Shadow maintained that face palm as he sat upon the rafters. The mare had long since left, taking Albert’s regalia with her and he had made the foolish error of not checking how secure his blades were. His trench coat draped from his crouched form, hanging over one side of the support beam. Casting a neutral stare at the blade standing in front of the entrance, he lowered his arms to grasp the beam.

Swinging down, allowing the inertia to propel him forwards, he let go mid-air to spin around before grasping the beam once more. On the return swing, he kicked the tip of the front entrance, slamming it shut before he plummeted towards the floor. With a silent landing, his coat splaying out, he remained crouching beside the small dagger.

Uprooting the throwing knife, he gave it a quick twirl before sheathing it, chiding himself further for allowing such an amateur error to ever happen. He strolled towards the basement door. Dusting off his signature attire, the phantom rapped on the door three times, pausing briefly, and then knocked twice.

“YOU’LL NEVER TAKE US ALIVE!” was all he heard, stunning him with his most expressive look of the morning: two sky rocketing eyebrows. Before he could respond, the door swung open, pressing him against the wall.

Hank barrel rolled out, his black boots kicking up a table as he self-righted. With a boxer’s defensive stance, he scanned the room, waiting for a tribe of traitorous equines to holler primitive chants with spears and torches.

“Truth be told, dying didn’t seem to work out well last time, Hank. I don’t dare think what awaits us in the next afterlife. Perhaps a higher plane of existence?” Frank remarked ponderously, dusting his denim jacket. Upon reaching his pale jeans, he spotted a pair of laces reaching out from beneath the door.

“I believe it would be best to never know, Frank. Dying is neither a pleasant nor beneficial habit to make.” The prince trudged upstairs, rubbing his shoulder from where he had landed at the bottom of the staircase. With his armour gone, his sapphire attire collected a few tears from the descent into the basement. His left sleeves was half missing, currently being pressed against his blonde parted locks to stem the bleeding of a small cut. Sanguine droplets hung to the collar of the white shirt underneath the flame retardant, fashionable jacket.

After following Frank’s line of sight, both Hank and Albert focused on the door. When all three stood before it, they heard a slow knock. Hank reached out towards the door, priming his other hand into a fist in case of trouble. After landing his hand on the door side, and looking towards his leader, he awaited for further orders. He watched the genius and the prince back off, both of them stopping at the base of the stairs.

After a curt nod, he swiftly twisted his hand to grip the side of the door, casting it aside in one swift movement. Upon the door closing at lightning speed, the shock wave of the slam caused an imprinted figure to flinch.

The others shared a grimace, before giving Hank a harsh glare. He rubbed the back of his neck, staring off into the corner of the room with a small frown. Seconds after opening his mouth, the bipedal ghost slumped out of the wall mounted crater, going to his knees as his head swirled. After briefly looking as if he was going to pass out, a slither of crimson escaping his thin nose, his head suddenly swung up before settling gently into its rightful resting position. Frank cautiously stepped forward.

“Err, I thought we went through this, no matter how hard you try, no matter how many experiments I do, it is impossible for you to be as thin as an actual shadow, Shadow,” he remarked, waving his hands in front of his colleague’s shades. “Don’t make me get the shoehorn again,” he threatened, poking him gently in shoulder. Like a black domino, he collapsed backwards, his legs folded back against his sides until they were packed against his thighs.

Albert blinked in disbelief, he knew of his friend’s legendary flexibility, but he had never seen him so perfectly horizontal in such a rather uncomfortable position… on his back at least. Frank simply pointed at the point of impact, staring between his finger and his unconscious friend, his mind contemplating a curious thought in his head. Hank winced at the sight, but at least he knew why the assassin was so good a limbo.

After a brief pause, Frank rose up and hooked his finger as if it were a question mark, before pressing it against his upper lip. His frown was directed at the half folded squad mate, then to his beastly brother, and then it switched to his ruler. After scratching his scalp he finally spoke up.

“Do ponies have shoehorns?” Frank asked, igniting movement in the other two. Albert chuckled, rolling his eyes as he squatted next to his fallen comrade, whereas Hank growled when he clipped his brother’s ear.

“Shit, he should have said som-” Hank cut himself off, slowly closing his jaw. Whilst his expression recoiled slowly into guilt, Frank’s eyebrow peaked, as did his fanged grin.

“I know, it’s so rude, sneaking up on us like. It’s like he’s an assassin or something.”

“Can we please return to the matter at hand?” Albert chided, releasing an exasperated sigh shortly afterwards. Rolling up the sleeve of the trench coat, the rough exterior a startling contrast to the warm, silky inside, he unclipped the wrist blades, and then he pulled up the skin tight arm of his shirt and searched for a pulse. With a tiny sigh of relief, returned the articles of clothing to their rightful position.

“Well, he’s breathing and alive. It’s a wonder you didn’t send his nose into his skull.” Albert noted, inspecting the busted nose. Gingerly, he squeezed Shadow’s nose between his finger and thumb, careful not to do any more damage. After a very brief exam he gave a Hank a smile. “Have no fear, it is not broken but I suspect it will be rather crooked for a while.”

“Alright,” Hank replied glumly, folding his hands as he watched his prince rise. He noticed Albert wince as he reapplied the torn sleeve to his head. As Hank eloquently put it, Prince Albert, Diarch of the third empire, father of the land, ruler of the Primane… looked like horse crap.

His hair, slightly stained with blood on his right side, had lost its partial blonde shine. Now it was a rather dirty gold colour; a similar story with the gold threads in his jacket, now merely worn and coming out of the seams. A shadow of facial hair was starting to sprout, barely noticeable unless one looked close enough.

Hank agreed that he look no better. His bullet proof vest was saturated in a foul odour; his arms had scattered patches of dust, collected from his sleep in the basement; his flat, oak toned crew cut had retained its signature look, but also speckles of dirt from his ‘awakening’ and traversing the road. Splinter, much to his relief, was fine and sterile… as possible given the circumstance. The spoon was happily tucked away on a reinforced pocket, level with his heart. That wooden utensil was going nowhere fast.

He gave his younger sibling a quick once over, spotting the worn out theme returning. His once emerald shirt, buttoned and perfectly tailored, had lost single button in the center alongside a chest pocket. His jeans were torn, then again, he only wore his current pair for ‘field work’ and even that was a desk job traversing cyberspace. His pointed chin held a faint grass stain, the origins of which he refused to recall. His ghostly eyes had dark rings underneath, and yet he showed no sign of fatigue.

Hank smirked, looking back at Shadow as he chalked that quality down as a genetic trait.

This man, despite rockiest the rocky of beginnings, had become a close friend. Yet, his past remained a mystery in all the years he knew him. His mistrust in strangers led Frank to keep a watchful eye on rouge assassin, and rather than discover any new plots to trim the royal family tree, he found subtle signs that indicated Shadow’s mood towards anything.

The short spikey hair, much like needles of sharpened onyx, covered his scalp. The pointed ears aided in the predatorial look of the man, an effect amplified by his shadowy attire. With the soft features beneath those slick shades, the giant could only think, no, believe that his entire body was sculpted for speed and precision. Hank, admittedly, was rather jealous of his friend’s condition; he seemed no worse for wear… given you look past the trail of blood escaping his nostril and his current resting position.

