All is quiet inside the shuttle as we fly through the night, the only sound being the dull thuds of fat, heavy raindrops pelting the windshield like the wet stomp of a soldier trudging through mud. The windshield wipers are probably draining more power from the shuttle’s battery than the rest of the electronics at the rate they’re having to keep up with the rain.

Ignoring the rain, Green Wing coaxes all the speed she can from the engines. Nestled in the copilot’s seat, Thorax tries to contact Onyx and the others over the radio, but all he gets is static.

Not wanting to get in the way, I retreat back into the cabin, where Chrysalis rests in a seat, seemingly unaware of the numerous cuts and scratches across her body. Most have stopped bleeding, but a slow stream of green blood trickles from a long, narrow slice across her thigh.

“Those should be cleaned,” I point out. “We don’t want them to get infected.” I go to a supply box and pull out the first aid kit, which I give to Chrysalis. She starts to clean herself up without a word of thanks.

Something’s heavy on her mind, something more pressing than cleaning up her wounds.

“Chrysalis,” I say. “You could have left us to be taken by the cyborgs. But you saved us. Why?”

“I saved you because you’re still useful to me,” Chrysalis says. Wincing as disinfectant goes over a cut, she ties a bandage in place and leans back, sighing as the pain subsides, the last of the disinfectant rolling over her wrinkled hide.

“Is that all?” I ask.

The queen glares at me before closing her eyes. She’s not in the mood to talk. Yet, there’s something behind the roughness; perhaps she saved us not out of pragmatic necessity, but for some other, more noble cause.

Not wanting to press the issue, or to destroy any goodwill built between us, I head back into the cockpit, and to Thorax.

“Anything?” I ask.

Sighing, Thorax takes his headset off, frustrated at his lack of progress. “No. Nothing.”

“Perhaps it’s interference from the storm,” I suggest.

“Or there’s no one left to contact,” Green Wing says.

Thorax is horrified. “You think-”

“I’m not saying they’re dead. If Onyx was facing a hopeless fight, he’d retreat.”

“Would he come back?” I ask. “With reinforcements?”

The thought amuses our changeling pilot. “We just lost our entire strike force down in that temple.”

A chill runs through me. “You mean-”

“That we’re screwed? Unless we can defeat Black Fang and Iron Hoof’s armies by ourselves... yeah, we are.”

Thorax shakes his head. “Not if we stop Black Fang’s plan, whatever it is.”

Not wanting to shatter any of Thorax’s hopes, Green Wing ends the conversation, taking a moment to adjust our altitude. “The two of you had better get some sleep.”

“What about you?” I ask.

“Thorax and I can swap places in a few hours.”

Eager to get some sleep, Thorax leaves his chair and heads to the back of the cabin, where he lies down across some seats. He’s out in moments, joining Chrysalis in an exhausted slumber.

“You’d better get some sleep, too,” Green Wing says.

I know I should, but my system is in overdrive after the disaster in the Temple. There’s little chance of getting forty winks with adrenaline still surging through me.

“I’d like to stay awake until Thorax relieves you,” I say as I get into the copilot’s seat.

Green Wing sighs. “Fine. Just don’t touch anything.”

I make a point to keep my legs on my lap as I look out the windows. With all the lights off, it’s easier to see out into the rain-drenched night.

“You want to be useful?” Green Wing asks. “Keep trying the radio.”

Putting on the headset, I press the transmit button. “Resistance Base, this is Silverspeak. Come in, please.”

Static.

“Resistance Base, this is Silverspeak. Come in, please.” I release the transmit button and listen.

All that comes back through is static.

“Keep trying,” Green Wing says. “Once every ten minutes until you get someone, or we reach Manehattan.”

I keep trying the radio for the next hour, but all my efforts are rewarded with static. I finally give up as the top of the trees vanish, and we head over open water. We must be flying over the ocean.

“How long until we reach Manehattan?” I ask.

“At the rate we’re going, we’ll be there by mid-morning,” Green Wing says. “We could get there faster, but we’d risk burning out the engines.” She checks her gauges and adjusts some knobs.

“Any idea what we’re going to face?”

“You mean aside from the giant dragon waiting for us? No. No one’s been in Manehattan since the war started. It was one of our main bases, but Iron Hoof started a siege that lasted for a couple years, and wound up turning the place to rubble. Celestia finally called it quits and pulled everyone out. Everyone who’s tried to get close since then... well, they don’t come back.”

That’s a disquieting thought.

“When we get close enough, we’ll ditch the ship, teleport to shore, and sneak our way through,” Green Wing explains. “Kill anyone we meet and hide the bodies. From there... well, we’ll wing it.”

It’s not the best battle plan, but it’s better than nothing.

“You think we have a chance?” I ask.

“Of what? Defeating Black Fang?” Green Wing sighs. “Tartarus if I know. Only an idiot fights an arch-dragon. Anyone with half a brain lets alicons fight them instead.”

