The Chiefest and Greatest of Calamities

Dan's Comments
DISCLAIMER: My Little Pony is the property of Hasbro, Inc., Harry Dresden is the property of Jim Butcher, Carl Kolchak is the property of ABC/Universal Television, Ranma Saotome is the property of Rumiko Takahashi, Sailor Jupiter is the property of Naoko Takeuchi.

Makoto paled and was not alone being barely able to remain in the air. She heard Ranma's whispered, "Death Ghidorah" and considered the monster now floating above them would eat that particular kaiju for lunch.

"I see what you are," the huge monster rumbled, "Their mightiest." One head surveyed the Alicorn force, another the elves, while the central head locked eyes with the great dragon of the elves. "That's all they are, that's all they can do, and you side with them?"

The dragon shook off the gaze and rumbled back. "I came to slay and kill, what are you, their servant, their toy? You are a trio of pathetic weak souls clinging together in terror. And you side with them?" It tossed its head towards Canterlot.

The Ghidorah laughed. "I haven't 'sided' with them. I am still on my side, as are you and don't I know it." A lone arrow pinged off his arrow. The Ghidorah never deigned to notice the shooter.

"Then why oppose me?" the dragon asked, "You have your woman, you will have your way home, and the route to her home. This place is no more of use to you than a barnacle is to a ship." The Elfqueen gestured and the dragon countered her spell and glared at her. She paled and her mount slipped back within the herd of flying horses. The dragon stared at the Ghidorah. "A place filled with childrens' fantasy and childrens' nightmares." He smiled at his cleverness. "As you have proven, the forces of evil are no match for you. The forces you've tried to protect, have - ."

"That would leave you open to reclaim your master's elves?" the Ghidorah asked, "Is laying waste to entire realms worth that? Then why isn't it worth me fighting for them?"

"You are no thief-taker," the dragon said, ruffled at being interrupted, "Those elves cheated me. I cannot let that stand." He shrugged. "Politics."

"Ego, not politics," the Ghidorah replied, "You see, what they fear is the creative impulse. They and their kind are sterile. Rearranging the pieces to a new aesthetic certainly, but true innovation happens by accident or not at all.

Why is the dragon so angry about that statement? Makoto wondered, a drop of rain watching two oceans converse.

The Ghidorah continued, "Suddenly a whole new field opens up with what they discovered once they got out from under your master's thumb. They need that, but like any other collective, it must be channeled, harmonized, and made politically correct. Made safe for the ruling class and the status quo. Made yours, so the glory comes to their queen and not them."

He shrugged. "I am their queen's master, and that matters nothing to me."

"Shame that's all you'll ever be. Sad little queen on a sad little hill. Alone, forgotten, ignored. My people beat them and you long ago. Kolchak's too, and without magic. Dresden's haven't learned elves and vampires are the same sack, just a different weave, but pull it up from your face and then you can see." His smiles faded and he glowered at the dragon with all three heads. "Then you burn it to ensure they never pull it over your eyes again."

"Quite a boast from a little thing like you. I am not awed by a mere reputation. The great 'legion' you are reported to have destroyed is nothing," the dragon sneered, "I've destroyed dozens. This isn't the dreamlands. So that is moot. And the unfledged youngster has yet to make a name for himself."

"You have no idea what I am," he replied, "If you've sided with them, you're so used to begging the scraps from your betters' tables that you have no idea what lies beyond the safe space you beg in. It's cold and dark out there, horrors and wonders beyond your rather political and limited imagination. Some things are both to such a degree that far stronger than you have been enthralled, and destroyed by the revelations gained. You may be a good schemer, but one who creates out of whole cloth or even understands true creation? Never."

Again the dragon bristled at that.

But the Ghidorah didn't care as he smiled and gestured at Canterlot. "Why I side with them? It's simple they amuse me. In the vast, dark, uncaring emptiness they and those like them are like a small candle in the darkness. A tiny, fleeting 'yes' in a vast sea of 'it doesn't matter'. You'd spit on that flame just to watch it dance and sputter to show your 'power' over it, and if it goes out, you'll jump to the next, until they're all too far to risk the jump, and you all die. I've seen it before with their kind. Drilling holes in the bottom of the lifeboat to watch and laugh at others scrambling around trying to bail. And screaming piteously 'why is this happening to ME' when the water overtops and you start freezing to death."

"You've overplayed your hand and no one is going to throw you a line unless they've tied an anchor to the other end," the Ghidorah told the dragon and the elves.

"You think I have anything to fear from you?" the Elfqueen asked, "I can out wait you, I am immortal. You are not. If I don't beat you, I'll defeat your grandchildren, or theirs, it's just a matter of time." The dragon rumbled, but she was too incensed to see sense.

"You forget, they are immortal too," the Ghidorah told her, "The lessons I give them will be remembered. You may appear in a generation, or six, but they'll be there staring back at you."

"We've trapped them easily," the Elfqueen said.

"Trapped?" the Ghidorah asked, "We are discussing the root of the conflict. You are foaming at the mouth to die. You are the only one trapped." The Ghidorah nodded to the dragon. "We are seeking a way out, at least for one."

"I exterminated your rogues and sorcerers," the Ghidorah said to the Elfqueen, "I broke their bodies, then ground their souls to powder. When they reincarnate, it will be as a nest of termites wondering what they aspire to, instead of a proud elf who seeks vengeance on the children of those who defeated them."

