“Get up!”

Someone shook Davros awake. He managed to get a few hours of sleep, despite his initial difficulty. He adjusted his eye to the darkness. It was very early in the morning; the sun hadn’t even begun to peek over the horizon. Soulweeper was standing next to him.

“Davros, get up! Someone wishes to see you! It is important!”

Though it still felt too early to even begin battle preparations, Davros was curious what could be so important. He turned to face Soulweeper. Soulweeper gestured for Davros to follow him while the rest of the Guards slept. It was still raining heavily, and not a single soldier was outside. Soulweeper was leading him toward a small wooden shack with an orange glow radiating from within.

As they entered, Davros saw a horribly disfigured Changeling hunched over a small well of orange, liquid metal. Its insect-like wings were almost non-existent; they’d been shredded down to the stubs. Deep, crimson scars adorned nearly every inch of its skin, and the hoof of its left hindleg had been replaced with a metallic prosthetic. Its right foreleg had been replaced with metal as well, up to the elbow. The decrepit blacksmith was using its metal foreleg to hammer away at still-glowing metallic plates. Sparks showered its skin with each strike, yet it did not flinch. Strangely, it wore a blue bandana-like cloth around its head.

Then, as though it felt a presence in the shack, it set down the plates, removed its bandana, and slowly rotated itself to face Soulweeper and Davros. Much to Davros’ surprise, the Changeling had no eyes. None. Just a relatively smooth, scarred space between its ears and above its slightly bent snout. It was a terrible, sad sight that confused Davros.

“He is called Molten,” Soulweeper whispered to Davros. “He was born mute and without eyes to a family of renowned blacksmiths. To that family, tradition was all that mattered, and they were appalled to have a blind and mute son. They did everything they could to try and make him something that he could not be. They were ashamed at his failure; they whipped and beat him. They cursed everything they believed in for delivering them such a ‘waste of life.’ Finally, they abandoned him along the side of a road, bleeding and crippled. One of the military’s patrols found him and took pity on him. It is still…very difficult to communicate with him. He only seems interested in working with metal. He makes very crude and brittle equipment, but it’s amazing he’s even capable of that. Despite all that’s happened…he still seems bent on redeeming himself.”

Davros felt pure sorrow and pity for the poor changeling. From what he learned in his life, most cultures it was unheard of to harm a child. It was beyond him how parents could treat their own flesh and blood in such an obscene manner. But he was still confused as to why Soulweeper brought him to see Molten.

“When you were speaking yesterday, he heard your voice,” Soulweeper continued, “We interpreted that he wished to meet you. He wouldn’t explain why.”

Very slowly and gently, Molten stood up from his seat near the well and hobbled over to Davros. In his hunched-over state, his height reached up to just below Davros’ skirt. Molten delicately touched several parts of Davros’ casing with his non-metal hoof. He took particular interest in Davros’ skirt, rubbing his hoof over the spheres and his metal appendages. Finally, he turned away and returned to his well. He pulled a chain that dangled over his head and more orange, liquid metal flowed in. Soulweeper saw that Molten was now busy and nudged Davros out of the shack. As they left, Davros could hear the clinking and clanking of metal on metal.

It had taken about an hour to pay Molten a visit, and a few more soldiers were awake, though they remained in their tents to stay dry. Soulweeper and Davros entered the main tent to begin discussing tactics with the commander.

As it turned out, the commander was quite the early bird and was already finishing paperwork for the new military doctrine that Davros had established. The commander spotted the pair and led them over to a table with a yellowed map spread over it.

Davros studied the map. For the most part this area consisted of plains for miles around, with the jet black ridge tearing east-to-west through the middle of it. The ridge was a few hundred yards long and the plains continued after the ridge ended. Red arrows at the top of the map indicated that the Equestrians would be coming from the north, while the Changelings were positioned to the south. The commander had jotted down a few notes regarding the weather to the side. Apparently, the weather would be worsening throughout the day and flash floods were likely to occur. Visibility would be awful.

“So, Davros, you helped us with our organization. Now maybe you can help us with our general tactics and battle plan,” the commander stated.

Davros thought in silence for several minutes. All of the tactics he had ever learned flooded through his mind, and then he remembered overhearing some soldiers bragging about their ability to change appearances and a devious thought landed in his head.

“I KNOW WHAT TO DO. I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT TO DO. HAVE THE FIRST MILLENNIUM TAKE POSITION AT THE WEST END OF THE RIDGE, WHILE THE SECOND MILLENNIUM TAKES POSITION ON THE EAST END. ALSO, I NEED ONE SENTURY FROM EACH MILLENNIUM TO MEET ME AT THE SOUTH SIDE OF THE MIDDLE OF THE RIDGE. HAVE THE TWO SENTURIES THAT WILL BE MEETING ME PAINT THEIR WINGS BLACK.”

The commander’s face showed utter puzzlement at what Davros had said, but he gave a trusting nod nonetheless.

“WILL WE BE RECEIVING ANY REINFORCEMENTS, COMMANDER?” Davros inquired.

