Born of Rage

by Gustauve

Rating: mature
Tags: Tragedy, Twilight Sparkle, Big Macintosh, Gore, Princess Celestia, Crossover, Dark, Princess Luna, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 143152

And behold - a god of destruction, sent to punish us for our sins rises from the sea. And in its wake is naught but death and despair. A monster is born unto the folly of arrogance; death comes, and the dead will soon pity the living. (Complete)

~ A child is born into the world with no thought of the misfortunes that will one day befall him… It is only as tragedy unfolds before us that we begin to see with greater clarity our lives and how we spend them. ~

"The earth trembled and quaked, and the foundations of the mountains shook; they trembled because he was angry. Smoke rose from his nostrils; consuming fire came from his mouth, burning coals blazed out of it." ~ Psalm 18 : 7-8

Born of Rage Concept Art can now be found in the author's profile page, here.

A different time.
A different place.
A monster unchanged.

Nature has a way, sometimes, of reminding us all of just how small we really are. She occasionally throws up terrible offsprings of our pride and carelessness to remind us how puny we really are in the face of a tornado, an earthquake, a hurricane or a flood. Our reckless ambitions are often dwarfed by their consequences. But now, with this latest travesty laid against her, Nature has finally had enough – no longer can she live in harmony with those who seek to tame her for their own ends; the bomb has awakened Nature’s wrath, and with it her greatest agent...

A Special thanks to my Cousin Phillip for creating the cover image.

'Born of Rage: Memories of the Father' has been posted.
'Born of Rage: Night Terror' has been posted. It is advised that you do not read it if you are a pansy.

Published 2014-02-28 01:30:04 UTC
Last updated 2015-05-04 22:52:22 UTC

Born of Fire

Another new day dawned upon the land of Equestria, and with it came the royal duty taken upon the sovereign to raise the sun over her kingdom. Much like every day since time immemorial, the act was done with little more than a casual thought. However, had the diurnal dictator stopped to wonder at the outrageous arrogance of her actions, she may have stayed the hand of nature’s fury; sadly she thought nothing of the unnaturalness of her machinations and continued on in her artificial tampering of things best left to the hand of providence.

All across the kingdom, and indeed the world, the signs had been showing – verdant plains of fruited bounty slowly withered and dried up, replaced by coarse sand and choking dust. The seas had become increasingly violent, as if whipped into a frenzy by some divine power, and where many an island once struck forth from the ocean, there was not but shallow waters and whirling tempests. The coastal lands were just as affected; while in one place, what was once shoreline had dried up and turned to barren wastes, another would be deluged under meters of brackish waters.

To the far northlands, the ice had taken on a life of its own, slowly crushing all in its path as it marched ever southwards, its inexorable advance picking up speed each passing day. Even the skies had begun to show their strain – the Jet-stream had changed; no longer a benevolent conveyer of clear blue warmth and humid comfort, it had slowly become a messenger of grey cold currents and dry misery. But even still, with the very earth crying out against her tormentors, none paid heed.

Pegasi still plied the air, bending the weather to their whims, diverting the waters of life to those spots they deemed fit. Their earthbound counterparts were just as guilty, though many would deny such a claim – their supposed bond to the earth all the more ironic when they sought to change the fabric of the land to suit their needs where none ought to be. But none could compare to the perversities of the Unicorns, who often desecrated the very laws of physical being to achieve their own ends.

Case in point; a single, solitary island amidst the southern seas of Equis, where for the past decade the brightest Unicorns of their generation had sought a means of producing energy that perpetuated itself. They had only recently made headway after discovering that what was once thought to represent matter at its purest form was in fact comprised of several components. The energy holding these bonds together would therefore undoubtedly be vast, or so they postulated; perhaps striking it asunder would produce a hitherto inconceivable amount of power.

Three years from that day, they finally achieved a prototype of their device – a strange, dodecahedral sphere of metalloids and precious gems, its surface covered in runes and glyphs meant to magically alter the contents of the sphere in such an order and at such a time as to break the chains of matter and give birth to their vindication. The chairman of the project, a distinguished Unicorn by the name of Precision Lathe, had recently come to the decision of testing the device out on an uninhabited island twenty-two kilometers to the east of their facility.

None of the faculty actually knew what would happen, but none were willing to take a chance with pony lives. How ironic it would be that their concern for the lives of their fellow equine would result in such untold destruction and death. The test commenced on November the third, and it was a surprisingly calm and clear day. With the magical timer set to go off at the hour of 05:29:45, just as the sun was being forcibly raised by the monarchy so many thousands of kilometers away, the various staff, faculty and adjuncts disembarked from the test site and set up observational points at a nine kilometer radius from the epicenter.

It was wise that they did, for the results of their efforts would have undoubtedly destroyed them. The heavens themselves shook as the true nature of their work was let loose upon the world – the sky turned red as a second sun was made manifest, with an intensity beyond even that great celestial ball. The luminous cloud that arose took on the form of a mushroom, which, had it not been so foreboding in its presence, may have seemed comical to a few.

As it rose higher and higher into the morning sky, and as the unearthly light seemed the dim, the true power of their discovery was made apparent. The ring of cumulus that spread further and further outwards gave testament to the extent of the blast, and the whipping waves that materialized had no real rhyme or reason to them, seeming to collide with one another, feeding off each other and only growing bigger. The wall of pressure that passed all those present was enough to damage eardrums and, in the case of some of the more feeble or ill-constituted, outright bowl them over.

But ultimately, it was the island itself that gave proof to the Pandora’s Box that they had unwittingly unleashed upon their world. What was once a small oasis of paradise on a bleak and desolate ocean was now little more than a dead rock. The trees were all broken, pushed outwards from the epicenter and charred to a crisp, the pristine white coral sands were now glass, and the interior earth was now scoured and dead; no signs of life were present, and it was not a far stretch to imagine that every living animal that had called it home were likewise destroyed, vaporized into a fine powder or scalded in the flash.

But perhaps the greatest tragedy was the reaction of those beings who had committed this act of violence against the earth. The Unicorns casually noted that their experiment was a failure; they had sought to produce exponential energy, but instead had accidently created a weapon. But what use was a weapon for a people who knew no need of one? War was an abstract concept for those of Equestria. So with a few dejected sighs and a few disappointed stares, and none too many heads shaking in disbelief, they as one returned to their facility and began from square one – perhaps they had miscalculated a logarithm, or had taken the device to the wrong direction.

Nature has a way, sometimes, of reminding us all of just how small we really are. She occasionally throws up terrible offspring’s of our pride and carelessness to remind us how puny we really are in the face of a tornado, an earthquake, a hurricane or a flood. Our reckless ambitions are often dwarfed by their consequences. Now, with this latest travesty laid against her, she has finally had enough – no longer can she live in harmony with those who seek to tame her for their own ends; the bomb has awakened nature’s wrath, and with it her greatest agent.

For on that desolate island which had once been a wellspring of life, there lived a creature the likes of which none on Equis had known – a bygone relic of a previous age, in a time before either Horse or Dragon, Griffon or Camel, Bull or Buffalo had ever come into being. It was the last of its kind, and it had been in slumber for eons; content to let time pass it by in its perpetual state of blissful slumber. But the actions of that day would forever change it, and the world.

Slowly it awoke, and slowly it realized that it was in agony – its very soul seemed to be on fire as a burn unlike anything it had ever experienced seemed to seep into every bone and facet of its body. Already, massive contusions of keloid scarring had replaced what were once pristine scales and bony plates. Its spinal column was wracked with a whole new level of pain as its back seemed to split in twain and reform into a maleficent parody of its former self.

But perhaps most painful of all was the strange, foreign sensation of a pain not its own – images flashing before its mind, none of which were familiar to the creature. But as the visions began to blend further and further together, one image alone stood out – that of strange, four legged creatures. They were everywhere and wherever they went, only pain and devastation followed; they warped and contorted the natural order of things to suit their own needs, and what they could not bend, they would break.

The final image to cross its mind, in this strange sort of extra-awareness, was that of a flash of brightest light and the sound of a hundred thousand roaring fires echoing the screams of agony that the creature now felt. In its mind there could be no other explanation, the cause of its woe, and indeed the woe of the entire world, was this strange race of quadrupeds who sought to command even the heavens themselves.

Within the beast’s heart arose a black spark of raging hatred for these pests, and it quickly caught and grew, until its very soul was a conflagration of malice! The pain and suffering it felt that day would be avenged a hundred-thousand fold; of this it was most assured. With a mighty upsurge of righteous fury, the beast let loose a booming, metallic roar, as its horribly mangled body finally gave out beneath itself. How it had survived may never be known, but on that day a god of destruction had been born, and in the days to come, the heart of every creature on Equis would tremble in fear at the sound of its very name!

Author's Note

Well, there you have it - the first chapter of the first story I've posted for this site. If you can't already tell, this is going to be a spin on the dark origins of Godzilla whilst taking place in the sickeningly happy backdrop of My Little Pony. I will come right out and say this; I'm not a fan of the cartoon My Little Pony, and I don't intend to make very many friends on this site. That being said, a lot of ponies are going to die in this story - many of them will undoubtedly be someone's favorite cartoon horse, and I don't particularly care. If on the off chance that I haven't already stepped on someone's toes, and you actually like the premise of this story, then I'd like to know, because in all honestly, I can abandon this story now and reformat it into a different (i.e human) setting and place it on my Fanfiction.net account. Whether people like the story or not isn't relevant to the stories progress; I require no 'likes' and care little for personal platitudes - the story will be made one way or another, regardless.
Until the next chapter.
Auf Weidersen.

Bathed in Blood

The Chameleonic Islands were a chain of coral atolls that for centuries had been considered the jewel of the Equestrian Commonwealth. Home to the simple Chameleon people, the islands were a common retreat for the well to do of society, where its pristine waters and scenic outdoors were a salve to the weary soul. The Chameleons themselves were of an easy going disposition, never a people to become alarmed at the trappings of life, and with their acquiescent view of the world, they were happy enough just to enjoy a warm, sunny day.

But for those Chameleons who partook of the fishing trade – an important part to their way of life and commerce, the past three months had slowly instilled within them a growing sense of uneasiness. The crew of the Happy Dragon No.7 was no different. In fact, they may have had more reason to worry than others; while some crews who plied these waters were lucky to find anything these days; the crew of this sturdy little trawler was pulling in all sorts of haul. The only problem – everything they dredged up was dead, and an air of sickness seemed to permeate from the rotting carcasses.

The captain of the Happy Dragon No.7, K’Umetk, was no stranger to the sea – He had been fishing these particular waters since he was a small boy, fifty and three summers ago. But in all his many years of fishing, never had he seen such bad omens. His first mate, Che’Morl, was just as uneasy. Turning to his long time captain and friend, he asked, “Have you ever seen anything like this K’?” Slowly shaking his grey-scaled head, the old seaman replied “Never – never in all my life have I seen such evil.” For that was undoubtedly what it was; evil.

They watched as the younger deck hands trawled in another net-full of catch, but when the spill-cord was pulled, all that fell forth was the same story they had been witnessed to: death and decay. “It’s a curse,” whispered Che’Morl, “Chu’Maqc-Tahl is angry – he has forsaken us for leaving his ways!” K’Umetk was no stranger to such notions – after all, he had grown up on the stories of the Old Ways, before the Ponies came, before the people of the Islands left their ancient ways in pursuit of modern comfort.

In those days, the god of the islands, Chu’Maqc-tahl held sway. He was a fierce and terrible god, who did not tolerate disobedience. Young virgins had been annually sacrificed to appease him, and in return he would provide a good harvest the rest of the year. Those ways changed when a boat of Ponies landed on the island of Cham’tosh’s shores and spread their knowledge and way of life to the natives. Many had flocked to these new ideas of love, tolerance and good will.

However, there had always been those who would cry out to the people that they were flirting with disaster. Chu’Maqc-tahl was not a patient god, and he would not tolerate such philandering disobedience! In the last days of those years when the virgins were still sacrificed, a revival occurred and with it came the message of Chu’Maqc-tahl’s coming prophet; a great and terrible creature that would bring pain and suffering to the islands, and indeed the world, for their unfaithfulness. And the name of the prophet was still held with some trepidation by the more superstitious.

With a whisper of fear, Che’Morl spoke his mind, “This is the work of Gho'Zra – his judgment is here!” The grizzled captain roughly gripped his friend’s shoulder and muttered, “Do not say such nonsense, Che’, what you speak of will bring nothing but bad luck; put it behind you and prepare the crew, we’re done for today – the seas are dead and there is nothing we can do about that." As his first mate collected himself and set to work mustering the crew, K’Umetk looked out over the horizon, towards the south-east, where the source of this evil most undoubtedly came from.

The island of green jewels, Maqc-turesch in their tongue, was the southernmost atoll of their island nation, and it had long been revered as the home of their ancient god – unimaginably beautiful, but utterly forbidden to the people. Three months ago, something happened on that most sacred of isles, and none could say with any certainty what exactly it was. Those who claimed to have witnessed it told of how, in the earliest part of the dawn, the very heavens roared in anger, and of how a second sun rose from the island to outshine its counterpart, and of the ominous cloud that was left in its wake.

Obviously this was some sort of portent, for there could be no other explanation to how such a verdant paradise could be transformed into a charred visage of hell in just one morning. He had it on good authority that a group of Ponies who were of great wisdom had taken to testing their sorcery and science on another, nearby island. He had also heard from others that these magi had dared to step foot upon the island not too long before the great calamity. Perhaps there was some truth to the old stories; maybe they were too quick to abandon the old ways.

Whatever the case, the island of the green jewels was now a black scar on the sea, and in the three months since its destruction, the bounty of these waters had disappeared. K’Umetk considered himself to be a somewhat rational man – he often said that all things, with enough time, can be answered. But as he looked towards the deck, towards the nervous sailors and deckhands, towards the spoiled cargo which had been tainted by some great evil, he could not help but feel that perhaps some things were best left unknown.

Meanwhile, on the deck below, the crew was just as nervous. While some of them were greenhorns to the job, only now old enough to join their brothers and fathers on the sea, others were veterans who prided themselves on their hardness of spirit; they’d seen the worst that the sea had to offer, and they had survived. None, however, could escape the sense of wrongness that seemed to emanate from the unusually torpid waters that day.

The day had started out bad, and had only gotten worse. When they had struck out from port that day, they had caught nothing, but the further south they went, towards what had traditionally been the most bountiful part of the seas they lived on, the nets became laden with fish. But the fish were always dead, always mangled and often nothing more than sludge. More worrisome were the sharks and Groupers they pulled up – all too often it looked as if some great beast had eaten them, great swaths of flesh and bone missing, and a strange blue liquid oozing from their wounds.

But it wasn’t until a young yeoman named Ghur’Tcha pulled up a lump of giant sea turtle with a tooth the size of a dinner plate lodged in its shell, that the crew began to speak their minds in more than a hushed whisper. Some would say, “We are under a curse!” Others exclaimed “This is the work of a demon!” A few of the more superstitious crew spoke out, “We should leave this place – it is execrated, and we will surely perish if we stay too long!”

But it was the oldest deckhand, the oldest of the whole crew - a crusty, one-eyed, grey scaled Chameleon who they all called the Old One, who summed up what all of them were thinking. “Something evil is at work here.” All their words were brought to a halt when the first mate made his way towards them. “Alright you miserable lot,” he shouted, “the Captain says we’re heading back to shore, so gather the nets up and batten the hatches – swiftly now!”

All at once the deck was a mass of activity as all hands were put to the task – ropes were pulled, knots were tied, and lines were rolled in. But as the yard arm was being swung to the yaw, and the magic powered boilers were stoked and fed a shovel full of aquamarine, one of the drop lines seemed to catch; the line pulled taut and the wench rig groaned – the large iron hook had taken purchase on something, but to the crew’s knowledge there were no corals or wrecks, nothing to which they could have snagged.

One of the packers took hold of the straining line and with a mighty tug seemed to finally pull it loose form whatever it was that had impeded it. With a grin, he remarked, “See, it just took some muscle, that’s all.” A few laughs and nodding heads and the atmosphere seemed to lighten. Then, as if to spite them, the line gave an almighty tug back, pulling the sailor free of the boat and yanking the wench free of its bolts - lodging it into the guardrail! With an awful groaning shudder, the dragger turned its prow into the strain.

The Captain, who had lost his footing during the tumult, came rushing down the steps, asking, “What’s happening?” Turning towards the wench, his eyes widened, “What are we caught on?” One of the cabin boys cried out, “We don’t know, but Th’Alell has fallen overboard and he cannot swim!” Quickly, many of the crew rushed to the starboard side, and to their horror saw it to be true! The burly ice packer was flailing about in the water, desperately clinging to the still straining rope.

Captain K’Umetk may not have been as young and spry as he was in his days of youth, but if there was one thing he could do, it was swim, and he’d be damned as the captain of this ship if he was about to let one of his men drown! So with no warning, he threw off his trousers and tossed his hat to the floor before leaping headfirst in to the warm waters. “Captain, wait!” Cried out one of the hands, but he ignored their cries – a man’s life was on the line.

As he reached the scrabbling sailor, he firmly wrapped an arm around the drowning man’s torso and with a bold, firm voice shouted, “Toss me the life ring!” The pneumatic hiss of the launcher came seconds before the orange ring landed almost on top of them. Swiftly grabbing the ring and hauling Th’Alell onto it, he gave a sigh of both relief and exhaustion as the two of them were slowly towed towards the Happy Dragon No.7.

A ring of cheers sang forth from her deck as the crew celebrated the heroics of their captain as well as the safety of a beloved member of their crew. But all sense of jubilation was abruptly shattered when, with another lurch, the dragger began to list towards the lay of the line. If something were not done soon, she might very well wind up being pulled to the bottom, with them along for the ride! “Someone cut that line, now!”, K'Umetk cried. Quickly grabbing a nearby hatchet, one intrepid youth cried out, “Aye aye, sir!” before heaving the axe with all his might.

With a snap, the line was loosed and the boat jerked about as it sought its balance. Finally, the Captain and his ward were pulled aboard and the crew was once more celebrating. Amidst the revelry stood the Old One, who alone saw what the others did not, and with tremulous hands gripped his withered head in absolute terror. A few of the older crewmen, who had never in all the years seen such a look on the Old One, stopped and turned towards the direction of his petrified gaze. They too, took on a similar look.

Quickly, more and more of the Chameleons joined the growing crowd of horrified onlookers as the entire boat became deathly silent. There, not a hundred meters off their starboard bow, arose a great object out of the sea, the bubbling waters cresting into a hill of roiling sea foam. The aqueous dome was ruptured by a hideous, jagged spire of chalky white bone. Then another, and another, then a dozen more, until they were too numerous to count! Slowly, the water sloughed away and with it the silt and detritus of the seafloor.

Higher and higher it rose, staggering the imagination of all who witnessed it! Never had they seen something so vast – so colossal! Soon it took shape as it turned towards them. Of one accord they screamed in fright at what they saw: charred, black, scarified skin covering mountains of muscle and bones, a steady booming beat called forth from a massive chest, girded to sinewy arms that ended in wicked claws. A long neck of rippling scales and pulsing veins culminated into squared, sinew-laden jaws filled with a palisade of teeth. Eyes of molten red fury shone brightly with an intelligence that belied its form, and spoke of pain and devastation for all that would fall beneath its gaze… And it was looking at them.

The spell was broken as the monstrosity let loose a bone jarring, unearthly roar of fury. The Captain cried out to the entire crew, “Man your stations, we need to get out of here now – GO!” But it was too late, for as the crew scrambled towards their stations and the boat began to turn away, the great behemoth strode forth with a speed it should not have possessed and plucked up the trawler as a child might a toy. With screams of fear and despair the crew watched the last seconds of their life play out as the great beast wrenched the Happy Dragon No.7 in half with a simple twist and devoured its stern in a single gulp; the magic driven engines feeding a hunger that the leviathan had only now begun to know.

Its hunger momentarily sated, the abomination of nature casually tossed the shattered remnants of the fishing boat aside like so many pieces of garbage. With a gut-wrenching bellow and a great splash of tempestuous waves the monster dove once more into the sea. These waters could no longer sustain it, and already it had begun to crave something more than mere sustenance. It had tasted the fruit of magic, the same energy that played a role in its rebirth, and it wanted, no, needed more of it. As it gracefully propelled itself through the shallow waters, it instinctively knew where the nearest source of this power would be. Slowly it headed west, towards an island where the spark of its birth was conceived and where the flames of its perdition would begin!

Author's Note

Well, here's the next chapter.
This is an important part to the story, so don't bother complaining about pointless plot and filler stories, because its not. I don't write anything tangential.
If what occurred in this chapter eludes you, and you've yet to understand what all just happened, it's because you're a moron.
Also, don't be too disappointed about the lack of actual Godzilla action - the formula that made the original Godzilla so great was its policy of less is more and the deep character development and the examination of how man might come to grips with the destruction that was wrought. This balance has never been truly replicated in any other Godzilla movie, and so I will by no means even attempt to try and reach that level of quality. What I will do, though, is try my best to make it feel like Godzilla. I've already begun work on the next chapter, but I'm also working on some other projects outside of this, so if it doesn't come up by tomorrow, then find something else to do.
On a final note; I am extremely antisocial, and if I come off as mean, or cynical, it's not just you.
Have a nice day.

From the Sea

The Island of Promised Point had a long and storied history, going back two-hundred and fifty some odd years, back when those first intrepid pony explorers took to the sea and headed out for parts unknown. The legend of its discovery is often taught to children all over the kingdom, for it is one of bravery, adventure, and intrigue. The story goes that Captain Sextant Scope, upon setting sail, promised his crew of one-hundred and eighty-three sailors, scientists, cartographers and missionaries that they were bound for a land that his grandfather, the legendary Astral Navis, had claimed to have seen on his historic journey around the entire globe.

So sure was he in his grandfather’s tale, that he staked everything on it, only gathering enough supplies to make a one way trip, and selling all of his holdings and bonds with no intention of ever returning to Equestria proper. While the journey started out amicably, it soon became apparent to many on board that they were skirting with disaster. Captain Scope had set off in the month of August, a time of year that any sailor worth his salt would tell you was suicide – the seas were at their worst during that time of year, but Sextant pressed forward.

In those final days of turmoil, when the supplies ran out, when the crew rose against him, and when nearly all had given up hope, Sextant Scope boldly proclaimed whilst pointing at a single point on the map, that he promised them they’d find paradise, and he had no intention of becoming a liar. Three days later, they spotted land – an island filled with such beauty and splendor, untouched by civilized creatures, and full of the promises Captain Scope had given. Thus it was christened ‘Promised Point’.

As the decades moved forward from there, Promised point became the staging ground for more and more expeditions into the world – a springboard from which the Chameleonic Islands had been tamed, the continent of Southernpoint was discovered, and peaceful ties established with the Zebracan nations. Soon Promised Point became an economic and commercial hub that could rival any mainland city, with its own thalamic power grid, a university and hospital, and perhaps the crown of the island, the Grand Observatorium, the greatest establishment of scientific study and development in the eastern hemisphere.

It was here, more than two centuries after its founding that the greatest minds of Equestria came together to change the world. Unfortunately, they succeeded. Though they never knew it in their lifetime, they were responsible for the greatest tragedy to ever beset civilization. While many would hardly fault them for their actions, the earth was less forgiving in her judgment, and so it would be on this day that everything changed.

Precision Lathe sat at the desk of his luxurious office, staring blankly out the massive window and into the grand city below. With a sigh, he turned away from the magnificent sight and started once more reviewing the progress reports of Project Æthor. A decade of research and all they had achieved was a bomb – a stupid bomb. With furrowed brow he noted that the report indicated that the device they had tested on that uninhabited island nearly sixteen weeks ago had indeed produced nearly unheard of levels of energy, but without a proper containment field, the energy dissipated too quickly.

This meant that they had been correct – to a point – in their approach to the problem. What they had not counted on was that the bonds that held matter together could be so potent. It was only a slight oversight, but even then it had been naïve to think they would succeed after only one attempt. ‘No,’ thought the old Unicorn, ‘one time is never enough to verify anything.’ But that first test had shown the potential of this new form of energy, one that many at the facility had given the moniker of ‘Matrixial’ energy, and to know that they were so close to the break through seemed to only intensify their research.

Already the team down in the R&D department had developed a prototype containment field, and while it was still too bulky for his liking, the design showed enormous promise. As of last week the work had begun on a second matrix breaker, smaller than the original, and designed around the concept of lay-line transfusion. With any luck, with enough of the planets natural magical energy being fed into the initial release of energy, they may be able to sustain it long enough to erect the containment field around it.

Spirits were high, as later that night the entire staff of the Observatorium threw a celebration in honor of their impending success. The party was such that a whole host of foreign dignitaries and the Royal Equestrian News Corp were invited, and most if not all had jumped at the chance to tour one of the greatest centers of science and magic in the entire world. Of special note were the king and queen of the Crystal Kingdom, who, at the chance of taking a vacation on such a beautiful island, wholeheartedly embraced the invite.

Yes, the party was in full swing, and Precision Lathe could finally take the time to rub elbows with royalty. Approaching Prince Shining Armor, the well learned Unicorn cleared his throat and proffered a hoof in greeting, saying, “My lord, it is simply delightful to be graced by the presence of both you and your lovely wife – how are you enjoying the soirée?” Shaking the elderly gentleman’s hoof, the former captain of the royal guard gave a polite smile and replied, “Well, its fine so far, thanks for asking – I’m just wondering…” Raising a brow in interest Dr. Lathe inquired, “Wondering… what – my lord?”

With a chuckle, the Crystal King shook his head and laconically responded, “It’s nothing really, just an old habit.” At the doctors insistence he continued, “It’s just, with so many important individuals attending this function, I’ve yet to see any sort of security detail to insure the safety of your guests.” Letting loose a bemused laugh, the good doctor exclaimed, “Well it’s really quite simple, good sir – Promised Point has rules against any form of weaponry or violence; we simply find no need for them here, we are quite safe, I assure you.”

With an incredulous look, his majesty tactfully asked, “What makes you so certain of that?” With an unintended scoff, Precision Lathe exclaimed, “My ancestor discovered this island two-and-a-half centuries ago, and not a single act of violence has occurred here since that day – this island is completely safe because nothing bad ever happens on Promised Point.” With a curt nod the Doctor dismissed himself, saying, “I’m sorry to end our discussion on such short noticed, but it appears that my colleague, Dr. Transient Flux is beckoning me to speak with him – it looks important; shall we continue where we left off?”

With a confounded look, the former captain answered, “I don’t see why not, but I still don’t understand how-”, his words were cut short by the doctor as he exclaimed, “Excellent, I won’t take long, I assure you.” And with those parting words he quickly trotted towards another, younger looking unicorn that was frantically waving him over. With a snort, Shining Armor muttered to himself, “This island is safe because nothing bad happens here; that doesn’t make a molecule of sense.” With a final sigh of exasperation, he set out in search of his wife; no doubt she’d be with the dignitaries’ wives, talking up a storm.

Sure enough, he found her amidst a circle of gossiping women, her bell-like laughter was easy to discern. Smoothly approaching the group of grand dames, he interjected. “Ladies, if I might be so rude, I’d like to speak with my wife for a moment – I hope that isn’t too inconvenient for any of you.” A string of ‘Not-at-all’s and ‘of course dear’s and not too much prattle welled up from the well-to-do women as they turned back towards one another to continue their sordid conversations; as Cadance was ushered away by her husband to a far corner of the ballroom.

“Shining, what’s wrong dear?” Swiftly turning towards his wife, he vented, “What’s wrong is that this place is totally unsecured; there are no guards, there are no security details, there aren’t even any night-watchmen – Cadance this place isn’t safe!” Rolling her eyes with a sigh, she liltingly laughed, “Honey, you’re being paranoid – relax.” Becoming increasingly irate, the stallion pleaded with her, “Cadance, please – let’s just go; I don’t like the idea of us being so vulnerable and this party isn’t really my style anyways.”

Patting her overprotective husband on the shoulder, the princess of love suggested a compromise, “Okay, how about this – why don’t you go on to the hotel ahead of me and I’ll stay here a little longer; I wanted to have a talk with a friend who works here.” Already losing the heart to argue with her further, he put up one last objection, “But, sweetheart, what if something happens to you when I’m not here?”, before being sent away by a patronizing look and sweet words of, “Don’t worry, okay?” And that was that.

Before departing from the love of his life, he sincerely opined, “I love you, Cadance.” At this the Crystal Queen gave him a kiss and a smile, saying, “I know – I love you too; see you in an hour.” How tragic the coming hour would be, then, for such a young loving couple – the hand of fate is often cruelest to those who are kind and innocent. But fate wasn’t something that concerned Shining Armor, and so with a reluctant sigh, he nuzzled her back and headed towards the door.

Meanwhile, in one of a myriad of empty hallways that intersected the facility, Doctor’s Precision Lathe and Transient Flux were in an animated discussion. “How severe will it be, Flux?” The younger Unicorn, who specialized in weathermancy pulled out a ragged piece of cloth and once more wiped his perspiring brow before saying, “In my thirty-two years of weather-manipulation studies, I’ve never seen anything like this; it could shut down the entire island for days!”

This worried Dr. Lathe, who was well aware that many of the delegates and party-goers were also perspective investors in the realty of the island. While storms were not uncommon, it would be extremely bad publicity for Promised Point’s tourism department if so many foreigners spread word of the potential dangers one might face on the island. “We can’t afford that!” he bemoaned, before harshly whispering, “Are you positive that it’s heading towards the island?” With a skittish nod, Transient Flux affirmed, “With only a two per-cent margin of error, sir – it’s going to hit the island, and like nothing we’ve ever before experienced.”

Pulling his hair in frustration, the director bit his lip as he debated something with himself, before turning back to his associate, and in a sotto voce manner remarked, “For now this will remain between you and I – do you understand?” Rearing back as if physically struck, doctor Flux exclaimed, “What – but sir!” Raising a hoof to silence him, the chairman rebuffed, “Not a word, Flux – this night is too important to let something as mundane as a storm ruin it – we need investors if we wish to succeed in our endeavor, and I won’t have you scaring them away!”

“Now, when we go back out there, I want you to promise me that you won’t go spouting off about super-storms and biblical disasters, do I have your word?” Of course, the younger Unicorn would never dare go against the mandates of the one being who insured his steady paycheck, so with a defeated nod, Transient Flux answered, “Yes, sir, of course.” Patting his associate’s shoulder, Lathe robustly exclaimed, “Good lad, now, let’s get back to schmoozing – the dignitary from Pangolia was interested to hear of the investment opportunities on the island and we don’t want to keep him waiting!”

And so for the next twenty minutes or so things resumed their course, the guests mingled as business deals were struck, and not a few back-room deals were ironed out along the way. The rain had started coming down in earnest not five minutes before, much to the delight of some of the more aridly inclined visitors. The extent of the storm only became apparent when a howling burst of wind seemed to tear through the streets, shaking both shutters and windows with its ferocity, and understandably startling some of the more skittish attendees.

Outside, those who were not yet indoors made mad dashes for the nearest shelter as massive fat raindrops began coming down with a vengeance; already the streets were overflowing with water as the drainage ports strained to take it all. The first crack of thunder to let loose was so intense that the street lamps flickered and the rooftops shuddered! Incandescent purple streaks of lighting tore through the sky as the winds increased in power. The skies turned black, not a star to be seen, as angry storm clouds blotted them out.

Back at the hotel, Shining Armor began to worry – while an hour had not yet passed, the intense storm that seemed to have come from nowhere gave him cause for alarm – his sister, Twilight, had once told him about the dangers of the south seas, about how typhoons could destroy whole cities and wipe clean entire islands. That settled it, he was going to go back to the Observatorium and demand that Cadance accompany him to a safe place, and if she disagreed, well… tough, he would climb that hill when he got there. So without hesitation he boldly set out into the frightful weather towards his love.

Unbeknownst to all, something far worse had arrived under the cover of the storm; a great and terrible beast with a burning hunger and a heart full of rage. The beast didn’t know what it was looking for exactly, but it was certain that it would find it soon enough. The storm was more than convenient, though not for reasons it would understand. Indeed, it was the earth herself that had driven forth the storm, not content to leave her child unattended, she had cast her cloak upon him and laid out her enemies before him.

Taking those first thunderous steps across the beach, the saurian colossus scanned the horizon, peering across the rolling, jungle-covered hills of the island. In the distance it could see the shimmering lights of a city, but those mattered little to the creature, instead its eyes locked on to its true prey, a great metal contraption that was aglow with a vivid violet light as the magical energy it produced fed the city surrounding it. This was what had drawn the creature – pure, raw energy, the sort of energy it needed to fuel its new body.

With a deep, ululating bellow that blended seamlessly with the booming thunder above, the avatar of destruction made titanic strides towards the city; vicious streaks of lightning crashing all around it as it pushed onwards. More than a few times one of the blazing bolts of electric fury would strike home upon its towering spines, briefly giving them an unearthly glow as the energy seemed to vanish into the creature’s form.

The first signs of something amiss were subtle to those inhabitants of the outlying suburbs. The rumbling tremors that ran beneath their feet could have easily been explained away as rolling thunderclaps or another one of the endemic earthquakes that often beset the island at random intervals. The spine-chilling, brassy echoes that spilled forth across the hills could be passed off as the buffeting winds that flew through the streets. The sudden explosion of a gas-line on the far eastern fringes of the conurbations could not be so easily dismissed.

One after another, more and more gouts of flame sprang up across the housing district, billowing plumes of inky black smoke reflecting the orange glow of negative energies as the conflagration spread to other buildings. The pall of destruction concealed the perpetrator as easily as the growing storm, as thousands of voices cried out in terror and confusion. What was happening? Is this a part of the storm, or is something else at work here? None could say, and many more perished to the blaze that raced through the neighborhood.

By the time the monster reached the city proper, a sea of flames ran free in its wake, and the air was thick with ash and smoke. It had hardly noticed the homes it had traversed across; they had been mere stumbling blocks to a being of such size. The first true obstruction in its path arrived in the form of a spiraling tower of metal and glass – a popular hotel for the rich and affluent who frequented the island. In the eyes of the beast, this monument to pony ingenuity was little more than a hideous affront to the once pristine form of the land.

With a forcible nudge of its leg, the building was toppled as a toothpick might be snapped, hundreds of lives snuffed out in a single moment; dust and glass shards scattered through the air. A casual sweeping of its powerful tail as it passed the wreckage demolished what little remained of it and the surrounding city block killing those few who may have survived the assault. From there onwards, more and more vaulted mansions and glimmering skyscrapers were brought low in such a way; the calamity only growing as the fires spread further and further abroad.

Kilometers away in the streets below, Shining Armor saw in abject horror the bristling wave of burning destruction that made its way towards the acropolis at the heart of the city. As the blighted skies flickered with warm highlights of orange and red, the acrid smell of burning wood and melting metal caused his heart to hammer as he increased his speed towards the Obeservatorium. Though he knew not of what was truly happening, he was certain of one thing - his wife was in danger, and he needed to protect her; every fiber of his being screamed out for him to gallop faster and faster.

It was at that same moment that alarm began to ring out across the city, its mournful wailing testifying to the danger the city now faced. The guests at the facility were at once set to panic as the lights suddenly gave out and the ceiling shook and groaned. The screams of terror were drowned out by an otherworldly howl that seemed to pierce the souls of all who heard it. Finally deciding that things had snowballed too far, the vow of silence Transient Flux had been sworn to by chairman Lathe was broken as he shouted, “The storm is too dangerous, you must all find shelter – I’m sorry but you must go now!”

Too late came his warning, though, as the earth seemed to heave in the throes of anguish, and the walls began to splinter and crumble. The screams of those who saw the end coming were cut short as the building gave way to the footfalls of a being they never imagined existed. Mere blocks away, an agonized Shining Armor screamed for his wife – the heartbreak he felt that moment brought him to his knees as he witnessed the undeniable death of all who had been in the building, including his beloved Cadance. Something broke inside of him as he fell to his face and wept bitterly.

Finally reaching its quarry, the mountain of pain and death personified gave a triumphant bellow of victory as it tore into the metal structure that contained its prize, revealing an enormous cube of Flourite clad in bars of Garnet, and at its center a massive Staurolite core; the soft, lavender radiance if gave off giving no hint to the awesome power it contained. Indeed this tripartite machine of semi-precious stones was the source of the island’s power. Built some fifty years prior, it fed off the natural lay line that ran through the island’s center, storing up raw life energy and converting it to a suitable medium for consumption.

This was the heart of the city, and while any other being who gazed upon would see beauty and unparalleled craftsmanship, to the avatar of earth’s fury it was little more than a parasite that fed off the life-blood of nature – built by the parasites that created this city. But the energy contained therein was so great, and the hunger it felt so vast that it contemplated none of these things as it reached forth with sinuous arms and sank its talons into the mystic mechanism. With an awesome heave, it wrenched the power-core from its cradle and clasped it to its chest.

The waves of unrestrained, raw magic that radiated outward from the dynamo produced such raw heat that the rain which poured from the sky evaporated mid transit; a bubble of dry air a hundred meters across manifested itself as streams of ethereal vapor wisped and swirled amongst plumes of smoke and pyres of flame. All those ponies who found themselves in this dome of hot, dry air were immediately wracked by a debilitating, scorching pain the likes of which they’d never before experienced – Shining Armor chief amongst them; his Unicorn heritage making him particularly vulnerable to such massive fluctuations of sorcerous power.

While the surrounding fixtures and infrastructure began to warp and bend with an angry red glow, the beast that stood at the epicenter of it all showed no signs of discomfort. Indeed, it seemed revel in the otherworldly energies, its skin taking on a shimmering quality as the luminous aura of the crystal crucible slowly dimmed. Had those who had inadvertently given birth to this titan still been alive to witness it, they would have seen that, in an ironically twisted sense, their efforts to create a limitless source of energy were a phenomenal success; the wave of heat rapidly contracted; those tangents of fairy-power that were visible to the naked eye were seemingly pulled towards its heart.

The aberrant spines that jutted from its back began to crackle and hiss - their chalky white hue transmuting to a radiant, lightning-sky blue; arcing bolts of pure plasmatic white leaping from one tip to another as the air was filled with the sounds of a hundred million twittering birds. Nearby rubble and stones began to rise from the ground, and the corona of dust and pulverized particulate began to whirl in a spinning vortex as transient arcs of static bloom blossomed into existence all around the ancient horror.

Finally, the empyrean began to settle, as the glow of eldritch energies finally faded from the enchanted engine – it’s once magnificent visage now little more than a cold, lucent block of stone. The rain once more poured down with renewed vigor, its cacophony filling the void of deathly silence. Slowly the ancient beast surveyed its work. Where it had trod was naught but rubble, and the firestorm of its wake would very soon consume the rest. Already the entire municipality was alight, the blaze growing greater with each passing minute. The sky was pitch-black, so thick with ashy smoke and detritus that even it struggled to breathe freely.

But what mattered most to the disaster made incarnate was that it finally felt whole – the hole that had filled its being was no more, and the glorious warmth of the surrounding fires were nothing in comparison to the feeling in its soul. Finally, it could rise to its calling – the creatures that battered its world would be brought low, natures revenge was at hand. With a deep and sonorous breath, the behemoth roared into the stormy night; the apostle of the earth had come into its own, and the message it brought would not be ignored!

Looking up from his place of misery, Shining Armor fought to retain his consciousness as he beheld such an awesome sight: a dark god of destruction, shouting in defiance to the very heavens, challenging all who would oppose it – what he witnessed was the beginning of a new era, an era where the rule of the Pony was no longer unquestionable. With a growl, the great engine of chaos slowly turned towards him, and with an eerie slowness its terrifying visage fell upon him. The smoldering crimson orbs that regarded him held an intelligence that sent shivers down his entire body.

Those eyes spoke of a terrible judgment upon the world, and they possessed such a blazing hatred that he quelled in fear. The terrible monster regarded him as he might have regarded an insect – utterly repulsive and deserving of destruction. In his heart he found hope – a hope that he might very soon join his beloved Cadance once more in eternal unity, but his hopes were shattered when the creature turned away from him and headed once more into the darkness – the pillars of smothering black clouds seemingly enveloping it as if it were some terrible apparition.

There, amidst all the destruction, in the middle of that terrible storm, as the haze of the heat and light of the fire spilled across the night-time air, the now broken ruler of the Crystal Kingdom could only wonder at the insanity of it all. In a trembling voice he cried out into the night, “God – God have mercy on our souls!” before sinking into sweet unconsciousness. But God had turned away from them long ago, and now all that remained was their sins made manifest.

Author's Note

As promised, here is the third chapter. By far the longest, though not by intention. Here we see a foretaste of things to come.
A few side notes: the back stories I've created these past three chapters may be used by any and all of the authors on this site - I don't particularly care if you directly take them or modify them. Every single word in this chapter can be found in the English language, and in the spirit of learning, I would kindly suggest that you look the words that you don't understand up in some dictionary source, be it online or a book. Finally, for those of you who may be wondering why Godzilla didn't just vaporize Shining Armor right then and there, I'd like to introduce you to the metaphor...
Did you know that a majority of the people who died from the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were not killed by the explosion, or even outright? Roughly 93% of those who perished were killed slowly by gamma radiation. Here comes the metaphor part - Godzilla's passing over of Shining Armor is in reference to how the those who were spared instant death by the bomb did not escape death at all, merely prolonged it. Shining Armor is going to slowly waste away in the coming chapters, his organs will fail from the massive amounts of radiation he was subject too, and this will in turn involve a wider circle of individuals into the plot of the coming chapters.
Be advised that I will most likely not be churning out these chapters as quickly as I've been - I have a life to attend to, and things to accomplish. Rest assured that the story will continue, but don't hold your breath.

A Rising Flood

Celestia felt the onset of a migraine coming on as she reviewed the various and often conflicting reports on her desk. Roughly thirty-six hours ago the fifth largest city in her kingdom seemingly vanished amidst a monsoon overnight. The biggest problem – it hadn’t been swept away; it had burned down. No eyewitnesses could be found, and the only known survivors were all in the intensive care ward of Canterlot’s premier hospital. Of special note was the recovery of Shining Armor, former captain of her guard, King of the Crystal Kingdom, and until recently, husband of Princess Mi Amore Cadenza.

The hollow feeling in her gut seemed to churn as she contemplated the death of her good friend. What made it all worse was that Shining Armor’s condition appeared to be deteriorating rapidly, and none of her doctors could explain why. The news of the whole incident had yet to be released to the public, of course – there was no need to spread unnecessary panic, at least not until she had figured out what was going on.

It had only been last week when she’d been contacted by her handpicked director of scientific affairs, Precision Lathe, in a letter that indicated that project Æther had made some headway in the last few months. The fact that they were dealing with potentially destructive energies in their pursuit of limitless power did not escape her, but she had had complete faith in their ability to handle them properly. Yet, with an entire city now gone, and nearly twelve thousand people without homes, power, or even food (not to mention the twenty-eight thousand dead or unaccounted for), she was beginning to think that her faith was perhaps a little misplaced.

Now she had a potential crisis on her hands and no way of truly knowing what to make of it. Turning again to the only other pony in the room, she inquired, “And this is all we know?” Her guest, a dark eyed pony named Thorough Work, baring a tense expression of neutrality, curtly responded, “I’m afraid so, your majesty – as far as my investigation team could tell, the city appeared to have been struck by several natural disasters at once; I’ve never seen anything like it in my life, to be honest.” This did little to alleviate her stress.

“Was there any sort of magic anomaly present, anything in the wreckage that should not have been there?” – She pressed; from what little could be gleaned from the survivors’ accounts, it was obvious that something other than nature was at work here. A sudden look of uneasiness crossed his usually crafted look of indifference as he turned his eyes away from her. Obviously something had been found. “Please, Thorough, I need to know what goes on in my own kingdom.”

Turning back to her with a slightly unsettled look of pensiveness, the chief investigator of her majesty’s Central Intelligence Bureau answered in a low voice, “To be frank with you, your highness, there were several things that could not be accounted for; things that didn’t quite add up – we’re at wits end to try and explain them.” Latching on to his words, the ruler of equestrian day leaned forward and in an authoritative voice demanded, “Explain.” Taking a deep breath, the auburn haired horse turned to a saddle bag at his side and retrieved a thick manila folder, tossing it on her desk with an air of finality.

Raising an eyebrow, the solar sovereign rhetorically asked, “What is this?” Straightening himself once more into an impassive mask, Thorough Work replied, “Everything we found that wasn’t in the official report, ma’am.” With hesitant hooves, princess Celestia opened the file and perused the contents that spilled forth from its hold. Dozens upon dozens of photos, hundreds of hand written notes and even a magic motion reel. Quickly looking back up at her chief of information, she could scarcely contain the look of silent fury that danced behind her eyes.

“Why was I not informed the minute this information came to light?” Thorough Work visibly blanched as the ire that her ladyship was directing at him. With an audible gulp, he exclaimed, “Forgive me, your majesty, but the analysts who went over the evidence before you could find little in the way of solid fact – we felt that without definite answers we would have been wasting your precious time!” With a growl the diarch silenced him, “Let me make this clear to you – I do not tolerate such matters as this, ever, do I make myself clear?”

With a hurried nod, the pony replied, “Yes ma’am, crystal clear, ma’am.” Directing her attention once more to the papers on her desk, Celestia said, “Good – now, explain to me what it is that I am looking at here, and how it might explain what happened on that island.” With deft hooves, Work pulled various photos and ledgers from the stack and began arranging them on her desk. He began his explanation then, pointing at the various pictures and papers that correlated to his words.

“This is an aerial photo of the island taken the morning after the disaster – from what we’ve surmised, whatever befell the city started on the eastern shores and worked its way inwards.” Pointing to another photo, he continued, “This is where the highest levels of destruction occurred, we believe it to have been caused by the critical failure of the island’s power-core, which is shown here,” he pointed to another photo, “the core had somehow been forcibly uprooted from its housing and then drained of all energy.”

Directing her attention to a string of figures and charts, he added, “The thalmometer readings of the area were so high that the sensors had to be re-calibrated twice over – we’ve taken to labeling it a class seven magical event.” At this her eyes widened; her daily rising of the sun was only a class four magical event! Whatever was confronting her kingdom was indeed powerful. Before she could convey a proper reaction, Thorough Work proffered another photo of the destroyed dynamo, saying, “Upon further examination, a series of deep contusions were found on the core; the asymmetry of the markings exclude natural causes.”

Incredulously, Celestia spat, “You suspect sabotage?” With a pensive frown, her informant responded, “No, my lady,” before pulling out an expansive sheet of rice-paper – the topological survey of the city, written up nearly a decade before – and pointing towards a series of red marks, saying, “What we’ve come to understand is that the city was destroyed piece-meal, in increments that can be traced back to a single line starting from the eastern ‘Shores of Peace’, and ending at the power-station located on the central acropolis of Promised Point.”

Finally taking hold of the reel of film, he somberly intoned, “This film was taken from the corpse of a royal News Corp camera operator; the body was found some two-hundred plus meters from the epicenter of the of the class seven event – if you would, ma’am.” With a nod, the princess conjured forth a projector on her desk and took the reel from him, placing it in the housing before powering the device on. What she saw would haunt her for the rest of her days…

At that same time, at the other end of Canterlot, a young Alicorn was barreling her way through the crowd – ignoring everyone around her as she raced towards the Canterlot Hospital of Life. She had teleported to the city as soon as she had received the letter, and come Hell or high water, she would see her brother. As she reached the front desk, she was instantly greeted by her parents as well as some of her brother’s closest friends. There was no sign of Cadance.

Practically flying towards her mother, with a desperate tone she implored of her parents, “Where is he?” With a grimace, her father couldn’t even look her in the eyes as he began, “Twilight, yo—” Not even listening to him she continued, “Is he alright?” Again, her father tried and failed to gain her attention as she practically yelled, “Where is he – what happened?” Her mother could take no more and broke down into sobs as her father finally grabbed her by the face and forced her to look at him.

“Twilight,” he began, “Your brother – he…” With a shaky breath he tried to compose himself; she took notice of his red-rimmed eyes, and the black bags under them – he looked so much older than he should have. “Shining Armor is very sick, Twilight – the doctors are doing all that they can for him, but they’ve never seen anything like this.” A cold spear of ice seemed to pierce the purple princess’ heart as she slowly asked, “What – what do you mean?” Looking towards the others’ faces, she meekly implored, “He’ll get better, right?”

Her mother’s wailing only intensified, one of her brother’s guard buddies taking her by the shoulders and slowly leading her away from them. Something was crawling into the princess’ mind – something she refused to acknowledge, as her father continued. “Twilight – sweetie –” there, she heard it; a distinctive catch in her father’s voice – he was close to the edge – “They’ve tried to make him as comfortable as possible –” Eyes widening in understanding, all she could do was scream, “What!” before her father pressed on, intent on finishing.

“They’re only now permitting visitors, and for the sake of not only your mother and I, but for his sake; the sake of your brother - I need you to understand that there is nothing that can be done for him.” Closing his eyes to stave of the tears that threatened to pour forth, he failed to see the ones that flowed freely from his daughter’s eyes as, in a tiny voice, she whimpered, “He’s dying?” Forcing his eyes further closed, her father whispered, “Yes, Twilight – he’s dying.” Before the walls finally broke down, her father wrapped her in a bone jarring hug of desperation as the two of them began to weep bitterly.

It seemed like hours before a nurse came towards the group, his eyes full of pity as he approached them. Turning towards the patriarch of the family, he softly announced, “Sir, your son is ready to see visitors now.” With a morose air of sadness, the group proceeded after the nurse as he led them to Shining Armor’s room on the ninth floor. Before taking his leave, the orderly turned towards the group and said, “Please keep in mind that he is incredibly sick, so take care to avoid upsetting him in any way.

With that the party entered the room. What met them was a pitiful sight indeed. A mountain of magical machines and monitors lined the walls. Tubes and wires of every imaginable color snaked forth, covering the floor and ceiling. In the center of it all, on a pristine white bed, lay Shining Armor. His formerly statuesque physique little more than a withered, skeletal ghost of its former self - his once lustrous blue mane was now a dull and lifeless slate, with patches of stark white in various places. What struck Twilight most were his eyes. They were no longer the vivacious pools of life they once were. Instead they were dead and haunted.

With a slight smile and a weak voice, the former guard captain exclaimed, “Hey, this is great – get over here you lot!” He was genuinely surprised and delighted to see his family and friends; that much was clear, but something was off, and the young princess couldn’t quite put here hoof on it. As one the group of visitors gathered round the bed and began casually conversing with him. “How’re you doing, there, Captain?” asked one of his former guardsmen. “Oh, I’ve been better, no doubt,” he replied.

Another of his close friends jokingly exclaimed, “Man, you look like hell – how bad of shape is the other guy in?” With a hollow chuckle, the Unicorn replied, “I feel like hell – as for the other guy, he’s down in the morgue.” This engendered a round of laughter from his friends and a few small smiles from his family. Gently caressing her son’s face, his mother could barely hold on to her brave mask as she gasped, “Hi, baby, it’s so nice to see you.” With a knowing smile he gave her a half hug and said, “Hi mom – you’re looking good.”

With a shaky laugh she riposted, “Oh, that’s my son; charming as ever.” Approaching from his wife’s side, Shining’s father chose that moment to give his son a rare hug. “Hey tiger, you’re looking good – how’s life treating you, huh?” Twilight learned something from her brother’s reaction. Instead of the look of surprise she expected from seeing such an open show of affection from their father, he instead sent a pitying glance over the shoulder towards their mother. He knew. He knew he was dying and here they were worried about upsetting him!

“It’s good, dad – it’s… I’m good.” Giving his father a tight squeeze, he looked over his sires back and directly at his sister, who was tentatively rubbing her arm in that adorably awkward way of hers as she tried to remain unnoticed in the background. With a slight grin he exclaimed, “Hey there, Princess – how’ve things been with you – make any royal edicts while I was away?” All eyes turned towards her.

She was terrible at this whole social interaction thing - but this was her brother; she would do just about anything for him. So, putting on her best smile (which came off looking more forced than genuine) she gently stepped forward and embraced him, saying, “Yeah, I’ve gotten a few things done here and there – I even managed to find some time to visit you.” This garnered a laugh from the bed-ridden stallion, followed by a rather nasty bout of coughing. With a smirk he jokingly said, “Glad to see I could be worked into your busy schedule.

From there things went a lot smoother – they all talked to one another, all laughter and smiles – as if nothing was wrong with the entire situation. It truly bothered Twilight, more so than seeing her strong, noble brother reduced to such a lowly state. As he talked with his friends about old times, she took the chance to once more observe their surroundings. Something was off, and she needed to know what it was; she was missing something here, something that shouldn’t have been missing to begin with.

When she finally recognized what it was, the force of it hit her like a ton of bricks. Without even thinking she exclaimed, “Where’s Cadance?” All noise ceased to exist in that tiny hospital room. With the way the other ponies either looked towards her or towards Shining, she could instantly recognize that she had just wandered into something she may have best avoided. It would appear that she was the only one out of the loop, because her parents were looking at her with aghast looks of horror.

Before she could ask what was wrong, her brother, with a far-off stare, asked in a distant voice, “Could I speak with Twilight in private?” With quiet affirmations, the others silently walked out of the room. Their parents were last to leave, their mother casting a heartbroken glance towards her son one last time before shutting the door behind her. The silence that surrounded them was cold and uncomfortable; broken only by the beeping of monitors and the dull whirring of the ceiling fan.

Closing his eyes and laying his head back on a pillow, Shining Armor looked for all the world to have fallen asleep. Twilight dared not speak, she knew better than to press him – he would answer her questions in due time. Her quiet reverie was broken by her brother’s worn-down voice. “Cadance is dead.” The air was ripped from her lungs as she struggled to come to grips with this information. Cadance, dead – when had this happened, how and why?

Her heart was further bludgeoned by his follow-up statement. “I’ll be dead too, soon enough.” Though she fully understood that he was dying, to hear him say it made it so much more real to her. Immediately she cried, “Don’t say that, Shining.” Opening his eyes, he pierced her with a look of absolute assurance as he rebutted her. “I’m dying and there’s nothing anyone can do for it.” With a hiccup, the princess tried to hold back the tears that threatened to fall at his dour words.

Giving her a look of pity, he sighed, saying, “Twilight, you’ve got to understand this; you need to accept it and move on.” Glaring towards him, she shrieked, “Accept it? Move on? You’re just going to give up and die?” Ignoring her ire, he calmly lamented, “I gave up the moment she died.” “Cadance,” she asked, “what happened to Cadance, Shining?” For a moment there was silence. Then he turned towards his sister and replied. But, Instead of answering her question, he asked, “Do you believe in monsters, Twilight?” This stopped her in her tracks as she tried to comprehend where he was going with this.

“No, of course not,” she replied, already her mind was going into analytical mode as she continued, “monsters aren’t real; they’re social constructs used by parents to keep their children in line.” The deathly haunted look he gave her actually worried her as he slowly spoke. “No, Twilight, they’re real – I’ve seen one.” She wondered if perhaps his sickness was affecting his mind, but the look in his eyes said otherwise. “What happened to Cadance, Shining?” she needed to know – she needed to know what happened to the two of them.

“It killed her – it killed everyone.” She was beginning to get frustrated by his vague answers. “What killed her, Shining?” Looking her in the eye, Shining Armor told her, “The monster that destroyed Promised Point.” This was a further shock to her – Promised Point was home to one of the greatest centers of learning in the world, and to hear that it was somehow destroyed only further fueled her desire to know what happened.

“Shining, that doesn’t make sense – how can you claim such things?” She simply could not reconcile what she knew to be fact against what her brother obviously knew to be truth. With a knowing look her brother responded, “I know it’s hard for you to believe in such things, Twi', and I know that this is all so very difficult for you, but I want you to understand that what happened on Promised Point wasn’t natural, and the thing that did it is still out there.” His conviction was enough to convince her that something more was indeed going on, but she remained skeptical of his story.

“Have you told anyone else about these things?” With another sigh, he confessed, “No – nobody but you.” With a look of absolute confusion she asked, “Why – why are you telling me this?” Reaching up to wrap her in a hug, he quietly said, “Because you’re the only other person I could trust.” Hugging him back, she whispered, “What should I do then, brother – where should I go with this?” Holding her out at arm’s length, he told her, “Go to Princess Celestia; tell her what I’ve told you, and find a way to stop it.”

“But what about you, Shining?” Already seeing where she was going, he shook his head and said, “No, Twi' – I’m too far gone; the doctors have given me two weeks at most to live, and I don’t want those two weeks to be spent worrying about you hurting yourself while looking for a cure that doesn’t exist; one I, frankly, don’t want.” With a haggard gaze, he demanded, “Promise me, Twilight, look me in the eye and give me your word.” Even as she looked him the eye and swore her vow, she knew that she could save him, and while it was dishonest to lie to him, she had to try and save him, no matter what.

“Good girl.” He smiled, before lying once more upon the pillow. “Now go – tell Princess Celestia what I saw, work with everyone you can to try and figure out how to stop that thing.” With that, he fell asleep. Turning around, Princess Twilight Sparkle exited the room, informed her parents that Shining Armor was asleep, and then excused herself to go visit the princess of the Sun. There were a great many things that she needed to find out, and the first step towards answers is always to ask questions. And she had quite a few.

Author's Note

I've had this done for a day or two... I was just too lazy to post it.
The Fifth chapter is almost done as well. I'll get around to posting it some time as well.
On a different note, this chapter comes from personal experience. I've seen friends and loved ones waste away one too many times for my liking, and it's always a shock no matter how many times you come across it. I've come close to that door myself, but God chose otherwise and so I'm still alive. Some of my war buddies weren't so lucky. I'm not going to dedicate this chapter to them or any such nonsense; that would be shallow. Instead, I ask you all to try and read this with an empathetic mindset - it will greatly affect the way you perceive it.
Coming up: Survivors! The soul remainder of the crew of the Happy Dragon No.7 is found, and the creature shall finally be named (Here's a hint - It's Godzilla - shocking, right?). Next chapter deals with the world realizing that something is out there and they've no idea what to do about it. Also, Godzilla wrecks some more shit - that's always fun.
'Til then, Auf Wiedersen.

Darkness Spreads

The past few months had been difficult for the citizens of the Chameleonic Islands. One disaster after another seemed to plague them. First the island of Maqc-turesch seemingly exploded into flames of destruction, an evil omen if ever there was one. Then the sea seemingly turned against them; the currents had changed – waters that had once been safe to ply were no longer navigable to any save the hardiest of sailors. Worse still were the fish that died in droves – the once great bounty that was their birthright was all but gone, corrupted by some unseen taint, leaving many to go hungry.

Then came the worst news yet, the great island of Cham’tosh, called Promised Point by the ponies who had inhabited it, had been destroyed amidst a great storm the likes of which had not been seen in a hundred generations. As the seas had deteriorated, more and more people had looked towards that island of the Equestrian people for food and work. Now with its near biblical destruction, they were becoming desperate.

Already a resurgence of the old ways had occurred on some of the outlying rural islands, where the worst of the famines were occurring. The soldiers of the Chameleonic Defense League had been mustered to put down several revolts and many worse things yet. The outside world would very soon be covering such horror stories as cult uprisings and re-instituted virgin sacrifices, yet none of these stories would compare to the story that would unfold on the smallest of the Chameleonic Isles, Ch’kam-turesch.

It was here, on a day that was very much the same as any day, really, that hundreds upon hundreds of the island’s uniquely orange Chameleon inhabitants could be seen congregating on the only accessible shoreline to be found on their tiny atoll. The monthly return of their fishermen was at hand, and the whole community had arrived to welcome their husbands, sons, fathers and others who insured that they remained fed.

The Ch’kam people were an ancient group, even by Chameleon standards – it is said by many that they were the first of firsts, born of the islands themselves and steeped in mystery. The reality was no less intriguing. Of all the Chameleons, they were the strangest – their orange skin and ruby red eyes being the basis for many an old folk tale. They were a people of hide-bound tradition, as well. They still fished in the ways of their ancestors, with shark-skin catamarans and with sea-hemp nets and whale-bone spears.

They were also fanatically devoted to the old ways, particularly their observance of Chu’Maqc-tahl and his laws. It was from them that the message of the Coming Prophet had first arisen, and to this day they still held fast to what they believe. The arrival of the ponies had indeed changed many things; the people had turned to new ways and new ideas – things that, in the traditionalist minds of the Ch’kam, would undoubtedly bring trouble.

But they also knew in their hearts that they would be spared, because they, and only they, still walked the fiery path of Chu’Maqc-tahl’, choosing to isolate themselves from the world in the hopes of maintaining their purity. Ironically, these backwater islanders would be the first to understand the truth of what was coming - as fate would dictate that on this day they would be surprised to find in the shallow tides not a fleet of double-keeled boats, but a flotsam-built raft and the three outsiders thereupon it.

With a clanging din, the great watchtower’s bell was struck with much enthusiasm. Shouts of, “There’s a raft – a raft!” and “There are men – men upon it!” rang out across the beach as dozens of the islanders, both young and old, ran out to secure the wreckage. The minutes flew by as they finally hauled the haggard survivors ashore. They were Chameleons, of that there was no doubt, but they looked so worn and beaten that it was difficult to look at them.

One of them was clearly dead, his eyes clouded over in the veil of mortality. His skin was a ghastly mix of necrotic scales and sores that seemed to slough from his very flesh. Vile, cloudy white pus seeped from the multitude of strange boils and contusions that riddled his body; the stench of it was nearly unbearable. The natives dared not touch him, for his death was obviously contra naturum in its design – his curse must have been powerful indeed, to die in such a state. The other two were still alive, if only just, and they were swiftly taken up.

In the coming hours, the situation of at least one of the remaining survivors (the youngest, as it were) seemingly improved, enough so that he could remain awake for extended periods of time. The message had gone out across the whole island of the strangers, and already there was a sizeable crowd gathered outside the seer’s lodge, where these new-comers were being tended to by the apothecaries. The crowd waxed and waned over the day, until the nineteenth hour. It was on that hour, in the fading sunlight, that the blast of a conch horn signaled the arrival of the island’s most venerable inhabitants.

As one the crowd parted to make way for a procession of highly ornate individuals – their chemises imbued with all manner of semi-precious stones, and with diadems of woven feather and ebony. They were the council of elders, the oldest and wisest of the community; they upheld the laws and traditions of the people, and they alone would be able to discern these strange portents. Looks of awe and adoration followed in their wake, yet they paid the crowd little heed. They had learned of the strange, extenuating circumstances of their latest guests, and they had many questions that needed answering before they could surmise what was going on.

What met them in the lodge was a pitiful sight indeed. They were horribly scarred; their scaled hides were a patchwork of inflamed rashes and desiccated skin that even now was flaking off into a pile on the floor around them. They were emaciated, and undoubtedly delirious from lack of water. The younger one’s eyes were bloodshot and distant and his lips shriveled and split, revealing only a handful of teeth that remained in a mouth too young to show such dotage. His leg was mangled, caught up by a rope, if the scarring said anything of it. He constantly shivered, even as he sat before a roaring hearth.

The older one was in a worse state; his graying scales were now snowy and pale in places, and a portion of the left side of his face looked as if it had been scoured away – milky white bone visible amidst red and pink viscera. One of his hands possessed no fingers to speak of, only a stump of crusted blood and yellow seepage. The splint on his leg testified to its broken nature, the lesions of a compound fracture were evident as well. It was doubtful to some of them that he would even survive through the coming night.

Looking towards one another, the council exchanged many looks of discomfort and sympathy; these men must have indeed been visited upon by a celestial wrath. What wasn’t clear was when and how such wrath was brought down – in fact, there were so many things that seemed wrong about this whole situation. Without further hesitation, the council drew lots to decide which of them would interrogate the outsiders, and when the final lot was drawn, it was agreed that elder Te’Rgh would question them.

Removing his headdress, the ancient Chameleon hobbled forwards, taking a seat across from the younger castaway. With creaking knees and groaning back, he finally situated himself comfortably enough to begin the session. “Can you hear me?” he asked. His hoary voice, full of vibrant wisdom, seemed to snap the child out of his stupor, as he finally focused on the worn, orange face of the old man before him. His heat-ravaged lips twitched as he opened his mouth, only to close it once more. Instead of a verbal answer, the youth slowly nodded his head in acquiescent understanding.

Taking a few seconds to select the right words, Te’Rgh inquired, “Do you have a name?” Again, the young one gave a nod. “Can you tell me what your name is?” the parental tone the elder used seemed to visibly relax the nervous lad, who, with a noticeable swallow, replied in a dry, raspy voice, “Ghur’Tcha.” Releasing a breath he had not even realized he was holding, Te’Rgh looked over the boy’s shoulder and towards the other ward in their care, asking, “And he – what is his name?”

As if suddenly remembering that he wasn’t the only one who had been stranded out at sea, Ghur’Tcha whipped his head towards the other survivor, a look of absolute agony crossing his face as he did so. The look in his eyes, though, spoke of a deep sadness of spirit. “That’s – his name is K’Umetk; he is… he was the captain of our boat.” This caught the elder’s interest as he pressed, “You mention a ship?” Turning once more to the strangely colored native, Ghur’Tcha affirmed, “The Happy Dragon No.7 – she was our livelihood; we’re fishermen.”

“Was?” the look Te’Rgh received was all the confirmation he needed. This was something that all Chameleons could universally relate to; to lose one’s ship was to lose a family member – devastating in its own right, but to the wizened senses of the old councilor, it was apparently more so for this crew. Carrying on from there, the old Chameleon stated, “The third one in your group, he was dead when we rescued you, and we must know his name before he can be interred to the nothel-realm.”

Ghur’Tcha slowly closed his eyes in an attempt to hold back the tears that fell forth. “His name was Xa’Tchee,” he whimpered, “and he was my brother.” All those present involuntarily flinched at such a powerful statement, many looking away in respect to the traditions of mourning in their society. Looking towards his own feet, Te’Rgh quietly murmured, “Forgive me for such words, young one – I knew not; none of us knew.” Furiously wiping his nose, the former yeoman sniffed, saying, “No – no, it’s fine – he died days ago; I just didn’t have the strength to let him go.”

An unspoken moment of silence was offered up to the grieving brother, who took the time to quietly weep at the blow that life had dealt not only him but his family and crew. When the young survivor finally composed himself, Te’Rgh asked the inevitable question that had been on everyone’s mind. “What happened to your ship – to your crew?” The pall of restrained terror that tore across Ghur’Tcha’s weather-beaten face was so primal and raw that for a moment the elder thought that he was in danger of being attacked.

Instead, the young sailor stared off into a corner and in an unnaturally detached voice replied, “We were attacked.” This raised many a brow in the lodge, as Te’Rgh implored, “Attacked by whom?” Eyes widening as he recalled the horror that had befallen them, Ghur’Tcha shook in a paroxysm of undiluted fear, letting loose a scream of such magnitude that the elders had to cover their ears, before gripping his head and throwing himself to the floor in writhing terror! The apothecaries struggled to restrain him; it took three of them to fasten him to the bed as he continued to cry out.

The tumult was cut through by a gruff voice that came from a quarter least expected. “We were struck down by a monster.” All heads snapped towards this new voice, even the hysterical Ghur’Tcha, as the battered visage of Captain K’Umetk regarded them in a cool manner unsuited to his physical state. As another handful of healers rushed forward to attend to the now fully conscious captain, Te’Rgh regarded him with a scrutinizing gaze as he asked, “A monster?” The look of absolute certainty that K’Umetk’s face held would only make his next statement all the more terrifying to the keepers of the old ways.

“Aye – and not just any monster; by the name of all that is sacred I swear to you – Gho'Zra has come.” A multitude of things happened at once. Te’Rgh physically reared back, falling to the floor in abject fear and loathing, the screaming of the women, and not a few of the men, who attended the wounded welled forth, and many of the elders cast the sign of warding across their chest in the hopes of preserving themselves from the words that poured from the captain’s mouth. Several of the female elders physically fainted – their old souls not prepared for such portents.

Slowly picking himself up off the ground, and with shaking limbs that were more of fear than of age, Te’Rgh was in such disarray that had one of the young medicine-men not been there to steady him, he would very well have fallen once more! Gripping the arm that steadied him in a vice-like grip, he croaked, “Were you a member of our tribe, you would be stoned until dead for invoking that name!” Graciously taking a seat that was preferred to him, the presbyter visibly deflated as he took an uneasy breath. Several of the other elders gathered around him, and in a strange dialect the two castaways were unfamiliar with, they began whisper among themselves.

“What does this mean?”
“Is the Prophet truly come?”
“How are we to be sure that what this outsider speaks is truth?”
“We must know for certain.”
“Inquire of him more – if the time of judgment is here, then we must not be unprepared!”
“If it is so, then we must warn the others.”
“The others chose their path when they turned from the faith – let them tend to their own fates!”
“They have only turned away because we were not strong enough in our teachings – they can still be saved!”

While K’Umetk could not understand what they spoke of, he was nothing if not intuitive. He could clearly understand that they were debating over his revelation. He could hear it in the rising of their voices that they were in a disagreement over something. He could also tell that they were concerned with something much more than a religious monster – what that something was, he’d scarcely be able to fathom, but he would wager to take a guess. All of this he could see, but what he focused on most was the hunched form of the old man in the chair – the elder who, even now, looked straight through his eyes and into his soul.

The arguing councilors were interrupted from their squabbling by the iron-laced tone of Te’Rgh, as he finally asked their visitor, “What you speak of – in your heart is truth; but we must know that what your heart speaks of is in agreement with your mind.” Turning to one of the younger members of the council, he spoke in their strange tongue whilst pointing to a doorway at the other end of the hall. With a speed that belied his age, the elder shuffled through the curtain-lined portal and returned in short order with a rawhide bound tome of velum – its battered bindings and weathered edges spoke to its ancient nature.

Taking the book as it was offered to him, Te’Rgh lovingly placed his hand upon its face before speaking once more in the native lingua. As one, all the attendants and apothecaries filed out of the lodge. When the last of them had left, he cast a sharp gaze towards the outsiders as he began, “This codex is our greatest treasure – a legacy handed down through three hundred generations.” Looking once more to the manuscript, he continued, “Held within are the histories of our people, the legends and heroes of old, and the laws of the Old Ways; none outside of the Council have ever gazed upon its sacred pages.”

With a nod of understanding, K’Umetk looked on as his benevolent hosts performed some sort of ritual with the book – they seemed to work together as one, machinelike in their movements as they unfastened the twelve conch-shell locks that held the bindings shut. With deft hands, Te’Rgh pulled open the tome before placing it on a table between the two beds that held their guests. With reverent motions he opened the tome to a page near the back of the book, its surface covered in a strange set of glyphs and pictures. Pointing to a small block of the text, he began, “These are the words concerning the coming Prophet of Chu’Macq-tahl.”

Leaning forwards to gain a better vantage, the captain winced as the minute shift sent jolts of pain up his body. Ghur’Tcha, for his part, seemed to have calmed down enough that he too took an interest in what these strange islanders had to say. Waiting for them to settle in, Te’Rgh resumed his story, “Three generations ago, the Ponies came to the Islands of our peoples, and brought with them many strange and often heretical ideas and beliefs.” Turning the page, he continued, “In those early days, the people of this island – the Ch’Kam – were the shepherds of the Old Ways, going out to the other islands and instructing in the ways of the Fiery Path.”

Pointing to another string of letters and symbols, the old one continued saying, “When the messages that the Ponies brought began to turn the chosen of Chu’Macq-tahl away from him, we doubled our effort to insure the purity of the people.” Running his gnarled finger along the text, he went on, “We worked many magiques and strove to teach the children in the hopes of preventing their corruption.” With a heavy sigh, Te’Rgh spent a moment to reflect on the efforts of his ancestors, before saying, “But no matter how hard they strove to maintain the people’s sanctity, no matter how frantically they tried to combat the growing heresy, more and more of the flock slipped through their fingers.”

His countenance grew dark as he pointed towards the bottom row of text. “Those final years were difficult for us – the missions began to work less and less, and the people grew more and more hostile to our efforts; they did not want to return to the old ways, they preferred the decadent lifestyles that the Ponies had brought to them.” Turning to yet another page, the gray-scaled elder spoke, “Still we persevered, for the sake of the people’s souls we had to.” A look of genuine sorrow filled his eyes as he pointed to a totemic pictograph, saying, “But it was all for naught – vituperative Ponies, concerned for their profitable trade, incited unrest in the crowds with lies and bribes, directing it towards those who taught the Old Ways.”

As the two outlanders focused upon the emotionally charged picture, Te’Rgh morosely pined, “Over a hundred Ch’Kam were murdered by the people they sought to save.” Picking up where he left off, one of the elder women spoke up, her voice holding a tone of belligerence as she said, “Those were the last days of the great mission; the others had chosen their path, and there was little that we could have done to turn them back.” One of the elders, more ancient than the others, chose that moment to speak – at the sound of his voice all the other elders ceased to make even the slightest of sounds, for he was indeed the oldest of all the Ch’Kam people; his words held great sway.

“The deaths of so many of our peoples nearly destroyed us; we have always been a small group – no more than a thousand when I was just a boy.” Hobbling forward, the eldest reminisced, “With so few able men left, a great time of starving came upon us, and it was during this famine that a great and powerful seer arose.” Turning the page for them, he pointed to a strange picture of a Chameleon in the traditional shamanic garb – tongues of fire spewing forth from its lips and bolts of lightning falling down upon an ancient symbol that even the two newcomers recognized as the Chameleonic isles.

“The seer spoke of a coming prophet, one who would rise from the sea and reinstate the reign of Chu’Macq-tahl.” Raising his wizened head to the Captain and Ghur’Tcha, he fixed them was a gaze that left no room for doubt, saying, “This prophet would punish those who turned away from the Old Ways, but that was not its ultimate purpose.” His speech was interrupted by a bout of phlegmatic coughing, which visibly strained his old body. Holding a hand up to halt the other elders who were in the midst of coming to his aide, he took a shallow breath and endured.

