Queen of Assassins

by Impossible Numbers

Trial by Combat

Chrysalis huffed and panted as she went. Her wings seized up, forcing her to gallop on legs that wanted to seize up too. She couldn’t keep going like this. The effort would kill her.

As she stumbled, she noticed the tunnels around hers had their exits closed off. The Living Hive corralled her onwards. So it wanted her to go this way. Why?

When she emerged, lungs struggling, she saw at once why.

The Intravenous Arena.

Chrysalis just stood there, breathing her strength back.

She’d entered a vast, featureless pit, large enough to match the marble stadiums of the civilized ponies. Only this was pure dark flesh, made out of the same fresh living matter as the rest of the Hive, not a foreign substance stuck into place like a stone in a troubled gut. Pure changeling architecture.

Thoughts tumbled over each other as Chrysalis scrambled to understand. This wasn’t a place she’d visited often. No changeling did.

Very rarely – though especially often in more recent times – changelings came to blows. Nurses, perhaps, insisted that hive-wide diets should change, or scouts insisted on promotion sooner rather than later, or the Queen found her ultimate authority challenged by an upstart with bright ideas.

However, although they argued and shouted and pushed and shoved one another, changelings took an actual bite-and-kick battle as the last of all last resorts. No one should stand against the very essence of the hive unless it was a grave matter indeed. No one wanted to risk becoming no true changeling.

For those rare times, the arena provided thus:

A few minutes, where everyone could see. Trial by combat. Both sides had to agree – if one refused, there was no battle. But refusing meant giving up. Even making the challenge in the first place could get a changeling scorned by their brothers and sisters. No one trusted a changeling who picked fights with their kin too readily.

Once agreed, though, the terms were simple. The goal: make your challenger surrender first. Use any trick at your disposal. Hope your opponent doesn’t know them too. And above all: Do. Not. Kill.

Purity ruled here. That was the idea. There was just open, ready ground and two changelings on equal terms.

Meanwhile, the hive would be there. Watching. Judging. Seeing justice done.

Tall walls separated the spectator stands from the pit. Row upon row of stands – throbbing with fluids pumped here and there – separated the walls even further back. Veins too throbbed along the ceiling. The Living Hive itself watched everything below. With great interest.

Chrysalis licked her lips. Her breath still left warm traces down her throat, but she could breathe freely.

There, on the opposite side of the arena, was Argent.

The Queen scurried from entrance to entrance leading out of the pit, but one by one, they sealed against her. Trapping Chrysalis inside with her. Or trapping her inside with Chrysalis?

Now it started to make a little sense.

Far above came an ominous echo. From the corridors leading off to the spectator foyers, the ominous whirr of wings approached. The changeling army was coming.

Far behind Chrysalis, the cries of her rebels took on a more urgent tone. Then the tunnel behind her closed, shutting out the noise.

Chrysalis’ heart staggered slightly. No allies here.

Yet all around the top of the wall between the pit and the stands, a transparent curve emerged. A massive dome eased shut like the closing carapace of a beetle.

By the time the first of the army arrived, they bounced off the invisible shield. More changelings filled the stands, butting against the dome to break into the pit. Some of the smarter or more uncertain ones realized where they were and milled about, wrapping their minds around an old instinct to watch whilst their bodies tried to keep being soldiers.

No allies for Argent either.

And then Chrysalis understood.

The Hive had listened.

Argent made as if to run at her, then stopped as if seeing her for the first time and skidded to a halt.

Slowly, looming easily, Chrysalis advanced.

“How fitting,” she gloated loudly and proudly, glancing around at the changeling spectators bouncing against the dome. “Trapped like an ant in the pit of a mighty antlion! This was where it was supposed to happen. This was where I would have earned my title as the Queen of the Changelings!”

Argent said nothing. She backed off, then backed off again when she realized Chrysalis wasn’t stopping. Around them, changelings settled down, listening.

“Just as tradition decrees,” Chrysalis belted out the words. “A changeling is meant to become Queen honourably. Fairly. Proving herself in the field, and then proving herself in the arena. I would have given Queen Imago – the true Queen – the retirement she deserved! Challenged by a worthy opponent! Fighting me in open battle! Face to face!”

Beyond the mortal changelings, a greater intelligence focused on her, a giant through a magnifying glass, leaning over a termite. But a queen termite.

“My last raid under Queen Imago’s watchful eye brought home a feast of feasts!” Pride roared like a chainsaw against iron anger. “I provided for the hive! I provided beyond what my Queen had ever dreamed of! I earned my right! Then you poisoned our minds, you murdered her, you threw me and my rebels to the maggots, just so you could grovel before our enemies and turn us all into traitorous cowards!”

The stands settled into silence.

Above them all, the Living Hive rumbled into life. Thoughts creaked and churned and ploughed the stuff of the psyche as a mountain of doubt shifted along a fault line and set off ponderous rockslides of contemplation.

