Octavia frowned. It was not the casual bend she used when Vinyl was up to mischief, but the stern expression of annoyance she had learned from her father. He had been able to say more with a frown than most could with words, but that had never held him back from berating her. She rarely had reason to use that frown, or the glare of furious contempt that seemed wed to it, but now was one of those times. Octavia was angry with herself, angry that she had fallen short of the mark.

The prey had slipped the trap. Oh, the cook had told the truth, the cultists' leader had been in her quarters, but she had left just before Octavia arrived. One guard, half drunk and sore, was inside, tidying up after the celebration. He had not been willing to tell where The Daughter had gone, so the cellist had smiled innocently and offered to give him a bath. That was how her father had taught her not to fail. Whenever she fell short of the mark, he would give her a bath. There were so many ways water could make one wish for death without leaving a mark, and her father could not leave a mark on her. Marks begat questions, marks made you stand out in a crowd, marks made her even more of an embarrassment to him than she already was.

It had only taken a few moments to break him. That was why she was so angry with herself. If she had been so brutal with the cook, used raw force rather than civil words, she would have gotten there in time. The Daughter would be dead, and her mission would be complete. The assassin ran quickly through the halls, scything down resistance with a minimum of ammunition. She made no effort to hide her hoofwork, for the guard had screamed out that The Daughter had gone to start the ritual early. If she did not already know that her enclave was under attack, she would realize it as soon as she reached her throne room.

Octavia shoved open a set of double doors, raised her pistol, and shot dead two cultists who had been perched on a couch before they could scream. She reloaded, took a deep breath, and forced herself to toggle the commbead in her ear. This had been covered in the plan. She just had to find The Daughter and improvise. She had only failed one part of the performance, there was still a chance to recover, to redeem herself in the audience's ears.

Her father had taught her to despise failure, to return successful or else. Breaking that habit had been very hard for the Asset, but it was vital to maintain communication with her team. She was not a lone assassin gunning for an unsuspecting target, but a soldier fighting alongside worthy comrades. And yet... she could not quite bring herself to switch to the Lieutenant's frequency. Perhaps if she moved quickly enough, she could still grab The Daughter while she was on the tenth floor, and none would be the wiser. If a musician made a slip, and none of the audience noticed, had it truly happened?

Where had she failed? Was it wrong to show mercy to that unicorn? Should she have discarded stealth in favor of slaughter on her way to The Daughter's quarters? Octavia bit her lip and slowed her breathing. A cultist was wandering through the hall on the other side of this door. He was not a guard, judging by the smattering of paint and clay over his apron, he was an artist of some kind. The assassin studied him through the small sliver of visibility between the barely-opened door and the frame. Should she kill him, or just wait a few seconds for him to pass? Which would be the "right" choice?

The grey mare took a deep breath and forced herself to let go of a little more anger. Yes, she had failed. But she was not under her father's rule any longer. Neither the Lady Bon Hadescream nor Rollins were of a mind to torment her for a slip like this. And yet she could not shake that memory of what always followed the words: Father, I have failed thee.

Worse, she did not have time for this. Vinyl needed her. Octavia would have whimpered softly, but was too disciplined to make a sound like that while somepony else might hear. The artist walked past, blissfully ignorant of how thin a thread his life had dangled by. She reached up and pressed her communicator. This was the "right" thing to do.

"Wind-one, this is Strings. Come in."

It took a moment for the gryphon to respond. When he did, his voice was strained. "Wind-one copies, go ahead, Strings."

"Primary target is not in her quarters," she nosed open the door, looked both ways, then sprinted down the hall. "One of her guards was left behind. He divulged under duress that she has gone to start the ritual."

Another pause from the gryphon, this time with a pained grunt partway through. When he spoke again, it was with a dark chuckle. "Well, that'll save us the trouble of searching for the dragon bones."

A smile slowly twitched across the grey mare's face. "I am in pursuit. I hope to catch her before she leaves the tenth floor." Another grunt came across the commlink, which prompted her to ask, "what is your status?"

"Having a firefight in the main generator room, two floors below you," Wind-one replied. His voxpack processed out most of the background din, but the generators were humming loud. The only reason he could communicate with the Asset was because of his helmet vox. Anything less than a belly yell would be swallowed up by the grind of the generators as they produced enough electricity to power the hotel. Rollins had to admit it was kinda genius, by keeping the enclave off the city power grid, they could almost completely avoid ARGUS' suspicion. Fortunately, the Bon Hadescream Organization employed much more aggressive information gathering techniques.

