nod back, continuing to run my fingers over Pinkie’s side.

“An-and now, we might never see him again,” Pinkie choked, her chest hitching under my hand. “That portal coulda dropped him a bazillion miles away for all we know…”

“Hussshhh,” I whisper. “Look, in my time with him, I watched Sifty do things no other man could’ve done, acquire powers no other man could’ve held, and survive shit that would’ve wiped out entire armies of lesser men. He’s gotten even stronger since you saw him. Wherever he is, I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Yeah,” Rainbow says, still nuzzling in Chittery’s embrace. “We know he’s tough, but if we hadn’t…”

“But you did,” I say gently, as if trying to break the death of a relative to a child. “The simple fact is you did. We can’t change that now, but it’s alright, you’re trying to make things right and do him proud. You’re doing good by him.”

“But we-“ Rarity tries to put in, but is cut off when Cypher tugs her into an embrace.

“-are doing your best,” Chittery finishes, still holding Rainbow in her embrace. “What’s done is done. Everyone makes mistakes, everyone let’s stupid stuff get in the way of what should be important in their lives, what matters is how you come back from that, and that you try to make things right. Judging by the way you’re protecting your town, you girls are doing okay there.” There’s a prideful quiver in Chittery’s voice, as if she wants to say something else and has to physically stop herself from letting it out. I don’t mention it, though I do make a mental note of it.

“Thank you,” Pinkie whispers. I smile and nod, only cringing a little when she grabs my hand up in her hooves and blows a snot-filled honk into my palm. “Really, thank you.”

“Let’s get them back to town,” Chittery says. “I didn’t see any Nightmares when I scouted out Canterlot, so they should be good for a break from patrols, if only for a little while.”

Cypher and I nod, releasing our respective charges as Chittery holds them up in her magic, letting the trio embrace as we tromp along through the woods in the direction of Ponyville.

A few minutes in, I make sure the three are out of earshot, then turn to Chittery. “Had the Element-Bearers under surveillance for months, eh?” I ask, slowing us down to a relaxed trot. She just sighs as I shake my head. “And here, I thought changelings were supposed to be good at lying. I’ve seen better performances in Elementary school plays!”

“We have been watching them, though,” she says weakly, her voice strangely quiet. Not quite to Cypher-levels, but not too far away from them.

“But that’s not why you recognized her. Nobody reacts to seeing someone they’ve been spying on like you did: like running into a long-lost cousin on the street,” I reply. She still hasn’t looked up at me. “Okay, what’s really going on with you and the pink supernova? How’d you know all that crap about her?”

“Later,” she insists, her eyes closing. I don’t have to watch her breathing get heavier or sense her emotional aura with my changeling abilities to see the rising pain in her expression. “Just…later, please? Now’s not really a good time to get into it.”

I look over at her, my face holding at neutral. “Princess, with all due respect, it sounds like there is no good time to talk about this.”

She doesn’t reply. I don’t make an effort to speak up. “Later,” she insists after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

I nod. I’ve had enough big, emotional moments for one day, anyway. I think we could all use a quick break.

Entry XVII: The Boys Are Back In Town, by Kildeez

The streets of Ponyville are quiet. I’d say they’re too quiet, but I’m not in the business of sticking a huge bullseye over my ass and daring God to take his best shot.

As our weird little trio walks along with the ponies in tow, I hear doors slamming and windows shuttering, as well as the hurried galloping of hooves. “Sounds like they’re taking cover from something,” I whisper to Chittery.

“And what do you suppose that something could be?” She whispers back.

“I dunno…maybe they got word of a Nightmare army heading this way?”

“Doofus, that was a rhetorical question,” she scoffs. “C’mon! What do you think they’re hiding from!?”

“Uhhhhh…based from what I’ve heard about this village…a stampede of bunnies?”

She rolls her eyes. “How about the trio of changelings, one of whom is obviously infused with a touch of the Nightmare, walking through town with three of their greatest heroes in tow?”

“Oh,” I reply, frowning. “OH! Yeah, this probably looks bad.”

“Nooooo, y’think!?” She rolls her eyes. “Gods above, how can someone so obviously smart act so damned stupid all the time!?”

“Hey! I don’t act stupid all the time!” I yell, whirling on her to meet her eye-to-eye. Of course, in doing so, I misjudge how far to come down and wind up bumping foreheads with her, painful enough with another human, but with Chittery and her big, sharp, knife-like horn, leaves me on the dirt road, clenching at my face with a big, ugly scrape running all down my forehead.

She just sighs and shakes her head sadly. “And the worst part? I still wanna crawl into those jeans, even now.”

“Ugh, whatever sister…God damn, I think you almost broke skin.”

A smile rises unbidden on her face, and I hear her stifle a chortle as she walks around me, towards the balloon-covered building in the center of town. I figure nopony’s home, but then I notice the rustle of curtains and a quick, racing shape darting away from the window. A light-blue shape. I smile and shake my head.

“Ponies really suck at keeping a low profile,” Chittery mutters, that little smile still on her face.

“Hey, you try and stay unnoticed when you’re the color of a rainbow as seen by a meth-head coming down from a three-day high,” I say, rapping gently on the door. There’s no answer.

“Oh, Mister and Missus Caaa-aaaake~!” Chittery calls, raising a hoof to her mouth to amplify her voice. “We have something for youuuu~!”

“G-go away!” The frightened ponies gasp inside. “W-we don’t want anything from you, changelings!”

“God, they sound worse than Cypher on a caffeine binge,” I grumble, stretching out my neck. I rear back and stand to the door’s side. “C’mon now, my little ponies, you can either open the door or I can bust it down. At least with one of those options, you still have an intact hearth and home. So, what’s it gonna be?”

Another few moments of pregnant silence, and then the door squeaks gently open a few inches. I bow and motion for Chittery to step through, offering my hand with my head low. She returns by pressing her hoof to her chest and tilting her head with a fake gasp of delight. “A gentleman!” She exclaims, laying her hoof in my hand and striding through with the ponies and Cypher in tow. Nodding back, I ease the door shut behind her, then in a flash, whip Shelly off my back, rack a fresh shell into the chamber, and blast her into the sky, the cacophonous boom echoing throughout the town. A few shutters quiver in the houses around me, but I just smile, nod, raise a salute, and strut into Sugarcube Corner.

Inside, Cypher has already nudged a few of the tables together while Chittery lays her prestigious pack of ponies across them, gathering up sugar packets to use as pillows. “Deezy? Could you look around for something we could use as a blanket?” She asks.

Nodding, I do a few quick rounds through the dining area, then check behind the counter before I realize we’re seriously lacking in bakers up front. I inhale, and then exhale slowly. “Hey, princess? I’m gonna see about settling in here, just in case. Gonna find us some proprietors we can cozy up to.”

“See if they’re open to a threesome!” She yells, keeping her voice low to avoid disturbing the ponies cuddled up on the table.