Some changelings shuddered at the unheard sound quaking through them. Yet Chrysalis heard it, in all its thundering glory. Changelings heard the Hive all their lives. But she listened to it. She barely listened to anything else.

For the Living Hive – its pulsing flesh and throbbing veins and endless tunnels and chambers – was more than just the mass of changelings, dead or alive, forming its walls. It absorbed their souls upon death, united them, collected them together as one, became the sentient tradition, the massive collective, and the hidebound nurse-seeking comfort-eater of today. The hive came and went, in generations of bodies, but the Living Hive endured.

Yet it didn’t have room for complexity. Small tugs and contrary trends worried it on the margins here and there, but the burning urgencies of one century fizzled and died out over the next nine, so such things were mere itches to it. All oddities and quirks and fads were submerged by the strongest and most consistent will.

Argent heard it too. She became twitchier, glancing about for a way out.

And because the Living Hive was so big and plodding, it got caught out too easily. Thrown off balance by Imago’s murder and Argent’s unorthodox takeover, the thing had quaked then too. Chrysalis had screamed with the pain shared by the countless confused cries. Almost strong enough to match her own pain ripping her chest apart.

But all changelings remembered their nurses. Even nurses had nurses once. Argent had soothed the Living Hive and comforted it. The eternal nurse for the eternal hive.

Then she’d persuaded it, for a while. She’d banished the last voice of its resistance. And she was still a Queen, after all. All changelings remembered their Queens.

Chrysalis stopped her advance.

Now she and Argent stood in the pit together, far enough to charge, close enough to guard. The banished changeling – Chrysalis herself – had come back and, against the Queen’s own confidence, gotten this far. Argent had fled. Queens were not supposed to flee.

Chrysalis yelled, “Brothers! Sisters! To the Hive, I speak: I demand a trial of Queens! I appeal to all those before me and all those around me! I alone am fit to lead us into the new age! Hear my words, watch her cower, and judge us by our deeds!”

Around them, the changelings delved, if possible, into a deeper silence. The challenge. She had issued the challenge.

Hitherto, this had been an insurgency. Then a confusing chase. Now it was official doctrine. They and the Living Hive thought as one.

Argent breathed heavily. Then nodded. Once.

Perfect, thought Chrysalis.

True, it meant – annoyingly, outrageously – she couldn’t actually kill Argent. That was against the rules. But if she couldn’t kill the traitor Queen, she could at least beat her so hard she wished she could die. Pain beyond understanding would be a tasty consolation prize.

Then she could send Argent out a miserable exile.

It even flattered Chrysalis. She’d get her throne, and all without having to kill a single changeling. The conflict didn’t hurt as much when she thought of it that way.

Better yet, she’d be giving Argent what Argent had given her. She’d leave the killer a broken wreck, humiliated forever. She’d be alive long enough to suffer for her defeat against Chrysalis. Argent wouldn’t even be able to come back: Chrysalis could set traps and lash her guards into shape far more efficiently than a mere nurse could. Oh, what a deliciously fitting irony indeed…

Best of all, Chrysalis knew the Hive. She knew how to appeal to its conservative bent. Argent had broken too many rules to achieve such perfect trust.

All around, some changelings sat down. Others remained standing or hovering. Far behind, Chrysalis heard the dull thumps of her rebels trying to break out of the blocked tunnel.

Then Chrysalis noticed, out of the corner of her eye, the cleaner changelings. Still in the pit.

A team of seven cleaners, each dribbling green drool. Changelings cleaned the hive by vomiting on the ground, or on the wall, or on the ceiling, waiting for the dirt and dust to dissolve, and then sucking it up again. Some still had puddles at their hooves, or were half-bending down with cheeks bulging. All of them were staring.

As one, they fluttered to a safe distance, then – of course – turned to watch.

Chrysalis kept glancing in their direction. They hadn’t gotten out in time. No gaps opened up in the dome or along the tunnels, either. The sheer titanic weight of attention had focused purely on her and Argent.

She shook it out of her mind. Why worry? This would be over in seconds. Argent was a nurse, not a grappler. Without slick words, promises, or trickery, she was defenceless. One sword stroke would end this soon enough.

So why not go further? Put on a show. Prove to everyone who was the superior, beyond all doubt.

Chrysalis’ horn blazed green.

At once, Argent’s own flared in response. A meagre flare next to Chrysalis’ sickly sun brilliance: feeble emerald spirals wound out, coalesced like dribbles into a pool, became a floating, slightly translucent shield.

It shifted: first a circle, then a much more traditional shield shape, then a spike-ridden monstrosity, and then a rotating spiral with buzz-saw arms.

Puh. Basic scout defence.

Chrysalis leered. Her magical corrosion seeped out of her horn, down her face, and – as she stretched her neck up to show off the glow – around her throat.

Through the ground itself, the Living Hive lowed like a wounded ox the size of a city. That was the signal to start.

Bellowing echoes died away.

Both sides waited for the other to make their move.

A thousand eyes stared as the magic in Chrysalis’ neck slid up towards her jaw and then around her lips.

