In the upper levels, the Citadel was almost empty. The Draconians who had originally patrolled its halls had long since died in the Choggoth War. Even the golems that normally maintained and defended it were missing: those who remained barely had enough magic to maintain proper defense of the great tower. The halls themselves had already started to become dusty and had started to gain an impression of abandoness.

It was through these halls that Arcane Domination passed toward the Council chamber- -not that there was much that could be called a Council anymore. His plans had been mostly successful: the Aurasi were extinct, and there were less than fifty cerorians remaining. Even the Draconians had suffered terrible losses after the fall of their “Federation”. Fewer than three thousand remained, and many were young and untrained. Only the Trihorn Empire still stood strong, its outer shields holding against a continual sea of mutable flesh and its armies more than adequately defending it.

The plan had worked nearly perfectly- -or would have, had it not failed.

Arcane domination cried out in frustration and sent a blade of magic pounding into the wall beside him, slicing deeply through the stone and metal, sending a shockwave through the building that even the filthy monohorn squatters in the lower levels would surely hear.

Arcane Domination had failed. While he had been so focused on doing what was best for his people, dissent had spread through his own Empire. He had sought only to free the trihorns of the limitations of the other races’ feebleness and arrogance, and his vision had been repaid with betrayal. Even as he attempted to crush dissent, his Empire had fractured beneath him, and his nation had been stolen away by the foul witch Blackest Night.

Never in all his life had Arcane Domination expected another being, let alone one of his own kind, to stand against him. He was the strongest of all the trihorns, and he was a hero to his people. The witch herself had always been nothing more than a minor threat; a trihorn content to stay by herself, among her disciples, to toy with forbidden magic.

She herself would not have been difficult to eradicate, had it not been for the other factions that had emerged in the Empire. There were the abolitionists, and those upset with the direction of the war, and even those who rebelled against Arcane Domination’s necessarily harsh elimination of opposition parties. All of them were fools, and the most profound of idiots, unable to see what needed to be done, and had fallen as easy prey to the witch.

Arcane Domination turned his gaze to the trihorn at his side. A tall stallion, his body tattooed and armor painted with the abstract images that indicated his devotion to Blackest Night- -to the point where, based on his smell, Arcane Dominatin doubted that the trihorn beside him was still alive.

Without hesitating, Arcane Domination leveled another blast of knife-like magic at his companion. The other trihorn cast a shield spell, one that glowed blue but was tinged with a web-like array of black contamination. He turned to Arcane Domination, and stared at him blankly with his two heterogeneous eyes- -one of them a normal pale yellow, and the other, surrounded by a linear surgical scar, pure black with a tiny white pupil.

Then, slowly, the unnamed stallion turned back to his path, as though nothing had happened.

Arcane Domination threw open the door to the council in rage, and then suddenly froze in shock at the sight before him.

“What is the meaning of this?!” he demanded.

The only ones who had any right to stand at the table were the rulers of the two remaining races- -Arcane Domination of the Trihorn Empire, Crimsonflame, the ruler of a people with no land, and whatever shambling mass the Sklklekel had managed to assemble and call a ‘delegate’. Instead, there were four beings standing at the table. One of them was a tall and proud monohorn, her body clad in pale, silvery metal, and her gray eyes staring defiantly into Arcane Dominations. The other was some kind of sick parody of a monohorn- -a skeleton, knitted together by thin strips of blue flesh, most of its skull still visible. One empty eye socket stared at nothing, and in the other a distinctive pair of triangles gazed blankly.

“You,” said Arcane Domination, pointing at the Choggoth.

“Hello,” it said without moving its mouth. Its voice was flat and expressionless, but clear. Not like it had been before, when he had first encountered it inside his study, watching him.

“And you,” he said to the other. “How dare you stand at this table?”

“I am Single Horn,” she said calmly. “I am the delegate of the pony nation of Equestria.”

“Ponies? Ponies cannot have a nation! They are nothing more than- -than beasts! I created you! I once owned you!”

“The Draconian-Cerorian Fedoration hereby recognized Equestria as a nation,” stated Crimsonflame.