“Not that cozy!” I reply, striding past the front desk and towards the upstairs area, first making sure to reassume my human form. I tap the banister as I clomp up the stairs, making sure my presence is known. I even manage to gloss over a few pictures of the pretty pony family living here: a skinny-as-hell tan unicorn in an apron and the sort of paper hat you’d see on most street vendors back on Earth (sans yellowing grease stains, thankfully), a somewhat larger mare wearing a pink frilly apron and a hairdo straight out of an episode of Leave It To Beaver, a couple of foals, unicorn filly with a pegasus colt, and of course, the pink, sapient embodiment of hydrogen atoms herself, holding them all in her hooves with the biggest smile possible stretching her muzzle.

“Cute bunch,” I whisper, hoping that I won’t find any empty cradles or dust-covered books in my explorations, but then my eye catches the next photo over. My jaw drops. This photo is a lot like the one next to it, with one important addition: Sifty. He’s standing there next to the group, arms crossed over his chest, a sword hilt poking over his shoulder, with Pinkie leaning over just enough to wrap a hoof around his leg. And that’s not all: he’s got this big, cheesy smile on his face. Like an honest-to-god, “HI MOM LOOKIT ALL THE FUN I’M HAVING,” I-shit-you-not smile. I had seen many expressions on that face during our brief time together: surprise, shock, stoic glaring, battle-ecstasy, and of course, white-hot fury. But I’d never seen him look so…happy. Holy hell, he’s happy in this photo.

I recall what Rarity had mentioned in the woods, the way the ponies had sort of brushed ol’ Sifty off and set him aside. How did Rares put it? Like a toy they’d gotten tired of? “Oh, you poor bastard,” I mutter. “No wonder you’re always so angry.”

And still he came back. Either these ponies have him twisted around their little hooves, or he’s just that devoted. Judging by the way the three mares sleeping together downstairs acted, I’m going to guess that it’s the latter. And thanks to me, he’s currently spinning around in some void somewhere, possibly somewhere that’s never seen a pony or a human.

I run my fingers through my air. “You idiot,” I grumble to myself. “You impossible idiot.”

“Deez?” Chittery appears at the bottom of the steps, noticing my minor emotional breakdown. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just,” I moan, slumping against the wall. “I’m sorry, I just need a moment.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I’ve made some mistakes is all,” I sigh, my eyes never leaving the picture of something I thought I’d never see: a genuinely happy Sift. “This was a big one, though.”

“Look, it’ll be okay, alright?” She says, holding a hoof up at me. “I’m sorry, we can deal with this later, but…”

“I know, I know,” sliding back up the wall, I take to my feet and begin crawling up the stairs again.

Behind me, Chittery smiles wanly, setting her hoof back down. “I am sorry,” she whispers.

“I know,” I whisper back, tromping past the landing and through the upper-floor hallway. Once I’m out of sight, I slap myself a few times. There’s a time and a place for namby-pamby feels, and this is neither. I just signaled an entire town to the existence of a trio of changelings. Well, one Halfling, a princess, and a weird Nightmare hybrid, but still a big no-no as far as changeling culture goes. I need my shit together for what’s about to come.

I tiptoe along the hallway, a hand cupped around an ear stem as I pause in front of each closed door. Room One: Empty. Room Two: Empty. Room Three: constant shivering coupled with whispered demands to be quiet and hushed whimpers.

I take in a nice, long breath, then let it out slowly, closing my eyes and shaking my head. Seriously, ponies can’t be low-key even when they’re trying.

I quietly ease the door open and poke my head in, then immediately poke it back out again to dodge the rattle flying at my face. “D-don’t come any closer!” A shaky, unconvincing voice cries from inside. “I-I mean it! There’s a plenty more wh-where that came from!”

“Really? Well shoot, throw in a few diapers and a milk bottle, and I can start me up a family just right!” I roll my eyes despite knowing they won’t see it. “Look, we’ve been travelling a long time and I’m already sick of having to convince ponies I mean no harm, so why don’t you come on out and help us with Pinkie? She got a little bit tired and is downstairs with someone who’s liable to do unspeakable things to her unconscious body if we leave them alone for too long.”

A few more minutes of silence follow, which I occupy by counting grooves in the wood door. Finally, Mr. Cake comes out, his head and ears lowered. “D-don’t hurt her,” he says.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say gently, leading him back down the stairs and into the main dining area. The three mares are still curled up on the table, with Chittery watching them, her chin in her hooves as she lays on her stomach. It’s funny though, the way she’s watching them. I remember my dad standing in the doorway with that same look on his face during the few times I was still awake and just pretending to sleep when he got back from work. Motherly, watching Pinkie in a way that said: “If anything ever hurt this mare, I would spend the rest of my life hunting it down and making it pay.” It’s a nice look for her, the way she has her head cocked and the silly little smile on her fangs.

Cypher, for his part, is currently raiding the area behind the counter, grabbing up cupcakes on the flats of his tendril-blades and shoving them down his throat as if he’d just been poisoned and the only cure was a ridiculous amount of sugar. I rub the bridge of my nose as Mr. Cake watches our Nightling pack down the carbs with a mixture of awe and horror.

“I-I’ve never seen anypony except Pinkie eat that many in one sitting,” he whispers.

“Yeah, sorry about him, he’s kinda new to a lot of stuff,” I grumble, still rubbing the bridge of my nose. “Listen, we’ll pay for what he eats as long as you let us start a tab here. Would that be possible?”

He nods, his jaw still hanging agape, until his gaze slides over the three mares on the table. His eyes widen. “D-don’t eat them!” He cries, galloping to the table and throwing his hooves protectively over the mares. “Th-they’re all we have left, please!”

Chittery stares dumbfounded, as if snapped out of a spell, while my nose-bridge rubbing intensifies. “We aren’t…this isn’t…ugh! We just wanted someplace to let them rest while they sorted some emotional shit out!”

“E-emotional…stuff?” He asks tentatively.

Chittery shakes her head and nods, fully awoken now. “It was about some guy, a ‘Siftstone’?”

At that, Mr. Cake’s shivering lessens considerably. “Ohhh, I see,” he sighs, crawling down off the table, but leaving a hoof up there against Pinkie’s mane. “Oh, Pinkie, when are you going to stop blaming yourself?”

“I take it this isn’t the first time she’s gotten a little emotional about Sifty?” I ask.

Mr. Cake just shakes his head as he nudges Pinkie’s shoulder. “Pinkie,” he whispers.

“Ngh…five mo’ minutes, mama,” she whispers back, batting at his hoof like a cat.

“Pinkie, you and your friends fell asleep on the tables again,” Mr. Cake whispers gently.

“Wh-wha?” Pinkie sits up at that, looking around bleary-eyed. Finally, her eyes fall on me. “Oh, hi Mr. Deez.”

She yawns, rubbing at one of her eyes while looking around at the tables.

“Yeah, sorry,” Chittery smiles. “We didn’t know where else to put you.”