At first, a few green, gleaming, magical locusts trickled out of her mouth. They buzzed through the air.

Then Chrysalis gaped.

Escaping from the broken bars of her fangs, the cursed locust cloud billowed forth. Fogs of green plumed out, its millions of wings humming until the air itself shimmered all around. By the time Argent cried out in horror, they’d slipped past her raised shield and swarmed her.

Within seconds, she was lost to green. However much she swung her shield, the amorphous cloud simply spilled around it. The locusts buzzed in her ears, smacked into her nostrils, batted her eyes. Tiny bodies pelted her flanks. Mouthparts and spiked kicking legs cut her all over.

None of the swarm dealt much damage. But then, they weren’t meant to.

Chrysalis swished her sword.

And, unleashing a scream that had sent axe-biting berserkers scrambling for their lives, she reared, kicked back for the bloodlust, and charged.

Sword met shield.

Argent was quicker. The sword of Chrysalis didn’t bother bashing the shield for dramatic effect, but lunged around it like a lioness reaching for the throat. Yet the shield got there in time, rattling, and the sword twanged off.

But Chrysalis was lightning itself to begin with. Before Argent could launch a swipe with the shield, the sword immediately flung itself back round for another overreaching stab. Even a deflected sword was no barrier: Chrysalis simply seized the momentum and circled it round to strike from the other side.

Green sparks flew. Iron against magic would wear it down. Sparks leaped from Argent to her morphing shield, but the sword chipped away magic as soon as it had repaired anything. And Argent was struggling: she backed away under the blows. Locusts kept jolting her before she could launch any real counterattack.

Just let her back into the wall, Chrysalis thought. Corner her, and it’s all over.

Desperation zapped forwards. The shield morphed into a forked shape. The sword blow slid into the gap. The tips tried to close around it, to trap it.

A trick.

One Chrysalis knew.

At once, she let the sword go and… changed. An earth pony stood in her place.

And its solid, massive hooves punched.

Earth pony strength shattered the shield into green wisps, scattered the locusts, and sent Argent tumbling backwards. Without magic, the sword clattered to the ground.

Any second, Argent would recover.

Speed! Beat her to it!

The earth pony… changed. Became a pegasus. Snatched up the sword in its mouth en route.

Argent summoned a new magical shield – not fast enough – just as the blade plunged right through the middle. Stuck.

Worse, though, the impact punched Chrysalis in the jaw. Pegasi couldn’t take a hit. She dropped the sword, tumbled on the ground, for a moment was nothing but sharp broken teeth in her mouth.

Get up, get up, get up!

Chrysalis found the strength to change again. The earth pony form recovered faster. Changed again. Became the pegasus. Dodged as the sharpened edge of the shield struck down and got stuck in the ground. Pink fluids spurted out of the gash she left in the ground.

The Living Hive whimpered.

Another change: the pegasus became pure changeling Chrysalis, summoning the downed sword. It flipped into the air towards her, her magical grip caught it, raised it – took the blow aimed at her head.

The scattered locusts – recaptured again under Chrysalis’ green, glowing horn – surged forwards. Argent leaped back, let the magic shield die, conjured another one and swatted locust pack after locust pack into the ground.

Just enough time to rush her!

Chrysalis… changed. The unicorn fired a shot. As Argent broke off to deflect it, the next wave of locusts smothered her skin. As she broke off to shake them off and bat them away, Chrysalis focused on her unicorn horn, and…

FLASH!

FLASH!

She opened her eyes. Teleportation spells. She’d never mastered them as a changeling, but mimicry brought advantages.

And now she was right behind Argent and her unicorn magic still held the sword ready for a decisive, final –

Argent didn’t bother with a normal-sized shield this time. Instead, the sphere of green enveloped her utterly.

Before Chrysalis got over her shock, the locusts fizzled out under the touch. The sphere pulsed like a heartbeat bubble. Chrysalis raised her sword flat-side first as a shield, braced her legs, skidded under the wash of force.

Wait. A defensive bubble spell? Argent!?

How? Only soldier changelings knew that spell! A mere wet nurse could never…

The shock ran over her face.

Under the green film, Argent scowled at her. “I study! You don’t!”

Then Chrysalis scowled in turn. Fool! This changed nothing. No magical shield could repel iron for long. She stabbed right into the shield, opening her mouth to cackle –

Argent… changed.

Her unicorn form flashed out of existence. Along with the bubble.

Chrysalis stared. Any changeling could change form, but it took practice and mastery in the field. A nurse couldn’t –

Her body ignored her brain’s prejudices and spun round, exactly where Argent had reappeared, back in changeling form again.

Chrysalis had swung before she realized Argent was nowhere close. Much further away.

In the midst of the cleaners.

Chrysalis hastily stopped her sword in time. Held it steady.

Six of the cleaners scurried away. Every changeling would watch a fight, but only from a distance.

One wasn’t so lucky.

By the time Chrysalis could blink, the cleaner was yanked yelping into mid-air and Argent’s glowing horn held it suspended in place, gasping and patting at its neck.

