Forsaken

by Reaper-Of-Harmony

Rating: teen
Tags: Adventure, Crossover, Alternate Universe
Length: 7540

What was once a prosperous world is now covered in water. War is a normality of life now - peace and harmony are gone. And yet, despite the chaos, some wish to bring order to the chaos, and drain the Endless Ocean dry.

[EVERYTHING IS WIP - This is just a mock-up]

Before anypony knew what had happened, the world was gone, swallowed whole by a wave of crashing water. Almost nothing made it out alive - those that did had their former lives ripped from them, and were thrust out unto the endless sea.

Ponykind may have died that day, but its remnants live on, building oceanic outposts in the aquatic wasteland, and sailing around the dark globe in pieced-together ships and boats. Eventually, they began to form bands - factions that fought over the Outposts, desperate to claim land, and in turn a sliver of what once was.

Someday we hope that the seas will drain dry, and the land our ancestors lived on can finally be tread on once again. But until then, we are nothing. We are Forsaken.

Cover Art by Zubrius

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-11-24 23:37:16 UTC

Prelude - Predation

“Remember, girls,” said Dad. “I’m technically not supposed to be doing this, so don’t tell your friends.”

Dad had his own way of telling jokes.

“What is this, the tenth time?” asked my big sister, Compass.

Dad smiled his funny smile - it wasn’t too big, but just enough to show a faint row of shiny teeth in the darkness. His quiet chuckle wasn’t very loud, either, but it bounced all around the room, so that it felt like there were a thousand Dads talking to you at once.

I peeked over Compass’s fuzzy yellow mane from where I sat on her back. In the concrete-covered darkness, there it was - Dad’s precious Predator Submarine. The Zynthonite-reinforced carapace was painted a dark green, covered in places with bands of black and blue. Dad’s cutie mark lay over the smoothly curved bow of the vessel, a white moon and two stars balanced between the Predator’s frontal diving fins.

“It can’t be... must be the eleventh or something. Some big number that would get you in trouble of I told somepony.”

“Dad!” said Compass, but he only snickered, and waltzed up the curved side of his third child.

There was a little red light on the side of the conning tower, barely visible against the paint. Dad reached into his cargo vest and pulled out a card. Compass stared at him with a lovingly annoyed expression while he flipped the card over his head and caught it in his rear hoof. He then bucked the side of the submarine with the card still in it. Flying off the sub, he landed gracefully on the deck while the tiny access hatch hissed open and the conning tower’s light turned on.

Compass stomped her hooves idly, the sides of her mouth curving upwards. I tried to clap my hooves, but I almost fell off, so I didn’t.

Dad gave a little bow, then waltzed back up to the now-open access port and suck his head in. Compass turned her blond locks around and winked at me. Dad stuck both his hooves into the chute, and pulled his torso in. However, his moon-spread flank smacked against the edge of the craft, and left his legs dangling in the air, flopping away.

Compass began to snicker under her breath. I just put my biggest, widest smile on my face.

A little wiggling and pushing later, and his flopping legs finally managed to fall through into the actual vessel. Instantly, he popped back up, poofy hair and all.

“Looks like you’re getting fat, Dad,” said Compass, climbing up to the side with three hooves, one of them trying to balance five-year old me.

Dad said nothing, only smiling.

Compass hoisted me off her back and pointed me headfirst into the access port. I felt Dad’s soft hooves catch me on the other side, and passed through the sixteen-millimeter thick armor plate in one swift strike.

Dad sent me down, winked at me, and turned back to the access port. He beckoned to Compass.

Being a five-year-old blank flank puts me at the weaker end of the strength spectrum, but even so it took every ounce of force we could muster to pull Compass into the sub. Her flank simply would not budge. Dad must’ve at least dislocated one of her legs trying to pull her in. I still have a few of his curly tail-hails.

“Now who’s the fatty?” said Dad once Compass had fallen in, chafe marks all over her compassy cutie mark.

“Har, har, har,” said Compass, trying to get up and nearly smacking her horn against the periscope.

I hopped after Dad, who had already trotted downstairs. The crew area was a bit messy - Dad’s bunk in particular still had a yummy-looking plastic carton of cupcakes on it. Others had miscellaneous bottles and magazines on them, with pictures of things Dad told me not to look at.

There was a viewscreen at the bow end of the sub with a set of control sticks and a wall of buttons. To the left, there was the door to the torpedo room, which Dad never let us enter. To the left of that was a brightly-lit metal table that was bolted to the solid metal floor. Maps and papers covered every available inch, fighting for space with a bottle of cider and a weathered bobblehead of a night-blue alicorn.

Next to that there was a computer terminal mounted on the wall with a bunch of numbers and letters on it that I couldn’t read. The only thing I could make out was the word “TORPEDO”, and Dad told us not to play with anything that said torpedo.