“The coming prophet’s ultimate goal would be to bring vengeance upon those who had come to our islands and spread their alien ways to the people – the Ponies; the seer was so convinced of the visions he saw that he took a raft out to sea, where for three years he went to every single one of the islands, repeating the same message to every tribe and clan of the Chameleon nation. When he had returned, he departed a final warning against straying from the path, before journeying to the island home of Chu’Macq-tahl, in the hopes of staying the god’s wrath.”

With a hollow sigh, the ancient one finished by saying, “None ever saw the seer again, and for over two centuries we have lived in the anticipation of the coming of Goz’Ra, Chu’Macq-tahl’s apostle… Now, it seems that he has finally risen.” With that, he turned the final page of the codex, and the image that met them visibly shocked both Ghur’Tcha and K’Umetk. There, rendered crudely in pitch-black ink, was an image that brought shivers down their spines.

There, with hulking body and serpentine tail, stood the creature that had destroyed their boat and murdered their crew - countless tongues of fire running down its back, and from its mouth a great and terrible multi-branching spear; the looks of frightened recognition on their faces were all the proof the elders needed. “So,” said one of them, “it is true – the child of vengeance has ascended from the deep.” Another of their rank finally asked the one thing that was on all of their minds, “What do we do now?”

Again, the council reverted to their native language as another argument was ignited. This went relatively unnoticed by the two wounded Chameleons as they continued to stare at the picture of their physical nightmare. Their reflections were interrupted by the eldest of elders, who closed the timeworn tome and took a seat on Ghur’Tcha’s cot. With a grunt of relaxation at finally getting off his feet, the old one extended his hand towards the captain across from him, saying, “I am Ghr’Al, son of Ghr’Un, son of Ghr’Axt.” Grasping the ancient’s hand, the Captain responded in the traditional manner, “K’Umetk, son of Jyal’Tuhmetk, whose father was unknown to him.”

Instead of the raised, condescending eyebrow he had expected from the revelation that his grandfather left no lineage to him, K’Umetk was genuinely surprised by the understanding smile that the elder, Ghr’Al, gave him. “None can control their heritage; it takes a truly strong will to forge one’s own path – I can tell that you are such a man, K’Umetk, son of Jyal’Tuhmetk.” Looking across the old man’s shoulder, towards the quarrelsome elders, the weary sailor asked, “What are they talking about that makes them fight so?”

Turning his scaly head towards the commotion, he gave an amused huff, saying, “They fight over matters of faith, such is the nature of all beliefs; they argue over what we, as a people, must do with the knowledge of the coming wrath of Go’Zra.” Ghur’Tcha, who was sufficiently recovered enough from his episode, naively inquired, “What do you mean by saying that?” Casting a solemn look to the young man (a child really, when compared to one so old), he sighed, “There are those of us, myself included, who feel that it is our duty to warn the other clans of the coming doom.”

Trailing his gaze once more towards his fellow council members, he supplied, “Others feel that we should do nothing – the others made their choice, and they should pay for their infidelity; let the faithful tend to the faithful.” Shaking his head at the notion of it all, Ghr’Al ended his explanation by saying, “Still, there are a small few who believe that we must warn the world of so great a threat – they must face their fate head on and be fully aware of its nature.” This was all well and good, but such things mattered little to the captain, who had a more pressing concern.

“What of the boy and I?” he asked, “Will we be forced to remain on your island, or are we free to leave?” A look of disbelief was splashed across the ancient’s face as he scoffed, “Far be it from us to hold you here against your will – when you feel that you are sufficiently ready, we will provide you with a boat and sextant to find your way back home.” With a look of suspicion, K’Umetk pressed, “And these things that you have shown us – the things you have told us, they go freely with us as well?” With a humble nod, Ghr’Al bequeathed his blessing, saying, “Why would we hold you to silence when Go’Zra has already manifested to the world – would you keep a secret that all have prior knowledge to?”

There was an elegant piece of wisdom if ever he had heard it, and he was not one to question a gift offered up in kindness. So, with a breath of tension leaving his very soul, the captain lied back down and fell into unconsciousness, the toll of his condition finally catching him. Of different sentiments was Ghur’Tcha, who with a beseeching look asked the wise old Chameleon next to him, “Who would we tell – how would we tell them?” With a knowing glance, Ghr’Al bestowed to the child a pearl of wisdom.

“Knowledge is power – it has the potential to cause disasters or to avert them… When one has knowledge to change the course of many a life, they must be prudent with it; such is the weight of truth… Were it I to choose, I would take what I knew to those who would put it to best use – those few who would rule the many are often the ones most capable in crisis.” A pensive look of concentration materialized on the young man’s face as he digested those words.

Looking back to the silver sentinel, he remarked, “I understand.” A moment of silence passed between the two, the voices of the other elders all but ignored in their silent meditations. Finally working up his courage, Ghur’Tcha asked, “Everything will be different now, won’t it?” With a bemused expression, councilor Ghr’Al answered him, “Yes, child, it most certainly will be.” And he was right, for the coming weeks would be a watershed moment in the history of the world, as they would soon learn firsthand.

Author's Note

I suppose some of you might be disappointed by the lack of actual destruction in this story so far...
If so then I would remind you that the Original Godzilla had only 15 minutes of actual monster action, the rest was backdrop and character building.
I have taken what I feel made Godzilla great and am trying to imitate it to the best of my abilities. If this displeases you then I really don't think you should continue reading this, as there will indeed be another chapter of this 'pointless talking' before we get to another Godzilla scene.
As it stands, I wanted to flesh out the Chameleons, because as far as I know, I basically invented them...
Don't mind the picture, it's just a poorly done doodle I did while I was drunk last night.
Tell me what you think... Or don't, I don't care.
Until next time then.

Across the Lands

Two weeks after the rescue of the two surviving crew members of the Happy Dragon No.7 by the natives of Ch’kam-turesch, and the entire Chameleon nation was in an uproar. Riots now sprouted on every street, business were looted, and in a few cases entire towns burned as lawlessness and arson reined unchecked. The people were desperate; food was now scarce as the entire fishing industry collapsed – thousands had gone with nothing to eat for days on end, and the coalition government sat upon its thumbs, hoping that things might blow over.

But things hadn’t blown over, they had only gotten worse. The first to feel the mob’s wrath were those who had managed to keep afloat during the crisis: the Ponies and those who would associate with them – it was common knowledge that the equines had food directly shipped to them from their government, but none of them had even so much as seen the outsiders help the needy in this time of turbulence, despite what they claimed. The banks were next; while the bit remained strong on the island, the native currency (the Kutoss) had bottomed out, and most of the poorer islands became even more so.

To make matters worse, sensing the government’s weakness, an underground rebellion that the collated states had been struggling to put down for decades finally made its way to the surface. The uprising was centered on a cult known as the 'Brotherhood of the Shining Eye', who had initially been an extremist sect of monks dedicated to Chu’Macq-tahl. When the culture had changed to such an extent that the monks were federally disenfranchised of their temple and forbidden to practice their sacred rites, they chose to take on the mantle of religious fighters.

Over time the group expanded to include various anarchic and fringe elements, molding them into a fearsome group of partisan fighters and rebel saboteurs. With the recent crisis, they took to the streets and began to whip the crowds into a guideless uproar with often contradictory overtones. This confusion was merely a diversion meant to move government troops away from their true objectives – often the homes of prominent officials or military stockpiles from which they could procure hostages and weapons.

Naturally, the appearance of so much violence from a people who had never been, in recent memory, inclined to such things was both a surprise and a concern. If the rebels won, many existing agreements would be in jeopardy of falling through, and the geopolitical balance could shift severely. But what most saw was an interesting spectacle with the potential to make a good story for the nine o’clock news, and so thousands of reporters, camera crews and radio correspondents flocked their way to the island, intent on getting the scoop of the year.

So it was that the world bore witness to the breakdown of a nation as it came to grips with its plight. Scenes of riotous destruction and senseless violence bombarded the viewers of the outside world as they watched in morbid fascination. Such stories as the plight of the poor and the clashes between rebel and loyalist forces were the most common topics for the late night talk shows and tabloid articles. The rioting populace and the havoc they wrought were a close second. There were even those few journalists who dared to breach the subject of the purported resurgence of virgin sacrifices and self-mutilations, rare as they were.

It was just this very issue that Royal Equestrian News Corp’s very own Tony Gluemaker (host of the award-winning, late-night cable news show, ‘Today’s World’) had decided to cover. For weeks he and his camera-crew had been traveling the entire island chain, chasing down every lead and following every tip, looking for examples of the Old Ways in action. As of now, they were chasing a lead on the outlying island of Temna-Chuta. When the trail had gone cold they had decided to take a break, sampling a local diner’s coffee as they brainstormed ideas.

Rubbing his head, the news anchor muttered, “I’m begging to think this entire thing is a load of horse-shit, you know?” A string of nods and affirmations rang around the table as he took another sip of bitter black coffee. Looking out the paneled window of the café, Gluemaker eyed the dockyard that seemed to be the heart of this little ho-dunk town. “What’d you say this place was called again, Stripe?” Reign Striper, the crew’s fact-finder, swallowed the last of his bagel before answering, “’s called ‘Molrpeq’Chutar’.”

With a look of confused amusement, the group’s camera-man, Focal Point, scoffed, “How the hell can you even say it – ‘Mower-peck Shoot-are’?” With a smirk, Stripe relayed, “’s close enough.” This got a round of laughter from all at the table as they went on with their brunch. Still looking towards the port that sprawled across the beach, Tony casually remarked, “It looks absolutely deserted down there.” Again, Stripe supplied an explanation, “Temna-Chuta’s the heart of the Chameleonic fishing industry – now that there aren’t any fish, things are going to shit around here.”

A frown of concentration crossed their boss’s face before he asked, “Why aren’t there any fish?” This brought the team to a pause. Although it was ubiquitously clear that all the turmoil in the region was linked to the disappearance of the Chameleon’s primary livelihood, no one to this point had actually sought to answer why or how most of the sea life had mysteriously vanished. Finally working up an answer, the crew’s driver, Leonard ‘Lenny’ Cabbage-patch, spoke for all in saying, “Don’t know – maybe we ought to cover that.”

Slapping the table in an epiphany, Gluemaker pointed to Lenny and exclaimed, “Hot damn, that’s a good idea!” Turning to their technician, Shoelace, he demanded, “Get on the horn with RENC and tell them we’ve got a new angle: ‘Where have the Fish gone?’ – we’ll go down to the docks and start interviewing some of the natives!” When the tab was paid the five news ponies all but piled into their van and sped off towards the port and ultimately (though they were unaware of it at the time) the truth.

Eleven minutes later and the van came to a screeching halt as the crew literally flew from its confines and towards the nearest local they could find. Surprisingly, the docks weren’t nearly as abandoned as they had initially surmised; there were a few dozen dockhands to be seen – hosing down boats and sweeping clean the boardwalks. There were also a handful of Chameleons sunning themselves in the sand of the beach. Making the rounds, the news crew went from one person to the next, asking as many questions in as many ways as possible, hoping against hope that someone might have an inkling as to what exactly was going on.

Unfortunately, they received almost just as many answers; from curses to climate change, acts of sabotage to acts of God and of course the ever present claim of aliens. Still, some were more intriguing than others – one old dockworker who had been a sailor for nearly seventy years claimed that newer industrial grade fishing techniques were to blame, that the ecosystem could not compete with the global market’s demand. Another native, a young girl who had come down to the docks to paint, could scarcely contain her hostility towards them as she mentioned the fact that the Ponies who lived on the surrounding islands did not seem to be having any trouble finding food, and that if they wanted to find the answer, they ought to find out where the outsiders were getting their fish.

Five hours of exhaustive and often emotionally charged interviews and Gluemaker’s crew were ready to set up the live feed. Setting up the equipment and establishing a connection to the network feed, Shoelace gave the signal to begin as Focal Point started recording. With a composed smile, the photogenic reporter began. “Hello, I’m Tony Gluemaker, and this is ‘Today’s World’ – tonight’s top story; ‘Where have all the fish gone?’”.

Turning towards the beach, Tony summarized the situation, “As you may have heard, the people of the beautiful Chameleonic Islands have recently experienced a famine the likes of which has never been seen in recent history, and the chaos that has come about these last few days has been nothing short of tragic for these peaceful islanders.” Taking a few steps away from the camera before looking back to the millions of viewers who were undoubtedly hanging on his words, he proceeded to recap, “While many have covered the terrible events that have come about these last few days, it stands to wonder – what caused this famine?”

“While we at ‘Today’s World’ don’t claim to know the whole truth of the matter, here is what we do know: roughly four months ago the vibrant fishing industry of the Chameleonic nation seemingly collapsed overnight.” Turning fully back towards the camera, the cable news host went on saying, “The cause for the collapse - the near complete and total disappearance of the local ecosystem’s sea life.” On cue, the camera panned towards the seemingly deserted docks where a myriad of trawlers, schooners, and tugs sat tied to the moorings, bobbing up and down to the motion of the tides.

“One need only look to the island of ‘Tim-nuh-Shoot-uh’[1], the undisputed heart of this nation’s commercial fishing trade, to see how badly the people have been affected.” The trilling keen of a passing gull added just the right ambiance to send the shot home as Tony played on his audience’s attention. “Not too long ago, these docks would have been packed with hundreds, sometimes thousands, of native fishers, dockhands, packers and contractors – a microcosm of industry and commerce, where a fresh catch was guaranteed to sell as soon as it hit the shores, and where the livelihood of the entire populace was insured.”

As the camera turned back to the news pony, the crew failed to notice the small, double hulled boat that was slowly making its trek to the sandy shoreline. “Now, the entire island has shut down – no fish means no work, and with no other source of employment to be had the money has all dried up and tensions have run high.” On the beach, a young native who had been sunning herself on the warm sands gasped (unnoticed, of course, by the news makers) as she noticed the catamaran and the two passengers thereupon – leaping to her feet, she ran away from the shore as fast as her bowed legs could carry her.

“So it should stand that until we find out why the fish have disappeared, we’re never going to truly solve the other problems plaguing these islands.” It was at this point that Shoelace’s skills came into play, for when Tony Gluemaker said, “We asked some of the locals of this fishing town what they thought might be behind the famine”, the media technician magically spliced their prior interview seamlessly into the feed for all of the world to see. To the view at home, the pale green and blue face of a grizzled old Chameleon with a perpetual frown from decades of tough living spoke his mind into the microphone proffered to him by Tony.

In halting equestrian, the old dock hand grumbled, “It is these new fishing techniques that have caused us this evil – the Old Ways taught us to fish for what we needed.” A look of scorn further marred his old, reptilian face as he finished his diatribe – “Now with so many of our people who fish for money and for the markets of insatiable foreigners, we have destroyed the gifts of our ancestors; we have brought this on ourselves… And now we will starve for such things that we have done.”

Instantly, a shot of a fair golden-skinned islander with a smock covered in many a sundering colors of paint spoke her mind, casting a glare directly at the camera and seemingly towards the millions of ponies at home as she spat in surprisingly good equestrian, “You ask me where all the fish have gone, but I ask you this: Why have no ponies gone hungry on the islands? You see them every day in their lavish beach houses and on their decadent pleasure boats – they are never in want, and seldom seem to go without the comforts that most of us would never have dreamed of having… Why do they have food yet we starve? Answer that and you’ll find out where the fish have gone.”

A thin profiled Chameleon of chalky blue complexion was next in the recap, his scarred yet youthful face set with an air of humility as he answered, “I would be a liar if I said that I knew any of such things – I know not why we have no food, but I do know that we are suffering under this curse; people are angry, and our leaders do nothing but talk and stall… We are hungry, and we need help.” A few more interviews, all ending in the same summary of “I don’t know” played before Shoelace ended his sorcery and the shot transitioned back to the carefully composed face of Tony Gluemaker.

“As the viewers can see, there are many different and often contrasting theories as to why the fish have vanished, but it should be safe to say that –” The bellicose clanging of a dozen different bells from a dozen different directions cut the media man off as the surrounding town instantly erupted in a flurry of activity and sound. Caught off guard by the sudden tumult, Tony asked, “What’s going on?” seemingly forgetting that he was broadcasting live (the ratings would be astronomical that day) to countless people across the globe. Focal Point, for his part, just continued rolling film as he turned the camera towards the beach.

Where once was empty shoreline, already well on a hundred and more chameleons of varying sizes shapes and colors were milling about on the beach, shouting towards any and all who would hear them and pointing towards the distance. To the side, Gluemaker could be heard again asking, “What – what’s going on?” The voice of Lenny could also be heard, though slightly attenuated from proximity, saying, “Looks like there’s a boat out on the water.” At this, the camera snapped towards the focus of so many eyes.

Indeed there was a boat out amongst the waters, and from what little clarity could be had from such a distance, it would seem that there were people aboard it. Already, the clanging of the watchtower bells had intensified to a new level of fervor – hundreds more of the island’s inhabitants came flocking towards the docks. As the crowd grew, the level of noise intensified, as they all seemingly spoke to one another at once, filling the air with such a cacophony of chatter as to make concentration difficult.

Vaguely, the voice of Gluemaker could be made out to say, “Stripe, you speak Chameleonic, what the hell are they saying – what’s this all about?” All through this, the camera never wavered from the image of the boat and those upon it – now clearly visible enough to discern as being two Chameleons and an assortment of provisions. Reign Striper’s laconic tone could be clearly heard as he replied, “Something about a boat; about survivors or something – ‘s hard to tell with so many of them talkin’.” Seemingly realizing that Focal Point still had his camera on, Tony asked, “Are you getting this, Point?”

With a distant tone, the camera operator replied, “Yeah, we’re still rolling.” “Good!” the newsman exclaimed, “Follow me.” Without waiting for a reply, Tony Gluemaker ran towards the growing crowed, and the shaking footage that met the viewers was indication enough that the camera was indeed following. As they pushed through the churning crowd, they could make out more and more of the unfolding scene. A handful of young men were being suited up with skin-tight water suits and the necessary swimming apparatuses, with the crowd looking on in rapt attention.

As they pushed further into the throng, Gluemaker announced, “For those of you viewing at home, we’ve come upon a breaking story - it appears to be some kind of rescue operation, but other than that, our guess is as good as yours.” As one, the group of swimmers took to the water as they quickly swam towards the boat, which could now clearly be made out by those reporting on the story as being crewed by a boy who was exhaustively paddling with an oar, and an old man who was sluggishly waving a long wooden rod of seven colored flags back and forth for all to see.

A clear shout of “Taht ahm Magtchu gohrm Reeum tu Kohl'Xam![2]” pierced the air like a sword; the crowd seemed to have been whipped in to a fury as the level of anxiousness seemed to multiply exponentially. When asked by his boss, Stripe literally translated the phrase, “She said, ‘They are of the Happy Dragon Number Seven’– If I remember right, that was a fishin’ trawler what sank ‘bout four months ago.” A look of surprise crossed Tony’s face as he exclaimed, “Hey, yeah, I read about that – apparently it was a big deal because she was such a large boat or something like that.” The camera continued to capture the drama as the rescue team drew nearer and nearer to the tiny vessel.

When the old man waving the flag pole finally noticed the men rushing towards their boat, he dropped the banner to the deck and fell down into unconsciousness – his exhaustion too great to withstand. The younger of the two, upon witnessing his compatriot’s collapse, dropped the oar and ran to his aide, cradling the old reptile’s head in his lap and desperately waving towards the swimmers as they made the final trek to the twin-clad skimmer.

As the rescue team secured the vessel, the commentary of Tony Gluemaker swept into the living room of every viewer – “It looks like they’re securing the old Chameleon first, fastening him to a life buoy – now they’re helping the other survivor off the boat as well; whether or not these are the sole survivors of the ‘Happy Dragon’ or if they’ve been sent to find help isn’t known… It looks like they’re now securing the boat to a trot-line and towing it to shore.”

As the survivors were finally brought to shore, a flood of family members and friends seemingly overwhelmed them as tears of joy and gladness were shed and crushing hugs of relief were exchanged – The parents of the young one held their son as if he might disappear before their eyes. A young woman running through the crowd and into his arms nearly bowled him over as she desperately clung to him, the two exchanging a passionate kiss that made clear that they were lovers.

A string of children swarmed around the older survivor as he was helped to his feet by a handful of middle-aged men who bore a striking similarity to him – undoubtedly his sons and their progeny – a countenance of unfathomable relief and thankfulness seemingly radiated from his terribly scarred face as he hugged each and every one of his grandchildren. The cheers of the crowd only added to the potency of the image that was being broadcasted to the world.

The uplifting moment was ended soon enough by the wailing of the youngest survivor’s mother, as her son and husband held her in consolation. As the young man looked towards the crowd he spoke to them in a surprisingly clear and audibly haggard voice; his words holding such poignant sorrow as he visibly wept. As one the crowd (particularly the women) began wailing as their complexions visibly changed – from the vibrant colors they donned mere seconds before, there arose a wave of browns, greys and charcoals that moved through their midst[3]. Some of the women began tearing their clothing, others throwing themselves to the ground in visible agony. Many of the men bowed their heads in sorrow (a few openly weeping) as the people learned the fate of their various loved ones aboard that ill-fated ship.

It didn’t take a translator for Tony Gluemaker to make the connection; replacing his inquisitive expression with one of neutral empathy, he turned to the camera and softly said, “We now know the fate of the crew of that missing boat – it would appear that these men were the only survivors; this is indeed a tragic day for these people –many of them having had family and friends on board.” Before he could continue his verbose monologue, the younger survivor raised his hands into the air yelling at the top of his lungs in an attempt to call the islanders’ attention back to him; he had yet to tell them the worst part of his tidings.

The whole world over watched as this small island reptile, battered and bruised, gaunt faced and with sun blistered skin, animatedly talked to his fellow kinsmen – his voice so full of conviction. They watched as he gesticulated to the people, watched how some of them visibly pale, how others gasped and groaned to his story. And while it was a novel experience to those viewers who had no conceivable idea what it was he was saying, it was the Chameleons’ reaction to a single word that this man had all but whispered into the air: “Gho'Zra.”

The native reaction was as swift as it was diverse. Some flinched as if physically struck. Others screamed in terror as they covered their faces. A few tore at their chest until they bled before tossing themselves to the ground and writhing. Most of the crowd merely gasped at the audacity of this young man to even invoke such a taboo subject, and in public too. Still, many more openly laughed at him – mocking his words, convinced that the heat and lack of water had addled his brain, or disregarded it altogether as pure nonsense meant to garner attention. A small few even outright yelled at him, throwing anything from rocks to shells and even a shoe or two – he took it all as a martyr might, not even attempting to ward off the blows or placate the crowd.

As all this occurred, those who bore witness to the spectacle were just as confused as their audience. Gluemaker turned towards the only member of his entourage who even marginally understood the local dialect, asking the question that a million others were asking themselves – “What just happened?” Shaking his head with confusion, Reign Striper continued to listen to the crowd as they talked amongst themselves or openly shouted at the young man. “’m not quite sure, really,” he answered, “what I can follow from, he was talkin’ about how the boat was out in the southern seas when they ran into trouble: ‘pparently they’d gotten caught on somethin’ and it turned out to be a… a sea monster?”

At the incredulous looks his coworkers were giving him he defended, saying, “I don’t know – it’s kinda hard to understand what he means.” Trying to make since of it all, Leonard asked, “So they’re all freaking out because of a sea monster?” Shaking his head violently, Striper countered, “No – no, that’s not why they’re upset; he used some word – Go-zeera, or something like that; that’s why they’re all pissed off.” Again Tony spoke up, “Well what does it mean then?” Holding his hooves up in a defensive gesture, the fact-checker cried out, “I don’t know, I ain’t never heard it before – If he’s combinin’ words then it comes out somethin’ like ‘mighty spear’, but I think they’re using it as a noun; the first syllable is open – it’s more than likely some sort of name.[4]”

Their attention was brought back to the present by the baritone bellow of the old Chameleon with the mutilated face. His eyes held a vibrant fire to them that was so uncharacteristic for one as old as he, as he verbally chastised the crowd and came to his comrade’s defense. Again, the word ‘Gho'Zra’ was invoked, and with such vituperative energy that all held their tongues in fright of the old sailor's words. With much tangible shaking of limbs, he pointed to the horizon and spoke words of personal experience, all the while bringing home each point with a resounding thump of the ad-hoc walking cane provided to him as he had come ashore (for his left leg was so mangled that he could not have stood upon it had he tried.)

As the crowd stood enraptured by the aged seaman’s apologetics, the younger of the two survivors looked once more over the crowd, scanning the multitude back and forth before he visibly zeroed in on the news crew. The words of the elders who saved him ringing in his mind, he staggered forward as a starving man might to a scrap of bread. Grasping Gluemaker’s arm in a vice-like death-grip, the bedraggled young lizard desperately asked in a heavily accented and highly unorthodox rendition of the equine dialect, “Please, you are to be showing the people of yours much these things, yes?”

With gaping mouth, the reporter stuttered, “Um – uh, uh-yeah, we’re actually broadcasting right now, why do you—” Giving him no time to finish, the Chameleon begged, “Please, I am needing to be saying something to all who can have ears to listen – let me speak through you, yes?” While normally not one to allow such a gross infraction of protocol, Mr. Gluemaker and indeed the rest of his news crew could almost taste the gravity of what this man needed to say, so with a hesitant nod, he meekly answered, “Yeah, sure thing,” before turning to the camera man, saying, “Focal Point, switch the camera over here – let him talk.”

Even before he had been asked, Focal Point had been filming the exchange as it had been happening, but even so, he nodded in confirmation before adding, “Alright, you’re on.” With a shuffling gait the ordeal-beaten young man shakily latched onto the camera, looking the growing millions of viewers who were tuning in directly in the eye as he began his watermark testimony. “Please, with your ears listen to these words of which I am to be saying: my name is Ghur’Tcha, son of Mey’Tchun, son of Kal’Tum – I bring upon my soul a heavy burden of words that by all must be heard!”

“There is not to be much more time left – death and destruction will soon be stored up against us all! The famine is only the beginning of these things which shall be known to all, soon enough – Gho'Zra is come, yes, and his anger is such that the wrath that he wields is like a hundred thousand iron spears that crash and splinter the shields of our lands and spill rivers of life-blood into the sea of the Nothel-Realm’s gates! Please, those who have ears that can be hearing my message – please know that the time is at hand that all should know the judgment of the world! Cities will burn, mountains crumble, the land will wither and turn to ash, and the bones of the innocent and guilty alike will be ground like so much fine coral sand beneath the thundering advance of Gho'Zra’s might!”

Quickly realizing that this might not be the sort of message he wanted his following to be subject to, Tony Gluemaker slowly managed to drag Ghur’Tcha away from the camera, diplomatically trying to end the tirade with such phrases as “Thank you, Ghur’Tcha, for your wonderful little story” and “Alright, we have to go to commercial break now” and at one point, “Focal, cut the feed – cut the feed damnit!” In those final seconds, the struggling Ghur’Tcha all but screamed, “Please – be listening to what I have said, Goz’Ra comes, you must be ready – please! –”

On the other side of the world, in her personal study, princess Celestia watched as the live broadcast was cut to static, a technical difficulty animation quickly supplanting the grey and black nothingness of the television screen. With grim understanding she began to compose a letter to her minister of diplomacy, Morning Summit – her while plumed quill scrawling purposefully across the velum surface of her stationary.

Mr. Summit,

It has come to my attention that there is a young Chameleon who has recently been rescued from a harrowing experience at sea which I have found to be quite fascinating – as a gesture of Equestrian generosity (and to sate my own personal curiosity), I would request that an arrangement be made to have the young man brought before me sometime next week, so that I might hear of his odyssey first hand. I would also request that the older gentleman who had been rescued along with him be brought before me as well, as I often find that more than one viewpoint is necessary to see the whole story.

Respectfully, Celestia.[5]

As the parchment vanished beneath radiant green flames, the solar sovereign cast a wary gaze across her balcony, towards the night-sky and beyond, to a place she could not see, and towards a potential threat to her kingdom. She would indeed be having a word with these survivors, for if her hunch was correct, they would be able to help her understand what her people might soon be facing...

Somewhere amidst the vast and endless Middle Ocean that spanned from the eastern shores of Equestria to the western most islands of the Chameleonic Nations, the peaceful night air was violated by the catastrophic ball of flame that erupted amidst a convoy of trade ships. Three minutes later and the last of the nearly dozen multi-ton tankers sank to the bottom of the abyss, the frenzied string of distress signals and telegrams warning of danger would continue for another minute before they too ceased. It was doubtful that those who perished had even been aware of the culprit of their demise, as a hedge of jagged white spines momentarily pierced the murky sea, gliding across its glassy surface before eerily sinking once more into the deep.

Alright, footnote time. The explanations are in order of the appearance of the various numbers braced within a pair of brackets; ~example - [1]~

[1] Having a completely different tongue and vocal structure from those people of Equestrian origin, the Chameleonic language is next to impossible for the average pony to pronounce correctly, hence the phonetic style wording of the island's name.

[2] Fluidly translates to a fellow Chameleon as "Look, the colors show them to be from the crew of the Happy Dragon Number Seven!"

[3] The mood of a Chameleon often determines the coloration of their skin - dark, drab colors often accompany sadness, while white tints and pale shades accompany fear. Vibrant saturation of a Chameleon's natural color often signifies anger or hostility, while splotches of contrasting color are used to initiate courtship.

[4] Like the languages of the Polynesians, a single word in the Chameleon language can mean as many as a dozen different things depending upon its position in the sentence, the context in which it is used, and the inflection of the various syllables, consonants and vowel sounds.

[5] This is of course a false pretense; as a politician, she would be a complete moron to divulge her true intentions to such a minor member of state.

And now for the concept artwork I promised some of you.

Author's Note

Well, here it is. Chapter six. It's finally winding up to the next arc in the overall story flow, where we'll finally confront the true nature of the beast. As I had mentioned earlier today, I am putting up concept art to go along with this chapter. The art itself covers various images I had in my head going into this story, as well as a few characters and even a map of the Chameleonic Islands. What follows now will be an explanation of the art.
The first picture, starting from the the top left corner and working our way from there, depicts:
The traditional catamaran boat that Ghur'Tcha and K'Umetk were give by the natives to make their trek back home. Directly below that is a highly ornate and stylized depiction of the Chameleon god Chu'Maqc-tahl. To the direct right of that is a representation of the average Chameleon body type (This particular one wearing the traditional tattoos associated with the worship of Chu'Maqc-tahl); the three busts are examples of some of the more exotic phenotypes in the Chameleon genome. Directly above this is a size comparison chart depicting the size of an average Chameleon to an average Pony. Slightly below and to the right of that is a rough depiction of the 'Happy Dragon No. 7' before its demise.Further below that is an illustration of the Chameleons' strange, four fingered, two thumbed hand, which is obviously quite dextrous. To the far right and of the picture is an illustration of Ghur'Tcha, the young Yeoman who's life was changed forever by Godzilla. Below that is a highly ornate Pyre-totem in the likeness of Chu'Maqc-tahl, which would be commonly used by the Ch'kam natives as a form of decorative yet functional street lamp, if you would. To the left of that is an illustration of Captain K'Umetk as he was upon being rescued - face brutally scarred and forced to walk with a cane... I hope the fact that he is old is apparent, I truly tried to make him feel old. To the left and slightly above the good Captain is a depiction of the average female Chameleon's body type; they are often set apart from their male counterparts by carefully applied pastel powders, ebony and gold inlaid hoop bracelets and a distinctive ribbon wrapped around their tail, meant to attract the eye of a potential suitor... They also wear long skirts and tie their sashes from behind. Interspersed amongst the picture are various common tattoos that the Chameleons are often apt to possess. Finally, we have a map depicting the Chameleonic Islands as seen from above and a great distance away. The legend is technically for my own use, but should you wish to know what the various numbers, letters and symbols mean, feel free to ask me.
The other picture is pretty straight forward; I drew at a bar last night while visiting with some friends. It's not much, but It's a rough sketch of Godzilla's trek through Promised Point.
It will more than likely be a while before the next chapter is posted, but rest assured that this story will continue.

All Brought Low

A week ago, if someone had told K’Umetk that he would be invited to the capital of the most powerful nation in the world to have a personal sit down with Equestrian royalty, he would have claimed them to be unhinged. As he sat in the oversized plush waiting chair outside the personal quarters of Equestria’s own Princess Celestia, he could only marvel at how unhinged his reality truly was. To be clear, K’Umetk held no love for Ponies – he found them to be arrogant and decadent; the less he had to deal with them, the better off he felt for his lot in life.

So it was only natural that he held the surprising invitation with a great deal of suspicion. Out of recent habit, the old sailor glanced towards his mangled left hand. He was certain that he could still feel the fingers that were clearly not there anymore – it unnerved him greatly. The doctors who had tended to him after having been rescued claimed that it was a natural phenomenon – phantom limb syndrome, they had called it. Looking back up, he could scarcely help but observe his silent companion in the next chair over.

Ghur’Tcha sat in much the same manner as he had for the past week – eyes closed, brow lowered, and his countenance set in a deep and meditative manner. The boy had changed. Ever since being rescued by the natives of that small island so many weeks ago, K’Umetk could see the differences. He could remember a young yeoman who felt nothing but optimism for the world, and who saw to the future with hope. This Ghur’Tcha was so very different from the other.

The captain could scarcely remember what had been said amidst those island elders; what he could recall seemed so distant. Undoubtedly, the boy had spoken with them whilst he himself was unconscious. What they talked of he could never hope to guess, but whatever it had been about had done much to affect his shipmate, for upon awaking he was struck by the boy’s change in mannerism.

No longer was he a wellspring of hope and good cheer. Ghur’Tcha had become withdrawn and standoffish – seldom speaking out unless spoken to; he no longer smiled either. In fact, the most he had ever talked since their rescue had been his uncharacteristic message to the people of their island, and the desperate plea to that pony news crew. It went without saying that K’Umetk had been surprised by the action. When the boy had spoken out to the crowd, he had been unsure of what to expect.

The mixed and sundry reactions had been expected. What had not been so were those who outright called him a liar – that had forced the old man’s hand. He had instantly come to Ghur’Tcha’s defense, explaining in no simple terms the unequivocal truth of what had transpired in the southern seas. His standing among the people of his home town may not have been much, but they knew his character; when he had said as much as his friend, they had believed him… to an extent.

But just as he came down from his diatribe, what should he see but Ghur’Tcha desperately clinging to a camera, screaming at the top of his lungs as he was forcibly dragged away – telling the world what had happened. When they had finally calmed him down, he immediately switched back to his introverted state, not even looking his fiancé in the eye when she tried to console him.

When they had been interred within the hospital, K’Umetk had confronted his friend on the matter. In response, Ghur’Tcha simply stated that he had a mission to uphold – to warn the world of the coming storm and to help find a way to stay its wrath. Those had been the last words spoken by the young man since. Now, if it were under any other circumstance, the good captain would have chalked it up to a self-righteous martyr complex and leave it at that – if the condescending little twerp wanted to make a spectacle out of his ordeal then let him do so.

But this was Ghur’Tcha, a boy he had seen grow up for well on two decades and more. He knew Ghur’Tcha’s parents – his grandparents; they were genuinely good people who had helped him in many a dire situation. He had taken the boy onto his crew because he saw an image of his younger self in the child’s care-free attitude. But none of that could compare to the sight that was becoming more and more commonplace the longer time went on: in the dead of night, when all should have been sleeping, K’Umetk would often awake from nightmares to find the young man missing.

That first time, the very night that had finally returned home, it had terrified him. The one person who had made it through hell with him was gone and he had known not where. Then, in the pale moonlight that splashed down through the window, he heard the sonorous cries of complete desolation – he heard the wailing of a broken man and when he got up to see who would make such tragic noises, he found it to be none other than Ghur’Tcha.

Though he would scarcely talk to anyone, he still held such pain, and his crying convinced K’Umetk that whatever change had come about his friend, it was genuine and with the intentions of a man who felt he needed to fix something. From that night, he had vowed to stand by his friend through anything that may come their way. A week later and here they were… He would not take any of it back, despite his discomfort.

Still, that didn’t mean that he would not voice his misgivings to the lad, as he muttered, “This is all so very much a load of nonsense, Ghur’Tcha – we need not be here; these ponies care nothing for our kind.” Strangely enough, Ghur’Tcha opened his eyes and looked to his friend, asking, “Then why are we here?” K’Umetk would not say it aloud, but he had been asking himself that very question time and time again when they had arrived to this great and splendid castle. They had been treated well enough by those who had escorted them here, though many a time he go the distinct impression that they would have rather been elsewhere.

So instead of giving a reply, he conceded, saying, “Let us hope that we might find out why when we have this meeting… if we have this meeting.” Irony was in full force that day, it seemed, because just as he had uttered those words, a rather imposing equine wearing gilded armor and brandishing a rather sharp looking spear appeared from a portico and announced, “Her majesty will see you now.” Grumbling to himself in irate displeasure, the old Chameleon fumbled around for his walking cane before creakily rising from the too-soft chair.

Ghur’Tcha had lowered his head once more and took to following K’Umetk in a somber sort of procession – no doubt he had many things on his mind; perhaps he would now share them in this meeting. The great iron wrought doors that met them at the end of the hall were nothing if not awe-inspiring (no doubt that was their purpose), with inlaid lattice of teakwood and all manner of semi-precious stones giving focus to the resplendent gold-leafed intaglio at its center, displaying, of all things, a pastoral rococo scene that seemed ill placed in such splendor.

With an ominous creak the doors swung wide, seemingly of their own accord, as the two reptiles walked their way into a room that, for being the personal chambers of a monarch, seemed rather Spartan in contrast to the magnificence of the surrounding castle. And there, sitting at a desk made of marble, with a diplomatic smile in place sat Princess Celestia herself. Her radiant mane and pristine white coat gave emphasis to her massive wings and the prominent horn upon her head.

To the two of them, she came off as rather ugly, and in their own tongue K’Umetk gave comment as such. With a genuine look of embarrassed horror, Ghur’Tcha exclaimed (again in their native language), “Captain, please – show respect; she has invited us here – don’t insult her looks.” To both of their surprise, the Princess spoke in almost perfect Chameleonic, saying “It is quite alright – I understand that to your species hair and feathers aren’t exactly the most appealing traits to possess.”

This garnered a chuckle from the old captain, who felt that he should have realized that she would be able to speak their language, as he remarked, “It would seem that we will not be able to keep a secret form you, your majesty – please forgive my words.” With a casual nod, the solar sovereign of the Equestrian people came right down to business, saying “I understand that you both have survived a rather strenuous ordeal at sea, have you not?” With an impassive look of stony indifference, K’Umetk replied, “Aye.” The subtle twitch of her eyebrow was all of any indication that Celestia found his remark less than forthcoming.

Changing tactics, she asked, “The tragedy that had befallen the Chameleonic Islands is of great interest to me and my following – we were hoping to try and find a way of aiding your people during their time of need.” The grunt of ‘Hm’ that the old sailor remarked with gave just as much indication of what he thought about that. Finally, she cut to the chase – seeing as how her guests (or at least the older one) seemed content to sit and stonewall her every attempt at discourse.

“I actually called you both in here to discuss the… interesting message you relayed on television a week ago.” At this she had turned to Ghur’Tcha, who had strangely enough been silent the entire time; not at all like he had been when speaking to the camera days prior. “More specifically, I would like you to assist me in corroborating a point of information that I have only recently come into possessing.” When the younger of the two finally looked her in the eye, she finished by saying, “I have a feeling that the two of you may be the only ones who could help me.”

Ghur’Tcha finally spoke, his voice small and atrophied as he said, “This is why I have come – to help.” Taking that at face value, the Alicorn stood from her desk and beckoned them to follow her, saying “That is very much appreciated – now if you would, please come with me, we’ll be heading to the royal archives for the rest of our meeting.” An uneasy look was passed between the two as her back was turned, but they followed nonetheless.

As they traversed the winding halls and spiraling stairwells that filled the royal residency, the two islanders could scarcely do more than marvel at such incredible architecture, admiring the many tapestries and paintings that lined the walls, and often gawking at the scale of it all. All the while, the princess had been idly chatting to them as they went along – unaware that they were ignoring her in favor of gazing upon one spectacle after another.

Their reverie was ended as she turned around and announced, “Here we are,” before stepping through an open doorway and into a room that towered about them all. Rows upon rows of various odds and ends (primarily books but there were a good number of reliquaries and artifacts to be seen) filled shelf upon shelf, reaching up to the very ceiling dozens of meters above them. While they nearly fell backwards in wonder, their host casually trotted to the far end of the room, where a group of ponies were awaiting them.

The solid mahogany table at which they were seated was a work of art in and of itself, with all manner of intricate carvings and designs. Positioned upon said table were an assortment of papers, manila folders and a mechanical contraption the likes of which neither Chameleon had ever seen before in their lives. As they took their proffered seats, they were met with an assortment of stares and inquisitive looks – none of which gave them any comfort.

“I suppose that introductions are to be had,” Celestia announced as she reverted to her own tongue, “These ponies represent my cabinet and confidants.” Quickly pointing towards each pony at the table, she rattled off their various names and functions. Neither Chameleon gave much consideration to the names, but when it came to the final member at the table, they had no such problems, as the Princess declared, “And of course you may well regard my co-regent and sister, Luna.” At mention of her name, the dark haired princess of the night gave a cordial nod of recognition towards the two outsiders.

With introductions now out of the way, the meeting began in earnest. Quickly taking a seat at the head of the table, the diurnal-dictator began with a disclosure of sorts. “What we speak of now does not leave this table, do I make myself clear?” A wave of nods and agreements came in response as she continued, “I have called this meeting into order to discuss a potential crisis in the making – as you may have undoubtedly heard, the prominent city of Promised Point was all but destroyed some three months prior.”

After his rescue, K’Umetk had indeed heard of the surprising destruction of the thriving metropolis of Ko’tosh – it had been a very important fixture to the peoples of the Chameleonic confederacy, often used to mediate disputes and facilitate broader venues of trade and commerce. He had only ever been there but a few times in his life, but he could still remember how impressive the city had been. While he cared little for the fact, he understood that without the city of Promised Point (and the ponies who had inhabited it), there would be rough times ahead for his race; many of the islands had become heavily reliant upon its surplus and commodities.

To be diplomatic, the old reptile played the advocate by saying, “Yes, I heard of this thing happening so – wiped away by a great storm; such that I have heard it said, yes?” While his grasp of the pony language was limited at best, he had apparently done well enough for those present. However, he would have had to be blind to have missed the surreptitious looks of discomfort that were exchanged by many of those at the table. Promptly appending his statement, he asked, “But I am feeling that this is not to be what happened in truth, no?”

With a heavy sigh, Celestia’s minister of state (an old grey Unicorn by the name of Prudent Measure) demurely responded, “While the official story is that a storm of biblical proportions destroyed the city, you would not be wrong in surmising that this was not the whole story.” With a fluid motion, the old stallion slid a spiral bound docket of papers towards the two foreigners who gave it a curious look, as he explained, “This is the full extent of what we know through empirical observation – if you would turn to page seventeen, I would like you to observe the… is something wrong?” He had taken notice of the expressions of confused bemusement on their faces as he had been running them through the synopsis.

Casting an apologetic (if somewhat amused) gaze towards the minister, K’Umetk spoke up, saying – “Please, forgive us – I am being what you call ‘illiterate’, and Ghur’Tcha is only knowing of the script of our people, yes – we cannot be reading these things that you show us, yes?” With an aghast look of horror at his own blunder, Prudent Measure exclaimed, “Oh, I’m terribly sorry – I had not even stopped to consider that when I had this report made; by all means, let me summarize the report!”

Pointing out the various places in the report as he went along, the minister of state explained in short order the various discrepancies and anomalies that had been uncovered during the investigation. He showed how, instead of showing signs of being overwhelmed in a great deluge, the city had in fact burned down. He also explained the compartmentalized nature of the destruction, and the unnatural manner in which some of the more prominent structures in the city had been toppled. The final piece in the exposition was the odd manner in which the city’s power station had been dismantled and depleted of all magic.

When it had all been said and done, K’Umetk could not hold back the uneasiness he felt towards the whole situation – already, he was beginning to believe that he already knew the truth of Promised Point. Why else would these ponies need them? Looking towards Ghur’Tcha from the corner of his eye, he could see that the boy had not yet come to the same conclusion. Whether this was a subconscious refusal to acknowledge it, or because he genuinely could not comprehend the scope of the information, he knew not.

His thoughts were interrupted by another cabinet member (this one an earth pony of beige hair and ocher-red mane who, if he remembered correctly, went by the name of ‘Sable Sabers’) spoke up. “When initially alerted to it, we had at first assumed it to have been committed by an agent provocateur – more than likely a member of the ‘Brotherhood of the Shining Eye’.” K’Umetk nodded his head in understanding; the Brotherhood was well-known for their acts of sabotage and terrorism. They were also well known for their hatred of the Equestrian Empire and her allies. It was a logical assumption.

The old stallion gave a slight cough before continuing, “However, as more and more information became available, we quickly realized that this was not the case.” As he spoke, a diminutive unicorn wearing horn-rimmed glasses began setting up the strange mechanism at the center of the table. His machinations were an enigma to the reptiles, who watched in fascination as he magically connected various dowers, wheels, knobs and sprockets to the superstructure. Within seconds, a fully functional magic film projector stood before them.

Gracefully approaching the projector whilst levitating a circular reel of film, Celestia announced, “This film was discovered with the body of one of our news corps cameramen who had been present to cover a function being held at the island’s Observatorium – most of it is damaged, but what was salvageable has given us a major breakthrough in the investigation… we only need you to watch – please understand.” As the Alicorn deftly set the reel into the projector’s feed, the lights were dimmed and the curtains lowered – the only source of light being the white-washed plaster wall opposite the table as the projector cast a luminous aura upon its surface.

As the film-caster came to life with a cacophony of clicks and whirs, the wall was consumed by blackness as a chain of numbers began counting down from five to one. As one, the group watched the grainy celluloid images that splashed forth onto the screen; the only sound to meet them was the throbbing hum of gears turning and magic churning. Ghur’Tcha watched as the scene began with a panoramic shot of the city from a nearby hill, pristine clouds framing a clear blue sky as the sun shone down upon the picturesque city so full of life.

The scene quickly changed, depicting the exterior of a grandiose building – the Observatorium; its resplendent exterior covered in all manner of precious and semi-precious stones, the magnificent copper dome of the structure shone green like an emerald, contrasting starkly with the white-marble fluted columns that held it aloft. At its entrance stood a great iron door – its surface, carved in intaglio, depicted scenes of the islands founding - ten meters tall and covered with every sort of precious metal imaginable; it shimmered and sparkled in the noonday sun.

Above this glorious door was a beautiful archivolt of purest pink granite, and at its center laid a tympanum of sparkling white ivory which depicted a well-defined and classically proportioned earth pony holding the world atop its massive shoulders. Such was the unimaginable beauty of the building that Ghur’Tcha nearly wept knowing that it had been destroyed. Again, the picture transitioned to a new scene. This time showing a line of various dignitaries from all over the world, exchanging pleasantries and shaking hands – all seemed to be in high spirits as they walked through the massive corbeled entry-hall.

The minutes stretched on as those assembled watched such scenes as people dancing, silent speeches being made, facilities being showcased, and on one occasion what looked like a serious dispute between two of the Unicorns who staffed the facility. Princess Celestia noted in passing how one of them had been the curator of the facility, while the other she was unsure of, but that the blue stripe of his lab coat meant that he worked in weather research. As the two scientists hurriedly disappeared down a hallway marked ‘staff only’, whoever had been filming had opted to ignore them in favor of swinging the camera towards a group of individuals who stood by a window. Two of them were familiar enough to those ponies present at the table.

From there, the scene switched again, this time depicting the city during the evening, when the magically fueled street lights began to shine – the setting sun casting a pink hue across the western skies. From there the film went momentarily black, only to flare once more to life. What met the viewers was nothing if not foreboding. The film depicted a sky of roiling black clouds, the swaying trees and flying detritus that filled the air gave testament to the ravenous winds that assaulted the city. With a blinding white flash of lighting, the skies at once erupted into a downpour that shocked even the two Chameleons, who were no strangers to such great storms.

Apparently, whoever had been rolling the film had been just as shocked, nearly dropping the camera before running to take shelter inside. However, just as they had reached the doorway, they had stopped. K’Umetk and Ghur’Tcha watched in fascination as the camera slowly turned around once more, fixing its sight to the east of the city. For a few minutes the camera recorded nothing but the torrent sheets of heavy rain and the often occasional flash of lightning that pierced the sky.

Perhaps it was the lack of definitive action, or the continual motion of the downpour that had lulled most of them into a sense of calm. Whatever it was, it was completely shattered by the sudden and explosive inferno of fire and smoke that sprang up in the distance, followed shortly by another, then another! Within seconds the entire horizon was set alight - the ruddy glow of the growing conflagration set in stark contrast to the roiling blackness of the all-encompassing storm. The feed became increasingly shaky as the camera’s operator panned back and forth erratically – desperately searching for anything that could explain what was going on.

A flash of lightning in the distance lit the entire island for a single moment, and in that moment Ghur’Tcha’s breath left him. There, amidst the flames stood a pitch black form – a form that scratched at the back of him mind, even as he tried to deny it. It was less than a fraction of a second before the blinding flash receded as quickly as it arose, but he was certain he had seen it. In his mind, he rigorously denied such thoughts – it had only been a trick of the eyes, brought on by the lighting as it danced amidst the sea of flames. Still he could not shake the growing terror in his heart.

The nameless pony who had stood there filming the unfolding disaster had doubtlessly seen nothing, for the camera remained focused on the firestorm that seemingly leapt across the land in its approach towards the city. Already, the flames had grown to such great heights, its destructive hand stretching forth, encompassing more and more in its embrace. With a distant sort of fascination, they watched as a winding serpent of negative energies wound its way around a nearby apartment block, its brick hewn edifice reflecting a hellish glow that set the nighttime air alight with an orange haze.

Through it all, it was K’Umetk who noticed the subtle change in the character of the film. He had noticed it from the start, but only when it became too apparent to ignore did he whispered as much – “It is shaking.” Ghur’Tcha finally took notice of it as well – the pronounced tremor of the film as it shook, its edges blurred as the peripheries became distorted. It would seem that camera’s operator finally noticed the phenomena as well; the film began to once more swing wildly about, looking for anything to latch onto.

It found its mark in the surprising spectacle of a nearby office building (fifty stories in height if not taller) as it came crashing down – its concrete form collapsing in upon itself as a bilious pall of cindered ash and choking dust flew skyward, carried up by the draft of scalding hot air. The upheaval of the collapse was so great as to knock the cameraman of his feet, such was its proximity. Even as the picture shifted with the fall, it continued to record the calamity. What followed would be nothing short of apocalyptic in both scope and revelation.

For it was there, in a span of mere moments, that the great nightmare was made visible to all once more. There, amidst the brimming smoke and fire, cast upon by the light and shadows that flitted transiently across the night, loomed the form of a saurian titan as vast as it was unimaginable. Its enormous head, so covered in wicked scars and calloused plates of scale and bone, gouged forth from the empyrean shroud of smoke and darkness. Its mountainous torso, rippling with great slates of ratcheted muscle and sinew, likewise materialized from nothingness. A bright blue spear of lightning tearing down from the clouds above gave contrast to the hulking monstrosity – its towering spines of twisted ethereal bone manifested visibly against the luminous backdrop.

Ghur’Tcha’s skin turned stark white in fear, his eyes widening even as his pupils contracted. His hands clenched round the armrests of his chair – a death grip of such magnitude that the oaken implements gave way to its force, the audible crunch they made as his terror stricken claws left their indention was enough to draw the calculating eyes of the dread sovereign of the night. She watched his face as a grimace of myriad emotion played out there upon.

K’Umetk, who had been sitting throughout the showing, swiftly rose to his feet, his cane all but buckling under his own grip. A look of utter disgust and hatred had contorted his otherwise amiable complexion to a mask of unremitting fury. Yet even with such a brave face, his skin (much like Ghur’Tcha’s) had similarly turned to the likeness of snow - aged flecks of grey and black amidst the white gave the impression of a winter storm as his fear and loathing intermingled in perfect harmony.

Both of them watched in suppressed horror as the monster responsible for so much of their grief took a few more thunderous steps forward before halting its advanced. With a calm and calculating manner, the abomination looked across the city as the fires preceding it swept through the streets, bringing more and more into their fold. What struck Celestia most (even after seeing it a dozen times before) were the burning flames of an all-encompassing rage barely constrained within the confines of the beast’s glowing crimson eyes.

Every time she looked into those eyes she could scarcely contain the shudder of dread that ran down her spine, for she could physically feel the crushing weight of hatred so deep in magnitude, so vast in scope, that she often found herself struggling to breathe under its oppressive wake. As always, she stood in incredulous astonishment at the existence of such a vicious odium – whatever else could be said of this creature, nothing could possibly compare to its fury.

All watched on in varying degrees of abject fear and disgust as the abomination opened its vast and terrible maw. While the film was utterly silent, both K’Umetk and Ghur’Tcha could clearly hear the beast’s deafening, otherworldly roar; an unnatural sound akin to the ear-splitting tear of metal and the booming rumble of thunder – its phantom permanently ingrained into their minds. To those who had never heard the sound, there was only a silent image of a creature opening its mouth to let loose a visible wave of concussed air as it passed through dust and smoke.

Again the cameraman was knocked over, and this time he could not hold fast to his tool, as it careened over the side of the building and landed face up in a pile of rubble, its screen cracked and covered in dirt. The last thing it caught was a massive serpent of flesh and spines as it swept through the building and buried everything in darkness. With a reeling series of clicks and whirs, the projector stopped as the film ran its final course. The room remained quiet as the lights came back and the curtains were drawn open once more.

While the room may have been lightened, the mood had only darkened further. Ghur’Tcha had not moved from his rigid posture; his breathing had become shallow and erratic and his skin had become even paler. The arms of his chair were ruined beyond hope of repair – deep gashes ran along its length, accenting the spider web of hairline cracks that riddled their surface. His distant stare had not yet left the now empty wall. K’Umetk, on the other hand, looked exhausted – having collapsed back into his chair in a sagging manner. His hands shook with great ferocity as he desperately gripped his cane. While his color had taken on a green complexion once more, he looked nothing if not older than he had minutes before.

As the ponies who sat around the table took note of their guests’ composure (or lack thereof), a look of grim understanding crossed their faces. This was what they had suspected from the beginning. Taking a tentative step towards the Chameleons, Princess Celestia softly asked, “This is the creature that attacked your boat four months ago, isn’t it?” Locking his haggard gaze upon her eyes, K’Umetk nodded his head as (in his own tongue) he replied in a meek voice, “Yes, that is the creature that destroyed the ‘Happy Dragon No.7’, and it has grown if my eyes see truly – for it was nothing close to half that size when it had beset itself upon us.”

While she did not show it, the notion that this monster could grow so big in so short a time startled her. She would need to take many more things into account than she had at first surmised. Her thoughts were cut short by her sister’s voice, as Luna asked, “When you warned of the beast last week, you spoke the creature’s name – what was it?” Before the old sailor could respond, his young counterpart seemingly snapped from his trance as he turned towards the moonlight monarch and droned, “Gho’Zra… its name… its name is Gho’Zra, and it will wash the lands in a tide of death and blood the likes of which you would never be able to conceive of.”

As if a switch had been triggered, the room became active. The various ministers and functionaries huddled together and began to murmur among themselves. Parchment was unrolled and pens were dipped as the scrabbling of a dozen scribes (who had walked into the room in an unnervingly unified manner the moment they were called upon) filled the air. It was amidst this organized chaos that K’Umetk arose from his chair and began hobbling towards both princesses as they stood off a ways from the others and conversed in silent tones.

Clearing his throat to catch their attention, he tactfully inquired (again in his own language so as to avoid garnering the attention of wandering ears), “Your eminences, I understand that you will be thoroughly busy in these coming times, and far be it from me to impose upon you in these matters of state, but if I might, I would humbly request that the boy and I be allowed to return to our homeland with all haste.” With a slight pause, Celestia began to answer, “Of course, I will arrange for—” She was cut short from a surprising source, as Ghur’Tcha, who had clearly heard his captain’s genuflections, called out “I wish to stay!”

Alarmed at his compatriot’s demand, K’Umetk did a double take as he sputtered, “What – why do you say this, Ghur’Tcha – are you afflicted by a madness?!” Rushing from his chair (nearly stumbling over the corner of a rug in his haste) he literally fell to his knees before the solar sovereign and the moonlight monarch as he beseeched them, “Please, I wish to stay and help in whatever way I may be used; I must attempt to atone for the failings of my people.” With a bemused look of confusion, the two diarchs first looked to one another, and then to the older of the two Chameleons; the question clearly written on their faces.

With a deep and weary sigh, Captain K’Umetk came to a crossroad. While he had known his young companion for many a year, it had been the past four months that he truly came to know Ghur’Tcha as a person. Through the trials of being set adrift, of being rescued by the natives of Ch’kam-turesch, and during those months confined to a small fishing boat as they made for their home, he had come to love the boy. Ghur’Tcha had stayed faithful to their survival throughout it all, and had done so much to convince the captain of hope. Had it not been for his constant encouragements, K’Umetk held no doubt that he would have given up and cast himself into death.

Now it seemed that this young boy – no, this man – had decided to place himself once more upon the path of danger in an attempt to seek some form of closure (whether of spirit or mind, he knew not). Even as he weighed his options, K’Umetk realized he had no other choice; he loved Ghur’Tcha, and he would not abandon his friend now – not after all that they had gone through. So with another weighty sigh, the old Chameleon closed his eyes and said, “If he is to stay, that I will stay likewise – I cannot return home without him.”

The two Alicorns seemed to understand his decision, and with an empathetic voice, Celestia stepped forward and offered, “If you will be staying with us, then it would please both my sister and I that you be allocated only the best of quarters – I will arrange for your stay at once.” As the two reptiles came away from them, talking to one another in hushed voices and with subtle gesticulations, an armored solar guard made his way swiftly into the active room. Presenting himself before his rulers, he retrieved a bounded letter from his saddle pack and bequeathed it to Princess Celestia.

Taking the letter up with a flare of magic, she rent the envelope with ease and retrieved the cargo there within. It was not a lengthy letter, but even so, she did not even finish the first line before folding it back up and handing it once more to the courier; a tired look of sadness crossed her face as she asked, “Did they say how?” With a neutral expression more akin to that of a statue, the guard pony responded in a low voice, “General organ failure, your highness; they attribute it to the sickness he was afflicted with.”

With a gloomy face of acceptance, Princess Luna leadenly asked, “In what manner did he pass?” Again, the guard showed no outward signs of emotion as he relayed, “It was whilst he slept – no suffering came upon him, I have been assured as much.” Both sisters lowered their heads in mourning, a veil of silence covering them as they honored the loss of a friend and family member. It was Celestia who broke the silence as she asked the most pertinent question, “Does Twilight know?” At this, the stony façade that the guard possessed was broken as his brow lowered and his eyes finally broke away from their gaze.

“Her highness, Twilight Sparkle, was present in the room at the moment of his passing and soon after disappeared… the detail of her guard has yet to locate her.” A look of subtle unease passed between the two siblings as they realized the implications. With an acknowledgement of thanks, the courier was sent away as Luna turned once again to her sister and whispered, “We worry for her state of mind – she does not handle loss with poise; she will be irrational.” With careful thought, Celestia countered, “While I have no doubt of that, I feel it best to let her be; we must all deal with loss in our own ways, and she is still very young… we must let her work her way through these dark times.”

“In the meantime,” she continued, “we have more pressing matters to attend to.” Trotting once more to the great table, the solar princess pointed to a map depicting the world as it was understood, towards a set of symbols that had been placed where there was naught but ocean. “It has come to our understanding that a string of incidents involving several trading convoys were not perpetrated by pirates as we had initially surmised.” With a grave tone, Luna asked, “You suspect this… ‘Gho'Zra’ is to blame for the disappearances of these ships?”

“While I’d rather wish it otherwise,” replied the prismatic princess, “it would be safer to assume as much – especially considering the latest report, which occurred here.” The dark haired Alicorn’s eyes widened as she beheld where her sister pointed, for it was only a thousand kilometers from the shores of Equestria proper. Even more disturbing was the pattern which formed when one placed a line through the string of wrecks. For if the line continued, it would lead straight for the very heart of the empire – Canterlot! With a voice that held a grim determination, Princess Celestia announced, “As you can very well understand, we have a great deal of preparation to attend to.”

… The seas were oddly calm as the sun set once more and the moon rose to prominence in the heavens. Beneath this glassy surface, however, a powerful storm was brewing. This storm languidly swam through the darkness of the deep, having just sated its hunger on a pod of whales that had been unfortunate enough to wander into its path. Down here in the crushing depths, amidst the freezing cold water, it could find a modicum of peace – the chilling touch of the abyss was a salve to the searing burn of its soul, and the weight that pressed all around it was a rare comfort to its broken form. Here, it could find some semblance of its old life – but no – that life had been destroyed; burnt away in an instant and replaced with this – this maddening existence. The ones who did this would pay, and the coming storm would spare not one soul in reparation for its own suffering. Judgment would come soon…

Author's Note

Well, here it is. I'm not going to lie, I have been rather busy as of late, and I will continue to be busy for some time. If I feel like it, I will continue working on the next chapter on and off in the coming months, but again, don't expect results.
As for the picture, I don't really recall making it, but I have been told by friends that I drew it while heavily intoxicated at the local bar nearly a week ago. I managed to work it into the chapter because I had already envisioned the use of a recovered film as a medium to move the story along quickly - nothing convinces people faster of the unimaginable than film, whether it be real or not.
On a final note - Yes, Shining Armor is dead. No there will not be anymore explanation than this. And yes, Godzilla will be featured prominently in the next chapter, as will some of your 'favorite ponies', as he destroys them in his single minded quest for vengeance.
Until then, Auf Wiedersen.

By Vengeful Hands

It was a cool early evening. The moon was new – a mere sliver of its waxed glory – and the stars still hid behind the final rays of the setting sun. But none of this registered to the guests staying on the cruise ship ‘Coral Queen’ – after all, the night had only just begun and there were fun times to be had. The muted din of swinging tunes and laughing voices could have been heard for miles across the surface of the calm sea, had anyone else been there to hear it. She was just making her return trip from tropical Dalmoria, and spirits were high as home loomed ever closer.

For Lyra Heartstring, it had been the greatest two weeks of her life. When her best friend Bonbon had presented her the tickets for her twenty-fifth birthday, she had been ecstatic – she had always wanted to visit Dalmoria as a little girl, and to finally achieve that dream was a sublime experience on her part. As she stepped out on the deck to catch so fresh air, she could not help but admire the splendorous spectacle of the setting sun casting itself against the glassy waters. It would be nice to be back home; she missed her friends and family.

She giggled to herself as she thought back on all the wonderful things that happened on her trip. The walks along the golden beaches, snorkeling off the coral sound, and finding a potential flame – a handsome teal stallion whom she’d met by chance while walking down a nature trail. The two had hit if off almost immediately, and she’d been elated to learn that he lived in Manehattan, not but a day’s train ride from her hometown! She could hardly wait to reunite with him – she couldn’t help but feel that he was the one meant for her.

She laughed again as she thought about how excited her best friend had been when she’d heard the news – Bonbon had practically planned out the wedding already. As if summoned by the thought, said yellow pony stepped outside and walked towards her Unicorn friend. With a mischievous smile, she asked Lyra, “Are you excited to be back home?” Leaning against the railing, the mint-green muse gave a genuine grin as she said, “If only you knew – I wish this boat would go faster.”

The two friends broke into a fit of giggling mirth before turning out towards the ocean and watching the last rays of the setting sun. Within seconds, night was enthroned above the sky – the stars finally coming out of hiding and frolicking amongst the heavens. Bonbon stared in awe as she whispered, “It’s beautiful.” As Lyra turned and regarded her closest friend, she thought back on all the great things they had done together from childhood to present. On a spur of whim, she wrapped her arm around her friend in a caring embrace.

As the sweet-maker hugged her back, Lyra expressed her gratitude, saying, “Thanks Bonbon, for everything – you’re the best friend a girl could ever have.” The blue haired filly’s face broke into a dazzling white smile as she chuckled and said, “No problem – and you’re pretty great too.” Again the two laughed together before settling into a companionable silence. Soon enough, more ponies had decided to take a break from the party, as friends and couples stood together and took in the ethereal beauty of the night.

Talking once more, Lyra gushed, “Oh, Bonbon, I can hardly hold it in – things are finally coming together for me!” With a contented sigh, Bonbon opened her mouth and began to reply, “I know how you feel – it just feels like things could only go –” She never got the chance to finish as a scalding white flash of light so intense as to blind any who saw it sprung up from the water, encompassing everyone onboard in a great burning agony that never even registered before it disappeared and the boat was in flames. The heat had been so intense that those who had been on deck were reduced to naught but ash. The boat continued onwards for a few short seconds before the engines gave out and exploded in a purple wave of magical fire.

As the ‘Coral Queen’ sank beneath the churning waves the culprit of her demise casually regarded its handiwork before once more continuing along its way. Sinking deeper into the abyss, the creature slightly readjusted its course and with a powerful sweep of its tail rocketed forth at a speed that should have been, by all accounts, physically impossible for a being of its size. Through nictitated eyes, it peered into the darkness that encircled it – unperturbed by the lack of visibility; it was perfectly at home in the turgid depths. Closing its eyes, it let the waters guide its way, the subtle changes of eddies and flows spoke to it on an instinctual level.

Once more, its mind began wandering. Much had changed in the span of its slumber. The seas were different from what it could remember – they were colder, and the creatures which inhabited them were so alien in form. The stars had changed too; their placement so unlike what it was used to. The lands had been radically transformed as well. The island it had awoken on had once been part of a single massive landmass, covered in marshy coasts and great coniferous forests. Even the air was strange to the creature – so much drier than what it had last recalled.

Another stark difference was the absence of the others. Upon its waking it had searched for them, called for them for days on end. They were gone, and had likely been for a very long while. The loneliness was crushing in the extreme – no longer would the great hunts of its youth be a reality, nor would the seasonal gatherings take place. It was alone, and this fact only fueled the flames that burned within its soul. The burden of its existence would be felt by all in due time – the parasites that afflicted this world would suffer its wrath and perhaps when they were all brought low, it might find peace.

Minutes turned to hours, which turned to days. As time went on, the creature’s ire only seemed to grow. With an increasing need to lash out at the world but with nothing at which to channel its destructive rage, the beast began teetering on the brink of blood crazed madness. But just as soon as it became all too much, the currents took a swift turn. There could be only one thing for which an ocean current would yield to, and with a renewed vigor, the monstrosity redoubled its speed as it headed for shore…

Silence reigned over the town of Teller’s Mill – the small coal mining community had just settled in for the night, with most of the town’s fifteen thousand inhabitants already fast asleep. Teller’s Mill was unusual in the sense of where it was located. When it had first been settled, it had primarily been a fishing village, located upon the tip of the Hippos peninsula of the Equestrian coast. As time went on, it was learned that the reason behind the peninsula’s iconic loamy black sand was a massive coal deposit that constituted much of its foundation.

This started a boom that continued to run even to this day, with a dozen rail lines and twice as many commercial ports springing up from the mining precinct – it was through them that untold quantities of coal was dispersed throughout the rest of the world. Needless to say, it had earned a reputation for being a ‘black-brick town’, where the soot of the industry permeated just about every facet of life. Yet this seldom deterred those who sought to make a living here, and in fact had contributed much to the natives’ character.

Being positioned upon a peninsula, Teller’s Mill had seen its fair share of disasters – hurricanes, floods, earthquakes, you name it and they’d had it. Yet the people of this town were nothing if not resilient, and after every tragedy they had managed to rebuild. Nature had thrown the worst it had to offer at them, and they had stood defiant every time. But on this night, nature would unleash her greatest agent, and in its wake there would be none left to rebuild once more.

With a great and terrible sound, the tranquility of the night was shattered as the sea burst open in a spray of foam and sand. With a purposeful grimace, the implementer of ruin took its first thundering step upon terra firma – the brittle earth giving way to its tremendous weight as it charged headlong into the hapless township! Within seconds the beast was upon its quarry, crushing homes and buildings beneath its monstrous feet as it waded towards the center of the town. Whole sections were wiped away with a broad sweep of its serpentine tail – great swaths of building material sent skyward, only to rain down at random, causing more destruction!

With a powerful swing of its muscular arm, the beast bowled over the smokestacks of a refinery before bringing its fists down upon the facility proper. With a bellowing roar of fury the creature challenged the world as it looked about the city. These things – these parasites – were feeble and pathetic; content to live their lives in a peaceful happiness that it would never again be able to experience. Just the notion of it was enough to fill it with a burning ball of hate that seemed to travel up its throat.

When that hate turned into a physical burning it could no longer withstand, the great leviathan heaved forward and, with a scream of anger and pain, unleashed a burning ball of incandescent fire. The fireball screamed through the air before detonating upon impact with a nearby warehouse. The resultant explosion was amplified by the nearly hundred thousand tons of coal held therein; the great shockwave flattening everything in a fifty block radius. In an instant, thousands of lives had been snuffed out.

The sky was filled with burning rocks that slowly rained down across the land, setting wood and tender to light and casting the air into a hazy black fog. A series of rumbling aftershocks rocked the countryside as a great swath of the underground coal seams were lit by the blast, igniting pockets of gas and dust which only added to the underground inferno. Soon enough, great rending vents opened up from the grounds, spewing jets of noxious fumes and pitch black smoke into the air.

In less than five minutes the entire town was a smoking ruin, brought low by the vengeful hands of a monster they never even knew existed. With a final look at its efforts, the beast quickly turned and began its trek further into land. It was guided forward by a sense not its own, but it would pay heed to it nonetheless. Storm clouds loomed in the distance, a modicum of cover offered up by its patron with the intent of concealing its advance – ironically, it would be these clouds that alerted the powers that be to its presence…

Franky Stratus didn’t really consider himself an important pony – he’d be the first to tell you that he wasn’t that bright, nor was he that strong. He certainly didn’t consider himself to be anything but an average Pegasus in every sense of the word. But if there was one thing he could claim to be decent at, it was his job of being the weather monitor of Pineburrow County. So it was no surprise that he took notice of the unscheduled storm that had developed over his precinct.

As he flew higher in order to get a better grasp of the storm’s layout, he was startled by how big it truly was, stretching from Coal County, through Pineburrow and all the way to Badwater County – a good two hundred kilometers! Stranger still was the shape it took. Instead of the amorphous blob he’d expected to see, Franky Stratus beheld a most unusual sight – the storm took on the shape of a great, fat crescent, pushing forward in a unified manner the likes of which he’d never seen.

Luminous flashes soon began to peel through the cloud cover – lightning storms of a terrible ferocity if he was to judge – and the distant boom of thunder could still clearly be heard even from such a distance as he was at. It was by chance that Stratus looked further into the distance, noticing the great pillars of black smoke that seemed to brace up the skies. Knowing his geography well enough led him to the conclusion that he was staring at where the town of Teller’s Mill ought to have been. But all he could see was smoke and an orange haze hovering above the land.

While he didn’t understand what was going on, he was prudent enough to know that whatever it was wasn’t the norm, and that he ought to alert the proper authorities. Just as he made to turn and fly off to Cloudsdale, he was halted by the most terrifying thing he’d ever seen in his life. There, on the ground, walking behind the wake of the super storm trundled a great and terrible creature. Resembling a dragon without wings and covered in grotesque spines, it stopped just long enough to let loose an ear-splitting scream that shook him to his very core.

With renewed haste, Franky Stratus flew faster than he’d ever thought he could – he needed to warn someone – anyone, about what he’d seen. Because if he was right, then whatever that thing was, was headed on a direct collision course with Appleoosa! The seven minutes it took him to reach Cloudsdale were the longest seven minutes he’d ever experienced, and as he flew into the head office of the weather bureau he drew more than a few confused stares at how alarmed he acted.

Barging in on his boss was seldom a good idea – Sky Streamer was not a patient man by any measure. But when Franky Stratus, one of the more dependable of his employees, came barging in stuttering about freak storms, missing cities and giant monsters, he was more than willing to hear him out. And while he himself found it rather hard to believe, he did think that the presence of an unscheduled, unregulated and unconventional storm front was enough to warrant calling in to Canterlot.

Three minutes into said call, Sky Streamers face took on a pale quality as he handed the phone to Stratus, saying, “Princess Celestia, herself, is on the other end; she’d like to ask you a few questions.” Taking the phone from his boss, Frank hesitantly spoke into the receiver, “Hello?” The voice that spoke to him on the other end was undoubtedly that of the solar monarch as she began, “Hello, my little pony, I understand that you’ve come across a rather severe storm system, correct?” Fumbling for the right words and failing, he answered, “Um, yes your majesty.”

With an inquisitive tone, his ruler asked, “Your employer mentioned that you said something about witnessing what you described as a ‘giant wingless dragon’ advancing behind it – is this true?” Again, he answered, “Uh, yeah – only I don’t think it was a dragon… I mean, it sort of looked like one, but it was all wrong, I guess.” For a handful of seconds there was no sound on the other end. Just as he was about to ask if something was wrong, she finally said, “Thank you for this information, my little pony – you’ve done us a great service.” And with that, the other line was hung up.

Handing the phone back to his boss, Franky Stratus lowered his brow in confusion. Giving him a look, Sky Streamer asked, “Any idea what she wanted?” All Frank could do was shrug his shoulders… Meanwhile, in Canterlot, the ball had begun to roll. Celestia had informed her inner cabinet of the situation and already they had begun implementing their plans into effect. With any luck, they might just be able to stop this beast before it wrought anymore havoc…

Braeburn Apple stared in confusion at the oncoming clouds. The town of Appleoosa had not been scheduled for rain, as far as he was aware, and certainly not in the form of such a fierce and foreboding cell. Laying aside the post-hole digger he had been utilizing, the frontier farmer half-hazardly dusted himself off before trotting towards the local weather station. Along the way, he couldn’t help but notice how swiftly the wind had picked up in the last few minutes, with all sorts of thistle and dust being kicked up in its wake.

