"You're kidding, right?"

Fancy Pants' smile turned a bit crooked. "An odd time for a joke, wouldn't you think?"

The three of them stood at the crest of a small hill. Princess Luna watched the flow of conversation between the two men. saying nothing as she knelt on one knee. She clutched a glowing red pendant, holding it by the inconspicuous black chain. Muttering under her breath, she seemed to be making last-minute enchantments.

Spike, on the other hand, was less occupied. He fidgeted awkwardly. "So, when you saw me in that bar a couple of months ago—"

"Complete coincidence," Fancy Pants said. "I recognized your face, but not your position."

Spike relaxed ever so slightly. For a fleeting moment, he had been worried that their meeting had been contrived. He wouldn't have put it past Luna, with all her experience, to put such an important encounter in motion.

He eyed the older man. Gone was his nigh-omnipresent suit and tie, replaced instead with slim black dress robes and a stark white collar. "So," he spoke, "Arch Mage."

The blue-haired man turned to face the setting sun, hands clasped behind his back. "Didn't you ever think it odd that a mere socialite would possess knowledge as a surgeon?"

Spike shrugged. "Honestly? I just thought you had free time on your hands. That or it ran in the family."

Fancy Pants laughed. "Funny, that."

Spike blinked. "What is?"

The noble turned back to face Spike. His smile was sincere, but oddly blank. For a moment, he said nothing. Then...

"What do you know about your family, Spike? Your blood?"

The drake stiffened. He didn't like talking about them. Ever.

"Not much, I guess. Never met them."

Fancy Pants could feel the eyes of the Princess on his back. He could imagine she was shooting him a silent warning, but he paid her no heed. "Orphan, then?"

Spike shook his head stiffly. "Dragons don't die that easily. The sire usually never stays around for long if there isn't an emotional attachment, but the mot-" He slipped over the word. "The dam will usually nurse the clutch to an age where they could survive on their own."

Fancy Pants' face remained passive. "Or?" He urged.

Spike's scowl became more and more unpleasant, until it resembled that of a break in a rock. "Or, if the dam doesn't think the clutch will be strong enough to survive, or if the offspring shows a fault, she'll leave it to die and start somewhere else."

Fancy Pants whistled softly. "So, what was wrong with you?"

Spike's eyes narrowed, his fists clenching at his sides. If Fancy Pants had a point, he wished he would get to it. "I was small, and the only egg in the clutch." He heard the chanting at his side grow faster, as the Princess seemed keen to finish and say her piece.

"Logic said that I wouldn't survive on my own."

Fancy Pants nodded, turning back to the horizon.

For a time, it seemed he wouldn't say anything on the matter. His shoulders slumped, and he stepped to the edge of the cliff.

Luna's eyes widened for an instant. Spike started after him, but it was unnecessary. The Arch Mage stooped down, sitting himself on the crest of the high hill, his back to his comrades.

Finally, he said, "I, on the other hand, grew up with both of my parents." He patted the ground next to him. "Come hither, boy."

Slowly, Spike approached the older man, sitting next to him. His large hands raced over each other, as if some unseeable anxiety ate at him.

"I was born to a pair of nobles a matter of years ago. The third child of four, and the second boy." He sighed. "My parents were esteemed merchants, and they never hesitated to make time for me or my siblings."

Spike said nothing. Was he trying to make him jealous? To what end?

"They would spend hours teaching us the trade, helping us with schoolwork, making sure we became proper nobles. It was expected, you see." He spared Spike a sideways glance. "Your fate is all but determined as a noble from the moment you are born. Granted, my oldest brother would be the one to inherit the family business, so I would be expected to make my own mark.

He leaned back on his hands. "I was decent at the tasks I was given. Competent, but not especially gifted. But I was content."

His frown turned deeper at the edges. "My parents were always making certain to build me up, to say that I would follow in their footsteps in a wondrous way. 'The busiest men have the most leisure,' my father would always say."

Fancy Pants chuckled deeply. his smile turning morose. "I hated my father."

Spike started, his eyes widening. "W-what?"

The older man ran a hand through his hair, his expression wistful. "I suppose it is unbecoming of a man to complain about his childhood." He laughed again, but there was no humor in it. "Though I suppose I should use that word loosely."