“Seconded,” said the Sklklekel delegate, its own body emerging from the darkness that it preferred. To Arcane Domination’s horror, the normaly insect-like body that he had grown accustomed to had been replaced with a gaunt, greenish earth pony, its tiny body overgrown with a mossy and branching fungoid symbiotic.

“If you think I will ever recognize- -”

The other trihorn stepped forward. “This form watches and speaks for Blackest Nightmare. As majority ruler of the Trihorn Empire, she and our allied bretheren accept the validity of the nation of Equestria.”

“You fool!” screamed Arcane Domination. “You filthy necromancer corpse! They are slaves! They are not worthy- -”

“Arcane Domination,” said Crimsonflame coldly. “We invited you to this meeting out of respect for you, and for your position- -but surely even you can see that by now, you are little more than a figurehead. But if you continue to embarrass yourself and your people, I will have you thrown out.” She raised her claw, and one of several large golems stepped out from the edge of the room, raising its spear.

Arcane Domination tried to regain his composure. “Fine, then,” he said. “But you will regret this decision.”

“If there is anything left to regret,” said the marked trihorn. His black eye flicked independently across the room, and stared at the Choggoth before him. “I am curious, though, as to why you have allowed a Choggoth into this sanctum.”

Crimsonflame’s own eyes flicked across the room, and Arcane Domination saw that her formerly blind eye had been replaced with one mechanical and golden- -the eye of an Aurasi.

“I am not even sure I can answer that myself.”

“This one defended us in battle,” said Single Horn. “He is therefore trustworthy.”

“Arcane Domination recognizes this one?” said the Sklklekel.

“Yes,” said Arcane Domination, smiling. “He has been watching me.”

“We know,” said Crimsoflame. Both Arcane Domination and the Choggoth turned to her.

“You knew of my presence?” said the Choggoth.

“I knew that something was watching. I was not aware it was you, specifically.”

“You are correct,” said the Choggoth. “I have been watching for a substantial amount of time. Since before the others came, even. Waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” said Crimsonflame. She was trying to sound tactful; she herself was not nearly as sure of this creature as Single Horn.

“For the rise of the Spheres.”

“Those things in the sky,” said Single Horn.

“Yes,” said the Choggoth, flatly.

“What are they?” asked the marked trihorn. “Our studies have indicated that they are producing truly prodigious amounts of magic, beyond anything we have ever witnessed.”

“They are elements of a machine,” said the Choggoth. He clicked as he bent down, and his horn illuminated with pale green light. An annotated image appeared over the center of the table, projected by magic. It showed two spheres- -one dark green, and one lighter- -floating over a third sphere that sat close to the table. Lines indicated the flow of magic toward the lower sphere, which consisted of little more than an outline.

“The Red and White Spheres are generators, and collectors,” explained the Choggoth. “They themselves are machines of a sort. They exist to power the third Sphere, the Finality Core.”

“Where did they come from?” asked Crimsonflame.

“They were produced by the Choggoths. The Finality Core likely is only coming into completion now.”

“This is ridiculous,” said Arcane Domination. “Choggoths do not make things. They simply eat, and consume. They are a disease and nothing more.”

The Choggoth looked up at him, staring blankly with its one eye. “Your mind is limited. You do not understand our nature completely. Choggoths are not independent organisms. We do not operate for our own sake.”

“Then why?” asked Single Horn, turning to the Choggoth. She was the only one who came within arms-reach of it. “Why do all this, cause all this pain?”

“The purpose of a Choggoth is to enter a world and absorb all organic matter, converting it into Choggoth and eliminating any resistance that might be faced. When the world is adequately consumed, the Spheres are generated.”

“But why?” demanded Crimsonflame, losing patience.

The image on the table shifted, showing an amplified and more detailed view of the smallest and lowest sphere. “The purpose of the Finality Core is to give birth to a Lord of Order.”

“A Lord of Order?” asked Arcane Domination. He was vaguely interested now, from an academic standpoint at least, assuming of course that the Choggoth was not simply lying.

“The Lords of Order are immortal beings whose sole purpose is to eliminate disorder form any universe they encounter,” explained the Choggoth. “They are the creators of the Choggoths, and themselves children of the Soth, which is the gate. They are living gods.”

“How many are there?” asked Crimsonflame.

