Three Days… Even after three days the great metropolis of Canterlot continued to burn. Pillars of pitch black smoke stretched into the sky, carrying upon them the stench of death. Its once pristine walls were now blackened heaps of rubble; her marble white streets now broken and strewn with soot and debris. Yes, Canterlot still burned. It would no doubt continue to burn for days to come. The mountain on which the dying city once stood had fared little better. Where once there had been majestic stone edifices and rolling green hills there were now jagged faults and twisted fields of mired muck. The entire eastern slope was still littered with the scars of the night the monster struck.

Smoldering wrecks and twisted heaps of metal were scattered across the landscape – their agonized forms seemed to scream out in pain. Great swaths of earth were naught but pockmarked lesions of scorched, black soil; no longer fit for use of any sort. The land could scarcely conceal the line of ash-filled trenches which no doubt retained many of the fallen within their mud filled rows. Great stagnant ponds of runoff had coalesced across the ugly wasteland; already they were beginning to stink. The surrounding forests were likewise a testament of the death that seemingly permeated the land.

The influx of chemicals and radiation within the environment had already set to work attacking their roots – whole bands of conifers were beginning to whither and wilt, their bark slowly peeling away as they succumbed to the poisons. The lilting twitter of birds was absent. Likewise were there no woodland animals to be found amidst the standing timbers. This place was death, and those beasts that were able to had quickly departed from the area. The silence was such that the groaning of the trees as they moved and swayed beneath the gentle winds could clearly be heard.

There were none of present mindset to hear it though. The past three days had been spent in their entirety on a massive undertaking to search for and recover any survivors within the city. The grim reality of it was that for every survivor to be found, a hundred bodies were likewise exhumed. As such, it was now considered less of a search and rescue mission, and more of gathering the fallen to be buried. Such was the case of HEVS[1] three, who were even now removing layer upon layer of rubble in the vain hopes of finding someone alive at the bottom of the heap.

As the last layer of wreckage was pulled away, the somber group had to look away. This had doubtlessly been a shelter of some sort, as testified by the dozens of bodies that littered the floor – most of them children… all of them dead. So began another day of exhuming the dead for proper burial; the squad of soldiers feeling the hollowness that had been growing within the pit of their stomachs only deepen as they pulled one little corpse up after another. Untold minutes would pass in silence until they finally discovered a second room likewise filled with bodies. Though a majority of these bodies had been older than the ones they’d just recovered, they were no less children. An adult was amongst their rank this time – a Unicorn, male, whose skull had been crushed beneath a support beam. This would no doubt be another long day…

The city streets were far from empty. Armed soldiers patrolled the desolate streets in disciplined silence – a state of martial law had been imposed upon the populace. In the relatively undamaged southern quarter of the city, amidst the pleasure gardens and undeveloped nature parks, there now stood a sprawling mass of tents and lean-to’s. This was ‘The Camp’ – part military barracks, part emergency medical facility, part civilian housing and supply depot; ‘The Camp’ was above all else a holding center for those who had been fortunate enough to survive the night of the attack.

In one of the myriad tents (situated within the so called ‘Medical Wing’) was housed the surviving crew of the ‘Number Seven’ – for the most part awake and, beyond all expectations, alive. From a wheelchair he’d been bound to for the past three days (and more than likely into the foreseeable future), Bart lazily moved the black bishop diagonally across the board. Across from him sat Toni, who was only now realizing the jeopardy he’d placed his King in. Grasping hold of his rook, Langermann pressed forward to quickly fill the gap in his exposed flank. Neither Cat spoke a word during the whole exchange.

In his cot across the room, Siegfried stared up at the white canvas ceiling of the tent in utter despondence. Wrapped in gauze and consigned to a bedridden state, he’d done little of anything but lie about and be silent. When he’d first come to about a day ago he’d been surprised to find himself alive. He’d also been more than a little upset at the state that he was in. Where once, when he’d looked in the mirror, there had been a handsome young man with his whole life ahead of him, there was now a hideously scarred and broken Cat who was of no better use to others alive than if he were dead.

The others had assured him that it was far from it, and that he was still the same Ziggy they knew and loved, but he knew that they were merely just trying to make him feel better. Subconsciously he brought a hand up to his right eye. Somehow the doctors had managed to save his eye; the caustic liquids that had marred his face had only damaged the flesh around the eye and so they’d cut away the worst of it to uncover the ocular orb. He’d nearly wept at how ugly it was – his face was now monstrous in his own sight. Closing his eyes, he was immediately drawn to the feeling of his left arm, or rather where his left arm used to be.

It had somehow been severed at the elbow, but he could swear that he sometimes felt it. One of the surgeons had told him that it was a common occurrence among amputees – ‘Phantom Limb Syndrome’ they’d called it. He was merely thankful that it had not been his right arm. The bandages itched fiercely and he was fully incapable of moving properly to scratch at them – he’d been told that much of his skin would need time to heal and that scratching it would only prolong the process. Opening his eyes at the sound of a feeble, wheezing cough, Siegfried turned and stared piteously at the sleeping form of Hirschel. No matter how bad things were for the Rex Cat, he knew that it paled in comparison to the poor Singapore across from him.

Hirsch had yet to wake up. Not a surprise when considering the fact that, by all accounts, he should not have lived through the crash. Much of his hair was gone – permanently lost to the scouring chemicals that had bathed him. Worse still were his lungs, which had been irreparably damaged as he inhaled a medley of toxic fumes. The doctors had given him powerful antibiotics and a steady drip of morphine in order to keep him asleep; shallow breathing was the most he could handle, they’d said, and to wake up before his body had sufficient time to recover would likely mean he’d suffocate. They’d actually brought in a fancy new breathing machine and hooked him up to it once every other hour. Siegfried could not help but feel responsible for the boy’s condition.

All attention went to the canvas flap that acted as a door as it opened up, revealing the forms of Walter and Schmullie as they carried in food and reading materials for the invalids. With a smile, Schmullie softly asked, “How are you all feeling today?” Bart’s response was to mention the fact that his legs hurt, but that he’d get over it. Toni simply remarked that he was hungry. Siegfried outright ignored them and turned his gaze to once more stare at the ceiling. With a sad frown, Walter handed a newspaper to Toni before sitting down at the makeshift chess table. As Schmullie laid out the food for them, Walter leaned in and asked in a whisper, “Has Ziggy been like this the whole time?”

Tiredly nodding, Bart was quick to add, “He’s going through a lot right now – Frank was his best friend, and Ernst was a cousin of his; give him some time to come to terms.” Casting a sad glance back at the Kommandant, Walter decided to heed the mechanic’s advice; Ziggy would have to work things out for himself. Placing trays of food down in front of the two ‘walking wounded’, Schmullie took a seat before asking in tired voice, “So, after all of this is over with, what do all of you plan on doing?” With a chuckle, Toni replied, “I was actually thinking about settling down and opening up a restaurant.

“Oh?” asked Walter, “What sort of food would you be serving?” With a shrug, Toni explained, “The kind that people would eat – I don’t know; it’s just something I’ve wanted to do for a while.” Nodding sagely, Schmullie then turned to Bart and asked, “What about you, Zipfel, what do you want to do when you get home?” Poking at the grilled salmon on his tray, Bart mumbled, “I was actually hoping to continue on with the military… I’m only ‘Sekunde Klasse’ after all – I figured I’d try for ‘Irste Klasse’ and maybe get stationed aboard an Airship so I can see the world from above.” The others nodded at this, but none said anything of it.

Schmullie opened up and announced, “I’m going to go work for my father’s company – it’s a munitions factory just north of Zalma[2]; my dad’s been pressuring me to take over for him when he retires, and Bernice and I have been planning to get married for a while now… I figured that I’ve seen enough excitement for one life, you know?” Walter sagely nodded as he responded, “I can’t fault you for wanting to get out while you can… I was actually looking to put in for an officer’s commission, maybe get stationed off-continent – someplace exotic.” Taking a swig of water, he elaborated, “I’ve never been one for settling down – I need to be free, and the Army gives me that freedom.”

