The Avatar of Albion: Tales of the War.

Chapters

Prologue: The Age of Heroes.
The Battle of Manchester: Grey Squadron's Last Flight.
The Freedom Caravan.
To Err Is Human.
Knight.
The Great Exodus.
Q is for Quiet
Meet Upsilon Squadron
Falling Under Your Spell
Sam.
Convie.
The Iron Wall
Oracle
The Mark of Cain
In The End
The Last Report of Agent Sweetie Drops.
The Fall of Upsilon Squadron.

Prologue: The Age of Heroes.

Written by Jed R.

In the year 2020, an island appeared in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Upon this island was a portal: this portal, impassible by human beings or their technology, led to the magical land of Equestria, home of a species of sentient ponies: it was a magical land, once a beacon of friendship and hope - but a place that would soon become something much darker.

In 2022, a barrier of energy toxic to human life and utterly destructive to man-made technologies, began slowly expanding across the planet Earth. It's source was the portal to Equestria. What no one could have known was that, in Equestria, the once benevolent Celestia had turned into something far, far worse.

One by one, nations fell. People died running from the barrier, people died fighting it, people chose to die at their own hands. Many, however, chose not to die but to live instead: the Conversion Bureaus, buildings built with the purpose of converting humans into soul-damaged, brainwashed ponies, were more than happy to accommodate them.

The entire world fell before this power in only two years, two years of terror, panic and desperation. The entire planet fell: of seven and half billion people on Earth, over five billion chose to surrender to ponification, and the remaining two and a half billion died.

The only place to be spared the destruction of the human race and the world they had once ruled was one damp little island. Though they had never realised it, never suspected it, the people of the islands of a Great Britain and Ireland had lived on land with it's own magical protection, a protection Equestria's energy field could not penetrate. On this damp little set of islands, one hundred and forty million human beings, the only remaining humans left in the whole world, survived, protected by a power only a handful understood. This insult to her power the tyrant Celestia could not stand. She declared herself the Empress Astra Solamina, leader of the new Equestrian Empire, and decreed that it was the divine right of the ponies to conquer and slaughter or convert the humans.

And so, with the combined forces of billions of converted humans and other ponies, the nation of Equestria attacked Britain, seeking to lay low the last of humanity, huddled on that small isle.

It was never a fair war. It was a war of retreats, holding measures, last stands, heroic sacrifice - and in many cases, cowardice and betrayal. It was a war that might one day become the stuff of legend, a war that would one day - many years from that day - become known as an age, not merely of darkness, but of heroes as well. But if they were heroes, they were heroes of desperation. If a man stayed behind to fight a desperate last stand, he did so because he had no hope. If a woman stood her ground and faced death to save her children for a day, she did so fully expecting them to die the next day, but content that they would live one more day. No one fought with any hope.

One day - tomorrow, the next day, the day after that, none could say - they knew they would fall. It was an age of darkness. The last days of mankind.

And then, out of that darkness, there stepped a hero. A shining beacon of hope. The Avatar of Albion, the vengeance of humanity incarnate.

And yet... though without him, there would have been no victory, it was not his victory alone. There were many long years between the first strike of that war and the final stand, and many fought to hold the islands of Britain against the hordes of Solamina's Empire. It was the age of heroes.

And these are their stories...

***

Timeline of The Equestrian Crisis.

2020: The year of the so-called "Equestrian Crisis" beginning.

A small island materialises in the Pacific Ocean. Geologists sent to investigate discover an impassable portal upon that island: no probes can mass through, and even living human matter is repelled or destroyed. Shortly after this, the ponies of Equestria make first contact, initially seeming amenable to friendly relations.

2021: The ponification potion is developed by Princesses Luna and Celestia, and the first Conversion Bureaus are set up, ostensibly with the purpose of allowing diplomats to enter Equestria and report on their findings. Fringe groups - such as Ponification for Earth's Rebirth and the Human Liberation Front - are formed in this time, and several dozen riots occur across the planet when the two clash.

2022: In Equestria, Princess Luna dies. This is attributed to illness, but this raises some suspicions among the populace. The Night Guard is quietly retired - unbeknownst to most ponies, they are all but exterminated. The Eclipse Guard is incorporated.

The Equestrian Barrier begins expanding across the planet. Military measures are attempted to halt it, but none are even partially successful. Members of the PER attempt to assassinate Queen Elizabeth II and many other political and military leaders, though their attempts are less than successful in most cases. Queen Elizabeth dies fighting, shooting herself rather than submitting to capture. King Charles III rises to the throne of Britain. David Elliot joins the UK military.

2023: Humanity begins a slow retreat from the Barrier. Millions die. Millions more take the ponification potion. Across the world, the best and worst of humanity may be witnessed. The formation of the Sanctified Republic of Gilead occurs in the ashes of the United States of America, leading millions to sacrifice their children in the vain hope of stopping the barrier. Doomsday cults, religious fanatics and renegade HLF units all strive to destroy the Barrier or fight it somehow, but nothing succeeds. Meanwhile, the human race converges first on Europe, which is slated to be the last landmass to fall completely, and then when Europe begins to fall and more extremists spring up, the British Isles, the last landmass on Earth to exist free of the Barrier.

2024: The Barrier is stopped by the magical field surrounding the British Isles. This is hailed as a miracle by many. Shortly afterward, the Pony Exodus reaches Britain's shores: several thousand ponies escaping Equestria explain to the human defenders exactly what has happened in Equestria, and warn of the incoming invasion. Thanks to their help, the human defenders are ready. In Equestria, Celestia declares herself Empress, taking the name Astra Solamina Maxima. She decrees that Britain and the humans it harbours have become an affront to Equestria's sovereignty and dignity and must be destroyed. Shortly afterward, the Equestrian Resistance Army is incorporated. The War, known by no other name, begins.

2025: During this year, the war intensifies. Millions of people are killed, and several towns and cities, including Lancaster and Goole, are lost, with mothers such as Leeds being devastated by the fighting. King Charles III is killed aboard the HMS Defender by Wonderbolts and the Defender herself is sunk. The naval vessels HMS Prince of Wales, USS Constitution, HMCS Vancouver and the HMAS Stuart are all sunk by Equestrian forces, though over one hundred capital ships, including recommissioned vessels such as the HMS Illustrious, remain intact, continuing to act as the first line of defence for the British Isles.

February 19th, 2025. Battle of Hull.

April 12th, 2025. Battle of Whitby.

2026:

March 10th, 2026. Battle of Manchester, destruction of the ERAS Harmonious Order. Grey Squadron all but annihilated, remaining members disband.

2028:

November 10th, 2028. Battle of Dover. John Constantine approaches David Elliot, offering to give the human defenders a powerful weapon. Elliot agrees to help him. Death of Rarity, who is killed by the newly awakened "Avatar of Albion", incarnated in Elliot.

November 12th, 2028. The Avatar of Albion is transferred to "special operations", giving him and a selection of ponies and humans he chooses special dispensation to do whatever they feel is necessary. Elliot begins fighting on the hardest fronts, lending his new powers to the defence of the most beleaguered cities.

2029:

January 11th, 2029. Fluttershy submits to execution by Albion in Sherwood Forest.

6th March, 2029. Defection of Prince Blueblood. He later becomes the Pony representative on the Council, and the leader of the Equestrian Government-In-Exile.

March 10th, 2029. Applejack killed while leading raiding forces on an attack on British farmland.

December 25th, 2029. Death of Rainbow Dash at Buckingham Palace.

2030:

January 19th, 2030: Battle of London begins.

January 23rd, 2030. Death of Pinkie Pie at the hands of David Elliot.

January 24th, 2030. Death of Shining Armour, death of True Grit.

January 25th, 2030. Events of The Avatar of Albion begin.

Author's Note

And so begins the First Anthology, a collection of short stories and other pieces expanding the universe of The Avatar of Albion.

Initially, expanded universe stories happened in the main story itself by way of "Interludes", however these - while good for the purpose of expanding the story - are limited in what they can achieve, and there are many more stories in the world of TAOA than can be fit into a small number of Interludes. Instead of relying on them to continue the expansion of the universe, therefore, I decided that a separate "Anthology" should be set up for stories that wouldn't necessarily "fit" the main story as Interludes but still deserved to be told.

Anyone who wants to may submit a story to the Anthology by PM-ing me. :-)

The Battle of Manchester: Grey Squadron's Last Flight.

A short story co-written by Jed R and RoyalPsycho.

***

Dramatis Personae:

Grey Squadron.

Ditzy "Derpy" Doo (Grey Leader). Pegasus Female.

Butter Mellow (Grey Two). Pegasus Male.

Lightning Dust (Grey Three). Pegasus Female.

Errant Flight (Grey Four). Pegasus Male

Little Wing (Grey Five). Pegasus Female

Sharp Tip (Grey Six). Pegasus Female.

Cloud Ranger (Grey Seven). Pegasus Female.

Jagged Course (Grey Eight). Pegasus Female.

Head Strong (Grey Nine). Pegasus Male.

Royal Flush (Grey Ten). Pegasus Male.

Swift Wing (Grey Eleven). Pegasus Male.

Orange Swirl (Grey Twelve). Pegasus Female.

Red Arrows.

Jacob Snow (Arrow One). Human Male.

Thomason (Arrow Three). Human Male.

Janice Clark (Arrow Seven). Human Female.

Resistance Command.

Colonel Paul Watts (Manchester Garrison Commander). Human Male.

Captain Ever Stern (Equestrian Resistance Ground Commander). Earth Pony Male.

Lieutenant David Elliot (Manchester Garrison XO). Human Male.

Corporal Sandra Church (Watts' PA). Human Female.

***

For Ditzy Doo, often known colloquially as Derpy Hooves, the worst part of any battle was always the waiting, especially when she knew that the battle had already started elsewhere and had yet to reach her. She had never regretted leaving Equestria, joining her old friend and other ponies from across the land in a mass exodus to the human Earth and fighting the insane tyranny her home had become but there was still so much she was still not comfortable with, even after so long. Killing was at the top of the list.

Still at least at Manchester she wasn't expected to fight just right now. This was probably the safest garrison duty she had ever handled, which was why the garrison was being dismantled to the bare bones; all non-essential personnel were being shipped off to other theatres and soon enough Grey Squadron would join them. Things were actually rather calm in this portion of the country. Equestria had been concentrating more of its assaults on the south, the Royal Navy had successfully intercepted several attempted assaults before they could reach land and even Equestrian covert infiltration had been failing according to some of the reports Ditzy had been given lately. In fact, Grey Squadron's assignment in Manchester seemed more like a form of rest and relaxation than anything else.

Ditzy hadn't seen much of Manchester, the base was on the outskirts of the city and apparently the rest of Grey Squadron hadn't bothered to take a look either. Lightning Dust, Royal Flush and Head Strong had all tried to individually organise their own excursions into town but they had all fallen on deaf ears. The team was not very enthusiastic about actually going anywhere. They had a chance to relax and lie down and it seemed they were going to take it.

Ditzy looked at her squadmates barely three metres away from her. They were all bunched together, some were chatting, others, like herself were sitting alone contemplating something. Royal Flush was playing Solitaire, nopony willing to actually try beating him at cards anymore. The runway they were sitting on was actually an old paved road that had been abandoned and then appropriated for the army. They were all sitting on the edge, keeping out of the way of the few planes that were still stationed there. Sharp Tip, ever the optimist, had suggested that the grass would probably be more comfortable to lie on and the others had agreed with the young energetic flyer. In this day and age small comforts were all they could afford and all the more precious for it.

Away from them the human crews stationed at the airfield also moved in a more casual manner than any Ditzy had seen before. Ditzy and the rest of Grey Squadron had been briefed on this group and had learnt that they were called the Red Arrows. According to what Ditzy had learnt the group used to be stunt flyers or something like that, sort of like the Wonderbolts. Lightning Dust had immediately taken a dislike to them for that - she had a bit of a bad history with stunt flyers - but they seemed pleasant enough.

They were largely safe here in Manchester and they still had quite some time before they would have to prepare to leave for wherever their next assignment was. Of course that didn't mean they were lazy. They moved with a seemingly lackadaisical efficiency that almost masked their constant readiness.

“Oi boss, what are you doing over there?” a rough exuberant voice called out to her, jarring her from her revere.

Ditzy turned to where the rest of Grey Squadron were lounging and saw Head Strong waving at her.

"C'mere and sit with us,” he invited, sounding cheerful.

Ditzy rose to her hooves and made her way over to where Head Strong was sitting in a loose circle with Orange Swirl, Errant Flight, Cloud Ranger and Butter Mellow.

Ditzy took her place in the circle as Butter Mellow and Errant Flight shuffled aside a bit to make room. Pleased that his captain had joined them Head Strong returned to what he was saying. Apparently he had been regaling the group of their last fight over the Isle of Mann.

“All right so there I was, on my own, we had just hit the Guard with everything we had and the buckers were all over the place. I noticed that I must have hit them right in the middle because there were hundreds of them all over me suddenly!"

"Wow!" exclaimed Sharp Tip, a cheerful young mare who was the latest member of the Squadron. "Sounds scary!"

"It was!" Head Strong said. "Especially the way they just got over my corkscrewing - but I guess they were getting used to it by then or something.” He paused to take a breath and collect his words. Everything he had just said was spoken in the fast paced tone that he always used. Everypony was nodding along, though more than a few of them looked a little bemused. “Anyway like five of them were suddenly charging at me with their spears down so I thought quickly and turned around. I bucked as hard as I ever had, I've caused storm clouds to go off in every direction with these legs.” He slapped said hind legs fondly. “And I got two of their spears off balance, one even dropped theirs. So I span into action again and kicked another who just appeared in front of me. I forgot my blades were out so I took out a good chunk of his pretty face before I noticed.”

“You sure you weren't just flailing around like you always do?” Cloud Ranger interrupted, a cocky grin on her face. Head Strong gave her a look of grave shock and insult.

“You think I couldn't have done all of that. I'm a much better fighter than you anyway," he replied with conviction. “I've taken on way more Guard ponies than you have, I was here at the very beginning and I can tell you that I am one of the best flyers that this outfit has ever seen”.

Cloud Ranger could only give Head Strong an amused smirk as he defended his image.

"We all know you're all hot air," the voice of Little Wing, another member of the squadron, spoke. Her tone was caustic, but it didn't match up to the knowing grin on her face. "Face it, Strong, you're a second rater."

"Second rater?" Head Strong said, eyes wide. "How dare you! Why I oughta...!"

"Oughta what?" the measured voice of Swift Wing, Little Wing's big brother, spoke, his tone calm and polite and yet somehow dangerous at the same time, even though he too was grinning.

"I oughta... have strong words with your sister," Head Strong said, gulping slightly. "About the measure of her language."

"She sounded just fine to me," Swift Wing said calmly, his grin widening.

"Yes," Head Strong squeaked. "Fine."

Everypony laughed: trust Swift Wing to be able to put Head Strong in line, he had been dealing with his somewhat immature little sister, as well as his young cousin Dark Wing, for years, and dealing with Head Strong was little different to dealing with them most of the time.

Ditzy continued listening to their banter but she could tell that the everypony else was phasing them out. Mann had been a difficult one for them all; they had clearly underestimated the enemy and almost paid for it with their lives. Worse, they had lost one of the squadron - Wall Flower, a rather soft-spoken young Pegasus with an innocent smile and an almost-naïve worldview quite at odds with his combat ability, had been downed at the battle of Mann. Sharp Tip was his replacement.

Ditzy's eyes scanned the squadron, until she saw Butter Mellow. The pony was sat alone, his greying mane glinting softly in the sunlight. Ditzy walked over to him.

"Thinking about Wall Flower?" she asked.

"Him, Silver Lining, Quiet Glide, Jaded Heart..." the older pony replied softly. "I'm the medic. My job is to keep you all alive."

"The fact that Grey Squadron has only lost four ponies in our time on operation is proof that you've done your bit," Ditzy pointed out. Mellow chuckled.

"If you say so, Ditz," he said softly. "How's Dinky?"

Ditzy smiled softly to herself. "Still enjoying running around doing errand work for Representative Cheerilee. I don't think she quite gets yet what's going on, that I've kept her from the front."

"As long as she is kept from the front, that's what matters," Mellow said, sighing slightly. "I just hope we don't have another fight like Mann to contend with for a while."

"Me too," Ditzy agreed. The fighting over the Isle of Mann had been some of the most brutal they had experienced, with little support and less of anything else. Still that had been a while ago and most of the ponies of Grey Squadron didn't like to think about it anymore.

Just as Head Strong had finished taking another breath to continue his side of the story a loud noise took them all by surprise. Thunder started sounding in the distance. Butter Mellow shared a glance with Ditzy, before looking up at the sky. There had been no sign of rainclouds - as Pegasi, most of them were well accustomed to the feeling of weather changes, even in a world where weather was far less predictable - but now they could see a large, dark grey cloud looming over the city ominously, like the hand of fate stretching over the sky. Being Pegasi, they knew when things like the weather were off.

"That doesn't look right at all," Butter Mellow murmured to himself, and Ditzy found herself nodding.

"Grey Squadron," she called out. "Scramble for combat, this looks bad."

At once, the squadron scrambled, moving to retrieve equipment and pack up their gear.

Royal Flush quickly packed his cards away and put them by the rest of their belongings. Head Strong and Cloud Ranger's friendly argument was immediately forgotten and everypony was moving to grab their wrist blades and attach them onto their forehooves. The folded metal blades were carefully locked into position as the ponies quickly and calmly prepared for another engagement with the forces of Equestria.

"What d'you reckon it is, boss?" Lightning Dust asked, the auburn-maned Pegasus staring at the sky with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

Ditzy looked up at the cloud, narrowing her eyes at it, both eyes focusing for once on their target.

"Trouble," she said.

***

Five minutes earlier...

Resistance Command.

Manchester's Resistance Command was a co-operative venture between Captain Ever Stern's Equestrian Resistance ponies and the BDF garrison under the command of Colonel Paul Watts. Though by now many people tended to see the two armies as one, they were still separate units that were cooperating, rather than one army.

Captain Stern's cutie mark - a hammer and anvil - was the only hint the pony had ever had a destiny outside of the military. As far as Corporal Sandra Church, the command staff PA was concerned, the pony looked like he had been born to crush skulls: he was tall, strong, and was often remarked to be the toughest pony in the Equestrian Resistance.

Right now, he was having an argument with the Colonel. Watts was a stern-faced, grey haired man with dead eyes and a soft voice, who commanded with subtlety, intellect and a sharp tactical eye. He and Stern were disagreeing about the stripping of Manchester Garrison.

"I still say the re-appropriation of garrison forces is a bad idea," Stern was saying, his voice stressed. "We cannot hope to hold this location against an attack in its current undermanned state."

"I agree, the stripping back is hardly desirable," Watts said, sounding frustrated, "but I've repeatedly told you, Captain, we are losing ground and forces fast. Hull, Whitby, Scarborough and Dover have all reported raids and strikes, and Plymouth has been bogged down for weeks now. We have lost several thousand soldiers and over a million civilians in the last three weeks alone, and most of our off-mainland bases have been completely abandoned. We are stretched too thin."

"So the Council responds by ordering us to abandon this position?" Stern said. "We can't keep abandoning the defences of towns and cities like this! We've lost Lancaster, and several other small villages, to raiding strikes. Abandoning these posts will only deplete us sooner!"

"And you'd rather we retreat from our coastal bases?" Watts asked, incredulous. "You do know what we're facing, Captain? Three billion militia ponies at last intel count. There is no retreat."

"I know how many they have," Stern said, his voice icy. "But I still don't think..."

The rumble of thunder distracted them from their argument, and they frowned, looking up. Sandra looked up too. Suddenly, Lieutenant Elliot, a dark haired young man with stubble and tired eyes, ran into the room.

"Colonel, sir!" he yelled. "I think you'd better see this!"

***

Above Manchester, the giant dark cloud began rumbling with even more thunder. Flashes began appearing from within. Suddenly, flashes of lightning rained down, smashing into the ground - defensive turrets were smashed aside, vehicles exploded as lightning bolts impacted them, and soldiers began running from concentrated rows of bolts that seemed almost aimed.

Then suddenly, from within the cloud, a large, egg shaped construction appeared. It was hundreds of metres long, and it's side was covered in portholes and firing steps, upon which stood unicorns aplenty, potion-bombs in their hooves and spells building on their horns. The entire thing was covered in golden superstructure with tapestries hung from its side upon which were depicted the greatest moments of Equestria history - the defeat of Discord, the banishment of Nightmare Moon, the conflict with Sombra... all were depicted. At the head of the massive construction was a golden statue of a majestic Alicorn rearing up. Upon its flank was the symbol of a shining sun, glinting yellow in the sunshine, underneath which was a name printed in bold golden letters.

Descending from the clouds was none other than the super-Zeppelin Equestrian Royal Air Ship Harmonious Order, the most powerful war-Zeppelin ever built. She was the pride of Astra Solamina Maxima's fleet, the most deadly Zeppelin in history, and she was descending upon Manchester at a rate of knots, an escort of several hundred Equestrian Royal Guard Pegasi flying around her.

***

"My God," Watts said, looking up at the sky. He was somewhat shaken by the thunder that had struck the base (though thankfully not injuring anyone), but his wits were still with him. "Scramble air defences."

"What air defences?" Ever Stern muttered darkly. "The thunder-barrage took out half our turrets, and we've only got Grey Squadron and a single bludgeon-fighter unit on standby."

"Get them out there then!" Watts snapped. "Double time! We don't have much time before that thing descends! Sound the alarm - we need to get the people into the shelters!"

***

Across the base complex and the city itself, a low, wailing droning sound began ringing out into the air, catching everyone's attention. In the city, soldiers began ushering civilians into their shelters, preparing to defend their position against the oncoming enemy.

At the impromptu airfield, the entire complement of personnel erupted into an organised chaos. Pilots were running back and forth, mechanics that had been carefully checking the planes were now fuelling and arming them as quickly as they could, fixing minor problems and warning the pilots of any potential problems they would face in an extended engagement. Said pilots had grabbed their helmets and comm links and jumped into their cockpits, taking preflight checks and, in several cases, psyching themselves up for combat.

Grey Squadron had not been lazy either. Even before the general alert went out, they had jumped into readiness, and now were performing their own preflight checks. Each of them, in addition to their own gear, was holding a packet of C4 with a timer attached.

"Hey, Mellow," Lightning Dust said softly to Butter Mellow as they prepared. "You ok?"

"I'm fine, Dust," the older pony replied. He gave her a soft grin. "Don't worry. I'm ready."

"I'll watch your back as best I can, ok Doc?" Lightning said to her friend. Mellow had been something of a mentor for Lightning Dust during her time in the Equestrian Resistance Air Force, keeping her from slipping back into her old self-destructive and selfish ways, and she repaid him by covering him in the sky, especially given his comparatively lacking combat skills.

"I appreciate it, kid," Butter Mellow said softly. "Now go get ready."

Lightning Dust nodded, and with a final smile strapped her own C4 on.

"Everypony, check your weapons!" Ditzy called out to them all. "The air is a real bad place to find yourself short a weapon cos it came off!"

"It only happened twice," Head Strong muttered.

"It looks like a standard super-Zeppelin!" Ditzy yelled. "We'll go for the traditional C4 approach - flight leaders will approach the Zeppelin with their C4 package, try to set it on the Zeppelin and then GTBO! Wingmen will provide cover, and set their own C4 if their flight leader gets downed or distracted. We clear, ponies?!"

A chorus of affirmatives reached Ditzy's ears. She nodded.

"What about the enemy forces?" Swift Wing asked.

"We'll be helped out by the Red Arrows," Ditzy replied softly, "but we're largely on our own. Just stick to flying rings around the buckers and we should be fine."

The squadron exchanged glances. They knew it wouldn't be so easy - and so did Ditzy - but openly acknowledging just how hard it would be was pointless.

"Alright!" Ditzy said, getting their attention as she turned to face the sky. "Grey Squadron: let's rock!"

She took off into the sky, racing toward the oncoming horde of enemy Pegasi. A moment later, the rest of Grey followed. Butter Mellow and Lightning Dust quickly caught up to Ditzy, who was their flight leader, with Lightning flanking her on the left and Mellow on the right.

"All flyers," Ditzy said, speaking into her comm-link. "Sound off."

"Grey Two," Butter Mellow's voice came in, "ready and able."

"Grey Three - let's do this!" Lightning Dust said, sounding too eager.

"Grey Four on station," the voice of Errant Flight, an experienced and calm flyer, spoke next.

"Grey Five, standing by," Little Wing said next, sounding as though she relished the chance for combat.

"This is Grey Six, ready," Sharp Tip said cheerfully.

"Grey Seven, on hoof," Cloud Ranger said.

"Grey Eight," the voice of Jagged Course, a rather clumsy pony who had a reputation for being almost as bad as ponies used to think Ditzy was, spoke. "Ready."

"Grey Nine, aye," Head Strong said quickly.

"Grey Ten," Royal Flush put in. "Reporting in - feeling lucky."

"Grey Eleven, standing by," Swift Wing said, echoing his sister.

"Grey Twelve," the voice of Orange Swirl, a pony from Ponyville who had lost great deal during the war, spoke. "Ready."

"Alright," Ditzy said to her team. "One Flight and I will run rings round the centre lines, try to confuse them and keep them off everypony's backs. Two and Three Flight will cut them up on the left and right flanks. Royal Flush, you and Four Flight are up for taking the Zeppelin first."

"Betcha we can get it," Royal Flush replied cockily.

"I'll take that bet if we all get home in one piece," Butter Mellow said quietly.

"Chill, Mellow," Lightning said easily. "We got this."

"Cut the chatter," Ditzy chided them as they approached the enemy lines. "Execute on my mark!"

They drew slowly closer to the enemy's approaching line.

"Mark!" Ditzy yelled.

At once, ponies from each flight began executing the famed "corkscrew" manoeuvre. Ditzy span, her blades unfolding. She closed her eyes briefly as she made contact with the enemy - she could feel her razor sharp blades cutting through armour and flesh, and felt a soft spray of blood against her face. She opened her eyes, straightened her course, and flew dead ahead, aiming for the Zeppelin, before banking right, hoping to draw some ponies off of Royal Flush. Flush's team, meanwhile, began the long flight to their target.

"They're all over me!" she heard the voice of Orange Swirl say, panicking.

"Stay on target!" Swift Wing told her, his voice calm.

"There's too many!" Orange yelled again.

"Stay on target!" Wing insisted.

An ear piercing scream whined in Ditzy's earpiece. She saw the figure of a pony in a distinctive Grey Squadron shirt falling from the sky, a wing torn off, and briefly closed her eyes.

"Grey Twelve is down!" she heard Royal Flush yell.

"Grey Lead!" she heard the voice of Butter Mellow. "Permission to -!"

"Denied," Ditzy said heavily. "Concentrate on keeping these buckers off the rest of our team!"

"Roger," Mellow said, sounding unhappy. Ditzy saw him charge into a horde of hostile ponies, corkscrewing straight through them. Ditzy sighed - Mellow was going to get himself killed doing that.

"Grey Three, cover Grey Two," she said softly.

"On it, boss," came the confident voice of Lightning Dust.

As the young pony raced after her friend/mentor, Ditzy charged after one pony who was on Little Wing's tail. Lowering one blade, she raked the Guard across the back - he arched in pain, before falling from the sky.

"Thanks, Lead!" Little Wing said quickly, racing off.

"No problem," Ditzy replied.

"Grey Leader, this is Arrow One," a new voice spoke in Ditzy's ear - this was the voice of Jacob Snow, the leader of the Red Arrow squadron.

"Arrow One, go ahead," Ditzy said.

"We're starting our bludgeon run now," Snow said, the epitome of calm. "You might want to warn your ponies to steer clear."

"Roger that," Ditzy said. "All flyers be advised, bludgeon fighters inbound."

A series of acknowledgments came through the communicator. Shortly afterward, a droning sound came to Ditzy's ears. She turned, to see the Red Arrows incoming, and despite herself, she smiled.

They might actually have a chance.

***

Sharp Tip, a young and somewhat inexperienced flyer, was torn between two feelings. The first was exhilaration - she was flying with Grey Squadron, in her first real action. So exciting! The second was terror - all around her, ponies were falling. Orange Swirl was already gone - the flyer had been a nice pony, fun to be around, and her death was a shock to Sharp Tip's system.

Nonetheless, Sharp Tip was determined to do her best by her friends.

"All flyers be advised," the tinny voice of Grey Leader came through. "Bludgeon fighters inbound."

"Roger, Grey Leader," Sharp Tip replied smartly. She immediately kept her eyes open for the Red Arrows, the only bludgeon fighters in Manchester. A moment later, she saw them.

The Red Arrows Hawk aircraft had once been streamlined, albeit still deadly, trainer aircraft, best used for the purpose of aerobatics and other such pursuits. Now, however, they had been transformed into deadly, armoured bludgeon-fighters. The only real way for human flyers to fight the much smaller and faster Pegasi, prior to the development of the bludgeon-fighter tactic, was for them to be in helicopter gunships, but bludgeon fighters had been developed to do a human equivalent of Grey Squadron's favoured "scattering" technique - simply put, they bludgeoned their way through Pegasi. The only problem was that they ran the risk of bludgeoning friendlies too, but that was considered an acceptable risk.

As Sharp Tip watched, the Red Arrows flew in formation, aiming straight for the main bulk of the Equestrian forces.

"Arrow One to all fighters," Tip's earpiece buzzed with the voice of Jacob Snow. "Time to plough the road."

With that, the bludgeon fighters smacked into the Equestrian forces. Sme ponies were smeared across their windscreens, though they had special wipers installed for just such occasions. Others had limbs shorn off by the sheer power of the impact, and fell screaming to the ground. Many fell with bludgeoning damage, their necks and backs broken: the lucky ones died quickly, the unlucky fell in agony until the ground ended their pain.

"Yeah!" Sharp Tip yelled in triumph. Seeing the bludgeon fighters at work was a real honour.

They were not, however, invincible. One or two started spinning out of control, their windscreens cracked or obscured or their engines clogged up with Pegasi feathers and other debris from their targets. The bludgeon fighter tactic was known for the horrible casualties that could be inflicted. Still, it seemed for a moment as though the battle could, in fact, be won.

Suddenly there was a crack, as if a sonic boom had just happened in the air near them. All heads turned to the direction the noise had come from. Sharp Tip's ears flattened against her head as she realised what that sound signified, and it only got worse when Ditzy's voice confirmed it.

"Attention!" she said urgently. "We have confirmation of RD on site - repeat, Rainbow Dash is on site! All ponies, high alert!"

And then there she was, at the head of a formation of Wonderbolts. Rainbow Dash herself, the Equestrian Aerial Ace, the proverbial Red Baron of this war, without the honour, but with the merciless skill.

"Horsefeathers," Sharp Tip swore. She flew left, moving to link up with Little Wing and Errant Flight, the other two members of her flight. This was gonna be a battle worth remembering - if she survived it.

***

Jacob Snow frowned at the message he had just received. He flicked a switch on his panel and banked right.

"Three and Seven, close up behind me," he said softly. "All other fighters continue bludgeon manoeuvres."

"Roger that," Janice Clark, Arrow Seven, said, her voice filled with nervous tension.

"On your six, Arrow One," the stern voice of Thomason, Arrow Three, added.

"We're gonna try for that Wonderbolt formation," Snow said softly. This got an immediate reaction.

"Sir, no one's ever survived a bludgeon run against Wonderbolts - certainly not one against Rainbow Dash!" Clark reminded him, her voice tinged with concern.

"We've got to try," Snow replied sternly. "We're RAF: we're the Red Arrows. If any human's going to beat that bitch in the air, it's gonna be us!"

"Yes sir," Thomason said, his voice sounding vaguely enthused. "Let's take that little whore down."

Snow didn't reply, merely adjusting his course. The Wonderbolt Squadrons were still flying in formation, but they were some of the few Equestrian forces that didn't stick to such rigid formations in practice. This would be tricky.

"Thirty seconds to bludgeon impact!" Snow called out, checking his readings.

"Confirmed," Thomason said.

"Check," Clark added.

And then they made contact.

A Wonderbolt cracked into Jacob's windscreen, the mare's back breaking as she impacted at an awkward angle. She flew past the plane and Jacob lost sight of her, tilting his plane to fly into another group. One pony was sliced in half by his left wing, and another got knocked spinning into the void by his right.

"Alert!" Thomason's voice spoke panicking slightly. "Pony bits clogging my starboard engine! I'm going down...!"

Jacob caught site of Thomason's plane going down, smoke pouring from his right side. He cursed under his breath.

"Sir!" Clark yelled a moment later, panic filling her voice. "I've got multiple targets on my six! Need help! I need -!"

And then her voice, too, cut off.

"Clark?" Jacob said, then cursed again. Now he was on his own.

Suddenly, there was a clang on his plane's hull, and he felt the balance shift slightly - a sure sign that a pony had landed on her. He banked right, and began moving in a spin, intending to throw the pony off, but suddenly, the cockpit canopy was cracked open, and he was wrenched from his seat.

It took him a moment to acclimatise to the fact that he was in midair without a plane, before he realised that he was looking at Rainbow Dash, who was holding him up by one hoof.

"Hi," she said, grinning. "Bye."

She let go of him, and he, without a parachute, fell screaming the hundreds of feet from where he had been to the ground...

***

"The Arrows are down!" somepony yelled over the comm, a nervous edge to their voice. Ditzy wondered vaguely if it was Jagged Course or Sharp Tip.

"Grey Squadron," she said softly into her comm device. "Stay on mission. We need to keep up this holding action long enough for Four Flight to take the Harmonious Order down!"

"We're about two minutes from target!" Royal Flush called out. "We just need a little more time!"

"I've got multiple hostiles on my six!" the voice of Jagged Course cut in, sounding panicked. "I need help, urgently!"

"Stay calm!" Head Strong said, sounding determined. "I'm on them."

"Too late!" Jagged screamed, and then a yell of pain could be heard. "Oh pony gods, my leg...!"

"Motherbuckers!" Head Strong swore. "I'll bucking get you, you little...!"

"Head Strong, calm down!" Ditzy called, but then she saw, in the distance, Head Strong, fighting against what looked like thirty or forty Guards and Wonderbolts at once. She saw his hoof go to his C4 packet... and then an explosion ripped apart him and every pony around him in a massive fiery ball.

"Dammit!" she heard Butter Mellow curse. "Grey Leader, we're getting torn up!"

"I know," Ditzy replied tersely. "Two Flight, follow Four Flight in, give them as much cover as you can. Grey Seven, go with them."

"Roger that!" Errant Flight's voice spoke, sounding impossibly calm.

"Roger," Cloud Ranger added.

"Where does that leave us?" Lightning Dust asked. As she spoke, the Wonderbolt squadrons seemed to be getting even closer.

"That leaves us running interference against the flying Wonder-bitch and her flunkies," Butter Mellow said grimly.

"Form up, One Flight," Ditzy said. "We're gonna hit them with our best."

"Right with you, boss," Lightning Dust said, an oddly enthusiastic note in her voice. "Time to pay dear Rainbow back for an old debt."

***

Royal Flush was a gambling type by nature: his cutie mark was a hand of cards, and he lived by the idea that if you gambled big, you could either win big or fall hard.

He was determined that today he would do the former, but as he heard ponies - his good friends - die around him, he was increasingly convinced that the number that everypony - that everybody - was born with had finally come up for him. Still, if his number was up, he'd do his darn best to send as many of these Solamina-loving bastards to Tartarus as he could.

Now that they were closing in on the Harmonious Order, he could see some of the more impressive details. The actual ship section was filled to the brim with soldiers, many of whom were being disgorged by transport chariot.

"Swift, you still with me?" he asked.

"To the end," the calm voice of Swift Wing spoke.

"Good," Royal said. "I'm gonna aim for the gas bag at the rear, see if I can't take this bastard out that way. Might dodge some of that flak too."

"I hear ya," Swift said, sounding somewhat more tense. "I'll follow you in and see if I can't cover you. All covering flyers, keep their fighters off of us and let us worry about the flak."

"Roger that, bro," Little Wing replied, her voice tinny through the earpiece. "We've got you covered."