Albert readjusted the comatosed man’s shades, aligning them properly on his nose before he stood up. His vibrant blue eyes shifted about the room, assessing the situation. With renewed vigour, he pointed to Hank. With a tone of authority, he said sternly to the titan, “Get him cleaned up and lay him upon Miss Sparkle’s bed. I am sure she will understand.”

Whilst the behemoth gave a quick salute, Albert turned to face the tech support who was still pondering over the possibility of shoehorns in small mumbles.

“Carry the three… and it’s more than likely an eight-point-nine percent chance, unless they use the metric system when making horse shoes.”

“Frank?” Albert asked, maintaining that commanding voice. The recipient blinked a few times, scowling at thin air as he lost track of his mental calculations. The pony-tailed man watched his brother ascend the staircase, his ragged boots generating a painful squeak of wooden steps. “I want you to research this land’s culture and social norms, we may need it for when we leave the premises as ponies,” Albert continued, also watching as Shadow was carried upstairs. He was slumped over his giant friend’s shoulder like a fresh kill. The prince paused to blink at how nonchalant he had conversed about changing species.

Frank returned with a soft nod of agreement seconds before saying, “I’ll get right on it, what about you?”

“I’m going to get more of that healing balm, and then I going to find my breast plate then take first shift. We must make sure nobody -or pony I guess- catches us off guard again by strolling in. When Hank is finished with Shadow, he’s getting a bath.”

“Yeah, if the normal equines don’t find him, the waste disposal ponies will smell us first.”

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She had it all.

Swivelling heads; the eyes of her colleagues absorbed the eye candy that strolled past them as a combination of mint, white, and dulled silver. Wanderlust consumed her as her hooves simply directed her around town to show off her newest piece of attire: a, to some members of the public, rather iconic armour piece. Awe engulfed the closet humares whilst bronies cautiously edged towards the trotting mare, her protective covering rustling with every pronounced step. Grinning, she simply kept her head high, her eyes closed as she inhaled the attention.

She decided that rather than simply charging around, collecting as many as followers as possible, she would let them come to her. Her plot was to wait for a few humares- or if she was lucky, a few stallions- to confirm the authenticity of the breast plate, before embellishing the truth.

It seemed better than zipping around yelling, “HUMANS IN THE LIBRARY!” at the top of her voice.

Finally, after coming to a halt outside of a quaint, little coffee shop, she glanced over her shoulder. A small platoon of humares had followed her, alongside one or two colts. She gave them a smug smile, strolling into the outside portion of the café. She made herself comfortable upon a lavender mushroom, flicking her mane with a hoof. She studied said hoof, seeming to e oblivious to the hushed murmurs surrounding her.

Whispers spread like wild fire. What was the common questions on everypony’s lips? “Is that Prince Albert’s armour?”

“It looks so real! Where did she get it?”

“Were those rumours of humans here in Ponyville true?”

“Where can I get one?”

The waiter, complete with velvet red waistcoat, a blonde mane to match his cream coat, pranced over with a white cloth draped over his back. Without so much as opening his eyes, he started to speak.

“Hi, can I take your order?” he chirped. After finally opening his eyes, he cocked an eyebrow at the amount of equines staring at the mare. The crowd held a few recognisable faces, such a Roseluck, a regular currently with her jaw hanging as she gawked at the mint mare before him.

“And your friends?” he asked, glancing down at her. Another peculiar sight; it seemed his new focal point was wearing some form of improvised royal armour, somewhat lacking in colour but the dents and singed scratch marks gave it an ancient appeal. He briefly pondered if Lyra had brought a relic belonging to her ancient ancestors, but before he could inquire, she spoke up.

“Err, I’m not buying for all of these guys, I only wanted lavender and crushed rose sandwich. They can pay for themselves.” She gave him soft giggle, watching him smile in return before backing away.

“Certainly, I’ll be right back with your order.” Although he had a merry attitude, she could sense the suspicious aura that hung in the air as he turned to head into the café.

Lyra hummed one of her own musical pieces, a tune both inviting and uplifting. The notes came in rapid succession as she tilted her head gently from side to side, before drawing out to a peaceful, lullaby-like, chorus of pitches. The crowd came to sound of her tune, similar to sailors answering a siren’s call. Although had she had her signature lyre, then they would have waited until the performance was finished.

“Lyra?” A soft voice came from her side, causing the mare to reveal her amber eyes to the source. A baby blue pegasus with a lavender mane, her own magenta eyes scanning the armour, continued to speak. “Is that a replica of Prince Albert’s armour?” She casted a fascinated look at the breastplate, a smile rapidly sprouting. “It look so real, you even got the dent from when Albert was hit by Razor Tongue’s tail!”

The crowd gave murmur in agreement, many quoting a famous brony meme.

“Not one for manners are they? Didn’t even give us a chance to settle our differences, man to drake,” one would quote in a regal accent.

“I’ll get the fifty cal,” the rest would drone. A few giggles were heard where as many, including the baby blue pegasus, facehoofed.

“So, Lyra,” Roseluck interjected, standing beside the pegasus, “Where did you get it?”

“Yeah, where can I buy one?” A colt edged out of the crowd, soon followed by another and another.

“Did you make it yourself?” inquired one humare.

“Is Hot Topic making these? Where is he?” asked another.

“Is it real White star alloy? Forged from the remains of the asteroid that landed at the founding of the Primanian empire?” jested unicorn stallion, thumping the armour. After generating a solid clang, he cocked an eyebrow, sharing an exchange of surprised glances with his colleagues.

After a barrage of questions, unnerving Lyra slightly, she finally spoke up.

“Everypony,” she began with a raised voice. The crowd’s part-inquiry-part-fan-rant was quelled, forming a deafening silence. Everypony was waiting for with intense curiosity, expecting her to reveal the location of the manufacturer of perhaps the most authentic piece of brony cos-play they had ever seen.

What they got instead was, somewhat, difficult to take in.

“I discovered this piece of armour in the Library, and-”

“Twilight’s now selling brony merchandise? Sweet!”

“No,” Lyra replied with an exasperated sigh, “I was going to say that this is actual armour. As in it is really Prince Albert’s chest piece.” The crowd paused, blinking in unison. The mint mare bit her lip; the word awkward sprang to mind, than was buried rapidly under more suitable phrases. Most of which she could read on the faces of those before her. Never the less, she pressed on.

Gulping audibly, she gave a nervous giggle before talking once more. “Okay everypony remembers yesterday right? The whole ‘human fiasco’? Right?” she said hastily, earning a few slow nods from her audience.

“So, last night I heard that Frank and Hank were running around- I thought it was some kind of, you know, a little Poyvillian brony-con or something and Titan strong was in town- anyway, I was out late at night and guess who I ran into?” she asked Roseluck directly, who shifted her eyes about.

With an uneasy tone, she said, “Well… I wasn’t there, but I guess you ran into, Titan?”

“No even better!” Lyra exclaimed, getting of her stool. She hopped onto the café table, or rather a large red mushroom with white speckles. The fungus wobbled slightly, but she stood tall and proud in her armour. The light of Celestia’s glory managed to bounce of the areas that were not totally covered in dirt and dust. With breeze enrolling through the town at that perfect moment, her mane was swept aside, flowing above and determined glare aimed at the crowd.