They were all slightly surprised by the voice of Siegfried as he interjected, saying, “I was going to finally retire and settle down; I was going to ask Süssi – the girl back in Bahnhoff – to marry me, and then I’d apply for the local police force.” As they turned to look at him, all they were met with was the Kommandant’s listless expression as he continued to gaze up towards the ceiling. Before anyone could respond, he continued, saying, “Now… now I’m going to have to send a letter to Frank’s wife and children, explaining why it is that he won’t be coming back to them… one to my Aunt and Uncle to tell them how Ernst is dead, and another to the Kuglebach family, letting them know how one of their sons was crushed to death, and that the other one is now doubt going to be permanently bedridden for the rest of his inexorably short life…”

Meekly, Walter protested, “Ziggy it’s not-” But he was halted as Siegfried continued, “And Süssi, well… what woman is going to want to marry a crippled monster like me?” Everyone, even the Kommandant, was shocked by the echoing bang as Schmullie slammed his fist upon the table and knocked his chair down in his haste to stand as he angrily exclaimed, “You are not fucking doing this, Siegfried – not now; not to us and not to yourself, do you hear me, damnit!?” Finally turning to look at the driver with wide eyes, Kommandant Stoßer was shocked to see that Schmullie’s eyes were red and swollen with unshed tears.

With clenching fists, Schullie Katzenkratz vented, “I know that it’s hard for you to accept the fact that things are what they are – believe me, I do; but I will not have you wallow in self-pity over the hand that life’s dealt you…” Rubbing his nose, the Sphynx Cat went on, “So you’ve lost an arm? Big deal – I just passed an entire row of tents filled with nothing but men who’ve lost their limbs. You think you’re the only one to lose friends? I’ve got fucking news for you, asshole - Frank and Ernst were my friends, too! So don’t you fucking dare pretend to be suffering more than the rest of us!” Wiping furiously at his still running nose, Schmullie took a few deep breaths before finishing.

“And if you honestly think that this girl back in Bahnhof is shallow enough to turn away from you just because of a scar on your face, then I doubt that she’d be worth marrying – you’re still you, Siegfried Stoßer, and the sooner you take your head out of your ass and realize that we’re all hurting here, the better off you’re going to be.” The room was silent as its occupants slowly absorbed what he’d just said. The silence was soon broken by Siegfried, who with a shuddering breath cried out, “I’m sorry,” before breaking down into tears. Coming to kneel at the Kommandant’s side, Schmullie wrapped his arms around the weeping Cat’s body and held him as he openly cried. Rubbing the mourning man’s back, Schmullie whispered, “I know, I know – we’re here for you, Ziggy; we’re all going to get through this together.”…

At that same time, in another part of ‘The Camp’, another conversation was going on between the pair of Chameleons, K’Umtk and Ghur’Tcha. Absentmindedly staring at the stump of his right wrist where his hand had once been, K’Umetk vehemently reiterated his position, saying, “We are no longer needed here, Ghur’Tcha – the Child of Chu’Mhak’Tahl has stricken this land regardless of our efforts; we should return to our homes and wash our hands of this whole affair.” Finally looking the younger Chameleon in the eyes, he added, “I am old and I am weary, child, I wish to go home – to return to my family and to live the rest of my days in peace.”

Closing his eyes in thought, Ghur’Tcha replied, “I agree – there is nothing more we could hope to do here… but I wish to try and find the pony they call Twilight Sparkle – I wish to know if she alive.” With a sigh, K’Umetk countered, saying, “If she was residing in that small village at the foot of the mountain as you claim, then she is likely dead, Ghur’Tcha.” Opening his eyes to look his elder in the face, the younger Chameleon calmly responded, “You do not know that.” Exhaling a deep breath through his nostrils, K’Umetk finally said, “The Cats have surrounded this place with armed warriors who would doubtlessly stop you should you try to find her.”

With a smile, Ghur’Tcha replied, “I will not be caught, K’Umetk; I will find her, and when I do I will come back to you and then we will go home.” With a resigned sigh, K’Umetk gave his blessing, saying, “Then go, and be safe in your search.” And with that, Ghur’Tcha was away. With quick steps and cautious eyes the Chameleon snuck past armed guards and ponies alike. As he finally reached the mesh-wired fence that surrounded ‘The Camp’ on all sides, he cast one final wary gaze around him before he scaled over the barrier, sprinting towards the east as soon as his feet hit the ground. None were the wiser of his escape. From the chair in which he sat, K’Umetk silently prayed that the boy would find what he looked for…

The expansive canvas command tent that stood at the heart of ‘The Camp’ was quite a sight for something as mundane as a tent. Laced with hand stitched embroideries and surrounded on every side by a full squad of elite Sturmtruppen clad in jet-black body armor and bristling to the teeth with frightful weapons, there was no mistaking that this was the personal quarters of the commanding officer of the expeditionary force. But while the outside painted a picture of military might and professionalism, the interior was an altogether different story. The windows had been covered, and what little light that bled through the canvas walls and ceiling did little to alleviate the grim atmosphere, thick as it was.

Hunched over his desk, looking haggard and worse for wear than many would be accustomed to, Mittens Von Fleischtauben, hero of the Kaproß Run and the poster child of the Voroshian Military, poured himself yet another glass of liquor. As he downed the glass in a single go, he could not help but lull his head to the side as he spoke to his closest friend and confidant, saying, “You know, Khujek, that when I die they’ll need to put upon my headstone ‘Hero of the Hügelland campaign, defeated at the battle of Kanterlotte, and the man who lead thousands of young boys to their death’.” As he made to refill his glass, he shrugged his shoulders before tossing the glass aside in favor of drinking straight from the bottle.

From the back corner of the dark room, sitting watchfully upon his own chair, Oberleutnant Khujek Ghresht silently observed as his friend spiraled further and further into the depths. For a while he was silent as he processed what Mittens has slurred. But it was as the Cat began reaching for one of the drawers of his desk (one that Khujek was fully aware contained a ceremonial revolver that Mittens had been awarded upon his rise to the rank of Oberst) that the towering Gila Monster finally spoke in his deep, squelching voice, calmly remarking, “No one would ever blame you for what happened that night, Mittens; not the Kaiser, not the citizens of the Reich; nor would your family.”

At the mention of his wife and children (and grandchildren for that matter), the Cat’s hand was brought to pause, hovering with indecision. With a weak and feeble voice, Mittens asked, “Do you think that God might forgive me for what I’ve done, Khujek?” With a heavy laden sigh, the reptile rose from his seat and covered the distance between them. Laying a gentle hand upon the distraught Cat’s shoulder, he replied, “You and I both know the answer to that, my friend.” Coming to some sort of internal decision, the Oberst finally retracted his hand, opting instead to take another swig of amber liquid.

Heaving a sigh of relief at having averted that crisis, Khujek was all set to speak further reassurances when the flap at the front of the tent opened up, revealing a tired, completely disheveled and downright haunted looking Claws Von Schlauhirn. When Mittens caught sight of the Minister of the Interior, it was as if someone had put a lemon within his mouth, such was the disdain he felt towards the man. However, instead of outright yelling at him to leave and never come back, Mittens instead took another swig of alcohol before asking in a despondent voice, “What do you want.” As Khujek got a better look at the Minister, he could make out the large, dark bags beneath his eyes, and the paleness of his skin. He clearly hadn’t been eating either.

