The Avatar of Albion: Bittersweet Victory.

by Jed R

Rating: mature
Tags: Original Character, Cutie Mark Crusaders, Prince Blueblood, DJ P0N-3, Human, Twilight Sparkle, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe, Sad
Length: 48948

The war was won. Now those who survived have to live with the consequences of victory...

The war was won. Solamina the Tyrant Sun was cast down. Now those who survived the war must learn to live with the consequences of their choices. Winning the war was hard. Living with the peace might be even harder.

Set postwar, this is a continuation of the "Avatar of Albion" universe, in which we see the consequences this conflict has had on the characters involved.

Index of other AOA stories can be found on the AOA Group.

Published 2015-02-04 18:00:02 UTC
Last updated 2016-11-28 09:27:30 UTC

Prologue: The Peace

The Avatar of Albion: Bittersweet Victory.

Prologue: The Peace.

By Jed R.

Brother and sister ponies. This is a trying time. For those among you who have remained in Equestria during all these hard years of conflict, you have seen your lands invaded, your cities burning. You have had a taste of the horror inflicted upon the planet Earth, and some of you may feel the rage they have felt. Your monarch, Astra Solamina Maxima, has been deposed and her works are even now in the process of being undone. It would be easy in these times to try and seek revenge, but I beg you to be patient. This time is hard and the times after will be harder, but only together can we regain our country's harmony.

Inaugural Address of Prince Blueblood of Equestria.

***

There was a war, a war which saw nearly all of the human race annihilated by an Empire led by one who had once been a benevolent leader, but had now become a foul Tyrant. That war was bloody and brutal.

And then it ended, with the death of heroes and the defeat of the Tyrant.

Now those who remain must live with the consequences of a bittersweet victory…

***

Canterlot Palace. August 14th. Year 0 of the New Free Equestrian Calendar (2030 Earth time).

Princess Mi Amore Cadenza walked with as much dignity as she could manage, given the somewhat tenuous situation she was in. Her Crystal Pony Guards were tense and grim faced, each of them looking decidedly concerned.

The Court of Prince Blueblood was a much grimmer place than Celestia's court had been. Where once bright colours had dominated, now deep regal blues and dark blood reds were the order of the day. The stain glass windows of the courtroom remained broken whilst small enchantments now kept the wind from entering the throne-room. The Royal Day Guard had been replaced with Night Guard, and relegated to more menial tasks while the transition between rulers was still ongoing (and while many of their number were still recovering from their experience following Solamina’s death and the breaking of the magic that held their loyalty so firmly, Cadence thought grimly). The contrast did not help set Cadence's mind at ease, especially given the reason she had been called here.

The Crystal Empire had never technically been a part of the Solaminan Empire - more a... protectorate state, or close political ally. Even so, the distinction was hardly important except as a matter of semantics.

Crystal Ponies had been sent to war for Solamina, and Crystal Empire technology had been commissioned and sent to support the war effort, most notably the focusing crystal that had maintained Canterlot's shield and the Crystal Golems that had fought for Solamina in Britain and at home. The Crystal Empire had also given something that was to Cadence's mind far more precious: her husband, Shining Armour, had died in the line of duty, returning to the Royal Guard to help fight against the humans and the 'Equestrian Resistance'.

Now that the Solaminan Empire had been disbanded, however... Cadence was left with the politically tricky position of having to deal with Prince Blueblood and the new Equestrian Kingdom. Public opinion was already divided, so she understood: many ponies felt that Solamina’s death was an act of terrorism, with some even calling for Cadence, as the last Alicorn, to lead the remaining Solaminan loyalists. Others were more than happy to denounce Solamina utterly… and those, like Cadence, who had supported her even tacitly.

Blueblood himself was sat on the throne, looking for all the world like a harried school-teacher. His once perfect mane was ruffled and his armour was unpolished. He had bags under his eyes, and he greeted Cadence with a tired smile.

"Princess Cadenza," he said quietly. "So good of you to come."

"Prince Blueblood," Cadence replied cordially. They had known each other in school - the experience was not something Cadence liked recalling: Blueblood had been a snotty little bucker, only ever concerned with his own comfort, and had often bullied or intimidated most of the other ponies in his classes. Still, no reason not to be amicable to the now-leader of a foreign state. "To what do I owe this invitation?"

"There are some matters we must discuss, Princess," Blueblood said shortly. He turned to his Guards. "Show Princess Cadenza's Guards out, and leave us alone. This is a private matter of state."

The Night Guard saluted and moved to surround the small Crystal Pony contingent. The leader of the Crystal Ponies gave Cadence a look, and she nodded. A moment later, all the Guards had been escorted outside.

"That's better," Blueblood said with a sigh. "Hello again, Cadence."

"Blueblood," Cadence said with a scowl - she was irritated at the dismissal of her guards, as well as his overly familiar manner: they had never been friends, after all. "What is this?"

"What is what?" Blueblood asked with a frown.

"You know very well what," Cadence said angrily. "You summon me here without any indication of what to expect, and then you dismiss my Guards. Should I expect a dagger in my back?"

Blueblood's amiable expression hardened. "Only if you intend to keep acting as Solamina's supporter instead of accepting the new status quo."

"Says you," Cadence snapped.

"Yes," Blueblood said, his eyes flashing. "Says me, the pony who saw the error of his ways and actually endeavoured to make a difference. I've had two years to see what the Solaminan Empire did, and let me tell you, I wish I'd left sooner."

Cadence snorted. "So they could have made you their leader sooner, I suppose."

"No, actually," Blueblood sighed. "So I could have saved more lives."

There was a pause. This was unexpected: Cadence had heard that Blueblood had changed somewhat, but the idea that he actually wanted to have made a difference sooner… that was not what she had been anticipating at all.

“I don’t expect you to approve of me staying in Equestria,” Cadence began.

“No, I understand,” Blueblood cut her off. “First you didn’t understand how far Auntie had fallen - none of us did. We all thought she had never changed and when we did realise something was wrong we simply thought it would all get better soon. After we were proven wrong…” He paused, frowning, as if reminiscing about those times. “I imagine you were afraid of what she’d do. And obviously, there was Shining Armour…”

“Yes,” she said snappishly. Shining Armour’s death was rather a sore point for her. “Yes, those were my reasons.”

“And I understand them,” Blueblood said quietly, as if he were trying to be tender. “I really do. Which is why I want to maintain the political alliance between our two nations. It’s important not only because it helps to cement my position, but it helps cement yours…”

Cadence frowned. So he knew about the anti-Empire sentiment, did he?

“... and it helps create the impression of political stability,” Blueblood added. “Which I’m sure you’ll agree is important.”

She sighed. He had her there.

“You’re right, of course,” she said quietly. “It is important.”

“So then,” Blueblood said, smiling slightly. “Shall we get to the brass tacks of a new treaty?”

***

Ponyville. August 15th. Year 0 of the New Free Equestrian Calendar (2030 Earth Time).

A purple Unicorn mare stood over a green Unicorn mare: the purple mare looked tired, a few small streaks of grey marring her otherwise deep purple mane. The green mare was shaking, tears in her eyes even as she lay under the purple mare’s ministrations.

“Just hold still, Miss Blumen,” Twilight Sparkle, late of the Archmagi and former Element of Order (though she preferred to be thought of as an Element of Harmony) said as she stood over her patient. Schöne Blumen was a Converted: one of over three billion still alive. The Converted had once been human beings, but they had become brainwashed, soul-damaged servants of Astra Solamina Maxima, once the benevolent Celestia.

Now, with her death, they were broken. The brainwashing had damaged their souls, but being freed of it had not fixed that damage, merely left them able to perceive it without the brainwashing clouding their perception. Now, the daunting task of trying to help them somehow was left up to Sparkle herself.

Not that she got any appreciation for this, of course - for her own role in Solamina’s atrocities, however much of a brainwashed puppet she too had been, she found herself ostracised by ponydom at large. Still - to her, this was fitting punishment for a failure more monumental than any that had ever happened in Equestria’s history. She would serve her penance through sweat and toil, and fix the Converted if she spent the rest of her life doing it.

A moment later, she stepped away from the now unconscious Blumen.

“If she follows suit,” she said quietly to a nearby Nurse, “then she’ll wake up in a couple of hours tired, but feeling less… broken.”

“Thank you,” the Nurse said tightly. Twilight said nothing, but with her own small smile left the small hospital.

Outside, she found True Grit, technically both her jailor and bodyguard, waiting for her. The green Unicorn stallion smiled slightly as he saw her exit the building.

“Done, ma’am?” he asked.

“That’s the last Converted in Ponyville,” Twilight said with a small nod. “I’ve healed them all. In soul at least.” Her face fell. “I think it’ll take more than I can do to heal their other scars.”

“I guess it will, ma’am,” Grit said with a nod. “Still, you’ve done what you can. Is there anything else in Ponyville you can do?”

Twilight looked around thoughtfully. She had come back here to make peace with her past before moving on to her future. The place had once been home - but now it was empty. She had lost everything. Now there was nothing left but regret for what she had given up…

And remorse for what she had done.

“No,” she said. “It’s time we were moving on. I’ve heard of more than a few Converted having moved out to Appleoosa, I suggest we go there next.”

“Yes ma’am,” True Grit said with a nod. Together, the two of them headed off.

They had a lot to do.

Author's Note

The war is never the end. It is only the beginning.

This is the continuation of The Avatar of Albion in which we get to see just how the war has affected... pretty much everypony and everybody.

To new readers, I'd recommend reading the original AOA first. If nothing else, none of this will make sense without it. To my old readers, welcome along for the new ride! I hope you find it as enthralling. I can't promise as regular an update schedule as I'd like, but that's ok. It should be fun regardless, and some of these chapters will be longer anyway.

Thanks for coming along with me, folks.

Ask For (No) Mercy.

Ask For (No) Mercy.

A short story by Jed R.

The Old Bailey Court, London. September 12th, 2030.

“Jacob Levy. You stand before this court accused of crimes against humanity and ponykind.”

I thought I was saving us.

You were destroying us.

“These crimes include the following: aiding and abetting the Solaminan regime in their campaign of genocide against the human race. Contributing to the slaughter and forced Conversion of several hundred humans. Killing human and Equestrian Resistance ponies in acts of unlawful sedition. Causing and orchestrating uncountable amounts of criminal damage to the city of Plymouth. Willing membership of a terrorist organisation..."

I thought I was doing what was right.

You deluded yourself.

“How do you plead?”

“Guilty, your honour.”

“Do you understand that what you have done brings the harshest of judgement?”

And that it deserves it?

“Yes, your honour.”

“Do you have anything to say in your defence?”

How can I say anything? I know what I did.

What you did cannot be defended, or justified.

What I did… I did because…

You should have known. Salvation is for better men, and isn’t so easy as to be found at the bottom of a vial.

“No.”

“Mr Levy… you do realise that without speaking on your own behalf, and having refused duly appointed counsel, we have little choice but to put forward the harshest sentence possible?”

“I realise that, sir.”

“Mr Levy, in the interest of fairness, I will ask directly: speak for your own defence, or we can grant you no clemency.”

Clemency? Mercy? What mercy is there they can offer?

What mercy do I deserve?

“I ask for no mercy.”

“No mercy?”

No mercy? Do you think you are beneath mercy? That what you did was somehow justifiable, that you don’t need mercy?

“Mr Levy, what you have done amounts to nothing less than a crime against the sum total of humanity. You aided a regime bent on the extermination of mankind, already responsible for the destruction or enslavement of billions. And you say you ask for no mercy?”

You mock us. You mock what we have suffered.

I mock nothing. I don’t deserve mercy.

"I don't deserve it, sir."

"Indeed?"

Do you think it is your place to appoint the manner of your own punishment?

"And you don't think the court has some say in what you deserve, Mr Levy?"

"Of course sir, but..."

But what?

But I didn't understand.

Silver Morning screaming. That glare, dead eyed and empty - "me" - the one who is wrong - all the pain of what they became, what I/you helped them become because you thought it would be better...

"But what, Mr Levy?"

"But I know what I did, sir."

"Do you?"

How can you know? You haven't lived it. You haven't felt what they felt. You haven't suffered what they suffered.

"Tell me, Mr Levy: what did you do?"

I thought I helped them.

"We were dead, sir. I thought I was helping save us. And then I reasoned it away..."

Reasoned it away? Do you think any reason can justify...?

"I know people who were PER who hated humanity, sir. Penny Hatfield, Jackie Reitman in America before the Gilead crisis... but I never did it because I hated humanity. I just knew life was hard. I thought it would be better for everyone to be..."

I thought you'd be free of pain. Instead I drowned them in it. I buried their souls in it and painted a smile on the gravestone.

"I thought it would be better."

"And now?"

"Now..." Silver Morning's stare/screams of Converted/dead eyes staring across a room, looking at nothing, empty of hope... "Now I know it wasn't. I've seen what I did for what it was."

...

...

"Mr Levy."

Excuses.

"I can understand a man fighting for a cause he believes in. I can even almost understand your belief that you were fighting to help the human race. But that does not change what you did."

Nothing ever can.

"You are complicit in murder and pain, a pain that can never be washed away and murder beyond the count of grief or the understanding of rationality. There is no cure for Conversion, Mr Levy, and barring a miracle from the Equestrian Science and Magic Commission, there never will be. Those who have been Converted - those who you helped Convert - are forever trapped in their new lives."

There is no excuse, no reason, no justification.

"There is no crime in human history equal to what you have done. Never has there been such a fundamental and yet indiscriminate attack on the basic right of all humanity to live, without thought for race, class, creed... never has the human race been so threatened. When we needed to stand together, it was men like you who tore us apart."

You could have saved us. You could have fought by his side and helped save humanity from its end. Instead you tore us apart - fought against him, even tried to kill him.

"When we needed you, you abandoned us, attacked us, then called it helping us."

I thought I was!

Delusions are not an excuse.

"Because there is no crime to match yours, Mr Levy, there is no punishment humanity has on record fit for it. I will not sentence you to death, much as others wish it. There have been uncounted deaths: millions of ponies, billions of humans. I think that's enough. But the fact remains that the human race has no answer for your crimes."

Because no one in our history has ever been so thoroughly, delusionally evil.

"And so the answer I have settled upon, after consulting with the Equestrian Government, is to cast you out from the human race."

... what?

"We have in stock small amounts of the ponification potion: while it is a vile substance, there are stockpiles left intact for study. You will be taken from this place and, in controlled conditions, administered the potion as punishment for your crimes against mankind."

You abandoned humanity. Now humanity abandons you.

"You will be a pariah - a Converted among ponies, a traitor among humans, belonging in neither world fully. It is the fate you have delivered unto others. What you choose to do after your conversion is your choice Mr Levy: you have an entire life ahead of you as a pony. But you will never again be human. I can think of no more fitting punishment."

I'll lose everything I have... everything I am.

Just like them.

You asked for no mercy. We have given you none.

***

In the years after the Solaminan War, there was a Converted who went by the name of Just Penance. He joined the Dead Men and, by his own request, often served in the most dangerous of fronts: the Solaminan remnants, the crazed rioters, the warlords... and he did so without hesitation. Those who served with him called him quiet, or polite, but he never left more of an impression than that. And never once did he say who he had been or speak of the life he had led.

He would only say that he had asked for no mercy.

Politics, Part 1

Politics: Part 1.

A short story by Jed R.

Council Chamber, Somewhere in Scotland, September 10th, 2030.

The human race had been drastically diminished by the war with Solamina, and before that by the expansion of the Barrier. In surviving the horrors that had been inflicted, they had learned to give up many of the freedoms that they had once thought so important in their lives - the most obvious being leadership that was democratically elected. In place of the democratic bodies that had once led most of the world, there had been a Council set up: one representative for human civilian interests, one representative for human military interests and one Equestrian representative for the Equestrian Resistance. While the war was over, it would be a long time before the Council would be disbanded and democratic rule returned - there was far too much to do.

The Council chambers were hidden in a complex somewhere in a secret location in Scotland, where they could never be located by the Solaminan forces. Within that complex, a magenta Earth Pony walked, heading for the Council chambers themselves. A moment later, she entered the small circular room.

"Mr Sato, General Redmond," Councillor Cheerilee said politely as she greeted the two other members of the Earth Council. With Prince Blueblood's return to Equestria and his assumption of the mantle of Prince of the new government, it seemed prudent that Cheerilee once again resume her post as representative for the ponies on Earth.

"Ma’am," General Redmond replied politely. The dark-skinned Texan man was the replacement for General Paul Anderson, a blonde Australian who had resigned shortly after Solamina’s defeat and promptly left the army. apparently, he was eager to leave the life of war behind him.

Mr Sato was a Japanese man of larger build who had been appointed the representative of the civilian refugees when the first Council had been inaugurated. He bowed to Cheerilee without a word.

"What’s on today’s agenda?" the magenta pony asked, checking their schedule.

"We’ve had reports," Sato began without preamble, "that several groups of people wish to begin setting up small colonies of people in their old homelands."

Cheerilee frowned. "Is that possible?"

"The Barrier’s gone," Redmond said with a shrug, "and there’s a lot of empty space out there. Priority farmland is still up for grabs, and heck, it might alleviate some of the burden on the British Isles. God knows we wore these old rocks dry during the war."

"That being said, there are security issues," Sato said seriously. "There is a concern that the Converted colonists may prove… troublesome."

"The Converted aren’t still a problem, are they?" Cheerilee asked. Sato looked at Redmond, who sighed.

"We don’t know," he said. "Some of them are just plain unpredictable. Some of them are catatonic, some of them are ok but traumatised, and some of them don’t seem any different than before - fanatical loyalists to the Solaminan cause. We’ve had reports of skirmishes between maddened Convies and our troops all over the place."

"Great," Cheerilee sighed. "Alright. So what do we do about people wanting to go back home?"

"Best option as I see it," Redmond said, "is to send soldiers with the colonists. Establish secure bases, defensive positions and prioritise resource rich areas. Worry about spreading out another time: people'll be happy enough to be on home soil."

"Will they?" Sato asked. “Some of them may prefer to be on ground of their choosing.”

“Then they’ll have to learn to live with disappointment,” Redmond said with a scowl. “We can’t have a bunch of colonists going here, there and everywhere.”

"Are you sure they won’t resent the presence of the military?" Cheerilee asked.

"They might," Redmond shrugged, "but at this point we don't have a choice. If groups of two dozen people want to colonise what’s left of Washington, we simply can't afford to let them. That's two dozen viable, genetically diverse people who will be lost to us if we don't protect them in a bigger colonial territory."

"So we let them go, control where they go to prioritise resource areas, and we keep them guarded by soldiers," Cheerilee summed up. "All in favour?"

She raised a hoof. Both men raised their hands as well

"Aye," Sato said. "I agree."

"Settled," Redmond concluded.

"Good," Cheerilee said, smiling wearily. "I just hope it doesn't come back to bite us."

***

Canterlot Palace, September 14th, Year 0 of the New Free Equestrian Calendar (2030).

Prince Blueblood was not having a good day.

"What?" he asked the courier who had come to the Blood court (the informal name for Blueblood's court now that he had taken over governance of Equestria). The courier, a Night Guard soldier in midnight blue armour, coughed slightly, his lungs burning from exertion.

"Reports have reached the capital that there are secessionist cities still flying the Solaminan flag," he repeated. "I have reports that Las Pegasus and Manehatten have both declared themselves independent capitals of the New Solaminan Empire, with Princess Cadence declared their unofficial rallying flag."

Blueblood blinked, shocked. "Cadence?"

"The Princess is already en route, My Lord," the courier said, "though she sent a message ahead denying any part in this."

"Of that I have no doubt," Blueblood said, turning away from the courier and slumping into the throne. "Have we… have we received any demands?"

"None sir," the courier said. "Though there are reports of fighting in those areas as the Traitor Guard attempt to solidify their power base."

"Of course," Blueblood said quietly. "And here I thought the fighting was over." He took a deep breath. "Has word reached the Earth council yet?"

"We don't know," the courier said shortly.

"I see," Blueblood said quietly. "Please summon Captain Doo for me."

"At once my lord," the courier said, dashing off.

With the courier gone, Blueblood blew a whistle of frustration through his lips.

"This is all I need," he muttered. He had barely been on the throne three months now, and already there was talk of rebellion. It wasn't like he hadn't expected it: it was a sad thing but ponies tended to be resistant to change, but still, he had expected protest marches, not... more war.

"Blueblood?" a voice asked. Blueblood looked up, to see Cadence standing in the doorway of the room, Dinky behind her, frowning at her back.

"Princess Cadence," Blueblood said shortly. "Want to explain why ponies are wandering around causing trouble in your name?"

"I had nothing to do with them," Cadence protested. "They didn't so much as approach me."

"And yet they're supposedly running around using you as the rallying flag for Solaminan loyalists all across Equestria!" Blueblood snapped angrily. He paused, taking a breath. "Do you think the humans will continue to allow Equestria to manage its own affairs without guidance if this keeps up?"

"What do you mean?" Cadence asked, narrowing her eyes in confusion at this remark.

Blueblood sighed tiredly. "The only reason the Resistance was allowed to form its own Equestrian government, free from interference, was because the humans couldn't spare a single soldier to act as an occupation force and they trusted me. They've lost too much. They trusted me to keep order, and yet here we are."

"The rebels aren't anypony's fault," Cadence said, frowning. “They were always going to happen.”

"They're Solaminan loyalists, ostensibly loyal to an ally of the new Equestrian state," Blueblood said. "I'm not sure fault will come into it."

"What... what will the humans do?" Cadence asked.

"I don't know," Blueblood muttered. "I honestly don't. It depends how angry they are. This entire thing has left more than a few bitter people with a grudge against ponies, and while the Equestrian Resistance fighting and dying alongside them did something to quell those feelings, they aren't gone."

Cadence thought for a moment. She supposed she could understand the human perspective - actually, no, she could definitely understand it. But the idea of Equestria being occupied was… unpleasant.

“Is there another way?” she asked. “A way to appease the humans without having occupying armies running around?”

“I have no idea,” Blueblood said softly. He sighed and looked at Dinky. “Captain Doo, gather the Night Guard and any Royal Guard still loyal to us who haven’t taken leave. I fear we shall have to go to war again.”

“Yes, my liege,” Dinky said, nodding and saluting before dashing off.

“Do you have enough troops?” Cadence asked. “I can have Crystal Ponies come and assist.”

“That would be beneficial,” Blueblood said, sighing. “And you need to give a statement decrying these acts - otherwise they’ll keep using you as a rallying cry.”

“What about the humans?” Cadence asked.

“They’ll find out,” Blueblood sighed. “Sooner or later. When they do…”

He frowned, and then, impossibly, a smile appeared on his face.

“There is one way to prevent it from being as much of a problem,” he said quietly. Before Cadence could ask what he meant, he marched out, and she followed him, uncertain as to what he was planning on doing but not entirely certain she was going to like it.

***

Dead Men HQ, London, September 15th 2030.

What are the Dead without purpose? Manfred Stein found himself thinking as he sat behind a desk, going through reports. It was all well and good being Dead, but the war was over and it was difficult to maintain morale among the other Dead Men. Sure, there were Dead Men who were still on duty, guarding hither and thither as part of small groups, but their position as a technically independent military force within the BDF relied heavily on the BDF needing soldiers who were that willing to die, and now the BDF simply didn’t. Regular BDF were sufficient for most tasks.

Added to that was the lack of an Undead to lead the order. There was no precedent for replacing the leader of the Dead Men, since he had been the one who founded it, and Manfred - as one of the senior survivors after the battle, to his own surprise - wasn’t sure how to deal with the problem. He had been left in temporary control of the order by virtue of being one of the highest ranking survivors who hadn't left their order.

Some Dead Men or higher rank or higher seniority had left the Order, among others. Men like Kraber, Dupont, Thomason... now that the war was over, many seemed to think they could perhaps begin to live their lives again. Though Manfred could understand it, he couldn’t agree with it - they had all accepted that they were all dead, that all that was left was duty and purpose. Refusing that...

Still, there was something odd that had started happening. There had been an influx of new converts for the Dead Men, or rather, new Converted - the Converted, freed from Solamina's influence upon her death, had found themselves reliving a horrifying experience. Many of them felt, for want of a better term, empty... and in that emptiness, they had sought answers. They had sought purpose. The Dead Men offered that, ostensibly, though the lack of missions or real need for the Dead Men in the current army prevented these Converted from being entirely satisfied even with this life.

“Sir?” a voice called. He turned to see one of his men arrive, saluting as he did so. “We just got a message through. We’re to receive an important guest.”

“An important guest?” Stein repeated. “Who?”

Before the soldier could reply, a pony in Night Guard armour arrived - a lilac mare with blonde mane, a far sterner expression on her face than belonged on a mare that young by any rights. She stopped before Stein and nodded.

"Mr Stein," she said. "I understand you're the man to speak to?"

"Captain Dinky Doo," Stein said, nodding in return. "What brings you to the Dead Men's HQ?"

"War," Dinky Doo replied quietly. Manfred raised an eyebrow at this and leant forward in his chair.

"The war is over," he said quietly.

"Unfortunately," Doo said, "some ponies in Equestria don't want it to be."

Manfred nodded slowly. "Holdouts?"

"Of a sort," Doo said with a sigh. "There's all sorts of problems, problems that Prince Blueblood feels will make the Council... nervous." She lowered her head. "He is concerned that they will remove some of Equestria's... autonomy."

"Is that a possibility?" Manfred asked.

"We don't know," Dinky said. "But..."

There was a pause as she left her sentence hanging.

"But?" Manfred prompted.

"But Prince Blueblood is of the opinion that the reason Equestria retains the freedom it does is because of the fact that the Council trusted him to maintain order," she finished. "In lieu of that, he worries for Equestria's autonomy. Lingering Solaminan feelings will not be helped by the BDF occupying the streets, and frankly the BDF has more than a few individuals who... well, may not be discriminating should it come to conflict."

"I see your point," Manfred said, frowning. Truth be told, even he had felt anti-pony sentiment. He had seen Conversion firsthand.

Children ponified, foals whimpering as their human parents surrounded them. The wailing of women. Gunshots: one, two, three... reload, fire, fire, reload, aim... the crack of bones breaking, the tortured gaming of a woman as he forced the sealed bottle of potion down her throat, revenge for thirty little lives that she had ended...

"But I fail to see how I can help," he added.

"Well, that's the thing," Dinky said, a wry grin on her face. "You aren't BDF. You're technically independent."

"Technically," Manfred repeated. "But..."

"Besides which, a large number of ponies are with the Dead Men," Dinky said. "Seeing a unified pony and human force will alleviate the sense of there being a human occupation, and in fact increase a sense of unity between our species, and the human element will appease the Council's need for human military involvement in Equestrian affairs."

"The Dead Men are hardly an optimistic symbol," Manfred pointed out.

"True," Dinky said, "but the Dead Men are nationless, species-less. Your loyalty is to duty, correct?"

"Indeed," Manfred said.

"Then I think peacekeeping and cleanup makes for a good duty, don't you?" Dinky continued.

Manfred thought the idea through. It made sense, though he hated to admit it.

"Catch?" he asked.

"Apart from being in Equestria? None," Dinky said. "You'd answer to Prince Blueblood directly, since he's technically still the supreme commander of all military forces. I'd be your liaison with Night Guard and other Equestrian military."

Manfred sighed, leaning back in his chair and thinking about it. It would give the Dead Men new purpose now the war was over - and they desperately needed purpose. He knew it. Everyone knew it.

"Alright," he said finally. "Alright. We'll do it."

***

Grey Squadron: The Penitent

Grey Squadron: The Penitent.

A short story by Jed R.

Dramatis Personae:

Grey Squadron.

Dream Flyer (Grey Leader). Pegasus Female.

Mellow Air (Grey Two). Pegasus Female.

Rock Hurricane (Grey Three) Pegasus Male

Solid Hoof (Grey Four). Pegasus Male.

Blood Glide (Grey Five). Pegasus Male.

Star Blitz (Grey Six). Pegasus Male.

Bright Wonder (Grey Seven). Pegasus Female.

Acquiescence (Grey Eight) Pegasus Female.

Elegant Flight (Grey Nine) Pegasus Female.

White Blossom (Grey Ten). Pegasus Female.

Burning Feathers (Grey Eleven) Pegasus Converted Male.

Scootaloo (Grey Twelve). Pegasus Female.

ERAF And BDF.

Grey Fox (Air Commodore). Pegasus Male.

Jared Smith (Dead Man Sergeant). Human Male.

Bountiful Bouquet (Archmagi Commander). Unicorn Female.

Gentle Flower (Archmagi). Unicorn Converted Female.

***

Equestrian Royal Air Force HQ, Cloudsdale. February 6th, Year 1 of the New Free Equestrian Calendar (2031).

Ponies marched hither and thither in parade ground formations across the training ground in Cloudsdale. Scootaloo could only watch them and think how strange it was to see such different uniforms on the ponies in this place.

The old Wonderbolt military HQ had been repurposed for the Equestrian Royal Air Force, the immediate successors to the Equestrian Resistance Air Force that had fought in the war. Those Wonderbolts who had survived the battles in Cloudsdale and Canterlot had returned to their old training grounds and began to rebuild their ranks as Stunt Flyers once again, safe in the knowledge that they no longer needed to act as a military. However, just because the war was over, that didn't mean there was no need for an armed Air Force beyond the Guard. Indeed, the Guard had been horribly reduced by the conflict: the Eclipse Guard in Canterlot had been all but wiped out, the Royal Guard had taken an estimated sixty five percent casualty rate and the Night Guard who had come to bolster and supplant them were such a small group that they barely covered the losses (and that was without taking their own into account). Though the need for such a large army was gone - the new Equestrian Principality wasn't intent on wars of conquest soon - there was still conflict. Solaminan loyalists, warlords, rebels and renegades filled Equestria. The fighting wasn't over yet.

