Just a Dream
The left of the two massive doors to Princess Celestia's quarters creaked open, the armored head of a guard protruding inside, a curious look etched upon his rough features.
Before he could raise his voice and inquire on the Princess's state, however, Celestia said with an exasperated sigh: "Never mind. It was just a dream."
The guard clamped his muzzle shut and frowned, concerned. He retracted his head from the room, not wishing to disturb his superior any longer, and shut the door.
Princess Celestia turned over, her eyes wide open as she pondered. Being the immortal Alicorn that she was, she had seen a great many things throughout her years, many of them violent and disturbing. These supplied for her a great deal of nightmares, but her most recent was one not like any other.
It depicted a battle, not one of the many that Celestia had seen or taken part of. The ground was gray, along with the many cliffs and boulders scattered about the area. The sky was overcast, but the sunlight still penetrated the oppressive blanket and shone down upon the warriors.
Their weapons were big, bulky, and looked rather heavy. They fired projectiles and light, not unlike magic, but different in other ways. Massive metal machines and vehicles, clunky armor, green, ever-burning flames . . . the whole thing was as intriguing as it was disturbing.
Deciding that sleep would be impossible thenceforth, Princess Celestia arose from her bed and trotted over to the open glass doors that lead to her balcony. The summer night was just the correct temperature, not too warm, nor too cold. This, coupled with the scattered lights of Canterlot as it slumbered placed Celestia into something of a trance. For a little while, the odd dream was in the back of Celestia's mind, momentarily forgotten as she remembered happy things such as the ascension of her apprentice, the return of her sister from the evil grasp of Nightmare Moon, the opening of trade routes into Drakkona, among other things.
However, Celestia was gently extracted from her thoughts with the slight prod of another's hoof. It was none other than Celestia's younger sister, Luna.
Celestia smiled down at the recent arrival and smiled, saying, "Greetings, sister. I was not expecting you."
Luna smiled back and said, "I was not expecting myself to be here either, but I have sensed an ailment in your dreams."
The elder sister's smile fell at the mention of the vision out of place.
"Ah the oddities of the mind. How much of it did you see?"
"Everything. What could it possibly mean?" answered Luna.
Celestia gently shook her head in response, "I do not know. Not all dreams hold power within the world of reality."
"No," Luna agreed, "but it's still a good idea to pay attention."
Celestia nodded thoughtfully. "Well, what do you propose, little sister?"
"I think, Tia, that this is something that cannot be properly prepared for, if it indeed means something. Whatever it is, however, will definitely change things."
"For better or for worse?"
Luna was silent before she answered. Then, "I do not know."
Celestia was silent as she mulled over Luna's words. Should she increase the number of guards around the palace? Prepare the scientists? Celestia was as just as much of a loss as her younger sister.
"I think you should sleep on it, dear sister."
Celestia nodded in agreement. "I think so too, Luna. Farewell."
"Farewell, Tia."
Luna spread her wings and began to glide off through the night air. Celestia watched her go until she was but a distant speck in the inky blackness of the night, and turned, suddenly and mercifully feeling very tired.
Metal. A massive slab of bolted, strengthened, reinforced steel. A light layer of frost covers it. The room is dark, making the metal hard to see.
There's a blur and a smash as something hurls itself at the obstruction. It dents massively, but still holds. A vertical line has appeared in the steel; it's a hatch.
There's another heave, and then another, each time the doors becoming more and more mangled. After the fourth battering, the doors are thrown open and a blinding white light spills into the concrete room, allowing the rushing wind and snow and ice of the blizzard access to the long-dormant inside. Out rushes a figure, massive and clad in silver armor, eyes glowing blue. A chain of ammunition connected to the figure's back leads to a massive weapon.
The figure surveys the snow-ravaged land, blind to much anything beyond a simple few feet. However, the figure reaches up with a gauntlet-clad hand to the side of his helmet and suddenly everything becomes much cleared.
Other, smaller figures, marked red and yellow, scramble around, trying desperately to find a solid position. A hideous sound that could have been a short bout of laughter comes from the figure, and it takes a step forward, raising it's weapon.
Slowly the figure gains speed, its massive feet thudding and crunching heavily in the blanket of snow. The enemy is becoming more desperate as they scramble around faster. They can hear their approaching doom.
A few potshots are fired, but they all miss by a long shot; the figure is still not visible.
Just as the last red blot finds cover, the figure bursts into the view of a massive cliff upon which are the members of the Traktionstadt Corps., a rather clever, German-founded group of raiders who had actually raised their settlement onto a massive set of caterpillar tracks and got it too rumble about the wasteland, snapping up other, more static settlements.
Unfortunately for the bandits, their moving town had crawled too far north and become stuck in the massive Howling Notch.
"North" was where Magnus Crome, the figure in armor, lived.
These bandits were rather notorious and rather mean, and Magnus Crome's job was to kill mean people. He had had to clamber his way through an abandoned vault to get to them within the month, but it was worth it. And now they recognized who he was, everyone did, and they were pissing their pants.
Magnus raised his weapon and squeezed the trigger. The gun's black muzzle flashed bright blue and a train of equally bright blue bullets were launched from their place within their magazine, and into the flesh of evil men and the stone of the cliff face.
Those who were hit were almost blown to pieces by Magnus' ammunition.
The survivors yelled in terror and all opened fire, but each bullet shattered harmlessly when it came into contact with Crome's armor, leaving naught but a black streak.
The remaining fighters were killed in a bath of blood and lead, their red ichor freezing solid in the frigid wind and ice. Each corpse steamed as it lay there, twitching and bleeding.
Magnus stepped over the shredded cadavers, tracking blood and bits of flesh across the thinning snow and black stone as he ascended the path carved into the side of the steep slope.
Once or twice he had to put one of his fallen opponents of of their misery with a merciless stomp of his boot, but he made progress.
Soon, Magnus Crome reached the summit and squinted, leaning forward. Ah. There. About a quarter of a mile off, the Traktionstadt Settlement stood, its tracks submerged in snow and its people buzzing about in the cold. The wind had carried away the sounds of battle, and had not alerted the remaining soldiers. Crome grinned and took a heavy step forward. He was surprised, however, when his foot met not snow or rock, but nothing.
Magnus's stomach lurched and his eyes went fuzzy. He saw nothing but a bright, blue, wavering light as the falling sensation continued.
. . . everything was dark, but Crome still tumbled . . . .
. . . it was completely black, but Crome still tumbled . . . .
. . . the world was becoming more and more imperceptible, but Crome still tumbled . . .
The world came to a stand-still, and Crome's body landed on something. His armor was dented, his head hit and everything bruised.
The world was bright again, but Crome's mind was not, and he slipped into unconsciousness.