As Compass fell down the rickety metal stairs, Dad sauntered up to the viewscreen and pressed his keycard against it. A small light flickered on in the back of the sub, revealing the tiny door that held the engine and batteries. Then, the metal beast began to shake as the engine turned over and the propellers began to churn in the water.

Dad smiled and patted the captain’s chair.

Compass immediately plastered a nervous smile on her face.

“Oh, come now, it can’t be that hard.”

“Um... yeah, uh, don’t you remember what happened last time?” she said.

“But you’ll never learn if you don’t try,” he said, patting the chair again, his teethy smile growing a bit longer.

Compass did not like piloting submarines.

She reluctantly slid into the captain’s chair. Dad stood behind her, one hoof leaning on the chair’s edge. She slid her hooves into the control harnesses, and wiggled them around. I felt the sub shake as the control surfaces flopped around.

She glanced up at Dad, who winked. She then pulled both steering columns back as hard as she could. The engines revved up noisily. I felt movement - the cloppy swish-swish of the propellers hitting water echoed from outside. Then, the bump as Compass smashed the aft against the other side of the dock.

I looked at Dad, who was laughing with his eyes closed. Compass gave me a nervous smile, mouthed the word “sorry” and began to turn the beast to the side.

Dad flipped a switch on the side of the viewscreen, and the camera displays came up. Small holographic controls floated up at the end of Compass’s outstretched hooves. Compass weakly smiled as the rear-view camera popped up on the left side of the screen, where it was blank before.

“Remember, you can’t drive blind.”

Using the compression jets and a few more bumps, Compass managed to squeeze the Predator out of its berth and into the open water of the pen. Then, shakily, she formed a magical aura around the stick sitting in the middle of the captain’s console. As she pulled down, the little needle to the left of it began to go down, and I felt a strange sinking feeling. Indeed, we were sinking.

The camera display was large enough for me to see, even if I was barely taller than the family dog. The dark, stagnant water made way for the bubby depths as Compass dived. Dad flipped another switch, and the lights turned on, one in front, the other in back.

Compass let go of the diving column and began to steer the vessel towards the egress port - a wide, circular tunnel made of concrete. She switched the frontal camera display to the swivel camera on top of the conning tower, and followed the trail of embedded wall-lights all the way out into open sea.

The tiny sub slid out of the monster’s mouth, lights shining all the way. Compass turned both control columns to the right, and the floor began to tilt slightly towards me. The blue holographic nav-ball on Compass’s right hoof also began to spin, the small yellow heading marker shifting around the blue sphere.

“That’s it,” said Dad. “Keep going, just don’t run over every bump in the way.”

“This is the ocean, Dad,” said Compass. “There are no-”

Bump.

“Ahh...”

“Yeah... sorry Dad.”

.... .- .-. -- --- -. -.--

“Okay, so, just line up the targeting marker in your left hoof with the target.”

Compass shifted her left hoof - the holographic ball that the control harness was projecting shifted with her. Her right hoof also began to shift, taking the submarine with it.

Dad put a little grin on his face. Compass sighed meekly and set both control sticks down.

“Here, how about this,” said Dad. He placed Compass’s left hoof back in its control harness and began to move it with his own. This time, the submarine didn’t turn, but instead a small whirring sound emanated from the torpedo room. Slowly, Dad adjusted Compass’s arm until the yellow targeting marker on the targeter ball lined up with the red marker signalling an enemy.

“Now, check the cameras.”

Compass used her free hoof to switch to the periscope cam. There was only blackness. She began flipping through the view options, adjusting the filters, the brightness, the opacity, but all she got was a dull grey.

Dad sighed and flipped the switch next to the camera select. Immediately, the infrared view came up, and the bright orange outline of the targeter-buoy came up,

“Lock on, fire away.”

Compass smiled, pressed the big red button right below the dive column, then slammed her hoof into the tube select. I felt the sub shake as the two frontal torpedos left their tubes.

Both Compass and Dad stared at the infrared display. For a second, nothing happened. A few bubbles sailed past the camera.

A few bubbles sailed past the camera.

Compass threw up her hooves and sighed exasperatedly, but Dad still eyeballed the screen excitedly.

A few bubbles sailed past the camera.

Dad’s smile grew wider.

A few bubbles sailed past the camera, and nothing else happened.

“Dad,” said Compass. “You can stop no-”

BOOM.

A torpedo found the target buoy, and the spherical piece of metal went soaring into the sky in a ball of fire. The sea shook with the resulting wave. A few splashes landed directly above us. The sonar locked on to the falling debris, tiny red dots showing up on the 3d map cube.

