Lantern

Chapters

Ein
Zwei
Drei
Vier
Fünf
Sechs
Acht
Neun
Zehn
Sieben

Ein

Corporal Randel Oland felt himself return as he pressed his hand to the shutter of the lantern at his hip. He felt the carved flesh where bullets had clipped him, or sunken in. The no longer agonizing burn of broken bones pressing into torn muscle. The chill of his own blood dripping down his body. The lantern had almost claimed him this time. He knew it, as every time he opened that shutter. The dirt crunched beneath his knees as he dropped to them.

Voices. Shouting his name, shouting his rank. He knew those voices. They were trying to save him. Oh how he wanted them to. But at the same time, that voice in the back of his head, Tote Sie, over and over. Fear. His companion for nearly five years. He knew how much Alice hated seeing him in pain. How much she feared that she would lose him to one of those tanks. Oreldo would slap him on his uninjured arm, and call him something mildly derogatory. Martis would be patching up what he could in the field. He began peeling off his coat to allow the bookish soldier access to his wounds. His shirt, but it wasn’t coming off. Pain flared in his chest. He looked down, though the scarring in his neck made the movement difficult. His hand pressed against the spot the shirt was stuck on. Then in. He felt his ribs. Broken clean off. Not the first time. Probably wouldn’t be the last. The metal spars had sheared under the impact of the tank shell. His lung was leaking and spongy. He prepared to apologize to Martis.

He didn’t have the chance.

Alice froze in her run, her anger at his stupidity, her words, stalled in her throat. The corporal fell to his knees, peeled off his battered, bloodied coat; fell to his chest. Fell dead. She knew before Martis reached him, before the young warrant officer pressed his fingers to the corporal’s neck. Before Oreldo stopped mid-step and turned around. She was on her knees, held in his arms, crying on his shoulder, snot running down his back.

Martis stared at the corpse, fingers dancing around the scar tissue, trying to find the pulse, hoping, desperately, that there would be one. The massive hole in the corporal’s back had ceased leaking. The lantern was smeared with blood. He tugged it away from the man’s belt. He had never seen even a drop of blood on it. Not after the corporal had been splattered by acid. Not after he had been shot. Stabbed. The moment Martis had been close enough to see it happen, on the corporal’s shoulder, back when he thought the man a monster. The blue glow had seemed to deflect the blood. Never before had it failed. He lifted the metal cylinder and made a motion to open the shutter. Perhaps whatever kept it clean would keep the corporal alive, or bring him back.

The lever didn’t move. Blood dripped over his fingers, more than could have gotten on them. Like the lantern itself was bleeding. He looked at the shutters. Blood leaked from them for a few more moments, oozing over his hands, cold as ice. He heard an echo in his head, Randel’s voice. Tote Sie. Tote Sie. Just before he put it down, one last sentence. Penance must be delivered. Fate has conspired. Goodbye Brothers. Tote Mich. “He’s gone. Corpor…Randel is gone.”

The smell of fresh grass filled Randel’s nose, the watery scent drawing him awake. He was certain if he had survived, he would have been in the hospital again. They didn’t have grass there. That meant he was dead. But where was he then? He was too far gone to make Heaven. Hell was probably too good for him, what he had done.

His eyes opened, and he stared at the grass tickling his nose. His eyes were crossed, and he stared down at the scar across the bridge of his nose. It had a nice-ish new mark on it. His hand brushed across the surface of his face, the scars, so familiar. His fingers caressed the metal of the Lantern at his hip. The Doorknocker in his armpit. They were there. He felt safe. He stood and started walking, tugging his coat back, then slinging it over his shoulder. It was unseasonably warm, especially if he was in Germany. A grassy hill rose before him, and he climbed it, hoping for a better vantage point. Not that his two-point-four meter height wasn’t enough of a vantage point.

Still, nothing. He struggled down the grass covered hill. How, how did I survive? It was warm, too warm for his uniform. Unseasonably so. He must be in Hell. He reached a path, a cart path, not quite two lanes wide. It was rather narrow for being a pathway leading out of a town. You couldn’t even get a truck down it. He started down the path. Either way was going to lead him to a population center. He was still not in his proper body, but he would figure that out when he got there. First he had to figure out how he had gotten there.

A pinching feeling at the back of his neck made him stop. He had picked up the instinct from Alice, and was already going for the Doorknocker. Then the voice in his head stopped it’s repetition of Tote Sie. It changed tactics now. Corporal? He went to speak, then was stopped, Do not respond. Ponies will think you’re crazy. Like HER.

“Wha?”

Think what you want me to hear. Nopony else can hear me.

Who are you?

You should know me well, by now, Randel Oland. I have been by your side for five years now.

Randel froze at that. The lantern. The Wisp inside, it was speaking to him. What was he supposed to think. He thought about what the lantern had spoken, or thought, wait a moment, “Ponies?”

You are not home. You are not in Hell. Nor is this Heaven. The wisps, my kind, have informed me. We are in Equestria, a world filled with intelligent ponies.

Who is this crazy one you keep talking about?

The wisp with her, it calls itself Stone. It calls her The Pink Menace.

Randel started walking again, trying to find his way down the path, only to have the lantern speak again, SHE comes. Do not draw.

Draw?

“HIHIHI!!!NEWPONYNEWPONY!!GOTTATHROWAPARTY!” The pink streak shot off into the distance.

Was that The Pink Menace. Yes. Stone declares that we mustn’t be late.

Why was I brought here though? How did I survive? My chest was Gone. I know. The scar won’t be there forever.

His feet brought him out of his conversation as the terrain changed from packed dirt to cobblestone. He stopped and looked around, at the expressions of fear from the brightly colored horses. He dropped to his knees, moving slowly. Horses were one of the few creatures as tall as he was. Now, on his knees, he was shorter, and at their mercy, though these ones were SHORT. He towered over them even on his knees. He drooped to sit on his heels, “I can explain.” No you can’t.

Zwei

Twilight Sparkle was ripped from her studying by a combination of a pink hoof on her arm and screams from outside. Another catastrophe, probably. The young princess wasn’t too surprised, at least, until Pinkie shoved her in front of a towering beast. It superficially resembled a minotaur, though much taller, even sitting on its haunches than any minotaur she had ever met. It had to stand at least twice the height of Macintosh Apple, and he was a meter and some tall, quarter of a meter over the average height of a pony. Then there was the lack of horns. Her eyes wandered across the garments it wore, starting at the top. It’s ragged brown mane hung down into the raised collar of a green coat. A pair of emblems on the collar probably indicated military rank, they resembled the pips worn by Celestia’s Guard.