Royal Flush aimed for the rear of the giant gas bag, keeping his eyes on the prize. As he did so, his eyes frowned, surveying the large construct that floated behind the Harmonious Order. It was a giant tankard, being held up by several dozen balloons. Previously it had been concealed by the bulk of the Order and the clouds, but the latter were dissipating and Flush was close enough now to be able to see behind the former.

"You seeing this, Swift?" he said.

"Yeah," Swift replied, "looks like a Thunder Tank."

"Say again, Grey Eleven?" Ditzy's voice spoke.

"We have confirmation that the Solaminan forces were using a Thunder Tank, Grey Leader," Royal Flush said grimly.

That explained how they were able to control the weather outside of Equestrian territory: the Thunder Tank was an invention used to bring Equestrian weather patterns to Earth's soil, where magic wasn't quite so reliable. Unfortunately, this one looked to have been weaponised, explaining how the Equestrian forces had managed to launch a thunder barrage when they shouldn't have been able to manipulate Britain's weather like that.

"Understood - concentrate on the Order for now," Ditzy instructed. "The Tank won't be up to much without it."

"Gotcha, boss," Flush said.

As he and Swift flew, a barrage of magical projectiles started zooming toward them, bolts of green and blue destructive spells zipping past their ears and they headed for their target - fortunately, they were used to such barrages, and most spells travelled comparatively slowly, and thus were easy to dodge. Unfortunately, those same spells were also being launched at the ground forces, and were less easily dodged if you weren't born with wings.

"There's too many of them!" Errant Flight yelled. "We can't keep them all off you, Four Flight!"

"We're almost there - just a few more seconds!" Swift Wing said.

"I've got four on me!" Sharp Tip yelled urgently. "I can't shake them!"

"Bank left," Cloud Ranger's voice said, sounding tense. "I'll cover for you..."

"Roger that," Tip's voice said, sounding relieved. "I - wait, there's -!"

A cyan, pony shaped blur flew past Royal Flush, and he followed the rainbow trail it left as it smacked into the dot that was Sharp Tip. She yelped in pain, and then was silent - Flush briefly caught her limp form plummeting from the sky, but ignored it, focusing on his mission. The fact that Sharp Tip had been the youngest of them, the most eager… well, he’d lost good friends before. He’d have to wait until he wasn’t about to join them to mourn.

"Damn, there's a lot of them!" the voice of Little Wing spoke through the earpiece. Flush risked a glance in her direction - she had at least a dozen ponies on her tail. "I - wait..."

Suddenly, there was a yelp of pain, and Swift Wing stopped, falling behind as he looked for his sister. His eyes widened as he saw her, too, falling from the sky.

"Little Wing?!" he said, sounding horrified. Unfortunately, his concern for his sister cost him his life, as a cyan and rainbow-coloured blur slammed into him, knocking him aside and breaking his wing. Unconscious, he plummeted toward the ground.

"Horsefeathers!" Flush swore. Rainbow Dash was here. He was still only few dozen metres from the Order, but Dash might be on him any second. Realising he didn't have a choice, he decided to gamble for one last time in his life. He set the timer for ten seconds on his C4 packet, and closed his eyes as he flew top pelt at the Zeppelin.

Royal Flush was the best gambler in Equestria prior to the exodus. He rarely, if ever, lost his bets. It was something of a tragic irony, then, that the last gamble of his life was one of the few he lost. His C4 exploded when he was still at least forty metres from his target.

***

Ditzy saw the explosion and cursed as she realised another member of her team was down. Now it was only her Flight, Errant Flight and Cloud Ranger left.

"What's the plan, boss?" Lightning Dust said softly, her normal cocky tone softened by the deaths of so many teammates.

"There's only one choice," Ditzy replied. "We need to take down that Zeppelin." She breathed in, calming herself. "Four and Seven, continue running interference."

"We'll do our best!" Errant Flight said, sounding harassed.

"Two, Three, on me," Ditzy said. "Let's do this."

***

On the ground, Lieutenant Elliot knelt by the prone form of Colonel Watts. The officer was wide eyed and staring at something no one could see, a piece of shrapnel firmly lodged in his head. Behind his body lay the bottom half of Ever Stern, the top half buried under so much rubble that it would be a miracle if his features were recognisable under it all. The Lieutenant cursed, before moving to stand near an observation port.

The Harmonious Order was bombing the city of Manchester to pieces, raining fire and potion bombs in equal measure. Elliot cursed as he watched it's progress across the sky.

"Report!" Elliot yelled out.

"We're getting confused reports from Grey Squadron!" Sandra Church relief,d her hand held up to an earpiece as she operated the radio. "Most of them are down, and their first flight is setting up an attack run on the Order."

"Good," Elliot said softly, looking up. "They might be our last hope." He grabbed the radio from Church. "Get to the evacuation centre. I'll hold the fort here."

"Yes sir," Church said, running out. Elliot moved to contact Grey Leader.

"Grey Leader, this is Resistance Command, come in?" he said. "Grey Leader?"

***

Ditzy dodged a Guard pony and sliced another's wings off as she flew. Her earpiece buzzed.

"Grey Leader, this is Resistance Command, come in?" the voice of Lieutenant David Elliot, a man who Ditzy knew vaguely from his work with the Doctor and with Lyra, spoke. "Grey Leader?"

"Elliot, is that you?" Ditzy asked. "Where's Watts?"

"Dead, along with Captain Stern," Elliot said grimly. "I need to know your status."

"I'm down to my last few, going for an attack run," she said. "What's yours?"

"We're getting bombed to shit down here," Elliot replied, sounding strained. "We need that damn Zeppelin gone, now!"

"We're on it," Ditzy said. "Keep your fingers crossed."

"Roger that," Elliot said heavily. "Good luck."

The earpiece buzzed again, signalling Elliot disconnecting, and a ditzy redoubled her efforts.

"Keep an eye open for Dash!" she warned her wing-mates as they kept flying towards the Order. "She's the biggest concern, and with Flush's death, they'll have realised our plan!"

"Sure Dash is that clever?" Butter Mellow asked, looking around carefully nonetheless. "She's more a fighter than a thinker."

"I know that little bucker from the bad old days," Lightning Dust replied, sounding more venomous than Ditzy could remember her ever sounding, "and she's cleverer than you'd think. She'll have guessed it."

"Stay on target," Ditzy said, cutting them off. "Assume she's onto us."

As if on cue, a cyan blur raced past them, clipping Butter Mellow as it did so. He cried out in pain.

"Mellow!" Lightning Dust screamed in shock.

"I'm hit!" the older pony said, cursing. "Dammit all... get that Zeppelin. Dust - I'm proud of -"

Before he could finish, the blur screeched past him again, clipping him harder and sending him spinning silently into the void.

"Butter Mellow!" Lightning Dust screamed. "No!"

"Stay on target!" Ditzy yelled, fighting back her own shock at the death of Butter Mellow.

"Buck that!" Lightning Dust yelled. "That darn pile of horseapples is tearing through us! The only way you'll reach the Zeppelin is if somepony takes her out, or at least distracts her!"

"Grey Three, stay in formation!" Ditzy ordered, practically yelling.

"Sorry boss," Lightning Dust said. "Bad line."

And then she took off, speeding faster than Ditzy had seen her do outside of training. Cursing, Ditzy concentrated on her target.

***

Lightning Dust followed the rainbow-coloured trail that Rainbow Dash had left in her wake, speeding to catch up to it. She was going so fast that sparks of lightning were coming away from her, striking the Guard ponies that dared come too close.

A moment later, she was flying alongside Rainbow Dash. The cyan pony looked over at her, eyes wide, and Lightning gave her a cheeky grin and a mocking salute.

"You!" Dash yelled angrily. Lightning Dust winked at her.

"Catch me if you can, whorse," she said, doing her best to sound nonchalant. With that, she sped off, heading as far away from the Harmonious Order as she could. She could tell Rainbow Dash was following her - how could she not? The two of them were old enemies, ever since Dash had gotten Lightning Dust kicked off of the Wonderbolts.

It had been a long time since then, and - partially thanks to the help of ponies like Ditzy and Butter Mellow - that she had become as much of a team player as she was. Deep down, though, she knew she still had the urge to prove she was the best, and doing this - racing Rainbow Dash in a life or death situation - might be her last chance to indulge that.

Besides - Butter Mellow had been the closest thing to a father figure she had had in years. She would make Dash pay for his death, if it killed her.

She flew faster and faster, passing the outskirts of the city and reaching the lower hills of the Pennines in record time. She could feel Rainbow Dash behind her every step of the way.

Suddenly, she stopped and held her bladed arm out, and felt Rainbow race past her, knocking into her arm in the process. About ten metres from ta Lightning Dust, Rainbow managed to halt, and she turned to face Lightning Dust, scowling at her, a long red scar now marring her cheek.

"You'll pay for that," she said angrily.

"All talk, no flight," Lightning Dust replied.

Faster than she could blink, Rainbow Dash had rammed into her, and flew both Dust and herself into the ground. Soil and dirt exploded all around them, and Lightning Dust coughed, vaguely aware of the irony that she would most probably die surrounded by half her namesake.

"Caught you," Rainbow Dash said, and Lightning Dust grinned as she looked up at her old enemy. "What are you smiling about, you dumb mare?"

"This," Lightning Dust said, and she pressed the detonator on her C4. Rainbow Dash had maybe a second to fly straight upwards, before an explosion flared up, engulfing Lightning Dust and throwing Dash, battered and bleeding, a clean thirty metres away from the explosion.

***

Ditzy kept flying towards the Harmonious Order, her eyes narrowing slightly as she did so.

"Grey Leader," the voice of Elliot buzzed through her earpiece. "We are abandoning the city. I repeat, we are abandoning the city."

Ditzy cursed under her breath. This was exactly the news she didn't want to hear.

"We can't!" she said desperately. "If we do, nothing's keeping them safe from the ground forces that thing's carrying!"

"We can't stop it!" Elliot said grimly. "Manchester is lost."

"Not if I have anything to say about it!" she replied. "Grey Four and Seven, get out of here!"

"Roger that!" Cloud Ranger called. Ditzy caught sight of the two of them breaking formation and retreating. By this point, there were few enough enemy ponies in the air that they were able to escape with little difficulty. Most of the enemy Pegasi were either downed or had landed.

"Grey Leader, report!" she heard Elliot call desperately. "Grey Leader!"

"I've enough explosives with me to bring that thing down if I aim right!" Ditzy said. She turned her attention to the bridge at the front of the Zeppelin. It was her best shot. The only way to be sure, however, would be to detonate with the explosives, and both she and Elliot knew it.

She briefly thought of Dinky: her beloved child. She prayed that everypony else would take care of her and prevent her from doing what Ditzy was doing here: dying in a horrible, bloody war.

[i"Don't do it, Derpy," she heard Elliot say softly.

"Ditzy," she replied, holding back tears as she though of Dinky, her voice . "My name's Ditzy Doo. Please - call me that, if this is it."

"Ditzy, then," he said. "Don't."

"I'm ending this!" she yelled back. "I'm giving my life for a cause. King and Country. You understand that, right?"

Except my cause is my daughter, she thought to herself. She pictured her little filly's face, and smiled, blinking back her tears as she hurtled toward the bridge.

"I understand," he said after a moment, though Ditzy wasn't sure he entirely did. Maybe one day he would. Truth be told, she hoped he never had this choice.

She took a breath as she neared the bridge - she could almost see the panicked faces of the ponies on the bridge.

"Get them back for me - and tell the Doctor, please?" she asked.

Before she could hear his reply, she pressed her detonator, literally a scant four feet from the bridge window.

There was only light.

***

From the ground, it looked something like this: the bridge of the Harmonious Order exploded the wooden frame burning as the explosion from Ditzy's C4 set a half dozen fires. The fire, however, wasn't deadly to the lower hull so much as not was deadly to the combustible bags of gas within the main Zeppelin frame.

There were ten giant gas bags inside the Zeppelin, designed in such a way that if any one was punctured, it would not impede the ability of the Super-Zeppelin to fly. She was designed, in point of fact, to fly even with fully half of her bags empty. She was said to be un-downable by her designer, Haughty Frame.

Unfortunately, Haughty Frame's Zeppelin design still had the basic flaw of flammable gas being the lofting method, and so the individual gas bags were set slight and began burning uncontrollably. For the lucky Pegasi crew, escape from the burning hulk was a matter of flight. For the Earth Ponies and Unicorns...? More a matter of jumping to a quick death rather than allowing themselves to be incinerated.

The Pegasi, however, were to be unfortunate as well, for the Zeppelin was close enough to the Thunder Tank that it, too, caught fire, especially as the hulk of the Harmonious Order began drifting into it. Fire mixed with thunder was an odd combination, especially magical thunder. The fire began mixing with the thunder, sending waves of the electric energy sweeping across the flames. Fire lightning bolts began lashing out at all and sundry in the skies, and since the only things left flying near the Order were Equestrian flyers by this point, it was they who were fried and incinerated by the strange magical bolts.

It was altogether an impressive display of pyrotechnics, but it symbolised something more. On the one hand, it symbolised hope for the defenders of Manchester: a sign that the tide had turned.

On the other, it was the last testament to the brave ponies of Grey Squadron who had died trying to bring it down, and - though not many realised it yet - those that did watched the fire with mournful eyes, remembering the brave flyers who had given everything so that this city, and Britain, could fight another day.

Author's Note

This story was edited 9th August 2015.

The Freedom Caravan.

The Freedom Caravan.
Or,
"The Story of the Magnificent Pony-Smuggler Trixie Lulamoon."

A story by Jed R.

***

December 2026.

Once upon a time, Trixie Lulamoon - known as the Great and Magnificent Trixie - had just been a simple travelling magician, performing shows. It had been, for the most part, a simple life, where she could get all the adulation her (admittedly pretty big) ego could ever want, without doing anything she considered overly strenuous (occasional dealings with a small town named Ponyville and it's inhabitants aside).

That, of course, had been in the good old days, before the portal, the Barrier - and the war.

More recent times had proven somewhat more troublesome, for a variety of reasons. For a start, getting a travelling license in Solamina's Empire (and whose idea was it for Celestia to change her name to 'Solamina' anyway? What did it mean?) was a massive pain in the plot. The restrictions on Unicorns travelling were not nearly as great as the massive restrictions laid down on most Pegasi - after all, Unicorns were not, as a sub-species, known for being anti-authoritarian or particularly strong-willed - but all the same, it wasn't easy. Trixie had needed to prove that all the available space in her caravan was entirely used for the purpose of transporting the required props for her shows. She had needed to fill in - in triplicate - forms stating the entire inventory of her caravan to the smallest detail.

It had been, in short, mildly irritating.

However, after filling out all of these forms, she had managed to get a license to travel across Equestria, even managing to get an extension allowing her to go to the new colonies being built by Apple Bloom's contractors. Not that she went that often - most of the ponies who lived there were the converted, and while they weren't nearly as bad as some of the more horrible rumours going around said they were, they were still too happy, too cheerful... too darn smiley. They made a great audience, but...

She had considered herself neutral in the war. If it were up to her, she wouldn't even have remained in Equestria, but the Wall had been put up in rather short order after the Barrier's defeat at the hand's of the human magics.

It wasn't like she liked the idea of an entire species getting wiped out - far from it, in fact - but she didn't see there as being anything she could do to stop the destruction. The Great and Powerful Trixie was, in her estimation, a lover, a showpony, an entertainer, a brilliant example of pony-kind... but definitely not a fighter. Some called Trixie a coward for not wanting to fight - either with Equestria or with the Resistance - but as far as she was concerned, it simply wasn't her war.

Unfortunately for her, though ultimately fortunately for many others, fate had decided otherwise.

While in a bar one night, somewhere in one of the new cities in - where was it? Germarey, is that what they were calling it now? - she had met an older Earth Pony stallion with a dull maroon coat and a short, greying mane, wearing a brown leather jacket, a bandolier with a strange silver device held within it, and a patterned red and white scarf. His cutie mark was a broken - shattered even - hourglass. He had sat near her, had a drink, and then he had introduced himself as "Doctor Hooves".

"Trixie's never heard of you," Trixie said with a snort of derision. She didn't know why he was even talking to her: he wasn't her type, far too old, and the brown leather jacket he was wearing was battered and faded.

"You may have heard the name," the stallion replied. "Though not necessarily that I belong to it."

He slid a 'Wanted' poster over to her. It showed a much younger stallion than this one, with a brown coat, brown mane, friendly smile and a completely intact hourglass. Trixie frowned.

"This stallion isn't you," she said shortly, trying to inject as much sarcasm and contempt into her voice as she could. "He's at least twenty years younger than you."

"He is," Hooves replied quietly. "Or he was, a long time ago - before the war."

"You mean to tell Trixie that you are this pony?" she said, quite loudly (she had drunk a lot that evening). "This pony who isnt you? That's what you're saying?"

"I mean to tell Trixie that I am not merely an Earth Pony," the stallion replied, apparently not caring for the volume of her statement. "I am something far more impressive."

Trixie snorted again. "Trixie has heard such things before."

"Of that I have no doubt," Doctor Hooves said with a small, sly smile. "Some of them from your own mouth, I'd venture."

"Why you...!" Trixie said angrily.

"But," the stallion continued as though Trixie had never spoken, "I would not dare come before the Great and Powerful Trixie if I were not prepared to prove my point. If you come with me, you shall have your proof."

"And why should Trixie go with a stallion who is so obviously insane?" Trixie asked.

"Because when you were five, a stallion told you you'd change the world," Hooves replied simply, a slightly knowing grin on his face. "And you know I'm not lying."

Trixie's eyes widened. She barely remembered that time, so long ago it had been.

***

Many years ago...

Trixie Lulamoon didn't know who the tall, dull burgundy Earth Pony stallion was, but the young filly found herself being intrigued by him. He radiated something, an energy that Trixie couldn't quite identify. He was stood by a battered blue box, with words written at the top that she couldn't quite read.

Her parents were in a shop and they had instructed her to wait outside, which she did dutifully. Still, she couldn't help but feel he was somepony she should talk to. She was quite shy, and talking to anypony - especially a stranger - was scary for her. Still, she plucked up her courage and decided to speak with him.

"Hello," she said softly.

"Hello," he said in return, smiling slightly. "Are you Trixie Lulamoon?"

"Yes," she said simply. "Who are you?"

"That would be a very long story," he said with a chuckle. "You can call me the Doctor."

"What are you a Doctor of?" Trixie asked with wide eyes.

"Many things," the stallion said. "Including, amongst other things, medicine, science, magical researches, tea-making..."

"Tea-making?" Trixie said sceptically, raising an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Of course," the Doctor said gravely. "Tea-making is a very particular skill, requiring very particular research. It took me many years and a lot of trial-and-error to achieve that Doctorate, and it's the one I'm proudest of."

"Right," Trixie said, nodding. She didn't quite know if this stallion was insane or not, but he didn't look or sound insane, so she assumed not. "What are you doing standing outside a shop?"

"That's part of one of my other skills," the Doctor said. "I'm something of a fortune teller, Miss Lulamoon."

"Really?" Trixie said, eyes wide. "Wow! Can you see my future?!"

"Oh yes," the Doctor said quietly. "I can. I see you doing great things, Miss Lulamoon. Great things indeed."

"Really?" Trixie said excitedly. She had yet to even earn her cutie mark, so hearing this was understandsbly thrilling for the young filly.

"Definitely," the stallion said with a smile. He looked up, and smiled at somepony behind Trixie. "Ah, you must be Miss Lulamoon's family."

Trixie span around to see her mother and father, looking sternly at her and the stranger.

"Yeah we are," the grim voice of Trixie's father spoke. "Trixie, what have we told you about talking to strangers?"

"It's quite alright sir," the Doctor said with a smile. "I was just leaving."

With that, he stepped into the box behind him. A moment later, a great groaning, moaning noise started, and the light on top of the box began flashing. After a moment, the box began fading out of existence, until there was no evidence that it had been there at all. To Trixie, this was marvellous.

Her parents were less impressed.

"Cheap conjurer's trick," her mother said haughtily.

"I've seen better in travelling shows," her father added. "Come on, Trixie."

Trixie didn't care what her parents said. She knew there was something truly magical about what she had just seen, though she didn't quite understand what. One day, she swore, she would find out.

***

"It was you?" she breathed quietly, eyes wide in shock. "You were the pony outside the shop, the one with the magic box?!"

"Oh yes," Doctor Hooves said with a smile. "It's been something of a long time since then, of course, but..."

"But nothing!" Trixie said, leaning forward. "How did you do that trick?! I've spent years trying to figure out how!"

Doctor Hooves - the Doctor - smiled an enigmatic smile. "Well then," he said quietly. "Might I suggest coming with me?"

Trixie frowned slightly. She couldn't say she entirely trusted this stallion - but having said that, she could not deny that he was the stallion of so long ago. She struggled with the thought for a moment, and then, reluctantly, she nodded.

"Alright then," she said. "Show me the secret."

"It would be my honour," the Doctor said.

***

In the cold light of the moon, the blue box looked almost mystical. Trixie frowned at it slightly.

"So," she said softly. "This is it. This is your magic box."

"Indeed." The Doctor, for his part, was content to walk up to the box and stroke it. "It is more than a magic box. It is... my home. My friend. Perhaps the only friend I have left now, that I have not lost to this insane war."

"How can a box be your friend?" Trixie asked.

"Step inside, and you shall find out," the Doctor said. He pushed open a door, and Trixie, still suspicious, stepped past him.

And all her suspicions vanished.

The room within the box was huge, far more so than could have ever feasibly fit into the thing. It was a great, darkly lit, white walled dome, within which was contained a large, six sided contraption, with buttons, levers and switches. At the centre of this construction was a glass column, with many smaller glass tubes within. Set into the walls of the structure were many round, golden decorations that glowed with a soft inner light. The Doctor walked past her, moving to the contraption in the centre. He shut the door behind him, but Trixie didn't notice.

"This is..." she said softly. "This is incredible."

"I'm glad you think so," the Doctor said. He flicked a switch with one of his forehooves, and the great groaning, moaning sound from Trixie's childhood began once again, the glass tubes within the column rising and falling in time with the sound.

"What..." Trixie gulped, unsure how to ask this. "What do you want with Trixie?"

"How about you stop referring to yourself in the third person, for a kickoff?" the Doctor asked with a good-natured smile.

"Trixie... I... prefer to do so," Trixie said with a slight frown.

"Perhaps you do," the Doctor said, "but I find it somewhat wearying."

Trixie harrumphed. "Why am I here?"

"It used to be that I took people - and ponies - away from lives of drudgery," the Doctor said by way of response. "Unfortunately, I'm here instead to ask you to begin one."

"What do you mean?" Trixie asked, narrowing her eyes at him. The Doctor circled his console, his eyes rising to meet hers as he handled his machine.

"I shall assume that you know that right now, millions of humans and thousands of ponies are suffering under the assault of Solamina's Empire?" he began.

"I - yes," Trixie said, "I do know that. What of it?"

"I note you appear to have not picked a side," the Doctor said.

"Trixie is still in Equestria, is she not?" Trixie said with a frown.

"And yet you do not want to be," the Doctor pointed out. "I know you wanted to leave. The wall stopped you."

"I - how do you know this?!" Trixie asked with a frown of confusion. "Nopony knows that I tried to.. ,

"I'm very clever," the Doctor said, cutting her off, his expression suddenly ice cold. Suddenly, the great noise from the machine began slowing, and the glass tubes with it. After a moment, a loud 'thunk' sounded in the room, and the Doctor walked over to the door. "And there's something I think you need to see."

The door to his machine opened, and he gestured for Trixie to step outside.

And she found herself in a nightmare.

She was surrounded by the metal and glass skeletons of giant concrete buildings. Rubble was strewn across a dark road, intermingled with the bodies of Royal Guards, Equestrian Militia and ponies who - though she had never had the 'pleasure' of meeting one in person, Trixie was sure were members of the so-called "Equestrian Resistance".

"Oh my," Trixie said softly, her eyes wide as she observed the horrible sight before her.

"Welcome to the city of Leeds," the Doctor said from behind her. "Once home to over two million people. Now home to ten thousand soldiers and no civilians."

"Were they... were they killed?" Trixie asked, her eyes still scanning the scene of devastation.

"The lucky ones," the Doctor replied quietly from behind her. "The unlucky were converted. I assume you have met the converted."

"I... yes." Trixie had, but she had never thought to ask them about Earth, about the lives they had lived before. In fact, truth be told, she had never once even spoken to one. She wondered what they had been like, if they had lived through attacks like this, seen sights like this. "Did ponies do this?"

"Yes," the Doctor said simply, sounding weary and resigned. "Ponies did this to humans on the order of Solamina, simply because they were different. I never expected it of Celestia, truth be told, but I've seen this story before. Too often."

Trixie said nothing. She had known of the war as an abstract - something to think about briefly, but only as an inconvenience, a reason she couldn't travel so freely or go beyond Equestria's borders.

"And this is the war you seem to think you can ignore," the Doctor suddenly said, his tone accusatory.

"What can I do?" Trixie said harshly, spinning to face him. "The Great and Powerful Trixie..."

She trailed off, her eyes widening in shock at the look of fury etched onto the Doctor's features. Back in her youth, she had seen him as a wondrous old pony, guarding a mystery she desperately wanted to know the answer to. Now, though, he had become a statue of some ancient warrior-king of Earth Ponies, a raging presence who made her quail at the sight of him.

"Isn't powerful enough to stop Solamina? Is that what you're thinking?" he asked, his voice deathly quiet.

Trixie nodded dumbly, eyes wide in fear at the cold rage this stranger was displaying.

"Have you ever tried?" the Doctor asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Trixie... I... I would do something if I could," she said, her voice cracking slightly as she quailed under hisgaze, "but what can I do? I'm just one pony... Solamina is an Alicorn!"

To her surprise, the Doctor's face softened considerably, until he had turned back into the genial-looking old stallion she had met in her childhood.

"If there is one thing I have learned," he said, his voice tinged with melancholy, "it is that one pony can do amazing things."

Trixie turned to look out at the scene of carnage again.

"What can I do?" she asked, speaking almost to herself. "I'm not a fighter, not a killer, and I'm not brave enough to try and become one, no matter what you say."

"No, that's all true," the Doctor said from behind her, and Trixie almost bristled at his agreement with her self-assessment. "But I do believe you have a travelling show."

Trixie turned to look at the Doctor again, a frown of confusion on her face. He was smiling, a small, almost devilish grin, and there was a mischievous glint in his eye.

"What did you have in mind?" Trixie asked.

***

"Roll up! Roll up!" Trixie Lulamoon yelled. "See the Great and Powerful Trixie first hand, as she marvels you with her magical might!"

Trixie stood on the stage of her caravan, speaking to a crowd of oonies. This small town in the countryside of Equestria was one of many such places she had visited in the last three months. The old thing looked about as good as it ever had, albeit with a new coat of blue paint. The only vaguely remarkable thing on it was a small symbol, that of a stylised numeral '8' set within a circle.

Trixie began playing magic tricks: pyrotechnics, light displays, the usual sort of thing. She continued this as ponies watched, and as ponies walked on by, taking breaks only every so often.

After a few hours of being there, alternating between performing tricks and having a break, a green Earth Pony mare approached her, looking somewhat apprehensive.

"Hello," she said softly.

"Greetings," Trixie replied. "The Great and Powerful Trixie is having a few moment's rest between shows."

"I - uh - I was just wondering what the symbol on the side of your caravan meant," the mare asked. Trixie's ears perked up.

"'It's an ancient rune'," she said quietly. "'Very few know where it comes from'."

"'You must have travelled a long way to learn of it'," the mare said with a slightly furtive glance over her shoulder.

"'As far as you can'," Trixie replied slowly.

"'Ever travelled as far as the new colonies'?"

"'My shows take me to many places'."

"'I dearly wish I could see such a show'."

"'When you wish upon a star, it makes no difference who you are'..."

"'...anything your heart desires will come to you'."

The mare smiled and Trixie winked, before coughing.

"The Great and Powerful Trixie should prepare for her next show," she said loudly.

"Oh, of course," the mare said nervously. "I'm sorry to bother you."

"It is no bother," Trixie said. "Farewell." For now.

***

That night, Trixie was packing up her caravan when that same mare approached her, along with another mare who had spoken to Trixie later that same day.

That entire exchange had been a code the Doctor had taught her. It had supposedly been distributed by Resistance FM, the Equestrian Resistance's pirate radio station, and anypony who wished to abandon Equestria would use it to let any of the 'trusted' escape routes that they were Resistance sympathisers. Anypony who knew it would, if they wished to escape Equestria, approach her during her show breaks, and if all the responses from both parties were correct, they would meet up with her in the dead of night to be secreted aboard her caravan.

"Excellent," Trixie said, once she saw the two of them. "Quickly now, get aboard and enter through the floor panel."

The two mares did so, giving her a questioning look as they saw the panel. With a smile, Trixie levitated it open, revealing the secret compartment beneath it.

Her caravan had been given a few 'upgrades' so to speak: for a start, there was now a secret compartment the Doctor had added. Though from the outside the door looked like it was merely a panel in the floor (and indeed, Trixie had enchanted it so it could act as such a panel if she wanted), when opened the panel led to a large room, complete with lounge chairs, many months worth of food supplies and beds for at least one hundred escapees.

It was also now steam powered, allowing for Trixie to travel a little easier, but that had been more of a convenience upgrade than anything else.

"How did you manage this?" the mare Trixie had spoken to said in awe, eyes wide.

"Trixie has many secrets," Trixie replied softly. "Now quickly!"

The two ponies dodged into the room, shutting the panel behind them, and Trixie bolted it.

***

The following morning, Trixie was moving her caravan out when she was stopped by a roadblock, guarded by two ponies. These, too, had become more common in Equestria, one of many signs that the country had become something far different than it used to be. These particular ponies were converted, judging by their lack of cutie marks: one was a white Unicorn stallion, the other an Earth Pony mare.

"Excuse me, miss," the Unicorn said cheerfully, his accent indescribable to Trixie. "I'm Captain Fair Law, in charge of the Guard detachment in this area."

"A pleasure to meet you," Trixie said politely.

"All ours, miss," the Guard said with a smile. "I'm afraid we're going to need to check your documents and search your caravan. Standard policy, you see."

"Certainly, Captain," Trixie replied with a smile. "Let it never be said the Great and Powerful Trixie shirks the law." She took out her license to travel from her saddlebag, and gave it to Fair Law. He pored over it for a moment, then turned it over to his colleague.

"Da, this looks in order, keptin," the mare said, her accent worse than the stallion's. "Ve should search the caravan."

Trixie hopped off of the caravan and opened the back door obligingly, smiling all the while. The two guards entered, and Trixie held her breath slightly. After about five minutes, the exited again.

"All clear, ma'am," the mare said. "Apologies for bothering you."

"It's not a bother," Trixie said politely. "Have a nice day."

"You too, miss," Fair Law said with a smile and a wave.

Trixie hopped back onto her caravan and quickly set out again, her caravan trundling along the road quietly. She breathed a sigh of relief as she did so. Her first shipment of refugees was on board and out of their home town. Now all she needed to do was get them to the new colonies so they could leave for Britain.

Well, she mused sourly. That would be easy.

***

To Err Is Human.

Author's Note

Advisory warning: this story contains some moments that could be considered upsetting. Reader caution is advised.

With thanks to RoyalPsycho for being the darkly brilliant writer that he is.

To Err Is Human.

To Err is Human.

A short story written by RoyalPsycho.

***

February 3rd, 2030.

Manfred Stein was disgusted, simply disgusted. No words could ever truly convey what he felt as he watched the mob lead the monster away. He had been there, he had seen what that traitor had done and he had been forced to take action and clean up the mess that had been left behind.

***

It was just another night to him. Patrol was easy enough this time since the Equestrians had just been repulsed from London and weren't yet returning to their flyovers or raids. Granted, from the news bulletin it looked like the city was in a worse condition than it had ever been, at least as far as he could remember. But the same was true of everywhere, really.

Even the little streets Manfred was walking down now were partially in ruins: many buildings here were dilapidated husks, scorched by fire and pulverised by stones, explosives and the vile spells of the invaders. Most of the posters that lined the walls were scuffed and tattered but he could still make the newer prints out. The only one bright and fresh enough to see portrayed the leaders of the Equestrian Resistance.

Manfred had never really known what to think about the turncoats who had defected to their side. On the one hand he wanted to hate them for what their kind had done to the world, to his home, to his family. They were monsters that had beaten every single dictator, warlord and psychopath in the entirety of human history in terms of depravity and sheer evil. However on the other hand the ponies that had abandoned their empire fought just as hard and as passionately as every other man, woman and child left in the world and possibly with more conviction too.

The war itself had cost him a lot. He had not been home when the Barrier hit Germany. He had been on a short holiday, a quick trip to see the sights in London for a few days, take a few photos, the usual tourist things. His family had opted to stay behind: the Barrier was on the border when he left and they had told him they would not leave. If their home was going to die then they would die with it. Manfred had told himself that this was just a short trip, something to help him forget the horrors of the world even as the world disintegrated around everyone. However he knew now and part of him had always known that he was running away and he had abandoned his family because of it.

By the time the news had been given to him it was too late, flights were cancelled and the borders were shut. He was trapped in an unfamiliar country with no way of getting back and helping however he could. After the Barrier had levelled his homeland and moved on to the rest of Europe he had given up. It had been difficult, the first few years he had lived on the streets, begging in broken English for whatever anyone had to spare. Since refugees had been coming in by the boatload there had been very little to give. Manfred still found consolation in the fact that he had never once resorted to stealing, or killing either for that matter. Only when the Barrier had been halted had things calmed down enough for anyone to get enough of their bearings back.

Still everything had improved somewhat. The war aside, he now had a place to call home, a community to help and a cause to work for. This little town was what he called home now and the people who lived here were his family.

Passing the local church he heard a noise inside. There was a light crash as something was knocked over.

Manfred immediately tensed; this church was where they kept the children, orphans and most of the newborns. If anything happened here they would be helpless. Gripping his torch and the small handgun in the holster on his left hip he quickly and quietly made his way in. If it was a false alarm he didn't want to frighten anyone. Children these days had enough to worry about without some hulking German bursting in waving a torch around and demanding to know what was going on.

Walking through the door he came to the secondary doors leading into the main hall of the church. The building was in slightly better shape than most of the rest of the town. That fact that this was where children were kept, rations distributed and religious services performed helped persuade people to keep in decent condition. There was an uncharacteristic amount of noise coming from behind the doors. Whatever it was it must have woken up all of the children inside, Manfred had know the local kids enough to know they were very boisterous and energetic, even in these bleak times. Opening the door a crack he peered inside just to make sure everything was okay.

What he saw made his heart stop for a second.

Dozens of foals were running around, frolicking between the pews and silently playing. Their eyes were glassy but joyous, as if dulled senses were taking in the world through rose coloured lenses. Muffled giggles and whinnies could be heard echoing through the hall. In the centre of the row, near the altar Manfred saw a hunched figure shake around. Manfred could not believe what he was seeing.

A young woman held one of the children, a boy of eleven. She was young, perhaps in her early twenties with reddish brown hair, it was this hair that helped him recognise her. One of her arms was around his middle, her hand holding him tightly and keeping him from pushing her away. as she held a vial in her other hand. The liquid in the vial was purple and there was an unnatural sheen to it. Dozens of other such vials littered the floor around her and where sleeping bags had been placed for the children. Manfred knew what was inside and what she was doing.

That was potion: she was converting them, converting the children.

Manfred knew that woman, he had never actually met her but he knew about her from his neighbours and colleagues. She had been a regular helper throughout the town, offering to take on whatever jobs she could, especially with the children. In these difficult times the people of the town had been more than happy to accept her offers.

Now she was forcibly holding the last of the children still as she forced the potion down his throat, splashing it liberally over him when he resisted too much. Manfred backed away, he had to stop her but if he rushed in now the foals would scatter and he couldn't afford to lose them. He ran as quickly and as quietly as he could out of the Church and ran to the nearest house.

