//------------------------------// // Operation S.M.A.C.K. // Story: Codename: Cutie Mark Crusaders // by Amante //------------------------------// now loading: cutie mark crusader mission operation: s.m.a.c.k         shifty         mare         alienates         callous         kiddie          Sweetie Belle lay slumped on a bench in the middle of Ponyville park. She just couldn’t ake her eyes off a filly, a few years younger than her, enjoying an ice cream with her older sister. A whimper of longing escaped her lips as images of her own sister flashed through her mind. Her expression changed to a grimace of bitter disgust as images of the Rarity on this side wove into it. They had met a total of three times, two of them in battle. Back home, she was kind, generous, loving, caring; everything a sister should be. Here she was cruel, selfish, bratty—worse than her Diamond Tiara—and not very likeable. A wet sensation made its way down her muzzle. She looked down and noticed several drops had already reached the ground below her head. There was even one particular drop, neatly occupying the chair with her. One long sigh escaped her lips as she stood and jumped off. She told others that she needed a walk but now began to regret the decision as she dragged her hooves across the dirt path. “Somethink wrong. little one?” said a voice to her right. She jolted out of her melancholy as her mind pieced together the message from the familiar voice. Her head finally managed to turn around as her eyes squinted at the min-green pony, sitting on the bench on her back. “Miss Lyra?” “Now now, Sweetie. Call me Lady Lyra, I insist.” Just another weird discrepancy, thought Sweetie Belle. “Sorry, Lady Lyra. I guess I just have a lot of things on my mind right now.” Lyra’s golden eyes watched her with compassion and patience as she put her hoof out. “Vhy don’t you join me for a while? Talking can help, you know.” Sweetie’s eyes shifted around nervously. In her home dimension, Lyra Heartstrings was a nice pony who played the lyre really really well. She even lived with another pony with the name Sweetie. On the occasions that she talked to her, she also gave her the impression of being a very nice, if occasionally harsh worded  but well meaning, pony. None of that necessarily translated to this weird world. But then, she wasn’t really interested in seeing any of the other Crusaders and she certainly wasn’t interested in going in another of those awful missions. Her endeavors the past couple of years also seemed utterly pointless now since the prize she wanted was so badly antagonized here. There was no sister to visit. There was no Twilight time. Besides two ponies in the treehouse, there wasn’t anything for her here. She walked over and joined Lyra on the bench. “Vat’s on your mind, little one?” Physically, this Lyra was identical to the one that Sweetie was familiar with. The only difference was her cutie mark. It was still a lyre, but there was also something else behind it. It looked like a circle with four, thin, banana-like things jutting out and were spread across the strings of the lyre. Another shorter, fatter banana was bent in the middle and was attached to the side of circle. “Have you ever felt,” Sweetie paused and scrunched her face a bit for a moment, “misplaced?” “Misplaced?” asked Lyra with her own version of a scrunched expression. “Like vhen you need to go out and cannot find your cloak?” “Not exactly.” Sweetie waved her hoof around vaguely as she said, “More like going to one of Pinkie’s parties and not recognizing anypony there.” Lyra, still with a scrunched expression, replied, “Pinkie’s parties? The foal in the library hosts parties? Why have I never been invited?” Sweetie wanted to smack herself for that. As she thought that sentence, a smile seemed to flash across Lyra’s muzzle for a moment. “An old friend also named Pinkie. Sorry, you wouldn’t know her.” “Ahhh,” said Lyra with a solemn nod. “But I can understand what you mean by not recognizing ponies.” “You do?” asked Sweetie as she perked up at this answer. “I do. I will spare you the details for they are long and boring and uninteresting for a foal like you, but somethink happened that changed my life forever.” Lyra’s gaze drifted to the the air several hundred yards ahead of them. “After it happened, I could never see ponies the same way again. I started to notice things about my friends which I had never had before. The slightest things out-of-place glared at me and beckoned for my attentions. Because of that, I always felt separated from them even if we would be together. From my perspective, they changed. It was like being friends with strangers. But for them, I seemed to remain the same. “It took some getting used to, and I will not lie it was difficult at first. But I can assure you that you do get used to these changes. They do tend to come