Time was passing by in Brittany. Slowly.Too slowly, or at least that was Starlight’s opinion. She had hoped their return to Equus would come soon after reaching Brittany… and she had been wrong. Oh so wrong.

Instead of Starswirl casually teleporting all of them back to Ponyville, countless hours had been poured into research in order to get them across the dimensional rift since their arrival, countless hours spent in the eerie realm of floating islands Starswirl had created within his tower.

Each day was more or less the same. She would be given a part of the ritual to figure out, pore over the topic for a good while in the library and assemble some notes. Then she’d move to one of the smaller floating islands and she would draw a ritual circle. Look up more details. Correct a mistake. Look it up again. Go back to a book she’d been using the week prior and then redraw the whole ritual circle from scratch.

It felt like… no actually, she was going in circles.

Sunburst was just… so much better at all this brainy stuff than she was. She was a hooves-on mage, not a mare meant to spend three hours laying on flagstones drawing ritual circles with enchanted chalk!

Her being ill-suited for this task then became rather obvious whenever she would realize the chalk she’d been using was mixed with the wrong kind of salt and that the silver nitrate needed to be nineteen degrees to the right of Faust’s thirty fourth glyph of stabilization. Not seven degrees to the left of the Sphigyptian analytic geomancy array, because then it would block the oh-so-crucial adaptation runes. So obvious a filly could do it blindfolded. Starlight gritted her teeth, horn sparking in frustration.

It wasn’t even noon yet.

“Easy girl…” She grumbled to herself, doing breathing exercises to calm down. “It’s not hopeless. Just… frustrating enough to make you want to scream, but you got this, right?” She told herself.

Though it said more about her current state of mind if she was starting to steal Trixie’s speaking patterns.

But really… their situation was far from hopeless. Unlike her, neither Trixie nor Starswirl seemed to have much difficulty with the more academic side of research they were doing, and Starswirl’s nature as having a connection to Equestria meant letters could be sent back and forth.

All of their friends missed them, obviously, but it warmed a pony’s heart to finally have news. Everypony in Equestria was all over themselves when Starswirl explained the nature of their disappearance, and Twilight had immediately mobilized all available resources to do whatever they could to get them back to Equestria.

She’d even pulled some political strings to get creatures like gargoyle archmages in the Infernal Lands and ancient sphinxes from Sphigypt to look at the issue.

Meanwhile… just getting news from their friends and the state of the school helped soothe their nerves. If what Sunburst said was true, he had the situation under control, though found it tiring to both manage it all on his own and get in contact with academic connections to help the research effort along. Though… what had been written in invisible ink in his last letter had been enough to make both Trixie and Starlight blush. Sunburst certainly would see to it that they celebrate their return the right way, and their parents wouldn’t be complaining about a lack of foals for much longer, let it be said.

In fact the whole situation was making the headlines in Equestrian news. While not quite as famous as the Mane Six, Trixie and Starlight weren’t unknown figures in Equestria, and even Canterlot Courier’s Captain was sort of a local celebrity in Cloudsdale.

Of course ponies would take interest.

“Everything alright Miss Glimmer?” Starswirl asked behind her.

He was in material form here, looking exactly like he did in Equestria… though only thanks to the enchantments that kept his little realm together. Outside, he was no fleshier than a ghost with the ability to go back and forth between human and pony.

“It’s fine. Bit of a frustration is all.” She replied, glumly erasing her mistake on the ritual circle.

At least she kept herself from blasting it away with magic. Four times in a week would have been a bit much, bad temper or not.

“I understand. Still, if progress keeps up, this part of the ritual will be finished in no time. I get it, it's not simple, but remember...”

“It’s but one cog in a much bigger arcane machine.” She repeated, tiredly rubbing a hoof over her muzzle. “I know, I know… I just never was much good at it.”

“To each his own specialty, such is the way for us ponies.”The wizard smiled. “The only issue is that here on Earth, we’re not exactly spoiled for choice, are we?”

“Unfortunately. So what does it do?”

“Cog in a machine as I said. Your creation here is basically the third anchoring point for the whole ritual that will bring you back. With the sensors and safeties plugged into it, of course.”

“Third?”

“It’s a network, Miss Glimmer.” Starswirl told. “One anchor with most of the arrays will be set here on Earth wherever we need the ritual to take place. Another awaits on Equus. Most likely your own school. The last one, Princess Sparkle’s idea, shall be drawn in Canterlot High.” He rubbed a hoof through his beard. “Ingenious I must admit. The proximity between Equus and Canterlot High will allow for a more solid connection and ought to prevent any catastrophic disconnection while your group’s traveling between dimensions once the ritual begins.”

“And it reduces the amount of work we need to do here.”

