The Avatar of Albion: Cold Regret

Chapters

Prologue: Forlorn Faces.
Chapter One: Worn out Places
Chapter Two: Familiar Faces.
Chapter Three: Fragmented Memories
Chapter Four: Wreck the Gentle.
Chapter Five: Make it Right
Chapter Six: Shadow of the Mind
Chapter Seven: Shadow of the Tyrant Sun.
Chapter Nine: Destiny, Part 1
Chapter Ten: Destiny, Part 2
Chapter Eight: The Final Memory

Prologue: Forlorn Faces.

The Avatar of Albion: Cold Regret.

By Jed R.

Prologue: Forlorn Faces.

Forlorn faces running from the cold regret.
Empty spaces, something that I can’t forget.
All I wanted was to wish the past away.
But time’s the cruelest ruler that we all obey.
- Dream of Goodbye, Miracle of Sound.

***

Some time in the future.

The two of them were sat opposite one another, the man with nothing left but regret and the mare with more than she should have remembered in her head. Between them was nothing but the rubble strewn floor. His weapons lay discarded on the ground and he had all but forgotten he had them.

The first thing he said was:

“Do you think that someone who makes a mistake can change it? Can make it better?”

In a tone of resigned sympathy she replied:

“I think that they can try to make up for it. But they can't change it. They can’t change anything.”

His own voice now full of hope, he asked:

“But they can try?”

Sighing and shaking her head, she spoke:

“You can try forever. But it won’t give you what you want. It won’t change who you were, what you did.”

Slumping back where he was, he muttered:

“I know. But maybe I can change who I am now.”

***

“Hold that bucking line, hold that bucking line!”

Fighting. Blood. The smell of death on the air, heavier and heavier in his nostrils, a metallic tang in the air that almost made him want to gag. Most of all though, the feeling. The feeling of utter, total desperation - if he failed here, that was it. Endgame. He could not fail. Anger. A feeling of pain - could he keep going? He had to keep going… even if it killed him.

I’m already dead.

And now the feeling changed. It became a feeling of… liberation. A sudden freedom from fear. Acceptance. Drive. Devotion. Duty. Rage... he would fight until there was nothing left to fight, nothing left of him to fight with. There was already nothing left. He would fight for ashes, because those ashes could bring forth a new fire, a fire he would direct and control, a fire that would burn away anything that would dare to threaten the world he had been brought forth to save. Justice. Vengeance. He would not stop, not until he had seen this task through and taken one more mane...

“Do you understand now?”

***

He awoke with a start, sitting up, gasping for breath. He felt as though he hadn’t breathed in a million years, like his lungs were on fire. He rolled onto his side, coughing as he took a deep, rasping breath. His lungs were like two lumps of pain in his chest, his mind foggy and full of uncertainty. His memory was blurred, as though someone had smeared grease on a window in his mind... what had happened to him?

Who was he?

David Elliot, he thought. My name is David Elliot, and I am…

He frowned. He was what? It felt like… something... he didn’t know what, but something… should belong at the end of that sentence. But no matter how hard he tried to think of it, he didn't remember what that could possibly be. It was so close, almost on the tip of his tongue. He was… he was…

Suddenly, there was a flash in his mind as he remembered something.

We’re at war!

The memory was a sudden slap to the face, pumping adrenaline through his system as he mentally and physically braced for some sort of fight. He scrabbled for his weapons and equipment, almost panicking. His shotgun, yes, that was near him, and he grabbed it as if it were his own child. His hand-cannon, still in the holster, ready. His knives…

’Speed-killer’. Sam. Whitby. Death. Murder. Revenge.

Memories - or flashes of memories - went through his head, but they were all too blurry and uncertain for him to completely understand. There was something… something big, something important… but he didn’t…

And suddenly he coughed again, a fit taking him, and he desperately pushed himself up to his feet, keeping a tighter grip on his shotgun than was perhaps necessary. He almost felt like he was drawing strength from the familiar weight.

He looked around, frowning at his surroundings. He was surrounded on all sides by ruined buildings, broken grey spires reaching toward the sky like rotten, jagged teeth. All around him there was devastation, burning rubble and… he nearly retched. There were human bodies all around him - impaled on spears, destroyed by spell damage or otherwise, and he could see the bloody remains of what must have been…

Ponies?

For the briefest of moments, he experienced a state of dazed confusion: he didn't remember why there would be ponies here, and these didn't look like normal ponies...

The war - the war between the British Isles and the Solaminan Empire, where Astra Solamina Maxima tried to conquer what her Barrier had not destroyed. He had joined up when the Barrier had expanded, alongside his friend…

A flash of memory, and now he remembered. These were Equestrians. Ponies from a land far away, in another dimension or something, beyond a portal...

There were bodies of several of these small, pastel-coloured equines…these ponies... near piles of melted-looking flesh. The victims of...

Ponification. Conversion Bureaus. War. Death.

...ponification.

There were neat holes drilled in each of the dead ponies' heads - someone had ended their suffering almost as soon as it had begun.

Thank God for that, at least. Small mercies.

He coughed, suddenly feeling sick. He spat out a wad of phlegm, and was disturbed - and yet, somehow, not entirely surprised - to see bright red blood amongst the small goopy mass of yellowish matter. He coughed again, more phlegm and more blood spraying out, flecks covering the wall. He leant against a wall and tried to steady himself as best he could, closing his eyes and willing the pain away.

“Fuck,” he said, and he was surprised at how raspy his voice sounded. “Fuck.”

He began walking, and staggered slightly as he did so. He had to get somewhere. He had to… find something. Find what?

Soldiers. A command post. Something with soldiers. Some way to…

To what? Help? How could he help, when he was busy coughing blood up?

It’s why I’m here.

He coughed again, leaning against a ruined wall. Where had that thought come from? His mind was groggy, confused, filled with uncertainty...

Almost to distract himself as much as anything else, he looked at himself in the window of a broken, looted shop. He was all there - shirt, waistcoat, neckerchief, trousers, boots, coat…

"Then why ain't you got your little friends here to shoot me, already?" Applejack asked, narrowing her eyes at him with an expression of disgust.

"Because," he said, holding his arms open. "I want to kill you myself.”

He stepped back from the window, frowning at the reflection but not really seeing it, too wrapped up in the memory. His hand twitched to his coat, and he glanced inside of the lining, almost afraid of what he would find…

There were six large locks of hair sewn into the lining of his coat: one was bright, bubbly pink, and curly. One was seven different colours, like a rainbow. One was blonde and wavy. One was deep purple, and sticky as though covered in ancient, decomposed hair gel. One was a slightly softer pink, and straighter than the other pink mane. The last was a slightly lighter purple.

Not locks of hair, he thought, eyes widening. Manes. These are pony manes.

Reflexively, he threw the coat off, staring at it in horror. Manes. He wore a coat with pony manes. That was... why would he...?

Revenge. Trophies. Proof.

“That’s…” he murmured, his eyes wide. “That’s…”

“Hey!” a voice called, distracting him. “There’s another one!”

He turned, to see a group of armoured ponies standing at the other end of the street. Their armour was golden, and they wore crested helmets. Suddenly, everything in his mind crystallised as he realised what he was facing.

Ponies. Royal Guard. The enemy.

He racked the shotgun, eyes widening as battle rage started to fill him. The ponies noticed this and reacted immediately: the Unicorns among them started sending spells at him, though he managed to dodge the few that seemed in any way decently aimed. He pumped his arms, building up his momentum.

"I will fucking murder all of you!" he screamed as he reached them.

The first he barrelled into was knocked to the ground, and he stamped on its head, something giving underneath his feet with an audible crack. Holding the shotgun one handed, he blasted another, blowing the pony clean away. Spinning on his axis, he brought his other hand to the shotgun, racked it and fired again, clipping one pony and blasting another's head clean off. He racked the shotgun a second time and fired, blowing yet another Guardspony off of his feet.

"Victory or death!" he yelled dropping the shotgun and drawing his daggers. He lashed out, catching one in the throat. The pony fell to the ground, gurgling as her life’s blood spilled to the grey ashy road. he span around, stabbing another through the throat. He kicked out at another, the force of the kick breaking the creature’s neck. He killed another, then another, then another... ponies fell like wheat before the scythe, and he was the reaper.

“Die!” one of the ponies yelled, charging him with a spear. He caught the spear, pulled it from the pony’s grip and shoved it through the thing’s eye. Another, this one a Unicorn mare, jumped on him, but he grabbed the mare and threw her down the street, where she landed with an audible crack. Without breaking stride, he turned and, in one fluid motion, drew his hand-cannon and blew another away, before stabbing yet another.

And then, as quickly as the violence had begun, it was over. He was alone in a field of bodies. His hands were stained with blood. His eyes were wide and manic.

And he breathed out.

"Fuck," he swore again. "Just... fuck."

He scowled at the sound of something hissing. He looked down at his hand and saw, to his surprise, a blob of viscous purple potion.

Ponification potion, he thought, and yet the thought came without panic. One of the ponies must have thrown some on him during the fight, thinking that it would save them from their inevitable deaths. As he watched, the blob hissed, steamed and then disappeared, evaporating.

He frowned. That shouldn't have been possible...

... but of course it's possible. It's who you are.

"Who am I?" he asked aloud.

You are David Elliot.

"And who is that?" he murmured.

You'll know.

He scowled. There was something off about this entire thing. Something nagging him at the back of his mind, some memory that he couldn’t quite access.

Still, there was nothing for it. He couldn’t just stand here for hours on end. He might be confused, but he was still sure of one thing. There were enemies in this city - enemies that he would destroy.

It's what I'm here to do.

***

He walked through the ruined city, scowling at the destruction.

Fucking ponies, he thought to himself. Ever since they came it's been nothing but trouble. The whole world's burned and they're to blame. They should have been...

He stopped, clutching his head. He had a massive headache, and he stumbled into a wall, feeling like he was going to collapse. What was this? What did he remember? These memories, these feelings - they were alien to him and yet...

They should all die for what they did.

His mind was fractured. Memories that he didn't recognise flowing through like water through cracked masonry, until...

A sharp crack snapped his mind back to the present. He looked up, eyes wide at the familiar sound of gunfire.

The enemy are near.

He took off, pushing himself faster than he thought he could ever run.

A moment later, he reached an intersection: a group of soldiers were fighting a squadron of Royal Guard: the Guard had unicorns who seemed to be suppressing the squad, but that wouldn't last for long. In a flash, Elliot's shotgun was out and he was firing at the group of Guards. The shells were too thinly spread to cause much damage, but it got their attention enough to give the soldiers chance to fire upon them and tear them all apart. Racking his shotgun once more, Elliot stopped and breathed.

"Cheers," yelled an older Soldier who began to approach him, gun in hand and grit and mud on his face.

The soldier's gun shifted its gaze as he ran across the battlefield. One of the pony bodies moved and he quickly rewarded its stubbornness with a few shiny new bullets.

He saluted Elliot. "Sergeant Walter Minecroft." He looked around the man. "Last of your squadron I take it?"

As those last words left Walter's lips, you could hear him begin to doubt his own question. The eyes of the older warrior darted around Elliot's attire.

"I... I don't remember," Elliot said quietly. He frowned - was there some memory of what he had been doing before?

Battle. Death.

"I think I was in a fight," he added, his voice full of uncertainty.

Walter chuckled. "I should think so. There is a war on."

It was clear that Walter's grey hair didn't come from stress. The scars on his brow were like diary entries, telling Elliot of the Sergeant's bad days.

Some of Walter's men joined him. A (frankly too eager) young soldier joined him by his side.

"Jenkins," Minecroft said, turning to his comrade. "Check this Mr..." Walter gestured for Elliot to continue for him.

"Elliot," Elliot said. "David Elliot."

"Check Mr Elliot for injuries quickly." Walter glanced around the battlefield. No ponies were left alive. "We should savour the brief peace while we have it."

Jenkins nodded and proceeded to handle Elliot like one would a mannequin. If there was such a thing as drive by check ups, Jenkins was the apparently the inventor and world champion.

The "check up" was done so swiftly that the only thing that seemed to have changed about David Elliot was his expression.

"Is that it?" he asked after a moment, raising an eyebrow half in surprise and half in disdain.

"Pretty much," Walter replied with a shrug.

Jenkins paced around Elliot. "No apparent injuries but he doesn't seem all there sir." It was amazing that he wasn't out of breath from the speed of his check up.

"We can discuss things later," Walter said, putting his hand on Jenkins to stop the pacing. "For now let's move." He turned to Elliot. "I suggest you come with us."

The troop saluted their Sergeant and followed his lead as they set off. Elliot followed; he didn’t know where he was, or who these people were, but they were human and that was enough for him.

It would have to be.

Author's Note

Well, everybody else got to do an AU, why can't I?

Hello and welcome to Cold Regret, an AOA AU that follows a parallel version of David Elliot as he deals with stuff. What stuff that is will become apparent. This one's a little bit of an experiment on my part, and it'll have moments that are a little more psychological than previous AOA. Hopefully you enjoy it.

With thanks to The Void for helping write Walter Minecroft (his OC from "Interlude: Last Light" from the original AOA) and RoyalPsycho for proofreading and being a pretty awesome sounding board.

Jed.

Chapter One: Worn out Places

Chapter One: Worn out Places.

This is a time,
This is a place,
So we look for a future,
But there’s not much love to go around,
Tell me why this is a land of confusion?
- Land of Confusion, Genesis.

***

She stared at him, her eyes full of sympathy and yet her face cold, as though all sympathy had left it. In a soft tone she asked him:

"And how would you change who you are? You don't even know who you were."

His reply was filled with certainty:

"I do know - who I am, and who I was. And I know what I've done."

To this, she raised an eyebrow in surprise, and asked:

"And what do you think?"

His reply was a question in turn:

"Honestly?"

Her reply was full of similar certainty:

"Honestly."

His eyes misted over thoughtfully, gazing off into an abyss only he could see, before he finally replied:

"I think what I did was all I could do."

Her next question cut to the heart of the matter:

"Does that make it right?"

His eyes were dead as he looked up and delivered his soft, emotionless reply:

"That makes it the least wrong."

***

The city was obviously still being occupied by some people - he could hear fighting in the distance - but Elliot wasn't sure about even where he was, let alone what the situation was - or even what the year was. That being the case, he asked Minecroft.

Walter looked grim for a moment. "Whatever happened to you out there must have messed with your head quite a bit."

He called Jenkins over and whispered something into his ear. With an almost child-like smile, the younger man saluted and dashed off.

"You are in London," Walter said, turning back to Elliot. "The year is 2032 and we are at war with a tyrant known as Solamina."

A few of the men following them spat of the floor at the mention of Solamina's name, and Elliot felt himself feeling… angry.

"She," Walter continued, frowning at the spitting, "wants to wipe humanity away or turn us into mindless pony drones who worship her with dead smiles." He gave Elliot a concerned glance. "Any of this ring a bell?"

"Solamina..." Elliot said, frowning.

I will destroy you. Do you think any power you have, stolen or inherent, is equal to the power of Astra Solamina Maxima?

"I... remember... something..." he said quietly, but his voice trailed off. "Yeah. I remember that name. And the war. I just..."

He paused.

"Easy there," Walter chimed in. "Don't struggle to remember anything too much. We have some medics waiting to help you when we get there."

"Right," Elliot said. "Who's in charge here anyway? Redmond?"

Walter stopped in his tracks. A look of absolute confusion washed over his face. "Redmond's dead."

"Dead...?" Elliot repeated. He frowned. That didn't seem...

I take it by the fact that you're here and Solamina's armies are also inbound that you failed?

"But he was..." Elliot added, and then he coughed, flecks of blood flying, splattering his hand.

"He's been dead for two years," Walter noted, not noticing the blood. "The quicker we get you a proper check up the better. Not much further now."

"So... if he's dead... who's in charge...?" Elliot asked, wiping his hand off.

An explosion rocked a nearby building before Elliot could finish, and faster than lightning, Elliot drew his hand cannon and aimed. A handful of what looked like Converted jumped down and rushed the group, looking angry.

"Converted: fucking masters of timing," Walter bellowed as he shot a Converted at point blank range with his rifle. "Weapons free, troops!"

Elliot growled, drawing his daggers once again and charging amongst the creatures before the rest of the troops could do anything. He lashed out at them again and again, his blades slicing open arteries, stabbing through throats and heart, and generally tearing them apart. He moved fluidly, almost inhumanly.

Walter seemed to jump to each of the soldiers’ sides during the battle. Only for brief seconds was he not with one of his troop, fighting almost for them. The Sergeant aimed for the battle to be quick, taking every opportunity to go for the head.

In the distance, more gunfire sounded. The Solaminan soldiers took note of this, some of them hesitating.

Walter smiled. “Don’t like that, do we?”

As if spurred on by Walter’s remarks, the enemy charged with more vigor than before. They were greeted with a barrage of bullets from Walter’s favourite uzi.

Elliot, meanwhile, had just finished stabbing another pony when one of the Converted, an Earth Pony mare, charged into him and knocked him over. Growling in frustration, he rolled with the jump and landed a short way away from the pony, who had landed in a heap. Before the mare could move, he had stridden over to her and kicked her in the stomach, stunning her and making her yell in pain. He kicked her again, hearing ribs break, before grabbing her throat and picking her up.

“You little bitch,” he hissed angrily, tightening his grip on the mare’s neck as she gasped for breath.

The pink mare choked as he tightened his grip slightly, her eyes glaring daggers at him as she struggled to breathe.

“You’re a monster,” she managed to get out between gasps.

“I know,” he replied. There was a crack.

He dropped the corpse, stepping back from it slightly. Wide eyes stared at him, shocked and afraid, and he suddenly had another coughing fit, more blood splattering from his mouth.

“Dammit!” he swore, struggling to stay stood up.

By now the Convies and Guard had been driven off, the handful who tried to stand firm dying quickly.

From behind the massive rubble of, what used to be, a near by church, emerged Jenkins.

“Ready to do this Minecroft?” he said eagerly as he approached him.

“You already missed it private,” Minecroft replied with a smirk.

“The thought that counts,” said a new voice.

It was surreal. Nobody reacted, nobody fired a bullet. They seemed glad to see her. Beside Jenkins trotted a snow white Unicorn mare. She bore the same symbols on her uniform as the members of Walter’s troop. She wasn’t the only one either. Jenkins had two other ponies with him who were checking the area to see if it was indeed free of the enemy.

“Small Mercy,” Walter greeted. “I’d like you to meet…” He turned to Elliot.

“Elliot,” David Elliot said quietly, eyes wide at seeing the pony. “You’re…”

A pony. The Enemy.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. “You’re a pony. You’re a…”

Walter put a hand on Elliot’s shoulder. “A friend.”

Elliot looked at the man as though he had grown two heads.

“Friend?” He blinked. “They… they never… there aren’t any…”

Resistance/No help/Exodus/abandoned by the stinking pony scum to die - let them burn/they came to help - saved us - without them we’d have…

Elliot yelled, clutching at his head and screaming in pain as more blood came from his nose, and he felt like throwing up from the pain and nausea he felt.

“Medical attention now!” Walter ordered.

In unison, the troop surrounded Elliot. Only faint words reached Elliot’s ears before he found the darkness take hold of his sight.

“A.S.A.P… fit… safeguard… resistance.”

Resistance/no Resistance.

***

“You know this is the only way.”

“Of course it’s the only way, John. Don’t patronise me. But I’m allowed to have a moment of hesitation, aren’t I? This is my life.”

“And you’re going to give it to save the rest of the human race.”

“Yes, I am. I’m giving up my life for this. Aren’t I allowed to hesitate?”

“Not when there’s this much at stake.”

“And what happens after we win? We just enslave another race.”

“Tell me they don’t deserve it for what they did.”

“They…”

“Tell me honestly.”

“... they never came to help us. There might be those who wanted to though.”

“But they didn’t come.”

“No.”

“Exactly. Far as I’m concerned - far as a lot of people are concerned - they deserve everything they fucking get”

***

Elliot groaned and raised a hand to cover his eyes as a bright light shone into them.

“Easy there mate.”

Three figures were stood above Elliot. Two ponies and a human. He scowled - it was time for explanations. Ponies fighting alongside humans: no matter where Elliot was on Earth, that was an impossible thought, and yet, here they were. Elliot’s eyes soon got used to the light.

Walter sighed in relief. “Thought we’d lost you there.”

“Try not to move,” said...Small Mercy, was it? “We’re running a few tests for magical mental manipulation.”

“You’ll find none,” Elliot groaned, feeling certain of that much at least. “My mind is mine.”

“Do you remember anything else?” Walter asked.

“I remember that we were fighting ponies and then that one showed up,” he said, pointing at Small Mercy, “and you seemed to think that she wasn’t the enemy.”

But she’s not/she is.

The other mare, one with electric blue fur, stepped forward. She seemed offended by Elliot’s words.

“We are with the Resistance,” she exclaimed. “You know them right?”

“The what?” Elliot asked.

Resistance. Help. True Grit. War. Conflict. Friends.

“The Resistance,” Care repeated. “Equestrian Exodites.”

“I… I think I…” Elliot said quietly. He clutched at his head, making a noise of discomfort. “Why can’t I remember?”

Walter groaned thoughtfully. Small Mercy’s horn began to glow but the sergeant gestured for her to stop.

“I think I should have a talk with Mr Elliot first,” he said quietly. “Tender Care, Small Mercy, you two wait outside the room. I’ll yell when I need you.”

Both left without another word. Tender Care shot Elliot one last glance before shutting the door, leaving the two in dead silence as Walter took a seat on the bed opposite. With one calming breath, he began.

“You my friend, have quite a lot missing from that memory.” Walter gave a quick chuckle. “Maybe ‘missing’ isn’t the right word. The Resistance have been with us for a long while. They came over on the exodus from Equestria nine years ago. Anything ringing a bell?”

“Some of it…” Elliot frowned, “but it isn’t at the same time… that doesn’t make any sense, does it?”

Walter sighed. “What’s the first thing you remember?”

Fires sweeping over the Earth, bodies in the streets, cities turned to dust…

Retaliation.

“War,” Elliot said simply. “I remember the war. Fighting. Desperation. I remember…”

He trailed off.

“See that makes sense,” Walter said with a half broken smile. “It’s been like that for a long time. Thing is,” he pointed to Elliot’s clothes. “you’re not exactly dressed like one of our soldiers. Maybe you were some lone warrior?”

Elliot looked down at his battered outfit. He frowned. “Maybe. But I don’t remember being alone. I remember…”

We await your orders, sir.

“There were soldiers,” he continued, now speaking quickly, excited at this new memory. “Soldiers following my orders.” He looked up at Walter. “My name - do you know anyone by my name?”

Walter shook his head. “Only you.” he scratched his dying hair. “If men were taking orders from you then you were probably a reasonably high ranking figure - a Sergeant at least.” Walter snapped his fingers. “Did you come into contact with an Archmagi? They might have done something to you. By your skills. You probably escaped.”

The charge and the kill, a blade sweeping through bodies and necks, slicing them apart. The same symbol, again and again…

“I killed an Archmagi,” Elliot said softly, frowning as he struggled to piece together the fragments of his memory. “No… I killed more than one… I killed…”

Hundreds. All of them.

“...lots,” he finished lamely, frowning as the memories slipped away.

That familiar silence crept back into the room. Walter shut his eyes as he thought to himself. If Elliot focused, he could hear them talking outside. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but he knew they were there just the same.

Walter opened his eyes again. “For now,” he began. “What you need to know is this. The Resistance has both ponies and humans in it fighting off Solamina. Hell, if it wasn’t for the Elements we’d be a worse hell than we already are.”

Elements! Enemy! ENEMY!

“...what did you say?” Elliot asked, frowning. “The Elements…?”

The eyes of the sergeant became stern. “Yes. The Elements of Harmony. Elliot…” Walter stood up. “I’m not sure what happened to you but rest assured, I will help you.”

Elliot smiled tiredly. “Thanks. ‘Preciate that.”

“Tender Care and Small Mercy are better than Jenkins at spotting magic based injuries so I asked them to look over you. There aren’t the enemy.” Walter rubbed his arm, twitching when he touched certain spot. “Believe me, I don’t know where we’d be without the Resistance and the Iron Clads to help us out.” He stopped rubbing his arm and his expression became grim. “To be honest, I don’t want to know. One of the Iron Clads may know you if you were powerful enough to meet an Archmagi and live. I’m gonna fetch one while Care and Mercy look after you. Do you think you’ll be alright?”

“Yes,” Elliot said softly. “Yes I’m fine. I just… need a few moments. I’ll be alright.”

Nodding, Walter called for the two mares to return.

“Play nice,” he said as he left.

Elliot frowned at the mares as they entered, keeping a wary eye on them, as if expecting them to throw potion on him at any moment.

“Are you going to let us treat you?” Tender Care asked, noticing the glare.

“Yes,” he replied slowly. “But I’m still not sure I trust you.”

Tender Care raised an eyebrow. “Not to worry Mr Elliot. If it helps, I’ve treated HLF before who’ve had problems trusting a pony physician. I know how to be sensitive to your requirements.”

Elliot scowled at that. “I’m not a child. You can do what you need to do, just be as quick as you can be.”

Tender Care sighed and began checking him over, leaving Elliot’s mind to wander.

If this ‘Equestrian Resistance’ thing was real, and he wasn’t somehow being manipulated (or Minecroft wasn’t somehow being manipulated…) then why couldn’t he remember them? Surely he would have been able to.

But how much do you remember, David? he asked himself. There’s a lot missing from that memory…

Like how he had even come to be in this place in the first place. So much missing, and yet…

“Where are my weapons?” he asked, suddenly remembering that he wasn’t equipped with them. In fact, he wasn’t even wearing his clothes - he was wearing hospital clothing.

“Taken aside,” Small Mercy said. “Don’t worry, they’ll be returned once you’re cleared for duty.”

“Assuming you’re actually military, of course,” Tender Care said, “and not some sort of rogue civilian type.”

“I’m military,” Elliot said with a scowl. “I’ve killed more ponies than you can count.”

“Don’t try to impress me,” Care said, scowling back at him. “Posturing doesn’t interest me.”

“I’m not posturing, you stupid nag,” Elliot hissed, suddenly clenching a fist in fury. How dare this nag question him?! Hadn’t he done enough to prove himself? Hadn’t he given enough of his blood, his sweat, his tears, his very self to this conflict, and been given nothing but pain and despair in return?! “I’m the bloody…”

“Whoa!” Small Mercy exclaimed. Tender Care turned to her, before following her gaze to Elliot’s fist. Her own eyes widened and she stepped back. Elliot’s frown turned from one of rage to confusion, until he too looked at his hand.

It was glowing. His eyes widened in surprise at that - how could his hand be glowing?

“Mercy, magical scan,” Care said quietly. The other Unicorn’s horn glowed as she stared in shock at the man.

“It’s not external,” she said quietly. “It’s internal. Like he’s generating it.”

“How is that possible?” Care asked. “Do you know anything about this?”

“I…” Elliot said, eyes wide. “No. No, I don’t remember this.”