The hill was silent, and Spike realized absently that the Princess had finished her enchantments, and was listening intently.

"I loathed living at home. Every dinner was a lecture. Every slouch was reward by a ruler to the wrist. I bowed to men I didn't respect and kissed the hands of repulsive women." His body was rigid. "My mother would insist on making 'friendships' with the right people early on in life, regardless of how I felt. I wasn't allowed to be around the people I wanted to befriend. Did you know it is possible to auction off a groom to be wed to the daughter of a prominent family? Ten years before he is a legal adult, no less?"

Spike shook his head no. He was at a loss for words.

"Yes, well, my mother was responsible for that particular hiccup. It was my father, however, who allowed it all to happen. He saw how miserable I was under their orders. He knew, and even when I confronted him, he did nothing."

He sighed. "'Listen to your mother,' he said. 'It's for the good of the family.'"

"How did you proceed?" Luna asked softly.

"The only way I could," Fancy Pants said, bitterly. "I found a well-paying job for my age and bided my time. Three long, harrowing years later, I moved out from under them and supported myself. I was fifteen."

Spike felt his chest sag. He didn't know what to say to comfort the older man, but he realized that any apology would never seem sincere without understanding.

"And then....I never saw them again," Fancy Pants said, blankly. "I moved clear to the other side of Canterlot, but it was unnecessary. A house fire took my father and youngest sister a number of years after I left." Luna gasped in shock, reaching a hand to her lips. Spike was speechless, his eyes the size of golfballs.

"My mother never learned to cope, so she took my brother and moved to the east. Out of sight, out of mind, I suppose."

Spike swallowed. "Are you okay?" He wanted to slap himself in the face for such a dumb question. "Now, I mean."

Fancy Pants turned to him, smirking darkly. "Of course. I am always okay."

Spike averted his eyes from the older man. "So, uh, what was the moral of the story?"

Fancy Pants gave an uncharacteristic snort. "Moral? There wasn't one. Wasn't supposed to be one." He scratched his cheek. "But I suppose if you had to squint, it would be that a shared burden becomes a lighter one."

Now it was Spike's turn to snort. "Really? I didn't pick up on that at all."

"Not in his recollection, Spike," Luna corrected, "but in the act of the telling itself. By his tone, it would seem that our Fancy Pants has not deigned to share this very personal and influential part of his life with many others. We are a privileged few."

The Arch Mage nodded. "Indeed. Even now, I feel as though a great weight has lifted from my chest. I thank you both for listening to my story." He started to smile again as he looked at Spike. "Should we survive tonight, it is my wish that you use me as a listening ear whenever you should require me."

Spike nodded in agreement: something about being able confide in an older, more experienced man gave him a relief he rarely felt. Twilight and Luna both were both fine listeners, but he loathed whenever either woman would try to make him see the best of any possible situation, rather than simply hear him out and sympathize with him.

I need more guy friends, he noted.

"Well then," Princess Luna said, striding between the two of them, "I believe we are nearly out of time." She moved to Spike, wrapping the blackened cord around his neck. "This is Tarturian Obsidian," she warned, locking eyes with Spike. "It is extremely heat resistant, but it reacts poorly to force."

Spike nodded. "Why not just use enchanted metal?"

The Princess's face was stern. "Because I lost my apatite."

Silence.

"Really?" she said, squinting harshly. "Not even a titter?"

"Heh," the two men chuckled.

Luna rolled her eyes. "Anyway, we had better get started. Spike, focus your magical pressure directly under your pectorals. Fancy Pants, you know what to do."

Both magicians nodded. Spike closed his eyes in concentration. The exercise was far easier than when he had initially started to control his innate magic. He was far from a natural like Twilight, but his consistency had paid off.

Soon, the bottom of his sternum had started to gather heat, similar to a Bunsen burner.

Fancy Pant's hands started to glow blue, and as he approached his peer, he murmured, "Hold still."

Without warning, his hands shot forward towards Spike's chest. They stopped just short of touching him, but the tendrils of sparkling blue magic extended into him. Spike had to fight to suppress struggling.