"Impossible! Lies!" she shrieked and urged her steed closer, before it retreated to the midst of the herd and no beating would make it advance.

"Has no one ever wondered why the Shining Legions' shades cannot be raised to ask what I did, and how? Has not one of you wondered why no elf who has crossed my path can be found to describe my methods?" the Ghidorah laughed, "You have no gods to protect you, you have no transcendent souls, just parasitic spirits. It's why you hate the creative spark, because to have it, you have to suck it out of someone else. The reason you fear the bakers is they touched that transcendence and want to offer a love gift to the whole world for what it granted them. I'll concede that when an elf puts its mind to something few can match it, but without inspiration or intuition, they can only focus on the known. These few have touched more and humble as their desires are, they're putting their full mastery behind it."

"You know nothing of elves," the dragon said, "And you have touched on their theft."

"Then that can be restored, easily," the Ghidorah said.

The dragon nearly dropped from the sky with that off-hand comment.

The Ghidorah stared sympathetically at the dragon. "When I called you elves parasites, I was speaking literally. You usurp the mind, body and spirit of those you infect, until eventually, only the elf remains, and once that happens the creative spark gutters out. That's why you're here," he ignored the bronicorns' outrage as they realized what he was implying, but he'd wasn't just going to imply, "Thousand of hard working creative forces. Their very universe focuses that creativity exactly as an elf would. You're here to begin coopting them. For elven spirits to parasitize their young, replacing their best and brightest with your twisted mockeries. You aren't cuckoos laying your young among others' nests, you're a zombie plague infecting them and changing them into you. Because once they become fully elven, they stop learning, innovating and simply master what they've learned to that point."

The Ghidorah looked at the dragon who had shaken off his shock and was looking at the Elfqueen with fury. "Is it any wonder I burn you out: root and branch, when I find you? Is it any wonder that even races who hate each other will at least have a truce while elves are being exterminated? Is it any wonder I shred your bodies and spirits when I cleanse you from existence? You are a plague, not a people, and burning it out is the only way to keep it from spreading."

"You don't have the strength for that," the Elfqueen said glancing nervously between the calm Ghidorah and the furious dragon.

"While you are here, where are the diarchs, where is the Elder Thing, where is Harry Dresden? And where are the Bearers? You face the bronicorns and the 'evil exiles'. Shitlords they may be, but they are Equestrian partisans." The Ghidorah smiled at the horror spreading across the Elfqueen's face. "They don't even have to harm any elf, just destroy enough, and make it known you brought them there." The Ghidorah laughed.

"Enough!" the dragon announced, "It is decided."

Makoto dreaded the outcome of being point-blank during a kaiju battle.

"We will discuss the return of what was taken," the dragon said, "You claim this Equestria can return it - "

"Restore it, not the same thing. The baker elves did not intend to keep it," the Ghidorah said, "They took it, copied it and put it back. She took it before it could set, destroyed it in analysis and blamed them. There will be a reckoning, but restoring your loss is first priority."

"Very well," the dragon nodded and said, "We will exit the battlefield, and leave it to them. We will not interfere."

The Ghidorah agreed.

"WHAT?" whether the Elfqueen or Ranma's scream was louder or shriller was hard to determine. Ranma could continue, "But the fighting and the maneuvering, and the . . . "

"There is still a fight to be had, and if you survive, perhaps you can convince me to test your mettle," the dragon said and he headed away from the formation with the Ghidorah.

Makoto looked at the Elfqueen's force, and realized it wasn't over.
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Spike returned to being Spike, and was glad Patrick-dragon caught him as he joined Spider riding Patrick-dragon. His relief at surviving the experience intact was tempered by not knowing how the other two might react. "Ah, that worked out well. I kind of expected you two would eat me, mentally or physically."

"We are not angry with you little one," Don-dragon assured him, "It was an excellent strategy, my only distaste for the situation is that I never considered it myself first. As for your self surviving, neither Patrick, nor I, allowed a full melding. We were your counselors and wingmen." Don looked at the dragon. "The rest, wisdom and bravado, was this 'unfledged youngster has yet to make a name for himself.' I think the name has been made and will grow with time."

"Ah," Spike said.

"Now Spike, for your punishment: you take the lead in negotiations," Patrick-dragon said.

Spike gulped. "How did you figure out they'd stolen some of the dragon's creative spark?" Spike asked.

"Innovative elf is an oxymoron," Don-dragon said, "The spark had to come from somewhere. But they are good-hearted and wise enough to know you never steal from a dragon and borrowing has to be paid back with interest."

"High interest," the dragon said.

"Uhm, if it's okay, what should we call you?" Spike said, "It doesn't seem right to call you 'the dragon'."

"I am -" then followed a sound and musk collection that Spike found both definitive, alarming and somewhat confusing. "I'll have to come up with a pony name for that." Then he noted the chuckles from the other two.

"What's so funny?" Spike asked, irritated not that they were laughing at him, but they were laughing at her, "Oh. That's what they stole? Oh . . . "

Spike understood why the she-dragon was so angry, and at the same time she wanted to talk rather than fight about it. Especially alongside the ones who'd really stolen it, Spike thought, Okay, so if you could do anything, what would it be. Well, first, healing; second, creative spark. He face-palmed and laughed so hard that Spider had to keep him from sliding off Patrick's back.