Celestia was the happiest she had ever been in her life. In the night, she felt a great comfort when Spike’s arms came around her. And in the morning she was awakened by the soft pressure of his hands caressing her breasts. Then she gasped, startled with pleasure as they moved over her buttocks. She had been barely awake, and it all had the magical quality of a dream, yet he was real, very real, and the sensation that erupted over her was the same. After she and Spike crossed that line, they continued to see each other in private. But what they didn’t realize was that there were eyes that saw through their deception. And those eyes belonged to Twilight Sparkle.

“What’s going on?” she asked Celestia one morning.

“What do you mean ‘what’s going on?’” Celestia replied.

“Is there... something going on between you and Spike?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean like a physical relationship,”

“Twilight, Spike and I are mother and son!” Celestia shouted.

“You two are related, but not by blood,” Twilight said. “Does that change the way you look at each other? This all stinks of something indecent.”

“How dare you!” Celestia yelled. “If you don’t take that back, I’ll never forgive you!”

“I’m sorry,” Twilight replied. “I guess I was mistaken.”

Celestia told Spike about the altercation later that morning.

“You didn’t tell her?” she asked him.

“Of course I didn’t! Why would I?”

“Damn you, Twilight!” he cursed in thought.

“What are we going to do if anyone else finds out?” Celestia asked.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Spike assured her, “because none of the other girls are going to share what happened.”

“How can you be so sure of that?”

Spike couldn’t answer. But he knew how distraught Celestia was, and he confronted Twilight about it.

“Because you said those horrible things to her, my mother’s been really upset!” he told her.

“You two look and act like a couple regardless of whatever you both say!”

“She and I are mother and son! What the Tartarus is wrong with you?”

“You’re a pair of horny, non-blood related adults!”

“That’s enough!”

“And there’s really nothing going on between the two of you?”

“For the last time, no!” he yelled.

---

Later that afternoon, the Flimflam Brothers’ staff furiously busied themselves with preparing the casino—especially the High Rollers’ Lounge—for the high-stakes Las Pegasus Poker Tournament that would take place later that night: ten players, ten billion dollar buy-in, five billion re-buy, winner takes all, potentially $150 billion.

Spike returned to his suite, which showed no signs of trespass; threw off his clothes, took a long hot bath followed by an ice-cold shower, and lay down on his bed. There he rested for an hour, composing his thoughts before he met up with Rarity and Chrysalis. An hour to examine the details of his plans for the game, and for after, in all the various circumstances of victory or defeat. He was determined to be completely relaxed for a gambling session that would last most of the night. He ordered a massage from Aloe and Lotus Blossom for three o’clock. After finishing his room service lunch, he stood on his balcony gazing out over the desert until there was a knock at his door and the two masseuses presented themselves. Silently they got to work on Spike from his feet to his neck, melting the tensions in his body and calming his nerves, and when they had gone Spike fell into a dreamless sleep. At 8:40 P.M., he rose and returned to the balcony.

As he stood there on that hot summer night, Spike remembered that he had always been a gambler. He loved the dry riffle of the cards and the constant drama of the quiet figures around the green tables. He liked the solid, studied comfort of the well-padded armchairs, the glass of Champagne or whisky at the elbow, the unhurried attention of good servants. He was amused by the impartiality of the Roulette ball and of the playing cards – and their eternal bias. He liked being an actor and a spectator and from his chair to take part in other’s dramas and decisions, until it came to his own turn to say that vital “yes” or “no”, generally on a fifty-fifty chance.

Above all, he liked it that everything was one’s own fault. There was only oneself to praise or blame. Luck was a servant and not a master. Luck had to be accepted with a shrug or taken advantage of. But it had to be understood and recognized for what it was and not confused with a faulty appreciation of the odds, because at gambling, the deadliest sin was to make a bad play for bad luck. And luck, in all its moods, had to be loved and not feared. Spike saw luck as a woman to be softly wooed or brutally ravaged, never pandered to or pursued.