“Everybody calm down,” a new voice said, sounding strong but fair. Elliot turned and looked to the doorway, and blinked in surprise.

A tall man in what appeared to be some sort of advanced plate armour was standing in the doorway, a helmet tucked under his arm. He had cropped blonde hair, a craggy, battered face and a scar across his right cheek.

Sam. Friend. Murdered.

“Sam…?” Elliot asked, frowning in surprise. The man looked at him, and his eyes flickered slightly in what might have been surprise.

“Hello, David,” he said quietly. “You look like shit.”

Elliot laughed, a throaty, tired sound, but nonetheless it made him feel better about himself. Somehow, beyond any hope, his friend was here.

Maybe everything would be alright after all.

Chapter Two: Familiar Faces.

Chapter Two: Familiar Faces.

All around me are familiar faces,
Worn out places, worn out faces.

Bright and early for the daily races,
Going nowhere, going nowhere.

Their tears are filling up their glasses,
No expression, no expression.

Hide my head, I want to drown my sorrow,
No tomorrow, no tomorrow…
Tears For Fears, Mad World.

***

The mare sighed, not responding for a moment, before looking back up to the man. She asked:

"Is that the judgement of a man who can't remember?"

He chuckled slightly at that, as though this were somehow amusing, before replying:

"No. It's the judgement of a man who can."

She narrowed her eyes at him before querying:

"But what did you remember before?"

He shrugged as he replied:

"Fragments. Bits and pieces. Enough."

She took the fragment of a sentence and ran with it:

"Enough to know where you were?"

Though his voice was light with his reply, his eyes were dead as he spoke:

"Enough to know who to kill."

***

Sam.

His day had started normally, for him. He had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that it might stay that way, but fate was not particularly inclined to let that be the case.

Sam Lake, Commander of the Fourth Iron Clad battalion, had woken up that day with a strange feeling. It had been three days since he had spoken with his special advisors about their plan to summon help for the war and given it his tacit approval. Truth be told, he still wasn’t sure he trusted it, but it wasn’t as though they had much choice. The conflict had returned to London this week, for the fifth time since the war began. The city needed to stand because of it’s strategic importance, but the city was by now reduced to piles of rubble and the skeletons of buildings, with very little left that was truly intact. If things carried on… well, they didn’t have a prayer in this war.

The day for Sam began by strapping himself into the Mark III Paladin armour he was given. The armour made some of the more esoteric changes to his system at the hands of the scientists and magi-tech experts in Scotland easier to deal with, including the magic burnout. It was also tough enough to withstand... most punishment.

After that, he checked the in-built buckler was still attached to his vambrace, making sure it was still functional. That done, he put his helmet on, finalised his equipment checks as he did so, and then marched out.

Soldiers were bustling around the forward position, looking busy and harassed. The battle had been nigh constant for weeks, so that was hardly surprising. Sighing, Sam grabbed his Lance rifle and checked his sword was still strapped to his side.

"Commander!" the voice of True Grit, his Resistance liaison, said with a panicked expression. "We’ve had reports of more Guard landing in the city - we’ve lost contact with at least three teams."

"Understood," Sam said shortly, his HUD coming up with information on the matter. The HUD was pretty primitive - simple text information - but it served its purpose.

His HUD reported that the locations of the teams were deeper in the city, and he clicked his tongue: he wasn't exactly keen on moving into the city unsupported. He might have been tougher than in the old days, but...

Irrelevant detail.

His HUD showed the location of other Iron Clads nearby.

"Inform units three and four that I’m moving into the city," he said shortly. "I want them to link up with me as we engage the enemy."

"Yes sir, we’ll get the message to them," Grit said. "What should we do in the meantime?"

"Reinforce critical locations," Sam said shortly. "Request additional reinforcements of our own. This city will not be another Plymouth."

"Sir," Grit said, before rushing off to give orders. Sam immediately started jogging toward the first location his HUD gave him, an intersection designated Three Seven Alpha.

***

When he got to Intersection Three Seven Alpha, he found units three and four - Iron Clads like himself, named Elise McGuinness and Alex Everett - fighting a large squadron of Royal Guard. McGuinness had her buckler out, and her combat blade - a foot-long shortsword as opposed to a standard "Flaming Bastard" sword like Sam’s - was out, lashing hither and thither. Everett, meanwhile, was firing his Hellfire Coilgun at medium range, the heavy weapon literally tearing through the Guards, often killing three or four with every shot. Sam readied his own Lance rifle and started picking Guards off, one by one.

"Another one!" one of the Guards yelled. "Take him down!"

"As if," Sam muttered. He started pumping round after round into the Guards, and their armour couldn’t stand up to the magically augmented rounds.

After a moment, the Guards were all dead.

"Situation?" Sam asked.

"Lots of Guards," Elise said shortly, a vicious grin on her face. "Not so much anymore."

"We’ve been pushing away at them slowly and surely," Everett said quietly, the man looking pensive and thoughtful. "These guys aren't much threat to us except in large numbers, but they've got that."

"Still," Elise added, still grinning, "we've got a few tricks they don't."

"There might be bigger stuff on the horizon," Sam pointed out to her. "Stay on your guard."

Everett and Elise nodded. Sam sighed and prepared to order them to move out: just then, however, a low rumbling started, that gradually got closer to their position.

"Ah, shit, now what?" Elise said with a scowl, tensing slightly. Everett hefted his Coilgun, eyes scanning their immediate perimeter.

A moment later, the front of one of the nearby buildings erupted out into the street, showering the road in rubble and wreckage, as three giant crystalline forms appeared. They were built out of misty pink and white crystals roughly carved into various geometric shapes. These shapes had then been fused together to form vaguely equine bodies in the case of two of the creatures. The third was shaped more like a Minotaur, wielding a giant crystalline club. All three of them shimmered with ethereal light that gleamed from within their opaque skins and the ground shook under their heavy footfalls. Behind them, three Unicorns in simple red and gold chitons and three Guards (two Earth Ponies and a Pegasus) stood, looking shocked to run across three Iron Clads.

"Golems!" Sam yelled. "Target the handlers!"

Immediately, Everett brought his Coilgun up, pumping the nearest Crystal Golem full of high-powered rounds. The handlers, looking panicked, seemed to order one of the Golems - a large, equine shaped one - to act as a shield. The thing was chipped and cracked by Everett’s firepower but held firm.

The Minotaur-esque construct charged forward, and Elise, a grin on her face, charged right back at it. She blocked the first blow of its club with her in-built buckler, but the blow was strong enough to break the shield. Growling, Elise activated a fire-rune on her sword, and she lashed out, carving chunks out of it. She dodged another blow, leaping backwards with enhanced agility, before jumping on top of the Minotaur and stabbing her sword down into its head. This succeeded in doing nothing except apparently angering it, and it swatted up at her, forcing her to jump down again, leaving her sword embedded in the Golem. Growling, she drew her pistol - a modified Desert Eagle - but the bullets bounced off of the Golem, and it responded by lashing out one final time with its club, hitting her with bone-crushing force and sending her tumbling down the street, where she lay still, her armour caved in by the blow.

"Bastard!" Everett yelled, though he continued firing at the shielding construct. "Lake, need help!"

Sam had found himself fighting the second equine-shaped Golem. He had leapt onto it, and it had resorted to trying to buck him off like the proverbial bronco. At Everett’s cry, he drew his sword and, activating a rending rune, sliced the Golem vertically, cutting it in two. The thing wouldn’t be dead for long, but hopefully long enough. He grabbed a grenade from his belt and, timing himself carefully, threw it over the shielding construct. He heard a brief exclamation of shock from the Guards and handlers, and then there was a large explosion, gutting what was left of the building and blowing the shielding Golem - and bits of the ponies behind it - out into the street.

Now all that was left was the two remaining Golems. Sam turned to look at Everett, only to see the man rolling away from the Minotaur-construct, his gun broken in half. He had drawn his own sword and was standing up… but had neglected to pay attention to the restored equine-Golem, which had come up behind him. In a single move, it reared up and smashed down on him, crushing his torso beneath its hooves and making him spew blood and liquefied organs from his mouth, his eyes wide in shock and pain.

"Bastard!" Sam yelled. He brought his rifle up and fired, the high powered rounds blowing the equine-Golem’s head off. He aimed next at the Minotaur, but it was already charging at him. He scowled and dropped his rifle, drawing his sword and blocking the first blow. He riposted, before slicing the thing’s head in two. It took a moment for the thing’s body to register that it and just lost its (admittedly rudimentary) mind, and then it slowly collapsed, leaving Sam tired and drained.

"Bastards," he said again, quietly.

He heard movement, and turned, only to see a squad of human soldiers appear, led by a grey-haired man.

"Survived then," he said, rubbing his head.

"Mr Minecroft," Sam said, nodding respectfully at the man. "Sitrep?"

"Things are dead," Minecroft joked. The older Sergeant reloaded his gun and checked his surroundings. Nothing. "Sadly, it’s for both sides. Heaven help if we have to face an army of...those."

"How many did you lose?" Sam asked, frowning.

"Even one is too many," Minecroft replied heavily, "but if you want a number to tell the them in the report, I’ve got about a dozen soldiers left."

He sighed and waved for his soldiers to come to him.

"I want you to keep holding this sector," Sam told the man, looking at the troops as they jogged into the area. "I’m going to push ahead and relieve any of our forces I come across. If anything comes up, I’m on channel four, callsign Iron One: clear?"

Minecroft seem to growl as he thought about it. He looked to his troop. They were eager to continue but looked almost like rag dolls.

"Clear," he said finally. "I’m gonna need more medical supplies but we’re clear." Minecroft turned to one of the younger soldiers. "Jenkins!" The soldier saluted. "See to the troop with what we have and then find a place for us to rest for the moment. Okay?"

Jenkins nodded and began to take what little medical supplies they had left out to heal up the soldiers.

Minecroft turned back to Sam. "You’d think Solamina would take days off," he chuckled.

"We should be so lucky," Sam said grimly, sparing a glance for his fallen comrades. "Keep your eyes peeled, Sergeant. One last thing - I want you to implement standard non-retrieval on the bodies."

He pointed at the two fallen Iron Clads.

Minecroft scowled. "I’m pretty sure we can give them a burial while we are here." He shrugged. "Hell, even a burning wouldn’t be out of the possibilities for them."

"Those bodies contain classified technologies and magical augmentations that cannot be allowed to fall into the hands of Solaminan forces," Sam said sharply, frowning. "They knew that when they volunteered. I’d expect the same for me if it came to it. Now follow directives, Sergeant."

"Understood," he relented. "Not liked but understood. You be sure to tell what’s left of their loved ones that my troop would have died without them."

Sam didn’t reply, instead taking off at a jog deeper into the city.

***

His sword passed through yet another Guard. Behind him, he heard more fighting - he had come across a group of Resistance fighters and others who had been bogged down by a Militia attack. They were taking cover behind a makeshift barricade of broken cars and rubble, firing at the advancing pony forces.

"We’re holding them!" somepony yelled, a P220a barking as the pony fired it. "We’re holding them!"

"Don’t get complacent!" Sam yelled. "We’re not out of the woods yet!"

A large spell impacted against the barricade, breaking it apart and leaving a clear gangway open for the Solaminans.

"Hold the line!" Sam yelled, drawing his Desert Eagle and firing at the first three Convies who charged through the breach. He readied his sword and stepped into the breach, slashing and hacking, cutting through the ponies like a hot knife through butter. Behind him, he heard others firing their weapons or drawing their own blades, engaging the charging ponies in hand-to-hoof (or hoof-to-hoof in the case of the Resistance) combat.

"Too many!" someone yelled. Scowling, Sam activated a rune on his armour to absorb excess magic and activated his magic-sink, before slamming his gauntleted fist into the ground, creating a shockwave that knocked half the oncoming ponies over. He brought his pistol out and fired, killing some of them where they lay. The bark of rifled and P220a’s killed more.

Eventually, the tide of Convies and other Militia thinned, leaving Sam standing at the head of the broken barricade, drained but alive. He used a revitalisation spell, leaving him feeling ready for more - there were risks inherent in using too much magic, but his Paladin Armour’s magic-sink was designed to combat the worst of that.

His radio barked static at him. Frowning, he tuned it.

A familiar voice broke through the static. "Iron One? This is Sergeant Minecroft. I need some info from you. Over."

"Minecroft?" Sam said, frowning in confusion. "What sort of info are you needing, over?"

"Identity," Minecroft replied. "I have a soldier here with some gaps in his memory. What he does remember is fighting Archmagi. I thought he might be a friend of yours. Does the name ‘David Elliot’ ring a bell? Over."

Sam’s eyes widened behind his helmet. He couldn’t have just said...

"Say again, over?" he said quickly.

"David Elliot," Minecroft repeated. "Quite the fighter. The gaps in his memory are weird. It’s not just gaps. It’s changes -"

"I’m on my way to you now," Sam said, cutting him off. "Where are you?"

"Piccadilly Base," Minecroft replied, sounding bemused. "You know him then? Over."

"Just keep him there until I get there!" Sam yelled. "Consider it your top priority! Out!"

He quickly gave the remaining Resistance and BDF their holding orders, and then set off for Piccadilly at a run. It was about a mile away from his current position - he should reach it in the next few minutes if he was lucky and the city was reasonably clear: there was a lot of rubble between there and here. As he ran he activated his radio.

"True Grit, come in, this is Iron One," he said, not even breathless.

"True Grit here," the voice of the Unicorn spoke. "What’s up, over?"

"Need you to send a message to Echo One in Scotland, top priority," Sam said quickly. "Possibility that her big plan might have borne fruit."

"You serious?" Grit asked. "Never mind, forgot who I was talking to. Ok, I’ll contact her."

"Good," Sam said. "I’m gonna go see who our man is… out."

With that, he took off even faster - this, he had to see.

***

When he got to the base - a repurposed building that had hospital rooms fitted - Minecroft was waiting for him, looking pensive.

"Report," Sam demanded when he saw him.

Minecroft gave Sam a casual salute. "Thanks for getting here so quickly," he said. "We were dealing with a Solaminan troop when Elliot gave us a hand. It's weird. He remembers fighting Archmagi and, with his skills, I believe him. He doesn't remember the Resistance at all." Minecroft began to lead Sam down the corridors. "What do you know about him?"

Sam chuckled slightly. "Would you believe 'almost everything and nothing at all'?" he asked.

"Just the everything part would be useful," Minecroft joked.

"True enough," Sam said. "I'll tell you this much - if I'm right, he might be the key to winning the war."

Minecroft held Sam still. They were paused in the corridor as the Sergeant's expression turned stony.

"Pardon?" he asked softly.

"You heard me Sergeant," Sam said shortly. "But for the purposes of security, you didn't hear me. Clear?"

Minecroft nodded slowly. "For the purposes of not being completely lost, I definitely didn't hear you."

They continued to walk until Mincroft pointed to a door coming up.

"He's in that one there," he explained. "I need to meet up with Jenkins in the bay, send Tender Care and Small Mercy to me when you get in there."

"Will do," Sam said. With that, Minecroft walked off, leaving Sam alone.

As the Iron Clad walked up to the room, he heard a buzz from his radio. He tapped it.

"Grit to Iron One," True Grit’s voice came. "Iron One, do you hear me, over?"

"Here," Sam said quietly. "What’s the situation, over?"

"Just got word from Echo One," Grit said. "They’re on their way. Top priority. Should be about two hours as of this transmission, over."

"Roger that," Sam said quietly. "Out."

He continued toward the hospital room. From inside the room, he could hear voices.

"How is that possible?" a female pony voice asked. "Do you know anything about this?"

"I…" an achingly familiar voice replied, sounding uncertain. "No. No, I don’t remember this."

It was at this point that Sam stepped into the room, helmet tucked under his arm and a slight smile on his face.

"Everyone calm down," he said, his voice strident. Everyone in the room looked at him, but Sam only noticed one man.

His friend, David Elliot.

"Sam…?" this Elliot asked, frowning in what looked like surprise. Sam looked at him, surprised as well - of all the faces he had expected to see, his old friend’s was not one of them. Sure, he had heard the name… but this…?

No. He had not expected this.

David looked old - his hair was grey and his face covered in stress lines and age. Whatever world he had been pulled from, his life had clearly not been an easy one.

"Hello, David," Sam said quietly. "You look like shit."

Elliot laughed, a throaty, tired sound, but nonetheless, he was laughing. Sam actually grinned. At least his friend could laugh. That was something.

Perhaps things were looking up.

***

David.

This Sam turned to Tender Care and Small Mercy, a stern expression on his face.

"Clear the room," he ordered. "Sergeant Minecroft wants to see you in the bay anyway."

At once, the two of them left, leaving the two men on their own. Elliot stood up, before holding a hand out to Sam, still a little unsteady on his own feet but not really caring.

"Good to see you, mate," he said, smiling. "You look... different."

"So do you," Sam replied, grasping his hand and smiling. "More grey for a start."

Elliot frowned in confusion, before catching a glimpse of himself in a mirror. Sam was right - he had gone grey, somehow. But he didn’t remember…

Well, it was clear how reliable his memory was. For one thing, he remembered his friend being dead.

"What’s going on here, Sam?" he asked, frowning.

"I promise, I’ll explain everything," Sam said, holding up a hand. "Some friends of mine are coming. They’re ponies, and I need you to trust them when you meet them."

Elliot nodded slowly. "I think I’m starting to come to terms with that."

"Good," Sam said. "Come on - let’s go."

"Uh," Elliot said, pointing at his hospital clothes. "I’m not exactly dressed for this."

Sam glanced at the outfit. "Good point. Did you come in anything decent?"

"Knackered clothes," Elliot replied. He neglected to mention the coat with pony manes. "Nothing special. Why?"

"Fair play," Sam said, though he looked slightly perturbed. "I’ll have some clothes brought up."

He stepped out for a few moments, leaving Elliot alone with his thoughts for a moment.

He remembered Sam dying, the battle in Whitby, the battle where his friend had been ponified and he had been forced to end his suffering. He remembered… and yet he knew, almost instinctively, that the man he had just been talking to was his friend. He didn’t know how to explain it, but he knew.

"This is too weird," he said to himself quietly. "All of it."

It’s better than some alternatives, he found himself thinking. He frowned - where had that thought come from?

A moment later, Tender Care arrives, a sack levitated in her telekinetic grip. She dropped it and left without another word, and Elliot searched the sack. He threw the tan trousers, plain white t-shirt and boots on quickly, feeling grateful to wear something that wasn’t completely battered and broken. He sighed as Sam entered.

"Ready?" his friend asked.

"Yeah," Elliot said quietly.

"Good," Sam said.

Without another word, he left the room, leaving Elliot to follow.

The two men came across Minecroft, who looked vaguely confused.

"I'm taking this man with me," Sam said.

"I've just spoken with Small Mercy," Minecroft exclaimed. "What on Earth have you lot been up to? Is he rested enough to leave?"

"I am," Elliot said. "And it'd be great if you didn't talk about me like I'm not here."

"Sorry," Minecroft said quickly, turning to Elliot. "Have you figured out how you came to have magic?"

"Not yet," Elliot said with a slight smile, "but Sam says he'll give me answers and I trust him."

"We'll be heading for the temporary command post due north of here," Sam added. "Do you need me to pass on any requests? Backup, supplies?"

"Just the medical supplies," Minecroft answered, trailing off towards the end of his sentence. He thought for a moment before nodding to himself. "I want you to take Small Mercy with you. If I know her, she'll want to see her patient to the end of his care."

"Uh, I'd really rather..." Elliot began.

"Agreed," Sam said, cutting him off. "Have her meet us outside the base entrance with David's weapons."

"Thank you," said Minecroft. He stretched out a hand to Elliot. "It was quite the honour to meet you Mr Elliot. I hope I live long enough to see you again."

"You too, Sergeant," Elliot said, shaking the man's hand. With that, he and Sam set off. Elliot sighed, feeling resigned but still not entirely happy with the situation - and especially with ponies being with them. Still, at least it was going to get better soon, ponies or no ponies.

It was time to get some answers.

Author's Note

Thanks to RoyalPsycho for helping with the fight scenes and The Void for help with Minecroft. Thanks to readers, favouriters and commenters. It's starting to pick up now. :-)

Chapter Three: Fragmented Memories

Chapter Three: Fragmented Memories.

"Constants and Variables."
Elizabeth Comstock, Bioshock Infinite.

***

She sighed before asking her next question:

"And who did you kill?"

His answer was simple and to the point:

"I killed my enemies."

She raised an eyebrow at that, and asked:

"It was that simple?"

His eyes were still dead, still filled with that hollow emptiness, as he replied:

"Nothing was simple."

She thought about that for a moment before commenting:

"It sounds simple."

He scowled at her comment, and pointed out testily:

"My enemies were an entire race. Adults, children, the elderly, the infirm."

She spoke with what might have been childlike innocence, but what felt more like scorn or criticism - though either would have sufficed:

"Why isn't that simple?"

He looked right in her eyes as he answered:

"It isn't simple because I remember every face."

***

Outside the hospital building, Sam and Elliot were met by the small white form of Small Mercy. She nodded at her supplies, including Elliot’s guns and daggers, and gave the two salute.

"Everyone ready?" Mercy asked, beaming a smile.

Elliot ignored her and grabbed the bag of supplies, retrieving his weapons with the air of a man who had come to rely on them far too much in his life.

"Miss Mercy, it isn’t necessary for you to accompany us if you prefer not to leave your post," Sam said to her quietly. He threw a glance at David, who was examining his weapons as if expecting them to have been tampered with, his eyes running over them with the critical gaze of someone who was an expert on his weapons. "And he won’t exactly thank you for it, I don’t think."

"With respect," she replied, keeping her smile. "I didn’t become a doctor to get thanks. I’d like to see him safe. Humans don’t often have magic, Clads like yourself excluded, and I've never once encountered this type. I’ll be coming with you."

Sam nodded slowly, accepting her logic, before turning to Elliot.

"You ready?" he asked.

"Everything seems to be here," Elliot replied, throwing a glance at Small Mercy as though he had expected her to cause some sabotage. "Nothing’s been messed with."

"I wouldn’t dream of it," Mercy said with a smile. "From what Walter told me, you are fully capable of handling those weapons."

"I’d like to think so," Elliot said quietly. He turned to his friend. "Are you sure about this?" he asked in an undertone. "I mean… can we trust her?"

If Small Mercy heard him, she had no reaction to his words.

"Yes," Sam replied simply. Elliot sighed. He didn’t trust ponies, but this Sam did. He didn’t want to contradict his friend but… all the same, it felt wrong to him.

Well, you’re clearly not in your right mind, mate, he thought to himself. He sighed.

"You’re gonna need a coat," Sam added, and Elliot looked down at his bare arms. He grinned.

"I had a coat, but I… lost it," he said with a slight smile. "Suppose I didn’t think about the cold."

"Where were you before, Tahiti?" Sam asked with a slight grin.

"Gesundheit," Mercy said.

"It’s a place," Elliot said with a frown, feeling irritated at the comment. This pony didn’t even know the name of places her race had destroyed: how dare she show such a lack of respect…

"Doesn’t matter," Sam said, waving the conversation away and bringing Elliot back from his thought processes. "Point is, you need a coat."

Elliot shrugged. "I’ll manage for now. We’ll find me something while we’re out."

"No, no, no," Mercy pleaded. She jogged off and came back moments later with a battered green military greatcoat. "This should fit you nicely."

Elliot took the coat grudgingly, frowning slightly at the coat as he threw it on. It fitted surprisingly well - a little loose on the shoulders and slightly long in the sleeves, but that was good: the buttons were brass and so were the buckles, so the thing was well made. It wasn’t overly heavy for a wool coat, and he could still move in it. He quickly slung his shotgun over his shoulder and put his dagger-sheaths by his side, as well as his hand-cannon.

"Ok," he said, smiling slightly, happy to be reunited with his weapons. "Now I’m ready."

"Good," Sam said, noting the ease with which his friend - or the man who looked like his friend - readied his various pieces of equipment. "We have a long way to go."

***

The city was no better here than it was anywhere else. Burnt out cars and bodies surrounded him: the rotted and decomposing bodies of human soldiers, Royal Guards, Converted Militia and what must have been these Equestrian Resistance soldiers were lying around, slaughtered by spells and bullets. The buildings were burning skeletons, twisted and melted metal and glass everywhere. The world had gone to hell, and that, at least, felt right.

Sam walked with solemn alertness, his eyes never seeming to rest in more than one direction for a few moments. Elliot raised an eyebrow, somewhat bemused by this. He was alert, but his friend - the man who was very similar to his friend, who he definitely remembered being dead - seemed constantly on edge.

Elliot himself felt a bit on edge too - maybe it was the small pony that was with them, surreptitiously keeping an eye on him even as he surreptitiously kept an eye on her. Maybe it was the feeling that he had forgotten something important (make that several somethings, Dave, he thought wryly to himself), or maybe it was the feeling that Sam knew far more than he was telling him.

"So," he said quietly as they walked. "I hear Redmond died."

"That’s right," Sam replied without looking at him. "First battle of London. That was when the Iron Clads were called in to hold the city."

"‘First’ battle?" Elliot asked, raising an eyebrow. "There have been more?"

"This is the fifth," Sam said quietly. "Five invasions. This is getting worse than Plymouth."

Plymouth. PER - horse-fucking traitors… fighting in the streets, death and…

"Plymouth… that’s where the PER are holed up, right?" he asked, vaguely wondering if his memories were wrong again.

"Yup," Sam said, and Elliot felt relieved. That was something he remembered right, at least. He sighed.

"So what are we gonna do when we get to your command post?" he asked quietly.

"Like I said," Sam said, not looking at him, "my friends will want to speak to you."

"Who are your 'friends'?" Elliot asked, narrowing his eyes slightly. "I remember you said they were ponies, but that's a big margin of error."

Small Mercy nudged Elliot. "If I may David," she said sweetly. "What do you have a hatred of all ponies?"

Elliot looked down at her, frowning at her, his eyes blazing. "Don't. Touch. Me."

Small Mercy recoiled back. "Sorry. I didn't mean anything by it."

"You're damn right," Elliot said sternly. "I've seen death at the hooves of ponies like you wouldn't believe. I don't care if there's a Resistance or not, I don't remember one. I don't remember your kind lifting a damn hoof to help mine. You tell me if you think I'm fucking unreasonable."

She shook her head. "I honestly can't if that's what you remember," she answered somberly. Mercy suddenly smiled. "I guess I'll have to give you new memories." She thought for a moment. "We could start with a better introduction." Mercy bowed her head. "Nice to meet you, I'm Small Mercy. Where did you grow up?"

"David Elliot," Elliot said, smirking despite himself. "And my life story might be a little difficult. At this rate I'm probably gonna get half of it wrong."

"Two thirds," Sam joked dryly, his stern expression not changing. "At any rate - we're gonna be there in a few minutes. Brace yourself: there'll be more than a few ponies running around."

"Lucky me," Elliot said drily.

***

A few minutes later, they arrived at the command post. It wasn't particularly impressive: a few ponies ran from ruined building to ruined building, and a single battered military jeep with a man on the turret that was installed on the back.