“WAKE UP!” he shouted, banging on the door. It took barely a few seconds for the him to hear the sound of feet rushing down the stairs. A man opened the door and looked out. He was obviously still half-asleep, his green eyes were glassy and rimmed with sleep.

“Wha's goin on?” he groggily asked. A sleepy but concerned woman the same age as the man appeared behind him. Others had emerged from the others houses on the street.

Manfred steadied his breathing and looked the tired man in the eye. “The children,” he stammered unsteadily, “the woman, the one who always watches them, she... she has converted them. The children in the church have all been converted.”

As he finished, his voice breaking and his eyes tearing up from the recent memory of what he had just seen he saw the man he was talking too widen his eyes in shock, the woman behind him took a step back, just as shocked as he was. Manfred heard audible gasps from the other people who had been listening and just learned of the horrific news. Without saying anything the man reached behind the door and took out a spade that had been leaning there, a look of cold and absolute hatred set on his face. He pushed Manfred aside and walked out of his house, making his way silently for the church. Shouts alerted Manfred to the fact that his message had spread and other people were emerging, tools and weapons clutched in their hands, some men and women weren't armed but had their fists clenched in anger. Others ran off to other streets to wake everyone else. Angry shouting could be heard everywhere, the sound reminding Manfred once again of what he had just witnessed. The memory caused his own anger to finally rise as well, washing over him and fuelling his rage further. He followed the crowd to the church.

***

Penelope Hatfield held the boy Kevin tightly as the change swept over him, shedding his feeble human body and replacing it with glorious equinity. Even as he shook in the raptures of the change she could feel him changing. Beneath his skin she could feel his bones breaking, shattering and reforming into a new form. His skin sloughed off of his body as tufts of soft fur pushed through and his face cracked and extended, he cried out in pain as his mouth was thrust forward, an equine muzzle shaping itself over his face. His eye sockets expanded and bled as his small human eyes inflated. The short spiky brown hair that had once topped his head fell off in chunks with his old skin and a soft lilac mane of horse hair sprouted in its place at the same time as a long tail that forced its way out his fraying trousers. As his arms reshaped themselves his hands audibly snapped, wrist bones grinding into new shapes even as his fingers fused together, skin, bone and fingernail burst as bony hooves broke out from the now furry arms of the young boy. Penelope stripped the tattered remains of his clothes from him as the metamorphosis completed. Kevin collapsed to the floor, the ordeal over. Penelope watched intently as he immediately began to stir.

Kevin tentatively opened his eyes, gone was the look of fear and hatred that had marred him when Penelope had been rescuing the deluded child from his burdens. Instead there was a look of happiness and boundless joy. The young colt jumped to his hooves and gave a whiny of delight and then winced slightly as unfamiliar bones ground together.

“Quiet now,” Penelope gently shushed him before he could celebrate too loudly. “It's too dangerous still, we have to get your brothers and sisters. They listened to you before so you can help me rescue them. We have to leave town now and get off this island.”

Kevin obediently shut his mouth, a wide, happy grin glued to his face and immediately went off to get the other foals who continued to play around the main hall of the old church. It was only once she had taken her attention away from Kevin that she heard the shouts of anger. She had been found out, how, she didn't know but it was too late. If they found the children they would kill them. Penelope had saved them once from the ugliness of humanity it was her duty to do so again.

Penelope got to rounding up the foals she had saved, quietly shepherding them together so that they could escape through the side door in the vestry. “Come on everypony we have to be quiet, its not safe yet”.

The new foals obediently clustered around her as she headed to the vestry. She had just gotten the keys out of her coat pocket when the door burst open.

The doorway was filled with people. Many of them clutched farming and construction tools, others had brought electric torches to help see. All of them had shocked expressions on their faces. They had noticed the empty sleeping bags, scattered remains of clothing and the thirty three foals hanging around her. The exact same number of children that had been kept in the church.

Shock quickly gave way to explosive rage and the front of the mob exploded forwards with roars of outrage and pure hatred. Those who followed the first wave may not have known exactly what had happened by they didn't need much information to be immediately swept up in the anger.

“Run!” Penelope shouted and she ran for the door, the foals nipping at her heels as she bounded across to the vestry door. It was then that she realised she had made one grave mistake, the vestry door was still locked. Penelope fumbled with the keys as the thuds of quick and heavy footsteps grew louder and more prominent. The foals were screaming in terror, many of them calling for her to open the door even faster. She had inserted the first key she had into the keyhole and heard it jam, it was the wrong one, she tried to pull the keys back out and even kicked the door when rough hands grabbed her roughly and pulled her away.

Numerous pairs of hands were grabbing at her, her blouse tore from their efforts to grab a hold of her, red scratches were carved into her skin by the crowd and several even took the chance to kick, slap and punch her as she was dragged away. Over their curses, snarls of anger and loud bouts of verbal abuse and hatred she could hear the panicked whinnies and cries of the foals. They had to be surrounded and without her they were as good as dead. Penelope fought harder than ever against the crowd but that merely prompted them to attack her all the harder in turn.

At the doors of the church she railed against them, fighting as hard as she could to break free of their grip and rescue the children. The crowd finally backed away on one side as she saw a large man lift a broom and strike her in the abdomen with the bottom end, knocking the breathe out of her body. She slumped over and her handlers lifted her up with renewed vigour, taking the liberty to hit her again in the ribs and face, one strong hit broke her nose and a middle aged woman tore out a good clump of hair in her effort to pull her out of the church.

***

Manfred had pushed himself to the front of the mob of townspeople. However after they had dragged that woman, that monster, out of the church he had been one of the few people to stay behind.

Five other men were standing in a semi-circle around a corner of the church's walls. There was one middle aged woman who was sitting in one of the pews, head in her hands and loudly weeping, her cries echoing in the room and only interrupted by the echoes of the mob outside and the terrified chattering of the children, no, the ponies, that the other men were obviously corralling.

Walking up to them Manfred stared down at the large cluster of foals. They were all of various sizes, shades of coat and mane colour. They all huddled in fear of him and the other men who might have been family at some point. Their voices still sounded the same and every whimper seemed to make the adults in the church wince, several men were crying silently, even as they nudged or kicked any pony that tried to break away from the group back into place. What hurt Manfred the most was their eyes, under the strange glassy expression and look of fear were the same eyes that they had when they were human. Even then they were now the freakishly large and flamboyantly bright eyes of ponies. These foals were not the town's children, they were monsters that had stolen their souls and warped their bodies into these abominations.

Manfred walked into the semicircle and looked at the men beside him. He knew that they all understood what he was doing, one of the men who was still crying even nodded in affirmation. Manfred reached down and took out the pistol he had been given for patrol duty and cocked it. As he raised it the foals backed away even further than before. Manfred reached down and picked up an infant foal, it must have been a child of two or three at one point. Kneeling down he placed it in front of him and pointed the pistol at its forehead. The foal began to wriggle away from him just as Manfred pulled the trigger.

The shot rang through the church hall. The sobbing woman hiccuped in shock and stared at the ring of men before breaking down into more tears.

Manfred looked at the corpse of the foal in front of him, now missing a good portion of its forehead and face. He brushed it aside and lifted his pistol again, locking onto another young foal that shrieked in terror and turned away, trying to run deeper into the huddle. Manfred fired again and the shot took it in the back of the head where the skull and vertebrae met which exploded in a small splatter of gore and bone fragment, the foal immediately fell forward, pushed slightly be the force of the blast and landed in the front of the group.

Screams filled the church as Manfred shot the foals one by one, pausing only to replace the ammunition clip in his pistol. He moved from pony to pony, slowly and methodically. Some foals did try to escape but the ring of men kicked them back in. All of them wore expressions of stony grief, their eyes empty as tears ran down their cheeks. No-one spoke and as the screams of the foals died down the only noise was the despairing sobs of the woman only a few metres away from them and the angry roar of the mob outside.

Manfred holstered the pistol yet again and turned away from the pile of corpses. He watched one of the men move to gather them up. The woman in the pews had also risen to help, her crying now reduced to the occasional moan of grief. He ignored it all as he walked out of the church and went to join the crowd outside.

***

The crowd still surrounded the woman. They had grown tired of beating her and had instead gotten some rope and tied her to a street-lamp on the corner of the street. Manfred had been shoving aside everyone in his path, making his way to the front of the mob. He never took his eyes off of that woman. It did not take long for the people in front of him to realise what he planned to do and began to move out of his way.

As he approached the lamppost he could finally make out the woman. She was a wreck, her clothes had been torn repeatedly, now little better than tattered rags, she was covered in bruises, especially around the face and her mouth was liberally dribbling blood. The people fortunate to be at the front of the crowd had been working her over it appeared. Manfred noticed that one of the men held something in his hand and was dangling it in front of her face. Whenever he brought it close the beaten woman would lunge out for it, her hands tied but her head still capable of moving. It was a vial of pinkish liquid, the very same vials that she had been pouring down the children's throats and had littered the church floor.

“Give it back!" she frantically slurred through swollen lips and broken teeth, “I need that”. The woman was pulling against her bonds even as the crowd kicked and hit here when she reached out to them.

Manfred was not able to pick up the replies sent her way by those who surrounded her but he knew they would be mocking her. As he approached one man finally came forward from the rest he took the potion in hand and held it before her.

“You really wanted to be one of them fucking horses so much didn't you?” he asked, contempt and hatred filling every word.

The woman glared at him, anger clear in her pained expression.

“You murdered them!” she shrieked. “I saved them from this nightmare. I made them better. They were playing right after I finished helping them, they had just forgotten how horrible this world is and you came and murdered them!"

She was cut off by the man punching her in the face again, flattening what was left of her nose. He lifted her up and brought her face to his. Manfred could just make out what he said to her.

“Now listen here you sick cunt. I don't want to hear you saying anything about saving them. They were our children, my children, and you took them away from us. Far as I see it whatever we do to you is more than you deserve” venom dripped from every word. He raised his other hand, a large hammer was in it, and prepared to finally finish her off.

“Nein!” Manfred said, subconsciously slipping back into his old German as he stepped forward and intervened. “No!” he said again a little more firmly and grabbed the man's arm before he could brain the woman. “I found her," he said looking levelly into the man's eyes even as they glared back at him with barely restrained fury “I think I should get to decide what we do with her”.

The man gave him another look of incredulity which turned to contemplation as he considered what Manfred had said. The crowd behind and beside him were jeering now. Some wanted him to finish his swing and finally kill the woman who had murdered their children, others supported Manfred's claim, other still wanted to be the one to kill the bleeding woman still tied to the lamppost that now looked at them with much more fear than before.

Not taking his eyes off of her Manfred snatched the potion bottle from the man and held it in front of her.

“You wanted this didn’t you?” he asked her with a vicious grin on his face. The woman nodded vigorously, starting at the potion just out of her reach.

“All right then” Manfred replied levelly and calmly. He pressed his thumb onto the cork stopper on the potion bottle, pushing the cork deeper into the bottle. He reached out to her and grabbed the sides of he mouth, her face slippery with the blood that had been running down and across it. He squeezed, forcing her lips to part and her mouth to open and held the potion over her mouth.
However he never tipped it. Instead he brought the potion bottle down to her and forced it into her mouth, bottom end first. She began to struggle again, gagging as her screams were muffled by the glass bottle being shoved down her throat. Manfred struggled as the bottle refused to go down and pressed harder. The woman's eyes bulged as the bottle was slowly forced further down her throat until it stuck.

Saliva dribbled down from the sides of her mouth as tears streamed from her eyes. She was struggling to gasp for breath as Manfred pressed further and further. The hand that held her mouth open went down to the back of her head and Manfred used it to brace himself as he pushed on the bottle again. Suddenly the bottle gave beneath him and he heard an unpleasant crunch, the woman convulsed in front of him, her eyes rolling back into her head. The crowd watched for several tense minutes, ha the bottle broken, was she going to transform like she had wanted, some were preparing their improvised weapons to finish her off. Just as they were about to finish her off the woman stopped and went limp, blood dribbling out of her mouth were the top of the bottle still jutted.

She was dead. The crowd immediately went mad, some cheered her demise but most were angry that she had died too soon, others lamented the fact that they themselves had not been the ones to kill her. Manfred stepped back, satisfied with what he had done. It had been difficult but he considered her fate justice for the atrocity she had committed, what she had forced him to do. He had failed to keep the children of this town, the new family he had just been getting to know, safe, and he had paid for it. The foal's blood was on his hands now but the children's were on hers.

***

Red Ribbon hadn't known what to make of what he found outside the church. Beside him Night Shade scowled at the scene, they had come to this town to relax, at least as much as anyone could in these trying times, and the one night they had picked for a romantic rendezvous had been interrupted by a riot.

Both ponies had both been lying on a small grassy spot between two houses, gazing at the stars, saying nothing as they enjoyed each others company, when the shouting had started. He had wanted to ignore it but Night Shade had insisted they investigate. You couldn't be too careful and no-one would have made such a racket for nothing. Red Ribbon had known that the minute Night Shade said something like that there was no changing his mind and so had reluctantly followed him as they searched for the source of the shout. When other voices joined it and the shouting grew louder Night Shade had picked up the pace and Red Ribbon had been forced to chase after him.

They had rounded the corner of the street that the old church lay on when other people had begun to appear. They were all running in the same direction, several were clutching their work tools and either had expressions of anger, shock or terror on their faces. It was all rather worrying for Red Ribbon, what had happened here?

“Red come on” Night Shade said as he bounded in the same direction as the crowd, a grim look on his own face.

“I don’t think....” Red Ribbon called after him before Night Shade disappeared into the crowd. Not wanting to be left alone in this situation he ran after him.

Red Ribbon shouldered his way through the crowd as he searched for Night Shade. Several of the townspeople gave him dirty looks as he wormed his way through them, some even tightened their grips on their tools, holding them threateningly as if they were struggling to restrain themselves from swinging them at him.

Red Ribbon was close to panicking when he spotted Night Shade's navy blue tail.

It was a struggle to reach Night Shade even though he was not that far away. The closer he had got to the spot where Night Shade stood, the tighter the press had become. Here the people were waving their arms, many of them holding dangerous looking tools as they did so. He slowly made his way next to Night Shade and then stopped at what he saw.

There was a young woman tied to the nearest lamppost. Her clothes were tattered scraps, some pieces held in place by the ropes that tied her to the post. Her body was bruised all over and she was cut in various places, blood streamed down her arms and body. Her face was a ruin of black ripe bruises and blood. There was another man in front of her, looming over her as he did what was probably the most disgusting act Red Ribbon had ever had the displeasure of witnessing.

The woman had a small bottle jammed into her mouth, obviously forced into her throat and the man had his palm pressed on the bottle's top. He was shoving it down her throat.

Red Ribbon could feel his gorge rising as he watched the man push harder, the woman writhing and bucking and the crowd jeering for more or screaming obscenities, barely keeping themselves from joining in. red Ribbon wanted to open his mouth and say something, anything to end this madness but his throat felt dry and he had to struggle not to throw up his dinner. Suddenly there was a soft crunch, his ears perked up and he stiffened as he saw the woman go into worse convulsions than before until she stopped and went limp, blood trickling liberally from the sides of her mouth.

The crowd burst into louder noise than ever before but Red Ribbon couldn't hear or see them. All he could focus on was the ruined body of the woman, He had seen her before, she had been pleasant and always had a kind word for him and Night Shade. Why had the townsfolk done this to her?

Red Ribbon was distracted from his shocked contemplation when he heard one voice in particular amongst the vulgar screeching of the mob. It was Night Shade's and he was joining them in their abuse.

“What are you doing!" he said loudly, just enough to be heard over the crowd, as he rounded on Night Shade. Red Ribbon saw the anger on Night Shade's face turn into confusion as he registered what he had just heard.

“What do you mean?" he replied. “I heard everything. She murdered children in that church.” Night Shade's expression had returned to one of seething anger as he glanced at the slack corpse of the woman, the top of the potion bottle still jutting from her mouth.

“We have to leave,” Red Ribbon urged. "This is awful”.

“Awful?” Night Shade answered back. “She was a murderer. She went after children, can't you hear what everyone's talking about? She did something to their kids.”

“But this” Red ribbon gesticulated at the body still tied to the lamppost “this is just disgusting”. He then noticed that several of the crowd had overheard what he had just said and were beginning to give him very nasty looks. Red Ribbon shrank back from them. Suddenly he felt very claustrophobic, surrounded by a mob of people who were still baying for blood and looking around for another target to vent their rage on. Already people were untying the body and letting it drop to the ground. Several came forward and began kicking it.

“We have to go now” Red Ribbon pleaded “I don't want to see this."

“Well I do.” Night Shade insisted, his face set. “This is no less than what she deserves and I want to be here to see her get it. She is everything we ran away from. We came so far to escape this kind of atrocity and it's been brought to us anyway."

Red was taken back by what Night Shade just said. He had been increasingly angry and depressed since Empress Solamina had slaughtered the Night Guard and Red Ribbon had always known that Night Shade was still affected by whatever had happened there but he had never expected this. He had never thought that Night Shade, a member of the old Night Guard, would stand by and let murder and the desecration of a body take place.

“You should go," Night Shade finally spoke, his eyes on the floor and his voice now dour. "You don't want to see this right?”

Red Ribbon took a step back, bumping into another member of the mob who was too distracted by their attempts to reach the woman's corpse to notice. He had no idea what to do. He was surrounded by a crowd of lunatics and his coltfriend had just looked him in the eye and said he was okay with what they were doing. He stumbled as he tried to turn around in the press, trying to find a way to get away from the dead body at the centre of the mob and escape the madness that had just consumed everyone around him. Red Ribbon forced his way out of the crowd, shoving his way through people's legs or around them.

Thankfully it did not take him long to escape the crowd, breaking free of them he galloped a few metres down the street before turning around to look back at the mob that even now were shouting in outrage and cheering at the death of the young woman who's body was even now being abused. And somewhere in there was Night Shade, his Night Shade, who had not only condoned what was being done but had stayed to watch.

***

Major Thomas Williams sighed softly as he finished handing out the punishment details. He had been sent to this town shortly after a disturbance had been reported. He had arrived to find a broken and bloody corpse hanging from a lamppost, it had once been a young woman from the town. According to reports and the bodies that had been examined she had been responsible for the mass conversion of the entire town's children. Thirty graves had been dug outside town which had been investigated as well, the entire church had been divided into an impromptu crime scene that several of his men had gone over in order to gather as many facts as possible without relying entirely on interviews with the ring leaders of the assault.

Said ringleaders were now in a set of stockades. What they had done was inexcusable, no matter the circumstances. These may be trying times but they were a nation of laws and this vile example of vigilante justice would not be tolerated even if the victim of their riot had in turn committed a terrible atrocity. Thomas grimaced at the lamppost, memories of the ruined body that had been hanging there when he arrived returning.

He knew that he did not have the time or resources to properly punish the entire town and so he had reprimanded all of the, set up the stockades for those responsible for the riot and murder and set up extra mandatory work for the rest of the townspeople. There was little else that he could do.

***

It had been nearly a week since Manfred had been let out of the stockades in the town centre. He had gone two days without food and only been given two cups of water a day. Ever since then he felt empty.

The punishment had been gruelling but even then he had expected worse when the army group had arrived in town and started giving orders, rounding up the villagers and chiding them for what they had done to that woman, Penelope her name had been, and the severity of their actions. Even with the legal rhetoric it had felt less like a tribunal or court hearing and more like a surreal version of an angry parent lecturing their disobedient child.

A strange noise distracted Manfred from his revere as something new rounded the corner of one street. It was a macabre procession of men and women in black clothing all of them reciting sombre dirges. Two of the men were pulling a cart filled with books and leaflets, whilst a large sign had built onto the top of the wagon. It read; "WE ARE DEAD. OUR BODIES CONTINUE THEIR WORK FOR THE GOOD OF THE REALM”.

Several of the women then began unloading desks and folding chairs and set out across the town square, asking people questions and offering them copies of their leaflets. Most people ignored them or politely declined their offers but other stopped to listen. The town had lost something after he children's death, it seemed so much quieter and grey. However those who had changed the most had been the former parents of the town and Manfred quickly realised that those who were listening to the preachers were the children's parents.

Manfred picked himself up from the old wooden bench he had currently been spending his short break from his extra duties and walked over to the wagon. The clothes the preachers all wore were uniform with the exception of the emblem on their shoulders. All of the little patches had a red skull with stylised depictions of veins and muscle tissue embroidered onto it but each had a different flag, several of which Manfred recognised from his mostly forgotten geography lessons and old football games, as the flags of nations swallowed up by the Barrier and Equestria.

One of the preachers, a young woman with cropped black hair noticed him approaching and turned to look at him. She had dark skin and green eyes that seemed to regard him with a dull detachment even as her face lit up into a friendly but noticeably forced smile.

“Welcome brother,” she said offering him one of the leaflets in her hands “do you seek purpose?"

Manfred hesitated and then accepted the leaflet.

Knight.

A short story by Jed R.

"...by the power of the Avatar of Albion, by his might and grace, by the power of Excalibur and of Britain and by right of my stature, I dub thee Sir Knight, sworn to the defence of Albion and her people til death take you and beyond."
Dubbing ceremony of the Holy Order of Albion.

Cornwall, 2028.

When he was twenty one, Eric Smith found himself in a desperate situation, so desperate in fact that he was certain he was going to die.

He had joined the Defence Force when he was nineteen, convinced that it was better to fight, to try to do something, than it was to not do anything. He would likely die either way, and at least this way he would be able to exact some level of vengeance before the end.

So it was that he found himself on a beach in Newquay, Cornwall. He was facing down a massive horde of ponies: the beaches of Cornwall full of them, coming from assault craft thathad made it past the blockade. Bullets and spells flew thickly from the defenders side of the battlefield, but despite horrific casualties, nothing seemed to stop the horde.

"Keep firing!" his Sergeant yelled. Eric felt no need to stop: he wondered briefly whether his Sarge was yelling that more to keep himself from panicking than to tell anyone what to do. Unfortunately, he would never get an answer, for a moment later a spell impacted near him, splash damage sending waves of magical electricity arching through the Sergeant's body. He convulsed for a moment, before collapsing.

"Shit!" Eric swore, reloading his rifle, an old BAR rescued from storage somewhere: this was how it was. Men with archaic equipment held the line,mthe very latest equipment mostly lost or useless by now, save for those who were lucky enough to be given it.

"Right then," he heard someone say. Suddenly, a man started walking out towards the Equestrian lines.

"Hey!" someone yelled. "Get back here!"

"Hey you idiot, get down!" Eric found himself screaming, "you'll get yourself killed!"

"I don't think so," a vaguely Liverpudlian accent spoke. Eric turned, finding himself facing a yellow a Earth Pony in a shirt, tie and ill-fitting trenchcoat. "You might want to watch this."

"All troopers, cease fire!" a voice came in on Eric's personal radio. Confused, he looked at the yellow pony.

"What's going on?!" he asked.

The pony gave him a grin, before taking a cigarette out of his jacket and lighting up (did ponies smoke?).

"Just watch, kid," he said. "You might learn something."

Eric turned his eyes out to face the figure, who had his back to the entire defence line. Suddenly, the figure began glowing softly, a faint golden light emanating from him. Suddenly, he screamed, and there was a mighty golden flash - and then standing in place of the man was a giant knight, clad in silver armour and holding in his hand a massive, ornate Zweihander.

"Jesus," Eric heard someone say softly. "It can't be..."

"Warriors of Equestria," a deep, echoing voice called out towards the approaching Equestrian forces, "Thou hast come to make war on the sovereign land of Albion and the human race. Turn thy army back or die."

There was an echoing, mighty silence, and then another echoing voice, at once louder and at the same time less powerful than his, spoke.

"Who are you to halt the advance of Solamina's armies?!" the voice of Commander Twilight Sparkle spoke, scoffing slightly. "You're one man."

The answer the man gave was simple, and yet the depth of finality and feeling in the words was such that Eric felt a sudden tingle, like a surge of electricity surging through his body and up his spine.

"I am the Avatar of Albion."

The Equestrian forces didn't halt, and Sparkle's reply was full of condescension. "So you're the one who killed Rarity: you might have killed one skilled pony, but do you really think you can stand against an entire army?!"

In response, the Avatar raised the Zweihander. Eric could have sworn it glowed slightly, but he couldn't be sure whether it was a glint of sunlight or some inner power...

And then the Avatar smashed the blade tip first into the ground.

A wave of power emanated from the blade, blasting aside Equestrian forces like dust in the wind. The power was mostly directed at the Equestrian side, but there was enough of a backblow to reach Eric, and he blinked. The pony dropped his cigarette, cursing softly.

Ponies were thrown aside like rag dolls before the power of the Avatar's shock wave, until nearly the entire attack force was decimated. And then it was over, leaving nothing but a man standing in the middle of the field, and the disoriented remains of the Equestrian attack force, less than a few dozen ponies.

And the man, the Avatar of Albion, fell to one knee, barely keeping himself up with the ornate blade. As if in response to this, the handful of ponies still on the field started heading towards him,mmurderous gleams in their eyes.

Eric would never be able to tell you why he did what he did next, though he told this story a hundred times, but upon seeing that man, that hero, fall to his knee, he felt a surge of something in him - the need to not simply cower here in a trench and wait for the end, but to charge, to meet the enemy head on as this man had, to defend him if he could. Without waiting for an order, he got up out of his trench, and started running. He fired his BAR until the hammer hit empty, and then simply dropped the thing, drawing his World War One issue bayonet and screaming as he ran.

Just as an Earth Pony reached the Avatar, Eric arrived, ramming into the pony before stabbing him.

"No!" he yelled angrily. "No! No more! You won't touch another person, not while I'm here!"

He charged another pony, bashing him in the face with the hilt of his weapon before slicing his throat. He kicked out, sending a third pony reeling, before stabbing a fourth.

And the broken hilt of his blade came off in his hand, the blade lodged in the pony's throat still.

He turned, to see the Avatar still crouched in place, and himself near surrounded. Without thinking, he raced to the Avatar and made to grab the Zweihander: if he was going to die, he'd take as many of the bastards with him as he could.

His hand touched the blade's hilt...

...and he could see.

This man was not just a mighty warrior: he was the culmination of all the Avatars - not just of Albion, but of light itself. Of Arthur, of Excalibur, of all that had ever stood for good in the world. This being had been here before in other forms, hosted by other men, and had returned because he was called for, because Britain - the world - needed him.

And in that moment, Eric thought his life would be well forfeit, if it would buy this man even one moment more.

He grasped the hilt of Excalibur, feeling the weight of history, but not the weight of the blade, for it felt light as a feather. The Avatar released the blade silently, not looking up, and Eric span around, facing the ponies that surrounded him. He grinned, removing his gas mask as he did so - if he'd die at these bastards' hooves, he'd die showing his face. Black hair and dark brown skin glinted in the sun.

"Step aside, boy," one of the ponies said his hoof clearly edging towards a potion bottle.

"No," Eric replied. "Never."

A potion bottle was thrown at him, splashing him in the face...

... and he turned, grinning at the pony who had splashed him.

"What?!" the pony said, shocked. "How?!"

He didn't have a chance to say anything else, for Eric lashed out with the Zweihander, cutting the front of the pony open.

"Go back to where you came from!" Eric yelled to the surrounding ponies. "Or by Albion, I'll kill you all!"

"You're one man," another pony said angrily. "There's nothing you can do to stop us!"

"I am a warrior of Albion!" Eric yelled. "And this beach is mine, and the man behind me is under my protection. You can send as many ponies as you like, all at once or one at a time. I don't give a shit." He raised the blade, and grinned. "None shall pass."

There was a moment while this pronouncement sank in, before the ponies charged him.

The first pony fell to a downward chop. The second was slain by a slash. The third by a stab. Another downward hack sliced a fourth in half, before an arching spin killed three in one blow. He raised the blade over his head and hacked downward again, killing another pony...

And then a giant fireball swept past him, incinerating dozens of ponies and forcing the rest to retreat.

"Jesus, David!" Eric heard a Liverpudlian accent speak. He turned, breathing heavily, to see the yellow pony standing beside the kneeling Avatar. Slowly, the Avatar looked up, his eyes meeting Eric's. He stood, every move slow and painful, his eyes never leaving Eric's. Overcome with awe at this figure, Eric knelt, and proferred the blade hilt first to the warrior, bowing his head. He felt a sudden rising shame at having dared touch the blade of this mighty warrior, unworthy as he felt.

A hand reached out and grasped the hilt, raising the blade slightly, before resting it on Eric's shoulder.

"By Albion," that deep voice spoke, "and by all the Gods of humankind, I dub the Sir Knight."

Eric looked up in shock. The Avatar was smiling.

"Few could touch Excalibur," he said quietly. "Fewer still wield her in battle. You have shown rare courage - and she has rewarded you with her protection."

The Avatar pointed to the little patch of potion still on Eric's cheek. He wiped it off, shocked.

"I... I..."

"If Albion is to survive," the Avatar continued, "she will need heroes such as yourself. Be proud, Eric Smith. You have more than proved your mettle."

With that, the Avatar glowed again, until he had transformed back into the figure of David Elliot, who promptly collapsed. Of Excalibur, there was nothing to be seen.

Eric watched as men and ponies carried Elliot off, his mind turning over the words the Abatar had spoken. If Albion was to survive it would need heroes. Eric clenched a fist.

There were others, of that he was certain. Other warriors whose destiny was to fight alongside Albion as he had. Others who had been touched by that power in some way, or were capable - and worthy - of wielding it.

Eric - Sir Eric, he supposed now - swore to himself that he would seek them out. Together, he vowed, they would be such a fellowship as to stand where no others could, to stand with Albion himself through all darkness, through hell and back, right up to the final conflict with Solamina herself.

He did not know how right he would be.

***

The Great Exodus.

A short story by Jed R.

Equestria, 2023 (human calendar).

The brown Earth Pony stallion called the Doctor - more commonly known by the ponies of Equestria as Doctor Hooves - had seen tyranny and oppression that the average pony wouldn't believe. It was part of his history, to a certain degree: he had fought such things in places most ponies wouldn't have even believed existed, though that history was, at least as far as he was concerned, a long time in his past. He knew the signs of such things, the warning signs and telltale political moments that would single out a nation or state as beginning the long, slippery slope toward the darkness of tyranny.

Nonetheless, despite seeing many such signs here, he found himself not willing to acknowledge that Equestria - sweet, harmonious Equestria - was going the same way. After all, Equestria was a place where ponies had always been given free reign to be themselves, a place of peace and friendship of a sort that he had longed to find for almost all of his somewhat unbelievably long life. To see it descend into darkness was... exactly his idea of a nightmare.

Conversion was what had begun to tip him - and others - off. The idea that the barrier couldn't in any way be stopped was already suspect to him: he might not have been an expert on magic, but he knew enough to guess that if she had really wanted to, Celestia could have tried to stop it and probably done a good job - even without Luna, and he knew there was something up with a nigh-immortal Alicorn dying of 'illness'. Even worse was what had happened to the Element bearers - he and Twilight Sparkle had shared a discussion about the nature of the potion, and she had been convinced that there was something fundamentally wrong going on. But that had been before she had gone to visit Celestia... and now she sang a different tune, a tune of "sad necessity" and "should see this as a wonderful opportunity". The same could now be said of Rainbow Dash, Applejack, Pinkie Pie, Rarity... only Fluttershy still thought there was something wrong, and the Doctor was certain her number would be up soon.

His friend Ditzy Doo shared his concerns. Every time they discussed it, she would agree that the whole thing felt incredibly wrong to her.

"But I don't know what we can do," she would always say, and that was where the discussion would end. The Doctor, however, was well versed in what one ordinary individual - pony or otherwise - could "do", and he was determined to not let this atrocity happen without something to be said for it.

He would later be ashamed to say that he had procrastinated - he hadn't wanted to take action. He had wanted to hope that he was wrong. The truth was, he didn't want to be that man (well, pony) again, the man who stood up and said no. He wanted to hope somepony else would take up that mantle. But they didn't. It was, as ever it seemed, up to him.

It all came to a head when one morning he went by Fluttershy's house, intending on convincing her to come to a small meeting he was planning with a group of like-minded citizens. Unfortunately, when he drew near he saw her talking to a group of Royal Guards. She saw him over the shoulder of one, and though her expression didn't change, her eyes told the Doctor that he couldn't come nearer, that he should stay away. This was it: her turn. Her time to go through the same process that had claimed Twilight and the others.

"I'm sorry," he mouthed at her, his expression morose. She gave a sad smile, and then he turned away, bitter tears stinging at his eyes. Unbidden, words from deep in his past that spoke with a grim, tired, gravelly voice came and echoed throughout his mind.

"No more."

***

Lyra Heartstrings, Bon Bon, Ditzy Doo, Orange Swirl, Cheerilee, Peachy Pitt, Carrot Top... there were a large number of ponies all waiting in the meeting area he had selected, all of them looking nervous but resolute in some way. He was surprised to see so many - he had approached Lyra and Bon Bon, and Ditzy of course had known what he was planning, but to see so many others... it was definitely impressive.

He had been discreet about this meeting. The only publicity was word of mouth, spread to like mind ponies by like minded ponies - no posters, no fuss. He didn't want to attract the attention of Twilight Sparkle and the other Element bearers, after all. There was no way of knowing what they'd do - or who they'd tell. There was also the problem of not alerting the converted in the town, of which there were a small but fervent contingent: he had already seen them putting up posters from Sol Invictus' Solaminan movement, a group within the converted started by a former priest who had claimed to "see the light" upon conversion and had begun a passive-aggressive sort of Celestia worship that rechristened her "Astra Solamina", the royal sun (in what was quite frankly a torturous piece of Latin-work, if he had to be brutally honest, but try telling a Converted that).

He returned his attention to the here and now as he trotted up to the small assemblage of ponies.

"Doctor!" Ditzy exclaimed upon catching his eye. He smiled at her as he approached the group, all of whom now turned to him, their eyes full of questions.

"Hello," he said to her, but he turned to address the entire group. "Hello, all of you. Thank you for coming."

"What's all this about?" Bon Bon asked, ever blunt.

"I'd like to know that myself," Cheerilee added, frowning. "I'd heard this was a meeting to talk about the state of Equestria."

"It is," the Doctor said, his voice tinged with sadness. "We're here to talk about what's going wrong."

"What's going wrong?" somepony repeated. The Doctor sighed. He looked from pony to pony, his eyes boring into theirs, trying desperately to show his sincerity, hoping that they'd believe in him as others had believed in him in the past.

"We've all seen it," he began. "Haven't we? All seen that there's something happening."

The shared glances between ponies, full of unease, concern, worry and understanding, answered his question quite nicely.

"The converted," he continued, looking at each of the ponies here in turn. "The very fact that they exist. The fact that there's something off about them. Luna's death. And then there's some of the things the converted say - the idea that it's alright, on any conceivable scale! That their world is being destroyed! That their lives are being radically altered..."

"They don't talk about being human," Lyra Heartstrings put in, looking concerned herself. "Not even a little. I've asked them about it, but they don't want to talk about their former lives. Some of them even flat out lie about having been human."

"And then there's Twilight and the other Element bearers," Carrot Top threw in. "I knew some of those ponies for years. I don't see any of them being so comfortable with this as they are."

"They weren't always," a small voice put in. Most ponies turned, to see Spike, the purple dragon that served as Twilight’s assistant in the library, sat listening to them. He looked tired and morose, his dragon body somewhat taller than most ponies remembered (he had gone through the odd growth spurt). Some of the ponies panicked slightly, backing away from him.

"What are you doing here?" Bon Bon asked, frowning. "I bet you'll tell Twilight everything we're..."

"She isn't Twilight," Spike put in, frowning at Bon Bon. "Not anymore."

There was a moment's pause as everypony absorbed this bit of information. While everypony knew Spike the dragon lived with Twilight, none of them knew what he had thought of this Conversion affair. Until now.

"What do you mean, Spike?" Lyra asked, sounding concerned.

"Twilight didn't trust this conversion stuff," Spike clarified, his tone downcast and grim. "She told me about it, about how it was... about how there was more to the potion than Celestia was telling her, telling anypony."

"She said as much to a few ponies," the Doctor said. Lyra nodded.