"Ivory team's going to have to go loud soon," he continued. "And as soon as they do we're gonna hit the power to the whole building." He was still thinking about how to shut down the electrical generators, not to mention the mana conduits running from the roof's solar panels, without destroying them. A lasbolt flickered in the corner of his eye, and he turned in time to see Wind-two finish off a cultist that had tried to outflank them. One problem at a time, that's how The Lady would do it. Secure, then shut down. "Do not divert. We'll be fine." He flapped his wings and took advantage of the high ceiling to pop over a hunk of metal, which was a fatal surprise to the cultist on the other side. "You need my authorization for something?"

Octavia took a deep breath. "Negative." She did not. He trusted her. The Asset trotted down a service hallway and felt her worries melt away. Vinyl was counting on her too, and she would not let them down. As the anger faded, she felt a spark of insight flicker. Her mind had been so filled with fear and doubt that she had forgotten a key piece of information. "I estimate she is trying to reach the elevator. My source mentioned she only used the big fancy one." She slipped back out into the main halls.

"Makes sense," Rollins hissed. Another cult-head had put a slug in him earlier, and he had just aggravated the wound by accident. His armor had already sealed, and his endorphins dulled the pain quickly enough. "I think we're almost secure here." Only two left in the generator room, if his count was right. He tried not to think about what might happen if he was badly wrong. "Carry on, Strings. Over." The gryphon saw his compatriot land next to him, still favoring her burn.

"Understood. Strings out," crackled through his commlink. Rollins took a deep breath.

"Two left, right sir?" the mare next to him asked, her lasgun at the ready.

The gryphon nodded. "Yeah. How're you holding up?" They advanced slowly.

"No worse than when we started," she answered. "Are you alright, sir? I thought that one got you back there."

They turned a corner, weapons ready. The grind of the generators hopefully would ensure the two ponies in this part of the room would have no idea there was a war raging. He nodded. "My armor's a little tougher than yours. Privilege of rank." Rollins winced as a sliver of pain cut through his warm blanket of endorphins. "Well... not really tougher. It just sorta patches me up when I need it, and itself when it needs it." Blood loss detected, scrolled across his visor. Automatic medical system engaged. "Took long enough," the gryphon grumbled.

"Sir?"

"I asked how your head is, lance corporal." He leaned out from behind a generator, lasgun up.

"Not the best question for the middle of a combat zone, sir." She sounded a little too flippant, even to herself.

He smiled. "That's exactly why I'm asking, lance corporal. You're twitchy. You're good, make no mistake, but you're twitchy all of a sudden." That usually meant she was thinking too hard, pushing herself instead of relying on her training.

"I... you don't ever get used to the killing, do you? I mean, I've fought cultists before..." They leaned around a boiler that hissed with steam. Rollins wondered how the cult-heads had hauled all this machinery up here, the hotel's power station was supposed to be in the basement. The mare checked the rear, then cleared her throat. "But those were regular operations. Stand up fights. This... I mean, it doesn't seem right, but I'll do it. Them or us, right now."

"I hear it never gets easier for ponies." He spotted a pegasus pony standing at a bank of dials, a pair of headphones over his ears. The engineer, or whatever title the enclave had assigned to him, was apparently oblivious to the fact that many of his co-workers had just died in the same room. Just as planned.

"What about you, sir? Did it get easier for you?"

Dumb, Rollins. Shouldn't have said it that way. He clucked his tongue and waved for her to follow him atop a slab of metal, then pointed to the other side of the room. They needed to find the other worker and take him out at the same time, if possible. "I'm a gryphon. We're wired differently."

"Not that differently," the lance corporal retorted. "I'm a pegasus, remember? Descendent of a mighty tribe of warriors?" She moved with great care over a boiler. Fast was slow, and slow was fast. That was what she had learned in Branch Crosstraining. Talking helped, since that nervous twitch was urging for speed. "Battle is in my blood."

Rollins kept his eyes peeled and wished that the improvised heartbeat sensor he had rigged up in a nearby room was more portable. As things stood, he knew how many cultists were in the room, but not exactly where. And while you're wasting time, Octavia is up there all alone chasing that wannabe queen. Maybe that nice cook she found was just playing her, and he has some way of ratting her out. He wasn't part of the plan. For all you know, she's... Maybe talking would help him too. "Gryphons were supposed to be the ultimate warrior race." History. He liked history. History didn't much like his kind, but then again nopony really did. "We can fly, soak up a lot of damage, and still be sneaky as a cat when we need to. Speaking of which, lift your heels, don't rely on your wings."

"Yessir," the lance corporal grumbled back, and stopped using her wings to hover over the old board that stretched between a boiler and a sparkling capacitor. It bent a little, but did not break, and after a moment she had to admit that it was easier to keep a low profile this way. "Did they teach you that at fancy-school?"