“And what if there aren’t any alicorns?”

“Then you target the thing with the heaviest firepower you have and blast it from miles away.”

“And does it work?”

Green Wing groans from my incessant questions. “Not as often as we’d like. Celestia only knows if it would work against Black Fang. We studied everything we had about arch-dragons during the war. Plenty of stuff talked about him, about how he was the oldest and most powerful dragon who ever lived. Wiped out entire armies, decimated cities with a single breath, almost wiped out the pony race, things like that.”

“Was there anything on how to beat him?”

“Only that everyone who ever tried, died.”

It’s quiet again.

“Are you scared, Silverspeak?” Green Wing asks quietly.

“About what?” I ask. “Black Fang?”

“No... About dying.”

“Who isn’t?”

“Did I hear right before this mission started? That you have some sort of tumor?”

I nod, tapping my head. “I haven’t thought much about it,” I admit. “Wanted to focus on saving my wife before worrying about death. Why do you ask?”

“I’ve faced death more times than I can count,” Green Wing says. “Thought if you were worried, I could offer some advice.”

I’m touched. “Like what?”

“Everyone I’ve seen who died, whether on the field or in the hospital, seems free of pain at the very end. They may scream with pain or beg for their mothers before, but when death itself comes, they always seem to calm down. Maybe it’s shock, maybe its a final release of endorphins, but their ends are free of pain.”

“How about old age?” I ask. “Or disease?”

“I’ve never seen anyone die of either,” she admits.

We fly on, leaving that statement hanging in the air.

“What do you think happens after death?” I ask. “You think there’s something waiting for us?”

Green Wing’s silent. “I don’t know,” she says at last. “I hope there’s something: I’d like to see my husband again. But there’s a chance he’s not there. That nothing’s there. That we just cease to exist.” Green Wing shakes her head. “I know that should scare me. But to be honest, it doesn’t. I mean, when we sleep, we’re not aware of anything. Maybe that’s what death is like.”

“Endless, dreamless sleep?”

“Something like that. And you know something? That doesn’t sound so bad.”

I nod in agreement. “It doesn’t.”

A bolt of lightning flashes through the sky, followed by the accompanying rumble of thunder.

“You really should get some sleep, Silverspeak,” Green Wing says. “Celestia knows you’re going to need it. If you’re still high on adrenaline, there’s some green pills in the medical box that’ll calm you down.”

I’m about to say that it wouldn’t be good to go into combat with drugs in my system, but Green Wing’s right. I’ve been going for... my goodness, at least a day or two without sleep. My body can operate for months, if not years without a charge, but my still-organic brain needs sleep, lest exhaustion affect my judgment.

I head into the back and rummage through the medical box again, taking care not to wake Chrysalis or Thorax. When I find the pills, I take one, gulp it down, and lie across the seats, trying to get comfortable, Green Wing’s words staying with me.

Maybe death is like sleep. Maybe we all fall into endless slumber. My parents, Beakbreaker, myself, all joined together in an eternal night.

That doesn’t sound so bad.

Grogginess hits me. The drugs must be kicking in, but I don’t mind... it feels so good to close my eyeli...

“Silverspeak! Wake up!”

What? Who’s... oh, it’s Thorax. Blinking, I open my eyes. Early morning light streams through the windows, but it’s not the bright, cheery light of the sun.

“Silverspeak!”

I want to go back to sleep, to slide back into nothingness again, but Thorax’s tone is urgent. He wants me up front as soon as possible.

Groaning, I rise from the seats and head into the cockpit, where Thorax, Green Wing, and Chrysalis peer through the windows.

“We’re close,” Green Wing tells me. “We’ll reach Manehattan in about ten minutes.”

I peer out the windows to find a fouled sea beneath us, the waters churning with black gunk that clogs the surface. The sky above us is overcast, the clouds an ugly green-black, choked with pollution and smog. Before us, far in the distance, lies the source of that corruption.

“Manehattan,” Thorax says quietly.

I take a pair of binoculars and peer through. I almost wish I hadn’t, for the sight that greets me is nothing like the Manehattan I knew: Some of the city’s skyscrapers and towers still stand, but the rest are gone, replaced by ruins and giant smokestacks rising like weeds from poisoned soil.

My wife is somewhere on that island.

“What happened?” I ask, gobsmacked.

“It was turned into a manufacturing center after the city was destroyed,” Chrysalis says. “All of Iron Hoof’s chemicals and foul magics are concocted there.”

“And we need to get inside without being seen,” Thorax says. Then, to Chrysalis, “Does its defenses have any weak spots?”

“The island is covered by magical shields and detection charms to keep anyone from getting in. But there is an abandoned drainage pipe on the southeast tip of the island. If we reach it, we can sneak under the shields.”

Chrysalis indicates my binoculars. I hand them over, and she takes a look at the shore, frowning as she turns the focusing knob.

“What is it?” I ask.