“Unknown,” said D27. “This unit is not aware of the true number. It is, however, estimated to be in the millions. Not that you will encounter more than one.”

“Why is that?” asked Single Horn.

“Only a single Lord of Order inhabits a world at a time. Only one is necessary.”

“And what happens if it get here?”

“This world will exposed to an unparalleled surge of Order. The mass of all Choggoths present will be absorbed, and surviving fragments will proceed to another world. All life will be destroyed.”

The image over the table changed, and instead of a sphere it displayed three symbols. All three were geometric, but varied in complexity. The most complex was an array of geometric shapes placed into a complex pattern that was rendered in three dimensions. The one next to it consisted largely of several squares and an arc of circles. The final one was a pair of equilateral triangles, one pointing up and the other down.

“There are currently three Choggoths on Panbios. Nil, Void, and Oblivion.”

“Oblivion,” said Single Horn. “That is you.”

“Correct.”

“And what are these symbols?” said the marked trihorn.

“These are our insignias. The number of lines represents the number of worlds consumed.”

All eyes on the table turned toward the largest of the symbols- -except for Single Horn’s, whose gaze fell completely on the smallest.

“Choggoth Nil alone has consumed one hundred ninety three universes in its lifetime,” said Oblivion. “At present, it is leading the invasion. Choggoth Void is currently assisting, but is in a purely supportive capacity. At present, it is not thought to be maintaining sentience.”

“And Nil?”

“Unknown. However, Nil is currently responsible for the construction and eventual activation of the Finality Core. It will most likely have condensed into a single area, allowing Void to take all offensive actions.”

“Eventual,” said the Sklklekel delegate.

“Yes. The Finallity Core normally takes years, or even decades to complete. With the surplus of magical energy in this world, however, it will be completed in approximately six days.”

“Why are you telling us this?” said Crimsonflame, suddenly. Her eyes narrowed to slits, and she leaned over the table, pounding her left claw into it. “Are you trying to threaten us? To scare us?”

“My intention is to stop the Finality Core from activating.”

Every being in the room stared at Oblivion. None of them spoke for what seemed like an eternity, with every party either being dumfounded or afraid to be the first to ask.

“Why?” said Crimsonflame at last. “Why would you want to help us? What is your motivation?”

“Unknown,” said Oblivion flatly.

Another awkward silence. “How can your motivations be unknown?”

“The statement is declarative.”

“That is not the point!” exclaimed Crimsonflame loudly. “One cannot act without a reason!”

“You misunderstand the nature of a Choggoth. Our actions are never our own. We have the capacity for sentience, when it suits us, but not for free will.” He paused. “If anything, I suppose the cause of my actions is my defectiveness.”

“Defectiveness?” asked Single Horn.

“Correct. At present, I am defective. I am not functioning within the normal bounds of Choggoth behavior. Hence, why I am here. To desire to help you survive is a symptom of disease.”

“Your motivation for actions is irrelevant,” said the marked trihorn. “Blackest Night, and the Trihorn Empire, care nothing for you. Assuming that you are not lying to us, we are all in grave danger. What is your proposed solution to our continued survival? And why have you not acted until now?”

“I am intervening now because it is the only time I can. Choggoths are not suited to fight amongst themselves. I have done what I can to defend critical locations to your people, but in open combat I have no hope of defeating another Choggoth. Simply put, I am far too weak. I could not interviene until now, when I have a chance at success. As for my method, I have devised this…”
Oblivion lowered his horn over the table and projected a new image. It expanded rapidly form the center, rapidly covering the entire surface of the table and extending outward and upward. It stretched out and shifted, producing a schematic: an image representative of exceedingly complex parts intermixed equally with various types of magical spells. Even Arcane Domination, to his dismay, found that he could not quickly make sense of all of them.

The image suddenly flickered, though, and then, with a sound of something like dry wood snapping, vanished. A low gurgle seemed to arise from Oblivion, and those who looked to him realized that his horn had snapped along its spiral.

“Oh!” said Single Horn. “Are you hurt?”

“It is a Choggoth,” said Crimsonflame. “It does not feel pain.”