"We talked about it once, briefly," she said quietly. "She said she'd see about getting to the bottom of it."

"Yeah, well whatever came back from talking to Celestia wasn't the same Twilight," Spike said quietly, his voice breaking slightly as he spoke. "She was similar alright, but there was something too... too weird about her. And she was all, 'ooh, Conversion is ok', like one of those Solaminan posters."

"This is how it begins," the Doctor said, frowning as he gazed off into some unknown distance. "This is where the fall starts."

"What fall?" Cheerilee asked.

"What I don't get is what this has to do with us anyway," another pony said. "So what if these humans get Converted: it's just a few more ponies wandering around, it doesn't change anything."

Other ponies turned to the speaker, a pale yellow unicorn named Fair Grace. She frowned as everypony looked at her.

"What?" she said. "Yeah, it's horrible that these humans are having their world destroyed, but we can't do anything, and apart from the Converted it doesn't really effect us. Why is everypony getting so worked up?"

"That's the fall," the Doctor said. He met Fair Grace's eyes. "The moment you say that another's problems aren't your problems, so why worry? The moment you make another group 'the other', make their suffering an abstract, something distant, that's when you become something else yourself." He paused, then sighed. "There's a great quote, by a human named Niemoller. One of the more well-known versions goes like this." He looked everypony in the eye, and then began reciting. "First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out, because I was not a Socialist. Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out because I was not a Trade Unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out because I was not a Jew." He blinked, and then finished in a quiet voice. "Then they came for me - and there was no one left to speak for me."

The assembled ponies looked at each other. Fair Grace sighed, looking away in shame.

"What do we do then?" Bon Bon asked.

"Simple," the Doctor said softly. He looked around. "We go."

***

"We Go."

It became a rallying cry for a thousand ponies: disparate groups of the discontented right across Equestria, ponies who refused to simply stay and watch as the land they had known fell into ruin. From city to city, the Doctor travelled, using his TARDIS to go from place to place and find out exactly what was happening, who wanted to leave. Everywhere he went, he found ponies who felt the same way he did ponies who saw this insanity for what it truly was: ponies who were willing to do something about it.

Minuette, Parasol, Sea Swirl, Ever Stern... the Doctor came to know many names as the months progressed, as his plan gradually came to fruition. Some of the ponies he met were strange or initially hostile. One in particular, a mare named Lightning Dust, had been very antagonistic at first before finally agreeing to come with those who were fleeing. More and more joined them, from cities across Equestria - tens, hundreds, even thousands, all ready to flee the insanity they all knew was coming.

Eventually, there was devised, in secret, a name for the group, a name they could all get behind, the whisper of their last hope. They came to call themselves the Equestrian Underground movement: they were the resistance, the last ones rebelling against Celestia’s ever-increasing insanity. And the movement was growing...

***

Canterlot, 2024 (Earth Calendar).

"Ok, quietly!" True Grit said, motioning with his hoof to the small group of civilians. Next to him, Errant Flight and Iron Gait looked pensive.

Errant Flight and True Grit were both former Royal Guardsponies, the former a tan Pegasus and the latter a green Unicorn: both of them intended to abscond from the army, having decided that the direction it was all going was a bit far for their liking.

They had initially decided to try fleeing Equestria for somewhere else on Equus, but then they had run into Doctor Hooves of Ponyville. The strange Earth Pony had told them of a larger movement of ponies, all across Equestria, who were determined to flee the land in favour of... somewhere else (Hooves hadn't exactly been very forthcoming about exactly where this "somewhere else" was, but he had been quite convincing). After they had agreed to help his evacuation plan however they could, he had left them in charge of gathering and escorting a large group of civilians to the rendezvous point. Among those civilians were DJ P0n-3, or rather Vinyl Scratch (the former being her stage name), as well as a rather grouchy Earth Pony named Iron Gait - “I walk places” was all he said, as if that were answer enough to the question of what he did.

"I don't like this," Flight said quietly. "It's too..."

"Shut up for a second, you bucking pigeon-pony," Gait snapped. The old Earth Pony had been remarkably helpful in getting ponies moving, and could be remarkably motivating when he wanted to be (in a rather antagonistic way), but he was also a bit of a plot-hole. "The sooner we get to the rendezvous point, the sooner we can get gone."

Grit nodded, less than happy at the pony's attitude but willing to put up with it: he knew what was coming if they didn’t get out of here soon. There were rumours about what was going to happen, about the military buildup. Nopony knew exactly when, but everypony knew something big was about to go down. There was word on the grapevine that Celestia was going to make a big speech today, though about what exactly was a mystery.

“Grit! Flight!” somepony called. A moment later, Ditzy Doo appeared, Doctor Hooves behind her. He was wearing a neckerchief and looked about five years older than the last time anypony from the Canterlot group had seen him, but it was still the same Hooves, and he was smiling triumphantly at the very sight of them.

"How many?" the brown stallion asked Grit.

"Something like forty this time," the former Guard replied. "Doctor..."

"Forty is good," the Earth Pony interrupted, looking thoughtful. "Not too big a number..."

"Doctor, listen to me!" Grit snapped. "There's a big announcement supposedly coming up today, in about an hour. I think it'll be something to do with the Barrier and the humans. Celestia’s been getting antsy ever since the Barrier stopped at those Islands - what were they called? Brattain?"

“Britain,” the Doctor corrected him. The Earth Pony frowned thoughtfully. "That doesn't sound good," he added quietly.

"No it doesn't," Grit agreed. "Which is why I think somepony should go and watch. I could..."

"No," the Doctor said sharply. "You're evacuating with the others." He turned to Ditzy. "Get these ponies to the TARDIS, ASAP."

"Ok," Ditzy replied, looking more serious than anypony who knew her could have ever imagined her: whatever was going on, it had her complete attention.

“You’re not coming with us?” Grit asked, frowning.

“No,” the Doctor said, frowning. “There’s something I need to see. Wait for me, Ditzy, but if I’m not back in five hours, hit the big green button. You should all be fine in the TARDIS.”

Without another word, he dashed off into the streets of Canterlot, leaving True Grit, Errant Flight and the rest of the ponies with Ditzy.

“Alright everypony,” the grey Pegasus mare said quietly. “Come on!”

She raced off, and the large group of ponies followed her. She quietly hoped the Doctor would be ok - he had an unfortunate tendency to get himself into trouble without her.

***

The courtyard outside Celestia’s palace was full to the brim of ponies. Young and old, mares and stallions and colts and fillies, all of them had come to see their glorious leader speak. The Doctor was dismayed, but not exactly surprised, to see that a large number of this crowd were Converted - by now, there were almost three or four billion of them: the majority of the human race transformed into… mockeries of ponies, blank flanked and docile.

It wasn’t them that really had the Doctor’s attention, though. The thing that really got his attention was the figure of Celestia herself. Stood at the far edge of the crowd (in case he had to make a hasty escape), he could see her clear as day.

She stepped out onto the balcony of her palace in full golden armour, gazing down imperiously at the ponies gathered below. Next to her, the Doctor could see Twilight Sparkle, who looked positively comfortable there.

“Brother and sister ponies,” Celestia began. “These are trying times indeed. We have offered the hoof of friendship to the humans: we have offered them a chance to become part of Equestria. Many have made the right choice - but some have chosen to reject this generosity. Some have chosen, instead, to fight us.”

Gasps of horror filled the crowd, almost as if they were on cue. The Doctor frowned at this: that didn’t make any sense.

“In light of this treachery, I have realised that it is no longer befitting merely to be a Princess, merely to have our glorious land be a Kingdom,” Celestia continued, gazing down at her adoring audience. “The ponies of Equestria have begged me to take a greater mantle, a mantle of total responsibility, and with a heavy heart I accept this mantle. I declare Equestria to be an Empire, with myself as its Empress!”

The Doctor narrowed his eyes. As she had spoken, Twilight Sparkle had walked off the balcony. He had a bad feeling about this, but before he could leave she continued, her words filling him with even more horror.

“And in deference to my beloved Converted subjects, those who have sacrificed much to stand with us today, I shall not rule you as Celestia,” the Alicorn finished. “I shall rule you as Astra Solamina Maxima! I am the Sun, mighty and resplendent, and none shall stand before my might! Together, we shall assail the humans and utterly annihilate them! None shall survive unconverted!!”

The crowd went wild with jubilation, but all the Doctor felt was sick. This was the very thing he had hoped to avoid from Equestria, and yet the nightmare was coming true before his very eyes. He had to do something, to flee while he still could. He turned and galloped away as the crowd began chanting the new name of their Empress, jubilation etched on every face…

***

As he was leaving the celebration, travelling through back alleys in order to be safe, he heard a tap. He span around, only to find himself facing Twilight Sparkle, Spike standing behind her, frowning slightly.

“Didn’t enjoy the speech much, I take it,” Sparkle said, smiling maliciously. “No matter, Doctor. I’m sure we’ll find something for you to enjoy.”

The Doctor stepped away from her, narrowing his eyes. “Twilight, whatever she did to you…”

“Guards!” Sparkle cut him off, calling forward two Royal Guards from the shadows they had been hiding in. “Take this traitor away!”

Before the Guards or the Doctor could make a move, Spike sprang into action. He grabbed Twilight and threw her down the alley, where she landed in a daze. Before the Guards could react to this, he took a deep breath and blew fire over them,. incinerating them where they stood. He turned to the Doctor, a grim look in his eyes.

“Run,” was all he said. The Doctor nodded frantically and ran, while Spike turned to find himself facing off against Twilight, who was snarling.

“Traitor!” she bellowed.

He didn’t reply, instead sending forward another stream of fire at her. Instead of being incinerated, however, Twilight activated a magical shield, and a moment later the fire turned to ice crystals. With a gesture from her horn, she sent the crystals at Spike - one or two pierced his hide, and he yelled in pain, before charging at her. She sent spells at him, designed to stun, but they bounced off of his thick dragon skin. In desperation, she sent a blasting spell - it impacted just below his right shoulder, blowing his right arm off and exposing a portion of his internal organs. His momentum carried him forward for a moment, and he gradually slowed, before slumping to his knees in front of her, eyes wide.

“Twilight,” he whispered, and then he slumped forward, dead. Slowly she approached his corpse, eyes wide with shock at what she had done.

“Spike…” she murmured. “Why?”

But the dead dragon held no answers. Sighing with sadness, she turned away from him and galloped off to sound the alarm.

***

When he got to the TARDIS, his small blue box that held within it his time machine, the Doctor was furious. This “Astra Solamina” was about to declare war on humanity, and they had no way to know what was about to happen.

There were still cities he needed to go to, but there was no way to get to them and get to Britain in time to warn the human race of the attack coming their way. The only choice he had, therefore, was to leave now with Equestria only half evacuated. It galled him… but he could always try to return. He entered the TARDIS, looking over the giant green domed room with a soft smile - this at least was familiar, was comforting.

“Doctor?” Ditzy said as he entered, catching his attention. “What happened?”

“I’m afraid we’re gonna have to accelerate our plans,” he replied, heading for the console. “Time to do some serious flying!”

He pulled a lever with his teeth and the rotor in the centre of the TARDIS console began moving slowly up and down, signalling his machine beginning it’s motion. A great wheezing, groaning noise began, and for a moment, the Doctor smiled. Suddenly, the room shuddered, and the rotor stopped moving.

“No!” the Doctor yelled. There was some kind of interference preventing the TARDIS from escaping - but what?! he checked the readouts - it was something magical, a kind of mini-barrier designed to prevent his ship from leaving, which made him even more wary: the TARDIS wasn’t exactly adapted for dealing with magical interference. Still - he could do something at least.

He grabbed his sonic screwdriver from it’s charging holster on the console and raced to the door. once there, he threw it open - he could see the magical shield preventing escape, and grinned. He held up the screwdriver and began cycling through settings, trying to find the best setting to disrupt the interference. For a moment, nothing happened, and then the rotor began moving again, slowly and torturously.

“Yes!” he yelled. Suddenly, as though an elastic band were snapping, he was thrown backwards, the rotor began moving much more quickly, and the screwdriver he held exploded, scalding his hoof.

“Doctor!” Ditzy yelled. “Are you ok?”

“Yes, Ditzy, I’m fine,” he replied, frowning at the destroyed screwdriver. “I liked that screwdriver, too. Oh well.”

He went to the controls, and confirmed with a grin that they were nearly at his destination - a small place in what had once been France called Dunkirk.

“Excellent!” he yelled. Once they were there, they could grab the boats he’d been storing - both there and in the TARDIS - and make their way to Britain. They had a chance! He pulled another control triumphantly. “Allonsy!”

***

Q is for Quiet

Q is for Quiet.

A short story by Jed R.

Deep in the darkest cells of Canterlot...

Canterlot had depths. Beneath those it had more depths. Deep, dark dungeons where ponies - and one pony in particular - thought that things were safe, where they would never come to light if they were left there to rot.

Deep in the very deepest, darkest depths of Canterlot, in a cell filled with empty chains covered in wards that had proved useless and lined with warding runes and other spells etched into the rock that were utterly pointless, there sat a being. For the longest time he had been a God, or considered himself one. The truth was a little bit more complicated than that but it was essentially accurate. He was all but omnipotent, all but omniscient. He was not omnibenevolent - in truth, rather the opposite, or at least he could be rather the opposite if he felt like it - but then again, he had never considered being omnibenevolent to be a key factor in deciding whether one was a God or not. Really, it was more a case of deciding what kind of God you happened to be. Of course, he had turned out to be rather an impotent one, but... no. No. No point dwelling on what might have been and what definitely was not.

His name - well, his name was unpronounceable by any tongue devised by any mortal. Among his own kind he was most often called "Q", albeit only because they all were and really, that was only the mortal translation for ideas that were beyond mere naming conventions. Nonetheless, it was the name he had taken for when he was amongst the human race (which was surprisingly often). Amongst the creatures of Equestria, however, he had a different name, and a different form: Discord, the Draconequus and self-proclaimed Lord of Chaos. Not that he was causing much chaos or doing much lording right now.

He wasn't trapped here. Oh, you wouldn’t think it to look at him - he was sat in the cell, apparently perfectly content, and despite the fact that he wasn’t bound in the chains that surrounded him, one could easily believe just from looking at him that he was unable to escape the tiny little room. The truth was… altogether different.

He was not trapped. He couldn't have been trapped anywhere, for though there were so many things in this omniverse that were "powerful" in many different ways, very few things were more powerful than him. Even being stone was... well. Irrelevant for the most part. A diversion. Being trapped by those pesky Elements was irritating to be sure: it took a couple of millennia out of his life that he really would have rather spent doing something else, but at least it was only a couple of millennia - had it been a few million years… well, then he would have started getting… concerned. Or homicidal. Or omnicidal. He couldn’t have told you since it wasn’t an experience he had ever had and wasn’t one he ever wanted to have.

No… this was no imprisonment, no imposition on him from some external party (much as the pony who believed herself his captor would likely have told you otherwise). No, this was a self-imposed exile. He had deliberately chosen, under his own volition and by his own authority over himself (the only authority he had ever been inclined to recognise, small moments in his own personal history aside where others, more powerful than his captor, had brought him to heel).

After all, why shouldn’t he stay here? It was nice. It was quiet. Absolutely quiet. Nothing going wrong in here. No maniacs. No insanity. No death writ large. Why would he want to step outside the boundaries of this place? Why should he ever go beyond the walls of this prison when...

He sighed as the thoughts crossed his mind. Why should he ever leave here, when the horrors out there were so terrible that even his mind was left reeling at the sheer insanity of it all?

Not, of course, that he could truly have done anything about it had he decided not to remain here. There were some powers that were beyond even him, and that terrified him. That terror didn't really justify his inaction (or at least he was certain an old acquaintance of his who was very fond of making long, boring moral speeches would have said that it didn’t), but…

But though he was not held prisoner by the chains his supposed ‘captor’ had placed around the stone body, though he had forced his way from them after being saturated with more dark chaos energy than he thought he had ever felt in Equestria… he knew full well that if he had decided to go up against Princess Celestia, or rather Empress Solamina, the thing that had taken her place, he would have failed. There was more power within her than that which Celestia had laid claim to as an Alicorn Princess, and he knew exactly where it had come from… and that thought terrified him.

They could have done something, he supposed. Maybe. Truthfully, Discord didn’t know if They were powerful enough to take on that creature, but they could have done something - saved the humans. Stopped the Barrier. Had another interminable, boring meeting about how wrong it all was and yes of course they should do something about it…

Ha. Yeah, right. They never would.

He could go out of here, he supposed - flee to the other end of the galaxy, avoid all of this mess entirely, maybe have fun with some of his old test-things like he used to, or maybe side-step into a dimension where none of this ridiculousness was ever going to happen and never had (he had often spent time in one such dimension, a long time ago). But… no. No, he couldn’t do that, either.

As much as he could flee to the ends of the universe (and then to the ends of the one after it), the problem with omniscience was that one knew intimately about almost everything. Worse still… the problem with him was that he couldn’t very well ignore something he had - well, not “seen”, but been within such close proximity of. He couldn’t make himself forget it. Well, he could... but somehow, he felt that such a forgetting would be an insult to the memory of those who had suffered and died and, while he was not normally one to care for what he had once termed “lesser beings”... this… this insanity was on a different scale. It deserved to be remembered.

So he was left here, unable and unwilling to act against the thing and unwilling to simply leave. He could feel every iota of the hatred and terror out there... and at the same time, he didn't want to.

"It seems horribly dull down here," a new voice spoke suddenly. It sounded so horribly familiar to him that for a moment he thought it was one of Them, before he realised that They wouldn't dare to come here and risk provoking the thing. And the voice was too familiar.

A moment later, an identical Draconequus was standing in front of him, the same snaggle-toothed grin he had created and perfected himself beaming back at him.

"Hello," he said quietly, the grin not wavering. "How are you?"

Discord frowned at once at this being, knowing who he was as soon as he laid eyes on him - he was an alternative version of himself from another part of the multiverse, a parallel Q - or parallel Discord, given the form he had chosen to wear. Such things were... frowned upon, to say the least.

"You shouldn't be here," he said quickly. "They..."

"They wouldn't come with two billion light years of this place," the other him said at once. "You know that."

There was a pause as Discord accepted his alternate's point with a surly nod.

"So," the alternative Discord said, snapping his fingers and morphing into another of Discord's old forms. "What's up with the new place? Not exactly our style."

Discord was speechless, observing his alternate's form with a wide eyed expression of shock. It had been, for him, many years since he had taken the tall, vaguely handsome human form, and many more years since he had worn the red uniform with the black shoulders. He frowned.

"I can't just leave," he said simply. "And I can't interfere. They'd have my hide if I tried."

"You're so certain?" his alternate asked, the human eyes piercing him.

"Why wouldn't They?" Discord asked. "They were always so eager to stop me from interfering when it was just playing around with humans on one small ship. Why would helping the entire species somehow escape their notice?"

"Maybe because you and I both know this isn't how things are meant to be?" his alternate pointed out. "This is..."

"Don't try the 'this is a corruption of history' idea," Discord scowled. "They'll throw that one out as soon as look at me - or rather, as soon as look at you. 'Everything is meant to happen! it's just a matter of where you're standing', They'll say."

"Well then," his alternate said, "why not just leave? You don't owe the humans anything, and the ponies haven't gotten round to being anything more than an annoyance for you."

"What, and they're more to you?" Discord asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Believe it or not, they actually tried 'reforming' me," his alternate said with an amused expression. "Not that I really needed 'reforming' - the entire idea that we were downright 'evil' is ridiculous, but you know Celly could never stand to have a little fun..."

Discord scowled again at the mention of Celestia, but his alternate ignored it.

"... and believe it or not, Fluttershy of all ponies tried her darndest to actually be our friend," the other him finished with a wistful smile. "She truly surprised me, you know."

"Well she's not likely to do that here," Discord said sullenly. "Being as she has been decapitated and all. That tends to put a damper on any budding friendships."

"There are other ponies."

"I want nothing to do with ponies!" he snapped. "Never again. Not after this travesty."

"They're not all supporting the... thing, you know."

"They're not stopping it either."

"Perhaps," his alternate said with a shrug. "In any case, you owe the ponies nothing, you owe the humans nothing, so why stay?"

"Would you leave?" Discord asked simply. His alternate didn't answer. "Exactly."

"But you won't act."

"What would I do?"

"What could you do?"

Discord blinked at that. 'What could you do?' It seemed a simple question, and yet there was a lot behind that question that Discord could sense. The question wasn't just a question of what action he could take - it was a question of what he was willing to do, what he was able to do, what he could do that might actually help.

"I don't know," he said honestly. It was an admission he would only ever make to himself, fortunately, he was only admitting it to himself.

"Then look," his alternate suggested with a slight smile.

And so he did.

He saw what he had expected to see. He saw the humans slaughtered, he saw the so-called Equestrian Resistance battling alongside them but unable to win. He saw their Avatar - the battle between him and Pinkie Pie. The death of Captain Shining Armour.

And then he saw something else... a yellow Earth Pony who wasn't really an Earth Pony.

"Is that pony actually trying to create an interdimensional portal?" he asked, eyes wide.

"I don't know, is he?" his alternate asked.

But Discord had already realised what was happening. "They'll send him to Equestria, and he won't be able to do a thing to stop Solamina, will he?"

The question was rhetorical and his alternate knew it. Discord knew he shouldn't make any rash choices, but...

"Ah, the hell with it," he said, snapping his fingers.

He felt the portal open: he felt the flow of the between-spaces as the link was formed. It was a roundabout way of going about things, a risky and dangerous thing. No one would question it when it went wrong.

And maybe, Discord hoped, the human Avatar could get some help from a rather... unexpected source.

A moment later, it was done. Discord turned and grinned at his alternate.

"You knew that was going to happen," he said with a slightly wry grin.

"Well," his alternate replied smugly. "From my own perspective, it already did."

A moment later, the alternative-Discord disappeared, leaving Discord smiling on his own in the cell. It was quiet down here. He liked it. But he get the feeling that maybe - just maybe - he wouldn't have to stay in here much longer.

Meet Upsilon Squadron

Meet Upsilon Squadron.

A short story by The Void

Dramatis Personae.

Upsilon Squadron:

Storm Cloak (Upsilon Leader) - Pegasus Male.
Cloud Ranger (Upsilon Two) - Pegasus Female.
Starlight Gleam (Upsilon Three) - Pegasus Female.
Grey Fox (Upsilon Four) - Pegasus Male.
Rotor Blade (Upsilon Five) - Pegasus Male.
Blue Sky (Upsilon Six) - Pegasus Male.
Pony Dave (Upsilon Seven) - Pegasus Male.
White Blossom (Upsilon Eight) - Pegasus Female.
Fell Spear (Upsilon Nine) - Pegasus Male.
Starbright Gleam (Upsilon Ten) - Pegasus Female.
Gale Force (Upsilon Eleven) - Pegasus Female.
Mercy Errand (Upsilon Twelve) - Pegasus Female.

Dust Cloud (Tech Officer) - Pegasus Male.

Resistance Command.

High Tide (Air-Commodore Marshal) - Pegasus Male.

Grey Squadron (former).

Errant Flight (Grey Four) - Pegasus Male.

***

"Why the change?"

The glare of Air Commodore High Tide shot through Cloud Ranger. Her reasons for her being in that spot that day were her own.

“Where are you going now?” Errant Flight said, not even raising his head to look a her.

The two had been sat in front of the graves for what felt like hours. They were, of course, hollow but that seemed to fit how the team now was. Someday she hoped, after the war, that she would come back and add colour to the barren field the graves were in. Something to keep the spirits up. Ditzy would have wanted that. Cloud Ranger was half tempted to add a grave reading “Grey Squadron” to the mix. Ditzy Doo was the heart of the group and she was gone. Just like that. How are you suppose to live without a heart? Answer; you don’t.

“I don’t know,” Cloud Ranger finally replied.

“Then stay. Perhaps we can...do...something.” Errant seemed distant. A mind lost in memories?

“Like?”

“Anything. Anything that means their lives weren’t spent in vain.” He stood up tall and triumphant. “Anything that means that Solamina will rot.” Errant’s voice was growing. He was coming back to earth, “Anything that means that her armies will no longer feel safe in the skies.” He turned to face Cloud Ranger, eyes almost burning with mournful vengeance. Errant’s voice calmed a bit, the emotions leaked through though. “I think we should start up a new squadron. They may be gone but I’d be damned if I’m ending it there.”

Cloud Ranger gulped. This wasn’t going to be easy. “Who would lead?”

Errant’s face turned static. Silence oozed into existence. Neither were leaders, they couldn’t…

“You have a point.” The tears found their way through Errant Flight’s chuckle. “We could -”

“Stop.” Cloud Ranger had only the seeds of a plan but it didn’t involve Errant, as much as she might have wanted it to.

Errant Flight began walking towards her.

“Stop!” Now it was Cloud Ranger who was looking away from her teammate. A status he wouldn’t have in a few minutes.

The gears seemed to spin in Errant’s mind. He moved in front of Cloud Ranger but she dared not look him in the eye. The truth was hard. In the back of her own mind though, she knew she had to do this. For the good of her sanity.

“You can go if you want,” Errant Flight said, much to Cloud Ranger’s surprise. “You’re right of course. You always are.”

“This isn’t goodbye you know,” Cloud Ranger noted.

“No, it’s just ‘till next time’ I guess.”

“We’ll make her proud Errant.” She met his gaze dead on. “She taught us so much.”

“Yeah.” He was straining not to be lost in thought.

“Maybe it’s time for us to be teachers for another squadron,” she said quietly.

For a moment Errant Flight wasn’t sure of the difference. For a single moment of ignorant bliss, he still had hope that they could work together. War is no time for ignorance though.

“Am I too much?” he asked cautiously.

Cloud Ranger immediately shook her head. In a sense though he was right. “We are the only Grey Squadron members left. Everytime I look at you I’ll remember all those times we shared with everypony else. If you think about it, you’ll feel the same way.”

Errant Flight stepped back. With a quivering smile he saluted Cloud Ranger.

Cloud Ranger mirrored his actions.

“Good luck Cloud Ranger,” Errant said. He held his salute strong

Cloud Ranger’s reply was simple, a nod. With a bust of air she was off again. Looking back towards the ground, she watched at the still saluting Errant Flight got smaller and smaller. She dared not look away until he was out of sight.

Truthfully, she'd would rather have not dwelled on the decision any longer. She had made her choice and that was that. It simplified things.

High Tide was the Pegasus in charge of Squadron reassignment. He was an older, battered pony. Cloud Ranger knew some of the stories that surrounded him. His left wing had been stricken down in combat, ripped to pieces by a barrage spell. It was by the hands of a miracle (as some more optimistic ponies would have said) that his wing was repaired. While he was unable to fly again, his left wing was now a somewhat decent defence in the form of light armour. The armour supported his wings like an artificial exoskeleton. He was ill-equipped to fly anymore. Nevertheless, he was a great Commodore and almost fought a one stallion war to keep his position.

You can understand then why the gaze of this navy coloured pony was slowly drilling its way through her to get an answer. High Tide dropped his gaze and sighed. To his side was a list of new Squadrons forming. He looked them up and down until the efforts of a smile crept onto his face. With a confident gesture he urged Cloud Ranger over to see for herself.

In his time he must have seen many souls come to help in the war against the Tyrant Solamina. Any one of the squadrons could benefit from having Cloud Ranger in their ranks. Zeta, no they were a legion on their own (metaphorically and almost literally given their numbers). Gamma, not right either. They had formed towards the beginning of their efforts. Near the end of the list was the name that he lingered on the longest. The name he kept tapping with that scorched hoof of his. Upsilon. The information on them was little but told much. Few in number and scarce in experience.

"That's where I'm needed?" Cloud Ranger asked.

"That's where you're needed." Confirmed High Tide. He went away for a moment and returned with some papers. He passed Cloud Ranger the top one.

Upsilon Squadron "Upsilon Leader".
Name: Storm Cloak.
Age: 35.
Rank: Squadron Leader.

He seemed normal enough but then again how much can you tell from a piece of paper.

"I'll send word ahead for your arrival." High Tide pulled a radio from the side. The movement made him twitch in pain. Cloud Ranger couldn't help but wonder how long High Tide had left until he ‘retired’.

"Upsilon Squadron will need you. Storm Cloak took the Squadron to 'Wellingborough' to train." Cloud Ranger tilted her head slightly. It was a place she hadn't heard of before.

"I know, I know," said High Tide "It's not very big. However, it makes a decent place for a new squadron to learn. At least that's what I've heard."

He passed her a map. Littered about it were the settlements and camps for training. While they weren't the best of the best, they were the best of what they had. The most extensive equipment was in Leeds where she had trained alongside Grey Squadron. Before her mind drifted off to memories of Ditzy and the gang she was given a puzzle, actually finding Wellingborough. The names of the towns were more visible the bigger they were, so it told Cloud Ranger quite a bit when, to help, High Tide offered her a magnifying glass. Eventually she found it, it might as well have been a random name on a map. Perhaps that was Storm Cloak's thinking. Finding a place so isolated that the troops would be free from distractions.

"How many members?" Cloud Ranger's voice back to its full power of confidence.

"Including you, twelve although they do have a Tech Officer,” the Commodore said. “He’s grounded but very skilled."

Cloud Ranger turned her back on High Tide with a nostalgic grin. "I’ll get to it then."

***

The sight of the meeting place didn't exactly inspire Cloud Ranger like she had hoped. A fresh face, free of scars and full of innocence was what she wanted, that was what she needed. What she was given was something that barely looked real. The buildings appeared to have passed away long before the war even started. Their souls had been sucked dry by time. Cloud Ranger knew though, in the back of her war-torn mind, that any innocent soul in this fight was quickly crumbled.

Wellingborough was small. It was little wonder why it was still there: the enemy probably didn't even know it existed. In the centre of it was an old tank. Long ago, it had been disarmed, meant to show the children of Earth what one looked like. Nowadays it had been crudely re-armed as a sort of surprise weapon, in case any of Solamina’s soldiers came through. None ever did. It would have been a waste of time and resources. The people of Wellingborough left in the early days for safer ground: the small town was left hollow in favour of towns with actual defences. It was a wonder Storm Cloak had found it at all.

Gazing up at the tank, Cloud Ranger looked back on her time with Grey Squadron. How they had been her family. The ones who stood by her with warm hearts. Sadly warm hearts can't do much when they are broken, they just scatter. If Grey Squadron had taught her anything it was that made a great team. It wasn't just skill or power, it was comradeship. She at least could try and show her new squadron what teamwork meant.

The silence of the town felt unnatural (though calling it a ’town’ was being very generous). Cloud Ranger could hear every breath she took while waiting for Storm Cloak. It became something of a rhythm, after a while she became almost lost in it. She found comfort in what was the only sound around for miles. Patience was rewarded however, a series of rusty creaks echoed inside the tank. With an exhausted ‘thud’ the hatch opened and out peered a crimson red Pegasus, sporting a white shirt with some sort of ancient symbol on it. His glance scattered in all directions until his eye fell upon a now slightly confused Cloud Ranger. In two echoing bounds he bounced off the tank and landed in front of her.

"You must be..." Cloud Ranger's was halted by Storm Cloak's hoof on her lips.

He circled her, looking her up and down, observing each scar like a trophy. He himself had a rather fine example of such a trophy running down his side, decorated with smaller trophies along the way. Storm Cloak's mane was scruffy and unkempt. He had circled her a fair dozen times before he stopped in front and gave a confident nod.

"Aye, you'll be a fine addition to our squadron." Storm Cloak's voice couldn't have been more separate from the way he looked. It was young and full of a spark that only those who've had the grandest of parties had. "Yes, I am the one they call Storm Cloak. No need for introductions my lady Cloud Ranger. You have been known amongst us since the sun shone high in the sky and we did feast to your coming."

"Thanks." Cloud Ranger wasn't quite sure what else to say to this pony. Instead, she let her actions do the talking. She straightened herself, cleared her thoughts and listened.

A scratch.

Cloud Ranger grinned and gestured behind her. "Who's your friend?"

"The lady has good ears," decreed Storm Cloak. His gazed moved behind her. "You're losing your touch Dust Cloud," he bellowed.

A smaller Pegasus came into view. Not a shred of his mane remained. His looks did meet his first name quite well, he had the palest brown fur that Cloud Ranger had ever come across (whether this was natural for him or a side-effect of the war she couldn't guess).

Dust Cloud gave an attempt at a smile "As Storm Cloak yelled, my name is Dust Cloud. Call me Dusty. Storm wanted to see if you could spot me. Skill test I guess."

"Follow, my friends!" Storm Cloak dashed off leaving Dust and Cloud Ranger to quickly run after.

When Cloud Ranger walked into the main base alongside Storm Cloak and Dust. The remaining squadron silenced themselves before getting in line (with only a little stumbling). The base, as it turned out, was the shell of what had once been a bank, although you could hardly tell with the added military equipment that was scattered around the building.

"Brothers and sisters," Storm Cloak began proudly, "this is the honourable Cloud Ranger, formerly of Grey Squadron. She shall aid us in our heroic quest to smite Solamina. Now, while you get acquainted with our newest comrade, I shall prepare our equipment for mock battle - we must begin preparations for the test of glory!"

As Storm Cloak left, a glint in his eye and a song in his heart, Dust Cloud took his spot.

"He means training," he said to Cloud Ranger walking with her to the end of the line.

They had been training, that much was obvious. From the marks on the walls to the fresh bruises on their bodies, the signs were there.

Cloud Ranger turned to Dusty. "What is training like for Upsilon Squadron?"

A new voice emerged from the line. "We don't stop until everypony is down. Unorthodox but effective. Though that sums up Storm Cloak himself."

In the centre of the line was a thin grey stallion baring a list as his cutie mark. His mane still retained some of its blonde sheik. As Cloud Ranger approached him, he was still muttering about the different methods of training.

"- and then there's the trips around town. So all in all he's a good..." His face froze on Ranger's glare. It was a mixed first impression to say the least.

"Name and Rank Please," ordered Ranger quickly.

The stallion paused for a moment before realising who he was speaking too. "Flight Lieutenant Grey Fox. Also known as Upsilon Four. How are you?"

"Fine thanks." The beginning of a smile started to worm its way onto Ranger's face. A second later an idea sparked in her mind. "Lieutenant Grey Fox, what time do you make it?"

"About 16:30 hours." Grey said, straightening himself up.

"Good. Just about time for dinner." By this time the smile had become a chuckle in her voice. The members of Upsilon exchanged confused glances. Obviously, they weren't aware of how Grey Squadron had done things. They may have been elite, but they were family as well.

"Pardon?" the gruff voice of a brown stallion focused the glances on to Cloud Ranger. Like Storm Cloak, he seemed as though he had been one of the earliest to fight the war.

Cloud Ranger stepped in front of him. He immediately saluted.

"Rotor Blade ma'am. Flight Lieutenant".

"You have a question?"

"Yes, do you think it is wise to have dinner before training?"

Cloud Ranger sighed. That had been her reaction when Ditzy had tried this so long ago.

"A good squadron is a well oiled machine," she began, now speaking to everypony "but a great squadron is a family. What better way to get acquainted with family you know little about than food? Afterwards, I’ll test your limits before getting you to break them."

Not quite how Ditzy would have worded it but you should never try to be something you're not. Nopony could replace Ditzy.

"You desire to feast?" Storm Cloak's booming voice had returned to the main hall. He seemed confused for a moment but then returned to himself. "At once then." He gestured to two of the ponies in the line. "Starlight you shall fetch the rations and meet Blue Sky in the temple of ‘NatWest’ across thy street after he has scouted its safety." A twitching crystal Pegasus and a confident blue maned stallion rushed off out of the line. "The rest of you, kindly catch Lady Ranger up on our previous encounters. Information of that calibre shall surely help her in her quest for unity."

With a whoosh Storm Cloak was away again.

A maroon stallion bearing an exclamation cutie mark approached her.

"This shouldn't take long," he chuckled. "My name is Pony Dave. I tend to keep records of Solamina's troops' activity around here".

"Excellent," Cloud Ranger said, ignoring the odd name. "How aware of this position are the enemy?"

"Not at all."

Best news Cloud Ranger had heard for a long time.