The feeling wasn't painful, but it was far from natural. It was similar to having an itch under your skin, but it seemed to travel through every part of him.

Finally, the magic seemed to latch onto the heat in Spike's sternum, and Fancy Pants pulled.

Now, it had started to hurt.

Spike grunted painfully, digging his heels into the ground to keep from moving forward. His eyes were still closed, but he had an idea of what was happening. Fancy Pants was tugging something out of his body, leaving his flesh chilled and his blood unusually tepid.

Then, he felt the something being divided with magic, first into halves, then into fourths, and finally into eighths. Each length latched onto a singular object, a stone that seemed to pulse with uncharacteristic warmth.

A dull thud sounded into the ground beneath him, and all was quiet.

"It is finished," said Luna.

Spike opened his eyes. The Princess had raised a glowing hand, moving in a seemingly erratic pattern over his body. "The ruby has accepted your vitality," she stated. The hand moved again. "You may experience a slight boiling sensation. Do not panic: it is your life force being filtered through the stone and flowing back into you."

Spike took a deep breath. When he exhaled, however, a spout of flame leapt from his mouth, a foot in length. He clapped a hand over his mouth. "I did not mean to do that," he said.

Luna smirked wryly. "You will have to adapt to your powers another time. For now, you will need little restraint."

Fancy Pants wiped the soot from his face. "Quite."

"Twilight," asked the Princess, "do you know what a Balrog is?"

The student blinked. "I've heard the name before, but I can't say I've come across them in my studies."

Celestia nodded. "As it would naturally be. They have been wrapped in obscurity for the greater part of recent history." She leaned forward, a glowing digit tracing the spine of Monsters and Myths. The Princess turned to read from the book. "They are a long-extinct race of malevolent spirits. Unique, in that they can adopt a physical form composed of shadow and fire."

"I, uh, heard mention of them the other night," Twilight admitted. "Supposedly they live in volcanoes?"

"Born in volcanoes," Celestia said gently. "Or, at least, structures similar to volcanoes. They are, or rather, were, conceived in Tartarus. The dark of the pit serves as their essence, and heat gives them form."

Twilight nodded, her mouth opening in comprehension. "The heat rises in a cohesive mass and forms land structures."

"Exactly," the Princess confirmed. "As a result, the environment warps when the mass reaches the surface. It is a magical phenomenon, one which warps the immediate landscape into a stone womb. It is a false volcano."

Twilight whistled. Passive magic from an unborn being that could cause limited local terraforming? Strong stuff.

A thought sprang to her mind. "Wait, if they're long extinct, why did this one spring up?"

Celestia raised an eyebrow, and Twilight remembered that her teacher had not yet actually confirmed the survival of the fire demons. "Apparently," she said slowly, "this particular being never woke from its slumber. It is possible it remained asleep for eons, but I find it more likely that it was a stillborn."

Twilight wrinkled her nose. "How do you figure that?"

The Princess steepled her fingers together, frowning. "Remember, Twilight, they are spirits. Their very existence is different from ours, and their lives do not share the same consequences as ours either. A dead Balrog would lose its fire and have its essence retreat to Tartarus."

Twilight's eyes widened, her spine stiffening. "But a stillborn would still be trapped in a warm womb!"

Celestia nodded gravely. "Precisely. Its consciousness may be scattered for a time, but its essence would remain intact when kept packed so closely together. A significantly powerful event or individual, however, would very well be capable of rallying it."

"Spike," Twilight whispered. It only made sense. So he was telling the truth...

"It seems that the growth of a dragon's power is universally tied to greed," the Princess mused. "Each person they establish sexual dominance over adds to their own magical and physical abilities. This would be worrying, if not for the inherent nature of dragons to keep to themselves."

"How does it work?" Twilight asked. "Do we know? That's always been kind of vague to me."

"I will do my best to explain what I have learned," Celestia said. "It would appear that a person who is still discovering his or herself is more susceptible to domination, than, say, a person who knows exactly who they are." A small smirk creased her mouth. "So, tragic as it is to say, not much would be gained from sleeping with myself or my sister."

Twilight nodded in understanding. "So, how many babies would he have to—"

"Do not finish that sentence."