Horror broke out in a chatter all around them. From afar, the rebels battered through the blockage of their entrance tunnel, but only Antenna had managed to squeeze halfway through, and he stopped for a moment at the sight whilst the hive broke into uproar all around them.

Chrysalis froze.

As obviously and deliberately as possible, Argent straightened up. The choking cleaner whined through what was left of its crushing throat.

“Don’t move,” said Argent.

Chrysalis raised her sword.

At once, Argent raised the cleaner to block it.

The sword stopped immediately. Inches from the frightened face, the blade trembled.

“You… You soul-sucking spore…” hissed Chrysalis.

Soul-sucking spore. One of the worst plagues a changeling hive could face. A killer fungal growth that warped changelings and drove their transformation spells haywire beyond recognition. An insane and painful way to die.

And the vilest of insults.

Argent changed.

Before Chrysalis could block, the sword clattered out of her magical grip. The next shot spell hit her squarely in the chest. Sent her rolling.

Through the daze, a voice droned indistinctly.

Sense trickled back. The voice became Argent’s.

“…and haven’t you learned yet?” said Argent. “No rules anymore. No restrictions. No stupid old codes. Only what has to be done to survive.”

That voice sounded too close.

Chrysalis changed, the pegasus shot away, and she changed again into the earth pony as the blade of the new summoned shield stabbed where her head had been seconds ago. How could she still fight? There were no rules anymore! The spell had been broken! Why weren’t there any riots?

Overhead, the dome stayed in place. She heard the crowd clearly, though. A babble of confusion, outrage, hurried excuses, uncertain arguments, and frantic questions. The Living Hive itself stirred uncertainly.

She spotted the sword, shot towards it, leaped, changed, somersaulted in mid-air as a pegasus, zipped by the flash that brought a teleporting unicorn before her, yelped, dodged Argent’s slashing shield, grabbed the sword in her hooves, tossed it up, changed, landed on changeling hooves again, and caught the sword in time to block a blow aimed at her head.

Argent’s mobile shield smacked and rammed and battered into her; it was all Chrysalis could do to get her sword there in time, and each blow smacked it dangerous inches out of her control before she could seize it again. Yet she couldn’t strike back. The cleaner was Argent’s hostage. If Chrysalis tried a stab, she knew it would kill the wrong changeling.

Worse, she hadn’t expected Argent to know so much magic.

Especially not when Argent changed into a unicorn and fired at her leg.

Block!

Chrysalis’ sword was a second too late.

“NO!” shrieked Captain Antenna from a lifetime away.

Sheer white-hot pain blasted Chrysalis’ leg out from under her. Her chest smacked into the fleshy floor and only soldierly instinct rolled her away from instant decapitation via shield. Her sword tumbled aside. She tried to stand up and then the pain swung round and barrelled so hard over her hurting leg that she blacked out for a fatal second. The scream raged through her leg to her pain-pounding chest and burst out and fled from her mouth for the wilds.

Trapped between the crushing pain and the head-smacking daze, she found just enough sense to grab the nearby sword and thrust it regardless into –

Argent’s expectant sphere of green.

Behind this great sphere like a princess raising the sun, Argent did not smirk. She did not laugh or gloat or banter. She had the look of a tired old mare forced to perform one last act of regrettable surgery.

In the entrance, Captain Antenna flurried in desperation, still squeezed within the tiny hole he and the rebels had forced into the blockage. He got no further.

No help. Chrysalis’ gaze swept back to Argent.

Whose green sphere gripped the stuck sword like an amoeba curling around a wound. Both held firm for a concentrated moment. Then the metal groaned. Bent. Began to glow red hot where some strange, unnatural magic met it. For a while, the sphere flared like the sheen of the enchanted throne. The air shimmered with magic that had never been used inside a changeling hive before, because it had always been forbidden. Had been the stuff of inferior species.

The sword screamed. Cracked. Reddened along its entire length. Resisted. Lost a sudden shard.

Snapped.

Shattered.

Showered.

Chrysalis had wielded swords for years. She’d fought alongside them, as any infantry pony fought alongside their bravest comrades. Even this young one had acquired a soul forged in the fires of battle. It had acquired a name. Maulwurf’s Bane.

Died.

The dead pieces smacked on the flesh of the ground. The hilt clanged off a shard of blade. The hope died with it.

Dead hope mutated. Sprouted something. Burst and swarmed with rotten maggots of helpless rage. Chrysalis growled her defiance. Made to stand up.

Her leg screamed at her.

Yelping, Chrysalis crashed onto her face.

She peered up in time to see Argent drop the cleaner, who bolted screaming for an exit.

Argent inspected Chrysalis’ face carefully. She summoned another shield. Brought it up over her own head, poised. The pointed edge cut into Chrysalis’ future.

In the distance, Captain Antenna shouted. Spells blasted something away. It was all a faraway dream now.

Chrysalis made to growl her defiance –

“I will regret this,” said Argent, ever the nurse.