at around your age so I wouldn’t worry about it too much. The only advice I can really give you is to not abandon your friendships. They can make sure you do not stray from your path.” Lyra’s voice zoned out as she finished those last few sentences. “Ummm,” Sweetie gingerly reached a hoof towards the unmoving mare but nearly jumped back when Lyra turned her golden gaze back unto her. “I think I kinda get it, but what do you mean by ‘your path’?” With a shake of her head, Lyra said, “I’m sorry, i strayed from topic a bit there. But I am serious about your friend—” She cut herself off with a glare so sharp it could cut through diamonds. Sweetie followed her gaze and found two foals. both younger than her, playing on a particularly lush section of the park. She looked around to try and find the source of Lyra’s ire. The best she could find was a fairly obvious sign that read, “Keep off the grass.” A low growl escaped Lyra. “The sign is not even hard to read yet still they choose to frolic where they are prohibited…” Sweetie had to do a double-take as she noticed the pair of particularly sharp canines jutting out through Lyra’s grimace. Her heart leapt several stories whilst her body stayed in place as she remembered that only time she had heard of a pony with canines was when they were something else. With an audible gulp, she placed her forehooves back on the ground. “Thanks for the talk. It really helped, but I really think I should get going.” Lyra waved her hoof at her with her eyes still locked onto the foals. “Yes yes. You’re velcome, little one.” With all four hooves back on the ground, Sweetie tentatively took several steps backward before going into a brisk trot. She realized that direction she chose would get her closer to the two foals. As she approached them she said, with hushed and strained tones, “Pssst. You guys really shouldn’t stay there. Can’t you read the sign?” The two foals looked to the sign in question then at her with large, innocent and faintly watering eyes. Sweetie suddenly felt a surge of understanding towards her sister whenever she was subject to such looks. “We can’t,” they chimed. Sweetie’s pupils reduced to pinppricks as she stared at their smiling, cherub-like faces. “Oh,” she began, “well it says to keep off. That means you can’t stand it.” The foals deflated somewhat upon hearing this. “Oh.” They perked up again as they asked, “Why?” “Ummm.” Sweetie shurgged and gestured vaguely into the air. “I guess the gardeners just want to ekeep it looking really nice.” One foal put on a scowl. “Typical marked ponies. Always wanna hog all the good stuff to themselves.” She gestured to her companion. “Let’s go. I wanna report this to the CMCs.” It was obvious they didn’t regard Sweetie too highly and even more obvious that she was—supposedly—a commando in the very organization they were telling on by the way they simple brushed passed her. For such little ones, they were capable of quite a rude shove, she noted. A sigh slipped past her lips as she turned her head around and scrunched up her face. Lyra was completely gone. She was certain that she had glanced away to talk to the foals for a moment, but nonetheless there was no trace of the mint-green mare. She rolled her eyes and practically stomped away as she filed the entirety of what just happened as another quirk in this quirky quack of a world. She trotted out of the park and didn’t stop as she considered where she could possibly go next. The treehouse still felt out of the question. School was still several hours away. She afforded herself a smile at the knowledge that, at least, Miss Cheerilee was similar enough to her home counterpart. She passed by Sugarcube Corner, the sweet shop that looked to be made of sweets, where she had shared countless precious moments with her friends. It was marked-only now. She saw its owner, Mr. Cake give her a nasty scowl as she trotted by. She got much closer to the Golden Oaks Library than she would have liked at one point. Her fur felt like standing on edge as an electric sensation crawled through her body from the aura the tree house emitted. The faint sound of sniveling touched her ears as she glared at it. Eventually, she got to the part of town she had dreaded the most. It was blank, brown earth. A rock as big as her stood defiantly to one side and several clusters of thick crabgrass colonized most of the plot. The ground itself was distinctly uneven and uncared for as it simply sat ignored and unused in this part of town. In the world she pined for, her home, Carousel Boutique beautified this area. It was the shop that her dear sister, Rarity had put up and flourished in. She was always putting out gowns and dresses of such stunning beauty here that, when Sweetie was younger, she could have sworn her sister was conjuring out of midair. The memory of the little spats and petty arguments