"Fine, fine," Twilight shrugged, trying and failing at suppressing a grin. "Still, that's...wow. That's a dangerous combination."

"You see my point," Celestia said. "Now do you comprehend the full measure of my proposal?"

Twilight hated to admit it, but she did. "I guess so, yeah. I thought it was more of a crack idea you put together last minute, to be honest."

Celestia spared her a trivial smirk. "A reasonable, if unfounded doubt. It was one of several contingency plans I have concocted over the years. A life of dedication to a single woman would keep the balance of power in check, along with several other added benefits."

"So you didn't just want grandchildren?" Twilight teased.

"'Several other added benefits'," Celestia reiterated.

Twilight rolled her eyes, smiling. "No promises," she said, honestly.

Celestia frowned, getting up from her seat. "I suppose I couldn't expect more." She tried a smile. "If that is what you wish, my dear." She turned, making for the exit.

The purple-haired librarian twitched. "Wait, aren't you going to put the book back up?"

Celestia glanced over her shoulder. "It will be fine, Twilight."

"Well, sure it'll be fine, if you think disorder and misconduct is fine!"

Now it was Celestia's turn to roll her eyes. "If it matters that much to you, feel free to put it back yourself, librarian."

"I can't, I wasn't watching you when you got it from the shelves!" She stressed. She knew she should've taken her blood pressure medicine this morning. "And there are dozens of unmarked bookcases in here!"

Celestia pursed her lips. "Well, my dear, that sounds like a personal problem."

She strutted out of the library, chuckling. Twilight could be so obsessive-compulsive at times.

"Celestia!"

"Alright," Spike grumbled, flexing his arm in order to get the blood pumping, "Let's get this over with."

The other two magicians stepped to the side, though Luna kept her eyes on the surrounding badlands. "Constant vigilance," she reminded him, before stepping into the shadows.

"I will be hidden for the duration of this battle, waiting for the opportune moment. You may summon me if my services are needed, but hopefully it will not come to that. Try not to get shot up," Fancy Pants warned.

"I'll do that," Spike said dryly. As Fancy Pants disappeared in a flash, Spike maintained his pace, entering a dip in a smooth valley of sediment. If the smell in the air was right, he had arrived at the right destination.

He drew in his breath, bellowing, "Gar-" a spout of flame temporarily blinded him. "Shit, I can't see!"

"Go home, loser!" a familiar voice called out.

Spike rubbed his eyes, calling out more carefully this time, "You know, I was just about to. But now I have to stay just to spite you."

A snort followed, this time accompanied by a female voice. "Buzz off, pencil dick! We're busy!"

Gilda, he thought. He shrugged. His mission was the same, even if there was one more nuisance he had to deal with. "The sooner you come out, the sooner we can get this over with!"

"Not in the mood," Garble's voice said, apparently sulky. Spike started—how had he snuck up right beside him without Spike noticing?

If the older dragon noticed his surprise, he didn't comment on it. He wore no shirt, and had only a pair of dark red knee-length shorts covering him. His chest had a single scar marring his pectorals "My consulting-with-bitches hours are from nine to five on weekdays." He yawned, and Spike could have sworn he saw a wisp of abnormally black smoke escape from his mouth. "Now beat it, before I glass you." His eyes narrowed into a yellow slit.

"Not happening," Spike said, standing his ground. "I've got a job to do, and I'm not leaving until it's done."

"That," Garble said, pointing at the younger drake, "is not my problem. Besides, it's too late in the day. I'm not about to deal with you or your shitty pop culture references."

Spike scowled. "At least I don't look like I dipped my hair in my girlfriend's period."

Garble's jaw dropped, as if he was too busy being disgusted to be angry. "Why the hell would you even say that."

Gilda chortled again, walking out from sizeable crack in a relatively small mesa. "He got ya there, G."

Garble turned to her, snarling. "For fuck's sake, Gilda, put some pants on. We got guests." He turned back to Spike. "Annoying guests, but still."

The older woman grumbled, scratching her back lazily. "Who gives a shit? We're at home." She wore a pair of black panties and a dingy brown t-shirt. Her slender legs were bare.

Spike winced. "You live here?"