"Sir!" one of the soldiers called at Sam. "Echo team will be landing in the next few minutes, should we direct them this way?!"

"Yes," Sam called back. "Did they bring the Dragonborn?"

"Yes sir," the soldier said, smirking. "As well as Irons Twenty through Thirty."

"Thank fuck," Sam said, suddenly looking relieved. "Alright, we'll meet them in the command post too, I've some words for Stein when he shows up."

As he walked past the perimeter, Elliot and Small Mercy behind him, Elliot couldn't help but notice how much everyone and everypony seemed to defer to him.

They did that for you once.

They could do it again.

He shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts out of his head. There was something in his mind - a nagging feeling that this was familiar. This city. This battle. Something was wrong...

"Are you okay?" came the concerned voice of Small Mercy, interrupting his thoughts.

"Yeah," he said, not looking at her. "Just... remembering things that never happened."

"Want to talk about it?" she asked kindly.

"Not really," Elliot said with a tired smile. He kept walking behind Sam, who hadn't noticed their conversation.

A moment later, they entered the small building that looked like it used to be, of all thing, an upholstery shop. Elliot sat himself on a battered armchair, slumping slightly.

"Hell," he said quietly. "I hope this memory crap gets sorted soon, I'm starting to get sick of it."

"Hopefully Echo One will be able to explain it," Sam said, smiling slightly.

"Who is this Echo One pony?" Elliot asked with a frown. "You keep talking like he's some sort of bloody expert."

"Well, she's one of our best researchers," Sam said, sitting back slightly. "She invented a lot of our best defences. Even helped refine the Paladin armour I'm wearing."

"Sounds like she's an impressive individual," Elliot commented, smirking. "I'm almost looking forward to meeting her."

"Well," a new voice said tiredly. "I hope I don't disappoint."

Elliot looked to the doorway, and his eyes widened, an expression of shock and anger freezing onto his face.

Stood in the doorway was a purple Unicorn mare, deep purple hair streaked with white and pink. She had a single scar running from the top of her face, down her cheek to her jawline. A slight tired smile graced her lips as she looked at Elliot with cold, analytical eyes.

"Captain Sparkle," Sam said warmly, greeting her. "Good to see you. Are the others here?"

"Rainbow's coming in with Grey Squadron," Sparkle said tiredly, her voice slightly cracked. "Lightning was insistent on coming down when she heard things were escalating and you know Dash won't let those guys go anywhere without her anymore."

"What about Applejack and Rarity?" Sam asked, frowning.

"Organising some landings," Sparkle said with a slightly dismissive shrug, before focusing again on Elliot. "So this is our guy?"

Elliot didn't say anything. His eyes, however, were glaring at her with a burning fire in his eyes, as though he weren't looking at her.

"Sparkle," he murmured, his voice filled with venom.

"You recognise me, then?" Sparkle said, raising an eyebrow. "I'm surprised."

"You shouldn't be," Elliot growled. "I remember your atrocities all too well."

Sparkle frowned, confused by this comment. Elliot's mind, however, drifted slightly.

"Do you understand now?” he said, his voice resonating across the field. "Do you understand the futility of your struggles, the insignificance of your armies, next to the holy, pure wrath of the human race unshackled from their morality, liberated from their fear? Do yourselves a favour: end your struggle. Surrender yourselves to the inevitable. You will spare yourselves toil and uncertainty before the end.”

“Keep fighting!” he heard Commander Sparkle yell desperately, her own voice, magically amplified, nothing compared to the sonorous tones.

"You are brave, little ponies, but your bravery is irrelevant against the power of Albion,” he spoke again.

His head suddenly erupted in pain, and he clutched at it, his head feeling as though it were about to split in two. Voices and sounds went off in his mind, memories conflicting with one another, vying for supremacy.

"David!" Sam yelled, but Elliot couldn't hear anything else - his mind drifted far away, to the sound of battle and war in his mind, and the feeling that he had been at the heart of something at once awe-inspiring and terrifying...

***

Small Mercy’s eyes kept darting from her patient to Sam and Twilight. Her horn began to glow with regal blue light as she focused her gaze on Elliot.

“Well?” Sam asked. “Is he alright?”

Mercy’s light stopped. “Physically, there’s nothing wrong with him,” she said, her eyes still fixed on David. “Mentally however, he’s erratic.” she trailed off into thought before turning to Sam. “He did something like this when we met him, if on a slightly smaller scale.”

“And this is the man you think is the warrior?” Sparkle asked with a raised eyebrow. “I know you don’t think much of magic when guns will do the trick, Commander Lake, but do try to remember that I am somewhat good at what I do.”

“This guy supposedly tore through an entire bunch of Convies and helped fight off another lot,” Sam said, frowning at her in mild irritation. “I think he’s the warrior. Could these mental effects be some side effect of bringing him?”

“Not a side effect I’m familiar with,” Sparkle said, frowning thoughtfully. “Although…”

“Bringing him?” Mercy interrupted. “What are you talking about?”

“Classified,” Sam said shortly. “Sparkle, I swear to you, this is the man.”

“It’s… possible that something could have gone wrong,” Sparkle said tiredly. “Excuse me, Miss… what was your name again?”

“Small Mercy,” Mercy replied with grace. “and with the greatest of respect, if it involves the well being of my patient, I think I should be told. I could help if I knew more about where you brought him from.”

“With the greatest of respect,” Sparkle said irritably, but Sam held up a hand.

“No, she’s right,” he said. “If it helps her treat him, she needs to know.”

“Alright, fine,” Sparkle said quietly. “Firstly though, Small Mercy - is there anything about this man that’s unusual, anything we might need to know?”

Small Mercy nodded. “He has some kind of internal magic source. It flared up when we examining him.”

“Internal magic?” Sparkle said, frowning. “That doesn’t seem possible. Human beings don’t usually - no, no, that’s the point,” she self corrected, almost absent mindedly. “Alright. So he has internal magic. Any idea about the source of it?”

“None,” Small Mercy said quietly. “It just… happened. He was angry at the time, if that helps.”

Sparkle frowned thoughtfully for a moment, studying the unconscious human with a keen eye.

“Ok," she said after a moment, a smile on her face. "Question - how familiar are you with the concept of magic burnout?”

“Magic… burnout?” Small Mercy repeated. “I can’t say I know all that much. I think I’ve heard the phrase thrown around with the Iron Clads, but that's never really been my area. Why, is it something he could be suffering?”

“In theory,” Sparkle said. “Do another diagnostic spell - this time look for deep cell damage.”

As Small Mercy turned to begin her diagnostic, Sparkle turned to Sam.

“The presence of magic might be what makes him the warrior we’re looking for,” she said in an undertone.

“Would this magic burnout be a problem for how useful he’d be?” Sam asked.

“Depends how bad it is,” Sparkle said quietly. A moment later, Small Mercy turned around to give her summary, her eyes sad.

“It’s odd,” she sighed. “His cells are deteriorating due to the overflowing magic in his system. He should be coughing up blood and counting down the seconds 'til the end.” Mercy paused, thinking it over in her mind. “But somehow, his body is healing the cells as they die so he’s stable physically. The magic might be affecting his mind and memories though.”

“Possible?” Sam asked Sparkle with a sideways glance.

“It’s as likely as any of our other theories,” Sparkle sighed, shaking her head thoughtfully. “There’s just so much we don’t know about him and where he came from!”

“Look,” Mercy said, frowning slightly. “I need you to tell me how you got him here. You talk like you were expecting him. Tell me what this is all about, please.”

Sparkle sighed and looked at Sam, who shrugged.

“He is her patient, she should know,” he said simply.

“Alright then,” Sparkle said. “It works a little something like this…”

***

The armoured figure pushed open the doors with his gauntleted hands, stepping over the corpses of Eclipse Guards who had been foolish enough to stand in his way. His sword was girt over his back, ready for him to remove it at a moment’s notice.

Up ahead of him was the throne of Canterlot itself, and sat upon it was the Empress - Astra Solamina Maxima. Almost immediately, her remaining Guards, Royal and Eclipse alike, charged at him, and almost without thinking he drew Excalibur, sweeping the blade across throats and through necks, slicing his enemies apart until he was stood in a room full of corpses, and all the while the Sun Tyrant sat and watched.

“Interesting,” she said quietly, her eyes watching the fight with interest, apparently not at all concerned with the deaths of her servants.

“Sun Tyrant,” he said, ignoring her comment and marching toward her, blade still in hand. “I have come for your head.”

“So,” she said quietly as he approached. “You have slaughtered your way across half of my realm, killed thousands of ponies - including my beloved Twilight - and now…”

“Do not pretend to care for the lives of your subjects,” he snapped. “I know you now. I knew you from the moment I walked the same path you do. You cannot lie to me.”

At that, Solamina's eyes widened in shock for a moment. And then, horribly, she began sniggering, then chuckling, and then laughing out loud.

"Do I amuse you, Tyrant?" he asked tiredly.

"Oh yes," she replied, laughing. "Yes, you do. You think your fury and your passion and your desire to do me harm will be enough to grant you victory. That, I find very amusing."

And she laughed harder still, her voice echoing in the throne room. He scowled at her.

"I will kill you," he said simply.

“Fool,” she said, still chuckling. “I am the sun, resplendent and indomitable. Did you think I had sent the most powerful of my servants to the field?”

As she spoke, he heard the sound of marching feet behind him. He turned, to find himself staring at the tall, stiff, armoured form of a midnight blue Alicorn - the corpse of Princess Luna, her eyes glaring balefully at him, an unnatural light within them. Behind her were a hundred other armoured forms, human and pony alike, all dead, all powered by that same unnatural force.

“What is this?” he asked, scowling beneath his helmet.

“This is your end, little man,” Solamina said with a definite undertone of amusement. “My sister and the Eternal Guard will see that you die. Once I knew you were coming I prepared all possible contingencies.”

Her smirk died when she heard a soft noise coming from beneath his helmet. It took her a minute to realise that he, too, was laughing.

“The living could not stop me, Tyrant,” he said quietly. “What makes you think the dead can?”

“You are nothing without the power you have stolen, little man,” Solamina said. “Now, prepare to die!”

The Guard advanced, and he raised his blade into a guard stance…

And suddenly, the Eternal Guard stopped. Solamina stopped. Everything stopped. The figure lowered his blade from his guard stance, before slowly turning around, the two pinpricks of light visible beneath his helmet now glaring balefully at David Elliot, who was suddenly aware not only of himself and the fact that he was standing and observing these events, but also of the malevolent being staring at him.

“Now,” it said quietly, “what are you doing here?”

He screamed…

***

And shot up, eyes wide, gasping for breath.

“Mr Elliot!” Small Mercy said, sitting up from where she was near him.

“David!” Sam added, unfolding his arms. Next to him, Sparkle was watching Elliot like a hawk, concern on her face.

Elliot found himself lying on a sofa, coat slung over one of the arms as a pillow. He frowned in confusion.

“What…” he said quietly, feeling incredibly shaken from the dream he had been having. “What’s happening to me?”

Sam, Small Mercy and Sparkle exchanged glances.

“Alright,” Sam said. “I’ll tell you what we know.”

***

Chapter Four: Wreck the Gentle.

Chapter Four: Wreck the Gentle.

What doesn't kill me… isn't trying hard enough."
Roboute Guilliman, Horus Heresy: Know No Fear.

***

With a morose look on her face, she asked him:

"Do you remember…"

And he said, cutting her off:

"Everything."

She asked:

"Six particular faces."

And with tired eyes, he said:

"I remember all of them."

Uncertain she wanted to know the answer, she asked:

"And I suppose… one face in particular?"

And all he said was:

"Yes."

She asked him:

"Do you really remember them?"

And with tired, sad eyes, he said:

"I'll always remember them."

***

'I suppose (Sam began) I should start with the war.

You know a bit about the war of course, obviously. It's still weird thinking about it. I mean the thing is, we didn't know that the ponies were going to attack until Sparkle showed up with the exodus at her back: before then the government's thing was assuming it was some kind of accident, not an attack. Least ways that's what the general public were told. Then it started…'

(And he paused, trying to find the words to describe it, trying to think if any words could do it justice. Eventually, he found the words.)

'It's hell. I don't know how you remember it but that's how it's been for us. Fighting in the streets, cities falling - being destroyed by the Royal Guard or abandoned because there's not enough people left to live there safely… we've had ground invasions, Converted assaults, aerial bombardment, everything… it's been hell. We started the war with a hundred and forty million people on this island, and we're at twenty six million now.

The war has been going on for a long time. It's been eight years now. Eight years of slaughter. Killing, killing, scrambling for ammo, scrambling for resources, mining these rocks to hell or farming them to nothing…

We have some resources left, but every day they dwindle. We poured everything we had into projects like the Iron Clad project and any experiments that Twilight or the others can come up with, but none of it is enough to stop the enemy entirely, it only really slows them down enough that we're not overrun. London has become a quagmire, just like Plymouth. Nobody wants to admit it, but they keep attacking the city, and try as we might, we can't push them back. It's just a matter of time before everywhere becomes like this and we start losing ground.

That's the crux of it really. We're losing the war. We have twenty six million people left, and every day more of them die. Sure there are other things that we can do to try and stem the tide, again like the Iron Clad project, but these things are just temporary measures. We needed something more permanent in order to stem the tide and Equestrian forces.'

'And that, (Sparkle cut in), is where I came in.

My primary skillset is as a researcher. Oh yes, I can fight - quite well, actually, if I may be immodest -but I don't like fighting and it isn't what I'm best at. The others - my friends - can fight, but we're just six ponies, and much as I might wish it were otherwise, six ponies can't make the difference.

We're often hailed as being a kind of saving grace for the Resistance and BDF. Myself and my friends - the Elements of Harmony, I don't know if you know about…'

***

"Yes," Elliot said, cutting her off sharply. "I know the name."

"Right," Sparkle said, smiling slightly nervously at his irritated tone. "Well -"

***

'… we can use the Elements (she continued) to distract Solaminan forces, heal troops, and erect shields that they can't get through. A lot of the early days of the war were just that. But the Elements aren't a weapon, and even the usage we're putting them to is really pushing the limits of what they were meant for.

So I started doing what I do best: I started researching alternative means of fighting against the Solaminan Empire.'

'We have a bunch of researchers up in Scotland (Sam said, taking over), who spend most of their time trying to build weapons and defences for the war effort. We owe a lot of our more advanced equipment to them: for example, the Iron Clad project was developed in 2026, and we've over four hundred Iron Clads of various different marks running around. I'm a Mark III myself. These things really help the war effort…'

'But (Sparkle cut in), things like the Iron Clad project and the GG3 contingency and Agent Gleeson and all the other ideas and weapons we have are, like Sam was saying, stopgaps. We needed something more permanent. A weapon that would win us the war.'

***

"And how exactly do you intend to win the war?" Elliot asked, holding up a hand to pause the two in their explanation.

"Well, a military victory is out of the question," Sam said grimly, his expression resigned. "There's billions of Converted Militia at the Tyrant's disposal, and there's always the more esoteric things she sends out as well." He scowled, a fist clenching at his side. "I fought three Crystal Golems today. They're strong enough to take out an Iron Clad, as two of my colleagues found out."

There was a long pause as everyone and everypony in the room took in that information. Sam looked almost as stoic as ever, but it was clear he was repressing a lot of rage.

"Um… you see, we extrapolated that a lot of the magic holding the Solaminan forces together is being anchored somehow to Solamina herself," Sparkle theorised, taking over from Sam. "There's definitely more to her than just Celestia gone mad."

"How d'you work that one out?" Elliot asked, frowning slightly.

"I knew Celestia," was all Sparkle said in response. Tthere was another pause as Elliot raised an eyebrow at this at once simplistic and incredibly layered answer. Sparkle looked… hurt. Angry, yes, but also incredibly sad, like she had lost something precious she would never get back.

"In any case," Sam said, speaking before the pause could get too awkward, "if she's an anchor to things like the Barrier and the conditioning on the Guard and Convies, killing her would break that anchor."

"Cut off the head and the body dies," Sparkle said softly. "Kill the Empress… and the Empire falls."

"And that," Sam said with a slight grin, "is where you come in."

"Me?" Elliot asked, frowning. "What are you talking about?"

"We located an arcane spell book in the archives, and in there was a spell designed to summon a mighty warrior from another world," Sparkle said with a slight smile. "That spell was, in theory, supposed to bring a mighty hero who would be powerful enough to fight an Alicorn and win."

Cut off the head and the body will die. It makes sense, doesn't it? Slaughter the Tyrant. Have her head as testament to mankind's vengeance. And you remember the fight at least, do you not?

He shook his head, still feeling the strange thoughts as they burned through his memory. The pony and the armoured version of his friend didn't seem to notice.

"That was three days ago," Sam said, leaning forward. "Bases across the country were ordered to keep an eye out and report to me or Twilight at the first sign of anyone who fit the bill. And here you are."

"Here… I… am…" Elliot repeated slowly, frowning at the two of them. "You took me from wherever I was, I can only assume without asking my permission… and you wanted me to fight your enemy for you. How do you know I didn't have an enemy of my own to fight - my world must have been at war if I can remember it."

"And we're able to send you back, hopefully," Sparkle said earnestly, "but the spell was self-selecting."

"'Self-selecting'?" Elliot repeated.

"It was designed to pick someone upon whom we could rely to stop a Tyrant," Sam explained, "without them being integral to their own world's survival. We never intended to cripple another world to save ours. Chances are, if you were summoned here you already won your war."

"But I don’t remember…" Elliot began.

"Is that it, Sun Tyrant? Corpses and tricks? Do you think that will save you?!"

"Perhaps not - but now I have your measure. You are strong - but I am eternal!"

He raised a hand to his head. "I… I don’t remember. I don’t remember…"

Elliot felt a warmth around him. The pain that had begun to well up, faded away. To his right, he saw the serene smile of Small Mercy whose horn glowed with soothing light.

"Better?" Sam asked.

"Better," Elliot said quietly. "Wish I knew what caused that."

The snow white mare looked at Elliot, sincerity in her eyes. “Don’t worry, Sam and Twilight always know what they are doing. Besides, I’m going anywhere without knowing you are 100% safe.”

Elliot sighed. “I appreciate that.”

"This is strange," Sparkle said, eyeing the man with a clinical eye. "I’ve never heard of this sort of thing happening, not in any of the books on the subject. It’s almost as if…"

She trailed off, frowning thoughtfully.

"Now hang on a second," Elliot said, raising a hand and ignoring his headache. "Even if I was summoned here because I’m some mighty warrior… I've killed a bunch of Convies and Guard since I got here. That is not the same thing as being able to fight a Sun Tyrant. And I don't remember killing any Tyrant."

Liar.

"You're right," Sam said softly. "It isn't the same. And it's entirely possible that the spell wasn’t entirely successful, especially given your condition."

"But the fact that you have an internal source of magic is proof that you’re more than a normal human," Sparkle added, "and the fact that the magic deteriorating your cells hasn’t killed you yet is proof that you’re powerful. The chances of you being our man are good."

"That being said," Sam said with a slight grin, "it isn’t like we’re gonna throw you at Solamina like the proverbial nuclear bomb."

"So what are you going to do?" Elliot asked.

Before Sam could answer, there was a noise from outside - the sound of yelling and the firing of guns. A moment later, an alarm went out.

"Shit," the armoured man said. “Stay here, all of you!”

Without another word, he ran out of the room, leaving a wide-eyed Sparkle there with Small Mercy and Elliot.

"What’s that noise?" Elliot asked.

"An attack," Sparkle repeated. "And from that alarm… a big one."

***

True Grit was waiting for Sam when he reached the base’s perimeter. The Unicorn looked stressed but somewhat eager for action.

"About time they showed up!" he yelled. "We’ve got a squadron of Guards, about thirty militia and at least five Crystal Golems inbound."

"Bollocks," Sam said, stepping up to the line. Sure enough, beyond the barricades and overturned cars, he could see Guards approaching, flitting between cover like professionals.

The Royal Guard trained their troops to move in ranked formations - magical shields up and spears down as they marched at their enemies - but any squadron that had fought more than one battle quickly decided for itself that such tactics were best abandoned in favour of a careful advance, picking their armoured way through cover while laying down suppressing fire and throwing up shields.

"Grit!" Sam called over to the Unicorn. "How many troops do we have?!"

"Here?" Grit asked. "You, Irons Twenty through Thirty, about fifty regulars and some P220a gunners. Applejack and Rarity had some more troops landing but they’re at the back of the line."

"Then we’ll have to do," Sam said. "What about air support?"

"Gimme a sec," Grit said, tapping a hoof to his comm. "Ground base to Grey Leader, come in Grey Leader, what is your ETA?"

"This is Grey Rogue," came the familiar, tempered-arrogance filled voice of Rainbow Dash. "Grey Squadron ETA is five minutes. Will have Grey Leader do her thing upon arrival."

"Glad to hear it, Rogue," Sam said with a smirk. He tapped his own earpiece. "Iron One to Iron Twenty. Report."

"Iron Twenty," came the professional sounding voice of a man named Thornton.

"I want you all on the front line," the leader of the Iron Clads said. "Need to hold them off and I’m betting they’ll throw the heavies in sooner rather than later."

"Gotcha," Thornton said. "Will set Twenty Three and Twenty Four in sniping positions to cover our asses."

"Confirmed," Sam said. "Move it."

A moment later, eight armoured soldiers appeared, most of them armed with Lance rifles, though one had a hellfire gun in his arms. The leader, the dark haired and bearded Thornton, nodded at Sam as they approached.

"Command sends greetings," he said. "They’d have sent more but Eric wanted more troops in Plymouth."

"Course he did, Greg," Sam smiled. "No matter. We’ll do here."

Thornton looked around. "Alex? Elise?"

Sam shook his head, and Thornton swore sharply under his breath.

"We’ll make them pay double for that," he swore.

"Agreed," Sam said, "but keep it cool. Remember, this is about holding the line, not killing the pastel ponies."

"Especially since some of us are on side," True Grit added. Thornton looked at him with a smirk.

"I’ll do my best to remember that," he said. Sam couldn’t tell if he was joking or not - Thornton had been HLF in the bad old days, before the Barrier’s destruction of most of the world had made distinctions like that meaningless. While the HLF remnant had accepted the Resistance, there were always… tensions.

"This is Twenty Three," a female voice came in through the comm. "In position."

"Gotcha Eleanor," Sam said, turning back to face the approaching enemy. "Do you have eyes on the handlers?"

"Negative," the woman said. "Twenty Four, anything?"

"Also negatory," the voice of a man spoke. "They’ve been wising up to that trick since the first battle of London."

"Good times," True Grit said with a sharp laugh. "They’ll show up eventually."

"Hope you’re right," Eleanor asked. "I don’t fancy fighting those things up close when they don’t die."

"Well, here’s hoping," Sam said quietly. "Grit, give them something to think about."

"Alright!" True Grit yelled to the defenders surrounding him. "Minigunners, fire at will! Exposed targets or Guards first, the Militia are softer and squishier up close!"

At once, gunfire rattled out as P220a’s and human riflemen fired at the oncoming force of Equestrians. Any exposed ponies out there immediately took cover, but some weren’t fast enough, falling with holes blown through their bodies or in their heads. Spells lashed out from the ponies, one or two impacting with enough force to send soldiers and Resistance ponies reeling, shrapnel lodged in throats and chests. Sam himself aimed his Lance rifle, taking out pony after pony with the 8x97 millimetre rounds, heads practically exploding from the force of the impacts. Spells flew back in the direction of the defence line, killing the odd soldier, but the defenders were bunkered and entrenched, allowing them a small advantage.

Suddenly, a spear fell from the sky, impaling one of the soldiers near Sam. He cursed and looked up, seeing Guard and Militia Pegasi flying about, throwing spears and the odd potion bomb down at the defenders heads.

"Keep firing!" he yelled, before putting his hand to his comm. "Grey, need you now!"

"Hold your horses," came the voice of Rainbow Dash. "We got this."

***

Rainbow Dash, a grey flight shirt over her body and a pair of HUD goggles over her eyes, sighed slightly. Ahead of her was a formation of Royal Guards flying over a position that, from the looks of it, wouldn’t hold out for long. Iron Clads aside, there just weren’t any soldiers there capable of taking on the Golems she could see. Still, Grey Squadron would hold the air, if nothing else.

"Ok, everypony," she said, "this is Guards and Convies - we know the drill. Sound off!"

"Grey Leader, standing by," Lightning Dust said, sounding amused.

"Grey Two," came the too-calm voice of a mare called Mellow Air. "Here."

"This is Grey Three," the voice of Dew Drop, a pale grey mare who had come to the Resistance years ago, said. "I’m ready."

"Grey Four here," the too-eager voice of a stallion named Dark Wing spoke. "Give me something to kill!"

"Grey Five, here!" the cheerful voice of a white Pegasus mare called Bright Wonder spoke. She was often compared to Pinkie, and while she wasn’t as random as Rainbow’s friend, the comparison was fair. The two of them actually tended to get on quite well.

"Grey Six, standing by," the gruff voice of a Thestral named Fell Spear spoke next.

"Grey Seven, on station," an eager stallion named Swift Strike called in.

"Grey Eight, I’m here," a softly spoken Pegasus mare named White Blossom said.

"This is Grey Nine," came a taciturn stallion’s voice. Solid Hoof was not the sort to say five words when none would work.

"Grey Ten, standing by," came the sharp, professional voice of a mare named Dream Flyer.

"Grey Eleven here," came the arrogant tones of a stallion named Rock Hurricane. "Send these bastards my way."

"Grey Twelve, here," the too-quiet voice of a mare named Lily Picker finished.

"Ok," Dash said. "Dust, take the lead."

"Gracious of you," Lightning Dust said, sounding mock-annoyed. Years ago - when they were both still children, really - Lightning Dust and Rainbow Dash had been rivals. Now, they were comrades, all past disagreements rendered irrelevant by the war. "Ok - one flight, on me, we’ll punch through the centre. Two and three flights, flanks. Four flight, follow one flight and pick off stragglers. Rogue, do your thing."

Rainbow smirked. Lightning tended to know better than to tell her what to do.

"Ok," Dust said. "On my mark, execute. We clear?"

A chorus of acknowledgements came through the comms.

"Mark!" Dust snapped. A moment later, her ponies snapped to their duties, and she aimed straight for the line of Guardsponies in the air.

Rainbow, on her own, swept one of her wrist-blades out and rammed into a group of Guardsponies, lashing and hacking through wings and limbs and sending them all careening to their deaths. She grinned and flew past another formation, clipping the wing of one of the stragglers. A Militia pony flew at her, but she dodged the ill-timed assault and kicked out, sending him flying to the ground at full pelt.

"Grey Rogue to Iron One," Rainbow said, grinning. "We have the sky."

***

“We have the sky,” Rainbow Dash reported.

“Good,” Sam said, firing his rifle as he did so. He scowled. The enemy were getting closer. “Golems are inbound down here - can you act as a spotter for the handlers?”