“There are normally patrols along the coast and numerous gun emplacements atop the ceilings.”

“Maybe they’ve been ordered to abandon the island,” I suggest.

Chrysalis isn’t convinced. “Possibly... Thorax, you will need to teleport us to the shoreline. Green Wing, you will need to retreat to a safe distance.”

Green Wing nods in agreement, flicking knobs and bringing the ship to a stop, hovering above the churning water.

Taking a radio, Thorax slips it into his battle harness, and then indicates for Chrysalis and me to get close. When we’re by his side, he closes his eyes, his horn glowing as magic swirls about it.

“Brace yourselves,” Thorax says.

A flash of light, and in an instant the cabin vanishes. Warm, stale air gives way to the salty smell of the sea, and... we’re falling! I spread my wings, but I’m too late to fly as I hit the water and sink beneath the surface. I thrash my limbs, trying to head up, but it isn’t working! Celestia, I’m going to drown! I’m-

I‘m yanked from the water and land hard on muddy ground. Gasping, I cough up water as Thorax hurries over, his horn still glowing.

“Silverspeak! Are you okay?!”

I nod, trying to stop myself from shaking. For all the advances in cybernetic technology, weight is still an issue, making it impossible for a cyborg like myself to swim. Had Thorax not been able to magically grab me, I would have plunged to the bottom of the harbor.

“I’m sorry,” Thorax says, horrified at his mistake. “I thought we’d land on the shore.”

“Well, we’re on it now,” I try to joke. It may be muddy land, but I’ll take mud over sinking into the depths of the ocean. We’re on a remote edge of Manehattan’s shore, surrounded by thick patches of weeds and reeds, which shields us from unfriendly eyes. Beside me, Chrysalis shakes water off her mane.

“Is this where you wanted to land, Chrysalis?” I ask.

The changeling monarch nods, wiping away another smear of mud. “Follow me.”

Wading through the mud, I follow Chrysalis through the reeds, Thorax sticking close to me. We don’t get far before Chrysalis shoves some bushes aside to reveal the barred entrance to an old drainage pipe.

Without a word, Thorax comes forward and uses a lance of concentrated magic to cut through the bars like a plasma torch. We crawl inside, using his light to make our way forward. Ten minutes later, and Chrysalis slowly pushes a manhole cover aside, peering out to check for patrols. Indicating that it’s safe to come up, she climbs out. I follow her, emerging onto a cracked, weed-filled street. The air is so foul and polluted that I want to vomit.

Thorax takes out his radio, struggling not to cough as he speaks. “Green Wing. We’re in.”

“Alright. I’m going to keep my distance. If you need a fast evac, you’ll have to teleport to the shore. I’ll pick you up there.”

Thorax fights back a cough. “Copy that. We’ll keep you posted.” Thrusting the radio back into its holster, he rams a hoof against his mouth as he coughs, managing to muffle the noise.

“Follow me,” Chrysalis says, muffling a cough of her own. “We need to reach the main factory as soon as we can.”

Manehattan was ugly at a distance, but walking through it is even worse. This once vibrant city is now a dead, decaying husk: what skyscrapers haven’t been knocked down are overgrown with vines of gunk and mold. Weeds thrust up through cracks in the streets and sidewalks; given time, nature will reclaim the city, erasing all evidence that ponies once lived here. The smell becomes even worse the further we go, until it feels like I’m breathing nothing but smog.

Just keep going, Silverspeak, I tell myself. Keep going. You can’t leave Beakbreaker here.

We hurry through the streets of this dying city for an hour. As we continue on, the ruins become thicker and harder to traverse. Iron Hoof’s forces probably were so focused on building factories that they didn’t care about cleaning up after the battle to take the island.

Yet, through all the rubble and destruction, we encounter no guards. We find towers and outposts, but all are empty and abandoned. Yet, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong: there are ample places for soldiers to hide, or to lay traps. While we’ve stuck to the shadows and kept as quiet as possible, someone should have noticed us by now.

We finally reach Central Park. Once green and full of life, the overgrown weeds scratch at us as we hurry through, eyes alert and ears twisting as we look for any sign of sentries or guards. Yet, I doubt we’ll find any: It looks like no one’s come through here in years.

“The factory is on the other side of this park,” Chrysalis says.

It takes us an hour to get through the park, half that time spent hacking through overgrown vegetation to pass bridges and make our way past long-collapsed terraces. But at last we break through, and-

I freeze.

Before us is the Manehattan library. Or, rather, what’s left of it. Half of the building has been blown apart from the inside out, and the remaining half has collapsed in on itself from the ravages of time, the windows broken and pierced by vines and the branches of trees growing within the ruins. But even in its crumbling, decayed state, I’ll never forget this place.

The Forbidden Section, breaking in, the Librarian... My quest to become an alicorn started in this building.

“Silverspeak?”

I blink. “Sorry, Thorax,” I say. “Just... lost in old memories.”