“I met Frank, and after hearing what happened yesterday, I know other ponies had as well!” she proclaimed, pointing at the rest of the public. Beyond this little herd of humares, the rest of civilisation looked on either amused and walking by, or curious and remaining just along the fringe; a few were merely scowled, hardly amused by this little tribe’s antics.

The humares began whispering amongst themselves, the bronies joining in. The rustle of the small gathering was once again interrupted, this time by a timid somepony to the right of Lyra.

“I-I- Saw Hank… And Albert… And the others.” A voice called out, catching everypony’s eye. The group stared at a green earth pony, her hoof massaging her neck. She bit her lip harder, eyes darting around to read the others’ reaction.

“I did too,” a pegasus stepped forth, his emerald eyes fixated the green mare. “I kind of chased Shadowman for a while, but damn was he quick. Not that we couldn’t keep up with him, but he was too agile. He really is a good as he is shown in that show.”

“So I am not the only one who ran into a human.” Lyra chirped, clopping her hooves together. “See? I wasn’t crazy! Now we need to find them!” Whilst the audience generally agreed with the notion, somepony announced their concerns.

“Won’t that be dangerous? I mean, between Hank and Shadowman they could probably raid the town.” That comment was all that was needed. A stallion on the edge of the small army glanced at his colleagues, or rather the ones he knew were non-bronies. With his eyes wide and his navy hair standing on end, he gave a worried glance at a beige unicorn.

He gave curt nod in return, before repeating a gesture to multiple times to a few others. He soon backed away, a group of eleven in tow.

“Not if we go together, besides, when have they ever attacked without reason,” somepony retorted.

“What about season four when Frank declared war on the Archinavi? He was posing as Albert’s brother when he kind of committed a war crime in front of the queen of the bugs.”

“That was by accident, he didn’t know his squished a spider under his cup.”

“Still counts as murder!”

“It wasn’t so bad until he started beating the big bug back with an empty can of bug spray.”

“Season one: Shadowman runs away with that Cyclops’s pet rhino, when really he was trying to return it. That fat thing really liked him.”

“You kind of shot down your own point there. They did eventually return it.”

With a merry grin, she turned her back on the crowd, all of whom were either trying to prove the peaceful nature of the small squad or forever brand the men with the barbaric nature of humans.

It was not an uncommon topic of discussion, humare or hater.

“Okay, now they believe me, all I have to do is get them all to the library and I- we will prove that humans exist!” She chuckled madly, smoothing her hooves over. “And Frank will give me what I want.” Her armour jingled slightly as she continued to giggle, until she was disturbed by Roseluck.

“Okay, Lyra, we’re going to check out the library, maybe get a few autographs. Are you coming?”

“Yes!” She stood on her hind hooves, her forehoof waving about to get everypony’s attention. “Listen up everypony,” she commanded, earning complete focus, “We are going up against the unknown, we are the few, the proud, the humares!”

“Ahem.” Lyra’s eye caught sight of a frowning colt in her peripheral vision.

“And Bronies! We have been given an important task,” she declared, resuming her natural position. Once again, the mushroom table she stood on shook, bending further than before. The company of ponies were listening intently to the armoured equine; it was either her speaking ability or that armour that seemed to give her a natural aura of leadership.

“We must, for the sake of Equestria, prove the existence of humans in this world. If we can show the world that Prince Albert exists, we would have proven that Primane is real. We would be establishing connection with technologically advanced civilisation!”

“And proving that Haspony is part of a secret society that is containing the Equestrian Empire in order to earn financial gain!” A silence soon followed that comment, as did a single tumble weed. The conspiracy theory hung heavy in the air, so much so, that it had to be dragged away by Lyra returning to her speech.

“Err, okay,” Lyra replied, slightly shaken by the random outburst.

“Treason!” the voice cried once more.

“Anyway,” the unicorn replied, bewilderment laced in her tone. “Now, we must ensure the safety of the Prince and his heroes, and safely escort them to the Princess!” The crowd began announcing their support, her determination rubbing off onto them.

She jumped on the mushroom, landing back onto the fungus in a pouncing position. She wobbled vigorously before she stopped being an aqua blur.

“Alright, let’s move out now!”

“Yeah!”

“Err, Lyra?”

Snapping out of her power hungry state of mind, she looked beside her, spotting the waiter. He had a white plate clenched between his teeth, a lovely, sweet smelling sandwich resting peacefully upon it. “Your meal,” he added. As if on cue, her stomach rumbled, sending vibrations across her chest piece’s surface.

“Correction, we move out after lunch!” was her final order before the toadstool she stood upon snapped, throwing her to the floor along with it.

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Discipline. Not only of the body but the mind and soul.

It is difficult at times, being punishment’s chew toy, but this crafted spirit had endured long enough to see the goal at the end of the serrated tunnel. It wasn’t as if he was always the victim, never always beaten by fate, both literally and figuratively.

He had his new duty, one that co-existed with his original ideals of perfect harmony: Protect the Prince, in turn, protect the innocent.

Dark paths had led him towards both poisoning the crown Albert wore for his usual appearances; the bullet aimed at his own skull was only ever kept a bay when he attempted to slide a blade across the Princes’ throat; with hands tied back, he had to resort to numerous crimes, and not just assassinating the ruler of Primane.

He had to keep her safe, unfortunately meaning that others had to die. Not that everybody was pure of heart, but some were never the less kind hearted.

It angered him, a fact only displayed by the numerous broken daggers that were littered around his safe house in the capital.

So when he had the chance to redeem himself, more importantly a chance to save… her… he graciously accepted.

It was his first choice of a brand new awakening, a new life, a rebirth, a chance to right the wrongs with justice and his skill.

As was the moment Shadowman’s mind returned to a groggy form, dragging a dull ache in his thighs and nose. Even with the accustomed pain of a productive morning’s research, the previous day’s bruises shining through, the man currently laying upon the bed had his mind kicking into high gear.

He had two options, two choices he often faced a couple a times a month, always to restore justice.

Does he march downstairs and break both of Hank’s arms in five separate places, or does his simply impale his hands to his crotch? It seemed reasonable; the titan was responsible for his fourth busted nose of the month, and both options were viable seeing as that magical balm rested somewhere I the kitchen below.

However, his trail of thought was brought to a halt, not by the blunt throb between his eyes, but by the unusually cool atmosphere he could feel.

His coat was missing.

As well, more disturbingly, something was fondling his hand and his glove was missing.

“Pinkie, do really think you should be playing with him? He’s been through a lot, and the poor dear needs his rest,” a meek voice spoke from his right. He felt the tip of his middle finger being pressed against a furry surface, wiggling it about toyfully.

“I’m not playing with him, I’m checking for more knives under his finger nails!” another responded, in a somewhat piercing, chipper tone. “There’s no telling where Shadowy is keeping all his pointy knives, I juuuuusst want to be sure.” With that said, he felt what he assumed was a hoof move to his index finger.

“Oh… Well…. I don’t think that’s likely. Or possible, Pinkie.” The name was a great help as it began the process of assigning labels to voices. He mentally mocked himself for ever forgetting the voice of that bubbly demon, but felt the presence of the butterscotch mare somewhat soothing. Still he remained silent.