“It’s okay, my room’s upstairs,” she says, her voice still low, still rubbing at her eye. She nudges the other mares beside her. “Girls, c’mon.”

Rarity and Rainbow stir, but Rarity is the only one who actually sits up. “I slept on a table?” She groans. “My mane…”

Pinkie snorts as she looks down at Dash, the pegasus’s hooves dancing in the air like a dog chasing a squirrel in a dream. “Dashie always is the heaviest sleeper,” she whispers as she drops to all fours, her attention focusing on Rarity. “C’mon, let’s check on Mrs. Cake and the twins.”

“Right behind you,” Rarity sings breathlessly, only a trace of sleepiness remaining in her voice. She promptly steps in line behind Pinkie, and the pair trot up the stairs, the tips of their tails whishing out of sight with a little flourish. We all stand there quietly, until Mr. Cake lets out a deep sigh.

“She always gets like this when someone even mentions Sifty,” he whispers, head bowing. “The missus and I have to be careful to avoid things that might even remind her of him.”

I nod. “I get it, man. Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be, you did the right thing bringing her back here.”

Another few moments of awkward silence follows, then Chittery speaks up. “Didja see the way Rares woke up? All graceful like that?” She huffs, fanning herself with a hoof. “No wonder that little dragon’s been trying so long to tap that! Whoo, took all my self-control not to make a go at her myself!”

Bridge of nose, meet hand. Oh, I see you’re already acquainted! “So not the time or the place, princess.”

“There’s always a time and a place for sexy times!”

“S-so,” Mr. Cake says, thankfully as eager as I am to change the subject to literally anything else. “H-how did Siftstone come up, anyway?”

I look up to the heavens, begging anybody listening to give me strength. “Long story.”

“I have time.”

I raise an eyebrow and look to the window, noting the clear blue skies. “And apparently, so do we,” I mutter, turning back to the yellow unicorn sitting at one of the tables in the dining area. I ease myself into the seat directly across from him, and at the same time Chittery sits down beside me. Even Cypher looks up from his sugar-fueled cupcake holocaust to pay attention. It takes me fifteen minutes to catch Mr. Cake up to where we are now, even counting in the obligatory “Thought you’d be taller” I’ve grown so used to at this point.

“So that brings us up to now,” I whisper. “Locked out of Canterlot with no way in except to find a way to sneak through without getting ripped apart by Nightmares so bad even thinking about them can drive a man insane. And even that’s moot because if we don’t find our friend, the one behind your counter over there, a super-powerful mage, he wouldn’t even survive long enough to see the castle.”

“I can see your problem,” Mr. Cake nods. “While it does sound like an awful mess you’re all in, I’m afraid I can’t do much except offer you a few hot meals and a warm place to stay for a little.”

I raise my hand. “That’s all we’re looking for,” I reply.

“Believe us, Mr. Cake, we didn’t come here expecting anything from you,” Chittery says. “We just didn’t want to leave those three off in the middle of the woods while they sorted out whatever emotional shit they need to work through, not with Canterlot and whatever those things are around it so close.”

“And…sorry for assuming you all meant harm just because you were changelings,” Mr. Cake grins sheepishly.

“That’s alright, I’ve gotten used to it,” I shrug, reaching up to pop a crick in my neck. I chance another look at the window, and still see clear-blue skies. I frown. “Although, if you’re really sorry, maybe you could tell us a little bit about Siftstone and the Elements. I take it from some of your pictures they were close?”

He appears to shrink a little, folding up in his chair. He lets out a long sigh. “First, let me get a little hot chocolate,” he mumbles, pushing away from the table and whipping up a small mug with whipped cream, sprinkles, and chocolate shavings.

“Must be pretty bad if he’s going for the sprinkles,” Chittery mutters. I quickly shush her.

He sits down again, letting out a few breaths as he sips from his mug. When he’s ready, his eyes open again, only now they look way older. I can swear there are wrinkles that weren’t there before, and a certain glint has most definitely faded away. It’s as if just the effort of making that one mug of hot cocoa had added ten years to his life. “Ponyville was always the sort of place where you left your doors unlocked at night,” he sighs, adjusting his hat. “That changed after Nightmare Moon, though.”

“Oh yeah, when mooncheeks lost her shit and decided the world would be better as a cold, eternally-dark wasteland,” Chittery mumbles. I elbow her in the ribs.

He glances in our direction, but doesn’t make any other indication he heard her in any way. “Nightmare Moon was just the beginning. Things kept happening around here: the parasprite invasion, Discord, Cerberus poking his heads in, even that one time all those apples became sapient and enslaved us all.”

That one catches my ear. “I’m sorry, did you just say…”

“Don’t question it,” Chittery says, raising a hoof. “Trust me, you’ll be better off.”

I blink, run a finger along the barrel of my weapon. “Ugh, fine. You were sayin’?”

Mr. Cake nods, folding his hooves neatly on the table again. “That was all crazy enough, and certainly dangerous in its own way, but still those were…worldly, I guess is the word? It doesn’t sound right, but…”

“No, I think I get it,” I reply. Those things all made sense in the context of Equestria, crazy as it sounds. “Those things all fit the tone, every threat you faced seemed of your world.”

“And then the Nightmare came along,” Chittery says, completing the thought as she leans forward in her chair.

Mr. Cake nods. “The Nightmare Infection was so wildly different from everything we’d ever seen before. The way it corrupted everything it touched, twisting it into things that were so barbaric, so cruel, almost as if their sole purpose in life was to destroy harmony, either by converting it, or by k-k-...killing it,” he finishes, only completing the word with some difficulty.

“Everything else at least held some respect for Harmony: you wouldn’t see Discord tearing families limb from limb, or stalking ponies at night just to r-rip them apart,” he whispers, shivering under his apron. “Changelings at least want ponies for food, even they aren’t that savage.”

“Uh…” I add.

“Oh, no offense to you or your kind, sir!” Mr. Cake adds nervously.

“None taken,” Chittery speaks up for me. “Those queen bitches be cray.”

He looks at her for a second: same kind of look you’d give a sentient talking apple screaming for global domination I’m guessing, then he continues. “For a while, things were desperate. The Nightmare wouldn’t be stomped out, was immune to almost all our spells, and every attempt to confront them just fed it more soldiers to be absorbed and indoctrinated. For the first months, it seemed the only thing to do was hang back and pray for a miracle.”

“And a miracle happened,” I grin.

Mr. Cake smiles, though not nearly as strongly as I do, and takes a few big gulps from the steaming mug in his hooves. “We thought he was one of the Nightmare at first. We’d seen Nightmares walking on two legs before. Even if he didn’t look as threatening as the rest of them, that didn’t mean he didn’t have his own danger. Turns out, he did, just not to us.

“Sifty was easily the greatest warrior in Equestria, perhaps ever. It didn’t matter what came his way: a pony hit squad from a noblestallion he’d snubbed, or an entire Nightmare army, or even the guardian of some ancient cursed treasure. We’d all just keep our heads down, and when we looked up again, Siftstone would be the only one left standing.”