The scar across a flat face…It’s face was flat, and with a scar that size, it had probably been severely damaged. Enough to amputate? Or was he of the subspecies that shared more traits with monkeys than ponies? Like …Tirek… Her eyes shot around to the creature’s haunches, checking for a longer lower half that would indicate that it was actually a Centaur. Nope. Definitely Minotaur. Back to the face. It had a chin that was strong, though scarred. Square enough that Applejack could use it building a table. Deep blue eyes that she didn’t want to look into yet. A neck thick enough to support his head, which must have outweighed Celestia’s, even with the half-meter horn protruding from her forehead throwing off the measurement.

Shoulders. Broader than Snowflake, though that may have been the coat. She remembered that Shining Armor looked quite a bit broader in uniform than out of it. The coat was finely trimmed, a marvel of fabric-craft that was tailored close to its body. It contoured along the creature’s legs sticking out towards her. Cupped around the creature’s knees, massive brown claws protruded from the end of the sleeves. No…Gloves. They had the same careful stitching along the individual talons, though they sealed at the end, quite unlike Minotaur gloves, or even those made for drakes, which left the tips bare to allow use of their razor sharp talons. Beneath the coat, it seemed to be wearing trousers. Thick, heavy affairs that made it impossible to tell the shape of his lower limbs. His hooves seemed abnormally short, where they were curled underneath his buttocks in heavy looking brown boots. She looked closer. There was treading along the arch, all the way back to the heel. The only time she had seen that style was on ancient dagger-types of soldiers in the Unification Wars, meant to allow a pony to grip a surface behind them without twisting their hoof awkwardly.

It spoke, softly, unthreatening, with an undercurrent of fear, “Ich kann erklären.”

Twilight stared at it for a moment, “I’m sorry? I don’t understand.”

“Englisch? You. Speak. English?”

“Equestrian. You can understand me?”

“Mich. I,” it raised a claw and pressed it to it’s chest, “I. Yes. Some. Englisch.”

“What are you?”

“Deutsch. Mensch. Unteroffizier Randel Oland. Dritte Nachrichtendienst-Brigade. Kürbis Schere,” it paused for a moment, “Entschuldigung. Corporal Randel Oland. Third. Intelligence,” he tapped his forehead, “Brigade. Pumpkin. Scissors,” his claw tapped an emblem on his shoulder. It slid down to his flank, “Formerly Neun hundert erste Gespenstjäger Zug.” Another pause, “Wieder, Entschuldigung. Nine Hundred First Ghost Hunter Platoon.”

Twilight recognized some of what the creature said. Ancient texts, Germane if she remembered right, from before the Unification War, thousands of years ago. The translations to Equestrian weren’t perfect analogues. He was, if she remembered correctly, at the bottom of the Non-Commissioned Officer ladder. She got roughly his unit. The third something. Short version had something to do with shears and, if she was right…She had to check the book again. The Equestrian translation he had struggled out was clearer, though archaic. Intelligence, she recognized, though this brute being a member of any intelligence division made her question whether it was actually a tactician behind the huge body, or just a leg-breaker. The regiment number was unfamiliar, for what he declared his former allegiance to. Maybe it was in the book somewhere.

The last part though, that confused her. She was about to ask, when her much less tactful friend dropped in from the cloud she had been sitting on, “Ghost Hunter? So you go out and find those creepy things that like to scare foals in the night?”

The creature took the blue Pegasus’ question in stride, turning it’s blue gaze on her, “Nein.”

“What do you mean, No? What else could you mean? Do you hunt shadows? Changelings maybe?” Now Twilight was beginning to realize something. Something seriously wrong. A subtle shift in the magic around the creature. She began to scoot away, careful not to be obvious.

“Nein. Ich bin der Geist,” It closed those soulful blue orbs, “Entschuldigung. I AM the…Ich sollte gehen. Folgen Sie nicht . DO! NOT! FOLLOW!”

Twilight let the creature go, backing away frantically as it placed both claws on the dirt and shoved at it like it meant to move the cobblestones themselves. As it stood, Twilight realized that her estimate of its full height was way off. It had to stand at least two and a half meters tall. It could stand over Macintosh and not even touch him if it removed that bulky coat. Thunder rang out of the stones as it started trotting out, then cantering, then galloping full tilt. It crested the hill, thunder dying out to the sound of Pinkie’s mane deflating with a hiss.

“Aww. I was gonna throw him a party. He’s sad,” Pinkie grew serious at Twilight’s side, “He misses his brothers, his sisters. I don’t think I could live with…” The pink mare stopped. Looked cross-eyed at her muzzle, babbled some nonsense, “…I…I need to go throw up.” The pink dart was fully visible as she made a wobbly line to the side of the road and heaved what must have been a very light breakfast for her into a bush. This was followed up by dry hacking and sobs. Everypony stared. It was the first time most of them had seen the party-pony not smiling. Even for her closest friends, it was the first time they had ever seen her so distraught. Not even Discord, or their surprise party had gotten her so hard. Whatever her inexplicable sense told her…Twilight found herself meeting Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy as they encircled their friend, with Rarity and Applejack sitting close enough to reach in and place hooves on the pink ball’s quivering form.

Drei

Randel stopped at the edge of the forest. He had run so far today. He couldn’t stay. Those creatures, they spoke the language of Britain and America. He understood it some, not much, but enough to know that they didn’t understand. And IT was trying to get out. The wisp wanted to let it. He could feel the hatred. The Wisp always did that. It reminded him of a story he had heard once about a man who developed a way to suppress his morals. He suspected that it may have been more than a story.

IT had been found by the wisp. Drawn out, to take over Randel’s body. IT made him watch. The more IT spent out, the less Randel could tell the difference. Still, he resisted. He didn’t want to become a soulless killing machine forever. He never could. He pulled the metal cylinder off his hip and raised it to eye level, Wisp? If I smash the lantern, will IT go away?

No. It never will. It is you, after all, that condescending voice he heard every time the doctor had stuck that needle in his arm. Every time he went to open the lantern.

I died. “I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE FREE!” He hit his knees, sinking the dirtied brown trousers into the soft dirt, “DEATH WAS SUPPOSED TO FREE ME!”

The coffin took eight men to lift. Claymore One offered to carry it, in honor, they said, of the sacrifice. Alice had been up in arms about it at first, the deep-running feud still strong. Oreldo had talked sense into her, with one simple sentence, ‘Let them. But I’m leading.’ Corporal Oland weighed five hundred kilograms. Oreldo had essentially demanded that he be allowed to carry the heaviest part of the coffin. By himself if necessary. Martis had stepped up to take the opposite. The two could generously be called skinny, but the Claymores accepted the terms.

The damp grass squeaked beneath their boots as the six soldiers followed Randel’s team. Alice took point, her normal ‘blade forward’ attitude suppressed by the emotional weight of her loss. How he had died because of her.