Stepping into the old wooden lodge, Braeburn was greeted by the friendly face of the town’s local weather-pony, Docket Ledger (or ‘Doc’ for short), who was currently sitting at his desk, drinking his early morning coffee. With a congenial smile, the old horse asked, “Morning, Braeburn, how’s life been treatin’ you so far?” With a small smile of his own, the young sod-buster replied, “If it were any better, I’d have to take something for it.” With a chuckle, the older of the two then asked, “What can I do for you?”

With a look of mild concern, Braeburn began, “Actually, Doc, I was wondering whether or not we had a thunderstorm scheduled for today.” Raising a confused brow, Docket Ledger opened up a desk drawer and began perusing through its contents before pulling out a folder marked ‘Weather’. Breaking it open, the old weather watcher quickly sifted through the various timetables and charts before happening upon the weekly planner. Scanning over the review, he finally answered, “No – it doesn’t say anything about a thunderstorm in here; why do you ask?”

Nervously rubbing his foreleg, the apple farmer replied, “Well, I’m asking ‘cause there’s a real big one coming out of the south, and by the looks of it, it’s heading this way.” With a puzzled frown, Doc replaced the manila folder and slowly rose from his chair, before heading towards the door. As the two of them stepped outside, they were both assaulted by a powerful gale of wind that nearly carried them both away. Hollering over the wind, Docket Ledger declared, “Lord above – I ain’t ne’er seen a storm so fierce in all my life!”

Holding fast to his hat, Braeburn shouted, “What do we do, Doc?” Making a snap decision, the older pony yelled back, “Get to the town square and fire up the storm-siren!” With a nod, the young workhorse ran as fast as his legs could carry him towards the center of town. Doc considered this as he watched Braeburn’s flight – while the alarm protocol itself wasn’t a new procedure, the recent implementation of the magic-powered, quartz lined air sirens had yet to be tested; there was no guarantee that the alarms would actually work.

His thoughts were cut short by the chilling wail of the siren starting up. Apparently, his young friend had had no trouble in turning it on. All throughout the town the sonorous scream of the air turbines spilled forth, noticeable by all those who were out in the streets and in the fields – even those who were hard of hearing could clearly distinguish it. With a proud smile, Braeburn Apple swiftly returned to Doc as he exclaimed, “I got the sirens to work, Doc, now what do we d—”

The air seemed to tear asunder, literally shaking as a noise like boiling lighting striking liquid metal blasted through the peeling rain, overpowering even the screaming sirens! With a start, both ponies literally fell upon their hind-quarters at the force of such an ungodly sound, with Braeburn screaming, “What in the world was that!?” Quickly rising to their feet the two of them tried desperately to peer through the downpour, but with little luck of ever being able to see anything through such a deluge, they quickly gave up as Doc said, “I don’t know, but this storm is getting worse, so we ought to get inside, quick.”

As they turned back towards the weather lodge, they were beholden to a strange sight as, of all things, a tree the size of a whale came crashing down from the sky, completely demolishing the building, and taking a few other structures with it before it finally came to rest! All around them, more of the same followed – trees and boulders, somehow picked up in the storm were now falling with the rain, wreaking havoc and sewing devastation as they fell upon the town! It was such an awesome spectacle that Docket Ledger had completely missed sight of a enormous boulder falling towards him.

The only warning he got came in the form of Braeburn shouting, “Doc, look out!” before the young farmer physically tackled him out of the way. Finally broken from his stupor, the weather pony quickly suggested heading towards the town hall, which had been used on prior occasions as a communal storm shelter of sorts. Unanimously agreeing on this course of action, the two made a mad dash for the county seat building, narrowly missing an old oak tree and the occasional wagon-sized rock before they finally made it inside the relative safety of the shelter.

Quickly taking account of the dozen or so families that had also decided to take safely to the courthouse, Braeburn trotted up to the family of a close friend, looking amongst them before asking, “Where’s your pa?” Before one of the children could answer, the ground gave an almighty heave, throwing many to the floor. Quickly gathering a few of the children around him, the farmer tried to distract them with a few jokes and reassuring words, but just as quickly, there came another tremor, strong enough to knock the dust from the rafters and dislodge several paintings and fixtures from the walls.

All at once, the noise outside ceased – rays of early morning light played through the windows as the clouds passed by. The wind had died down, too, as the storm sirens could now be clearly heard outside. Perhaps, thought Braeburn, the worst had come and passed – the storm was doubtlessly over! As he slowly rose to console the others, he was caught off guard a final time as the entire building shook beneath a great and terrible trembling of the earth, a sound like nothing he could describe being the last thing he heard as the roof collapsed down upon them, and then he knew no more…

Silence reigned as the dust settled – all around it there was little that could remain discernible of the town proper. With a rumbling growl of satisfaction, the lumbering titan turned once more to the north, picking up momentum with each powerful stride. Soon enough, it was barreling across the desert plains, the last vestiges of the enshrouding storm dissipating with the scorching winds that scoured the landscape. Time passed quickly through its senses – thoughts of retribution burning through its mind – had it not been for the unmistakable smell of ionized air, it could have very well missed what lay before it.

As it stood, the beast slowed to a halt as it slowly scanned its surroundings. When nothing rose to challenge it in any shape or form it slowly started once more to move onwards. That is, until it was literally brought to a stop by colliding with solid air. Snarling in displeased surprise, the colossus frantically tried to identify the anomaly that impeded its progress – there was nothing to suggest the surrounding atmosphere was any different from usual; no sights or sounds to give measure to it – only the acrid scent of burning ozone gave any indication of sorts.

Carefully it began to move again, an outstretched claw bracing in front of it as it inched its way forward. When it once more came into contact with a solid wall that was not visibly there, the anger that had been set aside by its caution flared up tenfold – whatever this thing was it was meant to halt its progress. Rearing back in contempt and outrage, the beast let loose an affronted roar as it drew its arm back, its claws clenched in righteous anger. With all of its godlike strength, the scion of doom propelled its fist forward faster than one would conceive as possible for a being so large.

A resounding crack filled the air as its massive fist made contact with the unseen barrier. All across the open expanse a spider’s web of hairline fractures grew – expanding further and further across the immaterial nothingness until, with a sound like breaking ice, the entire construct gave way in a flash of ethereal pink mist. The satisfaction it felt by breaking through was thoroughly shattered by an unnatural upsurge of rocky spires – their twisting forms seemingly hewn from the earth itself. Instinctively the beast tried to go around the obstructions, but to its utter consternation the stony pillars seemed to follow it – blocking its path at every turn.

With a snort, the titan of terror quickly decided that enough was enough. Coiling its great and sinuous legs the beast lunged forward, barreling into and through the outcropping stones – tearing them asunder and breaking the land beneath in a spectacular fashion. Swiftly lifting itself from the rubble strewn ground, the monster turned back and noticed with outrage how the remaining spires seemed to retreat once more into the earth. In its mind it knew that these were not natural occurrences – someone or something was undoubtedly trying to hinder its movements. This only further incensed the creature; stoking the embers of burning fury to greater levels…

The inner halls of Canterlot Castle were in an uproar of activity as various and sundered ponies ran to and fro amidst its halls and chambers. Within a particular part of the castle, in a room lined with every magically imbued stone imaginable, Princess Celestia sat upon a dais – her figure covered in foam as she struggled to retain her grasp upon consciousness. At her side stood her sister, a look of worried exhaustion upon her face as she beheld her sister’s plight. “Sister,” she began, “please – you must rest.” With a final gasp of discomfort, the solar princess’s form visibly sagged – her eyes were sunken and weary, her mane matted and clinging to her back.

Taking a deep and shuddering breath, Celestia exclaimed, “It is so much that I even attempt constrain this beast, and yet it brushes my efforts aside with contemptible ease; truly its power is frightening!” With a gentle hoof, the princess of moonlight eased her sister down from the pedestal whilst asking, “Were you successful enough in delaying the creature – do we have time to enact our countermeasures?” Greedily imbibing from an offered trough of water, the elder sovereign wiped her mouth before offering up, “I believe so; it is hard to know – this Gho’Zra is nothing if not determined.”

What she’d felt of the creature as it collided with her magic had truly frightened her, to say the least. She could physically feel the weight of eons behind its every movement, and the power she felt it exude was so alien to her – a magic of the earth so ancient that it could no longer be called magic; this was eldritch in its design – of the old gods and the old ways, before her father’s father, and his father before him. It was clear to her, now more than ever, that they were dealing with something beyond their understanding. This Gho’Zra was a paragon of something beyond wanton destruction – it was as akin to the right hand of God, an arbiter of a will outside itself.

Finally composing herself, Celestial turned to her sister and asked, “Has the defense force been situated?” Nodding in grim determination, the midnight monarch affirmed, “Yes, they await for your orders to proceed with the plan you have enacted.” Taking a final drink from the trough, the radiant ruler once more assumed her position atop the dais as she announced, “Then let us begin, shall we?” With a mere thought, her consciousness was carried across the winds as she assumed control over elements that were not hers to direct.

With her sister’s mind literally elsewhere, Princess Luna took the time to once more observe the chamber. The room had been built nearly a thousand years ago, with the intention of stopping the evil of her former incarnation should it have ever arisen from its banishment to the moon. Constructed in a strange, isometric octogram – the walls were covered in a dazzling array of precious and semi-precious stones that gave off a thrumming glow, casting unnatural shadows across the floor as the magic flowed freely amidst the ephemeral air.

It had purposefully been constructed on a fae nexus; the focal point of nigh on a dozen lay lines as they converged upon a single point – the dais upon which her sister stood. With so much of the earth’s natural magic in once spot, it was possible to control the physical realms of nature with immaterial thought, something that had been integral to the empire’s well-being these past centuries. With such power, the throne had prevented such calamities as earthquakes and floods, directed rivers and streams to much needed agricultural districts, and in the case of now, provide for the defense of the nation.

Finally turning away from it all, the nocturnal alicorn directed her attention to the task at hand. With but a quick thought, she displaced herself from the chamber and upon opening her eyes found herself to be amidst the streets of Cloudsdale, whereupon she was greeted by the sight of a host of pegasi nervously standing at attention – their polished armor glaring under the light of the noonday sun. A grizzled old Pegasus wearing a cap and gold tasseled saddlepack approached the princess and with a rasping voice announced, “Your highness, so kind of you to grace us with your presence… I take it that the plan is about to commence?”

Addressing the old war bird, she replied, “You would be correct, Colonel Streicher[1] – my sister is even now mustering the ground forces for the operation.” Turning towards the regaled force of soldiers, she observed, “These men look nervous.” With a scoff, the grey haired colonel said, “Three weeks ago there was no such thing as the Equestrian Defense Force; would you not also be nervous about your first deployment with only three weeks of training under your belt?” Carefully regarding the old pegasi, she neutrally asked, “Would it not be prudent to perhaps offer them some reassuring words?”

An amused chuckle escaped the colonel’s lips as he replied, “I’ve already spoken with them your majesty – but I did not offer them false assurances; there’s a good chance that many of them will die.” At this the princess involuntarily flinched; she had no desire to send her subjects into battle, but necessity dictated it to be so. Quickly distracting herself, she intoned, “Very well then, please instruct the weather corp to begin operation firelight – in the meantime, I will be at the helm of the strato-nexus[2].” With a quick salute and a nod of confirmation, the two went their separate ways…

The air was filled with the dust of the plains as another obstacle arose to contest the monster’s path, this time in the form of an immense monolith of shimmering gypsum. However, instead of the usual shenanigans of obstructing its path or attempting to trip the creature, this earthy prism took the beast by surprise as a sudden offshoot of rock extended into a massive right hook, clocking the behemoth right across the jaw. Physically staggered, the lumbering titan had little time to counter as another column extended from its parent, taking purchase into its gut. As it toppled over, its savage mind came to task as it tapped into the ancient instincts of its ancestors.

With an unnatural display of swiftness the creature pivoted on its back, spinning into a pirouette as it brought its muscular tail into a breakneck collision with the base of the crystal pillar. With a sound like falling timbers and grating sand, the mighty petroglyph was brought low. Quickly righting itself, the monstrosity prudently brought its enormous foot down upon what remained of the offending rock, reducing it into a fine powder of shards and dust before it finally determined it was safe enough to continue. Turning to the north once again, it was brought to pause by the surprising spectacle before it.

There, on a ridge not more than a kilometer ahead, stood a hundred and more of the pastel colored parasites that had done so much to incite the beast’s ire. While they fell into all shapes and sizes, they all were similar in the brassy kataphractoi they wore; the midday sun glancing off them, giving them the appearance of celestial beings. But nature’s scion was not mislead by such things – it had already killed hundreds if not thousands of these things, and while they may have borne armor, they were still but insignificant dust motes in comparison to its magnificent form.

Bellowing out a primordial challenge to its adversaries, the avatar of vengeance strode forth in its power – the thundering drumbeat of its footsteps seemed to resonate with the very heart of the earth as it kicked up a maelstrom of dust and sand. The red haze had already begun to overtake its senses as it closed the distance; the pain of its existence transformed into its exterior hatred of these things. Had it been in a rational state of thought, it might have wondered why these pests did not outright flee before its wake.

Regardless, what it did wonder was how the ground beneath had suddenly disappeared as it plummeted into a great sinkhole a mere two dozen meters from its quarry. For all of their physical disadvantages, the ponies had one thing in great abundance, and that was intellect. Undoubtedly this trap had been implemented hours prior to the beast’s arrival. This fact was only reinforced as a detachment of unicorns tapped into their stores of inner magic and summoned great bouts of magma from beneath the pit, transforming the ditch into a lake of fire and consuming the abomination in an ironic purgation of its own.

With a bout of cheering, the assembled ponies rejoiced at the beast’s doubtless destruction. Beneath the surface of the lake, however, the titan felt only a minor annoyance at the scalding lava that bathed its form; the physical burn was nothing compared to the cataclysm that had turned it into the hideous nightmare of its current body, and indeed the pain only seemed to decrease as the corroding anguish of its soul drowned it in a flood of all-encompassing rage. The audacity of these insects was infuriating! They thought to conquer it with but a little fire? It would have laughed were it physically capable of it.

Instead, it chose to disavow these vermin of any notions that they had of victory by rupturing forth from the turbulent lake of magmata, screaming its defiance in an ear shattering roar that physically knocked those of lesser stature to the ground! With a hefty pull it gracelessly heaved itself out of the molten pitfall and with even less grace did it lash out with open claw at the nearest of the ponies, utterly crushing it and those who had surrounded it in it gargantuan grasp. All around it the ponies scattered, intent on putting as much distance between it and them as possible.

Yet even this, it seemed, had been a ploy of these crafty parasites. For as it quickly gave chase to the largest of the fleeing groups, it found itself once more in another trap; this one of a more cunning design – all at once its motions were halted as a plethora of gnarled black roots sprung up from the ground, wrapping its feet in their vicelike grip and immobilizing the beast completely. As it struggled to wrench its legs free, a further set of anchors sprang up to entangle it in their smothering embrace. All around it all manner of root and vine, flora and foliage fell upon it – covering it from head to toe in a constrictive cocoon.

The more the creature struggled, the tighter the grip of its prison became. When at last the gangrel amalgam ceased twitching, one of the ponies on the ground turned towards one of its fellows (a Pegasus of very slight build) and demanded, “Inform Princess Luna that the target has been contained, and that we await further orders!” With a nod the courier was off, swift as lighting and with the wind at his back. Swinging his head over his shoulder, the senior officer bellowed further orders to a group of Unicorns, saying “Engineering, raise the barricades!”

With much concentration, the magicians imbued all of their skill to which they plied their craft and with a monumental effort constructed a prismatic pyramid of redoubtable sorceries, entrapping the monster within further redundancies. A further five layers were reinforced upon it so that none might escape its hold. Finally, with their work finished, the group of Unicorns collapsed, passed out in their efforts and rendered unconscious through their exertions. As the medics attended to them, the remaining equines gathered around the prison and marveled at how their planned worked so fluidly - with Princess Celestia’s aid they had ensnared the monster with ease!

Silence was something that the creature had often taken solace in; within the dark confines of the oceans it had found relative peace in the soundlessness of its depths. But this silence that it felt now was nothing like that – this was a crushing, oppressive silence that would drive lesser beings to madness and stifled even thought. The roots that dug into its flesh were likewise in manner – confining its motions and inhibiting its breathing. Already a heady sensation had taken up residency within its mind; the lack of oxygen only growing more pronounced as the seconds passed by.

But with impending darkness of the mind came a sudden upsurge of something savage and primeval in its nature – an instinctual need to fight, to survive! This was instinct, and it was powerful in its own right – for the ancient saurian quickly found within its blood the drive to struggle once more, to not give up and die. No, it needed to live and it would live! Letting go of its conscious efforts, the creature gave in to its body as something beyond its faculties possessed it. Like a madman it writhed and twisted about, gurgling and growling through a mouth clamped shut and ignoring the pain of the vines that cut through its grotesque hide.

While it’s would-be captors watched in nervous anticipation, hoping against hope that the bindings might hold, inside the prismatic prison something began to stir within its accursed blood – something outside the realm of nature and yet wholly of itself. All took note of how the air within the pyramidal keep began to shimmer and warp as it vaporized. All that which was contained therein began to boil; the sand, the soil, the rocks and weeds – even the vines began to deteriorate in rapid order. As the incarcerated ground began to char and blacken and the sand turned to glass, a dull hum began to bleed outwards.

A flash of searing white (so bright that it instantly destroyed the retinas of those poor souls unfortunate enough to have stared directly into it) engulfed everything within the confines of the conjured cell. Could those who beheld it have seen past the light, they would have been astonished by the pulsing of negative energies that poured out of its monstrous form; appearing as great spears of radioactive bloom. As such they could not have known and with this pulse the roots and vines were rendered to ash and smoke.

The cry of triumph that peeled from its maw went unheard by all. With the fading of the flash it was quickly realized that the menace was free of its restraints. Yet when it attempted to lunge at them, the ponies were relieved to see its efforts fail as it collided with the shimmering wall of its magic cage. A dozen more failed attempts of breaking out and their worries were put completely to rest. As if suddenly realizing the futility of its actions, they observed as it suddenly went from ravenous to calm; an eerie stillness that sent a shiver down the spines of those less sturdy in their makeup.

As it narrowed its eyes and leisurely set its gaze this way and that, a few of the more astute ponies among them had a terrifying notion that this slavering beast was analyzing them – they could see a terrible intelligence in those eyes, one that could measure up to any of theirs. Still, most thought that the animal had simply given up. They were wrong beyond all comprehension. With a blink of realization, the creature slowly cast its eyes to the ground. Pulling back its lips and baring a double palisade of wicked teeth, the arbitrator of doom raised a ponderous leg before bringing its enormous foot down with the force of an avalanche.

The earth shook and quivered under such strain, knocking several ponies to their knees. Again and again it did this, kicking at the ground and swiping its powerful tail in a storm of motion. Very quickly the prism in which it was contained was filled with a cloud of swirling dust so thick that no eye could possibly penetrate it. The tremors soon began to fade, and finally disappeared altogether. It would take some time for the detritus to settle, but by the time that they took notice of the monster’s conspicuous lack of presence or the gaping hole in the ground it was too late.

Again the ground quaked – rocks and pebbles bounced from their beds as the sand shifted beneath the ponies’ feet. The floodgates broke with a terrifying rumble, for where they stood was no more; replaced by a wedged head of charcoaled skin, wicked scars and giant teeth. This monstrosity, to their horror, had dug its way through solid earth and breached from it as if it were not but water – pulling itself clear and free with no sign of fatigue or wear! What was worse – it decided at that moment to reveal yet another trick it possessed, hunching forward and letting loose a pained scream of smoldering heat it vomited forth a great ball of plasma wreathed in flames!

The fireball screamed through the air before detonating over the pack of Unicorns who had imprisoned it in their magics, incinerating them in an instant and killing dozens more in the implosion – those closer to the epicenter dying to horrific flash burns that broiled the flesh from their bones, the less fortunate were mangled by the kinetic forces at work in the explosive outburst. Never letting up, the giant turned upon those too stupefied to run and ground them into dust with a majestic swipe of its serpentine tail. Those with the pragmatism to flee were not so safe either, as the titan proved with another display of otherworldly power.

Wrenching open its gullet, the behemoth spewed its hate and aggression - a fluctuating beam of sky-blue might that cut across the landscape with but a simple twist of the head and reduced all it touched to a pile of ash and cinders. All around, the physical makeup of the land which was struck shattered and released a slew of minor explosions that only added to the catastrophe! While pony kind had never experienced true war in centuries, there could be no other description for this scene that unfolded other than ‘war zone’; the ground pockmarked with craters and billowing pillars of smoking flame, great heaps of molten slag and crackling embers wherever there was fuel to burn – an umbra of windswept dust and residue casting an ocher haze against the sky.

And it was this hellish scene that met the eyes of the midnight sovereign, Luna, as she directed the great cloud fortress over this battlefield. Turning sharply to the messenger, she demanded, “I thought you said that the monster had been contained!” Shrinking back, the poor Pegasus meekly responded, “It was when I delivered the news, my lady – I swear!” With a worried frown, the princess quickly made a decision. “Very well then,” she said, “if this is to be how fate plays its game, then we shall invest headlong into her clutches!”

Surveying the field around it, the great leviathan felt satisfied that its enemies had been thoroughly broken. Heading once more towards the north, it failed to notice the mighty cloud ship that stormed headlong into the fray. It was not until an immense shadow overtook it that it paused to glance upwards. With a growl it attempted to come to terms with what it was looking at. By all measures it looked like a mere cloud formation, but the way it retained its shape and heading spoke differently.

Whatever this thing was, it was of no consequence to the beast. That is, until a lancing beam of sunset light shot forth from its cumulus form. The orange ray struck its shoulder, piercing completely through it in a spray of bright crimson blood and purple ichor! With a shriek, it toppled over, clutching its wound in an attempt to halt the fountain of red that pulsed forth with every heartbeat. Its pain was only intensified by a new sensation that spread throughout its arm; its body, it seemed, possessed more powers than even it was aware of. For as it looked to its shredded arm, it was shocked to see the wound rapidly diminishing – bones mending, muscles stitching and flesh closing, all in a span of a few seconds!

Needless to say, both parties were astonished by this turn of events, but it proved only a minor matter before the cloud-bound citadel redoubled its efforts, letting loose a full salvo of destruction upon the titan’s position. Within the control nexus of the cloud ship, Princess Luna was greatly disturbed by this new turn of events. The cyanide crystal emitters were some of the most powerful and destructive implements of the Equestrian empire – used for well on a decade for such things as industrial grade mining, land clearance and metal craft; their transition from tool to weapon had been a rather straightforward affair.

But to see it inflict such a mortal wound upon the creature, only for it to near instantly shrug it off as its body repaired itself had been nothing if not disheartening. She had quickly ordered a full barrage upon the abomination in the hopes of reducing it to shreds, but it seemed that no matter how many blows were landed, nothing seemed to bring the thing down. What was more, the cyanide crystals were prone to overheating and fracturing, and already her techno-sorcerers were informing her that crystal batteries D through G had been compromised; if they continued at this rate, the entire grid would overheat!

Calling a ceasefire, the nighttime noble ordered that the refractor spells be activated. Looking down upon their target, she could clearly see that it was indeed worse for wear, but that it was already rapidly healing. Noticing that the sharp puncturing pains had ceased, the creature raised itself from its hunkered position and looked warily at this new enemy. No doubt, it was under the employ of the vermin who sought to challenge its existence. When the dull throbbing burn of mending skin finally dissipated, it took a single bold step forward and called out a bellow of defiance before belching forth its own reprisal.

To its consternation, the great column of radioactive fire merely crashed against an unseen wall, breaking the river of power into so many little streams that danced away in so many directions. As if that were not enough, the cloud began to disgorge hundreds of winged parasites; their quadrupedal forms covered in some sort of shining metal that only made them that much harder to make out in the noonday sun. They swiftly broke up into smaller flocks before heading right towards it, as if to confront the great beast directly!

To the credit of the pegasi, they were nothing if not brave – knowing full and well that they were at great risk of death. But most of them were also aware of what might happen should this thing be allowed to reach the interior of the homeland; how it would undoubtedly destroy their homes and kill their loved ones with but a casual ease and nonchalance that brought their blood to boil. So it was that they flew into the jaws of death with the intention of bringing death to heel. And they were readily equipped for the occasion.

Every single one of them, without fail, was equipped with a very special object – a magically imbued micro cloud with a polished ruby at its core. Long used to dissipate stubborn weather formations, the cloud bomb was at least a few hundred years old. What made these ones so different from their predecessors were the firestone rubies that lay at their heart; each and every one of which contained the solar output of a miniaturized star (courtesy of Princess Celestia.) Capable of leveling hills and demolishing rock, they were a terrifying weapon.

So it was that the first squadron to make a pass at the target was quick to let loose their payload before pulling sharply up to avoid any sort of counter attack. The effects were immediate. A dozen shocks of radiant ripples riddled the repugnant hide of the beast as it stumbled and lurched at the intensity of such tiny darts! Whole swaths of flesh were incinerated and blood was reduced to a mist of red steam! The effects were horrifying to behold. Yet it seemed that this was not enough to deter this king of death, as its body once more began its rapid repair process.

Soon another sortie made the plunge, arms at the ready as they drove towards their mark. Again, the bombs connected, and again they mutilated every part of the monster they struck. As the third wave made to dive, the creature had had enough. Opening its jaws with a crackling hiss, spines glowing and breath steaming, it spat a wide ray of plasmatic death that engulfed a hundred or more of its assailants. It seemed, however, that a great deal of internal damage had taken place, for a torrent of blackened spume soon replaced the nova; the beast taking great hacking gasps of air before coughing flecks of cauterized flesh and scorched blood.

Sensing a moment of weakness, the entire detachment of pegasi took their chance and dove headlong into the foe; throwing everything they had in a final gamble to end the menace here and now. The resultant slew of micro explosions was enough to rupture the internal organs of those few unfortunate enough to be caught in the fallout radius, and even a few others were knocked from the sky under the wave of negative pressure. Yet none of that seemed to matter as they watched in awe as the scarified form of the monster was rendered broken before their eyes.

With a pitiful groan, the beast collapsed upon itself, rivers of blood and gore seeped from its wounds as its organs struggled to function and its body attempted to reconstruct itself. With a shuddering breath, a wisp of blue mist poured from its mouth, carried away by the wind. It would seem that the creature was upon death’s door. While many of the pegasi who had struck such an overwhelming blow celebrated in its demise, up in the cloud ship, Luna observed the shattered animal with wary eyes.

She had seen many things in her long life – many strange and wonderful oddities. She had also seen many terrible calamities and what they ultimately resulted in. But she had never seen something so primal as the look in this creature’s eyes – a look of unremittent determination, an undying will to live. Anything that would cling this stubbornly to life was never ever to be underestimated. She was just about to order a final sweep by the remaining crystal emitters when her fears were realized.

All around them the sky darkened. The sun concealed behind an impassible wall of angry black clouds. A growling peel of thunder grew into a bone shaking quake of unimaginable proportions. A single potent flash of lighting and the skies erupted – a solid curtain of pelting rain manifesting, striking the ground with a fury that washed away all but the most damning signs of battle. As the earth melted into a quagmire of mud and blood a great arc of electricity snaked its way through the ether, striking one of the great spines that jutted forth from its mangled body.

Soon another bolt of lightning followed suit, crashing down upon the beaten beast – wiring channels of current weaving across its body and betwixt its spines; an otherworldly blue that only highlighted the alien form of the monster. Then another, and another – soon the entire sky was filled with hundreds upon hundreds of thunderbolts, red and yellow, purest white, blue and purple; a dazzling array of neon flashes and sparks pouring into the monster’s frame!

Yes, it seemed that there was indeed some greater force behind it all – something Luna had held a sneaking suspicion of from the beginning. But as she looked on in horrified fascination, she began to understand just to what extent that force was! All at once the lightning storm ceased, and the pounding rain began to peter out until it was a mere shadow of its former self. All around the signs of the storm's passing were evident, yet the dark clouds and booming thunderclaps remained. It wasn’t until some unnamed soldier noted how the ground around the monstrosity was completely dry that something tantamount to fear began to smother the air.

Something else was being carried upon the air, but it was altogether of a more physical nature. It started out subtle enough with a few raindrops never hitting the ground. But as the seconds passed it became more overt – the air temperature raising steadily, the ground becoming parched and cracked. By the time the mud began boiling and the rain evaporated into an ever expanding bubble of scalding steam, it was too late to react. All at once, for kilometers around, the air became a crematorium, the heat so great that most if not all those pegasi who had been exposed to it were dead before they hit the ground – cook alive by the very element they held such love for.

The stench of searing flesh and smoking feathers was unavoidable, and many on board the aerial fortress were instantly made sick to their stomachs. At the helm of the nexus, Princess Luna visibly cried at such a senseless waste of life. Beneath it all, in the shallow pit where it had been felled, something began to stir. Like a war drum, its struggling heart began to once more beat with primal fury. Its massive lungs, no longer fighting for air, began to expand in great volume.

With rapidity beyond the realm of physical belief the great and sundered wounds that riddled its body began to shore up; the blood that had caked its skin began to dissipate, vaporizing into a brown mist that filled the air with the taste of rust and a feeling of nausea. At last, its great red eyes opened – they held a bloodlust so beyond what it had displayed in prior days that one might reason that this was no longer the same creature it had once been. They would be right to think such things.

Nature is nothing, if not cunning in its design. Seeing her favored son in such dire straits, she had felt it necessary to intervene on his behalf. And so it was that she blessed her greatest child with the touch of her essence; no longer would she merely assist him, she was now forever a part of him! As Gho’Zra finally arose into his own, the physical transformation of his ascension was finalized. Where once were spines of dead white, there were now great cragged sculptures of mauve that looked as if they had been painted by the hand of God himself! A sleeker form was gifted to him as well, as he stood with such terrible grace, covered in jagged scales and plated scutes; a sheen of dull green reflecting off of their black surface.

As Gho’Zra arose from his ashes, he took his first breath before howling towards the heaven in direct challenge to all! With a snarl he quickly turned upon the only cloud in the sky that was not of a dark nature, opening its powerful jaws to let loose a molten red beam of hate! The scorching missile collided with the cloud, and for a few seconds, the reflector spells held. But under such a sustained stream of unbridled energy, not even these could last. With a flicker the spells collapsed, the Unicorns who had been maintaining them fell dead to the ground, the strain against both their body and mind too much to take as they succumbed to apoplexy.

With the realization that they were, for all intents and purposes, dead men standing, Luna gathered all of her will about her before ordering that all emitter batteries be coaxed into overdrive in a final effort to snuff out the blight that afflicted their land. As if sensing her sisters intentions so many hundreds of kilometers away, Princess Celestia summoned a monumental amount of focus in an attempt to interdict against the creature one last time. As the orange glow of charging crystals intensified, the surrounding earth and mud began to stir again.

Rising and coalescing, the earthen stuff moved as one to entrap Gho’Zra’s body, wrapping around its legs, hardening like steel in the blink of an eye, and still it piled on. Realizing that her sister was giving her the chance at a perfect shot, Luna exclaimed, “All batteries focus fire upon its chest – strike at the heart!” Time seemed to slow for all who were witness. As one, all ten crystal batteries blared like an evening sunset. As it were, the beast itself had taken to charging its own assault, its back radiating a burning fire of its own as it opened its mouth in defiance; the singing sword of plasma released was of such magnitude that the land physically shook under its discharge!

And as the exchange of flashing rays veered towards their targets, Luna wondered at it all; wondered at such destruction and death, such pain and hate, how life often seemed so short. But most of all, she wondered at what death might be like. With a peace beyond understanding, she closed her eyes. These were her last thoughts as the vermillion wave of death collided against the helm, engulfing her and the rest of the crew in an obliterating inferno that disintegrated the magic bonds that held the cloud structure together, dispelling them into nothingness as the sky burned around it.

For its part, the great wave of orange death that collided against Gho’Zra’s body was on a whole other degree of destruction, yet for all of its power, there was something greater still, and that was the ravenous hunger belonging to the avatar of nature. For with this new body came a new hunger for energy, unlike any it had previously known; and as its body was torn to shreds the cells of its flesh consumed the exploding power, cannibalizing it in a vicious, painful cycle that, though only lasting for a few seconds, felt like an eternity of pain as its body physically reconstituted itself.

Exhausted and in a pain that even surpassed the day of its rebirth, Gho’Zra was not prepared for what followed. For in her rage and grief at the death of her sister, Princess Celestia – now the sole ruler of the empire – summoned all of her might into a final attempt on this vile thing’s wretched existence. All around and at once, a sea of rocky spires and Obsidian Mountains erupted into a swirling vortex with the monster at its epicenter. Like crashing waves upon the ocean, the ground crashed against the beast, tearing at it in a mad frenzy of retribution!

With a final surge of power, Celestia summoned a towering spear of pure black glass from the depths of the earth. The structure lanced upwards, piercing through its victims belly and erupting from its back in a shower of gristle and spuming blood. With a shocked gasp, Gho’Zra could do little but feebly grasp at the stone spit that it was now skewered upon. As its body attempted to deal with the sudden intrusion, it used every ounce of strength it possessed to snap the obsidian tower at its base. Falling over in agonized relief, the tenacious terror began the slow and excruciating process of removing it. The following hours would indeed be an unimaginable hell…

Within the inner chambers of Canterlot Castle, Celestia dragged her grieving body across the stone floor, her mind reeling from both her tragic loss and the over extension of her powers. Today had been a terrible loss for the kingdom, and this was only the beginning! She had no delusions of having killed Gho’Zra – she had witnessed enough to know that it was nigh unstoppable. Emptying her stomach upon the floor, she began to weep bitterly and openly. When her personal guard checked upon her, they were met with the pitiful sight of her haggard body curled upon itself in a puddle of her own sickness, weeping hysterically and murmuring the name of her sister over and over…

[1] A rarity in Equestria, Colonel Streicher represents a strange breed of pony who has actively pursued knowledge of warfare. While most ponies are content to live in peace, some, like the Colonel, have been born with a desire for action and conflict in their blood. Equestria has no official military; no standing army, and while there are a few schools that teach offensive magic, there are no centers within its borders that teach the craft of warfare. As such, those ponies who wish to learn it will often look outside the borders of the Empire, particularly to the Western nation of the Cats - Vorosh, and to the South, where the tumultuous confederacy of the Griffons offers the chance to actually experience combat. Occasionally, these foreign taught ponies will return to Equestria, where they often offer their services as mercenaries and security experts. Should the unthinkable happen, and the nation of Equestria be threatened by an outside power, it is expected that these men and women will be called upon for their first-hand knowledge and experience in a subject that most Ponies only know of in an abstract sense.

[2] Originally used as a cloud cruiser, the Strato-nexus has been converted into an airship armed with rudimentary weapons systems and powered by potent magiques. Capable of carrying hundreds of pegasi, the Strato-nexus would have acted as both a ground assault platform as well as a carrier of sorts, from which specially trained defense fighters would have taken off from in order to attack or distract targets. The design was quite revolutionary, and while it was a massive step towards Equestrian military technology, extenuating circumstances insured that she would be destroyed upon her maiden voyage during operation firelight, later to be remembered as 'The Battle of the Sovereign's Fall'.

Author's Note

I dedicate this double length chapter to the release of the new movie 'Godzilla', on this day, May 16, 2014 in the year of our Lord. The ten year wait is at last over, and I was not disappointed. It was everything I ever dreamed of and more. If you have not seen this movie yet, then I implore you to go out and experience it!

I went all out for this momentous occasion, working round the clock to make an extra special chapter dedicated almost entirely to the Big G himself. And for you true fans out there, you'll know instantly where his new appearance is drawn from. Also, if your jimmies have been rustled by the amount of 'favorite ponies' wasted in this chapter, tough. Go read something else if it's not to your liking. As for the cloudship concept, I know it's not very original, but if it's any consolation, I planned on writing it in from the beginning.
*The Cloudship itself is actually a magically construed fortress wherein are housed a set of Cyanide crystal emitter batteries, re-purposed from civilian use to military applications. My reasoning is that since everything is so happy-sunshine in the land of magical pastel colored horses, they literally had only a few weeks to scrounge up some sort of defense force from scratch; hence the rather ad-hoc nature of their equipment.
As always, comments (while greatly appreciated) are not necessary for the further creation of chapters. So you aren't obligated to even acknowledge what I've done here.
Until next time.

Righteous Fury

From the shadows K’Umetk observed the mournful procession with a casual interest. The candlelight ceremony commemorating the lives and deaths of Princess Luna, Prince Shining Armor and Princess Cadance was as he had expected – grand beyond imagining. Hundreds of thousands of ponies stood outside the castle, each of them holding a lit candle, the flickering of flames in numbers untold was so very reminiscent of the stars that lined the night sky above. A somber parade of adjuncts, dignitaries and elites filed their way along the cobbled path leading to the castle gates, a black garbed Celestia at its head.

In its wake were held aloft the portraits of the three deceased royals, framed in gold wreathes and roses. While silence was the norm, many of those in observance openly cried, with no small number of them expressing flabbergasted looks of disbelief, as if their perceptions of reality had been altered. With his one remaining eye he took note of a special group of ponies who flanked the princess as they walked along the mournful path.

With what little he could find out, he vaguely understood that these six equines were held in high regard amongst their kind; something about a gifted power or whatnot. To him, they looked no different from any other pony, but, as he was not a pony himself, he felt it impossible for him to fully understand such things. Looking around him once again, he still tried to understand the mentality of these people. From what he understood it to be, the number of their kind lost to Gho'Zra's wrath could be tallied in their thousands, yet they mourned for just these three.

Naturally, they were very important figures to their empire – but to hold such a lavish ceremony for so few did not set well with him. His own people held different views of death. The dead were to be honored, yes, but never to such opulent extremes. Furthermore, all those who died were honored with equal regard – to hold such a great vigil for only three seemed so very wrong to him. Perhaps it was to do with the way ponies viewed death.

Where he had come from, death was often a fact of life – many youths died to famine, war and disease before their twentieth summer; something that these ponies were not accustomed to, if he were to judge by what he saw. They doubtlessly thought that death was something that happened at the end of one’s life; when their bodies had become so old and feeble as to finally give out. His thoughts were momentarily interrupted when the princess turned to speak with all those present.

He ignored all she said. He had heard it a hundred times before. His home island was no stranger to death, and he had lost many a loved one and listened to many a eulogy before. Instead he turned to leave, casually noting how Ghur’Tcha watched the whole thing in a detached manner. Speaking with a hushed tone in their native language, he spoke his mind to the youth. “These ponies are soft in spirit – they don’t understand hardship and so they seek culpability through words instead of actions.”

Slowly turning to his elder friend, Ghur’Tcha meekly replied, “They honor their dead much as we do our own, K’Umetk, to criticize them is pointless.” Gruffly muttering, the old captain countered, “They honor the deaths of their nobility, yet none spare words for the countless others who died while fighting for their people; this is not right.” With a rare flash of emotion, the young sailor hissed, “They are not like us, Captain – what do you expect of a people who do not know hardship as we do; do you think you are better than them because of it?” Lowering his head in shame, K’Umetk conceded to the boy’s words.

“You are right, of course,” he began, “I am no better than they are, and perhaps I am of a worse sort; I have become cynical in my age.” His young friend looked out across the sea of ponies, and K’Umetk was certain that the discussion was over – Ghur’Tcha was obviously not in the mood to talk with him. So it was to his surprise that the young Chameleon did indeed speak, saying “I admire them.” At K’Umetk’s look of disbelief, he elaborated further. “Our people are so divisive and quarrelsome, yet these ponies stand in unity despite such calamity befalling them – they hold a respect towards one another I have never seen before.”

While the old sailor mulled over the youth’s words, Ghur’Tcha focused his sights upon a particular pony; Her Alicorn features making her easy to distinguish from the others. As her violet eyes surveyed the great multitude around her, they momentarily locked with his – a nod of mutual respect passing between them. When he had first met Princess Twilight Sparkle some three weeks prior, he had come across a sad, desolate shell of a pony – a girl mourning the death of her brother, yet unable to confide with anyone in her sorrow. She had immediately struck a chord with him; he himself still grieved over the loss of his own brother, Xa’Tchee, taken from him by the same beast that stole her sibling away no less.

Over the following days the two of them had developed a unique relationship – a strange sort of friendship, one that crossed the barriers of species and race and took strength from their shared tragedy. While they remained respectfully distant towards each other, the camaraderie they had was strong enough for them to eventually open up to one another. What followed were many a night of deep and meaningful conversations over such varied topics as life, death, dreams… and fate. Fate was a driving element in much of what they saw, and it naturally bled into their conversations.

All had gone much the same in the following weeks, that is, until the disaster of the Equestrian Empire’s first military action against Gho’Zra that took place two days prior. With the death of yet another person of great importance to her, Twilight lapsed back into the pitiful state he had first met her in. What was worse, she seemed intent to hold herself up within the confines of the great oaken tree that was her home in the nearby town of Ponyville – never leaving nor letting others in (himself included). It had only been at the personal behest of her monarch that she even set foot outside.

Now she stood at the right hand of her mentor and ruler, a look of empty grief marring her gentle face and a slight hunch giving voice to her exhausted state. Her sunken eyes were proof enough that she had been foregoing sleep. For what, he did not know, but as soon as he had the chance he intended to confront her about it. He needed to help her in some way – she had done so much to help him move on and he intended to return that favor in any way possible. As the eulogy drew to a close Ghur’Tcha was surprised by Celestia’s final words – “- And I swear upon my life that there will be retribution; I will seek neither rest nor respite until this terrible threat to our very existence is stopped.”

And with that, the ceremony came to a close – no clapping, no fanfare, not even an ‘Amen’; the Princess and her retinue carried on towards the castle whilst the surrounding citizens slowly made their way towards wherever their homes may be. Amidst this wave of equine flesh Ghur’Cha frantically searched, intent to finally confront his newfound friend over her sudden standoffish behavior. From the corner of his eye he spotted her distinctive violet hue and with reptilian reflexes swiftly made his way towards her.

For her part, Princess Twilight Sparkle was only slightly surprised when her Chameleon friend appeared from seemingly nowhere, grasping her arm with his bizarre zygodactyl fingers and pulling her aside. With a hushed whisper, he announced, “Please, I understand very much why you are being this way – I have felt this way greatly for some time; to be ignoring it is impossible – it will not work.” Looking her in the eye, he raspingly hissed “Speak; use words and talk with me – with anyone – holding this within, this is wrong.”

With weary, red-rimmed eyes, the young Alicorn gave a soul shuddering sigh before retracting her limb from his reptilian grip. Sniffling slightly to clear her head, she croaked out, “Everything is falling apart.” Even as tears began to pool beneath her eyes, she could not cry; she had already done too much of that these past few days. With a gaze that spoke of deep empathy and understanding, Ghur’Cha replied, “Yes, yes they are – but to mourn while tragedy still looms is pointlessly selfish.”

Eyes widening at such caustic words of truth, she barely contained a shuddering sob before turning away from him, saying, “I know… but that’s not why I’ve been so distant lately... I’ve been working on something.” This piqued the Chameleon’s interest as he voiced his intrigue. “Working on something?” He asked, “Working on what?” A dark look passed over Twilight’s face as she waged an internal battle with herself. Her anxious grimace of consternation soon dissipated as she finally made up her mind. Turning once more to him, she answered, “Let me show you.”

… With a final grunt of pained exertion the towering behemoth extracted the last dozen meters of obsidian from its torso, the rivers of blood slowly receded as the gaping crater in its trunk rapidly closed up – the pain of reknitting flesh and bone was all but ignored in favor of the relief it felt at no longer having a pillar of glass constricting its breathing. Tossing the offending rock aside, Gho’Zra raised his eyes towards the horizon. The night was closing fast – the stars on the horizon were quickly fading; the newly liberated moon all but a distant sliver of waning light.

Things had drastically changed, of this it was certain; the natural equilibrium was still broken, but already things began to feel as they once had – the moon no longer hovered over the earth, content to finally return to the greater tapestry of the night sky. The air, too, was calmer – like a great weight had been lifted from it. Flaring its nostrils with a heavy whiff, the leviathan could smell the saltine breeze of the sea; the memory of a hundred thousand generations before him traveled through his blood and rejoiced at the return to what once was in ages past.

But the land was still sick – he could smell the rot of decaying earth; the weight of misuse and abuse was great. The perversity the beast had felt when the land was physically coerced into attacking him was sickening in the extreme – he had heard the way in which it had cried out in pain and misery. It had felt as if an extension of himself had been violated, and it was something which he sorely wished to never experience again. Again the image of a city of dressed stone and crafted wood passed unbidden before his mind’s eye; the sickness came from there, wherever there was.

With a heated snort, Gho’Zra rose up in newfound determination. The smoldering embers of anger were given new life beneath a billowing gale of righteousness that stoked the burning coals of his soul into a blazing furnace of vindictive rage once more! A rumbling tremolo of simmering fury clawed forth from his throat. Unable to contain himself any longer the mighty avatar of wrath let loose a spine-tingling howl that echoed across the plains and reverberated against the craggy peaks of distant mountains.

To the north and east, that was where the strands of destiny tugged him. And to the north and east was where he went – the rolling thunder and crashing waves of his unrelenting advance were carried upon the wind, caught up within a swirling dust cloud that cast an amber haze against the backdrop of the early morning horizon. The mounting speed and inertia of its gargantuan form as it raced across the badlands was a terrifying sight to behold – nothing so large should conceivably move so swift! It was a testament to its otherworldly strength.

… Early rays of sunlight poured into the paneled windows of the great oak tree. The trilling song of a mockingbird pierced the calm morning air as the citizens of Ponyville began to wake from fitful slumber; a new day (in every sense of the term) had dawned. The solid mahogany door of the library was pushed aside - the creaking moan of its old, wrought-iron hinges the only sound to be heard amongst the dust covered shelves. Quietly crossing the threshold, Princess Twilight Sparkle beckoned Ghur’Tcha to follow her as she purposefully made her way across the lacquered floor.

Casting a wary gaze about the great arboreal atrium, the young Chameleon hobbled uneasily upon his mangled leg as he slowly followed her lead. With mechanical motions, the young Alicorn made her way along until finally stopping at another door, this one made of Peltogyne purpleheart – its chocolate exterior of rich violet a testament to its age. With a momentary look of hesitance, Twilight inclined her head before speaking. “What lies beyond this door must stay a secret between both you and I,” she murmured before sharply turning on him, asking, “Do I have your word on this?”

Focusing his eyes upon hers, he stood rigid as his skin took on a slated tone of lapis before clasping his neck in the tradition of his ancestors as he spoke, saying “I swear to you by my father’s blood as it runs through me, I shall hold all you show me in trust.” The princess continued to stare at him for another minute before nodding to herself. Pushing the postern open with little fanfare, Twilight Sparkle descended down the steps and into the darkness below. Pausing only long enough to wonder at such secrecy, Ghur’Tcha quickly followed likewise.

The stairway was only a short affair, but in such complete darkness it felt much longer. As the last step passed beneath his feet the Chameleon was momentarily blinded by the blaring light of a dozen halogen rods activating at once, their dull, throbbing hum sending a chill down his spine. As his eyes finally adjusted, he gasped at what he saw. All around him there stood rows upon rows of strange and menacing contraptions – scientific instruments strewn across every conceivable surface, the walls covered in all manner of schematics and charts.

Twilight stood at the center of the room, a look of guilt cast upon her face as she surveyed her basement’s surroundings. She could still hear her brother’s words – still remember the promise he’d made her swear upon. But she had just as quickly gone and broken her vow, so sure of her skill in the arts of science and magic - so sure that she could save him - that she’d immediately set to work searching for a cure to his sickness. The night she'd stood witness to Shining Armor’s passing had been like a slap to the face; the cold realization that not only had she gone behind her brother’s back, she had failed to save him despite her monumental efforts.

That night she had wrecked the laboratory in a fit of heartbroken rage. But it seemed that providence was with her, because it was on that night that she had made her breakthrough. With a great inhale of breath, she looked to her friend as he stared in awe at everything around them. Gaining his attention, she began, “You know of my brother; how he was sick and dying from an incurable sickness brought on by the monster?” With a nod of confirmation from the reptile, she took the liberty of continuing her dialogue.

“All of what you see before you is a result of my efforts towards saving him.” No words were needed to convey Ghur’Tcha’s realization – he knew well enough that her efforts had obviously failed. Regardless, she continued, “When he… when he died… I flew into a rage; I came back here and destroyed near everything I could get a hold of.” Running a hoof across the surface of an electrode tube, she stared off into nothingness as she explained further, “It was there that I made my discovery.” Turning to a pallet at the edge of her alchemic cove (a desk covered in all manner of compounds and formulas, an array of various sized mortars and pestles inlaid into its form), the violet Alicorn scooped up a bowl of silvery spheres.

Taking a dozen or so tentative steps across the cement floor, she came to rest at the edge of a great aquarium tank filled with all manner and sorts of fish. Ghur’Tcha watched on in rapt attention as Twilight took a single pellet of the mysterious substance and dropped the mercurial marble into the salty water, where upon it settled into the gravel lined bottom with a silent plink. With hurried strides the princess backed away from the glass, stopping beside the young reptile as they both watched on. A look of morbid reservation had fallen upon her countenance.

As the seconds passed, the scene that unfolded before them brought a mixture of fascination and revulsion. Leaning forward, Ghur’Tcha watched with captivation as the metallic sphere seemingly frothed and effervesced within itself before breaking cleanly asunder in a spectacle of lathering foam and quicksilver bubbles. With a start the Chameleon scrabbled backwards as the water began to fiercely churn, its consistency like that of rolling surf.

But what startled him most were the fish – seconds before they had been content to swim around their container with little thought towards anything else. Yet as the water turned white in aeration they began to violently thrash in place, trembling under a paroxysm of agonizing pain! And just as soon as their convulsions began they ceased, replaced with the overt stillness of death. With bated breath Ghur’Tcha watched on, his eyes held wide in terror as he beheld the true horror of Twilight’s work; the stasis of expiry was shattered. As one the piscine cadavers began to degrade into a liquesced slime of biological matter; their forms like melting wax.

In the blink of an eye the sloughing gruel of amorphous flesh disintegrated into a black mist, leaving behind a graveyard of stark white bones. Yet even those remnants found no peace, as they too began to quickly evaporate into nothingness. By the time it was over, all that remained thereof was a roiling tank of viscous grey liquid – not a single shred of proof remained that this tank had once been full of pristine water and schools of colorful fish. When the water finally calmed down enough to be heard over, Ghur’Tcha shivered and asked, “What foul sorcery was that?”

With a hollow voice, Twilight answered, “Ether Splitter… I call it the Ether Splitter.” Turning away from the spectacle, she shambled slowly to a nearby counter as she explained. “On that night, I discovered a substance capable of breaking the magical bonds of the air that we breathe – a single drop, when brought to liquid, would doubtlessly be capable of wiping out entire cities…” Rounding upon her friend, she looked him in the eye before continuing, “When I finally understood what it was that I had discovered, I couldn’t eat… I couldn’t sleep… It terrified me beyond imagining – what good could come from it?”

Crossing the room as she spoke, she stopped at a picture of her family hanging on the wall. Reaching out with a shaky hoof, she gently caressed the image of a happier time in her life as she went on saying, “I was determined to bury my discovery into oblivion – content to never think of it again.” Lowering her head and retracting her arm, she could not stop the tears that leaked forth as she said, “But then another person I cared for was taken from me by that thing – that monster.” A flash of anger beneath her eyes was all that showed through her impassive face as she stared once more at Ghur’Tcha.

“I realized then that life was too short, too unpredictable – the only thing one can insure in their life is the legacy they leave.” Straightening herself into a more professional posture, she explained, “So I came back to my chance discovery, intent to take it to the furthest it could go; what I had discovered was a weapon, but I’m certain that given enough time the Ether Splitter could be developed into a tool for good – a constructive element capable of bettering the lives of others… That is why I have been so distant.”

The two remained in silence for many a minute as they both took in the severity of it all. No words were exchanged as they ascended the stairs and made to exit the laboratory. It was only after the great portage had been shut that Twilight spoke – “Ghur’Tcha, I’ve never shown this to anyone – you are the only other person who knows of my work.” Grasping his shoulders with both hooves she pleaded, “Promise me, Ghur’Tcha – promise me that you will keep this a secret; the outside world isn’t ready for this – not yet, not in its current form.”

With a grave nod the young Chameleon took hold of her arms and squeezed them in reassurance, before backing off and turning away. He would keep it a secret; what he had witnessed was nothing short of apocalyptic in its revelatory scope – he felt ill at the thought of such destructive capabilities. As he slowly limped towards the train depot, he wondered if the world would ever be ready for such a device; Twilight's optimism seemed ill placed for such a terrible creation. As he rode the train to Canterlot, he stared off at the horizon – the dark storm clouds that loomed in the distant a mirror image of this new burden upon his soul...

Author's Note

Hah, finally. Sorry for the delay. I've just got back from a month long 'business trip' in Hawaii; CNS sent me as a liaison to represent P9 Studios - the new Korean branch CEO wanted to work towards streamlining the overseas animation transfer process (we're going digital on that, finally!)
Anyways, I'm extremely proud of this chapter; Dr. Daisuke Serizawa has always been my favorite protagonist element to rise from the Godzilla franchise - his character is of the long standing German tradition of the tortured scientist who has lost control of his work and ultimately his life. While this story greatly differs from the original movie's script, I am extremely happy with the aquarium scene! I am told by my wife that I actually hand wrote that entire scene on a bar napkin whilst intoxicated at a bar and grill on the island of Kuai'i.
Finally, I am proud of how I portrayed my own pet projects, the Chameleons. They do not stand out as particularly impressive, nor do they appear to be one dimensional in scope - they come off as living beings trying to make sense of a world gone wrong. If this sounds braggish, understand that I'm slightly intoxicated right now, so I feel that I can toot my own horn, so to speak, and not feel to guilty about coming off as egotistical.
Anyways, I'm going to go lay down for a bit, the flight back was arduous, and I'm feeling heavy with whiskey.
Until the next chapter, ja?
Auf Wiedersehn.

Burning Hate

The day had only just started, and already the newly minted Minister of War, Sable Strategos, was developing an intense headache. Across from him sat a rather imposing individual, and the source of his current migraine, a Cat by the name of Felix Von Verminstrauser. Verminstrauser was a representative envoy sent to represent Kaiser Steuernhetzer , current emperor of Vorosh – a land to the far northwest of Equestria, and one that had only recently come into its own through a brutal string of unification wars.

While the official stance of the Equestrian kingdom had been one of neutrality with regard to Vorosh, it was no secret that the diarchy had sent all manner of aid and supplies to rival powers during the conflict; Both Celestia and Luna had held an extreme dislike towards the militant Cats and their ideals of peace through force of arms. Likewise, the Cats of Vorosh had always viewed the Ponies of Equestria as decadent, weak-willed and hypocritical – crying out against the war whilst surreptitiously supplying their enemies and profiting from the carnage.

When the Vorosh flatlands had been unified under the feline banner some seventy-five years prior, the entire geopolitical spectrum had been radically changed – Equestria was no longer the sole power on the continent, and the fragile web of alliances and counter-alliances had all but collapsed. War had almost been a certainty had it not been for the hard work and dedication of the Equestrian Diplomatic Corp, which managed to cobble together a tenuous peace agreement between the various nations of the continent.

Over the decades, the Empire of Vorosh expanded south and west, annexing vast tracts of land and the natural resources that they held. None thought much of it until the great Diamond Dog incursion of fifty-two years ago, when a vast fleet of marauding ships sailed across the Western Sea and made landfall in the Corbal peninsula. The next five years were witnessed to a series of raids and outright wars between the Dogs and those poor unfortunate peoples they set their sights upon.

However, in the fifth year of the incursion, the Diamond Dogs (who had settled in enough to form their own kingdom) made the mistake of raiding a small, nameless milling village within the southernmost borders of the feline Empire. The reaction had been swift and, for those watching from Equestria, frightening. From the north there came a massive army of furry soldiers – armed with a terrible assortment of new and terrifying weapons; rifles and cannons, coal powered wagons and ironclad ships. Worst of all had been the alchemical bombs and mortars they’d employed against their foes.

Within a few months the Diamond Dog kingdom had been dismantled, the Dogs themselves sent fleeing either back to the sea or deeper into the land (where they still caused all sorts of problems, even to this day). However, to the greater world watching, what really came out of the incursion was the rise of a potential threat. While the Cats did in fact repatriate those peoples displaced by the Diamond Dogs, it had only been under the condition that those peoples would remain under Voroshi protection and influence.

For the next fifty years, interaction between the two empires had been cordial, if not a little strained – while the Cats seemed to have a great deal of mastery over the physical realm, the Ponies of Equestria had something that was of equal counter – magic. So it was that neither side dared to instigate anything other than peaceful relations, a fear of mutually assured destruction ever looming above their collective heads. That was not to say that the two sides got along, heaven forbid – all manner of international incident and political warfare had come into play over the years, and the enmity ran deep.

So why then, would he be talking to a man representing Equestria’s rival? Strangely enough, it was at the request of the Kaiser of Vorosh that this meeting was to take place. It seemed that Kaiser Patzschwelt Steuernhetzer (who had only just come into power some six years prior at the death of his father) had the foresight to understand that, should Equestria fall to this great menace, his kingdom would be next. What’s more, having been educated at the Royal University of Canterlot at a young age, the Kaiser was much more amicable towards Ponies than his predecessors had been.

But even so, Sable Strategos felt no better about the current situation he was in, as Verminstrauser pressed once more, “Understand, the Kaiser has so very graciously offered up the services of over four thousand soldiers to aid you in your time of need; all he asks in return is that you withdraw aid and personnel from the Pindrall valley.” Again, the old Earth Pony could not help but scoff at such an open handed play – it was obvious why the Kaiser wanted Equestria to pull out of that valley. Vorosh had held machinations over the realm of the Porcupines for quite some time, and they no doubt intended to annex it for its rare Tungsten deposits.

With a sigh, Strategos countered, “While I am certain that her highness Princess Celestia would no doubt be humbly delighted to receive such a magnanimous offer from his lordship the Kaiser, I am not in any position to enforce such a withdrawal of people and resources; Equestria had invested a great deal of effort in helping the local people of Pindrall valley after that dreadful rabies epidemic.” If the scowl upon the Cat’s face were any indicator, then these talks were getting dangerously close to falling through.

Putting on his most diplomatic face, the old Pony offered up, “You and I both understand why we are doing this, and had these been more favorable circumstances I would dare say that the Princess herself would have gladly given you such concessions,” A bold faced lie, they both new, but it was all par for the course as he continued, “however, things as they now stand are far from favorable, and time is of extreme import; perhaps there could be some other arrangement that we might agree upon, hm?”

It would seem that his species’ natural inquisitiveness got the best of him as, with a twinkle of curiosity in his eyes, Felix asked, “You have something in mind?” That was all the Minister of War needed as he showed his hand, starting things off with both barrels by saying, “Give me access to seven thousand rifles, a full artillery unit and four Stormwagon squadrons, and I can give you the mineral rights to the black shoals and twelve-thousand square kilometers within the Fields of Plazz.”

Eyes widening in shock, the Cat looked to the floor as he thought it over. While the rifles and guns were not an issue, to give so many battlewagons was out of the question; those war machines were what gave the Feline military its edge over their enemies – to just give so many of them to the Empire’s greatest rival was tantamount to treachery! No, to give them even one Stormwagon was to allow them the opportunity to reverse engineer it. However, he could not overlook the proverbial carrot that the crafty old mule had just offered him.

The Black Shoals were a major point of contention between the two powers – while the ponies held undisputed rights to the land going back centuries; his government had always desired that strip of beach for its potent oil deposits hidden just under the surface of the waves – its seepage lending the region its name. Even greater was the offer of so many acres upon the mineralogical cornucopia that was the Fields of Plazz; a vast and arid wasteland that held within its bosom vast quantities of natural wealth – oil and coal, Iron and Copper, Bismuth, Tin and Aluminum, great veins of silver, gold, salt and Molybdenum!

While it was not the Tungsten he had been sent out to barter for, he would be a fool indeed to let such a monumental offer pass him by like this – truly these ponies were desperate! With his mind made up, Verminstrauser made his counter offer; “I can give you the cannons, and I’m willing to give you five thousand rifles, but of the battlewagons I must decline – we do not feel it is right to give away so many, no matter what the offer.” Sable Strategos’ minute frown did not go unnoticed by the astute feline – in fact it was expected; this game of back and forth was a delicate matter – concede too quickly and you appear weak, haggle too long and you appear desperate.

With a heated glare, the Equestrian Minister of War understood where the Cat was leading him, and to back away now was to admit weakness. However, to follow the current path meant that, should Equestria somehow come out of this ordeal intact, she would ultimately owe some of her survival to the weapons provided by the Kaiser of Vorosh – a powerful dose of political leverage that would undoubtedly be brought to bear in the none too distant future. Realizing that the lesser evil of the moment was the only correct course of action to be had, Strategos offered up the inevitable alternative.

“Perhaps then, it would be more to your interest to provide the Stormwagons along with the necessary personnel to crew and operate them?” The toothy grin that sprawled across Felix von Verminstrauser’s face offered no relief to the old horse - in fact, Sable Strategos would have loved nothing more than to wipe that smug grin off the cat’s face. However, he could see where the cards fell in this game, and he could only hope to tolerate it a little longer.

With velveteen smoothness the representative from Vorosh played along in mock tones, “Yes, I think that would be more than suitable, in fact, I think that this will work out quite well.” With a flourish of his furry paws, representative Verminstrauser proffered a piece of parchment and a quill as he asked, “Shall we finalize the deal then?” Swallowing his pride, Strategos took the offered pen and the two began to draft the agreement into writing…

Rainbow Dash was ecstatic. If she felt any better about her life up to this point she would undoubtedly have to have taken something for it. Last week she was surprised to learn that she was being promoted. Four days ago she was given a slot to try out for the Wonderbolts Academy of Aerobatics. This morning her best friend’s brother finally worked up the nerve to ask her out to dinner. She had but a few hours left to prepare herself for this evening’s date – for her, plenty of time.

Again she wondered if it was right to feel so happy in the wake of such a looming tragedy as the one that had befallen Equestria – Princess Luna’s death was still fresh in the minds of the people, and to put it to the back of her mind almost felt wrong. Almost being the key word there – she had been chasing this particular moment for some time, and there was nothing, come hell or high water, that could possibly bring her down from the euphoria of finally catching her dream. With an uncharacteristic giggle the multi-hued Pegasus headed for the washroom; a shower was just what she needed to start things off with…

With an ominous boom the leviathan’s foot came down – its force was such that the earth beneath it was split with fissures. Why had it stopped? Something wasn’t right. The air here smelled of ozone and rain, yet the land was dry – it could feel the magnetism of sorcerous energies pulling from the sky. Looking up, it was intrigued to find neither open sky nor shining sun – it could see nothing beyond the solid wall of pure white clouds that stretched for kilometers on end. Was this a storm front, perhaps? No; while the smell of rain was rife, this ocean of cumulus was visibly calm, its flat planes hardly moving.

In fact, the entire super-cell appeared as if it were not moving at all – an unnatural sight given the strong prevailing winds of the day. An unusual phenomenon indeed, but it clearly warranted nothing but a passing curiosity from the beast as it prepared to journey onward once more. The behemoth would have never given it a second thought had it not spotted something from the corner of its eye; a small flitting object racing across the underside of the cloudy expanse.

With mechanical precision the creature zeroed in on the moving object, its hawk-like eyes bringing it to focus. What it saw made its blood boil. There were well on a dozen or more of them, flying in a chevron formation; winged parasites. The image of a thousand miniature suns destroying its flesh in a never ending stream of agony was still fresh in the creature’s mind – it had been perpetrated by these very same sky bound vermin not two days prior. With flaring nostrils the monstrous titan gave a rumbling growl which shook the very air before roaring in defiant rage at the interlopers.

As one, the formation of winged quadrupeds broke apart, scattering in every conceivable direction before, in unison, they rocketed upwards and through the clouds themselves. So, they sought to use these clouds as a refuge from him, did they? No doubt, there were more of them just beyond its vision – perhaps the entire formation was crawling with them, a teeming swarm of parasites living upon it like some massive host unaware of the plague it carried upon its back. This would soon no longer be an issue…

With her shower finished, Rainbow Dash had taken the liberty of stepping out on her front balcony where she could dry off under the warm radiance of the sun. By her estimates, she had roughly another hour and a half before she needed to head over to Sweet Apple Acres – enough time to relax and enjoy the afternoon skies. Her moment of peace and quiet was interrupted, however, by the most bone shuddering peel of thunder she had ever heard or felt. Opening her eyes, she frantically looked every which way – looking for the rogue thunderhead that had no doubt wandered into the city limits of Cloudsdale.

With no sign of storm clouds, she felt content to let the issue go – after all, why worry about something that wasn’t going to bother her? Just as she once again closed her eyes, however, she was shocked into alertness by the most ungodly sound she had ever heard in her entire life! “What the hell was that?” she exclaimed to no one in particular. Taking a few cautious steps to the edge of her balcony, she wondered at such a dreadful noise; unlike anything she could possibly describe.

Looking out across Cloudsdale’s unending expanse of fluffy white cumulus, she failed to see anything amiss. Still, she couldn’t suppress the notion of impending danger that seemed to creep up her spine. As it were, she was nearly blinded by the streaming geyser of vermillion light as it broke through the center of town; the orange haze that it cast as it dissolved a half-dozen skyscrapers bringing to her mind visions of hell. A screaming cloud of shimmering steam hissed into existence, casting an ephemeral curtain across the city streets.

Both rigid skyscrapers and solid faced apartment blocks began to sag under their own weight as the magic laced bonds of reinforced cloud matter melted away. Watching them droop and twist every which way reminded her of a surrealist painting before they finally gave way and collapsed into a pile of cottony amalgam. The heap of cumulus then quickly dissipated into thin air, leaving neither hint nor trace of its existence. Where once had been a bustling metropolitan city district was now naught but a languidly widening hole of empty nothingness. The whole thing seemed so far removed from reality.

Her sense of detachment was shattered just as suddenly by the blaring of sirens and the screams of a hundred thousand people. While she had no real idea what was going on, she was quick to realize that she wanted to be as far away from it as she could get. Running back into her abode she was swift to pack everything she couldn’t live without; a picture of her parents, her birth certificate, her flier’s license and, of course, her pet turtle. Packing it all away into a saddlebag took less than a minute – it felt like ten. With a final sweep of her home she was relieved to find nothing else of value being left behind.

Taking her first step out of the door, Dash was confronted with all manner of sights and sounds; people fleeing in terror, crying out for loved ones or for fear in general – all of it overshadowed by the disaster alarms going off across the city. Deciding to fly upwards, her eyes were once more assaulted by another shaft of pulsating light – this one tearing through a nearby suburb. With a sound akin to crunching snow the entire city visibly shook, great rents were already forming throughout the superstructure and it was only a matter of time before the entire thing fell to pieces!

With an urgency so unlike her usual demeanor, Rainbow Dash made for the edge of the city. To her surprise and horror, she saw the distant mountain peaks begin to rise – Cloudsdale was rapidly descending from the sky, the magic which kept it together and aloft was crumbling apart. Another shining spear of radiant energy lanced across the industrial district, setting to flame the many volatile chemicals and gasses that were produced there. The resultant fireball doubtlessly incinerated thousands, and the shockwave was strong enough to knock the prismatic Pegasus off course and into a spin.

Dizzy and disoriented, Dash only just managed to pull herself out of the death spiral; in time to see the entire residential quarter she had live in go up in a wisp of willowing steam as an explosive blast of volatile power tore through it. The scalding wave of expanding water vapor caught her full faced; the pain was so intense that she seized up in excruciation, falling into a lead-weight dive that would surely mean her death. As she careened towards the city pavement, she could only think of how much she regretted not doing in her life.

Closing her eyes to her inevitable doom, she failed to notice the fact that she physically passed through the amorphous cloud-crete as it lost all cohesiveness under the heat. After several seconds and no body-breaking collision, she peaked past her eyelids and was amazed to see open sky over an equally open landscape. She could also clearly see the mountainous reptile that was responsible for the destruction of her home-city – its glistening scales of black emeralds and scarlet spines like sculpted flames were as magnificent as they were terrifying. Already it was turning away from its handiwork and making its way north, towards Canterlot.

But it wasn’t Canterlot that she thought of as she watched this towering theropod’s advance. Rather, it was the small town that lay between here and there, and more importantly the person who lived there. With no other thought, Rainbow Dash armed herself with determination as she made for a plan of action. With the pain finally leaving her body, she was free to pull up her wings and glide upon the rising thermals. And that was exactly what she did. But when she noticed just how difficult it was to actually stay aloft, she was quick to look back over her shoulder. What she saw made her physically ill.

The pinions of her wings were little more than singed quills, their blackened tips still smoking. The down along her upper right shoulder was also charred away, leaving bared flesh that ran with oozing blisters. The secondaries of her left wing were mangled and rent, as was her scapular; how she had not felt such an egregious wound was beyond her reckoning, but she was smart enough to know that she would need to avoid flapping her wings as much as possible to avoid any further damage. She was also alarmed at the amount of blood leaking from her hindquarters; she would need to do something about that later.

Right now though, she needed to outpace this beast and get to Ponyville first – while the citizens needed to be warned, she would shamelessly admit that none of them mattered to her at this moment save one, and it was for him that she truly pushed herself further to save from the coming destruction. With foaming sweat already stinging her cuts and burns, she grit her teeth and exclaimed, “Hang on, Mac, I’m coming!”

Author's Note

Well, here's the next chapter. It took a while, and I have no excuse for it other than Team Fortress 2's new Conga Line Update!!!
Also, I've been playing some Civilization V, Rise of Nations, and Warhammer 40K Dawn of War II: Retribution. Also, Dawn of War's multiplayer just got reinstated, so I've been purging xenos and heretical scum nonstop.

Anyways, I've introduced a new element that I believe is once more entirely original on this site; the Cats of Vorosh. If any of you know anything about world history and the politics involved therein, I imagine you might enjoy the first half of this chapter. Vorosh is the Equestrian equivalent of unified Prussian Germany circa 1871, with a dash of steampunk technology added to the mix.

What follows are pictures of named Cats thus far. (I did not make these images, but I had planned on using them from the beginning. I will however be creating the images for the next chapter)

Felix Von Verminstrauser (a very unoriginal name, I know)

Kaiser Patzschwelt Steuernhetzer (in Military Regalia)

Empress Maria Von Mausenheimer

Crown Prince Zippol

Grand Admiral Leonard Von Katzenspeigel

Chief of the General Staff Rimmel Von Adlerz

Oberst Mittens Von Fleischtauben

Minster of the Interior Claws Von Schlauhirn

Admiral Hans Drücker

(A Young)Reichskanzler Felix Von Sylvestris

Next chapter will involve more action and the destruction of your favorite little pastel colored horse town.

None Can Stay

Author's Note

What? A new chapter!?

Well... Here it is...

I must say that it has been an exhausting 11 weeks. Between flying back to Deutschland and handling my grandmother's estate, attending the funeral of my uncle, then attending the funeral of not one close friend but two, and then having to fly back to America to deal with some work related issues, I think I can safely say that I'm tired. I am also, as of today, officially sick with some sort of head cold, which is just so very lovely during this time of year. My wife found out she was pregnant, and as I'm still coming to grips with the fact that I'm married this frightens the living shit out of me. I'm now paying for a new insurance policy as a result, and I've reworked all of our finances in preparation for the coming strain that being a parent will have on them. I've begun work upon a nursery and come this time next month, I'll have already spent some $20,000 dollars on the kid. But I suppose it's not so bad. After all, Rebbecca constantly reminds me that we're finally starting that family I keep asking for.

Anyways, about the story itself. I know it's not very exciting in terms of action, and there's a lot of stuff here devoted to the those Cats I introduced last chapter, but if it's any consolation I was going to do this from the start.
As for the foot notes - don't bother with them until after you've read the chapter - they're mainly a means for me to flesh out the original elements of my story (i.e. Cats) - otherwise you'll be sitting there for at least another 10 to 15 minutes. But if you're into that sort of thing, I won't stop you.

As it stands, we're coming towards the end of the third act, with only one more to go.

On a final note, those pictures I promised can be found at the bottom of the chapter. I know they aren't much, and they most likely won't justify taking so long, but I figured it was the thought that counts. After all, It's always nice to be able to share ones visions with others from time to time...

Don't expect another chapter any time soon - I'm still dealing with the fallout of so many things happening in my life at once. Give it another two or three months... Who knows, I might just get something done by then.

None Can Stay

An old short-haired Cat sat in his extra-plush chair and thought. His wizened features and greying hairs were set in a rather tense expression that, when coupled with his piercing green eyes gave the impression of a predator that might at any moment strike. To Claws Von Schlauhirn, Minister of the Interior, it was the most terrifying situation of his career. For the elder black and white speckled Cat who sat there and stared at him as if he were vermin was none other than the venerable Felis Von Sylvestris, Chancellor of the Cat Empire of Vorosh and its chief architect.

It had been through the efforts of then Prince Felis of the house of Sylvestris that the valley of Vorosh had been unified under the Von Steuernhetzer kingship. It had been von Sylvestris who would later cobble together the Manx River Confederacy[1] in order to curtail the rising influence of the Serval Republic and its liberal-democratic ideals to the surrounding kingdoms. Under his direction, Vorosh was industrialized to a scale that had never been achieved in any other nation before or since – his emphasis on metal manufacturing earned him the moniker ‘The Steel Prince’.

During the Great Schism of April[2], it had been Prince Felis who preserved the monarchy when he took command of the Army and had them gun down all two-thousand revolutionaries in what would be known as the Binkiesfeld Massacre; an international incident that would set the stage for the coming wars of unification. Under his guidance, the Voroshian military machine was modernized and equipped with state of the art rifles, field guns, wagons and artillery, the materials for which were a clever excuse to annex several surrounding kingdoms rich in mineral deposits.

