Equestria, /HaS/, and the Untodes Korps

The air in the Canterlot Armory was one of righteous indignation. As people tiedied up their uniforms, shined their buttons and brass, and sewed holes back into their clothes, a shout rang out, “We got new stuff!”

Everyone looked, and Aryanne was carting in some bins full of armbands and sets of newly-made adjustable armor. Volk was the first to pick up an armband, finely-made by Rarity, and inspected it. It was a biohazard orange, dulled somewhat by the grim atmosphere of the place, but Volk smiled when he saw the insignia that the armband displayed. It was a zombie skull, somewhat saddened as the crown of the skull was broken and shattered by a bullet. Slipping it on, Volk finally figured that the friendly fire incidents would stop. Seriously. He might have worn a wehrmacht uniform, and carried an MG42, he did not look like one of those undead machinegun-toting brutes.

Much.

 Volk then looked to see Aryanne hoofing him an arm-guard. Raising an eyebrow, Volk slid his gloved hand into the arm-guard, and found that the shaped steel lined with cloth fit nicely. He even noted that there were straps he could adjust, if needed. As everyone put on their new-found armband and armor, Volk smiled, and tousled Aryanne’s mane a little with his fingerless gloved hand. She said with a bashful smile, “It makes sense, right? I figure that this can help keep the zombies from biting you.”

Now, the crew was grinning and adjusting their new armor. The only one to have not picked up the bracers was Dropbear, and he was still in his combat koala suit. People were beginning to wonder if he ever took it off. It seemed to get more bloodied and dirtier the further he combated the undead. Few even recalled that it once was as white as snow.

But nobody wanted to think back to when they first arrived. The blood, the fire, the death...

The screaming would not stop. The sound of tearing flesh and bones being strained and broken echo in the air. Small-arms reported across the city. Nobody was in organized teams, as everybody just woke up in a random crumbling building, along with their things. Everyone had to figure out how to use their new tools of death, and quickly. Zombies were everywhere, their siren call of the damned ever present in the streets and in the air. Ethereal trails left by zombie snipers crisscrossed the skyline of the crumbling city as they searched for prey. The roars of the zombie gunners burned the ears of anyone who witnessed it, as well as the retort from the machine gun the elites cradled in their arms.

By the time midday had arrived, everyone had died at least once. If not to the hand and teeth of the teeming dead, or the bullets of those same snipers and gunners, then they would either try to commit suicide to escape the madness, or mistaking each other for the dead and get shot themselves. Of course, the inexplicable madness was that death could claim the humans, but it would not keep them, and they just woke up anyway, often still screaming from when they had suddenly and terrifyingly died. Phantom pains raked across the skins, as well as the sensations of being mauled and eaten echoing in the psyche of the “survivors”. Even those who had tried to find a way out or was cut down by a zombie or a fellow human still had the ghost of a sensation from when bullets cut through them like a scythe through wheat.

Finally, the survivors started recognizing each other for what they were, and they chose a building to start fortifying.

That’s when the long siege began.

Volk shook these thoughts from his head, and noticed that not only had his hand moved from running his fingers through Aryanne’s mane to effectively cupping her face, but his dark thoughts had inadvertently caused him to tighten his grip, causing Aryanne to look at him with fear as his fingernails dug into her skin. Recoiling, Volk tore his hand away and fell to his knees. Muttering a tearful apology, Volk berated himself for having gone to dark places again. That’s when he felt a pair of hooves wrap around his neck, and in that instant, he recollected how that Aryanne had also recently been through the same hell he has, and he wrapped his arms around her neck.

All around them, the sound of people mulling over their things wasn’t interrupted by this display.

“My dear student, it warms my heart greatly that you have returned safely to us.”

Meanwhile, Celestia wrapped a wing around her unicorn student, as if letting go would mean that Twilight would be forever lost. Finally releasing her student, Celestia continued, “I must confess that even I was not prepared for this. All the trials you have ever faced, Twilight, was not meant for this.”

Luna entered the darkened study room, having donned her armor. She cut in, saying “Nay, sister. It is not a natural event that has caused this to happen. The humans were abducted and placed into the same hell we were.”

Celestia sighed. These otherworldly visitors were almost killed on sight, due to their similarity to the undead horde. She nodded, then said, “Something must be done about it.”

Luna drew her weapon. a dark curved sword, made from metals that fell from the stars. she looked it over in her magical aura and examined the shined white edge, contrasting the black of the rest of the blades. Finally, with a tone of tired determination, Luna said,

“And so we shall, sister.”

The air was filled with smoke and blood.

The fog had resumed its reign on the crumbling town, seared and further scarred by the fires prior. A deathly stillness accompanied the fog and smoke, while the dead wandered aimlessly in complete silence. Searching with empty, yellowed eyes, and walking on shaky, rotting legs, the undead marched into and between buildings and between alleyways and streets. The dark grey and green haze covered all, blotting out the sun, and casting the world in shades of shadow.

The silence was suddenly shattered by the sound of weapons fire and the defiant screams of the living. Shotguns, sniper rifles, machine guns, spears, swords, bare hands and hooves were among the weapons of the furious. Battle-cries sounded forth from a thousand mouths of irate humans and ponies, and the racket and noise was enough to wake the dead. Shambling from their places in the streets and buildings, the damned made their slow way. Some rose from their prone positions on the ground. A few came from the doors and alleyways. A few even fell from second and third story windows, only to try to keep moving with broken bodies, with varying success. The siren call of the occult answered the challenge of the living.