"No. I just read the Dari... uh... frack," he sighed. "Those are classified." The Organization distributed some dramatized reports from one of their civilian artifact recovery contractors as light reading to those who were cleared to know. There was talk of a book series for the general public, but he doubted it would ever see the light of day.

"Awww, I... eyes-on." Her voice snapped from disappointed to dedicated with commendable speed. "One. Unicorn. At my nine o'clock, working on the panel connecting to that... uh... big glowing thing."

The vox op rolled his eyes. "That's a Sol-Mana Capacitor. Understood. Can you take him?"

She paused. "Yeah. It's a bit of a jump, but-"

"Shoot him."

"Sir-"

The gryphon sighed. "Shoot him, lance corporal. Listen, I know you want to protect lives. I know there's a little part inside of you that keeps asking if you could help, just save that one, just try to reason with them. Hearing that the Asset turned a cult-head only fed that little spark. But that's not what's going to happen if you try and be nice here. He will see you, and shoot you first, if you give him the chance." He made sure his own lasgun was on target. "Understand?"

"Sir... it's not a him." The mare said quietly.

Rollins felt a tickle in the back of his mind, as though he should have picked up on something in her voice. You goofed the plan, dunce. But it was too ethereal to grasp. "Lance corporal, what's wrong?"

"It's a she, sir. And... I think she's pregnant."

The gryphon toggled his voxlink and hissed out some very choice language. Meanwhile, that small corner of his mind taunted him. What, a hotel full of pleasure cultists and you didn't think far enough ahead to figure that somepony would be with child? Nice going, genius. No wonder The Lady has you keeping tabs on that vampire, she's hoping it'll get hungry and save the Organization the trouble.

He glanced from his own target to where Wind-two's black armor blended in with the shadows, measuring the distance.

Oh, what now, you're going to tell her to back off and let you take the shot with your little toy gun? Maybe not tell her the part about how a neural stunner has a chance of frying a fetus' brain? The unborn were so very delicate. "Does she have a weapon?"

"I can make the jump," replied the pegasus.

"Wind-two-"

"Sir," she responded. That nervous twitch had gone, replaced by a firm tone. "It's... it's not them or me anymore. I can't just shoot her."

Rollins wished desperately for a miracle. Since none appeared, to his distinct lack of surprise, he settled for leaning out of his perch and looking at the pegasus cultist again. The engineer still had his headphones on, and seemed as oblivious as ever. Rollins squinted, and then cursed again. Pinned up next to one of the gages was a photograph of that pegasus and an attractive young unicorn mare. The vox op had a nasty suspicion that the mare in the picture was the only other cultist left alive in the room. Furthermore, after a closer inspection of the readouts he knew it would take far too long for him to figure out how to power down the generators on his own.

"No... you can't. Because that would make a horrible first impression." He sighed, and slumped his helmeted head against a front claw. This was one of those days. "Can you take her alive, lance corporal?"

"Yessir!" she said with the kind of confidence that only comes from those who see no other option but success.

You're going to get her killed, you know. It'll be all your fault.

The gryphon shoved his doubts away. It always is.

Octavia ran, her cello case secure on her back. She would not fail, not this time. She knew where the target was going, how she would get there, and that the cult leader would also have the secondary objective with her. Knowledge was power. Between the guard and Hot Trot, the assassin had all the pieces to this puzzle. A small part of her heart, free now that the anger had passed, regretted what she had done to that guard.

Really, she had not used anything too horrible on him. True agony required proper facilities, but she had managed to improvise enough discomfort to loosen his bolts. Then she started to tune his mind with little tidbits she had learned from the cook until he sung. It had been boring in a way. She would have preferred to simply play him a song on her cello that would have opened his mind and won his heart, but there had been no time for a true performance.

The stealth part of the mission was over, for her at least. The grey mare's only concern was finding the Daughter and giving her the "express route down", as Rollins had put it. Ivory team reported that they were now facing organized groups who had suspicions about why so many of their fellows had gone missing. The cultists had begun to congregate together, falling back on the herd instinct common to all ponies. Fortunately, the different search teams were uncoordinated, and seemed to be attacking each other on accident. Ivory team reported one casualty, walking wounded, but it was only a matter of time before the ill wind of chance cut against them.

She vaulted a piece of junk somepony had left on the floor, and slid to a stop next to the throne room doors. They were wide open. Octavia spared a brief glance inside to confirm that the Daughter was not there, then took off running again.

This was the moment when others would question their orders, or wonder why they ever thought taking on an entire cultist compound with a few ragged survivors was possible. She felt her body ache from bruises that had not quite healed, and her thoughts begin to grow murky. Panic urged her to run, to forget about the mission.