He nods in understanding. But there’s no more time to dwell on the past: Chrysalis is still hurrying along, and we hurry after her, leaving the library behind.

It’s another half hour before we finally reach the park’s edge. But we know the factory is close long before we see it: the air is warmer here, as is the stench. It burns my throat just to breathe it in, and it’s almost a relief to finally see the ugly structure at last. Once we’re inside, we might find relief from the pollution.

Chrysalis hides behind some bushes. Thorax and I do the same, joining her in looking the structure over. It’s a huge building, stretching four stories high and being both wide and long enough to swallow a football field. Unlike all the other buildings in Manehattan, no vines or mold enshroud this factory, which means it’s seen steady use.

If there’s anyone on the island, this is where they’ll be.

“Wait here,” Chrysalis says. Without waiting for a reply, she sneaks off once more into the grass, probably searching for guards.

Thorax takes out his radio. “Green Wing, this is Thorax.”

“I hear you.”

“We’ve reached the processing center.”

“Good... any sign of Iron Hoof’s goons?”

Thorax shakes his head. “No.”

“Same here. If I had to guess, the three of you are heading into a trap.”

Thorax sighs. “Probably. But we don’t have a choice.”

I scrutinize the structure before us. If it leads to Black Fang’s lair, we’ll be heading underground. I gesture for the radio, and Thorax hands it to me. “Green Wing? This is Silverspeak. We’re going to be heading underground, which means we’ll likely be out of contact for a while. We’ll call you when we’re clear.”

There’s a brief silence on the other end. “Silverspeak... if I don’t hear from any of you in two hours, I’ll need to head back to base. Someone has to warn Luna and the others about Iron Hoof’s plan.”

“Then go,” I say. “We’ll be fine.”

From the way he bites his lip, Thorax doesn’t share my enthusiasm.

“I hope so,” Green Wing says. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” I’m about to let go of the talk button, but I hesitate. If something should go wrong, this might be the last time the two of us talk.

“Green Wing?”

“Yes?”

“Stay safe out there.”

There’s a brief pause. “You too, Silverspeak.”

The line goes dead.

There’s rustling to my left, and then Chrysalis emerges, panting. “I just checked the perimeter,” she says between gasps. “I did not see any guards or hear any machinery. It seems we are alone.”

Well, that’s good news.

“Once we get inside, we find out where Iron Hoof’s prisoners went,” Chrysalis continues. “We’ll follow their path to Black Fang.”

“And then what?” I ask. “Do we try to kill him?”

“We cannot,” Chrysalis says. “But we have one weapon he has never faced.” She points to me.

“What? Me?”

“Your voice. If you can sway millions to join Iron Hoof, then you can persuade one dragon to abandon his plan.”

“My talent only works on weaker wills,” I say. “If someone’s will is strong, my magic will have no effect.”

“And what would you have us do, then? Run and hide? You are our best chance of stopping Black Fang, Silverspeak. If you do nothing, then by this time tomorrow, all will be lost.”

“Maybe we don’t have to fight Black Fang,” Thorax suggests. “Maybe we should just sneak down there, find out what his plan is, and then meet up with Luna and the others.”

That’s a much more reasonable solution. Luna will know what to do, and we all stand a better chance of survival if we come back to this island with an army, not an elderly cyborg and two old changelings, only one of whom can use magic.

“I agree with Thorax,” I say. “We head below, find out what Black Fang’s plan is, and then get out of here.” What I don’t say is that we need to find out where he’s keeping his prisoners. No matter what happens, I am not leaving my wife here.

“Fine,” Chrysalis grumbles. “But know this: If we fail, then the two of you will have to carry that burden.”

Turning, Chrysalis takes one last look of the windows and roof, and then sprints across the pavement towards the factory’s main gate. Thorax is behind her, and then me. We reach the gate, where Thorax uses his magic to yank it open, the metal hinges groaning from the effort.

Chrysalis and Thorax silently slip inside, and I follow behind them.

Light gives way to darkness as Thorax pulls the gate shut behind us. It takes a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the dark, and to see that we’re inside a long, narrow cage... Sweet Celestia, this looks like a cattle feed. I’ve heard of them being used in other, more barbaric countries far beyond our shores; never did I imagine I’d ever see one. The track leading deeper into the factory is narrow, just big enough for individuals to pass through in a single-file line. Beyond the thick, reinforced bars are numerous emplacements for guards, some of which still hold guns, but there’s no one to man them. No machines are in operation, nor are there the sounds of distant screams, or the laughter of sadistic guards. But there were ponies and other prisoners here recently: the air is suffocating, thick with the musk of accumulated sweat and fear.

“This chute will lead us to Black Fang,” Chrysalis whispers.

“How do you know?” Thorax whispers back.

“Where else would they go?”

Thorax has no reply to that. He’s looking about, head darting back and forth, unnerved at being in such a dark and cruel place. Terrible things happened here, and he has no desire to know what happened.

Neither do I.