And that was it. Simple. Chrysalis became, for the first time and the last time in decades, a mere grub. A helpless sack of fluids, begging from a towering authority that kept her alive, decided her life. First life, for the last time.

The shield stabbed down.

And missed as Captain Antenna barreled into Argent and bowled her over. The edge of the shield struck the ground, spurted pink gunk into Chrysalis’ eye.

Antenna had the element of surprise. His horn already glowed, aimed –

Then Argent slashed with her shield.

Antenna was thrown back. His fired spell missed utterly. Smacked into the dome overhead.

Argent slashed again.

And again. And again, and again, and again, and then she drew it back and smacked his limp form aside to bounce once and then slump and lie still.

Rage! Shock! Horror! Crying heartache!

The Living Hive screamed along with her as Chrysalis was on Argent before she even realized she was on her hooves already. Horn aglow. Horn overflowing with emotion. Emotion rising and exploding into power.

Argent’s sphere resisted for a second.

Then the years of campaigns, the rising joy of battle, the cry of comrades, the shots in the dark, an age of paranoia and living on the edge between a raid worth cheering and a death you had to mourn – Chrysalis exploded with a screaming, slashing rage at her own failure.

The sheer emotion burst her body, became sickly green and dead purple and seething black, reddened hot with bloodlust, gave magic all the strength it needed and flew wild, and then Chrysalis cast the only spell that would match and instantly became a supernova.

Argent inside her defensive sphere blew away like a bubble, with her rattling inside.

Chrysalis screamed until the dome cracked and the Living Hive echoed and screamed with her, all the memories of comrades who’d fallen fighting in every war in every lifetime.

And then the backwash of power surged towards Chrysalis and knocked her off her hooves. She barely braced herself in time to stop the tumble. Her breath punched her in the solar plexus and left her gasping back the energy she’d splashed out. Her head swam with the aftershock. Her horn throbbed, flickered against the short-circuiting lines of force, and died.

She had just cast the ultimate spell. The Suicidal Sting.

Like a wounded bee sacrificing itself for the cause. Once a changeling stung her worst enemies with such a supreme act of magical defiance, she was doomed. Her life force would simply bleed away. All magic was spent.

She took in the arena all around her.

Far away, the cleaners groaned and picked themselves up where they had been scattered like dandelion seeds. The dome cracked. Shards fell out. Eventually, it withdrew, wounded and whimpering. The entrances to all tunnels broke open. Her rebels peered in cautiously, surrounded by scorch marks.

Overhead, the hive was in uproar. Changelings flew, hovered, picked themselves or each other up, and rushed around trying to make sense of what had happened.

Self-control. That was the danger with magic. She had to learn self-control.

Calm down. Take a moment. Get her strength back. Then find Argent and make her pay!

Just in time, she spotted the tail flee down a tunnel. Argent! Chrysalis charged after it, ignoring the cries and chatter everywhere else. How dare she? How dare she!?

Argent was a dead mare walking!

“Chrysalis…?”

It was Antenna.

Chrysalis halted.

He wheezed. Curled up on the ground. Surrounding by a growing pool of green liquid.

She didn’t think, or argue, or dare wait too long. Her hooves helped him stand up, shakily, then she lost patience and made for Argent’s escape hole.

No.

She hurried back and helped Antenna limp forwards.

“Get to the infirmary at once,” she commanded. “I can’t let her – that thing – escape.”

“Yes, Commander…” Antenna winced. Something found extra green fluid in him, because one of his wounds spilled another trail down his leg.

Not now. Of all times, not now!

She glanced across to her fellow rebels, who hurried towards them. Overhead, the rest of the hive slowly came to terms with the fact that it was still technically the Queen’s army. Orders broke out. Some soldiers didn’t bother with ethical debate: they simply broke ranks to chase her.

Another tunnel, several exits away from Argent’s bolthole, would lead to the infirmary. But Chrysalis couldn’t let Argent get away with this. Time was suddenly much too short.

Pass him off to her loyal rebels? No, not for Antenna. He’d fought too many battles with her. If he was going, she’d be the one to take him. Common sense had nothing to do with it.

Besides, she’d promised she’d be there whenever he fell. She’d made that promise so many times for so many changelings, and had been forced to break it once too often. Revenge could wait.

No! Kill the traitor! Suffer it to live no longer! Blood for blood!

Chrysalis swore.

She hauled Antenna over her saddle and galloped for the infirmary, just as some soldiers blocked her off.

Antenna was smart. He summoned enough of his energy, switched, became a unicorn. FLASH!

---

FLASH! Appeared inside the infirmary.

Chrysalis gasped and staggered. She almost let him slide off her saddle.

A wipe of emerald flames restored Captain Antenna to his changeling form. He turned on her back and fired at the entrance to the pit. At once, a green wall blocked the way. Thumps rebounded off the other side.

Chrysalis very carefully laid Captain Antenna down on a nearby bench. Now what?