There was a grunt of effort from the radio. “That’s a negative. You’re on your own for them - we’re way too busy up here!”

Sam swore under his breath. “Thanks anyway. Good luck.”

“You too,” Dash said, and then she was off the comm.

Sam fired the last round of his Lance Rifle’s ammunition, before drawing his sword.

“They’ll be at the line in twenty!” True Grit was yelling, his horn glowing green and a blade held in his telekinetic grip. “Brace for close combat!”

All along the line, soldiers of both races drew their close-combat gear - blades, bayonets, swords and even the odd kitchen implement (there were some desperate folks in this war). He saw Thornton draw a sword, as members of his Iron Clad team did the same.

“Stand your ground!” Thornton yelled. “Whatever happens, they do not make it past this line!”

Sam gritted his teeth as the ponies charged. He hoped that whatever happened, Elliot would manage to survive - if he was the one they needed, it was imperative he survived.

With that thought in mind, Sam swung his sword to meet the first pony to reach the line. Elliot would survive. Britain and the human race would win.

***

Elliot looked out the window to the battleground outside. There wasn’t much he could see, but he could hear gunfire and yelling.

"Why am I waiting around," he murmured to himself. "This is a battle, and I’m a soldier."

You’re the soldier. The knight to protect a realm. Your place is out there. Not in here cowering like an invalid. Get out there. Get out there and protect your people. Get out there and show them your power.

“What’s wrong?” came the quiet voice of Small Mercy.

“My place is out there,” he said, frowning at her. “Not hiding in here like a child.”

"Mr Elliot," Sparkle said, frowning, "your place is here. We don’t know what’s out there, and we need to run tests, we need to…"

“I need to fight,” Elliot said simply. “It’s why I’m here, isn’t it? It’s why you brought me here. You think I’m the man to kill your tyrant. How the hell am I supposed to be able to do that sitting on a shitty sofa?”

“I’m afraid I have to agree with Twilight,” Small Mercy chimed in. “You could suffer another mental episode while out fighting. It’s best to be sure you’ll be safe and in control first.”

“It’s not my job to cower in here,” he said, and he checked he had his hand cannon. “Are you gonna stop me?”

“Please Elliot,” she pleaded. “Think about it. If you get killed, then what?”

“Then…” Elliot began, and he paused.

After everything we’ve done… everything we had to do…

“Then it’ll be time,” he said simply.

With that, he walked out of the room, leaving the two ponies alone and dumbfounded.

***

Sam cut through another Royal Guard and grinned slightly. “Come on then!”

All around him, Militia, Guards, BDF and Resistance ponies lay dead. The fighting hadn’t yet pushed past the first line of defence, but there were so many Guards and Militia pushing at the defenders that something had to give.

He could see Thornton with a Hellfire weapon firing into a group of Guards and Militia, the heavy weapon tearing through the ponies like tissue paper. He was laughing maniacally, as though he were finding this incredibly fun.

Sam suddenly found himself being grappled by an Earth Pony dressed in the golden armour of the Guard.

“Bucker!” the Guard hissed. “I’ll tear your damn throat out -!”

Before the Guard could finish, Sam threw him over his shoulder, making him hit the ground with a metallic crash. Groaning, the Guard was too slow to stop Sam from impaling him with his sword.

Leaning heavily on the weapon, Sam briefly closed his eyes, before keying a button on his wrist interface that sent endorphins and other stimulants racing through his system - this was the technological side of the Iron Clad project, and while it wasn’t something he liked indulging in… sometimes it was necessary.

Suddenly a shout went up that made Sam’s blood run cold.

“Golems!”

He turned back to the defensive line, and his eyes widened as half a dozen golems, some still healing from missile and bullet damage, crashed towards the defenders.

“Grenades!” he yelled. “Blow them apart!”

A dozen or so grenades and other missiles flew out at the pack of constructs. The explosives detonated almost simultaneously with a cacophonic blast and smoke, dust and debris was kicked up by the impromptu barrage.

But despite the force the explosions, the golems kept coming, shrugging off whatever damage had been done to them - some of them regrowing entire limbs and other parts of their bodies if the damage was great enough. Though none of them had faces, Sam almost felt like the crystalline beasts were looking directly at him.

“Bollocks,” Sam swore. “Iron Clads, brace!”

The Iron Clads - none of whom had been killed in the previous melee - gathered together, their swords, bucklers and other weapons ready.

“These things are tougher than they look!” Sam said. “Don’t underestimate them!”

“Roger!” Thornton said. “Twenty Three, Twenty Four, you have authorisation to start laying down heavy fire on any location you suspect to harbour their handlers.”

“Roger that,” came the voice of Eleanor. “Will bring out the big guns.”

Sam threw Thornton a quizzical look.

“We brought a Thunderbolt with us,” Thornton explained matter of factly, “thought it would be useful at some point.”

“Unstable,” Sam pointed out.

“Desperate times,” Thornton replied, hefting his sword.

A moment later, two missiles shot over their heads, leaving sparks of some sort of energy trail behind them. The explosives detonated in the ruins behind the main Equestrian lines, obliterating one building and pulverising dozens of ponies, and one of the Golems, still halfway through repairing itself, suddenly stopped and collapsed, dead.

“Iron One to all forces!” Sam said, raising a hand to his comm. “I think we got the handlers! Fire at will!”

“Eleanor,” Thornton added, tapping his own comm, “fire another couple of volleys. Need to be sure.”

As the first golem - a vaguely minotaur shaped one, like the one that had killed Elise - reached the Iron Clads, another volley of missiles shot over their heads, destroying yet more of the ruined city. Sam couldn’t get too excited though - the first golem lashed out at him, and he barely dodged the blow. Yelling, Thornton jumped at the thing, using his sword to carve a chunk out of the thing’s chest, only for the thing to grab him, smash him into the ground twice and then throw him through a building. It turned back to Sam, lashing down, and Sam brought his blade up to block the blow, grunting at the blow knocked him to the floor. He scrambled backward, trying to get away from the thing…

Suddenly, a bullet ricocheted off of the thing’s chest. Both the Golem and Sam turned to look at where the shot had come from.

Standing behind the main line, hand cannon in hand and grimacing in concentration, was Elliot. His green coat flapped slightly in the wind, and he was firing directly at the thing.

“Come on you bastard!” he yelled, raising his hands wide. “Come at me!”

The thing growled, an unearthly, terrifying noise, and paying no more mind to Sam, the thing charged at Elliot.

“Dave, move!” Sam yelled, eyes wide. David didn’t move, however, instead standing his ground. A golden glow began to surround him, and his eyes glowed with energy. A low growl escaped his lips, and he brought a hand up almost as if he intended to stop the golem with naught but his fist…

And then there was a flash of golden light, bright enough to overwhelm even Sam’s HUD. He blinked, smacking the helmet to try and clear the picture, and then, frustrated, he ripped it off… to find himself looking at an impossibility.

The golem had brought its weapon down on Elliot’s head as if to smash him in two, but he had intercepted the weapon… with a sword. The sword was almost as long as Elliot himself, if not as long or even longer. The hilt was made of what looked almost like black marble, set with a single clear diamond in the hilt. The blade itself was silver, and gleamed with some sort of internal power that made it almost luminescent.

And standing where Elliot was, there was someone who must have been him, judging from the furious features, and yet couldn’t have been. He was clad in armour, like some sort of knight. The armour was dull steel coloured and battered, as though it had seen the wars. Behind the figure flew a tattered cloak, bullet holes and burns visible in it.

“You have made a mistake,” the figure said, looking up at the golem. “It will be your last.”

He pushed backward with his sword, shoving the golem backward with inhuman strength, before leaping what must have been six foot straight into the air, and bringing his sword down in an overhand blow that split the thing in two. With a shockwave of magical power, the two halves were blown away, and the armoured figure strolled past them toward the defensive line.

“Dave?” Sam asked, shocked, standing up and watching him with wide, astonished eyes.

The figure ignored him, instead stepping over the defensive line and marching out to meet the golems. Sam followed him as far as the defensive line, then stopped, unsure of what to do.

The first, another minotaur, swung at him, but he caught the blow and then removed the thing’s arm, before cutting it in half at the waist. He spun around, blocking a blow from the last minotaur shaped golem, before lashing out to his side at a charging pony-shaped golem and slicing its head in two down the middle. He returned his attention to the minotaur golem and shoved backward before spinning and removing the front legs from the last golem, another pony-shaped one. Finally, he returned his attention to the minotaur-construct, and in three swift moves removed the creature’s weapon arm, then brought it to its knees, before removing its head.

“You are done,” he said quietly. he turned to the oncoming ponies, all of whom had stopped, staring at this figure. “Do you understand now?! Do you see what you face when you face humanity? Surrender! Turn tail and flee! None of you will survive what is coming for you!”

The ponies seemed to hesitate for a moment, before turning tail and retreating from the battle, some of them dropping weapons and actively running as they did so.

“As I thought,” the armoured figure said quietly, before turning back to the defenders. True Grit came to stand next to Sam, who was watching with shock at the slaughter and rout he had just seen.

“What the buck are you?” True Grit asked, eyes wide.

The figure looked at True Grit and then at Sam, and when he spoke his voice was quiet yet resonant.

“I am the Avatar of Albion.”

***

Author's Note

With thanks to RoyalPsycho and The Void for their help :-)

PS: ... despite being a university student, apparently I can't count to three. Yay. I think someone burned out my threes. Five points if you get the reference.

Chapter Five: Make it Right

Chapter Five: Make It Right.

"He sleeps alone,
He needs no army where he’s heading cos he knows,
That they’re just ghosts,
And they can’t hurt him if he can’t see them, oh.
And I may go,
To places I have never been to just to find,
The deepest desires of my mind…"
Two Door Cinema Club, Sleep Alone.

***

There was a deep breath before she next spoke:

"And do you remember her?"

He smiled, a cold thing, before answering:

"Most especially."

She looked him in the eyes. She asked:

"Did you do it then?"

He raised an eyebrow at her:

"Do you not remember?"

Her voice was cold and full of something - almost like fear - as she replied:

"I was dead. I asked you a question. Did you do it? Did you kill her?"

His voice was cold and serious as he replied:

"Yes."

And she asked him:

"Could you do it now?"

There was a shrug:

"Maybe."

Her eyes bored into him:

"Will you?"

He looked right back at her, and his voice was cold as he asked:

"Do you want me to?"

***

The self proclaimed "Avatar of Albion" marched slowly back toward the defensive line. As he did so, the armour all around him began dissolving into dust, revealing the clothes he had worn beneath them. By the time he reached Sam, a soft smile on his face, he was David Elliot again.

"I guess," he said quietly, "that answers your question."

"What… what was that?" Sam asked, eyes wide. "Not even an Iron Clad could take on so many golems at once, not on their own. That shouldn’t be possible."

"You brought me here to kill your Solamina," Elliot pointed out. "You had to expect I had the power to do so."

"I…" Sam said, eyes wide. To know, rationally, that this man was the man who had been his friend and whom he had fought alongside, was one thing. To see what he had seen and still believe it was another. "We… need to see Twilight about this."

"Agreed," Elliot said, rolling his shoulders. "I think the Commander might be happy her spell worked."

"Captain," Sam corrected.

"Captain," Elliot said softly. "Yes, Captain. That is her rank, isn’t it?"

"Yeah," Sam said, frowning at him slightly. "You remembering something else?"

"I am," Elliot said quietly, frowning slightly in concentration. "I am remembering…"

"If you think that you have a chance against me, little ones," he said as he marched on them, his voice now tinged with a dark amusement, "then by all means… come at me."

He saw her - Twilight Sparkle, commander of the Equestrian forces, the chief of this little force. She was gathering magic around herself, all manner of different spells, as though she believed this would be enough to protect her from his power. He saw her charge at him, bellowing her war cry. He lashed out with one hand, the force of his blow sending her careening through her forces like a projectile. He smiled beneath his helmet, approaching her corpse. Ponies gave way before him as he approached her broken body.

"Twilight Sparkle," he said to her, his voice almost soft, yet still filled with that power. "Only now, at the end, do you see the futility of your struggle. Do you understand now?"

"The… the Empress… will defeat… you…" Sparkle struggled to say with the last of her strength,.

"Fool. You are a tool of the false goddess, nothing more. Blinded even now by implanted loyalty and her dark magics," he said. Oddly enough, he almost pitied this one - to lose so much in service of one who would never have reciprocated this loyalty. He raised a hand. "As a final gift… I shall release you."

Sparkle’s eyes widened as he shattered the chains that bound her mind. He sensed her feelings - the rage and despair she felt as the sudden sense of everything she had done flooded back to her.

He raised his blade and stabbed her through her abdomen, ending her life. Once he had drained her body of the power it held - a substantial amount, to be sure - he looked up at Canterlot itself, now undefended.

"And now, you," he said softly…

Elliot shook his head, reaching out a hand to steady himself against Sam.

"I… remember… a battle…" he said softly. "I was… I was in…"

He shook his head, coughing slightly. Blood flecked his hand. Sam caught the blood and stared at it with wide eyes.

"Shit," he swore. "Small Mercy won’t be thrilled."

"No," Elliot said. "I guess she won’t."

***

The minute they had returned to the small pseudo base, Small Mercy was fussing over Elliot.

"Are you okay? What happened? Where does it hurt?" she asked rapidly after seeing the blood. While her tone was calm, her eyes were practically screaming for an answer.

"He’s fine," Sam said, holding up a hand and laughing slightly at the mare’s insistence. "He managed to hold off five Crystal Golems single handed, actually, which makes him better than fine, it makes him fucking awesome."

"Had a cough," Elliot explained with a shrug. To emphasise his point, he was seized by another coughing fit, and blood flecked his hand again.

"See to him," Sam said to Small Mercy. "I need to chat with Twilight."

The purple mare had been stood nearby, a questioning glance thrown at Elliot the minute he stepped into the room. Now, Sam and Twilight went to the back of the room, talking in hushed voices.

There was brief pause before Mercy spoke up. "Did the coughing start as soon as you stopped the attack?"

"As soon as the armour went away," Elliot said. "Give or take a minute."

Mercy stood there for a moment, the healing magic of her horn washing over Elliot. Her eyes lingered on the blood decorated handkerchief in Elliot’s hand.

"How do you feel now?" she asked timidly.

"Fine," he murmured, frowning. "I remember…"

The glow of her horn stopped. "What…"

He looked up at her, eyes full of something she couldn’t describe. "I think wherever I’m from, I might have been… I was a…"

"Take your time," she said, moving closer to him.

"I was a monster," he said softly. "I remember… I remember killing ponies. Hundreds of them." His eyes widened, and searched for something he couldn’t see. "Thousands."

"You fought against Solamina." Her expression sombered. "Sadly that’s bound to happen."

"No…" he said, frowning. "They… they were…"

...running in terror, children, mares, stallions… all of them. He slew indiscriminately. his blade moved faster than thought, faster than sound, faster than anything. He drew in the sweet, sweet power, and let it heal his wounds as they filled him…

"... children." He slumped slightly. "I killed… children…"

Small Mercy’s eyes left Elliot, but only for a moment. Her hooves rocked her back and forth from the Avatar. You could see the mental discussion she was having about Elliot’s realisation. She took a deep breath and her gaze turned stern.

"Have you told anyone else?" Mercy asked.

"No," he said quietly. "No I haven’t."

Mercy sighed with relief. "Good," she said, her voice returning to her usual self. "I can help when you do." she trailed off. "Maybe that is why you are here?"

"What’s that supposed to mean?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

The mare half smiled at his expression. "You said you were a monster. You’d never..." She stopped herself. "Do what you did again."

"How do you know?" Elliot said with a frown.

"Are you saying you would?" Mercy asked swiftly.

"I don’t know why I did before," he said softly, not looking at her. "I don’t remember..."

"It’s the way you remember it that you should focus on," Mercy timed in. "You said you were a monster. Only regretful men look back and call themselves monsters."

Silence. The two souls remained silent in each other's presence for a few moments. The only sound was the ticking of a half broken clock. Images of what Elliot had spoken of ran through their minds. For Elliot, they were almost unnatural memories. For Small Mercy, they were ‘what ifs’ that she wanted gone from her head.

"I think," Mercy began, ending the silence as quickly as it came. "That maybe your powers affect, your mind and physical health on a bigger scale than we thought."

"Burnout," he said idly, frowning at his hand.

"Burnout," Mercy echoed. "You know?"

He looked up at her, but she could tell he wasn’t really looking at her. "Magic burnout. Every cell, irradiated by magic, dying, blood and disintegration. Only way to stop it is to stop using magic. Can’t do that. Too many relying on me. Relying on me to save them. I can’t…"

He paused, his eyes wide.

"I can’t die yet," he whispered. "I can’t die yet."

"Then rest," Small Mercy noted. "With Sam and Twilight’s help, we could slow it down maybe. At least stop the effects on the mind for you." She fetched some cups of water from the side. "For now, please rest."

"You don’t get it," he said, his eyes wide. "You don’t understand."

Children - but they had magic. Magic he could use.

"I know what I did," he whispered. "It’s right there, right on the edge of my…"

He suddenly erupted in a coughing fit, blood flying out of his mouth, splattering his hand, some of the spray even catching Small Mercy as he fell to his knees on the floor.

"Stay calm," she whispered to him before she turned her head. "Medical assistance immediately! Bring me anesthetic, a blanket and three other unicorns!"

Her orders were almost a new mare in themselves, sterner and older. The cups of water lay on the floor where they had fallen.

Suddenly he grabbed her forehoof with one hand. He looked up at her, and she was shocked to see his eyes were glowing, his face expressionless and devoid of any emotion, not so much as a twitch.

"Now!" she ordered, looking away from Elliot once more. Mercy turned back to him but could not look him in his eyes. "Speak to me Elliot, stay with me."

The voice of Small Mercy had returned to it’s softer self, although now she was shaking.

"She knows," he said, his voice full of some sort of unnatural echo. "She knows I am here. She is watching. She will sense it."

"Who?" Mercy asked, practically forcing herself to meet Elliot’s soulless gaze.

"You know who, little pony," he said, and his eyes widened. "She will be coming here. Flee. Flee if you want to survive the wrath."

And then he slumped to the ground, unconscious.

***

Sam and Sparkle headed for a small office at the back of the shop, Sam still feeling the slight sense of giddy excitement and awe he had felt seeing his friend become that armoured figure.

"So," Sparkle said, looking at him with interest. "What happened?"

"I’ll tell you what happened," Sam said, grinning excitedly. "He fucking tore apart six Crystal Golems without so much as breaking a fucking sweat. He’s the guy. He’s definitely the guy."

"That… that doesn’t sound…" Sparkle said, eyes wide with shock. "Can you tell me how?"

"He did some sort of transformation," Sam said, trying to recall it. "There was magic - sort of gold and glowing. And then… it was amazing. There was a sword, fucking massive sword as long as he was, and he was wearing armour…"

Twilight’s face, contrary to the excitement that Sam was showing, only seemed to fall as he spoke, looking slowly horrified. Sam trailed off, confused.

"... what?" he asked, frowning at her. "This is good, isn’t it? This is him being the magical warrior you summoned."

"Yes," Twilight said quietly, "yes it is. But I… um. Continue. He became armoured, and he had a sword?"

"Yeah," Sam said, still frowning. "And then he split a Crystal Golem in two. Then he walked out beyond the line and he killed the others, didn’t even…"

"He killed the remaining golems," Sparkle interrupted, holding up a hoof. "Easily?"

"Incredibly easily," Sam nodded. "And then he…"

"Did he speak?" Sparkle interrupted again.

"I was getting to that!" Sam said, slightly testily from being interrupted twice. "Maybe if you let me finish, you’d get the answer to your damn questions!"

Sparkle looked shamefaced for a moment. "Apologies Commander. I… got ahead of myself. Please continue."

"He wiped out the golems, then he turned to the other Equestrian forces," Sam said softly. "He… he spoke. His voice was weird, it was…"

He trailed off, not sure how to describe it.

"He wasn’t shouting, he didn’t even raise his voice, but everyone and everypony could hear him," Sparkle supplied, her tone morose. "Like he was broadcasting into your head."

Sam frowned. "Yeah, kinda… but… how did you…?"

"What did he say, Commander?" Sparkle asked earnestly, and he let her interrupt him this time. "Please, this is important - more important than you know."

"He said something about… he asked them if they understood, and then he…" Sam paused, unsure what to say. "He made them run. Just by speaking."

"I see," Sparkle said quietly. She put a hoof to her forehead, closing her eyes as though she had suddenly developed a headache. "Did he say anything about a title?"

"Yes," Sam replied, frowning in bewilderment. "But you were in here, how could you…?"

"The title," Sparkle interrupted. "I need to know the title he took."

"He… he called himself the Avatar of Albion," Sam told her, now definitely sure that the pony knew more than she was telling him. At that title, Sparkle’s eyes opened again, shock filling them, as though she had still been surprised by this despite her apparent foreknowledge. "Do you know something about this?"

"I…" Sparkle said. "Yes and no."

"Which is it?" Sam demanded, scowling. "If you know something important…"

"Kill him," Sparkle interrupted. "Kill him now."

Sam’s eyes widened in surprise at the bluntness in Sparkle’s voice. The war had taken a toll on everyone and everypony, but she had never been so callous.

"Excuse me?" he said. "We brought him here, we summoned him, and now…"

"Now I know that I’ve made a mistake that will kill us all," Sparkle interrupted. "A mistake that might have doomed this entire world,Resistance, BDF, Solaminan Empire and all. Kill him, Commander. Before…"

Before she could finish, they were interrupted.

"Commander Lake, Captain Sparkle! I need you here," came the shaking voice of Small Mercy down the hall.

"What is it?" Sam called, not looking away from Sparkle, who still looked shamefaced.

"It’s hard to explain. I need you now!" The last shout’s echo lingered for a for seconds

"Come on," Sam said to Sparkle, who nodded. The two of them went out to where Small Mercy was.

When they reached her, they found her and three more Unicorns standing over the unconscious Elliot.

"What the hell?" Sam said, eyes wide. "What happened?"

"He suffered another coughing fit while he was remembering something else," she replied as quickly but as clearly as she could. "His magical burnout is getting worse."

"Can you tell me what he was talking about?" Sparkle asked. "What he was remembering?"

She hesitated before turning to the three unicorns. "Thank you, we can look after him from here."

The three unicorns nodded and left the room.

Mercy wondered over and opened one of Elliot’s eyelids. "Back to normal" she mumbled

As she approached Sam and Twilight again, she kept looking back at Elliot.

"What I say won’t leave this room, will it?" Mercy asked.

"That depends on what it is," Sparkle said. "But unless it threatens us all, no."

Sam nodded, confirming Sparkle’s words.

"It was more about who he was," Mercy went on. "He regrets who he was. He called himself a monster. I can see it. He’s hates the thought of it and…"

"What did he do?" Sparkle asked, leaning forward. "This is important, Mercy. Did he tell you what he did?"

Mercy leaned in closer as well. "He remembers slaughtering thousands of ponies. Not just soldiers, foals as well."

"What?" Sam asked, eyes wide. "No, that’s… why would…"

"Like I said, Commander," Sparkle said heavily. "Kill him now before he has a chance to do it to us."

"No!" Mercy ordered. "Why would you say that?"

"You said it yourself," Sparkle said. "He killed foals. He will do it again, Small Mercy. Of that you may be assured."

"You said that your spell found a hero to fight against Solamina. What if this is his redemption?" her soft voice had completely hardened. Then she looked away from Sparkle and back to the sleeping riddle of Elliot. "I picture him slaughtering foals and it makes my stomach churn. The way he talks about who he was, it’s like two different people." A thought. She shifted her gaze back to Sparkle. "His powers are effecting his mind is drastic ways. Is there anyway we could calm his mind?"

Sparkle sighed. "It isn’t worth the effort, Small Mercy. I know this… man. I know him better than you, better than even you, Commander Lake. I have seen the truth of him." She scowled at the unconscious Elliot. "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. Better him first. Better him than everything we have spent the last eight years building falling to nothing."

"Why?" Sam said. "Why does he have to die? What makes that necessary? What do you know about him, Captain Sparkle?"

"More than you!" Sparkle snapped. "I’ve seen him before…"

She clamped her forehooves over her mouth, eyes wide, as though she had said something she didn’t mean to.

"How?" Sam asked simply, folding his arms. Sparkle lowered her hooves and glowered at him.

"Just listen to me," she said. "If you let him live, he will destroy us. If you let him remember what he is, he will destroy us."

"You didn’t see his face when he remembered," Mercy growled. "Letting him remember won’t make him a monster, he’ll remember and it will devastate him. If we let the memories flow again, it might be the only way to stop these fits." She paused. With a stone gaze, Mercy turned her attention to Sam. "I think would should delve into his mind and help him unlock his memories. Find out the whole truth."

"Can that be done?" Sam asked Sparkle.

"Yes," the purple mare replied heavily, "but I do not advise it."

"Can you do it?" Sam asked Small Mercy.

"I can and will," she replied.

"And is there any risk involved?" he asked the two mares.

"Plenty," Sparkle snorted. "You could go too deep and be trapped in his subconscious. You could be lobotomised by whatever defences he has, or rendered brain dead by magical feedback. You could unleash him - bad idea, by the way. There's any number of ways this could go wrong. And that's without considering that doing it at all is a very, very bad idea." She scowled. "I won't stop saying that we should kill him."

"I'd still like to know why," Sam muttered, narrowing his eyes at her. "I could order you to tell me."

"And I wouldn't listen," she replied with an even glare. "My reasons are complicated and I suspect, ironically enough, that only he would understand."

Sam scowled and rubbed his face with his hand, ignoring the scratching of the armour on his face.

"Mercy," he said quietly. "Make your preparations."

"Of course," a smile returned to Mercy’s face and she was off for supplies as fast as she could.

Sam turned to Sparkle as Mercy ran off. "Whatever your issue is, I want it resolved."

"You can always count on my professionalism, sir," Sparkle said stiffly. "May I take it you will not be following my recommendation?"

"You may indeed," Sam said with a scowl. "I will not kill my friend."

"I understand," Sparkle said quietly. "In that case, I'll monitor you from out here. I'd rather not venture into... that mind."

"I see," Sam said quietly. "Well, I guess we'll find out what's in there without you, Captain."

With that, he too stalked off to prepare something. Sparkle sighed.

"I only hope you don't regret what you find," she said quietly.

***

Author's Note

Ah, the actual Chapter Five. I am so happy. Especial thanks to The Void (Matt) for his sterling work helping me on this Chapter.

Chapter Six: Shadow of the Mind

Chapter Six: Shadow of the Mind.

"It was good that you killed them…"
Alias Conrad Coldwood, Not Safe, Off soundtrack.

***

The two sat opposite one another. She sighed, not sure how to proceed. This was beyond anything she could have imagined - she had never thought that this moment would come for her, and if it ever did she had expected something entirely different from herself. She looked up at him.

He was slumped still against the wall, not looking at her. His memory was all there. He remembered every single thing, and to her great surprise, it was killing him.

"So," she said simply, unsure how to proceed from here. "What now?"