I lean forward in my seat, keeping my elbows on the table. “He also got close to the Element Bearers.” A statement, not a question.

Mr. Cake nods. “Closer than friends. If they’d been the same species, I’d say there’d have been a chance for romance, even.”

“Not that interspecies relationships are anything to be wary of,” Chittery quickly puts in. I glare at her.

Mr. Cake blinks, his train of thought derailing so hard I could almost hear the twisting rail and exploding railcars from where I sat. “I-I suppose not, I mean, I’ve heard about that mare from Trottingham hitting it off with that Gryphon diplomat…”

I clear my throat, and he blinks again, shakes his head, and takes a few more sips at his mug. “Right, sorry,” he says with a sheepish grin. “You get what I’m saying, though: they were close. Miss Fluttershy especially, but they all had their place at his side. Twilight…sorry, Princess Twilight kept ‘im patched up, Rainbow Dash kept ‘im in shape, Applejack gave ‘im a close-knit family and honest work, Rares kept ‘im dressed for the few times he needed to put on an impression in Canterlot, Pinkie kept him fed and probably got the most genuine laughs I ever heard outta him, and most of all, Fluttershy taught him to love.”

“That close, huh?”

“If it weren’t for the species thing, I’m sure we’d be hearing wedding bells by now.”

“So, what happened?” I ask, finally throwing out the million-dollar question.

“Life,” Mr. Cake shrugged with another gulp out of his mug. “Twilight ascended and became a princess, Pinkie was needed more here when we started distributing to Manehattan and Canterlot, Applejack had to expand the farm to keep up with the demand for her cider, Rarity opened up another boutique in Canterlot, Rainbow started flyin’ full-time for the Wonderbolts, and Fluttershy got totally occupied with rehabbing the animals displaced by the Nightmare.”

“But the Nightmares…” Chittery put in. “Sifty must’ve still been needed!”

“He sorta was, but we didn’t know it at the time,” Mr. Cake sighed. “Right around the time the girls all started gettin’ busy with their own lives, the Nightmare attacks trickled t’nothing. Sift was lucky to get called out once or twice a week. We just didn’t need ‘im anymore, and without the girls supportin’ him, he just pulled himself up into this shell…”

“Yeah,” I match Mr. Cake’s sigh. “I know that shell pretty well.”

“Too bad we didn’t know the Nightmare wasn’t defeated, just waiting,” Mr. Cake snorts. “Just poolin’ its resources for one, big hit. I wouldn’t be surprised if they weren’t waiting for Sift to move on, ‘cause the attacks started up again not even two weeks after Sifty left for…wherever it was he went.”

“And that’s where you guys have been,” Chittery says. “Right back where it all started.”

Mr. Cake nods sadly as he finishes off the rest of his hot cocoa. “Just keeping our heads down and praying for another miracle, which apparently you were supposed to deliver.”

There’s no accusation in his voice, so I just nod sadly. “Yeah, yeah I was…”

“I’m sorry how things happened,” Mr. Cake adds quickly.

“Not as sorry as I am.”

“I-I’m sorry, I meant…”

“What’s that in the sky?” Chittery asks, interrupting the most Canadian conversation I’ve ever had.

I glance over to the window, and bolt upright at the tiny silhouette I catch in the corner of the sun’s light. “Typical,” I grumble. “Fuckin’ took her long enough!”

The pony, changeling, and nightmareling all look at me curiously. “Who?” Mr. Cake asks.

His question is answered when the window crashes in with a purple blur. In a flash, Twilight Sparkle herself is rearing up on the table next to us, horn glowing. “Let my friends go now, or face…” she starts, then notices Mr. Cake sitting across from me with a small mug in his hands.

Instead of freaking out like most business owners, Mr. Cake just shakes his head slowly. “It’s okay, Twilight, that’s why we have a ‘Rainbow Crash’ fund.”

The pretty purple pony princess looks around. She sees me sitting across from Mr. Cake, leaning back in my seat nonchalantly. She sees Cypher, an obvious Nightmare, waving cheerfully from behind the counter with cupcake batter dripping off his hooves. She turns just in time to catch Chittery drooling over her flank, then look dreamily into her eyes and ask if she was doing anything that night. Finally, she turns back to me and voices the only way anyone could possibly react to everything and anything around her:

“Wut?”

I grumble and faceplant on the table. “Somebody wanna explain it to her? This is the third time in twenty-four hours and I’m gettin’ real fuckin’ tired of it already.”

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Twenty minutes and a few mugs of hot cocoa later, we’re all sitting around with one alicorn princess now just grateful to be in the loop.

Twilight eyes me as she takes a sip of her cocoa. “I must say, sir, you’re not what I envisioned when Celestia described some of your past exploits to me,” she says.

“Let me guess,” I moan, crossing my legs as I sip my mug, getting a dot of whipped cream on my nose (but no chocolate shavings or sprinkles, because I’m baller like that). “You thought I would be taller, right?”

“Actually, I thought you’d be more the typical soldier-type. Big, meaty, probably a few scars,” she continues studying me with those wide, lavender eyes. “You strike me as a bit more intelligent than all that.”

I blink, sitting upright in my chair. Without warning, I close the distance between us and wrap my arms around her, earning a frightened squeak as I squeeze like she’s a little plush. “Thank you,” I whisper before sitting back down in my chair and grinning over at Chittery. “See that? That’s how you treat a hero.”

“Really? Well, when one shows up, you let me know, okay?”

“Cold, bitch. Cold.”

“Anyway,” Twilight coughs uncomfortably, shifting in her seat. “I’m just glad to know Sifty returned…even if…well…”

I see her eyes begin to mist up and figure three emotionally-broken ponies are enough for one day. “Look, wherever he’s at, he’s gonna be fine. I know that much. He’s probably tearing apart the fabric of space-time itself with his bare hands just trying to get back here. We just hafta hold on a little bit in the meantime.”

“Y-yeah,” Twilight nods unconvincingly, wiping at her eyes with the tips of her wings. Her tears clear, and she smiles at the three of us. “Fortunately, it looks like we have help.”

“H-heck yeah!” Cypher announces, rearing up on his rear hooves on the cashier’s counter, only to fall back when his tendril-blades throw his balance off, sending him crashing into the pots and pans displayed behind the register. Her eyes going half-lidded, Twilight turns to me and Chittery.

“Hey, he’s a real nice lay once you get to know him,” Chittery says defensively.

“Er…don’t you mean a real nice ‘ling’?” Twilight asks.

“No,” I grumble, rubbing at my temple with the tips of my fingers. “No, she doesn’t.”

“O-kay…” Twilight shrugs, her wings rustling with the motion. “Anyway, coming up with a spell to preserve Cypher’s heartbeat will take some time, but it’s certainly doable. Less certain is the teleportation you need to reach Canterlot.”