Always running, always sealing exits behind them. Chrysalis swore. She couldn’t fight like this. Her Suicidal Sting alone had robbed her of any future. Her leg was slowly killing her too. What on earth had Argent hit her with?

A quick inspection revealed the slight pulse of purple through it. Poison. Of course. Even now, she felt little stings clinging to her shoulder.

Poison was not something changelings usually relied upon. Once an enemy discovered you, brute force or simple fleeing mattered more than delightful sadism. And since an undercover changeling needed their prey alive and well, poison was of no value even if an enemy hadn’t discovered you yet.

Argent was learning too much.

Chrysalis tried to forget her – an impossible task as it was, stamping through her blood and chanting through the echo chamber of her skull –

Chrysalis tried to forget her and focus. The infirmary. Healing. Help.

She looked around, and then she cursed louder than ever. Usually, there’d be specialist healers in this dank, stuffy room. Changelings relied on other changelings. Magic spells countered magic maladies, but at a pinch, their own spittle and the natural secretions of their chitinous shell would do. Healers simply produced more than usual, and knew hard-to-master tricks that could enhance those effects.

Division of labour. Normally, that worked in a changeling hive, but it assumed the hive was cooperating. No one had stuck around here once Chrysalis’ rebels had set off the alert.

Curse Argent! If she’d just behaved like a true changeling, none of this would have –

Stop focusing on her!

What else?

Herbs. Herbs were sometimes involved. Chrysalis hurried – then winced and limped – past the benches. Some ivy grew along the wall on one side. Changelings didn’t bother with cupboards.

But you couldn’t have many herbs inside a dark hive. Most of the medicine would be grown outside in a plot, so… the infirmary was close to the hive’s exit. No good! She’d be leaving Antenna alone, and meanwhile Argent was running around betraying everything that was changeling. Supposing she used Captain Antenna as a hostage?

She couldn’t leave. She couldn’t stay here, either. Antenna leaked over the floor even as he lay on the bench and quietly breathed away his minutes.

Thumps hit the green blockage separating her from the might of the changeling army. Something else broke out: yells, blasts, wails of pain. Changelings, fighting each other?

Her rebels wouldn’t last. Fifty against hundreds?

Chrysalis felt the poison spreading past her shoulder. Soon her ribcage would be enflamed.

So close… she’d been so close…

“Ah,” said the voice of the Queen from all around again. “We find ourselves back at Square One.”

Chrysalis tried to fire a spell. It was a waste of time. Her aim was so sloppy that any such spell would have slapped against a random corner. The quiet infirmary swayed around her as she fought to stay standing. Something kept knocking her mind out of focus. The poison?

“What were you expecting?” mocked the Queen. “Did you think you’d break into the hive and succeed with only one casualty? You think you’re that perfect?”

Captain Antenna groaned, stirred, and spat into the bench.

“Your naivety is going to get us killed. The world’s evolving, and we must evolve with it. You think changeling purity is just going to blow all that aside, simply because you really want it to? Well, your last loyal companions are dying because of you. You don’t plan for complications. You don’t plan for real life.”

Chrysalis didn’t reply. As far as she was concerned, Argent was too far gone for reason anymore.

“Too late, you learn every action has a counter, every deed has its price. That’s what ecology means. It’s the system. It’s all around you. It rules your life and you don’t even notice it’s there. And in this chaotic world, it tends to eliminate imbalances. Anything that doesn’t fit in.”

Half of Chrysalis staggered her towards the exit. The other half staggered her back to Captain Antenna. She’d be a lot happier about dying if the voice of that thing would just shut up.

“So we have to pay the world back, for all we’ve taken from it. How we pay matters, too. We can’t pay, in one night, for all the misery and suffering we’ve inflicted on others. It would take centuries. But we’ll have all the time in the world once we’ve stopped dying of fear. Once we’ve learned to take responsibility. Once we’ve –”

“QUIET!” shrieked the last shred of anger from Chrysalis.

Nearby, Captain Antenna mumbled. Outside, the battle rose in pitch. Screams broke out.

“We can survive!” Chrysalis waited for a thought to escape the gauntlet of chest pain, the urgent tug of war, and a desire to kill a voice she couldn’t see. “We can conquer our enemies! Fight them! Defeat them! Stop them, before they stop us!”

The voice of the Queen… She might have barked a laugh. She might have briefly choked.

“Conquer?” she repeated, as if it were the stupidest thing she’d ever heard.

“Yes! We know how!” Chrysalis almost tripped, but the core of her mind held steady. “We have the numbers! We have the skills! We can’t lose! We won’t lose!”

“And you think burning down, say, all of Equestria –”

“Burn it?” Chrysalis felt the spark of smug inspiration, itself dying. “No! Rule it! Farm it! Master and slave! Forever!”

The voice of the Queen let her have the silence needed to sink and drown in idiocy. The smug inspiration succumbed to poison deep in Chrysalis’ burning chest.

“And to think I let you live,” breathed Argent. Her voice drifted eerily from another planet of complete horrified incomprehension.