And Poker was little more than a con game: one player holding a strong hand and trying to pull other players into the pot. Since smart players should pull out from a pot if they knew their opponent was strong, and a player holding an unbeatable hand had to look like they weren’t. A player who was bluffing tried to scare everyone out of the pot via lying. A player with a strong hand could try to look like they were pulling a con (bluffing) while really hoping that the other players called their bluff. If that player knew of tells, they could purposefully try to act like a player with “normal” tells to look like they were bluffing. It worked best against the half-smart. Really good players would have it figured out, and poker players knew that pretending to bluff another smart player was a waste of time.

In the end, Poker was no different than any other gambling game. The odds against the dealer and the players were more or less even. Only a run against either could be decisive and either break the bank or break the players.

“It’s not about luck, it’s a matter of probability and odds,” Spike thought. “You never really play your hand. You play the person sitting across from you.”

And Spike had become very good at reading people.

He knew from a trip downtown the other day that Filthy Rich had withdrawn at least twenty-five billion dollars from all the banks in the city for the Poker Tournament that night. Now, it was expected that Las Pegasus would see its highest gambling that summer.

With the help of palpable publicity, a considerable number of the biggest operators in and outside of Equestria had been encouraged to book at Flimflam Resort that summer and it seemed guaranteed that it would regain some of its renown. It was then that Filthy Rich would endeavor to make a profit of fifty billion dollars on a working capital of twenty-five billion. The risks were obvious and the possible loss to the Rich Family was high, but there was still a chance of success. Therefore, the girls recommended to Flim and Flam that the finest gambler on their payroll should be given the necessary funds to out-gamble Filthy.

Spike was going to attack Filthy Rich’s bank whenever he got the chance until either he busted Rich’s bank or Rich busted him. It would take some time, but in the end one of them was going to break the other, irrespective of the other players at the table, although they could make them richer or poorer along the way. But as Rarity and Chrysalis stood in his living room that night, they couldn’t help but wonder what Spike hoped to gain from all this.

“Spike, why would you do something like this?” Rarity asked.

“This is the most surefire way for me to get closer to Impossibly Rich,” he said. “If she is that well-connected, she knows who I am and where my money’s coming from, which means she’s decided to let Filthy play me anyway. So she’s either desperate or she’s overly confident, but either way, that tells me something about her. And all she gets in return is a name she already has.”

He motioned for Chrysalis to follow him into his bedroom, and he presented her with a little ensemble.

“Something you expect me to wear?” she asked.

“I need you to look fabulous. So that when you walk up behind me and kiss me on the neck, the players across from me will be thinking about your breasts and not their cards. Do you think you can do that for me?”

“I’ll do my best,” she replied.

As Spike opened his closet to choose his suit for the evening, he noticed one in particular, grabbed it, and showed it to Rarity.

“I already have a dinner jacket,” he said to her.

“There are dinner jackets and there are dinner jackets,” she replied. “This is the latter. And I, we, need you looking like a man who belongs at that table.”

“It’s tailored,” he stated.

“I sized you up the moment we met,” Rarity said. “The same way I made that tuxedo you wore in your game against Chrissy.”

Spike was amazed how Rarity had managed to accurately guess his sizes... and the vest was brand new. He would be decently attired for the remainder of the night. After Rarity and Chrysalis left, he pulled on a fresh pair of black socks, and after that a white T-shirt, thoroughly cleaned and pressed and fitting as slick and close as a second skin. Then he shrugged into a new, heavy, white silk evening shirt. As he tied his bow tie, he paused for a moment to examine his reflection in the mirror. His emerald-green eyes looked back with a hint of inquiry and the short lock of green hair which would never stay in place slowly subsided to form a thick comma above his right eyebrow. He pulled on his slacks, then he examined his derringer, carefully inspecting the tiny loop soldered to its butt and loaded it carefully. Clipping the silver watch chain to the butt of the gun, he placed the watch and derringer on the bedspread, pulled on his freshly polished black leather shoes, and stood up. His vest and tuxedo jacket were next, and into the left and right pockets of the vest went the watch and the derringer respectively, the bright silver chain gleaming as it draped between the pockets. Another moment and he was ready, a clean white linen handkerchief tucked into the breast pocket of his tuxedo jacket. Then he divided his money into equal pockets, putting half the sum into his right-hand coat pocket and the other half into the left.