The truck parked on the lonely hill lurched as it’s winch took up the weight of the coffin, swinging it gently between two A-frames on either end of the grave. Alice took her position at the head of the coffin, placing her hand to the elegantly detailed redwood. That coffin had been Alice’s idea. She had personally paid for it, selling some of her jewelry to afford the import taxes to get the lumber carved up and shipped from the West-most coast of America. It had the Section Three emblem etched into it, above where Randel’s head lay. Below that, carved with just as much skill, sat the emblem of the 901st. Above his heart. Where it belonged. The lantern itself had been cleaned inside and out by Captain Hunks, the only man Alice trusted with the artifact. It now hung at her side, opposite her family’s dagger. She had sworn she heard his voice when she tied the lantern to her belt, but it never showed her that glow it always had for Randel. It was cold. It held no battery compartment, and as the captain had informed her, would never have functioned as a lantern anyway. He told her the inside of the metal cylinder was so battered and torn that he would have sworn someone had let a cutting torch and a power-drill play in it at the same time. There was no rational reason why the hinge even worked. It wasn’t connected to the shutters at all.

Still, she unconsciously opened it as she began talking, letting the memories wash over her as she spoke aloud of his bravery, stupidity, honor. Her men were at her side, rifles drawn and aimed unwaveringly at the sky. The lantern stayed dark. She finished speaking and raised her arm. The soldiers around the coffin raised their rifles. Twenty-one guns. Eighteen Claymores. Martis, Oreldo. One lone Tiger II on the road through the cemetery. A rolling salvo in honor of the fallen, concluded with the resounding thump of the tank shell firing. The lantern closed with her eyes. Work-hardened hands caught her as she fell, the illusion of Randel fading away as she collapsed into her subordinates arms.

Thunder rang in Randel’s head. He counted. Twenty rifles sang out. One thump drowned them out. Wisp?

You died. I was there. That body failed.

“SEND ME BACK!”

I can’t. You would have to kill yourself, or find someone to do it for you.

Randel gripped the back of his head, let his muscular neck go limp, and smashed his face into a rock. It broke his nose, split his forehead open. Didn’t even come close to destroying the thick calcium deposit that made up his skull. Again. A third time. Still nothing.

“WHY WON’T YOU LET ME GO HOME!”

The wisp was silent for long enough for Randel to pound his skull against the bloodied rock three more times before it stopped him, Because it isn’t time for you to go home. When it is, you will be reborn there. Until then, please stop trying to kill yourself.

Blood mixed with tears. Randel didn’t really feel the pain of the torn skin, he only felt the pain of loss. It struck him deep in his heart. The same pain he had felt when Hans died before his eyes. Wolf. Franz. Bat. But they weren’t dead They aren’t dead.

No. Your friends are alive. For now. The Lieutenant has taken up my lantern.

It didn’t come with? But it’s right here his hand gripped the familiar cylinder.

Remember how you died? Things don’t disappear in your world. She recovered it with your body. Took it as her own. It might kill her.

Randel paused at that, thinking specifically in a way the Wisp wouldn’t hear, then to it, Might? The Doorknocker was climbing out of its holster, rising towards his face. In his mouth.

NO! NOT YET! You have time. Years. Decades maybe. She was not… it seemed to be thinking over its next words, …Gifted the way you were. There is no longer a life in that hunk of metal. It will take nothing that cannot be fixed.

Vier

Pinkie Pie looked at the board on her wall in the basement of Cupcake Corner. Her bucket was nearly full again, smelling of bile. The wall was covered in pictures and hoof-written notes. If anypony ever saw it, her entire life-style would have to shift. She could NOT reveal to Twilight, or anypony else, the existence of the Wisps. It would ruin everything the creatures had worked so hard for.

She placed her hooves against it, drawing lines only she could see, Stone, I need to fix this. It’s like, my job.

The wisp seemed to be not there for almost a minute, Only one way to do that. We can save him only by revealing everything to him.

But…

He needs to know about this. And his own Wisp cannot explain it well enough. He needs you, Pinkamina. More than any pony ever has.

I understand. But we don’t speak the language he does.

Twilight does.

Twilight Sparkle levitated a drink to her lips as she looked through three different ancient texts at the same time. Germane, Russian, Prench. Every language that was spoken during the Unification War thousands of years ago. Mostly Germane, since that was what the creature spoke.

“Was essen Sie. What do you eat…”

Spike stepped past, “Gems, mostly. You know that.”

“I’m trying to study here, Spike.”

“I know. Pinkie’s here. Wanted to know if you know the language that creature was speaking. Said it’s important.”

“I’ve got an idea. I thought she didn’t want to see it again,” Twilight’s muzzle wrinkled, “Didn’t she get sick a few times thinking about him?”

“Well, I have a bucket with me this time, Silly.”

Twilight, in a testament to her dedication to books, did not spill her drink at the sudden arrival of Pinkie Pie, “Pinks, didn’t you say you didn’t want to feel whatever it was you felt there, ever again?”

The pink mare stiffened, then in a slow, suspicious tone, muttered, “Yeeesssss. But this is worth it.”

Twilight stared over her book at her friend, “How? It ran away screaming at us. US, the Elements of Harmony!”

“It’s not for him…”

“Pinkie, I know you need to throw parties for every new pony, but I think missing this one won’t hurt you that much.”

“Twilight,” her mane deflated, “It’s not about ME. It’s not even about HIM. This…AGH! STONE, GIMME A HOOF HERE!”

Twilight stared, eyes widening as Gummy shimmied out of the deflated cotton-candy head, and opened his mouth disturbingly wide. She still didn’t understand what it was about that alligator that allowed the carnivore to survive without any teeth to chew. Though, as its jaw unfolded revealing a reddish glow, she began to think it wasn’t an alligator at all. Pinkie’s mouth began moving, but it wasn’t her voice coming out. ”Lady Sparkle, Princess of Equestria. You don’t know me. Never will. Pinkamina Diane Pie has been declared my host, for as long as it lasts, anyway.”

“What’s your point?”

”HE is the key to survival. Soon. You will need him to save yourselves.”

“From what?”

”From him. His kind. He will KILL for you. But you will need him to.”

Twilight stared at the two figures in front of her, “I don’t even know what he can do.”

”Look it up, silly filly. You can handle it. I need to go start making the welcoming party.”

Gummy sank back into the not-quite puffed up mane, and Pinkie shot away.

“SPIKE! What was that number I gave you?”

The drake pulled out a length of scroll, his notebook, of a sort, “Nine hundred and First, Ghost Hunters. Sounded cool, can I use it to name my band?” At Twilight’s look, he defended his question, “It’s a better name than Crusaders!”

Twilight rolled her eyes, and scooped up another book, flipping through it magically. She stopped at the name, and her face went white as she read the first sentence.