After the infamous attempt made by Serval Republic agents at destroying the Empire’s primary munitions factory in Pußburg, it had been (then) Prime Minister Felis Von Sylvestris who issued the ‘Edict of Hegemony’. This watershed document, a tripartite declaration through which the modern Cat nation was born, mandated that the Manx River Confederacy be reorganized into the Empire of Vorosh, that King Monstro von Steuernhetzer of the Vorosh Valley Duchy was to be crowned Emperor of the new nation, and, finally, that a state of war existed between this new empire and the Serval Republic and its allies. Thus were the Unification Wars started – a series of brutal conflicts which spanned near a decade and which ultimately resulted in Voroshian victory.

While none could ever prove it, it was often whispered behind closed doors that the venerable Chancellor’s role in the formation of the empire went deeper than even this; that the great feline statesman more than likely staged the entire fiasco in order to promulgate his imperialist vision of a unified Cat nation and its greater sphere of influence in the world. Regardless of whether such rumors were true, what Claws Von Schlauhirn knew for a fact was that even at the ripe old age of ninety-two[3] Chancellor Sylvestris was still a power in and of himself – a force to be reckoned with, and one that only a fool would trifle with.

Unfortunately for the Minister of the Interior, it would seem that today he was the fool – if the look he was receiving from the old feline were any indication. Swallowing the lump in his throat the orange-haired Schlauhirn could only remain mute, never daring to break the oppressive silence that filled the room; the Chancellor was no doubt ruminating over this latest information, and to disturb his thoughts would only deepen the hole that Claws now found himself in. Of all the people to incur the wrath of the Kaiser’s right hand, it had to have been one of his dignitaries. It seemed that life was not looking kindly upon him today.

His thoughts were interrupted by the groaning squeak of the Chancellor’s luxurious chair as he leaned forwards, eyes set in a cold impassiveness, and asked in a silvery voice of gravel and iron, “You understand how… problematic this is, do you not?” Sweating profusely, Claws Von Schlauhirn could only nod his head, his mouth much too dry to allow for speech. It seemed the older Cat understood this as he continued, “Of course you do; you were a member of the diplomatic corps for well on five years – you understand completely why it is that I find myself struggling to come to grips with this.”

To punctuate his statement, the Chancellor all but slammed his hand upon the document in question – a formal contract between the Katzereich and the Empire of Equestria; partitioning access to ten-thousand modified rifles, four-hundred artillery pieces and at least forty Katzer battle-wagons with the necessary crew needed to operate them. Schlauhirn flinched under the withering glare of the Chancellor; such was the old cat’s displeasure so visible. Taking a moment to compose himself, Chancellor Sylvestris let loose a sigh that carried the weight of his years.

“I find it so very odd,” declared the aged feline, “that your dignitary, Verminstrauser - whom I specifically advised to offer the services of our Thirty-Second Battalion to the Pferdlanders - somehow wound up, instead, giving them enough rifles and cannons to bring the very sky crashing down.” Again, the demure Minister of the Interior held his tongue lest he interrupt the Chancellor’s train of thought. “But, of course, that paled in comparison to how surprised I was to learn that he’d also thrown four Katzergruppen[4] into the mix.” Again, Schlauhirn flinched; if the quiet calmness and pleasant undertones of the old war-cat’s voice were any indication, the Chancellor was furious!

And with legitimate reason – the Reich’s Realpolitik of peace through power and diplomacy through strength of arms had been the brainchild of Sylvestris, from a time before the unification, before even the consolidation of the Vorosh Valley; back when he’d been a young adviser to the Steuernhetzer court – and Voroshian Sturmwagens were the foundation upon which these policies stood. So it came as no surprise that the Chancellor found a problem with lending an entire tank battalion to a people whose government had made it very clear, on numerous occasions, how they felt about feline imperial affairs.

Casually lifting the document up to his face, the elder speckled cat carefully scrutinized it through his gold-rimmed bifocals – intent to find any sort of loophole or shoddy word-work, no doubt. With his superior’s gaze finally elsewhere, Claws Von Schlauhirn visibly relaxed his body. Not fifteen seconds in and he was once more spooked into a ramrod posture as the Chancellor glibly inquired, “Perhaps you’d care to comment on any of this?” Stumbling over his own thoughts, the fiery-furred feline could only stammer out, “Sir?”

A false air of friendliness tinged the old prince’s words as he elaborated, saying, “Come now, surely you wish to speak on Verminstrauser’s behalf, seeing, as it were, that he’s your responsibility,” Even with such a friendly tone and amiable smile, the threatening glint of steel behind his eyes seemed to intensify as he added, “after all, he was assigned as an envoy to the Pferdsreich[5] under your recommendation.” The threat was very clear – ‘This is your fault, and I demand not only an explanation but a solution as well, or else…’ Claws shuddered, not daring to think of the ‘or else’ part. He did, however, have a chance to correct this mess – something which was seldom ever given by the Chancellor.

Immediately his mind (and mouth) set off into action, running through every conceivable option available to him as he attempted to pull himself out of the hole he’d suddenly found himself within. “I beg your forgiveness sir,” he began, “it was not my intention that young Felix would take such liberties when dealing with the Equestrians; in retrospect I would point to my own prior insistence that he reach any sort of agreement during the negotiations.”

Yes, he had indeed pressured the rather impressionable and over-eager Verminstrauser with the necessity of reaching some form of accord with the ponies, but with that self-incriminating confession out of the way he was now free to build up his case without the specter of culpability hanging ever-ominously over his head. Gathering his wits about him, Minister Schlauhirn quickly expounded upon his advantage, saying, “However, if I might be so bold to say, the original parameters were too constricting under the current circumstances, and Verminstrauser was doubtlessly hard-pressed to find any other solution.”

His defense was interrupted by the Chancellor’s sharp-tongued reprisal as he declared, “KaN[6] has relayed to me a different story – claiming that Felix Von Verminstrauser brokered the contract from a position of strength, and that the Pferdlanders were want to do anything but accept his conditions; think twice before lying to me, Claws – I don’t take kindly to deception.” Going two shades whiter at having his first bluff called, the Minister of the Interior quickly reformulated his approach with the overt understanding that he was treading on thin ice that only continued to grower thinner.

“Right,” he began, “my apologies, I was merely trying to reach a broader point – what my envoy failed to achieve should not overshadow what he managed to accomplish, and what he accomplished far surpasses anything we could have possibly hoped for.” Again he was cut short by the Reichskanzler, who, with crinkled brow and squinting eyes, interjected, saying, “Ah, yes – it says here that he managed to procure direct mineralogical access to the Black Shoals on top of twelve-thousand square kilometers in the Fields of Plazz… a shame, really, that he would reach such an agreement now of all times.”

Physically reeling back as if he’d been struck, the Interior Minister’s mind was at a loss with trying to make sense of Von Sylvestris’ out of character assessment, and it seemed the only thing he could do was openly gawp at his superior and ask, “P-pardon me, sir – I don’t think I quite heard you correctly; I could have sworn that you had just said that it was a ‘pity’ that we’ve finally managed to wrest control of a major geopolitical objective.” Surely the Chancellor was joking? The Black Shoals had been a point of contention between the two empires for nearly three generations! With access to such a bounteous and readily extractable source of crude oil, the Reich could finally work towards fuel-oil production instead of relying upon less efficient coal powered applications.

Again, it seemed as if the Reichskanzler were observing a rather distasteful speck of dirt that had the audacity to appear in his office – a stare that Felis Von Sylvestris had no doubt perfected over the decades and used to such affect countless times before. This did nothing to bolster Minister Schlauhirn’s rapidly deteriorating nerve, even as the Chancellor responded. “I wonder, Claws,” he began, “if you have spoken with General Von Alderz within the past few days, hm?” A nearly indiscernible frown formed upon the orange cat’s face as he responded, “No, sir – I haven’t had the chance of speaking with the Chief of the General Staff for quite some time.” And with very good reason; Rimmel Von Alderz was a very abrasive individual when it came to matters of statecraft and diplomacy – something which had constantly brought the two of them into heated debate.

More than one time nasty words had been traded between the two as their differing ideas over how world politics should be handled came up against each other. As it stood, the less Claws Von Schlauhirn had to deal with that sabre rattling bully, the better. With a chuff the Chancellor drolly remarked, “Then, I suppose, you have not consulted with the latest field mandate[7] for this quarter, have you?” With a growing unease with where this conversation was leading, the Interior Minister hesitantly replied, “No, sir, I don’t believe I’ve gone over the latest quarterly yet.” Even as he slowly began to realize what a monumental faux-pas he’d just committed by admitting to such, he could not stop from inquiring, “Why do you bring it up?”

Instead of words, Chancellor Felis used action; gracefully he pulled open a desk drawer, deftly gliding his gnarled old paws along the various tabs and manila folders until he found what he was looking for. With a nimbleness that belied his age, the old cat plucked up a thin green folder with the word ‘Geheim!’ in red letters plastered across it. Casually, he slid the docket across the desk with a single command – “Read the first paragraph of page sixteen.” Slowly, Von Schlauhirn retrieved the booklet and proceeded to open it to the proscribed page, whereupon he perused the first block of text – a growing sense of discomfort accompanying every word he read.

‘Quarterly Field Mandate – Third Quarter of Year Six in the reign of Kaiser Patzschwelt Steuernhetzer’
‘Mandate – Expansion’
‘Current projections have been reconfigured to account for anomaly ‘Q’, unprecedented occurrence of a monster outside physical explanation. As of now, ‘Q’ has destabilized Equestrian political power-structure ~ (KaN report 2294717 enclosed within file folder 62.58.1472) ~ current models predict sustained and endemic withdrawal of all Pferdsreich officials, personnel, peace-keeping forces, etc. Regions of particular note include the Kotchekt Mountains, Pindrall Valley, the Black Shoals and a substantial range within the Fields of Plazz.’

A wave of nausea seemed to crash upon poor Claws at that moment, for it seemed that he had unintentionally placed a stumbling block in front of the Imperial expansion agenda. If so, then he had undoubtedly provided a means of preventing permanent acquisition to lands that, for all intents and purposes, were now litigiously under lease. While it made him physically ill to see just how far he’d put his metaphorical foot into it, he continued reading.

‘In the wake of such fortuitous events, this Quarter’s assembly has appointed the current Chief of the General Staff, his Lordship Rimmel Von Alderz, with the task of consolidating the Reich’s hold upon these outlying lands. As it stands, all further political actions are to be enacted in compliance to the overall goal set about by this assembly:’
‘ – Land Law Policy shall henceforth be lifted until further notice’
‘ – Immigration policy will be set to its Wartime level’
‘ – All third-party Commercial activities shall be halted until further notice’
‘ – Limited Military Assistance will be offered to all parties who request it, Regardless of current Policy’
‘ – Diplomatic Brokerages are not to involve the procurement or distribution of Land until further notice’
‘ – Civil Liberties will be curtailed to Wartime standards for the time being’
‘These rules are subject to change at any time whereupon this assembly deems it necessary to do so. Failure to comply with any and all portions of this Quarter’s mandate is punishable under the Imperial Wartime Crime Laws Act ~ (Manual 338297-B, Page 347, Section 8, Article J).

‘This Quarter’s hearings were presided over by his eminence, the esteemed Reichskanzler Felis Von Sylvestris, in lieu of the Kaiser.’

With a grimace, Claws Von Schlauhirn, Minster of the Interior, closed the booklet and laid it once more upon the Chancellor’s desk. This was it. He was really in for it now. To break a Field Mandate policy under the Wartime Crime Laws Act was a one way ticket to a work-camp in the frozen northern reaches of the Empire. All too clearly, he could see all of his shortcomings, and all too late. With a stern frown the Chancellor broke the silence in saying, “Had you actually partaken in your duty as Interior Minister[8] instead of acting like a kitten, you may have spared yourself such disgrace.”

Hanging his head in failure, Claws was certain that the next few words out of his superior’s mouth would be a death sentence. Instead, they were something altogether unexpected – “Now, normally under these circumstances I would have you carted off to Kältegjarn[9] and be done with you… however, your lack of political tact may have actually provided the Empire with a means to come out even further ahead than was hoped.” Like a drowning man clinging to a floating timber, Schlauhirn all but clung to the hope that Von Sylvestris’ next few words would save his life.

With a grunt of effort the old Chancellor arose from his grandiose leather chair and began slowly shuffling his way towards a file drawer on the far side of his office, along the way saying, “The Kaiser, in all of his youthful optimism, wishes to pursue – against the insistence of many, including myself – a proactively friendly policy of mutual cooperation with the Pferdsreich.” The malaise of his words spoke of more than a mere objection to the idea, but that hardly mattered to Claws. What Claws sought were the words that the Chancellor spoke next, saying, “And so it is that he has seen it fit to enact his program ahead of schedule, and he insists that someone of high standing in the Reichsverwaltung be sent to represent him along side this expeditionary force.”

The crafty old cat had laid the bait, and Claws Von Schlauhirn would be a fool not to take it. But still he held his tongue – to spring for the chance of redemption could very well lead into a deeper pit; acumen was needed. And so he waited for the Chancellor to make the offer himself, and with the full weight of his own insistence – anything else was likely a trap. Finally reaching the file cabinet, Chancellor Felis methodically combed through the hundreds of folders and files before finally coming across what he was searching for. Snatching up the folder, the cunning old cat made his way directly towards the minister of the Interior.

With a ruthless gleam of pure guile shining from behind his old emerald eyes, the Chancellor presented the folder to his underling with all the flourish of one who could not be happier to be rid of a particularly troublesome insect, as he announced, “Under much consideration, the Kaiser and I have come to the conclusion that there would be none more fully capable of the task than you.” And there it was; instead of removing the problem, they would redirect it elsewhere. Well, Claws Von Schlauhirn was not one to complain of such a thing, and with a barely restrained eagerness he all but yanked the docket from his superior’s grip.

As he opened the manila folder and began scanning through the various notes of litigation and bureaucratic double-speak, he absently listened to the Reichskanzler speak further on his new ‘assignment’. “Officially, you are to insure that the Reich is represented in a manner that will promote a better understanding between our two nations under the assumption that peaceful relations will commence shortly; however, I am also assigning another role for you: the role of military liaison and wartime correspondent.”

Roughly grabbing hold of Schlauhirn’s shoulder, the chancellor leaned in and, with a voice that spoke of great suffering were he to not be obeyed to the letter, he growled, “You are to insure that the Reich’s soldiers are properly supplied and maintained, and you will make sure that the Pferdlanders never acquire any of our state’s military secrets or technologies; do I make myself clear, Claws?” With a vigorous nodding of his head, Von Schlauhirn exclaimed, “Of course, Lord Chancellor – I will do as you've said!” Maintaining direct eye contact with the Chancellor, Claws could only hope that this visit was nearly done.

Finally relinquishing his vice-like hold upon the orange cat’s arm, Felis Von Sylvestris muttered, “Good… I will expect daily reports from you to be sent directly to me for evaluation; I will then relay them to the Kaiser and the General Staff, who will then decide what to do from there.” Sitting once more in his extravagant chair, the Chancellor massaged his forehead as he gruffly declared, “You are dismissed.” As if a fire had been lit beneath him, Claws all but leapt from the chair and bolted for the door, only to stop mid stride as the chancellor called out, “Oh, and Claws?” Quickly about-facing, the Minister of the Interior demurely asked, “Sir?” With a look of frigid permafrost, Chancellor Felis warned, “Do not fail the Reich again.” It was a warning that Von Schlauhirn took to heart as he replied, “Of course, Herr Chancellor.” And with that, he made for a hasty escape.

Felis shook his head in exasperation. Were he not the boy’s uncle, he had no doubts that Claws would have indeed become just another frozen corpse on the northern tundra. But, as the saying goes, ‘Blood is thicker than water’, and for the Reichskanzler it was stronger than steel. Regardless, he could rest easy knowing he hadn’t sent his dearest sister’s eldest son off to some death camp. Still, there was work to be done, and with that in mind he picked up the receiver from his personal telephone and began perfunctorily dialing up the necessary address.

After a few rings, the call was answered by a quiet yet regal voice as it asked, “Heer Reichskanzler, to what do I owe the pleasure of you calling me at this hour?” The Chancellor replied in a genuinely friendly voice saying, “I apologize for calling you so late at night, Admiral Drücker; I merely wished to inform you that 'Operation Feuerschein' has begun; Projekt Feuerlanze and the Feuersturm Protokoll have both been approved as per your request.” There was a slight pause before the Admiral calmly remarked, “I see.” Deciding to get to the point the Chancellor inquired, “How soon can your division be ready for deployment?” This time the Admiral’s response was quick – “I can have it in the air in no less than eight hours; most of the crews are on leave and will need to be gathered up – however I cannot say the same in regards to the Feuerlanze contingents.”

The Chancellor was quick to assure him, saying “Don’t worry about them – the Feuerlanze prototypes are already en-route and will be ready for final testing upon your arrival.” Taking a moment to process this information, the Admiral asked the next prudent question, “Where will they be deployed?” Briefly looking at his notes, the Reichskanzler answered, “A few kilometers outside of a small rural town by the name of Ponyville – topographical analysis points to an eighty-two percent probability that 'Q'’s projected path will intersect it within a span of no more than three days.” The Admiral quickly declared, “I can have the Fleet there by tomorrow morning.”

Agreeing with the proposed plan of action, the two of them then chatted for a minute or two before the Chancellor ended up saying, “I hope you understand, Hans, that no one outside of this call is to know about this – the Kaiser was adamant about that; insure that this remains clandestine until such time that the creature arrives.” After giving his assurance, the line went dead as Admiral Drücker ended the call. Slowly hanging up the receiver, Chancellor Felis had little time to reflect on his decisions, as another important document was brought to his desk by his secretary, Marlow. As it was said, there was still work to be done…

The sun had not yet broken over the horizon, and the cool desert air was still filled with the sounds of singing insects. A dry, gentle breeze carried with it the chill of the early morning as it traveled east. All of this was ignored, of course, by Oberst[10] Mittens Von Fleischtauben as he once more reviewed his latest orders of dispatch. The off-white canvas of his command tent only just made the chill of the morning bearable, and, were he less of a man, he would have complained as such. However that was the furthest thing from his mind at the current time. If what he was reading were to be believed, there were more important matters to concern over; the Reich was going to war.

Not in the conventional sense, of course. From a very young age, Mittens had been brought up under the assumption that the greatest war of his lifetime would undoubtedly be waged on Equestrian soil. And, while that was exactly what was happening, it was not the Ponies whom they would fight on said soil. Instead, it would appeared that his division was being brought to bear against that most fantastical creature which had been sewing havoc across the Pferdsreich over the week – a beast that many had named ‘Gho'Zra’ in an attempt to salve their fears. To the Oberst, it looked as if his men were being sent as a sacrificial lamb to some ancient god of the old days.

His ruminations were momentarily brought to a standstill by the ruffling of canvas as someone entered his personal command tent. Looking up from his dispatch, he was mildly surprised to see his reptilian orderly, Oberleutnant[11] Ghresht, standing before him – a characteristically self-satisfied smirk was plastered across his beaded lips, with a small line of ubiquitous slaver only adding to the image of a dangerous predator. In his typically unflappable manner, the towering Gila-Monster[12] declared in his squelching, guttural voice, “The train is being loaded; we depart in four hours.”

Rising from his battered chair, the Oberst replied, “Then we are on schedule – excellent.” Crossing the sandy floor of his quarters, he lovingly opened a pine-wood box, retrieving from it a glass decanter of crystal-clear liquid and a pair of gilded shot glasses. Uncorking the flask, the long-haired officer laconically poured a generous serving of the Himbeergeist into each glass, before promptly offering one up to his friend. With a deep chuckle, Kujek Ghresht took up the proffered drink between his wickedly curved talons. With a toast, the two soldiers in braid downed the schnapps, savoring the subtle taste of raspberries as it glided down their throats.

Handing the glass back to his old friend, Lieutenant Ghresht remarked, “I’ve never been to the land of the ponies before; I’d always heard that horse-meat was greasy.” This earned a genuine bout of laughter form the Oberst as he returned his private stock back to its container. The Gila-Monster pallet was legendary in its lack of discernment or scruples, yet it always surprised the tawny cat just how gregarious their diet could be. “We’re not being sent to sample the local flavor, Kujek,” he replied with a chuckle (the play on words likewise engendering a laugh from his reptilian friend), “we’re being dispatched to lend aid to them in their ‘time of need’.”

With a grunt, the Lieutenant idly scratched his hide – a few flakes of skin falling loose in the process; by the looks of it he was molting again. As Mittens went to and fro, gathering up all his belongings to be packed aboard his personal Pullman, he was stilled momentarily by his old friend’s next words. “You don’t agree with this.” It was not a question, and both of them knew it. Mittens Von Fleischtauben held no love for the Ponies – in fact, he utterly despised them to his very core. A lifetime of engendered hatred for a people who had wronged his kin a handful of generations before him bubbled to the surface of his consciousness as he reflected on his feelings.

Looking down at his boot-clad feet, the aging Cat could not stop the dark scowl that marred his face from arising as he replied, “Whether or not I agree with it is irrelevant; I am first and foremost a soldier above all other considerations – I shall follow orders regardless.” A typical response for a genteel officer, but a truer statement there could not have been made – he would follow his orders, and he would insure that all those under him would follow likewise; feelings could never factor into it.

Seemingly unsatisfied, the reptilian Oberleutnant further pressed, “And if you were not a soldier – would you do it even then?” The answer was immediate – “No; but as it were, I could never envision myself being anything but a soldier.” Packing the last of his articles into a large mahogany chest, the Colonel took a moment to straighten his uniform before casting a genuine smile towards his good friends, saying, “Now then, shall we go and inspect the troops?” With a mock salute, the towering lizard gave his trademark smirk as he jested, “By your leave, Herr Oberst.” The two comrades chuckled between themselves as they stepped out into the dry, cool desert air…

The border town of Bahnhof13 had always held significance to the Empire for its access to the Bahnstrecke, the only major train-line to connect the Empire of Vorosh to its Equestrian counterpart, making it the only conceivable staging point from which the theoretical invasion of the Pferdsreich could possibly be made. With such an important role, it was no wonder that the military infrastructure of Bahnhof was immense – three nearby forts, (housing six entire Storm battalions, two detachments of the Thirty-Eighth Regiment of Infantry - the so called Wüstenläufer Regiment - and a compliment of two Sturmwagen Groups) five armories, and an academy dedicated to the art of military engineering all called this area home.

Yet despite all of these formidable fixtures, the town itself could only be described as small, quiet, and unimpressive save for the massive Bahnstrecke train hub. For the standing population of some twelve hundred citizens, the recent influx of so many troops and so much supplies was almost surreal; for the first time in memory the coffee houses were overcrowded, the bars were packed, and the hotels were completely booked! Of course, with so many hot blooded young soldiers in one place and with little to do, the local crime rate had also risen rather significantly – the local constabulary had seen more detainment's in the past week than in the last twenty years!

However, the majority of those soldiers mustered to the small town were more content to keep to themselves. After all, who better to spend time with than their fellow brothers in arms? While the officers primarily booked the hotels and dining halls, the rank and file were perfectly content to mill about the massive complex of tents and lean-to's that had seemingly grown overnight along the outskirts of the frontier town. The boot-clad ground-pounders were also more inclined to mingle amongst their own for the obvious reason that there was already a sense of trust and solidarity that allowed for the sort of conversations that were be had amidst such company.

And the subject of choice was, of course, the imminent deployment into the lands of Equestria. This was no different for the group that Schlosser[15] Second Class Bart Zipfel now found himself in. For the last half hour, the mixed group of mechanics, soldiers and auxiliaries had been avidly debating the upcoming expedition from every possible vantage, and it did not look to be winding down any times soon. One of the higher ranking members (an Oberfeldwebel[16]) of their band, a middle-aged Calico with a terribly notched ear and bright yellow eyes, continued speaking; “All I’m saying is, once that lumbering lizard is taken care of, we’re undoubtedly going to finish what it started; the Pferdlanders have no standing army, no hard defenses, and a government buckling under the pressure – we’d be fools not to finally do what we should have done decades ago.”

Having no objections of his own to the Sergeant’s idea, Bart merely nodded his head in agreement. His argument was met with criticism, however, from the likes of an incredibly young Private with long, ghost-white fur, lively blue eyes and a great bushy tail that twitched with pent up irritation as he cried out, “That’s absolutely ridiculous – to honestly think that there are enough men here to attempt all out war against the Pferdsreich is asinine at best; they possess so much territory that we would be hard pressed to hold all of it!”

Before the older Cat could offer a rebuttal, another voice spoke up (this time belonging to a wiry-haired grey Manx with curled whiskers; the markings on his kettle-helm denoting him as a grenadier), “Being this close to winter, I’d have to say the kit has a point – winters in the Pferdsreich may not be particularly cold but they’re wet and muddy; the Sturmwagon’s would have a hard time keeping up with the rest of us.” A Pangolin[17] wearing a cook‘s smock pulled the cigarette he’d been smoking from his mouth and, with a gravely voice that still held the slight twinge of his foreign origins, gave his own two cents, saying, “Supply lines would be struggling to keep up the farther we pushed – we’d starve before Spring.”

The young mechanic was near taken aback by these objections – he had never thought of such things when it came to a theoretical war between the two superpowers; he’d just always assumed that the Reich would win such a conflict with ease because of its superior military institutions and history of martial prowess. To hear others say otherwise, and for them to offer up such solid reasons against a war was fascinating. Perhaps there was more to such a conflict than he had imagined. Dropping that train of thought, Zipfel focused once more on the conversation as the Calico Sergeant finally replied, “So then we stick around until spring as a ‘reconstruction force’ and then turn around and crush them.”

A gruff looking Toad18 with a cigar stub hanging from his lips literally lept to his feet in protest, crying out, “You speak like some mongrel dog; Dolchstoß[20] is the work of cowards!” He was not alone in that thought, for many of those involved in the conversation were equally affronted by the suggestion of such underhanded tactics. The young blue-eyed Private spoke up again, saying, “This is all nonsense anyway – we’ve all seen the papers; seen the news reels – it’s highly doubtful that anything we could muster would be enough to stop something like that.”

And just like that the nature of the conversation shifted. One man asked, “Is it true that one of the monarchs was killed?” Another whispered to his neighbor, “I had heard that it can fly.” Someone exclaimed, “They say that it came from the sea.” One of them wondered aloud, “Do you think there are others of its kind still out there?” Bart Zipfel, for his part, asked the most prevelant question on his mind; “What do you suppose it’s doing here – what does it want?” All around them, a dozen different conversations, from murmuring whispers to full blown shouting matches, manifested – it was a situation that had been occurring across the entire camp.

One particularly robust voice (belonging to a towering Maine Coon with a scar running down his left eye and coming to a stop at his jaw) cut through all the chattering noise as it asked, “What do you make of it all, Spitzer?” A deep and rather gritty voice responded in saying, “Equestria can burn down for all I care; I doubt I’d lose sleep over it.” Looking in the direction of everyone else, the Machinist was mildly surprised to see that the owner of the voice was a heavyset Destrier Pony[21]. While Bart had heard of such ex-patriot mercenaries, he had never seen one before. As he observed the horse, his eyes were immediately drawn to its flank.

Where the mark of his calling should normally have been found, there was instead a tattoo of the black catspaw22. Upon further observation, Schlosser Sekunde Klasse Zipfel took note of the Pferdlander’s docked tail and the black ribbons that were interwoven with his short-shaven mahogany mane. A leather harness spidered across his trunk, terminating into a Lafettegeschirr[23], leading young Bart to the conclusion that this was a heavy gunner. But it was the black iron cuirass with a grinning skull of sterling and intricate etchings that covered the pony’s chest which clearly denoted that this was a member of the elite Erste Panzergrenadierkompanie[24]!

A young Gila Monster that had apparently been sunning himself during the whole conversation chose that moment to speak up, saying, “I’d heard that for the right price you can order anything to eat in Kanterlotte[25],” With a languid scratch of his flame-colored belly, the sleepy reptile continued, “I think I’d like to find out what the flesh of a Manticore tastes like.” The Calico Seargant from the prior conversation tossed a tin can at the gluttonous lizard’s head before exasperatedly bemoaning, “You’re always thinking with your damned stomach, Trubek – try thinking with your brain for once.” In response the Gila Monster jokingly grumbled, “But if I did that you would be out of a job.” The whole group laughed at this.

After a few minutes of this back and forth, the scarred Maine Coon (who Bart would later learn was also an Oberstabsfeldwebel[26] of the Erste Panzergrenadierkompanie) further pressed his Equine comrade, “Come now, Spitzer, aren’t you even a little bit excited to be going back to your homeland?” With a snort, the expatriate pony responded, saying, “If I had a choice, I wouldn’t even be going back.” Before the big Cat could press further, a frantic looking Ferret[27] ran by, his appearance made comical as he attempted to pull his trousers up and his boots on at the same time , shouting for all to hear, “Oberst Mittens is coming for inspections!”

As if a switch had been thrown the entire camp became a flurry of activity as soldiers scrambled back and forth. Everywhere there was a mad dash to throw on uniforms, hide whatever illegal hooch there may have been, and, of course, the ubiquitous attempt to dispose of whatever dirty magazines and photos that were out in the open. Oberst Mittens had an infamously harsh reputation amongst his men, and anyone who had served under him before was well aware of how demanding he was when it came to the conduct of the units he commanded. Needless to say, if he was to be inspecting them, then they needed to make sure that nothing was left to chance.

It was unfortunate that one of the Jerry-rigged liquor stills was knocked over in the chaos. It was even more unfortunate that Oberst Mittens Von Fleischtauben, the man whose nickname behind closed doors was ‘Meatgrinder Mittens’, would choose that moment to appear. With deadpanned eyes and a slight hitch of his bushy brow, the Oberst observed the spilled whiskey as it flowed across the sandy ground, coming to a rest before his black polished boots. The massive Gila-Monster that stood behind the Oberst was visibly shaking with suppressed laughter – though, he was the only one to do so.

As if suddenly realizing who it was before them, the Sturmtrüppen Toad took a final puff of his cigar before tossing it to the ground and standing at attention. With a bellicose shout he roared, “Offizier am Feld!” As one the surrounding troops lept into formation as if their feet were aflame. Casting a clearly unimpressed look to his Orderly, the sharply dressed Oberst took a rather relaxed posture before saying in a rough voice, “At ease.” Walking down the line of soldiers, the Colonel took to inspecting each of them in a manner meant to instill an extreme amount of discomfort.

Near the end of the lineup, Bart Zipfel silently began to panic. In his haste to look presentable to the Colonel, he had forgotten his Machinist markings; he had no discernible rank or class on his person! His panic only increased as he witnessed the Oberst’s legendary ire as it manifested. Pointing at the white haired Private (who’s boots and shoulder straps were both unfortunately absent from his person), the Oberst demanded, “You, what is your name and rank?” The response was immediate as the Angora responded, “Sir, Plüschaar, Bubbi – Obergefreiter[28], Thirty-Eighth Light, Sir!”

Contorting his grizzled countenance in mock astonishment, the Oberst exclaimed, “Now that surprises me, because your obvious lack of Kragenpatten[29] would suggest to me that you are a Schütze[30] and thus lack the necessary rank to even be standing here!” To the young Plüschaar’s credit, he maintained his firm posture of attention as the berating Oberst literally towered over him and dressed him down with his viperous tongue. But when the Colonel demanded, “Where are your boots, soldier?” the façade of reticent calm was shattered by the young Cat’s wavering voice, his words tinged with the high pitched patina of duress as he responded, “Sir, I’m not certain, Sir!”

With a barking chuckle that sounded anything but jubilant, the Oberst gave a toothy grin that sent shivers of fear down most everyone’s spines as he rather smoothly announced, “Well, that is a problem – but one that I can easily fix.” The grin then fell from his face and was replaced with an even more terrifying glare as he all but hissed, “And I’ll start by docking your salary, reducing your rations and demoting you to Gefreiter[31] - Oberleutnant Ghresht!” The Oberst’s imposing reptilian orderly responded, “Yes, Sir?” Without missing a beat Oberst Mittens ordered, “See to it that Gefreiter Plüschaar here receives a new pair of boots.” With a smirk the Gila-Monster gave a salute before making his way to the provisions tent.

With a contemptible sniff the Oberst remarked to the now humiliated young soldier, “Let’s hope you have a better time of holding on to these than you did your last pair, Gefreiter – now get back in line.” As the thoroughly reprimanded young cat returned to the lineup, the Oberst once more continued down the line of soldiers, inspecting them with just as much detail as before. From his place at the end of the line, young Bart Zipfel could only quiver in panic at the thought of a similar ordeal directed towards him.

However, to Bart’s relief, the grizzled old war veteran stopped three men short of him to inspect the gargantuan Maine Coon with the scar running down his face. With a piercing stare that did little to phase the towering feline, the Oberst remarked, “Hermann Kühn – still alive I see, and an Oberstabsfeldwebel no less.” With a cordial nod, the giant of a cat replied, “Herr Oberst.” The air of tense formality suddenly vanished as the Oberst’s face transformed into a smirk before he asked in a facieses tone, “Good God, man, what the hell happened to your face?” With a waggish smile of his own, the Maine Coon replied, “A Boar got a hold of me in the Hügelland campaign[32].”

As he spoke, he pulled a leather cord from around his neck, revealing a massive Boar’s tooth pendant to the Oberst before continuing, “Ugly bastard didn’t come away from it nearly as well as I did.” With a guffaw the Oberst teasingly exclaimed, “I must say, though, that it’s a marked improvement over what you used to look like!” At this, both men broke into a fit of laughter (with a few braver souls cracking a smile at their exchange) before the larger of the two finally caught his breath and, with a massive smile, said “It looks like I’ll be serving under you again, Herr Oberst – a sign of things to come I’m sure.” With as much composure as he could muster, the old Colonel switched gears and asked, “Under which Division are you serving?”

The response from Hermann was quick, “All ten companies of the entire first Panzergrenadierabteilung division have been transferred to the Thirteenth Armored – my company has been assigned to Sturmgruppe four.” Just as rapid was the Oberst’s next question – “What about that ill-tempered ungulate[33] you were always prancing about with – still alive, I should hope?” The Oberstabsfeldwebel was succinct in answering, “Hauptmann[34] Spitzer is doing just fine, Herr Oberst – in fact I would dare to say that you can ask him yourself, as he is not but three meters to your right.”

Briefly looking to his left, Bart was only mildly unnerved to find that the Pferdlander – this Hauptmann Spitzer as he was apparently known as – was indeed standing at attention besides him, his large form both intimidating and strangely reassuring at the same time. It would seem that the Colonel was likewise reviewing the pony, for his next words were stiltedly directed towards him; “Herr Ross[35], I presume you are well?” To the quadruped’s credit, he did not show any outward signs of resentment at such an insult, and simply replied, “Yes, sir, I’m doing fine.” Seemingly pleased with the pony’s response, Oberst Mittens turned once more to Oberstabsfeldwebel Kühn, saying, “Alles gut, dann – I shall take my leave then; other soldiers to inspect, you know.”

As he began to remark one last time, the Oberst was interrupted by the return of his adjunct – a pair of new boots in hand. Baring his characteristic grin, Oberleutnant Ghresht approached the still shaken Gefreiter Plüschaar and, with a wet and gravelly voice that set the hairs of Bart’s neck on edge, announced, “Here are your new boots, son – let’s hope you can hold on to this pair better than you did the last one.” Letting loose a self-indulgent laugh as the young Angora cat received his boots, the great Gila-Monster gave a nod of recognition towards the Oberstabsfeldwebel as he returned once more to the Colonel’s side.

Taking the time to straighten his uniform, Oberst Mittens continued from where he had been interrupted, saying, “As I was about to say, I would suggest that you all begin breaking camp – departure takes place in four hours, and the Attaché from Purlin[36] should be here with the hour; we don’t want to make a poor impression for some petty bureaucrat to use as ammunition in next Quarter’s Finance Mandate.[37]” Again, the black-clad Toad bellowed, “Achtung!” as the Oberst purposely marched further down the camp in search of another group to inspect. When he finally disappeared from view, the trench coat wearing amphibian hollered “Rührt euch!”

Finally relaxing their stance, the majority of the group began at once to break down their tents and gather up their belongings in preparation for deployment. The only ones to do otherwise were those NCO’s and Officers who felt it prudent to discuss the matter amongst their selves. And as Schlosser Sekunde Klasse Bart Zipfel quickly found and applied his Kragenpatten before setting to work on his bunk kit, he surreptitiously listened in upon their conversation, all the while attempting to appear busy so as not to attract attention. Around him he could see that many others were doing likewise.

The conversation itself was rather interesting, to say the least. “He can’t possibly expect us to move out in just four hours – there are over four thousand men here, not including tanks and equipment!”, this from the grey haired Manx whose prosthetic leg[38] was a novelty to many present. The Sturmtrupper Toad – a new cigar already lit and situated loosely in his mouth – responded with his own concern, his words carried upon a wisp of gray smoke as he exclaimed, “I’m more concerned with whether or not the ponies have enough room for so many soldiers.” At this, Hauptmann Spitzer responded, “I wouldn’t worry about that; from what I can recall they’re more than willing to bend over backwards to accommodate complete and total strangers.” The twinge of disgust that laced his words was very pronounced.

A ferret with round-rimmed glasses (whom Bart was almost certain had not been amidst their group earlier) chose that moment to chime in, “Any idea on what we’re supposed to be doing over there?” With a shrug, Oberstabsfeldwebel Kühn hazarded a supposition by saying, “Monster hunting, if I were to take a guess.” With a hollow laugh a rather scraggly looking Horned Toad39 acerbically remarked, “Let’s be honest with each other here; we are no more likely to stop this creature than we are to turn back the Manx River – we are being sent to slow it down until such time that we are all dead.”

At this, the gruff looking Toad all but growled, “You live a charmed life, Zephaniah – it’s always wonderful to hear such encouragement emanating from the wellspring of optimism that is your mouth.” The Thorny Devil’s response was as swift as it was blunt – “I am a realist, Major[41] Lachespringer, and pragmatically speaking, we are being sent as fodder – a means to gauge the strength of our opponent before the military becomes fully invested.” The Major was irate as he exclaimed, “Isn’t it a little early to begin preaching such doom and gloom upon our heads when we have yet to even set off?!”

With one final drag, the Toad’s cigar was reduced to a stub before he heatedly tossed it to the ground, using his boot-clad foot to grind it into the sandy soil. With a curt nod the Toad excused himself from the group and left to go gather up his own belongings, but not without a backwards glare towards the Thorny Devil. Swiftly turning upon the Feldwebel, Hermann Kühn pertinently remarked, “You understand, of course, Herr Mög, that your words are little more than a great weight that most of us would rather do without.”

With a sagging sigh, the Feldwebel replied, “Leopold and I have our differences, and while I respect him for his courage and assertiveness, his optimistic view towards our current predicament can only lead to disaster.” By this time Bart felt that he had heard enough. So with a final once over, he hoisted his pack and headed towards his designated unit’s embarkation zone. It took him a good ten minutes of wandering, and once or twice he was certain that he’d gotten turned around at some point, but he eventually found what he was looking for; a massive steel beast bristling with guns and gleaming in the early morning sun’s rays.

Yes, for the young Schlosser it truly was a sight to behold. And standing around the imposing Stürmwagen were the other members of its crew – all in varying states of dress and overall wakefulness. Insuring that his crusher cap was placed upon his head, the young cat made for the metal machine and its occupants with a giddy hop in his step. His seemingly upbeat mood was instantly picked up by the tank’s driver – a lithe and wiry Sphynx by the name of Schmüllie Katzenkratz – who said as much when he asked, “You seem awfully happy this morning, Zipfel; any particular reason?” The tawny haired mechanic just smiled and said, “Just excited over the prospect of seeing her in action on the field.”

From around the other side of the vehicle came the familiar Shorthair form of the tank’s primary gunner, Frank Müller, as he pulled a cart full of Kak22[42] shells behind him. Noticing Bart’s presence, the silent shorthair gave a nod of recognition before continuing a little further towards the battle wagon’s front, whereupon he planted the cart and began the long and meticulous process of loading the shells into the magazine (and anywhere else that would fit them for that matter). Bart’s attention was soon arrested by an ungodly racket – as well as a few very colorful swearwords – coming from the aft side of the Sturmwagen as the lanky form of the crew’s Tankwart[43], Toni Längermann, came stumbling out of the coal hatch; his grey-and-white striped fur was all but black with soot.

With a languorous smile, the Scottish Fold greeted the mechanic with an enthusiastic wave, saying in quick succession, “Hallo, Bart – glad to see you made it – the coal’s been loaded on, and the furnace cleaned out; I’m going to rinse off – see you in a bit.” And before young Zipfel could even respond, he was off, racing towards the nearest bath house. With a shrug, Bart once more began to look around, intent on finding those members of the crew still unaccounted for. He quickly spotted Walter Fisk, the crew’s Ragdoll machine gunner, sleeping (as per the usual) in his preferred spot in the gunner’s pit[44]. He immediately accounted for three of the others as soon as he made his way around to the other side of the tank.

It seemed that Ernst Fänger (the crew’s Havana radio operator) had taken the short wave radio out of the crew compartment and was now fiddling with it for some unfathomable reason. Surrounding him on either side were the two sponson gunners (a pair of Tonkinese brothers by the name of Hirschel ‘Hirsch’ and Pipin ‘Pip’ Kügelbach), who, as per the usual, were whispering back and forth to one another – something that always put Bart on edge, considering the fact that the last time he’d had the misfortune of dealing with them was when they’d somehow inexplicably broken a leaf-spring and needed him to fix it before the Kommandant found out.

‘Speaking of whom…’ Now that he thought about it, there was one member of the crew whose absence was ostentatiously apparent. Walking up to the trio he began to open his mouth in questioning, only to be interrupted by a sharp curse as Fänger began to physically beat upon the radio console – the effect of which was simply a louder stream of static interference. As he began to speak again he was once more interposed upon, this time by Pipin, who noted, “Try setting the band frequency to three-hundred; you’re not trying to reach Purlin with this thing.” The rapidity with which Hirsch gave retort to his brother was nothing short of eerie – “Don’t be stupid; at three-hundred we’d be lucky to even get static – no – you should set the wavelength to five-fifty and raise the receiver up another meter.”

The two then began to bicker between each other in that unsettling murmur of theirs, all the while ignoring the poor Van trying to get his question through. Finally giving up, the young Schlosser decided to merely wait them out. After all – they couldn’t go on like this forever… could they? But it was the large-eared Havana of the group who would silence them as he calmly asked, “Is it conceivably possible for either of you morons to be quiet for five minutes?” As if to punctuate the question he gave one firm and final smack to the top of the radio console and as if by magic it suddenly came to life, filling the air with music[45] of all things!

With a collective cheer the three of them crowded closer around the transponder as the signal faded in and out. With eagerness all but dripping from his voice, Hirschel exclaimed, “Try and see if you can find the race!” To which his brother responded, “Nuts to that – I want to hear this week’s finance report!” But as both of them made a move to turn the dial, Ernst’s placid voice brought them to pause as he nonchalantly remarked, “It sure will be interesting watching you both try to explain to Kom’dant Stoßauge why it is that you both only have one hand remaining.” It was silently (and quickly) agreed between the two brothers that they were perfectly content with listening to music.

But on that note, Bart finally asked the question, “Speaking of whom, have any of you seen the Kommandant at all today?” While the two tiny Tonkinese physically jumped at the sudden sound of his voice, the Radio Operating Havana acted just a nonplussed as always, casually saying, “Knowing Ziggy, I’d say he’s more than likely in the close and personal company of some impressionable young lass.” Ignoring the sniggering of both brothers, the engine mechanic pressed for further clarification, asking, “So you’re saying that you haven’t seen him?” Sighing in exasperation, the brown cat sardonically answered, “Oh, I’ve seen him – just not within the last twenty-four hours.”

Grumbling over how there was no need to be so rude about it, Bart Zipfel decided that he might as well begin making last minute inspections of the boiler engine. As another song began to play on the radio[46], the young Van cat crawled into the tank’s interior (nearly tripping on Walter in the process) and began checking the various levers, dials and gauges. While the crew compartment wasn’t exactly spacious by any stretch of the word, it still allowed for seven to be seated in close quarters. He quickly came across Frank, who was currently wrestling with the overcomplicated shell conveyer system that had been forced upon them by the Munitions General[47] a few months ago.

Catching the gunner’s attention, he asked, “Need a hand with that?” With a quick nod and a grunt of ‘Hmhn’ as his only response, Müller pointed towards a radial ball bearing hanging loosely from one of the lower conveyor axles, demanding in his low and raspy voice, “Hold that there.” Doing as the gunner requested, Bart was quick to find that simply holding onto the greasy bearing was no easy task. With a few dozen swears shared between the two of them, they finally managed to secure the drive chain to the top runner wheel. All that remained was to insure that the device actually worked.

So, pulling a lever next to the assemblage, the two of them held their breath in anticipation. With a slight electric hum, the feed belt began to move… in the wrong direction. Pulling at his ears in frustration, it took all of Frank Müller’s self-control to not take a hammer to entire contraption! However that didn’t stop him from cursing up a storm, setting a new record for the longest Bart had ever heard the stoic feline speak. Demurely, Bart inquired, “Do you want me to help you fix it?” Running a paw down his face in disgust, the heavyset Shorthair rasped, “No – just need’s rewiring; I’ll do it myself.” Taking that as his queue to leave, Schlosser Zipfel did a final once over of the engine before scrabbling out of the escape hatch.

As Bart stuck his head out into the fresh morning air, he was met with the sight of Hirschel Kügelbach’s trouser-clad posterior as he struggled to lift himself out of the left sponson. Directly behind the baffled mechanic, on the rim of his own sponson, sat Pip; clenching his sides in a bout of uproarious cackling at his brother’s expense. Hirschel’s muffled voice could clearly be heard shouting from within the turret’s interior, “Pip’ – don’t be such a bastard; you’ve had your laugh, now help me out!” Trying and failing to suppress the mirth in his voice, the younger brother laughed and said, “Ja, hang on you big baby – I’ll get you out.”

Choosing to leave well enough alone, the red and white haired mechanic pulled himself from out of the crew hatch and slid down the side of the tank in a desperate bid to avoid further tempting fate (nothing ever went well when those two were involved). Landing deftly onto the dusty, sand-strewn ground, Zipfel was quick to move to the other side of the Sturmwagen – closer to the relative safety of Ernst. It seemed that both Schmullie and Toni (who was now back to his former Tabby coloration) had taken to sitting with Ernst whilst he had been busy in the tank; the three of them were now in the middle of a game of cards – a stack of notes[48] sat between them. As he crossed over to sit with them, he took note of the fact that Walter has apparently moved from the gunner’s pit to the gun mantlet at some point, he didn’t know when though.

Contenting himself to sit down and observe their game, Bart finally took the time to simply relax. Ten minutes in and his relaxation was cut short when Schmullie casually called out, “Hey, Ziggy – glad you finally decided to show up.” All at once the crew was on its feet, dusting off sand and donning their tanker caps. As he fixed his own bearings, Bart finally caught site of his commanding officer. A tall, slim and lively straw colored German Rex, Panzerkommandant Siegfried Stoßauge made for quite the dashing sight… At least he would have were his uniform not buttoned up crookedly, his hat not skewed at a jaunting angle, or his boots unlaced.

Even his naturally unruly hair seemed more ruffled than usual… and was that lipstick on his face? Taking a whiff of air, none could have missed the strong sent of alcohol and perfume wafting from their commander’s person, nor could they miss the near ruddy glow of his complexion as he smiled and exclaimed, “Hallo hallo hallo, boys – how are we today?” Bart could not help but giggle at how unprofessional it all seemed as Ernst (being the only one to keep a straight face) replied, “Not nearly as good as you are, I would imagine.”

This got a laugh from the Kommandant as he explained, “Oh, ja, I recently ran into an old acquaintance of mine – hadn’t thought of her in years, but she remembered me; we’ve decided to pick up where we last left -- is that music I hear?” With a poker face that gave nothing to chance, Ernst answered him, saying, “Yes, sir, it is; I managed to rig up the radio to pick up local civilian transmissions.” With an excited grin, Siegfried beamingly praised, “That’s fantastic – totally illegal – but fantastic nonetheless!” As if by magic, the two Kügelbach brothers appeared on either side of the commander, giving their most hopeful and innocent stares as they asked, “So we can keep it like this?”

With another laugh, Kommandant Stoßauge patted them both on the head before answering, “Of course not – that radio is Reichs-Heer property; if anyone saw you using it as a private device they’d ship you off to Kältegjarn for sure!” Even as he said this, the smile on his face never wavered. Crestfallen, the two brothers began to mope over how unfair such a rule seemed. Their despondence was cut short when the commander continued, “However, I don’t see any problem with leaving it alone for a few hours; the day is still young and I’ve yet to have any breakfast.” With smiles all around, the crew of Wagen Seven was soon situated around the transponder, eating toast with eggs and laughing gaily with one another… Within a few short days they would look back on this memory and wonder as to whether they could ever find such happiness again…

At that same time, on the other side of the continent, a lone red stallion had just finished eating his own morning meal and was set to begin another day of hard work. Yes, for Big Macintosh it was just another day – like any other day, really. Or it would have been were he not in such a miserable mood to begin with. Truly he hated the life of a farmer. Yet, if given a choice, he’d still pick farming over anything else. In all honesty, he’d been entertaining the notion of one day dropping everything and walking off the farm – to explore the wider world and see things he’d only ever heard about in stories.

But no, he could never do that. The fear of the unknown and the weight of familial responsibility were far too great for him to ever act upon such things. Very recently, he had even settled for the idea of staying on the farm ‘til his dying day, so long as the girl of his dreams might be there to share those days with him. But after all the self-doubt, the fear and turmoil over matters of the heart, after finally manning up and telling her how he felt, the elation of her actually reciprocating his feelings – Rainbow Dash had gone and spat on his heart.

She had stood him up. He stayed up all of last night waiting for her – she had told him that she would be there at eight o’clock, and he’d taken her at her word. But when the clock rolled to one in the morning, and she’d still not shown up, he knew within his heart that she’d rejected him. And just like that, the dream of maybe settling down with what he had went up in smoke, and the monotony of life-as-usual set upon him like a heavy black cloud. He couldn’t hold it against her – couldn’t hate her for her decision – because if he were honest with himself, he could understand why.

As he hitched himself to that horrible, Godforsaken plow that affixed him to the land, he ruminated. She was too free a spirit to be tied down to some dirt-poor dirt-farmer, too wild to be bound to one place and take on the mantle of a farmer’s wife. Maybe that’s why he was (and still is) so enamored with her; she represented everything he had ever dreamed about – everything he had ever wanted to do in life. Maybe if he had been born with wings, or if he weren’t shackled to a farm that he grew increasingly weary of… but no; thinking of what could have been, what might have been – it was an exercise in futility.

And as the large carmine pony slogged through his own bleak thoughts whilst tilling the dark soil in his wake, he failed to notice the limping form of a cyan Pegasus as she wheeled and stumbled down a hill and towards him, her every move punctuated by pained gasps and shuddering breaths. It wasn’t until he heard a voice – her voice – call out, “Mac?”, that he was ripped from his self-reflection. Snapping his head in the direction where he’d heard her, his eyes widened in both surprise and horror! Again, she called out, her voice so frail and weak, “Mac, is… is that you?”

“Rainbow!” he exclaimed. All but shattering the chains that bound his yoke to the plow he rushed towards her tottering form, he could hardly suppress the fear he felt for her. Her cyan fur was covered in soot and ash, and her dazzling mane was singed and caked in crusted blood. Her once beautiful feathers were little more than charred quills and blisters – many of which were leaking white pus and a thick brown liquid that smelt of blood and rot. Her back legs were completely bare of hair, and instead were covered in open sores and terrible scabs. One of her front legs was obviously broken, and the blood and mucous that caked her face had crusted one of her eyes close.

But it was her wings that caused his heart to tremble in savage fear, for they were so hideously mangled that he could not stare at them without feeling the bile crop up from within him; her left wing was obviously rent from its socket, and the other one was folded in so awkward an angle that there was no doubt in his mind that she had shredded its muscles. Throwing off his yoke, Macintosh cautiously covered the last few meters to her – his heart breaking further as he saw her in greater detail. With shaking limbs and fevered breathing, the young mare weakly called out, “Mac?”

Delicately placing an arm around her flank to try and calm her down, the farmer halfheartedly answered her, saying, “Yeah – I’m here, Rainbow, I’m here.” Like a great weight had finally been lifted from her, the Pegasus all but dropped like a dead weight. Had Macintosh not been on hand, she would have fallen hard upon the earth, but his steady grip kept her aloft long enough so that he could hoist her onto his back before making his way towards the old farmhouse in a hurried gait; he needed to get the wagon ready to take her into town – there was no way that his grandmother would be capable of dealing with wounds like this, even as good as she was.

Along the way, he ran into his eldest sister who, upon sighting her good friend’s deplorable condition, gasped and desperately inquired, “What happened to her?” Having little time to explain, Macintosh gave the only answer that could work, saying, “I don’t know, but I’m takin’ her into town to have a doctor try ‘n fix her up.” Without missing a beat, Applejack asked, “What can I do to help?” Never faltering in his steps, the older of the two siblings replied, “Go ‘n get the wagon prepped while I get something to salve her wounds.” With a nod of conformation, his sister galloped at full speed towards the barn.

Stepping into the old homestead, Macintosh was relieved to find that his grandmother was awake. Catching sight of her oldest grandchild, she was all set to ask him how his day was going until she took note of the battered Pegasus passed out upon his back. Hobbling towards the two, she didn’t press for explanations or demand answers; instead, with a serious tone, she asked Macintosh, “What all do you need, sonny?” His answer was short and to the point – “I need some liquor, Granny.”

Shaking her head, the old dam rebutted him, saying, “No, boy – what you need is some of that there mountain dew[49]; I’ll get a couple jars out from the old warsh[50], in the mean time I need you to go ‘n get a couple of rags from the clothes line.” With a nod, Macintosh laid Rainbow Dash’s prone form upon the old couch, caring little if it were stained by the blood, before running outside to the wash line. Casting a pitiful gaze upon the broken girl, Granny Smith tottered to the broom closet, where she raised up a floorboard and withdrew two clear glass jars filled with an equally cleared liquid.

Soon enough, her grandson returned with a handful of rags and a desperate look about him; this girl was obviously important to him. Taking the proffered rags from him, she unceremoniously dunked them in the jars before placing them on the worst of Rainbow’s wounds. Even while unconscious, the young Pegasus clinched her teeth and wheezed in pain – the high proof grain alcohol no doubt felt like liquid fire on her open wounds, but it was a small price to prevent possible infection. Repeating the process a few more times, Granny Smith casually asked, “I assume you’ll be takin’ her to the hospital in town?” A hurried nod was his answer. “Good,” she replied, “take what time you need, Macintosh.”

Recognizing his grandmother’s blessing, he swiftly took Rainbow Dash and replaced her onto his back and then just as quickly headed back out the door. His sister was there to greet him, the wagon fully prepared and ready to be hitched up. Carefully placing the cyan mare down upon the fresh bed of straw within the wagon’s bed, the large red farmer silently had his sister help secure his yoke (which she had taken the liberty of retrieving it from where he’d tossed it so thoughtlessly) to the wagon’s drive. When that was done, he made a steady cantor towards the direction of town. From behind him, he heard his sister shout, “Take good care of her, Mac!” He solemnly swore to himself that he would.

When he’d finally arrived to the Ponyville general hospital, he’d startled some poor unfortunate nurse nearly half to death when he’d barged in covered in blood, carrying what looked for all intents and purposes a corpse and demanding at the top his voice that someone help him. When one of doctors finally did come running in to see what the problem was, he acted more than accommodatingly, showing the stallion to a proper preparatory facility, where he and a handful of other hospital staff took the egregiously wounded mare and rushed her to the emergency wing.

Two and a half hours later, and Big Macintosh was a frazzled bundle of angst-ridden nerves. So absorbed was he in his distressed state that when the doctor returned and touched him on the haunches, he physically jumped in surprise. The doctor was kind enough not to make anything of it, as he began, “Mr. Macintosh?” With a heavy nod, the farmer replied, “That’s me.” Pulling a clipboard from his coat, the doctor took that as his queue to explain the situation, saying, “We’ve managed to stabilize her, and while most of her wounds are still severe, none of them should be considered life-threatening at this point in time.”

With a massive sigh of relief, Macintosh visibly sagged into his chair as a tired smile crossed his face. It fell soon enough as the doctor went on, “However, there are a few things that you need to understand before we continue; there will be a great deal of scar tissue that will develop in the coming months --” With a snort the farmer grunted, “I don’t care about no scars!” Tactfully keeping on as if he hadn’t been interrupted the doctor carried on, “--, she will more than likely walk with a slight limp for the remainder of her life,” that one brought Macintosh to pause, as he began to feel that doctor was trying to lead up to something.

His worst fears were confirmed as the doctor finally finished, “She will also never be capable of sustained flight ever again.” And there it was. Jumping to his feet, the workhorse shouted, “No – you need to fix her, she has to fly!” Flying was everything to her; her whole life and future pursuits hinged on her ability to fly! If she lost that, she lost it all – he couldn’t let that happen, he had to fix this! “Mr. Macintosh – sir, please calm down.” In his blind fear for the mare he loved, he irrationally demanded, “Y’all are doctors aren’t you? You’re supposed to fix this sort of thing, so fix it!”

“Sir,” exclaimed the doctor, “please listen to me.” Realizing how foolish he was being, Macintosh carefully listened as the doctor tried to explain the situation to him. “I understand that this is a distressing revelation,” he began, “it’s never easy for any of us, and it will never get easier no matter how much we wish otherwise – the damage done to her wings is near irreparable; she more than likely tore the ligaments during a crash landing… this would also explain her broken leg.” This still left Macintosh to question, “I still don’t see why you can’t fix it with surgery.”

With a sigh the doctor despondently frowned at his own inability to fix the problem as he explained further, “Aside from how risky that sort of operation can be, there would be no point to it; her primary flight feathers have been burnt at the very root – they’ll never grow back – and if they did, there’s far too much internal vascular damage for blood to be properly supplied to them… I’m sorry.” And he was – sorry for the fact that he couldn’t help them, and for the fact that he had to tell them as such.

A few minutes of silence passed, before the larger of the two of them finally spoke up, asking the next big question on his mind, “Is she awake?” Again, the doctor sighed as he said, “No – she’s being kept in a sedated state so that the stitches have time to settle.” At hearing this, Macintosh then asked the next prudent question, “Can I see her?” A sad smile crossed the doctor’s face as he replied, “Yeah, you can go and see her now… However, I feel it best to warn you that you won’t like what you see.” Macintosh sincerely doubted that. After all, he’d been the one to deliver her broken body to the doctors. As the doctor led the farmer along, he casually handed an envelope to an orderly and requested that it be sent to Canterlot as quickly as possible…

Back in Bahnhof, things had exploded into a storm of energetic activity as soldiers ran to and fro, getting last minute details in order and collecting together in their designated deployment zones. For the crew of the Number Seven[51], things were just as lively, though not nearly as chaotic. The ammunition feeder had been fixed, the ammunition itself stored in its proper place, and when Schlosser Sekunde Klasse Bart Zifpel had started up the boiler engine, it had run smoothly for the first time in recent memory.

Now they sat within their machine, its cozy yet claustrophobic interior was a din of noise and motion, a slight haze of misting steam filled the compartment as last minute adjustments were made. In his place at the back of the compartment next to the boiler hub, the young mechanic smiled excitedly towards Toni (who sat across from him next to the firebox and the coal chute), who gave an equally eager grin. Further ahead of them, front and center sat Schmullie at the drive console – fully immersed in making the minute alterations to the controls that made this machine his.

To the Sphynx’s right sat Ernst at the radio station (returned once more to its rightful place) fastidiously fixating on the various dials, twisting and turning them to just the right frequency. To the left of the both of them sat their bow gunner, Walter, his sleep undisturbed even amidst the rocking motion of the great machine’s oscillating engine – his laconic form was strapped tightly to his chair in copious amounts of crash webbing, making for quite the humorous sight to behold – the electronics panel that he was supposed to be manning was left alone, apparently functioning just fine without him.

Above them, situated in the turret housing, sat the grinning figure of Kommandant Siegfried at the commander’s cupola where he was currently making minute adjustments to the telescopic rangefinder. Sitting to his right, Frank Müller simply waited patiently in his seat, apparently finished with his own prep work. Over the radio could be heard the two Kügelbach brothers, who were apparently just as ready to go as Frank was. All they awaited was the general departure order…

At the same time, and relatively near the same place, Oberst Mittens Von Fleischtauben confidently strode across the pavement of the train hub with Oberleutnant Ghresht keeping pace. Their destination was clear – a highly ornate and exquisitely crafted Pullman car that had rolled into the station some five minutes ago, pulled by the silver clad ‘Silberzug VII’, one of the twelve Reicheigen Klasse engines designed for the safe transport of high ranking members of the imperial hierarchy.

As they came closer and closer to the imposing car, Kujek gave question to what they both wondered, saying, “Who do you suppose they’ve sent to us?” Turning his head over his shoulder, Mittens answered, “I don’t know; I only hope it’s not one of Listruck’s[52] sycophants.” While the Gila Monster said nothing more, the chuffing snort he gave was more than enough of an answer on what he thought of that. The Oberst didn’t blame him – ‘Der Wiesel’ was not a pleasant man to deal with in any situation.

As Claws Von Schlauhirn awkwardly stepped out of the Pullman and into the dry dusty morning air, the first thing that came to his mind was how cool it was – he had always assumed that the desert was supposed to be hot. The next thing he noticed was how dirty everything around him was – everywhere he looked there was soot and dirt; not the best environment for the expensive dress suit he was wearing. But it was the rather tall and imposing cat approaching him (followed by a frightfully taller and much more intimidating Gila Monster) that caught his interest the most.

This was no doubt the senior ranking member of the military expedition; one Oberst Mittens Von Fleischtauben. And if the scowl on his face was anything to go by, Claws was sure that the coming days would be an altogether unpleasant experience for him. Still, it was better than the alternative, so he would make the most of it. Intending to break the ice, Claws was only slightly miffed that the Oberst chose to beat him to it, as he asked, “You’re the attaché from Purlin, I take it?” Quickly extending his hand, the Minister of the Interior was pleasantly surprised that Von Fleischtauben actually accepted it, shaking it in an iron handed grasp.

Still, there was no point in complaining – he’d start things off right. As they shook hands, he used his friendliest voice and replied, “Claws Von Schlauhirn, his majesty’s Minister of the Interior – and you must be Oberst Fleischtauben.” Strangely enough, both the Oberst and his companion had a look of relief swim briefly across their face before he replied, “That’s correct; we’ve just begun to mobilize, and with your arrival I feel that we can begin expediting the process in earnest.” Gesturing towards his reptilian orderly, the Oberst offered, “Oberleutnant Ghresht will attend to your luggage.”

Before Claws could protest, the hulking Gila Monster casually stepped up to the Pullman car and began collecting up the Minister’s retinue. As he did that, Oberst Mittens took Claws by the shoulder and lead him further into the depot. As they went along, the Oberst ran over the various units at his disposal and what he intended to do with them, inquiring from time to time as to what concessions, if any, would be needed to accommodate the Minister, and whether or not any changes would be needed to the overall plan. Having no real experience in matters of war, Claws was more than happy to agree with anything the Oberst had to say.

As they approached an ironclad boxcar replete with various antennae, an officerial insignia emblazoned on the side, Oberst Mittens was quick to announce, “This is where I must leave you for now; I’ve instructed the honor guard to allow you into the radio car, and Oberleutnant Ghresht should arrive shortly to deliver your baggage...” Looking at his wrist watch, the Oberst appeared to be pleased before he turned one last time to Claws and said, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m needed elsewhere.” And before the Minister of the Interior could even blink, he was off, walking briskly towards a vast sprawl of tents…

The camp was alive with activity as men and equipment moved this way and that; a commotion of sights and sounds that could only be described as organized chaos. Last minute adjustments and mental checklists were made, as the sun finally cleared the horizon, casting the surrounding landscape in a refulgent haze of honeyed light. All activity ceased amidst the crackling hiss and whining screech of the dozens of megaphones scattered around the camp – the rugged voice of Oberst Mittens carried across the entire camp, his words amplified tenfold so that none could possibly ignore what he had to say.

“Soldiers of the Reich,” he began, “Today begins the day of days – that glorious and terrible day for which we have spent nigh on three generations contemplating over, preparing for, and ultimately hoping against.” An acrimonious bout of static punctuated his pause before he continued – “Today, we endeavor to cross the vast wasteland that marks the boundary of our great empire, and from there we shall march upon Feindesland[53] – the country of the Pferdlanders has, in recent days, come under the unassuageable assault of a monster… a creature outside the realm of both nature and probability.”

To many, it was strange – hearing the characteristically gruff and laconic officer speak so eloquently. Yet none could dispute the veracity of his candor, speaking as he did with authority as he continued; “I will be honest with you when I say that, I have no doubt that many of you who are hearing this will not live beyond the coming weeks… departing from this final bastion of our homeland will insure that we are marching headlong into the ravenous jaws of death, and truth be told, I find myself held in fear’s grip at such a notion.” There was no small number of the soldiers listening who were shocked by his admission; Mittens Von Fleischtauben – the hero of the Kaproß Run[54], was admitting to being afraid?”

Again, the Oberst’s voice blared across the camp as he exclaimed, “Many of you already know me – know of my service and my victories; some of you have no doubt served under me before… You know that I would not have you do anything that I myself would not willingly do.” Many of those listening nodded in agreement, Hermann Kühn and his Panzergrenadiers amongst them. Amidst attenuated static, the Oberst continued his speech, “This monstrosity – this Gho’Zrah – is unlike anything that our empire has ever faced, and it represents a threat far greater than any our forefathers could claim to have witnessed…”

“Remember this when it comes time to do your duty; we are not doing this for a people not our own, nor are we doing this out of altruism.” What he would say next sent a shiver down the spines of all who listened – the vehemence and determination with which he declared them stirring within their hearts a flaming resolve that would nourish their spirits in the coming days. “We do this not for our empire, nor for our lands or traditions, nor for our Kaiser or for Purlin, but for our families, for our loved ones, for our children and their future children… We do this for the survival of our species and our way of life!”

And there it was – a reason for why they should fight. This was it – the time had come. When the megaphones screamed to life once more, it was not the voice of Oberst Mittens, but of someone else – their deep, scratchy voice phlegmatically relaying, “Soldiers of the Reich, prepare for departure – boarding groups one through five begin embarking procedures, boarding groups six through eleven stand by; boarding group twelve, begin deployment.”

Inside the ‘Schwartzie’, Kommandant Stoßauge smiled before saying, “That’s our cue, boys – Schmüllie, if you please.” With a grin, the Sphynx applied power to the engine and with a heaving lurch the great machine they manned began moving forwards, onto a loading ramp. Within minutes they were situated amidst a dozen other tanks on an open topped car – a crew of breakers were fast in securing the Sturmwagens with chains and blocks. Opening up his cupola, Siegfried watched in awe as some four thousand men marched with mechanical precision, breaking off into smaller groups before finally coming aboard the desert-bound express.

As the soldiers made their way on board, many of them were pleasantly surprised to see that much of the townspeople of Bahnhof had largely come out to see them off – beautiful girls waved to them; many blowing kisses and declaring their undying love and affection for this soldier and that, with children coming out in droves to cheer on the men that they would one day hope to be like. Young and old alike waved the national banner with enthusiasm, chanting the Imperial motto of “Peace through Strength, Blood, Steel and Honor!”

The local town Veteran’s League[55] presented their arms in ceremony, firing off a salvo in salute as the locomotive’s engine began to hiss and groan, it’s wheels slowly turning. As the train began to slowly crawl forwards, the local band broke out into a rousing rendition of ‘Der Anschlußlied[56]’, the music’s vigor inspiring both the soldiers and the people of Bahnhof to a frenzied roar of patriotic zeal! Gradually, music and cheering alike faded beneath the din of roaring steam pistons, squeaking wheels, and rattling cars. They were fully on their way towards destiny. To the east, the Sun had finally cleared the horizon in full…

Night had fully given way to the daylight as it came over the town of Oakridge… or, rather, what remained of Oakridge. What had once been a burgeoning town of some eight-thousand souls, situated near the southern reaches of the ‘Oak Spur’ (itself being the colloquial name for the southernmost reaches of the vast, sprawling forest collectively known as the ‘Everfree’), was now little more than a smoldering heap of timber and rubble. As it casually reviewed its work, Gho’Zra felt little of the solace it would usually take in such destruction. In all honesty, the quaint hamlet had been little more than a target of opportune happenstance; the beast had all but stumbled upon it by chance.

The town had had no warning whatsoever to his approach – no chance to prepare or to even flee. Many of its citizens had not even risen from their sleep yet, and with little discernment he had culled them all in an outburst of biblical proportions. Just the sight of their houses, the smell of the smoke that arose from their chimneys and hearths, had been enough to arouse his anger. Like a storm he came, tearing through cobbled streets and picturesque cottage homes – it had taken little effort to sweep them aside; a casual flick of the tail, a simple stride, and they were rendered into naught but splintered heaps of ruin.

The silence of the morning air was befitting of such a spectacle, as if the elements themselves had been shocked into stillness by the ferocity of his actions. But as the high of the moment began to fade, there was little satisfaction to be had by the behemoth; the ache of emptiness becoming ever more pronounced as he went along. No amount of anger or destruction would change what things were – vengeance seemed ever hollower as the days progressed. Yet it was this hollowness that fed into the rage of existing in such a way that kept him on his path; he would see this through.

To the north, something beckoned him – an unseen force that had guided him from the start, pulling him to some final destination that was beginning to become increasingly irrelevant to him. Perhaps it would lead to a way out of this existence. Or maybe it was merely more of the same. Such thoughts bred more vitriol into his soul; instincts that had once been writ law were now questioned by a mind that increasingly began to think in ways it had never done before. Yes, he could see things clearer for what they had become – the instincts that had held sway over his kind for untold generations were beginning to lose their purchase.