The poison attacked Chrysalis’ heart. Bits of her gut writhed in sudden agony. Her head didn’t so much swim as get bashed about through sudden rapids.

“After all that praise from Imago, you’re just a braindead thug. How would you expect to break into, say, Equestria, the most magically secure realm in the entire world? How would you get past all the normal unicorn spells alone? Oh, you can mimic some, Chrysalis, but they can invent more. We can’t. They have Princess Celestia too: how many ways could you break in that she wouldn’t know about? Because she’s had a thousand years to find them, Chrysalis, whereas you couldn’t find a way out of this infirmary without a sudden burst of good luck from the Last Chance Fairy. And even if you got all the way to Canterlot without resistance, how do you intend to beat Celestia, the Sun Princess herself? Her allies? Her entire Royal Guard? Her security agencies spread out across the land? Her intelligence agencies alone, and they’re not even built for dedicated combat, and do I need to remind you how good they are getting? They’d blow the whistle before you even uttered the threat. And even if you somehow pulled off this miraculous feat for more than one hour, what would you get in that time?”

“I’d take every last drop of love from –”

“From a city full of panicking ponies. Chrysalis, for pity’s sake! You don’t think that might overwhelm the flavour? Mute the love feelings a bit? Why do you think we sneak and hide in the first place: to let lovers panic and forget themselves at the sight of us? And even if you defied basic logic and sucked Canterlot, or one of its boroughs, or even a fraction of Equestria itself dry, how do you expect to do it again? Do you think all your problems will stop there? When the other cities and nations find out what happened, they’ll immediately prepare for an invasion. They’ll notice something wrong with the sun, and no one wants that. They’ll gang up on us. You might as well tape a dartboard to your chest and hand out javelins.”

Chrysalis yelped and fell onto her knees. The poison had broken into her heart’s chambers. Her pulse skyrocketed. She heard every beat through her brain.

“If you want to commit suicide, fine by me,” declared the voice of the Queen. “But how dare you drag your brothers and sisters down with –”

“DON’T YOU DARE CALL THEM THAT, YOU VILE TURNCOAT!”

The strength ran out with the cry. Chrysalis gritted her teeth, willed herself to slow her heart, willed herself to get up, was betrayed by her own body.

Nearby, she realized Captain Antenna was laughing.

“Tell her again, Commander!” he rasped.

Chrysalis growled. She just wanted the agony to stop, and by now she barely cared how.

“Commander?”

“What!?” Then Chrysalis remembered herself and forced her last few breaths to dignify themselves. “What is it, Antenna?”

Antenna spat again. Green ooze trickled out of the side of his mouth.

“What?” Chrysalis’ urgency fought hard against the poison, hard enough to shuffle her closer.

“In the Galleries… back there… the Smell Galleries…”

“Yes?”

“We were few… They were many… Yet we escaped.”

Chrysalis wondered what in Tartarus he meant at a time like this. Was he delirious? She looked longingly at the ivy. If only that had been the medicine, she could’ve shoved it in his mouth and waited. He deserved better than this weak finish.

“Used… smokescreen… and disguised ourselves… tricked the army… tricked them into fighting each other.”

“You’ve always been a great soldier,” she said, hoping he had wanted comfort.

Captain Antenna’s leg trembled its way up. “Smaller force… can… outsmart… a bigger one.”

“Yes, yes,” she said. Humouring him? Believing him? She wasn’t sure herself.

His leg reached slowly for his head. “We can win. We could… We could win that war.”

No doubt in his voice.

The world around them began to darken.

Then she knew what he meant.

“Dream, my brother,” she said, and against the dying light, the grin of old warriors captured her lips. “Dream of the cries of our enemies. Dream of our fallen dead cheering us on. Dream of the day when we don’t need to hide and die anymore. Dream of the day when we no longer have to watch our comrades be taken from us, ever again.”

“I’ve always loved your dreams…”

“Rest well. I apologize. We won’t see our revenge after all. But I promise it would’ve been the gold of dreams.”

Captain Antenna’s leg gave up and flopped beside his head.

His horn glowed.

“Permission… to give you… the load, Commander? My load?”

Tendrils of green slid out from his horn. As Chrysalis watched, they spiralled into the air, spun around her head, and slid in through the holes of her own horn.

As they did so, heat spread through her. The darkness around Captain Antenna retreated. Her brain began to settle. Her heart reached a crescendo of pain and then, incredibly, unstoppably, calmed and quelled itself to a regular check. Whatever poison conquered her from the neck down retreated, flushed down the veins and tendons, forced out of her ribcage and pushed down to her pulsing purple leg. A sting: she hissed. Purple streaks fell away, splashed on the floor, blackened, and evaporated into nothing.

The pain was gone.

Chrysalis shot to her hooves.

“You didn’t –!” she cried.

Captain Antenna gagged, choked, wept against the blockage.

“Why!?” she breathed.

“I wanna be famous… when you make history…”

“Captain Antenna, stop!”