"Running water and electricity, jackass. It's a renovated home, real fucking modern." Gilda sounded irritated. "Besides, I know how much you dragon-types love your rocks.

Dammit, she's right, Spike thought. I fucking love rocks. "Look," Spike said, growing impatient, "there's a problem here. Someone here was moronic enough to eat an ancient demon, and now it's my job to make sure you two and everyone for a hundred miles doesn't get killed."

Garble's eyes narrowed. "I took care of the demon already. We're not in any danger."

Gilda, however, didn't look so confident. "Wait, G. If that thing's still alive, it might explain why your piss turned black earlier.

"What."

The redheaded dragon frowned. "Shit, you're right. That'd explain that Latin chanting I heard when we were fucking earlier too."

"Nyahaha," Spike said, covering his ears. "I did not need that information."

"Alright, I'm convinced," Garble said, albeit reluctantly. "Do what you came here to do. Exorcise me, or whatever."

Spike rolled his eyes, moving toward the older man. "Try to relax," he said. His eyes flicked to Gilda. "You might want to go inside."

She snorted, but complied. "Have fun bonding, ass wipes."

The two dragons watched her disappear into the house. "She's cute," Spike said.

Garble snarled. "Don't even."

He shrugged. "Anyway, here's the deal: this creature, this Balrog, is a spirit of malevolence. We're lucky, seeing as how this one's still a baby."

The red-haired dragon looked unconvinced. "That thing was the size of a house. You expect me to believe that it's just a kid?"

"No," Spike said impatiently, "I'm expecting you to chime in every two sentences with your opinion. Now let me finish."

Garble rolled his eyes. "I cannot believe what a little shit you grew up to be." His eyes narrowed. "If you'd been raised properly, we wouldn't be knee-deep in shit like we are now."

"If you're anything like the rest of our people, I would've been better off dead," Spike spat. "Every dragon I've ever met has only been bad news, Garble. You're no exception."

The larger drake knew they were getting off-topic, but he couldn't care less: this little talk was years overdue. "Yeah, kid, I'm not a patron saint. Big deal. But at least I don't kid myself about it. I see people for what they are," he said, thumping his chest. "And let me tell you, your shit stinks."

"Oh, so I'm kidding myself?!" Spike asked, incredulously. He was fuming. Literally. A single wisp of smoke wafted from his head, unbidden. "Excuse me if I'm not a psychopathic, egg-smashing, would-be murderer!"

"Kiss already!" Gilda's voice called out from the window.

The two dragons glared at each other, chests heaving. The tension was palpable. Spike could feel a fight coming, like a bomb primed for an explosion. All it would take was a shift in his step.

And yet...

Earlier, he had been confident that he could handle any problem the older dragon would pose. Then, when he had lost track of his movement, only to be caught completely off-guard by his rapid approach, he wasn't so sure.

A tiny, ridiculous thought called out to him from the back of his mind. He tried to pay it no mind, but it was insistent.

What if the demon was amplifying his powers?

The rogue thought was troubling, but it told him nothing he didn't know already. All the more reason for him to finish the job at hand.

Taking a deep breath, Spike relaxed his shoulders. He felt the fight seep out of him.

When he was ready, he turned his attention back to Garble. "When I give the signal, run for the hills."

Garble's stare was malevolent. "I don't think so. I'm not going to leave my fiance here alone with a demon. Or the Balrog, for that matter."

Spike ignored the slight. "You'd be putting her in more danger by being here. You're the one who trapped it. You're the one it's gonna be gunning for."

Garble fixed his jaw, saying nothing. His silence was deafening.

Spike snorted, frustrated with his nerve, but not surprised. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

The Firedrake held his hand out, compelling the constant flow of energy to gather at his hand. Soon, his palm was glowing with green magic, flickering with the appearance of unnatural fire. Without hesitation, he clutched at the Fire Ruby on his chest, feeling the pulse of magic send the pendant into overdrive.

He felt a subtle hum in the air, though there was no sound to be heard. His insides felt as if they were burning, but pleasantly so, as if he was taking a steaming hot bath and the water had seeped inside every pore, bathing him.

All of his senses were amplified to a staggering degree, though they were not debilitating. His sense of smell sharpened, and the pinpoint location of the demon was clear to him, where before there had been only guesses.