But instead of speaking, Claws instead held up a single scrap of paper. Trying and failing to focus upon the multiple parchments that swam across this vision, Mittens instead tightly closed his eyes and asked, “What is it, Claws?” Looking down at his feet, Von Schlauhirn replied in a dry and scratchy voice, “Reichskanzellor Von Sylvestris has issued the order to implement ‘Operation: Weißturm’.” With a scrunched up look of confusion, the Oberst asked, “’Operation: Weißturm’?” Scratching at his lapel, Claws could only explain, “It was a contingency set in place by the Reich to insure that, should we have failed stopping the monster from destroying the city, any and all viable Pferdsreich secrets and documents could be recovered by KaN operatives working in the area… I was ordered to insure that you weren’t to find out about it, but I thought that you deserved to be informed regardless; I’m done playing this game as it were.”

Staring blankly at his desk, Mittens found that, though he was thoroughly disgusted by the Reichskanzellor’s conduct, he could not find the wherewithal to be outraged over it. Bringing his unsteady gaze up to Claws, the Oberst instead simply asked, “So, is KaN on its way, or are they sifting through the dirt even as we speak?” Crumpling the offending sheet of paper into a ball and tossing it aside, the Minister of the Interior deftly reached across the desk and nabbed the half-empty bottle of liquor before proceeding to down an unseemly portion of it. Scrunching up his face and shaking his head at the drink’s potency, Claws finally answered, “I would hedge all my bets on them having been here long before we were.”…

Ponyville was a ruin of its former self. The fires that had so thoroughly consumed it mere days ago had insured that there was little left to resemble the quaint little hamlet that had once stood there. Here and there were a few reminders of what once had been; a solitary wall of scorched bricks was all that remained of a local drugstore. Crumbling cement and drooping rebar gave testament to a grocery store that had only days ago been thriving. Half burnt timbers and piling mounds of soot and ash stood uncannily separated from one another by the broad streets and walkways that had at one point been pristine cobblestone venues.

The massive oak tree that had stood at the town’s center was little more than a blackened pillar of charcoal. But despite its deathly appearance, there was still life to be found within it. With a final heave of exertion, Twilight Sparkle and the three soldiers who had sought shelter with her in her subterranean basement finally managed to push the cellar door open as the mound of ash and detritus which had blocked it closed finally gave way. Staring in unmasked sorrow at the interior of her now thoroughly ruined home, Twilight could barely suppress the sigh of despair that escaped her lips.

Behind her, the trio of foreign soldiers began whispering to one another in strained, almost nervous voices. Turning to ask them what the problem was, her thoughts were brought to a screaming halt as she surveyed the massive hole that had been burnt through her wall, before looking beyond it towards the outside world. Ponyville was gone; it was nothing but ash and still-smoldering ruins! Beyond that she could see the devastated mountainside, the sundered walls of Canterlot and the orange glow of a raging inferno that was no doubt decimating the capital city even now! A bone-chilling fear began to take hold in her soul as thoughts of family and loved ones entered her mind…

Elsewhere in the wreckage of what had once been Ponyville, a team of rescue workers were clamoring desperately to lift a pile of debris; a muffled cry for help beneath the wreckage spurring them on to remove as much of the plaster and stone as quickly as possible. The last piece of debris was finally moved away and from beneath it arose the battered form of Big Macintosh. On his back lay the unconscious form of Rainbow Dash. The both of them were covered from head to toe in dust so thick as to make them appear as ghosts. Yet even this veneer of sheetrock and powdered concrete did little to disguise the twisted, mangled state of the large farmer’s hindquarters. His leg was obviously shattered, and the steady trickle of blood that painted his haunches had caked it in a muddy grey paste.

Slowly extricating the pair of them from the rubble, Big Macintosh noiselessly handed off Rainbow Dash to one of the rescuers. With half-lidded eyes, the stoic stallion muttered, “Thanks,” before his eyes rolled up into the back of his head and his massive body collapsed beneath itself. Scrambling to pick him up, the mixed group of volunteers struggled to carry his unconscious body as they made their way to the nearby tent which operated as a makeshift emergency center for those survivors that had been found. It would take a full five minutes before they finally made it to the tent…

Back at the oak tree, a serious argument had broken out between the three soldiers. Oberstabsfeldwebel Hermann Kuhn adamantly clenched his fists as he once more exclaimed, “I must find Spitzer – he’s alive, I’m sure of it!” Holding up his web-fingered hands in a placating manner, Theodore Trichter replied, “We understand, Hermann, believe us.” From the Toads right, Bubbi Plüschaar added, “But we really need you to get some medical attention before we do anything.” Shaking his head in obstinacy, Kuhn exclaimed, “If you will not help me find Spitzer then I will go out and find him myself, do not try to stop me!”

As the towering Maine Coon turned to head out into the wastes, he failed to see the look that passed between the two of his comrades. Nodding his head in silent understanding, Bubbi ran to stand in front of Kuhn. Glaring at the smaller cat in front of him, Hermann growled, “Get out of my way, Plüschaar.” From behind the belligerent Oberstabsfeldwebel, Theodore exclaimed, “Hermann.” Turning around to yell at the Toad, Kuhn was completely unprepared for the solid right hook that connected with the side of his head, knocking him out cold. As his body fell, Bubbi was there to catch it. The suddenness of it all, and the lack of context caused Twilight to gasp in horror.

Heaving a massive sigh of exasperation, Theodore bemusedly said, “I’m sorry for that, Hermann.” Stooping low, the bright red Toad managed to throw the massive Cat over his shoulder as he explained to the only other conscious member of the trio, “I’ll go and get him situated at the medical center; while I’m doing that, you go ahead and try to find the Hauptmann.” Helping to steady the unconscious figure as Theodore shifted his weight, Bubbi asked, “And if he’s dead, what do I do then?” Casting his only remaining eye towards the cat, Theodore responded, “If he is dead, then recover his body for a proper burial back home.” With a nod, the two departed from one another, both of them silently praying that the Destrier was still alive, but holding out little hope that such was the case.

For her part, Twilight Sparkle didn’t try to stop them. After all, she didn’t know them, and they obviously needed to be somewhere else. So instead, she decided to go out and walk amongst the wreckage of the town, hoping against hope that it wasn’t as bad as it appeared. Five minutes in, and she instinctively stopped at the corner of what had been Fourth and Main Street. As she surveyed her surroundings, she was struck by how utterly empty it was – the very earth had been scourged away. Slowly, silently she began to weep. This had once been where both the Carrousel Boutique and Sugar Cube Corner had resided. The implications were heartbreaking for her. All around her were the signs of everything she knew and loved coming to a violent and sudden end.

With tears still in her eyes, she quickly turned away and headed straight for the large tent at the outskirts of the ruined town; it was certainly a medical tent, and if there was a chance that any of her friends had survived, she would find them there. When she finally arrived she was met with a pitiful sight indeed. Rows upon rows of cots, filled with wounded soldiers and civilians, many of whom suffered from terrible burns. The moans of pain and silent sobs of broken souls permeated the air and filled her heart with sadness. Her melancholy was slightly alleviated by the blessed sight of Rainbow Dash waving to her from a cot a few meters away from her.

Galloping to her friend’s side, Twilight Sparke embraced the cyan Pegasus in joy. The two of them silently wept over how good it was to know that the other was alive. Finally getting a good look at her friend, Twilight noticed that, aside from the gash across her forehead (and excluding the wounds she’d been treated for so many days ago), Rainbow Dash looked fine. When she commented as much, Rainbow turned her head towards the cot next to hers, to the figure which silently slept on it before saying, “I have him to thank for that.” Leaning in to examine who it was the Pegasus was talking about, Twilight’s eyes widened as she recognized the carmine form of Big Macintosh.

He was quite the mess – his hair had been shaved away in many places, and copious amounts of staples and stiches crisscrossed his body. But what drew the most attention was the fact that one of his legs was now missing. “What happened!?” exclaimed the Alicorn. With a mild frown Rainbow recounted, “When the building collapsed on us, Mac had managed to take the brunt of it… but his leg got messed up really bad – the doctor had to amputate it; he said that the muscles and ligaments had been torn to shreds and that it would more than likely start rotting.” As she spoke she’d taken to rubbing her hoof down his side in a soothing motion.