He could feel the pull, and though he knew it to be not of his own will he followed it all the same. Looking back one last time towards the smoldering wreckage of the town, he realized that he felt nothing. No pity. No regret. No anger or hatred or fury. No satisfaction or vindication. No solace in retribution. No, all he felt was the emptiness that he’d begun to truly despise. There was no hesitation as he took the first step towards a destiny he cared little of. The Everfree grew silent…

[1] A collection of like-minded kingdoms situated upon the Manx River (of which the Vorosh Valley Duchy was the most seminal member), the Confederacy was the brainchild of Prince Felis Von Sylvestris, who saw the Serval Republic and its allies as a threat to the established hierarchy. Aside from military obligations, the Confederacy also strengthened ties through trade and other methods of inter-state commerce. The Manx River Confederacy would ultimately be reformed into the Empire of Vorosh, ‘der Katzereich’.
[2] Formed in response to the growing power of the Voroshian state by the combination of near a dozen different underground groups (all of whom shared the ideal of a Voroshian Liberal-Democratic insititution), the ‘Schisma-April’ officially began on April 7th in the 32nd year of the reign of King Monstro Von Steuernhetzer, Grand Duke of Vorosh, with an armed revolutionary insurrection that managed to take control of a number of vital regions. The revolution would end violently on April 24th, during the siege of Purlin, where Prince Felis Von Sylvestris took personal control of the Purlin Garrisons and swiftly defeated the Revolutionary Republic Army. His order to gun down the surviving members of the insurrection that had surrendered after the battle still lives on in infamy – at home and abroad.
[3] The lifespan of a Cat, even one of high standing and good living, very seldom passes sixty years – the average itself being fifty.
[4] The basic military organizational unit used in deploying Strumwagens, one Katzergruppen is comprised of 4 to 6 vehicles.
[5] Literally meaning ‘Horse Empire’ or ‘Horse Kingdom’, this is the Voroshian name for Equestria. The term ‘Pferdlander’ is used in regards to the citizens of Equestria.
[6] Founded by Reichskanzler Felis Von Sylvestris in the years following the formation of the Empire of Vorosh, the ‘Katzenaugen-Netzwerk’ (Literally: Cat’s Eye Network), or KaN for short, is the Empire’s Information Network and Secret Police all wrapped up into one. Utilizing civilian spies, foreign-born informants, hand-picked enforcers and the full backing of the state, KaN maintains a constant vigil over matters both within and without the Empire, with at least one agent in every foreign capital.
[7] A quarterly report that reviews past decisions and sets the goals of the coming years on all matters pertaining to the state; production, trade, diplomacy, social programs, laws, funding, appropriations, war, etc.
[8] The Office of Interior Minister exists under the function of political streamlining. It is the Minister of the Interior’s job to insure that the various branches and wings of the ‘Reichsverwaltung’ (Literally meaning ‘Imperial Administration’ the term loosely used to describe the collective body of bureaucrats, politicians and functionary offices that make up the Imperial Government’s elective body.) are informed of each other’s actions and should therefore synchronize for better efficiency. It is often a thankless job, but without it the empire would likely grind to a snail’s pace in getting anything done.
[9] Designed from the start as a penal work camp for those elements of society convicted of major felonies or seditious activity, the mining town of Kältegjarn has the ignominious distinction of being the northernmost town of the Empire, and where political traitors and common thugs alike are sent to work and ultimately be forgotten. Life expectancy for those sent there is not considered to be very long at all.
[10] Equivalent to a Colonel, the Staff Officer rank of Oberst is the highest field rank below the General ranks. It is an Oberst’s job to insure that the orders of the General he is staffed under are carried out by the men of his divisional command.
[11] Equivalent to the rank of First Lieutenant, the rank of Oberleutnant is typically bestowed upon commissioned officers after five to six years of active duty service. In this particular case, it represents a special military post as an assistant to the Oberst. Should the Oberst become indisposed, it is the job of the Oberleutnant to direct the army where needed in said Oberst’s stead.
[12] The Homeland of the Gila Monsters is situated within Voroshian territory, and is thus a protectorate of the Empire. Renowned as mercenaries of the highest caliber, and infamous for their non-discerning palate, Gila Monsters are a common sight amongst the forces of the Empire, where their natural strength and tough hides are always in high demand.
[13] Literally meaning ‘Station’ or more accurately ‘Railway Station’, Bahnhof lives up to its rather droll name (no doubt whoever founded it was not of the imaginative sort), being purposefully built to accommodate a train hub that wouldn’t be built for another two decades after its founding. It stands as the eastern most point of Voroshian territory.
[14] Roughly translating to ‘Great Waste’, or ‘Great Desert’, the Großewüste is the vast, intercontinental desert that seperates the Katzereich from Equestria. Stretching roughly 6,200 kilometers from east to west, and some 13,000 kilometers from north to south, it has always represented the dividing line between the two great nations. Notable for the rich mineralogical deposits in its eastern half, and a string of lowhung mountains on its western edge, the Großewüste is a vast and near inhospitable environment for most people. However, there are exceptions to this, particularly in regard to the Gila Monsters, Horned Toads, and Camels.
[15] A sort of Military Mechanic who specializes in armored vehicle engine maintenance. The rank of Schlosser can only be awarded to those who pass the mechanical aptitude tests used in the curriculum of certain engineering schools.
[16] Synonymous with both the rank of Sergeant 1st Class as well as that of a Technical Sergeant, the use of Oberfeldwebel in this case is meant to refer to a Gunnery Sergeant.
[17] An exotic sight to behold on the continent, a majority of the inhabitants of distant Pangolia are pacifists by nature, abhorring violence in all forms. However, they are also an extremely close trade partner of the Empire, with roughly 70% of their gross domestic product sent oversees to the Katzereich. That some could be found in the armed forces of the Cats is a novelty to many.
[18] The kingdom of Kröte, homeland of the Toads was one of the original members of the Manx River Confederacy. Noted for their traditions of martial ferocity and loyalty beyong question, they are an important part of the Empire’s military machine. Domestically, Toads are also famous for their skills at terraformation and hydroengineering, as they constantly needed to insure a stead water supply as they expanded in the past.
[19] A black insignia patch with four silver scratch marks, worn by soldiers to mark them as being part of the elite and venerated Sturmtrüppen Division.
[20] Betrayal, underhanded treachery, cowardly conduct unbecoming of soldiers, literally – to stab in the back; Dolchstoß is considered the gravest of charges by most soldiers.
[21] While it may seem odd, some ponies have forsaken their own kind to pursue goals that they could never achieve in Equestria. There is a small, yet notable population of Pferdlanders who call the Katzereich home. Some were born within the Reich, but most immigrated there. The term Destrier is used to describe an Earth Pony who serves in the Reichsheer (The Imperial Army) though not nearly as rare as others; it is still a fairly uncommon sight, as most Ponies who have decided to live within the Empire have taken to more economic niches. The size and strength of Destrier Ponies is such that they are often equipped with heavy weaponry and given the role of a squad support unit.
[22] A stylized, jet-black image of a Cat’s paw print – the Catspaw is the national symbol, and is commonly integrated into the various badges and insignia worn by its military.
[23] A specialized gun carriage that is worn as a harness, the Laffetegeschirr (literally ‘Gun carriage harnesses’) is both versatile and reliable on the field.
[24] The First Panzergrenadier Company is considered the elite of the elite. The symbol of the grinning silver cat’s skull evokes confidence in allies and dread in enemies. Selected from the best and the brightest troops, this venerated Company has taken part in every military campaign in the Empire’s history.
[25] This is phonetically the Voroshian name for Equestria’s capital city.
[26] Roughly equivalent to a Sergeant Major, the Oberstabsfeldwebel is the highest rank of the Company he is in, holding overall responsibility for the men he commands.
[27] Another seminal group from the former Manx River Confederacy, the Ferrets are a cunning lot who use wit and guile to accomplish what others might use strength and perseverance to achieve. As such, they make excellent strategists, and have ferreted (pardon the expression) their way up the rungs of the Bureaucratic ladder and into leading positions in the empire. Reconnaissance units are often heavily comprised of Ferrets, as they have a natural tendency to avoid outright confrontation. They are also renowned for their ability to procure whatever one might want, forming black-markets in every barracks they’re stationed at.
[28] A rank that roughly translates to ‘Senior Lance Corporal’, it is more akin to that of a Private First Class. An Obergefreiter has command over his squad, and must have at least six months of service.
[29] That is, the collar patch used to denote both rank and service – all soldiers are issued a set, and must have them upon them at all times when on duty.
[30] The lowest military rank; a recruit who has served for less than a month.
[31] The basic military rank of Private – a service time of at least three months is required.
[32] A war from twelve years prior, it would be one of the bloodiest campaigns on record. In response to increased aggression against a political ally by the Boars of Kalnasšalis, the Hügelland Campaign (literally ‘Hill Country’, the Voroshian term for the Kalnasšalis highlands to the far south of the Empire) was conducted under the order of then Kaiser Albrecht Von Steuernhetzer. What followed would be 8 months of the most brutal and personal fighting in Imperial memory, with nearly 800,000 dead or wounded on both sides. It would only end at the behest of the Boar king, Gurg the Wartless, who would abdicate as a condition of surrender. In the end, victory had come down to numbers, as the Boars were always comparatively few in numbers. To this day, their population is still reeling from the loss of so many of their young men.
[33] A derogatory term used by some to describe ponies and other odd-toed races.
[34] Comparable to the rank of Captain, the term Hauptmann in this case is actually that of a specialist designation (i.e. a squad support gunner). Pertaining to a Pony, the rank is more akin to the rank of Feldwebel in a Cat.
[35] While the word literally means ‘Horse’, it is in the context of a lowly beast of burden and is meant as an overt insult to those who would understand it.
][36] The capital city of the Empire, and a direct play on Berlin – I know it’s horrible, but I could not resist putting that in there; it was just too perfect… or should I say purrfect? No? Okay then.
[37] The Finance mandate is that part of the quarterly field mandate that pertains to financial appropriations and where such resources will be deployed. It is a constant battle with politicians to insure that the military is properly funded.
[38] Prosthetic technologies have only recently been implemented in the Empire, and the novelty of it has yet to wear off.
[39] Like the Gila Monsters, the Horned Toads have filled a mercenary niche in the Empire, where their natural calm and patience make them naturally inclined to positions of leadership and decision-making. Their ability to survive in hostile environments also makes them prime candidates for the Sonderkommandotruppen (Literally - 'Special Commando Troops', a special operations Commando unit) throughout the empire.
[44] The cleft in which the bow machine gunner stands when operating the hull mounted machine-gun. It comes fully stocked with 12 crates of ammunition, and a crèche to take cover in should things become hairy.
[45] Funkerlied (Vintage Radio Broadcast Version) (Modern Digital Broadcast Version)
[46] Im Wald, Im Grünen Walde (Vintage Radio Broadcast Version) (Modern Digital Broadcast Version)
[47] The Current Munitions General is a Ferret by the name of Lang Kash. He’s rather infamous for testing new patents out by issuing them as mandatory gear. In return, he gets a cut in the profits.
[48] Scratch Notes – the standard currency of the Empire. One Note is roughly equal to seven Equestrian Bits.
[49] Having experience firsthand the potency of what you people in America call ‘White Lightning’, I can attest to the fact that it can disinfect anything upon the face of God’s earth.
[50] An antiquated term roughly meaning a hole in the wall – it would later come to mean a closet or utility room of some sort before finally passing out of the common lexicon of the English language.
[51] Unit 7 of the 13th Sturmwagenabteilung, affectionately referred to by her crew as ‘Schwartzie’ ('Blackie').
[52] The Ferret known as Ethan Listruck, commonly referred to behind his back as ‘The Weasel’, is currently head chairman of the ‘Finanzverwendung Fachkollegium’ (The Review Board of Financial Appropriations) and one of the most vocal proponents of the austerity movement that calls for a massive decrease in overall expenditure. Since a majority of the Katzereich’s funding goes towards the military machine, Listruck and many other likeminded individuals on the review board (others would call them cronies) have taken up a personal crusade of sorts in redirecting appropriations to other outlets, not least of which would be Listruck’s pocketbook. Corrupt and ruthless, he has shown before that he would not hesitate to destroy the careers of those who oppose him; A vile man in every sense.
[53] Feindesland literally means Enemy Territory.
[54] At the height of the Hügelland Campaign, the battle of the Kaproß Run represented the climax of the entire conflict – the last battle waged on equal standing, when the entire war was still up for grabs. Some 327,000 soldiers would participate in what had initially started out as a routine reconnaissance mission gone wrong. At a narrow valley between two great escarpments known locally as ‘The Gash’, a seemingly unimportant skirmish between two opposing surveillance squads snowballed out of control due to poor communication and no amount of misinformation into the largest infantry battle in world history. It was during this time that a hitherto unheard of Leutnant by the name of Mittens Von Fleischtauben would rise into legend at a nearby washout that the soldiers had taken to calling the Kaproß Run (After the late Generalmajor Heimdall Kaproß who had been killed there by a random mortar shell some two days prior). Rallying his assault squad, Leutnant Fleischtauben lead a bold run across the washout, taking three bullets during the charge, before ordering his forces to split into three divergent groups. Using the confusion sewn by such unusual tactics, he personally accounted for the destruction of 24 heavy mortars, six cannons, and 13 Boars. In less than ten minutes his squad had killed some 62 enemy combatants and apprehended some 300 prisoners. This in turn lead to the collapse of the Boar’s left flank which resulted in a general rout. For his actions on the field, newly promoted Hauptmann Von Fleischtauben was presented the Reihenfolge der Löwenpranke (Order of the Lion’s Paw), the highest military honor to be bestowed by the Katzereich.
[55] An institution designed for those former soldiers of the Reich who are either too old or physically incapable of continued service. A chapter can be found in every town and city of the Empire.
[56] The song's real name is Unter dem Doppeladler

A Feline Soldier's Portrait.

A Feline Assault Trooper in full field gear

Hauptmann Spitzer

Hauptmann Spitzer in full field gear

MK 19 Cat Machine-Gun (Information on it can be found here.)

SB 22 Cat Assault Rifle (Information on it can be found here.)

Various Badges, Patches and Pins and devices of the Katzereich. Also featuring some non-feline members of the Empire. (More information can be found here.)

Cat Tank (Detailed Information and Specifications can be found here.)

Image of the Cat Tank from above (More information can be found here.)

The Hand of Fate

As far as Princess Celestia was concerned, the words ‘Cat’ and ‘Altruism’ were to never be found in the same vicinity. She held no delusions of genuine magnanimity on behalf of the Kaiser of Vorosh. If there was one thing she knew about Cats, it was that they were only ever concerned over things that affected them – ergo, they saw a threat to themselves in the form of Gho-Zrah, and were merely offering help in the hopes of stopping the monster before it decided to pay them a visit.

Personal convictions also had a part to play, if she were being honest; from the start she’d seen what the Cats could be capable of should they ever unite under a single banner. When the Manx River Confederacy had been formed some eighty years ago, she’d been beside herself; she could not allow her fears to become a reality, and she was quick to prop up the only other regional power that could potentially counter the growing confederacy – the Serval Republic.

In retrospect, she understood that by being so public in her support of the Republic, she’d made a marked impression on the Cats and their allies. After all, it was no secret that the Felines could hold a grudge. But to this day, she felt justified in providing economic assistance and material aide to the Republic – their belief in freedom and peace through understanding were in stark contrast to the regimented systems of autocracy and war-mongering that the Cats of Vorosh were so fond of.

All things considered, it had been more than a financial blow to Equestria when the Serval Republic collapsed under the military might of Vorosh; with a now truly unified Cat Empire, she'd practically seen the flames of war and devastation that would be wrought against her kingdom as the Cats undoubtedly set their sights on the ones they blamed for the Unification Wars. It had been no small miracle that her diplomats had managed to avert such a calamity; a line was drawn in the sand (literally), and it had been agreed upon by both parties to mind their own affairs – a decision she’d come to regret in due time.

During the Diamond Dog incursion of fifty year prior, she had seen what the Cats were more than willing to do in order to achieve their goals. She’d seen how eagerly they’d brought such things as poison gas and caustic chemicals to bear – how methodically they’d gunned down both soldiers and civilians. It had terrified her how easily they’d taken to using violence to solve their issues, and she held no doubts that such horrors could be leveled at her people just as easily, should the Cats ever feel the inkling of doing so.

She was so certain of a coming war that she’d built a string of fortifications upon her kingdom’s western border, nearly doubled the size of her guard, and devised contingency plans for an inevitable war of attrition. She’d even opened up a new curriculum on magical offense. In the end, none of it mattered. How ironic that Voroshian troops would march on the nation’s capital without firing a single shot… Still, misgivings aside, she held out hope. Hope that Kaiser Patzschwelt would hold true to his word – that he would not turn out to be like his father.

And so it was under that hope that she found herself walking towards the Canterlot Train Depot, intent on welcoming the Cats upon their arrival. Apparently she was not alone in that regard, as she was surprised to see so many of her citizens lining up to see first-hand their supposed saviors. In the distance, she could hear the mournful wailing of a steam-engine’s whistle as it made its way ever closer. The crowds around her began to move in excitement – most of them had likely never even seen a Cat before. She wondered if any of them understood what the coming days would hold…

The train was nearing its final destination, and the men of the Voroshian Expeditionary Force grew increasingly restless as the great freighter slowly decelerated on its final approach. What would it be like when they stepped off their cars and into the heart of the Pferdsreich? Were the streets covered in gold and precious stones as the stories they’d heard claimed? Was it true what they said about the Pferdlanders knowing nothing of hardship or war – that they all lived in lavish houses and were not for want of anything? Such an idea was strange to many of them who had grown up in a land plagued by brutal winters and surrounded on all sides by jealous enemies.

For the recently demoted Bubbi Plüschaar, it was less a matter of conjecture and more the memory of the stories his father had passed down to him over the years. For the longest time Oscar Plüschaar had been a merchant and tradesman of some acumen, and had crossed the Großwüste on many an occasion in his trade. Every time he returned he would always come bearing fantastic stories of brick-built cities so full of life and activity, of how most ponies stood twice the height of a cat, and of how those ponies seemed content to live their lives in peace and harmony.

His father had also mentioned, in great detail, how backwards and superstitious the ponies acted at times. He spoke at large of how magic played a role in their lives on an almost daily basis. His father always commented on how vast the Pferdsreich was as well – how in some regions, all one could see for as far as the eye could gaze were farmlands and orchards. To a young kitten who had grown up amidst looming factories and cluttered city streets, such images would ignite young Bubbi’s imagination for years to come.

But the one thing that never seemed to cease in amazing his father was how ponies seemed to think and act as a group; while a pony on its own was a rather clever and thoroughly intelligent creature, his father held that, in groups, the ponies seemed to eschew their individuality in both action and thought in favor of some sort of herd mentality. His father had ultimately held a rather high opinion of the Pferdlanders… His mother, on the other hand, held an entirely different (and rather more commonplace) opinion.

As far as she was concerned, ponies were akin to a disease – one that needed to be expunged less it spread beyond control. Hailing from a rather prominent Junker family, Missy Von Streicht Plüschaar had grown up hearing the stories of how so many of her kin had fallen in the Unification Wars; struck down by Republican weapons – weapons made from the material and financial resources given by Equestria. It was just one of a long line of differences between his parents – something that always made dinner conversations most interesting.

For his part, Bubbi was ambivalent towards the whole Pony issue. He felt no sense of love for them as his father had, yet neither did he hold them in contempt as his mother did – if he were honest with himself, he just didn’t particularly care all that much about them. That being said, he was much more concerned about getting the hell off this train! Nineteen hour of being jostled and stuffed within a noisy metal boxcar and he’d begun to feel a little stir-crazy.

And he wasn’t alone. Along the entire train his sentiment was being shared – from the rank-and-file to the gold-braided officers. There was also a malaise of tenseness choking the air – most of these soldiers had never been outside their homeland, and they were now deep in the heart of a land belonging to a people they’d been taught to fear and loathe. The shrill cry of the locomotive’s whistle sent a jolt of electricity through everyone who heard it. They had arrived…

The sun was high in the mid-morning sky, and the people of Canterlot grew increasingly excited. Visitors from a far and distant land had come to aid them in their darkest hour. For all the talk and stories that were told, surprisingly very little was actually known about the Cats – their tendency to keep to themselves and the distance one had to travel in order to even see one lent to them an air of exotic mystery. Ponies of all ages and backgrounds had come to share in the once-in-a-lifetime spectacle that was about to commence.

In the distance, they could see the gleaming black steam engine (so different from their own) as it made its final approach – a steady stream of billowing, dark steam seeming to cover it like a cowl. Wheels screamed and metal groaned as the colossal engine slowed to a grinding halt; hissing jets of steam casting an ominous shroud before dissipating into the temperate morning air.

Collectively taking a few steps back, the crowd of ponies stared in awe at the seemingly endless train of enclosed cars and ironclad compartments. As if from thin air there appeared dozens of small, overall clad creatures, obscured by the smoke and steam as they ran along the various cars, manning the breaks and yelling back and forth towards one another in a strange language that was gruff to the ear but struck the mind as being no-nonsense and efficient.

With a rattling din, the door of the first-most car (replete with silver etchings and an array of antennae) slowly slid open, a set of steps unfurling in the process. From those steps descended what could only have been a Cat – its whiskered face obscured underneath a metal helmet and its furry body concealed beneath a grey trench jacket. In its paws was clasped a strange and menacing object – one of the Cats’ famed rifles, if one were to take a guess. As its tiny boot covered paws finally met the ground, it was soon followed by another, similarly dressed Cat. In just a few seconds, a half dozen of them had taken position on either side of the doorway.

As one they presented arms as another cat began to make its way down the steps. This one was markedly different, dressed in a khaki-brown field jacket and black straight-legged trousers. On his head was a black-billed cap with a bright red cockade and golden braid, and on his shoulders were a set of silver-braided patches bearing the image of a triad of diamonds lined above a laurel wreath. As the well-dressed Cat’s polished black boots hit the ground, he was followed closely by an enormous, hulking lizard, its height nearly equal to that of a pony.

The final Cat to descend the steps was of an altogether different sort. Where those before held an aura of carefully maintained discipline about them, this Cat evoked a sense of humble grace and poised intellect. His dress was also equally distinct; a fine black silk dress-jacket and pressed white undercoat, an elegant bow-tie and golden piping, it came across as very official and rather posh. With a murmur, the crowd of on-looking ponies seemed to part of its own accord as their beloved ruler, Princess Celestia, approached the furry outsiders…

Oberst Mittens had expected many things. He’d expected animosity, even fear. He’d expected to only be met with a small delegation that would tersely welcome his men and point him to the direction they needed to go. What he hadn’t counted upon was a massive crowd of Pferdlanders who appeared eager to greet the arrival of his men with an amount of enthusiasm that startled him. It was all rather confusing, to say the least. As he’d stepped off the radio-car and onto foreign soil, he was assaulted with all manner of sights and sounds so alien to him.

The sudden, instinctual urge to bolt back towards the car was quickly stifled by the reassuring presence of Kujeck, whose solid stature and level breathing quickly calmed Mittens’ frantic thoughts. Internally pulling himself together, the Oberst gave a nod to his honor guard, allowing them to be at ease. Turning back, he was quick to catch the attention of Minister Claws Von Schlauhirn as he carefully set foot upon terra firma. In a soft, confidential voice, the Oberst inquired, “I assume that you would wish to establish intercourse with whoever has been sent to correspond with us, correct?”

With a grateful smile, the Minister of the Interior responded, “Yes, I believe that was in the job description when I signed up for this little excursion.” With a smirk, the Oberst was set to respond when a subtle shift in the noise of the crowds brought his attention back to the forefront. He was only momentarily surprised when he caught sight, not of some minor official, but of the last remaining ruler of the Pferdsreich herself standing before him. He was quick to contain the glaring frown that threatened to manifest itself upon his face.

For her part, the Solar Sovereign of Equestria gave no hint of what she might have felt, and instead began speaking in a dignified, if rather archaic, form of Voroshi. “I welcome you,” she began, “with an open and humble heart, into my kingdom.” Casting a confused glance towards Claws, Oberst Mittens tersely remarked, “Her form is good, but I can hardly understand a damn thing she says.” Celestia, likewise had trouble following what the officer had spoken – it would seem the dialect she had used was no longer in vogue with the Cats of Vorosh.

It would appear that already things were at an impasse. But there was a good chance that she could still communicate with them in her own language, so she began again, this time saying, “As the sovereign ruler of my people, I extend my hand to you in welcome – Equestria is forever thankful for your assistance in its time of need.” Again, the Oberst turned and gave an imploring look to the red furred feline who she assumed was the government liaison she’d been told would intercede on his kingdom’s behalf.

Catching the Oberst’s queue, Minister Von Schlauhirn stepped forwards and (with surprisingly fluent Pferdsprecht) responded, saying “On behalf of the Empire, I accept your invitation – the Kaiser also wishes to extend his deepest condolences on the loss of your sister.” While Celestia didn’t believe a word of it, she played the part well in replying, “My sincerest thanks go to the Kaiser’s kind words.” With that out of the way, she promptly declared, “I have taken the liberty of providing the necessary accommodations for your men, I hope you do not mind.”

Strangely enough, instead of responding to her, the Imperial delegate turned towards the commanding officer and began speaking in their native tongue. “She claims that accommodations for the men have already been set – whether this means that she has set for us a designated area, or whether we are to take room and board amidst the city is unclear.” Oberst Mittens was clear in his response – “Tell her that she must give us unfettered access to the southern quarter of this city to allow for proper deployment; as for boarding, we’ll accept whatever provisions she has made, though they may be subject to review in the future.”

With a flabbergasted look of shock, Claws all but shouted, “I can’t relay that too her!” “Why not?” inquired Mittens. The Interior Minister stumbled over his words in reply, saying – “W-well… it’s not prudent in the least – one can’t simply demand things of their host; if I told her that it would likely be an affront to her good graces, and from there things might escalate!” It was Oberleutnant Ghresht who spoke next, “He has a point, Mittens – we are here to help them, not start an international incident.”

With an indignant chuff the Oberst rubbed his head as he rephrased himself, “Then tell her that we respectfully ask that she give us the southern quarter… and I suppose we ought to thank her for allowing the men room and board.” It was not an easy thing for him to say, but if it got him what he wanted, then he was more than willing to swallow his pride for at least a few minutes. When Claws Von Schlauhirn merely stood there gawping at him, the Oberst heatedly exclaimed, “Well, go on then – tell her what we need!”

Shaking his red-furred head in disbelief, Minister Von Schlauhirn reluctantly turned back to the now thoroughly lost Princess. It was obvious that she only vaguely understood anything that had been said, and in a way, Claws was extremely thankful for that. Regardless, he relayed the Colonel’s message, saying “On behalf of the Colonel and his men, I extend our gratitude to you for your considerations… however; the Colonel respectfully requests that you might allow him full access and military control of your capital city’s southern quarter.”

This set off all sorts of alarms in the Alicorn’s head as she reflexively asked, “What on earth for?” The Minister of the Interior was swift in defusing any potential situation; a lifetime of political maneuvering and a quick wit brought to bear as he demurely explains, “Please understand, your eminence – the Colonel requires room in which to deploy the assets sent to your aid; the southern sectors of this city are vital to the defense of the capital as a whole, considering that the monster now approaches from the south.” Realizing that the Princess still held some reservations, Claws fell upon his bureaucratic training, taking on a more heavy-handed approach.

“You must know,” he began, “that when this thing arrives, we must have a firm position from which to deploy; artillery must have open line of sight to be effective, and our Battlewagens require open space with which to maneuver.” As he said this, hundreds upon hundreds of Feline soldiers began the slow and meticulous process of disembarking – the cacophony of a thousand foreign voices and the clanging of machinery were an ample distraction. To compensate, Claws Von Schlauhirn was forced to raise his voice several decibels so that he could remain heard over the noise.

For his part, Oberst Mittens motioned for Oberleutnant Ghresht to go and oversee his men as they deployed. While he’d much rather do it himself, he understood that his presence and weight of word were needed to see these negotiations through to an accord. All around them, Ponies of all facets of life marveled at so many strange and outlandish creatures and the otherworldly machines they carried about them. Several of them (all appearing to have some sort of governmental function if the garb they wore were any indication) were focused intently upon the Interior Minister as he spoke further.

“There is also the matter,” he continued, “of the articles of requisition made in the ‘Verminstrauser Contract’; ten-thousand rifles to be used at your discretion, four hundred leased artillery pieces with the proper crew to begin the training of volunteer forces, and a substantial amount of auxiliary equipment to allow for fabrication of munitions – all of which are to be supplied via the southern quarter’s warehousing district.” The implication was subtle, but there – ‘allow the Reich to set up shop, or the materials would be withheld.’

While Celestia was no stranger to political strong-arming, she found it rather disconcerting that a creature half her height and an eighth of her weight would attempt it with such a straight face and with so blasé a tone. But before one of her advisers could attempt to sputter out some sort of reprieve, the regal Alicorn gave her concession, saying “I understand; you can tell the Colonel that he may use the Old Quarter’s ‘Fir Ridge’[1] in whatever way he see fit – however, I would request that in the spirit of cooperation, one of my own advisers be attached to his staff.”

With a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, Claws was more than willing to accept her terms, and said as much before turning to the Oberst who looked rather expectantly at him. With a tone that left no room for argument, Claws Von Schlauhirn explained, “You have the southern portion of the city, but in return she insists that one of her ministers is made a member of your general staff.” With a gob smacked look of outrage, Oberst Mittens was vehement in responding, all but shouting out, “Absolutely not - I’ll not have some high-browed ungulate interfering in my operations!”

With a thin-lipped glare, the Minister of the Interior seemingly grew some semblance of a spine as he tersely retorted, “This is not up for debate, Herr Oberst; my orders are to insure that things transition smoothly between you and the Pferdsreich, and if all that is required to make this work is some ‘high-browed ungulate’, then I consider it a success… unless, of course, you’d like to take it up with the Reichskanzler?”

As Mittens visibly paled at such a prospect, Claws was less than confidant in his own claims; while the Chancellor had been explicit on what the Interior Minister was supposed to do, he had been less forthcoming on what that actually entailed… However, it would appear that it didn’t matter, as Oberst Mittens duteously (if not somewhat begrudgingly) complied, saying “Very well; but seeing as I cannot comprehend anything that he might say, I hardly see what good it would do any of them.”

The both of them were startled by a new voice (tempered with age and tinged with a distinctive edge), that spoke from behind them, saying, “That won’t be a problem, gentlemen.” Turning around, the two Felines were surprised to see a wizened old grey pony with a thin unruly mane standing less than a meter from them. However, they were even more shocked to realize that this old horse had spoken in clear and concise Voroshi!

Noting their expressions, the pony preemptively began by extending his hoof in greeting whilst saying, “Allow me to introduce myself – my name is Lingua Franca, and I represent her Majesty’s Foreign Correspondence Corps; it is my understanding that we will be working closely together in the coming days.” While Claws awkwardly shook the old pony’s (relatively) massive hoof, Oberst Mittens remained less than cordial. With a scowl that could sour milk, he asked, “I suppose you are meant to relay every little word I might say to your dread sovereign?”

It took all of Claws Von Schlauhirn’s will to not palm his face in embarrassed exasperation at the Oberst’s antics – suddenly, a frozen death in the northern reaches didn’t sound quite so bad. Instead, the Minister of the Interior attempted to steer the conversation towards a new direction. “You must forgive the Oberst – he is merely concerned that you might try and interdict his authority in the field, but you and I both understand that that is not the case, is it?” Claws prayed to God that it wasn’t.

A look of genuine understanding crossed Lingua Franca’s face before he replied to them both, “You’d be correct – my job is actually to insure that a framework is in place to allow for future friendly relations between our two kingdoms; I’ve no real understanding of how warfare is committed, and thus I am more than happy to leave it in your very capable hands, Herr Oberst.” With a sniff, Mittens quietly muttered, “Then it would appear that my presence here is no longer needed.” Before he took his leave, though, the Oberst brusquely relayed, “There will be a briefing in approximately six hours – you are welcome to attend it, should you feel the need.”

While Lingua Franca clearly knew that the Colonel’s invitation was less than sincere, he also saw an opportunity to work towards an understanding. With all the practiced humility of a seasoned diplomat, the old grey stallion replied, “Of course – where will it be held?” Casting his hazel green eyes to the side, the Oberst grumbled, “That has yet to be determined; I’ll have someone come and fetch you when the time comes.” With that said and done, Oberst Mittens Von Fleischtauben straightened his uniform before turning about and marching towards the milling mass of felines…

The city was immense! That was the first thing that entered Hauptgefreiter[2] Remi Tschescher’s mind as he walked the streets of Kanterlotte. Turning to his friend, Red Sky, he asked, “Have you ever seen a city this big before?” As the massive Bison[3] slowly walked alongside the young Cat, he took a minute to survey the magnificent buildings that spanned on either side of them before saying, “No.” Looking back towards the large SFk-15[4] artillery piece that his bovine compatriot was towing, little Remi asked, “It’s not too heavy, is it?” Slowly looking back over his broad shoulders, the dark-haired Bison once again replied, “No.”

Looking down at the map he’d been given at the depot, Remi once more began in earnest to try and decipher just where exactly he and Red Sky were. His grasp of the pony language was limited to a few words and phrases that had been taught to him by a friend on the train ride over, so he was finding it rather difficult to find their destination. Casting a sidelong gaze towards his companion, Remi nervously hoped that the Bison didn’t realize that he’d gotten them lost… again.

Passing another group of soldiers going the opposite direction, Remi momentarily got their attention before asking, “Do any of you know where we can get to Sunny Street from here?” A bespectacled Manx pointed towards a particular side venue as he responded, “I think I saw a sign with that name down that alleyway, but I can’t be too sure.” Thanking them for their time, Hauptgefreiter Tschescher turned once more to his friend… only to find that Red Sky was already several meters up ahead of him; he’d not stopped at all.

Quickly catching up to the great bull, Remi exclaimed, “I think we need to go down that alley.” As he said this, he pointed in the same direction that the friendly Manx had directed him towards. Lethargically looking in the direction the young Cat was pointing; Red Sky gave a brief sniff, before saying, “Okay.” The two of them made their way down the alley’s gentle slope. An indeterminate amount of time later, and soon enough the great cobbled streets gave way to dirt paths, then ultimately to grassy sod.

And there, before them, was the battery. Already, there were at least a dozen fifteen centimeter guns set up, a score of munitions wagons were also in place – their payload of polished brass shells gleamed under the morning sun. With a smile, the young Hauptgefreiter exclaimed, “We’re here!” Red Sky expressed a similar sentiment with a grunt. Carefully, Red Sky parked the artillery piece next to one of its mates; Remi quickly assisting in unhitching the contraption form the Bison’s harness.

They spent the next few minutes lining up the gun’s sights and insuring that it was fastened in place. When that was done the young Cat quickly began to grow bored. While Red Sky was content to graze upon a patch of grass and relax in the shade with a few other Bison, Remi felt the near physical urge to explore this new and exciting place. Quickly deciding as such, he called out to his bovine friend, saying, “I’m going to have a look around in the city, Red Sky, I’ll see you later!” By the time Red Sky could form a response, the little Feline was long gone…

A group of young foals were galloping in full down the broad market venue, giggling amongst themselves as they played some sort of game that held little rhyme or reason to the group of soldiers that observed them. Numbering little more than a dozen, the group was a strange sight to many a passerby, often turning heads on more than one occasion. They were loud, often laughing and talking with one another in their indecipherable language, and on more than one occasion it seemed that they openly stared at others.

Case in point, as the gaggle of giggling children ran to-and-fro across the cobblestone square; the mixed bunch of soldiers outright stared in abject fascination. Amongst their number was none other than Oberstabsfeldwebel Hermann Kühn and Hauptmann Spitzer of the First Panzergrenadier Company. The two of them alone made for quite the sight. Turning to his surly friend, Hermann genuinely asked, “Do you have any idea what sort of game they’re playing?” True to form, Spitzer’s frown only deepened as he cryptically answered, “I didn’t play much as a child.”

Rolling his eyes, the enormous Maine Coon heaved an equally large sigh of exasperation as he declared, “That’s a shame; it sure looks like they’re having a great deal of fun.” One of their companions, a Ferret with a Funker cap joined in on the conversation, saying “There don’t seem to be any sort of rules for conduct – do you suppose they make them up as they go along?” Hauptmann Spitzer was cynical in his response as he replied, “Who knows what goes through the minds of Pferdlanders – they’ve seldom ever made any sense to me.”

A long-haired Persian to his right chuckled as he supplied, “The way you talk, Herr Hauptman, one would think you weren’t a Pferdlander yourself.” A look of mild disgust only briefly flashed across the warhorse’s face before he loathe-fully retorted, “Ja… sometimes I wonder if I was ever really one to begin with.” His mood was only slightly lightened when Hermann rested a genuinely friendly paw upon his neck, saying, “If it’s any consolation, my friend, I’ve always viewed you as just being a very ugly Cat.”

The group burst into an uproar of laughter, with even the often sullen Hauptmann letting loose a chuckle. Such a commotion caught the attention of dozens upon dozens of nearby Ponies, who could only stare in mildly apprehensive confusion. As the band of soldiers quieted down, Hermann Kühn asked a question that had been growing upon everyone’s mind – “Where do you suppose we might go to find some decent food around here?”

It was, naturally, the Gila Monster in their group (an Unteroffizier by the name of Trubek Kchobe) that provided the answer; “According to this pamphlet, there’s some sort of multi-ethnic restaurant a few blocks to the east of here.” One of the other NCO’s, a Calico with a notched ear, was quick to point out, “It says you need a reservation, you fat headed glutton.” Seemingly taking no offense from the insult, the bulky reptile simply countered by saying, “Then we go in and inform them that we have a reservation.”

This genuinely garnered a laugh from Hauptmann Spitzer, who actually found the idea of forcing their way into the restaurant highly entertaining. When the others offered him a questioning look, he merely smirked as he declared, “That’s actually not a bad idea – Pferdlanders are obsequious by nature; aggressive persuasion should be able to convince them of anything.” When no one raised an objection to the notion, it was quickly decided that they would do just that.

But as they began to make their way down the venue, one of the frolicking foals chose that moment to run across a particularly slick portion of the cobbled pavement, tumbling into a pile of lanky legs and frazzled hair – squealing in both fear and excitement (something that was universal to all children it would seem) as he rolled into the crowd of foreign soldiers. His movement was brought to halt as he crashed into the leg of Hauptmann Spitzer, whose leather-bound hipposandals[5] firmly gripped the ground and prevented him from falling likewise.

Fixing the disoriented young colt with a glare, the russet haired Destrier exclaimed, “Pass auf, wo du gehst, Sie Gör!”[6] Naturally, the poor boy couldn’t understand a word of Voroshi, but he could see that this rather large and imposing Pony was yelling at him for what happened. Quickly shaking the dust out of his coat, the colt bowed his head as he hurriedly proclaimed, “Sorry – sorry about that, mister!” As if by magic, all the anger and hostility Spitzer held towards the boy seemed to melt away – replaced instead by an apathy that left him feeling even more isolated than he already was.

Having given his apology, the boy quickly ran back towards his friends, only looking back once – a twinkle of fascination in his eyes. For their own part, the group of foreigners was content to ignore the incident and head along their way. “If we hurry,” announced Trubeck, “we should be able to get there in time before the lunch hour crush.” With a growl, the Calico (Feldwebel Echert Löwe, as his name turned out to be) threatened, “I swear, Trubeck, that if you try and order Manticore I’m going to have you digging ditches for a month.” Again, the Gila Monster was unoffended as he riposted, “It won’t harm anyone if I just ask.” Hauptmann Spitzer merely rolled his eyes…

To say that Princess Celestia was distressed was like saying that water is wet – a grossly oversimplified understatement. It had not even been half a day and already her capital had been overrun with foreign troops. She’d quickly received various and sundry complaints from among the aristocracy as well as many a commoner. They ranged from public disturbance to outright vandalism, and to be honest she just couldn’t muster up the will to deal with all of them right now.

While the outside world considered her to still be in mourning, it was generally assumed that she had found a modicum of peace; enough so that she could now perform her duties as the sole ruler of Equestria without losing pace. The reality was vastly different. Known only to a select few, today had been the first time since her sister’s death that she’d actually set foot outside of her private quarters. It had taken every last ounce of will for her to retain some measure of calm in front of the Voroshian Colonel and his Envoy – she could not have afforded to appear as anything other than a strong and confident leader.

By the time she’d returned to the castle, she was a gibbering mess of sobbing tears. She’d only just gotten her sister back from a thousand years of exile, only to have her taken away in seconds – forever out of reach in death’s embrace. The unfairness of it all seemed a capricious joke to her. She’d left her more than able ministers to the task of performing the daily functions of her kingdom’s affairs. The only part of her duties she still partook of was the raising of the sun – a tradition she’d upheld for so many millennia that she’d long since forgotten why she did it in the first place.

Other than that, she was barely content to even exist – her misery only compounded by the knowledge that the creature that had murdered her sister seemed set to wipe her people from existence. Gho’Zra… She’d never known such hate as what possessed that beast’s blackened heart, and she would be lying if she said that she wanted to try and understand it. It was readily apparent that whatever drove the monster was beyond any form of comprehension to such a lesser being as herself.

There was a notion that she’d never once pondered upon. Her immortality coupled with her wisdom and power had long ago risen her to the status of a near godlike being amongst her people, and somewhere along the way, she had somehow fallen into believing that herself. But now she could clearly feel her own vulnerability as she considered the unearthly might that seemingly coursed through Gho’Zra’s very soul. She felt true fear every time she recalled what she’d experienced in that chamber.

But worst of all, in her most tragic hour, she’d actually made a plea to the devil. She had fallen so low as to consort with Discord of all beings in an attempt to exact revenge upon the monstrosity that had done so much to harm both her and her people. It was also on that very day that she fell unto despair – for it was from Discord that she learned the true extent of Gho’Zra’s horror. She had called the Draconequis to her private study and implored him to help her. When he had refused, she’d nearly gone into a rage, threatening to banish him from both existence and eternity.

When she had calmed down enough, he’d actually surprised her with how serious he had been as he tried to explain just exactly what it was she was up against. “This thing is outside of the realm of both magic and possibility – it represents an anathematic dichotomy to everything that both you and I represent.” “It is physically impossible for something like Gho-Zrah to exist, and thus beyond my ability to comprehend, let alone manipulate – Chaos requires probability, but probability itself is dictated by possibility; do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

She had understood all too well what it meant – the beast was outside of the realm from which chaos could manifest. In other words, Discord was literally powerless against such an anomaly as Gho’Zra. Likewise, he had explained why it was that she could not possibly stop the monster herself. “The thing about magic is that while it is all pervasive in its scope, it is also a multifaceted and often perfidious aspect of nature.” “Magic has many levels, and each level holds unto itself some aspect that is counter to any other level.”

“The magic of Gho-Zrah is something more primal than what either of us would understand it to be; I'd scarcely consider it actual magic – it’s something more akin to the primordial matter of Nature itself… an Old Magic, if you will.” And that had struck her harder than anything else – the very life-force of the cosmos had manifested into the form of an indestructible beast that was dead set on destroying everything around it. That had been the last day of hope for her. It had also been the last day that anyone ever saw Discord again – he’d seemingly disappeared from the face of the earth.

And so now, weeks later, she was once more in her study contemplating the end of everything. It was in this light that she reviewed once more the note that had arrived to her last night, written by a doctor in Ponyville, his hurried scrawling nearly indecipherable. It only added to the grimness of the situation; in effect, Rainbow Dash, one of the Elements of Harmony, was in a comatose state of near death, and it was likely linked to the sudden disappearance of the once bustling metropolis of Cloudsdale.

Naturally, she’d sent the best medical technicians in the entire kingdom to lend aid where it was needed, but with the looming reality of impending destruction ever rising, the notion of hope began to fade away before her very eyes. She could only hope that her decision to seek aid from Vorosh had been the right one; she’d long ago given up hope for herself…

The Jardin de L'abondance was renowned as one of the finest restaurants in all of the world, a place where the best in the industry practiced their culinary craft. It was also an architectural masterpiece, built in the classic Old Point[7] style and covered on all sides in wide expanses of crystalline glass! The earthy red tones of its solid Red Wood frame, the off-white ballroom style flooring, and ocher hued leather upholstered seats set a tone of relaxing calm meant to instill a since of ease in patrons.

The radiant clear glass of the ceiling and walls captured the essence of the sky at all times of the day, from the cool calm of the morning sunrise, to the high-spiritedness of noon, to the spiritual bloom of evening, all the way to the romantic haze of the starry night sky. Staffed by the most professional attendants that money could afford, and host to an international selection of the world’s finest cuisine, ‘L’Jardin’ was the pinnacle expression of what Equestria had to offer in terms of culture.

It went without saying that the group soldiers who approached this awe-inspiring palace were beginning to have second thoughts. Strangely enough, it was Spitzer who spoke first, saying “I don’t remember that being here.” Hermann weakly offered, “Well, it’s been – what – twenty-some-odd years since you’d last been here?” The Destrier Pony never answered; instead, it was Trubek who blatantly put it forth in saying, “I don’t think this is the kind of place we can just barge in on…” From behind the heavy-set reptile, Feldwebel Löwe gave a deadpanned quip, saying “What gave you that idea?”

If most of them had their doubts, none of them seemed willing to quit while they were ahead, because the building was only looming larger before them as they slowly made their way ever forwards. Before any of them could realize what had happened, they were standing before the maître d'hôtel, a finely dressed, dark blue stallion whose mane was immaculately cross-combed into a distinguished panache. Oddly enough, he didn’t appear to be at all surprised by their arrival. With a hesitant mumble, Hermann inquired (in a halting, broken rendition of Pferdsprecht), “Um… You will be, uh – you are to be giving us maybe the-uh… the ‘advance booking’- the reservation – um, please- Yes?”

Instead of the outraged denial they had been expecting, the maître d'hôtel instead gave a warm (albeit slightly nervous) smile before answering them, “Right this way; please follow me to your table.” Catching the gist of his statement, the motley band of soldiers quickly followed him, weaving through table after table, many of them filled with lavishly dressed (and visibly disgruntled) Ponies, many of whom found it rather outrageous that, while they had to wait weeks in advance and pay excessive amounts of money to get into this establishment, a group of foreign ruffians – slavish brutes and whiskered fiends, no less – were permitted in with no charge and paraded through the room like royalty.

It made even less sense to the men in question, who followed their guide with a growing sense of unease. However, that sense of apprehension was quickly dispelled as they turned a corner, revealing a lavishly set table where there sat already a half-dozen other members of the Expeditionary Force. And there, sitting next to his ever-present adjunct, was none other than Oberst Mitten Von Flieschtauben himself, dressed up in a luxurious black and white dinner jacket, casually conversing with his men.

Catching sight of the newest arrivals, the Oberst arose from his seat and with an uncharacteristically open smile, he extended his hand to them and exclaimed in a loud and boisterous voice that carried across the entire restaurant, “Ah Meine Herren, bitte kommen Sie - kommen Sie - kommen Sie - setzen Sie sich hinsetzen!”[8] Catching sight of Oberstabsfeldwebel Kühn, the Oberst was also quick to exclaim, “Hermann, mein Freund, kommen und sich neben mir!”[9]

As the group took their seats, the Oberst turned once more to Oberleutnant Ghresht as he inquired, “Tell me again where the debriefing is being held – it’s such an odd sounding place, and I would dare to say that I struggle remembering it.” With his ever present smirk, the large Gila Monster replied in his wet, crackling voice, “It’s called the So-Lar-Ee-Tay-Nee-It; its where the Pferdlanders hold their Solstice Festival – big ugly statue of some sort stands in the middle of it – you won’t miss it, trust me.” With a sigh, Mittens opined, “How you ever manage to memorize these things is truly beyond me – simply astounding.”

Elsewhere at the table, one Hauptgefreiter Remi Tschescher still sat in amazement of how he’d somehow wound up dining with the Oberst Mittens. Not thirty minutes ago he’d been merely minding his own business, observing in astonishment the many tall and imposing structures that lined the streets of Canterlot, when he’d all but physically run into the Colonel by pure accident! Instead of the most severe dressing down that he’d expected to ever experience in his life, he was, of all things, personally invited to come dine with the Oberst and a few other officers who were with him!

Remi was not one to hold any delusions of grandeur – he wasn’t altogether that bright, and he most certainly wasn’t as good at his job as others might be. Lord above only knew how he’d passed the entrance exam into the Gunnery School in Kratzenhaus[10]. If anything, he didn’t even consider himself to be that good of a soldier! But here he was, sitting at the same table as the legendary Hero of the Kaproß Run, and what was more, personally invited by said hero! He must have been smiling, because the Ferret who chose to set across from him raised a brow before inquiring, “Good day so far?”

In response, all he could offer was, “I’m just excited to be here is all.” That seemed to be enough of an answer for the Ferret as he went back to perusing his menu. Which reminded Remi; he’d yet to actually figure out what exactly he wanted to order. He wasn’t the only one either – many of the others found the Equestrian text of the menus to be near indecipherable, with one of them (an old Siamese cat with a patch over his left eye that barely concealed the horrendous mass of scar tissue that was his eye socket) complaining as much.

Luckily, there were a few who’d taken a course or two in foreign languages, and they were more than willing to help their comrades in figuring out what to eat. Chief amongst them was Hauptmann Spitzer, who at the moment was contemplating the Okra and Chickpea Tagine. And fortunately for him, it just so happened to coincide that a waitress (a thin, mauve colored mare with a rather fetching saffron vest) chose that very moment to take their orders.

With a bright smile that Spitzer found rather annoying, the chirpy mare exclaimed, “Hi – my name is Cilantro, and it looks like I get to be your waitress this afternoon; have you all decided on what you’d like to order, or do you need a little more time?” Shockingly, it was Oberleutnant Kujek Ghresht who spoke up, and in unerringly fluid Pferdsprecht. Pointing to the Oberst, he began in saying, “He will be having the Bourbon Glazed Salmon with the Kabinett Riesling, and I would like the Pheasant Cacciatore with a Pinot Noir for myself.”

Over the course of six or seven minutes, Cilantro took up orders from around the table (thanks in no small part from the translational aide of Kujek, Sptizer and a few others); Hermann was keen upon trying the Bacon-wrapped, Blue Cornmeal Breaded Catfish with a side of Sauvignon Blanc, while Remi and a few others were more comfortable trying something a little less exotic in the form of Venison Tenderloin, replete with a Blackberry Sauce and complimented with a Spätlese Riesling.

Others were more daring with their selections. Echert decided to live richly and ordered the Smoked Beef Tongue alongside a Red Merlot; Trubeck had been disappointed at the lack of Manitcore on the menu, but quickly settled for the Coppa with Fennel and Pistachio instead, with an Aligoté for his drink. Someone even ordered Grilled Txipirones with a bottle of Chacolí! Spitzer, for his part, stuck with the Tagine, and requested a glass of Apfelwein along with it. As for the rest, it seemed they were more content to order the lunch special of Chicken Karahi with White Zinfandel.

As the waitress took up their menus, she all but chirped, “Okay then, You’re orders should be ready for you in about twenty minutes – if you need anything else, feel free to ask any of the staff here at ‘L’Jardin’, and we’ll be more than happy to assist you!” As she turned to leave, it took all of Hauptmann Spitzer’s self-control not to throw something at her. Noticing his comrade’s foul mood, Hermann leaned towards him and asked, “Why so cross, friend?” With a sneer, the dark Destrier muttered, “Her optimistic disposition infuriates me on a primal level; where does she get off, being so happy?”

This garnered a laugh from the most unlikely of places – Oberst Mittens. Shaking his head in amusement, the Oberst exclaimed, “You always were of a foul temper, Herr Ross; most of these Pferdlanders have likely struggled with nothing worse than a bad day or two in their entire lives – the complacency of a life spent in relative ease has left them with a brighter outlook on things than either you or I could possibly possess.” Spitzer’s mood only seemed to darken at this.

“While we’re on that matter,” pressed Hermann, “I’ve actually never fully understood where your animosity towards your own people comes from; I mean, none of us here are fond of Ponies, and many of us outright dislike them… but you seem to actually hate them with a passion I’ve seldom ever seen.” A derisive snort and escaped the ex-patriot Pony’s flared nostrils as he sharply relied, “Let’s just say that I’ve never seen eye-to-eye with any of my fellow Equines and leave it at that.” That seemed a good enough answer for all of those present, as the conversation quickly broke down into multiple discussions on varying topics.

By the time the food finally arrived, they party had grown particularly famished and with great eagerness they partook in a manner of eating that would greatly disturb those patrons of the establishment who possessed weaker constitutions, and outright horrify those poor souls who couldn’t bear to contemplate the consumption of flesh or those who practiced it. Needless to say, it was doubtful that any of the soldiers cared what the Pferdlanders thought of them…

The forest stretched far into the horizon, and even with the bright noon-day sun casting its radiance down upon its verdant greenery, there was almost a sense of all consuming darkness emanating from within the great expanse of trees. None of that particularly mattered to the beast that trampled said timbers underfoot. Gho’Zra had little to fear from much of anything, it would seem. A lifetime ago, perhaps… Back then, there were others much more fearsome than he. But they were all gone – taken by time and gone to the soil.

He had taken to a slow, almost luxuriant pace; casual strides that spoke neither of hesitance nor determination. For once, he almost felt content to merely exist. But it was only a temporary illusion, brought about by the idleness of isolation that the Everfree seemed to instill. In the far distance loomed a lone mountain, it’s once jagged peaks smoothed over by time and the elements. That was his destination – his ultimate destiny, it would seem. Had he always felt so tired before? No – no, he was certain that the fatigue he felt was a new development; it felt as if the many eons he’d slept through had chosen only now to creep upon his ancient form.

Time seemed to hold no meaning amidst the never ending expanse of forest; even the passing sun did little to alleviate this feeling… If one were to consider it, time likewise ceased in having any meaning to the lumbering titan that slowly made its way across the green expanse. His near trance-like march was suddenly broken by, of all things, the panicked cries of a flock of birds – their shrilling calls momentarily sparking something deep inside of him. Stopping mid-stride, he slowly turned to the amorphous black cloud of feathered wings and noisome keens.

As the flock raced into the western skies, Gho’Zra watched and wondered at the wrenching hollowness that resided in his breast. For in that cacophonous mass of shrieking caws, he could have sworn he could hear a familiar call he’d not heard since the days of his youth… but by the time such a thought had registered, it had already disappeared, forever to be cast under the doubt of a mind and soul too hopeful to realize that it sought phantoms long since passed. With a shake of his gargantuan head, the colossal saurian turned both his mind and eyes towards the north…

The day had started poorly for Ghur’Tcha. He’d awoken in a screaming fit in the early hours of darkest morning, visions of his brother, Xa’Tchee, still behind his eyelids. He could not find rest after that, and had instead taken to walking aimlessly amidst the vaulted halls of the Palace, content to let his mind wander to places far away. His thoughts eventually turned, as they often did these days, to Twilight Sparkle and the things she’d shown him. The memory still sent a chill down his spine. Naturally, he could not think of the Princess without his mind turning to Gho’Zra.

There was another thought that set him on edge. Nightmares of his brother and the men of the Happy Dragon No.7 aside, he’d often wondered if perhaps his mission to warn the world had only made things that much worse. Had he not foretold of the coming of Chu’Maq’Tahl’s Child, would the Lunar Princess still be living? Had he, in his attempt to save the people of Equestria, inadvertently set the stage for their ultimate undoing? These thoughts would continue to torment him for hours to come.

K'Umetk had told him before that to ponder on the ‘what-If’s’ of life was to only invite misery into one’s mind. The young Chameleon now fully understood what his elder friend meant. It had been the great commotion that took place beneath the early morning’s light what had finally shaken him from his self-reflections. There was a colony of Cats living on the island of Chu’Peq, not too far from where he’d grown up. He remembered how they often kept to themselves, rarely ever coming into contact with others outside of their own.

It had been common knowledge to most of the inhabitants of the Chameleonic Islands that the Cats were a race of mighty warriors from a great kingdom across the sea. Less often spoke of was the tale of how and why they’d come to the islands in the first place, and even less spoken of Chu’Peq’s original inhabitants – a group Chameleon’s who had welcomed a clan of migrant Diamond Dogs to live amongst them for near seven generations. As he’d watched the cats unload their great and terrifying machines of war this morning, he could easily see in his mind’s eye what more than likely happened on Chu’Peq some five decades past.

He’d only just managed to stay out from underfoot of the milling tide of soldiers, and was quick to make himself scarce – seeing so many weapons and warriors left him feeling rather uncomfortable. The entire reason he’d come to the train station in the first place was so that he might travel again to Ponyville; he’d wanted so desperately to talk with Twilight once more – she had instantly understood the nightmares that had been plaguing him unceasingly, and her words of wisdom and encouragement had done much good to soothe his soul… With the coming of the Cats, he could not see making such a journey for the foreseeable future.

He now found himself sitting upon an ebony bench amidst the palatial gardens. The late afternoon sun, though warm and pleasant upon his skin, did little to alleviate the cold haunted chill that gripped his soul. A bird sang its trilling call somewhere overhead – Ghur’Tcha envied it for its blissful ignorance. His sullen thoughts were only momentarily dispersed by the clacking report of a shuffling cane which now approached him from behind.

He did not need to look back to see who it was that had disturbed his dark reflections. It was only as old K’Umetk finally took a seat of rest beside him that the troubled young Chameleon finally turned and looked. K’Umetk calmly observed the young man in silence – his single sharp and wizened eye seemed to stare directly into Ghur’Tcha’s soul. Minutes would pass before the quiet was broken by the old man – “You are troubled, Ghur’Tcha,” he began, “more so than usual… what burdens your mind so greatly that you would eschew food and rest in favor of despair?”

Visions of a churning glass tank filled with nightmarish scenes of death entered the young reptiles mind. How greatly he wished to tell the captain of what he saw – how fierce was the burden of it all upon his heart to know that such evil could be had… but he could not – would not – betray the oath of secrecy he’d given to Twilight Sparkle upon that day, in the darkened room that so personified her mournful madness. He couldn’t possibly abuse the trust of the only other being in the world that understood and felt exactly as he did.

So, instead, he put forth a false smile and replied, “It’s nothing, Captain – only nightmares that plague my sleep.” K’Umetk’s frown spoke enough; he understood that there was more to it than what his young friend was letting on, but he would not press the boy – Ghur’Tcha had suffered much in so short a span and the old Chameleon knew that only time could salve his aching spirit. The two of them turned to look out at the lush grounds of the garden. A soft wind whispered into their ears as it gently rustled the swaying tendrils of the willow trees. A rain of slender leaves drifted through the air before coming rest upon the glassy surface of the garden’s pond.

Watching the once tranquil glassy waters as they began to ripple and collide across themselves, Ghur’Tcha finally asked, “K’umetk… if… if you could change fate… if you had the ability to prevent a great tragedy before it could ever occur, even if it meant committing something unspeakable, would you do it?” The wind seemingly died, the air growing silent, as if to contemplate the question. Closing his eyes in thought, the older Chameleon took a slow, deep breath before he once more opened them to look upon his troubled young friend.

With a voice that suddenly sounded so very old and weary, K’Umetk answered, “A child is born into the world with no thought of the misfortunes that will one day befall it… It is only as tragedy unfolds before us that we begin to see with greater clarity our lives and how we spend them.” He paused to collect his thoughts; the weight of his words carried true despite the silence. “A man is formed out of his hardships; it is through times of great unrest that we find our potential – our strength to stand defiant before the future…” A distant look passed his eyes as he spoke these words.

The water of the pond had finally calmed itself, order and tranquility once more manifested through its mirrored surface. KUmetk’s body seemed to grow older by the second as he finally continued, “But… I would be lying if I said that I would not change fate if I could.” A grim smile passed his withered lips as he finished, “If I were able to stay the hand of fate, to turn aside the misfortunes of life, I would do so with all that I had within me… even at the expense of the experiences that would make me who and what I am.” As K’Umetk turned once more to look out upon the castle gardens, Ghur’Tcha meditated upon all that had been said…

The evening sun struck the sky in a kaleidoscope of red and gold, pink and blue – It would not be long until it disappeared altogether behind the horizon. This had always been the favorite time of day for Panzerkommandant Siegfried Stoßauge. It reminded him of his mother. She’d always enjoyed the colors of the evening sky as they subtly shifted ever darker until at last the calm of midnight blues encompassed the whole of the heavens, revealing their starry splendor.

As it now stood, the sun had set in such a way that it seemingly sat atop the spiraled pinnacle of the Solaritaniot, the cities venerated solstice marker – its crystalline lattice catching the evening rays in such a way as to turn the normally clear monolith into a brilliant pillar of incarnadine refulgence. It was truly an awe-inspiring spectacle, if he were to be honest with himself. Turning his eyes away from the vivid monument, his attention turned once more to the largest consortium of officers he’d ever witnessed in his life, all of whom were there for the express purpose of finding out just what exactly they were expected to do.

Everywhere he looked, there were markings and insignia giving claim to ranks ranging from Feldwebel to such lofty positions as Oberstleutnant[11]. Numbering less than a hundred men in total, it was through them that order and discipline were enforced – the framework upon which the army was built. He himself was keenly aware of his own place within that framework; his rank of Panzerkommandant, while little more than an over glorified Feldwebel, meant that he was responsible for the lives of some two to three dozen men and as many as four Sturmwagens. There were others like him amongst this group, many of whom he was very well acquainted with.

One such acquaintance actually stood next to him as they waited for Oberst Mittens to arrive and begin the briefing – a dark, long haired, short-faced Himalayan by the name of Zimo Metzger, who had graduated from the same class as Siegfried nearly a decade ago. The two had always gotten along very well, and they had often met during off time for the express purpose of enjoying each others company. With any luck, they’d be working together in this latest conflict. They have been having a rather pleasant conversation, one of a myriad of discussions that had been silently exchanged for the past fifteen minutes.

It all came to a swift and sudden halt the minute the man in charge of the entire operation finally made his presence known. With a purposeful stride, (and accompanied by the ubiquitous Gila Monster that seemed to shadow him wherever he went) Oberst Mittens Von Flieschtauben called the crowd to order. “Before we start this briefing,” he began, “I’d like to acknowledge the fact that we are joined this evening by a representative of the Pferdsreich.”

That, at least, explained the rather curious presence of the old grey horse who had been keeping a respectful distance from the assembled group; Lingua Franca had been more than content to merely observe the various Felines, Ferrets, Amphibians and Reptiles as they interacted with one another in a manner that both fascinated and terrified him. Next to him stood the Minister of the Interior, Claws Von Schlauhirn, who had been just as equally content to merely sit there and absorb the warmth of the setting sun.

Rubbing his paws together, the Oberst once more caught everyone’s attention as he exclaimed, “Now, let’s get down to business, shall we?” With a flourish of his hands, Mittens motioned for a couple of well-pressed Ferrets. With rapid steps, they hurriedly presented a set of graphs and maps hanging from a rolling frame that silently rattled as its well-worn wheels scuffed across the granite pavilion that surrounded the monument. Dismissing them with a nod, the Oberst quickly pointed to a topographical chart with all manner of marking and numerations; at its center was a clear depiction of the capital city of Canterlot.

“This is our ultimate objective,” he declared, “the defense of the surrounding mountainside, and the preservation of the city, if at all possible.” A sense of unease manifested amongst the crowd at this – no one wanted to contemplate what failure entailed. Turning to another map (this one showing a map of the Equestrian Empire, a set of red lines drawn from the lower south-eastern coastline and all but bisecting its way to the north, coming to a halt just short of the Everfree Forest), The Oberst continued, “Our target was last spotted entering the Everfree, here, some forty-six hours prior.”

“Statistical and topographical information have lead our analysts to project, with a high degree of certainty, that 'Q' will emerge here,” at this he pointed to a spot on the map a few inches to the left of a small red dot, before continuing, “some fourteen kilometers west of a small town by the name of ‘Ponyville’.” While the name was rather unoriginal, the position of the town struck those who understood logistics as being extremely strategic in its placement, straddling, as it did, a major river system, and having direct access via rail line to the capital.

As if to acknowledge such thoughts, Oberst Mittens expounded, “Barring that the target continues on the projected course, the only other viable way to the capital would be through the sloping foothills near which this small town is situated – that being said, there will be a small detachment of the thirty-second Leichteinfanteriebatallion[12] as well as elements of the Erste Panzergrenadiers in place to keep watch.” Turning to a small roster diagram, the Colonel seemed to come to some sort of internal decision before turning once more to the crowd of officers.

“Since I’d rather not be caught surprised by something the size of a mountain, I feel it prudent to also station half a dozen units from the thirteenth Sturmwagenabteilung.” This caught a few of the more senior officers off guard, as it seemed rather excessive to send so many machines to guard such a small little hamlet. However, being the senior ranking member of the assembly meant that none would dare question him over what was, technically, his decision alone to make.

Going on, Mittens explained the designated placement of several key artillery batteries, both in and around the capital city, along with a general plan to coordinate a large-scale operation that implemented an experimental combined arms approach. The hope was that, by using the artillery as a support screen, the Sturmwagens might get within a close enough range to bring their full firepower to use. Infantry would act as a buffer force, meant to distract and hopefully lure the target away from the capital and towards a series of minefields that, at the moment of the debriefing, were currently being laid.

Should the target be successfully coerced into the trap, they would have enough room to bring the Expedition Force’s heaviest ordinances (a gigantic trio of eighty centimeter railway guns that were quickly being assembled on a special track just a kilometer northeast of Canterlot) to bear down upon it. “In the event that this somehow fails to kill it,” he continued, “the RWV[13] has given the authorization to utilize T-300 shells.”[14] The temperature seemingly dropped a few degrees as a collective chill of terror ran up the spine of every single officer present. Even Claws Von Schlauhirn had to suppress a shudder, and he understood the implications less so than they. The only one who failed to realize what the Oberst meant was Lingua Franca.

Noticing the looks of absolute horror he was receiving, Oberst Mittens’ countenance visibly darkened as he grimly asserted, “Needless to say, it would be in everyone’s best interest that we kill this thing before it ever comes to that.” Even as the Oberst went on to discuss the topic of regional designation, the sense of dread never fully lifted from the air. It would fail to dissipate even as the briefing was brought to a close, the last dying rays of the setting sun seemed, if anything, a grim portent of the future…

The Ponyville General Hospital was the last place anyone would have expected to see such a diverse (not to mention, rather famous) group of mares. But the five of them were there for a very important reason – their friend had been entered into the intensive care wing some twenty-four hours prior and in the case of one of them, her brother as well. The sight that met them as they entered the small, sterile white room was that of Rainbow Dash, still at rest and looking far worse than any of them could have fathomed.

By her side, and equally as asleep, sat the pensive red form of Big Macintosh, who had not left the Pegasus’ side at all since bringing her in. With a familial gentility, Applejack approached her sleeping brother and lightly shook him into wakefulness. When he finally registered the guests, he could only muster an exhausted smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. The next hour was spent in quiet conversation, the six of them brought together through a common bond with one they loved.

Even Twilight Sparkle (who had not been seen by any of them for near on a month) had come to pay her respects. The dark rings under her sunken eye testified to a month of inner turmoil, one wracked by bouts of grief and anger, if any of them were to guess; one did not lose someone so close and not come away scarred. Still, she had found it within herself to visit alongside the others, and for a time everything seemed almost as it once had been – there was smiling and laughter, talk of the past and of the future.

But by hours end it was time to depart; back to their homes and to the reality of life as it now was. All gave final farewell to both Rainbow and Macintosh before they slowly headed out the door. Applejack gave her reassurances that all was well at the farm, inviting her brother to stay and further attend to the mare he loved. He greatly appreciated her understanding. The last one to leave, however, was Twilight; turning once more to Macintosh, she spoke in a heavy-hearted tone, “Take care of her Macintosh… take care of her and never let her go.” A silent nod was all he could muster, but it was enough. Slowly, Twilight Sparkle closed the door…

[1] Situated at the southern edge of Canterlot, the Fir Ridge represents the actual apex of the mountain upon which the city stands. Its name is derived from the fact that, historically, there had once been a grove of Fir Trees that grew there and nowhere else on the mountain.
[2] A term used to denote a specialist above the rank of Private but beneath the rank of a Lance Corporal, a Hauptgefreiter is more often associated with Artillery divisions, where they take on the role of fire team captains.
[3] While similar to their eastern cousins, the Bison who live on the western half of the continent have taken to integrating into the predominant society of their range – the Cats of Vorosh. Prized for their strength and endurance, as well as for their ferocity in battle, the Bison employed under the banner of Vorosh are used to tow ordinance, clear obstacles, evacuate the wounded and even as shock troops, where their sheer size and weight of momentum make for a terrifying spectacle when charging towards the front.
[4] The Schwere Feldkanone 15 (SFk-15) is the standard workhorse artillery piece used by the Empire of Vorosh. With a bore of 150 millimeters, it has proven time and time again to be both an effective field cannon and a fantastic general purpose gun.
[5] A Hipposandal is roughly analogous to a horseshoe, utilizing rawhide leather fastened together with bronze clasps and fitted with a pair of backward facing tines. It differs from a horseshoe in that it physically covers the entire hoof like a boot, and provides better traction on rough terrain. It is also cheaper and easier to maintain on the go.
[6] Literally translates to “Watch where you are going, you brat.”
[7] A traditional Pangolian construction technique, the “Old Point” style places heavy emphasis on the use of a highly angular post-and-lintel type construction, allowing for an unusual abundance of free interior space. It has become highly popular within recent years.
[8] Roughly translates to “Ah, Gentlemen, please, come – come – come, come sit; sit down!”
[9] Roughly translates to “Hermann, my friend, come and sit beside me.”
[10] Located in the southern regions of the empire, Kratzenhaus has long been synonymous with the concept of Artillery thanks in part to the Schmautgin School of Gunnery, the finest establishment of its kind in the world.
[11] Roughly equivalent the rank of Lieutenant Colonel, an Oberstleutnant acts as a lieutenant to the Oberst (the highest ranking officer on the field), carrying out his orders, and issuing orders of their own in order to insure that the Oberst’s orders are carried out.
[12] Literally meaning Light Infantry Battalion, the Leichteinfanteriebatallion is a holdover from a previous era. Originally used as skirmishers who harassed heavier gauged soldiers, the Light Infantry Battalions are nowadays used as a type of specialized scouting force; Equipped with bolt-action rifles, they are not equipped to actively participate on the front, and are more suited to guard detail and guerrilla warfare. Trained to utilize reconnaissance in order to attack enemy weak points and strategic locations behind enemy lines, the Leichteinfanteriebatallions have become quite adept at hit and run combat. They are being slowly phased out in favor of the more modern Ranger Battalions.
[13] Roughly translated to mean ‘Imperial Weaponry Management Board’, the Reichswaffenverwaltung (RWV) is responsible for the dissemination of both arms and ammunition to the Imperial Army. The Board is also responsible for authorizing the utilization of weaponry designated grade five and above (Chemical Gas, Nerve Agents, Biological Toxins, etc.)
[14] A grade five weapon, T-300 is represented chemically as O-Pinacolyl methylphosphonofluoridate, but it is more commonly known as Soman – a highly toxic and incredibly lethal organophosphate nerve agent. It is a volatile, corrosive, and colorless liquid that interferes with neurotransmission, effectively shutting down the ability of autonomous muscle functions. Victims of Soman literally die of asphyxiation – their lungs no longer capable of working as they begin to fill with fluids. Death can occur from prolonged contact through skin or through the inhalation of its aerated form. If immediately treated, the only side effects are often only permanent neurological damage. The Cats of Vorosh have only used Soman on three occasions, all of which occurred during the Diamond Dog War. There is a great amount of controversy inside the empire of Vorosh over its use – with the majority feeling that it is an altogether abhorrent weapon. There is a very real fear of it in the public mind, due to an incident during the war in which a shift in the prevailing winds pushed a cloud of Soman gas into the Voroshian lines. Over 2000 Cats died in the incident now known as the ‘Sleeper’s Field Tragedy’.

Author's Note

Well, here's the final chapter of the third act. We're getting closer to the climax. I'm actually fairly surprised with myself. It didn't take me nearly as long as I thought it would.
Things are also going to get a little longer in regards to the overall length of the coming chapters - there are so many points to tie in, and should it all go accordingly, I'll have the next chapter up some time in December. If not, expect it to occur next year; I am currently becoming increasingly busy as of late; my responsibility are soon enough going to include 'Fatherhood'.
Until next time then, yes?

On a final note, I would like to point out that I would like some form of feedback to gauge how I am doing.

Auf Wiedersehen!

Roaring Storm Clouds

The night was in full; the distant moon was high in its placement – its gibbous form reflecting a dull grey radiance that struck through the tinctured gothic windows of the palace. Had there been any royal guards present at a certain narrow hall tucked quietly away in the eastern wing of the great palace, they might have very well seen the sallow gleaming pair of eyes that seemed to float across the darkness. The phantom form of Claws Von Schlauhirn materialized under the pale moon’s light as he passed beneath a window; his body tense and sleek, his ears twitching to and fro, glowing eyes shifting in constant surveillance.

As a cat, he felt within his element – the shadowed halls he’d trekked to get here were a comfort, for they provided a modicum of cover that only accentuated his kind’s natural stealth. As for why he was even here, so far from the chambers afforded him by Equestria’s sovereign, he once more reminded himself of the message he’d been so surreptitiously handed by a cat he’d never seen before, informing him that Felix Von Verminstrauser had urgent news to pass on to him.

A subtle breath from the inky darkness drew every iota of his focus as he tentatively whispered, “Felix, ist das du?” For a few seconds, there was nothing. But then, in a gentle murmur a voice answered back, “Ja, ist mir.” Releasing a breath that he’d unconsciously been holding, Claws instructed the younger cat, saying, “Step into the light.” Slowly, almost hesitantly, the svelte and lanky form of Felix Von Verminstrauser all but leaked forth from the dark. As he stood before the Minister of the Interior, it took all of Felix’s strength to look his superior in the eye.

He was well aware of the trouble he’d caused Claws, and, upon realizing what he’d done, the young ambassador had worked frantically, day and night, for the past month trying to find a way to redeem himself before the Interior Minister. His reflections were halted, however, when Claws (who despite knowing that the two of them were alone, could not help but look over his shoulder in paranoia) softly exclaimed, “You had best have a very good reason for luring me here, Felix; you’ve caused me enough trouble as it were.”

“I understand,” began Verminstrauser, “that you’re upset with me, believe me – I do; but we can wait for another time to discuss that.” As he spoke, the ambassador quickly and quietly withdrew a bundle of papers from his dress-coat, handing them over to Claws. With an apprehensive glance at the proffered papers, Minister Von Schlauhirn gently took them up before asking, “What is this all about, Verminstrauser?” Half consciously sifting through the various pages, he noticed that there were only a few letters that he could actually decipher – the rest were written in the sprawling script used by the Ponies.

Leaning closer towards the Minister of the Interior, Felix conspiratorially whispered, “I’ve been watching, Herr Schlauhirn; watching and listening.” Raising an eyebrow, Claws had no idea where this conversation might lead. As if sensing his superior’s bemusement, Verminstrauser quickly began to elaborate as he asked, “How familiar are you with the Chameleonic Islands?” This only garnered a further look of bewilderment from Claws, who whispered, “We have an outpost on one of the islands, but other than that, I don’t know much else.”

Pausing only long enough to glance over his shoulder, Felix spoke once more, saying, “I’ll admit that my knowledge was even more lacking than yours – but, I began looking into it upon noticing that there are a pair of Chameleons currently taking up residence within this very castle.” Now this was new information for Claws, who was instantly intrigued – Chameleons weren’t any fonder of the Pferdlanders than his own people were, and they were even less inclined to approach outsiders. That two of them were now in the heart of the Pferdsreich was strange indeed.

Seeing that this information had caught Von Schlauhirn’s attention, Felix continued – “Using a contact of mine in KaN[1], I’ve done a little digging, and what I’ve learned has been… most enlightening.” He had purposefully avoided the look of absolute scandal on Claws Von Schlauhirn’s face as he pressed on, “As it turns out, prior to the destruction of Promised Point, the Pferdlanders had been conducting a series of tests in the fields of energy development.” Claws had been aware of this; it was no secret that the facilities at Promised Point were some of the most advanced of their sort in the world.

Leaning towards his superior, Felix’s voice was little more than a phantom whisper as he divulged his discoveries, pointing to various pages as he went along, “On September 16th, a letter of correspondence was sent from one Dr. Lathe, chairman over the Science and Technology division of Promised Point’s Observatorium, to her highness Princess Celestia – wherein is made mention of a ‘Project Æther’ coming into its final stage.” Pointing to another, smaller paper, Verminstrauser animatedly continued – “October 12th; KaN agents working in Promised Point report that some sixty kilograms of transuranic metals – most probably element 94 – had passed through customs before they lost track of it.”

Already, Claws Von Schlauhirn was beginning to grow uneasy; what he was hearing sounded eerily similar to a project being undertaken by the EWE[2]. His suspicions were only strengthened as Felix went on, saying, “This one, October 29th; a letter of correspondence between the aforementioned Dr. Lathe and a professor of magical engineering going by the name of Quantum Waveform, in which the Doctor confirms that the fabrication of Professor Waveform’s containment device was complete and that testing would begin shortly.”

Finally pointing to a collection of handwritten documents (what constituted the majority of the material he’d given the Minister of the Interior), Felix’s next words would send the hair of Claw’s tail on end as he said, “These are eyewitness testimonies, taken in the first week of November; they all report the same story: that on the Third of November, at approximately zero-five-thirty hours, an explosion accompanied by a blinding flash akin to a second sun was observed on an island located in the southern reaches of the archipelago… KaN’s investigations into the matter have turned up similar findings.”

Claws was speechless – physically staggered! As he slowly placed a hand out to grip hold of Felix’s shoulder to steady himself, he could only stare off into the distance as he came to grips with Verminstrauser’s revelation. The Pferdlanders had split an atom. The Reich had been working towards the same goal for sixteen years and yet the Ponies came up and accomplished it first (and with magic of all things); this changed things.