And so the ERAF had been reformed into the replacement light armoured Air Force for the Equestrian Principality. This, along with the renewal of the Equestrian Royal Armed Forces and the commissioning of four new Haughty Frame class zeppelins (the new name given to the 3,800 foot long, monstrous super-zeppelins like the former Solar Glory, renamed the Haughty's Revenge after Cloudsdale), six Sky-God class zeppelins (a 1,200 foot "regular" Zeppelin battleship class) and twelve more Interdiction class zeppelins (each about 700 feet long), was part of Blueblood's effort to solidify the military power base of a shattered nation and to quell the smaller wars before they began.

Scootaloo couldn't imagine why anypony, after six years of war, would want more of it. She could still see blood and fire in her nightmares, the smell of it permeating her nostrils, and she had only fought in a hoof-full of battles: some of the ponies still trying to fight Blueblood's regime were veterans of the war who had fought since the beginning.

She shook her head, clearing her mind. She needed to focus today: she was here to join the ERAF, and while Wonderbolts had joined and were joining, there was a certain stigma attached to being a Wonderbolt when you joined up. Wonderbolts might have saved the air battle over Canterlot - but Wonderbolts had slain hundreds, if not thousands. Wonderbolts had killed King Charles of Britain. Wonderbolts had slaughtered Grey Squadron over Manchester. Wonderbolts had attacked Buckingham Palace when King William was delivering a speech, and only the Avatar of Albion had stopped them. Wonderbolts had attacked Leeds.

And she, Scootaloo, had been present for both of the last occasions. Her name was known among certain circles - her only saving grace was that she was known both as the pony who had been behind the Leeds raid and as the pony who had started the Cloudsdale insurrection by killing a Royal Guard officer.

Still, her record was sure to stand against her here unless she was very good at convincing Air Commodore Fox.

'Just be cool, Scoots,' a now familiar voice in her head said. Scootaloo half scowled.

Since Cloudsdale, a voice had spoken to her in her head; the voice of Rainbow Dash. She had acted as something between Scootaloo's guide and Scootaloo's conscience. Scootaloo didn't know whether this was a sign she was going crazy or not, but she wasn't about to spend months talking to a psychiatrist or getting her head looked at by a specialist mind-Doctor when, as far as she knew, this thing in her head was harmless.

'And awesome,' the voice reminded her. She sighed. Harmless apart from the ego.

Taking a breath, Scootaloo headed toward the HQ building.

She had an appointment to keep.

***

Air Commodore Grey Fox was surprisingly at home in his position as the new chief of the ERAF. His time as Upsilon Leader had certainly left him surprisingly confident, far more so than he had been years ago. Surviving the battle of Canterlot had probably helped - Canterlot had been a crucible for the ERAF - hundreds of Guard and Convie flyers and Zeppelins against only a few squadrons of trained flyers, and yet the Resistance's finest had succeeded.

He looked at Scootaloo with a raised eyebrow as she stepped into his office.

"Hello, Miss Scootaloo," he said quietly as she sat down in front of his desk.

"Sir," she replied.

"You'll understand that I was somewhat surprised to hear that you wanted to join the ERAF," he began, looking through her file. "A Wonderbolt joining the ERAF… it'll be challenging for you."

"I understand that, sir," Scootaloo said quietly. "But I'm willing to deal with everything that's thrown at me."

"If you say so," Fox said. "There are several squadrons that are still not up to par of course. Canterlot being so recent, we've not been able to fill all the rosters, and even before then getting skilled flyers was hard - Red was wiped out in London and we're only now rebuilding it, Green and Sigma need ponies, I think Eagle wanted somepony but they're getting a lot of volunteers..." He trailed off slightly, noticing the irritated look on Scootaloo's face. He smirked. "Come to think of it..." He paused. "There's only one Squadron that I think you could really make a difference in… I'm not sure they'd take you, though."

"Why not?" Scootaloo asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Tell you what," Fox said. "I'll call their leader in." He tapped his intercom. "Swift Errand, fetch me Captain Dream Flyer, would you please?"

"Sir," a voice replied quietly, sounding tinny from the small box.

A moment later, a light blue Pegasus with a short, dark blue mane and tail walked in, wearing a grey flight shirt and looking tired.

"Commodore," she said to Grey Fox, sounding less than thrilled. "What did you want?"

"Potential recruit for Grey," Fox said. Scootaloo said nothing. "Was wondering what you thought."

Flyer turned to look at Scootaloo, her eyes widening slightly as she took in the pony.

"Scootaloo," she said, her voice a low growl. "Wonderbolt Commander and the head of the Leeds raid, yeah?"

"Correct," Scootaloo said tersely.

Dream Flyer's mouth thinned. "This a joke, Commodore?"

"I don't joke about my work," Grey Fox said with a slight smirk. "Scootaloo is considered a good flyer - good enough, in fact, to fly with Grey."

"She killed members of Grey," Dream Flyer pointed out with a scowl. "And she's the reason True Blue is crippled."

"Which I think rather proves my point," Fox said. "Besides, she led the rebellion in Cloudsdale…"

"One good call," Dream Flyer said, "which doesn't excuse all she did before."

"Flyer," Fox said tiredly. "She's a good flyer. She'd be an asset to your Squadron."

"I'd rather have Bulk bloody Biceps in my squadron," Dream Flyer snapped.

"Excuse me," Scootaloo interrupted, scowling. "I am still here."

Dream Flyer threw her a glare. "And what about you, eh?" she asked. "Do you even want to be in Grey Squadron? Do you even understand what that means?"

"I want to be where I can do the most good," Scootaloo rejoined. Her expression was cold. "You're right. I did those things, and I did more besides. I have a lot to make up for in my life. A lot of bad things. One fight won't change that." She smirked slightly. "But I hear Grey tends to get into more than one fight."

"That it does," Fox said.

Dream Flyer said nothing, but kept scowling. Eventually, she turned away from the two of them.

"Don't expect to make any friends in my Squadron," she said shortly.

"I don't expect to make another friend as long as I live," Scootaloo replied. "And certainly not here."

Dream Flyer scowled, then sighed.

"Alright," she said. "Fine. Welcome to Grey Squadron."

She held out a hoof, and Scootaloo took it, shaking the hoof. She had a feeling she was making a mistake...

***

Half an hour later, Grey Squadron were stood in rows, Dream Flyer at their head looking the ranks of ponies up and down with a keen eye.

"Alright," she said shortly. "I am Group Captain Dream Flyer. When we're in the air, you call me Grey Leader, Lead or Boss." She looked the group up and down. "Some of you are new. Some of you are not. Some of you have flown with us before. Some of you have not." She narrowed her eyes at them all. "Understand this though - none of you will ever be the equal of names like Ditzy Doo, Lightning Dust, Errant Flight - the heroes that made this Squadron's name!"

Some of the ponies looked at each other uncomfortably.

"These are names that inspired the Equestrian Resistance," Dream Flyer continued. "Ponies who gave their all to the cause. You stand in their shadow, and let me tell you, it will be the rare pony who pushes their way out of it - and I don't think any of you are up to the task!"

She fixed her eyes Scootaloo as she said this. Scootaloo said nothing, keeping her eyes fixed ahead.

"Roll call!" Dream Flyer called out sternly. "Flight Lieutenant Mellow Air, Grey Two!"

"Present," the cool-headed mare said. She had come through the Battle of Canterlot with nothing but scratches, her surprisingly unassuming style masking skill in the air that left Royal Guard in the dust.

"Flight Officer Rock Hurricane, Grey Three," Dream Flyer continued.

"I'm here," the dark grey Pegasus stallion said with a smirk, his upswept black mane and general manner leaving the impression of a pony with an ego. His high position in the Squadron couldn't have helped this problem overmuch.

"Flight Lieutenant Solid Hoof, Grey Four," Dream Flyer said, ignoring the dark grey stallion.

"Here, boss," Hoof replied. The pony was stoic and stern as always - he had been a stalwart of the group since Leeds.

Dream Flyer gave him a nod before continuing. "Pilot Officer Blood Glide, Grey Five."

"Grey Leader," a dark grey Pegasus with a scar across his cheek said with a nod.

"Flight Officer Star Blitz, Grey Six," Flyer said, turning to a relaxed looking stallion.

"Boss," Star Blitz said, giving a lazy wave. The lackadaisical yellow pony was always a little informal, even after the battle of Canterlot.

"I'd say at ease, but I see you've got that covered," Dream Flyer said with a smirk. "Commander Bright Wonder, Grey Seven."

"Yes ma'am," Bright Wonder said chirpily. Wonder was a party-pony at heart, but she had always been a surprisingly good flyer too. Her rank as Commander was a promotion that normally only reached flyers who led squadrons, but Grey had a history of having high-ranking flyers in less prestigious positions. Bright Wonder's promotion was perhaps surprising, but the mare was a good flyer.

"Flight Officer Acquiescence," Dream Flyer said, throwing a smile at Wonder as she spoke. "Grey Eight."

A softly spoken, pale yellow mare with sad brown eyes, a brown mane and tail streaked with stress-grey, spoke up. "Here, ma'am."

"Good to have you," Dream Flyer said with a nod at her. She turned to a pale blue mare with mellow eyes and a complicated-looking black mane-style. "Pilot Officer Elegant Flight, Grey Nine."

"Present, ma'am," the mare replied, her tone clipped and eloquent. She gave the impression of being Cloudsdale elite of some description.

"Good to have you," Dream Flyer said. "Flight Leader White Blossom, Grey Ten."

"Here," said the alabaster mare quietly. The war had taken a lot out of her, but she wasn't willing to leave the squadron that had become her family. Her promotion to Flight Leader was an acknowledgement of her skill - the rank was properly "squadron leader", but obviously she didn't lead the squadron, so "Flight Leader" was the term used.

The next pony in the line was of some interest to everypony in the Squadron. He had a shaven head, no mane, though he had a small growth of beard. His tail was short as well. His left eye was empty, as though he had been blinded, but it seemed to see as well as his other. The most interesting thing about him, though, was that he had no cutie mark. He was a Converted.

"Pilot Officer Burning Feathers," Dream Flyer said, reaching him. "You're my Grey Eleven." She paused. "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer your human name?"

"My human life is gone," the stallion replied solemnly. "I must accept the life I have now, inasmuch as I can. Thank you for your kindness, though."

Dream Flyer said nothing. Finally her eyes flicked to Scootaloo.

"Pilot Officer Scootaloo," she said, her voice quiet, as though she were trying not to be angry. "Grey Twelve."

Scootaloo stood rigidly to attention. "Ready and able, ma'am."

"We'll see," Dream Flyer said, almost too quiet to hear. "Alright. Go to your barracks. None of you are listed as needing training, so you should be fine. We'll run some drills and then talk about our next few missions."

***

In the barracks, Scootaloo sat alone. Her new supposed 'squadmates' were talking over somewhere else. She sighed slightly, trying to be quiet - she didn't want undue attention. Nearby, she could see Bright Wonder and White Blossom talking.

Why had she come here? These ponies would never be her friends. She had done too much in her time, too much in her career with the Wonderbolts, to ever be right with them. She had personally fought Grey Squadron at Leeds, taking one of their flyers out herself. She still remembered the screaming...

Why had she come here? Did she somehow think this would make everything better?

'Maybe it won't make it better, Scoots', the voice of Rainbow Dash in her voice said quietly, 'but it's gotta be something, right? A second chance?'

Scootaloo snorted. I don't believe in second chances, Rainbow Dash.

'Maybe that's your problem,' the Dash voice said sagely, and Scootaloo felt the urge to roll her eyes. 'You don't want to believe you can make a new life for yourself here.'

I can't, Scootaloo thought pessimistically. No two ways about it.

'Lightning Dust didn't do too badly', the Dash voice pointed out. 'Made herself a new life even when her old one was destroyed and every dream she ever had was wrecked.' There was a brief, guilty pause. 'I'm glad about that. She… she deserved it.'

You can't be glad about anything, Scootaloo thought tiredly. You're a voice in my bucking head.

If you say so, but that doesn't mean I don't have a valuable perspective the Dash voice said, before falling silent.

Scootaloo sighed as she climbed into her bed and closed her eyes. She thought about writing to Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom, but she hadn't heard anything from them in ages. They had their own lives, she guessed.

I guess I'm alone after all, she thought to herself, feeling more morose than she had expected at the thought. But then again, maybe it was all she deserved.

Finding no reason to stay awake and wallow in her misery, she closed her eyes and went to sleep. Tomorrow would be another day, maybe the first of many such days, and she wanted to be ready.

As ready as she could be.

***

February 12th.

Dream Flyer scowled as she sat in the command briefing room, looking over a map of Equestria.

"As you can see," Grey Fox was saying, "the rebels hold Manehatten pretty tightly, as well as holding a good chunk of the Iron Wall. They're entrenched in the city and the best efforts of the Guard and the Dead Men to shift them out have been... unsuccessful. Las Pegasus is a quagmire of battle and bloodshed - I honestly don't know what's happening there, and I don't think anypony else does either."

"Typical," Flyer said derisively. "So - what's the ERAF's play?"

"I already have Heliotrope and the rest of Blue Squadron running a bunch of raids over the Remnant's section of the Wall," Fox said, pointing at a section of the Wall on the map. "And Pegasus is the Dead Men's playground now - Pony God help 'em, but they're holding out. However... I need something bigger from Grey."

"Why am I not surprised?" Dream Flyer murmured.

"The fact that they hold Manehatten is bad enough," Fox said sourly. "But that's not the biggest issue we have. Our Intel in Manehatten says that they've got potion factories in progress."

"Potion factories?" Dream Flyer repeated, raising an eyebrow. "But with Solamina gone, Converted aren't nearly as useful as they used to be for them."

"True," Grey Fox agreed, "but they don't care. Rumour has it they're aiming for damage, not resources. Sort of a terrorism thing, their target being the humans in the smaller territories they're re-colonising."

"But… I don't understand, how do they think they could do that?" Dream Flyer asked.

"What we know about the Solaminan Forces on the ground is… sketchy, at best," Fox said. "They've made repeated attempts to take Portal Island off of Las Pegasus, which makes most of us think we're dealing with an attempt to start the war all over again." He paused, letting that sink in. "At the very least, making potion factories and potion-attacking the new human settlements will destabilise the Blueblood regime, make his position untenable - and it could weaken relations between Blueblood and the humans if they're getting attacked on their own soil again."

Dream Flyer swore. "That's all we need. These idiots'll cause anarchy."

"Exactly," Grey Fox said with a sour grin. "Obviously, that cannot be allowed to occur. Blowing up this factory will slow their progress in that field considerably. Fortunately for us, we know where their factory is, and we have a trump card."

"If you say Grey Squadron..." Dream Flyer said with a scowl.

"No, actually," Fox said. "Grey Squadron will be running air cover on an Interdiction class Zep called the Ascension, which will be carrying a team of Dead Men elites and Night Guard into the city to destroy the factory. They have C4 and some magical charges we've concocted in the Archmagi labs."

Dream Flyer frowned at the mention of the Archmagi. Since the war had ended they'd been used as a combination research team and as the replacements for Celestia and Luna in moving the sun. "Can we trust anything they've given us?"

Grey Fox frowned slightly in disapproval. "It's been a fair time since the war ended. I think if anypony among them were going to turn on us, they'd have done it by now."

Flyer didn't look convinced, but she nodded.

"So we run air cover for the Ascension and hope to buck they don't have too many ponies in the air to oppose us?" she summarised.

"Something like that," Fox said. "You've got one of the best teams in the sky available."

"The team's untested," Flyer pointed out with a scowl. "I've got a lot of new flyers in my group, a lot of ponies I don't know the skillset of - then there's Burning Feathers, the Convie..."

"He came highly recommended," Fox cut her off.

"And that's not even mentioning Scootaloo," Flyer continued. "I don't trust her in my team."

"She's got the skills," Fox said with a shrug. "Though from what I hear, you put her in the plot slot."

Flyer smirked. "Where she deserves to be. She doesn't get a higher slot til she gets my trust."

"You'd best be darn sure that your issues with her don't cloud your judgement, Flyer," Grey Fox told her, narrowing his eyes. "I don't want to hear that she died on that mission because you gave her dud orders or forgot to cover her flank."

Dream Flyer narrowed her eyes, offended. "I don't let flyers die, sir."

"Even former Wonderbolts you've made a point of giving the worst treatment you can get away with?" Fox asked, raising an eyebrow. "I realize who she is and what she's done. But if you let your grudge get in the way of this operation and this fails, so help me Luna, the war will be the least of your worries."

"I'm a professional," was all Flyer said to that. "If that's all sir?"

"You take off on the morning of the fourteenth," Grey Fox said with a sigh. "The Ascension lands tomorrow to stock up and have you bunk up on her. Dismissed."

She saluted and trotted out, leaving Grey Fox to contemplate his decision to order her to take Scootaloo. From what she had said, her distrust didn't seem to stem from any fair reasons - that was unfortunate. But then again, Scootaloo had been clear that she didn't expect anything else.

"I hope they don't buck this up," he said to himself.

***

February 15th. EAS Ascension.

Being aboard the Ascension was a far cry from the spacious, almost luxurious feel of the Solar Glory, Scootaloo thought as she lay on her bunk, waiting for the call to mobilise. The six hour trip from Cloudsdale to Manehatten was already ridiculous. Doing it whilst trying to avoid glares from just about everypony was doubly so. Still, she thought numbly, it could be worse. Nopony had spat at her yet.

For six days it had been the same. At best, indifference and blank expressions, at worst hostility and glares. She had heard no kind words, seen no smiles, felt no friendship and had no reason to believe that would change. Even the supposedly "nicer" members of the squadron, White Blossom and Bright Wonder, had been at best cordial. Burning Feathers was the only one who treated her like everypony else, and that was only because he never spoke to anypony.

'It'll get better,' the voice of Rainbow Dash insisted. 'They're reasonable ponies.'

Scootaloo resisted the urge to snort derisively. Pull the other one, Dash. They hate me, and they're right to hate me.

'Nothing'll change if you keep thinking like that,' Dash's voice said, sounding disappointed. 'You can't just give up.'

You watch me, she scowled. As she spoke, she rolled up her long-sleeved flight shirt's right sleeve, staring at her arm. Three livid marks stood out against the fur. She closed her eyes, trying to will away the feeling, but the desire to feel... something was overwhelming.

She flicked out her left wrist blade, the weapon already attached ready for the battle ahead, and in one quick strike cut along the fur, bright red wetness beginning to show and slowly flow from the wound. Again she cut, and again a red mark appeared, leaking vital fluid from her arm. She was always careful not to catch an artery - she wasn't trying to kill herself after all - but it was always enough of a cut to let the blood flow.

It hurt. It felt. The numbness was gone in a sudden rush of pain, pain that lanced through her system like a javelin through her body, making her eyes widen and her teeth clench and a hiss escape her mouth. She closed her eyes, drinking in the sensation before it ebbed away, allowing it to overwhelm her senses.

The urge satiated, she flicked the blade away. She rolled her sleeve back down, concealing the still bleeding injuries - the material was, fortunately, thick enough to hide the cuts without showing a stain. Cutting was something she had only just started doing: the urge to feel something, to feel anything other than the haze of numbness that had descended since she joined the ERAF, was overwhelming. The pain was sharp, was focusing, was real. It reminded her that she was still alive, and that was a reminder she desperately, desperately needed.

"Scootaloo?" a voice asked. Scootaloo looked up from her bunk to see White Blossom in the doorway, a frown on her face.

"Flight Leader," she said, sitting up. "What can I do for you?"

"We'll be mobilising in the next half hour," Blossom said shortly, her voice soft, not unlike Fluttershy's had been a long time ago. "I expect you to be ready."

"I'm always ready, ma'am," Scootaloo replied, standing up and grabbing her other wrist-blade, attaching it to her right wrist, grimacing slightly as she did so.

Blossom's eyes drifted to that leg - clearly, she had been watching for some time.

"Pilot Officer Scootaloo," she said, sounding like she was trying to be delicate, "much as I don't want to pry... when was your last psych-eval?"

Scootaloo scowled. "When I joined the ERAF. I'm cleared for duty."

"I see," White Blossom said. "Scootaloo, I realise that I've been somewhat distant with you, but as your flight leader, my job is to keep you fit for duty. If there's anything you want to tell me -"

"There's nothing, ma'am," Scootaloo said shortly, almost cutting her off. White Blossom flinched slightly, but sighed, nodding.

"I suppose I deserved that," she said. "It's nothing personal, but..."

"No, ma'am," Scootaloo said, cutting her off again with a scowl. "It is. I can accept that, but please don't lie to me."

White Blossom didn't seem to know what to say, so instead she nodded and left. Scootaloo sighed, sitting back down on her bunk.

'You could have talked to her,' the Rainbow Dash in her head said.

No, I couldn't, Scootaloo replied. And even if I could, I wouldn't. The only ponies I have to talk to are far away from here.

'Well, I'm here,' Dash said.

Scootaloo snorted. You? You're a voice in my head that sounds like my dead mentor... my dead sister. That I'm even hearing you is just a sign of how bucking crazy I'm getting.

To that, the Dash in Scootaloo's head had no answer, not that the orange mare had expected her to. She stood up and trotted out of her room.

There was a battle ahead.

***

"Hey, Bright Wonder," White Blossom said, approaching her friend in the hangar.

"Sup, Blossom?" Wonder said with a chirpy smile. Bright Wonder was the sort of pony who had a smile for just about anypony, no matter what her mood. It often surprised Blossom that her friend had stayed in the ERAF after the war, but Wonder had never explained it.

"I have a problem with Scootaloo," White Blossom said softly. "And I wanted your advice."

Bright Wonder frowned slightly, her smile fading. "Oh, I see. What's up?"

White Blossom looked around carefully, making sure nopony else was around, before turning back to her friend.

"I think," she said softly, "that Scootaloo has been self-harming."

Bright Wonder raised both eyebrows, her face paling somewhat. "Oh my. How did you…?"

"I saw her cutting," Blossom said. "She wouldn't talk to me about it." She snorted. "I don't blame her. We've not exactly been welcoming."

"No," Bright Wonder said softly, frowning. "I guess we haven't. But I mean, she was the pony who hurt True Blue, the pony who led the Wonderbolts at Leeds…"

"I haven't forgotten," White Blossom said softly. "But the war's over… and plenty of ponies want to make a new life for themselves."

Bright Wonder nodded slowly, sighing. "Yeah, I guess." She brightened slightly. "Hey, maybe I can throw her a party when we get back."

"Yeah," White Blossom said, nodding. "Yeah, that's a good idea."

"It really bothers you, doesn't it?" Bright Wonder asked sympathetically.

White Blossom sighed. "Of course it does. We did this. Or at least we didn't help." She paused, smiling slightly. "She can be good, Wonder. She's a good flyer. She just needs…"

Bright Wonder raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"She needs what I had," White Blossom finished. "She needs a mentor. I had Cloud Ranger to keep me in the ERAF. Maybe that's what she needs too."

"You were like her?" Bright Wonder asked.

"Oh, no," White Blossom corrected, shaking her head with a mirthless smile. "I was… young, inexperienced. Maybe a little scared of flying in combat - it's not my best strength. But I had somepony to help me. Scootaloo doesn't have that." She paused thoughtfully. "When we get back, I'm gonna have a serious talk with her."

"Good idea," Bright Wonder said with a nod. "Anyway, we'd best get going or we'll miss the party."

"Yeah," White Blossom said, following her friend to the launch area. "Wouldn't want to do that."

***

The heads of the Archmagi and Dead Men groups assigned to the mission were in the briefing room when Dream Flyer arrived there, roughly twenty minutes before launch time. Jared Smith was a stern looking man with burns on one side of his face - he had been one of the luckier men to face the Solar Idols, and had escaped with burns that nearly blinded one eye and left him scarred. Others who had faced those monstrosities had been far worse off.

The Archmagi leader wore a simple brown cloak, covering most of her ice-blue body, but her head was uncovered, showing a shaved head and tired brown eyes. She smiled slightly, though it was strained. Her name was Bountiful Bouquet.

The Archmagi's adjutant was a unicorn mare with a green coat, darker green mane and tail and a haunted expression matched only by the bags under her eyes. She wore battle armour that looked to have once been stylised and ornately decorated, but the decorations had been inexpertly blasted off. She must have had a human name at one point, but she would only give the name "Gentle Flower" when asked, so whatever the memory was, it was traumatic.

"Ah, Group Captain," Smith said. He spoke surprisingly cheerfully considering the fact that he was part of a death cult. "Good to have you here."

"Sergeant Smith," Flyer said. "Is your team prepared?"

"Damn straight," Smith said with a nod. "With Bouquet's support, we'll be able to get in without much trouble. There's enough C4 with my team to level the whole damn factory."

"Not that we'll need that much," Bouquet added, her voice slightly raspy. "A strategically placed bomb should annihilate the mechanisms for mixing potion without overmuch collateral."

Dream Flyer nodded. "Are we expecting much resistance in the air?"

"We're not one hundred percent certain what forces have been deployed," Smith said with a sigh. "But there's reports of several battalions of Guard in the area, and they've certainly got enough to keep Manehatten and Las Pegasus under wraps."

"Well," Flyer sighed. "That's fun. What's the sitrep?"

"The entire area is a constant battlezone," Smith said. "ERAF and Night Guard are engaged in a near constant assault on the city."

"Which means that, while they won't be able to focus all their effort on stopping us," Bountiful Bouquet said, "we will be flying directly into the heart of their territory in a warzone."

"Hence why we asked for Grey Squadron for the mission," Smith finished. "Your reputation…"

"Is not going to keep five hundred Pegasi off this Zep," Flyer interrupted. "Even with turrets and other defences, you're not going to have a lot of time."

"Small chance of success and high risk - that's a Dead Man mission," Smith said resolutely.

"And we've got a lot to make up for," Gentle Flower added, a haunted look in her eyes.

"There is a secondary objective of course," Bouquet added somberly.

"Secondary objective?" Dream Flyer asked, frowning. "I haven't heard anything about this."

"Neither have I," Smith said, frowning. "Wanna clarify that, Bouquet?"

"This was on a need to know basis," Bouquet said darkly. "Straight from Prince Blueblood's office. We need to be certain no changes have been made to this potion - part of the reason there's an Archmagi presence in the field is to retrieve a sample and bring it back to command at Canterlot."

"Retrieve a sample?" Smith repeated. "What the fuck does Blueblood want a sample for?"

"That is also need-to-know," Bouquet said softly. "And you don't, Sergeant. Your orders are to retrieve a sample and get it back to the Ascension for safe deliverance back to Canterlot command."

Smith didn't look happy, but he sighed and nodded. "Understood."

Dream Flyer sighed. "Alright then. We might as well get this over with."

***

Scootaloo stretched as the rest of Grey Squadron moved into position at the opening hanger trapdoor. She looked to her left - Burning Feathers had his head bowed and eyes closed, as though he was praying. White Blossom was to Scootaloo's right, and threw her a glance. Scootaloo scowled slightly.

"Scootaloo," Blossom said softly, "I want to have a conversation with you when we get back."

"What about, ma'am," Scootaloo asked quietly.

"You know what about," White Blossom said with a scowl.

Scootaloo narrowed her eyes. "I don't have anything to say about that, ma'am."

"I'm sure," Blossom said. "You'll talk about it anyway, Pilot Officer. Or I'll make it an order."

Scootaloo didn't say anything. Part of her resented the other mare for interfering. Part of her appreciated it, somehow: it felt... nice. A moment later, Dream Flyer appeared at the head of the squadron, looking everypony in the eye (and scowling at Scootaloo when she caught the former Wonderbolt's gaze).

"Alright!" she called. "Twenty to launch! Everypony check your weapons!"

The entire squadron dutifully checked their equipment. A moment later, a green light showed, and the trap door opened beneath them. Spreading their wings, the entire squadron descended into the sky around the zeppelin.

It was hell.

In the distance they could see other zeppelins - some with ERAF markings, some with Solaminan, firing bolts of magic and firebombs at one another. Pegasi squadrons in white shirts emblazoned with various materials flew through the air, clashing with hordes of armoured Solaminan Royal Guard.

"Buck!" Rock Hurricane's voice swore out on the comm. "This is tense!"

"Button it, Hurricane," Dream Flyer's voice said calmly. "All flyers, sound off procedure."

"Grey Two, standing by," Mellow Air said, sounding slightly more concerned.

"Grey Three," Hurricane said quickly. "Here."

Solid Hoof's gruff voice spoke next. "Grey Four here."

"Grey Five, standing by," Blood Tide said.

"Grey Six," said Star Blitz, "ready and able."

"Grey Seven here," came the still-chirpy voice of Bright Wonder.

"Grey Eight on station." Acquiescence's tone seemed unruffled by the horrors surrounding them, though it was quiet.

"This is Grey Nine, I am on station," Elegant Flight's prim voice spoke, sounding slightly clipped, as though she were stressed.

White Blossom spoke next. "Grey Ten, standing by."

"Grey Eleven stands prepared," burning Feather said solemnly. "May God watch over us."

"Grey Twelve," Scootaloo finished, feeling oddly concerned after that proclamation. "Standing by."

"All flyers, begin running interference on anypony who comes at the Ascension," Dream Flyer ordered. "One flight, on me. Two and Three flights, cover the rear. Four flight, rear of the zep."

"Roger that," White Blossom said. "Scootaloo, on my left. Burning Feathers, my right."

"As you say," Feathers said.

"On your back, Ten," Scootaloo said.

She fell into formation behind White Blossom as the mare slowed up, allowing the great zeppelin to move past them. She could see Pegasi guards starting to fly at the other flights, and tensed slightly.

'You'll do fine, Scoots,' the voice of Rainbow Dash spoke.

Shut up, Scootaloo thought at the voice. I'm working!

As she thought it, a squadron of Pegasi flew at her flight, descending from above - it must have been twenty or thirty militia ponies.

"Let them pass between us!" White Blossom ordered.

"Gotcha!" Scootaloo yelled, and even as she spoke she dodged a militia pony, then another. She let one of the enemy flyers catch her left wrist blade, half his right wing coming off, sending him careening toward the ground. She saw Burning Feathers as he began corkscrewing through a group, sending at least three Pegasi flying away with severed limbs.