He looked carefully around the room to see if anything had been forgotten and slipped his jacket over his vest. He felt cool and comfortable. He verified in the mirror that there was absolutely no sign of the gun inside his vest, gave a final nod, and walked out of the door and locked it.

---

Spike was glad to be on his own again, able to clear his mind of everything but the task at hand, as he walked through the lobby on his way to the casino, passing a pair of reporters in front of a camera crew.

“Hello, everyone, I’m Nosey News,”

“And I’m Inky Quill. We’re coming to you live from the Flimflam Brothers’ Resort, bringing you full coverage of the Las Pegasus High-Stakes Poker Tournament. It’s a winner-take-all game with potentially 150 billion dollars on the line tonight. In a few moments, we’ll meet the players,”

Spike was almost across the lobby when Flim and Flam stopped him on their way to their office, their eyes going cold at the sight of him.

“I doubt we need to tell you this,” Flim began, “but you can’t lose this one.”

“Our Resort’s future depends on you,” Flam added. “You have to win, no matter what happens!”

“I know,” Spike replied.

“One more thing,” Flam said.

“They’re all rooting for you,” said Flim.

Spike strolled slowly across the casino, between the thronged tables until he came to the top of the steps where the High Rollers’ Lounge—and the High Stakes Poker Tournament table—waited behind the doors.

He entered the Lounge and glanced around the room at the people he would be playing against: card sharks, thugs, royalty, and... a child? He knew all of them by sight... and most of them by name.

The first was Tirek Lord, a 45-year-old, 6’ 8”, well-dressed, muscle-bound former inmate of Tartarus Prison; apparently suffering from amnesia and paralysis of vocal chords. His muteness had succumbed to therapy, but he continued to claim almost total loss of memory except for his associations with three of the other players: Grogar, Cozy Glow and Sombra. He wore a black suit and his sunburned skin was so red that he looked the way a lobster does after it’s cooked.

Grogar was a distinguished but weak-looking man who looked like he hadn’t had a good laugh in a long time. He was tall, with a thin, bony frame and his lightweight blue suit hung loosely from his shoulders. His movements and speech were slow, but one had the feeling that there was plenty of speed and strength in him that he would be a tough and cruel fighter. As he sat hunched over the table, he seemed to have some of the quality of a mountain goat or a big horned sheep.

Sombra King was a well-known, wealthy tyrant of about 35, with crystal interests in the Frozen North. He was also well-dressed, in a dark, double-breasted, sharkskin gray suit. His green eyes had a feline slant which was increased by the sharpness of his chin and cheek-bones, a sea of oily-black hair, and his wry smile. He would play coldly and well and would be a stayer.

Then there was Cozy Glow, a scarlet-eyed, curly-haired girl who grew up into a life of ease. Her parents were dead and she was wealthy; so wealthy she could have anything she wanted. She was a chess prodigy, Spike guessed from the red rook that was tattooed on the back of her left hand. Despite being only 21 (and looking just barely legal), she had a business-like look about her, and was talking rather cheerfully to Tirek as if they were very good friends. Spike also guessed that she would probably play foolishly and be amongst the early casualties. She might even throw a tantrum and make a scene.

There was Haakim, the handsome and regal delegate from Saddle Arabia whose wealth he shared with his beautiful wife Amira. Spike already knew that they were courageous gamblers; even the Kirin people were inclined to lose heart if the going was bad. But Haakim and Amira would probably stay late in the game and stand some heavy losses if they were gradual.

Filthy Rich, who had his family’s fortune behind him; Wind Rider, a grey-haired, dishonorably discharged former Wonderbolt whose glory days were long behind him; and finally Chestnut Magnifico, the famous movie actress with alimony from three ex-husbands to burn. With her sanguine temperament she would play gaily, with panache, and might run into a vein of luck.

Spike had just finished his sketchy summing-up of the players when Discord stepped up to the table to lay down the rules of the game.

