In the far reaches of Equestria stood an ancient dessert, one that had been rendered lifeless millions of years prior by a phenomenon that no pony could recall. Even in the countless millennia since it had been empties, few forms of life had yet returned, unable to bear the endless dryness of its dusty surface or the endless sandstorms that seemed to wander through the flat, shifting planes that had swallowed so many pony explorers.

Despite its inhospitability, however, it was not truly devoid of life. It contained one of the greatest and most powerful fiefdoms under the control of the alicorn Thebe: this was the land of the changelings.

In the frozen wastes, their eternal city stood: the ancient, tower-like mounds, standing hundreds of feet high, stood like mountains on the horizon. Those were only the top, however; the true hive extended miles beneath the surface into tunnels dug since the time when there had only been one queen, instead of the modern six.

This city loomed only in the farthest distance as a group of five changelings patrolled their section of the perimeter, their membranous wings fluttering through the upper-darkness of the fringes of their mighty civilization.

At a predefined set of coordinates, they descended into the fine sand below. Despite having wings, changelings were relatively weak flyers. When food supplies were low- -and, in modern Equestria, the supply of love was always low- -they needed to take frequent breaks to conserve energy.

As they waited, some of them spoke to each other in their clicking, hissing native language. Others simply stood, waiting. One of them looked out into the desert, as he always did during the breaks- -trying to see if anything was out there, wondering what threats they were actually guarding their kind against.

On this night, however, he actually saw something.

“Look there,” he said in his language, pointing. The others instinctively turned, and, upon seeing the figure in the distance, looked as well.

“A mirage,” one of them said.

“Agreed,” said another.

“Disagree,” clicked another.

They all stared out into the distance, trying to fathom what the figure might have been- -if it was a desert mirage, or a trick of the dust that continuously blew at low levels. As it came closer, however, they all began to agree that it definitely was something- -but they were not sure what.

It stood like no creature they had ever seen, balancing on two long legs, its long and narrow arms swinging at its sides gently as it trudged across the dessert. Its color was dark, and the group agreed that it was probably wearing armor of some kind. They could not agree upon what it was, however. As soldiers, aside from being larger than worker changelings, they were also some of the few permitted knowledge of the outside world, and they had been trained to recognize foreigners. Two of them suggested that it was a candid, either an ahuizotl or a diamond dog; another suggested a minotaur. There was also momentary discussion of the possibility that it was one of Thebe’s golems, but they deemed that highly unlikely.

Whatever it was, however, they knew that it was clearly a threat- -and they took a defensive posture. They charged their horns took flight, approaching in a V-formation, ready to lob a blast of magic in its direction if necessary.

They landed before it, and examined it more closely. It also seemed to be examining them through a pair of brightly glowing eyes in the otherwise softly curved plate that covered its face.

The creature, likewise, looked down at them, but it did not stop moving or even change its speed. None of the changelings could even imagine how it was failing to sink into the sand, or how it balanced on only two legs.

“Stop there,” said the one of them that had taken the point of the V in Equestrian. “This is sovereign soil. State your business or turn back now.” All of their horns leaked a thin haze of green light as they tried to ward off the creature by stance alone.

It did not stop.

“Fine,” said the leader. “If you will not obey, then you are nothing more than food.”

Simultaneously, each of them reached out with their minds into the creature’s. Their goal was simple, to the point that it was instinctive. This was how changelings fed: to understand a being’s love, and to take that love from it.

The force of the love within the creature came back thousands of times stronger than they had anticipated, to the point where it physically forced them to step back. No creature known had ever held so much love- -but it was wrong. The images that came to their mind were not of friends, or of a lover, or its family. What they saw, they could not understand. They saw fire and crystal and destruction. Visions of incomprehensible torment flooded their minds, as did the unending screams of agony. They saw the unparalleled cruelty and destruction: they saw the weak punished eternally by the strong, and the strong brought low by deception and treachery. In its mind were endless visions of flesh torn asunder, and of actions far worse than simple torture- -meant to crush the very souls of not only its enemies, but its allies as well.

The changelings could not comprehend this. They saw such things, and expected fear, or disgust, or even hatred. There was no fear, though, or even real hatred: only the purest love that any of them had ever tasted, and within it, they heard laughter- -the endless cackling of so many trillions who marched through the eternal fires of their own creation.

One of them collapsed, his mind snapped by the paradox, his body falling into the sand where he would lay for the rest of eternity. The others disconnected, the horror of what they had seen having momentarily disoriented them. They realized that although they had tasted its love, they had not grown stronger- -and that the connection had worked both ways. While they had seen visions from within its mind, it had seen into theirs.

Two of them who recovered most rapidly shapeshifted, altering their forms to match what they now knew was most certainly their enemy. They stood suddenly on their hind legs, their bodies identical to the creature, down to its luminescent but unseeing eyes.

At that, the creature paused, and the changelings sneered, knowing that the shock of witnessing the transformation had taken it off guard.

The two altered ones stepped forward, prepared to fight the creature with copies of its own hideous form- -but the creature did not recoil. Instead, it extended one of its arms and opened its plated, five-fingered hand.

One of the shifted changelings suddenly flew forward, its body glimmering with the magic of a telekinesis spell. He tried to resist, but its own magic was far too weak for it to break free. His feet cut furrows into the desert soil as he tried to claw his way back to his brothers, but he could not escape.

The creature took the changeling in its hand and closed the hand tightly around its neck. The changeling shifted back to its pony-like form and smiled, a gesture of surrender.

“Please, mercy,” it whispered.

The creature did not seem to understand. It raised its other hand and pointed one long finger at the changeling’s head. The finger suddenly morphed, the armor around it reconstructing into a long point that penetrated the changeling’s head.

He screamed and struggled, but as quickly as the pain had come it was gone. His chitinous neck was still being held tightly, but the claw pulled back, leaving a thin trail of green blood dripping from the wound.

Then came the screaming. The other changelings watched in horror as their brother started to shift, not understanding what he was doing, or why he was in so much pain. As they watched, they began to understand.
The captive changeling’s body shifted, but not as it should have. There was no symmetry, and no control: limbs shot out, extending, their armor splitting and tearing off revealing pale skin beneath. Hooves burst open into amorphous, shifting lumps of raw flesh that tried to assemble into claws, and the changeling’s body began to extend, growing taller, its armor falling away.

Then it began to destabilize. The shapeshifting reaction grew beyond the chagneling’s limit, forcing the sudden growth of extraneous arms. Its flesh tore apart, spraying the creature holding it with thick red blood. The changeling then began to burst open from the inside as deformed, gnarled bone spilled out of its ruined and unrecognizable body. The whole while, it screamed- -but as it did, its voice changed, distorting into something alien and hideous.

Within seconds, there was nothing left that the other changelings could bear to look at. Their brother had been reduced to a barely breathing mutant lump of limbs and twisted bones, his blood pouring onto the ground below. The creature only seemed to stare, neither amused nor displeased.

Then it threw the deformed changeling aside to die in the dirt. The blood on its body seemed to disappear as though it were being absorbed, and once again, it started walking.