"Pony God!" the voice of Star Blitz came, sounding shocked. "How many of these buckers are there?!"

"There were a lot of discontented Guard," came the voice of Rock Hurricane. "Guess they get to die doing what they loved."

"Cut the chatter!" Dream Flyer ordered. "Ascension, distance to target?!"

"Roughly fourteen hundred metres," the voice of the Ascension's Captain replied. "ETA six minutes."

"Fun times," Hurricane said.

Scootaloo scowled, turning her head. Most of the militia who had flown at Four flight had gone on to other targets, but a half dozen had turned and were coming back.

"Ten, we've got hostiles on our six," she said shortly. "Request permission to break formation and engage."

"Wait for it," Blossom replied. She pulled up alongside Scootaloo, making a gesture that looked suspiciously like the old Wonderbolt sign for 'up and over'. Grinning, Scootaloo nodded, and a moment later the two mares pulled up, loop-the-looping over the militia ponies and ending up behind them. Scootaloo immediately pushed herself, catching up to two and, with efficient strokes, cutting both down, their bodies falling from the sky like rocks. White Blossom careened through the remaining four, wings and limbs flying everywhere. She pulled alongside Scootaloo and nodded, a grin on her face.

"Not bad, Twelve," she said.

"Thanks," Scootaloo said, smiling back, feeling irrationally happy at the praise. She checked her HUD - the goggles were definitely one of the perks of ERAF flying: now she could find her enemies without strenuous searching. "Another group at ten o'clock, looks to be militia."

"Then let's go give them a welcome," Blossom said with a determined expression on her face.

***

Dream Flyer zeroed in on the Guardspony she was chasing. The guy was good, but the armour made him slower and clumsier in the air than her. Her HUD reported that there were more enemies coming at her, but she ignored it for the moment.

"Got you," she said, putting on a sudden spurt and cutting both wings from the Guardspony, letting him fall from the sky screaming. "One flight, need a hoof!"

"On it," Mellow Air said blandly. A moment later, Dream Flyer's HUD showed Air coming up on some of the hostiles, and soon the hostiles in question had disappeared from her scopes.

"Hey boss!" Hurricane said, sounding panicked. "I've got multiple hostiles on my six! Need help!"

"This is Four," Solid Hoof said gruffly. "My Flight in inbound to assist."

"Hurry up, will ya?!" Hurricane yelled. "They're getting really bucking - ah!"

Dream Flyer caught a look as Rock was stabbed in one leg by a spear, the heavy weapon slowing him down.

"Hang on!" she yelled. she angled herself to her side, gliding up behind the Guards on Hurricane's tail and lashing out, cutting through limbs and backs. A moment later, Hurricane was clear, though he'd been slowed down.

"Air, Hoof," she ordered, "get Hurricane back to the Ascension. I'll take over Two flight."

"Acknowledged," Air said drily. "Come on, Three. Let's get you home."

"Ah shoot," Hurricane said in an annoyed tone. "And it was just getting fun."

Dream Flyer shook her head, before angling to take the head of Two flight's formation.

"On your six, lead," Blood Tide's voice said. "What's your order?"

Dream Flyer quickly assessed the situation. The hordes of Royal Guard in the air were getting thicker, presumably as they got closer to the remnant's heartland in Manehatten.

"Let's thin out some of these flyers," she ordered. "Spread out and prepare to corkscrew on my mark."

She heard her flight's affirmatives and grinned. This wasn't going to be so bad after all.

***

Locking the clip to his MP5 into place, Jared Smith looked at his team. Eleven of the finest of the Dead Men's ranks, including Dreer and Dupont (although he hadn't managed to convince Kraber to join him for this one: the man had essentially threatened his way into going on leave with his family. Nobody had felt right about contradicting him, but Smith had been somewhat disappointed nonetheless) were with him, each dressed in trenchcoats over bodysuits, gas masks and helmets completing the image.

"We're dead," Smith said to them, smiling slightly. "Our souls already left this joint a long time ago. Some fucker, however, forgot to give our bodies the memo, so here we stand, ready to make some use of these empty shells of ours. We don't fear - fear's for the living. We don't hesitate - hesitation is for folks with stuff to lose. The Dead don't have anything to lose. We do our duty. We keep going. We have purpose!"

"We have purpose!" the squad repeated. They were some of the best equipped men in the Dead Men, each of them armed with modern assault rifles or SMG's - MP5's, L85's, Andra's SMG's, RPLs, even a kalashnikov or three… Smith couldn't think of a better team to go in with.

He turned his head as Gentle Flower approached. The Archmagi would be going in with them, and her armour was painted black to match their uniforms, a dark brown leather saddlebag slung across her body. She nodded as she reached him.

"We have purpose, Sergeant," she said softly. He raised an eyebrow.

"I didn't realise you'd died," he said conversationally.

"I died a long time ago," Flower replied softly, a slight smile on her lips. "It just took me a long time to realise it. Now it's all about making the shell do something useful before it stops."

He nodded respectfully, smiling. "I hear that, sister." He stamped a foot. "Looks like thirteen is our lucky number, ladies and gentlemen!"

"We have purpose!" they said again. Smith grinned, before moving toward the descent ramp, waiting for it to open above their target. As he did so, he could hear singing behind him as Gentle Flower began .

"My body is a cage,
That keeps me from dancing with the one I love,
But my mind holds the key

My body is a cage,
That keeps me from dancing with the one I love,
But my mind holds the key

I'm standing on a stage
Of fear and self-doubt
It's a hollow play
But they'll clap anyway

My body is a cage,
That keeps me from dancing with the one I love,
But my mind holds the key

You're standing next to me
My mind holds the key…"

He nodded. Their bodies were cages, they always had been. Maybe - if he was lucky, or if he was unlucky, either or - today would be the day they got released.

***

"We're coming up on the factory now!" the Ascension's Captain said over the comm. Scootaloo frowned as he spoke - the factory, if that was really it, was a grotty redbrick building with five chimney stacks and a long, flat roof. There were turrets and other guards there, of course, but it seemed oddly undefended.

"Do we need to thin those defensive positions?" she heard Elegant Flight ask.

"No need, Grey," the Ascension's Captain replied. "We have this down."

The Ascension, like most Zeppelins, already had magi-cannons and other close-defence turrets installed as a rule. Though a lot of the more ostentatious elements the zeppelin had been encumbered with during the war had been removed for her refit as an ERAF ship, she was as deadly as she had been. This was only enhanced by the presence of a half dozen pieces of human artillery, suitably adapted for pony usage: 50cal machine guns turned on the ponies stationed atop the building, firing their rounds and tearing the defenders apart. Bolts of arcane power lashed out from the crystalline turrets, blowing away chunks of masonry.

"Damn," Star Blitz said over the comm. "Talk about firepower."

Scootaloo didn't reply - she had seen the Solar Glory at Canterlot - that had been an entirely different definition of "impressive", although she had been in less of a position to appreciate that, seeing how it had been turned on her and the other ponies of Cloudsdale. Still, the Ascension was definitely impressive.

"The Ascension will be landing shortly," Dream Flyer said through the comm. "All flyers, continue to run interference."

"Roger that," White Blossom said. "Eleven, Twelve, on my six, let's see if we can't disrupt some formations."

"Right with you, Ten," Scootaloo said, narrowing her eyes behind her goggles.

***

The Ascension's landing ramp descended, and a moment later down jogged Gentle Flower, Jared Smith and his team.

"Quick!" the Dead Man sergeant yelled as he brought his MP5 up. "We need to do this fast, there's no telling what kind of reinforcements are on their way!"

Quickly they headed for a nearby access point. A few Guards rushed to try and stop them, but the Dead Men were faster and more efficient, their guns barking staccato notes that sent the traitor Guards sprawling to the ground, holes blown through armour and flesh.

"Dupont and Jacobson!" Smith yelled. "hold the ramp and cover our retreat from the factory! The rest of you, double time it!"

With hurried shouts of affirmation, the Dead Men went to work, funnelling through the access point and charging into battle.

***

"Covering fire!" somepony was yelling on the comm, and Dream Flyer dodged another militia pony as an inbound Guard phalanx was obliterated by heavy fire from the Ascension.

"Ascension to Grey Leader, our team is on the ground," she heard from the Captain of the zeppelin.

"Roger that," she said. She pulled back from the swung blade of another militia pony, cutting him apart with her own weapon as she did so. "All flyers, keep it up - we're nearly done here!"

Grey Squadron formed up back into their loose formation to engage their next target. Most of the Guardsponies were ignoring the Ascension, they had a much bigger battle to fight, but whatever guard detail had been left over the factory was zealously assaulting anything that got close.

Suddenly the air around them erupted in a storm of multi-coloured beams of light. They mostly flew wide of the swift Pegasus formation but Solid Hoof and Dream Flyer were grazed by several of the beams, burns cut into their bodies by the heat.

"Anti-air fire!" Solid Hoof shouted as the rest of Grey Squadron scattered to avoid the shots.

Dream Flyer glanced in the direction of the factory and saw a line of Unicorns in Royal Guard armour lined up along one of the building's roofs. Their horns were constantly lit as they sent a hail of weak but rapid spell-fire in their general direction.

"Grey Leader to Ascension," Flyer said, narrowing her eyes at them. "Hostiles on roof to the east. They're laying down flak. Am engaging - could do with some cover fire."

"Roger that, Ascension laying down suppressive fire," the Ascension's Captain replied. A moment later, a hail of fire lashed out from the landed Zeppelin, forcing the Guards to take cover. Flyer turned to Hoof and Blood Glide, who had taken up formation behind her.

"Let's give 'em a hello," she said with a grin.

"Right behind you," Blood Glide said.

"With you, Lead," Hoof added.

Nodding, she turned back forward and, with a push of her wings, zoomed towards the roof. By the time she reached it, the Guards had yet to really be back in position - and then she strafed, knocking several from the roof and sending them screaming to the ground below. Behind her, Solid Hoof and Blood Glide knocked over stragglers and cut down any they couldn't unbalance. A few spells lashed out from the Guards, but the Pegasi were going too fast.

A moment later, they pulled up and away from the roof - as they did so, however, a Guard they'd missed managed to get a shot off that caught Blood Glide. He had time to let out a strangled yell, and then he plummeted to the ground below.

"Buck!" Hoof swore. "We lost Five!"

"I saw," Dream Flyer said heavily, taking note of more incoming phalanxes of Guard heading for the Zeppelin. "Keep going - we need to keep the Ascension covered."

"Roger," Solid hoof said heavily.

***

The little group of soldiers and ponies reached a small door at the end of a corridor. So far, there had been little resistance.

"This access point should lead to the main production facility," Gentle Flower said quietly. "It might be locked with magic, give me a moment."

"Make it quick," Smith said, turning back to look down the corridor. "Eyes peeled, team - we don't know when they'll catch on!"

As if in answer to his words, a handful of Guards appeared at the end of the corridor. Scowling, Smith brought his MP5 up and fired, and the lead Guard dropped like a stone. The rest ducked into side doorways. Motioning to his squad, Smith pulled a water fountain over and ducked behind it, aiming at firing again. Near him, Dreer fired his L85, the crack of the assault rifle almost deafening as the weapon blew one of the Guards off his hooves.

"It's a standard magical seal!" Flower reported after a moment. "Give me five minutes!"

"We don't have five minutes!" Smith replied angrily.

"Oh, give it here," one of the Dead Men said with an annoyed tone. "Cover me!"

As his squadmates moved to cover him, he stood up,aiming his rifle at the door-handle, before firing at it. There was a crack, and the wood splintered.

"Unicorns always see magic problems," he said smugly. Though no one could see his face, the tone of his voice seemed to imply a grin. "Like a plumber always thinks it's your -"

A spell zapped him in the back, and the smell of burning flesh filled the corridor. The offending Guard went down a moment later, but the damage was done: the man was dead.

"Dammit," Smith said, giving the body a quick nod of respect before motioning to his squad to go through the door. They were the dead - they had a job to do. "Everyone move!"

Quickly, efficiently, with all the discipline for which their force were famous, the Dead Men filed in, those who waited covering those entering. Gentle Flower and Smith were the last two in, Flower holding up a shield spell to block offensive spells. A moment later, she sent a powerful shockwave down the corridor, forcing the Guards to take cover. By the time they returned to the corridor, the Dead Men had moved on, into the factory...

***

Scootaloo dodged another militia pony's hasty charge, sending the less experienced and less trained flyer sprawling through the air to impact into a wall with a sick crunch. Fighting in cities was always risky - running into a building was a more common way for the over-eager flyer to meet their demise, as Scootaloo knew from experience.

Behind her, she saw Burning Feathers clip the wings of another militia pony, the stallions's face not shifting from his solemn, emotionless expression. White Blossom was near him, finishing off a Guardspony who had tried grappling her. She had a cut above one eye but seemed fine otherwise.

Checking her HUD, Scootaloo looked for more targets near the Ascension: the goggles pulled up a small formation inbound, coming in from the west.

"Hostiles inbound," she reported, "our two o'clock, looks like a single phalanx."

"Roger," Blossom said. "I'll punch through, you two pick off the stragglers."

"Understood," Burning Feathers said. "Am on your six."

The three ponies approached the inbound phalanx - they were only a small group, looked to be battered, like they'd already seen action today. Scootaloo frowned as White Blossom headed towards them: something about all of this felt off… those Guard had spears that looked different, lighter…

When it happened, it happened quickly: as White Blossom approached, the phalanx suddenly broke apart, the various members flying around her. Burning Feathers and Scootaloo managed (just) to dodge the trap, but White Blossom flew straight through the suddenly vacated airspace... and was impaled by two thrown spears, the new design apparently optimised for dual functionality as lance and javelin. Shocked, the alabaster mare let out a single strangled cry, and began to plummet, the Guards that had hit her switching back to longer, heavier lances that they had slung over their backs.

Scootaloo's eyes widened. "No!"

She raced after Blossom, putting her blades away and angling herself to catch the other Pegasus. A moment later, she caught her, allowing the momentum to carry them both to the roof of the factory.

"This is Grey Twelve!" she said desperately through the comm. "Grey Ten is hit, badly hit! Need help now!"

"Hang on," she heard Mellow Air's voice. "Am inbound to your position."

She didn't reply, focused as she was on trying to help White Blossom. The spears hadn't pierced anywhere immediately fatal, and both had fallen out from the sheer speed of flight and the momentum pulling them - but both injuries were bleeding profusely. Scootaloo had seen plenty of slashing injuries, and plenty of small bullet wounds, but large impalation damage was not something one encountered overmuch as a Wonderbolt. She had no idea how best to go about staunching the wounds.

Suddenly, through her haze of panic, horror and confusion, she registered the fact that White Blossom was trying to speak.

"Scootaloo," the mare was saying softly, coughing as she spoke. "I… I owe you an apology…"

"Shut up, ma'am," Scootaloo snapped, trying to staunch the wound. "You can apologise when you're strong enough…"

"Not happening," White Blossom said simply, her eyes half lidded, a soft smile on her face. "Been doing this… a long time… guess it was always gonna go this way."

Scootaloo heard ponies landing behind her. She threw a glance over her shoulder, but it was only Bright Wonder and Mellow Air. Wonder immediately raced over to her friend's side, eyes wide in shock and horror.

"Blossom!" she said, her voice hitching slightly. "Air, help her!"

Mellow Air raced over right behind Wonder, but her eyes widened as she observed the damage. She quickly examined the injuries, but her expression became grimmer and grimmer.

"You can help her, right?" Scootaloo asked.

"These injuries have torn several arteries," Mellow Air said quietly. "The Ascension left dock without a full surgery unit aboard to handle these kind of injuries properly, and we're too far from the nearest medical outpost." She gave Bright Wonder a mournful look. "There's nothing I can do."

Bright Wonder's eyes widened in horror. "No… please, tell me this isn't…"

"Wonder…" White Blossom interrupted softly. Bright Wonder turned to look at her, her eyes full of tears. "It's ok… this was bound to happen eventually…"

"No!" Wonder yelled. Scootaloo stepped back, not wanting to intrude - these two were friends, after all, and she wouldn't want to be in the way.

"Cloud Ranger always said that this was gonna happen," White Blossom said idly, her voice weak but steady. She smiled. "She said one of her old squad-mates was a gambler, and he always said… 'everypony's number comes up someday'..."

"No!" Bright Wonder said again, stamping a hoof insistently, as though merely saying it would change the reality of the situation.

White Blossom only smiled, before turning her head to look at Scootaloo. The mare widened her eyes.

"Scootaloo," White Blossom said softly. "You… you're a good flyer…"

"S-save your strength, White Blossom," Bright Wonder said. "Y-you're…"

"No," Blossom said, surprisingly strongly. "Scootaloo… you're… a better… pony… than you think you are. You… you need to believe in yourself… you need to… to believe in your team…"

"White Blossom," Scootaloo said softly, not sure what to say. "You…"

"We've… not done right by you…" White Blossom continued, her eyes slowly closing. "I'm… sorry… but don't give up on us… on yourself. You… you can go far… just… believe…"

She stopped moving, her eyes stuck a fraction open, staring at nothing, her mouth hanging open. She spasmed once, her eyes opening again a fraction, and then stilled.

"No…" Bright Wonder said, sobbing. "White Blossom, no..."

"Lead," Mellow Air said tightly, tapping her earpiece, "this is Two. Grey Ten is down. Repeat, Grey Ten is down."

There was a momentary pause before Dream Flyer's voice replied. "Roger that, Two. Get back to it - we're pretty stretched up here."

"Yes ma'am," Mellow Air said quietly. She threw White Blossom and Bright Wonder another look, then took off. Bright Wonder, distraught, stayed by White Blossom's corpse.

Scootaloo stared at the body of White Blossom, trying to process what had happened.

'Scootaloo,' the voice of Rainbow Dash in her head said softly. 'You can't just sit here.'

I'm not leaving, Dash, Scootaloo replied stubbornly in her own mind. I'm not leaving. I can't. I should have been faster, I should have…

'You did everything you could,' Dash's voice said gently. 'More than anypony else could have done. You tried, Scoots. And you already know, you can't save everypony...'

Why didn't you save me squirt?

Scootaloo slowly approached the corpse of White Blossom, before sitting down next to it, her eyes barely moving from the body.

I could have done more. I could have done something to save her. I could have thrown myself in front of the damn spears.

'And what good would that have done?' Dash's voice asked. 'She was right, Scoots. You can't give up on yourself. You have to keep trying, to keep believing that you can change things, make a difference. If you won't do that for yourself, and you won't do that for me… maybe do that for her.'

Scootaloo's face hardened as she took that in. She kept staring at the empty eyes of White Blossom, not certain how to respond, not certain if she wanted to respond…

***

Smith followed Gentle Flower along a gantry, dodging spells as they went. Behind him, he heard gunfire as his men laid down suppressing fire on the ponies below. The factory, fortunately enough, was only sparsely guarded, but he had still lost Dreer and Farrow in vicious firefights to get to this level.

The factory was filled with massive vats and pipes, each pumping the noxious liquid through the great building. It made Smith sick to think that in places like this, right across Equestria, the vile potion that had caused his species so much pain and suffering was

"Over here!" Flower said, indicating a particular pipe in a critical looking junction. "In theory, according to the plans, setting the charge here should destroy the entire process, and likely fill the existing batches with so much contaminant that they're unusable."

"Ok," Smith said. "What about the sample we're meant to retrieve?"

"One moment," Gentle Flower said. She retrieved a small device from her saddlebag: it was a boxxy thing, a single, vial shaped black tube sticking out of it. She sighed and jammed it onto the pipe. There was a soft whirring, and then she took the tube off of the machine, passing it to Smith. The space the vial had been in on the box was covered by a black lid that slid into place.

"That is the sample," she said. He examined it - it seemed perfectly sealed, quite unlike anything he had ever seen. "It can only be opened by the signature magic of Bountiful Bouquet and other high-ranking Archmagi."

"Useful," he said. "Prevents it being tampered with."

"Indeed," Flower said with a slight smile. "Now the C4."

Smith nodded and retrieved the C4 bomb, attaching it to the junction at Gentle Flower's direction. Suddenly, a spell lashed out near them, catching the bomb.

"Shit!" Smith yelled, dodging backward. After a moment, it became obvious that the bomb was not going to explode, and so he quickly inspected it. A moment later, he cursed.

"What is it?" Flower asked.

"The timer's gone," he hissed. "Thing'll need manual detonation."

Gentle Flower nodded, a beatific expression coming over her face.

"That," she said simply, "will not be a problem."

It took him a moment to realise what she meant. When he did, he nodded at her with a glint of respect in his eye.

"We have purpose, sister," he said softly.

"Til the shell joins the soul," she replied. "I will give you five minutes. Complete the mission."

"Yes ma'am," he grinned. With that, he jogged out, motioning to his team as he did so.

Gentle Flower smiled, feeling suddenly calm. This entire situation felt right - as an Archmagi serving Solamina, she had done great evil. Now, here, she had a chance to finally atone. And as Guardsponies began approaching her and she started firing spells off at them, she allowed herself a wide grin.

Finally, she was doing the right thing.

***

Scootaloo looked up as the Dead Men sprinted across the roof from the door. Frowning, she grabbed White Blossom's corpse, her thoughts halting from their somewhat morbid circle of self-loathing and confusion as she concentrated on getting her comrade's body to the Ascension's ramp.

"Where's Gentle Flower?" she heard someone ask.

"She has purpose," the human Sergeant replied. "Everyone on!"

Scootaloo ignored them, lugging White Blossom's body with her as she jogged onto the hangar deck, before releasing her grip, letting the body rest on the floor gently. Releasing a breath, she slumped to the floor next to it.

"Hey!" she heard Rock Hurricane say, eyes wide as he saw Blossom's body. "What the hay happened? My comm's on the fritz - did something happen to…?"

Scootaloo didn't have the heart to answer him as the Dead Men came aboard and the ramp raised.

***

Dream Flyer dodged a militia pony, lashing out and severing one of his wings as she did so. With a yell of alarm, he plummeted from the sky, and she turned her attention to her next target.

Suddenly there was a burst of static from her comm. "Ascension to Grey Leader - mission accomplished, pull back from factory!"

Dream Flyer smiled tiredly. "Roger, Ascension, we are pulling out." She switched to squadron frequency. "All flyers, pull out, mission accomplished. Cover the Ascension as we retreat."

As the affirmatives came in, Dream Flyer reflected on today. One injury, two losses - both of them good ponies. She sighed - not the best odds Grey Squadron had ever had, but this was war, and they'd taken worse losses in single actions before… Canterlot being the most recent, and most painful, example.

This horseapples should have been done with when Solamina died, she thought bitterly. But I guess some things never change. I hope this was worth it.

***

Gentle Flower hissed slightly in pain as she applied a quick healing salve to a burn on one foreleg. This wasn't the worst injury magic could do, but she had to be careful. By now, it had been a little under five minutes - it was nearly time.

She could see several Guards warily approaching her position.

"Surrender, traitor!" one yelled angrily, apparently recognising her altered Archmagi armour. She grinned as they approached. None of them had noticed the bomb.

"No," she said simply. She lit her horn and with a quick thought fired a detonation spell at the C4.

There was a flash of light.

***

February 19th.

Grey Fox dropped the AAR with a tired sigh. Another old friend gone…

He’d half thought about making a list of all those who had survived from the first Upsilon Squadron he had served with so long ago, but that was one task he could never bring himself to do. This new Grey Squadron reminded him so much of Upsilon. When they were out there, fighting the battles that should have ended with Solamina’s defeat, his mind delved back into his memories and found the days of training he went through under Cloud Ranger.

In many ways Cloud Ranger had been White Blossom’s mentor. Though nopony knew what to make of her at first - battle exercises and group lunches. Not the most common form of wartime training.

She made us wonder… he thought wryly.

Fox recalled what he had been like then. Cloud Ranger had made all of them remember that the world outside the war existed. May them remember that they could in fact survive the war and have lives again (most remembered that anyway).

It was Cloud Ranger’s Grey Squadron that made her so, to put it one way, maternal. Grey Fox could sometimes see the glint of hope that was in Cloud Ranger’s eyes in the new members of Grey Squadron. The glint that shone on to the end.

”Hold on! Just keep pushing forward”

No… that day was not the best thing to repeat in his mind. Grey Fox had seen the soldier that White Blossom would become forged that day… no. “Soldier” might have been the wrong word. “Hero” might have been more apt.

Today, Grey Fox had to witness another fall of an Upsilon member. The makeshift family that had found him in the darkest of times was fading. Despite the massacres, the Tyrant and even the continuing conflict, White Blossom had held strong to how Upsilon was taught. She held strong to the memories of that family.

Grey Fox needed that family now, when times were failing to get brighter, but they were all gone, and those who hadn’t died were still changed irreversibly.

Rotor Blade had been too injured from one of the final days of war to return to service, Starlight Gleam was a wreck without her sister and Blue Sky was a better soldier now but seemed distant from other ponies. Fell Spear had survived so much fighting, but Canterlot had claimed him along with so many others...

How many more of the new Grey Squadron would die, surviving the war only to die in this pointless aftermath?

Still, the battle had been (ostensibly) won. He supposed, losses or not, that was the important thing. This whole business of getting a sample of potion was… concerning, but he didn't worry overmuch. That was the business of other officers. For now, a squadron had lost two good flyers, and he had to find replacements for them. Sighing, he drew up his personnel files…

***

Dream Flyer stood in front of Scootaloo, a neutral expression on her face. She had called the younger mare in to have a chat, but had been silent for a good couple of minutes.

"I'll admit," she said after a moment, her expression softening somewhat, "I wasn't sure about you. But you did the job… and you tried to save White Blossom."

Scootaloo said nothing.

"You're skilled, and with a little work I think you'll make an excellent ERAF flyer," Flyer continued almost amiably. "Therefore, I'm promoting you to Flight Lieutenant and giving you command of Four flight as Grey Ten."

"Understood, ma'am," Scootaloo said smartly. "Thank you."

"Don't make me think this is a mistake," Dream Flyer said with slightly narrowed eyes. "Dismissed."

Scootaloo saluted and left Dream Flyer's office. Outside, Bright Wonder was waiting, to Scootaloo's surprise.

"Hi," the white pony said with a smile. "Did it go well?"

"Captain Flyer gave me command of Four flight," Scootaloo replied shortly, though she smiled back slightly. Her smile faded. "I don't think I deserve it. I didn't do anything anypony else didn't."

"Rainbow Dash got command of a flight too," Bright Wonder said, "and she wasn't with the squadron long… but after you crippled True Blue, she..." There was a pause. "Sorry."

"It's ok." Scootaloo smiled softly, though there was an undoubted awkwardness to it. "I've a lot to atone for. Everypony who fought for Solamina does."

"Well, I guess there's nowhere better than here," Bright Wonder said with a quick grin that faded as fast as it arrived. "Thank you for trying to help Blossom. I… she was my friend."

"I know," Scootaloo said quietly. "I'm just sorry that I couldn't help her in time."

"We've all lost ponies," Bright Wonder said quietly. "This whole war… it's so wrong. How it happened… why it happened…"

"Maybe," Scootaloo said, smiling slightly. "But it's the world we live in, and we can't change it. All we can do is fight to make it better."

"Yeah," Bright Wonder said. "Say, do you wanna go get a drink? We're on leave and there's some bars in Cloudsdale I haven't visited since before the Exodus."

"Sure," Scootaloo replied with a wry grin. Then she had a thought, and held up a hoof. "I just need to write a letter first… to some friends I've been neglecting."

***

She wrote two copies of the letter, one to Sweetie Belle and one to Apple Bloom.

Hey guys.

It's been a long time since I had the chance to write you. I'm sorry. I've been in a dark place.

You may have heard news about fighting in Manehatten with ERAF forces. I was there - I'm part of an ERAF squadron now. it's the best way I can make up for what I did.

I don't know how often I'll get the chance to write you - there's a lot of fighting still going on now, and there's no guarantee I'll come out of it all. But I promise I will write when I can. We're Cutie Mark Crusaders forever. I won't ever forget.

Love,

Scoots.

That done, she went out to the bars with Bright Wonder, and tried to feel like part of the team. She wasn't there yet… but Pony God willing, one day she might be.

***

February 20th, Canterlot Palace.

A mismatched creature observed a vial of burning, sickly orange liquid, his face dominated by an expression of utter distaste. Though he felt ill-at-ease in this old body (it meant something entirely different now that those who had known him - however little they had really known him - were gone), it was the form the Equestrians were comfortable with him wearing (certainly more comfortable than his now-preferred human form), and so the being known to most as Discord kept to the mismatched body. What he wouldn't give to just go home… but when he had done so, he had been told that his mandate on this world had not ended. He didn't see how it could go on now that the two primary subjects of that mandate were dead, but who was he to question the wisdom of his "superiors"?

At least Prince Blueblood was accommodating enough. The white stallion was staring at the vial with wide eyes, not sure how to react to it, and even less certain how to react to the information the third individual in the room, the ice blue mare with the shaven mane, had given.

"Could you…" he began, before swallowing. "Could you say that again, please?"

Bountiful Bouquet sighed heavily. "We've run extensive tests on this potion, my lord. It is an altered version of a project the Archmagi were working on before the war ended. It was only in the initial stages when Empress Solamina was killed."

"How did they get a hold of it?" Blueblood asked.

"Not all Archmagi regretted our actions," Bouquet said quietly, looking shamefaced. "Many of us… many of us preferred to keep believing that we could keep the war going. I tried to dissuade them, but by the presence of this…"

"And you're sure about the effects?" Discord asked quietly, narrowing his eyes at the liquid.

"Oh yes," Bouquet said with a mirthless smile. "That much I am very clear on. Whether this form can successfully achieve these results or not, the original design was intended to transform humans and ponies alike into what we termed 'False Alicorns'. We never worked the kinks out… but without testing this potion, we cannot know if these traitors have succeeded."

"False Alicorns," Blueblood repeated. "And how much potion were they making?"