Minutes passed in silence until, out of the blue, Rainbow Dash silently announced, “Twilight… Pinkie Pie and Rarity… they’re… they’re…” She couldn’t even bring herself to say it. Twilight placed a hoof on her friend’s back as she sadly remarked, “I know, Dash.” With a sob, Rainbow continued, “A-and Applejack and Fluttershy… I think they are too…” Closing her eyes in devastated silence, Twilight tried to remain strong for the sake of her friend. Slowly the Alicorn wrapped a shaking arm around the Pegasus’ shoulders as the two of them began mourning together.

They remained this way for some time, and it was not until the sun had reached its zenith in the sky that Rainbow finally drifted off to sleep; her body was still exhausted from the ordeal. Deciding that she needed to be alone for a while, Twilight took her leave and headed for the outskirts of the ash-laden ruins. As she came to grips with the reality of her life, the purple Alicorn sat down amidst a pile of rock and ash and simply stared at the ground; she would remain like that for the next few hours as she sorted through her thoughts and tried to find closure for herself…

The journey down the mountainside had been fraught with hazards from the beginning for Ghur’Tcha. The land had been turned into a series of quickening bogs and jagged earthen obstacles. He’d nearly wandered into a minefield, and had on more than one occasion narrowly avoided tripping headlong into an unexploded shell or two. But still, he’d managed to make it to the foot of the mountain, and even now he was fast approaching Ponyville. As he made it over the crest of the final hill, he was stunned by what met his sight. Running as quick as he could towards the outskirts of the town, he could only mutter, “No.” All of it – all of Ponyville – was gone, reduced to a cindered waste.

He’d known that Gho’Zra had struck first at the town, but he’d had no idea that the devastation would be so complete! In his heart he felt that Twilight had surely survived, but in his mind he could not see how she possibly could have. As he wandered about the blackened ruins, he had to do a double-take at what he saw. There, sitting upon a mound of ash and looking more morose than usual, sat his friend and confidant, Twilight Sparkle! Running to her, he excitedly called, “Twilight! Friend Twilight – you are okay!” Looking up from the ground, the Alicorn could scarcely believe her own eyes. “Ghur’Tcha?” she exclaimed, “Ghur’Tcha, is that you?”

When he finally came to a stop before her, Twilight gave a large smile and quickly wrapped the little reptile in a hug. She was surprised at how happy she was to know that he was alright, but even more that he had obviously gone through quite a journey in trying to find her. Pulling back from him in order to give him a once over, she asked, “What are you doing here?” Latching a zygodactyl hand upon her hoof, the Chameleon replied, “I came here to insure that you are alright, friend Twilight – I feared that you may have been lost.” Looking back up at the mountainside, towards Canterlot, Twilight next asked her friend, “What happened – up there, I mean?”

With a grim face that set her heart on edge, Ghur’Tcha explained, “The great city is no more – Gho’Zrah fell upon its mighty walls like a tidal wave and poured out many curses upon the land; the Cats and their warriors were unable to stop him, and the great citadel at the heart of the city was brought low… many people are dead, friend Twilight, and Gho’Zrah has returned once more to the sea.” With an audible gulp, Twilight hesitantly asked, “The palace was destroyed? Did Celestia make it out okay? Is she hurt? Where is she?” Closing his eyes so that he might not see the look of pain upon his friends face, Ghur’Tcha responded, “I did not see it, friend Twilight, but it has been spoken by many that she was among those who died that night… I am sorry.”

There it was. It was like someone had kicked her repeatedly in the gut. Celestia was dead. Celestia was dead. This couldn’t be real; there was no way it could be real. Looking once more at the mountainside, Twilight could not stop the next thought form entering her mind: ‘Oh God, she’s dead.’ Quickly she began to hyperventilate. Opening his eyes in surprise, Ghur’Tcha quickly came to her side and began trying to reassure her that everything would be okay. But it wouldn’t be. Celestia, the shining beacon of hope and the steadfast teacher who’d guided her throughout her life, was dead. Nothing was ever going to return to being ‘alright’. She quickly lapsed into one of her famous mental breakdowns as Ghur’Tcah tried to console her…

The streets of Canterlot were nearly empty, save for the armed soldiers who patrolled her many roads and walkways. Any and all surviving civilians had been quarantined within ‘The Camp’ to insure that order was maintained. This was both in order to prevent looting (something that the Cats had dealt with in previous situations were civil structure had broken down) and to provide protection and assistance to the recovery crews who roamed the landscape in search of survivors. On a stretch of road which had at one point gone by the Royal Palace, Major Leopold Lachespringer stopped to light up another cigar.

Beside him, Feldwebel Zephaniah Mog could only shake his head at such a nasty habit. Taking a satisfied puff of tobacco, the Sturmtrupper fell once more into step with the Horned Toad as they continued their patrol. The companionable silence was soon ended as Leopold asked, “Do you suppose they’ll be sending us home any time soon?” Kicking aside a solitary brick in the middle of their path, Zephaniah remarked, “Probably not; in all likelihood the Reich is going to start sending in settlers to help try and rebuild the region.” With a sniff the Toad replied, “Lebensraum[3], eh?” With a sage nod, Mog went on, “The Pferdsreich has technically been dismantled; with no formal state to speak of, these lands are technically open to to being claimed by those who are quick enough to capitalize on it.”

With a laugh, Major Lachespringer exclaimed, “Well, if that’s the case then I might just fill in a request for homesteading rights – it’s rather nice here, if I say so myself.” The Horned Toad simply grunted in response. The silence returned as the two turned a corner and made their way along the eastern corridor. The minutes would pass by quietly, only to be interrupted again by the Major as he casually noted, “You know, Heer Mog, the both of us are still alive.” With a small smile, the Feldwebel replied, “Oh? Ja, that would appear so.” Taking the cigar from his mouth and tapping away the accumulated ash, Leopold followed up, “I would wager to say that that means you were wrong when you said we’d all die.” Trying and failing to suppress the smile that grew on his lips, Zephaniah countered in saying, “I was using hyperbole, of course, Heer Lachespringer – what I really meant was that only half of us would die.”

At this the two veterans chuckled. It was true that half of the expedition force had indeed perished, but if they could not find a way to laugh about it, then they would doubtlessly have let it gnaw at their innards as they stewed within their own guilt at having survived. They continued to walk and talk as only old friends can do – the subjects they broached were as varied as they were profound. But as they made their way along the shattered walls of the palatial courtyard, all conversation was brought to a crashing halt as they heard the unmistakable sound of overturning rubble. Instinctively grabbing for their arms at the sound of activity, a look of understanding passed between the pair.

Silently gulping before nervously licking his lips, Zephaniah whispered, “Last I checked, the Palace grounds are under strict quarantine; no one goes in.” With a cathartic drag of his cigar, Leopold softly muttered, “I guess someone didn’t get that memo; so, what do you think - looters, or deserters?” Silently chambering a round into his Flinter[4], the Horned Toad mumbled, “There’s really only one way to find out, isn’t there?” Nodding in agreement, Leopold slipped a clip into his rifle as the two slowly and silently made their way through the massive gap in the walls, following the sounds of scattering rubble and scuffing stones as they made their way deeper into the ruined courtyard.

As they finally made their way into the courtyard proper, they were dead set upon taking the interlopers by surprise. At least, that was the plan until they finally got a good look at who the intruders were. There were twelve of them in all; garbed in black outfits and touting military grade gear, wearing high-end rebreathers and lead-lined Hazmat cloaks – Leopold counted six Cats, three Ponies, two Griffons and a Ferret amongst their ranks. Zephaniah was more concerned over the small, shield-shaped metal plates fastened upon their right shoulders, and the stylized grinning blood-red skull emblazoned thereupon them – the mark of the ‘Katzenaugen-Netzwerk’.