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen,” he began. “As you know, the game is no-limit hold ‘em poker: five communal cards, two in the hole. You have each deposited $10 billion buy-in. A further buy-in of $5 billion can be made by electronic transfer. The money will remain is escrow until the end, and the entire sum will be wired to any bank account in the world you nominate. The last man, or woman, standing wins.”

He stepped down, allowing Rainbow Dash to step up, but not before offering her a bucket.

“Something tells me you might need this,” he whispered to her.

With a roll of the eyes, Dash, dressed in a black vest and pants, took the bucket, and placed it under the table by her chair.

“I will be your dealer,” she said to the players, “as a personal request from the owners themselves. Please be seated.”

Each chair was numbered from the right of the dealer. They began to take their seats, each with a brief nod to the players on their right and left. Sombra took out his wide gunmetal cigarette case and his black lighter and placed them on the green baize at his right elbow. Pinkie Pie wiped a thick glass ashtray with a cloth and put it beside him.

Impossibly Rich sat at the far edge of the Lounge, close to the bar, with her daughter-in-law, Spoiled Rich, and Flim and Flam’s secretary, Moon Dancer.

“Where are Flim and Flam?” she asked.

“I’m afraid they both have weak stomachs,” Moon Dancer answered. “They send their regrets.”

“Weak stomachs?” Spoiled Rich echoed. “That’s it?”

“You’re more than welcome to come with me and see for yourself if you don’t believe,” Moon Dancer replied.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Spoiled Rich snapped. “How disgusting!”

Discord hung off to the side, close behind Rainbow Dash and mumbled, “Let the game begin.”

The table filled up and Rainbow Dash cut the thick slab of cards. She spread them face down, then stirred and mixed them slowly in a croupiers’ shuffle, the one most effective and least susceptible to cheating. Then she fitted the deck with one swift exact motion into the shoe. She gave it a short, deliberate slap to settle the cards. Then she started slipping cards to the players.

Spike was very unhappy that Cozy Glow was sitting right of him, but he was glad that Dash was to his left.

“High card for dealer position,” she said. “Wind Rider, Haakim is the small blind, five thousand dollars, and Mr. Grogar, the big blind, ten thousand dollars.”

And with that, the long game was launched... as was a sequence of gestures and the reiteration of subdued litany that would continue until the end came and the players dispersed.

“Four players,” Rainbow Dash said as she showed the first three communal cards: a Five, an Eight and a Nine, all Hearts.

Grogar and Tirek both checked, Filthy Rich bet fifty thousand dollars, and Spike called his bet. Grogar and Tirek both folded and Dash showed the fourth communal card: the Nine of Clubs. Then Filthy Rich bet $100,000.

That’s when Spike heard Chrysalis come up behind him. She entered so that everyone could clearly see her. Her dress was of black velvet, simple and yet with a touch of splendor that only half a dozen women in the world could achieve; lasciviously tight across her hips, and her cerulean hair rested low on the nape of her neck, framing her face along the beautiful line of her jaw. She carried a black purse; there was a thin necklace of diamonds at her throat and a topaz clip in the low vee which exposed the jutting swell of her breasts. Her skin was lightly suntanned and bore no trace of make-up except very black lipstick, and her movements were precise with no trace of self-consciousness.

She looked superb and Spike’s heart lifted.

“Good luck, my love,” she whispered.

She kissed his neck before leaving to join Soarin, Zephyr Breeze, Sunburst, Feather Bangs, Fancy Pants, Thorax, Pharynx, Celestia, Stellar Flare, Fleur, Zecora, Tempest Shadow and the rest of Spike’s harem, and Spike watched the heads of the other players turn to look at her in her wake.

Spike called and Rainbow Dash showed the fifth communal card: the Two of Hearts. Filthy Rich bet $200,000 and Spike called again.

“Mr. Rich, you have been called,” Dash said, “showdown, please.”

Filthy Rich showed a pair of twos, Spades and Clubs.

“Full house to Mr. Rich, deuces full of nines,” Rainbow Dash said as she spaded the thick chips over the table to him after Spike folded and asked Discord to send Soarin over.