“I want us… to win…”

“No! Don’t you realize what you’ve done!?”

“Stop… Argent… You’re… better than her…”

“If you give me everything, you won’t join the Living Hive! You’ll vanish! You can’t abandon me like this!”

“No… you never… abandon us. You stood… You stood up for history… Don’t just talk… Do…”

Chrysalis had to bite down whatever fought to get out of her throat. This was Queen Imago, all over again, except this time she had to watch it happen. And she had to, because anything else would disgrace her brother.

She watched as if her life depended on it. Magic flowed through her horn and down to her hooves.

“I’ll kill her,” she promised. “For Imago. For you.”

“Shame… I wish… wish I could join you… Just like… old times…”

His leg fought to rise. A final spiral of magic – and more – left his horn.

The weak leg struggled. Chrysalis’ horn glowed, spread her telekinesis for him, helped him raise his leg further.

“To the hive…” He spoke through a mouthful of green, but she heard, just in time: “Your Highness.”

Finally, the weak leg made it. He gave the salute.

Then she let go. His leg flopped.

Captain Antenna didn’t move.

Chrysalis stared at the eyes, seeing no trace of green in the deep purple. Just the dying embers of utter faith, until even they faded and became cold nothing.

Then she closed his eyes.

Outside, the screams broke out. Then stopped.

The thumps resumed. The green wall buckled. Chunks flew out.

The night before this fateful day, she’d promised one thing: only one changeling would die when this was over.

How many of her rebels were still alive? They might have just been captured. Maybe even Corporal Blattodea had survived the library fire, though Chrysalis didn’t hold out much hope.

Captain Antenna lay right in front of her, silently oozing from his wounds.

She had failed.

She was on her own.

She would know from this point on that she had failed.

All the worse was that Captain Antenna – and any rebels who had fallen – would not have fared much better whether the Living Hive had absorbed them or not.

No changeling should think that – Queen Imago certainly hadn’t – because it was the due honour. To become one with the collective.

It was one of the few old teachings that made Chrysalis recoil. The Living Hive would absorb them, yes, but she’d listened hard to it, unlike the others who’d just blithely assumed. And she’d had a hard time finding anyone distinct. Any souls got lost among the millions. They went from sharp, single identities to a dull, slow, shapeless collective. All around her, and yet never really close. Not like her fighters in the trenches, or spying out a settlement, or sniggering whilst in disguise, or fleeing for their lives together and hearing each other pant and cry out.

But at least someone would’ve been there. She’d have known they were in the Living Hive, find them or don’t find them. Captain Antenna had chosen a different fate for his soul.

Chrysalis’ horn pulsed brighter than ever.

So now he was truly gone.

Chrysalis waited for the world to tell her what to do. Somewhere nearby and far away, the barrier between her and the changeling army cracked further. Wings buzzed as the blockage let the sound through clearly.

Argent had seen her, even here.

Or… she’d sensed her power. Just as Captain Antenna had sensed her whilst they were in the Smell Galleries. But how? The chambers of the hive didn’t have see-through walls, and Argent had been hiding among dead bodies all this time.

Chrysalis looked up. An eye-sized and muscular hole opened and closed like a sphincter overhead. It had a fleshy grating. Like a ventilation shaft, only made out of natural body rather than foreign material.

Part of the hive’s air flow system. Underground, the air could get stale fast. So the Living Hive breathed, sending the air through a network of tubes and mini-tunnels to spread around the place. All of it, however, had to be expelled at some point. So it all had to come out at one particular place.

Think, Chrysalis, think… Don’t get angry. Don’t scream in grief. Don’t lose yourself.

The air carried everything. Scents. Sounds. Traces of magic. Carried the lot out, ultimately to be breathed out of the top of the hive like invisible smoke from a volcano, but before then it had to go…

Chrysalis’ gaze moved past the grating, followed the tunnel she couldn’t actually see but which she knew must be there. For Queen Imago had taught her one final trick.

By the time the army broke into the infirmary, Chrysalis had changed, the unicorn form had teleported, and with a flash all that remained was a dwindling twinkle of magic.

---

Comments

[Shenzy]

And the vilest of insults.

Oufff nasty

[Lionpaw315]

Antenna...
Honestly had I not remembered the lack of an AU tag on this I would've been absolutely INCENSED that he didn't do a magic Thorax transformation from giving his love to her. Because that was what it was, really, wasn't it? Genuinely made me emotional.

ETA: THE END MADE ME SO SAD I honestly forgot to comment on everything else. DAMN Argent is a fucking bastard! I hate her! It's so hard to like her even though I know she's absolutely right!
You come in with a dichotomy in mind, see. Chrysalis the uncaring ambitious warmonger versus Argent the sensitive intellectual who loves. But Chrysalis is more compassionate than she lets on, Argent far more ruthless. I don't even think "ruthless" is the right word for that stunt she pulled with the cleaner; vile? Despicable? And she just let Antenna die, even though she claims that she's tired of watching her fellow changelings die...