“What!?” I moan. “But Sifty said you teleport all the time!”

“That was before our current crisis, when portals weren’t popping up everywhere and anywhere,” polishing off the rest of her hot chocolate, she sets to preening her wings. “Each portal continuously alters the magical topography of the region it’s around, making it difficult to teleport anywhere since the rules which govern the calculations required are changing all the time.”

I nod, sitting back and scratching at my chin as my eyes narrow in thought. “Wut?”

“Think of each portal as a volcanic eruption, only taking place on the magical plane, not the physical,” she explains, her wings settling as she launches into full-lecture mode. “As it ‘erupts’ it throws off errant bits of matter, in this case stray chunks of magic in place of molten rock. It alters the geography of the region around it as it carries on, spewing magic and forming a large crater that can completely change the layout of the land. So before, teleporting was like traveling through a well-known forest. Now, though, the forest is covered with ash and new mountain ranges that completely change the map.”

I nod along, my head spinning. She takes this as a cue to continue. “Usually, the portals aren’t such a big problem since a portal is a small ‘eruption’ compared to the sheer vastness of the magical plane. But…”

“…but if you throw in the hundreds of portals popping up around Canterlot every hour, those little eruptions add up,” Chittery finishes with a grimace, her fangs bared in frustration.

“Exactly,” Twilight nods. “The portals around Canterlot have turned the entire city into a magical minefield. Even a basic bit of teleportation, like hopping a few hundred feet down the street, could take hours of calculations to ensure the subject isn’t catapulted into space. And considering the distance we’ll have to be from the castle to perform the spell without being interrupted by a Nightmare attack…”

“Shit,” I grumble, scratching at my chin in earnest. “How long?”

“A few days at least. I’m sorry, but it’s the best I can do.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I add, leaning back with my arms crossed over my chest. “Canterlot can wait a few days for us to deliver the news that their badass savior is gonna wind up being a nympho changeling and a heavily-repressed amnesiac.”

“Hey!” Chittery shouts, levelling an accusatory hoof my way. “That’s nympho changeling princess to you, pal!”

“Alright, my mistake.”

“I-in the meantime…” Twilight quickly interrupts. “You three can stay in Siftstone’s place. It’s his house from Earth, so it should be familiar, Kildeez.”

“Cool,” I smile and nod. “Might be nice to get a taste of Earth before we head off to face whatever the Nightmare has for us.”

“One thing, though,” Twilight holds up a hoof. “One of the locals, a stallion by the name of Peanut Brittle, went in there a few days ago to see if there was anything Sifty might have left behind we could use in the Nightmare attack. He hasn’t been back since.”

I bite my lip. “So it’s not exactly home sweet home?”

“We just don’t know, anypony powerful enough to check is too valuable to take off the front lines, so nopony’s been able to head in there,” she regards us over her mug with a worried expression. “Please understand, it’s not that you’re considered expendable, it’s just…”

“We hear you, princess,” Chittery quickly interrupts. “And thanks, really. For everything.”

“I…um…I didn’t really…”

“Just sitting here and listening is more than anypony has ever done for us changelings before,” a warm smile appears on Chittery’s face. “I think this bodes well for your future tenure, from one princess to another.”

Blushing, Twilight returns the warm smile. “Thank you, princess, that means a lot to me.”

“And hey, if you ever want to get to know each other better…” Chittery arches an eyebrow and cocks her head seductively, sidling up close to the young alicorn.

“Welp, we’ve got things to see, people to do, so…” I quickly interrupt, taking Twilight by the hoof and ushering her out the door with the urgency of a man guarding a young mare’s innocence.

“Th-thanks for everything!” Twilight manages to squeak out before I slam the door between us and the outside, ignoring the flickering lights outside which look suspiciously like a torch-bearing mob.

I still manage a sigh of relief before I turn to glare at the changeling princess. “Really? I mean, seriously? You couldn’t turn it down for a fellow royal?”

“You’re talking like ‘it’ can be turned down,” she scoffs, crossing her forehooves over her chest and turning away haughtily. “Another few minutes and I could’ve been walking her upstairs, getting ready to show her the night of her life.”

“Is sex seriously all you think about!?”

“Yes. Have we not established that?”

I grumble, plop against the door, and run my hand down my face. At the rate we’re going, this mare was either going to drive me into the nuthouse, or a wedding proposal. I’m honestly kinda fifty-fifty at that point. But then Cypher speaks up: “Look, a-are we going to ignore the fact that we just got volunteered for a stupid mission obviously m-meant to kill us all!?”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Chittery scoffs, waving a hoof at him.

“Don’t be so…it’s obvious! Sh-she just told us one of their own vanished in the exact same place she’s sending us to!”

“All the more reason to head in there,” I reply, sitting cross-legged in front of the door. “It’s a Search and Rescue for a local pony. We pull him out, it can only earn us Brownie points with the locals. Which, in case you haven’t noticed, we kinda need.”

“I-it’s not that bad…”

“Oh, really?” I dart to my feet, turn, and twist the door open, revealing the large mob of angry, torch-bearing ponies gathered just beyond the doorstep. Cypher’s jaw drops, literally hitting the floor. A pitchfork sails through the gaping portal, burying itself tongs-first in the wood and wobbling there like a tuning fork. If there had been a basement, I’m sure Cypher’s jaw would have found a way into it.

“By all means, go right ahead and explain to the nice ponies we mean no harm,” I smirk before Chittery forces the door shut with her magic.

“Quit it,” she says warningly, striding right up to me. “He’s freaked out enough.”

“He should be,” I grumble, unholstering the shotgun and working the lever action. I pop the door open and head out, meeting the dozens of angry stares and growling ponies with a shotgun in my hands, which is probably the only way to deal with a torch-bearing mob.

Speaking of, what’s with the torches? It’s midday.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kildeez!” Twilight says, galloping to the head of the crowd, her face twisted into the deepest, most concerned furrow I’ve ever seen on anyone, pony or human. Seriously, girl should be worried about wrinkles. “They wouldn’t listen to me!”

“Because they obviously have her under some sort of changeling spell!” Some random pony yells in the back, and the crowd roars in agreement. The angry yelling continues, though I notice nopony running forward to make the first hit. I grumble as I try to think.

There are people who think that the proper action here is a bit more passive. That to walk away is a true measure of strength, even as the pitchforks rise and the crowd closes in. That the path of pacifism here is the true mark of goodness and love, and that not reacting, even to the point of self-harm, is the way to go. And then there are people who think that shit is retarded and that if somebody wishes them harm, they better be prepared to lose a few teeth. Guess which group I’m a part of?

Grumbling to myself, I roll my eyes, then drop the shotgun to my side and unleash a deafening blast into the dirt. The boom echoes off into the distance, just as it had when I felt like summoning Twilight, as the shell digs a nice little grave for itself in the earth next to my feet. In a flash, I twirl the shotgun back up into my hands and rack up a fresh shell, sending the spent casing clattering to the ground, where it dings against a rock in the absolute silence.