“That’s a correct guess as well. Not that we couldn’t do it, but with the amount of projects I need to get through, I’d rather keep my workload light.”

“Still busy with Miles?”

“Among other things, yes. It’s no simple matter, but mine and Morgane’s hopes are to create a… a prefix if you will, in the spell matrices we use. One that would provide a stopgap measure against returnees shrugging off magic. Once it’s done, then most of our issues should be solved.”

“But what about potions? Won’t they shrug off the effects too?”

“Given most are medicinal and non-intrusive, no. And for those that aren’t, don’t forget Meadowbrook is an expert in her own right. Many ritual reagents I use, she makes in her lab. I wouldn’t be surprised if she figures out a method of integrating that ‘prefix’ in her own potion making. In fact she’s always been able to integrate spell matrices in her own potions, so I doubt it would pose much trouble.”

Starlight was envious, almost. The wizard could be so casual about what amounted to groundbreaking research that would qualify most ponies for hefty grants and a cushy life living off patents. Yet here on Earth, things had simplified to such a state that it was just a matter of ‘need it, make it’.

Really, the whole planet was refreshingly devoid of paper-pushing… which Starlight would inevitably have to face again once she returned to Equestria and resumed her tenure as headmare. Those elite Canterlot academics despised the continued existence of the School of Friendship and would no doubt attempt to use this whole fiasco against her.

“So how long do you reckon we’ll need to finish this?” Starlight waved a hoof at the ritual circle.

“Really depends. Could be a smooth ride from here on and take us two weeks. Or we could hit a roadblock in the research when we combine all parts of our research and lose two months. Hard to gauge. And then you have the issue of powering the ritual which...”

“TRIXIE FOUND IT!!”A blue unicorn mare flashed into existence right between the two, standing on her hind legs, cloak billowing, proudly balancing a thick tome on one hoof.

Starswirl took the display nonchalantly. Poor old frazzled Starlight, her nerves short after spending the entire day meticulously drawing rituals, didn’t. She sprang up on her hind hooves with a loud neigh of surprise, lost her balance and started backpedaling, trampling the chalk symbols on the flagstones that made up the floating island… and then fell off the edge with a scream.

“Somepony needs a break, looks like.” Starswirl calmly remarked.

Trixie smiled sheepishly.

A few seconds later, the air hummed and Starlight floated up to the edge of the floating island, her form held in the magic glow of the safety system Starswirl had installed for that specific purpose. The automatic spell released its grip with a fizz, and Starlight plopped down on her rump, forehooves crossed, grumpy.

“Trixie’s sorry?” The illusionist offered.

“’s nothing...” Starlight sighed, though in her mind she partly regretted teaching a pony as flamboyant as Trixie something like teleportation. That was just heart attack material. “You found something?”

“Y-yes!” She straightened up, eager to switch topics. “The power source. Trixie has pored over tomes and parchments of old, seeking artifacts or ruins that may suit our purpose...” She waved a hoof grandly. “… and such an item, she’s finally unearthed! West of us, in Carnac, lies the solution to powering our ritual.”

“Carnac? Weird name.” Her friend grumbled, but next to her, Starswirl’s features lit up and the old wizard smacked himself with his hoof in realization.

“Carnac, of course! The druids were always so touchy about approaching the site, but it might actually work. Yes.” He nodded firmly. “I remember theorizing on its applications back in my youth when I was but a neophyte.”

“Oh, the place is older than stone then?” Starlight snarked.

He ignored the jab. The mare had yet to realize she’d just trampled her own ritual circle.

“Older than me, yes. As of now, some of the stones in Carnac should be about...” He paused. “Six thousand years old? Give or take. Funny, there are some fools that propagated a story that it was a Roman legion I turned to stone. Foolish. I mean, have you seen the size of...”

“Starswirl, what is Carnac?” Starlight interrupted.

The wizard threw her an annoyed look. This was a good story. Nevertheless… He sighed.

“Remember that time Princess Sparkle made a thaumic accelerator based on my old notes?”

“So that’s the original.” Trixie noted. “Trixie remembers the air in Canterlot smelled like ozone for a week after that.”

“And that was a fairly weak gem thrown in an accelerator that fit within a single tower. Carnac is… Several rows of menhirs, all enchanted last I checked, across multiple fields. Druids had raised them in ages past to boost the powers of their seasonal and astral rituals.”

“Multiple… fields...” Starlight’s eyes widened. “How big?”

“I reckon, a couple thousand stones over… ah…” He rapped a hoof against the size of his head. “Sorry. Converting old distances is finicky sometimes. A little short of four kilometers. But the accelerator doesn’t loop, it’s one way in, one way out. Power magnification is… Nevermind, can’t rely on my old estimates.”

“Why?”