Octavia slowed to a stop next to a chipped sign reading "Elevators: Next Left". The cellist breathed deeply, in and then out. She let the energy from that excellent food flow through her body, and smiled impishly when she realized that The Daughter would surely miss such a fine last meal. Perhaps the chef's failure to deliver it had spurred her out of her suite and into action? It mattered not. I have my orders. I need to pacify these cultists, so that I can find a way to revive Vinyl. The grey mare took another deep breath, and felt her resolve grow strong once more. Her body might be weary, but her mind was her fortress. She would not let her domitor down.

Voices echoed down the hallway, and she crept along the wall toward them. Drawing her pistol, she leaned around a corner to see a throng of guards and other ponies of status in the cult, all moving toward the elevator. In the center of them was a glimpse of silk, but Octavia did not have a clear shot. The gun in her hoof seemed to tremble ever so slightly, as though begging to be fed a full magazine and allowed to bury them under an avalanche of lead, but she clasped it tight against her front. Ammo was too precious, and she could not say for sure that such an assault would be effective. Vinyl's shotgun could reduce them all to ribbons of flesh and chips of bone within a few seconds, if the vampire limited herself to mundane ammunition. The assassin's pistol was a precise violin, not a powerful double bass.

She needed elevation, or a grenade, neither of which could be had. Once she killed the leader, the rest would panic and become easy prey. The grey mare glanced around the corner again, and saw that the problem had resolved itself. Although her followers had shielded her in the corridor, The Daughter had demanded to stand at the front of the elevator so as not to feel crowded. She wore a frown of annoyance, which the grey mare presumed she had adopted upon finding her well-laid plan ruined. On her left and right were guards bearing the bones of the ancient creature they sought to summon. One white-phosphorus grenade would settle all of her problems... if only she had some.

The sniper shrugged off her cello case and stepped around the corner, dropping prone to ensure that she could place as accurate of a shot as possible down the long hallway. In one smooth motion she was flat against the floor, her gun steady in both front hooves and the target in her sights. Few things would be more terrifying than riding in an elevator with the corpse of your glorious leader all the way down to the ground floor.

Just as she dropped to her belly, the elevator's metal door had begun to slide closed. Her sights were aligned right on the unicorn's chin, and she felt the weapon-spirit sing in harmony with her own as she squeezed its will-rune... but the gun did not fire. She did not hear it cycling, or see the target fall in a mist of red. Instead, a greenish purple glow seemed to flow from the unicorn's eyes. It wrapped out to the sides of Octavia's perception, blotting out the corridor, the elevator, the gun, and even The Daughter herself. All that was left was those eyes, pulsing with hatred.

Did you think you were the first who has tried to kill me, my little pony? A schoolfilly's laughter filled her senses, seeming to push through the boundary of hearing and become both taste and smell as well. I knew you the moment I saw you, no, I have known you since before you were even born! I am Scoffing Song, Daughter of the Great Glow, and you are a mudpony. All you ever were, I gave to you, and now... The eyes deformed, melting into a churning vortex of energy that spoke though it had no mouth, "and now, I am taking it all away."

It raised two glowing wisps of light, each one ending in five small trails, and clapped them together. "This is my power, the birthright given to me when my inner spark was awoken. I am not a mere mare, I am a deity of old wrapped in mortal flesh!" She waved one of the strange appendages, and Octavia no longer felt the floor. Vertigo overwhelmed her as she felt herself falling, but never seeming to go anywhere. The sniper flailed her legs and thrashed from side to side, trying to find an anchor of some kind in the abyss, but wherever she looked the vortex was there. It opened what might have been a mouth, but the orifice was impossibly wide and filled with something that oozed and wriggled as no tongue ever should. Then it howled, "look upon me, you worm of the earth, and despair!"

Octavia did indeed despair. She had either missed, or not gotten the shot off in time. Either meant failure. That was the last coherent thought she had before the vortex reached out and slapped her across the face with a five-tailed tendril of energy.

Author's Notes:

The name means "The Cuckoo in the Depths of the Woods". Although it is was originally scored for the double-bass, it tends to get a full strings section nowadays. Of course, when you listen to it you'll know right away that the piece was meant for the piano and the clarinet. Its darker tone and the haunting two-note ostinato (that repeated "Dun-dah" of the clarinet) really seemed to fit this piece. This is where it all starts go downhill in a handbasket for the team.

I'm sorry about the delay in posting this chapter. I might make excuses about power outages, personal illness, and constant interruptions during my writing time, but those are still excuses. Instead, let's focus on the positive. I stated in my last blogpost that I would have this chapter up before the next Sunday Update, and here it is!

Uh oh, looks like the Big Bad just took things up a level! What do you think will happen next?