“aaand there we go!” said Dad, throwing his hooves up into the air. “Always love myself a good explosion.”

The computer began to howl, and a launch report squeezed itself out of the printer. Dad cut the paper off with a swish of magic and brought it before him.

“Well... Rosy... you certainly improved your aim. Didn’t waste any torps this time.”

Compass, always nervous, smiled her rosy-cheeked smile.

“Could use some work on maneuvering and shooting... torps weren’t going fast enough. Speed dial’s over there,” he said, pointing at a little black knob above the tube select.

“Other than that, pretty good. I’d give you an awesome out of five.”

Dad stuck the piece of paper in his poofy hair and hoisted me onto his back.

“Dad, Skyla’s only five.”

I wanted to drive too, you know.

“So? I started piloting when I was barely out of diapers. Age don’t matter, so long as you can reach the controls.”

“Only one way to find out,” he said, levitating me off his shoulders. “Aft torpedoes are still loaded.”

Compass slid out of the seat, leaving the plush couch unoccupied. Dad set me down on it. Immediately I reached for the control harnesses.

“Woah there, grabby,” said Dad. “I’ll get that for you.”

He bent his head underneath the console and adjusted the console towards me. I placed my hooves into the harnesses - legs about half as thick as Compass’s.

Instantly I pushed them forwards, and the submarine smoothly began to accelerate.

“Huh. Better start than Compass.”

I pulled the left stick back, and the sub began to lean to the side. The cube map and the nav-ball began to rotate along with the metal whale.

A blip suddenly appeared on the sonar. Before Dad or Compass could cry out, I pushed the left stick forwards while pulling the right one back. The submarine swerved to the side vigorously as it narrowly missed a marker buoy.

I had the biggest smile on my face.

I flared my magic and pulled the dive column up as fast as I could. Instantly, the sub started to rise, nose pointed upwards. If the cabin wasn’t overpressurized we would’ve been feeling the nitrogen boiling in our blood.

The camera suddenly broke the surface as the Predator lept into the air like a breaching whale and crashed down onto the surface of the ocean. With a swipe of my horn the camera swiveled around, and the third target buoy was directly behind me.

Dad and Compass watched intently as I flipped the pink target-ball in my tiny filly hoof, locked on to the target-buoy, and pressed the fire button. The aft tube discharged its explosive payload with a trail of bubbles.

Hurriedly, Dad climbed up into the conning tower and threw open the hatch. In a second, he started cheering. Compass simply stared at the camera display with a raised eyebrow. The target buoy was gone, smashed to smithereens by a single torpedo.

Dad poked his head back into the main bridge. I sat on the captain’s chair, grinning, while Compass simply continued to stare.

“Well, well, well... looks like we have ourselves a natural-flavored, chip-off-the-old-block cupcake.”

.--. . .-. ..-. . -.-. -

Whenever Dad took Compass and I out in the sub, there was one place he would always show us. There was an old ruin sitting stagnant in the water a few clicks away from home. It was just on the edge of the mists, close enough to feel the rain without actually getting wet.

Dad said this was something called a “relay hub”, back when the Draconians were still in control of this sector. When they left, they scuttled most of the relays, except this one.

The relay was still active, albeit weakly, and Dad’s sub was just light enough to use it without getting torn apart.

We would always fire it deep underwater, and the rush of speed would throw us forward. Dad always did the piloting here instead of us - I never really understood why. Compass didn’t complain, though, so neither did I.

The sub would slow down two or three minutes after the relay fired, and Dad would surface it with the residual speed. It was always in the middle of the ocean. The calm, lapping waves would always wash against the sub’s green metallic outside. Dad would pop open the hatch, carry me outside while Compass slept, and under the brilliant light of the moon he would tell me stories.

No matter what he told, the last story was always about the tiny dot of light in the distance. It looked like a star, but brighter - and it had six points instead of four.

“That there is Paramount,” he would always say. “That’s the capital of our greatest enemy, the Draconians.”

I was a late bloomer - at 5 years old I still didn’t know how to speak.

“Paramount was a great mountain in the past, when the seas were still low.”

He would tell a story about the mountain - it changed every time. Sometimes it was about heroes and heroines, sometimes it was about parties, and sometimes it was funny. No matter what, he would always bring it back to the tiny point of light in the sky, underneath the bright gaze of the moon.

“The mountain is covered in water now,” he would say. “ But the stories live on.”

I would usually snuggle against him, letting his poofy hair wash over my own.

“Deep beneath the surface of the sea, there is a vault. The vault where the stories come from. The vault where the light shines on. The vault where the harmony hides.”

Etude - Siege

Today, at least, the sun was out.