“Simple.” He laughed, already turning away. “Magic disappeared for a long time here on Earth, and without it, there was no reason to stay interested in old stones like Carnac’s. Without magic and without power, I doubt the order of druids that used to keep the place running stuck together. They already had a hard time managing things when Rome started pushing their own magic instead of local variants. So… it probably still works, but you have to add fifteen hundred years of neglect and absolute lack of maintenance, if not outright vandalism.”

“Oh horseapples.” Trixie swore.

“It’s fine Miss Lulamoon. I’m sure all it will need is a bit of patching up and the magnification factor will be enough for what we’re planning. We don’t want to send you halfway across the aether after all. Now if you don’t mind, Martin’s lessons are right about now and it’s high time my apprentice learns the art of the bubble shield.”

“Where the fuck is our .50cal?” Skinner barked, warily looking down the road where the monster was threatening to turn up anytime soon.

“They’re packing it in a lifeboat and looking for a tripod!” Marcos replied, the cook now just pocketing his radio. “Fifteen minutes Quinn says.”

“Fuck’s sake.” Skinner swore. “Fine! Everyone get some height while we can. I don’t think 5.56 will cut it, so we’ll have to stall. Stay off the ground unless you feel like a snack.”

“Way ahead of you.” Floyd quipped.

The thin griffon had already relocated his M249 to the roof of a warehouse facing the customs office. A flash of brass and light clinking later, a new ammo band was ready to be sent downrange.

A roar shook the streets again, and a poor ol’ Twingo flew through the air across an intersection. The little car landed in a storefront, shattering glass and spreading debris across the street.

“Yeesh, someone’s hungry.” Floyd’s eyes widened as he looked through his scope and saw the bite marks on the car. That thing’s maw must have been as wide as the hood!

That ‘thing’ then came into sight, claws skidding on what was left of the roads and kicking up fallen leaves and soil. That ‘thing’ was nothing less than a Cipactli, or at least Skinner was reasonably certain that’s what the bestiary called it. The pony who wrote the entry used a moniker called Daring Do, so maybe he ought to consider it with a pinch of salt.

As for the beast itself, it came to an abrupt halt glaring at them from the intersection. It was downright gigantic, its body at least the size of a large van, made all the more imposing by the long limbs it stood on, each ending in a set of steely claws. It was somewhat of a cross between an alligator and a frog: its rotund body sported elastic, pale green skin on the underside, and darker green scales with rows of yellowish spikes along its backside. Though it didn’t have a neck, the way it turned and twisted to face them at the intersection meant that its cartoonish proportions were not to take lightly. This was a fast monster, and the longer strides its size provided meant it wasn’t any slower on the ground than it was in the water.

Huge blue eyes filled with malice stared at the team, its pink tongue lolling out of its mouth at the sight, catching between two of the huge fangs that protruded out of its jaw. Oddly enough, there was a pattern of blue scales along its sides that matched the color of its eyes.

It roared, maw opening out so wide it would have put snakes to shame and displaying two rows of curved fangs ready to entrap its prey. And then it surprised the whole team by divulging its one ace in the sleeve out of sheer gluttony.

The capybara the pukwudgies had been planning to eat had been left abandoned. Not for long. Much like a frog, the cipactli lashed out with its tongue and grabbed the leftover morsel, pulling it whole inside of its belly. It didn’t even bother to swallow, it just took it all in and released a loud burp after that.

Most eyes on the team were round as platters after witnessing the display… but it didn’t last for Skinner. The hedgefog’s eyes with their telltale blue sclera narrowed. He had a plan, and to execute that, he hopped right off his perch and strode on towards the enormous monster.

“Captain?” Floyd questioned over the radio.

“Don’t you worry, I’ll just play the bait.” Was his superior’s reply.

Funnily enough, he heard the usual beep of the push-to-talk being pressed on his radio, but the griffon came up short for an answer. Yeah. The fog form.

As if he’d complain to a Captain putting his head on the chopping block for a change.

And so the cipactli rushed out towards them. It leaped up in the air a short distance in front of the customs office where Skinner was standing before its humongous body came down on the Captain with a thundering crash, mouth wide open to swallow the hedgefog whole.

It was, understandably, surprised when the foggy form of Skinner stepped aside, entirely unfazed. He shifted back to material form, only long enough to dump his entire mag in the beast’s tender belly before going fog again, right in time to let a wet pink tongue pass through.

Impressive as it was, the small caliber did little but drive tiny pinpricks in the rubbery flesh. 5.56 would wound and knock humans out of action. It would reliably kill small stuff like pukwudgies.

A cipactli the size of a van was, however, a bit of a tall order. In fact, even the sheer volume coming from the M249 did little but annoy it and make it attack Skinner faster.