A sudden gasp from Pinkie almost made him flinch, but his stone expression, combined with the shades resting neatly on his eyes, failed to reveal any hint of emotion. She gripped his hand, resting her hoof on the underside. He felt her worm next to him, moving his arm until it was pointing towards his feet.

“Maybe they shoot out of his fingertips!”

He felt her head rest on his shoulder, no doubt eyeballing the extended finger at the end of his hand.

“Pew…fwaa, fwaa ,fwaa, catink!” The sound effects were incredibly high-pitched, but still he remained statuesque.

“Pinkie, I really, really, really, really, think you should stop playing with him.” Shortly after, another warm, furry hoof rested across his forehead. He could feel the slight recoil of the mare through her deft limb. “That is, erm, if you want to.”

“Okay, Shy, do you think he’ll wake up anytime soon? It’s like two O’clock! Twilight should be coming back, and I really want to see a human-pony, or a pony-human. Spike said they could be like pegasi and unicorns too, so that would make them either human-unicorn-pony, pony-earth-human- or pegasus- human-pony, or even-“

Shadow tuned out her numerous combinations, the façade of being unconscious aiding in him listening to Fluttershy’s squeaking attempts to gain the party pony’s attention. After a while, Fluttershy managed to convince Pinkie Pie to leave, even allowing the mare to leave with that black glove in between her teeth. Once the door closed, Shadow opened his eyes, his gaze coated in a familiar polarised view. Fluttershy had long since removed her hoof, and from the corner of his eye he spied the mare let out a small sigh. She rolled her eyes, a beaming smile on her maw as she switched her attention to Shadow.

“You look scary, but I know you are nice, even if Applejack is says otherwise,” she said motherly, resting a hoof on his arm. She felt his sleek, tight, training shirt, its texture somewhat rough.
Lowering her hoof she continued smiling. “I don’t know much about that TV show -I mostly watch documentaries , even then I rarely have the time- but I know you can really hurt a pony,” she winced, a motion that although was noted, hardly changed his mood; he was more concerned about if she knew he was awake at this point, “And if Rainbow says you’re dangerous then I guess I have to believe her. She’s a big fan.”

She sighed, casting a sad glance to the side.

“But I know you’re a good pony, erm human. Dash even said you did a lot good things. I kind of want to see the episode where you returned that rhino, they’re so rare.”

Shadowman’s ‘fond memories’ of the beast were far from pleasant. It was grotesque, smelly, kept groaning and charging towards Hank. Long story short, it was a waste of a weekend. He still didn’t get a ticket to the art exhibition, but at least the Prince bought him a painting to complete his collection.

“I think you’re like Mr Bear. Ponies are scared of him too, but he promised to eat only nuts and fish. He even saved a little colt from a timber wolf. The poor thing’s still healing back at the cottage, I’m sure Angel bunny is looking after him.”

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The beast was heartless; its void like eyes searched for his soul. He could see it feeding of him, stealing his hopes, dreams, and life without so much as laying a paw on him. He lay there, beaten and tired from a prier engagement. He could help but be both infuriated and feel slightly honoured to die at the hands of this legendary monster.

It rested on his bandaged chest, its weapon pressed against his chin. Its vicious glare didn’t hide any sign of malice, but the sadistic essence of enjoyment this tyrant felt was somewhat difficult to spot. Never the less, with every reluctant groan of the broken warrior that same twisted pleasure sparkled in his eye.

It was feeding time, and the animal’s anger was building at its prey’s lack of co-operation.

Mr Bear had never been more scared in his entire life.

This stalemate had been going on for what seemed to be centuries, neither side willing to show weakness. Unfortunately for one, the other was willing to press his strength.

With a thump of the bunny’s foot, the bear roared, briefly. The surge of chest pain opened up his maw, allowing a sickly, thick goo to crawl down his throat. He shivered at the foul taste; he always hated his medicine.

Other than rolling his eyes, Angel Bunny barely paid attention to the dry retches of the fuzzy beast. He simply hopped of, placed the bowl back on a serving tray by the bed, before bouncing off to check on the chipmunks.

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Fluttershy was accustomed to handling dangerous creatures, from manticores to cockatrices, and even a rather grumpy dragon once, and she knew that they all had their own reasons for being mean, even if some were rather selfish. The manticore was simply hurt, that’s all, so it wasn’t too difficult to calm the overgrown kitty down. The dragon case was just a misunderstanding, in her eyes, he wanted someplace to sleep but he didn’t think about what his snoring would do to the animals. Those smoke clouds would have kept Ponyville in the dark for a hundred years.

So to her, Shadow was another potentially dangerous animal, but she didn’t like to think of him like that. He was like any other highly intelligent creature, and from she gathered from her friends, something similar to a royal guard.

But a lot more…pointy. she noted, eyeing up the arsenal of blades that rested on Twilights dresser. She hoped the unicorn didn’t mind. She returned to inspecting the man.

The black braces held a bulge on the forearm, towards the elbow. Twilight had explained that it withheld is signature tool of the trade, shooting out when necessary. She tried not to think about the purpose of those knives, but some disturbing ideas flashed in her mind’s eye, thankfully too brief to cause permanent damage.

She was more fascinated by his unusual form, it was long, probably one and half times longer than her. Between the clusters of knives, his toned form was revealed easily by the shirt. She was half tempted to remove those shades, but after casting a curious glance towards the head, she spotted something peculiar.

A platinum chain around his throat, bearing a silver weight that dangled to the side. She leant closer from where she stood at the bedside, investigating the strange pendant.

It was five pointed star, with a glistening emerald caught in a platinum claw directly in the center. It was the size of his thumb (as the book on humans she found pointed out), and seemed to catch light for a split second before darkening , as if choosing to reject the light that it was bathed in at the time.

It was a beautiful pendant, dazzling in the shadow of his neck. It did seem out of place, as if it had been knocked of the pedestal it belonged to. She gathered that it belonged in the center of his chest, but rather than invade his privacy and slide under his shirt (a taboo that somewhat confused the mare, but never the less she chose to follow Twilight’s advice on the matter), she chose to try and place it gently on top of his chest.

However, as she reached for it, she was quickly cut off.

His bare hand slammed onto his chest, moments before her hoof could scoop up the piece of jewellery. He bolted up right at the same time, summoning sharp ‘eep’ from the mare. Sitting upright, he caught sight of the room.

It was similar to a few library bedrooms he had spent time lurking around years before; tall book cases, two round windows, oak flooring, picture perfect in his opinion. The differences however were minor: a few shelves were carved into the walls, the ones close to the bed held a few pictures. The living tree theme was somewhat more dismal having seen how the librarian had chosen to decorate the interior, sticking to the natural shell of being inside the tree itself. In his opinion, he found the concept of living in a tree fascinating, but the décor was less than satisfying.

A man of his calibre can only admire the infinite number of hearts carved into most of the furniture and walls for so long.

Few things contrasted the oaken interior, such as the wardrobe far opposite the bed, the bedside table, but the one thing that did distinguish itself was the shivering wreck by his side.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry…” she repeated in high pitched intervals, burying her head into her hooves and mane. He continued to stare at her, watching her shiver between peaking at him.