I grin. That sound is threatening as all hell, no matter who or what is hearing it.

“Afternoon,” I call out to the crowd, the shotgun going to my shoulder. “The name’s Kildeez, and this is my crew, Cypher and Chittery of Chrysalide Hive. Maybe you’ve heard of me, and maybe you haven’t.”

Whispers pass through the crowd. Some of the torches and pitchforks lower, as if they were simply forgotten. One voice from the crowd speaks up, and I will wager money it’s mister voice-from-the-back from earlier: “Whatcha are is a Celestia-cursed changeling, working with the Nightmare to kill us all!”

The whispers start turning angry. A few of the pitchforks pick up again. I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Alright, so what if I am?”

That gets the crowd to shut up. Ponies look around, confused, wondering just what the hell I might be talking about. But I mean it. “I mean it,” see? “So what if I am? Have you any plans to stop me?”

The ponies all look nervously at one another. The torches and pitchforks are noticeably lower now. Some in the back take a few tentative steps away. I continue surveying the lot. “Listen: the point is, we’re not. If we were, the whole lot of you would be dead by now. All we want to do is head on over to a Mister Siftstone’s house and poke around. For all of you paying attention, this is the same house someone named nut tiddle...”

“Peanut Brittle,” Twilight hurriedly corrects.

“…Peanut Brittle vanished in just a few short days ago. Now I’m not making any promises, but I swear to you, we are gonna do what we can to get him back. Then we’re gonna crash there for a few days while we wait for a portal to Canterlot. I promise this all, and swear by it on my honor as both a human and a changeling, and if anypony thinks I’m lying, y’all can speak up now.”

Silence. For a little bit, at least, until I hear a loud “NO!” from behind me. Surprised, I turn to find an average-sized earth pony stallion with a tan coat and a little tuft of fur on his chin that might someday be a beard. I arch an eyebrow at him. He glares at me with all that old, stupid hatred I’ve grown only too used to in my brief time as a changeling ambassador.

“No!” He insists again with a stomp of his hooves. “For too long, we have languished here, waiting for somepony else to fix our problems! For too long, we have remained in one place, wishing and hoping! It’s about time we fought, especially against those who once sought to enslave us! Especially against these dark, wretched bugs that once tried to take our lands! Well, let me tell ya one thing, buddy, you can take our lands, but you’ll never take our FRAYDO-”

My shotgun stock glances off his jaw before he can trigger a copyright infringement suit, sending his head twisting to the side and causing him to rear up on his hind hooves for a glorious moment before he crashes back down to the earth, his jaw hanging loosely, obviously broken. The pony looks up with wide, dazed, and confused eyes, as I follow through the last of the golf swing I used to take him out.

“FORE!” I holler, and the ponies cringe back. I just shoulder my shotgun and smile sweetly. “Anyone else?”

Silence.

“Good,” I step off the stoop, the ponies in front of me clearing a way ever-so-politely. Cypher, looking around timidly and apologetically, steps off after me. Chittery trails after in a huff.

“You didn’t have to be so rough,” she hisses after me.

“Usually, I’d agree with you, princess,” I reply, holstering the shotgun back over my shoulders. “But right now, I’m in the middle of a shitstorm without a shred of blue sky anywhere. I’m tired. I’m hungry. I’m feeling weighed down by guilt. And the only safe harbor we know about is, knowing our luck, almost certainly filled with some strange and exotic nightmare we are woefully unprepared to face. And we haven’t even gotten to Canterlot yet. Pardon me for not wanting to waste even more time repeating my story to yet another crowd of angry ponies.”

After a few more minutes, I hear a sigh over on her end. “You make it supremely difficult to make me want to rip your clothes off, you know that?”

“Pardon me if I don’t lose much sleep over that, toots.”

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

And a few miles away, in a small clearing of trees, pure evil himself smacked the side of his face as a short, cold bark of laughter escaped his lips.

“’Woefully unprepared to face’!” He cried, hammering his fist into the dead leaves as another bark burst from his chest. “Oh you fool. You poor, innocent, hopeless fool. If you only knew how right you were.”

Author's Notes:

SPREAD THE WORD AROUND! Guess who's back in town again...

Entry XVIII: The Badass And The Fuzzy Hellspawn, by Siftstone

TWO WEEKS LATER

Leaves crunched underfoot as I crept through the forest. My silver blade felt heavy in my hand, my armor clinking gently with every raindrop that met the chainmail. My mutant eyes could see perfectly in the dark and gloom of the forest; hell, they were made to. My ears pick up movement in the far distance. My stance lowers, and I press forward with a thicker veil of silence. Movement, again; to my left, extremely close. My oiled blade catches a gleam of white on it's shining steel, and I stop.

With that, I suddenly blast outward with a weak telekinetic blast from the palm of my hand. My sign catches my prey off-guard, throwing it back and causing it to land in a pile of leaves. With lightning speed, I sheathe my blade and leap forward with an airless grace, rolling hard and collapsing onto my stomach, my gloved hands launching into the leaf pile and groping for my victim. My fingers meet with its soft, white ears, and I tighten my grip, pulling my prey from the leaf pile.

"Still up to your old fuckery, I see, you little bastard."

Angel Bunny just crossed his little rabbit arms and glared at me. An unblinking gaze right back into his beady little eyes made him go slack. Whether from fear, submission, or both, there was no denying it- no creature could resist a Witcher's gaze.

--

Angel Bunny squeaked and attempted to make any noise louder than a high-pitched chitter, but my cage was made of sturdy steel. Pony metalsmiths have a bit of talent, they do. Angel panicked and bounced around in his little prison, so high above the ground, making just enough noise for my purposes. In truth, I could have attracted my target with an entirely different approach- my shouts are loud as all hell, after all- but after the stunt Angel pulled just because Fluttershy wouldn't give him any attention warranted a bit of terrorizing on my part.

The weight in my hand felt natural after so many months, sitting in this position over dozens of hunts. A small glass bottle, filled with good old sulfur juice from vents across the badlands. Not the most flashy of bombs, but a Witcher is built to adapt, and adapt I did.

Finally, after an eternity's wait in the shadow of the brush, my target came into view. A black shadow of a body, seeming to melt up from the ground into a round, bulbous head. Two tentacles flanked it's sides, flailing loosely as the beast oozed so gracefully, yet wrongly, through the underbrush. The only distinguishable features on the shadow's head was a flower of seven small tendrils, each topped with a green, luminescent eye. The eye stalks seemed to narrow as they got closer to the caged rabbit, the heart of the lapine within seeming to beat out of it's chest.

Smash.

The shadow beast reared back, it's tentacles flailing blindly in every direction. With only a flick of my wrist, I had sent a glass of sulfuric acid sailing through the air, and crashing squarely into it's face. The eyes were so close together at the time that they all suffered the brunt of the glass, and the liquid within had already begun to damage and eat away at them, blinding the creatures. The thin stalks rotted to nothing, it's only distinguishing feature falling away, as I, once again, drew my silver blade.