In a voice far too shaken for his own liking, Claws Von Schlauhirn asked the most pertinent question of all – “Have they gone into production?” Looking the Minister of the Interior straight in the eye, Felix Von Verminstrauser flatly responded, “No.” ‘Oh, thank God.’ Claws thought; had it been any other race, he would have been skeptical of Felix’s answer, but these were Ponies – it didn’t surprise him too terribly much that they would disregard the weaponry applications of what they’d just unlocked.

But his momentary relief was broken by the young ambassador’s next words, when he said, “However, I do not think it is from a lack of interest; before the destruction of Promised Point, there was already a move underway to recreate the experiment.” Taking another piece of parchment from his jacket, Felix went on to explain, saying “This was intercepted by our Agent in Promised Point before it could make it to its final destination; it was marked as being written on November 4th by the Princess Celestia.”

Taking the note as it was offered to him, Claws could only recognize a few words that he’d picked up over time, and so was fully incapable of actually reading it. This didn’t stop him from perusing it over as Felix continued to explain, “In it, she expressed a profound interest it what they’d uncovered; she was wholly prepared and eager to fully fund any further research and development…”

Von Schlauhirn felt physically ill all of a sudden. He needed to relay this information at once and find out what Purlin[3] wanted done about it. Looking Verminstrauser in the eye, Claws hissed, “This discussion remains between us, do you understand?” With a nod of acquiescence, Felix gave his goodbyes before departing back into the shadows. Claws was just as quick to leave – it took him less than five minutes to sneak his way out of the Castle. Within thirty minutes he’d made his way into the radio Pullman. He would spend the next several hours hunched over a telegraph, frantically relaying his findings…

The skies above the Everfree were pitch black – a roiling shawl of swirling dark clouds had descended across the heavenly expanse, casting a great shadow over the night and concealing within its embrace the great and terrible entity that trudged ever onward through the abyssal expanse of trees. The darkness posed no difficulties for the behemoth; its crimson gaze cut through the sweltering blackness with little effort.

The first peal of thunder was little more than a distant, rumbling din upon the air – so faint as to be discredited. A blindingly blue flash of lightning soon followed, turning the skies into a sea of Cherenkov light that highlighted the contoured shadows of the forested expanse and showcased the looming mountainside that grew closer with every step that the beast took. In that brief second of luminosity, it could clearly make out the great stone edifice of the city walls.

Then the rain began to fall. It was subtle at first – a pronounced drop here and there, hardly worth noticing. But those drops quickly transmogrified into a cacophonous din of torrential might the likes of which the great leviathan had never before witnessed in its lifetime. The next drumming call of thunder would not be ignored as easily – it tore the sky asunder shaking both branch and bow, such was its ferocity!

The potent scent of heavy rain and ionized air was rife; crackling arcs of lightning electrified the atmosphere and permeated the horizon with phantom flashes of light and sound. And it was amidst this maelstrom of vertigo-inducing stimuli that for the briefest moment, something struck forth from the western edge of the forest. Immediately the lumbering giant ceased all motion – the pounding rain and vociferous winds were all but ignored as the beast peered into the darkness and waited.

It would not wait long as the static white discharge of radiant light that broke forth from the clouds instantly betrayed the outline of a tiny little village that would have gone entirely unnoticed by the great avatar of vengeance. With narrowed eyes it observed the unassuming hamlet – it would take so little effort to destroy it; to destroy the hopes and dreams and lives of the insignificant insects that had made it their home. With a flash the fires of anger had returned, swallowing up the vacuum of apathy that had been slowly smothering it. With a growl that was masked by the booming thunder and howling wind, Gho’Zra started once more to stride forth against the beating rain – a new destination in mind…

Hermann hated the rain. This was something that most cats held in common, but for him it ran deeper than some instinctual urge to remain dry. With the rain there always came memories – memories that were best left forgotten, never to be experienced again. Just the smell of it evoked thoughts and feelings; memories of the God-forsaken highlands of the great south, of the mud filled trenches that stank of filth and decay, of the sightless eyes of a dozen corpses that stared at him accusingly for having led them to their untimely deaths.

Absentmindedly, the towering Maine Coon traced a hand down the terrible scar that marred his face. He’d gotten that amidst the rain as well. He still had nightmares of it, even after so many long years; the wild rage in the eyes of that Boar as it bared down upon him with nothing but its own teeth and hooves. The pure savagery of it all still sent a shiver down his spine. A splintering crack of thunder only sought to remind him of the deafening boom of mortar fire and of the trees that would shatter into a million tiny shards of death when the airbursts fell.

Noticing the Oberstabsfeldwebel’s vacant stare, one of the men (a toad with bright orange eyes and brilliant red skin) softly touched Hermann’s shoulder as he asked, “Sir, are you alright?” Snapping out of his daze, Hermann Kuhn gave an affable smile and responded, “Ja, I’m fine, Theodore – just thinking is all.” While not convinced, the toad known as Theodore decided to let the issue go as he went back to stirring the pot of stew he’d been whipping up for the group.

They’d been stationed here some five hours ago to act as gate watchers of the town of Ponyville. While it was not the glorious position they’d hoped to have received, the First Grenadiers had decided to make the most of it. Already there were a string of trenches and mobile bunkers that lined the southern and western edges of the tiny village; a group of four Sturmwagens were also on hand.

While not enough to be much more than a distraction should the worst occur, the few hundred soldiers stationed here were well aware of the importance of the town’s position. They would defend Ponyville should the need arise, but they held no hopes of actually doing much more than trying to slow the beast down in the event that it did attack.

The muddy sloshing of hooves approaching the trench was met with raised rifles as one of the men (a black and grey striped Siamese) exclaimed, “Give a password or I shoot.” Ironically, had the intruder not been able to understand a word of Voroshian, they’d have been shot regardless. Fortunately, the exasperated response of “Feurvogel” came from none other than Hauptmann Spitzer, who slogged his way past the guard and into the trench.

Seeing his equine friend’s rather irritated expression, Hermann nonchalantly asked, “See anything interesting?” When all that Spitzer managed to muster was a mere grunt, Kühn was instantly concerned. “What’s with you?” he asked the disgruntled Destrier, “You run into an old girlfriend or something?” While it was meant as a joke to hopefully lighten the pony’s spirit, it seemed to only further irritate the Hauptmann. But before the giant feline could inquire further, Spitzer finally spoke, saying, “I just met with my father a few hours ago.”

Hermann was suddenly all ears as he leaned towards his friend to better listen. In all the years that they’d known each other, Spitzer had never openly talked about his family or the life he’d left behind, and judging from what little he’d ever said in passing, he seemed content to let it remain as such. In an attempt to move the conversation forward, Hermann put out feelers by inquiring, “I take it that things didn’t go well?”

With a cold casualness, the Hauptmann replied, “Senility has stricken him in his waning years – he couldn’t even remember who he was half the time, much less recognize me after thirty years.” As if treading on eggshells, Hermann more asked than replied, “I’m… sorry to hear that.” With an amused snort, Spitzer exclaimed, “Don’t be.” Raising a tentative brow, the Maine Coon could only ask, “I take it that the two of you never got along?”

Again with a flippancy that seemed almost cruel, Spitzer remarked, “Far from it, actually – I loved him well enough, and he was nothing if not caring and supportive… but my father was a spineless, unambitious man who let others walk all over him, and I never held any respect for him.” Perhaps out of morbid curiosity, Hermann then pressed, asking, “And your mother?” Looking as if he’d just tasted something particularly foul, Spitzer muttered, “That hectoring shrew died in her sleep eight years ago.”

And that was that; Hermann could tell that to ask further questions would be pointless. And it was just as well, for in that moment, the rain seemed to let up just enough for the two of them to see the shadowed outlines of the nearby tanks. They could also see that from atop the cupola of all four Stürmwagens were the animated forms of their commanders. Apparently they were in quite a discussion, as the indecipherable sound of them yelling to one another could be heard over the torrential downpour.

All at once, one of the figures hopped from his tank and landed with a start on the wet muddy ground. And as the figure made a bee-line straight for his trench, Oberstabsfeldwebel Hermann Kuhn couldn’t help the uneasy feeling he was getting. When the Panzerkommandant finally made it into the light of the trench, Hermann vaguely recognized him as the commander of Unit Seven – the svelte looking German Rex seemed unconcerned with his drenched clothing as he stood before them.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Kommandant Stoßauge began with his customary smile, “But the radios have started picking up some rather unusual signals coming out of the south – a lot of short wave encrypted traffic that shouldn’t be there.” When no one responded to this news, the Kommandant nervously scratched the back of his head before adding, “I didn’t think it was that important either, but one of our Funker boys said that it wasn’t one of our signals, and so we thought it might be worth passing along.”

With a sigh, Hermann Kuhn finally replied, saying, “Thank you, Herr Kommandant – I’ll be sure to send that message along as quickly as possible.” With a grinning nod, the Rex cat ran once more into the pouring rain, presumably to return to his tank. Turning towards their own radio operator, Hermann drolly ordered, “Stenzt, send a wire to command – let them know that we’re getting some foreign signal interference.”

As the radioman began hammering out the message over the telegraph wire, the Oberstabsfeldwebel turned once again to Spitzer, who was giving him a bemused stare. In defense, the great cat explained, “It’s probably nothing, but I’m better off reporting it anyways; it’s not as if there’s anything else to do at the moment.” As if to disparage his remark, the skies chose that time to unleash a blinding flash of plasmatic light that lit up the entire horizon, revealing the horrifying sight of a hundred meter mountain of flesh and bone slowly lumbering through the forest and towards them…

… With a start, Rainbow Dash awoke – her entire body was aflame with a dull, throbbing ache that seemed to permeate her entire existence. With deep, gasping breathes of air she tried to recollect who she was, where she was, and why she was there. She was momentarily surprised when her vision went dark beneath an all-encompassing mat of crimson fur. Like a calming river torrent, a soothing low voice traveled across her entire body as it exclaimed, “Rainbow, thank Jesus, you’re awake!”

A flash of sights and sounds instantly rolled through her mind; a city of clouds cast in a crimson cascade of flames, a swirling maelstrom of cutting wind and pelting rain; a loss of control – the crash! That’s right; she’d fallen from the sky – the storm she’d flown into on her way towards Ponyville had been like nothing she’d ever witnessed before. She soon recognized who it was that was clinging to her in earnest – the presence of Big Macintosh was like a balm to her soul as she desperately clung to the stallion’s warm embrace.

The calm was ruptured by the phantom ghost of a primordial god of rage and fire – the massive form of Gho’Zrah as it thundered to the north! Forcing Macintosh’s arms open, Rainbow Dash suppressed a twinge of pain as she looked the farmer in the eye and exclaimed, “Mac, we need to leave, now.” The look of confusion on his face was enough to tease an enquiry from her as she asked, “Where are we?” Placing a hoof against her cheek, Big Macintosh answered, “You’re in the hospital, Rainbow… you were in an accident, remember?”

Well, that at least explained the catheter and the intravenous lines sprouting from her limbs. She knew the crash had been bad, but she had to ask, “Mac, how long have I been here?” Again he was quick to answer, saying, “It’s been over two days, now.” It took all of her will not to openly swear in front of him, but there was little she could do to mask the agitated look of panic that washed over her face. Picking up on the fact that something was bothering her, Macintosh was compelled to ask, “Why, what’s wrong?”

With an urgency that left the farmer unsettled, the prismatic Pegasus began physically removing the various tubes and needles from her body as she exclaimed, “There isn’t much time left, Mac – we need to get to the farm, gather everything up, and get the hell out of Ponyville as quickly as possible!” When Big Macintosh made no move to do as she said, she nearly screamed in hysteria, “Mac, please, we need to get out of here!”

With a dry voice that seemed much too small to have come from him, the large stallion tentatively spoke, saying, “Rainbow… you’re wings – the doctors, they had to…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. As if suddenly realizing it for the first time, the mare quickly looked back over her shoulder and was rather surprised to find that her wings were, for all intents and purposes, gone. But strangely enough, rather than the panic she expected to feel welling up from within her, she instead felt a sense of relief at the fact that it was only her wings and not her life.

When she openly said as much, Macintosh was left flabbergasted. But before he could respond with any sense of coherency, Rainbow Dash interrupted by saying, “I’ll have time to come to terms with it later, Mac, but right now we need to get your family and get out of town – everyone is in da--” Her words were cut short beneath a bursting cacophony of ordinance that drowned out even the thundering skies! The ground shook and the lights of the hospital flickered as a melody of pops and crackles joined in the noisome display!

Cursing under her breath, the Pegasus quickly rolled off of the bed and, upon steadying herself, began pushing Macintosh towards the doorway. “C’mon, Mac,” she exclaimed, “we have to get out of here before it’s too late!” Deciding that he was better off listening to the mare, the crimson stallion fell in line with her as the two of them made their way towards the exit of the building. All around them there was panic and pandemonium; such was the extent of the commotion outside that no one even attempted to stop them as they stepped out into the rainy darkness…

… “—repeat, adjust fire to grid 206 552, fire all batteries!” Even under such a calamitous shroud of noise, the Funker operator’s voice still somehow managed to carry over. The first salvo had been quite a nasty shock to all parties involved – especially when considering that many of the rounds strayed far too close to the front lines for anyone’s comfort. Corrections had been made, but the results were less than pleasing. If nothing else, when a shell did manage to land its mark, it didn’t even seem to bother the beast!

All along the perimeter of Ponyville, the flash of small arms fire lit up from both the trenches and from the various watchtowers and firing posts that had been cobbled together over the past few days. It was readily apparent that such small caliber weaponry did little if anything to their target. Had it not been for the valiant maneuvering of the Sturmwagens, the hulking monstrosity would have already been upon them…

From inside his cupola Panzerkommandant Siegfried Stoßauge barked out, “Right, thirty-six degrees at five hundred meters – maintain speed!” From the driving berth Schmullie adjusted accordingly, his mind all but detached from the reality of the danger they were putting themselves in as he focused solely upon steering the great metal beast they currently occupied. Behind him stood Toni, covered in soot and shoveling yet another load of coal into the fiery maw of the engine’s boilers.

The muffled barking of an auto-cannon gave testament to the concerted efforts of the Kügelbach brothers in laying down a steady stream of suppressive fire. However, it was starkly apparent to the crew of the ‘Schwartzie’ that there was little, if anything, they could have conceivably hoped to accomplish against something so massive and seemingly indestructible. Peering into the turret’s rangefinder, Siegfried lined up another shot with the main gun before bellowing out, “Feuer!”

The entire cabin shook as Frank fired off another eighteen kilogram[4] shell towards the beast. With a pronounced ping the smoking brass shell was quickly jettisoned onto the floor below as Müller called for yet another shell. Down below, Schlosser Zipfel turned away from the boiler gauges he’d been monitoring and pulled the feed lever, delivering the requested shell in a whir of spinning gears and rattling chains.

From his command seat, Kommandant Stoßauge watched as the high-explosive shell detonated against the leviathan’s scarified scales in a brilliant bloom of vermillion. But as had been the case time and time again, the monster gave no indication of having even felt the attack! As another shell was fired to equal ineffectiveness, Siegfried shouted out, “Switch to Panzergranaten – let’s see if we can punch a hole through that thing’s hide; Ernst, get Flinkemaus[5] on the horn and tell him to run counter to us!”

At his radio console, Ernst Fänger relayed the message as swiftly as he could, though it was not without some difficulties. Shouting up through the lower compartment, the Funker exclaimed over the din of the engine, “Kom’dant Flinkemaus is making the run now -- sir, I’m still getting some kind of interference on the funkbandbreite[6], I could barely hear him!” However, by the time the Kommandant could formulate a reply, Frank Müller’s booming voice filled the cabin as he shouted, “Beladen!” Instinctively lining up the rangefinder, Siegfried ordered, “Elevate thirteen degrees... and… Feuer!”

From his gunning pit atop the Sturmwagen, Walter Fisk (who had been duteously wasting high caliber ammunition on a target that was, for all intents and purposes, bullet-proof) was not surprised when the great battle wagon’s main cannon open fired for the umpteenth time. No, what surprised him was the ungodly sound that seemed to erupt from the enormous beast as the shell made purchase within its skin – something akin to annoyance, perhaps? Whatever it had been, it was the fact that the horrid monstrosity turned its fiery red gaze towards the tank he currently occupied that really set Walter’s hackles on edge!

However, just as his life seemed to flash before his eyes, he was relieved to see the creature whip its head away from them and towards its other side, as the blocky form of Sturmwagen Eight crested over a hill and fired its own gun into the monster’s flank! Taking this as an opportunity, Walter opened up the turret hatch and slinked his way down into the confines of the machine. Along the way, he informed Kommandant Stoßauge of what he’d seen, and offered his own suggestion that they keep a good distance away from the target...

Amidst the mud-filled trenches and hastily stacked barricades, the steady torrent of rifle fire had trickled down into a small sputtering stream; it was apparent to the hundreds of soldiers who bore witness to what was playing out before them that there was little, if any use in wasting rounds at this point. From his position at the front, Oberstabsfeldwebel Hermann Kühn all but screamed at his radio operator, “Tell Reserve-Com[7] that I don’t give a damn about protocol – those Pferdlanders are to be evacuated immediately!”

Fifty meters to his left, a pair of Toads had finally finished setting up a heavy assault mortar and were in the motions of loading an explosive shell when he cried out, “You two – don’t waste the ordinance; I need you to fire off a flare!” Turning towards one another, the pair of amphibians briskly nodded as one of them took a hopping dash back to the front trenches. In less than a minute he had returned with a spherical canister about half a meter across. As they loaded the flare into the mortar, Hermann turned again to his Funker and ordered, “Contact HQ and request concentrated heavy artillery at grid position 192 539; use the flare as a reference point!”

As if to emphasize the point, the mortar team chose that moment to fire their gun off. The muffled thump of the charge may have gone unnoticed amidst the symphony of battle that surrounded them, but the near blinding ruby radiance of the flare was seen by all as it gracefully danced and jigged ever higher into the sky, casting the entire battlefield beneath an incarnadine haze that was as eerie as it was beautiful. The pouring rain seemed to shimmer and shine, with droplets closest to the flare taking an appearance much like sparks of molten metal…

Time seemingly stood still for Gho’Zra as he became beholden to the warm glow that filled the sky. Memories long forgotten; sights and sounds from a time long ago, passed before his mind’s eye. He recalled a rainy evening upon a beach, the setting sun casting a red glare against the land and illuminating the figures of a dozen of his own kind. A dark night amidst forested glades – in the distance a brilliant plume of smoke and flame springing forth from a distant mountain; the haze of the sky was like pooling embers. A moonlit plain of cycads and ferns – all around him there shone the rubicund twinkling of thousands upon thousands of fireflies performing their timeless dance.

A blinding white flash that faded red and eventually black, a wave of pressure that broke against the earth – pain so excruciating that all he felt was beyond his mind’s ability to comprehend. The memory of a scarlet sky that melded seamlessly with his own blood as it spilled forth into a river of agony and torment passed before him. Crimson fury and burning rage – all-consuming anger! He could feel it welling forth from his very soul – an ardent hatred of such ferocity that it bordered the realm of madness! He could no longer contain such animosity within himself!

Rearing back, he let loose a roar that shook the very heaven and earth – a grinding tear of metal and growling thunder that broke through the clouds and the rain, through the mud and the noise and the cold of the night; heralding death and destruction and striking at the very heart of ever living creature on the face of God’s earth! From his vantage point atop the walls of Canterlot, Oberst Mittens felt an overwhelming sense of fright that tore at his very soul as he bore witness to the avatar of destruction’s legendary fury; the burning red skies and smoking terrain were every bit a vision of hell!

The Oberst was shaken from his stupor when a young courier all but ran into him, huffing and wheezing and looking a little worse for wear. In the young calico’s hand was a crumpled strip of paper, which he proffered to the commanding officer while breathlessly exclaiming, “Fire request from section twelve, sir!” Wondering why a request for artillery fire was being sent straight to him and not someone lower on the chain of command, Oberst Mittens took the scrap before dismissing the messenger.

Carefully reviewing the string of text, the reasoning behind sending the message to him became quickly apparent. Someone had just requested a Donnerschlag[8] operation, and the only way to get the dozen or so batteries to fire off simultaneously required that he set it up between the various artillery commanders. Deciding that now was as good a time as ever to carry out such a high level operation, Mittens ordered his personal Funkertruppe[9] to ring up his artillery officers and plug him directly into the call. Picking up the wired transmitter and placing a set of receivers on his head, Oberst Mittens Von Fleischtauben was swift in handing down his orders…

While the Colonel was busy setting up a massive artillery strike, the crew of Sturmwagen Seven was hard at work just trying to survive! A pattern of counter-rotational attacks between engines Seven and Eight had proven thus far to be an effective measure at keeping the monster in place. When the beast moved to retaliate against one tank, the other would quickly strike it from the opposite direction. Were that the situation was less dire; they might have even called it a game. But this was no game, and there was a very real likelihood of death should one false move be made!

Said false move was made from an altogether unexpected angle – the flare that had just seconds before been fired off had triggered something in the target, something dark and dangerous. With a fluidity that had no right belonging to something so massive, the monster deftly avoided the next volley of shells before opening up its horrendous maw and loosing a stream of molten white energy towards its left, catching Sturmwagen Eight beneath the torrent!

From his radio berth aboard the ‘Schwartzie’, Ernst Fänger physically ripped the receivers from his head before vomiting to the side. He’d heard the screaming crew of the Number Eight as they were cooked alive for all of five seconds – their inhuman shrieks and howls would most likely plague his nightmares for the rest of his life. Finally managing to spit out the last of the bile in his mouth, he hoarsely exclaimed, “Wagon Eight’s gone, sir.” The whole crew grew pale at the implication. For once, the ever-present smirk on Siegfried’s face was missing; in its place was a thin-lipped frown, barely noticeable but striking all the same as he emotionlessly ordered, “Into the tree line, full speed; Toni, open the steam vents and give us some cover.”…

From his position some two hundred meters away from what had once been Sturmwagen Eight, veteran Sturmtrupper Leopold Lachespringer nearly choked on his cigar. He’d been leading his squad towards the forest’s edge under the Eight’s cover in the hopes of setting up a radio transmitter. The plan had been to leg it under the tank’s wake and set up the transmitter array so that they could boost their signal – the interference from earlier had been steadily growing, and they were in danger of losing the only lines of communication they had.

Now, however, he was beginning to wonder whether it was a pointless effort or not. The symbol of Voroshian military might he’d been following was now little more than a molten pile of slag. He vaguely noted that the other tank had given up the fight as soon as the Eight had been hit, heading towards the trees at a breakneck pace and venting off steam to act as a smokescreen. He was finally brought out of his near trancelike state when one of his comrades grabbed him around the arm and exclaimed, “Leo, we’ve got to keep moving – we’re too exposed out here!” With a nod of agreement, the veteran Toad fell in line with the rest of his squad and made a run towards the forest…

Surveying his own handiwork, Gho’Zra felt a perverse sort of enjoyment in the destruction he had wrought upon the mechanical nuisance. But his glee was only short-lived, replaced by the growing conflagration of anger that welled up from within him. These pests may not have been of the same ilk as he was accustomed to, but it was more than self-evident that they were in league with his enemies! Turning in wroth once more upon the hapless hamlet, the scion of hate was brought to pause by a rumbling in the distance.

Tilting his head in mild curiosity, the mountainous monster let loose his own reverberating growl. As if to answer him, the entire sky all but fell upon him! The whistling of ordinance preceded such a great upheaval of earth and stone that it could only be described as biblical in its nature! Billowing smoke and searing flame filled the entire valley in an almighty explosion that engulfed the great behemoth and shook the whole of the land, knocking trees flat and loosening the foundations of the earth beneath it! As Rainbow Dash and Big Macintosh made their exit from the Hospital, they were all but thrown to the ground beneath such kinetic might!

With a scream of both pain and fear, the cyan Pegasus had to fight to retain consciousness under the oppressive wave of energy. Macintosh fared little better, though he was quick to right himself and pull the mare up and onto his back. All across the trenches and amidst the town and forest edge, the soldiers of the Reich fell silent in awe of such a display of outrageous might. Surely, many thought, surely nothing could survive such an assault? As the cloud of flame slowly faded to black, many even dared to hope that the beast had succumbed.

Bouts of cheering shakily sprang up along the line; a collective sigh of relief passed through the ranks – they’d done it! Their hopes were shattered, though, as the smoke and detritus finally cleared to reveal a looming shadow, it’s still form briefly illuminated beneath another flash of lightning, revealing to the horror of everyone that the beast had not only weathered the onslaught, but showed not physical signs of having even been bombarded to begin with! Opening its blazing red eyes, Gho’Zra wrenched its vicious maw wide and let loose a roar of defiance!

Such was the sight that many men of lesser constitutions felt their bowels tremble in fear, and even those soldiers who had seen the worst that war had to offer felt their hearts clench in despair. Their terror only grew in stature as they beheld a humming incandescence that manifested amidst the beast’s spines, saturating it in a mantle of pure white light. Hunching forward, Gho’Zra spewed forth an acrimonious howl that quickly bled into a pulsating stream of deleterious might! All those present beheld as the radiant river of destruction issued overhead, catching to flame all beneath it, before detonating within the heart of Ponyville!

From her perch on Big Macintosh’s back, Rainbow gasped in horror – the attack had struck dead upon where both the Carousel Boutique and Sugarcube Corner had once resided. She could do nothing but weep in the understanding of what that entailed. With a mere twist of his massive neck, the vengeful titan of rage and pain brought his ire to bear across the landscape, carving a molten rent across the town like a scalding knife, bringing low that which stood before its inimitable onslaught. Adjusting his aim, Gho’Zra finally wrested his retribution to purchase upon the lines of earthen trenches from which the miserable wretches that struck at him hid.

From atop a watchtower, Bubbi Plüschaar stared in horror as the bright beam of negative energies hit home amidst a cache of ammunition, igniting the stockpile into a blazing inferno that engulfed dozens of his fellow soldiers, and set alight dozens more! The screams of fear and pain carried across the pounding rain which refused to extinguish their burning bodies. Never in all of his years had he imagined such destruction – such evil! But thoughts of fleeing were far from his mind as he descended the ladder of his post; he needed to help those men!

From the edge of the forest, Leopold was in likewise a mindset. But while his heart told him to rush to the aid of his brothers in arms, his mind rationalized to him that the best way to help those poor souls was to finish setting up the transmitter array. And it was with this thought that he helped secure the last component to the machine before standing back and letting their technician specialist bring it online. When it finally began transmitting, the entire squad all but leapt in joy as the Toad quickly grabbed the transceiver.

“This is Major Lachespringer of Sturmtrupp [10] Five requesting immediate assistance,” he began, “the target is inflicting heavy casualties and nothing we use seems to be working; Command, we’re dying out here – send help immediately!” And with that, he dropped the microphone and led his squad once more into the field; there was no sense in staying put to wait for a response – the transmitter was one way only, meant to boost the signal enough to get a message through before whatever had been causing interference finally overwhelmed the bandwidth.

From upon the walls of the Equestrian capital, Oberst Mittens listened intently to the all channel message that had come from the edge of sector twelve. He personally knew Major Lachespringer, and, when coupled from what he was witnessing from atop the mountainside, he could see that the original plans set in place were no longer viable. Switching the frequency to ‘All’, he exclaimed, “This is Oberst Fleischtauben – Operation Feuerfalle is now in effect; all divisions are to make their way to sector seven, prepare to repel the enemy’s advance!”

Turning to one of his Funkers, Oberst Mittens calmly inquired, “What is the status of our railway guns?” A bespectacled, black haired Ferret attentively responded, “Railway gun ‘Brecher’ is fully prepped, Herr Oberst; guns ‘Hummer’ and ‘Faust’ both report that they are entering the final stages of fire-prep[11].” With a grunt, Mittens turned once more to view the chaos growing at the foot of the mountainside. In his mind he debated what he should do next; a full salvo from all three guns would be preferable, but to wait another fifteen to twenty minutes for it was unconscionable.

With the implicit understanding that to delay any further meant more young men had to die, the Oberst made his decision and demanded, “Order ‘Brecher’ to fire on grid point 186 522, train the angle to twenty-five degrees and be prepared to move to defense track two[12] as soon as they’ve taken the shot.” With an affirmation, the Ferret quickly began hammering out orders on one of the multitude of telegraphy modules…

Two kilometers north of the action, the massive form of the ‘Brecher’ was a hive of action as all manner of Cats, Ferrets, Toads and Gila Monsters ran to and fro; the shouting of a dozen different officers and the exclamations of a score-fold of engineers, gunners and brakemen created an air of organized chaos. The whirring of hydraulics all but overpowered the discordant symphony as the mighty thirty-three meter[13] barrel of the siege gun slowly lowered to the proscribed angle.

From his elevated position on the command deck, the ‘Brecher’s senior commanding officer (A Badger[14] by the name of Perfoss Fenestrus and of the rank of Hauptmann) had taken to once more reviewing the grid chart that had been issued to his unit. From the coordinates given to him from HQ, it looked as if he was firing directly on the front lines of their defenses. He’d actually requested reconfirmation on the position just to be sure. Whatever was going on in the distance, it was obviously going poorly.

To his right came a Gila-Monster wearing a set of grease covered overalls, a chart in hand and a string of saliva running down his jaws (though that last part was more a common trait of all Gila-Monsters and less a unique characteristic of this individual). Handing the clipboard to Hauptmann Fenestrus, the technician gutturally announced, “The hydraulic locks have been put in place, the breech has been locked and the survey team says that all the necessary adjustments have been made – all we need now is your go-ahead, sir.”

In the lilting accent that was so characteristic of his people, Perfoss replied, “Excellent,” before grabbing a standing microphone and casually demanding, “Fire team, on my mark… fire.” As one the entire division assigned to the hulking siege engine turned away and covered their ears in time to avoid being deafened by an earth-shaking blast that set the Hauptmann’s teeth to rattling! A great, six-pronged flare of belching flames and putrid black smoke was all that was left to see as the shell escaped at a velocity near the speed of sound…

Amidst the mud-filled trenches, pounding rain and burning rubble, Oberstabsfeldwebel Hermann Kühn could only stare in detached fascination as he surveyed the ravaged hell-scape that had only so recently been a verdant green valley on the edge of a quaint little village – a village that was now set ablaze. His ears still rang from the explosive detonation of the ammunitions stockpile. He’d been close by when it had gone off; the force of the blast had literally thrown him for a loop – he was fairly certain that a few of his ribs were broken.

Looking up, he could only stare in abject wonder at the looming shape of what could only be described as a god of the Old Ways as it continued its assault against all that stood in its path. He must have looked quite the fool, merely standing there and openly gawking as the world went to hell around him, but he was far too concussed to care about that. He remained as such by the time Gefreiter Plüschaar came upon him.

For the young Angora, there was something unnerving about the vacant look of his commanding officer’s persona, and it was only compounded by the nightmare that encompassed their surroundings. Deciding to go with action instead of thought, Bubbi grabbed the Oberstabsfeldwebel by the arm and started leading him away from the front and towards the town. He didn’t get very far before he was met by Theodore, who was currently sporting a gaping, blood-crusted eye socket and a rather nasty shrapnel wound to the chest.

Surprisingly, the Toad acted as if there was nothing wrong as he sidled up to the two of them, grabbing Hermann’s other arm as he hollered at the top of his lungs, “Grab the wounded and fall back to the interior line!” Those soldiers who managed to hear him over the din of battle were quick to pass the message along before they too took up their wounded brothers and slowly made their way towards the second line of trenches located further into the town.

Fixing his remaining good eye on Bubbi, the crimson Toad asked, “You okay, kid?” Opening his mouth to reply, the young Gefreiter halted mid syllable as his ears perked up as a low-pitched whistle filled the sky, followed by the unmistakable sound of discharging ordinance. Eye widening in realization, Theodore screamed, “Fuck – earth-breaker[15]; take cover!” He then proceeded to toss the three of them to the ground as those around them did much the same…

Having made it to the first line of trenches, Gho’Zra had been dead-set on wreaking as much destruction upon these miserable creatures as could be conceived. However, his attention was drawn away from milling tide of fleeing parasites by a sound the likes of which he’d never heard before; akin to the howling of wind but so much deeper. A split second later and his entire world was reduced to a deep, splitting pain from within his chest before it blossomed into sweltering ball of vermillion flame!

From his perch atop the walls of Canterlot, Oberst Mittens could only stare in amazement as the monstrosity’s chest exploded outwards into a carnal blossom of ribs and viscera! Even from this angle he could clearly see the exposed, still-beating heart of the beast as it pumped steaming spumes of viscous red blood for hundreds of meters in all directions. The ululating cry of absolute pain the beast released was stifled by its own weltering gore which swiftly bubbled up from its throat!

It had been a direct hit, and yet, somehow, that thing was still alive! There should be no way that it could even remain standing! For his part, Gho’Zra slowly recognized the fact that it was staring at a gaping hole in its chest that was quickly knitting itself back together at an alarming (and rather painful) rate. Stumbling backwards a few steps, he had to physically shake his head to clear the cobwebs that had taken up residency so suddenly within his skull.

But while his mind was still reeling, his body was quicker to react (even if only on the most basal of levels), as he opened his jaws and began spewing molten hot retribution – the mist of vaporizing blood as it boiled and evaporated under the heat of the powerful ray cast a demonic red haze across his terrifying face! The beam of luminous death spilled across the landscape before landing home upon a distant orchard on the outskirts of town.

It was to Macintosh’s eternal horror that he bore witness to the demise of both his home and his family! The scream would not leave his throat before both he and Rainbow Dash were buried beneath a pile of rubble as the monster’s great serpentine tail flailed about! All across Ponyville the flames of perdition had manifested into a great conflagration that highlighted the fleeing shadows of both soldier and civilian alike as they made for a mad bid to escape the doomed town.

As his mind finally cleared, and as the last of his wounds closed up, Gho’Zra cast his crimson gaze across the landscape before releasing a trumpeting cry of victory over his adversaries. Striding into the rain and through the flames and across the mud and amidst a sea of death, the vengeful god of rage fell upon all who would flee before him. From where he’d fallen amidst the mired loam, Bubbi Plüschaar could only watch in awe and terror as all fell before the beast like wheat beneath a scythe…

[1] KaN operatives are, as a rule, supposed to remain unknown to anyone outside of the organization. To openly admit to having contact with an operative is a good way to wind up dead.
[2] Roughly translated as the Experimental Weapons Development Project, the ‘Experimentelle Waffen Entwicklungsprojekt’ (EWE) is a branch of the Reich’s military R&D department in which some of the more theoretical aspects of military design are brought to practical application.
3 the Reichskanzler, who has shown a deep fascination with the idea of atomic weaponry, as well as a deep-seated fear that such weaponry might wind up in the hands of the Reich’s enemies.
[4] Roughly 40 pounds for those of you who don’t use Metric.
[5] The Commander of Sturmwagen Eight, Zippy Flinkemaus will go down in history as a Hero of the Reich for the sacrifice he made in those first few hours of the battle of Ponyville.
[6] Literally meaning Radio Bandwidth, the term funkbandbreite, as used here, refers specifically to the secure Voroshian Military radio bandwidth.
[7] The commanding officer of the reserve troops stationed furthest from the current fighting.
[8] Roughly translates to ‘Thunder strike’; a Donnerschlag operation is a specialized artillery maneuver where all available heavy ordinance is brought to bear on a single grid point in a synchronized fashion.
[9] Comprised of between eight to twelve individuals, a Funkertruppe is a crew of dedicated radio operators and specialists who work directly under the senior ranking officer of any military operation. It is through them that the SCO can coordinate with his officers and execute complex procedures as well as receive information from the battlefield in real time.
[10] Because of the elite nature of the Sturmtruppen Division, it is very rare to have more than a few dozen Assault Troopers at any given time. For this reason the basic unit designation ascribed to a Sturmtrupper is that of a Sturmtrupp (Assault Squad). Comprised of between four to eight individuals, a Sturmtrupp is allowed more autonomy on the field and is often selected to carry out highly dangerous and often suicidal missions. However, this is also offset by the fact that more often than not a seasoned Sturmtrupp is capable of executing missions that might often require a small army to accomplish under regular circumstances.
[11] It takes, on average, forty-two minutes to fully prepare a Voroshian railway gun. The mathematics and engineering calculation required to fire just one their massive 80 centimeter bunker-busting shells takes a team of thirty-six analytical specialists and scientific authorities to insure that the shot is perfect. As for the shells themselves, it takes a team of five Bison to push them up the breech ramp! It is because of these and many other factors that the railway gun is seldom ever used in a campaign – the time and resources needed to fire just once are often wasted due to the Voroshian emphasis on rapid assault deployment. It is in the rare situations for which defense is the primary focus of the military that the ‘Eckert Klasse’ railway gun truly shines. On a side note, the names of the three Railway Guns: Brecher, Hummer and Faust literally translate to Crusher, Lobster and Fist - in a personal reference to a game of chance my friends and I would play in our childhood back in Oberwiessbach.
[12] The railway guns are situated on a set of circular rail lines to allow for a three-hundred and sixty degree turn radius; this is referred to as Defense Track One. However, there is a second set of tracks that branch off from those lines that lead to a semi-static point intended for the defense of the mountainside and the city of Canterlot itself; this is Defense Track Two.
[13] 33 meters is roughly equivalent to 108 feet and 3 inches. This monster of a barrel has a caliber of 80 centimeters (roughly 31 inches for those of you who don’t use metric), and is used to fire the titanic ‘Gottes Gericht’ (God’s Judgment), a 7,100 kilogram (or roughly 15,653 pound) armor piercing shell containing 350 kilograms (or 770 pounds) of explosive weight!
[14] Haling from a kingdom called Meles, to the south of the Katzereich, the Badgers have been a long standing commercial ally of the Reich. When the Boars of the Hill Land started demanding tribute from Meles some thirteen years ago, the King of Meles, Varius Quintus Lutumorius, personally requested the aide of Vorosh. In exchange, he offered to lower exchange rates, supply a constant stream of Copper (found in vast quantities amidst the mountainous kingdom), and, perhaps most importantly, the best and brightest of his kingdom’s soldiers to serve under the Kaiser’s banner.
[15] The colloquial term used in reference to the ‘Gottes Gericht’ Railway gun shell. It is an apt name, as the shell can penetrate up to 20 meters of solid earth.

Here are reference photos as to what the Railway guns actually look like. The template is based upon the famous 'Schwerer Gustav' and 'Dora' 80cm Railway Siege Cannons used by Germany during the Second Great War. It was responsible for breaking the impregnable string of underground bunkers and forts that protected Sevastopol during Operation Barbarossa.

Here is an image of one of 'Schwerer Gustav' in static pose. The 200 some odd men who were assigned to its operation stand in the foreground.

Here is a rare image of the 'Schwere Gustav' having fired one of its bunker-breaking shells outside of Sevastopol (the actual target was "White Cliff", which was also known as ammunition mountain). Notice the Six-pronged flare of the muzzle-break; this is actually the air warping as the shell broke the sound-barrier.

The Following three images should give you an idea of just how Massive these guns were, and a better appreciate of their Technological sophistication!

Author's Note

Well, here it is - part one of the final act. Things are going to become rather hectic in the next chapter; it was actually the chapter that first entered my mind when I began developing this story. However, it is also going to a rather long chapter that is meant to close off a few loose ends and set the stage for the final half of this act. This means that you should not expect a new chapter any time soon. As for why it took so long to get this chapter up and running - I had a rather bad run in with a nasty Influenza strain that kept me bed-ridden for most of three and a half weeks, followed by the ubiquitous Common Cold, which kept me feeling under the weather for a further two weeks. On top of this, my job has become more complicated due in part to a promotion and a new work schedule. Finally, family matters are at the forefront of my personal agenda, and my future child has absorbed a lot of my energy and focus. If I am to be honest, there was a span of about two weeks where I just didn't feel like messing with it; that period of time also correlated with an increase in the amount of time I spent playing 'Primal: theHunter', 'Sins of a Solar Empire: Rebellion', and a small amount of 'Dota 2'.

Anyways, as I said earlier, don't expect the next chapter any time soon - there's going to be a period of about sixteen weeks in which every waking moment of my life is going to be spent dealing with my Job or with my Family. I apologize for this in advance, and hope that you can all understand.

As always, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and please let me know what you think about it all.
Before I go, I'd like to ask that you inform me of any and all grammatical errors you come across throughout this story; I'd would be extremely appreciative of that.

Until next time!

Blackest Day

Author's Note

Well, it's been a while.
But I did finish this chapter. To date, it's the longest chapter of the story. It will also remain as such.
As it were, this chapter also marks the apex of the story line - the climax. The remaining two chapters will contain the resolution, while a final Epilogue will place the entire thing in a context.
For those of you who might be interested, this chapter is actually based almost completely on the 2600+ word draft document I created when I first thought up this story.
On a final note, as of Chapter 14 (this chapter) 'Born of Rage's rating has officially been changed to M.
The reason for this is primarily because I made the mistake of allowing one of my nieces to read the chapter as it neared completion and it physically upset her. As it stands, the M rating is more there as a reminder that this story is incredibly violent and one of the more graphic pieces I've created.
Aside from that, I hope you enjoy this chapter.
Art work will be posted at some point in the future, and perhaps another chapter in the far future. In all honesty the final chapters will probably be short - circa 3000+ words each; I've pretty much gotten the body of it out of the way.
Stay tuned, ja?

Blackest Day

Ponyville was little more than a sea of flames – vermillion waves crashed across one another in a turbulent frenzy. The air was swelteringly hot, the rain doing little to quench the fires that had taken hold of the small hamlet. The din of crackling wood and popping embers all but overpowered the ambient sounds of the wind and rain that lashed so violently across the landscape. But for those poor souls who now found themselves trapped within this roaring hell, none of this compared to the sight before them.

There, wreathed in laurels of smoke and fire, striding in triumph through the blazing fields that he had sown, stood Gho'Zra. For many thousands, he was nothing short of the end of their world. The ringing of Church bells carried across the hellscape, their frantic chiming only emphasizing the calamity for those who still had ears to hear them. With an unearthly silence that was so far removed from his surroundings, the Herald of Calamity calmly surveyed his work with a sense of finality.

For untold minutes the beast simply stood and observed as the flames arose ever higher to consume every single structure still standing. Then, with a poised fluidity of movement, the gargantuan beast turned away from the doomed town and began his final ascent towards the gleaming city on the hill far above. From the burnt husk of her former home, Twilight Sparkle stood transfixed by the beast as it made to leave. She had taken shelter in the subterranean basement of her library when the commotion had started, but it was her eternal curiosity that had lured her outside.

Finally, she knew once and for all the being that had killed her beloved brother. Finally she knew once and for all the beast that had killed her Midnight Sovereign. Now she knew the truth of the monster that seemed dead-set on destroying her entire civilization. Tears flowed unknowingly down her face; it was all so very tragic - how the end had come. But her mourning was cut short when, from out of the flames came a trio of figures – their battered bodies and singed, soot-stained hides making for a pitiful sight.

She immediately recognized two of them as being Cats, and she felt fairly certain that the third one was a Toad. But oh, what a terrible sight they made! They hadn’t seen her yet, and they were all but screaming to one another over the roar of flame. One of them (a giant of a cat if ever there was one) was clearly either unconscious or in some sort of trance, and the other two were no doubt trying to get him to come to his senses. Realizing that she could be of some help to these men, she quickly shouted out, “Over here!” With a start they all three cast their eyes upon her.

For his part, Bubbi Plüschaar could scarcely believe his eyes. There, beside the mighty oak tree that so dominated the surrounding townscape (now little more than blackened charcoal), stood a Pferdlander with both horn and wings. What’s more, she was motioning for them to come to her (at least he assumed it was a she – it was hard to tell with Pferdlanders). Casting a wary glance to Theodore, the young Cat came to a silent agreement with his amphibian comrade. With hobbled steps, the two of them hurriedly dragged the still shell-struck Hermann along. As they finally reached the great tree-house, the violet-hued horse quickly ushered them inside.

As she finally got a good look at them, she had to fight the bile that rose from her gullet – one of them (the Toad) had only one good eye; the other was nothing but a gaping socket of oozing viscera. The younger of the two Cats didn’t look too worse for wear; a few singed patches of fur and a notched ear were the only damage she could make out. But the poor man that the two of them were supporting was in a sorry state indeed. He was clearly concussed, and the ragged way in which he breathed was clear indication of broken ribs. Coming to a snap decision she ordered, “Take him downstairs and put him on the work bench.”

At this point, pride didn’t factor into anything they did anymore. Both Bubbi and Theodore quickly complied with the purple pony’s demand. Making their way into the basement of the great arbor, the two of them were only slightly shocked at just how large and cluttered the subterranean chamber truly was. With a grunt of effort, the two of them managed to haul the hulking form of Oberstabsfeldwebel Kühn onto the cold metal table that constituted Twilight’s work bench; the Maine Coon’s large form was such that his legs dangled over the edge.

In a moment of lucidity, Hermann exclaimed, “Spitzer – where is Spitzer?” Theodore tried to placate his commander by responding, “Don’t worry, we’ll find him.” Turning aside, he quietly asked Bubbi, “Was there any sign of the Hauptmann when you found him?” Furrowing his singed brow, Gefreiter Plüschaar slowly shook his head as he replied, “No – I couldn’t see much of anything past the smoke and flames; but if I were to guess, he’s more than likely dead.” Casting a wary glance towards the still delusional Oberstabsfeldwebel, Theodore muttered, “It’d be best to make sure before coming to any definitive conclusion.” The two of them silently agreed with one another.

They quickly halted their conversation the minute Twilight Sparkle made her way down the steps. Though she couldn’t understand what they had been saying, she was intuitive enough to catch on to the fact that they were leery of her. Deciding to cut to the chase, she began in saying, “I need one of you to hold his legs while the other keeps his shoulders steady; I’m going to apply a wrap to his chest.” Again, the two soldiers seemingly transmitted a silent message between each other as they hesitantly nodded their consent.

As the three of them began their ministration of the larger Cat, Twilight could not hold back the wave of curiosity that engulfed her. She had to ask, “Are you the only ones left?” With a scoff, the younger Cat exclaimed in a halting rendition of her language, “No – more survive; orders are to be falling back to mountainside… we being cut off from rest by fire.” The Toad then spoke up, asking, “What of you?” Absentmindedly wrapping the linen roll around Hermann’s chest, she mumbled, “I’ve been stuck down here all night; I only recently managed to open the cellar doors.”

As the last of the bandages were applied, the three of them came to the unanimous decision that they were best off waiting the fires out in the relative safety of the underground. Meanwhile, the fires above them only seemed to rage hotter as storm-winds grew stronger. Those few ponies that had volunteered to remain were now frantically attempting to fight the conflagration alongside those soldiers of the Reich who had been severed from their comrades…

The once scenic eastern slope of the mountain was now little more than a quagmire of mud and soot. Half-finished trenches and hastily improvised fox-holes were quick to fill with torrential runoff – some men had even drowned. They were considered fortunate by those who remained. Through the thick mire of the rain could be seen the flash of a thousand rifles, the blossoming flame of a hundred cannons and the splintering light of a nigh-unbelievable amount of ordnance! This cacophony of flashing fire was held in stark contrast to the black of the midnight storm – the air filled with a visual vertigo made manifest!

The thundering echo of a colossal footfall reverberated across the earth and into the souls of all those who had made their stand upon the rugged slope. The drumbeat of the Great Destroyer’s advance was like nothing to compare – sheer, overpowering might clearly emanated from the tremulous rocking of the earth. High overhead, Gho’Zra stood at the center of their world; his power unmatched in the eyes of those lowly mortals below him. Yet even a gnat, when left alone, can climb into the eye and cause distress.

Such was the plan of Hauptmann Jerolus Kym and the men under his command. From the prow of his Käfer[1], the Horned Toad gave the order, “Drive alongside it – I want to have a clear shot!” The exceptionally brave young Gila Monster at the helm of the vehicle simply nodded and proceeded to close rank with the terrifying beast, no more than a stone-throw away from its immense foot! Narrowly avoiding a chunk of shrapnel as it whizzed overhead, Kym swiveled the halftrack’s pintel mounted floodlight and unleashed a blinding beam straight into the monster’s malevolent red eyes!

With a grunt of discomfort, Gho’Zra all but stumbled as he tried to turn away from the annoying stimuli. The piercing sting of his unprepared eyes was like a vice upon his optic nerve. With a shake of his horrific head the beast tried to escape the blinding glare that assailed him. Oddly enough, the blinding light did go away, though not from any of the creature’s own effort. From his place astride the Käferwagen Hauptmann Kym switched off the flood light before grasping ahold of his personal mark flare[2] . Hoisting the pistol over his head, the Horned Toad popped off a brilliant orange ball of incandescence for all of the world to see!

Naturally, the behemoth was quick to notice the flare, and from there he came to notice the small metal contraption from which it had been spawned. No sooner had it lain eyes upon its quarry that Gho’Zra’s vision was assaulted once more by the resplendent light. There was no doubt in its mind who the perpetrator was this time! From below, Jerolus manually created a strobe effect with the light, all the while trying to maintain his aim upon the beast’s eyes as the Käferwagen juked left and right over the muddy terrain.

Turning once more to his driver, Hauptmann Kym shouted over the din of war, “Head for pit number six – let’s see if we can’t lure this thing into a minefield!” Again, the driver proved beyond brave as he simply nodded his ascent and made a sharp turn towards the nearest pit trap. Looking back towards their pursuer, Jerolus could only swear at how close it had gotten in only a few strides – the distance was closing and they were already going at maximum speed. With a renewed fervor, the Horned Toad started frenetically flashing the high-beam light into the beast’s eyes, if only in the hopes of disorienting it.

As the piercing synthetic light struck his pupils, Gho’Zra could only squint in a vain attempt to maintain vision. With a growl of frustration, the great Leviathan decided to lash out in his tormentor’s general direction. With a great roar, the scion of doom hoisted his mighty columnar leg before crashing it down upon the earth. Such was the force behind the blow that the earth around him cracked and splintered into a spider web of broken stone and jettisoned mud! The resounding crack of thunder that screamed out across the sky did little to cover the unholy rumble of displaced earth!

As its vision finally cleared, Gho’Zra could scarcely suppress the grim satisfaction it felt at the sight of the now overturned and smoldering vehicle. With slow, deliberate steps the behemoth moved to crush the vexatious little machine beneath his heel. From inside the smoldering wreck, Hauptmann Kym managed to drag his mangled body out of his cupola. He didn’t need to look to see that his legs were now missing – he could feel himself slowly bleeding out. The attack had been so sudden, so overwhelming; it had physically thrown the car into the air before flipping a half dozen times and finally coming to rest in the minefield.

In his mind he knew that his options were limited to two: either bleed to death, or go out fighting. Jerolus could only smirk as he feebly muttered, “Those are my kind of odds.” The ground shuddered violently as the Great Calamity took yet another step towards him. Lazily fumbling for the communicator he’d habitually worn around his neck, the Horned Toad pressed the transceiver and in a casual voice relayed, “This is Hauptmann Kym of scouting squad nine, requesting a Donnerschlag on minefield six – look for placement flare, over.” With a shiver, he fecklessly dropped the device. It was getting cold. With his last ounce of strength the Hauptmann raised his flare pistol and fired. Darkness overtook him.

The vermilion gleam of the emergency flare screamed high into the air for all to see, just as the enormous monstrosity’s foot came down full force into the trap. The resultant explosion of a score of mines detonating at once beneath its foot was titanic in its breadth, rocking the whole of the mountainside. With a wail of surprise the reptilian colossus stumbled and fell headlong into the great pit, his immense form flailing as it fell, triggering further explosions which only seemed to intensify in destructive power! From the walls of Canterlot, Oberst Mittens beheld the spectacle with a grim determination. Turning back to his Funkertruppe, the grizzled old cat gave the order, “Set up another Donnerschlag on pit six, grid point 057 295.”

As the radio operators rapidly relayed the command, Mittens could only look on in fear of what he’d sent so many young boys to face in his stead. The beast was already beginning to pick itself up from the thoroughly smoking hole it had found itself in. With a wary frown upon his whiskered face, the Oberst prudently asked, “What is the status on our Railway Guns?” Holding a paw to his headset, one of the Funkers (a slightly heavyset Manx) responded, “All three Railguns have relocated to defense track two -Guns ‘Hummer’ and ‘Faust ’ are fully prepped; Railgun ‘Brecher’ reports three minutes and closing until ready, Herr Oberst.” Nodding in understanding, Mittens then relayed his next command, “Order ‘Hummer’ and ‘Faust’ to fire at will – have ‘Brecher’ fire as soon as is convenient.”

From across the mountainside, from within the great city and amidst the surrounding forests there arose an indescribably titanic uproar that shook the very air and drowned out even the mighty storm clouds overhead as a thousand guns unleashed a torrent of smoke and flame that, for a split second, lit up the night as if it were brightest day! From the distance came the almighty report of the Railway Cannons as they added their own lot to the mix – the massive shells they loosed breaking the very atmosphere asunder as they flew across the sky and towards their target! To say that it was an impressive display of power would have been an understatement!

And it was this hail of munitions that met Gho’Zra even as he righted himself, engulfing him in a brilliant blossom of hellfire and the stink of Sulphur, exploding outward into a veritable garden of destruction, the crashing din of which all but snuffed out the elements which oversaw the great conflict! Then the Earth Breakers landed! Like a geyser welling up from below, there arose a mighty stream of earth and stone that rocketed forth from the blazing inferno, still smoking and rising only ever higher as if to escape the very atmosphere! Silence seemed to rain as the blaze subsided, with even the rain being brought to pause.

The minutes crawled on like hours for those who stood in awe of what they had just witnessed. As they peered through the rain and into the shroud of smoke and steam, they could only hold their collective breaths in hope and fear of what might rise from within. That was when the ‘Brecher’ finally fired, as if to have its final say of it all! With a resounding explosion the billowing crater was further punished as the shockwave of the great shell physically displaced the air around it, knocking men flat and rattling both the earth and the sky. For many, there could be no question – nothing could possibly survive that!

From his position in a muck-filled trench on the desolate mountainside, Leopold Lachespringer nearly swallowed his cigar at the awe inspiring attack. With wide eyes and no small amount of anticipation, the Toad could only wonder at it all; in all of his years as an elite soldier of the Reich, he had never seen such a thing as had just befallen the great beast – truly, if Gho’Zra survived this, then there was absolutely no stopping it, ever. This thought was repeated across the entire mountainside as the smoke finally began to dissipate beneath the weeping skies. Gravity seemed to finally take action, as all across the battlefield there came the pattering of falling earth and stone, from miniscule pebbles to boulders as big as a tank!

However, none of this seemed to matter to those men who were caught out in the open beneath such a deadly downpour, for there, standing in a great blackened crater stood the most horrifying thing they had ever before seen in their lives. He was still standing. Charred earth fell from his craggy hide, whisping tendrils of steaming rain seemed to spindle forth from his very form, as did copious amounts of oozing blood made thick by the heat and pressure as it slowly ran from his wounds like the sap of a freshly cut tree, but he was standing nonetheless! Eyes closed and face set into a horrid grimace, Gho’Zra stood like some ancient god of wrath born from the festering wound of the earth!

Slowly, very slowly, the gargantuan creature opened his blazing red eyes. As his wounds finally closed up, and as the rain cleansed the last of the soot and mud from his body, he reared his head back and bellowed forth his challenge to the very heavens themselves – a noise that struck at the deepest, most primordial fear of every man, woman and child who heard it. It was now his turn. With a deep, almost mechanical whine the grotesque spines upon his back began to glow a scalding white as he took in a breath that expanded his chest two-fold. Whirling towards the nearest concentration of troops, he spewed forth all of his vituperative hatred of the world into a genocidal ray of destruction that raked across the land in a spectacular burst of heat and light, vaporizing all who feel beneath it!

Like a spark to fuel, the effects were immediate; the lines broke – men of all ranks and stature began breaking out in every direction, just to get away from this thing! Major Lachespringer was no different – he held no qualms over retreating before overwhelming odds. Making a run for a nearby stand of timbers, the battle hardened Toad had only just ventured a dozen or more meters from the trenches when a massive wave of pressure flipped him into the air before he landed hard upon his back onto a pile of overturned earthen rubble, knocking the wind from his lungs and concussing the back of his skull.

Vision swimming, the Sturmtrupper was only vaguely aware of the outside world – the ringing of his ears was an eerie contrast to the muffled and often muted ruckus going on around him. Lifting his hand in front of his face, he was confused to see not the usual five fingers but perhaps fifteen or twenty! Slowly turning his head to the left, he detachedly observed some hapless soldier running across his vision – his entire body was alight with ravenous flames that swiftly consumed his skin. Turning to his right, Leopold lazily observed the massive figure of Gho’Zra as it continued its tirade against the world. That was when the familiar face of one of his fellow squad mates, Erste Leutnant [3] Spiffy Ulnz came into view.

While Leopold could hear the young Calico’s muffled voice, he was finding it difficult to comprehend what it was Spiffy was saying. For some reason his vision was beginning to wander, and it took the Leutnant slapping him lightly upon the cheek for him to refocus. Like the rushing torrent of a mighty river the sounds of the outside came crashing in upon his awareness, just in time for him to hear Leutnant Ulnz scream, “-- to get up now – get up now, Major, or you are going to die out here!” Rapidly blinking his eyes, the Toad mumbled, “I’ve got to get up – I’m up; I’m getting up!” With words of encouragement, the young Cat managed to help the Major to his feet, quickly guiding him towards the stand of trees once more.

From high upon the walls, Oberst Mittens stood aghast at such destruction! Working his mouth open and close in a gob smacked manner, the distraught Cat finally managed to impassionedly exclaim, “Fall back to the next line of defense and have all available batteries switch to T-300 ordnance!” As the message was relayed across the air waves, Mittens had to fight back the urge to weep over what he’d just done. These men – no – these boys were under his command. They were his responsibility and they were fighting in his stead; their deaths were on his head, and the thought of so many mothers who would grieve the loss of their sons and husbands because of what he was about to do was a soul straining burden that he sorely wished were not his own. He felt so old.

His thoughts were interrupted by something he’d never wanted to hear from his Funkertruppe; one of the radio operators literally yanked his headset off and exclaimed, “What in the hell was that?” Turning towards them, the Oberst’s dread only increased as another of the Funkers replied, “I don’t know, but whatever it is, it’s on all channels and wreaking havoc with the bandwidth.” The spectacled Ferret from before turned at last towards the Oberst and hurriedly explained, “Herr Oberst, communications are down due to outside interference – something or someone is using the same radio band as us and they’ve--" He was interrupted as a Badger in the group exclaimed, “I’ve got something!”

All eyes were upon him as he frantically adjusted the various knobs and dials in an attempt to get a clearer signal. As the seconds passed, the tension only mounted as a look of confusion crossed his face. “What is it?” one of them asked. Looking to his equipment, the Badger made a few more adjustments before rubbing his temples in consternation. Finally having had enough of the suspense, Mittens pulled rank and barked out, “Funker Scipio, report what you’ve found.” Snapping back to reality, the poor Radio man hesitantly relayed, “The signal is one of ours, Herr Oberst, but they keep referring to their division as being a Geshcwader [4]."

Before any of them could ponder the implications of this, all attention was drawn back to Gho’Zra, who had gurgled out some sort of deep resonating tone that shook the ground beneath their feet. While chaos and pandemonium reigned all around him, the Harbinger of said destruction was almost death-like in his sudden stillness. Tilting his dead to the side, the beast gave a great shuddering sniff into the air before turning his head to the southwest. What followed was too fast for the naked eye to catch, but were they able, many would have seen the massive lancet construct as it blazed over the treetops and tore through the air beyond the speed of its own noisome path.

Even with his incredible sensory awareness, Gho’Zra had trouble following it. He’d only just heard the unearthly noise in the distance – akin to the roar of a blazing inferno amidst the churning oceans and wrapped beneath the howling of the mightiest of gales. And yet, it was so brief that, he’d almost passed it off as a figment of his own mind. He had only just caught the imperceptible trail of smoking black fire and the subtle glint of starlight upon metal from the corner of his eye when it struck. To everyone else, it was as if, where once there was darkness only a second before, there was now brightest noonday sun! The explosion was so catastrophic that by the time the noise reached everyone’s ears it was already gone – replaced by a massive billowing mushroom of flickering red, glowing vermilion and fading white and gold as it subtly metamorphosed into an inky black pillar of cloud that rose ever higher into the atmosphere!

Not five seconds had passed when the horrific noise, much like a hundred thousand rips and tears all but screamed into one’s ears, finally caught up! In the blink of an eye the monster had disappeared beneath what many could only describe as an Act of God! “Lord Jesus in Heaven,” exclaimed Oberst Mittens, “what was that!?” As if to answer his question, one of his radio operators meekly announced, “Herr Oberst, you’re being hailed on a private frequency[5].” With no small amount of anger, Mittens Von Fleischtauben took hold of the proffered headset and snarled, “Whoever the hell you are, you had best have a damn good explanation as to why you’re fucking with my communications!”

In response, an all too cheerful voice mirthfully replied, “I’m dreadfully sorry about that, Mittsies – it won’t happen again, I swear.” To say he was shocked by the voice on the other end of the line was an understatement as he nearly chocked in surprise. “Hans?” he exclaimed, “What in God’s name are you doing here?” With an air of genuine embarrassment, the Admiral replied, “I’m sorry I couldn’t establish contact with you earlier, Mittens, but the Chancellor was insistent that I not get involved unless it was urgent, you understand.” Of course the Chancellor would do something like this behind his back – conniving old bastard that he was. It was less a problem of the Admiral being there as it was the Oberst being kept out of the loop.

Rubbing a hand down his face out of pure frustration and no small amount of desperation, Oberst Mittens finally exclaimed, “Well, so long as you are here, I’d appreciate your help.” With a smile in his voice, Hans responded, “Anything for you, dearest brother [6].” Before ending the call, Mittens added, “Hans, remember that those are my men out there – you do anything that harms them, you’ll answer to me.” With a laugh, the Admiral happily exclaimed, “I’ll try and keep that in mind, ja?” Handing the headset back to one of the Funkers, Mittens could only look on in the hope that there might be a way to survive this after all…

The rain was slowly starting to abate in its intensity, enough to allow for a plethora of flood lights to pierce down form the heavens and cut through the smoke and debris that was only now beginning to settle. From the ground all manner of soldier and civilian looked on in mild surprise to downright joy – these were reinforcements from the Reich, an entire flotilla of Airships! From the billowing black clouds and out of the darkness of deepest night descended one such Airship, the venerable ‘Pride of Might’, her smooth planar surface seemed wraithlike as the moon momentarily cast its light upon her silken exterior, only to fade like a memory. From her undercarriage were all manner of antennae and beacons, and all along her belly were a dozen or more searchlights that had all honed in on a single point.

That point was directly upon the figure of Gho’Zra, who had only now managed to recover from the staggering explosion that had caught him so unawares. The last vestiges of whatever damage he had taken were quickly stitching themselves closed, and it was no surprise that he was more than angry at this sudden turn of events – the burn he’d felt from that last attack was unlike anything he’d felt before. These creatures were infuriatingly persistent in their attempts to halt his progress! From tiny vermin to metal contraptions, all manner of projectiles and now, of all things, a massive flying beast that even now was descending closer upon him! He’d had enough. With a great and terrible cry he prepared himself for this newest encounter!

As if to answer his challenge, the mighty dirigible’s undercarriage opened up from both sides, revealing hundreds of cylindrical devices in varying sizes, all arrayed upon a latticework of mechanical racks. From her helm, the Captain of the vessel (A Griffon [7] of all things) gave the order to strike. With a mechanical whir, the hydraulically powered bomb racks disengaged, and thousands of kilograms of explosives slowly made their way to the earth in a surreal display of physics. Of all the things Gho’Zra was expecting, this was the furthest from his mind. He was thoroughly unprepared when the first bomb went off directly in front of him. He was even less prepared for the myriad that soon followed. Like a fireworks display from hell the unyielding rain of explosives bombarded the beast with abandon – the heat from the blasts actually drying the muddy earth, such was its intensity!

The bombardment lasted for a full thirty seconds before the last of the bombs finally landed. What emerged from the smoke brought a sliver of hope to the forces of the Reich. The nigh unstoppable titan that had so casually brushed aside everything they’d thrown at it was not only wounded, but had been physically beaten into the earth with such force that it struggled to free itself! This was their chance! From aboard his flagship, ‘Das Schwert der Könige’, Admiral Drücker’s booming voice carried across the helm as he commanded, “Order ground crew to launch Feuerlanze Two as soon as they can!” Turning once more to review the radar feed, Hans softly muttered to himself, “I sure hope this works.”…

Deep within the heart of the south-western expanse of the Everfree stood a row of immense rockets, their brightly painted red surfaces flickering and shimmering beneath the string of light posts that had been erected around the sizeable clearing within which they were housed. Beneath these mighty colossi ran a plethora of tiny figures, dwarfed as they were beneath such massive weapons of war. These were ‘Der Feuerlanzen[8]’, and they represented a new generation of Imperial weapons technology. From his post situated in an earthen mound some two-hundred and fifty meters behind the giant rockets, Oberleutnant Kazzi Shempo listened to the incoming order to fire another Lanze.

Turning to an orderly, the short-set Calico softly spoke, saying, “Please inform team two to begin fire-protocol epsilon immediately – tell them to adjust for wind resistance.” With a nod the newly designated messenger swiftly exited the command compound and made a quick dash to the front of the firing line. Approaching his destination, the young Cat caught the attention of one of the HEV suit-clad operators before shouting over the noise of idling engines, “The Oberleutnant says to start her up – adjust for the wind and fire as soon as you can!” With a nod, the silver suited soldier immediately began rounding up the rest of his fire team.

With practiced precision the crew of eight set to work disconnecting the various tubes and hoses that were tethered to the massive metal form. Locks were disengaged and safety protocols were switched off. With a ratcheting series of whirrs and clicks, the rib-like scaffolding that had held the Feuerlanze in its upright position began to slowly fall into place, bringing the great weapons down into forty-five degree angle. As it automatically locked the angle in place, the fire crew hurriedly began adjusting the dozens of dials and levers that covered the interface panel. As the last adjustments were made, one of the suit-clad soldiers retrieved a small bronze key from a special flap in his suit before he inserted it into a nearby lock. Waving his arm at his squad mates, he then turned the key a full ninety degrees.

That was the signal needed, as the entire squad made for a ditch some fifty meters away as if their life depended on it. All across the clearing, a blaring klaxon screamed its warning as dozens of brilliant red warning lights came to life, their spinning reflectors casting a crimson haze across the night. Just as the last of the prep crew leapt into the ditch the surrounding noise was all but snuffed out by the unholy roar of the Feuerlanze’s three massive motors coming to life, spewing a scalding trail of incarnadine flame that poured over the ground in a blazing wave of heat. Slowly the rocket began to move forward, only picking up speed as the seconds passed.

With a final mighty roar the Feuerlanze flew free from its firing ramp and into the stormy night sky, skimming the treetops as it passed overhead, a column of orange flame and billowing black exhaust following in its wake! The noise was soon replaced by the characteristic boom that the men of the Feuerlanze battery had come to recognize as the shattering of the sound barrier that marked the point at which it was finally safe to come out of hiding. Taking his slightly steaming helmet off, one of the HEV clad operators turned to his comrades and casually remarked, “Nice to see that it didn’t explode this time.”…

The world had finally stopped moving enough for Gho’Zra to finally pull himself up from within the crater. His vision was still slightly blurry, and the ringing in his head had yet to fully dissipate. Shaking himself for good measure, the towering saurian had only enough time to blink before his world was once more engulfed in an inferno of sights, sounds and, above all else, pain. The second Feuerlanze had torn across the sky like a thunderbolt, making direct contact with its target and consuming it in a hellish blast of fire and chemicals! The blow was struck upon the beast’s lower back with so much force that he was physically bowled over, shattering a few of the hideous spines that jutted from his back on the way down!

All across the battered landscape, the echoing refrain of hundreds of guns popped off from amidst muck-filled trenches, sodden timbers, broken rocks and flaming fields. The general order to use chemical weaponry had been received and, while most were leery of using such a dangerous weapon as T-300, they were more impressed upon by the fact that they were running out of options against a foe that was seemingly indestructible! The ethereal while contrails of a hundred fold canisters cast an eerie cascade of arcing streamers that caught the barest light of the moon and shone like diamonds in the sky.

The deathly hiss of releasing gas signaled the first shell to land in this deadly new facet of combat. It was soon followed upon by two more, then a dozen, then a score more! Soon enough the massive crater that had once been a shallow minefield was all but overflowing with a noxious white cloud of swirling thick mist. The midnight sky was ablaze with the flames of perdition that had consumed the land – the violet flash of lightning only punctuated the hellish visage that was the surrounding landscape. The sulfurous stench of munitions and the acrid odor of burning flesh filled the air and put in mind visions of hell. The pitch black sky continued to weep in bitter suffering for the world that seemed set to end upon the very hour.

The cacophonous night air was then pierced by a shrieking wail, like tearing metal, which spoke of an unbearable level of pain and suffering beyond the scope of comprehension and set the hackles of everyone on edge! From out of the fiery mists there rose the ghastly form of Gho’Zra, wreathed in fire and in the throes of agony. Those who now beheld the monster could only shudder in horrified revulsion at what they saw. Falling once more to his knees, Gho’Zra’s mind was little more than a void of excruciating pain that felt like nothing that had ever before assailed him – not even his rebirth so many months ago could compare to what he now experienced!

Like a living nightmare, the beast’s resilient hide was sloughed from his very bones, just as quickly regenerating only to once more enter the revolting cycle! Great waxy globs of flesh fell freely form his thrashing body – the resultant smell forcing the beast to vomit a viscous mixture of bile, blood, and the lining of his own stomach! This was too much for some of the soldiers, who either expelled the contents of their own stomachs or outright fainted from the horrifying display they had just bore witness to. But if many found this display unsettling, they were outright terrified by what they weren’t seeing!

Instead of the last struggle of a dying animal, they were baring witness to the thrashing movements of a beast trying to escape its own entrapment! The monster wasn’t dead. It was not even dying! It was trying to crawl out of the chemically laden trap it had found itself in, and there was no doubt that it would soon enough shrug this latest attack off as easily as it had all the others! The airship - which had up until now remained overhead, casting its lights upon the target in an attempt allow the troops on the ground to keep the beast in sight – began to slowly rise back into the clouds; its Captain no doubt coming to the conclusion that this fight was far from over.

Too late, it seemed. Working through the unfathomable pain that wracked his every nerve, Gho’Zra managed to roll upon his back before letting lose a stream of searing retribution that missed its primary mark but glanced across the aft end of the vessel, demolishing the airship’s rudders and setting the canvas skin alight! From his seat aboard the helm of ‘Das Schwert der Könige’, Admiral Drücker shouted over the communications channel, “'Pride of Might', get out of there – pull up!” The only sound he received in response was the horrified screaming of the doomed crew aboard the burning airship. Even from his vantage so high above the clouds he could clearly see the blazing outline of the airship as it slowly began to plummet.

It seemed that, in a final effort to strike at their murderer, the crew of the ‘Pride of Might’ had managed to steer their falling craft on a collision course with the beast. Bracing himself for the impact, Gho’Zra was buried beneath the skeletal remains of the once proud vessel – her burning form finally detonating as the flames finally reached her reserve munitions, engulfing her target in a final explosion on par with the Feuerlanzen in its destructive capability! With simmering anger, Hans held no doubt that the beast was still alive as he turned to one of his communications officers and shouted, “Tell fire crew to launch another rocket – send this thing back to Hell where it belongs!”

Like a demonic phoenix, the scarified form of Gho’Zra rose out of the ashes of the destroyed airship – brushing aside twenty tons of steel as if it were little more than a nuisance. The horror experienced by the soldiers on the ground had morphed into a chilling numbness as they came to the conclusion that nothing could stop this monster – it was a god, come to punish the world for its sins. Nothing they, as mere mortals, could do had any hope of stopping the being they called Gho’Zra! Standing tall amidst the wreckage, Gho’Zra bellowed out his victory over his now dead enemy; his roar carrying with it the promise of only further destruction.

Yet for the pointlessness of it all, the brave soldiers that stood between this abomination and the shining city atop the mountaintop stood their ground and prepared to sell their lives dearly. All along the front, every conceivable form of weaponry was brought to bare as they loosed a hailing torrent of flaming lead upon the beast. From artillery to tanks to the simple rifles of the infantry, all of it was thrown against the monster in a bid to garner its attention. And against all hope, it worked. With a snarl of intense hatred, Gho’Zra wheeled towards his assailants and screamed his rage at them. They wanted his attention? They would receive it in full!

Taking a gigantic leap forwards, the scion of hatred fell upon the nearest concentration of troops, bringing his terrific jaws down upon them and swallowing them whole! Instead of fleeing at his predatory display as he’d assumed they would, the vermin who opposed him seemed to only have redoubled their efforts - they were not fleeing, and this only served to make him all the more enraged! Taking another step towards a nearby line a trenches from which all manner of machine-guns and mortars repeatedly struck out at him, it was only through his incredible senses and reflexes that he managed to pick up the now very familiar hiss of the blazing rocket that was screaming towards him!

Pivoting upon his foot, the behemoth snapped his jaws open and spewed a beam of radioactive energy towards the oncoming missile as it hurtled towards him beyond the speed of sound! The lance of energy was near perfect in its placement, intercepting the Feuerlanze as it made its final approach and striking it across the nose. The explosion was impressive to say the least, as the chemically laden warhead burst into a corona of yellows and greens that instantly became inflamed upon contact with the outside air, creating a deadly cloud of chemical rain that was quick to carry itself upon the wind!

In an instant the field was awash with the deadly cocktail, with great swaths of it landing within the trenches! Men of all stations and rank were caught unprepared for this newest and most horrific assault – the smell of burning hair and evaporating flesh mingled with the screams and shouts of men caught within the agonizing clutches of their demise! Soldiers caught in the deadly mist were soon vomiting out their own innards in a spray of blood and mucous. Hundreds swiftly died as their lungs filled with fluids and they drowned beneath their own viscera. Still others were doomed to a horrifyingly slow and agonizing death brought about as their skin melted away and their blood spilled across the drenched earth!