I hurry after my companions as they head down the concrete path. But it’s not a quick journey: We have to pass through numerous checkpoints and half-open gates, all set up like locks in a canal, meant to allow only a certain number of individuals through at any given time.

I try to ignore the drained bloodstains on the floors and the bars.

We finally make it through the last checkpoint and emerge onto a metal floor. Chains run up from the corners into the ceiling. We must be on an elevator.

“Is this it?” I whisper to Chrysalis.

She nods, pointing to a thick, reinforced window in one of the walls, revealing a control room beyond. “Thorax.”

Thorax teleports inside, materializing before a console. He studies it intently for a moment before tapping two buttons and adjusting various levers and knobs.

Distant, unseen machines come to life, the grinding of motors echoing throughout the facility. A few lights flicker as the elevator shudders, swaying ever-so slightly as Thorax throws a switch and teleports back in with us.

The chains jerk, and then the elevator descends into a darkened shaft, the walls lined with the gouges from chisels and shovels.

“You ready?” I ask Chrysalis.

“No.”

I nod. “Neither am I.”

With chains grinding and the platform swinging, the elevator continues down.

The air grows cold the further we descend. Few lights line the walls, making it difficult to see. It’s as if we’re being lowered into the coldest, darkest depths of Tartarus to join the horrors lurking within.

Chrysalis and Thorax shiver from the cold.

No one talks.

At last, the elevator slows. With a gentle bump, it comes to a stop before a long, narrow tunnel. The three of us remain still, listening for anything unusual.

Nothing happens.

Taking a deep breath to steel his nerves, Thorax steps off the elevator and gestures for us to follow him, indicating that we shouldn’t talk.

We head down the tunnel, hooves going over a well-worn path. It ends before a massive gate, and I struggle not to groan. It’s going to be difficult getting through something this big without making any noi-

Thorax takes hold of Chrysalis, and both are gone in a flash. Then he reappears and takes hold of me. A flash of light, a brief queasiness, and then we’re before the gate, and in...

Oh my.

I’ve been in giant, underground places before: Caverns filled with crystals, chambers overflowing with waterfalls, and underground cities that could hold entire skyscrapers. But the cavern before us is larger than all of them, towering up so high and stretching out so far that I can’t see where it ends. Giant stalactites and stalagmites stretch upwards and downwards like enormous towers. In the center is the biggest one, a pillar that plunges into darkness beneath us, accessible only by flying or crossing a long, narrow bridge that leads to it. We’re tiny in this place, smaller than ants, and with nowhere to hide from unfriendly eyes.

Yet, it’s not the size of the cavern or its depths that stuns me. It’s that this cavern has been formed from bright, blood-red rock, glistening and sparkling from the few glowing crystals scattered about us.

Thorax tries to say something, but his voice is gone.

“What is this?” I whisper.

Chrysalis’ eyes narrow as she studies the red walls. “It’s amber.”

“What?” Thorax asks.

Chrysalis points to the closest clumping of the stuff. “I’ve seen this type of amber before, in caves where my loyal minions and I hid.”

“Isn’t amber gold?” I ask.

“Some are. But there are other types: my kind use green amber when making cocoons within our hives.” She heads towards the nearest chunk of amber, doing her best to stay silent. Reaching the spike, she indicates for Thorax to break it off. He squeezes his eyes shut, and his horn lights up.

There’s a sharp crack as the amber moves.

“Thorax!” Chrysalis hisses.

“Sorry!” Thorax whispers back.

I look around the cavern, my heart pounding. The crack sent an echo throughout the cavern; did someone hear it?!

Nothing moves, nor can I hear anything.

Everything’s quiet.

Sweating, Thorax tries again, pulling the spike away from the walls as slowly as he can manage. When the chunk finally breaks free, Thorax breathes a sigh of relief as he gently lowers it to the ground.

Chrysalis wastes no time in looking the chunk over, running her hoof over its surface, studying the texture. Daring to pull my gaze away from the cavern, I head over to join her. The chunk’s bigger than a typical pony; how long did it take for amber to accumulate until it reached this size? Just how long would it have taken for the entire cavern to be covered? Millions of years? Billions, even?

“It can’t be...”

I look at Chrysalis. She’s gazing down at the amber, stunned.

“What?” I ask. “What is it?”

She points at the chunk. I don’t see anything out of the ordinary... wait. She’s not focusing on the chunk’s surface.

She’s pointing inside it, where a shape can just faintly be seen.

It’s difficult to make out what the shape is. A rock, perhaps? Some unfortunate, long-extinct animal that was caught in the amber as it formed? I squint, trying to make out more of the... the...

Oh Celestia...

A pony.

There’s a pony inside the amber.

Chrysalis looks up to the walls. Without any prompting, Thorax casts a light, illuminating the amber...

… revealing the forms of countless ponies encased within.

“There’s so many of them...” Thorax whispers, scarcely able to believe his own eyes. Neither can I; there has to be dozens... no, hundreds of them here.