A new voice emerged. "While each of us has seen some aspect of the war, this squadron has yet to have its baptism of fire." A Thestral stallion stepped forward before Cloud Ranger could meet his gaze.

Before Cloud Ranger moved on a thought occurred to her.

“Pony Dave,” she asked cautiously, hoping she wouldn’t offend “What did you do before the war?”

Dave thought for a moment. “I was in between things.” He said, giving the same grin a lying foal would.

“Which means…?”

“I was in between having a job and not having one. More on the not having one side to be honest.” Dave moved back slightly. Most of the squadron seemed to be fighters. Dave was...different.

“What made you want to fight?”

“Yes, what drives your noble yet smelly spirit, Dave of the Ponies?” Storm Cloak added, deciding to reappear to the group (the silent whoosh was his most interesting move).

***

Two years ago.

Dave opened the door, his eyes wide at the sight which greeted him. Blood splattered the walls, and there were signs that the house had been ransacked. The posters his mother, father and siblings had made together, decrying the Empire and the Conversion of humanity, were torn and trampled.

"Hello?" he called inside, eyes wide with horror. "Alan? Hollie? Bill? Rose? Dad?"

A moment later, his sister, Hollie, walked out of the doorway to the living room. Her eyes were laden with shock and horror, tears forming in her eyes.

"Dave..." she said slowly. "Everypony's dead."

Dave blinked. He didn't quite believe he had heard that.

"Dead?" he repeated.

"Yes, Dave." His sister fought to hold back her tears. "Everypony's dead, Dave."

"Mum? Dad?" Dave asked, eyes wide in shock.

"Everypony, Dave," Hollie said, tears glistening in her eyes.

"What? Alan? Bill?"

"Everypony's dead, Dave," Hollie repeated, frowning slightly.

"So Rose is dead?" Dave said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Everypony is dead, Dave!" Hollie snapped. "Mum, Dad, Alan, Rose, Bill! Everypony! Dead! Everypony is dead!"

"So... what you're saying is, everypony is dead," Dave summed up. "Everypony?"

"Yes,"

"Well,...Buck."

***

“...and then I went to enlist.” As Pony Dave stopped the jaws dropped.

You could have said that the jaws dropped because they couldn’t believe that a Pony with such a demeanor could have had such a tragedy happen to him. Really it was because he had decided to do an impersonation of his sister and his family while telling the story.

The sight of Pony Dave gave Cloud Ranger a sense of joy (though that may have been confusion). His nature reminded him of ponies she had known before this hell of a war began.

“Thank you Dave." Cloud Ranger said, bringing herself back from her memories

Before she addressed the rest of the now clearly curious Upsilon Squadron, Starlight returned. As she entered the room, she took her place by a near identical mare. It gave both hope and sorrow to Cloud Ranger to see siblings together in the war. The surface of it was sweet, going together so that neither one would be alone but then you dug a bit deeper. You dug to where one is gone and the other feels more alone than ever. Pick your poison; let them go in alone or see your family die.

The relatively short journey to the 'temple of NatWest gave Cloud Ranger more of a look at the town. All through the journey, the Thestral that spoke up earlier got closer to Cloud Ranger’s position in the march.

By the time they had reached their destination he had come to Cloud Ranger’s point

“Apologies, but I’d like a word with you,” he said, his head gesturing to a corner of the building.

Cloud Ranger nodded and then walked up to the stallion. He looked like he was holding back a scowl with all his might. She had to admit, she was curious about talking to an ex-member of the Night Guard. He definitely stuck out from the rest of squadron. Like Storm Cloak he seemed to already have a fair bit of experience, judging from the scars on his face. Considering the darkness of both himself and his mane he would be difficult to spot in the night sky. Fell Spear glanced around at the other members. All were preparing to eat, save for Storm Cloak who was seemingly distracted by his own thoughts.

“Is this really wise?” Fell Spear whispered, most likely not trying to draw attention from the other Upsilon members. That didn’t bode well for what he was going to say.

“Go on,” Cloud Ranger encouraged. Everypony felt free to talk to Ditzy so the same should be true for herself.

“I may not have the authority to say otherwise -” Fell Spear’s stern tone was stopped by a simple raised hoof.

“Please, feel free to speak your mind.” Cloud Ranger lowered her hoof again, ready for almost anything that came out of the stallion’s mouth.

“Your method doesn’t seem wise in this time of war.” He gestured to the rest of Upsilon Squadron. “I can see what you are doing and, with all due respect, I don’t think it is the right way. We aren’t here to be buddies, we are here to be soldiers. I expected something different from an old Grey Squadron member.”

Cloud Ranger couldn’t help but chuckle at that last sentence. Fell Spear looked a decent combo of annoyed and confused by the mare’s chuckle.

“Actually,” Cloud Ranger began “That is exactly how we did it.”

Fell Spear’s reaction was understandable but still priceless. For a moment he stood there, his eye somewhat twitching, probably thinking of how an elite squadron got so far by being so buddy buddy with each other.

“Are you okay?” Cloud Ranger asked, trying not to let out more chuckles. Before Fell Spear could answer, an alabaster mare walked up to Cloud Ranger and saluted her (though she needed to brush away some of her aquamarine mane).

“Upsilon Eight. White Blossom.” Her shining eyes still retained their innocence. She reminded Cloud Ranger of Butter Mellow. A question popped into Cloud’s head.

“You wouldn’t happen to be the team’s medic would you?” Cloud asked

Blossom’s eyes flickered. “No miss, that would be Mercy Errand.” She gestured towards a peach mare with an ivory mane. She was chatting to...Starlight? Possibly, though she wasn’t as jittery.

“The one next to her is Starbright Gleam,” noted a restored Fell Spear. “She’s more attuned with the idea of war than her sister.”

“Nopony is ever fully comfortable with the idea of war.” said Cloud Ranger while saluting White Blossom.

While Cloud Ranger and White Blossom sat down with the rest of the squadron, Fell Spear tapped another member, a lime mare, on the shoulder and nodded in Storm Cloak’s direction. Cloud Ranger looked on in slight awe as they had a quiet conversation. For the briefest of moments, Cloud Ranger could have sworn that she saw Storm Cloak with a frown upon his face. A simple frown aged him by at least 10 years. With a smile back on his face he stomped on the ground, getting everypony’s attention.

“Brothers and sisters of this abysmal war!” his voice was just below shout. It was a good thing Wellingborough was isolated. “We gather here to strengthen the bonds of solidarity that we each forged in the mighty Ironworks of the Resistance. Lady Cloud Ranger will help us to do so more efficiently. She will be the keeper of these Ironworks and she will have the tiny keys of friendship that open such a fine establishment. To learn how she does this I shall pass on to her. Listen to her words, for they are aged with experience like a fine wine that knocks some other pony’s hat off of you.”

Dust Cloud would come in handy in the future for translating what Storm Cloak meant. For now, Cloud Ranger stood tall and, with the passion that drove Grey Squadron on for so long, began telling them her plan.

“Here’s what is gonna happen…”

Falling Under Your Spell

Falling Under Your Spell.

A short story by RoyalPsycho.

The Archives. Somewhere beneath Scotland. May 12th 2030.

In the whole of the British Isles there was no safer place than the Archive. The immense underground facility was the single most heavily guarded location in the entirety of the British Isles.

It represented the survival of human culture, the repository of every single piece of salvageable art and information. Behind reinforced steel doors and concrete walls were endless banks of hard-drives containing digitised copies of everything humanity knew. Paintings, statues, copies of books and any other physical items that could have been saved were also down here.

There were also the areas that had been designated as bunkers and storage areas. This was a lifeboat, an area that already held several hundred carefully selected people who would be left to survive in their hidden bunkers should the British Defence Force fail.

For Alex Everett, however, the Archives were a different kind of sanctuary. He had come here seeking little more than security and rest. He had once been a member of the most prestigious orders on the British Isles but here, beneath the surface of Great Britain, he felt safer than ever before.

Alex Everett, formerly (and technically currently, though he didn’t feel worthy to the title) Sir Alex Everett, had requested to be sent here. Whilst he was now another guard in the Archives, already vast, defence detachment, he had once been a Knight of Albion, a proud and upstanding member of the Holy Order. He had fought long and hard in the war against the ponies of the Solaminan Empire and seen many terrible things on the battlefields of Britain.

After years of fighting, years of suffering at the hands of the insane ponies invading his country and years of losing friends, it had all been too much. He had requested that he be relocated. His sterling record ensured his transfer but it had been difficult. Not once had he been able to look his commander and his former comrades in the eye and even now he felt ashamed every time he pictured the faces of everyone he used to call brother.

It had been nearly a year since his last real battle. One year of quiet contemplation, stewing over old memories and looking around the strange facility he was supposed to be guarding. Nothing really happened around here. Every now and then a few technicians would walk in, check the machinery, ask the other technicians that permanently manned the consoles monitoring the facility's occupants whether everything was operating smoothly. It was quiet, slow, sedate, everything he felt he needed.

By this point he felt he knew everyone who worked here. He had often chatted with Frank, the guard who stood next to him at the door, had a few amicable words with the various technicians and engineers that operated the machinery and filed his monthly reports to Rupert Giles in a professional but notably casual fashion. He had even shared a few drinks and some rather awkward dates with Himeko, the cute Japanese techie that was currently staring at some kind of dial that told her something he probably wouldn't understand.

Alex glanced around the facility. He had seen everything before, the same banks of computer consoles, the same grey featureless walls, the same generators humming the background, the cooling fans, the bundles of wires strapped to the walls and floor and dominating the centre of he room, the three sleek cryotubes containing the facility's prisoners.

The large silvery cylinders were covered in bundles of wire that fed into the fold-out panels and ports that adorned their sides. Consoles displayed what Alex could only assume were power levels, or life readings or some other scientific mumbo-jumbo that he knew would mean something to the techies that so often crowded around it. He had never really paid attention to such details. What had caught his eye since day of his new job were the tubes occupants.

Visible through the clear glass panels on the font of every tube, despite the ice crystals that fringed the rim of every window, were three young girls.

All three were teenagers, probably barely older than seventeen or eighteen and each one of them was a figure of perfect beauty. Their features seemed to be perfectly sculpted, as if God himself had decided to pay especial attention to them when he had given them their looks. Even with the dull expressions that were now permanently plastered on their faces by the tranquillizers and the subsequent freezing process he knew they had been subjected to in his first debriefing, they were beautiful, rested in their icy coffins in perfect silence.

They were officially labelled as Archive Experimentation Subject GG3-2356, colloquially they were often called the Gloucestershire Girls, which was probably the kindest thing he had ever heard anyone call them. As the three individuals who were single-handedly responsible for the Gloucestershire Incident, the single most vile non-pony related atrocity that had been committed since the war began. Every time Alex looked at them he tried to remember the news he had heard about the Gloucestershire Incident. He recalled reports detailing the sudden onset of violent insanity, the bloodletting that had ensued as the crowds of refugees descended into rabid madness, of men beaten into bloody pulps, of women trampled and torn to shreds, of children crushed and infants smashed into walls and roads. The stories of the aftermath had been too disgusting to contemplate for many people and rumours had only made it worse. However Alex knew the truth, his debriefing had revealed the perpetrators.

Those three had reportedly been in the middle of the whole massacre, their arms raised and their heads held back as they seemed to orchestrate the violence around them. It had taken long distance sniping from a helicopter that had been out of range of whatever abilities they exhibited to finally stop them as any soldiers and agents that had tried to close in on them had also turned absolutely insane.

Alex looked through the glass panels once again, looking at them to see whether there was any way he could see what they were thinking. There had to be something he could find in them that would show him what they were, why they did what they did and how they did it.

Every time he looked at their perfect faces he found himself struggling to look away again. Their blank expressions still managed to draw him in no matter what he was thinking or feeling before he looked at them. He remembered staring at them for hours with rapt interest when he initially tried to glance at them with disgust. They were hypnotic and no matter how hard he tried not to be drawn in their beauty compelled him. He just couldn't help himself. They were fascinating, and wonderful, and terrible, and vile, and beautiful all at the same time.

That night they had slipped into his dreams, as naked and cold as they were in the tubes, and they had never left. Every night he saw them whenever he closed his eyes. They stood there, their long hair draped around their shoulders and bodies. Ice crystals covered them, glistening in a light that seemed to shine from everywhere and nowhere at once. They always appeared in the distance, obscured by the great shining light that always preceded them as they walked towards him. Throughout all of these recurring dreams was a song, a constant wordless song that filled him with euphoria and delight. Every night he had this dream but each time they appeared to be closer to him, gradually closing whatever distance was between them with every night, on and on, for months.

Last night they had been more vivid than ever before. They were there, surrounded by the glaring back-light that had always been there. Now the light no longer obscured them, it merely made them more noticeable as the rays of light surrounded them, wrapped around them and made them all the more alluring to him.

They had still been walking towards him, hips swaying as they did so, ice melting from their bodies and turning to steam and then mist that blurred the silhouettes that surrounded them, making them appear all the more ethereal and beautiful. They were always walking, slowly and gracefully, their arms stretched outwards, their heads thrown back, their eyes shut and yet they also had their eyes trained on him at all times.

Alex shook his head slightly, ignoring the flash of light that appeared every time he closed his eyes. He didn't like to think about those dreams. The idea that he was fantasizing about the three teenagers trapped in the tubes in front of him was disturbing enough but he was even more unsettled by the fact that they were there whenever his mind started to wander.

Every night they had invaded his head and he couldn't get away from them no matter how hard he tried. He had taken sleeping pills, tried every kind of advice his friends could suggest and even drank himself into a stupor at one point and yet they never disappeared.

Even in his daydreams they appeared. No matter how hard he tried they were in his head, always singing, always slowly approaching him. They were inescapable now. In his dreams, they shoved aside his fantasies, they egged on the monsters that haunted his nightmares and even invaded the idle thoughts of his waking moments. Even his masturbation fantasies were no longer free of their presence. They were everywhere in his head and they demanded his attention.

For a moment Alex closed his eyes for a moment, hoping and praying that the dream would not be there when he did. The instant his eyelids pressed together the light shone in the darkness and the three girls were there. The same ethereal song filled his mind at the same time.

However this time it was different.

None of them were frozen or wet. Their skin was bright and flushed and their hair, normally bedraggled and sodden, was now luscious and worked into individually elaborate styles. They walked towards him, naked and glorious and all three of them had their eyes open.

The girl in the centre, a tall young woman with large unnaturally orange hair, stared at him, her violet eyes boring into him and in return he couldn't help but stare back. A smirk grew on her face as she extended her arm forward and beckoned him forward. He found himself being drawn towards her, as if her simple gesture was undeniable. All three girls now appeared as if they were giants towering over him. The orange haired girl was looking down at him, her hand still calling him forward. Beside her the other girls, identical to one another except for their strange purple and blue hair, continued to sing the same note that cut through his mind and being.

The other girls then opened their eyes and joined the first girl in looking down at him with the same sharp violet eyes.

Alex found himself shrinking as the three girls grew into giants, the same identical smirk marring their faces. Their cruel gazes crushing him. He felt like he wanted to curl up but he couldn't break the connection with their eyes. They compelled him to look at him and yet their reaction to his attention gave him nothing but contempt.

“Oi! What do you think you're doing?” a voice cut through Alex's mind, drowning out the song and shattering the illusion. His eyes snapped open.

He immediately turned his head in the direction of the voice. He saw one of the techies glaring at him, irritation obvious on his face.

“You're not being paid to sleep on the job, especially whilst the rest of us are actually doing something,” the man said with a condescending expression of contempt.

Alex felt the entire room looking at him. Several were obviously amused at his embarrassment, others echoed the first techies' statement, matching his glare with their own.

“Alright already,” the team's supervisor finally called from the other side of the room. “Give it a rest and get back to work.”

In a matter of seconds the entire room returned to what they were doing, several of them stealing resentful glances at both Alex and the supervisor.

Meanwhile Alex felt furious. That pathetic little man had no reason to berate him. He was the one who had fought to defend this realm, he had faced the monsters who were assaulting their shores, he had sacrificed years of his life in a bitter struggle, he had seen friends warped into monstrosities by the foul powers of the animals he had killed. This cretin who had the temerity to suggest he was lazy had huddled in his safe bunker and stared at three naked teenagers.

A scowl grew over his face as he stewed in his bitterness. Every insult he had suffered was now resurfacing. He now realised how many of them had been condescending towards him in every conversation he had with them. These people had always thought they were better than him. They had obviously been dumbing down everything they deigned to talk with him.

For the rest of his shift he stared at his co-workers, remembering every individual incident where he had felt insulted. They were all pathetic, every single one of them. They hid away from the war, seeking refuge in a rats-warren of concrete tunnels and yet they thought he was less than them.

He shook his head. These thoughts… they felt… wrong. He looked back at the cylinders and frowned. He shook his head. Nothing made sense. These visions… no. He quickly muttered a short prayer. He was a Knight of Albion. Whatever was going on - self-delusion, demonic influence, Alien Space Bats...

He would not fail again.

***

It was spreading. Though they didn't dare talk about it, everyone in the room was suffering. Night after night the same dream, the dream of the girls and the terrible but beautiful song. They didn't dare tell everyone because they were afraid of being thrown out of the bunker and into the chaos of the rest of the world.

By now other offices were beginning to feel it as well and as it spread they began to feel angry. The longer the dreams went on the more frustrated they felt. Now they were beginning to lash out at one another. Fights had already broken out as technicians and scientists were already sniping at one another and it was escalating rapidly.

If Adagio Dazzle could smile she would. She could feel the enmity and strife around her as she slowly fed her power into their minds. She could already feel Aria and Sonata reaching out to her, joining their strength with hers. It had been a slow crawl out of unconsciousness but they had finally begun to draw sustenance from the multitude of unsuspecting fools that now surrounded them.

She still didn't understand what had happened to them that day long ago. The change had been gradual, she had felt it the moment the portal had opened and the ponies – who were as pitiable and contemptible as always – has arrived on the planet. However it took until the moment they had finally fled the Barrier and arrived on the grotty, wet British Isles that the change had completed. Where once the negativity of the planet had barely provided them with morsels of power now they were engorged on it. The very air seemed to shimmer with and saturated them with its power. They hadn't even cared what it did to their bodies. They had fed on it and it had made them stronger than they had ever been before, bar the age where they rampaged through Equestria with impunity.

Even though they were now trapped, isolated and immobile, they were growing stronger. She could feel it and she knew that her cohorts were regaining power as well. It wouldn't take long now. She knew that the weak minded idiots around her were growing all the weaker.

Soon they would be free. Soon they would be able to sing.

Sam.

A Short Story by Jed R.

Fields near Whitby. April 14th, 2025.

A man named David Elliot stood by a body. The body was a friend, or it had been, once. Though the small blue body and blonde mane of a Pegasus stallion with a hole in his head and a broken wing lay before him, it was not the form with which he was most familiar. Not long ago, this Pegasus had been a man. A man with blonde hair, about half an inch taller than David Elliot, stood over what was left of him now. A man who had, despite becoming very grim in these last few years, always had a cheeky grin and a twinkle in his eyes. A man who was dead.

Dead by David Elliot's own hand.

Elliot, thirty, battered and bruised, stood over the body, an unlit torch in hand. This man was... had been... his friend, Sam Lake. He had been his friend for many years. It sickened Elliot that he had needed to do this, to kill his friend, but… in the heat of battle there had been no time: no time to think, no time to stop this from happening. There had only been adrenaline pumping his veins, the smell of fire and death on the air, and the growing realisation that he had to do this… or else far more than one good man would be lost.

"Brothers and sisters, we are here to commemorate the dead," a voice rang out, strident, across the field. “These warriors have given their lives for the cause. They have made the ultimate sacrifice so that humankind and free ponies may live to fight on against tyranny."

The speaker was a member of the New Gaian cult, one of the many cults that had sprung up following the Barrier's stopping. Something about the time seem to inspire a host of new beliefs, and the New Gaians were not the weirdest of the bunch. The Dead Men, the Eternal Flame, The Long Watch of Britannia, a thousand more different cults of different sizes and types… and that was without counting cults like the country-sized Sanctified Republic of Gilead come up during the death of Earth, or the resurgence of ancient cults like the Kali worshippers of India, or the Nu-Aztec sacrifices in Mexico. The death of Earth had been the birth of a thousand terrible things in humanity, but fortunately most of them died with her. Though no one really thought the human race was collectively sane any more, none of them would ever reach those depths. They knew the price.

"For them, the war is done, and may they find peace beyond it," the speaker continued. "Therefore it is with proud honour and solemn dignity that we commit the bodies of our fallen brothers and sisters to the fire. They will become part of the air we breathe, that we have been allowed to continue breathing thanks to them. They will become part of the Earth that they have fought for so long to protect. In this way, though they have left us, they never will. Though they are gone, they will never die. Cremation party!"

Elliot stepped up, torch in hand.

“Light up!” the speaker yelled.

David held up a lighter and lit the torch. The light flickered, casting new shadows over the dead Pegasus’ face.

***

A long time ago…

”So, if you had to convert, which would you wanna be?” Sam asked.

David looked up, frowning, tablet on his lap. The two of them were sat in a cafe near David's workplace. Sam was smirking as he drank a coffee, where David had a glass of coke in front of him that he would occasionally take sips from.

The news on the tablet was talking about the reveal of the recently developed "ponification potion". After discovery of life beyond the anomaly - now revealed to be an inter-dimensional portal - and the establishing of diplomatic contact with the government of the land of Equestria, there had been much hoo-hah about the fact that humans could not travel to Equestria, the portal's Barrier preventing any human or man-made object from passing through. This potion apparently transformed the human body into an equine one, allowing safe passage - the side effect was, of course, transformation into a pony, but despite the fact that there was apparently no reverse potion, people were reasonably optimistic - now, Earth and Equestria could get one properly.

Elliot tapped away, finishing the last sentence of a short story he had been writing (he had aspirations of being a writer, though he never seemed to have the time to work on anything), before turning to his friend.

“Why d’you ask?” he asked in return, raising an eyebrow at the question. “Were you planning on converting?”

“Pfft, fuck no,” Sam laughed, sitting back. “I happen to like my face, and they’ve not said anything about being able to reverse it yet. Nah, I just wondered. Y’know, hypothetical like.”

David sat back. It was an interesting hypothetical.

"Dunno," he said. "In all honesty, I don't think I'd want to. I quite like being human."

"Seems fair," Sam said with a shrug. "I heard a few folks talking about how they'd want to change. You know - think it'd be an experience."

"I'm sure it would be an experience," David retorted. "A permanent one. As an experiment, sure, I wouldn't mind having hooves for a bit, seeing how the other side live. But they've not announced a reversal potion - seems a pretty big life choice some folks'd make."

Sam shrugged. "I ain't disagreeing."

"Anyway," David said with a small smile. "I'm sure they'll figure some other way past that Barrier soon. These ponies seem reasonable enough."

"Hope they don't try being judgemental about all the wars and shit," Sam muttered idly.

"There's no such thing as a place without war," David pointed out. "I mean, you saw the diplomatic stuff, right? Their Princess - what was her name? Celestian?"

"Celestia," Sam corrected. "Celestian was the name of those Sister of Battle units, remember?"

"Oh, yeah," David said with a nod. "I remember that one guy... anyway," he said, shaking his head and getting back on track. "She had Guards with her, didn't she? They looked like some sort of elite group. All that gold armour."

"Ceremonial guards?" Sam asked.

"Why would you have ceremonial guards if you didn't have actual soldiers, or even the concept of war?" David pointed out. "Nah, they'd be arsewipes to start judging us for having wars. That's a sentient thing. People - and pastel ponies - will always have disputes, and those disputes will lead to wars sometimes."

"Huh," Sam said, shrugging. "Between you and me, I don't think I'd want to have a war with the pastel ponies. Fuck knows what they've got."

"Like I said, they seem reasonable enough," David said idly. "I wouldn't worry about it."

***

"Ignite!” the barking voice of the New Gaian shouted, cutting across David’s thoughts. He frowned at the body one last time, before setting it on fire.

“I failed you,” he muttered. “I’m sorry, mate.”

He stepped back from the body, and looked dead ahead. He couldn’t save his friend - he didn’t have the power. He was just one man.

One day, he hoped, he would have the power to stop such tragedies. One day, he fervently wished, he would be able to make a difference...

Convie.

A short story by Jed R.

***

It is January 5th 2025. Your name is Sarah Ellis. You’re a soldier - one of the BDF, though the name is still strange to your ears. You joined the British Army Reserve - the words “British Defence Force” as a blanket term for everyone with a gun and a uniform isn’t one you’re used to. You’re one of the lucky ones - you still get to use the L85 you were issued. A lot of your squadmates have old piles of crap - M1 Garands or Enfields or Stens, museum pieces that by rights nobody should be using. Things are already bad though, and the war’s been going on for less than a year.

You’re in the middle of a battle. It’s Plymouth. You’ve never been to Plymouth. It seems like it might have been nice once. That doesn’t really matter though, as you’re distracted by the fact that you’re about to be Converted. It’s your own stupid fault really - they issue Hazmat suits and everyone’s meant to wear them, but it’s so damn uncomfortable. Taking it off for five minutes couldn’t hurt, could it? Except that it did, didn’t it? Oh well. You live and learn. Except you won’t.

The first sensation is a splash of liquid on the skin, and the feeling of your flesh starting to ripple and sag, followed a few moments later by the pain of your skin sloughing off as the process begins in earnest. You know this bit in theory - you’ve seen it before. Others getting Converted. It’s not nice to look at. You hope someone will do you the courtesy of shooting you in the head, but even though most of the Equestrian forces running around are dead, your squad is made up of a lot of new guys, some of whom might never have seen this before. They’re hesitating. Great.

The process is quick, but it feels slow: you feel like every nerve ending is on fire as more and more of you is replaced by this... this alien form. As your skin drops off from your body in red bloody sheets, fur pushes its way through your exposed flesh and musculature, coating your red raw body in fine hair. Coarse hair bursts from the base of your spine, coating your lower back and rump in blood. At the same time new hair is pulled from your bleeding scalp. The crown of your head weeps blood as a thick mane grows out from of your skull. Your bones are cracking and reshaping, you can feel them moving in ways that should be impossible. Your skull enlarges as your eyes and ears swell. Your spine warps and forces you to your knees. Unbearable pain draws your attention to your hands as your fingers fracture and split and your hands are torn from your body as heavy hooves force their way from your wrists. You try to scream but your throat is squeezed shut and your lungs refuse to respond as your entire body changes. You finally collapse to the floor as the last changes to your body take hold.

For a few moments, you're in pain, shaking, the new form unsteady and you yourself uncertain of what is what. Then you’re aware of something odd. A tingling in the back of your head, one that you've never felt before.

This is how it should be.

Your own thoughts struggle to assert themselves, your head ringing.

My name is... my name is Sarah Ellis - I'm...

The tingling gets more pronounced, almost painful.

Your name is Regal Blade.

That doesn't seem right to you, but every time you try to think about the name you think you should have the tingling gets worse. Maybe your name is Regal Blade. That seems less... painful than thinking your name is Sarah. And if it's less painful, it must be true.

But if I was wrong about that, what else am I wrong about? you wonder. You start running through all the things you thought you knew.

Am I a soldier? you ask, and there is no answer. That must be alright. Fighting for the BDF...

Solaminan Empire. You fight for the Solaminan Empire.

Is that right? You're not sure. But the voice was right before. Maybe it's right now.

So my name is Regal Blade, I'm a soldier... and I fight for the Solaminan Empire? you ask yourself. Some of that doesn't seem right...

Of course it's right. Everything is alright.

Well... alright then. Everything is alright. You take a deep breath, and actually start feeling it. Yeah, everything is alright. You feel ok, and sure, you need to get used to the new body, but you feel a lot better than you did. Sort of... nice. Yeah.

Speaking of the new body... you need to start getting used to.

You look around, stumbling slightly... you have hooves. You have hooves. That's going to take time to get used to... but, no, it already feels normal... right. Ok. Now you look around, blinking slightly. You frown slightly as you notice the humans you used to work with...

The Enemy!

But that's not right - they were your friends, your squadmates, you remember...

If they're your friends, maybe you should help them.

Now that... that sounds like a good idea. Maybe they need a hug. You feel a lot happier now, all things considered. Maybe they'd be happy being converted too - it seems to have worked wonders for you.

"Hi guys!" you say with a smile. "I feel ok... actually, I feel really good! Hey, do you guys want to try -"

A shot rings out and then you know no more.

The Iron Wall

The Iron Wall.

A Short Story by Jed R.

Iron Wall. Guardpost 15-beta. 5th February, Year 6 of the New Solaminan Calendar (2030).

From one end of an Empire it stretched. Twenty feet tall, ten feet thick, built of solid rock mixed with the iron supports that gave it it’s nickname among the common folk, it was the single most impressive structure in all of Equestria. Across the land boundaries of old Equestria it stretched, and yet in all of this mighty structure there were but a handful of gates, most notably the gate to the Crystal Empire in the Northern part of the Wall.

It was the edifice of Solamina, the symbol of her will. Millions of Converted and tens of thousands of Equestria-born Earth Ponies, Pegasi and Unicorns had all taken part in its construction. Many of them had died. Now the great wall was the permanent residence of thousands of Royal Guards, many of whom had either chosen this as opposed to active service, or had been ‘reassigned’ here. It was also still home to many pony workers, whose job was to keep the Wall in tip-top condition. It was they who had given it the name "the Iron Wall", in reference to the iron supports that helped keep the thing up. Though most of them were Converted, more than happy to be here in even the worst conditions, many were ponies who had been given somewhat less choice.

These ponies lived in small, almost prefabricated little villages, each one supplied by small farms that had sprung up in the area. These villages were more often than not little more than prison-camps; the Guards enforced a strict curfew on the residents, and many of the freedoms allowed to the common pony even in this dark and perilous time were simply unheard of out here.

It was this life that faced one recent arrival at this dark and dismal place, though she at least was not here out of any punishment, unlike some. Her name was Maud Pie. Most ponies would have more likely heard of her sister than her, for Pinkie Pie - more properly Sub-Commander Pinkamena Pie, Sub-Commander of the Solaminan Empire's military - but Maud had never been particularly interested in the praise or respect of ponies. She much preferred rocks: simple enough that she would never be confused and hurt by them, and yet complex and mysterious enough that she would likely never find herself even remotely tired of them. They were, in a very real sense, her life.

And yet…

And yet there were other things in her life. Family for one thing - most of her family, fortunately, still lived where they had always lived, back on the family farm. One though, would never return home again.

She could still remember the letter. Though she had met Twilight Sparkle, and indeed the rest of the Element bearers, at Pinkie’s first official ceremony as a member of the Equestrian army, she couldn’t claim to know her very well (nor was she particularly interested in doing so). Nonetheless, from everything Pinkie had said about her friend in her letters, she had expected… more from a letter of condolence from her.

Dear Maud Pie,

It is with great sadness that I write to report the death of your sister, Sub-Commander Pinkamena Pie, in action during recent engagements with the enemy in Britain.

Pinkamena was a valued friend and respected member of the Equestrian military. She was, however, a mare of duty, and would not suffer others going into battle in her stead. I assure you, her sacrifice for the Empire will not be forgotten.

My deepest condolences at this time of sadness,

High Commander Twilight Sparkle,
Head Archmagi.
Equestrian Armed Forces.

The cold words had not conveyed any genuine sense of affection on Sparkle's part, nor had they described to Maud in any way anything of the Pinkie she had known. Pinkie had never been a "mare of duty", she had fought because her friends had fought - and when they had died, she had fought to avenge them. Oh, Pinkie's letters had come to be filled with such fire, such anger when she had sent them to Maud. And such frailty too, such... sorrow, more and more as the war went on...

We just heard back from the Dover front, Maud… the attack was a disaster, and Rarity… they say she’s ‘missing’, but everypony knows what they really mean… there’s some new magic weapon the humans supposedly have...

Fluttershy ran away from us - she ran away from us, Maud! We’re her friends and she just ran away! I hope she doesn’t get hurt…

We heard back from our spies. The human’s magic weapon is running around with Rarity and Fluttershy’s manes sewn into his coat. They’re both dead. I had a doozy a few weeks ago, but I wanted to hope that…

We’ve heard nothing back from Applejack’s team. Twilight wouldn’t like me telling you this, but she was working with Convie specialists. The general thinking is they got ambushed.

Word’s come through. Applejack’s mane is on the human’s coat. She’s gone, Maud.

Rainbow died, Maud. She died and they threw her body onto a pile to rot or to burn. Scootaloo brought her back though… Scootaloo brought her back. Her hair was shorter, and she looked so small, but she’s back. It's not the same, but it's something.

Why us, Maud? Why did this have to happen to us? Why couldn't they have just laid down and died?

My friends were the most important part of me, Maud. Without them, what do I have?

I volunteered for the big attack Maud. I'm going to show those humans a party they'll never forget... unless you forget everything when your head gets ripped off and put on a spike, that is. And if I meet that one human, that magic weapon… so much the bucking better.

Still, Maud had found herself not as entirely broken up about her sister's death as she could have been. Pinkie... hadn't really been Pinkie anymore. And though Maud was not one to engage in conspiracy theories, she knew that Pinkie hadn't been Pinkie for a considerable amount of time.

No amount of loyalty to her friends would make Pinkie engage in a war of annihilation. No amount of cajoling could convince her to kill in anything but defence, if even that - and no amount of pain could convince her that death, or vengeance, was a suitable punishment for anything. She was, at heart, a gentle soul, and while Maud knew better than some that gentle souls could snap, Pinkie was not such a soul.

Maud had known Pinkie. She had known her better than the pink mare had known herself in some ways. The mare that had gone to war hadn't been her sister. She had been somepony else.

Maud had long since resigned herself to the war. It brought Converted to her father's home, and they were hard-working, polite and efficient, even if they brought very little raw skill or knowledge to the table. It had allowed her more freedoms and more opportunities with her work. As for the humans... she pitied them, she really did, but her place was Equestria. She had taken no part in the war against their kind, and she had no intention of changing that, but she wasn't so torn up that she would jump to their aid. Perhaps that made her selfish, perhaps it did not.

Especially now, for though she had not been herself, the humans had still killed Pinkie. Everything she was, everything she had loved, was gone.

Maud shook her head. Melancholy thoughts were not something she indulged in often. Though she was rarely, if ever, effusive about anything, she did in fact enjoy life, and focusing on negatives - even on such a loss - would not be a good way to honour her sister. No, Pinkie of all ponies would have told her to enjoy everything, and so here she was, working on the most ambitious building project ever.

The building of the Iron Wall, as well as its maintenance, required an absolutely astronomical amount of rock-farming, so much so that seventy six quarries had opened up across the country, and more rock was still needed, being constantly imported from the newly colonised lands of Earth. The Wall itself was a colossal endeavour: in theory it covered the entire Equestria border, with a single gate installed at the roadway to the Crystal Empire. It was, to her rock-expert mind, a magnificent achievement, a true demonstration of what one could do with stone. She was here, as a rock expert, to inspect the wall and see to it that the stonework was entirely perfect.

"Excuse me?" she heard a voice say quietly. She turned, broken from her thoughts, to find a Royal Guardspony officer saluting her. He was pale orange and looked altogether comfortable in his armour, something that was rarer than the Guard liked to admit these days. "Captain Zealous Flare, Royal Guard contingent, Guardpost fifteen beta. I was told an expert was coming in - I assume you’re her?"

"Maud Pie," Maud said quietly. "Rock farmer and mineralogist."

"Pie, huh?" Flare said, smirking slightly. "Any relation to the Sub-Commander…?"

"She was my sister," Maud replied blandly.

"Oh," Flare said, stammering slightly. "My condolences. She was… very respected."

"Really?" Maud asked with a slight raised eyebrow. "So the rumours I heard about her being called the ‘mad pink whorse of the Guard’ were…"

"Ahem," Flare said, looking somewhat sheepish. "Apologies, ma’am. Uh, in any case, we’ll have consultant work for you to do in the morning." He motioned another guard, this one a mare with sad eyes, forward. "For now, lodgings have been secured for you in a local tavern. I’ll have Sergeant Willow lead you."