As the two of them realized that they’d just walked in upon a KaN operation, Zephaniah unconsciously whispered, “Oh shit.” The Feldwebel’s expletive instantly drew the attention of one of the black-clad operatives (the Ferret in the group), who’s cessation of activity as he stared at the two of them quickly drew the attention of the other operatives as well. A chill ran down both of the poor soldiers’ spines as they noted the fact that none of the agents looked the least bit angry or apprehensive at being discovered; they simply just stared at the two, as if casually wondering why on earth they were even there.

Very slowly and very carefully the two soldiers quietly backed away, out of sight, before turning around and quickly marching back out the way they’d entered. As for the KaN operatives, they simply went back to work scouring the ruins in search of their objective. As the pair of them finally made their way back out into the street, Leopold had to remove his helmet in order to wipe the sweat that had saturated his brow. Turning to look at Zephaniah, the Toad nervously proclaimed, “Neither of us was here,” to which his compatriot replied, “Agreed.”

Casting a paranoid glance behind them, Leopold added, “We didn’t see anything, and we definitely see anyone.” Zephaniah was quick to counter, “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Heer Major - you and I were only just now finishing up a rousing conversation, were we not?” Finally replacing the helmet back upon his head, Major Lachtsprenger muttered, “Let’s get the hell out of here.” And with that, the two of them hastily walked down the road, intent on finishing their patrol, and content to put the incident behind them. They both came to the agreement that they would request a different patrol route next time…

From her seat amidst the soot-stained ruins that had once been called Ponyville, Twilight Sparkle had only just now come to terms with her grief. While she was no less distraught over the revelation that many of her friends and loved ones had been swiftly ripped from her grasp, she had come to accept the fact that they were dead. Finally turning back to Ghur’Tcha (who, up until this time, had been keeping a silent vigil beside her as she grieved), the morose Alicorn decided to risk her fragile heart even further by asking, “M-my family… what about my family? Are they alright?” Turing his eyes aside, the Chameleon could only respond, “I am not sure – I could not see them amidst the growing crowd of survivors; I do not know whether they are alive or dead.”

Closing her tear-stained eyes, Twilight decided to hold out hope; she would continue to hope that her family had survived. In a moment of emotion, Twilight gathered her reptilian friend in an embrace. Together the two of them cleaved to one another for support for many minutes. They were finally interrupted by the appearance of a Cat, dressed in full military gear and touting a bayonet-tipped rifle. Finally coming to a stop in front of the two, he instructed them in a halting rendition of the Equestrian language to accompany him back to the nearby camp. When asked why, the soldier didn’t reply and instead opted to physically ‘escort’ them back to the tent. Noticing the way in which the Cat was brandishing his rifle, the two of them decided against resisting.

As the trio finally made their way into camp, Twilight and Ghur’Tcha were hurriedly pressed aboard a waiting train car. Despite their questions and protests, they were forcibly interred within the Pullman and the door was closed behind them. As her eyes finally adjusted to the dim interior, Twilight was relieved to see that both Rainbow Dash and a now-awake Big Macintosh were also onboard with a dozen other familiar faces besides them. Taking a few steps forward, Twilight was compelled to ask, “What’s going on?” One of the survivors (a tawny haired stallion wearing a singed suit and tie) chimed in, “I overheard some of them saying that the train line had been fixed and that the injured were being shipped off to Canterlot for proper medical treatment.”

At this, Twilight finally took notice of how everyone in the passenger car was in obvious shock, or injured in some way, shape or form. With a start the car lurched forward; the turgid noise of roiling pistons and billowing steam signaled that the train was now in motion. As the engine finally pulled out of the hub and steadily made its way towards Canterlot, those survivors who were of able body and sound mind were gathered together into several groups. With aid from those soldiers who were in good enough shape to help them, the groups began the long and tiresome process of clearing debris and searching for further injured or dead...

Meanwhile, amidst the deserted southern outskirts of Ponyville, Gefreiter Bubbi Plüschaar continued searching for Hauptmann Spitzer. He’d already spent the last couple of hours trying to find the Pony, and he was very close to giving up and calling it quits. But just as he began to turn back, his swiveling ears caught a soft yet unmistakable nickering emanating from one of the flooded, mud-filled trenches. With frantic motions, the Cat dove headlong into knee high muck, overturning debris and pushing aside bloated corpses before finally uncovering the half conscious form of Hauptmann Spitzer!

The Destrier was in a bad state. His usually dark skin was pale; pale enough to be clearly seen through the thick coating of blood and grime which so thoroughly covered him. His breathing was shallow, almost a sort of rabid panting, and a bubbling sheet of frothy white sweat covered him from head to hoof. His half-opened eyes were clouded by a fog of distant pain, and a line of mucous and drool steadily poured from his mouth and nostrils. But what caught Bubbi’s attention the most was the meter long sliver of blood-spattered wood which jutted up from his haunches!

With every breath the Hauptmann took, the pake of wood was jostled, sending shivers of pain down his spine and wracking his whole body. A steady trickle of steaming crimson blood fell across his hips and deposited itself into a growing pool beneath him. Eyes dilating into slits at the sight of such an egregious wound, Bubbi, stumbled through the mud, exclaiming, “Hauptmann Spitzer – Hauptmann Spitzer; oh, God, h-hang on; just hang on!” As he tried to pull the ugly wooden stake from the Hauptmann’s hip, he was horrified to conclude that it was only the tip of a massive timber which had pierced clean through both sides of the horse’s flank!

“Oh - oh fuck,” the Cat exclaimed, “H-hang on, I-I’m going to go get some help!” Desperately scrambling his way from out of the trench, the muck-covered Gefreiter screamed at the top of his lungs, “Help - I need some help over here!” In no time at all, more than a dozen individuals (mostly Cats, though there were a few Pferdlanders) had arrived to answer his call. As Bubbi pointed out the Hauptmann to them, the group immediately set to work extricating the wounded Destrier. When it was determined that the timber upon which the Hauptmann was skewered was deeply entrenched within the earth, it was decided that they would use a saw to free him.

Half-buried in mud and wearing his weighty harness and gear, it was no easy task getting the Hauptmann out of the trench; they were forced to cut the belts and straps which held him fast to the mud. Even with so much of the weight removed, the crew of rescuers was hard pressed to move the Hauptmann’s massive form – it would take all of them in order to finally lift him out. With frenetic steps they hurriedly carried Spitzer’s broken body across the uneven ground, nearly stumbling once or twice. It would take a full fifteen desperate minutes before they finally made it to the emergency tent…

The mid-day sun cast its radiant rays down upon the burning remnants of Canterlot. From within his tent at the heart of ‘The Camp’, Oberst Mittens sat at his makeshift desk, staring into nothingness. Standing next to him was the ever vigilant form of Oberleutnant Ghresht, his bright yellow eyes keeping their watchful gaze upon his downtrodden friend. They were alone within the tent; Claws had excused himself from their presence, intent as he was upon finding any remaining Equestrian government officials with which he could coordinate with. As it stood, the state of Equestria was functionally rudderless, and while the martial law was keeping everything in order, it was only ever a temporary solution.

The Oberst was brought back to reality by a most unlikely guest entering his tent. Arrayed in his finest uniform and baring an apprehensive look upon his face, Admiral Hans Drücker made his way across the room before coming to a stop across from Mittens. As the Oberst stared at his brother-in-law with slight confusion, Khujek excused himself from the tent; he was well aware that the ensuing conversation would be of a more personal manner - his presence was no longer needed. As the giant of a Gila Monster exited the room, Hans finally took the initiative and asked, “How are you feeling?”

