Blood, rich red blood, oozed across the floor. The grey mare lay still, spear jutting out of her body like a flagpole hoisted by some conquerer. Indeed, Scoffing Song wore the smug grin of a victor. She had finally rid herself of the troublesome pest. Now, if she could only keep this dotard of a dragon focused, all would feel her wrath! First the city, then Equestria, and then the world! The unicorn turned back toward the lava pit and opened her mouth, ready to continue her conquest, but he spoke first. "Fool!" Smoke billowed from his nostrils. "What have you done?"

"I removed a thorn from my side, and a distraction from your sight," she answered. "Now, are you ready to focus on matters of true import? We'll need to review a list of important targets before you start rampaging about, and I'll need to rally my followers for our march on City Hall." By taking the seat of government while the dragon provided a massive distraction and eliminated the true threats, she would be able to install herself as a proper ruler. By the time the military or anypony else arrived, she would have increased the ranks of her cultists at least tenfold with weak-willed citizens. Even if the city fell, she and the dragon could fly away to a distant land and plot another attack. She would still have her power from the great sacrifice of the city. The plan made plenty of sense, in her head at least. "Oh, don't frown like that, this is all your fault anyway for losing focus!"

The atrium rumbled, and cracks splintered across the floor. Several of the twisted plants crumbled to ash. He clawed at the air and growled. "You imbecile! If she had won, I would have wormed through the words of my deal!" He had never said when he would discorporate, the immediacy of the act had only been implied. The gray pony had at least been entertaining and screeched less than the one in that scrunched-up dress-thing who had summoned him. He would probably have put her in a little titanium cage so she could play the golden cello whenever he wished. The dragon had to start rebuilding his horde in this world anyway. A pony who could actually play pleasant music was almost as good as a jewel-encrusted crown, and just as edible. "But you have harmed her, you have interfered, and now I must forfeit!"

"So?" Scoffing Song rubbed the side of her head, wishing the ache in her skull would fade. Small wonder the dragons were extinct if they got worked up over such things. "You have forfeited a petty squabble," replied the cult leader. "But I am the one who summoned you. Your contract is with me, not her. I am the one to whom you are bound by your words, and if you do not keep your word to me you shall face banishment back into the Realms Beyond." She stomped back up the rock outcropping, ignored how the magma had begun to rise, and glared at him. "I am the one who spent years of my life figuring out how to revive an ancient Carpathian so that I might learn the secrets of immortality and receive power unending. So far all you have done is wade in lava and saw on that oversized lump of gold!" She raised her voice so that she could be heard over the howling winds. "Give me what I summoned you here for!"

"You think too highly of yourself," answered the dragon. He clenched his fists, and many of the cultists ducked for cover. "A Carpathian's word is his bond, and his bonds define his strength and power. By such bonds, those like myself have endured for aeons while our weaker-minded kin died or slept away their greatness!" Those strange eyes, filled with points and slivers instead of irises and pupils, glowed brighter. "Did you think that because you summoned me, you would be the only one I judged worthy of such a contract?"

"What?" shouted Scoffing Song. She had read all the old texts she could find, that was indeed how this worked. As the summoner, she shared a special connection with the ancient creature. Nopony, not even her, was crazy enough to summon a dragon without first studying the subject at length. "I was the one who sacrificed to return you to this world! Why would you even consider a contract with another?"

"For the challenge, you meddlesome wench!" roared the dragon. Another chunk of the ceiling fell, breaking through the protective bubble and crashing into the ground. The unicorns who had been giving their all to power the shield finally gave up and ran for cover. "For the cause of the skillful combination of sounds such that they are both beautiful in form and able to invoke in the listeners thoughts and feelings otherwise unconveyable!" The golden cello and bow in his claws shrunk slowly. "I answered a challenge posed by another musician, and gambled this temporary form. But now you, the one who summoned me, have interfered! Because of you," he paused for a deep breath, then bellowed, "I am undone!"

"But... but... that's not... that's not how it's supposed to go!" Scoffing Song had raised a front leg to shield herself from the heat of his breath. She could not believe what she was hearing, yet she could not deny what she was seeing. Magma rose up in swirling waves, slopping higher and higher around the dragon's scales, drawing him back into the pit. He was being claimed once more by the place whence he had come, that much was obvious even to one without any arcane knowledge. She stamped a hoof and shrieked at him, while he only glared back with anger and contempt. "No, no, this can't be happening! I want my power!"

"Power, power, power," sneered the dragon. His strange eyes simmered and swirled, each orange slit burning like a pyre. "What use would you have for power? Why should I trust you with anything, since you could not even trust me to handle my own contests of skill?" He waved a claw as he sunk deeper into the magma. "You ponies are nothing more than food. Wicked, shortsighted, treacherous food."