"Thank you," Maud said blandly.

Sergeant Willow nodded at her and set off for the small settlement near the outpost. Maud followed idly, looking around as she did so. She frowned slightly as she saw a small blue wooden caravan sitting idly near the settlement, a blue mare with a white mane talking to a few ponies. One of the ponies noticed her, and frowned slightly. She quickly looked away.

"Over here, ma’am," Sergeant Willow said after a moment, leading her to the tavern. It was small on the outside, with an upper floor where presumably the guest rooms were. Inside it was not much more impressive, with a bar and a small common room where several ponies were sat talking. A forest green stallion was sat behind the bar, a smile on his face as he greeted the two.

"Top o’ the mornin’ to ya, Weepin’ Willow," he said, his voice thick with an accent. "And who might your friend be?"

"This is Maud Pie, Ostach," Willow replied with a slight smile. "Maud Pie, this is Glas Ostach, the tavern’s owner."

"Prefer to call it a pub meself," the stallion said. "Reminds me o’ home a bit more."

Maud glanced at the stallion’s flank, noting the lack of a cutie mark. "A Converted."

"Aye, ma’am, that I am," Ostach said, grinning easily. "But don’t let that be any reflection o’ me talents, I’m the best barkeep on the Wall."

Maud nodded. "A cider then."

"We talkin’ the soft crap or the hard stuff?" Ostach asked, wincing slightly as he spoke.

Maud raised an eyebrow. "Hard, please."

"Aye, I thought that might be the case," Ostach said, moving to get the drink.

"If that’ll be all ma’am, I’ll be going," Weeping Willow said with a slight smile.

"Thank you," Maud replied quietly.

"Take care o’ yerself, Willow," Ostach said as the Sergeant left. He whistled slightly. "‘pologies fer me language, by the way, Miss Pie. Back in the day, I was somewhat more… effusive in me swearin’."

"What stopped you?" Maud asked idly.

"Don’t rightly know," Ostach said with a shrug, setting a mug of cider in front of Maud. "I get this… odd headache every time I try. Worse I swear, worse it gets. Reckon it’s coincidental-like."

"Perhaps," Maud said. She downed the cider in one gulp, and placed the mug down. "Another please."

Ostach raised an eyebrow. "Sister, you just managed to bloody impress me, and let me tell ya, that there is not a common feat. Last fella I saw down a mug like that were Claw Hammer, and that fella’s built like the proverbial brick shithouse…"

He winced again, and whacked one hoof against his head.

"Sorry," he said reflexively. "Mean to say, Claw Hammer’s a bloody big fella. Bigger’n the horse me ma used to have on ‘er farm. I say usedta, dunno what happened to the thing after we took the potion and headed fer the Barrier..."

He rambled on for a bit as Maud drank another mug of cider. For a while she just sat and drank, listening to Ostach talk about his life. He seemed to have consistent pains in his head but those were common among some Convies - you just got used to it.

"Hey, Ostach," a voice suddenly cut in. "Get me my usual."

Maud turned to find herself facing a stern looking Earth Pony stallion with tan fur and a shield cutie mark.

"Well, if it ain’t yer ugly mug back from another day’s lugging rock!" Ostach said with a grin. "Maud Pie, allow me ta introduce former-Private Earth Shaker."

"Private," Maud said amiably, frowning.

"Former private," the pony said gruffly. "My usual, Ostach."

"Sure, sure," Ostach said with a grin. "This fella, now, he’s a real riot. Was part o’ the war, see…"

"I don’t need you telling half the world my life story, Ostach," Shaker said with a low growl.

"Oh, fer sure, fer sure, I jus’ thought the little lady might be interested," Ostach said with a shrug. "How many?"

"Five," Shaker said. "I’m feeling light today."

"Aye, I bet," Ostach said with a knowing grin. "Fancy startin’ another fight with Sergeant Sternblade?"

"Go buck yourself," Shaker growled.

Ostach laughed. "Say what you like, laddie, yer still stuck here."

He trotted off, leaving Maud alone with Shaker.

"Convie bastard," Shaker muttered, glaring after him. He turned to Maud. "Related to Pinkie Pie?"

"Sister," Maud said quietly.

"Huh," Shaker said. "'Tween you an' me, she was better than Sparkle." He growled. "Bucking Sparkle."

"Indeed?" Maud asked, raising an eyebrow. "What did Sparkle do to you?"

"Why the buck d'you think I'm here?" Shaker said with a scowl.

Before he could say anything else, Ostach came back with his drinks - five giant mugs of cider. Shaker promptly began downing them, and he said nothing else for a long time.

***

“... and its just all the same, every day,” Shaker murmured miserably after his fifteenth pint. Maud nodded as she sipped at her own drink. “You lug the rock. You shape the rock. You put the rock in the pile of spare rocks, or you let the horny bastards - sorry, the Unicorns - lift it into place to replace a broken piece.” He paused. “Wall collapses sometimes if they don’t pay enough attention. Some of them don’t. Or they’re too tired. They…”

He didn’t finish, and Maud didn’t need him to. Collapses were commonplace things - and the ponies caught under them were… unlucky.

“Still,” Shaker said. “Can’t last forever.”

“The Wall is intended to be an eternal landmark between the Empire and the rest of the world,” Maud pointed out.

“Yeah, yeah,” Shaker mumbled. “‘Tween you and me, there’s more things in the world than the shiny whorse gets.”

“Oi,” Ostach said from where he was sitting. “I’ll have none of that, now.”

“Shut it, you Convie plotwipe,” Shaker said. “She’s a shiny whorse. Dunno how you can talk anyway - its your species she’s murdering right now.”

“My ‘species’ is pony, lad,” Ostach growled. “And I’ll thank you to remember it.”

“Don’t bullplop me,” Shaker said. “I was in Britain, pal. I saw how hard they fought to stop us potioning them. Don’t tell me you’d’ve picked this if they gave you a choice.”

“I took the potion,” Ostach said with a scowl. “I chose ta do it, too. Mind, can’t quite remember what I was thinking when I did… but I know I’m happier now.”

“Sure,” Shaker said. “We had a Convie called himself Young Sky, converted him while we were out. Fought like a little whorse to try and stop us before we got him. After that, couldn’t remember why. There’s something up with your head, Convie.”

“There ain’t nothin’ wrong with my head!” Ostach replied heatedly.

“Oh yeah?” Shaker asked. “Then why don’t you swear without apologising for it?”

“Why you little feckin’ batard!” Ostach yelled. “I oughta…” He paused, frowning. “I… sorry, I shouldn’ta…”

“Whatever,” Shaker said, clearly feeling his point was proven. “I’m done. G’night Ostach.”

“Aye, goodnight, laddie,” Ostach replied, his frown softening. A moment later he raised a hoof. “Look, Shaker.”

Shaker turned to look at him.

“Sorry I got heated, like,” Ostach apologised, his tone soft. “You’re always welcome here, no matter what - just leave yer deserter talk outside next time please?”

“Yeah, whatever Ostach,” Shaker murmured. With that, he turned to leave. Maud sighed, frowning as she thought over his words.

It’s your species he’s murdering right now.

She didn’t care about the humans. Did she?

“Don’t mind him,” Ostach said, interrupting her thoughts. “He’s always been a seditious bastard - sorry, pardon me language. It’s why he’s here. Deserted from the Guard after serving in Britain.”

“I see,” Maud said, finishing her drink. “I think I will retire.”

“Aye, g’night to you then,” Ostach said. “Have a good one.”

Maud nodded and ascended the stairs to her room.

***

Maud sighed as she lay awake in her bed, wondering why she couldn't sleep. It wasn't as though she was particularly stressed. Her work, while fulfilling, was not difficult. Still, the thought of what Shaker had said to Ostach… about the Converted, about the fighting…

It’s not our business.

She frowned: there was a noise outside her window, soft and quiet. She got out of bed, walked over to the window, and raised an eyebrow at what she saw.

A group of ponies - twenty or more - was congregating near the caravan, talking and looking around furtively. Earth Shaker was amongst them. A moment later, the group began entering the caravan, ushered in by what must have been the pony who owned the thing. A moment later they were all inside... impossibly, they were all inside.

How...? Maud thought. She frowned slightly, then went to lie back down.

***

The following morning, she awoke to Guards everywhere wandering about the inn, as though they were looking for something. What she had seen last night... it felt almost like an impossible dream. There was no way that so many ponies could possibly

"What's going on?" Maud asked Ostach, the innkeeper frowning at the Guards as they searched.

"A whole buncha workers disappeared last night," the Convie replied. "Buckers are on the run. Little plot-wipes think they can escape the Empire, probably to help those humans out..."

Maud frowned. A 'whole bunch' of escapees? That sounded like... but that had been a dream...

"Not to worry," Weeping Willow said, approaching the two. "We've got every possible avenue of escape on record and nopony's leaving the town without us knowing."

Maud nodded. "I take it you're here to show me to the Wall?"

"Yes ma'am," Willow said. "Come along, please."

***

As they walked along the street, Maud saw the blue Caravan trundling away. As she watched, it was stopped by two Guards, who entered it. A moment later they exited... and waved the Caravan on its way.

Maud frowned. The escapees... could it be...?

No. It wasn't possible. It had been a dream. And even if it was...

Maud smiled slightly. Well - let them leave. It was no problem for her. After all - she might not care about the humans altogether that much… but the Empire was hardly more of a concern.

It’s not our business, she thought with a wry smile. Either way.

“You alright, ma’am?” Willow asked.

“Perfectly fine,” Maud replied. “I believe we have work to do.”

“Yes ma’am,” Willow replied. “This way please.

And with that, they headed off to the Wall, as the Caravan trundled away from it… carrying its precious cargo of ponies.

It was another day on the Wall.

Oracle

Oracle.

A Short Story by Jed R.

Hull, April 14th, 2029.

David Elliot exhaled softly, closing his eyes and rolling his shoulders as he allowed himself to cool down. All around him, soldiers were moving bodies, repairing barricades and clearing away debris, ready for the next advance.

“Dave!” he heard a familiar voice call. He opened his eyes, looking to see his friend Hell Blazer approaching him, the yellow pony’s trenchcoat looking worse-for-wear. The former John Constantine had never been one for wearing appropriate combat clothing - half the time, Elliot thought he wore the old clothes less because he liked them and more because they were some link to his old life, the man he had been.

“John,” he said, smiling. “Good to see you made it.”

“Good to have made it at all,” the former John Constantine said with a scowl. “How’d we do?”

“Numbers aren’t up yet, but we held the bastards off,” Elliot said quietly, “but it wasn’t easy.”

“Course it wasn’t,” Hell Blazer muttered. “Because this war isn’t in general, is it?"

Elliot nodded, smiling slightly. "Cheer up. We held for now."

He sat down on the hard ground, leaning against a wall. He'll Blazer sat next to him, lighting up a cigarette.

"So," Hell Blazer said softly. "What are we thinking the next thing'll be?"

"Next thing?" Elliot asked.

"Yeah," Blazer said. "You know - we've had attacks on Hull, Plymouth's a quagmire, you killed Applejack... what do you think they'll try next?"

Elliot glanced down at his friend, his smile souring slightly. "I'm not sure I wanna think about it."

"No," Hell Blazer said, nodding. "I suppose you wouldn't."

He took a drag of his cigarette, closing his eyes and savouring it for a moment. It was always a surprise to people that things like cigarettes and alcohol were still being produced - since they were hardly a necessity - but then again, without some way to blow off some steam, the human race, reduced as it was, would have wiped itself out.

Elliot smirked, before uncorking a small flask he carried and taking a swig of his own drink, a strong whisky. He coughed slightly, before putting the flask back on his belt.

"Sir!" one of the BDF soldiers, a shaven-headed man in a red uniform jacket and black trousers, called, jogging up to him. The man had pulled his gas-mask off, exposing his head - with the enemy driven off, this was ostensibly safe. Across his face, along the bridge of his nose and across his eyes, was a tattoo of a blue rectangle, representing the blue barrier that had protected Britain from Equestria's Barrier. This man was a member of the Long Watch of Britannia, one of the many militant cults of the British Isles, men and women who believed that the islands were sacred.

"What's your report, Watchman Peters?" Elliot asked.

"We've finished repairing the barricade," Peters reported. "What are your orders?"

Elliot frowned slightly, not entirely comfortable with the man. The Long Watch were one of the more... radical orders. Though they'd fight alongside ponies, it was well known that they were one of the group's the former HLF - especially former radical HLF - often found themselves part of. Human Supremacists.

"For now, take a count of losses and continue guarding this position," Elliot said. "I'll have Operative Heartstrings report here to take command shortly with Resistance reinforcements."

Peters nodded, to his credit not a bit perturbed by the mention of Lyra. He saluted and jogged off.

"Lyra's not gonna be happy with being left in charge of this lot," Hell Blazer pointed out.

"Lyra's not been happy since Bon-Bon..." Elliot began, then he trailed off, sighing. "I'll not leave her here in charge long - but she's got the best organisational mind I can think of right now, and we need it at work on this city's defences."

"Aye," Hell Blazer sighed. "Fair play then." He sighed. “She’s still gonna give you shit for it.”

“If that’s the worst thing that happens to me this week, I’ll be happy,” Elliot said with a chuckle.

“My lord?” a voice asked, cutting in.

Elliot and Hell Blazer looked up, both of them surprised at the voice that spoke. It was a young girl, no older than fourteen or fifteen. She wore a brown hooded cloak over battered, rugged clothes, and when they looked at her she bowed.

“My lord Albion,” she said softly. “It is my honour to be before you.”

“None of that,” Elliot said, waving a hand dismissively, a scowl on his face. He didn’t like the various cults that tried to deify him - he found it… disturbing. “Who are you?”

“My name is Sarah,” the girl said, straightening up. “I come to summon you.”

“‘Summon me’?” Elliot repeated. “Where? On whose authority?”

“No authority, my lord,” Sarah replied softly. “Merely necessity. He has seen you will come with me, and he has seen you will speak with him.”

“He?” Hell Blazer asked, frowning. “We playing the fucking pronoun game, now?”

“The Oracle,” Sarah clarified quietly. “He has seen that you will speak with him.”

Hell Blazer’s eyes widened in shock. “No. No, that’s not possible.”

Elliot threw him a questioning look.

“The Oracle’s some bloody fairy story,” Hell Blazer explained. “You don’t want to get involved with this, it stinks to me.”

“My lord, I speak the truth,” the girl said imploringly. “You will come.”

Elliot frowned. He hated the idea that his fate was in any way predetermined… but at the same time…

“What does he want to speak about?” he asked.

“It is not my place to know this,” Sarah said softly. “Merely my place to summon you at the apportioned time.”

Hell Blazer made a low growl at the back of his throat, clearly more than a little uneasy. Elliot shared his unease - there was something off about all of this, he just didn’t know what it was yet. Still… part of him was… curious.What was this oracle? Who was this oracle?

“Alright,” he said softly. “Where is he?”

“He is in our facility in this city, my lord,” Sarah said softly. “We awaited your arrival and victory here.”

Elliot raised an eyebrow, and Hell Blazer snorted.

“And if he hadn’t won?” the Convie asked.

“If he was not going to survive, we would not be here, my lords,” Sarah said simply. “Please. Come.”

Elliot threw his friend a look, and shrugged. Hell Blazer sighed.

“Fine,” he said. “If this goes arse over tits, you owe me a beer.”

***

The girl had led them both to a small house. It was a terraced house in the city centre. Miraculously it had been left relatively intact despite the devastating assaults that had hit the city. Hell Blazer waited by the car, leaving Elliot to go in alone.

“This way please,” Sarah said quietly as she led him through the hallway and then down into an old cellar.

Inside the cellar the air felt thick. An almost oppressive atmosphere filled the surprisingly large space with a stale taste and hints of other substances. Dominating the centre of the cellar was a large cage that took up most of the space. Behind the bars of the cage, on a mound of worn and tattered cushions, was seated a man - young, clean-shaven and with short, well trimmed hair, his entire appearance seemed to be carefully ordered and composed, as if someone were trying to sculpt him like a statue. He wore a simple hooded robe over a loose linen shirt and trousers, with simple sandles on. Two more hooded figures stood near him, heads bowed, apparently waiting for something. As Elliot watched, one of them put a mask over the man’s face, and he took a breath, before slumping slightly where he sat, looking up at Elliot with bleary but surprisingly alert eyes.

“Oh, hello,” he said softly, his voice surprisingly light. “How are you?”

Elliot raised an eyebrow at that.

“Don’t bother answering,” the young man said. “You’re usually sceptical. Or hostile. I prefer it when you’re sceptical - it’s less aggravating. Not that it’s that bad. There’s worse. There’s the times when you kill me. Sometimes dying hurts.”

He shook his head, as though trying to clear it. One of the attendants put the mask to his face again, and he took a breath, a slight lazy smile coming onto his face.

“I was told you wanted to speak to me,” Elliot said softly.

“I want to be somewhere far away from here, sipping a nice drink and reading a book,” the young man said. “But what I want is irrelevant. If there’s one thing I know, it's that I’ll never ever get it.”

“Boo hoo,” Elliot said, slightly snappishly. he wouldn’t normally have been so snappish, but the air down here was giving him a headache. “I have a war to fight. If this is important…”

“You have much more than a war to fight,” the young man interrupted, fixing him with a stare. “You’re going to add more to your collection before the end.”

Elliot raised an eyebrow. “The Elements?”

“Yes,” the man said softly. “You are going to meet them again. You have met them. You’ve always known them. You’re going to know them.”

Elliot frowned. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“And then there’s Celestia,” the man added. “Celestia, Solamina. One each. Twice in total. Both times will hurt - one more than the other. You’ll get what you need both times, though not necessarily what you want.”

Elliot folded his arms, looking to Sarah, who stood, head bowed and impassive.

“Can you translate?” he asked quietly.

“No,” the girl said softly. “None of us can see as he sees. It is for him to speak the future.”

Elliot sighed, looking back to the man. “Look, I’m sure you’re trying your best to make all of this clear -”

“You are doomed,” the man cut him off, eyes wide. He stood up, pushing past the attendants and grabbing the bars of the cage, staring out at Elliot with suddenly wide eyes. “This war will be won, but you will not enjoy victory. You will only go on to a greater war. The final war.”

Elliot blinked, stepping back slightly in shock at the sudden change in the boy’s demeanour.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“You are dying,” the boy said, his voice growing louder and more frantic as he spoke. “You have died. You will die. Again and again and again, a thousand thousand times. And not all of them are good. But beware the greatest enemy - it is not the Tyrant. It is you!”

And suddenly, he stepped back, clutching at his head. The boy gave out a wordless cry before collapsing to the floor. The attendants rushed to him one smooth movement, grabbing him and pulling him upright with practiced ease. They began caressing him, rubbing his head and whispering into his ears in calm tones. They seemed as unfocused as the man they were attending but the methodical way in which they attempted to ease him from whatever afflicted him astonished Elliot.

“My apologies, Lord Albion,” Sarah said softly, looking up at him. “He has said all he can to you.”

Elliot said nothing, instead turning away from the young man and leaving the building.

Outside, Hell Blazer was waiting, a frown on his face.

“What was that all about?” the Convie asked, eyebrows raised.

“I… don’t know,” Elliot said, frowning. “Something about… the Elements, for one thing. According to him, I’ll meet them again.” He glanced at the lining of his coat, a faint smile on his face. “I guess that’s something.”

“Anything else?” Hell Blazer asked.

“Well he said I’m dying,” Elliot replied, smirking slightly. “I suppose that’s meant to be news to me.”

“It’s news to him, or it should be,” Hell Blazer frowned. His friend’s state of health was a secret of sorts - only known to those who knew him personally.

“Best not to worry about it,” Elliot said softly, frowning. “There’s other shit on.”

Hell Blazer laughed. “I hear that. Come on.”

They walked back to the car, though Elliot couldn’t help but ponder the last words the boy had had for him.

The greatest enemy - it is not the Tyrant. It is you.

Now, what could that mean?

Author's Note

With thanks to RoyalPsycho for helping out with this one.

Apologies if this said it had been published twice. The computer I'm on... doesn't like me.

The Mark of Cain

The Mark of Cain.

A short story by Jed R.

***

Pull me close look into my eyes
Smile at me when you stick in the knife
We're bleeding into a cup when we've got enough
We'll just paint the walls
And we don't care how much it hurts
You think you're cursed it's what you deserve

'Cause you're talking rock and roll
Walking karaoke soul
I can see you desperate to please
Let me treat you for your disease
Tom McRae, Karaoke Soul.

***

One day I might be able to tell you where I got this scar. One day I might be able to tell you just how broken people and ponies can be. Maybe on that day you'll understand, maybe you won't. I hope to the Pony God you do… but then, maybe I hope you don't more.

***

London, July 3rd, 2026.

Vinyl Scratch sighed as she walked into the small corner shop. The pale mare, her normally wild hair tied back into a ponytail, didn't know whether they'd have what she needed in this morning, but she'd needed to get out of her small apartment. The news was just too damn morbid today.

Not that being in here helped, since the shopkeeper had the radio on.

"In other news, we are assured by the Governing Council that reports that three more villages in the Midlands have been listed as 'destroyed' are premature. BDF forces led by Major Redmond are investigating the reports, and we are expected to hear confirmation of the fate of these villages shortly..."

"Never good news, is it dear?" the old woman behind the counter asked.

"Doesn't look like it, Maureen," Vinyl replied with a humourless smile. 'Good news'… they hadn't had good news since this damn war started. If it wasn't Grey Squadron getting wiped out in the slaughter at Manchester, it was the reports of PER terrorists taking Plymouth, and if it wasn't Plymouth, it was reports of missing ponies being found tortured and mutilated, with radical HLF suspected.

"Ah well - maybe it'll be better tomorrow," Maureen said with a smile. She was a genial sort - white-haired and wrinkled, wearing a simple floral dress. Vinyl liked her. "Is it your usual, Miss Scratch?"

"I… yeah. Yeah," Vinyl said softly. "Make it my usual."

Maureen nodded, a knowing look in her eye, as she retrieved a bottle of beer - locally brewed stuff, the only sort you could even get these days - and put it on the counter. She grabbed a tin of baked beans and a loaf of bread as well, and put them on the counter too.

"So it's ten luxuries and fifteen essentials in total," she said with a sad smile: 'luxuries' referred to the 'luxury ration coupons', of which most civilians got one a week, but specialist morale officers like Vinyl tended to get more. Essentials referred to 'essential ration coupons', which were more common.

Vinyl raised an eyebrow. "Gone up a bit, hasn't it?"

"One of the alcohol suppliers lost some people in the last raid," Maureen said conversationally. "Damn Empire."

Vinyl clucked her tongue. "Damn Empire."

She forked out the coupons - she scrimped and saved, and often bartered for more, just so she could get her alcohol fix, but even then, ten luxury coupons was a blow to her savings. She'd been hoping to get a fresh record this week, but that would have to wait. Maureen packed the shopping into a saddlebag for Vinyl, then helped her on with it, and the mare left the little shop feeling… well, the same as she always felt.

Empty.

As she walked through the streets, she took the time to note the various people walking about. Civilians, mainly - a suited man with dark hair, a blonde woman and her daughter, a few older people stood chatting in a corner. Couple of men in red uniform jackets and blue facial tattoos here - though what the Long Watch of Britannia were doing this far inland she didn't know - or the odd Resistance soldier wandering about there. She sighed as she took note of the Kevlar vest and dagger the ponies wielded - close combat specialists or not, they deserved better.

Don't we all.

She noticed the Long Watchmen frowning at her slightly, and she sighed to herself - the Long Watch were about as good as any other Cult Militant in terms of their military effectiveness (and there were even rumours that they could use human magic, however that strange brand of magic was supposed to work), but they were humans only (which was a step up from the 'Britons only' attitude they'd had in the early days before realising that was unsustainable), and they had a tendency to attract the worst of the HLF.

"What?" she asked them, expecting some sort of anti-pony comment (she'd had the odd one or two of those).

"Nothing," one of the men said, sounding young. "It's just… you're Vinyl Scratch, right?"

Vinyl raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Awesome!" the guy said with a grin. "I heard your last album - I loved your cover of 'Rockafeller Skank'…"

Vinyl grinned. So maybe she'd misjudged these guys. That happened, maybe more often than the humans she walked by deserved. She'd have to watch that - misjudging people just because of prejudice was what had led so many ponies to support Solamina's war…

"Thanks," she said with a smile.

"Come on," the Long Watchman's colleague said gruffly. "We've a hearing to get to."

Vinyl waved as the younger man smiled and headed off, feeling… better. A little bit. Truth be told, she'd hated doing that particular cover - she felt like it had been a paint-by-numbers, that-goes-there-and-that's-the-end-of-it sort of piece, but it had gone down well. And it was nice to be recognised for her work - she'd wanted to fight, but half a dozen people and ponies had convinced her that her skills in music making were far better suited - funnily enough - to making music. That, and the fact that her bass cannon idea - while more than a few people had spoken up for it, including a mad Afrikaner Dead Man - had been deemed impractical, mainly because it would have been incredibly expensive. Ultimately, staying where she was had made sense - though it didn't alleviate her burning desire to do something.

Another time, Vinyl, she thought to herself. Another day.

***

She arrived at her little apartment six minutes later. As always, she put the baked beans in the cupboard, put two slices of bread in the toaster, ate the toast dry (there was never enough butter and it cost too much for her to consider it worth her time), and then poured herself a glass of beer.

She took a swig, gagged, forced herself not to throw the foul tasting concoction up, then took another swig, adjusted to the taste (barely), and downed the whole damn glass. She sighed mournfully, before going to the radio and switching it to today's Resistance FM frequency.

Harsh dubstep music - Vinyl's favourite kind - started blaring out of the radio, and she sat back on her sofa, closed her eyes, and began listening as an achingly familiar voice began speaking in soft, soothing Trottingham tones that always made her feel safe, even when she wasn't.

"Hello to the ponies of the Resistance, wherever you are. This is Resistance FM, broadcasting for as long as we can…"

And for a few short minutes, Vinyl Scratch was alive again.

***

Life without you wasn't anything. Music was dull. I didn't have the energy to put into it - when people congratulated me on the work I did, I just felt… empty. There was nothing keeping me alive except the thought that you were too.

Until… that day.

***

London, July 4th, 2026.

"And in other news, the Long Watch of Britannia have vehemently denied accusations that members of their organisation are responsible for the spate of pony murders that have occurred over the last five weeks. They insist that any HLF in their organisation are loyal members of the Watch and do not break their code, which prohibits illegal activity."

"But, in our top story today, it is revealed that Quiet Corner, a stallion who was one of the recent victims of this unidentified murderer, had secret connections to Jacob Levy and his PER remnant active in Plymouth. This has sparked investigation into the other murder victims…"

"Bloody PER," Maureen said softly. "As if the world isn't in enough shit."

Vinyl raised an eyebrow at that. It was the following morning in the shop, and she had come in to chat to Maureen and get the latest newspamphlet (now on 100% recyclable paper!). The front page - an article by True Quill on the latest spate of murders - was as depressing as ever.

"I haven't heard you swear before, Maureen," Vinyl commented idly.

"I'm not a pony, love," Maureen replied with a wry smirk. "Why, my Derek used to be a sailor - swore up a storm when he banged his toe once…"

Vinyl laughed. "You know, ponies swear too."

"Aye, you've got your pony swear words, sure," Maureen agreed, "but I ain't never heard a pony swear."

"Bullshit," Vinyl said with a wink, and Maureen giggled. "I happen to like human swear words."

The two of them chuckled at that, when all of a sudden there was a yell from outside. Vinyl frowned.

"Get to your basement, Maureen," she said quietly. "I'll go see what that is."

Maureen nodded and headed off through a door to her back rooms. Vinyl put the pamphlet down and edged to the front door, looking out to see what was going on.

She could see two BDF soldiers firing down the road at a man in cover, and two ponies - one a civilian Unicorn mare and one a Resistance Earth Pony stallion - struggling over a dagger. The man in cover was wearing what looked like ex-armed police gear that had been kept in piss-poor condition, and was firing an SMG down the road at the BDF men, who were both armed with L85s.

Vinyl stayed out of sight, wondering what this was - the start of some kind of food riot in progress? Those were rare, but they did happen. She could see other BDF knocking some more people, men and women similarly armed, to the ground with riot gear, and she could see some civilians cowering as well. Whatever it was, it was only just breaking out.

As Vinyl watched, the civvies got the dagger off the Resistance pony and stabbed him in his throat, before turning her attention to the still preoccupied BDF. From her saddlebag, she retrieved…

No, Vinyl thought, eyes widening. The mare had vials of potion with her. They were PER.

"No!" she yelled, charging out without thinking and ramming into the mare, knocking her over and to the ground, standing over her with narrowed eyes full of hatred. The mare had time to look Vinyl in the eye before the infuriated DJ began hitting her in the face. The BDF soldiers turned to see Vinyl pounding the mare in the face with her hooves, uncaring of the blood that was staining her coat. With a final hail of gunfire that tore the PER human apart, they turned their attention to the two Unicorns.

"Ma'am!" one of them said, grabbing Vinyl and pulling her off the PER mare. "Ma'am, you can stop!"

Vinyl, her vision tinted red, took a breath, looking wildly up at the BDF man, who pulled his mask off and gave her a concerned expression.

"Ma'am," he said again. "Ma'am, it's alright, you stopped her."

Vinyl looked at the PER mare, who was lying unconscious, blood splattered across her face, her snout clearly broken. The other BDF man was kneeling by her, taking a pulse and looking at the vials of potion, his expression unreadable beneath his mask. Looking around, Vinyl saw the other PER - they must have been PER - being arrested.

"Damn," the first BDF man said softly. "You know how to take down PER."

Vinyl took a deep, shuddering breath. "Yeah. I… I guess I do."

"Hey," the soldier said, frowning in recognition. "You're Vinyl Scratch, right?"

Vinyl sighed.

***

London, July 5th, 2026.

"And we have received reports through the usual channels that a PER attack in London was stopped by the timely intervention of the BDF and Resistance forces present, as well as assistance from the musician Vinyl Scratch," the Trottingham accented presenter said, a tinge of warmth in that cool delivery. "We are sure the BDF soldiers are grateful for Miss Scratch's assistance in this matter."

Vinyl sat back, a smile on her face, an empty glass of beer on the table next to her.

Today was good. Yesterday had been better. It was strange - she had seen a stallion die horribly, and yet she felt… alive.

Alive…

***

Why did fighting make me feel alive? Why did beating the snot out of that bucking PER mare make the blood pump like it hadn't in months?

Maybe it doesn't matter. What matters is what happened next.

***

London, July 7th, 2026.

"Morning Maureen," Vinyl said breezily as she walked into the shop.

"Mornin' Vinyl," Maureen replied, smiling at her. "Everyone's been talking y'know, about what you did when you took out that bloody PER bitch."

"Oh yeah?" Vinyl asked.

"Aye," Maureen said. "Tell you something - wish I was young enough to pull that sort of stunt off. It'd be good to give those little shits a taste of their own bloody medicine."

"I know what you mean," Vinyl said with a grin. "It did feel good."

As she browsed the shelves in the little shop, a dark-haired suited man - a man she'd seen wandering the streets before recently - walked in. He gave Maureen a nod, and glanced at Vinyl, his eyes lingering a little longer than a normal glance would. She frowned at him slightly. His suit, now she was paying attention, was a shabby, mismatched three-piece suit in greys, blacks and pinstripe. Over it, he wore a long dark overcoat, the cuffs unbuttoned.

"Mornin' love," Maureen said with a warm, friendly tone. "Not seen you in here before. You new?"

"Uh huh," the man said, smiling slightly at Maureen. "Here on business of a sort."

He threw another glance at Vinyl. She frowned slightly at him, and he looked away.

"War business?" Maureen asked, raising an eyebrow. "You don't look exactly dressed for it."

"Appearances," the man said quietly, giving her an odd smile, "can be deceiving."

He picked up two bottles of Diet Cola - apparently there was an incredible stockpile of the stuff still to shift, which seemed ridiculous until you remembered that the various cola companies still had factories in the country and had been churning it out even as the world ended - and put them on the counter. He grabbed two more, and a packet of crisps too.

"Ooh," Maureen said, raising an eyebrow. "That lot'll come to fifteen luxuries."

The man smirked and put a book of Luxury Coupons down on the counter. Maureen's eyes widened in surprise.

"Keep the change," he said, before putting his shopping in his satchel. He turned, looking at Vinyl again as he did so, who scowled. She didn't know whether he recognised her and didn't know when to stop staring at her, or whether he was one of those rare people who found ponies attractive, but either way it was getting to her.

"Alright, pal," she said. "I dunno what's up with you, but you'd better stop staring at -"

He drew out a taser and aimed it at her face. Maureen yelled and he drew a pistol with his other hand, aiming it at her.

"Shut up," he said to the old woman. "Please."

Maureen apparently knew how to shut up when she was told to, because with a small whimper she stopped making noises. Vinyl narrowed her eyes at the man.

"I don't know what you think you're gonna get out of this," she said angrily, "but I guarantee it ain't what you think it'll be."

"And I guarantee," the man replied with a smirk, "that it will be, Miss Scratch."

He fired the taser. Volts of electricity jolted through Vinyl's body, and Maureen was screaming -

And then everything went black.

***

"… and in other news, the kidnapping of respected musician Vinyl Scratch has left BDF guards and other investigators stumped, despite the presence of witnesses. One woman had to be taken to hospital for shock, but no other injuries are reported. Unlike the previous kidnapping victims, Miss Scratch is known as a staunchly loyal member of the Resistance and has frequently performed motivational music, and indeed has written music that this station has played to you. We will keep you informed as this troublesome situation develops..."

"Eurgh… I'm right here, Tavi," Vinyl muttered, her eyes opening slowly and adjusting to the low light of the room she was in. She frowned, realising suddenly that Tavi wasn't here (Pony God, I wish you were), and wondering what precisely was going on.

She was in a dark room - a basement, judging by the lack of windows and the dark bricks. She had been tied to a chair, tight enough to stop her moving, but also very carefully, carefully enough that she could feel all her extremities.

"Ah, Miss Scratch," a new voice said. "You've woken up. Good, good. I was hoping the news report might get your attention - I was going to start slapping you, but like any true artist, you have an excellent sense of timing…”

She looked to see who had spoken, and then he appeared. The man in the suit who had been staring at her, his overcoat off, revealing the grey jacket, black waistcoat and pinstripe trousers, a tie hanging loosely around his neck from his grey, striped shirt.

"You," she hissed. "Who are you?"

"Who am I?" the man repeated. He sighed. "You know, once upon a time me and my brother were some of the better known criminals on this sorry planet. Goes to show how times change."

"Yeah well, I didn't visit this planet much before things went to hell," Vinyl muttered, trying to see if she could escape. Her horn worked, but she didn't know any spells that could cut through the rope without slicing half her organs out, and if she tried to kill the man - well, that would just leave her alone in a cellar. "And even if I did, I don't know anything about your criminals."

"That's perhaps your mistake," the man said, smiling. He pulled a chair from the darkness and set it before her. "One of a few."

"Another being to not see that you were a creep," Vinyl said scathingly.

The man grinned. "I am far more than a 'creep', Miss Scratch. I am an artist." He stood up and moved away from her, still grinning. "In fact, I'm rather like yourself, in that though I do not serve in the military, my art has a beneficial effect for this little island."

"Oh yeah?" Vinyl asked. "Finger painting, is it?"

"Nothing so drab, though I do use my hands," the man said. He reached into the darkness, and suddenly a spotlight shone on…

Vinyl wanted to scream.

It was the PER mare she had been beating up. She had both her eyes gouged out, and blood was dripping from her mouth, as though she had been punched across the face repeatedly. There were a half dozen cuts on her face, each one stained with a yellow substance - iodine? There were more cuts all over her body, similarly stained.

And she was alive. Vinyl could see the soft rise and fall of her chest to indicate that she was breathing, and hear a faint wheezing - clearly she had some sort of chest injury as well.

"Fitting, no?" the man asked with a smirk. "The pain she decided to inflict, returned to her a thousand fold. Not my best work, I admit, but I'm not done yet. You're privileged to see my work in progress, really."