Instead of responding, Mittens instead turned away before once more looking off into oblivion. With a sigh, Hans walked around the desk, pulled up a chair and promptly sat next to his brother. With a smooth, reassuring voice the Admiral spoke, saying, “Mittsies, no one in their right mind is going to fault you for what happened that night.” With a deep, shuddering breath, the Oberst finally turned to stare the Admiral in the eyes as he quietly confided, “I… I lost my nerve that night, Hans; I couldn’t think, I couldn’t decide… I just choked up and… and those boys died because of it.”

Slowly taking grasp of his shoulders, Hans softly reprimanded him, saying, “Hey, hey – listen to me, Mittens; listen to me – this is not your fault… none of us were prepared to deal with something like that; you did the best you could.” Leasing a breath of pent up guilt, Mittens slowly gripped his forehead as he sorrowfully lamented, “The worst part of it all is that those boys died for nothing… Kanterlotte is gone and the monster still lives… Gho’Zrah is long gone; no doubt it’s halfway across the world by now.” “Actually,” noted Hans, “that’s not entirely true.” Casting a glance at the Admiral, Mittens asked the only prudent question, “What do you mean?”

Pulling a strip of paper from his breast pocket, Hans was quick to hand it to the despondent Oberst. As Mittens gave it a once-over, it was clear to him that what he was staring at was a list of coordinates and radiometric data. Turning back to Hans, he inquired, “What does it mean?” With a tiny, nearly imperceptible smile, Hans explained, “Two days ago, one of my airships – ‘Der Möwe’ – picked up a cyclical radio beacon with a serial code registered to a funkfeuer-granate[5] used by one of the artillery divisions.” Shifting in his chair, the Admiral leaned in and began surreptitiously speaking, “When we first picked up the signal, it had been on a steady course out to sea, but at some point last night, it had made a complete reversal to the north-west. As of two hours ago the signal was confirmed to be heading towards ‘Tranquility Bay’[6].”

Eyes widening at the implications of what he was hearing, Oberst Mittens finally straightened himself within his chair before casting an incredulous gaze towards Hans. Slowly leaning inwards, the Oberst hesitantly asked, “And you’re sure that the signal is one of ours?” With an ingratiating smile, Hans replied, “It’s been verified as authentic; with enough inquiry we can conceivably narrow it down to a specific gun – we’re positive on this one.” With a hopeful smile, Mittens asked, “How long until we can assemble a strike force?” With a voice that held no doubts, Drücker exclaimed, “Admiral Katzenspeigel[7] assures me that he can have a small flotilla of cruisers on hand in twenty-eight hours.” Looking off in a distant stare, Mittens muttered, “Then there’s still a chance.”…

The Canterlot train depot was near devoid of life as the train rolled into the station. The only souls there were a group of armed soldiers who had been ordered to escort the passengers onboard to ‘The Camp’. With jets of hissing steam the locomotive finally rolled to a stop. Brandishing a key, one of the soldiers (a hulking Toad with an array of scars running down his face) hopped up to the passenger Pullman and began unfastening the lock that kept the sliding door from opening. With a simple shove the door was pushed aside and the strident rays of sunlight crashed into the Pullman’s interior.

As the radiant light assaulted her sensitive eyes, Twilight Sparkle involuntarily squinted as she and the rest of the passengers were ordered out of the car. Taking her first step onto the pavement of the depot, Twilight could scarcely hold back the gasp of shock at the sight that met her. Canterlot wasn’t just ruined – it had been destroyed! As hard as she tried, she could not locate a single identifiable structure on the horizon with which she could catch her bearings. Behind her came a plethora of similarly shocked gasps and expletives. Before she could look any further however, she and the rest of the group were being herded along by the soldiers who had met them at the depot.

As they were being escorted to a camp up ahead, Twilight took note of the many fires which seemed to rage across every quarter of the city. Across her path there ran a mixed squad of Cats and Ponies carrying water laden buckets and covered in soot; firefighters, no doubt. They were running towards a nearby conflagration, and in her heart Twilight prayed that they might return from it safely. As they finally entered the sprawl of tents and lean-to’s, it only took a few minutes before a growing number of astonished onlookers began to murmur in excitement at the sight of the Alicorn Princess as she calmly followed the escort.

She tried to remain impassive as many of them began to kneel as she walked by, while others openly lauded her arrival, proclaiming it loudly throughout the camp. Soon enough, a great crowd of Ponies began flocking to her, intent upon witnessing her arrival. The message was clear – in this new and trying time the people would look to her for the answers. The knowledge of it scared her greatly; the pressure of it all seemed nearly unbearable to her. Still, she remained inscrutable, casting a small, reassuring smile to the onlookers and trying to project an air of confidence which might sooth them.

Noticing the growing commotion, several of the escorting soldiers began to try and physically disperse the crowds as best they could. Up ahead, Twilight could see another group of foreign soldiers approaching her, armed to the teeth and projecting an aura that made her uncomfortable. Coming to a stop a few meters in front of her, the squad parted as one of their number (a towering Gila Monster) stepped forward and pointed to her. With a deep, squelching voice the reptile spoke to her (in surprisingly clear and concise Equestrian), “Command has been informed of your arrival; you are to follow me.”

The surrounding mob of civilians began to rile with agitated energy at the Voroshian’s words; they seemingly took offense to the way in which he spoke to their Princess. Without missing a step, the Gila Monster spoke something in his foreign tongue and immediately the group of soldiers who’d been escorting the group of ponies presented their weapons towards the bristling crowds. Fearing what might happen should she deny the soldier’s request, Twilight Sparkle swiftly turned to the crowd and shouted, “Please, my little ponies, listen to me – there is no need for you to worry; I am simply going to have a few words with the men in charge of keeping us safe.”

“There is no need for you all to worry; please, go back to your loved ones.” Like a switch, the crowd grew docile once more and slowly, ever so slowly, began to disperse. Emboldened by the way in which she’d taken control of the situation, the violet Alicorn turned a determined gaze towards the imposing Gila Monster as she boldly began saying, “I’ll agree to speak with your commanding officers, but only after my friends have received medical attention and after I’ve discovered the whereabouts of my family.” With a nod, the Gila Monster brusquely ordered his men to escort the company to a nearby makeshift hospital.

As they arrived, Twilight was met by the exhausted form of Prudent Measure, Celestia’s most trusted advisor and a man who had helped Twilight on many an occasion. Walking up to the older Pony as he beckoned her over, she didn’t have time to properly greet him. Already he had begun to speak to her, saying, “Princess Sparkle, I cannot begin to tell you how relieved I am to know that you’re alive and well; I have a message for you – Princess Celestia’s last will and testament – written under the stipulation that it be given to you and no one else.”

Taking hold of the velum scroll as it was presented to her, Twilight wasted little time in magically unfurling the message. Reading it line for line, the Alicorn only managed to retain an impassive façade as she noted that the will officially declared her the sole sovereign and queen regent of Equestria. Having finally finished reviewing the testament, Twilight calmly folded the letter back up before tucking it under one of her wings. With a calming breath, the Princess finally looked at Prudent Measure before saying, “I understand, Prudent; thank you… for giving this to me.”

With a genuine look of empathy, Prudent Measure lamented, “Words cannot express how truly sorry I am that it had to be this way, your highness; Princess Celestia was adamant in her course.” Looking over her shoulder, towards the collection of ready-built structures that constituted a hospital, the Princess completely shifted the direction of the conversation to more urgent, personal matters as she asked, “Have you, by any chance, seen my family?” Stumbling over his own words, Measure stuttered, “Y-your family? No, no I don’t believe I’ve seen your parents anywhere – though, to be fair I have been extremely busy, your highness – b-but if you wish it I will begin searching for them!”