“The capital has promised us two more Senturies of troops by sunset.”

“EXCELLENT. LET’S GET READY, SHALL WE?”

Over the next hour, the soldiers of the camp rushed to their assigned groups and prepared to march. Many of the Changelings had confused looks as they passed the two hundred soldiers still painting their wings black.

“Davros!”

Davros was watching the waves of troops march when he heard Soulweeper call for him. Davros searched for the location where the voice came from and found Soulweeper outside of Molten’s shack.

“He requested to see you again,” Soulweeper said.

The pair entered the shack expecting to see Molten hunched over his forge again. Instead, it appeared he had passed out from exhaustion on the floor. Davros’ metaphorical jaw fell as he saw why Molten wanted him to come back. Piles and piles of armor were scattered all over, designed for a changeling body. The craftsmanship was flawless, and the metal glinted in the dim light. To the left of the pile was an equally gorgeous set of armor of unknown design. They looked like metal rods with blades at the end of them that seemed to be made out of platinum and a dome helmet with two spikes on the sides. What struck Davros as odd was how the changeling armor had spheres on them.

Molten stirred and gently stood up as best he could. Davros was still in shock at how incredible the new equipment looked, but it still surprised him at how perceptive Molten was. The blacksmith shuffled over to Davros and pulled him over to the odd looking armor. Davros could tell it was meant for him, and his gratitude was boundless. Piece by piece, Molten strapped the armor onto Davros while Davros held the helmet on his head, which covered up his “dome lights”. However, he hesitated to finish strapping on the last of the right glove-thing to him. Davros patiently watched Molten stand frozen in place; he must’ve been deep in thought. Finally, Molten reached behind his head and removed his bandana. He turned his back to Davros for a moment and fumbled around with something. Turning back around, he had tied his bandana through the hole in the handle end of the strap. It no longer looked like a bandana; now it seemed like an elegant ribbon adorning a majestic glove.

Davros looked down in thanks, and Molten patted him on the chest. Soulweeper had been quietly standing in the doorway, his blue eye watery but holding back the flow with multiple carts of dalek looking changeling armor behind him. Molten hobbled back over to his forge and began clanking away at a making more dalek-changeling armor, while Davros left the shack with Soulweeper. The two Senturies remaining in camp had finished painting their wings black. With nothing important left to do in the camp, they departed and rejoined the main force at the ridge.

The commander had done as he was told. The First Millennium and Second Millennium awaited orders at each end of the ridge. Davros ordered the two remaining Senturies to spread out along the south side of the ridge and press their bodies against the stone. Davros had previously been too busy to notice, but the Changelings were now all wearing Molten’s armor and were holding weapons, only two-handed ones such as claymores and halberds.

The rain was getting heavier, and it pitter-pattered on Davros’ helmet. Luckily, the rain didn’t seem to be affecting the type of paint that had been applied to the Changelings’ wings. All of the moisture was creating a visibility nightmare. One could only see about thirty yards of in front of oneself. The commander and the other three Guards approached Davros and Soulweeper.

“Davros! Our scouts have informed us that the Equestrians are four thousand strong! The threat of defeat has been doubled!” the commander yelled over the pouring rain. He went on, “Not only that, but the troops aren’t feeling particularly confident!”

Davros looked to Soulweeper. He knew that if a pre-battle speech were to be given, he was the one to give it. Soulweeper knowingly nodded at Davros and began flapping his plastic-like wings. He took flight and hovered a few dozen feet in the air, flicking water as his wings buzzed.

“Brothers and sisters! HEAR ME!” he boomed.

Davros was astounded at how loud Soulweeper's voice was. Even though the Millennii were hundreds of yards away, he could hear the two thousand bodies shift to hear the beckoning voice.

“We stand here, at the brink of extinction, with our backs against the wall! It is a thing to wonder, is it not? How little hope there seems to be left, how little of a chance we seem to stand. Yet HERE WE STAND! The mighty soldiers of the glorious CHANGELING EMPIRE!”

Chills ran along Davros’ spine as he craned his eyestalk upward.

“We are the final barrier. We are the final obstacle in the way of the Equestrian advance. They think us merely a pebble, but we are a MOUNTAIN! And we shall NOT BE MOVED! Let them come! They fight for a cruel and unjust vengeance! But we? We fight for our home! For our families! FOR OUR QUEEN!”

Davros felt a great sense of pride overwhelm him as cheers rang out through the rain. He took his blade-like gloves and thrust them towards the grey sky, roaring in unison with the troops. Soulweeper landed and rejoined Davros and the other Guards. The commander left Davros in charge while he went left to rendezvous with the reinforcements on the way.

The Millennii and the two Senturies knew their orders. Davros and the four Guards would be making sure they followed the plan perfectly. Lightning struck in the distance and Davros watched as thousands of ponies emerged from the haze to the north. Davros wasn’t even phased by the sight of the ponies, he knew they would be victorious.