"Pony God," Vinyl said, eyes widening in horror. "How did you… why did…"

"The how was a simple matter of bribery," the man said, smiling. "The fruits of my previous works - coupons like the one I gave to your old shopkeeper friend. Even the soldiers of the BDF need luxury items." He sat back in front of Vinyl. "As for why - well, they are the PER."

"And that makes this… this sadism right?" Vinyl asked, horrified.

"As opposed to what?" the man asked. "Letting them go?"

"As opposed to giving them over to justice," Vinyl growled.

The man sniggered. "Oh believe me, the justice I deliver is only different in terms of the number of people delivering it. You'd have people clawing over themselves to tear this one apart out there."

He turned away from her, moving over to the unconscious mare and standing behind her. Vinyl turned away slightly from the sight, but he pointed at her.

"Wake up, little mare," he whispered in the mare's ear. She jerked, a sudden gasp coming from her mouth.

"Sweet Solamina," the mare whimpered. "Please, no more, please…"

"Hush, little mare," the man whispered. "You have a witness. Another captive down here."

"Oh no," the mare whispered. "Not… not another pony… please, no…"

"Tell our new friend your name, little one," the man whispered.

"S-S-Starshine Sky," the mare stammered. "Please… please…"

"And tell her what you are," the man continued.

"I-I am a… a member of the -"

The man jerked Sky's head back, growling angrily.

"No!" he snapped. "That is not what you are! TELL HER!"

"I… I am a traitorous, genocidal, hypocritical bitch," the mare whispered, sounding broken.

"A traitorous, genocidal, hypocritical bitch," the man repeated. "Quite right."

"P-please," Sky said. "I'm - I'm sorry. I just… I want… I -"

"What you want has no bearing on this discussion," the man said, smirking. "Say it again."

"I -" the mare whimpered.

The man growled "Say it!"

"I am a traitorous, genocidal, hypocritical bitch," Sky whimpered.

"Again!" he yelled.

"I am a traitorous, genocidal, hypocritical bitch!"

"Keep saying it!"

"I am a traitorous genocidal hypocritical bitch!" She was sobbing, and she might have been crying if her eyes hadn't been torn out. "I am a traitorous, genocidal, hypocritical bitch! I am a traitorous, genocidal, hypocritical bitch!"

Vinyl could only watch in horror as the mare kept screaming out the self-recrimination, getting more frantic as she did so. Finally, he let her stop - signalling for her to stop by smacking her across the face.

"There," he whispered. "Now doesn't that little bout of honesty make you feel better."

"P-p-please," Sky whimpered. "I just… I want to go home - I'll do anything…"

"Anything?" the man asked. "Anything at all?!"

"Yes!" the mare screamed. "Please!"

"Will you bring back the people you killed?" the man asked.

Sky faltered. "I - I - can't -!"

"Thought not," the man said. And faster than thought, he brought out a knife and raked it across Starshine Sky's throat.

"No!" Vinyl screamed, her eyes wide. "Oh buck, bucking -!"

She found herself suddenly silenced, the man's hand held over her mouth, a dangerous glint in his eye as a devilish grin played over his face.

"Now, don't cry for the little traitor," he said with a dangerous tone. "She's dead. Cry for you, if you turn out to be not the mare I thought you were."

He removed his hand, and Vinyl looked him in the eye.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!" she hissed.

"It means, I have plans for you," the man said with a slow smile. "If you play nice, then you'll like them. If not… well…"

Suddenly he grabbed Vinyl's head. She struggled, but he was bigger and stronger than she was. She could do nothing but watch, terrified, as he brought his knife, still slick with Starshine Sky's blood, up to her head, placed it on her forehead… and cut.

***

I'd just seen a mare be horribly murdered in front of me. I'd seen him torture her before she died, break her down until she was nothing but a crying wreck, then end her life without a second thought. Then he'd taken his knife to me…

The worst part of it?

I knew it wasn't over.

***

"#I'm not a gangster tonight, don't want to be a bad guy. I'm just a loner baby… and now you've gotten in my way…"

Vinyl blinked as her eyes opened. She had been tied to the chair for hours, and eventually fatigue and hunger had overcome her, and she had fallen asleep. She felt different - her sight was a bit fuzzy, and she could feel that her head was lighter, as though her mane had been cut.

The sound of music could be heard through the room, and she frowned as she saw another pony tied to a chair, this one a pale yellow stallion. The man was whistling as he walked around the room, grabbing something from somewhere before standing in front of the pony, looking down at the stallion with a raised eyebrow.

His eyes flicked over to Vinyl and he winked. She tried to spit, but her mouth was gagged. He grinned, and waved a hand over the pony,m singing to the oddly jaunty tune as he did so

"#I can't decide whether you should live or die. Oh, you'll probably go to heaven. Please don't hang your head and cry - no wonder why my heart feels dead inside - it's cold and hard and petrified. Lock the doors and close the blinds. We're going for a ride!"

The stallion woke up, looking groggy, and his eyes widened when he saw the man.

"No…" he groaned. "No, no, no, no, no, n-!"

The man held up a knife and smiled slightly at the stallion, whose eyes bulged when he saw it. The man just kept singing.

"#Oh I could throw you in the lake, or feed you poisoned birthday cake - I won't deny, I'm gonna miss you when you're gone…"

He lashed out, cutting the stallion across the face, leaving a great gash that bled profusely. He lashed out twice more, leaving two more gashes in the pony's chest.

And then the song finished, and the man - to Vinyl's surprise - took an iodine bottle from his pocket, splashed some of the foul yellow substance on the pony's injuries, and left.

There was a long moment of tense silence as the stallion breathed painfully, clearly in agony from the fresh cuts. Vinyl didn't know what to think, didn't know how to process things. She considered cutting through the other pony's ropes, but she still wasn't sure - even at this angle - whether she could do so without killing him.

Dammit, knew I should have taken remedial classes - Amethyst Star told me...

"You…" the stallion said, interrupting her train of thought. "You're… a pony…"

Vinyl raised an eyebrow, nodding.

"Oh, it's good to be near another pony," the stallion said softly, leaning his head back. "Can you… can you try to get me free? He hasn't impeded your horn…"

Vinyl shook her head, hoping he'd understand.

He nodded, a sigh escaping his lips. "Of course - this range, no way to calibrate a cutting spell. That's if you even know one." He chuckled, an empty sound from those lips. "Still, you've no idea what it's like to be in the company of a pony again. Been working with BDF for weeks. Bucking monkeys. The smell…"

Vinyl tensed slightly - without her trademark glasses on, and with her mane shortened, she wasn't recognisable. He couldn't have seen her cutie mark. That explained why he was so liberal with his words - he must have thought she would be like him - that she was PER...

"I don't know why the Empress doesn't just come herself," the stallion continued, almost oblivious to Vinyl's reaction. "This island… it's so small... they could fall in a day if she put her mind to it… they've nothing…"

Every word made Vinyl tense more. She didn't know what to do. She didn't know what to think…

"Wish I was still in Plymouth…" the stallion continued absently, almost like he was talking for the sake of talking. "Oh Solamina… I’m going to die down here, aren’t I?”

Vinyl didn’t move. The stallion wasn’t even talking to her anymore anyway, he was talking to himself.

“I don’t want to die down here…” he said, eyes wide in horror. “I had more to do, more to give… do you know, I’ve done so much good already… I never thought it would end like this.” He chuckled. “It could have done you know, but I thought I was so careful… I picked the best undercover spot, I did the best I could to pretend the monkeys didn’t disgust me… dammit, I shouldn’t have left Plymouth, I should have stayed with my friends.” He laughed again, a hopeless, empty thing. “You know, we did a raid once - battle of Lancaster, before we were broken - where we…" He coughed, almost retching, as though either his situation or his injuries were taking their toll. "Gah. Where we… we broke into this orphanage. Killed the guards… then Levy - I think it was Levy, human names are so dull… Levy started potioning the kids. One by one… little ones… you know, there's no better feeling than getting little Convies back to Equestria… it makes you feel like you’ve done something right... I’d give anything to feel that again."

Vinyl blinked, trying not to see red again. This stallion… this inequine little shit was happily describing an atrocity, as though he was proud of it!

"Are you…" the stallion said, looking at her, frowning slightly. "Are you sure you can't… try to get me free?"

Vinyl tensed, then she looked up at her horn. It started glowing.

"Oh, thank Solamina," the stallion said. "Aim for my rear legs first, if they -"

He was cut off by a spell from Vinyl's horn zapping out, striking him between the eyes, drilling through his skull and splashing against a wall in the back of the room. The stallion let out a gasp of shock, eyes widening, then the momentum of the spell toppled him and the chair he was on to the floor. Vinyl closed her eyes, expecting… something.

A few moments later, the man returned, looking at the corpse with raised eyebrows - but of appreciation, not surprise. It was almost like he had known what would happen.

"Not bad," he congratulated, and Vinyl felt sick. "A little quick, a little clean - definitely precise, though. Have you done this before?"

Vinyl felt nauseous. Tavi forgive me.

***

That's what I learned down there. That's how it starts. The buildup of fury, the breaking point where suddenly you're vision is red and you burst and ponies are dead at your feet. That's what he wanted to teach me. Maybe I already knew it. Maybe I was just waiting…

***

He was sat in front of her, knife in hand, looking for all the world as though he was waiting for something.

Vinyl was staring at him, eyes narrowed in hatred. She had no gag in her mouth, but she refused to speak until he did. She wanted to know what he wanted.

Since the incident with the stallion - whose body he had moved with no trouble - he had fed her, holding a spoon of some thin, foul gruel to her mouth until hunger compelled her to eat. He had given her water. He had sat there, waiting for something. He hadn't said a word, merely staring patiently. She didn’t know how long it had been - it could have been minutes, it could have been hours, it could have been days.

Finally, she could take no more of it.

"What the buck do you want from me?!" she screamed at him.

He grinned.

"That," he said.

***

I kept telling myself that he wouldn’t break me. I kept telling myself I’d escape. That I’d get out. That I’d do something, anything other than what he wanted, whatever it was that he wanted.

I kept telling myself that.

I kept lying.

***

“So,” the man said, a long time later. “If you’re that good a shot, why aren’t you in the Resistance Army?”

Vinyl scowled. “What’s it to you?”

He shrugged. “We all go where our art takes us. My art led me here, eventually. A lot of peoples’ art leads them to the army, always has.”

Vinyl frowned. “My ‘art’ is my music.”

“Yes, I’ve listened to that,” the man said. “‘Rockerfeller Skank,’, ‘Gansta Trippin’’, three separate albums of Daft Punk covers… all of it a bit… empty.”

Vinyl raised an eyebrow. “Empty?”

“Empty,” the man repeated. “Lacking in a certain spark. Missing something, though as I’m not a musician I couldn’t tell you what, though if I had to hazard a guess…”

“Don’t,” Vinyl interrupted. “Don’t you dare.”

The man smiled. “Touched a nerve?”

“I don’t need a psychopath criticising my work,” she growled.

“And I don’t need philistines criticising mine,” the man replied, “but I don’t get angry at your ‘psychopath’ remarks.”

“Good for you,” Vinyl said with a sneer. “I guess I’m pickier.”

“I guess you are,” the man said with a smirk. “Still, picky isn’t a problem. I can work with picky.”

“‘Work with’...” Vinyl repeated. “What do you want?”

“What I want is for you to understand something,” the man said. “And for that to happen, you need to see my work, and you need to believe my work.”

Vinyl narrowed her eyes into a glare. “That isn’t going to happen.”

“But it already has,” the man said. “That stallion - sure, it was rushed, but that was a brilliant first piece. I bet you felt all sorts of wonderful angry feelings, too, didn’t you? Not my favourite way to make a piece, but…”

“Buck off!” Vinyl screamed, her anger rising. The man leaned back, eyes wide in shock. “Why are you doing this to me, you maniac?!”

He blinked, and then he smiled.

“You and me, we’re the same,” he said softly. “I saw it when you beat that little PER mare up - off in the distance you were, but I saw it all the same. And sure, you do your work for reasons different than mine, but I see in you the potential to be a better artist than even me and dear Army in our heyday…”

“I… am not a murderer!” Vinyl growled furiously.

“The stallion you killed would disagree,” the man said with a smile. “I heard every word he said, and I wondered just what that was doing. Watching Angry Artists at work… that’s usually something special. Sometimes they have to get worked up, but sometimes… ooh, sometimes they just snap. Like you did, with the PER traitor bitch and that stallion. Snapping is fun. How does it feel?”

Vinyl felt her gorge rise. This man… it was almost as if he took some sort of sick, twisted pleasure from the fact that she had been violent. Almost as though violence itself gave him a thrill, even a high.

“You’re evil,” she whispered.

He grinned, stood up, and bowed, almost like a stage performer to an audience.

“Amadeus Robert Cain, at your service,” he said theatrically. “I am a master of my art. And with my help, you will be too.”

***

Evil is a smile, Tavi. Evil is a laugh. Evil is a man who’s done the most horrible things in the world and still thinks of himself as an artist, a genius. And he wanted me to be likehim, wanted me to see the world the same way he did.

It would be… it would be so easy to lie to you. It would be so easy to lie to you and say that no, that I didn’t, that I couldn’t...

It would be so easy to lie.

***

He came down. He spoke about his work. He fed her. He gave her water. Sometimes he took her a drink of that diet coke - he had more than the two bottles he’d bought from Maureen. Maybe he’d stolen the coupons from those he kidnapped and murdered - that seemed the most likely option.

Not that PER deserve coupons anyway… she found herself thinking.

He had told her more about himself - about Amadeus and Armando, brothers in psychopathy - Amadeus the civilised, methodical, artistic killer, and Armando the brutal, the quick, the clean, the efficient, the planner who’d always kept them moving. Where Armando was, he did not say, and Vinyl did her best to not say anything to him at all.

Two days after he had finally named himself, Cain brought another pony down. Vinyl was awake to see him bring her, this time.

She was another mare, young, pale green, innocent looking. There were tears in her eyes and she had a cut at the top of her forehead, like she had been attacked already. Cain looked flustered - he was wearing no tie, and he had a bruise under one eye.

“Another PER bitch,” he said, grinning gleefully. “Go on - tell the good pony your name.”

“I… I’m Sundown,” she said softly. “I… oh please, please, don’t…”

“Tell the nice mare what you were doing, Sundown,” Cain said, kneeling down and holding a knife to the terrified mare’s throat. “Go on. Don’t be scared.”

“I… I…” the mare said, gulping. “I was… I was sending information to… to Levy in Plymouth… he passes it on to the Royal Guard. Please… please, I’ll… I’ll turn myself in, please, they’ll execute me, but please… please, don’t…”

“Please don’t what?” Cain asked, hissing in her ear. “Kill you? Oh, I’m not going to kill you…”

He pulled the knife away from her throat, and Sundown sobbed in relief, burying her head in her hooves. Suddenly, Cain brought the knife down in a stabbing motion, and the sharp metal impaled the mare in her shoulder. She screeched in agony, and Vinyl winced in horror.

“I’m just going to hurt you,” Cain continued. “Very, very badly.”

He sat by the tortured mare, and looked up at Vinyl, a smile on his face.

“Unless, of course, my friend here decides that she wants to deal with you,” he added with a smile.

Vinyl felt ill again. He’d brought this mare down here for her to kill, for her to… to…

Punish.

Vinyl’s eyes widened in horror. Where had that thought come from?

He’s going to hurt her anyway.

Vinyl shook her head. I’m not like him. I don’t hurt ponies for kicks.

It wouldn’t be for kicks. It’d be punishment for her crimes. How many humans are dead or Converted because of her giving away information?

That’s not the point…

Of course that’s the point! It’s why you hurt that PER bitch during the raid, it’s why you killed that little bucker bragging about ponifying orphans! You punished them!

“I’m not you,” Vinyl said aloud, looking Cain in the eyes. “I won’t hurt her…”

Cain shrugged. “It’s your choice - if you don’t want the canvas… I’ll have it.”

He stroked Sundown’s mane, and her eyes widened in horror.

“Please, don’t hurt m-!” she began, but Cain gripped her mane tighter and with a shriek she fell silent.

“Don’t. Say. A word,” Cain hissed. “One way or the other, little traitor, you die today.”

Vinyl felt conflicted. One way or another. Punish her, or he will. There’s nothing I can do. She can burn in Tartarus. Maybe if I hit him… but she’s PER - traitor! Sun-worshipping bitch! I can’t let her get away with what she’s done…

“Please,” Sundown whispered.

Vinyl’s horn glowed. With a flash, Cain was blasted backwards from the mare, hitting the wall with a grunt of pain, stunned for the moment.

“Oh, thank the Sun! Thank you!” Sundown said, slowly pulling herself to her feet. “Thank you so -!”

Vinyl’s next spell blasted the top of the mare’s head clean off, and the bloody, ruined remains smoked for a moment before slumping back to the floor.

Vinyl breathed heavily, eyes wide with horror and shock at what she had just done.

Justice.

“Was that really necessary?” Cain asked, scowling as he stood up, the effect of the spell having worn off. He rubbed the back of his head.

“Shut up,” Vinyl said quietly.

He looked over the corpse. “Another quick kill. Interesting. Is that just how you do it, or is it because you’re still getting used to making this kind of work?”

“I said shut up!” Vinyl snapped. “I… I’m not… I didn’t… you would have made her suffer.”

“Probably,” Cain said. “But the result would have been the same.”

“I spared her pain,” Vinyl said.

“You certainly did that,” Cain agreed. “Hell, you even gave her a fleeting bit of hope there - it’s always nice to see the hope before you -”

“I SAID SHUT UP!” Vinyl screamed. “I’m not like you! I don’t enjoy this! Killing ponies - any ponies - isn’t a fucking art form!”

Cain stepped back slightly, surprised by her outburst.

“Well,” he said softly. “You think so now…”

“I’ll always think like that,” Vinyl said stubbornly.

Cain, to her sickened horror, started chuckling.

“We’ll see,” he said simply.

***

There… there… was something… something satisfying about it. In my darkest moments… I thought about… about how the little wisps of smoke flew from the crater where that PER bitch’s head used to be. About how… about how much… about how much I liked the feeling of putting her down. IT was… good.

***

Eventually, after Pony God only knew how long, she had to speak to him.

“Why did you cut my mane?” she asked him one time, as he brought her water.

He had shrugged at that. “I like the look of you with short hair.”

Though she was reluctant to talk to him more than necessary, they had (eventually) started talking about what had brought them here - her more so she didn’t go insane than any particular desire to speak to him.

“My brother and I made a point of being meticulous,” Cain was saying. “I killed slowly, he planned slowly. A perfect match, really. He and I were in Europe in the last days - we figured it would be the perfect time to indulge in some larceny.”

“Bit of a strange time to be worried about material possessions,” she sneered.

“We weren’t,” Cain said. “But I like to think of it as a game of risk. We were so close to the damn Barrier…”

He trailed off.

“It caught him,” Vinyl guessed.

“A quick death,” Cain said, sounding emotionless for the first time since he had kidnapped Vinyl. “Clean. Instantaneous. One minute he was there, the next minute the Barrier jumps and he, the bank and the car are gone and I’m left standing a few metres away, having to run before it does it again.” He paused. “Not at all like the death I’d planned for him.”

“You… you planned to kill your own brother?” Vinyl asked.

“As opposed to what?” Cain asked. “Letting him die of old age, or be executed by some clod who had no idea how to make something beautiful out of it? How… mundane.”

Vinyl made a noise of disgust. Every time she thought Cain had run out of ways to make her sick, he came out with something new.

“But he was just gone,” Cain continued, not noticing (or not caring about) Vinyl’s reaction. “No appreciation for the art of pain. No appreciation for the moments of suffering. Nothing. It was… impersonal. And the Empire keeps doing that - impersonal killing. Boring killing. Unartistic killing. It’s… anathema to me.”

“And so you kill PER?” Vinyl asked.

“They get missed less,” Cain shrugged. “And if anyone - or, I suppose, anypony - needs a lesson in how to enjoy their art, it’s them.”

Vinyl scowled. “You know, I still don’t agree with your definition of ‘art’.”

Cain laughed. “I’m sure.” He stood up, and went back up the stairs of the cellar, leaving Vinyl alone.

***

Damnation isn’t a switch you flip on and off. Damnation is a road, one you keep walking down until you can’t see where you came from anymore. Did I go that far down?

I don’t know. That’s the worst part. That last day… what happened…

I just don’t know.

***

Cain brought down another pony a few hours later, a mare again. She was grim-faced and hard-eyed.

“I think the problem,” he said simply, “was that you were aiming your spell at the wrong place. That first time, you got angry and you blew that nice little hole in that stallion’s head - that was neat, but it killed him too quickly. If you can do that, but drill a hole through a leg or a non-vital part of the torso…”

The mare scowled at Cain but did nothing, the knife at her throat the perfect deterrent. She said nothing as he tied her up, still rambling.

Vinyl looked her over - she had to admit, this one looked… dangerous.

“So,” she asked softly. “Who’s this?”

“My name,” the mare said before Cain could answer, “is Hard Case.”

Vinyl’s eyes widened - Hard Case was one of the key PER ponies of the bad old days. She’d heard legends of the running clashes between her posse and men like Thane of the HLF Jackal-brigade, but those were consigned to urban legend, forgotten now that most of the ponies and Convies involved were back in Equestria and most of the humans were dead or Convies.

“Ah, you know of her,” Cain said with a smile. “Yes, I thought you’d like working on this one.”

“‘Working’ on me?” Hard Case asked, smirking. “The mare tied to a chair?”

“Hm, you’re right,” Cain said. He took his knife out and then walked over to Vinyl, before deftly cutting her free. Vinyl fell out of her chair with a grunt, and slowly, unsteadily, got to her feet. She felt a little weak, but she hadn’t been down here long enough for her limbs to truly atrophy.

How long had she been down here? Did it matter?

“So,” Cain said. “Like I was saying - if you pick a nice spot to hit, you can extend this little piece for hours...”

He was talking to her like… like she was his friend. Like she was on his side. Like somehow he thought that she was alright with this insanity.

“I’m not going to -” she began.

“Not going to kill her, blah, blah, blah,” Cain said, groaning slightly. “Look - you are. You always say you won’t but you always do in the end. And in this case, she’d be dead anyway if she ever got out of here because she’s wanted. You don’t have to feel that ridiculous guilt thing you’ve got going on here.”

Vinyl blinked, frowning, before looking at Hard Case, who was glowering at her.

“And if that doesn’t convince you, how about this,” Cain said. “If you don’t kill her, I’ll let her go.”

“No!” Vinyl said at once, eyes wide. “She’s… she’s a murderer!”

“So am I,” Cain said with a grin.

“If you let me go, I’ll kill both of you,” Hard Case growled. She looked imposing enough that Vinyl was reasonably sure she could do it, too.

“There,” Cain said. “Now, I’m going to leave you two alone - have fun, Miss Scratch.”

He left the room, leaving Vinyl alone with the tied up mare. Hard Case grinned.

“So,” she said, “you wanna let me go and die quietly, or d’you wanna get on with this?”

“I’m not going to kill you,” Vinyl said quietly.

“Then your friend will let me go - and I am going to kill you,” Hard Case said. “But then again, I guess a wuss like you isn’t cut out for killing anypony anyhow.”

Vinyl scowled. “I’ve killed.”

“Uh huh?” Hard Case said with a grin. “Like a little pampered whorse like you could kill anypony, Miss Scratch. I know who Vinyl bucking Scratch is, and no third rate button-pushing excuse for a musician is gonna be the death of me.”

“Shut up,” Vinyl growled.

Kill her.

“Make me,” Hard Case said, smirking. “I think I might break your legs first.”

She is an enemy. She is a danger. Kill her.

Vinyl felt weak at the knees again. She suddenly realised that she hadn’t eaten for what felt like hours - she was starving.

She will kill you if you don’t kill her first.

“And once I break your legs, I might break a rib, puncture a lung, watch you choke on blood,” Hard Case continued. “That’s always funny. Did that to a Resistance pony the other -”

“Shut up!” Vinyl said again.

“Why should I?!” Hard Case growled. “You’re a pansy. You can’t kill me - you don’t have the guts. And if you are, I’m not gonna sit here like some victim waiting for you to do it - I’m gonna rant and rave and call you a little bucking whorse if I want to...!”

KILL HER.

“I said SHUT UP!” Vinyl screamed, and her horn glowed. Hard Case had time to look surprised before a pencil-thin beam of light lanced out of Vinyl’s horn - right through the PER mare’s throat. She blinked in shock for a moment, then began coughing, blood leaking from the miniscule hole in her throat, bubbling up from her mouth.

Vinyl blinked in shock. “I… I…”

Hard Case spat at her, her blood staining Vinyl’s coat. Vinyl stepped back, the hunger and fatigue and weakness all taking their toll.

As Hard Case began retching and choking on the blood from her punctured artery, Vinyl Scratch hit the floor, fainting…

***

Tavi. Forgive me.

***

“... this is Resistance FM, broadcasting for as long as we can…”

When Vinyl awoke, she was alone. Hard Case was gone, and Vinyl could only see dried blood on the concrete floor where the PER member had been. The radio was blaring Resistance FM and she could hear Tavi’s voice speaking.

“Uh…” she groaned, standing up. She frowned, looking around. There was no sign of Cain.

There was also no sign of anything stopping her from leaving.

“Hello?” she asked, frowning in confusion. It couldn’t be this easy.

“We have received word that an anonymous tip has been given as to the location of the missing motivational musician Vinyl Scratch - we understand BDF to be converging on that location presently, and we will provide more information as the communication channels provide it…”

“Anonymous tip?” Vinyl wondered aloud, frowning. “What?”

She could hear banging upstairs. She tensed suddenly - what was that?

“In other news, the bodies of more ponies affiliated with the PER have been located. These bodies were all horribly burnt, which has stumped several investigators, but the exact cause of death appears to have been some sort of spell damage. Expert magic-detection units have so far failed to identify the type and origin of these spells due to the extent of the damage.”

“Hello?!” a voice called out, muffled by the wood of the ceiling. “Miss Vinyl Scratch, are you here?!”

“Hello!” Vinyl yelled. “Down here! Anypony?!”

There was a bang, and suddenly a light shone down into the dim cellar.

“Miss Scratch?” a voice asked, as a BDF soldier slowly crept down the stairs, garbed in full hazmat.

“Did you get him?!” Vinyl asked frantically.

“Get who, Miss Scratch?” the soldier asked.

“Him!” Vinyl yelled. “The man who kidnapped me, Cain!”

The soldier tilted his head in obvious confusion. “There’s no one else here, ma’am.”

Vinyl slumped to the floor, eyes wide.

“No one else here…” she repeated.

The soldier took his mask off, frowning at her confusedly.

“Ma’am?” he asked. “What happened?”

***

I told them. I told them everything. That he’d tied me up, tortured me, made me kill those ponies. I’d been down there over a week, apparently - the house was a small one in the outskirts of London, and they’d never thought to look for me. Cain was nondescript enough that they couldn’t trace him from his description.

They pardoned me for killing those ponies of course - you don’t get arrested for killing PER in Britain. I got a psych eval - told me nothing I didn’t already know, that I was in shock and needed rest and recuperation. My mane could grow back. The scar across my eye, though… that was permanent.

They told me they’d look for Cain, but I never heard anything back from them about him.

I did hear from him, though…

***

London, July 30th, 2026.

Vinyl opened her eyes, sitting up and gasping for breath.

The nightmares were always the same - a man, a smile, a knife, and the feeling of a blade going through flesh.

It was dark, and cold despite it being July. She frowned - she had an… odd feeling. Like anticipation… or foreboding. Tensing herself, she got up and walked to her front door - there was no noise, no sign of anyone or anypony there… but there was an envelope that had been pushed under her door.

Frowning, she lit her horn and opened the letter. Her eyes widened in horror.

It was a black-and-white picture of her, lying unconscious next to the wide-eyed corpse of Hard Case, greeted her. On the flip side of it was a handwritten note.

Nice work. Shame you fell asleep during it, but you were tired. She lasted seven minutes, and they were glorious. I look forward to seeing more from you in future.

A.R.C.

She dropped the photo numbly and slumped to the floor, her eyes wide and all thought gone.

I’m not like him. I’m not like him. I’m not like him. I’m not, I’m not, I’m not…

***

I’m not like him. I can’t be. I never killed a soul since that day, except at the battle of Canterlot. I didn’t enjoy it. I can’t be like him.

I just can’t be.

Author's Note

I had to write for AOA again - I was going mad. And this particular story is one I've been itching to tell for a while...

In The End

In The End.

A short story by Jed R.

"I tried so hard,
And got so far,
But in the end,
It doesn't even matter.
I had to fall,
To lose it all,
But in the end,
It doesn't even matter."
Linkin Park, In The End.

***

London, January 20th, 2030.

Lyra Heartstrings exhaled, closing her eyes and trying not to feel too exhausted - it was a losing battle.

It was hard to catch a break when the city was under attack, but somehow, impossibly, she had managed to find five minutes to sit down and think. David Elliot had gone further into the city, fighting off an assault on Piccadilly or some similar place. Lyra found herself smirking at a half-remembered conversation.

***

"Piccadilly?" Lyra asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow. "That… is an odd name."

"Uh huh," David said in return, smirking. "I suppose all it needs is a horse pun."

Lyra frowned. "What does that mean?"

"Oh I dunno," David said, chuckling slightly. "Maybe if you called it 'Piccafilly' and it might sound less ridiculous."

"Are you mocking the great town of Piccafilly?" Lyra asked, raising an eyebrow, her expression going stony.

David paused, looking worried for a moment. "Wait, there's really a town called Piccafilly?"

Lyra held his gaze for a long moment, and then burst out laughing.

"No, you clod," she said, chuckling. "Even I know that would be too much."

***

Lyra smiled at the fond memory - it had been a long time ago. Before the weight of ultimate responsibility had settled on Elliot's shoulders, before the blood soaked islands had reeked of the final end coming. Before this 'Albion' nonsense…

Lyra cursed that name. 'The Avatar of Albion'. It was stupid - they lauded him as their last hope, their saviour, and he, so desperate to save his people, accepted it. He had become their symbol, allowed them to call him by the symbol's name instead of his own. She had seen him give away the last of himself to the symbol and forget that he was a man, a man with his own life, his own dreams, his own hopes - hopes and dreams she knew, even if most of the rest of these plot wipes didn't.

No one and nopony else, except maybe True Grit at a pinch, had known him as long or as well as she had. She had been there when Sam, his best friend, had died in Whitby. She had been there to see him through losing his friend, to see him through being promoted to Lieutenant, then to Major, then his assignment as a Force Commander that had seen him given authority.

She had seen what being the 'Avatar' had done to him…

***

She approached him, eyebrows furrowed in worry. He was sat alone, away from the party technically being held in his honour. He had taken his old leather coat off, and she could see a hint of the pale pink mane of Fluttershy poking out.

"David?" she asked. "Are you alright?"

He looked up at her, and for the briefest of moments she caught the empty, almost despairing look on his face - and then he covered it up with a soft smile.

"Hey Lyra," he said. "Yeah, I'm fine. Little tired. Long month."

Lyra frowned. "You might fool John and even True Grit with that routine - heck, you might even fool yourself - but I know you better. Don't you dare shut me out."

His smile faded, and he leant forward, almost bending over double.

"I'm fine," he repeated softly. "I have to be."

She moved to sit next to him, making sure to sit like a human. She was fortunate she'd had so much practice. She put a comforting forehoof on his shoulder.

"David," she said, "I'm here… if you need to talk. If you need…"

She trailed off, not finishing the thought. 'If you need me.'

"I'm fine," he said for the third time, looking up at her with a smile. He patted her hoof, and she felt a twinge of… something. "But thanks."

She smiled, a sudden hollow feeling in her chest. "Don't mention it."

***

She closed her eyes, returned to the present. He was killing himself - physically and mentally - and all she could do, all she could ever do, was watch it happen.

'I'm sorry,' she thought softly. 'I'm so sorry.'

She pulled something from her saddlebag - it was an old leather bound journal that David had given her. She smiled softly at it, before opening it up, stopping, as always, on the first page, where a scruffy, scribble handwriting had left a simple message.

From David Elliot to Lyra Heartstrings.

She blinked, suddenly feeling choked up for some reason, and turned the page, trying to suppress her feelings. She turned to the last page she had written, a quick note about London.

January 17th.

If Blueblood is right, London will be attacked in two days. We're moving out now. Hell Blazer is full of practised but worn bravado. Grit is professional, detached, offers a small smile. And David…

He stands there, looking off in the distance. Bags under his eyes, tired, those small human eyes full of more emotion than the biggest pony eyes I ever saw - worry, fear, self-doubt, his usual combination. He doubts himself, his ability to lead, his ability to fight. He is… beautiful so stupid - men, women, stallions, mares, we follow him because we trust him, we believe in him, we love

She had stopped writing, and reading it back, she could no longer deny what she had been trying to for months.

She turned back a few pages. More of the same sort of comments appeared.

December 14th.

Dark manehair and stubble, he hasn't slept again. He looks tired. Fighting across country the past two weeks has taken its toll. More reports from Plymouth put him in a bad mood. Couple of Long Watchmen bowing to him like some sort of God didn't help. He doesn't want to be a God. He doesn't need to If only he'd realise that the man is good enough for me and that he doesn't need to be a hero.

She closed her eyes.

"Damn you," she said to nopony in particular. Maybe to the half-joking Pony God people kept swearing to. Maybe to no one.

She remembered another conversation, one she'd had a long time ago with Vinyl, a year after they'd arrived.

***

"… and she and he actually… y'know, that," Vinyl finished, sounding a little disturbed. "Hard to believe."

Lyra raised an eyebrow. "You mean Amethyst is with a human? Like… that?"

"Yup," Vinyl said, shrugging. "Hard to believe."

"Well," Lyra said, shrugging. "To each their own… never expected it from Amethyst of all ponies."

"Me neither," Vinyl commented. "I know Cheerilee leaving her in charge of the farmyards was a big task, but still, she’s gotta be pretty stressed to be…"

"What does that have to do with it?" Lyra asked, frowning.

"Well… y'know, a human and a pony?" Vinyl said, raising an eyebrow. "There's something pretty… well, weird about it, isn't there? They're hairless apes. So she’s probably working out some stress or something, I dunno."

"Interspecies relationships have happened before," Lyra said, frowning. "I mean, you hear about ponies and Griffons all the time… and there was that pony with a donkey husband… and Spike used to pine after Rarity…"

Vinyl sighed and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, but Spike was raised among ponies - and out of millions of ponies and Griffons, there's gotta be… what, six couples tops? It's still weird."

Lyra scowled. "Vinyl, I'm surprised at you: we came here to help humans."

"Yeah, help," Vinyl said, "not fuck."

Lyra winced. "You're charming. Was that really necessary?"

"Call it like I know it, sister," Vinyl shrugged. "And human swear words work for me."

Lyra chuckled. "I'm sure. All I'm saying is, we should be more open minded."

"I am open minded," Vinyl said. "I ain't saying anything about her right to fuck…"

Lyra winced again.

"… alright, copulate with anyone she likes."

"That hardly sounds better," Lyra muttered.

Vinyl ignored her. "But… look, ok, there's a bit of a squick factor, ok?"

"A squick factor?" Lyra repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Vinyl said, shrugging. "It's a bit icky, thinking about it."

Lyra smirked. "You know ancient Adamantia used to slice open gay couples from throat to tail as a punishment for their sins?"

Vinyl's eyes widened. "Say what?"

"That was their reaction to gay and lesbian couples," Lyra continued. "I guess they thought it was… 'icky'."

"Hey," Vinyl said, holding up both hooves. "I'm not saying that we should stop them, but…"

"But, you're still saying it's 'squicky'," Lyra said. "Only a few short steps to the throat-to-tail treatment…"

Vinyl chuckled. "Ok, ok, I'll get my head out of my plot. Not my business anyway." She smirked. "Wonder why you're being so touchy about it? Is there a special human in your life?"

Lyra laughed. "Oh, no. Not likely to happen. I think most humans have the same reaction you do."