she had with Rarity came in a torrent of melancholy as she knelt down at where the door ought to be. The flood of the moments of reconciliation, of forgiveness, of tenderness came as she put her chin on the ground. She watched as the sun began to touch the tops of the trees and begin its daily descent through the horizon. She remembered the time she and her sister had watched the sunset through her bedroom window. It was right after she had made her very first hat. With significant assistance from Rarity, of course. She remembered her sister smiling and happily wearing her humble creation, and even scratching her head due to some of the fabric choices when she thought she wasn’t looking. She pawed at the ground as best she could whilst laying on her belly. Other scenes of her sister drifted through her mind. Eventually they were joined by memories of Twilight, Fluttershy, Applejack, and many more names that made her heart break ever so slightly with each one. Her eyes, and the rest of her now that she thought about it, felt heavy as she lazily pawed at the ground. The last rays of the day made their farewells as the soft shroud of Equestrian darkness blanketed her. Before she knew it, her eyes were closed and she felt herself slowly drifting off. The last thing she remember seeing was her sister, gently using her magic to carefully wrap a blanket around her and to place a soft pillow beneath her weighty head. A scream pierced the shroud of night. Sweetie shot to her feet, her head swaying as she tried to maintain her standing position. The sound of tiny hooves frantically trotting echoed across the cobbles. Gasps and heavy breaths accompanied the clip-clopping. More worryingly, a dastardly cackle came vaguely from the darkness and bounced amongst the trees to make its untraceable, or worse, everywhere. The first step forward from such a rude awakening really was the hardest as it carried with it the threat of falling over from either drowsiness or unprepared leg muscles. The second was bad if onyl because it did not know where to go. The next few ones only had confusion to deal with. Finally Sweetie herself was in a gallop as she ran in the direction the hooves were going in. She surprised herself at how easily she had gotten up. She was never known to be a morning person and the one time Apple Bloom tried to get her up they had to postpone their planned crusading due to bodily harm. Yet here she was, galloping after somepony that needed help. Realization hit her and nearly made her fall over muzzle first. Why was she running so desperately? She had no idea what could possibly be out there; for all she knew it could be a manticore or a chimaera. The onyl thing she knew for certain was that the latest wail she heard was definitely from a younger pony. It was enough to steel her resolve and cause her to gallop faster than she had ever imagined herself going. The path they were on right now lead to straight to the Everfree Forest and with the panic likely going through the foal’s heart it was likely that they’d go straight into it without even thinking. She had to catch up before it was too late. The shadow of something crossed just infront of her and made her filly heart falter for a moment. She swallowed a lump that had formed in her throat and shook off the sweat that had built up on her face before urging her legs to go faster. Finally, the pastel green of another pony came into view. It was small, as she suspected, and was curled up on the ground. It was the foal from earlier in the day. Her body shook as she desperately clutched onto her left fetlock. Her eyes were a dam near bursting as they turned their gaze onto Sweetie. “Help,” she said weakly. “I tripped and hurt my leg.” The cackling intensified and circled around the empty section of road they were on, ominously bouncing between the trees. Sweetie lowered her head and allowed the foal to hook onto her neck. “My name’s Sweetie Belle, what’s your name?” “I’m Pompon Dahlia,” she answered between sobs as she climbed aboard. Sweetie offered the foal a smile that she didn’t even know she had. “Don’t worry, Pompon. We’ll get out of this.” She wiggled herself to ensure the foal wouldn’t fall before bursting into another gallop. Now was the perfect time to head back to the treehouse. Of course, the only problem was that Sweet Apple Acres was on the other side of town. The dastardly cackle had no trouble keeping up and even seemed to carry an amused tone. Several of the trees rustled their leaves menacingly as they passed. Shadows danced across the dimly lit trunks as the air gained a thick and stale quality. Sweetie’s breathing got increasingly heavy and every step forward slowly became more and more of a strain before nearly coming to a halt as she skidded to a stop. Ponyville was gone. In it’s place was a massive wall of pure blackness. It spread for