“Mix one ounce of Alize Red Passion with half an ounce of Strawberry Liquer, another half ounce of Chambord, fill with half Red Bull, half Pink Lemonade, and then garnish it with a red Twizzler,” Spike told him.

“Yes, sir,” Soarin said.

A curious flicker passed over Grogar’s face.

“You know, I’ll have one of those,” he said.

Tirek added, “So will I.”

“Certainly,” Soarin replied with a nod.

“Hey, friend, bring me one as well,” Sombra said. “But make mine with black licorice.”

“That’s it?” Cozy Glow asked. “Anyone want to play Poker now?”

“What, are you in a hurry to lose?” Sombra replied as Spike excused himself and walked over to the bar.

“Well done,” he whispered to Chrysalis when he got there. “It was worth it to discover Rich’s tell.”

“What?” she asked.

“That ear wiggle he has to hide when he bluffs,” Spike said.

“He got the best hand,” she replied.

“Which he got on the last card,” Spike told her. “The odds against him were 23-to-1, and he’d know that. When he did his first raise he had nothing. Winning was blind luck.”

Soarin finished mixing Spike’s drink and placed it on the bar. Spike reached for it and took a long sip.

“Wow! That’s actually not half bad,” he said to Soarin.

Spike returned to the table and the game continued.

“Maybe he can actually pull this off,” Tempest whispered.

---

The scent of smoke and sweat of a casino are nauseating at one o’clock in the morning. Then the soul-erosion produced by high gambling – a compost of greed and fear and nervous tension – becomes unbearable and the senses awake and revolt from it.

Spike Drake suddenly knew that he was tired.

The other players sensed the tension between him and Filthy Rich and there was silence as Rainbow Dash fingered Rich’s cards out of the shoe before she slipped Spike’s two cards across to him with the tips of her fingers. Dash was showing the Queen of Spades, Four of Spades, Seven of Clubs, Eight of Clubs, and the Nine of Diamonds when Spike shoveled a pile of chips into the center of the table without counting them. The gesture conveyed that he didn’t expect to lose and that this was only a token display from the deep funds at his disposal. Spike, his eyes still on Filthy Rich’s, reached his right hand out a few inches, glanced down very swiftly, and as he looked up again impassively at Rich, he disdainful tossed the cards face upwards on the table: the Queen of Diamonds and the Queen of Clubs—Three of a Kind.

There was a little gasp of envy from the rest of the table and the players exchanged rueful glances at their failure to accept Spike’s two million dollar bet. With a hint of a shrug, Filthy Rich slowly faced his own two cards and flicked them away with his fingernail. They were the Queen of Hearts and the Ace of Diamonds—just enough for a Pair. Spike slipped his winnings into his pile with the rest of his chips. His face showed no trace of emotion, but he was pleased with his success and the outcome of the silent clash of wills across the table.

Amira turned to Spike with a smile.

“I shouldn’t have let it go to you,” she said.

“It’s only the beginning,” he replied. “You may be right the next time.”

Haakim leant forward from the other side of his wife. “If one could be right every hand, none of us would be here,” he said philosophically.

Sombra opened his case and took out a cigarette. He snapped open the tiny jaws of his lighter and lit the cigarette before putting the lighter back on the table. He took a deep lungful of smoke and expelled it between his teeth with a faint hiss. Grogar played like an automaton, never speaking. Outside the pool of silence around the table, there was the constant hum of the spectators and their occasional gasps of excitement.

After playing for four over hours, the players took a one hour break.

It was ten minutes after three A.M. when the whole pattern of play suddenly altered. Your luck can defeat the first few tests, but then one comes along that spells disaster. Spike had no idea what Filthy Rich had left; he guessed no more than twenty billion. In fact, Filthy had been losing heavily all that night. At the moment, he had little more than ten billion left. Spike, on the other hand, by three o’clock in the morning, had won over half a billion, putting his game resources over twenty-five billion five hundred million. He was cautiously pleased.