He closed his eyes as he removed his shades, placing them on the table opposite. He rubbed his eyes gently, releasing a sigh like tire being let down. His best chance at sleeping wasn’t even voluntary, and it had been disturbed by a nosey, albeit a gentle pegasus.

Without opening his eyes, he reached for where he left his shades and returned them to their rightful position. Once his sepia view of the world returned, he looked at Fluttershy with that neutral mask of his.

Still, she continued apologise, or so he thought. Her attempts drifted into an audio frequency too high to hear, occasionally stepping down to reveal words such as ‘sorry’ or ‘mad’. He even managed to piece together, “I wasn’t going to steal it honest.”

He still sat there, switching glances between the entrance and Fluttershy. He gathered that Pinkie must have disappeared at some point, with his coat, without him noticing. With that said he figured it would be best to salvage what was left of his mental health and not question the matter. He shelved that conundrum above his existential crisis, which was still pending. Eventually, Fluttershy regained nearly all of her composure, and was pawing at the floor.

“Sor….” Was what he heard her mumble, refusing to glance at him. It took a while, but she was looking up to him with a pleading eyes. Amazingly, he saw her lips move, miming an apology perfectly, and yet she was mute. He raised his bare hand, silencing her.

She could only swap her gaze between the appendage and his emotionless stare. She could only assume what he was thinking, and how she believed he felt was not pleasant. Anger? Fury? Distrust?

Disregard. He reasoned that she didn't understand the sentimental value, and was simply curious about the pendant, but of course this was based on his short lived experience with the mare. Like Hank he didn’t trust many of the equines, but if he had to pick one to trust, it would be her. She wouldn’t be able to get away with stealing the pendant, that would be impossible. Still, maybe she was a cunning thief, feigning the shy mare capable of robbing a stallion in the blink of an eye.

Somehow that made sense.

After musing about the mare keeping a hoard of stolen possessions hidden away somewhere, he thought it would be best to address the situation with his negotiation skills. He gently swung his legs over, smoothly planting his feet on the wooden floor boards. She watched him get up, pinching his nose as he crouched to equal height. The pendant dangled briefly before his gloved hand wrapped around it. He absentmindedly rubbed it, cocking his head to the side.

She gazed once more into his shades, catching her reflection. It pleaded for forgiveness, her eyes almost tearing up. He was confused; as far as he was concerned he hadn’t actually done anything to intimidate her, and yet she was about to breakdown in front of him.

Using his bare hand, he repeated what he had done before, and raised his palm with the fingers spread apart. She switched her saddened glance between the pink palm and his noire glasses. It wasn’t long before the pensive look was diluted, her hoof rising gingerly, but not as cautiously as the first time she rested her hoof against his hand. The warmth of his palm diffused into her hoof whilst the strange texture of a hoof was the focus of his attention. It was incredibly soft, delicate and smooth around the toe. He hinted his forgiveness with a microscopic smile, to which she responded with one of her own.

“I’m sorry for trying to touch your necklace. I wasn’t going to take it, honest.” He looked at the floor, watching her free hoof dig into the floor slightly. Looking back up, he gave her hoof a gentle squeeze. She looked to see him, still spotting that tiny smirk. Moments later he stood up and headed towards the exit. Before he reached the door, giving a confused glance at the lack of a door knob, he heard her speak up.

“So, you’re not mad?”

He looked over his shoulder, his smile gone and his gaze upon her. He simply shook his head slowly, before leaving the room. Fluttershy let out a sigh of relief moments before flittering over the bed to follow in his footsteps.

Little did she know that the day was about to get far more interesting.

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Albert was still dripping wet, he barely had time to put his pants on, and now his chest was exposed to the somewhat chillier atmosphere of the library than he recalled. Then again, his heritage, his symbol of power no different from an alicorns wings, horn, or strength, the famous warrior princes’ breastplate, had gone missing.

And yet, through the telescope, he could see it shimmering down the road. Despite the clouds being maneuvered by the somewhat slow moving pegasi, he could see when his armour longed to be reunited.

Sweeping a wet lock of hair, he recalled what he was doing moments ago as he looked upon the humans and ponies scattered around the library, each trying to peek at the outside world.

“Never has the throne been more appealing, not to say I find it somewhat tiresome. At this point, I’d spend a lifetime surrounded by nobles, babbling about how a commoner is ‘out of place’ because their making a success for themselves, if it meant I could care for my people once more.” he muttered, exhaling an amused sigh afterwards.

He had been bathing for half an hour, rigorously scrubbing away any sign of dirt. He was somewhat thankful for not being offered the chance to bath after Hank, seeing as his brother spent an hour eradicating the grime left behind by his elder. Both brother’s came out spotless, Frank’s hair coming past his shoulders. That problem was solved by the band he was using to return it to his signature style.

A warm bath was exactly what the prince needed, although he did feel somewhat guilty for using it without permission; he felt like a desperate man, stealing warm water, and he was after all a prince. Not that it effected what he wanted of his people. He could never use his birth right in such a tyrannical matter, as he viewed it, but he wasn’t afraid of enforcing his rule for the better of others.

Hence the raid on the mountain base that led to this predicament. It was the same reason for risking his life, and was still weighing heavily on his mind.

His kingdom.

All of those souls mourning the loss of four great men. It was an Empire without a ruler, for the moment at least. He could think of allies that may falter without their presence, or even his majesty’s. People who had come to depend on him, the ruler thrust into greatness not only from birth, but from generations before he was born. His citizens were always in the back of his mind during battles, if not the front before sleeping.

As was his brother, Artemis.

Somewhat slender, much like Frank, but sporting a preference to cardinal and ruby toned attire rather than Albert’s turquois choice. He was a foot shorter, entering adulthood and being nurtured by the finest tutors in all the land. Whenever the two were away from the public eye, they were nothing less than fools. Dark hair, emerald eyes and a smouldering look practiced upon those in his age range, Artemis was somewhat a rouge.

However, he held his duties over any dame, his father’s principles and those before him were intertwined with his soul, and even with the occasional spat between brother’s if he was ever needed he was already present for his people.

Fond memories filled his mind for a majority of the bath; pranks, scuffles, banter, such wondrous and powerful memories. Numerous childhood adventures in the country side summer home warmed his heart.

And, yet, Albert had painful questions burning into his skull every minute of his soaking.

Was it real?

Was his rule, his country, is it…Was it real at all?

What about Artemis?

Nothing.

Not only the soul thing he could think about, but potentially the only answer. There was never a Primane, never five strange years of abnormal attacks and discoveries. Did his father abruptly become a fierce creature? Was Hank winning a year supply of white vests nothing short of a delusion? His birth meaningless entertainment for equines of greater power, and his most private moments displayed for an audience beyond a dimensional barrier?

And yet the glimmer of hope as to why current events happened, the way that if he was walking amongst his gods and creators, then he must exist; it was a hazardous thinking route, a constant circle of believing in his own existence one minute and then losing faith in himself as a real creature. It was a notion that could be summed up by a snake eating its own tail, a problem that never actually gained any benefit from the deed, and all the while tearing himself up in the process.