"There is no doubt from Sergeant Smith's report that these traitors were manufacturing enough to create an army," Bouquet said. "And given the nature of the potion and the amount of time they must have been making it…"

"They could already have that army," Discord finished for her, his expression uncharacteristically grim.

"Yes," Bouquet said.

Blueblood looked from the grim-faced God of Chaos to the vial of liquid.

"Well," he said quietly. "Buck."

Author's Note

What's that old phrase? "Shit's about to get real"?

Thanks to RoyalPsycho for ideas and proofreading, to The Void for helping with Grey fox (who is, after all, his OC), and to you guys for continuing to follow my ramblings. :-)

Home Part 1: Adjustment.

Home Part 1.

Adjustment.

A short story by Jed R.

***

Ponyville, Equestria. May 12th, Year 3 of the New Diarchy Calendar.

Twilight Sparkle looked over her shoulder, before turning back to her drink, studying the glass mug carefully. It was filled with Ol' Trotspur, a particularly famous brand of beer made by the moles of Mol Trotspur near Trottingham, known for its dry, bitter flavour. Twilight had never been particularly fond of beer, but recently…

Only a week back. Only a week.

She sighed, observing the drink. She knew from her reading that drinking was a normal (if unhealthy) reaction to adverse psychological effects, but as much as she found herself longing for the sweet oblivion of a drunken haze (a somewhat lyrical description she had found in more than a few old journals she’d discovered in a war museum), something was stopping her from taking that first drink.

"Hey Twi," a voice said. She looked up, to see Lyra and Applejack approaching and sitting at her table, both wearing wry, somewhat mirthless smiles.

"Lyra," she greeted warmly. "Applejack. What are you guys doing here?"

"Same as you, I reckon," Applejack said, nodding at the beer. "Fancy getting myself a drink and doin’ some thinkin’. Same fer you?”

“Yeah,” Twilight said with a sad smile. “Something like that.”

“Misery loves company, I guess,” Lyra commented with a slight smirk, before heading to the bar.

“What was that about misery and company?” a new voice said. The three looked around, to see Rainbow Dash, Rarity and Pinkie approaching. Rarity, the one who had spoken, looked surprisingly ill-kempt, like she hadn’t bothered combing her mane for a week.

“Rarity, what happened to you?!” Twilight asked, eyes wide.

“Nothing happened per se,” Rarity replied with a tired smile. “It’s just been several months since I needed to dress up… well, several months since I’ve been able to. Not quite the same thing. I’m sure I’ll get back to it… eventually.”

She didn’t sound convincing - and none of them would have believed her even if she had.

Rainbow Dash hadn’t said anything, and had merely gone to the bar, returning with her own beer and a glass of what looked suspiciously like sherry for Rarity. Pinkie had gone to the bar too, but she was currently engaged in a rather over-eager - some might say to the point of overcompensating - conversation with the barmare about, of all things, the different smells of drinks.

“And everypony knows that ‘Ol’ Trotspur’ smells like mole sweat because it’s moles who make it in their city!” she was saying loudly. “And the whole place smells like mole sweat because their air-conditioning is awful. I mean sure, they can breathe, but once you go in there you won’t be able to - still, smells better than gunpowder. That stuff’s nasty…!”

She giggled loudly, her smile wide, almost painfully so.

“Pinkie,” Applejack called over. “Get your plot over here.”

“Oh!” Pinkie said, waving to Applejack with a forced-looking smile. “Sure, AJ, one moment!”

Applejack sighed and sat down, taking a swig of her drink (what looked suspiciously like hard cider) and sighing. “Big Mac only let me do ten hours of farm-work today. I reckon he thought I was overworking myself. Truth be told, the farm feels like a holiday after…”

She trailed off and shrugged, taking another swig. Twilight took a sip of her drink, and tried not to gag at the taste. She took another, mulled over it, and sighed. She didn’t like it - but she supposed it would grow on her.

Rainbow sat down, before taking a drink, not speaking all the while. Rarity took the sherry, sniffed it and then took a sip. A moment later, Pinkie arrived, three tankards of what looked suspiciously like ale in her hooves. She put all three down, and a moment later, without any clear sense of what had happened in-between, all three were empty and she was wiping her mouth, a contented smile on her face, tempered by slightly half-lidded eyes as an alcoholic haze quickly descended onto her expression.

Lyra returned a moment later with her own drink, what looked like a shot of some kind of Horssian Vodka.

“Cheers,” she said, and downed it in one. She gasped, hit the table softly, and coughed.

“Room for more?” a soft voice asked. Everypony turned, to see Fluttershy sitting with them, another beer in her hoof. She took a sip as she sat, smiling mirthlessly. “I guess we all had the same idea.”

“And what a good idea it was, too!” Pinkie said with a grin, slurring slightly - somehow, another round of drinks had both arrived and been consumed while they were sitting there, and she was finishing off the remains of a third round as she spoke. She hiccoughed slightly.

“You worked ten hours?” Twilight asked Applejack. The farm-pony nodded, finishing her cider as she did so.

“Eeyup,” she said. “Too used ta wakin’ up at five in the mornin’ with the sound of bombs and concussives goin’ off somewhere near my head, so I started a little earlier than usual. Normally don’t start while six-thirty. Breakfast an’ all.”

“Still, ten hours sounds normal enough to you…” Twilight commented with slightly narrowed eyes.

“Yeah, I reckon he was more concerned with the fact that I did four whole fields and didn’t stop for breakfast or lunch,” Applejack shrugged. “Or dinner. Or sleep. Or conversation. Or…”

“I get the picture,” Twilight said, raising a hoof, her eyes wide. “AJ, why did you do four fields without a break?”

“Kept my mind offa’ things,” Applejack murmured, looking at the bottom of the glass. “I’m gonna go get me another.”

And with that, she headed back to the bar, leaving Twilight to stare after her.

“How do they do it?” she heard Rarity ask. She turned to look at the fashionista, who was busy looking at other patrons of the bar.

“Do what?” Lyra asked before Twilight could.

“Just… carry on?” Rarity asked. “How can all these ponies just act as if the world is… as if it’s all…”

“They didn’t go through what we did,” Rainbow Dash interrupted, surprisingly softly. “They don’t know. They can’t ever know.”

This somewhat morbid pronouncement was met with silence, until Pinkie, now through a seventh round (somehow…) passed out, her head hitting the table with a loud thunk.

“Everything ok over there?” the barmare called over.

“Yeah,” Rainbow called back. “Just Pinkie being Pinkie. Much as she can be at the moment.”

“I ain’t never seen Pinkie do that before,” the barmare pointed out.

“I have,” Dash replied, smiling slightly. “Trust me, this is… the new normal.”

The barmare didn’t look convinced, but didn’t say anything else.

“This isn’t sustainable,” Twilight said, finishing her drink. The stuff tasted rank, and she could already feel a wooziness descending on her, not helped by the vague nausea that threatened to make her regurgitate the entire mug’s worth of liquid. “We can’t do this.”

“We can’t do what, darling?” Rarity asked.

“Drink ourselves into oblivion,” Twilight clarified. “Or work ourselves into oblivion like AJ. Or… I dunno…”

“Not come out of the library for a week?” Lyra asked, giving Twilight a pointed stare. The librarian shrank in her seat for a moment.

“That’s… yeah,” she said quietly. “Or that.”

“Ditzy’s spent the whole time with Doctor Hooves and her daughter,” Fluttershy said quietly. “I think she’s trying her best to pretend it didn’t happen.”

“Aren’t we all?” Rarity asked.

“I’m not,” Dash said quietly. “It happened. Now we just need to… I dunno. Learn something from it.”

“Like what?” Rarity asked. “What exactly can we bring from that place to Equestria? Heaven forfend we should ever be involved in another conflict like that...”

“There’s gotta be something though,” Rainbow Dash said. “I dunno - we could join the Guard?”

“And do what?” Rarity asked.

“Fight something,” Dash said. “The Griffons are making noises again, I heard…”

“The Griffons are always making noises,” Twilight replied, still trying to keep herself from retching. “And joining another army wouldn’t help. What would it do?”

“The Guard would understand,” Dash pointed out.

“No they wouldn’t,” Twilight replied, almost snappishly. “Nopony would. Nopony can.”

She didn’t seem to realise that she had shouted the last sentence, and several ponies were now staring at them. There was an awkward pause.

“Maybe that’s the problem,” Fluttershy said meekly. “Nopony understands.”

“Then how do we make them?” Dash asked.

There was a long pause. That was a question none of them had an answer to...

Author's Note

First part of our examination of the effects this had on the canon characters...

Oh dear...

Is Home An Empty Dream?

Is Home An Empty Dream?

A short story by Jed R.

London. March 12th, 2031.

“Ok, keep ‘em moving!” somepony was yelling. A group of Converted were shifting rubble: Earth Ponies using brute strength, teams of Pegasi hoisting using ropes and Unicorns using magic. Watching this display was no fun, but Jan Lockett - now Sergeant Major and head of a UDF (United Defence Force) group - was determined to do the job right. Much as the Convies - the Converted, she reminded herself - weren’t supposed to be a threat anymore, there were always those troublemakers who still went by the old Solaminan rules. The ones which, according to Kraber and Vinyl, probably didn’t know how to do anything else.

“For in labour we are validated for our sins!” one of them, a very familiar stallion covered in dirt, cuts and bruises, was yelling as he coordinated a work team. “Repentance is not enough, not for our betrayal! Only in work can we wash away the sins of our inaction, in blood and sweat!”

“Blood and sweat!” the work party repeated, sounding as fanatical as him.

“Oi!” Lockett yelled over to him. “All the blood and sweat in the world won’t do shit if you drop dead before doing anythin’ useful!”

“We will not die yet, Sergeant Major,” the stallion replied, giving her a haunted look from broken, empty eyes. “We have too much to atone for.”

Lockett sighed.

“Long day?” she heard a voice ask. she turned to find herself facing Sir Eleanor of the Holy Order of Albion. The young woman was no more than sixteen years old, and yet her eyes were cold and hard, and somehow she had been elected the next head of the knights. She was clad in a full set of plate armour - one of the concessions the Knights of Albion had requested was the use of some metal to make full armour suits.

“Something like that,” Lockett sighed, sitting down. “Dutch, keep ‘em on track!”

“Will do!” her old squadmate called.

Lockett sighed. “God, they're almost as bad as Dead Men. So - what can I do for you?”

“I was just curious as to how the reconstruction was going in this end of town,” Eleanor said, folding her arms as she watched the Converted work. “Did someone make them decide to do that?”

“If I was uncharitable? Mr Declamation over there,” Lockett said, jabbing a finger in the golden stallion’s direction.

“Isn’t that…?” Eleanor said, narrowing her eyes.

“Yes, but don’t say that name,” Lockett said. “Sends him and his entire lot off into a praying fit. Last time someone said it, he wasn’t done saying hail Mary’s for five hours.”

“Ah,” Eleanor said, eyes wide, before looking at her. “Is there anything we can do?”

“Don’t you knight-types have enough to do?” Lockett smirked.

“Some of us are a little restless,” Eleanor admitted. “Though many of us believe wholeheartedly in the duty of guarding Albion’s body… there are some of us who are… more restless.”

“Yourself included?” Lockett asked knowingly.

Eleanor shrugged. “There is much to do. Perhaps a more active role would befit us. Unfortunately, General Redmond - while willing to continue our status as tomb guard for Albion - is unwilling to give us a battlefield role again. He believes we are… archaic.”

“Well, you do run around in armour with swords,” Lockett said with a grin. Eleanor frowned slightly, and Lockett held up a hand. “Hey, I saw you guys outside St Paul’s with Albion - you’re worth the time and effort to keep equipped if you ask me. All the same, maybe it’s best left to others for the moment.”

Eleanor looked unimpressed. “Perhaps. In any case, I shall leave you be for the moment.”

Lockett nodded. “Ok then.”

It was perhaps a little dismissive, but she only knew Sir Eleanor in passing. The armoured woman walked away, leaving Lockett to sigh and get on with guarding what she saw.

***

Eleanor scowled as she walked back through the streets of London - the Knights of Albion were precisely that: Knights, not glorified guards. Their duty was to defend the weak, to impart justice in Albion’s name, not to stand watch over an (admittedly revered) body and do nothing.

She sighed as she walked past a shop, watching as the inhabitants spoke: there were a few ponies there, and some humans, including a tall red-headed man in a green tweed coat, and an aged shopkeeper with white hair and moustache who waved to Eleanor as she passed.

“Hello there!” he called cheerily. “Lovely day!”

Eleanor waved back, smiling. It was strange how life was starting to return to some semblance of ‘normality’ - people had returned to routines that had not been the norm since the war began, and they were engaged in simple things like talking, shopping… life.

People always go back to what they knew, she remembered her father telling her once. And people are often a lot stronger than you think they would be.

She smiled at the memory - she missed her father. He had never allowed her to call him a ‘good man’ - “I’ll settle for ‘good enough’” he would say - but he had given her everything he could.

She walked over to the shopkeeper. “Much for sale?”

“Few carrots,” the man replied casually. “Some bread - actually quite a bit - we’re in a bit of a ‘bread glut’ at the moment, lots of imported Colonial stuff from the Convies. Turns out Equestrians make bread almost the same as humans did…”

“Well of course we do,” one of the ponies, an older mare with a grey mane and wrinkles, said. “Bread’s one of those things that everypony makes the same way.”

“Were you wantin’ some, Sir Knight?” the shopkeeper asked.

“I didn’t bring any coupons,” the knight replied, but the shopkeeper waved a hand.

“Not a problem,” he said with a smile. “My son was in Canterlot - he remembers the Knights of Albion being at the landing zone, boldest group you ever did see. you ‘elped save the world, ma’am.”

“It was what was expected of us,” Eleanor said softly, smiling back. “But thank you.”

“What’ll it be?” the man asked.

“A few bread-rolls if you don’t mind,” Eleanor asked. “I’ve always been partial to bread.”

“Coming right up,” the man said with a smile. As he went to go get the rolls, Eleanor turned to the ponies and the green-coated man.

“So,” she began conversationally. “How are you finding things?”

“Better than Equestria,” the mare said, scowling. Her cutie mark was a hoe, which presumably symbolised farming as her special talent. “Even now that the Empress is gone… you know, I might never go back there.”

“Oh, there could be worse things,” the green-coated man said idly. “The Solaminan Empire never did some of the things that…” He trailed off, before shrugging. “Some of the things it could have done.”

“Such as?” the mare asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, I dunno,” the man said. “At least the Crystal Empire wasn’t a prison camp and slave-state this time, but a nominally equal vassal. And the Converted were…”

“This time?” the mare said, both eyebrows disappearing into her hairline. “What’s that supposed to mean.”

The man smirked. “Long story. Forget I said anything.”

“What about you?” Eleanor asked him. “How are you finding things?”

“Not from ‘round here,” the man said with a shrug. He held out a hand. “Dr Bowman - ostensibly a scientific advisor to the military. Not that they need much advice these days. Well, not anymore, anyway.”

“Sir Eleanor of the Holy Order,” Eleanor replied, shaking his hand. She frowned. “Have we met?”

Dr Bowman shook his head. “Not that I remember - and trust me, my memory’s pretty on the nose most days.” He shrugged. “I might have one of those faces. Again.”

Before Eleanor could ask what he meant, there was a noise from further up the street - the sound of something banging. The mare turned around, frowning, to see a group of ponies bolting down the street past startled civilians, altogether familiar looking vials of liquid in bandoliers slung around their bodies. Several of them fell to gunfire from pursuing soldiers, but more of them managed to stay ahead of the soldiers.

“Potion bombers!” Bowman yelled. “Take cover!”

As he yelled it, the bombers threw some of their loads, the vile liquid impacting a woman who had been near another shop. She screamed in agony as her flesh started sloughing off. Another woman narrowly dodged one bomb, and it hit a man instead, who screamed as the purple liquid began its macabre work.

“Fiends,” Eleanor growled. She drew her sword and marched towards them, moving directly to intercept them. Foolishly, they did not even slow down, instead running right at her, throwing more potion bombs as they did so. The foul concoction boiled on her skin, steaming off as she raised her sword.

The first blow took the charging pony’s head off. The second, a Unicorn, tried firing a spell of at her, but it was only a minor concussive - clearly he hadn’t been military trained, and his aim was off enough to only send a shower of dirt over her. Scowling, she barreled at him, knocking him over and to the ground, before stomping on his throat, breaking his neck. The final pony was a Pegasus, and she tried taking off, but by now a group of soldiers had arrived, and were already firing, killing the Pegasus and any others that had yet to reach Eleanor. She breathed out, leaning on her sword somewhat.

Bowman ran over to one of the new Converted, taking a small silver device from one pocket and waving it over, before leaning down and talking to the shaken mare. She was babbling - though potion couldn’t make you a ‘Converted’ in the old sense of a somewhat mellow, loyal servant of Solamina, nor could it destroy your identity, but it could damage your soul (at least, that was the consensus of any magicians who had been tasked with dealing with the aftermath of various Solaminan messes).

“Is everyone alright?” Eleanor yelled commandingly. “Is anyone hurt, beyond the Converted?”

“No injuries,” one of the soldiers called back to her, waving an arm. “Damn lucky you were here.”

“Agreed,” Bowman said, walking over to her, frowning slightly. “Good thing you were here - no telling what kind of damage these idiots could have done.”

He held up a vial of potion, and Eleanor frowned at the liquid within when she realised that it wasn’t the normal purple liquid - it was a vivid orange.

“What is that?” she asked, frowning.

“Something that should never have left Equestrian soil,” Bowman replied seriously. “And something that should never have existed in this or any time. A vile abomination even by the standards of any conversion.” He put the vial in one of his pockets. “I need to take this to command in Scotland. They’ll want to see it. Looks like my happy retirement is over.”

He said this with such world-weariness that Eleanor was forced for a moment to wonder what the vial meant beyond his dark words.

“You’ll have to take charge,” he added as she contemplated his words. “This might not be the last time they try this.”

“It will be the last time they convert a single soul while I breathe,” she promised. He nodded.

“Good,” he said. “Good luck, Sir Eleanor.”

He walked off, leaving Eleanor to contemplate what needed to be done. There was one thing that was certain.

“Soldier!” she called to one of the soldiers, and the man turned to look at her. “Go to St Paul’s and find Sir Heinrich and Sir Robert - tell them to mobilise the knights we have here and summon more from their leave.”

“I… yes, ma’am,” the soldier said, apparently taken aback at being ordered about by a sixteen-year old in armour. “And what will you be doing?”

“Praying,” Eleanor said. “our troubles are not over yet - we will need all the help we can get.”

“Jesus,” the old man who she had been talking to said from his shop door.

“Good suggestion,” the mare near him said numbly, “but I’d be hoping for anyone that'll listen.”

"Isn’t this shit meant to be done with? Isn’t the war over?!” the old man yelled.

Eleanor couldn’t help but think he was right. Home was meant to be peaceful - home was meant to be safe. The war was meant to be over. It seemed that the dream of peace was just that - a dream. The reality was, as usual, far less hopeful.

Still - she was a knight. Her duty was the defence of the realm and its people.

Be careful what you wish for, she thought grimly.

Author's Note

Thanks to The Void, DoctorFluffy and RoyalPsycho for their help as always :-)

Loyalty Until Death

Loyalty Until Death.

A short story by Jed R.

Las Pegasus, April 14th. Year 1 of the New Solaminan Calendar (2031).

"Open fire!" somepony yelled, and hell rained down on the oncoming soldiers. Magical blasts destroyed masonry and obliterated the concrete of the roads, forcing those who were not obliterated in the barrage to take cover. A hail of bullets lashed back in the direction of the magical turrets, and soon there was nothing but death in the streets.

"Ponies of the Solaminan Guard!" screamed one voice, somehow louder than any other in that cacophony of explosions, screaming and the crack of weapons. "For Her Majesty - kill them all!"

And a white mare with a cropped mane of red and purple charged forward, a sword held in her telekinetic grip and silver armour adorning her body. She screamed a war cry as she charged, her soldiers behind her, and then there was a flash of light -

***

Moondancer shot awake, eyes wide, gasping for breath.

"NO!" she called out, but there was nothing there. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to blot out the memories that followed the rush of that dream. It had not been a very pleasant experience…

Understatement. One thing her father had been…

No, she thought. No, we’ll not dwell on that.

She heard a knock on her chamber door, shaking her from her thoughts. "Major-General Moondancer? Is everything alright in there? Do you need help?"

"Everything's fine, Corporal Grey," she called back, trying her best to keep her voice from shaking. "Just a nightmare."

"Alright ma'am," the voice of Corporal Grey called back after a moment. Nopony questioned when Moondancer had nightmares - Las Pegasus gave everypony nightmares eventually and there was no Luna to calm their dreams anymore. "Just so you know, it's oh-five hundred now - your meeting with Colonel Will and Major Shine is at oh-seven thirty."

"Thank you, Corporal," Moondancer said softly, almost too quietly to be heard. "I appreciate the reminder."

She stood up and went to her private en-suite bathroom. A few moments later, she was in the shower, her eyes closed as she tried her very best to forget the horrors she had seen over the last few days.

It was not easy.

Life in the Royal Guard was both much harder and much more rewarding than Moondancer had ever imagined as a filly growing up. In the beginning, her desire to join the Guard had been fuelled purely by nostalgia and childish memories of her father's attitudes to the Guard.

"Why are you a Guard, Daddy?" she always remembered asking.

"Because there are a lot of griffons and dragons and moles and other creatures out beyond the borders of Equestria who don't like ponies very much," her father would always say. "And ponies like me stand between them and little fillies like you. So I fight for Monarch and Realm, to keep little fillies like you safe."

He had been a patriotic stallion, her father - he had been one of the few ponies around who truly believed in the old idea of "Monarch and Realm", and one of the fewer ponies still willing to die for those beliefs.

Which he had, when Moondancer was only six years old.

After that, of course, she had been sent to Canterlot to live with her family there, far away from the colony her father had died defending, far away from his bones. only six years old, many had (rather foolishly) expected that she would be alright: that she would forget, that she would move on.

Idiots.

She had never forgotten. She had survived, maybe even thrived. She had met every expectation of her, just (and more often than not with not a little amount of strain and stress), and she had never forgotten her father, never forgotten the ideal he had died for, and always wished that she might one day learn to be like him, might one day be good enough to do what he did.

And then came the declaration of Empire.

She had joined in a heartbeat. Any lingering doubts about the justness of a war of annihilation against the remaining humans seemed to vanish when she made her oath of allegiance, and instead she was left with a sense of purpose. She was Royal Guard, part of a tradition that stretched back thousands of years, to the beginnings of Equestria itself in the Old Time none now remembered save Empress Solamina herself. It didn't matter that her first assignment upon completing officer training was command of a garrison outpost on the Iron Wall (the rather dismally named outpost 21-Omega), and it didn't matter that the most action she saw during the entirety of the war was preventing a few ponies from escaping over the wall.

It didn't even matter that something within her had vanished when Solamina had died. She had heard rumours about "brainwashing", about Converted suddenly breaking free from some sort of control. She didn't care - her loyalty was to Solamina and the Empire - that was what she had sworn to, and the sworn word was the principle her father had died for as much as a distant monarch he had never met in the flesh. Even though she had never met Solamina, she had sworn an oath and she would die upholding it.

She closed her eyes as the hot water cascaded all over her.

An explosion, so near her hearing turned into nothing but a ringing noise that refused to clear. She spun her sword once, testing her magical grip, and then charged forward anyway, screaming even as she did so, unable to hear her voice. The humans were dead ahead - and then she was upon them, her blade flashing. A bullet grazed her thigh and she stabbed the shooter. A pony died behind her and she blasted his killer's head off. Another explosion, closer, and suddenly hearing returned and she was deafened, this time by the cacophony of screams and shouts and cries and the sound of metal on metal…

She shuddered slightly. Las Pegasus, city of blood and death. The humans were no less relentless than the veterans of the war on Earth had warned her.

She stepped out of the shower and dried off, before strapping her silver armour on. She looked in the mirror, and kept looking until a strong, honourable Guard Officer stared back at her instead of a scared, tired and traumatised mare.

"Right then," she said softly. "Time to go change the world."

***

Meeting Room, April 14th. 07:30.

"Major-General," Colonel Strong Will, an Earth Pony stallion with tan coat and white mane whose cutie mark was a round shield, nodded as Moondancer entered the command room. She nodded back at him, before approaching the war table. As well as the two officers, Colonel Will and Major Dull Shine (a tired looking Pegasus stallion with a shield cutie mark not unlike Will's, save for the single star upon it), there was also a purple-robed pony with her hood up, only her stature and her legs revealing her gender. She had called herself Eternity, and while the name was pretentious, nopony wanted to argue with her, given that she had already provided them with additional troops and weapons (including several smuggled Crystal Amplifiers).

"Alright," Moondancer said quietly. "So - what's our situation?"

"Four more attacks in the night," Dull Shine said. Half the reason he looked tired was because he was the night-shift commander of the defensive lines: after this meeting, he would be going to his bunk. "We lost another two hundred soldiers but we managed to repel them."

"And how many did we kill?" Moondancer asked.

"Count's still happening," Strong Will said quietly. "But they always lose less. They're damn good at what they do."

"These attrition rates were common in the war," Shine added tiredly, yawning as he spoke. "We'd lose a hundred soldiers for every twelve or thirteen of them we'd kill - we'd take out a squad and lose a platoon. Their weapons are formidable."

"Unacceptable," Moondancer said. "Gentlestallions, the days when we could afford such a casualty rate are firmly in the past. That is why we are here. Madam Eternity, late of the Archmagi, has supposedly been working on a project that may well allow us a fighting chance against the humans."

"Thank you, Major-General," Eternity said, her voice soft and wistful. "It is important that you listen carefully to me, all of you - this may be difficult to accept."

"Just get on with it," Will said bluntly. "I've about had it with theatrics."

Eternity paused. "Very well. We of the Archmagi were working on an enhanced potion during the latter stages of the war. Though we never managed to perfect it in time for the battle of Canterlot, a version of this potion has been perfected now, and with it, you will be able to conquer the humans in Las Pegasus, kill the usurper Blueblood, and possibly even finish the glorious work of the beloved Solamina."

There was a long pause as the ponies in the room digested this proclamation.

"A bold claim," Strong Will said, raising an eyebrow.

"I do not make it lightly," Eternity said. "I say it because it is the truth. You need only reach out and grasp onto this opportunity."

"What makes this potion so special?" Dull Shine asked.

"What makes it special is the fact that it does not merely create ponies from humans," Eternity replied, her voice taking on a slightly condescending air. "It creates Alicorns... and it can be used to transform ponies into Alicorns."

Moondancer's breath hitched slightly. "What did you say?"

"That's impossible!" Strong Will exclaimed. "Only ascension can cause that kind of transformation!"

"It was impossible," Eternity countered. "Now it is fact."

Moondancer narrowed her eyes at Eternity. "If this is some sort of trick…"

"Then I would be incredibly stupid to come into the heart of the Solaminann Loyalists’ territory just to attempt it," Eternity said, cutting her off with a wry tone. "By all means, you may test the potion before utilising it fully, but I assure you that it does as I have said, and does so perfectly."

"Does it have side effects?" Dull Shine asked.

"All potions of this kind of transformative nature have side effects," Moondancer said before Eternity could answer. "That’s one of the basic laws of magical transformation - it all depends on the severity."

"And that is enough reason to not trust this," Strong Will snorted. "Apologies, Madam Eternity, but why should we risk the lives or the sanity of our already depleted forces on testing a potion that might just destroy them?"

"Because you are losing this conflict," Eternity told them bluntly. "And without this potion, you do not have a single chance in tartarus of succeeding."

Moondancer scowled at this, and Strong Will and Dull Shine looked no happier - but this was no lie on Eternity’s part, no threat, no dire false prediction to sway their curse, and they all knew it. She was right - this was not a war they could win. Even holding their ground in Las Pegasus was costing them far more than they could afford in terms of loss of ponies and equipment.

"She’s right," Moondancer said quietly. "We’re losing. And we’ll keep losing, won’t we - there’s no way we can turn this into any kind of victory from our current position."

Neither of her officers responded - neither of them wanted to admit out loud that she was right. She sighed.

"Madam Eternity," she said. "We will test this potion on one pony."

"That will be enough to prove its effectiveness, I assure you," Eternity said quietly.

"Who would we test it on?" Dull Shine asked. "I can hardly imagine any of our troops will -"

"I will be the test subject," Moondancer cut him off.

"You, ma’am?!" Strong Will said, raising an eyebrow. "But you’re…"

"The most expendable pony in this entire army," Moondancer completed, frowning at them all. "My duty is to simply tell ponies where they are to die - anypony can do that, and I think someponies in this army could do it better than me." She raised her head, letting herself feel a little… proud? Certain? "Besides which - I am the commander of this army. I will not ask anything of anypony if I am not willing to do the same myself. That is true of the hell they endure on the front, and that is true of this potion now."

There was a moment’s pause as everypony took in this proclamation, and then a moment later, Strong Will saluted.

"I’d follow you to Tartarus and back, ma’am," he said smartly.

Dull Shine salted as well. "And me."

Even Eternity bowed. "You are a credit to our cause, milady."

Moondancer waved off their complements. "Don’t laud me yet. This hasn’t worked out for us yet."

"I promise you this, milady," Eternity said with a smile only just visible beneath her hood. "It will."

***

The straps on the bed in the medical bay were not particularly welcoming, nor did they inspire much in the way of confidence, but Moondancer had not achieved her rank through shirking the hard duties, and compared to some things she had seen, this was not a hard duty.

Eternity was stood next to the bed, a vial of orange liquid held in front of her, waiting. There were several Guards in the room as well, including the tall, masked and armoured forms of Eternity’s own Archmagi troops - they were there to guard against the possibility of her going mad with pain and trying to attack them. Some of these ponies were Converted, those sad few who had stayed loyal despite their doubt and the sudden pain of the spirit they had suffered - they knew what Conversion was like.