miles in either direction and extended until Sweetie could no longer tilt her head further upwards. Hyperventilation began to set in as her head switched frantically from the path behind her to the blank darkness in front. The leaves above were restless now. The cackling had stopped but now Sweetie felt the sensation of eyes locking unto her. She trotted in place with anticipation before her flight instinct kicked in and sent her barreling through the trees alongside the massive black barrier. Pompon held on as tight as she could. Her tears had finally dried, though her hoof still felt sore. She said something and said it again a short while later but her savior was far too busy running. Her voice began to shout in desperation as Sweetie Belle bobbed and weaved through some particularly thick bushes. The next moment saw her go airborne for a few brief moments as she saw a bundle of white fur unceremoniously compress against a previously unnoticed trunk. She picked herself up and limped over to Sweetie Belle as she rubbed her head and groaned in a mixture of annoyance and pain. “Why did you run into the woods? Why didn’t you just go into Ponyville?” Still clutching her head, Sweetie said, “How could I with that big wall blocking our way?” “Wall?” asked Pompon. Sweetie Belle lost interest in her head and immediately turned around. The black expanse was gone. She opened her mouth to say something but closed with when she thought of Pompon’s tone of voice. “So there was never anything there?” Pompon shook her head. Thick smoke started to creep into the grove the girls were in, creeping and flowing across the scattered twigs and leaves until it surrounded them in a haze of darkness. Sweetie got to her feet and held Pompon close. The cackle returned for an encore as a fell wind blew hard from various directions and forced the smoke into a tornado on a patch of bush that Sweetie Belle plowed down. Shivers and various other feelings came across the girls. The older filly still managed to glare at whatever it was that was with them with defiance. Something pony-shaped began to form within the cone out of the shadows. The tempest ended as soon as it began. Where the tornado stood was now a pony, arched into a bow and obscuring her face. She wore a long black cloak that concealed her entire body and her mane was a greyish-green with a black stripe running along it and brushing past horn. Her coat was a dull—and almost dead—shade of grey. She started to stand and moved in a way that was smooth, steady and unnatural, as if she operated on an entirely different plane of existence. Sweetie’s glare vanished as her eyes expanded to the size of saucers. Her words fumbled and jumbled in her mouth before she finally managed to blurt out in the most confused of tones, “Lyra?” The figure facing them did indeed look like the mint-green unicorn she encountered earlier with several minor and major differences. One particular thing were her eyes which now boasted a blood-red, glowing presence. Her voice was smooth and silky, yet firmer than marble. “No, little van.” She grinned and revealed canines that were even longer than before. “I am Lady Heartsmacks.” Sweetie swallowed the cupcake-sized lump that had formed in her throat and tried her best to seem taller as she stared down the menacing villain. “W-what are you going to do to us?” Heartsmack’s grin was manic as she scanned the two girls and observed the particular body parts she was targeting. She wanted to giggle but stopped herself in the name of good form. “Zat foal you harbor haz been very naughty.” She took a step forward. “And by helping her, you have also been naughty, Sveetie, darling.” Sweetie tensed as her glare returned from Lyra’s blasphemous use of her sister’s word-tic. “You have been bad and must therefore be punished the way all little ponies should be punished.” Her hoof left the confines of her cloak and began to flatten out. Five small and slender extremities quickly grew out of it into a claw-like shape. The new appendages stretched out until they formed a flat plane with her now flat hoof. “With a good spanking.” The last word echoed around the grove and settled onto the two girls like a net. Incredulosity, confusion and legitimate fear mixed and mingled within Sweetie Belle as the full weight of Lyra’s words finally registered themselves in her head. “I-” she began before stopping herself. She made a few more attempts at speech before finally managing, “Spanking? Seriously?” Lyra crouched low into a pouncing pose. “Very serious.” She leapt towards the fillies with an open-mouthed snarl and drew her transformed hoof back. Sweetie Belle pulled Pompon close and tried her best to shield the foal with her body. She closed her eyes and kept her head low as the agonizing moments that preceded Lyra’s punishment stretched into eternities. She could hear a soft