Der 901. ist der erste von der unsichtbaren neun , eine Armee von der deutschen Armee für den alleinigen Zweck der Sieg über die Himmels Allianz entwickelt.

In Equestrian, she understood that it made this creature, wherever he was from, an ancient project from Germaney, before the Celestial

Alliance had effectively erased them from the map. But it wasn’t a pony. What could it be? Some mutation of Minotaur? Like the ones made in Russia around the turn of the century. Those things had been…She stopped. The illustration wasn’t an exact match for the creature, but it was close. The files called it a Hoo-Min. Mensh. What it had called itself, or a close linguistic match. She began reading.

Fluttershy looked at the creature. It seemed to be holding something in its talon. Something that her instincts told her wasn’t safe. Then it placed the object in it’s mouth. She began galloping, hooves kicking up clods of dirt as fast as she could move. Even her wings joined in, flapping to drag her down the hill. Her voice rose in volume, “HEY! ST…” Her next words were drowned out by a thunderous Crack, and the creature dropped to the ground, the object falling from it’s claws.

She took to the sky as fast as she could, making a line for the body as fast as possible. She landed beside it and pressed her head to its chest, listening for a heartbeat, hoping that it would be near the one in bears, or minotaurs. There wasn’t one. Her ear slid up to it’s mouth, and she instinctively tried not to touch the blood, unsure if it was poisonous or not. At the soft outflow of blood filled air, she backed away. It was breathing, but its heart wasn’t beating. She wasn’t particularly strong, but she knew how to restart a heart by bucking it, especially on larger vertebrates. She stood and went to jump onto it, when she saw the claws moving towards her. She yelped as the massive talons embraced her ribcage, forcing her wings closed. Glowing dead eyes looked into hers, and she flinched back as much as the claw would let her.

“DON’T EAT ME!”

“Essen? Warum ? Nein.” It set her gently on the ground, and she noticed that the blood on its mouth was fading away, and there was a blue glow coming from the cylinder on its hip. Still, there was no evidence of a pulse. Even the blood was no more than would have been initially splattered by the…

She gasped, “Oh dear, hold still. I’ll get that hole patched up right away. You’ll probably be on liquids for a few weeks while it heals up,” she dropped into veterinarian mode immediately, pulling a wad of gauze from her saddlebags and calmly pressing it to the outside of the wound.

“Don’t bite me, or I WILL tranquilize you. I’ve done it to much larger animals,” her yellow hoof slid into his mouth, and she gently shaped the gauze around the ragged hole. With any luck, Twilight would be able to directly regenerate the torn skin and muscle. If not, it might have to eat with a bowl on its shoulder to catch falling bits of cud.

The glow faded away as she finished patching the hole, and she felt a warmth in her hoof as blood began to flow anew. A quick check, and she confirmed the presence of a pulse.

Her hoof slid loose from its mouth, and she stared into its eyes, “Now, you’re going to go with me to Twilight’s, and we’ll see if she has any sort of regeneration spell to fix it. If she doesn’t, you’ll just have to live with a HOLE in your CHEEK!”

“Es tut mir leid.”

Fünf

Randel half-glowered, half-smiled at the yellow creature. He was angry, because once more, the Lantern hadn’t let him go. At the same time, she had saved him. He couldn’t fault her for that. His tongue pressed against the hole in his cheek, where two thick bandages padded it. The hole was already shrinking, a side effect of the experiments. The yellow pony led him towards a large tree, and he tried not to be too imposing. That wasn’t easy, since he towered over every single one of them. Hell, he towered over every single person he knew, with the exception of his brothers. Even the other members of the Invisible Nine were shorter.

Stop!

He braked his feet hard, coming to an abrupt halt with his boot mere inches behind the yellow creature’s tail. She was looking at a door carved into a giant tree. The door went up to maybe the middle of his ribcage. He waited patiently as she knocked her hoof gently against the door twice, then a third time. A few seconds passed, and he looked at his wrist. He wore a watch back during the war, if only to know how long he was gone for. Now, though, he didn’t have the thick contraption strapped to his wrist.

Pocket. You took it off so it wouldn’t get bloody again.

His hand was just entering the pocket on his right hip when the door opened and the purple one from earlier stuck her head out. Her hair was frazzled and stuck up like it had been hit by lightning. He didn’t laugh. Fortunately, she didn’t scream either. She instead ducked back into the tree and said something.

“Come in, quickly.”

He slipped in, ducking down as low as he could. His back still grazed the top of the opening. He muttered an apology to the purple one as he slid down to his knees and sat on his heels. The door shut behind him, and he found himself looking into purple eyes.

“I have,” she pointed to piles of books, scrolls, pens, and ink splotches all around the main room of what he realized was a library, “been studying.” Her voice changed to German, with a slight English accent, “I understand only some of what you have gone through. I hope I never really understand. Not after what I have been told. I sent a letter to the Princess to come make sure you were safe. We will house you here, until we know for certain what we will do with you.”

He picked up the nearest book. It was written mostly in German, with little bits that seemed to be in a different dialect he didn’t really know. Still, he got the gist of the words. It was a report on the Nine Oh One. But something was wrong. The illustrations, the words didn’t quite match up with what he remembered from the same book back home. He stared at the pictures of horses, drawn like the ones in his own documentation. Photographs. He flipped the page and stared at one that looked very familiar to him. He placed his finger-tips against the image of a strange horse, yet very familiar. It wore the uniform he remembered wearing, the same watch on its fore-hoof. The name, Durandel Orenn. He squinted at the brown mane on the stallion’s head, cut short. One ear was scarred it had been hit by something. His fingers brushed his identical scar. His eyes panned across those, so similar to his own, filled with pain and sorrow. He set the book back down, then drew his watch out and set it on the page, followed by the lantern. As clearly as he could state in English, he spoke, “No. Never again. I cannot allow it.”

The yellow one looked at him, “What do you mean?” She looked at the book, then at the items he had placed on it, “Is that you?”

“No, it can’t be him. Major Durandel went to Tartarus three hundred years ago. There are no more of them left, Fluttershy. I promise, he is the…”

A massive leather-clad hand wrapped around the purple muzzle, stopping it from finishing, “Nein. I…You are all going to die.”

Randel, I feel we cannot stop what has begun, but we can save them. Stone has told me many things. They are not a combatant species. If they fight, they will die. If you fight, they might survive.

His hand pressed against the flooring, and he looked at the yellow one, Fluttershy, he thought it was. He looked into her deep eyes, and stopped, very abruptly. His hands shot back to the book, knocking his lantern and watch to the floor as he flipped pages quickly. He recognized those eyes. He stopped and pointed at the page, then at Fluttershy. Both mares stared at the picture for a long time before they looked at each-other.