“Yes, I do,” said Oblivion. “I just understand that it is meaningless. You saw the schematic long enough I assume. The device in question is a weapon of my own design, modeled itself after a Finality Core. This weapon is not adequate to destroy any of the three Spheres, but it will have the capacity to destroy the Lord of Order before it reaches its adult form.”

“Are you insane?” said Arcane Domination. “There is no way we could build such a thing in less than a week!”

“I do not need you to build it,” said Oblivion, his tone still devoid of emotion.

“You have it already,” said Crimsonflame. “You were building it this whole time…”

“No. There is no need to build the Weapon. The Weapon is me.”

“But then what do you need us for?” said the marked trihorn.

“I have the capacity to generate the Weapon, but not to power it. I require magic.”

Arcane Domination suddenly understood at least part of what he had so briefly seen. “But such a device would require…”

“Yes,” said Oblivion, turning toward Arcane Domination. “I would need to absorb the magical output of all three races of magical creature on this world.”

“And your body could withstand that?” said Crimsonflame in awe.

“Long enough to fire one shot. I will be destroyed in the process.”

“You would do that for us?” said Single Horn.

Oblivion turned to her, staring into her gray eyes with his one blue “eye”. “Life and death are not highly dissimilar for a Choggoth. If my goal is accomplished, my destruction is irrelevant.” He turned to the others. “However, my fate is not the reason why this is difficult to ask. The spell required to charge the Weapon and the action of firing it will have repercussions for you as well.”

“What kind of repercussions?” asked Crimsonflame.

“The Weapon will produce a feedback wave. Projections indicate a fatality rate of between five and ten percent for Draconians, and as high as twenty percent for the trihorn race.”

“And the monohorns?” demanded Crimsonflame.

Oblivion paused. He seemed to almost sigh. “Monohorns are inherently different from Draconians and trihorns. Their magic is comparatively weaker and less insulated.”

“What will happen?”

“The majority of the feedback will be directed at the weakest contributors. There will be no survivors.”

“Then we cannot use this Weapon,” said Crimsonflame matter-of-factly.

“I disagree,” said Arcane Domination, the vestige of a thin and toothy smile crossing his semi-reptilian face. “I think it absolutely must be done.”

“You sick bastar- -”

“We agree with Arcane Domination,” said the marked trihorn. “But for different reasons. Due to the poor stewardship of the last regime, the situation for the Trihorn Empire had fallen. It cannot persist as such, nor can any others. If this is the only path that ensures our survival, then it is the only path that we can take.”

“You cannot be serious!” cried Crimsonflame, slamming her fist against the table and causing it to ignite slightly. “There are over two hundred thousand monohorns! How can we possibly ask them to make such a sacrifice?”

“We do not need to ask them,” said Oblivion. “Not technically, at least. With the Draconians, trihorns, and only a small number of monohorns involved, the spell would rapidly reach critical mass and drain organic magic from nonparticipants as well as direct contributors.”

“They would never even need to know,” said Arcane Domination.

“If you do not intervene,” said Oblivion, “I assure you. No living thing in Panbios will survive. I have tried to avoid this outcome. I have run countless simulations and tests. I have determined that no action I can take will prevent the feedback wave.”

“We will find another way,” growled crimsonflame, fire dripping from her mouth. “You are as disturbed as the other two. A destroyer, and nothing more! Are we just pawns in your war? Is this an internal conflict?”

“Yes, to both questions.”

“But that does not change the fact,” said the marked trihorn sternly, “that if we do not act, we will all perish.”

“You are meant to find personal perspective,” said the Sklklekel.

“And what does that mean?” demanded Crimsonflame.

“She means that the monohorns do not concern you,” said Oblivion.

“They do not concern me? They are people of this world, our friends, and our allies, who have fought alongside us for so long- -” began Crimsonflame

“And they are our property, our creations. They are a subdivision of us, and their fate should belong to us,” finished Arcane Domination.

“The decision does not rest with you.” Oblivion turned its head toward the monohorn beside it. “This decision belongs to their ruler. To her.”

“That is unfair!” cried Arcane Domination. “Her answer will be obvious! Our whole future cannot be allowed to be determined by one race!”

“Do not think that you understand so easily,” snapped Single Horn. “I am not a fool, and I am not a child. I am fully aware of the weight of this decision.”