Wind Rider was having a bad time. He had lost over four million on his first two hands. He’d passed the third game, as did Cozy Glow and Chestnut Magnifico. Haakim and Amira looked at each other and Spike’s mouth felt dry as he locked eyes with Filthy Rich again. And again he gave only a cursory look at his two cards. Sombra bet three hundred million, and Spike and Filthy Rich both called. Rainbow Dash’s hand showed two Kings (Diamonds and Spades), two Jacks (Hearts and Diamonds), and the Ace of Clubs.

Sombra checked and Spike bet five hundred million.

“It’s up to you, Mr. Rich,” Dash said.

Filthy Rich raised the pot with one billion.

“Seems someone knows something I don’t,” Sombra thought as he folded.

“It’s up to you,” Dash told Spike.

Spike re-raised with two billion, and then Filthy Rich went all in with $14.5 billion. Spike would have to go all in to call Filthy Rich’s bluff—assuming Rich was bluffing. The odds were on Spike’s side.

He called and showed his cards: the King and Ace of Hearts.

“Full house, Kings and Aces,” Dash said.

Filthy Rich faced his own two cards. He had the other two Jacks (Clubs and Spades). The High Rollers’ Lounge went absolutely silent.

“Four Jacks, Mr. Rich wins,” Dash said.

Filthy Rich smiled.

Spike looked into the eyes of light azure. They held an ironical question.

“I’m disappointed, Spike,” they said. “Is that the best you can do?”

Suddenly, Spike felt the sweat on his palms. Like snow in sunshine his capital had melted. He had lost. He was beaten.

“Seriously?” Chrysalis asked. “How could Spike have lost?”

“It’s because of Rich’s Roll Ruler,” Feather Bangs explained. “He’s using it to control the game.”

“I see victory is all but guaranteed,” Impossibly Rich murmured to herself. “How deliciously brutal... When my son wins, all those Gates will be mine.”

Spike sat silent, frozen with defeat. He looked around the room and up at the spectators. Many were looking at him, waiting to see what he would do next.

“What now?” he thought.

Spike rose and vanished, back to his suite and bed, avoiding the commiserating gazes of Celestia and everyone else, not wishing to look at any of them. Fluttershy was the only one who went after him.

“Is he all right?” Celestia asked her when she returned.

“He’s resting,” Fluttershy said. “He looked tired.”

“He must be,” Discord replied. “The intense psychological stress of constant gambling can shave years off your lifespan. I know. I’ve seen it happen.”

They knew how selfless Spike was. He put himself second for the happiness of those around him. Even though he was suffering, he didn’t want to make them worry. He would keep on fighting without a single complaint if it meant keeping his friends safe... or to protect Flim and Flam’s resort... until the very end.

---

Spike lay on his bed in his new dinner jacket and for a moment there was the impulse to put his head down in his pillows and bawl like a damn kid. He was tired. He’d taken on too much, even for Spike Drake, and here it was a few hours away from the big deal, the one that was going to fix everything or break him, one or the other, and the son of the slut he hated had fouled it all up.

Spike raised his head and sneered at himself.

“So curl up and cry,” he thought.

The tears flowed from the corners of his eyes, down his cheeks, making them glisten. He went to the dresser, pulled open a drawer, and hauled out an unopened bottle of Scotch. Only drunks drank straight shots, alone, just for the bang the liquor gave them, but he had to have something now. His nerves, the nerves he used to believe were something only good girls could have, were jumping and yelling. They had been itchy ever since he had gotten out of the casino. A good shot of Scotch would quiet them down. It wasn’t often a man could legitimately take a straight slug of liquor, all by himself, but this was the one time.

He put down the bottle and braced himself against the dresser, his hands splayed, pressing hard against the surface. He looked at his traitorous fingers as they quivered in spite of all the pressure he exerted trying to keep them still. Then he raised his head and looked at himself in the mirror.

There he was, the great Spike Drake. Not a hair out of place, teeth white and even, and all the rest of him was right, nothing cheap, the way he’d dreamed of having it when he was a kid, all those years ago.

And now here he was, shaking like a kid in front of the principal.

“Get a hold of yourself,” he told his reflection. “This is for you, Drake, nobody else.”