“Twilight, I’m sorry. I should have…”

“Flutters, it’s ok. You had no way of knowing that it would be important. That you are a twelfth generation descendent of a genetically engineered warrior.”

Fluttershy shrank back, and Randel pressed his finger to the words above Fluttershy’s ancestor’s picture. Nine hundred and Third. Chemical Tactics. Chemical Warfare. Known mutations… He read through them quickly. Most were things he had seen himself. Some were new though. Feather rot. Horn rot. Impaired flight characteristics. He turned to Fluttershy and pulled on her wing, stretching it out. He had seen enough birds afflicted by the weapons of the 903rd to know what rotting feathers looked like. There, there, and there. Three yellow feathers, primaries, rotted at the core. He had met the children of one, Wolf, back before all this had happened, and they suffered from very few of the things their father had. Only one was Asthmatic, the other had a bad liver. But none had multiple, and from the sound of this mare, she was suffering from at least three. Her breathing was labored, her wings were rotting, and she was clearly frail-boned. He released the wing, letting it fold up quickly, and pinned her to the floor before she could make a move.

Sechs

“Fluttershy, How long.”

Twilight stared at the two, unsure who to help. The book showed a Pegasus who looked very similar to Fluttershy, though a stallion. It listed that he had been known to ingest his own chemicals, that upon his death he was suffering from five different types of poisoning all at once with liver failure and feather rot.

Fluttershy coughed, and Twilight gasped as flecks of red appeared on the yellow Pegasus’s lips. She whispered something Twilight couldn’t hear, and the creature launched himself across the room, to where Fluttershy had left her saddlebags. He tore the bag open, spilling books, flowers, and bits across the library floor as he grabbed an orange bottle. He seemed to stare at the white label for a moment before throwing himself back across the room. He pressed one of his claws around her neck, and his knee down on her belly as he ripped the cork out of the bottle and dumped it out on the table. His talons plucked four of the little green pills off the wood and dropped them into Fluttershy’s mouth, muttering something in Germane.

Another cough tore out of Fluttershy’s throat, along with more blood, right before she went completely limp. The creature, Randel, stood up, leaving Fluttershy on the ground, where Twilight saw that her chest was still moving, if slowly. He turned to Twilight,

“Verdammt . Der Bastard gab sie weiter .”

“What?” Twilight understood some of it, but not all of it. Her translations were taking too long anyway. She willed her horn to life and it flashed brightly for a moment as Randel started repeating himself.

“Verdammt . Der Bastard passed it on. He’s killed her,” a gloved claw slammed into the wall hard enough to crack the thick oak, “He’s been dead for three centuries, but he’s killed her.”

Twilight’s jaw drooped, and she stared at the monster as he picked up the nervous yellow Pegasus and cradled her in his arms, “Can you save her? Can you save us?”

He looked at her, then at Fluttershy, and pointed at the book, “He lived two hundred years. She will outlive him, as long as she doesn’t stop. The day she misses one, she WILL DIE.”

Twilight levitated the green pills on the table back into the bottle and corked it again, floating it over to her. The label was clearly written, a prescription, sort of. It wasn’t from the hospital. It was from Zecora, “Fluttershy, what have you been doing to yourself?”

Fluttershy raised her head and leaned over Randel’s massive arms, “Twilight, I’m sorry. It’s the only thing keeping me alive.”

“This is pure ARSENIC! You should be dead!”

Fluttershy whimpered, and wiped her hoof against her bloodied lips, “Twilight, you have to understand…”

Randel placed his claw over Fluttershy’s mouth, “Please, do not talk. She…Cannot know. Not yet,” he pulled her closer and squeezed her lightly, then turned to Twilight and held out his other claw, supporting Fluttershy in one arm, “The bottle. I will explain in time, but now, I cannot.”

Pinkie Pie stared at Gummy, “Stone, why do I need to hide this? Applejack will figure out that I’m hiding something,” her mane deflated slightly, “Then she’ll tell everyone, she’ll make me tell her. I don’t like when Applejack makes me tell her things.”

I will take her ire then. She cannot hurt me.

Pinkie winced, and grabbed the bucket again as images flashed through her head of things she had never seen, things she never wanted to see. They were terrifying, new, and yet entirely familiar. She filled the bucket and stared at the swirling cupcake goo and dripping blood swirling in it, “Why are you making me see these things?”

I…am not. They are yours to see, yours to bear, as you are mine to bear. Your blood holds great power, but with it, great danger.”

Rainbow Dash opened the box sitting in the bottom of her closet. Her father had specifically told her that he hoped, he prayed, that she would never need to open it. That she would know if she did, that if she did, she could never go back. He had never opened it, had never felt that itch to do so. Days before, when she looked at the birthright of the Dash clan, it had given off an air that just made her queasy. Now though, it was a sweet, almost enticing sensation. She looked into the box, stared at the harness, at the suit packed neatly inside. A bottle of cerulean liquid sat beside it. It burned her nose when she looked at it. She picked up the folder sitting on top and opened it. The words were written in a language she had insisted that she didn’t need to learn, Germane.

It read: To my descendant, I am sorry. Truly. If you are reading this, it means you are lost. You are already dead. No, don’t try to run, it won’t help. Those chills running down your back, they won’t ever go away. Drink, and go. Go, burn everything. Make me warm.

She shuddered instinctively, and pulled on a blanket, disappointed that it didn’t even give her a little bit of warmth. She lifted the bottle and took a tentative sip, or a gulp. By the time she realized she had even started drinking it, the bottle was empty. She was still cold. The suit. Maybe it was warmer? She shimmied into the armored fabric, “Come on, make me warm.”

The suit was snug in places, though it was cut for a stallion, and pinched at her jaw. Still, she was slightly warmer. Maybe…She picked up the cylindrical device sitting on the bottom of the trunk, and smiled as a flame crept out of the tip, magically sustained. “Uncle Smith, I have found you your warmth.”

Rarity scowled at the Crusaders. They were still looking, but hadn’t succeeded, not entirely. Apple Bloom had found her craftspony talent, and Sweetie Belle had discovered her singing talent. Scootaloo though, she maintained that her cutie-mark would be in flight of some sort, but she was using Rarity’s home as a launch-pad.

Scootaloo shot off the ledge and soared into the air, howling with glee for a few seconds before attempting to flap at all. Still nothing from her Dodo wings, but she would land the trick. She rolled over, bringing her hooves and scooter towards the grou…Sky? She had gotten flipped over, and slammed into the ground on her back, sliding through the dirt and tumbling up onto her forehooves before dropping onto her belly.

A glance at her flank made her smile. There was something there, and her hoof found that it wasn’t mud. The bat-like shape that had two yellow dots dead center made her leap into the air. High. She slammed into the dirt again, and glanced down at her hooves. Not even a scratch.