He was thankful when Hank disturbed him, knocking as if he was sparring with the wooden door. However, where one issue was filed away another worry seemed to make itself apparent. Not that it was any different being the diarch of a sovereign nation, he had people pestering him time after time, to all of which he gave his deepest sympathies and resolved matter accordingly.

Given one overlooks the local inhabitants and the existential crises, then such facts are merely minor in comparison in my daily activities. he mused, lazily casting his glance to the door. The bathroom was cosy, matching the theme of the library, although the scenery was mostly composed of watery ideology: blue ceiling, navy paint meeting a clear sky on the four walls, there were even a few boats painted here and there.

“Sir! We have a problem!” The gruff voice of the man held a cold, disciplined tone, but never the less there was a hint of worry in those words.

“Hank, my dear friend, Pinkie Pie only has the best of wishes when she requests to play some of her games. I recommend loosening up, ever so slightly; perhaps that rather intriguing game called ‘Twister’ would do you some good.”

A low rumble answered his comment, followed by a rather chipper tweet.

“See, Prince Albert wants you to play a game, so come on. Pleeeeaaaasseee.” Albert kept his eyes on the door, depending on his hearing to analyse what transpired beyond the blue barrier.

“You know Twister sounds like fun.”

“YEAH!”

“Might even snap your neck in the process.”

“Awww, that’s mean!”

There was an awkward silence, one where the soaked prince imagined the reluctant giant folding his hands, whereas the bubbly mare was pouting once more.

“Besides, you couldn’t if you really wanted to, and why would you? That’s, like, really, really, really, nasty! And illegal.”

“What do you mean I couldn’t if I tried?”

“Well… watch.”

Another eerie silenced; it was deathly, and drew deep concern from the man. As quick as the gagging lack of noise arrived it was swiftly dispersed by two rapid knocks before a fist broke through the door.

Once the fist retracted, the terrified voice of a titan burst through the newly formed peep hole, “YOU’RE A FUCKING FREAK, YOU PINK DEVIL! ALBERT GET YOUR ARSE OUT HERE NOW! THERE’S A BLOODY MALITIA HEADING OUR WAY. OH GOD, STOP DOING THAT!” Instantly, through years of practice due to demand, he rolled out of the bath, stark naked and began dressing.

“See, I told you that you couldn’t,” was what Albert heard, already pulling up his pants.

Back in the present, he was approaching Applejack, Dash, and Hank. Whereas the mares were concerned about their view through the half opened curtains, the mass of muscle and masculinity was giving horrified glanced at the bouncing mare, raiding the fridge for more drink.

“Hey, Hank,” Dash started casually, earning the harsh glare of the man. She remained ground bound, attempting to look past the burning rage in his eyes. “Don’t let Pinkie get to you. She’s kind of… like that,” she emphasised with the roll of her hoof.

He merely ploughed his hand through his crew cut, announcing with exasperation, “Nobody’s neck can twist that much… the girl’s possessed by some benevolent demon.” The cyan pegasus simply shrugged returning her gaze to the window.

“Well, just do what we do. Anything strange that Pinkie does is just because she’s Pinkie. That works for me.”

“And it’s a might’ better than sayin’ she’s all possessed ‘n’ what not; Pinkie is one the best mares to be around, and has never come short on being a good friend when a pony’s down in the dumps,” the farm pony sniped, shooting him a fierce stare. He simply frowned in response, his eyes hardening with every passing second. “She only wanted to help yer, then you went about saying how you’d hurt her like that.”

She had been leaning against the window pane, the outside world once buzzing but now shifting to a darker plane of existence before her. Now, she was marching towards the man sitting in the chair, one leg crossed over the other’s thigh. Her emerald orbs irradiated with tenacity, with determination, but most importantly emphasised the truth in the words that she threw at him like darts.

“Now, if you ever, EVER dare try to hurt one my gals,” she started whilst resting her hooves on his leg, burning a stare into his memory banks, “I’ll buck yer hard enough to send yer back to yer own world, are we clear?” she emphasised by coming eye to eye with the brute, prodding him in the heart hard enough to make it miss a beat.

He growled back, the vibrations of his powerful chest reverberating up her hoof. He answered back, somewhat calm, but laced in a restrained anger.

“If any of your gals hurt the prince, or my brother, then I’ll do more than ‘buck’ you,” he replied with a dangerous twinkle in his eye.

“Forgive me if I misheard, but I believe a gentleman should have a few meaningful memories with a lady before reaching that phase in the relationship,” Albert added with mischievous grin. He was more than eager to diffuse as many hostilities as possible, be it by conventional means or sheer embarrassment.

Dash was already bawling with laughter on the floor, choking as her hooves flayed furiously in the air. As she squawked with laughter, the cowpony and the tank gave each other a once over, before dejectedly pushing off each other. Applejack was, lack for a better word, disgusted. Hank had been thrown back enough to fall out of his chair.

“Ah thought a prince was supposed to be all regal and civil an’ the like,” AJ commented, giving a disapproving stare at the half naked man. The whole ideal was adorable, seeing how her face held a strip of crimson underneath her chiding stare. He knelt down, his devilish smile fading into a somewhat hurt grin.

“Sorry, but I’d rather not have to deal with you two at each other’s throats when the town is minutes away from storming the library. It was incredibly rude of me, and absolutely out of line, but, as I have said before, we are a very delicate stage in coping with the… situation,” he said with honest guilt. He slumped down, till he was merely sitting on his backside and coming level with her. He needed to show that he was on the same side, and he had done many other degrading feats than sitting on the floor to ensure co-existence. He has even asked for similar deeds from any diplomatic representatives. It was always a small pleasure to be reminded of how to be humble.

Despite the half smile, she could see right through his mask of strong determination to spy an ember of hope slowly burning out.

“Quite frankly, this is a situation I have not yet come across in all my years in ruling. I'll admit that walking amongst what some would call deities, creators even, is enough to unnerve even myself,” he confided, glancing away from Applejack towards the kitchen.

He spied the others, Pinkie, Rarity, Fluttershy, a silent assassin (now fully clothed once more) and a genius/mad inventor. Rarity was the last to return to the group after thoroughly measuring Albert with some tape, after all, when was the next time she’d be able to get his size? The man felt a hoof rest on his still wet shoulder.

Looking back he saw the mare staring into his eyes, deep sympathy and empathy boring into his cobalt eyes. A sad smile was mimicked, although who was the first to wear one was never known.

“It does sound kinda scary like, kind of like the first time I met the princess,” she stated before blinking, “But the whole ‘meet your maker’ thing is something I don’t think I could wrap mah head around if I was in this situation. Shoot, I’d probably be gallivanting around yellin’ at somepony, or something. I think it’s weird that you ain’t doing the same.” He returned a hearty laugh.

“Yer doin’ fine, yer majesty, Princess Celestia was even impressed by how yer handling everything. Gotta admit, if yer handle all yer problems like this, you must be just as good as her at running yer country,” she stated. In the back of her mind, she knew how he often had to handle the situation, and it was rarely pretty. She simply pegged him a violent brute without actually seeing his diplomatic skills in action.

After all, she had only seen the one episode, and the rest of the stories were from the awestruck humares that bought her produce, neither of which depicted him as the reasonable being lost and trapped before her. Then again, it was possible that the show didn’t reveal everything.