He looked back at her. "That depends, Captain Sparkle. What do you think should happen now?"

She smiled, a cold and empty thing, far removed from whatever she used to have. "I don’t know."

***

A few minutes later, Small Mercy and Sam returned, a handful of chalk pieces in Sam’s hand. He passed them to Mercy, who quickly drew a couple of chalk circles in the ground, surrounding the unconscious Elliot and encompassing both Small Mercy and Sam as well.

"This is how John does it, right?" Sam asked Sparkle with a raised eyebrow. The mare was stood outside the circles, looking faintly irritated.

"Chalk circle method has a few advantages," she noted drily. "I take it you know what you’re doing, Mercy?"

"Of course," Mercy replied. "We are going to help him." She gave Sparkle a half grin. "Have a little faith."

“Faith,” Sparkle snorted. “I had faith once. Now I have experience. Try not to get trapped in his subconscious, Miss Mercy.”

“That’s enough, Sparkle,” Sam snapped. “We’ve heard your opinion, and given that I disagree with your opinion and I’m in charge, I’m ignoring it. You have a job to do. Do it.”

Sparkle sighed. “Fine. Sit down, both of you. If I’m going to be the one pulling you out, I have to be the one sending you in.”

The two sat down. A moment passed as Sparkle’s horn glowed, and then…

***

The two, Small Mercy and Sam, found themselves in a long, thin corridor, white doors on either side running up as far as the eye could see.

“Well,” Sam said quietly to himself, frowning. “This… is not what I was expecting.”

"Out of curiosity," Mercy said. "What were you expecting?"

“I dunno, some Escher-esque abomination of architecture,” Sam shrugged, looking faintly bemused. “Was the sort of thing I thought minds did - you know, made no sense."

“If it helps, we are only on the surface of his mind,” Mercy pointed out.

"No, true," Sam sighed. "I suppose these doors might lead to different… memories? Thoughts? Bits of his mind?”

"An apt metaphor," the mare chuckled nervously. "We should probably delve down deeper. Are you ready?"

“Probably a bad idea to split up,” Sam said quietly, hand reaching almost unconsciously for his gun. “So don't stray too far. Come on.”

He set off down the corridor, but almost immediately the lights seemed to flicker. A moment later, Sam had disappeared, leaving Small Mercy alone.

"Hello!" Mercy called out, her voice echoing down the halls.

“Hello,” a voice whispered in her ear. She jumped, and turned around, finding herself facing a cloaked and hooded figure, his robe all black. His face was shrouded in shadow.

Mercy stood strong. "Who are you?"

“Now isn’t that strange,” the figure said, his voice cold, clinical and utterly terrifying. “I was going to ask you the exact same thing.”

***

Sam spun around, looking for Small Mercy, but he could see no sign of her.

“Mercy?!” he yelled. “Mercy, are you there?!”

“There is no mercy!” a voice whispered from behind him. He turned again, gun drawn, only to face an empty corridor.

Since Sam had become an Iron Clad, there were altogether few things he had met that scared him. By and large, nothing he encountered was beyond his capacity to kill. This… this was entirely unpleasant. It was almost like…

“Fighting shadows?” a voice asked from behind him, once again a sibilant whisper. He spun around again. “Not everything in this world is an enemy you can fight.”

“I can try,” Sam murmured.

He spun again…

***

… only to find himself standing on a pier. He frowned - he recognised this place. It was the town of Whitby in Yorkshire, a rather famous coastal town that he had rarely had the chance to visit before the war. He had been here during the battle though - the battle where his friend had died

This town was burning like an eerie echo of that battle. Soldiers charged all around him, equipped in hazmat suits and wielding a variety of weapons. To his surprise - and consternation - he couldn’t see any Equestrian Resistance troops. There were ponies charging all around him, enemy troops grappling with BDF soldiers or being shot down, but he couldn’t see any friendly ponies.

Where are they all? he wondered. The Equestrian Resistance was never as numerous as the BDF - at least not in the beginning - but they were always there. You could always see a Resistance group fighting somewhere.

He jogged down to the pier, ignoring the fighting as best he could. Nothing was coming near him, and a brief experiment with trying to showed that either the world around him was partially intangible, or he was.

"Cover fire!" he heard a familiar voice yell. His heart almost stopped when he saw David, yelling for his men to get down as Pegasi flew all around them. He only caught his friend's face for a second before he pulled his Hazmat helmet and mask back on. Sam got a little closer to him, intrigued.

"Sam!" he heard David's voice yell.

"I'm here!" Sam said, speaking before he could stop himself. He frowned slightly, confused.

"Sam, where the hell are you?!" this Elliot yelled. "I need a sit rep now!"

A strange, cackling laugh sounded from Elliot's radio, and he frowned slightly, as though confused.

"Got hit by a potion bomb," a voice crackled from the radio after a moment - a voice that sounded a lot like Sam's own. "Hurt a lot, you know. But hey ho, feeling much better now."

Elliot swore, and Sam swore with him, eyes wide in shock. This Elliot's version of him had been ponified...

"Where are you?" Elliot asked, his voice grim. Sam moved a bit closer to him, wondering how this would play out. In this battle when he had fought it,

Suddenly, a flying form crashed into Elliot, hooves pounding at his Kevlar-plated chest. Still wearing the loose remains of a BDF uniform, a pale blue Pegasus with a blonde mane was grinning at the prone soldier.

"Surprise!" the new Convie yelled, and Sam, watching this travesty, found himself feeling vaguely ill: that was him. Him as a Convie. That was… that was terrifying. It was like watching yourself die, except in some ways, this was worse...

"Seriously,” the Convie Sam continued brightly, “you should consider taking the potion - this isn't nearly as bad as I thought it would..."

This Elliot, growling in anger, threw the Pegasus off of him. He kicked the downed Sam and stamped on his wing, signalling for his squad to keep advancing. Sam winced slightly at the sound of bones breaking. He had met Pegasi - occasionally called, rather unkindly, ‘clipped-wings’ - who had lost the capacity to fly thanks to some catastrophic injury to their wings. It was, supposedly, horrible.

"Argh!" screamed the new Pegasus. "Watch the wings, I just got these!"

This David didn’t say anything. He took his pistol out and aimed it at the Pegasus’ head. The not-Sam looked shocked for a moment, as though surprised his friend would do anything like that to him.

"Dave..." the Convie said, eyes wide as he stared into the barrel of the gun, "it's me, mate, it’s -!”

A gunshot rang out before the not-Sam could finish begging for his life, and the Pegasus' head slumped to the floor, the shocked expression almost comical but the eyes wide and accusing. Sam blinked in surprise at that - the way this Elliot had just shot him,without even giving him a chance to speak…

This Elliot threw his pistol into the sea, took up his rifle, and shot down two more Pegasi, their bodies crashing into the water as well. He moved on, methodical and unstoppable… leaving behind a very troubled Sam.

His Elliot had died at Whitby, but he had done so from being impaled on a Guard’s spear. This… he didn’t know if he would have been capable of killing Dave had their situation been reversed, even if he was a Convie. What had this war done to Elliot? Or more accurately, what had this war, this strange, alternative war with no Resistance fighters or any ponies on their side at all, done to him?

Before he could think more on this troubling turn of events, he turned to find a bright light waiting for him, and then he was somewhere else...

***

The cloaked figure seemed to regard Mercy almost as though she were a lab specimen - it made no moves, and yet its glare, from beneath that hood, made her… uncomfortable. The lights around them flickered and fizzled as though the mental building’s electricity were failing, making her nervous - and it didn’t help that figure seemed to melt into the shadows every time the light flickered, as though he were not really there.

"My name is Dr Small Mercy of the Resistance," she declared. Mercy looked the figure up and down. He seems both real and unreal at once. "What are you to Elliot?"

"You imply disparity where none exists," the figure said slowly. "I am Elliot. You are within his mind. All you see is Elliot."

Mercy eased herself back. The figure made sense but Elliot didn't make her feel like she was drowning on land.

"If you are Elliot then you know who I am and that I don't mean you any harm." she said sternly.

“Perhaps,” the figure said slowly. “You have come seeking knowledge.”

“I’ve come to help him remember,” she responded, readying herself with a knockback spell.

“You may not find that a wise choice,” the figure said, its voice tinged with dark amusement. “It may bring more pain than joy.”

“Answer me this. Will it stop the mental fits he has?” The glow of Mercy’s horn began to light the corridor but the dark quickly concealed the effect around her.

“Perhaps,” the hooded figure said again, stepping back from her and seeming almost to step into the shadows. “But if that is what you wish, beware… there is more to what you seek than meets the eye…”

And then he was gone. A few moments later, however, there was a new light in the corridor as a door opened inwards, spilling light from where it was into the corridor.

Mercy approached the door cautiously and peered inside. She could see nothing but light. The figure may have given her what she wanted or he may have just been lying. If he was truly an aspect of Elliot then he would be lying.

“Okay then,” Mercy said with a sigh before slowly walking into the radiant light of the door.

She found herself in what looked like a battlefield: ruined buildings surrounded her, and she could see the bodies of ponies in Guard armour and what looked like BDF, minus the battered look and even more rag tag equipment. She frowned, looking around, before seeing, to her surprise, a familiar sight - she could see David Elliot, his hair black, his face less lined and a long leather coat over some sort of battered body armour as he strode across the field, slaying Guards as they charged him. He was wielding a sword that looked almost as long as he was, its hilt black marble and its silver blade covered in blood. All around him were others, dressed in all-enclosing bodysuits, each personalised somehow.

“Press on!” Elliot was yelling. “No mercy for the scum!”

He charged forward, bounding past Small Mercy’s position as though he hadn’t even seen her, instead smashing into a group of Royal Guard further ahead of her. His sword moved faster than she thought such a weapon could have ever moved. Suddenly, a pony charged forward, grabbing onto him from behind.

With a roar of effort, he threw her off of him and towards Mercy’s position. Suddenly the mare had landed right in front of Mercy, her back broken over a rock. The mare was gasping for breath, choking on her own blood. Small Mercy was too shocked to speak.

“Commander Albion!” one of the armoured soldiers yelled from near her, and she turned to see one of the men pointing at the mare’s twitching, choking form. “One of the fokkers survived!”

Elliot turned from his fresh slaughter, and with a scowl on his face, he marched toward the injured mare’s position. He stood over her, not three feet from Small Mercy’s position.

“It’s a Royal Guard,” one of the other men said, walking up to him. “Might be worth interrogating.”

“No,” Elliot said, his voice a growl. “Not worth words. Not worth anything.”

He reached down and, with one hand, picked up the choking mare by the throat. He held her up, looking her dead in her terrified eyes, and began to squeeze slowly. Small Mercy heard the bones slowly creaking, and then cracking, the mare making terrified croaking noises, barely struggling…

And then there was a sudden snap, and the mare went limp in Elliot’s hands. He dropped her, his face impassive.

“No mercy,” he said softly.

And without another word, he marched off back to the slaughter, the troops following him, ignoring the dead Royal Guard.

Mercy stood there, not daring to move or even make a sound. They hadn’t seen her. The memories couldn’t see her. The only positive thought out of all of this. This Elliot, or Albion, was more than a soldier. He was a tyrant, not the man she spoke to earlier. This was the monster he regretted.

Monsters don’t just appear, they are created by something.

The sight of Elliot’s past hadn’t answered anything, it had simply dug up more questions. For Small Mercy that meant she wasn’t finished yet.

With ‘Elliot’ and his men nearly out of sight she rushed towards them, hoping to find actual answers. And hoping that she wouldn’t see something like that for a while.

She followed them for a little while, until she stopped by a small ruined building with a closed door near her. She watched this force killing more guards with a frown. Nothing seemed to be changing - the men would kill ponies, the ponies would try to fight back…

And then the door she was bunkering down near opened. She tensed, but all there was in the doorway was more light. Frowning, she stepped through…

***

Sam found himself in a small building. There was a corridor, battered and dusty, and he could hear voices coming from behind a door. He walked up to the door, frowning slightly as he listened to the voices. One was David’s, though he sounded tired and old, and the other was the voice of John Constantine, one of the masterminds behind some of the Iron Clad work.

“You know this is the only way,” Constantine was saying.

“Of course it’s the only way, John,” Elliot replied, sounding snappish. “Don’t patronise me. But I’m allowed to have a moment of hesitation, aren’t I? This is my life.”

“And you’re going to give it to save the rest of the human race,” John said simply.

“Yes, I am. I’m giving up my life for this,” Elliot said quietly. “Aren’t I allowed to hesitate?”

“Not when there’s this much at stake,” Constantine said.

The door was open, or open enough that Sam could edge in. Then he found his hand phasing through the door, and he remembered that these things were essentially intangible. He stepped inside the small room, and raised an eyebrow in surprise at what he was seeing.

The small room itself was bare save for a bed and a single chalk circle on the floor. Elliot was sat on the bed, wearing a white vest and black, battered combat trousers. There were bloodstains across the vest, and he looked tired and much, much older than he had been at Whitby, his hair greying and his face lined with worries. He was talking, not to the John Constantine that Sam knew, but to a yellow Earth Pony, a battered trenchcoat slung over a white shirt open at the neck. The most distinctive thing about this pony was the cutie mark on his flank, the number 666 emblazoned there in black.

“And what happens after we win?” Elliot asked this pony. “We just enslave another race.”

The yellow pony looked unsympathetic. “Tell me they don’t deserve it for what they did.”

“They…” Elliot began.

“Tell me honestly,” the pony cut him off.

Elliot sighed. “They never came to help us,” he admitted. “There might be those who wanted to though.”

“But,” the pony said, “they didn’t come.”

“No,” Elliot admitted quietly, looking tired.

“Exactly,” the pony said, nodding firmly. “Far as I’m concerned - far as a lot of people are concerned - they deserve everything they fucking get”

Elliot sighed. “This plan, Constantine. Will it work?”

“I don’t know,” the pony - Constantine? Really? - replied. “In theory, the Avatar is a demi-God. I don’t know of anything you can’t do if you can channel enough power.”

“Which we know I can,” Elliot said, looking less than happy. “Still, doing this single-handed…”

“We can’t spare anyone to follow you,” Constantine sighed. “You know that. Hell, I had Kraber, Smith and half those loons you call your spec ops banging at my door, practically demanding that I send them with you.”

“Good men,” Elliot said quietly, looking at the floor. “Willing to follow me to my death.”

“Not your death,” Constantine said, leaning forward. “The Tyrant’s death. You will slaughter her. I believe in you, Dave. I always have. You will go to Equestria, and you will stop this. You will save us all.”

Elliot looked up at Constantine, eyes filled with tears.

“Is it worth the price?” he asked quietly. “We’ll destroy millions of lives. Civilians too.”

“They started the killing of civilians,” Constantine pointed out. “You were in London, in Whitby, in Manchester. You saw the death, the destruction. You saw them slaughter everything in their way.”

“Yeah,” Elliot said, frowning. “Yeah I did.”

“So tell me we don’t deserve vengeance, then,” Constantine asked. “Please. Tell me there’s some other punishment fitting.”

“You know I can’t,” Elliot said.

“Because you know there isn’t,” Constantine countered. “You know that this is the only way to end this, and this is the only way we can ever exact just penance from them for what they did.”

“An eye for an eye,” Elliot nodded quietly. “They destroyed us.”

“So we’ll destroy them,” Constantine replied angrily.

“We’re monsters,” Elliot noted conversationally.

“We are what they made us,” Constantine replied. He sighed. “You need anything before I send you?”

“No,” Elliot said, sighing and standing up. “Just prayers.”

“That, you have,” the pony said with a slight smile. “Good luck.”

“I’ll need it,” Elliot sighed. He closed his eyes, and Constantine began mumbling. A moment later, there was a flash of light, and Elliot - and Sam - were somewhere else...

***

Small Mercy found herself looking at an odd scene. She was inside a small hut, the sound of battle roaring in the distance. She could see Elliot, dressed in battered body armour not unlike the outfits his soldiers had been wearing in the previous memory, and a man in battered suit and trenchcoat with a cigarette still firmly clamped in his mouth - this, she realised in mild surprise, was John Constantine, a man who worked with the Resistance and BDF researchers in Scotland. And yet, this Constantine looked wearied, as though whatever he had seen was too much already.

"Just hold bloody still," this Constantine said, his tone angry as he walked around the chalk circle he had drawn around Elliot.

"I am doing, Constantine!" Elliot replied, trying not to sound impatient. “If you could fucking hurry up, I’d be happier - there's a battle going on out there!”

"Yeah, yeah, I hear it," the man said tiredly. "Powers of Albion, powers ancient and wise..."

To Small Mercy's shock, Elliot began to glow softly with some sort of golden light. He looked surprised as well, scowling down at his glowing hands in surprise.

Before she could begin to ponder what this meant though, a soldier burst in, panting slightly.

"Sir!" he said, looking panicked. "The enemy - they've broken through! A team is inbound here, we have to go!"

"Shit!" Constantine swore. "Hold 'em off, I'm almost done!"

"B-but...!" the soldier protested.

"I said go!" Constantine screamed. The man immediately darted out, looking even more shocked. Constantine turned back to Elliot, continuing his muttering. "Powers of Albion, come to me. Powers of Albion, come to me."

Elliot's entire body was enveloped by the golden light, until nothing could be seen of him save a faint silhouette. Constantine kept mumbling, moving his hands slightly as he did so.

And then, without warning, there was a crack of gunfire from outside. Constantine grimaced and kept mumbling, and didn't stop until the door to the little shack was blown open by Unicorn magic. He turned to see what had come through - only to get a splash of potion to the face.

Small Mercy's eyes widened in surprise. Rarity - the same Rarity who was part of Echo team, Captain Sparkle's elite group and the bearers of the Elements of Harmony - stepped inside the small hut, looking faintly amused.

"Welcome to the herd," she said smugly.

Constantine turned away from her, agony clearly coursing through him as the potion did it's dreadful work. His flesh began sloughing off, and Small Mercy could hear the crack of bones...

"In the name... of Albion," the man said, gritting his teeth as his body sprouted yellow hair and his skeleton shifted itself, "in our hour... of need... come to us... grant us... an Avatar...!"

He screamed in agony as the potion took full effect, just as another, louder scream erupted from the beam of light that had once been Elliot. The silhouette within the beam seemed to grow larger, and then suddenly the beam began emitting a dreadful screaming - Small Mercy's ears flattened against her skull at that noise, that dreadful noise...

Suddenly, a shockwave of magical power erupted, knocking Rarity out through the doorway of the small hut. Surprised, Small Mercy dashed outside, half of her already wondering how bad Rarity's injuries were before remembering that this Rarity was not her ally.

Small Mercy could see smoke in the distance, some sort of sign of a battle being fought - there had been attacks on Dover, but never anything like this. Clearly, Elliot had been through worse memories.

Mercy turned back to look at the hut, only to blink in amazement at what had come forth.

The man might have been David Elliot, younger faced and furious, save for the long hair that blew about his head as though struck by its own wind. He wore armour, dull iron and ancient in appearance and yet majestic and regal. A war cloak flapped behind him, a high collar surrounding his head, and in his hand he wielded a blade at least as long as he was, with a hilt of black marble set with a single crystal.

He was glaring at Rarity with the force of a thousand suns. The elegantly coiffed mare's eyes widened slightly, and she stepped back from the figure, clearly more than a little intimidated by the sheer power he was exuding. Small Mercy couldn't help but be overwhelmed and impressed as well - was this what Elliot had done to fight the crystal golems?

"And who are you supposed to be?" Rarity asked this changed Elliot, trying to be dismissive even as she quailed.

The armoured figure pointed his sword right at her in response.

"I am the Avatar of Albion," he said simply.

"Impressive title," Rarity said, clearly trying to make herself feel brave. She summoned her own sword with her horn; it was a delicate-looking rapier, though it crackled slightly with some unknown power. "But don't think you can frighten me."

"I do not mean to frighten you, Rarity, Sub-Commander of the Solaminan Army," the being said, a soft growl in its throat. "I mean to kill you."

Snorting, she charged at him, her blade spinning and swinging at him. But even as she struck, his own blade intercepted hers, faster than the oversized thing should have been able to move. Before she could do anything, he had manoeuvred his blade to send hers flying away, leaving her defenceless. Shrieking slightly, she threw a bolt of magic straight at his face. The blast impacted him directly in the face, and he jerked his head back slightly. For a moment, Rarity grinned madly, but then he lowered his head and looked right at her, a small grin on his face.

"My turn," he said. He stepped toward her. Desperately, she threw more bolts of magic, but they impacted on the armour and - though they created small explosions of purple energy on him, he didn't even slow down. He brought his sword down in an almost lazy move, and in desperation she raised a shield - only for the sword to cut through the shield and into her shoulder. Small Mercy winced slightly at the soft thunk of metal impacting bone.

Screaming in agony, Rarity fell to the floor, the sword coming away from her shoulder with a wet tearing sound.

"Interesting," the figure said. He stood over her, raising his blade one handed in a motion oddly like a batter in a game of rounders.

"Please!" Rarity screamed desperately. "Please have mercy!"

"Why?" the figure asked.

And then the blade swung in a powerful arc, slicing clean through Rarity's neck and sending her headless corpse slumping to the floor. Satisfied, the figure that might have once been David Elliot turned to look back at the small hut. He stalked toward the hut, before looking at the yellow Earth Pony that had once been John Constantine. Without a word, he knelt by the unconscious pony and placed a hand on his head. There was a twitch, and then the pony screamed in shock, waking up and skittering away from the armoured man.

"Y-y-you.." he said, eyes wide. "Y-you're..."

"The Avatar you summoned, John Constantine," the armoured figure said, sounding faintly amused. "I am the vengeance you seek - the vengeance you deserve."

Constantine - the pony that had been Constantine - looked down at his own body, eyes wide with horror.

"No," he said softly. "Please no."

"I am sorry," the Avatar said, speaking almost softly now. "You are cursed now to this form."

Please don’t do it, Small Mercy thought at this. He was your...

Small Mercy’s eyes lit up when she witnessed Albion, the monster who had slaughtered countless ponies, simply smile at the Converted.

"I have freed your mind from the Tyrant's magic," the Avatar continued. "Now all that is left is vengeance."

The former human looked up at him, eyes narrowed. "Yeah. Vengeance. Fucking pony bastards will pay for this, I fucking promise you!"

"No, John," the Avatar said. "I promise you. You brought me here to enact vengeance - now you shall have it."

Without another word, the Avatar turned and walked out of the hut, heading for the battle nearby, his sword rested on his shoulder almost lazily. Small Mercy almost didn't want to follow him.

“Vengeance,” Small Mercy muttered to herself. That was what had fuelled Albion. The destruction of his home. In Elliot’s reality, even the Elements had decided to destroy mankind. The answers were coming to her now. Mercy wanted Elliot, the real Elliot, there beside her so she could talk to him about this. That time would have to wait.

She turned back to the hut, only to see that the ruined doorway had a new door, sitting open and beckoning her to come in with its bright light. Frowning slightly and wondering what other horrors awaited her in the memory of David Elliot, she walked through the door...

***

Chapter Seven: Shadow of the Tyrant Sun.

"You are finally here, Batter... the wait for your arrival was a long one. But your way was in vain. You will do naught but raise trouble here. Return home."
Queen Vader Eloha, Off.

***

She sat forward, a question coming, almost unbidden, to her mind.

"When you fought her, were you afraid?"

And his answer surprised her.

"Honestly? No. Either way, it would be an end. I didn't fear the end."

***

When Small Mercy’s eyes finally adjusted to the new surroundings, she found herself with more questions. Some of those questions she half knew the answer to. Elliot had mentioned a scene like this before and it shook her to her core. Around her was a quiet town in Equestria. It didn’t look very big and the only sign that there was even a war on at all was the scattered Converted and Solaminan soldiers around but even they seemed more relaxed. Most of the buildings were rustic and were the very essence of welcoming while a few were a lot more gritty. If Mercy had to guess, these buildings were the latest additions to the town, made after the declaration of war.

Mercy tried to spot Elliot in the town. Nothing. This was his memory but he wasn’t around. The only sounds she heard were the hustle and bustle of cheery townsfolk. Barely a mention of the war based through her ears. It was somewhat nostalgic walking through the townsponies who weren’t running for their lives.

In the distance she saw a human shape emerge. Without hesitation she ran towards it. The closer Mercy got to it, and the more features she made out, the happier she became.

"Sam!" she called out.

The man turned to look at her, smiling slightly.

"Mercy!" he said, grinning. "Thank fuck for that, I thought I’d be wandering memories forever. You alright?"

"I’m alive," Mercy chuckled nervously. "I’ve got a lot to tell you. First, please tell me you got some cheerful memories."

"No joy," Sam said, scowling. "First I saw… well, it doesn’t really matter does it?" He looked around. "Hang on…" He noticed ponies walking about. "Shit me - is this Equestria?"

Mercy nodded. "Not just that, do you notice who’s missing from this memory?"

"Elliot…" Sam said softly. He frowned. "But… that must mean… if this is Equestria…"

Mercy was checking Sam’s body for injuries. Nothing, some good news.

"Find something out?" she asked.

"I think so," Sam said. "I saw a pony… I think it might have been a Convie version of John, though don’t ask me how…"

Mercy’s expression soured. "That part I know. He got hit with a potion and Elliot managed to save his mind somehow while he was...the ‘Avatar of Albion’ I think he called himself."

"Avatar of Albion…" Sam said, frowning. "Yeah, I know that name. Anyway - they were talking about some sort of plan - a plan for Elliot to come to Equestria."

Mercy checked around the town again, still nothing. She hung her head for a moment. In silence she looked back up before hearing the sound of laughing filles running by. The two little ones left a smile on her face until she noticed Sam looking at her confused.

"What was the plan they were-"

Before she could finish, there was a flash of golden light, and a massive portal appeared in the middle of the street, shocking everypony that saw it into moving away. Almost immediately, Guards and militia moved to cover it, but then the glow of the portal faded, leaving a figure standing there, looking tired and sad.

Elliot.

"Quickly, what was the plan?" Mercy asked frantically.

"It was…" Sam said softly. "To… to…"

"Ponies of Equestria," Elliot called out, his voice resonating somewhat. "Stand down or be destroyed."

"...do that," Sam said, trailing off.

The townsfolk back away, most running into buildings, while the militia stood strong and preparing to strike.

"I think I know this moment," Mercy muttered, trailing off.

"You will stand down, or you will all die, right here," Elliot said again. "You get no other warnings."

In response, every Unicorn present fired a hail of concussive and destructive spells off at Elliot, hitting him, making him stagger and causing a massive dust cloud to obscure the figure of the man as some of the spells impacted all around him.

"Jesus," Sam said quietly, his eyes wide.

"This is when he kills them," Mercy said, turning to Sam. "This is when he kills the civilians."

As if to punctuate this, the figure of a man stepped from the dust cloud - but this was not the figure Mercy or Sam had seen before. This figure was in all-enclosing, ornate black armour, a helmet glinting in the sun, and his blade, a massive Zweihander with a black marble hilt, was already out, held at the ready.