The rest of the cavern... does the amber forming it hold others? If it does, then there has to be millions of ponies in here.

“These... these must be Black Fang’s prisoners,” Thorax whispers, his jaw dropping. “They... they must have all been brought here.”

That’s enough for me. “You two need to leave,” I say. “Get back to the surface, tell Luna about this place, and-”

The ground suddenly trembles.

We all stop talking.

A pebble falls into a tiny puddle, spreading ripples across the surface.

The trembling comes again, slowly becoming stronger.

A rumble reaches my ears. No, it’s not a rumble.

It’s a low, throaty growl.

Oh buck... oh buck! We have to hide! But where? Back! We have to go back to the elevator! I’ll fly us out and we’ll-

A giant chunk of black rock slams before the doors.

“Thorax! We need to teleport through!” I say.

Thorax tries casting his spell, but his horn just peeters out. “I... I can’t! The stone’s nullifying my magic!”

The central pillar sways as something climbs up from below.

I look to Thorax and Chrysalis in a panic. But they don’t know what to do or where to go.

We’re trapped.

A giant, black, clawed hand emerges from the darkness, soundlessly reaching upwards. Giant claws dig into the amber.

Another hand appears, followed by a giant head.

My jaw drops.

Oh Celestia…

The dragon that rises before us is something out of my deepest, darkest nightmares: he’s enormous, the largest living thing I’ve ever seen, larger than Manehattan's largest skyscraper. Black, impossibly strong muscles let the thing move more gracefully and smoothly than something his size should be capable of. Great, fleshy spikes jut from his spine and hang from his belly, neck, and chin, swaying as he continues climbing, the long, jagged horn upon the tip of his snout cutting into the pillar, two others stretching out from behind his skull, his giant, folded wings swaying upon his back.

Keeping still, I turn my eyes: Chrysalis and Thorax are as still as the amber surrounding us, not daring to breathe.

The dragon keeps climbing. Did he not hear us? Maybe he’s unaware of our presence. Oh please, Celestia, let us stay hidden!

Gripping the pillar, Black Fang turns and drops onto the bridge, the impact of his feet almost knocking us off our hooves.

He looks in our direction.

BUCK!

The beast lifts his head up and takes a deep sniff. “I had not expected visitors today.”

Celestia... that voice. It’s ancient, ragged, and full of power. Against such might, my charm will have no effect whatsoever.

Black Fang walks down the bridge. He’s taking his time. We... we should run. Hide, do something, anything! But there’s nowhere we can go!

The dragon finally reaches us and stops, an enormous, foggy red eye swiveling like a chameleon to focus on the three of us. His other eye is shut, the socket sunken as if the eye has been missing for millennia. His lids partially close as he squints, trying to make us out.

None of us move.

Giving up, the dragon sniffs the air again, his air rancid and uncomfortably warm.

He reeks of death.

“Three of you... all with the stench of age and decay.”

He takes another sniff.

“Two changelings and...”

He sniffs again, confused.

“Ah. A pony with metal. A cyborg. What brings the three of you here?”

I can’t speak. Neither can my companions. We’re mice before a lion, face to face with a being who can kill us without even trying.

“You’re from the Resistance, aren’t you? Have you come to seek a reprieve from your inevitable defeat? Or to beg for mercy, perhaps?”

Think, Silverspeak! Think! Pull yourself together! You can’t stay silent forever! If anyone’s going to talk with this beast, it has to be you! Thorax and Chrysalis can’t engage-

Taking a deep breath, Thorax steps forward. “I am King Thorax of the Changelings, and I have come to talk.”

Black Fang leans in low, his eye struggling to make him out. “Have you now?” A chuckle, and the spikes upon his chin sway back and forth. “How brave of you.”

“Your prisoners,” Thorax says, putting on his bravest voice, “those you have taken: What has become of them?”

“That depends on who they are. If it is ponies you seek, then they reside within this chamber.” He spreads his arms. “All safe and unharmed. But if you’re looking for changeling prisoners, yaks, dragons, and their ilk... well...”

He licks his lips, grinning.

“You need not concern yourself with them.”

Thorax takes a step back, staring at the dragon in horror. Then horror turns to rage, and Thorax’s fear is nowhere to be found as he steps forward. “I am here to negotiate the release of your prisoners, and to stop the hostilities between our races.”

“Now noble of you, King Thorax. Such valor is not often seen in these troubled times. And to come into the lair of your greatest foe... you are brave, indeed.”

False flattery does nothing to sway Thorax. “What will it take to end this war?” he demands.

“The complete and total surrender of the Resistance,”

“And what would happen afterwards?”

Another smile. “It will be a surprise.”

“If we are to deal, then we must be open with each other!” Catching himself, Thorax takes the briefest of moments to lower his voice. “Lies will not get us anywhere.”