“Yes, I am aware that I have to be brave for my squ- my friends and I have always kept that in mind. To be a reductionist in this situation is to say this is another milestone in our endeavours, however, to do so is incredibly foolish and ignorant.” His gaze shifted. There was a subtle hint of power and courage flaring as he lifted his head.

“Perhaps unnerving was the wrong choice of words. I probably should have said that I need to be more cautious, it is not that I fear this world, I am merely concerned about how it affects my kingdom.”

He gave her a pleasant smile, waving off his previous comment. “I have no qualms with the lovely company you have all provided, and it is always nice to know that even as royalty we can all be out of our depths from time to time. Much of what I know is from experience and wisdom, but there are the few days where the world catches me off-guard. I will remain as determined as ever for my colleagues and for my kingdom. I thank you, lady Applejack; your humble words have done more for me than you may think.”

She blushed in response, removing her hoof to lower her hat over her eyes, an act that failed to suppress the smile sprouting on her mouth.

“Ah shucks, just helpin’ a fellow pony- I mean human- out. Never liked seeing a fella down in the dumps anyhow. And ah ain’t no deity either. I know ah’m the element of honesty and all, but ah ain’t no goddess. Ah’m just a regular farmer, working to keep mah family happy and livin’ is all.”

“A wonderful policy to keep, and if it is easier, you can call me Albert.”

“As long as yer don’t call me Lady, I can manage that.”

Abruptly the back door swung open, All bodies in the main room dashing to see what had broken in. Spike was currently clutching his chest in one claw, and a saddle bag in the other. Wheezing and coughing in between, he piped up.

“Twilight…. Lyra… Blazing Star… fighting for library… Twilight… Zecora… nearly complete potions…” With that he slumped to the floor, twisting to land on his back to shield the bag’s contents from smashing into the cold, unforgiving floor. Still panting, the drake simply pushed the bag off onto the floor with as much grace as possible, before sliding it towards the group with his remaining strength.

“Spikey!” shrieked Rarity, darting away from Fluttershy’s side by the oven, picking him up in a glittery blue grasp. She studied his exhausted form, a worried stare watching his eyes droop when she finished.

At the sound of her voice he seemed to summon reserved energy, as if he had pure adrenaline injected into his system.

“What? Oh right,” upon looking back from the confused stared of the occupants, his eyes honed in on the mare of his dreams. Deepening his voice, he confirmed how ‘OK’ he was, seconds before being put back on the floor. Rarity tidied his spikes, earning a frown from everyone but the dragon.

“Can we get back to that butchery of the English-“

“EQUESTRIAN!” yelled Pinkie, somewhat irate as she hovered by Frank’s head with a frown, before landing gracefully on the floor.

His hand wondered towards the stove as he said, “Can we get back to that butchery of the English language you mumbled on the way in.”

Pinkie once again shot up, prepared to correct the silly human for thinking he was speaking English. Silly humans, when will they learn? Apparently it was when she was about to reached the apex of the jump and instead collided with the lid to a steaming pot. Somewhere a gong was struck, generating disbelief as Frank eyed the lid in his hand. The dazed Pinkie settled down, eyes spinning as her tongue lolled about.

“Frank!” Albert, Dash, Applejack, and Rarity chided. The man in question winced, giving a sheepish look shortly afterwards. Shadowman gave him what he assumed was a murderous stare.

“Look, you guys,” Spike started, pointing a scaled claw at each human, “need to drink your potions and quick.” His voice shook, a worry stricken look was shared amongst his audience.

“I suppose poison works best when the lethal amount is taken in one go,” quibbed Hank darkly, earning numerous looks of disgust from the ponies and drake. Shadowman had already scooped up the bag, and was currently pulling out the makeshift vessels. A wired gourd was pulled out, a slit signalling the presence of a lid. Thankfully the flat base made it easier to stand on the kitchen counter.

“What? No no no. These are the pony potions, and you better drink ‘em quick. There’s, like, two gangs outside, trying to get anything human related.”

Dash was somewhat embarrassed; were some ponies really this fanatical? She had tons of ponies on the weather patrol that were like the average humare: a pony who was simply entertained by the show, maybe willing to buy some shirts. She’d never thought some would fight over seeing a mythological being. Her blush was hidden by the way her hoof had slammed into her own face.

Hank gave her a suspicious stare. He had witnessed first-hand the madness of an excited brony, and his mistrust in the species as a whole had grown tremendously. Yet, the way he saw the hint of crimson on her cheeks, he allowed doubt to linger with his previous assumptions. Perhaps not everypony was so bad? Perhaps he had the misfortune to land amongst the tiniest cluster of crazed fans? Either way, he still couldn't trust any of the equines close by, barring a few members of the present company.

“So we don’t even get to do a taste test? What a shame,” Frank remarked sarcastically, wondering if these concoctions tasted as good as the healing balm smelt. Shadowman had pulled out all of the makeshift bottles, one of which was in his grasp. The runny mixture could be heard sloshing about. He concluded that had it not been for worn wires that had clamped the stalk down, then it would have is leaked out long ago.

“BUT!” Spike interjected, waving his claws about to catch everyone’s attention. “They’re not complete yet, or so Twilight said.”

“What do you mean, Tiffany?” The confused looks shared between the ponies and humans missed the scolding stare the dragon gave him in return. The fact the fanged grin on the man was directed at him personally, only made his glare intensify. Never the less, he had other priorities.

“Twilight said you need a sample of the pony you’re going to turn into… or something.” The dragon stared at the floor, his eyes squinting as he searched for his answer. “Something like a hair would do.” The humans (sans Shadow) gave an uneasy look at the ponies before them. Pinkie Pie had regained her vigour, bouncing in front of Hank.

“Ohh, OOOHH! Pick me, pick me! I’m delicious!” Before the man, who at the time had his arms folded, could react he received a powerful punch from the mare. Her hoof had cupped a small portion of her mane, shooting into his maw. Rather than bust a lip, bruise a cheek, or even knock out a tooth, the hoof managed to avoid all that and wriggle around his mouth. He spat it out distastefully, glaring into the pony pouting.

“Am I not delicious enough?” She sniffed, pouting as she rinsed her mane. The humans were surprised by the volume of saliva that dripped out. It seemed impossible, as if exaggerated because Pinkie wished it so. Needless to say that Rarity found the display both unsettling and disgusting.

“Wait, where’s Twi?” Applejack chimed.

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Twilight could not believe the sight before her.

She had been trotting back into town, departing from the alchemist with a saddle bag full of the precious payload she had sought, when the sun had only began to enter the evening hours. The occupants of the rural town went about their daily lives, hooves prattling against cobble stone as friend greeted friend, bells chimed to signal another customer entering a store, and the buzz of trivial events kept the voice of a peaceful Ponyville alive and well.

She was heading towards her agreed rendezvous point with her number one assistant, a plan that was not thought of out of inconvenience, rather a chance to quickly be reunited with the dragon who might as well be her little brother. She worried about him, even being left amongst her friends, and even knowing that Prince Albert would forbid the other humans form hurting him, she couldn’t help but bite her lip as thoughts of a cowering baby dragon hiding from Hank crossed her mind.