"So," this figure said, his voice a whisper and a shout all at once. "You have chosen death."

And with that, he charged forward, swinging the blade like a scythe, slicing through Militia and Guard alike. Small Mercy and Sam could do nothing but watch the slaughter…

***

… and suddenly, the two of them were on a field, overlooking a valley below the city of Canterlot, where an entire army of ponies, Golems and a whole host of other Solaminan weapons were brought together against what looked to be the same figure. Though they were all far away, so far that nothing but tiny specks of figures could be seen, the two of them could both see that this massive army was being slaughtered. The black knight was striding forward, swinging his blade or unleashing spells that blew away dozens - hundreds - of ponies at once.

"Bloody hell," Sam said, eyes wide. "Talk about the soldier we asked for. He’s a one man army…"

"Soldier isn't what I’d describe Elliot at the moment," Mercy said almost growling. "The man we know is a soldier, but this Elliot isn’t there yet."

"I dunno," Sam said, whistling slightly. "What would you call that?"

Mercy watched the Elliot of the past stride on, unwavered by anything that Solamina threw at him.

"The man that Elliot regrets being," she said, frowning.

There was a particularly brutal spell, and suddenly a great flash of light rose up...

***

… and when it abated, the two of them were stood in Canterlot’s throne room - right in front of Astra Solamina Maxima herself. It was all Sam could do to not draw his sword and charge at the memory of his world' enemy. Small Mercy restrained him.

"Elliot, the Avatar, is about to show up," she reminded him. "I think he’ll have your reaction plus the power to back it up." Mercy let go. "Not that you’re not a great soldier, mind you." Mercy’s tone was back to being frantic. "I just mean that he’s-"

"I know," Sam said relaxing. "Besides - we can't do much to her."

He frowned slightly as he looked around the room. There were bodies - Royal Guard and Eclipse Guard alike - strewn throughout the room, lacerations across their bodies.

"You said Elliot's coming?" he said to Small Mercy, before pointing at the corpses. "I reckon he's already been..."

A moment later, Elliot - or the Avatar - burst into the room, blood slick on his sword. He threw the decapitated head of a pony at her feet, and the Tyrant looked at it with a raised eyebrow. It was midnight blue, one eye burned away to the socket, and the remaining eye wide, and yet the face had something almost like a sigh of relief on it. Small Mercy gasped - it was Princess Luna.

"Is that it, Sun Tyrant? Corpses and tricks? Do you think that will save you?!" he said, his voice sounding angry and yet quiet all at once.

"Perhaps not," Solamina said, an odd tinge to her voice. "But now I have your measure. You are strong - but I am eternal!"

Only in her darkest nightmares, had Small Mercy even considered being in the presence of the Sun Tyrant herself. She was thanking whatever was watching over her that this was only a memory. She was regal and vicious at the same time, neither her nor the Avatar seemed like the ‘divine’ warriors their lights suggested.

"Do you think you took him from this fight?" asked Mercy.

Before Sam could answer, Solamina had leapt forward, bringing her glaive down in a vicious overhead swing at the Avatar, who brought his blade up to block it. There was a flash of light...

***

… and the two were suddenly stood in the middle of a street in Canterlot… that had been turned into a charnel pit. Bodies surrounded them, stallions, foals, mares… all of them slaughtered. There was a distant sound like thunder.

The same phrase was on repeat in Mercy’s mind. It is just a memory, you can’t help them now. When the mare looked up towards the sky, she saw just what had caused the thunder. Or rather, who was the thunder.

High above their heads, the entities that were Solamina and the Avatar were fighting with the same level of might as two gods waring over a the fate of one world. They however, were fighting for the fate of two. By the looks of their attacks, the blades echoing through the battlefield and the magic erupting out of them like bullets from a mini gun, they were deciding which world would be allowed to even exist. Every strike boomed through the air, passing through the two bystanders and sending shivers down their spines.

"Jesus," Sam said. "Suddenly glad I never got the chance to fight the Tyrant. I think I’d be a little outclassed."

"How could anyone survive that fight?" Mercy muttered to herself, watching the Avatar endure so many attacks.

"Apparently, you survive by being him," Sam said in awe.

The two titans of magic crashed to the ground nearby, seemingly unfazed but taking out the buildings around them. What was the loss of uncounted lives to these two at this point? The shockwave from their impact broke the ground into fragments and shattered nearby buildings, and yet the rubble and the energy did nothing to Small Mercy and Sam, who found themselves immune (fortunately) to the effect of the battle all around them.

They continued to clash blades and exchange blood over the remains of those same lives. A magical shield from Solamina was hacked at by the Avatar, his blade shattering it, only for Solamina use the pieces as a flurry of magical projectiles against the Avatar, who swiftly blocked half with his blade and half with his ornate armour.

Even the Earth below them could not handle the raw power that Solamina and the Avatar unleashed, cracking and erupting beneath their attacks.

The Avatar lifted his sword into the air and a bolt of lightning burst through the heavens and into the blade. He charged at Solamina and attacked, but the Tyrant managed to block the blows with her glaive, faster and faster each time, before the Avatar blasted her into the large pile of rubble with magic from his palm. He wasn’t finished with her yet.

Apparently Solamina wasn’t anywhere near finished either. The Tyrant rose into the air once more and bombarded the Avatar with beam after beam of intense light. The Avatar dodged through them, causing the beams to rip through and tear apart the earth around them. Solamina combined two of the beams and managed to pin the Avatar to one spot as he tried to guard the dual attack with his godlike sword.

When Solamina added a third beam to the attack, the resulting force exploded. The battlefield fell silent (save for Solamina’s panting) and a cloud of dust began to engulf it. It swept over the area like a blanket trying to put out a fire. The great dust encompassed the ruined city like fog, vast and calm.

In a flash, a small shape was flew through the dust and landed in front of Solamina. It rolled to her, a head down an executioners stage. As it rolled to a stop it revealed what it was.

What lay in front of Solamina was a midnight black helmet that was almost split it half, missing the twinkling stars that were the eyes, yet still feeling like it was staring at Mercy and Sam, expressionless and otherworldly.

The moment Solamina stepped forward, a growl broke the silence along with another charge from the Avatar. When the two blades met each other again, the force of their resistance creating a crater around the two. A psychotic grin grew on the Avatar's face.

The area around them smoked and fizzled,the shattered corpses of buildings that littered the battlefield near them becoming scorched and crumbling. A new Tartarus in the making. The two blades clashed again and again, each clash throwing shockwaves out, destroying more buildings in their wake.

"I’ve never seen such magic," Mercy said in awe, her eyes wide.

"I've never seen this kind of destruction in one fight," Sam added, hand staying near his blade. "If this is what Solamina can do... then I'm really glad that I've never had to fight her."

Solamina took to the skies, her horn glowing fiery and throwing spell after spell at the Avatar. He held a hand up and the spells impacted on a glowing shield of sickly white light that materialised between him and the Alicorn. He growled and bent his legs slightly, before launching himself in the sky to follow her. He raised his sword as he did so, his blade crackling as a beam of energy lashed out from it, speeding straight toward Solamina and smashing into her. She was borne further into the sky, beyond Sam and Mercy's sight.

"Shit me," Sam said quietly. "That's crazy."

“That’s his vengeance,” Mercy responded.

Before Sam could say anything, a great flash lit up the sky, a shockwave spreading out across the sky. A small black figure fell from the sky, landing in a building and causing the entire structure to shudder from within as the figure smashed through all ten floors. A moment later the foundations of the building shook as the figure apparently impacted the ground floor, and moments later the entire structure collapsed, sending a massive dust cloud toward Sam and Mercy.

Sam blinked, instinctively holding up a hand despite the fact that the dust could do nothing to him.

"This is just totally crazy," he said again, eyes wide with horror.

A flash of light lashed down from the sky toward the centre of the dust cloud, flashing before disappearing into the core of the cloud. There were a few more flashes of light, the light bouncing from particles in the air as it flashed again and again, and deep, echoing cracks of noise sounding with every flash. Suddenly, the figure of the Avatar was thrown backwards, crashing into another building. Out of the dust cloud walked Solamina, dozens of cuts covering her body and one eye scarred, though both blazed with sickly golden energy.

"Fool," she said as she walked! her eyes boring into the Avatar as she walked, her glaive spinning and pointing at him. "Do you think you stand any chance against my power...?!"

As she spoke, she walked past Sam and Small Mercy.

She was right there. Small Mercy’s eyes didn’t leave Solamina in all her twisted grandeur for moment as she strode past. The members of the Resistance would sometimes talk about what they would do if they ever got near the Empress. Most of them would say that they would take her down in one shot. Mercy didn’t know the answer to that hypothetical question. She was thankful she never met the real Solamina. As Mercy stood near her, even if it was a memory, she could tell that Solamina not fighting on the front lines was a small blessing. If she ever did, Mercy had no doubt that Solamina would reduce London to rubble in mere moments.

Her armour bore too many marks to count but that didn’t stop her demeanor from matching the Empress she was. Even the various cuts and wounds she had sustained while battling Elliot didn’t faze her in the slightest. Solamina’s drive still went on unhindered like the flow of the river Styx.

This Alicorn...this thing, it had once been Celestia. Even thinking about that was enough to drive a pony crazy. This vicious creature, that battled the Avatar and had it her mission to wipe humanity away, had once been kind and wise. Ponies had grown up hearing about the centuries of prosperity she had given them and all that she had sacrificed selflessly to get them there. It was fitting that she no longer called herself Celestia, Celestia had died long ago. In her place, Solamina reigned supreme.

"Mercy, you ok?" Sam asked her, frowning down at her.

“I...will be,” Mercy replied, shivering slightly. “How are you holding up?”

"I'm seeing the Tyrant in the flesh... kind of," Sam replied with a wry smirk that didn't reach his eyes. "Next question."

Before either of them could speak further, a shockwave blew past them. The Avatar and Solamina had returned to fighting one another with their weapons, every blow sending waves of power out that smashed masonry and glass asunder. After a few such exchanges, the two clashed, an almighty thing that nearly levelled the street they were standing in with the power of its shockwave... and then, as the two clashed and struggled, a dark shadow began forming all around Solamina, writhing and flexing like a living thing.

"The hell?" Sam said, eyes wide at this. He took an involuntary step back.

The shadow writhed around Solamina, expanding like a great amorphous blob, until it lashed toward the Avatar. Without him even breaking the deadlocked struggle of blades, a light surrounded him, and the mass of shadow broke upon this like water on rock, probing hither and thither trying to find a weakness in the seemingly impenetrable defence.

“Sam, What exactly is Albion?” Mercy asked.

"I have no idea," Sam replied softly. "And watching this... I have even less idea."

“That light.” Mercy gazed at Elliot’s divine form, the light bathing her and Sam. “I don’t think his magic is anything malicious.”

"Even so," Sam said, looking around at the destroyed city. Though many of the bodies had been obliterated, there were still some. "He didn't seem to care much about these..."

“True,” she replied softly, “It’s just, this magic and the look in his eyes back in the medical room...they don’t match.”

"Something must still happen between now and then..." Sam theorised.

Before they could discuss it any further, there was a flash of light, and the surrounding city simply ceased to be...

***

... and they found themselves at the top of the astronomy tower of Canterlot Palace. The tower's highest room was torn and shattered, and half of one wall was missing, exposing a large part of the tower to the elements.

At the centre of the room, Solamina and the Avatar were dueling, though both looked exhausted, their armours rent, both bleeding from several injuries.

"My God," Sam said, looking out of the broken wall onto the city below. Small Mercy came up to him and gasped as she too saw it.

Half of Canterlot was in ruins, burning and smoking from damage that looked like the city had been at war for years... and the rest of the city was flattened, dotted with giant craters and expanses of grey, flattened ground.

“They must have been fighting for hours,” Mercy marveled.

She looked back towards the compatents. They were still fighting as though they had just started, full of energy and fires in the their eyes. This fire would blaze on until it brought everything to ashes. Hopefully, Sam and Mercy wouldn’t see it end before that became true.

Solamina lashed out, and the Avatar leapt above the blow, vaulting over her. She lashed out behind her, causing him to stumble a moment after he landed, but the follow-up blow with her glaive was blocked, and the Avatar pushed backward, before bringing his blade in a vicious overhand that cleaved through Solamina's glaive with a metallic crack... and embedded itself in her shoulder, blood spurting from the wound as the blade connected with bone, driving Solamina to her knees.

"Damn!" Sam yelled, shocked.

“He won,” Mercy said, thinking. “His vengeance is complete.”

And then, horribly, impossibly, Solamina started laughing.

"Fool," she muttered. "Do you think... did you ever think... that you could destroy me so easily?!"

And then the shadow, the great writhing mass that had surrounded her before, returned, exploding outward and filling the room with darkness. The darkness seemed alive, as though every crevice in that great shadow had eyes, staring out at the Avatar and seeking to destroy him. It wriggled and squirmed like a living thing, and tendrils shot out and touched every corner of the room, even passing near Sam and Mercy, who shuddered, even though this was but a memory.

"You have come here only to die," the horribly distended, echoing voice of Solamina spoke. "Against this power, there is no victory! There nothing in all the world that can stand before me! You have failed, little man, and now your end is nigh!"

Mercy stepped away from the visions.

“What is she?” she asked, trembling as Solamina’s words echoed in her head.

To both her and Sam's surprise, the Avatar didn't seem the least bit fazed. There was a deep chuckle from the man's throat as he kept clashing, the dark not even touching him.

"If your power is so great," he said, keeping his hands on his blade, "then I shall take it for myself."

He held up a hand, and suddenly it glowed with a sickly, dark and twisted energy that seemed to flicker deep shades of purple, green and brown. This hand glowed - and then the shadow was simply sucked inside, twisting and writhing as it was drawn into the Avatar's hand. Solamina's eyes widened in shock at this - and then suddenly the shadowy energy was gone, the glowing power in the Avatar's hand now pulsing with what almost looked like several black veins.

"Y-you..." Solamina said, gasping as her life's blood leaked out.

"I have taken the power that infested you, Celestia of Equestria," the Avatar said, his voice tinged with an unnatural energy. "It is mine now, as is your realm of Equestria."

"My... my little ponies..." Celestia said, her voice weakening.

"What they have destroyed, they will be made to rebuild," the Avatar said, "but as long as they do not resist their punishment, they will live - under my guiding hand."

As Small Mercy looked on at the new power Elliot had stolen from the Empress, her mind was brought back to her encounter with Elliot in the medical room.

“That energy,” she began. “That’s the energy I saw in him.”

"What energy?" Sam whispered.

Before Mercy could respond, Celestia slumped to the floor, her eyes still trying to focus on something... and for a moment, they seemed almost to bore into Small Mercy's own.

"My... little... ponies..." she whispered. "Please... have mercy..."

"There is no mercy," the Avatar said bluntly. "There is vengeance and justice, and I am deliverer of both." As he spoke, he stood over Celestia, bringing the blade up above like an executioner. "The only mercy left is oblivion - a mercy I spare for you."

He brought the blade stabbing down, piercing Celestia's heart and making her eyes widen in shock and pain. She gasped, and then stilled, all life leaving her, those dead eyes still pleading silently and unknowingly with Small Mercy's own for something they would never know.

Mercy nudged Sam. “How do we get out of his memories?”

Sam frowned slightly. "I don't think we're done yet..."

As if in response to his words, there was another flash of light...

***

... and suddenly the two of them were stood in front of a large set of double doors, somewhere else in Canterlot Palace judging from the architecture. In front of them, his great sword sheathed on his back, was the Avatar, his armour restored and his helmet back on, concealing his face, and with him were two human soldiers in that same battered, scarred armour that Small Mercy had seen them wear before.

"My lord," one of the men said hesitantly, addressing the Avatar. "Are you sure about this? We don't know if the witch laid traps before you killed her."

"There are too many risks," the second soldier added, "and if you were to perish..."

"I will not," the Avatar cut them both off. "Assemble our finest. I will address them after I have learned this place's secrets."

The two soldiers bowed, and left the Avatar standing alone. He turned to face the giant door.

"The secrets you kept will serve my people as we rebuild, Tyrant," he said aloud. "There will be nothing to stand in our way."

And he entered the room, his gauntleted hands pushing the double doors aside with ease. Beyond them was a great black space, like an endless void. Sam, watching these events with fascinated eyes, turned to Mercy.

"Reckon we should follow?" he asked quietly.

Mercy stared blankly at the void. She nodded slowly.

“Yes. For Elliot’s sake.” Mercy charged forward.

Sam followed, not sure what they'd find.

For a moment, there was only darkness in the room. And then there was a great flash of light...

***

Do you understand now?

... I am the vengeance of a nation...

A thousand times I have killed you and killed you and killed you again.

... I was never alone...

Your sacrifice is accepted.

... And that is why I will stop you...

No!

***

Sam started, sitting bolt upright, scrambling instinctively away from the unconscious form of Elliot for a moment, gasping slightly for breath.

"Sam?" he heard a voice say.

He looked up, to see Sparkle looking at him with a frown. Near her, Small Mercy had woken up, eyes wide as she cast her glance around the room, as if looking for something.

"Are you alright?" the purple mare asked him, bringing the Iron Clad's attention back to the room.

"I... don't know..." he said, frowning at the unconscious Elliot. "Is he?"

"He's alive for the moment," Sparkle replied. "But he's not showing signs of waking up - was theMind Delve successful?"

"I..." Sam said. "Well, we saw... stuff."

"What did you see?" Sparkle asked, looking from him to Small Mercy and back again.

“Have you got a day?” Mercy chuckled nervously before taking a deep breath and strengthening herself. “We saw what he did, who he was and what drives him.”

"And?" Sparkle asked.

Sam sighed. "This... might take a while..."

***

Chapter Nine: Destiny, Part 1

Chapter Nine: Destiny, Part 1.

"You know the key strategic weakness of the human race? The dead outnumber the living."
Missy, Doctor Who: Dark Water.

***

"Fire!"

A hail of bullets lashed out from the defensive line, cutting through the oncoming horde of... whatever the fuck they were. The bodies seemed to be incredibly resilient - the only time a body would fall would be when it was literally shot apart by the firepower arrayed against it.

Solamina's newest Guard had been unleashed upon the defenders of London. Ponies and Humans alike, each marched like machines towards their goal, possessed of a singular purpose that bound their empty shells to this plane. On they marched, never wavering, never stopping. No matter the amount of bullets that pierced their armour, they kept going. Only when they had been obliterated by Walter and his men did they have no choice but to fall. Even then, however, the rest of the horde would continue on, undeterred by the missing Guard.

The horde did not feel the cold steel against their open decaying flesh or even the lucky bullets that went through them. Their eyes remained unfeeling hollow sockets in their head. Sam wondered how the human souls would feel if they could see their bodies attacking their own kind, baring the blasphemous crest of the Solaminan Empire. Would they break down and weep for humanity, or would they scream in vain for the horde to stop?

Resistance, PER, BDF, Solaminan Soldier, it made no difference. All the Guard that now stalked the battlefield had fallen in the war only to become Solamina's personal puppets of the damned.

"What the fuck is keeping them standing?" someone yelled.

"Shut up!" Walter yelled from further along the line. "Keep firing!"

Sam sighed as he brought his own rifle to bear, the high powered Lance rifle punching through bodies like they were nothing - and yet still, they kept coming, almost unstoppable. Blank faces stared at them, marching in unison towards the defensive line even as more firepower was levied at them, tearing through armour and flesh.

"Keep firing!" someone yelled, and Sam felt a wave of revulsion as another one of these… things exploded into its constituent parts, torn apart by small arms fire, the limbs still twitching somewhat.

"They just keep going!" he heard True Grit yell from somewhere.

"We need to hold!" Sam yelled in return. "We fall here -!"

He never managed to finish saying what would happen if they fell there, for in that moment an explosion blasted apart part of the barricade near him and knocked him clean over, throwing him ten feet through the air. He landed heavily, gritting his teeth in pain, before opening his eyes. His vision, blurry though it was, seemed mostly unimpaired, but he could hear nothing but ringing.

He could see the ruin of the barricade as soldiers - mostly Clads - ran to try and shore it up. And then he saw those damned Cobalt-armoured monstrosities marching over the barricade like it was nothing, and engage his men in close quarters. growling, Sam pushed the button that pumped his system full of stimulants, and his hearing and vision suddenly snapped back into focus. Dropping his rifle and drawing his sword, he stood, moving into a guard stance.

"Hold that line!" he screamed, and then he charged.

***

Rainbow looked down, scowling at the battle as it went on. She could see the horde of those… zombie things advancing on the defences, but she couldn't see any end to the force. It stretched on through the streets like… she didn't know what.

"They're gonna get torn up down there!" Lightning Dust commented grimly.

"They'll hold," Rainbow said, more from hope than certainty.

"There's no way we need to be up here, boss," Swift Strike said over the comms. "I don't see a thing!"

"We need to cover the sky in case of Pegasus assault," Rainbow said with a grimace. "'Sides, what can we do down there that the Clads can't?"

There was no response to that. Rainbow kept her eyes peeled. Truth be told, she didn't expect there to be any sign of any Pegasus forces - they'd have known.

"Contact!" she heard Lightning Dust yell. "We have a contact inbound! Grey Two, Grey Three, confirm!"

"Confirmed, Grey Lead!" came the harsh voice of Dew Drop. "Ah, buck - it's an Alicorn!"

Rainbow's insides turned to jelly. "Confirm presence of the Tyrant, Grey Three!"

"That can't be her, the Tyrant's white, not blue…" Lightning said. "Wait, is that -?"

There was a burst of static, and suddenly a giant blue blur zapped past Rainbow, and she caught sight of one of her flyers - it looked like Swift Strike - falling to the ground, shorn in two.

"Buck!" Dark Wing yelled angrily. "What the buck hit us?!"

"Form up!" Rainbow ordered grimly. "Stay calm - whatever that is, it can't be -"

Another flash, and Rainbow suddenly found herself freewheeling through the air, a laceration across her back. Arching in pain, she could barely turn her freefall into a crash landing. She hit the ground with a dull thud, but she had survived at least, though she knew she must have broken a rib.

She looked around - she had fallen at the rear of the camp. She could see supply trucks and transport vehicles, as well as a single tank, old and battered. As she watched, other soldiers racing past her to the front lines, and she couldn't blame them for ignoring her. She groaned as she pulled herself to her hooves, wincing slightly at the pain that shot through her side.

"Grey Rogue is down!" Lightning yelled. "What the hell was that?!"

"Whatever it was, it went after her," Fell Spear put in. "Nothing more on my scopes."

"Dash!" Lightning said frantically over the comms. "Dash, are you alright?!"

"I'm fine," Rainbow said grimly, the pain making her voice crack. "A little beaten up, but fine. Keep in the air - watch out for the Empress. When she shows, get outta here."

"Roger that, Rogue," Lightning Dust said heavily. "We'll - wait, Rogue, watch out -!"

And then the figure of an Alicorn landed nearby in a blur, a dust cloud blowing up around her landing place. Rainbow tensed, unsure how she could hope to dodge the attacks of an Alicorn, and finding herself confused. This mare was definitely blue - but Solamina was alabaster, and Cadence was pink. The only blue Alicorn had been…

And then the dust cloud cleared. Pale, dead eyes stared at Rainbow, and a grimace of pain, fury and torment revealed itself, a low croaking sound crossing the space between them, quiet and yet louder than any sound Rainbow Dash had ever heard. She wore battered armour and an ornate sword floated in her telekinetic grip.

Rainbow felt sick. She backed away slowly, uncertain what to do.

And then the corpse of Princess Luna screamed…

***

Walter Minecroft held his position firm with a shotgun in his hand and a belt of grenades. The horde had broken through, this was the moment he had gone through in his head over and over, ever since he first heard of the undead Guard.

He had to act fast, it wouldn't be long until the horde overwhelmed the Resistance and slaughtered his friends.

How do you fight an army of these things?

With each pulsating heartbeat, the time Minecroft had to think about the attack grew shorter. He couldn't fight them as a solid block of oncoming carnage. That was suicide, plain and simple. Minecroft had to be smarter than that.

With one deep breath, the world slowed down for him. Walter was coming up with a plan of attack. The section of the horde that approached him, readying their spears, aiming them straight at the defenders.

An idea struck Walter.

"On my mark, throw grenades in front of the enemy and continue suppressing fire," he ordered.

His troop did as commanded. A fresh grenade became present in each of their hands.

"Ready….and….now!"

United in dirt and fury, Minecroft's team threw a shower of grenades towards the horde. The explosion of each launched parts of the Guards into the air and conjured up a dust cloud which hid the Resistance as they continued to attack the horde with everything they had.

The mangled corpses of the Guards that had been blown up did not stop. They crawled along on the ground, using whatever limbs they had left to keep going, to pressed on with their goal of the destruction of their Empress' enemies.

"Right," Minecroft said aloud. "That… worked. Ish."

What now?

***

Eleanor dodged a spear, parrying the thrust and lashing out, taking off the offending Guard's head. It was a move she had repeated a hundred times in a hundred different duels, but this time, the offending Guard did not fall, instead bringing the spear around in an attempt at a slash that she blocked before cutting the thing in two. The limbs worked spasmodically, then stilled.

"What the hell does it take to stop these things?!" one of her colleagues bellowed. "They just don't fucking die!"

"Yelling about it won't do us any good!" Eleanor growled, blocking another blow and decapitating the unfortunate cobalt Guard that tried the move. "Just keep fighting and hold the breach!"

She could already see that it was a lost cause - the enemy were climbing over other parts of the barricade, fighting with the defenders atop the makeshift palisade, and in most cases managing to overcome them.

Suddenly, she felt a heavy impact on her back - a corpse-soldier had jumped on her and was trying to garrote her. Growling, she grabbed at it and threw it to the ground before stomping on its head, breaking it to mush. Nearby, she saw Sam dueling another, this one human, and cutting it in two, before he stepped up to her.

"Well this is fun!" he said with a grim smile.

"Sam, we can't hold here!" she said, gasping for breath slightly from the near-garroting. "There's too many of these bastards!"

"I noticed!" Sam replied. "But there's not exactly anywhere to run to - and I get the feeling they'll chase us to the ends of the damn Earth!"

"Which doesn't mean what it used to," True Grit's voice spoke, and the green Unicorn showed up behind them, his horn glowing and a grimace on his face, beads of sweat running down his face as he sent concussive spell after concussive spell at the undead Guards, blowing one after another to smithereens.

"Well what do we do?" Eleanor asked desperately, smashing another zombie Guard apart.

"We hold," Sam said grimly. "There's nothing else we can do."

***

Rainbow Dash slowly limped away from the screaming figure of Princess Luna. She couldn't believe what she was seeing - all the Element bearers had known that Solamina - that Celestia - had changed from the kind mare they had known when they had first become the bearers of the Elements of Harmony, but this… this was an abomination. This was obscene. To do this to ponies that weren't her sister was bad enough, but to turn her own flesh and blood into an undead warrior for her twisted cause… it beggared belief.

"Luna," she said softly. "Luna, are you still in there?"