Worse, was that he couldn’t just keep dodging and letting attacks pass through him. Their generous use of firepower on the pukwudgies meant they started the fight low on ammo, and he could only keep shifting back and forth for so long before fatigue overwhelmed him. Add to that that hedgefogs were not meant to be frontline fighters and that all his inbuilt fight-or-flight instincts were screaming at him to run away and find the nearest hole to hide in…

The .50cal would come too late.

“We might need to run.” He grunted out in his radio in the little span of time between a swipe of the monster’s claws and a tongue attack.

But to where? It’s not like they could go back to the lifeboat. A cipactli mixes traits found in frogs and crocodiles. Shifting the theatre of battle to the water would be… ill-advised, to put it in polite terms. And trying to figure out where was not something he had the luxury to dwell on. The monster was fast, and relentless.

And resourceful, turns out. One second he dropped into material form to catch his breath, fully expecting the monster to shift its legs for balance and give him just enough time… except this time it twisted around abruptly. Skinner saw the tail just in time not to be hit in the head, but he felt his ribs crack nonetheless. The blow took the wind out of him and sent him flying across the overgrown intersection in front of the customs. He bounced like a ragdoll on the mix of leaves, soil and damaged asphalt before coming to a stop next to a tilted roadway sign. Mercifully, he’d been thorough in securing his gear, so nothing detached itself from his combat vest.

Sure, the optics on his G36 were probably fucked, but it beat losing his gear in the urban jungle.

He blinked.

“Why am I only thinking of this pun now?” He mumbled.

Vision still swimming from the impact, he tried to push himself up. He winced. Damn, that was probably two broken fingers right there. Could he still shoot with his pinky? Probably not. He swore under his breath and spat to the side. Blood. Uh, that can’t be good.

He had to close one eye to see straight. Further away, a rain of green tracers ricocheted off the cipactli’s armored back like sparks as Floyd tried to divert its attention away from the Captain. It worked, in a fashion, because instead of the well-positioned griffon who wanted its attention, the monster’s sharp blue eyes zeroed in on Marcos. It licked its chops.

Seriously, what’s with the cook’s luck? First it’s Taino cultists wanting to turn him into a broodmother. Now it’s a monster wondering if cooks taste as good as what they make.

Best not let it figure it out.

“Don’t touch my fucking cook.” Skinner wheezed out, his uninjured paw extended towards the monster, one of his quills held between two fingers.

The second tool in an hedgefog’s arsenal. Electric magic from their quills. His white mane of quills lit up with blue electric arcs, a last show of force. They raced up his arm with a crackle, wrapped around the quill, and lanced out towards the cipactli.

It looked more impressive in his imagination. Skinner was no thunder mage, and his little attack fizzed pitifully against the tough monster… but on the bright side it did draw his attention. It turned towards him with the nastiest glare it could possibly muster. Given the size of its maw, it was pretty damn terrifying.

And it lashed out with its tongue at the injured Captain. The wet sticky appendage connected, with enough force behind it to match a large dog running full-speed… but surprisingly it didn’t retract to draw him into the bowels of the monstrous beast. No, instead it went on, showering him in a spray of warm blood.

What seconds prior had been a deadly tool in the cipactli’s arsenal was now just a sliced up piece of elastic flesh in Skinner’s lap.

“Da hell?”

Then he took in the rest of the scenery, the sharp squawks and wild bravado being uttered in Portuguese just a few meters away from him. That at least was a language he could recognize. And the creature who was speaking it?

An Ornithian, now standing between him and the monster in a fencing stance, one gleaming saber held up between him and the monster. With that odd yellowish gleam and its apparent ability to effortlessly cleave through flesh, it was rather obvious the basket-hilted weapon was enchanted.

Its wielder was… gaudy, as was often the case with parrots. He was a scarlet macaw, one that seemed to take meticulous care of his feathers, what with how they practically shone in the sunlight. Like most males of his species, he was on the short side of the spectrum, though also slightly less stocky than the average. A nimble fencer then.

As for clothing, this one particular parrot seemed to have taken a liking to 19^th century fashion, because he looked the part of a Napoleonic Officer: crisp straight white pants with a single red stripe along each leg, a tight navy blue shirt with rich golden embroidering and epaulettes coupled with a red sash to which he had attached the sheath for his saber, and lastly a bicorn hat through which it seemed he had made a hole to let his crest feathers through, all flared in a flashy plume that bobbed in the breeze. On his offhand side, a shoulder cape, blue and red, was an almost perfect match for his tail feathers, subtly hiding a large caliber revolver.

This peculiar parrot, apparently powerful enough to interpose himself between Skinner and the cipactli in the nick of time, then proceeded to squawk out a challenge at the monster, confident. He held himself straight, shoulders tilted back, and enunciated each and every syllable in a regal, commanding tone.