Mirage Island is almost always covered in mist - mist so thick you’d swear you could see your reflection in the vapor. That’s one of the many reasons why we’re called Mirage Island - the ever-present mists, the faulty shield systems, and the backwater location makes us one infrequented tourist destination.

The Outpost bell rang early today - the sun was already out by six in the morning, and the mists were gone. The shielding was deactivated so we could all feel the warm rays. Many ponies had lived in the mists their whole lives - a glimpse of the brilliant yellow sun was reward enough for their endless sentence in a prison of vapor.

Before Compass or I were up, Mom and Dad were already at the dock, decorating the massive Goliath battleship that always sat idle. When I came downstairs, the mass of white ribbon and wedding bells were gone. There was breakfast on the table, and the wedding dress in the corner, covered on its mannequin with a plastic dust jacket.

I stepped outside for a moment, the steel door hissing open. A light sea breeze blew over the grass, tickling my ankles. The wavy blue ocean splashed against the blinding yellow beach, the same color as Compass’s golden hair. My own sky-blue mane matched the cloudless sky perfectly - in the light of the sun, you could barely see the rivulets of white that criss-crossed between the azure fibers.

The door opened behind me with its mechanical hiss. I jumped a little.

“Skyla, relax, it’s just me.”

I turned around and smiled at my golden sister, who was levitating barley flakes into her mouth.

“Beautiful day, ain’t it?” she said.

“Sure is.”

-... . .- ..- - .. ..-. ..- .-.. -... . .- ..- - .. ..-. ..- .-.. -... . .- ..- - .. ..-. ..- .-..

I waited in the dressing room while Compass was helped into her gown behind the dressing-room door.

The Outpost’s bells had been ringing for a while now - the old brass bell banging away on the low notes while the newer stainless bells tinked the high notes away. They were so loud. Even inside the dressmaker’s, I could still hear Compass’s wedding chimes echoing in the air.

It was a momentous occasion, for a mare to get married. Especially if that mare hailed from Mirage itself. Although the island was quite far away from the next island, we’d been getting an influx of immigrants lately - a couple mares and stallions catching a ride on the supply barge that came once a week. They had stories to tell, so I guess they weren’t all bad. Listening to the same stories every day can make even a cutie-marked working mare bored to death. Compass’s fiancé was from another island - his father came here trying to escape something called a “Reaver”. Madly in love, they were. I could hear Compass snapping at the dressmaker to hurry up, she would be late, she would miss the wedding, white noise and discord, ad nauseam. Mares and their melting hearts. I wonder if I’d be like Compass someday.

Still, they didn’t have to play the bells that loud, did they?

Well, there was worse. Compass’s fiancé and his family had brought seven Battle Barges with them. Loaded with blanks, they were to give a seven-gun salute to the newlyweds. The practice session managed to wake half the island up, despite the Barges being several kilometers away.

They were going to fire in the harbor, a few meters away from us. I was looking forward to having gauze in my ears for the next few days.

The dress that Mom had imposed on me before she ran back to the Goliath was a tragic night-blue. It didn’t help that both my mane and my coat was the same offsetting shade of azure. The star-shaped jewelry didn’t help either - I got the feeling that the dress was supposed to be for somepony else. At the very least, it matched my purple eyes. It did have a pretty collar, and it was longer than most dresses I’ve ever owned. The shoes were sparkly and glittery, if a bit uncomfortable. Never wearing shoes for your whole live then having them forced on you is not a pleasant experience. I still felt a little teetery waiting for Compass.

The dressmaker finally threw open the door, and out came Compass, as brilliant as ever. The wedding dress that the seamstress had to collaborate with the dressmaker on looked nothing short of perfect on my golden sister, even if the compass-rose shaped hairpin was a little offsetting. The white satin fit wonderfully over her golden coat - not a single wrinkle was there. The long train was embellished with small white roses, fresh-picked from our garden and just sewn on. What I’d thought to be a scarf when I first saw it was actually a magically-enchanted piece of cloth that floated above her neck and wound down her legs without actually making contact. I could see the faint red glow of the dressmaker’s energy - it was her, after all, who had activated the spell.

“What do you think?” she said with a smile.

“It looks... stunning,” I said. “Mom really overdid it this time.”

“Yep... heh. And you thought this was a scarf.”

She flicked the floating band with her hoof. A ripple formed at the very end of it and snaked its way up the cloth, where it teetered out at its apex.

She must’ve picked up on the flustered look on my face, because she said, “Oh, don’t worry. When you get married, Mom’ll really make a fuss.”

“More than she did with you?”

“Definitely. You’ll be stuck here for so long, Thread’ll be your best friend.”

The old dressmaker smiled, and waved her bony hoof towards the rack of white dresses on the wall, waiting for an occupant.

The thundering of hooves came from outside, Compass stretched her neck to look out the windows, set in the metal walls.