Moondancer thought about what this change might bring upon her - about the difference between the human being and the Converted, the difference between herself and the self she would become. Was such a change worth it?

She dismissed the thought immediately. I am these ponies’ commander. If I would not take this upon myself, I should not ask it of them.

"Are you prepared, Major General?" Eternity asked softly.

"There is no ‘prepared’," Moondancer said shortly. "Let us get on with this, please."

She laid herself on the bed, and allowed the Guards to strap her down. She watched as Eternity brought the vial to her lips, and she drank, allowing the foul-tasting liquid to slide down her throat. She closed her eyes as a burning sensation began to fill her stomach, and then, perhaps mercifully, her entire body went numb and she felt the sensation of losing consciousness…

***

... only to find her eyes open as she stood in the middle of a field.

She frowned at the sight of the field - it was plain grass, green and untarnished, and it seemed to stretch on, flat and featureless, forever, further than the eye could see.

Why was she here? She had memory of… something… but everything seemed to have faded, replaced by… by…

What?

"Who am I?" she wondered aloud.

My name is Moondancer, Major-General of the Solaminan Guard.

But none of those words meant anything to her, none of them mattered here.

Why are you here? a voice seemed to ask, speaking from both all around her and inside her own mind.

"I…" she began, but she trailed off. Why was she here? Memory

Are you here to serve? a voice asked. To fight?

"Yes!" she yelled out desperately. that much she remembered. She had come here to serve - to fight! "I’ve come to… to fight! To fight for… for…"

For what? Why do you choose to fight?

Why are you a Guard, Daddy?

Because there are a lot of griffons and dragons and moles and other creatures out beyond the borders of Equestria who don't like ponies very much. And ponies like me stand between them and little fillies like you. So I fight for Monarch and Realm, to keep little fillies like you safe.

"For Monarch and Realm," she said simply. "I come to fight for Monarch and Realm, to defend my people from their enemies!"

There was a pause, as though the voice was deliberating with… something.

Very well then, it finally said. You have come here a supplicant. You shall leave here a living weapon. There was a momentary pause. More than that - you shall leave here a commander of weapons. You shall leave here as the guiding hoof of armies. You are not Moondancer.

No, of course she wasn’t. Moondancer was a distant memory, one she discarded happily.

You are the first of your kind. You are Centuria, commander, warrior, the tip of the spear.

She heard the words, and she knew it to be true. She knelt, though she didn’t know to what she was kneeling.

"I am Centuria," she repeated. "I am the tip of the spear."

The voice, though she still couldn’t see it, seemed almost… pleased.

And now, it said, awake.

***

From the outside, it was almost unimpressive… at first.

There was a glow, at first small, and then brighter and brighter, that seemed to radiate from within Moondancer. Her small, pale frame seemed to grow as it glowed, and suddenly the light flared, transforming her form into a white silhouette of light that forced everypony there to step back in shock and cover their eyes.

"What is this?!" one of the Guards yelled.

Only Eternity seemed to not react, simply staring at the light from beneath her hood, a small, cold smile upon her lips.

"And so it begins," she said, though nopony paid her any attention.

A few moments later, the glow seemed to receded. Four hooves touched the ground, the bed all but obliterated. A white mare stood, at least a head taller than the ponies around her if not more, her mane flowing behind her, not the ethereal mane of Celestia but nonetheless imbued with something beyond that of normal ponies. Sharp, bright eyes beaming with intelligence darted around the room, seeming to analyse every detail in moments even as the Guards recovered from the flare of light.

It took them all a few moments to realise that the mare they were staring at was - or had been - Moondancer. Her horn was longer and slightly thinner, as was her face. From her back sprouted two powerful, majestic wings that flexed slightly, the only sign that they had not been there being a slight dripping of what looked like blood, as though they had burst from her back. The mare rolled her shoulders, as though testing the muscles.

She was an Alicorn.

"Well then," she said simply. "It would appear to have worked."

"Major-General Moondancer?" one of the Guards asked, wide eyed. "Is that… is that you?"

"It is," the mare replied, smiling slightly. "But that is not my name - not anymore."

"There’s some trickery in this," one of the Guards said, his voice a growl. "That’s not Moondancer - it’s some damned Archmagi trick!"

Before anypony could stop him, he brought his spear forward, lashing it toward the pale Alicorn. Quicker than thought, she sidestepped the blow, reared up and lashed out, knocking the spear to the ground, before spinning and bucking, sending the guard flying at a wall - where he stopped, one inch away from the wall, held in a telekinetic grip. Her horn was glowing, and she released him, the stallion dropping to the ground with a thud, winded and stunned.

"That was unwise, but I forgive you," she said softly. "I was Moondancer, but I have been given new purpose. I am Centuria - I am war: it’s purest expression made flesh. I am but the first of many."

She glanced down at the spear she had taken from the Guard, and in a heartbeat it was lifted before her, her eyes running along the line of the weapon.

"This is a good spear," she said idly, "but I believe I can make some improvements."

There was a crackling sound as magic began to surround the weapon, running up and down it. In moments, the simple wood and metal weapon had transformed into an ornate, elegantly balanced creation, embossed with gold and silver, intricate lines of script carved into the hilt. The Alicorn smiled, and she spun it twice before slamming the bottom of it into the floor, her eyes looking back at the Guards, who were still shell-shocked by what they were seeing.

"Do not fear, brothers and sisters," the newly anointed Centuria said. "I am hope in this war. With my help, and the help of those like me to come, we shall take back our home. With my help, victory is not just possible - it is assured."

And such was the certainty in her tone that, despite their shock, despite their fear, they believed her. The one who had attacked her acted first… kneeling before her, head bowed. The others followed suit, one by one, even Eternity, until soon the entire room was kneeling before her. She smiled, though it was not a smile of joy at this supplication.

It was a smile of certainty. Victory was within her grasp, finally - and nothing would stand before the loyal children of Equestria now.

***

Eternity stood and watched the city of Las Pegasus burning. At the front line, she knew Centuria - but the first of the Alicorns that the Archmagi’s potion would create - would already be able to push ahead against the human forces Prince Blueblood had brought in to help him hold his stolen throne. Eternity did not know whether even the power of the potion-born False Alicorns could stand against these humans (they were a relentless species) but she knew that this would cause far more damage… kill far more ponies and other creatures than the conflict would have done before. This war would not end yet, and by the time it did it would leave bodies in the streets, cities in ruins, and an Equestria ready to fall.

She pulled her hood down, empty eye sockets and dessicated skin staring out at the battered skyline as she watched war consume this once peaceful land.

"Soon, my lord, soon," she murmured. "Soon now, they will see. They will all see.."

***

Author's Note

With thanks to The Void for helping proofread it, RoyalPsycho for his help worldbuilding, and Doctor Fluffy for writing the word "Moondancer" in one of these Bittersweet Victory chapters, thus inspiring me to actually write her and make her distinct from other (brilliant, I might add) interpretations.

Arms Race

Arms Race.

A short story by Jed R.

Scottish Archives, May 12th, 2031.

General Alexander Redmond frowned as he looked the blueprints over. Next to him, Cheerilee looked equally sceptical, while Sato looked impassive. In front of them, Rupert Giles stood with his arms folded, a slight smile on his face, and one of his technical advisors - a young red-headed man in a long green tweed coat, arms folded impassively - stood next to him.

Three weeks ago, Redmond had ordered Giles to provide them with designs for new weapons and equipment - things that might, should the need arise, give the recently renamed UDF an advantage in battle against any enemy, be it pony or otherwise. Sato and Cheerilee had been somewhat ambivalent about the need, but Redmond was a cautious man, and the mere existence of more than one Equestria with the theoretical ability to reach their Earth made him cautious. In his mind, if there were Equestrias where she wasn't a tyrant, why couldn't there be more where she was? Better safe than caught on the back foot, especially now that Albion had died.

Besides, reports from Equestria showed that the conflict between Prince Blueblood’s new regime and the Solaminan Loyalists was showing no signs of letting up. If it continued, the Loyalists might well prove a threat to the UDF and the human survivors, and that was something Redmond would not allow to happen.

Hell Blazer had made it clear that summoning another Avatar was pointless: if nothing else, Excalibur, Elliot's weapon, had yet to dissipate from it's current home, lodged in a Canterlot Palace courtyard. That was a sign, according to the Convie, that there was more to the summoning of the next Avatar than Redmond or even Hell Blazer himself knew. Redmond called bullshit on that, but it wasn't as though he had a choice but to believe it: Giles, as chief representative of the Watcher's Council and the Governing Council's only other magic expert, had concurred with Hell Blazer's assessment, and only an idiot went against both the experts when they were telling him the same thing. Redmond was stubborn - obstinate even - but an idiot he was not, no matter what some people thought of him.

Still, it left the question of what they could do to replace the Avatar in the short term. The answer, after some work from Giles, was the Iron Clad program.

The renewed access to the rest of Earth had also granted humanity access to many tons of metals and other materials with which to build complex technologies. Already thousands of tons of this material had been imported, allowing for a rebuilding of their armouries the likes of which Redmond could scarcely have imagined one year ago. He had seen hundreds of thousands of assault rifles, racks of ammunition, strong and sturdy kevlar armour and hundreds of other pieces of military equipment rolling off the factory floor and issued to troops who had spent six years trying their best with whatever crap was salvageable from the ruin of old Earth. It made him feel… well, not happy, but content - he felt more prepared now than he had before the Battle of Canterlot itself, and that was quite the achievement: Canterlot had demanded more preparation than any battle he had ever been involved in.

These though… the Clad program was old: it had been developed in 2027 through 2028 as a response to the worsening conflict, but the resource requirements had been prohibitive. Now, though… now they had access to raw materials, and there were many humans who, with the war over, were wanting to return to work that was not military in nature.

"So," Redmond began. "Where are we?"

Giles turned to his advisor, who cleared his throat.

"Well," the man said, in a vaguely northern accent, "what you’ve essentially got is powered armour where the ‘powered’ element is provided by magic. The actual technology isn’t all that complicated - a little bit of a stretch, but there was a lot of tech development in the theory stages in the Archives."

"Sorry," Cheerilee said, frowning, "but who are you?"

"Ah, sorry," Giles said, smiling tiredly. "This is Dr Bowman, one of our advisors."

Bowman waved cheerily. "Fairly new to the project, only on temporary assignment."

"But with his help," Giles said, "we’ve managed to make some breakthroughs with our designs - we would have made them ourselves no doubt, but…"

"I helped," Dr Bowman finished, smirking. "Which is what I do."

"If you're so good, where were you during the war when we really needed this stuff working?" Redmond asked coldly. "We could have used all the ‘help’ we could have gotten."

"I was helping," Bowman replied shortly, frowning slightly. "Just somewhere else. A bloke can't be in two places at once."

"So they’ll be ready for use soon?" Redmond asked, ignoring this comment, though he still looked annoyed.

Dr Bowman whistled through his teeth. "That’s more tricky. The armour is only half the story."

"As you know, the actual soldiers in the Iron Clad program themselves are also meant to be augmented with magic," Giles said, frowning slightly. "We’ve had some research blocks with regards to making the augmentations entirely safe…"

"And magic is not my strong point," Dr Bowman finished. "which - given some of the places I’ve been over the last few months - it really should be, but it’s a tricky subject, not helped by the fact that since it’s magic, the actual research and understanding of it differs from place to place. For example - this world doesn’t measure magic in Thaumic readings…"

"Doctor," Sato said, holding a hand up. "Forgive me, but if we could focus on the problem of the Iron Clad program?"

"Right, sorry," Dr Bowman said, smiling sheepishly. "Basically - the original Iron Clad augmentations that we got to the ‘ready for testing’ stage weren’t safe."

"Weren’t safe?" Redmond repeated. "What the hell does that mean?"

"In the war, we had a different definition of what was acceptably safe," Giles clarified. Dr Bowman looked suitably shamefaced, looking away from everyone as the other man continued. "We were willing to accept magic burnout and slight-to-moderate psychological impairment on the Iron Clad subjects if the result was superior combat abilities. Now, though…"

"There is no war," Dr Bowman put in. "And I don’t know about any of you, but with less urgency I think a little more care with our soldiers is advisable."

"There’s no way to make the armour useful for non-Clads?" Cheerilee asked softly.

"As I believe has been mentioned in several of the documents previously provided, a lot of the Clad weapons and armour were designed for use by soldiers who could deal with more recoil, more wrenching forces, and harder kick," Giles pointed out, sounding slightly irritated at the question. "The armour was built to contain Clads, and the weapons had stronger punch because of this. All of the designs would have to be completely reworked…"

"And it’s easier to work on the one single problem of the Clads’ augmentations than it is to redesign a whole arsenal," Redmond finished, throwing Giles an annoyed glance.

"Precisely," the man said, perhaps a little too firmly. Bowman threw him a questioning look.

"Are you alright, Mr Giles?" Cheerilee asked quietly.

"I’m fine, Representative," Giles replied testily, and then he shook his head. "It’s just… this entire thing has been incredibly stressful."

"Made more so by some disturbing reports we’ve received," Bowman said quietly. He reached a hand into his coat pocket and withdrew something - a vial of orange liquid. Cheerilee and Sato stared at it wide eyed, and Redmond scowled.

"What is that?" he asked sharply.

"‘That’ is a new brand of potion a group of potion-bombers had on their hooves in London," Dr Bowman said.

"A new brand of potion?" Cheerilee repeated. "But without Solamina… Hell Blazer assured us that a lot of the more damaging properties were tied up in her magic, with her gone..."

"Hell Blazer might have been right about that," Bowman shrugged. "Like I said, not my area. But this stuff’s not ordinary potion. We don’t know exactly what it’s for - we don’t have the necessary equipment to analyse the magical formulas to our satisfaction - but if it’s new, one assumes they’ve done something new with it."

"And the Solaminan loyalists we keep hearing rumours about have this," Redmond stated more than asked. "They’ve already used it on humans."

"No," Giles began.

"But they intended to," Bowman added grimly. "One of the reasons I volunteered my services now - I was in London when the bombers tried their tricks. If it weren’t for Sir Eleanor of the Holy -"

"We already know about Sir Eleanor’s increased mobilisation of her order," Sato said, holding up a hand. "And her part in securing London and other places. Nonetheless, this potion presents a significant threat. We may need the Iron Clads sooner than we believe."

"How long will it take to fix the augmentations?" Cheerilee asked.

"Estimate is six months to a year," Giles said, looking rather awkward.

"Make it five months," Redmond ordered, still scowling, as though the very idea of Solaminan Loyalists made him furious. "We need those troops sooner rather than later. And redouble your efforts on analysing that potion - I want to know what we’re fighting."

Dr Bowman sighed, throwing Giles a look. The older-looking man nodded tiredly.

"I’ll see to it, sir," he said. And with that, he walked out, Dr Bowman following.

"You ask a lot of them," Sato said quietly. "We’re not at war anymore, General."

"Not yet we’re not," Redmond growled. "But I want to be ready for when we are. I will not preside over another conflict like the Solaminan War."

***

"Military minds don’t change much," Dr Bowman said idly.

"Indeed," Giles said idly, rubbing his head. The entire conversation had left him feeling more irritated than he normally did - maybe he was getting old. "I must thank you for your assistance on the project - I only wish you could stay."

"Me too," Dr Bowman said with a grin, apparently not noticing Giles’ irritation, "but duty calls and I have a lot of places to be."

"I’m sure you do," Giles said with a sigh. "You’re sure I can’t convince you to stay on?"

"Afraid not," Bowman said with a sad smile. "There’s a lot of things I’d like to do, and the war being over makes it easier to do ‘em. I’m glad I could be of some help, though."

"That you have been," Giles said. "Where will you go now?"

"Oh, I’ll likely be around," Dr Bowman said with a grin. "I owe a few humans and a few more ponies some favours - and not just ‘round here. You take care, Rupert."

"And you," Giles replied.

"No, I mean take care," Dr Bowman repeated, this time more insistently. "There’s more at work than you think there is: don’t discount the Solaminan Remnant yet. There’s more to them than you think."

Giles frowned, not sure what Bowman meant by that, but not liking the sound of it in any case.

"What does that mean?" he asked, scowling. "Do you know something?"

Dr Bowman sighed. "Look, this is all venturing into ‘spoilers’ territory and I really shouldn’t go there. I do know what this potion is, or I know what it might be anyway."

At this, Giles blinked in shock, before clutching at Bowman's arm.

"Then tell me!" he hissed, eyes wide at this surprising revelation - he didn't care how this man knew something (though he knew he probably should), so caught up he was by the simple fact that he did.

"I... I can't," Bowman said softly, extricating himself.

"You have to!" Giles insisted. "You might be able to prevent a catastrophe!"

"If everything plays out like I think it might, I won’t need to prevent anything," Bowman said, but he sighed. "Look, I’ve made some preliminary notes that you’ll find in your office - there’s nothing concrete there, but it’s enough to tell you it’s dangerous, and that is why you must not allow it to be used, and you must keep going with your own research."

"How can you possibly know all of this?!" Giles asked.

"The same way I know how to make powered armour work, Rupert," Bowman said with a sad smile. "We've met before, a long time ago from where I'm sitting, and I was as much of an expert then as I am now."

Giles blinked at this. "What do you...?"

"I've said too much," Bowman sighed, holding up a hand. "I'm sorry."

"I… can't say this makes any sense," Giles said, frowning. "Are you sure you can’t…?"

"I’ve said too much," Dr Bowman repeated, shaking his head. "Just… be careful, Rupert. Please."

"I will be," Giles nodded, not altogether happy with any of this. "Thank you."

"Hopefully," Bowman said, "we'll meet again."

Giles watched as Bowman walked off. He sighed - there was a lot to do, and not as much time to do it as he would have liked - and Dr Bowman’s warning didn’t exactly fill him with confidence. He closed his eyes, ignoring his headache and the persistent feeling of being watched by something.

Still - he sighed as he looked at the vial of livid orange potion. At least they had a lead, and at least they had something. For that, at least, he had to be grateful.

***

The Woes of Commander Sparkle

The Woes of Commander Sparkle.

A short story by Jed R.

"I don't know if what I'm doing is right,
I don't know if you should be forgiving,
But for me it seems it means my life,
While for you it could just be a living.
Elvis Costello, Any King's Shilling.

***

The Miner's Haven, Trottingham. July 3rd. Year 1 of the New Free Equestrian Calendar (2031).

"Another?" the grey-furred mole barkeeper asked his customer.

The purple Unicorn mare gave a wan smile - her mane, bleached blonde, was held back in a short ponytail, and the long black coat she wore obscured her cutie mark, but the tired eyes and lines of worry were all too familiar to the old mole. Next to her, the green, cropped-maned Unicorn stallion gave a slight smile. He looked less drawn than her, but at the same time more weary.

"Yeah," he said. "On me."

The barmole nodded and began pouring the drinks. His name was Hansel Strongclaw, and for many years now he and his family had been responsible for this pub, one of a fair few the city of Trottingham had that served Ol' Trotspur, a particularly strong (and famous) moleish beer.

He had seen many sorts pass through the doors of his establishment - angry drunkards, mellow drunkards, happy drunkards and even - once or twice - downright frisky drunkards. He'd dealt with Convies before and after the death of Solamina (and he preferred the latter - sure, lots of them were morose bastards, but a lot of them were less annoyingly chirpy), and he'd dealt with Guards who were sometimes worse off than those poor sods. He’d even dealt with that annoying mare with the auburn mane who kept starting fights when she was drunk - at least, he’d dealt with her once before throwing her out. That one had seemed familiar, but he hadn’t really cared - he never paid much attention to the news.

In all that though, these two were a mystery. She seemed almost resigned to her drinking, like it wasn't really a matter of choice.

"So," he asked. “What brings a nice lookin’ mare like yerself to a poor little establishment like my own?”

The mare looked up at him with a tired smile. “A lot of things.”

“I’ve heard a few rumours,” the mole said softly. “The mare who fixes Convies when they’re broken - which is a lot of ‘em, so I hear.”

The mare’s smile faded, and Hansel got the feeling he’d reminded her of something she didn’t want to think about.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I… guess that’s me.”

“Why would a mare like you be off doin’ something like that?” the mole asked. “Seems to be a bit of a task, given how many of those poor sods there are.”

She sighed, looking down at the bar, and mumbled something.

“Pardon?” Hansel said, straining to hear.

“Because I’m part of the reason they’re broken,” she said softly, looking up at him. She finished her drink, left a coin on the bar to pay for it and left the bar. A moment later the cropped-maned stallion followed, leaving a coin for his own drink and giving Hansel a look that told the old mole that maybe he’d done the wrong thing.

Hansel sighed. That had been an answer at least - though not necessarily the one he’d been after.

“Ah well,” he said softly, wiping the bar down softly. “I hope you find what you’re after, miss.”

***

“So,” True Grit asked quietly as they left the bar. “You did a few dozen of the Converted here, and you taught the spell to the local staff. I take it we’re done in Trottingham?”

“Yeah,” Twilight said simply. “We’re done.”

“Ok,” Grit said, without commenting on her brevity. It was rare for Twilight to say all that much, especially when she had been reminded of something she didn’t want to think of anymore. “So. What next, ma’am? Go find some more broken Convies -?”

Twilight winced. “I wish you wouldn’t call them that, Grit.”

She had never liked that term, not when Applejack had used it in passing, not when Rainbow Dash had berated Convie flyers for incompetence, and not now that it was her task to fix them. Grit, for his part, had the decency to look abashed at least.

“Sorry ma’am,” he said. “Picked it up while I was serving in Plymouth.”

“I don’t really care where you picked it up, Grit,” Twilight said, sighing. She stopped. “I’m sorry… that was unnecessarily…”

“Ma’am,” Grit said, raising a hoof. “It’s fine.”

There was a pause. Twilight looked up at Grit and smiled softly.

“You know,” she said, “there’s times when I’m really glad you came along with me.”

“Me too,” Grit replied, smiling back. “But in any case - we’d better get going wherever we’re going. There’s a Guard outpost near here, according to the map - hopefully they’ll have supplies to give to us.”

“Yeah,” Twilight said quietly, her soft smile fading. She hated going near Guard outposts - she hated being anywhere near anything military these days. “Hopefully.”

***

The nearest outpost to Trottingham was somewhere between the town and a small village called Marefield. The next nearest outpost was one along the Iron Wall - for the life of her, Twilight didn’t know why the thing was still manned, or even why it was still up. If it were up to her, she would have had the blasted thing torn down. The walk to Marefield was long, but surprisingly peaceful for the most part, despite the

“Did you ever come this far out?” Grit asked.

“I didn’t tend to do inspections,” Twilight replied softly. “Well, no, that’s not strictly true - I didn’t tend to do inspections often. I did them enough that I knew what was what where I needed to, but it was Shining or Flash Sentry who tended to…”

She trailed off, her voice ending in a choked noise.

Shining Armour is dead, and they wouldn’t even show me his corpse. Flash Sentry was killed during the battle of London, at the final battle at St Paul’s. Pinkie died a few days earlier.

“Ma’am?” Grit asked.

“Grit,” Twilight said softly, “do you ever…”

“Do I ever what, ma’am?” Grit asked.

“Regret anything you did in the war?” Twilight finished, speaking quietly.

True Grit paused, slowed, and stopped walking, a slight frown developing on his face.

“I don’t know,” he said after a long moment. “I wasn’t on Earth for long, but… it was long enough that I did some things. Some things I don’t know if I can live with.” He paused, regarding her with knowing eyes. “I suppose it’d be a bit of a stupid question to ask you if you did anything you regretted.”

Twilight laughed aloud. “I was involved with the EG project, the False God project, the revised potion projects, the assaults of London, Whitby, Hull and Lancaster. I was responsible for half the scientific atrocities committed by the Empire, and it was me and the Empress together who worked on Luna - and you do remember Luna, right?”

“Yeah,” Grit said, his expression souring.

“So yes,” Twilight finished. “Yes, it is a stupid question. I regret all of it.”

“I don’t even know what half those things you mentioned are,” True Grit commented, raising an eyebrow. “EG? False God?”

“EG stood for ‘Eternal Guard’,” Twilight said softly. “You don’t want to know what they were - although you met the prototype.”

“Luna?” Grit said after a moment. “You mean… there were more?”

“Oh yes,” Twilight said softly, an expression of disgust on her face. “There were more. Several hundred, at least. The project was quite extensive - only one of the more esoteric weapons Solamina demanded.”

“And project False God?” Grit asked.

“I don’t really want to talk about all the things I was doing in the war, Grit,” Twilight said with a scowl. “It’s understandably not my favourite of subjects…”

“No, I understand,” Grit said softly. "Sorry."

Twilight sighed. "No… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have reacted like that, you have a right to know, given all you've done for me. It's just…"

"A sore subject," Grit finished.

"Yeah," Twilight said with a smile. She sighed, her smile fading. "I'm never going to be free of it, am I?"

"Maybe not," Grit admitted, "but we'll get there in the end. I'm sure of it."

***

The outpost in question was only a mile or so up the road when they started hearing the clamour. It began as a soft noise in the distance, but it was the sort of noise that both Grit and Twilight knew very well.

“Is that…?” Grit asked, frowning.

There was a distant rumble - the sound of masonry shattering under the blows of a concussive spell. Twilight scowled. She was - unfortunately - very familiar with that sound. She had heard it too many times over the course of the war.

“That,” she said aloud, “is the sound of trouble.”

And with that, she took off at a gallop, leaving True Grit to follow in her wake. Though he was (by a couple of years or so) younger than this Twilight Sparkle, he was surprised that she seemed fitter and quicker than him. He found it particularly odd when he remembered that this Sparkle had been an officer, and from what little she’d said prior to today on their journeys, largely a deskbound officer. Most of her responsibilities, it had panned out, were to do with R&D, magical weaponry, ordering attacks and planning them. Her frontline duties had mostly petered out after Cornwall.

After a few minutes of galloping, the two of them rounded a bend in the road, and there, beyond some trees, they saw the fort and what was attacking it.

The outpost itself was a combination of wood and stone - a small stone keep, with wooden palisades manned by beleaguered ponies in Night Guard armour. Unicorns were racing up and down the wooden battlements, trying to replace comrades hit by spells from their attackers.

The fortress was surrounded by Royal Guard - they wore their golden armour with pride, and one of them was flying the flag of the Solaminan Empire, a representation of Celestia's - Solamina's - cutie mark. It was only a small group - no more than twenty five or so, not counting the half dozen corpses that surrounded the fortress.

"An attack!" True Grit said, sounding surprised.

Twilight only growled. There was something about this entire situation that felt… off - like there was more to it.

"We have to help!" her escort said.

"You're right," she replied. Her horn glowed, and suddenly a bolt of purple magic lashed out, impacting in the centre of the formation of Royal Guards and causing an explosion that sent dirt, rock and body parts in equal measure flying. Snorting, Twilight charged forward, unheeding of Grit's shout for her to wait.

This was personal.

The first Unicorn she got to, a stallion, tried drawing a short sword to attack her. She dodged, then grabbed the blade with her own telekinesis, before ramming it through his throat. Withdrawing the blade, she used it to slice the throat of one charging Earth Pony, then another. She dodged a spell from another Unicorn, and then retaliated by blowing a hole clean through the mare's face.

Behind her, True Grit began laying down suppressing fire, spells lancing out from his horn and mashing into the enemy Guard, throwing ponies off their hooves. He was functional - efficient, even. But Twilight Sparkle? She was an artist. She moved fluidly, every step a lethal movement that caused one of her enemies to die. She dodged another spell, rolled, put up a shield that effortlessly absorbed the spells thrown by another Unicorn, before unleashing the shield as a shockwave.

"Who is that?!" somepony yelled.

"Get the Alicorn out here!" somepony else yelled. "Now!"

True Grit jogged up to Twilight. "What did that Guard say?!"

Twilight narrowed her eyes, hoping against hope that it didn't mean what she think it did. She sent more spells off, picking off more of the enemy Guard.

"Get to the fort - get anypony inside to get out here and give me a hand," she said.

"But -" Grit began.

"But nothing, Grit," Twilight said. "Get as many ponies as can fight out here now. We're gonna -"

There was a sudden flash of light, and an explosion near them, showering dirt all over the two of them. Grit was blown off his hooves, landing in a heap nearby, and he quickly got up, only to see Twilight standing where she was, another shield erected and crackling from the impact of rubble and dirt. Her mane was blowing in backdraft - and then the dust cleared.

An armoured figure was stood before them - elegant wings spread out in fury, eyes narrowed in contempt, horn glowing with power and a blade levelled in Twilight’s direction. Golden armour glittered, seemingly untouched by the dust.

“I am Gladia, warrior of the Solaminan Empire!” the figure yelled. “Yield or be annihilated!”

Grit watched as Twilight’s horn glowed in challenge, the former Solaminan Commander narrowing her own eyes in turn.

“The Solaminan Empire is dead,” she hissed. “Solamina is dead! You will stand down!”

There was a brief pause as the two sized each other up. Suddenly, Twilight threw a spell, before galloping around the Alicorn, throwing more as she did so. The Alicorn blocked the spells effortlessly, conjuring a silver shield of magic that absorbed the impact with no issue. Suddenly, she threw her own spells, but Twilight teleported, and the spells hit nothing but dirt, pulverising the ground.

The two were stood still again, once more sizing each other up. The Alicorn raised her head slightly.

“We are stalemated in a duel of magic,” she said simply. She aimed her blade once more at Twilight. “This contest will be decided by our skills at arms.”

Twilight snorted, her horn glowing, and suddenly a mound of dirt rose into the air, before twisting into the shape of a sword. In a flash of purple light, a shining steel blade was there, and it flashed into a guard position as Twilight took a defensive posture.

And then Gladia charged.

There was a flash of silver as the blades clashed, and the two powerful magic users strained to force the other back. Suddenly, Twilight and her sword teleported to behind the Alicorn, and the purple mare stabbed. Gladia, faster than thought, swept her blade to parry, before bringing it down in a vicious overhead strike. Twilight teleported away again, this time to Gladia’s side, and lashed out, forcing the other mare onto the defensive as Twilight struck again and again, a furious grimace on her face.