Narrowing her eyes at the Minister’s uncharacteristic display, the Alicorn felt that he was hiding something from her, but she decided not to press him any further. Instead, she began to turn away as she declared, “Right… Well, let me know if you do find them; I’m going to go ahead and check up on Rainbow Dash and Big Macintosh – see how their doing, okay?” However, just as she was about to pass the iron fence which marked off the hospital’s boundaries, A scrub-clad equine doctor stood in her path, barring entrance to her and nervously asking, “Princess Sparkle, what brings you here?” Lowering her brow in consternation, Twilight replied, “I was just about to go in and check up on my friends.”

Standing rigid and shifting his gaze anywhere but at her, the anonymous doctor remarked, “I can assure you that they’re fine, your highness.” Taking a step towards him, the Princess countered, “Nevertheless, I’d like to see them.” When the other pony failed to step aside, Twilight Sparkle squared her shoulders and, in her most authoritative voice, commanded, “Stand aside, doctor.” Finally looking her in the eye, the mask-clad doctor cryptically remarked, “Your majesty, please… you don’t want to go in there.” Catching the look of pity that both the doctor and Prudent Measure were giving her, Twilight felt the chill-touch of terror upon her heart as she asked, “What do you mean – what’s in there?” While the doctor responded, he gave no straight answer and seemed determined to hide behind his words as a smoke-screen.

Placing a hand upon her flank, Ghur’Tcha softly beseeched, “Friend Twilight, perhaps you should heed their warnings; the Cat chieftain must still be spoken to, after all.” Slowly, almost dejectedly, the Alicorn turned to look at her friend, a look of confliction marring her visage. But instead of conceding, the Princess stamped a hoof and shouted, “No!” Whipping back around, she proclaimed, “As the sovereign of Equestria, I demand that you let me in!” With a reluctance that bordered upon anguish, the doctor whispered, “God forgive me,” before standing aside. As Twilight and Ghur’Tcha finally made their way inside, Twilight could not help the growing sense of dread that had been assailing her the whole time.

Acting on a whim, the Princess turned left down a hall marked ‘Critical’ as she gradually picked up her pace. With a look of confusion on his scaly face, Ghur’Tcha exclaimed, “Friend Twilight, I do not think that this is the correct path; surely your friends would be in the ‘Emergency’ ward? Instead of answering him, the Pony quickly opened the first door she came to. Inside was a row of beds upon which lied the comatose forms of various Cats, Reptiles and Ponies, all of whom were covered in hideous burns; the stench of antiseptic and bleach caused her eyes to water. Ghur’Tcha watched in bewilderment as his friend slammed the door closed before running on to the next one.

For ten minutes this was repeated; Twilight would run down the hall, opening every door she came upon and giving a cursory glance before slamming it shut and moving further down the row. While Ghur’Tcha was almost certain that his friend had fallen into madness, he remained silent as he followed close behind her. Finally, after searching through seemingly countless doors, the cycle was shattered as the purple Princess opened a final door. Upon looking into this room, the Princess stood stock-still and gasped. With tears welling up in her eyes, Twilight Sparkle pathetically whimpered, “Daddy?” before desperately rushing headlong into the room.

As Ghur’Tcha enters into the doorway, he becomes beholden to a tragic sight indeed. There, in a small sterile room, interred upon a bed and affixed with a myriad web of sensors and tubes, lay the feeble form of Twilight Sparkle’s father. His once midnight-blue fur was near black with soot and much of his main and tail had been singed or outright burnt off. His eyes were swollen shut, and a patchwork of angry, colorful bruises seemed to encompass his battered body. Most troubling of all were the hideous contusions of charred black skin which sprawled out across his neck and chest – like the very hands of death itself.

At the sound of his daughter’s distraught crying, the stallion stirred. “Twilight,” he hoarsely spoke, “is that – is that you?” With gasping sobs the violet Alicorn replied, “It’s me, daddy; I-I’m here!” With a shuddering breath he exclaimed, “Oh, thank God, you’re alright – I was so worried that you might have gotten killed!” With tears leaking up through his swollen red eyes, Nightlight[8] wrapped an arm around his daughter and held her fast to his breast. Together the two of them wept with joy in finding the other alive.

The two of them are quick to catch up, with Twilight unleashing a firestorm of questions, many of which Ghur’Tcha could not keep up with. Her father answered them all to the best of his abilities, only stopping long enough to release an expectorant cough or two. The minutes would pass in this easy back and forth manner until at last Twilight asked a final question, “Dad… wh-where’s Mom?” Immediately the joyful countenance left his face as Nightlight took a steadying breath whilst taking a fierce hold upon his daughter’s arm. Taking a moment of silence to gather his thoughts, the sickly Unicorn finally answered his daughter, saying, “Twilight… your Mother, she’s… she’s gone, princess.”

The reaction was immediate; Twilight exploded into an emotional wreck – her ear-splitting wails carried across the halls and to the outside world. Even as his daughter screamed and wept, Nightlight continued, “We had all taken shelter in one of the nearby bunkers, your Mother, Spike and I; I don’t know how it happened, but the ceiling collapsed at some point, t-taking you-your Mother with it.” As he reached out to his distraught daughter, the stallion began to silently weep at the loss of his wife of so many decades. With soothing words and loving caress Twilight’s father attempted to console her. Slowly, the broken hearted girl began to calm down – her shrieking wails had broken down into heaving sobs before finally abating into feeble whimpers.

Eyes closed in anguish, she finally found the strength to ask, “A-and Spike; is he al-alright?” With a sobbing breath, her father replied, “When the ceiling collapsed, I was separated from the both of them… however, when they searched the wreckage, they didn’t find his body; I’m hopeful that he somehow made it out alive.” While the notion that her adopted brother might have escaped destruction was a comforting one, Twilight didn’t hold her father’s hopes in high standing – she refused to hope for something so unlikely. Still, she could not help but agree, saying, “Ye-yeah, Spike’s pretty tough – I’m sure he made it out.” Wiping a strand of mucous from her nose, the Alicorn then exclaimed, “And th-then, when he shows u-up, the th-three of us can be together; we’ll be a f-family – right daddy?”

Nightlight’s face instantly turned impassive. Quickly picking up on her father’s lack of response, Twilight nervously prompted, “R-right daddy?” When he still refused to answer her, Twilight all but squeaked, “Daddy?” With quivering mouth, her father could no longer hold back the tears which now spilled from his eyes. A wave of surrealism assaulted Twilight’s senses as she slowly got up and made her way towards the diagnostic chart hanging on the far wall. Taking hold of the clipboard, she lethargically read the words upon it. Slowly shaking her head as she reread it again and again, a hollow pit seemed to swallow her heart up as she finally came to the conclusion. “No…”

Her father gave voice to her fears as he admitted, “I’m dying, Twilight – the doctors say I don’t have much time left; the fires were too much for my lungs to take.” Still shaking her head in disbelief, Twilight read the diagnosis – her father was showing the same symptoms which had afflicted Shining Armor so many weeks ago! As if to cement that fact, Nightlight continued, “They also tell me that I’ve come down with some sort of macro-degenerative disease… untreatable… I think it’s the same thing that took your brother.” Ghur’Tcha watched on in taciturn silence as Twilight violently exclaimed, “No!” before tossing the clipboard against the wall.

Turning back upon her father, Twilight continued to shout ‘no’ as she latched herself upon his weathered form. This was not supposed to be how things happened; she wasn’t supposed to lose her family, her friends and loved ones – this wasn’t how it was supposed to turn out! Looping an arm around his daughter’s hysterical frame, Nightlight consoled her, saying in a soothing voice, “Shhh, Twilight – shhh… Listen to me; I know that it’s difficult, believe me – I’ve only just now come to terms with it myself.” “But you need to understand that life is often sudden, and that we must make the most of our time here on earth.” With a small smile, he joyfully exclaimed, “I have lived a good life; I married a wonderful woman, and helped give birth to both you and your brother.”