“No, of course not. But perhaps I should find out what your companions want.” Sniffing, Black Fang’s eye swivels to Chrysalis. “And who might you be, changeling? Why have you come down here into the lair of your greatest foe?”

For once, Queen Chrysalis has nothing to say. She’s standing before a dragon that dwarfs her in every way, one who could reach out and squash her beneath his claws like a bug. She has no magic, and no power here, and she knows it.

It terrifies her.

“Oh? Too frightened to speak? Fear not: I will not harm you. Which leaves...”

That red eye turns to me.

“What is your purpose here, pony? Why follow these changelings into the lair of the beast?”

This is it. Gathering what courage I have, I crank my charm to its greatest power. “I share the same goal as Thorax, Black Fang. To end this war, and to end all hostilities between us.”

Black Fang doesn’t move.

Did he hear me? Should I speak again?

Leaning in low, Black Fang turns his head so that his eye is right before me. I can see myself reflected in his clouded iris, veins pulsing as that eye focuses on me.

Recognition flashes across that black orb.

“You...”

A smile crawls across Black Fang’s face as he pulls away. “You have no idea how long I have waited for this day, Silverspeak.”

I don’t care. “If we are to proceed,” I say, “then we must receive a token of good faith from you. A sign that you are not toying with us for your own amusement.”

Another chuckle. “And what token would satisfy you, Silverspeak?”

“The return of my wife, Beakbreaker.”

A chuckle. “I would imagine so. But if I am to present a token of good faith, then I require one from you as well.”

There’s movement in the corner of my eye. I glance over, and... what is Thorax doing?! He’s walking to Black Fang, going as slowly as he can. Is he trying to get himself crushed?!

No... no, he isn’t. He’s trying to get under Black Fang’s head. But why? Why would he...

Wait. There’s only one reason Thorax would risk such an act.

I snap my head back to the dragon. “What token would satisfy you?” I ask quickly. I have to keep Black Fang distracted at all costs. Make him focus on me, and only me.

“Something significant. Precious, to you, perhaps. Your other changeling companion, the one who hasn’t spoken: Who is she?”

“Is your sense of smell not strong enough?” I ask, hope turbocharging my charm. “Can you not identify her?”

“I have smelled many, Silverspeak. One changeling smells the same as any other.”

Chrysalis shakes her head, desperate for me to keep her identity a secret. But I have no choice: I have to keep this conversation going.

“She is Queen Chrysalis.”

Intrigued, Black Fang sniffs, then slowly turns his head as he zeroes in on her location. “Chrysalis... The last time we met, we were too busy capturing Celestia to talk.”

Giving me a death glare, Chrysalis focuses on the dragon. “And where is the Pony Princess now?”

Thorax gets under Black Fang’s chin.

“Ah, is that it?” Black Fang asks. “You’ve come to free your most hated enemy.”

“It is Twilight Sparkle that I hate,” Chrysalis hisses. “Perhaps you can tell me where she is, as well.”

“So you may end her life?”

Chrysalis indicates for Thorax to hurry up with a hasty roll of a hoof. “Yes!” she bellows. “Give me such satisfaction, and I may be persuaded to surrender!” A desperate idea comes to her. “And perhaps I can give you more, Black Fang, Father of all Dragons.”

She reaches out, touching a hoof to that enormous chin, trying to stroke him.

“I could... do things with you. Things you have never even imagined.”

“You seek to seduce me, changeling?”

“If it ensures my survival, then yes, I do.”

Stopping, Thorax starts to charge his horn.

“You must be desperate for revenge, Chrysalis,” Black Fang says. “But your hopes are in vain. I will not give you Twilight Sparkle, or Celestia. Their parts in what is to come are too valuable.”

“And what is your plan?” I ask.

Now Black Fang turns to me, surprised at my audacity. “Did you believe I would reveal it here, Silverspeak? That your charm might persuade me to reveal my deepest secrets before you?”

“It was worth a try,” I say.

The energies around Thorax’s horn are almost at their peak. Were he younger, Thorax could easily handle such power, but now he’s struggling not to pass out from what must be a horrific headache.

“I admire your honesty, Silverspeak,” Black Fang rumbles. “And I admire your willingness to work with Chrysalis, despite your sordid past together. But know this: Your resistance will fail. Your efforts will be for naught. I was here before ponies existed, before alicorns, before all others. I am the first, and I shall be the last. Many have tried to supplant me, and all have failed, and before this is over, you and all your kind will prostrate yourselves before before me.”

He smiles, hundreds of sharp, crooked teeth flashing before me.

“You and your companions cannot stop what is coming.”

With a scream, Thorax fires, and a beam of light erupts from the top of Black Fang’s skull, shining upwards like a spear.

The grin upon Black Fang’s face remains as he goes limp and collapses upon the bridge, Thorax rolling clear before tons of dragon-flesh crush him into goo. He struggles to rise, panting, sweating, but still trying to summon another spell. But he doesn’t need too.

Black Fang doesn’t move.