Acht

Twilight stared at the departing creature, then at her empty hoof. She hadn’t even seen the Hyu-mon take the bottle. She could still see it clearly, despite the absence. Arsenic. Poison. It was amazing that Fluttershy was even alive, right?

She dove into the pile of books again, this time looking at the page the creature had left open. Nine Hundred and Third. She searched the books. More information, more that she needed to know. More horrors. She began to wonder if she was ready for this, “Spike, take a letter.”

Half under her own control, Pinkie Pie opened the locked chest at the bottom of her dresser. She had placed a cloth wrapped box in there years ago, after she had received it from her grandfather. Her eyes burned with dry tears as she peeled the ancient cloth off the solid oak box. Inside, pressed into soft velvet sat a device made of wood and steel. A miniature cannon. It didn’t shoot parties. It shot death. The antithesis of life. Without life, there was no parties, but if Stone was right in what he told her, and so far, he hadn’t been wrong, death would come. The only way to keep parties around was to kill the killers first. She lifted the device, began to secure it to her forehoof, and started strapping the belt with bullets to her upper arm. The brass was cold against her fur.

Rainbow leapt into the sky, and plummeted like a rock having forgotten to correct for the weight of the suit. She recovered in a three point landing on the dirt below, one hoof cradling the burning cylinder as she started trotting towards the library. Twilight could help. Twilight would make her warm. If she didn’t, well, libraries were made of flammable things. Fire would make her warm. ‘What am I thinking, Twilight would kill me if I burned the books.’

Applejack stared at the fence on the far end of the back 40. It had been a fifteen hoof tall stone wall covered in protective runes to keep all sorts of critters out. It was now a pile of stone debris blocking the irrigation ditch and making a pool around the roots of several trees. Standing in the middle, eyes unseeing, was a creature like the one that had come to town earlier that week. It was horrible, in all ways she could imagine. Some even that she couldn’t. She blinked, and it was a pony. It was immense still. Bigger than Macintosh, and scarier, now that it was in a familiar shape. It stood there, clad in brown, and made no sound, no movement. Nothing, save the rippling of his coat in the breeze. Applejack screamed.

Scootaloo leapt into the air as Rainbow Dash trotted past, recognizable to her biggest fan despite the white armored suit hiding every trace of the rainbow coloring. Her stride matched so perfectly that Scootaloo couldn’t help but fall in behind her, “Rainbow Dash, I got my Cutie Mark! Look! Look!”

The mare stopped, turned her egg-shaped helmet, and looked at the orange filly. A gloved hoof stretched out and caressed the fine feathers of her wings, “Good job kiddo. What for?”

“No idea. It showed up after I did this wicked trick…”

“Cool. Hey, can you talk and trot, I need to see Twi about something.”

Scootaloo cheered and followed her hero, describing in great detail how her mark had appeared.

Fluttershy stared at Randel. He had shouted at her. Nopony shouted at Fluttershy. She was just too cute for most to even consider it. She shrank back, trying to free her hoof, whimpering, “I can’t. Don’t you see…” She glanced back at her Cutie Mark, spattered with blood from her own lips, “My talent is helping ponies, helping animals. I can’t hurt them. It’s…”

His claw squeezed tighter around her hoof as he lifted her into the air and held her to his face, nostrils almost touching. She could feel his hot breath on her cheeks, “I killed so many…So many more than you could imagine…I did it to make them stop!”

She choked down another cough, tears dripping from her eyes, “I can’t! I hear them, telling me to feed my animals…” a salvo of coughs made her curl up, still hanging from his claw, “Poison. I can’t poison my friends…Not even Angel Bunny, all the…” more coughs. Blood splattered across Randel’s chin and collar, “He doesn’t deserve this…”

She felt the grass beneath her again, and heard a loud sigh, “None of them do. None of us do. The killing helps alleviate some of it though.” His voice caught at the end, like he was hiding something else from her.

“Randel. I know how I am going to die. I know when, too. I already set up plans with some of Cheerilee’s pupils to take over if something happens. When…” She wiped her muzzle across her hoof, leaving a streak of blood through the already dirtied fur, “I can’t let others bear this burden for me. You know why, don’t you?”

Randel stood to his full height, “Fluttershy, I have been around so much longer than you have. You are not the first of the Nine I have had this talk with. You are not the first I was forced to guide to their first kill,” his gun slid from its holster, and Fluttershy found herself staring at the barrel, “Do you want to hear how I died? How about how it happened again, and again. Or maybe you want to hear the story behind these,” he tugged his right sleeve up, showing a line of scars running up his forearm. Thirteen of them. Precisely placed. Whoever made those marks was a master with a knife.

“Who would do that to you?” She wanted to help him, to be by his side, and walk him through whatever trauma he had picked up when he had gotten those.

His lips curled into a grimace, “I did,” his left talon started sliding up the row, “Hansel, Yorick, Frederick, Franz, Adolf, Jorge, Raymond, Johns, Jeffries, Bartholemew…”

“STOP! Why would you do that!”

Neun

Randel looked at Fluttershy, then at the Doorknocker in his hand. The thirteen scars on his arm. The thirteen he had killed himself, “Because when I finally lose myself, when I don’t come back…” He went silent, blue eyes staring at the mare for a long minute, “I want IT to remember. When IT takes over, do not cry for me.”

She looked up at him, blue eyes starting to tint red as two trails of liquid flowed down the sides of her muzzle.

He sighed and slid the Doorknocker back into its holster and stood up, “You have the ability. You need to kill. It’s the only way for people, no, creatures, like us to survive.” He turned to walk away, to leave her lying on the grass by the river, but froze as he heard a scream. It wasn’t from Fluttershy. It was from the farm on the other side of the river. Not a scream of frustration, but one of fear. Before he could really finish registering the fact, his boots were already throwing up clods of dirt as he sprinted through the trees.

Randel skidded to a stop, boots sinking into the mud as he came to an abrupt halt. The orange mare he had seen earlier, the one with apples on her backside, she was sitting, eyes wide in terror. Standing on the other side of a broken stone wall was…was it some sort of mirror? He reached out, the creature on the other side did the same, mirroring his movements. His other hand slid to the lantern, “Run. Find Fluttershy. Hide.” He didn’t know if the orange one would understand, but he had to try. His hand, bare and scarred, touched a leather clad hoof. Knuckles rapped against the steel teeth fused into the bottom of the leather. He looked into blue eyes so much like his own. Bottomless caverns of death and fear. The lantern opened. The mirror lantern opened. Four eyes began to glow. Two Doorknockers rose. It wasn’t a mirror. Randel fired first.