Dad was pulling a carriage, with Mom sitting in the back. White cloth and flowers hung from the shaded vehicle’s canopy, and Mom in her pristine pink dress was busy fanning herself. Strangely, Dad, who has pulling the carriage, lacked a single stain on his tuxedo, and his poofy brown hair was as poofy as ever.

I dizzily stepped outside first, squinting my eyes at the harsh sunlight. The sun was around the center of the sky now - high noon, and still not a cloud in the sky. Blue sky, blue sea, forever surrounded by an endless sphere of blue... heck, even my mom’s necklace was a blue sapphire.

Dad looked at me and winked. Mom smiled at we from behind the canopy, then stretched out a hoof to help me on. Her purple bangs brushed against my sea-blue waves, and I wobbily fell into the carriage. Then, Compass came out of the dark dressmaker’s shop, and Mom nearly had a fit. You should’ve seen her eyes - shining like radiant gemstones under a jeweler’s light. Of course, Mom was a jeweler - keyword was, because she worked with a different kind of jewel now - Zynthonite.

The same Zynthonite that burned away her mane and forced her to wear the purple bangs.

“Well, you certainly overdid it this time, Mom,” said Compass when she collapsed into the carriage, the Outpost’s bells still banging away like crazy.

“There is no such thing as ‘overdone’ in the context of a wedding, dear. You have to look your best. And I think you look absolutely stunning. More stunning than the island’s EMP missiles.”

“More beautiful than the explosions from a MIRV,” said Dad from the front. “Ready to roll?”

“Ride’em, horsey!” shouted Mom.

I have the funniest parents in the world.

.-- . -.. -.. .. -. --. .-- . -.. -.. .. -. --. .-- . -.. -.. .. -. --.

The blind old organist played the off-key instrument with his magic flared. The somewhat disharmonic notes were still beautiful - the organist played the instrument so well that it seemed to bend to his will instead of his to its.

The crowd gathered on top of the massive floating hulk that was the Goliath solemnly waited for the song to end. Dad was already fidgeting, and Mom was trying her best not to scratch her wig. Heck, even Compass, who usually is prim and proud, was already looking side to side, as if if she wanted to find a way off the ship and take a swan dive with her fiancé , who stood next to her.

It was already late afternoon. Lunch had been served, and everypony was already yawning and checking the time. We would be stuck here until dinner, long after the rings were exchanged.

The barges were right outside the Goliath’s doubly-wide berth, guns pointed towards the shimmering open sea. After the organist played they would commence their volley, and Compass’s best friend would bring out the rings. That is, if the shaking and the sonic waves didn’t bend, break, or warp them. By Celestia, those cannons were loud.

The organist was around halfway through his piece - the slow and arduous tempo nearly patting me to sleep. One of the older ponies in the crowd was already asleep. I looked at Mom, who gave me a flat smile, and plastered the same dissatisfied grin on my face.

From the way Mom had fussed over it in the past few months, you’d have expected a lot more revelry, and a lot less waiting. A lot less waiting. I tried to enjoy the organ music, but the sheer off-keyness of the notes was extremely displeasing - and this was better than most organs, especially the groom’s - that was a true piece of junk. At the very least the Cs sounded like Cs, and the Ds weren’t too flat.

I could tell Dad was trying his best to wait for the cannon fire.

The organ was beginning to pick up now. The blind old pony’s hooves tickled the ivories with a newfound fervor. He began to slowly bob up and down, increasing his shaking along with the tempo of the music. The slow, berating tone revved up into a fast, jumpy blur of sound and color. What little of the off-keyness I could pick up was drowned out by the sheer speed of the piece. One or two ponies in the audience let loose shrill wolf-whistles, and some began to clap their hooves.

I was putting my hooves in my mouth to whistle along.

Then, suddenly, the music stopped in an ear-piercing blast of splintered wood and broken brass.

The old pony stopped his lively bob and stared forward with his blind eyes, dazed and confused. He looked around darkly, the drab grey eyes scanning over everypony in the audience. Dad, who was closest, trotted over to see what was wrong.

The way his eyes widened was enough persuasion to get me moving.

“Mortar! Get off the boat!”

I felt Compass slam into me as her worried hooves carried her over the edge. The shell began to emit a faint beeping noise. Just before Mom grabbed me by my collar and heaved us over the edge, I saw Dad magically toss the organist into the water before leaped over himself.

BOOM

Compass disappeared into the water a second before we did. Nearly missing the Goliath’s port-side pontoon, I slammed into the water, Mom following a second later. The water saturated the dress and puffed it up, and I felt it dragging me down. Not wanting to drown, I started kicking my hooves as hard as I could, pushing the murky brown water down until my waterlogged mane poked over the surface of the sea.