There!

Without warning, he darted forward. Quick as thought, he jabbed into Garble's stomach with his fingers. He sent a short but intense flame into the older drake's stomach, ignoring his pained squawk.

As soon as the flames reached around the heated diamond, he pulled, compelling them to return to him.

In seconds, the magic flames, the same that he once used to send letters to the Princess, billowed out from Garble's upturned mouth. In another second, they coiled together, forming a pitch black diamond.

Taking no chances, Spike heaved the jewel into the air, summoning his fire for an intense blast of pure force.

That's when things went wrong.

Celestia hummed to herself as she made her way down the hall.

Things were going better than expected. Twilight may have rebelled against what she thought was best, but that itself was promising news; she had long worried that the girl would have to be weaned off of her teacher's influence, so devoted was the faithful student.

Her fears, if not unfounded, were better relieved for the meeting of the two women. Over a glass or two, the Princess was confident that they could arrive at a solution.

Tucked under Celestia's arm was a bottle of Chardonnay, two wine glasses tucked into the contours of her fingers. She would use their conversation about Twilight's current...situation, to segue into a lesson of socializing at dinners and other high-society events.

Twilight had always dodged education on aristocracy with an uncharacteristic vehemence, but now that she was older...

Celestia smiled. She would see to it that Twilight had a good day.

Twilight was having a good day.

She leaned back in Celestia's cushioned recliner, the very same she would nestle in to read books with her mentor when she was a child. She held a steaming mug of tea between her hands, and she had just curled up to have an undisturbed session with Monsters and Myths.

Princess Celestia had coaxed her student into enjoying the rest of her evening in her own private study, far from the prying eyes of the public, while she finished her duties for the day.

"Stay here, stay quiet, and try not to break anything this time," had been her exact words.

"Are you still holding a grudge for when I broke your microscope?" Twilight had said, indignant. "That was forever ago!"

"Last month, to put a fine point on it," the Princess had said, plainly.

So now, here she was, passing the time until her mentor returned. She hummed, opening the book to where she had left off earlier. She hadn't known where to put it on the bookshelves, so she had decided to take it with her. Who knew? It might come in handy later.

She curled deeper still into the chair. She knew she should send a message of some sort to Spike, to let him at least know where she was. After all, she had been gone all day...

Thump.

Twilight started as a dull shockwave rattled the windows, slightly jarring the tower. It was fleeting; too quick to be an earthquake, and yet the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Somehow, she knew there was something wrong.

She leaned to the side, looking through a nearby window. She didn't expect to see anything, not at this time of night.

But as her eyes closed in on a black, fiery explosion in the distance, her hopes plummeted. A deep, winding pit coiled into her stomach, a nervous sweat breaking out onto her face.

Spike.

She threw the mug and book to the side, kicking on her shoes as she got to her feet. She had to leave the castle immediately; it was imbued with wards that prevented anyone but Celestia or Luna from gaining entrance via magic.

She raced outside of the study, bowling over a surprised Princess Celestia and breaking the bottle of wine and pair of glasses that she carried.

"Sorry!" she said, wincing as she turned the corner, catching the view of her teacher drenched in Chardonnay.

As she dashed into the courtyard, calling on her magic to make the jump, she could hear Celestia's annoyed voice.

"Dammit, Twilight, you had one job!"

Technically, everything was still going to plan.

Make contact with Garble? Check.

Expel the Balrog? Check.

That was all fine and good, but Spike had neglected to account for a detail or two.

As he knew, the demon was only a baby when it had awoken. A veritable threat, but not unmanageable for a magician of his caliber.

No, the problem with the infant Balrog was that it was simply that: an infant. As in, it hadn't finished growing.

So by the time Spike had pieced together that the baby wasn't quite a baby anymore, and that the burning insides of a dragon such as Garble had perhaps served as an incubator, the Balrog was the size of a redwood tree and the plan got a lot more complicated.

It was a sight to behold, if nothing else. Spike had never believed that shadow could become a solid object, but the demon seemed to be a wall of impenetrable darkness. Its horns were curved like that of a rams, and its burning claws were made for cleaving stone and flesh. It lacked any eyes, and Spike couldn't help but compare the creature to a walking, demonic jack-o-lantern, with the body of a jacked humanoid bat.