Charging across the grassy forest floor from my position in the greenery, all it took to end the life of my contracted Black Gorger was a single, heavy slash through the midsection, bisecting the beast evenly in two. It's lower half seemed to disperse into the shadows around me as the top half flailed on the ground, the last bastions of it's life ebbing away with every shadowy heartbeat. The movement stopped. The Gorger lay dead, the acid still eating through it.

I pulled a rope from my belt, and along with it, a large, rusted, steel meat hook. With a secure knot of the rope around the hook, I cruelly sunk the sharpened steel through the head of the Gorger. I looped the rope around my wrist, and gave it a quick shoulder heft, to test the weight and attachment of my hook. Ensured that it wouldn't disengage from my contract, I drew the machete off my side and gave the rope above Angel's cage a solid wack, severing it. The bunny shrieked, falling to the ground- but I caught it with my roped hand, right around the handle atop the cage.

"Remember, rodent," I started, deeply, my voice no more a whisper than it was a low, deep tone, "My job ain't pet rescue. The next time I have to do this, you'll be sitting cozy over a spit roast."

--

Fluttershy was still resting from earlier this morning, and as such, I didn't bother waking her up to tell her that her contract has been fulfilled. Nor did I release Angel from his cage. Thankfully enough, my words earlier seemed to put the fear of truth into him. Hard to distrust the word of a stone cold killer who's eyes flinch not. Leaving the cage on Fluttershy's couch, I left in sullen silence, collecting my Gorger's remaining half from the tree limb I hung it from, flies clinging to the corpse immediately buzzing away with my arrival.

I dragged the body to the town hall. Some ponies that recognized me waved, happily, to which I responded with a nod. Others gasped and seemed revolted by my charge. There was no surprise, there- ponies knew well of death, of pain, of blood, but their inherent innocence always made them forget about it. Every time they saw death was the first, for them. It was why I loved this world, and was so willing to take it back. My old world was grey and dead and hateful. This world wasn't quite dead, yet, and hate could never exist with so much love in the air, even in the black. The ponies kept it that way.

The mayor of the town kept everything in order, with the help of Zecora and the Elements. She was a good leader. She stood at her podium, at the top of a stage in front of the town hall. Mayor Mare looked almost asleep, her head in her hooves, eyes flickering between this waking nightmare and restful dreams. As she idly scanned over the town in front of her, her cobalt eyes finally fell upon me. She had no reaction at first, merely blinking. Then, she pulled herself up, eyes still blinking, to see if she wasn't hallucinating. In a snap, she was awake.

"Champion! So, the rumors are true!"

"Aye, Mayor. There's a long story to be told; but that can wait for later. I've got a lot of work to catch up on."

"Indeed, you do. That old bounty board has only been adding up... So, what've you got, there?"

With a heave, I wrenched the Gorger's carcass forward, its shadowy body flapping about and causing dust to fly up. The Mayor took a step back, a light shriek of fear emitting from her, before settling to look closer. Indeed, it would be difficult to recognize the body, with it's mutilation. Gorgers were just solid shadow and glowing eyes; no eyes meant it was just a big black sack of goop. The mayor looked over the carcass for several seconds, before it clicked.

"Oh! It's one of those Gastronomists!"

"Gastro-whatnow?"

"Gastronomist. Princess Twilight found these beasts in a bestiary in her library. They've been around since the reign of Discord; so few of them exist. Pure shadow, manifest only to eat and hunt. You know them as Black Gorgers, of course, because you were the first one to rediscover the beasts and live to tell the tale!"

"I see. Well, I answered the bounty on this one."

"Quite a hefty lot of bits for this one-"

"Keep your coin, Mayor. I don't want the money. All I want is for you to get some hefty stallions, find a flagpole, and hang this fucker up for me, wouldya please?"

"Excuse me?"

"All I want is for ponies to know that the Champion really, truly, without-a-doubt, has returned. They'll trust my actions more than your words. So hang this body up on a nice, big pole, for everything within range to see it, and to take heed."

"Take heed of what, exactly?" The mare quizzed, almost concerned.

"Take heed of the threat within. Take heed of the defender of this village. To take heed of the silver blade aiming for the dotted line along their necks."

With that, I undid my trophy hook from the beast's carcass, shaking loose the shadowy gore. Nary another word, I was off in the direction of the forest, once more. There was a lot to do.

--

The pistol on my thigh was beginning to feel heavy. This target was much slipperier than the others. Shadowy, moving with an impossible silence, leaving no true physical trace. Even my senses couldn't track it. The only thing that defined it's movement was the slowly dying flowers in it's wake. Never fought one of these before, but the old cryptozoology book Twilight lent me many moons ago described a creature such as this. It had very little in the way of available information, for the name was the only sure thing about it.

"Whisper."

It had to be a ghost. I've rarely had to bring out my other weapons. The beasts that assailed this land, almost all of them could be felled with mundane steel; but there's a certain aspect to silver that causes beasts of the supernatural to lose all of their resilience. They lose their armor, their stamina. They turn into literal butter against the might of a Witcher's silver blade; especially a blade as powerful as Aerondight. This beast, however, was special. Something told me that silver itself lacked the proper kick to end it's ghastly existence.

My medallion began to pull on its chain. There was a light flapping of wings, and I let myself at ease, sheathing Aerondight in it's cozy, leather sheathe on my back. With a smile, I turned to regard the purple alicorn princess, Twilight Sparkle. She landed with a huff, and walked towards me with her wings spread proudly before she tucked them in and smiled back. "Good afternoon, Sifty."

"'Afternoon, Twi. Something you need? I'm in the middle of tracking something."

"I know. I was watching you from above. You seem to be having trouble, so I figured I would come to help."

"All assistance is appreciated, but I can tell that's not the only reason. No pony has the stones to follow me just out of curiosity; not even you. Spill the beans, girly."

"...I admit that I missed adventuring at your side. Among other things."

"Thought so. Well, girly, if you wanna help, show me how. Watching plants bite the brown dust isn't the best way to track my target."

With that, I grinned at the alicorn. Drawing my silver blade once again, I tussled the Princess' mane with my free hand, and pointed ahead with an open palm. "Lead the way."

She and I walked forward in what began as a sullen silence. The girl kept eyeing my blade, occasionally shooting looks to the other weapons I carried. I knew that she recognized the small, black, one-handed crossbow that sat on my lower back, attached to the sheathing of my chainsword; she helped me find and assemble the bloody thing, after all. But I'm sure the chainsword itself, along with my pistol, astounded her. Ponies had some tech, sure, but not tech like this.

"That blade..." She began, her horn glowing with an intriguing spark, "I sense a lot of magic within it. More than any other piece of equipment you've ever pulled in from your adventures, Sifty. What is it?"