"Shut up! Give me your power, and I will summon you again!" Scoffing Song waved a leg toward the cowering cultists. They had hunkered into cover wherever they could find it, behind rocks, beneath benches, and even inside planting pots. "You want food? I'll feed you until you burst! Give me immortality, give me what I called you here for, and I'll get you what you want!"

"What I want..." The dragon laughed as a wave of molten rock washed up over his back. Many glowing sigils on his scales had begun to fade, and he looked ever more gaunt with each passing second. The lattices of bone that his music had converted began to crumble. "What I want is something to break the monotony of eternity. Something new, something fresh, something to please me. I want glorious things to horde all to myself, that others might envy my collection." He snorted. "Here I found a pony with the courage and the skill to challenge me to a duel of music, and you... you threw a spear into her." His tail was below the magma now, as was most of his body. All that remained was his head and arms. The Great Old Dragon growled, and clacked his talons together. "Do you know how rare that is? How others would look upon me with greed and covet such a thing, if I had it in my horde?"

"I'll get you a mockingbird!" replied the unicorn. "Gimmie the power! Gimmie my immortality!" She was leaning over the edge of the rock now, tugging at one of the horns on his head with her magic in a feeble attempt to keep him from slipping away.

"Power... immortality." He grunted. "And you call yourself a voluptuary. It seems there truly is nothing new upon this disk of rock." A long, low sigh caused a cloud of smoke to erupt from his nostrils. Magma ceased to flow from the mouths of the skulls his music had conjured. "Yet... this brief voyage from beyond shall not be a complete waste. You shall indeed feed me, my little pony." His claws rose from the lava and snapped together like a cage around the rock outcropping. Chunks of granite tumbled from his grip, but it was clear by the way he cupped his claws that he had left more than enough room for a pony to survive. "With your own flesh and blood!"

A terrified scream, a greedy roar, and then the dragon submerged completely beneath the rising magma. The howling wind rose to a fever pitch, and odd spronnnging noises that sounded as though someone was beating a clockmaker to death with his own creations spread from the pit. In the blink of an eye, the magma had turned to granite, and the floating rocks had fallen to the ground. Gone was the hellish glow and the howl of wind. Silence filled the room, deafening with its suddenness. Sunlight trickled in from gaps in the roof, filling the atrium with warm, happy light. It was over. Guards and cultists trembled behind fallen rocks, overturned carts, or whatever other cover they could find. Some were hiding in the ruined plants, trying to cover themselves, and others were scampering toward exits. One yanked open a door and found himself staring down the barrel of a lasrifle.

From high above came the sound of shattering glass. Cultists who looked up saw a black-armored gryphon soaring down. Well, less soaring and more falling with style, especially given how one of his wings bent oddly. Those who did not look up saw him when he landed hard on the atrium floor and began roaring orders. "Get flat on the deck and put your hooves on the back of your head! Yes, all four of 'em if you're that flexible! Do it now!" Operatives pushed in from surrounding entrances, corralling the terrified cultists before they could escape and uprooting those who had taken cover. Their screams were drowned out by the bark of commands amplified by the Operatives' voxboxes. After a few frantic moments, all the criminals were huddled together. Their captors began stripping them of weapons, armor, artifacts, and any other worldly possessions. None of the cultists resisted. Their will to fight had been drained by the horror of proximity to that dragon. Whatever these ponies could do to them must be less terrible than what that thing had just done to their leader. They were wrong on that count, but the Operatives saw no reason to rectify their delusions. Yet. After issuing a few orders to the Ivory teams, the gryphon holstered his odd green sidearm and half-climbed, half-ran across the jagged hunks of what used to be a smooth granite floor until he was at the side of the still gray mare. A pool of blood surrounded her. He hissed softly at the sight, and wished that his helmet's visor was still intact. It would have hid his expression.

The spear had punched straight through her armored uniform and penetrated deep within her body. She lay face-down on the floor. Rollins pulled her cello and bow to one side, smearing blood across the granite as he did, then rolled her to check the wound. He reached for his medical kit and found it empty. Out of body bags too. He had used his last one on the pegasus. A glance at the remaining Operatives told him they likely were out as well. The cellist's eyes were shut, and her face relaxed. She looked almost peaceful. The gryphon reached down, grabbed the spear, and yanked it out of the earth pony with a quick shlurp. She screamed in pain and kicked him right in the front, sending the spear flipping through the air and the gryphon clattering to the ground a few meters away. He coughed a few times and tasted blood. There was a fresh crack in his armor, and something else inside him now felt mushier than it should. He struggled upright, then grinned. Alive. Good. Rollins drug himself back over to the gray mare.

"Asset," he coughed. Pain jolted across his ribs. "Has the Lady Bon Hadescream given you permission to die?"

Octavia, eyes now open, shook her head and clutched her bleeding side. Tears leaked from her eyes. She was tired, so very tired. The spear had not been part of the plan, and she had felt so very weak when it suddenly pierced her side. Everything had dissolved into noise and pain. She did not know if the tears were from pain or joy, all she knew was that she was so very tired. Her eyes met Rollins', staring up at the grimacing gryphon through his shattered visor. In the distance, an Operative had pinned a guard to the ground while another was peeling off the cultist's leather "armor". Cold... she was so cold inside, but the sunlight was so warm.