“That worked!” Thorax yells. “It actually worked!” He rushes to Chrysalis and me, grabbing us both in a giant bear hug. “We did it! We stopped Black Fang!” Even Chrysalis, who lost her kingdom to Thorax, tolerates the hug, but only for a few moments.

“Yes... we have.” Pulling herself free, Chrysalis glares at the giant corpse. “Now come. We must inform the others.”

“But what about them?” Thorax asks, gesturing to the red amber surrounding us. “We can’t leave them.”

“I’ll stay,” I say.

“And do what?” Chrysalis asks. “Find your beloved wife among millions of prisoners?”

“Black Fang would have stored his most valuable prisoners in an important location.” I point to the single pillar in the center of the cavern. “I’m guessing it’s in there. The two of you go and find Luna. Tell her that Black Fang is dead, and his plan ruined.”

“Unless it has already been set in motion,” Chrysalis says.

“Either way, Luna needs to know. Now go.”

Realizing that I’m right, Chrysalis starts down the bridge towards the door, gesturing for Thorax to follow her, which he does.

“We’ll have to go around the stone,” Chrysalis says. “Find another way to-”

Something red hits Chrysalis, ramming her into the stone. She cries out, but only for a second before she’s enveloped in wet amber. It cracks as it hardens, becoming solid in seconds, leaving her entombed inside.

I spin as Black Fang rises, blood pouring from a wound in the back of his head. He blinks, in great pain, but alive... and very ticked off.

“Clever,” he growls. “Perhaps I should have told you how I took magic from those I consumed.”

Scales and flesh stitch themselves back together, connective tissue reaching out to cover the hole under his jaw.

“Magic which can rejuvenate a body that should have died long ago.”

I can’t move. That was our best shot, our greatest chance to kill Black Fang, and he... he just shrugs it off as if it were nothing! Nothing! And now our chances of negotiating any deal with him are nonexistent. He won’t give us another chance, not after-

I hear movement to my left. I spin; Thorax is running for me, his horn lighting up. But before he can reach me, he’s hit with the same red liquid that engulfed Chrysalis.

“Thorax!”

I run to him, but the glue-like fluid is hardening quickly. He tries to fight, but in seconds the amber balloons, encasing him before it hardens, freezing him in place.

His eyes lock on mine, pleading for aid before the amber fogs over.

I rear back to kick the amber and shatter it; I have to get him out before-

Something wet and gloopy hits me! I look down to see that horrible fluid rapidly rising up. covering my legs in seconds, and then the rest of me. I struggle, but I can’t break free!

The goo stops just below my chin. There’s a cracking, and I feel the goo harden into amber, making it impossible to move! I still try, yanking and tugging, but the amber refuses to give.

Wait... what’s happening? My neck... it feels like it’s going numb! I... I can’t feel it anymore! I can still breathe, but I can’t feel it!

“It won’t kill you.”

I look up to see Black Fang studying me. “Nor will it kill your companions,” he says. “They’re already unconscious: this amber numbs everyone it touches into stasis.” He spits some of the liquid onto a finger, then reaches out and rubs it onto my horn. In moments, it goes numb as well.

I struggle; while my neck may be numb, I can still feel my mechanical parts.

My struggles amuse Black Fang. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to see you here, Silverspeak, how I’ve longed for a moment between us. Now, it’s finally come.”

Oh Celestia, is he going to eat me?! Torture me!? I won’t go quietly! I’ll fight with everything I have! I’ll even bite his tongue if he tries to swallow me!

Chuckling, Black Fang lies down on the bridge. Then, as if a switch has been flicked, he goes limp. His eyes are empty and dull, every muscle in his body relaxed, his teeth lazily grinding against one another before going still.

I stare at the limp dragon. It’s like he’s dead.

What in heaven’s name-

Black Fang’s head moves. It wobbles slightly, shaking.

The top of his skull bulges. Then the scales and skin split open like an unfurling flower.

What in Tartarus?!

A giant, fleshy, blood-soaked membrane rises from the skull. It stretches and slides away, revealing a...

A pony?!

The aged pony standing atop the dragon’s skull has long passed the prime of his life. He was once strong, perhaps, but his body has been ravaged by the passage of time, pale and weakened, looking more like a corpse that should have been buried long ago. His wrinkled, leather-like skin is pierced by countless, vine-like veins that coil around his body like snakes, pulsing as blood flows through them, acting like intravenous tubes in a hospital patient.

The pony’s head moves. The veins retract, giving him more freedom of movement.

What is this? I’ve never heard or read of anything like... like a parasitic relationship between a pony or a dragon. Just what’s-

The last veins fall away, and the pony looks to me with eyeless sockets.

Wait.

That face.... It can’t be. It’s not possible!

I shake.

No... no. No, no, no, no! It can’t be!

IT CAN’T BE!

The pony smiles at my horror.

“Hello, Silverspeak,” Mangus Bluehorn says. “How wonderful to see you again.”