Slowly, we swam over to the dock, were a few workers and soaking-wet tuxedo ponies pulled us up. I felt my own hoof being gripped by a burly turret gunner, and nearly lost that leg when he heaved me up onto the platform...

BOOM

I was thrown back into the water as another explosion blasted the dock into smithereens. I saw Mom and Compass fly over me, a golden bullet followed by a purple one soaring over the water. Quickly, I reached for the surface again, and kicked vigorously - but my dress was too heavy, and my legs too weak. I barely could see the sky-blue sky before my energy gave out and I began to sunk.

Powerful legs reached into my armpits, and Dad was there, poofy hair still poofy despite the water. Grunting, he heaved me above the water and onto a floating piece of the dock, before depositing the organist next to me. He swam towards where Mom and Compass were supposed to be, but when the purple-lined wig bobbed up without an occupant, he charged straight for Compass.

I heard the whistling. Looking up, all you could see was a cloud of black mortar shells, whizzing randomly overhead. I watched a shell fly straight into the Outpost, the massive copper bells flying out with the ball of fire. I watched a shell fly into the schoolhouse, and the bits of metal that came out with it. I watched a shell slam into the earthen slopes, kicking up a massive cloud of dirt with it. The water began to shake with all the explosions.

Dad was under for a long time. I was beginning to wonder if I should dive in after him when he rose up, gasping, an unconscious Compass wrapped around his back. He roughly pointed at the shoreline where earth met metal, and began to swim towards it.

I looked back at the organist, who shrugged and dove in. I looked at the soaking remnants of the dress. Balling it up and throwing it away, I took off after the organist, following the tiny geysers of water that his rear hooves kicked up.

A big splash. I felt the salty sea water wash over my face. Looking back, I saw the finned tail of a mortar sinking into the sea. I felt my eyes widen. I swam harder.

The organist looked at me like I was crazy. I tried to get him to move faster, but his old bones moved as slow as he ever would. I looked at him one final time, but he couldn’t speed up any faster. I saw Dad drag Compass up to the beach and place his front hooves on her chest.

BOOM.

A tower of water came up behind me, and it rained for a few seconds. The organist was catapulted forwards towards the beach. Even I felt the shock wave throw me forward, and Dad watched with scared eyes as I flew for an instant and came smashing down hard in the water a few meters in front of him.

I pulled myself out of the water and climbed onto the beach. The organist was floating on top of the water. He wasn’t moving. Dad was pumping Compass’s chest with scared eyes, dribbles and drops of seawater and saliva coming out of her mouth.

“Come on, Compass... don’t die on me baby. Don’t die.”

He looked for me, his eyes locking on to my soaked blue coat.

“Skyla,” he said. “Help me. Please.”

I ran over to my sister, nearly falling into the water twice as mortar shells rocked the island. Placing my hooves on her chest, I began to push in rhythm with Dad, who's scared eyes grew more and more fearful by the minute.

BOOM

Even as the dirt fell on us we pushed harder. Some splattered on Compass’s face, and she began to cough. Dad had a smile building on his face as he hugged my sister tightly, her eyes opening as seawater flowed out of her mouth and onto Dad’s fluffy back.

He motioned for me to take off her dress, and I flared my magic. Invisible blue blades shimmered over the white fabric for a moment, before disappearing. The fabric fell off in sheets, the wet fur underneath barely affected by it.

Dad hoisted Compass to her feet. The ground shook fiercely as he charged up towards the town with my sister next to him. I tried to follow, but my head swiveled out towards the open sea.

It wasn’t so open anymore - glowing yellow vessels cut across the water as the downpour of mortar rounds came crashing down on us.

“Skyla!” shouted Dad. “Let’s go! No time to sightsee!”

BOOM.

The building next to me exploded. The heat felt very real.

And the whistling. The infernal whistling. The chorus of sharp, piercing sounds emanating from the torrent of high-arcing mortar shells that blotted out the sun, sky, and sea. Towers of water shot into the sky, accompanied by towers of earth and towers of splintered metal. The defense towers sent high-velocity shells towards the enemy fleet, and flak bursts filled the skies, fighting a losing battle against holy rain. Streaks of white flew across the sky as Sentinel-class anti-ship missiles sought out their targets. The air was filled with the scent of death - burning gasoline, gun smoke, and blood.

Dad shouted silently, and I found that my ears no longer registered sound. There was only a mind-shattering whine.

Up, down, left, right, death and fire was everywhere. Dad and Compass in front. Energy to legs. Running. Whistling. Ringing. Whining. Shattering stone and splintering wood. Sweat. Pain. Force.

Dad charged forwards through the smoke clouds, followed closely by Compass and I.

What the hell was going on?