"Then you'd better not, or I'll have a tall stack of paperwork to crunch through." He reached down, dug the only bandage out of her small first aid kit, and helped her keep pressure on the wound. It already seemed to be closing. Her unnaturally boosted metabolism had been working hard since the moment the spear punched into her. "You did well. Now, I need you to stay with me, okay?" Rollins locked eyes with her. "That little pinprick wasn't enough to take you down, right? Not after all this. You faced down the mighty, and you won. Just stay awake, and everything will be fine." His head swiveled toward the other Operatives. "Hey! Tell the cult-heads that if any of 'em knows where some gauze is, we'll overlook some of the minor crimes! But they all stay in that huddle, no exceptions!"

Octavia smiled up at the ceiling. She had done it. She had finished the fight. The city was saved, the cultists were stopped, and the operatives would have a safe place to rest. An ancient dragon had been banished, a cult leader struck down before her followers, and victory claimed. Yes, she had done well. The weight of the past two weeks seemed to catch up with her, especially the last twenty-four hours. She felt very tired. Very, very tired. The gray mare heard something inside Rollins' helmet whisper in soothing tones, "automatic medical system engaged. Internal bleeding detected. Local tourniquet applied." His eye twitched as though something had just jabbed him. For some reason, she thought that was funny, but she could not laugh. It would not be proper to laugh after he had been such a good audience. "Major fracture detected. Morphine administered. Warning, morphine supply low. Replenish reservoir soon." He groaned. Her lips twisted into a smile despite her best efforts. Everything just seemed so humorous. Wait... had she kicked him? It was all a bit of a blur right now... "User vital signs critical. Seek medical attention."

Octavia yawned. It hurt, but everything sort of hurt at the moment. Rollins looked tired too. Everypony was tired, it had been a long day. Bones were crackling down off the walls. The building still seemed sturdy enough to live in, though. Some of the cracks had gone away while she was playing her music. Londinium bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down... Londinium bridge is falling down, my fair Princess...

"Asset, keep those eyes open." The gryphon pulled off his helmet and spat a glob of blood and mucus onto the floor nearby. His eyes were glassy and bloodshot, but his grip on her bloody bandage was firm. One of the Operatives went scampering off toward a doorway, likely in search of medical supplies. Supplies. That was a funny word. Vinyl would think so, at least. "Do you hear me? You just did something I've never seen before, and I've seen a lot. Watching that was like seeing a tale out of the old legends. You're amazing, and..." His beak moved, but whatever he said was swept away by a surging, throbbing sensation in her ears that faded after a moment. She saw his tail flicking nervously from side to side. "...I mean that."

The cellist smiled up at him and tried to say something, but the words would not come. Victory, that was what mattered. Victory, and music, and sunlight.

"Strings, don't try to talk, but stay with me." His words came from far away. "That spear popped one of your lungs at the least. It'll heal, just like last time, just stay... awake... please..."

Everything was getting foggy, as though the world was coated with syrup. She could have sworn she saw the sunlight that fell through the holes in the ceiling smile, somehow, even though that was preposterous. Something else preposterous was that she had not killed anypony in this final battle. Music, not violence, had carried the day. Yes, there had been death along the way, but bullets alone would not have won this fight. Her father had been... wrong. Demonstrably so. Not my rifle, but my cello.

"Octavia!"

And then she slept.

Author's Notes:

Bon Hadescream has passed a thousand views! I'm overjoyed to see that, even though I know the number of folks who have read the entire story is far less. It also validates my decision to come back and complete this arc instead of leaving the story to rot. I'm happy to see there are readers after all this time, and there's still a bit more of this story arc to come! Keep spreading the word, and let me know what you thought of this chapter in the comments.

Here's a bit of background information that I didn't get a chance to slip into the chapter. The reason behind the dragon "cupping" his claws around the rock was to ensure that he took Scoffing Song alive. He's not supposed to kill the one who summons him while he remains on the mortal plane. I decided against putting that in the tale, since nopony would have direct knowledge of it other than Scoffing Song and she was rather unable to explain when it happened. She was a bit busy screaming while being drug alive into the abyss.

I'm really happy how this chapter turned out, I feel that the narrative flows well. Of course, I've had this scene in my mind for about a year and spent about two months fiddling with the concept in my spare moments, so I do hope it's at least passable. Something I really like is that this chapter is made possible because of Strings (Octavia), but the work is completed by the Ivory teams (Operatives). I didn't exactly plan that, but Le Cygne is played by Strings and Piano, so it all fits together rather nicely!

"Falling with style" is also a Toy Story reference, but I'm sure everyone caught that already.

Another chapter coming next week, the Finale!