“Marcos, what’s he saying?” Skinner quickly asked over the radio.

“Sounds like a lunatic, sir.” His Chief Cook replied.

“Really?” Well, he was wearing clothing at least a century out of date, and Skinner doubted Belem was in the mood for reenactors at the moment, so…

“And now he’s just called himself Pedro III, new Emperor of Brazil, and he’ll rebuild his proud nation slaying foul beasts one at a time if it calls for it.” Marcos elaborated.

Skinner’s maw hung halfway open at the sheer lunacy.

Before he had time to comment on it, the cipactli shook off the daze caused by the loss of its tongue. Enraged, it jumped at ‘Pedro’, claws out to rip apart the feeble bird that had dared hurt it… but the Ornithian moved like the wind. Saber in hand, he deftly twisted under a swipe of its claws, the gleaming blade hissed in the air… and the monster found itself short a limb.

The wannabe emperor didn’t stop there. Casually getting out of the way of the spraying blood to avoid staining his uniform, he sprung up in the air, transforming one of his arms into a wing as his species sometimes did to extend the height of his jump. For a fraction of a second, he hovered midair, right in front of the cipactli’s eyes.

His saber swung once more, and a bloody streak appeared in the cipactli’s skull, a straight line from one line to the other, just deep enough to strike the brain after effortlessly piercing through its thick skull.

In three blows, the human-sized Ornithian had felled a saurian the size of a van. The beast’s humongous body fell to the ground, shaking the whole intersection and stirring the vegetation… but it didn’t stand up. The blows had been precise, powerful…

So he spoke like a lunatic, yet was skilled enough to defeat large monsters in melee. In other words: he wasn’t crazy, he was eccentric. Skinner’s mind was made quickly, he and his crew best not garner the wannabe emperor’s ire. As the hedgefog struggled to stand up from both fatigue and wounds, he saw his savior utter a few words before wiping his blade on the cipactli’s body. Then he slid the saber back in its sheath with a practiced movement. There wasn’t even a sound of steel grinding against the edge of the sheath.

“Thanks for saving me. I guess I owe you big time then. The name’s Skinner, Captain Edgar Skinner.” He grunted out in a single breath, extending a paw.

‘Pedro III’ just looked at him quizzically, not understanding.

“I’m a Captain.” He repeated, tracing a digit against his ranks on his shoulder. “Ca-pi-tan.” He enunciated.

No wait, wrong language. That was Spanish. Yet a flicker of recognition dawned on the Ornithian’s beak. Close enough then?

“Bem-vindo a Belèm, capitão. É um grande inimigo que derrotamos hoje. Parabéns.” He proclaimed loudly, greeting Skinner and congratulating him for their victory, vigorously shaking the proffered paw.

A good Scot as he was, Skinner didn’t understand a word of it. He turned towards the nearby customs office, where his subordinates could be seen slowly walking over to them.

“Oï Marcos! Get yer arse over ‘ere, I need mah translator!” He hollered to the Chief Cook. “And you too Lilian!”

With the cracked ribs and broken fingers, he felt like using one more of their limited stock of health potions was warranted. All four of his subordinates hurried over, with the pink dragon that served as their medic quickly passing him a glowing pink vial he was all too happy to gulp down in one go. First-aid variant potions like that worked wonders in fixing lighter injuries, and already the searing pain in his fingers was turning into nothing more than a numb throbbing.

It would probably need either a splint for a short while or an injection of healthcare variant potion to fix completely, and it sapped him of a significant portion of his remaining energy, but with a bit of coffee he’d get through the rest of the day. Not in a good mood, but he would.

“Thanks Lilian.” He grunted before he pivoted on his heels to face Pedro once more.

The parrot was standing regally with his shoulders back, one talon lazily caressing the hilt of his saber as Marcos launched himself into a brief explanation on who they were. The existence of a group of sailors wandering around the planet seemed to garner his interest, and thus he extended an invitation towards Skinner. To ‘tour his domain and confer over the status of the world’, or so Marcos translated it.

“Well… guess that’s about what we wanted to find here.” Skinner sighed. Unfortunately, he didn’t expect to encounter one quite as eccentric as a wannabe emperor of an overgrown city. “Marcos, please extend our thanks to the… ahem… emperor, for saving my life and rescuing us from this monster. You’re coming with me of course.”

“Captain?” Floyd tilted his head, bemused. Was he really just trusting the odd parrot like that?

His superior stared right back. No. He wasn’t. But when you come across a powerful lunatic like Pedro, you play nice and avoid pissing him off. That said, maybe he could use a bit of prescience to avoid a catastrophe? He shifted to face Praveen. Up until then the female Abyssinian had been satisfied just keeping an eye on the cityscape around them, G36 hanging off its sling on her hip.