With her hooves lightly tapping the road as she continued her speedy pace, she began to wonder how the morning had gone since her disappearance; another benefit of the plot was that she would get a report as early as possible.

“Twilight, pssst!”

The mare perked an ear, swivelling her head around. Many a pony walked on by, doors on buildings were shut unless somepony strolled in or out. Nothing looked out of place.

“Psssst! Twilight!” hissed the voice once more, directing her view to a nearby alley way. Peering into the dark recesses, she spied Spike stepping out of the shadows, beckoning her with a wave of his claw.

She zipped over, casting a worried glance around her. He backed further into the gloomy passage, avoiding the puddle beside him.

“Spike, what’s the matter? Why are we in this dark,” she sniffed the air, recoiling with disgust as a hoof covered her nostrils, “Wah! Smelly alleyway.” He gave a tentative sniff as well, shrugging it off as he hoisted himself on a nearby bin, currently upside down.

“Something weird is going on down the street of the library,” he said as he pointed towards another passage. Twilight followed his gesture, heading towards the exit whilst giving a confused look over her shoulder.

Splash.

She ripped a dripping hoof into the air, blanching as she steered around a drowned, dirty newspaper. “Eeww!” she squeaked, moments before peeping her head around the corner. Soaked in the glory of her mentor’s sun, she could easily spot the problem.

And immediately wished she hadn’t.

Even the light of day didn’t want to linger too long on these two factions. The storm of war was currently brewing up above, which fate had kindly disguised as the edge of a much needed down pour, orchestrated by the weather team. Houses lost their enticing charm, and were now seen as a barrier to form the boundaries of the scuffle.

The large street was divided down the center, a group of at least fifteen on each side. Numerous kiosks stood nearby, the owners waiting for a spark to ignite the powder keg with both curiosity and absolute terror. Through the few gaps in wall of pony flesh she could see a large majority of those opposite were composed of pegasi, whereas those closest were formed of mainly earth ponies and unicorns. Not to say one side was completely made of one; the side opposite had at least three earth ponies.

A sweeping wind, signalling the approaching storm, flew over the ponies, neither feeling the icy chill of the sky’s breath. Two equines made themselves known, as if they were the alphas of the packs. The tribe opposite had a beige representative, his horn protruding out of his forehead. He appeared to be draped in outdated armour, the tell-tale signs of coming from the large rusted patches on his helmet. He seemed to be barking at another, whose figure and colour made Twilight face hoof.

Using the soggy hoof.

“Lyra, look, if the humans are in there, then it is a matter of national security!”

The mint mare responded eloquently, her shimmering form courtesy of some polish one of her followers gave her. “I agree, so join us. We need to keep them safe.” He snorted in agitation, the pavement chipping as his hoof slammed down. The colts nearby shared a nervous glance amongst themselves, as did Lyra’s minions, before they resumed pointing a hateful glare at those across the street.

“Protected? They need to be driven out of town! They’re monsters! We need to subdue them and throw them in the Canterlot dungeon!”

“Oh come on, Blaze. Why?!”

“Because they’re human!”

“I won’t let you! WE won’t let you!” Those behind Lyra nodded in agreement, yelling their support in between cheers.

“We won’t let you either! You foals!”

What followed was a Mexican stand-off, a battle of patience and timing. Those opposite locked eyes with a target, their new enemy. Never daring to blink, never considering batting away that leaf caught against them by the sudden torrent of wind. Any itch, any twitch, could set off the showdown. The shadow of dark clouds stretched over the ponies one by one, as if Celestia couldn’t bear to watch approaching battle.

As stealthily as possible, Twilight backed up, ignoring the squelching and foul stench. As soon as it was safe, she galloped back to Spike, currently tossing a stones into the empty space a brick one occupied.

“Spike, something terrible is about to happen!” Before the drake could respond, he was caught in her ghostly grasp, and had the saddle bags thrusted into his chest. “The potions are not complete, they need a sample of pony DNA for the magic to activate and bind to the human genome, reconfiguring it to that of a pony. Now, remember, they can become any pony they like. There are four potions in the bag, so there’s enough for every human. It is a time sensitive potion, so it will last for about a week. Make sure they don’t eat anything within the first hour! Otherwise the magic might backfire. Another thing, keep them away from strawberries or anything strawberry flavoured, apparently that is the antidote.”

Spike blinked numerous times as he was gently put on the dirty (in comparison to the regularly maintained main roads of the village) floor. Even afterwards he was silent, his mind abuzz with what she had said. Perhaps if he had comprehended the small warning, then he wouldn’t be so confused.

“Huh?” Twilight groaned in response, her hooves stomping in place to restrain her irritation.

“Spike, listen carefully! The potions needs pony samples, like a hair strand, for the potions to work. Different potions mean they can choose what type of pony they want to be. Keep them away from food for the first hour, and drink to be safe, and nothing strawberry related! Got it?”

Spike quickly straightened his back, whipping his tail as he gave a salute. “Yes, ma’am!”

“Make sure they drink it as quickly as possible,” she said turning away to head back towards the impending battle. She steeled her resolve, her magenta eyes shining without fear, but with an ironed will. She will stop this, one way or another.

“W-w-Where are you going?”

“I’ll stall them, give you enough time to change them into ponies and hide their stuff!” she yelled back, stopping to look between the exit and Spike. Both of them shared a saddened glance seconds before charging towards each other into a warming embrace. Pulling out of the hug, she gave a sad smile.

“I’ll be fine. You better take the long way round, and be quick.”

With that they parted for their separate quests, one a journey that ended with a fierce battle, another whose race against time would determine if her sacrifice was in vain.

“ATTACK!”

She was too late; the clouds unleashed a barrage of icy rain, drenching her as she starred at the massacre before her. Pain and misery. Had she had a camera then perhaps she could have captured the moment. Then again she wouldn’t have been able to spot the main weapon held in everypony’s hooves, a tool of mass destruction often used as a last resort against opposing factions. They were launched at high velocity to and throw, injuring many. Three had already collapsed under the wrath of the weapon, feeling its chemicals burn their eyes. It was incredibly versatile, proof being that the pegasi had begun dropping them like bombs as earth ponies slammed the blunt tools of death against the enemy. One unicorn crafted an improvised tornado of destruction, whirling the objects around at high speed before dividing a pair of colts across the road.

Splat.

Inches from her hooves, disgraced to have been wasted on the ant unlucky enough to be in its path, lay the weapon of choice, with a dark crimson liquid seeping into the cracks.

A raspberry pie…

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Author's Notes:

I am so sorry about the delay in chapter release. I have been swamped by college life and a weekend job a major clothing store (Debahams for those that care), and have had little time for my fic. So to make up for it here is my longest chapter to date, EVER!

Sadly, nobody volunteered to make some art for me,therefore no pictures a available at this time. Don't worry, I am not desperate enough to resort to the pony generator, although I may use it to model my characters ever so slightly. Again, I will not soil this fic with those pictures, because, apparently, you guys all hate them.

Still don't understand why, its just a damn pony generator after all.

Then again it is rather lazy isn't it? And it spawns numerous black and red alicorns....

Kind of answered my own point there didn't I?

Anyway, no pics, epic update, less than ten chapters, nigh 400 likes, late "Merry Christmas" to all and a happy new year. YAYs all round!