BOOM.

The building in front of us collapsed in a ball of fire, and Dad swerved hard to the left. We could barely see him - his ash-grey coat blended in perfectly with the equally dark smoke. Small flames and loud screams penetrated the smoke screen as I stared at his cutie mark, ignoring the flames that were burning my own legs, and galloping over the cobblestone streets that were once so filled with life.

Cracking wood. Dad swerved again, narrowly avoiding a falling tree.

We swerved right after him. A whizz of air, and a shell found the building that the tree had fallen on.

A pony ran past, eyes wide with fear, tears and blood pouring equally steadily off his face.

A mortar landed right in front of me. My heart stopped for an instant.

Dad looked back and screamed at us to move. I did.

Compass was right behind me as the shell exploded.

I felt sometime heavy... and warm fall on me. I scratched at the ground, trying to get on my hooves, but it was too heavy. I looked back, and Compass’s soulless eyes stared into my own.

“Compass!” shouted Dad.

I kicked at my sister as hard as I could, but she wouldn’t move.

“Dad!” I cried out.

Strong hooves lifted Compass off me - Dad and his soot-covered poofy hair was here.

BOOM

Dad was suddenly visible in the smoke for an instant. I saw a defense tower lose its cannon, following its reinforced armor plating into the cobblestone earth.

BOOM

Dad lifted Compass’s lithe form onto his back. She was already starting to lose color. He pointed forwards, and I began running. A pair of laden-down hooves echoed against the stones behind me.

“Turn right!”

I swerved to the right, into a path that led down to the beach. The building at the corner got its roof sliced clean off as a shell found its mark. The street was littered with unexploded shells. I gulped and ran harder, tears, blood, and sweat leaking off my face now.

“Left here! Left here!”

The line of buildings blocked the sea out again. I turned into the street and looked back - Dad was behind me, although much further. He was sweating furiously- Compass wasn’t helping.

The ground shook vigorously.

A tower of stone and earth rose into the air, its transient life expiring in an instant.

I couldn’t. No. I had to stop. From the looks of it Dad needed to too. He set Compass down against the wall of a still-intact building, and tried to catch his breath.

He extended his hooves, and I tried to hug him.

“Dad... what’s going on?”

His breath was raspy and shallow, as if he was going to pass out. He started stroking my hair as if I was a little filly. And I might’ve as well been one, because Dad’s eyes were dots.

“I... I don’t know, Skyla,” he said.

He looked at Compass, who didn’t move. His eyes moved from her lifeless face to the somewhat large pool of blood forming under her.

“Dad... Dad... I wanna go home.”

“I know, Skyla. We all do.”

He let go, and stared around nervously. Then, almost magically, he composed himself. A blink, swallow and stretch later, and his eyes were back to their usual lustre. He took one last look at Compass, then back at me. His mouth was open and his tux undone. A huge circle of blood was on his back, where Compass had sat.

“We’re going to the sub pen.”

I nodded, too scared to talk. He then pushed me forwards, and I sprinted into the smoke, Dad following me.

BOOM

I looked back just as Dad threw himself into me. I bit my lip as I crashed into the stones.

The building had collapsed on him.

Shit shit shit shit shit....

I immediately flared my magic and began throwing off bits and pieces of the rubble.

I heard breathing. I dug harder.

BOOM

There he was, eyes closed, legs limp, horn hanging by a thread. His shallow, raspy breaths barely made any sound. A long, heavy reinforcement pin held him against the ground, made of pure iron.

BOOM

He lifted his left hoof, and placed it on my shoulder.

“Skyla...”

“Dad. Dad. I’m here.”

“Skyla... you.. have to-”

Every word he said only make him cringe wider.

“I’m not going to leave you, Dad.”

“Skyla... no... you can’t.”

BOOM

“No. I’m going to get you out of here. We’re leaving here alive. Come on, push”

I flared my magic again and tried to lift the column off him.

“Skyla... you... have to go alone.”

Heat. Flame.

BOOM.

“Why?” I asked. “Why can’t you go with me?”

“Skyla... you’re a big pony now... you... have to-”

“Dad... please... I can’t go without you.”

I lifted the reinforcement strut higher, but it was too heavy. I felt my magic fizzling away. With a loud bang, the iron pole fell back onto Dad.

He didn’t even scream.

“Listen... listen to me, Skyla. You’re a big pony now. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Okay?”

I nodded my head yes, feeling the sides of my mouth drooping down.

“There’s something I need you to do....is that okay, Skyla?”

I tearfully nodded, trying not to cry.

“Don’t cry, Skyla. Big ponies don’t cry.”

His broken horn fizzled, and a card flew out from under his tux.

“Take this... get to the pen... and... and get the buck out. Is that okay, Skyla?”