And all the while, Gladia was smirking.

She blocked a final blow, spun her blade around and suddenly Twilight was disarmed, Gladia’s blade aimed at her throat. The Alicorn was breathing heavily, exhausted by their duel. Twilight gulped, suddenly aware of the sweat in her mane.

“Yield,” Gladia said.

Twilight growled, and then grimaced, as though she had an unpleasant taste in her mouth.

“I know what you are,” she said simply, and she sounded like she pitied the other mare.

“I am Gladia,” the Alicorn snapped. “Warrior of the Empire.”

“Who were you?” Twilight asked quietly. “Before this?”

Gladia narrowed her eyes. “Nothing. And now, I am everything.”

Her blade edged closer to Twilight’s throat.

“Stand down!” True Grit’s voice suddenly called out.

Gladia turned her eyes to look in his direction - only to see him standing there, horn glowing… backed by the rest of the garrison, their faces full of fury mixed with awe at seeing an Alicorn.

“You're outnumbered,” Twilight said quietly.

“I could dispatch all of these,” Gladia replied, equally quiet.

“Could you?” Twilight asked, raising an eyebrow. “I created the potion that made you what you are - and in all my estimates, the result was a more powerful warrior… but never so powerful that they could take on twenty trained ponies alone and survive, especially not when they're already drained from battle.”

Gladia narrowed her eyes at Twilight for a moment, and then she lowered her head slightly.

“This is only a beginning,” she said simply. Her blade twitched slightly, a sudden sharp pain erupting on Twilight’s cheek, and then Gladia was gone, teleported away.

Twilight breathed, bringing a good to her cheek, and staring at the bright blood there. Her eyes widened slightly as the full implications of what she had just seen began to hit her.

“Ma’am?” she heard Grit call. “Are you alright?”

This is only a beginning.

“Ma’am?!” Grit repeated.

Twilight Sparkle didn't know how to answer him.

Author's Note

Hello everyone!

My, it has been a long time, hasn't it? Sorry about that. I've had a lot of stuff going on in my life that needed my attention. Still, I managed to finish this little gem. I think it's safe to say things are escalating in the world of AOA Equestria.

Anyway: I hope you enjoyed that. I'll be back on the metaphorical horse soon, hopefully (no pun intended).

Cheers.

Jed.

A Very Equestrian Life Day

A Very Equestrian Life Day.

A short story by RoyalPsycho.

***

Canterlot. December 25th, Year 1 of the New Free Equestrian Calendar (2031).

Dreamer had always been an inquisitive colt. His father, despite not being the most imaginative pony when it came to names, had been surprisingly insightful when it came to picking one for his only son. His mother had never had any say in it and never wanted any, on account of apparently leaving a few days after he had been born. His father had never said why she left them but he remembered one night overhearing his father complaining with his friends. He had said his mother had never liked Unicorns and giving birth to one had apparently been too much for her to handle.

His father had always encouraged him to explore, to satisfy his curiosity and always reach for the stars. Even during the war he had been told to never give up on his dreams. Equestria may have been engaged in a terrible conflict a world away, but that shouldn’t stop him from becoming the pony he wanted to be rather than the pony the propaganda said he should be. Two years ago, when his binocular shaped cutie mark had appeared, his father had hugged him tightly and wept, thanking Solamina and various other important ponies that his son was not destined to experience war.

Then the humans had come.

Fortunately he and his father had been sent down to the shelters when the alarm had been sounded and he had missed the battle. However when he and his father were told to leave the underground bunker they were huddling in he had found a very different city awaited him.

Solamina had been killed, the Empire was gone and some new pony had taken the throne and was saying that Equestria had returned. It never really mattered much to Dreamer, he and has father had been much more concerned with rebuilding their lives. Their house had been lucky enough to survive so they didn’t have to scrounge for a place in the limited number of shelters.

The humans had left and then, barely a few months later, they had come back. Apparently they were helping Prince Blueblood with some other wars far away but none of that had mattered to him. It hadn’t taken Dreamer long to overcome his fear of the bizarre aliens and in a matter of weeks he was trying to talk to them, to learn everything he could about the visitors from another world. They had proved difficult to talk with… largely because they didn’t talk. Talk to him anyway. He and his friends had soon forgotten about them. They were there but they didn’t do much besides stand watch over some area and they were easy enough to ignore after long enough.

Then everything had changed.

***

It was the middle of Hearth's Warming and despite the trials and tribulations of the previous year, and the strains of the war and empire that went back even further, the entirety of Canterlot had come out to celebrate a tradition as old as the nation itself.

Of course it wasn’t as vibrant an occasion as it used to be. The losses from the war, the costs of the reconstruction and the continued problems with demagogues, warlords and the last of the Solaminan Loyalists were a dampener on the holiday spirits and ensured that everypony had less than they had been used to. Still, Dreamer hadn’t let that ruin the holiday for him and neither had his friends.

Dreamer galloped down the street, weaving through the crowds of adults that still moved through the avenues and thoroughfares of Outer Canterlot. It was still morning and Dreamer had only recently opened up his presents and thanked his father for the gift of a brand new pair of binoculars to replace the pair that had been destroyed in the battle.

He quickly came to the square that stood at the centre of his local district and looked around. The clock that stood on the plinth that once held a massive statue of Celestia/Solamina said it was 10:33 which meant he was only a few minutes late.

He looked through the square, scanning the crowds of ponies as they trotted back and forth through his vision. He was expecting his friends to be standing under the plinth, waiting for him so that they could all go and celebrate Hearth's Warming together.

It took barely a few seconds for his face to light up in delight when he finally spotted a pair of foals standing under the clock. They too appeared to be scanning the square.

A brown Earth Pony colt with a dark red spot around one of his eyes, a brownish-green mane and tail and a cutie mark that depicted a pair of walking boots was practically leaning over the small wall that separated the plinth from the rest of the square. he waved at Dreamer the moment he spotted him and began excitedly pointing him out. His companion, a lilac Pegasus filly with a light blue mane and tail that were both elaborately styled and a fashionably lacy saddle-coat that covered her cutie mark, turned at the sound of the colt’s exclamations and proceeded to wave as well, a smile on her face.

They were Sound Choice and Exuberance, his friends and fellow explorers. He had known both of them for as long as he could remember. Sound Choice had been his neighbour up until the battle and the two of them had been inseparable, running through the city to find anything new that they could then write down in their exploration log for posterity. Exuberance was a noble’s daughter. She had met them a couple of years ago after getting lost. The two of them had helped her finally find her way home and by that point the three of them were sure friends and Exuberance had gained her cutie mark, a beautiful compass rose.

Ever since then the three of them would meet up to travel the streets of Canterlot and the surrounding plateau, making note of any new discoveries. They had gotten into enormous amounts of trouble at times, infiltrating buildings, causing accidents and finding out things they apparently weren't supposed to.

“Hey,” Sound Choice shouted as Dreamer ran close to them, “what took you so long?”

“Sorry,” Dreamer gasped out as he tried to catch his breath. He hoof-bumped Sound Choice before continuing. “My dad wanted me to clean up after we opened up our presents. Hey get this,” Dreamer said, quickly changing the subject as he rushed to tell his friends about his new present, “my dad got me this sweet pair of binoculars for Hearth's Warming.”

“Cool,” Sound Choice replied though his tone showed his interest was lacklustre at best. Exuberance seemed a little bit more impressed though she never voiced it, instead her eyes widened slightly and sparkled at the thought of new possibilities to discover and explore with her friends.

“So have you heard?” Sound Choice suddenly said, changing the subject.

“Heard what?” Dreamer replied, sounding a little confused.

“The humans,” Sound Choice began excitement building in his voice, “they’re…”

“They’re different,” Exuberance interrupted, finally speaking.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sound Choice continued, not caring that he had been cut off.

“Different?” Dreamer asked again, still sounding confused. He glanced around, trying to see if there were any humans around. Now that he thought about it he hadn’t seen any of the familiar guards he had gotten used to see roam about the streets. Scanning the square he also didn’t see any standing at the street corners like they usually were.

“Yeah,” Sound Choice said, “when I woke up I looked outside and I saw that the guy who usually stands outside my house wasn’t there. I checked and checked but he never showed up and when I went outside and down to the next street there weren’t any there either. It’s like they all just left.”

“Actually,” Exuberance began again, “they’re still near my family’s estate.”

Sound Choice deflated slightly at that, having assured himself that the humans were already gone.

“Really?” he asked, “Awww. I wanted to see if we could find out why they’d left.”

“Well they’re all in one place now,” Exuberance then said, “so maybe we could go and see what they’re doing?”

“Yeah,” Dreamer piped in enthusiastically, “maybe they’re celebrating Hearth's Warming as well. Oh, or maybe they’re getting ready to go fight in those other wars, or maybe there’s some kind of parade.” Despite his general discomfort around the black clad soldiers that had taken over the streets of his home, Dreamer couldn’t help but feel excited at the possibilities that this new discovery was presenting them.

“Alright,” Sound Choice then said, joining in with their excitement “let’s go.”

Their decision made the three foals shot off down the street in the direction of the upper class districts. Exuberance led the way, guiding them through the avenues of shops and gated manor houses until they reached an old Royal Guard compound and there they found the humans.

***

“So, uuuhhhhhh, how do we get in?” Sound Choice asked as they stared up at the massive wall that separated the compound from the streets around it. Beyond the wall the trio of foals could hear the sounds of moving objects, cheering and loud talking. There were definitely ponies.... people in there.

“We could try the front door?” Exuberance suggested. Dreamer and Sound Choice both shot her deadpan glances in response. “What?” She said indignantly. “It’s polite.”

“They never let us in through the front door,” Dreamer replied. “Remember the museum?”

All three ponies shuddered as they remembered the night they had spent locked in the Canterlot Museum of History. After being barred from entering without adult supervision they had managed to squeeze their way through the archive window near the cellars and ended up trapped in the building when they closed a few minutes later. The night guard hadn’t found them until it was already dawn.

“Yeah,” Exuberance said, “mother and father already don’t like me hanging out with you two. Another incident like that and I’m pretty sure they’ll forbid me from even stepping near your houses.”

“Alright,” Dreamer said, “when we do find a way in,” he paused to emphasise his instructions, “we make sure that there’s also a way out.”

“Yeah,” Sound Choice replied, Exuberance nodding.

“Right. So now that that’s out of the way, let’s find out how to get over this wall.” With that declaration Dreamer scanned the area for any opportunity to make it into the compound. Checking the area he saw several metal barrels and a pile of boxes leaning against the wall.

“Hey,” he said excitedly, “we could make a ladder out of those.”

“Great,” Sound Choice replied in agreement. “And we can get back down when we’re done as well.”

“Let’s do this then,” Dreamer said with conviction. With that declaration the young Unicorn clambered onto the first box and then used his hooves to lever himself onto the next level of the impromptu ladder. The shaking of the ladder helped indicate that at least one of his friends had followed him. Dreamer looked down for a second and saw Sound Choice just behind him whilst Exuberance used her wings to hover up, using the boxes to guide her incredibly unsteady flying.

Eventually, after almost falling several times, the three made it to the top of the wall and climbed over it.

“So…” Sound Choice began as he worriedly looked down, “how do we get down?”

Dreamer looked about as he tried to find some means of safely lowering himself and his friends down from the top of the wall. Unfortunately this time there were no boxes or other materials that could be used as a ladder and the wall was too high for them to safely jump down without hurting themselves.

“How about this?” Exuberance’s voice snapped Dreamer out of his panicked thoughts. turning his head in her direction he saw the well-dressed filly sliding down the guttering of one of the adjoining buildings attached to the compound wall.

“That’ll work,” Dreamer said as he walked along the top of the wall to the guttering. He gripped the metal pipe and wrapped his hooves on the sides. Jumping from the wall, he held on tight as his body slid down to the ground. Sound Choice followed after him, the Earth Pony gritting his teeth and shutting his eyes as he too slowly slid down to the ground.

“We’re in,” Exuberance said with a triumphantly smug grin, “you’re welcome.”

“Alright,” Dreamer said, his voice dropping to a whisper, “we’re going to have to be very quiet. We don’t want to get caught now do we?”

“No,” Sound Choice whispered back, “now let’s go find some humans.”

The three foals set off, sticking the shadows as much as they could as they walked through the compound they had just broken into.

Though they could still hear the same bustling sounds that had echoed over the walls the area of the compound they had broken into was practically empty. Whilst this was good news, as it prevented them from being caught, it had also been very underwhelming for the inquisitive foals.

“Come on,” Sound Choice whispered loudly, “there’s gotta be something. I mean there’s all that noise coming from over there.” He waved his hoof in the general direction of the noise.

All three foals quickly set off in the direction of the loudest clamour. It didn’t take them very long to make it round the building they had just clambered down from and found another empty avenue in front of them.

“Where is everyhuman?” Sound Choice whispered to his friends, a hint of frustration in his voice.

“Yeah,” Dreamer replied. “You’d think there’d be at least a few of them.”

“Well we can still hear some of them shouting that way,” Exuberance pointed down one of the avenues between the buildings. She then began to walk in the direction she had pointed.

“Wait up,” both colts said hurriedly as they chased after their friend.

The three of them walked down the avenue, the voices growing louder as they approached another empty intersection.

“So you going to the fight?” a loud feminine voice said around one of the corners.

“Probably,” another voice replied.

The three foals hurriedly ran behind a large metal box and hid, the three of them piled on top of one another. Dreamer, who was at the top of the pile, peered over the top of the box.

Two humans walked through the intersection. They were both dressed in the usual black shirt and trousers he had always seen them wear but they were missing the long overcoats and disturbing masks that he often saw them carrying. Both of them, as he had come to learn, were female and they seemed to be talking to one another.

Dreamer held his breath as he saw them walk by. When both humans had walked past them, he waited to see if any more were coming.

“What’s going on?” Exuberance, who was at the bottom of the pile and very frustrated, asked.

“I think they’re gone,” Dreamer said.

“Good,” Sound Choice grunted. “D’ya think we could move then? This is really uncomfortable.”

“How do you think I feel?” Exuberance groaned, shifting slightly to throw the two colts off of her.

Dreamer and Sound Choice tumbled to the ground with a grunt.

“Thanks Exuberance,” Dreamer mumbled, rubbing his head as he pulled himself to his hooves.

“At least we now know where humans are,” Sound Choice said, already setting off down the avenue the humans had been walking.

“Wait up,” Dreamer shouted after him, Exuberance quickly chasing after them as well.

The three of them trotted down the avenue until, once again they saw more humans. There was an entire crowd of them with their backs turned to the foals. They were all loudly shouting, chanting or cheering. The specifics of their conversations all blended into one another as they all tried their hardest to be heard.

“Come on,” Sound Choice whispered, “we’ve gotta hide and find somewhere good to see what they’re doing.”

“The roof,” Exuberance said, pointing at the drainage system that an around the roof of every building.

Dreamer scanned the area quickly, desperately searching for some means of reaching up to the roof. He then saw the box they had hid behind. It was close to another stack of boxes and storage barrels.

“Hey let’s see if we can use those as a ladder,” he said excitedly, dashing off to the pile of boxes.

“Really?” Exuberance groaned.

Dreamer had already clambered atop the box they had hid behind and used it as a means of leaping onto a stack of barrels. His friends following after him, the Unicorn colt clambered,leaped and dragged his way up until he could grab at the guttering. Soon he had lifted himself, rather awkwardly onto the roof of the cabin.

A grunt of exertion heralded Sound Choice’s arrival behind him, followed by a panting Exuberance.

“You guys know I’m wearing this thing right?” she asked, pointing to her saddle-coat. “It weighs like a tonne.”

“Hey,” Dreamer said defensively, “I didn’t dress you and you wanted to see humans well now I’ve got us the best seats in the city.” He emphasized his point by waving his hoof around him, indicating the elevated platform they now found themselves on.

All three foals walked to the edge of the roof, peered over the edge, making sure to be careful so that they weren’t spotted, and finally found what they were looking for.

They were looking into a large open square bordered by the largest cabins they had yet seen in the compound and it was full of humans. They were all dressed in the similar black and grey clothing but there was plenty of variation. None of them wore masks or carried weapons. Some wore their long overcoats but others had settled for simply donning heavy jumpers to ward off the cold of winter. There were different hues of skin colour verging from pale, milky pink to dark brown and everyone was smiling.

A small square of land had been cleared out and bordered by posts with elastic rope strung between them. The foals all recognised it as a ring. They had seen several sports that had taken place in a similar cordoned square. The humans all seemed to be clamouring around the ring, making loud declarations or tugging excitedly on the ropes.

Suddenly the sound of feedback tore through the air, drowning out much of the talking and making nearly everyone in the square give a collective wince.

“Sorry,” a feminine voice shouted over the now relatively quiet square followed by moaning and muttered curses.

Dreamer looked in the direction the apology had come from and saw a female human standing on a large metal box. She was holding a microphone and behind her was a massive array of speakers. They weren’t the small sound systems he had seen in Sound Choice’s room, they were large concert-grade machines and they had all been set up on one end of the square.

The human holding the microphone was shorter than anyone around her and looked and sounded young, like a teenager. She was wearing the dark clothing of the other humans but seemed to have changed the trousers for large dark socks and a long skirt that reached down past her knees.

She fiddled with the microphone, muttering short and frustrated sentences and then stopped with a short cry of satisfaction.

“Well then,” the woman spoke into the microphone, her voice booming over the square. She paused for a moment, coughed into her hand and then looked out over the square.

“Hello Canterlot garrison,” she shouted, “who's happy to be alive?” Every human in the square cheered and shouted.

“Kidman,” several of the soldiers shouted which others took up, chanting the name at the woman.

Kidman waved her hand and smiled awkwardly accepting their chanting before continuing. “Today we're here on December 25th to celebrate a very special day to us. It may seem a bit cliche to put our very special holiday on this day but I am happy to announce that today is our Life Day.”

The square erupted once again with loud cheering that Kidman allowed to continue. Meanwhile the three foals looked at one another in confusion.

“They have a holiday on Hearth's Warming too?” Dreamer asked, slightly confused at the odd coincidence.

“Looks like it,” Sound Choice said, also finding it hard to believe.

“Yeah,” Exuberance also conceded. “But why did they have to give it such a ridiculous name?”

“Yeah,” Sound Choice agreed. “I mean, Life Day? That sounds so stupid.”

“Shh,” Dreamer said, his attention back on the square, “they’re talking again.”

Sure enough the cheering was quieting down a bit and Kidman was speaking into the microphone again.

“Now I know there’s not that much to do here in Pony-central,” Kidman said with a flippant tone, “but we were able to scrounge this little ensemble together and set up something a bit special. Get out your stamps and place your bets everybody cause it's time to begin our free-style boxing tournament.”

Cheers once again broke out as the humans began to wave small pieces of coloured paper about.

“Now we can’t have a match without some combatants,” Kidman continued, “so I’m happy to announce our first volunteers.”

“In the grey corner,” she shouted, sweeping her hand until it pointed at a post with one of their grey uniform shirts tied to it, “is David Palmer of the Plymouth 4th, an exemplary Dead Man who made it through seven gruelling consecutive months in the hero city itself.”

The crowd cheered as a large, dark skinned man with a shaved head stepped forward. He took off his jumper, revealing a light sleeveless vest underneath that conformed to his muscular figure. The crowd cheered with several soldiers calling out to him.

“Come on Dave,” one of them shouted.

“Win it for the 4th,” another was able to call over the ruckus.

David Palmer accepted their praise with a modest bow and a small smile that quickly turned into a confident smirk.

“Now in the black corner,” Kidman then began, spinning on her stage and pointing to another post with one of the dark overcoats, “volunteering from the London 1st, veteran of a hundred battles, personal confidante to the Undead himself, you all know him, you all love him, Commander Joe Rither.”

The entire square roared in approval. Dreamer covered his ears at the noise but never took his eyes off the humans. An old and stout man with light skin and thinning hair walked forward. His face was aged and his body was much thicker than his opponent, but the man still had very obvious and very toned muscles that his own vest revealed to everyone around him.

“Joe! Joe! Joe! Joe!” the crowd chanted.

Joe stepped into the ring and saluted the crowd. He then immediately began to limber his hands, shoulders and neck, wincing occasionally as he did so but quickly recovering his air of confidence.

Dreamer gazed at the two humans intently. He couldn’t help but get caught up in whatever excitable energy the humans were now exuding with their cheering. He saw other humans pass their slips of paper between one another, chattering enthusiastically as they exchanged whatever they were holding. Those who weren’t celebrating but remained in the square seemed to have found their own corners and pockets where they seemed to be thinking over things or talking calmly amongst one another. Dreamer could only imagine what they were doing but they all shared one thing. They were all active.

“And now,” the voice of Kidman echoed over the square once again. “Begin!”

The cheering became deafening and the shouting indistinguishable as the two men in the ring held their arms up and advanced on one another. Dreamer didn’t really understand what was going on but he could guess that the two were going to fight.

“Uh Dreamer,” Sound Choice said, his voice almost drowned out by the humans below. “I don’t think we should be watching this. This getting a bit intense.”

“Really?” Dreamer replied, turning to look at his friend. Sound Choice had a worried look on his face. Beyond him Exuberance had a shocked expression plastered on her face but her eyes had an intense look of concentration as well.

“Yeah,” Sound Choice said as they watched the two humans edge closer towards one another, their arms still raised.

“Oh come on,” Dreamer replied, “they haven’t eve…”

His words were suddenly drowned out when the crowd below let out a collective roar. He turned his head quickly enough to catch Dave, the darker skinned man, swinging his fist and smacking the older man named Joe in the arm.

“Woah!” Exuberance said excitedly. “They’re really fighting.”

Dreamer didn’t notice Sound Choice had stopped talking as he watched both humans beginning to throw punches. He could tell they were thinking about every strike as they spent time watching and waiting for one another to drop their guard. Dave was throwing everything he had at Joe, hammering at the older man’s raised arms repeatedly.

“This is awesome,” Dreamer whispered to himself as watched the two massive creatures beat at one another while the crowd shouted and jeered in excitement. A quick glance away from the fighters revealed that the smaller groups and even Kidman, still standing atop her podium, microphone in hand, were cheering.

A moment later the crowd quieted with a collective gasp when Joe actually lowered his arms, blocked Dave’s strike and sent his own fist into the other man’s head. The tide of the fight immediately turned as the older man repeatedly beat on the disoriented man. The entire struggle became one-sided very quickly until, with one final punch, Joe downed Dave.

“Come on,” Sound Choice said, nudging Dreamer. “It’s over. Can we go now.”

“Really?” Exuberance cut in, her eyes finally drawn away from the fight by her friend’s request.

Dreamer still watched as another man stepped into the ring and checked on Dave. The humans in the crowd were either exchanging their pieces of paper, many of them looking annoyed, or cheering on the new combatants. Kidman was speaking into her microphone again but he wasn’t listening to what the human girl was saying. Instead he saw some of the crowd were pealing off.

“Yeah. Alright,” he suddenly said. “We can go.”

“Awwh,” Exuberance moaned, realising she had been outvoted.

“Thank you,” Sound Choice said mildly sardonically.

“Yeah, some of them are leaving too,” Dreamer continued, still watching the crowd disperse along the edges. “I want to see what they do for Hearth's Warming.”

“Oh,” Exuberance perked up again. “That sounds good.”

“As long as we don’t have to see anything like this again,” Sound Choice grumbled.

Their decision made, the trio clambered down from the roof, carefully making sure none of the humans saw them. They snuck through the avenues between the buildings of the compound once again, hoping they could find some way back over the walls.

It took several tense minutes but they thankfully found a way up one of the buildings again, clambering up the drains attached to the small structure’s side until they were able to make it back onto the compound wall. Finally they walked along the wall again until they found their makeshift ladder. Finally, they climbed back down and made it to the grounds outside the wall.

“Glad we made it out without being caught this time,” Sound Choice said.

“Indeed,” Exuberance agreed, straightening out her saddle-dress. “Am I still clean?” she asked. “I still have dinner later today and mother and father really hate it when I get dirty when I go out.”

“Yeah you’re still good,” Dreamer said as he jumped off the last box and back onto the pavement.

“Oh thank Luna,” Dreamer breathed a sigh of relief, using the new expletive the prince’s Night Guard insisted on using. “The last thing I need is another lecture.”

“So now what?” Sound Choice asked.

“Now,” Dreamer said with a pause as he looked around. “Now we follow them.” He pointed at a group of humans walking out of the main gate of the compound.

“Right,” the other two foals agreed.

***

Together the three of them set off. In front of them was a group of four humans, three men and woman. They seemed to be walking casually. Their steps matched the march he normally saw them do but they were chatting with one another, small smiles on their faces.

For another hour he saw the human group stop at a cafe and order drinks. They even gave the owner bits and sat down at a table, their oversized frames looking very bizarre in the chairs that were built for the smaller ponies. They then began to talk amongst one another, several of them chuckling at certain points. None of them were close enough to follow the conversation but all three foals were stunned by how bizarre it was to see the humans look so relaxed.

After some complaining from Exuberance, they abandoned the first group to follow another human who was walking through town with a guitar over his shoulder.

They followed the human man back to the square they had met in earlier that day. He sat down in front of the clock, took the guitar off of his shoulder and began to strum it. They stood and listened as he played a halting and slow song they didn’t recognise. All three of them confused as to what exactly he was trying to do.

By the time it was 12:00 the number of humans in the city had grown once again. They didn’t fill the streets but now all three foals could easily find them in small groups. At one point they ran away when they found two human men kissing in an alley they were passing by curiously. Another time they saw six of them were singing to one another, their songs sounding like Hearth's Warming carols but with very different words.

***

“Well I’ve got to go,” Exuberance said, as they rounded a corner and made it onto the main street leading to the upper class sections. “Mother and father will be expecting me back or dinner.”

“Alright,” Sound Choice said. “I’d better go too my mom and dad will want me back to greet grandma as well.”

“Fair enough,” Dreamer said with a shrug. “I’ll see you guys later then. Happy Hearth's Warming.”

“Happy Hearth's Warming,” the other two said with a wave. With that the group dispersed, Sound Choice running back down the street that led in the direction of his house. Exuberance walked more assuredly back to the upper class residential districts.

Dreamer sighed and fixed a small smile to his face. It had been nice to go exploring with his friends again and even if he understood why they had to go off early, he still felt a little disheartened by them leaving. He knew he had to go back home himself. His father would probably have finished preparing dinner and his grandparents would probably be coming over.

picking his hooves up, he began to trot back home. The streets had many more humans roaming them now. Dreamer continued to investigate them as he walked, sometimes taking longer routes and detours in order to check out some new sight.

Most of the humans he saw were still very casual, a few of them acting rowdy like the ponies he had seen at taverns, pubs and bars. Some of them were as happy as the ponies around them, a few even joining in on Hearth's Warming celebrations. However most still had the bizarre, coldness about them, as if they were bitter about everything going on around them.

Dreamer saw a lone human was walking down the street. He was in most of the gear he had come to familiarise with humans except for the weapons and face-covering helmet and mask.

Taking a deep breath and swallowing, Dreamer decided to do something he had been planning for weeks. He walked towards the human, a nervous look on his face and stood in front of him as he walked through the crowd.

The human paused as he saw the foal in front of him and changed his direction a little.

“Ummm… excuse me,” Dreamer said, catching the human’s attention. “Excuse me sir.”

“Yes,” the human replied, looking down at him and fixing him with a somewhat confused look.

“Well… I’m sorry to bother you but I was wondering what’s Life Day?” Dreamer felt even more scared as the human gave him an odd look with a slight smirk.

“I couldn’t really give you a proper answer kid,” the human said. “Still it doesn’t look like it’ll be much of a chore.”

He waved Dreamer over to one side of the street so that they could avoid the crowds.

“Do you know what a Dead Man is, kid?” the human asked.

“Isn’t that just a body?” Dreamer asked in response, slightly confused by the human’s question.

The human let out a short burst of laughter at Dreamer’s question. “Well you’re not wrong there,” he said. “A Dead Man, at least what I’m talking about anyway, is a person like me. Long ago I suffered something, something really bad. It was so bad I felt like I was dead. During the war I just wanted to lie down and die, it was so bad.” Dreamer blanched at the morbid story the human was telling him.

“Then the Undead came along,” the human said, a hint of pride appearing in his voice. “He said he had gone through the same thing I had, that every other human that’s now in this city had. He then said that if we felt this way we might as well be dead, walking corpses waiting to lie down. It was kinda messed up but it made sense. I mean we were at war with a race of interdimensional magical ponies, what else could happen?”

Dreamer tried his hardest to understand what the human was talking about. It sounded horrible, going through something so bad you would listen to someone who was telling you that you might as well be dead.

“So I joined the Dead Men,” the human continued, “which is what the Undead called our little group of fellow believers. It was the end of my first year in the cult, about Christmas-time, when he told me what Life Day was.”

Dreamer perked up when he realised the human was finally going to explain to him what the holiday was.

“Life Day?” the human said. “Freakin awful name for it but it was the one little nice thing in our lives by that point. It’s the one day in the year where we reconnect with our souls. We’re walking corpses going through the motions before we drop down lifeless again but on his day we get to live again. We get to enjoy ourselves and act like we did back when were fully living people. It’s difficult mind you, you can’t let go of the pain that killed you, but it's nice to be your old self.” By now the human had a sad smile on his face.

“I see now,” Dreamer said. “Thanks sir.”

“Glad I could help kid,” the human replied. “Now get going. We’ve probably both got things to get to today.”

“Thanks sir,” Dreamer said as he galloped back home, his curiosity finally assuaged. “Happy Hearth's Warming.”

“Make the most of your life kid,” the human shouted back cheerfully. “It’ll be worth it.”

Dreamer ran off into the crowd, returning home to celebrate with his family. He saw everything the humans in the streets were doing in a new light. This was their one chance in a whole year to be themselves, to enjoy themselves. It was both depressing and heartwarming as underneath the black uniforms and faceless masks was something that was, at least, capable of being like everypony else.