The corpse didn't reply, instead growling as it approached Rainbow Dash. Every step it took was accompanied by a sick crack from its neck, where the twisted and shattered vertebrae seemed to be shifting.

"Luna, please," Rainbow said. "You need to -"

The abomination screamed again, a loud, keening wail that tore at Rainbow's ears.She backed away hurriedly, wondering how the hell she was going to be able to survive facing off against this thing.

And then she suddenly found herself bumping into the figure of a human. Quickly turning, she found herself facing a man with greying hair, hard eyes and stubble, his green military coat flapping slightly in the breeze that Luna's arrival had caused.

"You!" she said, eyes widening in recognition. "You're that guy Sam had with him, the guy with the sword and the magic armour and stuff!"

The man looked down at her, and she felt the urge to flinch at the coldness in his eyes.

"Yes," he said blandly. "I am."

He looked back up, focusing on Luna, who seemed to narrow her dead eyes at him. He walked towards the corpse, flexing his hands as he did so. Rainbow watched with morbid fascination as the two squared off.

"Corpse of Luna," the man said. "I've destroyed you before. Don't make me do so here. Flee."

In response, the corpse screamed, its horn glowing as a massive spell built up, before lashing out towards the man. He held up a hand, and suddenly there was a flash of white light…

The spell impacted with an explosion. Rainbow was blown backwards by the force of the blast, and she was fairly certain that she'd cracked another rib from the sheer power of the impact.

"Pony God!" she yelled in shock. She looked up, certain that she would be next, but what she saw was impossible.

The man was still stood there, hand raised to block Luna's spell, but his hair had grown and was flapping in that same breeze, and he was now clad in dull grey armour tinged with bloodstains, a tattered cape flowing from his shoulders. In his off hand he held a sword of dark steel, black marble for a hilt and a single gem set in the center of the pommel. As Rainbow watched, he moved his blade into a guard stance, his expression grim but resolute.

"Corpse of Luna, permit me to guide thee to thine rest," the man said, and he charged at her…

***

She raised her head, looking up from her meditations.

She had been awaiting his arrival. The Heart had shown her that he would be coming, and that she would have to challenge him. It would be a difficult fight, more difficult than any battle she had ever faced. Had she faced him blind, she would have perhaps been overconfident, but now she knew better. This was a warrior that had already challenged her, that had faced a version of her in battle and slain her, taking her power for himself. This was a warrior that was a true challenge. Defeat him, and she would prove herself once and for all a God.

She spread her wings wide. Soon he would dispose of the body of her late, lamented sister, and she would face him. Then, their fates would both be decided.

And with that thought in mind and a twisted grin on her lips, Astra Solamina Maxima rose from the ground and took flight.

***

Around Minecroft, his own soldiers were being impaled, slashed, mutilated and there was not a damn thing he could do to help. He was boxed in by four of the unholy cretins and using every ounce of power in his shotgun to take them down.

Click, click.

Time to reload. Without any backing fire from his troop however, he was dead. Walter smiled. Might as well do some damage while he was at it. He reached down to his belt of grenades, using his shotgun as a mallet to beat away the Guard.

"No!" roared a familiar voice.

From behind him he heard the clash of metal and the merger of flesh and lead. The sound of rapid breathing got closer and closer, louder and louder, until he felt a force propel him away from the Guard.

Swiftly, he looked up from the dirt. The pack of undead were focused on a new target. A younger, more scrawny soldier, bearing a gash across one shoulder, now stood where Walter once did.

Minecroft shot up to his feet just in time to see the soldier pump every last bullet he had in his rifle into the oncoming abominations before he heard that dreaded sound.

Click, click.

Walter tried to rush to his friends aid but a Guard came lunging at him from the side and he had to bludgeon the once human with the shotgun. Another soldier saw his situation and blasted the walking corpse with a few dozen rifle rounds. Walter and his saviour turned back to his friend.

With a sorrowful grin, the soldier activated the grenades on his own belt and Walter knew it was too late but he couldn't keep himself from calling out.

"Jenkins!" Walter yelled, only to have his cry drowned out by the explosion.

***

She threw a spell at him, and he batted it aside with his sword. Elbow first he smashed into her and the two barrelled into a wall, but a moment later he found himself blown back outward by another spell. Backflipping, he landed on his feet, bringing his sword back into a guard stance as she fired more spells. He batted the first away and dodged the second, grimacing as it blasted a truck apart. And then she charged at him, bringing her sword to bear…

He blocked the first blow, pushed the blade away and lashed out, but she leapt into the air, her wings propelling her upward before she landed behind him, slashing at him. He brought his sword up quicker than sight and blocked the blow, staggering forward slightly, and then lashed out, forcing her backwards again.

"You have no hope, Corpse of Luna!" he declared. "Make this easy!"

The corpse lashed out, screeching, and he grunted as he blocked another blow.

"Very well then," he said grimly.

***

Behind this display of insanity, Rainbow Dash found herself feeling terrified. This was absolutely insane. How the hell was she supposed to be able to do something to help that kind of fight?! Pegasi she had killed. Crystal Golems she had seen brought low with a simple rocket launcher. This, though...

There was another explosion as the corpse-Luna threw a spell at the armoured man, and Rainbow dodged, barely avoiding the backlash.

"Hell!" she said, grimacing.

She growled - she refused to just sit here, whining like an infant. She had to do something to help…

Suddenly, looking around, she caught sight of something that made her grin - if this worked out, then she might actually have the opportunity to make a difference in this bucking fight!

"Soldiers!" she yelled to a few men taking cover nearby. "Need your help!"

"Our help?" one of them said. "Have you fucking seen that?!"

"No, I'm blind!" Rainbow said derisively. "Yeah, of course I bucking saw that, now are you gonna sit there like foals or are you gonna do something to help?!"

"How the hell are we supposed to help with that kind of fight?!" the soldier asked, sounding terrified.

Rainbow grinned and pointed to the tank.

"With that," she said with relish.

***

The Avatar parried another blow, clucking his tongue as the corpse kept lashing out at him. He stepped back, blocked another strike, and then grimaced as she threw a spell at him, blasting him into a wall.

"I don't have time for this," he said icily. He held up Excalibur, aiming the blade at her, power beginning to coruscate along the blade.

Suddenly, the corpse was thrown into a wall, a loud BOOM sounding, almost deafening him. Shaking his head slightly, he looked to see what had happened.

The rusty, battered tank was aiming at the corpse, its battle cannon turned to face her. He could see Rainbow Dash waving from the top of it.

"Go get her!" she yelled at him.

Grinning despite himself, he brought Excalibur down and threw a ball of power at the area the corpse had landed. There was a large explosion, dust and rubble thrown everywhere, and he breathed out, feeling suddenly tired. He hated this feeling, the feeling of no power left.

He walked forward, intent on putting the corpse down if she hadn't been.

Suddenly there was a blur of motion as a blue figure raced at him, and he found himself knocked to the ground, the corpse-Luna stood atop him, screeching in primal rage. The tank round had blown her guts out, and one leg was trailing from sinew. Bone was exposed from the power of the explosion, and half her face was a bloody ruin. As he watched, she brought her sword up and stabbed it through his shoulder. He yelled in pain.

"Abomination!" he yelled angrily, ignoring the stabbing pain in his shoulder and focusing on his rage. He sat up, grabbing the corpse-Luna's head. "You will fall!"

He clenched, and could feel the bone start straining beneath his grip. Her horn glowed as she built up a spell.

"Find peace!" he yelled, straining.

To his horror, her mouth opened, and a croaking voice spoke, sounding strained, broken, livid.

"There… is… no… peace!" she croaked, sounding pained and horrified and tormented and enraged, all at once.

He grimaced, feeling her skull beginning to give. "I hope for your sake you are wrong. Goodbye."

With a final heave of effort, Luna's skull imploded in his grip. The corpse's limbs began to spasm and twitch uncontrollably, and then he shoved, pushing the body away from him with a scowl, where it settled.

"Corpse monstrosity," he murmured. He looked over to the tank, where Rainbow Dash was staring with a look of shock at the horrific explosion of gore. He raised an eyebrow and pulled the sword from his shoulder, before dropping it.

"What the hell are you?" she asked, eyes wide.

"The Avatar of Albion," he said quietly. "I am the one who was summoned by Twilight Sparkle."

"Oh, so that spell worked?" Rainbow asked, sounding almost blasé. "I… gotta admit, I was expecting something… about twenty percent cooler."

He chuckled, almost in amusement. "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint."

He turned his head to look in the direction of the barricade. The sound of battle could be distantly heard from the barricade - screaming, the clash of metal, gunfire...

"Excuse me," the Avatar said quietly. "I have business to attend to."

He began walking in the direction of the barricade.

***

Sam dodged another thrust and asked into the brain of the offending corpse-Guard, the thing spasming slightly before he wrenched the blade out and decapitated it. It spasmed - once, twice - and then he kicked out, sending it sprawling to the ground.

All around him he could see the defence wavering, soldier after soldier falling to the zombified horde. He considered falling back but dismissed that idea - pointless plan. He didn't know if this was it, but he'd be damned if he gave up before he was dead.

Another one of the zombie-soldiers charged at him, and he brought his sword up to cut through the thing, cutting it in two. The sundered parts tried to move, and then expired. Another brought a spear to bear and charged at him, but he parried the blow and lashed out with his fist, pulverising the thing's brain.

Suddenly, a bolt of purple energy lashed out, incinerating a clump of the Cobalt Guards that had been clambering over the wall. A second bolt lashed out, vaporising more.

Twilight Sparkle growled as she fired more bolts of magic off, her eyes narrowed in disgust and hatred at the horrors Solamina had perpetrated.

"Sparkle!" Sam yelled, waving an arm. "Good to see you!"

She nodded at him without speaking, then sent more spells out, killing more and more of the Guards. With her help, the barricades seemed to be a tiny bit clearer, like there was something resembling a chance.

Even so, this was a losing battle - Sam could tell. There were more of them - always more. He couldn't even tell how many…

"Warriors of Albion!" a new voice called out, and Sam's eyes widened as he recognised it, "this is not your end!"

A shockwave lashed out, knocking dozens of the Cobalt Guard down, vaporising several. Surprisingly, the shockwave didn't so much as harm a hair on the heads of the soldiers around the Cobalt Guards.

And then he arrived. His battered cloak flew around his shoulders, his armour, dull as it was, seemed to glow with an inner light, and his eyes burned with righteous determination. He walked out, his sword moving like a blur to block spells as they flew in, thick and fast. He held his sword up to block another spell, and then in a slashing movement another shockwave lashed out, dislodging more of the Cobalt Guards.

"Flee!" he yelled. "Run, corpses and demons! Flee to your Demon-Empress and tell her that if she wants me, she'll have to come for me herself!"

He brought the blade down, where it impacted the ground with a loud smash and a flash of light. When the light cleared, the Cobalt Guard… had stopped. None of the zombified soldiers were moving - they were stood stock still, staring blankly ahead at nothing.

There was a long moment of silence, and then cheers started running up and down the defensive line from the battered survivors.

"He stopped them!" someone yelled.

"He did it!" someone else called out. "They've stopped!"

Captain Sparkle closed her eyes and bowed her head, her expression one of relief. It was echoed by everyone and everypony around her - soldiers could be seen hugging one another.

"I don't believe it," Sam whispered. "You… you stopped the zombies…"

The armoured figure looked at him, frowning slightly, and Sam's smile faded, being replaced by a stricken expression.

"You… you did stop them, didn't you?" he asked softly.

The Avatar said nothing, instead walking towards the barricade. Sam followed him, and Sparkle followed, frowning slightly. The Avatar vaulted the barricade, and began walking past the corpses… which moved aside for him, forming a ring of silent watchers in the centre of the broken city.

Sam, stood atop the barricade, could only watch in horror as the Avatar walked to meet the figure now stood amongst the Cobalt Guard. Next to him, he could hear Sparkle take a sharp inhale of breath.

The figure was an Alicorn, alabaster coated and golden armoured, with a flowing multicoloured mane flowing behind her. Held in a telekinetic grip was a glaive, ornate and ancient.

"No," Sparkle whispered. "It is her…!"

***

The Avatar reached the centre of the empty ring that had been cleared for them both. He held his sword at rest, narrowing his eyes at his enemy.

"Hello," he said to her.

"Greetings," Astra Solamina Maxima returned, inclining her head. "You must be the warrior I sensed."

"I am," he said. "I already know who you are."

She smiled, a cold, cruel thing.

"Would you act as champion for this little island of misfits, traitors and the last of a dead world?" she asked softly.

"Yes," he replied. He frowned. "You don't… recognise it, do you?"

"Recognise what?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You and I are of a kind," he said. "The chosen holders of greater powers. Save perhaps that you have been more honest to yours than I was to mine."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Ah. Now I see."

There was a momentary pause, in which Solamina shifted her stance slightly. When she spoke again, there was an odd timbre to her tone, one that was all-too familiar to the warrior she faced.

"You and I have met before," she said, narrowing her eyes at him.

"I slew you then," he commented idly. "But that was when I was a different man."

"And you took that power for yourself," she said softly, her eyes narrowed.

"I did," he replied, sounding sad. "Though I will not say my actions bring me pride."

She snorted, looking unconcerned at the fact that she faced a warrior who had slain her before.

"I suppose you believe the power you stole will avail you," she sneered.

"I believe nothing," the man said truthfully. "Save that I will do my utmost to stop you."

She smiled, and her glaive spun once, as she flexed her telekinetic muscles. In return, he raised his blade into a two-handed middle-guard, narrowing his eyes slightly.

"So then," she said. "Shall we begin?"

"For the fate of this world?" he asked.

For the fate of this world," she repeated.

There was a momentary pause as the two stood, waiting for some hitherto unspoken signal, and then as one their blades moved, faster than lightning, and clashed…

***

Author's Note

Apologies for the fact that this took ages to get up - I've been... well, doing a lot of stuff.

Cheers to The Void for his input.

Chapter Ten: Destiny, Part 2

Chapter Ten: Destiny, Part 2.

"It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul."
William Ernest Henley, Echoes of Life and Death.

***

The two mighty warriors held the clash for a long moment, struggling against each other, each trying to gain an upper hand, before both blades disengaged as one and they truly began.

His first swing sliced through nothing but air, the Alicorn dodging backwards, lashing out with her own blow as she did so. He ducked her swing, before bringing his blade up to block the overhead blow she followed up with, gritting his teeth as she pushed, trying to force him to the ground. He bent his knees, letting her think she was pushing him downward, and then suddenly he sprang, leaping into the air and delivering a crashing overhead of his own that she barely blocked, forcing her off balance. While still in the air, suspended, he pulled the blade back and stabbed forward, but she parried deftly even from her off-balance position, before stepping into a guard and lashing out, exchanging blows with him as Excalibur met her glaive in mid-air.

This was all nothing but a test of their skills, he knew. An exercise of their respective blade work to see exactly how the other fought. He found himself - oddly enough - surprised. She was more restrained, more cautious than the Solamina he had killed, as though being on ground other than her own robbed her of some certainty, but it only made her more dangerous. Her blows were more considered, she took less risks and was consequently harder to keep off balance. She had come expecting to fight an equal, and she treated him as such instead of letting him get any advantage through her complacency.

He found himself smiling, though for the life of him he didn't understand why. He was enjoying this fight.

Maybe that’s proof that I really am damned, he thought idly.

He landed back on the ground, swinging as he did so, though again she blocked it. This time, he held the block, channelling his power through Excalibur, and suddenly the blade flashed with energy and he pushed. Solamina was blasted backwards, rolling as she landed in a heap.

Growling, she stood up.

“As I should have expected,” she said with a growl. “They brought you here to destroy me, and destroy me you might yet. But you shall not find me easy to put down, little man.”

“Of that, I never had any doubt,” he replied evenly.

He raised Excalibur, pointing the blade at her, and a bolt of energy shot out, impacting her. There was an explosion, and dust blew everywhere, obscuring his sight for a moment. He paused, and then moved Excalibur up, blocking a sudden crashing overhead that had been meant to cleave him in two. He ducked out from under the blow, lashing out as he did so, and then took a guard stance as Solamina appeared from the dust, battered but unharmed.

“Clearly,” she said, “you require a special touch.”

Her horn glowed, and suddenly a bolt of energy flashed, smashing into his chest and bearing him backwards. She followed this up with more bolts, one after the other in quick succession.

There was an explosion.

***

Twilight Sparkle looked up at Sam Lake, who was frowning at the battle, uncertain what to expect. The duel was… impossible. It was like watching to forces of nature meeting - every time their blades met, there was a flash of light and a sound like mountains collapsing. The physical toll this battle was taking on the surrounding buildings was clear - dust and small bits of debris were shaking from the buildings nearest Sam and Twilight, and the masonry around Solamina and Elliot was being broken apart more and more by every single blow.

“What the hell are we waiting for?” someone yelled, bringing a gun up and firing at the swirling melee. There was no discernible effect, and the man frowned.

“D’you really think shooting would work?” someone else called out. “Have you seen this?!”

Sam shook his head - truth be told, none of them had had any idea just how powerful Solamina was. The ponies had rumours about the power Celestia could bring to bear, but there was just too little intel. Now they saw the full extent of what they had been facing… and it was terrifying. Sam glanced down at Twilight and could see her wide, fear-stricken eyes, tears gleaming in them. He hadn’t thought of how traumatic this must be - to see the mentor she had loved transformed into… that.

“We should evacuate from this position,” she said softly. “If he fails, these… things will start moving again.”

“If he fails, we’ve lost, simple as,” Sam replied simply.

“Maybe,” Twilight admitted, “but you and I haven’t come this far by not being prepared for the worst.”

Sam looked down at her, and though he hated it, he knew she was right. They’d lost too many people already - this position would never hold against Solamina herself, let alone the hordes she had brought with her. They were standing eerily still all around the camp, their blank eyes just… staring. For whatever reason, they’d stopped their attack. Probably the sake of intimidation, or drama, or both - God knew, Solamina wasn’t immune to the lure of a show. By that same turn, Sam knew that they’d become the same lethal killing machines they’d been before she arrived.

Still, Sam hesitated to simply… go. An old quote from Lord of the Rings came to him - “faithless is he who says farewell when the road darkens.”

Me and Dave read that book together.

“You get everyone out,” he said quietly. “I’ll stay.”

Twilight narrowed her eyes. “You can’t help.”

“The Iron Clads were made to help,” Sam countered. “And I’m sure as hell not just going to stand here and watch him die.” He paused. “He’s my friend.”

“Maybe once,” Twilight said. “But not this him.”

“Well, he’s as near as I’m likely to find,” Sam said.

Twilight sighed. After a moment, she turned to one of the soldiers standing nearby.

“Can you please signal the evacuation?” she asked. The soldier nodded, before dashing off. In response to Sam’s questioning look, the little violet mare sighed and smiled.

“I’m sure as Tartarus not just going to stand here and watch you die,” she said quietly. “You’re my friend.”

Sam held her gaze for a moment, before nodding and smiling.

“Thanks,” he said sincerely.

“Wait!” called out a familiar voice. Small Mercy, out of breath and covered in the blood and dirt of the fallen soldiers she passed, glared at Sam and Twilight with more determination than the two had seen in her before. “If you are going to help Elliot then count me in.”

Sam chuckled and the trio were off.

***

The explosion cleared, the debris slowly dissipating. The Avatar coughed, before pulling himself up, the injuries on his face healing up. He could feel her presence, but he couldn’t see where she had gone.

“Is hiding something you enjoy doing?” he asked, calling out to her. “Or are you just afraid of me?”

“I am afraid of nothing, little Avatar of a dead race!” her voice hissed from behind him, and suddenly he felt another impact on his back. Using a hand to front flip, he spun around and brought Excalibur to guard, and found her facing him again, glaive held in a high-guard.

“You’re sure?” the Avatar asked. “Apparently, I’m quite a monster, you know. But you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

“You killed me once, where you came from,” she hissed, and suddenly a small smile came upon her face. “But… when you did that, you were… different, weren’t you? You… you are different, now. Are you ashamed of killing me?”

“I am ashamed only of the lengths I went to,” the Avatar retorted. “I disgraced myself by killing you with stolen power and foul magicks, and taking them for myself.”

“Without them, though, you know you haven’t got the power to defeat me,” Solamina chuckled. “And even if you come within a mile of victory, the magic in you will consume your frail little human body. It’s something of a conundrum, isn’t it?”

“The only conundrum, Tyrant, is the question of how to shut you up!” the Avatar snarled.

She laughed at that. “Why, by killing me. If you can.”

Growling, the Avatar sprang forward, swinging his sword, only for the glaive to meet it. There was a resounding clang and a shockwave flashed out, smashing the masonry of the surrounding buildings into rubble. The Tyrant smiled smugly, before breaking the clash and stabbing forward. The Avatar parried the blow and riposted, but she leapt into the sky, before coming in with an overhead swing.

He brought Excalibur up to block the blow, another shockwave reducing more of London to wasteland. With a sudden snarl, he pushed her away, before his entire body glowed. A shockwave flared out, and she was thrown into the sky. Her wings flared out, and she was still in the sky. Her horn glowed, but the spell she sent at him was blocked, the energy splashing out and melting parts of the surrounding concrete. She landed in front of him, before charging, her blade swinging again.

***

Rainbow trotted up to her squadron. They had landed a few moments ago, and she was anxious to see if they were alright. They were huddled in a little group near the front line, watching the duel between - and here Rainbow had to suppress the urge to run away in terror - between Solamina and the armoured figure. Twilight and Commander Lake were there too, the Iron Clad officer’s arms folded as he observed the fight.

As Rainbow approached the team, Lightning Dust saw her and trotted to meet her, concern on her face.

“You’re alright?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Rainbow replied. “The Squadron?”

Lightning sighed heavily. “Swift Strike is down. Everypony else is ok. No other casualties.”

Rainbow lowered her head sadly. “Dammit. We’ve lost too many.”

“Well, we ain’t losing more today,” Lightning said quietly. “We’ll be going in a few.”

Rainbow frowned. “But -”

“But nothing,” Lightning said, harsher than she might have intended. “Twilight had the retreat order sent through. We’re pulling everypony out.”

“I think we’ll be fine, though,” Rainbow said. “Elliot, this… Avatar, looks like he has things under control.”

“Which means we don’t,” Twilight hissed, more vehemently than Rainbow had ever heard her.

Rainbow flinched a little. “...Twi?”

The violet mare sighed. “Sorry. Sorry, Rainbow, but… First, he could lose. Second, I’m afraid of what might happen even if he wins.”

“We’ll deal with that if he wins,” Lightning Dust said, half confidently and half worriedly.

As they spoke, Small Mercy came up to the group.

“There’s enough medical staff with the retreat operation to nurse them to health twice over. They’ll be fine.” She sighed, the statement seemed partially for herself as well. “We need to help Elliot as much as we… can…”

She trailed off, awed at the fight that was unfolding before them all.

“Which looks like buck all from where I’m sitting,” Lightning Dust breathed out. Her eyes had become fixed on the duel. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a fight like that.”

Twilight turned to watch the fight as well. “I have.”

“Where?” Lightning Dust asked, frowning in confusion.

Twilight shook her head. “That is a long story, and judging from this fight, we won’t have the time.”

“Speaking of the fight,” Commander Lake said, pointing at the two dueling demigods, “is it just me, or does Dave look like he’s flagging?”

***

The Avatar dodged another blow, breathing heavily. He blocked another series of blows, but one blow nicked his pauldron and he stumbled, before the haft of the glaive smacked into his face and sent him to the ground. Growling, he rolled, dodging another blow, and he pushed off of the floor and lashed out, forcing Solamina to quickly parry. She laughed aloud.

“You persistent little creature!” she said, spinning her glaive in a leisurely fashion. “You just don’t give up, do you?”

“Never,” he growled. “I will never give up, not while I breath!”

He charged at her, bringing his blade down in an overhead swing, before spinning and attacking from the side. She blocked both blows, though the force was enough to force her to step back, and then she stabbed forward again, only for him to dodge it and lash out again, forcing her to jump back - but not fast enough that the blade didn’t mark her. A long shallow gash ran along one side of her barrel.

The Avatar’s eyes narrowed. It wasn’t as bad as it looked.

“Oh dear,” Solamina sighed mockingly. “A shallow little scratch. Whatever shall I do.”

The Avatar growled. I need to puncture something. Even if she’s nigh-immortal, nothing can take a stab to the heart and be completely fine. The only issue is getting close enough...

“Tired?” Solamina laughed.

“No, just thinking out loud. Are you?” he retorted. “Because that scratch is still a scratch. Maybe you’d like a rest, a nap, a pillow and some chocolate cake -”

There was no noise that could be transcribed through an onomatopoeia. There was simply a flash of light and a… a vibration, the sense of something pummeling his armor from the front with the kinetic energy of a speeding train.

Elliot felt himself tumbling through the air, tail over teakettle, until he made landfall in the wall of a building… after, it looked like, being catapulted through the wall of another one. He wheezed as he picked himself up, and his chest hurt. Had he been stabbed?

He looked down, and wheezed out another strangled breath. She must have broken something. His ribs, probably.

Closing his eyes, the Avatar let himself heal, before opening them just in time to see Solamina barreling towards him. Bending his knees, he suddenly launched upwards into the sky, and she passed beneath him, her glaive cutting through air. He landed behind her, before throwing a counter-spell that she barely managed to shield herself from, the kinetic force making her stumble.

“Did I touch a nerve?” he asked.

“My dear Twilight has been telling you things,” Solamina growled. “Oh, I shall have to have words with her.”

The Avatar growled. “You will not touch Twilight Sparkle.”

“When you’re dead, I shall do what I like,” Solamina snarled. “It is my right! I. Am. A. Goddess! And you are less than apes, less than beasts, for defying Me. I will not even accept your subservience! At this point, you are worth not even that!”

The Avatar growled and threw a spell at her , Excalibur flashing with light. Solamina deflected it almost lazily.

“Time to end this pointless game of ours,” she hissed. And with that, she charged.

Her blows were fast, precise, elegant, and he had trouble catching them all - her sheer momentum and fury had forced him on the back foot, and he had to push himself to his limit just to stop her from skewering him where he stood.

One forward thrust of the glaive aimed at gutting through his stomach forced him to jump backwards, the strike nearly running him through. Another blow narrowly missed decapitating him, and he ducked, before rolling away from a vicious hack. He lashed out, but she caught the strike, and with a deft flick of her glaive Excalibur left his grasp and the glaive’s blade was resting on his throat.

There was a moment’s pause as the two of them regarded one another, neither of them moving an inch from their respective positions.

The Avatar raised his head, sneering at her. “Hesitant, Tyrant?”

She grinned maliciously. “Just savouring the moment.”

“Bad idea!” a voice called out. A sudden crack of something lashed out, and Solamina was suddenly not standing in front of the Avatar anymore. He turned his head, to see Sam Lake standing there, holding a gun roughly the size of a small motorcycle. The Iron Clad dropped the still-smoking weapon before drawing his sword and jogging to the Avatar’s side.