“But my time is almost through, and when I finally cross over I won’t be alone, Twilight; your mother, your brother, Cadence – they’ll all be there to greet me.” With a sob, Twilight finally began to settle down as her father ran a gentle hoof down her mane. With a small laugh the stallion continued, “And do you know what? One day, when it’s time for you to come home, we’ll all be there, waiting for you as well – we’ll all be together again someday, Twilight, I promise you.” Laying a kiss upon her forehead, Nightlight finally found his own peace. Together, both father and daughter spent their remaining time together in a loving embrace. From his vigil at the doorway, Ghur’Tcha watched on in reticent stillness.

What he had just bore witness to was something that was doubtlessly occurring a thousand times over at this very moment; something that would continue to happen time and time again so long as Gho’Zra continued to live. In his mind, he came to a conclusion – one for which he was loathe to act upon, but one that would doubtlessly prevent future disasters and further sorrows akin to what he had just seen. Turning aside, the Chameleon silently took his leave. As he strode down the hallway, he reflected. Gho’Zrah may have killed his brother, but it had completely destroyed Twilight’s family; if ever he held doubts of his mission, they had been completely swept away.

Memories of what he’d witnessed in that basement so many weeks ago flooded his vision – the horrors he’d been sworn to silence over. He knew what had to be done. With a heavy heart he whispered, “Twilight, please forgive me for what I now do.” Finally walking out of the hospital and into the open air, Ghur’Tcha took determined steps towards the great tent in which the Chieftain of the Cats resided. In his heart he knew that Twilight would never forgive him for what he was about to do, but if it meant preserving the future of their world, then he would willingly do it. Finally coming to a stop in front of the tent, Ghur’Tcha turned to the towering Gila Monster who guarded its entrance and spoke, “I must speak with the man who leads you – I have knowledge that will aid him.”…

The cold dark depths of the abyssal sea were a comfort for which Gho’Zra was thankful for. Down here, in the inky blackness, there was nothing which could cause him pain. He was tired – so very tired; the unfathomable will which had led him every step of the way, that had sustained him in his most trying times, had quickly faded away. For the first time since his reawakening, his thoughts were his own, and those thoughts now often pertained to the sense of emptiness he now felt. He was alone, bereft of purpose and without the one thing he wanted above all else. He held no illusions; he was no doubt the last of his kind. Or was he the first? Either way, he was completely alone.

There was no reason for him to return to the waters that he’d called home – the seas where he’d been born; there was nothing waiting for him there. He was weary of the world; he wanted nothing more than to sleep away the passing eons, to return to the realm of his dreams and to be forgotten by the world again. He had come here, to this bay, to seek respite from the world. If nothing else, it was isolated, and there was enough food within the surrounding depths to keep him sated for the foreseeable future. In time, perhaps, he might even come to terms with his new life. But that day would be a long time in coming, if at all.

In his mind he’d come to realize that he would no doubt return one day to enact further retribution upon the denizens of this world. They had undoubtedly earned his eternal ire regardless of what they might have suffered; they had created him, and he would insure that they suffered him in equal measure. But for now, he would sleep. Curling up into a ball as he came to rest at the bottom of the bay, Gho’Zra finally closed his eyes for the first time since he had awoken. Who knows? Perhaps he’d be able to dream of the time before, when he’d been happy and whole.

Far above the bay in which he now rested, a solitary form hovered above the clouds. The airship ‘Der Möwe’ had been tracking him for days. As the setting sun cast a long shadow across the landscape, and as the last streams of Gho’Zra’s consciousness slipped away into the realm of slumber, the crew of ‘Der Möwe’ remained at work relaying their target’s position to the rest of the military. A reckoning was on the horizon, and regardless of who would ultimately be victorious, the world would never again be the same as what it once had been only months ago…

[1] Hazardous Environment Squad – these squads are comprised primarily of volunteer soldiers who are willing to don cumbersome HEV suits and search particularly dangerous battlefields in the hopes of finding their comrades.
[2] Located in the heart of the Vorosh Valley, Zalma is was once a small town just west of Purrlin. However, in the past decade alone, it had become one of many surrounding towns and cities to be absorbed into the Purrlin metropolitan area. It now represents the highest concentration of industrial output in the greater Purrlin area.
[3] Meaning ‘Living Space’, Lebensraum is the Imperial policy of sending elements of the civilian populations into areas that the Reich has either claimed or, in a rare case such as this, to help in kick starting the efforts to rebuild infrastructure.
[4] A close quarters combat shotgun, the Flinter differs from other scatter guns in that it possesses a fold out stalk and is roughly half the length of a conventional shotgun. It is usually found amongst the trenches, where its compact frame offers better mobility in such a cramped environment. It also figures prominently in Voroshian Police armories. It can chamber six individual rounds of either standard shot or solid slugs.
[5] Literally translates to ‘radio beacon shell/grenade’. The funkfeuer-granate is a specialized artillery shell designed for tracking down vehicles and ships in the case that they somehow manage to escape a conflict with Voroshian forces.
[6] Situated some twenty kilometer north of Canterlot, ‘Tranquility Bay’ represents the largest bay in Equestria and its most important continental commerce point. Situated upon the shores of the bay is the nearby city of Tranquil Shores - the second largest city in Equestria, and an important economic and strategic location.
[7] Grand Admiral Leonard Von Katzenspeigel is the Reich’s highest ranking naval officer, and as such he holds overall command of the Voroshian Navy. While the Imperial Navy is relatively recent as well as comparatively small (composed of only 27 vessels of varying size and make), it is still the most technologically superior fleet in the world.
[8] I tried looking it up, and apparently this is the general consensus of what the father’s name is.

Author's Note

"I say, look down there - has he actually done something?"

Well, this is a surprise.
I actually managed to get this chapter finished ahead of schedule.
An anomaly, I'm sure.

Anyways, as you can clearly see, we're winding down to the final chapter; the point in this story when everything comes to an end. For those of you who are savvy about the Godzilla mythos, you can clearly see where this is leading. Hell, even those of you who haven't even seen a Godzilla movie (and I sincerely hope that such a thing is not possible) can doubtlessly see where this is going.

As for this chapter itself, I must admit to being rather frustrated by it. I knew that there would be many things I would have to tie up in the end, but I was scarcely expecting a 10000+ word chapter! The predominant problem, I think, is that there were just so many different viewpoints that had to seek closure, on top of which I had to gear the secondary protagonist towards her finally destiny. For those of you who might complain over how I've killed so-and-so and whoever-you-will, please don't; I've said from the beginning that most everyone dies in this story. This is a tragedy with no hopeful future in the distance.

Overt references to religion are purposeful, and if this displeases you in any way, then I'm sorry but you need to grow up. If some of the things in this chapter are a bit too close to home*, then I'm sorry for bringing bad memories up, but again, you'll just have to suck it up or stop reading. If this 'Author's Note' seems callous or perhaps insincere, please understand that I've been getting a lot of vitriolic personal messages from those of you who dislike what I've written, and I'm frankly just a little sick of them. If you don't like the story, do not read it. Do not send me a message telling me you don't like it and that you won't read it. Just don't. If you have a complaint, grow a spine and put it down in the comments section for all the world to see. I like debates (when they're actually constructive), and I would gladly talk through with you to a resolution. But please, do not use a private message to snipe at me for a perceived offense - that's just gauche and undignified.

For all of you who've been enjoying the story, I'd simply like to say thank you, and that I hoped you enjoyed it. Be on the look out for the final chapter, which will be followed by an epilogue.

(UPDATE!!!) Heilige Schiesse! I've actually finished writing up the draft for the final chapter! What in the world is going on here? If I continue at this pace, you may expect the final chapter sometime within the coming week. Wish me luck!

*The pathos that you've experienced while reading this is very real; most if not all of the emotional reactions displayed in this story were taken from a real-life template: myself. I've drawn primarily upon my own experiences from serving in the Balkans and within Afghanistan, and so I have tried my best to put to words the horrible things I've seen and felt over the past decade and a half.