He raised his hands from the dresser top and smiled at his reflection when he saw they were steady again. Slowly, he picked up the bottle of Scotch and returned it to the drawer he had wrenched it from: other guys might need liquor to carry them but not Spike Drake.

He straightened his black bowtie and bent his head to smooth his hair. His wrist watch showed him it was almost four A.M. Plenty of time. He could take off his jacket and lie down for a while if he wanted to, or call room service and get them to send up a sandwich.

Suddenly, there was a knock at his door and Spike tensed, then relaxed. It was probably just one of the girls, coming to check on him.

He crossed to the door, pulled it open and stood there and looked at...

“Diamond Tiara?”

She wore a pale magenta dress, her little shoes had rounded toes, not the stylish spikes that everybody else in Las Pegasus had on that night, and her hands trembled slightly as she clutched her purse to her.

He reached around her to close the door.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“You’re not buying back in?” she replied.

“No,” he said simply.

Diamond Tiara moved closer to Spike.

“Listen, the others are bleeding chips,” she said. “They’re not going to last much longer against my Father. But you--you have him right where you want him, you have a chance. I’ll stake you. I will give you the money you need to keep going, at zero interest.”

“Why? What would you gain from that?”

“You helped me see the light when I lost to you,” she told him as she reached into her purse and took out a squat envelope as thick as a book. “There’s twenty billion in chips inside. I know it’s not much, but I could never give you enough to repay you in the way that you repaid me. Twenty billion is nothing to me. Please take it.”

Spike’s heart thumped as he looked long and hard at the young woman in front of him. There was steel in her eyes now, and beneath her youthful appearance, Spike glimpsed a strength and power that wasn’t there before. He took the heavy envelope and slit it open with his thumbnail. Unbelieving and yet knowing it was true, he saw the chips. Diamond Tiara wrapped her arms around Spike and pulled him close. That’s when Spike understood: no longer wanting to be under her mother and grandmother’s control, she was willing to bankroll him $20 billion... even after he went all-in and lost on the previous hand.

“I can’t believe you’d be so kind,” he said. “Even after that, you still have faith to gamble on me.”

“I’ve come to understand you, Spike,” Diamond Tiara told him before she left. “I see why they, the girls, even Indigo Zap, believe in you the way that they do. They believe that this will not break you.”

Spike slipped the chips into his pockets, along with a few chips from his own stash, and his four Gate Cards, and returned to the casino. This was a reprieve, but only a reprieve. There could be no more miracles. This time he had to win – if Filthy Rich had not already made his profit – if he was going to go on!

---

Rainbow Dash had just completed her task of making a pile of the giant stake in the middle of the table when Spike returned. One by one, Haakim, Amira, Chestnut Magnifico, Wind Rider, Sombra and Cozy Glow had all lost or folded until it was just Spike, Grogar, Tirek and Filthy Rich.

It was five o’clock in the morning when Discord said, “Gentlemen, with this chip exchange, we enter the final phase of the game, which means no more buy-ins. The big blind is now one billion dollars.”

Spike’s cards were waiting for him in the shoe. They must not fail him. His only hope would be to stomp on Filthy Rich now. Not to just bet the last of his money, but to go the whole hog and wager his Gate cards. That would really jolt Filthy. Spike felt his heart lift again at the prospect of what was to come.

“Four players,” Dash said as Spike’s two cards slithered toward him across the green sea.

Like an octopus under a rock, Filthy Rich watched him from the other side of the table. Spike fanned the two cards under the curtain of his hand. Now he was really faced with the moment of truth.

Rainbow Dash showed the Ace of Hearts, the Eight of Spades, the Six of Spades, the Four of Spades, and the Ace of Spades.

“All in,” Grogar said. “Six billion.”

Tirek also went all in, with his last five billion; and Filthy Rich raised the bet with twelve billion. Then Spike went all in with forty billion, five hundred million... and his four Gates: the Three, the Four, the Seven, and the Jack.

There was an excited buzz around the table. The word ran through the entire casino. People crowded in and a silence built itself up around the four players.