“Single Horn…” said Crimsonflame.

“If it only one monohorn were required, the decision would be so much easier. I would die a death for each of them, if only to save them. My own death does not concern me. But my friends, and all those who I think of as family. Countless hundreds of thousands will die if this Weapon is used. But if it is not, millions will, including them.”

“Then the answer is obvious,” said the marked trihorn.

“No. It is not so easy. Every one of those who you so casually dismiss as collateral…they are ponies. They have families, friends, hopes and dreams, and destinies. They were meant for more than to be fuel for a…a machine.”

“The answer is simple,” said Crimsonflame. “We find another way.”

“Crimsonflame…” said Single Horn, smiling. “The one who saved me, and raised me…my dearest friend. Please consider this from my perspective. Were it the Draconians to die instead of monohorns, would you ask them to do so?”

“I- -” Crimsonflame found she could not answer. Her mind had immediately decided on the wrong answer- -that there would be no other way.

“Dragon Crimsonflame,” said the Choggoth, turning to her. “You have your own decision to make.”

“What do you mean, a ‘decision’?”

“The Weapon cannot be fired without a targeting aspect.”

“What does that mean?”

Oblivion paused, processing a response. “The weapon requires a magical entity to bias the output flow. A single, powerful element of the spell must stand in front of the Weapon. In the path of the blast.”

“No,” said Single Horn, understanding what Oblivion meant. “No. I will take that role. If the weapon fires, my life is already forfeit.”

“A monohorn will not be adequate. The magic would be too weak to bias the field.”

Crimsonflame chuckled. “So…you want me to die in this device as well?”

“I want nothing. I am a Choggoth. No. You specifically do not need to. However, you are the only being of adequate magical skill and power to bias the beam alone. Otherwise, fifty Draconians or two hundred thirty trihorns- -approximately- -would be required.”

“What would be my chances?”

“You would receive one ninety seven thousand two hundred seventy sixth of the blast. No known life form would be able to survive that impact. Of course,” he turned to Single Horn. “This predicates on your decision.”

“Does it?” said the marked trihorn.

“No,” said Oblivion, turning to the black eye that sat next to one that saw nothing. “If necessary, I can feed the reaction using resurrected monohorns. As long as the trihorns and Draconians contribute, the blast can be ignited without monohorn contribution.”

“Other ponies,” said Single Horn. Oblivion turned back to her. “Will other ponies be effected?”

“No. Only ponies who possess a horn. Even hybrids lacking horns will survive.”

Single Horn closed her eyes and took a breath. “Then I agree it must be done.”

“Single Horn- -”

“No. Please, stop. This is not even my decision to make. I will need to address my people.”

“You can’t be serious!” cried Arcane Domination. “There will be riots and destruction! Our territory alone has tens of thousands of monohorn slaves- -we will not inform them!”

“Do as you will. But I only make this decision for myself. I will feed my magic into this spell, if it will save others. But I must speak with my people.”

“No,” said the Sklklekel. “You will not debate. Not your intention. You want to tell them what will become of them.”

“Yes.”

“You would be allowing your entire people to die,” said Crimsonflame.

“I know. I know…”

For the first time in a long time, Crimsonflame’s heavily scarred face softened. She understood the weight that had been placed on Single Horn, a destiny for an entire people that was suddenly forced upon them.

“Then I promise you this,” said Crimsonflame. “If you will stand against the Lord of Order, so will I. I will direct the beam.”

“You are aware,” said the marked trihorn, “that if you die, there will be no Grand Magus to replace you.”

“I am aware of this. But the role of a Grand Magus is no longer necessary. There are so few of us…what point is there in a ruler? Perhaps my story shall guide them. Or perhaps not. But I cannot allow others to die for a task that belongs to me.”

“Then is it settled?” asked the marked trihorn. “Is this truly the path we choose?”

None at the table spoke, for they knew that the decision had already been made. Three had resigned themselves to death. Of the remaining three, one remained neutral, knowing that the decision concerned her bit did not belong to her or her kind. Another had chosen survival; even knowing that she had long since ceased to be entirely alive, she and her people must persist at all costs. The final was the only one who was truly happy, and suppressed his smile, because he had a plan.