A tear started to roll down my cheek.

“Come here...” said Dad.

I hugged him even as the street exploded around me.

BOOM

“I love you, Skyla. Don’t you ever forget that.”

He pressed the keycard into my hoof, and with that the magic died.

“Do it for me.”

I stood up, Dad just barely breathing behind me. I took a few steps away, then looked back.

“Go, Skyla! GO!”

A shell found the building next to me, and instantly I was covered in a cloud of soot and dirt.

“GO!!!”

... .. . --. . ... .. . --. . ... .. . --. . ... .. . --. . ... .. . --. . ... .. . --. .

I held a gauze pad to the wound on my leg.

On the way to the sub pen a stray piece of shrapnel found me - it now lay on the concrete floor, next to a few more blood-red gauze pads and several wrinkled strips of medical tape.

Despite being several hundred meters underground, the pen was still shaking. Every once in a while, there would be a soft metallic bang as a sub swung against the concrete dock.

The LED lights were shining as brightly as they could, but the pen was still as dark as the first day I stepped in.

Fortunately the Predators had different paint schemes, or I’d be pressing the keycard to each and every one. Dad’s was behind me, and the hatch was open. The first aid kit had been pilfered by yours truly, and the supplies in it were already dwindling.

I grabbed the roll of medical tape and wrapped it around my leg. The tape stuck to the fibery gauze and held it firmly against the cut. At the very least, the gauze didn’t turn red at first contact.

I looked up at the shaking ceiling, which was already beginning to lose a few spots of dust. Unfortunately for me, the wasn’t any antiseptic in the first-aid kit- the bottle was strangely empty. Well, I guess it was for the best, because another look at the bottle told me that it was a ten-year-old bottle of Apple Jack’s Ultra-Hard Alcoholic Cider.

Yeow!

Oh by Celestia’s mane that hurt. Better not stand up for now.

I looked at the open hatch, a few centimeters above me.

I tried to stand up again, squeezing my mouth closed as best I could. By Celestia’s false beard that hurt like hell. Remind me never to go playing with shrapnel ever again.

Slowly, and rather jerkily, I climbed up the series of indentations on the side of the sub, and stuck my head through the hatch. My two forelegs followed, then my cutie mark, then-

Gah!

The gauze pad bumped against the edge of the hatch. I lost all focus fighting back tears.

“Oh... oh by Celestia I can’t do this.”

I tried turning myself around. The hatch, being wider than it was tall, pushed against my sides, and I had to hold my breath for a moment.

I felt the metal edge grind against my ribs, and had a faint, weird idea that I was stuck.

sigh....

“Come on, Skyla, you can do this.”

I put my forehooves on the interior wall of the Predator and pushed as hard as I could. The metal edges began to grind further on my ribs, leaving burning red chafe marks.

By Celestia’s stolen tail does this have to hurt so much?

Holding my breath in, I pushed harder, and this time the Predator let me through.

I went sailing into the conning tower and crashed with a cloud of dust onto the submarine’s floor.

A quick look at the gauze pad and I pulled myself to my hooves. A drop of blood escaped the cloth and began rolling down my leg. I tried not to squirm.

Poking my head back outside, I levitated the first-aid kit and the keycard to me. The light-as-heaven keycard floated in fine, but the first-aid kit laughed at me and refused to comply. I nearly fell back out trying to grab it.

The pen shook again, and I hurriedly slammed the hatch shut.

The Predator was just as I left it - simple metal flooring, locked doors marked “TORPEDO”, and a blank navigation screen. The same old carton of cupcakes was still on Dad’s bunk, half empty now, with such a repugnant odor that I had to hold my nose in order to get close to it.

I set down the kit and nervously walked over to the control console. The same two master harnesses awaited a master. I ran my hoof over one, feeling the cold steel, and used my other hoof to activate the screen. I barely noticed the tear running down my face.

I guess Dad had been away, because the picture of him, Mom, Compass, and me at the beach was lying on the dive lever. The tape was old and frayed, and the edges of the picture were already blackening.

I could already feel the surge of tears welling up in my big blue eyes.

The same old fuzzy forward camera came up on the trifold screen, and I laid down on the commander’s chair, head in hooves.

Come on, Skyla, you can cry when you’re dead. And you’ll be dead if you don’t get a move on.

I let out a sniffle and wiped away the tears. Strapping myself in, I turned the engine switch with my magic, feeling the electrical whirrr of the main gearshaft kicking in.

Pulling both columns to the left, I turned the Predator towards the egress tunnel.

I placed a hoof on the dive column. The picture was milimeters away.

Holding back another tear, I pushed down hard on the column and felt Dad’s third child hold her breath and dive into the endless sea.

Etude - Piranha