"Nothing's ever simple, is it?" Spike said, bitterly.

True to Spike's predictions, the fire demon turned toward Garble, recognizing his presence. It growled, a sound like a forest fire emanating from its mouth. Without warning, it swung a heavy claw at the redheaded drake, clawing through solid rock in the process.

Cusing, Garble leapt out of the way, barely. "What the hell!" he yelled, yellow eyes bright and uncertain. "This thing is pulling me in somehow!"

Spike blinked, not understanding what he meant. Then, he looked down.

Shit! he thought, backpedaling. This thing is so dense, it has its own gravitational pull! How is that possible?!

A beam of magical lightning struck the Balrog in its chest, buffeting it but causing no physical damage.

Luna descended upon the pair of them. "Beware!" she yelled, summoning a massive shield to keep the monster at bay. "The beast is still connected to Tartarus!"

"Meaning?" Garble yelled, unfazed by the Princess's appearance. He looked shaken.

"Tartarus is a pit!" Spike yelled back, stepping sideways from his comrades to flank the Balrog, never taking his eyes off of the creature. "Everything inside is kept there by a massive gravity well!" He winced as the creature battered at the blue shield of magic, shattering it as if it was so much glass.

"Do not approach it! We do not know the position of the event horizon!" Luna yelled, taking to the air once the shield broke.

"Don't have to tell me twice," Garble grumbled, turning and running in the opposite direction.

As soon as the Balrog lumbered after the other drake, Spike knelt, concentrating. The powerful hum of the Fire Ruby still ran deep in him, stoking his magic and amplifying it. He knew there would be consequences for using it for such a long period of time, but that was a problem for another day.

He called upon his fire, drawing it to the back of his throat. With magic, he coaxed it into shape, feeding it and its ferocity until he was sure it would be sufficient. Finally, his fireball was complete. He took aim at the demon, and spat the flame forth.

POP!

"Hey—SHIT!" Twilight yelled, just barely ducking under the flaming missile as she teleported directly in front of Spike.

Spike's heart nearly stopped right then. He heaved an audible sigh once he realized his friend was alright, but was still shaking with surprise. "What the hell was that?!" he barked. "I could've taken your torso off!"

Twilight got up from the ground, dusting her skirt off. "I came to help, believe it or not. I wasn't about to stay in Canterlot and wait for a call from the mortician."

Spike wrinkled his nose. "Would it kill you to have a little more faith in me?" Despite his tone, he was undoubtedly glad to see Twilight, though the circumstances could be better. A thought popped into his head. "Wait, how did you know to come here?"

The librarian shrugged. "Celestia told me." She stiffened, glaring over Spike's shoulder. "That, and your friend over there paid me a visit last night."

Spike's eyes widened, before narrowing in contempt. "Did he hurt you?"

Twilight scoffed. "As if. His girlfriend was a little grabby, though."

Spike blinked. "Gilda?" Then, "Did—"

"No, I was not into it."

Spike deflated. Then, "Well—"

"No, I did not record it."

"Dang," he said, frowning. He turned, remembering that there was a situation at hand. "Well, hopefully we'll be done here soon. That fireball I just cast—"

Just then, the aforementioned missile collided with the Balrog, exploding. The force was substantial, but the demon's body seemed to warp around it. The weaker fires sputtered out, but the shadows seemed to absorb the shock. The Balrog stumbled forward a step, but paid the Firedrake no mind, opting instead to continue chasing Garble.

"—did jack shit, apparently." Spike turned back to Twilight, frowning. "Well, I guess it's on to plan B."

Before Twilight could ask what plan B was, Spike drew two fingers to his mouth, whistling.

In a snap, two magicians were at their sides. Princess Luna greeted Twilight with a terse nod. The older gentleman Twilight vaguely recognized, but if he was surprised to see her, he didn't show it.

"Alright," Spike said, rolling on the balls of his feet. "Force isn't going to work. A concussive blast is too weak to counter the density of the shadows, and I'd rather not try anything more dangerous."

"Why not?" Luna said, frowning. "We are pressed for options as it is."