“How goes it?” he asked, looking surprisingly cheerful considering the situation.

“You shouldn’t be here,” the Avatar replied, eyes wide with shock.

“Thought you could use the help,” Sam said with a shrug. “Not seen many fights where having a glaive at your throat is a sign of doing well.”

“That is irrelevant,” the Avatar said with a scowl. He held out a hand and Excalibur returned to his grip. “She will not -”

Suddenly, a roar of pure rage sounded, shaking the very air around them, and suddenly Solamina was standing there, her horn crackling with dark energy as she narrowed her eyes in a glare at Sam. He looked at her with wide eyes, shifting into a guard stance.

“If you were so eager to die,” she hissed, her voice low and dangerous, “all you had to do was wait your TURN!”

Her horn flashed as she unleashed a spell at them, and the Avatar held up a hand - only for a purple shield to materialise first. The spell impacted, and there was a blinding flash of light, and then it cleared, revealing Twilight Sparkle and Small Mercy, standing in front of the two humans.

“Not… today,” Twilight gasped, exhausted from the effort of maintaining her shield spell. “Today… we’re going… to stop you.”

An blue ethereal glow surrounded Twilight. Most signs of exhaustion disappeared. Small Mercy stepped up beside her, maintaining her healing spell.

“Twilight Sparkle,” Solamina snarled. “And another traitor.”

Small Mercy scoffed. “You talking about traitors is ironic. Do you even know loyalty without fear?”

“I'm not here to bandy words with an insect,” Solamina said, her face twisting into a cruel smile. “I’m here to crush them!”

The Avatar held out a hand as if to protect the two Unicorns. “Careful, she -”

But in a flash, Solamina had moved. The blade of her glaive was suddenly buried in Twilight Sparkle’s chest, and the violet mare’s eyes widened in horror at the sight. Grinning, Solamina lifted the glaive up, holding the still-twitching Twilight aloft.

“No!” Sam yelled, brandishing his sword and leaping forward, but a flash of magic from Solamina blasted him backwards. The Avatar moved to intervene, but found himself repelled as well. Small Mercy tried rushing to his aid, but she found herself suddenly enveloped in a golden glow. The blue glow of her horn sputtered and died as she attempted to resist the grip. Solamina glanced at her.

“Goodbye,” she said viciously. With a single motion of her head, she threw Small Mercy into a building, where she impacted with a wet crunching sound, before falling to the ground, where she twitched slightly before finally lying still.

Solamina returned her attention to Twilight, who was still choking out laboured breaths through impaled lungs.

“You… were my student,” she said. “As near to me as a daughter. How can you have betrayed me so?”

Twilight scowled at her, before using the last of her strength to hawk and spit in the Alicorn’s face. Solamina scowled, before her horn glowed again, and suddenly Twilight Sparkle was obliterated. One moment she was there, the next there was a flash of light and she was gone.

***

Up until that point, Rainbow Dash had been hovering, watching the duel with baited breath as her friend rushed out to face the Tyrant. As soon as she saw that, though, Rainbow Dash’s wings stopped fluttering, and she dropped.

“No,” she whispered.

Along the line, the soldiers who had been caught up watching the fighting suddenly reacted - some of them fired at Solamina, around whom a softly-glowing shield appeared that simply repelled the bullets. Others simply yelled profanity.

“That BASTARD!” Lightning Dust screamed. “Cele - Sola - you… I…”

“NO!” Rainbow Dash was screaming. “Come on, Twilight, come out! You’ve gotta be teleporting out of… Twilight! Where are you! You have to…”

“She’s not coming back,” Lightning Dust said, one foreleg over Rainbow’s barrel. “I’m sorry, but we have to get everyone out!”

“She killed my friend!” Rainbow yelled.

“And she’ll kill us if we go after her!” Lightning Dust yelled, holding Rainbow in both forelegs. “And that wouldn’t very well make her happy, would it?”

“She was my friend,” Rainbow whispered. “And now she’s… she’s…”

“I know,” Lightning said, and she hugged her friend tightly, closing her eyes against bitter tears that seemed to be coming of their own accord. “I know.”

***

There was a moment of utter silence at the scene, as the Avatar looked in horror at the bloodied tip of Solamina’s glaive as she lowered it, her eyes staring almost wistfully at the bloody smear that was the only mortal remains of Twilight Sparkle. She hadn’t trusted him, and she had been right not to, but nonetheless he was here now because of her. She had, in some way, granted him a second chance.

Suddenly, a battle cry sounded, and almost faster than should have been possible, Sam Lake charged again at the Sun Tyrant, swinging his sword at her in a vicious arc. Almost lazily, Solamina blocked the blows, a tired but amused look on her face. With a growl of his own, the Avatar charged as well, ringing Excalibur to bear. Frustratingly, though, Solamina seemed to be easily blocking his blows as well, that same amused look still gracing her features.

Sam brought his sword around in a hard hack designed to decapitate her, but she blocked it, before redirecting his blade to knock a stab from the Avatar off course. Sam, growling, attacked again, and with a lazy riposte, she knocked the Iron Clad Commander’s blade from his hand, before cutting at his right arm, nearly severing the limb. With a flash of her horn, he was blasted backwards again, slamming into a wall with a thud. The Avatar gritted his teeth, and suddenly swung his own blade upwards, trying to knock her glaive away from her to clear his path - only for her to follow it, flapping into the air and bucking him in the face, sending him stumbling backwards. She landed gracefully, before spinning and, with a burst of Earth Pony strength, kicking him across the street, where he fell to the ground with a thud.

The Avatar spat blood from his mouth, glaring murder at the Tyrant. She… she…

She was a murderer. A Tyrant. Hers was the fire that had burned away a world, enslaved billions, and caused more misery than anything else in Earth’s history. There was no known punishment in the history of the human race to account for her crimes.

The Avatar stood up slowly. His body was glowing with a dark, crackling energy. His armour, dented and torn, was repairing itself, and around his head a helmet seemed to be forming, covering his entire face save for two purple-glowing slits where his eyes were. Excalibur crackled with energy. Solamina approached until she was stood opposite him, her eyes wide in surprise.

“Tyrant,” he said, his voice tinged and distorted as he brought his blade to a high-guard, “I will kill you.”

She raised her glaive to match his stance. “You will try.”

He shifted his stance slightly, and then charged again.

Author's Note

Hey guys. :-) It's been way too long since I updated this, but I decided it was time to do this.

A great big thanks to The Void - who by now should really have a great big co-writer credit on this story - and the stellar Doctor Fluffy, both of whom helped make this chapter really special.

Chapter Eight: The Final Memory

Chapter Eight: The Final Memory.

"Great men are forged in fire. It is the privilege of lesser men to light the flame."
The War Doctor, Doctor Who: Day of the Doctor.

***

Sparkle frowned as Small Mercy and Sam finished their tale. Her eyes had flitted between them and the unconscious man as they spoke, and her face had settled into a grim, tired expression.

"... and then we woke up," Sam finished. "And thank fuck we did. I don’t think I want to know what he saw in there."

"No," Sparkle said quietly. "You don’t."

"I would have liked to see what was in that room," Small Mercy added. "It probably would explain his amnesia."

"Possibly," Sparkle said quietly. "What you’re describing is certainly… interesting."

"Yeah," Sam said, frowning slightly. "But there’s a more pressing question I’ve got." He frowned as he leant forward. "How in the name of fuck did you know what happened?"

Sparkle raised an eyebrow. "I didn’t."

"Pull the other one," Sam snapped. "‘I’ve seen him before’, that’s what you said. You were adamant that we kill him."

Sparkle sighed, looking away, but she remained silent.

"Please Captain," Mercy pressed. "We need to know what you know about him. It could make all the difference in helping him."

"You shouldn’t want to help him," Sparkle muttered under her breath, her voice a low growl. "You’ve seen what he is. What he did."

"We’ve also seen his world," Mercy responded. "We’ve seen what he was fighting so hard to protect."

Sparkle looked Small Mercy in the eye, narrowing her own eyes and scrutinising the other pony carefully.

"Do you really think this one is worth helping?" she asked quietly.

Small Mercy nodded.

Sparkle sighed. "Fine. Get out, both of you. Leave him with me."

Sam and Small Mercy exchanged glances, and then walked out of the room, out into the base itself, leaving Sparkle alone with the unconscious man.

"Well," she said quietly. "Here we are again. I’m almost surprised. Almost. Part of me was always expecting this, I guess. Always expecting that you’d come. I’ve gotta say, though, I thought you’d be a little more impressive."

"And I thought," the man replied, and Sparkle jumped back at the sound of his voice, "that Captain Twilight Sparkle knew better than to judge a book by its cover."

He sat up, his eyes opening as he did so. He looked at her, his eyes haunted.

"Captain," he said quietly. "You know."

"I know enough," Sparkle replied, scowling at him. "I know who you are."

"Do you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "That’s funny. I only just remembered myself."

Sparkle’s horn glowed, and she settled into a defensive stance. "I won’t let you hurt anypony."

"What makes you think you could stop me?" he replied, standing up to his full, six foot height. "If you know who I am, you know what I’ve done. Who I’ve fought. Who I killed."

"I know everything," she hissed at him.

He smiled, a cold, tired thing. "And I’d quite like to know how."

He raised a hand, and there was a flash of light.

***

Outside the small building, soldiers ran hither and thither, preparing for the next attack. Sam sighed as he saw Eleanor and more Iron Clads walking around, preparing to hold the line.

"Eleanor!" Sam called out. The young woman turned and jogged over to him. "What’s our status?"

"We’ve got troops coming in from all over the city," Eleanor said, panting slightly. "Solamina’s forces have only doubled - it’s like they called in reinforcements!"

"Reinforcements?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow. "I knew they were desperate to keep us tied up here, but nothing’s changed that would…"

He trailed off as he suddenly realised - something had changed.

"When she says reinforcements, she’s means in a big way," came a familiar voice.

Walter Minecroft, bruised but smiling, had walked in on the conversation.

"She’s got walking corpses to do her fighting now," he said. "I mean actual corpses. Armour and all. It’s day of the dead out there. Except these corpses move faster than the living and don’t know when to stay dead. It took six of my men to down one they had cornered."

"Bloody hell," Sam swore. "That’s…"

"It’s happening," Mercy muttered, turning to Sam. "The Avatar mentioned tricks and corpses. That might be what he meant."

"The what now?" Walter asked.

"Never mind," Sam said, waving the question off. "I think we can deal with the corpses."

"I’m glad you have faith in us," Walter said proudly. "That’s not even the worst thing she brought."

"What is?" asked Small Mercy.

"Herself."

Something clicked in Small Mercy’s head.

"She knows," he said, his voice full of some sort of unnatural echo. "She knows I am here. She is watching. She will sense it."

Solamina knew Elliot was here.

"We have to prepare immediately," said Small Mercy. "Solamina is gonna come for Elliot."

"And she’ll go home without him," Walter noted.

"Dammit!" Sam swore. "We can’t go in there, he’s still unconscious and I don’t want to risk waking him up. But we’re not ready to fight the Tyrant."

"Sir," Eleanor said resolutely, taking a slight step forward, "we’re ready to give it our fucking all."

He looked at her, and smiled. "Yeah, that I guess we are."

Mercy saluted Sam. "I’ll get the medical bays ready."

Walter chucked. "Today is going to be quite the battle."

"That it is," Sam said quietly. "The only question is, is it one we’re gonna live to see the end of?"

***

Nightmares. Dreams of other worlds, other lives, coin tosses gone the other way, death, confusion, lies, battle… losses… all of it...

"I don’t want you to ‘explain’ why you are failing, I want you to stop failing, do you understand the difference?!"

The haunted her every night...

"The Empress can never wait."

A thousand lives were hers to live, every night, and there were days where she almost felt she could get lost to it… so many things she had done… so many things…

You don’t want to know! Please… if you value your sanity, don’t touch it!

So many lives, so many choices, so many different paths and every single one she trod in her dreams...

"Twilight Sparkle, Dusk Shine, Captain Sparkle of the Equestrian Systems Alliance, Twilight Star of the Night Guard, Commander Sparkle of the Equestrian Guard, Nightmare Paradox, Captain Sparkle of the USS Equestrian, Archmagister Twilight Sparkle of House Moon and Star, Princess Twilight Sparkle of Equestria, the Undead, Chancellor Sparkle of Equestria, Princess Twilight of Camelot, the Avatar of Albion, Corporal Twilight Sparkle of the Canterlot Defence Force, Twilight Sparkle of the Equestrian Resistance, Twilight Sparkle of Unicornia..."

...Twinkleshine, Centurion Sparkle of the New Roman Republic, Regent Sparkle of the New Solaminan Dominion, Queen Sparkle of Canterlot, Empress Tenebria Lucea Scintillula, Revenant Sparkle, head of the Legio de Mort Extremis, Captain Sparkle of the Equestrian Resistance…

… except that one was her, wasn’t it?

She remembered so many different lives. When she was awake, it was almost easy to forget them, banish them back to the recesses of her mind…

… but there were days where she felt strange being "Captain" Sparkle when she remembered being a High Commander. There were days when she wondered when the crew of the Equestrian would come to beam her out, or catch herself looking out of the corner of her eye as if afraid that Celestia would come out of the shadows, a bag around her neck…

And most of all, she feared him.

"Little Pony. An age and more it has been since I killed you and killed you and killed you. 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."

She remembered everything. A blade stabbing through her as an army burned. The feeling of her soul laid bare before the power of a dark God. Every death, every time that man came forth… she remembered everything.

And then a voice spoke into her mind.

"I remember too."

***

The Heart of the World - a long time ago, in another world…

Pain… pain unthinkable..

He could see... he could see every possible life he could have lived, every single version of himself…

***

… and he could see her.

She was tall, elegant and powerful, clad in golden armour that crackled with unknown energies and wielding a giant glaive in the grip of her magic. Her ethereal mane and tail calmly waved in a breeze of their own. Her wings were extended out in a display of challenge, and her glowing eyes were fixed on Elliot, appraising him. She smirked at something.

In response, the Avatar glared at her as she stepped into the room, his eyes narrowing balefully at her. If looks could kill, she would have been obliterated. The energy that surrounded Excalibur extended beyond the blade, enveloping his form, and a moment later his silver-armoured form stood against the armoured Alicorn, Excalibur crackling with power as he kept it levelled at her in challenge.

"So," she began. "You are the Avatar of Albion. The one they claim can destroy me."

"I am," the Avatar replied simply.

"You know you cannot defeat me," she said, her voice betraying her anger. "Nothing can."

"I can," the man replied, spinning Excalibur once in his hand, before bringing his second hand up and standing in a battle ready stance. "It is my destiny, my purpose. The lives you have destroyed call for vengeance, for retribution. Your people scream in horror for the things you have forced them to endure. The souls of the Converted lie shattered at your hoof. For them, I will claim vengeance."

Solamina laughed, a cruel, mocking sound.

"You think it is you of all beings who will stand against me?" she said, her tone darkly amused. "You can barely stand up."

"I have strength enough in this form for this," the Avatar said, not flinching, not even moving, the massive ornate Zweihander held up still, pointed directly at the monstrous Empress. "I have fought your mockeries and slain your Captains. Now, Astra Solamina Maxima, former Celestia, I will finish what I started."

Solamina snorted. "You will finish something little man - your pathetic life. I will take great pleasure in mounting your severed head on a spike and putting it before the people of your home, the final proof that their cause is hopeless."

"There is always hope," the man said, a soft smile forming on his face. He span the Zweihander, faster than one could imagine such a massive blade moving, and then aimed it at her again. "To the death, creature."

"To the death," Solamina replied, snorting. And then she charged…

***

... and he was alone again.

“I fought her!” he yelled into this white shapeless void. His voice echoed in the nothingness. “I destroyed her!”

And he found himself…

***

...somewhere else, staring at an armoured Alicorn who was battered and bruised, but still unbowed.

“You show no fear,” he said quietly. “I am impressed.”

“Silence,” the Alicorn said with a hiss. “You’ve destroyed countless lives. Murdered innocents. I don’t care about impressing you!”

“Very well, Princess Celestia,” he said, and he aimed the blade at her. “Are you prepared to meet death?”

“To stop you, you monster, any price is worth paying!” she yelled. She spread her wings wide, and then charged at him…

***

… and he recoiled.

“But…” he murmured. “But that was…”

***

“... an innocent!” someone yelled at him. A rotten tomato struck the armour of one of the men surrounding him. “You slaughtered innocents!”

The Avatar paused in his march toward the stairs before the square. All around him were crowds and crowds of ponies and people, who had apparently lived in ‘harmony’. He resisted the urge to laugh again at the thought - harmony was a lie. Peace was a lie. All that existed was death - yours, or your enemy’s.

This was a lesson he had learned long ago. He looked down at his hand and mused at the transitory nature of most things in life - even the flesh. This form was a temporary concern, a mere splinter of the whole. He had ascended - and now his concerns transcended the mere protection of one world. All of them had to be freed. All of them had to be shown the truth.

He looked down at one of the armoured figures surrounding him.

“Maintain order,” he said quietly.

“It will be done, my lord,” the armoured man replied. He aimed his Halberd rifle without another word and fired, blasting the offending thrower apart. There was a sudden hush over the crowd as the Avatar ascended to the top of the stairs. Once there, he looked out upon the crowd and smiled beneath his helm.

“You are fortunate,” he said to them. ”You are about to be freed. Freed from the fear of destruction at the hand of Tyrants and monsters.”

“What does that make you?!” some bold figure called.

“I am Salvation,” the Avatar replied. “I am Albion…”

***

… and he was a monster.

Everywhere, he was a monster. He could feel it. He was living it. He was nothing but a monster, and there was worse to come!

No! No, that would not be him! No!

***

London base. Now.

Captain Sparkle gasped awake, and found herself looking across the small space at him. He was slumped against a wall, his grey hair and stubble making him look old, far older than she knew he was.

"You were there," she said, her voice a breath. "You saw it."

"The Heart of the World," he replied tiredly. "In some worlds, when I stepped into that place I saw her - her across creation. Celestia, Astra Solamina Maxima, Ra-Abaddon, Solaris, Corona, The Dark Star, Stella Imperatrix Supremus, Astraloth, Vasa the golden, Japheth…" He trailed off. "In some worlds."

"But not in yours?" she asked.

"I saw what became of me," he said quietly. "I saw the man I become. The man you’re afraid of."

"You’re already him," she pointed out. "You practically razed Canterlot in your battle with Solamina. There must have been thousands of civilians killed by what you did."

"Tens of thousands," he replied quietly. "At least. Possibly the entire populations of Ponyville and Canterlot. All their Guard. All of them."

"Then how can you say you’re not him?!" she yelled.

He looked up at her. "Because I remember. I remember what I saw."

Darkness inescapable. An army of loyal, fanatical soldiers with only one order - win. His army. His war, eternal and unstoppable. His destiny - to free the human race from fear by annihilating every single enemy they would ever face.

"I would have been him," he murmured. "If the Heart had shown me something else."

He paused, before lowering his head, sighing heavily.

"Do you think," he started, "that someone who makes a mistake can change it? Can make it better?"

She frowned, unsure how to reply to that. This man… this man was not the man she feared. But he was like him. Like him enough that they had walked the same path…

… a path she had walked to. If she was going to condemn him for what he had done in other lives…

"No more games, broken mirror. Time to smash you."

… then she had to condemn herself as well.

"I think," she said, speaking softly and calmly, "that they can try to make up for it." She frowned. She couldn’t bring herself to offer real comfort to this man. "But they can't change it. They can’t change anything."

"But they can try?" he asked quietly, leaning forward. "They can at least do that?"

She shook her head, almost remorseful.

"You can try forever," she said. "But it won’t give you what you want. It won’t change who you were, what you did."

Slumping back against the wall, he sighed heavily, closing his eyes. "I know. But maybe I can change who I am now."

"And how would you change who you are?" she asked. "You don't even know who you were."

"I do know," he countered, his eyes opening and looking straight at her. "Who I am, and who I was. And I know what I've done."

"And what do you think?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

His reply was a question in turn. "Honestly?"

"Honestly."

His eyes misted over thoughtfully, gazing off into an abyss only he could see, before he finally replied.

"I think," he said, "what I did was all I could do."

"Does that make it right?" she asked.

His eyes were dead as he looked up.

"That makes it the least wrong," he said softly.

The mare sighed, not responding for a moment, before looking back up to the man.

"Is that the judgement of a man who can't remember?" she asked bluntly.

He chuckled slightly at that, as though this were somehow amusing.

"No," he replied. "It's the judgement of a man who can."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "But what did you remember before?"

He shrugged. "Fragments. Bits and pieces. Enough."

"Enough to know where you were?" she asked.

He chuckled for a long moment, before looking up at her, a soft, humourless smile on his face.

"Enough to know who to kill," he said bluntly.

She sighed.

"And who did you kill?" she asked.

"I killed my enemies," he replied bluntly.

She raised an eyebrow at that. "It was that simple?"

His eyes were still dead, still filled with that hollow emptiness. "Nothing was simple."

She thought about that for a moment.

"It sounds simple," she said after a moment, tilting her head toward him slightly.

He scowled at her comment, as though he found it somehow demeaning.

"My enemies were an entire race,” he said testily. “Adults, children, the elderly, the infirm."

"Why isn't that simple?" she asked. Her voice was filled with something akin to scorn or criticism.

"It isn't simple,” he replied slowly, “because I remember every face."

Stallions. Mares. The young. The old. Foals. All of them, fallen like wheat in the harvest. His enemies. Ponykind.

There was a long pause between the two of them as she digested what he had said. She had a morose look on her face as she tried to remember the next question she wanted to ask.

"Do you remember..." she began.

"Everything,” he cut her off.

"Six particular faces,” she said, frowning at him slightly.

His eyes were tired, and he looked old. "I remember all of them."

She was uncertain as to whether she wanted to know the answer to her next question.

"And I suppose... one face in particular?" she asked.

"Yes," he said simply.

For a long moment, her eyes were full of conflict - she wasn’t sure she trusted him. If he were being honest he was sure he couldn’t blame her.

"Do you really remember them?" she asked softly.

His eyes were tired and sad, and yet he smiled quietly. "I'll always remember them."

***

"Then why ain't you got your little friends here to shoot me, already?" Applejack asked, narrowing her eyes at him with an expression of disgust.

"Because," he said, holding his arms open. "I want to kill you myself.”

With that he raised his hand-cannon and fired, but she was quick. He scowled, cocking the gun and firing again, and again he missed, and she ran into the woods, quickly disappearing from view.

“She’s escaping!” one of the SAS men yelled.

“Not for long,” he growled, and he drew a dagger, bolting after her into the undergrowth.

She was quick, and she knew woods well - but she was used to Orchards, not wild woodland, and though she had been in this sort of terrain before, it was not quite what she knew. that being the case, he knew she would slip up. He pushed himself.

A moment later, he spotted her, dodging between shrubs and trees awkwardly. In an instant, the hand-cannon was back up, aimed carefully, and fired. A single bullet sailed through the air, before impacting in her spine, severing vertebrae.

“Got you, bitch,” he said, scowling. He walked up to the mare.

Amazingly, she was still struggling to move when he reached her. He laughed aloud, and brought the dagger to bear.

“Y-y-you… bucking… monster…” she was struggling to say.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he replied, before slitting her throat.

***

Rainbow Dash blocked one blow, then another, then another, but her wrist blade was notched and she could feel her forelegs straining under the power of the blows, and he was toying with her! He was holding the steel and black marble weapon one handed, swinging it almost nonchalantly.

“Come now, Rainbow Dash,” he said, his armour gunmetal grey and glinting, and the blade clanging down once more on her own, denting it further and forcing her to the ground. “You were the finest warrior of your friends. Fight harder. Show me your power.”

“You… bucking… MONSTER!” she yelled, jumping up and lashing out at him with her blade. He blocked the blow, and lashed out with his fist, catching her in the face and sending her reeling. She struggled to get up, but she found a blade held at her throat.

“You are done,” he said quietly.

“One of us will get you,” she hissed.

He drew the blade across her throat and watched her life blood spill from her throat, her eyes widening in horror as she gurgled and choked.

“No,” he said. “You will not.”

***

There was a deep breath before she next spoke.

"And do you remember her?" she asked.

He smiled coldly. "Most especially."

She looked him in the eyes. "Did you do it then?"

He raised an eyebrow at her:

"Do you not remember?" he asked, surprised.

“I was dead.” Her voice was cold and full of something - almost like fear. “I asked you a question. Did you do it? Did you kill her?"

He sighed. "Yes.”

"Could you do it now?" she asked.

"Maybe,” he shrugged at her.

Her eyes bored into him. "Will you?"

He looked right back at her. "Do you want me to?"

***

Sam heard it first - the rumbling of feet marching in almost perfect unison. He growled.

“They’re coming!” he yelled. “Everybody, everypony! Take your places!”

”Grey Squadron is on station,” a voice said quietly in his ear. Rainbow Dash had been unusually subdued upon learning that Astra Solamina herself was coming.

“When she gets here, get clear,” Sam said sternly. “Leave her to the Clads. We’re the only ones with a prayer.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Dash said. “We’ll stick around long enough to keep you covered from the air then fall back to the outskirts and meet up with the reinforcements.”

“Remember troops,” came Walter’s voice on the radio. “every day before this has been a walk in the park. These Guards are ten times as tough. Separate the heads and limbs as fast you can. The longer you fight one, the more tired you get. These Guard don’t get tired.”

“Clads at the front, other troops on support,” Eleanor’s voice added. “Constant fire, don’t let up.”

Then they could be seen. Cobalt blue armour, soldier after soldier, ponies that might almost have been Royal Guard were it not for the blank, dead looks in their eyes.

“Targets inbound!” Sam yelled. “Everybody open fire!”

***

He was slumped still against the wall, not looking at her. His memory was all there. He remembered every single thing, and to her great surprise, it was killing him.

"So," she said simply, unsure how to proceed from here. "What now?"

He looked back at her. "That depends, Captain Sparkle. What do you think should happen now?"

She smiled, a cold and empty thing, far removed from whatever she used to have. "I don’t know." She sat forward, a question coming, almost unbidden, to her mind. "When you fought her, were you afraid?"

And his answer surprised her. "Honestly? No. Either way, it would be an end. I didn't fear the end."

There was a crack of gunfire from outside, and he closed his eyes.

“She’s coming,” he said quietly.

Sparkle looked at him, her eyes widening. “What?”

“When you’ve fought the Tyrant, you know her, and you know when she is on her way,” he said softly. “She will have sensed my presence and sensed my use of the power earlier. She’s on her way here, now.”

Sparkle gulped, unsure how to react. This wasn’t a situation she could ever have anticipated - Solamina had spent eight years of war sat on her throne throwing ponies at the British Isles like cannon fodder.

“What…” she said, stammering. “What are you going to do?”

He groaned, pushing himself into a standing position.

“I’m going to do what you brought me here to do.”

***

Author's Note

Boom.

With thanks to RoyalPsycho for proofreading, and the Void for assisting with certain moments of dialogue. :-) Hope you enjoyed.