Snow began to fall over Canterlot again as, for the first and only time in the year, pony and human alike celebrated and enjoyed themselves and everything they had.

Author's Note

Merry Christmas one and all. Enjoy this "festive" piece from RoyalPsycho, who's been itching to show you it for yonks :-)

Paying Respects

Paying Respects.

A story by Jed R.

***

Canterlot Gardens. February 12th. Year 2 of the New Free Equestrian Calendar.

Canterlot’s gardens had always been a quiet, respectful place. Even with the statues lining them, one always felt alone there: as though one were in a place of tranquility.

The Battle of Canterlot had robbed them of much of that - a great deal of the grounds had been burnt up, fought over or destroyed during the fighting. Solamina herself had fought on these grounds, as had Commander Sparkle, the necromantic abomination of Luna, and a contingent of Archmagi - and the Avatar, of course, had died here. His sword was still embedded in the stone it had been planted in, guarded by a small contingent of Knights of Albion.

In a quiet, private part of a garden, there stood a statue. At the hooves of this statue was a broken glaive and a discarded crown, and the figure itself was that of an Alicorn. She was looking to the sky, an expression of serenity and nobility upon her face, her wings outstretched and her mane flowing behind her. A cutie mark of the sun was on display, as it should be.

Beneath the statue was a single line.

“One brief shadow cannot drown the sun.”

Gloriana Regalia Celestia, Princess of the Adamantine Line.

Prince Blueblood liked coming here. It was peaceful: a far cry from the city’s bustle and the worried crowds of military officials. He’d left Dinky and his old friend Fancy Pants in charge for a few hours while he came down here to think. The day was overcast, as per the scheduling, but he didn’t mind that. A little rain had never hurt anypony - back in the old days, he might have balked at ruining his styled mane, but he’d ruined it in battle with far worse things than water. After that, a little rain wasn’t really that much of a big deal.

Besides, he’d lived in Britain - rain was a familiar friend.

It was strange, he thought, looking up at the statue of his Aunt, seeing in her face all the wisdom and kindness that he remembered. A lot of ponies had wanted to create a more public memorial - actually, a lot had wanted to hang her body on a spike as a punishment to her corpse. That wasn't right, though - what had happened to Celestia when she became Solamina…

… well, it wasn't something any of them really understood.

But she had been Celestia far longer than she had been Solamina. To create a memorial for Celestia that only acknowledged the few years she spent as a tyrant would have been a grave injustice, one Blueblood was not prepared to let by.

He had needed to have the grave placed here, in secret. Had the public known, there would have been riots - ponies would have destroyed the statue, defaced it, and despite everything she had done, Blueblood couldn’t have allowed that.

“Hello Auntie,” he said quietly. “I know I haven’t been to visit for a long time. I’ve been… preoccupied.”

There’s an understatement, he thought wryly.

“There’s a lot of mess going on in Equestria, still,” he continued. He grimaced. “You - that is, Solamina - left us a lot to clean up. The Remnant are still being a pain. We’ve had to dispatch additional troops to stop them.” He paused. “I… I wish you were here. I could use your advice.”

The statue said nothing, the beatific face staring up at the sky unchanging.

Blueblood sighed. “Am I doing the right thing? Am I doing right by Equestria, by continuing?”

He waited for a moment, almost as though waiting for a reply - but obviously, there was nothing. He sighed, looking away forlornly.

“I don’t have a choice, though, do I?” he asked. “I have to lead us. I’m all that’s left, apart from Cadence, but our people wouldn’t accept her: not after she supported… well, supported you.” He looked up at the statue again. “But… I don’t know if I can do this, Auntie.”

The statue remained impassive.

“I don’t know if I can be the leader these ponies deserve,” he continued unabated. “I don’t know if I can have the strength to be their rock, like you were - to be their symbol, like you were. You led the ponies of Equestria for millennia, and they would have followed you into hell.” He snorted derisively. “You could say they did.” He sobered, looking up at her again. “Auntie… how can I be this? How can I lead?”

The statue had no answer for him, and he had never really expected it to, much as he wished there was some way he could hear some echo of her, some whisper of advice.

“Well, then,” he said softly. “I guess I should just carry on. Do my best, and hope that is enough.”

Perhaps it was coincidence, or perhaps not - it could just as easily have been an error in the weather-team’s work - but as he said that, there was a brief break in the clouds, and a light shone over the statue. For a brief moment, the white marble seemed to shine, and he could almost believe he was standing before the real Celestia again. His eyes widened in shock.

And then the clouds covered the Sun again, and he was left alone with the statue. And yet… now he felt more at peace.

“Goodbye Auntie,” he said softly. “Sleep well.”

He turned and left the statue alone. He had a lot of work to do, after all.

Author's Note

Surprise!

Grey Squadron: The Remembered.

Grey Squadron: The Remembered.

A short story by Jed R.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
We will remember them.
Ode of Remembrance.

***

Dramatis Personae.

Grey Squadron.

Dream Flyer (Grey Leader). Pegasus Female.

Bright Wonder (Grey Seven). Pegasus Female.

Scootaloo (Grey Ten). Pegasus Female.

Other.

Doctor Bowman/The Doctor. Human(oid) male.

Doctor Hooves/The Doctor. Earth Pony(ish) male.

The Prodigal. Pony Female.

***

Manchester, March 10th, 2032.

Two figures stood by a grave, six years to the day since a mare they had both known had died in the sky above them. One was a redheaded, apparently human man who wore a dark brown tweed coat over a white shirt, black waistcoat and an ascot, rounded off with dark blue corduroy trousers. The other was an ice blue pony, wearing a long black frock coat and a grey scarf, a somber look on his face.

“You came,” the man said quietly.

“I did,” the blue pony replied. He glanced up at his compatriot. “So did you.”

“A good reminder,” the man said quietly. “Always has been.”

“You just wanted to talk to me,” the blue pony said, glancing up at him.

“Yeah,” the man admitted. “Slightly.”

Still, neither one looked at the other. They were each lost in their own thoughts, each thinking back to a fateful day a long time ago - a day they shouldn't have been at, but they had…

“She's still running around,” the man said after a moment.

“She's over there,” the blue pony pointed out, pointing over at a pony stood by another grave. It was a mare, judging by the stature and the way she was stood, but she was wearing a hooded cloak over her, hiding most of her from view.

“We really should have told them,” the man said quietly.

“And then what?” the blue pony asked. “They'd have asked her to come back, and she didn't want to - she couldn’t.” He sniffed. “Better this way.”

“Your definition of ‘better’ is really not the same as mine,” the man muttered, folding his arms.

The blue stallion glanced up at his counterparts. “Did you come back just to have a go at me about her?”

“Not even close,” the man said quietly. “I came back to tell you to go back to the UDF. To help them.”

The blue stallion frowned. “Help them? Why?”

“Things are afoot that need our expert advice,” the man said quietly. “Which means, unless you want to run into me more, your expert advice.”

The blue stallion sighed. “I happen to know about… some of the problems we’re facing.”

“Then you know you need to go back,” the man said. “It’s important.”

The blue stallion sighed. “No, you’re right. Of course you’re right.”

“I usually am,” the man said. “But then, I’m only telling you what you already knew.”

He turned, noticing a small group of ponies approaching, and sighed. The blue stallion followed his gaze, and frowned.

“Ah, it appears that some ponies have come to pay their respects,” he said quietly. “I suggest we leave them to it for the moment.”

“Agreed,” the man said. “I really shouldn’t be here at all, anyway. Not exactly breaking the laws of time -”

“But bending them, a little,” the blue stallion finished. “Yeah, let’s be honest, we’re tipping them up and stamping on them right now.”

“Yeah,” the man admitted. “We’ve both done worse, to be honest.”

“Worse than this?” the blue stallion asked. “Really, Doctor, I can't imagine They -”

He paused at the look on the man’s face.

“Oh,” the blue stallion said. “Something to look forward to?”

“Don't even,” the man said grimly. “Where’s Trixie?”

“Back in the TARDIS,” the blue stallion said quietly. “Didn't want to bother her with this - she didn't know these ponies. Plus she wouldn't have understood.”

“Give her a bit more credit, Doctor,” the man said with a smirk. “She’s your friend. You chose her to come with you. To be there for you.”

“We chose her,” the blue stallion corrected.

“Yes, we did,” the man said quietly. “And you're never going to regret the decision, believe me.”

The blue stallion nodded. “That's one spoiler I’m not surprised by.” He paused. “And you? What will you do now?”

“I’m on a mission,” the man said grimly. “Being here is a delay, really. The big multiversity threat of the hour was Solamina, and she’s gone, here at least.”

“Here at least?”

“But there are worse things on the horizon,” the man continued, his expression darkening. “Worse things that you can't even begin to comprehend. The Remnant, the Apostles, the Ram God…”

“Don't,” the blue stallion said tiredly. “I don't think I like the sound of these particular vague prophecies of doom.”

“You aren't meant to,” the man replied. “But they're coming. And worse. There's something bigger than anything stirring out there, something you’ll only start to learn about when you start working for Them as I did. I’ve never directly met it, but I hope I never do.”

“Why?” the blue stallion asked. “What is it?”

The man sighed, before turning away from the memorial. “Enjoy not knowing while you can, Doctor.”

He walked off, leaving the blue stallion alone.

***

Dream Flyer stood by the grave of Errant Flight, a recent addition to the small collection of graves. Grey Squadron’s deaths had been a turning point for so many ponies - a landmark in history, a moment in time when people would look back and say, ‘that’s when something important happened’. Because of them, a whole host of new flyers joined the ERAF, determined to play their parts.

Even Dream Flyer owed her career to Grey Squadron. They had inspired her, shown her how much good a single flyer could do, or a single squadron - or indeed, any band of ponies willing to come together and do the right thing. She had taken Blue Squadron and turned them into something more than - what had Errant once said? - “a bunch of posers”. Then, Errant had asked her to be his second in Grey… and now, here she was, Grey Leader.

She glanced sideways, looking at Scootaloo, who was standing in front of the main memorial plinth with a strange expression - somewhere between sorrow and guilt. Flyer sighed: Scootaloo had moved past some of the things that had been bothering her when she joined the squadron, but she was still a long way from being ‘all right’.

Are any of us? she pondered.

“Hey, Scoots,” came the almost-cheery voice of Bright Wonder as the white mare hopped over to the depressed looking mare. “What say after this we go to the Ditzy Doo?”

Scootaloo’s expression became a frown of confusion. “The - the Ditzy Doo?”

“Yeah, they opened a pub and named it after her when they started rebuilding Manchester,” Bright Wonder said cheerily. “Was thinking that would be a brilliant way to celebrate the lives of the first Grey Squadron.”

Dream Flyer chuckled. “Bright Wonder, my friend, that’s a wonderful idea.”

Bright Wonder beamed. “Thanks, boss! So whaddya think, Scoots?”

Scootaloo sighed, before smiling. “Sure. Why not?”

Bright Wonder grinned, before bouncing off. Dream Flyer sighed, still smiling.

“Come on, Scootaloo,” she said quietly. “We’d better get after her.”

“Alright,” Scootaloo said quietly. “We’ll do that.”

Together the two mares trotted away from the memorial after their friend.

***

The mare in the cloak stood in front of the memorial for a long time, her face hidden beneath the hood.

“I’m sorry, guys,” she said quietly. “I’m so sorry.”

She turned and trotted away as well, only a hint of an auburn tail peeking from beneath the back of the cloak as she did so.

Author's Note

I'm back! Again!

Sorry about the delays, as usual, guys. For the last few months I'be been a bit distracted by a bunch of things (second child, working on Spectrum, original novel, that kind of thing) so I'be been, regrettably, neglecting my AOA stuff. Now, however, I've freed up time to come back to AOA and I intend to get right back in the saddle (no horse jokes thank you :derpytongue2:).

Thanks for reading, guys.

Jed.

Finding Ourselves Again

Finding Ourselves Again.

A short story by Doctor Fluffy, The Void and Jed R.

***

Canterlot. October 14th. Year 0 of the New Free Equestrian Calendar (2030).

Canterlot was being reconstructed, piece by torturous piece. Rubble was shifted, bodies were cleared, censuses were taken, and life was slowly trying to get back to some semblance of normal.

That wouldn’t happen for a while. There were ponies that were almost indignant at the destruction that had been wrought, but when somepony would grumble about Canterlot, or often yell, they’d get a reminder - they still had their city, even if it had taken a beating. They still had their nation, even if it had been under strain from the conflict. The humans had lost almost their whole world, and it would never come back, so shut the buck up.

Vinyl saw most of these reminders. Even gave a few. It was sad, really… Even if the war was over, the peace was going to be harder. She saw hard-eyed foals in the rubble that might never stop being angry about the damage that had been done to Canterlot.

They’d prove trouble in the coming years.

None of this was supposed to be much concern to her. All that was supposed to matter as she trotted through a wrecked city, one that she’d helped to lay waste to (having gone in with the Resistance landings, no longer content to merely sit behind her mixing desk), was her beloved.

That’s where Kraber shot those Convies… that tower that collapsed over the railroad, Ze’ev blew that up…

And yet, it was hard not to remember what it had been. Before:

I had coffee there once, with Tavi and her cousin Fiddlesticks. And… I remember seeing a clown once when the train came in here. He was right at one station, there were foals that loved him… This is where Pinkie and I played music for the Royal Wedding...

It was hard not to remember the smaller things.

“Betrayer!” somepony called out as she walked through the destroyed streets. Vinyl looked over, more confused than anything, and saw a pony with a cutie mark of a planet, half-starved, one eye missing. It looked like he’d let most of his wounds since the battle heal himself, somehow. His cutie mark had a lot of scars through it, enough that you could barely see that it had once been a planet.

That seemed fitting, somehow.

Poor bastard, she thought. She and Kraber had talked a bit awhile after the battle, and he’d had a thought about the various rebellions and loyalist Convies that probably should have been happy to come back.

“What if it’s all they know how to do anymore?” he’d suggested. “People want stability. Sometimes all they want is to go back to what they know. Kate’s been traumatized as hell. I’ve been doing the best I can, and it’s not easy. I never sleep cause my family wakes up screaming all the damn time. And I keep getting told they’re the lucky ones.” He’d sighed. “Wish my old ma was here to examine them.”

She didn’t know if Kraber was right, and he’d admitted later that it was just a guess. “Now that you mention it, though…” she’d said. “They’re like automatons. Stuck on autopilot with the command to enforce Solaminan rule, even if she’s dead in the ground.”

“God help us all if the ponies like that breed and pass it on,” Kraber had said. “We’ve got enough work rebuilding already.”

“Here’s my stop, I guess,” Vinyl said as she trotted up to a small station in the middle of Canterlot, a barebones place that had been near destroyed in a firefight between convies and BDF forces. “Tympani Station.”

Well, it had been more of a curbstomp, technically speaking. The BDF present had dropped a nearby tower on a train full of Militia and Guard that had been imported in from somewhere, exploding the locomotive and derailing the train. Nobody had quite managed to get rid of all the wreckage.

Let’s see… Vinyl thought, remembering playing in some of the clubs and bumping into Octavia on the way here, half-drunk, a happy energetic mare.

Up ahead was the Canterlot Opera House, miraculously unscathed by the fighting.

Had to be it.

As she walked in, past the squatters whose houses had been destroyed by fighting, over the cracked tiles, past the soup kitchens, through conditions that Prince Blueblood had hoped to abolish within months (The poor stallion was busy enough that being merely overworked would count as a vacation) to find her.

She’d passed by one mare, a formerly immaculately coiffed pink mare with a purple and white mane, who’d suffered a black eye in the fighting thanks to Scootaloo. It had nothing to do with the battle, Scootaloo had just felt like it.

Guess that’s justice, Vinyl thought, calling out, asking if anyone had seen her beloved. Finally, one stallion with an enormous mustache and a missing eye hidden deep beneath a mass of flesh with sparse blue fur that looked comparable to melted wax had directed her backstage.

And there she was. Tending to colts and fillies in what had once been a dressing room, surrounded by ratty costumes, looking barely the worse for wear since Vinyl had left her.

“Tavi,” Vinyl said, taking off her glasses.

“Vinyl?” Octavia Philharmonica asked, eyes wide.

There were probably some things they could have said. They were an argumentative two mares, who might make arguments about who should have stayed where. But, being honest, they really didn’t want to.

“I missed you so much, Tavi!” Vinyl yelled, and hugged her.

“Is… it’s really you, isn’t it?” Octavia asked.

Vinyl nodded. “Britain’s not so bad after all. I hear they, uh… might have a gig…”

Vinyl honestly didn’t know what to say. It was a half-joking, nonsense phrase, and she had said it more to cover her nerves than anything else.

“Sorry, but I guess I’m a bit more busy with philanthropic work,” Octavia said, voice cultured as always. Every word enunciated. “I suppose I will be for quite some time.”

The unspoken words at the end of that sentence: “There’ll be no peace for awhile. The war threw both worlds into chaos.

Neither mare was letting go of the other.

“I’d love for you to come,” Vinyl asked. “It’s been eating me up so much…”

“It’s funny,” Octavia said, “I’d been hoping you could do the same here.”

“But is this really home?” Vinyl asked.

“Was yours?” Octavia asked.

Vinyl shivered slightly. “It wasn’t, but… it was free, at least. I’ll give it that much.”

There was an awkward pause.

"I heard you," Vinyl suddenly said. "On Resistance FM. I listened whenever I could find it."

"I'm glad," Octavia said, smiling slightly. "That was for you. All of it. Especially..."

There was a pause.

“We weren’t so different, you and I,” Octavia continued. “You keeping hope up there, me trying to do the same here. Of course, I had more chance of being locked up or lined against a wall and shot, but..."

“Tavi!” Vinyl hissed, momentarily horrified, and realizing things were reversed.

“I was kidding,” Octavia said, a smile on her face. “Just like you used to. Never quite got the jokes though…”

“That’s why it was funny,” Vinyl said, smiling. “Ah, memories…”

“We can’t go back, can we?” Octavia asked, and Vinyl had to say it. There was only one obvious answer.

No.

“Long as we’re together,” Vinyl said, “Let’s make the best of it. What do you say, Tavi?”

“I think it sounds wonderful,” Octavia said.

***

Ponyville. November 4th. Year 0 of the New Free Equestrian Calendar (2030).

The first of them, an Earth Pony, sat down at the bar, a drink of cider in her hoof as she thought about everything that had happened. Her red mane, once long and topped with a neat bow, was now cropped short and sweaty, and her face was covered in dirt. She was a worker, a builder, and that required muck and toil, something she was more than used to.

The second, a Pegasus, arrived a little while later. Her mane was only slightly longer, and she ordered the strongest ale the bar had. She wore a simple jumpsuit, blue with a yellow stripe, and everypony who saw her gave her a wide berth, save the first.

The third, a Unicorn, was the most elegant of the three, with coiffed hair and a beautiful dress, but the hair was lank and uncared for, and the dress was stained and dirty, like she had travelled a long way in it. The average observer could assume that she hadn’t slept for awhile, and when she had slept, it had been in said dress, and they’d be completely correct. She ordered a wine and downed it in one before ordering another and downing that too.

The average observer would also be correct in assuming that to be a learned habit.

For a long moment, none of the three spoke to the others. They were each silent in their thoughts.

"We did the wrong thing," the Pegasus, Scootaloo, said quietly, speaking first, always the boldest - she didn’t sound bold, though.

"We didn't know it was the wrong thing," Apple Bloom, the Earth Pony, pointed out, almost immediately, as though her response was rehearsed. "We didn't know anythin'. We trusted our sisters, and our sisters trusted Celestia... Solamina."

"It was wrong," Scootaloo said again. "We have minds. We shoulda used them. We could have..."

She trailed off.

"What could we have done?" Apple Bloom asked, looking at her. "What could we have done, Scoots? They'd've never listened to us. Heck, I hear tell that the Guard and the Convies and everypony was brainwashed or whatever they call it."

"Yeah," Scootaloo said quietly. "I guess so."

"So tell me what we coulda done!' Apple Bloom said, looking angry. "What could we do? I don't know the first thing about brainwashin', and I know you don't. Sweetie Belle?"

Sweetie Belle, the Unicorn, remained silent, but she shook her head, eyes fixed on her wine. Silently, she ordered another.

"See?" Apple Bloom said, taking this as support. "We couldn't have done anythin'."

"We could have not fought for Solamina," Scootaloo said quietly. "We could have not supported it. We could have done something else."

"I don't think it matters now," Sweetie Belle said softly, still not looking at the two of them. "Wrong, right... what we lost we lost. We can't ever get it back." She looked at the others. "We can't even move forward. Can we?"

"Can't we?" Apple Bloom returned heatedly. "Can't we?"

"How could we?" Sweetie asked, and she looked up at them. Her eyes were bloodshot and full of despair. "What do we have left?"

There was a long pause.

"Each other," Apple Bloom said. "We have each other. Always."

She outstretched a hoof, putting it on the bar, before looking up at the other two.

Scootaloo looked at Apple Bloom's hoof, then at Apple Bloom herself, then back at the hoof. She outstretched her own hoof and put it on top of her friend's.

Finally, Sweetie Belle put her hoof above the other two's, her eyes filled with tears.

"Cutie Mark Crusaders," she muttered quietly.

"Forever," Apple Bloom said emphatically. "Cos we can move on, all of us. And we're gonna."

"Agreed," Scootaloo said softly.

They sat like that for a long moment.

"What now?" Scootaloo asked.

"They want to put me on trial," Sweetie Belle said softly, and the others have her a look of concern but not (she noted) surprise. "Aiding and abetting the Solaminan regime. My lawyer says they'll probably make me do community service. Propaganda isn't the same thing as killing, and there's bigger things to worry about now the troubles have started again." She laughed. "I got a letter from the Manehatten rebels. They wanted me to work with them. I shredded it."

The other two laughed at that.

"I'm still building colonies," Apple Bloom said after a moment, looking bored at it. "It ain't the best work, but it'll do."

"There's still colonisation going on?" Sweetie asked.

"Eeyup," Apple Bloom sighed. "Convies wantin' to go home in a lotta cases. Can't say as I blame 'em."

"What about you, Scootaloo?" Sweetie asked, turning to the Pegasus.

Scootaloo smiled bitterly. "I left the Wonderbolts."

"But that was your dream," Apple Bloom said, looking shocked. Sweetie, too, had a raised eyebrow at the Pegasus' news.

"No, it was Rainbow Dash's dream," Scootaloo said. "And Rainbow Dash is dead. Besides which..."

She trailed off for a moment.

"What?" Sweetie asked.

Scootaloo looked thoughtful. "There's... there's something I want to do. What with the fighting and the holdouts though... I have some ideas."

She left her sentence hanging in the air.

"Well, whatever you do, you keep in touch, ya hear?" Apple Bloom said emphatically after a moment. "Promise me."

"Yeah," Sweetie Belle added. "We... we need to be here for each other."

"Always," Scootaloo said, smiling as well. "I promise - wherever I go, whatever I do, I'll be here for you guys whenever you need me."

The three of them sat together in that bar for a long time in silence. There was nothing to be said. They were friends, friends who had each been through the hardest of ordeals, and now found that their pain was for nothing. But they were still friends.

Maybe that was enough.

***

Elliot’s tomb, London. November 10th. 2030.

The tomb was nice.

The white marble, the effigy of a figure with a sword carved into it, was certainly dignified and regal, and Hell Blazer couldn’t help but admire the workmanship involved in the crafting of such a thing. That having been said… he hated it. The whole thing smacked of mourning the Avatar of Albion, not David Elliot. He had said as much when he had spoken at David’s funeral - that they were mourning a symbol, not a man.

Hell Blazer had seen better days. It had been months since the victory, months in which he had drunk himself into stupors every night, smoked and partied and tried to forget the fact that he was suddenly alone in his life. His best friend was dead. His only other friends had died months ago (Lyra and True Grit) or else had left, heading to parts unknown (the Doctor) or their own world (Twilight and the others), leaving Hell Blazer on his own and entirely unhappy with it.

He wasn’t social anymore - he was a goddamn yellow pastel pony with a smart mouth. Anyone who got to know him would think of him in those terms, not as John Constantine the luckiest Convie in the world. Sure, he talked to people when he got drunk, but he had no interest in pony mares (and they usually had little interest in him) and a pony flirting with a human just didn’t happen. Interspecies romance was considered… strange, at best, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to go out with a woman who’d have a pony.

He had come here... truth be told, he didn't know why he'd come here. It was two years to the day since he had summoned the Avatar of Albion. Maybe he felt he had to mark the occasion.

“Things’re going ok,” he said to the tomb, feeling ridiculous. “There’s some remnant forces making noises. I guess it was too much to hope that people and ponies could just get the fuck on. Still, I’d have thought everypony was fucking sick of the war. Guess not.”

He paused, looking at the silent tomb. He wondered what his friend would have said.

“Sir Eleanor of the Holy Order of Albion’s been talking about settin’ up some sort of tomb guard for you,” he continued. “I get the feeling you’d have hated that, but they’re insistent and they mean well. No one’s been able to shift Excalibur. I get the feeling you’d have laughed about that.” he paused, and then in a quiet, almost broken voice. “Please laugh. I don’t care if it’s just in me head, please say something. Don’t…”

He shook his head, and coughed.

“Sorry,” he said. “Just… gettin’ old.”

He was older than he looked now. He’d been easily in his fifties when he’d met Elliot, and the potion hadn’t taken those memories away, even if it had given him the pony body of a twenty five year old.

“I dunno what I’m gonna do now,” he said quietly after a moment. “I’ve got a few offers to go investigate magical sites across the world. Turns out the magical defence that saved Britain from the Barrier might’ve been a little less unique than we thought, though there’s nothing as massive scale as the stuff that happened here. A building here. A Tibetan monastery, complete with some pretty tired looking monks, there. Some of Israel seems like it survived - old bits mainly, no surprise there - and no idea what’s over in the Americas. There’s some Native American stuff at least, though not all that much. The Great Wall of China survived, would you believe it - might’ve been the ghosts. Probably was.” He chuckled. “A few old pyramids too - old stuff from the Incas and stuff, and the Great Pyramid of Cheops too. Try as they might, the Barrier couldn’t burn everything away. It's almost nice.”

He sighed.

“I dunno if I should take up the job, to be honest,” he said. “There are other, better magicians and magic-scholars out there. I’m just… some two-bit magician with a few tricks up my sleeve who managed to get somewhere in my life. I don’t even have that any more.”

Hell Blazer turned to leave, only to find himself, to his very great surprise, facing a man in a suit. The man was tall, with brown hair. He wore a simple black suit with a black shirt and deep red tie, with a pin on his lapel shaped like an odd arrowhead over an oval.

“Hello,” he said, sounding American and sarcastic. “Come to say goodbye?”

“Sort of,” Hell Blazer said with a frown. “‘Scuse me.”

The man held up a hand.

“Before you go,” he said, “I have something here for you.”

He reached behind him and produced, almost from nowhere, a long, WWI issue British bayonet. The most distinctive thing about the weapon was the inscription.

‘Speed-killer’.

“I believe Mr Elliot would have wanted you to have this,” the man said quietly. “As a reminder.”

Hell Blazer reached out and grabbed the weapon, looking at it with wide eyes. He looked up at the man.

“How did you get this?” he asked.

“Solamina’s corpse had to be disposed of,” the man replied. “And it had this lodged somewhere vital. I merely… retrieved it.”

Hell Blazer looked down at the blade, and smiled.

“Cheers,” he said. “Who are you?”

“A friend, Mr Constantine,” the man said quietly. “One who could have done more, but did not. Consider this… my apology.”

Before Hell Blazer could question him further - including on his use of his human name - the man turned and walked away, leaving the yellow pony on his own. He turned back to the tomb, and smiled, before putting the dagger away.

“Take care, mate,” he said as he left. “I’ll come back soon.”

***

Iron Wall. Guardpost 17-Gamma. November 12th. Year 0 of the New Free Equestrian Calendar (2030).

Fancy Pants sighed as he stamped another form. He looked out of the window of his office in Guardpost 17-Gamma, stared at the massive form of the Wall outside, and wondered why he was still here.

The Wall was obsolete. He highly doubted the new order (Prince Blueblood of all ponies) would want to keep the thing, and yet there had come no orders for his relief.

Just as well, he thought miserably. I don’t deserve it anyway.

He had allowed for this, just like everypony else who had marched under Solamina’s banner. He had gone into the city of London under Shining Armour and Flash Sentry, with the intention of slaughtering the humans if they didn’t surrender. He had thought he was doing the right thing.

“Yeah,” he said aloud, smirking. “Right for who? Solamina, that’s who. Tyrant bucking Sun.”

“Excuse me, sir?” a voice asked. He looked up from the window to the door of his office, where a pony in Night Guard armour stood.

“Can I help you, son?” Fancy Pants asked.

“I come with a message from the Prince, sir,” the Night Guard said. He passed a small scroll to Fancy and saluted, before walking out.

Frowning, Fancy Pants opened the scroll and read it.

Dear Fancy,

Checked our records here on Guard deployments and noticed you’d been sent to the Wall. Bit of a dumb idea on Auntie’s part given your competence rating, but the way Hell Blazer and Discord both told it she wasn’t exactly firing her own thrusters anymore, so I suppose it makes sense that she'd not always go for the most rational plan.

Anyway - you might have heard that there’s a lot of unrest in Equestria. Plenty of Solaminan loyalists making noises, and Manehatten and Las Pegasus are both flying her flag. Times like this, Equestria needs good honest Commanders on side, and that’s you.

Consider this your new marching orders: take as many troops as you can spare and come to Canterlot, we’re gathering an expeditionary force of Night Guard with backup from the Dead Men from Earth and some Equestrian Army forces. You’ll be one of the AEF commanders on the field - given your rating it should work, and there’s no Avatars on the other side to make things a pain.

Hope to see you soon, old friend.

Blueblood.