The ponies carried their own two-handed weapons, but to the rear were unicorns with no weapons at all. Pegasi made up the rear lines. Davros had been told of the varieties of ponies. He knew the pegasi would be useless; their wings would be too soaking wet from the rain to fly.

The lightning struck again, and all at once, the Equestrian troops charged. The army of ponies split, with one huge group heading for the First Millennium and the other heading for the Second Millennium. As they grew closer, Soulweeper blew into a war horn and both Millennii began to retreat to the south. Davros and his four Guards followed as well, giving a quick nod to the soldiers blending in with the black ridge.

Soon the Equestrian troops were right on the Changelings’ tails and they had passed around the ridge, confident that their superior numbers had broken their enemies’ spirit to fight. Davros tapped Soulweeper as they ran, and he blew the war horn a second time. Flashes of light appeared in the haze around the ridge and it appeared as though the number of ponies had grown. Soulweeper gave a third and final blast of the war horn, and the true battle began. Both Millennii turned and charged right into the horde of ponies. As soon as contact was made, flashes of light blinked everywhere. Ponies were now slaying each other with their own blades and unicorns blasted each other with magic. The mass confusion and slaughter was a beautiful thing to Davros. Soulweeper had told him that Changelings can tell each other apart, even when disguised. Davros was told to merely fight any pony that happened to attack him first. That way, he was guaranteed to prevent friendly kills.

Sure enough, a green unicorn leapt from the clashing forces and charged towards Davros. She shot a blue beam of light from her horn at him, but the blast dissipated before contact and he thrust his blades into her belly and then proceeded to tear her apart by spinning his appendages in opposite directions. A pegasus witnessed this and angrily hurtled towards Davros. Davros saw him charging and ran towards the pegasi as well. Just as they were about to collide fired a hidden gun sticks inside his appendages, blasting the pegasus in the chest. The winged pony yelled in pain and collapsed onto Davros, who shoved him off.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to fight as the battle raged on. The plains were now covered in mud and the rain was now pounding the ground in sheets. Dead ponies were strewn about everywhere, and slain Changelings had reverted to their normal forms as they fell. But Davros’ forces were winning. That was clear. An Equestrian war horn sounded, and hundreds of ponies began retreating. But as they attempted to run towards the ridge, they were cut off by more changelings. The two Senturies hiding along the ridge charged into the panicking crowd and a massacre ensued.

“Victory! Victory, my fellow Changelings! We have seized this battle!” Soulweeper howled into the rain. His declaration was met with a cascade of cheers across the soaking battlefield. All of the Changeling troops regrouped to embrace each other. But as they did so, they noticed thousands of silhouettes surrounding them in the haze.

“WHAT…WHAT IS THIS, EXPLAIN?!” Davros barked at the shadows.

The silhouettes moved closer. Approximately another two thousand ponies emerged from the fog. Davros’ troops had only defeated half of the attacking army when he thought they had sent everything they had at once. His deceptive tactics had only temporarily worked. Davros shivered, out of worry and out pure anger. He looked to the sky. Though it was hidden behind the clouds, the sun’s glow was barely visible as it began to set in the west.

He looked around him at his worried troops. It wounded them to have felt so close to victory, only to have it snatched away. Davros spotted Soulweeper, who also had a disheartened look.

“DO NOT FRET NOW, BROTHER! WE ARE NOT OUT OF THIS JUST YET! SOUND THE HORN!”

Soulweeper furrowed his brows in confusion, but upon seeing the confidence Davros possessed, he obliged and sounded the horn yet again. Davros faced the surrounding Equestrians and raised his dripping talons to the sky.

“FOR THE EMPIRE! FOR THE EMPRESS!!!!!” he screamed, spinning his appendages faster than he ever had before.

He charged, and the rallied Changeling army screamed as they charged with him. Lightning struck everywhere, and hundreds of dark forms fell from the sky. It was the commander and his new reinforcements. Their wings buzzed violently as they descended at near-breakneck speeds. With ridiculous momentum guiding them, they made impact with their weapons and cleaved swaths of death through the Equestrian army. These surprise attacks coupled with the fury of the Changelings’ newfound morale drove terror into the heart of every pony. Soon the ground was littered with Equestrian corpses, and the survivors were in a full retreat. The Changelings let the few remaining ponies escape. They wanted it to be known that they would not be slain so easily.

Davros stood atop the ridge with Soulweeper at his side. The Changeling army stared up at him as he raised one of his metallic appendages to the sky for a third time. The clouds seemed to break away and the moon’s silvery light shone down on him.

“VICTORY!” he screamed louder than ever.

The Changelings let loose a victory cheer unlike any they had before. Miles away, some refugees in the capital looked up to the sky and heard echoes. They knew not what had happened, but it lifted their spirits. Maybe…just maybe…there was hope for them after all…

Davros felt giddy as he continued to hold his blades high and the drying blue bandana fluttered in the light breeze. The cheers and celebrations of these soldiers brought him immense pride. This was his second chance. He let down his old home; he would never let this one go.

Never again…

Author's Note

Yeah, my dalek is fantastic!!!!!