If only to compound upon such tragedy that was unfolding, the delivery engine of the Feuerlanze somehow managed to remain intact, consumed in a blanket of fire and careening out of control – it sailed over head before landing amid the central trenches and upon the heads of some three hundred souls! With a shattering crash, the flaming engine cart-wheeled a half dozen times, spewing gouts of flame that engulfed scores upon scores of men, before finally coming to a stop and exploding in a consuming blaze of rocket fuel that stuck fast to every surface it met – including the poor men it had fallen upon!

Grisly scenes of carnage spilled forth from the trenches. Men chocking to death as their lungs were scourged by the volatile fumes of rocket fuel. Flash burns so intense as to thoroughly cook some poor souls perfectly through. Limbs severed by flying shrapnel were a common reality, and the concussive wave of the blast was enough to destroy the internal organs of those unfortunate enough to be at the epicenter of it all. Like a cascading river the line broke – the shock of it all was too much and the men had reached their breaking point. It was every man for himself as the defenders began to retreat across the field.

So complete and total was this new carnage that the wailing screams of the dying could be heard for kilometers. From his vantage point atop the walls, Mittens Von Fleischtauben bitterly wept as what had befallen so many good sons of the Reich. Turning away before he could be sick, he all but screamed, over the radio, “For the love of God, Hans, cease firing those infernal contraptions – those are my men down there!” So sickened was he by it all that Mittens threw the transceiver down and stomped it into pieces before ordering, “Get them the hell out of there – fall back to the city and make ready for a final stand there!” Even before the message was sent, hundreds upon hundreds of shell-shocked survivors fled towards the walls of the city in a desperate attempt to put as much distance between them and the monster as possible.

Seeing that it was his order to launch the rockets that had doomed so many young boys to death, Admiral Drücker felt nothing but a deep loathing for himself as he shouted out, “Order ‘Tannhauser’ to provide cover for the retreat – maneuver twelve!” From the bridge of the ‘Tannhauser’, the order to assist the ground troops was received; the crew immediately set to work and began preparing the necessary countermeasures. Descending from the clouds in silent stealth, the black-hulled airship made an approach from behind the beast. Noticing yet another sky borne adversary, Gho’Zra was well prepared to do battle once more.

However, the crew of the ‘Tannhauser’ had other ideas. As they passed over the beast’s head, a small undercarriage opened up from its belly, from which fell some two dozen cylinders that were halted mid fall by parachutes. Tilting his head in confusion, Gho’Zra had enough time to let out a growl of confusion before the devices went off directly in front of his face! His senses were assaulted by a kaleidoscope of sights and sounds and smells. Flare batteries and smoke canisters went off before his very eyes as specialized flak-burst whistlers screamed past his ears and a chalky powder filled his nostrils and deadened his sense of smell! As if to top off this medley of stimulants, a final flare went off – detonating into an actinic blaze of pure white light that physically scorched his corneas and blinded him!

Thrashing in impotent rage, Gho’Zra could only stumble around in anger and darkness as he waited for his eyes to regenerate; however, by the burning sensation from within his sockets, it was clear that that might be a while in happening. In the interim, the great gates of the city walls were opened wide to allow the broken army to scramble inside. With the knowledge that his men were safe for the time being, Oberst Mittens thoughts shifted to the burning rage he now felt for being left out of the loop. Because he had never factored in the arrival of Admiral Drücker, the Oberst was more than certain that lives were pointlessly lost to the lack of information. With anger in his heart and a look of malice in his eyes, the Oberst swiftly took his leave as he headed towards the one man he felt certain was to blame for all of this…

From within the radio Pullman situated upon the rail line, Claws Von Schlauhirn continued to monitor incoming and outgoing information in real time. As it stood, it was clear to all parties involved that the operation was going south; the Reich was losing. Gripping at his forehead, the Minister of the Interior released a frustrated sigh. The Chancellor had yet to respond to the watershed revelation he’d sent some three hours prior. This would be fine were it not that protocol dictated he wait for a response. He’d only minutes before sent a telegram informing the Reichskanzler of the sudden appearance of Admiral Drücker’s Geshcwader; he was rather displeased with being left out of the loop.

He was shocked from his thoughts by a bone jarring bang as the door to the Pullman was nearly thrown off its hinges by a positively irate Oberst Von Fleischtauben. Locking eyes upon the bureaucrat, Mittens roared, “You!” before lunging at his target. With a squeak, Claws exclaimed, “Me?” as he tried to evade the clearly unhinged Cat that was reaching for him. Unfortunately, Claws had never been coordinated, and he all but stumbled over his own feet, falling face first into the Oberst’s grasps. Hoisting the now terrified Minister into the air, Mittens furiously exclaimed, “You foul, disgusting little wretch – how long have you known about that fleet!?”

Trembling in fear of his life, Claws stuttered, “H-honestly, H-herr Oberst, I-I was as s-surprised as a-anyone b-by the Admirals arrival; I swear!” Slamming the squirming Minister of the Interior against the wall, Mittens all but spat, “Liar! The Reichskanzler gave the orders, and you have a direct line to him!” Shoving his face into the Interior Minister’s, he growled, “My men are dying out there, Claws – are you telling me that you didn’t have anything to do with this?” As if a switch had been triggered, Claws’ eyes narrowed as he muttered quite candidly, “I’ll go one step further and say that, as per usual, the crafty old bastard has left as many people in the dark as possible.”

Shifting his gaze from one eye to the other, the Oberst watched for the slightest sign of treachery before dropping the fiery haired Cat upon the floor and turning away. With a series of deep breathes, the Oberst slowly turned back around and offered his hand to Claws, who hesitantly took it. With a grunt the older Cat lifted Claws to his feet before speaking in a calm tone, “Then we’ve both been shafted – I’m no doubt going to get court-martialed for this, and you – well, I can think of a whole slew of suitably nasty things they could do to end your career.” Audibly gulping, Claws could only agree; failures like this were tantamount to treason, and with so many well-known names involved the public would soon be screaming for blood.

Turning to the Oberst, Claws humbly said, “Believe me when I say this – if we should survive this night, I’ll do anything and everything to try and deflect the blame away from you.” With a snort, Mittens replied, “Much as I appreciate the sentiment, this night isn’t over yet, and I have no intention of just rolling over and letting that thing win without a fight.” Placing a paw upon Claws’ shoulder, the Oberst begrudgingly suggested, “Head towards one of the bunkers, Claws – the city’s about to be breached; it’s no longer safe above ground.” Looking Mittens in the eye, the Minister of the Interior asked, “And you?” Removing the cloak he’d been wearing up to this point, Oberst Von Fleischtauben replied, “I’m going to go and lead my men like I should have been doing from the start.”

Handing the cloak to Claws, Mittens made to head for the exit. He was stopped, however, by a paw on his arm. Turning back to the Minister, the Oberst merely raised an eyebrow. In answer to his unspoken question, Claws spoke and said, “Godspeed, Heer Oberst – the fate of the Reich just might rest upon this night.” Nodding his head slowly, the Oberst finally turned away and exited the Pullman. Claws Von Schlauhirn was soon enough ready to do the same, but was stopped by the clacking of the telegraph as a new message was received. Scrabbling to the receiver, Claws stared wide-eyed at the message as it read: ‘Claws. If Kanterlotte falls. New priority. Enact Weißerturm Protocol.’ With a nod of understanding, Claws sent a single reply of ‘Confirmed’, before exiting the Pullman and heading towards the nearest bunker…

The massive ‘East Gate’ of the capital city of Canterlot was designed to inspire a sense of awe and splendor that subtly displayed the empire’s wealth and power. Its mighty bronze doors depicted scenes of Equestrian history and of the many heroes of its long and storied past. Inset with hundreds of thousands of semiprecious stones, the great entry way was said to come alive in a rainbow of glorious splendor that struck the souls of all who visited. Yet this mattered very little to the war-weary men of the Imperial expeditionary forces as they crammed their way past the gates and into the interior of the great city.

Nor was it only the massive gate that they poured through. Even the myriad of secondary minor entryways were packed full of soldiers seeking respite. Makeshift ladders had even been hastily erected as scores of men sought to circumvent the crowd and simply go over the walls! Yet for all of the chaos that this entailed, there was a surprising amount structure to this great exodus. Even to the untrained observer it could clearly be seen that the forces of the Reich may have lost this round, but they were far from through with the fight. The rumbling of boiler engines rang out as the crowd parted to allow a handful of Sturmwagens through.

One of the tanks was in fact the No. 7; her exterior was covered in dirt and branches that she’d acquired during her escape into the woods not an hour before. In that time she’d performed a half dozen maneuvers designed to try and distract the beast as the army made a general retreat. Pulling up to a nearby coal station (situated, as it were, next to a munitions depot), the metal behemoth’s engines finally stalled into silence. From inside his cupola, Siegfried gave the all clear. Clambering up the ladder, Toni Langermann made his way towards the nearby coal pile and began shoveling large quantities of the fuel into the No. 7’s coal bin.

From his radio station, Ernst called up to Siegfried, saying, “Command’s given the go ahead to switch out for Grade four or five payloads – looks like this could be a last stand situation.” With a nod, Ziggy replied, “Verstanden,” before turning to his gunner and saying, “Frank, go ahead and requisition whatever sort of chemical ordnance you can get ahold of at the supply dump.” With a grunt, the gunner made to exit the turret, stopping only long enough for the Kommandant to also exclaim, “Oh, and on your way, tell the brothers to start retrofitting their sponsons for chemical warfare – we don’t want anyone to start breathing this stuff halfway through the fight!”

Outside, Frank relayed the message to the Kugelbach brother before he himself made for the nearby munitions depot. The brothers set to work breaking down their side-sponsons, replacing the large-bore cannons for a set of chemischewerfen[9] as well as switching out for an air-tight compartment designed to insulate the occupants from any noxious fumes. By the time Frank returned with a cartload of volatile shells, the brothers were finished. Calling out to them, the dark haired Cat explained, “There’s a drum of soup[10] back at the depot – munitions general says it’s yours if you can carry it. With an excited nod, the two brothers raced off towards the depot. Rolling his eyes, Frank began the rather tedious process of stocking the shells…

In another quarter of the city stood rows upon rows of Ponies, standing at attention beneath the pounding rain and clothed in the green harness of a volunteer division. At their front stood the imposing figure of Oberleutnant Kujek Ghresht, his usually affable demeanor now replaced with a grim frown as he surveyed these latest recruits. They were a mixed group, coming from all manner of stock and background. Some, like the blonde maned, blue-eyed Unicorn standing at the front row, were of obviously noble background. Types like him had the most to lose, so it only made since that they would volunteer. Others were of a middle-class background. Still, there were even those that, had they been Cats, he would have turned away without a second thought; the young, the sick, the old, the malnourished – all of them came out in droves.

Still, things as they were, he would not turn away able-bodied volunteers at this hour, as he began speaking, saying, “You are not soldiers, nor are you fit to be soldiers.” This seemed to catch their attention as they leaned in to listen to him as he went on – “You are men, both young and old, who have decided to fight for your homes… I can respect this.” There were a few smiles at this, but they were quick to vanish as the Oberleutnant continued, “Many of you – if not most of you – are going to die tonight: this is the nature of what we are dealing with.” A few of the volunteers nervously fidgeted, but none turned away as he finished, saying, “However, it’s better to die like men, fighting in defense of what you know and love, than to die cowering in the dark.”

With his speech now out of the way, the Gila Monster set to work, exclaiming in his deep, gurgling voice, “Listen up - I’m going to assign you all into squads of ten.” As he spoke, a few dozen Cats seemed to materialize from the dark, in time for him to continue, “Each squad will be led by one of these men – you will obey them to the letter or not at all; they’ve been authorized to execute anyone who doesn’t follow orders, do I make myself clear?” All manner of affirmatives were given with no small amount of trepidation at the thought. “Alright then,” Kujek bellowed out, “I’ll leave you to it.” With that he took his leave, heading for the next group of volunteers down the line…

With a massive roar, Gho’Zra quickly incinerated the last of the tanks and artillery that had thus far been harrying him every step of the way. Having finally recovered his sight some ten minutes ago, he was surprised to find that most of the vermin that had so far impeded his progress had vacated the field. He spent the next ten minutes dealing with stragglers and more than a few pockets of resistance that he knew were meant to distract him. However, his rage was such that he didn’t care; he would destroy every one of them if he had to. Giving a cursory once-over of the field, he was pleased to find that there was now nothing between him and his ultimate objective.

Slowly striding up to the gleaming white walls that surrounding the city, the lumbering giant braced his shoulders before casually wading through the massive stone barrier with a contemptible ease! With just a few strides he was already making his way towards the gargantuan inner walls. Small arms fire form the crenellations was completely disregarded by the beast as he made his way ever closer. However, a slew of artillery shells exploding directly in his face were less easy to ignore. With a cry of outrage, Gho’Zra swiftly identified the culprit – a small battery of heavy artillery pieces, perched atop one of the massive nearby guard towers, a full head taller than him and contained within the walls proper.

Opening his toothy maw, the avatar of destruction let loose a stream of molten retribution. However, instead of the smoldering wreck he’d expected to find, he was rather shocked to see that the tower was still intact! The barest shimmer of light gave proof to the efforts of a quartet of Unicorns who stood upon the tower, their bodies shaken by the exertion their minds had just gone through in order to deflect such a concentrated burst of power! Just as he was once more about to vomit forth an attack, he was interrupted again by a second wave of shells form the heavy guns, one of which struck the back of this throat!

With a snort of absolute rage, the crimson eyed monster decided that he’d had enough of this. Stooping over, the beast deftly scooped up an enormous chunk of the wall he’d previously walked through before tossing it with all of his fury at the offensive structure! The great rocky projectile all but decimated the upper half of the tower, which was now little more than a cloud of falling masonry and falling bodies. Thereupon the remains of the tower quickly imploded in upon itself, releasing a thick, choking haze of dust into the rainy night sky.

Realizing that there was little they could do against such a foe (and perhaps being taken ahold of by a notion of self-preservation), the defenders who had previously been firing ineffectually from the walls had decided to abandon their efforts in lieu of fleeing into the city. Taking a deep, bone-jarring breath, Gho’Zra forced his weight behind his shoulder as he bodily thrust himself into the titanic stone barrier. The inner walls (having been designed decades ago with the notion of an eminent war with the Cats and taking into account their explosives) were a colossal feat of engineering in their own right – twenty meters thick and with sloping walls; such was their thickness that they actually withstood first blow!

Not to be discouraged, Gho’Zra simply took a step back before once more throwing all of his weight into the walls. With an almighty crash the beast physically stumbled through the now compromised defenses, the debris from which buried him half-way as he toppled forwards. Extricating himself form the stone rubble, the monster quickly shook himself off before bellowing in victory as he took his first bold step into the city. His path was clear – the towering spires of the palace lie ahead of him…

The entire city was in an uproar! Civilians fled in all conceivable directions in a vain attempt to find shelter. Entire city blocks were abandoned, and no small amount of destruction was incurred by the stampede of hooves. In the distance, looming ever larger stood the terrifying figure of Gho’Zra as it made its way implacably further into the midst of the great metropolis. Down a narrow side alley ran a mixed group of souls towing a large and unwieldy gun as they kept pace. Leading this motley group of Pferdlanders was none other than Hauptgefreiter Remi Tschescher who, despite his reservations on the matter, had been forced into the role of squad Captain to this volunteer unit by the mere fact that he was a Cat and that he had been present and on hand at the time.

Still, orders were orders – he wasn’t about to go against a command from his superiors. Fortunately, they’d granted his request to allow Red Sky to come along; the Bison was currently providing the primary means by which the massive SFk-15 was even moving – Lord knows that a ragtag group of Pferdlanders was ill equipped to tow the three ton weapon. Passing a cowering group of civilians as they banked their way into another alley, Remi didn’t even spare them a glance – he needed to focus on the objective. That objective was to strike at the beast from amidst the labyrinthine passages of the city streets in the hope of stalling it.

The volunteers were green in more ways than one, much to his chagrin. It had been no exaggeration when he was told that the Pferdlanders were ill suited to the rigors of war. Still, he was confident that, so long as they remained mobile during this operation, they might just survive the coming dawn. Pulling into a broad thoroughfare, the group was only slightly startled by how close the monster had gotten – not but some five hundred meters! Turning to his charges, Remi was quick to order that the gun be unlimbered and a shell to be placed in the breach. As two of the Ponies helped to unhitch Red Sky from the carriage, Remi (being the only man present who was qualified to even use the cannon) walked the remaining squad members through the necessary motions to fix the gun into firing position.

With an audible clack the artillery was set, and a massive fifteen centimeter shell was hoisted onto the breech track. “Careful with that,” exclaimed the Hauptgefreiter, “there’s enough Schmerz-soße [11] in that thing to kill a whole battalion!” Not understanding what ‘Schmerz-soße‘ was, the Pferdlanders none the less took care to avoid jostling the shell more than necessary. With a resounding clang the round was finally loaded and the breech screwed shut. One of the volunteers exclaimed, “The shell’s loaded, sir!“ With swiftness that even surprised himself, Remi was quick to hop into the gunner's-seat where he quickly began dialing in the sights. As the reticule finally landed on the target, Hauptgefreiter Tschescher boldly gave the order, “Feuer!” With a clamorous boom that echoed off the alley walls and across the open streets, the massive field cannon physically buckled under the force of the shot; a streamer of whisping smoke was all that remained as the shell flew true.

No sooner had the shot been taken that the crew was already fast at work breaking the gun down and re-limbering it to the carriage. As the crew fastened the last strap to Red Sky’s harness, Remi urged the volunteers to hustle back into the alley. He didn’t bother looking back to see whether or not the shell hit the mark – he’d rather not tempt fate as it stood. The Pferdlanders seemed to hold a similar mentality, as none of them even stumbled to bother looking anywhere but straight ahead. Even Red Sky, who was unflappable by his very nature, moved with a quiet sense of urgency.

As it stood, the shot did hit the mark, striking Gho’Zra in the neck; punching through the beast’s gnarled hide (a one in a million shot that defied the odds) and digging in deep before detonating into a gory spume of carmine blood, tinged orange as it oxidized beneath the chemical gruel that openly seeped from the visceral wound. A viscous cloud of thick grey smoke emanated from the hole as the acids quickly went to work eating away at the surrounding exposed flesh! With a genuine scream of pain, Gho’Zra physically reeled at the unexpected blow, instinctively bringing his arm up to grip at his neck in a feeble attempt to staunch the bleeding!

The potent haze of caustic fumes and acrid smoke were playing havoc with his senses – his eyes burned, his nose ran like a waterfall of bloody mucous, and a thick pink bubbly paste of blood and saliva poured from his mouth as he tried to retain his equilibrium beneath the neurological assault he was under. Unfortunately, his struggle to remain standing was a losing battle as he crashed headlong into a front of buildings. However, just as always, the wound was quick to suture itself closed. The fumes dissipated and the burning eventually stopped. Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, Gho’Zra swiftly arose to his feet and began searching the surrounding cityscape in an attempt to spot the source of the attack.

His search was cut short, however, as his attention was drawn towards the raining black skies by a droning mechanical din which only grew louder as whatever made it grew fast in approaching. From the swirling dark clouds emerged a pair of creatures the likes of which Gho’Zra had never in his life seen before. Their lustering dark skin was obviously made of metal, but they flew with the swiftness of shrikes and maneuvered just as well as any hawk! His observations were cut short as the flying metal birds erupted in a barrage of flaring light which preceded the distinctively bothersome prickling sensation of his skin being struck by a barrage of bullets.

For their own part, the pilots of these experimental strike craft[12] were nothing if not brave. The lead aircraft was swift in falling into a dive as it barreled full speed towards the snarling face of the beast! Involuntarily flinching as a burst of auto cannon fire raked his face, Gho’Zra only managed to open his eyes just in time to watch as the vessel pulled up sharply; the pilot inside of it activating the supercharger in an attempt to gain altitude quickly. What the colossal saurian failed to see was the oblong container that had jettisoned from the attack craft at the apex of its dive. He was rather unprepared for the foaming geyser of gelatinous fire that engulfed his upper body and scoured his flesh in a most unpleasant manner.

Rising to his full height in both indignation and rage, Gho’Zra could scarcely know how ominous his appearance was – the glaring, half-molten visage of his face was wreathed in an orange bed of flames which cast hideous shadows across his keloid-laced flesh and highlighted his massive teeth; combining in such a way as to lend his face a skeletal grin that sent a shiver up the spine of any poor soul who was unfortunate enough to witness it. The second fighter craft quickly followed suit as it, too, pushed into a dive. Never one to fall for the same trick twice, Gho’Zra was swift to duck out of the way of the next fire-gel bomb[13] as the second aircraft pulled up in a jerking manner far less smooth than that of its twin.

The wayward bomb flew past its intended target before landing violently upon the city streets below! In a flash the night sky was awash with the vermillion glow of virulent flames as they splashed across the city pavement and spilled across any and all of the surrounding buildings, setting them alight in a swiftly growing firestorm which reached outward in a desperate bid to consume as much as it could! Looking back at the flames that trailed in his wake, Gho’Zra would have grinned were he capable of it – the warm radiance of the flames would greatly assist him in spotting his enemies amidst the backdrop of the nighttime air.

Indeed, it was this guiding light which helped him to spot the metallic glint of the first vessel as it came around for a second run at the beast. Instead of using its cannons or another firebomb, the craft pulled out another surprise in the form of a battery of screaming solid-fuel rockets that soared through the air at the speed of sound. However, the weapon was less than effective – only a few of the warhead managed to meet their mark, and they were apparently disregarded by the beast as being negligible at best. Growing tired of these bothersome birds, Gho’Zra decided that he’d had enough as he coiled his herculean muscles into a spring of tension before swinging his massive serpentine tail into the air as the vessel passed over him. The collision was fantastic - destroying the contraption in an instant and leaving naught but a million tiny shards of metal and powdered plastics!

Seeing that its brother had been so consummately destroyed, the second craft decided to call it quits as the pilot increased his throttle in a mad dash above the city – desperate to get away intact. With a glaring snarl, Gho’Zra disabused his prey of any such a notion of escape as he opens his gaping maw in a spray of negative energies! The beam sped beyond even the aircraft’s abilities and lanced across the vessel’s wing, clipping it mid-flight! In a blazing pillar of smoke the fighter spiraled out of control, its twirling dance ending as it crashed amidst a distant part of the city – the volatile fuels within its engine then igniting into a pyroclastic surge which set to light the surrounding architecture!

With nothing left to oppose him, Gho’Zra once more continued to wade through the buildings towards the center of the city; every iota of his concentration focused as it were upon the central castle which loomed ever closer. This was it – the end of his quest was nearly within reach! The racing fires that had spread in his wake were quick to overtake him in a shroud of shimmering heat. The heat did little to affect him – he was born of the flames, after all; the conflagration which had birthed him had left its testament upon his very flesh, and no mere flame would ever come close to that first fire so long ago! To his left, a great wooden building lit up in a splendid display of heat and smoke, flushing the air with a thick black haze.

The haze was thick enough that Gho’Zra failed to notice the pack of Sturmwagens that had rolled forth from a side venue and into a flanking maneuver. Inside the venerable Number 7 (which stood at the vanguard of the pack), the sweat-stained crew waited in fearful anticipation. They were nervous, and for more than one reason – their battlewagon was surrounded on both sides by a wall of sweltering flames which only increased the awful heat of the tank’s interior. They were about to commit an attack upon a beast fully capable of crushing them like a beetle beneath a man’s heel, and if that were not stressful enough, they were currently accompanied by a new crew member – a Unicorn, who’s name they had already forgotten; dumped upon them by command for the express purpose of gambling with their lives!

The Unicorn himself was likewise just as nervous. He had been picked up by a group of rather intimidating felines, placed within the confines of a giant metal box and given the vague instruction of using his magic to aid the machine’s crew in its efforts against the monster that was destroying his home city. Needless to say, it was a very uncomfortable situation for all parties involved. From his seat at the electronics console, covered in crash webbing and anxiously fidgeting, Walter Fisk finally spoke the words that were on everyone’s minds as he asked, “Just what the hell are we supposed to do against something like that, hm?” Ignoring his bow gunner’s question, Panzer Kommandant Siegfried Stoßer turned instead towards the Unicorn and asked in halting Pferdsprecht, “You are ready, ja?”

With no small amount of trepidation, the poor Unicorn could only hesitantly nod his head in affirmation – he was about as ready as anyone could be in such a situation. Nodding his own head in understanding, Siegfried slowly looked around himself as he took in the grim expressions of his crew. Coming to some sort of internal decision, the German Rex called to his radio operator, saying, “Ernst, radio the others and tell them to begin the attack.” As the Havana began sending the command, Siegfried slowly sat back in his command seat and whispered, “May God have mercy upon us.”

As if of one mind, the group of Stürmwagens opened fire upon the unsuspecting monstrosity. Their payloads were varied – some were designed to penetrate armor, others were chemical ordnance, and some were of a mixed design. Still, some were just Jerry-rigged explosives that had been cobbled together for lack of available shells! Regardless, they all did their job, striking true and completely catching the beast off guard. Wheeling around out of instinct alone, Gho’Zra only managed to catch sight of the interloping machines as they made their exit amidst the rubble and through the many alleys and side streets. Still, Gho’Zra’s response was quick - he managed to get off a small radioactive burst upon one of the offending vehicles (the ‘Schwarzie’, no less). But as the smoke dissipated, the beast was noticeably surprised to find that the Tank was still intact, and that it was still moving!

For their part, the crew of the Number 7 was quite shaken by the fact that they should more than likely have been killed by the attack. Some of them physically shook; others held a grimace of horror; Bart outright vomited. However, the worst off of the bunch was doubtlessly the Unicorn who was now splayed upon the floor, covered in sweat and taking great gulps of air - his complexion pale and sickly. After all, he’d just barely held that last attack at bay with the magic he’d used to shield them all; he’d never had to exert so much effort before in his life, and he sincerely doubted that he’d be able to do it a second time! From his place beside the Kommandant, Frank Müller casually observed in moderately surprised voice, “We’re alive; it actually worked.” From the helm of the machine, Schmüllie silently shifted to the highest gear as he continued to drive the machine onwards and into the relative cover of the surrounding buildings.

Preparing to give chase to the fleeing Sturmwagen, Gho’Zra was once again struck from above – another Airship (‘Der Peststurm’) had quickly descending from the storm clouds overhead, while the beast was distracted, and began to release a concentrated payload of nerve gas canisters upon the monster. As the canisters exploded all around him, Gho’Zra attempted to hold his breath whilst the bright blue cloud of nerve agents wafted upwards amidst the thermal updraft of the surrounding firestorm. It was to no avail, however; the chemicals were quickly absorbed by his skin, where they set to work destroying his nervous system! With a wail, the beast stumbled around as he swiftly lost control of his motor skills. From all around him, the pack of Tanks made pass after pass at him, striking from all sides and just as swiftly disappearing as they continued their guerrilla war against him.

His frustration was only growing – the hatred he’d used to sustain his will was reignited by the ire he felt for these creatures that simply refused to leave him alone! As his blood literally boiled in anger, the nerve gas was quickly flushed from his skin in a pale neon mist that gave him the ethereal quality of a wraith. Quickly righting himself, Gho’Zra glared as the looming vessel above him prepared to drop another round of chemical shells. With a snarl, the Scion of Destruction grabbed ahold of a small cinder-block structure before heaving it towards the Airship - the mass of stone and concrete punching clear through to the other side of the vessel!

Like a falling leaf, the rapidly deflating ‘Peststurm’ gracefully dropped to the city below. As she quickly came to rest amidst the flames, much of her volatile payload was ignited, and with a brilliant purple bloom a mighty explosion occurred – at its base there now grew a horrifying chemical fire which spewed untold volumes of deadly green smoke into the air! Bellowing triumphantly, Gho’Zra quickly went on the offensive. Spotting one of the tanks as it made its way behind a nearby pile of debris, he was quick to spew his hatred in a beam that raked across the landscape, setting the still standing buildings that surrounded him to light!

Soon enough, his target tried to make a break for it, heading towards a nearby toppled building in the hopes of escaping the conflagration. With a terrifying shriek, Gho’Zra released another beam of radiant might directly at its prey. Like the one before it, this tank seemed miraculously immune to the attack, as the shimmer of a magical field dispersed the concentrated energy in all directions. Not content to let the machine get away, Gho’Zra opted instead to take a more direct approach - lifting his gargantuan foot before bringing it down upon the Sturmwagen with all of his fury, rupturing the cobblestone streets and completely flattening the vehicle!

The next few minutes turned into a deadly game of cat and mouse for the crews of the Sturmwagens – the beast used everything at its disposal in its hunt for the insurgent tanks, even going so far as to crawl on hands and knees in its bid to overcome them! It was in this seemingly vulnerable position that a trio of Sturmwagens (lead by the ‘Schwarzie’) came up from behind it and began firing. Sadly, they had completely forgotten to take the monster’s powerful tail into account. With a simple flex of its back the beast’s tail swept across the landscape, completely pulverizing one of the attackers and sending the other two hundreds of meters though the air. One of them fell into a nearby park where it was shredded against a row of trees. The No. 7, however, fell amidst a residential district…

The city was ablaze – washed in a sanguine haze that only continued to grow as the fires spread from one district to another. Wherever the fires burned there were a dozen tales of heroism in the making as both soldier and civilian alike fought to put out the swirling inferno! Cats and Ponies worked side by side in a mutual act of survival; bucket brigades were formed, and water was carried by any means necessary. Even more desperate were the continued actions of those who were willing and brave enough to aid in hindering the lumbering beast which sought nothing short of their total annihilation! Volunteer platoons died in droves in the hopes of, at the very least, stalling their malefactor’s progress. Still the hammering echo of countless guns in the distance gave proof through the darkness that the Reich was still fighting, still dying to save a city they scarcely cared for.

And amidst this menagerie of conflict, the rains began to soften; the clouds began to fall away. It was only too apparent in the way the flames seemed to climb ever higher into the horizon, and how the heat began to boil the very air in a great expanse of steam and blistering smoke. Canterlot was burning to cinders, and there was nothing that could be done for her. She would no doubt linger and die over the course of the coming weeks, but the fires were too far spread, too entrenched within her soul of clean cut stone and gilded timbers. From his vantage in the sky, aboard ‘Das Schwert der Könige’, Admiral Drücker looked on in pity before morosely remarking, “So, this is how a city dies.”…

The once proud Sturmwagen, ‘Number Seven’, was now little more than a twisted mockery of its former glory. Her boiler-hold had ruptured, taking much of her aft with it. Her once mighty gun was now twisted and warped – permanently ruined. A steady trickle of coal-oil and chemical lubricants seeped from the many rending wounds across her hull, and her treads were now little good for anything but scrap. It had been a miracle that she’d not gone to spark and combusted – something that Walter Fisk attributed to the grace of God at this point. As he dragged the comatose form of Siegfried from the wreckage, he had to suppress the feelings that wanted to well up from within him; there would be time for mourning later.

As he gently laid his commanders head upon Toni's lap, the bow gunner once more took stock of the situation. The ‘Schwarzie’ was gone – not even fit for salvage. He purposefully avoided looking at a nearby puddle of blood as he recalled how both Frank and Ernst were dead – crushed within the metal deathtrap that the No. 7 had become. Hirschel was in critical condition; much of his fur was gone – burnt away by the chemicals that had ruptured within his sponson's compartment. There was a chance that the fumes had irreparably damaged his lungs, but only time would tell. He was still a great deal better off than his brother. Pip had been on the vehicle’s right side when it came down. He’d no doubt been crushed to death upon impact. If the crash hadn’t killed him, the toxic chemicals that pooled beneath the vehicle had surely finished him off. Walter sincerely hoped that Pipin had died quickly.

The Unicorn that had been assigned to them was also dead – his fragile body had been ruptured upon impact, spilling much of his innards into the interior of the tank. Walter could still taste the bile from when he’d purged at the sight. Those had been the casualties. Looking at his likely broken paw, Fisk could only marvel at how he’d come away so intact. It had most likely been the crash webbing he’d tangled himself within that had allowed him to come out walking. Schmullie had been similarly lucky; aside from a slight concussion he was okay – the safety harness of his seat had kept him from being tossed around so hard. Of less luck were the other survivors. Poor Bart Zipfel’s legs had both been broken – one of them was a compound fracture! He’d given the poor boy some morphine from the emergency supplies.

Toni had a variety of nasty burns across his body, compliments of the boiler exploding. One of his arms had been rent from its socket (though that had been easy to remedy), and his left ear was now little more than a blood crusted stump of flesh (not as easy to fix). Kommandant Stoßer no doubt had the worst of it. One of his arms had been severed at the elbow; fortunately enough, whatever had cut it off had been blunt enough to crush the blood vessels closed, so at least he wasn’t bleeding out. His tail was obviously broken in multiple spots, because there was no way it should be bending like it was. More noticeable was the hideous lesion of dried blood and scorched puss that had at one point been his right eye. This only emphasized the way in which much of the right side of his face was now hideously marred with what would no doubt become horrifying scars in the future.

From what he could make of it, one of the chemical shells must have sprung a leak and seeped into the poor Cat’s face. A haggard cough from Hirschel brought him back to reality as he went and applied more basalt powder to the boy’s skin. From where he sat with Ziggy’s head in his lap, Toni Langermann simply watched on in somber silence as, in the distance, Gho’Zra made its way ever closer towards the palatial castle. Gently stroking the commander’s head, Toni began to silently weep. From his own half-delusional, drug addled state, Bart looked up into the sky. The clouds had begun to recede; the rains were nearing their end. He casually wondered if this would be how his own life ended…

The frantic shuffling of hooves upon the marble floors echoed across the arching walls and vaulted ceiling of the palatial lobby as dozens of dignitaries, bureaucrats and politicians nervously made their way through the resplendent halls. Amidst this group of anxious ponies, the Chameleons K'Umetk and Ghur’Tcha found themselves pressed along for the ride. As far as K'Umetk could surmise, the party was being ushered out of the castle and onto the palace grounds. The group suddenly halted as a gruff voice spoke out, “Alright, listen up; this tunnel should lead you to safety – it goes about a kilometer to the west and opens up near Clover Field Park[14].” The groan of great metal hinges was followed by a burst of stale air as the guards opened the clandestine path.

The first to enter the cramped passage were the various foreign dignitaries and delegates, who were quick to make their way through. The next group to venture forth was that of the various courtesans, ministers and nobles, many of whom were less than eager to leave the only home they’d ever known. When it came time for the Chameleons to go through, Ghur’Tcha spoke in a hushed whisper, asking the older K’Umetk, “Did you not see the Princess among their numbers?” Turning only slightly towards the young reptile, K’Umetk muttered back, “She was not, nor do I think she ever intended to be.” Casting the pair of royal guards who stood at attention a wary glance, the two islanders passed through the entrance of the tunnel and took their first step into the darkness. As they wandered down the winding way, they could hear the muted thud of the great earthen door closing in their wake…

Within the innermost confines of her private personal chamber, Princess Celestia – now sole sovereign of Equestria – having just finished writing up her last will and testament, telekinetically returned her quill to its inkwell. Casually observing how the ink dried upon the velum parchment, she absentmindedly turned to the only other living soul that was present at the document’s drafting; her loyal Minister of State, Prudent Measure. With a voice that spoke of a sense of calm that could only be held by one who was assured of their own death, she spoke to the old pony, saying, “Please insure that Twilight Sparkle is given this document upon my passing – in it are provisions for which the state may continue to exist in my absence.”

With a genuine look of sorrow, Prudent Measure exclaimed, “Please, your highness – Celestia; there is no need for this!” Looking his sovereign straight in the eye, he implored, “Come away from this place – there is still time to escape with the rest of us!” With a weary sigh, the Alicorn replied, “I’m sorry, but I can’t.” With a desperate gleam in his eye, the old gray equine incredulously asked, “You can’t, or you won’t?” Casting a hard glance at her minister, the Solar Sovereign brusquely declared, “There is nothing left for me here.” Rolling up the parchment and affixing a wax seal to its binding, the gleaming white princess presented the scroll to the minister, who begrudgingly took it upon his self. Quietly dismissing him, the Princess then turned away and walked towards her balcony. She had said that there was nothing left for her. She was more right than she realized…

The eastern courtyard of the royal Canterlot Palace had at one point been a veritable Garden of Eden. All manner of flora from across the world had been planted upon its verdant green grounds. Now it was the setting of a desperate last offensive. The proud vegetation that had shaded the land had been cleared away in order to make room for a full division of artillery that was, even now, being prepared for a final attack. The division was composed of hundreds of cannons, mortars, howitzers and rocket batteries - even a hand full of Equestrian trebuchets and mangonels! Those that crewed the battery were just as diverse in their makeup; Voroshians, and Equestirans alike stood side by side in the knowledge of what they would soon face.

From the onset, a plan had been in place in the event that the Reich was incapable of stopping the monster from reaching the castle walls. An all or nothing gamble that placed all bets on a single decisive blow. Every single last shell of weapon’s grade four and above that had been left was now concentrated within this single place; nestled in the barrel of every gun. An entire block of Sternschnuppen[15] Had been assembled on location - their bulky forms were now trained at the horizon of the wall’s edge. In fact, every gun present was focused upon a single point – the point from which the scion of doom was set to approach at any minute!

From the confines of a Käferwagen he’d commandeered in order to direct his men, Oberst Mittens could only stare in disbelief as the towering form of Gho’Zra ethereally glided across the burning landscape like a vengeful phantom, destroying everything in its wake as it slowly edged its way towards the final bastion of Equestria. He realized that this was it – it was now or never. Though it pained him to do it, he knew that they needed to hit this abomination with everything they had. Tightly gripping an onboard radio transceiver, the Oberst dialed in to the proper channel and firmly asked, “Hans, can you hear me?“ A bout of hissing static was all that met him at first. He was relieved to hear the Admiral’s voice suddenly cut through the white noise as he responded, “Ja, ich höre dich.“

With a heavy sigh, Mitten’s next words held the gravitas of self-condemnation as he spoke, saying ,“If you have any more of those rockets, I need you to launch them all at grid point 002 027 – on my mark.“ For what seemed like minutes, there was only silence on the other end. The silence was finally broken as Hans replied (in an uncharacteristically melancholy tone),“The rockets are prepped – we await your mark.“ With a sigh, Mittens let go of the receiver before collapsing in his seat. Gripping at his face, the old Cat physically felt ill. ‘This must be what failure feels like.‘ he forlornly thought. He was well aware that they’d lost – he’d accepted that hours ago. Still, it didn’t hurt any less. He’d failed the men of his command, and he’d failed the Reich. In the distance he heard the sonorous roar of Gho’Zra as it screamed its triumph to the sky. Picking the radio set back up, Mitten gave his last meaningful order of the battle: “Feuer…”

Out of the darkness of the forest screamed a final salvo of three ‘Feuerlanzen‘ – their brilliant orange contrails spiraling through the atmosphere in a final bid to destroy the beast upon which they would soon bare! In the blink of an eye, the first rocket landed true and engulfed the child of destruction in a shroud of infernal flame and smothering smoke, garnering a mournful wail from the creature which sent a chill down the spines of all who were witness to this final act. No sooner had the first ‘Feuerlanze‘ made contact that the second rocket landed nearby, giving birth to another ball of fire and completely leveling those structures that still remained standing in the vicinity.

But, to the surprise of many, the last of the rockets was halted mid-flight by a pair of muscular arms as Gho’Zra's form emerged from the smoke. With a growl of weariness, the beast fought against the thrust of the rocket as its mighty engine still roared with vicious gouts of flame before it suddenly exploded within his own grasp, engulfing him in a titanic storm of burning heat and searing acid! With a warbling cry that ululated across the city and beyond the mountainside, Gho’Zra screamed his pain, his hatred, his anguish and torment; he grew tired of the world! The otherworldly cry was as long as it was deep, and it carried with it grievances from the past and promises of retribution in the near future!

As the detritus began to clear and the smoke and gas clouds finally dissipated, the pale light of the burning city revealed a grizzly sight. For there, amidst such carnage and destruction, defiantly stood the ghastly form of Gho’Zra, the destroyer of worlds and the avatar of death! His arms were scorched to their very bones, oozing blood and horribly mangled to the point where even hardened veterans of a half dozen campaigns had to turn away . The noise they made as both flesh and muscle began to rapidly regenerate across the bone was nothing short of sickening. What was worse was the gaping hole that had been his left eye – scoured to the point that the bones of his eye socket could be clearly seen, it was even more horrifying to watch as the skin around the wound began to close up while a gelatinous mass began to seep into the gaping occipital opening; the makings of a new eye, no doubt.

Frothing drool and thick brown blood poured from his mouth as he took great gulping breaths that gurgled and churned as the blood of this ruptured lungs was expelled; they were slowly beginning to reform themselves. But what horrified everyone the most was that, despite receiving such astronomically egregious wounds, the colossal titan continued to hobble towards the walls of the castle! Its body had been thoroughly broken, and yet it refused to yield. A gurgling growl of total and absolute hatred welled up from within the beast, as thick as the blood that ran from its wounds and more potent than the fiery death it was capable of breathing.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the radioactive leviathan took the last few steps needed to reach the castle walls. With a heaving breath, the scarified monstrosity outstretched his left arm (the least mangled of the two he possessed), firmly taking purchase of the crenellated structure before surging forward in a bid to break through the walls. He was caught completely unaware by the massive barrage of smoking fire and burning pain that was unleashed directly upon his upper body. As of one mind, the crews who manned the battery that had been hidden behind the walls had unleashed their final say upon the matter in the form of a near solid deluge of potent munitions that now openly met with the ravenous beast!

Every conceivable projectile was unleashed upon Gho’Zra in a near biblical projection of devastation. From gas propelled mortar charges designed to rupture organs to liquid-fuel rockets capable of breaking through earth and stone; acids, gasses, explosives, composites, even solid boulders and barrels of burning pitch – anything and everything that had ever been devised with the express purpose of causing catastrophic harm was at that very moment sent into the un-expectant and thoroughly surprised maw of the great destroyer! The resultant explosion was something to behold!

The effects of the explosion were of an altogether nightmarish horrendousness the likes of which no man should have ever been witness to. Where once there had been a snarling face of flesh and blood was little more than a mass of blood-ridden flesh and melting fat which clung tenaciously to a skull which looked all the more ferocious as the unearthly creature attempted to open its jaws, spewing forth a vomitus river of boiling blood and squelching giblets which poured into the confines of the courtyard, consuming dozens of horrified victims as it burnt away their own flesh and blood! A sound akin to the sucking of a straw soon emanated from the monster’s throat as the decimated flesh began to twist and turn in ways not meant to be seen as it rapidly regenerated the damaged tissue.

For Gho’Zra, it was nothing short of an insurmountable wave of absolute agony. The feeling of his very flesh being peeled from his body was one thing, but the deep, soul-cutting burn of it coming back was quite another. Taking firm grasp of the mind shattering pain, the beast directed it towards his rage (the only possible way that his mind could even conceivably remain intact as it were), channeling it across his entire body with such ferocity that he physically began to quake. Before anyone could react, before anyone could think to react, the dam broke.

With a humming vibrato that physically shook the air around him, Gho’Zra tensed up in unadulterated animosity. His massive, hideous spines began to crackle and shimmer with fell energies, popping and hissing as they strobed in agitation. The air began to thicken as an incredible heat began to permeate the atmosphere. Vaulting arcs of plasmatic energy began to dance amidst the creature’s grotesque spines, jumping to and fro amidst the jagged structures, traveling up and down its back. The electrical storm grew more frenetic as the seconds passed, filling the air with a sound akin to a million singing sparrows, all the while with the droning hum growing in pitch and decibel.

Time seemed to stop. In the blink of an eye – the span of a heartbeat, the chittering grove of living lightning was seemingly sucked into the behemoth’s back and the whining tremolo that had permeated the air reached its zenith. In a flash as bright as the sun and as brief as a single moment in time, a great cascading pulse of pure energy erupted from within Gho’Zra’s very form! With the force of a million suns the gravity around him exploded in strength, rending and twisting metal, pulping flesh and bone, and mulching stone with such force that the rocks around him began to defy nature and rise into the air! The actinic hiss of corroding metal and oxidizing air mingled with the smell of burning hair and simmering flesh in an ungodly display of destruction!

All of this in the span of a few seconds! As his eyes once more returned to sight, and as the last of his wounds closed themselves, Gho’Zra took the moment to survey his surroundings. What met him was a vision of death and destruction in their purest form. Strewn across the open courtyard, the broken, twisted and mutilated forms of both mortal bodies and metal constructs lay where they’d been felled – like the toys of a child left scattered across the floor. In every direction there were phantom shadows permanently burned into the landscape – a testament to that which had been and was now no longer. But it was what had not met his vision that truly testified to his victory: there were none left who opposed him.

Rearing back and filling his lungs to the brim, Gho’Zra, bringer of ruin and paragon of destruction, bellowed forth an earth shattering roar that resounding across the mountain, over the darkened forest and up to the very heavens themselves! The world had sought to oppose him – to destroy him! But in the end it was he who stood astride a mountain of corpses in total and absolute victory! The storm all at once broke at the sound of his conquest, and the clouds receded – replaced by the watchful gaze of a hundred million twinkling stars. Truly it seemed that the very universe acknowledged his supremacy!

With a renewed vigor, the hulking saurian monster struck the great stone wall before him asunder before he slowly staggered towards a pristine white tower which seemed to beckon to him from the very center of the palace. Halting his strides, he simply stood and observed as a tiny winged parasite humbly strode out to meet him upon the tower’s open balcony. Celestia’s face held nothing but an absolute look of peace as she strode forth to greet her destiny in the form of the living avatar of death that was Gho’Zra. For untold minutes the two stared at one another; one in serenity and the other in a rage that only seemed to grow in intensity as time inexorably marched on.

With a haggard breath, Gho’Zra drew his shoulders back as he slowly raised his arms above him. Understanding that this was the end, Celestia could only remark in a sad, somber voice, “How terrible it must be, to feel such hatred and pain within your very soul…” Parting his lips back in a bare-toothed snarl of absolute loathing, Gho’Zra brought his arms crashing down with a mighty roar, demolishing both the tower and the life of Princess Celestia, former sovereign of what had once been called Equestria. Body heaving in profound anger, the beast all at once released the months of fury it had built up in a single cataclysmic display of might!

From the distance, across the whole of the doomed city, soldier and civilian alike watched in dismayed awe as the monster unleashed itself in a berserk fury upon the magnificent palace. So complete was the desolation that he wrothed upon the complex that not a single stone was left unturned, nor a single blade of grass left to grow. All that remained was a devastation so thorough that one would scarcely believe there had ever been anything but rubble upon the mound where once had stood the royal palace of Canterlot.

Like a waking dream, the last light of flickering stars began to fade as the pale red light of the early morning sun began to shine across the nearby eastern sea – freed for the first time in millennia to rise of its own accord. And with this crimson new dawn came a strange sense of peace, the likes of which Gho’Zra had never felt before. The hatred had finally ebbed away. It was still there, but no longer was it the overpowering urge it had once been. But in its place came a feeling that was perhaps worse than any amount of hatred he had experienced. What he now felt was the indescribable emptiness that came with the knowledge that he was both the last of his kind, as well as the first. And it filled him with a deep and powerful sadness to understand as such. He was so tired.

Slowly, lethargically, the thoroughly exhausted creature surveyed the surrounding city. He was suddenly struck by how lonely he felt – how alone he truly was. With a mournful wail he at last turned away from the ruins and began a slow, tired journey through the city and towards the distant shore. In his wake, there was only the shattered hopes and dreams - the broken and battered memories of hundreds upon thousands of souls, and a flaming city of death. He disregarded all of this. He had grown so very weary of the world, and only wished to return once more to the sea.

By the time he reached the pristine sands of the ocean shoreline, the sun finally broke over the horizon, casting its warm radiant light upon the first day of a new era, and across the memory of what once had been. Falling headlong into the gentle waves of the sea, Gho’Zra slipped into the inky blackness of the abyss and towards the open embrace of the ocean he’d been reborn upon. As the last of his mighty spines sank beneath the watery expanse, he finally felt a modicum of peace within himself… He could never have known of the radio transmitter lodged within his flesh, deposited there as it were by one of the myriad thousands of shells that had been thrown at him during that most terrible night…

[1] The Sondermilitärischefahrzeug 12 (Sd.Mfz 12) colloquially referred to as the ‘Käferwagen’ or ‘Käfer’ (‘Beetle’) for short, is a popular and highly modular Half-track support vehicle. The oblique design of its armor allows for better shell deflection, and as such it is a highly reliable troop transport as well as a stable assault platform. Often considered the work horse of the Army, the ‘Käfer’ has been a fixture on the battlefield for the last twenty years.
[2] A modified pistol designed to fire a flare beacon, the mark flare is a breach loaded double-shot utility flare gun primarily used to signal for help.
[3] That is, a First Lieutenant
[4] A term used to denote a formation of Airships in the Voroshian military
[5] A private Frequency is reserved only for high level military and government personnel in the Reich
[6] Though not related by blood, Admiral Hans Drücker is the husband of Clara Von Fleischtauben, the eldest daughter of the Von Fleischtauben estate and sister to the famed war hero Oberst Mittens Von Fleischtauben. Cat society views such relations to still be iron-bound to the notions of kinship – as such, the terminology used by the Admiral is actually a genuine statement – they are brothers in the eyes of both society and the law.
[7] Hailing from the southern peninsular plains of the continent, the Griffons are a species for hire; their natural gifts and aggression make for good soldiers and guards. They come from a loose confederacy of rival democratic states, which they collectively refer to as Κήπωνγη (Kipon'gi), and have had plenty of practice on one another. They've been known to come together against a common threat, but they're less interested in Global politics and more interested in earning coin. There is a cordial peace between the Griffons and the Ponies, so it is assumed by many that they are in a military alliance, though the reality is less straightforward.
[8] Measuring 20 meters (a little over 65 feet) in length and some 5 meters (a little over 16 feet) in width, and weighing in at some 4,500 kilograms (nearing 10,000 pounds), the highly classified and extremely experimental ‘Feuerlanze’ (meaning Fire Lance) represents a new era of warfare and as such is the pinnacle of Voroshian weapons technology. Using an Alcohol Liquid Oxygen mixture for propulsion, the Feuerlanze is a massive two staged rocket capable of carrying its 750 kilogram (1,653.45 pounds) payload some 360 kilometers (a little over 223 miles) from a maximum altitude of 90 kilometers (nearly 56 miles). It accomplishes the feat through a trio of massive rocket thrusters housed at the base of the propulsion stage of the rocket. The rocket has enough fuel for only 60 seconds of powered flight; by that time it will have already broken the sound barrier and be well on its way to the target. During long distance operations, the first stage can break away, allowing the secondary stage of the rocket (which houses the 750 kg warhead) to initiate a smaller ethyl hydrogen mixture fueled motor which is capable of propelling the warhead a further 120 kilometers (that is, just a little under 75 miles), giving a combined distance traveled of 480 kilometers (which equates to about 300 miles). The payload itself is comprised of 80% by an inert plastic explosive referred to as ‘Stoff’, 15% by a highly classified organic peroxide, 3% by a volatile organophosphate, and a further 2% comprised of a catalytic super acid. When the pressure pin at the tip of the warhead is depressed upon impact it breaches super acid compartment, which will then eat through the peroxide chamber roughly .02 seconds before it eats through the organophosphate’s container. The delay of .02 seconds is enough to allow the Peroxide to funnel into a specialized cavity in the inert plastic explosive before the two volatile chemicals mix. This mixture acts as a catalyst itself which chemically transfers energy to the ‘Stoff’, resulting in a catastrophic vacuum effect which heats the entire mixture up to 2,700 degrees Celsius (4,892 degrees Fahrenheit) before detonating with enough force to flatten an entire city block. The explosion also supercharges the reaction of the Peroxide Organophosphate mixture, producing a caustic chemical gruel that is both partially aerated gas and caliginous gel, capable of liquefying organic molecules and burning though a variety of both inorganic and synthetic materials. This is, of course, what occurs when the fuel has been expended via maximum transit – the force of the blast can actually be increased three fold should the secondary motor retain its fuel, and to fivefold should the primary engine still retain a portion of its fuel. The entire system is controlled by a gyroscope, 2 D-Volt batteries and a primitive analogue computer housed at the base of the warhead. The design was purposefully designed to be modular with the express purpose of allowing it to carry any number of theoretical ordnance systems that have yet to be developed or are in the final stages of development.
[9] A heavily modified Flamer unit, the Chischewerfer is designed to spray a specialized chemical cocktail of caustic fluids and potent gases up to a maximum distance of 120 meters.
[10] A slang term for the chemical mixture launched by a Chemishewerfer
[11] Literally translating to ‘Pain Gravy’, Schmerz- soße is a slang term used to refer to the trio of hyper-acidic compounds known as Antimony pentafluoride (SbF5), Fluorosulfuric acid (HFO3S), and Trifluoromethanesulfonic acid(CF3SO3H) which are stored in a specialized, compartmentalized ceramic shell called a Topfscherbe. The Topfscherbe is designed in such a way as to disperse the three acidic compounds into a volatile cocktail strong enough to eat through flesh and corrode steel in seconds. The entire system is referred to as T-750, and is classified as a Grade 5 munition.
[12] Designed by the manufacturing company of Jünd & Lubek, the JL-103 (colloquially referred to as the ‘Sperbern’, or ‘Sparrowhawk’) is an experimental first generation, swept dual-winged , heavier than air strike craft. Designed with the express purpose of escorting the relatively defenseless Sky Shark class Airship, the Sperbern has only been in active service for a little over eight months, and has thus far not seen active combat up until this point. Compared to other designs, the JL-103 is unique in that its engine is located in the back of the craft, as is the propeller that allows it to fly under its own power. The Swept wings are another novelty, designed to allow increased speed, while the cruciform rudders on the aft portion of the fighter compensate for the loss of mobility. Finally, a quartet of 20mm auto-cannons is housed in the vessel’s blunt nose, capable of firing in both tandem and in simultaneous bursts.
[13] A sticky mixture analogous to Napalm
[14] One of Caterlot’s most iconic landmarks, Clover Field Park is home to over 30 naturally occurring varieties of Clover, and is an Equestrian Heritage site. A gallery of monumental architecture and sculptures located within the park has also resulted in it being a popular tourist attraction.
[15] The RktAt.09 Raketenartillerie-System, nicknamed Sternschnuppen (Shooting Star), is the latest in a line of conventional rocket artillery platforms. A single Sternschnuppen contains a rack mounted battery of 12 liquid fuel Kralle (Talon) Rockets, each rocket containing an armor piercing drill head designed to bore through fortified bunker systems before detonating its 57 kilogram (that is, a little over 125 pounds) payload. The plastic based explosives used are laced with some 12 kilograms of micro-warheads which explode into a shower of razor edged flechettes designed to rip and tear at flesh and thus maximize killing force. The delivery system is capable of launching rockets in sequence or all at once.

These are some of the vehicles and weapons used in the story thus far.

And this depicts a scene from the previous chapter.

Death Shall Have

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.

The Final Say

The last rays of the setting sun were quick to disappear beneath the distant horizon. The first stars were only now breaking through the fading daylight and the moon was slowly growing in strength as the last vestiges of a long and tiresome day finally ended. Yet even as the daylight finally faded, the light of a hundred different fires continued to cast a warm haze across the desolate city of Canterlot. There was no silence this night. In fact, as the inky blackness of the sky came into its own, the crackling roar of burning timbers and smoldering ruins seemed to have grown in strength. The familiar routine of the past four nights once more manifested as haggard crews of men fought desperately to extinguish the flames.

None of this even entered into the mind of Twilight Sparkle as she dismally exited the hospital. She was possessed of an abysmal mood; she looked dreadful – her mane was a mess and her eyes were swollen and red with raw emotion. And for good reason – her father, whom she had just spent the last four hours with, had finally passed away. It had been as sudden and as silent as expected, but it had devastated her no less. With no family and only a handful of her friends left she was now, for all intents and purposes, alone in the world. And while she wanted nothing more than to continue weeping in her grief, she could not – she’d run out of tears hours ago.

Wandering aimlessly through ‘The Camp’, the downtrodden Alicorn could not even summon the will to care about the surrounding world. As she wandered past a row of tents, the subtle crunch of shifting gravel finally brought her back to reality as she registered the group of armed soldiers that now stood in front of her. From amongst their rank there stepped forward a rather slim and unassuming young Cat. Despite his slight build and youthful complexion, Twilight could scarcely miss the frigid, almost surgical coldness that lay behind his eyes; the gaze of one who held no qualms of killing another living being when told to. In a soft yet exceedingly firm voice he proclaimed, “Pferdlander Twilight Sparkle, your presence has been requested by the Oberst – you are to follow me.”

She’d known that the commander in charge of the Voroshian soldiers had truthfully ‘requested’ her presence hours ago, but she’d been more preoccupied with finding friends and family. Now, though, she hardly felt like talking to anyone – least of all some Cat with a chip on his shoulder. But as she began to formulate her response, the young Cat who’d given the message took a rather intimidating step forward before politely emphasizing, “We were told to take you to him; there were no specifications as to how – please consider that before you decide against it.” As she warily eyed the doubtlessly loaded rifles which the group of soldiers all carried, Twilight Sparkle sighed in defeat before tiredly responding, “I’d be delighted to speak with the Oberst.” No words were further exchanged as she fell into step behind them…

The hospital room was dimly lit and near silent, save for the whispering hum of machinery and the slow churning wake of a nearby portable fan. Towards the center of the small room lay the pensive form of Big Macintosh, who was finding it near impossible to relax enough to fall asleep. At his side sat the vigilant form of Rainbow Dash – she had taken to firmly holding his hoof in her own as she silently watched him. She’d taken notice of the distraught look that had very recently taken over his countenance, but had chosen not to comment on it. But as the minutes went on, and the farmer’s mood continued to deteriorate, she could no longer hold back asking, “Mac, what’s wrong?”

Seemingly shaken from his introspective thoughts, Macintosh adamantly tried to look anywhere but at the bandaged stump that was his leg. Needless to say, he failed miserably as the Pegasus beside him instantly caught on to what it was that was bothering him so. With a sad smile she tried to comfort him, saying, “Oh, Mac – don’t worry, we’ll get through this.” With a chuffing sigh which spoke of nothing but defeat, the crimson stallion weakly spoke, “What good is a workhorse what can’t work?” A look of worry crossed Rainbow Dash’s face as he continued, saying, “I can’t pull a plow, I can’t buck trees – hell, I probably won’t be able to walk no more without something to hold on to.”

As a choking miasma of despair and self-pity slowly began to smother him, the stallion absentmindedly remarked, “The way I am, I ain’t no good for you, Dash – you’d be better off without me.” His dark thoughts were violently dispersed with a solid slap across his face by the mare in question. Head slightly turned by the force of the blow, Macintosh managed to reign in his feelings as he slowly turned to meet the mare’s glaring face. He instantly regretted his words as he noticed the unshed tears which were slowly building up in her eyes. He felt even more loathsome as she shakily asked, “Is that really what you think?” Looking down in shame, the farmer didn’t dare speak for fear of what he might say.

His attention was brought back to her as she exclaimed, “Look at me Mac.” Turning to look her in the eye, he was surprised by the amount of defiance they held as she determinedly declared, “Now, you listen to me and you listen good.” Pointing to the very pronounced stubs upon her shoulders, the mare exclaimed, “Do you see this? I don’t have my wings anymore, Mac; I’m a Pegasus who can’t fly.” She leaned in to emphasize her point, “Flying is my passion, Mac; it was the single greatest part of who I am… but my wings are gone now and I’ll never get to fly again!” Macintosh didn’t know where the conversation was going, but her words did nothing if not make him feel even more despicable.

So it was a bit of a surprise when, of all things, a smile – a small and genuine look of happiness – grew upon her face as she went on, “But do you want to know something, Mac? I’ve accepted the fact that I can’t fly anymore.” With a whisper that spoke of forlorn hope, Macintosh asked, “How?” Her smile grew in brilliance as she exclaimed, “Because so long as it means that I can stay by your side, I will gladly give up flying.” With a wonderstruck look of absolute awe and adoration, Big Macintosh could do little else but smile back as he passionately exclaimed, “I love you, Dash.” The Pegasus all but glowed in joy at his words, and the two of them leaned in for a passionate embrace…

As Twilight entered the massive tent headquarters (flanked as she was by a quartet of the Oberst’s stern and imposing honor guard), she was nearly overwhelmed by the frantic atmosphere which permeated the busy room. Centered near the back of the room was a massive oaken table, upon which was sprawled an enormous map of the surrounding kingdom of Equestria. Surrounding this table were dozens of individuals, all of them dressed in military regalia and most of them covered in all manner of piping and medals. The avid conversations of which they partook of were all in the strange, foreign tongue of the Cats, and while she had no idea what it was they were saying, she did manage to reach a few conclusions.

For instance, she could tell by the way in which the discussion flowed that the well-built, white-furred feline who stood at the far left of the table was obviously this ‘Oberst Mittens’ she was meant to speak with; the commanding tone of his voice and the way in which many of the others seemed to turn to him upon speaking was proof enough. She could also see that they were discussing some sort of deployment, as a few of their number used wooden rods to push various geometrically shaped models across the map. Looking around the interior of the tent, she was shocked at just how much activity was taking place. Several soldiers carrying massive dockets of paper seemed to glide in and out of the background, depositing papers to various individuals and relaying messages in a soft and urgent voice.

At the back of the room stood a row of telegraph benches upon which frantic radio operators hammered out a continuous staccato of incoming and outgoing signals. All of it exuded an air of organized chaos, and it somehow struck her as odd for reasons which escaped her. As she slowly approached the Oberst and his entourage, she caught a brief glimpse of the map; she clearly made out the familiar form of ‘Tranquility Bay’, a place her family had often gone on vacation to. Placed upon the center of the bay was a little figurine made of jade, vaguely shaped like a reptile of some sort. She had a feeling she knew what it represented.

Deciding to let her presence be known, the Alicorn Princess cleared her throat in an appropriately exaggerated manner. The Cat whom she had assumed to be the Oberst casually looked towards her before doing a double take. Quickly turning to the rest of the room, the Cat exclaimed in a loud voice, “Wir sind hier fertig denn jetzt – entlassen!” On cue, the surrounding group of men stood as one and silently made their way towards the exit of the room; the final group to leave was the group of guards who had escorted her. Twilight grew nervous; it was just her and the Oberst now. The Oberst himself had yet to move from where he stood at the head of the table - silently observing the map as if it had all the answers.

In a voice, deep and gruff, the Cat finally spoke to her (in an accent so thick that it lead her to believe that he had only recently learned how to speak her language), saying, “Please, have a seat.” Cautiously approaching the proffered chair, Twilight Sparkle could not fight the feelings of apprehensive unease which welled up from within her. As she took a seat, the Oberst finally turned away from the table and placed his full attention upon her. As he made his way towards his own chair, he began, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Princess Twilight Sparkle.” The way in which he said it was eerily calm, almost synthetic. Still she returned the gesture, responding, “Likewise, I’m sure.” Finally seating himself at the desk, the grizzled old Cat intently leaned forward – his piercing green eyes seemed to search for something in her very soul.

“It has recently come to my attention,” he began, “that you have just inherited the throne of your people; congratulations are in order.” The princess couldn’t tell where the conversation was going, but the growing sense of unease in her gut was adamantly telling her that things would not remain quite this cordial or pleasant for very much longer. Like a student trying to navigate a question they can’t quite understand, she replied, “Thank you, Oberst Von Flieschtauben, for your kind words.” Pulling out an intricate decanter and a pair of crystal clear glasses, the Oberst then shifted directions and asked, “Would you care for a drink?”

Physically fighting the urge to scrunch her face at the smell of alcohol, the purple princess diplomatically exclaimed, “No, thank you – I don’t particularly care for such things.” With an understanding nod, the Oberst returned one of the cups and instead poured out a generous portion for himself. As he filled the glass he offhandedly commented, “You know, your highness, I’ve been told that you are quite the scientist.” Folding her legs in quiet discomfort, Twilight modestly tried to deflect the praise, saying, “Well, I’ve always been motivated by the pursuit of knowledge in all its forms – it’s more of a passionate hobby than an actual profession.”

With an amicable smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, the Oberst nodded and remarked, “A noble pursuit, if ever there was one to be had.” Taking a sip of the translucent liquid, he then went on to ask, “I wonder, Princess, have you ever worked in the more physical aspects of science?” With a growing suspicion, Twilight responded, “I’ve dabbled in applicable science from time to time, though not in anything of importance.” Raising a careful eyebrow, the Oberst the casually inquired, “I wonder, your majesty, does your latest project fall into such a category of unimportance?”

Eyes widening in obvious shock, Twilight was quick to exclaim, “I’m not quite sure what you’re talking about, Oberst – it’s been quite some time since last I worked on anything.” As if a switch had been flipped, the previously calm and collected Cat’s demeanor changed to dangerous, almost predatory intensity as he slammed his fist upon the desk and agitatedly exclaimed, “I do not appreciate being lied to, Princess!” Jumping in her seat at the sudden intensity behind the Oberst’s words and the aggressive posture he’d suddenly taken, Twilight clamored to find a suitable response. But what escaped her lips was a single question, “How?”

Taking a calming breath through his nose, Mittens ran a paw across the hair of his head before responding, “A little friend of mine has only just recently told me about this ‘science project’ you’ve been working on for the past few weeks – a powerfully destructive weapon as it stands.” As the Alicorn feebly tried to deny the allegations, the Oberst cut her off and exclaimed, “You can come out now.” From a shadowed corner of the tent materialized the despondent from of Ghur’Tcha, a look of deep and absolute shame covered his face as he listlessly approached the two of them.

When Twilight finally caught sight of him, it didn’t take her long to put two and two together. The look of complete and utter betrayal that manifested upon her face was swiftly transformed into a look of deep, simmering anger. Wheeling back upon the Oberst, she passionately exclaimed, “Despite what you’ve been told, Oberst Mittens, the project I’ve been working on is not a weapon; I’m currently in the middle of configuring it towards civil applications.” With an incredulous scoff Mittens retorted, “Not a weapon? My dear, what you’ve made is quite possibly the most destructive and terrifying device the world has yet to see!” Leaning in to punctuate his point he added, “Powerful enough, perhaps, to destroy Gho’Zra.”

Rising from her seat in anger, Twilight Sparkle emphatically responded, “I’m sorry, Oberst, but I refuse to let my work be turned into a weapon for war.” Likewise rising from his own seat, Mittens temperamentally replied, “You must allow me to use it on Gho’Zra, this might be our only shot at killing the monster; are you willing to see more people die because of your selfish refusal to help?” With a flare of her horn and a snap of her wings, the Princess blurted out, “I will not be coerced into going against my very principles, sir, and you would be wise to accept that!”

With a look of icy finality, the Cat calmly proclaimed, “Then you don’t give me any other choice – if you aren’t willing to cooperate, then I’ll be forced to have your research confiscated; ultimately we do not need you in order to use the device -we’ll simply just build our own.” The silence was staggering as the very air seemed to chill. The expression upon Twilight’s face showed a very visible debate going on in her mind. Downing the rest of his glass in a single go, Mittens tiredly told her, “I’m giving you till morning to decide, Princess… I know that this is not a matter to be taken lightly, but my hands are tied; I will not – cannot – allow Gho’Zra to continue living.”

Not even bothering to dismiss her, the Oberst slowly turned away and walked back towards the map-strewn table. Bracing his arms against the tabletop, he silently stared at the jade figure at the heart of the map. From his spot in the dark, Ghur’Tcha tried to approach Twilight, calling out her name in a soft and heartfelt voice, but the Alicorn coldly turned away and hissed, “Don’t ever speak to me again.” In a flash of incandescent light she teleported herself away, leaving the smell of ionized air and the scent of tears in her wake. Lowering his head, Ghur’Tcha mourned for the loss of a friend.

From where he stood, Mittens tiredly spoke to the Chameleon, admitting, “I wish there were another way, but there isn’t.” Blinking a few times to clear his eyes, the young reptile asked, “Will you really do as you’ve threatened should she refuse?” The gentle scratch of claws upon wood was the only sound to be heard for a few seconds before the Cat replied, “I won’t lie to you – if it meant that no one would ever again have to experience what we have, I would personally put a bullet right between her eyes.” While Ghur’Tcha was truly horrified by the admission, he was quick to note the hollow look of misery behind the Oberst’s eyes; it was clear that it was no easy matter for him either.

Straightening himself as best he could, the Chameleon asked, “Please, if there is anything – anything at all which I could do to help – please tell me.” Finally looking towards the young reptile, Mittens mumbled, “You’re a good man, Ghur’Tcha; despite everything you’ve done, you are still her friend… I know that you may not think it, but she will need a friend now more than ever.” Turning to once more stare at the map, he finally declares, “Go, find her – try and talk to her; help her to understand why you did what you did, and why we need her help.” As he finally digested the advice, Ghur’Tcha stoically accepted the task ahead of him as he quickly exited the tent…

The barren expanse of the Großewüste shined bright beneath the waxing moon so high above. The stars were out in full force and the very air glowed with an ethereal midnight blue which stretched from horizon to horizon. Cutting swiftly across the empty sand dunes was a single, jet-black locomotive which chugged and churned in a mighty cacophony of grinding wheels and steaming pistons. Towed in procession to the growling engine was a single car of silver opulence and splendid grandeur; its emerald green windows giving off a soft, calming glow which melded seamlessly into the night air.

Aboard this gilded goddess of the rails sat the brooding form of Reichskanzler Felis Von Sylvestris; with him, a handpicked platoon of tall, imposing men taken from the Kaiser’s very own Honor Guard and ordered to accompany the Chancellor at all times. With a calm, calculating gaze, Felis looked out across the dark and empty expanse that passed by. Things had changed; more so than even he had expected. The complete collapse of the Equestrian State had been an unexpected (though, for him, rather pleasing) surprise. While he’d thoroughly believed that the fall of the Pferdsreich was inevitable, he’d not expected it to happen anywhere close to his own lifetime.

Taking a sip of wine from a high-stemmed glass, he continued to reflect. The loss of over two whole divisions was a major blow to the Reich – one that would continue to impact the Empire for years to come. So many of the men who’d been sent to defend the Pferdsreich had been veterans of the Hügelland Campaign, and to lose so many of them meant losing a collective generation’s worth of experience – something that would be desperately needed in light of the radical shift in power dynamics that had formed in the wake of Equestria’s fall. It was of such a concern that the Kaiser had personally requested that Felis go and assess the damage in person.

This, of course, suited the Reichskanzler well enough; there were other matters that needed attending to in Kanterlotte, not least of which were the various KaN operations taking place under the auspices of ‘Operation: Weißturm’. Only hours before, he’d been notified of several key breakthroughs, the most interesting of which was the recovery of tissue samples and osseous fragments. He was excited to think of the possibilities that lie in the future with the knowledge that could be gleaned from them. There was still no word on whether the schematics for the nuclear device had been recovered, but he had little doubt that they were there, lying in wait for his agents to discover. Looking at his watch, the Chancellor smiled; he’d be in Kanterlotte by early morning…

The night was well in place as the tiny engine of the ‘Poniville Express’ made its final approach upon the desolate town that was her namesake. As it came to a complete stop, Ghur’Tcha took a careful step off her prow. Making his way silently through the empty dead streets, he could not suppress the chill of unease that ran up his spine; the desolate ruins of the town made him uncomfortable. Finally coming upon the ruins of the great tree library, he managed to approach the open front door before coming to a stop. This was it. Taking a deep breath he steadied his frayed nerves. He knew that Twilight would be furious with him, but he had to try nonetheless.

So, girding himself with courage, the Chameleon took a first bold step through the doorway. Turning to his left, he went straight through the basement door and towards the only place he knew Twilight would be. Silently descending the steps to the basement, Ghur’Tcha quickly noticed that much of the lab had been wrecked, with many of the twisted metal constructs lending credence to the notion that the Alicorn had gone headlong into a massive fit of magically infused rage. As his eyes finally adjusted to the darkness of the subterranean room, he caught sight of her quivering form as she leaned heavily against the far wall of the laboratory.

Taking the last few steps into the basement, Ghur’Tcha failed to see the glass beaker beneath his feet before he unintentionally kicked it across the floor. The grating noise of glass against cement was quick to draw the attention of Twilight, who slowly turned to try and discover who it was that had infiltrated her personal place of mourning. Upon catching sight of Ghur’Tcha, she gave an ugly scowl and demanded, “Get out.” When Ghur’Tcha failed make a move to leave, she quickly flew into a bout of hysterics as she openly screamed at him, telling him to leave and to never bother her again. Her words quickly became indecipherable as she began to bitterly weep.

Through it all, Ghur’Tcha simply waited for her to finally calm down before he attempted to explain himself. “Cherished Friend, Twilight,” he began, “I know why it is that you despise me – I gave an oath to retain your secret, and I openly and knowingly broke it.” Taking a step forward, he boldly proclaimed, “But I could not remain quiet, having seen what I saw in that hospital – the pain I saw on your face: I would rather… I would rather be reviled by you, my most cherished friend, than to let Gho’Zra go on to commit further atrocities.” A look of forlorn understanding shone through Twilights eyes as she listened to his confession, and in her heart she realized that what Ghur’Tcha had done had been the only thing he could do.

For some time there was silence. But then Twilight finally spoke again, declaring, “I wasn’t going to go through with it; I wasn’t going to let them use the Ælther Splitter.” Looking into his eyes, the Alicorn confessed, “But… I think…. I think I understand now.” Rising to her feet, she slowly began to wander around the room, gathering up dozens upon dozens of parchments and scrolls. With a look of confusion, Ghur’Tcha asked, “What are you going to do, Friend Twilight?” With a tired frown she explained, “You were right, Ghur’Tcha – Gho’Zra needs to be stopped, and the Æther Splitter is the best chance we have at destroying him.”