The response ripped into his eyebrow. His head jerked back to the sound of a tree splintering. He bit the next bullet under his sleeve and shoved it into the breech. Another shot. Another response. His shoulder had a hole in it, again. His brain, set to the side, started thinking, plotting. Third shot. The Doorknocker fell from his hand. Two hands grabbed the giant stallion by the throat. Four tonnes. Not impossible to lift, not for him. He raised the creature’s forehooves off the ground. He felt the steel teeth biting into his chest as it kicked.

No fear. No worries. His teeth met flesh, ripped at it. He felt his ear tear free in the stallion’s mouth. His knee rose. It was still male. It didn’t flinch. Arm-lock. Dislocate one foreleg, then the other. Drop the creature to the ground. Step on it. Step on it again. Take the lantern. Deactivate. Discard. Tank shears. Good, he had lost his at some point. Shear through ribs. Find heart. Two Doorknockers, one with an unfamiliar trigger. Two echoes. No more life.

His eyes returned to normal as his own lantern deactivated, and he looked at the body. He hadn’t gotten the stallion’s name, but he knew it all the same. The scars across the muzzle, the neck, the back. He knew them as well as he knew himself. They were his scars. The book lied. The book…He turned and, with barely a tip of his head to the still terrified orange mare, took off for the library.

Alice stared at the lantern, bloodshot eyes barely focused. She knew Oreldo was being a lech somewhere behind her. Martis was reading the manual for the jeep. Hunks was cleaning his desk. She didn’t know where the others were. She looked at the door, still unfocused. Randel was standing there. No, he wasn’t. He was dead. The door was empty.

Oreldo lifted his canteen and took a sip, “Martis, we need to do something. She hasn’t eaten in three days.”

Martis looked back at him, glancing up from the piles of books he had been going through. He had found Doctor Kauplan and talked her into giving him everything on the 901st. Every piece of documentation on that lantern. Anything to explain what was happening to Alice, “I’m getting close. It says that every 901st who returned to their family, they were supported directly. Their deaths harmed their family, but most had a strong support that shared the burden, the responsibility. The Lieutenant…”

“Shouldered all of the Corporal’s burden. We never did. She took it all. Does it say how to help?”

“No. The families committed group suicide within two years of the 901st’s death. Lieutenant Malvin will die soon. We can’t do anything at this stage.”

The dull clicking of the lantern opening made both snap their attention to the -still not glowing- lantern

Alice flicked the lantern open. A blue light filled her vision. She heard Randel. She pulled the lantern to her chest, held it there, embraced it. She heard him asking her to join him. She barely felt the ivory handle of her blade in her gloved hand. She didn’t hear the screams of her team. She didn’t feel the cold steel sliding between her ribs, into her heart. Tote mich.

State Section Three, Pumpkin Scissors, was disbanded and melted into sections one, two, and four. Alice had a fine funeral. Oreldo and Martis placed the lantern, bloody and closed, between her clasped hands. They said the final words. They threatened Section One. Claymore One left, cleared everyone out. Understood. Six feet of dirt was a lot of work for three men and a little girl. No-one was allowed in the graveyard until they were finished.

Alice woke to the feeling of grass under her cheek. All around her was a field. Beautiful, emerald grass covered the hills for miles. Right up to the base of a mountain. She looked up the mountain. There, near the top, was a city. She had to be in heaven, or at least part way there.

Zehn

Princess Celestia, Diarch of the sun, stepped into the Ponyville Castle-Library. She hadn’t taken even six steps since reading the letter, but it was more polite to walk into the library, rather than teleport and risk scattering the delicate papers everywhere. Inside, she bore witness to something she had known intimately for fifteen years. Twilight, in full study mode. The lavender Alicorn hadn’t even heard her come in. She cleared her throat, “Twilight, I’m here.” At the blank look from her student, she shook her head and lowered it almost to the ground, sorrow creeping into her voice, “Twilight. I wish this hadn’t ever come back up. Discord, I expected. Nightmare Moon even. I never intended for any of this…” she looked at her student, “I am truly sorry. Even the elements might not be enough, this time.”

Twilight raised her head from the circle of floating books, and stared at her mentor, “What?”

Pinkie Pie glanced at the kitchen that had practically been her home for fifteen years. Not anymore. She couldn’t come back again. A grey-green coat that was six times too big for her mashed her mane and tail flat as she set a note on the counter. Gummy had explained that they NEEDED to see Twilight immediately.

The boots covering her hooves were cold, centuries old leather and brass that dragged at her with every step. Gummy was the only familiar part of the whole thing, sitting atop her back, buckled securely beneath the coat’s saddle-strap.

Rainbow arrived at the library, watching Celestia herself trot in the crystal door, and followed. She stopped right at the door, Scootaloo standing to her left, opposite the flame tube, just in time to hear Twilight’s utterance. She spoke up, preventing the Princess from responding, “Hey, Twi, you got a fire going in here? It’s sorta unseasonably chilly out here, and I can’t burn anything in my house.”

Scootaloo zipped in and started looking. It was the first time the filly had been inside the new library, and she was caught up in looking around, even as Twilight pointed to the not currently lit fireplace, “Rainbow Dash, it is twenty-seven degrees outside. It is not chilly, it’s not even cool outsi…” she noticed the white suit her friend was wearing, and immediately dropped all of the books she had open, muttering, “nine-oh-eight. Flamethrowers. Can’t feel heat properly. All dead. Basically fireproof, tested to volcano. Celestia?”

“Rainbow Dash, go sit in the fireplace. We will discuss this when I am done figuring out what I’m going to do,” Celestia’s voice was a stilted sort of calm that rode on an undercurrent of fear, “Twilight, would you mind letting me see ALL of your notes?”

Twilight quickly made a spot on the floor for the Diarch and started floating her notes around, absently grabbing Scootaloo off the top shelf and setting her on the floor before she could jump.

Applejack scrambled away from the corpse, started running, found herself at the river that ran through the orchards, and dove in. The cool water did little to erase the memories of the creature killing a pony in front of her. The creature had been so efficient with the monstrously huge stallion that she was afraid he would come after her. Then he left. What in Tartarus was going on? She needed to find Twilight.

Fluttershy pushed herself off the grass and spat some more blood onto the grass. His words were sinking in. She didn’t want to kill anyone, but the voices in her head kept telling her to. She shuddered at a particularly violent thought of spit-roasting Angel Bunny, skinned alive and salted, or was it salt? She couldn’t really taste it, since it was just a flash, but she didn’t think she could do that to him. Maybe to some of the more stubborn canines…No she couldn’t think like that. She started slogging back towards her hut, both to clean up, and to grab her saddlebags. It was time to go to Zecora’s hut again, to get a refill.

Twilight looked at the corrections made to her notes by the Princess, and her jaw started wandering groundward as her eyes twisted in confusion and disgust. “Princess, how could you have done such things? I thought banishment was the worst punishment you ever used.”