“Praveen, you’re coming too. I need you to watch my back while we entertain Pedro here. Floyd, Lilian, you two keep an eye on the customs office and wait for Quinn to turn up with the .50cal. He should be here in about five minutes. Anything goes bad, you two can fly away.” He barked sharply. “Understood?”

“What do we tell Quinn, sir?”

“That I’m doing diplomacy and he needs to take over securing the seaport. Keep the main access open with a team on overwatch. The rest, ask MacClelland.” He was reasonably sure the unicorn mare occupying the position of Chief Engineer had enough materials stored up around the ship to plug the holes in the perimeter. If only because they machined a lot of parts on board when they needed to fix stuff.

And if she didn’t, he knew her to be crafty enough to cobble something together with whatever she found in the warehouses around the seaport. Skinner was pretty sure he’d spotted some rolls of garden wire mesh.

“And ask someone to grab a bestiary! I have no idea what we can do with the remains of pukwudgies, but I swear I saw a footnote about cipactli leather and bone having its uses.”

Beyond supplying them with enough meat to fill the freezer for half a year, mind.

Leaving the customs behind to follow ‘Imperador Pedro III’, Skinner then ventured deeper into the city, headed in a general southerly direction. Their guide said that they were on the very edge of his domain from which he intended to reclaim Brazil and instigate a sense of national pride and patriotism his countrymen had ‘lost since Dom Pedro II folded like a stack of cards’.

Well, Skinner didn’t know Brazilian history so he was no one to judge. Instead of the past, he decided to focus on what was around him, determined to assess the state of the city… or what it was supposed to be before being swarmed with monsters and enough foliage to make a vegan salivate.

Most buildings in the direct vicinity around the seaport spoke or a decently rich area with most of the tech companies and entertainment. The high rises towering above the group as Pedro guided them through and past sinkholes and ruins were almost as high as those of the CBD, sometimes sharing the horizon with wider buildings like a former hospital, a shopping center with a gaping hole in its roof, a cinema laying half-collapsed in a drainage canal. There even was a parking building in which a tree had grown and caused a few levels to collapse onto one another, spilling abandoned cars on the nearest intersection where all the spilled oil gave the mud iridescent tones.

That quarter however, while on the edge of Pedro’s territory, wasn’t where he was leading them. It seemed the eccentric Ornithian, favoring ancient architecture, had preferred to settle within the colonial district.

It gave off a different vibe entirely. The buildings were much shorter, rarely if ever exceeding three stories, shorter than most of the vegetation which had grown there so fast. Their colors, at one point bright and cheery, were now faded, the paint cracked, though there was a warm air to them as leaves spilled out of hollow windows and vines wrapped around the mess of overhanging telephone poles and cables. Beneath their feet, narrow rails pushed out of the ground by roots implied tramways had passed through at some point, and the cracked asphalt revealed old pavement beneath it. The place had existed long before the first skyscraper, which was why the streets were narrow enough for vines and vegetation to grow between buildings like a forest’s canopy, putting them in penumbral shade.

Pedro led them through, sometimes passing through a building to avoid a patch of dangerous vegetation or an area that was blocked off outright… but monsters didn’t bother them. Skinner saw a couple – Belem really had an infestation issue-, but it seemed as though they were afraid of the wannabe Emperor. The animals however, either ignored him or seemed to have taken a liking to him. While they were passing through the remains of a marketplace with rotting, overturned stalls and spilled goods everywhere, a flock of macaws started flying circles around him before one landed on his shoulder.

On the other, a little marmoset landed, chittering happily after it jumped off the wreckage of some river fishing boat. They were near a little square dock at that point, a fishing haven dug into the shoreline that would have provided the marketplace they’d just left with fresh fish. Now, mud and silt hugged the flanks of those wooden boats, some tilted to the side, masts entangled in one another’s. Pedro had set down a few planks to get across quickly from one wreck to another, passing through a trawler’s wheelhouse to get onto a destroyed paddle steamer’s deck. A sad sight to see, Skinner could imagine the little two-decker sail out into the Amazon at one point, carrying curious tourists and enthusiastic scientists. No longer. Now, hordes of insects called it home and it was nothing but a rickety shortcut through the colonial district.

And past that rickety shortcut, Pedro’s ‘base’ stood. It was an old fort, likely erected shortly after the city was founded centuries ago. The lack of overgrowth and vegetation sprouting from the masonry made it clash sharply with its surroundings, which only heightened when their guide led them over the shallow trench surrounding the wall and past the narrow gates dug into the main bastion. Inside, crisp lawn greeted the sailors with palm trees arrayed into neat rows around clean – if decrepit- square buildings with tiled roofs. Headquarters, powder store, barracks with a flagpole bearing the imperial Brazilian flag.