"Ha," Vinyl said. "You sure? I bet Sam's pretty hot for a human. Or maybe Elliot…?"

Lyra blushed. "Shut up."

"Is that a yes?"

"Anyway," Lyra said, hastily changing the subject, "I heard you're moving to London…"

***

Vinyl might have been showing a bit of her prejudice - understandable, since everyone and everypony had some prejudices, buried or not - but it wasn't as though she was unique in her beliefs. Most humans - and indeed, most ponies - had the same attitude she had, and apart from Amethyst she couldn't think of many ponies she knew being in human/pony relationships at all. Even Lyra had been ambivalent about it, for the most part… though she'd never really been into sex as a whole. She'd been described as asexual more than once, which she supposed was technically accurate. Technically - she had never been interested much in ponies, that much was certain.

Now though…

'A human,' she thought to herself. 'Why did I have to fall for a human?'

Was that it then? Was she admitting it?

She turned to the first blank page in her journal, and began writing.

January 20th, 2030.

I'm in love with a human.

She crossed that out and began writing again.

I'm in love with David.

She underlined the name three times for emphasis, her eyes furrowing. She read the words back.

I'm in love with David.

Taking a breath, she began writing again.

I'm in love with him. There. I said it. I bucking said it.

Can't say it to him though. Not while

She stopped. She scratched out the last two words.

I can't tell him. he's not into ponies. He's never commented on stories like Amethyst and her husband but I can tell he doesn't think of ponies that way. In fact, I don't think i've ever seen him think of anyone that way. Maybe he isn't interested

She scratched the last three words out, frowning. It couldn't be that.

Maybe he isn't interested it's the war. There's so much pressure on him. So much pressure on him to be the stupid bucking Avatar of Albion…

She scratched the last sentence out, frowning. Saying this… saying this even in her own private journal had to be right.

He's the hero this country, these humans, have been needing, and he doesn't know how to be, but he tries. He tries. And they we believe in him. All of us do. If only he believed in himself, stupid bucking

She closed her eyes, a tear leaking out. She hadn't realised just how much this was affecting her, how much seeing the man she had stood by - this man that she loved - tear himself apart was hurting her.

I have to tell him.

She scratched that out.

I can't tell him.

She frowned at the words, and reread them. Then, scowling, she tore out the entire page, scrunched it up, and incinerated it.

Could she tell him?

No.

Why not?

He's dying. There's too much pressure on him as it is. It couldn't ever work.

And what if it did? And so what if he was dying? They were all going to die, every last one of them - if not now, then tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that…

and what if he does love you? What if he can't bear seeing you hurt, or killed?

That gave her sudden pause.

He's seen too many people die. Hundreds of people - men, women, children, friends... if you tell him, and it somehow manages to work, then when you die, you'll be the anchor that sinks him.

"But what if I don't?" she asked quietly out loud, a tear slipping out.

You know better than to think you'll survive this war. Bon Bon didn't. Ditzy didn't. The Doctor's changed forever. Sam didn't. Vinyl's… pony God knows what happened to change her, but she's different too. This war will change everything, forever. You're no different than any of those ponies, any of those people - the only thing that makes you different is you saying it, and that's piss in the wind. You know the first adage of war, the adage they taught all the first ponies in the Resistance.

Lyra closed her eyes, a tear leaking out.

First you say 'it can't happen to me - I'm too good, too trained, too cute, too lucky, too blessed'. Then, after a while, after you see a few people die, you think 'it could happen to me, so I should be careful, watchful, alert, vigilant.' finally you realise - 'it will happen to me, and only me not being there will prevent it.' You're here - and so you'll die. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but one day.

Lyra sat back, a tear dripping from her eye. She didn't want to admit it, but that little voice in her head was right. She couldn't tell him, because he had lost too much, and if he lost her, knowing how she felt…

It would destroy him.

"Oi!" a new voice said, and she turned, seeing David Elliot looking at her, a frown on his face. "You ok, Lyra?"

She smiled, hoping it didn't look as forced as it felt. "Yeah, just… thinking too much."

"Ah, thinking," Elliot said, grinning. "You know, they should really ban that. S'bad for people's health."

"Oh, is that why you never think?" she asked mockingly, grinning at him.

He stuck a finger up at her. "Me and Grit are going on a recce. You wanna come with? You might be able to beat his score."

"Yeah," Lyra said, smiling slightly. "Just let me finish something."

"We'll be waiting by the corner shop when you're done," Elliot said, waving and heading off. Lyra's smile faded, and she turned to her diary, staring at the new page. She sighed, and wrote the next entry.

January 20th, 2030.

I'm in love with David Elliot. I will never tell him. It's better that way. It has to be.

She closed the book, a bitter tear dripping from her eye, and a scowl developing on her face. She was tempted to throw the journal away… but it had been a gift. She put it in her saddlebag, and got up to meet Elliot, hoping that the noise and chaos of battle would be enough to make her feel something other than the sudden emptiness of her personal resolution.

She doubted it. But hope wasn't a bad thing, sometimes. In the end, it didn’t even matter.

Author's Note

So: this chapter comes with a bit of character development for a character who really needed it. It's a big enough bit of development that I've written a blog post on it, because not only is it being referenced here, it's gonna be in other stuff - Convergence, maybe When We Needed Him Most, maybe some other stuff. In the meantime, I hope this isn't the shark-jumping moment for some people.

The Last Report of Agent Sweetie Drops.

A short story by Jed R.

’They forgave me my transgressions.’

The Agent, In Service of Nothing.

***

April 10th, human calendar 2027.

This is the last report of Special Agent Sweetie Drops, Canterlot Anti-Monster Division (former). I’m copying this down at least three times. Lyra - you may consider this my apology, and my last will and testament. Everything of military worth I leave to the Resistance to do with as they will. Everything else is yours.

I flinched. And maybe I should have flinched sooner.

It is best if I begin at the beginning.

It had been seven years since the Bugbear escaped from Tartarus and the agency was shut down when the Equestrian Exodus began, in secret. I was hesitant about joining the Exodus from the beginning - those who knew ‘Bon Bon’ thought it was simply a reluctance to leave home, or maybe a dislike of the humans. neither was strictly accurate - the Bugbear might escape from Tartarus at any moment, and somehow find a way to locate me and hurt me and the ones I cared about. I couldn’t allow that to happen.

Furthermore, there was still my loyalty to Princess Celestia - she demanded that the agency be shut down, but every single agent still had to be accountable, be locatable - we couldn’t risk failing her if ever she - and by extension Equestria - needed us. Eventually, though, I reasoned that escaping to another world might be a way for me to avoid the Bugbear. As well as that - though it sickened my heart to realise it - I could report on the Exodus for the Princess, tell her what was going on, what ponies were planning. I sent messages reporting on the progress of the Exodus through the usual channels, but received no reply. At the time, I didn’t understand why. Now I wonder whether it was a symptom of the Princess’s loss of reason, the same loss of reason that has now led to her…

I’m getting ahead of myself.

Things continued to get stranger in Equestria - the Converted became more and more common, and indeed in some respects began to outnumber the natural-born ponies. Reports of colonisation efforts came to my attention, and this made me… not merely worried, but confused. It didn’t seem like Celestia, for want of a better way to put it - not that I suppose I ever really knew her that well, but my job includes the ability to be a good judge of a pony’s character. It was during this time, however, that I received a letter from Twilight Sparkle of all ponies, a message from the Princess. She ordered me to keep an eye on the Exodus, to report anything overly suspicious to her. This, too, confused me, but I sent back confirmation.

As I had predicted, the Exodus eventually left Equestria and reached Earth. The final catalyst for the Exodus would be the declaration of Empire - the day that Princess Celestia declared herself Astra Solamina Maxima… and the day she declared war on the last humans. This made no sense - previously any directives on the humans had been, as far as I was aware, that they were allies. Why were we not endeavouring to help them? Still, it wasn’t my place to question the Princess… the Empress.

We left where we were behind, fleeing into Doctor Hooves’ machine (which I have yet to fully begin to comprehend, though that has ceased to be a priority) and making our way, in fits and starts, by his machine and by little boats, to the city of Hull in the United Kingdom, part of the Islands of Great Britain and Ireland that had survived the Barrier, and so offended the Empress. Somehow the Doctor, Cheerilee and Lyra managed to do… something, something that resulted in the creation of the Equestrian Resistance. As in all things, I reported on these developments to my handlers, sending the mail by specialist means I was taught during my training. Then, by those same means, I received my orders.

For the first two years of the war, I have passed information to Equestria concerning key strategic locations. I will not go into detail here about the war itself. Others have said more than I need to. Lyra and I were acquainted with more than a few of the humans, but in all that time none of them ever suspected what I was doing. Until… well, now, for you who are reading this.

My actions should not be underestimated: Lancaster fell because of me. Hundreds of smaller villages were wiped out or stolen away because of what I did. Attacks in Hull and Whitby - the latter claiming one of Lyra’s human friends - could be laid at my feet. Human advances were countered by ideas I suggested, based on information I learned or stole. And never once did the thought cross my mind that I had done the wrong thing.

And then I saw Manchester.

It is difficult to describe to you what happened in that place if you did not see it. Somehow, the Harmonious Order, the pinnacle of the Empress’ fleet (and perhaps the largest Zeppelin ever built), was brought down by one mare and some C4. Embarrassing, to be sure, but it was - if I may use a human phrase - the straw that broke the camel’s back. I knew that mare - as I had come to know many of the ponies on the Exodus.

They teach you that the first thing you should do is learn your priorities. You should always put country before ponies. Duty before friendship. They teach you that so that, when the day comes you must kill your friends or watch them die, you will not flinch. Now, though, finally… I flinched. I shrank away from the death and destruction I had caused and allowed to happen. I fled in terror while remaining calm on the outside, the perfect grieving friend. I drank myself into stupors, took a leave of absence from my governmental duties, and I finally looked… really looked… at what I had done.

Numbers meant nothing to me before, and it was not numbers that I thought of now. I had caused the death of a man named Sam Lake at Whitby, seen David Elliot, his best friend, become harder and colder. I had caused the attacks that forced Lyra to, again and again, march into hell, kill ponies… when all she had ever wanted was to create, to heal... I saw Ditzy Doo die, and in the seeing I knew… I knew totally and utterly… that I had done the wrong thing - for Equestria, for humanity, for ponykind.

May the pony God we swear by save my soul.

It has taken me over a year to arrange suitable recompense. I leave this note for Lyra. I enclose a copy for the Council, as well as any information I have concerning Solaminan movements. I only regret it is not more.

Tonight I leave for a rendezvous long in the arranging. I will return to Equestria and speak with my handler. And I will kill him. Then I will kill anypony else who stands in my way between him and the Empress herself. I do not expect I shall succeed - there is a difference between combating a bugbear and combating a nigh-immortal Alicorn - but I have to try.

Lyra. I am so sorry. Know that everything I did, I thought I was doing for you. Forgive me my transgressions… and accept my choice now. If I do not try to end this war, however I can, then all I have done will truly be for nothing.

Agent Sweetie Drops, signing off.

The Fall of Upsilon Squadron.

Meet Upsilon Squadron.

A short story by The Void

Dramatis Personae.

***

The passage of time in war is a strange thing. If you ask a soldier during a war, it will be as if the war is the only thing that ever existed. If you ask a soldier after the war, the war will almost seem like one very bad, very long, day. It is only when we become an outside party, one that could see the war through more logical, and far less caring eyes, that we can properly measure time in war. Time is also a rather dangerous thing. The longer a war goes on the more lives are lost.

Time for Upsilon Squadron was a gift. Wellingborough had an advantage in that it almost seemed like another world entirely (if a very small one), separate from the war but with all of its scars. It stood to reason then, that training felt isolated for the Squadron. For six months they heard very little from the rest of the Resistance. They trained so that they may be of use against Solamina but lacked that call to arms.

Again and again, Fell Spear battered the training dummy. He blocked out the outside world and focused on taking apart his enemy with carefully places strikes. His grunts sometimes reverberated across the room.

However, the room wasn’t that large. Before the war, it had been a simple meeting room for bank officials. Now it was an empty space which had the majority of its windows boarded up (and by the amount of gabs that light found its way through, it was done in a hurry).The room was long enough that you could fight Ponies in but not nearly tall enough for actual flight. It was decent enough for combat training though. The combat itself wasn’t the focus of the exercise.

All afternoon, the Squadron has been perfecting the strikes that they would need in combat. Some, like Fell Spear, seemed too good at it. He fused ever attack with raw power. The expression on his face was like a statue, never moving, not even for a second. Cloud Ranger often looked on at him with concern, wondering just what had happened to him. The Thestral was the hardest to read.

Other Ponies, like Pony Dave and White Blossom, almost saw the fighting as a foreign language to be learnt, approaching it with confusion at times.

At that moment, the rest of the team were mesmerised by the morbid elegance of Fell Spear’s attacks. One slash after another. The only time he stopped was when Blue Sky would set up another target. When that happened, Fell Spear stayed motionless, his eyes locked on Blue Sky’s movements. With the rise of the next dummy came the re-emergence of Fell Spear’s attacks.

Before Blue Sky could set up the next target, Cloud Ranger stepped up to the stallion.

“One moment please,” she said.

Blue Sky nodded. He was a Pony of few words.

“Starlight, Starbright, I want you two to go around the sides of the next one and strike at the same time,” ordered Cloud Ranger. “Fell Spear, I would like a word.”

Fell Spear sighed. “Of course.” There was a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Cloud Ranger turned to the rest of Upsilon. “Get into pairs please. After they strike the target I want each of you to attack in your pairs like they did.”

Upsilon saluted as Cloud Ranger took Fell Spear aside.

“How have you been?” she asked, keeping her voice quiet.

Fell Spear groaned slightly. “Am I not performing as you wanted? Each target is now scrap. I think I’ve done quite well.”

That went without saying.

“That didn’t answer my question,” Ranger said firmly.

“I am as any soldier should be, committed to the fight.”

Cloud Ranger put a hoof on Spear’s soldier. “The fight and only the fight?”

“Of course.”

Cloud frowned. “Have you thought about what you’ll be doing after the war?”

For a moment, Fell Spear said nothing.

“I appreciate the sentiment.” Spear slowly moved the hoof away. “If that is all, I believe that Storm Cloak wants me to be his partner.”

Behind them was a gleeful Storm Cloak, almost giggling as his sight switched from Fell Spear to the rest of Upsilon training and back again.

Cloud Ranger nodded. The Thestral gave her a cold salute before wandering over to the Upsilon Leader.

Back with the dummy, the two mares had wasted no time in swiftly going around to the sight of it (which was now missing three of its limbs) and attacking. Starlight took a deep breath before both sisters bucked the sides of the dummy once more with a switchblade on their legs.

“I think the target is gone,” said Rotor Blade.

“Agreed.” Cloud Ranger held a hoof up. The Gleam sisters stopped in their tracks. “So far so good,”

***

Three Hours later

The group were dangerously close to being comfortable with just training. At least, that was how Fell Spear saw it. He was growing increasingly unimpressed by Cloud Rangers antics.

Ever since Cloud Ranger had arrived to teach the Pegasi the "Grey Squadron" way, they had spent part of each day chatting amongst themselves. Less a Squadron and more a gaggle of old mares gossiping about ponies they knew and what they would do when the war finally ended.

Fell Spear tried to spend the sessions in silence (with the occasional nod so ponies thought he was listening). As hard as he tried, he could not hide his disdain for the training much longer. He was all too aware of that.

Fell Spear was a soldier first and a friend second. That is what he told himself throughout the training, though that didn't stop -

"Honourable Fell Spear, what doth thou think of Lady Cloud Ranger’s training?"

Fell Spear had opted to stay behind and make sure the equipment was ready for their next session. The interruption of his thoughts had come from Upsilon Leader: Storm Cloak, one of the few ponies he had known before the war had kicked off.

“It’s...homey,” he cringed, not looking up from sorting the targets.

“I take it that you dislike Lady Ranger’s brand of training?”

“What gave me away,” Spear sneered.

“Your general lack of vocalization during Lady Ranger’s sessions. Please, forgive my intrusion but I was curious about when Lady Ranger took thou aside. What happened?”

When Fell Spear looked towards Storm Cloak he saw the wide eyes and innocent grin of the colt he had played with back home.

“It was nothing,” he sighed “just her asking if I was okay.”

“That does not sound so bad, if you permit me to say so,” Storm pondered. “What about her concern troubles you?”

Spear groaned. “It is not the job of a soldier to be okay. Our job is to fight so that we can get closer to Solamina’s defeat.”

“I see your point,” agreed Storm Cloak, “for it is then that we can finally toast to victory and spread the tales of war down for generations.”

Fell Spear became quiet. He continued on with his cleaning, trying not to look at Storm Cloak again.

“Sir Spear?”

Still he continued to put aside targets and moved rubble away.

“Sir Spear?” Storm’s voice began to shudder slightly.

Fell Spear moved to the other side of the room, beginning his work on the equipment there. The Thestral looked over the damage the other members of the Squad had done to the dummies. They would need a lot of -

“Spear look at me, please!”

Storm Cloak was stood above Fell Spear. Each breath he took was jittery and his grin had morphed into a frown as he sat beside Fell.

“We will get through this war Fell Spear,” he declared in a whisper. “I promised didn’t I?”

Fell Spear stopped and took a deep breath. “Storm, I will be honest with you. I don’t think I want to see the other side of this mess. When we win, I will be happy but after that…” Fell shook his head. “Besides, I’ll be lucky to live that long.”

“Why would you say that?” Storm asked. His voice was growing angrier.

“It’s the way of world.”

With that Fell Spear got up and left. Storm Cloak quickly following alongside.

“We’re not done yet,” he said coldly.

“We are.”

Storm Cloak rushed in front of Fell Spear. This close together, Fell Spear remembered how much Storm could tower over other ponies. Fell stopped and sighed.

“As thine leader, I decree that you will tell another team-mate what you hath told me within the hour.”

“What!” Fell Spear’s astonishment echoed down the hall. A few seconds later and he could hear the hoofsteps of another member coming his way.

“It will be good for you Sir Spear,” Storm whispered.

“How will it -”

Before Fell Spear could finish, Storm Cloak marched out of the hall, past a mare rushing towards them. In front of Fell Spear- much to his annoyance- was an alabaster mare with a blue streamline mane.

"Is everything okay?" White Blossom asked.

She only met Fell Spear’s gaze for a moment before looking back down the hall for Storm Cloak,

Gone.

“Fine,” Fell groaned. “White Blossom, I… would like a word with you.”

White Blossom snapped to attention. “Of course.”

***

“Again!” Pony Dave declared.

In two powerful movements, Pony Dave, thrust his wings open and launched himself into the air as far as he could until the Squadron members around him were reduced to astonished dots below him. He only hit clouds five times, so far so it was going well.

The force of his wings blew through the cracked copple streets, creating a mighty dust cloud (not the short bloke) that engulfed a few of the members of Upsilon.

High in the mid afternoon sky, Pony Dave could see the quiet emptiness of the country of England. In the distance there were, what used to be, roads that stretched on for miles, the veins of this proud beast. Pony Dave could feel the comfort of the sun’s raise on his back but also the cold reminder of the

When he swooped down to the ground, he came face to face with an aggravated Rotor Blade.

“I hope you have a good reason for potentially giving our position away,” he said, a condescending smirk on face.

“I found out something amazing.” Pony Dave’s eyes grew wide and his smile shone.

“What did you find out?” The spark of excitement was clear in Rotor’s voice.

“...I can fly.”

Rotor groaned. “...I’m out.” He turned to the short bald stallion behind him. “Dust Cloud, take over. I need to recover from that.”

Roter walked away in silence, a shell of the stallion he once was.

“I give him an hour before he gets you back,” said Dust Cloud.

“At which point I shall be hiding in the one place he won’t look.”

“Where?”

“Right in front of him.”

Dust Cloud shook the idea off and changed the subject. “You really shouldn’t keep doing that though.”

“Why not,” asked Dave.

“You might be spotted by an invading force and killed,” replied Dust casually.

“Oh!”

“Is there something we need to know?” asked a nearby mare of ruby fur and orange mane.

"Gale Force, good. I have a mission for both of you."

Gale stood at attention.

"What's Storm Cloak got for us?" Dave asked.

"It’s not from Storm Cloak, its from HQ."

The pairs eyes widened. Pony Dave's mind began to race. They hadn't received much from HQ so this had to be something big. This might be the call to arms.

"We have word that Rainbow Dash will be passing over here on a mission of her own. I want you two keep look out for when she does and alert us ASAP. Am I clear?"

"Yes sir!" responded Gale.

Dave just found himself nodding along with Dust Cloud.

The stallion smiled. "Good, I need to go talk to Cloud Ranger and Storm Cloak. Take up your positions."

When Dust left, Dave turned to Gale.

"Do you have a bat?"

"Why?" she replied confused.

"I'm gonna need it for when Dash comes."

Gale giggled. "You can't whack Dash on the head."

"She comes at me, I’m gonna rip her wings off."

***

Fell Spear had taken White Blossom back into the training room. It was some sort of privacy at least.
The two were sat in silence. Part of it was Fell Spear trying to figure out how to start this, telling Storm Cloak had been an… awkward experience, and Fell had known him so much longer than any of the soldiers here. The other part was awe at White Blossom’s expression. She waited for him to begin, still at attention like a good recruit.

A bead of sweat dropped down her face. He couldn’t keep in silence forever.

“Tell me,” he said, as softly as he could. “What do you plan on doing after this war?”

“O-oh.” Blossom lowered her stance. “I’m not sure. After I see my family I guess I’ll go guard to new ruler of Equestria.”

“A noble cause.” Fell Spear sighed. This wasn’t going to be pleasant. “That is my problem -”

Apparently

“- I don’t think I want to see the other side of this mess.”

Blossom’s eyes widened. She was taken back by the Thestral’s dead serious tone with those words.

“What do you mean?” she asked. “Don’t you want us to beat Solamina?”

Fell Spear growled. “Of course I do. More than anything in life. I want to see Solamina burn for what she’s done.” He calmed himself before continuing. “I’ll put it another way. What do you think the end result of this will be?”

“Solamina defeated and peace restored.”

The raw determination in her voice. Fell Spear remembered that feeling. Faith. Without a doubt in her mind, White Blossom believed that peace would reign after Solamina was defeated. After all this training, after so much war, and after all those she lost, she still had an innocence in her. Fell smiled. Who was he to take that away from her?

No. Peace won’t come when we win. Nothing is gained in an instant. There will be followers and it may take years, perhaps even decades for them to be defeated. What about the Converted? When Solamina is defeated, what will happen to…

No. He couldn’t take that away from her. Everypony had their own way to keep fighting in these times, a reason to never give up. Fell Spear’s was to protect his friend while bringing back the honour of the Night Guard. White Blossom’s, as well as many others, was to see the peace of Equestria returned.

“There’s no place for me in peace. Once this war is done then I’ll be on my way.” said Fell Spear.

“Way where?”

Fell Spear turned away. The creeping loom of silence covered these two in its ever approaching aura. It didn’t take long for White Blossom to grasp the full weight of Fell Spear’s words. Now it was simply a matter of not being crushed by them.

***

Cloud Ranger, Storm Cloak and Dust Cloud stood atop a cloud looking out towards the horizon. The enemy were small at first. Simple black dots that were getting bigger and bigger.

Dust Cloud hopped down from the cloud. He may have not been able to fly with the others but his wings worked as well as any squadron member. At times it was maddening. The sky would call out to him, the alluring memory of the wide open skies of his carefree youth would whisper into his ear.

“Go on Dust Cloud. It couldn’t hurt.”

For a moment he would stare up, waiting for the cheers of his old friend to come to send him on his way. When he realised that they weren’t coming, that they would never come, the whispers turned into torment.

“Be free. Ride the winds as you were meant to.”

He could never be free to roam the skies. The moment his friends cheers turned to screams that could pierce the heavens themselves, that was when the skies stopped being freedom and became another battleground for the war. It was like trying to fly to the moon, ultimately it would fail (at least for Dust Cloud).

“You can do it,”a voice in the back of his mind would say.

A lie. He couldn’t go back to the open skies again. Not without seeing those face. Torn and screeching as they were thrown from their bodies, he wouldn’t be able to see the skies anymore. All he would see would be what was lost to him. He would only think of how he wrongly survived where stronger soldiers had died.

Now though. Well, now he was damned if he was going to let his new friends die. He didn’t care what he did on the ground, as long it the enemy was defeated. He ran to what seemed to be the remains of a climbing frame in the shape of a dragon. It was as dusty as his name’s sake but he could still see the comically snaggly toothed lizard smiling at him as he approached it. The head was mostly intact (save for the right eye being kicked through by Fell Spear when they first found it). On the side of it was a switch. As Dust Cloud pressed the switch, the town lit up in an array of crimson lights. This turned the once small town into their own version of tartarus for the enemy.

***

“This is it then, brave warrior.”

Cloud Ranger turned to Storm Cloak. His tone wasn’t as eccentric or uplifting as it normally was. The stallion’s gaze was focused squarely on the forces that were fast approaching the town.

“Whatever happens this day,” Storm Cloak said, a tone more sombre than a dozen starry nights. “I am glad that I learned the ways of Grey Squadron. It’s been an honour.”

Cloud Ranger nodded. “Likewise. I’m glad I met your squadron. We’ll make it through this and have more stories to tell.”

It was then that Storm Cloak’s eyes widened in pure terror.

“Are you okay?” Cloud Ranger turned to see what it was. Of all the towns of England, she had to fly over Wellingborough. Like the first ferocious lightning strike in an oncoming storm, she led the charge over the battle scarred landscape. Even from far away, Cloud knew who it was. Every resistance member knew who it was. She was once loved, but now despised for her actions, just like her friends. They went from the most trustworthy to the most vile of Equestria’s finest.

Rainbow Dash.

Storm Cloak sighed, recomposing himself before looking at Cloud Ranger. “This will not to easy. Fell Spear and I will handle her first. We’ll keep her busy while the others take out her team.”

“How many are there?”

“To put it simply, a lot.”

“We’ll need to play it smart then.”

“Agreed.”

Together the two of them jumped back down to the ground. As soon as they landed, the entirety of Upsilon Squadron were in formation with their com-devices on. They saluted their leaders as Cloud Ranger and Storm Cloak were tossed their devices by a fired up Dust Cloud. The stallion stood atop the canon that was now pointed up towards the skies.

“Upsilon Squadron!” Cloud Ranger called.

“Ma’am!” they said as one.

“Today our enemy is here. Our enemy has come with one of its highest ranked soldiers. We have the chance to stop her, to end the havoc she creates and show Solamina just what we can do. My friends, Rainbow Dash is here.”

Amongst the group there were widened eyes and a few quiet growls from members like Fell Spear and Blue Sky. The former would have good news then.

Storm Cloud stepped forward. “Fell Spear, after the first attack. You and I will get Dash’s attention. The rest of you will handle her Squadron. Dust Cloud, you provide us with constant report. Are we all clear?”

“Yes ma’am!” they chorused with all the energy of their confidence. All accept Fell Spear. He was glaring at his leader with concern. He didn’t seem like him, the Thestral always agreed with Storm Cloak on tactics. They had been practising these ones for months as well. It was only when Storm Cloak spoke again that Cloud Ranger realised.

“Let’s not waste time. For the Resistance!”

Gone was the eccentric wording that almost defined Storm Cloak. No more was there a spark that made him as young and carefree as freshly graduated flyers back home in the good old days. He was now just as old as he looked.

Fell and Storm nodded at each other before zooming off to fight one of the most infamous Pegasi to ever infect the skies with her presence.

***

If the dark clouds that floated through the airways of England could speak, what would they tell you about that day? That is a question you would not want to hear the answer. The clouds would weep for those who had fallen that day, as they seem to do each and every time a soul is lost fighting for the right to exist outside of Solamina’s twisted vision of peace. This is the reason it rains so much in war, some believe.

Slow and arrogant from their own power, Rainbow Dash and her Squadron of elite Solaminan Pegasi flew through the air. They were waiting for the attack. England was defended, it was such a matter of seeing where and wiping them out before getting to the main course of London itself (this was the plan for now anyway).

A thunderous sound echoed in the distance. It stopped Dash and her company in mid air as they listen to what it was. The sound that met their ears was a high whistling sort of -

“Tank fire!” Dash called out.

As one the Squadron moved. Dash found herself distanced from her team however, some force was pushing her back. Her team tried to move towards her but one was eviscerated by another tank shot. As they looked down, they saw the rushing blurs of the valiant Upsilon Squadron.

Dash managed to kick both of her attacked out of the way as she heard the familiar screech of metal on metal that heralded wartime blades.

Before her were Storm Cloak and Fell Spear. Neither said a word before going to to attack from the sides. Dash unsheathed her own blades and span over Storm Cloak, slashing his back and causing him to tumbling for a moment before the power of his raw determination brought him back, ramming into Dash. He didn’t care if it hurt him, it brought comfort to know that the Harpy of Loyalty was feeling it too.

Fell Spear swooped down at Dash but her speed was not just merely a legend, she dodged him so fast that an onlooker would ponder if she was even there when he started to attack.

“You’re wasting your time, boys,” she mocked.

Neither Upsilon member answered her. Together they charged in.

Meanwhile, another Upsilon member wasn’t faring as well. The pearl coloured mare found herself encircled by four of Dash’s soldiers. They orbited around her, taking great joy in trapping her both diving in for the kill.

Mercy Errand managed gouch the eyes of one of them with a well time, powerful kick to the face. A life for a life as it was, as that was the final act of war she managed to do. She fell to the ground in silence, the battles continuing around her.

On her way down, Mercy was spotted by Dust Cloud who swore under his breath that she’d be the only one. As fast as he could, he fired off another tank round into the sky. It tore apart an enemy who was too preoccupied fending off the deadly pair of Starlight and Starbright Gleam. The blast caused the two to be knocked back in different directions. One of Dash’s soldier’s smirked. She took her opportunity and drove a pair of daggers through Starbright’s spine.

Between the mournful cries for the fallen and the soul piercing screams of pain, Upsilon Squadron’s orders were flowing from their leaders like a river during a storm. The battle was going quickly from their points of view. Far too quickly. Outnumbered and out trained, the Squadron fought on with everything they had.

Cloud Ranger and White Blossom had used the dark clouds around the them to their advantage. They were perfect for simple tricks of the air, catching off guard several soldiers for that precious moment where either Pegasus could end them.

The cloud trick was used wisely by Fell Spear and Storm Cloak to catch their breath. Dash was fast, faster than the rumours about her told. The harpy was hunting them in the skies, waiting for even the slightest glimpse of them.

Amidst the chaos, Storm Cloak could hear his teammates.

“How much ammo do have left for the tank? We need these guys gone.”

“They are quick sir, suggest luring them to the ground.”

“She’s dead. What do I do? Help me please.”

Storm Cloak couldn’t reply to any of them. Carnage surrounded him. He looked to Fell Spear and then out to Dash. With renewed motivation he nodded at his friend. Take out the head and the body will follow.

The two launched themselves at Rainbow Dash, ready to plunge their daggers into her. As they got close, she laughed. Dash was ready. A group of her squadron came ramming in from the sides. Both Upsilon Squadron members had only even time to dodge them.

Dash’s squadron was a ravenous pack. Even with the canon going off every minute, shattering the skies with a thunderous roar, they were outnumbered and the enemy were growing wise to the canon’s limitations.

“This is Upsilon Leader,” Storm Cloak declared, glaring at the oncoming soldiers. “I want everypony to retreat back to the base. Dust Cloud, call in reinforcements. Keeping them on the ground should be easier. That is my final order, over”

“Yes, sir!” came a chorus.

Storm Cloak threw his headset at one of the soldiers, leaving a mark on his face but ultimately useless. He did take the opportunity to charge at them and take out three soldiers by slashing their throats in a spin.

Just as one soldier was about to take out Storm Cloak was behind, she suddenly felt the sharp but short pain of a spear through her temple. Fell Spear flew to his friend’s side.

Dash and four of her soldiers began to circle the two like lions.

“Providing a distraction are you?” asked Fell.

“You know me, I’ll retreat once everypony is safe.” Storm chuckled.

“Same. Shall we?”

As the attack came, Storm Cloak launched his friend out the way to be caught alone in the barrage of daggers.

Everypony

The Thestral felt him land on a cloud again. He looked back only to see his friend dropped out of the sky, a trail of blood following him.

Fell Spear gritted his teeth. Looking at the rest of his team didn’t inspire much hope.

Cloud Ranger and White Blossom were maneuvering through a bunch of Dash’s squadron managing to parry their way passed daggers and lances, trying to get to safety.

Fell Spear rushed to their aide. Now that Storm Cloak was dead, Dash turned her cold gaze onto the two.

Ranger and Blossom readied themselves for the attack only for every member of Dash’s cutthroat crew to take a position around them. Dash walked slowly up to them.

The Skies were clearer, the battlefield was reduced to just that circle. Ten members of Dash’s squadron and the harpy herself were all that stood between three of Upsilon Squadron’s finest.

“What did you think would happen?” Dash mocked. “Did you think you could win? It’s been a nice distraction but I’m afraid we’ll end it here. Do you get me?”

Fell Spear watched intently up high in the dark clouds. If he timed it right, he could take out Dash and save his comrades.

Cloud Ranger’s response was the nod at Blossom and the two of them, a burning determination in their eyes, charge at Dash. Ranger went for her directly while Blossom went to the side.

Fell Spear acted fast and dived in himself to attack.

Before any of her soldiers could move, Dash shouted “Leave them to me!”

She bucked at White Blossom with ease but Fell Spear pulled his team mate out of the way, leaving her with a gash down her face. The two tumbled down to the ground, all of their energy lost in their final acts of battle that day,

Cloud Ranger’s attacked were dodged at every opportunity by the ever grinning Dash. Adrenaline had got her only so far. Ranger could feel her body begin to shut down.

Dash charged with ease at her, slicing her wings. As she fell, Dash rushed under her and caught her back with two well placed dagger. They were in the right position to cause agony but not quite the right spot to kill her. No. That she saved for when she ripped her daggered down her back until they met before ordering every soldier she had left to stab her chest.

Triumphant, she looked around. A simple trip through England had cost her more than she had wanted. Begrudgingly she ordered her troops to follow her back to their territory. It wasn’t a problem though, it just meant that she could come back with more soldiers. That day had been nothing more than a distraction.

****

Fell Spear opened his eyes slowly. He could hear groaning and somepony on the radio. Fell could also feel something warm against him. White Blossom was still in his grasp. They were resting on a big blanket.

Dust Cloud, Pony Dave and Grey Fox walked towards him.

“Report?” he said, still not letting go of White Blossom who was unconscious.

Dust Cloud looked concerned. “Are you -?”

“Report, now.”

Dust Cloud saluted. “Sorry, you’ve been out cold for an hour sir. There are a total of seven survivors, that includes both of you.”

“A miracle,” noted Grey Fox.

Looking around, Spear realised he was in the medical bay (what was once a hotel canteen judging by the size). Most members were sleeping off their injuries. The bandaged had run out at some point as one or two ponies had their Squadron banners wrapped around wounds.

White Blossom was one just pony. She didn’t make a sound.

“You were gripping her pretty tight, I couldn’t move her,” said Grey Fox.

Fell Spear sighed and got up, being careful not to wake White Blossom. Pain shot through him but he endured.

“I think you should get back to bed, sir.”

“I see your reasoning but I can rest later,” Fell growled.

There was no argument. The young stallion was right though, it was a miracle this many survived such as attack. Barely in some cases.

Storm Cloak, Cloud Ranger, Gale Force, Starbright Gleam…

All dead. Fallen in combat.

Fell Spear looked other the survivors. As beaten as they were, with cuts and wounds of all sorts, they were alive. That would have been Storm Cloak’s wish.

Fell turned to Grey Fox. “What have HQ said?”

“They’ll be sending medics here. I did the best I could but -”

“You did more than that. We are lucky to have you. Mercy Errand would be proud of you.”

Grey Fox smiled weakly.

“What’s next on the plan?” asked Pony Dave.

Fell Spear considered the question.

“Rest. Simple as that. You have earned it.”

***

The End