Celestia sighed, pointed at Rainbow Dash, sitting comfortably on a bed of burning logs, and shook her head, “I had to. I thought I had eliminated every remaining trace of them. The Germane scientists swore that the 908th had been rendered sterile by their curse. The majority of the 906th,” she pointed at Scootaloo, on her third leap out the window, “Died from complications on landing.”

“Complications?” Suddenly Scootaloo was interested, “What sort of complications?”

“The kind induced by large boulders landing on them. They were all very young. Barely even old enough to mate. I had hoped they hadn’t yet. The same for the 903rd, though even their own scientists believed that the sheer quantity of poisons in their systems had rendered them either sterile, or toxic to their mates. And I personally tracked down every last…”

Randal burst into the library, blood leaking from his shoulder, eyes glowing blue, though the lantern was off. He stopped at the sight before him.

“And, I assume this is the Hyoo-man you found?”

“Yes, Princess. Why?”

She stood, faced him, and went even more pale. It was like looking back into the war. Fire behind him, all around her. Those glowing blue eyes. Those scars. Her tongue slid across her dry lips. She had known him, or his equal, at least. That wound in his shoulder, exactly like one she had suffered when the bastard child had shot her so long ago. The one who had escaped.

“Kill it. We cannot have any more of them crawling out.”

Rainbow injected her own opinion from the fireplace, “Maybe hear him out first. He doesn’t seem all that dangerous. Besides, for a hornless Minotaur, he’s not bad looking. ‘Cept for the scars.”

Sieben

Randel stared at Fluttershy, cradled in his arm. He knew the symptoms, he knew the side effects. He also knew that she couldn’t actually die, not really. Not easily. The other Invisible Nine he had met, had watched die, he had witnessed with his own eyes, performed with his own hands.

Wolf, he had pressed his Doorknocker to the broken man’s head, removed it from his shoulders with a thunderous retort that was only slightly muffled by the tattered, mud soaked jacket he had wrapped it in. Hans, after the rifles stopped firing, he tore across the sewer and gripped the peeling face skin. He didn’t try to put it back on, no, that would have been silly. He smashed the skull into the brick hard enough to splinter the back of the helmet, padding and all. Bat, Bartholemew Longstrider, his own brother, he had taken under his arm, a headlock. He remembered as brightly as the day it had happened.

Bat had driven his teeth into Randel’s ribcage. Randel tore his teeth out. Bat had lost himself in the lantern, his death would be no great loss. A blue glow had surrounded them, from Bat’s lantern, not his own. His mind had been clear as he had wrenched the giant’s head around and tore it from its neck. He crushed the skull beneath his boot, still bleeding, still screaming without air.

Johns, of the 902nd, Ballistic Tactics Troopers, living cannonballs. He had stood there, in front of the porcine once-man, had stood, pale eyes closed, but clear as he was showered by the gore. The thick wire mesh made short work of the creature.

Peterson, ‘Bear’, one of the last of the 906th Falling Tactics Troopers, he remembered how Bear’s heart tasted as he tore it out of the still animated corpse’s chest with his teeth. He remember the feeling of his own forearm shattering under the reflexive action of Bear chomping down on it.

He didn’t know the name of the first of the 909th Incindiary Tactics Troopers, just that the charred, somehow still alive body had burned him far more than Hans ever could. Not physically, but mentally. He never learned the man’s name, because he would never have used it. Nor did the man know his name. They knew each-other only by their numbers, only by their rank. It had been a painful moment when he ripped the man’s arm off and beat him half to death with it, but less than when he had crunched yet another skull beneath his feet, crimson tears leaking from his clear eyes.

Now, as he watched the young creature in his arms, he knew he couldn’t save her, that if she stopped, she could possibly live, but it would be as a coma patient in some hospital somewhere. Her body needed it as much as he needed…He flinched involuntarily as memories of Bat pushed to the forefront, what the Lantern had done to him and his brothers. What had happened to all of the Ubermensch. He glowered at Twilight, then stepped from the library. He removed his hand from her muzzle, shaking the blood into a bush that immediately began to bubble and hiss. His glove joined the bush quickly, and he kept walking, out to the river.

He set Fluttershy on the edge of the water, muzzle close enough that she could easily get a drink if she needed one, from water flowing quickly enough to remove and dilute vomit, should it happen. He sat on the ground, hands crossed over his knees, “Nine Oh Three. Do you understand what that means?”

She coughed up more blood into the water, didn’t even try to wipe it off, but looked up at him with blood leaking from either side of her mouth, “My grandfather told me. He told me my mother was immune to the pull, that I should have been, that it was linked to the Y-chromosome. My mother died of an overdose when I was seven. I had just started out.”

Randel stared at her, deep eyes reflecting nothing but her own.

“I had to. It was this burning feeling in my gut, one I never could get rid of! I had to drown it, but water didn’t work,” sobs began to rip from her throat, along with more blood, and bits of flesh, “I tried washing it away with sweet things, but it never did anything! I couldn’t take it anymore!”

Randel understood, if from an outside perspective. He was first generation, but he had seen the 903rd drinking alcohol to drown their pain, until that became no longer enough. One had tried pure bleach, another drank gasoline. It seemed to dull the fire burning inside, like the lantern did. Exactly like the lantern did.

“The pills, they help, a little. I can function, but…”

“It’s not enough. It never will be. I know how the curse affects the Plague Hunters. They share their suffering, but you…You never could, could you. The urge to cause pain was never great en…” He was cut off by more hacking sounds, and Fluttershy forcing herself to her hooves, blood flowing from her muzzle now, mixed with tears.

“I can’t hurt other ponies! I CAN’T DO IT!” Her hoof lashed out, crashing into Randel with surprising force, but not knocking the giant over. He grabbed her hoof reflexively, and began to squeeze. Hard enough to make the stiff hoof begin to compress, soft enough to not break it, yet. He leaned in close to her buttery muzzle, splattered with crimson.

He screamed, a deep, primal scream that transcended language, distance, and time, “YOU HAVE TO!”

Alice stared at the grey lantern sitting on her bed. It had woken her up. Not with the mutterings of Kill Them, not with the horrid moaning. No, she had grown used to those. Well, mostly. She understood why Randel had such dark eyes all the time. The primal scream had torn her from her bed, and her dagger was drawn at the lantern. The words it had screamed made no sense, and the lack of sound from the rest of the house told her that no-one else had heard it. No other person could hear it. She had checked. Oreldo, leech that he was, had even pressed his ear to the barrel of the lantern, but handed it off to Martis, who likewise heard nothing. They patiently waited for their commander’s craziness to recede back to normal levels, but the days passed, and it only grew worse.

She lifted the lantern, and looked into the closed shutters, flicking them open, “Please, whatever you are, leave me alone,” tears dripped from her eyes to the floor.