The guns were rusty, sure, but the lack of overgrowth alone was telling. There was a small patch of garden next to the headquarters, currently tended to by a young Abyssinian child, but except for that it hardly seemed like Pedro produced much in the way of food. Despite that, several crates of produce could be found by the entrance where a tall Ornithian hen greeted them. A sentinel in civilian clothes with a simple bolt-action rifle clutched in her claws.

It hardly seemed like there were more than half a dozen people living there. Ornithians and Abyssinians.

Lastly, a small postern opposite the main gates led to a tiny pier to which a corvette had been moored. V24. Solimões. It wasn’t very big, nor particularly well-armed, and the way it sat in the water probably meant there wasn’t much more that could be gained from it than using the engines as generators and its one bow gun as a supplement to the fort’s arsenal… but it was something. Up atop its wheelhouse, a lone sentinel waved at them before returning to his duty.

Fugro hadn’t seen it on the radar. The corvette was moored behind a piece of land to hide it from radar… but it couldn’t see their own ship either.

Pedro then led them inside his headquarters, where a wide desk with a bust of Dom Pedro II and a few flags around the corners occupied the back of the room. Crates of salvaged gear and miscellaneous supplies lined the walls, and there was a small incubator with a pair of mottled, colorful eggs. Their guide unlatched his shoulder cape and hung it on a peg by the entrance before he unlatched his saber and revolver from his belt, both taking their place on either side of a lavish desk chair in which he sat down regally.

Crossing his arms, he rested his large macaw beak on his talons and looked at all three sailors expectantly.

“So tell me, Captain, what brings a ragtag crew like yours in this fair wretched city?”

Alejandro only watched the fights out of the corner of his eye. A referee wearing a yellow shirt had interposed himself between the two Abyssinians of the first fight and was reciting the rules out loud while both felines wrapped jute around their paws. He sounded rather strict about it. No claws, beak or fangs. One offense and you’re out.

Then they started going at it.

Unfortunately for the Spaniard, his focus was on the head farmer. She had finally put down her bucket of a beer mug, wiping some foam off her muzzle with a grin.

“So you mind if we get this thing over quick? I’d rather watch the fights.” She asked him. “Not that I mind looking into the future for the hacienda, but let’s be fair and admit this place just plays second fiddle to the refinery. I mean, how advanced can that get?” She snorted derisively.

Alejandro shared a look with Roberto.

“Quite complicated, though I agree on watching rather than chatting. You’d be surprised by all the things we saw around the world. So it’s all farming here?”

“We have two purposes.” She extended two fingers. “One is to provide a decent place to live for refinery workers… and I think this bar shows how nicely we got that covered. The other is providing food, and it’s simpler than you’d think. There aren’t that many of us. We got a decent herd of cattle, vegetables and stuff, and with the improved growth we make so much grain we can make our own beer.”

“That there, that’s the stuff we want to hear.” Alejandro grinned.

“¿Como?”

“Sorry, maybe that wasn’t too clear. As you already know, it’s likely the refinery will start exporting fuel. Fertilizer too, if there’s enough manpower to process natural gas. Now you tell me you have a surplus and you make beer, so what else do you have extra?” He told her.

“Oookay, that’s what you mean. Well, we Mexicans are pretty good at making beer so I guess we could export a few kegs. I mean, I heard from someone there’s a colony or two in Ireland so I think they’d be interested? Worst case scenario there’s bound to be a brewery somewhere to get some.”

“That’s the spirit! What else?”

She scrunched up her muzzle in thought.

“Well… so hear me out. I got a couple crews rotating around the region salvaging stuff, but that’s bound to end at some point so I’ll have more farmers to make more stuff. Carmelita at the refinery suggested we make more corn because apparently the starch can make plastics or… it’s chemistry I couldn’t care less about. But it got me thinking. Most folks make food anyway and except for those guys you mentioned in Cuba with the cannery, it ain’t easy to export. Ya follow me?”

“Mostly. Your point?”

“We’re lucky here. We got a whole family doing clothing, seamstress and all you know? They refitted me my sports bra, see?” She tugged at the strap visible below her suspenders. “And I think… we’re all different, but clothes are always a thing? So maybe we could make textiles. Dunno about cotton because I heard it’s a bitch to irrigate and grow, but flax I think we could manage. You can tell that to your friend there?”

He did. Roberto seemed eager to look into it deeper, and as far as Alej’ knew him the cat would probably do a whole lot more research into textiles but it seemed to satisfy his need to ‘evaluate’ the hacienda. Either way, beer or flax, setting it up properly would need additional tools and equipment, and figuring out where to find the stuff was right up his alley. He immediately pulled out a tablet, tapping and typing ideas… which left Alejandro free to enjoy the venue.