whine from the foal in her arms. The rapid beating of her own heart suddenly became clear as did the soft exhales of resignation coming from her muzzle. The sound of a something large crashing into something electric also became apparent as Sweetie felt herself be pushed back somewhat. Her eyes opened to see what caused the last sound and to her delight she saw Lyra back on the other side of the grove, rubbing her singed spot on he muzzle. More importantly, a green barrier of light was streaming out of her horn and covered her and Pompon completely. Her mouth slowly opened as she took in the fact that she was projecting a magical field. “Ugh,” Heartsmack groaned. She growled at the fillies from her prone position. “Magic in a blank flank? You really are quite a naughty little one…” It suddenly dawned on Sweetie that she was feeling increasingly out of breath and that every muscle in her body began to collectively feel sore. She directed her thoughts to her horn and, just as she thought, the feeling of exhaustion had vanished together with the barrier. With her magic, she tossed Pompon back onto her back and ran out of the grove and towards the dim lights of Ponyville. Heartsmack unsteadily got back onto her feet. She charged in the fillies direction and began to dissipate once more into smoke before an electric feeling arced up her back and settled comfortably in her head. She let out a primal shout, teeming with rage, and doubled her chase speed. The strength of the shout ignored the laws of physics and simple phased through anything in its path until it delivered its intent on the the girls ears. With similar primal instincts, Sweetie Belle found herself running, jumping and dodging through the perilous forest. “What are we gonna do now?” asked Pompon. “I don’t know,” Sweetie Belle blurted between increasingly strained breaths. “But running seems to be working.” She knew her limits, though, and was aware that it wouldn’t take too long for Lyra to catch up to them. Panic began to settle before she noticed that she hadn’t bumped into any tree droppings for the last few moments. She looked up and almost squealed in delight that the trees they were running past all had apples. Her euphoria at the distant sight of the base of the treehouse was cut off by shriek from Pompon. She turned her head and saw Lyra, mid-sprint and far too close for comfort. Her brain sent several signals to her legs urging them to go left, right and faster simultaneously. It was unnecessary as she found herself, together with Pompon, rolling across the field and into a heap thanks to an inconveniently placed apple bucket. Another low and glorious cackle came just before Heartsmack leapt into the air. “CUTIE MARK CRUSADERS! FIGHTING STATIONS!” sounded a voice with a very country drawl. :”It’s BATTLE stations!” shouter another exasperated voice. Several beams of light as well streams of rotten milk, marbles, bowling ball-sized spit wads, books, blocks, hay bales and the mandatory sink came crashing down on Heartsmack in an all-too-large torrent. Her expression before being buried was a mix of surprise and irritation as she let out one last rage-filled scream. “Sweetie Belle! You okay?” Scootaloo ran towards her and helped her to her feet. “Thank you so much!” said Sweetie Belle. “How did you guys know we were here?” she asked before turning her head and noting that Pompon was safe, and also quite amazed at what had become of the vampony chasing them. “They have this whole security system on the ground that lets them know if someones trying to sneak into the place.” Scootaloo shrugged. “Plus we could hear your screams.” The other three crusaders approached the pile of miscellaneous junk with weapons at the ready. Plumes of smoke emerged through the cracks and gaps of the pile and collected just above it into the form of Heartsmack. “Arrgh! You Crusaders will be punished for such-” “Yeah, I don’t think so.” Numbuh 2 had an ear-to-ear grin as she pressed the singular button on a remote she had pointed at the ground beneath the pile. The patch of soil jolted upwards like a jack-in-the-box complete with over-sized spring underneath. The screams and curses of anger from the intruder quickly muted out as she and the pile were sent flying far away from Sweet Apple Acres. “So that’s what y’all meant by ejection systems,” said Apple Bloom as she nodded with understanding. “Yes,” said Numbuh 2 slowly. “It was your idea, remember?” “Heh.” Apple Bloom said weakly. “Guess I forgot.” “Seriously, thank you guys so much.” Sweetie enveloped Pompon in her green glow and gently lowered the fol onto the ground with a smile. She was answered with an even bigger one than hers. “I don’t know what… is wrong with you?” she asked as she noticed Dinky and Rumble staring at her with their jaws almost to the floor. “Since when could you do MAGIC?!” asked Numbuh 2.