Spike looked across at Filthy Rich. His eyes glittered back at Spike. His mouth was open and he was breathing hard. He called—with his own two Gates: the King and Queen—and the four men showed their hands.

Grogar had the King and Queen of Spades.

“Flush, Ace, king, queen,” Dash said.

Tirek grinned as he showed the Eight of Clubs and the Eight of Hearts.

“Full house, eights full of aces,” said Dash.

Spike was being backed into a corner. If he lost this, it would be all over.

Filthy Rich showed the Ace of Clubs and the Six of Hearts.

“A higher full house,” Dash said. “Aces full of sixes.”

Spike looked and saw his entire harem sitting with Diamond Tiara. Diamond Tiara grinned slightly, half of the women, including Chrysalis, looked faintly worried; while the other half, with Celestia, smiled encouragingly at him; and Spike smiled back at them.

Finally, he showed the Five of Spades and the Seven of Spades.

Everyone gasped, Rainbow Dash puked into the bucket Discord had given her at the start of the game, and Spike felt a moment of triumph at the next thing he saw: fear in Filthy Rich’s face.

“No way,” Stellar Flare breathed.

“Impossible!” Spoiled Rich added.

“A straight flush,” Rainbow Dash smiled after wiping her mouth with Spike’s handkerchief. “Four to the eight—the high hand. Mister Drake wins.”

Spike collected his winnings—in all it was easily over seventy billion dollars—and tipped Rainbow Dash a million.

“Thank you very much,” she said.

“No, thank you,” he replied.

“You had me sweating bullets, but I knew you’d come through in the end!” Discord grinned.

“He did it!” Chrysalis cried.

“Booyah!” Soarin, Sunburst, Thorax, Pharynx, Fancy Pants, Zephyr Breeze and Feather Bangs all shouted.

“How could that happen?” Impossibly Rich asked. “How can this be?”

“I don’t get it,” Tempest said. “Why go for something so risky?”

“Don’t know,” Spike replied. “I guess I just had a feeling.”

Not a single hand in that pot played incorrectly. A flush won four-way almost half the time; a full house won even more. They all played the odds correctly. What’s more, Spike knew he had the highest possible hand even if Filthy Rich had a bullet to fire with four of a kind, his straight beat that. Spike had won before the last communal card was put down.

“Then you mean the reason I lost was because I just ran out of luck?” Filthy Rich asked.

“That’s right,” Spike confirmed. “There’s nothing wrong with that. The absurdity of being helpless to do anything of your own will, that it means nothing—that, right there, is the very essence of gambling.”

Filthy watched his Gates go into the serried billions in the shadow of Spike’s arm, then he stood up slowly and without a word he brushed past the players to the break in the rail. The spectators opened a way for him, looking at him rather fearfully, as if he carried the smell of death on him. Then he, his daughter Diamond Tiara, his wife Spoiled Rich, and his mother Impossibly Rich all vanished from Spike’s sight.

Spike stood up as Grogar and Tirek vacated their seats, gave him short nods of respect, and Spike exchanged some pleasant words with Haakim and Amira, who congratulated him warmly on his victory, before ducking under the rail to where his harem was waiting for him.

He looked at Celestia and asked her quietly, “Shall we have a glass of Champagne before we go to bed?”

“I’d love to,” Celestia replied as she took his arm. “I’ll tidy up while you put your winnings away.”

They strolled through the casino and the lobby, thankful that both the walk and short elevator ride were uneventful. After the crowded arena of the High Rollers’ Lounge and the nervous strain of almost seven hours’ play, Spike was glad to be alone for a moment and be welcomed by the friendliness of his suite. After emptying his pockets of several billion dollars in chips, he went into the bathroom and splashed cold water over his face before gargling with a little cinnamon mouthwash.

The Champagne was the last thing on Spike’s mind when he saw his harem lying naked in his bed, looking back at him with hunger. He saw the fire and desire in their eyes as he took Celestia in his arms and bent her long body back under his. They all wanted his hot and handsome body. Five minutes later, they were together and he made love to each and every one of them under the moonlight.

Next Chapter: Perks & Invitations Estimated time remaining: 4 Hours, 56 Minutes