Undead snipers and gunners appeared as if from thin air, only to be cut down by bullet and magic missile. The teeming horde of the lifeless issued forth a call of the long-gone, but this dull roar was overpowered by the loud roar of automatic fire and the cries and cursing of the vengeful mortals. Humans shattered skulls, bent spines, popped helmets and cut down the cannon fodder in two. The ponies shattered knees, broke arms, and twisted off the still biting heads of the dead. All this the gathered guard ponies, pony civilians, and the humans did with a sneer, and hateful eyes. They heeded not losses, for whatever afflicted the humans now extended to the ponies, and the painful shouts of casualties were quickly replaced by the renewed profanity from the newly reborn fighter as they resumed combat and the charge.

Their destination was the center of town, and the malevolent spirit that started it all.

“Oh, my.”

Where a the ruins of a castle used to stand, a military industrial compound now sits like the concrete walls of a prison. Random zombies were skewered on spikes placed about carelessly on the walls, and the walls themselves gleamed with blood as it ran from random holes and the still moving undead into a blood-moat, across which an old stony bridge stretched. There were even blooded waterfalls in places along the wall. The massive steel walls of the compound had only one entrance that everybody could see above the red mist, which was a man-sized door that looked to be locked with a spinning hatch. Edward Gloriana and Johan Pitka combined their upper body strength to first budge the hatch, then move it enough to unlock the door. Opening outward, the small army of men and ponies made their way inside. The steel construction of the room was such that the party looked to be trapped inside the room, which had some plain walls, drains in the floor, and grated, round openings on the ceiling. As everyone made their way inside, they made sure not to slip on the suspiciously fresh blood on the floor.

After the last one to enter, Fluttershy, made her way inside, the door swung shut, and red lights flickered on. An alarm blared, and the panic cascade that was ensuing was interrupted by the most disgusting event any of them had ever seen.

Valves audibly opened in the holes above everyone, and a cascade of gore descended upon them like an unholy fountain. Many covered their heads with their arms as hard bone and skulls was among the things that now flooded them. It seemed to take an eternity, but twenty seconds later, the valve shut off, leaving everyone to stand drenched in viscera. No stomach was left unemptied, as the shock and disgust ran through everyone. Gore and vomit slowly drained into the lowered points and holes in the reinforced concrete floor. Classy’s voice rang out, saying, “Fuck this place.”

Pat answered him, saying, “Agreed, eh.”

Everybody was caught wiping themselves off and draining what blood they can from their coat or clothing when another alarm rang. Everybody braced for another treatment in the contamination room when the far walls opposite the entrance parted like sliding warehouse doors. The doubly reinforced steel walls slid open with a nasty metallic screech, revealing everything to everyone in the contamination room.

An industrial workplace stretched far above and beyond like a great expanse, with hellish light coming from furnaces lining the floor, walls, and ceiling. Zombies, impaled on hooks, went to and fro along the ceiling, being suspended and moved by heavy chains. But that was not caught everyone’s attention.

What caught everyone’s attention was an undead horde in the factory that chilled everyone’s soul. The zombies were now armored giants that stood as tall as two men, and they bore nothing but bolted steel armor on their bodies, with random spikes and large bolts sticking out in places. They looked to be armed with maces built into their arms, and their head protection was reminiscent of welding masks, but were significantly thicker and made from steel.

They also lacked eye slits or any sort of hole to enable vision for the otherwise blank-faced helmet. Despite this, they all turned to regard the opening and the humans and ponies within. They all tensed, readying weapons.

...But the monstrosities would not move from their positions. If anything, they just turned to face the living. Clanking their iron clad feet, the towering corpses started an impromptu staring contest with the living.

The silence was agonizing, interrupted only by the pulse of blood in one’s veins, the taking of breath, the pitter-patter of blood runoff from the waiting bodies, the sound of disgusting fluid being drained, and the panicked checking and the shaking loose of bone debris and stray strips of meat from the points and the mechanisms of weapons.

Finally, a great, jovial, yet sinister laugh sounded throughout the setting. A blue light shimmered, resulting in a burst of blood, and a new presence stood in front of the mass of gently heaving armored zombies.

He stood as tall as any man there. The uniform it wore was that of most elite nazi officers, with pins and badges and patches to show off, as well as a peaked cap to display his superiority to the normal undead.

Everybody noticed above those things, however, how the head was just a floating skull and jawbone, complete with a sinister blue glow that emanated from eye sockets and mouth. People started to recognize him as the Occult General from earlier. The jaw moved mid-air, and the lich said,

“You must now see the futility of the task you’ve set before you. My Panzer Zombie Corps is poisedto wipe you off the face of this world. But this is hardly necessary.”

The Occult General extended an arm, bony hand glowing with ethereal energies as he reached towards the crowd.

“Observe.”

Tux was suddenly caught in an invisible vice as he rose somewhat. His arms and legs were spread by the force. He had but a moment to exclaim as he was surrounded first by the light of the Occult General’s power, than shrouded by an eruption of blood, causing his peers to recoil and shielded their eyes from the spray. After this, Tux was back on his feet, and he turned to face his comrades, but...

Tux hardly looked like himself anymore. Instead of his dress shirt, slacks, and vest, Tux wore a grey long coat more reminiscent of World War One stormtroopers than the Wehrmacht or the Waffen SS. Completing the look was a spiked stahlhelm on his head, along with the same type of eyeless face armor the panzer zombies had, but with a difference: a metal lower jaw hung loosely around Tux’s neck, with metal spikes acting as teeth. Beneath the spiked teeth of the upper jaw, Tux’s mouth could be seen, with serrated teeth reminiscent of a vampire, and with skin greyed and diseased-looking. Finally, he had steel body armor as well as clawed gauntlets, and some renaissance greaves. He still had his weapon in his right hand, finger on the trigger of a shotgun that even it had been altered, with the wood furniture turning an ashen grey.

Somebody fearfully asked, “Tux?”

His only response was a wailing inhuman groan.