I smiled, a bit too proudly, I admit. I span Aerondight in a few heavy, reaping circles around me, causing the pony to step to the side a bit, fearful of getting sliced by my dextrous blade mastery. With a solid grip, I stopped the blade upright just in time to catch a rare beam of sunlight, which lit up the shining silver of my sword in such a way that the whole blade looked to be made of pure sunlight, for the briefest of moments.

"This is Aerondight, the Sword of Destiny. Light, sharp as a razor, fits the hand neatly. It gets it's name from the legend surrounding it; it is said that the blade has an agenda all its own, and whatever that hidden destiny is, only time will tell. This beauty is exceptionally effective against almost anything ghastly. As for where I got it, well... That's a bit of a story all it's own."

"You have a lot of tales."

"Tell you what, Twilight..." I purred, "How about we head home for now, yeah? Take ourselves a little bit of a break. I've been up and about since Fluttershy pulled me out of the forest. I think I need the chance to let my brain cool down from all the violence."

She looked at me, warmly. There was a sparkle in her eyes, a look of good will, almost as if she was hoping that I would respond to her presence this way. It was true, however; as badly as I wanted to get my job done, I was still capable of burning out. Couldn't track something this reticent on a blurry mind. A growl from down low made Twilight's ears wiggle and twitch, and she giggled; as did I. The important parts of my duty were done. The bounties were little more than cleanup duty. The lives that needed saving have been saved.

Besides, I still had priorities. After lunch and some meditation, it would be good to pay Rarity a visit, clear out the mannequins in her boutique. Girl needed to make money, somehow. Before anything else, however, I felt I needed to ask a question.

"Princess..." I began, my voice deep, almost a growl with its solemnity.

"Sifty? You know you can just call me Twi..."

"Listen. Answer me this; have you ever seen a living being die?"

"No, Sifty, I... I can't say I have. I know about the Nightmares, what they want. I know about everything else that poses a danger to us, but... Well, the only death I've ever honestly seen has always been the results of your protection."

"Good. I want to keep it that way." I breathed, relieved. "You and your friends- no, you and everything in this world, you all hold a sense of... innocence. A sense of right. A brightness that can't be tainted by any sort of shadow. But death, it can change that. It can alter the mind. I don't want that happening to you girls. Hell, after the way I've been thinking for the last day or so, I can't imagine what brought me so low to want to leave that innocence. To want to leave everything you ponies gave me."

"Almir..."

"We- We don't use that name, Twilight. Listen, just... if you and I find ourselves in a scuffle, I want you to promise to do something for me. I'm gonna make sure everypony, every one of your friends- our friends- makes this promise to me."

"Anything."

"You close your eyes and tuck in your ears. Whatever happens, whatever you see, I want you to hustle down and shield yourself, and don't you dare look into the fire. Promise me. Promise me that you will only EVER let me see the horrors that come with battle. That you'll only ever let me bear the burden of a life claimed. You're a strong girl, Twilight. You've always been a strong girl. But there are things that you just shouldn't ever, ever see. Promise me you won't look."

"I won't look, Sifty. I promise."

"Good. Now, let's head home, you and I."

"Whose home?"

Shit, that's right. In all this time I've been working, I've forgotten to go and check on my own house. If I remember correctly, the time loop Celestia placed on my humble abode while I was away would dissipate when my presence re-entered this plane of existence. The feel of my bed, the scent of my home... it gave me a sense of nostalgia, and that sense of longing returned. With my blank expression of thought melting away into a nostalgic grin, I looked Twilight in her gentle, violet eyes.

"Mine."

There it was. My home; my fortress. So many additions to my parent's old house had turned it from a regular one-story abode into what could technically be considered a modern military base. Sandbag walls, all ten feet wide and four feet tall, formed small amounts of cover every fifty feet, serving as the first padding to my defenses.

A chain-link fence, nearly twelve feet high, ran around the length of my property, topped with barbed, rusted twists of the chains and coiled razor wire. A rolling gate, locked by a dozen chains and padlocks, gave entry to about one-hundred feet of free space between defenses, overgrown with grass and weeds. A small trail of dirt, hardly five feet wide, ran the middle of this space, still noticeable through the overgrowth. With a brief tap of my equipment, I snatched up my old keyring, and began to undo the locks on the gate. Twilight didn't wait for me, merely flying over the barbs and onto the other side.

After I finished unlocking, the old, rusted gate squealed as I pulled it open, the loose chains clattering to the dust. Twilight walked slightly in front of me over the distance and passed the next defense, which sat in the middle of the space between the fence and the iron gates. Here, I had walls of punji stakes, matching the distances of the sandbags accordingly. Behind the punji stakes, another fifty feet or so, was a ten foot tall iron fence, the tops of each cast-iron bar topped with a cutie mark. Twilight's star, Fluttershy's butterfly, Applejack's apple, and so on down the line, forming another line of defense around my perimeter.

The gate had but a simple lock, so Twilight didn't simply buzz over the fence. As the lock fell free, the gate pulled to the side on a pair of rusty wheels, similar to the first fence, and lead onto the final stretch of space to my house, about fifty feet. There was a small street running the space around my house; a cobblestone road I put down with the help of the cowgirl pony friend of mine. Every thirty feet was a magically powered lamp, providing solid illumination in the twilight hours. The road all culminated into one concrete path, from my house, through the gates, and out the first line of defense.

Going up the bush-lined driveway to my humble abode, I stopped and stared at my old home. The garage door was unmarked, a cool beige across it, fitting well with the accented bricks of the home, which was primarily weight with a blackened roof. The home was flanked on the sides by a wooden picket fence, six feet high- redundant, at this point, but it was one of the few things I did with my father when I was young, so I felt no desire to remove it. Spinning my keys with a finger in the keyring, I caught them on the front door lock.

Twilight waited patiently as I stepped into my home for the first time in so long. The scent hit me immediately. Cucumber-melon. A mix I made myself with ingredients from my garden. A sweet, tangy scent that filled the entire house, a scent that I loved. I felt relaxed for the first time in ages; even moreso than when I was cleaning up my little Fluttershy. In that instant, I just felt... tired. So tired. Of everything. My gear felt incredibly heavy on my back, and I fell to my knees.

Twilight let out a low gasp from behind me, and quickly met my side. "Sifty! Are you okay?"

With no reply, I merely reached over and snatched the pony up in a colossal hug. She didn't resist, merely returning the gesture. "Yeah, pony. I'm okay. Just... glad to be back."

An idle hand undid the clips and belts on my equipment, and my weapons and armor pieces tumbled to the floor while Twilight and I embraced. Softy, gently, I leaned down and fell to the floor, still clutching Twilight. "Twi... you don't mind if I catch a quick nap with you, do I? I'm tired."

"Sifty, I would like that more than anything." Twilight gently cooed, with a smile. She nestled her face into my chest, laying atop me, and for once in a great while, I drifted off into a gentle, unwounded, desirable slumber.