Placing the stack of papers in a pile, she instantly engulfed them in a veil of magical flame. With a start, Ghur’Tcha exclaimed, “What are you doing!?” With a sad smile Twilight answered, “I’m destroying it – every record pertaining to my work; I can never allow it to become weaponized any further than it already is… The world will never be ready for what I’ve created, and I can’t risk letting it fall into the hands of those who would use it irresponsibly.” Openly weeping at the destruction of all of her hard work, Ghur’Tcha nonetheless helped her gather up more files; together they threw one page after another into the ravenous flames until at last there were all destroyed.

Turning away from the cindered remains of her work, Twilight quickly gathered together what remained of her supply of Æther splitter pellets before taking hold of Ghur’Tcha’s hand. Closing her eyes in deepest concentration, the Alicorn focused all of her might upon the magic that lived within her. In a flash the two of them vanished form the confines of the lab as she teleported them across the immaterial plane. When they finally reappeared, they were just outside the perimeter of ‘The Camp’. Stealthily making their way into the tent city, Twilight softly spoke to her friend, saying, “Go and rest, Ghur’Tcha – I have a few more things I need to do before morning.”…

It was three in the morning; deepest night. In a distant wing of the hospital there lied a solitary figure, his large from barely contained upon the bed he’d been placed upon. Moonlight poured in through a solitary window, revealing the bedridden form of Hauptmann Spitzer beneath it gentle radiance. Covered in bandages and breathing through a set of tubes, the Destrier was, shockingly, still among the living. His tail and mane had been completely shaved, and all manner of intravenous lines had been inserted into his body, providing various drugs and liquids with which he could recover. The steady beep of a heart monitor was the only sound to be heard in the empty room, proof to all that he was, indeed, alive.

Despite everything, the battered pony was still awake – his eyes stared unwaveringly into the darkness as he contemplated his life. His thoughts were momentarily interrupted by the sound of the door to his private room being opened. With a slight shift, Spitzer turned his head to see who it was that disturbed him. He wasn’t at all surprised to see the towering form of Oberstabsfeldwebel Hermann Kuhn. Kuhn’s torso was wrapped in a cast, as was his right leg. His head was swathed in linen bandages and in his arms were a pair of crutches which he now used to walk.

As the moonlight reflected off the Cat’s shimmering eyes, he instantly noticed that the Pony was awake. With a smile, Hermann softly whispered, “Still awake – I figured as much.” Spitzer didn’t speak, though he was indeed happy to see his friend alive and well. Slowly but surely, Hermann hobbled over to his friend’s bedside before finally taking a seat. A long moment of easy silence soon passed between them. It would be minutes before Hermann finally spoke, saying, “You look like shit, but I’m glad you survived.” With a weak smile Spitzer slowly nodded in emphatic agreement. Silence once more descended upon the two of them. Outside, the sound of buffeting wind added a calming ambience to which they peacefully listened.

Neither of them knew how long they remained like that. Nor did they care. As Spitzer was just beginning to close his eyes in rest, he was brought back to reality as Hermann asked, “Do you remember Boar Tooth Ridge?” Opening his mouth for the first time in days, Spitzer hoarsely replied, “Ja, I remember it – I still have nightmare about it.” Closing his eyes in concentration, Hermann recounted, “You saved my life that day – I’ll never forget that.” Spitzer merely grunted in acknowledgement of the fact. Opening his eyes, Hermann earnestly remarked, “That was the day that marked our friendship, and it ultimately changed the way I viewed Pferdlanders.” Spitzer simply observed his friend in silence – he fully remembered it just as well.

Finally leaning over to rest a paw upon the horse’s shoulder, the Maine Coon softly confessed, “When they brought you into that tent, I was so sure you were dead… It made me realize just how much you really mean to me – how much I love you.” Momentarily clenching his jaw, the Cat blinked his eyes a few times before continuing, “When this is finally over – when we finally get home, I want you to come live with me and the family; Matilda constantly worries about you, and the children love you.” Fighting to control his features, the Oberstabsfeldwebel had to take a steadying breath before continuing, “Seeing how so many of us died that night; it clenched it for me –I’m done with the military.”

This came as a slight surprise to the Hauptmann – Hermann was a veteran of three conflicts, and he’d never once even spoken of retirement. These recent events had obviously stricken him deeply. The Destrier’s introspection was shattered as his friend exclaimed, “I’ve been talking it over with a few of the other guys, and I’ve decided to open up a gunnery school; I want you onboard with me when I do.” The moment instantly became deeply emotional as the two men (men who’d been hardened by the horrors of war and were not prone to expressing themselves so deeply) finally began to weep.

Taking hold of his friend’s arm, Spitzer tearfully conceded, “Alright, you’ve gone and twisted my arm; I’ll help you start your company – hell, I’ll come live with you and your family… It’d be the first real family I’ve ever truly had.” With a look of absolute joy upon his grizzled face, Hermann Kuhn felt a great weight lift from his shoulders. The remainder of the night would find them talking and laughing; discussing the past and envisioning the future. By the break of morning, the nurses assigned to look after the Hauptmann would be more than a little surprised to find the snoring figure of Hermann resting in a chair beside an equally passed out Destrier Pony…

The warm, bright rays of the early morning sun slowly rose above the still waters of the eastern sea. The very air was electric as across the entirety of ‘The Camp’ there was a flurry of activity as every able-bodied soldier scrambled to ensure that they were properly dressed and fully organized. From his command tent burst the half-dressed form of Oberst Mittens, hopping on one foot as he struggled to pull on a polished black boot. The entire camp was alive as word had spread faster than any fire – the Reichskanzler was on his way; he’d be there any moment! Mittens was in a panic - the message had been abrupt and there had been absolutely no time to prepare. Even Claws had been taken by surprise – he’d openly exclaimed how the Chancellor hadn’t taken to inspecting the field in over five decades!

From where he stood, the Oberst could see the single light cruiser which had dropped anchor at the nearby shore outside Canterlot. Already, men and supplies were being loaded aboard, and the First Company Honor Guard had been hastily assembled upon its deck in a splendid parade formation; this could only mean that the Chancellor was already onboard and waiting! As the Oberst and his retinue made their way towards the Canterlot Depot, he momentarily stopped to observe that the Princess, Twilight Sparkle, and the Chameleon, Ghur’Tcha, were already there waiting for him. At the Alicorn’s side there hovered a strange, dodecahedral contraption which Mittens concluded to be the Æther Splitter.

Silently approaching the pair, Mittens asked, “Have you finally come to a decision?” Taking a calm, collected breath, Twilight nodded as she answered, “Yes – I’ve decided to allow the device to be used against Gho’Zra, but only under the condition that I be the one to activate it.” Imperceptibly narrowing his eyes in suspicion, the Oberst finally agreed, saying, “Very well – but we’ll need to discuss the method by which you’ll be implementing it on the way.” Ushering the both of them aboard the passenger car, the Oberst had just enough time to cast one last look across the decimated ruins of Canterlot before he, too, climbed aboard. With a shrill whistle, the Ponyville Express began its familiar trek down the mountainside.

Inside the cramped passenger car, Ghur’Tcha mustered the courage to ask his friend, “Have you ever dived before?” With a sheepish look, Twilight admitted, “No – never.” With a sudden bout of determination, the Chameleon boldly exclaimed, “If that is the case, then I am diving with you; one of my tasks aboard the Happy Dragon No.7 was diving for salvage.” Twilight protested, saying, “You don’t have to go with me – Ghur’Tcha, you--” The young reptile quickly interrupted her, exclaiming, “Friend Twilight, I’m not about to let you dive alone with no prior experience – I am going with you.” Eventually, Twilight was reluctantly forced to agree. The rest of the trip was spent listening to Oberst Mittens explain where they were going and what they’d do when they got there…

As the train arrived at the Ponyville station, the group of passengers quickly disembarked. After a few confusing minutes, the voice of a small Ferret broke above the noise of the crowd and ordered them to make their way towards the beach and, ultimately, the ship. Upon reaching the moist sand of the beach, Oberst mittens was heartened by the sight of over a thousand soldiers (many of whom he’d seen on the night of the attack) standing at attention, rifles shouldered and dressed in their best – they all stood in a practiced parade formation and every one of them looked every bit the consummate professional. As he proceeded towards the gangplank, the Oberst only momentarily halted as he finally caught sight of the Reichskanzler upon the boat.

Dressed in a regal blue military great coat, under which could clearly be seen the trappings and vestures of a smartly pressed uniform, and wrapped in a mink-lined, red velvet cloak, Reichskanzler Felis Von Sylvestris looked every bit the regal figure that he truly was. In his right hand he held an ornate silver cane, intricately engraved with the finest craftwork money could afford, upon which he leaned heavily. Standing next to so majestic a figure was the smartly-dressed form of Rear Admiral Vance Hollens (easily distinguished by the fact that he was an Ocecat), who, despite being a full head taller than the venerable Chancellor, seemed almost insignificant when viewed in contrast.

The two where currently deep in conversation; made evident by the fact that the Chancellor had not even spared a glance towards the group who made their way aboard the ship. Deciding to get on with it, the Oberst pressed onwards and likewise boarded the boat. Finally noticing his approach, both the Chancellor and the Rear Admiral ended their discussion. As the Oberst came to stop in front of them, Rear Admiral Hollens snapped a crisp salute to which Mittens returned in kind. Standing back at attention, Rear Admiral Vance remarked, “Well, if you would excuse me, gentlemen, I need to begin inspections before we set sail; Heer Reichskanzler, it was a pleasure speaking to you again.” With a precise heel-turn the Rear Admiral swiftly departed for deeper parts of the ship unknown.

With a thin (though surprisingly genuine) smile, Chancellor Felis turned and pleasantly greeted Mittens, saying, “Heer Oberst, I am glad to see that you are well – though I wish that it were under better circumstances.” While he personally disliked the way in which the Reichskanzler went about doing things, Oberst Mittens still held a deep respect for the man, a respect that bled into his words as he replied, “I’m actually quite surprised to find you here, Heer Kanzler – had I been warned beforehand I might have had time to prepare a proper greeting.” The gentle smile never left the older Cat’s lips as he turned to survey the rows upon rows of attending soldiers upon the beach. With a sigh, he silently asked, “How many did we lose, Mittens?” With a hitch of hesitation in his voice, the Oberst replied, “The last headcount brought the total number up to well over twenty-two hundred.”

Swiftly shutting his eyes and tightly gripping his cane, the Chancellor could not suppress the frown which formed upon his face. But to the Oberst’s surprise, the old Cat simply lamented, “So many good men lost in a single night – how tragic.” Mittens was speechless. He’d been fully prepared to be dressed down in front of his own men, to be made an example of by the Chancellor for his failures. Instead, the Chancellor showed that he genuinely cared for the wellbeing of the soldiers who fought in the name of the Kaiser. His racing thoughts were stilled as the Chancellor spoke, “I’m interested in writing a recommendation to bestow the ‘Ordnung des Adlers[1]’ to the entire expedition, and I’d like your signature on it; these men have proven their worth to the Reich, and while it won’t fix what has happened, it will be a step towards letting them know that they are honored.

His mood greatly lifted by such a superb idea, the Oberst emphatically nodded his head as he exclaimed, “I wholeheartedly agree, Heer Kanzler, and if you would allow it, I’d like to offer up a list of individuals who stood out in the conflict for a review in receiving the ‘Ordnung des Löwe’.” With a slight smile of his own, the Chancellor replied, “I’ll have one of my secretaries sent your way to take up the roster when you have it finished.” Just as he had finished speaking, however, Chancellor Felis took notice of the approaching figure of Twilight Sparkle. The immediate shift in his mood, though subtle, was clearly visible to the Oberst’s trained eyes.

With a pleasant (and altogether disingenuous) tint to his weathered voice, the venerable Cat politely remarked, “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you, miss?” His eyes were clearly drawn to the prominent horn upon her forehead and the elegant wings upon her back; he began to feel a sense of unease at the implications of her form. Attempting to introduce them to each other, Oberst Mittens began saying, “Ah, yes, um - this is--” However, the Princess never gave him the chance as she boldly introduced herself, “I am Princess Twilight Sparkle, barer of Magic, princess of Friendship, and Queen Regent to my people.”

Acting mildly surprised at the Princess’ declaration, Chancellor Felis remarked, “Oh? How fascinating – I had thought that all legitimate claimants to the throne had perished.” Lifting her head in a regal, if exceedingly haughty, fashion, Twilight countered, “I’m afraid that you were misinformed.” While she was not prone to acting so standoffish, something about this Cat rubbed her the wrong way; she couldn’t prove it, but could not help but feel that he was somehow upset over the fact that she was alive, even as he extended his hand to her and exclaimed, “Well, it’s an honor to make your acquaintance, your majesty – I am Felis Von Sylvestris - Chancellor of Vorosh, and as chief representative of the Reich, I would like to personally extend a hand of friendship to both you and your people.”

Wishing to save face in front of so many people, Twilight extended her hoof and shook the Chancellor’s hand. She didn’t trust him. She had the feeling that he didn’t trust her either. With that out of the way, the Reichskanzler exclaimed, “Well, now that we all know each other, I’d like to get down to business.” Turning to Oberst Mittens, the green eyed Chancellor remarked, “I understand that you’ve devised a way to neutralize the anomaly – I’m actually quite interested to know how you intend to go about doing this, considering that conventional weaponry has proven ineffective thus far.” The sudden appearance of Oberleutnant Ghresht by the Oberst’s side went completely unremarked upon as the small group turned to walk further along the deck.

Oberst Mittens went on to spend the next five minutes reciting what they planned to do, and while the Chancellor listened very intently, it was not until the device was mentioned that his interest was truly piqued. Finally interjecting, the elder statesman asked, “This ‘Æther Splitter’, you say that it can kill the anomaly?” With an erstwhile expression, Mittens passionately declared, “From the way it was described to me, I have no doubts in my mind that it can kill the beast!” With guarded interest in his voice, the Chancellor simply asked, “How?” Turning to the Princess, Oberst Von Fleischtauben earnestly admitted, “I’m not entirely sure how it works, but if her majesty were willing, I’m sure that she would be better able to answer your question.”

Catching the hidden message, Twilight nodded her head before explaining, “When I first designed the Æther Splitter, it had been an attempt to counteract the sickness which affects those who had come into contact with the monster… however, it soon became apparent that I had stumbled upon a formula which, when brought to contact with water, would actually break down the primary components of the very air we breathe.” Turning to look at the esoteric capsule that floated beside her, she ruefully continued, “Once these primary components are destroyed, a chain reaction quickly occurs in which the cellular makeup of organic bodies begins to weaken before quickly breaking down into an oily residue which soon dissipates as it, too, is destroyed; ultimately, the victim disintegrates whist they are still alive.”

Something seemed to flash behind the Chancellor’s cunning eyes as she explained the effects of her device, and it sent all manner of alarms and warnings into her thoughts. It was clear that the Cat held an interest in the Æther Splitter that went beyond simple inquiry. As they came to a halt at the front of the boat, the small group was quickly met by a party of other officials and officers – including, amongst their ranks, the distinguished figures of Admiral Hans Drücker (who gave a subtle nod to the Chancellor), Minister of the Interior Claws Von Schlauhirn (who nervously fiddled with his tie as he actively avoided making eye contact with his superior), and a hand full of unteroffizieren[2] who stood at attention.

Casting his scrutiny across the assembled group, the venerable Reichskanzler softly wondered, “Is there anything else that we might be waiting on?” From the crowd stepped forth a young naval officer who dutifully announced, “Nein, Heer Reichskanzler – the engines have been stoked, the anchors weighed and the gangplank retracted – Rear Admiral Hollens simply awaits your word.” Quickly remembering that he was technically the highest ranking officer aboard the cruiser, Chancellor Felis bemusedly said, “Well, if that’s the case, then please inform Rear Admiral Hollens that he is free to proceed to the destination.” With a smart nod, the young officer raced across the deck and quickly made his way towards the bridge. Turning back to the remaining members of the group, he then announced, “You are all free to do as you like.” Most of the assembled officers quickly headed off to various parts of the ship.

With a deep reverberating groan the light cruiser ‘Perlen Läufer’ slowly began to push forward, her mighty smokestacks spewing bilious clouds of coal-laced smoke as her engines began to thrum with power. Standing at the prow of the proud vessel, Reichskanzler Felis Von Sylvestris proudly observed the assembled soldiers who sent them off. From the shore, thousands of boots pressed together in salute as the men who wore them shouldered their rifles and aimed to the sky. As of one accord the assembled troops fired off a salvo in salute. As the vessel made its way further and further out to sea, the soldiers at the shore broke into a traditional marching song[3] until at last the steaming cruiser disappeared over the horizon…

It was high noon by the time the ‘Perlen Läufer’ made her final approach into the mouth of ‘Tranquility Bay’. As she passed the blockade of Imperial war ships, many of the crewmen on board erupted into bouts of cheering; this was the largest concentration of Voroshian naval might to have ever been seen, and many of them felt a sense of pride well up within them as they beheld the glimmering profiles of such celebrated ships as the destroyer ‘Lothar’, the cruiser ‘Standhaft’, and the venerated dreadnaught ‘Eisenteiler’- pride of the navy and the flagship of Grand Admiral Leonard Von Katzenspeigel!

‘Tranquility Bay’ was massive – sixteen kilometers across, and nearly just as long! It would take a full thirty minutes before the ‘Perlen Läufer’ reached her destination, coming to a stop at the center of the bay. Looking above them, many onboard could make out the oblong form of the airship ‘Der Möwe’ as it circuitously flew overhead. On the deck of the cruiser, dozens of sailors and marines scurried to and fro as they dropped various anchors and brought up a large diving bellows from below deck. At the prow of the ship, Twilight Sparkle and Ghur’Tcha were in the middle of gearing up in a pair of bulky diving suits.

Checking to see if his suit was compromised in any way, Ghur’Tcha continued to run Twilight through the basics of diving; “-And if your helmet begins to flood, don’t panic – there should be a small brass valve situated at the neck joist that, when pressed, will siphon air through your tube and expel the water.” As the Princess struggled to fasten a ballast belt across her waist, she exclaimed, “Got it – anything else?” Making sure that the radio headset built into his helmet was actually functional, the Chameleon paused before advising, “Honestly, Friend Twilight, the best advice I could give you would be to stick close to me at all times.”

Observing them from a short distance away was Oberst Mittens. Standing with him were Oberleutnant Ghresht, Admiral Drücker, Rear Admiral Hollens, Minister Von Schlauhirn and the unreadable figure of Reichskanzler Von Sylvestris. As they whispered silently to one another, Twilight couldn’t help but feel as if they were placing bets on the outcome of the mission. She was particularly unnerved by the way in which the Chancellor stared at her – like a predator observing its next meal. Finally, a pair of sailors helped to fasten on their bulky brass helmets before a communications check was carried out. The voice of an unknown yeoman crackled forth into their ears, asking, “Testing, testing – are you receiving?”

While Ghur’Tcha gave a thumbs-up, Twilight more prudently answered, “I can hear you.” Turning to one of the sailors next to her, she pointed to the Æther Splitter and ordered, “Hand me the device.” As the sailor carefully handed it off to the Alicorn, the unnamed yeoman finished securely tying off a nylon tether around their waists as he exclaimed, “Remember, if you need us to reel you in, tug three times on the line!” Nodding their heads in understanding, the pair made their way towards the edge of the deck. However, before they took the plunge, a firm paw took hold of Twilight’s shoulder. Turning to try and see who it was, she was met with the serious face of Oberst Mittens.

Before she could ask what the Cat needed, he softly spoke up, saying, “Good luck, Princess – the eyes of the world are upon you.” With a sad, knowing smile, Twilight cryptically responded, “Please, take care of them.” Before the Oberst could even ask what she meant, the Princess turned away and, holding hands with Ghur’Tcha, quickly jumped into the deep. Staring at the rapidly calming surface of the waters, Mittens contemplated the Pferdlander’s words. ‘Take care of them.’ What had she meant by that, and why had she looked so forlorn as she’d said it?...

It was slow going as the two of them sank towards the bottom of the bay. Vision obscured by a slew of bubbles, they were all but blind as they plumbed the depths. Finally, after three whole minutes their vision had cleared, and it was just in time for they were fast approaching the sea floor. As their feet finally made contact with the sandy bottom, both Twilight and Ghur’Tcha peered through the constrictive viewports of their helmets, quickly becoming beholden to the magnificently verdant coral reefs which surrounded them on every side! As they slowly strode forwards, the porcelain white sand which they kicked up left a thick, white, nebulous cloud in their wake.

Enormous schools of brilliantly technicolor fish swam around them, scattering in every direction as the pair of interlopers drew near. Everywhere they looked, they beheld such natural wonder and beauty, and it captivated them. Coming to a stop, Twilight checked to make sure that the Æther Splitter was still secured to her suit. Seeing that it still held fast, she and Ghur’Thca proceeded to head deeper into the reefs. Untold minutes passed on in silence as they slowly walked deeper and deeper into the heart of the reefs, only to be interrupted by the crackling hiss of a radio. The voice of the yeoman broke through as he asked, “You’ve both been down there for twenty minutes, what’s your status report?”

Ghur’Tcha was quick to answer, declaring, “Everything is fine for us down here – we should be coming up on the radio signal in a few minutes time.” And, indeed, within only a few minutes they had arrived at the very heart of the signal. But strangely enough, there was no sign of the monster. Instead, there was but a jagged reef of coral and anemones, amidst which swam various clouds of brightly colored fish. Taking a few steps ahead, the Chameleon turned to Twilight and asked, “Are we sure the signal is correct?” Twilight never got the chance to answer, as the ground beneath their feet began to tremble.

The reef upon which they stood began to shift and move beneath them. The clouds of fish swiftly scattered, fleeing in all directions. A school of sharks darted away as they too sensed the threat of a predator that stood even above them. As the detritus and coral life began to fall away, it became immediately apparent to the two divers that what they thought had been a reef was in fact the hideous spines that so characterized Gho’Zra; they were standing on his back! Awkwardly running backwards, towards the relative safety of the true reefs, Twilight and Ghur’Tcha watched in awe as the monster gracefully came to stand upon the ocean floor.

Gho’Zra lazily cast his glowing red gaze around him as he wondered what it was that had awoken him from his sleep. In an instant his predatory gaze caught sight of a trailing cloud of unsettled sand heading into the reefs. His lethargic motions were soon abandoned as his senses were brought upon high alert; something or someone was here, and his instincts told him to investigate. Noiselessly, the lumbering titan walked forward – the poised motions of his graceful form were as eerie as they were breathtaking. With a gentle flex the behemoth kicked off of the seafloor before giving a mighty push of his colossal, serpentine tail – launching him effortlessly through the water as his undulating form glided over the reefs below.

Ghur’Tcha, who had taken a risk in order to look back at the beast overhead, accidentally stumbled over a rocky outcrop. Hearing him silently curse over the radio, Twilight came to a slow stop before turning around with the intent to assist her friend. But as the Princess struggled to help her reptilian friend to his feet, the clouds in the sky above parted, and the brilliant rays of the afternoon sun penetrated deep into the murky depths where upon it brightly reflected off of the polished brass of their diving helmets. As his eyes were drawn to the glow of refracted light, Gho’Zra at last came to notice the two of them.

Letting loose a deep, guttural growl which magnified a hundred-fold as it passed through the open waters, the leviathan lazily flicked his tail as he propelled himself towards the miniscule intruders. Slowly descending upon the rocking bottom, he lifted his lips up in a primordial snarl as he slowly lumbered towards them – the muffled thump of his mighty footsteps traveling deeply through the very earth. As he came ever closer, he finally identified the familiar four legged form of a parasite, and immediately his blood came to a boil. So, even here, in this place of refuge his enemies pursued him. He’d thought that perhaps they’d finally learned from their mistakes, but it seemed that they instead only grew bolder. No matter, he would simply have to finish what he’d started, beginning with these two.

Realizing that their time was now short – that it was now or never - Twilight Sparkle magically unhooked the Æther Splitter from her harness. Frantically tugging at her arm, Ghur’Tcha screamed, “Twilight, drop the device and come on – we need to go, now!” Closing her eyes in a serene display, the Alicorn slowly turned to look into the frantic eyes of her friend. With a soft, sorrowful smile, she slowly wrapped her arms around him in a deep and heartfelt embrace. In a throaty voice filled with so much regret and tinged with a steadfast determination, she said, “Ghur’Tcha, thank you so much for everything you’ve done for me; please, live your life, and be happy." With a slightly apprehensive look of confusion, the Chameleon softly asked, “Twilight what are you--”

He never got to finish his question as he felt her grab hold of the tether around his waist before giving three, swift tugs. Immediately he felt himself being pulled towards the surface, but more importantly, away from her. As he was pulled ever further from his dearest friend, the Chameleon could not contain the screams of absolute horror and misery as he shouted, “Twilight! Twilight, no! Please Twilight, don’t do this! No! No! Twilight! Don’t do it, please, Twilight!” With a catch in her breath, and with tears in her eyes, the Princess impassionedly delivered her final words to him, begging him, “Ghur’Tcha, please, tell them all to live; to be happy." He could only continue to cry out to her.

As his flailing form finally broke through surface of the water, and after a group of sailors finally managed to drag him aboard, Ghur’Tcha desperately threw off his helmet before wildly turning upon them and demanding, “Bring her up! Bring her up before it’s too late!” But instead of doing as he said, they asked if he was hurt. With a fervent ferocity he screamed, “I’m not hurt, bring her up!” Striding through the crowd of sailors then came the imposing form of Oberst Mittens, who firmly took grasp of the Chameleon as he shouted, “Calm down, son – we cannot understand what you are saying!” With a shock, he finally realized that he’d been screaming at them all in his native tongue. With a sob, he finally exclaimed, “Pull her up quickly!”

Down below, amidst the corals and crystal blue sea, Twilight focused her magic and quickly severed the cable which was even now being towed in. Turning back to confront Gho’Zra, she remarked, “It’s just you and me, now.” Slowly the beast took a step towards her. “You’ve done a lot of horrible things – things that can never be forgiven.” Still another step was taken. “But now… now you’ll finally pay for what you’ve done – because I swear to you, Gho’zra, on the blood of my family, that neither of us will live to see this day through.” As the monster bared its fangs at her, the Alicorn gave a silent prayer as she magically activated the Æther Splitter, dropping it listlessly upon the sandy floor of the bay.

Slowly a veil of quicksilver bubbles began to coalesce around the arcane device; their size and volume ever increasing as each passing second ticked by. Soon the sea was alive with shimmering effervescence and the growl of boiling water! Back aboard the ‘Perlen Läufer’, the crew frantically hoisted the last of the tether on board. As they finally recognized that it had been severed, a deathly hush overcame the crowd. From where he knelt, Ghur’Tcha cried in earnest even as he understood that his friend had chosen to sacrifice herself to insure the future, rather than to live in a world where she was alone.

As Gho’Zra loomed ever closer towards his prey, the turbulent, frothing effects of the Æther Splitter finally encompassed him. The effects were as immediate as they were horrendous! Twitching and writhing in paroxysms of unparalleled pain, he unconsciously opened his mouth in a muffled scream as his flesh began to quickly fall away into nothing. As she witnessed the success of her work, Twilight Sparkle smiled as she softly whispered, “I’m coming home.” With a mere thought she severed the hose to her air supply, letting the virulent waters enter into her suit. In seconds the diving suit collapsed, as if it were empty; she’d been completely broken down into nothingness.

For Gho’Zra, the experience was unlike anything before. The pain was both excruciating and numbing at the same time, and in his heart he understood that he was dying. He was dying, and for some reason this fact alone brought a peace to his soul which he’d only ever dreamed of. Were he capable of such a thing, he may very well have smiled. But as the last of his consciousness slowly faded into oblivion, the primordial beast -the animalistic instincts that dwelled so deeply inside of him – pushed past the last vestiges of his soul, compelling his body to make a break for the surface in the vain hope of escaping the inevitable. With a mighty swish of his tail, the dying beast rocketed towards the surface as a pyre of silver laced foam followed in his wake.

On the deck of the ‘Perlen Läufer’, the crew and officials watched in awe as the surface of the waters began to broil and churn in a most unnatural and disgusting manner. The sound of it could scarcely be described beyond the notion of bubbling iron and searing rain all wrapped in a shroud of turgid, arcane agony! The boat soon began to rock in earnest s the resultant waves turned exceedingly violent. As the phenomenon reached its climax, every single soul board the vessel cried out in horror as the grotesque form of Gho’Zra broke the surface and lashed about in desperate fury. Its body was half deteriorated, and was quickly fading fast – it was already more bone than flesh as it struggled to escape the clutches of its own demise.

With the last of its fading strength, Gho’Zra fiercely cast its empty, skeletal eye sockets towards the sky as it opened its maw and let loose one final defiant roar. It was long – stretching on for a full minute as all of its collective rage, pain, doubts and fears - the hatred, pride, joys and sorrows; everything it had ever experienced in its tortured life, were released in one final scream. In a way, it was almost tragic – a byproduct of powers beyond its control, the beast had never truly had a chance to begin with... As the roar faded away, Gho’Zra finally passed on. The remains of his body slowly sank once more beneath the churning waves…

As the minutes passed by, even before the waters had finally settled, every radio and telegram was being utilized to spread the word – Gho’Zra was dead! But even as this momentous news was sent across the world, there was no celebration to be had onboard the ‘Perlen Läufer’. The noble sacrifice of the Princess Twilight Sparkle had been a grim testament to the lengths that were taken to bring the beast low. Standing next to the weeping form of Ghur’Tcha, Oberst Mitten Von Fleischtauben gently laid a hand upon the boy’s shoulder as he intoned, “It will not fix your aching heart, Ghur’Tcha, but understand that the name of Twilight Sparkle will be remembered for as long as the story of Gho’Zra will be told – down through the generations and into time immemorial.”

From where he’d stood at the prow of the ship, Reichskanzler Felis Von Sylvestris continued to stare at the slowly calming waters. In his mind he could still see the nightmarish figure of the monster as it struggled to live even as it was nothing but ligaments and bone. He’d known that the beast was an abomination, but having witness firsthand the lengths at which it fought to exist had triggered a deep and terrible fear within his old heart. His mind switched to the tragic loss of the last Princess of the Pferdsreich. He silently admitted that he, too, would mourn her passing, but only in so much that she had no doubt insured that the secrets of her marvelous invention had gone with her to the grave.

Regardless, he would still send agents to her former home – perhaps there were other such wonders to be had? Of a more important note, if what Mittens had told him earlier were true, then the Princess had intentionally bequeathed her kingdom and its people to the Reich in the hopes that they might remain safe from the vagaries of the world. Word would doubtlessly reach the Kaiser soon enough, and the old Chancellor had no doubts that Patzschwelt would genuinely strive to integrate the Pferdlanders into the fold… This would require careful maneuvering and planning if he were to salvage something out of this debacle. His thoughts were interrupted as he heard the voice of Claws remark, “It’s finally over – the world will never again have to fear the terror of Gho’Zra!”

Still looking out across the bay, the Chancellor loudly spoke up, “So certain of that are you?” All noise seemed to cease as every man aboard the ship turned to listen as he continued, “With so many mysteries still rife throughout our world, I cannot bring myself to believe that that thing was the last of its kind… No, I do not fear the terror of Gho’Zra… I fear that this was only the first few rays of a new dawn fast approaching.” Slowly walking to stand beside the older Cat, Oberst Mittens gravely replied, “I hope to God above that you are wrong, Herr Kanzler - for all of our sake.” In the distance, the sun began to set; to the east, darkness was fast approaching…

Nature has a way, sometimes, of reminding us all of just how small we really are. She occasionally throws up terrible offspring's of our pride and carelessness to remind us how puny we really are in the face of a tornado, an earthquake, a hurricane or a Gho’Zra. Our reckless ambitions are often dwarfed by their consequences, and in the end we come to realize it far too late. For now, Gho’Zra - that terrifying yet tragic monster - has gone to earth. Whether he, or others like him, might one day return or is never to be seen again remains to be answered. But the things he has taught us will remain...

The End

-. . .--|--- .-. -.. . .-.|.-. . -.-. --- ...- . .-.|- .... .|.-. . -- .- .. -. ...|.. -. ... ..- .-. .|... . -.-. .-. . -.-. -.--

[1] Roughly translating to ‘Order of the Eagle’, the ‘Ordnung des Adlers’ is a personal citation given by the Kaiser to those military divisions who have “Done honorably in the eyes of the Empire”
[2] That is, an under-officer. Unteroffizieren are the non-commissioned officers of the military.
[3] Preußens Gloria

Born of Fire,
Bathed in Blood,
From the Sea
a Rising Flood.
Darkness Spreads
Across the Lands,
All Brought Low
by Vengeful Hands.
Righteous Fury,
Burning Hate,
None can Stay
The Hand of Fate.
Rolling Storm Clouds,
Blackest Day,
Death Shall Have
The Final Say.

Author's Note

Thus ends the saga known as 'Born of Rage'

If you have been following my story for the near two years it's taken me to finish it, then I admire your dedication. I would also like to personally thank all of you who have taken the time to actually read this story; you had no obligation, and I cannot help but admit that many of you helped encourage me to actually finish the story.

Even if you gave up reading the story half way through, I still must thank you for even bothering to begin with.
Finally, I must thank a few people by name. They include my wife, Rebbecca, who had the decency to not laugh at the fact that I was making a story that involved Godzilla and My Little Pony, my Nieces, Mary, Greta, Ingrid and Katrina - if not for them, I probably wouldn't have known nearly as much about My Little Pony as I do now. I'd also like to thank Lexi, Emily, Ryan and Sam for their feedback over the many Skype chats we've had.

As for some of the viewers, my deepest thanks go out to Brad W, who had consistently posted a comment on every chapter thus far, and to Major-Alucard-Wesker for the deep and meaningful reviews he has blessed me with - it is so very refreshing to have a serious critique from someone who is knowledgeable of the Godzilla Mythos. Finally, I would like to thank The One and Only One for his encouragements these last few chapters, and for the support he's given me in the forums.
To all of you, if not for your kind words and deep critiques, I would only now be half-way done with this story.

This story is now, officially, done. However, I have decided to post an addendum-esque Epilogue as a show of appreciation, and to tie up a few loose ends and add a little something more to the story as a whole. Be sure to stay tuned for it, as it should be up within this week alone.

Once more, Danke, and until next time, Auf Weidersehn!
P.S. ~ There is a special message in this chapter, see if you can find it.

Epilogue: Nature Has a Way

Author's Note

Well, it looks like this is it. The final chapter of Born of Rage is now complete.

This chapter is more a gift to you readers than anything else.

The way it has been typed is to add an inflection of the present and possible future of this world which I have created.

Bear in mind that this in no ways means that I am about to start a sequel. Far from it, I have other stories I need to attend to.

What this does do, however, is leave the possibility open, as well as allow something even more important: a chance to let others take up the mantle and create their own offshoot of the Born of Rage saga.

That's right; I would like to see others take the elements of my story and make a saga of their own. I want to see this grow into something fantastic. So, if you ever feel that you want to create a story in the same vein as my own, I would gladly let you use many of the elements I created in Born of Rage as a template for your own. In return, all I ask is that you provide me a link to the story, so that I might have a chance to read it too. If you do want to use such things as the Cats of Vorosh and their allies, the geography I created, or anything else, feel free to do it, and if you have any questions pertaining to any of it, please, send me a message and I'll be happy to give you any information you need.

This has been a long and thought out process, and I've enjoyed it immensely. But don't feel bad about it; while I don't intend to make a sequel anytime soon, I am planning on creating a few side stories to further enrich Born of Rage, and to fill in a few gaps I purposefully left blank.

Many thanks to you all, and, please, enjoy the Epilogue!

Also, I'd appreciate it if you recommended this story to people.

Fun fact, there are references to exactly 21 Toho Kaiju in this chapter.
I only wish I could find their trademark tokens - that would be so fun to use in this!

Epilogue: Nature Has a Way

The years have passed by, and yet it seems only yesterday that the world stood on the brink of destruction. How strange it is that so much and yet so little has changed. When the monster known as Gho’Zra was brought low, the world paused only long enough to release a sigh of relief – things could go on as they once had. But for some, things could never be as they once had been. Equestria, once the greatest power the world had ever known, is gone. In its place stands a new power; the Reichsbund – created by the union of the Voroshian Katzereich with the Equestrian lands and people. While the unification of such divergent ways and cultures has been by no means a smooth or seamless transition, it has proven to be more successful than even the wildest dreams of its orchestrators.

For the people of the Chameleonic Islands, life has changed just as equally, if not more drastically. The destruction of Promised Point had been the burning match that ignited a powder keg of turmoil smoldering under the surface. Without the influx of food and commodities, society fractured and a civil conflict the likes of which hadn’t been witnessed in over two hundred years erupted, engulfing the once idyllic archipelago in a brutal war that even after five years continues to be waged between the myriad tribes and clans. Yet hope shines forth from this brutality in the form of a young, influential chieftain named Ghur’Tcha, who has taken upon himself the mantle of ‘Kah’Rutchka’Mach-La’ – the Messenger of a Life of Happiness. Rumor says that he fights for a cause commissioned to him by a martyred friend, and thousands have flocked to his banner.

In fact, war seems to be an ever present specter in this new and troubled time. The vacuum left in the wake of Equestria’s collapse has permanently shifted the power dynamic of the entire continent. From the southern peninsula, the endemic infighting between the various confederated city states of the Griffons has ceased for the first time in six generations. Further west, in the rolling hill country, the kingdom of the Boars begins to move upon the path of expansion once more – the lure of unclaimed lands and untold riches an incentive without peer. And to the north of that, the newly crafted Reichsbund stands ever vigilant as the lines are drawn and sides are chosen. The mighty juggernaut of the Voroshian military has even now been swollen to untold size by an influx of new citizens; Ponies intent upon finding a new purpose in this brave new world.

But that it was only war for which the world might endure. For deep within the heart of Vorosh there were more sinister things brewing. While Reichskanzler Felis Von Sylvestris had only just passed away a year prior, his mandate to ensure the protection of the Reich still lives on. Sprawling subterranean labs filled with all manner of otherworldly devices and designs have sprouted up all across the Reichsbund, but it is in a little desert village known as Drywell that the most horrific experiments are conducted. Dark and arcane magiques are crafted, right alongside of illegal genetic testing and biological weaponry fabrication. But most horrific of all; in a deep, frozen vault, guarded day and night by a full company of soldiers and secured with the most advanced systems known – are a plethora hideous tissue samples and unnatural bone fragments which had been collected in the wake of Gho’Zra’s rampage across Canterlot.

It was from these samples that new and strange advances were made in the realms of bio-engineering, composite materials research, regenerative medicine and so-called super weapon fabrication. The most promising of these programs – called the ‘Bioengineered Infrastructural Organisms’ program, or B.I.O for short – has just recently begun work in the development of a specially engineered, physically hardy and easily cultivatable food crop, which they have taken to calling ‘B.I.O Plant A’. With this new wonder-plant, the arid deserts might finally be put to good use in producing food for the ever growing population of the empire! Never again will there be food shortages. While some have pointed out that the use of Gho’Zra’s genetic material in the fabrication of ‘B.I.O Plant A’ may lead to unforeseen anomalies in the future, the growing need for a stable supply of food has far and above overshadowed these concerns.

But even this could not compare to the prize held within the heart of the Empire itself. For deep beneath the Streets of Purlin was the single greatest child born of the Reichskanzler’s mind. The hundred and fifty meter tall cavern was filled to the brim with all manner of scaffolding, automated foundries and advanced electronic interfaces – none of which truly held a candle to the centerpiece of the entire project. For it was here that the skeletal remains of Gho’Zra were ultimately housed, and for the last five years, day in and day out, they have slowly been rebuilt into a new, technologically advanced form. Thousands of kilometers of electric lines and fiber optic cables have already become like the muscles and veins of the beast. Slowly but surely, a mighty metal edifice is being erected to encase the remains. Soon, one day in the future, the Reichskanzler’s dream of a weapon which can kill monsters might very well be a reality…

Lives have changed; more so for those who survived the attack on Canterlot nearly a half decade before. With the wholesale destruction of both the capital city and the small town of Ponyville having been so complete, there was little left to be salvaged. Within months of the formation of the Reichsbund, a massive wave of immigrants was shipped across the rails. Reconstruction began in earnest when they finally arrived, and like a Phoenix the city of ‘Pferdenburg’ rose from the ashes of ‘Kanterlotte’. Likewise, the graveyard of Ponyville was reborn under the moniker of ‘Twilight’ - named in honor of the Equestrian Princess who bravely sacrificed her life in order to slay the beast - and a shrine dedicated to the lives lost on that fateful night so many years ago even now stands at its center. Every year, thousands upon thousands of survivors flock to this hallowed point, intent upon honoring their fallen friends and colleagues. Among the names engraved upon brass and marble monument are those of Jerolus Kym, Ernst Fanger, Frank Müller, Pipin Kügelbach, Spiffy Ulnz, Trubek Kchobe, Echert Löwe, Twilight Sparkle and thousands more.

With both the destruction of Cloudsdale and the decimation of Sweet Apple Acres, neither Big Macintosh nor his wife, Rainbow Dash, had any place left which they might have called home. With so many painful memories tied to their homeland they had decided, like many other Ponies, to head west across the great desert. From there they set about starting a new life. As the years passed, Macintosh eventually became the owner of an agricultural firm that was quickly backed by the patronage of the Imperial family; under his guidance and expertise, entire swaths of once uninhabitable lands were reclaimed and devoted towards the raising of livestock and such crops as wheat, barley, oats and corn. For her own part, Rainbow Dash worked side by side with her husband – content to live her life with both him and the children who were quickly born of their union. While they still live with the haunted memory of that night, they have managed to find happiness.

Toni Langermann eventually did start up a restaurant – he named it ‘Der Schwarzie’ in memory of the Sturmwagen he’d served aboard - and it has quickly become a favorite haven for those soldiers who had survived the battle of Kanterlotte – a place where they can reminisce with their fellow soldiers and not have to worry about the world at large. As it stands, he’s made enough of a profit that he now considers starting a franchise. Bart Zipfel did indeed stay on with the military – achieving the rank of Schlosser Irste Klasse – though by a twist of fate he’s been stationed with the newly christened 7th Katzerabteilung, a newly created fourth generation Sturmwagen division stationed just outside of Pferdenburg. While it wasn’t the Airship group he hoped for, he did manage to find a wife amongst the influx of immigrants, and so far he is content.

Schmullie Katzenkratz remained true to his own word – returning as he did to the city of Zalma, marrying Bernice and taking up the reigns of his father’s company. Under his guidance the company has grown to be one of the largest in the Empire, providing the Reichsbund with nearly twenty-two percent of all its sub-munitions and nearly six percent of all ordnance grade weapons! Like Bart, Walter Fisk also stayed on with the army, and through a few well-placed connections he’s managed to secure a commission off continent. The last anyone has heard from him, he was shipping out to Imperial holdings on the far western continent of Larrtül. The remaining crew of the No. 7 occasionally receives a letter from him. The latest one was from six months ago, and in it he described an ongoing series of skirmishes between Voroshian forces and a resurgent Diamond Dog war band.

Siegfried Stoßer overcame his demons – enough so that, after months of reclusiveness, he finally returned to Bahnhoff where he was surprised to find an eager Süssi waiting for him. They married in the following spring, and as of now have three children, two boys (whom he named Frank and Ernst in honor of his fallen friends) and a girl. Siegfried would soon go on to become chief of Police in Bahnhoff, where he has started a program to teach his men how to effectively deal with potential high-level crisis'. He’s been so successful that the Military has gone on to request that he form a curriculum which might be distributed across the Reichsbund, where it may be taught at the various military academies. Of a sadder note, Hirschel Kügelbach would finally succumb to the wounds he received during the Battle of Kanterlotte roughly three years after it occurred. His name has been posthumously added to the monument situated in the town of ‘Twilight’, alongside that of his brother, Pipin.

When Reichskanzler Felis Von Sylvestris finally passed away last June, the funeral had been so grand, so spectacular, that three million people from across the world actually attended it. When all was said and done, Kaiser Patzschwelt Von Steurnhetzer commissioned over a dozen monuments across the empire in his honor. In a shocking turn of events, Minister of the Interior Claws Von Schlauhirn was elected to replace his Uncle. Though none save the Kaiser himself know of it, Felis Von Sylvestris had specifically noted in his will that his nephew was to take his place upon death. Even so, the office has not come without its own share of hardships, and Claws had recently taken strongly to drinking as the deadly secrets of the Reichsbund threaten to overwhelm him.

Hermann Kuhn would eventually return home to his wife and children, having finished his tour and officially retiring from the military. Alongside of him, a handful of comrades that included Theodore Trichter and Spitzer, who had symbolically taken on the surname of ‘Kuhn’ in honor of his new life and family, would also join him, where together they started the ‘Kuhn School of Advanced Gunnery’, which has quickly gone on to become a standard for special forces training. Major Leopold Lachespringer has continued to serve with distinction within the Elite Sturmtruppen Divisions, having been promoted to the rank of Captain, and given command of the First Company. He is currently stationed in the Chameleonic Islands, where he and many others have been placed on high alert to insure that Voroshian Assets do not become jeopardized in the growing civil war that has rocked the island nation.

Zephaniah Mog, at the behest of several high ranking members of the Expeditionary Force, quickly found himself elevated to Governor of the ‘Pferdenburg’ District, where his calm attitude and quick wit have insured a peaceful assimilation of the region. He’ll be up for reelection soon; a novel concept which was designed to allow the democratically minded Ponies a say in regional politics – however, he’s become quite popular, especially after ruling on several key issues in the Ponies’ favor. Currently, he’s trying to insure that a stable infrastructure is in place before he finally steps down; the population of Pferdenburg has been growing at an exponential rate, and he’s been hard pressed to insure that it can be accommodated.

Bubbi Plüschaar would quickly be recruited by KaN, where his seeming knack for survival has been put to good use. He’s currently undercover in Dalmoria, where he’s been hard at work trying to uncover a ring of Imperial traitors who have been selling state secrets. Along the way, he’s inadvertently (and some might say accidentally) become married to, of all things, a Pony named Amethyst. They’ve recently adopted an orphaned Chameleon, whom they’ve taken to naming H’Ro'Cham – ‘New Dawn’. Admiral Hans Drücker still remains relatively the same, though recently his wife has made hints that it might be time for him to either transfer to a desk job or flat out retire. He’s instead taken to finding any and every excuse to remain on duty for as long as possible. As of now, he’s currently running patrol sorties along the Reichsbund’s southern border, where a growing Boar presence looks to hold portents of a future conflict between the two powers.

Khujeck Ghresht would retire from service – not out of a desire to leave, but in order to entrench himself in the war-zone that is Imperial Politics. He’s only now managed to secure a chair on the ‘Finanzverwendung Fachkollegium’ (The Review Board of Financial Appropriations), where he has become a constant thorn in the side of Chairman Ethan Listruck, much to the delight of those in the military, most prominently of who is Mittens Von Fleischtauben who has been a constant and extremely vocal proponent, sponsor and supporter of Khujeck in his crusade to allow more leeway in military expenditure. Word has it that he may soon become a viable contender for the position of Chairman, as many other board members have begun jumping Listruck’s boat as his popularity continues to go down.

As for Oberst Mittens, he is no longer an Oberst. In fact, he is a General, due in large part to his contributions at the Battle of Kanterlotte, and no small amount of the incredibly flattering coverage the media has given him. In fact, it is likely that this was due to a few strings being pulled by the now deceased Reichskanzler Felis Von Sylvestris, who was personally quoted as having said that, "...were it another man who had lead the Expedition, there would have likely been no survivors." He’s currently making rounds among the many military stations across the Reichsbund, but word has it that he might cut the inspections short and return to Purlin in order to be present for the birth of his first Great-Grandchild!

K’Umetk would finally get to go home to his family, and, with the help and protection afforded by his close friend Ghur’Tcha, he has managed to at last live his life in peace with them. You can most likely catch sight of him amidst his home town on the island of Temna-Chuta, where he has risen to become a chief elder. He’s more content to spend his days fishing or basking in the sun though. From time to time, Ghur’Tcha will visit him. Ghur’Tcha, aside from becoming a warrior for peace, has also found a life to live in the form of his fiancé-now-wife, and their six children. While the burden of insuring a brighter future for them all is still upon his shoulders, that day may one day be reached, as even now many surrounding islands and clans have sworn loyalty under his banner…

However, if there is one thing that will not change, it is the fact that the world is still a cold and unforgiving place, one that has no qualms of crushing its own inhabitants with the slightest whim. And while Nature may have finally achieved a balance and calm that it had missed for millennia, it can only ever take so much before that balance is once more disrupted. And so it was that, on April 6th, five years to the date of Gho’Zra’s destruction, at 03:56:17 in the morning, on a cold and desolate island to the far north, a second sun was once again born from the detonation of an atomic bomb. The Cats had indeed recovered the secrets of the bomb, but whereas the Ponies had not sought a weapon, the Cat’s have streamlined the process to create weapons of such mass and power as to put that first one to shame.

In fact, this was one of a handful of Islands across the world that, over the course of the coming weeks, would be subject to a myriad number of nuclear tests as the Reichsbund seeks to fully master this new and deadly technology. With so vast an amount of radiation at work, it was little wonder that the earth would react as violently as it did. For in the coming weeks, a string of interconnected events will, years from now, unfold and usher in a new era of death and terror the likes of which may very well destroy all who would call this planet their home.

De novo incipit ad cyclum

The southern seas have always been known to house the strangest of animals. Every year there seems to be some tall tale of enormous beasts rising up from the depths, intent on making a meal of some hapless crew. However, the radioactive backwash that resulted from an act of folly months before may very well have just created such a monster: a massive crustacean that continues to grow as it plies the waters for food. This creature has already attracted the attention of the Chameleonic cult known as the 'Brotherhood of the Shining Eye', and efforts have been made to locate the beast in the hopes of cultivating it to their own ends.

The seas have taken on a new level of danger as the beast continues to grow; soon, very soon, it will make itself truly known; the vulnerable ships which drift across this prominent trade route will quickly grow to fear it above all else…

The Black Shoals have always been a strange and wondrous phenomenon to many an observer; nowhere else in the world is it easier to observe the workings of the earth than in these oil rich sands. Bubbling tar and natural crude-oil seep to the surface on a regular basis, and many of the region's microorganisms have adapted to feeding off of these rich biofuels. But in recent days, something sinister has begun to manifest. A tiny strain of bacteria, unobservable to the naked eye, has begun to mutate. What caused this mutation is anyone’s guess, but the sudden introduction of nuclear radiation from into the atmosphere may indeed have had a part to play.

In its natural state the bacteria was harmless, simply feeding off the tar and helping to break down organic solids. But now it has begun taking on a more fiendish aspect, coming together to form vast colonies of black sludge that exude a toxic vapor. Slowly, this sludge has begun to pop up all across the region, and were anyone to observe it, they would see that it is coalescing towards a single point…

In the frozen reaches of the far north, time is often kept at bay beneath the icy surface. Millions of years can be contained in a single layer of ice, and often times a species once thought to be extinct will be found locked within its cold embrace, alive and waiting to be freed. Such is the case for the brilliant red creature that even now was beginning to stir within its frozen prison. It was ancient, from a time long before the current age. Back then, there were many like it, and they had ruled the seas.

Now, it was most likely the last of its kind. Blood had already begun to recirculate into its extremities, and the mighty sail upon its back was soon cast in a brilliant shade of sunburst yellow. As the radioactive air begins to warm the polar reaches, its icy prison slowly begins to melt away…

The continent of Larrtül is ancient and wild – civilization only truly exists upon its eastern shores, and even then it is under constant assault by the barbaric inhabitants of the interior. This is the home of the Diamond Dogs, who hail from the mountainous region of the south and the dense, dark forests of the north. From there they continue to worship their ancient god, Bharhaghon, who they claim lives deep within the earth. While more rational people would simply call it a myth, they would be wrong. Deep underground, amidst the subterranean darkness of its home, a terrible and ancient beast sleeps.

Hailing from a time long past, it and its kind had thrived beneath the surface of the earth. While it has been content to sleep for eternity, a recent string of earthquakes brought about by underground nuclear testing has inadvertently woken it from its slumber. Soon enough, it will once more dig its way to the surface, where its fiery fury will be felt…

Dalmoria has always been a place of refuge, a get away from the cares of the world. Home to the tribes of the Alligator and the Elk, this land was once a place of constant war and sorrow. But legends tell of a magnificent beast which rose up from the great, continental river of Faran. The beast was nigh unstoppable, and the warring tribes were soon brought to the brink by this monster which could travel across both the land, the sea and the sky. It had taken an alliance between the two nations to finally put a stop to the monster’s rampage; a powerful magic was incurred, and the beast was interred once more to whence it had come.

Now, with the union of the Alligators and the Elk, Dalmoria has become a haven paradise which attracts millions each year. The tale of Faran is never spoken of – a dark secret best left alone. However, secrets have a way of turning up despite our best efforts, and the magic which had sealed the beast is weakening. Soon enough, the magnificent beast will once more rise from is watery home…

Zebreca is a land of mystery and wonder. Home to many peoples, including Zebras, Giraffes, Elephants and Wildebeest, it has always held a prominent geopolitical role. It is also famous for the fact that much of it remains unknown to the outside world, partly due to it possessing some of the most daunting and unassailable geological formations in the world. There are even regions which the natives have never dared to set foot upon, and so it remains a powerful mystery.

It is here, amidst the impassable spires and sun-scorched mesas that a strange and ancient beast sleeps. Locked in slumber for thousands of years, the beast is now covered with plants and trees; its serpentine form obscured by the weight of time. Wrapped around the base of the famous ‘Manta Spire’, its brilliant blue scales give the appearance of a shimmering river. But this is no river, and as the air becomes thick with radioactivity, it is beginning to stir…

When one thinks of Pangolia, they will often think of its beautiful cities and peace loving people. The Pangolins embrace a philosophy of peace and meditative thought, and their empire is one of trade, rather than conquest. What most don’t realize though, is that Pangolia was once part of a great landmass which at one point fell into the sea, due in large part to a terrible species of monstrous tunneling beetle. So extensive were the massive hives and tunnels built by these creatures that, during a massive world-wide disaster, the earth itself gave way and fell headlong into the ocean, inadvertently bringing these creatures to extinction.

By a quirk of fate, much of the ancient hive nursery had been spared from this watery doom, and while the majority of the eggs were destroyed by the vagaries of time, one has managed to survive through the ages; the grub inside it having grown to maturity long ago. It now sleeps in a hibernated state. But the recent activation of a nuclear weapon on a nearby island has already begun to revive the chitinous horror. Soon it would rise, and like its ancestors it will change the very shape of the earth in its wake…

A strange beast walks along the sandy coast. It had been a regular reptile at one point; one of the myriad of strange and exotic species that inhabits the Chameleonic Islands. But months prior, a cataclysmic event had irradiated it to the point of nearly killing it. How it survived defies explanation, but it did survive none the less. It had started growing almost immediately, and has yet to stop. With its new size there also came a new sense of self-awareness among many more otherworldly things. While becoming bipedal has only recently become a symptom of its new body, more pronounced changes have occurred on an internal level: the ability to breathe fire and a prodigious capacity to dig being the most prominent.

But despite its continuous growth and the strange powers which have manifested, the most shocking, and perhaps most dangerous aspect of this new beast is that it possess the ability to reproduce asexually. In the coming years, this could lead to ravenous hordes of potential super-predators with a taste for flesh. Only time will tell…

Neu Island stands apart from the rest of the world - a shimmering green jewel amidst the cold southern seas – untouched by civilization and filled on every level of its biosphere with strange and wonderful life forms. The strangest and most wonderful of these life forms were undoubtedly the enormous mantids which constituted the verdant island’s alpha-predator role. Varying in all manner of color and growing to the size of a Bison, the Neu Island Mantis can already be considered a monster in its own right.

However, the recent implementation of a Reichsbund facility located on the island’s tallest point – mount Kamakar – has introduced a new element in the form of theoretical weather manipulation through the use of radioactive particle induction. The first test is scheduled to occur within an hour. Three weeks from that day, all contact with the facility will be lost, as will the five consecutive search parties sent to discover why. Neu Island will soon become a quarantine zone, though it is debatable whether or not said quarantine could contain what will soon be unleashed…

The peninsular plains of Κήπωνγη (Kipongi) have long been considered the birthplace of the Griffons. It is also a fascinating geological formation brought about by massive upheavals and enormous glacial shifts throughout time immemorial. The fossil record shows that, at one point, this sprawling chain of peninsulas were once part of a land bridge which connected the Continent to Southernpoint; one that had been covered in vast swaths of conifer trees and populated with fantastic creatures from long ago. One such creature from that period now rests amidst the cavernous rocky cliffs that characterize the Goros peninsula.

Its form has remained literally unchanged from that of its ancestors, and while it simply rest in a mucous lined cocoon, it has not remained unaffected by time. Radiation from an atomic test carried out on a distant island nation months ago has only now made its way to these historic lands, and the virulent energies have already begun to affect the sleeping beast, endowing it with immense size and ferocity. Soon, very soon, this ancient archosaur will rise once more to stalk its ancestral homeland…

The Everfree Forest has long been associated with the strange and the supernatural. Part of its mystique lies in the fact that few have ever been brave enough to enter its dark depths. Even fewer have returned from such a journey. These black and inhospitable woods have also been the progenitor of a hundred-thousand myths and legends. But despite all of this, none would have ever dared to suspect that the Everfree held real monsters within its bosom. Deep in the heart of the massive sprawling forest, there lies an ancient and foreboding stretch of dead and vine-laden woods in which roam a distinctive species of spider – one that seemingly crept from the very depths of our nightmares.

Time has gone by with little change for these arachnids, and had it not been for recent events, it would have remained as such. But the arrival of Gho’Zra had done more than sow devastation – it had also brought with it a scourging miasma of radiation wherever it treaded. As it happened this forbidden stretch of woodland had been crossed upon by the beast, and even now, a handful of those horrific spiders have begun to grow at a terrifying rate. The Everfree has just become that much deadlier…

To the far north of Zebreca, isolated from all of the world, sits the tiny landmass of Infant Island – a land that time forgot and a realm in which the whims of Nature and her very balance are made manifest. Since before recorded time this island has been home to a mysterious race of beings simply called the Castra[1], who consider themselves to be the stewards of a pair of diametrically opposed gods who, throughout time, have constantly been at odds with one another, often clashing with such ferocity as to change the course of the world itself.

These gods are referred to as Modtra, the god of Harmony – a benevolent being who embodies the hopes and dreams of those who would attempt to live in harmony with nature; and Badtra, the god of Balance – a being who embodies Nature’s attempts to balance itself at any cost. Recently the Castra have begun to have visions of a future in which these mortal enemies may one day be forced to combine their efforts for the sake of the world which they protect. For the moment, the future remains cloudy to these strange people who, even now, tend to the eggs in which the latest incarnations of their deities quickly grow in both size and strength. Nature’s hand will soon be shone…

The ruins of Promised Point have been left to lie. They now serve as a monument to the lives lost one dreadful night, when the world was only beginning to understand the threat of Gho’Zra. Magical energies mix with radiation to leave the land fallow and uninhabitable. The very air is electric, and this swirling maelstrom of energy has served as a beacon for a creature long thought to be found only in the fossil record. Arriving from parts unknown, this primordial creature – a strange and otherworldly insect with a taste for blood – has come to call this stricken land its own.

The fae energy which clouds the surrounding air has nourished it in a way it had never before felt, and even now it continues to molt almost constantly as it grows further and further. To make matters worse, the creature is a queen of her species, and she has already begun to lay the foundations of her own hive. In the near future, her hives will constitute an army in and of itself, and the world will know fear…

The nomadic Reindeer who call the frozen tundra of the Continent’s north their home have long held the belief that the mighty blizzards which wrack their homeland are carried upon the back of the sky king, Wrotan. Like so many myths and legends, there is always an element of truth to them. Deep beneath this frozen landscape lies a subterranean hot spring, long claimed by the natives to be the home of the sky king, and attributed by the rest of the world as being the source of the many geysers which dot the snowy landscape.

Residing within this long lost oasis are a pair of enormous eggs, long held dormant and by all accounts dead. If not for the recent nuclear test on an island in the northern sea, they may have very well remained as they were. But as the fallout from the blast envelops its invisible hands across the land, something is beginning to stir from within. In the near future, the ancient Reindeer myths will very much become a reality…

The verdant valley of Vorosh has long been viewed as a garden of paradise for the Cats who live there. It was from here that the Vorosh Valley Duchy was formed, and from there that the Katzereich took shape. Even now, it has become the heart for an even larger empire in the form of the Reichsbund. But the Vorosh Valley is also ancient, and filled with mysteries of its own. The most famous of these mysteries is undoubtedly the ‘Cavern of Ten-thousand Spears’, a unique and unexplainable geological phenomenon that can be found in a massive cave outside of the city of Värum.

What makes this cave so strange is the way in which it seemingly formed – the floor is a veritable forest of massive stalagmites which have been physically documented to move from time to time. While most attribute it to a quirk of nature in all its wonder, there are those few who have the notion that there is something less natural at play here. The recent tectonic disturbance brought about by future nuclear testing will very soon reveal the cave’s true nature for all to see…

Deep within the heart of Southernpoint, situated within a stretch of arable floodplains surrounded on all sides by a massive glacial wall, there lies the famous ‘Star Shower Lake’, a fantastic reservoir created when a celestial body fell from the sky millions of years ago, coming to ground and forming the natural wonder as seen today. Long famed for its ionically charged waters and for the strange electromagnetic properties of the land, ‘Star Shower Lake’ has become a popular tourist destination. However, despite its popularity, few if any know of the dark truth of the matter.

For deep beneath the surface of the lake lies the meteoroid which in truth had nearly brought the world to its knees so many millions of years in the past. It is within this foreign body that a being of alien origin rests – a being filled with malice and spite, and one who will, very soon now, awaken to lay waste to yet another in a long line of worlds…

The murky waters of ‘Tranquility Bay’ are considered to be nothing short of a graveyard. Nothing lives in these cursed waters; not since the day that a weapon of unimaginable power was employed to bring low the beast known as Gho’Zra. The scars of that final confrontation are still present; the water is now a dull and lifeless grey, the once bountiful coral reefs that called these waters home are now gone – dead and scoured from existence. There are no fish. There are no whales or dolphins or seals. There are not even any bacteria left. The sea floor is little more than a dead and rocky landscape. The fear of residual side effects has also resulted in a complete and total quarantine of the bay.

It seems that the legacy of Gho’Zra, and of the Æther Splitter will remain as visible and as potent for centuries to come… Or perhaps even sooner; something has begun to stir from beneath the muddy silt of the seafloor – something ancient, from a time when the very air of the primordial earth was unbreathable. These microscopic, anaerobic organisms – no bigger than the eye of a needle, have at long last reawakened from their stasis; drawn to the lack of oxygen within these waters. They have begun to multiply and to grow, feeding off the potent radiation which still taints the bay. Even nature seems to shudder at the appearance of such creatures.

The legacy of Twilight Sparkle’s device has taken on a new form, and this one may very well mean the end of everything...

Life is fascinating. It thrives at all levels, and is often capable of defying the odds. Such is the case for the island of Maqc-turesch, a place now considered by many to be the start of it all. This once verdant island of Eden was wiped clean from existence in an act of arrogance which set into motion the rise of the beast called Gho’Zra. Yet for all of this, signs of life have indeed started to return upon its blackened beaches and glass-covered hills. Hardy palms and conifer groves, swept in by the tide and carried upon the winds, have taken root, and the island has even now attracted all manner of exotic birds and reptiles to its shores.

The heavy seasonal rains have started to arrive; every time they grace the recovering island, the wounds of a passing era fade more and more. Upon a gentle hill at the heart of this island, something else has been uncovered. It is an egg, large in size and warm to the touch. The rains have sloughed away the aeons of mud, and against all odds it has remained untouched by time. Thunder peels overhead and a single hairline crack appears across the gleaming beige colored shell. Lighting crashes against the sea as another crack forms. Soon enough the egg is finally broken open, and from its confines strides the gangling form of a monster only recently thought destroyed.

However, this beast was not born of fire. It has hatched into the world as something new; it is Gho’Zra, yet it is something purer than Gho’Zra ever was. With large, inquisitive eyes it surveys the world, and as it takes its first full breath of air it opens its mouth and lets loose a delicate roar…

The Age of Monsters has begun…

A picture I drew many months ago

[1]
The Castra are lifted directly from a the CDi game, "Lost Eden", one of the defining influences of my adolescence.

UPDATE: Change Logs and Other things

While Born of Rage is technically finished, it is still a work in progress.

BoR-v1.12 Change Log

As of today, I have added extraneous media segments throughout the story to provide music at key events in the story. This is more for personal aesthetic reasons than anything else.
What follows is a change log containing information on what media was added, and where it can be found:

The Chapter 'Born of Fire' now contains the audio track 'Main Title' as heard in 'The Return of Godzilla'.
The Chapter 'Bathed in Blood' now contains the audio track 'Battra Attacks Nagoya' as heard in 'Godzilla and Mothra; Battle for Earth'.
The Chapter 'From the Sea' now contains the audio tracks 'Junior Vs Destroyah II' and 'Godzilla Vs Destroyah V' as heard in 'Godzilla Vs Destroyah'.
The Chapter 'All Brought Low' now contains the audio track 'Destruction God's Descent' as heard in 'Godzilla Vs Spacegodzilla'.
The Chapter 'By Vengeful Hands' now contains the audio track 'Godzilla Vs Biollante - Wakasa' as heard in 'Godzilla Vs Biollante'
The Chapter 'Righteous Fury' now contains the audio track 'Oxygen Destroyer' as heard in 'Godzilla'.
The Chapter 'Roaring Storm Clouds' now contains the audio tracks 'Godzilla Vs King Ghidorah II' as heard in 'Godzilla Vs King Ghidorah', 'Hyper Battle Area Suspense Normal' as heard in 'Godzilla Vs Spacegodzilla', and 'Main Title' as heard in 'Godzilla and Mothra; Battle for Earth'.
The Chapter 'Blackest Day' now contains the audio tracks 'Godzilla Vs Destroyah: Main Title/ Hong Kong Destruction', 'Godzilla Vs Destroyah I', 'Godzilla Vs Destroyah II', 'Godzilla Vs Destroyah III', 'Godzilla Vs Destroyah IV', 'Godzilla Vs Super X III' and 'Super X III Sortie' as heard in 'Godzilla Vs Destroyah'. Also included are the tracks 'Godzilla Vs Mothra' and 'Battra's Theme: Faster Version Full Size' from 'Godzilla and Mothra; Battle for Earth, as well as the track 'Farewell my Homeland' from 'Godzilla Vs King Ghidorah' and the track 'Godzilla Arrives at Oshima' as heard in 'The Return of Godzilla'.
The Chapter 'The Final Say' now contains (in addition to the already present track 'Ending' from 'The Return of Godzilla') the audio track 'Godzilla at the Ocean Floor' as heard in 'Godzilla'.
The Epilogue, 'Nature Has a Way' now contains the audio track 'Ending' as heard in 'Godzilla Vs Destroyah'.
...
The First three chapters have also undergone minor editions in spelling and punctuation. However, nothing of import has been truly changed.

A new side-story has been uploaded to the site. It covers an unseen moment that takes place during the chapter 'Roaring Storm Clouds', and follows the character of Hauptmann Spitzer as he confronts his father for the first time in thirty years. The link to it can be found HERE.

Finally, I have two new art pieces pertaining to the story. They are actually fairly old, but I could never find an appropriate chapter in which to put them.

This is one of the first concept pieces I made, shortly before publishing the first chapter. If it looks rushed, that's because it was.

This is the revised title piece, which I finished around the time that 'The Hand of Fate' was published. This would, in theory, be the actual cover art for the story, however, I decided against it due to the fact it is not colored and I really didn't want to spend so much time messing with it in Photoshop. Perhaps in the future I might do it though.

BoR-v1.23 Change Log

Minor typographical errors have been corrected

Work has now begun on an official timeline for the BoR cannon, as such, many errors involving given time have been corrected in anticipation of the published timeline.

The Chapter 'Bathed in Blood' - An instance where Gho'Zra was spelled incorrectly has been corrected to coincide with later chapters.
The Chapter 'From the Sea' - the length of time that had passed from the atomic test to the present time of the chapter has been changed from eleven weeks to sixteen weeks in order to correct a discrepancy in the overall timeline (had it remained eleven weeks, this would have meant that Gho'Zra would have had to have gone back in time after destroying the Happy Dragon No. 7 in order to arrive on the island when he did).
The Chapter 'A Rising Flood' - The chapter has undergone minor editions to textual and typographical errors, as well as the restructuring of a few sentences.
The Chapter 'Darkness Spreads' - An instance where Gho'Zra was spelled incorrectly has been corrected to coincide with later chapters. The ethnic name of Promised Point has been correctly changed in order to line up with prior chapters. The chapter has also undergone slight textual corrections. A handful of extra words were added to insure clarity was maintained during dialogue.
The Chapter 'Across the Land' - Major textual inclusions have been added to this chapter for the sake of coherency; I have had to add entire sentences in order to make sense of some portions of the story. I was most likely inebriated when I was typing much of this chapter. An instance where Gho'Zra was spelled incorrectly has been corrected to coincide with later chapters. Finally, an entire footnote was actually added, because I somehow missed it! Furthermore, I've reconfigured the footnote system to conform with those found in later chapters, as this was the first chapter I used footnotes in, and thus it was highly experimental.
The Chapter 'All Brought Low' - Words have been changed for portions of this chapter to allow for more clarity. Formatting styles have been implemented, and a few spelling errors have been corrected. Superfluous words and statements have been redacted, and at least one paragraph has been re-positioned in order to better streamline the overall narrative.
The Chapter 'By Vengeful Hands' - Only minor changes to grammar, and few spelling errors have been corrected. Finally, a footnote has been added to explain one potential discrepancy.
The Chapter 'Righteous Fury' - Entire sentences have been both redacted and added for the sake of clarity and consistency. Punctuation errors have been fixed, and grammar structure improved in several key areas. References to prior events have been normalized into the overall flow. The occurrence of no less than three repeating sentences has been removed.
The Chapter 'Burning Hate' - Nothing major, just a few textual changes and punctuation added. Form-tense of several words have been changed to allow for smoother reading.
The Chapter 'None Can Stay' - Mention of 'Operation Feuerschein' has finally been added to this chapter - it is in my original copy of this chapter, and I can't for the life of me figure why it wasn't in the final draft. I'll chalk it up to user error and leave it at that. A very minor change in regard to verb-tense has been added in several places to insure smoother reading.Format style changes have been added to many words which should have had them to begin with. Several instances of run-on sentences have been corrected, and a number of new words have been added to better facilitate sentence comprehension; there were several instances of entire sentence topics being dropped in favor of tangents. The number of days alluded to in the first section has been changed from two to three. Handful of words have been removed for the sake of clarity. Major changes have been made to the beginning of the second section to comply with the actual time of day - e.g. it is cold in the morning, as opposed to hot. An instance where Gho'Zra was spelled incorrectly has been corrected to coincide with later chapters. The world 'Colonel' has been completely expunged from this chapter and replaced with the analogous title of 'Oberst'. A series of strange style formatting phenomena have been either corrected or removed. Reference to the Wüstenläufer Regiment has been reinstated as well.
The Chapter 'The Hand of Fate' - Extremely minor editions made. Simple two letter words added, and one word reconfigured to convey a less ambiguous meaning.
The Chapter 'Roaring Storm Clouds' - Several editorial omissions, including one extreme instance of timing inconsistency. Reference to Katzereich colonial holdings have been made more overt to further build upon prior portions of the preceding chapter. The rare occurrence of a dangling participle has been ruthlessly eliminated, and replaced with a proper sentence structure at the beginning of the act two.
The Chapter 'Blackest Day' - very minor editing of punctuation - a lack of closing quotation marks was notable for much of this chapter and can only be attributed to the effects of my insomnia. The word 'pintel' has, strangely enough, been added. Further expository language has been added to a scene in which Gho'Zra falls into a minefield in order to provide better clarity. The word 'rolled' has been substituted by 'cart-wheeled' in order to better convey the action of a particular scene.
The Chapter 'Death Shall Have' - Several lines have been rewritten in order to comply with prior paragraphs. Further lines have been reorganized to allow for better comprehension. A few words that should have been there to begin with have now finally been added. There have also been a few spelling errors corrected. Surprisingly, there were no punctuation issues to speak of.
The Chapter 'The Final Say' - An entire sentence was added to the tent scene in order to correct a intro-canonical error. Punctuation errors were corrected, and a few minor words were added to fix certain mistakes.

Work has finally come to a close upon the short story, "Born of Rage - Night Terror", a side-story which covers the fate of the Pegasus Fluttershy, and takes place between the chapters "Roaring Storm Clouds" and "Blackest Day". It has finally been approved, and can be found using a link provided on Born of Rage's synopsis page.

BoR-v1.3 Changelog

A new original cover image has finally been made and implemented.

A third round of editions have been made to insure integrity of the story.

Work is currently being made on the new story 'Born of Rage: Underworld'. It will be finished most likely before February of 2016.

Author's Note

Sorry, this isn't a chapter; it's a change log - one that will continually receive periodic updates until at such time as I have perfected this story and feel that there is no more need to update it.

You are free to ignore this and go about your business. However, I would strongly advise rereading the entire story with the new elements included; I actually finished doing just that, and I'm actually fairly impressed with how good it managed to come out in the end!

However, if you don't feel like doing that, I would instead make a request of you; please, spread the word about this story. Provide links, offer reviews, what ever it takes. I want this story to be seen by as many people as possible. If this sounds selfish, that's because it rather much is. I've spent a lot of time and effort in making this story, and while I have been nothing if not pleased, I would nevertheless like it if more people were to actually read it.

All in all, this story has been a fantastic experience, and I'm glad I wrote it. Thank you all, and God bless.

Sincerely,
Gustauve Drakenhime III