Fancy Pants dropped the letter, eyes wide. He was being offered…

He was being offered a second chance.

Before he could think much of the offer beyond acknowledging that he’d had it, he heard a noise from outside his office. Scowling, he stood up and marched outside.

He found himself seeing an argument between a pompous looking Royal Guard Unicorn officer - not one Fancy recognised, but an officer from a different unit - and the Night Guard.

“Your entire force are traitors, serving a traitor!” the officer said snappishly. “I’m surprised the garrison commander didn’t have you arrested as soon as look at you!”

“And you’re a traitor to Prince Blueblood, the legitimate monarch of this land!” the Night Guard snapped back. “I’m surprised the garrison commander doesn’t have you arrested!”

“The garrison commander,” Fancy Pants said sharply, catching both stallions’ attention, “can speak for himself.” He walked up to the officer. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“Lieutenant Key Stone,” the Unicorn said haughtily. He offered a scroll to Fancy, who took it with a frown.

To the officer holding this,

I, Astra Solamina Maxima, leave these standing orders in the case that I am ever deposed. You are hereby ordered to seize land and await further orders from me. Link up with others who receive these orders, and above all resist any who claim to be the legitimate rulers of Equestria. There is one ruler: myself. Until you receive countermanding orders from a superior officer loyal to me, or from myself, you have authority to enact martial law in your areas.

Signed,

Astra Solamina Maxima,
Empress of Equestria and the known world.

Fancy looked up at the stallion.

“Well?” he asked.

There were two options. He could follow this order, seize land and link up with any Solaminan loyalists until such time as either the AEF came and crushed them - but he was a Commander. High ranking officers in martial law had a lot of opportunities for personal power. It might be a short time, but it would be a profitable one.

Or… he could fight for Prince Blueblood. His friend.

Well, that wasn’t really a choice.

“Sergeant Ever Honest,” he said to one of the nearby guards. “Take the good Lieutenant to the dungeon and lock him up.”

“What?!” Key Stone said, eyes wide in shock. “How dare you? This is treason!”

“No, this,” Fancy said, holding up Key Stone’s scroll, “is treason - treason to Equestria and everything it stands for, and treason to her ruler Prince Blueblood. We committed enough atrocities in the war, Lieutenant. I feel like fighting for the right side for once.”

As Sergeant Ever Honest and two more Guards took Key Stone away, Fancy turned to the rest of the guards in the courtyard.

“Anypony who’s sick of being a traitor, sick of being the wrong side, and sick of this bucking wall, follow me!” he yelled. “We’ve a chance to do something right for a change, and I am not going to waste it! Anypony that still wants to serve Solamina, stay here! We won’t come looking for you!”

The cheers and whistles of the Royal Guard around him made Fancy Pants smile. Now this… this was the right thing.

Finally.

***

London. November 14th. 2030.

Freedom Heart held onto one thing as he wandered through the streets. Hope. Hope, that she was alive and hope that he could find her in that colossal city. London felt like it was snarling at Freedom Heart to leave at once. The gazes from the people he walked past felt like they were taunting him.

Murderer.

Brute.

Traitor.

It gave Freedom Heart little comfort to think logically, that none of the citizens walking the streets had seen him in battle. It was a big war after all.

He had come to London to find what was left of his family. The intel he got before he left said that his wife, Fair Heart, and his daughter, Brave Heart, had fled to London during the war. Now Freedom Heart was picking up the pieces of his old life, starting with the most important ones. While Fair Heart was no longer alive, he wasn't going to stop until he found Brave Heart. Even if it meant searching the rest of the human world.

Admittedly though, he didn’t know where to go next. London was a big place, thousands of people and ponies were trying to start new lives or continue old ones but the scars of battle were displayed across the city for all to see. Alleys were painted with blood, walls were wounded by bullets and scattered Converted were sat in the rubble of, what could be only assumed to be, their old homes. To think, he had helped in this madness. Freedom Heart could only remember it like some nightmare but it haunted in every waking moment even when he tried to look back on far more joyous memories.

He had wandered around London for hours, hoping for some sort of clue to his family’s location, before he spotted a human soldier on the side of a street. The man stood there, his eyes panning from one side to the other almost automatically. It was worth a shot.

Freedom Heart approached the soldier, now vastly aware that he may have killed this man’s friends during the war. The closer he got the more the man’s features told a story. The soldier’s left eye was dull and lifeless, this was a man you had lived through many battles. They were battles that were before the Solaminan empire though, as his medals showed. There were a fair few of these kind of soldiers on the street. Who better to help with the aftermath of war then those who had lived through them and into the next war.

“Can I help you sir?” asked the soldier, breaking Freedom's train of thought.

"I'm looking for my daughter," Freedom answered. "She and her mother fled here but I'm not sure where she'd be now."

The soldier nodded. "Best bet is to go to one of the shelters and see if they passed through." He drifted off for a moment before returning to another reality with another nod. "The biggest place is the one on Piccadilly. Just keep going down this street and you'll see it."

Freedom Heart thanked the soldier and went on his way. The old warrior didn't seem to harbour any hatred towards him. If he had known what Freedom had done, would he have still let him find his little filly?

It didn't take long before Freedom Heart found the shelter the old soldier had spoken about. Shelter was a very apt name for it. Calling it a building would imply that it looked structurally safe. During the war, it would have made a lovely home for the mice seeking an escape from the chaos. The banners reading Piccadilly Shelter and All Welcome almost acted as bandages for the place. Ponies and people alike wore bruised faces as they walked into the building. Some gave him a hurried glance before returning to the shelter.

What must he have looked like to them? Freedom Heart was stood there in the most dignified (if a bit battered) suit he could find. It was the only thing he could find that didn’t feel like something his war-time self would have worn.

No face in the shelter looked familiar. Freedom Heart guessed it was too much to hope that he would immediately find his daughter in that place. There were fillies there, some looking to be around Brave Heart’s age but most were huddled together with human children, waiting for food from the staff.

Freedom spotted a violet mare in the corner watching over the residents of the shelter. Like the soldier from before, she wore a military uniform but she had obviously seen far less years then the gentleman. Freedom Heart approached the Pegasus, trying to smile at least a little to ease his own worry.

“Can you help me?” he asked.

“Of course,” the mare replied. “are you trying to find somepony?”

“Yes. My daughter Brave Heart fled to London with her mother when the war started but her mother...”

“What did she look like?”

“She had chestnut fur and a yellow/green mane.”

“I can help,” said a new, smaller voice.

Beside the two ponies was a small, sandy coloured colt who bowed to the two. He looked at Freedom Heart closely and turned to a group of children -ponies and human alike- who were watching intently, and smiled.

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop on you," he said sheepishly. "I heard Brave Heart's name and I thought-"

"That's alright." Freedom Heart returned the colt's bow. “Do you know my daughter?”

The little pony nodded. “She’s the one who found found me and told me about the shelter.”

“Could you take us to her?” asked the mare official.

The colt nodded again.

Freedom Heart’s face lit up. "What is your name?"

"Silk Cuff sir."

"Well Silk Cuff Sir-"

The colt gave a small giggle and seemed to relax a little.

“-I’m glad you did hear us.”

All three of them left the shelter post haste. Silk Cuff lead them down alleys and through, what were once, gardens, periodically stopping along the way and mumbling to himself. The other children from the shelter had stayed behind. Freedom Heart didn’t know what kind of sign to take that as but if Silk Cuff knew anything about where Brave Heart would be then he would go for it.

“How old was she when you saw her last?” the mare asked, catching Freedom Heart’s attention.

“Two,” Freedom Heart replied. “I doubt she’ll remember me.” Then a question popped into the stallion’s head. “Why did you decide to come with me?”

The mare look towards Silk Cuff, straight and strong.“To help,” she said simply.

“Thank you miss…”

“Violet Charm.”

“We’re here,” chimed in Silk Cuff.

‘Here’ was apparently a the ruins of what was once probably a decent park. Swing sets had become twisted and the chains removed while the slide was littered with bullet holes. Even an area for children hadn’t been safe from the war.

Silk Cuff was looking around the park, almost in a panic.

“Brave Heart?” he called out.

A few pieces of rubble toppled over and the faces of bruised and dirty children poked out. As they revealed themselves to the visitors, they straightened up and tapped their make shift armoured outfits. They looked like knights made out of scrap.

Freedom Heart’s face lit up when he saw her. In the centre of them, standing prouder and with the most armour on, was his daughter. He knew those eyes anywhere. They were the eyes that he imagined when he needed hope. Those eyes looked at him with suspicion and it nearly brought the stallion to his knees.

"Brave Heart," he muttered

"Another pony who needs the help of the Children of Albion?" Brave Heart said with vigor in her voice, like a noble warrior.

Words escaped Freedom Heart in that moment. He had played out this scene over and over again in his mind and even in his thoughts he didn't know what to say.

He cleared his throat and tried to say...something, anything.

"I have important business with you Brave Heart," he declared with the same nobility Brave Heart did.

Violet Charm shot him an understanding smile. He was trying.

Brave Heart turned to the rest of the 'Children of Albion' and gestured to move along. A few seemed to take the chance to play in what was left of the park. ‘Knights’ or not, they were children.

"What troubles you?" Brave Heart asked.

"I'm looking for my daughter," Freedom Heart replied, trying not to let his nerves show though by Violet's wing on his back, he failing that.

"What's the filly's name?"

"Brave Heart."

Silk Cuff was watching this with awe at the scene. The little colt was almost jumping with anticipation at what Brave Heart was going to say.

Brave, for the briefest of moments, lost the pride in her expression. Carefully she approached and reached out a hoof to touch his face.

I am real. Let's go home.

Swiftly, she turned away and began to walk.

"Liar!" Brave Heart declared.

"I doubt you'd remember me. You were only two when-"

"You died!"

That might have been preferable to living as puppet for the war.

Freedom Heart toppled to his knees, meeting Brave's gaze on her level. Violet joined him, whispering encouragement into his ear.

"What did Fair Heart say happened to me?" he managed to say.

Some of the other children had come back and began to point makeshift weapons at Freedom Heart but Brave Heart gestured them to move along once more and, with only a little hesitation, the obeyed.

“She said my dad died defending us as we escaped,” she said somberly.

In a sense, that’s partly correct.

“Your mom was better at handling bad news than I was.” Freedom gave a slight smile.

Violet Charm stepped forward. “Whatever happened, happened. I’m sure your father had a good reason for not being around during the -”

“I was a monster,” Freedom Heart said. His mind drifted as he spoke. “I was just another puppet that Solamina used in her war.”

Violet Charm looked on at him confused.

“As soon as the war ended and I gained my sanity back,” he continued, “I tossed away my liaison rank and came to find you.”

“Why did you toss away your rank?” Violet Charm inquired.

Freedom Heart looked sombre. “Puppet or not, I remember everything I did.”

Silence. Time took a breath.

Most of Brave’s anger washed away from her expression.

“Why did you tell her that?” whispered Violet Charm

“I could never lie to my daughter,” Freedom replied, tears beginning to roll down his face.

“What’s my birthday?” Brave asked and time seemed like it was ready to continue.

“February 12th.” It brought a smile to Freedom Heart’s face to remember the day his little filly was born. When he stood by Fair Heart’s bed and they both watched her sleep in Fair’s hooves, he could have lived in that moment for eternity.

“Miss Brave Heart, I think -” Silk Cuff tried to note.

“Where did we live?” the filly asked, cutting Cuff off.

“Colton.” Freedom Heart stood tall once more. Proving that he was the stallion who was her father and not some soldier anymore sounded more than fair.

Brave Heart’s face grew distraught as she seemed to struggle to think of another question. Than her eyes lit up. With new vigor, she approached Freedom Heart.

“What did my mom and dad used to call me as a nickname?”

Freedom wiped the tears from his eyes, leaned down, and whispered something in the little pony’s ear. Whatever he whispered in her ear, it made Brave’s eyes widen and similar tears begin to roll down her face as Freedom leaned back, beaming with a proud smile.

Brave Heart stood there, dumbstruck by the words she heard.

I did come up with the nickname.

“Brave Heart?” Silk Cuff asked softly.

In a flash, Brave Heart embraced her father for the first time since his ‘death’.

“Daddy.”

That had been Brave Heart’s first word all those years ago. The two heart’s were beating with the same rhythm as they shared tears and apologies for all the time they had missed together.

Violet Charm turned to the rest of the Children of Albion who had gathered to watch the reunion.

“There is a lot of work to do.”

***

Leith, November 30, 2030

It had not been an easy month. Wars, Kraber decided, drawing on some half-remembered analogy from one of his nightmares, were like amputations.

He’d been mildly pleased to wake up from his dream - he was on an old steam locomotive, an American model, which was pelting through New Hampshire. He could remember it all vividly - screams and gunfire. A heavy LMG that’d be worth near a fortune today.

And there’d been an immense pony near him, one near twice the size of the average one. He’d long since accepted the dreams, but…

They were getting worse. He was sure of it. Behind every corner in his dreams, whether he was remembering something as innocuous as buying a gun in some town in New Hampshire (It was strange - according to libraries, and what few records had been scavenged from other countries or anomalous areas, most of his dreams centered around New Hampshire. He’d only been there a few times. None with ponies) there was a sense of something following. Something seemed to peek at him from every corner, and he knew that something else was coming.

And yet, as he was explaining to this fresh-faced youngin with an awkward Garand converted for BAR mags from the Dead Men, he was happiest with his family and his… son? Genealogy would be a bitch.

“Didn’t ya hear me, chommie? Fok off!” Kraber yelled.

“But the Dead Men-”

“Consider me resurrected or some kak, I don’t care,” Kraber said. “I havenae seen my family for six years! As of today, I’m on leave.”

“But-”

At nearly six feet, Kraber practically towered over the Dead Man standing before him, his brown, syrupy-colored eyes burning into him. “Hou jou fokkin bek,” Kraber hissed, and the lack of a weapon looked somehow more unnerving on Kraber than anything else.

This man could break me, the Dead Man thought to himself.

“I. Am. On. Leave. I don’t want to work in any fokking colonies, I don’t want anything more than to be with my family. Plus, Button Mash’ll be over to teach Kate how to use an Xbox controller with hooves. Find someone else, I am not in the fokkin mood.”

There was a brief, disturbed pause.

“Why would you…”

“Because virtual reality helps with pain,” Kraber said. “We’re gonna try and play Portal.”

“Viktor?” a mare asked, rather sleepily, coming to the door. “Wuzz goin on?”

“It’s Jehovah’s witnesses, ignore them. I’ll make you some cheese grits soon,” Kraber said.

“...Mokay,” she yawned, and crawled back into the bed.

With that, Kraber closed the door, and headed for the kitchen, firing up a breakfast for his foals.

His foals. Oh, genealogy was going to be a bitch here. It was a weird thing to think about, having foals, not children. Maybe he could change, be with them, but - nah. They needed him as he was. A child not being able to recognize their father was terrifying.

As was… he paused. Damn near everything terrified him. He and his wife had sex, of course. She’d needed a hug, she’d felt weird sleeping in his bed, and then all of a sudden, it had happened. Human-pony relationships weren’t the norm, and you’d get a few weird looks if it happened, but everyone just sort of accepted it. And again… what else was he going to do?

After Kraber had stolen cheese and some grits from a food storehouse in Canterlot, promising his wife and kids to make cheese grits (it was going to be weird being the only one in the family that could eat meat, but then, meat was expensive, so it wouldn’t be much of an adjustment) like back home, back in Boston after they’d moved back from Germany, and finally gotten to see old Strychnine Jones and the crew from back in med school, he’d realized: there was no back home. Nothing would ever be like Earth for generations to come. Maybe it never would be.

‘Am I up for this?’ he’d wondered. ‘Can I rebuild a-”

And he’d stopped thinking that way, abruptly. Even if he wasn’t up for this sort of thing, even if he was too bosbefok thanks to seven years of hell, what the fok else was he going to do?

Up for it or not, he’d do it anyway. Cause that was what fathers did. Cause above all, he missed them so much.

“Cheese grits!” his daughter Anka laughed from off in the distance from inside his Leith house. She was bouncing, but apparently the right word for a bouncing equine was ‘pronking’.

He remembered something. One of the bad dreams he’d gotten awhile back, a feeling of someone’s presence in his head. He’d dreamed of being somewhere in New Hampshire, somewhere with ponies (But that couldn’t be right, could it?) and hearing a song. “Trying to wallow in the hope of what I can be, not what’s been taken away…”

It was another day.

“Make sure you take all the meat, we can’t digest it!” Peter yelled.

“Mmmmrm… kids, ‘m tryin to sleep,” Kate groaned.

Small steps. Small steps.

***

Somewhere between Appleoosa and Dodge Junction. December 1st, Year 0 of the New Free Equestrian Calendar (2030).

Somewhere in a tent in the planes between Appleoosa and Dodge Junction, a Unicorn mare was dreaming.

...CelestianotCelestia...

“Hold that bucking line!”

"Friendship is dead... but vengeance is sweet."

“There is definitely something off about all of this, though. I want you to keep her under close observation, clear?”

"You’re right. She asks the impossible. And we’re going to give her it if it kills us."

"I know this… man. I know him better than you, better than even you, Commander Lake. I have seen the truth of him. There is nothing to redeem in this man. The moment he remembers everything, the moment he remembers what he is and what he can be… we’re dead."

"Equestria stands upon the brink of chaos. It is our efforts, and our efforts alone, that prevent rogue elements like the mutants, the rebels and the traitor Blueblood’s Midnight Guard from gaining a true foothold over Equestrian soil."

Do you understand, now?

Twilight Sparkle awoke with a gasp, eyes wide, shaking, panting, feeling like she was going to throw up. She coughed, trying desperately to not wretch.

"Ma'am?!" she heard True Grit's voice say from outside her tent. "Everything ok in there? You alright?!"

"I'm fine," she called back quietly. "I'm fine Grit. Just... dreaming."

Of course she wasn’t fine. She had been dreaming...she had been dreaming of lives she never lived, lives she had seen somewhere before, but she couldn’t remember… the life of her counterpart, happy and smiling in the bright sunshine of an Equestria that had never known war, had never heard of a “human”... and other lives, lives where she remembered… things... terrible things…

'KILL ME! PLEASE! I CAN’T STAND IT ANYMORE! KILL ME SO I DON’T HAVE TO WATCH MYSELF HURT ANYONE AND BE MADE TO ENJOY IT! KILL ME TO END THIS NIGHTMARE!'

She didn’t know where these dreams had come from, though she had the vaguest sense of memories... floating...

“You will understand in a moment, and we will know if the Twilight who walks among the enemy is an impostor - or a broken mirror."

… but she didn’t care where they had come from, really. It was all just a reminder of the life she had lost, a life she had forfeited. She should have known better.

She didn't know how - didn't remember how, for reasons she suspected had something to do with the Empress, but Solamina had done something to her, something that had broken the boundaries between her mind and that of... her counterparts? Other parallel selves, from other worlds, just like the Twilight she had fought had been from another world? She shuddered to think of just what had happened to her in these other worlds that caused...

'KILL THE ELEMENTS OF HARMONY!'

... these memories. These horrible, horrible memories.

‘Did Solamina ever really care about me?’ she wondered idly. ‘No. Celestia did. Solamina… didn’t. I don't think she could.’

In Canterlot, she remembered Lyra saying that what most ponies wanted to do, when overworked, was just to bail. A lot of the ponies around, like Moondancer (poor, depressed Moondancer) had agreed with this, but Twilight hadn’t. She understood now, though.

She’d been strong-legged into it. She’d never accepted this. She’d only had a dying godling infuse something into her, and something inside was crying out at her to stop this madness, to just stop, rest, and -

Do what?

She was surprised to find that it was her own voice asking her this. Exactly. What would she do? Lie down and die? Drown herself in drugs and drink? Escape the responsibility? No, she’d been strong-legged into it, but it was worthy work. And if she didn't do it... well, who would?

There you are. Learning.

“What time is it?” she called out.

“About three hours ‘til dawn,” the Unicorn called back. “You wanna start out now, ma’am?”

Twilight frowned. She could try sleeping again, but she had a nagging sensation that doing so wouldn’t be wise…

I know your fears. I know your hopes. I know your soul - I have tasted the darkest regrets and the deepest torments that lie in the very heart of you.

“Yeah,” Twilight said, getting up slowly and sighing. “Let’s pack up, Grit. We have work to do.”

Twilight Sparkle... I accept your sacrifice.

Author's Note

Hey guys :-) Sorry this chapter took a while to get out - there's been a whole load of other AOA related stuff going on and everybody's been super busy. You'll find links embedded in this chapter to a bunch of AU's currently going on in the AOA multiverse - suffice it to say, it's all go.

Anyway: this chapter sets up a lot of stuff that a lot of folks are doing. From here, we can leave 2030 and start going beyond, really seeing where our heroes - and in some cases, our erstwhile villains - go next. I promise you, the next chapter will be out soon - it's already well underway at the time of writing this. :-)

Cheers to The Void and Doctor Fluffy for sterling work as always. :-)

Cheers to all favouriters and commenters. I hope this story continues to be worth your time. :-)

Jed.

Warrior No More

Warrior No More.

A short story by Jed R.

The TARDIS. No time at all.

I have stood in the way of mad gods, demons, monsters from a thousand worlds. I have seen madness that makes even your creation seem tame.

He walked to the centre of the console room, every step heavy and full of pain. The glowing that had already been evident when he awoke was now only worse. He winced slightly - the pain was nigh on intolerable, but he would press on. He had a promise to keep.

"I know you're a good pony, Doctor. And I know, whatever you've done, it was the best you could do. And knowing you, you won't stop until Solamina is stopped. Just promise me something."

"If I can."

"When this war's over, and if we're all still alive - promise me you'll find somepony to travel around with? If there's one thing I know, it's that you're not happy being alone."

He smiled slightly. The other Ditzy Doo had been so much like the mare he had known before, back in Ponyville. Kind and brave. Maybe too kind, maybe too brave. But most of all, she had cared for him, when he didn’t care for himself.

"If I survive, then yes, I promise, I will find someone - or somepony - to take into the TARDIS with me."

He flicked a switch on his console, setting the coordinates. There was a certain individual he had to go visit…

***

Appleoosa. December 12th. Year 0 of the New Free Equestrian Calendar (2030).

Trixie Lulamoon took another swig of her drink. In the months since the battle of Canterlot and the death of Solamina (and the end of the Empire) she had found herself lacking in motivation. For the longest time, she had been part of the Equestrian Resistance's local efforts to evacuate ponies from the Empire and bring them to Britain to take part in the conflict proper against Solamina's Empire. Now though...

Now she was done. The war was over. Though many ponies remained in Britain and the rest of Earth to build new lives or continue the lives they had built, many had come home, and no more would need to flee by her caravan. Her usefulness, such as it had been, was over.

There had been an acknowledgement of the part the Resistance in Equestria had played. Ponies like Dew Drop, Octavia Philharmonica and others had been honoured by Prince Blueblood. Trixie had gone too, and had been suitably honoured... but honoured didn't translate to anything monetary. There was no reward for her good deeds, and there was no job or task left that she could do for this new regime.

And so, feeling altogether dejected, she found herself back to where she had been before the smuggling: drinking sleeping through towns and generally feeling unfulfilled.

You help save a world and this is how you get repaid, she thought bitterly. No job. No life. Just the same damn thing you had before. Should’ve guessed.

“Excuse me,” an altogether familiar voice said. She blinked as she turned to face the speaker.

The battered, lined face of the pony was older than the last time she had seen him, and his smile was wearier. His coat had a few more scuffs, and she could have sworn his mane and tail were greyer too.

“You,” she said, eyes wide. “Doctor.”

“Hello, Miss Lulamoon,” he said softly, smiling. “I’m glad to see you. I trust everything is going well for you?”

She snorted at that. “The Great and Generous Trixie spent five years ferrying ponies, nearly getting caught a half dozen times and once having to run between New Prance and the Portal in three days to make a rendezvous that turned out to be a bloody death-trap anyway, and all it gets her is a medal, a pat on the back and buck all else. Yes, ‘going well’ is how Trixie would describe right now.”

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “Well, in that case, I suppose I should see to your reward.”

Trixie blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I would very much like you to accompany me, Miss Lulamoon, if you are so inclined,” the Doctor continued, as though he hadn’t heard her.

Trixie frowned. “Where? What craziness are you going to dump on my door this time?”

“Ideally, none,” the Doctor replied, “but I fear travelling with me in the TARDIS does present more than its fair share of catastrophes on a daily basis.”

“Travelling?” Trixie repeated. “With you? In your machine?”

“If you’re willing,” the Doctor said with a smile.

Trixie stood up at once, eyes wide, a sudden grin of excitement on her face.

“Are you kidding?!” she said. “I’ve waited all my life for you to ask me that!”

The Doctor’s smile widened slightly. “Very well,” he said. “If you’ll follow me.”

***

The inside of his machine was just as wondrous as she remembered it being. She smiled as she stepped inside, and grinned as he approached the console.

“Where would you like to start?” he asked. “With the future? Or the past? We could, if you wanted, go to visit ancient Adamantia, or witness the fall of the Discordant Legions. We might see the ancient Crystal Empire before Sombra’s reign, or perhaps the age of Unicornia. We might even go visit Starswirl - he owes me some money from a prior excursion.”

“I don’t know!” Trixie said, forgetting her third person in her excitement. “I… I wouldn’t know where to begin!”

The Doctor’s smile faded slightly. He flicked a lever. “Then we shall make it a surprise.”

He sighed, hunching over slightly. There was, oddly enough, a slight glow emitting from him for a moment, though it might have been a trick of the light. Trixie frowned slightly, her smile fading.

“Doctor?” she asked. “Are you alright?”

“I have a confession,” he said softly. “A rather large one. I manipulated you.”

Trixie narrowed her eyes. “Manipulated me?”

“When we first met,” the Doctor said, not looking up at her as he continued. “I selected you as an ideal smuggler, and went back along your time stream. I intended for you to be curious about the box, to be curious about me. I intended for that to be the motivation you would have when I expressed anger - you would subconsciously desire to gain my approval.”

Trixie blinked, not sure how to react. “W… why?”

“Because I needed a smuggler and you were the best choice,” he replied simply, almost bluntly. “I had a need, and I filled it. I needed you to know that.”

“Why?” Trixie repeated, now feeling somewhat angry, her shock turning to rage. “You… you manipulated me into risking my life for your cause… why?!”

"No more. I said those words once. I meant them then, and I mean them now. This war… this war doesn't need a Doctor. It needs something else entirely."

“I was once a Doctor,” he said softly, still not looking at her. It was though he was saying these words at her as much as to her. “A good man - well, pony. A pony who would never dreamed of doing what I did. And then I lost somepony closer to me than any other.”

"Doctor, no more. For Ditzy."

“That turned me into this,” he finished. “When we first met, I told you I was once the pony Doctor Hooves.”

“The pony you looked nothing like,” she said, scowling. “What does that have to do with it?”

“There are abilities my kind have,” he said. “I am no mere pony. I am a Time Lord - an ancient kind with the ability to change our physical forms when injured… or when suitably motivated.” He grimaced, and again he seemed to glow softly. “I turned myself into the pony who could do what I did to you, because that was what my cause needed. And now…” He paused. “I suppose I need your absolution.”

Trixie didn’t know what to say. He had manipulated her - the almost childish glee she felt upon seeing him - even after everything she had been through - was intentional, something he had done to her, to make her perfect for his purposes.

“Then why bring me with you?” she asked with a scowl.

“Because I promised a good mare I would not travel alone,” he replied softly, finally looking at her. “And because I knew you, alone amongst others, might deserve it.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because I manipulated you,” he said. “And because you did what I asked of you, despite your fear, despite your desire to be safe and to be far from conflict and peril. You threw yourself into the role I asked you to fill even though you did not want it.” He smiled. “You did the right thing. This is a reward… if you still want it.”

Trixie narrowed her eyes. On the one hoof, it was tempting - and he seemed genuinely contrite. On the other… well, he had manipulated her, he had lied to her…

Before she could say anything more, however, he gave a yell, a brighter glow enveloping his body for a moment. She started, stepping backward slightly.

“What was that?” she asked, eyes wide. “What’s happening?”

“The ability I mentioned,” he said evenly, though his voice was strained. “I’m currently in the process of using it.”

It took her a moment to connect the dots. “You’re injured.”

“At Canterlot,” he replied with a strained smile.

“That was months ago,” she said, before remembering who she was talking to. He grinned.

“I know,” he said. “What can I say… I meant to be here earlier… maybe next time, I shall be better at navigation.”

“I…” she said, not sure what to do. “What should I…?”

“Do?” he asked. “There is nothing you can. Except to be here - to be my friend. To accept a foolish old pony’s apology, and maybe help him to be a better pony afterward.”

“Me?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “How can I help you to be a better pony?”

He smiled. “Because you have to ask. Because you helped, even when you didn’t need to - no manipulation could have forced you to do something you didn’t want to. I believed in you from the moment we met, Trixie Lulamoon. I still believe in you. All you need to do is believe in yourself.”

She blinked, shocked at his words. Nopony… no anyone, ever… had ever spoken such honest praise at her, and it made her feel a sudden clenching in her chest as tears welled up.

“I… I…” she said. “I don’t…”

He said nothing else, merely smiling. And then there was a flare of golden energy, brighter than a star. Trixie stepped back, eyes widening in shock, a shield raising as she watched the old pony seem almost to burst into flames.

And then the flare vanished, and in the old pony’s place was an ice-blue Earth Pony, wide grey eyes blinking as though eternally shocked at everything. He stumbled slightly, as though getting used to his hooves, and shook his head as though dazed. His cutie mark was an hourglass, no longer shattered.

“I…” he said, his voice higher-pitched and less gravelly. He frowned. “I… e… o… u… a… ok, vowels work. That’s good. Right.” He looked up at her. “Oh, hello.”

Trixie Lulamoon blinked in surprise, not certain how to react. This was… definitely not what she had been expecting.

Author's Note

Nice bit of closure for the War Doctor Hooves there. :-)