"Because," Spike said, "even if I could make an explosion strong enough to kill it, it would be too dangerous. That fireball I threw? It's a pretty good gauge of what that thing can take, and nothing short of glassing these badlands is going to have a lasting effect."

Luna's frown cut even deeper, but she said nothing. Fancy Pants sighed, rubbing his temples. "I fear I am of limited use in this situation, but I will do what I can." He looked to Spike. "I assume you have a plan?"

Spike nodded. "It's simple: I need the three of you to throw up your strongest shields."

Twilight frowned. "Really? That seems kind of tame."

Princess Luna shifted. "What are you planning, Spike?" She looked uneasy, as if she had an inkling of what he was planning. If she did, it was plain to see that she didn't like it.

"I'm going to try blast-burning it," he admitted. "I need the explosion to be contained. This environment has housed a dormant demonic creature for centuries, and I think it's pretty obvious how much magic energy has charged the atmosphere here.

It was true. Even as Twilight stood there, she could feel the ambient buzzing of the badlands. It wasn't the warm, tender feel of Celestia's sun, or the hum of Spike's natural vitality; the atmosphere felt volatile and chaotic, as if someone had filled replaced the sky with methane.

"The shield," Spike continued, "is for containing the heat, and making sure the rest of this area doesn't suffer from a localized meltdown. Make sure to keep yourselves safe."

The three of them nodded, albeit reluctantly, and dashed to surround the creature.

Spike grasped Twilight by the shoulder, halting her. "I'm glad you came," he said, smiling awkwardly. "We might not have been able to do this with just two people." He paused, and to Twilight, it seemed as if he was weighing the choice of whether or not to tell her something.

"Spike," she warned, "we don't have much time."

"Right," he said, coming to his senses. Then, almost hesitantly, he leaned forward, surprising her with a kiss on her cheek. "It...it was nice to see you again."

Twilight felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over her head. "Spike?" she asked, reaching her hand out.

But he was already sprinting away.

Surely enough, the three spellcasters had summoned a mighty magical construct; a dome, three layers thick, large enough to encase the Balrog in a cage at least three times its size. It battered at the walls, but to no avail. Princess Luna grunted: her spell was the most powerful, and as such, the most consuming. For the moment, though, it held.

Spike leapt through a man-sized hole in the shield, slowing his breathing. He absently felt a pair of eyes on his back, burning. He called out to Garble, "I'd close my eyes, if I were you."

Squaring his shoulders, he pooled all of his magic into a single point: the ruby on his chest. A harsh scarlet light fell over the mountains, coating everything in a flickering light.

Luna's eyes widened, her stance slackening. "Stop!" She yelled, shaking. She inched her way toward her pupil, only for her shield to waver. Cursing, her stopped, but kept her eyes on her student. "Spike!" she screamed, "Do not do this!"

If her could hear her, he paid her no mind. Spike concentrated all his focus into one command, one thought that was his answer to every time he'd been ignored or unwanted.

"Burn."

Luna cursed, biting her tongue until she tasted blood. She had to avert her eyes, so bright were the ebbing flames on the inside of the magical structure.

Why do I keep doing this to myself?

She was beginning to think that mentoring young minds was a hassle she wanted no part of. How did Celestia keep at it?

Just as she started to think of a way to fend off her sister's inevitable "I told you so", the flames subsided to a dull whisper.

Cursing her idiotic student, Luna dropped her spell as she ran towards Spike, stumbling slightly when she saw that he wasn't moving.

She slid to a halt when she reached him. Bending over, she tapped two fingers to his neck.

Twilight wasn't far behind her. The magician's face was flushed from the effort of the magic, but the sight before her was enough to turn her face pale. "What's wrong?"

Luna felt a pulse. Sighing in relief, she said, "He's asleep."

Twilight heaved a heavy sigh, shuddering. "Thank goodness. For a second there, I thought-"

The Princess tensed. Spike's breathing was regular, and his body temperature was as it should be. But his pulse was coming at half the pace it should be, even when he was unconscious.

Now Fancy Pants was at her side. "Something's wrong," he said, frowning.

Luna felt a migraine coming on, and she rubbed her temples. "He's asleep."