He rather liked it. The fresh air here underneath the earth was a nice change from the humid tropical heat, and the fighters in the ring below were a nice spectacle too. Now if only he could find a nice hen to share the evening with he’d be right set, but Ornithians seemed unfortunately rare here, compared to the cats and dogs that made up the bulk of the population. The few he could see were already taken.

In passing, his eyes drifted over to a little alcove lit up with candles. There were pictures hanging on the wall there. Humans.

“Say...” He nudged the head farmer who had already turned her chair around to watch the fights. “What’s the deal with the alcove over there?”

“That? Uh… how do I put it? You know Día de Los Muertos?”

“The local tradition? That’s… I dunno, one month from now?”

“Yeah. That one is related in a way. We ain’t all sure what to name it or when to do it yet, but it’ll probably be Día de Los Desaparecidos. It’s a contrast to the older tradition. One for remembering the dead and those we lost. The other to remember those we wish will come back soon. And… magic’s real. With some luck if we wish it really hard, they’ll come back that day. One can dream.”

“Personal loss?”

“Me?” The head farmer laughed. “Nah, it ain’t about me. Family’s already on the altar for Dia de Los Muertos. I had a sweetheart, but you looked at me?” She grabbed her breasts and hefted them up, letting the non-negligible bosom drop with a jiggle. “She ain’t taking me back even if she could recognize me. I’m a bigger lass than she ever was, and actually I rather like it.”

“You don’t know, she could come back as a pup.” Alejandro shrugged between two swigs of his beer.

“It’s a one-in-six chance for a couple to come back both swapped, and that’s disregarding the possibility we wouldn’t be the same species. Nah, I’m not sad. Life is a bitch, but as a bitch? So long I’m careful with the heat, I could up and grab the pup I want in a bridal carry and have the night I want. It’s good.” She raised her arm and flexed her biceps. “I mean, Christ, I never was a wimp but we bitches got it good in the strength department.”

Not like the pups were lacking in strength either, D-dogs as a whole certainly didn’t have issues with it. The bitches just tended to attract more attention.

Weird, but then again Alej’ was pretty sure Dilip got down to it with Carmelita and the Indian wasn’t complaining about things working the other way around for his species.

In the span of time it had taken for the brief conversation to occur, Artyom had made his way over to the center of the underground chamber, closer to the ring. The dragon found himself leaning on the railing watching the two female dogs that had replaced the Abyssinians who went first in the ring. Instead of the agile felines, now he was watching a more sluggish yet powerful exchange between strong fighters. One of the two, a German Shepherd, drew back her fist and delivered a punch so powerful the cords around the ring shook and her opponent tumbled back, dazed. She pressed on and ended the fight with a knee to the gut.

Around the fight, the crowd whooped and more gems were passed around as wagers changed. But there was no ill will between fighters. The loser of the last fight – a golden retriever- was helped up to her paws by her opponent from a few seconds prior and the two went to get themselves a well-earned beer at the bar, arms over one another’s shoulders.

It seemed like both fighters earned a share of the bets. Gems that looked both like enticing snacks and the beginning of a hoard to a young dragon like Artyom.

So yes, maybe sometimes he was a bit impulsive. And maybe that time it manifested itself in him jumping in front of the wagers table and announcing loudly he challenged anyone to defeat him after slamming his VDV beret on the table.

Seeing this, Alejandro slammed his talons against his beak. Roberto looked up from his tablet, saw the display, and immediately burst out laughing.

“There it goes!” The cat chortled. “Let the fun begin!”

Author's Notes:

So uh... been to Carnac, roughly fifteen years ago. That's where I got my French-Breton dictionnary. Interesting site to visit for sure. The 'construction' is nowhere near as elaborate as Stonehenge, but it makes up for it in sheer quantity. Menhirs as far as the eye can see, all in neat rows.

No surprise it would attract tourists then.

Otherwise, with Trixie and Starlight, I hope my interpretation of Starlight as the practical-minded mage and Sunburst as the pure academic sounds plausible at least. Let's face it: she is among the more powerful mages in the show, but one can't have talents for everything, right?

And on a last note... can't have an apocalypse without a few... [coughs] Eccentrics. Whether Pedro's message rings true or not, dressing up more than a century out of fashion and stabbing monsters with a sword is an odd exhibit of statecraft, with a touch of idolizing Dom Pedro II a bit too much.

...

I wonder if I could have him face off with a wannabe Simon Bolivar?

Lastly, on some 'meta' good news... it's nice to have you back Alden. I know saying life hasn't been easy on you would be the understatement of the week so I'll spare you all the platitudes, but your input and proofreading has proven invaluable time and again. Like suggesting a chapter title... I mean, seriously, finding something clever every week is hard.

Good to have you back, pal.